#please stop americanisation of this sport | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emsylcatac · 3 years

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Same anon, certainly not promoting disrespect and appropriation of cultures, in fact I'm uneasy with the disregard for Asian lives. But my point is these authors? They're very young. And very desperate. There's few alternatives to talk about Bible camp, or the vicious hierarchy of sports and cheer squads, or that everything is impossible without a whole CAR. If the show doesn't depict it, it's not taught in schools. And it's transformative. Fiction. There's so few places left to vent. 1of2

2of2 sorry it's long! Malice is not in play. Beyond usual 'ugly American' - ok dollars in a fic? THAT means they don't know *another currency exists*. How would they know to ask? That ignorance is DELIBERATELY done to them. I read these fics; and I'm familiar with US kids' programs. No outlets match ML. In another fandom? I've no sympathy for people our own age. These are kids writing on their phones. FAQs like yours are so vital, tysm. (Did you do 5 hours' research on China? Or did you post?)

Okay so I'm gonna be honest I'm getting more and more confused the more I read your ask and I'm failing to get your point.

In the initial ask I answered about fics, I made it abundantly clear that I wasn't calling out anyone for making simple cultural mistakes when you don't know any better. What is problematic is to know something is wrong and still doing it deliberately by applying your own culture to it.

Yes, for younger kids writers it's harder to grasp - but when I said someone wrote in their author note that they consciously knew US$ wasn't the currency here but didn't bother to look up for it, you can't possibly tell me that they weren't aware other currencies existed? Since they? Admitted it themselves??

You make it sound like these American kids who write fics are like super traumatised by the system, I'm not sure what that means. And yes, fiction isn't real, but again, when it's inspired or set in a certain cultural context and emphasised on in the show, you gotta be a minimum careful.

And please saying there's no good American representation in any kids show is just pushing it a tad bit too far, don't you think? Cause I sure can think of a few other countries who lack representation and would have more reasons to complain about it.

Anyway I will stop now just.... If you understood well my point earlier, I'm not blaming a kid for writing cultural mistakes or not knowing better, but I'm pointing more a finger to people who perfectly know things are different and have everything at their disposal to correct these points but still Americanise other cultures (google is wonderful afterall).

Edit: as for the research on China I don't know what you're trying to say, all I know is that if I need cultural information I would look it up or ask Chinese people in the fandom, or I wouldn't make a reference that I might interpret wrong and might hurt the culture.

#ask #anon #idk how else to tag this tbh

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jemej3m · 5 years

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I would frankly die for more of the Kevin taking a sabbatical in Ireland. Pretty please?

for @jjeanmorreau who also asked for more vacay kev, here ya go!

Kevin couldn’t explain how he’d found himself here again, but he was. The patron beamed at him from behind the bean grinder and blew him a kiss.

Between the first talk and the various relapses back to the cafe’s inviting warmth, Kevin discovered that the owner’s name was Nieve Meir, and that Cian, the tanned, lithe professor with startling brown eyes, was her son.

The man himself often kept his mother company: Kevin could see him at his usual haunt, surrounded by papers he was grading whilst listening to music through headphones. His desk was tucked behind the counter, in the innermost corner of the little corner shop. Kevin averted his eyes before he could notice Kevin’s presence, instead greeting Nieve with a hesitant smile.

“There’s our little foreigner. Cian missed you at Friday’s talk. It was all about Americanisation: Surely you’d have some more insights than we would, milling about ol’ Dunnie every day.”

He ordered his cappuccino and opened his copy Ulysses. It truly was a difficult read: He’d been hacking away at it almost constantly whilst hanging around in this town and had made less than a quarter of the way through.

“Here you are, Kevin, dear.” Nieve settled down his mug. “Enjoy. And stay awhile.” She winked.

The mention of his name must have cut through the music: Cian glanced up from his grading and smiled, beckoning Kevin over. He took his mug and kept it on a coaster to avoid getting coffee on the scrawled essays the man was covering in glossy red ink.

“Ulysses, hm?” He murmured, letting his fingers brush along the spine of the book. “Not for the faint-hearted. Are you enjoying it?”

Kevin hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

The man snorted. “So why bother? Shouldn’t literature be enjoyable as well as stimulating?”

“You’re a professor: Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to challenge myself?”

“Well, I’ve known you for a week and a half,” Cian tapped his pen to his grin. “And I want to take you out for dinner before I scare you off with my academic status, so I have to tread lightly.”

“I -” Kevin halted. “I’m not a brainless jock. I majored in history!”

Cian’s grin spread wider, impossibly so. Kevin thought he was going to lose his god-damned fucking mind. “More compatible than I thought. What do you say? To dinner?”

Kevin looked to his coffee. He would have to go back soon: The off-season couldn’t last forever, and the reprieve from Exy was necessary, but he was still Kevin Day: He couldn’t abandon his life-sport for the romanticised ideal of a cute history professor in a small Irish city.

