#so german is the only other not dead language I know

[foreststarflaime]

So in reference to glory/honor in the last post: honor isn’t actually honor- that’s a localization change* - the initial word (hokori) is closer to pride in English.

(I just stole my definition and sources and stuff from my Zack post:

誇り | Hokori - To take pride in; To boast of

Definition Sources: 1, 2, 3

(here is the partial jp cc script that I ref for my analysis posts))

All that is to say: your assertion of Angeal fitting with Patroclus is not as much of a stretch :3

(*I have mixed feelings on this change but ultimately it’s one of the ones that’s pretty benign given how poorly pride is thought of in the heavily Protestant influenced culture the North American version was being localized for.)

Oh EXCELLENT thank you for informing me of this! I love when things accidentally work out even better like this

I will definitely be stealing that script to reference lol, I love looking at things in their original languages and it has somehow slipped my mind for this until now—Japanese seems like a wonderful language and one I would love to add to my ever-growing language hoard if I ever get around to it! Until then definitely stealing those definition sources as well

And as for the change, yeah translations are always a struggle bc of the cultural differences, so I get why they did it but yeah. Mixed feelings, definitely. Translating is always especially frustrating when there’s a word with much more nuance in one language than the closest match of a word in the other language—fun fact, most of my professors will actually accept and even prefer it if we just leave words like that (like kleos, for example) as is (but transliterated). I usually tend to translate things as literally as possible, partly bc it’s how I was taught with the first other language I learned (Latin) and partly because it makes me stop and think about the cultural/linguistic differences since they’re more obvious that way! But it’s for my own personal use or grades from people who also work with those languages academically, definitely much clunkier than is comfortable in normal reading English

Anyways yeah this has just turned into me rambling about languages and is no longer quite relevant so I’ll stop here now lol

[max1461]

Thinking about this post. "The only way to make a cell is from another cell" is somewhat of a troubling fact to me. I mean, not for any practical reason, just because it underscores the precarity of *gestures broadly*.

It's like, some people talk about trying to de-extinct the mammoth. And people are trying to sequence the genome of the mammoth, I don't know if they've done it yet. But even if they do, one of the problems with the idea of de-extinction is... to grow a baby mammoth, you need another mammoth! Last time I heard people talking about this, I think they were talking about using an elephant as a surrogate mother. But imagine if elephants were extinct too.

The point is that information is often tied to the systems that transmit it; even if you know everything in the mammoth genome, once all the mammoths are gone there's nothing capable of reading and using that information. Like when you can't read the data on a perfectly good floppy disk because your computer doesn't have a floppy drive.

This is related to why language death troubles me so much. Even the most well-documented languages aren't actually that well understood; linguists have produced more pages of work on English syntax than maybe any other specific descriptive topic and yet still the only reliable way to get the answer to any moderately subtle syntactic question is elicit native speaker data. We know almost nothing, we can barely extrapolate at all! And every language is like this, a hugely complex system that we know basically nothing about, and if the chain of native speaker transmission is ever broken it's just gone.

"Language revival", I mean from a totally dead language, is kind of a myth. It's like the "came back different" trope. In Israel they revived Hebrew, but Modern Hebrew is really not the same thing as Biblical Hebrew at all. I mean in a stronger sense even than Modern English isn't Old English. All the subtleties of Biblical Hebrew that a native speaker would have had implicit competence with died without a trace. All they left is a grainy image, the texts. The first generation of Modern Hebrew speakers took the rough grammatical sketch preserved in these texts and imbued it with new subtleties, borrowed from Slavic and Germanic and the speakers' other native languages, or converged at by consensus among that first generation of children. There's nothing wrong with that, but it would be inaccurate to imagine Biblical Hebrew surviving in Modern Hebrew the way Old English survives in Modern English. For instance, you can discover a great deal that you didn't know about Old English by comparing Modern English dialects. There is nothing you can discover about Biblical Hebrew by comparing Modern Hebrew dialects in this way.

There's nothing wrong with this, of course. I'm not like, judging Modern Hebrew. I'm just making a point.

Mammoths died recently, so we still have (some of?) their genome. Something that died longer ago, like dinosaurs, we have traces of them in the form of fossils but we could never hope to revive them, the information is just gone. Even if we're not aiming for revival, even if we just want to know stuff about dinosaurs, there's so much that we will never know and can never know.

We imagine information as the kind of thing which sits in an archive, because this is the context most of us encounter information in, I think. Libraries, hard drives. Well obviously hard drives don't last. And most ancient texts only survive because of a scribal tradition, continuous re-writing, not because of actual archival. So I think that imagining archives as the natural habitat of information is sort of wrong; the natural habit of information is in continuous transmission. Information is constantly moving. And it's like one of those sharks, if it ever stops moving it drowns. And if the lines of transmission are broken, the information is gone and can never be retrieved.

Very precarious.

[bebebelll]

does anyone know her dad? | dn3 x reader (part 3)

paring: daniel ricciardo x toto's daughter!reader, daniel ricciardo x wolff & shcumacher!reader warning: nothing (google translated german because i studied that language for 2 years and dont know a single word anymore) notes: part 1, part 2 and part 4 are recommended reading

ynquads god i love what the us grand prixs do to this man. there's something in the air and the cowboy hats are hot. i truly feel really blessed to have met you, to spend my life with you, to have been by your side and to have had you by mine. i just really love you ❤️❤️❤️

liked by danielricciardo, susie_wolff and 1 184 537 others

username haha jumping off a building now bye

danielricciardo you really love me ❤️

ynquads i really really love you danielricciardo really really really? ynquads really really really really danielricciardo wanna sneak out and go makeout? ynquads YEAH alex_albon no please dont we're on the same plane the restroom is small the walls are thin

maxverstappen1 gross

username sobbing screaming throwing up (fuck i am jealous)

danielricciardo i am so obsessed with you baby

ynquads i fucking adore you

f1wagsupdate as we all know that the figure skater and danny ric's girlfriend yn shcumacher is the child of toto wolff and michael shcumacher's sister, we decided to go on a deep dive. these are really the only photos we could find from facebook. we could only find this one photo of katarina shcumacher and not a single one her and toto together. but isn't toto just adorable with baby yn? and enjoy baby yn and max verstappen looking super cool!

liked by 46 956

username MAX VERSTAPPEN

username how is mick not using that last photo every year on their birthdays like i would print a pic like that of my siblings and put them up around school hallways and on the fridge

ynquads do not worry, auntie sophie and vic show that photo around every christmas

username ooh its too bad theres no photos of them together

username same bro i cant stop imagining some summer love ynquads they met a bar in berlin and got so fucking drunk that its a miracle they didn't get alcohol poisoning. i am so truly so really serious when i say that i'd be surprised if they even exchanged names before i was already cooking in my mom's stomach username what the fuck you saying ynquads i've seen an old homevideo about the morning after. i talk about it in therapy every week

username i love how yn is just lurking around every post about her and her parents

yt video: YN SHCUMACHER ATTENDS COTA - BRUNDLE GRIDWALK

comments:

username love the passive aggressive attitude to every camera she saw

username truly a lovely experience. yn kissed daniel before the race. she kissed max's cheek when he won and said something scandalous in german/dutch based on everyone's faces. i also saw a video of her laughing on the ground when lewis dsq was announced

username WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY SAYING IS THAT GERMAN

username yn: they are filming you, dad. you are very popular. toto: dont give them too much attention. you had a long flight. you just go and take a nap before the race. brundle and toto talk yn: well see how intact our relationship is after the race username intact 😂😂 lord that really is torger's kid

danielricciardo this woman is the single reason ive survived some darker times. she's so beautiful, lovely and sweet. elegant on and off the ice ❤️❤️the day i do not gush and drool about her is the day i'm dead. so in love

liked by ynquads and 2 487 577 others

username why am i crying

username cant come to the phone right now busy driving through concrete walls and off a cliff

ynquads i am THE luckiest girl ❤️❤️❤️

danielricciardo if youre lucky then ive been blessed by god ynquads dont you dare i win this danielricciardo youre not the one who was just on their knees i win ynquads come here and ill wrestle you danielricciardo only if you kiss the booboos better after

username am i the only one getting real suspicious about these "i love you much" post that they've been putting out for the entire month??? like what you doing all this for

username EXACTLY username they've been together for like four or five years too sooooo you know what people do around that timestamp 🤭🤭🤭

username just what the hell is that comment about being on their knees daniel

ynquads instagram story

danielricciardo funny thing about vegas

liked by ynquads, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 3 483 573 others

username BITCH WHAT

susie_wolff if you got married in a las vegas chappel, you are grounded till your 80th birthday yn - toto wolff

ynquads i didn't actually expect to love being engage this much

danielricciardo whats got you excited about this then? ynquads the fact that im gonna get to marry YOU maxverstappen1 stop being gross maxverstappen1 i already suffered through watching the proposal

username love this i want to snort this i want to inject this into my blood but did you get engaged and then eat junkfood while watching princess diaries 2

ynquads don't tell anyone 🤫 danielricciardo really dont tell anyone that amount of junkfood was not in the diet plan

@topguncultleader @eternalharry

[the-entitie]

COD men x K-9 Unit male reader

Part 1 | Part 2》》

A/n: I can speak three languages, only one of which borrow German words, so forgive me for shitty translations. I'm from the RSA, so you know. Not any of the boys hometown.

Reader works with a K-9 unit and his partner is called Mutt who is a mix breed of Alaskan Akita and Doberman(Mutt is also a service dog as reader has paranoia and C-PTSD). Readers call sign is Riot. The 141 boys needed help tracing a terrorist and John called in some favors to bring Riot and Mutt into the field. He helped the Los Vaqueros as well.

After the mission back at base, the reader interacts with the men, and they end up interacting with him.

Reader is referred to as you or Riot.

Mentions of panic attacks, anxiety attacks, C-PTSD, war, and / or war related violence. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, past trauma. Death of a family member. Torture, scars, and flashbacks.

Left: American Akita and Right: Long-haired Doberman

John Price: (740 words)

-He met you first, saw you first. Hell, he verified your file so he knew of your old teammates that turned because of the torture, and he knew of the many years you spent MIA. He also knows what you did to get out. So he keeps you close and keeps an eye on you. He's the one who needs to clear you for this recon mission. It will be his fault if another team mate goes rogue. -It only take him a few minutes to see how much you actually relay on Mutt, it takes him days to see its not reliance, no the two of you act in a cemented trust between you two. From the interactions at home base to the way you both move like a well oiled machine on the field, it doesn't take a genius to see that Mutt is a deadly force with training that makes the hound that much more dangerous. Price comes face to face with that realization when he sees just how far Mutt can throw a soldier four times their size. And Mutt came up to his thighs, mind you. -Time and space are all Price really needed to trust you completely. He knew how you acted with Mutt, and therefore, he knew how you would act around a team you trust. It doesn't take him long to see its not only Mutt who reacts to you. You react just as much based on your K-9. Price nearly shoots you when you call out to Mutt because you didn't whistle for the hound. You howled, and he could hardly tell it apart from the wild dogs he's heard out in the desert. He didn't even understand what the fuck you where doing until he heard something answer you, in the same rumbling call. It took a lot more time to get used to those kinds of noises from you. He could expect them from Mutt but not when it's you who makes them -Both of you were exhausted, been about three long days on your feet with little sleep, that's when he asks you how you make the sounds Mutt does. Hell he even starts trying to learn them just to know how you and you K-9 partner work better. "So I just cup my hands and what now Riot? I Grunt?" "No," you laugh at him, he doesn't feel patronized by it, "you hold your hands around your mouth and just bark, makes it echo like a dog." He sounded more like a mountain lion then canine when he actually gave it a try. You teach him how to pitch it up a bit, and how to drag the call out properly. "And you don't use your hand because?" "Because I'm used to it, and can make the 'echo' without my hands. I still do when I howl. Look." A few nights pass before he uses it to scare a tango shitless out side of the enemy base. He doesn't admit it but he likes 'talking' to the local wild dogs with you. He even enjoys hearing you and Mutt go off at each other because it means your both alive and still here. -Out side of the field and when you two go out to roam the town at the dead of night, he comes to see that the canine noises you and Mutt share gives you peace. The kind he used to find in cigars and smoke. He gets it, he knows that some people just have a vice. When you find him smoking alone behind his own home, he shrugs it off and blames it on the smoke detectors. He doesn't say that he stops to make your K-9 more comfortable in his home. He doesn't stop smoking but he tries to avoid it for your sake. You only corner him around a day or so to thank him. He won't admit to the red flaring up on his ears, but he tells you to drop it. -If he's ever the one who finds you when your having an attack, he will guard you. Get you safe and comfortable then he will become a gruff mother bear and be completely over protective of you. He only calms down when he sees that Mutt already does that, and he learns what can help you, what to look out for. He won't admit it though.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley: (734 words)

