#its right up there with French & German

[mantisgodsdomain]

More notes for Roach conlanging. Roach has grammatical gender, in which only Male, Female, and Object are grammatical genders, whereas Worker uses feminine grammar, Queen and King use a slight variant on feminine grammar, and Drone, and Queen-Alate use masculine grammar. This is because King is derived from Queen, due to their similar positions in a colony, and Queen-Alate is derived from Drone, as both are forms of alate.

Queen is an alteration of feminine grammar that functionally just adds a handful of extra syllables to it, and King is an offsprout of Queen that uses the same grammar with different pronouns. Queen-Alate, despite the name, is derived from Drone, as they are both for referring to different types of alate ant.

Most Roach dialects are intelligible to speakers of Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach, but Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach is not entirely intelligable to speakers of Roach dialects due to a mix of the excessively specialized vocabulary caused by the specific needs of its speakers, the fact that its speakers do not necessarily have Roach mouthparts and thus may not pronounce syllables in a similar way, and due to the fact that Inanimate Object is a full grammatical gender that does not exist in any other dialect of roach and replaces a decent chunk of terminology for things that previously had Other Words For Them.

[neechees]

This is one of my fav maps, it shows population density of Slavs in the world with the biggest populations mainly being in Eastern Europe (naturally, where they originate from) PLUS neighboring countries, but then it's just BOOM, CANADA

[blorbocedes]

On: different parenting approaches

so keke rosberg has a world championship, and a newborn son. he retires the sport a year after, the shadow of tragedy following him -- the fatal crash of his friend and f1 driver elio de angelis being the reason.

now keke has a blonde baby that looks like its mother and babbles in german. he bonds with his son in the language he knows best — no, not his mother tongue rusty with disuse — racing.

so he builds a track in their garden in ibiza and sticks his son in the two person kart beside him before he is old enough for the helmet to even fit properly.

keke takes nico to the last race of his career in DTM, in a smaller replica of his exact uniform. keke tells him to wave. the roar of the crowd terrifies nico. he can't. he wants to be a racing driver when he grows up.

and you know this part of the story. the boy follows in his father's footsteps. in the sport of nepotism, keke rosberg is the only world champion father who lives to see his son become a champion.

so nico rosberg has a world championship and a newborn daughter. he retires the sport a year after she is born. he knows the same fatality of the sport his father does, has experienced and lost firsthand.

now nico has a blonde baby that looks like its mother and babbles in german. nico wants to bond with her in every way he can. he wants to be hands on in every way.

he speaks 5 languages, went to an international school and both she and her sister are enrolled in the same one. he reads parenting books, has tea parties with them, and drops them to school.

the thought of his daughters following in his footsteps terrifies him, and he understands now why his mother could never stomach to watch a single race of his. this glorious unforgiving sport of his, and his father's, that doesn't care who it takes. and it seems unthinkable to put a child in a racecar, even though that was his childhood.

but if she really wanted, like he really wanted -- he would not deny it.

so he takes her to a indoor go kart track in monaco, in a helmet that's bigger than her. he's tucked right behind her, safe. they share so many languages in common, french growing up in monaco, german at home, english at school, some spanish from going to ibiza. and this -- although it's been a while since he's really spoken it, his father's language-- is one of them.

[amateurvoltaire]

I feel that one of the most overlooked aspects of studying the French Revolution is that, in 18th-century France, most people did not speak French. Yes, you read that correctly.

On 26 Prairial, Year II (14 June 1794), Abbé Henri Grégoire (1) stood before the Convention and delivered a report called The Report on the Necessity and Means of Annihilating Dialects and Universalising the Use of the French Language(2). This report, the culmination of a survey initiated four years earlier, sought to assess the state of languages in France. In 1790, Grégoire sent a 43-question survey to 49 informants across the departments, asking questions like: "Is the use of the French language universal in your area?" "Are one or more dialects spoken here?" and "What would be the religious and political impact of completely eradicating this dialect?"

The results were staggering. According to Grégoire's report:

“One can state without exaggeration that at least six million French people, especially in rural areas, do not know the national language; an equal number are more or less incapable of holding a sustained conversation; and, in the final analysis, those who speak it purely do not exceed three million; likely, even fewer write it correctly.” (3)

Considering that France’s population at the time was around 27 million, Grégoire’s assertion that 12 million people could barely hold a conversation in French is astonishing. This effectively meant that about 40% of the population couldn't communicate with the remaining 60%.

Now, it’s worth noting that Grégoire’s survey was heavily biased. His 49 informants (4) were educated men—clergy, lawyers, and doctors—likely sympathetic to his political views. Plus, the survey barely covered regions where dialects were close to standard French (the langue d’oïl areas) and focused heavily on the south and peripheral areas like Brittany, Flanders, and Alsace, where linguistic diversity was high.

Still, even if the numbers were inflated, the takeaway stands: a massive portion of France did not speak Standard French. “But surely,” you might ask, “they could understand each other somewhat, right? How different could those dialects really be?” Well, let’s put it this way: if Barère and Robespierre went to lunch and spoke in their regional dialects—Gascon and Picard, respectively—it wouldn’t be much of a conversation.

The linguistic make-up of France in 1790

The notion that barely anyone spoke French wasn’t new in the 1790s. The Ancien Régime had wrestled with it for centuries. The Ordinance of Villers-Cotterêts, issued in 1539, mandated the use of French in legal proceedings, banning Latin and various dialects. In the 17th and 18th centuries, numerous royal edicts enforced French in newly conquered provinces. The founding of the Académie Française in 1634 furthered this control, as the Académie aimed to standardise French, cementing its status as the kingdom's official language.

Despite these efforts, Grégoire tells us that 40% of the population could barely speak a word of French. So, if they didn’t speak French, what did they speak? Let’s take a look.

In 1790, the old provinces of the Ancien Régime were disbanded, and 83 departments named after mountains and rivers took their place. These 83 departments provide a good illustration of the incredibly diverse linguistic make-up of France.

Langue d’oïl dialects dominated the north and centre, spoken in 44 out of the 83 departments (53%). These included Picard, Norman, Champenois, Burgundian, and others—dialects sharing roots in Old French. In the south, however, the Occitan language group took over, with dialects like Languedocien, Provençal, Gascon, Limousin, and Auvergnat, making up 28 departments (34%).

Beyond these main groups, three departments in Brittany spoke Breton, a Celtic language (4%), while Alsatian and German dialects were prevalent along the eastern border (another 4%). Basque was spoken in Basses-Pyrénées, Catalan in Pyrénées-Orientales, and Corsican in the Corse department.

From a government’s perspective, this was a bit of a nightmare.

Why is linguistic diversity a governmental nightmare?

In one word: communication—or the lack of it. Try running a country when half of it doesn’t know what you’re saying.

Now, in more academic terms...

Standardising a language usually serves two main purposes: functional efficiency and national identity. Functional efficiency is self-evident. Just as with the adoption of the metric system, suppressing linguistic variation was supposed to make communication easier, reducing costly misunderstandings.

That being said, the Revolution, at first, tried to embrace linguistic diversity. After all, Standard French was, frankly, “the King’s French” and thus intrinsically elitist—available only to those who had the money to learn it. In January 1790, the deputy François-Joseph Bouchette proposed that the National Assembly publish decrees in every language spoken across France. His reasoning? “Thus, everyone will be free to read and write in the language they prefer.”

A lovely idea, but it didn’t last long. While they made some headway in translating important decrees, they soon realised that translating everything into every dialect was expensive. On top of that, finding translators for obscure dialects was its own nightmare. And so, the Republic’s brief flirtation with multilingualism was shut down rather unceremoniously.

Now, on to the more fascinating reason for linguistic standardisation: national identity.

Language and Nation

One of the major shifts during the French Revolution was in the concept of nationhood. Today, there are many ideas about what a nation is (personally, I lean towards Benedict Anderson’s definition of a nation as an “imagined community”), but definitions aside, what’s clear is that the Revolution brought a seismic change in the notion of French identity. Under the Ancien Régime, the French nation was defined as a collective that owed allegiance to the king: “One faith, one law, one king.” But after 1789, a nation became something you were meant to want to belong to. That was problematic.

Now, imagine being a peasant in the newly-created department of Vendée. (Hello, Jacques!) Between tending crops and trying to avoid trouble, Jacques hasn’t spent much time pondering his national identity. Vendéen? Well, that’s just a random name some guy in Paris gave his region. French? Unlikely—he has as much in common with Gascons as he does with the English. A subject of the King? He probably couldn’t name which king.

So, what’s left? Jacques is probably thinking about what is around him: family ties and language. It's no coincidence that the ‘brigands’ in the Vendée organised around their parishes— that’s where their identity lay.

The Revolutionary Government knew this. The monarchy had understood it too and managed to use Catholicism to legitimise their rule. The Republic didn't have such a luxury. As such, the revolutionary government found itself with the impossible task of convincing Jacques he was, in fact, French.

How to do that? Step one: ensure Jacques can actually understand them. How to accomplish that? Naturally, by teaching him.

Language Education during the Revolution

Under the Ancien Régime, education varied wildly by class, and literacy rates were abysmal. Most commoners received basic literacy from parish and Jesuit schools, while the wealthy enjoyed private tutors. In 1791, Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand (5) presented a report on education to the Constituent Assembly (6), remarking:

“A striking peculiarity of the state from which we have freed ourselves is undoubtedly that the national language, which daily extends its conquests beyond France’s borders, remains inaccessible to so many of its inhabitants." (7)

He then proposed a solution:

“Primary schools will end this inequality: the language of the Constitution and laws will be taught to all; this multitude of corrupt dialects, the last vestige of feudalism, will be compelled to disappear: circumstances demand it." (8)

A sensible plan in theory, and it garnered support from various Assembly members, Condorcet chief among them (which is always a good sign).

But, France went to war with most of Europe in 1792, making linguistic diversity both inconvenient and dangerous. Paranoia grew daily, and ensuring the government’s communications were understood by every citizen became essential. The reverse, ensuring they could understand every citizen, was equally pressing. Since education required time and money—two things the First Republic didn’t have—repression quickly became Plan B.

The War on Patois

This repression of regional languages was driven by more than abstract notions of nation-building; it was a matter of survival. After all, if Jacques the peasant didn’t see himself as French and wasn’t loyal to those shadowy figures in Paris, who would he turn to? The local lord, who spoke his dialect and whose land his family had worked for generations.

Faced with internal and external threats, the revolutionary government viewed linguistic unity as essential to the Republic’s survival. From 1793 onwards, language policy became increasingly repressive, targeting regional dialects as symbols of counter-revolution and federalist resistance. Bertrand Barère spearheaded this campaign, famously saying:

“Federalism and superstition speak Breton; emigration and hatred of the Republic speak German; counter-revolution speaks Italian, and fanaticism speaks Basque. Let us break these instruments of harm and error... Among a free people, the language must be one and the same for all.”

This, combined with Grégoire’s report, led to the Décret du 8 Pluviôse 1794, which mandated French-speaking teachers in every rural commune of departments where Breton, Italian, Basque, and German were the main languages.

Did it work? Hardly. The idea of linguistic standardisation through education was sound in principle, but France was broke, and schools cost money. Spoiler alert: France wouldn’t have a free, secular, and compulsory education system until the 1880s.

What it did accomplish, however, was two centuries of stigmatising patois and their speakers...

Notes

(1) Abbe Henri Grégoire was a French Catholic priest, revolutionary, and politician who championed linguistic and social reforms, notably advocating for the eradication of regional dialects to establish French as the national language during the French Revolution.

