#there are a few things that were done on purpose - finland has a sort of memory within the dream whereas he is actually an adult | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halorocks1214 · 5 years ago

Text

the law of relativity

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9963

Summary: The Law of Relativity states that each person will receive a series of problems (‘tests of initiation’) for the purpose of strengthening the ‘light’ within. We must consider each of these tests to be a challenge and remain connected to our hearts when proceeding to solve the problems. This law also teaches us to compare our problems to others’ problems and put everything into its proper perspective. No matter how bad we perceive our situation to be, there is always someone who is in a worse position. It is all relative

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | Virgil | You are here! | Gordon

WHY 👏🏼 CANT 👏🏼 I 👏🏼 WRITE 👏🏼 FICS 👏🏼 IN 👏🏼 MO 👏🏼 DER 👏🏼 RATION 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 also just bluuuergh. dont ask about this fic. part of it was written in a dark auditorium, another was written in a different state, another was written on a frickin bus, this fic has been places ill tell you what. half the time i think this is hot garbage and the other half i think its actually decent so im posting this while my head is in a good headspace and then promptly yeeting myself off the internet for a few hours to wait and see what happens. this series is becoming less of a canon divergence AU and more of a straight-up AU because of certain details im trying to worm in there buT IM TRYING MY BEST

thanks once more to @gumnut-logic, because of the length, this time i used three prompts, them being "What do you mean?", crease, and dream (and they werent even used that much sksksksk)

Warnings for both graphic and non-graphic depictions of violence, as well as mentions of torture and other PTSD/panic attack related stuff. I went deep with this one fellas

Orphan.

The word tasted dirty in his mouth.

He can still see the footage in the backs of his eyelids from when he watched it exactly one year ago. He was the only other (living) adult at the time in the family outside of Grandma, so he was permitted to see it. He remembered they originally didn’t want to show him, mainly because of his age, but Grandma was fierce, and she put one hell of an argument on the table.

One Scott refused to let fall through the cracks by breaking down. If only Grandma knew how he cried his eyes out and screamed to high heaven that night in the hotel room after essentially watching his father be blown to bloody smithereens then she was a goddamn saint for keeping it a secret. It made sense, she was the mother to his father. She had quite the line up of stories from Jeff’s childhood. Scott sensed the early-greying of his hair came from her, heh.

The rest of his family eventually saw it, of course, they did. Scott couldn’t shield them forever. What he will protect, selfishly he might add, was how angry he was at how much better they took it than he did. They cried, yes they did, but they never fully broke down like Scott did. Later in life, he wondered if it was jealousy: jealousy at not truly being able to let go. Whatever it was, he made sure to swallow it along with whatever alcohol he chose for the weekend.

Just add it to the ever-growing pile of shit he had to deal with. Nothing new.

Suddenly he’s 20 again and seated in a plane to be taken to his first stint in the Air Force. He said his goodbyes to Virgil, Gordon, and Alan back at home while Grandma and John metaphorically held his hand all the way to the airport. John was… quiet, more so than usual, but Grandma was stuck right in the middle between being a sobbing mess and ecstatic at the fine young man he’s become.

You’re just like your father. He would be proud.

Scott was secretly glad she never physically said it. It gave him plausible deniability in thinking that those words weren’t laced behind her big, bright, prideful eyes.

The first time went well, maybe even great. He stayed for a couple of months, did some flight tests, and while the training was brutal, boy did he learn a lot. When he came back home it was to a family slowly stitching itself back together. Grandma was a full-time house member, Virgil had taken up painting, Gordon talked about potentially going back to his swim meets, and while Alan was still as silent as ever, he was perkier than when Scott last saw him.

It would be on and off for the next few years: a couple of months at home, slowly and painfully taking over the role their father had (he can’t remember when he essentially received joint custody of his younger siblings with Grandma, but hey, he’s not complaining), then a couple of months out at the Air Force base where he slowly climbed up the ranking platform. He became skillful, perhaps too skillful. When he got his rank of Captain he felt it was less of an honor and more of something they owed him.

He was getting cocky. Never enough to be a danger to his fellow men, but enough to be somewhat of an occasional annoyance. Charles smacked him upside the head more than once. It felt like the world was right-side-up for once. Scott made many-a-calls to John and Virgil, the former enjoying his first few rotations up in space and the latter squarely in the middle of college. Gordon was being offered sponsorships to hell and back, and Alan was quietly getting along with the other kids at his school. Grandma was on welcoming duty for Kayo, who was taking her slot in the Tracy family with grace, though, a warning that their family would take custody of her if something were to happen to her parents would have been nice, Dad.

Of course, nothing ever goes right for their family for too long.

Orphan.

Age 24, it was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission of civilians. Scott was put in charge of his squad and then some. At night, they rolled-- well, flew out to get the job done. Scott can’t even remember the country anymore when minding his own business. Australia? Finland? Perhaps Bangladesh? There was a place John was insistent Scott never do rescues in, Virgil tended to agree, and the eldest unhealthily let them banish him from ever stepping foot there without argument. He could never remember the name off the top of his head until John’s familiar International Rescue, we have a situation rung out in the living room followed by the name of the country.

He would immediately forget it later, trauma too strong, too volatile, but the way his heart stopped and his head shattered and the way he felt ice water rush down his back was a good enough reason to quietly leave the room and let John delegate the job to one of his brothers. Sometimes John found him retching in the toilet halfway through the mission. He made sure to always mute Scott’s wrist communicator, even if it was never turned on in the first place.

The plane touched down. Orders sent the ground team out. But then the ground team took longer than estimated. Scott tensely waited where he was told to. It wasn’t the first mission that took a little longer than predicted and knowing humans, it surely wouldn’t be the last. Then, words mixed with heavy static came over the radio. H--p. Co-- ---7--. --nd ba---p --me--at--y.

Scott sat tensely in his seat, remembering his orders and suddenly hating them. Radio back to home if the mission goes south. Well, it didn’t look like they had the radio anymore. Still didn’t hurt to try at least. Scott spoke the familiar protocol that was ingrained into him when trying to call base. Dammit. Nothing. Probably some kind of blocker of sorts. Sitting up straight as a board, Scott looked through his options.

… He was in charge here. If something happened to his team the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Going against everything but his gut, he went out to help his squad. He can’t really remember what he exactly did anymore, but he does remember that it made a noise. Like a Looney Tunes scene: he flinched, froze, waited to see if anything or one heard, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued.

He eventually stumbled across one of his closest comrades, Arnold Brigeets. Yes, the name was ironic and half the reason he joined the force in the first place. The guy was one of the people that actually trained Scott and also seemed to be one of the few that was genuinely proud when Scott became a higher rank. It’s why Scott was more appreciative of Arnold than others, that, and well… Scott thought his fatherly abilities were good. The guy did have three kids back home.

Orphan.

Ducking down behind the cover his older friend was semi-situated behind, Scott watched as Arnold jumped at the intrusion before sighing. Scott had run into some enemies that he swiftly took down-- nothing too serious, he didn’t have the time or weapons for such an act, but they definitely would be out of it for a while-- so Arnold must have too on his way to find cover as well, hence why he was so on edge.

“Thank God,” Arnold wiped his forehead, “Glad to see you join us, kid.”

Scott was breathing heavily, but the grin he attempted was still there, “Y-Yeah, so what happened? More threats than we thought?”

Arnold shook his head, “Yes and no. There were a lot more baddies than we thought, but that’s because the civilians weren’t civilians. It’s a tr--”

Boom. The familiar sound of a gunshot.

Arnold fell over. Never got back up. Dropped like a rock in a lake, never to come up to the surface again.

Scott was so caught off guard he couldn’t react to the gun that swiftly beat him over the head, knocking him out cold. The only thing on his mind was oh fuck oh fuck I messed up I shouldn’t have come I wouldn’t have made any noise that way why did I--

They had him for roughly two weeks. Scott always thought the plotline in movies where the villain vehemently denied knowing any important information was dumb as hell. We’re not stupid. We wouldn’t go after someone if they didn’t know something.

The things they did hurt and no amount of I don’t fucking know anything! would help. Those two weeks were lost to Scott in a sea of pain and torment. The only thing he remembered was being captured, then waking up in a hospital drugged up to his gills with his superiors staring at him like he cured cancer.

“You saved the rest of your squad from sharing the same fate as the first half.”

“I-I did?”

“You betcha, son. I only wish I was there to see it! People be saying you were like an animal in how you took ‘em all down.”

Scott’s never remembered, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was given the highest honors, even the chance to skip a couple of ranks to be at the same level as the big boys, but the night they were going to share the news to the golden boy himself, they found him in one of the bathrooms with a bloody hand and a mirror shattered with no hope of fixing it.

He was honorably discharged to a family that was so thankful he was home. Words like missing in action and POA never stopped haunting their nightmares. Scott was too, God, of course, he was, but sitting around and doing nothing was the last thing his traumatized mind wanted or maybe even needed. After doing what he considered to be the biggest fuck-up of his life, he needed to feel important.

This isn’t the first time he’ll say this and it surely won’t be the last: thank Christ for Grandma.

“You want me to take over?...”

“Yep, it’s about time Tracy Industries received a new pair of eyes. The Board certainly thinks so.”

“But… they’d rather have a crazy, PTSD-infected veteran over you?”

A rough pinch to his ear, “Hey now, don’t call yourself that,” the gentle motherly tone was back as soon as it left, “Besides, that crazy might exactly be what they want. Half of their argument is that I “don’t take enough risks.” They’re getting tired of listening to an old fart like me.”

A moment of contemplation, followed by the cheeky raise of an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want me to take so many risks they have no choice but to take you back?”

A bark of laughter, “Damn straight.”

He learned the ropes faster than normal (healthy, is probably the correct term), and he immediately won the hearts of both young and old in the company. Instead of flying planes every few months, he worked on business reports and vetoed new ideas every couple of weeks. It felt satisfying for the most part, and his family was just happy he was still alive to enjoy it.

However, there was a slight roadblock on his way to becoming a somewhat stable person.

He became prone to violent blackouts. It had to have started when he blacked out and saved himself from those two weeks of hell, which made the most sense. Something was always destroyed when he came back to life. John was the best at calming him down due to his own experience with panic attacks, however, John couldn’t always be there, and the next rotation for NASA was coming swiftly. Scott swore up and down he would be fine, he could figure something out. John went back into space with an eyebrow permanently raised.

It was just him and Virgil home (Grandma had taken Alan and Kayo to watch Gordon swim) when he, unfortunately, proved John right. Scott wasn’t sure what triggered it, but he vividly remembered coming back in Virgil’s extremely tight hold. The first thing Scott thought to say was damn, beanstalk, when did you get so strong? but then he laid his eyes upon the forming bruise on his younger bro’s face and hasn’t recovered since.

Virgil swore he never held it against Scott. Scott definitely thought he should have.

That night brought sudden clarity to Scott that he was doing this horribly wrong. He was a ticking time bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before something was damaged in a way that couldn’t be fixed. Scott needed an anchor. Something to ground him before he took it too far. John wasn’t going to be earthside forever, Grandma was busy with Kayo, Alan was just a kid, and Gordon was living the dream. None of them were viable.

Then, as he was thinking, he was suddenly aware of how calming Virgil’s arms were around him, how they were preventing the growing panic attack in his chest from getting even bigger.

It was easy.

For once in Scott’s life, his eyes were big and young as he asked Virgil, “Help me, please.”

After a few brief seconds, Virgil gulped, “Okay.”

From then on, Virgil was Stone Number One. Scott’s admiration for Virgil outweighed the guilt of putting the black-haired man in that position in the first place. Virgil was glad to follow his older brother’s leadership, but just as qualified to bring him the hell back when he went too far. From getting too sacrificial to preventing a good punching-out some of the idiots they dealt with, Virgil made sure Scott knocked that shit off.

Time went on, Scott was a top-notch CEO at Tracy Industries, John was having one hell of a time up in space, Virgil was graduated and had so many life opportunities to pick from, Alan was thriving at being a (mostly) stable kid, Kayo was 100% acclimated to the family, and Gordon--

Scott found himself gripping the wooden desk very abruptly. He was shocked he didn’t snap a chunk off in the process. Why was he thinking about this right after a giant business conference? Who knows at this point. If this giant origin story seemed jagged and jumpy, maybe even somewhat vague, good, that’s how it fucking felt.

Back to said story.

Scott always thought he and Gordon would have the least amount in common.

They do, but out of all the things they could have picked to be similar, why did it have to be the PTSD caused by military-related jobs? Scott was 24 when he got his, Gordon was just under 20. It may have been a few years since their respective accidents, but they’re never going to go another day without it feeling like it was just yesterday.

At this point, Gordon was up and walking again, mainly thanks to John and Alan while Virgil and Scott helped in their own ways. Grandma’s cooking was what probably motivated him the most though, ha, the need to get away from it… Scott smiled. Grandma was always a constant. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, the family might have fallen apart. Literally.

What has he been saying throughout this whole shindig? Thank Christ for Grandma.

One day out of the blue, Grandma reserved the entire family (yes, even Kayo and Alan) private plane tickets so they could spend some time on the mainland for a few days. Honestly, even if the island wasn’t getting major renovations, you hooligans need to get out more. Have some fun. Try not to kill anything, especially each other, she all told them while creepily grinning. John and Virgil smacked Gordon more than once on the plane for insisting that she finally snapped, dudes, she’s gonna kill us.

Most of the time during their little vacation, Scott heavily focused on his breathing. He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the same went for his excitement.

Dad showed him these plans the day after his 18th birthday. You’re a man now, Scotty, I need your help making this big boy decision with me.

As soon as they reset foot down on the island, Scott took a deep breath and felt relaxed at the salty taste in the air. It was weird, nothing on the outside was changed, and yet… it still felt different.

“Guys!” Virgil yelled out, “Stop playing in the water! We just got back, aren’t you two tired?!”

Blinking back to reality, Scott looked over to see his two youngest brothers doing exactly what Virgil was yelling at them for. Poor Johnny was a little damp too, which is what probably caused Virgil to shout at them in the first place. The blondes didn’t care. They continued to prance around in the shallow waves with their pants legs rolled up, acting as if they didn’t hear anything outside of their laughter. Gordon shoved his hands down into the liquid and threw some directly at Alan, nailing him right in the face.

Scott exhaled slowly. He couldn’t imagine them doing this 8 years ago.

Regardless, the artist was right, and they couldn’t waste too much time. Kayo was swift in grabbing both gentlemen by the ears and dragging them onto dry land. They all painstakingly trekked their way up to the-- what would you call Tracy Island? Mansion? Over-blown cabin? Well, whatever it was, Scott would always be willing to call it home.

Stepping inside, each brother took in the view, which was underwhelmingly not that much different, except for one tiny thing. John suddenly noticed a figure already standing in the living room and blinked, “No way… it’s--”

Gordon jumped in, both with his body and his words, “Brains?! Dude, how’s it hanging?!”

The scientist in question jumped at the voices before clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses, “O-Oh, hello again, T-Tracys. It’s good to see you all once more.”

Virgil slung an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the blatant squawk, “Man, how long has it been?! What made you finally decide to crawl out of your hole?”

Snickers came from all corners of the house. Brains stood up straighter, “W-Well, I was contacted b-by Mrs. Tracy over here with an offer I c-couldn’t turn down.”

Eyebrows tilted in all shapes and sizes. Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned to look at Grandma once again, “I think if you all follow me, you’ll swiftly understand what I’m talking about.”

I already do, Scott thought matter-of-factly. John seemed to be understanding it now, Virgil was on the cusp of remembering what his father was hinting at for him, and Gordon was just as lost as Alan. It made sense, Jeff talked to all of them about it, but the oldest had seniority. The two youngest not remembering just by words was expected, especially since that was going to be rectified very quickly.

The hangar under the island was beautiful. Point blank. It smelt of iron and steel and grease and engine and that was the first time since Scott had been in the Air Force that he didn’t gag or flinch at the thought of flying something again. Scott had seen the plans his father drew. He assumed Jeff finished building it, but he never got to physically see it since…

In some ways, he was glad he didn’t. Now he got to experience it with (most of) his family, and that made it ten times better.

After letting them absorb the scenery, Grandma slowly turned around to look at them all, “You remember that dream your father had?”

The four oldest blinked, Kayo simply raised her eyebrows, meanwhile, Alan, being the teenager he was, didn’t read the emotion in the room, “Oh, yeah! Aunt Casey always talked about how he was going to “change the world” and stuff. What did he call it again?”

Scott felt way more confident than he had in a while, “International Rescue.”

Grandma nodded, gleeful at the happy look on her oldest and youngest grandsons’ faces, “Well, I’ve been thinking about some things. I know we don’t exactly worry about money, but after everything your father put into these girls… I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

The Tracy family jumped at that. John’s mouth was wide open in shock, yes, shock, “That station is still up there?”

Grandma sighed, “You mean ‘Five? Not for long. Not if we don’t send someone up there within the next few days.”

John blushed at the grin Grandma gave him. Clearing his throat, his big brain came to a startling conclusion, “Wait… you brought Alan along?”

The other big brothers in the room jumped at that. Kayo was the only one with enough balls to say the truth out loud, “Mrs. Tracy, I mean no offense, but he’s--”

“Just a kid?” Grandma smirked, “A kid that’s topped the VR charts for Intergalactic Fury for weeks straight while simultaneously getting nothing but A’s in his classes?”

Scott nodded slowly in comprehension. He remembered Alan talking about that game for a while. It was some kind of online racing simulator of sorts. Scott caught the prettiest string of words from Alan when going to bed one night. Nearly made him shit his pants. He made the kid promise to keep it PG-13 if he wanted to keep playing.

Still, the elders in the family slowly turned to look at the freckled boy with both shock and pride. Alan blinked with wide-eyed innocence, “But my English class is only at a B--”

“Shh, kiddo, I’m making a point,” Grandma rolled her eyes. The other brothers snickered. Yep, still Alan. Grandma sighed, “Now before you point out that video games are different, I know, but the difference between them and this is that video games don’t have some of the most talented older brothers in the world to guide him.”

Said older brothers jumped at the idea. Before any objection could be made, Grandma continued, “Besides, the GDF seemed to be okay with it. The Colonel was willing to oversee some of his training too.”

John flinched at that, “But IR is supposed to be independent!”

Grandma slightly frowned. She didn’t exactly like it either, “It still is, but in the world of business, compromises have to be made.”

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms, “Well, that’s… rough. Here I thought only Scott would have to deal with the bullshit of business.”

Grandma chuckled at the somewhat un-Virgil-like behavior, “It really is, Virgil. But about that Scott part,” she slowly turned to look at him and him only, “I hate to give you more work to do, but if you want to work within their restrictions?”

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on the head of the family. Gulping, Scott looked down at his feet to think. It was a tense few moments, nobody sure what he was going to decide, least of all him, before the brunette cleared his throat and brought his face back up with a grin.

“Well then,” Scott turned to look at the bright tip of ‘One, chest fluttering with a feeling that became unfamiliar to him over the past few years, “I guess now it’s time to state the obvious.”