-Ghost didn't like you at first. or well he doesn't like anyone actually but he didn't like you. -You had a dog breed that was originally made for bear bating and he hated that he knew that. Even if you didn't get the hound because of that. Well, that and Mutt is constantly muzzled. It took you explaining it was required by law for him to try and ignore it. -But when he watches how fluidly you and Mutt work together, even seeing the raw fucking power that dog has when Mutt tackled an enemy to the ground, he starts to understand why you have to keep Mutt muzzled. Even if he didn't like it. -Simon has an ex-military dog at home so he knows how to act around an active working dog. He's the best to be around if you don't want people petting or trying to do anything really with your K-9 partner. -when at the base afterwards he sees that the dog isn't just a working dog but acts like you service dog. Everything from crowd control to doing small tasks for you on the daily. To siting between your legs when you have your back to anyone when doing a task to protect you. Mutt will even start doing this quiet sort of 'rueff' sound that will make you get out of where ever you are without any fanfare, you will just disappear. -He only finds out why a lot later. He feel kind of stupid for missing it after the fact. -Its the scars that cross your back and over your shoulders, the hitches of thick skin around your jaw. You are a torture survivor. So suddenly he gets it. Mutt is your safety, the dog wears a muzzle because your K-9 partner is also a person protection dog. -After he realized the why you stick to your partner so closely, he would begin to help Mutt protect you. He would stand ahead of you when Mutt would lay down to create space (crowd control). Ghost would watch your back and react with your partner to help you. -He takes his mask off when you two are either alone or when your are forced to show your scares he shows some of his to help you feel more comfortable. -you start to notice it, and at first you would try to stop him but eventually you just start protecting him back. You become more comfortable around him. Simon notices it to. -One day after a few days straight of being on your feet, both you and Simon end up passed out in his private quarters. Ghost wakes first to see Mutt cuddle against you and draped across him, when ever he tried to move the dog, they would just growl and to his utter amusement you growled back. -After that he gets you to 'talk' to Mutt any time he can, even on missions. - Ghost was the one who told you and Mutt to bark at each other to distract the enemy when on a recon mission. "Copy Riot, we need an in" "Need an in, copy. Any ideas for that L.t?" "Yeah, Riot go off and make some noise with Mutt" "Seriously?" "Yip, get going we need that data" You two got in, and yes you did start howling back and forth with Mutt in the echo trick wolves use. The enemy thought they were surrounded by cayotes. -When you eventually cuddle up with Ghost again, and Mutt yips or growls at you and you make the noise back, Simon will growl at you. It becomes a games between you to, even doing it as call outs outside of coms. Soap complains about wild dogs once and now Simon will get Mutt vocal just to fuck with Soap. -he starts calling you dog related nicknames, your name doesn't exist anymore. Call sign? only when necessary. You are now called with doggie names. He'll call out a, "Heh, Good boy" "Come on puppy you can speak" when you go dark on coms, or just when you don't answer him. Yes he will also say things like, "What ever you say Fido" -He makes you swear to never tell a soul that he also barks back at Mutt when you two are off duty. You caught him coping a growl when playing with Mutt once. -He gets Mutt and his las to meet. Now he also makes dog sounds with you on his down time, even without you much to his old girls delight.

John “Soap” Mactavish: (616 words)

-He loves your K-9 partner from the first time Price introduces you to the team, sure he tries to be professional but the second you let Mutt go off to play out of gear he just wants to give the hound so many pets. They are just so big and have that cute angry tilt to their face! Can you blame him. -when out on the field, he loves running with two of you on missions. The adrenaline and rush and just how much faster you two are than him. He loves it. -You end up doing it with him outside of missions after a while. Hiking out in mountains and secluded valleys, it's the first time he hears you howl with Mutt. The coyotes had started, yipping over whatever they killed lower down the ridge. Mutt, who was a few paces head, had paused to howl, without thinking you howl with them. Scares Soap but he just finds it fun. -Soap being so in love with Mutt leads to just being around you a lot. He starts learning what certain movements mean to you and your dog, how a sharp left with your hand was a call to draw back or how the shift of your stance meant to take the lead. It amazed him how well you read each other. -Then he sees how you act outside of the field, how Mutt still acted like a protector, and you kept mimicking the sounds Mutt made. Especially when you were more tired. He found it cute. Hell, he loved playing with Mutt, so when you made the hound more excited, he also got just as if not more excited. -Soap loves head scratches you find out when you two are off duty and hanging out. He's on the floor with Mutt and the hound he's cuddling wines before you reach down to comfort the dog with head scritches. You miss and pet Soap instead, beside being completely flustered, he asked you to do it again.  He just starts asking you to do it more and more before you start petting him the same way you pet over your hound. -Now you start with the dog related nicknames, even over coms. Much to Soaps embarrassment and the teams delight. He nearly buckles the first time you call him a good boy, and he does when you call him a good dog. Blames it on a miss step. -He loves, loves, loves listening to you, and Mutt yap back and forth, loves even more when you go to rough houses with growls and even try pining you down one. He fails, but he doesn't care. -Soap only catches one of your attacks when it's about sun down. You're both at his place standing in the kitchen when your shoulders suddenly hitch, but you continued on as normal. Until Mutt wandered over to you, they stopped dead before making a gruff noise and jumping up onto you. Instead of getting you secluded because, of course, the hound sees Soaps house as a safe space. And Mutt will get you down, force you to sit and lower your head. "Woh, n'er knew em ta jump? Wait shit. ROIT!" He'll be right there next to you, knows what to do because of Ghosts episodes on recons. "What's it, lad? What can I do ta help 'im?" -You don't really talk about it. Sure, you explain what it was and why Mutt did that, but not the why it happened. It takes a while to admit that the scares you hide are the reason for that attack. He gets it he does, and now? Mother fucker will do dumb shit to distract you, or just talk and talk and talk. It helps, he knows it helps.

König: (764 words)

-Being a sniper, he likes the added security, the extra eyes to help watch his back. Sure, he doesn't trust you per say but he tries to be friendly none the less. -He had no idea what Mutt was trained for until he saw the both of you take down someone who made it to his vantage point. He saw how you moved like Mutt was an extension of yourself, that's how you earn his respect. -König didn't know why you had so many commands for Mutt, but most of them were cues or just situational. Most of all, the verbal commands you use are in Russian and Dutch so he can understand some of the tasks you ask Mutt to do . It kind of scares him that Mutt would know which trail was a friend and which person wasn't. He stands by that fear when he watches you set them off on a run away target. -He will only admit to himself that both you and Mutt look way to good covered in the gore from that attack. -You had to explain that that kind of training meant your partner had to be muzzled. You both get to talking that night, swapping stories of close calls, and König shyly showed you the star splattered scar on his jaw. Lifting his hood up just enough to see it before hurriedly drooping it back down. You share a few of the worse days you had as a call in search and riot guard and snippets of the scars covering your throat. -Habits begin forming. König will be a silent wall between you and crowds while Mutt would start alerting to his anxiety attacks as well. You made a joke about borrowing Mutt to him on the days off. He didn't understand the first time Mutt barked at him in a weird gruff tone before jumping up and doing it again. It's when you get him secluded and safe that you explain it to him. "Its called signaling. They can tell you when these things are going to happen or are actively happening. " "So it's to let me know?" "Yeah, for me, it's when I'm going to either for a flash back or when my paranoia forces me into a panic attack." "Flash back?" "Yes, remember that sister I told you about." -It took days for you to actually relay that story to him. How your team abandoned you, how the enemy held your sisters head above your bloody form. You explained how that caused phantom pains or flashbacks and how crippling that can be some days. -He becomes your solace after that. He would be there when you needed it. Keep people away when you couldn't look at anyone. He even began listening to Mutts alerts. He even lets you help him through the easier ones. -König called you one night when you both were off for the next few days. You could tell by the shake on his breath what was happening before he could tell you. That was when you showed him how Mutt does decompression therapy, the hound big enough to help ground him. You stayed that night, even teaching König some of the commands you use to tell Mutt how to help you. He's quick to learn them as some phrases are Dutch that you use so he can catch the meaning of some commands. -You don't call him until a long while later. It's on a mission while you two are hunkered down after a botched extraction. Or well, Mutt calls him. "Riot? Are you, Oh Scheiße! 「Shit」" "wat 「what」, ag. What can I do? Dir helfen 「Help you」, how can I help. Please let me help you. " -He ended up holding how so you couldn't hurt yourself in these attacks. It didn't feel as entrapped as you thought it would. König is so much bigger than you, but it's like he makes a physical barrier between you and the world. He helps your partner make you feel safe. It's hard to explain to anyone why your panic attacks act like that, why your mind needs pain to calm from feeling like you're dying. König will explain how his attacks can feel suffocating, and that's why his jaw and throat are so bruised most days. -Between one mission and the next, you start showing off things you and Mutt can do to him, like Mutt retrieving throne knives or how the hound can trace any sent it knows for miles. -You only bark back at Mutt one night when trapped in a safe house. Neither of you could find each other, and mutt had run off

Alejandro Vargas: (720 words)

-Learning of the terrorist stationed so close to los vaqueros' home base, Alejandro was quick to reach out. The 141 had helped him before, so he was surprised to learn of the newer recruit they called in to help them. Alejandro told Price to just bring you along. They needed the extra help honestly, as much as he refused to trust any of 141 purely on principle. They needed the help. -He met you with Ruddy on the roof of the office building, and he asked the polit to land on. When you dropped from the helicopter with the others. Mutt held to your chest before being deposited on the ground. He's seen how some of the other search and rescue units who have K-9's, but he's never seen anyone who works with their hound like you do. Alejandro is both grateful and terrified to have you fighting with him.  -Seeing you and Mutt outside the field was even more intriguing. How the two of you reacted perfectly to each other, he saw a bit of himself and Rudy in the way you two work like a well-oiled machine. He tried to play nice, be kind and calm, but when shit hit the fan? He drops it. Its only been a week before you use the recall command on Mutt to level the man they needed to interrogate. Both of you were forced to hunker down in a safe house, Alejandro making the bound man walk with little success. He asked for your help not long after the son had dipped down.  "Think he will talk?" "Not willingly if that file you circulated was true." "Any ideas?" "You aren't scared of loud noises, are you?" "Not really, why?" -When you said you could help, this isn't what he was expecting, but it was working. You had taken to standing behind the tied down guy, and whenever Alejandro could sound even remotely frustrated,  you would call out to Mutt before the dog would lunge with a snarl or harsh bark. Scared the man shitless, and he would mumble about 'de-ablo' or 'deamons' on and off. When things got too harsh, or either of you were cornered, he watched in equal parts horror and delight as you let Mutt cull those surrounding you all. Watch as you both kill together just as well as you work together. -It eventually became a joke, the whole you being a dog or sounding like one. Even when the two of you left the safe house. Hell, he started talking to you like he would your dog. Started to tease you with the same command you used on your hound. "Come on, Roit, I know you can beg better than that." "Here, cachorro cachorro cachorro [puppy puppy puppy]!" "Such a good boy, you want a treat?" "There we go, Good perro. Now sit for me." Even saying he kept treats for when you were especially well behaved. If you didn't also start laughing along he wouldn't have kept doing it and actually started keeping 'treats' on hand for you on the late nights you two would just talk on and on about nothing and everything. -Being back at the base and left to your devices, he started asking about everything Mutt could do. He would ask if you could also do the tricks and inquire about the ones you could. "Wait cariño, you can howl?" "Yeah. Wanna hear me?" "Oh more than anything." "hhhm, maybe I'll do it later." "I'm happy to beg you, but I think you would sound better begging me, cariño." "I don't beg Alejandro." "You will. And you'll sound so good doing it." "Try me," -He loved hearing you talk to Mutt. Just waiting up at night to listen to the back and forth of barking and yips that echo across the open land. Whether from far away or not, he loved it. -Alejandro is the worst when either of you get hurt. He is the worst flirt, and he lays the dog related teasing on twice as thick. Not only is Rudy swearing him out in broken Spanish, but you don't help either. Doing anything to help him stay conscious or playing along to distract yourself from the pain. Even Mutt begins to see him as safe.

More COD Boys x K-9 unit reader 》》》》

[grimm-the-tiger]

Misadventures with Google Translate

I put Life Series quotes through Google Translate too many times. Please help me, I can't stop.

The Names

Bdubs -> Bduby

BigB -> Capital B

Cleo -> Language

Etho -> line

Gem -> Decoration

Grian -> Shooter

Impulse -> Road

Jimmy -> Jimmy

Joel -> Hurrah

Lizzie -> Lizzie

Martyn -> Martyne

Mumbo -> Explosives

Pearl -> Beer

Ren -> Ren

Scar -> Right

Scott -> Scott

Skizz -> Writing

Tango -> Background

The Watcher -> Inspector

Some highlights

Scott: this house Jimmy: And street. [Original line: "It's home?" "Home."]

Language: Be good to me: die for me. [Original line: "Do me a favor: Die for me."]

Lizzie: And I left this world the same way I entered it: troubled. [Original line: "And so I left this world just as I had entered it: confused."]

Shooter: Scar, I think we are spirit descendants and you are too busy catching fairies!! [Original line: "Scar, I think we're soulmates and you're too busy chasing fairies!"]

Scott: They tear up carpets and kill farm animals. It immediately burst into lava. [Original line: "They break carpet and kill cows. And they mine straight down into lava."]

Language: Look, if you have a lost father, you might lose it? [Original line: "Look, if you're gonna be an absent father, could you be at least absent?"]

Scott: Our theme is ABBA's summer house, is it there now? Dead metal?! [Original line: "Our theming was once Cottagecore ABBA, now it's what? Death metal?!"]

Martyne : Tell me something before you go. Why are you attached to the sun? Inspector: Hmmm... HE. It was never meant to be. He just wanted to look. [Original line: "Just... tell me one thing before I go. Why were you so set on Grian?" "Hmph... HIM. He was never meant to be there. He was only ever meant to watch."]

line: I'm a good person to have someone light my tree. [Original line: "I was a good person till somebody burned down my tree."]

