#if my grandmother never immigrated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr Inc. has $15.1M in annual revenue.

#if my grandmother never immigrated

steal-this-idea · 1 year

Text

I received an old nickel in my change yesterday and it got me thinking about how, in old photos, you’d see advertisements for, say, a cup of coffee and it costs, like, 5¢ and now it costs maybe $2 or more?

Why did we let that happen? And it happened all over the world too. Small change used to be able to buy things and now you can’t buy shit with ‘em

How did the whole world collectively sigh and resign themselves to letting their coins become practically worthless tokens rather than demand from the Powers That Be that nickels be able to buy things again?

Even the French...Even the French who will light their country on fire from the barest of provocations surrendered on this front, dooming their cinq centimes...

#silly answers only #I get what inflation is #If my Dad found a quarter when he was a kid he could get a soda and a bag of chips and still have a nickel left over #when my grandmother was a girl her German immigrant mother would give her a nickel #and tell her to go to the German bakery for a nickel's worth of ich bin dumm #my grandmother was never taught German by her parents #she'd enter the bakery and put the nickel on the counter and dutifully ask for a nickel's worth of ich bin dumm #the baker would smile and give my grandmother a handful of cookies #She learned much later what it meant but she never told me if it hurt her that her mother would do that to her though #My Mom used to be able to buy penny candy and I've never in my whole life seen a vending machine that accepts pennies

1 note · View note

octuscle · 6 months

Note

Hey Cronivac Support,

I dont trust myself with the settings so i am asking you. I am Half German and half Moroccan, and I look German af. Brown hair, brown eyes, big smile and a really white skin. I am thinking what would happen if my appearance were based on my Moroccan genes.

Can you help me out?

Brother, chill out! Have a shisha. Just ignore that there's German shit in your body. Your dick is circumcised. You pray at least once or twice a day. Friday you also go to the mosque… It doesn't matter if there are still German genes in you.

Thursday morning. You will survive the last school year at the Gymnasium. What comes after that, you don't know yet. Something with languages might make sense. Your mother tongues are Arabic, German and French. And you are actually quite good in English and Spanish at school. But you also enjoy science. First lesson today is chemistry. Stoichiometry. Actually very interesting. But somehow you have more and more problems to understand your teacher. When he approaches you, you start to stammer. You can't think of the right words. "Youssef, you are welcome to answer in English, if that is easier for you." You sigh in relief. German is really a difficult language. And even though you have a German grandmother, German was never spoken much at home….

During the break, you hang out with your brothers. Talk about soccer, cars, the usual stuff. Smoke an e-cigarette to go with it. And you make an appointment for the afternoon at the gym. Then it's off to the workshop at the vocational school. Metalwork. Hey, you're not training to be a car mechanic so you can mill toys out of metal plates. You want to become a car tuner. And create really hot cars. Your vocational school teacher is from Syria. Fled a few years ago. He speaks much better German than you do. You've only been in Europe for two years. Your mother had the French and the Moroccan passport, so you could immigrate relatively easily. But you didn't understand why you had to move to Germany. Some of your pals now live in Marseille. You would have found that cool, too… But Stuttgart? Just because your father found a good job as an engineer here at Mercedes? Anyway, you're a fighter, you'll survive Swabia.

Lunch is at the snack bar of a former colleague of your father. He has saved up enough money on the assembly line for his own snack bar. And now he makes the best falaffels in town. On weekends, you help out a little. You can always use the extra money. And that way you also get the food cheaper. Since you've been in training, you no longer get pocket money from your parents. You are the eldest son, you now have to do your share to feed the family. And if you are the first to have a vocational qualification here, your chances of getting a permanent right to stay are also the best. If only it weren't for this terrible language…

Gym, auto repair shop, vocational school, Gym…. Your daily routine is somehow always the same. Your boss is also a Muslim, from Turkey, so you have tomorrow afternoon off to go to the mosque. But you also have to work on Saturday. But you are grateful that you have the job. And you can afford your car and the gym. It was not easy to come to Europe. It cost your parents almost all their savings. And now it's your damn duty to succeed and support your family. For that you learn to be a car mechanic, for that you sell falaffel on weekends. That's why you mop the gym floors and clean the toilets at night. You even study German for that. However, this has already brought you a few thousand followers. Your picture from the last workout has 800 likes after just half an hour. Let's see, maybe new opportunities to become rich and famous will develop. You have the right gene pool!

