#I know how to write October but in German its different ^^

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

16 - Tribute!!

[cazzyf1]

Wolfgang von Trips teenage opinion on WW2

When I read over his diaries a few months ago one entry that stuck out to me was one where he went to see a war film in the cinema and then wrote down his feelings on what had happened in the war, his feelings about Germany, and his feelings about the army. I found it interesting because I had never read a German's perspective on it before and it was a unique read. So when rereading his diary I decided when I came to this entry I'd write it up and publish it for anyone else curious about what his teenage opinions were.

Reminder that this was written when Wolfgang von Trips was in prime teenage angst and still struggled to understand and cope with the effects of growing up in the war and almost dying a few times. As he got older he was determined to try and restore Germany's good reputation, especially with cars and was good friends with very patriotic Brits.

(Translated from German to English via a translator)

October 14, 1947, Tuesday

I haven't been OK for days. I had a very bad cold, it's better now, but I still have a lot of pressure above my left eye. I'm worried about inflammation in my sinus. I want to do some serious inhalation. Maybe it will clear up after all.

I was just at the cinema. English film, typically English. They showed the victory celebration. It makes you feel awfully different when you see how our defeat is celebrated. How we fought and yet we were ruined. The film and everything else took me back to a time a few years ago when we were (at least from my point of view) a people who stuck together, were honest and fought, when as a boy I was enthusiastic about everything and proud when our planes came, saw nothing bad in anything. During the war I didn't see anything bad about the war itself either. (Today I have a different opinion.) But I was still capable of enthusiasm and when one day, after a long time spent at the school camp, I saw German tanks and planes in the newsreel for the first time, I cried with excitement or pride. It was an indefinable feeling. And now it's all over. Forever. Never, never again will we carry weapons, soldiers.

Everything is bad, mean and vile, what was previously an ideal and a model. Never again will I be able to freely and truly choose. I know today, and I fully understand, that one can what used to be my highest ideal was actually not quite right. But I still mourn all of it because it will never come back and there is no replacement for it. And when I compare my thoughts from back then with those of today, ideals, goals, plans, I can't describe it like that.

I still remember exactly how, during the Jabo era, I once thought to myself: I can still picture the moment - what do you do when no more bombs are falling, no more Jabos are coming, and no more anti-aircraft guns are firing?

I thought that I must be missing something that was almost vital to my life, so it had all become my world. Today I realise that this is really something that can be rejected with normal common sense, not wrongly influenced by time, and knows it too. But the fact that I have directed all my childish and youthful - certainly not small - enthusiasm towards something that is now over forever makes me very sad. How well could something else have taken its place? something of lasting value, art, music, or for that matter, something technical. Then I wouldn't feel like I'm in such a topsy-turvy world today. I see it in other boys. For them, it doesn't mean as much as it does for me. They just didn't rely on it like I did and it was just a side issue, annoying side effect for them. Unfortunately, I'm a bit stuck now, I keep looking from one thing to the other, I just can't settle down anywhere. The contradictions in which I live and those around me are too great. I don't really know where I belong, I'm also missing the right friend, I'm missing Rudolf von Marsewsky.

It's all rubbish, damn it! The time is over, all the ideals destroyed, but if I'm honest with myself, my pure reason tells me that everything was just right, war, violence and power and so on.

I see it very differently today, but deep down I say it was beautiful and powerful and definitely better than this filth today. It's a shame that I can't really express my thoughts so that I can record them for later. Because I'm sure I'll change somehow and it'll be interesting to see what it would be like now if I still had something like that from the war or before. But I have it a little different in my head than I can express it here.

Sometimes, like now, I remember the past. Then the whole time comes back to me and I start to compare and a train of thought arises like this one. (Usually it is a conversation, a film or something else that triggers it.) And when I think about freedom, about my real life as a boy, with shooting, riding, hunting, also Hitler Youth service and military training in the mountains, our conversations and thoughts at the time and the feeling I had when I thought about the Air Force and my future, and now I think about the fact that this kind of feeling of happiness can never arise in me again because there simply can't be any reason for it anymore, then I could cry.

I haven't been aware of all this for a long time. Simply because I haven't thought about it that much. Writing it all down is partly a mental aid. It helps me get deeper into something than if I just think about it.

I was just counting the pages and had to laugh at myself. I could spend hours pondering about some of the things that usually bother me. But I want to stop for today, maybe tomorrow or soon if I get into a strange mood again (it's just the film's fault).

[breitzbachbea]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Heeells yeeeeeaaahh, thank you Riva Darling! <3 If someone knows that I love talking about my shit, it's you and Jani. And also everyone else who made the mistake to talk to me too much.

La Sicilia dell'eterna notte (This one isn't on ao3. yet.) It's become October with me answering this ask, but what better month for a ghost story, even one that takes place on a warm summer evening? I think this one is best served by not spoiling anything and just inviting everyone to read it on their own. What I love about it is how many different interpretations each reader has of the ending! From bittersweet to gruelling existential dread, you can read this ghost story either way.

The Spoils of Syracuse WILL YOU PLEEEASEEE READ MY IMPERIAL ROME SETTING FANFICTIONS. WILL YOU. This one has it all - Thukydides. Plutarch. Because Michele is as much a Roman citizen as he is Greek. Pan fucking goat, dick gnome and pissing Herakles statue. Banter. Sexual tension and actual sex. Longing! Implicit discussion of cultural and military justification of Empire! Most of all, it's Harry and Michele sitting in their Ostia flat and talking about what life could be and how happy they are to know each other.

I stayed with you Sure, maybe that one could use a little overhaul after six years. But I still like it at its core and I think all the drabbles about how Yao and Ivan try to navigate their relationship are quite interesting, insightful and funny. Also, man, I miss writing their friends.

Somebody With Green Eyes Wonderful TurGre One-Shot if I say so myself. This one is for all you slowburn bitches. And the fact that it's modelled on a real city I know well makes it feel particularly real to me. If you like a Sadık with a softer side and also him bitching with Gilbert bc there is not enough room for two egos in this town - Check this one out.

Joyeux Anniversaire Lapin Or I KNOW this has a very limited impact on everyone except me and Jonah, but I love this one. All of Hugo's relationships are on display, all the little intricacies of his life, and of course it always circles back to Leo. If you like found family tropes and the more sickeningly fluffy and stuffily Germanic (They're Swiss and Liechtensteiner), the better, you will want to read this one! (Or if you like fucknasty sex, just skip to the last chapter).

[thorraborinn]

I started writing a response to an ask about how to figure out the timing for heathen celebrations. I meant to briefly describe several calendars, but I don't know that it's possible to really do that briefly, so I gave up. Here is the part I wrote for lunisolar timing.

There are fragments of evidence pointing to pre-Christian Germanic people telling time based on the moon cycles. There are 12 moon cycles in a year, plus a little extra. 12 moon cycles takes only about 354 or 355 days, so some 10 to 11 days shorter than a solar year (what we westerners think of as a "regular year"). Every so often, that difference adds up to a whole extra moon cycle. In the lunar Hijri calendar, also known as the Islamic calendar, that extra bit doesn't matter, they just let it roll, so that holidays seem to drift constantly earlier when compared to the Gregorian calendar. In a lunisolar Chinese or Hebrew calendar, they determine the month based on the moon cycle, but when that drift gets too far from the cycles of the sun, they correct it by adding an extra month to bring it back into alignment with the 365.25-day solar year. It's believed that this is what Germanic people did in the distant past. We don't actually have direct evidence of this as a complete system, but we do have a pretty good amount of indirect evidence. The most influential work on the subject is Jul, disting och förkyrklig tideräkning by Andreas Nordberg. The book is in Swedish, but it has a substantial English summary at the end. It's also the main source for "The Festival Year: A Survey of the Annual Festival Cycle and Its Relation to the Heathen Lunisolar Calendar" by Josh Rood, which is in English. Since we don't have direct evidence of this as a complete calendar, there are some differences in interpretation (like, say, whether to celebrate on new moons or full moons -- the dísablót that Egill attended in Norway was apparently under the new moon, based on the saga text), but this should be pretty close to most of them: the Yule-moon is the first full moon cycle that comes after the solstice. That means, on the solstice, whatever the moon phase is, you let that go all the way to a new moon, and then the yule moon starts. If the moon was a waning crescent at the solstice, then the Yule-moon comes early that year. If it was a new moon right before the solstice, then you have to wait almost a month for it to complete its full cycle, and only THEN does the yule-moon start. That means it can start even earlier than Christmas or as late as January 19ish. This year (2022) there's a new moon on December 23. That's almost as early as it can come. That means that after twelve moon cycles have passed, it won't make it all the way to the solstice 2023. Therefore, it starts a year (2024) with a leap month, and that leap month gets added not at the end, but in the middle of summer.

The year gets divided into quarters (with this year's dates, giving both new moon and first full moon):

midwinter new moon January 2 full moon January 17

beginning of summer (sumarmál) new moon April 1 full moon April 16

midsummer new moon June 28 full moon July 13

beginning of winter (veturnætur) new moon September 25 full moon October 9

[absinthe-and-abstinence]

An Unhealthy Obsession: Chapter 18

Alone Together

TW: emotional, angst, mentions of drinking, language

I'm so sorry it took me so long to write this chapter; I've just kept deleting drafts and getting stuck. This chapter never felt right, but I finally found my groove again. Now that this one is done, I can start working on the next few phases of the story. Buckle your seatbelts, it's going to get a little chaotic after this. >:)

Previous Chapter | Master List | Next Chapter

“I’ve found security footage of him all over the city, but I’m afraid they’re not pretty photos to look at.”

A technical analyst spread photos taken from clubs, bars, streets, and motels of a certain agent. The agents around her began to grab the photos.

“Oh, God. He isn’t dead, is he?” asked a black-haired woman.

“No, no, no, he’s very much still alive,” interjected the analyst, “but this isn’t…how you’d imagined him.”

The group of agents got wide-eyed as they stared at the images in front of them.

“What's he doing at this table, Garcia? He looks all hunched over and—”

“He’s not hunching, honey. Look at what’s on the table. He’s partaking, if anything.”

Images of a man dancing on tables, being surrounded by lustful and paid men and women, vomiting, fighting a bartender, and more scattered the scene.

“I didn’t even know Spencer knew what sex was,” said a bald African-American man, “do you all see this? What’s he’s doing? Are we sure that’s him?”

The analyst spoke with a shake in her breath.

“The police call was from Seattle, and regardless if we want to believe it, it’s definitely him. There’s a video for that one, Morgan. It's around 19 minutes, so I just screen printed it.”

The agent named Morgan bulged his eyes and mouthed the words “19 minutes.”

The analyst asked: “You guys are profilers – is he being forced to do all this?”

The stern man in the corner glanced over the photos, and replied: “No, it doesn’t look like he’s being forced. But this is…entirely self-destructive.” He looked towards the rest of his team. “If these photos are showing a pattern, then in case someone stops them, he’s going to spiral.”

“I may have found someone, although I don’t have a picture of their face, and I don’t have any record of them either,” the analyst replied, her voice filled with apprehension.

She went over to the pile of images and picked out a hotel lobby with two suspicious people standing in it.

“I’m not sure who this is, but based on the behavior between Spencer and them –”

“—if we find them, we’ll find Spence,” a blonde woman interrupted.

The stern man spoke again.

“Then let’s find them.”

---

It's rare to bring a man home with you, even rarer to bring him home twice, and especially if that first time included being a hostage.

Since that day in Pike Place, Spencer had decided to stay with you. Even though you two lived together in the past, this time was different – he chose to stay with you, and that made all the difference.

After the “club incident,” you tried to not show your face too often in Seattle. Who knew where cameras were, and now that you had been officially reported, each day in the city was a risk. Spencer and you ventured to other parts of the state to explore instead.

Being stuck inside the Evergreen state had its perks. As the days dripped into autumn and September bled into October, the hills of trees began to change into bright saturated colors of red, orange, and brown. The mountains and beaches were only a day's trip from one another, and towns full of Espresso shops, sweaters, and books lined the highways.

Down a road one day you two had discovered a small German town tucked in the middle of a mountain valley, covered head-to-toe in the most stereotypical Germanic style. Goats covered the hillside and women dressed in dirndl brought out steins of beer as large as your face.

Needless to say, you two had found ways to enjoy one another and the state.

“So, Dr. Reid, I know there’s a birthday coming up in your future.”

“October 28th, at 3:56 pm exactly.”

“That’s pretty exact,” you laughed. “Most people don’t even know what time of day they were born.”

He shrugged. “I like being exact. I don’t like not knowing something.”

“Alright, Mr. Scorpio,” you teased, “do you have any birthday wishes? Any ideas or wants?”

He smiled at your Scorpio comment, and mulled over your question. “Hm…” he pondered, “did you have something in mind?”

You grinned.

“When you were teaching, how much of the campus did you explore?”

“Not much. As I said, I don’t tend to do a whole lot of touring of cities.” Spencer put his now empty mug of coffee into the sink, yawning as he did. “Why?”

“Well,” you answered, coming up to him and hugging him from behind, “I think I’ve got a surprise for you that you might just love.”

He turned in your embrace to face you, fluttering you so.

“And what would that be?”

You stepped back, blushing and breaking the hug apart. “Telling you would ruin the whole ‘surprise’ part, wouldn’t it?”

As if to step on your buttons, he stepped towards you.

“Perhaps.”

Your face warm and your breath quickening, you forced him upstairs to go and get ready. Even after all this time with him, sometimes it was easy to get flustered. The way he moved, the way he pushed his hair behind his ear, the way he looked at you, the way he smiled….

In all honesty, you had no idea why he came back to stay with you. Why would he, and especially when he had so much to go back to? You were just…well, you. Like many other things, it was a question you were afraid of asking.

But right now, all you had to focus on was looking nice for his big day. You thanked your lucky stars that you didn’t have to worry about masks in this reality, so your red lipstick could leave an actual impression. The crispness of autumn allowed you to dress in fun layers, and combine a sweater with a pleated skirt. It felt the perfect blend of comfort and cute, and as you pulled thigh-high socks up your legs, it could almost pass for a schoolgirl attire. You wondered if Spencer was into that, and immediately dismissed the thought.

Looking back at everything that had transpired, you and Spencer both threw yourselves into reckless self-destructive behavior. You sabotaged your life here by kidnapping a federal agent, and he indulged in days of hedonism. Maybe that’s why he stayed with you; the two of you were both broken. There was solace in that.

But as much as you love introspection, this wasn’t the day for it. It was a day of celebration and having fun.

You rushed down the stairs to find a dressed Spencer, fit to the tee with a scarf that he tried to cover his face with when he saw you.

“What, you don’t like the socks?” you teased.

“No, that’s not it,” he muttered in a high-pitched tone, “it’s just… you know, since I was technically your professor and all…”

Oh. So he was into it. Luckily for you, you were in a mood to egg him on.

“Is this getting to you? Professor?”

He blushed harder and dug his face more into his scarf.

“Can we just go already?”

“Well professor, I think I might need extra help in your course. You wouldn’t happen to have office hours, would you?”

He grabbed the handle to the front door and tried to hurry away from you. But with your devilish energy and your love for teasing, you couldn’t help but catch up.

“Maybe I could earn some extra credit, hm?”

He finally broke down, moving his scarf away and revealing a dorky grin.

“Alright, alright – you’ve had your fun. You can stop now.”

You climbed into the driver’s side, Spencer taking shotgun.

“But Doctor,” you said, “you just make it so easy.”

You did stop, though. The radio blared as you drove off west, into the city. The painted leaves of fall decorated the landscape, and nuts and seeds fallen from the trees littered the road. Driving through here felt like walking right into a Bob Ross painting.

“Are you sure you want to go back? To the city?”

“Why, Spence?”

“You said last time that someone called the police on you. Reported you. Aren’t you afraid of being…I don’t know, caught?”

He was right. Matt called the police at the club as soon as he realized what you had done with Spencer. Not to mention he only saw Spencer in an intoxicated state, which didn’t help your cause either. You knew deep down, you were going to get busted one day; the longer you could prevent that, the better.

“I’ll be okay. Besides,” you replied, putting your hand on top of his, “it’s your birthday. I’m not going to try to ruin it by getting arrested. And why do you care? I’m the one who took you hostage in the first place.”

“Well,” he sighed, “I honestly like having you around. Now that it’s more of a free choice,” he laughed, “I like being around you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you answered dismissively and jokingly, “you’re just wanting a free ride, that’s all.”

“I do mean that. As weird as it is, you’ve been the most normal part of my life so far.”

You kept teasing, regardless of if you wanted to. As much as you wanted those words to be true, you knew they couldn’t be. Why would they be?

“That’s not saying a whole lot. You haven’t had much of a normal life, Spence.”

“I know. I know who I am, but being with you doesn’t feel that way.” He slid his hand from under yours to place his on top. “When I’m around you, I’m not just some…genius kid that everyone relies on. I’m not the expert child that doesn’t know how to tell or take a joke. It feels like the closest to normal I’ve been before.”

You kept your eyes on the road, trying to remain emotionless as possible. It was becoming more difficult as the conversation continued.

“You’re not a child, Spence. You’re a full-grown adult-ass man. People shouldn’t make you feel that way.”

His hand squeezed yours.

“That’s how a lot of people see me. Either a young, innocent kid who categorizes their trauma away, or a brainiac that everyone’s a little too afraid to get close to. Listen, I –“ he stammered, “when I was…doing not the most legal things, I just wanted to get back.”

“Get back at what?”

“I don’t know. Tobias. My dad. My mom. My team. You. Me, I guess. There was something about doing everything and not giving a shit about the consequences that felt – I don’t know – liberating? Prove that I wasn’t someone innocent and disinterested. I’ve been through way more trauma my life than some people die with. I’ve never let myself…release it before.”

As much as you were focusing on driving, listening to Spencer made you tear up, and the blurriness made it hard to see the road. You turned to look at him to see the own glossy look in his own eyes.

“I don’t always want to feel like an anomaly. When I’m with you, I don’t feel that way. You’re not using me for my intellect or age. You just like me for…me. I know that you don’t care half the time about my tangents or horrible jokes, but thanks for making me not feel like they don’t matter. Even though you may have kidnapped me,” he laughed through his own tears, “I feel like I can just be me around you. I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to find.”

You pulled over on the side of the road and parked the car, hands shaking.

“Y/N? What’s happening?”

You undid yourself to face him fully, and seeing his face made you jump into him, hugging him. Your arms squeezed around him and you shoveled your face inside the inner part of his neck.

“Please don’t ever let anyone make you feel that way. You deserve so much better.”

You let the tears fall now, swayed by his honesty. He reciprocated your hug, putting his arms around you as well.

“You deserve a lot, too. I’ve been a little bit of an ass.”

You shook your head into his neck.

“No, that’s not-“

“No,” he interrupted firmly. “it’s true. I’ve ran off without a word and without regard to your feelings. I should’ve called, or said goodbye or at least something.”

You smiled, albeit he couldn’t see.

“You’re here now.”

You tried to remove yourself from the embrace, but he wouldn’t let you. He kept you there, allowing yourself to be held by him.

“And I’m not leaving this time. Regardless of what happens, you’re not alone anymore.”

Those four words were like lead. They weighed you down to Spencer, staying in his embrace for a while. Eventually, you pulled away and plucked a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s still your birthday, Mr. Normal Man. You ready to just let go and celebrate?”

He snickered.

“Mr. Normal Man?”

You smiled as you started the car again and took off the emergency brake.

“Like someone else I know, I’m horrible when it comes to naming.”

“I like the name, actually. Let’s ride.”

You shoved your foot on the gas, accelerating immediately back onto the road.

---

For how emotional that morning went, the rest of the day went by in a breeze.

You took him to the library you had worked in before, the one that felt like Hogwarts and smelt of archaic ink. He wandered up and down the corridors, reading paragraphs from books seconds at a time before putting it back and grabbing another. At one point, you watched him place a book up against his cheek, feeling the antique pages with his face.

You would have loved to join him walking carefree and not worrying about the hundreds of people studying, but you were worried about being noticed here. Spencer lent you his scarf to cover your face with, and you followed behind him, watching your back around every turn. You were happy for him, and loved seeing his face light up in the library, but your uneasiness of the place kept you from enjoying it so.

