#northern translates

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

About your response re: Gongyi Xiao's name, if the given name is one syllable, how would he be referred casually? I've only just started learning more about how chinese names work, and from what I've been told names should preferably have two syllables. I've seen additives such as A- and -er, but I don't exactly know how they work and don't want to make assumptions.

This obviously doesn't relate to canon facts like this blog intended, so apologies if the question is unwelcome! Hope your day is lovely either way 💕💕

Tbh I'm open to answering as many questions as I can, even if it's not this blog's main intention-- even if I can't answer or don't answer correctly, at least then it's out there before a bunch of eyes that can peer-review!

Whether a given name in Chinese has one or two characters, that can depend a lot on generation. For example, I believe for a long time it was two-character names that were customary, then more recently one-character names, and the current generation has gone back to favoring two-character names again. Sometimes, a given name will have three characters, maybe even four, but I have only heard of this and haven't seen it so it's very uncommon.

Either way, you're hardly ever going to call someone by a single-character name without a modifier. Usually names aren't used without modifiers at all, but it's especially so for single-character names. To call someone by a single-character name with no modifier is not unheard of in literature, but it is very intimate, and also very uncommon-- so I wouldn't suggest using it that way.

Anyway, for Gongyi Xiao in particular, one could very, very informally call him 萧儿Xiao'er/Xiao'r，or 阿萧 A-Xiao. However, this is very familiar and would only be used by people older than him, especially when he is young, or people who are very, very close to him like parents or older siblings and other relatives, or by a romantic partner-- not casually between friends. Both of these are intimate and affectionate, with a "cutesy" sort of feeling, though to my own interpretation Xiao'er is slightly more so than A-Xiao.

For his peers, 公议师兄 Gongyi-shixiong would be standard, even for those peers from other sects as cultivators of the same generation call one another Shixiongdi/Shijiemei even when they are not from the same sect in SV.

As for general close friends, Calling him 公议兄 Gongyi-xiong would be appropriate (with "xiong" here as roughly equivalent of "bro") or perhaps 萧哥 Xiao-ge as something even less formal but not as intimate as Xiao'er/A-Xiao.

So, someone of the same generation could call him inorder of formal to least formal, Gongyi-shixiong > Gongyi-xiong > Xiao-ge, and a partner of his could say A-Xiao or Xiao'er.

[mydaylight]

If you listened, and in the overflow of pain, the giving in to wanton drunkness, the tears, oh would deny all to me if you saw them and still you say you have loved me

Maria Polydouri - Who knows...

[queenlucythevaliant]

Northern Lights

.

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!” 

.

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it? 

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her. 

.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern. 

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious. 

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky. 

.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise. 

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over. 

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything. 

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over. 

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all. 

.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood! 

She thought of grief. Of freedom. 

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

.

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him. 

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison. 

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short. 

.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t. 

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

.

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 

.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked. 

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

.

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end. 

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely. 

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters. 

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two. 

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth. 

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile. 

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

.

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

.

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest. 

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above. 

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance. 

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face. 

.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight. 

.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks. 

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave. 

.

So perish the old Gods!

.

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute. 

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 

.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.” 

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured. 

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways. 

.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

[bonefall]

so is shadowclanmew just austrailian

I made a vow that if there ever was some situation where I was putting voiceclaims to BB characters, I have to choose exclusively Northern English accents. But I would also include wiggle room for a Welsh accent.

[youjustwaitsunshine]

i love you historical epics with prefaces and footnotes i love you bilingual historical epics with side by side verses i love you historical context i love you endless appendices i love you explanation for the historical text that makes up half the book

[meraki-yao]

TN Candies: Bonus

So the account that I follow for candies and translate sort of noticed me 🤣

She just made a compilation post of all her Candies post with so far 46 candies post 🤪

And rest assured I'll get to translating all of them (so far there are 46 and I've only translated like 4), but give me some time because I have seven months of candies to catch up and translate, and again I am a student 😅

Also please respect OP's wishes and not post any of her content or my translated content to Twitter

Quick message from me to OP if she ever sees this:

老師你要是看到這個帖子，真的很謝謝你和我們分享這些糖和這些快樂！這個家沒你不行！也謝謝你允許我翻譯和將這份快樂分享給這邊的紅藍人（不好意思應該早些問你允不允許，但我沒微博賬號😅）愛你！！！❤️🤍💙

還有老師看到你說在這裡看到你的文有些社死，說真的我發現你看到了我的翻譯感覺也挺社死的哈哈哈哈😅

[homerstroystory]

Andromache and Priam Urging Hector Not to Go to War

c. 1470-90, probably produced through the Pasquier Grenier of Tournai (died 1493); made in Tournai, South Netherlands; wool warp, wool wefts, a few silk wefts; 482.6 x 264.2cm

currently in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York City), accession no. 39.74.