From then on, every time he loaded into that cockpit of his girl, he felt lighter than air.

“Thunderbirds are GO!”

Everything was okay again.

Mostly.

Orphan.

Scott took another sip of his whiskey and refocused on his reports.

---

Scott was in some kind of dissociative state the whole way home.

Alan doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid, barely an adult, and he’s going to go through utter hell because you screwed up. You were 24, Gordon was just under 20, Alan was barely 18. Alan’s going to get fucked up like you and it’s all your fault.

His movements were robotic and rigid. Anyone with a working eye could tell he was deep in shock and running on autopilot. Mostly Jeff. Especially Jeff. The rest of the brothers all noticed too, but they were also running on their own empty fuel tanks, so the only thing they could do was guilty send their older brother the occasional glance of pity and concern.

Jeff was going to need to talk to them about that. Somehow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to point it out since he feels just as bad. His sons were too much like him, sometimes, and that made his guilt burn all the same. He should’ve been there to warn his sons about the dangers of unnecessary guilt. Having that kind of guilt was a parent’s job, dammit, and maybe grandparents only occasionally.

But then he remembered where he’s been for the past 8 years and… who really was Alan’s parents anymore? His gut was screaming it sure as hell isn’t you, but he knew his sons would want him to step back into the role as soon as he was physically fit to do so, not just for Alan, but for themselves as well. They would deny it, but they probably just wanted to be kids again too, even if it was only brief, fleeting moments.

Who was to tell the protective, fatherly side of Jeff no to that? No better time to fix things like the present after all.

He saw Scott go up the stairs when they first stepped into the living room, so that’s where Jeff was going to go too. Footsteps light, Jeff retraced his eldest’s pathway to his bedroom. Only, he stopped before said bedroom. Unfavorable noises were coming from the closed bathroom door, and Jeff could only swallow whatever emotion it made him feel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the (unlocked) door to the bathroom and laid his eyes upon the incriminating scene.

Jeff was met with the sight of Scott retching his entire stomach into the toilet, hands aggressively grabbing his sticky, hair-gelled hair and trying to make himself bald from the strain.

Jeff’s reaction was always based on autopilot, and it will never stop being so.

Ignoring his protesting body, Jeff kneeled and placed a hand on his son’s back, only to abruptly pull back like he touched a hot stove when Scott only got more hysterical at the contact. The brunette clenched his eyes shut even more (and they were already shut as much as possible) while his head became a special kind of crease. Like he was in pain, “God, I wanna go home. Why won’t they listen I swear I’m telling the truth! Please, I just want Dad--”

Jeff was frozen on the spot, heart stopping in the process. His brain shut down while he watched his son continue to mindlessly ramble and panic. His freaked-out mind barely registered footsteps from behind in the hallway, followed by a voice going what’s going-- holy--

Something thundered past him. Blinking once, Jeff guiltily watched as Virgil kneeled behind the eldest and wrapped his arms around the thin man’s shoulders while taking Scott’s hands in his in a protective blanket, “Scott! Jesus-- we’re at home, you’re safe and it’s June 14th, 2--”

Scott only struggled more, panicking at the fact he could no longer yank his hair out. Dammit, it was the only way he could feel in control, don’t take that away too! “No! I swear I’ve said everything! Please--”

Virgil immediately knew that this was one of those attacks that Scott wasn’t coming back down from with pure human intervention. Add-on the sight of his father’s big eyes signifying the man was at a loss at what to do, Virgil had no choice. He snapped loudly, remembering the comms were still on and only feeling slightly bad at the way Scott flinched in his arms, “Shit-- John! It’s Scott! Get the stuff! We’re in the upstairs bathroom!”

Muffled footsteps through a few walls in the house could be heard. Jeff’s mind was only starting to catch up when the brother Virgil called for came rushing into the bathroom (Jeff never remembered it being big enough to hold four of them) and ignoring Jeff (practically shoving him out of the way too, man, this was bad) on his way to the main problem at hand. Landing on his knees in a way that made Jeff wince, John gently grabbed one of Scott’s arms from Virgil’s hold and subsequently pulled a needle from nowhere and injected something into Scott.

The response was instantaneous.

Scott’s breathing, while still labored, got slower. He stopped struggling as well, and the way he sagged reminded Jeff of ice melting into a puddle. The two other brothers’ shoulders also sagged, relieved at the crisis averted. John stood up, knees cracking as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he froze at the sight of something in the doorway, “G-Gordon…”

Virgil snapped his head up from where he was looking at Scott. Jeff did something similar. Yup, in the doorway was the strawberry blonde, eyes wide, making him younger by about 10 years. The ex-Olympian in question inhaled, closed his eyes, and soon speed-walked his way out of the entrance to the bathroom. Dammit, neither Gordon or Alan have seen something like that and it probably spooked him more than anything. He’d understand with his own PTSD-related issues, but still, seeing the “never weak” big brother freak out in such a scary way...

John combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. As he started walking out of the room, he whispered to himself, probably hoping no one heard him, “Dammit, this is all so fucked…”

Unfortunately, Jeff did hear, and the dirty language made the father flinch. John was always the best about making sure Grandma didn’t wash his mouth out with soap, and the fact that he so willingly didn’t care meant that everyone was at the end of their rope. Still reeling at the sight, Jeff couldn’t react to the gentle arms that picked him up off the floor and slowly led him out of the suddenly stuffy room.

With the click of the door shutting, Jeff realized what Virgil did, “W-Wait, Scott--”

“Will be okay for a few seconds,” Virgil finished for his dad, “I know it’s nearly been a decade, but the one part of you I definitely know hasn’t changed is the need to comfort us, just like we hoped.” The small grin that fell over the middle child’s face put Jeff a little bit at ease, but Virgil wasn’t completely done, “So, I’m going to let you take care of this, but I just want to make sure you’ll handle it with grace. Take this slowly, okay? Scott might be doped up, but he’s still… volatile, in a sense.”

Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly choking on the unneeded tension, “Okay, Virgil, I promise, just… what happened? That was… bad, and really bad at that too. I know Scott would never let something that severe willingly come out in front of his family.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not ready for this conversation, “Listen, Dad,” he inhaled sharply, cutting himself off before sighing in a way that said fuck it, might as well get this over with, “As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living. We all have lives and stories now, and this is Scott’s story to tell.”

Jeff was getting misty-eyed again. Back when he was just a kid, Virgil couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, mainly in part due to his insomnia-related issues (Jeff has to wonder if he still has them, more problems for the future) and general lack of filter because of sleep-deprivation. Now Jeff knew there was a starch difference between a kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and a man who genuinely knew how to respect another man’s privacy, but…

It just hammers home how much he’s missed with his boys. Gulping, Jeff made a mental note to talk with his mom about certain things he’s missed. She’ll know a lot more than he would, “Okay, Virge. Thank you, for stepping up there.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Jeff’s words, as well as his father’s hand patting him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Dad. Just… go easy on him. I know it’s a little late for this but none of us ever properly talked about things. It was very unhealthy, deep down we all knew that, but…”

“You just couldn’t get the proper emotions out?” Jeff finished for his son. At Virgil’s soft nod, Jeff exhaled, “I’m not going to say that it was a smart decision, but we’re all here now. We can move forward with this.” Jeff squeezed where his hand laid.

Virgil blinked before curtly going, “Yeah. Goodnight, Dad. Take care of Scott.”

Virgil stepped around his father and walked to where his bedroom most definitely was not, but Jeff could deal with that in a little bit. He had another son who he was pretty sure just had a violent PTSD attack of some kind, plus, Virgil seemed to sour at something Jeff said. The ex-astronaut wasn’t sure what it was, so he didn’t chase after him out of worry that--

Wait.

We’re all here now.

Dammit, Jeff. Out of all the sentences you could’ve picked...

Alrighty, just add that to the ever-growing pile of things that need to be talked about later. No biggie. Jeff found himself sighing and rubbing the back of his neck much like Virgil did a few minutes ago. Turning around, he was met with the bathroom door once more. Shaking his head, Jeff slowly crept into the room and saw that not much was different, especially with Scott.

His heart softly cracked, but, again, he can deal with it later.

Sitting down on the ground and grimacing at the way his body ached (was gravity always this rough?), Jeff leaned against the floor cabinets about 2-3 feet away from Scott, who made himself into a nice comfortable ball in the corner next to the toilet, his palm smushed against his forehead. Jeff waited a few seconds. Then minutes. Then he realized he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He probably should’ve realized that right when he came back in. He opened his mouth, but his wasn’t the one that words came out of.

“It was… Zambia.”

Jeff’s heart stopped and his mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes clearly showed his panic, but hopefully, he guiltily thought, Scott was a little too doped up to not realize it, “Scotty, what do you mean?”

Scott shrugged in a way that spoke he thought what he was admitting wasn’t a big deal. Yep, clearly not with it, “Mission went bad… caught for a couple of weeks.”

Jeff was hoping his first fuck back on Earth, spoken to himself like right now or otherwise, would have been a comedic thing, but the way nausea rose in his throat said this was anything but funny.

Scott wanted to be in the Air Force. Badly. Who was a father to deny his son’s want to be part of such a noble cause? He gave him tips, took him to meet friends in high places, sometimes even sparred with him when he turned 18, but then Jeff was suddenly thousands of miles away with no hope of ever having the chance of sparring with his eldest again. Despite it, Jeff hoped Scott went on to become the best pilot the world has ever seen.

Part of this looks like he did, but at what cost?

As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living.

Aw hell, “Jesus, Scott…” Jeff couldn’t tell if it was the brashness or the lack of a nickname that made Scott flinch and he hated it. He immediately softened his tone and brought his 27-year-old child into his arms, “Shh, shh, we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Like father like son, old habits die hard, and as easy as it was to still be able to comfort his children, Scott seemed to just as easily take it as he used to 8 years ago, “Alan doesn’t deserve this kind of hell, God, he’s barely not a kid anymore! Why--”

Jeff tightened his hold to keep his son in reality, and because he didn’t like the tone behind those words, “Hey, you didn’t either--”

Scott somehow managed to fling himself out of the hug, focus incredibly on point for someone who was doped up to his eyelids five seconds ago, “But I fucked up! I made the wrong call and then suddenly Arnold was dead and he had a wife and kids-- shit, what the hell did I do?”

Okay.

First of all: way to put him back in that headspace when that’s the exact opposite you were going for, Jeff, father of the year. Second: dammit. Just… dammit. This was a big fat hand grenade in a giant handbasket that they didn’t have time to gently get out while simultaneously not yanking the pin clean off with the grace of a drunk elephant. Jeff was no stranger to Survivor’s Guilt, but there was a whole untapped pile of metaphorical C4 within his son’s head that was ready for someone to push the goddamn button.

He wanted it to be him, desperately, because it sounded like he already failed his family enough, it was all he could do at this point, but he absolutely hated that he couldn’t do it right now. This was going to take a lot of time, which they didn’t have, plus, Jeff thought he had a pretty good understanding of this new Scott and the rest of his kids. Jeff was aware that if he didn’t help his sons find their baby as fast as possible over everything else it’ll lead to a fate nobody wanted.

A shaky sigh, “Okay, Scotty, let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

Scott simply nodded as his father flung Scott’s arm around his broader shoulders and picked him up. Slowly and painfully but surely, father and son meandered their way to Scott’s room. With a thump a little harder than Jeff wanted, Scott flopped down on top of his sheets and immediately started snoring. Despite everything that just happened, the father couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Well, there was another thing Jeff gracefully passed onto his son.

Jeff only took Scott’s shoes off. He would’ve loved to pull the sheets up around him too, but the father didn’t want to take any chances at waking him up. Slowly tip-toeing out of the room, Jeff gave one last glance back at his son before finally letting him be and gently shutting the door. He had three other sons he needed to console, but his tired joints told him to selfishly take a moment for himself for right now unless he wanted to collapse and give his family more to deal with.

Jeff eventually made his way to his room-- which was sadly unkempt, he noticed-- and sat down on the edge of his unfamiliar bed to think.

He’ll figure something out. If he had to crawl through images of his son being brutally and bloodily tortured then by God he would with the fury of a thousand suns.

He was back and he wasn’t going to throw away any second or even third chance he was given.

---

“I got him.”

Virgil turned his comms back on, and with it, Scott’s heart restarted for the first time in a few weeks. Taking a moment for a breather, Scott leaned against the wall while practically wheezing. They have him back, holy shit, they have him back. Scott vaguely heard Gordon cry in pure relief and joy. He saw John’s side of the comms flutter for a bit before a bright flash happened. Blinking away the white spots, Scott looked at his wrist to see a fully detailed map of the compound.

Gordon spoke what they were all thinking, “Woohoo! First Allie comes back, then Johnny-boy gets us a free ticket out of here! We’re winning this race, baby!”

A very loud moment of silence. John cleared his throat, “Actually, I was going to say glad to see you in one piece, you little shit,” a playful gasp came from Virgil’s side. It was too high pitched to be from the pianist’s mouth. Scott chuckled, but the paranoid part of his brain said John wasn’t done. His brain was right, ‘“But guys… that wasn’t me. Or EOS. We still haven’t found a way to get past the metal they made these walls out of.”

That silence was even more deafening than the last, and before Virgil could utter out his typical what the fuck, a small logo appeared at the corner of their new map. One that was all too familiar. The Chaos Crew wasn’t the only one who could brand their awful deeds.

Son of a bitch.

Virgil’s order over the radio was meant for Alan, but Scott couldn’t help but listen to it too.

“Shit, Alan, you need to run.”

Making quick work of the compound once more, Scott, while booking it even quicker than last time, opened a private line between him and Gordon, “Hey, how would you feel if I said go help Virgil while I cover Alan?”

The first response was stuttering, which Scott expected, but then it was followed up by something completely out of left field for Gordon, “... Okay, just as long as you promise to bring Alan back in one piece.”

Part of Scott wanted to console Gordon, another was questioning why Gordon was so quick to give up, another wanted to say of course, I will, idiot, but the first part that made itself verbal was easy, “You know I will, buddy.”

Scott could physically picture Gordon’s tiny, little, somber nod clear as day, “Sounds good, captain. See you on the other side.”

With a click, Scott was back on the group comm. Suddenly remembering what exactly his job was, he pulled out the map so graciously given to them by The Hood. Looking at all the dots, one was heading towards a prone one (oh if that asshole did anything to Virgil…) while another one was heading right for Scott himself. Actually, in just a few seconds, right as Scott rounded the corner he would--

“Woah, look out there, Tigger!”

Yes, you heard that correctly: not tiger, Tigger. Tigger hadn’t been used since Alan was itty bitty. It always seemed like the kid had endless energy with the way he wouldn’t stop bounding off the walls and furniture. Even as a baby, Lucy had to sit with him for a few hours while he slept in his crib to make sure he would stay there. In fact, their mother gave Alan that nickname herself. She was quite the Winnie the Pooh fan, and the rest of the family figured it would be one of the ways they could keep her legacy alive for the tiny potato.

Wrapping his arms around said flailing potato, albeit much bigger than a baby, Scott thought he would collapse then and there. Alan was here, in his arms, and yeah, the sight of his dirty and somewhat ripped up IR uniform made him mad, but Scott, for once in his life, decided to focus on the here-and-now, aka his precious, alive little brother, who finally stopped struggling at the realization that hey, the person holding you is a good guy, time to turn off fight mode.

Smushing their foreheads together as much as possible, Scott desperately fought to keep the waterworks back, a smile from ear to ear hopefully taking whatever energy his tear ducts had, “You are getting such an ass beating when we get home, little bro.”

Alan jumped back with a look of What the hell?! What did I do now?!

Scott simply rolled his eyes, “Really? “Not important”? You graduated high school, tiny dude! That’s huge! You remember Gordon’s party, right?”

Alan’s mouth gaped before he closed it with slightly puffy cheeks. Those same cheeks tinged with a small blush. Alan wasn’t exactly expecting to be smothered so soon (well, he did cry his eyes out on Virgil’s shoulder, but that was different!). Shaking it off, Alan moved his hands rhythmically and rapidly, To be fair, we weren’t sure he was going to get one for a while.

Scott faltered a little bit at the ASL. Darn, he should’ve seen Alan’s lack of talking from a mile away. Scott carefully hid his disappointment from Alan. Lord knew what the kid would take it as, “Yeah, that’s what he got for barely making it. Imagine what you’re going to get!”

Scott assumed his semi-fake charm worked, as Alan seemed to play along without any kind of suspicion, Oh yeah. Fair enough.

This kid, man.

Then, slow clapping came from a dark corner, making Scott’s heart leap out of his throat as well as push Alan behind himself. Glaring as much as he could towards the invisible evil-doer, Scott didn’t have to think twice, “Alan, take my map and find Virgil and Gordon.”

The youngest looked like he was going to object.

“Go.”

He no longer did. Good.

Listening to the field commander’s orders, Scott felt his wristband slip off his wrist and a warm body leave his vicinity. An inhale. Also good. An exhale, followed by an even darker glare, “What more do you want?”

Short and straight-to-the-point and angry, two things Scott typically wasn’t. Regardless, like a cold gust of wind, footsteps started approaching him from the shadow. Once Scott saw the outline of a body, he tensed even more. Virgil would snap at him for clenching his jaw so much.

A dark chuckle reminded him of what was important. The voice that spoke reminded him of something completely different, “Now then, brother, let’s not be rude to each other!”

Scott’s pupils shrunk at the familiar sight of Gordon stepping towards him. Except it wasn’t Gordon, because Scott knew that Gordon knew better. He also knew Gordon didn’t cheekily smile like that, even after a prank, nor did he walk that straight. He always had a funny walk after WASP, and Gordon wore that fact like a badge of honor.

Oh no, Scott definitely knew who this was, “What the hell are you playing at?”

Fake-Gordon rolled his eyes, like it wasn’t obvious, “I mean if we want to go that route, why did kid insist you being in the military was the coolest thing he’d ever heard you do? Maybe I wouldn’t have been pressured into joining a branch myself in the end.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, and by God, his pupils might have actually slitted like a snake’s, or possibly even a dragon’s, “Excuse me?”

Scott blinked, and suddenly he was met by not-Virgil, “Plus, why was our conclusion after hearing a three-year-old wanting to see snow to go to a ski resort? It had to have been those big, selfish, beady eyes, right?”

“C’mon, Scotty, we gotta give you some kind of calming exercise. There’s going to come a time when neither me or John are going to be there.”

“Hmm… does yoga work?”

A snort, “Well, that’s not too bad of an idea. Maybe the person pissing you off will stop whatever they’re doing at the sight of you spontaneously doing downward dog.”

Laughter, an unfamiliar action, “Yeah, okay, but for real, those breathing exercises I’ve seen you do look okay. Let’s start there.”

Scott was not a liar by heart. He had to admit that those exercises were doing jack shit right about now.

Another blink, another brother. Familiar ginger hair was all Scott could see, “To continue that previous point, why did Dad start International Rescue again? And what led to his demise?”

“Sounds like a piece of work. Why do you keep dealing with these people again?”

“Someone has to pay the bills, Johnny. Grandma’s too focused on making the perfect poison for us.”

