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wench-and-jezebel · 2 years

Text

Howl’s Moving Castle Reaction:

Jezebel (@typicalopposite) reacts [with occasional asides by Wench (@scripted-downfall)]

Wench’s Note: the first half of this was reacting to the original. About halfway through, we switched to the English dub. We didn’t mark it though, so… fun ‘lil guessing game :)

Second Wench's Note: Also, the book comes up quite a bit and, while I've read the book before, it was a longggg time ago. If there are any false statements... apologies. Feel free to let me know (politely)!

– – –

Welp… Title already makes sense

Mood lady! I hate hats *sigh* I don’t have the right head shape

She just looks so grumpy

How did she not see that guard to begin with?

Oh shit blobs! Tf?

Oooo he flies

Ye this is normal… Just walking on air… As one does

No– No one– NO ONE SAW THIS??? Like… THEY WERE JUST FLYING [He probably has some kind of glamor up tbf. Or he just… Doesn't care.] ☠️☠️☠️☠️ [He's a bit of a show-off, tbh] I would be too tbf if I could just fecking fly

The fucking men just be popping up everywhere

Blobssss [Blobs]

Wait she’s the old lady right? [Ma'am, I say nada]

Le gasp

Well… damn

Bruh.

BRUH! SEE IF I WOULD HAVE WAITED TWO SECONDS!! EVERYTIMEEEEEE!!!

I feel ya, Sophie, I feellll yaaaaa

She is handling this…. Surprisingly well [Perks of magical realism, tbh; they know wizards exist, and they know abt the witch, and-] Fair!

Oh noooo!

☠️☠️☠️☠️ A 90 year old … You don’t say

Poor Sophie 🥺🥺🥺

MOOOOD SOPHIE!!! ISS ME. And my kids are the witch 😭 they made me old

Ma’am… you’re old. Maybe hiking a mountain is not a good idea [She gotta go on her trademark Studio Ghibli quest]

Le gasp! A scurrrcrow

[Did you see what he's carrying] Well damn 🥺 [Man Scarecrow brought her a cane] That’s wholesome

“Can you bring me a house…” And he left… Scarecrow: I gotchu ol lady

[He knows where to find her one… He done brought her a house] 😭😭😭

IT’S GONNA SIT ON HER

Oh, or not 🤣

Jumppppp Sophie

[Turnip-Head brought her her shawl :)] 💕💕💕 I love him [You gonna love the next anthropomorphic being more]

Ooooo I see fire 🙂

[In case this hasn't registered, btw... she just invaded a wizard's home. His very feared castle. And sat down. And stoked the fire.] ☠️☠️☠️ Fair

Calcifer! (Casifer 🤔😂)

Ooop she ded [This really is you… She fell asleep mid-conversation] ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️ MOOOD SOPHIEEEEE! I feel ya boo! I feel ya

Ooooo that noooseee

A child

I sat down and cracked like that ☠️☠️☠️ I feel like I’m resonating with this movie in the wrong way 😭☠️🤣 [Then the moral will resonate too] I even have a shawl like that ☠️ [That... is not the moral]

So they are afraid of him but he’s not bad [They are afraid of the Wizard Howl, yes. BUT. As I think is clear, they're not clear on who, exactly, Howl is] Ahhh! I see. Makes sense [If you saw, Markl just answered messages for both Wizards Jenkins and Pendragon]

Giant house comes creeping down the road… I’d be scurrrd too… but I’m guessing a bit thing is not to judge by appearances

Oh damn

[Pay attention to Calcifer being cute] I’m a DeMon…

The kids like… shit all I had to do was lay a pan on him

OH HE’SSSS HOWL [!!!] LE GASPPP

[Calcifer monch on eggshells :)] THE NOISEEEE 💕💕💕💕😭😭😭🤣🤣🤣🤣 Meh oi eh

Imma eat my steak like that! If I stop responding … Hubby killed me (Kidding)

[Did I mention Sophie is just amazing? She legit just invaded a scary wizard's house... and told him it was filthy... to his face] ☠️☠️☠️🤣🤣🤣 Very true

Ooooof

Just know! Now my husband’s gonna expect me to watch anime in… not English… with him. And I full blame you 😤 [GOOD] My brain be struggling to do it all [Get good]

Ancient sorcery! The worst kind

[Calcifer get bacon :)] Me meh mi meh

[Dang, Sophie, be nice. Calcifer told you that you couldn't talk about it alksdfj] Women! They never listen 🤣

Oh shit! Ok lady strength

["A witch rages within" Poor Calcifer :(] Poor Calcifer indeed

He fly again

Grumpy

Markl’s too cute [Buddy, whatchu hiding?] Also true

Uh oh. He ain’t there to not let her get carried away

Oh SHIT IT’S THE BOYS BATHROOM

[He's so cute :)]

SCARECROW [He's called Turnip, the Turnip-Head actually. According to Sophie.]

BRUH That seems not sturdy [Ma'am, stop overthinking the magical castle] Shhhh [No]

Ahhh I seee

🥺🥺🥺 Wench this better have a happy ending ‘cause, minus the curse, it’s too happy [Hmph. I say nothing] *opens google* try me Wench [You can't multitask that much and we both know it] *tells husband to open google* TRY ME — er, US — Wench

[Literally as we speak, you're missing that Howl is a bird] Oh shit! Howl is a bird! [alkdsfjlakdf no shit]

Oh them toes

There is so much 😭😮‍💨 Sooo much happening

[You don't seem to have caught that she was young again] I– I didn’t 😭 Is she young when she sleeps? [She was young when he checked on her as she slept, yes.] Bruh the witch is a biiiiitch! What kinda curse is thatttt [I didn't say what was going on; I said it was what happened. Shush and watch]

BLOB [Blob] BLOB

“AHHHHH!!!” [You remember your prediction about Markl not paying attention when she went cleaning?] YES- OH NOOOOO [There ya go… I love this lil drama queen]

P- poor ☠️☠️☠️ poor howl [And btw… when I say drama queen… ] Buddy [...I mean DRAMA QUEEN] Budddy!!!! [Man's calling on the Spirits of Darkness because of his hair dye] ☠️☠️☠️☠️ ACk

Oooop- she’s looking younger! SO CONFUSING

[Turnip-Head brought her an umbrellaaaaaaa]

BUDDDY [Did I mention “drama queen”?]

Ah the rain too

Booty ☠️ [Ma'am, mind out of the gutter] It wasn’t in the gutter. It was on the screennnn! [Bitch-]

[His room be prettyyyyy] It issss. It’s a lot though

[btw, this is the English dub for that conversation: (Sophie): "Howl, why is the Witch of the Waste trying to hunt you down?" (Howl): "She was once quite beautiful, so I decided to pursue her. Then I realied she wasn’t, so, as usual, I ran away." For information purposes]

Hmmm, the sigh

[His hair is magical] *Simultaneously* His hairrrr tho [I want it]

Ooop-

THE FUCK IS THIS DOG?!?! [I say nothingggg] Full Metal Alchemist vibessss

OH GOSH THIS WOMAN

["Thanks to him, I've become a cleaning lady" Bitch, that was either the Witch's fault or your own decision; you just kinda... announced it to Howl] ☠️☠️☠️☠️ Right?!

Blobbbssss [Blobs go bye-bye] Blobs blobbed

Poor dog [*simultaneously* Poor pupper] Is struggling [SBC] He’s like halpppp

Tf [Who carries a dog like that tho 😭]

The guardsss

I’m dying. Well, actually THEY are dying. Im laughing.

That’s just not normal

[SHE SAID WENCH! SHE USED MY NAME IN VAIN!] ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

That would be me tho… Im tired for them *sigh*

[Ma'am be lying to the Witch of the Wastes]

Ooooooof [Feels bad. Like... she's awful but also :(]

She is saying she is his mother? … [Yeah, that's their strategy. Well, Howl's strategy] Ackles movie vibessss [Ma'am, shush] I can’t think of the name [Devour. But also no] My brain has too many tabs open

Well damn [:(]

[Sophie is awesome] YESSS [The pupper's eyes tho alkdsjf]

She be getting younger

Ooop- Fangirl [The Witch is also pathetically adorable alksdjf]

Oooop I might understand the curse now

[Oof- That bluff went badly] ☠️☠️

Howl!

WHATS HAPPENING! [That was the King. The current plotline is that the King is demanding Howl (as Howl, as Jenkins, and as Pendragon) report for, essentially, a magical draft to fight in the war. (This is magical realism, so magic is kinda commonplace.) The first version of the King has been revealed to be Howl trying to bluff his way out of the war without breaking his oath to report when needed. This got broken because a) she knew who he was already but b) the real King walked in and was like. Hey. Good?] Yes! 🙂 thank you lool!

The dark hair’s nice tho [I knowwwwww] Noooo the witch ☠️☠️

This shit is crazyyyyyy [Welcome to Studio Ghibli] Fucking animeeeeee [I'm now making you watch Spirited Away btw]

[Parallels to their first meetinggggg] True lol

Ooooo scurrryy

They fly [Many times]

Dog said he's out too

Oooo such a scurry demon... gets summoned with the heart [OH SHIT THE MEANING TO THAT!!! I'll explain later]

The fucking witch in the back thooo… Just smiles

Ma'am, you know she's not his mom... stahp [You really were scarred by Devour, huh?] Yes

[They destroying his door :(]

[Markllllll He’s so cute]

Bruh [Poor Calcifer :(] The house just ate them. I’m ded

That’s adorable… Also, she younger! Not young, but younger

So, is emotion a factor?

Ooooop- She very young. [Yup, even when awake] She young and he's a bird… Ladyhawke vibes

🥺 [He has a nest]

[BRUH LKDSJF;LAKDSJF THAT WAS BATMAN. Like, I knew English version was Christian Bale, but that was Batman] It is loool… except bird man

Wait, Calcifer sounds familiar too [He's Mike Wazowski, I think. iirc] Le gasp!

Double le gasp! My emojis! I cannot use them!

The- The house. Has. A tongue.

[BRUH THE MEANING! Okay, I’ll explain shit later.]

So is she just.... good now? [Her deal with the demon possessing her was broken… So kinda] Ahhh

Sir! He's so happy! [I love him in this scene. He's pretty :)]

THIS! I love this scene!

Jumpscare

Well damn

But also like… If the witch that cursed Sophie is now kinda irrelevant, how does the curse get broken?

[He made her her own shop :)]

Ooop- The voice changes are giving me whiplash [It's helping you keep track of her age tho]

BUT HOW DOES THE CURSE GET BROKEN?! [Bitch, just watch… HE MADE HER A WHOLE LOCATION OKAY PAY ATTENTION TO THE SWEETNESS] I AMMM 💕💕😭😭

And young again

Kay 😍

His fucking hair length changes as much as her voice. And appearance [IT'S ALL MAGIC; JUST SHUSH]

[This be concerning buddy. It feels like giving away your possessionssss] 😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢 (I found the emojis) [Did I mention that all of my faves are apparently concerningly risky with themselves] Maam your type... is concerning [Shhhh. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything] Mhhmmmn

[Howl, buddy. You won't fight in the war, but you just... fought in the war.]

Ooooop-

Tf??? Flying tadpoles [The entities in these films are awesomely weird okay? Like These Dudes (below)] Awwwwww

Sophie, why are you pedaling, ma’am

Awwww

[ALSKDJF;LSAKFDJ THE MEANING!!! Remind me to explain] Ok lol

She gonna die… She's become too likable. *Sighhhh*

Oh damn I thought they were sisters 💀 [I thought they were. I think they were in the book. It might be a nickname] They were in the other verison

[She better not have hurt Calcifer :( I forget if she did but.]

Le gasp Well DAMN! The bitch! [I think her husband was a hostage, ma'am] Aaaand? hmph

Awwwwwwwwww my heart

Bruh [Oh shit she does seem to have hurt Calcifer :(] Her whole personality changed [She lost the demon, woman, so no wonder] Yeah, but she was being so nice. What changed? I thought losing the demon made her nice [Oh, I see... Just... file it under things to discuss in endpoint if not answered] Ok lol

[Blobs] Blobs

Ooooof they are gonna have strange babies [Ma'am, he's not actually a bird]

["You're alive!" Shades of Westley/Buttercup: "If you want I could fly!"]

[She just put the cigar out on his handddd 😭] Right?!?!

Edddieeeeee vibeessssss [*simultaneously* EDDIE-CODED :( Okay, actually. Fuckkkkkkkk maybe not SPN fusion. Maybe ST fusion.] 😭😭😭😭😭😭 [I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes] Well fuck now that songs stuck in my head [adslfjaldskfj good]

Oh shit ["Looks like Howl's in trouble" My dear, when is he not?]

["I preferred him as a coward" *sigh* Don't we all? (That's Steve's "Don't be cute")] 😭😭😭 Stapppp I cantttt [*This* one has a happy ending tho]

I'm soooooooo confused with the witch lady [I’ll explain (I think)]

Oh shit [Moving castle go bye bye :(] 😭😭😭😢 Welp Encanto vibes [KLJALKDSJFLAKSFDJ HOW DARE]

This movie has fucjing unlocked umpteen fic ideas [I KNOW]

This girl is gonna get him ded [I'm saying nothing] Le Gasp! (Also gaddamnnnn this tablet)

[Calcifer et her hair to be stronggggg.] Noooo the pecs! When he was lifting the wood [What is it with fictional haircuts being so cool, f'real] I knowwwww

Oooop-

[Poor Howl :(]

Well damn [There's so much symbolism I'm gonna cry]

Like.... Maybe it's just me but I would have let her burn [asdflkjaldskfj] 🤷‍♀️

[Pupper still doing stuff]

Um. “What if I killed Howl?” They BOTH told you it would. I caught it even in a different language. Wot do you meannnn?! [Trueeee] Also gotta love how she doesn't care she killed Calcifer just that she might have killed Howl [alskdfj]

[This be Very Important btw]

He’s gotta pee lady

[Oh look it's the Supernatural season 8 finale] ☠️☠️☠️

Oooop- [He monch the star] The wheeze tho [From him or the dog ☠️] The dog ☠️☠️

["Find me in the future" Remember how the first thing he said to her was "I've been looking everywhere for you?" :)] Yeasssss

[Howl be not looking so good]

Burujhhhhh them feettttt! That was meant to be spelled bad ‘cause… damn

[These scenes were very different in the book, btw; tell you at endpoint]

That. That was easier than expected. ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

[Honestly, I still feel like SPN would work better, but I could do a ST one-shot from just that other scene]

[No fuckkkkk but the SPN vibes are killing me; explain later]

Awwwww [Calcifer be so happy :)]

[Turnip saved them!] Yusssss [But he not responding :(] Nooooooo

Ahhhhh… yussssss again!

[Ma'am, it's not the heart that’s so heavy; you're sitting on him ☠️]

Well damn

“Big boy” [LAJSD;LFKJADF]

[Doggo betrayed evil witch woman :)]

The wheezing

New meaning to the phrase “Hot lips”

Awwwww

[Oh my god my head is killing me with the fic planning... I'ma be ranting later] Yesssss

– – –

Jezebel: OH SWEET IPHONE DISCORD I MISSED YIU

Wench: Your typing Has Not Improved

Jezebel: YOU KJOWBWHAT? 🖕🏼

Wench: You prove my point (For those not aware of the editing process, btw, I do a cursory spell/punctuation check as we go most times, as much as I can do without falling behind. The above^ would be a lot more common if I didn’t. Y’all are welcome!) ANYWAY. Endpoint

Jezebel: That was adorable!!! I may just rewatch fully in English ☠️☠️☠️ And by may… I will ☠️🤣🤣 Eventually

Wench: asldkjfalkdsfj

Jezebel: But the fic possibilities are endlessssss omg

Wench: TSCH! Ma'am, that's reserved for not-endpoint-reaction!! No spoilers!