(2) "Sur la nécessité et les moyens d’anéantir les patois et d’universaliser l’usage de la langue francaise”

(3)On peut assurer sans exagération qu’au moins six millions de Français, sur-tout dans les campagnes, ignorent la langue nationale ; qu’un nombre égal est à-peu-près incapable de soutenir une conversation suivie ; qu’en dernier résultat, le nombre de ceux qui la parlent purement n’excède pas trois millions ; & probablement le nombre de ceux qui l’écrivent correctement est encore moindre.

(4) And, as someone who has done A LOT of statistics in my lifetime, 49 is not an appropriate sample size for a population of 27 million. At a confidence level of 95% and with a margin of error of 5%, he would need a sample size of 384 people. If he wanted to lower the margin of error at 3%, he would need 1,067. In this case, his margin of error is 14%.

That being said, this is a moot point anyway because the sampled population was not reflective of France, so the confidence level of the sample is much lower than 95%, which means the margin of error is much lower because we implicitly accept that his sample does not reflect the actual population.

(5) Yes. That Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand. It’s always him. He’s everywhere. If he hadn’t died in 1838, he’d probably still be part of Macron’s cabinet. Honestly, he’s probably haunting the Élysée as we speak — clearly the man cannot stay away from politics.

(6) For those new to the French Revolution and the First Republic, we usually refer to two legislative bodies, each with unique roles. The National Assembly (1789): formed by the Third Estate to tackle immediate social and economic issues. It later became the Constituent Assembly, drafting the 1791 Constitution and establishing a constitutional monarchy.

(7) Une singularité frappante de l'état dont nous sommes affranchis est sans doute que la langue nationale, qui chaque jour étendait ses conquêtes au-delà des limites de la France, soit restée au milieu de nous inaccessible à un si grand nombre de ses habitants.

(8) Les écoles primaires mettront fin à cette étrange inégalité : la langue de la Constitution et des lois y sera enseignée à tous ; et cette foule de dialectes corrompus, dernier reste de la féodalité, sera contraint de disparaître : la force des choses le commande

(9) Le fédéralisme et la superstition parlent bas-breton; l’émigration et la haine de la République parlent allemand; la contre révolution parle italien et le fanatisme parle basque. Brisons ces instruments de dommage et d’erreur. .. . La monarchie avait des raisons de ressembler a la tour de Babel; dans la démocratie, laisser les citoyens ignorants de la langue nationale, incapables de contréler le pouvoir, cest trahir la patrie, c'est méconnaitre les bienfaits de l'imprimerie, chaque imprimeur étant un instituteur de langue et de législation. . . . Chez un peuple libre la langue doit étre une et la méme pour tous.

(10) Patois means regional dialect in French.

[sachermorte]

so the thing about english is that people think it's so divorced from other germanic languages based on like. words. I've even heard people try to insist that english is a romance language. because of that whole messy business in 1066 with out-of-wedlock willy and his band of naughty normans. and now a good chunk of the vocabulary is french or whatever and they're prestigious so not using them makes you sound like a rube and this and that and the other

and yes william the conqueror will never be safe from me. I will have my revenge on him. he fucked up a perfectly good germanic language is what he did. this will be me in hell

but the thing is that most words in, say, german do have a one to one english equivalent. not all hope is lost, for those who still dare to see it. it's just that you 1066pilled normancels aren't looking in the right place

dog (en) ≠ der Hund (de) but der Hund (de) -> hound (en)

look with your special eyes. that one was easier. not all of them are this intuitive because of semantic narrowing and broadening and waltzing and hokey-pokeying and whatever else. I'll give you a few more

animal (en) ≠ das Tier (de)

aha! you think. I've got him on the ropes now.

but then

das Tier (de) -> deer (en)

nooooo!! you whine and cry in gay baby jail. the consonants are different!!! listen to me. listen, I say, putting both my hands on your shoulder. /t/and /d/ are the same sound. you just put your voice behind one of them.

nooooooooo!! you wail. deer are animals but not all animals are deer!!! listen to me. LISTEN. they used to be. animals used to be deer. that's just what we called them. it was a long time ago. it was a weird time in all our lives. it's okay.

let's try for a verb this time

to die (en) ≠ sterben (de) but sterben (de) -> to starve

same principle with the consonants, we're just changing a stop (where we completely stop the airflow and then let it through) for a fricative (where we still let some air go through. idk where it's going. maybe to its job or something.)

to starve used to mean generally to die, not just to die of malnourishment. we do that a lot. we take one word for a lot of things and make it mean one thing. or take one word for one thing and make it mean a lot of things. this is common and normal.

"okay but roland," you say, suddenly coming up with an argument. "what about tree? trees are super common. I don't think we'd fuck around too much with that. the german word is baum! what about THAT?"

"when did you learn german?" I ask, but then decide it isn't relevant right at this very moment. but fine.

tree (en) ≠ der Baum (de) but der Baum (de) -> beam (en)

beam??? you ask incredulously. beam???? BEAM?????? you continue with the same tone and cadence of captain holt from brooklyn 99.

yes. beam. like the evil beams from my eye I'm going to hit you with if you don't stop shouting.

but the vowels!!! you howl.

listen. listen to me. the vowels mean nothing. absolutely nothing. they're fluid like water. it got raised in english.

"WHAT DOES RAISED MEAN"

it doesn't matter right now. they were raised better than you, at least. stop shouting. open your eyes and see what god has given you. they're the same word.

"they're NOT the same word. they mean different things!"

we've been over this. they didn't used to. a beam was (and is) a long solid piece of wood. much like the long solid piece of wood I showed your mother last night.

FAQ:

Q: could english be some kind of germanic-romance hybrid?

A: do you become a sexy thing from the black lagoon just because you dressed up as one for halloween? english may have gotten a lot of vocabulary from norman french, but its history and syntax are distinctly germanic. that's what we base these things on.

Q: okay but what does it matter? this doesn't actually affect my day to day life

A: you come into my house? you come into my house, the house of an autistic man living in vienna austria and studying english linguistics and you ask me what does it matter? sit back down. I was going to let you go but now I have powerpoints to show you

Q: you're stupid and wrong and gay and a bad person

A: I know it's you, Willy

[honeydewblogforwriting]

The Wolff Pack (Mr. and Mrs. Wolff pt.2)

Warnings: innuendos, cursing, bad grammar, poorly translated German

Pt.1

Sunday (race day) :

Monday night:

Two weeks later

Y/N: Hello GQ. I'm Y/N YM/N Wolff

Toto: and I'm Toto Wolff

Y/N: you mean Torger Christian Wolff. We're using our government names today, babe. No nicknames.

Toto: y/n, please.

Y/N (giggling) : okay, okay. I'm sorry, you guys can cut that part out.

Y/N and Toto: and today we'll be doing the GQ's couple quiz to see how well we know each other.

Producer: who's going first?

Toto: Y/N is always first in my life so her.

Y/N: awww, he's trying to butter me up incase he gets anything wrong!

[Toto shakes his head]

Y/N: Okay first question. When did we first meet?

Toto: At the 2018 Austin GP

Y/N: ehhh wrong answer forehead!

Toto: schatz, I'm right. You were invited by Ferrari and you had on their merchandise and a beautiful red jacket and your hair was down. You were passing by Mercedes Hospitality and we smiled at each other and you gave me a tiny wave.

Y/N: babe... what? I- wait, its coming back to me now. What how did you remember that?

Toto: How could I forget? You looked absolutely radiant in that hideous ferrari red, a hard feat to pull off.

Y/N: (giggling) awww. Give him two points for this one. Okay, next question: what is my favourite look on you?

Toto: mein Geburtstagsanzug

[Subtitle: my birthday suit]

Y/N: benehmen

[Subtitle: behave]

Toto: okay, serious answer now. You love me in a good button down, pleated pants and my glasses.

Y/N: yes, I could literally eat you up when you wear that.

Toto: and you're telling me to behave?

Y/N: babe, you're worse than me but anyways! Next question, what is my go to soda order?

Toto: this has to be a trick question because you don't drink soda. You only indulge in green juices and smoothies. Your favourite is a kale, spinach and beet smoothie with almond milk and peanut butter.

Y/N: you're correct once again! He knows me so well guys. I know this was a few years ago but what was the song that i constantly sang after we got engaged? (laughing)

Toto: (shakes head while chuckling) It was so awful and unexpected that it's stuck with me and sometimes (unfortunately) plays in my head. It went something like, "put it on him make him wanna marry me." And you'd sing it while flaunting your ring and body rolling.

Y/N: yes, right on the nose! Okay, so what is my ideal type of man?

Toto: derjenige, der dich zur Mutter gemacht hat, meine Liebe

[Subtitle: the one who made you a mom, my love.]

Y/N: correct again! Babe, you're on fire! And every correct answer makes you hotter and hotter...Baby Nummer zwei könnte früher kommen als geplant

[Subtitle: baby number 2 might come sooner than we planned].

Toto: schatz, do not make jokes like that, you know what I want.

Y/N: I'm not joking.

[silence on set as the camera switches between y/n and Toto who are locked in intense eye contact]

[Producer behind the scene]: um guys

Y/N: oh sorry, um, next question- what was the first foreign language I learned in high school?

Toto: Spanish and then you did French and finally Portuguese but you're more inclined to Portuguese. You're currently learning German.

Y/N: correct, the perks of attending a private school. And,  to those of you viewing at home, I'm learning German because Torger refuses to speak to baby girl in English! He swears that she has to know German just as fluently as English and I don't want to be left out so I'm indulging in it.

Y/N: Okay, final question- what is my favourite thing to do?

Toto: well, it's definitely trying new things. You love to try different hobbies, crafts, sports, business ventures, careers and it's admirable, you just go after what you want even if it's something you know nothing about. Also you love spending time with die Prinzessin .

Y/N: correct again, Torger Christian Wolff, you got everything right, now that is stinking cute.

[TOTO WOLFF QUIZZES Y/N WOLFF]

Toto: Okay, schatz, first question- when is my birthday?

Y/N: is this a trick question? Your birthday is January 12. You were born in 1972 in Vienna, Austria to a Middle class family and your education was focused towards finance and economics because of the family you grew up in.

Toto: (laughing) schatz, you might as well let the people know my blood type, that was a lot of details but all true. I'll give you 4 points for this. Okay, next question. What is my favourite snack?

Y/N: me of course!

Toto: you'd be my favourite meal, schatz

Y/N: oop, okay! Let me get serious though, your favourite snack is Kumpir with Sauerkraut Filling and Pumpernickel Crumble. You ate so much of it on our honeymoon that it made you sick. I'm surprised you still like it (giggling).

Toto: Where is my favourite place to be?

Y/N: okay I'm giving two answers for this one-  first, it's anywhere that Prinzessin and I are and second, at home it used to be in our room but now it's Prinzessin's room. Torger would spend all day there if he could.

Toto: mhmm, I'm actually surprised that your answer was PG but correct again beautiful. Next question, what is my biggest priority?

Y/N: family, I know this might seem like a surprise to the viewers but you have never missed an anniversary, hospital visit, birthing class, date night, family reunion, birthday celebration or anything of the sort. I don't know how you do it but that it's so clear to see that your loved ones are your number priority .

Toto: How would I describe myself ? Like how do I view myself ?

Y/N: mhm this is tough, I think you consider yourself as someone who is constantly evolving whether that's in your personal life or your career. You're driven and goal oriented. You've got that aggressive streak that the Internet loves to make memes of but uh, yeah. How'd I do?

Toto: pretty spot on. It's like you know me better than I know myself. Okay, final question, what is the name of our sweet little angel ?

Y/N: yup, you heard that right, for the first time ever we will be revealing the name of our baby girl. We thought it would be perfect to announce it during something so fun and sweet. Anyways enough of the chit chat.