Decoration: God, that seems like a recipe for anxiety. Yes I am. [Original line: "God, that sounds like a recipe for angst. Yeah, I'm in."]

Lizzie: Follow it! No friends! [Original line: "Ha! You've got no friends!"]

Beer: Something bad is happening here. [Original line: "Something wicked this way comes."]

Shooter: Here we show our true truth? For yourself or for someone else? Are we all excited? [Original line: "Is this where we show our true allegiance? To each other, and no one else? We turn on everyone?"]

Background: It's not fair, it's not fair, I'll come back to it. [Original line: "This is unjust, it's excessive, and I will return."]

Capital B: No holes! [Original line: "There is no hole!"]

Some notes

I thought it'd be funny if the translations I used were all into languages I either knew off the top of my head that the creators speak or are official languages where they live. This got really convoluted really fast, because Ren was the only person I could think of who speaks a language other than English and I completely ran out after French and Scottish Gaelic, so I added languages spoken by Hermitcraft members instead, then threw Maori on for good measure because New Zealand's close enough to Australia (sorry, New Zealand) and I couldn't find any aboriginal Australian languages on Google Translate. So the translation order roughly went Afrikaans -> French -> Scottish Gaelic -> German -> Swedish -> Polish -> Maori -> English.

Ren's line "Red Winter is coming, me laddie" line got translated as "The red winter is coming, my lady." Honestly, it still kind of works?

"Watcher" got translated as "Inspector", which gives me the mental image of Inspector Gadget in a Watcher costume.

I don't know where the extra e at the end of Martyn's name came from.

I don't know why Etho's name is the only name that got translated into lowercase.

The fact that Mumbo's name somehow got translated as "Explosives" made me start cackling as soon as I saw it.

There were several points where Grian's name got translated as "The Sun" instead, probably because "Grian" is the word for "Sun" in Irish and Scottish Gaelic is from the same language family, so they probably share the same or a similar word.

"Soulmate" somehow got translated as "Spirit descendants". I'm pretty sure it's because it got split up into its component words; "Soul" corrupted into "Spirit", and "Mate"...I honestly don't know.

I translated a grand total of one line from Bdubs, and for some reason when I translated the document back to English, that one line stayed stuck on what I'm pretty sure is Maori except the word "Boogey", which stayed exactly the same.

I'm genuinely surprised by how many lines stuck remarkably close to the originals. Aside from his name, one of Joel's lines ("Where's the fun in that?") somehow survived perfectly intact, and one of BigB's lines ("There is no hole!") got pretty close ("No holes!").

I think the best part about this is that you can tell how and why Google translated some things the way it did, and then others you're just left completely stumped about how the hell it happened.

[shitty-mechs-headcannons]

jonny can speak common, but the native language of new texas is just so fucked up it messes with his brain and makes it impossible for him to fully learn reading, writing, and speaking in other languages. hes technically not illiterate, he just only knows how to read in a dead language

PFFFFF. LANGUAGE SO FUCKED IT MAKES IT IMPOSSIBLE TO FUNCTION IN SOCIETY. This is why he has to stay a pirate he could never do anything the legal way because he can't fucking read other languages.

(I have a pet hc that New Texan is an odd blend of English, Spanish, Portuguese, German, and two different alien languages of a kind of canine alien but drifted together over thousands of years. Because New Texans are actually a cross breed of human and alien space colonists whose chromosomes happened to match up when they got stuck on this stupid fucking rock together and their cultures and species eventually fully integrated. Which would create an absolutely bonkers language system)

-mod Wil

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Sun and The Moon

(Prologue: Meeting By the Sea) Alfie Solomons x Shelby!OC

Summary: In early November of 1917, you are over a year into your service to the Crown as a volunteer nurse. Following a hollow victory, you make your acquaintance with one Alfie Solomons. WC: 3.1K Warnings: Mentions of war, death, g-re, v-mit, foul language, angst, psychological distress, etc.

November. 7, 1917.

You know you need to hurry. It's almost nightfall; you won’t have much light left to write in. Yet you cannot help but linger at the sight of today’s victory. Before you, there is an ocean. It is a vast sea of gray, thick, and cold. Unfeeling and joyless. An ocean of standing water, crumbling buildings, and miles upon miles of mud. The buildings once housed people, but now they resemble the ruins of a bygone era. A necropolis.

Rolling clouds of dirt and gunpowder float just above the ground like phantoms. It’s the only piece of this that reminds you anything of home. Beckoning to the fog and soot that rolled in the early mornings when you would walk with your brothers to Charlie’s yard. Behind you, white tents flap in the wind, and cloth clings to metal rods that hold the structure in place. A field hospital. The only taste of civilization left for miles.

Rings meant to fasten the flaps down rattle like windchimes against the winds. A sudden updraft carries the stench of decay from the trenches up to where you stand. You press a cloth into a small bottle of peppermint oil. Quickly, you put that cloth on your nose. One of the first things you learned after joining the VADs was to keep your feet dry and to have plenty of peppermint oil on hand. It wards off the smell of rot, both in the living and the dead. The first time you smelled it, you vomited. Now, you barely gag. Still holding the cloth to your nose, you turn back to the field hospital.

Your name is Maeve Shelby, and you are twenty-four.

It’s warmer inside the tents. Uncomfortably so. The warmth is from all the bodies; most lay about in cots; the rest are your fellow VADs and doctors. Humidity mixed with stagnant sweat and all the bed pans that ever come clean enough to be rid of acrid remnants. To save yourself from having to sit in the midst of it all, you set aside a chair for yourself at the mouth of the field hospital. It is a plain, simple wooden chair with one leg shorter than the other three. Beside it is a stack of empty ammunition boxes. You have a small lantern weighing down an unfinished letter. With a sigh, you sit down and resume your writing from earlier that day: 

Dearest Aunt Polly, Ada, and Finn ,

I know once my letter finds you that this will be well-known, but the Allies have finally claimed victory here in Ypres. The soldiers say we are nearly finished ousting the Germans from Passchendaele. Only a few remain. Too injured to retreat. It won’t be long before we can claim this as ours. Still, we have yet to celebrate. It’s strange. All these months we spent fighting, and this doesn’t feel like a victory. So many lives were lost. There are too many to even try to count.

My work keeps me busy, but it is at night when my mind is most busy. Even with the fighting stopped, it has been difficult to find the dead and the wounded. I do not know where these men will be put once they’re found. We have hardly any beds left to offer. I have taken to sleeping in a chair by the entry to the main tent. Partly to free a bed for those that need it, partly to keep an eye out for any soldiers still trying to make it back. 

For so long, all I’ve done is race from place to place. Now all I do is change bandages, sooth the restless, and listen for the wounded who remain stuck in the trenches. Those still well enough to fight are sent out to recover their comrades. It’s hard work. Idle bombs and lurking landmines are all still out there. Some men come back worse than they left.

I know that the boys aren’t out there, but still, I strain to listen for them. John, Arthur, and Tommy. In my dreams, I do hear them. Just as I know, you hear them in your dreams too, Polly. It makes me wake with such a fear in me that my feet carry me forward before I’m fully awake. I rush toward that ocean of muck and blood, and I stop only when my fingers pierce the earth; the feel of it under my fingernails brings back my senses for some reason. 

I wonder if all the victories we’ve won felt like this. I wonder if, when all is said and done, any of this will amount to anything at all. Does anyone remember why we’re even here? Who will take our bodies home if none of us survive?

“God,” you say, taking your pen and scratching out the last line. Then, you scratch out the last paragraph. You cross out line after line. They don’t need to read this. This madness. It was good of Ada to back out of volunteering. Not just because of this lonely sea of mud and blood, but for little Finn, too. With you and the three eldest men gone, someone needed to take care of him. Mom has been dead for almost five years now. Father may as well be dead; he felt like a ghost when he was home anyway. Aunt Polly was holding up “the business,” from what you could gleam from Ada’s letters back to you.

In the year you’ve spent out on the fields, you have yet to receive a letter from your brothers. Not that you blame them. All of you are on the move. What you know of their state comes from Ada, or Polly. Arthur and Tommy are together, which somewhat soothes you. You think of John often. He’s in France with Danny and Jeremiah. I think you joined so that you could look after your brothers. It’s been years since you’ve seen them in person. Who knows what state they may be in? There are men behind you who will never be whole. Broken bodies, shattered minds, and more scar tissue than flesh. Are your brothers as you remember them? You hate to linger on the thought.

You fold your ruined letter three times and rip it in half. The give-and-take of it feels good somehow. It reminds you of something you read once about children being destructive to gain some form of control. You can’t control how long this war lasts, when you can come home, what home you return to, or what state you find your brothers in, but you can control this paper. So, you rip it again. And again. Each tear becomes more jagged and childish. You throw up your hands, and the bits of paper fly away in the cold November winds.

‘Snow from Birmingham to Belgium,’ you crack a small smile.

You once dreamed of journeying across Europe. It was a lovely fantasy filled with long train rides and French pastries. Winking at handsome strangers while hiding your smile behind a lacy white glove. Now, you feel like you’ve seen too much of it. When all this fighting is over, maybe you’ll take a holiday to Margate. Clean your memory with a long look at an ocean of water instead of this hellscape.

“Shelby!” Your head turns sharply to see Nurse Burgess charging towards you. Her round face was blotchy as always, her thin lips drawn down in a harsh frown. “Miss Shelby, you are needed in the back.”

Tucking your scented hanky back into your apron, you ask, “Is someone in throes?” Some men, in the throes of despair, couldn’t always tell the difference between a nurse and a German soldier.

Her meaty hand takes you by the upper arm and says, “No, I need you to keep an eye on someone.” Nurse Burgess drags you through the maze of malaise swiftly, despite the growing night. The nurses have navigated this place in near darkness many times now. You could probably make it from one end to the other, blindfolded. Tonight, the field hospital was quiet aside from the moaning. Nurse Burgess guides you deeper inside the field hospital with a hoarse, “It’s Captain Solomons; that bastard won’t lay still, and I haven’t the time to keep on him.”

You try to keep your voice low as soldiers in their cots roll over to follow you and Nurse Burgess’ mad dash. “Captain Solomons? I thought he was sedated, heavily!”

Nurse Burgess, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She hollers, “That man is a bloody bear. We keep trying to give him more, and he shoos us off. Now, he won’t stop trying to get out of his cot... with a blown-out leg!” Two soldiers sat on their cots with a barrel between them. They played cards under the glow of a flickering candle on their shared nightstand. As you passed, they snickered.

“I can’t imagine he would be able to move much; Doctor Gill said he nearly lost that leg,” you noted wearily. Burgess was nearly done with her escorting or you; the back of the tent was not far off. You stepped over a pool of what could have been rainwater, bile, or piss. There is no point in stopping to check.

At the back of the field hospital lay two specific sorts of patients. Those who could not move and those who absolutely should not move. Captain Solomons was in the former category. Days ago, he sustained a bullet to his shin that nearly shattered it. He had been under strict orders, and a heavy dose of sedatives, to stay right where he was. Each cot in this back section has its own privacy curtain. When you first joined, you thought it was for the nurses to sleep and change in. The other nurses had a good laugh about that. When she comes upon Captain Solomons’ curtain, Nurse Burgess lets you go. S yanks back the curtain, shielding the Captain from view, and lets out a deep grunt.

You peer around her shoulder and sigh. The captain sits on the thin cot with a sterile sheet pushed down to his legs. His back is raised from the metal headboard, and he has his body turned with his good foot nearly touching the ground. Still on the bed rests his wounded leg. It lays at a stiff, awkward angle. You know he must at least be aware of its precarious state. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out all of his features.

“Captain!”

He’s a big man, with broad shoulders and heavy muscle on his back and arms. You can see it pushing against his long-sleeved undershirt. What strikes you most about him is not his mass or his leg, but his grin. His cheeky, cheeky grin.

Captain Solomons keeps on that grin as he says, “Hm, it appears I have been caught, right?” His accent is thick. You know very little about Captain Solomons aside from the most basic of details. You know he’s from London, you know that he’s Jewish, and you know that he can be difficult. The Captain’s tone remains glib as he remarks, “And you brought a friend, ‘ello there.”

“You are to be resting, Captain Solomons!” Based on her tone, you can imagine Nurse Burgess is turning purple about now. Captain Solomons gives her a boyish shrug and stays upright in his cot. That alone makes Nurse Burgess turn to you and hiss and say, “Keep him here so he doesn’t rip his bloody stitches, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you hum. She leaves you there in the parted curtains with Captain Solomons. He regards you for a moment, then restarts his attempt at standing. You let out a sigh and hurry to him before he gains enough traction to hurt himself. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you try to ease him back into his crib. “Captain, you really must follow the doctor’s instructions.” You feel him push against your palms.

“Fuck the doctors; pardon my verbiage, but I’m about to go mad lying about this miserable lump you call a bed,” he says, putting his hands around your wrists. You are taken aback by how easily his hand wraps around your wrist. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to just shove you aside. “I need to take a walk.”

Politeness doesn’t seem to work on him, nor does roughness. While you weren’t tough like John or ruthless like Arthur, you were clever with people. You could get a sense of how someone’s mind ticked quickly. You hoped you could catch on about Captain Solomons too. “And when your stitches rip and you’ve lost your leg, what cot would you like me to move you to?”