Pic of your latest workout found @tufas

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #race change

206 notes · View notes

vaspider · 5 months

Note

Hi Spider!

Firstly, I’m very sorry you have to deal with all those difficult people in your posts.

Second, could we possibly hear the tale of your ancestor Shotgun Shorty? And great grand pappy who ran off the priest?

If you don’t have the spoons no worries!

Hey look, I'm avoiding real work by answering very old asks and pretending that counts!

(It does count. Shh.)

Shotgun Shorty was my great-grandmother, and the man who ran the priest off of his farm (repeatedly) was my great-granddaddy. They were married to each other and immigrated from Poland together; we suspect, but cannot presently prove, that Agnes may have been born Jewish. (I've done as much poking and prodding about the topic as I can without actually going to Poland, I think, and it only matters so much to me, because I'm Jewish regardless.)

Anyway, they came over to the US shortly after the turn of the 20th century with my great-grandmother's sister & settled in central Pennsylvania. She ran the farm with her sister and the kids who weren't in the mines and had over a dozen children -- I think the final count was fifteen? -- and I think about 2/3 of them made it through childhood, and he worked in the coal mines and also ran the farm. My granddaddy was a breaker boy as a kid (though I grew up hearing it called being a 'picker'). Neither one of them spoke much English and my granddaddy wouldn't let my dad learn whatever they spoke, so most of these stories come through my granddaddy and his siblings to my dad and then to me.

So as you'll note from that little recounting above, most of the time, my great-grandmother and her sister were the adults at the farm. Great-grammy was built like a little teapot - short and stout - and was by all accounts both an absolute force of nature and... let's say "not too enamored of the Catholic Church." I have been given several different reasons why over the years, but suffice to say that neither she nor her husband liked the Catholic Church very much at all.

The nickname Shotgun Shorty started the day that my grandmother chased a vicious dog off the farm with her shotgun, and from there forward, if strangers showed up on the farm, she'd meet them on the front porch, all five feet nothing of her, barefoot, with her shotgun. Stories vary on whether she ever actually fired the thing at anybody, but I have heard multiple stories of warning shots. Again -- it was her and her sister and the kids during the day.

And then there's this guy.

He hated the Catholic Church. He especially hated priests. No, I don't know exactly why -- though, given the things we theorize about my family, I have my guesses -- I just know that he did. He especially especially hated priests asking for money.

And that is how, despite never having been Catholic, my great-grandfather was supposedly excommunicated after the third time he chased a priest off the farm who showed up asking for donations. No, not with a shotgun, that was the province of my great-grandmother. Great-granddaddy chased the priests off of his farm with a pitchfork. Why they kept coming back, I suppose we'll never know, since they're all dead now.

Sometimes I kinda wonder if maybe it was some sort of hazing ritual for new priests or something. "Oh, yeah, sure, go ask up at that farm, they love priests up there!"

#family stories #my peasant roots let me show you them #personal

158 notes · View notes

sarahhillips · 11 months

Text

Thoughts I Have After Seeing Elemental For the First Time 😈🥬

Yes, there are spoilers below! If you have not seen the movie and have issues with spoilers, keep scrolling. Thank you!

That being said, let’s dive in!

🔥 Not only are her parents immigrants but they speak a made up language called Firish. As an Irish American person, I thought that was cute!

💧 The Manticore from Onward is no longer the most relatable character to service workers. That honor goes to Ember now.

🔥 Yes, customers are really this stupid and entitled. The sparkler buy one get one free scene is a gold star example of that.

💧 Wade Ripple is who more men should be like; sweet, sensitive, loving, devoted, and charming but also awkward in an adorable way.

🔥 I never laughed so hard at the death of a grandmother ever. That was definitely not written to be sad at all.

💧 Wade isn’t afraid to say how he feels about Ember in front of his entire family and that’s very ballsy but way too fast.

🔥 Their date was so precious and the song in that scene is repeating on Spotify right now.

💧 I love that they eat wood chips and drink lava coffee.

🔥 Those flowers are absolutely stunning. And so is Embers glasswork.

💧 The antics between Cinder and the Door Man were wonderful. The Door Man also looks like the most huggable water guy.

🔥 I went awwwww in my head when their hands touched for the first time. It was such a sweet moment and I didn’t like that things went south after that.

💧 Would they be able to have sex? Because from the beginning of the film, we know element women can physically get pregnant. So a water penis in a fire vagina does what? Would she evaporate it away?

🔥 The kiss they shared near the end if the film was so sweet. Honestly one of the best kissing scenes written by Pixar tbh, with apologies to Linguini and Collette.

