#I cannot remember if its actually the french who do that or if its german people

[bettylatrepadora]

Chaotic evil: you're french and say it's 25 heures

[mysticficti0n]

All my attention Part 9

warnings- swearing

words- 887

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so if you're new here I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... oh well

(hey I know this is shitty but I swear it'll get better I just felt like writing something so I could carry on the story, I'm so sorry I haven't updated this since 27th June I honestly didn't realise how Long I'd not updated its but love you all and thank you for being so patient♥︎

I hate hate hate part 9 of all my attention and for the likes it's getting I can see not many people are keen with but I PROMISE YOU it's just a part so I can link the next of the series!

thank you and I am sososoososososososos sorry ♥︎)

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

I woke up with the sun shining into my bedroom making my walls glow and glimmer "morning babe" I looked next to me where Tom was lay smiling to me

"good morning" I grinned moving to be closer to him even though his arm was still under my head "sleep okay?" I asked pressing a kiss to his lips

"best sleep of my life, your bed is so much comfier than mine" we laughed, his hand moved to draw lazy shapes on my skin "you feeling okay?" he spoke and I just nodded while still watching his features "good" he hummed kissing my forehead

"this is all so crazy" I giggled staring to the ceiling "like who'd a thought? Tom and Y/n" I sighed "I'm not annoyed its happened though- are you?" he scratched his head trying to hide a smile forming on his face "piss off Kaulitz!" I shoved sitting up and crawling off the bed and standing by the window staring at the back yard where the sun was making the grass shine

"god you're so pretty" he breathed getting up too and hooking his arms around my neck and resting next to my head "what do you want to drink?" he asked letting go and grabbing his shirt from my desk

"erm.. my peach ice tea thing, should be in the fridge and I'll make us some breakfast in two seconds I need to wash my face" he nodded taking my hand and pressing a kiss to it before walking down the hallway.

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

10 minuets later I made my way to the kitchen were I saw his frame leant against the counter watching the tv "babe were on the news" my heart dropped- why? why would we be on the news? I quickened my pace and stood by him and watched as our performance was shown on the tv 'Tokio Hotel are the 5th band who have been put forward for the best band in Germany' I turned to Tom who's jaw had dropped like mine

'HOLY SHIT!" I screamed jumping onto him and cheering "WHAT THE FUCK WERE IN FOR AN AWARD!" he nodded jumping us about until hurried knocking came at my front door and we stopped

'"Y/N!" it was Bill, Tom looked to me and I pointed for him to hide in the cabinet under the stairs "Y/N OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR QUICK!" sprinting I shoved Tom into the tiny room and fled to the door whipping it open "have you seen the news?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" I squealed grabbing the boys shoulder "I'm shaking right now like holy shit"

"its crazy! and we've been put on news papers and things already! we might actually win!" Bill laughed coming inside and walking to the kitchen "oh is Tom not with you?" he asked and I panicked remembering that his brother was in the cabinet

"erm no unless he's hiding somewhere, I haven't seen him" the black haired boy laughed shaking his head

"what like he's in here?" his hand went to the door knob of the cabinet and pulled it open 'oh shit' "Tom what the fuck are you doing!" Bill nearly screamed "Y/n you said- what the fuck is going on?" Tom stepped out looking to me but I just stood stunned "did you guys fuck?" I felt my cheeks light up red

"Bill thats enough-" I herd a screech come from the singer and then many loud laughs "man just shut up"

"you guys fucked! oh my god- you slept with Y/n!" I stared at Tom who grabbed his brother and tried to shove him out the house "WAIT NO I'M SORRY DUDE! I WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED" Tom finally let go with a huff and walked back into the kitchen to the living room and fell to the sofa covering his face "so tell me what happened yesterday then" Bill cooed sitting himself across from his brother who looked to me and motioned me to sit with him

"so we went on a date yesterday- our first date and then I brought Y/n home and you know it just all happened from there" Tom breathed grabbing my hand which I gave him squeeze "I'm not even embarrassed or anything I just didn't want to fucking tell you this early after it happened" I nodded understanding what he was trying to get over

"don't tell the others" I began "I know we'll be picked on or something and we really don't need that for when we start our next shows okay and if I find out you've told them I swear to god Bill I'll rip out your eyebrow piercing and shove it up your arse" the boy laughed saying his lips were locked

"I mean us three knew it would happen at some point I mean Georg won the bet" he almost whispered looking away from us with a grin

"you bet on us?" Tom asked with a laugh "fucking weirdos" we all began to giggle and the idea of being betted on like fucking horses

"so what are you guys now?"

[kendrixtermina]

It DOESNT MATTER if the Israelis' distant ancestors really came from Palestine

Leaving aside that "indigenous" in a political sense tends to mean "current victim of colonialism or post-colonial structures" and not "being originally from somewhere" (we don't usually call the French "indigenous") consider the following:

All Slavic people & their languages are thought to have originated in what is now Ukraine somewhere in the late middle ages and spread from there to everywhere they live today. Does that mean I can kick a Ukranian out of his house because I have a czech grandpa?

All the Bantu peoples are thought to have originated roughly in what is today Cameroon. Can any west or central African speaking a Bantu language kick out someone in Cameroon from their house? Or even a black person from the USA or the Caribbean?

All the Germanic Peoples originated from Jutland peninsula (what is today Denmark & some bits of Northern Germany.) - can a guy in England, Austria or the USA kick a Dane out of his house?

The people of Australia, Canada, the eastern USA & to a lesser extent South Africa (where many alre also descended from Netherlanders) are all descended from the English. Can they all come to England & kick an English farmer out of his house?

(they can, however, still in practice sometimes get an unfair advantage over Hawaiians & Puerto Ricans, or put a pipeline or mine through a Native American or Australian Aboriginal's home, or expropriate a black person to build a highway... at least there its not based on directly racist laws, in theory a rich POC could do it too.But in practice the result still often screws locals for short-sighted business ventures, so there is some stuff to be fixed still...)

The Romance languages all descend from Latin. Can any Italian kick ppl out out of everything that used to be Roman, including France, England and Bavaria?

Can any Greek kick someone out out of everything that used to be the Byzantine Empire?

Spain belonged to the Islamic empire for a long time. Can a Moroccan go kick a Spanish person out of his house?

Spain does give Spanish nationality to south american spaniards, (to attract skilled workers & fix low population growth), which I know cause my dad insisted on getting it due to patriotic feeling, but while he could buy a house there & vote, he cannot kick anyone out. Not even out of the exact village where his ancestors lived just 100 years ago.

Heck, the czech grandpa I mentioned? His family was expropriated when Communism took over. After communism, my mom & her siblings got an offer to get their farm/house back, but ONLY if they find the ppl currently living in the house an equivalent place.

It turns out there was a family of Romani ppl living there & it would be hard to find them a big house due to housing discrimination - my mom & her siblings just decided to let them keep the house since they were actually using it & none of us was planning to move to rural czechia. It seemed mean to kick out ppl who are being discriminated & had themselves lived there for decades now, after all we have our own places. (and my mom has, like, a painting of the town's church hanging in her living room & remembers living there as a little girl, & has stories about it, including some lewd jokes about the shape of the mountains.)

They should probably do a similar program in Palestine, where Palestinian families can get still-standing houses back or $$ for rebuilding destroyed villages, but the current inhabitants get provided for. Though probably the state should have to find them a new place, not impoverished Palestinians themselves. In the communist expropriation example, chances are the original owner was richer than the current one, which is different in Palestine.

Let us also consider the difference between conquest & immigration.

Conquest means you disrupt the social order & impose your own rules. This is clearly what was done in Palestine.

Immigration is different - I'm all for the right to immigrate & for ppl to live where they want, but immigrating means you fold yourself into an existing society & follow the laws there. (many ppl explicitly immigrate to places where they like the laws more)

The problem is not jewish ppl living in Palestine because they want to live in the land of their distant ancestors, but rather taking over & oppressing everyone else.

No one would mind my dad going to live in Spain where his ancestors lived. Indeed they would probably rejoice, he is a skilled worker & pays lots of tax. But if he came with an army, rebranded the country "new Cuba", demanded that everyone speak Latin American Spanish & started oppressing the local farmers, that would be a very different issue.

Though of course I wonder how many ppl care more about special treatment & free stuff than they do about religion or "connection to the land". Many might end up going to some gated community in the USA if they have to be equal citizens with no special privileges.

[beauty-and-passion]

What Eurovision 2021 taught us

1. That a nice, enjoyable show was possible (even if 4 presenters are still too much)

Of course nothing can beat Love Love Peace Peace (even if Ja Ja Ding Dong does its best), but this year's intermissions were very enjoyable.

We expected something flashy and over the top because hey, The Netherlands. Sex, drugs, gays and all that jazz.

But instead Covid surprised us. And then The Netherlands surprised us even more, by making a very enjoyable show, despite the restrictions. My personal favourites were:

The water intermission of the first semi-final. I loved the mixed feelings, how water is both scary and respected, for being such a powerful, unstoppable force.

The rooftop concerts during the final. Social distancing? Sure, no problem, let's make the past winners sing on top of some roofs all over Rotterdam. That was pure genius, I loved it so much.

On the other hand, the presenters were basically all useless. We could've had just two of them instead of four. But hey, at least they weren't as cringy as the three scary ukranians from 2017 or the useless four ladies from Portugal. The true highlights of the show were the intermissions, the guests and especially the songs themselves and this is perfectly good for me.

________________________

2. That we can live in a world without boring ass ballads

I’ve never been so proud of the Eurovision public, especially during the second semifinal: that evening was PACKED with ballads. Boring ballad after boring ballad, with just a couple more funny songs in between.

The ballads were all left behind. Even the two Amen. And I love the irony we chose El Diablo and the finnish band for the final, but no Amen. No saints allowed, only the norwegian angel. As it always should be.

And so we had the best final I've seen since I started following Eurovision in 2014. Catchy songs, dance songs, upbeat songs. And power ballads. Yes, ballads can still have a place, but only if they're good.

Because yes, Switzerland and France were good. Very good. Just not as good as the ones the public wanted.

________________________

3. That we want Eurovision, not Englishvision

Every year, the same message blasts from all Europeans: send a song in your native language. This show is supposed to make other people from Europe (and the rest of the world) to know more about your own country, to enjoy its rhythm and to listen to something we don't usually hear. So why waste this huge opportunity, to bring a generic song in English?

Because the English song wins. Because we all understand English, so English has more chances.

Flash news: GUESS WHO WON THIS YEAR. No, it’s not the generic English song.

The public has been crystal clear, the final poll is even clearer: the top five includes an italian song, an ukraine song, two french songs and only one english song. We want different styles and rhythms, we want to listen to Europe.

So I want to give my full thank you to:

Albania: amazing song, great voice, wonderful language. Do it again.

Serbia: these ladies are fantastic, their song is great and they sang it in their language so I love them

Switzerland: thank you for leaving English to the side to give us some good french

Spain: the song wasn't as good as Universo, but it was in sexy spanish, so thank you for using it almost every year

Danemark: the song was terrible, but it was in your language and this alone deserves everything

France: I know we all make fun of you for being France, but your language is perfect for songs, so thank you for always using it

Ukraine: take note, Ukraine, because Europe is madly in love with your language and your rhythm

Italy: our language is beautiful, so thank you for delivering every year

While my biggest biases go to:

Greece: a generic pop song with no balkan rhythm and no greek either? An absolute shame, greek should always be used for songs.

Russia: russian language is very melodious and yes, we got something this year, but what about bringing a full russian song? We want it!

Germany: I may sound crazy, but I honestly think german language is good for songs. It's not like the mediterranean languages, but it still works. So please, do not be scared and show what you can do with it!

Scandinavian countries: why do you never want to bring your own language? Do it, don't be scared! Yes, Sweden, I'm talking with you: you still never tried to bring something in swedish, so do it.

________________________

4. That we don't want Americans to play with us

For reasons we still have to understand, Flo Rida was competing this year. And he was competing for San Marino, the smallest European country.

I'm pretty sure they took some time to explain to him what was going on, where he was, where San Marino is, wtf was happening, why there were sexy italians and ukranian witches and a norwegian angel and loads of beautiful women everywhere.

And I loved how we all send memes about this, about ahahah why is Flo Rida here, what if San Marino wins where would they host Eurovision, all while enjoying an actual catchy song.

And then, in the end, Flo Rida basically disappeared. Who remembers Flo Rida, when we got Ukraine, Italy, Finland, Iceland, and the UK? And Germany being wholesome? And the love story between Norway and Azerbaijan? We collectively forgot about him and I think it's very sexy from Europe to just say "nope" and push America away, even if for just one week.

And this isn't the first time: we basically showed Madonna in a corner in 2019, thanks to Mans, Eleni, Verka and Conchita. Once again, Europeans knows what they want: we don't want Americans. Australia can because they're like that little brother we took under our wing for no reason and now it's part of us. But not Americans.

The rest of the year is all yours, but one week is ours.

________________________

5. That we can lose like bosses

This year, the voting results have been absolutely insane and FOUR COUNTRIES got zero points from the public, while the UK got both zero points from the public AND the jury.

Don't get me wrong, the song was bad. And yes, Brexit played a role in this. And yes, hating England is Europe’s favourite sport.

But can we please all take a moment and appreciate how James Newman reacted? The public gave him a round of applause and he celebrated this achievement like a boss.

And he had all the reasons! He achieved something incredible, he unlocked something that this new voting system was supposed to never lead to. But he did it. So hats off to you, my boy: My Last Breath was better.

Germany is also used to the bottom of the chart, but this year I really thought Jendrik could have a chance to achieve a higher position. The song was funny, carefree, lively, the hand costume was the kind of trash we need and the message was nice as well. But he still got 3 points.

Despite that, Jendrik celebrated like a maniac and seeing his this happy made me happy as well. I really wish him the best.

________________________

6. That FUCK YOU JURY

Again, same message every year: the jury vote should be eliminated. It's a fucking farce and their votes have nothing to do with what the public want.

The jury focuses on the voices, except when they don't, and clearly giving points to your neighbours is because you like the song, not because they're your neighbours.

I usually make fun of Greece and Cyprus showing eternal love to each other, by giving 12 points to each other every year, but this time, it sounded even more stupid than usual. It really looked like a farce. Why should we see this farce? Why can't we just choose what the public wants? So at least we would blame ourselves for our shitty musical tastes.

Even if I'm pretty sure we all have great musical tastes. Let's not forget that in 2019 the public's winner was Norway, with a song that mixed english, a catchy rhythm and an amazing part in yoik language. Arcade is good as well, but we cannot deny the norwegian entry was a lot more interesting.

And this year, the public's taste was flawless:

Look at this beauty: italian glam rock, ukranian techno folk, french powerful ballad, finnish hard rock and whatever that thing was with Iceland.

There's variety, there's everything for everyone. And there are native languages. Italian, Ukranian, and French on top three, followed by English.

Moral of the story: the public is great and the jury should be abolished forever.

________________________

7. That Ukranian technofolk is all we needed in our lives

I didn’t see enough love for Go_A, so as italian, I think it's my sworn duty to give my appreciation to them and their amazing entry, because this band is awesome and Shum is currently on top of the Spotify top 50 - as it should be, because everyone should listen to it and join this slavic rave party.

I already liked their entry for 2020, Solovey. But I also liked My Last Breath from the UK and Universo from Spain. And this year they brought two of the worst songs. So I was very wary of Go_A.

But Shum is an absolute blast. Katerina Pavlenko's voice is unique and the song is even more, because based on ukranian folklore and traditional dances to summon the spirit of spring. They managed to teach something to all Europe in a three minute song and I think that’s incredibly sexy of them.

And so, I searched for other songs and OMG, I don’t know how it’s possible, but they are all great. Rano-Ranenko, Zhalmenina, Tanula, they all are perfect and I’m in love with this band.

And if all of this is not enough, THEY DID A COVER OF DANCING LASHA TUMBAI. The most iconic Eurovision song, sang by our god Verka. And this is the coolest, most badass cover ever in the whole universe. Please listen to it HERE everyone needs to hear this.

So thank you, Ukraine, for giving us Go_A. We all had a small empty place in our hearts and this place has ben perfectly filled by them.

And yif you think you don’t need ukranian technofolk, is only because you still haven’t listened to it. Please listen and enjoy Shum. You’re welcome.

________________________

8. That rock and roll never dies (and Italy’s well deserved victory)

The last time Italy won was in 19-fucking-90. 31 years ago. I was just born.

