a list of brazillian fun facts you might want to know for your qsmp fanfics! (or in general lol)
DATING IN BRAZIL (because I know at least 50% of yall are gonna be writting slash):
Phase 1 can be or texting/talking or ficando (infinitive: ficar), it depends on how shy you are;
Ficando means to be actively seeking a person out consistently with the intent of talking for a bit and then making out (it does not entail any level of loyalty);
Brazillians only consider it "making out" if you french kiss;
Kissing without tongue is considered weird and viewed negativelly;
A little peck on the lips is cute, but not really what we consider kissing;
There are two types of brazillians: the ones that will start dating after a week and the ones that take months to make up their minds;
If a brazillian is interested in you (even if you don't know each other) and you're in a party there is a very good chance they will walk up to you and ask if you want to make out/ask for your instagram handle (it depends on what kind of party it is tbh);
Also, most brazillians kiss and tell lmao;
It is not uncommon for outgoing brazillians to make out with random strangers, especially during carnival;
We are a sex positive country mostly;
We are very sensual, even if we have no romantic interest;
Mock-flirting or Joke-flirting is very common in friend groups;
People who make out/date with the person their friend likes are called Talarica or Talarico;
When you get cheated on you're called Corno;
People usually go on dates after ficar for a whille;
Usually, if you're going on dates with someone it is expected of you to be faithful or to end things (you can't go on dates with a guy while also going on dates with another guy, that's fucked up);
We call dating namorando, from the infinitive namorar which refers back to namorado (boyfriend) and namorada (girlfriend);
brazillians are typically very direct when they are interested in someone, which doesn't mean they will say "oh, i like you" right away, but they will flirt for sure;
in Brazil saying "I love you" isn't a big deal, most brazillians will say it pretty fast and not saying it back (if you're in a relationship) is considered VERY WEIRD;
brazillians have the tendency of being very jealous lmao;
GEOGRAPHY:
Brazil is a continental sized country, being the fifth biggest country in the entire world. It is bigger than the USA, if counting only directly conected land (ignoring Brazil's islands and Hawaii and Alaska);
Because of it's size, brazillian states have a great number of differences in language, culture, food, climate, and politics;
There is as much animosity between states as in the USA (the difference being: brazillians will always defend each other rather than gringos);
The brazillian streamers are all from the Center-West, South-East and South of Brazil (unfortunatly there is nobody to represent the North and North-east);
The south-east is the are of biggest economical impact, while the center-west is known for the capital of the country (Brasília) and the agriculture, while the south has a terrible reputation (they have livestock too, but mostly a bad reputation);
Brazil has two of the biggest cities in the world: the 5º biggest, São Paulo, and the 19º biggest, Rio de Janeiro;
Nobody fucking likes São Paulo (the city) except from the people that were born there or lived there their entire lives;
Brazil has a mostly warm climate, and most brazillians consider anything below 20ºc to be cold (vai sulista, fala que no sul é mais frio, fala);
Brazil's seasons are more often defined by the level of humity, rather than how hot/cold it is;
Brazil is a giant when it comes to agriculture and livestock. We have a lot of grains, and red meat. If you drink coffee and eat meat you have definetly tasted brazillian products without knowning, since we do a lot of exportation (especially to europe);
Brazil has natural diamonds, pre-sal (which can be used in the making of combustives), gold and other precious stones.