After a while of letting him explore, you two headed down to the waterfront. It was more public and open, so you felt less exposed to the world. You gave Spencer back his scarf and took to walking by his side, as he stretched out his hand for you to join it. In a little moment like this did you realize he had been truthful before, and you took the small gesture of intimacy delicately. Hand in loveable hand, you two made your way down the piers.

You visited the aquarium that was home to cute little otters and the world’s ugliest octopus. Although it was meant for kids, you two stuck your hands in the shallow waters, feeling the anemones and starfish. You splashed a little water up at him, in which he laughed. He was right. This did feel like normal, or a normal that you had grown to love.

Down the pier a ways was a curiosity shop that was eclectic as they come. While Spencer tried to use logic and reason to explain the tourist-trap style of mermaids, giant crabs, and shrunken heads, you posed with the weird exhibits and told him that science “can’t explain everything.” He resigned and you bought him a souvenir; a t-shirt with an image of Bigfoot and the words WORLD’S GREATEST HIDE AND SEEK PLAYER. It was dorky and it fit perfectly with you two.

Dorky didn’t seem to cover it.

“So, Dr. Reid, enjoying your birthday?”

“I am,” he smiled.

“Any way you’d like to end the night? Go to a bar or restaurant or…”

“I don’t think after the last time you’d want to go to a bar with me,” he laughed.

You put your hands around his arms and looked at him gently.

“If that’s what you wanted to do, I wouldn’t mind. I’ll make sure you don’t overdo it.”

He put his other hand on top of yours, the two of you joined as you walked down the street.

“Plus,” you nodded, “you won’t be drugged out on top of it, and I’ll know you’re here this time.”

He cackled.

“You know, back at home, I’m usually the sober one. I hardly ever have a drink.”

“Since I’m your ride tonight, you’ll have to drink for me,” you replied as you stuck out your tongue.

“You’re such a goofball, Y/N,” he said, as he gave you a kiss on the cheek.

It was the first time he had ever really kissed you, and your flash flushed immediately. Without thinking, you stopped walking and pulled him into a real kiss. He seemed surprised, but he met your lips and kissed back. His soft, gentle lips pooled into yours and even though the moment didn’t last long, it felt like a lifetime. His warm breath faded into yours and you swooned in his aura. It felt safer and kinder kissing him now sober, and you savored the taste of him.

“Sorry,” you whispered, pulling him in once more for a quick peck.

“Don’t be sorry at all,” he uttered back, pulling your head close and kissing your forehead.

With your head hot and face all red, you two stumbled into a quirky little bar. You ordered a fruity drink for him and a Sprite for you – that way his drink wouldn’t be too strong. You two sat at barstools, surveying the people around you until the bartender came back with your drinks. Even though you promised to stay sober, you stole a quick sip of his.

While it was his birthday and his special day, today had felt like an important day to you as well. Even though he had been with you for a while since the hotel and club, it was the first time you felt your feelings were reciprocated. His kiss meant the world to you, and you held that memory close. As you two laughed and talked back and forth, a part of you stayed sentimental to that moment.

“Holy shit,” you exclaimed.

You had looked past Spencer to see two familiar people walking through the bar, talking to people and taking them aside. Two people, you had never met in this reality but were real nonetheless.

“Spencer, I have to get out of here. Now.”

Behind Spencer around thirty feet back were Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss in the flesh, showing their badges to the rest of the customers.

This was not good.

He tried to look behind him, but you caught his face and held it in your palms.

“Don’t attract attention. I’ll just tell you: Morgan and Prentiss are here.”

His eyes widened and tried to look behind him again, but you stopped him once more.

“You can go with them; I don’t care. But I need to leave.”

You slid a few dollars as a tip onto the bar top, and hopped off of your barstool. The car was parked only a block or two away, so you could leave easily. They hadn’t seemed to notice you take off, and as you left the bar you heard a “Spencer?” behind you.

You sped walked towards the car, going around the street corner to find it parked. As you hurried over to the driver’s side, you saw Spencer trailing behind you.

“Your team’s back there, what are you doing?”

He spoke in a hushed tone.

“I know.”

The trail of spencer, Spencer, SPENCER grew behind you as you struggled to unlock the car and start it. Spencer stood outside of the car, paralyzed.

Finally, Emily and Morgan had caught up.

“Reid. Oh my god,” Emily yelled, “where have you BEEN?!”

He didn’t say anything, just stood outside the car. You were getting restless.

Morgan, exasperated, shouted as well.

“Spencer, what the hell is happening, man? We’ve only heard from you once in months. What are you doing? Why are there photos of you all over this place?”

As much as Spencer wasn’t responding, you could see his hands shaking through the passenger side’s window. Even though you put yourself in the stupidest position, you rolled down the window.

“Spencer. I have to go. You can stay.”

He looked back at you, scared, then looked back at his fellow team members.

“Spencer, what’s going on?”

“Spencer, what are you doing?!”

He looked back at his team, and finally spoke.

“I’m really sorry, guys.”

He hopped into the car and before he could buckle you took off, speeding down the roads of Seattle, and leaving behind a flabbergasted Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan, and keeping with you a trembling Dr. Spencer Reid.

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 3

The Wildest Times of the World

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge​ @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Sorry this update took so long! But I hope y’all enjoy it :)

Warning(s): none :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

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Chapter 3 let’s go!

Three chilly October days after Ron’s abrupt departure from London - which Juliet was still seething about - she arrived home from the store to a different person she expected to never hear from again. Lottie stood at the front door, muttering to herself about whether or not to knock. Juliet was especially surprised because it was raining, which would have normally kept the editor indoors if she could help it. Juliet watched a moment, not wanting to give away her presence immediately. It satisfied her to watch Lottie fret like this. After a few moments, Juliet caved and cleared her throat. 

Lottie gasped as she whipped around, clutching at her chest. “Heaven's sake, Juliet! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” Juliet said, intentionally vague. “Can I help you, Lottie?” 

“Well…” Lottie hesitated, shifting her weight and toying with the fingertips of her gloves. “Shall we go in? I really need to speak to you.” 

Juliet decided not to comment on Lottie’s self-invite into the house. She figured with no other job openings popping up, this could be her opportunity to try and gain back some favor at the London Pursuit. She couldn’t imagine that Lottie was here for a personal reason. That was not the sort of manager she was. 

Once inside, Lottie followed Juliet to the kitchen - again, kindly not saying anything about the state of the house. Juliet set her grocery bags on the table before taking her coat off. Lottie shrugged hers off as well, removed her hat and gloves, and took a seat. 

“Cuppa?” Juliet offered. 

“Sure,” Lottie replied. 

Juliet put the kettle on. Then she started unloading the bags. 

“So, what did you want to speak to me about?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as she could. 

“It’s the Albourne story,” Lottie said, voice tight, almost like she was spitting the words out. “All the other reporters are too busy to cover it. And if I have to go through the process of hiring someone new, we won’t get it in time.” 

“I’ve already told you, I think it’s -”

“You needn’t remind me of your insolent remarks,” she snapped. 

Juliet sighed, picked up a can of beans and placed it slowly in the cupboard, forming as polite a response as she could muster. But Lottie beat her to the next word. 

“If you agree to cover this story, I’ll let you cover the war down there,” she said. 

Juliet almost slammed the cupboard door shut in surprise. “What?” 

“You can cover the war news from there,” Lottie repeated. 

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” Juliet returned. “Because if you know the Germans are in Aldbourne and you haven’t said anything until now, you might be in trouble, Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Juliet. The Americans are there, you could write about them.” 

Juliet bit back the snappy retort she had about that, and dialed it down. “Fascinating as the Yanks are, I reckon they’re not doing much actual fighting in Aldbourne. Unless you mean brawling in pubs.”

The English had almost adjusted to the American presence by now. However, Juliet had slipped out of more than one pub after a fight broke out between some bright-eyed, blue-blooded American who spoke too boldly about their importance in the war effort and an Englishman who naturally took offense to the effort of “our own lads” being minimized. It escalated. Drinks were thrown, followed shortly by fists. Others jumped in to either assist or attempt to separate the combatting parties, only to get swept up in the action either way. It was entertaining, sure, but Juliet thought it made rather a mockery of the term “Allies.” 

“They’re doing something there,” Lottie insisted. “And I give you full permission to try and find out what. As long as you cover the story about the girl as well.” 

“Observing Americans isn’t really covering the war, and you know it, Lottie,” Juliet said. 

“I’m not sending a woman to the front line, there would be a mob at the office door,” Lottie said. “I personally don’t care if you want to go and get yourself shot, but your blood cannot be on my hands.”

Juliet had to concede that point. Other papers had already suffered the ramifications of sending women reporters even within the vicinity of the front. There were boycotts led by counter-feminist groups and concerned mothers about the message it sent about women’s roles. It was one thing for women to work while men fought the war, but to put them in the line of fire? That was just indecent. 

“Well, good to know my life isn’t as much of your concern as public opinion,” Juliet joked.

Lottie frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Relax, Lottie, I’m taking the piss,” Juliet returned with a wave of her hand. 

She paused, mulling over the offer Lottie was bringing. She wasn’t in much of a position to refuse work, but the idea of covering that gruesome story was almost too much to bear. Even if she was a bit interested in what the Americans were doing. Then, something else crossed her mind. 

“Why do you want this covered so badly?” she asked. 

Lottie’s face flushed and her mouth drew tight, which Juliet understood to mean the reason would not be to her liking. She braced herself. 

“A family friend is with the Wiltshire police,” Lottie admitted. “He thinks it would look good for the department to solve a case like this and put the murderer away. And to have the press cover it, especially a London paper with circulation throughout the country.”

Juliet couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “You’re killing me, Lottie.” 

“This is the deal I’m offering,” Lottie sighed. “I know you’re opposed to it, but this is the compromise I’m willing to make.”

 Juliet considered her options. She did need the money. But the subject matter and the reasoning were so against her ideals and ethics as a journalist. How could she live with herself if she broke them for money? But there was her mother to consider as well. Which brought up another objection. 

“Even if I wanted to,” she said. “I can’t. It leaves no one here to look after Mum.” 

“I thought you had a brother,” Lottie returned. 

“He lives on Guernsey,” Juliet reminded her, minding her tone so she wouldn’t sound too bitter. “Otherwise, I’m certain he’d be here.”

Lottie shifted uncomfortably. “I apologize. I forgot.”

“S’fine,” Juliet replied.  

“Can’t you hire someone to look after your mother?” Lottie asked. 

Juliet only raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her - as if to say, “you’ve seen the house, you think we can afford help?” Lottie understood the implication. 

“What if…” Lottie trailed off, considering. “What if I hired someone to look after her?”

Juliet blinked. “That’s...generous of you, Lottie, but I’d never be able to pay you back or -”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lottie said. “I want this story and - believe it or not - I want it done well. I know you’ll handle it as tastefully as possible and you could really show that -” 

She was cut off by the kettle screeching its completion to boil, so Juliet went to take it off the burner and fetch some tea cups. She poured the tea and served it, and Lottie thanked her quietly, almost abashed by her admission to decency. But there was something more. 

“Really show what?” Juliet pressed.

Lottie heaved a defeated sigh. Like admitting this was something that exasperated her. “That women can handle tough topics. It’s not covering the war, but it’s a step in that direction.” 

Juliet couldn’t help but agree. If women could handle murder and the investigation surrounding it, surely women could be seen as sensible enough to tackle tragedy on a larger scale. They weren’t going to faint at the sight of blood or burst into tears over sentimentality. She couldn’t help herself. Juliet wanted to be part of that narrative. 

“Lottie, I’m surprised at you,” she teased. “I didn’t take you for such a feminist.” 

Lottie’s jaw dropped and she gaped at Juliet, totally affronted at the suggestion. “I am no such thing!” 

Juliet shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, I probably wouldn’t be either if I had your tits.” 

Lottie could only sputter in response and Juliet snickered before sipping her tea.

“Juliet!” Lottie scolded. 

“I’ll do it,” Juliet said suddenly. 

Lottie closed her mouth, stunned. “You’ll - you’ll do the story?” 

“Yes,” Juliet assured her, smiling. “You’ve given me a real reason to. And if there’s someone here to look after Mum and I can get a bit of war news as well, then what choice do I have but to say yes? You drive a hard bargain, Lottie.”

Lottie’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, Juliet. Really.” 

“When do I go?” Juliet asked. 

“There’s a train to Aldbourne tomorrow morning at nine,” Lottie said. 

“I’ll be on it.” 

***

Aldbourne was probably a village that once called itself sleepy. But now it was overrun by Americans - mostly paratroopers - which created an upheaval the likes of which many residents had never seen before. There was life in the town. The Women’s Land Army, or “land girls” as they were called, were taking full advantage of the flirting opportunities that arose with these American men, who lacked British decorum and were therefore prime targets for a fling. As Juliet walked from the station to her lodgings, with all the people mulling through the heart of the village, she found it almost hard to believe she was there to report on a murder. 

Lodgings were difficult to come by with the Americans billeted in just about any space they could fit. Even horses were having to share their stables. But Lottie pulled some strings and got Juliet a room above the Blue Boar, a pub. She wasn’t sure how much sleep she’d really be able to get with the noise of a pub below her, but she didn’t dare complain. Not when she was one step closer to getting what she wanted. 

The owner was a portly, older gentleman by the name of Jacob Powell. His kind, round face welcomed Juliet warmly, and she was grateful for the reception. She didn’t want to infringe too much on his hospitality, so she refused a cup of tea for the moment, insisting she needed to get unpacked and to the police station as soon as possible. 

“Oh, yeah, that's a gruesome business about the little girl,” Jacob said. “Are you really going to write a story about it?” 

“I’m no Agatha Christie or anything, but I’m going to do my best,” she returned, keeping her tone light. She wasn’t in the habit of discussing a story with just anyone. 

He shook his head. “It’s just a right shame.”

“Concisely put, Mr. Powell,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Right, sorry,” he said bashfully, and he reminded her that the offer for tea still stood if she changed her mind before closing the door behind him. 

First, Juliet set down her suitcase with her clothes. Second, she heaved her typewriter onto the desk in the corner of the room. It was beside the one window that looked out onto the street. Juliet approved of the set up since she liked natural light while she wrote. She got her things exactly where she wanted them, but hadn’t bothered to remove her hat and coat since she was going right back out. Securing her notebook, pen, and room key, she left. 

The police station was one of the dullest she’d ever seen. Given the nature of the town, it didn’t surprise her. Lottie’s contact was Otis Allen, a lieutenant in the Wiltshire Police, who was still in Aldbourne to lead the investigation. He was a tall, thin man, with kind blue eyes and straw-like blonde hair. Rather unimposing for being in law enforcement. But Juliet observed right away the misshapen mound where his right ear should have been. He mentioned it before she had the opportunity to ask. 

“Sorry about the grisly ear,” he said. “My gift from the Germans last time they had a go at us.”

“A bit rude,” she teased. “Flowers would have suited just fine, I think.” 

He chuckled at that as he gestured for her to take a seat across from him at his desk. With that, she noticed a gnarled hand - the few fingers he had left were permanently curled under themselves. He disguised it fairly well with a glove, but she saw anyway. 

“Those Jerries really overdid it on the gifts,” she remarked. “I bet it wasn’t even your birthday.”

He fully laughed at that and she noticed his expression softened. When they’d met, he’d been a bit rigid, but his muscles relaxed now, put at ease by her gentle humor. 

“Thanks for that,” he said. 

She cocked her head to the side. “For what?”

“For the jokes,” he answered. “Ever since that war, all I get are pitying looks or fear. Thanks for treating it like it’s...normal.” 

“I’ll leave pity to the nurses,” she said with a smile. “Now, what have you got so far on the case?”  

He went over the basics with her. In September, a six-year-old girl, Peggy Lee, was drowned in the tub, allegedly by her host, Meredith Fisher. Peggy had been with the Fisher’s since January with no reported issues. When Peggy did not arrive for school the next day, her teacher phoned the Fisher’s home with no answer. They chalked it up to Peggy being ill or some other explainable matter, and moved on. When she was absent the following day as well, they called again, and Meredith told them that yes, Peggy was ill, and could not come to school for a few days. Ashley Fisher, Meredith’s husband, was in London on business at the time, and when he returned at the end of the week, found Peggy’s body and called the police. Meredith claimed initially there was an accident, but evidence from Peggy’s autopsy proved foul play was involved. Juliet took fervent notes as Otis explained it all, trying not to get disgusted by the whole thing. 

“Where is Mrs. Fisher being held now?” Juliet asked. “Surely not here in Aldbourne.” 

“‘Course not, she’s in Trowbridge,” Otis assured her. “Mr. Fisher is here though, if you’d like to speak to him.” 

She blinked. “Is he an expert on the case or something?”

“Well, no -”

“Then what insight could he possibly give me?” 

“He’s a witness,” he reminded her. 

“Investigators and lawyers question witnesses,” she said. “I need facts from experts to put the story into context. His testimony would only sway readers' emotions, and that’s not what I’m after.” 

He smiled. “Well. You’re not like any reporter I’ve ever met.” 

“I should hope not,” she returned. “I’m not covering this for the sensation. Why do you think I haven’t asked you where the Lee family is?”

His eyebrows went up a ways on his forehead. “You’re not going to interview them at all?”

She shook her head. “Nope. An interview with them is even less useful than an interview with Mr. Fisher. They weren’t even witnesses.” 

His eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “Right. Emotional appeal instead of factual.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And besides, I’m sure the last thing they need right now is some reporter sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

“I like you, Miss Fletcher,” he said simply. “You’ve got...surprising respect for this. And a good head on your shoulders.” 

Juliet forced a smile to swallow her question if he’d be surprised by her if she were a man. She didn’t know where her control came from during interviews, but she was grateful for it. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said. “Lottie told me the goal was to get this story widely circulated, and I truly believe that’s possible with the facts alone. I don’t believe in patronizing the audience to get their attention.” 

“You’ve got more faith in people than I do,” he scoffed. “But I like your style. I look forward to working with you.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” she returned. She did like Otis, even if he had briefly underestimated her. “Tomorrow I’ll be able to meet with the doctor who conducted the autopsy, yes?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The prosecution is having a psychiatrist evaluate Mrs. Fisher this week, so I’ll keep you updated on that as well.” 

“I’d love an interview with the prosecutor too, if that’s possible,” she said. 

“I’ll speak to him about it,” he told her. “Have a good evening, Miss Fletcher.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

They shook hands before she parted. She made her way back to the Blue Boar, dodging GIs all along the way. They were winding down for the day, it seemed, going for runs, dates, or drinks, depending on their mood. She got a whistle or two, which she ignored, mentally going over her notes. She was also relieved she wasn’t going to have to fight Otis on how to do the story. She really was getting free reign on how to put this all together, and she was excited by the opportunities that meant for her. 

Her excitement was sucked away when she reached the Blue Boar and found her things had been hurled onto the street. Her mouth fell open. She had only just arrived, what on earth could she have done?

She marched toward the door, straightening up to her full height, prepared to demand an answer from Jacob. But she didn’t have to go far, he met her at the doorway, blocking her entrance with a glower on his face that could have melted snow. 

“What’s the meaning of this?!” she demanded. 

“I don’t want any of your sort staying in my establishment!” he shot back. “Did you think you could fool me?! I read the papers!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she returned. “What papers?!” 

He pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his back pocket and threw it at her. She caught it and opened it with a snap. She recognized it as a society gossip periodical that she usually tried to avoid. On the side of the page, she read the headline “ARTHUR BURNS’ EX-FIANCE TURNS LADY OF THE EVENING?” with a photo of her leaving the hotel she’d met Ron in, looking furious as she absolutely was that day. Her heart dropped as she read the copy beneath. 

Desperate times must truly call for desperate measures, it began. Juliet Fletcher, 31, who just earlier this year was scorned by Arthur Burns when he terminated their engagement, was spotted leaving a hotel after a rendezvous with a mysterious American. The receptionist, who wished to remain anonymous, said Fletcher returned the following day, found the Yank gone, and stormed out, seething. 