Jezebel: I knowwwww. Was just saying! But omg ok explain the bipolar witch please! Cause the amount of things that gave me whiplash in this movie… Were a many

Wench: I mean, I think her personality was just… shifting. She'd lost the demon, so she wasn't as corrupted by power, but she was still questing for Howl's heart. I do think that her proximity to power restored her a bit to her earlier self (and when she was smoking the cigar she apparently got from Suliman), which is why you noticed her being a bit more her at times when she was near Howl… but it's all within her normal character

Jezebel: Ok fair!

Wench: As for the things I was saying I'd explain now, btw... They keep foreshadowing the reveal about his heart. Like, there are blatant bits (e.g. her earlier note saying something along the lines of "You who swallowed a falling star, o' heartless man, your heart shall soon be mine.") But there were smaller things. Like the Witch being so focused on Calcifer, talking so regularly about "oh, what a pretty fire." I'm sure it was partly because the fire *was* pretty, but when you know that she was questing for Howl's heart, it's got a second layer.

Jezebel: Ooooo! I thought it was just her being old and senile ☠️

Wench: Also, the heart reveal renders other things increasingly significant too. Like the metaphors of the Witch trying to get at his heart, and it burning her when she tried... something something she tried to steal his heart and control it but it didn't work, whereas Sophie had been connecting with it from the very beginning. Or him telling Sophie that the way to get HIS RING to work and lead her home was to call out to Calcifer with her heart... Which was his heart... Connect the dots :)

Jezebel: Oooooooooh 💕💕💕🥺🥺

Wench: Also, an interesting thing... Like I said, the book is quite different. It's one of the few adaptations, actually, that changes A Bunch about the original story but I just... can't be that mad about it. Because the story isn't the same, but it's awesome anyway.

Jezebel: Ooooh? Interesting :)

Wench: Yup! And one such example is that they explicitly state what's going on with Sophie. Sophie isn't just this ordinary girl. Or, well... She is, but she isn't. She was a hatter, like in the film, and she usually talked to the hats. It's explained that she would tell them what their owners would be like as she made them. (One example is when she tells a hat that its owner would have a heart of gold and someone would fall in love with them for it)

Jezebel: That’s adorable thoooo

Wench: And whatever she said would come true. But she was also highly determined to be the Eldest Daughter. Which means she'd stay at home, tend to the business, never ever ever seek any adventure, etc. So she has this magic... and nonetheless sets about using it to have nothing happen to her ever, quite without knowing it.

Jezebel: Ack! So the exact thing she doesn’t want is exactly what happens ☠️☠️🤣🤣

Wench: Precisely! And that magic is the explanation for a lot of what goes on in the story. It's why the scarecrow comes to life, for example. And it's also the reason she's able to separate Howl/Calcifer without either dying. In the book, she asks if she can separate them and Calcifer says that he thinks he'd die if anyone else did it, but he knows she's talked life into things before so, if anyone could do it, she could. And she outright says "Have another thousand years" before pinching them apart so Calcifer will survive.

Jezebel: So the scarecrow’s not a prince in the book?

Wench: I don’t think so. The scarecrow and the prince are two separate entities, and the prince has a far more gruesome fate. I don’t fully remember enough to say more, but I’m pretty sure they’re separate. She talks them both to life, though, so in that sense, it kinda works.

Jezebel: Ooooop! Well damn! I see! Oh, and, as for endpoint… Ummmmm I have forgotten how to endpoint. Halp!

Wench: Give thoughts. Did you like it?

Jezebel: Ummm I LOVED it. It was so gooooood!

Wench: Aight… Elaborate on that :)

Jezebel: And cute and confusing sometimes but also sad and then happy. Also why was he a bird man? I think I missed that part

Wench: It was just one of his spells. It helped him fight the largely air-based battle. But it was an anthropomorphic spell, and he ran the risk of not recalling how to switch back each time he did it

Jezebel: Ohhhhh. Ummmm… Did it ever explain Sophie’s cure being broken or was it ever broken?

Wench: Ah, right, so… complicated. First off: the Witch's deal with the demon thing was basicallyyyyy that she got the power to cast curses but couldn't uncurse them. Or at least, I think that's it, and that's how I've interpreted it. So she couldn't change Sophie back. I thinkkk, in large part, Sophie was eventually talking herself into the curse. Like I said --- and as she's shown in the movie --- she's very doubtful and not-confident throughout the story… And she also had this magical power that let her control reality, within reason. So, basically, she was expecting herself to be an old woman, and thus she was. That's why she was young whenever she wasn't consciously focused on the fact that "oh, yeah, I'm old" (e.g. while she was asleep, when she'd woken up but was more focused on what was going on with Howl and his nest than what he was doing, etc). And whenever she feels more confident/less like she's not worth much, the spell wanes further. So, whenever the Markl calls her "family," whenever she's dwelling on love for Howl, etc. And then, at the end, she's still got the silver hair because technically she's still cursed (or, at least, that's how I interpret it), but she's confident in who she is/where she's going/who she's with, so she's perpetually talking herself out of the curse.

Jezebel: Ahhh! Ok that makes sense! I was like…. Have they forgotten ma’am is cursed ☠️🤣

Wench: Also, bit of fun fact, parallel, etc… Howl tells her, at the end, that her hair is like starlight. And Calcifer was a falling star who was holding custody of his heart. So Sophie at the end of the movie is the new bearer of his heart 😭

Jezebel: 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 Awwwwww

Wench: I love this movie alskdjflkasjfd

Jezebel: It is veryyyyy goooood

Wench: Any more to say for endpoint?

Jezebel: Honestly not that I can think of! But I did love it!! 💕💕💕💕😭😭😭

Wench: Aight... what's next on our react schedule, you think?

Jezebel: Hmmmmm 🤷🏻‍♀️ 🤣🤣

Wench: Bitch, I just sent the excel! You don’t pick one, I will. And you likely won’t like it.

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Ummmmm… DA?

Wench: Aight, folks, you heard her! ‘Til then!

#howl's moving castle #howls moving castle #hmc #hmc movie #hmc book #(but less so)#sophie hatter #howl pendragon #howl jenkins pendragon #calcifer #markl hmc #reactions #movie reactions #jezebel (pr)

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pilferingapples · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I'm so sorry if this question comes off as stupid or uninformed, but I've always had it since I've read Les Mis... how does Bahorel manage his expenses? He comes from a peasant background and I'm guessing his parents weren't able to endow him with much wealth. Yet, he's been enrolling (though not attending) in law classes for eight years, so he must be paying for each year's tuition. I don't have the book on me, but I think I remember it saying that he had a fair bit of money to spend (or maybe I'm remembering that wrong.) But where does he get all this money from? Does he have a job? Or maybe I'm just stupid and farmers do get paid well? I don't know.

..Ok, you know what, Nonny? Not only are you not at all stupid, attempting to answer this question has rocked the very foundations of my understanding of what's going on here! Herein is a Mystery!! Indeed I cannot give you an answer, but I hope you'll journey with me as I explore some New (to me!) Questions!

So , first off, the Known Facts:

Bahorel's parents are peasants! The narration in 3.4.1 says so:

Il avait des parents paysans (he had peasant parents)

and Bahorel, in 3.4.1 , says so :

Il disait d'eux: Ce sont des paysans, et non des bourgeois; c'est pour cela qu'ils ont de l'intelligence (he said of them: They are peasants, and not bourgeois; that is why they're intelligent)

And peasants are of course kind of famously Not Very Wealthy ,but...

Il mangeait à rien faire une assez grosse pension, quelque chose comme trois mille francs.

and here the plot thickens and i enter the land of Linguistic Mystery!

Hapgood translates that line as :

He wasted a tolerably large allowance, something like three thousand francs a year, in doing nothing.

Donougher says

He consumed quite a considerable allowance, something like three thousand francs a year, doing nothing.

Rose:

He ate up a fairly large allowance, something like three thousand francs, doing nothing.

FMA:

Doing nothing he ate up a rather large allowance, something like three thousand francs.

Now I don't have my Wilbour with me, and I don't care what Denny says, but either way, the trend is clear, right? Every translator says "allowance" . Every translator says "allowance" ! And in modern English (and Rose and Donougher at the least are very definitely trying to be modern English friendly!) "allowance", in this context, would mean money from the family-- the allowance for a young adult in college. Right?

This is what I assumed! This is what everyone I know assumed !

BUT IT MIGHT BE WRONG?!?

look again at the French:

Il mangeait à rien faire une assez grosse pension, quelque chose comme trois mille francs.

The part being translated as "a large allowance" is "une assez gross pension". And that is not the French word for allowance! At least, not in the "money from home" sense.

What IS the word for "allowance" (in the money-from-parents sense)? Well, there are a lot of options. Allocation, indemnité, (those two are the words specifically used in examples about students getting money from home!) argent de poche. But pension doesn't seem to be it!

What does "pension" mean? Well, it can mean the money paid to a school or hotel for upkeep--but that would be money that was paid to the school , not something Bahorel was free to use on "nothing" (and also Paris law school was not a boarding school!); it really really doesn't work in context here, and seems to have been an unusual usage anyway.

Aside from that, and a far more common use, a pension was almost always used to mean...well, a pension ! an amount of money paid regularly by the government or a former employer, or paid out regularly from an individual's personal savings/investments.

So if I'm right about this reading of it (and I might not be!) , I think the question hidden in Bahorel's intro isn't "how can his parents afford to support him" but "how the heck is Bahorel, who is , realistically, all of 29 at most, and has been a student for 11 years, already getting a pension ??"

Most of the options seem iffy-- a job he did well enough at that they felt obligated to give him a pension at 2- years old, but didn't want to stay at?? a careful savings accumulated when he was what, 10?? --but there's certainly room for ideas there! (and yes I have indeed been having a lot of fun batting ridiculous theories around with friends today, but--)

I suspect the easiest answer on this is the one Hugo was probably thinking of-- a pension from the government for some sort of Art. That was the first source of financial stability for Hugo when he was in his 20s, after all-- a small but reliable pension for his first volume of poetry-- and he does frame Bahorel as being a very active Romantic, which sort of implies some sort of artistic output.

(...if that's right, it means Bahorel is fighting passionately to overthrow the government that's paying him a regular stipend. He can't be bought out!XD)

Anyway! I was going to get into theories on how Bahorel's parents could be supporting him, but now I think..honestly...they may not be?? Thank you for this question , you've caused me to reassess a very well-known passage! (sources used: Linguee, Wordreference, the 19C word enteries from this collection of dictionary entries over the decades!)

#Bahorel talk #long post #albeit under the cut #Nonny this has rattled my world thank you #I am very open to kind feedback on this !#sorry if anything's unclear! been researching all night and I am falling asleep

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

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Day 2 of @spnprideweek and part 2 of sobrenatural fic

Dean ended up coming home a little sooner than he should have, but he didn’t want to lose the shower to Sam. He didn’t want to be sweaty and cochino for his not date with Cas.

Maybe he should have cooled it with the cumbia, making it too obvious that Dean was in a good mood because as soon as he was heading out the door—smelling great, he may add—su Tio called him over to the kitchen.

“¡Oye! ¿A dónde vas tan cambiado?” Tio Bobby was by the stove, smashing the beans for dinner, as he raised his eyebrows at Dean. Sam was standing by the sink peeling tomatillos as he cranes his neck to look over at Dean.

“Dude, what did you do? Break the damn cologne bottle?”

“Es mucho?” Dean lifted his arm to smell himself. “It’s fine!”

“¿Me vas a contestar?” Bobby threw in some whole chiles into the beans and let them simmer away. “¿Quieres que te hable en inglés? Where are you going, niño feo?”

“Estas siego, viejo!” Dean walked over to the small mirror that hung on the wall. You can barely see yourself in it because of the Jesus painting on it, but it still worked. “I’m just going out with some friends.”

“Mmm.” Bobby hummed in reply, going back to turn off the beans once they looked how he wanted it. “Llévate a tu hermano.”

“Tio!” Dean turns around, wide-eyed and heart racing. “I can’t take Sam!”

“I’ll go get my coat!” Sam rinsed off his sticky hands and started to walk out of the kitchen, but Dean grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in close. Pinning him down against his chest, which was difficult considering the kid is a damn giant.

“You aren’t coming with,” Dean mutters to him before begging Bobby again. “Tio, I’ll take Sammy with me tomorrow! Nomas hoy no.”

“¿Y porque no?”

Dean looks between curious eyes, not knowing how to explain himself. He can’t say he’s going out with a friend cause then there would be no reason why Sam couldn’t tag along. But he didn’t want to come out to his Tio and brother now! Fuck that shit; he’ll just lie.

[continue reading under the tab or on ao3]

“I’m going to meet up with Cassie.” Technically true.

Bobby’s eyes widened, and Sam’s grin grew while he wiggled himself free from Dean’s grip. They both liked Cassie and were mad at Dean for breaking things up between them. However, it wasn’t tough when Cassie rarely gave him any attention, always busy with work and school. She had to know Dean was holding her back, so he broke it off. She was mad at him for a while but ultimately thanked him for doing something she didn’t have the courage to do. Rumors still spread, though, because of course, they do, about Dean cheating, but he didn’t care much about those.

Su Tio, though, cared a lot. Dean has to constantly remind him that Dean didn’t cheat on her, and he just broke it off cause Cassie was too smart for him.

Cas is probably too smart for him too.

“Okay, pues, have fun! Bring her home to say hi.” Bobby practically pushed him out the door with Sam happily towering behind him with the same annoying grin.

Dean wondered how disappointed they would be if they found out he was going out with a guy instead.

Dean drove to Cas’s house, waiting outside a few minutes before seven. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Does he honk the horn, or is that too rude? Should he park and get out of the car to knock? That seemed too much like a date thing. And he still wasn’t sure if this was a date or two not-strangers hanging out.

He stayed in the middle of the street, unsure of what to do until finally, the front door opened, and Cas stepped out with a jacked hanging on his arm. He stood outside and squinted at the car before tilting his body down to check if that was Dean.

Dean’s panic from before melted away while he nervously waved at Cas. He saw Cas’s eyes widen with a slow-growing grin before he practically ran over to Dean.

As soon as Cas opened the door, Dean felt so sure that there was nothing more right than having Cas sitting in his passenger side.

“You ready to go, Angelito?” Dean looked Cas over; he’s dressed in dark jeans and a grey long sleeve. He has never seen Cas in anything but that rumpled old suit. He never minded the suit, but now he wished he could burn it because all that suit did was hide Cas’s muscled body. Dean couldn’t stop the whistle that escaped his lips as he said, “Mira! You look good, Cas.”

The compliment was shocking to them both, for Dean especially. He awkwardly cleared his throat while trying to think of an excuse. Maybe even use the whole English as a second language excuse, but Cas quietly responded with a, “Thanks, Dean. You look pretty good yourself.”

And maybe those words broke him. He knew he was attractive but having Cas say that made his head spin.

