#i really need to read more german literature

[jarenka]

tags by @gffa

(sorry for using your tags for that rant about translations, don't feel yourself obligated to answer or something like that)

I don't want to disappoint you, but there are many edits in English translation of The Three-Body problem. I assume you can learn more about them here (I don't have access to an article itself) and also here Ken Liu says that he updated some outdated info. I don't think it's bad itself if done in a tandem with an author, but original and the translation will feel different. The Chinese reader would say that The Three-Body Problem has a natural prose flow, sexist language and uses outdated info from 2006, the English reader would say that The Three-Body Problem has unusual prose (honestly, I don't know, my knowledge of English is not enough to make judgments about qualities of the prose), no sexist language and uses info from 2014.

For me this approach that it's ok to edit the content of the book but the reader should feel that they read a translated book feels very performative to me. Honestly my first thought after reading this post and various tags was "Yes, guys, only 3% of your book market is translated literature, so you want to feel really special while reading Exotic Foreign Literature". But also, what kind of "rhythm of another language" you all are taking about? It's not that I don't know any other languages other than my own (I write this in a foreign language), but there is no specific "rhythm of the X language", literature in any language is very diverse in rhythm and style. Do you feel like Dickens, Sara J. Maas and Hemingway have the same rhythm and cadence because they all write and English? Transporting the style of the prose into another language is a very tricky thing. Ironically, I know one Russian translation that spectacularly failed at it. The Catcher in The Rye was translated in English in USSR and unfortunately was censored, so in 2008 another translator attempted to translate it, and this translation was... controversial. Imo, it was just absolutely horrendous in its tone and style. It sounds like an attempt of a middle aged Russian dude who has never spoke with a teenager in their life to write from POV of the edgy teenager.

Yes, literary translation is a big can of worms, and every translator choses between different strategies of translation what book and for which audience they translate. And some things are untranslatable at all.

For example, regional dialects. For example, German and (British) English has super distinct regional dialects, so people in different cities in Germany and Britain speak very differently, people in different cities of Russia speaks almost identically with very minor quirks in some regions. There are more difference between Russian speakers in rural areas, but even of we use these differences German guy from Bavaria speaks like a guy from the village near Tver. Cockney dialect is absolutely untranslatable to Russian.

Same goes to some artistic effects. The beginning of the War and Peace novel is (in)famous for dialogues in French. They amplify for Russian readers how actually common for Russian aristocracy to speak in French. But when you translate it into French, what are you going to do with them?

(I mean yes, you won't translate it, but the artistic purpose of these paragraphs is lost in French translation)

The same with Russian translation of A Clockwork Orange. It has slang in Russian that is supposed to alienate the reader, but in Russian translation they are just Russian words written in Latin alphabet, and they are completely understandable for Russian readers.

Some jokes are untranslatable. Some set expressions might have significance for the plot/dialogue, so translator need to use a footnote to explain this nuance for the reader.

Anyway as someone who read majority of books and translation (which is normal for avid Russian-speaker reader) and specifically goes out their way to read mystery/thriller and literary fiction translated from different languages, I feel like linguistic aspects of foreign literature is just a miniscule point of my interest. Yes, I find out about Finnish slang word for lesbian, but overall it's more interesting to see what people in other countries are writing about. Of course my experience is severely skewed by the fact that book should be translated into Russian for me to read it, but they are still books that are written for an audience in another country and about things that are interesting and important for them. For example last year I've read three books by French writers of African decent, all with different plots but with similar themes of French colonialism and relationships between France and its (former) colonies. I just don't think that you would be ever able to read from this perspective if you don't read in French or you don't read books translated from French.

"The best translations into English do not, in fact, read as if they were originally written in English. The English words are arranged in such a way that the reader sees a glimpse of another culture’s patterns of thinking, hears an echo of another language’s rhythms and cadences, and feels a tremor of another people’s gestures and movements."

— Ken Liu, Translator’s Postface to The Three-Body Problem

[major-toast]

nine books I want to read in 2025

tysm for the tags @del-stars @katakosmos

np: @godsofwoes @dolorequiem and whoever else wants to

[cobaltperun]

Lost (22) - So Far Away

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4.5k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-I have so much to say but you're so far away-

The room he sat in was the last place he’d associate with the woman who owned this apartment. The walls were hidden behind shelves, filled to the brim with books. Books in English, Russian and German, he guessed, ranging from classics to modern literature, from massive encyclopedia to magazines, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere near them. The last time he saw the woman she was fifteen and so stuck in her martial arts training he doubted she ever touched a book. Perhaps he was, as a twelve-year-old in awe of her, simply mistaken. The room had a vintage feel to it, with heavy table in the middle of it, and two tall armchairs on each side. The chandelier above him didn’t seem like it was often used, instead it was there more for aesthetics, instead, he believed the lamp on the table was used for reading during the nights. The woman lived alone, after a brief marriage that ended in a divorce, and he didn’t really know the details of her relationship.

There weren’t many people who intimidated him. Sidney Prescott did, with her refusal to be defeated by one of the Ghostfaces despite already being past her prime. Samantha Carpenter did as well, her brutality against Richie Kirsch and his father a year later was frightening. His cousin frightened him even more.

Anya Golubeva lost her title when she fought against you, but she regained it right away and considering you were forced to retire, she reigned supreme for the next three years, until she went and retired, now, at thirty-seven, she was still a formidable fighter. She would be the counter to you, a fighter that spent even more time training, a fighter that nearly defeated you, because that match could have gone either way. Thomas made a mistake, he made you angry, he got cocky, she wouldn’t, because she knew exactly what you were capable of.

“So, cousin, what brings you to me?” Anya walked through the door, holding a tray with two cups of coffee. “This far from home?” she sat down, at ease in her home, at ease because there truly wasn’t much that could hurt her.

Cousins… Yet he was nothing like her. Despite his admiration for her, Igor wasn’t a good fighter, he had no talent for martial arts, or sports in general, he didn’t have the dedication needed to overcome the lack of talent either. No, he wasn’t the best fighter, but he had other skills, he was a good hunter, resilient, good with knife and various guns, and, if he could say so himself, he was conventionally good looking, dark hair and blue eyes, in good shape. He could have been so many things, he could have had so many different interests, but in his youth he, much like Richie Kirsch and Amber Freeman, and many before and after them, developed a fascination with Stab franchise, and, more importantly, with Ghostface.

“I,” he hunched a bit, making himself seem smaller, trying to remind Anya of how he was as a child. She used to protect him when they were really young, before his parents moved and he had to transfer to another school, he hoped she would still have that instinct to protect her family. “got into trouble,” he spoke slowly, regretfully, just for a moment glancing up to meet her eyes and then immediately looking down. “With a cult, and now I don’t know how to get out,” there, he said it. He also believed he was an acceptable actor, capable of fooling people.

He heard Anya lowering her cup and leaning forward. “What cult?” she sounded more concerned than anything. Family was always important to her. That was why he was certain he could get her to help him and the cult. If she believed she was doing it to save him then he had a chance to convince her.

Instead of telling her anything, he pulled out the mask with a bear painted on the side. His Ghostface mask.

“Ghostface?” her eyes widened as she watched the mask. “Why? You’re neither young nor stupid?” she demanded, so forcefully he genuinely flinched at her tone.

“I didn’t realize they were serious, I swear! I thought they’d stop after Richie and Amber got killed, but they didn’t! At that point it was too late to back out, they knew me, they’d kill me!” he exclaimed, frantically grabbing the mask and shoving it back into his bag. He moved as if he was about to leave, as if he gave up on her.

“Fine, fine, settle down,” Anya calmed down first, and now she once again looked more concerned than anything else. That got him to sit back down, and he had to cover his face, pretending to clutch his head in desperation to hide the small smirk he couldn’t suppress. “What changed now?”

He dropped his hands, his expression the perfect mask of desperation. “If you can help me get rid of one person I can walk away,” knowing how it sounded he quickly raised his hands. “No one will know it was us! Please, it’s either her or me!”

She remained silent, and he just hoped this would work out, that Anya would be willing to at least hold you back enough for someone to finish you off if she didn’t want to actually kill you.

“Who is it?” she asked after several long, dreadful minutes.

“Y/N L/N,” Igor said, and her eyes narrowed. For a moment he feared she’d reject him, but instead, she nodded. Perhaps the sting of loss caused resentment toward you. Or perhaps it didn’t matter who it was, as long as she thought she was doing it to protect a member of her family.

~X~

No one knew where you were.

No one knew where you were.

No one knew where you were.

Those words repeated in Tara’s mind as she stared at the wall in front of her. She didn’t say a single word since Danny gave in and told her what he knew.

Sam being involved shook her, but somehow she decided she would deal with that later, you on the other hand… You were gone. No one knew if you were alive, or if you were hurt, or who had you. No, that was obvious. Ghostface had you. She barely registered a glass of milk and a plate filled with pancakes being set down on the coffee table next to her. They smelled nice, but the smell only reminded her of you not being by her side.

“Tara, you need to eat, for your baby if not for yourself,” Danny crouched next to her, likely trying to get her to look at him. And she did, for a brief moment she did look at him, and she saw the apology in his eyes.

Pancakes. Of course he went with that. It didn’t take long for anyone to find out how often you made them for Tara. They were her comfort meal, a meal she didn’t feel bad to ask for while you were kids, the first meal you made after you two got together, and then again and again, every time exactly how Tara loved them.

Danny knew how to cook, definitely better than Sam, but not as well as you did. You did work as a cook back in Woodsboro for almost two and a half years, so it wasn’t really fair to compare him with you. She still nodded, picking up the plate and began eating more out of obligation to your child than anything else. She barely ate two pancakes when her phone buzzed, signaling she got a message.

Tara frowned and saw it was a photo, and then her eyes widened, and she dropped her fork, and she had no idea how she didn’t immediately throw up the pancakes she managed to eat. “Danny!” she yelled, making him run back into the living room.

“What?!” he frantically looked around for an intruder, but Tara just got up and showed him the message she got. It was a photo, of a muscular woman whose face was covered by a Ghostface mask tied to a chair. “Is that Y/N?” his voice wavered a bit, as he spoke what went through Tara’s head when she saw the photo.

A moment later an address popped up and Tara grabbed her jacket ready to leave right then and there, consequences be damned she’d get to you. She needed to see you. She needed to be with you.

She needed to help you.

“Wait, we need to call Kirby,” Danny grasped Tara’s forearm just firmly enough to keep her from leaving.

“I need to get to Y/N!” she shouted, yanking her arm away from him.

