#slovo writes

[slovoricbutbetter]

Poem, name: Loved

Loved, 

After years safe in my mother’s embrace which only felt stifling before, 

After years of blind loneliness. 

Loved, 

In our conversations where I fuck up and you only hold me, 

In everything you do for me. 

Loved, 

Talking to my dad late into the night, crying into his chest because of him, 

And knowing he cares, he only wants me safe. 

Loved, 

Giving myself grace within my own mind, 

Saying ‘there’s hope’ and believing myself. 

Loved, 

Because I met someone broken who saw my own pain and I trusted them with it, 

Because I finally met myself and let him touch other people. 

Loved not for perfection, 

But for me and the humanity of that scared boy, 

For what I can do and for what I can’t. 

Loved, 

And finally able to love, 

Others and myself.

[ohsalome]

What are some amazing, most read Ukraine authors? The only one I know is Gogol and I would like more on my radar.

First important disclaimer is that without knowing ukrainian, your pool of choice is very limited. Unfortunately, our translators haven't done nearly enough to make ukrainian literature acessable for english speakers, so a lot of genuinely amazing stuff would require you to know the language.

The second important disclaimer is that I am going to recommend you a lot of poetry, and, with no disrespect to the translators, it doesn't hit nearly as hard in english as it is in ukrainian. I've recently heard the phrase "to read poetry in translation is like to take a shower wearing a raincoat", and it is so true. So, apologies for this barrier, but there is nothing one can do.

With that in mind, let's start from classics:

The first most important author is Taras Shevchenko. He mainly wrote poetry, but has some prose works as well, and during his life he was more known as a popular artist. The Bible of his works is Kobzar (a ukrainian word for travelling blind musicians), and the same word is also often used as a nickname for Shevchenko - akin to how Shakespeare can be called the Bard. Among the most important poems pay attention to A Dream (the poem for which he was imprisoned by the russians with an explicit ban on writing and painting), The Caucasus, My Testament, Kateryna, A cherry orchad by the house, О thoughts of mine

The second big name to know is Lesya Ukrainka. Lesya is also more known for her drama and poetry than her prose, but she also was a prolific translator and a feminist. Her most well-know play is The Forest Song (a cartoon adaptation is soon to be released after 7 years of production, but from the trailer it looks like it's not going to be close to the text). I find her Бояриня play to be much more interesting and relevant, however, it looks like it has not been translated yet. Among her poems, some of the most important are Contra Spem Spero and Cassandra (the latter has had some successful stage prouctions in Great Britain last year, mayhaps it will gain popularity)

Some links to her works: [x] [x]

Fun fact: there are speculations about Lesya Ukrainka's relationship with her close friend Olga Kobylyanska. The letters they exchanged are quite intimate and sometimes even erotic in nature, which lead some academics to believe that they were more than friends (most still fall in the "gal pals" camp tho). However, if that were true, that would mean that Lesya Ukrainka is the only bisexual woman to ever be printed on banknotes.

The third pillar of ukrainian classical literature is Ivan Franko. Once again, we are talking about partiotic poetry, but there are also many socialistic ideas in his works (although he became dissilusioned with it in his later years ), which I think many western readers will find appealing - (side comment - it looks like "collective west" is going through the same processses that we overcame a century ago, so ehm... good luck, y'all will need it). I haven't been able to find much of his works translated in English, so here is a good master page. Zakhar Berkut is considered to be one of his greatest works (a ukrainian-american co-production movie The Rising Hawk was released a couple of years ago, it was shit). If you manage to put your hands on it, I would greatly recommend The Painted Fox and Moses. Also, reading Eternal Revolutionary imprinted on me so much in childhood and determined who I grew up to be, I pretty much consider Franko to be my spiritual father.

A great event that happened this year is that Valeryan Pidmohylny's The City is finally getting an english translation. I have been gushing about this book on this blog before (you can also find the link to the publisher there), because for the archetypical ukrainian literature this book is a breath of fresh air. It's beautiful, it's modern, it's urbanistic, the protagonist is irredeemable asshole, it's amazing and I should re-read it as well.

Among the authors that are much more difficult to find, I greatly recommend Ivan Nechu-Levytsky. In my humble opinion, he like no other has managed to capture the "ukrainian spirit" and his plots are extremely captivating and dramatic as hell.

I will always, always add Ivan Bahryiany to my lists of ukrainian "must reads". He is an author of the first ever ukrainian adventure novel Tiger Trappers/The Hunters and the Hunted, which is the book that is loved even by those who don't like ukrainian literature. However, I personally find his Garden of Gethsemane to be a much more important (but take care, it is much more depressing as well). This author is extremely important, but I struggle finding PDFs of his work - perhaps, you'd have to search the libraries or ukr diaspora publishers for paperbacks. I have also been unsuccessfully hunting for an english translation of Why I am not going back to the Soviet Union? pamphlet for years - and I know for sure it exists because the USA first lady at that time has read it and it influenced her opinion on the USSR - but I've had no luck so far.

Another very important author of the same time period is Mykola Khyvylovy. One of his plays has actually been recently put to stage in English (shamefully, I haven't watched it yet, but I can vouch for the text it was based on - it's brutal).

I can't speak about ukrainian literature without mentioning crimean tatars, and although their works are much, much less known (in Ukraine as well, unfortunately), please do not overlook it. It is a gorgeous culture, and reading it, I grew to love and value Crimea so much even without ever visiting it. There are some english translations avaliable, including those of Noman Çelebicihan - an extermely important figure in Crimean Tatar history, the founder of the unfortunately short-lived Crimean Democratic Republic, the author of their national anthem, and overall very influential revolutionary.

Now let's jump to the popular modern authors. Many don't have english translation, but the problem is much less prominent in comparison to the ukrainian classics. With these authors, you shouldn't have trouble with finding paperbacks. Among the most influential authors I can recommend Serhiy Zhadan (Timothy Snyder has once said that he expects Zhadan to receive a Nobel Prize in literature and I agree), Oksana Zabuzhko (she either aught to release soon or has already released an english-exclusive book about the russian-ukrainian war), Yuri Izdryk (extremely modern and unconventional, but he's a good represention of the current state of art), Yuriy Andrukhovych (love his mastery of language, hate his characters). These authors are more light-hearted, but a grim necessity for today is Stanislav Aseyev's The Torture Camp on Paradise Street. It is a autobilgraphical book describing his experience being imprisoned by russians between 2017 and 2019. Western journalism often describes the war crimes russians commit on our land, but just listing the number of people lost doesn't show the face of the russian horror. Read this book to understand why we were screaming about the russian threat before the full-scale invasion, and why every time we regain the territory we brace with terror of what we'll discover there - because everywhere russian army goes, they build hunderds of such Isolyatsya camps that the book describes.

Also check out Serhiy Zhadan's band!

[slovo-kvnnt]

✦HEADCANONS by

Tf2 Freakshow.✦

<×(and small drawings of my Heancanons)×>

⚠️warning⚠️.

These ARE HEADCANONS, that is, they are not really canons of the characters and it is used for PERSONAL USE. nothing here is confirmed by the creators of different Freaks. but hey thanks for watching ;).

✦Panis cupcakes may not know how to read, write or even count well, but he is an excellent piano player.

(by the way I made these drawings of the different versions of painis cupcakes, includes my Heancanon).

✦Intelligent Heavy and Vagineer are the only ones with the sense of humor of...

MATHEMATICAL SCIENCES.

✦Both Cakehole and Pi$$ are fans of Naruto. And in fact, Cakehole is the vice-president of the Otaku Club and Handsome Rogue is the president-at-large.

✦Ass Pancakes is wondering if he's really straight.

that is why both Gentlemanspy, as Spyper and even his best friend, SoupCock Porkpie often call him "bisexual Dumbass".

✦Pi$$ cakehole unlike the others, he needs glasses to see from a distance or read more comfortably. But once Cakehole grabbed his glasses and half and part of the glass broke, so he had to fix it himself, and since that day nobody touches him.

and curiously, he is in a relationship with Cbs but let's say that his relationship is something... unusual

(and they both smoke marijuana, while Cakejole prefers cocaine)

a strange mix between obsession and hate... yes hehe...

✦Polite Spy when he has a specific feeling or emotion his eyes change color depending on what emotion it is.