Inscription (top, French): Andromata la mort Hector doubtans qu[avoi]t sog [ie vint a] genos plourer / [lu]i puta en prans pleurs ces enfans. En lui priant e[n ce] jour non aller. / [En] bataille Hector se fist armer. Ce non ostant et acheval monta. / [Le] roy Priat le constrait retourner. Par la pitie quil print d'Adromata rough translation: Andromache, fearing Hector's death went to him with his father [Priam] and they wept tears for him, saying "think of the children," and praying that he not go to battle that day. Hector armed himself for battle. He removed himself [left] and mounted his horse. King Priam begged him to return because he took pity on Andromache.

Inscription (bottom, Latin): Andromatha de flens [e]xcidium. Hectoris qd'vidit dormiendo. / Offert prolem huic in remedium. Priamus hunc vocat retinendo. rough translation: Andromache weeps for the slaughter [of her family], which Hector saw in his dreams. He offers his son [a prayer] of assistance. Priam says this to delay him [going into battle].

[the-pantry-of-art]

Best boyfriends <3

[romanceyourdemons]

the translation of condor heroes i’m reading now translates hong qigong’s name “count seven,” and i have to say. this is doing horrible things inside my brain. that’s almost the name of a significantly worse guy i know

[charlie-rulerofhell]

I feel like in the Lord of the Lost fandom, there is a lot of talk about Chris (understandably so), but we‘re all sleeping a little bit on this man:

and his hair:

and his makeup game that is always so perfectly on point:

[wszczebrzyszynie]

Can I just say, I LOVE your Grian design fxvfddsffffhhfe he's just so <33333333

I also find how you draw outfits, it's SO pretty I love it so much <3333 ngl I actually wanna draw similar outfits but I don't wanna get it wrong and offend people </33

thank you for the kind words !

the thing about drawing folk costumes (because im assuming thats what you mean), is that theyre naturally a bit... tough, if youre not familiar with them already, and making research as an outsider to that culture may be very hard, but it shoudnt be scary and i would geniuely encourage you to try and learn more about it. just know that there is a lot you probably wont fully get at first because of the language or culture barrier and how scattered the sources can be, and thats cool. learning is part of the process of appreciation

[extraordinarilyextreme]

Commenter 1: It's so easy to cry over FangHua, in every sense - for the fact they loved deeply, for their one year of love and ten years of regret. Commenter 2: This one year's worth of time almost seems stolen by these two. It's the heavens taking pity on them.

[crystalbehindthescenes]

北の空から Kita no Sora Kara From the Northern Sky

Another track from CMusic! this time for Sailor Moon R! This track is found in Episode 61 of the series Usagi Devastated: Mamoru Declares a Break-Up. None other than the song form the infamous Break Up scene! (infamous if you dont like the arc.)

Personally not my favorite arc for this season but this scene really does hit hard outside of it, and the music they chose fits so well.

[dyke-arachne]

Has an idea for a knitting project but doesnt know what special occasion to tie it to

[atsushis-fangs]

Callum: is e seo do choire uile. North: yes, yes, I know. Andrew: I thought you didn't speak Gaelic?? North: you're right, I don't, I just know the phrase "this is all your fault" in every language Callum speaks.

@winterwrites23 i found my old SoT incorrect quotes document (it got deeply buried and I was convinced I had deleted it on accident or something) so all I gotta do now is publish the ones I haven't already :D

[crepuscularray]

Deercember Day Nineteen: Taruca Deer | Dusting of Snow

The taruca (Hippocamelus antisensis)—also known as the Peruvian guemal, north Andean deer, north Andean huemul, northern huemul, or northern guemal—is a mid-sized deer species that inhabits the high regions of the Andes mountains in South America. Tarucas are found only in the Andes mountains, from central Peru, through Bolivia and extreme north-eastern Chile, and into northern Argentina. The common name taruca means "deer" in both the Quechua and Aymara languages, though these are not interrelated. Tarucas are mainly found on rocky slopes, queñual forests, and puna grasslands near glacial lakes at high-altitude mountain terrains. Despite living in grasslands, the taruca feeds mainly on the local bushes, shrubs, and herbs for much of the year, but supplements this diet with grasses during the rainy season. Unlike other South American deer, except for the closely-related huemul, the antlers consist of just two tines which branch from the base, and with the posterior tine being the larger. Males also possess canine teeth in their upper jaw, which females usually, but not always, lack. More information here.

References: Deer and Grass, Mountains.