He stops pushing against you. His chest is still heaving, and his hot breath fans your cheeks. You swallowed thickly; you really underestimated how close you were to him. This is a is a big, big man. One who had rumors of a violent temper that took very little to agitate.

“You have been injured and are lucky to be alive. And you still have all your parts, Captain. Why are you risking that just to go on a fucking walk?” He stares you down with a furrowed brow. For a moment, you worry you’ve poked the bear a bit too hard. “If you refuse to take the doctors seriously, what do you think the men who answer to you will do? They’ll all be trying to walk about despite their pain and end up injuring themselves for pride.”

Solomons puts you at ease when he sits back on the cot, releasing your wrists. “I can’t just lay about like this. I’ll lose the rest of my marbles waiting around for those doctors to get these stitches out. There’s not a single thing a man can do to occupy his mind in this place. It smells of piss, rot, and pus. If they would give me back my knife, right? I could cut out a little window in this tarp behind me and get a whiff of fresh air. But they won’t. Where’s the respect, hm?”

You cross your arms and ask, “So, you’re bored?”

He stiffens. Oh, you hit the nail right on the head with that one. You can’t exactly blame him. The longer you stand still, the faster all your fears catch up with you. All those ugly things you’ve seen and heard find you. That’s why the soldiers play cards and the nurses trade that single copy of ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘A Room with a View’ back and forth. Distraction. “If you can stay still where you are, I can try to get a book or a deck of cards. Would you like that?”

With a sweeping gesture to the darkness, he says, “Can’t exactly read a page or play a hand in the dark, now can we love?”

Shaking your head at his childish attempts at derailing your little plan, you take out a matchbox from your apron. With your last matchstick, you bring life to a lantern by his bed. You turn to face him, a warm orange light reflecting on your face. In the dim lighting offered by the lantern, you can see the Captain’s face. He’s young for a man of his rank. And handsome, you can admit as much in your own mind. His eyes are bright, and his features are deeply masculine. A hard jawline with a prominent brow and pouty lips. Most soldiers, regardless of rank, are required to be clean-shaven. This is not true for Captain Solomons. He has a well-maintained moustache and beard, cut close to his jawline. You heard from somewhere that Solomons was an exception due to his faith or his demeanor. Captain Solomons is looking up at you, too. His expression was all aglow. Bright gray eyes stare at your face. Confused almost as they regard you.

“Do we have a deal, Captain?”

He’s still staring at you, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. Finally, he says, “If you can get ‘Frankenstein,’ I’ll stay put. That’s a piece of fiction I can sit with for a good bit of time.”

You beam at him and take the chance to push his healthy leg under his blanket. Solomons grumbles, “Easy now, easy. I’m injured, remember?” He allows you to gently move him safely into his cot.

Finding the nurse who had taken possession of the book was no easy task, but she was quick to give it to you when you informed her a captain had asked for it. When you came back with the book, Solomons was still in bed. You thanked a God you no longer believed in and handed him the book. Just as you attempted to leave, Captain Solomons made an admission: “My eyes, yeah, they don’t pinch up the written word so easy these days. If there’s not a grisly scene out there for you to attend to, might you do me the service of reading this aloud for me?”

For a moment, you think about refusing. You never know when you’ll be called away. But then again, you’re the one who came up with the idea to get him a distraction anyway. Settling down at the edge of his bed, you take the book from his hand and begin to read. Captain Solomons leans back against the metal headboard, listening to you begin reading the preface. What you didn’t know was that this was the start of a near-nightly ritual. Captain Solomons would attempt to slink out of bed to go'stretch his leg(s)’ until you would rush over to distract him with another book or game of cards. He became a welcome distraction for you as well. A friend, almost. Perhaps more than that, if the way he kissed you one cold night in late November told you anything.

His lips were as soft as they looked. 

Whether it was friendship or not, it lasted for about a month. Captain Solomons and his men were removed from the area for transport to the west. You and your fellow VADs would go north. He didn’t stop to say goodbye to you, which bothered you. The morning after he kissed you was the day you found out about the move. And he was already gone.

In one year and three days, the war would be over. You would return home to find that all your brothers had survived. But they weren’t quite themselves anymore, and neither were you.

[kiwibirbkat]

You can pry Marcy streamer AU from my cold dead hands

Marcy Wu Streamer AU!

Started streaming as a backup while waiting for her webcomic to blow up

When their account gained traction they used it to help advertise their comic

They do both for a living now

They game on it and sometimes do vlog type streams

She does a lot of charity streams (angsty charity week fic anyone???)

Annual subathons

Lives with the girlfriends (Anne and Sasha)

Sleep schedule? Non-existent!

Anne and Sasha are fan favourites even if they do end some streams early to force Marcy to sleep

She does sub only drawing streams for their comics especially after a hiatus

Or they do public drawing streams of intermission episodes

Anne and Sasha sometimes come onto a stream with them

Marcy has a lot of guilt from Amphibia still :(

(And scars)

Not fully disabled but they need a walking aid sometimes and a wheelchair if the pain gets really bad

They still have traces of Darcy her head but they can't control her they just give advice

Or complain that Marcy won't kill anyone

They can't go to Amphibia but they can call/text through dimensions since Anne gave sprig her phone and Polly figured out how to make more

Marcy refuses any type of therapy (they don't think they deserve help)

But she will break down crying in their girlfriend's arms sometimes

She/they (realized she liked they/them pronouns after everyone referred to Darcy as they seeing as they were multiple minds)

Anne has a pet cat that looks like Domino and she lives with them

Marcy has that gaming posture (atrocious)

They post all of their VODs on YouTube

Marcy has crocheted all of them plushies of their family in amphibia (Sasha with Percy, Braddock and Grime, Anne with Sprig, Polly and Hop-pop, and Marcy with Olivia and Yunan (and a secret andrius plush that they can't look at most days))

None of them have their powers but they do have traces of energy, which is why Darcy stays in Marcy's head instead of just shutting off

Marcy dyes some of her hair green in reminder of when they had cool anime powers

Also, she's worked a lot of aspects of Amphibia into their comic so they have an excuse to make Amphibia merch

Most of their fans are worried about her because she's always up so late

Marcy speaks Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, Thai, Portuguese, and Ukrainian and voice over all of their streams in these languages to post them on their separate VOD channels

They're trying to learn more (Greek, German, Russian, ect.)

Because of Darcy and her wit powers they learn easier (super brain)

All of her fans theorize on why them and their girlfriends went missing for like a year seeing as frogvasion has been wiped from the media

The calamity trio know most of the Disney protags (Dipper, Luz, Molly, Star, and the other people in included in those franchises)

They all live in the same world (-star, Marco and Tom but dimensional scissors yk?)

Luz reached out to Anne for help building a portal, Dipper and Mabel met Molly while ghost hunting

They have all separately run into Star while researching energy levels that came from Stars weird dimensional travel

Therefore Marco added them all to a discord server and the rest is history

They sometimes guest star on Marcy's channel

June has programmed Marcy a game before

Sasha is planning to propose (shhh don't tell Anne and Marcy)

Marcy has cut contact with her family (I don't care what cannon says her parents aren't good people)

(She would not cling onto any sort of affection this much if their parents loved them)

(Fight me)

Marcy hates going to the doctor or bathing (the bath reminds her of the rejuvenation tank and she just generally distrusts the government after Anne told them about the whole thing with Mr X)

The only doctor they trust is the dentist for some reason???

When asked Marcy just shrugs

And the vet but they aren't the one getting tested at the vet and she cares about Domino 3 too much not to go to the vet

Marcy Wu=autism

Marcy has severe anxiety

Marcy has depression

Marcy streams from bed sometimes just because they're in too much pain to walk and their girlfriends aren't their to put them into her wheelchair but she has that grind set for their stream dates

Marcy has crocheted enough Olivia and Yunan plushies to give a small army

They give them away during giveaways as beta designs for some of her characters

[sprachgefuehle]

So recently tumblr has been telling me that this blog is now 6 years old and that's a good moment to say that I really don't what to do with it.

When I made it back in 2018, I was studying several languages at university and tumblr had a vibrant linguistics community that I wanted to join. Lingblr is now technically dead and I haven't really studied languages in years. My academic focus has shifted significantly and my target languages have become languages that I use in my day to day life.

To be honest, I haven't even thought of myself as a student in quite some time now either. This time of my life is over and I only feel resentment and anger towards this capitalist meat grinder called academia that I used to love so much. Not because I didn't succeed in it but because I saw this institution eat up people I love and I don't wanna go down the same path.

I was ok just reblogging stuff here based on vibes though, because I care about this blog. Not because of any follower count or whatever but because of the people I met. Some are now some very, very dear friends but I also had countless other small interactions that I loved. Even if we never really talked, some people here have been following me for years and it would be weird not to see their urls anymore on the regular. Some people even told me that this blog was important to them when they were learning german and that honestly still feels crazy to me in a good way.

But this is also exactly the reason why I am making this post now. I never intended to be a "german" blog but somehow ended up in this role. And that was okay for me. But the election results for the eu parliament is just the final nail in the coffin. NSU, Hanau, Halle, police violence organised in far right networks, "remigration" plans, refugees who are dying at european borders... It's too much. I don't want to be thought of as "the German blog" anymore. I don't want to feel like I promote "germaness", even if it is not an outright right wing nationalist variant but the cutesy upper middle class erasmus cultural exchange one. And I don't care about that anymore either. I haven't for some time, to be honest.

Because Western society is still deeply racist, imperialist and colonial to its core and it's getting to my bones. Because nationalism is killing people, people like my friends. Because nationalism is putting them in danger, is putting me in danger. Not only because of who I am but because of my work as well which puts a target on my back for helping vulnerable people.

I don't know. This is me rambling. I am just just tired and angry and hurt from the daily reality. I am not deleting this blog though. To be honest, I don't know what to do actually. I am just very, very tired and needed to write down my thoughts.

[matan4il]

Hello. This is a rather mundane question considering all the things, but I got curious. Does Hebrew have accents? How do they vary in and out of Israel?

I understand if you choose not to reply as this is a difficult time for you. In any case, take care🩷🩷🩷

Hi Nonnie! No, don't worry, all questions that are truly interested in Jewish culture are welcome! ^u^

TBH, something to remember about Hebrew is that it has quite a unique history. To the best of my knowledge, it is the only language that was used on a daily basis as the lived in language of a native population, then "died" as a result of Jews being exiled. As they found themselves in other countries, they had to speak the local language. They didn't abandon Hebrew, but it stopped being the langauge in which they lived their daily lives. Hebrew became the language of prayer, of scripture study, and terms from it bled into the local languages Jews spoke, creating Jewish versions of these languages (Yiddish being the Jewish version of German, Ladino being the Jewish version of Spanish, Yevanik being the Jewish version of Greek, and there are also Jewish versions of Arabic and other languages, too), so Hebrew still had an impact on Jews, and they were still connected to it... but it was no longer a "living" language. It was closer to what Latin is today. A language in which religious ceremonies are conducted, that theologians study, but not a language that anyone conducts their daily life in.

Then, as a part of the project of reclaiming and reviving the Jewish native life in Israel that came to be known as Zionism, people set out to revive our native language, too. There was a realization that it had to be adapted to modern life, give it terms for things that didn't exist 2,000 years ago, so it would be useful for people who wanted to conduct their daily lives in Hebrew again. And that's how the last of the Canaanite languages became the only "dead" language to be revived, and return to be the lived in language of its native people.

I mention this unique history, because modern Hebrew isn't the same as biblical Hebrew (though about 60% of modern Hebrew IS biblical). It means if there were different Hebrew accents during biblical times, we don't know it for sure.

At the same time, the fact that Jews were spread out in the diaspora, and their pronunciation of Hebrew (as a dead language) came to be influenced by the local languages they spoke while in exile. So a Jew who returned to Israel from the diaspora in Germany, a Jew who returned to Israel from the diaspora in Argentina, and a Jew who returned to Israel from the diaspora in Yemen do not have the same accent when speaking Hebrew.

But these are not considered regional accents of Hebrew in the same way that you can find different regional accents of English when traveling across England... If we put aside the accents of Jews returning to Israel, and instead we look at the accents of Jews born in Israel, the ones born into speaking modern Hebrew, there's a myth of a Jerusalem accent. I say myth, because you'll hear all over Israel people swearing, that Jerusalemites pronounce a few words differently. The most common example is the word 'mataim' (which means two hundred), and many Israelis insist Jerusalemites pronounce it ma'ataim, with the first vowel prolonged and emphasized. I have lived in Jerusalem since 2002 and I have never heard it. I think in this sense, regional accents are usually, at least in part, a product of geography. It determines how far apart people live, how much they interact, how much they hear others speaking the same language as they do. The smaller a country, and the easier travel in it is, the fewer accents it's likely to produce. And I think that's the main reason why there aren't really accents in Israel (other than those of people who came to speak Hebrew as a second language), because it's a very small country, and because today, it's pretty easy to travel in it (you can cross it from the most northern point to the most southern one in slightly over 5 hours).