✦Cps smokes in the church bathroom, yes literally everyone calls him a ...

H Y P O C R I T E

EVEN ERZENGEL, Karmasolly and Dream demo (rarely, but does).

✦Allright, we all know that erzengel and cps hate each other and it's for the same reason that cbs would HAVE to BE in hell. but let's say that he only defended him from his fate and that's it, arguments, fights, dissolution, etc., but even so Brutal and Pure are friends.

✦Karma Soldier and Lord Degroot used to be best friends until one day everything changed forever ...

✦Each Freak has his sexual orientation or how that Freak identifies.

for example, Soldine IDENTIFIES AS AN ORANGE CAR- okno( but they tend to make those kinds of jokes with Ghost, MSG, Orangeman, Cyborgneer and Medizard).

(I was thinking about digitizing but due to personal problems and mere laziness, I couldn't do it, and now I realized that I didn't color the pants from CBS XDDDDDD)

✦The Spyper Red, or simply Red. And his personality is the opposite, he is someone malevolent and a professional psychopath.

✦Medizard x Cakehole pi$$ is good

✦Demo Samedi and Samedi Spy are Haitian

✦Ghost doesn't like to be called "GHOSTY" (Major and Soldine never misses an opportunity to call it that).

✦Madic has a collection of pigeons in his laboratory and one of the birds he has is a raven named Lewis, after Major Lewis.

✦Cyborspy has CyborSoldier as a sex slave. not to specify their shady situations... but for now no one knows... FOR NOW.

CyborPyro has the appearance of a woman, because once everything was destroyed. The only thing they were able to recover was his head and some small parts of it.

Cybormedic cleverly spruced up its appearance and gave it some personality and the FemCyborPyro was born. her appearance is because it would be easier to distract her enemies using her female "Methods".

Fem/CyborPyro can be identified as both "SHE" and "HE" but can also be referred to as "they" or "It"

✦Cyborscout and Drunk Monk (actually this is Canon XD) are a couple. And they're planning a wedding, they just can't decide who the best man will be.

precisely MSG and cyborneer fight over that.

✦everything you saw here is an "AU" Alternate Universe (Slovo's AU).

a world where innocent respawners and mercenaries leave the servers empty and discolored.

The pacifist Freaks are more dangerous than the feared High Ranker, but their psycho mode or "killer instinct" is disabled, of course unless you want to unleash TRUE CHAOS.

Let's assume that the real danger would be the peaceful Freaks like Cps, I.H and Politespy ESPECIALLY.

So HECU, from time to time interrogate Freaks of this type and examine their way of thinking, socializing, defending themselves, and seeing the Tf2Freaks-Wolrd in their angle view ...

"So, those idiots over there *points to all the freaks, including Soldine and the entire HECU staff* are they one step from the far future?...."

yes... but not at the same time. My AU is in the 20's post 2001. Psycho Freaks lost interest in killing due to server inactivity and are getting more and more modernized, until reaching a "current" state.

HECU Staff Documentary Narrator: Everyone is in a neutral or peaceful state for now, but they miss the good old days...

[that-angry-noldo]

Sometimes I think about Ukrainian history in 20th century and I'm just hit with how much responsibility do I carry.

I think about all the resources that are accesable to me now. I think about all my relatives carrying my culture. I think about all the ways I am allowed to create, to write, to speak. And then I think back to the Executed Renaisaance, to Bykivnia and Solovki, to Slovo building, to Soviet crimes in general, and I realize that it could've been me. I could have been imprisoned for interest in my history, I could have been shot for loving my country, I could have been killed for carrying my culture. Hell, it's happening again, writers and artists and scientists being murdered, all for loving Ukraine.

And I want their death not to be in vain. I want to know as much about my history and culture as possible. I want to speak my language flawlessly. I want to know as many folk songs as I can. And it's a pity only a full-scale genocide made me realize it.

[theblankest123]

Someone please stop me ive finally started to translate a warrior cats book into my language (Slovak) for fun and my dumb ass had to choose Mapleshade's vengeance of all things. I have now translated like 6 pages of it and i am not stopping for the life of me.

The book was probably a bad pick, at least i feel like it is considering that if you haven't read anything about warriors, this is NOT a good starting point if you know nothing about the series, so if i wanted to talk about it outside the warriors circle i would have to explain so much, plus a big portion of chaper one is just the a kinda cheesy romance bs with Appledusk, and also Mapleshade's and Appledusk's names translate to Javorové šero and Jablčný súmrak, which are fairly long and fairly similar sounding (i have written Jablčné šero a few times already). And also the issues the book has and stuff.

I chose this book mostly because it's a novella, so it's relatively short (still 79 pages though, god help me), and a number of things are happening inside of it, so im not writing about 50 pages of cats travelling to bumfuck nowhere and getting bored, but it might still not have been the best idea??? But by gods im fucking doing it im gonna translate chapter one at the very least. Wish me luck!

Anyway, here are the allegiances of Mapleshade's vengeance, translated into Slovak, for your enjoyment!

Pomsta Javorového šera

Klan hromu

Vodca: Dubová hviezda - robustný hnedý kocúr s jantarovými očami

Zástupca: Včelí chvost - Tmavohnedý murovaný kocúr

Lekár: Havranie krídlo - malý čierny kocúr s modrími očami

Bojovníci: Javorové šero - hustosrstá oranžovo biela mačka s jantárovími očami

Jelenia škvrna - Sivočierna murovaná mačka

Učeň - Žihľavová laba

Pehavé prianie - strakatá zlatosrstá mačka s tmavo jantárovími očami

Kvitnúce srdce - šedý múrovaný kocúr

Semienková srsť - svetlohnedý a biely kocúr

Drozdí dráp - svetlohnedý múrovaný kocúr

Učni: Žihľavová laba - ryšavý kocúr

Starci: Zajačí kožuch - šedý múrovaný kocúr

(mačky nelistované, ale sú spomenuté alebo sa ešte narodia - Brezová tvár, Kvetinová laba, Smrekové mača, Zaplátané mača, Lupienkové mača)

Klan rieky

Vodca: Temná hviezda - čierna mačka

Zástupca: Pichlavý chvost - tmavošedý kocúr

Bojovníci: Dažďový pád - tenký šedý kocúr

Jablčný súmrak - bledohnedý kocúr so zelenými očami

Učeň: Ostriežová laba

Rákosový lesk - tmavo oranžová mačka

Mliečny kožuch - biela mačka

Šplechajúca šľapa - bledošedý kocúr

Úhorí chvost - šedočierna múrovaná mačka

Učni: Ostriežová laba - hustosrstý šedý kocúr

Klan tieňa

Lekár: Trnková srsť - čierny kocúr

Klan vetra

Lekár: Škovránkové krídlo - šedý múrovaný kocúr

Bojovníci: Rýchly let - bledošedý múrovaný kocúr

Komárový kožuch alebo Mušková srsť (midge=pakomár) - zaplataný hnedý kocúr

Mačky bez klanu

Myler - čiernobiely kocúr

A toď sú všetci. Jediný koho nemám meno premyslené je Midgepelt, ale on sa myslím ani neobjaví, či nemá žiadnu rolu, takže to je jedno s ním. Taktiež som si niesom istý na meno Larchkit a Petalkit (Smrekové mača a Lupienkové mača(znie to trocha ako cereálie?)), ale ich mená snáď sú v pohode.

Velmi sa mi zapáčilo meno Drozdí dráp, ale ten sa taktiež moc neukáže, rip

Neviem sa taktiež rozhodnúť na samom preloženom názve tejto novely. "Pomsta JŠ" je síce v pohode, ale kniha Vysokej hviezdy by sa mala taktiež volať "Pomsta VH". "Odveta javorového šera" by mohlo taktiež fungovať, aj keď neviem či slovo odveta sa úplne k tomu hodí? Možno zasa len špekulujem.

Tak či tak toto asi dokazuje, že myslím to nejak tak vážne, že s týmto akože niečo robím 😅. 6 strán + 2 strany mien není až tak veľa ale je to začiatok, a už som blýzko dokončenia prvej kapitoly.

Dúfam, že tento post možno nájde nejakého človeka, ktorého zaujal :)

[wolviecat]

Fic Stats Meme

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and your fic with the least amount of words.