And now, they finally won again. And what a song! Despite being italian, I've never listened to Maneskin before, but oh damn, this song is good. Not all their songs are, but this one is. And also Morirò da re.

Their show was perfect as well. This post is really eye-opening about how well they put on their show. The use of the stage, the movements, everything has been part of a great performance, even their clothes. Damiano's voice never faltered, despite having an entire continent watching him. They handled the stage like bosses, despite being only in their twenties. And they gave us some good fucking rock.

And so the public said a loud "FUCK YOU" to the jury and chose its winners. The sassy, sexy italians.

And yes, I know that there has been a lot of petty polemics because those youngsters are having drugs!1!! as if they were a bunch of idiots who used drugs on international TV, with their manager sitting next to them.

Of course it was a pointless accusation and honestly I don't care if some people are sore losers. The drug results were negative anyway, what a shocker.

What we should truly think about is how strong the Maneskin's bladders are, because they spent the whole evening of the final drinking the entire alcohol supply of the Eurovision and, at the end, they were still happy and cool. Hats off to you, you sexy people.

This man is just iconic, why did I miss him before.

Also, have some more Maneskin. You know, as a treat.

________________________

9. That solidarity and wholesomeness are the biggest winners

It's just beautiful to see these nice people, from all over Europe, bonding, having fun, taking photos together and being friends.

The true winner of this, is probably Norway: Tix wanted to have a good time and he had a good time. The video of him vibing with Ukraine and Germany while listening Hard Rock Hallelujah is the best (HERE). His love story with Efendi from Azerbaijan is even better (please, check the video on his youtube channel, it's hilarious). I don't like his song, but he's a great guy and deserves everything.

The italian and finnish rock relationship is also great. Maneskin and Dark Sides found each other, considering they were the only two rock bands in the competition, so mutual appreciation was inevitable.

But Damiano is also a man of culture and he appreciates Ukraine's entry. And Ukraine appreciates both Finland and Italy. Is this what world peace looks like? Because I love it.

________________________

10. That Italians will be Europe's clowns again (and you're all allowed to make fun of us)

Beware, Europe: we Italians are messy and chaotic, our presenters don’t know a single word in English, we are homoerotic AND homophobic at the same time, our musical competitions are so fucking sloooow... let’s say next year’s Eurovision is going to be interesting.

And yes, you’re allowed to make fun of us. We don’t care, we won, so we deserve to be Europe’s clowns once again.

And I don’t know who the presenters will be (my bets are on everyone’s favourites: Fiorello, Amadeus and Malgioglio), I don’t know how we will ridicule ourselves once again, I don’t know where will we find the money to put on the show, I don’t know how ungodly long it will be... but I know that Mans Zelmerlow will be part of it. This man loves Eurovision just like all of us, so I can already see him packing his suitcase and planning his flight to Italy. Come to us, Mans, we will wait for you. We actually need an English presenter, so if you have nothing else to do...

[qqueenofhades]

... Remember the Russian Revolution au? Which ended with Fedyor's sister very sick and Fedyor searching for Ivan in hopes of getting help for her from him? Fedyor finding Ivan and offering to do "anything" in exchange for his sister's medical treatment? Ivan secretly wanting Fedyor, but refusing to take what he wants like that? Soooo... I would also like the big the big 3 of your coming projects to happen, but... y'know... just.... wanted to bring this au up again... ;)

Behold, the oft-requested follow-up to the first two Russian Revolution au ficlets. Ahem.

Fedyor does not sleep that night. He does not even think about sleeping. He only leaves the army headquarters long enough to think hard about what he is proposing to do, wonder if it is worth it, and decide that it is. Katya needs the medicine, he has no other recourse, and he is categorically unwilling to return home to his family as a failure, when they have placed all their trust and hope in him. Ivan has hinted that he might be able to obtain it, and so that, no matter what it takes, is what Fedyor will have to get him to do. And for that…

He knows that he is not unattractive. He has dark eyes, dark hair, a dimpled smile, a personable and friendly manner that, in happier times, attracted the attention of many an eligible young lady who wished to ice skate or promenade around the park or take a carriage ride, as courting Russian couples are wont to do. However, while Fedyor was perfectly happy to chat with ladies, or escort them to a ball, or fulfill his essential chivalric duty, he was not otherwise interested in wooing them. It was partly for that reason that he signed up to the military, where an enterprising young man can have other opportunities in the darkness of the barracks. So long as his family was kept conveniently unaware.

For all that the Bolsheviks have overthrown the government without a clear plan as to what to do next, and accordingly plunged them all into this miserable civil war, Fedyor does secretly sympathize with certain of their beliefs on the remaking of family life. They say that marriage is outdated and bourgeoisie, that monogamy is unnatural, that women should not be subject to patriarchal systems, and that homosexuality is an equally valid state of nature. Such a possibility of sexual classification and divergence is much discussed in Europe these days, and there is even a small but growing scholarly literature, written by eminent scientists. Sexual Inversion by Havelock Ellis, published in 1896, argues that the man-loving man is indeed even a possibly improved form of human, associated with superior intellectual and artistic achievement, and that nothing about his attachment is wrong or abnormal. Two years before that, Edward Carpenter wrote Homogenic Love, and in 1900, the German Elisar von Kupffer published an anthology of homosexual poetry, Lieblingminne und Freundesliebe in der Weltliteratur. Such texts are relatively easy for an educated, French- and English- speaking young Russian intellectual, such as Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, to lay his hands on. He is not sure what can come of it, but at least he knows that he is not alone.

The question remains as to Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov’s proclivities. Unless Fedyor is very much mistaken, Ivan was at least considering the possibility of accepting his offer, and turned it down for honorable, moral reasons, feeling it unjust to sexually extort a young gentleman in exchange for his sister’s care, rather than physical horror at the idea of such a coupling. If he’s a Bolshevik, he’s probably acceptably tolerant of their philosophy on an abstract level, but it’s less clear as to whether that extends to its personal practice. If Fedyor turns up in his bunkhouse – which, come to think of it, is probably shared, curse these Bolsheviks and their dratted communality, highly inconvenient for a midnight seduction attempt – scantily clad and willing, will Ivan’s objections hold out then? Or… or what?

Fedyor doesn’t know, but the uncertainty adds to the frisson of shameful excitement, rather than detracting from it. He searches through the streets of Chelyabinsk for some bread (it does not seem in much greater supply than in Nizhny Novgorod) and waits for the sun to go down. In March, the days, though getting steadily longer, are still short and chilly, and it’s bitingly cold when it gets dark. Then he pulls up his muffler, tells himself not to be unduly precious about it, and heads for the makeshift army quarters on Kirovka Street.

The buildings in downtown are beautiful, built in the Russian Revival style of neo-Byzantinian splendor, though the onion-domed Orthodox churches have all been converted into stables and armories, and anything that whiffs of an ideology contrary to the Red one has been economically discarded. Fedyor reaches the door, knocks, and when a disgruntled sergeant comes to answer it, expecting him to be a soldier out too late and in line for a ticking-off, Fedyor raises his hands apologetically. “I’ve come to join up,” he says. “The great socialist cause of the world’s workers is the only true one for a patriotic Russian man, and I vow it my full allegiance, if you will have me. I was speaking to my friend earlier, Ivan Ivanovich, and he suggested it. Is he still here?”

The sergeant eyes him squiggle-eyed, but they cannot afford to look gift horses too closely in the mouth, or turn aside willing recruits. It takes a while, but he shouts for someone who shouts for someone else, and this finally produces the startled personage of Ivan Sakharov, who clearly thought it was for the last time when they parted several hours ago. Upon sight of Fedyor, he stops short, looking alarmed, angry, and wary all at once. “What are you – ?”

“Can we talk?” Fedyor is resolved to do this, he truly is, but he feels it best to get it over with before that wavers in any degree. Whether he wants it too little does not seem like the problem; on the contrary, he fears that he wants it too much, and if he stops to reflect on it or delude himself with any nonsensical notions of it being more than once, that can only hurt the cause. “Somewhere… private?”

Ivan hesitates, as if asking to commune out of sight of the others is tantamount to heresy (though it’s not as if these damn hypocrites didn’t plot in secret, away from their own countrymen, for months and months, Fedyor thinks angrily). Then he jerks his head. “Fine. Five minutes. This way.”

He leads Fedyor up a few narrow, creaking staircases, past closed doors that echo with snorting and snoring and coughing, the cacophony of his comrades, none of whom seem to be enjoying their glorious victory quite as much as they thought. Ivan, however, appears to be sufficiently high-ranking in the Red Guards that the room they finally arrive at, though not much larger than a closet, is at least private. It reminds Fedyor forcibly of Ivan’s room back in St. Petersburg, the one they slept in together, that first night after the Winter Palace. It sounds more intimate in his recollections than it actually was. Nothing happened, of course. But Ivan was kind to offer it, kind when he did not need to be, when a young tsarist soldier alone in the ferment of riot and revolution, such as Fedyor was, would not be likely to see the new red dawn. It is that which Fedyor keeps in mind as he shuts the door with assumed casualness, then turns around, meets Ivan’s eye in a significant fashion, and shrugs off his coat, cap, and muffler. Then, unmistakably, starts to unbutton his shirt.

He has almost gotten to the bottom by the time Ivan, who is staring at him as if he’s lost his marbles (it is unclear if this is an encouraging fashion or not) finally recovers his sense. He strides forward and covers Fedyor’s hands with his own large, callused rifleman’s fingers, sending a shock of attraction burning through Fedyor from head to toe, along with the death of any more illusion that he could continue to be casual about this. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fedyor’s throat is as dry as a bone, but he forces himself to speak. “I said that I would do anything for my sister’s care, if you would help.”

He lingers suggestively on the word anything, just as he did before, in case there was any doubt (as if the undressing wasn’t enough) what he means here. Ivan looks like a cornered bear, but as his eyes catch Fedyor’s and flick across the lean, muscled torso thus revealed beneath the shirt, he swallows hard and has to glance away. The attraction trembles silently in the air between them, tense as a piano string, tuned to snapping. In the old days, that is, when people played pianos, and did not burn them for firewood, as Fedyor’s parents were preparing to do with theirs when he left home. It chokes raw and painful in his throat. He is attracted to Ivan – desperately attracted, in fact – and yet he still hates what the Bolsheviks have done, even if the Romanovs and the Provisional Government were no better. The deposed Tsar Nicholas II is under house arrest with his wife and five children, the four tsarevnas and the tsarevich, in Yekaterinburg. Little sick Alexei Romanov, whose hemophilia opened the door for Grigori Rasputin to control the queen, the royal household, the government of Russia, and so bring about the end of their house. He was like something from a fairytale monster, that Grisha. The rumors of his death, not quite two years ago in December 1916, is that it almost did not happen, he was so hard to kill. A demon. A beast.

“You cannot do this,” Ivan says, his voice too rough, his eyes still struggling to remain decorously averted. “It is not – it is not right.”

“Not right?” Fedyor flares. “So a little spot of armed treason and overthrowing the man who, however deficient he might be, was the heir of one of the oldest and greatest empires in the world? That part was entirely aboveboard, but this, when you want this – don’t lie to me, I’m well aware you do – to help my sister? That would be a sin?!”

Ivan backs up a step, glancing around shiftily. These walls are thin, and he clearly does not want his beloved brothers-in-arms to hear this. “Fedyor Mikhailovich – ”

“Have me.” Fedyor is done playing games. “I’m here, I’m yours for the taking. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you give me the medicine at the end.”

For a long, spellbound moment, he thinks Ivan is on the brink of agreeing. Then once again, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I could not in good conscience consent to this. But I will fetch you the medicine. You do not have to give me anything in return.”

Fedyor gawks at him, shocked – and, it must be confessed, more than a little disappointed. “I thought it was fair trade,” he says. “Tit for tat.”

“It is…” Ivan shakes his head, eyes once more straying to Fedyor’s bare chest. “Button your shirt up,” he says, half-laughing, not angry, breathless and soft. “It is very distracting.”

“Good.” Fedyor takes another step. “I think you deserve it, you obnoxious bastard.”

“Be that as it may.” At least Ivan has the good sense not to dispute it. “I cannot do this,” he repeats, more gently. “You are a fine young man, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Perhaps in another life… but it would not be honorable to trade your virtue for this.”

“My virtue?” Fedyor has to laugh. “What makes you think I have that?”

Once again, Ivan wavers. But to give him (loathing) credit, he will not be swayed. “Button it,” he repeats. “I will arrange to have the money and medicine sent by your lodging by tomorrow, if you give me an address in the city.”

“I don’t have one.” Fedyor folds his arms. “Only here.”

Ivan looks even more startled. His lips part, he takes a step forward, and for a brief, wild, exquisite yearning of an instant, Fedyor thinks he is actually going to kiss him. They’re almost close enough – not quite, but almost – for it to happen. Then Ivan says, “Your family must be very proud of you.”

“I…” It catches in his throat. “I don’t know. I hope.”

“I would,” Ivan says. “I would be.”

And that, somehow, is all that seems to matter. Even as Fedyor spends a night in Ivan’s narrow camp cot of a bed, Ivan insisting on taking the hard floor out of an excess of gallantry, an echo of their first night in St. Petersburg. Ivan does as ordered, gives Fedyor some rubles and some medicine and a train ticket back home to Nizhny Novgorod. He personally escorts Fedyor to the train station to make sure he does not come to grief, then stands on the platform, staring after him like Vronsky watching Anna leave one more time. The train begins to huff and puff, spitting soot and embers, and Fedyor keeps his nose pressed to the glass, leaving a smudge, until long after, as it seems he is never destined to do anything but, Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov has vanished into the mist.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

for you personally, what accent is most difficult to understand?

Dutch

All things considered I’m gonna say the Swiss German dialects for someone who only knows Standard German, but if you’re a native speaker, I think it has a lot to do with your own native accent and which ones you were exposed to and for that’s mostly Berlinerisch and Rhineland dialect with the Southern dialects being...less familiar. And I at least grew up watching some Austrian shows as a kid and I personally found Swiss German the most difficult when I was there. But I also think it depends on how you evaluate accents.

People who learn the language - especially if they do it outside a German-speaking country - usually learn High German as a basis which means they have no “build in advantage” in on region. I also think it has to do with how commonly and how strongly people speak dialect in specific regions and how strong the influence of Standard German is. So in general, southern rural regions are probably the biggest challenge. It’s also important to consider that they all blur into each other so it’s not much a clear distinction as one town saying this, the next town saying it a little differently and the third town saying something else altogether.

So the left map gives you the versions of “Standard German” - German Standard German, Austrian Standard German and Swiss Standard German. And the map on the right shows how common the use of the national Standard variety is in specific regions - in the dark area, Standard German is dominant, native form, light areas where it’s less popular and dialects more popular and in the striped area the majority speaks dialect. And as you can see, there is a vast difference between the North of Germany and the rest. So while the dialects spoken in the North might not technically be easier to understand (in fact, Low German/Plattdeutsch even qualifies as its own language and has its own dialects and I think is also an official language in parts of Brazil), most of their speakers speak a High German that is much closer to...you know, actual High German than their counterparts in the southern regions. And that affects the way they speak dialect too - so that the way they speak dialect is much closer to Standard German, most of the time or if they want to be understood.

So that gets us to the South, where people speak a lot more dialect than High German-

Austrian and Bavarian dialects are considered downright incomprehensible to outsiders and get subtitles on tv much like Swiss-German. I remember one time when I was in a hotel in Bavaria in one of the striped regions (to pick up Missy when she was a puppy^.^), I checked into the hotel and the owner talked me through the process of checking in and I barely understood a word she was saying. And I was like...yeah, that’s Bavarian dialect for you and I nodded along. So far so normal. Then her husband walks in and they start talking to each other and... listening to them I just ... understood even less and realised that what she had been speaking to me was her version of Standard German. And that was how close she got - and keep in mind, this woman was running a hotel which means she does meet more of us mean preißischen Northerners than the other people in her tiny village. And actually someone pointed out on my last post about Swiss German that just because Swiss Germans get subtitles on Bundes-German tv, doesn’t mean they were actually speaking Swiss German in that interview - they might actually be making an effort to try speak Standard German. It’s just  that the result is not particularly...Standard-ish. Standardian. Standard-ese. To the point that outsiders cannot tell the difference. Or understand it.