“We don’t know when the photo was taken! It’s an obvious trap, Tara!” he argued back, this time choosing to step between her and the doors.

“I don’t care, she might be there!” she knew she was being unreasonable, that you’d berate her if you knew she was willing to just walk into such an obvious trap, but she knew you’d do the exact same thing. No, not only that. If the positions were switched, you would have went to Kirby demanding information so you could start looking for Tara. Even if it meant rushing into whatever location Kirby managed to connect with the cult.

Luckily, Danny understood her by now. “We’ll go, okay? But we need to call Kirby first, in case we need a back-up,” she could work with that.

So, she sent the photo to Kirby as Danny set up a Zoom call and while they waited for Kirby to join it, Tara just looked at the photo.

Finally, Kirby joined them. “Hey, Tara, Danny. Tara, I’m sorry we kept these things from you,” Kirby opened with that, but Tara shook her head, there’d be time for that conversation later. She could complain and be annoyed later, once you were back by her side, once she could make up for the time the two of you spent separated, then she could deal with her friends keeping her in the dark.

“Can you do anything?” Danny asked.

“Not much, but the address does match a warehouse near the harbor,” she said, sharing her screen and showing the map as well as some photos of the warehouse. It was old, clearly not in use anymore and abandoned until the cult decided to start using it.

“It’s not Y/N,” Tara suddenly declared. “It’s not her, I know it isn’t her,” she knew it, even if three weeks passed, this wasn’t you. Ghostface would taunt her with your face, or at least show a scar so she wouldn’t have any way to doubt it was you. And the woman wasn’t as muscular as you, she was muscular, no doubt about that, but not as much as you. So, no, it wasn’t you.

She was still going to walk right into that warehouse, because there was a chance someone there knew where you were, and she’d never forgive herself if she let this opportunity go. If she had to go alone, she would,

“Tara, listen to me, you’re pregnant, don’t get both of you killed by being reckless,” Kirby told her, but Tara was already getting up.

“Either come and help, or don’t do anything, but I’m not waiting here for someone to tell me what’s going on. You’ve already proven you won’t tell me anything anyway,” she snapped, glaring back at the screen before putting her jacket on and grabbing the biggest knife Danny had.

“Shit! Tara, wait!” she heard Danny running after her, but she didn’t slow down, she just glanced back, saw that he also had a knife and smiled appreciatively at him. “Well,” he shrugged. “I can’t let you go alone,” he said.

~X~

The warehouse was abandoned a long time ago, the windows were broken, glass was everywhere, and there was a lot of dust. So much, in fact, that Tara coughed a few times when they stepped inside. There were a few exits, through the windows, though that would likely be very painful unless they could open the window before jumping through. The doors they just came through and there were two sets of stairs leading to the first floor, that might give them a chance to maneuver if needed.

“There’s nothing here,” Danny said as the two of them looked around, for clues, for any sign of presence, for anything really. All they saw was the chair the person on the photo was tied to. The fact that the chair was whole was just another proof to Tara that you weren’t on the photo. If you were, and if you were untied, you would have fought back, and that chair would have been at least damaged if not in pieces and stained with blood of your captors.

They heard them before they saw them. The boots stepping on the shattered glass, steps indicating there were at least two people with them. Tara pulled her knife out and turned around, pointing it toward Ghostfaces.

“Where is Y/N?” she demanded, for the first time coming face to face with the redesigned Ghostface, the robes were the same, the mask was almost the same. These two had animals painted on the side of the mask. One had a bull, the other and elephant. A way to differentiate each other now that there were so many of them. At least the entire cult didn’t come to greet her.

And Sam somehow got involved with them. For how long? Why didn’t Sam just come to her? She’d get those answers eventually, she needed to focus on here and now.

The one with a bull just tilted his head to the side, as if feigning confusion. The two remained silent, slowly approaching her and Danny.

“We’d rather avoid a fight, just tell the lady what she wants to know,” Danny warned them, stepping in front of Tara and she had to admit, he did look imposing, even with two Ghostfaces coming closer and closer.

One of them lunged forward, aiming to stab Danny, but he clashed his own knife against the Ghostface’s blade and closed the distance to land a good punch to the side of Ghostface’s head. Tara’s eyes widened slightly, she knew you and Danny often sparred, but she didn’t realize Danny could hold his own outside of sparring. And he was proving he could hold his own, as he went for the neck with his knife, after all, they needed just one Ghostface alive.

But he stopped, his hand shaking as if he just realized what he was about to do. Tara jumped in, ready to finish the job he clearly couldn’t while the Ghostface was still dazed from the punch. She managed to stab the Ghostface’s chest and stomach, before the other could step in. She pulled away, knowing better than to stay in one place for long as the other Ghostface, the one with the bull painted on the mask pulled his partner back and engaged Danny in combat.

Danny deflected and dodged several stabs, but he struggled to find another opening to land a hit himself. Finally, he got an opportunity to kick the Ghostface away just as the one Tara stabbed was getting ready to jump back in.

“Run!” Danny exclaimed, ushering Tara toward the stairs. They were out in the open, and there was a good chance someone else was in the building with them, so staying in the middle of an open space wasn’t the best option for them. Not right now. And… a small part of both of them, hoped that maybe, just maybe, you were held here despite not being on the photo.

Tara took off, running for the stairs with Danny right behind her as the Ghostface duo chased after them. Though risky, the moment Ghostface duo began climbing up the stairs, Danny abruptly stopped and slammed body first into one of them, sending them down the stairs and just barely managing to stay on his feet. He grunted though, and Tara could see the handle of the knife sticking from his side.

“Shit!” she exclaimed and stopped, ready to go back down for him.

“Keep going!” he began running again, pushing through the pain and Tara could see the determination in his eyes. “I’m going to yell at Sam when she comes back. If she was here we could have easily taken these two,” he complained jokingly, mostly to reassure Tara.

Tara nodded, seeing through him, but still appreciating the gesture.

They reached the top of the stairs and realized every door was locked. The only way out was back down, and the Ghostface duo split to cover each side of the stairs.

Tara looked at Danny and then looked toward the Ghostface she stabbed. She’d handle that one. So, they waited as the Ghostface duo began slowly climbing toward them, they stood, back to back, ready to fight the two.

And it ended so quickly Tara barely registered what was happening. Danny took initiative, attacking the one with bull on the mask. He ducked under the blade, grabbed the Ghostface’s leg and pushed him down to the ground, grappling the way you usually did when you were in a rush. This time he didn’t hesitate, and stabbed his knife through the Ghostface’s chest several times.

Tara on the other hand clashed her knife against Ghostface’s, she stepped to the side, slicing quickly and managing to cut through the robe, but not through the flesh of Ghostface’s arm. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Ghostface swinging his arm toward her head and just barely managed to grab and stop it from hitting her. Thinking fast she lifted her leg, kicking Ghostface between the legs. Ghostface grunted, but didn’t fall to his knees, instead he tried to stab her again.

Tara dodged the blade, but hit the wall and in her daze she couldn’t move out of the way. She could only put her arms between her attacker and her stomach. The knife never came though, as a gasp came from Ghostface in front of her. She opened her eyes and saw a knife sticking out of the Ghostface’s neck, courtesy of Danny. Both Ghostfaces were dead, both killed by Danny.

“Damn,” he took a step back, letting the dead Ghostface fall to the ground. “Guess we’ll have to find clues some other way,” he said making Tara nod.

“Thanks, let’s get out of here,” she wasn’t any closer to finding you, but two enemies were dead.

Danny nodded and the two of them began walking to the doors, carefully watching for any movement.

A loud sound pierced the silence, pierced right through the illusion of safety and Tara’s eyes widened when she saw blood staining Danny’s shirt. She watched in horror as he looked down, shakily touching the red spot just below his chest that was growing larger with every second. “Danny!” Tara cried out, somehow managing to catch him before he fell to the ground. There was too much blood, as hard as she tried, as much as she pressed her palms against the wound, she couldn’t stop the bleeding and his breathing was getting shallow. “Stay awake, you hear me! Come on, you need to yell at Sam for leaving, remember?”

He chuckled a bit at that. “I’ll leave that to you,” he said and moved her hands away. “They hit my liver,” the blood, the bullet going through it, the stab wound, Tara just sat back, tears streaming down her face. There was nothing she could do. Even if she could call an ambulance, they likely wouldn’t make it in time.

Not that it mattered. Footsteps came from behind her, and she turned around just in time to see three Ghostfaces approaching her. Three marks, bear, fish, and monkey, and the one with bear on the mask was carrying the gun. He was the one who shot Danny, she was sure of that. No… he may have pulled the trigger, but Tara was the one who brought them there, she was the one responsible for putting them in danger.

“Don’t resist, or else,” that voice, the same voice she heard when Amber first attacked her, the same voice that so often haunted her nightmares, she heard it again and this time… instead of pointing a knife at her, the monster pointed a gun at her stomach. “I heard you played a game like this once, only there isn’t an MMA fighter to save you,” Tara narrowed her eyes, but didn’t move. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t risk it, not when there was nothing she could do to save him.

The Ghostface holding the gun motioned toward her and Danny.

“Let her leave,” Danny demanded with what little strength her had left as he tried to sit up.

“I don’t think so,” one of the other two Ghostfaces said as one grabbed Tara’s arms and pulled them behind her back. She heard the click of handcuffs, felt the cold metal around her wrists and knew there was absolutely nothing she could do.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she knew it was over, she knew exactly what would happen next, she still flinched when she heard Danny yelping as he was slammed back onto the ground and then she heard the knife slicing through his neck.

“There, just like Samantha cut Richie’s throat,” one of them said and Tara dared to look at him, dead, with blood pooling around his body. His eyes that once held so much love for her sister now stared forward, lifeless.

~X~

She knew she should have assigned someone to watch over Tara, and now she was gone and Danny was dead. Kirby sat with her head between her hands and photos laid on her table. The Ghostface she was sure was Sam, the tied-up woman she was sure was you, even if Tara denied it, and painted masks, and other photos she had painted a picture she couldn’t understand.

“Tara is right, this isn’t Y/N,” Gale Weathers being there definitely wasn’t helping.

“How are you so sure?” Kirby demanded. They couldn’t see any scars to confirm if it was really you, but there weren’t as many women as muscular as you.

“It’s not her style. If she even suspected this photo would reach Tara she would have given them hell,” Gale gave her a cheeky, though small smile. “Besides, if someone can recognize Y/N underneath all this it would be Tara.”

