Cultural Mistranslations
Title: Cultural Mistranslations
Author/Artist: hihippy
Character(s) or Pairing(s): England, America.
Rating: T. Some words that may cause offense to some of a nationality but not the other. Nothing horrible at all. xD
Warnings: .. Confusion of cultures? idk.
Summary: De-anoning a fill. Prompt: I just got my textbook for my upcoming Anthropology class, and I had a blast reading through all the stories in it about cultural misunderstandings between people from different countries.
So I'd love to see APH nations having the same kind of hilarious misunderstandings based on cultural differences, preferably when they're just starting to get to know one another. They can be any combination of nations, any pairings or just gen/friendships, etc., so long as it's funny and light-hearted.
Original Link: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=49906105#t49906105
i. cookie
“Hey, Arthur. Hand me a cookie.” He lolls over the back of the couch, his hand just out of reach of the small plate.
“What’s the magic word?”
“… Abracadabra. Please. Dude, just hand me it.”
“Fine.”
He takes it, but stares at it after a moment. He turns it over.
“…This ain’t a cookie.”
“Yes it is. It’s a chocolate chip cookie.”
“Exactly, I said one of those!”
He points, of which I stare for a moment. I feel slightly dumbfounded.
“..Alfred, they’re biscuits.”
He stares again.
“.. You have some weird names for things. Just gimme a cookie.”
---
ii. names
We’re walking, before he trips and falls over. I let him roll around for a few moments before I sigh and fold my arms.
“Get up.”
“Will do, Artie.”
“Twat.”
He’d been up on his knees by this time. His expression cracked up, and he was rolling around again. He was in fits of laughter.
“I-I am not a vagina!”
Alright, Alfred was being annoying now.
“..A-A what?!”
He gazed at me, before his giggles consumed him.
“..A-Alfred, that’s your bloody f-fanny!-“
He halts. That’s when his eyebrows raise.
“..Dude, that’s your ass, not your twat.”
I give up.
---
iii. driving
Remind me to never let him drive again.
He gets in the car. He looks a bit confused for a moment, but it’s not like that’s not normal, so I ignore it.
“Um…”
He grasps at the wheel, making sure as though it was actually there, and sets the key to ignition.
He pulls out, and nearly crashes the car.
Screaming, I yank the wheel to the other side of the road.
“W-WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
“YOU DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE!”
“I DO NOT!”
He takes the wheel again.
“Your roads are too small.”
---
iv. temperature
“Bloody hell Alfred, how hot is it?”
“Only about 72 degrees, why?”
I’m staring, and he doesn’t see this until he looks my way. He pulls a face.
“Hey, whatcha’ lookin’ at me like that for? That’s a pretty cool temperature, you know!”
“…If it was Seventy Two degrees Celsius, I’d be a puddle on the floor.”
“Celsius, that some sort of disease? I’m on about Fahrenheit. Geez Artie, you and your words.”
“In case you hadn’t realised, you’re the only one who uses that.”
“That’s cause I’m cool.”
“No, by sounds of it, you like things insufferably hot. Idiot.”
---
v. cigarette
It’s been a hard day. During a break in the meeting, I sit back and run a hand through my hair.
“..God, I could do with a fag right about now…”
It sounds like a cat suddenly died at the front of the room. Alfred’s hands raise up, his eyes wide.
“… Whoah, Arthur. TMI, my friend.”
I frown.
“What?”
“Didn’t need to know about your sexual tendencies, there---“
“… I said I could do with a smoke, not a freaking blowjob. Pervert!”
His finger points accusingly.
“I’m not the one calling innocent things perverted.. things!”
I ignore him.
---
vi. football
“You wanna watch the game?”
“Watch what?”
“You know, football.”
He’s pulling me over to the couch before I can say yes. I’m still in a bit of shock.
“.. You... You actually watch football?...”
“Sure! It’s awesome, why not?”
He flicks the screen on, and a pitch comes into view.
My face falls.
“.. Alfred, this isn’t football.”
“Sure it is!”
“They’re not kicking a ball. They’re running with it. That’s rugby. But with Helmets.”
“Rugby? Ooooh you mean ‘soccer’. Pfft Artie, why would I watch something as boring as that?”
I facepalm, and hit him with the remote.
---
vii. measurements
“5’7.”
I step on the scales, and scowl as I feel him looking over my shoulder.
“What’s that say?”
“I weigh 10 stone, Alfred. Get away.”
He stands back a little, his expression twisting into bemusement.
“.. 10… Stone?”
“..Yes?”
“… You get stones and pile them up or something? What about pounds?”
“.. 10 stone and 3 pounds, then.”
“… You … what?”
I shake my head, and pull my shirt on again.
“14 pounds to a stone. Did you get that pint of milk?”