I hope that kind of answers it? Thank you for the kind words, I hope you're well, too! xoxox

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 10- It Had To Be You

Summary: Easy Company is finally in Germany and are pushing the Germans back…Nothing could be better; some soldiers are already saying the war is over. The boys make another jump near Thalem, Germany only to soon find out there is something more sinister in the dark, and they soon realize the Nazis are worse than they'd ever dreamed. This particular situation weighs heavy on Joe, sending him into an infuriated mental state where he instinctively lashes out at you, causing a serious strain on your relationship.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Aggression, Angst, Confrontation, Military Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German language with English translation, Soft Sexual Content, Smoking, Crying, Banter, Pining, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

This grand finale is for my Liebgott/McCall squad 🪖 ♠️ 🦅❤️

@mrs-greenside @wordsaresimple-imnot @awaterfalls @skiesofrosie @aliciax3

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

April 1945 Sturzelberg, Germany

For once, the men of Easy Company enjoy themselves. Captain Spiers continued mailing home several valuables he's plundered from wealthier houses. George Luz and Frank Perconte forage at a farm for eggs while a farm girl stumbles upon the men in her family’s barn. George ultimately gets slapped in the face after attempting to flirt with her. While the boys kept busy with their activities, President Roosevelt was pronounced dead back in the states.

The company prepares to move on to their new headquarters in Landsberg to deal with bands of Waffen-SS whom Hitler has ordered to fight a guerilla war in the Alps. The men hastily loaded up their duffels and gear onto deuce trucks.

“I got it, Gams.” Liebgott insisted as he took your gear bag from you tossing it up to Webster on the bed of the truck.

“Danken dir, meyn libe.” (y) (Thank you, my love). You say while you affectionately squeeze his arm as you pass him to board the truck.

Webster offered his hand to you to help you up while Liebgott lifted you by the waist.

“Up ya go, doll.” Liebgott grunted as he hoisted you up with ease.

~~~~~~~

The ride through the mountains could be considered almost a pleasant experience. With the sun shining and the spring scenery through Bavaria had the men in high spirits as they begin singing "Blood upon the Risers.” You listen to the boys singing and enjoying themselves eliciting a smile from you. For once they sang for you and not the other way around.

🎶“Gory, gory what a helluva way to die! Gory, gory what a helluva way to die! He ain’t gonna jump no more!” 🎶

They all belted out in unison.

“Hey, Y/F/N, you ain’t singin’!” Luz declared.

You chuckle, “I’m relaxin’, George. I’ll sing for you boys when we get there.” You reply with a wink.

~~~~~~~

As the company arrived to a village halfway to the destination, the officers were in agreement to stop and rest for the night. Speirs ordered Easy to clear a lavish building with many flats to designate as billeting for the men to sleep for the night. The occupants of the home were resistant, and were quite vocal about being evicted from their ritzy residence.

“Was machst du!? Raus aus meinem Haus! (g)(What are you doing!? Get out of my house!)” A German woman of one of the apartments yelled repeatedly at the men when they stormed in.

“Tell her she’s got five minutes.” Speirs called over to Liebgott.

“Raust! Raust! Du hast fünf Minuten! (g) (Out! Out! You got five minutes!)” Liebgott barked at the woman.

The woman shrilled pleas in German to him while Joe tried to talk over her cries.

“Sir, she says they’ve got nowhere to go, but the house next door is empty-“ Liebgott translated.

The rest of Easy ushered men, women and children from other living quarters out into the hallways and out the main door.

“We’re only gonna be here one night! You got four minutes!” Speirs shouts over the woman’s protests.

Joe relayed Speirs’ message to the woman as he shooed her out of the room.

~~~~~~~

You lug your bag up to the second floor of the building, looking forward to the hot shower you’re about to have. You peek through the first door at the top of the stairs and see a well put together parlor with a welcoming seating area and a full liquor display on a bar trolly in the corner. You find the master bedroom with a bed fit for a queen. You release a long sigh of relief as you imagine the restful night of sleep you’ll have later.

You set your duffel on a antique bench seat at the foot of the bed, then sit on the chair at the vanity table to untie your boots when you suddenly hear the door to the apartment open and slam shut.

“Honey, I’m home!” Liebgott’s voice carried through the flat.

You giggle as you shake your head while you proceed to remove your boot.

“Hey, Gams, where you at?”

“In here, Joe!” You call out.

Liebgott appeared in the door way. When he saw you sitting at the make-up table, he smirked as he leaned on his elbow against the door frame. He stood there staring at you as you started removing your other boot. You look up at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him as you eyeball him skeptically.

“Like what?” He scoffed.

You laugh, “Like you’re starved and I’m a T-bone steak.”

Joe chuckled as he slowly strolled into the room towards you.

“I was just thinkin’.”

“About what?”

“About the last time I was alone in a room with you.”

You feel a flutter in your stomach, “Oh? In Holland?”

Joe nodded, “Yeah, when you were fixin’ my neck up in that barn.”

He stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets studying you adoringly with a lazy smile. You smile at him as you stand to walk to him.

“An unforgettable day that was.” You say.

His smile widened, “That was five months ago, ya know?”

Your face twisted up as you recall how long ago Crossroads was.

“You’re right. Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?

He hummed in agreement. You turn away and enter the bathroom undoing your hair from the bun you had it in.

“Have you found a place to sleep?” You project from the bathroom.

“Sure did.” Joe replied as he situated himself onto your bed, getting comfy.

You walk back into the room, “Oh no you don’t.” You scold.

“What?”

“You can’t sleep in here.” You state.

“And why the hell not?” He retorted.

“Well, what would people say? It’s not-” You try to continue, “-It’s not proper, you know?”

Joe raised his eyebrow at you.

“Since when have I been proper?” He asked seductively with a wink as he got up from the bed, making his way towards you.

“Joe…” you cautioned as he progressively closed the gap between you.

A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he slinked his arms around your waist, “What?”

You rest your hands on his chest giving him a gentle push as you lean away from him. You knew what he was up to, and you weren’t going to cave to him. His hands were firmly pressed against the small of your back pulling you closer to him.

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy.” He said in his low gravelly voice.

You felt yourself unravel in his arms, fighting the smile he was bringing to your face to not fuel his behavior.

“Joseph Liebgott, what would everyone think if they found out you spent the night in my room with me!?”

Joe chuckled, “I think they’d say, about time!”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “Joe, I’m serious.”

He rolled his eyes, “Look, Gams, we ain’t gotta do nothin’, aight? I just wanna hold my girl until I fall asleep. Just the two of us. Nobody’s gonna say anything, ok?” He reassured.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him.

“Besides, there ain’t no way I’m not staying in here with you tonight. I’ve been waiting almost two years to hold you in bed without all the guys snoring in the same room.” Joe added.

~~~~~~~

The following morning, Easy loaded back up onto the trucks to Landsberg. Along the way, they witness over 300,000 newly-surrendered German POW's marching past; noticing that they continue to march proudly even in defeat, Webster begins ranting angrily at the Germans for starting a war they could never have hoped to win, and uprooting his and his fellow soldiers' lives.

“Hey, YOU! You stupid Kraut bastards! That’s right! Say hello to Ford and General fucking Motors! You stupid fascist pigs! Look at you! You have horses, what were you thinking!?” Webster bellowed out at the sea of marching Nazi soldiers.

Webster sat down hard on the bench of the truck, running his hands through his hair mumbling expletives to himself before standing to erupt more shame at the Germans.

“What the fuck are we doing here!?”

Everyone remained silent, allowing Web to violently rant because they agreed with every word he said. As the trucks approached the entrance of Landsberg, they witness French soldiers summarily executing three Germans. A replacement is shaken, looking to you and the boys alarmed, but Perconte simply shrugs at him, while Liebgott looks smug.

The trucks roll up to the town square and come to a halt. The men begin to stir, offloading from the rears of the vehicles with their gear.

“I wanna send out some patrols. We’ll have Dog Company here in the village, and easy and Fox in the woods.” Winters directs to Speirs and Welsh.

Speirs turns to Welsh, “Easy Company’s gonna take the North-West. LT Lipton.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Have 1st and 2nd platoons swing up to the woods, and have 3rd swing around. Make sure they bring a medic.” Speirs ordered.

~~~~~~~

Easy trekked through the thickets surrounding Landsberg, bantering and joking like they’re strolling through a park.

“O’Keefe-“ Bull said as he tapped the replacement’s arm.

“Sarge?”

“Why the hell you so jumpy, boy?” Bull asked smirking when he saw O’Keefe’s worried expression.

“I-I’m not jumpy-“

“You can hear your heart pounding in Arkansas, boy.”

You scoff, “Give the kid a break, Bull.” You say with empathy.

“Hey, George, does this kinda remind you of Bastogne?” Perconte asked.

George looked around, “Yeah, now that you mention it. Except, of course, there’s no snow, we got warm grub in our bellies, and the trees aren’t fucking exploding from Kraut artillery. But, yeah, Frank, other than that, it’s a lot like Bastogne.” Luz replied sarcastically.

“Right?” Perconte agreed.

“Bull, smack him for me, please?” Luz called back to Randleman.

Bull smiled through his cigar as he swat the back of Perconte’s helmet.

“Thank you.”

As you all came close to a clearing at the tree line , you can hear shuffling and rustling near by. The platoon made their rifles ready in case it was the enemy.

“Stay behind us.” Bull whispered to you. You nod.

As you all entered the opening beyond the woods, your eyes fall upon an encampment of some kind. Rows of long, narrow ‘hut’ like buildings locked up within fence line. You look through the barbed wire walls, and see a handful of sickly beings shuffling aimlessly on the main path.

“What is this?” Luz asked baffled by the scene.

More people in striped clothing emerged from the huts, lining up along the inside of the fence.

“Looks like—a prison.” You say as you slowly make your way forward in front of the guys.

~~~~~~~

Perconte was sent back to the town to retrieve Winters and the rest of Easy Company to see what they found on patrol.

Winters and the rest of the company arrive on the scene, all eyes glued to the horrific display beyond the barbed wire. Winters and Nixon walked up to you, Bull, and Luz. Winters surveyed the sullen faces that stared back at him through the fence. Eugene came straight to you as soon as he got off the truck.

“Hey, Y/F/N.”

“Eugene.” You greet dryly.

“What’s happening ‘ere?” Gene asked motioning with his head to the camp.

“They’re definitely POW’s. Just look at ‘em…those poor souls.” You reply softly, too emotional to raise your voice.

Nixon came to you and Eugene.

“I want you two to take Dog and Fox medics and give these guys a look over once we get in, ok?”

“Yes, sir.” Eugene confirmed.

Perconte and Christenson opened the first set of gates for Winters. As Winters entered, he directed them to open the second gate. You and Eugene walked ahead motioning the other medics to follow.

The prisoners were all male, skeletal with sunken faces and ghostly complexions. The smell of rot and decay filled the air. The residents of this hell began tugging and grabbing at the soldiers as they entered, muttering implorations in a different language.

All the prisoners are near death, seriously ill or starving, some so weakened that they collapse as they try to approach the Americans. While many more are dead as corpses litter the area, Malarkey and Heffron grimly note the number tattoos on dead prisoners' arms marking them "like cattle.” Randleman and Luz discover a hut jam-packed with living and dead prisoners lying shoulder to shoulder.

“Christenson, any of your men speak German?” Winters asked.

“No, sir. But we got Y/L/N here that does—”Christenson offered.

“I need Liebgott..LIEBGOTT!” Winters yelled over the men, “Lipton, find me Liebgott.”

“Sir, I can help.” You insist to Winters as you push through the rabble.

Winters looked at you, “These people need care, you go ahead with Doc Roe and figure out how to help these people.”

Liebgott pushed through the crowd, “Right here, sir.”

One prisoner Winters had pulled aside started speaking to Joe in German.

“He said the guards left this morning, sir—they burned some of the huts first…with the prisoners still in them, sir—alive.”

“Jesus Christ.” Nixon uttered in disgust.

The man continued.

“Some of the prisoners tried to stop them…some of them were killed.”

Liebgott paused to listen, “They didn’t have enough ammo for all of the prisoners, so…they killed as many as they could…before they left the camp…they locked the gates behind them and headed South.”

“Someone in the town must’ve told them we were coming.” Nixon said.

“Yeah, I think so.” Liebgott agreed.

“Will you ask him what kind of camp this is? Why are they here?” Winters requested.

“Was ist das für ein Lager? Warum bist du hier?” Liebgott relayed.

The man struggled to answer.

“He says it’s a work camp for, uh, ‘unerwunscht’… I’m not sure what the word means, sir. Uh, unwanted, disliked maybe?’

“Criminals?” Nixon asked.

“Eh, I don’t think criminals, sir,” the man proceeded to explain, “…doctors, musicians, tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals, I mean, normal people.”

“Juden…Juden…” the man repeated.

Liegott’s jaw clenched.

“They’re Jews…poles and gypsies.”

The prisoner began to sob, pointing beyond the trees stuttering and hiccuping as he spoke.

“The women’s camp is at the next railroad stop.” Liebgott revealed.