‘It was clearly a dispute over money,’ the receptionist said. ‘They left the hotel together early in the morning, and she came back in the evening after he’d checked out. She was so sneaky about what she needed, I knew it couldn’t be anything respectable. And then to be as furious as she was about his leaving, it was obviously about an unpaid sum.’

Could it be that Miss Fletcher has fallen into disgrace after Mr. Burns left her? Could it be that she needed additional income after becoming accustomed to the Burns lifestyle? What else could possibly drive her to stoop to such lows? 

The Burns family refused to comment for this story, and Miss Fletcher herself appears to be out of town at the moment. And who can blame her?

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she cried. “It isn’t true!”

“Pictures don’t lie, missy,” Jacob practically spat. “Now clear off from my property or I’ll have the police on you!”

A small crowd had gathered to watch the confrontation unfold. Doubtless, the raised voices had drawn attention to them, but Juliet could not bring herself to care. The injustice of it made her blood boil. She squared her shoulders and planted her feet. 

“It’s not true, you idiot!” she shouted. “This paper is known for misrepresenting the people they write about!” 

“I said - CLEAR OFF, YOU!” he roared. 

She scowled at him as fiercely as she could manage, but he slammed the door in her face. Head held high, she went and snatched her things off the ground, slinging them onto her shoulders before facing him again. 

“THIS ISN’T OVER!” she hollered back. When she turned on her heel and saw the Aldbourne residents watching with avid interest, she snapped at them too. “Should we have sold tickets?! Mind your business, people!” 

Properly scolded, they scattered like roaches. Juliet heaved a sigh, wondering where to point her feet. Fuming, she considered parking herself outside the door and shouting until Jacob had no choice but to hear her out, but she couldn’t risk arrest. Not when she was relying on the police as sources for her story. 

Her thoughts were completely interrupted when a platoon of paratroopers jogged across the square from where she stood. Leading them was the man Juliet held solely responsible for all her troubles as of late - Ron Speirs. She told herself not to get distracted by the sweat on his brow or the way his backside looked in the little shorts he had on, and focus on what mattered. He was getting away with what had happened - or rather not happened - while she was publicly shamed. Abandoning her bags, she hurtled after the platoon, catching up with surprising speed in her heels. 

“HEY!” she bellowed. 

The whole platoon stuttered in their cadence, and the few in the back turned their heads at the sound of her voice. Ron either didn’t hear her, or ignored her, and she wasn’t sure which was more infuriating. She gained on them. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to get louder, absolutely refusing to be ignored. 

“RONALD SPEIRS!” she yelled. 

He called his men to a halt, stopping alongside them and turning to face her. He blinked in surprise at the sight of her - he had evidently not expected her here - but he didn’t say anything right away. She caught her breath as she marched up to him. This time, she was ready, wallet in her coat pocket. She whipped it out and brandished it like a sword. 

“No one pays me a kindness and gets away with it!” she shouted, popping the wallet open and fishing out the bills she owed him. “That,” she slapped the first few onto his chest, and he caught them before they fluttered to the ground. “Is for my half of the hotel room!” She did not acknowledge the snickers that went through the platoon, and then forced a second handful of money into his hand. “And that is for the potatoes and cab fare!” 

He looked levelly at her. “I really didn’t expect to be -” 

“I don’t care what you expected!” she continued. “You left me to look like a prize idiot!” 

He glanced at his platoon, who were murmuring to each other as speculation began about how their lieutenant knew this strange woman. 

“I’d rather have this conversation in private if it’s all the same to you,” he said. 

“It’s not all the same to me, you punk!” She accentuated this with a shove to his arm. He didn’t move, but it made her feel better. “You humiliated me in front of the stupid hotel girl, which has now resulted in me losing my lodgings, so yeah, I’m going to stand here and embarrass you in front of your little mates!” 

“Juliet -” 

“How dare you leave before I could pay you back!” she went on fiercely. “You said you’d be there! You lied right to my face! Like a - a - a liar!” 

“Eloquently said,” he returned. 

“I don’t need your wise-ass remarks!” 

“Settle down.” 

“I WILL NOT SETTLE DOWN!” 

Her face was red with how much yelling she’d been doing, so she took a deep breath to collect herself. She felt a tingle in her throat, so she tried to clear it. 

“I’m going to, though,” she said. “Not because you told me to, but because my voice is getting hoarse.” 

He stared at her for a beat. “Okay. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“The receptionist at the hotel in London spoke to a gossip columnist about seeing us together,” she said. “Now, the owner of the Blue Boar says he won’t have one of ‘my sort’ in his rooms.” 

“I see,” he said with a nod. “I’ll sort it out.”

“No, I can’t owe you another favor,” she returned. 

“So you just came over here to yell at me?” he asked, to clarify. 

“And pay you back!” she insisted. “Now that’s been accomplished, we can part ways and I’ll never speak to you again. Starting now.” 

“Juliet -” 

“Starting now!”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away. He watched her go for a moment, enjoying the way her skirt swished around her legs, the shape of which he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. Shaking his head to clear it, he faced his men again. He noticed the stifled laughter behind their hands and smirks on their faces.

“Something funny?” he snapped with a scowl. 

They straightened up and muttered quick “no, sir”s under his glare. 

“Good, we’ve got a run to finish,” he said. 

They continued down the road. But Ron knew just what he was going to do afterward. 

***

Night fell over Aldbourne like a frigid shadow. Juliet, with aching feet and chattering teeth, took shelter in a phone booth across from the Blue Boar, having scoured the village for anywhere else to stay to no avail. And she was not a moment too soon in closing the booth door. Just seconds after she did, a soft rain began to patter against it. 

She needed to call Lottie and see what her options were. She couldn’t stay in Aldbourne without a room, but that put everything on hold. She pushed the coins into the slot and called Lottie at home, adding guilt to her weariness. 

“Hello?” came Lottie’s voice after just two rings, which relieved Juliet a little since it meant she was not in bed already. 

“Lottie, it’s Juliet,” Juliet said. “Look, something’s happened and your friend Jacob’s given me the boot.” 

“What?” Lottie questioned. “Why?” 

“Some stupid fucking article accusing me of being a prostitute,” Juliet snapped. 

“There’s no need for that kind of language,” Lottie replied coolly. 

Juliet hesitated a beat. “Okay, given the nature of what I said, I’m not sure if you’re referring to ‘fuck’ or ‘prostitute.’”

“Both,” Lottie said, and before Juliet could protest, she went on. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

Juliet explained everything - that her arrival went fine, but at some point during her interview with Otis, Jacob had read that article about the hotel nonsense, and had refused to let her back inside. 

“Now I’m stuck in a phone booth,” she finished. 

A beat passed and Juliet feared for a fleeting second that her time had run out. She dug in her pocket for more coins, but Lottie spoke again. 

“So...what were you doing in a hotel room with an American?” she asked. 

“That’s your takeaway from everything I just said?!” Juliet cried, incredulous. “Lottie, I’m exhausted and freezing, I need a place to stay or a ticket home!” 

“Was it something indecent?” Lottie pressed.

“No!” Juliet returned. “Look, I got drunk, I almost got hurt, and he just looked after me for the night, but nothing happened, I swear. Believe me, he’s the last man on Earth I’d ever want to shag, even if he is ridiculously good loo-”

She stopped suddenly and whipped around when she heard a knock on the door. There he stood. Ronald Speirs, looking expectantly at her. 

“Son of a BITCH!” she swore, stamping her foot. 

“I beg your pardon!” Lottie gasped. 

“Must go, Lottie, my mystery American has returned,” Juliet said through clenched teeth. “Aldbourne’s about to have another murder on its hands.” 

She hung up harshly, slamming the phone down before Lottie could protest. Then she wrenched the door and faced him, eyes blazing. She opened her mouth, preparing to dismiss him completely, but he beat her to the punch. 

“Jacob changed his mind,” he said. “You can have your room back.” 

She deflated and blinked at him in surprise. “I said I didn’t want -”

“Do you want a bed for the night or not?” he cut across her. 

Her drained muscles screamed at her to agree, but her pride was stronger. She started to refuse him again. 

“Buy me a drink, and we’ll call it even,” he said, as if reading her mind. 

“That’s not really the same,” she argued. 

“I didn’t go out of my way,” he told her. “The Blue Boar is where the officers drink. It came up, I explained, simple as that.” 

“Okay, one drink.” She held his gaze. “And then we’ll never speak again.”

He looked into her eyes, so long and so intensely, in any other context she would have thought he might kiss her. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t do anything. He just shrugged, turned, and walked back toward the pub. She didn’t totally blame him since the rain was beginning to come down harder. With a defeated sigh, she scrambled to collect her things and followed him. 

[newtonsheffield]

Hello again!!!! I'm the Spanish girl back in here!

Firstly, I'd like to send you my best wishes for this tough week of work, and I bet we're going to miss you around here this week. But duty calls! And, look, how many people can say they've got a whole week for relaxing after a week of work? 😌 (Perhaps I've misunderstood the whole thing; I've read your posts quite quick and I've understood sth different to what you wanted to say lol)

Well, what can I say with one of the last prompts you have gifted to us...? Kate, Anthony (and his Spanish!!!!!!) and Spain; you got me there. 😂 I even cried the famous "Ole!" when I read all of it (curious note: not all Spaniards use the expression "ole" in daily contexts; it is more like a regional expression that became worldwide famous bc of several reasons that are too long to post here, lol) and I think it's needless to say I loved it... isn't it?

And, I LOVED a lot Edwina's POV and story (well, I've loved everything you have posted and gifted to us, but Eddie has a special place in my heart)! I don't know, but sometimes I get the impression that, in romantic literature, relationships between sisters are not addressed at all and kinda force them to be friends (if they're not rivals... which I find stupid, tbh), not really deepening in the bond between them. Like, they're sisters and they behave more like "my next door neighbour and friend to whom sometimes I'm distant bc life happens" instead of "this person and I share much more than many people can imagine that's beyond friendship and she's more important than anybody else" -idk if this makes sense anymore... I rewrote it a couple of times bc I got the impression I can't express my idea very well 😂-. And that's something I think both of you, JQ and yourself, have achieved and gifted to all of us! We see Edwina and Kate as sisters: they fight, they tease the other, they can't stand each other sometimes, but always, ALWAYS, they care for and love the other just as sisters do. Because of this, I think TVWLM is one of my favourite books in this genre: they give us a two fantastic love stories, not only between a -heterosexual- couple but also between sisters; which is as important as any other kind of relationship.

After my TED Talk (sorry if it's been too much... 😅), I cannot help but imagine an escapade between Anthony and Kate (sans children) and Matthew and Edwina (oh, Matthew... I love you) to Spain just for Anthony, in his stupid one-side battle against Matthew (I love this, tbh; it's sooooo fun 😂), demonstrate Matthew he can speak fluently another language... Just for Matthew be oblivious to this and enjoy a little escapade to Spain with his girlfriend and her family. 😂

Anyways; I hope you're alright and, again, I wish you all the best for this week.

Besos!!! 🥰 (Spanish equivalent for the "Love!" farewell expression; it means "kisses")

Hola! You’re back again! And I’m so glad! 

I do have a week off once I finish work tomorrow (Saturday)!! Very Exciting! I have a scarf to knit, and lots of writing to do so that’s very exciting. 

Oh Anthony on a Spanish beach in tiny little flamingo shorts? Ole! indeed! That is a curious note, I literally love learning things about other cultures and languages so if anyone wants to share a curious note about their culture, hit me up! I will in turn tell you about the curious culture of The Land Down under, and our propensity to butcher the English language!

I agree, Sister relationships are a very curious thing in media. I’m not a huge fan of very contentious relationships between sisters, I’m not saying they don’t exist in real life, they definitely do, I just think having them as constant rivals is exhausting. And Yes! I Love the relationship between Edwina and Kate very much because I see it as a mirror of my relationship with my own sister. My sister drives me more insane than any other person on this planet. We fight, we bicker, I get absolutely enraged when she steals the last property I need for a set in Monopoly, and yet, She is my favourite person. She can say whatever she wants about me, but were anyone else to? It’s fight on sight. I’ll be honest, that all I’m doing is basing their relationship in these fics  on my own with my sister. Nothing special! 

Okay! Here we go! Anthony and Kate + Goose and Edwina +Spain

Kate Bridgerton was many, many things, but she liked to think an idiot, was not one of them. And so, when Anthony had said, in a tone she was sure he thought was casual. “I think we deserve a holiday, you’ve been working very hard to grow the little broad bean after all and your sister and her little gander should celebrate their engagement.” She had known exactly what he was up to. And she wasn’t really sure why she played along along with it. Perhaps something in her thrived on the chaos she knew Anthony would would create, perhaps part of her just really wanted a decent paella. Surely it didn’t matter, the result was the same: Kate fixed an innocent expression on her face and said  “Where did you have in mind?” 

 And so, surprise, surprise, here she was: back on a beach in Spain. She had to admit, eyeing Anthony appreciatively as he paddled demonstratively in the shallow water, his plan had its merits. though thus far his attempts had been... unsuccessful at best. Matthew Bagwell seemed absolutely thrilled to be in Spain, on holiday with his fiancée, giving them helpful facts he knew about the architecture as they walked through the city, a wide smile on his face, Anthony practically purple when he corrected a fact Anthony himself had said.   “Do you speak Spanish, Goose?” Anthony had said dryly in the hotel lobby shortly after they’d arrived. And Kate had rolled her eyes at Anthony, though Matthew was not paying attention. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Edwina’s waist, whispering something in her ear that made her nose crinkle in delight, the sapphire of her engagement ring glinting in the sunlight. And the beautiful picture they made gave Kate’s heart a little stutter. Anthony tutted. “Matt!” He said sharply, getting the man’s attention, Matthew’s glasses slipping down his nose as his head shot upwards in surprise.  “Do you speak Spanish?” Edwina was rolling her eyes now. And Matthew, for his part was completely unbothered  “oh, no. Sorry Mate, might have to lean on your pretty heavily this week.” He said, and Kate caught the smug smile on Anthony’s face and bit back a groan Damnit Matthew.  “I’m pretty fluent in French, German and Mandarin though!” Matthew said smiling happily, turning back towards Edwina, completely oblivious to the scowl Anthony tossing his way. “Of course you fucking are.” He muttered, fixing Kate with an irritated glare as a laugh escaped her!   

The water surely must be a little cool in early October but Anthony showed no signs of it, Beckoning Kate into the water. She groaned and made her way towards him, laughing happily as he tugged her in, his hand resting on her stomach, still no sign of her pregnancy. “Is he watching?” Anthony whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist, spinning her through the water So she had a brief image of her sister smiling brightly at her fiancée who appeared to be... bless him building a sandcastle. 

“No. He’s not.” Kate said batting her husband’s hands away irritatedly as he scowled.  “Are you really trying to look more in love than they are?” Kate scoffed, disbelief at her husband’s idiocy rising with in her. Anthony looked indignant. “No! A man can’t take an interest in his wife now? Very poor show Mrs. Bridgerton.” He said, but his eyes, darted towards the shore at the last second.  “Oh I cannot believe you! You’re absolutely manic!” She replied as Anthony attempted to pull her back towards him, Kate putting up very little fight as she tumbled against. him, his voice hot in her ear. “Insufferable I hear.” Kate scoffed. “Ugh! If Anyone’s insufferable it’s him!” 

Kate turned to follow Anthony’s gaze to find Matthew waving at them, grinning broadly, completely unbothered. And Kate couldn’t keep from laughing as Anthony went on another muttered tirade.

Besos! 

[thegothicviking]

As re-entering a link from herzeleid.com never seem to work (??) I usually copy and paste the actual text. Remember a transcription of Flake chatting with fans that I posted from early 00'? Before this Paul had a similar if not the same chat. I have already too long post in tumblr now so it will be broken down in 2 parts!

PAUL CHAT WITH FANS part I

Transcribed by Jeremy Williams

Taken from Rammstein.com chat

October 26 , 2005

_____________________________

Mod: Hello to you all. Thanks for coming out. Paul will be here in just a few minutes. And then we're going to get started.

Paul: Let's go!

niti: +++

Mod: Sorry, there was a technical problem. But the chat will start soon.

niti: +++

**atomrt: how do you chose the sounds for each song because all of them fit perfectly?**

Paul: Thanks a lot! Sometimes that works out well, sometimes not so well.+++

**maria: Your album covers have always sparked a lot of controversy. Which cover is your favourite and why?**

Paul: The cover for Sehnsucht was the most dramatic in my opinion.+++

**Benzramm: What was coming out of the fake penis during the live act "Bück Dich"? **

Paul: That was water with Ouzo to make it milky.+++

**Beurgueur: Good evening, Have you ever thought to write a metal-opera based on rammstein’ story?**

Paul: Hopefully not. We have enough theater elements already.+++

**MafiUndomiel: I was at River Plate Stadium in Argentina, 1999, when you toured with KISS. You did almost surpassed KISS music and show with your impact, and many people was really impressed. I still remember the silence during Du Hast, as Till was singing the refrain. What do you remember of Argentina, of this show? **

Paul: Yeah, that was unbelievable. It's a shame that we can't play in South America this time. Flake was seriously ill.+++

**MafiUndomiel: Did Till write Te Quiero Puta on his own, or had some kind of external help? I know it's not very complicated, nor elaborated in the lyrics, but it's not easy to put two or three sentences together if you don't know the language... believe me! I'm still trying with German!**

Paul: He had some help from his girlfriend and from Flake's friend from Chile.

Paul: But Till can already speak Spanish so well that he only had a few questions about grammar.+++

**monkeyman: What type of gear do you use when recording in the studio?**

Paul: This would take two hours to list. Too much for now. Sorry.+++

**Hugo: Why did you choose almost the same cover for the japanese version of Reise, Reise and Rosenrot? **

Paul: Because we thought it would be a shame to use the cover only for the Japanese edition.+++

**MafiUndomiel: There are many bands that edited DVD and VHS with the footage they got when they recorded their albums, the creative process and all that stuff. Since many R+ fans are really interested in knowing "Rammstein's kitchen", have you considered releasing something of that kind?

** Paul: I filmed some of the footage during Reise, Reise and it will come out sometime on a DVD as bonus material.+++

**blastedop: What happened to Live DVD? It was delayed? **

Paul: Yeah a little bit, but we're going to try to do it this year.+++

**MafiUndomiel: I wanted to know how did you put your setlists together when you go to a country you've never been... you mix old and new material, or you prefer to show your new material above all, and play only the "classics"? **

Paul: We play a mix of both old and new.+++

**Jenna: As you are possibly the most successful band from Germany (singing in German) that you are expected to represent German music and culture to the rest of the world? **

Paul: It was never our plan to play all over the world.

Paul: Sometimes we wonder ourselves how this all happened.+++

**beurgueur: what american film director would you enjoy to make a ckip with **

Paul: Tarantino.+++

**Benzramm: Did you ever get hurt when you were working with fire on the live acts ? **

Paul: Sometimes.+++

**aeon: One Rammstein member said you had a movie project with Werner Herzog. Do you think this project will be carried out and would you like to act in something different from Rammstein videos ? **

Paul: It's been awhile with WErner herzog. Maybe it will work out, there's still a plan to do it.

Paul: +++

**Rammsteinizied: Dear Paul: What is your favorite live performance effect? (like the flamethrowes in Feuer frei or the bow in DRSG) **

Paul: The nose flame throwers that we use in Feuer frei!+++

**MafiUndomiel: Which was your first guitar? Do you still own it? **

Paul: It was a Telecaster copy. A cheap one. I gave away my first guitars at an auction for a good cause. No idea whether it worked out.+++

**Straya: This has been in my mind for a while now, and I must ask. From the sample songs on the official site, it seems Rosenrot might be your 'hardest/loudest' albums, the songs seem 'hard', in a way, like Ich Will, Feuer Frei, and Mein Teil; what do you think of this? **

Paul: I don't think so. There are fewer sequences so the guitars come out better.+++

**Synthema: Do you still feel that being in Rammstein is almost like being in a six-way marriage? Does the band still function as a tight a unit or have things drifted apart? **

Paul: Yeah.