“..Pint? No, got a gallon though.”
I glare.
“..Jesus, and you call me odd.”
---
viii. floors
He’s late. He’s late and I hope he knows it.
When the room to the door finally opens, he looks breathless.
“Where were you?”
“.. Got lost.”
I look about for a moment. I glance out of the window.
“… Alfred, we’re only on the first floor.”
His suitcase drops, and he flails.
“That’s what I didn’t get! How can we be on the first floor when you have to go up some stairs?!”
“It’s the first floor, Alfred. The first floor above the reception level.”
He gawks, baffled.
“.. Then what’s that floor below us then?”
“The ground floor.”
---
ix. chips
Alfred peers over me, poking at my plate.
“What’s that ya got?”
I slap his hand away.
“Chips, you blind bat.”
He ignores my retraction, and pokes at them a little more, his lips pursing.
“..Those aren’t chips, man. They’re fries.”
“… They’re chips.”
“Fries. If they were chips, they wouldn’t taste all.. warm and soft.” He proved to himself by stealing one of them, causing more mutters and frowns on my part.
“Nope. Definitely fries.”
“..What the bloody hell are chips, then?”
“These!”
He threw a bag in my face.
“.. Those are crisps.”
“.. Your words. They’re weird.”
---
x. dinner
“So, what do you want for dinner?”
He looks over at the clock, blinking.
“Bit early for dinner, ain’t it?”
“What are you talking about, it’s only hit noon!”
“….You don’t have dinner at noon.”
I huff, and turn into the kitchen again.
“What else are you supposed to ‘have’ at lunch?”
He stares.
“.. You meant lunch?”
“Of course I meant lunch, what do you think I meant?”
Alfred rolled over in his chair.
“… The meal in the evening..?”
“That’s tea and that’ll come later. Now what do you want?”
I’ve lost him.
“…But that’s a drink!”
---
Some Footnotes:
-As a Brit myself, all these are either experiences or at LEAST discussions I've had with Americans over the four years I've been talking to them. Most of them while involved in Hetalia. >_>
-The style this is done in are vignettes. 100 words for each drabble section bit. if you want some interestig notes on other cultures and their preceptions, check out the original fill. Many anons have pitched in with their own knowledge!
i - In Britain, what americans call 'cookies' are biscuits. What cookies are to us are what chocolate chip cookies tend to be clasified as.
ii - A 'twat' is a common insult, basically 'idiot' in a harsher tone. In America this means a vagina. To Brits that is a 'fanny', while a 'fanny' to Americans is your arse.
iii - In Britain we drive on the left side of the road. I've been complained at by Americans how small our roads are too in comparison Dx
iv - America measure in Fahrenheit, Britain in Celsius.
v - Fag in Britain = cigarette. Fag in America = gay person (obscene insult usually)
vi - ... I'm not even going to explain this one B |
vii - Both measure height in feet and inches, but britain uses stones and pounds while America uses just pounds to measure in weight.
viii - 'First floor' To americans is what brits refer to 'ground floor'. First floor to us is what second floor is to you, etc. >>;
ix - Chips to Brits = Fries to Americans. We call (Potato)'Chips' 'Crisps'
x - This varies in Britain itself, but some people refer to Lunch as Dinner and Dinner as 'tea'. calling dinner tea is MUCH more common throughout the country. It's not just a drink, we consider it our small meal. There's an article I have that explains why this is, which is Here.
- ... I'm sorry large footnotes I just always loved the differences in cultures like this. xD
---
Bonus!
xi. kettle
“Alfred, I need tea.”
“There’s a kettle just in there, Artie.”
I wander through into the kitchen, and I look about for a moment. I mutter.
“Oi, wally! There isn’t”
He wanders through a few moments later, and stares at me.
“There, right there.”
I look over. My expression doesn’t change.
“… What happened to an electric kettle?”
He’s still staring.
“… Man, don’t be lazy. That kettle’s more than good enough. What the hell’s an electric kettle, anyway? I’m sure I’ve seen Japan have one…Looked quite… weird..”
“.. You have pink glow in the dark cakes. Don’t talk.”
Honestly.
---
OP had to add this because it blew my mind.
-I had this conversation literally the other day. Electric kettles are really incredibly expensive in America and you tend to have individual machines for making coffee, so if people own a kettle they usually do with a good old fashioned pot one.
-In Britain, every household owns at least ONE electric kettle. It's about as stationary as owning a fridge and a sink. You just.. can't move in without a kettle practically straight off. it's a bit absurd. You can buy them pretty cheaply, though the better quality ones cost a bit more. I've found electric kettles for £4, which is about 8 dollars, give or take.
-This was a conversation I literally had the other night, so I had to add this. I got called lazy for having one. Americans make glow in the dark. pink. cakes. LOGIC. WHERE IS IT?