I've been tagged by @nimata-beroya, thank you!

Most hits

Let me care about you (The Bad Batch)

It took Hunter long - way too long - to notice it. That weird, sickly sweet smell filling the air aboard the Marauder.

Second most kudos

The way you remember it (Mandalorian)

Luke woke up in the middle of the night feeling that something was wrong. The place in the bed next to him, where Din was supposed to be, was empty.

Third most comments

Netopýři, metaláci, a žáby se zubama (Stranger things x Comeback)

Při cestě od Jezevce Ozzák špatně zahnul a narazil v parku na někoho, koho by člověk u nás asi nečekal. Eddie sice neumí ani slovo česky, ale je to metalák, a metalák metaláka v nouzi nenechá.

(Crossover between Stranger Things and Czech sitcom Comeback, where Eddie is saved by Ozzák, Comeback's metalhead)

Fourth most bookmarks

The first duty of a prisoner (Andor/Rogue One)

Cassian's locked up, in a dark, unable to move, unable to escape. What do they want from him? He's not sure. He just know he can't break.

Fifth most words

DMD - Klonové války (Clone wars)

A series of drabbles from a drabble writing contest, starring my OC

But as this is a series of really short stories, then:

Voice in the dark (The Bad Batch)

There is someone else in the infirmary. Nala Se never talks to them, or even acknowledges them, but Crosshair can hear them breathing.

Least words

Either

Noční můry (Hamilton)

Jackie míval noční můry. Jenom obvykle ne takové...

Or

Trochu ohledupnosti, pánové! (Clone wars)

Klonoví vojáci si se soukromím moc hlavu nelámou. Ale co je moc, to je příliš - zvlášť, když dochází teplá voda.

[unearthlore]

Old thing for @/slovo-kvnnt :)

Ko-fi | Commissions | Writing blog | YouTube

[porcelainester]

30 days writing challenge 1/ 30

DEN 1 - Na téma: Popište svoji osobnost

Začínal školní rok a protože naší třídě byla přidělena nová třídní učitelka, neváhala a hned začala se slovy: “Vítám vás v novém školním roce a zároveň doufám, že to spolu v klidu zvládneme. Pro začátek se představíme.” Pak začala číst jména z třídní knihy v červených ulepených deskách. A protože v béčku, kam jsem byla zařazena (obyčejná třída pro děti co nehráli na hudební nástroj ani se zapáleně nevěnovali sportu a neb byli jen z průměrných rodinných poměrů), nebylo dítě jehož příjmení by začínalo na magické písmeno “A”, celý seznam se četl počínaje písmenem “B”. “Tak Bisová Natálie k tabuli,” s nalepeným úsměvem se rozhlédla po rozdováděné třídě, páchnoucí po starém salámu a upocených nohách. A mě vrazila kudlu přímo do středu rychle se vzdouvající a zase klesající hrudě. Pak všichni ztichli a jen dvojice super girls sedící v druhé lavici si cosi špitla. S roztřepanýma rukama a lehce pokropena potem jsem se pomalu zvedla ze židle u lavice úplně na konci řady u okna. Se skřípáním starých parket jsem došla k tabuli a zakymácela se nejistotou jako bych v sobě měla pul litr vodky. Tu jsem ve svých dvanácti pochopitelně ještě nikdy ani neochutnala, říci pro mě alespoň svoje jméno bylo nesmírně těžké, natož se představit nějak hlouběji. Tichým hlasem nakonec pronáším své jméno a třídní hlahol nabírá na voltáži.

Útočící teplo, vysávajíc elegantnost pomalu sláblo. Jemný silon halil pomyslnou bublinu festivalového Brna. Zakrýval tak veškeré nedokonalosti a poskytoval alibi všem opilcům na Hlavním nádraží. S vzdušným krokem jsme míjeli lačné pohledy napudrovaných posilkářů, emočně načančaných pubertálních holčiček, znuděných hipsterů a podivínů v roztrhaných kabátech.

Zachytila jsem jeho pohled a hned mi bylo jasné, že on i partička vedle něj působí v pohodě. “Kam jdeš,” volal kamarád k mými mizejícím zádům davu. Během chvilky jsme stáli u trojice kamarádů na nádvoří galerie. “Dobrý den, já jsem Natálie,” podávám si s nimi ruku a s tím co se opírá o hranu parapetu barokního okna držím stisk o něco déle.

“Hele ona je fakt divná a jak se jí třepou ruce,” směje se Lucka a Gábina ze třetí lavice se hned přidává.

“Vypadá sympaticky, vy se, už od někud znáte?” Ptá se nejstarší z partičky kamarádů toho v tmavě modrém tričku.

“Tak nám ještě něco o sobě řekni, co tě baví, jaké máš kroužky, čím by jsi chtěla být, až vyrosteš,” zpražila mě přes tenké brýle paní učitelka.

Suchým hrdlem jsem ze sebe vysypala: ”Ráda maluji, s oblibou čtu knížky, třeba teď mám rozečtený čtvrtý díl Harryho Pottera.”

Ozvala se další vlna smíchu.

Vrátila jsem se z návštěvy toalety v přilehlé kavárně a cestou vzala ještě jedu velkou dvanáctku. Usmála jsem se, pořád tam stáli. Napila jsem se piva a nabídla hlt tomu se zářivýma očima.“Fitzgerald zní zajímavě, četla jsi Gatsbyho?” Polkl a jeho pohled se mi vrýval do hlavy.“Ano, jedna z mých oblíbených knížek, ale věděl jsi, že první Francisův román nebyl Krásní a prokletí, ale je jím titul Na prahu ráje,” pronesla jsem.

A skok zpět.

“Ráda bych jednou byla módní návrhářkou a měla vlastní firmu,” huhlala jsem do země.“Dobře běž si sednout,” drahá paní učitelka si polkla a hned se dala do čtení dalšího jména z daadvaceti místného seznamu.

“Víš píšu jenom do šuplíku a obrazy mám u matky ve sklepě, prý jí zabírají místo a nemá si kam dát sezóní boty,” usmála jsem se na něj na rudo namalovanými rty.

V téhle chvíli jsem měla pocit, že se nemusím úpěnlivě představovat, dávat si pozor na jazyk, zapůsobit. Na druhou stranu jsem cítila jak každé mé slovo vnímá.

Později jsem muži s chlapeckým úsměvem vyprávěla o drobných momentech, popisovala jsem mu jak jsem během letní brigády ráda sedávala na schodech kavárny, zatímco se nahříval kávovar a poslouchala hukot přijíždějících trhovců. Líčila jsem mu svoji nebojácnost a kladla důraz na fakt, že se o sebe dokážu postarat. Při čechrání jeho vlasů, popisovala svoji lásku k umění. A během večerů s dlouhou svící se svěřila jak jsem bývala ustrašená, vždy snaživá a až přehnaně pečlivá.

“Neměla jsem žádné kamarády, ale ráda jsem chodila na procházky do polí a sbírala meruňky,” v této chvíli mezi potáhnutím z úzké cigarety jsem se tomu smála.

A zatímco v téhle části mého života mi charizmatický čtyřicátník slíbával rtěnku a obdivoval moji výřečnost a přehled, v jiném časoprostoru na mě křičela má matka.“Vypadáš jak škatula v těch šatech, jak na starou rašplu. A co to nádobí?” Ani se na mě nepodívala, jsem křičela a létala po bytě jako zmatený sršeň.Podívala jsem se na sebe do zrcadla, viděla jsem dospívající dívku, co se za každou cenu snaží být již dospělou, aby mohla pryč. Rezavé vlasy v uhlazeném drdolu, pouzdrové černé šaty a sako s možná až příliš dlouhými rukávy. Byla to klidná, pečlivá dívka, ráda vnímala detaily, pozorovala okolí a vysnívala si všemožné příběhy.

“Lásko, v těch šatech vypadáš nádherně. Ještě si vezmu svetr a můžeme vyrazit,” volal na mě můj muž z předsíně, zatímco jsem si vázala ještě polo-vlhké vlasy do drdolu.