Paul: We're still together. Knock on wood. We've been together for 10 years and now that we've gone through our crisis, we feel better than ever.

Paul: We've got money, success, beautiful women and all the rest.

Paul: Things can only get worse.+++

**Jenna: Do you think your videos help to stop you taking yourselves too seriously? **

Paul: We've always taken ourselves less seriously than many people think. our best friends know this.

Paul: At the moment, we don't feel like making any humouress videos.+++

**whiskeypapa: When writing a song, how many/what kinds of revisions does the song go through before finally making it onto an album? **

Paul: Some songs make it out directly as we conceived them. With other songs, we make 20 versions and they still don't make it.

Paul: +++

**Noora: HI! I'm a fashion and design student from Finland and I was wondering about your stage costumes...How much do you participate in the designing and making of the outfits that you use on your tours? I understand that every album has its own look. Do you first design the outline of the look as a band and hen consult a designer and maker? Thanx and welcome back to Finland! :)**

Paul: Most ideas come directly from the band. For the last outfit, we had the idea to combine Bavarian folkloric outfits with industrial.

Paul: Because Bavarian folklore is not very cool and we like to mix things that you're not supposed to.+++

**Beurgueur: Have you ever thought in what your life would be now if rammstein never was created?**

Paul: No. We don't think that way.+++

**minx: It’s been stated in several interviews that the band has two pyromaniacs in the group, but is there anyone who is not so fond of fire?**

Paul: Everybody in the band has a different specialty.

Paul: Each of us is really equally important.

Paul: It doesn'T matter what each does, it could be better when two are on vacation during preparation and actually help us to make a good video this way.+++

**Badeend: Who thinks of the titles of the cd's? Is it some kind of democraty or is it 1 man that decides?**

Paul: We make the decision as a group but it's not really a democracy. More like a board of directors.+++

**Biz: How have older industrial bands (such as Laibach or KMFDM) influenced you?**

Paul: A lot.

Paul: Also Ministry.+++

**minx: What is the oily black/brown liquid that you are all covered with on stage? Is it a fire retardant liquid?**

Paul: No.

Paul: That's a secret.+++

**minx: Why did you wear a paper bag over your head at the concert in Tallin, last November?**

Paul: I wanted to display an Iraqi prisoner.

Paul: There's a photo of a guy behind barbed wire and he's holding his son but he has a bag on his head.

Paul: That photo really had an impact on me.+++

**aeon: Why do you only do signing sessions in London and Paris? Why not in other big cities f Europe or even Germany? Or is anything planned? **

Paul: Actually we've only planned for Paris. London snuck in at the last minute.

Paul: I don't know any more signing sessions details right now.+++

**Badeend: Did you take gitar lessons or did you teach it on your self?**

Paul: Self-taught.

Paul: +++

**minx: I am going to be at the signing in London on Sunday. Do you enjoy doing those types of promotional events or are they just ‘hard work’?**

Paul: Sometimes it's a lot of fun but other times it can be exhausting.+++

**Synthema: It could be said that the "Rosenrot" photos are quite a departure image-wise from what one would expect from the band. Was this something that was decided by the band for a particular reason, or is this the sort of decision that is out of your hands? Does your management or record label have much control over how you present yourselves, or is that left to you?**

Paul: We don't like to repeat ourselves.

Paul: Usually the band always has the last word on these amtters. But weR'e not always interested in all of the details.+++

**Badeend: What is the new instrument you used in the song Te Quiero Puta?**

Paul: Trumpet.+++

**beurgueur: do you think you'll be on stage again when you'll be 60? (like rolling stones for example...)**

Paul: Hopefully somebody will die first. Then we won'T have to worry about that.+++

**minx: Do you do you all do own make-up for the shows?**

Paul: Yes.+++

**OK-River: Will Rammstein play again "Bück Dich" in a concert, or it is something of the past?**

Paul: I wouldn't say no.+++

**blastedop: Rosenrot is so diferent from Reise Reise. How is this possible if these songs are from Reise Reise recording season?**

Paul: I don'T think so. Listen to the whole album.+++

**Benzramm: Are you a sort of scared when flake is going with his boat in the public ? **

Paul: No.

Paul: But it was always Oli last year.+++

**whiskeypapa: Which of your songs invokes the most emotion from you?**

Paul: Seemann.+++

**MsBehaviour: Greetings from Finland and good evening! My question is, you have been playing together as a band for quite a many years now, and there is a big difference in the sound of Herzeleid and the sound of Reise Reise. Does this "evolution" come naturally to you, or do you make conscious decisions as to where to direct your sound? How do you feel about the change?**

Paul: There are some of us who want to stay the same.

Paul: There's some of us who want to always change.

Paul: These parties fight each other and the result is a new album or a black eye.+++

**MafiUndomiel: Have you heard a cover version of Keine Lust made by a Russian guy called Miguel? What did you think about it?**

Paul: Not yet, unfortunately.+++

**Badeend: Do you have a private jet or do you have to rent a plane?**

Paul: When the record company pays, we fly Business. When we have to pay, it'S Tourist class. Sometimes, when the connections are difficult, we rent a litlle jet.+++

**luna: First "Snow White" now "Rose Red". Do the members of Rammstein have a fondness for fairytales?**

Paul: Who doesn't?+++

**Synthema: Do you still enjoy performing live after all these years, or is it more of a chore now?**

Paul: If we didn't like it, we wouldn't have been around so long.+++

**Benzramm: Is there a double meaning in the songtexts of your songs ? **

Paul: Yeah. But the subtleties and double-meanings get lsot in translation.+++

**Badeend: What is your favorite song or cd?**

Paul: Kill Bill 1.+++

**DRS2G: Is "Hilf Mir" inspired by a Heinrich Hoffmann's tale?!**

Paul: Yes.+++

**Synthema: Have you ever felt that the success of Rammstein has been a negative thing for you in your personal life? That it makes it difficult to decide who to trust and who not to?**

Paul: It is difficult to stay normal despite money and success.

Paul: We fight this on a daily battle but we usually win.+++

**Beurgueur: from a viewer: what guitar do you use for your c tuning, and what guitar does richard use for this?**

Paul: I play a Gibson Les Paul and Richard plays ESP guitars.+++

**Benzramm: Did you really go to the mountains for the videoclip "Ohne Dich"?**

Paul: Yes. The was the funnest video of them all.

Paul: The thin air up there was difficult.

Paul: I'm impressed by mountain climbers who go even higher.

Paul: It was difficult for our crew and us.+++

**MafiUndomiel: how did you and richard decided who was going to be lead and who rythm guitars?**

Paul: Good question.

Paul: We're both stubborn.

Paul: It's a fight every time but we're still doing alright up to now.

Paul: Actually, the winner is supposed to be the one who plays the best solo.+++

**Badeend: Do you still have to take guitar lessons to play better?**

Paul: No.+++

**blastedop: Do you visit fansites? How about a Top 10 Fansites in the official page?**

Paul: From time to time.+++

**Badeend: Why did you pick just that girl for the Texas vocal in Stirb nich vor Mir?**

Paul: It was our producer's idea.+++

**MafiUndomiel: Paul, is there any country that you´d like to visit or going on tour, and you haven´t yet? Why?**

Paul: Yes, we would love to go to Turkey, Mongolia, Iraq. We know we've got lots of fans there.+++

**Jenna: Which current musicians (Not youselves, I'm sorry) do you think are creating the best work at the moment?**

Paul: System of a Down, Muse, Snoop Doggy Dog, Eminem, Slip Knot, etc.+++

**Rammsteinizied: Dear Paul, How do you feel about us fans?**

Paul: It's an honour.+++

**Minx: Do you have a favourite guitar part in a particular song you really enjoy?**

Paul: +++

**DRS2G: Will "Rosenrot" be the 2nd single from your new album?!**

Paul: Yes.+++

**Straya: I'm wondering how this question has not come up yet... but, plenty of people are asking if you guys will tour in America and Canada. I don't mean for this to be one of those annoying questions. But, has anything be talked about?**

Paul: I'm certain that we'll tour North and South America with our next album.+++

**rammsteinuk: I read in a recent interview that there were some arguments within the band during the production of 'Mutter'. Have there been any more strong disagreements like this since?

**Paul: Thankfully not. There's always stress when six stubborn people meet, but nothing serious.+++

**minx: Most influential musician on yourself?**

Paul: Laibach, Ministry, Metallica, Nirvana.+++

**blastedop: Did you like Benzin video? Schneider didnt.**

Paul: I don't think it's that bad.

Paul: We've had three really good videos in a row, so it'S hard to keep the standards so high.

Paul: I'm glad that there's some variation, next time we'll improve.+++

**whiskeypapa: First, Reise Reise saw a "country moment" with Los, and now Rosenrot has Te Quiero Puta. If you could make a fusion of Rammstein and any other world music (for fun), what would it be?**

Paul: Yes, I interested in all combinations of things that don'T fit together.+++

**Biz: Are there any downsides to being famous?**

Paul: We're famous but we can still buy groceries in Berlin without bodyguards.

Paul: We've got nothing to complain about.

Paul: Our band is famous around the world but we still have normal lives, thank God.+++

**minty: Paul are you looking forward to the world cup next year? who will win?**

Paul: Yes. It doesn'T look good for Germany right now.

Paul: I hope that a miracle happens.+++

**aeon: Do you hope your music will still be appreciated in many years from now or it doesn't matter to you ?**

Paul: I think that we're relatively timeless.

Paul: But that'S probably what every band thinks and two years later nobody cares ...+++

**DRS2G: Was it good to be directed by Jonas Akerlund?!**

Paul: Yes, he's just a cool guy.+++

[gabrielkahane]

Heirloom

Short form:

Heirloom (concerto for piano & chamber orchestra) premieres with Jeffrey Kahane & the Kansas City Symphony under the baton of Michael Stern, September 24-26. Tickets are here.

I’ll play a solo show at Rockwood Music Hall on Tuesday, September 28th. My dear friend and colleague, Johnny Gandelsman, will open with a solo violin set. Johnny’s on at 7pm, I’ll go on around 8pm. Tickets are $20 and are here. This will be my only NYC appearance this year!

Applications for Luna Lab with Oregon Symphony are now open! If you are a female-identifying, non-binary, or gender-nonconforming composer between the ages of 12 and 18, and live in Portland or Southeast Washington, please apply for your chance to study for a year with the incredible Nathalie Joachim!

Long form:

Several years ago, my friend Eric Jacobsen started pestering me about writing a piano concerto for my father, Jeffrey Kahane. It was an intriguing (and natural!) idea, but I kept putting it off in large part because I’ve never felt comfortable with large-scale instrumental composition. I think of myself first and foremost as a songwriter, and while I love to write for instruments in the context of vocal music, I feel almost entirely unmoored when voice & text are taken away. But Eric was persistent, and, well, here we are. Next month, the Kansas City Symphony will open its season with Heirloom, after which the piece will be heard in the coming years in performances presented by the co-commissioners who’ve rounded out the consortium: the Oregon Symphony, the Aspen Music Festival, the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, and Eric’s Brooklyn-based group, The Knights.

Heirloom is an aural family scrapbook, exploring, in its three movements, a series of inheritances. I’m incredibly excited to witness its birth September 24-26 in Kansas City. You can find the program note I’ve written to accompany its premiere at the end of this email.

The following Tuesday, September 28th, I will play my first concert in New York City since our lives were individually and collectively turned upside down by the pandemic. Most of the evening will be devoted to a new slate of songs drawn from thirty-one composed in October of 2020, the final month of a year-long, complete internet hiatus. Johnny Gandelsman, violinist of Brooklyn Rider, opens with what promises to be a ravishing solo set. Tickets are here.

Lastly, in 2019, I took on the position of Creative Chair with the Oregon Symphony. I’m very pleased to announce that this season, we’ve begun a partnership with Luna Lab, the brainchild of composers Missy Mazzoli and Ellen Reid. Luna Composition Lab offers mentorship and professional training to female-identifying, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming composers between the ages of 12 and 18. We at the Oregon Symphony are incredibly grateful to partner with Luna Lab to offer one student a year-long period of mentorship with Grammy-nominated flutist, composer, and songwriter, Nathalie Joachim, who happens to be one of my all-time favorite humans, and who will be giving the world premiere of Suite from Fanm D’ayiti with the Oregon Symphony in the spring of 2022. What makes this even more amazing is that another all-time favorite human, the violinist Pekka Kuusisto, will be playing Nico Muhly’s concerto Shrink, on the same program. Oh, but we were talking about Luna Lab. If you or someone you know wants to apply, you can find more info & the application form here; you just have to submit one score & a recording (MIDI is acceptable). I will be reviewing submissions along with Nathalie. Applications are due on September 7th.

Obligatory capitalism appeal: I know it’s been a while since I’ve put out new music. It’s coming. I promise. In the meantime, may I remind you about this gorgeous limited edition vinyl record?

That’s it for now, folks. Stay safe. Try to lead with love, even when it’s hard.

All my best,

Gabriel

Heirloom program note:

Tucked away in the northernmost reaches of California sits the Bar 717 Ranch, which, each summer, is transformed into a sleep-away camp on 450 acres of wilderness, where, in 1967, two ten-year-old kids named Martha and Jeffrey met. Within a couple of years, they were playing gigs back in L.A. in folk rock bands with names like “Wilderness” and “The American Revelation.” They fell in love, broke up, fell in love again. By the time I was a child, my mom and dad had traded the guitars, flutes, and beaded jackets for careers in clinical psychology and classical music respectively. But they remained devoted listeners of folk music. Growing up, it was routine for dad to put on a Joni Mitchell record when he took a break from practicing a concerto by Mozart or Brahms. That collision of musical worlds might help to explain the creative path I’ve followed, in which songs and storytelling share the road with the Austro-German musical tradition.

That tradition comes to me through the music I heard as a child, but also through ancestry. My paternal grandmother, Hannelore, escaped Germany at the tail end of 1938, arriving in Los Angeles in early 1939 after lengthy stops in Havana and New Orleans. For her, there was an unspeakable tension between, on the one hand, her love of German music and literature, and, on the other, the horror of the Holocaust. In this piece, I ask, how does that complex set of emotions get transmitted across generations? What do we inherit, more broadly, from our forebears? And as a musician caught between two traditions, how do I bring my craft as a songwriter into the more formal setting of the concert hall?

The first movement, “Guitars in the Attic,” wrestles specifically with that last question, the challenge of bringing vernacular song into formal concert music. The two main themes begin on opposite shores: the first theme, poppy, effervescent, and direct, undergoes a series of transformations that render it increasingly unrecognizable as the movement progresses. Meanwhile, a lugubrious second tune, first introduced in disguise by the French horn and accompanied by a wayward English horn, reveals itself only in the coda to be a paraphrase of a song of mine called “Where are the Arms.” That song, in turn, with its hymn-like chord progression, owes a debt to German sacred music. A feedback loop emerges: German art music informs pop song, which then gets fed back into the piano concerto.

“My Grandmother Knew Alban Berg” picks up the thread of intergenerational memory. Grandma didn’t actually know Alban Berg, but she did babysit the children of Arnold Schoenberg, another German-Jewish émigré, who, in addition to having codified the twelve-tone system of composition, was Berg’s teacher. Why make something up when the truth is equally tantalizing? I suppose it has something to do with wanting to evoke the slipperiness of memory while getting at the ways in which cultural inheritance can occur indirectly. When, shortly after college, I began to study Berg’s Piano Sonata, his music— its marriage of lyricism and austerity; its supple, pungent harmonies; the elegiac quality that suffuses nearly every bar—felt eerily familiar to me, even though I was encountering it for the first time. Had a key to this musical language been buried deep in the recesses of my mind through some kind of ancestral magic, only to be unearthed when I sat at the piano and played those prophetic chords, which, to my mind, pointed toward the tragedy that would befall Europe half a dozen years after Berg’s death?

In this central movement, the main theme is introduced by a wounded-sounding trumpet, accompanied by a bed of chromatic harmony that wouldn’t be out of place in Berg’s musical universe. By movement’s end, time has run counterclockwise, and the same tune is heard in a nocturnal, Brahmsian mode, discomfited by interjections from the woodwinds, which inhabit a different, and perhaps less guileless, temporal plane.

To close, we have a kind of fiddle-tune rondo, an unabashed celebration of childhood innocence. In March of 2020, my family and I were marooned in Portland, Oregon, as the world was brought to its knees by the coronavirus pandemic. Separated from our belongings—and thus all of our daughter’s toys, which were back in our apartment in Brooklyn—my ever resourceful partner, Emma, fashioned a “vehicle” out of an empty diaper box, on which she majusculed the words vera’s chicken-powered transit machine. (Vera had by that point developed a strong affinity for chicken and preferred to eat it in some form thrice daily.) We would push her around the floor in her transit machine, resulting in peals of laughter and squeals of delight. In this brief finale, laughter and joy are the prevailing modes, but not without a bit of mystery. I have some idea of what I have inherited from my ancestors. What I will hand down to my daughter remains, for the time being, a wondrous unknown.

Heirloom is dedicated with love, admiration, gratitude, and awe, to my father, Jeffrey Kahane.

[tcm]

“Much More to Movie Monsters Than Meets The Eye” By Raquel Stecher

With his latest book Fright Favorites: 31 Movies to Haunt Your Halloween and Beyond, author and horror expert David J. Skal provides readers with the perfect guide for watching spooky films throughout October and the year. The book takes a look at 31 different horror films from NOSFERATU (‘22) to GET OUT (2017). Skal offers insights into how German Expressionism and WWI influenced early horror classics, how Val Lewton threw out horror conventions with CAT PEOPLE (‘42), how DRACULA (‘31) was a financial gamble and how more recent films like HOCUS POCUS (‘93) achieved cult status. If you’re worried that 31 horror films are not enough, don’t despair, as each of these films is paired with a bonus recommendation on a similar theme. Fright Favorites is now available from Running Press and TCM.

Raquel Stecher: Can you tell us a bit about your background as a cultural historian and horror expert?

David J. Skal: I was one of the original “monster kids” of the 1950s and ‘60s, who discovered the old Universal horror classics when they were first released to television, and for a while I couldn’t get enough of them, or of the fan culture they set in motion. I was an avid reader of magazines like Famous Monsters of Filmland, and when I came back as an adult to write about the history of horror entertainment from an adult perspective, it would never have happened without those photo-filled periodicals that engaged and obsessed me as a kid.

RS: In the book you discuss the connection between Hollywood and Halloween. Tell us a little about how that came about and how the two have become so intrinsically tied with one another.

DJS: In the golden age of American horror movies in the 1930s and 1940s, there was no supplemental merchandizing or other tie-ins to Halloween. It was still a pretty homespun holiday. The holiday’s potential wasn’t fully exploited by the film industry until after World War II, when we saw Universal franchising its monster characters as Halloween masks and costumes. In the ensuing decades, October became the major month for horror movie premieres, including studios other than Universal, and all the major theme parks got on the bandwagon, profitably extending their summer seasons with Halloween nights that are almost always tied in to some horror franchise or another, frequently of the slasher or chainsaw variety.

RS: What was the research process like for writing Fright Favorites?

DJS: Over the years I’ve done much more research for my books than I’ve been able to ever use, so Fright Favorites was an ideal opportunity to make use of information and anecdotes I’d never had room for in previous projects. As a result, it took about six months rather than the usual full year I most often devote to completing a book. Although the final selections were mine, the people at TCM are also—no surprise—very knowledgeable about movies with many favorites of their own that I was able to incorporate. There weren’t really any disagreements, just a bit of a juggling act to maintain a balance between the films included.

RS: In the book you wrote “Some early commentators on the medium worried that film might be nothing less than the arrival of living death. It is in horror movies that this pervading sense of the uncanny still speaks to us.” Were studios worried about making horror films? How did Universal's success with the genre affect the film industry as a whole?