Kirby had to agree with that. While she wasn’t there when Richie and Amber did their killings, she was very much aware of what you did for Tara, and while she never got to see you actually hurting someone, she did get to see how protective of the younger Carpenter you were. She had the front seats experience when you came into a bar her and Sam were at once to confront Sam. It was civil, but she could feel the tension, the barely restrained anger on both sides.

It was baffling, really, watching you and Sam argue, after years of seeing the two of you getting along. Sam was never as happy as she was at your and Tara’s wedding, and she more than once expressed how much she appreciated your protectiveness over Tara. And then it was like someone snapped their fingers and the relationship fell apart along with Sam.

And now no one knew where you were, Tara was captured, Danny was dead, Chad, Mindy and Anika couldn’t come, or they would not only be in danger but would be able to kiss their careers goodbye and Sam was… likely a Ghostface. How did it all fall apart like this?

Knocking on the door brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up just as Sidney walked in. “Since when does Ghostface try to blow up cars?” she demanded, distraught, filled with panic and almost desperately looking for answers.

“What?” Gale asked, just as puzzled by the question as Kirby.

Sidney slumped into one of the chairs and leaned her head back as she dug her fingers into her hair. “He called me, said I’ll never see my family again. I managed to call Mark and get him, and my children get out of the car. Less than a minute later the car exploded,” she explained, stunning Kirby and Gale. Fury burnt in her eyes and Kirby was reminded of how formidable Sidney was. “I need to get this fucker before he harms my family.”

Gale approached her and placed a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “We’ll get them Sid,” she promised and caught Sidney up with the situation. From suspecting Sam, to your situation, to Tara being captured and Danny being killed.

“I want Tara alive as much as you two, but how do we know she was just kidnapped? Why would they keep her alive?” Sidney asked and Kirby would be lying if she said that thought didn’t cross her mind when she first realized Tara wasn’t at the warehouse. Gale was the one that reassured her.

“It’s not their style, to take someone and kill them somewhere else, even if this Ghostface doesn’t operate the way we’re used to,” Gale told Sidney the same thing she told Kirby.

Kirby sighed, frankly, even if she agreed now that Tara was alive she still wasn’t entirely sure what the actual reason she wasn’t killed was, but she had her suspicions. “It’s either Y/N, or Sam that they are afraid of,” that was the core reason. “I don’t think they’ll kill Tara just yet.”

“If Tara is alive, they can blackmail one or both of them, if they kill Tara, those two won’t let that go,” Gale agreed and took the photo of Ghostface with dog mark. “Guard dog,” how ironic.

“Even if Sam joined them, she’d turn on them if they hurt Tara,” Sidney agreed, now seeing the logic. “We need to find Y/N.”

And that was the plan, because even if they couldn’t count on Sam being sane enough to help them, they could count on you. Especially when you learn that Tara was captured.

Kirby’s phone rang and all three of them nearly jumped out of their skin, but Kirby relaxed when she saw the name of one of her colleagues. “Yes?”

“Special Agent Reed, we identified the number the message came from. It belongs to Samantha Carpenter,” there was no doubt anymore.

Sam was Ghostface, there was no longer any doubt about that in Kirby’s mind. And either she sent the message to Tara, or someone was using her phone.

There was a chance that Sam was too far gone.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[concerningwolves]

god I'm reading Devon Price's latest substack essay on burnout, and it's.. it's confirming and crystallising something that I've suspected for a long time, actually.

See, all throughout school, I would have days – roughly every month or so, sometimes two months – where I became Unwell. The symptoms never really fit anything, but I'd be exhausted, irritable, headachey, sometimes feeling kind of feverish. Most importantly, i'd just Know that I couldn't cope with school that day. I can remember these starting in middle school and getting more frequent and pressing into high school. When I did take the day off, I'd watch TV or films and sleep a lot, and then by the evening – if it wasn't a weekend night – I'd be in this weird place of feeling rested but also crushingly anxious with the knowledge that i'd just be back at school tomorrow. Holidays weren't truly restful either, except for maybe the middle two weeks of the six-week summer break. The two week Christmas and Easter breaks? I'd start to feel a bit better towards the end of the first week, then the dread would build up again throughout the second week. By my GCSEs, I couldn't keep up my academic drive, so I picked the subjects I most wanted to do well in (English, German, Biology, and History + maths because I needed to pass it so I could be done with it), focused my revision on those, and coasted by with perfunctory revision on the other seven subjects. It's honestly shocking to me that I got a full 12 GCSEs. People tell me that my results were good, and I know that logically they're right, but it took me a long time to be proud of them because I always knew that I hadn't really tried. It took me even longer to accept that if I had given every subject my all, it probably would have broken me.

As it was, I made it into my first term of college before I hit breaking point. Three A Levels (English lang & lit, history, psychology), dreams of a career in psychology or psychiatry, writing in all my spare time. I'd been very mentally unwell all through high school, but I'd always imagined that college would be my escape. First I was going to study philosophy, history, and English literature – but then that college had to drop the philosophy course. My next chosen college was an incredibly competitive college that held students to very high standards. I had the grades to get in, and I was dithering between a selection from English literature, history, classical studies, sociology, philosophy, or psychology. But I never made it in, because I missed the induction day. Students who missed the induction day automatically forfeited their placement. In hindsight, that was the first warning, but instead I felt wretched for a few days, then decided, fuck it, I was going to my final last choice college instead.

And in less than six months, I had an absolute breakdown. Anyone who was following me circa 2018 may remember the fallout. Skill regression. Low mood. Weeks spent just watching Supernatural or sleeping. Panic attacks. I never truly got my feet back under me. I dropped down to one a level and abandoned all thoughts of university, and scraped by college until I could just get out of there.

And reading this article, looking back at the trajectory of my life since 2018, it's... Eye-opening, to say the least. I don't know if I'm recovered or still recovering, or adjusting to my new baseline, nearly seven years later. Sometimes I wonder if an autism diagnosis earlier might have helped – might have given me the language and the tools to understand what was happening to me on all of those Unwell Days. So I grieve for that potential. I don't hate my life now, it's just.... I have to wonder, you know? What might have been. Could I have caught the burnout sooner? Headed it off? I don't know. I can't know. all I've got is where I'm at now, which is certainly something to be proud of, because I made it, even if I'm not anywhere near what's "normal" or "expected" of a 23 year old. and I have my whole life ahead of me yet. 23 years is nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Remembering that is always a balm.

But still I wonder. I grieve. It's hard not to.

[uwuowotf2waslife]

What does your husbando/waifu/nonbinary barbie-crotched S/O says about you?

TW: slight teasing,but oh well...., also nsfw themes and swearing ( sowwy)

TEAM FARTRESS 2

Scooter/weanie man: complete morosexual or the unhuman need to take care of Boston inhabitants with room temperature EQ ( en englais: you have the mommy/daddy/parent kink and you want to show that boi all the love he deserves)

Soldier: you are a human carpet ( sub) or so Dom my sibling in Christ I am terrified. You think his bravery/randomness is endearing or you got roped in by every tumblr/wattpad headcanon potraying him as the ultimate beefcake ( cant argue with you, mofo built like a brickhouse on steroids without the roids.)

Pybro: A. you are a nonbinary peep and any nb representation makes your ovaries/balls/reproductive parts COMBUst with excitment. B. intense latex/leather kink with slight burn/wax play on main. I am both afraid and faschinated by your ability to flesh out on a person we barely know the most basics of their personaility, Godspeed you allmighty bAstERD <3

eNGIe: cowboy appreciator, daddy seeker and parental figure creamer connesuer, you fell in love with the ( here ) so much you actively search and look out for the gruff, wrench handling and guitar-playing texas man of your dreams. No matter your gender or sexuality engie hits that hotspot only the daddiest of daddies hit !

Heavy: rare breed of bear enjoyer, probs an older sibling that wants to make the older sibling ( tired, unhydrated and slighty (( extremely)) in need of therapy) pair. Probably not a huge shipper since you view HeavyMedic as more of a platonic pairing, or you are of the rarest Medicx Reader x Heavy poly sandwich. Please dont hug him too tight, hell hug tired and make your eyes pop like a cheap pop eyed toy.

Demo: contrary to popular belief, you are not a bbc enjoyer/seeker, Demoman isnt just a sextoy to you. He is just the only level headed person you see in a team of morons ( for u) or manchildren with murder tendencies and well, JUST LOOK AT HIM, HE IS BUILT WITH ABBS LIKE A WASHBOARD AND LOVES HIS MOM, HE IS NOT HUSBAND MATERIAL. HE IS SOULMATE/LOVE TILL DEATH ( WONT DO YOU PART, HE KNOWS MAGIK TO RECITATE YOU) , PLEASE I SALUTE YOU YOU GLORIOUS TAVISH ENJOYER!

Medic: WE GET IT HE IS HANDSOME AND SOUNDS EITHER LIKE A CHICKEN WITH A TOP TIER DANTE DEMON OR HOT GERMAN GILF! Please dont canoodle him so hard, youll throw out his back or break his hip. Also very questionable kinks ( i see you blood kinksters). You unironically are the I cAn MakE HiM So MUch WorSE squad and you scare me.

Sniper: yes he is the ratman ofyour dreams and yes he is also really pretty, but please stop treating him like a man who aint also a hired killer. Yes he wont even think to correct his Macas orders, but he will and can make you swoon so hard you look redder than Pyros suit, mans gots that outdoors, unshowered , rugged swagg and he is rocking it harder than the fricking 80s <3 <3

Spah: yesh you have a french kink, yes you want him to whisper in your ear soft french while he btters your bagguet, probably into dilfs or gilfs in the distance because none is a dilf /suave/sensual enough for you. ( perfume isnt a shower, go to shower now, mon petit coucou

RESIDENT EVIL VILLAGE ( or the bimbofied RE4)

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu: a cis male/ a sapphic soul/trans,enby vagabond who respectfully wants to drown while motorboating he absolute units of bazoongas. Perhaps slight size kink and perhaps a person who doesnt mind a good blood slurped by their F! S/O if their tumm had the ramblies. Please dont go overboard, or youll enter the unholy assemblange of vore/stuffing kink irl

Donna Bienevento: creepypasta kid, you unironically got spooked first time you read Jeff the Killer. Probably into some questionable types of literature, hardcore horror enjoyer who also has a sanrio addiction. You have tried some kinds of handcraftmanship and might even have some hobbies that involve handiwork. I applaud you, but please dont give the basement FEOTus monster your choccy milk, itll have the zoomies and knock of angies card-castle.