A roll of eyes, “Right, because the billions we have saved wouldn’t be enough to last a couple of families a few lifetimes. Glad to see your calming exercises are working at least. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

A pause. A flicker of vision around the room. Someone cleared their throat, probably himself, “It’s probably not as bad as whatever space is throwing at you. You handling it okay up there?”

Another pause, followed by a sigh, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Scott wanted to deflect the truth so badly right now more than anything else. Telling him he couldn’t pilot ‘One anymore would be a much more enticing option than what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Scott was looking in a mirror, “Besides, I know more than anybody that he wasn’t wanted. A mistake. I thought we Tracys hated being imperfect?”

The Hood must have known their backstories from internet articles, and being the mastermind he was, it probably took him all of three seconds to see Alan had some hidden self-worth issues. By playing the biggest Guess Who? game of all time, The Hood was most likely able to figure out some less-than-positive ideals Alan thought about himself throughout his childhood and danced circles around his already weakened mind to string together some spineless blame to put on the kid by sheer evilness alone.

Knowing his kid brother, it worked.

Scott wasn’t thinking straight-- maybe even at all when the first punch was thrown.

Just like that, Scott blacked out and was running on terminator mode. John would be disappointed. Virgil would be horrified. Gordon might find it funny. Alan wasn’t here, and thank God for that. Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. All his mind was telling him was make lots of pain hard and fast. His brain also blocked out any hit The Hood was giving him in return. Pain flared for a few seconds, then it was swept away in the puddle of rage his mind was currently being consumed in.

Soon, his out-of-it mind found its target and gripped his-- The Hood’s arm, no disguise would make him have an identity crisis, thank you very much-- nice and rough.

Scott heard the familiar snap of cartilage and felt only partially bad. If he was thinking more clearly, he would be disgusted with himself. Yes, even The Hood didn’t deserve this level of Scott’s fury. Oh, he definitely deserved to be hit by a truck, but not by Scott. It was mostly due to Scott’s sanity. If he could be this graphic and violent at all, even to the worse possible criminals, that meant he could be that way during other moments, and that was not a territory he wanted to cross into.

Welp, he was here now, and he’ll hate to admit it in the future, but the only thing that brought him out of it was a tiny gasp from a few feet away. Snapping his head up, Scott’s eyes landed squarely on a smaller-than-normal Alan, who was currently clutching his arm to his chest in an emotion Scott didn’t want to figure out at the moment. So much for going and finding Virgil and Gordon.

“Allie, help…” fake him grunted out, only making real Scott growl and tighten his hold (and probably making his case worse). Looking up from the person in his arms, Scott felt his heart split in two at the sight. There was fear and uncertainty in Alan’s blue eyes and boy did it hurt. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because even seeing a potentially-fake Scott being beaten up was bad or if it was because he’d never seen big brother be this brutal, even towards their enemies. Whatever the reason, it involved Scott being the main root of the problem.

Wait, that was The Hood’s plan. Shit… make Scott act past the point of no return in a way that was unfamiliar to Alan so the kid couldn’t be fully sure who was who, and Scott fell right into his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

Fuck.

Bloody well done, Scott, you absolute moron.

Scott faltered a little bit, “A-Alan, I--”

That falter was enough for The Hood to break an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face. In the brief second of freedom he had, he tried dashing towards Alan, but Scott was too quick for everyone’s good and soon had the imposter back in his arms, both of them struggling in a way that made them look like they were tied into the weirdest knot in existence.

Then, an earthquake struck.

No, literally.

A big shake of the abandoned compound threw the look-a-likes about and subsequently off the platform they were on. The place was old; it didn’t take a lot of weight for that guard rail they made their way over towards while fighting to snap right off. With a yelp, the two of them gripped the edge as much as they could and held on. Crap, I know we talked with Fuse about potentially setting some stuff off, but--

Blinking, Scott saw a familiar mop of blonde hair come into view. Alan was rather panicked, clearly not sure which Scott was the real Scott. Not only that, he had little time to decide which one to save. Goodie, another reason to despise The Hood: not only has he put Alan through weeks of torment, now he’s forcing the kid to decide to either save his oldest brother and biggest hero or his personal torturer.

And Alan won’t know until he picks.

Holy hell, this was getting worse by the second. Hopefully, big brother charm can work its magic and get them the hell out of there.

“Alan, quickly, over here!”

“I can’t hold on for much longer, Alan, hurry!”

The two Scotts glared at one another in the exact same way, not making Alan’s job much easier. Another shake, another slip down the metal cliff, more screams, and Alan looked ready to tear his hair out. Scott watched as the kid looked around rapidly, probably praying for a miracle in the process. Suddenly, the kid jumped when he must have spotted something important. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone and out of their range of visions to retrieve it.

Whatever the hell he noticed better be important, because if just ended up wasting precious time then--

Another shake, probably the last one. Still, it was enough.

Both their grips gave away at the same time, screams identical (God, did he always sound that wimpy?) as they plummeted to their demises. Scott was briefly able to look up to see his brother pop his head over the cliff like a chipmunk again and grab the (albeit broken) arm of The Hood and save him. Dammit, Scott should have expected that, though, that display of anger was uncharacteristic to Alan. Probably terrified him even more than he already was. Fuck, Scott deser--

Suddenly, a rope wrapped itself around Scott’s left arm and stopped his descent. Hard. Hopefully, it was only torn stuff, they didn’t have time to deal with dislocation--

Wait.

Scott wasn’t dead if he could think about these kinds of things.

Blinking, he looked at his arm to see the familiar rope of his grappling hook around his forearm. Moving his eyesight to look past that, he saw the wide, blue eyes of his baby brother struggling to stay on top. The Hood was using his non-broken side to try and climb his way back up to safety. Huh, that’s weird. When did Alan get ahold of that? Scott must have dropped it during his scuffle with--

That’s when it hit Scott.

Alan saved them both.

And it would be all for jack shit if Scott didn’t get his ass up there to help.

Panicking, Scott gripped the rope and started to ascend. He had two working arms and a smother complex to boot; it wasn’t long before he overtook a struggling Hood, who could only use one arm and a weakened brother (that bastard was so lucky Alan had a literal heart of gold).

Flinging his arms over the edge and pulling himself up-- and shrugging off the extra help Alan offered. Save your strength, baby bro-- Scott was in a much calmer search-and-destroy mode. He yanked his evil look-a-like up, turned him on his stomach, pinned him down, and before he could even watch Alan blink, “Sign something.”

There, now he watched Alan blink.

Scott pulled out one of his best ‘big brother’ smiles ever, “Tell me something in ASL. I don’t think The Hood learned that kind of etiquette.”

The body beneath him growled, making Alan jump and Scott tighten not only his hold but his glare. Further prove big brother’s point, why don’t cha? He lost the angry look immediately to grin at Alan once more, who seemed to be slowly getting the picture. With a gulp, the blonde slowly strung together a sentence that Scott had to laugh at, just a little bit.

Damn, could you teach me to fight like that, Scooter?

Nodding his head, Scott had to concede, “Sure. Consider it a graduation present.”

Alan blinked again, and the immense relief that washed over the boy’s shoulders would be enough to banish nightmares for at least a couple of days. Suddenly, The Hood’s disguise blinked out of existence, making both brothers jump that time. Scott didn’t falter in his grip, however. This man was going down right here and now, Scott thought darkly, staring at the prone body beneath his.

Scott saw Alan continue to sign out of the corner of his eye, You know you look like shit, right?

Scott chuckled. Alan was always able to put a smile on his face no matter the circumstances, “Yeah, well, kindred spirits, little bro.”

Scott was probably as pale as Alan was with such lack of sleep and food. Running on what was essentially a prolonged PTSD attack wasn’t healthy in the slightest, and no doubt whatever kind of bruises and scratches The Hood gave him didn’t help, however, seeing hope fill those deep-blue eyes when Alan learned he was truly being saved drowned everything out, including the way those freckles were getting lost in those eye bags.

Yeah, their entire family probably looked like shit, and the recovery process was going to be even shittier, but they were going to suffer through it together as a family would.

That made it all worth it.

Shuffling himself so one arm was free while the other kept The Hood pinned, Scott held it out towards Alan. The flinch the youngest made tore a hole in Scott’s heart that was only slightly patched when Alan leaned into the warmth and safety of his biggest bro. Long recovery process, remember? Regardless, Alan still took to the hug like a dehydrated zebra did a pond, and that was good enough for Scott.

The Hood groaned underneath them.

Yep, good enough.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #alan tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #the hood #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

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evtranslations · 5 years ago

Text

A forward and a gay man

Janne Puhakka reveals what it’s like being a gay hockey player in the Finnish Elite League, Liiga. He is the first to have the courage to speak about the matter publicly.

Source.

[T/N: The article is behind a paywall. I will call SM-liiga/the Finnish Elite League “Liiga” for the remainder of the article.]

TL;DR:

Janne Puhakka, 24, retired professional ice hockey player

Played one season (40 games) in the Finnish Elite League in 2015-2016

First Finnish pro hockey player to come out, fourth globally

Janne Puhakka played in the Espoo Blues and Espoo United in 2015-2017.

The surnames of Janne Puhakka and his boyfriend are written on a mail slot in an apartment building in Helsinki.

Puhakka’s handshake has strength. He asks me to come in and says that their move isn’t quite done yet. Some of the furniture is missing, and a light hasn’t been mounted on the ceiling.

Nonetheless, Puhakka is ready to give an interview that will go down in Finnish sports history. He is the first hockey player who has played in Liiga to publicly, with his own name and face, say he is homosexual.

Puhakka says he isn’t particularly nervous. He contemplated the matter for a long time, for his active career’s last three years.

But in the conservative and partly closed-minded Finnish hockey community, Puhakka’s surprise statement can be unique. For the first time, someone breaks the taboo: can a gay person play hockey?

Puhakka takes a breath. The topic is simultaneously important and frustrating.

“In an ideal world we wouldn’t have to talk about this. But as long as it’s kept quiet, we have to.”

In 1995, the Puhakka family had their youngest child, Janne. Mom, dad and two big sisters had moved to the metropolitan area from Oulu.

At around five or six years, Puhakka saw advertising leaflets for the local hockey club at his day-care and got interested. He announced that he wanted to go to hockey practice. He started two hobbies: ice hockey at Espoon Kiekkoseura and soccer at FC Kasi-ysi in Espoo.

Puhakka was a sporty kid. The kind that learns to skate quickly and gets balls and game equipment to obey him. For many years, he did the two sports in parallel, but at 13 years old, hockey won the day.

“I had more friends in hockey.”

Janne Puhakka returned to his home arena Espoo Metro Arena.

As a small boy, Puhakka liked playing as a winger and identified as some kind of a power forward whose game was founded on good skating and a hard shot. Later, he admired the Russian stick handling virtuoso Pavel Datsyuk and tried playing as a center like his role model.

There were many gifted hockey players among Finnish boys born in 1995. Juuse Saros and Artturi Lehkonen play in the NHL these days. Kevin Lankinen, who made saves last spring to help the national team to a gold in the IIHF World Championships, also belongs to the same age group. The generation’s brightest diamond is Aleksander Barkov, one of the most skilled players in the world.

As a teenager, Janne Puhakka competed side by side with these promising players. At 15 years old he got invited to an annual camp that brings together that year’s best players. There Puhakka realized that the level of his top contemporaries wasn’t unreachable.

“At that point the whole thing became serious in a way.”

Puhakka began training in earnest. School, practice and game journeys were scheduled carefully.

The next big step was coming at 16. The cream of the crop would get their first invitation to the junior national team. At that age many teenage boys will start to wonder if their hockey hobby could be more than a hobby. Would their skills be enough one day to cut it as a professional?

The thought excites - and brings pressure.

“For many, not making the junior national team is very tough,” says Puhakka.

Puhakka made it. In 2013 he was in the national under-18 team that won bronze at the U18 World Championships in Russia. That was one of Puhakka’s hockey career’s finest hours.

Puhakka had been thinking about his sexuality since reaching adolescence. However, the thoughts remained in the background for a long time. Being able to train, play, go to school and spend time with friends was enough.

On Saturday morning, 19th of September, Puhakka received surprising news from his morning skate coach: that same night, he would be playing his first Liiga match wearing an Espoo Blues jersey.

He got to play for roughly six minutes against Tappara of Tampere. Victory on home ice, the great feeling and an impressive goal scored by Tappara’s rookie star Patrik Laine stuck in his mind.

In the 2015-2016 season Puhakka played 40 games in Liiga. He was now part of the select few whose skills and motivation had carried over from the first practices in day-care through the junior years all the way into the Finnish Elite League. He played hockey for a living. Got paid. Dreamt of bigger leagues and the NHL.

However, Puhakka noticed he had to push a part of his identity aside while walking to the rink. He adds that he understands it is normal: it’s a workplace, the main purpose is not to shout your own matters from the rooftops.

Still, not being able to honestly say he was gay bothered him.

In the locker room his teammates spoke about what they’d done with their wives and girlfriends.

“Many times someone asked if I had a girlfriend. I waved the question off and always afterwards wondered why I couldn’t tell them about it.”

Why?

“There were mental blocks.”

Puhakka describes how he put on sorts of emotional defenses at the rink. The secrecy was also difficult on his relationship. Puhakka dated during his years of play and was forced to think about how he would introduce his boyfriend to his teammates, should they bump into each other out on the town.

“That sort of thing puts a strain on everyday life and is difficult for your partner.”

Locker room talk is its own whole world. Puhakka says you can’t make it in an ice hockey team without self-irony.

“Everyone who’s ever been in a locker room knows that there are all sorts of jokes thrown around. It’s sometimes racy, and gay jokes can be part of it.”

Puhakka says he never intervened in questionable jokes or took them personally. They went in one ear and out the other.

But Puhakka knows not everyone is like him.

“Some other guy might take it personally and retreat into a shell.”

In potentially awkward situations Puhakka was helped by support from his friends. In the locker room they’re teammates, but out of the teammates some can additionally be close friends. Puhakka found people from his teams to whom he could naturally talk about his sexuality.

The courage was worth it. When someone told a gay joke in the locker room, Puhakka could throw a glance at these trusted friends and exchange looks. They could laugh together at the shared secret.

“That eased my mind and made the situation more relaxed for me.”

One of these trusted friends was Kim Hirschovits, captain of the Espoo Blues and one of the most well-known Liiga players of the 2000s.

On one roadtrip Puhakka told Hirschovits that he was dating a man.

“Hirso replied ‘cool, congratulations’. You don’t really even need to reply anything else.”

Kim Hirschovits (on the left), former Blues captain, was among the players to whom Puhakka dared to talk about his gayness.

The old attitudes and regularities of the sports world have been coming apart in recent years. Greater appreciation and support is being demanded for women’s and disabled people’s sports. The by-products of sports are being tackled more intensely as well.

Efforts have been started to get rid of racism in audiences as well as playing fields and rinks. The fights in hockey rinks, everyday occurrences in the NHL in the past decades, are almost completely gone. The self-governed world of sports has been forced in many ways to clean its act up so that it could stand up to outward scrutiny.

Homosexuality has been one of the last big taboos in sports. Only in recent years has the atmosphere shifted into one where a number of known athletes have openly had the courage to share their belonging to a sexual minority. NBA basketball player Jason Collins, swimmers Ari-Pekka Liukkonen and Ian Thorpe, American football player Michael Sam and many others have taken their turns coming out of the closet.

It has been more quiet in ice hockey, widely perceived as a ‘macho’ sport. In the whole world, only a handful of players that have done what Janne Puhakka did. The Danish goalkeeper Jon Lee-Olsen came out of the closet only some days ago. As far as is known, he is the only player to dare speak out during his active career.

Puhakka has been reading the news. Lee-Olsen’s gayness has been received well in Denmark.

Puhakka’s own experiences of Liiga are attached to one hockey club and 40 games. After that, he played one season in Mestis. [T/N: Second highest hockey league in Finland.] His experiences of locker rooms aren’t horrifyingly homophobic.

“But the hockey world is somehow behind. We wouldn’t have to spell this out over and over if everyone could naturally be themselves in the room.”

In Finland the conversation about gay hockey players has been agonizingly difficult. At times it has circled in downright tragicomic twists. Ex-goalkeeper and congressman representing the National Coalition Party Sinuhe Wallinheimo said in February 2014 that a gay player should hide his gayness in the locker room, so that the matter wouldn’t mess with the team’s chemistry and turn against the team.

At that time, Wallinheimo was the president of the Finnish Ice Hockey Players’ Association. He received much criticism for his statement, and apologized. The issue is made strange by the fact that only a year earlier, it was Wallinheimo who had encouraged athletes to come out of the closet.

Former national team captain Juhani Tamminen said in the autumn of 2014 at a panel talk that in his multiple career decades he had never seen a gay person in the locker room. He also added that “little mice” wouldn’t make it in the sport. Later Tamminen added that he thinks gay people are welcome to the sport.

Now, the leading role in hockey’s “gay conversation” is taken by 24-year-old Janne Puhakka. He is making it calm, and is not looking for conflicts or cheap brownie points.

He does not want to comment Juhani Tamminen’s statement.

“I don’t know the origin of Tami’s comment or what he meant. But the idea of there not being queer people in locker rooms is silly.”

There are hundreds of players in Liiga. Statistically, there are several, even dozens of gay men among them. None of these players have chosen their sexual orientation, and gayness doesn’t affect their skills as hockey players, emphasizes Puhakka.

Puhakka doesn’t recognize Sinuhe Wallinheimo’s idea of gayness disturbing the atmosphere in the locker room, either. His own experiences say otherwise. Whenever he has told his friends of his sexuality, the reception has been positive without exception.

“And then, they might tell me something about their own life that was below the surface. That strengthens a team.”

An element of danger and even violence that’s missing from other sports has always been part of ice hockey. As late as the 1990s, the game would at times resemble warfare. Especially in the NHL, bone-crushers and goons dominated the rink.

Janne Puhakka’s contemporaries made lots of reforms in the hockey world. Along with rule changes, the sport has become more fast and skillful. The modern top player is a dexterous virtuoso, not a trouble-making macho. Gradually, the atmosphere and image of the sport are changing too. The internet’s highlight reels are comprised of impressive goals instead of heads rolling off bleeding.

Masculinity itself is more varied than before in the younger generation’s men. In the spring, people admired Kevin Lankinen’s reading hobby. Patrik Laine is a feared goal-scorer as well as a teetotaler. When the young national team won Junior World Championship gold in January of 2016, no player was caught making trouble drunk in public. Basketball player Lauri Markkanen has said he avoids eating red meat.

Janne Puhakka is gay. To his contemporaries this is no longer taboo. It isn’t necessarily even that interesting of a matter.

Still, Puhakka’s statement is only the beginning. Puhakka thinks it strange that he doesn’t know any other gay players who played in Liiga.

“I can imagine that there are players who want to talk about it, but don’t dare to, because they’re afraid for their job. Especially players outside of the top lines might feel uncertain.”

Puhakka himself had wanted to talk about his sexuality during his active career. He dreamed of breaking through and becoming a public figure. He mulled it over for three years.