(My personal experience is that I had more of these “I literally have no idea what you are trying to say” moments in Bavaria than in Baden Württemberg, but I’ve also been to BaWü more often than to Bavaria and usually in not nearly as rural places.) (That said, in terms of interesting varieties I think Alsatian deserves an honorary mention - not the version that is it’s own language, but the version of German that is spoken in the Alsace, because it’s very strong regional accent mixed with a French accent but I don’t know which part of this is actually the dialect and which part is just being French? And which is Alsatian dialect and which is the language? Not to mention that if you speak French with them they also have a regional accent, so it’s just a lot going on) 

For the sake of fairness, I know a lot of people say they find Kölsch, the Cologne-area dialect, absolutely incomprehensible, but I grew up around here so I’m pretty used to it. I just don’t understand all their Karneval-terminology and most of them can speak understandable High German. I also think Pfälzisch is underrated for how difficult it can be to understand (and the Standard-proficiency of its more rural inhabitants).  

For the record, I’d say the Berliner dialect is one of the easiest ones, especially because you can just fill in random insults for any part you don’t understand and you probably got the meaning. (But then my family is from Berlin so a lot of it flies under my radar when it comes to difficulty)

I actually also found this paper on the subject which is interesting - not least because it says German might be the most diverse language in Europe, a title which I always expected to go to Italian. Take that, Italy.

[thexfridax]

Translated interview

Adèle Haenel: 'Sex in cinema is usually quite pathetic’

Wenke Husmann, in: Die Zeit, 31st of October 2019

Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]

Our understanding of art? Patriarchal! Eroticism in cinema? Stunted! The actress Adèle Haenel about her new film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’.

In the film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’, the young aristocrat Héloïse literally catches fire. Around 1770 she falls in love with a young painter, who is supposed to portray her. The role of the shy former convent student seems unusual for Haenel at first glance, who otherwise plays very assertive female characters: an AIDS activist in ‘120 BPM’, a martial artist in ‘Love at First Fight’, a doctor who solves a murder in ‘The Unknown Girl’. But Haenel also interprets the role of the muse as a very active one. The actress had her breakthrough in 2007 at the age of 18 with ‘Water Lilies’, the debut film by film-maker Céline Sciamma. The two were a couple for years. ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ is their second collaboration, which was awarded the Best Screenplay (for Sciamma) at the Cannes Film Festival.

Haenel speaks German very well. She learned the language almost perfectly for Chris Kraus' feature film ‘The Bloom of Yesterday’. However, whenever she speaks German, she will always be so categorical, Haenel warns, and after a very German expletive slips into the conversation, she switches to French.

ZEIT ONLINE: In ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ you play a restrained woman at first. Your Héloïse is supposed to be portrayed by a painter. She is the more experienced, a self-assured artist you fall in love with. But then you reinterpret the role of the muse.

[T: Short bio of Adèle and description of the film is inserted here, but I didn’t translate these, as y’all know everything already 😏]

Adèle Haenel: It's about equality. I believe that the role of the muse is in fact active - and as important as the official role of the artist.

ZE: What is the active part or equality in the relationship between you being the portrayed and the painter? And what's new about it?

AH: I think in art history, being a muse was the role that women were allowed to play. That's why men said, ‘Oh, it's a passive role, the muses are just in the room, and we're dreaming and fabricating great ideas in our heads.’ It was their way of saying that as men, they are the only ones who create art. That's Scheiße [T: 💩 💩 💩] in my opinion. I’m sorry. Whenever I speak German, I am always a bit more categorical. But that’s the way it is.

(Continues the conversation in French)

I believe, however, that muses have always been active. They were just not presented like that. This also has a lot to do with a certain notion of art. Art is not just an ideal sphere that comes down to earth through an artist who is both absolute and ingenious. Art is created by questioning your own choices over and over again, as well as the reasons that led to them. Thus, there is something sacred and something entirely unholy in art. Questioning postulates, constantly questioning your own work, makes art powerful. And that is much more the result of collaboration than of anything else.

ZE: In this case, collaboration is based on love. Muse and artist are on equal terms. Your connection acts like an engine and unleashes the creativity of the artist. Is that the reason why the first portrait that the painter Marianne made of you as Héloïse is technically good but rather conventional? [T: the interviewer uses ���not befitting’ here]

AH: It's not even about the progression, where only love makes art better, but it’s actually about the process. That's why you constantly ask yourself questions. Of course, at some point a portrait will come out, but in the film it’s not about whether that’s a good thing or not in the end. The problem of the first ‘failed’ portrait is that it avoids any questions. It does not ask exactly: Who is this person? What attitude did the painter take towards her? Does the model have an essence that we try to capture and bring to the canvas? Or is it just about capturing a specific moment? At this point, the collaboration begins. My character Héloïse begins to question Marianne, the artist, ‘What's that supposed to be?’ And when Marianne answers, ‘That's the way to do it,’ Héloïse retorts, ‘What do you mean, that's the way it is done, how do you find yourself in it, what's your attitude towards it?’ And you cannot just take that stance, you have to feel it.

ZE: Is this relationship comparable to what you have as an actress with the director Céline Sciamma?

[T: The above was taken from a translation on the Teller Report website and revised where necessary, my own translation continues below.]

AH: Yes, absolutely. Our collaboration is based on that idea. There are also parallels in terms of content, because painting in this film also has a lot to do with cinema. As it’s also about sequence, scene and so on. The screenplay was very detailed. Improvisation as a method wasn’t intended. But I had a certain amount of freedom to shape my character. The point wasn’t to do this behind closed doors, but the idea was developed in exchange to centre my character around the gaze and into three phases: At the beginning of my journey, I saw myself more as an object, then there was the phase of questioning, and at the end I’m more of a subject. This means that I used my face like a mask at the beginning of the film, very solemn, almost sacral, with little emotion, reserved. The warmer Marianne’s gaze becomes at Héloïse, the more I change the way I’m acting. I become more active and animated. I gave myself a very clear structure. Céline went with this kind of idea. And then we start to discuss about specific and precise things.

ZE: That seems quite practical and unpretentious.

AH: Oh, I’m a very impatient person and get annoyed very quickly. That’s why I can’t stand some of the questions that I get (mimics a stupid tone): ‘How do you endure just being looked at the whole time?’ I do retort then: ‘Have you even seen the film? It’s about the exchange of gazes!’

ZE: There is a narrative framework in the film, where Marianne remembers this love several years later. It’s about the impact of that encounter. How important is such an echo for the arts?

AH: You could say that every human being contains something like an eternal truth inside of them, but that this cannot manifest in a person in its pure form. The potential is there. So, you can develop, change, grow. It’s almost our responsibility to become a better [T: bigger is stated here] person, who exhausts all possibilities to become what makes us human. A romantic relationship [T: love affair…] also makes us feel the possibility to become someone else, more than what we were before. I’m thinking in particular of Spinoza in this context.

ZE: In short, he talks about the necessity of individuals to evolve so that they become more perfect. [T: ‘Vollkommenheit’ is difficult to translate, but I understand that Spinoza meant that this is the ideal state of being, see: The Ethics, Part 4. Of Human Bondage, Or The Strength Of The Emotions, Preface]. Looking at your career, it seems that you and film-maker Céline Sciamma, who was your partner for a long time, also helped each other very much in that sense to evolve.

AH: Céline and I have an extremely close connection and always had an intense intellectual exchange with each other. And an intense emotional exchange, but of course that changes over time. When it comes to what I said before about the search for and questioning of what’s underneath, and how we make choices in terms of our work, then Céline and I understand each other well. We agree about the questions and how we can communicate about them.

ZE: The film takes place around 1770. Back then, the first female artists’ associations were found such as the school of Adélaïde Labille-Guiard. Marianne also worked in such an art school. It was only a few years that women could work as painters. Before and after, female artists could only do that in a limited capacity. Why was that?

Adélaïde Labille-Guiard, Autoportrait avec deux élèves (1785) © Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

AH: You get the impression that the female gaze is somehow threatening for male colleagues, that’s why they always tried to ban it. And besides, that is still the case.

ZE: How?

AH: Because some kind of natural order is being postulated. We have very much internalised this patriarchal order, in our intimacy, our desires, in everything. Indeed, challenging this perceived natural order is dangerous, because the entire patriarchy virtually depends on this everywhere. The trick to avoid answering questions that women are asking is in pretending that women really don’t have any reason to ask these kind of questions: They are doing well after all. If it wasn’t that pathetic, it would be really funny.

[T: Two of the below bits were extracted (for ease of reading) from @hedawolf​​‘s fantastic gifset on Adèle smashing the patriarchy, please head over and show some love.]

ZE: It seems that many big film festivals are now more open to show films that are about interesting and diverse female characters. Aren’t there more of these stories these days?

AH: Indeed, the problem has now come to the surface of society – two years after the Weinstein affair and #MeToo. You can see the facts. These are hilariously pathetic: 100 per cent of women, who use public transport in Paris, have experienced violence or abuse. 100 per cent! You always hear: ‘No, not all men are like that.’ Yes, of course. But all women have experienced this. And men also feel it. They’ve started to question the structures, in which this was possible, and in which they also lived for a long time. They also question their own behaviour. It’s not about locking up all men in a cage, but that we all evolve. It will make us all freer. But you have to let go of your little privilege of always being in charge. I understand that this is tough. [T: 😏]

ZE: You’ve really shown us one of the most wonderful scenes on this topic in your film, without men.

AH: This scene is sexy, inventive, created in collaboration – we were also quite satisfied with it. That’s why I was so happy at the premiere in Cannes: There are 2,000 people in the audience, who will see something completely different.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read into Me Chapter 11: Love Story

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 4,771

Warnings: fire, injury-all end of season three things!

Author’s Note: Happy belated Strangers Things 3 Day! I wanted to get this up yesterday, but I didn’t have it in me to work. This is the end of the series, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was a fun little ride!

Series Tag: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @jisungiesluv @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @voidnarnia @anonymousonion33 @awkwardnesshabitat @darkcrystal-wolf @hannahrisacher

Paris was a lonely city. You’d arrived alone, having not seen Steve since prom and still desperate to see him one more time. You’d selfishly kept his sweatshirt, wanting a piece of him to take with you to a different country. Your mother hadn’t picked you up from the airport, having sent a car instead. She didn’t seem much interested in speaking to you after months apart; she was much more interested in redecorating her new condo and talking about her fiancé. You met him, a French fop named Jean-Pierre at least fifteen years her junior. He was nice enough, although a bit fruity for your liking. His interests were more on the modeling jobs your mother was getting him. She had no time for you, which was fine since your lessons at the salon began immediately.

You and thirty-five other young hopefuls spend your days locked in a studio with abundant resources and endless models and objects to sketch. And you hated it. You hated the long, rambling lectures from the artists who came to the salon to preach the values of the school and the importance of French art. They alternated between speaking in French and English without explaining themselves as they switched tongues. Your French language skills were nonexistent, so the lectures were exhausting and endless. The only time they ever seemed to help was when they brought you all to the Louvre to examining the long dead French men who’d made the museum possible. There, you could at least sketch out the greats and enjoy the beauty of the art. Inside the studio, you felt as though your head was going to explode. The lectures spoke too loudly and loomed over you without warning or word, you weren’t allowed your headset or Walkman in the studio to combat them, and the smell of various paints and clays made your stomach churn. The girl who’d taken up the easel next to you, a little German named Lisle, had taken to making clay pots and sculptures and the sound of her pottery wheel mixed with her incessant humming made you want to commit manslaughter. It didn’t help that the smell of the brown clay invaded your sinuses and made you sneeze violently. You dreaded the salon. But you dreaded being at home more.

Your mother had hired you a French tutor, utterly horrified by the fact that you hadn’t been practising. You tried to tell her that, despite her assumptions, Hawkins High had stopped offering a French elective two years before you started there.

“You cannot live in Paris without speaking French! It won’t do!” she moaned. Jean-Pierre was already on the phone, speaking fast into the receiver. You didn’t see what the big deal was. Everywhere you went, people spoke enough English to communicate with you fine. It didn’t occur to you till after dinner that if you were to study in the country, you’d need the language to understand your lessons.

So you got a French teacher, a short tempered older man who insisted on being called Monsieur Bérnard. His greying whiskers moved sharply as he spoke and he often spit on you as he taught proper pronunciation and conjugation. He ranted and raved all afternoon, disgusted by your apparent lack of an ear for languages and your doodling on the edges of notebook paper instead of working. You’d go from sensory overload in the salon to being bullied by a Freud-looking asshole each day with no room for a break or a breath.

You lived for weekends. Rest was very well thought of in the city so the hell spawn tutor didn’t work and the salon locked its doors. You were allowed to wander the city at your leisure, your mother glad to have you out of the apartment. You’d spend most of your days sat at a café near the Eifel Tower, a prime spot to tourists. Every day, you’d bring your sketchpad and try to draw out the profiles of those you passed you by. You spent two weekends working on a sketch of people sunbathing on the lawn in front of the tower. But it seemed you left all your talent in Hawkins. You’d spent so long drawing familiar faces back home, now that you were away from your nest, you found yourself without the skill to capture the faces around you. It occurred to you that you knew the faces of Hawkins far too well. They were engrained in your mind, your hand working like a stamp to put them on the page. France was full of strangers. You didn’t know how to understand them like you understood Hawkins. France wasn’t home. You couldn’t work out in a world of strangers.

You couldn’t work in the salon either. It was too much. Everyone was constantly showboating and trying out-do one another. You couldn’t work with people spying over your shoulder. You felt judged and insecure about what you could do. You didn’t want to be watched as you tried to make art. It didn’t help that you had no idea what to make. The closest thing you’d gotten done is that sketch of the Eifel Tower and that wasn’t something you couldn’t buy on the streets around the monument. You’d tried all the things that you couldn’t in your bedroom-paint splatter art, pottery, carving, paint pulling, mosaics. You never finished anything. The drive to push through wasn’t there.

When the loneliness and fear became too much to bear, you held Steve’s sweatshirt and cried. It still smelt like him; Irish Springs soap and Fabregè Organics shampoo and hairspray and a bit like sweat. It was nice though. You missed him. You tried to write him letters, but you knew that they wouldn’t get home before you did. You’d made up your mind that whatever the answer was, you were going home. Whether that meant deferring a semester or missing the first week of school you would go back to Hawkins. Still, you’d written over a dozen letters, all crumpled in your waste bin.

You waited until the last minute to finish something for submission. You’d tried to sketch your mother, to find who you knew in the fancy woman in front of you. With her bleached blowout and designer clothes, thirty pounds lighter and yellow gold jewellery glinting in the midday sun. She looked like the epitome of elegance, straight out of a magazine. The woman you remembered had greying roots and love handles, her only jewellery the wedding rings your father had given her. Europe had changed her into someone who you didn’t know and who didn’t seem to want to introduce herself to you. Nothing you drew seemed to capture the middle between who she was and who she is now. You realized in her profile that you weren’t a part of her life anymore, that she didn’t want you there. You were as strange to her as she was to you. You passed each other like ghosts in the hall, almost recognizable but hauntingly foreign.

The day before your final piece for submission was due; you got a letter from Steve. It only had one sentence.

“I should have asked you to stay.”

It was all you needed to hear to be inspired. You made your final project a tribute to him, mixing memories with unfinished letters building into his face. You used plain black ink to sketch his profile on the surface of the mess, building him into your loneliness. You only had your memory to recreate his face and your own letters to fill the canvas. Still, it was the only thing you’d done the whole time you were in the country that you were actually proud of. You didn’t finish it until the sun rose and you handed it off to be judged without a second thought, bleary eyed and exhausted.

You were on a plane home by the wee hours of July 4th.

Hawkins was a depressing place. After graduation, Steve found himself listless and at the hands of his father. He was a failure, a disgrace of a son. He was unready to start into the family business. His grades were pathetic. He had to get a job. Of course, with no job experience and late to the game, no decent place wanted him. The new mall only offered him one place of employment, Scoops Ahoy. And the uniform was embarrassing. Stupid sailor shirts and matching shorts, fucking knee socks and a corny paper hat. He looked like a certified geek. And his co-worker was a freak. Robin fucking Buckley did nothing but bug him all shift. It didn’t help that he had no friends without you, even Dustin had left for some nerdy science camp after the school year ended.

He was alone and lonely.