DJS: In a way, the film medium itself is the very definition of the uncanny, bringing dead actors back to life, or its convincing simulacrum. This strange fact is always there, staring back at you. And remember, actors themselves have amounted to a species of shapeshifters, slipping in and out of identities in the manner of movie monsters. Film is a dream-like medium that has been irresistibly drawn to the fantastic and the bizarre from its very beginning, at least in Europe. American movies didn’t approach truly fantastic subjects until Universal took a chance with DRACULA in 1931. Previously, American films observed the tradition of explaining away any ghostly occurrence as a criminal conspiracy or ruse. But DRACULA, along with FRANKENSTEIN the same year, became two of the most influential and imitated films of all time.

RS: Stars like Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney Jr., Vincent Price, etc. became known for their horror roles. How did some of these horror stars embrace the genre or how did it typecast them?

DJS: By definition, any “horror star” is already typecast, although some deal with the pigeonholing better than others. I once had the privilege of sitting in on a classroom visit by Vincent Price with a group of acting students who asked him if he resented being considered a horror star and how they could avoid being typecast themselves. He told them in no uncertain terms that show business was already a difficult way to make a living and that being typecast would be the best thing that could ever happen to them professionally. Most horror stars I’ve met or interviewed are grateful for their fame and the attention of their fans.

RS: Many horror stories have been revisited in remakes, new adaptations and re-imaginings. Why has Hollywood been so keen to revisit horror classics?

DJS: Horror is a genre with financial profit baked in from the get-go—it’s almost impossible to lose money even on a poorly made scary movie, which is why so many prominent directors have gotten their start in the genre. It’s a fairly risk-free way to take a chance on new talent. In terms of remakes, if a formula has worked before, why not do it again? Fortunately, the remakes usually veer substantially away from the original stories in ways that keep the legacy of one monster or legend perpetually alive. Horror evolves the way anything evolves—through endless change and adaptation.

RS: What are some of your personal favorite horror films?

DJS: I don’t have a number one, or number two favorite. I admire many films for individual reasons: directors, scripts, actors. People most often ask me what my favorite version of Dracula is. I tell them that it doesn’t yet exist, but it would be a master version of the story edited together from all the major adaptations, with actors from different versions interacting with each other. It would be a huge job, but if done with the right flair would be hugely entertaining and probably bring out important aspects of each version that you wouldn’t notice watching them individually.

RS: Some of the films you feature in Fright Favorites are also considered science fiction classics. How do the two genres of science fiction and horror complement each other?

DJS: Literary horror and literary science fiction are fairly separate categories, but on screen the genres tend to blur together. For instance, ALIEN (‘79) is a haunted house story set in outer space. INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (‘78) is an alien invasion story that’s also about zombies. Being a visual medium, movies tend to spotlight science fiction’s bizarre and grotesque imagery and end up emphasizing the horrific over the cerebral.

RS: How do horror films tap into the pervading anxieties and fears of their respective eras?

DJS: This is the through-line of most of my books: that horror entertainment amounts to a secret history of modern times, with each new cultural upheaval or trauma setting in motion identifiable kinds of stories and characters. The anxiety and fear need to be processed, but it’s always easier to deal with real-world horror if you don’t have to look at it too directly. WWI tore about human bodies like no previous war, and all through the 1920s and 1930s we looked at one disfigured face after another, even though the films weren’t about battlefield combat. Unprecedented numbers of mutilated men were returning to society, and they were being shunned. Nonetheless, they popped up in our cinematic dreams. During the AIDS epidemic, there was an explosion of books and films about another mysterious, blood-related scourge: vampirism. Repress awareness of an uncomfortable fact, and it will always rise somewhere else in a different form.

RS: What do you hope readers take away from the book?

DJS: So far, the book does seem to be engaging readers who have a general knowledge of horror entertainment but are curious to know more. The most important thing a reader might take away is the simple revelation that there’s much more to movie monsters than meets the eye.

[niseamstories]

Tl;dr: The heavily revised physical edition Dreams of the Dying, my novel set in the Enderal universe, is now available for pre-order via Amazon via my website. Special early bird prices are $32.99 for the hardcover with an illustrated appendix, $12.99 for the paperback, and $2.99 for the eBook. It’s a prequel featuring Jespar, but, for reasons outlined below, opens up a new canon. Amazon.de has yet to pick up the listing for the physical editions, but they are incredibly slow—I’m working to get that done.

Hey guys,

This is Nicolas, the writer of Enderal speaking. As some of you may know, I’ve been working on an Enderal novel, Dreams of the Dying. First released as a web version, I spent the past year completely rewriting and improving the book, adding and removing chapters, revising characters arcs, and improving plotting, worldbuilding, and style. In total, I rewrote the web edition three times from cover to cover. Well, it’s finally time: Dreams of the Dying is now available for pre-order on Amazon!

The English version of Dreams of the Dying will release on October 20. A German (and perhaps Russian) translation will follow as soon as possible.

Please note that this is a rendering and that the actual hardcover looks slightly different, with same format but a matte dust jacket and a matte, laminated case. A big shoutout to Dominik Derow for the cover artwork, Johanna Krünes for her cover design, and Joyce, for her tips, patience, and help with this product shot.

Jaaros Oonai, magnate, visionary, and master of coin, doesn’t muse about whether the glass is half empty or half full—only about ways to fill it.

Jespar Dal’Varek, drifter, mercenary, and master of avoidance, doesn’t muse at all. He’d rather just drink the damn wine.

Two lives that could not be more different intertwine when a strange contract leads Jespar to the tropical island empire of Kilay, the wealthiest nation of the Civilized World.

The mission turns out to be as bizarre as it is lucrative: Jaaros Oonai, the country’s merchant king, knows something that could stop a catastrophe, but he has fallen into an inexplicable coma. Together with an ex-priestess and a psychic, Jespar must enter Oonai’s dreams and find this secret.

What should have been a fresh start rapidly turns into a nightmare, as Jespar slides into a spiral of disturbing dreams, political intrigue, and clashing ideals, where not only the fate of Kilay but his own sanity are at stake. It’s not long before he learns that only a spider’s thread divides the sleeping and the awoken.

And that there’s no greater enemy than one’s own mind.

The hardcover edition comes with an appendix that includes additional lore, such as an illustrated bestiary, a guide to Kilayan fashion, illustrations of the (re-envisioned) seven Light-Born, a short guide to the Makehu language, and much more.

Even though Dreams could be considered a prequel, I didn’t write this as an expansion or fan service but rather as my debut, and a book that stands on its own. This edition differs vastly from the web version, and, though it is up to you to judge, I’m a million times happier with it.

If you’re on the fence and would like to wait for reviews—here’s hoping I get enough—I fully understand. However, if you would buy the novel, you’d do me a great favor if you considered pre-ordering. One of the biggest challenges as an indie author is exposure; since Amazon registers all pre-orders as Day 1 sales, a lot of Day 1 sales would give me a chance to climb in the novel’s category and boost visibility for readers outside the Enderal community. To make this worth it to you, the book will sell for a special early bird price of $32.99 for the hardcover with the illustrated appendix, $12.99 for the paperback, and $2.99 for the eBook, as opposed to $37, $16, and $5. Just follow the link to my website and click pre-order—it will take you right to your local Amazon marketplace.

Unfortunately, Amazon.de has yet to pick up the listing for the physical editions, but they are incredibly slow—I’m working to get that done.

I’m aware the hardcover is in the upper price range, but it uses the best materials, and the illustrated appendix cost a lot to produce. It’s also the only edition where I make a more solid revenue, so see it as a way to support my work, if you wish.

If you’re a patron and pledged $110 or more since October 2018, I’ll be in touch a few weeks before launch to send out your signed hardcover copy right away. Thanks again for your support, Dreams became a far pricier project than I anticipated, and your patronage helped me immensely in covering the cost.

Lastly, a word of warning before you pre-order: For the paperback edition, I took the drastic step to separate Dreams and all future Enderal novels from the game canon. There are two good reasons for this. First, the Vyn games were created over 17 years, the earliest one being Myar Aranath in 2003. Fascinating as this idea may be, it also means that the lore of the Vyn universe was created by a myriad of different authors (the latest and current one being me when I joined the team in 2011). As a result of this, the lore of Vyn has always felt a little disjointed and inconsistent; I initially took these differences as challenges to conquer, but the longer I wrote, the more I realized how much these inconsistencies bothered me and how hard they made it to write the story and the universe I envisioned. Let me assure you that this decision wasn’t easy and does not reflect a lack of appreciation for the work of the previous workers. I stayed faithful to the lore whenever possible.

The second reason is a trickier one: Jespar. This character has been in my mind for nine years now, and I love him with all my heart. Still, the more I immersed myself in the story of Dreams, the more I grew aware of how incredibly constraining it was to write a story where the end is already written; because Jespar is alive in 8234 a. St. (1234 P.L. in new canon lore), you all know he will never be in real danger. Again, there is undoubtedly an intriguing challenge to writing such a “safe” story, but—similar to the lore, I increasingly felt like I was writing with fetters on. 

So, what does this mean? Aside from the fact that anything can now happen, the consequences aren’t that drastic. Enderal is still Enderal, and Jespar is still Jespar, albeit thirteen years younger and at another point in his life. I changed and expanded details about his backstory, but his essential conflicts are still the same, only refined. Major changes include modifications to the Light-Born (their aspects, how they came to be, when and how they disappeared, and the societal consequences of that disappearance), the time frame of the different eras, and a complete rework of the magic system. Minor changes include dates, the spelling of names and locations (Kilay, not Kilé), and others details I tweaked for consistency and worldbuilding coherence.

And that’s about it. I’m aware and grateful for the love many of you have for this world, and believe me, I did my best to honor it; I just realized I cannot tell a good story with one arm tied behind my back. If it’s any solace, I can promise you that new book canon is ironclad – I’m pathologically obsessive about consistency and cohesive worldbuilding, but without a solid framework, that’s a recipe for frustration and disaster. See it as a different but nearby eventuality: details and fates may differ, but the soul of the world remains the same.

If all that didn’t scare you off, pre-order away! I also set up a Goodreads page for the book, so you can add it to your To-Be-Reads or even recommend it to your friends – this is an indie project by all means, so I’m grateful for every bit of support. Please keep in mind that the Goodreads is for the revised edition, not the web edition, so if you’re planning to leave a low rating, I’d be grateful if you waited to read the actual book in October 20. It’s a different experience.

Last but not least, a big thank you to everyone who supported me on Patreon, created fanart for Enderal, or just let me know they enjoyed this game and were looking forward to the novel. This novel was meant to be a 6-month stint but, boy, did it turn into something more. It sounds sentimental, but this last year has been rough personally, and your support and encouragement kept me going.

I hope this story will live up to your expectations.

Best,

Nicolas

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[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: A German Officer in Occupied Paris: The War Journals, 1941-1945 by Ernst Jünger (2019)

Keeping a journal: The short entries are often as dry as instant tea. Writing them down is like pouring hot water over them to release their aroma.

- Ernst Jünger,  A German Officer in Occupied Paris: The War Journals, 1941-1945 (2019)

Paris is very much my home these days and so I enjoy reading about the history of this beautiful city. It is difficult to live in Paris today and conjure up much sense of the city in the early 1940s. It is indeed, as it is called throughout the world, the City of Light. But back in 1940 when France fell and Paris occupied until its liberation on 24 August 1944, it was a city in darkness. Like so much else that happened in France during World War II, the Nazi occupation of Paris was something entirely more complex and ambiguous than has generally been understood.

We tend to think of those four years as difficult but minimally destructive by comparison with the hell the Nazis wreaked elsewhere in the country. But as recent historians have shown the Nazi occupation was a terrible time for Paris, not just because the Nazis were there but because Paris itself was complicit in its own humiliation. As the historian Ronald Risbottom has shown in his compelling book, ‘When Paris went Dark’, “Even today, the French endeavour both to remember and to find ways to forget their country’s trials during World War II; their ambivalence stems from the cunning and original arrangement they devised with the Nazis, which was approved by Hitler and assented to by Philipe Petain, the recently appointed head of the Third Republic, that had ended the Battle of France in June of 1940. This treaty - known by all as the Armistice - had entangled France and the French in a web of cooperation, resistance, accommodation, and, later, of defensiveness, forgetfulness, and guilt from which they are still trying to escape.”

It is almost certainly a unique event in human history, one in which a ruthless and unscrupulous invader occupied a city known for its sophistication and liberality, declining to destroy it or even to exact physical damage on more than a minority of its citizens yet leaving it in a state of “embarrassment, self-abasement, guilt and a felt loss of masculine superiority that would mark the years of the Occupation. To this day, more than one visitor or foreigners living in Paris are struck by how sensitive Paris and Parisians remain about the role of the city and its citizens in its most humiliating moment of the twentieth century.

Indeed bringing up the subject with French friends, my French partner’s family, or even relatives (by marriage - such as a French aunt married to my Norwegian uncle or the French partners of my cousins here in France) is like walking on egg shells. It brings up too many distant ghosts for many families. Nearly every household has a story. It can be one of resistance or one of collaboration or (more likely) one of passive indifference and acceptance.

And yet I remain fascinated and intrigued partly because of historical interest and partly out of curiosity about the human condition under stress. In Britain - despite the trauma of daily bombardment from German bombers - the country was never invaded. And so whilst war brings out the best and worst in people, it was altogether a different experience to the one experienced by mainland European countries. I don’t think we British truly have understood of life was really like under occupation and the choices people are willingly or not made just to survive the war.

The history of Paris from 1940 to 1944 gives the lie to the old childhood taunt: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me. The Germans for the most part spared Parisians sticks and stones (except, of course, Parisians who were Jewish), but the “names” they inflicted in the form of truncated freedoms, greatly reduced food and supplies, an unceasing fear of the unexpected and calamitous, and the simple fact of their inescapable, looming presence did deep damage of a different kind. It traumatised the city and its inhabitants in ways very little understood by others, especially Britain.

The carefully curated image of French resistance against the Nazis has been asked to serve critical functions in that nation’s collective memory. The manufactured myth served to postpone for a quarter of a century deeper analyses of how easily France had been beaten and how feckless had been the nation’s reaction to German authority, especially between 1940 and 1943. And yet the myth of a universal resistance was important to France’s idea of itself as a beacon for human liberty. It was also badly needed as an example of the courage one needed in the face of monstrous political ideologies.

There remained the ethical questions that would haunt France for decades: Which actions, exactly, constitute collaboration and which constitute resistance? It is still asking these questions over 70 years later. But behind such question lies a deeper and more haunting question of moral culpability that many are quick to throw responsibility - along with their own shame of inaction - onto others but not look inwards at their own guilt and passivity.

But what about the occupiers? What did they feel? Were the German Wehrmacht during the day simply tourists sitting in cafes, dining on gourmand food, buying silk stockings and the latest fashions for their wives back home and by night drinking and debauching on the cultural and seedy delights of Paris?

Moral culpability is a question that Ernst Jünger, the celebrated German author, never asks himself of his time as a German officer in Paris. But culpability is a question that looms large after reading the war journals of Ernst Jünger from 1941-1945, now published by Columbia University Press as A German Officer in Occupied Paris: The War Journals, 1941-1945. It should have been re-titled as a ‘A German writer pre-occupied by Parisian night life and his navel’.

Ernst Jünger (1895-1998) was what is sometimes called a “controversial” figure. A First World War hero who was wounded seven times, he was undoubtedly uncommonly brave. He also insisted that those who were less brave should play their part, forcing retreating soldiers to join his unit at gunpoint. His 1920 book Storm of Steel (In Stahlgewittern), recounting his war experiences and portraying war in a heroic light, made him famous. In the 1920s he became involved in anti-democratic right-wing groups like the paramilitary Freikorps and wrote for a number of nationalist journals. He remained aloof from the Nazis, however, and, while he boasted that he “hated democracy like the plague”, was more of a nationalist than a racist. 

Jünger spent much of the Second as an officer stationed in Paris, where these war journals are an almost daily record of the views and impressions of a well-read literary figure, entomologist, and cultural critic, now available for the first time in English translation in A German Officer in Occupied Paris. Posted in white-collar positions in Paris with the German military during the 1940-1944 occupation.

Nazi Germany produced two wartime diaries of equal literary and historical significance but written from the most different perspectives conceivable: Victor Klemperer and Ernst Jünger. Victor Klemperer wrote furtively, in daily dread of transport to an extermination camp, a fate he was spared by the firebombing of Dresden. Ernst Jünger, by contrast, had what was once called a “good war.” As a bestselling German author, he drew cushy occupation duty in Paris, where he could hobnob with famous artists and writers, prowl antiquarian bookstores, and forage for the rare beetles he collected. Yet Klemperer and Jünger both found themselves anxiously sifting propaganda and hearsay to learn the truth about distant events on which their lives hung.

For English-speaking readers who do not know his work, A German Officer in Occupied Paris shows the many sides of this complex, elusive writer.

In the judicious and helpful foreword by San Francisco-based historian Elliot Neaman, who says. “Like a God in France, Jünger operated on the edge of politics in Paris, rather like a butterfly fluttering among the resistors and collaborators. He didn’t trust the generals, who had taken a personal oath to Hitler, to be able to carry out a coup.”

Jünger had visited the city prior to the war, was fluent in French, and now had the contacts and the time to become even more familiar with the French capital. During his stay in Paris he met painters such as Georges Braque and Pablo Picasso as well as literary figures including Louis-Ferdinand Céline and Jean Cocteau, all of whom figure in his Journals, which reflect a view of Paris that had become a tourism mecca during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

To Jünger, Paris was “a capital, symbol and fortress of an ancient tradition of heightened life and unifying ideas, which nations especially lack nowadays” (30 May 1941). After wandering around the Place du Tertre, near the Sacré Cœur Cathedral in the Montmartre section of Paris, he wrote: “The city has become my second spiritual home and represents more and more strongly the essence of what I love and cherish about ancient culture” (18 September 1942). At the same time, Jünger was aware of the “shafts of glaring looks” with which he was sometimes viewed by locals as he wandered in uniform through the city’s streets and byways (18 August 1942, 89, and 29 September 1943).

A German Officer in Occupied Paris is divided into four parts: the “First Paris Journal,” his writings from 1941 through October 1942; “Notes from the Caucasus,” continuing his account through February 1943; the “Second Paris Journal,” covering the period from his return to Paris through the liberation of France in the late summer of 1944; and finally the “Kirchhorst Diaries,” his account of having been placed in charge of the local militia [Volkssturm] and his reflections on the bombings and imminent defeat of Germany.

The “First Paris Journal” reflects the comings and goings of a German officer and writer happy to rediscover Paris at a time when it seemed clear that Germany had won the war and would dominate France and perhaps Europe indefinitely. Closer physically to the fighting following his transfer to the East in October 1942, Jünger devoted greater attention to the fighting and the raw nature of the German-Soviet struggle in “Notes from the Caucasus.”

By the time he returned to Paris and began his “Second Paris Journal” in February 1943, the Germans had been defeated at Stalingrad and it had become increasingly evident that a titanic struggle loomed and that the Germans might well lose the war.

The final section, the “Kirchhorst Diaries,” is set against the backdrop of the Allied invasion of Germany, accompanied by intense bombing and the destruction of German cities and homes including Jünger’s own, and the seemingly countless numbers of civilian refugees seeking shelter and food. Through it all, Jünger continues his reading, including that of the Bible, his book collecting, and visits to antiquarian booksellers when possible, and his chats with various literary figures in Paris and, at times, in Germany.

Much of the material in the Journals is introspective, with Jünger addressing his innermost thoughts and dreams. Snakes also appear with some frequency in the Journals, for example, in the entry of 13 July 1943, where during a restless night because of air raid sirens in Paris, he recalls having dreamt of dark black snakes devouring more brightly colored ones. In the Journal entry, he linked snakes back to primal forces incarnating life and death, and good and evil. This connection, he noted, was the reason people fear the sight of a snake, “almost stronger than the sight of sexual organs, with which there is also a connection” (13 July 1943). Following a conversation with the “Doctoresse,” the name that Jünger used for Sophie Ravoux, with whom he was intimate and had an affair in Paris, he described his own manner of thinking as “atomistically by osmosis and filtration of the smallest particles of thoughts.” His thought process, he explained, ran not according to principles of cause and effect but rather at the “level” of the vowels of a sentence, on the molecular level; “This explains why I know people who couldn’t help becoming my friends, even through dreams” (22 January 1944). Addressing Eros and sexual organs, Jünger added that he wished to study the connections between language and physique. Colours also had spiritual values, “Just as green and red are part of white, higher entities are polarised in intellectual couples—as is the universe into blue and red”.