Salvatore Moreau: the epitome of I can fix him! peeps, probably slight hurt/comfort enjoyer. You saw how dirty all the other treat him and you crave to make fish man happy. Both feet in monsterfuckening domain, unironically want to do the dirty while he is at monster form. Maybe you saw the Shape of Water and your brain did the thingy, but oh well, please continue on and make the lord of the reservoir the happiest fish in the sea!

Karl Heisenberg : you slimy, daddy kinked bAsterds, cant we have one game with a slight rat man with a good VA without yall flocking to him like lycans to his factory for french toast scraps??? slight bdsm enjoyer, or person who wants metal rat man happy and softened out like a soviet made breadcutter blade after a top tier professional restoration. Either way, please handle with care he may cry if you hug him the good way

The duke: an absolute chad who may or may not want to drown all your sorrows to a large, beautiful, suave man hug ( or man-thing, you never know.) You seriously deserve the world, because you be pumping fics faster than a heated political debate on Reddit. Also probably a slight hand kink, we all show those monsters at the Shadow of Rose DLC.

[german-enthusiast]

hi im sorry this questons isnt in German but im not confident in my ability and I can only read some of your shorter German posts. Do you have any way to learn more than just buzz words? Like I can understand bits and pieces but reading still is really hard for me, I'm asking because of your recent post lol its okay if you cant help me, thank you for your time!

Hi! No need to ask in German, no worries!

It would be interesting to know how you've been learning so far and for how long!

At the start of learning a language by yourself, it often makes sense to choose a pre-planned curriculum such as a textbook or online course (a free online example that's quite solid would be the DW Deutsch Lernen program!) That way you learn basic grammar concepts and words that connect to whole sentences instead of merely disconnected buzz words.

Beyond the basics, I believe it makes most sense to focus on the topics that are important to you personally and try to curate your resources based on that. Be it hobbies (learn sports vocab, art vocab, history vocab etc), aspects of your personal life (talking about family history, queerness, mental health, etc), your field of study/work (talking about science, art, linguistics, crafts, etc), or interests (like analyses of video games, literature, movies, historical events, politics, etc).

If you're dependent on buzz words, it sounds like you need a larger vocabulary overall and maybe going (back) to the basics will be worth it! A good way to figure out what vocab you're missing is to create output and see where you're stuck (though of course you always can understand more than you can produce!)

Most of the time, I don't hold back with my posts (i rather add to my complicated sentences than dumb them down!) so don't judge yourself too harshly based on them!

[slurping-up-grass]

Twinks and Sex Workers in 19th century wartime literature

(if this is of interest to you)

So I'm sure we've all heard of Dorian Gay *gray*- I hated that shit, too many descriptions of flowers, not enough evil satanic sensual not-so-heterosexual romance for my tastes.

This academic year, the school has decided that I should read Maupassant's Boule de Suif, a book set just after the french defeat in the Franco-Prussian war of 1871, where France is still being occupied by German soldiers.

The author himself fought in the war and has much to say from this experience, but as we stumble into the second chapter, we find ourselves face to face with "Mademoiselle Fifi", who, as a non native French speaker, took me a beat to comprehend is a male, German, second lieutenant so twinkish in attitude and physique that his comrades have nicknamed him "Little Miss Fifi".

French is a strictly gender-binary language, and Maupassant consistently refers to Mr Mme Fifi with feminine pronouns and conjugation, which is quite an incredible level of gender-bending for his time period, considering that the language requires you to specify far more frequently than in English the gender of the person you are talking about, and Maupassant narrates "woman".

Our introduction to this character is remeniscent of other notable twinks-

Hamilton:🎵peach fuzz and he can't even grow it🎵

Mme Fifi: "pale face where her burgeoning moustache was barely visible"

And continues:

Dorian Gray "made a little moue of discontent to Lord Henry, to whom he had rather taken a fancy"

Mme Fifi "had taken up the habit of expressing her sovreign discontent towards people and things"

-basically, the common thread is cuntiness.

Maupassant fixates on Mme Fifi's teeny-weeny baby white waist for a little bit too long and we begin to wonder what might have really motivated him to drop out of law school to join the big manly war of 1781.

The men decide that they need some good prostitutes for their party, and Maupassant notes that "Mme Fifi" "herself" seemed "out of place". She is very uncomfortable, sitting up and down in her chair and decides she wants to break something, so stands up and shoots a painting of a woman with a moustache, you know, like the moustache he is too "coquette🎀"* to grow? *feminine

So after Frankenfurter reminds everyone that this is his god-damed rocky-horror gay-ass castle and he gets uncomfy when people put women in it, they all go to the castle museum where Fifi begins happily stimming and clapping her hands because they are going to play her favourite game "making faces".

She created this game after her meanie superior officers refused to "Ding-don-don" the churchbells for entertainment even after she tried "pussycat manners, womanly cajolery, and soft whispers of a mistress hysterical with desire" to persuade them.

IS IT POSSIBLE TO CREATE A MORE CAMP CHARACTER?

Sidepoint- a consistent theme that redevelops here is whether french "women of pleasure" should feel guilty for betraying their country by sleeping with German occupying soldiers, or whether this is just a service they sell to survive (the prostitutes reassure eachother that it is just their job and they shouldn't feel guilty.)

"It's the job that wants that"

They don't desire the soldiers, the separate entity that is their employment does.

The women get put in size order and the smallest woman (Rachel) is given to Fifi, the twinkiest man.

He then blows smoke in her mouth, which is pretty gross, but she doesn't voice her anger. We get the impression he is either freaky, or really not into women because instead of engaging in traditional pleasure, he enjoys pinching her to make her shout, then making out with her and randomly biting her to make her bleed.

He looks her in the eyes and reminds her he is paying to be able to do whatever he likes to her.

The men begin toasting the things they own and include in this The Women of France. Rachel cannot help but correct:

"Me! Me! I am not a woman, I am a whore; that is absolutely all we have given to the Prussians."

-she breaks the illusion of desire, this is a job to her

He slaps her. She stabs him. FIFI DIES. The women are locked up. There is disorder and Rachel escapes. The soldiers are punished for forgetting the aims of the war and exploiting their position with prostitutes. Rachel hides in the church, which is sacred ground the soldiers cannot enter, and is remembered as a hero after the occupation.

So yeah, patriotic prostitutes and crazy, jealous twinks🌈

I am fully convinced that nobody will ever read this @strange-aeons

[firewalkwithmme]

hello lovelies!

♤ a little bit about me

my name is brooke, i'm 20, i go by she/her

i'm from canada

i'm really interested in film, music, art, literature, and fashion

i'm a sucker for dark academia and any related aesthetics

♧ my hobbies

reading, writing, drawing, painting, journaling/scrapbooking, photography, bracelet making

travelling -> i want to live in england some day. or maybe france.

♢ my studies

i am currently working towards a bachelor of arts!

right now i am studying film and media, art history, psychology and economics

i am also trying to teach myself several different languages on the side, including russian, polish, dutch, and french. i also want to learn italian, spanish, and german. be friends with me on duolingo !

♡ my favourites

my fav shows right now are twin peaks, the x-files, and m*a*s*h

some of my fav movies are possession (1981), blue velvet, donnie darko, it happened one night, and notting hill, but this changes almost daily! check out my letterboxd

my fav books are the secret history by donna tartt, the idiot by elif batuman, and normal people by sally rooney. i also have a soft spot for the perks of being a wallflower

i listen to a lot of rock and alternative music, and its hard to choose a favourite decade, i love them all! right now, i have been listening to a lot of 90s music. my fav band of all time though is arctic monkeys

just for fun: my fav season is autumn and my fav colour is either burgundy or emerald green

♤ about the blog

i will be logging my study journey on here, since i am trying to become more productive and motivated. if anyone needs a studyblr mutual to help motivate each other, i'm here! everything i post will be under the tag #my studies

i'll also post aesthetic content/moodboards, some of it my own photos, and stuff about film, literature, and art

i may post some of my journal/scrapbook spreads!

my dms and asks are always open! please reach out to me if you want to talk about common interests, or ask me any questions you like, i love answering asks!

this is a safe space for everybody and no hate will be tolerated!

thanks for reading, have a lovely day! xx

dividers by @anitalenia , photos from pinterest

[lingwistyka-balto-slawistyka]

~◇~ Welcome to my langblr ~◇~

◇ Hi, my name is Alexandra, and linguistics is my passion! Below you will find the detailed information about my language study plan as well as the contents that will be posted on this blog.

• Short version: my native language is Romanian. My current focus is getting fluent in Polish (currently at around B1-B2), improving my French (also around B2) and finding a Romanian Sign Language course. In terms of linguistics, my main interests are historical and comparative linguistics, etymology, language typology, language acquisition, language evolution, innovation and word formation.

◇ Why "Lingwistyka Bałto-Sławistyka"?

• This sideblog started when I was writing a paper about the common origins of Slavic and Baltic Languages. The name is in Polish because it's the main language I'm learning. As for the Baltic part, I still really want to learn Lithuanian one day.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