He tried to write you a half dozen times. But nothing seemed to make sense, nothing was worth telling you. What was he supposed to tell you? That he had become an even bigger loser overnight? He felt so utterly pathetic. He just wanted things to go back to the way things were. But what did that even looked like anymore? It wasn’t a life with Nancy, she’d dumped his ass, and it wasn’t a life with you, you’d left him for a different continent. He didn’t have a clue where he was going anymore. So he did what any lonely, practically friendless teenager did-he worked his ass off. Eight hours every day in the mall with smart ass Robin Buckley, waiting for the ground to suck him up. And sure, he tried to hit on the girls his age that came around. It was a good distraction from his broken heart. He’d made up his mind that he was ready to move on and try to date again. That he needed a girlfriend. That he needed to be cool again.

And then, Dustin came back and Hawkins started acting up again. He thought it was over. Those damn dogs were gone, the thing was closed, the kid was safe and acting like a kid. Everything had gone back to as close to normal as he’d seen it in awhile. But Dustin just had to find a secret code and Buckley just had to decode it and Lucas’s bitchy little sister just had to be small enough to fit into the vents and find a secret Russian elevator. And they just had to get stuck in it.

He couldn’t keep that damn kid from seeking out trouble. And yeah, it was kind of fun in a scared shitless kind of way, but it wasn’t worth getting drugged and beaten up and nearly dying for. And it certainly wasn’t worth getting tricked into thinking that he had feelings for fucking Robin. He could murder that kid for getting it in his head that he liked that girl. Robin was cool; he wouldn’t pretend that she wasn’t a decent friend to have at the end of the world. But he didn’t need the embarrassment of trying to ask out a lesbian. At least the reason for her rejecting him wasn’t that he was unattractive or lame, just that she didn’t dig dudes. He was cool with that. And at least he got to punch out a communist. If he could tell his father that without going to prison or being murdered by a Russian goon, he’d be proud. Fuck that, he was proud. He won a fight! He beat up a Russian spy! More than one, he beat some up while drugged out; at least he thought he did. He couldn’t remember much, other than watching Back to the Future with Robin. That movie was too confusing. And then he stole a car, he saved Nancy’s life, he set up that weird tower thing for Dustin-there was too much going on to even recognize how crazy he sounded. How crazy all of this sounded.

And then, the mall was on fire.

Your flight landed on the fourth of July at about ten fifteen in the evening. It took about forty-five minutes to get from the Indianapolis International Airport back to Hawkins. You were buzzing. Seven words had given you all the hope you needed to push you back to the states. Every fibre of your being was alive with energy, with excitement. You couldn’t wait for your grandfather to park the car, you jumped out as soon as you were settled in the driveway.

“Don’t you want to go upstairs and unpack?” your grandmother called after you as you booked it down the driveway.

You turned back “No, I’ll be back later!” you called. Steve’s car wasn’t in the driveway but you figured if anyone was home they’d know where he was. You bounded up the stairs, ringing the doorbell twice.

Mrs. Harrington came to the door in her bathrobe. “Oh, hello there…” she trailed off, obviously unable to remember your name.

“Y/N, hi it’s nice to see you, do you know where Steve is?” you asked, bouncing from your heels to your toes.

Mrs. Harrington narrowed her eyes “He’s at his job I assume. At the mall.” She said slowly.

“What mall?” you demanded. Mrs. Harrington’s eyes blew wide open and you realized that you were probably coming off like an insane person. “Sorry, I’ve been out of the country for about a month.”

“It’s where the Hawkins Laboratories were, off East Wood Road.” She pointed out the door towards the roads. You knew instantly that the fastest way to get there was through the woods. You ran through the backyards of your neighbours and into the woods. You didn’t like the Hawkins forests. They were dark and dim and poorly maintained. The county hadn’t been out to cut down potentially problematic trees on the few hiking paths in the woods.  Burs caught your socks and twigs scratched your legs as you hopped logs to try to get there faster. They’d carved a road through the woods, you’d found it halfway to the mall, deserted and blocked off. You could see the bright orange flames from a mile away.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest. Steve was in there. You could cry.

Instead, you hopped the blockade, running down the road despite the calls of passing fire trucks and police. You didn’t care if they tried to arrest you, although you doubted that they could. It would be a waste of time to bother with you during an emergency.

The parking lot was filled with emergency vehicles. Massive streams of water were attacking the building. Luckily, it seemed the mall was closed, judging by the few people who were milling around not in uniforms. You sprinted into the crowd, looking around frantically.

Steve had been ushered into the back of an ambulance and draped in a bright orange emergency blanket. It wasn’t that cold but he felt as though he was freezing. The EMTs had checked his vitals and disinfected the wounds on his face and knees. As for the remaining drugs in his system, he chose not to mention them. He knew that the high would wear off eventually. Robin was sat next to him, equally bandaged up and silent, save an uncontrollable shiver. Wordlessly, Steve took the blanket off his shoulders and placed it over hers. He wasn’t that cold. Moreover, he just felt numb. He’d had this happen so many times; his face beat in, an otherworldly thing trying to destroy his life and hurt his family, a major building destroyed-it all felt familiar. It made him sick to his stomach to know that it was familiar. If he had anything left in his stomach he would’ve thrown up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something running towards him. At first, he tensed. He didn’t know what it was and it could probably kill him. His heart stopped and then raced wildly. He held out an arm to protect Robin and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Steve!” you cried. He was in an ambulance. He was hurt. He was alive. You felt as if you could cry. In the span of fifteen minutes he’d gone from working to escaping a fiery building to missing in a fire to simply hurt. And hurt was just fine, you could handle hurt.

“Oh my god Steve, are you okay? Are you alright? I love you so much…”You grabbed his face, examining the bruises. You pulled him tightly to your chest, trying not to cry or freak out. You knew it wouldn’t help.

“I love you too…” he breathed into your ear, pulling you close to him. He recognized you by the smell of your hair, the feeling of your arms around him. He could cry. He didn’t believe you were real. But when you pulled away and his hand came to your face. You were real. And you were here. And he was safe. He was safe and alive. Feelings of relief rushed through his body. He wanted to cry, but the shock was too overwhelming for a tear to even drop.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and hoarser than he’d ever felt it. “I thought you were still in Paris.”

“I came home early,” you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his jaw bone. “I didn’t get in.” That was the nicer version, the judges laughed at your final piece, they called it pedestrian. You should’ve been more upset, your mother was furious, but you couldn’t have cared less. You were free to go home. You could’ve thanked them for rejecting you.

Steve pulled away, looking you squarely in the eye. He wouldn’t have you give up on school to hang out with him in bum fuck Indiana. But you were telling the truth, it was written plainly all over your face. “Those bastards…” Steve murmured. You laughed, your eyes watery and throat thick. You were overwhelmed. You expected to come home and just see him in his element. You expected him to not necessarily want to see you. You didn’t expect a fire or Steve being injured or Steve to even be there at all. You pulled Steve back into your arms, you didn’t want to let go.

“I missed you so much…” you whispered. Steve’s arms came around your hips, pulling you in between his legs. He needed you here, to keep you in place for awhile.

“I missed you too…” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Did you get my letter?”

You looked up “Yeah I did…” you said “I wish I had written you, I tried so many times but I couldn’t find the words and-” Steve kissed you hard, stealing the words from his throat. He didn’t care if you didn’t write him back; this was the best thing he could’ve gotten from you. A letter wouldn’t do it justice.

You were lit up by his kiss. This is what you needed. No words could do the feelings he expressed in his kiss justice. You felt alive. You felt at home. Steve tried to pull away, but you pulled him back by his shirt, kissing him as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did. You couldn’t be sure anymore.

A loud clearing of one’s throat interrupted you and you pulled away to see Robin waving awkwardly. “Oh hey Buckley…” you muttered awkwardly. “How’s Samantha?”

“No clue, she never called me back.” The younger girl shrugged nonchalantly, hopping down from the ambulance deck. “I’ll catch ya later, Harrington.”

You turned your attention back to Steve, looking down at the material still in your fists. He looked ridiculous. “What the fuck are you wearing?” you asked with a laugh. Steve’s hands settled on your lower back, holding you in between his knees as if you’d run off if he didn’t.

“Oh this? This has been my whole summer.” He groaned “I’ve been captaining a boat on an ocean of flavours.” You couldn’t help but cackle, you had no idea what he was talking about but he seemed so serious.  

“And by that you mean?” you lifted the fake red neckerchief attached to his shirt, running the material between your thumb and forefinger.

“Ice cream store in the mall,” he pointed to the embroidered Scoops Ahoy logo on his breast.

“You’re kidding…” you shook your head as if to shake the idea out of your mind. Steve’s fingers trailed the raggedy edge of your sweatshirt. Well, his sweatshirt, his last name and basketball jersey number were embossed on the back; he could feel the textured design on your lower back.

“I like my sweater,” he chuckled, reaching up to adjust the length of the drawstrings on the hood. You looked away, a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean to keep it I just…missed you,” You replied “You can have it back.”

“Nah, it suits you,” he smirked “Besides, I want my girl in my stuff, it’s cute.”

“Your girl?” you grinned giddily, elbowing him in the ribs. “Since when am I your girl?” You liked the idea of being Steve’s girl. It had a nice ring to it.

Steve smirked, squeezing your hips in his hands. “Oh come on baby, you’ve been my girl for awhile…”

“Oh really? Well, I wouldn’t know since you’ve never asked me…”

You heard a loud yell and turned to see a set of paramedics carrying a stretcher towards you and Steve. They were sprinting and bringing a badly burnt and unconscious Billy Hargrove towards the ambulance you sat on. You quickly moved out of the way. Steve grabbed your hand, allowing you to tug him from the ambulance’s deck.

You only got a brief look at the teenager, but it made your stomach churn violently. You felt ill. You felt Steve squeeze your hand. You turned to look at him and saw how hollow his eyes were. You wrapped your arm around his middle. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, trying to stifle a yawn. You were exhausted from your flight and your run here and the trauma that had smacked you across the face.

Steve noticed anyway “Did you just get here?” he asked, lifting your chin.

“My flight landed at ten, I came to see you as soon as I could.”

“You should’ve gone home to rest, I wouldn’t have been mad at you.” You looked absolutely exhausted. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like.

“I missed you too much to not see you. And what if you had gotten hurt, if you hadn’t made it out then I would’ve never forgiven myself…”

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around you, shielding you from the scene, as more mangled people were brought out. The beast must’ve fallen apart once the brain was destroyed. It looked as though a bomb had gone off. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to leave, but he knew that the FBI would be called and he’d have to talk to them again. He wanted you to go home, but that didn’t seem like an option now.  Selfishly, he liked having you there, it was comforting to have you in his arms, squeezing him under his ribs and keeping him calm.

“I’m not gonna get hurt, I’m okay…we’re okay…” You nodded roughly against his chest. You felt as if you were burning up and freezing at the same time. You saw blinks of red flashing lights and sirens as one of the ambulances sped past. You were so thankful that he wasn’t on that ambulance.

“Yeah, I know, I’m not gonna let you out of my sight ever again.” Steve lifted up your chin, raising an eyebrow at you. “What? Last time I did you nearly died and for what? A shit job in the mall?”

“Well, not just for a job, I was helping Robin and a couple kids who were with us,” That wasn’t the whole story. Steve knew he’d have to tell you eventually about everything, but for now he was more than comfortable ignoring the looming problem beneath their feet.

“What a hero…” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Something had been bothering Steve for awhile now and he determined now was the best time to tackle the subject. He turned away from you, folding his hands in his lap.

“Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?” he asked quietly. Truthfully, he wasn’t certain that you meant it. Or if he had even heard you correctly. After Nancy, he wasn’t sure if anyone actually loved him back. He’d given so much of his heart away only to have it tossed to the floor and tread upon like it was nothing more than a cigarette butt. He wasn’t sure if he could trust that you meant it.

You let out a small sigh through your nose, crossing your arms over your chest. You were a bit embarrassed. You were half hoping that he would forget about it. Your response brought all of Steve’s hopes crashing down. “Yeah, yeah I do,” you admitted, rubbing your arms, having suddenly gone cold. “I will admit, I hadn’t planned on saying that this early, feels a bit middle school to say that you love someone before they’re even your boyfriend.”

Steve turned to look at you once again, a bit surprised. Your face had gone red, adorably red, but still very red and your gaze had turned down to the asphalt at your feet. He reached out and took your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Good,” he said with a smile. You turned up to look at him; brow furrowed “I thought I had like imagined it.”

“Oh…no you’re good.” You said slowly. He looked like a little puppy dog, his whole face was radiating sunshine; it was almost hard to look at. It was harder to not match his energy, to get drunk off it. Then again, no one was stopping you from just enjoying the moment. You let out a small breath, not so much heavy with sadness or regret, but simply exhaustion. You let your head rest on his shoulder, smiling softly despite the scene in front of you. If it weren’t for the smouldering building and the emergency vehicles surrounding the pair of you, it would almost be romantic. The fact that you were even trying to find romance in the scene felt a bit silly, but maybe that was what this was supposed to feel like. Finding love in a burning building was a bit dramatic, it certainly not what you’d expected for your life, but you determined that no matter what you’d keep Steve safe. You had no idea what was going on at this scene, you had no idea what happened. But no matter how scared you were, you knew that Steve must’ve been even more scared. You knew that you couldn’t protect him, the same way that he couldn’t protect you, but maybe together you could keep each other safe for awhile.

“I love you too, you know,” Steve said quietly, his gaze trailed on the smoke of grey smoke coming up off the extinguished fire. The front of the mall had crumbled and the giant neon ‘Star-Court Mall’ sign shattered on the pavement. You hadn’t seen the mall before the fire, you didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, but a cavernous jagged mouth probably wasn’t the design goal. Still, you turned your attention to the side of Steve’s face. He couldn’t face you, the tips of his ears bright red underneath his flat, sweaty hair.

You swallowed hard “I know,” you say softly. Steve turned to look at you, examining your face with a nervous expression. You smiled and nodded reassuringly “I know.” Steve smiled and laced his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hand tightly in his and you squeezed his back, the feeling of his hand squeezing yours the only feeling left in your body beyond the giddy buzz. You didn’t know how any of this worked, you didn’t know if you were doing this right, if there was a right way to do it. The buzz under your skin was two parts anxiety and one part excitement. But you didn’t pull away. You were glued to his side.

“You know, I think that was one of the first normal conversations we’ve ever had,” Steve mused.

You scoffed loudly rolling your eyes “That was not normal.

Steve shook his head with a small laugh “Yeah, I know…”

[srbachchan]

DAY 4486

Jalsa, Mumbai                  June 17,  2020                 Wed 11:39 PM

Birthday - Ef Nitin Churiwala  ..  Chennai ABEF,  Thursday, June 18 .. birthday greetings to you from the entire Ef .. love and happiness ..❤️

.. a plea for mercy for help, to save in these trying conditions .. when in the solitude silent moment of the night .. in the loneliness of the mind and body .. the poet in his distressed voice , doth caress in an entertain, his disturbed mind 

.. then life does cry out for mercy and help to save ..

.. when you do weep in the hurt and pain of the heart .. and then in some consolatory understanding you do stop the cry .. the ‘birahi’ -  the one who gets separated from his or her loved one or the person they love - with its own hands does remove the tears it has shed 

.. then life does cry out for mercy and help to save ..

.. when the traveller in his continuous walk does tire .. and sit upon a rock en route .. when he with his tired hands doth pres or massage his own tired feet ..

then life does cry out for mercy and help to save .. 

traahi traahi kar uttha jeevan .. त्राहि त्राहि कर उठता जीवन  .. be the opening title of the poem of Babuji .. of dr Harivansh Rai Bachchan , my Father .. 

.. a plea a lament call , a cry for mercy  ... 

.. when in the doubt of distress .. or in the seek of answers .. or to condition the condition .. stay not too far away from they that gave birth to you .. 

.. his life his works his words lie beside me at my place of work .. the place of the writing .. the place of that complicated and unruly desk , that none can understand but the writer .. that ..

.. his inspiration and his labour relented not .. his exceptional mind and his thought genius ever with me .. in physical presence but more in its psychological realm within ..

.. they gave him not what he deserved .. they rebuked his achievement .. disregarded his hard years of his disertationed doctorate .. his multi talented writings and thought .. in poem in prose in the study of thesis in the converse from the epic of one to an epic of another in his translationed words in Russian, in German in French in Polish and so many more,  and in the languages of the Country his translate in the graph and tonal of the Bard and his major tragedies .. and so much so much more ..

.. but this Son of his shall make effort to relive that which the other never gave life to .. 

.. but I defeat mine own :

मैं  कह के कुछ नहीं करना चाहता हूँ  । मैं करना चाहता हूँ ; कहें या ना कहें दूसरे, मैं नहीं  ।

.. I do not want to say to what I do .. I want to do , let the others say or not say , not I .. 

for them that has been done , do know the done .. oblivious they may be .. heedless and unmindful .. but they with conscience be conscious , and do know .. not to express to me or any other .. just the know , I know is all ..