💧 Do male earth elements grow floral pubic hair like their armpit hairs? Imagine having flowers for pubes.

🔥 What’s the wedding gonna be like? Because I bet Ember would walk down the aisle in a stained glass gown.

What if it looked something like this?? 👀🔥

💧 Ember loves her father but was trying too hard to make him proud. It was unfair for him to never ask her what she wanted out of life.

🔥 Wade saving the blue flame: 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

💧 Of course I wanted to cry when Wade started evaporating but I knew he’d come back somehow.

🔥 He went through all of that for her.

💧 They way he offers his hand 🥹🥹🥹

🔥 Hell, the way he looks at her. That’s love man.

💧 Marco and Polo are so cute!!

🔥 Love love LOVE all the chainmail and glass fire people are wearing! Especially that glass robe!

💧 If I were a fire person, I would just stand in front of a fan all day

🔥 THEIR STROLLERS ARE GRILLS 😭😭😭

💧 What if they had a baby? Would the baby be made of steam? Is it gonna be a…. Steam punk?

🔥 How much is Wades monthly rent because DAMN. This apartment is super swanky.

💧 So there is both biotic water people and abiotic water. And they can make themselves one with that water

🔥 Wades the dude that becomes everybodys best friend the second they meet him while Ember can barely talk to anybody.

💧 KISS ME IM FIRISH

🔥 This shot is cute af, look at bby Ember with dad Bernie 🥹

💧 Wade Ripple definitely eats out.

#elemental #pixar elemental #elemental pixar #ember lumen #wade ripple #pixar #disney #animated movies #high #spoiler warning #high thoughts #thoughts

255 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 20 days

Note

AITA for yelling at my uncle for wanting to emmigrate?

cw; brief mention of animal death.

For context: I am from Brazil. São Paulo city, more specifically. Brazil is considered dangerous due to high crime rates, and my city, with over 11 MILLION habitants, is no exception. But socioeconomic segregation is pretty intense here, and if you're in a "good" class neighborhood and have a little bit of streetsmarts, you will be mostly safe. I for one have been lucky enough to be born into a middle class family and have never been so much as pickpocketed, but I know of lower income friends who have been robbed. It's still rare in our circle.

Now, I have this uncle. Him and his wife have even more money than my family – they lead a very, very comfortable life with yearly trips to Disney parks, something that's very common among Brazilian upper class. And they recently have decided they want to migrate to Florida, US, seemingly out of nowhere. Their main excuse is that they don't want to raise their 7 year old son in a "dangerous place", when they live in a safe appartment complex and they've never even been robbed.

I voiced my concerns to my uncle. I was afraid that they wouldn't be well received by a country that has such extreme anti-immigration policies, especially when none of them can speak more than a few words of english and, while his wife is white, my uncle is visibly latino. Even if they get the papers right and migrate legally, they will still face a whole lot of prejudice. Plus, they would have to quit their jobs for that, and while they both have degrees, I still think it would be quite hard for two immigrants who barely speak the language to get jobs to keep their lifestyle, and I'm not sure if that's the best way to raise a young child. It really seems to me like they're persuing a fairytale idealized dream.

But the worst part is the entire thing with my grandmother. She's in her late 70s, very emotionally frail and has had a fair share of health issues. Ever since her dog passed months ago she's been severely depressed, and because she couldn't leave the house due to the dog's separation anxiety, she doesn't have any friends and has almost no hobbies. Her favorite thing is having us over – especially my uncle's son, her youngest granchild. So of course when my uncle tried to gloss over all my points I had to bring up how terrible it would be for my grandma (he knows it will be bad, he's keeping it a secret from her because he thinks she could possibly fall ill again). But he still didn't listen.

I was so angry I started yelling at him. I brought up how he didn't even visit his mother the last time she was hospitalized (she was anaemic and could have died) but he had all the time in the world to go to Disneyland whenever he pleased and said he doesn't really care about his mom or his child, that's why he's leaving. He's just falling for his wife's Disney obsession.

Looking back on it, I think I might have taken it too far, but I meant everything I said. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

79 notes · View notes

yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 7 months

Text

Your countries are being invaded and your too blinded by accusations of "Bigotry" and "Racism" to actually do anything about it. What am I talking about?

Let me explain something to the left and any moderate that might have an issue with my framing. These are not people seeking asylum because of persecution. These are economic migrants trying to extract from our countries while their first act in flooding here is economic instability and eventual collapse. It has nothing to do with cultural dislike, or racism of any kind.