“But I wasn’t that good of a player, that I could’ve been sure of keeping my job. That brought uncertainty.”

And Puhakka’s career ended earlier than he’d thought.

At some point Puhakka noticed, that some of his friends were heading into the NHL and the KHL. Puhakka played one season in France, and trained one more summer with the thought of finding somewhere fitting to play. A young player always wants to believe that one or two good seasons can change their whole career.

Eventually, he wanted to see what else he could do in life.

Now, he studies international business in Helsinki at Haaga Helia University of Applied Sciences and works in the fashion industry. His boyfriend works as a vet employed by the Norwegian salmon industry.

As a high-schooler Puhakka spent two years in Canada in QMJHL. At the same time he was doing his upper secondary school studies. The experience has been helpful later in his life.

“I learned self-discipline then. You can study alongside playing hockey, if you have the will and the energy for it.”

Puhakka told his own family about being gay at 19 years old. Their reception was straightforward and easy. Last June, he published a photo of himself and his partner on his Instagram account.

“A burden fell off my shoulders. I hoped that any hockey player would have contacted me. It would be cool to talk to someone who’s been in the same situation.”

Puhakka thinks it would be best if other players would come out after him. The bigger the names, the better. He wishes that no player would question their own talent because of their sexual orientation.

“If even one junior or adult player wrestling with this took something positive from this interview, I’m happy.”

#janne puhakka #lgbt hockey #liiga #hockey #you can play #idk how to tag this but it's a good read #article #warning though this article is LONG AS FUCK #so i made the tldr pointers before the cut lol #it's about his story and reflections about hockey and sports

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imagine-a-killingharmony · 6 years ago

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Drunk V3 Boys!

How about a s/o that has to deal with the v3 boys getting super drunk and then the after math of how is the hangover. ( bonus points if drunk kokichi says the " Finland" spongebob meme) please and ty

Quickly, just imagine them as adults like I am- underage drinking is a big fat “no”, look at me being an... dork. But anyway In the less dork-part let’s say this... I’m literally a giant mess who hasn’t ever been drunk or anything, I don’t really know the effects so we’re going to use those anime-type-of-drunk which is very likely VERY inaccurate or... somewhat-realistic I don’t know. But woah.

Kiibo (Error! Error! Overheating!)

After coming back from his last check-up from Miu you were expecting to be cuddled up close with Kiibo on the couch, watching nextflix- some cheesy Disney movie which you’ve already seen thousands of time before... that’s what you thought....

Till Kiibo walked in adjusted by an trembling Miu who had her arm slung around him, she looked down on the verge of tears muttering about being “so disrespected”, Kiibo sluggishly rolls his head up bursts of steam expanded from every inch of his body.

“... U... Uuuh... there was a function I added inside of em’ to test some booze I was plannin’ on drinking... it was... uh... successful but... J-Just take him- I don’t want to be fuckin’ called out anymore!”

Miu threw Kiibo in your direction running back from once she came, wiping at her eyes as she whined about “how mean” he was... you could only watch Kiibo stir awake, nervousness pricked at your stomach as you realized she made Kiibo try an alcoholic... BEVERAGE!

“... (S/O)?” Kiibo glances up at you, blinking once or twice as he took in his surroundings, you asked if he was okay- he groggily nodded his head. “Never better (S/O)... but... Miu... I-I was just telling her about how stupid it is that she puts herself down almost all the time when she has a brilliant mind, then her very inappropriate attitude- which she presents herself to cover up that wall of self-esteem issues she has... Ah... then there was me getting onto the fact that most people are uncomfortable with the sexual intuendos she has- and for some odd reason before I could say anymore she dragged me here...”

“... I rebooted on the way... once or twice...”

“... what.” Oh. Oh my god... He... What? Kiibo said that?

“... Yes... Hey (S/O) actually I-I have some things to say about you too, look me in the eyes, look at me right now please...” Kiibo cups your face, he looks you right in the eyes, those aren’t the soft loving eyes you know- those are eyes that... are going to fucking destroy you.

Kiibo holds your face tight, escape is impossible, he sluggishly rolls his head as a soft frown falls on his face.

“... You have your errors yourself actually... like... how you...”

...

You failed... you are absolutely burnt, just turned into soot by the end of his rant, he’s just sleeping peacefully under the blankets that you had gotten for “cuddle night”, you don’t feel soft at all- you just feel absolutely WRECKED.

Shuichi Saihara (Sad Drunk)

You had both gone out on a party together, specifically a reunion with your classmates which Kokichi was hosting... which already sported red flags but you all didn’t question it, that is until people started to drop like flies... people who drank the punch specifically dropped like flies.

Kaede asked who made the punch... when the relevation that it was Miu and Kokichi themselves it all fell into place like a puzzle, they spiked the goddamn punch.

One of the victims... happened to be Shuichi, a light-weight he hugged your arm tightly slurring and whirling, tears fell down his face as he cried and sobbed about the world.

“... (S-S-S/O!) It’s no fair... I-Iiiii never did anything wrong so why does everything hafta’ be against meeeee...? *hic* it’s unfair.... unfairunfairunfair!”

It’s the fifth time you pat his back, he leans in for a better hold of you so you can give him more affection, he loves that so please do go on, he lets out a slurred hiccup.

“... (S-S/O) a... aaare you seeing anyone...? You always were soooo pretty... and... aaand niiiiice... *hic* and... aaand it make me really happy... I-Iiii wanted to date you since forever ago...”

... How drunk is he to forget the two of you are already dating? “I am.”

Shuichi’s eyes widen, he presses himself up against you with an wail as he starts to cry harder. “Of course yu are- H-Hic- I’m NOT CRYINGF.”

You can’t help but to wonder how he’ll feel in the morning, for now you try to give your poor drunk boyfriend solace as you explain how the two of you are already well- dating.

Luckily, Shuichi falls asleep on your lap while you comfort him, the tears having tired him out... he put his hands around your waist, he bids the world “night night”.

Ryoma Hoshi (Excitable Drunk)

Ryoma wasn’t a heavy drinker, actually he had never drank an drop of the stuff ever, prison doesn’t allow those sort of luxuries, besides he just didn’t want to ruin his reputation by drinking at about fifteen or some shit.

So... he was old enough, the two of you were going on a date here... he’d was just chugging the stuff considering he wanted to see how it tasted, which was rather gross under further consideration... but what he happened to pick up is that he wasn’t feeling all that woozy... guess he ain’t no light-weight.

But he sure ain’t no god, it takes about three whole damn bottles for the effects to start to shine.

...It takes five whole damn bottles for him to actually feel anything, you kept a close eye on your boyfriend as he put the second bottle down with a huff, wiping at his mouth with a “wew”!

“... That was uh, gross taste, heh.” Ryoma pulled his hat up, his cheeks flush slightly pink as he looked around. “Hey. Hey (S/O) you gorgeous son of a bitch look at me.” As soon as you even give him your attention he fingerguns.

... Ryoma wobbly pulls himself up, he doesn’t look like he’ll trip, honestly somehow he still has his balance as he takes your hand.

“... Oh my god I just had an amazing idea. We should adopt,,, a lot of cats,,, not like,,, any cats,,, but... buuuut like an shop full of them,,, and name each of them something silly...” Ryoma’s eyes sparkle deviously. “... Or... like... like... steal everybody’s cats... so we remain the supreme leaders of feline...”

“... Ryoma... do... do you feel tired? Want to take a nap, as amazing ideas as these sound I don’t think your in the right state of mind for... this.” If you let any of this happen, Ryoma’s going to hate himself in the morning.

“I know what I’m doing... I have a license... gimme a sec...” Ryoma pulls out a piece of paper, writes on it, flips it to reveal in sloppy handwriting: “I knwo wat Im do”

You try to survey his features after writing that, all he does is shoot his fingerguns at you.

...Okat you honestly need to take a few pictures of this to show Ryoma later oh my god he’s wobbling towards the door to bring one of those plans he’s mentioned to full-glory, you locked the door for Ryoma, his drunken brain can’t comprehend how to use a step-ladder. You just go to get him some water...

Kaito Momota (... Tired Drunk)

Kaito wouldn’t drink... much, sure, he would totally forge an certificate to like- well, go to space but that was for a good cause! Stuff like drinking was meant to be done for special events and shit otherwise you might get hooked!

And he didn’t actually mean to get drunk on you! He promised he just... kind of mistook the wine in the fridge as the grape panta, he was thirsty- and really fucking tired! Okay? He didn’t expect when he chugged the whole bottle down for the world to... to... hnnnnnn... what’s the word...?

It took a while for you to notice anything was amiss, Kaito had taken himself out of the room to “go get a drink” then he still never came back, so you went to check on your boyfriend to see if he still hadn’t gotten anything, needed some help.

What you didn’t expect to see was Kaito Momota Luminary of the Stars on the floor looking back up at the ceiling mindlessly, with that bottle of wine held tightly in his hands.

“... D... Doo... yu... think it’d be a bd idea if I trie... tried to take a np here? Jst... slep untl a hangover fcks me the hell up, everything hur ts.”

... Oh god! That’s even more errors than usual, so it’s likely on purpose! Kaito’s DRUNK!

You go to get some water for him in the fridge, Kaito’s still looking at the ceiling talking to himself slightly hushed, you don’t know what he’s thinking but he looks like he’s having an ephiphany about the world.

“Holy... Hly sht (S/O) I jst realized how fuckin... weird that Shuichi’s hair stands up like that... he doesn’t use anything to make it like that so how.”

“... Kaito I don’t think your in the right state of mind to make choices like that...” You offer some water to him, his eyes widen.

“Why... Why is everyone’s hair dyed- Like is it actually dyed? Or is it just natural- how can it be natural tho... unless... oh my god (S/O)... we’re in an anime I can’t believe it.”

“Kaito I think you need an second...”

“No. No I know what I’m sayin- oh my god we’re the main characters in some weird anime (S/O)... that’s the only explanation,,, I have to tell... Tsumugi but my legs won’t work nn nn n n..”

... You just pat his head, Kaito grimaces... he was absolutely wasted so everything he said held no inch of truth in it, you just hoped that soon enough your efforts to help him better bare fruit... So he doesn’t make anymore odd claims like him and his friends are in some “weird anime”!

Winks at the fourth wall.

Rantaro Amami (Immune System Of God)

Rantaro... wasn’t a drinker... well besides those really fancy drinks that he usually saw when you both got out, those always looked like a magical experience to try out so he usually did buy those but... he’s never actually gotten legitimately “drunk”, it may be because he never drinks too much.

Then there was the time that had asked Rantaro if he had ever gotten in all words actually “drunk” he responded with a shrug: “I guess I do...? Uh, I’m usually in the right state of mind afterwards still... enough to walk...”

... This was a topic which needed much more exploration... so you went out to a bar together, you swore that anything he got was on you... he squinted but still he bought some colorful drinks in funny-looking cups, peering towards you while he did...

...

He wasn’t actually drunk even after drinking quite a bit, what is this man, how is his immune system keeping him awake? Rantaro chuckles... “Yeah, I think that’s enough for tonight.. come on let’s go home.”

You either failed or this task is just impossible, you take the hand he offers you and walk outside with him... the only noticeable effect are the times he almost bumps into the wall but other than that... nothing...

He knows how to hold his liquor...

Gonta Gokuhara (Clumsy Drunk)

This was Kokichi’s fault, that’s all you know... he offered something for Gonta, that’s what he told you when he gave you back a stumbling crying boyfriend.

“... How did you even get him to drink this- oh my god! Gonta- baby please go lay down on the couch...” You led Gonta to the couch to sit down, he sobbed loudly into the pillow almost falling off, you gave a harsh glare to the Supreme Leader who chuckled at your displeasure.

“I told him it was “Respect Women Juice! TM! Yeah he really just drank it without an inch of hesitance...! Then he fell over drunk, it was hilarious till I had to actually bring him here.”

Gonta let out another loud sob as he fell over off the couch onto the floor, crying about how “Gonta caaaan’t see...!!!”

“You... are one screwed up... mess of a person Kokichi Ouma...” Pushing Gonta back onto the couch you tried to reassure him everything was alright, Kokichi grinned at you putting both of his hands behind the of his head.

“Oh I know... I know really quite well! Good luck dealing with him!”

Kokichi left the two of you alone together, you just let Gonta cry against you about how everything felt so weird... offering some water and some hugs, you’ll get revenge at Kokichi for this... you swear to it.

Kokichi Ouma (Angry Drunk)

... How... Who the hell had enough of your boyfriend to go and make him chug down so much alchohol he got drunk, god knows, but he was now... here... and slurring about some criticisms you didn’t know he had...

“Like... (S/O) it’s so stupid... instead of like... liiiike... getting mad at me when I insult her she usually gets off on it... it’s so gross,,, like how horny can somebody be (S/O)? How HORNY can you be?”

“... Kokichi... do you need a...” Despite how you tried to chime in he always cut you off, with a half-awake grumble...

“No... No let me say this... Hiiiii... iii... so... so what the hell is with Kaito’s sense of logic....? I know, know for a fact he CAN be stupid enough to literally TRUST everybody he meets, like even if there’s hard proof that their an asshole he’s STILL by their side... what the FUCK.”

“Are you talking about Maki?”

“SHE LITERALLY CHOKED ME ONCE YES, Y ES I MEAN MAKI...!” Kokichi touches his neck, rubbing at it. “Honestly... Maki is such a damn... damn jerk... seriously... she’s made “do you want to die” her punchline to almost any jokes she makes, we get it, your edgy as hell!”

While Kokichi grumbled the both of you didn’t notice the door quietly open up... nor did you notice it until their footsteps were in the right range for you to notice them...

Maki trails into the room with an sweating Kaito Momota by her side, she held a card in her hand with the words: “sorry for making you chug beer” in a rather sloppy handwriting...

“... Makiroll, don’t do this...-“ The astronaut tried to stop the caregiver but it was too late, she was already sprinting towards Kokichi to land a finishing blow...!

“FINLAND!”

[To be continued (But not really)]

Korekiyo Shinguuji (Beutifial,,, ohbnn)

How did he actually... get like this, well you honestly swear to god you don’t know, he just appeared at your doorstep muttering about how beautiful humanity was... in so much typos it was almost impossible to decipher a word of what he said...

“... Korekiyo do... you want some water?”

“... hdhdbnnkklllllln.” Korekiyo press his head against the pillow lethargically, he groaned afterwords grasping at his stomach.

“... Is... Is that a yes? A maybe? A... no?”

“... nnnnnnnnnnz.”

“No it is! No it is...”

“Okay! So do you want to um... take a nap?”

“... nbcbxzzz.”

Well. Well you can’t decipher any of this mess, picking yourself up you go to the kitchen to try and take in all that’s happened today...

“... I’ll just get that water anyway...” You pray to whatever god that exists... to please... pleasepleaseplease never have Korekiyo get drunk again.

#mod shuichi #mod shumai #ndrv3 imagines #ndrv3 x reader #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #kiibo #rantaro amami #ryoma hoshi #kaito momota #korekiyo shinguuji #gonta gokuhara #tw: alcohol

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noita-taika · 7 years ago

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Notes on “Tales of Finnish History – The Pagan Times“

Tales of Finnish History – The Pagan Times, Chapter V - by Julius Krohn, 1877

ISBN 978-952-5774-02-3

Notes by Hukkatar / @noita-taika

Disclaimer: The original text is in Finnish and written in an old font. I have done my best to translate accurately what I have deemed to be the most important information. Please do not hesitate to send me asks!

1. The general nature of the religion

Ancestors believed everything has a spirit. Not only did they speak to animals as if they were people, but also things such as e.g. iron.

At the birth of iron, it had been tainted by snake’s poison, corrupting its true purpose.

To addition to all of the spirits, there were countless haltija that took care of nature. Every stone, tree, river, and animal, including humans, had a haltija that took care, guided and protected

Hukkatar’s note: In modern Finnish, haltija means “owner of something”, while haltia is used when talking about elves and sprites. However, when these two words are spoken out loud they sound exactly the same. I believe that these words most likely didn’t have any difference for the ancient Finns – an elf of the tree is a haltija.

If someone wished to call for something or protect themselves from something, they would turn to the haltija of that thing with prayers and offerings.

Not all haltija are equally powerful. Some were tied to specific trees or species of trees, while others had under their control the entire element. E.g. Pihlajatar is the haltija of rowan, while Tapio is the haltija of the forest.

The more powerful haltija were also called gods.

Ukko, the god of the sky, was considered the High God. However, while he did have a large influence and was often prayed to, most of the gods were independently powerful in their own elements.

2. Ukko, the Sky God

Ukko, being the first revered god, was often simply called ‘Jumala’, meaning god, which is nowadays the word for the Christian God.

The origin of the word ‘jumala’ comes from the word ‘jumu’, or thunder, and the suffix –la indicates a location. Therefore, ‘jumala’ means home of the thunder - the sky.

Hukkatar’s note: Other such similar words are: Tapiola, Ahtola, Pohjola, Tuonela

When other gods began to appear, the name Ukko was given to the Sky God. It is an honorary name that showed people saw him as the High God.

Other names: Sky Father

Pitkänen, for ‘pitkänen’ (lit. long one) also means lightning, his weapon

Pauanne, for ‘pauke’ (lit. loud noise) means thunder, his voice

Ukko means ‘old man’. He was described to wear blue socks, colorful boots, and a fiery shirt. The rainbow was his hunting bow, from where he shot his steel arrows. His sword, Lightning, had a fiery blade that gleams and was pulled from a fiery sheath. But the most terrible was his voice, which even enemies didn’t wish upon each other

Ukko lived on the ninth heaven, upon the clouds, himself on the center of the sky. The road there went amongst the stars.

As the Sky God, Ukko took care and governed all the events that happened in the sky. Therefore he affected peoples’ lives outside; hunting, fishing, farming

Protected and took care of human and cattle. He was also a master at medicines and people prayed for him to drop some of his miracles with the rain. Wounds and pestilences were seen as evil spirits, and thus Ukko was prayed to defeat them with his sword and arrows. He also punished murderers, thieves and other evil.

Naturally he was also a god of war with his fiery weapons. He had a different name when in his war aspect, Turisas (also Tursas, Turis, Taara, Tyrjä), never used in other occasions

3. The Creation of the World

Despite Ukko being seen as quite mighty and powerful, the Finns didn’t believe this world to be only his creation. The only part which Ukko did was to separate the elements: with his hand he separated water from air, from water he separated the earth. However, everything was left unshaped and unorganized.

In the air, where it was very lonely, the youngest of the Air Maidens, Ilmatar, descended into the sea and became pregnant. A bluebill bird noticed Ilmatar’s knee poking out of the sea, and laid its eggs there. While incubating these eggs, Ilmatar moved her knee and the eggs broke into bits and pieces. From these pieces the world was formed.

At this point, the rest of the work was given to the sons of Kaleva (Kalevanpojat).

Hukkatar’s note: Referencing to Mythologia Fennica, Kaleva was a giant and a father of 12 sons; most of the names are forgotten. Kalevanpojat were also giants who worked miracles on the land

Väinämöinen, who was born from Ilmatar, and was the oldest and the wisest of all the sons, arranged the waters and lands into a more orderly fashion.