“Co to jako má bejt?” Měřila si tmavýma očima obrázek v levném rámečku z IKEA. “To je v parku, je to malované akvarelem,” hlesla jsem. “Hm, takovou pitomost nikomu dát nemůžeš,” rozhodla matka a hodila objekt do koše. “A usměj se trochu, jseš furt nějaká přešlá, bledá,” natáhla se pro Ibalgin a tvářenku. Růžovou pilulku lupla do sebe a líčidlo hodila směrem ke mě: ”Se aspoň namaluj, když už jseš takový kopyto. Lenka, ta od Marty, vyhrála včera maraton v běhu.”

“Počkej, cože to je ono? Woow,” s nadšením koukal na plátno a hladil mě přitom na levé paži.“Jsi úžasná a pozorná, nikdy na nic nezapomeneš,” chválil mě manžel.

Napila jsem se kyselé kávy a pohlédla z okna. Pořád obdivuji drobné detaily, města, přírody, vesmíru.

“Jseš přecitlivělá, si dej radši víno a dej mi pokoj,” koulel očima můj bývalý přítel, když jsem mu horečnatě vysvětlovala, že musíme udělat změnu a polovičatá práce je k ničemu. V té době jsme se spolu snažili založit kavárnu.

“Jste velmi citlivá, vnímáte detaily a to se v naší branži hodí,” napřáhl ke mě svoji pravici, můj šéf.

Ještě jsem si dala hlt kyselého espressa. Jsem citlivá, povzdechla jsem si. Čas ubalit si cigaretu.

Někdy nepromluvím několik hodin a soustředěně tvořím, jindy nad cappuccinem máchám rukama a zpěvným hlasitým hlasem vyprávím kamarádce o spontální výpravě do zahraničí. Občas si přeji být neviditelná, třeba když procházím kolem pivnice na Jakubáku a cítím jak mi místí štamgasti čumí na prdel. Jindy bych zas rozmetala celou svoji energii kolem sebe, až do nebes a zapáleně prodiskutovala všechny možné cesty, způsoby a zhodnotila veškeré informace. Zcela dobrovolně a s oblibou občas propadám melancholii. Mým zaručeným lékem na lepší náladu jsou Red Hot Chili Peppers a věřím, že kočky čtou myšlenky. Musím mít kolem sebe organizovaný chaos a znervózňují mě křivé věci. Moji nejoblíbenější časovou kapslí je čas mezi koncem odpoledne a začínajícím večerem, v letních měsících obzvláště, když utichá žár dne, ale ještě nedivočí noční jezinky. Každé pečivo ulamuji, nikdy nic nezapíjím kávou ani ničím jiným, způsobuje to žaludeční vředy. Jako první se ráno napiju čisté vody, pak kávy a až pak sním sousto čehokoliv. Rovnám a vyhlazuji obaly od čokolád, mám sbírku drobností. Dodnes mě drží samolepková obsese. Poslouchám ve sluchátkách rock nebo metal, zatímco mi klapou lodičky o rozbité chodníky, cestou na schůzku. Nikdy nic nedoslazuji, nedosoluji, myslím, že život je hezký sám o sobě.

Každý mě vnímá jinak, skrze sebe a skrze naše společně prožité situace. A já zas jeho. V něčem je tento fakt úžasný. Jsme chodící zrcadla. Nemáte ten pocit?

[missionreconnect]

Kreativita v akci: od recycklování do řešení problémů

Kreativita - klíčové slovo těchto dní. Nejprve, jsme spojili kreativitu s recycklováním, zkoušeli přetvořit staré v nové, ale také zkoušeli různé kreativní způsoby řešení problémů. Poté, jsme si také vyzkoušeli akvitity z připravené Kreativní příručky zaměřené na tvůrčí psaní. Kreativní příručku tvoříme v rámci projektu Creative Playbook a bude k dispozici i v česká verzi. Pokud Vás téma kreativity zajímá můžete se těšit na podzim, kdy plánujeme další kreativní akce. Děkujeme Peťkafé za prostor. ... These days we were exploring the topic of creativity. Firstly, we connected creativity with recycling as we were turning old into new but also trying creative problem solving methods. After, we tried out several activities based on creative writing from the material that we are currently preparing within with Instytut Innowacji and Happy Playbooks within the project „Creative Playbook”,2021-1-PL01-KA220-YOU-000029256, that is co-funded by the European Union. If you are interested to explore creativity, as well. Follows us for updates.

[theelfmaiden]

A 500-followers' celebration!

My dearest followers, mutuals and friends,

500 followers have been lured and fallen into this pit of a blog and never tried to climb out! For the insane amount of time I've been here, I'd never imagined I'd have gotten to gather such a throng of people, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys are the stars that illuminate my journey here and my joy!

BUT, now, it's time tO CELEBRATE!!! 🥳🎉

✨The festivities' list!

🎉🎉🎉

🎨 'památníček' ('doodles') - let me doodle something for you, you can choose from:

the Tolkien fandom (add a 🧙)

other fandoms (Dragon Age 🐉, the Witcher ⚔️, Detroit: Become Human 👥 and many more!)

non-fandom (❌),

📝 'chvilka poezie' ('poetry') - let me write a short poem for you,

❓ 'AZ-kvíz' ('Q&A') - ... that speaks for itself,

🗣️ 'máte slovo' ('debates') - pick a topic, 🧙 or ❌, and let's debate, opinions matter!

🎶 'hitparáda eso' ('music') - let me pick a song for you and let's vibe!

🎉🎉🎉

Again, thank you all, who have ever interacted with anything posted on this blog, who helped me to share and spread love and positive vibes! SPECIAL thanks to those who support me in my art endeavours - you're a big factor in my efforts to improve this skill and create enjoyable content! EXTRA SPECIAL thanks go to my mutuals and friends: @jane-logan, @armenelols, @a-funeral-pyre, @thespiritoflife, @themugshotexperience31, @hanarinhightown, @iminye, @yellow-feathered-faerie, @wigilda, @erdariel, @almuerdesayuno, @toadstoolillustrations, @prastevnik, @mortomary, @fight-me-kant, @anki-of-beleriand, @boromirthedad, @grunid, @burning-quesadilla and @athena-the-destroyer! 💕 I hope I didn't forget anybody, if I did, consider yourself tagged and appreciated!

Let the celebration begin! 🥳🎉

You can send me requests 'til the end of January, I'll try to fulfill your wishes either during or after the given period, 'cause I'm only a mere human being. If desired, you can attend the festivities anonymously. Also, concerning the debates and Q&A, please be decent! Let's behave like mature people should.

[slovoricbutbetter]

How to Get a Shot of Heaven: Guide for Boys with Fear of Needles

this is a vaguely (very vaguely. it's the Vibes toward the very end) forcemascing fictional story with just some random ocs i pulled from the ether :D

all i can guarantee is that the prose will be decent and maybe the banter will be cute but otherwise i don't know what i'm doing ✨ enjoy the story, 's under the cut !! 4014 words (written in one sitting so quality mileage may vary)

cws: religious trauma (mostly lightheartedly referenced, but very much omnipresent, gets more prevalent toward the end. worth mentioning, jay (pov character) got it in a cult), mentions of sexism and transphobia, kidnapping if you squint, needles and sirynges, Vaguely Horny Vibes further in but not straight away

Much to Jeremiah's surprise, he's largely unaffected by jet lag.

It's odd; his first ever flight, a transatlantic one at that, and all it took for him to shake off the morning after was throwing cold water in his face. If not for Adam looking halfway ran over as he checks the milk's expiration date and curses, Jay would've thought nothing of it, but apparently it's a blessing and the only good reason for Jeremiah to believe in God. Bit dramatic, but sure, whatever. Not like he'd know better.

Having abandoned the fridge in favour of the cabinets, Adam shuts another one with a groan. "I can't believe I have to feed you dry cereal on your first fucking day here. D'you prefer chocolate or fruity and would you be merciful enough to make me choke to death on whichever one you choose?"

Jeremiah snorts. "Can't believe a billionaire eats worse than I did living out of a car." He pushes off the wall, wandering over to the fridge, and examines its remarkably barren, cold insides, "Do they take your 'capable of basic self-care and housekeeping' card once you're masculine enough, or something?"

"Firstly, not a billionaire yet and won't become one if I have anything to say about it. Secondly, you've got it backwards. I'm incompetent because of my wealth, not in spite of it." Good-natured, Adam peeks from around the fridge door in all his mussed, squinty glory, "Men do tend to be encouraged to do jack shit even when they know how, though. 'S called 'toxic masculinity', doubt you've heard of it."