◇ Romanian (native language)

~~~ ◇ ~~~ About me ~~~ ◇ ~~~

~ ◇ ~ Language learning ~ ◇ ~

Languages I can speak:

◇ English (C2)

◇ Polish (B1-B2) <- priority

◇ French (B1-B2) <- priority

◇ Russian (B1)

Languages I want to study in the near future:

◇ Romanian Sign Language <- priority

◇ Lithuanian

◇ Old English

Languages I want to study eventually:

◇ Aromanian

◇ A Nordic language

◇ A South Slavic language

◇ American Sign Language

◇ Japanese

◇ Estonian

◇ A constructed language

Languages that I would potentially need to learn in the future:

◇ German

◇ Hungarian

◇ Ukrainian

~ ◇ ~ Linguistics ~ ◇ ~

Branches of linguistics I'm most interested in:

◇ Historical and comparative linguistics. Indo-European studies

◇ Etymology. Lexicology

◇ Typology

◇ Language acquisition

◇ Linguistic evolution. Creolization. Grammaticalization

~ ◇ ~ How I got into linguistics ~ ◇ ~

My first contact with foreign languages was my dad teaching me to say "I love you" in as many languages as he knew how to, since I was a toddler. During early childhood, the main foreign language I was exposed to was English, mostly via Disney movies, other cartoons, and, later on, the Internet. During middle school, I took up French, being a mandatory subject, and studied it in school for 8 years. At some point in 6th grade I tried teaching myself Japanese using one textbook and anime, and it didn't even get me to an A1 level. However, if I had the chance, I would take it up again in the future.

More importantly, in 6th grade, my teacher enrolled me in the linguistics olympiad, which I fell in love with at first sight. I had never seen such a thing before, and I was completely awestruck. I remember that it was a problem in which we had to decipher Luwian hieroglyphs. I loved it so much that I continued to attend this olympiad yearly for the rest of my pre-university schooling. Another relevant detail is that I learned the etymology of my name at around the age of 15, and binge read dozens if not hundreds of behindthename entries. This solidified a lifelong interest in etymology and historical linguistics.

Specifically because of my interest in linguistics, I pursued a philology (literature + linguistics) degree in college, being an English major and a Russian minor. I had taken up Russian from scratch, and reached approximately a B1 level. However, I also took an elective Polish course, only once a week for 3 years, and got a higher language level than Russian, which was my minor. It helps that I went to Poland twice in the meantime.

I am currently enrolling in a linguistics masters program, hoping to deepen my knowledge of the subject and learn how to do real research of my own. My short term language learning goals, aside from perfecting my Polish and French, would be to start studying Romanian Sign Language.

[swimmingclass1978]

About me (it pretty late but what ever) :

- so my name is Ariel / Ane 😃

-im a minor if i ever follow your page and you have some nsfw content then dw it was either an accident or i followed you bc of some regular looking post

-your honor im just a silly guy when it comes to the ghostface mask on women (or particualarly hot men)

-im so desperate for a girlfriend its not even funny

-loyal to one mutal and the other one is low key just there lol

- james/remus/barty kinnes im waiting please notice me

-this is basically a call for help lol

-a hellenic pagan but its new so let me be, no convering christians allowed

-Lady Hecate devotee❤️

-slytherin/ravenclaw but if i like you then im giving kinda griffindor energy? Tho i get tired easily and my social battery is lasting max of an hour, in the end of the day im a slytherin bro all the creepy shit i know is proving it

-I'm fine with any pronouns really but mostly he/she, they is also great but she has a special place in my heart even tho i hate it sometimes and he makes me want to scream and giggle

-so im a girl kisser and ace but i don't think i would date amab people. Its nothing personal just my preference but it also depends. (Idk why i put it here its kind of personal need for me to say)

-my favourite colour is green, but like deep green or like dead green not neon green and i also love deep red and black OH AND PURPLE BECAUSE I SAW A DORCAS FANART IN PURPLR AND OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

-im a yapper here but irl i don't talk much

-i love love LOVE true crime, canibalism and necrophilia like if you ever gonna ask me how bodies decompose and then listen to me yap im gonna marry you without questions, with the respect to all the victims and their close ones. no one should have been harmed,

-my natice language is polish but i also speak english tho its not as good as i wish it would be. Im also learning spanish (DO NOT ASK ME ANYTHING IN SPANISH ITS SHIT) and im learning latin on duolingo (i blame donna tartt). I also took german for 2 years (can count to three) and japanise for a year (can onlu introduce myself)

-im obsessed with collecting little animal figures/plushies and giving them names????

-i love reading and all the crafty things like painting, drawing and diy and id love to learn book binding one day even if my printer doesn't agree with me (update: i've binded my own fic it went at least bad)

-im also a poet and a writer so i suffer from creativity more times then id like to but i unfortunatelly love it all too much 😔 i don't publish my poems bc i fear they are not very good but i wish to be a published book author one day

-if you are a hater or use any of these tags: anti <character/ship name> or pro <character/ship name> or you are a canon fanatic who can't stand people having fun then dni bcz i dont want any of your toxic bs on my blog or in my dms/asks thank you very much

- if you want to share you homo/transphobic bs then get out and never come back

-adhd

-im a sucker for good no voldy hogwarts jegulus aus tbh, amd anything that contains slytherin skittles or black brothers/sisters, i love them

-i'm an attention seeking whore when it comes to comments under my ao3 fics im not joking when i say this

-classic literature enthusiastist and Balladyna lover literalnie to moja zona wdym ze ona nie zyje? Zyje w moim sercu

-i hate waking up but i love staying up all night we exist

- jestem na humanie i imo to widać, bo ostatnio zapomniałam jak obsługuje się pierwiastki. Nie wiem też co autor miał na myśli więc chyba jestem w piździe everybody

Fandoms:

-marauders - ao3 hates to see me coming

-greek mythology

- percy jackson

-good omens, i love them but considering things that have been happening then i dont think we will be getting seson 3 anytime soon :((( (update: nail count your fucking days and pray i won't finf out where you live)

-the poppy war thrilogy (started reading age 9 and kinda reggret it but happily it didn't caused me as much of my mental health as i thought) (dont repeat my mistake tho) (i'm weird now)

- bsd but i cant remember all the names yet I know whats going on so its fine

-TPN in every daydreaming sesion i gotta do an au someone as the main 3 its an addiction to amgst at this point. Also im making a petition on recreating season 2 so it will follow the manga

-The secret history and dps my friends hate me in atumn because of those two

-LAPVONE I LOVE IT

-low key papierz polak aż trudno uwierzyć, że polski fandom się nie poddał po 2021

-WIELKI PROSTRACJA BELIVER JAKBY PROSZE WAS GŁOSOWAŁABYM NA NIĄ W WYBORACH PREZYDECKICH 🧍🗣

FAVE MUSIC ARTISTS/BANDS: Mitski, Dawid Podsiadło, Radiohead, Gigi Perez, billie eilish, tv girl, i fear that a bit tyler the creator and chldlish gambino since its winter again (i only listen to him in winter???), the hazbin hotel soumdtrack....?, CZAPEL ROAWR 🗣🗣🗣🦅🦅🦅🦖🦖🦖

FAVE FILMS/BOOKS/BOOK SERIES': Dead Poets Society (book and the movie), 10 things i hate about you, Chłopi (movie and the book), song of the achilles, illiad, lapvona, seven hisbands of evelyn hugo, balladyna kochana moja, prolly more idk its late now,

FAVE CELEBRITIES: Timothy Chalalamele, ATJ, maciej have to, doda, anne hatherway(?), gosia (matka z rodzinki.pl), chapel roar, jezu no nie wiem ethan i andy,

HOBBY: drawing, painting, reading, writing, crocheting, diy, watching edits, baking & cooking, listening to podcast, thrifting, collrcting random items, talking to myself, reading fanfiction and probably more but i forgot, cóż mogę rzec, no człowiek wielu talentów

Current body count: seven kids in my basement, three burried in my garden (i do not have a garden)

I can be very funny believe me 🙏🙏🙏

Im also a charlie kirk hater and a feminist full of hatered (i will judge)

I do not know math but my esseys and creative writing works are amazing (at least i've heard) (from my mama 😃)

Kins: Regulus; Sirius low key but its pretty minor (i wanna be him); Pandora; sometimes Barty?; dorcas AND marlene (i dunno how bro it just happened) (pick your favourite gay)

Im happily married to jegulus twilight au with reg as bella that got abandoned in february 2024 (UPDATE: one chapter was added a month ago we are so back) and to a demon james/human regulus au that is still ongoing but id let it tear me appart and i would apologise to the author( im talking about The Devil Tastes Devine by TheBiButterfly on ao3 (it has me in a chokehold tbh)) and to OTB by @solmussa (hi *shy*)

Ships: jeggy, wolfstar, dorlene, pandlily, marlily, emmary, rosekiller, bartylus, pancas, marylane, lilylane, any marauder lesbians, nobleflower, quillkiller, teddromeda, poppy x minnie (i forgot their ship name), evanreg, jarty, kinda rosekiller + lily, rosestarkillerchaser(any variant of them really), moonwater, percybeth(is that their ship name?), solangelo, (shin)soukoku, any legal lesbian ship thb, i also liked jily in the past but the toxic shippers ruined it for me :( i still love her tho thats my wifey

My ao3 fanfic:

there is a light, i feel it in me: COMPLETE, black brothers angst, jegulus, wolfstar +more, trauma healing, angst/fluff, everything pandora and barty are doing is great i do not make the rules

there is no time; we are all gonna die: blacl cousins angst, Narcissa Black Centric, no beta we die like the blacks, hurt/no comfort, basically idgaf if you dont like the characterisation im just being realistic

Face reveal (bros gonna be blinded by the face card frfr):

Im also a proud owner of this justin biber ahh haircut I thought it was a wonderfull idea few months back and i do feel the best in my skin i've ever felt since my dysphoria went almost 2lvl down but no one want to talk to me at school now i think its not very nice of them tbh im a great person sometimes

Thats all lol have a good time or whatever

[vampireprose]

Spoilers under the cut‼️

Lets talk about this book.

I just read it in two days which is really special because it has over 500 pages. I would rate it 5/5 ⭐️

I just finished it and need to talk about it. The story takes place in the 80s in the soviet Union and is about Jura and Wolodja who meet each other in a patriotic summer camp for children and teens. During the time in the camp they fall in love, but have to hide their love due to homosexuality not being accepted or even known.

The book later on also deals with russian/soviet history.

Even though the setting in the summer camp has a light and happy atmosphere there are also many sad parts. Such as huge homophobia and also selfharm (due to being gay).

But what makes the book truly special is the story behind it. It's written by two ukrainian/russian female authors who were forced to leave their home cuntry because they wrote this piece of literature. And even though the book was first on the russian bestseller list it is now banned due to containing "lgbtq propaganda".

And I think that's so damn special and important! As a few people may know I love books that critisise social problems and hate against members of the lgbtq community sadly is still a huge problem in the world. Not only in Russia, where being queer is considered a malady but also in western countries such as the US or Germany.

And unless not every queer person in the world can live their life without having to fear for their rights and life we should never stop fighting and writing queer books!

So overall: I really really love that so special book and I am telling every german or russian speaking person to read that damn book and talk about it! It is so important!

P. S: I also hope there will be an english translation too, because this book needs to reach more people!!

[indigostudies]

18.11.2024 // autumn quarter

made lots of progress today! for korean, i focused on the 은요/는요 construction for changing the subject or asking for something else besides the original topic. i was delighted with this one, honestly—both turkish and chinese have similar constructions, as you can see from my notes.

german was more review, though much-needed—i've always had a tenuous grasp on grammatical gender, because none of my mother tongues have it (and turkish and chinese don't really have gendered pronouns at all, unless you count the written form of chinese), so taking notes on ways to remember and guess grammatical genders is really helpful.

i really am enjoying the textbooks i'm using for korean and german—the routledge grammar/workbook and the KLEAR integrated korean textbook both really emphasise practice and exercises, which helps me remember things better than just taking notes and moving on.