Pellervoinen decorated the land with all sorts of plants; pines, spruces, birches.

Ilmarinen, the great smith, raised above the heavens. He forged the Skylid (Taivaankansi).

The nature of creation of living beings varies and they didn’t all appear at once. Different poems tell the creation of these beings

4. The Haltija of the Sky

Maidens of the Sky (Ilman Immet)

Daughters of Nature (Luonnottaret) also lived in the heavens, usually weaving and spinning.

Utu-tyttö or Terhenetär weaved fog

Uteretar made the steam in the sauna have healing properties

Päivätär, who weaved the silver of the sun; sun goddes

Kuutar, who weaved the gold of the moon; moon goddess

Otavatar, haltija of Ursa Major

Tähdetär, star goddess

Also male deities were present

Päivä-poika, god of day. People prayed him to return the next day. During winter they asked him to start the next cycle of the year.

Kuu-poika, god of night. All important things should begin when the moon is waxing to ensure good luck.

Poika Pohjantähti, god of North Star

Three homes in the heavens; Päivölä (home of day/sun), Kuutola (home of moon), and Tähtelä (home of stars)

Tuuli, wind god (* of varying moods and loyalties

*)Tuuli is today a feminine name

Tuuletar, wind goddess, daughter of Tuuli

Etelätär/ Suvetar. Goddess of summer winds and cattle.

Puhuri/Hyytämöinen, God of cold and north

Pakkanen, son of Puhuri. God of north wind.

5. The Haltija of the Sea

The highest haltija of the sea are Ahti (also Ahto, Ahta) and his wife Vellamo. Ahti is described to be an old, honorable man, with seaweed as his beard and sea foam as his clothes. Vellamo on the other hand beautiful, dressed in a reed dress. She is usually more even-mooded and helpful to humans than her husband

Live in Ahtola, in the bottom of the ocean, but also visit waters inland.

Have a large amount of children and servants, mainly female

Vellamo’s maidens

Aallotar, goddess of waves

Kuohu-neiti, goddess of rapids

Melatar, goddess of paddles

Pikku-mies (lit. little-man); first appears as a tiny little man, barely up to the belly of the woman. However, he suddenly grows up tall enough for his head to reach the clouds. Cut the massive oak tree that prevented the sun and moon from shining for Väinämöinen; also known as Tursas, Iku-Turso.

Asked for help when fishing or traveling on water

Everything that goes underwater becomes Ahti’s. Drowned people become his servants. Many treasures which Ahti uses to test humans from time to time. The pieces of the broken Sampo fell into the sea.

6. The Haltija of the Forests

The ancient Finns thought the godly beings of the forests to be the most benevolent and helpful. As hunting and gathering were the main sources for food and materials at the time, this is only natural. Although Ukko is mighty with his thunder and lightning, the people loved more the haltija of the forests who gave them food to their bellies.

This changed when agriculture became more important. Ukko’s power and position rose considerably.

Tapio is the highest forest haltija with his wife Mielikki. Tapio is described to be a very tall old man with lichen as his beard; a hat made out of sprigs, and a jacket of moss. Due to his tall hat, he is also sometimes called Hippa.

Hukkatar’s note: Hippa is still one of the most popular games in Finland. The game itself is similar to tag, where you yell “hippa!” when you catch someone. “Hippasilla” also means to hide in a playful manner from something.

Tapio is described to be very precise with his kingdom and in all his doings.

Mielikki, sometimes called Mimerkki or Simanter, is the gentle forest hostess. She is described to be clean and dressed in a blue cloak and red socks. By nature she is gentler than her husband, an skillful in many ways. She carries the golden keys to Tapiola

Nyyrikki, son of Tapio, takecarer of squirrels

Hillervo or Tellervo, daughter of Mielikki, takecarer of otters

Tuulikki, daughter of Mielikki, goddess of grain

Metsän tytöt (Forest’s girls) or Sinipiiat (blue maidens) – Mielikki’s servants

Every tree species has its own haltija

Hongatar, Tuometar, Katajatar, Pihlajatar, Lemmes

Some animals have been nursed or brought to life by Mielikki or by one of her many children

Käreitär was the mother of foxes

Live in Tapiola, in the wildest of the Wilds. Also called Metsola, Lumilinna (snow castle), or Sarvilinna (Horned castle)

Three castles stand side-by-side; one of wood, one of bone, one of stone

Mielikki serves there mead (sima)

7. The Haltija of the Earth Mother

There was little agriculture in ancient Finland, and what prayers were needed for the crops usually went to Ukko as he controlled the weather. However, the people still believed that the Earth itself also had a haltija, often called Maaemo (earth mother), Eukko or Akka (old lady). She is said to be Ukko’s wife. Together they watch the world, one from the heavens, and one from below the earth.

There are a few mentions of other haltija of agriculture; Pellervo or Pellervoinen, one of Kaleva’s sons, sometimes called Pellon Pekka; the Finnish harvest festival Kekri was most likely held in honor of the god himself, but if Kekri was a separate entity or another name for Ukko is not certain.

8. Tuonela or Manala; the Underworld

All dead went to a place below the earth, far away from the living, across nine and a half oceans. What marked the border of Tuonela was Tuonen joki (Tuoni’s River), a river of black, angry water. It encircles Tuonela and was never mentioned without fear. Vows made by the river were the most sacred, most binding ones.

Tuonen tyttö (Tuoni’s daughter) ferries the dead across the river. Her face is dark and in her heart she is evil like the other denizens of Tuonela.

Everything is in Tuonela the same way as in the world of living, but by nature more evil and deadly. The soil is full of adders and the beer given to Tuoni’s guests is full of frogs and worms.The only source of light is a cold moon.

The ruler of Tuonela is Tuoni, other names are Threefingers, Mana and Manalainen. His wife is Tuonetar or Manatar, an ugly hag who weaves iron string. From this string Tuoni makes iron nets that his son, Tuonen Poika, uses across Tuoni’s river catching the undead that try to flee. Hence the saying: “Many go to Tuonela, but few return.”

Tuoni himself didn’t kill. Usually he sends Kalma to take care of it, or one of the deadly diseases. Loviatar, also Louhi, created diseases. She is the worst of Tuoni’s daughters, the most evil of Manattaret (female haltijas of Manala). She gave birth to nine diseases; sting, colic, gout, rachitis, eschar, cancer, abscess and plague. Her ninth son was the witch.

Hukkatar’s note: In some occasions Louhi is considered to be the wise of Tuoni or even the true ruler of Tuonela.

Another Tuoni’s daughters Kivutar or Kiputytyttö (pain daughter), took care of Kipuvuori (Painmountain) or Kipumäki (Painhill), which stood in a delta of the Tuoni river. It was possible to ask for her aid to take illnesses or pain, punish it, and force it to return to the mountain.

The dead work as servants to the haltijas but otherwise continued life as they had when living. Evil people Tuoni punished by giving them burning stony beds with adders as covers

Dead spirits were greatly respected and feared, but if pleased could give invaluable help and advice.

9. Hiisi and Lempo

A different kind of evil from Tuoni, Hiisi was maliciousness himself. He was called also Lempo or Paholainen. Hiisi and his people lived under the mountains, in a place called Hiitola. Other names are Piru and Perkele, words that come from the Samí thunder god Perun and Perkunas

Hukkatar’s note: Paholainen and Piru are today used to name the Christian Devil.

Hiisi’s favorite past time was to cause havoc and chaos. He created Syöjätär, an evil she-demon who then gave birth to animals like snakes and frogs, and caused their nature be corrupted. Hiisi also created wasps to sabotage Ilmarinen’s work and thus corrupted iron.

However, the ancient Finns rarely saw haltija as only evil or good. Ukko could sometimes seek revenge, or Ahti drown someone to get his treasures. Hiisi could be asked to punish robbers or ask for his moose to quickly ride the pain away.

10. Sukkamieli

Sukkamieli (lit. sock mind) or Lempi was the Finnish goddess of love. She had the power to alter the minds of others, for good or bad. Young women had various rituals to make prayers and offerings to her and ask for love.

11. Celebrations

At the end of November, the ancestors were ready for the winter and held a celebration for the upcoming year, called Vuodenalkajaiset. This was also time when the dead were allowed to come check on the living, which is why it’s also called Henkien päiviksi. The sauna was heated up as if someone was going to use it, and good food was brought to the ancestor spirits to enjoy upon. If pleased, they would give many blessings to the living for the year to come. The host himself would welcome the invisible guests and a day later wish them farewell. The dead also enjoyed silence, and people went to great lengths to avoid causing noise during these liminal days.

Kekri was most likely the same celebration

Another main celebration was Vakkue or Ukon Vakat in May, when the seeds were sown into the earth. A vakka was filled with sacrifices and then taken to a sacred mountain for Ukko. This was to ensure a good summer weather so that the crops would grow and hunt plentiful. Helajuhlat were also celebrated around this time. Girls and boys would dance around a bonfire, called helavalkeat. To young girls women wished luck with marriage, and to women girls wished luck with children.

Hukkatar’s notes: These two celebrations, Kerki and Hela, are in nature very similar to Samhain and Beltane. Vappu is Mayday, a somewhat modern thing but I believe it happens at the same time as Hela and/or Vakka did – it simply was too cold to sow the seeds before May. The image below is my take on the Finnish Wheel of Year with personal touches. The year begins from Kekri (Samhain). Take it for whatever worth; I only have historical evidence of Kekri and Hela/Vakka/Vappu.

12. Sacrifices and Sacred Places

Usually sacrifices were given as ways for the haltijat to have a taste of what the people have to offer, or to please by giving the best. Animals were usually offered to the forest haltija, while silver to the water haltija. To Ukko people gave only the best, such as sheep, oxes, or goats.

Sacred places were high mountains, clear springs, raging rivers, certain trees or rocks, entire areas. The name “Pyhä” in front of a place name tells of a sacred location. E.g. Pyhäjärvi.

To the haltijat of the house, offerings were usually placed in corners or in places where they could take them without being seen. Most households also had a specific tree (usually a spruce) where they took their offerings.

13. Seers

Often the master of the house was also the priest of the house. He took care of any dealings with the haltija as he was a haltija of the household in a manner, too. But for bigger workings a seer was called. Although priests, they were also doctors and diviners.

Like the Samí in the North, it is thought very possible that the seers used drums in their workings. However, when Christianity came the seers changed their tools into less suspicious ones.

The seers also used songspells while dancing and thus entering a trance state. They could, for example, sing about the creation of a disease and then ask why it is bothering this person. By knowing the creation of things, it was believed the seers could control it to some degree.

When the seer fainted or otherwise entered an altered state of mind, it was believed he had entered to world of haltija, where he could access divine knowledge that had been beyond his limits before.

Hukkatar’s note: So the word ‘to be in trance’ would be ‘olla haltijoissaan’

While his body lay as if dead, it was said his spirit moved as a bird, or a fish, or whatever shape necessary for him to take. Sometimes he had to go to the Upperworld, where Ukko and his folks lived, or visit Tapiola, or Ahtola, or even Manala. The journeys to Tuonela were the most dangerous ones.

Because seers usually knew better prayers and poems to the haltija, they were usually also the ones to ask, beg, threaten, pray or otherwise alter whatever was going on. Since everything has a haltija, it was possible to affect them.

Seers were both women and men, but more commonly men. Usually the songspells and the skills were passed on from father to son, mother to daughter. The songs were public property and were sung by everyone, just with varying degrees of knowledge and skills. Sometimes they took pupils in which case it was important for the pupil to get a new name.

Skillful seers were of course held in high respect. Wisdom and the skill of spells was considered more valuable than courage. Some powerful seers have become haltija, for example Väinämöinen and Ilmarinen ascended to godhood after the events in Kalevala.

Let me know if there’s anything you wish to ask!

#suomenusko #finnish paganism #paganism #finnish mythology

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riisinaakka-draws · 7 years ago

Photo

Under the cut there are some thoughts on the process and ideas behind the drawing JOURNEY INTO THE DARK if you are interested :)

I thought it would be too big of a burden to mention all of this within the art post. This is also for my own archiving purposes (so I won’t forget what was involved! :D) and it’s always nice to see how things start and develop...

Long post ahead! (contains spoilers for the show)

COMMENTARY:

I continued this work bit by bit over a period of several months (I started this just when s4 started airing) and only finished it recently. A few hours then and then (whenever I felt like it or had time for this), but I can’t really say how much time it took all together. Occasionally there were weeks/months that I just forgot about it and was more focused on other things...

Most of the thoughts here are fleeting ideas during the process (how a thing X lead to thing Y) and some personal fun and not something I actually spend too much time on dwelling or planning (or researching lol). I have probably forgotten some already and some happened by accident and some I am just incabable of putting into understandable words.

None of these are any actual instructions (or limits) of “this is how it’s to be seen”. Art doesn’t have to be or even shouldn’t be explained in some cases, but I just wanted to document the process and open up the symbolism since there were a lot of (random) things involved.

It’s also fun to look back on things and how they evolved and what their connection to other things were.

You are free to have your own interpretations of course and I hope this additional post doesn’t ruin any of those :)

The initial idea and motifs:

Flint decends the steps from light to darkness and Miranda is standing behind him as an accomplice/orderer. Stepping stones get bloodier by every step and gold coins are glimmering on the path (Urca de Lima’s gold). Sword is drawn out for war and slaughter. Black water as in the opening credits + general darkness to represent the abyss. Reflection shows James when he was happy (him returning to Hamiltons) and how much he has changed compared to that (McGraw vs Flint). Sort of stage / antique/ greek tragedy(?) setting with marble columns, red curtains (like a myth, a monology or a story or something).

A white feather shining in the dark to show there’s always hope and another way out. I already explained this in another post, but here it is again:

Short answer: Silver (although some of you may not like it) Long answer: the feather is for “hope and an alternative for war” (the dove of peace..haha). Also remember the trap Flint laid in season 1? The feather and the logbook in his drawer -> leads to Silver’s capture later.

The feather is also a reference to the swan of Tuonela (in Finnish mythology the river of Tuonela separates the world of the living and the dead (compare Styx in Greek mythology I guess). Flint decents to the world of death (also represented here by the pale and dead-looking organic shapes of the opening sequence’s sculpture… thing).

Anyway, the feather is mainly about Silver: both how they end up meeting in the beginning (the trap, and then some new hope along the way and eventually some light in Flint’s miserable life) and what (who) also ends up being “the end of Captain Flint” (a tiny nod to the swan guarding the border between the living and the dead).

Visually I wanted something to shine in the darkness to remind there’s always hope and another way out. At one point it had an additional thin string leading to Thomas’ hand. You know, a connection to the memory (and to the reason of Flint’s revenge and war path and so on) but the idea didn’t work so well and felt too distracting so I left it (the string) out. And then the finale happened (!!!) and the reflection became also the future.. :D

a way out of the darkness… :)

There was also a post going around a long time ago about the empty space (the absence of Thomas) next to James and Miranda in some scenes, so I incorporated that in here, too. Unfortunately I cannot remember who did the post, so I cannot link it right now :| It was something about how some of the New World scenes were framed in a way that it looked like there was something missing (aka the third person of the trio).

Here’s the early drafts again so you don’t have to scroll back:

I didn’t like the first composition that much and continued it into another direction with similar elements and the main ideas.

The stepping stones changed to wooden planks: angrier zigzag lines (rage) and also the idea of “walk the plank” (except that you don’t know when and where the nightmare ends...)

I ditched the gold coin idea. The overal setting became more spacious and gloomier to emphasize the vastness of abyss and the smallness of people. The stage / arch became the staircase seen in Flint’s dreams.

The whole thing is sailing on a similar sculptural thing seen in the opening sequence which for some reason made me think about the floating theatre in the Moomins (when the Moomin valley is flooded in one dangerous midsummer. LMAO):

(*coughs* lots of water, a stage and some drama after a disaster...so..)

(At one point I was also thinking about Howl’s moving castle and how that too is a monstrous looking vessel travelling between worlds (well, opening doors) but how the moving castle itself is also composed of various other things... and how in the drawing Flint would be stepping out of the ride for a moment to do some dark deeds in one of these ‘worlds’ etc.)

Black Sails opening sequence - is there a term for that cool monstrosity?

Some other inspiration and references:

Akseli Gallen-Kallela’s “Lemminkäisen äiti” (Lemminkäinen’s Mother, 1897).

(notice the swan, the black water, blood-covered stones, ‘the mother’ and the red-bearded ‘son’ waiting/asking for a spark for new life after the mother has combed his broken parts out of the river and assembled them back into the shape of a man)

I must admit that I didn’t bother to think any deeper parallels with Lemminkäinen and Flint (or the Mother and Miranda) beside this (more about it later though) and mainly had my thoughts just on this painting and its visuals because it is so well known (and liked) in Finland.

Moving on.

Screencaps from season 2 (source here):

I chose the latter stairs for the reflection (although modified) only because they were in London and there is an arch above them (to mirror the window in the drawing)

Some steps futher when the needed elements are more clear:

At some point I tried things with a lot more light and coldness (below, left pic) to channel some of the the dream sequence in s3 but in the end I chose the darker atmosphere, faces in shadows and I also wanted to preserve the red colour somehow (right pic):

The reflection sketch (at some point), although most of it cannot be seen in the finished work and thus didn’t need too much details. Young lieutenant James McGraw returning to London from his voyage:

Also, (and I am so sorry about this, but it was “fitting” and I decided to keep it..) in the reflection (when flipped and put in its position) the plank (their unfortunate blood-covered war-path and future) accidentally hides Miranda’s face and decapitates her so to speak and she won’t be there anymore ;_;

Thomas, on the other hand, is in the reflection to meet James - both in the past and again in the future - but not in ‘the present’ where Miranda is.

Miranda in Flint’s visions (s3 ep3):

When I first met you, you were so Unformed.

And then I spoke and bade you cast aside your shame, and Captain Flint was born into the world. The part of you that always existed yet never were you willing to allow into the light of day.

I was mistress to you when you needed love. I was wife to you when you needed understanding. But first and before all I was mother. I have known you like no other. So I love you like no other. I will guide you through it, but at its end is where you must leave me. At its end is where you will find the peace that eludes you, and at its end lies the answer you refuse to see.

And then in s3ep5: You can't see it yet, can you? You are not alone.

The end part of it is seen in the fandom as a reference to Silver (and his partnership) and how Flint’s mind is telling himself to see it too. And I agree on that. I don’t think James had any hopes for Thomas being alive (especially in s3). As I mentioned earlier I originally did the reflection to show him (Thomas) only as a memory. Then the finale happened and the reflection got its double meaning :)

And here again Miranda as the mother (there has been better discussions about this topic and speech in the fandom so I won’t go more into that now). In the inspiration painting that I showed earlier the mother had assembled his son back together (for rebirth / reanimation) <--- Miranda being part of the creation (birth) of ‘Captain Flint’.