The man walked away wailing, unable to speak anymore.

~~~~~~~

Easy rushes back into the village of Landsberg to gather food and water for the survivors of the camp. Each company raided bakeries, delicatessens, and cheese shops hurrying back to distribute the rations to the prisoners.

When Col Sink arrived with the battlefield surgeon, Winters and Nixon are told they must not continue feeding the survivors. The surgeon claims the survivors' vital systems are unable to handle massive food intake, and they need to be closely monitored during their recovery.

“If we give them too much to eat too quickly, they’ll eat themselves to death. We need to keep them in the camp until we find a place for them in town.” The battlefield surgeon explained to Winters and Nixon.

You walk up to Sink, Winters, and Nixon with a report on the POW’s when you hear:

“You want us to lock these people back up?” Nixon asked in disbelief.

Your eyes widen as your breath catches in your throat.

“We got no choice, Nix.” Sink replied plainly.

“Otherwise they might scatter. we need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better…” the surgeon added.

“It’s a cryin’ ass shame, but let’s get it done.” Sink ordered as he walked away.

“Sir?” You squeak, looking for confirmation on what you just heard.

Winters looks at you with regret. The prisoners were to remain inside the barbed wire fence of the camp to prevent them from potentially spreading diseases…an announcement which Liebgott would be ordered to make.

“Nix, find Liebgott and have him explain to the prisoners what needs to happen-”

“Sir, with all due respect-” you begin to contest.

“Not now, Y/L/N-” Winters replied sternly.

“Sir, you couldn’t make Joe do that. It’ll haunt him for the rest of his-”

“You heard the doctor, Y/F/N. Eating too much could kill them. Go on back and triage as many of the prisoners as you can before they get locked back up.” Nixon pushed back.

You release a breath of defeat, looking over your shoulder to find Joe about ten feet away speaking to another prisoner as Winters and Nixon B lined him to tell him the message that he was to announce.

“I can’t tell ‘em that, sir.”

You run up to the group and stand next to Liebgott.

“You’ve got to, Joe.” Winters replied.

You squeeze Joe’s tricep gently, letting him know you’re behind him.

Joe averted his eyes to the ground, his jaw once again clenching as he internally battled his thoughts and emotions.

“…Yes, sir.” Joe complied under his breath as he turned away from the officers and you to mount the rear of a truck to address the sea of prisoners.

“Aufmerksamkeit! Aufmerksamkeit! (g) (Attention! Attention!)” Liebgott projected over the crowd.

Liebgott reluctantly explained in German to the POW’s what was about to happen. The further along Joe got in his explanation, the more the prisoners contested and weeped. He did his best to provide reassurance that it was in their best interest, promising them it is only temporary and that food, supplies and medicine were coming, but they shook their heads and continued to beg to keep their freedom.

Joe struggled to continue, but he pushed through. His words trailed off when the rest of Easy began ushering the prisoners towards the entrance of the camp. Feeling the most utter sense of shame, Joe hung his head, unable to look at his own people in the eye. He staggered backward onto the bench of the truck, allowing his tears to fall.

~~~~~~~

May 1945

Easy arranged for long term sleeping quarters in the town’s abandoned buildings that were still intact. One evening, you find Joe sitting on a bench at the end of the cobblestone side walk at the edge of Landsberg.

“Hey, Joe.”

He gave you quick side eye, but didn’t say a word. You look at your boots, searching your mind for the right words to say. But you knew better. Nothing you say could help him feel any better. You can see he was stuck in his thoughts about what he just had to do.

You clear your throat, “Winters assigned me to a mission just now.” You began.

Joe remained silent.

“They’re sending me to Dachau until they can get enough female field nurses to tend to the women prisoners over there. They’re terrified of men so they won’t let any of the male medics near them. I don’t know how long I’ll be there.” You elaborated.

Joe lit a cigarette.

“Roe’s going, too.” You add.

Joe scoffed.

“Yeah? Well hope you two have a good time.” He hissed.

You placed a hand over your stilled heart.

“What?” You choked.

“You heard me.” Joe spat back taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Joe, how could say such a thing? I know you’re hurting-”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing!” He barked, “You ain’t even Jewish! How could you know how I feel!? You go around talking the language like you know somethin’ and you think that makes you one of us? You’re a dizzy dame, you know that!?” He proclaimed.

You push down tears, fighting the urge to cry. You take a deep breath.

“Ok, Liebgott,” you begin as you collect yourself, “see you around.” You say as you turn to walk back to your building.

“Yeah, high tail it and run away like the rest of ‘em.” Joe sneered.

You stop abruptly. You wouldn’t allow it. You turn back and stomp back to him.

“You don’t think I understand pain? Or loss? Defeat? Well, I do! Maybe not through your eyes, but I’ve endured my own, Joseph Liebgott. And until now I thought I’ve suffered the worst of them all.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the worst you’re suffering now? Go ahead and enlighten me!” Joe replied viciously as he stood up hovering in your face.

“Heartbreak! Watching the love of my life slip away because he’s completely submerged in hate and anger!”

Joe stared at you in awe, taken back by your response. He grinded his teeth as he flicked his cigarette butt.

“My condolences.” He sneered as he breezed past you leaving you shivering in the dark alone.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you sat on the bench Joe had been seated on.

~~~~~~~

June 1945 Thalem, Germany

You remained in Dachau for the duration of May and June with no hope in sight of returning any time soon until the first week or so of July when medical relief finally arrived. Joe had written you a letter the week after you had gone but hadn’t received a response. He had half a mind to go AWOL and hitch a ride to Dachau first chance he got so he could see you again.

Luz, Perconte, Liebgott, Webster, and Randleman sat on the second floor of a bombed out home overseeing the townsfolk in the streets when Nixon joined them. The locals remove the rubble of houses and buildings from the street, as a string quartet plays a somber song in the middle of the square.

"Tell ya one thing about the Krauts, they sure clean up good." Luz expressed.

"Yeah. All you need's a little Mozart." Liebgott added.

"Beethoven." Nixon corrected as he entered onto the landing.

"Sorry, sir?" Liebgott replied.

"That's not Mozart," Nixon repeated as he stood to listen to the melody, "that's Beethoven."

Nixon looked over at Liebgott.

“Any word from Y/L/N?”

Joe shook his head.

“Hm. You sent a letter?”

Joe nodded, “Four pages long.”

“Did you apologize?”

Joe looked at him unamused.

“Yes, sir, I did. Multiple times.” Joe replied dully.

“I see. She’ll come around.” Nixon reassured.

Joe nodded.

“I don’t know, he said some pretty nasty things to her before she left.” Webster declared.

Joe shot him a look of disdain.

“Shut it, Web.” Joe warned.

“He’s right, Lieb.” Bull interjected, “She told me what you said. You’re a goddamn knucklehead, boy.”

Joe released a frustrated sigh.

“Ok, I fucked up! Alright? I was wrong for saying what I said, but you know what? I can’t change that now.” Joe exclaimed as he stood up and began pacing the landing.

“I ain’t gettin’ her back by writing letters.” Joe thought outloud. He looked at Nixon.

“Sir, if I could just get assigned to a detail to Duchau—”Joe began to negotiate.

“You know I can’t do that, Lieb.” Nixon stated before he could finish.

“But, sir—”

“We can’t just send you off to Duchau to play Romeo, Joe, it’s a waste of man power, I’m sorry. You’re also our best German linguist so we can’t be losing another translator since Y/L/N left.”

Joe looked towards the ground deflated.

“Right, sir.” Joe groaned as he slumped onto a chair.

Everyone remained silent for a minute or two before Nixon spoke again.

“Hitler’s dead.”

The boys all looked at him.

“Holy shit.” Joe breathed.

“-Shot himself in Berlin.” Nixon added.

“Is the war over, sir?” Bull asked.

Nixon looked at him, “No. we have orders to Berchtesgaden, be ready to move out by 0700 tomorrow.”

“Why? The man’s not home. Should’ve killed himself three years ago, would’ve saved us a lot of trouble.” Webster said.

Nixon smirked weakly as they all started to exit the landing.

“Yeah, he should’ve,” Nixon concurred, “but he didn’t.”

~~~~~~~

“Allied forces discovered numerous POW, concentration, and death camps. These camps were part of the Nazi attempt to effect the ‘Final Solution’ to the ‘Jewish Question.” At least five million ethnic minorities and six million Jews were murdered- many of them in the camps.” -BoB close out description on Episode 9- Why We Fight

July 1945

You were finally released to Easy Company at the end of June, and were on your way back to Thalem by the first week of July to link up with them before they left for Austria. The only communication you’ve chosen to have with anyone about your status since you left was Major Winters and Captain Nixon. You transmitted a telegram to Winters from Dachau about your completed mission, and also made it quite clear not to tell any of the guys about you coming back. You didn’t want anyone making a fuss about your return.

The truck you had been on for transport to Thalem came to a sudden stop in the plaza, conveniently where Bull, Luz, and Webster had been hanging out in front of HQ.

“Well look who it is!” Luz whooped.

You smile as you approached the three soldiers.

“Hey, boys! Missed me?” You ask as you approached.

Bull greeted you by giving you a quick bear hug.

“We sure did, girl, good to see ya.” Bull professed as he took your duffel from you.

“We didn’t know if you were ever coming back. When did you find out you were coming?” Webster queried.

“I knew about a week ago.” You confess.

Their eyes widened.

“And…you didn’t say anything to anyone?” Luz asked.

“Just Winters and Nixon.”

“Ah.” Luz confirmed.

The air was thick and awkward.

“What?” You ask.

“Well,” Webster began, “we thought Liebgott would’ve been the first to know.”

You sigh irritably, “I am no longer on speaking terms with Liebgott.”

“He said he wrote you a letter.” Luz affirmed.

“He did. But the damage has been done.” You finalize as you adjust your grip on your other bag.

“Come on, boys, leave it alone. All’s that matters is she’s back.” Bull inserted, “Come on, Y/F/N, I’ll show you where the females be stayin’ at.” Bull offered.

~~~~~~~

“What the fuck did you just say!?” Joe snapped.

Webster’s eyes widened, “Uh, she’s in Thalem. She got here about 20 minutes ago.”

Joe suddenly had a thousand mile stare, looking beyond Webster into the distance out the window as his heart hammered against his rib cage.

“Meine Liebe kehrt zurück. (g) (My love returns).” Joe whispers to himself.

He looked back at Webster and grabbed him by the shoulders, “Where is she?”

“She’s getting cleaned up at nurse’s billetting.” Webster disclosed.

“Why didn’t she tell me she was coming back?” Joe asked out loud as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“I think you know why, Joe.” Bull’s voice rang out as he entered the room.

Joe hurried towards Randleman, “How is she, Bull? Is she ok? Does she look good?” Joe rambled.

Bull chuckled, “She’s just peachy, Joe. Give her some time to get back into the swing of things, though, before you go smothering her, ok? You’ll have plenty of time to talk to her on the way to Austria.”

~~~~~~~

You already picked your seat on the bed of one of the trucks before the rest of Easy showed up. You had your nose in a medical journal, completely absorbed in the chapter when you’re startled by the abrupt collide of someone sitting next to you. You gasp and come face to face with Liebgott. You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“Isn’t there another truck you could’ve picked?” You hiss before turning back to your book.

Joe scoffed, “Nice to see you, too, Gams.”

You huff as you shift your back towards him.

Joe stretched his arms over his head bringing his right one to rest on top of the truck bench behind you. He gazed upon you while you made yourself busy reading your book. He hesitated to speak, hoping you would say something first. He clicked his tongue while his leg bounced with anticipation.

“Why didn’t you write back, Y/F/N?”

You half looked over your shoulder at him annoyed.

“Why do you think?”

“Because I was an idiot.”

“That’s putting it gently.” You retorted.

The rest of the company loaded up and the trucks were on the move.

“So you got my letter?”

“I did.” You replied simply.

“Well, did ya read it?”

“Yes.”

“Gams, you gotta give me somethin’ here, it’s like pullin’ teeth gettin’ answers outta you!” Joe pleaded.

You turn to him, “I don’t owe you anything, Joe Liebgott. Not anymore.” You grit at him.

Joe looked around at the rest of the guys sitting with you on the truck.

“Look, you were right, and I was wrong.” Joe admitted in a hushed voice so the conversation was between you and him.

“Go on.” You urge.

“I am an angry, ornery son of a bitch, and the only time I was happy was when you were around. The day we found that camp—” Joe paused to hold his composure, “—it broke me down…almost to the point of no return. I lost it.” He looked at his boots.

You study him with compassion, your heart simultaneously breaking and melting for him.

“After you left, I became a shell of a man because of everything. I couldn’t shut my eyes without seeing your face or the faces of those prisoners, so I started drinking so I could sleep. Ended up gettin’ into a lot of scraps with Fox and Dog Company. Major Winters talked me into cuttin’ back when he said I’d get court marshaled and sent back to the States without seeing you again.”

He fell silent, afraid to look back at you from shame. You sigh, and take his hand. Joe’s eyes eagerly met yours as his hand squeezed yours.

“This war broke all of us at some point, Joe. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. But it’s important you don’t push away the people who care about you most.” You exhibit.

He nodded, “I was so lost without you, Y/F/N.”

He cupped the side of your face with his hand as his thumb gingerly rubbed along your cheek. You put your hand over his, leaning into his touch as a single tear escaped the corner of your eye. Joe bowed forward to rest his forehead against yours, your noses tenderly touching.

“Ikh hab dir lib (y) (I love you).” He breathed tilting his head forward until his lips brushed against yours.

Your lips gently lock onto his, each of you inhaling eachother’s breaths. You pull back to look into his honeyed brown eyes.

“I will never disrespect you again.” Joe vowed quietly.

You fall into him as he embraces you. His heartbeat drumming in your ear while your face presses into his chest.

“I love you, Joe.” You reciprocate.

“Ok, you two, you kissed and made up. Can we dispense with the sappy stuff now?” Luz complained.