Fact is most people in most places hate how their governments are run. The US Gov I can actually weigh in on, because we have sent billions in tax dollars to Ukraine and foreign interests. We have spent millions if not billions on homelessness yet still have a huge homeless issue in places that claim to care about it more than anywhere else.

But what's the issue. 80%-90% of the people coming are military age men. In some cases that percentage is north of 98%. Meaning there are almost never any women or children coming here. And at least in the US they are coming here with their fist act as breaking US law. I live in Texas. This state is heavily affected by illegal immigration. Hard part is, most people don't tend to see the effects until it's too late. The more people that flood your country, the worse the economy in your country will be. Slow trickle can be handled. What we are experiencing can't be. Why?

So not to be the "THER TAKN OUR JUBS", but in reality they are. They will work for lower wages. They don't care if they get healthcare. And the employer does not have to care about the red tape hiring them. They get the profit with almost none of the other complexities that come from hiring a legal citizen. What's more, we barely have enough jobs for the people that live here and yet we flood millions in through the southern border every single year. Functionally, this is an issue. We might be a melting pot, but what happens when our cultures are deleted outright because the flood gets too big?

And this is a real risk. Cultural decimation. These people don't care about their own countries. What makes you think they care about yours? They will extract. Destroy. And they will move on. They don't realize they are doing it have the time but consider the fact that the UN has not helped in this at all. Consider the fact that the WEF has not at all helped in this. The US can hold the population of the world sure, but fact of the matter is that should not be our goal. There are too many cultures, and there are too many offset forms of belief.

We can barely keep our own country working properly and inflation is the worst it's been in almost ever. We can't take care of our own and yet the bleeding heart class in the US just expects us to take in everyone from everywhere at all times. Economically we can't handle this. Socially and culturally we can't handle this. People need to go to countries through the proper sources. They need to do it legally. But what's more, these countries are losing their working age and military age men. IN THE THOUSANDS and MILLIONS. What is the result to the country these people are leaving? What of the women and children left behind?

No one wants to have this conversation because they are scared of being called a xenophobe or a racist. But having love for your country and wanting it to continue to function, and not have your culture crushed under the weight of actual invaders, isn't either of those things. And before you go, "Oh well how dare you call them invaders ~" here is the definition for you.

Look at the second listing. I understand the idea behind wanting others to be happy. I understand the idea behind wanting people from other places to not suffer. But these people are leaving their countries, rather than fighting for them. They have abandoned their mothers, daughters, wives, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers in most cases.

Most of you need to face the reality that the real world is not a fair place. But if you want your country to thrive and survive there needs to be a process in which it functions. These people are ignoring that entire process. If Italy can't deport the people that just arrived on that ship, outnumbering the entire population of the island they just landed on, there will be consequences. And they will not be good. The language will start to shift. The religions in the area will change. The entire culture will change. Then at some point, they will decide, "This is our land now, and it's always been ours". It's objectively conquest by sheer numbers. And while they might not individually have any ill intent. That won't matter in the long term.

This isn't a conspiracy. It's not bigotry. Open a history book and read. I'm pro immigration. 100% I'm for it. But how long are the lines for the people coming here legally? How many people have been denied citizenship over BS reasons? And not only are we allowing illegals in at a more than alarming rate (specifically in the US), but we are spending tax dollars on giving them roofs over their heads, and handouts, and in some places they are even getting monthly allowances.

Explain to me how we are doing this for people with no respect for the country, or it's laws, and yet you can't solve homelessness? You can't make a VA that actually functions properly? You can't get out out of inflation? So to the people cheering on illegal immigration, you are voting for your own demise. And every penny spent on them, is not one spent on a legal immigrant. Every penny spent on them is not spend helping the homeless. Every penny spent on them is not spent on healthcare.

This might be a controversial post and some people may even block, mute or unfollow me for it and that's fine. But history speaks for itself. And every country that has dealt with this for too long has collapsed over time. Pretty much every single time.

You should be concerned. Before you end up as the one who's displaced, and is fleeing.

184 notes · View notes

papaver-decervicatus · 8 months

Text

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus

Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.

There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.

Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀

PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence.

“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war. She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup.

For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity.

Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-

“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-

She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns. But, speaking of the man.

“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more.

His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.

“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.” “I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all…

“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table.

“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”

“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.”

Mouse trap baited. She smiles.

“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.

“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.

“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little.