Y/N and Toto: (turns to look at each other, grabs each other hands) we'd like to formally introduce the world to Myah Sunshine Wolff!

Y/N: it was so nice being here and I'd like to thank GQ for inviting us onto their wonderful platform.

Toto: I hope you guys enjoy watching this as much as we enjoyed making this. Bye!

(Both of them wave until the screen goes black)

A few hours after the video is released :

[sinofwriting]

Points Have Been Made - Charles Leclerc/Reader/Max Verstappen

Words: 3,363 Summary: Max and Charles find out something happened to their girlfriend. Note(s): Thank you Mak for commissioning this! Mentions of medical stuff, infertility (not reader). One German word, one Dutch word, some French words. Jenson Button appears in this fic, because uh, well, I love him and honestly, I’d like to think (write) him having a weird soft spot for Max (and Charles) after seeing him more recently around Logan.

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“Max.” He lets out a hum, his focus on the car and racing line into turn nine. “Box box.” “What?” His eyes flick up to where a yellow or red flag would be waved but there isn’t anything. “I’ve only done three laps on these tires.” “Box box.” His brows furrow beneath his helmet and balaclava at the non-answer.

Pulling off the track and into the pit lane, his fingers tap against the wheel as they pull his car back into the garage. He sits there expecting the mechanics to make some sort of adjustments but instead they start doing what they do at the end of a session, cooling the car down, prepping it for its next use.

He feels a slight pressure to the top of his helmet and then GP is in his line of sight, leaning into his space and car, perfectly helping to cover him with the mechanics and engineers, so the camera can’t see inside. “Something happened, Max. Session is over for you.” His heart starts thudding in his chest, panic threatening to overtake him. “What happened?” His voice is muffled by the helmet but he knows that GP hears it from the way his frown deepens. “Out of the car, Max. We’re doing our best to not let cameras see in, but who knows how long that will last.” Max looks at the mechanics and engineers and only now takes note of how they’re standing. It’s a carefully constructed wall, not allowing the cameras to see him at all. “Alright.” He murmurs.

He focuses on his hands as he disconnects the steering wheel, resting it on top of the car before pulling his gloves off. He doesn’t know why but he expects them to be shaking, but they’re perfectly still, like always. Jaw clenched, he stands, bending at the waist to grab the steering wheel and put it back on before hopping out of the car.

It’s odd to take his helmet off, passing it gratefully to Annie who whisks it and his gloves away.

“What happened?” He asks GP again. A hand is pressed against his back, pushing him to walk and he does. Undoing the near too tight collar of the race suit as he walks. It’s only once they’ve nearly disappeared behind the wall, where outside cameras aren’t allowed that GP speaks. “It’s about Y/N.” And the rug disappears out from underneath his feet.

—

“I’m okay, mama. I promise.” She says, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she rubs at her head. “You're sick. And I know that neither Max or Charles is with you.” “I will be okay, I’m a big girl.” “Your my baby.”

Her heart clenches at her mom’s words. All of her friends growing up and even some now all thought of her mother as overbearing, with the weekly phone calls, daily check ins and texts, but she was her mother’s only child. She grew up knowing that she was supposed to have siblings, that she was never supposed to be an only child, but it hadn’t worked that way for her mother and it had made her protective of her only child.

“I know, mama. But I’m okay.” Her words nearly flatter as a wave of dizziness hits her, but she pushes it away, clutching at the counter with her left hand as her right rubs at her temple. “The weather just changed here in Monaco. Y’know how that goes.” Her mom makes a noise, not believing her. “Pascale will be coming over for dinner, to check on me. Charles' orders. Will you believe her?” “Oh, Kindchen.” Her voice is soft, so reminiscent of her childhood. “It is not that I don’t believe you. It is that you are always the last to notice when you are unwell.” “I will be okay and she will text you to update you. Now go to your book club. I know that it is today.” “It’s not a book club!” “It’s a book club, mama.” She laughs, wincing immediately at the way the movement makes her feel unsteady. “I’ll call you first thing tomorrow alright?” “Alright.” She agrees. “Love you.” “I love you too.”

As soon as her mom hangs up, she takes a deep ragged breath. Her hand on her forehead, that’s damp now with sweat which makes her nose wrinkles, grasps at her phone before setting it on the counter.

It’s only when it knocks into something she realizes she’s had her eyes closed and she doesn’t know for how long. Opening them, she blinks at how bright the kitchen is. Turning her head slowly, her nose wrinkles up again at how the sun is positioned in the sky. No wonder it was so bright.

Letting go of the counter and taking a step towards the living room, she swears when a wave of dizziness rushes over again and she’s clutching at the counter again. The edge of it digging into both of her palms.

“Fuck.” She breathes when it’s passed. She watches as a bead of sweat drips off of her onto arm. She needed a shower. She needed to shower before Pascale got here. With the reminder of Pascale coming in a few hours she takes a few more deep breaths before letting go of the counter and walking.

Only it isn’t just a wave of dizziness that hits her, but a tidal wave and before she can catch herself, she falls to the floor, head hitting the tile hard and knocking her out.

—

“What happened to her?” Max asks, feet seeming to be glued to the floor as GP tries to push him deeper. “GP, what happened?” GP looks around before leaning into his space, a hand on the back of his neck pressing, and Max lets him push his head down. “Pascale found her passed out, she hit her head on the way down. They’re still waiting for test results.” “But,” His mind is whirling, trying and failing to understand what is happening. “Where is Charles?” If GP is surprised by his next question he doesn’t show it. “He’s still out there. He just about told Xavi to fuck himself when Xavi told him to abort his lap.” Normally that would make Max smirk, chuckle but he can’t be bothered. “I need to tell him. He can’t hear it from Xavi or Fred.” “Andrea was going to tell him.” Max shakes his head. “She’s in Monaco. Charles can’t find out by himself.” He looks at GP pleadingly and the older man nods. “I know, go and get out of your race suit and you can go right on over. Fred is expecting you.” Max quickly claps GP on the shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you.” He rushes to say again as he moves quickly to his room.

—

Charles is grinning as his car is pulled into the garage. He doesn’t know what Xavi was thinking, telling him to abandon that lap. It was amazing. And yes he knew that his session was over, cut short due to a new setup that they wanted to try out, but it was fine. This track had always treated him nicely and with this car, it would hopefully even treat him to a win or he mused considering Max, second place.

Climbing out of the car and pulling his gloves and then helmet off, he doesn’t notice the way the engineers and mechanics are blocking the cameras from seeing anything, or the worried looks from Fred and Xavi. He just notices the worry on Andrea’s face when he catches sight of Max, standing just out of sight if you look into the garage, close to where the drivers rooms are. And he does notice the look on Max’s face, it makes his stomach drop and he rushes to him, not even murmuring a thank you to Jean who takes his helmet and gloves from him.

“Max,” he breathes, hands fluttering before they rest gently on his face. “What happened, Mon coeur?” “Charles,” his name is broken up by a stuttered breath. “Did something happen to Sophie? Vic? Luke? Leo? Jos?” Max shakes his head at every name. Dread fills him even more. “Y/N?” Max’s eyes close and he nods. “No.”

“Charles.” Andrea’s voice is in his ear, ushering him forward. “Let’s get you both somewhere private.” He nods, letting his hands fall away from Max’s face, though he can’t help but to grab Max’s hand, intertwining their fingers, needing the touch, and Max clearly does too with the way he squeezes his hand back.

As soon as his driver's room door shuts, Andrea speaks again before Charles can ask anything.

“Pascale called me maybe ten minutes ago. She went over to yours for dinner, to check on Y/N and found her passed out on the kitchen floor.” Charles makes a wounded noise and his already tight grip on Max’s hand grows worse and the barely older man doesn’t even wince or jump. Doesn’t seem to notice. “They’re at the hospital.” Andrea’s voice is somehow even gentler than before when he says it. “They are at?” “Yes.” “Oh, maman.” He murmurs, feeling tears prick his eyes and Max drops his hand, wrapping an arm around him, bringing him close. “They are waiting for test results.” Max says. “GP made me box. He told me and I rushed over here.” “I,” Charles shudders. “Is she okay? I mean she passed out on the floor. How?” “I don’t know. They only just got there or at least that’s what it sounded like.” Charles nodded. “Thank you, Andrea. For getting a hold of GP.” Andrea sends Max a look. “Of course, Max.”

Andrea leaves the room, leaving them alone and Max as soon as the door shuts, wraps Charles completely in a hug, holding him tight as he tries to comfort himself with at least having one of his partners healthy and safe in his arms.

“I,” Charles struggles again. “I should call someone to go be with maman. She shouldn’t be there alone. Not at least till I can get there.” “Charles,” Max starts to say and Charles shakes his head, pushing away. “No, Max. I know it is a race weekend. But it is just a two-hour flight away, I can be back before qualifying if it is not too bad.” “Charles,” he tries again. “I have to go. I can’t just be here while she is unwell.” “Charles,” and this time Max is holding his face, making him incapable of speaking. “I am going with you. Fuck the race. If it is bad, it is not like we will lose our spots in the championship. Everyone else is more than forty points behind, we will be fine. Let me call my pilot, the jet will be ready by the time we get to the airport.” “Merci, Max.” Charles breaths, pressing their lips together. “Merci.”

—

“Pascale?” She mumbles when she opens her eyes and sees the woman sitting beside her. “Did I fall asleep?” She tries to sit up but her head aches, making her groan, and Pascale is gently pushing her back down. “Lay down, sweetheart.” “What?” Her eyes wander around the room as she realizes this isn’t her, Max, and Charles shared place. It’s far too clean, sterile. She tries to lift her arm and winces when there’s a tugging sensation. Her eyes fall to her arm and more confusion builds as she sees an IV. “Pascale, what happened?” “I found you passed out on the kitchen floor.” “But,” she couldn’t have passed out. Right? Her mind struggled to remember it. She knew she had been feeling dizzy, but enough to pass out. “Are we at the hospital?” “We are.” Pascale’s hand pats hers. “I will be right back. I’m going to get the nurse, okay?” She nods and as Pascale darts out the room, her eyes land on someone sitting just outside her room. “Jenson?”

—

“Anything new?” Charles shakes his head, frowning at his phone. “Like before, they knew that she was dehydrated as soon as she came in but they are still waiting for everything else to come back.” “What is taking so long? Is it money?” Max runs his hand through his hair, before he looks at Charles. “Call them, the hospital. Throw your name around, prince of Monaco.” “Max.” Charles hisses. “I am not the prince of Monaco. And I can’t call them. Nothing will happen if I call.” He huffs, slumping back in his seat.

It's silent for a moment.

“Are you,” “Yes, I’m sure, Max.” He reaches over and squeezes Max’s hand before tangling their fingers together, lifting them to give him a kiss. “We will be there soon.”

—

She tries her best to focus on the doctor as they examine her but her eyes keep going to Jenson. Now inside of her room and standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as he watches intently.

“You have a mild concussion from the fall. The back of your head will be tender.” “But why did she faint?” The doctor frowns, “Normally I’d have the answer for you. But our lab is abnormally backed up and we are down to one lab technician. As soon as the results are in, I will be back to give them to you.” “Take your time.” She smiles.

Jenson shakes his head when the doctor leaves. “How does Monaco, of all places, have only one lab technician working?” “Jenson, what are you doing here?” He smiles at her, coming closer to her and bending quickly to press a kiss to her cheek. “Max texted me. Asked me to keep you and Pascale company. I was already here in Monaco.” She smiles at the older driver. He and Max’s friendship wasn’t too well known, but they talked often. Then she frowns, because Max had asked him. “Max asked you?” Her eyes then look over at Pascale. “I texted Andrea.” She nods. “Can you tell them I’m okay. There is no need to worry.” “Sweetheart.” “Pascale, I’m okay. I haven’t felt dizzy since I woke up, my head hurts a little from the concussion that’s all.”