.. but really in time even that ‘know’ gets obliterated .. it does .. for .. it was never to be remembered in the first .. 

.. give express acknowledge in the presence of the self .. from the belief of your own .. in its receive whether it expresses or not has irrelevance ..

.. that instant of the ‘give’ was mine own .. in my realm .. in my palatinate .. you traverse or not from the LAC .. the line of actual control .. is your fenced barbed protective insulated sharp edged wire .. cut it break it cross over it , at your own will and rush .. embrace I shall if you reach me .. if not, my fond wave shall prevail ever .. 

.. these be my deformed states .. they be with in birth , in genes , in genetic DNA’s  .. in my unit of heredity .. in my congenital characteristics .. 

.. ever tried breaking that unit of information inside a cell .. 

.. you would still find similar as the unbroken .. 

.. characteristics of resistance .. resilience , not to be the inform , to hide to abstain from, to keep aloof to protect the embarrass, if it embarrass be .. to fear the uncertainty of perform .. to be in uncertain failure .. yes .. the last .. the laughed at .. singled out .. made timid insecure and self effacing .. 

.. which why in the make belief the upturned parabola in the other direction , away from the flow of the natural graph .. complete in the corner of the opposite .. a cover perhaps .. a shield on display for what the actual hides and how .. 

NO NO NO .. YOU CANNOT BE THIS  .. !

fine .. find me then , you Geheime Staatspolizei .. 

.. there shall be obliteration  !!!

Amitabh Bachchan, in word express intoxication

[enkelimagnus]

Literature

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1756 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

Sam falls asleep on the plane over to Madripoor and leaves Bucky and Zemo alone. They actually talk to each other. I would say it's nice.

TW: brief allusion to past rape, internalized homophobia, brief mention of the holocaust

Read on AO3

Part 20 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

--------------

It’s an eleven hour flight from Berlin to Madripoor, even with Zemo’s private jet. Once drinks have been served, food has been eaten and threats have been made, they all find themselves settling.

Sam has dozed off on a seat, seemingly exhausted. After all, they’ve already travelled the eight hours from the states, and the day has been stressful at best. At least, Sam trusts him enough to fall asleep while Bucky watches Zemo. He wasn’t expecting that. Or perhaps his human physiology is betraying him.

Bucky needs less sleep than a normal human on regular days, and he also can survive much longer sleep deprived. He’s well aware of the limitations of his body. Hydra tested them thoroughly and multiple times. Zemo would know as well, that Bucky might look tired but it doesn’t diminish his abilities as much as it seems.

The man in question is at his seat with his book, though he’s regularly looking up through the windows of the plane or around the cabin. There’s something quiet and wistful about the way he stares at a spot where the carpeting is not perfectly set against the wall to the bathroom.

The silence is good, especially after earlier, where Sam and Zemo somehow managed to gang up on him about Marvin Gaye of all people.

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. He just doesn’t like much music. He’s sort of lost the taste for it. His brain is usually unable to perceive it as anything but unnecessary noise that keeps him from being completely aware of his surroundings. And at least 40s music doesn’t have death and rape associated to it.

And he doesn’t need to know what Steve thought of it, whether Steve loved it or not. He’s not Steve. Steve journeyed light into the 21st century. Everything was something new to learn and experience, it was exciting and bright. Bucky is travelling with baggage. And he has memories attached to songs and tastes and sensations and events.

Bucky simply can’t use the notebook the way Steve did.

Sometimes, he wonders if Sam forgets Bucky wasn’t simply on ice for 80 years. The issue with him is that he lived through most of it, and it was all torture.

Or maybe not all . He woke up craving Karpov’s kasha the other week, and it makes no sense. He only tasted it during one specific time of his life, when Karpov and him got stuck in a safehouse in the snow, with no way to reach the outside world, for two weeks. The Soldier’s rations and formulas ran out long before they were able to leave. Karpov was too smart to let him starve, and perhaps that time alone with the Soldier, away from the world, with no way to freeze him or unplug him had made him see he was still a man. The kasha was warm, and thick, and sweet and sometimes, Bucky remembers that feeling and craves it.

The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.

Zemo’s right.

In all honesty, Bucky believes he’s forgotten who Steve really was.

Memories become blurry when they age and no matter how desperate Bucky is to crystalize them, to remember them, to be sure of what he lived, all he manages to do is to frame faded photographs and fill in the blanks himself.

Steve and him didn’t have time. He found him after two years of searching, only for Bucky to be back on ice within two weeks. After that, Steve visited a few times during his recovery, when he introduced him to the goats he’d named after the sisters he finally remembered. And then, there was the War, and the Snap and once Bucky was back to life, Steve was shattered. And two weeks later, he was gone.

They didn’t have time to learn each other again. Bucky doesn’t know who Steve is anymore, half of his memories feel tainted by Smithsonian explanations, and he hates it so fucking much.

He hates that he can’t remember right, he hates that Steve’s slipping away from him every second of every day, that all that is left is the fucking shield and Captain America. That Steve’s legacy doesn’t seem to run deeper than that, else Bucky would have less of a single-minded focus on that fucking piece of useless fucking metal.

It’s only been three months. Why does Steve feel like he’s been gone for a lifetime?

Bucky breathes out a shuddering breath.

When his eyes focus again, Zemo is staring at him.

The book is open on his lap. Bucky can read the title. Same Sex Fantasies in Heterosexuals. Fucking hell. He doesn’t need that right now. At all.

“You’re a different man than the one I remember,” Zemo says quietly after a moment. His voice is soft, just slightly above a whisper. He knows Bucky has sharp ears. He knows he doesn’t need to wake Sam up.

Bucky dignifies that with a huff and looks away for a moment. Zemo’s eyes don’t leave him. He can feel them on him, on his face, on his throat, on his hands, on his body. They make him itch. They make him want to punch him for looking at him like that.

Like what?

You know exactly like what.

When Bucky looks back, Zemo’s indeed still watching him.

“You’re old now,” Bucky says eventually, in a vague answer to what Zemo said earlier.

“Eight years have passed, James. You cannot blame a normal man for something he has no control over.”

Eight years. So Bucky was right. Zemo wasn’t dusted. He stayed in that solitary confinement cell for eight years as the world moved on around him, as the world fought and lost half of its people.

Had he wished to be one of the ones that were snapped out of existence? Probably. After all, every second Zemo breathes and exists is a second more he wasn’t supposed to have. He tried to kill himself in Siberia, once his mission was over.

“Do you ever read normal stuff?” Bucky asks, a bite in his words.

Zemo raises an eyebrow, head tilting slightly to the side. His eyes are still glued to Bucky’s face. He still wants to punch him.

“I would need you to define ‘normal stuff’ to answer this question.” There is a hint of mirth in those brown eyes though. He knows exactly what Bucky means.

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Machiavelli, fucking… whatever this shit is,” he makes a motion of his chin towards the book. It’s in German, something about boundaries in relationships. Hilarious, really. It’s not like Zemo has anyone to set boundaries with. Unless those eight years of solitary have somehow driven a rift between Zemo and his own dick. “That’s not normal stuff. Novels, popular stuff…”

“I wonder,” Zemo starts. “Have you any recommendations for titles of ‘popular stuff’ for me?”

Everything Bucky can think of is old. He’d told himself he’d look into acquiring books but… he hadn’t had the time or the energy.

“I see your taste in literature has elected to stay with your taste in music, then.”

Fucking ass. Bucky closes his eyes and sighs so heavily he’s pretty sure Sam’s going to wake up.

“To answer your question, James,” Zemo starts, conversationally, as if they aren’t enemies, as if they are just old friends, so old they have become strangers. “I do read normal stuff.” The phrasing is foreign in his mouth, in that accented voice of his. “I’ve read all the classics, and children’s literature. Eight years are long. I practiced my Russian with translations of Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings at first.”

Bucky hums, looking up at him for a moment. “I noticed your pronunciation had changed,” he says quietly. “Did you read it to yourself out loud? Pretended someone was telling you a story?”

It’s cheap. They’re both aware of how lonely the past eight years must have been. It’s cheap, and it’s low-hanging and Bucky almost feels guilty.

Zemo’s small smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Have you read Jules Verne?” Bucky asks, trying to erase his taunt with some more literary conversation. “Was obsessed with his work as a kid. Kinda like Tolkien, but even better because it was… full of invention, not of magic.”

There’s a floating moment, a few seconds of Zemo just watching him with that slight sadness in his eyes before it is washed away and replaced by a hum.

“I’ve read those books, yes. In the original French,” Zemo points out and Bucky is almost grateful for the boasting. “You should seek a new translation, if you’re not adept at the original language. The one I assume you read was a descendant of 1870 translations, riddled with errors and political censorship. They fixed that in the 60s. You’ll like the new ones better.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take that under consideration, I guess.” He’s so sure he’ll like it.

“And if you find yourself in the north of France one of these days, you should stop by this little city called Amiens,” Zemo continues. “A fine place, old and new, in the way only Europe can be. Jules Verne died there. The city’s positively themed after the man and his work. You can even visit his house.”

Visiting a dead man’s last residence? “That’s kinda morbid,” he mutters and Zemo has a small chuckle.

“People visit Anne Frank’s house as if the walls aren’t hollowed with fear,” he points out. “Dying makes one the public’s intimate friend. You know that better than anyone else.” He gives Bucky a sidelong glance. They both know he’s talking about Steve, and the documentaries and exhibits and think-pieces.

Bucky nods quietly and looks back through the window. The sun is painted indigo and pink. It’s beautiful. He’s forgotten the sunset could be this beautiful.

When he looks at Zemo again, he notices the exhaustion written all over his face, in the small wrinkles and under eye bags and the way his eyes won’t settle on anything for too long, desperate to stay awake.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Bucky says after a moment. “We need you.”

Zemo chuckles tiredly, a soft and muted sound. “If that is the one thing that is keeping me alive… I believe I shall keep myself useful, then.” It’s almost sarcastic. A man living on borrowed time, wishing desperately he could be executed.

“You do that.”

[bopinion]

2021 / 26

Aperçu of the Week:

"If Europe were once united in the sharing of its common inheritance, there would be no limit to the happiness, the prosperity, and the glory which its people would enjoy."

Sir Winston Churchill

Bad News of the Week:

Over the years, the EU has evolved from a purely economic alliance into a community of values. Article 2 of the Treaty on European Union makes this "respect for human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law and respect for human rights." And these values must be defended. Unfortunately, not only externally in bilateral relations with the whole world, but increasingly internally. Two incidents of the last week fill me with concern in this regard.

The highest body of the EU is the so-called Council, consisting of the heads of government of all member states. The presidency rotates every 6 months, and since July 1, 2021, it is held by Slovenian Prime Minister Janez Janša. The former constituent republic of socialist Yugoslavia and of it since 2004 first EU member is a European success story. A member of NATO and, since 2007, of the euro zone, Slovenia is now the most prosperous country in the Balkans. According to a 2020 assessment by the Bertelsmann Stiftung, it has achieved above-average success in its economic transformation and political development. And the United Nations Development Program ranks the parliamentary republic among the countries with very high human development.

So the European community of values should actually be in good hands with the head of government of this model student of democratization. Actually. Because Janša, to put it mildly, is polarizing. He repeatedly doubted that global warming in the context of climate change was man-made. He argues for the right of Slovenian citizens to carry firearms. He considers "cultural Marxism" a key threat to the European Union. He congratulated incumbent Donald Trump on his election victory in 2020 before the vote count ended. He has been investigated several times for corruption, once resulting in a prison sentence. He sympathizes with Identitarian movements. He constantly tries to undermine freedom of the press and independence of the judiciary. And and and...

Usually, an EU Council president is expected to moderate, to seek balance, to mediate, to push the general agenda forward, etc. But this agenda currently includes possible sanctions against member states if they do not respect the defined values. The headliner here is, of course, Viktor Orbán. And now Janša has backed Orbán in the dispute over a Hungarian law restricting minors' rights to information on homosexuality. It is to be feared that he will instrumentalize his temporary office - for the first time in its history - to support personal interests. And he will gladly do so against the EU itself.

Another essential body of the EU is the directly elected parliament. In it, the political camps form factions according to their basic orientation, with conservatives, social democrats, liberals and greens dominating. This stable structure, which reflects the preferences of EU citizens, is now facing a challenge: the right-wing populists.

Under the leadership of Marine Le Pen of France's Rassemblement National, Matteo Salvini of Italy's Lega and Viktor Orbán of Hungary's Fidesz, 16 parties explicitly belonging to the right-wing spectrum are preparing to build a new alliance. In addition to the above-mentioned parties, the corresponding parties from Poland, Spain, Austria, Belgium, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Lithuania, Romania, Greece, Bulgaria and the Netherlands are also part of the alliance.

The planned alliance is the "first stone" in the construction of an alliance to "reform Europe," according to the official declaration of intent. This alliance is the "basis of a common cultural and political work," adds Le Pen, Salvini calls the agreement a "charter of values" on the basis of which a Europe is to be built that is based "on freedom and identity instead of bureaucracy and standardization." In other words, they are planning the overthrow.

Good News of the Week:

A fundamental pillar of every democratic legal system is the principle of "giving the accused the benefit of the doubt". Even in ancient Rome, "In dubio pro reo" applied, and it is still true today: everyone must be presumed innocent until proven guilty. That is good and makes sense. In the 19th century, people in this country spoke of preferring to let twelve guilty people go free rather than hang one innocent person. Innocence weighed more than guilt. So far, so civilized.

Another legal principle in ancient Rome was "Ne bis in idem": (You can) not (be accused) twice for the same. This principle, too, has made it into the modern rule of law. Until last week. Because then the German Bundestag decided to change the underlying law. The background to this is the availability today of forensic and criminal technology resources and tools that did not exist in the past. The decision is causing a great deal of discussion among legal experts.

On the one hand, some see it as calling into question the legal authority of the judiciary. After all, the verdict must be valid - forever. Publicist Franziska Augstein (yes, she is his daughter) denounces this with verve under the headline "Forever suspect". The law would subject once accused to lifelong fear. They would face a lifetime of having their case retried. So what? Victims always have to suffer the consequences of a crime for life.

On the other hand, in some cases it is possible to prove guilt after the fact. I can remember a case in which, after twenty years, fiber and DNA traces led to the conviction of a perpetrator who had kidnapped a child and left it to die in captivity. But at that time he was acquitted for lack of evidence (which was technically not usable at that time). And therefore - "Ne bis in idem" - he could not be charged and convicted again. He remained a free man despite proven guilt. How do you want to explain this to the parents of this child? Everything in me bristles.

Other news of the last days: Bill Cosby was released early from prison. He was the first legally convicted celebrity in #metoo. So why was a clearly guilty man who drugged and raped women released early? For one thing, because many of his at least 60 victims were not considered in court because his acts were "time-barred" - another one of those issues that doesn't sit right in my head without complications. On the other hand, because there was a legal "formal error" in the agreement between two prosecutors. I also find it difficult to acknowledge this.

In this respect, I am satisfied that resourceful - and expensive, since it is usually the financial strength of a defendant that determines the quality of his defense (this, too, does not correspond to my sense of justice) - lawyers now have one less legal dodge at their disposal, which is questionable at least in some cases. For there is one principle of jurisprudence that cannot be shaken: proof beyond reasonable doubt. In my opinion, this has to count. And it should count regardless of when it came to light, by whom, and under what circumstances. Likewise victims should have a higher value than (proven!) perpetrators. After all, Justitia is supposed to be blind - and not stupid.

Personal happy moment of the week:

In French, my son got an A on a team assignment. That is remarkable. Because according to his own statement, he "hates" this school subject. Which is a shame, because after all, his stepmother, a French Canadian, and I speak and love this language. However, I have to concede to him that, especially at his age, the teacher is crucial (I just leave it there). And that the first year of a new subject under "pandemic circumstances" is anything but ideal. Nevertheless, his big sister should finally stop picking on this belle langue - after all, she is a role model!

I couldn't care less...

...that Germany has been kicked out of UEFA Euro 2020. The Belgium vs. Italy match on Friday, for example, clearly showed that there are simply much better teams at the moment. And apparently also better coaches - I really don't understand any of this, but some tactical lineups seemed questionable even to me. But that doesn't mean that I would root for England now ;-)

As I write this...