Author/Artist: hihippy
Character(s) or Pairing(s): England, America.
Rating: T. Some words that may cause offense to some of a nationality but not the other. Nothing horrible at all. xD
Warnings: .. Confusion of cultures? idk.
Summary: De-anoning a fill. Prompt: I just got my textbook for my upcoming Anthropology class, and I had a blast reading through all the stories in it about cultural misunderstandings between people from different countries.
So I'd love to see APH nations having the same kind of hilarious misunderstandings based on cultural differences, preferably when they're just starting to get to know one another. They can be any combination of nations, any pairings or just gen/friendships, etc., so long as it's funny and light-hearted.
Original Link: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17337.html?thread=49906105#t49906105
i. cookie
“Hey, Arthur. Hand me a cookie.” He lolls over the back of the couch, his hand just out of reach of the small plate.
“What’s the magic word?”
“… Abracadabra. Please. Dude, just hand me it.”
“Fine.”
He takes it, but stares at it after a moment. He turns it over.
“…This ain’t a cookie.”
“Yes it is. It’s a chocolate chip cookie.”
“Exactly, I said one of those!”
He points, of which I stare for a moment. I feel slightly dumbfounded.
“..Alfred, they’re biscuits.”
He stares again.
“.. You have some weird names for things. Just gimme a cookie.”
---
ii. names
We’re walking, before he trips and falls over. I let him roll around for a few moments before I sigh and fold my arms.
“Get up.”
“Will do, Artie.”
“Twat.”
He’d been up on his knees by this time. His expression cracked up, and he was rolling around again. He was in fits of laughter.
“I-I am not a vagina!”
Alright, Alfred was being annoying now.
“..A-A what?!”
He gazed at me, before his giggles consumed him.
“..A-Alfred, that’s your bloody f-fanny!-“
He halts. That’s when his eyebrows raise.
“..Dude, that’s your ass, not your twat.”
I give up.
---
iii. driving
Remind me to never let him drive again.
He gets in the car. He looks a bit confused for a moment, but it’s not like that’s not normal, so I ignore it.
“Um…”
He grasps at the wheel, making sure as though it was actually there, and sets the key to ignition.
He pulls out, and nearly crashes the car.
Screaming, I yank the wheel to the other side of the road.
“W-WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
“YOU DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE!”
“I DO NOT!”
He takes the wheel again.
“Your roads are too small.”
---
iv. temperature
“Bloody hell Alfred, how hot is it?”
“Only about 72 degrees, why?”
I’m staring, and he doesn’t see this until he looks my way. He pulls a face.
“Hey, whatcha’ lookin’ at me like that for? That’s a pretty cool temperature, you know!”
“…If it was Seventy Two degrees Celsius, I’d be a puddle on the floor.”
“Celsius, that some sort of disease? I’m on about Fahrenheit. Geez Artie, you and your words.”
“In case you hadn’t realised, you’re the only one who uses that.”
“That’s cause I’m cool.”
“No, by sounds of it, you like things insufferably hot. Idiot.”
---
v. cigarette
It’s been a hard day. During a break in the meeting, I sit back and run a hand through my hair.
“..God, I could do with a fag right about now…”
It sounds like a cat suddenly died at the front of the room. Alfred’s hands raise up, his eyes wide.
“… Whoah, Arthur. TMI, my friend.”
I frown.
“What?”
“Didn’t need to know about your sexual tendencies, there---“
“… I said I could do with a smoke, not a freaking blowjob. Pervert!”
His finger points accusingly.
“I’m not the one calling innocent things perverted.. things!”
I ignore him.
---
vi. football
“You wanna watch the game?”
“Watch what?”
“You know, football.”
He’s pulling me over to the couch before I can say yes. I’m still in a bit of shock.
“.. You... You actually watch football?...”
“Sure! It’s awesome, why not?”
He flicks the screen on, and a pitch comes into view.
My face falls.
“.. Alfred, this isn’t football.”
“Sure it is!”
“They’re not kicking a ball. They’re running with it. That’s rugby. But with Helmets.”
“Rugby? Ooooh you mean ‘soccer’. Pfft Artie, why would I watch something as boring as that?”
I facepalm, and hit him with the remote.
---
vii. measurements
“5’7.”
I step on the scales, and scowl as I feel him looking over my shoulder.
“What’s that say?”
“I weigh 10 stone, Alfred. Get away.”
He stands back a little, his expression twisting into bemusement.
“.. 10… Stone?”
“..Yes?”
“… You get stones and pile them up or something? What about pounds?”
“.. 10 stone and 3 pounds, then.”
“… You … what?”
I shake my head, and pull my shirt on again.
“14 pounds to a stone. Did you get that pint of milk?”
“..Pint? No, got a gallon though.”