Before Pascale can respond her attention is drawn away by the sound of the room door practically being thrown up and two voices on top of each other.

“Cheri!” “Schat!”

—

“We were so worried.” Charles murmurs, holding her face gently. “How is your head feeling?” Max asks, sitting beside her on the bed, arm wrapped around her. “I’m okay.” She smiles at both of them. “My head hurts a bit, but that will go away soon enough.” Charles frowns, fingers gently brushing over her cheekbones, before he drops his hands to hold both of hers. “Are you sure? I’m sure we could get you some meds.” “I’m sure, Prince Charles could get you some meds.” Max whispers in her ear making her laugh while Charles sends him a dirty look, though a smile is playing on his lips. “Don’t listen to him, Cherie.” She smiles at Charles, carefully leaning forward to press their lips together. Before being even more careful as she turns her head to kiss Max.

“Thank you both for coming.” “Of course.” “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Charles and her both look at Max, eyebrows raised. “Okay, I can think of places I’d rather we be.” He admits. Charles shakes his head, “so silly.” He murmurs, leaning across her to kiss Max. “Now, why don’t we have your test results back yet?”

“There’s a backlog.” Jenson says, grinning when Charles jumps at the sound of his voice. “Max sent me over to keep them company as soon as you guys figured out the game plan.” Charles' entire face softens and Max flushes at the look their boyfriend sends him. “And they only have one lab technician.” Max lets out a curse. “Did you try bribing them?” “I could go try if you’d like.” Max starts to nod, but a knock sounds on the door and it opens.

She watches as the doctor blinks at the two new people in her room but ignores them, focusing on her. “I’ve got your results right here. Hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar and I mean very low blood sugar. When’s the last time you ate?” Her brows furrow.

She remembered eating Tuesday night with Max and Charles before they left. A nice dinner that her and Max made, Charles pouring them more drinks or chopping and stirring things. But she had eaten something the next morning hadn’t she? Her head throbs as she thinks, but she ignores it, trying to remember and winces from both the pain and the realization that she hadn’t eaten anything since Tuesday night.

“Tuesday night. I was going to eat breakfast on Wednesday but we were out of my breakfast bars and then I got so busy and I just wasn’t hungry.” “Are you not hungry often?” “Sometimes. But even then I make sure to eat at least one meal a day, I snack throughout. I’ve never done this before.” They nod. “As long as this isn’t a normal occurrence, I don’t see an issue. But, you need to make sure you are eating often. You don’t want to be back in here because you forgot to eat and it made your blood sugar drop.” “Of course. Thank you so much.” They nod. “I’ll get your discharge paperwork done and as soon as you're finished with the bag, you’ll be free to go.”

—

“When are you guys flying back?” She asks, Max’s head in her lap, her fingers combing through his hair as she leans against Charles. Max makes a face. “We won’t be.”

Charles and him had both talked about it as they got Pascale home and she settled in. Their teams would be unhappy, but it wasn’t like they could be overtaken in the championship. They could live. And they had two weeks after this with no racing. Two weeks where they could make sure she was eating, taking care of herself. And she’d be going to the next race anyway. This had been a sort of one-off due to all the things that had piled up at home.

“What do you mean you won’t be?” “We can miss a race. Max is twenty points ahead of me, I am forty-seven points ahead of Oscar.” “I have so many questions about that.” She murmurs, because god what was this season. Checo barely hung onto fourth in the championship with George hunting him down, Lewis and Lando hunting down George. Barely fifteen points collectively separating third to seventh. Charles snorts. “Many people would like to know the same.” “You should go though. Put more of a lead in the points.” Max and Charles share a look, a bit hard with their positions but they manage. “No.” They both agree. “I can survive not even two days. I’ll go stay with Pascale. Have Arthur stay with me. Or Jenson since he’s here in Monaco.” “No.” They say again at the same time. “You are far more important than another twenty-five or eighteen points.” Max continues. She sighs, looking at them both. “Three stubborn people is way too many people in a relationship.” “I think it’s perfect.” “Suck up.” Max coughs and Charles flicks him on the forehead. “Says you.”

“Boys, settle down.” “Love you.” They chorus. She shakes her head, sighing. “If you will not go without me, I will just go with you.” “You have a concussion.” “A mild concussion. And we all know that you have flown before with a concussion, Charles.” He pouts, “it was just once.” “Twice.” Max coughs and Charles flicks him again.

“I will go with you tomorrow. Just please make the flight later than eight am.” “Done.” Max says, already texting his flight crew. “Thank you.” She starts to bend to kiss Max, when her face is redirected to look at Charles and he kisses her. She expects Max to whine but as soon as Charles is done, Max is turning her head the other way, no longer laying in her lap, to kiss her as well.

@fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @darleneslane @ironspdy @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @eutrizbea @namgification @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @elliegrey2803 @stopeatread @hiireadstuff

[snaileer]

Time Unsolved

Dp Unsolved

“Today on Buzzfeed unsolved we cover the Timely Disappearance of Charles T. Williamsworth.”

Danny slurped loudly on his drink as the intro played. Was he maybe crazy for watching a Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime alone, at night? Maybe.

But Danny had been attacked by ghosts. What was a human gonna do that Skulker couldn’t?

“What a name!” Shane cut in immediately, the video showing him seated at their table holding a cup of coffee. Ryan laughed.

“‘Ello, yes, my name is Sir Charles T. Williamsworth, how art thou? Ah yes, jolly good!” Shane mimicked with a horrifically bad posh British accent.

Ryan laughed harder, “We’ve been to London, they don’t sound like that!” He said between laughs.

“Uh, he does! There’s no way a man with a name like that is not ‘mm yes I will take a spot of tea with my biscuit thank you.’ I’m calling it, he definitely talked like that!”

Danny smiled at the antics as Ryan wheezed, “Well it’s too bad we’ll never know for sure then isn’t it, what with his disappearance, y’know what we’re actually here to talk about.”

“That’s okay. I’ll know. I know my buddy Charles.”

“Alright then.”

Ryan flicked his file open as Shane took a sip from his coffee.

The screen lit up with an image of a man on a black backdrop.

“The Williamsworths were a French-German family who moved to Biel, Switzerland in early 1914, just months before the largest war in European history kicked off.

They were one of the lucky few families to have left France before the war broke out…”

“Oh a family moving, that’s suspicious now?”Shane cut in, yellow words typing themself across the screen.

“Well, it was right before World War 1, I mean the timing is kind of suspicious.” Ryan replied in blue.

-People move, Ryan.-

-Okay, okay, it’s just the facts of the case,.-

Danny rolled his eyes, ready for the story to continue.

The images came back.

“This move would evidently prove to be quite fortunate for the family for obvious reasons. However, it also led Charles to find his true passion: … Watchmaking.”

There was a pause as a map of Switzerland came on screen. “Biel, the town that Charles would live in for the majority of his recorded younger life, was known for watchmaking, being one of several in the heart of an area named ‘Watch Valley.’ “

-You ever own a Swiss watch?-

-Nope-

-Heard they’re good. Reeeal good.-

-Yep.-

-…-

“Charles would reportedly develop a passion for clocks, watches, and timepieces in general, only getting more entrenched in his obsession over time.”

The image of the man now shifted to be overlaid on a map.

“By the time the First World War was over, Charles had gained an ostentatious apprenticeship under one of the premiere watchmakers of the time, Max Stührling. This lasted until Stührling’s death in 1938, after which Charles vanished from any records for two years.”

-Well y’know, his mentor had just died. -Maybe he wanted to grieve. Y’know curl up in his room and not see anybody for a bit.-

Ryan laughed, -2 years, he was crying in his room for 2 years and nobody found him?-

-Well, it’s not like records were great back then, I mean what are you gonna write on the census… just.. like..-

-Loud weeping heard from inside. One resident. Unnamed.-

-Yeah!-

“The next time Charles T. Williamsworth appears on record, it is in the back of a photo from France in 1940. Showing Williamsworth standing in front of a watch shop wearing dark clothes, a distinct pocket watch, and looking into the camera.”

The black and white image appears on screen, zooming in on the background figure. Danny tilts his head at it, something about it niggling at him.

“The shop and its owner would go on to be infamous within the French town for the duration of the Second World War. Charles was unwillingly drafted in the summer of 1941, serving on the front lines for no more than 3 months before sustaining a wound to his face, leaving him with damaged eyesight, facial scarring, and a medical discharge.

He returned to his shop soon after.”

Danny frowned at the mention of what the man had probably gone through.

“Later evidence statements regarding Charles stated that he was: ‘an odd man. He never mentioned the war, leaving it behind once he was not forced to be a part of it. He seemed to be separate from it all, he only cared for his watches.’

This sense of separation would extend to his shop, as when the town was bombed in 1944 leading up to D-day, his shop was left miraculously unharmed. It was reportedly open the very next day.”

-I can appreciate the dedication- Shane says in yellow.

-Yeah, I mean, the morning after is a bit soon, but he did really love watches. If he didn’t have to, I guess he wasn’t gonna close his shop.-

-His advertising: ‘Sure you were almost killed in a fiery explosion, but look! I’ve got new watches!’ Jazz hands.-

Ryan laughs.

“Over the next 50 years, Charles T. Williamsworth would disappear from records repeatedly, sometimes for months, only present on seven censuses between 1952 and 1979. Despite this, the clock shop was never sold, remaining in wait for its master’s return.”

Multiple pictures of pocket watches came onscreen. “It became known in the surrounding area for especially good pocket watches and grandfather clocks. Each personally made using Swiss essemblage practices, often engraved.

While it was a place of prestige, some described the shop as having ‘an unbearably loud sound of ticking, as if a thousand clocks were set to the same second.’

Apparently, Charles ‘seemed to enjoy the sound, often standing in the front room when no one was present. He was able to pick out one clock if it was off time.’ Witnesses stated.”

It cut to showing Shane and Ryan at their table.

“God, I can’t imagine. That’d drive me crazy.” Shane said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I don’t know, a thousand clocks at the same time? Just..” Ryan looked back and forth frantically, as if there were sounds from every direction, “I’d go nuts pretty fast, I can’t even handle one sometimes.”

“I’d just go off and punch one of the clocks, just- RAAAH and -oh my god is that where that comes from?! I’m gonna punch your clock? Or like you clock somebody!?! Oh my god I never realized that!”

Danny’s jaw drops at the realization as Ryan laughs. Shane looks to be losing his mind as well.

“However, Charles’ most notable disappearance was his last.”

Dramatic music played as Danny zoned back in.

“Due to his frequency of vanishing for extended periods of time, it is unknown when exactly Charles disappeared. The last definite sighting of Charles T. Williamsworth was late at night on April 23rd, 1999, when neighborhood patrolman, Elliot Dubois, noticed him locking the door to his shop with its lights still on. Elliot, concerned for the safety of the elderly man, questioned him but eventually allowed Charles to leave, noting that he turned down a road that only led into the woods outside of town.

Two weeks later, 12 year old James Chappellè, a mailboy in the area, noted during his morning run on May 7 that mail had begun to pile up in front of the shop’s door.

Something that had never happened before.”

The word ‘before’ faded into red.

“It reached such a point that the mail system declared they would no longer deliver, as they couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be stolen.

At this point, the police got involved and the case was assigned to Detective Jacob Laurent.

It turned out to be a more difficult case than first expected, as when they looked into Charles’ past, they were unable to turn up any such notable documents as a birth certificate nor any document containing a birthdate.