Jünger’s position as an army captain gave him a panorama of the war that left no room for heroes. Violence became a grim leveller that made ideologies interchangeable. Germans on the eastern front were reading On the Marble Cliffs as a condemnation of Soviet Russia rather than of Nazi Germany. Hitler had unleashed a dehumanising force on the world, one that made Russians, Germans, the French Resistance and Allied pilots all look the same, locked in an escalating cycle of cruelty. Jünger witnessed Allied planes strafing screaming children in the streets, releasing bombs timed to explode while presents were handed out on Christmas Eve. Accounts drifted in of Parisian friends, who had once tried to transcend national boundaries with him through measured discussion in the salons, being harassed as collaborators. His summary of this second war could have been a reverse of the first: ‘Inactivity brings men together, whereas battle separates them.’

The picture of Jünger’s political views that emerges in his Journals, however, is a highly chivalric and military elitist one in which a small number of bold idealists, for lack of a better term, struggle against demos and technocracy, democracy and technicians, who are destroying the soul of an older European society. Writing while back home in Kirchhorst on 6 November 1944, following the expulsion of the Germans from France and walking around viewing the destruction wrought by the Allied bombs in Germany, he observed: “As I walked, I thought about the cursory style of contemporary thinkers, the way they pronounce judgment on ideas and symbols that people have been working on and creating for millennia. In so doing they are unaware of their own place in the universe, and of that little bit of destructive work allocated to them by the world spirit.”

He went on to criticise “the old liberals, Dadaists, and free-thinkers, as they begin to moralise at the end of a life devoted to the destruction of the old guard and the undermining of order.” Jünger then referred to Dostoevsky’s novel The Demons, in which the sons of Stepan Trofimovich “are encouraged to scorn anything that had formerly been considered fundamental.” Having destroyed their father, these “young conservatives,” now sensing “the new elemental power” of “the demos,” are then dragged to their deaths. In the ensuing chaos, “only the nihilist retains his fearsome power.” Jünger mentions Hindenburg, and the destruction of the conservatives by the Nazis is clearly implied (6 November 1944).

In August 1943, he described his political views as a combination of Guelph (relating to the medieval supporters of the Pope against the Holy Roman Emperor), Prussian, Gross-Deutscher (in support of a Greater Germany including Austria), European, and citizen of the world “all at once.” As he put it, “My political core is like a clock with cog wheels that work against each other.” However, he added: “Yet, when I look at the face of the clock, I could imagine a noon when all these identities coincide” (1 August 1943).

While violence raged all around, Jünger continued his secret diary, for publication after the war. This ended for him when American tanks rumbled through his village in April 1945, Jünger proclaiming that the deeper the fall, the greater the ensuing rise. Jünger survived investigation in the immediate postwar period and went on to become a grand old man of German literature, with a considerable following at home and abroad. A year before his death he was – as the phrase goes – received into the Catholic church. Having lived through a violent century he expired in his bed in his 103rd year.

The war journals is a highly nuanced, albeit self-made, picture of a human being in the middle of World War II, who is a flirtatious fascist, yet who apparently seems to care for other human beings, regardless of their so-called social strata or race. Take for example this entry dated Paris, 28 July 1942, “The unfortunate pharmacist on the corner: his wife has been deported. Such benign individuals would not think of defending themselves, except with reasons. Even when they kill themselves, they are not choosing the lot of the free who have retreated into their last bastions, rather they seek the night as frightened children seek their mothers. It is appalling how blind even young people have become to the sufferings of the vulnerable; they have simply lost any feeling for it. They have become too weak for the chivalrous life. They have even lost the simple decency that prevents us from injuring the weak. The opposite is true: they take pride in it.”

Having said that, I found some of the contents repugnant as Jünger, a devout entomologist, easily writes about finding a new insect while fires are burning all around Paris in 1943. Indeed Jünger paints himself as the detached botanist-scholar, determined to survive and help the world recover in peacetime. For him, the best way to avoid being sucked into the vortex of violence was to disconnect from emotion and group mentalities: to feel nothing and be on no one’s side, only bearing witness. A detached eye in the storm.

His journal is a hedonistic carousel, as he frequented theatres, literary salons and Left bank bookstalls along the Seine, as well as having a meeting of artistic minds with Picasso, Braque and Cocteau. It’s possible to make your way through this collection and have a grand ole time, enjoying the moments when Jünger encounters celebrities like Picasso, or when Monet’s daughter-in-law gives him the key to the gardens at Giverny for his own private tour, or when he describes another gourmet meal with the well-heeled of Parisian society: “The salad was served on silver, the ice cream on a heavy gold service that had belonged to Sarah Bernhardt.” Jünger relishes his name-dropping and his contacts with the upper crust. He sees himself as one of the Übermenschen: “In this country the superior man lives like Odysseus, taunted by worthless usurpers in his own palace.”

The author himself gets lost in the fog of mystic self regard as all artistic writers are prone to do and confesses that in an entry labeled 26 Aug 1942: “At times I have difficulty distinguishing between my conscious and unconscious existence. I mean between that part of my life that has been knit together by dreams and the other.”

To read the diary in chronological order is to realise that Jünger’s submersion in art and literature was his way of preserving his humanity while serving the machinery of a lethally violent state. One way of doing this was through a voracious program of reading, chiefly literature and history, often reading two or three books at once. One is not surprised at the German and French reading but at the abundance of English writers, whom he read in the original—Melville, Joyce, Poe, Conrad, Kipling, Thomas Wolfe, Thornton Wilder, the Brontës, ad infinitum. The range is also remarkable. Jünger pivots from the 1772 fantasy Diable amoureux to a biography of the painter Turner to Crime and Punishment. And throughout the entire diary, one finds him reading the Bible, cover to cover, which he began shortly after his posting to Paris.

Over and over again I had to remind myself this is a diary. Diaries by definition have one eye on self serving posterity.  

So it’s not surprising that Jünger would tweak reality to create this image of poetic detachment. With his constant  stories of indulgence in Paris, the reader might assume he had no job while he was  there. In fact he was censoring letters and newspapers, a cog in the Nazi machine he so despised. He omits anything that would make him appear a villain. An ongoing extramarital affair in Paris is barely hinted at. But neither does he try to look a hero, omitting how he passed on to Jews information of upcoming deportations, buying them time to escape.

Should he have continued to enjoy his life as a flâneur for so long? He had solid proof of what was going on, debriefed as he was on the mass shootings and death camps on the eastern front. Throughout his career he had railed against inertia, lauding men of action who sacrificed themselves for a just cause. And then such a cause presented itself. Jünger’s colleagues in Paris were involved in the Stauffenberg plot of 1944, and asked for his help. He was one of the most influential conservative voices in Germany at the time, one of the few that Hitler’s followers might have taken seriously. Yet he refused to commit himself during the chaos. Instead, Jünger waited for evil to destroy itself: a fireman who fought the blaze by waiting for the building to burn down. As usual, he inhabited a grey area.

Jünger remains a problematic figure of controversy, perhaps even emblematic of the aged old question how does one respond to brutish evil? There are no easy answers. Addressing the French who collaborated with Germany during the war Robert Paxton, a well regarded historian of Vichy France wrote, “Even Frenchmen of the best intentions, faced with the harsh alternative of doing one’s job, whose risks were moral and abstract, or practicing civil disobedience, whose risks were material and immediate, went on doing the job. The same may be said of the German occupiers. Many of them were “good Germans,” men of cultivation, confident that their country’s success outweighed a few moral blemishes, dutifully fulfilling some minor blameless function in a regime whose cumulative effect was brutish.”

Was Jünger one of those they called a ‘good German’? Eating sole and duck  at the famous Tour d’Argent restaurant, while gazing down at the hungry civilians in the buildings below was the choice Jünger made. In his 4 Just 1942 diary entry he wrote, “upon the grey sea of roofs at their feet, beneath which the starving eke out their living. In times like this - eating well and much - brings a feeling of power”.

We are always told to speak truth to power. Before we can speak one must think. But thinking truth to power is never enough in itself unless one acts out truth to power. Words without action is nothing. So the question one has to ask even as one reads from the detached safety of distance and time: how would one act in his shoes or indeed a Frenchman’s shoes?

More than anything, the diary raises, for me at least, the question of moral culpability. It’s impossible to tell what Jünger was really thinking, and so perhaps one tantalising aspect of these war journals is psychological more than anything else. All this stuff is swirling around his life but we hear about the harmless social fluff for the most part. For example, he notes “In Charleville, I was a witness at a military tribunal. I used the opportunity to buy books, like novels by Gide and various works by Rimbaud.” I wanted to hear about the tribunal, but alas, it vanished into Jünger’s damn book buying.

And yet if you judge Jünger by his diary entries alone then it would be very easy to find him guilty. But diaries conceal as much as they reveal. For all the criticism that Jünger has served up a self-serving exculpatory diary, the truth is that he leaves his most selfless acts unmentioned. It is known that he gave advance warning to Jews facing deportation: The writer Joseph Breitbach was one, as he subsequently confirmed, and Walter Benjamin was possibly another.

None of this, for obvious reason, could be committed to paper, nor could the names of Adolf Hitler or any of his henchmen. Instead, their appearances are marked by Jünger’s felicitous code names. Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi chief propagandist, is “Grandgoschier,” a character from Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel meaning “Big Throat.” SS Chief Heinrich Himmler is “Schinderhannes,” the name of a notorious German highwayman but also a pun on horse knacker. And Hermann Goering is simply “Head Forester,” citing the most fatuous of his many official titles.

Jünger thought a great deal about the mystic and symbolic power of sounds, and he reserved his most apposite pseudonym for Hitler, “Kniébolo,” a name that is at once menacing and absurd. It suggests a kneeling demon (Diabolos), a leitmotif of the diary as Jünger became ever more convinced of Hitler’s essentially Satanic character- in the literal biblical sense.

So grey areas get more grey when we either try to step back and be detached to render a verdict on Jünger or if we step into his shoes to get inside his head. This is the limitation of a secret and coded diary, no matter how scrupulously written and how fascinating they are to read. Diaries are written for oneself or an imagined other; they play on the satisfactions of monologue. Letters are shaped by the contingencies of distance and time between writer and recipient; they become over time scattered in various places and must be "collected" to form a single body of writing.

Diaries are shaped by moments of inspiration but also by habit; they are woven together by a single voice and usually are contained between covers. Diarists play with the tension between concealing and revealing, between "telling all" and speaking obliquely or keeping silent. Like letter writing, diarists inscribe the risks and pleasures of expression and trust. The diary is an uncertain genre uneasily balanced between literary and historic writing. The diary belongs to the woman where history and literature overlap. So it’s easy to conclude that we will always have ambiguity and tension between these two polar opposites.

After 1945, Jünger again withdrew into private life, but continued to publish. Seclusion encouraged attention. His reputation grew. Scholarly editions appeared. In three last decades, doubters aside, he enjoyed growing recognition, travelled the world, deepened his knowledge of nature and voiced concern about human damage to the planet. Jünger poured out books late into his nineties. By then he had swept Germany’s top literary prizes and been visited in his Swabian retreat by the statesmen of Europe, including Helmut Kohl and François Mitterrand.

Jünger’s experience of life did little to dent his loathing of liberalism and democracy. On a country walk along a bomb-pitted road near his home late in 1944, Jünger indulges a moment of conservative relish, telling himself that it is liberals who are to blame for all that has befallen. How wonderful it is, he writes sarcastically, “to watch the drama of the old liberals, Dadaists and freethinkers, as they begin to moralise at the end of a life devoted completely to the destruction of the old guard and the undermining of order”&#157;. “Blame the liberals!”&#157; was the reactionary’s charge at birth (there is a profound difference between true conservatism and the extreme reactionary). It hobbled the Weimar Republic and bedevils politics today. Politically, he had learnt nothing. Today Western Europe society is eating itself inwards through the corrosive influence of the woke-ness of cultural Marxism and the conservative now finds himself/herself in the sweetly ironic position of defending the tenets of true liberalism.

For English-speaking readers who do not know his work, A German Officer in Occupied Paris shows the many sides of this complex, elusive writer. These diaries are invaluable about the man and his times. Jünger is nowadays probably less read than read about. So these war journals are to be welcomed and to be read with great interest. 

For some these journal entries alone will still provide material to debate the moral choices made - and evaded - by Jünger. To critics, Jünger participated too much and judged too little. To defenders, he was indeed on the hard right, but no fascist and, besides, his prose was what mattered, not his politics. Not to pity Jünger’s personal travails would be defective. Not to respond to his prose would be deaf. But all of us can ponder Jean Cocteau’s final verdict, who liked Jünger and considered him a friend but whose aloofness troubled him: “Some people had dirty hands, some had clean hands, but Jünger had no hands.” Jünger may have washed his hands of his time in Paris but the hand of history forever tapping on his shoulder is less forgiving.

[gemsofgreece]

Ancient Greek, the language of the future

by Eugenia Manolidou, conductor.

“I read with interest Mr Dimos’s article that was published in the “Opinions” column on October 17th 2020. Please allow me some comments regarding it.”

[GEMSOFGREECE NOTE: I have read both articles and many things stated by Mr Dimos had me disagreeing or straight out displeased. Eugenia Manolidou responded with an article of her own, apparently motivated by similar feelings. I think her article is an enjoyable read and I agree on many levels while on others I can’t have an opinion due to lack of sufficient knowledge. I thought some of you would be interested in it, so I am translating the article in English. The article is informative for both Greek speakers and people interested in the Greek language and culture as well as the pronunciation of Ancient Greek. In the link, you can find the sources she used at the end of the text. I must now add that I did not necessarily expect to enjoy an article written by Mrs Manolidou (she’s well known in Greece and married to a politician) but that’s a personal impression that perhaps shouldn’t influence you. Going on with the article under the cut.]

I’ll begin with its title, “Can a dead language live again?”, which clearly refers to our language, Ancient Greek. I call it “ours” because even though we don’t comprehend it very well when reading ancient texts, we however use it in our everyday speech, even without realizing it.

For example, we might not know that the word αὐδή (avdí) means voice but we say very often “έμεινα άναυδος” (émina ánavdos = I was left speechless / voiceless). We might not know the phrase «ξύλου ἅπτεσθαι» (= knock on wood) but we always search for wood to knock when trying to avoid a bad omen.

Of course, I should not even start with the vocabulary in sciences, arts and literature because the list is endless. The Greek language is a living language that has survived not because we say so but because it remains in the international vocabulary by enriching most European languages.

Every year, students of the Classical Studies abroad rush to acquire books, teaching methods for Ancient Greek from Oxford, Cambridge and the rest acclaimed publishing companies. I will refer to the publications POLIS Institute Press of the Jerusalem Institute of Languages and Humanities with the title «Λαλεῖν τῇ κοινῇ διαλέκτῷ τῇ ζῶσῃ» (=Speaking the common living dialect). Meaning, the Common Greek, the living.

It is known that almost all schools in Europe kindle interest and enthusiasm in kids to learn the Classical Languages - and not “dead” so as to condemn them in advance - Latin and Greek. And yes in most countries they are taught with the Erasmian pronunciation because it helps them understand the dictation. Just for that. Not because they think it’s the correct pronunciation. Not anymore.

The Erasmian being an accurate description of how the ancients talked is an outdated thesis which many of the intellectuals and professors in Europe have now understood and explained. I will try to add some arguments in favor of this statement in short.

For those who don’t know, Desiderius Erasmus Roterdamus (1466 – 1536) was a Dutch monk who invented a method that would help those who learned Ancient Greek to write it down correctly. So, where someone would say “Χαίρε” (hére) and write it as «χέρε» (because that’s how it sounds), Erasmus explained that they should think of it as “háire” in order to write it correctly. But he never urged people to pronounce it like that.

Besides, in his book Colloquia Familiaria in the chapter “Echo”, he explains how to pronounce the diphthongs -onis, ονοις / -kopi, κόποι / -lici, λύκοι / -logi λόγοι/ and so on. Erasmus never said this is how Ancient Greeks talked, he just urged his students to memorize the correct dictation by ear. No European language is spoken exactly as it’s written.

We all think of such tricks to write words correctly. For instance, we think “extra-ordinary” but no fluent speaker of English pronounces it like that. Unfortunately, during the Renaissance in Europe, when the arts and literature were greatly inspired by the Greek mythology, history and philosophy, Greece under the centuries-long Turkish occupation couldn’t be a match for the rest of Europe. So when the French, German and Italian aristocrats spoke Ancient Greek to each other, we spoke a mix of Greek, Turkish and Italian, a blended language that we would hardly comprehend nowadays. And thankfully, our language survived thanks to the Church and the Scripts, which are written in Ancient Greek.

Therefore we did not know the way Ancient Greek was spoken in Europe. Here in Greece, we didn’t know. There were Greeks who didn’t live in Greece during the Ottoman rule though who knew. One of them was the priest Konstantinos Economou of Economon (1780-1857) who in his work «Περὶ τῆς Γνησίας Προφορᾶς τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς Γλώσσης» (=Regarding the Authentic Pronunciation of the Greek Language), Saint Petersburg 1829, explains why there’s no way the Ancient Greeks separated the diphthongs.

First of all, they were called “diphthongs” which means “two sounds in one”. If they don’t mean that, then why call them this way? Just like Andrea Marcolongo says in her book «La lingua geniale» , which translates to “the genius language” and not “the wonderful language”, with the subtitle «9 ragioni per amare il Greco», meaning, “9 reasons to love Greek” (Ancient Greek clearly, that’s what they always mean by “Greek” in Europe), there is no language more rich, precise and well-studied than Greek. Otherwise we wouldn’t have diphthongs, let alone a need for a diacritic mark( mark used to indicate a vowel forms its own syllable). We say «αρχαιολογία»  and in English it’s archaeology, «παλαιοντολογία» and it’s «paleontology». But we say «αρχαϊκό» (note the diacritic) and in English it’s «archaic».

Let’s examine some more words: We say «ατμόσφαιρα» which in Latin is atmosfera. We say αίνιγμα, in latin it’s enigma. We say ενέργεια, in latin “energia” / αιθήρ, in Latin etere /  Aίγυπτος, Egitto / μυστήριο, mistero / φαινόμενο, phenomenon / εγκυκλοπαίδεια, enciclopedia. The list is long and if we get ourselves into the scientific vocabulary (ginecologo, ematologo, pediatro), we will never end with this. In short, Latin, a “sister” language to Greek, saved through itself the pronunciation of Ancient Greek.

One more argument: the Greek words can be stressed exclusively in three syllables: the ultimate, the penultimate or the antepenultimate. If we separate the diphthongs, the punctuation gets out of hand. So instead of “hérete”, we would say “háirete” which is obviously wrong. With the separation of the diphthongs, the Dactylic Hexameter (the rhythmic scheme of Ancient Greek epic poetry) would collapse. Perhaps you’ve heard the attempts of the Europeans to recite the Iliad or the Odyssey.

Homer’s poetic epic has a completely different sound due to the loss of the Hexameter. Besides, just like Erasmus said and Economou quotes in his book: «Conducendus aliquis, natione Graecus, licet alioquin parvum eruditus, propter nativum illum ac patrium sonum, ut castigate graeca sonari dicantur.» Meaning, “Call someone, Greek in nation, even with little or no education, for that native sound, so that you learn the exact and natural pronunciation of Greek.”

What’s truly pitiful in this situation is not how foreigners learn to speak Ancient Greek. The true shame is that such a beautiful, rich and living language, our language, is more appreciated, loved and respected abroad than in Greece. I admire the people who try so hard to learn a language for which they don’t even know the alphabet. And yet they try, they learn it, they speak it, they teach it and that’s why the big publishing companies still publish teaching methods for Ancient Greek.