i've finally cracked open the bangla textbook i got when i was going to take classes (i wound up dropping it because twenty credit hours plus work-study was too much to juggle), and while i'm on the literal first page, taking notes in bangla is helping me remember the letters, in combination with the ankiapp deck i'm using. even if i'm not making rapid progress, i'm making some!

to finish off the day, i completed my presentation for the final project for my chinese literature class—i decided to focus on divination in ancient, imperial, and late imperial china. i may have gone a little wild—our professor only requires us to use one primary source if we're grad students, and two secondary sources if we're undergrads, but i have two primary sources and three secondary sources. the research process was fascinating—i was reading about song and qing divination, which was really neat.

[spanishskulduggery]

Hiii!! I've just discovered your blog and I want to say that as a native spanish speaker (from Madrid) I find your posts really interesting.

Also, I wanted to add something about the "se" in passive sentences. I didn't see you mentioning the name of passives with se but it might be helpful for some people. To remember how it's used and what for.

The type of sentences that are passive and use the se like se venden pisos (flats are being sold) are called pasivas reflejas (reflexive passives, more or less) because the passive verb is accompanied by se, called marca de pasiva refleja, which as you mentioned in othe cases serves to emphasize actions on certain objects. That's why it's called refleja. To compare:

Reflexive passive: Se venden (los) pisos.

Normal passive: (Los) pisos son vendidos.

Having said that, I'm going to ramble a bit. I've always been curious about how much grammar is studied in other countries because, as far as I know, spanish is the only language that places so much importance on learning the grammar rules. From the age of 10 we have to learn sintax, morphology and grammar analysis, and it's a big part of one the exams we have to take in Selectividad. Everyone knows the list of prepositions and different types of passives, impersonal forms, types of se... idk I just want to know if it's only here or in other countries too.

And I just want to congratulate you on having such an interesting blog as this one. I hope you're having a good day and that I didn't bore you with this ask.

First of all, thank you!

Second: Ahh that makes sense. I've come to learn how to use them but I was never taught the actual words for some of the linguistic concepts (which is how I stumbled upon dativo ético when looking for what things were actually called)

I can't speak for everyone, but I will say that when I first took Spanish in elementary school it was more unstructured - we learned words, verbs, some conjugations, but it wasn't as comprehensive as I would have liked. We focused a lot on conjugation more than anything

In high school, it was much more structured (we go from Spanish 1 to Spanish 4 in the US; in my school you needed to take 2 years of a foreign language but I wanted to learn Spanish so I took all the classes)

There it was the regular verbs, irregular verbs, stem-changing verbs, word order, preterite, imperfect, a bit of the subjunctive, future, conditional, commands, etc.

I didn't really learn subjunctive completely until university, but I was also not getting the best grades in Spanish because I had to unlearn things that were wrong or put things into context... like knowing the prepositions, but not knowing that some verbs take different prepositions [there was a lot of esperar para for "wait for", things like that that are very wrong, or not knowing sino and pero]

College was different in that I was also taking language classes with composition and literature, so I was seeing more of the language

But we weren't taught a lot of the linguistics. We really made it as far as imperfect subjunctive, and Spanish 4 was a lot of talk about the subjunctive

Finally understanding preterite/imperfect, things like imperfect subjunctive vs future subjunctive, passive voice [we learned the normal passive but didn't really touch on reflexive passive], and other things native speakers do with pronomials didn't come until much later and during this blog

I feel like a lot of the education I had was based on grammar and fundamentals, but not as in depth in grammar as you would get as a native speaker. I did take classes in translation to get better used to how Spanish worked grammatically compared to English, and I was doing lots of literature classes with literary analysis in Spanish so I got a lot of reading/writing practice. But there was less emphasis on linguistics which... I feel like even a bit of linguistics would have helped

This is also an aside but I was taking other languages too and when I took German briefly it was then that I really understood the concepts of accusative/direct objects and dative/indirect objects... I felt like I was learning more from comparison than what was covered in classes. My textbooks were also very formally written and some quite old... as in still using éste and considering CH its own letter; and I specifically remember guion being guión in my vocabulary lists

I think I had a lot of training with fundamentals, but not as much with advanced grammar and there was very little discussion of linguistics or morphology... and syntax we talked about things like how sentences work with questions or commands, but less so about how subject placement can change things. I was also taught things but they were not explained thoroughly sometimes, like why se is used in irse or why it's se busca or what the difference between the -iera/-ara and -iese/-ase forms were [just that they were there and considered interchangeable in my more Latin American textbook]

I think I learned more about irregular conjugations and exceptions to rules than most native speakers (like I was learning asir which I've never seen a single person use in my life)

[adamsvanrhijn]

What do you think are Thomas and Oscar's respective tastes in books? For some reason I see Thomas as a strictly non-fiction guy while Oscar reads whatever is "trending" at the time to keep up socially and culturally regardless of genre.

Oh I actually think of Thomas as a fiction guy!! I especially think that early in his life he is getting Ideas about Romance from Novels... 💖

Oscar I agree for sure keeps up with the trends — he's clearly very ~cultured — and in addition to that he had more + different education that would have been VERY reading & translating heavy. Greek + Latin + probably French* maybe Dutch and/or German also. & obviously that education is like Requisite Knowledge For Rich White Boys... so by virtue of his upbringing and privilege, western literature is going to be a lot more accessible to him in terms of both acquisition and comprehension

So I think he is actually a pretty big reader but ALSO I think he is really into serials & magazines because like. attention span... I think in my headcanon the majority of contemporary popular fiction he reads is serial !

* Because I said this I need to clarify that I believe he read LM in translation

[nostalgicamerica]

True story:

When I was a young teenager I truly lived a blessed life thanks to my mother and father. I never really wanted for anything. All my needs and most of my wants were met, I felt loved, I had a warm bed, and I never went hungry. I had more than I deserved and certainly more than most.

So I felt a little guilty to feel a longing inside me that seemed to grow with time. Eventually, the yearning crowded out all other passions (with the possible exception being Maija Saaronen, but that's a story for another time). That longing was to have a dog of my own.

To be sure, we already had a dog, but Musta, a black lab, was the family dog. He belonged to everyone, and by the time I pushed through puberty, Musta was already old and spent most of his time on his bed, snoring and farting.

To be honest, I loved Musta as much as the rest of my family did, but he wasn't mine. Besides, his hips and joints were too sore for him to hike the rivers with me, and on cold or rainy nights he was as likely to curl up with any of my other siblings as me.

I repeatedly talked to my parents about getting my own dog and the answer was invariably, "No." Or, "They are too expensive and money is tight as it is and if we let you get a dog, then all of the kids will want one of their own and we'll be overrun with dogs." Or, "You can't have a dog because we are evil and we want you to be as miserable as possible." Well, that last one I made up, but that is how I read their refusals.

Even the promise to pay for everything myself fell on deaf ears. I had my paper route. No. I could mow lawns and shovel snow and do other odd jobs to raise money. No. I'll not shirk my chores around the house anymore. That's what you're supposed to do anyway, and no.

I think Dad had more sympathy for my yearnings than Mom did, because he only acquiesced to her refusal. I don't recall him ever putting his foot down like Mom, and after one particular defeat at the hands of the 'No-Dog-For-You-I-Don't-Care-How-Miserable- You- Are-Woman' who professed to love me, Dad followed me from the kitchen and, gripping my shoulder in his large hand, he winked and whispered, "Don't give up, buddy. Life has a way of getting us what we truly want."

-

So I wandered through my days essentially dogless. Most of my friends and acquaintances had dogs, if not their own, at least their dogs had the decency to occasionally act like it. Here comes Eino with his beagle trotting along beside him. There goes Skunk with his Dachshund/Chihuahua yipping at his heels. I don't know who that kid is, but he has a dog, too.

Darned near every family had a dog that the boys in the family could do things with. Even the meanest local bully, Mikko Aho, had his own dog, a German Shepherd cross named Daisy that was just as mean as her owner. Daisy easily topped 120 pounds and, although she was getting long in the tooth, she still made my bowels loosen whenever I saw her, whether she was on a lead or not.

Fortunately for the rest us - not so much for him - Mikko, a few years older than me, had recently begun his life-long love affair with alcohol, so Daisy spent her days chained up in the Aho's back yard. Periodically she would get bored, break her chain, and wander around looking for somebody to bite, which usually wound up being a child or defenseless grandmother working in her garden.

As a general rule, I didn't believe there were bad dogs; just bad owners. Poor Daisy had been raised to be a kusipää by and like her owner.

-

July and August came and went with no movement from Mom despite my best efforts to wear her down. With September came my fourteenth birthday, school, and cooler, rainier weather.

I was a freshman that year. A new school filled with new challenges, new classmates, and, of course, new girls. I didn't dislike school, generally speaking, I just disliked the feeling of being jailed.

Never an academic, I did well enough in English, Literature, Civics, and History, but I never got along with Math and the sciences. Those two thugs would wait for me every afternoon at home in my room and taunt me and my lack of mental acuity. I always managed to squeak by those courses, but it was always a knock-down free-for-all to even manage a C.

To this day, if somebody asks me what endoplasmic reticulum is, as a general rule, I punch them in the face. And in well over 50 years I've never once had to solve a quadratic equation. But apparently, to continue on into my adulthood, these subjects were a rite of passage.

-

I can't remember the first time I saw him. I was getting off the bus after school and happened to glance behind the general store and saw a scruffy, black and white dog pulling at a garbage bag. The mongrel was dirty and looked emaciated and only glanced at me warily when I whistled for it. I didn't see a collar.

When I approached, the dog sidled away and whined at my impertinence in disturbing the meal it just knew was in the black plastic bag. The dog took one last wistful look at the trash bag and slipped into the waist-high weeds at the rear of the parking lot.

I dug out the remnants of my lunch and left half of a liverwurst sandwich and a couple of cookies at the edge of the pavement where the dog had disappeared and headed for home and the dreaded algebra homework I had facing me that night.

-

Over the next couple of weeks I saw the stray a few more times, usually scrounging for food, and looking forlorn. Each time I tried to coax it to come to me I was met with failure. The dog, who, my brother opined was the filthiest dog he'd ever seen and bestowed the name Lika (short for Likainen) on, was as skittish about me as I was about polynomials.

Lika, was unlike any dog I had ever dreamed of owning, but even a mongrel was better than no dog at all, and I was sure I could convince Mom to let me keep it if I could convince it to follow me home.

One Saturday near the end of September heralded the arrival of that most glorious of natural phenomenon - Indian Summer. One last taste of summer and a brief and wonderful reprieve from the winter that was headed our way.