But when police entered the shop on May 10th, they found it largely empty, with only the shelves, register, and equipment left remaining between the front and back room. There were no clocks of any kind.

It should be noted that there was still money in the register, and a light on in the back though the other bulbs for the front seemed to have been burnt out.

Upon entering the living space above the shop, it was found to be covered in dust, and all of Charles’ clothes and belongings still present.

Rather, there was evidence that Charles largely slept in his shop, with a cot beside his workbench.

A workbench that, upon police entry, only held one gold pocketwatch, personally engraved with the initials ‘C. W.’ As it was known for Charles to always carry the pocketwatch, he was officially declared missing and possibly presumed dead.

The watch’s presence also led detective Laurent to suspect foul play.

Despite the declaration of foul play, the police did not extensively search the town woods, citing the size and density of the forest.”

The video cut to Shane staring at Ryan, face deadpan. Ryan was clearly trying to hold back laughs.

“So… let me get this straight… an old man who’s… how old at this point exactly?”

Ryan laughs, “Nobody knows, there’s no known birthday-“

“That’s weird too, but okay, let’s say he’s like what, at least 95? I mean… there’s a certain age that like if you disappear… ..eh.” Shane shrugged.

Ryan looked at him incredulously, “Eh??”

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged again, “Eh.”

“What???”

“I mean… y’know… old people wander into the woods sometimes, maybe he just went for a walk and got lost. At that age… death has gotta be around every corner, I mean come on!”

Ryan wheezed into his elbow.

Danny laughed quietly.

Once Ryan calmed down, he organized the file, clipping it down on the table, “So! With the story finished, let’s get into the theories,”

Shane rolled his eyes, “Oh god this is gonna be one of yours isn’t it? What ghosts are abducting people now?”

Danny smiled, briefly considering how much effort it would take to go haunt Shane all the way in LA.

“The first theory is that Charles T. Williamsworth was involved with the mafia at the time and was a long standing or high ranking member that had crossed the wrong people.

Some reasons for this theory is the lack of early documents, suggesting a fake identity or forgery.

This case is especially supported by the long absences, where his shop remained closed and yet still remained in his possession.

In fact, the deed for the shop was not listed under Charles’ name, instead Iisted as owned under a private organization.

This theory explains his disappearance and possible subsequent death as an act of revenge from an enemy made from illicit activities. Leaving no body behind, there would be no evidence to prosecute the acting party.

Within this, there are also some who believe that if Charles was engaged in the mafia and lived under a false identity, that his disappearance was him returning to his actual identity, possibly due to being caught.

Prison records indicate 6 Swiss-German inmates arrested at the approximate time of his disappearance, roughly matching the age and appearance of Charles. Notably, none of them had a distinct facial scar and no identification was ever confirmed.”

The screen switched.

Shane smiled at Ryan, “Oh Ho Ho, my boy Charles is getting into some funky stuff, huh? Workin’ for the Mob, breaking knees, chopping fingers?”

Ryan laughed, “Yeah maybe, it definitely lends credit to him being a part of something. Maybe he was out in the woods breaking knees y’know. Or burying something.”

“Someone,…”Shane said ominously, then burst out laughing, “What if he buried himself! Just-“Shane mimed digging, clapping his hands like he was wiping off dust, “Alright, thats a good illegal grave right there, just a good hole for a dead- woaaah!” He pretended to fall, “Boom, stuck in his own grave.”

“Really, this old man dug a 6 foot deep grave? On his own?”

“Hey you don’t know his strength, maybe he lifts.”

“Alright.” Ryan shook his head, still grinning.

Danny smiled, considering it, it did kind of make sense.

“The second theory is that Charles T. Williamsworth did indeed just walk into the woods and never come out. If this is the case, what happened in the woods is widely speculated on. Some saying that animals may have attacked him, or that he simply fell or was injured and could not get up due to his age.

This theory loses support due to the fact that no body was ever found. Though some say that if the woods were too big for the police to search, there may be a den or that his body was covered naturally.”

“Or in a grave.”

“You really think he was mafia?”

“I mean, who could tell?” Shane shrugged.

“The third theory, much like the first, is that Charles was a federal agent for one of the Allied Powers.

This theory is also supported by the significant periods of absence and lack of documents to indicate a forged identity, meant to fool the German government and allow him to work behind the lines. However, unlike the first, there is also evidence of a man with the same distinct scar on his eye, showing up in the background of photos at the British Intelligence Office, the Eiffel Tower during Germany’s occupancy, and behind closed Swiss borders.

None of which would be possible without the unique skills and permissions of a government agent.”

Silence reigned as Shane and Ryan stared each other down, Shane clearly ramping up for something.

“The name’s Williamsworth. Charles Williamsworth.” He said dramatically.

Ryan burst out laughing. “You support this one more then?”

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind, he’s not in the mafia. His suspicious activities were in the name of secrecy, national secrets, confidential war trades. Espionage…”

“Well I guess, nobody’s gonna suspect the 95 year old man to be up to anything. I mean, if I saw an old man somewhere I’d just be like, huh I wonder who lost their grandpa, not ‘I bet he’s secretly working to take down Hitler.’ Y’know.”

“Charles gets caught: just ‘Whaa-at me~e? I’m just a gentle~e o~ ol~ld ma~an, I can’t harm nobody~y.” Shane mimed leaning over a cane.

“He gets caught and just pretends he has dementia, ‘Who am I? Who are you? Why am I here? Where’s my breakfast?”

Shane cackled as Ryan laughed.

Danny considered it more, this one seemed the most likely, though… he’d definitely be the oldest agent.

“Another theory is that the shop was robbed and Charles returned while or before it was happening, catching the criminals off guard and leading them to react rashly, injuring or killing Charles. They then would have hidden his body and cleaned out the shop to hide any other evidence.

This theory however is disproven by the lack of money taken from the register.

Despite this, it is the official claimed circumstance by the police at the time.”

“Fucking police, always with the boring one.” Shane said ruefully.

“Our last theory, and my personal favorite,-“

Shane groaned. Danny smiled, this was gonna be good.

“-is that Charles T Williamsworth was a time traveler. And that all of his disappearances were when he was traveling through time.

This theory supports his families early move to Switzerland under odd timing, his appearance in so many photos and even his obsession with clocks. As well as why he seemed unbothered by the tumultuous times.”

“I can… accept it.” Shane said, hesitant.

Ryan laughed, “I’ll take it.”

“Despite all of these theories, there is still significant information missing from the case.

And so, like clockwork this case shall remain:

Unsolved.”

Danny’s mouth dropped as the screen went dark.

No way.

No freaking way.

He lurched upwards, eyes wide.

Obsessed with clocks, scar on his eye, fricking weird and talks in riddles.

Oh mygod!

Danny threw himself out of bed, “I’ve connected the dots!” He rushed to untangle himself from his sheets, transforming immediately, “I’ve connected them!”

He dove for the ghost portal.

Holy frick!

Charles T. Williamsworth was Clockwork!

[sanzaibian]

“Sir, here are the Beatty files.” The young woman told me, handing a USB key.

I have heard a lot about these files. They were intercepted in the town after which they’re named by the secret services a while ago, but were encrypted in such a puzzling way that only now can we view them. And of course, I am the first one to be able to review its content.

I know a lot of things, as it is my job to be informed of anything and everything happening around the world. I know the plans of China over Taiwan, the successor to the Ayatollah, the contents of the talks between Putin and Kim Jong-un, and all the current US military strategy. In my line of work, everything can happen, yet at no single point could I make sense of the Beatty files. Nor could anyone else for that matter.

I excused the young woman, bidding to her my thanks for the deciphering team, and went to the unused laptop I had prepared. When it comes to matters of national security, I cannot afford to be careless, and let anyone unlicensed to get access to this. So brand new laptop, created by us, which has never been opened, to open these files.

And so I fiddled with the parameters a bit, entering the secret code, and inserted the USB key to view its contents. Inside were a few files, all of which videos. Their names were not informative, since I know for a fact that their original names were not recovered, so I just opened the first file in the list.

The video opened looking down in a white cubic room, meaning it was very likely a security camera recording. In addition, there was the time indicated on the bottom right, yet something felt weird about how it was displayed… 15:58… 15:59… 15:60 ???... 16:01, etc. Why is it not counting time correctly ? Nobody indicates time like this ! It’s wrong, it’s incorrect ! I just opened it and there’s already something I cannot in any way explain !

Taking a deep breath, I look at the center of the screen, in which I have a good view of a man sat in a chair. He has tanned skin, black hair and black stubble, and a very developed musculature. He looks to be a very attractive middle-eastern man, although I cannot say which ethnicity he precisely has.

The chair he’s sitting on is quite massive, and he looks almost as if he is… restrained in it ? Yes, there seems to be little handcuffs tethering him to the armchairs. But most striking are the numerous tubes going out from his arms, legs, torso and even head, linked to some types of medical appliances I cannot recognize, as well as to a sort of glass tank.

Suddenly, I notice the deep voice of a man. I up the volume, and hear… a language I cannot understand.

“Tzai en 19/03, 2:17, en tzoujkbruoi odogattzion program en Scipio Labratory. Ny hse Hk. Adtem, tzai widt nyn hskadiais, Sjd. Fingtrosy ÿ Sd. Vagohs, ÿ naum wom fill no tzoujketvÿsn ekspÿrians widt no #1073 bymarjen.”

At first I get some German vibes from it, but then it seems to be Polish, and then French… Whatever that language might be, it is not one I have ever heard. The man in the chair looks around, seemingly half-dazed, as if he was drugged. I don’t know what will happen to him, yet I get the feeling that it won’t be a desirable fate.

Suddenly, another voice, that of a woman by the looks of things, speaking in that same strange language.

“Hsüzmalhsÿv drël en im.”

Then a buzzer sound. There seems to be some white substance flowing inside the man’s body, through the tubes from the medical appliances. As it flows, I can see his eyes starting to become more droopy, before fluttering, and then closing. At the same time, his body starts floundering in the restraints, as if he was keeping himself from falling asleep. But as time went on and the white liquid ran dry, all of his muscles were relaxing and his stance become limp, like that of a dysfunctional robot. However, looking at his accelerating breathing rhythm, it seems to my trained eye that he is not actually asleep. It’s only his body refusing to function correctly.

“Drël ingkatzt. Etvÿsn harjimÿll.” Says another voice, deeper than the last one, but not as deep as the first one.

I don’t really know what’s happening. If the counter on the bottom-right of the screen wasn’t ticking up, I would have thought that the image was frozen. But then, suddenly, I can hear a low sound in the recording. And that sounds starts creeping higher and higher, as if something was charging up… Yeah, definitively charging up, since I almost saw some lightning sparks going off from the chair…

I don’t know what’s happening, but it seems to be malfunctioning. The sparks make themselves more and more intense, and it almost seems as if the machine is ready to explode...

Just as I say that, the first deep voice makes itself heard once again, but this time more in a frustrated or worried tone than an official one.

“Sel heont havy… Go huop sel hstill pÿrdont...”

But suddenly, the sparks stop, and while the sound doesn’t stop, beige liquid start flowing into the pipes… from the man to the tank ? What is that thing ? I don’t understand ! However, I can hear cries of rejoice in the audience, with all three voices I’ve heard since then saying incomprehensible stuff that I wouldn’t even be able to transcribe. I guess they also didn’t think… whatever this is would work ?

I take a drink from my water bottle as I keep an eye on the video. However, since I need to reach my bag, I cannot actively monitor it. Besides, according to what I hear, nothing of note seems to be happening... But when I have put down the bottle, I stop the video. I rub my eyes, but even then, I still see it.

The man seems smaller.

Somehow.