You giggled as you pull back from Joe’s arms.

“Hey, Y/L/N, you owe us a song!” Luz pointed out.

“Hm, I suppose I do. Any suggestions?”

“I don’t know, surprise us, don’t make me think no more, we just need something nice to hear.” Luz rattled off.

You take a moment to think, until inspiration struck you. The boys wait with anticipation all over their faces, waiting for you to start. You look around the truck, smiling mischievously. You take a deep breath…

🎶“It had to be you, it had to be you.

I wandered around, finally found , the somebody who,

Could make me be true, Could make me be blue—”🎶

The boys leaned in, already entranced by your soothing voice, relishing the classic you selected. You stood so they could all see you, slipping your hand into Joe’s as you continued to perform.

You glance at Joe and wink, “Das ist für dich (g) (This is for you).” You whisper real quick before the next verse.

🎶“For nobody else gave me a thrill,

With all your faults, I love you still,

It had to be you, Wonderful you,

It had to be you— *GASP!*—”🎶

The truck violently quaked as it hit a pothole in the road, throwing you off balance causing you to stagger forward. Joe once again swooping in, hooking his arm around your hips in front of you before you could fall to the floor. The guys whooped and hollered with laughter and applause.

“Now where have I seen this happen before?” Luz questioned sarcastically rubbing his chin.

You return a hearty laugh and sit back on the bench next to Liebgott.

Joe angled in close to your ear, “Told ya I’d always be there to save you.”

You meet his stare with a smirk as he winks back at you.

~~~~~~~

Berchtesgaden

You arrive in Austria and take Eagle's Nest with no resistance. All you find are dead German officers and a considerable amount of war loot. After the men seized Hitler’s private fortress and officer housing surrounding it, Winters announced the war's conclusion in Europe and you were all directed to remain in place until you had to move on.

The guys wasted no time raiding the fully stocked wine cellar, popping open champagne and brandy, drinking from the bottles before claiming a space in any of the empty chambers of the castle and officer’s housing.

As evening approached, Easy lounged around the common room in front of a roaring fire in the massive fireplace, each with their own bottle of wine smoking and joking about anything and everything.

“I suppose you’ll be staying with Y/F/N?” Luz asked Liebgott.

“You bet your ass I am.” Liebgott confirmed.

“Yeah? Well, here’s a couple of extra bottles for ya to bring to the room.” Malarkey hinted with a wink passing Joe two unopened bottles of Cognac.

Joe smirked roguishly at Don, “Ya think I need liquid courage, Malark?”

Don chuckled, “Nah, just settin’ you up for success for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah, you better go to her before she falls asleep, pal!” Perconte teased.

Joe’s smile widened as he pointed at Frank, hastily standing up to rush towards the grand staircase.

“Go get ‘er, Lieb!” A couple of the guys shouted after him as the rest cheered him on.

~~~~~~~

You found a sleeping chamber with a balcony and one hell of a view of the mountains. You lean on the wall of the stone terrace, amiably staring at the warm hues of the sky as the sun set sun set beyond the blue, snow capped Alps with the lake glistening and sparkling below.

Joe meandered into the bedroom and quietly ambled onto balcony. He set the bottles down, sneaking up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you against him.

“Joe! You startled me!” You feign as you hold his hands in front of you.

Joe nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lavender on your hair.

“You smell incredible, doll.”

You rest your cheek on the side of his head.

“Why thank you, Mr. Liebgott.”

Joe took you by the shoulders to turn you towards him. He affectionately kneaded your arms as he beamed at you.

“You owe me a dance.” he declared.

You tilt your head at him, “You know what? You’re absolutely right.”

You ardently look back into the room.

“Hold that thought.” you prompt him.

You hurry back into the room to the gramophone that sat in the corner of the room. You finger through the record collection and find a song you were familiar with, and prepare it on the turntable. You crank the handle and gently place the needle on the record until the sound of “Sleepy Serenade” by The Andrew Sisters materialized through the horn.

You turn to see Joe’s reaction.

“Guess the Krauts appreciated The Andrew Sisters, too, huh?” He quipped.

“I suppose so.” You snickered.

Joe’s eyes seductively looked you over from head to toe, then casually beckoned you over to him.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Gams.” He hummed flirtatiously.

You sashay over to him as Joe offered his hand. When you were close enough, you place your hand on his to which he grasps it tenderly and proceeds to twirl you around then gracefully pulls you into him, holding you tight and flush against him by the waist as you sway dreamily together to the angelic melody.

Joe led you through the threshold of the balcony and around the room until you feel the back of your knees bump into the edge of the bed. Joe held you steady gaping into your eyes as he brought his hand up between you to caress your cheek. You lull your head onto his palm, your heart beat drumming.

“Marry me.” Joe purred.

Your mouth collapsed from shock, “You mean it, Joe?”

Joe rest his forehead on yours, “Absolutely. I don’t want to spend one second apart from you ever again.”

Your lips collide, locking onto each other in a deep lustful make out. Joe pulled away.

“So, is that a yes?” He said through his signature grin.