Humming affirmation, Jeremiah takes out a crate of eggs stationed lonesome on the top shelf and checks the date. "Do you have oil, flour and sugar? We could make pancakes."

Adam furrows his brows, like his appearance needs more creases. "Don't you need milk for those? That shit's been spoiled for over a week."

"Heat banishes the sin out of it or something, we'll be fine." Eggs and milk in hand, Jeremiah shuts the fridge with his foot and sets them down, taking the scan for supplies into his own hands. First thing he finds upon opening a top cabinet right next to the fridge is plates, stale-smelling spices, and, for whatever reason, the aforementioned cereal. This place is in desperate need of a full re-arranging, isn't it?

"... Okay, if we swap 'sin' for 'bacteria' that does make sense. You weren't kidding when you said they taught you pure fucking bollocks, huh?" Having got out the oil- olive, not ideal but workable- while Jeremiah was busy with plates, Adam stares at him with what Jay can only assume is highly crumpled scientific fascination.

Jay nods. "Dinosaurs are a scam invented to make people sin and all humans on the flat Earth came from a guy who coincidentally shares your name, yes." In the next cabinet, there's cups, glasses, a single fancy goblet and, on the top shelf, pans, "But hey, at least I know how to organise a kitchen."

"I know where everything is! Look, flour and sugar, record time." Adam says, muscles flexing as he pointedly slams the two largely unopened paper bags down next to the milk and eggs. Because flour is involved, he immediately sneezes.

"Your cereal probably tastes like paprika at this point. Now get out of the kitchen you're paying me to run and let me salvage your pathetic homemaking, shoo." Poking Adam in the chest with a pan, Jeremiah shoulders past him to get to more cabinets. Next one mostly has a myriad snacks and sugary drinks, though because it's ran by Adam, there's random soup bowls in there, too.

As Jay rummages around for a mixing bowl, Adam hovers. He's so rarely recognisably awkward, shameless as he is, his shuffling is even more distracting than it'd normally be. Mixing bowl found- though it's meant to be a salad bowl or something equivalent, judging by the fancy design- Jeremiah turns to glare over his shoulder.

Adam twiddles his thumbs under his ire. "Are you... Sure it's not too uncomfortable? You know, dysphoria and all, 's probably weird to be acting a housewife for a guy you just met three days ago."

Huh. Jeremiah blinks. Looks down at himself.

Even holding a fancy bowl in front of a stacked kitchen counter, the sight is far less nauseating than usual, his chest flattened and hairy legs covered halfway by cargo shorts. He sucks in his lips, worries at them, sets the bowl down. Breathes. Turns, and smirks as he faces Adam. "I'd be more concerned about the three days part than the housewife part, if I were you." He pinches at the loose fabric of his t-shirt, lifting it away, "More seriously though, that binder thingy helps, it's fine."

Squinting blearily, Adam holds up his wrist to check his watch. "You've been awake... How much longer than me, again?" 

Uh? "About an hour? Well, a bit more than that, but I first checked the time an hour before you started puttering."

Adam nods, tapping something into his watch. "And you've been wearing the binder that entire time?"

Oh, right. "Yeah, showered and put it on. That's five more hours, if I remember correctly?"

Adam looks up. "Four and a half. Can I make coffee?"

"Excuse me? Where'd the half hour go?" Crossing his arms, Jeremiah narrows his eyes. Mostly playfully. Excuse him for enjoying the high of a better fitting body.

"We've been hanging out. Don't cry, you can have your dysphoria hoodie even if you'll boil, but I'm not letting you fuck up your ribs. Now, coffee? Would you mind if I used ice cream instead of milk or would you just prefer it black?" Back at the counters, Adam squats, opening a bottom cabinet.

Jeremiah huffs. "Ice cream's good, but not too much. And sure, try and convince me you were responsible when you got your first binder." Measuring flour with a literal cup, he pours it into the bowl. No sieve, whatever; he'll just mix like he's trying to make a death vortex.

With a heavy thud, Adam sets a fancy, massive coffee maker on a nearby counter and stares blankly ahead. After a beat, he smiles. "I was, actually. I'm paranoid, remember?" His cheekiness almost masks the deep eye bags he's boasting.

Huffing again, Jay goes back to measuring sugar. "Who would've thought the biggest, most relevant inconsistency I'd have to face off with would be that weird degenerates are also sicklers for rules."

"Not all of us!" Adam laughs, brighter, "Though admittedly most do try to stay safe as much as possible." He puts coffee beans in a grinder, shutting the lid, "Loud, prepare yourself."

Even with the warning, Jeremiah flinches while cracking the eggs into a soup bowl to beat. He's found a whisk by the time Adam finishes with the deliciously fragrant but not worth the noise coffee beans, started to work at it even; before Adam can comment, he turns to him with the most judgemental face he can muster. "Why do you have a whisk and not a sieve?"

A bit more life to his face, Adam blushes. "I, uh, used to. Have one, that is."

"You lost it?" Opening the milk, Jay asks, amused, "Oh, this has started clotting. How are you this much of a disaster, good sir?"

Adam groans, setting up the coffee machine with whatever ancient magic required to make it work. "We're going to get stomach bugs and die."

"Better than paprika-flavoured cereal." Light, Jeremiah snorts, "It'll be fine, expired milk actually makes pancakes taste better. Probably that bacteria you mentioned, whatever it may be."

A beep, and Adam leaves the coffee for the refrigerator, probably to get his ice cream. "Fair. Bacteria is what turns milk into sour cream and cottage cheese, so, probably fine." He says, playfully exasperated, "If we die, though, I'm beating your ass in hell." And bonks Jay over the head with the frigid box of vanilla he got, which is frankly unnecessary. Jeremiah sticks his tongue out, and focuses on eviscerating the last clots in the egg and milk mixture.

For the rest of the preparations, they're both quiet, though Adam does start to mutter some tune under his nose. He even dances once he's done distributing the ice cream between mugs, completely uncaring of Jeremiah's not so subtle staring.

... It rides up his t-shirt, which, while never particularly modest given he paired it with only boxers, still did more to cover him before he raised his arms. Jeremiah's not staring, but it's hard not to see that he's- he's got a bulge, which, Jay has noticed earlier- not for any perverse reasons!- but- how's it not a trick of light? Adam's the same as Jay, isn't he??

Does that mean Jeremiah could one day- whipping his eyes back down to the pancake batter, Jay mixes with all the carefully controlled violence he's capable of. This is fine. Everything is fine. Adam promised to help him along with whatever aspect of 'transition' he needs or wants, so. All fine!

Thankfully for Jeremiah's mortification, Adam doesn't initiate conversation when handing him his coffee nor when stealing freshly cooked pancakes before Jay's done frying them all. At the same time, unfortunately, Adam is hovering far too close and taking his turn to stare. Since turning up the heat would do nothing but burn the remaining batter, all Jeremiah can do about it is try to distract himself while he's still busy.

Adam's cup clicks against the fancy, tiled counter top, empty by the sound of things.

"So... You say the binder helps you feel better even when you're doing 'womanly' shit? Quotation marks, nothing's inherently womanly or whatever. D'you... Would you be willing to try something even more masculinising? Since you're gonna be doing mostly domestic work around here." Fiddling with his hands, Adam stares, head cocked and lips pursed.

Oh. Jeremiah takes a deep breath. "It's that hormone you take, yeah?Tesrone- uh, whatever it's called."

"Testosterone!" Brighter in a blink, Adam leans closer, "Yeah, it's that. Makes you more hairy, changes your fat distribution to be more masculine, makes muscle gain easier and drops your voice, among the most immediately noticeable changes. D'you wanna know more?" He's shining, brown-bronze eyes crinkled and grin sharp and fox-like. 

Deep breath, again. More or less needlessly flipping the pancakes, just to check they've cooked on both sides, Jeremiah bites his lip. "Mhm. Is this a faustian bargain type of deal?" He asks, unloading the pancakes onto the plate.