“Your car is beautiful, by the way. I wasn’t sure if that was you in here.”

“Did you expect me to come in that bike?” Dean jokes before slowly driving away from the house, Los Angeles Azules playing softly on the radio did not make things any less awkward.

“I don’t know what I expected. I’m just glad you came, Dean.”

Dean stopped at the end of the block and turned towards the guy sitting beside him. Cas was already looking at him with puppy dog eyes and a beautiful, hopeful smile. His breath catches in his throat as his mind gets overwhelmed with wanting to reach out and touch Cas. Just to make sure the beautiful boy in his passenger seat was real and make sure que su corazon isn’t just playing games with him.

Instead, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel, fingers burning in protest, as he melts into Cas’s smile. Wanting to relax and just be with him for tonight, not caring que alguien lo va mirar. Enjoy this non-date that looks like it has the chance to become an actual one.

But is that what Dean actually wanted?

“Dean,” Cas reached over to gently touch his arm as if knowing that Dean’s mind had wandered off. He looked hesitant, as if not sure if he was allowed to. “Do you want to go eat? We can if you want.”

Dean looked down at the hand that was burning him through his clothes, knowing damn well that Cas was giving him the chance to make this into something more. Algo que se sentía que iba a ser cósmico en su vida. Y Dean quería eso en su vida.

“Yeah,” Dean answered both questions. His hand loosened on the wheel before he reached over to take Cas’s hand in his. Hearing Cas’s breath catch in a gasp, but he didn’t look up at him; instead, Dean twined their fingers together before letting them sit in the seat between them. Dean focused back on the road before turning left to his side of town. “I got the perfect place. Te va gustar! You’re not like vegan or anything, right?”

“No.” Dean turned to catch Cas looking at him still and knew they were both feeling the same excited electricity that clouded the car just by the giddiness in his voice. “Where are you taking me on our, oh um…Oh! primero! Primero date, Dean?”

Ahi esta! La confirmación que necesitaba. This is an actual date! Pero, las palabras no le dieron pánico. No. Instead, Dean squeezed Cas’s hand as he laughed, feeling like he would just fly away if he didn’t hold on.

“You passed high school Spanish, Cas?”

“I did, but google translate did most of the work.”

When Dean parked outside the familiar food truck, he squeezed Cas’s hand once before they got out. They walked together, bumping shoulders while their hands stayed buried in their pockets. Cas didn’t question their lack of touch; instead, he smiled up at Dean as he listened to him rave about his friend Victor’s food.

“Not as good as mine, but it’s good,” Dean adds as they make it to the front of the window, where Victor can hear him.

“Cabron!” Victor said with no fire in his tone but a growing grin across his face. He held his hand out for Dean to take for a handshake. “Nice to see you, primo. Where’s Sam?”

“Lo deje en la casa!” When Dean took a step back, he put his arm around Cas’s shoulder to squeeze him close. “Pero, I brought a new customer.”

“Hi.” Cas looked a little shaken up, and Dean just wanted to lean closer to leave a kiss on his cheek, but he restrained. No necesita mas chisme circling around about him. “I’m Cas.”

“Victor.” Victor raised an eyebrow at him but reached over to shake Cas’s hand in response. “What can I get you and the pendejo around you?”

“Oh. Dean isn’t-” Cas frowned over at Dean, but Dean just shook his head, letting him know that it was okay. Cas squinted at him before he gave a small smile, not understanding but accepting. “You order for me?”

“Sure, Angelito. Anything you don’t like?”

“As long as it’s not so spicy, I don’t mind anything.”

Cas stayed stiff under Dean’s arm as they ordered and waited for their food. Eventually, Dean couldn’t help himself; the street light and the neon sign were the only things keeping this place lit, but it was still pretty dark, so he turned his face to press his nose against Cas’s temple.

“¿Qué pasa, Angelito? What’s wrong?”

“Dean.” Cas sounded shocked as he started to move back, but Dean held him a little tighter. “Someone is gonna see you.”

“Que miran. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Cas sighed but relaxed back into Dean. “I just didn’t like him calling you that. You aren’t stupid, Dean.” Dean chuckled, and Cas turned to look at him, glaring. “I don’t see how this is funny.”

“Ay, mi Angelito, he didn’t say it in a mean way. It’s just the way we talk to each other. He’s my friend.”

Cas blinked at him a few times before he fell back against Dean, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“Trust me, Cas, it’s fine. Quedate conmigo long enough, and you’ll be calling me the same thing.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Dean wondered if he said the wrong thing again, but then Cas clicked his tongue before turning to Dean. “I don’t know what…um, that word you said means. Que..que-?”

“Quedate?” Cas nodded, looking back at Dean, waiting for him to explain. It brought warmth to Dean’s chest, knowing he’ll have to repeat it in English when before it came out as a joke. He swallowed hard as he looked back at those baby blues. The words barely came out in a quiet whisper, “Quedate. Stay. Conmigo. With me. I said, stay with me.”

“Oh.” Cas looked down at Dean’s lips as he talked. “I can-I can do that.”

Dean hummed a response as his eyes traveled down to Cas’s tongue poking out to lick at his lips. His heart was hammering in his chest until it came to a stop when he heard, “Dean! Oye, cabron! I ain’t calling your name again!”

They pulled apart, and Dean jogged over alone to grab their bag of food. Dean decided to get a few of his favorites and drinks.

“Victor,” Dean called his friend over again. “No le digas a nadie que estaba aquí. Okay? Or I’m gonna steal all your customers otra vez.”

Victor’s eyes traveled from Dean to Cas, who was waiting where Dean left him looking angelic under the streetlamp, before falling back to Dean. He wondered what could be going through Victor’s mind right that moment, but then he heard his friend let out a heavy sigh.

“Whatever you say, primo.”

“Thanks. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll work for you this weekend!” Dean starts walking backward, back to Cas.

“Shit! Really? ¡No juegues conmigo, Dean!”

“Llámame mañana!”

Dean makes it back to Cas, who automatically reaches for the drinks to help, and motions for him to walk back to the car.

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.”

Dean drove them somewhere nicer, more private, but still a parking lot.

As soon as Dean parks the car, he opens his door, “Come on; we can sit on the hood. You might wanna put that jacket on.”

Cas looks excited when he opens the car door and walks out into the parking lot that faces the beach. “Dean! Won’t we get a ticket?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just bring the drinks.”

They sat on the hood of the impala, eating and talking, as the sounds of the waves crashing to the shore mixed with la musica norteña coming from inside the car. Dean soon finds out that Cas doesn’t know how to dance, so he puts on one of his favorite mixtapes, and cumbia plays loudly through the speaker.

They danced in front of the headlights, if you can call it dancing. They always ended up bursting into fits of laughter as they fell into each other because Cas did have two left feet. Eventually, Dean just took Cas from around the waist, and they just spun around in circles.

Feeling Cas wrap his arms around Dean’s neck to hold him as their grins were so close together made Dean’s heart leap. Eventually, Cas’s forehead fell against Dean’s, and the dancing slowed to a nice sway even though the beat was only getting quicker.

“Cas?” He answered Dean with a soft hum. “Me estas gustando mas cada segundo.”

“I don’t know-”

“I like you.” Dean’s eyes closed as he leaned in to brush their noses together. “Mi Angelito.”

Dean never thought he would be here in this situation with a guy, but he has never wanted anything more in his life. Feeling strong hands run through his hair as a strong and firm body pressed against him. He loved the intoxicating smell of Cas’s woodsy shampoo that he would have never smelled on a girl. The stubble of beard rubbed against his chin as Cas turned his head until finally, fucking finally, he had those pink lips on his.

He should be scared. Esto no es algo que debería hacer con El pinche Sonidito playing in the background. He shouldn’t have one hand behind Cas’s neck to deepen the kiss, and his toes shouldn’t curl up when he feels Cas’s heavy sigh inside his mouth. He shouldn’t become so quickly addicted to Cas’s hands reaching under Dean’s shirt to press firmly at his back, feeling the familiar slight burn become a damn forest fire in him.

Esto no es algo que debería querer. Cas no es alguien que debería querer pero aqui esta. Queriendo a nadie más pero a Cas. Cas. Cas.

Cas pulled away just enough only to have their noses touching, their breaths still mixing, as he whispered. “I like you too, Dean.”

And yeah. That was it. That was all it took.

Las cadenas del maldito miedo that held him back from even thinking of wanting Cas this way, se rompieron. Dean ya pertenece completamente a Cas.

Cas grinned as he looked back at Dean, his hand reaching to cradle his face gently. His thumb was caressing Dean’s freckles on his cheek before he happily announced. “¡Me gustas mucho!”

Dean laughed, his arms reaching down to wrap around Cas’s waist and spin him around. Both of them laughing as they continued dancing and kissing until it was late enough that they had to go home.

#inspo from a real date of mine!#instead of the beach we went to a lake and we had to leave early cause i thought I was gonna die #being in mexico and around water just makes me think of the llorona and i get scared so sue me #but this is much better #destiel #deancas #fic #destiel fluff #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #latinenatural #sobrenatural #wormstachewrites #my writing #spnprideweek #also yes i know im late for day two but life has been a mess

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thevagueambition · 3 years

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Les Mis Translation Comparison

So I was reading Vol 4 Book 8 Part 1 in my Danish Les Mis translation today and fell upon the word “skæbnegud” which means “god of fate” seemed to me like a very Danish word choice rather than a more literal translation, so i decided to look it up.

Original:

L'amour n'a point de moyen terme; ou il perd, ou il sauve. Toute la destinée humaine est ce dilemme-là. Ce dilemme, perte ou salut, aucune fatalité ne le pose plus inexorablement que l'amour. L'amour est la vie, s'il n'est pas la mort. Berceau; cercueil aussi. Le même sentiment dit oui et non dans le cœur humain. De toutes les choses que Dieu a faites, le cœur humain est celle qui dégage le plus de lumière, hélas! et le plus de nuit.

Hapgood:

Love has no middle course; it either ruins or it saves. All human destiny lies in this dilemma. This dilemma, ruin, or safety, is set forth no more inexorably by any fatality than by love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; also coffin. The same sentiment says "yes" and "no" in the human heart. Of all the things that God has made, the human heart is the one which sheds the most light, alas! and the most darkness.

Danish (Lund):

Kærligheden kender ingen middelvej; det er fortabelse eller frelse. Al menneskelig skæbne ligger i de to muligheder. Ingen skæbnegud stiller det mere ubønhørligt op end kærligheden. Kærligheden er livet, hvis den ikke er døden. Vugge; men også kiste. En og samme følelse siger ja og nej i menneskets hjerte. Af alle de ting, Vorherre har skabt, er menneskets hjerte det, der udbreder mest lys, ak! og mest mørke.

Lund in English

Love knows no middle road; it is perdition or salvation. All human fate lies in those two possibilities. No god of fate* sets it up more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; but coffin too. The exact same feeling says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things Our Lord has created, the human heart is the one that spreads most light, alas! and most darkness

*You could reasonably render this as Moira too, as it ultimately derives from a ref to the Moirai or the Norns

So despite not actually knowing French, I can tell that Hapgood’s translation is a lot more literal than Lund’s. The word I stumbled on, skæbnegud, is “fatalité” in French and “fatality” in Hapgood, which is also a reference to fate, but in a disembodied sense rather than the (I would presume) rather Danish word choice of referring to some vague god(s) -- e.g. in Danish one will similarly attribute good or bad weather to “the weather gods” with no clear sense of who these weather gods are supposed to be, as it is merely a linguistic flourish.

Personally I really like this choice. It’s a mild localisation which gives the Danish text more poetic gravitas than a direct literal translation would have had and I suspect he emphasised it reading well in Danish rather than being literal.

The other difference that stands out to me is “Vorherre” (Our Lord) rather than “Gud” (God) which would be the direct translation of “Dieu”. I think here Lund was likely trying to match older, more poetic language, and again I think he made a good choice. It would have felt somewhat unnatural to use “Gud” in that context imo.

Tangent section:

Which also reminds me, Lund renders the beginning of Grantaire’s Back Room of the Café Musain rant as “Jeg er tørstig. Kære dødelige, lad mig drømme” ie “I am thirsty. Dear mortals, let me dream” which I absolutely adore.

In French this is “J'ai soif. Mortels, je fais un rêve” which as I understand it is somwhere between “I have a dream” and “I am dreaming” (maybe in the sense “I’m thinking up a dream?). Hapgood goes with “I am dreaming.”

This means that Danish!R is asking for permission to dream & announcing that he’s about to embark on a hypothetical scenario, while Original!R is either announcing that he has a dream he wants to tell the listeners about or that he is in the process of/about to embark on the process of elaborating on a hypothetical scenario.

The more literal translation into Danish might have been something like “jeg gør mig en drøm” (I think up a dream/I create a dream [mentally]) or simply “jeg sidder og drømmer” (I am dreaming).

Anyway, it’s really interesting to look at the differences! I need to learn French so I can compare them directly lol.

#siggi rambles #danish les mis

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hansoulo · 4 years

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your heart wears night armor

part 9 of ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves)

pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: cursing, discussions canon-typical violence and blood, descriptions of religion, catholic imagery, and praying (it’s 2 paragraphs before the first break and you can just scroll past if you’re uncomfortable/don’t care to read it) uhh…, i think that’s it?? light angst but we kinda been knew at this point

gif credit: my soulmate @pascalplease

A/N: @1zashreena1 i owe u and that first day of school ask my life god bless 🙏🙏 set in like 1991 idk time isn’t real

masterlist carrd

Domesticity during war is a curious thing. You’d left your old apartment years ago and a man had moved in beside you, in your new, promoted house, with his young wife and her stomach swollen by pregnancy. You’d smiled and been neighborly. Teased about play-dates and dinner parties and tight-lipped husbands, the way you used to. Had actually gone to a dinner party and admired their blue-edged china, pouring out the woman’s sparkling water as Isabella grabbed at your wrists.

She’d moved out, alone save for her child and one gifted medal. He was very brave, apparently.

You weren’t surprised when a new couple came by a few months later.

So you lived your life, a good life, a happy one, shielded by shoulders and smiles and rough-hewn hands clasped in prayer. Receiving the good favor of a virgin mother, wearing a painted clay veil and balming men’s conscience. Good Catholic boys, who died in the name of a “something” and looked Saint Peter in the eyes when they met him again. Your good, Catholic man. Rosaries and holy water. Unholy blood. Stained cherry glass and crimson hands. Prayers and prayers and prayers, made by mothers and fathers and wives.

You had prayed, once. Had knelt at an altar and let the wood dig into your knees like a penance for a sin you didn’t remember committing but felt guilty for enjoying anyhow. You pleaded for one promise to keep him safe and thanked a nameless saint for your fortune, sated when you heard the slap of your sandals on marble and the echo of all your thoughts in the high, vaulted ceilings.

Guilt is strange. “Healing” in quotation marks is strange. You always hated the way people phrased it, as if one day you’d arrive someplace and get a lacquered button pinned to your shirt pocket reading a congratulations. Dr. Reyes hated it, too, and you’d smiled when she made some long-winded metaphor about journeys and life and cat posters. For now you were content with walking, one hand held and one hand holding, with white-knuckled palm promises and the warm, curled grasp of a child.