Aaaaand here’s the feather again and Silver’s words (and sort of motto):

“Take it from me, there's always a way.” (season 1)

“Nothing is inevitable here. I'm showing you a way in which we can survive this.″ (season 3)

Some further fixed details and adjustments. In the end the wall almost disappeared and to me it made this feel a bit like “floating alone without a shelter on your back or a place to return once you leave its premise”... I fixed the perspective of the planks (took me surprisingly long to notice what was wrong) and got the bloody red back on the planks (and not leaking too much on the water).

I wanted the water to be quiet, pitch black and endless and the reflection to seem like a dream. I probably should’ve done everything a bit more detailed or sharper, but in the end it didn’t feel so necessary (and it would have been way too much work, haha).

The final drawing:

The planning and initial idea was done after seeing s3 and just when s4 was beginning so there weren’t any thoughts linked to s4 while making this (other than the surprise connection with Thomas). Most of this I did paint after s4 though, but only to finish what I had already started.

One more thing. I also made “the doors of the warship” -drawing after planning the JOURNEY INTO THE DARK (although I posted the doors pic first, since it was finished earlier).

It has a similar lighting and the theme of James and Miranda facing together ‘the civilization’ although this time they are stepping towards the light again (in hopes of closure and the promise of new life... which doesn’t go well as we already know ;_;).

James and Miranda about to leave the warship and meet Lord Peter Ashe in Charles Town:

So, here we sort of have a beginning and an end for their journey in the dark (together) - believing that there are just the two of them left from the original trio.

Aaaaaand, that’s about it. Sorry about some repetition and messiness.

As I said in the beginning of this post, you are free to have your own interpretations (and I hope this post didn’t ruin any of them). These were just the things and thoughts that went into this work (or were stumbled upon along the way...), but you don’t have to take them to your heart.

Thank you so much for checking out this post and I hope it was worthy of your time! ( ˘ ³˘)♥

#black sails doodle #some interesting and silly meta about my own drawings #long post #for archiving purposes and vacant reading #(although tumblr is not forever but anyway)#I like to have secret meanings or personal easter eggs in my work although many of them are not that secret really #or well thought for that matter #and some probably don't make any sense (except to me)#good thing I made some notes during the process..#feel free to comment if you want #(I was supposed to post this yesterday evening)#(but I got stuck in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking with my flat mate until it was midnight and it felt too late to post)

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thisisheavynews · 5 years ago

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The Big Read – Sheer Mag “So much rock music is so bad and meaningless”

Five years in the past, Sheer Mag had been the buzziest DIY band on the planet. Now, they’re a full-throttle unbiased rock ‘n’ roll machine who sort out home abuse, prejudice, loss of life and anxiousness on ferocious new album ‘A Distant Call’. Singer Tina Halladay tells Ben Homewood why the world wants the Philadelphians…

On November threerd 2015, Sheer Mag began a seven-week European tour with a present at Bologna’s Freakout Club. Its title was an ideal match.

Back then, Sheer Mag had been the 12 months’s most hyped band, freaking individuals out with their buzzing, big-hearted rock‘n’roll, and exploding out of south Philadelphia’s DIY circuit. Accentuating the perfect bits of the basic rock they beloved and subverting its macho stereotypes, that they had an excellent, scratchy emblem and appeared like a bar band excavated from the 1970s. They lived, and recorded, in a spot referred to as The Nuthouse, its compact areas the right incubator for his or her greasy noise. They had launched two self-made four-track EPs, ‘I’ and ‘II’, and their songs gave the impression of they had been on fireplace. The likes of ‘What You Want’, ‘Point Breeze’ and ‘Fan The Flames’ had been white sizzling, insanely good. Sheer Mag had been unsigned and they weren’t doing interviews. Word was spreading, and tickets had been scarce.

“That first European tour was insane,” says the group’s singer Tina Halladay. “Our tour manager messaged me beforehand and said, ‘You will probably break up!’ I was like, ‘Yeah whatever, I guess we’ll see…’”

Photo: Angela Owens

Sheer Mag simply needed to play, so they flew to Europe, employed a van and proceeded to spend infinite hours inside it, freezing. Halladay first met guitarist Matt Palmer and the Seely brothers, lead guitarist Kyle and bassist Hart, who grew up in Syracuse, at Purchase College, New York. Their pal Ian Dykstra was on drums in these days, certainly, Sheer Mag have by no means actually had a everlasting drummer (present touring member Giacomo Zatti is their fourth). Clearly, the shut confinement was intense.

“We only had one day without a show and it was spent travelling on an overnight boat to Finland, so we really didn’t have a day off,” Halladay remembers. “It was freezing cold, I don’t think any of us had headphones, mobile phone data or any distractions. It was a pretty torturous seven weeks, but every single venue and every single person was amazing. Every promoter was like, ‘This is the most people we’ve ever had and the most money we’ve ever made.’ The fans were the only reason we survived.”

Photo: Angela Owens

Four years later, Halladay can snort on the recollections. NME finds the singer recent from a go to to the publish workplace, at residence along with her brother in Philly. She’s getting ready to place her life in a bag as soon as once more to hit the street this week till early November, in assist of recent album ‘A Distant Call’. Another pulverising few months beckon, however Sheer Mag are nicely accustomed by now.

They accomplished their EP sequence with the blistering ‘III’ in 2016, and debut album ‘Need To Feel Your Love’ adopted in 2017, including disco, plus touches of Abba and Fleetwood Mac to the combination. If their debut confirmed their vary, ‘A Distant Call’ stands tall as their most full work up to now, 10 tracks of straight up rock‘n’roll, pressing and unruly. Mixing from Arthur Rizk provides heat and gloss to recordings first tracked within the freezing snow of DeRuyter, New York.

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It’s additionally their most private launch, ruthlessly exposing Halladay’s experiences (by a fictional protagonist, it offers with physique picture points and particulars a whirlwind interval during which she was fired, damaged up with and misplaced her abusive father) in a means that simply wasn’t potential till now. Sheer Mag wanted to develop into inseparable to make this report, and Halladay says freezing collectively of their van 4 years in the past was the primary main step in getting there.

“We’re all incredibly close, we’re like siblings at this point,” she says. “We struggle, we go on [laughs] and annoy one another and yell at one another. We’ve been by so much.”

Photo: Angela Owens

Halladay has come to cherish her relationship with Palmer specifically, after the group’s artistic course of thrust them collectively. Sheer Mag songs are made in a manufacturing line: first, the Seely brothers conjure groove, snap and corkscrew solos, then Halladay and Palmer summon melody and lyrics. On ‘A Distant Call’, Palmer got here to inhabit the singer’s thoughts like by no means earlier than.

“In the writing relationship we have, Matt ends up doing the final arrangements of the melody and lyrics, he writes most of them,” Halladay explains. “Our relationship had to get to this point for him to be able to do justice to my experiences, like my father and our relationship and his death and how that affected me, and body image and just going through the world as a fat woman. It took 24 other songs [on the EPs and ‘Need To Feel Your Love’] to get to the point where he could do it justice and make it really meaningful.”

Photo: Marie Lin

What they got here up with grabs you and doesn’t let go.

“How may I be taught to like from someone so abusive?” asks ‘Cold Sword’. “I pulled again and went away, to nurse my coronary heart’s bruises”. On ‘The Right Stuff’, Halladay sings, “Eyes stare and individuals flip, my coronary heart begins to race and my face burns.”

Looking again, she says, the recording course of was taxing within the excessive.

“The conversation around body image is a lot more open now, so that wasn’t too difficult, but the stuff with my father made me confront some things I’d maybe been ignoring or hadn’t been able to articulate,” Halladay explains. “That was really therapeutic and really hard, I think it was hard for Matt to even attempt it. You don’t want to mess something like that up.”

Perhaps the perfect instance of what she means could be discovered inside ‘Cold Sword’, the album’s motoring centerpiece. You’ll need to dance to its thrusting rhythm, however its message is altogether extra severe.

“It’s about my father and it’s the one that was the most difficult to write, record and deal with,” she says. “I’ve told Matt a lot about mine and my father’s relationship and his actions towards me and the rest of my family. I wrote it all down. I wrote everything I could remember, every experience, like being terrified and upset, just every moment that he terrorised mine and my family’s life. I wrote pages and pages of what I could remember in order and gave it to him to work with.”

Photo: Angela Owens

Elsewhere, in amongst the anxiousness and ache of Halladay’s revelations are bursts of Sheer Mag’s customary imagery: picket traces, crooks, dodgy offers, bombs, jail cells and the mayhem of conflict and politics. These songs are a blur of private candour and common truths, set to unrelenting groove and whole guitar hedonism, providing wonderful distinction to their blackened content material. Bass traces pulsate, guitars shimmy and shake, drums thwack. As at all times, it capabilities as one large rallying name, and Halladay is proud to say so. Sheer Mag are right here to say that the private and political aren’t divisible.

“What a lot of people in the world don’t realise is that politics is in everything,” the singer says. “The life that you live, the food you eat, the people you meet, it all has to do with politics and the way our systems are built and created. The people you’re attracted to, the people you see every day, all those things have to do with politics, so there’s no way to not be political. To say something like, ‘I’m not political’, is just showing your ignorance or your privilege.”

Photo: Angela Owens

Avoiding politics can be “a cop out” for Sheer Mag, and Halladay regales us with some latest drama round planning their tour merchandise for instance the purpose.

“We’re planning to sell a poster that will benefit some Planned Parenthood [sexual healthcare organisation] schemes in Wisconsin and they said, ‘Are there certain places you don’t want to sell it because maybe people will be upset and not agree with it?’” she says.

“Hell no! Anyone opposed to Planned Parenthood is not someone I want to be my fan or be at my shows, so no thank you. I just don’t see how someone who could feel that way would like our music.”

Photo: Angela Owens

Halladay spits out the tip of her sentence, completely mystified. Her confusion is no shock: Sheer Mag’s bond with their followers is apparent. People wait patiently to speak to the band after reveals, forming snaking traces for the merch desk, desperate to get nearer.

“It’s always very overwhelming and awesome, especially women coming up to me and telling me things like, ‘I started a band because of you.’ I’d never expected for people to care so much and be so excited, especially so early on,” says Halladay.

The singer has a idea to clarify the devotion and love, too.

“It’s a lot of [reasons], but the one I feel the most is that I don’t look like every other person in a band and I don’t sing about the same things every other person sings about,” she says. “It’s important for people to see themselves, people can relate to me because I’m other and I’m different and that is important to people.”

Photo: Marie Lin

Halladay noticed the identical in Judas Priest singer Rob Halford and Thin Lizzy’s Phil Lynott, who she describes as her “favourite” (she has Lynott inked on her proper thigh and named her canine The Rocker after him). But whereas she says “this band and me being in it wouldn’t have existed 30 or 40 years ago,” she notes there’s nonetheless “a lot of bullshit to deal with”.

“It’s like, bouncers automatically stopping me and no one else, if I don’t have my [backstage] pass or something,” she explains. “Even promoters who haven’t done their research saying, ‘Oh are you the tour manager? Or are you doing merch?’ I’m just like, ‘No, my picture is on the wall right behind me.’ It’s just ignorance, it’s silly. It makes them look stupid.”

Halladay has acquired used to setting such individuals straight in no unsure phrases. When NME first interviewed the singer at SXSW in 2015, it was after a present at which she shoved a person again into the gang as he came upon stage fumbling on the crotch of his denims. “Get your dick back in your pants dude,” she advised him.

Ever since their earliest days, there’s been a way of necessity about Sheer Mag; they’re a band the world wants and they understand it.

“There are a lot of people who want to see themselves. There are young girls out there who’ve never seen a person who looks like me leading a band like this, that representation and seeing yourself is really important for people to realise their potential and what kind of a person they want to be,” says Halladay. “White men have all of these different role models in the world being shown to them, it’s not the same for everyone.”

Photo: Angela Owens

Sheer Mag, then, current an exciting various. Two albums in, they’re thriving.

“So much rock music in popular culture is so bad and meaningless in my eyes,” Halladay continues. “I love rock‘n’roll, so for people to have to dig so deep to find music that is meaningful sucks.”

Thankfully, it’s not essential to dig to seek out Sheer Mag. They’re nonetheless placing music out by their very own Wilsuns RC imprint, ordering vinyl and dealing with merch, however their stance on the music press has softened and they’re extra seen than ever.

“At the beginning we were just trying to figure out what kind of a band we were, so we didn’t want to just latch onto these ideas or anyone that could take advantage of us or control us,” Halladay says of their preliminary reticence. “At this point we know who we are as a band, we know what we want and we have the confidence and power to say, ‘Ok, people want to hear this, so let’s see what’s important for us to say.’”

As for the mechanics behind constructing their empire, the band now have a supervisor and have simply taken on “people to help us with money and business stuff”. Halladay paints a easy, contented image.

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So, is the label chase over?

“If we are being chased then they’re not contacting me!”

The singer laughs, clearly blissful Sheer Mag are doing this on their very own. Really, it’s the one means it is sensible. Their music comes from a primal place, mixing our most instinctive emotions into hopeful, important rock‘n’roll, stuffed with motion.

“This band, it’s not a want, it’s a need. Every day,” Halladay sums up. “It’s so important and good for me to be able to perform and let out all that aggression, anger and energy inside of me that needs to come out. When I’m not on tour for a long time I lose my shit. I need that release, that feeling, to not feel totally crazy and restless.”

Tina Halladay can’t cover the thrill in her voice and no marvel. Sheer Mag are on the street once more.

A Distant Call

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from Heavy News https://thisisheavynews.com/the-big-read-sheer-mag-so-much-rock-music-is-so-bad-and-meaningless/

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zrtranscripts · 8 years ago

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Season 6, Mission 4: Seaside Rendezvous

Airing dirty laundry

AMELIA SPENS: Look, can we get on?

SAM YAO: You know as well as we do, Amelia, that we have to wait for the flag. Just because we've got the king on our side now - just because he's doing the rounds of undecided territories, building our support - doesn't mean all the rules have gone away.

AMELIA SPENS: Not long to go. Devil Flesh leave Worthington-on-Sea at precisely 15 minutes past the hour.

MAXINE MYERS: Devil Flesh? Is that as sinister as it sounds?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, no. They're just the combination of Barree and Venment colonies. You must remember. After the war between Radial and Connor? When they poisoned each other's leaders?

MAXINE MYERS: I uh, I lost track of that when Radial formed. I couldn't work out who they were allied with.

AMELIA SPENS: [sighs] Well, if you will ignore world politics, it's your lookout, I suppose. You understand the purpose of Worthington-on-Sea, I hope?

SAM YAO: Uh, well, I know it's neutral. And different groups take turns, and no one's allowed to bring weapons.

AMELIA SPENS: There's a transmitter on the spur here erected by a coalition of the Ministry, the Exmoor Militia, and the Psychoanalysts Enclave.

MAXINE MYERS: The Psychoanalysts Enclave?

AMELIA SPENS: They had a lot of dirt on a lot of important people. They've done very well in this apocalypse. Anyway, no one was able to outright control Worthington, and an uneasy peace ensued, as is the style these days.

SAM YAO: Yeah. Abel has a treaty with Worthington. We can come in here, send or receive messages.

[cannon booms]

AMELIA SPENS: Gosh, they make everything so bloody formal. There's the cannon, and here comes the flag. Come on. We haven't got long. Run.

MAXINE MYERS: It's kind of pretty, this promenade. And I like the vibe of the town. Down-at-heel off-season seaside is my jam. Peeling buildings, shuttered stores. Is this place usually this deserted?

AMELIA SPENS: I expect that'll be the townsfolk staying out of the way of Devil Flesh. They're totally harmless, but they do smell.

SAM YAO: But our messages will be there.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh yes. Sweetpea's very reliable, especially for a woman with pink and purple bunches. She runs the transmitter tower.

MAXINE MYERS: Very reliable with a kind of loud personal style? [laughs] Well, I don't suppose she's Janine in disguise, is she?

AMELIA SPENS: [laughs] I thought of that, but no. I've met her. Definitely not Janine.

SAM YAO: Hmm. I keep doing that. Something happens, and I think, "Oh, it must be Janine." Like when we found those holes dug in the Forest of Fallen Runners. My first thought was -

MAXINE MYERS: Has Janine dug up a weapons cache? [laughs] Yeah, mine, too! Sometimes I wonder if, you know... maybe she's trapped somewhere.

AMELIA SPENS: Or dead.

SAM YAO: Janine's not dead. Definitely not.

AMELIA SPENS: No, she's not. I know because every time I make any headway with the Ministry, someone feeds them lies about me, making me out to be untrustworthy, if you please. So yes, Janine's still alive. When she wants to be found, you'll find her, and not before.

MAXINE MYERS: Kind of like literally anyone in this town. It's too quiet, even for me. Let's pick up the pace.

AMELIA SPENS: This is the place. Lighthouse at the end of the jetty is the listening post. Our delivery will be in one of these gravel bins.

MAXINE MYERS: Don't they come down from the listening post to talk to us?

AMELIA SPENS: No. They're listening. And they wouldn't want to play favorites. But look. That gravel bin has our name on it. I'll just undo the padlock with our pre-agreed number. [chain jingles, lock clicks] Five, get the lid open for me. [lid clangs open] And there we go - our post.

Blah blah... more settlements saying they can't join the Abel alliance because the Minister's promised them her vaccine serum. Blah blah... ah, here, Five. A message from the Ministry for Abel. That'll be from your Laundry friends. Ooh, and there's a parcel in there for me. Oh. No. Leave it.

MAXINE MYERS: Why? What is it?

AMELIA SPENS: It's nothing we want.

MAXINE MYERS: It looks expensively wrapped. It's not like you to leave supplies, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: Five, open that letter.

[paper tears and rustles]

MAXINE MYERS: Oh, right. It's in code. I forgot. Ellie taught all this to Zoe and Phil in case she needed to communicate from behind enemy lines. So um, yeah. Yeah, I can work this out. That letter followed by that one makes a D, and I think those three make a P...

AMELIA SPENS: Can't you do this on the run, Doctor?

MAXINE MYERS: Are you really going to leave that package? Because if you're leaving it, I'm taking it. I'm curious.

AMELIA SPENS: You can throw it in the sea for all I care. Just hurry up.

MAXINE MYERS: Okay, that's an X, so yeah. Yeah, this message is definitely from Ellie Maxted. She's taken over as the head of the Laundry now.

[distant explosion]

AMELIA SPENS: I just heard something.

MAXINE MYERS: Ah! Then if that's a B, and that's a B, too... yeah, I think this is about the babies, you guys. The Laundry sent a team to pick up the babies Sigrid was using to make her serum. That was Ellie's main priority – rescue them from Finland.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, good. I'm glad that's going to be sorted out. Well done, Team Do-Gooders. Sam, have you got long-range cams here? That parcel's giving me a bad feeling.

MAXINE MYERS: What is that parcel, Amelia? Do you have a mystery admirer?

AMELIA SPENS: Not a mystery. I recognize the handwriting. It's Valmont.

MAXINE MYERS: Ooh, your husband, the multi-billionaire. Well, why is he sending you gifts? And how did he know that you were here?

AMELIA SPENS: Two excellent questions.

