&z. (ames) they/she - bi - 26 - black - uk illustrator & writer DNI: minors/terfs/zionists/tories/right/alt-right - age in bio pls website: https://ampersandot.univer.se insta: https://instagram.com/ampersan.dot
Chapter 17 of Toska [tohs-kah] - (noun) is published! read it here!
Important updates! Please read!
I changed the coding for the translations. If you read this on desktop then the hover feature still works, it might just look a little different. IF YOU ARE ON A MOBILE DEVICE! its your lucky day! I spent 2 (two) whole hyperfixation sessions finding a code, making a skin, editing the skin, and then replacing every single code for the previous chapters with the new code so that YOU can simply tap on the cyrillic and a translation will appear on screen! tell me i did a good job, I have a praise kink. (also lmk if something isn't working, I can try to fix it). You're welcome.
Also! I realized I was geographically inaccurate by placing hollanov(a) family in the cottage for S and I's retirement (i don't care about book canon they live in the cottage bc i say so) and also having the Pike family close enough for Ruby and Irina to be in the same space. oops. ignore please!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Ruby cocked her head, “Why do you call him that?” she asked, eyes scanning over the foreign letters without understanding them.
“Is common in Russia to have уменьшительно-ласкательные имена.” Irina explained, heart jumping a little at the excitement of talking about her culture. “In English, is like, small-affection names.”
Ruby watched her intently, eyebrow piercing catching the light outside and brown eyes like a ring of spilled coffee. Irina had to look away, the attention making her preen a little and cheeks heat up. She wanted to show off for the girl, which felt strange to realize, though Irina supposed she always wanted to impress Ruby a little.
“So, nicknames?” Ruby asked, sending a quiet “Merci,” to the woman who brought over their pink smoothies.
“Mhm.” Irina sipped hers. The thick drink was pleasant on her tongue, a bit cold for the weather. Ruby mirrored her, but gulped at the smoothie as if she’d been lost in the desert for days without water. The corner of Irina’s mouth curled upward. She found it a little funny.
“What would mine be?” Ruby asked, finally unlatching from her dissolving straw.
Irina furrowed her brows, too lost staring at Ruby’s pink lips to remember the contents of their conversation. “Your what?”
“Ya’ know,” Ruby gestured with her chin to the phone, “small-affection name,”
Irina snorted, the direct translation of the Russian word sounded blocky in English, but of course Ruby wouldn’t use the simplified version, nickname. When did she ever do things the simple way?
Also, “partner” is just a good word? It implies an equal relationship where both of your work together in pursuit of something, whether that be life goals or just having fun together.
Was driving with my grandmother and in broken English she says “no eyes… no nose… no face. Don’t trust.” To which I looked around wildly in search of this omen of ill portend.
ep 1 of heated rivalry when the announcers narrate that canada struggled to find their identity (shane not knowing he's gay) and they couldn't get past russia's defense (ilya's walls) but "ilya rozanov kept getting past theirs"
i have a story for you, tumblr. last year my coworkers and I were riding in a golf cart at a music festival passing out drinks to people, because the festival had been cancelled that day and everyone was trying to make the best of a bad situation. after some time we spot a guy on the other side of the road dressed as lord farquaad, walking alone. we yell, “LORD FARQUAAD! DO YOU WANT A DRINK??” dude yells an affirmative, walks into the road without looking, gets hit by a fucking car, and goes flying.
I really need you to picture a lord farquaad being dummy yeeted into the air by an incoming vehicle while a golf cart of inebriated, glitter and mud plastered coworkers are full-on horror movie screaming together. before we can even process this, lord farquaad gets up like 🤪 how bout that drink?? completely okay, utterly unphased, red hat and bob wig still locked the fuck in. we check on him several times, all talking over each other, and while he’s calmly and pleasantly assuring us he’s fine, he passes each one of us a tiny jesus figurine. he bestows a “god bless you all” and then resumes his jaunt, drink in hand.
after that we drove in total relieved hysterics, the kinda laughter that only happens when you narrowly avoided catastrophe. and i have NO idea if the driver that hit him even said a word because my entire consciousness in that moment was farquaad, there was only farquaad. I hope that he reads this one day and knows that he is STILL talked about and regarded as some sort of festival cryptid. we are blessed indeed
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