⫸ ——— ⫷

You gripped the car keys, feeling them dig into your palm as you tried to brush off the hand on the doorknob. “Horacio,” you let out, frazzled with all the rush of a January morning, anxious and tired from the previous day’s shift. You didn’t need to work today though, thank god . “I can take my own damn daughter to her first day of school.”

His hand left the door, only to snake loosely around your waist. When you only sighed, not pulling away, a rough thumb came to rub at the curve of your jaw and bid your gaze to meet his. She has your eyes, you’d once said. Dark and sloping, edged by black lashes. Bright. Gentle.

“No,” he said, apologetic but resolute. “You can’t.”

“I can,” you repeated weakly to yourself, your own hand starting to loosen its hold around the cold rings of metal. “Horacio,” you whispered, shaking your head as his arms wrapped a bit tighter. “The guards, the- the guns. They scare her.”

His brows knitted together while you spoke, quiet as to not alarm Isabella - now a few months shy of six - sitting by the kitchen counter in a blue school skirt. She didn’t look up from her the contents of her backpack, so you continued. “I’m just- I’m tired, I guess,” you admitted with a small hitch in your voice, examining the angry red indents left in your palms. You let him shift you until you faced away from the door, tucked closer into his chest, and reached to fiddle with the silver buttons of his uniform while you spoke.“It’s bad enough that they’re always outside.”

You looked up to see Isabella clambering off of her chair with a scrape of its legs against your kitchen tiles. It’s first grade, she’d reminded you the night before in hurried Spanish while you brushed her hair, chiding her to sit still. She’d set out her uniform carefully, insisting on brightly colored hair clips and two tight braids. We can’t be late.

Your now-husband squeezed your shoulders and his lips were pursed - not in annoyance, but in concern. “Mi amor,” Horacio began, cupping the base of your neck and squeezing softly. Mi amor, he called you. A love. His love. Saccharine, maybe, to foreign ears but to him, to him it was doctrine. You let out a shallow breath. “It’s too dangerous without them,” Horacio reminded you, the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your lips. “You know that.”

You closed your eyes, nodding into the lingering kiss left on your forehead. “Yeah, I know.” Smoothing away the pretend lint on his collar, you pressed your nose to his jaw before moving to step away, inhaling the soft scent of laundry and sandalwood soap. The arms around you loosened to let you go. “Doesn’t mean I like it though,” you mumbled, attempting petulance but failing when another kiss was placed on your cheek.

“We’ll be with her,” Horacio reminded you, his voice placating in your ear. “And it’s just Trujillo,” he assured. You perked up at the name and laughed when Isabella did likewise, her steps towards the both of you quick and echoing her new school shoes.

“Is he coming?” she asked, repeating the question in English and then Spanish again when neither of you answered quickly enough for her liking. Bouncing on the balls of her heels, Isabella tugged on the fabric of your pants with an urgency that seemed unfit for the slightness of her body. “Is he here? Is he going to drive us?”

You reached to smooth down the loose curls escaping from her braids and looked back behind you for confirmation, pleased to report in the affirmative when Horacio nodded.

She didn’t wait much longer for you to open the door, bounding down your front steps to meet the man now standing by a shelled vehicle, a tanned hand resting on the holster at his hip.

“The Jeep?” you asked, incredulous.

Horacio shrugged. “It’s bulletproof.”

“Right,” you answered slowly, watching Trujillo bend down to give the girl a hug. “And they couldn’t bulletproof, say, a minivan?” Horacio only chuckled, walking you down to the car, and you grew more serious. “Thank you, though. For bringing him, and not the… cavalry, I guess.”

In sunlight, Horacio's eyes were lighter - edged by shadowed rings but pooling in deep, fractured amber. Apologetic. “It’s the least I could do,” he said.

Isabella glanced back towards the both of you and you caught the flash of a cellophane candy wrapper, accompanied by a no le digas a tu mamá when Trujillo slipped it in her pocket. Waving at you with an impish smile, the officer slid into the passenger seat.

“I heard that,” you called out. He raised his eyebrows, declaring his innocence, and said nothing more.

The weather was slow with its languid breezes, blanketing everything in the soft smell of baked clay and clear mountain air. In the distance, the first swells of morning traffic began their course.

Isabella climbed into the car (or tank, depending on who you asked) and helped you buckle her seatbelt. When you turned to meet the back of the man behind you, you heard the girl plead, “Don’t kiss.”

When you asked why, she wrinkled her nose. “It’s gross.”

“You see us kiss all the time,” you replied, handing her her backpack. Horacio’s hand came to pass gently along your waist, a quiet reminder of the openness of the road you now stood on.

Isabella shook her head, the dark braids tumbling beside her rounded cheeks. “It’s still gross.”

“How ‘bout you close your eyes,” you offered, leaning out of the car and hearing your husband’s quiet laugh. Catching Trujillo’s face in the reflection of the side mirrors, you grinned. “I can count down if you want.”

“Promise?” Isabella asked, raising her hands to cover her face.

“Promise,” you answered. “Are they closed? Good, okay on three. Ready? One… two… thr-” but your count was muffled, turning into a soft mmph by a pressing mouth. Horacio’s hands curling around the Jeep doors as you reached to steady yourself on his shoulders. The kiss was chaste, quick and barely a peck, but you still smiled when he pulled away.

Running your tongue along your front teeth, you could taste the slow dilution of orange juice. “You can open them now,” you assured Isabella. The girl peeked out between her fingers and sighed in dramatic relief, letting her arms fall to her sides. “You too,” you said to the officer in the passenger seat. Trujillo only rolled his eyes in mild amusement, his gaze fixed firmly on a point far, far off in the distance.

Horacio pressed his lips against your temple once more before you moved to sit down, waiting until you’d done your own seatbelt to close the car door behind you. His boots scuffed heavy against the stoned street and you spoke to Isabella as he walked to the driver’s side. “One day, y’know, you might actually like kissing.”

She shook her head emphatically, her expression one of exaggerated disgust. “Never. Never ever.”

“Suit yourself,” you responded, moving to face the front windows to see your husband now at the steering wheel, his expression fighting to keep itself stern. “Y’know,” you added in a stage whisper, “your dad’s a very good kisser.”

“Gross!”

⫸ ——— ⫷

“I didn’t cry,” you said, shaking your head as Horacio opened the car door for you a few minutes after the first school bell rang. When he only hummed and Trujillo (now on the driver’s side) let out a barking laugh, you protested. “I didn’t!”

Horacio hid his unconvinced sincerity with a slow nod. You leant against the edge of the door when it shut, its hollow metal hot from the sun underneath your temples. Orange starbursts swam across your vision when you swiped quickly at your face with your knuckles. “I didn’t cry,” you maintained, feeling the rising stuffiness of your throat. “It’s allergies. I’m very- I’m very... pollen-sensitive.”

That was technically true - he'd bought you enough pink antihistamine tablets and tissues enough times to prove it - but you knew it wasn’t the cause of anything now. The reason for your swollen eyes was sitting in a real, grownup chair after two years of preschool and one year of kindergarten, a pencil case filled to the brim with bright, sparkly markers. At school.

The car floor shifted under your feet when your husband turned back towards you, offering the polaroids he’d taken just moments earlier. “Do you want-”

“-yesthankyou-” you exhaled, grabbing the stack of photos from his hands. Spreading them out across your lap, you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. There was one of her getting out of the car… then her walking up to the front entrance... then another of her backpack, then of her shoes and Jesus, how many were there?

You flipped through the rest, scatterbrained and trying to commit every single picture to memory until something prompted your pausing. It was a picture of you.

He must’ve taken it while you weren’t paying attention, oblivious to the camera and turned away, but you were smiling. A bright, blinding smile that seemed to seep pure sunlight through the waxy white paper, up through your fingertips and back towards the swelling of your quickening heartbeat.

“That one,” Horacio said, taking the photograph from you and tucking it into the front pocket of his uniform. “Is for me.”

⫸ ——— ⫷

The engine rolled as the men parked. “Are you sure he’s here?” Javier asked, taking off his aviators to examine the row of terracotta houses, with their red-tile roofs and stucco walls. It was quiet in the mid-morning, temperate and warm. Medellín, the city of eternal spring, was living up to its name.

Steve stuffed his government I.D (the only way they’d gotten through the gate) back into his pocket and adjusted the belt on his hips. “S’worth a shot. Wasn’t at the office, was he?”

“No,” Javier hummed, scanning the street with his arms crossed, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirtsleeves. “No, he wasn’t.”

Neither of the men seemed to notice the officer parked beside the street, waiting for his colonel to retrieve some forgotten files before returning to the embassy.

They walked closer towards the house, stepping over a small tricycle that lay forgotten on the front lawn. Steve lowered his sunglasses. “You think it’s his?”

A low laugh escaped Javier’s chest and he shook his head, his steps meeting the front door. “Nah, he has a little girl. From his first wife.”

Somewhere in the house footsteps echoed with a soft voice, too muffled to make out anything beyond the fact that it was a woman. Steve looked back towards his partner, perplexed.

“Second wife,” Javier explained before ringing the doorbell. “Never met her, though.”

The steps grew louder until a pause, with the small peephole of the door waxing their reflections. Steve held up his badge again and stepped back when various locks unlatched until the door was opened, creaking quietly on its joints. The first thing they saw was your arms, balancing a precarious stack of plastic toys while you nudged the door farther open with a struggling foot. Steve rushed forward to take some from your hands and you smiled back at him, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that,” you breathed, setting the brightly colored books and toys on the floor beside you. “Caught me in the middle of cleaning up.” The men shared a quick look at each other, schooling their expressions from the slight shock created at your appearance. You were pretty and barefoot, sporting marker-stained jeans and a loose t-shirt. If they were expecting anyone, this definitely wasn’t it. “You’re DEA, right?”

Javier cleared his throat, elbowing the man beside him. Steve spoke up after a moment. “Yes ma’am. My name’s Agent Murphy, this man right here is Agent-”

“Oh!” you interrupted with a soft slap of your palm against your forehead, chiding yourself and opening the door farther. “Murphy? And Peña, right?”

They both nodded, albeit slowly, but you seemed impervious to their surprise, asking them if they wanted to come inside. The men declined and remained on the stoop, Steve realizing he still held a small rubber ball in his hands while Javier tried to keep his eyes above the scooped neck of your top.

“Was there something you needed?” you continued, bending down to kick out a rise in your runner carpet. “Horacio’s talked about you sometimes, y’know. It’s nice to actually put a face to the name.”

“Horacio?” Steve mumbled to Javier, his lips curling back in an amused, Southern cadence. A man - Colonel to them, or maybe just Carrillo, but Horacio to you - loomed near the edges of the hallway and turned closer when you spoke, his face and his voice familiar as it called out your name. “Speak of the devil,” the blonde agent whispered.

When you leant back into the man’s chest, both men quickly cleared their throats. Javier’s hands rested at his hips in a cocked stance, watching curiously as the colonel turned to whisper in your ear. The words were too quiet for anyone else to hear but you cast your eyes down, smiling to yourself before he pulled away.

You looked back up, the open brightness of your face only magnified when it was placed beside your husband’s stern posture. “I think they need you,” you reminded him. Javier confirmed this with some big lead about a “La Quica” and you bit back a snort at the nickname, pressing your lips together to hide your laugh. It must’ve been kismet, Javier thought, that brought someone like you to someone like him. Someone, he suddenly remembered, who worked in a hospital, witness and mender to the very things Carrillo caused. The man’s eyes were marginally softer here, though, and his hand lingered light on your waist. So maybe it worked.

“You’ll call later?” you asked, catching a soft grip on the colonel’s wrist when he moved to cross through the door. Steve glanced upwards when lips pressed quickly against your forehead, a quiet “of course” spoken into your hair before he walked away down the front steps.

“Surprised someone like that puts up with you,” Javier ribbed, bemused when Carrillo rolled his eyes.

Steve chuckled as they walked in steady tandem towards the parked cars. “Jealous?”

Javier hummed a casual maybe, catching the faint edge of a smile on your husband’s face when you looked out the front window, your silhouette a shadow through gauzy yellow curtains.

⫸ ——— ⫷

You leaned down to whisper in Isabella’s ear, encouraging her to take the few steps forward through the threshold of the office as she held a tall, disposable coffee cup. The rest that you’d brought were quickly put down before being taken by grateful men, their thanks muffled by the sound of lips on crinkling styrofoam. A man, the man you’d come to see, looked up to see you standing beside his desk, your frame edged by the evening light fracturing through the windows.

“You didn’t walk here, did you?” Horacio asked, his voice and his brow drawn over with concern. You lay a hand on his arm, a quiet placation as you rested your hip on a rounded wooden edge.

“I didn’t,” you glanced at the cluster of men on the other side of the room. You heard Isabella laugh, her small legs swinging back and forth as she was placed in a newly-emptied seat. “Hugo drove me.”

Horacio’s thumb traced over the slope of your wrist. “Hugo?”

“Pimienta,” you finished with another look towards the mass of dark green shoulders. “The new recruit.” Horacio nodded with a quiet I see and you give another smile, too observed to do much more. “He’s very sweet,” you assured your husband, offering a small wave when the man (or boy, more like) looked back towards the both of you. Hugo’s returning grin was awkward, endearingly so, and you bit back a laugh when you caught the embarrassed ducking of his head, his dark skin hiding any rising blush.

He was young, barely out of training and still learning to hide his fear. They all were. Stoic, maybe, when they opened your doors and carried your groceries, but young. So, so young.

You picked up a stray pen, twirling it in your hands as you surveyed his desk. It was annoying neat, and you huffed as you tried to find something more interesting than typed field reports and stacks of manila folders. “No pictures?” you teased. He only pointed to the top corner and your eyes followed, falling on a small frame holding a color photograph. It was mostly of you, but you could see Isabella’s face peeking out of its bottom edge, intruding on the shot with a goofy smile. Her hair was short, curling in dark loops around her ears, so it must’ve been from a few years ago. ‘89, maybe. Yeah, ‘89, when he took that week off in Panama City and spent the whole time trying to teach Isabella how to swim. “That one?” you asked, curious. “I thought you’d want something more… I don’t know… official? Looking?”

He raised an eyebrow, adjusting the frame to its proper place. “Would you like to pose for another one?”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, remembering the day you had to pin what seemed like fifty military badges to his uniform. “No,” you said, examining the photo and shaking your head. “No, that one’s good.”

Horacio pulled you into the slight alcove of the office, the one filled with high-backed chairs and radio equipment that lay partially hidden from view. “They’re looking,” you mumbled, suddenly more conscious of the officers standing a few feet away. “They think we’re up to something.”

“Are we?” he asked, smiling. A laugh bubbled up in your throat and you shook your head.

“I...” you began, your voice trailing off. He looked tired, and you were reminded of before, when infants used to cry in hallways and walls were thin. “I probably shouldn’t have come but you said you wouldn’t be home and I just- I just wanted…”

He slid his hands up your arms until they rested at your shoulders, hushing you quietly before speaking. The soft skin of your lips fell from between your teeth and you swallowed, the words resting unfinished beneath your sternum.

I just wanted to see you.

While I knew you were here.

While I knew I still could.