"Oh, absolutely. One hand, you get a will to live and a body that feels more yours, but on the other, male pattern baldness and bad skin. Look at this shit!" Adam leans in, lifting his messy and admittedly slightly greasy raven hair from covering his forehead, "I'm only twenty six, and it's already killing me." Playful, he combs the hair back in place with his fingers, and upleans closer to Jay's face, "Also, you get a T-dick." Mock-whispering, he hides his teeth behind a pointy smile, face as though composed of impish edges.

A T-dick-

Adam laughs, bouncing back with another stolen pancake. He gets a little crumb in his sharply trimmed beard as he takes a bite, and in his washed up, stretched out moon design t-shirt draping a bit oddly over his warm tan, he looks startlingly like any other guy; could Jeremiah get the same?

Swallowing, Adam wipes his chin, taking the crumb off with it. "I'd show you, but I've already got surgery so it wouldn't be a good example. Eh, there's pictures online and shit." He shrugs, "Everything else, you can pretty much just see looking at me. Except, I get hot and hungry more easily? Hm, my endurance got worse, but as I said, muscle grows faster and more defined with less effort, so it's not a terrible trade-off. There's ways to mitigate the hair loss and whatnot-"

"How do I get it?" Jay cuts him off, putting the pan in the sink and taking a pancake for himself. His coffee, predictably, got cold while he was cooking. Still, hiding in a coffee mug is more unassuming than staring at the floor, probably.

"I've got to take my shot for today, still." More subdued yet clearly still smiling, Adam tears off a chunk of pancake, seemingly swallowing without chewing like the terrible creature he is, "Wouldn't be much trouble giving you a dose, too."

Oh, Lord. No, Adam was wrong, the jet lag immunity isn't the only good proof for a loving God. The real proof is that Jeremiah managed to set his sights on pickpocketing the one man who would give him all this in return for coming clean.

Although- "Shot? Like, needles?"

For a split second furrowing his brows, Adam brightens again, swallowing another small chunk of pancake. "Yeah, but if you hate getting stabbed, 's not a big deal. There's gel and pills, too! We'd have to wait a bit before we get them, though, since I don't use those. You're lucky I'm the founder-owner-CEO-whatever of an NGO that deals with transition and stuff, it'd be harder to get our hands on more T without going the legal route. That's not only a while longer, but also, scary as fuck if you escaped some technically-legal abusive environment, which you did, so. Lucky! I'll figure out a way to get you some-"

"I'd like to try now." Jeremiah interrupts, again. Tenses up. Impolite.

Smiling so widely it must hurt, Adam strides over, puts the plucked pancake back on the plate and pokes non-too-gently under Jay's ribs. "I was trying to buy time for my impulsive ass, this is not proper risk-aware medical practice. But, I'm also not going back on my word, so, let me go print out an informational leaflet so we can at least pretend I'm not breaking the law, yeah?"

"You flew me here in a private jet specifically to bypass the customs." Unimpressed, Jeremiah crosses one arm over his toro and takes a bite of his own half-forgotten food. It gets him a rough mussing of his freshly cut hair and, predictably, no response other than laughter as Adam shoves his head and takes off sprinting out the room.

Huffing lightly, amused, Jay finally takes a sip of his barely tepid coffee. It's rich, deliciously bitter, and the vanilla does add a little something; he could convince Adam to make coffee with ice cream all the time, if he's lucky.

Or he could just make it himself, since he'll be working the kitchen. He glances at the imposing, shiny coffee machine.

... Maybe not.

By the time he's finishing the second pancake, Adam pokes into the kitchen, waving some pastel papers through the door. "It's done! Come find me in my room when you've finished, I'll be getting everything out meanwhile." With that, he's gone again, the stairs thudding under his feet.

Needless to say, Jeremiah swallows the rest of his pancake in possibly worse offence to nature than Adam did.

He forces himself to stretch to get the food to fall down at least somewhat, and tries to walk like a normal person. Keyword being 'tries'. Scaling the stairs two at a time, he paces with the biggest steps he can keep looking somewhat acceptable to polite society toward Adam's door; it's open, so Jay slips in easily.

At his vanity, Adam has arranged two medical-looking tiny bottles of clear liquid, a syringe, a bunch of bandaids and- and packed needles, okay, of course. With a deep breath, Jeremiah shuts the door, and goes to get the papers Adam has gestured him toward while rummaging in a med kit.

Most of the things on the pretty pastel infographics, Adam has mentioned, though there's also increased risk of some male-typical diseases such as cholesterol issues.

Just imagining himself with a careful beard, bigger, broader body, maybe even with a sharper jaw if he's lucky, has Jeremiah salivating too much to care much about some disease he has the smallest amount of knowledge on. He flips over to the final page-

Oh, that's what Adam meant by 'T-dick'. That. Does look sort of like a phallus. Good Lord. Jeremiah licks his lips. Yeah, no, he can deal with a needle for this. He glances over to Adam just in time to see him punch bubbles out of the assembled syringe.

That needle is sharp. Does Testosterone hurt? Jeremiah only got given shots once in his life, against his parents' will at that, and that hurt, and his parents hated it and tried to exorcise him and-

"Earth to Jeremiah?" Syringe lowered, Adam waves his free hand with furrowed brows and narrowed lips, "Are you sure you don't want to wait for gel? We can get you more informed and shit, and there won't be any needles involved. It's okay to take care of your brain first."

It's okay. Forcing himself to breathe, Jeremiah sets the pages down and takes a step closer. "You mentioned you need one, too? Could you do it on yourself first, then?" With his shoulders this tight and hands clutching at each other so hard in front of his chest, he must look like a prey animal. He swallows, shifts his arms to be crossed. A bit better.

Shifting his syringe-hand the slightest bit, Adam hums, light. "Sure, whatever. I do it on my left hip, usually." And, true to word, he lifts his t-shirt with his thumb and pushes his boxers down with the rest of his fingers, quick and practiced.

Taking a small turn to make his actions clearer, Adam brings the needle closer- he doesn't even flinch. Just injects, pulls out the needle, sets it down on a little napkin on the vanity and smoothly bandaids over the spot. He pulls his boxers back in place.

Sunny, Adam's smiling when Jeremiah finally looks back up to his face. "Better than coffee, I'm telling you. Coffee's for energy, this-" He pats his hip, "is for the will to use it. Does that make sense? 'M not a poet." Glancing around as though he's searching for something, he takes off to his closet, and pulls out a box from the bottom, "D'you wanna do it yourself or for me to do it? If me, I have an idea that might calm you."

Oh. Hm. Adam clearly knows what he's doing, so it's probably a better idea to have him take care of it. Plus, the idea of stabbing himself with a needle damn near makes Jeremiah's legs give out; is it even a choice when the answer's so obvious? "You, please. You know all of the safety precautions and such, it only- what's that?"

"Oh!" Showing off the sleek, shimmery green on one side and smooth black on the other item, Adam glows, "It's a blindfold. One of my employees got it for me after I've complained about struggling to sleep one too many times, but it turns out I hate being unable to see when my eyes are open, so I've put it in the shame box. I hear these help people calm down, and in your particular case, you won't have to see what I'm doing! So it'll probably be less scary."

Jay bites his lip, walks over to where Adam sits on the ground with the blindfold offered out. "It's shaped weird." Taking the thing, he turns it over, soft material weirdly attached. Are the sockets meant to cover the eyes?

"That's so it can block out the most light. I hated that, but who knows, it might work better for you." Up from the floor, Adam extends a hand asking for the blindfold back, looks up to Jeremiah's face and adjusts the sockets a bit. He raises it up, as though to put on Jay, before pausing, "Oh, would you like to do that yourself, actually? I should've asked before just going for it."

Adam will- have him blindfolded, specifically to inject him with a drug. What was it Jeremiah's parents used to say about strangers and why can't he bring himself to feel anything but warm anyway, as though a cosy fireplace heating his face, chest and abdomen?

... Too warm, mouth watering at the very idea of- Adam, his hands around Jay's head adjusting the straps that will hold the blindfold in place, body no doubt going at least somewhat flush with Jay because of their height difference or- or Jay bowing down-

Mechanically, gingerly, Jay takes the blindfold for himself and fits it over his eyes. Another, highly specific reason to believe in God is, his complexion makes it very hard to notice when he blushes, as deep and vivid as his skin is.