“What about the glue?”

Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…

She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part.

“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.”

Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.

“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.

“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”

“Aye, that I will.”

Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency.

After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him.

Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout.

(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be!

His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance.

But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year.

His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…

“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing.

He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else. It is the third day this week he has found her.

What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.

That does not happen.

Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.

She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.

She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke.

“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out.

She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow.

She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-

“Why?”

“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life. Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.

In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.

She laughs.

And he hears it.

And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.

And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey. Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.)

Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.

“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.

“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.

Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-

Oh my god, did König just… get jealous?

The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-

Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul.

Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?

“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery.

“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”

“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”

“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.

The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.

“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.

“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.

“Yer shitting me, yeah?”

She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.

“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her. “Hmm?”

“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”

Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug.

Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her.

“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"

She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun.

Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head.

“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”

If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas.

Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst.

“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”

“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth.

König’s shoulders rise.

He looks right down her site.

She smiles.

Come and get me, kitty-cat.

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”

“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”

“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.”

“You do, just not as good as mine.”

“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights. Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting. “He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.”

König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.

In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.

Mouse should be scared of König.

Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.

He looks like he wants to maul something to death.

As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.

“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.

“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.

“Where is he?”

“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”

Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.

“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.

“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”

“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-” “You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs.

Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.

Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.

Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?

By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.

König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)

König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.

“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.

“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day.

When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.

For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves.

All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

140 notes · View notes

use-ur-inside-voice · 10 months

Text

Past Lives: How can a movie be so beautiful yet painful?

I watched Past Lives this past Tuesday, and I have some thoughts. I won’t necessarily speak to the movie itself, but instead to how this movie made me feel. After I left the theater, I felt this wave of sadness rush to me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness as I thought about Nora and how her story is so similar to the stories of other immigrants. I know that a lot of people have been taken with the romance in this movie, but I think we all need to step back and refocus for a bit. This is a movie about immigrants, and how immigration can impact everything and everyone. As I was saying, I couldn’t shake this feeling of sadness after leaving the theater. I could only think about my mother, and how her life would be different if she didn’t immigrate to the U.S.

Would she still be a nurse? Would she have followed her passions of being an English teacher or a lawyer? Would she have more kids? Would my sisters and I know our mother tongue fluently instead of constantly asking, “What does that mean?” Would I be close with my grandmother whom I never see or understand? Would I feel the pressures of having to be extremely successful in order to feel like my life was worth it? That my parents’ pilgrimage to the U.S. was worth it? That their sacrifice was worth it? How would being the eldest daughter be if not for my immigrant parents making me feel like I need to be the saving grace of the family? Would be mother be happy? Would we be happy?

Every so often, my parents pull out their old photo albums and show me who they once were. Photos of large smiles on faces I don’t recognize. Photos of friends, aunts and uncles at parties that I have never met. Seeing my parents light up at the photos and hearing them go on and on about what life was like when they were in their home country. The community they once had, the lives they lived, the happiness they experienced. I could see the longing for those memories in their eyes, full of glee and sadness at the same time.

My parents, especially my mother, speaks in the future tense. “Once I go back home...,” “I’m going to walk on the beach...” “I can’t wait to see my sisters again...” “I hope I can see my mom one more time...” It pains me to think that the life that my mother lives is not one that she longed for. It’s not a life she wanted. She longs for something I can not give her. And so I’m left with the thought of what would life look life if my parents never won a green card in the green card lottery? Would my mother be happy?

Past Lives is a beautiful yet painful reminder that the life of an immigrant can be upended in seconds, whether for better or worse. It is more than just a love story, in fact, the romance between the two main characters acts as a vehicle to show us the real meaning behind the movie. Who were we? Who are we? And who will we become? It is sometimes too painful to think about what could’ve been, but something I learned from Past Lives is that it is also beautiful to reminisce on the past, embrace the present, and look forward to the future. I hope someday my mother can go back to her home country and live out the rest of her days, and I hope once she does that I never have to ask, “Would my mother be happy?”

#past lives a24 #past lives #past lives movie #past lives nora #past lives review #movie review #past lives movie review #a24 #pastlives #hae sung #greta lee #teo yoo #celine song #Celine song a24

167 notes · View notes

dolleminas · 6 months

Text

I think the last few days really taught me (but what I secretly already knew) is that middle-class women have very little solidarity, let alone empathy for working-class women. It's not only women, it's men too, but it's just glaringly obvious when we supposedly should fight for women, up until it's middle-class women fighting for poor women. There's solidarity, up until a certain point.