His fingers rested heavy on the juncture of your neck, their tapering familiarity smoothing back the ache of knotting muscle. His watch was heavy, a tactical thing with a million little numbers, and its ribbed black straps dragged against the necklace holding your wedding ring. You heard Horacio’s men making conversation - questions in Spanish about Isabella’s school and her favorite colors, compliments on how nice her new shoes looked and that tu madre fue muy dulce al traernos este café - but they floated out of your head, momentary and paling in importance to the way his hands seemed to smooth out every wrinkle of your thoughts, until they lay flat and rubbed back softer with sandpaper fingerprints.

“You never told me why you needed to stay late,” you whispered. He frowned slightly when you noticed the copper blooms dotting the edges of his sleeves, rolled up to rest at his elbows. “Did something happen?”

Horacio’s expression turned softer. Maybe to tamp down your worry. Maybe to try and make you forget it completely. He was like that with you. More gentle. Earnest. One hand raised to cup your jaw. “Nothing bad,” he said, shaking his head at your widened eyes, their color glassy from the fluorescence of office lamps.

“Promise?” you asked, wavering an echo of a morning’s conversation.

He straightened out, an oak to wrapping, shaded ivy. “Promise.”

#LET'S GET ITTTTT (after like almost two months oof)#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo/reader #horacio carrillo fanfiction #narcos fanfiction

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spanishskulduggery · 4 years

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Pobres almas en desgracia / Poor Unfortunate Souls [Esp/Eng translation]

youtube

Pobres almas en desgracia La Sirenita (español latino)

~ ~ ~

Úrsula: Ahora... Estás aquí porque estás enamorada de un humano, del príncipe ese. ¡Y no te culpo! Qué ejemplar, linda. Bueno, pecesita, la solución a tu problema es simple...

Ursula: Now then... You’re here because you’re in love with a human, (in love with) that prince. And I don’t blame you! He’s quite a catch, sweetie. Well, little fishy, the answer to your problem is simple...

[ejemplar = exemplary, but used of beauty is like “a catch” or “quite a specimen”]

Úrsula: Para obtener lo que quieres, deberás convertirte en humano. Ariel: ¡Ah! ¿Y usted podría hacerlo? Ú: Pero, pequeña y dulce niña, eso hago. Para eso vivo. Para ayudar almas en infortunio como la tuya. Sola, triste, y sin tener con quien contar...

Ursula: To get what you want, you’ll have to turn into a human. Ariel: Ah! And you could do that? U: Oh, sweet little child, that’s what I do. That’s what I live for. Helping souls in distress like yours. Alone, sad, and not having anyone on whom they can rely...

Yo admito que solía ser muy mala No bromeaban al decir que bruja soy Pero ahora encontrarás Que mi camino enmendé Que firmemente arrepentida estoy Cierto es...

I admit that I used to be very bad They weren’t joking when they said that I’m a witch But now you’ll find That I mended my way That I’m definitely reformed It’s true...

Por fortuna conozco algo de magia Un talento que yo siempre poseí Y últimamente, no te rías, lo uso en favor De miserables que sufren depresión (Patético)

Luckily I know something of magic A talent that I always possessed And lately, don’t laugh, I use it on behalf Of the unfortunates that suffer from depression (Pathetic)

Pobres almas en desgracia Que sufren necesidad

Poor unfortunate souls That suffer in need

[la desgracia is literally “disgrace” but it can colloquially mean “an accident” or “an unfortunate event”; it carries more weight than English’s “unfortunate” since it reads like “poor souls in pain/distress/agony”, not simply “disgrace” or “misfortune”]

Ésta quiere ser delgada Y éste quiere una pareja ¿Quién los ayudó? Yo lo hice

She wants to be skinny And he wants a partner Who helped them? I did

[It’s unusual to see the éste and ésta today except to be very clear; but it marks a vocal stress when you’re pointing at different things (or people); “THIS ONE (female) wants to be skinny and THIS ONE (male) wants to be in a relationship”. The é is used to match what someone’s voice does normally, which is to raise when specifically pointing at something in particular]

Pobres almas en desgracia Tan tristes, tan solas Vienen rogando a mi caldera Implorando mis hechizos ¿Quién les ayudó? Lo hice yo

Poor unfortunate souls So sad, so alone They come begging to my cauldron Beseeching my spells Who gave them help? It was me

Un par de veces ha pasado Que el precio no han pagado Y tuve que sus cuerpos disolver

A couple of times it has happened That they didn’t pay the price And I had to dissolve their bodies

[A prime example of Spanish using a different word order for the rhyme; it literally reads as “a couple of times it has happened / the the price they had not paid / and I had to their bodies dissolve”. Spanish has a very flexible syntax that allows this kind of sentence but it’s usually done for dramatic or poetic effect rather than normal Spanish]

Todos se han quejado Pero una santa me han llamado Estas pobres almas en desgracia

Everyone’s complained But I’ve been called a saint (By) those poor unfortunate souls

Úrsula: Este es el trato. Haré una poción mágica que te convertirá en ser humano por tres días. ¿Entiendes? Tres días. ¡Pon atención que esto es importante! Antes de que se ponga el sol el tercer día tú tendrás que haber logrado que el príncipe se enamore de ti. Es decir que te dé un beso. No uno cualquiera, sino un beso de amor verdadero. Si te besa antes del anochecer del tercer día seguirás siendo humana ¡para siempre! Pero si no lo hace... volverás a convertirte en sirena... y pertenecerás ¡a mí!

Ursula: This is the deal. I’ll make a magic potion that will turn you into a human being for three days. Understand? Three days. Pay attention because this important! Before the sun sets on the third day you’ll have to have gotten the prince to fall in love with you. In other words, for him to give you a kiss. Not just any old (kiss), but a kiss of true love. If he kisses you before sundown on the third day you’ll keep being a human, forever! But if he doesn’t... you’ll turn back into a mermaid... and you’ll belong to me!

Úrsula: ¿Aceptas, querida? Ariel: Si me convierto en humana, ya no veré a mi padre ni a mis hermanas... Ú: ¡Así es! Pero tendrás a tu hombre... Es difícil decidir en la vida, ¿no crees, Ariel? ¡Oh! Y además hay otro pequeño detalle. No hemos hablado de cómo me pagarás... No se puede recibir sin dar nada a cambio. A: Pero yo no tengo nada que- Ú: No es mucho lo que pido. Solo es una insignificancia. No lo extrañarás. Lo que quiero es... tu voz... A: ¿Mi voz? Ú: ¿Qué comes que adivinas? No hablarás, ni cantarás. ¡Zip! A: Pero sin mi voz, ¿cómo...? Ú: ¡Eso no importa! ¡Te ves muy bien! No olvides que tan solo tu belleza es más que suficiente, ¡ja!

Ursula: Do you accept, my dear? Ariel: If I turn into a human, I won’t ever see my father or my sisters again... U: That’s right! But you’ll have your man... It’s hard to decide in life, don’t you think so, Ariel? Oh! And what’s more there’s one more little detail. We haven’t talked about how you’ll pay me... You can’t get (something) without giving something in exchange. A: But I don’t have anything to- U: I’m not asking for much. It’s an insignificant thing. You won’t miss it. What I want is... your voice... A: My voice? U: How’d you ever guess? You won’t speak, or sing. Zip! A: But without my voice, how...? U: It doesn’t matter! You’re very pretty! Don’t forget that your beauty alone is more than enough, hah!

[¿Qué comes que adivinas? is literally “What did you eat to guess?”; it’s kind of like “oh wow how did you ever guess?” or “what made you guess that?”... it’s used (often sarcastically) as “what tipped you off?”]

Los hombres no te buscan si les hablas No creo que los quieras aburrir Allá arriba es preferido que las damas no conversen A no ser que no te quieras divertir

Men won’t seek you out if you talk to them I don’t think you would want to bore them Up there it’s preferred that ladies not converse Unless you don’t want to enjoy yourself

Verás que no logras nada conversando Al menos que los pienses ahuyentar Admirada tu serás si callada siempre estás Sujeta bien tu lengua y triunfarás, Ariel

You’ll find you won’t achieve anything conversing Unless you plan on scaring them away You’ll be admired if you’re always quiet Hold your tongue well and you’ll triumph, Ariel

Pobre alma en desgracia ¿Qué harás? ¡Piensa ya! No me queda mucho tiempo Ocupada voy a estar Y solamente es tu voz

Poor unfortunate soul What will you do? Think it over (already)! I don’t have a lot of time I’m going to be very busy And it’s only your voice

Pobre alma en desgracia ¿Qué haré por ti? Si tú quieres ser feliz Entonces tienes que pagar No te vas a arrepentir ¡No dudes más y firma ya! (Qué sencillo fue, qué tonta es)

Poor unfortunate soul What shall I do for you? If you want to be happy Then you have to pay You don’t regret it Don’t hesitate anymore and sign already! (That was so simple, what a fool she is)

[dudar is “to doubt”, no dudar is “to not doubt”, but often as a command no dudes (or an equivalent command) is used as “don’t hesitate” or “don’t waiver”]

Muy pronto sacaré A esta pobre alma de aquí...

Very soon I will get This poor unfortunate soul out of here...

La magia de bruja Yo comienzo a convocar... Hechizos marinos que laringitis, Ven, acudan a mí

Witch’s magic I begin to call upon... Marine spells may laryngitis, come, gather to me

Canta ya... ¡Más fuerte!

Now sing... Louder!

#Spanish #language #langblr #disney #la sirenita #little mermaid #translation #languages

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serinesaccade · 3 years

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fic questions

@shitpostingfromthebarricade tagged me to answer fic questions! Thank you babe!

how many works do you have on AO3?

I have 11 under serinesaccade on AO3!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

142, 657 for those 11 works. I. That’s probably 142 hours at least XD

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I love and read and written other fandoms but like. look at my AO3 for serinesaccade and it’s all Les Mis

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. i’m not the moon (i’m not even a star)

2. i’ve been up nights

3. the red couch sessions

4. so willing to care for you

5. ambrosia, rosy red

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I respond usually!! usually i respond pretty quickly, but if I don’t I get all alarmed and may not respond ever. I still saw it, my babes. i still glow with the loving words. i’m just weird. like i love hearing from everyone, that validation gets the words and tears flowing

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

oh boy hm. I do love a happy ending, okay. pretty much all my fics have one of those or are just a little bittersweet. I think my overall angsty fics are probably spent a lot of nights on the run due to the, um, ghosts. and the lesbians fic, which technically has an ambiguous ending but i have confirmed by word of god they do live and are happy haha

have you ever received hate on a fic?

hm not really! everyone’s been really nice! I think the closest I’ve gotten is just general comments on not liking a concept or being confused or something. i do tend to confuse bc my brain is not linear or put together in any way

do you write smut? if so what kind?

haha not really? i write vague scenes which is partially bc! i doubt my smut skills. but also just that i’m in it for the emotional resolution (waves gigantic demisexual flag), and i can have that with vagueness. also I think it’s nice bc like. it’s easier to imagine exactly what you’d want to be happening if it’s vague, so it’s open to reader interpretation

have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that I know of from my les mis work. i would be upset yo

have you ever had a fic translated?

someone actually did ask if they could but it’s not out yet! slash maybe they just ran out of time/interest but either way super flattering

have you ever co-written a fic before?

no i am a hot mess sdfsdfdf. i don’t write linearly. i appear online and write in a frenzy for four hours then leave for like five days

what’s your all time favorite ship?

like. i think saying Enjoltaire is cheating but it’s the correct answer. I do also love courferre, mariusxcosettexeponine, bahorel/feuilly, Epoferre, etc. i ain’t picky i love my amis in almost any configuration

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

if i’d been asked this question a month ago I would’ve said “still here (still high)”! but i finished it OH THANK GOD. hm. i have a ton of WIPs in my folder and some may never see the light, but there are none where i’m just. never thinking about them or working on them or no longer want to.

what are your writing strengths?

*click click click* i am a fast typer. i am wild with concepts i would write anything i ain’t shy. i’m obsessive over spelling and editing like. while i’m writing.

what are your writing weaknesses?

i can be confusing. i never fit in all the details i want to but simultaneously struggle to keep rapid snappy flow and am weighed down with dialogue and filler info. my ideal writing is such that every sentence/word either has a melodic or story or comedic purpose but i just don’t get there lolol

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i am from ‘murica so am not the best person to speak on this topic, considering I know like 1.25 languages. but I think actually writing dialogue in the other language is fine, as long as you’re doing it consciously and using it as a writing tool/it was intended. i personally usually just type it out in English but italicize it or make it clear they’re speaking another language. there are a couple of my fics where the whole fic is in English but they are supposed to be speaking French like the whole time. if it’s like one word and you can get the subtext i usually make that word in the other language. i dunno-- i don’t think there’s hard and fast rules in writing *blows kiss*

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

this is a weird question bc I’ve been writing fanfiction since I was like 8 or younger. just what i’m into! so probably like. pokemon, honestly, haha. like the first work i published online was definitely also pokemon fanfic but even that was not the first time i was writing it. no one wants to be exposed to that it was bad. i can look back on it with love though!

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

ho boy um yeah this is a hard pick. both intm (ines) and i’ve been up nights were written in like the avatar state of writing for me. picture the depths of the pandemic. writing those were super fun. honestly i’ve had fun with all of them though! spent a lot of nights on the run is a different kind of fic than my usual fare so I guess it gets an award for that. just a little longer is fanfic of fanfic so writing it was truly a joy like. imitating someone else’s style is thrilling and. u know you’re not them and won’t match up perfectly so it’s a challenge! but a super interesting one. “isn’t your other les mis work matching vicky hugo somewhat?” some may say and i say absolutely not i do not match him stylistically and for this i do not apologize

i’m hesitant to tag a bunch of people but if you want to take this then RUN WITH IT i support you! also @dannypuro i suppose if u so wish

#fic game

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neroushalvaus · 4 years

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Top 10 favourite characters from any fandom

I was tagged by @limalepakko , thank you! Since I have recently listed male characters here (or you know, in August, but we all know time hasn't been a thing for many moons), I took the liberty to list characters in general this time. I also went with which characters feel right at the moment, so does not show all my favourites. I also try to keep these short. (edit: okay so these are not remotely short, I will post a list first and have the explanations be under the cut, read if you want to hear my ramblings c': )

1. Fantine, Les Misérables 2. Javert / Jean Valjean, Les Misérables (yes i am cheating) 3. Carrie "Big Boo" Black, Orange Is the New Black 4. Jane Marple, Agatha Christie's Marple 5. Aunt Lydia, The Handmaid's Tale 6. Bridget Jones, Bridget Jones books & movies 7. Rock Lee, Naruto 8. Sarah O'Brien, Downton Abbey 9. Marilla Cuthbert, Anne of Green Gables / Anne with an E 10. Sister Monica Joan, Call the Midwife

1. Fantine, Les Misérables

I love Fantine with all my heart. I remember reading Les Mis for the first time and her story sending chills down my spine. Her character development makes me so sad, from a girl who falls hard and fast and won't deny anything from her lover, to a woman who is so beaten down by society that she can't do anything but laugh at her fate. But I love how she doesn't lose her pride or her fighting spirit and how she still has the guts to spit in Valjean's face when she sees him after being arrested. And I love how all she does is for her daughter and how despite selling "the gold on her head and the pearls in her mouth" she is content, because all that matters to her is that Cosette will live.