“Yes.” You moan into his mouth as you pull him back onto the bed with you.

~~~~~~~

You consummate your engagement with a night of pure, passionate love making. A heated, desirous adventure neither of have ever experienced before. Your souls became one that night in Berchtesgaden, never once to be separated or without the other ever again.

The End

[gay-noodle-clan]

Don’t know if anyone’s interested, but I want to introduce my DR self.

This is Andi Grei Ruenhaert, fourth born child of Talsen Ruenhaert, king of Lelyra, and Shasta Indarain, queen of Lelyra and High Priestess of the Goddess of Fate.

- Andi’s pronouns are She / They.

- Andi is half kienrif, a species I created. Kienrif are shapeshifters that can only turn into one animal: tiger, lion, wolf, coyote, bear, hyena, leopard, jaguar, elk. Tigers are mostly extinct, but as the art shows, there is a tiger behind her. This is her other form.

- Andi is 6’9, due to being half kienrif through her father’s side, a species known for their height. She is actually unusually small for the species, due to her being only half. Her tiger form is also rather small, only the size of the average wolf.

- Andi is a quarter Wood Elf and a quarter Hummingbird Fae through her mother’s side, giving her an unusually long lifespan, pointed ears, and a rather quick but graceful step.

- Andi was born September 19, 1374 A.D. In most of my DRs, it is the year 1397 A.D., making Andi 23 years old.

- Andi lives in Miðrfold, but was born in the realm Tasmuidal. For reference, our reality / realm is Heltensrike. Miðrfold is another reality / realm that is connected to Heltensrike, and to Tasmuidal, and translates to the Middle Realm. Tasmuidal is the “final” realm / reality, and is considered unholy or dead lands.

- Tasmuidal has 2 countries, Auluiria and Lelyra. Andi is from Lelyra, a place that snows year-round. They rely heavily on trade for food and supplies, and often eat the northern Leopard Seal selkies so that they can avoid trade a bit more and not have to keep an eye out for hungry selkies stealing children.

- Andi is very soft spoken and sweet, but is able to stand up for herself when necessary. She is very well-liked, though, and is rumoured to be the next Sylvati, something akin to the magical leader of the realm.

- It varies who her romantic partner is, depending entirely on what DR I am in.

- The way Andi ends up in DRs is that she touches an auyura, or a magical fae’s gate, and it takes her to an unknown, uncharted place, the DR. For reference, she touches the gate, and ends up in My Hero Academia.

- Andi has plant-related magic due to being a quarter Wood Elf, and has the ability to understand animals if she learns their language. This is usually a common tongue amongst animals of an area—rabbits, bobcats, and squirrels would all speak the same rough common tongue in a northern pine forest where they live together, that an elf could learn. But the bobcats of different regions could understand each other through their own first language, but the elf would have to learn that language separately, because it is a different language from the pine forest’s common tongue… there’s a lot of different languages to learn. Most elves specialise in certain species or areas. Andi chooses to specialise in smaller woodland mammals. Whereas her grandmother, Svea, understands dragons, because she’s learned that language. It took Svea a couple hundred years, though.

- Andi knows 13 different languages: “Not too many. Icelandic, Germanic, Danish, Swedish, Finnish, Faroese, Estonian, Norwegian, Greek, Portuguese, Ukrainian, a bit of French, Japanese, Mandarin and Cantonese, Korean, Doric, and Elvish. It is embarrassingly little, unfortunately.” She has the life goal of learning as many languages as possible. Although she refuses to learn English, mostly out of spite for having found the language too difficult when she was younger.

- Andi is incredibly intelligent, but is usually in her own world. Good luck getting her to respond when she’s daydreaming.

And that’s my DR self! Yes I made her special, because it’s my DR, so why not? Andi is my DR self in all of my DRs (30+), except for 3.

There’s more about her, too, if anyone is ever interested. I don’t refer to myself as Andi because in this reality, that isn’t who I am. I’m Andi in another reality, and prefer to stay Noodlers in this reality.

However, please feel free to ask me about her if I missed anything!

[aristotels]

I would love to hear an extended rant about being an artist in a periphery country, if you're willing to say more.

sorry for this being late! but yes there are quite a few things to this.

1) EDUCATION/JOB OFFERINGS

when you are from a periphery country, the art education accessible to you is much worse than in the imperial core. yes, i know, you dont need to go to art school, you can be self-taught, you dont need a degree, but art school is about making potential job connections. in a country like croatia, you do not have access to those connections. you do not have ability to go out, show your portfolio, get reccommended by a professor for a listing. the education is stunted as well - the animation program here is atrocious, my building had an attic with dead pigeon corpses littering the room, there are no drawing tablets, computers are old, the building is leaking, but the lack of ability to make professional connections is the main concern.

also, your degree? people hear you got a degree from a balkans land and you are immediately less worthy in their eyes. your name, which is not anglo? crossed out, despite your skills. job offerings within your country? good luck, everyone lives in poverty, you are underpaid, and studios hiring can be named on fingers of one hand. you are left with earning online.

and you are left with earning illegally. making author contracts with pdv, taxes, etc is incredibly complicated when working over upwork, doing commissions etc. this does constitute as black market. we do not hand in our taxes like in the usa, theyre deducted from our salaries and contracts immediately. this means you are missing out on potential grants and statuses which require you to provide papers of your commissions. it also means that transfering money over paypal has to go into small amounts to your own account, to avoid suspicious activity.

2) ART TOOLS ACCESIBILITY

a thing that is very frustrating. living in a periphery country? good luck getting anything. art shops are scarce. art shops do not carry the same amounts of items, and they are more expensive than in their mother countries. you are left with office supply stores. the quality of accessible paints and other tools is lower. its already been proven that products shipped to eastern europe are of lower quality and higher price than in the west; and this goes for paints too.

this means that, if you do traditional art of any kind, you are left with shopping online. this includes shipping - youre in a periphery country? congrats, often it does not ship to it, or the shipping is atrocious. your choices? mostly deutschland amazon - every item has 10€ shipping minimum. prices are not adjusted to your salary, they are adjusted to the german ones, which are much higher. i have to regularly order fillings for my brushpen. it is not available in my country. the price on amazon is significantly higher than on pentel website, and their usa based shipping. yes, just the price of the product. pentel does not ship this to my country btw. aliexpress is what you have, it takes 2 months to arrive, is frequently lost in mail, and even with it being cheaper - its still a bit more expensive than the original.

3) ALGORITHM, SOCIAL MEDIA

this is the third thing - algorithm works against you if you are not from the imperial core. of course, there are timezones, but also - your posts tend to be shown to people who live around you; meaning you have harder time breaking into the international market, and that market is the only viable one.

4) BEING PAID LESS

being eastern european (or asian or southern american or african or...) gets you lower salary. i indeed love my employers, i adore the comic i work on so much that its become my own project as well, theyve been nothing but kind to me - but the fact remains that i, as an eastern european, am and will always be paid much less than my usamerican counterparts.

5) JOB OPPORTUNITIES, ONCE AGAIN, ENGLISH LANGUAGE

adding this but: its hard to break into cartoon network/adult swim/etc without being presently there. you cannot get to conventions, you cannot have your portfolio checked, and you must speak english. yes. anglos take english-speaking for granted, and fail to realize that actually speaking english for us is not a privilege, its a necessity, and its a tool of imperialism. it is unfair that you cannot do ANYTHING without speaking english. you cannot get jobs, you cannot advance your career, and while i personally speak english quite well, not everyone does, not everyone should have to.

anyway sorry for the length

[incesthemes]

since you asked me this question for wincest wednesday...what are YOUR headcanons on the boys' knowledge of languages? :o

YES THANK YOU!!!!!! :) i love talking about languages and supernatural and languages in supernatural

so when i first watched through the show, i actually had a pretty extensive list of languages i thought they would have reasonably acquired some knowledge on:

classical languages (latin, classical greek)

native north american languages (particularly of the siouan and uto-aztecan variety, and navajo, all for geographical reasons)

some modern italic languages (spanish, french, italian, etc), maybe less so modern germanic languages

some old norse (mainly via the two eddas)

some japanese, picked up later in the series and mostly by dean (to honor bobby's memory)

some other ancient or dead languages (aramaic, sumerian, old english, etc)

a very small spattering of enochian, whatever is available for humans to learn

american sign language (sam only)

my reasoning for this was for practical reasons: these are the languages of the cultures that the monsters they hunt originate from, and so the lore is going to be accessible only or predominantly through those languages. especially later in the series, you see them interacting with non-english texts quite often (whether or not they know the languages in question is up to that episode writer's whims, i guess, continuity be damned). i also like the interpretation of both sam and dean as being highly self-educated, and since they're both rather serious about hunting, this would be a natural extension of the knowledge they'd need to acquire to actually excel in their work. for this headcanon, i really like dean being more practical in his knowledge of languages and sam being more academic because it aligns with their areas of specialty in hunting :3

HOWEVER, when i started my rewatch, i also watched the pilot commentary with eric kripke, and he said something very striking to me:

Blue collar, low tech guys and their weaponry should be blue collar, greasy, worn down. It's always been really important to me. I'm mean—I'm just—I'm from a small town in Ohio, and you know, it's always been important to me that these guys just be, you know, Motorheads... and... love classic rock... and know how to handle a chainsaw, and that was to me, more interesting than—spells and magic. And... even to this day in the writer's room they always bring that stuff up, and I'm always like, 'Forget it! Where are the chainsaws?'

it's very obvious in the final product that this was the intention of course, and as i continued to watch i kept this vision in mind. there are three things that have stood out to me since then:

in 1x04, sam tells dean that "christo" is latin for god. it's actually greek (for christ, not god), and it would also be in the wrong declension, which could imply that sam actually isn't really familiar with greek or latin. this could imply that sam is actually just parroting something he's been told in the past (probably by john), without actually knowing it himself

in 2x04, dean flips through a book in ancient greek, and later when they dig up angela's coffin, they find more greek lettering on the inside. dean calls the letters "symbols" which could imply he's not familiar enough with greek to even know what kind of writing system it has, or to recognize greek writing for what it is. sam, too, seems equally baffled at the "symbols"

in 5x05, sam interviews a hispanic woman in somewhat awkward spanish. when dean asks about it, sam replies "freshman spanish," meaning he hasn't learned beyond a freshman, introductory level of the language, and that he learned it through formal education rather than on his own

these moments are super important to me because they really cut through the idea that sam and dean have extensive or even moderate training in foreign languages. instead, they paint the picture of rather sheltered kids who were largely kept away from the world or only limited in their exposure. i imagine, from this, that john was the one who did most of the research on their hunts, and if sam or dean participated they were relegated to controlled, prescribed roles. especially from the 1x04 example, i can extrapolate that they probably haven't examined the information they've been given too deeply; it implies a level of blind trust in john's skill, to the extent that sam isn't even aware of what language he's speaking in to reveal a demon.

as a result my most up-to-date headcanon is that sam and dean both grew up entirely monolingual, and that they didn't actually even start acquiring new languages (sam's freshman spanish exempted) until their network was cut out from under them (bobby's death and then garth's disappearance) and they found the bunker, with its myriad resources to research and study and its stability to house a library for those purposes. before then, i can see them picking up on very minor latin, like a few words here and there, but not actively pursuing any of this learning until they were forced to learn it themselves. what languages they know or how deep their knowledge goes is wildly contradictory in canon so that means i can do whatever i want, which is exactly the point where i wrap back around into my initial headcanon and start adding those languages back into their bunker era repertoire of skills.

(for the record i do generally have opinions about how much they each know of each of those languages and where their strengths in language learning lie, because i think WAY too much about this)

to my own dismay (as a lover of languages and linguistics), i've found this interpretation to be much more in-line with kripke's vision of the show, whether or not the more subtle details were intentional or not (seriously, who on the set of this show decided on "christo," i NEED to know). It also gives an interesting dimension to their early life as being highly sheltered and isolated and kept away from the hunting life while simultaneously being inescapably part of it.

this is a really long way of saying "monolinguals," but in my defense i've been building this interpretation and headcanon for nearly a year straight now. because i pay way too much undue attention to the use of language in supernatural.

[hedgehog-moss]

[1] `there are often translations available in other languages long before English ones` This is really interesting! I'm familiar with translation in games, where english is often a very early target (a small game might get 0-5 translations, depending on amount of text) because the size of the market is larger.

[2] Do you happen to know why this is different for books? Is it faster to come to a deal about publication rights for some other languages to get started on the translation? Is translation to english harder (at least from French) than to say, Spanish?

The literary translation situation has long been very dismal in the English-speaking world! I don’t know a lot about video games, but are localisations provided by the company that makes the game? Because if that's the case it makes sense that games would get translated into English as a priority. For literary translations which are imported rather than exported, other countries have to decide to translate a foreign author and anglo countries (US, UK and Canada at least) are not very interested in foreign literature. There's something known as the "3% rule" in translation—i.e. about 3% of all published books in the US in any given year are translations. Some recent sources say this figure is outdated and it’s now something like 5% (... god) but note that it encompasses all translations, and most of it is technical translation (instruction manuals, etc). The percentage of novels in translation published in the UK is 5-6% from what I’ve read and it’s lower in the US. In France it's 33%, and that’s not unusually high compared to other European countries.

I don't think it's only because of the global influence of English* and the higher proportion of English speakers in other countries than [insert language] speakers in the US, or poor language education in schools etc, because just consider how many people in the US speak Spanish—I just looked it up and native Spanish speakers in the US represent nearly 2/3rds of the population of France, and yet in 2014 (most recent solid stat I could find) the US published only 67 books translated from Spanish. France with a much smaller % of native Spanish speakers (and literary market) published ~370 translations from Spanish that same year. All languages combined, the total number of new translations published in France in 2014 was 11,859; in Spain it was 19,865; the same year the US published 618 new translations. France translated more books from German alone (754) than the US did from all languages combined, and German is only our 3rd most translated language (and a distant third at that!). The number of new translations I found in the US in 2018 was 632 so the 3% figure is probably still accurate enough.

* When I say it’s not just about the global influence of English—obviously that plays a huge role but I mean there’s also a factor of cultural isolationism at play. If you take English out of the equation there’s still a lot more cultural exchange (in terms of literature) between other countries. Take Olga Tokarczuk’s Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead; it was published in 2009, and (to give a few examples) translated in Swedish 1 year later, in Russian & German 2 years later, in French, Danish & Italian 3 years later, in English 10 years later—only after she won the Nobel. I’m reminded of the former secretary for the Nobel Prize who said Americans “don't really participate in the big dialogue of literature” because they don’t translate enough. I think it's a similar phenomenon as the one described in the "How US culture ate the world" article; the US is more interested in exporting its culture than in importing cultural products from the rest of the world. And sure, anglo culture is spread over most continents so there’s still a diversity of voices that write in English (from India, South Africa, etc etc) but that creates pressure for authors to adopt English as their literary language. The dearth of English translation doesn’t just mean that monolingual anglophones are cut off from a lot of great literature, but also that authors who write in minority languages are cut off from the global visibility an English translation could give them, as it could serve as a bridge to be translated in a lot more languages, and as a way to become eligible for major literary prizes including the Nobel.

Considering that women are less translated than men and represent a minority (about 1/3) of that already abysmally low 3% figure, I find the recent successes of English translations of women writers encouraging—Olga Tokarczuk, Banana Yoshimoto, Han Kang, Valeria Luiselli, Samanta Schweblin, Sayaka Murata, Leila Slimani, of course Elena Ferrante... Hopefully this is a trend that continues & increases! I remember this New Yorker article from years ago, “Do You Have to Win the Nobel Prize to Be Translated?”, in which a US small press owner said “there’s just no demand in this country” (for translated works); but the article acknowledged that it’s also a chicken-and-egg problem. Traditional publishers who have the budget to market them properly don’t release many translations as (among other things) they think US readers are reluctant to read translated foreign literature, and the indie presses who release the lion’s share of translated works (I read it was about 80%) don’t have the budget to promote them so people don’t buy them so the assumption that readers aren’t interested lives on. So maybe social media can slowly change the situation by showing that anglo readers are interested in translated books if they just get to find out about them...

[saschax]

metamorphosis

(n) a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one

TRIGGER WARNINGS: death (described in detail), violence (acts such as killing and torture), grief and loss (protagonist experiences), suicidal ideation (thinking suicide)

please keep in mind this is my first post, and english is not my native language, i speak German. feel free to correct me if any errors is made in the story.

P.S i try to make ghost canon as much as possible, but i dont really know the story so i put a lot of research.

ghost felt himself as if he died completely, his heart stopped working when he witnessed johnny, died. making his soul even heavier, being weighed down by grief.

he wasn't always like this, full of hatred, anger, regret, and remorse. he wasn't always baring his teeth like a cornered stray dog. he didn't always have bloodshot eyes looking for a way out, but never could find a way.

he wasn't always like this, he used to be happy, loving, kind, talkative.

until his family died.

until he was tortured, buried alive with his dead teammate.

until he learned how to kill.

until he lost two friends: roach, and johnny.

ghost hated roach, but at the same time, loved him.

ghost hated the fact that roach saw the wounded and scared animal behind his gnashing teeth, hated him for showing him what it feels like to be held again, to show him how love and companionship feels.

the concept of being held was so strange to him, a language he couldn't understand until roach showed him.

but ghost loved the feeling of companionship, he found warmth in it. he found joy in it, he felt.. seen, roach saw more in him than just a convenient tool for him to have.

ghost's heart fluttered when roach placed all of his trust in him, ghost felt held, and ghost had someone to run to.

it all came crashing down.

roach was shot, the bullet struck his heart directly, blood pouring out rapidly.

ghost, being there, tried his best to help- he cried tears, something he'd never do for a friend, panicked and did everything he can.

roach was dying, gasping mouthful of air, trying to stay alive.

he couldn't stop roach from bleeding or stop the cardiac arrest.

roach was dead, laid in his pool of blood and- and- ghost- he- he failed.

he failed miserably. broke his own promise to himself, a promise that was meant to save roach.

and no matters how many times he assaulted the walls, cried his heart out, no matter how many-

roach, is not coming back. and ghost, failed to save him.

what good is he if he fucking failed to save his friend?

no wonder he couldn't save his own family, he's useless. he's not good at protecting, he doesn't know how. only thing he knows like the back of his hand is to kill.

and when roach died, roach mercilessly chewed his walls, stole his hopes, his joy, and his happiness, with him before going to heaven or God-know where he is.

ghost screamed, and snarled like some sort of a feral dog, begging for roach to give him his other half back- his hopes, his joy back. clawing at the surface, just give it back..

all ghost has is just half of him, the half that is cruel, mean, full of darkness, its all he have.

roach gave him a lesson, a lesson that meant friends are not worth the pain. roach gave him eyes that seen too much, and made ghost hopeless, hardening his shell.

ghost cannot let the same thing happened to him- he can't go through hell and back again. ghost knows he deserved it but its hurt, its hurt so much.

if ghost could go back in time and change the clock, he would. he would let roach's friendship go unanswered. he should've never welcomed in the companionship, the happiness, the pain was too much.

it made ghost felt cornered, deaths, unhappiness, regret, and hatred surronding him. mocking him. he can't escape them.

every time he loves something, death come.

every time he found happiness, something terrible happens.

every time.. history kept repeating themselves over and over and over again, it have ghost's head reeling.

ghost keep running and running, but they always seem to catch up to him. ghost keep scratching the black surface in futile hopes of clawing his way out.

he always seems to be standing on the dark side, all alone. and he gets envious of people who is happy, having a good life, a life he never had.

roach never deserved the death, if anything, roach deserved to live and died of old age.

ghost should've been the one shot, it better anyway because it would've end ghost's misery, it would've break his unhappiness streak because dying seems to be the only happy option he have in his hands.

then soap came into his life, and again, he felt a flicker of hope.

he knows this all too well, history is about to repeat itself.

but as the time turned into weeks, then months- nothing happened. sure, there was chaos, deaths all around them, but soap didn't die yet, surprisingly.

roach and soap was so similar, but at the same time, so glaringly different.

ghost saw roach in soap, of course they were two different beings but still.

just when ghost started becoming closer with.. with johnny, his walls slowly crumbling, letting johnny in.

maybe johnny could change his destiny of being alone.

and ghost fell.

ghost tried his hardest to try and hold onto johnny's hands, but ghost felt his hands gotten sweaty, accidentally letting johnny's fall into another realm.

ghost shouted his name when he saw johnny dead on the ground, kneeling beside him. ghost's wounds reopened, he wanted to tear his heart out.

he failed.

again.

he seemingly can't shed a tear, it was like his mind already knew what was going to happen, but ghost was too busy staring at the light, admiring it before it faded, leaving him alone in the dark.

ghost's soul feels missing, like all of him is gone.

roach took half of him, and now johnny took the other, or well, what left. the two left ghost scrambling for his lost self, on the ground trying to pick himself together but he can't.

they stole it from him, hid it from him somewhere he will never find.

he returned to his room, seeing a gun on his desk.

oh, how easy it would to kill himself right now.

but he can't.

he tried before, could never pulled the trigger. every time he tried, it felt like his fingers went through it.

the death of johnny made price scrambling to find new blood into the team, trying to fill the void, a 3-man team won't work considering their sort of operations.

ghost laughed hollowing, no one could replace johnny or roach for that matter, even if the two stole his soul and his bleeding, wounded heart.

ghost still love them, and he's going to honor their memories the only way he knows how.

continue the fight they started, until he dies or win the war.

maybe..

maybe he was meant to be alone angry confused angry sad alone regret grief alone with no one to turn or run to.

maybe he's not supposed to have someone.