I glare.
“..Jesus, and you call me odd.”
---
viii. floors
He’s late. He’s late and I hope he knows it.
When the room to the door finally opens, he looks breathless.
“Where were you?”
“.. Got lost.”
I look about for a moment. I glance out of the window.
“… Alfred, we’re only on the first floor.”
His suitcase drops, and he flails.
“That’s what I didn’t get! How can we be on the first floor when you have to go up some stairs?!”
“It’s the first floor, Alfred. The first floor above the reception level.”
He gawks, baffled.
“.. Then what’s that floor below us then?”
“The ground floor.”
---
ix. chips
Alfred peers over me, poking at my plate.
“What’s that ya got?”
I slap his hand away.
“Chips, you blind bat.”
He ignores my retraction, and pokes at them a little more, his lips pursing.
“..Those aren’t chips, man. They’re fries.”
“… They’re chips.”
“Fries. If they were chips, they wouldn’t taste all.. warm and soft.” He proved to himself by stealing one of them, causing more mutters and frowns on my part.
“Nope. Definitely fries.”
“..What the bloody hell are chips, then?”
“These!”
He threw a bag in my face.
“.. Those are crisps.”
“.. Your words. They’re weird.”
---
x. dinner
“So, what do you want for dinner?”
He looks over at the clock, blinking.
“Bit early for dinner, ain’t it?”
“What are you talking about, it’s only hit noon!”
“….You don’t have dinner at noon.”
I huff, and turn into the kitchen again.
“What else are you supposed to ‘have’ at lunch?”
He stares.
“.. You meant lunch?”
“Of course I meant lunch, what do you think I meant?”
Alfred rolled over in his chair.
“… The meal in the evening..?”
“That’s tea and that’ll come later. Now what do you want?”
I’ve lost him.
“…But that’s a drink!”
---
Some Footnotes:
-As a Brit myself, all these are either experiences or at LEAST discussions I've had with Americans over the four years I've been talking to them. Most of them while involved in Hetalia. >_>
-The style this is done in are vignettes. 100 words for each drabble section bit. if you want some interestig notes on other cultures and their preceptions, check out the original fill. Many anons have pitched in with their own knowledge!
i - In Britain, what americans call 'cookies' are biscuits. What cookies are to us are what chocolate chip cookies tend to be clasified as.
ii - A 'twat' is a common insult, basically 'idiot' in a harsher tone. In America this means a vagina. To Brits that is a 'fanny', while a 'fanny' to Americans is your arse.
iii - In Britain we drive on the left side of the road. I've been complained at by Americans how small our roads are too in comparison Dx
iv - America measure in Fahrenheit, Britain in Celsius.
v - Fag in Britain = cigarette. Fag in America = gay person (obscene insult usually)
vi - ... I'm not even going to explain this one B |
vii - Both measure height in feet and inches, but britain uses stones and pounds while America uses just pounds to measure in weight.
viii - 'First floor' To americans is what brits refer to 'ground floor'. First floor to us is what second floor is to you, etc. >>;
ix - Chips to Brits = Fries to Americans. We call (Potato)'Chips' 'Crisps'
x - This varies in Britain itself, but some people refer to Lunch as Dinner and Dinner as 'tea'. calling dinner tea is MUCH more common throughout the country. It's not just a drink, we consider it our small meal. There's an article I have that explains why this is, which is Here.
- ... I'm sorry large footnotes I just always loved the differences in cultures like this. xD
---
Bonus!
xi. kettle
“Alfred, I need tea.”
“There’s a kettle just in there, Artie.”
I wander through into the kitchen, and I look about for a moment. I mutter.
“Oi, wally! There isn’t”
He wanders through a few moments later, and stares at me.
“There, right there.”
I look over. My expression doesn’t change.
“… What happened to an electric kettle?”
He’s still staring.
“… Man, don’t be lazy. That kettle’s more than good enough. What the hell’s an electric kettle, anyway? I’m sure I’ve seen Japan have one…Looked quite… weird..”
“.. You have pink glow in the dark cakes. Don’t talk.”
Honestly.
---
OP had to add this because it blew my mind.
-I had this conversation literally the other day. Electric kettles are really incredibly expensive in America and you tend to have individual machines for making coffee, so if people own a kettle they usually do with a good old fashioned pot one.
-In Britain, every household owns at least ONE electric kettle. It's about as stationary as owning a fridge and a sink. You just.. can't move in without a kettle practically straight off. it's a bit absurd. You can buy them pretty cheaply, though the better quality ones cost a bit more. I've found electric kettles for £4, which is about 8 dollars, give or take.
-This was a conversation I literally had the other night, so I had to add this. I got called lazy for having one. Americans make glow in the dark. pink. cakes. LOGIC. WHERE IS IT?