By the time our chores were done the mercury was nudging up against 70, and my brother and I decided to head to the river for a few Rainbow or Brown. We threw a few sandwiches in a bag, grabbed our gear and headed for the trailhead.

Our day turned out beautiful; an azure and cloudless sky, yellow, orange, and red foliage everywhere we looked, and the river was almost languid. We wound up getting skunked, but that was no matter. My motto was - and is - a bad day fishing is better than a good day doing almost anything else.

Walking home through town, I saw Lika again. The dog didn't immediately dart away when I approached but it was cautious. I extended one of the remaining sandwiches to it and crouched down to make myself smaller.

Ever so slowly Lika inched closer, the liverwurst acting like a magnet to an empty stomach. Up close I could see Lika was a male and that he was terrified. But his hunger was stronger than his fear, and delicately, he took the triangle-cut meal of home-baked bread, liverwurst, and horseradish and skittered back a few feet. I watched him wolf the sandwich down, his eyes never wavering from mine.

My brother just laughed, "You know Mom's going to flip out if you manage to convince that kirppupussi to follow you home." My brother always was smarter than me, but I ignored his negativity. "I just gotta get him there. She'll come around."

Lika looked like he was ready for a nap. Up close I couldn't see anything wrong with him. He just needed a bath and a few meals to fix what ailed him. And a boy to call his own. And maybe some flea powder. He was a medium-sized dog, maybe forty pounds or so, a patchwork black and white but so dirty the white looked brown.

When my brother and I resumed our trek home, Lika did follow us, to a fashion. He stayed about 10 yards behind us, stopping occasionally as if unsure about the bipedal creature who gave him food. As we turned down our street and I whistled to encourage Lika, he stopped at the corner and wouldn't come any closer.

-

The following morning, after breakfast, my mother gave me a dollar and sent me to the general store for a bag of flour. Almost immediately, Lika emerged from the ditch at the side of the road and cautiously approached me. I sat down on the shoulder and waited as he nervously edged closer.

His tail was slowly wagging. Whether it was me, or the scent of the breakfast sausage I had squirreled away in the front pocket of my overalls, I'm not sure, but it didn't matter. The little black and white stray stopped within arm's length and sat down, looking at me expectantly.

He shied away when I reached into my overall pocket but showed renewed interest when I eased the napkin out and unrolled one of the venison links. I broke off a small piece and held it in the palm of my hand and I almost squealed like a school girl when Lika leaned forward and took it from me.

I could almost see gratitude on his face as he ate one chunk of sausage after another until, with a silent gesture I held up my hands to him, fingers splayed. I wondered if he could smell Musta on me or it was something else because he recoiled away when I tried to pet him.

"It's okay, buddy." I grinned, "I have time."

Lika followed me to the store, waited in the parking lot as I went in and was still waiting when I came out with a five pound bag of flour on my shoulder and a couple of coins jingling in my pocket.

The two blocks home found Lika shadowing me close enough for our morning shadows to almost touch on the dirt road. I talked to him softly, almost whispering, and tried to avoid sudden movements. My confidence and joy were growing with each step. What I would do about Mom and her 'no dog' edict eluded me. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I got to it.

-

I spent the rest of that week sneaking food to the dog in the mornings and after school, while trying to avoid Mom's scrutiny, as well as that of my older sisters who would likely rat me out, depending on their mood. Musta wasn't eating much by that time so I was able to swipe some of his kibble, and I could always slide a hot dog, or some kielbasa, or pork chop from my plate into a pocket.

The problem was, the days were creeping towards October and the nights were getting cold. I couldn't let Lika fend for himself. I thought about hiding him in the basement where at least he'd be warm, but Mom kept her canned goods there and I could imagine the fun ensuing if Mom or one of my sisters tripped over the dog.

The best solution I could find was the dilapidated tool shed behind the garage. The shed was no longer used for anything, it listed badly to the south, had large cracks between nearly every board, and it survived only because Dad always told Mom he'd tear it down as soon as he got the chance. To that point the chance never presented itself.

But cardboard would block most of the holes and keep my new dog out of the wind, and a quilt I stole from the attic would make a decent bed.

Lika wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the accommodations but the shed was better than bedding down in the open. It would work for awhile until I could figure something else or wear down Mom.

The real problem I faced was I couldn't be at home every moment of the day. I had school and my paper route and other chores that would take me away from my dog, and hockey season was bearing down. On top of it all, Lika didn't seem overly concerned about being discovered.

I considered asking one of my friends to keep him until I broke Mom but immediately discarded the idea; all my friends already had dogs, larger families than my own, or both. The shed was the best I could do.

-

By mid-October, the stray was no longer a stray. He was mine; I was his. His whole body would wriggle insanely at my approach and his tail would wag so violently it would create a ruckus banging against the side of the shed. He would let me pet and hold him and for hours, when I wasn't in school, we'd lay on the quilt and talk to each other.

I had no way to bathe him - the weather was too cold to use the garden hose, so I tried a few wet towels, which helped a bit, but he needed a bath in the worst way. He smelled worse than a week old and well-used gym sock.

-

January and February are typically the coldest months of any year on the Keweenaw Peninsula. The year I turned fourteen, however, October reminded us that we were closer to Canada than Mexico and tossed us a surprise; a week before Halloween a storm rolled through that dropped over 20 inches of snow and, after the front passed, the temperature plummeted.

I was in a panic about what to do about my dog. It was already 10 degrees and the radio breathlessly informed us that we could expect sub-zero temps overnight.

I didn't care if I got caught, when our parents weren't paying attention, I was going to bring Lika into the basement. It was then I learned one of those lessons that usually seemed to pass right over my head.

I was getting frantic and Mom always seemed to be underfoot. "Go knit a sweater or dust something." I pleaded with her in my head. Usually Mom was always dusting or cleaning as if the Pope was going to drop by. Maybe she sensed something wrong, or she decided the pretense was over.

She touched my shoulder as I was pulling on my boots and smiled gently. "Why don't you bring your dog into the mud room?"

I just stared at her in disbelief. "You knew?"

I could hear Dad laughing in the family room, "Honey, we've known since the first day you brought him home. You can't put anything past us, besides," She smiled, "He isn't exactly stealthy. That little guy waits everyday in the middle of the yard for you to get home from school. Besides," she smiled again, "Your little bothers have been playing with him for weeks."

As I raced out the door to get Lika and his quilt, Mom yelled at me, "He can only be in the mud room and it is just temporary."

So Lika moved indoors where it was warm, and where there was no shortage of little people willing to bestow hugs and belly rubs and snot on him. He stayed in the mud room on his quilt for a few days and then we began testing Mom by letting him in the family room for a few minutes until she yelled.

A warm bath with Ivory soap worked miracles. His black was inky and his white patches glowed. He was still scruffy, but he was clean. A steady diet packed a few pound onto his frame and his eyes seemed to leak the happy he had been missing. A visit to the vet two towns down the road confirmed Lika was healthy and about two years old, and although the veterinarian suspected a terrier-husky mix, he really wasn't sure.

Over time Lika warmed to everyone. My siblings couldn't leave him alone and I even caught Dad feeding him and rubbing his head. Even Musta welcomed Lika and acted like a puppy when Lika approached his bed in the family room. Mom, though, kept her distance.

She often said the dog had to go in the spring when the snow melted and it was warm. She was insistent that we could easily find a good family that would be happy to give him a home, especially since he was so well behaved and quiet.

She was right. Lika was nothing if not quiet. In the entire time he was capturing my heart, I had never heard him bark.

-

Things went that way for awhile.

I once overheard Mom telling Dad about how she couldn't help noticing how responsible I was becoming in taking Lika for walks every day, feeding him on schedule, and cleaning up his lawn mines after he did his business. She showed Dad her tally book showing my payments for his food and the vet bill and she was smiling. It made me feel good inside, and I was sure she was coming around.

By the time Christmas showed up, Lika had moved in with Musta and they shared Musta's bed like two old friends. Their food bowls were side by side. In a testament to the size of his heart, Lika would walk by the old dog's side until they reached the bowls and he wouldn't eat until his new friend began.

Mom had ceased threatening eviction for Lika and on more than one occasion I caught her slipping him a scrap of ham or bacon. She hadn't said he could stay, but at least she wasn't proclaiming from the rooftop he was gone.

-

One January night, I was wakened by a cold dog nose on my back. It was probably around two am and I had been sound asleep. Groggy, unable to focus, I tried to roll over and go back to whatever dream I had been involved with; around that time it likely would have involved Maija. Again, a cold nose.

I rolled over and sat up. Lika was sitting on the floor at the edge of my bed just looking up at me. In the dark, I assumed he just wanted to snuggle with me and I held up the blankets. He stood up and moved halfway to the door, looking back at me.

I lay back down and my dog came back to the bed and raising up on the edge, he gently nudged my leg. He waited as I reluctantly rolled out of bed and then led me out into the hallway. Silently he led me down to the first floor and into the family room. Lika almost looked sorrowful in the dark as he walked up to Musta and looked down at him.

Sometime in the night Musta slipped his leash on life and quietly slipped away. I knelt by his side and held Lika and together we said goodbye to a good boy.

-

February, March, and April visited awhile and departed without fanfare, leaving May to set up camp. It was unseasonably warm for May and most of the snow was gone save for the plow piles and those were nearly melted. On the last Sunday of the month my youngest brother turned six.

Mom always celebrated her brood, and even after 13 kids, she still went out of her way to ensure our birthdays were memorable. That meant a party for the birthday boy and several of his friends from school and the neighborhood.

So after church services, a group of boys feted my youngest brother outside at our house. The day was certainly warm enough for the gathering to be held outside, but I mostly think my parents just couldn't tolerate to have eight or nine 6- and 7-year olds under their roof.

The kids were roughhousing in the backyard as young boys do, laughing, and crying, and picking their noses, Mom and one of my sisters were shepherding the group, and Dad was in the garage working on his truck. Lika was laying in the yard in the shade of one of the Maple trees probably trying to decide if he should join the festivities, or find somewhere to hide.

I was in the bathroom doing my business, reading an article in the Culture and Entertainment section of the Sunday paper about some actor (Ronald Coleman, if my questionable memory serves) who had passed away a week previous. I happened to glance out the window towards the street and saw Daisy skulking along the ditch, dragging a length of chain in the dirt. Even from where I sat I could see her attention seemed riveted on the gaggle of boys and Mom, who were all oblivious.

I raised up off the commode, slid up the window and yelled as loudly as I could in warning. Dad, stepping out of the garage, heard me, and saw Daisy. I've never seen Dad move as fast as he did at that moment. He brandished a tire iron as a weapon and sprinted towards Daisy who had decided she was going to gnaw on a few limbs and was running towards the eighteen legs, all ripe biting targets. From where I watched, petrified, my butt bare and still unwiped, I could see Dad wasn't going to be fast enough.