2. Javert & Jean Valjean, Les Misérables

I was really trying to limit this list to one character per fandom, but alas, I am but a weak little person. Thus, I am cheating already. The thing is that when it comes to Les Mis characters, Fantine, Javert and Valjean are the eternal top 3 for me, but I'm never quite able to say who I love the most. Last time I picked Javert for the male character meme because I love the symbolism and critique of society his character embodies, but let it be known that Jean Valjean is the best character in all of literature and I will fight you on this. The original soft on crime icon (aside from Jesus Christ but they're the same and you know it). Valjean's character journey is such a complicated one from an ordinary man (no worse than any man) to a person, who had been shaped by society and criminal justice system to be a very dangerous man, to someone you could compare to a saint if you wanted to... To an ordinary man, who would do anything for his daughter. He has so many character-defining moments, the biggest ones being in my opinion the trial of Champmathieu and letting Javert go instead of killing him. I just love Jean Valjean so much and could speak about him for hours.

3. Carrie "Big Boo" Black, Orange Is the New Black

Hopping away from the Les Mis hole and into a OITNB hole. I was debating on whether I'd put Boo or Pennsatucky on this list since I love them both so much, but I've been feeling so much love for my angry butch king that it had to be her. First of all, I'm just so happy to see butch lesbian representation where the butch identity is not just a joke. I know OITNB sometimes uses Boo questionably, but in general she is a nuanced character and one of the most interesting ones in the series in my opinion. I'm so sad they forgot all about her on the last seasons. I love everything about her, how she has trouble with feelings besides anger and often deflects serious stuff through humor, how fiercely protective she is of those she loves (boosatucky otp forever fucking fight me), how proud she is of her butch identity ("i refuse to be invisible")... Also, not to express attraction, but... Mama I'm in love with a criminal. And not to be a slut for how characters view religion/spirituality/God, but the relieved smile she has in one of her flashbacks when she says "there's no God... there's nothing", like you can't just do stuff like that and expect me not to love the character to bits.

4. Jane Marple, Agatha Christie's Marple

Last time I listed Poirot and was a bit frustrated I couldn't list Marple, but now it's time to right that wrong! I love this little old lady so much. I love Agatha Christie so much for just going "you know who is the person who knows everything that's going on in a community, and thus would make the perfect detective for a detective story? the nosy old woman". As she is introduced in The Murder at the Vicarage: "Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner — Miss Weatherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Of the two Miss Marple is much more dangerous." She is so likable and witty, you can't help but love her. My favourite portrayal of her is by Geraldine McEwan, she looks so gentle but has such a sharp gaze. I would spill all my secrets to her any day. I also am compelled to tell you that when I was a child we had a costume party at my school and I dressed up as Marple and learned some old lady things in English (it was before third grade so I didn't know much English back then) just for the occasion (such as "thank you, my dear", "what a lovely necklace you are wearing" or "there has been a murder"). Teacher might have thought me rather morbid but I remember that day being quite good.

5. Aunt Lydia, The Handmaid's Tale

The Handmaid's Tale is such a great series and a book and Aunt Lydia is such a great character. The way she's capable of being absolutely cruel and vicious, but how she is also protective and caring in her own way. One of my favourite scenes in this series is when Serena Joy (my other favourite, can you tell) tells Lydia to "remove the damaged ones" from a line of handmaids and Lydia tries to argue with her. Sure, she is responsible for some of the punishments these women are now "damaged" by, but she truly believes those punishments were for a greater good and now the handmaids deserve their place with the others as much as anyone else. It is chilling and the character is such a dark shade of morally gray, but I can't get enough of it. The actress who plays her, Ann Dowd, has so interesting thoughts about her, like here. I just love this character so much I could scream.

6. Bridget Jones, Bridget Jones books & movies

I'm mostly talking about the movies here because Renée Zellweger's performance is iconic. Plus the movies are what made me love this character first. But I'll give it to the books, they're one of the few books I've laughed out loud while reading. Anyway, how do you even begin explaining the love I have for Bridget Jones... I love how she is a character so many people can relate but who would be a comic relief side character in some other story. Yes, yes, it is really bad that she is constantly described as fat when she really is not, but when I was growing up she gave me hope that people who are viewed as fat and/or unattractive by other people can be admired and appreciated, and they don't have to be super talented at everything and highly intelligent and some kind of a super smooth social butterfly to "make up" for what they "lack". And also that they can have standards (i once dodged a bullet by rejecting someone by pretty much subconsciously quoting Bridget Jones so..). I also love how the comedic tone of everything does not dismiss Bridget's feelings. For example in some other movie we maybe would concentrate on how "stupid" Bridget was to trust that Daniel was in love with her, but in Bridget Jones we concentrate on how Bridget was hurt by Daniel cheating on her, how he is the one who did wrong. Idk I just love Bridget Jones so very much can you tell.

7. Rock Lee, Naruto

Aka the boy who would have kicked Madara in the balls if Kishimoto had any sense of drama and good storytelling. I think I robbed Lee by not putting him on the fav male characters list. You know that post that goes like "gays be like 'these are my comfort characters', 1 literal ray of sunshine, 2 war criminal" etc? This child is the sunshine. I've been reading and watching Naruto again ( @hapanmaitogai is my sideblog for that nonsense) and I'm so ready to adopt Lee and/or Gai. Rock Lee is just such an earnest character, he has a goal he will give anything to achieve and he's the one true underdog in this manga. I love how he's so kind and polite (it's not so clear in English but in the Finnish translation he speaks as formally as he does in Japanese, he uses singular polite "you", calls Sakura "Sakura-neiti" = "Miss Sakura" etc... i love one polite boy). Also, he has the best fights in the series. Like Lee vs Gaara is a Classic, but we simply can't forget that time Lee absolutely crushed Sasuke in just a few minutes, or that time he politely asked Kimimaro not to kill him while he drinks his medicine. The best boy. I love that boy so much.

8. Sarah O'Brien, Downton Abbey

Last time it was Thomas' turn, so now I must talk about the snakiest snake, the queen of weaponized handmaidenry, Miss O'Brien. She is such a great character especially in the first two seasons (I obviously love her on season three as well but Julian Fellowes really tried to make it hard by not explaining her actions at all, didn't he. Well, luckily I am ready to stuff the gaps with my headcanons). She has some of the best comebacks in the series and brings some needed realism in some conversations. I also love how she uses her position as a lady's maid for her advantage and how she is proud of her profession despite being highly aware of the power structures in the Abbey. And then there is the soap. That is such a good character moment, because for a character who always plans ahead, who is ruthless and cunning and intelligent... I don't think O'Brien thought about the soap thing at all before she left the room ("Sarah O'Brien, this is not who you are" hit me like a train). Just once she did something with nothing but anger motivating her and that became one of the defining moments of her character. And one of the defining things of the future relationship between her and Cora. That's why I find the Sarah/Cora ship so interesting, because there will always be the undercurrent of bitter regret. Also Sarah O'Brien and Thomas Barrow are the greatest brotp and Fellowes was a coward for driving the smoking scheming gay best friends apart, and

9. Marilla Cuthbert, Anne of Green Gables / Anne with an E

I'm not saying L.M. Montgomery is entirely responsible for me having a fondness for strict, older women who first act unkind but have a heart of gold, but she most certainly did not help. Between characters like Marilla Cuthbert and Elizabeth Murray, how can you not fall in love with the type? It's been a while since I read the Anne series, but I really love how Marilla's character has been adapted into the Anne with an E tv series. Geraldine James looks like she was born to play her, she has me in tears so often. She has the ability to portray someone like Marilla, who is a very hard and stern person but feels deeply for her loved ones. I was watching the episode that dealt with Matthew's heart attack and Marilla berating her brother while hugging herself like she was trying so hard to hold herself together absolutely destroyed my heart.

10. Sister Monica Joan, Call the Midwife

It was a tough choice between her and Sister Evangelina. I just love these nuns very much. Sister Monica Joan is such a lovable and wise character. She is so knowledgeable of many subjects, from the Bible to astrology, and I feel like her unspecified memory problems and confusion are handled very tastefully. I also love how she's such an important part of her community despite not working as a midwife anymore. She is such a kind woman and gets visibly upset when others are treated poorly. And how could I not mention her saying "I do not believe in weeds. A weed is simply a flower that someone decides is in the wrong place", like... I love her so so much.

I won't tag anyone, but if you read this and you want to do this, consider yourself tagged and you're no allowed to mark me as the one who tagged you!

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hunxi-guilai · 4 years

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Hi! Your meta for CQL/MDZS is amazing. After reading your ask earlier about colonialism and western audiences consuming a non-western media product, I was wondering if you had thoughts on types of AU fanfic that work for this fandom and types that don't? Seeing fic based on European history/royalty or European fairy tales seems strange in this context, and sometimes a little tone-deaf. It's obviously a complicated topic, but do you have any thoughts on AUs or tropes people might want to avoid?

you know, this is an intriguing topic and I’m not sure if there’s a clear-cut answer to this, but it’s definitely worth thinking and talking about!

I guess a big part of this question is how much a certain character is defined by their cultural milieu. For some reason, my mind immediately jumps to the Les Mis fandom as a point of contrast; at least in the fics I’ve read, I never got the feeling that their ‘French-ness’ was an integral part of their character (which isn’t to say fic authors haven’t written gorgeous tone poems on characters and their Parisian surroundings!) -- for the most part, you could pretty easily transport Les Amis into a nebulous American college without losing the essence of their characters. It also makes it much easier to racebend/offer alternate castings for characters, since Enjolras remains Enjolras, no matter what skin tone he happens to have in this iteration

But it’s important to realize that Les Mis is a text that exists in a center of power -- Western, hegemonic, already established in a canon that doesn’t have to fight to be recognized -- which is why fandom can freely re-interpret and re-claim parts of the text to offer more representational iterations of characters and their relationships. This gets a bit into the dynamics of cultural appropriation, and why we judge cultures existing in positions of relative power with one standard and historically subaltern cultures with another.

The challenge with CQL/MDZS AU’s, then, is determining how much of the cultural context of the characters affects what we perceive as the essence of their characterization. Can you imagine a Wei Wuxian on a small liberal arts campus on the East Coast? Can you imagine a Lan Xichen who runs an small coffeeshop in New Zealand? What language is Lan Wangji speaking in your English-language fic? Do you need to include an explanation for why Nie Huaisang is studying abroad in Europe right now?

I feel like a big part of why CQL/MDZS might be so hard to write AU’s for is because how much these characters are entrenched in these familial/clan/sect dynamics, so the question of whether or not you can write, say, European history/folklore!AU’s of CQL lies in the question of whether or not you can successfully translate these dynamics into said setting.

I don’t think I’m qualified to make a judgment on whether or not there are AU’s you “““should””” (or should not) write, because in the end, the purpose of writing fanfiction is writing the content you want to see into the world. And if what you want to see is an Orpheus-and-Eurydice retelling of wangxian, then sure, go for it -- I don’t see any immediate harm in that, but it might read a little weird, because then you have to write Hades interacting with Lan Wangji, and boy that’s an image. And I don’t know, I feel like transporting Jin Guangyao into the court of the Sun King, Louis XIV, would be a wild time. But again, it’ll be up to you to figure out how to handle the dissonance, of how much you need to ‘explain’ the presence of disparate elements in your fic and how they can co-exist.

As for things to avoid...again, I think it’s hard to make absolute statements because fanfiction and fandom is an arena of content consumption and production that pushes boundaries on what is deemed conventionally acceptable. Any rules, I think, would come out of the rules of just being respectful in your interaction with media -- don’t orientalize. Don’t fetishize based on exoticized or cultural or racial grounds. For the love of all that is holy, do not whitewash the characters.

#guess who's been listening to 'Wait for Me' again #this was a hard ask to write! and I'm sorry that I couldn't give you a more definitive answer #but I feel like it's super situational #I personally wouldn't go for European history/royalty!AU's because... why #you have in-house dynastic history/royalty!AU's RIGHT THERE #but I don't see any inherent harm in it?#you're either going to have to do a lot of explaining about your AU worldbuilding there #or never address it #ask and ye shall receive

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 4 years

Text

some original nonsense

“I’m so glad I get to be here for this,” Eve practically flung herself onto the couch, bouncing slightly before settling. She’d just gotten dropped off after rehearsal and was miraculously still teeming with energy.

Clara pursed her lips, an obvious attempt to cover up a smile. They’d spent the day helping Eli and Ann track down paperwork and somewhere between the borough hall and stopping at the deli for lunch had been seen by Oliver’s parents. Who forced him to introduce them to Clara and insisted she come for dinner. Ann managed to talk her way out of it by vague statements of “being with her family right now” that had the McNally’s cooing in understanding. Clara couldn’t manage the same without raising too many questions. At least not that quickly.

So, she’d spent the evening at the farmhouse and then had herself talked into spending the night. The whole experience was odd, Clara settling somewhere between her true sharp self and the doe-eyed charming he’s seen her present herself as. Oliver had the sense that it was strange for her too and that Clara was navigating uncharted waters as she ate his mom’s chicken alfredo.

But after dinner his parents retreated to the office that used to be the dining room, claiming to be going over paperwork but probably watching House Hunters or something. Leaving the living room to “the kids” which fit when Eve came barging in.

“I was so worried you would be gone when I got home,” she told Clara, having latched on to the older girl a few days before.

“I was somehow convinced to spend the night.” Clara narrowed her eyes, brows drawn low as she tried to puzzle out exactly how that had happened. It made her freckles scrunch up into an indistinguishable blur.

Eve nodded sagely and began wrapping herself up in one of the afghans from over the back of the couch. “Yeah, they do that. It’s a weird quirk of being the ‘cool parents.’” Oliver knew by her tone that she was using air quotes but from the cocoon his sister had made herself it was hard to tell.

Oliver finished tweaking the playlist he’d made, deciding to kill as many birds with one stone as possible, and pressed play. Rising from his crouch next to their entertainment center to go sit on the couch on Clara’s other side. The music began to play through the living room’s speakers and Eve giggled madly.

Clara turned to give him the most suspicious look he’d ever seen, and that was saying a lot based on the past week’s events. “I know this song. Maybe. It sounds familiar.”

Shaking his head, Oliver barely managed to contain his laughter. “Nope.”

The lyrics started and the look of baffled confusion that overcame Clara was the best thing he’d ever witnessed. She froze, shook her head slightly, narrowed her eyes, and then finally turned to him in betrayal. “When did this happen? I was just in Constantinople... When was I in Constantinople?”

Eve squeaked, high and long as she inhaled. Unable to hold in her own laughter any longer. Oliver managed to remain silent though he was shaking and his stomach ached at the strain.

“This isn’t funny,” Clara insisted. Her glare wasn’t that harsh though so Oliver didn’t relent. “Oliver!” she scolded. “It’s not funny!”

“No, it’s hilarious,” he said between gasps of breath. “And it only gets better.”

“Russia’s favorite love machine?” Clara looked like she was going to be sick. “I mean, I might have actually met Rasputin but honestly he was disgusting. And smelt terrible.”

It was Oliver’s turn to look on in horror. “Of all the things you managed to miss, you met Rasputin?”

“Possibly,” Clara said sheepishly. “It could’ve just been a drunk.”

One day, Oliver would stop being shocked by things Clara said. But apparently not today.

“Ok,” Eve interrupted, “but thoughts on the song?”

“It’s... good?”

The look of pure offense Eve gave her made Oliver want to whither and he was mostly immune at that point. Eve took a deep breath, seeming to recenter herself. “It’s a certified bop, Clara.”