SAM YAO: Guys, there's a horde of zombies cutting off your safe route out of town. Um, yeah, you might be able to make your way around them and out, but if not -

MAXINE MYERS: They'll drive us into Sigrid's territory, and then we're fair game. Five, you take point. Go!

MAXINE MYERS: Oh God. I haven't seen this many zombies together in months. How the hell did they get here out of nowhere?

AMELIA SPENS: I think that's obvious. I know the man who runs Worthington-on-Sea. Calls himself "Raoul" now, as if he thinks he's running Cuba on the side. Before he took over here, he was called Ralph. He used to be a stringer for me. Amazing what a sudden elevation in status you get running a tinpot settlement.

He cleared his people out of town and lured that horde here. I heard the flashbang go off. Act of zombie isn't covered under the treaty, so he won't be responsible for this to Abel's allies. Don't worry. I'll make it my mission to destroy him, just as soon as we get out of here.

MAXINE MYERS: These zoms are gaining on us.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, you might be able to run faster if you got rid of that stupid box.

MAXINE MYERS: Let me just open it, see if there's anything useful in here. [packaging tears, glass bottles clink] Oh. Perfume? Eau de Maron.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, that's typical. Constantly with the fake romance.

SAM YAO: Eau de Maron? Oh my God, no, I've read about that stuff on Rofflenet. It's a legend!

AMELIA SPENS: Just a second. Show me that bottle? You're right! [?] must be distracted to have forgotten this. This perfume became famous in the siege of John Lewis, early days of the apocalypse. It's got some molecule in it that mimics a human pheromone so well that -

SAM YAO and AMELIA SPENS: - zombies will follow it instead of following humans.

SAM YAO: Five, run south from here. Throw the bottles in a line towards the sea. Lay a trail. Now, run!

[glass shatters, zombies growl]

SAM YAO: It's working! It's definitely working. They're following your perfume, Amelia!

AMELIA SPENS: It's not my perfume!

MAXINE MYERS: I get it. This dude is some kind of creepy ex, right?

AMELIA SPENS: In a way.

MAXINE MYERS: He's stalking you, right?

AMELIA SPENS: Well, he's trying to get me back. I might have left with uh, one or two of his belongings. Nothing very significant. Not in the grand scheme of things. [cannon booms] Oh, good. Here's another emergency for Team Abel to solve. Go on, team. Deal with the emergency.

SAM YAO: Uh, yeah, that was the cannon. You're officially on Sigrid's time in Worthington now. And that horde of zoms isn't following you anymore, but it's still in your path home. You could run around them, but yeah. Sigrid's soldiers are fanning out across Worthington.

AMELIA SPENS: So, stealth mission? Run and hide?

MAXINE MYERS: Uh, no, I think your creepy ex has given us another alternative.

SAM YAO: What's that?

MAXINE MYERS: Well, no one's allowed weapons in Worthington, but under all that perfume, Amelia, Valmont sent us three handguns. We can shoot our way through the zoms! Five, you take this one. Let's do this the old fashioned way. You take point, Five. We're heading for the border. Run!

[zombies growl, gunshots]

AMELIA SPENS: Runner Five, to your left!

[gunshot, zombie splatters]

MAXINE MYERS: These pistols are amazing, Amelia! The laser sights, trajectory, adjusting rounds. They must have some AI targeting correction on them, too. I'm getting headshots every time.

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, well, that's how he operates.

[zombie growls, gunshot, zombie splatters]

SOLDIER: Stop! In the name of the Minister!

SAM YAO: You're nearly at the border, guys, but uh, yeah, you've made quite a bit of noise. Sigrid's soldiers are after you. If they manage to catch you, the treaties say they can take you prisoner! Go!

SOLDIER: Stop!

[gunshots]

SAM YAO: Yeah, don't stop, guys. Keep running.

MAXINE MYERS: We are just so nearly there. Just over this wall, and -

AMELIA SPENS: There. Back in Abel's territory. Good.

MAXINE MYERS: Man, that is so weird. Sigrid's soldiers are just a few hundred yards away, but they can't come into Abel's territory, or it'll spark a full-on war!

SAM YAO: Yeah. Well, Sigrid doesn't want that, does she? She knows now we've got Abel back, we've got access to Janine's armory, and well, if she wipes us out, we wipe her out. Mutually-assured destruction.

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. You know, that's how I used to feel about my marriage. I suppose you've all noticed. He knew what was going to happen here.

MAXINE MYERS: Yeah, that is kind of creepy.

AMELIA SPENS: I'll have to think carefully about my next move. Right. Good to have a project. Did you translate that message yet, Maxine? All the babies safe and well and somewhere nice and warm? No more new serum vials for Auntie Sigrid?

MAXINE MYERS: Actually, it's bad news. The team from the Laundry arrived in Finland two weeks ago, and the facility we sent them to was empty. Staff gone, babies gone. Just empty buildings, Ellie says.

SAM YAO: Oh no!

AMELIA SPENS: Well, that's simple. We'll just have to find them and rescue them.

MAXINE MYERS: It's not going to be easy, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: I know that, but I'm feeling very efficacious today, and the sight of dozens of infants being used as a serum factory sparked some useless sympathy in me, and that's that. I will stop at literally nothing until I find them.

SAM YAO: Uh, well, yeah. Well, that sounds good, actually. Want a hand with it? Yeah, I know a lot of people on Rofflenet. I mean, people who want to help me. And if we find them, it'll be one more blow against Sigrid's plans. A blow against her ability to recruit allies, and a blow in favor of lots of little babies.

AMELIA SPENS: Fine. Just don't tell anyone about this. It'd ruin my reputation.

#zombies run #zrs6 #s6m4 #seaside rendezvous #zr transcript #zrs6 spoilers

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lopezdorothy70-blog · 6 years ago

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Soaring Infertility Rates Linked to Vaccines

Vaccine Boom, Population Bust

Study queries the link between HPV vaccine and soaring infertility

by Celeste McGovern Children's Medical Safety Research Institute

A plague is spreading silently across the globe. The young generation in America, the United Kingdom, France, Italy, Japan, Australia – in virtually every western country - is afflicted by rapidly increasing rates of infertility.

This spring, the United States reported its lowest birth rate in 30 years, despite an economic boom. Finland's birth rate plummeted to a low not seen in 150 years. Russian President Vladimir Putin recently introduced a string of reforms aimed at stemming the country's “deep demographic declines.”

The government of Denmark introduced an ad campaign to encourage couples to “Do it for Denmark” and conceive on vacations, and Poland produced a campaign urging its citizens to “breed like rabbits.”

The “population bomb” we were all endlessly warned about by environmentalists failed to blow, and instead, demographers have been trying to raise the alarm about the population implosion crisis unfolding across the West - the graying of societies facing an unprecedented aging demographic in which there will be too few young to support the old.

Most often, they blame social factors: young women embracing careers instead of motherhood, men shunning marriage and fatherhood, rising consumerism or couples choosing to delay raising a family until the economy settles. But there is another phenomenon that is rarely mentioned – the growing numbers of young people who are not childless by choice but who are incapable of bearing children.

The Centers for Disease Control reports that more than 12 percent of American women – one in eight-have trouble conceiving and bearing a child. Male fertility is plunging, too, and the trend is global.

Something – or things - are robbing young women and men of their capacity to procreate and public health admits it doesn't have a clue where to start to fix the emerging priority. Besides bantering about expanding access to costly and risky artificial reproductive technologies, very little is being done to discern the cause of the rising infertility crisis.

So, earlier this month, when an unprecedented study was released that looked at a database of more than eight million American women and singled out a whopping 25 percent increase in childlessness associated with one ubiquitous drug that young women have been taking for only a decade - in tandem with a marked decline in fecundity - you would have thought there would be significant interest from public health, the medical profession and the media, wouldn't you?

A Common Denominator Behind Growing Infertility Rates

Instead, all three of these behemoths remain stone silent.

The reason? Because the study, published in the current Journal of Toxicology and Environmental Health, examines the childbearing capacity of women who received the human papilloma virus (HPV) vaccine – compared to those who didn't - and the results are chilling.

No one in public health, medicine or mainstream media, which are tangled up in the money-making machine of this vaccine, dare to publicly question the “safe and effective” mantra they've promulgated about Merck and GSK pharmaceuticals' “blockbuster” commodity worth billions.

The study is by Gayle DeLong, associate professor of economics and finance, at Baruch College at City University of New York. She observed that the declining birth rate had plunged in America in recent years – from 118 per 1,000 in 2007, to 105 in 2015 for the cohort aged 25 to 29.

The HPV vaccine was approved by the Food and Drug Administration for use in the US in 2006 to prevent cervical cancer – an illness women face a 0.6% lifetime risk of being diagnosed with. Although it is diagnosed most frequently at age 47 in the United States, it was rolled out en masse, initially targeting girls aged 11 to 26 (and has since been marketed to boys as young as nine to prevent rare anal and penile cancers - a disease that afflicts 0.2 % of men in their lifetime.).

DeLong had read a case study in the British Medical Journal by Australian physicians Deirdre Little and Harvey Ward, who described a 16-year-old girl whose regular menstruation ceased after receiving HPV vaccinations and she was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure.

In 2014, the doctors published a case series of more teens who had entered premature menopause - a phenomenon Little and Ward described as ordinarily “so rare as to be also unknown.”

They raised troubling questions about some vaccine ingredients' documented impact on reproduction, cited serious deficiencies (some would say criminal negligence) in preliminary vaccine trials and concluded that further research was “urgently required….for the purposes of population health and public vaccine confidence.”

As well, between 2006 and 2014, the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS) cited 48 cases of ovarian damage associated with autoimmune reactions in HPV vaccine recipients. Between 2006 and May, 2018, VAERS catalogued other reproductive issues: spontaneous abortion (256 cases), amenorrhea (172 cases), and irregular menstruation (172 cases), all of which are likely under-reported symptoms.

All of this intrigued DeLong, who has followed the vaccine debate for years and makes no secret of the fact that she has two daughters, 18 and 21, both having been diagnosed on the autism spectrum, whom she saw regress developmentally and withdraw following vaccinations early in life. “I am sceptical of vaccine science and the safety studies that are done, or not done,” she says.

She set out to analyze information gathered in the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES), which represented 8 million 25-to-29-year-old women living in the United States between 2007 and 2014. Using logistic regression, she matched the young women for other variables, including age, and compared pregnancy as an outcome in those who received an HPV vaccine compared with those who did not get any of the shots.

“I just wanted to see if there was an issue,” says DeLong. “I certainly didn't expect to find such a strong association.”

Approximately 60% of women who did not receive the HPV vaccine had been pregnant at least once compared to just 35% of women who had had an HPV shot had ever conceived.

For married women, the gap was also about 25%: 75% who did not receive the shot were found to have conceived, while only 50% who received the vaccine had ever been pregnant.

“Results suggest that females who received the HPV shot were less likely to have ever been pregnant than women in the same age group who did not receive the shot,” the study says.

It concludes, as all studies like this do, that the data points to an association, not causation, between the new vaccine and reduced fertility but that further study is warranted.

If the association is causation, however, DeLong's math suggests that if all the females in this study had received the HPV vaccine, the number of women having ever conceived would have fallen by two million.

That's not two million missing children. That's two million women who can't conceive one, two, or any children.

It is millions of American children missing from a single cohort. The implication, considering the sweeping breadth of the global HPV vaccine campaign targeted now at both males and females aged nine-years-old and up, is staggering.

The Skeptic Response

Skeptics are reliable vaccine industry defenders. Armchair scientists who frequently hide behind pseudonyms, they have sort of schizophrenia about vaccines. They insist vaccines are powerfully immune-modulating drugs capable of altering the immune system's response to infectious exposure.

But they can't accept that, like all drugs, vaccines can and do have thousands of documented long-term adverse reactions - especially because they are designed to induce the delayed manufacture of antibodies by the adaptive immune system. Because these responses are mediated by the immune system, they are diverse, unpredictable and profound. As expected, the Skeptics welcomed DeLong's research with snide and personal (read unscientific) attacks.

They slammed her failure to include data on contraceptive use. As a result, DeLong intends to attach that data to an addendum on the study, but what she found and reported on Age of Autism's website only bolsters the study's findings.

Among married women in the survey, 36.6 % of those who had received the HPV shot told the NHANES that they were using contraception (condoms at least half the time, birth control or injectables otherwise) compared to more than half (51.5%) of those who didn't get the shot – a difference of almost 15%.

Less contraceptive use should translate to more babies among the vaccinated. But, it seems that the vaccinated women in the study were actually trying harder to conceive (or at least not so worried about it) but still having less luck – not good for the Skeptic argument.

DeLong “isn't even an epidemiologist” the Skeptics howled. (In other words, shoot the messenger if you don't like the message.) To which she replies, “No. I'm not. I am a statistician, however. I would be grateful if epidemiologists would do their job and conduct this research thoroughly.”

This is precisely what her study called for. If they did, mothers of vaccine injured children would not be required to.

Infertile Women Excluded From Study on Infertility

DeLong cites another study, from Boston University's Schools of Public Health and Medicine and the Research Triangle Institute (RTI) in North Carolina, which found no such association between HPV vaccination and impaired fertility.

Interestingly, Boston University has been the recipient of tens of millions from globalist vaccine promoters Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, as has RTI, an organization that has received more than $47 million dollars in grant funds in recent years. RTI has published a number of recent studies on HPV vaccine, including one jointly-funded with GSK (a vaccine manufacturer) on the safety of the company's HPV vaccine, and another, cautioning public health agencies to “take special measures to ensure their messages are not perceived as sponsored by drug companies” lest they incite “reduced liking and trust” by parents who will be less likely to give the HPV vaccine to their sons.

Other RTI publications describe “Promising alternative settings for HPV vaccination of US adolescents,” changing “provider behavior” to enhance HPV uptake and more.

The RTI study about HPV vaccine's impact on fertility was based on patients' own recall of vaccines received (remember how the Skeptics howled at self-reporting before?).

But the study did not control for a far more important factor in fertility – age. Age in this context affects not just the possible effect of the vaccine itself on fertility, but fertility is skewed dramatically in favor of the young and the study lumps 18 year-olds in with 30-year-olds.

As well, at the outset, it excludes 881 women from a pool of 5,020 because they were already trying – without luck – to conceive a baby for more than six months. This has the effect of shrinking the infertility finding overall.

“These could be the women with 'hard core' issues of fecundity,” says DeLong, “but they are precisely the women who should be included.”

Environmental Concerns

To be sure, many environmental factors could be affecting female fertility. Plunging male fertility is one of them. Male sperm counts have nosedived in recent decades – scientists published data last year showing that globally, they have dropped 50 percent in just the past 40 years – signalling serious unidentified environmental hazards.

Environmental scientists have pointed to everything from GMOs and toxic aluminum (more on this later) to Wi-Fi and birth control excreted by women into the drinking water, as possible causes of vanishing sperm and lowered fertility generally.

But in DeLong's study, these environmental factors influence the whole group of women equally. There is no reason why women who vaccinate would choose men with lower sperm counts, for example.

What's in the HPV Vaccine?

So, what is it about a vaccine targeting a virus associated with cancer of the human reproductive tract that could go so wrong?

DeLong notes that both HPV vaccines contain aluminum, a toxic metal with documented potential to induce autoimmune self-attack, including on reproductive organs.

HPV vaccines are loaded with aluminum: Merck's original Gardasil vaccine contained 225 micrograms of nanoparticlized aluminum in each of three shots, totalling 675 micrograms; the “new improved” Gardasil 9 shots contain a total of 1500 micrograms – a wallop of stimulant for the immune system that DeLong thinks might just be “a tipping point” for youths who have had so many previous injections of aluminum in the schedule of 50 vaccines before school age.

Perhaps this is why HPV shots have such a high number of reported adverse events: 45,277 from its introduction in 2006 to May, 2018 (and these are considered to be vastly under-reported). The CDC states that all these reactions are normal and that HPV vaccines are safe without any adverse impact on maternal or fetal outcome in pregnancy.

A recent paper from Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center cautions that this CDC assurance is based on incomplete data.

It points out biases in reporting and gaps in data.

“Certain adverse effects of the vaccine against HPV that have not been well studied as they are not well defined,” add the researchers who describe a host of documented, diverse autoimmune, neurological and cardiovascular disease in the wake of the vaccine.

The most frequent reported symptoms after HPV vaccination are poorly understood – fainting, chronic pain with tingling or burning sensations, headaches, fatigue, and dizziness, nausea and other symptoms that are worsened on standing upright, for example.

HPV vaccination – as well as tetanus vaccination – has been linked in medical literature to a condition called anti-phospholipid syndrome, which is a poorly defined disease caused when the immune system erroneously manufactures antibodies against certain lipid proteins found in membranes that are in a host of tissues - eyes, heart, brain, nerves, skin – and the reproductive system.

One 2012 study by Serbian researchers at the Institute for Virology, Vaccines and Ser “Torlak” found that “hyperimmunisation” of the immune system with different adjuvants, including aluminum, in mice, resulted in induction of antiphospholipid syndrome and the tandem lowering of fertility.

Other research has implicated aluminum in conception problems. French infertility researcher, Jean-Philippe Klein, and his colleagues at the University of Lyon published the results of their 2014 study of the sperm of men seeking assistance at a French infertility clinic.

They dispatched semen samples from 62 men who were having infertility issues to Christopher Exley's aluminum research laboratory at Keele University in England where they were fluorescently stained to show the aluminum content as a luminescent blue. “Unequivocal evidence” of high concentrations of the metal were found, especially in the semen of men with low sperm counts.

Clearly fluorescing and concentrated aluminum in the DNA-rich heads of the sperm led the researchers to speculate about what impact this may have on the ability to procreate and on the development of newly formed embryos.

The aluminum in DNA-rich sperm heads is stained blue by lumogallion.

Deirdre Little, the Australian GP who documented primary ovarian failure following HPV vaccination, has also criticized the fact that Merck's product information was misleading about what sort of “saline” placebo was used in trials of the Gardasil vaccine – it failed to mention that the “placebos” contained both the high doses of aluminium as well as another scary ingredient, polysorbate 80.

This chemical has exhibited delayed ovarian toxicity to rat ovaries at all injected doses tested over a tenfold range.

None of the trials accurately assessed the long-term impact of the vaccine on the reproductive health of girls, Deirdre and Ward said, adding that drug damage to reproductive health may take years or decades to manifest.

Urgent and Unanswered Questions

The elephant in the room that no one wants to talk about is why the HPV vaccine is so heavily marketed to begin with? Why make a vaccine for a disease that afflicts less than 0.3% of people in their lifetime?

And why include ingredients that are toxic, especially high doses of ingredients that scientists have objected to, and with documented toxicity to reproductive organs? Why not use a true control in the trials? What kind of scientist would do that kind of science? What kind of public health agency brushes off 45,277 reports of adverse events – including neurological and reproductive symptoms - among young women of childbearing age?

Answering these questions turns out to be a lot more awkward than it seems at first. There are chilling facts that are hard to set aside.

There are, as recently as 2015, the charges by Catholic bishops and human rights activists that public health agencies had deliberately tainted tetanus vaccines given only to women of reproductive age in Kenya.