...only with the right hand, I suffer from the so called "Moderna arm" - it's a good thing that as a right-handed person I had the first COVID vaccination put into my left arm. My daughter had still told me to let my arm rotate vigorously in order to avoid exactly that. But when everyone else in the waiting area looked at me a little irritated, I let it go. That was probably a mistake.

[realitv]

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME! ♡     claire

PRONOUNS! ♡     they / them

ZODIAC SIGN! ♡     aries bay bee

TAKEN OR SINGLE! ♡     I Don’t Need Friends They Disappoint Me

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

1! ♡      i used to roleplay on youtube. yes, youtube. think late early aughts and early 2010s. you’d set up your channel with all those fancy fonts (yes, the fancy fonts that now made a come back here); use picnic to edit your pics, set an autoplay video up for ur channel, and rp using dms or comments. it became popular to keep comments on approval and only approve things like: CLAIRE ISH MAHH BIIIISH. xDDD <3 NO ONEZ CAN TOUCH MAH BISSSSH <3 <3 xDDDD LUV U 4EVER. after the channels became what they are now, i hopped around on proboards before coming to tumblr. 

2! ♡     i speak three languages. english, conversational french, and rudimentary german which i am relearning. i used to speak it fluently as a child. i hope to one day be able to communicate with my tante elisabeth and my cousin utta, as they only speak german (they... are... from germany LMAO) but until then i’ve been relearning with my aunt karin. it’s so weird because i feel like i’m very different when i speak french or when i speak german. like. english me is very different from french me and french me is very different from german me. i don’t know how else to describe it. i’m way more flirty and suave when i’m speaking french but i’m very serious and to the point in german. i find when i speak english i’m a little more aloof. i don’t fucking know. 

3! ♡     the longest i have ever written a character is six years. most of my mutuals probably know me from that account (lady a. c/omstock of bioshock in/finite). i still write her on discord, so technically i’ve been writing her for 7 years. she’s just very draining to write these days as she’s just so goddamn fucking sad all the time and i prefer writing her on a smaller scale with very close friends privately. i still love her and her development and everything i’ve done with her, she’s just Ultra Ultra Depressed and i find myself having to get into that same headspace when i write her on tumblr, hence... why i do not like doing that any more. trauma muses, baby: it be like that.  it’s actually really funny bc i consider lady amelia c my BRAND. depressed edwardian milf. that’s the brand. media was an EXTREME departure of my brand of muses. i’ve written belle, sansa, lady c - all three of those ladies really follow the ‘porcelain to steel’ trend. media is neon chaos. 

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED! ♡   uh. youtube, as i mentioned. rolepages (don’t ask), and a lot of proboards forums. i miss those. they were so Spicy. now just tumblr. i’ve Been Around lmao. 

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER! ♡    i simply Do Not Care. i used to feel really insecure about the way i wrote men but i’ve since gotten over that and now i’ll write anyone who strikes my fancy - but i do defo have a type and it’s Sad Ladies From Period/Fantasy Dramas. 

LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S)! ♡    honestly everyone overused irks me. remember when everyone was using nina dobr/ev or natalie do/rmer. can’t do it. i don’t know what it is. something irks me. 

MULTI OR SINGLE! ♡    i wish i had the strength to write a multi muse blog but i can’t. :(

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF:  i want to say i don’t like it but i love happy endings and domestic bliss bc that’s comforting and i like happy endings. but depending on the character i’m very selective with who i will write it with. media? I Simply Do Not See It (unless im writing with nee). it’s something i enjoy, but not something i write often on this blog; as i’m more horror oriented at this point.

ANGST:  i enjoy angst; but again, it really depends on the character. i had this really great thread with g where christine and amelia had an argument that resulted in amelia breaking down into tears as she was so angry. i really enjoyed the raw emotion i could write in that; and with a character like amelia, it was a great way to release a lot of pent up energy and add some character dev. for someone like media, tho, media doesn’t show emotion. media refuses to show emotion. it’s not Their Thing. they can show emotion and do emote, but it’s muted and rare. if, again, i were to write angst, it’d be with nee; since law is someone who reminds media how human they truly are. 

SMUT:  depends. i’ve written it privately. it’s not really my thing but i don’t mind it. i prefer to write it privately with people i know very, very well. i’m not adverse to reblogging a smut meme or sending one in tho lmao. 

PLOT / MEMES! ♡  i love plotting. i’m not good at i but i enjoy it a lot and will do my best to help think of dynamics, settings, and plot threads to do. as for memes? i want to love memes. i think they’re a great ice breaker - i used to be able to reblog a meme and write a really nice drabble response (i always write drabble responses lmao) but now it’s like... I Simply Cannot. i look at memes and my muse jumps ship like its 1912. i think it’s because i have an easier time responding to memes with people/muses my muse has an established/talked about dynamic with; instead of me trying to write a 4 para drabble for a muse that my muse has yet to interact with. idk.

tagged by :  stole it from nora uwu tagging :  steal it nasties.

[nattsunoyume]

Something that always bothered me about All For The Game is the lack of verisimilitude in its portrayal of languages and bi/multilinguals. So, because I’m a firm believer that critiques are useful (especially to other writers who might not be familiar with this reality) and because I want to give you a more realistic portrayal of our favorite characters, I’ll be analyzing where Nora Sakavic went wrong and what would be more truthful to each of our beloved characters (I’ll be focusing mainly on Kevin and Neil, but also the Minyard twins – no Nicky because his fluency is pretty believable).

SO, stick around if you’re a) interested in multilingualism b) are a writer who could benefit from reading this/use the critiques I’ll make as a reference c) are interested in deeper dynamics of your favorite characters

First of all, I want to make sure you all know that I’m not saying that this lack of depth in Nora’s work is in any way detrimental to the story. But, with a narrative that utilizes foreign languages use as a plot point, I have to say that Sakavic’s portrayal just fell flat. Being bi/multilingual is very nuanced and has very interesting and complicated dynamics that can shape and give character to a narration/story. Knowing how to speak multiple languages is not just a feat that you can use like a superpower every now and then and then forget about it (*cof cof* that’s exactly what Neil does *cof cof*). Also, disclaimer: I don’t know whether Sakavic speaks any language other than English, but from her portrayal of foreign language speakers I’ll assume that she does not. Disclaimer number two: I’m writing this as a multilingual (I speak four languages), a linguist (I study linguistic mediation) and writer myself, so I feel like I’m qualified enough. I’d love to have other bi/multilinguals add their thoughts though!

To begin our analysis, let’s go over the three things that Nora got /very/ wrong:

Time: the length of time that it takes any character to become proficient in a language is incredibly off. e.g. from what we see with the Minyards I’d say that they are portrayed to have a B2/C1 level* in German, this just from studying the language as an off-course for three-ish years. As much as I’d love that to be true, you can’t become that fluent in that small of a time frame (unless you dedicate each of your living, breathing moments to said language; and we can all agree that the twins did not, in fact, do that). Neil is also another concerning example: he is portrayed to have – once again – B2/C1 levels (I’m deducing this from the way he is said to be speaking – never struggles to find words, speaks fluently without having to stop, is very witty and confident in the languages he uses). We’ll go over some quotes in the following part, for now just know that, given the context in which he learnt these languages, his fluency is completely unrealistic.

Vocabulary: the characters are shown to use vocabulary that is not, in fact, that easy to use when speaking a foreign language. You don’t need to speak multiple language to know that, when learning, you focus on more common words and phrases (the specific language comes much later-on: I’d say C1-C2). But the foxes use very specific language (e.g. the Minyards all understand the word “dashboard lighter”, “gopher” – those are not words that you learn in high-school-level German. They’re words that you learn with extensive use of the language/extensive reading). There are better ways to include a character’s not-that-high-proficiency rather than just make them all-knowing: how do you portray a certain lack in vocabulary without hindering the narrative? Gesturing (Character A doesn’t remember word X so they trail off and mimic it) or roundabout ways to say a certain word (i.e. You don’t remember the word vase so you use “the thing to hold flowers”) are great alternatives to get a point across!!

Sentence Structure: this is probably the thing that bothered me the most, because it shows laziness in writing. When speaking in a different language, the sentence structure remains unvaried!!! If Sakavic didn’t mention that a certain sentence/exchange happened in X language, you wouldn’t be able to tell at all. But, when speaking in a foreign language you’ll use easier syntax – it’s a small change but it truly goes a long way. You also won’t use complicated tenses or long, overly difficult sentences. That’s because, when speaking in a foreign language, your major aim is to get a message across. Your job as a writer is to show this change. Writing what you want your characters to say and then slapping a “X said in X language” isn’t enough, it’s lazy. 

* I’m using CEFRL levels all throughout this analysis, it’s the abbreviation of Common European Framework of Reference for Languages. Its levels go from A1 to C2. Where A1 is very early beginner, A2 is elementary stage. B1 is intermediate, B2 is upper intermediate (where you basically can have normal, every-day life conversations without any hindrance – you can also read books with only some inconvenience). Finally, C1 is almost fluent, in this level you can approach Specific Vocabulary and Specific Speech (for example, you could – if you were interested in it – talk about deeper topics, ie. Philosophy, Science etc. with little to no difficulty) and C2 is deep proficiency, where you’re basically fluent. If you need to read more about it click here

I’ll now analyze Neil and Kevin’s respective use of the language. Neil is supposed to be a self-taught learner, whereas Kevin grew up with native speakers so their approaches and fluency are going to be very different and diverse.

Let’s talk about Neil, first. 

Here’s the thing: his fluency is more believable than that of the twins, and that’s because he actually lived in the places where those languages are spoken (that accelerates learning rates because you’re fully immersed in the language). But the thing is 1) He lived there for a too short period of time: 18 months in French speaking locations does not grant you the fluency that he demonstrates in French. 2) Yes, he lived there, but he was HIDING: I’ll assume he didn’t attend school or even have lengthy conversations with native speakers, so, apart from essential conversations, he probably didn’t interact that much with native speakers 3) He is said to be reading as much as he can, but I can assure you that reading and speaking are two completely different ordeals. He should not be so fluent in speaking. From what we know of Neil (very smart, quick witted and has a deeper reasoning for being fluent in those languages) I’d say that it would be much more believable to have him be a B2 (AT BEST) in German and a B1 (again, AT BEST) in French. So, let’s see how a B2 conversation in German would work shall we?

As you can see, it’s still perfectly legible, except it uses simpler words (seriously? Skimming? Gopher?) and less-fancy sentences. Of course, how Sakavic wrote it sounds cooler , but if we want to showcase a stark difference this is the way to go. The key to writing a foreign language speaker (that’s not a C1-C2) when you’re not a foreign language speaker is to ask yourself: would I have been able to come up with a word like this in middle school? If the answer is no, then don’t use it. Another tip is to ask yourself, is this word that I’m using the most common synonym? Or is there a easier, more approachable word? Go for the basic vocab first.

Let’s now talk about Kevin. Ironically enough, he is the character that – alongside Nicky – is the most believable in having the highest fluency and yet, he’s the one that showcases his fluency the least out of all the foxes *sigh*. Also, ironically enough, he’s the character that should showcase this fluency the most and here’s why: this guy grew up in a highly multilingual context!!! He’s a native English speaker who grew up speaking Japanese and, later on, French! From what we know of Kevin’s upbringing I’d venture to say that he speaks fluent Japanese (C1-C2 levels) because he was exposed to it from a very early age (and kids learn languages at an easier and faster rate than teenagers and adults alike). Similarly to Japanese, we can assume that he came in contact with Jean at 10-13 years old, still in the perfect prime for learning languages with ease. Because he spent so much of his life in a multilingual environment, I’d imagine he employed a heavy use of code mixing/code switching. What is code-mixing/code-switching? I’m Glad you asked!! It’s the mixing of words, phrases, clauses or even complete sentences of two (or more) languages. Code-mixing happens within the same sentence (this is INCREDIBLY common between multilinguals; I cannot stress this enough. If I’m with someone that speaks my same languages there won’t be a sentence that I utter that will be only in one language and that’s because code-switching is faster: instead of having to scramble for words in a certain language I can just use the first one that comes to mind.), whereas code-switching happens in a conversation (so one sentence will be in a language and the following in another one). So, Kevin’s problem in his realistic portrayal is the opposite of Neil: where Neil sounds too much of a multilingual when he shouldn’t (he speaks multiple languages, which is arguably different from being multilingual), Kevin sounds too little like one. You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that someone that spent his entire life surrounded by two different languages doesn’t struggle with self-expression when that environment is taken away. Think about it: the closest people to him were Riko (Japanese-speaker) and Jean (French-speaker, who is said to speak with a thick French-accent: that means that when he came to the Nest he probably wasn’t fluent in English), Kevin must have spent the better part of his life submerged in those languages and then he leaves. And you mean to tell me he doesn’t struggle with using ONLY English to express himself? Bullshit. Arguably Kevin is the character that, throughout the series, struggles with his identity the most, his multilingualism is part of that!! Address it you cowards!!!!! Multilinguals showcase slightly different personalities with each change of language! What’s he like in French! What’s he like in Japanese!  Plus never, in the series does he forget a word. It’s so unrealistic I could cry.

Lastly, I’d like to tackle a big issue in Sakavic’s lack of awareness of LSPs. LSP (language for specific purposes) indicates a subset of a specific language. LSPs vary from the common everyday use of a language, it concerns those branches of language that aren’t the vocabulary or sentence structure you would need on a day-to-day basis (e.g. the language used in the medical field, language used in business settings etc.). To make a long story short: every foreign language learner knows/will eventually know all common vocabulary, but not every learner will know certain LSPs. As an author writing about bi/multilinguals it’s important to make the distinction between Common Language and LSP. This is an issue in Nora’s work because every character uses words that are related to certain fields with an ease that’s unrealistic – once again, I know I’m being nit-picky but these things are important. Why is Andrew able to understand gang-related language in a language that he learned from high school and from his cousin who is very much not a gang member? Whilst Neil is perfectly able to understand words like the french for “withdrawal” without batting an eye. And I know, I know, that I should suspend my disbelief and just go with it, but I don’t want to. These are the things that, as an author that wants to use speaking multiple languages as a plot device, are essential to the building of the narrative-world. You don’t get to use language-speaking as a deus ex machina to then not acknowledge it entirely when it’s not useful. Have your characters forget words! Have them stop to think about the sentence structure! Have them pronounce things weird! Have them speak in easier patterns! Have them say things wrong! Have them flail their arms about trying to mimic what they mean! Have them ask people what a certain word means! Or have them understand said word from its context! Speaking languages has nuances, so please keep them in mind!!! You can include these touches and still make a story entertaining, please don’t forgo them just because it’s easier to ignore them.

Finally, I’d like to offer an example of a GOOD portrayal of bilingualism and, specifically, of LSP awareness. It’s an excerpt from C.S. Pacat’s Captive Prince Series. Pacat speaks multiple languages herself and this deeper understanding is reflected in her work. You can’t begin to understand how happy reading this paragraph made me. It’s a simple addition, but it made the entire story feel much more realistic and relatable to me. The excerpt is from Prince’s Gambit and it holds not spoilers (if you haven’t read the book don’t worry, this is just for comparison-purposes).

It’s not even a page’s worth, it doesn’t delay or obstruct the narration. Instead, it makes it feel all the more real. Imagine what All For The Game could’ve been with similar assessments on Neil’s part. 

Anyway, I’d have so many headcanons concerning a deeper assessment of the foxes’ language skills (mainly concerning Kevin because I speak all the languages that he speaks so I might be a bit biased) but I’ve written too much already. If you’ve reached this further down thank you! Please let me know what you think or, if you need any further insights/questions, please don’t shy away and come ask them to me! If you need help with references, analysis of this sort or anything really, I’d love to help!