Let me paint you a picture. It's summer, I've just started getting back into the workforce after years of crippling illness. I'm meeting with my job coach. A lovely woman, and we get talking about why I want to go back to work.

"Part of it is that I'm bored at home, but I'd be lying if finance isn't a motivator too."

She scoffs good-naturedly. She says, money is not important! The important thing is that you have fulfilment in your work!

I look around myself. We're sitting in her garden. The garden of her two-story house. It's bigger than my entire home. I say I would like to be able to eat, to pay rent. She brushes me off. She doesn't get it. I don't think she's ever had to go hungry.

Let me paint you another picture. I grew up in a neighbourhood full of people like me. The homes were built from the rubble of WWII. When I laid in bed, I would brush my hands over the walls and feel the grit and the dust stain my fingertips. Sometimes it would even stain the bed. My bedroom is hardly bigger than a broom closet, but it's all I know. Most of my neighbours are immigrant families and poc. That's where the government puts them. Crime is rampant. But it could be worse. My mother buys hand-me-downs from the neighbours for me. Other kids bully me for my clothes. During the christmas holidays, the school has to board up the windows because of vandalism. We sit with our coats on in class because heating costs too much.

Still, I know people who have it worse. My mother has a part-time job as a receptionist and my grandparents help. When I wear holes into my underwear my grandmother silently buys us some more. I have never known underwear without holes in them. When we go on vacation, I feel rich. I know many kids who don't. My mother only has to take care of me.

This all makes it that much more of a slap in the face to see women claim to be supporters of women, so-called feminists but have absolutely no empathy for poor women. And most of the time they don't even know it. They have an idealised world-view. A, 'just do x' or 'just do y' and my personal favourite 'well I'd never do that!' or even 'you have options.'

No. No, don't. Be quiet, be silent, listen. If you have solidarity with women, then listen about the lives you have not lived, the struggles you have not struggled with. Do not come from a place of 'I would never' because you cannot, with any resemblance of accuracy, say that until you have lived it. Poor women aren't stupid or lazy, stop thinking of us as such! Stop blaming us for the life we were born into, the life we often are unable to escape.

Sit down, listen... and don't expect poor women to have solidarity with you if you do not have it with us. You, the privileged one. The idealistic one. The one who never knew how it was like to go hungry as a little girl and have to watch your mother lie to you about why.

#honey speaks #poverty #female poverty #lower class women

108 notes · View notes

chiriwritesstuff · 3 months

Text

Random Headcanons from Random Characters in 'The Girl in IT' Pt. 2 - Sugar

Who is our Joel without his Sugar? Meet the girl behind 'The Girl in IT'! Read Joel's Headcanons here!

Sugar had a very privileged, yet lonely childhood. Her father was a workaholic and her mother was a too-busy socialite, so Sugar only had her grandmother who immigrated to the States at the insistence of her daughter. Sugar's grandmother was her entire world, and when she passed when she was in high school, the last thing her grandmother asked her was if she had a boyfriend yet, which gave her a weird complex. This happened to me with my own grandmother and her passing, and it very much gave me a complex.

That being said, Sugar really did not have an intended set of features when I thought her up. She is you, she is me, she is all of us! (if you want).

If Sugar wasn't in IT, she would definitely be in film. Sugar loves films, and is determined to watch the movies she loves with Joel.

Sugar is very socially awkward and challenged! She has a close group of friends but normally keeps to herself. She hates going to bars, or clubs and only went on dating apps at the insistence of her friends. She hated it.

Sugar once shared with Joel how she has never felt like she had a home, always feeling like a stranger in someone else's house when she was growing up. She wasn't allowed to run through the house or invite anyone over, and it affected her greatly. This prompted Joel to ask her what her dream home would be, and well...

Besides Joel, Ellie is her favorite person. Ellie was the first person to visit her office when she started at Miller Construction group, asking her about her taste in music. If there is something that Sugar loves more than film, it's music. Ellie normally hangs around Sugar's office if she's not out on the field with Tommy.

Sir Bubbles is her grandmother's cat.

She dances when she feels strong positive emotions - when she is happy, excited, or in love. Joel loves this about her and will take any chance to grab her and slow dance.

She is also a sci-fi nerd and loves that one actor who plays The Mandalorian... wink wink. "Don't you think you look a lot like him, Joel?" she teases.