“Ok, I’m not an idiot. I know about the Battle of Waterloo. And I’ve read Les Misérables.” Clara was unimpressed by Abba.

“You actually read Les Mis?” Eve clearly had her own priorities.

Oliver might not really be into theater but Eve was and he managed to pick some things up. “Ok, hold on.” He tried to do some quick math, but just asking Clara would really be easier. “When did you just... stop following cultural events?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, some point after the second Great War?”

Eve and Oliver shared a look, leaning forward so that they could do so. Eve’s expression said that either Oliver handle this or she would. And also, what the heck was he planning?

“Ok, so World War II, not second Great War. Where did you even get that one?” he tried to be gentle. But honestly, what the heck?

Clara wrinkled her nose. “I’ve outlasted entire civilizations, Oliver,” she hissed. “Cut me some slack for forgetting some terms. English isn’t even my second or third language. And you people keep changing it.”

Oliver lifted his hand in defense. “Ok, ok. Point taken. Still, did you not pay attention to the Broadway or West End theater scenes in the 1980s?”

“No?” Clara turned to see if Eve might be any help. Her slightly manic look meant that probably not.

“So, you didn’t know that Les Mis is a musical?” She gasped.

Clara slowly shook her head.

“Ollie!” Eve screeched, but he was already standing, going to shift through the many DVDs Eve had of various performances.

“Bed,” their mom said, emerging from the office. Their dad had already headed upstairs sometime during One Day More and she was currently in her pajamas.

Eve tilted her head up, shaking off the hand that Mom was combing through her hair. “But, it’s not over!” she whined. The drums of the finale refrain of Do You Hear the People Sing were starting up meaning that it would be over very shortly.

“And you’ve seen it a million times and have school tomorrow. Bed,” she countered.

“Clara’s never even seen Phantom!” Eve tried to counter, which they’d discovered when Eve began rambling about actors sometime during ABC Cafe. Oliver loved his sister, he hated that he knew the names of every song in Les Mis.

“Clara can stay up and watch it with Oliver then. Or just visit another day,” Mom glanced to Oliver with an almost apologetic tilt to her smile.

“I can come back,” Clara offered softly. The effect was immediate. Eve and his mom both had twin smiles of pure glee. Much like Ann a few years earlier, Oliver’s friend had been officially deemed another extension of the family. Well neither girl seemed to mind so far.

Eve launched herself onto Clara in a hug, throwing her blankets to the floor and startling the blonde. Over Eve’s shoulder, he could see Clara’s pale eyes widen and it looked like she was trying very hard not to let her shock get the best of her. They’d managed to keep his parents in the dark about the whole “technically dead” bit but Eve passing right through Clara would kind of ruin the careful charade.

“I’ll wait until next time for Phantom,” Oliver made it sound like a chore, but he knew Eve would be pissed not to be included. And the whole experience would be more enjoyable for Clara because the two girls had talked through the entirety of Les Mis about the characters and changes from the book. He was positive watching Phantom of the Opera would be the same.

“You’re not a terrible human,” Eve said by way of thanks.

Oliver shrugged and their mom rolled her eyes. She started ushering Eve towards the stairs as she said her goodnights. When it became clear that Eve was still occupied squeezing the unneeded air from Clara’s lungs, she gave up. “Don’t stay up too late you two. And Eve, your butt better be in bed by the time those credits stop.”

Clara laughed and finally began to peel Eve’s arms off her. “You should listen to your mother,” she said kindly.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“If you don’t leave now I will introduce Clara to Drunk Space Pirate without you,” Oliver threatened.

Eve gasped and leapt to her feet. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

The two stared each other down as Eve began backing towards the stairs, almost stumbling over the coffee table in the process. “I knew you like The Mechanisms.”

Oliver smirked. “Space operas, Eve.”

His sister huffed and ran upstairs. Clara started laughing softly. “What was that about?”

“I’ll explain later. I think the novelty of being a ghost would be ruined if I became one too, which would happen if I explained without Eve.”

“Your sister does seem capable of murder,” Clara agreed.

“I feel like all the women in my life are?”

“Yes.”

Oliver started cracking up at that. Clara joined him. It felt cathartic in light of... everything. Then they remembered that the rest of the house had been going to sleep so they tried to hush each other. Only to laugh more.

Finally, they sobered and Oliver went to go get his laptop. “Do you know literally anything about the band Nirvana?”

Clara blinked. “Do you enjoy asking questions you know the answer to?”

Barking a short laugh, Oliver came back over to sit next to her again. “Ok, fair. But I’m going to play an ironic critic of how people respond to the lead singer’s death for you now.”

“Why?” Clara asked incredulously.

“I really just want to see what someone so totally removed from the situation thinks of this song.” Oliver shrugged.

“You are very strange.”

“And you shouldn’t throw stones.”

#hitch hiker #own writing #original writing

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hms-chill · 4 years

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6,7,35💕

6. What is a fandom you will never write for?

Harry Potter. I wasn’t allowed to read them growing up, and I don’t want to now for obvious reasons, so I feel like if I wrote anything related to them I’d either really mess it up or perpetuate Rowling’s bullshit.

7. What is a ship you will never write for?

I feel like Alex and Henry are so good together I’m not particularly interested in writing them with other people. But like... I can’t think of a specific ship I don’t like outside of the Les Mis fandom, where there are a few (Enjolras/Eponine especially) that I avoid.

35. What is your favorite review?

I don’t know if I have a singular favorite, but I love ones where it’s clear that the person is engaging with what I’ve written if that makes sense? Like a quote that stood out or a specific thing they liked; it makes my English major heart very happy. But I love all comments, and I keep them all in my AO3 inbox! I just got over 1,000 total comments this weekend and I’m so grateful for all of them!

#not fic #about fic #seriously thank y’all so much for the comments #they genuinely mean the world #if you comment a lot? I know your name and I love you #ask games #ask and answer

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alicedrawslesmis · 5 years

Text

pilferingapples replied to your photo “Sketching Les Mis Chapter 4.8.4 - Cab Rolls In English And Yelps In...”

YES EXACTLY they're both the Guard Dogs (but he would and DID arrest her and it's fascinating and full points to Hugo for crossing the gender line on this parallel honestly)

yeah! the parallel is there and is very clear and I feel bad for not catching on sooner because of gender, wtf me? Javert and Éponine are incredibly similar and that's a dynamic that is never explored! Like remember after Éponine dies Javert is the only one who seems to give a shit? He recognises her body and it's not like him to make remarks like that specially since he's about to die (or so he thinks) so it really is a vulnerable moment for him to go "I know that girl" upon seeing her and oh crap? I'm emotional?

(y'all've heard the 'Javert adopts Gavroche' AU but get ready for 'Javert adopts Éponine' AU)

(also I am LIVID with BBC LM for stealing this moment from her and making it be an ACTUAL DOG that scares away the gang)

HOLY CRAP I FORGOT THEY DID THAT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

WHY WOULD YOU STEAL THE BEST ÉPONINE MOMENT FROM ÉPONINE THAT'S FUCKING RUDE

(... I'll give Davies the benefit of the doubt and just assume he speed-read the brick so he actually thought there was a dog there, reading comprehension level zero)

#pilferingapples

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maraudesmap · 4 years

Text

23 May, 1992

Today in Italy is the anniversary of the death of the magistrate Giovanni Falcone, his wife Francesca, also a magistrate, and three police officers and their bodyguards: Vito Schifani, Rocco Dicillo and Antonio Montinaro.

They lost their lives in a mafia attack called "Strage di Capaci" (the Capaci bombing), which took place on the A29 motorway at 17:57 in 1992.

I'm not writing this post to teach history or even for a sudden poetic surge of melancholy. I'm writing because I see more and more often on socials like this one an attitude of romanticization of the mafia, often also by cosplayers and people that I esteem so much and that I find inspiring and that I don't want in any way to offend. Surely these people create their content knowing what they are talking about but maybe some of their followers base their knowledge on these AU or on comics read or other conjectures. So I want to talk to these people who maybe think that mafias are not a totally negative thing.

I understand that abroad there may have remained an image of the mafia like Al Capone or similar... of men of other times, criminals of course, but with values like, for example, the untouchability of women and children. Perhaps (I am not an expert on the subject, so it may be possible) in the past organized crime had a sort of ethical code; but, if it ever existed, it hasn't existed for a very long time. Because the mafia, the real one, the one that still terrorizes countries in the south but also in the north of Italy, kills men, women and even children indiscriminately.

It kills men who fight for the freedom of the state and for legality, like the magistrates Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino.

It kills boys like Giuseppe (Peppino) Impastato, a young journalist and activist in his early thirties who rebelled against Cosa Nostra, because he believed that the terrified Sicilian people could be freed from this scourge.

It kills women like Graziella Campagna and Emanuela Loi. The first "guilty" of having collaborated with the justice system for the arrest of a fugitive mafia man, discovering his identity by chance while doing her job as a laundress; the second one, instead, was one of the first women policeman of the bodyguard service, entrusted to the protection of Borsellino and, like him, blown up outside a building in the Strage di Via D'Amelio (Via D'Amelio bombing).

It kills kids like Giuseppe Di Matteo, kidnapped at the age of 12, held hostage for more than a year, then killed and dissolved in acid just because he was the son of a repentant boss.

It kills children like Mariangela or Noemi who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It kills people on the street just because he looks like a member of an enemy clan and therefore "uups, wrong person".

The mafia here in Italy is serious. Despite the fact that some young people answer "it's not here in my house, so I don't care" it's a disease that seems incurable, worse than Covid19.

It's not only about southern Italy as many people think, the small town where I live is one of the (minor) centers of the mafia in the north of the peninsula, just 10 years ago there were arrests and "gambizzazioni" (shooting another person in the legs as a warning or a gesture of revenge) just behind my house.

So, please, however imaginary "the Boss" may have his charm, don't make him pass for the misunderstood one, the one who in the end does good even though he bypasses the law because in this way you only spit on all the dead, as you would do if you would excuse the perpetrators of the massacres in schools or other kinds of attacks.

With this I'm not saying that in Italy we have to pay attention to every dark alley or similar (I mean, in those cases you have to pay attention wherever you are, but not because of the mafias). Ours is a wonderful country with a unique history and culture that can't be found anywhere else, as well as all the cultures of this world; so, once this mess with Covid19 is over, come and take a tour and enjoy the beautiful cities like Naples, Rome, Turin, Florence and Bologna or see the wonders of our Alps or beaches.

As a fangirl and a cosplayer I love good AU's and the creation of original and eye-catching OC's... but the important thing is to be able to distinguish fantasy from reality.

I know that not many people will have read all this post and many will have found it heavy and boring but I invite you to do some research, even just type on google "Strage di Via D'Amelio" and "Strage di Capaci" which are the most sadly famous. Look at the photos. Look how they destroyed roads to hit a single man, in both cases. Then you can go back to cosplaying and writing and reading fanfiction, you have every right but at least you will do it with more awareness.

P.s: This applies to all mafias, both Italian and foreign.

P.p.s: Since English is not my native language and I have never studied it so much, I hope I haven't made too many mistakes and that the sense of the post is still clear.

///

Oggi in Italia è l'anniversario della morte del magistrato Giovanni Falcone, della moglie Francesca, anche lei magistrato, e di tre agenti della loro scorta: Vito Schifani, Rocco Dicillo e Antonio Montinaro.

Hanno perso la vita in un attentato mafioso che prende il nome di Strage di Capaci, avvenuto nel tratto autostradale A29 alle 17:57, nel 1992. Non scrivo questo post per insegnare la storia e neanche per un improvviso slancio poetico di malinconia. Sto scrivendo perchè vedo sempre più spesso su social come questo un atteggiamento di romanticizzazione della mafia, spesso anche da parte di cosplayer e persone che stimo tantissimo e che trovo d'ispirazione e che non vorrei in nessun modo offendere. Sicuramente queste persone creano i proprio contenuti sapendo di cosa stanno parlando ma magari alcuni loro follower basano le proprie conoscenze su questi AU o su fumetti letti o altre congetture. Voglio quindi parlare a queste persone che magari pensano che le mafie non siano una cosa totalmente negativa.

Capisco che all'estero possa essere rimasta un'immagine della mafia tipo Al Capone o simili... di uomini d'altri tempi, criminali certo ma con dei valori come, per esempio, l'intoccabilità di donne e bambini.

Forse (non sono un'esperta in materia quindi può essere possibile) in passato la criminalità organizzata aveva una specie di codice etico; ma, se mai c’è stato, non esiste più da tantissimo tempo.

Perchè la mafia, quella vera, quella che terrorizza ancora paesi del sud ma anche del nord Italia, uccide indistintamente uomini, donne e perfino bambini.

Ammazza uomini che combattono per la libertà dello stato e per la legalità, come i magistrati Giovanni Falcone e Paolo Borsellino.

Ammazzano ragazzi come Giuseppe (Peppino) Impastato, un giovane giornalista e attivista appena trentenne che si ribellava contro Cosa Nostra, perchè credeva che da questa piaga il popolo siciliano terrorizzato si potesse liberare.

Ammazzano donne come Graziella Campagna e Emanuela Loi. La prima "colpevole" di aver collaborato con la giustizia per l'arresto di un mafioso latitante, scoprendo l'identità dell'uomo per caso svolgendo il proprio lavoro di lavandaia; la seconda, invece, è stata una delle prime donne poliziotto del servizio scorte in Italia, affidata alla scorta di Borsellino e, come lui, saltata in aria fuori da un palazzo nella Strage di via d'Amelio.

Ammazzano ragazzini come Giuseppe Di Matteo, rapito a 12 anni, tenuto in ostaggio per più di un anno, poi ucciso e sciolto nell'acido solo perchè figlio di un boss pentito.

Ammazzano bambini come Mariangela o Noemi che si trovavano solo nel posto sbagliato al momento sbagliato.

Ammazzano gente per strada solo perchè somiglia a uno appartenente ad un clan nemico e quindi "uups, persona sbagliata".

La mafia qui in Italia è una cosa seria. Nonostante alcuni giovani rispondano "non c'è qui a casa mia, quindi non mi interessa" è una malattia che sembra incurabile, peggio del Covid19.

Non riguarda solo il sud Italia come molti pensano, il paese dove abito è uno dei centri (minori) della mafia al nord, solo 10 anni fa ci sono stati arresti e "gambizzazioni" giusto dietro casa mia. Riguarda tutti, anche chi nasconde la testa sotto la sabbia.

Quindi, per favore, per quanto nell'immaginario "il Boss" abbia il suo fascino, non fatelo passare per quello incompreso, quello che alla fine fa del bene nonostante scavalchi la legge perchè così non fate che sputare su tutti i morti, così come fareste se scusereste gli artefici delle stragi nelle scuole o attentati di altro tipo.

Con questo non sto dicendo che in Italia dobbiamo fare attenzione ad ogni vicolo buio o simili (insomma, in quei casi si deve fare attenzione in ogni caso ovunque si è, ma non per via delle mafie). Il nostro è un paese meraviglioso con una storia e una cultura unici e introvabili da altre parti, così come tutte le culture di questo mondo; quindi, una volta finito questo casino col Covid19, venite pure a farvi un giro e a godervi le splendide città come Napoli, Roma, Torino, Firenze e Bologna o a vedere le meraviglie delle nostre alpi o spiagge.