I go back in the video to the time where the man with the deepest voice sounded worried and… Yeah, looking like that, it’s even more apparent. The man has been losing mass. And the tanks have been filled by this beige skin-color liquid… Heh, if I didn’t know I was in reality, I would have said that this is muscle-juice, but this is ridiculous…

Especially since the body mass hasn’t been the only thing to change.

As I play back the video and continue through the long haul of high-pitch noise and not much else, I notice that the man’s stubble seems to be disappearing… and his head hair growing as well, somehow ? It almost seems as if he’s becoming less masculine by the second, if it even makes any sense, even though nothing about this video actually makesanysense. If I didn’t know who supplied it to me, I would have said this was a fake…

As his pecs were shrinking, his arms were thinning, his waist narrowing and his legs slimming, his stance almost seemed to be relaxing further – if it’s even possible. I mean, I don’t know ! It’s just the impression that I’m getting ! As the last of his stubble vanishes, at least according to what I can see through the pixels, he almost seems to be getting cuter ? Whence more relaxed ? Fuck, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever…

Oh. I know why I get this impression. It’s not anymore weird or nonsensical, but at least in this context it seems to make sense… I think he also is losing height. Yes, actually. Height. It’s almost as if someone took the textbook definition of a “twink” and decided to impart its characteristic on this poor fellow – don’t ask me why I know what it is.

As I continue watching in horror, the woman’s voice says, gleefully :

“Entzony as hen !”

How can they sound so… happy ? Happy to torture a man like this ? To, quite visibly, drain his muscles into those tanks that look more and more full ? It just goes beyond me ! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen my fair share of horrible and unethical treatments, and a ton of unethical human experiments. But this by far takes the cake of the most disturbing thing I have ever seen ! They’re taking away what he is, his identity ! Him ! That’s the most cruel violation of human rights I have ever seen ! To gleefully disfigure someone like that…

The tanks have finished filling up, and the sound starts lowering in intensity. The man left looks only like a shadow of who he was. He still looks like himself, except devoid of any… meat, may I say ? When the machine was well and truly turned off, the deep voice rejoiced, seemingly announcing the success of that terrible plot.

“Fÿstyfuroll ! Oll fod havy kotzvong !”

Funnily enough, the first word made me think of “feast for all”, which just feels wrong given the context. On that, they all seem to have left the premises, as a nurse came in and untethered the poor man from all the equipment, and taking with her the tanks filled of muscle juice.

I continued watching, hoping that I would get to see the young man wake up.

And wake up he did, looking around, before standing up… and immediately falling. Presumably due to him not expecting to be this skinny. He then looked at himself, and had an utterly horrified look in his eyes, as if he was processing the fact that he was irremediably different.

He crawled towards the wall, and using that, he climbed back to standing, managing to take a position so that he could be looking at the camera.

And on that, the video suddenly stopped, leaving me on this freeze frame :

I absolutely don’t know what to do with that. Now I not only understand, but also feel how confused the secret services were by intercepting this message. It just seems wrong in so many ways, so much that… it might not even have occurred on Earth for all I know ! The language is unknown, but familiar. The way to count time is disturbing, but otherwise identical to ours. The events depicted are of typical mad experimentation, but in a manner that is unthinkable in my knowledge of the world.

I don’t have the strength to view any of the other videos, since they’re likely all the same amount of disturbing. So I close the laptop, and already starts asking myself the question I need to give an answer for my superiors :

Just what the hell are the Beatty files ?!

[max1461]

another linguistics question, do you guys make distinctions between the accents of non-native speakers and accent from within the native speaker group? if so, how do you tell yhem apart, and what are some distinctions between them? I assume there's some kind of structural difference between the two

Yeah, so the first thing I should clarify here is that there is no technical difference between a "language" and a "dialect". Linguists often use the term "language variety" to be maximally clear on this point. French is a language variety, Bavarian (traditionally called a dialect of German) is a language variety, California English is a language variety. One language variety can be part of another: California English is a variety of English, "English" itself being a broader variety with many sub-varieties. We might further split California English, perhaps into Southern California English, Northern California English, and California Central Valley English, or some such. In the extreme, we can look only at the speech of an individual person; this is called an idiolect. Every human being who speaks a language speaks in their own unique idiolect, which differs from the speech of other humans in various ways. An idiolect is also a language variety.

Now, linguists do make a distinction, a very important distinction, between native and non-native speech. Roughly, a native speaker is someone who acquired a language by exposure during childhood. They were not explicitly taught the language, but picked it up by virtue of being surrounded by people who speak it. Human children seem to have various sorts of special cognitive mechanisms for acquiring language in this way, many of which we lose as we get older. This early period of life in which humans are primed for language acquisition is called the "critical period". There is a lot of debate about what exactly defines the critical period and when it ends (it's more of a gradual taper than a sharp cutoff), but there is basically no debate over the idea that children and adults have at least some fundamental differences when it comes to language learning. A non-native speaker, then, is someone who learned a given language in adulthood, after the critical period of language acquisition.

When linguists speak of a language variety, by fiat they take that variety to be defined by the speech of its native speakers. That is to say: the grammar of English is defined to be that set of rules which describes the speech of native English speakers. Where different varieties of English disagree, a thorough descriptive grammar will make note of that variation, and researchers will zoom in and study on its own terms the grammar of each relevant sub-variety. Every human is, by definition, a perfectly fluent speaker of their own idiolect in any language they acquired during childhood.

So, you asked about the difference between native and non-native "accents". In light of all the above, there are two differences:

First, there is the difference between native and non-native speech in general. Non-native speech is characterized by certain artifacts of the adult language learning process, including carry-over from one's native language(s), which broadly do not affect native speech. Thus, a non-native "accent" is different from a native "accent" in various empirical ways which are pinned down and studied in the field of second language acquisition.

By virtue of the way we have set our definitions up, above, native "accents" differ from non-native ones in that a native "accent" is in fact synonymous with a language variety; rather than being an imperfect specimen of some predefined standard language, it is a definitionally perfect exemplar of a particular linguistic system in its own right.

You could, of course, take up the linguistic system represented by the speech of some adult learner as an object of study in its own right, and some people do. But by and large, the standard which is taken up in linguistics is "language varieties are defined by the speech of their native speakers". I think this is a quite reasonable place to draw a line, especially in light of the empirical differences, as mentioned, between native and non-native speech.

[matan4il]

Have you noticed how almost everything that the anti-Israel crowd accuses people who simply recognize Israel's right to exist of, is (in additional to usually being false) stuff they're guilty of themselves?

"You support ethnic cleansing!"

What do you think it means, when you chant the English translation of "From water to water, Palestine will be Arab"?

"You support an ethno-state!"

Do you call for the destruction of every single nation state, such as Germany, Japan, France, and so on? No? Then so do you. Have you called for the establishment of a Palestinian state? Then, so do you. Between Hamas ruling Gaza and being genocidal when it comes to Jews, and Mahmoud Abbas (president of the Palestinian Authority) stating no Israelis will be allowed in the State of Palestine (and by "Israelis" we all know he doesn't mean the Arab citizens of Israel, he's talking about Jews) that's going to be an ethno-state, too. Oh, you meant a "pure" ethno-state. Those don't exist in today's reality, and Israel, with 27% of its citizens being non-Jews, is no exception.

"Oct 7 didn't happen in a vacuum, you're ignoring the context of the past 75 years!"

You are ignoring big chunks of anti-Jewish violence during these 75 years, you're ignoring the expulsion of almost 900,000 Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, you're ignoring the anti-Jewish violence and persecution that preceded the establishment of the Land of Israel, and you're ignoring all 3,500 years (at least) of Jewish existence in and connection to our ancestral homeland, Israel.

"You support collective punishment!"

The same way you do, when you chant, "When people are occupied, resistance is justified"? Because that's what it means, that for the sin of Israel supposedly being a colonial state (a false claim, since Jews are native to Israel), you're justifying raping 13 year old girls, shooting them in the head, murdering Holocaust survivors, burning babies alive... what's that if not supporting collective punishment? (that's before we get into the fact that Israel not surrendering in a war started by Hamas is NOT collective punishment, or else we would have to define the allies not surrendering to the Nazis in WWII as collective punishment of the Germans)

"You suppor apartheid!"

All Israeli citizens have the same civil rights. Apartheid in South Africa was a system where citizens of the country had their rights limited based on skin color/ancestry. The issue in South Africa wasn't that racism existed (IDK a single country where racism doesn't), it's that it was codified into law, and used against the rights of that country's own citizens. Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs have the same rights. Non-Israeli Palestinians not having the same rights as Israelis, including as Israeli Arabs, is the same as French Canadians not having the same rights in the US as French Americans. It is NOT proof the US is applying a system of apartheid unto French people. And if it were, then I have news for you, every country applies different rights to citizens vs not citizens, so every country would be an apartheid state by this criterion. Which would make the word meaningless, and it would diminish the suffering of non-whites under South Africa's apartheid (as some young black South Africans who have actually been to Israel now point out). Meanwhile, I'll point back up to where Mahmoud Abbas said no Israelis (i.e Jews) will be allowed in Palestine, and that under the Palestinian Authority, a Palestinian can be jailed or executed for selling land to Jews, which means the PA demolishes the right to property (of Jews to own it, and of the PA's Palestinian citizens to sell it as they see fit) based solely on the ancestry of the buyer... And you support the PA, right?

"You deny the Nakba!"

I had never encountered any Israeli denying that roughly 850,000 Arabs fled Israel due to the War of Independence. Pointing out that the Arabs are the ones who started that war isn't the same as denying it happened. Meanwhile, the people who make this accusation, largely deny the expulsion of the Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, deny the suffering, discrimination, expulsions and massacres Jews had endured for centuries under Arab and Muslim regimes, and deny the atrocities of Oct 7.

"You support colonialism!"

Say the people who deny the native rights of the Jews, who act as if these rights are limited by time (as if such a limitation benefits anyone other than actual colonizers), who ignore the fact that Palestinians wouldn't exist here without Arab colonialism, or who wish to confer a native status unto them by virtue of... being settler colonialists for a "long time" (to be clear, the way the UN's definition of a Palestinian refugee works, it only requires a person to have been an Arab* settler colonialist in Israel during the 2 years prior to the founding of the Israeli state, to be recognized as a Palestinian. To become a US citizen, in addition to other requirements, you have to live in the US for at least 5 years, 3 if married to an American citizen. That means in June of 1946, it was easier to become a Palestinian "native" in the eyes of the UN, than an American citizen). Don't get me wrong, Palestinians have a right to live in the place where they were born. I can both recognize that they're here due to Arab colonialism, AND be okay with them living here. Just like I can recognize that no Americans today deserve to be displaced, even though the majority of them are there thanks to colonialism. And I don't have to pretend like Americans of European descent have suddenly become native (something that if I did, would probably hurt actual Native Americans), in order to recognize their right to live where they were born. It's just ironic that if we took the logic of the anti-Israel crowd when it comes to native Jews, and applied it to all native peoples, this would harm the natives, erase their rights, recognize their colonizers as natives, and generally help colonialism.

There's probably more, but I think this is demonstrative enough.