#The Girl in IT #Sugar's Headcanon #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us

68 notes · View notes

under-the-dirt · 5 months

Text

intro/masterlist!

hihihi!! i’m livie but you can call me liv or livie!!

age: 14 (bday is sep 23 :3)

pronouns: they/them but i’m fine with she/they :3 afab

nationality: i was born in and live in america but i’m italian, german and irish!! :D i can speak a bit of italian, and my great grandmother is an italian immigrant!!

general boundaries: i hate non-con!!! no non con!! don’t send requests for non-con please!! i’m fine with consensual somnophilia but no non-con!! also, under 13 dni!!

other stuff: i’m autistic and i have a bunch of other disorders so life can be very difficult but i cope through my writing and my art!! i love getting requests and i love talking to people!! i love music sm, and i’m almost always singing and dancing!! some of my fav artists are the killers, lana del rey, the weeknd, ghost, etc!

p.s. mutuals if i ever cross a boundary when talking please tell me!!! i’m very affectionate but i tend to cross boundaries on accident!!

writing boundaries:

• i will not write non-con! never! this is for trauma related reasons and it generally disgusts me. read/write what you like, but this is where i draw the line.

• i will not write characters non-consensually groping/touching the reader. i might consider like a character protecting reader from being groped, but i generally can’t stand it. (naturally, for trauma related reasons as well)

• i will not write certain kinks/fetishes, such as foot fetishes, piss kinks or other gross kinks.

• i will never ever write illegal age gaps. never. do not ask me to write an adult with a child. do not ask for anything pedophilic. this is for obvious reasons as well as trauma related reasons.

masterlist under the cut! <3

masterlist!!

key: 🌲 = angsty 🌿 = fluffy 🪴= smutty

john price

no strings. - an ask for reader x price friends with benefits, but reader gets pregnant and leaves 🌲🌿

whispers. part one part two - barracks bunny exposes price’s little crush in front of the task force 🪴

sleeptalking. part one part two - based of Talking In Your Sleep by The Romantics, price hears reader talking about him in their sleep and their dreams become a little too real 🌿🪴

horror movies. - a request where reader and price watch a movie too scary for either of them and they can’t sleep!! 🌿

avoidance. - reader avoids price bc they’re afraid that he doesn’t like them back, and he confronts them.. 🪴 (not sure)

simon ‘ghost’ riley

phone call. part two - bf!simon fucks you while you’re otp with your best friend / bf!simon fucks you in front of your best friend 🌿🪴(def my best)

lap dog. - a fic where hybrid!reader hits ghost too much with their tail!! (no classification)

braids. - simon braids reader’s hair!! 🌿

hard to love. - reader and ghost are friends with benefits, but reader wants what simon can’t give. 🌲🪴

john ‘soap’ mactavish

water. - based on my friend bunny’s ask in their acc (aforementioned ask) where soap refuses to fuck reader and instead does it with the showerhead!! 🪴🌿

phone call. (pt. 2) - reader gets fucked by bf!simon and soap gets a special desert afterwards.. 🌿🪴

könig

distractions. - reader has a bad day at work and koko helps relieve their stress with a makeout sesh!! 🪴🌿

christmas gifts. - reader gets the boys a big dino plush for christmas!! 🌿

taskforce 141

christmas gifts. - gn!reader gets the boys a big dino plush for christmas!! 🌿

comfort. - 141 cuddles!!! 🌿

cold. - cold reader gets cuddled by all the 141 (not at the same time!!) 🌿

taglist: none

comment to be added to the main taglist! those are the only things i’ve written so far, please send asks/messages for whatever you want em to write!! i don’t tend to write things on my own <3

ily all!!!

45 notes · View notes

honestmagpie · 1 year

Text

SOME MORE RAZ THOUGHTS. (Based on my headcanons so don't @ me about things not being confirmed in canon, this is partially about him as an adult anyway so nyeh)

Raz is a perpetual immigrant.

Like, this boy never had a passport, he probably never even had a birth certificate. He's a kid born to a family of "Circus freaks" (a phrase thrown at them that they've adopted with pride, if only to keep the kids from letting it get them down).

Raz's Campster profile set his origin as Lithuania, which was likely just 'where he was born', probably not terribly far from what's left of Grulovia. (I headcanon that Grulovia is little more than a puddle now, but what remained of the land was absorbed by neighboring countries).

Grulovian immigrants scattered after Vallermo, and no-one really wanted to talk about it. It's 'the old country' and 'the dead country'.