Da fangirl e cosplayer adoro delle buone AU e la creazione di OC originali e accattivanti... ma l'importante è riuscire a distinguere la fantasia dalla realtà dei fatti.

So che non molti avranno letto tutto questo post e moltissimi l'avranno trovato pesante e palloso ma vi invito a fare delle ricerche, anche solo digitare su google "Strage di via D'Amelio" e "Strage di Capaci" che sono le più tristemente famose. Guardate le foto. Guardate come hanno distrutto strade per colpire un singolo uomo, in entrambi i casi. Poi potete tornate a fare cosplay e a scrivere e leggere fanfiction, ne avete tutto il diritto ma almeno lo farete con più consapevolezza.

P.s: Questo discorso vale per tutte le mafie, sia italiane che estere.

#mafia #23 maggio 1992 #strage di capaci #lotta alla mafia #giovanni falcone #Paolo Borsellino #mafia au #long post #sorry for the long post #Italia #Italy

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winchester90210 · 5 years

Text

The BH 90210 Rewrite. 1x03: Every Dream Has It’s Price Tag

Rewrite Masterlist

Read the previous chapter here!

Chapter Summary: Y/N pays a visit to Brandon at his new job.

Pairing: Patience is a virtue, guys.

Warning: Swearing, feelings, minimal editing

Disclaimer: My work is not to be reposted or edited without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging is fine and encouraged!!)

Word Count: Roughly 2,700

A/N: Third episode is up! It’s a little short this time, but I enjoyed getting into romance novel territory with the descriptions this time. Next episode is a doozy, it’s one of my favorites. The First Time– Brandon’s old girlfriend from Minneapolis pays a visit.

The bell rings as Ms. Rye finishes her lecture,

“Okay, papers due on Monday. Remember, I want you to explore how…one decision, one event can change one’s whole life.”

You and Brenda both shuffle to get your things in order before standing up. She turns to Tiff as she and Kelly walk out of the room.

“Hey, Tiff, that was really funny what you said,”

“Who was trying to be funny?” She responds, mocking tone in her voice. You weren’t sure who Tiff was, exactly. Rumors say she was best friends with Kelly until they had a blowout over some guy and it didn’t end well. You didn’t have the best feeling about her, whoever she is.

“Male, female, root for your school, West Beverly’s team on against Beverly High, no fail! And don’t get lured by that sweet sweet nitro sale s-s-sale sale sale!” Once again, the D.J’s voice calls out, which marks the end of another glamorous day at West Beverly.

You spot Brandon, taking down names and numbers off the corkboard, hair blowing lightly in the breeze.

“You job hunting?” You ask, looking up at the different flyers and ads sprawled out amongst the board.

“Yeah, I’m just doing my bit for car insurance, you know,” He studies the board, writing things down as he goes.

“Anything looking good yet?”

“Well, I got uh, “Garden Graphics, Veggie Heaven Produce, This Town Restaurant.” I think we’re talking slam dunk here, Y/N/N,“ He jokes, tapping his pencil on his notepad.

You laugh, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Hey, if your mom is anything like mine, she’d kill for a discount at Veggie Heaven,” you jest,“I gotta run, I promised Brenda I’d go shopping with her and Kelly. Good luck!” You tap your hand on his arm before walking off.

“Thank, Y/N/N.”

“‘Inverted Nipple Trouble?’ Pass. ‘Are you always attracted to losers? Here’s how to break the cycle,’” Tiff laughs at the magazine in her hand while Kelly searches through the tracks.

“Ugh, here is the cycle,” Kelly groans as she walks past Steve, with David Silver at his side.

“Trust me, dude. They’ll drool over this stuff,” Steve convinces, spraying a little black bottle of cologne on the collar of the much younger boy.

“Aw, finally found someone your own maturity level to play with, Steve?” You tease, joining Brenda at the other set of racks. Steve rolls his eyes and turns away from you.

“Oh, hey Tiff. How is that waterbed?” He smirks, turning back to the gold cologne wall.

“Kelly and Tiffany got nuclear over Steve,” Kelly’s friend gossips. Wow. Steve was the guy that tore them apart? Who would fight over him? Doesn’t exactly sound worth it.

“Details, please!” Brenda leans into her, interest piqued.

“But It was intense fallout. They just started speaking this semester in English class.”

You all grab the things you want to try on, and all five of you scurry into the freshly painted dressing rooms. You find a blue floral mini dress with cropped sleeves. It was so cute. And so two hundred dollars. Bummer.

“Do you really think one event can change your whole life?” Brenda asks, muffled by the white doors of the dressing rooms.

“Sure, like in pretty woman? Sorry Julia Roberts, but I’d wear this on the plane with Richard Gere.” Kelly responds. Such a deep thinker, that girl.

“No, I mean like what Ms. Rye was talking about– one thing you do ruining your entire life… I dont know, forget it.” Brenda continues.

“I don’t know, maybe,” You ponder. Your mind runs through the events of that night at the Bel Age. What would have happened if you stayed? Just being there for 30 more minutes probably would’ve caused you to bang Dylan’s brains out. That couldn’t be a good thing. You barely knew him, for one. You had to handle one confusing crush at a time. I mean, not that your thing with Brandon was really a crush, more of an appreciation… for a friend… that happens to be attractive. You didn’t like him like him.

“Maybe it wasn’t ruined,” Tiff calls out, “Maybe he wanted it that way.”

You change back into your normal clothes, fighting with yourself over the dress. Your parents would kill you if you spent all of your money on one dress. It was a totally cute, show-stopping dress, though. Go for it.

You walk over to the check-out counter with Kelly. You may be smart, but at this very moment you’re feeling weak.

The next morning you trot into english class, setting your bag down with a thud.

“Do you remember, Jake kissed like a wall?” Kelly giggles, practically linked at the hip with Tiff.

“OMG yeah, but he was better than the Lizard remember?” She sticks out her tongue, making a gross slurping noise while she walks to her desk.

You sit at yours, next to Brenda.

Tiff turns to both of you, “Hey!”

“Hey,” You give her a half smile, taking your book out from your bag.

“Hey, cool dress!” Brenda smiles, a nervous tick in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s a kick for sure!” Tiff spins around, posing before sliding into her seat. You notice Kelly roll her eyes in annoyance before sitting down.

“How nice of you to model for us,” Ms. Rye jokes.

“Ms. Rye?” Brenda asks, sneaking over to the teacher, “Um, I was just wondering, who’s more guilty– someone like in Les Mis who didn’t want to steal but had to, or someone who wanted to but didn’t?”

“That’s an interesting moral twister, um, and we’ll get to that,” She’s cut off by the bell, “now.”

You’re lying on your bed, eyes closed, finally getting some wel deserved peace and quiet. Away from all the gossipy peers, drama, and Tiffany. She exhausted you. You feel yourself drifting off to sleep, but the deafening ring of the phone jolts you up. Who could be calling this late? Why?

You sit up and grab your phone, answering it with a groggy “Hello?”

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry, I can call someone-” You can’t help but smile sleepily at the sound of his voice.

“Brandon?”

“Yeah…listen, can you pick me up? I took the bus to work today and they don’t run this late at night,”

“So… You need a ride? I can do that. This Town?”

“Yeah,”

“See you in 10,” You hang up, frantically fix your hair, and throw on that $200 dress. You tiptoe down the stairs and out the door, not wanting to wake up your parents. Hopping in your brother’s 1990 Red Mustang Covertible, you slowly back out of the driveway and over to the bistro.

You pull into the parking lot, and see Brandon anxiously pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. You step out of the car, the cool nighttime air almost cold enough to leave you shivering.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Brandon Walsh, Beverly Hills’ own Working Girl,” you tease, a smile on your face. He smiles back, pushing the long blue sleeves of his sweater up his arms. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,”

Your tired eyes meet his own. You get lost in the blue of them, admiring the way the moonlight looks on his face… Until the clearing of a throat shakes you out of your trance. You both silently get in the car, and you pull out of the parking lot.

“How was it?”

“I’m beat, the job’s a total bitch,” He confides.

“Really? It at least pays well, though. Right?”

“You know, that’s what I thought walking in there…but I make next to nothing, and these guys I work with, these– Vietnamese, Portuguese, Israelites, they’re coming here with no money and they’re getting completely exploited. They’re working for pine nuts,” He explains, a frustrated tone in his voice. He’s always looking to make things better for other people, it’s something you picked up on quickly since moving to Beverly Hls. It’s one of the things you quickly grew to love about him… Something that shines brightly in times like these.

“Wow…is there anything you can do?”

He sighs, resting his head against the seat. “I don’t know,”

The streets are totally dead, totally quiet. Peaceful. Only the occasional car comes around every so often. The crickets are loud tonight, though. Filling up the empty space. You see something as you stop at a red light.

“Hey, Bran? What’s that?” You smirk.

You point over to it, a large automobile, stopped at a red light with “Beverly Hills Transit” painted on the side. He looks over, and a smile– a goofy, nervous one, spreads across his face.

He stays quiet for a moment, the smile sticking to his face, shaking his head slightly. “It’s a bus.” You both look at each other and then back at the bus, slowly. You start breaking into a fit of tired giggles. You slowly get Brandon, who’s majorly exhausted from work, going too. So now you’re both sitting at a red light, giggling ike idiots. At a bus. A bus that wasn’t supposed to be there, according to Brandon.

Instead of overthinking the situation, you just drive him home, both of you giddy from exhaustion. You pull into his driveway, putting the car in neutral. This has been a weird night. Fun, but weird.

“Thanks for driving me home,” he says, his voice soft and barely above a whisper. You give him a soft “mhmm,” in return. And, like earlier, you’re staring into his eyes again, and he’s staring into yours. You’re drifting closer and closer…

And then his mom comes out. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” You nod in response, leaning back to your normal sitting position.

“Goodnight, Brandon,” You sigh. Happily, sleepily, defeated.

“Goodnight, Y/N,”

Sunday night came, and you were getting ready to go out to This Town with Dylan for dinner, to go pay Brandon a visit. You had told your parents you were going to study at the library with a friend, which…okay, this time it was a total lie, but you weren’t doing anything illegal. So it’s okay. You apply your red lipstick before heading out the door. You see Dylan in his black Porsche Speedster ,parked down the street. Just far enough to avoid creating suspicion from your parents. Perfect.

“So, was this place any good when you went?” You ask, perusing the menu.

“It was alright. Small portions, fancy plates. Good cumin,”

“Brandon’s been running the entire time we’ve been here, I don’t think I’ve even seen him take a breath,” You chuckle, watching him make his rounds. He was nothing if not a hard worker.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Dylan inquires, watching you watch Brandon.

“Come on, we’ve been over this. Brandon’s one of my best friends,” you insist, setting down your menu. You pause. “Okay. maybe I…I do like him. But I wouldn’t ever act on it. He’s kind of attractive, so what? He’s still my friend.” Brandon makes his way closer to your table.

“Yo, boy!” Dylan gets Brandon’s attention, who’s getting swamped with dishes from other employees.

“Hey!” He calls back, turning around. You admire him in his all-white uniform. It shouldn’t look so good on him, yet you’re breathless.

“'This Town,’” Dylan begins, reading the restaurant’s menu, “'This Town is an eating experience for the morning moments, a medley of sages, cumin bouquets, fragrant vegetable jewels,’” he drops the menu onto the table, then proceeds to drop his head, fake snoring. You and Brandon laugh at his antics, but Brandon’s interrupted by his boss not long after.

“Many people would love your job,” She states, black curls hair-sprayed into place as she moves along.

“Yeah, love that minimum wage,” He remarks, sarcasm rolling off his tongue. An asian man steps beside him, helping him with his work.

“You get minimum wage? Congratulations,”

“Yeah, right, same to you,” Brandon responds, raising his eyebrows.

“None of us do,” The man replies. Brandon cocks his head at that, turning to the man.

“That’s illegal!”

“So? Who’s going to do anything?” His coworker walks back into the kitchen. You see the look on Brandon’s face and you can tell…shit’s about to hit the fan. He stomps over to his boss at the counter.

“Listen–”

“I loathe apologies, make it up to me, Brendon, the cumins need filling,” his boss nags, putting on makeup in a compact mirror.

“It’s Brandon! Brandon Walsh! I’m an investigative reporter for the West Beverly newspaper–”

You watch Brandon rant and rave from your table, not able to quite make out what he’s saying because of the loud music. He starts unbuttoning his white coat while he vents.

“Uh oh…uh oh…Dylan, why is he stripping?” You tap him on the arm frantically to get his attention.

“What, I thought you’d like that,” Dylan jokes, playful grin on his lips.

“Oh, shut up!” You laugh, taking the little ball of paper from your straw and throwing it at his face. “I hate you.” You manage to catch the last bit of the conversation.

“…How you scam your help for under minimum wage! So you can take your cumin, and you can shove it,” Brandon slams his white coat down on the counter, walking back to you guys. Wow. You don’t know whether to be amused, proud, or incredibly turned on. All three?

“Take a load off, Minnesota. ‘Dinner Delectable’ is on me,” Dylan encourages, pulling out a seat for Brandon. You can almost see the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“Whew, free at last, free at last. Thank god almighty–” he stops the waitress, “Excuse me, can I get a round cup and a round saucer? And I’d like it before the second coming please,” Dylan shakes his head and silently laughs, while your jaw is slightly slack, loving whatever mood Brandon’s in right now. “Come on, let’s get out of here. ”

“Done deal, I know just the place,” all three of you catwalk out.

The Peach Pit

Brandon takes a spoonful of apple pie, “The job wasn’t just to support my car insurance habit,” he tells you. “My dad’s always worked.”

The owner of the diner leans in, both hands on the counter, “He sounds as bonkers as me.” You take a bite of your own pie as he continues, “I was 10 when I worked my first big character part in an old bogie film. There was a real pro with a sweet tooth,”

“Now I know why you dragged me all the way out here,” Brandon turns to Dylan, who’s on the other side of you.

“Best pie in L.A., food for real people,”

“Here’s to real cups and real saucers,” you quip, and all three of you raise your glasses. You look around the diner, pictures upon pictures on the walls, pink wallpaper, and rock and roll music.

“Take it or leave it,” The owner, Nat smiles.

“What I like, is you get a real cross-section of people, you know?” Dylan comments, bringing his tea to his lips.

“This really is a nice place you’ve got here,” You smile fondly.

“Listen, uh, Dylan here has been bugging me about hiring someone to help me out, I figure who would be nuts enough to want this bit? Take you, you look nuts enough,” He faces Brandon, raising his eyebrows.

“Take me!” Brandon exclaims. Oh, those were words you dreamt of hearing come out of this mouth. “I’m nuts enough!” Dammit. He’s so cute.

“I’ll vouch for that,” you giggle.

“Me too, I’ll even waive my commission,” Dylan says.

“So, when do I start?”

“How about right now?” All three of you exchange cheeky smiles.

The night ends after a few slices of pie, some milkshakes, and a curfew that’s about to break.

“Thanks for coming out with me tonight, Y/N/N,” Dylan thanks as you slide into the passengers seat. You smile at him as he pulls out of the diner’s parking lot, and turns down the street, his engine humming and the crickets chirping. You look at him for a moment, lost in your thoughts. You admire him, the night sky, and the fresh, cool, nighttime air. You speak up.

“I don’t want to go home yet,”

Tags: @be-patient-be-good @fangirl-imagines @lilo-1988 @bevelyhills90210

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