[haruatori]

Common list of misconceptions

Had great fun learning about these, maybe now I will remember it better:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_common_misconceptions

Fortune cookies, despite being associated with Chinese cuisine in the United States, were invented in Japan and introduced to the US by the Japanese.[11] The cookies are extremely rare in China, where they are seen as symbols of American cuisine.[12]

The United States does not require police officers to identify themselves as police in the case of a sting or other undercover work, and police officers may lie when engaged in such work.[25] Claiming entrapment as a defense instead focuses on whether the defendant was induced by undue pressure (such as threats) or deception from law enforcement to commit crimes they would not have otherwise committed.[26]

Parody singer "Weird Al" Yankovic did not write or perform most of the songs and comedy sketches attributed to him or "Weird Al Yankovich" on the Internet.[48]

The forbidden fruit mentioned in the Book of Genesis is never identified as an apple,[51] a misconception widely depicted in Western art.The original Hebrew texts mention only tree and fruit. Early Latin translations use the word mali, which can mean either "evil" or "apple" depending on if the A is short or long respectively, although the difference in vowel length had already vanished from speech in Latin at the time. In early Germanic languages the word "apple" and its cognates usually simply meant "fruit". German and French artists commonly depict the fruit as an apple from the 12th century onwards, and John Milton's Areopagitica from 1644 explicitly mentions the fruit as an apple.[52] Jewish scholars have suggested that the fruit could have been a grape, a fig, an apricot, or an etrog.[53]

The Bible does not say that exactly three magi came to visit the baby Jesus, nor that they were kings, or rode on camels, or that their names were Casper, Melchior, and Balthazar, nor what color their skin was. Three magi are inferred because three gifts are described, but we only know that they were plural (at least 2); there could have been many more and probably an entourage accompanied them on their journey. The artistic depictions of the nativity have almost always depicted three magi since the 3rd century.[57] The Bible only specifies an upper limit of 2 years for the interval between the birth and the visit (Matthew 2:16), and artistic depictions and the closeness of the traditional dates of December 25 and January 6 encourage the popular assumption that the visit took place in the same season as the birth, but later traditions varied, with the visit taken as occurring up to two years later. The association of magi with kings comes from efforts to tie the visit to prophecies in the Book of Isaiah.[58]

No Biblical or historical evidence supports Mary Magdalene having been a prostitute.[59]

The idea that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute before she met Jesus is not found in the Bible or in any of the other earliest Christian writings. The misconception likely arose due to a conflation between Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany (who anoints Jesus's feet in John 11:1–12), and the unnamed "sinful woman" who anoints Jesus's feet in Luke 7:36–50.[59]

The Quran does not promise martyrs 72 virgins in heaven. It does mention companions, houri, to all people—martyr or not—in heaven, but no number is specified. The source for the 72 virgins is a hadith in Sunan al-Tirmidhi by Imam Tirmidhi.[74][75] Hadiths are sayings and acts of the prophet Muhammad as reported by others, and as such they are not part of the Quran itself. Muslims are not meant to necessarily believe all hadiths, and that applies particularly to those hadiths that are weakly sourced, such as this one.[76] Furthermore, the correct translation of this particular hadith is a matter of debate.[74] In the same collection of Sunni hadiths, however, the following is judged strong (hasan sahih): "There are six things with Allah for the martyr. He is forgiven with the first flow of blood (he suffers), he is shown his place in Paradise, he is protected from punishment in the grave, secured from the greatest terror, the crown of dignity is placed upon his head—and its gems are better than the world and what is in it—he is married to seventy two wives among wide-eyed houris (Al-Huril-'Ayn) of Paradise, and he may intercede for seventy of his close relatives."[77]

Ancient Greek and Roman sculptures were originally painted bright colors; they only appear white today because the original pigments have deteriorated. Some well-preserved statues still bear traces of their original coloration.[127][128]

The accused at the Salem witch trials in North America were not burned at the stake; about 15 died in prison, 19 were hanged and one was pressed to death.[172]

Marie Antoinette did not say "let them eat cake" when she heard that the French peasantry were starving due to a shortage of bread. The phrase was first published in Rousseau's Confessions when Marie was only nine years old and most scholars believe that Rousseau coined it himself, or that it was said by Maria Theresa, the wife of Louis XIV. Even Rousseau (or Maria Theresa) did not use the exact words but actually Qu'ils mangent de la brioche, meaning "Let them eat brioche" (a rich type of bread). Marie Antoinette was a target of attacks from radical jacobins; therefore, political activists attributed the phrase "let them eat cake" to her, to promulgate an image of her as disconnected from her subjects.[173]

Napoleon Bonaparte was not short. He was actually slightly taller than the average Frenchman of his time.[180] After his death in 1821, the French emperor's height was recorded as 5 feet 2 inches in French feet, which in English measurements is 5 feet 7 inches (1.70 m).[181] He was actually nicknamed le Petit Caporal (The Little Corporal) as a term of endearment.[182] Napoleon was often accompanied by his imperial guard, who were selected for their height[183]—this may have contributed to a perception that he was comparatively short.

There was no widespread outbreak of panic across the United States in response to Orson Welles's 1938 radio adaptation of H.G. Wells's The War of the Worlds. Only a very small share of the radio audience was even listening to it, and isolated reports of scattered incidents and increased call volume to emergency services were played up the next day by newspapers, eager to discredit radio as a competitor for advertising. Both Welles and CBS, which had initially reacted apologetically, later came to realize that the myth benefited them and actively embraced it in later years.[200]

Rosa Parks was not sitting in the front ("white") section of the bus during the event that made her famous and incited the Montgomery bus boycott. Rather, she was sitting in the front of the back ("colored") section of the bus, where African Americans were expected to sit, but refused to give up her seat to a white man who asked for it (which was also the expected action of African Americans at the time).

Although popularly known as the "red telephone", the Moscow–Washington hotline was never a telephone line, nor were red phones used. The first implementation of the hotline used teletype equipment, which was replaced by facsimile (fax) machines in 1988. Since 2008, the hotline has been a secure computer link over which the two countries exchange emails.[220] Moreover, the hotline links the Kremlin to the Pentagon, not the White House.[221]

Bulls are not enraged by the color red, used in capes by professional matadors. Cattle are dichromats, so red does not stand out as a bright color. It is not the color of the cape, but the perceived threat by the matador that incites it to charge.[238]

Dogs do not sweat by salivating[239] Dogs actually do have sweat glands and not only on their tongues; they sweat mainly through their footpads. However, dogs do primarily regulate their body temperature through panting.[240] (See also: Dog anatomy).

Bats are not blind. While about 70 percent of bat species, mainly in the microbat family, use echolocation to navigate, all bat species have eyes and are capable of sight. In addition, almost all bats in the megabat or fruit bat family cannot echolocate and have excellent night vision.[244]

The notion that goldfish have a memory span of just a few seconds is false.[250][251] It is much longer, counted in months.

There is no such thing as an "alpha" in a wolf pack. An early study that coined the term "alpha wolf" had only observed unrelated adult wolves living in captivity. In the wild, wolf packs operate more like human families: there is no defined sense of rank, parents are in charge until the young grow up and start their own families, younger wolves do not overthrow an "alpha" to become the new leader, and social dominance fights are situational.[254][255]

Mice do not have a special appetite for cheese, and will eat it only for lack of better options. Mice actually favor sweet, sugary foods. It is unclear where the myth came from.[260]

Sunflowers do not always point to the sun. Flowering sunflowers face a fixed direction (often east) all day long, but not necessarily the sun.[287] However, in an earlier developmental stage, before the appearance of flower heads, the immature buds do track the sun (a phenomenon called phototropism) and the fixed alignment of the mature flowers toward a certain direction is often the result.[288]

Petroleum does not originate from dinosaurs but rather bacteria and algae.[308]

No human genome (nor any mammalian genome for that matter) has ever been completely sequenced. As of 2017, by some estimates, between 4% to 9% of the human genome had not been sequenced.[311]

Trickle-down theory of economics does not work.[325]

Waking sleepwalkers does not harm them. While it is true that a person may be confused or disoriented for a short time after awakening, this does not cause them further harm. In contrast, sleepwalkers may injure themselves if they trip over objects or lose their balance while sleepwalking.[332]

Stretching before or after exercise does not reduce muscle soreness.[338]

Exercise-induced muscle soreness is not caused by lactic acid buildup.[339] Muscular lactic acid levels during and after exercise do not correlate with soreness;[340] exercise-induced muscle soreness is thought to be due to microtrauma from an unaccustomed or strenuous exercise, against which the body adapts with repeated bouts of the same exercise.[341]

Shaving does not cause terminal hair to grow back thicker (more dense) or darker. This belief is due to hair that has never been cut having a tapered end, whereas, after cutting, the edge is blunt and therefore thicker than the tapered ends; the sharper, unworn edges make the cut hair appear thicker and feel coarser. That short hairs are less flexible than longer hairs also contributes to this effect.[355]

A person's hair and fingernails do not continue to grow after death. Rather, the skin dries and shrinks away from the bases of hairs and nails, giving the appearance of growth.[356]

Acne is mostly caused by genetics, rather than lack of hygiene, eating fatty food, or other personal habits.[360]

The order in which different types of alcoholic beverages are consumed ("Grape or grain but never the twain" and "Beer before liquor never sicker; liquor before beer in the clear") does not affect intoxication or create adverse side effects.[381]

Hand size does not predict human penis size,[385] but finger length ratio may.[386]

There is no physiological basis for the belief that having sex in the days leading up to a sporting event or contest is detrimental to performance.[390] In fact it has been suggested that sex prior to sports activity can elevate male testosterone level, which could potentially enhance performance.[391]

Glass does not flow at room temperature as a high-viscosity liquid.[442] Although glass shares some molecular properties found in liquids, glass at room temperature is an amorphous solid that only begins to flow above the glass transition temperature,[443] though the exact nature of the glass transition is not considered settled among scientists.[444] Panes of stained glass windows are often thicker at the bottom than at the top, and this has been cited as an example of the slow flow of glass over centuries. However, this unevenness is due to the window manufacturing processes used at the time.[443][444] No such distortion is observed in other glass objects, such as sculptures or optical instruments, that are of similar or even greater age.[443][444][445]

Most diamonds are not formed from highly compressed coal. More than 99 percent of diamonds ever mined have formed in the conditions of extreme heat and pressure about 140 kilometers (87 mi) below the earth's surface. Coal is formed from prehistoric plants buried much closer to the surface, and is unlikely to migrate below 3.2 kilometers (2.0 mi) through common geological processes. Most diamonds that have been dated are older than the first land plants, and are therefore older than coal. It is possible that diamonds can form from coal in subduction zones and in meteoroid impacts, but diamonds formed in this way are rare and the carbon source is more likely carbonate rocks and organic carbon in sediments, rather than coal.[446]

Although the Greek philosopher Pythagoras is most famous today for his alleged mathematical discoveries,[452][453] classical historians dispute whether he himself ever actually made any significant contributions to the field.[450][451] He cannot have been the first to discover his famous theorem, because it was known and used by the Babylonians and Indians centuries before Pythagoras,[454][455][456][457] but it is possible that he may have been the first one to introduce it to the Greeks.[458][456]

There is no scientific evidence for the existence of "photographic" memory in adults (the ability to remember images with so high a precision as to mimic a camera),[478] but some young children have eidetic memory.[479] Many people have claimed to have a photographic memory, but those people have been shown to have good memories as a result of mnemonic devices rather than a natural capacity for detailed memory encoding.[480] There are rare cases of individuals with exceptional memory, but none of them has a memory that mimics that of a camera.

[selfcareparker]

(lovely anon) ok so this may sound so dramatic but; let me paint you a picture: i’m responding to your latest message, sitting on the edge of the sofa. i type in “lovely anon” into the search and see this longgg post come up and i’m like uhhh... i scroll down and see the people you tagged and literally. when i saw @ lovely anon. i . cried . like full on tears. my brother goes “what are you doing” “she tagged meeeee” and he continued what he was doing and didn’t care LMAOO but i was so emotional? i love and appreciate you too and aAH IM CRYING!! you’re just really sweet and i didn’t expect it at all and it was really lovely to be a part of something :’)

the kermit pic sent meee but yes yes yes!! when you start uni let me know, lol i’m so excited for you!! let me know how it goes cuz i’m literally hype hahah & yes we will be in our sad corners of the world, missing england but you’re right it’ll be sooooo worth it in the end!!! and oH i’m glad you talk to them lol i truly thought you like haven’t seen them/haven’t spoken to them this whole time😭 that would’ve been awful!

also i totallyyy get what your saying about the english speaking thing. and idk why you’re insecure (well i *knowww* bc it’s not your first language and you’re studying it in college so yuh) but your english is great :)))

lol yeah that makes sense.. my mom took french in college and she remembers NOTHING HDJSHSJ (the fact that you wanna learn MORE languages i- ahh i so admire you.. you literally know so many languages🥺) yea i mean you know a bunch of languages bc you know the base of words lol, but i wonder if because you know latin it’ll be easier for you to learn french? oh- oh wait you said it’ll be easier HAHHAHA

THERES SO MUCH EXCITING STUFF TO TALK ABOUT HDGSJSJSL it’s so wild to me that you can’t watch chaos walking :( i’m a professional hacker tho so i’ll try and find a way for you LMAO (by professional hacker i mean i literally have gotten multiple free trials and i’m pretty sure the hulu police are after me bUT ITS THEIR FAULT BC WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE???) i mean the movie was good? and cute? and funny? but yea don’t think it’s gonna be the most fantastic thing haha AND THE DOGGO AWWW (i saw it again today- or my today lol, saturday, aND THESE OLD PEOPLE CAME AND SAT IN FRONT OF ME AND MY FRIEND LIKE ITS A LONG STORY LMK IF YOU WANNA HEAR IT)

SHARK FILMS?!?!! PLEASE READING THIS I HAD NO IDEA YOU WOULD LIKE SHARK MOVIES TOO FHSKSHSHDJDJGAJAYSJS ok so i haven’t seen any of the classics (i’m working on it) but i would probably watch jaws to laugh at it? not like that lmao but like comparing it. OKAY BUT HONESTLY I BARELY KNOW ANYONE WHO LIKES SHARK FILMS AHHH OKAY im adding “the shallows” to my watchlist bc it sounds super good AND SAME AHSJD ANY BODY OF WATER IN A MOVIE I JUST KNOW ITS COMING LMAO watch me not go in the water anymore after seeing that picture HHDJSJ

WHEN I READ THIS I JUST GOT DONE TALKING TO MY MOM ABOUT THE MEG AND THAT SCENE WHERE THE SHARKKK JUMPEDDDD AND ATE THE OTHER ONEEEE AND THEN JONAS HAD TO DO- bro i cannot (i think that one is my favorite because i love me a bit of romance and the subtle romance hAD ME) 47 meters down PHEW could you imagine?? i try not to think too hard about it i’m like “don’t be dumb catherine, don’t put yourself in a dumb situation” (not autocorrect having “dumb bitch” ready i am not lying) and i literally understand... there is no other way to explain 47 meters down

i CANNOT watch horror movies, can’t can’t can’t, i literally hate them i cannot do it!!! the thrill is tempting and it’s cool in the moment but i cant lmao. i don’t have nightmares about scary things (for the majority of the time) but going to sleep i’m like oooohhhhhh shit 🥲 literally what you explained

music !!!! music !!!! music !!!! (u ever write a word and now it looks weird lmao) MY BROTHER DOESNT LIKE MUSIC AND ITS SHIT IM LIKE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU- anyway, my music taste is all over the place i mean......... it’s crazy. earlier today i was listening to meghan trainor’s album “title” oUT OF NOWHERE, but just a few minutes ago i was listening to fall in love with me by earth wind and fire soooo lol .. megan is *chefs kiss*, i’m not familiar with stormzy🙈, harry styles.... IM SORRY IM THAT PERSON but i don’t listen to his solo music EEK i only listen to adore you... and not that frequently... the music video freaked me out... i like niall’s solo music a lot more, which i listen to a lot more. now. one direction. favorite. please & thank you. i have a playlist called “boy bands” and it consists of one direction and the vamps (obsessed with cherry blossom btw) but as you can see my taste is all over the place!! fr fr if i sent you what apple music has as my “favorites” it went from ariana grande to carrie underwood to glee (OBSESSED DONT LET ME TALK ABOUT IT) i mean please if you let me i will nonstop (hamilton HDJSH) talk about music all day😩 & NOOO UR MUSIC IS GREAT HAHSK IM NOT A BIG RAP PERSON BUT DOJA CAT IS MY FAVORITE!!

okay good, i’m glad :) i was just nervous that you did feel that way <3 and GOT IT HAHAJ healthy pressure is always good :’) my friend got me these pens cuz i love stationary and school supplies lol and was like “now you have to write something” soooo yea i feel that! and i saw you posted the ficcccccc literally so proud of you 🥺🥺 i’m trying to decide if i read it tomorrow or tonight..... sleep or a literal beautiful creation made by the sweetest person and is v v nice smut and college!peter and 4.7k...... sleep aint really calling no more.