HISTORY:
Brazil was mostly colonized by the portuguese, but there was also a presence of the Spanish, French, Dutch and British. You can tell by the architecture;
Rio de Janeiro was the capital of the Portuguese Kingdom for a little while;
Brazil (much like Mexico) was once an Empire;
Brazil (as it's own coutry) has had only two Emperors;
the Brazillian Empire was a big deal despite ending fairly soon;
Brazil's Empire once eliminated about 90% of the male population of Paraguay during a war, which is def a war crime. We have repayed them for what happened, though;
Cities like Rio de Janeiro have a lot of Imperial architecture, but most of the colonial architecture can be found in states like Minas Gerais;
Brazil sent troups in WWII to Italy, the famous Smoking Snakes;
Brazil was forced into a dictatorship by the USA (surprising no one);
Brazil had a president that decided to develop highways instead of trains (i fucking hate him). It's the same guy that moved the capital from Rio de Janeiro to Brasília;
Brasília was build with the blood of poor people and it fucking sucks, but it has the shape of an airplane so everything is fine ig /s;
Brazil's first woman president and it's current president were both tortured during the dictatorship;
Brazil is a concervative country, despite everything;
Do not ask me about Brazil's politics, because it's so fucking insane lmao;
GENERAL CULTURE:
Brazillian culture exists on top of three axes: Portuguese, African, and Indigineous;
We take A LOT from Japonese culture (since we are the country with the biggest Japonese population outside of Japan). I've never met a brazillian who hasn't watched anime, even my grandma knows what Pokemon is /srs;
Some other important diasporas in Brazil: Lebanon (we have more lebanese than Lebanon itself lol), China, Germany, Italy, and many different African countries;
Most brazillians listen to funk and sertanejo, but other brazillian music you might be interested in: samba, BRrock, mpb, BRpop, Axé, and Pagode;
Some other famous brazillians you might not know, but you should: Silvio Santos, Celso Portiolli, Rodrigo Faro, Angélica, Eliana, Xuxa, Luciano Huck, Pyong Lee, Mauricio de Sousa, Ariano Suassuna, Clarice Lispector, Machado de Assis, Guilmarães Rosa, Fernando Pessoa, Vinicius de Moraes, Toquinho, Mateus Hwang, Tiago Leifert, Tadeu Schmidt, Boninho, Guilherme Briggs, Fernanda Montenegro, Rodrigo Santoro, Wagner Moura, Seu Jorge, etc;
Most brazillians only drink tea for medicinal reasons (like cammomile tea);
Most brazillians love coffee and hate iced coffee;
Most brazillians start drinking coffee at a very young age;
Drinking (alchool) age in Brazil is 18yo, but most brazillians start drinking around 15yo;
Most brazillians love meat and barbecue. Here is a picture of a brazillian brabecue:
Brazil, differently from other American coutries, didn't have potatoes/corn as it's basic food, we had a root called Mandioca. Although it is still very beloved in brazillian cusine, the base for brazillian meals is currently Rice;
In Brazil we usually don't eat a lot during breakfast, but have a big meal (with rice, veetables, meat, and beans) for lunch and dinner. And our dinner is usually around 20h-22h;
We don't use AM or PM;
We use the metric system and Celcius, and we very much deslike the imperial system and what's-his -face is an abhorrent scientific disgrace;
brazillians who suck up to gringos are called "Vira-latas", which can be translated to "mutts" or more directly "eat-trash";
brazillians have mutiple coffee breaks during the day, mostly in the afternoon;
brazillians brush their teeth at least 3 times a day (mostly after every big meal);
brazillians shower at least once a day, some going as far as to shower three times a day during summer;
brazillians do not use snapchat and they think it's obsolete (because it is);
brazillians will pirate anything that isn't made by other brazillians, and I mean ANYTHING. There is no shame in pirating in Brazil and we are very proud of being the country that pirates the most in the world! We will also buy counterfeit products knowing they are counterfeit;
brazillians rivalry with argentinians is REAL. And, although is mostly a football thing, it really translates to everything else (especially if it's online);
brazillians have a hierarchy when it comes down to rooting for stuff, and it goes like this: brazillians, sibling countries, latin americans, other african countries, other third world countries, japan, other asian countries, european countries, anglo-saxon americans, argentina (if it's football), germany, portugal;
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Writing Prompt #12
Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.
Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.
Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.
While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.
These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".
There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—
"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.
But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.
He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.
"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.
"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.
"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.
He doesn't look away from the man.
"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."
"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.
The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.
The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"
Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."
"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."
He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.
"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.
"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.
"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."
"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.
"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."
"Him."
"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."
"Why me?"
"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."
This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.
"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"
"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."
Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."
"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."
"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."
"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."
"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."
"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.
"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.
"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."
"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."
"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."
Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.
Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.
"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."
The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.
"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.
"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."
"I have more than one."
"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."
"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"
There is a pause.
"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."
"Resolve what?"
"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."
"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."
Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."
The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."
"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."
"They will have already muzzled him."
Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.
"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."
"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—
Clack!
"sluuuuurp!"
"Master Timothy, honestly!"
"Sorry Alfred!"
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