In the foreign universities, most professors teaching Ancient Greek are foreign. Foreign professors tutoring foreign students. It’s them who come to Greece for vacation and crowd our monuments and museums, which are right on our feet and yet we consider a visit there as a nuisance. If we truly want to love our language, our history and culture, we should be taught Ancient Greek from a young age, as a living language, like they do abroad.

With simple, comprehensible texts, from the mythology, from Aesop, from simple sayings and delphic orders, our language is full of them. So instead of occupying ourselves with whether Homer’s sheep cried “vee” or “beh” and instead of trying to decode why the Greek rooster says kokoriko while the English rooster says Cock-a-doodle-doo - he does neither - let’s try to make our children understand the importance, the meaning and the symbolism of the Naval Battle of Salamís instead of a plain «ὦ παῖδες Ἑλλήνων, ἴτε» (= O children of the Greeks, arise), dry and withered.

[selfcareparker]

LMAOO I WAS GONNA BRING UP FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLIDER BUT I WASNT SURE IF YOU WERE WATCHING IT HSKAJ (are you liking it? i know it’s only the first episode but ya know, another one tomorrow night- well tomorrow night for me, and did you like wandavision?? i loved it!!)

oh my goodness i’m watching lion king while writing this and i haven’t seen it in a while and i am..... emotional. but anyway, i love that streaming services think that imma pay for them while they charge $50 a month. like yes of course i have that kind of money and i am going to give it to you to watch tv 🙄 that $50 is budgeted to sims thank you. (ALSO SIMS!!! i’ll get to that in a minute) now see if i don’t google levidia right this minute LMAOO, not that i’m gonna use it.. just for the research...

AND HDKSHS SEND THAT CHAOS WALKING LINK LMAO i saw it for the third time with a different one of my friends and she wasn’t the best one to see it with? she literally was on her fucking phone and i was like ok whatever her loss not mine, and idk if you’ve read the books or if you’ve seen it by now, but by the end of the whole movie, after they’ve confirmed THE THING throughout the whole movie she asked the dumbest question and i’m like diD YOU NOT WATCH THE MOVIE, and i guess she didn’t. so. this sounds so vague but i don’t wanna spoil the movie for you just in case lol.

THE STORY LMAOO, so A DIFFERENT FRIEND LOL, like my oldest bff, we had a day together and we wanted to go see chaos walking. and i honest to God thought that no one would be seeing this movie. like NO ONE. every day, i checked the theater seating and no one was there right? plus i really wanted us to have the theater to ourselves. so we sit in the wrong seats, the row in front of us, STILL THINKING WE’RE ALONE. and then these 3 older people came in AND IM ABOUT TO SCREAM FHSJSH AND IM LIKE “are we in your seats?” and they we were like uh yeah, AND IT WAS SO BAD LMAOO , we’re moving and everything would’ve been FINE but my friend’s reclined seat was going down so slow and as it’s going shes LITERALLY SAYING ALOUD “awkward awkward awkward” so she thinks forget it, lemme just get up. HER BAG GETS CAUGHT ON HER CHAIR AND HER FRIES AND THEY SPILL ALONG WITH HER HONEY MUSTARD 😭😭 ALL OVER THE FLOOR! so i’m trying not to laugh lmao but those aren’t even our seats and we just made a mess, so naturally, i get on the floor and start cleaning it up with my napkins (this is going for too long) AND MY FRIEND IS STILL SAYING “awkward awkward awkward awkward” and i’m really abt to crack up bECAUSE LIKE SHUT UP HAHAHA and we’re cleaning it and shit and the oldest lady is gonna say “yeah you’re not gonna make an old lady get on the floor, are you?” AND I WANTED TO LAUGH AND SCREAM AT THE SAME TIME BC DID WE ASK YOU TO, NO, so then i had to get the manager and she helped us clean it, we got new fries and everything was fine, it’s just a crazy story bc LITERALLY WE COULDVE AVOIDED IT AND EVERYTHING BUT THESE ELDERLY PEOPLE HAD TO COME AND SEE THIS MOVIE😭😭 at least the gentlemen was nice.. he helped us clean. but then his wife was like “i aM nOt siTTiNg tHeRe” and at first i thought she was a teenager bc of her stink attitude but her husband was nice. and it’s not like we weren’t cleaning it up, we were!!! like i was so apologetic- anyway.

about sims! do you play console or pc? wait,, you already told me you play pc bc your computer was broken, i’m glad you can play now though :’)) litetally when i read in the tags that you’re playing sims !!!! and are you hyped for bunk beds? i have cc so i’ve had them for a bit, but they were glitchy... but i’m so excited we have them now! i should really play sims today...

GURL IM SO PROUD OF YOU 🥺🥲 i know you aren’t fluent in everything and you aren’t a linguistic genius LMAO but it’s still soooo amazing :’) here i am reading the captions while ur just going hahah, yea i tried duolingo but.... i didn’t stick to it HDJSH talking to you though makes me so interested because you know all these languages, not even studying them like that, but you have this foundation and ahh it’s just super cool. LOL YOU DONT SOUND LAME HAJA IM TELLING YOU ITS SO SO COOL, i’m loving this lesson btw oh my goodness- HSKAJS YOU THOUGHT I WOULD ALREADY KNOW THAT??? HDYSJHS MY ONLY ENGLISH SPEAKING ASS??? HAHAHAHHAH i find that word (Rindfleischetikettie- i’m not gonna write the whole thing i’m sorry) very interesting... like... wow. did you have to google that or did you just know lmao

OKAH THE WATER THING HDKDJDKS UR GONNA TERRIFY ME HAHAH OH MY LORD- first of all CROATIA 😍😍 but thinking about it like that, I WOULD FREAK OUT TOO HAHSGSG i never go that deep into the water, or if i do i have my dad with me lol and i kind of hold onto him bc ive seen/heard too many things about people being dragged into the sea. but i loveee the water (i wanted to be a mermaid soooo bad ohmigosh)

I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW ONE CANNOT LIKE MUSIC ITS AWFUL !! lmao yeah i haven’t even listened to harry’s his first album, everyone says they love it more. I WAS GONNA SAY IMMA LISTEN TO ONLY ANGEL BUT THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE IT HUHAHAH also i have never listened to anything by mgk (i actually had to google who he was IM SORRY😔) i’m tempted to listen tho lol PLEASE JUSTIN BIEBER- I PROMISE IM NOT LAUGHING AT U IVE JUSY NEVER HAD SOMEONE SAY THAT B4!! like i don’t know many people who’ve liked him bUT NOW IM GONNA LISTEN & the cardboard cutout- okay. 😭😭😭

oh my goodness to see the vamps live 🤧 TO SEE ANYONE LIVE PLEASE JJDGSHAHGD and little mix is so good oh my goodness- i actually haven’t been to that many concerts.. i was at my first one, elsie fest (it’s like a broadway thing really) in uhhh october of 2019, yea i took my mom for her birthday bc she loves darren criss and i’m obsessed with glee lmao OH MY GOODNESS YOUVE BEEN TO SO MANY!!! and those are such great artists 😩😩

LMAO UR FINE, hamilton is a musical that lin manuel miranda wrote and i think generally made? i’m obsessed, but basically it was on broadway and then recorded and put on disney+ ... idk i guess it counts a film bc it’s like a movie really cuz it was recorded but in what 2018 or 2016? i don’t remembers the date that is on disney+ but it’s strange how i got into it, a lot of my friends were obsessed and i was like uhh why? and while researching it and watching it, trying to figure out why people love it... i fell in love with it LMAO but the music is FANTASTIC and lin is incredible😭 but yes yes yes i loveeeee high school musical!! my dad actually took my cousins to see it on ice or something (i absolutely forget lmao) but i don’t know how people don’t know hsm. it upsets me.

OKAY IM DOWN TO THE BOTTOM HAHAHA (it takes me so long to respond, now i’m on lion king 2 WHICH IS SO GOOD PLEASE FHHSSHHSHSH) i could respond in chunks but i kind of enjoy responding like this? it feels a bit like a letter but if this whole thing is overwhelming i’ll cut it up lol

+ yes that was me about your fic and sleep and everything lol but it was so good😭 i don’t understand how you write peter so well like you have this ability to capture his.. everything? i’m crine. all the time. over your fics. & i cannot describe my happiness for youuuu :’) i’m so happy you’re writing again 🥺🥰 the thing about how you only want to write the long peter fic but you don’t know how to continue... i feel that so so so hard, i don’t think i told you but ughh i was so blah bc of that feeling of having pent up inspiration for only one fucking thing and not being able to write it. it’s so frustrating 😭

not to add more to this but i need to vent a bit? the situation is definitely different bc with your major it obviously requires for you to ya know, know english lol, but uhm bc i’m homeschooled ive been cheating on all my work SHSHDHSJ like i google the answers but i’m still learning! it’s just..... i find it so unnecessary, like going for an audition no one is gonna say to me “i want you to chanel the knowledge within yourself of the centripetal force of the circle that is the table on this stage” like tf??? there’s literally no point. i’m gonna be getting into voice lessons again soon and i’m already doing dance, AND i’ll be doing this summer camp program (more hamilton lol) and thinking about school is only making me stress more, like i haven’t been able to rehearse dance at all this week bc of it...... so

hahaha reading your tags, lonely anon would still be accurate HAHAHHAHA // another add: yea i love ur current theme, i’ve gotten used to “seeing you” like this, but anything will look super pretty :)) ALSO HOW IS IT STILL SNOWING THERE, i swear it’s getting warmer and warmer by the day here 😭🤧

these long ass posts, my gosh🥲 lonely lovely anon <3

Omg yes it does feel like a letter sldkdj and then the few days of waiting also make more sense okay i love this ❣️💕❤️💓❤️💞🧡💜💘(wtf)sksjhz

Dear lovely anon,

ALSKSJVKD yes i‘m liking falcon and winter soldier dlkdh i haven‘t watched the second episode yet but i‘ll watch it tomorrow! but i didn‘t watch wandavision........ eidislskks i was going to but idk i wasn‘t that interested in it and watching series is already too much of a commitment (what can i say i‘m a Sagittarius—🤧 (no i’m joking i actually know NOTHING about starsigns)) didjj that i couldn‘t force myself to watch it, ALSO i hate (idk if this is an unpopular opinion) when every episode is like a whole hour. i‘m rewatching an old series today (it‘s german so i won‘t even get into it) and the episodes are 25 mins each and i‘ve already watched 8 episodes today ridlndjdjd,,, and i feel like if the episodes were an hour each i wouldn‘t have gotten past episode 2 today like idk.... even if series had the same length in total, i prefer when the individual episodes are shorter idk why tho tbh (so yeah i already wasn‘t 100% convinced about watching wandavision so i just couldn’t make myself watch a bunch of 1hour episodes— i‘ve heard that it‘s good tho- but i‘m not much of a series person so. Dldkk (have we talked about this already??? sorry i don‘t remember what i said lol and i couldn‘t find my own post anymore so dkdjsh) (WAIT I JUST CHECKED THE WANDAVISION EPIOSRDES ARENT EVEN THAT LONG??? Okay wait i might watch it now - did you like it? let me know if i should watch it— why did i think they were 60minutes???)

okay another confession i‘ve never watched the lion king????? i mean i watched it when i was a child but i was too young to actually pay attention to any kind of plot i just liked the songs lol sldkdj i‘ve been meaning to watch it for years tho 🦁 (idk it just felt appropriate to put a lion emoji lmoaoo)

OH MY GOD THE CHAIS WALKING/CINEMA STORY AHSJSKKS😭😭😭😭 NOOOOO (very fitting that there was so much chaos when you were watching a film that has chaos in the title loool) and the “awkward awkward awkward“ SAME SKSKSLSKDJ, that‘s literally me 24/7 ahajshshhshshsh. Like i was so skdjdjdkdllsldksnsnsnsb while i read what you sent me djslslsjdjdbdn why are old ladies always so grumpy btw 🥲🥲🥲 at least the man was nice tho! and wait did i read that right... you have fries (which, to me, are called chips dusuusldk) at your cinemas?? (Movie theatres sorry sksjsh) we just have popcorn and nachos and drinks i want chips too when i‘m watching a film what😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺

Also i still haven’t watched it so thanks for not spoiling it!!! (idk when i’ll watch it i’m so bad with films and even worse with series💀💀💀- same with cherry. i literally forgot all about cherry, i was SO hyped when the trailer came out like i’ve never been so excited about a movie... and then it came out... and i still haven‘t watch it like what‘s wrong with me???? Dkdjdjdjdklsl i feel like i‘m not gonna watch it anytime soon tbh, but i wanna watch chaos walking i just have to find the time

Okay and @ your other friend who wasn‘t paying attention like why are you even watching the film then???? but ok (omg this sounds so mean i‘m sure she‘s very nice but in this situation just like❔❔❔)

SIMS ahhh, BUNK BEDS, ahhhh sdljdjdjdkdkdldksj i actually haven‘t played it since the update 🤧🤧 i made both of my sims (enisa (bestselling author already, thank you) and michael (aspiring doctor)) go to university and bro it takes so long 😭😭 and you can‘t do anything else if you want them to do well so literally the last three times i played sims i was just constantly clicking their homework and computerd to write their assignments (i play it in german so idk what its called on the sims) and do their presentations and do them all over again so that they get better or whatever for HOURS, but imma play again soon

also i‘m living my fanfiction life loool, so i made my two sims neighbours (on the same plot tho but i made two small separate houses lol, i still wanted to control both of them at the same time but i made sure they didn‘t interact before i wanted them to skdjdjdk). and first they both experimented and got some experience in the love department you know (all genders, cause i have to live my sexuality even in a pc game slskdjh— wait, i‘ve never lived my sexuality irl like i‘ve done NOTHING nothing with guys nothing with girls (🥲) but maybe that’s why i want to do it even more in the sims) and then they met at uni and realised like hey we‘re neighbours and now they‘re together (but michael accidentally had an alien baby with another woman (who was an alien which i was not aware of) cause i wasn‘t paying attention like i said woohoo not try for baby like michael why is your pull out game so weak tf LSHDDHDJDJSKKDKSKDKS okay but making out and flirting and doing all the fun stuff in the sims turns me on way more than it should PFAHAHHAHSH) so idk why i told you this but I’m creating that neighbour!au in the sims lmaoooo

i did not have to google Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsübertragungsaufgabengesetz (just did it again😌 sisjshhs) but i might have mixed up the words überwachung und übertragung or i might have even forgotten a word skskks but in the end it doesn‘t matter (by linkin park- ok i‘m so sorry it‘s 2 am and i have a headache from having waveformers in my hair all day but i still wanted to reply to this now so sorry if i‘m not making any sense right nowbahahshah)

i wanted to be a mermaid too dldjdksksj like h2O and all those series convinced me i could be one like. i remember i‘d always go in the deep pool and attempt to swim like them in all the series with that wave motion i must have looked so crazy with my goggles as well dkdjsksöksj (i was like twelve but still)

so mgk has two sides one is hip hop/rap which is like ~~~~ idk he has good and bad songs, but his latest album is like punk pop snd I LOVE IT SO SO SO SO SO MUCH, so if you like punk pop I’d recommend his album tickets to my downfall (i don‘t blame yoj if you don‘t like it tho like about a year ago i would have HATED that type of music dkdkdkkd)🥴

Okay talking about music, there‘s this german rapper and he is... not a good person. he‘s literally a criminal and extremely sexist but to me he‘s still hot???????? he‘s even cute at times even tho he has tattoos everywhere and is like 6‘5 and is super aggressive but i see him and i‘m like 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 my heart beats only for you💘💘💘💘and he released a new song today and i watched the video and i‘m wondering wtf is wrong with me 😃 (he did look particularly cute cause he was high so idk he wasn’t really aggressive in this one) 😭 so i thought i‘d share that LMAO IDK

(not saying tattoos aren‘t cute btw i LOVE tattoos imma get some soon, but you know he looks like someone your grandma would be afraid of (and in his case rightfully so💀)

okay wait i‘m getting so tired it‘s 2 am i think i‘ll have to do the rest tomorrow but i wanted to do it now😭🥺🥺 see you tomorrow

it is now 3:42 am and i couldn‘t sleep so here we go again

girl you can laugh at me for liking justin tho skskks i wanna laugh at myself idk, like i said i really really really liked him a few years go, basically my life was at least 50% justin and then he went on a break for a while and released an album last year which i hated 🥴 but this album is wow. (Still weird to me because it‘s literally the definition of pop and i don‘t ever listen to pop?) and it‘s so weird because i used to know so much about justin and had so many friends who loved him as well and now it‘s like I’m listening to someone new? Don‘t get me wrong i never KNEW justin and i never will and i‘m aware of that shahsh but yeah i used to be soooo used to him and it‘s like reconnecting with an old friend and you realise you don‘t know that friend anymore- like you don‘t know them anymore at all. I mean justin is weird nowadays 😂😂😂 so pls laugh at me tbh dskksjsjsh

awww it‘s so wholesome that you gave your mom tickets to the concert 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i gave my mum tickets for pink like 2 years ago and she loved it so much and i was like 🥰🥰🥰 (i went with her) AND OMG GLEE ok so unfortunately i barely remember glee, but i used to watch it too!!!! And it‘s actually on my list of series i wanna watch (again) so youre making me want to watch it even more (but like i said i‘m bad with series so 😩😩😩 who knows when i‘ll rewatch it)

When all this pandemic shit is over (let‘s be hopeful <3333) then you need to go to as many concerts as possible!!!!! i‘ve been to SO MANY and it‘s literally one of the things in my life i‘m the most grateful for, concerts are some of the best experiences i‘ve ever had in my life especially the ones that are in smaller concert halls where you can feeeel the vibe and everyone‘s energy (and that sounds awful thinking about it mid-pandemic 😐) anyway—

Okay omg you‘re absolutely making me want to watch hamilton right now like omg i WANT TO WATCH IT NOW but it‘s 4 am sodndkdldl

what you said about my peter fics🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺like omg i love these emojis they literally just describe how i felt when reading what you said so, yes, 🥰🥺 + thank you :) it really means a lot <3

and no omg i totally get the studying thing. like last year before i graduated .. was that last year? yes wtf omg okaykdjdj, so the last three months before i had my final exams we were just in a lockdown and we didn‘t even have online classes. We had nothing except one teacher who left our group chat (😭) because she was mad at us (?) and one maths teacher who did an online ““lesson““ once a week. he‘d ask: so does anyone have questions. us: . Him: okay, bye then. So. Yeah dndldldj. But we had one online test and it was in german and like i read the book wee were supposed to read? but the questions on the test were all unanswerable (is that a word?) and i had to google everything (got an A tho 🤪 but only because i googled everything so i was so scared that i wouldn‘t be able to get a good result on the final exam because what if i‘d gotten used to just googling everything and i couldn‘t do it by myself anymore? anyway it was all fine in the end but yeah at times i couldn‘t even study because i had so much anxiety about studying and yeah- like this whole annoying cycle. but you said you‘re still studying———- okay wait 👁👄👁 i forgot what i was going to say??????????????????????????????????????????????????? Like wtf. Is wrong with me? And i‘m reading what you wrote again and i just don‘t know what i was going to say? Like i get what you‘re saying obviously but i‘m like? Idk 4am brain ayeee, please vent more if you need to and elaborate further because right now i‘m???? Too dumb to respond to this right now wtf. I‘m so sorry lmao ddlkdjdjd what is even going on like i‘m sitting here open mouthed just like ? But btw the fact that you have Voice and dance lessons is like SO FUCKING COOL like oh my god that is sosososos cool wtf, i was thinking that when you first talked about it too

And “i want you to chanel the knowledge within yourself of the centripetal force of the circle that is the table on this stage” ODHDKSLDBDJDOFIDKDNDLDK

Yes i know about the weather dkdkdkjd but it‘s getting (a lot) warmer here too and where i live we kind of get a weird type of wind called föhn (which literally means hair dryer but idk if that‘d the reason why it‘s called that, i‘m too tired to think of whether it makes sense rn) and it gives me headachesssssss and the changing weather is also giving me headaches 😭😭😭😭 so this season right now is just headache season and i hate summer so i wish it would just snow again lmao (okay it‘s getting so late that it‘s early already snd i can hear this bird chirping so fucking loud wtf i‘m also getting a headache 🤧🤧🤧) but at least i can do my new theme soon (i hope it‘ll look good🥺 and omg thank you for what you said about my current theme- i always feel like i‘m so bad with aesthetics, i obviously like my theme but i feel like every single person on tumblr has a theme that is prettier than mine so it was very nice to hear you say that you love it👉🏼👈🏼 (i‘m so used to it by now that i actually hate it lmao so it‘s getting yeeted soon and i‘m making megan thee stallion my pfp 🤪 (if the graphics and shit works out skdjdjdj)

[sweetestrequiems]

New Day, Same Queen

Summary: The queens have been reincarnated into their new bodies. They have a lot of emotions and they are confused by what’s going on. Some of them are more emotional than the others. Welcome to the modern age, Queens of Six.