I watched in disbelief as a grey streak passed Dad and slammed broadside into Daisy, knocking her off course and off kilter. My little dog was full of righteous fury and tore into the much bigger dog, jaws snapping at her legs and neck, snarling like a banshee.

Daisy tried to put up a defense and bit at the insane dervish that chewed at her, but she was almost as old as Musta, and much, much slower than Lika. She also didn't have a vested interest in attacking the kids - maybe she was just bored - and her heart wasn't in the fight. She turned tail and ran with Lika chewing on her backside, just as Dad reached the cloud of dust and dog.

Mom had put herself between the dogs and party and held her hand over her mouth at the scene playing out in her yard. Her fear overwhelmed her and she was sobbing even as Lika returned to where Dad knelt, holding out his arms for the little dog. Lika's hackles were still up, he kept looking back at where the bigger dog had disappeared, and I could hear his low growling from where I watched from the bathroom. And he was limping.

Fortunately, his one wound was insignificant. Daisy had bitten him on his right front leg, but there was only one small puncture wound. Dad scooped him up and tried to carry him into the house but Mom stopped Dad and descended on her little furry hero, smothering Lika with hugs and kisses and I knew two things at that moment: 1. Lika wasn't going anywhere, and, 2. I had lost my dog to Mom.

And I was okay with that.

I knew I could still take him on my fishing trips, or walk the streets of town with 'my' dog by my side, but Lika belonged to Mom just as surely as I did.

-

So Lika earned a permanent home, I got my dog, although he belonged to everyone else, too, especially Mom. He was her hero and she showered love and affection on that little guy throughout the remainder of his life. Without consulting me she changed his name to Pela - a shortened version of Pelastaja. I had to admit it certainly fit him better.

I'd like to say that Pela had bonded to me more than the rest of my family but that simply wasn't so. He snuggled with me on cold nights, but no more than with any of my siblings. Pela didn't exactly take a rotation - he somehow chose the child who needed it most; the child who was sick, the child who was sad because of a bully at school, or the child who just needed more.

Growing up is about learning lessons and along the way I mostly learned them (except Plane Geometry). Many I learned from my teachers along the way but more I learned from my parents.

One in particular I learned in my efforts to bring home a dog - Dad was right. Life does have a way of getting us what we truly want. I've tested this idea many times over the span of my life and added to it: Life has a way of getting what we truly want if our motives are right and if we maintain a positive outlook.

When I left for college and, later left Michigan to see what I could make out of life, I left Pela with my family. It was the right thing to do for them, and for Pela, and it would have been selfish to do otherwise.

When I returned home as I often did, Pela always acted like I had just been using the bathroom or at school. He'd cock his head up at me as if to ask, "Where've you been?" before jumping up on my lap.

They say love goes on and maybe the love I had for my first dog never left at all. I can still feel it.

-

Note: The photo is not of Pela - I know some exist but I have no idea which of my remaining seven siblings have Mom and Dad's photos. Ultimately, it doesn't matter - I can still see him in my memory. The photo I used as a heading is from a Google search for "Scruffy Dog Black and White." Of all the images, this one looks most similar to Pela.

[adarkrainbow]

I thought your post about Bruno Bettelheim was really interesting, and I was wondering if you could elaborate on something you mentioned. You said that the psychological aspect exists but doesn't explain fairytales. How do you see the psychological/psychoanalytic aspect? What is it useful for and what is it not able to do?

Wow, now that's a question I can't really answer! X)

So I am a literature student, a folklore enthusiast, a fairytale fan, and as such I am well versed in all of these things. I am not at all part of studies or intimate knowledge concerning psychology, psychanalysis or psychiatry.

That being said, what I mean by this is such... Psychanalytic and psychological analysis of fairytales do exist, can be perform and can be fun, entertaining and interesting. The same way socio-political analysis of fairytales also exist and can be fun and interesting. Just like myths or literary works, you can take one thing and analyze it under almost all the domains possible, you will always get a new meaning and a new interpretation, and discover more depths or possible continuities in the tale/myth/work/symbol. This is part of the process of survival, reuse and ultimately rewrite/adaptation of these works. Think a bit of the various theories and angles of attack one can take when it comes to analyzing a novel. Some think the work should be treated all alone in its own literary merit ; others think it should be taken as part of a greater wave or movement in the history of literature ; some voices think a book should only be judged at the light of the author's biography and personal opinions ; other rather focus on when and how the book was released, or what was the audience that received it at the time ; and even if it is just a romance novel or a children's tale or some comedy play you can always find political or esoteric or sociological meaning in them. Because that's the strength of great, famous or powerful works of art/stories - they are almost infinite wells for interpretations. A weak work is one that doesn't allow for any interesting interpretation or bizarre analysis.

That being said - it is not because a psychanalytic or psychological analysis of a fairytale can be made that it means this analysis is USEFUL in studying the tale. Due to the success of the "psycho-reading" of fairytales around the publication of Bettelheim's book, many people wrote books about the psychology or psychanalysis of fairytales. Fine. But some claimed to be able to find the "real meaning" and the "primal truth" about these tales thanks to these readings, and... that is incorrect. Fairytales are of two kinds - the oral, collected, "folkloric" fairytales, which are products of folklore, mythology and culture, and can be interpreted by thinks such as folkloric analysis, socio-historical analysis, cultural analysis, because that's what MADE these stories. On the other hand you have literary fairytales, crafted as literary works - and as such to truly understand them, one needs to perform a literary reading first, folkloric reading second. That's the reason Perrault's fairytales were so wildly misunderstood for centuries - people had replaced the literary reading of his stories with a folkloric one, which makes no sense when you know Perrault invented and rewrote many things in his tales for the sake of cultural references, puns, social critique and other wordplays. To try to claim that the "psychological" interpretation or reading of a tale allows one to get its "truth" is nonsense, because these stories and tales were not born out of an effort to perform psychological deed or be reflective of the state of one's mind or internal growth. Basile and Straparole's fairytales were grotesque farces ; Perrault and d'Aulnoy's fairytales were literary games ; the Grimm fairytales were morally-edited folktales reflecting German culture. A psychological reading can be maybe more interesting for fairytales where an author put a lot of themselves - like Andersen's fairytales. But for a lot of fairytales, psychological reading is useless for when it comes to "understanding" the "truth" of the work.

But it doesn not mean psychological reading is useless at all! The thing is that whereas this reading is dubious if not completely empty for understanding the formation, creation or "true meaning" of fairytales ; this analysis is instead massively useful and fascinating and revealing when it comes to the RECEPTION of the fairytales. An "understanding" yes, but by the AUDIENCE and this is where things gets delightful. Take Bettelheim's work and other books in the same line - it deals with how children receive fairytales, how they consciously or unconscously perceive and interpret them, how these tales resonate with their being and experiences, and how it ultimately helps them deal with things such as fears, desires, growth. This study doesn't reveal what the story is truly about in an unbiased way - unlike how many people received it - but what it is about in the head and heart of children, and that is another "face" of the fairytale that can be useful to know. But to try to take this reading as a tool to understand the creation of the fairytale is like trying to talk about the creation of a movie by basing yourself of critics' reviews rather than interviewers with the director or writers.

Psychosexual reading of fairytales can also be deeply fascinating - just to give another example outside of pedopsychology. It is well known that fairytales became the objects of not just sexual discourse, but also sexual fixations, obsessions, frustrations or reinterpretations. From a wave of erotic and libidinous fairytales that was actually part of the "golden age" of fairytales in France, to the 80s and 70s porn-fairytale movies, passing by the Italian fairytales' sex comedies, and the fin-de-siècle perversions of the fairytales, and the strange fetishes surrounding the Disney movies - fairytales have been one of the strong crystalizing points of sexuality, eroticism and fetichism. And as such, interpreting in a psychological or psychiatric way the sexual reception and interpretation of these tales is very relevant and very interesting - the focalisation around the erotic power of Cinderella's shoe, or the sexual charge of the mysterious sleep of Sleeping Beauty and her "love awakaning", and the sexual reading of cannibalistic devouring powers such as the Big Bad Wolf or ogres... There is truly something there to be dug up - but digging this means understanding what came AFTER and "with" the fairytales, and not what came before or within the fairytale.

I hope this explanation makes sense!

For example, as a final note - when I was doing my paper about ogres, I came upon a psychological interpretation of madame d'Aulnoy's fairytale "Cunning Cinders" insisting that the sisters' stay at the ogres house and them dealing with the male ogre was meant to reflect sexual abuse. And while there are definitively possible erotic jokes in this tale (the tree growing in the desert for example can be read as a slight sexual joke by madame d'Aulnoy), most of the elements brought forward by the person doing the analysis were completely wacky. Ranging from the dubious and misinformed (the nature of ogres as "sexual predatos" which is not true in French literary fairytales of the time, where ogres are parental figures and destructive parenthood - their sexual connotation only came in MUCH later literature) to the "out of nowhere". Supposedly the oven in which Cunning pushes the ogre is supposed to represent the female sexual organ? And so killing the ogre by pushing him in his own oven means she uses her sexuality to destroy him? That's a ridiculous explanation of the tale, given an oven did NOT have any sexual tones in the French culture of the time, and this was just madame d'Aulnoy reusing a very common and widespread folkloric trope illustrated by famous stories such as "Hansel and Gretel".

So yeah it is bonkers and insane. But if you take this not as an attempt to "explain the story", but as someone trying to offer a new perspective and erotic interpretation, THEN it becomes interestng especially if you take into account the way Cunning Cinders dispatches the two ogres. If we accept that the oven is to be read as a sexual organ of the female kind, then it can draw a good parallel with how Cunning uses an axe (a typically phallic symbol) to behead the ogress - female sexuality destroying the male predator, male sexuality destroying the female predator, and ultimately Cunning Cinders becoming herself an ambiguous, hermaphrodite or androgynous figure uniting both sexual symbols in herself. That could be a very cool idea for a reinterpretation of the tale. But to claim that it is the "truth" of the tale or what madame d'Aulnoy intended is to clearly be in some need to go outside touch grass, and think about how time flows, and realizing that projecting your personal ideas and your modern concepts onto a centuries-old fairytales written by someone living in an entirely different society is NOT a good way to try to "explain" it.

And that's I think the main difference between those readings. Folkloric and literary readings are their most useful when they are objective, and fail when they try to be entirely subjective or biased ; "psycho" readings are at their strongest when they are personal and intimate, and fail miserably when they try to establish themselves as objective and universal truths. At least, for the domain of fairytales.