GIRL ALL OF MY SENTENCES ARE TOO LONG HAHAHAH IN FACT THIS IS TOO LONG SOOO (also why am i 3 days late..😑) anywho it’s 1 in the morning so <33 lovely anon

🥰

oh my god the fact that you cried nearly made me cry too😭😭🥺🥺 (also, your brother LMAO), i wasn‘t even sure if you‘d see it but i immediately thought of you so of COURSE i included you <333

the hulu police lsjsjaiaik, girl i was ready to get a hulu membership when i wanted to watch big time adolescence and i couldn‘t find it anywhereee, and when i got to the payment it said i need a bank account that‘s based in the US or whatever. like bro i was about to pay you!! but i was forced to find it somewhere (and i did, on levidia,— not that i‘ve ever used it because it‘s illegal 😤 i would never!!! i‘d rather support billion dollar companies and spend my money on watching films that i can find for free 🥰🥰🥰 not

i‘ve found chaos walking online so i‘ll watch it som time this week!! also YES TELL ME THE STORY

okay so idk if you watched/are planning on watching falcon and winter soldier but i watched the first episode the other day and they were speaking french (just a few seconds) and I UNDERSTOOD SOME WORDS DLDJDJ and i was so proud of myself. i‘ve only ever learned french with duolingo lol (i only do like 5 mins a day and that‘s why i was so surprised that i understood some of it!!). and yeah apart from latin i feel like italian, german, french and english are all similar in a sense.. i mean obviously they‘re completely different languages but for example there are some grammatical constructions in french that i think i wouldn‘t understand if i only spoke english? so when i translate those things into english you can‘t directly translate them bc you say things differently, but when i translate them into german then it makes more sense to me. idk that‘s something i noticed so i feel like if you already know multiple languages it‘s easier to learn another language compared to if you only know one language and are trying to learn a second one. even if the languages aren‘t similar then i think you get the hang of it easier.

ikd slsjsjs also i don‘t want you to think that i‘m a linguistic genius or anything lmfao, like i‘m only fluent in english and german and i‘m just a wannabe (ew that word) polyglot sksj (yes i had to google polyglot— i do think learning ancient greek would be super cool tho? like imagine studying latin AND ancient greek, whew). and honestly i don‘t think i‘ll ever be fluent in another language bc i don‘t plan on living anywhere other than germany or possibly england and i‘m not dedicated enough to properly learn any other languages esp if i don‘t have anyone to speak the language with. but i still try my best and i just love language/languages as a whole so yeah i‘m happy & just learning as much as i can dkdjh🥰

(I guess language/linguistics are/is my passion (which sounds sooo lame lmaoooo) and the word passion comes from the latin word pati (i think💀) which means to suffer, and in german passion is called Leidenschaft which basically means suffering too, idk why i‘m telling you this maybe you know it already. but ok dumb fun fact, in german you can make compound words with as many words as you like, and the longest official german word is Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz which is a law for the monitoring of labels on beef... this is such a dumb fact but i think about that word like once a day idk why dodjsjsj so... 👁👄👁)

but i‘ll stop boring you with my linguistics talk because truly i don‘t know much about languages but i am interested omg i‘m gonna shut up now.

now water + sharks. (so in non-covid times i always go to croatia with my dad during the summer, and even before ever watching a shark film i was always kind of scared in water.. but after watching so many shark films wldjdj HELP Like you know when you go deeper into the ocean and you can‘t see or feel the ground/floor? anymore.. then i just start imagining sharks. like i can‘t help it i just imagine a shark sneaking up on me or feeling something graze my foot ABD I JUST START FREAKING OUT SSKJSHSJ. idk. anyway kdkdh i do love the ocean/swimming though but the older i get the more i realise how fucking scary the ocean is ( even if we’re gonna disregard sharks)

your brother... what‘s wrong with him? HOw CAN YOU NOT LIKE MUSIC LIKE WHAT THE FAWK

OKAY BUT SAME ABOUT THE ADORE YOU MUSIC VIDEO DLDKDJSJSKSLSLKSKSJSHSH and yeah i have to say harry’s style (styles lol) as a solo artist isn‘t reaaally my cup of tea, and i only like the popular songs from his second album and the first album is only good when i‘m in the right mood (haven‘t actually listened to it in a while though, but kiwi is one of my all time favourites along with only angel but i hate the start, like it takes 40 seconds to actually begin properly). i like mgk and because of him i watched the dirt which is a film about motley crue, and now one of my favourite songs ever is same ol situation and i‘m into rock now lol. +++ justin bieber. I had a justin bieber cardboard cutout thingy😭 i was the biggest Belieber on earth when i was 13-16, but i didn‘t like his last album and tbh he‘s become a bit weird lately, BUT OH MY GOD. i Listened to his new album yesterday and i‘m in LOVE with the song hold on

i really like niall‘s music toooo!!!! And doja cat 😌😌😌😌 And THE VAMPS OG MY GOD. i got to see them live bc they were the opening/support act for little mix and ajdsjskslslsjsjsj. (Also i love concerts, some of the best memories of my life are concerts, i‘ve seen nicki minaj live 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and justin twice and my heart fills every time i think about how excited i was, it was my first concert ever (16th of September 2016 😌) and i was the happiest person alive seeing justin drew fucking bieber (even if i‘m not tooo sure about justin nowadays)

i have a confession? Idk what hamilton is. I mean I‘ve heard about it and i keep googling it but i‘ve never watched it (is it even a film???? or like a proper musical? also pls tell me you grew up with high school musical. i have a few friends who didn‘t and it makes me so sad 😭😭😭 hsm is the best thing to happen to my childhood , the sooooongs— i still listen to some of them every week or month lool they make me so happy)

(Okay wait i was about to recommend some stormzy songs but you said you‘re not that into rap so i won‘t dksksjl)

What you said about my fic AHSLSLSJB (i wasn‘t sure if you sent an ask about it earlier? idk that might have been someone else, so if it was (and you‘ve read it already) i hope you liked it sksjsj i was...... unsure about it. and i have this reeaaallly long peter fic that i started writing in december and that‘s the only peter thing i currently want to write but also i can‘t because idk how to continue kddjj.) but I’m definitely getting back into writing i have a few blurbs that i want to write so 🥰🥰🥰

Oh and pls as soon as you read this let me know: violet or yellow? (it‘s just a tiny thing for my new theme slsksj)

[bean-na-farraige-agus-foraoise]

A Rebuttal of “Lesson 1: A Snapshot of the Early Insular Celts”

This is part 1 of my 20-part manifesto on why druids should do some research for once. You can find the master-post here.

This is a long post, so the actual rebuttal is under the cut! Each number in parenthesis (#) corresponds to a footnote formatted in the Chicago manual of style located in the block quote at the end of the post!

Lesson 1, “A Snapshot of the Early Insular Celts,” begins with a good and solid premise, that in my opinion, everyone approaching Celtic polytheism should begin with, and that is the question of “who were the Celts?” Unfortunately this lesson begins to unravel almost immediately after establishing this premise. Herne posits that the widely held and proven migration of the Celtic peoples across Europe and into the British Isles is in opposition to the theory that the peoples already living in the British Isles evolved more complex societies and engaged in peaceful cultural trade with continental Celts. There is no historical evidence to suggest that this process could not be completed both on a “friendly basis” and “as a mass invasion”- particularly as Herne states, that the first theory allows for the intermarriage of the continental Celts with the peoples already present in the British Isles. There is little evidence to suggest that the Bronze Age hill-forts were ever utilized as defenses, as the available archaeological evidence found at hillforts does not support the theory of a hillfort as a defensive structure but rather suggest that they were utilized, rather successfully, as deterrents. The archaeological record indicates that hill forts were structures that promoted peace within small-scale farming communities and that they are indicative of Ireland’s integration into the continental culture- suggesting a large migration of continental peoples to the British Isles rather than the slow transference of ideals and culture (1). 

Moving onto Herne’s assertion that “Julius Caesar, Pliny and a number of other Classical writers, suggested that Britain was the home of the Druids’ religion, and that Continental Celts sent their sprogs to Britain in order to learn to be Druids,” it is important to note that Herne does not cite their sources- I cannot ascertain in which texts these claims are being made, who translated them, the accuracy of the translations, or who these “other Classical writers” are. Furthermore, Roman narrators are notoriously unreliable, and should not be taken at face value- a fact which Herne notes just a few paragraphs later. Moving away from issues of narrator accuracy- Herne argues that druids were originally to be found in Britain, and here begins a complicated story of conscious misinformation campaigns and pseudo-history. As Ronald Hutton says in his book Blood and Mistletoe: The History of the Druids in Britain, “[the druids] were portrayed as the timelessly ancient priests of the British, whom the Celts adopted when they reached Britain”. This description is in reference to the ways in which The Most Ancient Order of Druids/The Ancient Druid Order tried to rebrand themselves in the 1951 campaign largely formed out of pseudo-history that was built upon the teachings of Iolo Morganwg, who was ironically rejected as an ancestor by the Order. This description of a conscious misinformation campaign from the Order, lines up very neatly with Herne’s argument that druids originated in Britain. The actual historiography of the study of druids is much more complicated than Herne or the Order suggest- beginning in the fifteenth century Germans created a pseudo-history surrounding the existence of druids in the Rhineland as a way to lend credence to a newly forming German identity in opposition to the Italians. The French, followed by the Scots, and then the Welsh were next to create pseudo-histories of druidic influence and power in the formation of national identities and as precursors of Catholic clergy, it is into these pseudo-histories that Iolo Morganwg (the simultaneous rejected ancestor and source of inspiration for the Order) was born. These pseudo-histories contain the claim made by Herne that the main schools or colleges of druidic thought and learning were located in Britain (2).

Herne’s next claims that the Celts never referred to themselves as such, and that he word comes from the Greek Keltoi are correct, as are their claims that the “tribes were independent entities, with their own languages, styles of dress, types of food etc.” and their statement “that each tribe was different in subtle ways, it is hard to make broad descriptions that would have been true of all the British tribes”- what is not correct however, is their claim that these tribes were united by a shared religion. Among the most famous books on the Celtic tribes is The Celts: The People Who Came Out of Darkness by Gerhard Herm, though a bit old, as it was published in 1977, is thoroughly research and the text clearly outlines the ways that the various tribes that would be called “Celts” were separated linguistically, culturally, and religiously (3). One can clearly see the religious differences present in the area that was inhabited by the Celts by simply looking at the different myths and folklore that arose from the different regions - Irish myth and folklore is different from Scottish, which is different from Brythonic, which is different from Gaulish, which is different from Germanic, etc. I’m not citing sources here because I’m hopeful that we all know that there are differences between Welsh, Irish, and Germanic folklore, all of which are countries/regions that were inhabited by the ancient Celts. 

Herne’s claims that the Picts’ woad tattoos “[were] like talismans and [could] impart protection in battle, courage, aid from a particular spirit etc.” is baseless- there is no scholarship to support this argument. Once again, I cannot comment on the veracity of these unnamed “classical writers”- and as Herne has already pointed out just one paragraph prior, classical writers are notoriously unreliable narrators, the fact that Herne is taking their words at face value is troubling . This being said, we do know that the British and Gallic Celts were known to bleach their hair and dye their eyebrows (4). 

I’m waiting to comment on Herne’s claims that “they were also very honourable and, once giving their word, would stick to it,” etc. as “lesson” 7 focuses on values, morals, and ideals and I’d rather not repeat the same information over and over again. 

Herne has a distressing habit of not citing any of their goddamn sources, which means that as I have no idea which commentators they’re referencing as speaking on the ‘three subsets of the British religious caste’ I have no way of verifying if these are legitimate sources, or even what the sources are. I’ve mentioned this before, and will very likely mention it in each rebuttal- an appeal to an unnamed authority, particularly when that authority is known to be an unreliable narrator, is not viable. What I do know is that the structure and function of the druids described by Herne is the same as what is referenced in the pseudo-histories discussed by Ronald Hutton in his book on the history of druids in Britain (5). Herne’s assessment of the duties performed by Irish and Welsh bards is correct, if a bit oversimplified- but this is a “snapshot” introductory lesson, so I’m willing to forgive the simplification. The information regarding the ranks of the filidh from the Book of Ballymote is accurate although I find its placement in the text odd and disjointed.

I do, however, take issue with Herne’s claim that the ovates might have used ogham as a form of divination- or that ogham is “full of.... poetic imagery.” Ogham is simply an alphabet, and unless one considers the plants often associated with the letters to be “symbolism and poetic imagery” I personally don’t see it. Once again, Herne makes a broad claim without naming or citing what they’re referring to in their claim that “a number of myths refer to ogam being used in a magical context.” This is problematic in that there are often several versions of different myths and that Herne does not not define what they consider to be a magical context. I’ll go further into depth with my issues surrounding Herne’s understanding of ogham in my rebuttal to Lesson 16, which focuses on the alphabet. This is not to say that one could not create a divination system utilizing the ogham alphabet (which many have done), but that there is no real historical precedent of ogham being used as divination tool by the ancient Celts as nearly all of the extant ogham stones are name markers (6). 

Herne says that most of the “five great tribes of supernatural beings who held sway before the coming of mortal kind” remain shadowy- this is blatantly false, there were more than five and we know the names of these tribes (Partholanians, Nemedians, Fomóire, Firbolgs, Milesians, etc.) from the Book of Invasions, an albeit pseudo-historical record of the kings of Ireland that tracks the invasions of these tribes and the ways in which the tribes are interconnected. Herne’s further assertion that the Tuatha dé are the only ones referred to as gods is laughable at best, as some figures from the other tribes are considered gods alongside the Tuatha dé and feature prominently in myths and stories (7). I’ll go more into detail on Herne’s interpretation of the Tuatha dé in my rebuttal to Lesson 3, including looking further into the “people of the goddess Danu.”

Herne makes a decisive statement about the way the ancient Celtic peoples viewed their gods, and while inferences can be made from the archaeological record of rituals, the surviving stories, and observances made by the classical authors (who I hope by now you will remember are notoriously unreliable), but the simple fact remains that there are almost no contemporary sources on Gaelic polytheism, and many of the sources we do have were written long after the peaceful conversion to and successful syncretism with the early Catholic Church. In essence we don’t know how the ancient Celts viewed their gods, we think we have an understanding of the faith, concepts of divinity, animism, and ancestor veneration- but these are simply theories and interpretations, the primary source material simply isn’t there for us to make definite comments on how they viewed their gods (and some would even argue that the ancient Celts weren’t polytheists at all, but I’m not having that conversation today). These interpretations of how the Celts viewed their gods have been debated for centuries and much of our interpretation comes from writings of those from other religions and cultures rather than from the writings of the ancient Celts themselves. What Herne gets right, is the locations in which the ancient Celts worshiped, overwhelmingly the archaeological record suggests outdoor worship at natural landmarks (8), and while Herne’s “lessons” cover a swath of topics there is little on the subject of ritual- if you’re interested in reading more I’d be happy to provide my sources on ritual in Ancient Ireland to anyone interested. 

That’s all for today! Sources are listed below. If you want more reading on any of the topics mentioned in this post feel free to shoot me an ask or a message and I’ll provide you with a reading list!

1. James O’Driscoll. “A multi-layered model for Bronze Age hillforts in Ireland and Europe.” The Journal of Irish Archaeology, Vol. 26 (2017): 77-100.

2. Ronald Hutton. Blood and Mistletoe: The History of the Druids in Britain (New Haven,CT: Yale University Press, 2011). 

3. Gerhard Herm. The Celts: The People Who Came Out of Darkness (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1977). 

4.  Patrick Weston Joyce. A Smaller Social History of Ancient Ireland: Treating of the Government, Military System, and Law; Religion, Learning, and Art; Trades, Industries, and Commerce; Manners, Customs, and Domestic Life, of the Ancient Irish People (Longmans, Green, & Company, 1908); Peter Wilcox and Angus McBride. Romes Enemies: British and Gallic Celts. (London: Osprey, 1985).

5.  Ronald Hutton. Blood and Mistletoe: The History of the Druids in Britain (New Haven,CT: Yale University Press, 2011).

6.  Charles Graves. "On the Ogham Character and Alphabet. Part II." Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy (1836-1869) 4 (1847): 356-68.

7. R.A.S. Macalister and D. P. Curtin. Lebor Gabala Erenn. (Philadelphia: Dalcassian Publishing, 2018); Mark Williams. Ireland’s Immortals: A History of the Gods of Irish Myth. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2016). 

8. Katherine Leonard. Ritual in Late Bronze Age Ireland: Material Culture, Practices, Landscape Setting, and Social Context. (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2015).