Part Four of Six: Anna von Kleve (Eng.: Anna of Cleves)

A/N: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -Cleves is kinda angsty and that’s my fault, but like... Cleves is always given fluff and I’ve nothing against that. Yeah, this has an okay-ish ending, but this is arguably one of the more emotional parts. Howard’s is the most emotional, in my opinion. 

Tag List: @aveasorae | @watercolored-lemonade | @boombiotch | @patdfobmcr-yt | @everything-insanity | @silverpetals97 

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October 22nd, 2019.

Mornings were no longer truly quiet in what was to become the Tudor household in the next few days.

The downstairs level of the residence was quite lively. The first, second, and sixth wives of the late king of England were pretty much having a casual conversation over a cup of tea. It was almost as if nothing had really happened between them in their past lives. A few laughs could be heard here and there, but mostly it was chatter that wasn’t discernible. A groan came from (quite unironically) the red queen. The fourth wife of Henry.

The German, Anna of Cleves.

Sitting up, she ran her hands through her hair and yawned. “Alive again? Maybe this is all just a bad dream.” And so, the woman laid back down and closed her eyes. But this immediately backfired when she shot back up with a realization. “WAIT A SECOND. I DIED ALREADY. THIS CAN’T BE A DREAM.” Fear began to sink in as the covers were pretty much ripped off of the bed and she hurried to the closest mirror. It was no joke, she was alive. With her hands on her cheeks, she just gave one good look at herself.

“I’m alive again? How? This isn’t possible, it has to be witchcraft or something. Maybe this is all a fever dream, right?”

The chatter from the lower floor was telling that this indeed was NOT a fever dream.

“I’m actually alive. This looks like the future, I swear…”

Well, Cleves, you’re not wrong. You’ve found yourself in what’s the future to you, but modern day to the rest of the world. This isn’t old age England anymore. With a sigh, the fourth wife finds herself a bit defeated. “The possibilities of this happening are… next to none. Wait… Amalia!” The thought of her sister came rushing into her head. Amalia had to be alive if she was… right?

The fear began to set in.

Amalia of Cleves surely had to be alive.

Her beloved sister surely had to be alive with her. Why would Amalia not be with Anna?

Opening the door to her room, Cleves almost frantically began to look around the top floor. Aragon and Parr were the names on the other doors. The hope was slowly beginning to drain from her eyes. Could it be so that her sister wasn’t alive after all? It took a sinking moment, but her chest immediately collapsed under its own weight. The tears silently fell from the red queen’s eyes, her hand tightly gripping to the railing of the stairs. A few sniffles were the noise she let out. Angry was a good way to describe her, but saddened was another one. The Cleves sisters, both sought out by the king, and Anna was the one to have gone to England.

“N-Nein, das kann nicht wahr sein! Amalia kann nicht tot sein…”

A bit of a broken voice. While she was happy to have been given a second chance at life, this… this was not what she wanted. “Sie kann es nicht sein, oder? Aber… vielleicht ist sie es. Und vielleicht kann ich nichts dagegen machen.” In a dark way, she was right. There wasn’t much she could do about being the surviving Cleves sister. And while this broke her heart, the fourth wife had to buck up and compose herself. She needed to investigate the noises coming from the bottom floor.

The slight rustling from the stairs got the attention of the other wives.

“Did somebody else wake up?” Anne Boleyn raised an eyebrow, the mug of tea in her hands being set down on the table. Catherine Parr and Catherine of Aragon both exchanged glances, unsure of who was the person coming down the stairs. When they saw the fourth wife, all three of them raised their eyebrows. Anne Boleyn was the one who managed to get anything out. “That’s… that’s the other door on your floor. This must be another one of his wives.”

“Wo bin ich?” She knew English, she however, did not want to actually speak it until she was sure that the three ladies in front of her were to be trusted. Catherine of Aragon’s face immediately dropped upon the realization that this was the other wife that she and Anne had discussed just the day she woke up. The German wife. With a sigh, Aragon shook her head.

“Do any of you speak German, by any chance?” Catherine Parr pulled on the collar of her shirt. It was a safe bet to say they did not speak German.

“Was sind eure Namen? Mine Name is Anna von Kleve.”

“Cleves. Anna of Cleves! That’s the fourth wife of us. So, we’re missing… the third and the fifth, apparently?” Boleyn’s eyes look the woman up and down. “Cleves is your last name, right?” A rather simple “Ja.” was the response.

“Do you speak any English, Anna?”

“Nein, ich spreche kein Englisch.”

“She doesn’t speak English,” there’s a defeated sigh from Catherine Parr. “We have a problem. We can’t talk to her if she doesn’t–”

“Es war nur ein Witz!” The German let out a laugh. “I do speak English, I’m just pulling your leg. I’m Anna. But I did want to know, who are you ladies? You seem to be good friends.” A bit of a smile from the German. Anna knew she had to hide the fact she was grieving over her sister’s death from centuries ago.

“Catalina de Aragón, but I’m called Catherine in English. I was the first wife.”

“Anne Boleyn, and I speak French, not German. I was the second wife.”

“Catherine Parr. I wrote books, psalms, and meditations. I was the sixth wife.”

“We all share one thing in common then. We’re all Henry’s wives. I was the fourth wife. Shipped over from a foreign country to marry the man. A surprisingly interesting experience. Anyways, where exactly are we? I’m a bit lost.” Anne motioned for Anna to join them, and she did. “We’re in modern day London. Everything is… so different. We have a Queen, and she’s seen more as a figurehead and not a political influence. Can you believe it?”

“It’s crazy how things change in such a span of time. But, the best thing of it all… is that we get a second chance at life!”

“It’s truly a miracle. I might be able to write another book.”

Cleves seemed to remain silent. Her mind was quite fixed on the fact she did not have her sister. The sudden positivity in the room became worry as the red queen said not a word, and the blue one was the one to spark up the conversation. “You seem like you have something bothering you, Anna. Almost like you’re not too excited to be alive.”

“I didn’t exactly think I’d be coming back to life without my younger sister,” her gaze looks up. Cleves did look quite defeated in a sense. Boleyn herself nodded, sharing the sentiment but on a different scale. “I only thought about myself, I’ll be honest with you. But I didn’t realize Elizabeth wouldn’t be alive, either. I miss my daughter, really…” The look in her eyes sympathized with Cleves. “But I read really, really great things about her. And… it’s the fond times that matter, Anna.”

Aragon was not as lucky to say her daughter was… as good as her sister. Parr just pulled on her collar and looked away. She was having a moment herself.

“We all have one thing in common aside from Henry, and that’s the fact we all have someone we miss. And life is going to suck without them, but… y’know, I think we can always move along with it so long as we remember those people in our hearts, right? That’s got to count for something,” Boleyn’s expression began to turn into more of a smile. She stood up, and gave glances to the other three women. “I know! How about we all go out today and explore London? See how the place has changed and maybe if we find where our loved ones are buried, we go pay our respects?”

The other three ladies seemed to have perked up at that idea. Even Cleves, despite the fact that she’d have to head to Düsseldorf a day on her lonesome.

“And Anna, where did your sister live? In Germany?”

“Amalia? Yes, she did.”

A smile from Anne Boleyn, and smirks from the Catherines. “We’ll go to Germany one day. And we’ll go visit her resting place. All of us! We’ll go as a group and be there for you. How does that sound?”

The German queen just smiled, feeling at ease with her newfound friends. “Das klingt wunderbar.”

Welcome to the modern age, Anna of Cleves. A woman of rather humbling circumstances and power. Now, that woman is here to show others how to keep trucking through the hard times. Two of you remain to wake up. Will the mother to the throne, Jane Seymour, be the one to arise? That answer is to come soon. But, you all have such an important and greater purpose in this life. You’re one of a kind, no category. Too many years, lost in history. You’re free to take your crowning glory for five more minutes. You’re SIX.

[queenofcarrots]

Manuscripts in Star Wars (And Star Wars Fan Fiction)

This is the text of a talk originally presented at the conference Fan Cultures and the Premodern World at Oxford University in July, 2019, organized by Dr. Juliana Dresvina of the Oxford History Faculty. This presentation represents a collaboration between myself and Dr Brandon Hawke of Rhode Island College, and is essentially a summation of our video project Sacred Texts: Codices Far, Far Away, (Introduction to the series at that link) and examples below will include links to brief conversations where Brandon and I talk about the examples in a bit more detail. This has also been posted on my academic blog but I’m cross-posting here to reach a different audience.

Hi, My name is Dot Porter, and I want to start by thanking Juliana for the wonderful organization of this conference, and also for including me in the program. This is very different from the kind of conference I normally present at – in my day job I’m a special collections curator at the University of Pennsylvania, specializing in medieval manuscripts, their digitization, and their post-digital lives. Basically I get paid to digitize medieval manuscripts and then play with them. (I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the Bibliotheca Philadelphiensis project, funded by the Council on Library and Information Resources, which is just finished, and through which we digitized and made available for reuse more than 465 codices from institutions in Philadelphia)

Aside from my family there are two things in life I adore: medieval manuscripts, and Star Wars. I must admit that while I am a scholar of manuscripts, of a sort, I am also a fan. I love manuscripts – the way they look, feel, smell; I love to hold a manuscript and think about all the other people who have touched it, and consider the signs of use that imply their long histories. This interest has led to current work on conceiving of medieval manuscripts as transformative works themselves, first presented at Leeds 2018 and work I’m continuing looking specifically as Books of Hours. (My original draft of this presentation featured some of this work, but it threatened to take over, so I axed it all; a blog post of my Leeds paper is on my blog, if you’re curious).

While I am arguably a manuscript scholar, I am most definitely not a scholar of fandom studies – you will, I’m sure, find my theory wanting – nor am I a scholar of Star Wars, but I am a fan. I do the things that fans do. I’m on Tumblr, although that platform is pretty dead now, and I have a fandom Twitter account, which is much more active. I write and consume fan fiction, and I regularly commission artwork to illustrate my stories and stories I would like to write. I have written exactly one notable meta, which was even picked up by the AV Club – they actually cited me, unlike many of the other websites, which only cited the person who stole my work and posted it on Reddit!

In Star Wars: The Last Jedi, released in December 2017, we were introduced, for the first time, to manuscripts in the Star Wars universe. I had avoided trailers and spoilers, so the first time I saw this was in the theater, and I was, as the kids say, shooketh. Not only one manuscript, but a whole shelf-full of them! And they’re important. Rey, our heroine, has been sent to the island of Ahch-to to bring Luke Skywalker back to help the Resistance, led by Luke’s sister General Leia Organa, defeat the First Order. Rey has been there for a day or so, following Luke around, making no headway, when she is called to the Uneti tree, a large, hollow, Force-sensitive tree that houses these manuscripts. It’s in the company of these books that Rey and Luke finally communicate with each other, when Rey admits that she has only recently come to the Force and that she needs Luke to train her to be a Jedi, and when Luke grudgingly agrees to give her some lessons, but also tells her that the Jedi must die. Exciting stuff, and the books are there to hear it.

According to Star Wars The Last Jedi: The Visual Dictionary, Luke Skywalker scoured the galaxy for these texts and collected them himself, storing them in the tree that we see in the film. So these texts weren’t originally all in one collection, they are from many different planets, potentially written in ten different places, ten different times, ten different languages and alphabets, although there’s only one we ever see in the film. The starwars.com blog post “Inside the Lucasfilm Archives: The Jedi Texts” gives us an up-close look at the prop book that was shown in the film; as you can see it’s a real book, written and bound, and even damaged. There are manuscripts in our collection at Penn that look not very unlike this book. It is a real manuscript.

This is one manuscript in the universe. What else do we know about manuscripts in star wars in general? To be honest: not much. But we do know that it is rare to write by hand (as opposed to writing with digital technology like data pads). In Claudia Gray’s novel Bloodlines, which takes place six years before The Last Jedi, Leia Organa is preparing for a fancy party when she finds a handwritten note at her seat, and she’s shocked: “Virtually nobody wrote any longer; it had been years since Leia had seen actual words handwritten in ink on anything but historical documents.” So it appears that, by the time the current films take place, there are no longer manuscripts being actively written in the galaxy, or at least it’s very rare.

Interestingly there is one character in the Sequel Trilogy who it is suggested knows how to write by hand: Kylo Ren, formerly Ben Solo. There is a scene – the same scene is actually shown three times, from three different points of view – where a young padawan Ben is sleeping and his Uncle, Luke Skywalker, comes to him and looks into his head, sensing great darkness in his dreams. Ben calls his lightsaber to either attack his uncle or defend himself against him, depending on the version of the scene, and in one of these shots we can see that he has a calligraphy set in his bedroom. We can see the set here, in a screenshot of his desk just before he calls his lightsaber over – which knocks over the pen and inkwell and jar of parchment scrolls in the process – and in The Art of Star Wars: The Last Jedi.

What else do we know about these specific books? There is concept art in The Art of Star Wars: The Last Jedi; including six internal pages and six shots of the bindings.

I remember looking at the concept art and thinking how alike and different they were from the manuscripts I’ve had the pleasure of working with at Penn, and I discovered that my Twitter mutual Brandon Hawke, an Assistant Professor of English at Rhode Island College, was having many of the same thoughts that I was. So in October of 2018, Brandon came down to Penn and we sat for hours in front of a green screen and talked about manuscripts and Star Wars, comparing books in the Penn collections to what we see of the manuscripts in the concept art. We’ve been posting snippets of our discussions on the Schoenberg Institute YouTube channel, and there’s a link at the top there if you want to check them out. So for most of the rest of this paper I’ll be walking through some of the possible comparisons between real manuscripts and the Star Wars manuscripts. I want to stress that we did this for fun, and not for science, and that we’re limited by the collections at Penn and by our own knowledge.

Consider yourself warned: The remainder of this presentation is essentially an educated fan, raving.

As far as Brandon and I have been able to determine, this is a previously unknown script in the Star Wars universe. When I saw it my mind immediately went to Ge’ez, shown here in an early 20th century book of Hymns from Ethiopia. There’s something about the blockiness that is just slightly curved, and a few of the letter forms are slightly similar although I don’t think that’s necessarily meaningful. (video)

We also made a comparison with Coptic, which is thinner, more curved, and perhaps a closer match. (video)

For the third example we looked not at the text, but at its layout on the page. We found a similarity with this 16th century collection of Persian poetry, both its illuminated header (similar in aspect to the illuminated blue line of text in the center of the ancient Jedi text) and the framing of the text. (video)

Aside from text, it is clear that the concept art of pages supplied to us here represent astronomical texts. This is really not surprising, considering that in the Star Wars universe we have a galaxy that seems to have been very closely connected, between planets and cultures, for a very long time, and so it makes sense that even the most ancient texts would be concerned with objects in the system – stars and planets and moons – and how they related to and interact with one another. And this is a major concern in medieval astronomical texts, too: these texts illustrate people trying to make sense of the system they live in, in the best way they know.

One of the pages in the jedi texts is the symbol of the Galactic Republic, but placed on some kind of chart, with characters dispersed through the chart and text – perhaps labels – along the outside. We found a similarity with this chart in LJS 57, a 14th century astronomical anthology from Spain. I don’t know exactly what this chart represents but I can tell you that astronomical texts are full of similar charts; it was one of the ways that medieval people made sense of the data they had available to them. (video)

Something similar is happening here, in LJS 449, a 15th century German medical and astronomical miscellany. These charts are perhaps a bit simpler than the Spanish chart, but they have that attractive blue coloring. Both the coloring and the arrangement of data around the circle reminded Brandon and me of the diagrams on this page of the Jedi texts. (video)

The next three slides show diagrams from LJS 26, a mid-13th century copy of Johannes de Sacro Bosco’s, Algorismus and Tractatum de sphaera, an immensely popular text that was copied and translated and commented upon from the time it was written in the early 13th century (it is possible that our copy was written during Sacrobosco’s lifetime) through the 16th century. It is full of diagrams illustrating the movement of the planets, and the sun, and the moon in relation to the earth. I personally find these diagrams most reminiscent of the two pages on the bottom left, although I feel like their organization suggests a sense of scale that is lacking in the medieval diagrams. (video)

Medieval astronomers only had to think about the earth, and the moon, and the sun, and a few other planets. On the other hand, the Star Wars universe operates on a whole other level – a galaxy with countless star systems and planets that aren’t even charted. When I look at these diagrams I see a clever attempt to illustrate scale using the relatively primitive technology of ink and paper in place of the star charts and 3D maps that we see in the films.

On the other hand, there are some really simple 1:1 comparisons to be made, such as this diagram, which pretty clearly illustrates the phases of a moon. (video)

I want to take a quick look at the bindings of these manuscripts, particularly this piece of concept art, which is quite similar to the prop that we see in the film.

This has a fairly standard binding structure, quite similar to LJS 102, the Ethiopic manuscript we looked at earlier, except for the front cover, which is built of three separate pieces that are obviously connected together. In western bindings, if a wooden cover were a composite of multiple pieces, we would expect that to be obscured, as in this late 13th century Catalonian manuscripts (It’s hard to tell, which is the point, but this cover is made of three pieces of wood).

The only example of a cover like this I’ve seen is from the Walters Art Museum, this 14th century Ethiopian Gospel book. The cover was broken and then sewn back together, but this was the result of an accident, not done on purpose.

My colleague Alberto Campagnolo also suggested that it is similar to the Chinese practice of writing on bamboo strips and binding them together, as in this 18th century example.

This is one instance where the artists who created these concepts have done an excellent job with suggesting a manuscript culture – in fact, several manuscript cultures, cultures that use what is available to them. There are two manuscripts here that appear to be bound in decorated tusks, one that has what appear to be shells embedded in a leather binding, and another that might be bound in hairy skin or – I like to think – had the binding grown on it underground. In any case these all suggest books written in different places, perhaps at different times, and as a manuscript scholar I find that fascinating.

Following up on this I wanted to see how the concept of the manuscripts was received by writers of fan fiction. As a fan author myself I have written a few stories featuring the ancient Jedi texts, but given my interests that made sense; I was curious to see what other authors have done with them. I think there’s more extensive work to be done here, but in reading through the 40 or so stories I was able to find (by searching AO3 for ancient jedi texts, and the “jedi text” tag) I discovered not surprisingly that the stories focused on the text of the books, not on their physical appearance (which is at least partially due to fan fiction being a written medium, vs. film being a visual medium) and that there are three main themes that can appear by themselves or be combined:

Rey can read the texts on her own, or she needs help (Kylo Ren, C3PO, Obi Wan Kenobi’s force ghost)

The translation is used to further the story (whether or not it happens)

The texts do something (e.g., magic spells)

What will happen next? Will there be manuscripts in the Rise of Skywalker, the final film in this last trilogy? Of course I hope so, and it seems likely. The Uneti tree was struck by lightning and burned, but Rey took the manuscripts with her (here is a screenshot of a drawer in the Millennium Falcon, at the very end of the film, showing the books clearly safe and tucked away)

and in the Poe Dameron comic #27 we learn that Rey has been working with C3PO to translate the texts.

And there’s also the spectre of Kylo Ren with a calligraphy set; if he had access to these manuscripts when he was studying with Luke Skywalker, it’s possible that he has read and perhaps even annotated some of the books. Only time will tell, and I for one can’t wait for December.