Given the heat in his cheeks, it may just be noticeable anyway- Adam pushes him, no, guides him until his back is to the wall. The vanity and the door are to the left of him, now, the closet to the right; focus on recalling what the room looks like, imagine it from this angle, it's fine.

A gentle touch lifts up his t-shirt a bit over his right hip, takes his hand up to hold it. Jeremiah didn't know heat could pool from his body and between his legs this fast, didn't know he could be so warm. His cargo shorts get pushed down on one side, his boxers follow, and Adam secures it in place with Jay's other hand; is it possible to get light-headed off touch?

"Count your breathing so you keep your stress in check, okay? Four or five for in, hold and out is good to start with." Cheerful as ever from a little bit to the left, Adam says. Jay forces his lungs to drag in air, so much colder than his body. Somehow, counting in his head does nothing to dissipate the heat, the soft simmer remaining even.

He counts as he breathes, overly aware of the whisper-crackle of needle packaging and the sound of a tiny glass bottle being lifted off tile. It clinks back down after another count of five, and the clatter of a nail against the plastic of a syringe rings twice. Two more counts, another short clack, Adam's steps walking over; the rabbit who took over Jeremiah's heart must've been running a race to get there.

Pressing into him, Adam pins Jay's right leg in place with his own. Warm, smelling of vanilla, coffee and something heavy, musky just underneath, he hums, probably meant in comfort. "Counting?"

Jeremiah hums back, nods. A cold swab that just swiped against his hip pulls back, callused fingers framing over where it was.

"Good. Now listen to me count and follow, okay? Right now, in. One, two, three, four, five-" Adam starts, there's a pinprick in Jay's hip, a weird pinch, Adam pulls his hand away, "-two, three, four five, you can let out your breath, now." The same hand, left, ruffles gently through Jeremiah's hair.

Breathing out slowly, like a balloon deflating, Jeremiah eases his muscles. Adam has pulled away; so, he pushes off the blindfold, looking over just in time to see the needles be thrown in the trash. He kind of really wants to slide down the wall, and a hug. Adam's scent lingers in his nostrils.

Scratch this being God, it can only be demonic temptation.

"Fears overcome, damn! Good job, Jay-Jay. Want me to go grab us a victory snack or something?" Packing up the med kit, Adam grins.

Well. Jeremiah was never heading for Heaven; might as well bask in the liquid salvation warming his veins while it lasts. Unsteady, he smiles back and gives a thumbs up. Adam tells him to wait on the bed.

He got so much more than he bargained for when trying to get money for groceries in the only way he could think of. 'Lucky' doesn't cut it; Jeremiah must be wickedly blessed, or maybe cursed.

So long as he gets to keep this, he doesn't care.

(author's note: yes, their names are jeremiah and adam. don't question it and don't read into the symbolism unless you wanna be disappointed (or to surprise me), because i sure didn't, i was just handed these names by The Brain and rolled with it WHEEZE)

[totakje]

náhodné poznatky z mého ročního života v centrálním Texasu mezi českými Texasany:

čeští Texasani jsou neuvěřitelné kombo neochvějného konzervatismu, amerického patriotismu, jižanské zdvořilosti, pohostinnosti, lehkého alkoholismu, silného náboženství, texaského drawlu, a suchého českého humoru. Kdo nezažil nikdy nepochopí jak toto funguje dohromady. Jsou úžasní. Ale taky děsiví.

čeští Texasani jsou z většiny kořeny Moraváci a jsou na to náležitě pyšní.

Češi (Moraváci) poprvé přišli ve větším počtu do Texasu v polovině 19. století – spousta jich umřela po cestě ale nakonec se usadili v centrálním Texasu a před tím než začala v Americe Občanská válka bylo jich skoro 1000. Co jsem tak pochopila, přišli z podobného důvodu jako všichni ostatní, aka American Dream dyja dyjá dá, ale taky z náboženských důvodů. Taky si myslím že ropa.

bylo mi řečeno, že hispánští imigranti si nemají na co stěžovat, protože první čeští imigranti v Texasu to měli taky těžký pže byli šikanováni ve škole a nikdo je nelitoval! Já: *sweats nervously*

(prej byli o stupeň níž než Irčani na žebříčku imigrantů, což mi ale přišlo jako zajímavý poznatek)

2. generace českých Texasanů (dnes buď skoro vymřelá nebo nad hrobem) buď neumí česky vůbec, protože na ně rodiče odmítali po emigraci mluvit (česky) a nebo česky umí ale mluví dialektem kterej už u nás neexistuje nebo pomalu (ale jistě) vymírá. Mluvit s nimi je zážitek na celý život.

3. generace českých Texasanů (aneb ta kterou jsem primárně učila češtinu, věkový průměr 60) češtinu slyšela občas od svých prarodičů, kteří se za ty roky trochu uvolnili, takže umí důležitá slova jako “pivo”, “pupek”, “kostel” a “doma” – jinak ticho po pěšině.

Na slova pupek a pupík byli z nějakého důvodu obzvláště upnutí.

Moji undergrad studenti na univerzitě (tedy už 5. generace českých Texasanů – ty jsem ovšem česky neučila, ty jsem měla na předmět Technical English Writing – yes really) – neuměli česky ani slovo a o svých kořenech neví nic a nezajímá je to protože se identifikují jako Američani; nicméně je strašně roztomilé když si čtete seznam svojí sekce a mezi jménama jako “Asleigh Campbell” a “Jesus Gonzales” najednou vyskočí “Emmet Vancura”

čeští Američani se velmi často berou mezi sebou

Jednou mi přišel týpek dát nový baterky do požárního hlásiče na bytě a řekl mi, že si jeho sestra vzala českýho Texasana (4. gen) a že svého syna chtěli pojmenovat česky tak aby to vyjadřovali sílu v souvislosti s ohněm… tak ho pojmenovali Vařič (píše se to teda Varic). True story. Neměla jsem to srdce mu říct co to znamená.

Jak už jsem zmínila, učila jsem v Texasu češtinu. Moji studenti byli převážně z té 3. generace. Byla to výzva z obou stran, jelikož oni uměli jenom “pupek” a já nejsem vzděláním učitelka češtiny.

Výuka probíhala v kostele.

Já (každý týden): do you want me to teach you the Moravian or the Bohemian version of that expression?

Já (zapomíná slovo feminine): well, you see, the chair is… a girl.

Já: well, you see, the endings change because…. ah hell, you’d never get it anyway. It just does and we’ll leave it at that. Oni: No, we wanna know! Show us! Já: *vysvětluje system pádových otázek, pot teče proudem* Oni: Ah. Ugh. Let’s not look into that anymore, then. We’ll never get it anyway! Já: ლ(ಠ益ಠლ).

Oni (zapřísáhlí republikáni s MAGA nálepkama na autech): Teach us something about current politics in the Czech Republic! Já: *sweats nervously* Já: let’s talk some more about pivo.

Strašně je bavilo učit se jména jídel a recepty a moc rádi vaří a někoho hostí. Představte si českou babičku (ne tu knihu, ale tu osobu) na steroidech. Jídlo všude. Furt.

Texaský kolaches prostě nejsou český koláče. Jsou to spíš takový buchty. Je to z jinýho těsta a když už to zvládne být z podobnýho těsta tak nam narvou párek nebo sýr (ne tvaroh ale slanej sýr) takže jsou to spíš takový česko-texaský prasata v županu. A frgály neumí vůbec. A tímto debatu uzavírám.

Přeci jen doplním: byla jsem porotkyně na kolache festivalu (což pro mě bylo jako pro veganku už samo o sobě fakt vzrůšo) kde hrála živá texaská dechovka – česky. Nejvíc adorable česko-texaská událost ever.

To jak vyslovovali slovo “koníčky” mě bude strašit ve snu ještě tak deset let.

Slivovici se říká “slivo” (čti zakulacené o jako ve slově “hello”) a buď se kupuje Jelínek v liquor storech a nebo se pašuje domácí z Moravy letadlem (aneb když jste rozpoznatelně bílí – nebo v mém případě až nemocně bledí – v Houstonu na letišti vám nikdo zavazadlo prohledávat nebude, ozkoušeno mnou).

v USA existuje soutěž krásy které se účastní jenom Američanky s českými a slovenskými kořeny (v krojích). Najděte si to.