* Technically, the UN didn't specify ancestry. As an idea, you could be Arab, Jewish, a Polish Catholic priest living in a convent in the Land of Israel from Jun '46 to May '48, and you'd be recognized as a Palestinian by the UN, but in reality this definition ended up favoring all non-Jewish colonizers of the land. In 1952, Israel said, "It's okay, we'll take care of the Jewish refugees displaced by the War of Independence. No need for the UN to do so. This is what we set up a Jewish state for." This is in addition to Israel taking care of the Jewish refugees from Arab and Muslim countries, and Jewish Holocaust survivors. And for Israel's show of responsibility, the now-Israeli Jewish refugees have been punished. They don't get recognized as existing, as having been displaced by, and having suffered due to the war the Arabs started in the Land of Israel against its Jewish communities. "Palestinian" refers to non-Jews only from the second The British Mandate in Palestine's Jews became Israeli Jews, but that doesn't stop the anti-Israel crowd from falsely claiming there are Palestinian Jews today... even though since May of 1948, there aren't, and before that, those Palestinian Jews were British subjects, not the citizens of an Arab independent state called Palestine (something that has never historically existed). Thanks to the exclusion in practice of Jews from the definition of Palestinian refugee, the UN agency for taking care of Palestinian refugees, UNRWA became a tool of spreading anti-Jewish hate.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[budbuddnbuddy]

Little obey me headcanons (pt3)

(Pt4)

A/n: uhhh not really sure what to say here, but I’m glad my posts are getting the attention similar to what I had when I first picked up writing fanfics and headcaons. Thank all of you so much hope all of you had a wonderful Christmas.

As MC spends more time in the Devildom and makes more pacts with the brothers, they’ll start to have a slightly more evil look to them. Get what I mean? Like how Megan Fox has “evil beauty.” However its not as visible, they’ll still look like your normal boring human first glance.

“The celestials know every language in the human wor-“ *LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER* Sorry but I respectfully hate this headcaon with all my heart, it doesn’t make sense. Sure these guys are immortal powerful beings that have lived for millions and billions of years, but they don’t even keep up with the human world like that and that’s CANON. Also if we’re looking at it through their perspective where as a hundred years is literally just a couple of blinks, humans would be making new languages every second.

They probably know 2-6 MAX, and that’s not me underestimating them that’s me saying that they either don’t have the time or will to care about 7,139 OFFICIAL languages there are in the human world. But enough of that let’s dive into the languages that they can speak.

Lucifer: English, French, Italian. and a little bit of Japanese due to Levi but not enough to be fluent. Mammon: English, Spanish. Levi: English, Korean, Japanese, and sign language. (idk if that counts) Satan: English, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, French, Spanish, Arabic. Asmodeus: English, French (mainly because he thinks it sounds hot 💀) Beelzebub: English and German. Belphie: English, Spanish, German (because of Beel), Japanese. Diavolo: English,Italian, a bit of Spanish but not enough to be fluent. Barbatos: Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, English, French. Simeon+Luke: English right now but Luke wants to learn Spanish.

Solomon is probably the type of person to wake up at 12:30 in the afternoon whenever possible. Mf probably has an alarm set for that exact time too, and when you ask where he’s been for like half of the day he’ll tilt his head to the side and be like “I was sleeping????”

I feel like we can all come to a sort of mutual understanding of this, but the brothers fan clubs and MC do not mix well together like at all.

“Asmo, get your crazy ass fans under control! They’re fucking insane!”

“Oh they can’t possibly be that bad dear! They’re MY fans after all!”

“I let it slip that we had a date planned for this Saturday and one of them threatened to cut me before calling me a warm toilet seat!”

“Oh.”

Asmodeus, Barbatos, and Simeon call you Hon/Honey sometimes.

For all of your RAD classes, every brother except Lucifer shares at least ONE class with you. Also all of the exchange students are in the same Main classes.

Everyone is a tad bit insane about you, just a little bit, a sprinkle if you will. No I am not explaining this.

[whencyclopedia]

D-Day was 80 years ago today!

D-Day was the first day of Operation Overlord, the Allied attack on German-occupied Western Europe, which began on the beaches of Normandy, France, on 6 June 1944. Primarily US, British, and Canadian troops, with naval and air support, attacked five beaches, landing some 135,000 men in a day widely considered to have changed history.

Where to Attack?

Operation Overlord, which sought to attack occupied Europe starting with an amphibious landing in northwest France, Belgium, or the Netherlands, had been in the planning since January 1943 when Allied leaders agreed to the build-up of British and US troops in Britain. The Allies were unsure where exactly to land, but the requirements were simple: as short a sea crossing as possible and within range of Allied fighter cover. A third requirement was to have a major port nearby, which could be captured and used to land further troops and equipment. The best fit seemed to be Normandy with its flat beaches and port of Cherbourg.

The Atlantic Wall

The leader of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), called his western line of defences the Atlantic Wall. It had gaps but presented an impressive string of fortifications along the coast from Spain to the Netherlands. Construction of gun batteries, bunker networks, and observation posts began as early as 1942.

Many of the German divisions were not crack troops but inexperienced soldiers, who were spending more time building defences than in vital military training. There was a woeful lack of materials for Hitler's dream of the Atlantic Wall, really something of a Swiss cheese, with some strong areas, but many holes. The German army was not provided with sufficient mines, explosives, concrete, or labourers to better protect the coastline. At least one-third of gun positions still had no casement protection. Many installations were not bomb-proof. Another serious weakness was naval and air support. The navy had a mere 4 destroyers available and 39 E-boats while the Luftwaffe's (German Air Force's) contribution was equally paltry with only 319 planes operating in the skies when the invasion took place (rising to 1,000) in the second week.

Neptune to Normandy

Preparation for Overlord occurred right through April and May of 1940 when the Royal Air Force (RAF) and United States Air Force (USAAF) relentlessly bombed communications and transportation systems in France as well as coastal defences, airfields, industrial targets, and military installations. In total, over 200,000 missions were conducted to weaken as much as possible the Nazi defences ready for the infantry troops about to be involved in the largest troop movement in history. The French Resistance also played their part in preparing the way by blowing up train lines and communication systems that would ensure the defenders could not effectively respond to the invasion.

The Allied fleet of 7,000 vessels of all kinds departed from English south-coast ports such as Falmouth, Plymouth, Poole, Portsmouth, Newhaven, and Harwich. In an operation code-named Neptune, the ships gathered off Portsmouth in a zone called 'Piccadilly Circus' after the busy London road junction, and then made their way to Normandy and the assault areas. At the same time, gliders and planes flew to the Cherbourg peninsula in the west and Ouistreham on the eastern edge of the planned landing. Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st US Airborne Division attacked in the west to try and cut off Cherbourg. At the eastern extremity of the operation, paratroopers of the 6th British Airborne Division aimed to secure Pegasus Bridge over the Caen Canal. Other tasks of the paratrooper and glider units were to destroy bridges to impede the enemy, hold others necessary for the invasion to progress, destroy gun emplacements, secure the beach exits, and protect the invasion's flanks.

The Beaches

The amphibious attack was set for dawn on 5 June, daylight being a requirement for the necessary air and naval support. Bad weather led to a postponement of 24 hours. Shortly after midnight, the first waves of 23,000 British and American paratroopers landed in France. US paratroopers who dropped near Ste-Mère-Église ensured this was the first French town to be liberated. From 3.00 a.m., air and naval bombardment of the Normandy coast began, letting up just 15 minutes before the first infantry troops landed on the beaches at 6.30 a.m.

The beaches selected for the landings were divided into zones, each given a code name. US troops attacked two, the British army another two, and the Canadian force the fifth. These beaches and the troops assigned to them were (west to east):

Utah Beach - 4th US Infantry Division, 7th US Corps (1st US Army commanded by Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley)

Omaha Beach - 1st US Infantry Division, 5th US Corps (1st US Army)

Gold Beach - 50th British Infantry Division, 30th British Corps (2nd British Army commanded by Lieutenant-General Miles C. Dempsey)

Juno Beach - 3rd Canadian Infantry Division (2nd British Army)

Sword Beach - 3rd British Infantry Division, 1st British Corps (2nd British Army)

In addition, the 2nd US Rangers were to attack the well-defended Pointe du Hoc between Utah and Omaha (although it turned out the guns had never been installed there), while Royal Marine Commando units attacked targets on Gold, Juno, and Sword.

The RAF and USAAF continued to protect the invasion fleet and ensure any enemy ground-based counterattack faced air attack. As the Allies could put in the air 12,000 aircraft at this stage, the Luftwaffe's aerial fightback was pitifully inadequate. On D-Day alone, the Allied air forces flew 15,000 sorties compared to the Luftwaffe's 100. Not one single Allied aircraft was lost to enemy fire on D-Day.

Packing Normandy

By the end of D-Day, 135,000 men had been landed and relatively few casualties were sustained – some 5,000 men. There were some serious cock-ups, notably the hopeless dispersal of the paratroopers (only 4% of the US 101st Air Division were dropped at the intended target zone), but, if anything, this caused even more confusion amongst the German commanders on the ground as it seemed the Allies were attacking everywhere. The defenders, overcoming the initial handicap that many area commanders were at a strategy conference in Rennes, did eventually organise themselves into a counterattack, deploying their reserves and pulling in troops from other parts of France. This is when French resistance and aerial bombing became crucial, seriously hampering the German army's effort to reinforce the coastal areas of Normandy. The German field commanders wanted to withdraw, regroup and attack in force, but, on 11 June, Hitler ordered there be no retreat.

All of the original invasion beaches were linked as the Allies pushed inland. To aid thousands more troops following up the initial attack, two artificial floating harbours were built. Code-named Mulberries, these were located off Omaha and Gold beaches and were built from 200 prefabricated units. A storm hit on 20 June, destroying the Mulberry Harbour off Omaha, but the one at Gold was still serviceable, allowing some 11,000 tons of material to be landed every 24 hours. The other problem for the Allies was how to supply thousands of vehicles with the fuel they needed. The short-term solution, code-named Tombola, was to have tanker ships pump fuel to storage tanks on shore, using buoyed pipelines. The longer-term solution was code-named Pluto (Pipeline Under the Ocean), a pipeline under the Channel to Cherbourg through which fuel could be pumped. Cherbourg was taken on 27 June and was used to ship in more troops and supplies, although the defenders had sunk ships to block the harbour and these took some six weeks to fully clear.

Operation Neptune officially ended on 30 June. Around 850,000 men, 148,800 vehicles, and 570,000 tons of stores and equipment had been landed since D-Day. The next phase of Overlord was to push the occupiers out of Normandy. The defenders were not only having logistical problems but also command issues as Hitler replaced Rundstedt with Field Marshal Günther von Kluge (1882-1944) and formally warned Rommel not to be defeatist.

Aftermath: The Normandy Campaign

By early July, the Allies, having not got further south than around 20 miles (32 km) from the coast, were behind schedule. Poor weather was limiting the role of aircraft in the advance. The German forces were using the countryside well to slow the Allied advance – countless small fields enclosed with trees and hedgerows which limited visibility and made tanks vulnerable to ambush. Caen was staunchly defended and required Allied bombers to obliterate the city on 7 July. The German troops withdrew but still held one-half of the city. The Allies lost around 500 tanks trying to take Caen, vital to any push further south. The advance to Avranches was equally tortuous, and 40,000 men were lost in two weeks of heavy fighting. By the end of July, the Allies had taken Caen, Avranches, and the vital bridge at Pontaubault. From 1 August, Patton and the US Third Army were punching south at the western side of the offensive, and the Brittany ports of St. Malo, Brest, and Lorient were taken.

German forces counterattacked to try and retake Avranches, but Allied air power was decisive. Through August 1940, the Allies swept southwards to the Loire River from St. Nazaire to Orléans. On 15 August, a major landing took place on the southwest coast of France (French Riviera landings) and Marseille was captured on 28 August. In northern France, the Allies captured enough territory, ports, and airfields for a massive increase in material support. On 25 August, Paris was liberated. By mid-September, the Allied troops in the north and south of France had linked up and the campaign front expanded eastwards pushing on to the borders of Germany. There would be setbacks like Operation Market Garden of September and a brief fightback at the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, but the direction of the war and ultimate Allied victory was now a question of not if but when.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Brain worms struck a nerve once more...