Nothing would come of it, Kevin was sure. That was the only reason he said yes.

They walked down the cobbled alleyways, the pavings waterlogged by the recent rainfall. Dinner had been an extended affair at a quiet downtown pub, on the second floor with a candle between them and a window revealing a busy street, adorned with strings of white lights and iron lamp-posts below. It was almost mystical: Kevin felt like he was floating. Or maybe that was the wine.

“If we’re being candid,” Cian said, hands in his pockets as they walked down the street. His coat was suede: Beneath it was an adorable baby-blue tie that set off the crystal in his cartilage piercing, and a pair of tight trousers. Kevin appreciated the effort: He’d tried his best but his clothes were all suit-case frumpled and he’d neglected the formal-wear aspect in his packing. “I did some research on you. Just to see if you had a Facebook or something.”

Kevin stopped walking.

“I was a little shocked.” Cian admitted. “I had no idea who you were, let alone that you’re well-famous.”

“I…” Kevin searched for what he wanted to say. Conversation had come so naturally, and now he was completely jilted.

Cian held out his hand and took Kevin’s fist, slowly unwinding the clenched fingers. “I understand that you don’t want crazy fans following you around, but you could have - I don’t know, mentioned that you’re probably one of the most successful sportsmen in North America. Though,” He considered carefully, looking at the shape of Kevin’s shoulders. “I’m not complaining.”

Kevin finally found his voice. “I came here to escape the way monotony was creeping up on me over there. I - want to be known for who I am, not what I am. Here I can get that chance. With you, I can get that chance.”

Cian’s smile returned. He had a chipped canine tooth that Kevin hadn’t asked about yet, but wanted to. He took Kevin’s other hand: They were facing each other in the darkness of late-evening, shadows playing across the other man’s features and setting off the spark in his eye. Kevin swallowed.

“I’ve never been interested in sports, really.” He said. “I’ll bet you’ve never been allowed to be anything outside of the game.”

Kevin nodded.

“How long are you here?” Cian asked.

Kevin grimaced. “Maybe a week and a half.”

The man nodded, contemplative. “It’ll have to do.” He took Kevin’s hand by the wrist and set off into a quick jog. “We have no time to waste!”

“What are you doing?” Kevin huffed, being forced into a stumbling pace behind him.

“I’ll show you what it means to be real, Day.” Cian dragged them into oncoming traffic, cutting corners and through side-streets. “I’ll show you all you’ve missed. But first: you’re spending the night at mine.”

Kevin’s heart raced as his cheeks flourished: His hand fought free of the cuff Cian’s fingers formed around his wrist, instead intertwining their fingers together.

This was unmapped ground. This was a hiccup in his breath. This uncertainty of something new, something unfamiliar, warred with his arrogant self-assuredness and the obvious way Cian’s hand slipped into the back pocket of his jeans as they waited for his flat’s elevator. This was freeing.

It made him feel young again.

When he awoke he was completely naked as sun streamed through the windows, striping across the caramel expanses of Cian’s back. His hair sprawled out across the pillow and Kevin absently took a lock and wound it around his finger.

It was six-thirty. He’d woken every day for a run and today was no different. He slid out of bed and decided fuck it: He’d take something of Cian’s and come back soon enough. The man himself said that he was a heavy sleeper and was never awake before nine o’clock.

He took shorts and running shoes, taking off around the block. There was a lovely park around the corner which he looped twice before heading back.

Sure enough, the man was still dead-asleep. Kevin put the keys back where he’d found them and crept into the shower. Was this strange? It didn’t matter. Kevin was just some whack foreigner: Cian could just base his assumptions on their cultural differences. He toweled off and went back into Cian’s room in search of his clothes.

The man was blinking up at him, dazed.

“Christ,” He muttered, turning back into his pillow. “I almost forgot how stunning you were.”

Kevin grit his teeth, trying valiantly to stop his cheeks from burning.

Cian reached over to the empty side of his bed and patted the sheets. “Come back.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“You think too much, Kevin Day. Amadán. Come back.”

Kevin let himself grin and slipped back under the covers. He could sleep in for another two hours. It’d been a while since he’d slept by another body, especially one who made an effort to maintain skin-to-skin contact, and the warmth lulled him back into an easy sleep.

Before he drifted off again, he felt a small kiss press to the top of his head. It had to be the first time he could remember someone doing that. His cheeks would be permanently stained red around this man.

He was distracting. Gorgeous, smart, passionate, but really, he was just a distraction. Kevin still had Moriyama contracts to seal. He had a game to play. Cian was beautiful, an aesthetically abstract moment of time that took Kevin back to distant times in distant places, some of which had never been real.

It was enough for now.

our royal majesty’s softness is showing

#kevin day #all for the game #sabbatical au #jem writes

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