čeští Texasani jsou silně nábožensky založení (hodně jich je členy Unity of the Brethren nebo jsou Moravští Katolíci) a fakt že jsem ateistka (a moje naléhání že většina země je) nesli velmi těžce. I tak mě zvládli dotáhnout na několik kázání, protože prostě nedokázali pochopit, že to není normální součást mýho života. Me: *sweats nervously in church*.

shrnu to tím, že pro český Texasany byste dýchali ale ten cringe je holt občas silnější.

Jestli máte nějaké dopňující otázky o Texasu a českých Texasanech, klidně se ptejte, buď pod příspěvkem nebo v asks, ráda se podělím o víc poznatků! :)

[2wnikiangel]

Day 15 : Wish / Přání

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci             Lengt: Oneshot, 6.500+ words           Rating: T (Teen and Up Audience) Warning: None Parning(s): pre-Enjolras/Grantaire (Enjoltaire), implied mutual crush Combeferre/Jehan, implied ex-boyfriends Grantaire/Montparnasse       Character(s): Enjolras, Grantaire, Jehan, Combeferre, Joly, Bossuet, Montparnasse, Cat Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Crackfic For “The Miserable(s) Month” by @themiserablesmonth​.

Když se Enjolras ráno probudil, jako první cítil neskonalou bolest hlavy. Zabručel a pokusil se přetočit na druhou stranu gauče, aby mu nesvítilo světlo do očí. Místo toho ale z gauče spadl. Čekal velkou ránu, možná úder do hlavy o stolek vedle pohovky, nebo jen nepříjemnou bolest po pádu na dlaždice; ale nic z toho se nestalo. Místo toho cítil jen chladný dotek na svých rukách. A nohou. Byl to zvláštní pocit, jako kdyby klečel na dlaních a chodidlech. Zamrkal a otevřel oči. Celý se ošil. Viděl až moc ostře, přitom si byl jistý, že už to bylo několik měsíců, co si říkal, že si musí koupit brýle nebo kontaktní čočky, protože začínal vidět trochu jako v mlze. Vždy na to zapomněl. Co ho ale více zaujalo byly dvě zlaté kočičí packy, které viděl před sebou. Co to kurva, chtěl říct, ale z jeho úst se vydralo jen slabé: „Mňau?“ x  When Enjolras woke up in the morning, the first he felt was an endless headache. He grunted and tried to turn to the other side of the couch so the light didn't shine in his eyes. Instead, he fell off the couch. He was expecting a big blow, perhaps a blow to the head on the table next to the sofa, or just an unpleasant pain after falling on the tiles; but none of that happened. Instead, he felt only a cold touch on his hands. And feet. It was a strange feeling, as if he were kneeling on his palms and soles. He blinked and opened his eyes. He freaked out. He could see too sharply, but he was sure it had been several months since he had said he had to buy glasses or contact lenses, because he was beginning to see a little like in a  fog. He always forgot about it. But what fascinated him more were the two golden cat paws he saw in front of him. What the fuck, he wanted to say, but only a faint sound came out of his mouth: “Meow?” 

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: Začíná mě dohánět únava a přijde mi, že v téhle výzvě nebude nic absurdnějšího než dnešní povídka. Původně jsem ji ani napsat nechtěla a k dnešnímu tématu jsem chtěla napsat něco více filozofického, ale jakmile jsem se dala do psaní, o slovo se přihlásila má absurdní část osobnosti, která se rozhodla napsat asi nejzvláštnější, krátkou povídku, kterou zatím na svém seznamu mám. (A pořád si říkám, že pokud toto shledávám "nejzvláštnějším", jsem na tom vlastně ještě dobře). Snad už ji nic nepřekoná (I když bych asi teď měla přiznat, že podobnou ale na Grantaira, už nějakou dobu v seznamu nápadů mám). Tak vám přeji krásné počtení a kdyby vás to hodně zajímalo - Enjolras v dnešní kapitole vypadá [takhle]

A/N ENG: I'm getting tired and I find that there will be nothing more absurd in this challenge than today's story. Originally, I didn't even want to write it, and I wanted to write something more philosophical about today's theme, but as soon as I started writing, my absurd part of the personality decided to write about the strangest, short story I have on my list. (And I keep thinking that if I find this the "weirdest", I'm still fine). Perhaps nothing will surpass it anymore (Although I should probably admit now that I have a similar story for Grantaire, I have been on the list of ideas for some time). So I wish you a beautiful reading and if you are very interested - Enjolras looks [like this] in today's chapter.

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[myvalzpival]

Fanfic otázkohra: H, I, N, S, T?

tak zaprvé, jsem osobně uražen, žes z toho neudělala slovo HINTS, ale nějak to přežiju :D  děkuju

H: How would you describe your style?

krátkovětný. krátký věty dělaj divy a odmítám se jich vzdát. 

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

selfindulgence is my middle name. píšu o tom, co mám rád a o tom, co chci sám číst. a rád čtu fanfikce, který píšou ostatní ze stejnýho důvodu, je to hrozně moc poznat :) prostě chci, aby si užívali všichni, jak pisálek, tak čtenářek. takže, abych to shrnul, veškerý čtení a psaní je vlastně jedno velký guilty pleasure.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

hele já jsem prostě jen rád za každej smut co na ao3 je, protože já to prostě psát n e b u d u. :D

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

hurt-comfort. a odmítám to číst, pokud obě postavy nesdílí pouze jednu mozkovou buňku a nejsou naprosto tupý. B^)

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

cokoliv s příbuzenskou láskou :/ incest? ne, děkuju, raději cokoliv jinýho bez lodě.

[patrycjaplich]

Patrycja Plich

The topologies of totality

Text installation, 12 texts pieces

Karazin University, Residents of the Universe program, YermilovCentre, 2019

The project in process is a reference to the history of Karazin University as an architectural assumption, its character of construction and functioning structure. The centrifugal point is the main hall located on the ground floor of the building. Its mirror construction (two identical parts located on two sides of the main entrance) is a space to reflect on the duality of perception. As a space between, a transient and temporary place, associated with movement but also waiting, led me to reflect on the importance of how the building stores information. The history of the University is not a history of walls, as architecture it retains its function, it is a refuge for the science. I am interested in stories of people, a direct meeting, and even a minimal influence on people passing by this space.

Conducting research and observations of this space, I am not able to directly communicate with everyone, so I leave a fraction of what I have come up to so far, I create contact, the possibility of distorting the common use of this space.

The title of the project indicates interest in the issue of totality, a view of all changes and processes occurring in this space. My interests concern how architecture determines the way of being in it. The modernist assumption of the structure became the starting point. The text is in places that I considered the least tamed by passers-by, are slightly hidden and not obvious. The text itself in a metaphorical way speaks about our behaviors of staying in different spaces. Starting from the meaning of Ukraine as a place to which I regularly come and to which I naturally got involved through the meaning of the text. Carrying out research on the Slovo Building and a project at the Zakarpattia Hotel in Uzghorod, each time dealing with the meaning of word and architecture, Karazin University has become another reference point for working with writing in the context of being in the space. Other references appearing in the text are the motif of the written word itself, how we remember it, how we combine it with spatial memory. The text is also basically an auto-narrative representation of my initial inquiry process.

The project assumes the continuation, at the level of text development as well as the very study of the contexts of Ukrainian architecture.

[hubermansclock-blog]

Didi-Huberman uses a metaphor of clocks and emphasizes that we will only understand how they run after it has been broken down into parts, and writes: "This is a dual mode that describes the word dismantling: on one side a whirling fall, on the other an understanding, a structural deconstruction." The new space can be "more real" than reality, revealing new, previously invisible and at the same time making it more special. . . . Didi-Huberman používá metaforu hodin a zdůrazňuje, že jejich chod pochopíme až poté, co je rozložíme na součástky, a píše: „Takový je tedy dvojí režim, který popisuje slovo rozmontovat: na jedné straně vířivý pád, na straně druhé porozumění, strukturální dekonstrukce.“ Nový prostor tak může být „skutečnější“ než skutečnost, odkrývá nové, dříve neviditelné a zároveň jej ozvláštňuje.

SVATOŇOVÁ, Kateřina. Odpoutané obrazy: archeologie českého virtuálního prostoru. Praha: Academia, 2013. Vizuální studia. ISBN 978-80-200-2273-8., s.193