Just? Baby Dick, he is just so smol and full of hate.

I am just imagining this small 9 year old, taking on full aged adults and winning, then turning around and grinning like the devil at the remaining crooks

I just think Gotham Twitter would be like

Gothamite 1: Robin 4 is such angy, most stabby boy

Gothamite 2: He isn't even angry??? Like that boy is just autistic, I talked to him about proper pet care for like 45 minutes after getting mugged, Bats had a fucking 1000 mile stare.

Gothamite 3: If you want real angry Robin, you need to look at n.1 or @ Realwing. I was a goon for a bit out of collage, he broke 3 ribs and my collar bone by pushing me down the stairs and then jumping on me.

Gothamite 1: Can't see it, Nightwing is too pure.

Gothamite 2: He has fucking killed/brutally maimed people? Parasocial much??

And like, also more on Baby Dickie...that boy did not speak English as his main language until he came to live with Bruce, Halys circus tours in Europe mostly? Give me little Dickie just looking at Bruce with uncomprehending eyes as the man tries to explain that Dickie will be living with him.

Give me baby Dick with the cutest thick French accent as a boy (side note, have you seen children speak French? It's so fucking cute, they sound so fancy but still so very baby) Like I feel like he spoke a hodgepodge of languages with the carnies? Maybe that carries over to his Robin ages.

Robin, running up to Batman, cycling through 5 different languages and two dialects, then just holds out a frog to Bruce expectantly.

Bruce, who missed about every 3rd word and had to translate French, then German, then Portuguese and then Romani to English in a matter of seconds, "Yes...You may keep it."

Dick, giving Bruce a very concerned look, then to the frog, then to Bruce again "You...want to... to own it? Is it not...giftig? ruim para comer? " Groaning he flaps his hand trying to think of the right word, "Does not...work well with me? Make feel bad? Is sick?"

Bruce nodded slowly, "Poisonous or toxic is the word you are looking for Chum, no its just a cane Toad, Ce n'est pas toxique, c'est sans danger."

(Dickie does keep the toad, His name is Herr Haly and he lived very well in the gardens, he died not long after Jason came around)

Later when Dick went to do Teen Titans, the reason Starfires English is kinda messed up is because Dicks brain is hardwired for like four other things, and English was just the one she was looking for, he mentally translates every word from another language to English, so the grammar is a bit rough some times.

[armthearmour]

Steel Brocade: Puffed & Slashed Costume Armor

Surviving to this day in the collections of the world’s most illustrious museums are a group of three armors. These armors have much in common, but most striking is the attempts made by their armorers to render in steel a convincing portrayal of the puffed and slashed clothing fashionable to the early 16th century.

Though this fashion is synonymous with the landsknecht mercenaries who may have been responsible for popularizing it, the puffed and slashed style was enjoyed by members at all levels of society.

Portrait of Duke Henry of Saxony by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1514, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden.

The earliest of these three armors is housed at the Wallace Collection. Consisting only of a cuirass and arms, this armor is, at first glance, rather underwhelming when compared with the other armors in this group. Though the embossed bands styled with etched slashes embellished with gold provide the impression of a puffed and slashed doublet, the execution is all rather stiff, and lacks the impressive volume and fullness exemplified by the other armors.

It is for this reason that this armor, previously considered contemporary to the KHM and Metropolitan examples, has received relatively little attention. However, recent scholarship by Dr. Tobias Capwell suggests that this work is not, indeed, contemporary to the other examples, and is rather about ten years older, dating to ca. 1515. Dr. Capwell also considers this piece to be the work of Konrad Seusenhofer, a favored armorer of the Emperor Maximilian I.

Seen through this lens, not as a poorly executed contemporary of greater armors, but as a less developed ancestor to them, this armor takes on new life. It speaks to innovation and experimentation; an early attempt at a technique which would later be perfected.

The second in this line is the garniture of Wilhelm von Rogendorf, housed at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.

This armor is unique for its condition, which is remarkably good. Not only does this armor retain more of its pieces than the other two, it is also accompanied by a number of “pieces of exchange,” elements which could be swapped out so the armor could be worn in the field.

Finished in 1523, as attested to by the date etched on the right shoulder strap, this armor was made for the Count Wilhelm von Rogendorf by Kolman Helmschmid and etched by Daniel Hopfer.

Wilhelm von Rogendorf himself was heir to a new, up-and-coming German noble family.

A medal showing Wilhelm von Rogendorf as a Knight of the Order of Calavatra, dated 1536, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Born in 1481 the second son of Kaspar von Rogendorf, Wilhelm became heir to his family’s estates when his elder brother Sigmund died in 1507, by which time Wilhelm was already a courtier at the Habsburg court. He entered into the service of King Charles I of Spain (later Emperor Charles V) no later than 1517 and was appointed Governor of Friesland. In 1522, Wilhelm accompanied Charles to Spain where he commanded a regiment of 4,000 landsknechts and was again placed in charge of a restless border territory. In 1524, he successfully captured the Fortress of Fuenterrabía from the French, which won him great praise from the Emperor. Shortly thereafter, Wilhelm was named Captain of the Imperial Bodyguard and given the governorships of Catalonia, the Cerdagne, and the Roussillon. Additionally, he was appointed to the Spanish chivalric Order of Calavatra. Wilhelm would retire from court in 1539, but would be recalled in 1541 to command Imperial troops against the Ottomans in Hungary. He would be killed later that same year at the siege of Buda by a stray cannonball.

Though Wilhelm’s armor is now displayed in its parade configuration, the surviving pieces of exchange attest to the fact that it was also an armor for combat. The cuirass is equipped with the long tassets common to the early 16th century. A pair of holes can be observed at the top of the last lame.

These holes correspond to holes at the top of the half-cuisses which accompany this armor, showing that these cuisses would be pointed to the tassets rather than worn separately.

In the rear, the cuirass is accompanied by a rump-defense, also known as a hoguine. Small turning pins near the waist allow this to be removed for combat.

Both spaulders

and gauntlets

survive. Additionally, the KHM retains the armor’s right vambrace

while the Wallace Collection holds the rerebrace and couter for the left arm.

Recently, these pieces were assembled to show what the arm harness for field as a single unit would have looked like.

This armor would also have been accompanied by a gorget, now missing, and a helmet. Frequently, this armor is displayed alongside a close-helmet, however it is more likely the armor would have been accompanied by a burgonet similar in form to this example from the KHM.

One final, unique surprise this armor holds is a hidden lance rest which is incorporated into the turned edge by the right arm. This rest folds down to allow a light lance to be braced atop it, and when folded up, is nearly invisible so as to not ruin the smooth surface of the breastplate with the prominent staples typically required for affixing a lance rest.

The third and final armor of this group is housed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

The least complete of these three armors, it may also be the most visually impressive. Comprised of only a backplate, hoguine, and arms, the puffs and slashes of this piece (also by Kolman Helmschmid and Daniel Hopfer) are ornately cusped. The slashed regions, displaying the gilded “fabric” beneath, and heavily etched to resemble an expensive silk brocade.

The sleeves of this armor are even more voluminous than those of the Rogendorf armor, though they are similarly articulated and provide the wearer with a surprising degree of mobility. It is thought that this armor may have been made for prominent Polish nobleman Jerzy Herkules Radziwill.

Interestingly, the hoguine of this armor is composed of two separate plates, rather than a single solid plate. Where the hoguine of the other two armors terminates in a decorative fabric border, the Met armor continues into two more articulated lames, covering the top rear of the thighs. Holes along the bottom edge suggest that this armor may have been accompanied by fully enclosing cuisses which pointed to the bottom of the fauld and hoguine.

Sources

“A Pair of Gauntlets.” Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. https://www.khm.at/de/object/540164/.

“A Pair of Spaulders with Besagews.” Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. https://www.khm.at/de/object/372772/.

Cranach, Lucas the Elder. “Portrait of Duke Henry of Saxony.” Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden. https://skd-online-collection.skd.museum/Details/Index/246875.

Krause, Stefan. Fashion in Steel. Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 2017.

“Landsknecht Costume Armour.” Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. https://www.khm.at/de/object/372771/.

“Left Upper Cannon and Couter.” The Wallace Collection. https://wallacelive.wallacecollection.org:443/eMP/eMuseumPlus?service=ExternalInterface&module=collection&objectId=60736&viewType=detailView.

“Open Burgonet.” Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. https://www.khm.at/en/object/503346/.

“Parts of an Armour.” The Wallace Collection. https://wallacelive.wallacecollection.org:443/eMP/eMuseumPlus?service=ExternalInterface&module=collection&objectId=60519&viewType=detailView.

“Portions of a Costume Armor.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/27790.

“Vambrace.” Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. https://www.khm.at/de/object/372773/.

“Wilhelm von Rogendorf.” Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. https://www.khm.at/de/object/1409642/

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[tshortik]

My random comic Recs #1

I've been reading more comics lately, so I wanted to share my love for them in the hopes that someone might give this medium a chance!

Note: I am not a fan of superhero comics, because I simply don't like that genre, so don't expect superheroes below. Gonna make these posts every now and then and they will always include 4 recs. 1.) The Many Deaths of Laila Starr

Death got demoted and sent to earth as a mortal! Some boy is going to figure out how to cheat death in the future, and our girl Death really doesn't appreciate that. The entire graphic novel is only 5 issues long, so it's VERY digestible and easy to get through.There is something so light and playful about the art style, and the vibrant colors really sell it.

For people that are completely new to comics as a medium, I imagine that this is actually an A+ book to start with for the reasons I just mentioned. The way paneling and the flow of time is done in here, is a great example as to why comics are so unique as a medium and why they should be looked at as its own art from, separate from movies or books.

2) Mécanique Céleste (Or "Mechanica Calaestium" in the German translation, or "Aster Of Pan" in the English translation)

An absolutely breathtaking French comic. Aster lives in Pan, a post-apocalyptic France where she scavenges for wreckage with her friend Wallis. After their people come under a threat by the Federation of Fortuna, they are given a choice —submit to Fortuna’s rule or beat them in a weird Hunger Games-esque version of Dodge, called “Celestial Mechanics”.

The detailed art pieces in each panel, the careful line work, the lively way the characters move and the stunning watercolors captivated me from the first page. This graphic novel (now 2 volumes) is one of a kind and truly unique!

3) Something Is Killing the Children

Note: Comic contains a lot of gore and violence!

Children are starting to disappear in Archer's Peak. The ones that come back tell impossible stories that no one seems to believe. Only one stranger trusts these tales - a mysterious girl named Erica Slaughter who seems to be able to see these creatures too. And she's here for business.

I loooove Something is Killing the Children. I haven't finished reading the ongoing volumes yet, but I am super fascinated at how well the pacing goes in this story. The rough art style with Erica's freaky large eyes is SO fun, and you start appreciating it even more the longer you read.

4) Mon Ami Pierrot ("Mein Freund Pierrot" in German, "My friend Pierrot" in English)

Another fabulous French comic! Cléa is to marry soon - a young man name of Berthier. Right before the wedding she meets the fascinating magician Pierrot though, who completely changes the course of her life. Entranced by his whimsical nature that makes her feel "free" for the first time in her life, she follows him and leaves her previous life behind. During her stay with Pierrot, questions arise, though. Who is he really? All the while her betrothed sets out to find her again.

The Ghibli influence both art- and storywise is easy to make out, and I personally really enjoyed that. I particularly love the colors and the facial expressions the characters are drawn with. Everything feels very whimsical and playful and I had a good time going through this chonker of a graphic novel!

No spoilers, but I expected toothrottingly-sweet wholesome stuff, and ended up surprised on several occasions. I think the colours and art style really help give those moments wham, because you don't expect it.