After Psychonauts 2, Raz ESPECIALLY doesn't want to talk about it. Not only was his family refugees from Grulovia-- his Nona was the cause of it. (And sure, she's his great-aunt, not actually his grandmother, but that won't make him stop calling her his Nona. Nothing has changed, except that thinking about the home country hurts a little, now. For different reasons.)

Raz was always a wanderer. It comes with the circus background. He travels light, carries just the essentials. A house isn't a home, but it is a place to put stuff for storage, he supposes.

He's spoken English most of his life. Nobody notices the accent unless he's talking about his Nona winning at Gruloky, or how she makes a true Grulovian Herring Bread better than anyone he's ever seen. (nobody he talks to has heard of that, but he swears it's traditional.)

But every now and then, when he goes on missions, his partners hear interesting things.

A language that Lithuanians think is Latvian, Lavtians think is Lithuanian. Raz always claims to be from one or the other when identified as non-American. Otherwise, as far as they're concerned, Raz is just a local from a little hamlet they haven't heard of.

He speaks German in the office with Sasha and Otto. On one memorable occasion he spoke fluent Russian for a mission, and shrugged it off saying it was 'safest that way'. He claimed to be second-generation Russian with family from a nearby country, because he could tell they saw 'foreigner' but wanted to make sure he wasn't seen as 'too foreign'.

He knows a smattering of a bunch of other slavic languages, using several at a time for one sentence, simply because he learned the words but didn't stay in any one place long enough for a whole language to stick, so they got jumbled together.

"How did your Dialect get so strange?"

He spins tall tales that have nothing to do with the truth, of a parent who had a dozen mistresses or a funny anecdote about a language guidebook that had multiple languages without saying which translations went to which language. Anything but the truth.

It's not that he's ashamed of his family, far from it! He loves them, he's proud of them.

But there's nothing quite like admitting to someone that your Nona is a war criminal, or that you come from a family of 'circus freaks' and traveled a lot. He's seen how people treat immigrants. As far as they're concerned, he's a tourist. He's a local. He's from the neighboring region visiting family. he's second-generation.

But when he's at home, in the circus or in Psychonauts HQ, he's Raz. He doesn't have to figure out what accent to put on, or what he has to say to stay safe. He's just a kid (A twenty-something, but a kid nonetheless).

At least the Psychonauts gave him a passport.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #Razputin Aquato #I just feel like we don't think about how much of a traveler Raz has always been #So I wanted to have some thoughts about it #He's learned some of the languages for spy work #but sometimes he just kinda picked them up from travel

167 notes · View notes

stuckinapril · 3 months

Note

hearing you talk about brown culture and how we love to spoil our daughters is so sentimental to me. my family did nothing but encourage my education and when I got accepted into college I got 800 dollars from various extended family. I didn't want to accept such generosity but they insisted. My mom says she feels so proud when she talks about her daughter studying computer science in college.

its also why its difficult to explain to others how despite my family being decidedly toxic to me in some aspects, cutting them off would be like destroying a part of my soul. I do want to be financially independent and establish better boundaries with them. But as a child, when my grandmother slept with me in the same bed after she immigrated to the US, I used to cry with how much I loved her and how the idea of her someday dying destroyed me. Racism likes to paint brown familiaires as uniquely more abusive, heck, all non-white families as uniquely more abusive when often they put pressure on us because of their own fears/traumas caused by colonialism and imperialism. My dad just wants me to live a comfortable, financially stable life. My mom talks about moving in with me when I have my own house, and I hope she'll be finally able to rest her chronically pained feet. My aunt just got her real estate license and she talked about she wanted to help her community through it.

Ah, my apologies for the ramble. You just reminded me how much I loved my folks. I was awake all night because I realized I missed an exam that was 20 percent of my grade, and I have to wait until Monday or Tuesday to see if he will let me make it up. Now more and more memories of my family's love are coming to me and I'll try to fall asleep thinking of them.

You have no idea how full reading this has made my heart!! This this this. This times a million. Your family sounds so similar to mine. They are not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but outpourings of love—exactly like the ones you mentioned—remind me why I would never ever ever everrrr trade them for the world. Family love in brown culture really is so precious. Thank you for sharing your experience and being living proof as to why the stereotypes we have to face are so harmful and misleading 🤍 I truly adore this w all my being

#tumblr girls 🤝 destigmitizing brown culture post by post #ask

50 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

eightlink9

The Love of Stein 028

enchantedamusedslightlyconfused

Title Pending...

vioqumin

dia

peggynet

#PEGGYNET

thatonefrostycanadian