Public health organizations denied they had laced tetanus vaccines with miscarriage-inducing Beta human chorionic gonadotropin (b-HCG) – a key sterilizing ingredient described in the extensive medical literature about the quest for a contraceptive vaccineto control population growth. The Kenyan bishops insisted they had laboratory evidence that was ignored and the issue was ignored like DeLong's study.

Another inconvenient truth is that the very people funding the HPV vaccine juggernaut are the same people most interested in reducing birth rates.

When Melinda Gates launched her Family Planning Summit in 2012, with the objective of bringing contraceptives to the world's poor, it was clear she had one measure for that goal in mind:

“If you see what's happened in other countries that have had contraceptives, they use them first of all and the birth rates go down,” she said at the time. “The question is could it have come down even more quickly?”

Although she swore her campaign was “not about population control,” Gates' goals are the same as those who conducted the mass sterilizations of Indian men on railway platforms in the 70s and who continue to sterilize Indian women today en masse to get the birth rate down.

For Gates, success is not measured in access to clean water or energy or in the development of infrastructure or political freedom, it is measured in access to drugs, drugs she and her husband hold stock in: contraceptives and vaccines. Their success is measured by exporting what most western countries are facing as social catastrophe: demographic decline.

So long as there is no satisfactory answer as to why the West is facing an infertility crisis, questions about the long-term impact of the HPV vaccine on human fertility are not only fair and reasonable, but the future is very bleak if we do not answer them.

Read the full article at the Children's Medical Safety Research Institute.

The Children's Medical Safety Research Institute (CMSRI) is a medical and scientific collaborative established to provide research funding for independent studies on causal factors underlying the chronic disease and disability epidemic.

Comment on this article at VaccineImpact.com.

Leaving a lucrative career as a nephrologist (kidney doctor), Dr. Suzanne Humphries is now free to actually help cure people. In this autobiography she explains why good doctors are constrained within the current corrupt medical system from practicing real, ethical medicine. FREE Shipping Available! Order here.

Medical Doctors Opposed to Forced Vaccinations – Should Their Views be Silenced?

eBook – Available for immediate download.

One of the biggest myths being propagated in the compliant mainstream media today is that doctors are either pro-vaccine or anti-vaccine, and that the anti-vaccine doctors are all “quacks.”

However, nothing could be further from the truth in the vaccine debate. Doctors are not unified at all on their positions regarding “the science” of vaccines, nor are they unified in the position of removing informed consent to a medical procedure like vaccines.

The two most extreme positions are those doctors who are 100% against vaccines and do not administer them at all, and those doctors that believe that ALL vaccines are safe and effective for ALL people, ALL the time, by force if necessary.

Very few doctors fall into either of these two extremist positions, and yet it is the extreme pro-vaccine position that is presented by the U.S. Government and mainstream media as being the dominant position of the medical field.

In between these two extreme views, however, is where the vast majority of doctors practicing today would probably categorize their position. Many doctors who consider themselves “pro-vaccine,” for example, do not believe that every single vaccine is appropriate for every single individual.

Many doctors recommend a “delayed” vaccine schedule for some patients, and not always the recommended one-size-fits-all CDC childhood schedule. Other doctors choose to recommend vaccines based on the actual science and merit of each vaccine, recommending some, while determining that others are not worth the risk for children, such as the suspect seasonal flu shot.

These doctors who do not hold extreme positions would be opposed to government-mandated vaccinations and the removal of all parental exemptions.

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goldeagleprice · 7 years ago

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Queen unites Scandinavia – sort of

Coins in 14th and early 15th century Sweden were issued only occasionally and in small numbers, the bulk of the commerce in the Baltic region being conducted with German and English money. This is a silver ortug, we’d call it a penny, I guess, struck in Stockholm for Eric of Pomerania. (Photos courtesy Haljak Coin Auction, Tallinn, Estonia. www.ghcoin.eu)

By Bob Reis

We were talking about Albert of Mecklenburg, a German interloper who was recruited by a faction in Sweden to be a puppet king, ruled perhaps somewhat injudiciously, his incompetence setting in motion other political activities by the other interested power position, specifically the Danish crown, the Norwegian crown, and the Swedish nobles, or rather, some of them.

I find it helpful to think of those movers and shakers back then as big time gang leaders, constrained more by necessity than by legal or ethical considerations. An extreme oversimplification, I know, but still: they were individual people with the asserted right to do whatever they wanted. They were all the time coveting and resenting and scheming and fighting. Our leadership these days somewhat pretends to consult we who don’t lead and to do what they do for our benefit. Back then no, it was personal glory. The peasants are going to live and die for that.

There you are tilling your field by hand. Here comes the king’s guard, “Come with us,” you don’t say, “My wife’s having a baby as we speak,” or “I broke my thumb yesterday.” You just go. They march you alon and give you a pole or something. There you are, somewhere, trying to kill someone just like you who’s trying to kill you back.

We had been discussing late 14th century Swedish history. Up to now the situation, summarized to a fare-thee-well, was this: three kingdoms, all the monarchs related by blood or marriage, Sweden the backward child of the bunch, Denmark closest thing to the wise elder. Finland was populated by wild tribes according to the general opinion back then. There was a commercial confederation of German merchant towns, the Hanseatic League, that was acting something like later colonial enterprises did: traveling abroad, making trade deals with locals, establishing settlements, eventually accruing mercenaries to enforce their contracts. There got to be a lot of Hansas in Stockholm, and on Gotland island. Their opinions got to be important.

Let me write about Margaret of Denmark, the person who set the stage for the drama of 15th century Scandinavia. She was the last child of the Danish king, betrothed at age 6 to one Haakon, 18-year- old son of the king of both Sweden and Norway, Magnus IV (of Norway) and VII (of Sweden). You see what they’re trying to do there, right?

Various military and diplomatic adventures proceeded while Margaret was growing up. There was civil war in Sweden involving the king and another of his sons. Denmark got involved in favor of the father, but the kid died, and it wasn’t as if Valdemar of Denmark and Magnus of Sweden were friends or anything, so the marriage contract between daughter of Denmark and son of Norway and Sweden was put in a cabinet, the Danish troops sent to help the Swedish king repurposed to poach Swedish territory, such as Scania, separated from Denmark by about 20 miles of water, and Gotland island, the commercial key to the Baltic sea.

Swedish Magnus, being on the outs with Denmark, must naturally now be allied with the Hansa, and a German duke’s boy was found for Margaret, but, they say, the boat she was taking to Germany was driven by bad weather to an island where an archbishop heard about it and declared the German contract illegal, far as he was concerned the original contract with Haakon, son of Magnus, was still in force. Hmm. Anyway, Margaret and Haakon were married the next year, 1363. She was 10 years old. The next year her husband’s father was deposed and driven out of Sweden by Albert of Mecklenburg.

Her father died in 1375, Margaret was 22. She immediately moved to get her baby Olaf elected king of Denmark, herself as regent. The other major contender was a Mecklenburg. Olaf was automatically heir to Norway, and she managed to get him proclaimed rightful heir to Sweden, in formal possession of that interloper, Albert of Mecklenburg.

Margaret’s husband, Haakon, king of Norway, died in 1380, succeeded by her son, Olaf, then 10 years old, Margaret regent. She was well liked by the ruled. Every chance that came up people wanted her to run things for them. But Olaf died in 1387 before his majority. The Norwegians asked her to be regent.

Then she was invited by a Swedish faction to help get rid of Albert of Mecklenburg, which she did, and gave her what she wanted, which was to select the next king of Sweden. Thus did Margaret sweep the table in Scandinavia.

She ruled as regent until 1396/7, in which period she arranged for a nephew, Eric of Pomerania, to be crowned king of all three Scandinavian kingdoms. She engineered a treaty, known to history as the Kalmar Union from the city in which it was announced, that pointed toward a permanent alliance between Denmark, Norway and Sweden. It didn’t last, as we know, but it endured for about a century, and it set a standard for, let us say, perhaps, etiquette in the conduct of political affairs in Scandinavia, a level of comity to be striven for even if impossible to attain.

No coins for this giant of Scandinavian history. Margaret had to find males, or in her case a single male, of proper lineage to sit on the thrones. Eric of Pomerania was born with the name Boguslaw, which is of course Slavic, his Nordic name was in the way of a propaganda exercise to improve his profile. After some years of negotiation he was married to a daughter of the king of England.

What was Eric like? They say he was handsome and outgoing. They also say he was not a great negotiator, and his war making typically did not accomplish his purposes. Disputes in Pomerania and other lands south of Denmark, that is, Germany, did not go well.

His most lasting project was the institution of an enforceable toll system on the only entrances to the Baltic Sea, the revenues going to the crown, that continued until the 19th century, reducing the power of Danish nobles and crimping the potential of Sweden and Norway, as well as burdening the German Hansa League, leading to war with the Hansa and rebellion, first in Sweden, then in Norway. Long story short, he was deposed by the noble councils in all three of his countries. He “retired” to Gotland island, where he made a living as a toll collector (or pirate., depending on your point of view) for 10 years, then went back to Pomerania to sulk, where he died in 1459.

Eric did issue coins, apparently in all of his domains, that is: Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Pomerania. There may be other issues from lands he held ephemerally during his wars. In my web search I found a Hungarian coin that referenced him in its description, though I did not dig deeper on it. In Sweden there were ortugs, the local version of the penny, struck in Stockholm. I saw two types: one an English style facing portrait, the other a three crown shield displaying the union of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Reverse type was an “E” on a long cross. Prices I saw are in the $100-$300 range. They seem to be scarce.

Eric’s replacement, in all three countries, was a nephew, Christopher, of the Neumarkt counts palatine, which is to say, nothing special in the royal candidate field, except he was a relative, known to history as Christopher of Bavaria. He was meant to be a puppet, but he managed to do some things in his few years as monarch of all of Scandinavia, such as establish Copenhagen as capital of Denmark, and defeating a peasant rebellion there, after which he established serfdom. In Sweden there was famine. He died, I read, “suddenly,” in 1348, his widow marrying his successor in Denmark.

There is, for me, a kind of absentminded, get to it later feeling to 14th century Scandinavian coinage. At that time they were making $5 weight gold coins in France and England and the Low Countries, and big silver groats, and lots of pennies. In Germany there was coinage all over the place. In all three Scandinavian countries it was more like, here’s a coin, another one there, a lot of nothing, then another isolated coin issue of low output and limited circulation. It was like they’d put out a coin to prove they could, meanwhile the commerce was being done by Hanseatic Germans with Hanseatic German coins.

I went looking for coins of Christopher of Bavaria, but I didn’t find any.

This whole 14th century Scandinavian scene has for me a backwater feel to it. Like, oh, Somalia might be to Egypt, or Honduras to the USA. The money and power are here, not really caring about the periphery, “there,” even though peripheral events occasionally affect things in the center, from time to time drastically. Center thinks, can’t do much about “there” anyway, this is generally proved over and over again in history. They gonna do what they gonna do anyway.

I think its fair to say that the monarchs and their governments in 14-15th century Scandinavia, with the outstanding exception of Danish queen Margaret, were undistinguished at best, variously incompetent mostly.

Christopher of Bavaria was succeeded by one Karl Knuttsson, who had a connection with the various branches of the Swedish royals so ephemeral that its not, in my opinion, worth describing. You had to have some kind of personal relationship with some former monarch to be allowed to try for a crown. Lars Petersson of the next farm over was not eligible. The only way he could have been would have been for an ancestor to have been knighted by a previous king, then further honored with a hereditary title, then the family would have had to marry into some piece of the royal family. Otherwise forget it.

That’s why people were going around then with fake genealogies from some far away land, maybe they could marry well and off to the races.

Remember how the prince of Monaco became a prince? He signed a letter to the king as “prince,” the royal letter reader let it pass, poof! He’s a prince.

Karl, let’s call him Charles, because in English that is typically how the so-named kings of Sweden are styled, has two numbers by which he is referred: VIII and II. This is because Charles IX of the early 17th century adopted his number based on a fictitious history of Sweden that included a number of monarchs of various names not found in any real records. Bunch of Charleses, Erics, Olafs. So if Charles IX added some numbers to his name because of a fairy tale and MADE IT OFFICIAL, well, that’s the way it is, and other innocent monarchs are going to get their numbers changed too. We don’t know if the Charles who was king of Sweden after Christian of Bavaria thought of himself as Charles II or just as Charles, but to us, today, he is Charles VIII.

We’ll discuss him and his paltry coinage next time.

This article was originally printed in World Coin News. >> Subscribe today.

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• The Standard Catalog of World Coins, 1601-1700 is your guide to images, prices and information on coins from so long ago.

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jimbroadstreet-blog · 8 years ago

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English Language

A Treatise on the English Language Jim Broadstreet, sr.

A beautiful hodge-podge conglomeration. A gift of many gods and squires. A collection of words and sounds from greatly disparate sources.

It is one of those situations where the extant is more mysterious than fiction could ever be. Had a group of linguists set out to formulate a new verbal tool of communication and produced what is now known as English its members would have had to have been given high marks for ingenuity but very low ones for discipline. But of course that it not what happened.

As is the case with all phenomena this one has been in the process of undisciplined evolution since before Geoffrey Chaucer. The process continues unabated today.

The author of these words is in love with American English! With all of its lack of coherent discipline there do exist some stringent rules the mastering of which requires a great amount of rote-learning and discerning listening. (If something spoken doesn’t sound right it probably isn’t.) Few people, authors, statesmen, poets or scribes, and certainly including me, ever attain perfection. Those few who come close finally lose the struggle to the perfection itself. Let me offer an example pertaining to both rules and sound:

The great orator Winston Churchill received a letter from some well-meaning student of word-formulation mildly berating him for having, in a speech to Parliament, ended a sentence with a preposition. Churchill’s response was a priceless bit of wit. “Yes Madam” he wrote, “That is the sort of thing up with which I cannot put.” Another bit from this great mind was, when shown a picture of a grandchild, said “now that’s a baby.”

While doing my best to use my language as properly as possible I find myself being much too judgmental about how well others use it. Too picky, I say, because evolution occasionally dictates a bit of bastardization. (And I would submit that bastardizing the English language is a feat in itself.) The most egregious example coming to mind is the necessity (or is it, really?) of bowing to sexist political correctness making singular “he” or “her” into the plural “they”. I love womankind dearly but it seems to me that a blanket statement could be issued from somewhere on high that we strugglers do not mean to be offensive but we believe that the protection of our language is even more important than the possible slight slight to femininity … the double word usage purposeful even though spell-check underlines one with a red stripe.

On the rare occasion when I am asked to speak to a group I do declare that belief. It doesn’t seem to have lost me female friends.

Now I will reverse course almost completely. For all rules and regulations we might impose on ourselves there must be exceptions. Following are a few examples of our difficult language being used, to the best of the user’s abilities; to purvey meaningful sets of thought. One is crudely chiseled into a sandstone cemetery marker. It rests in an old Ozark country church plot. The stone is shaped to sort of depict a person, with shoulders and head. At the left, top side are the letters “sac”. Opposite and separated by the curve of the “head” are the letters “red”. Below is inscribed an approximate accounting of a happening depicted on that tablet. “On june 14 in 1917 At 16 yeres and 3 munths Daniel took the gun frum the rake the trigger got cot on a nale and she fired and this prevalent seen happened.” Imagine the grief and sorrow and the desire to find help in properly spelling that word, for Daniel’s sake … prevalent.

A gentleman I knew, realizing that his death was not so very far off, wrote an abbreviated book of memories for his offspring. He also realized that his life had been more difficult than most, thus interesting to his offspring, growing up dirt poor in a small town and surviving the hardships of the Great Depression and the battlefields in France while coping with a case of influenza in the 1918/19 epidemic. Worst of all, however, was his accidental shooting and killing of his son while in the woods hunting. Though far from “correct” his use of English was somehow eloquent and certainly profound.

And then there are much lighter jewels. Al Capp, though a master wordsmith, used words and phrases of his own making them exactly fit the characters in his comic strip Lil Abner. My favorite is the proclamation of the irrecusable Mamy Yocum, when she was driven to her utmost limit … “Yo has went too fer!” And there was the senator from Dogpatch, one Jack S Phogbound … “There’s no Jack S like our Jack S.”

Some “miss-uses” of the language are, of course, intentional. Read The Jabberwok. My grandfather loved words so much that he often made up his own. For the condition of diarrhea, for instance, he used his words “the random scrauntch.” He would severely berate all dogs with words such as useless and ugly in the most pleasant tones one can imagine. The animals heard the sing-song of his strong baritone voice and believed they were being honored for being in the old man’s presence.

On occasion a malfunctioning bit of English will pop up which simply must be ridiculed. A good example is a sign nailed to a tree south of Branson, Missouri. “Jesus is comming.”

Money speaks loudly. Its usage, however, sometimes has unintended consequences. Following the end of the Second World War the United States emerged as the undisputed financial powerhouse of the world. What that meant, among a multitude of other things, was the U.S. bought and used more of the world’s resources than any other nation. U.S. citizens traveled more than anyone else. The U.S. developed larger and more sophisticated passenger airplanes and led the way to jet propulsion. When lumber was harvested almost anywhere in the world it was done using feet/inches measurements and sold in board footage. Plywood was manufactured in Asia and Africa in fractions of inches. AND, air traffic control towers, all around the globe, even in nations where the U.S. was a cold-war adversary, used English for international flights. The United States of America is an arrogant nation! But much of that is changing. Let’s see what happens.

Any work of poetry or prose worth its salt is quickly translated into American English because America is where more people buy books. The author, along with my first wife, Lydia, spent a year, plus, in Finland. We earned enough money to get by “teaching” conversation Americanized English. Most of our “students” were executives in Finish industries such as paper mills. I also went to the home of the commanding general of what remained of the Finish Air Force. (Finland had been decimated by the Soviet Union during World War II and not allowed to rearm to any significant degree until the final “war reparations” payment was made in 1957.) These people were intent on learning conversational English. Money talks and the U.S. was where the money was.

Now, in 2017, the educated youth of Finland use Americanized English as their conversation communications, most without a hint of accent. They shun the highly disciplined Finnish and embrace a tongue that requires considerable figuring-out. The watching of American T.V. and movies are seldom dubbed into Finnish and the captions are not paid much attention. This mass export of our entertainment is another huge reason for Americanized English spreading so far and wide.

Are there societal ramifications involved in our language being so irrational and difficult to master? I had not thought about that before yesterday when a learned friend of mine, Jerry Norris, casually mentioned … in exactly what context I don’t remember … that

Modern Hebrew has relatively few words. Hebrew and Arabic are the two official languages of Israel. There are, I assume, even fewer words in some of the primitive languages in such places as Borneo, equatorial Africa and some Amazonian forests.

Does this range of language scope impact society and how does it affect United States foreign policy? I will offer these few thoughts on the subject.

Even taking into consideration the popular spelling bees where young folks demonstrate almost unbelievable powers of memory, it is unlikely that any individual has ever known the meaning of every word in use in American English. Given that, it is very likely that even someone with the vocabulary of the editorialist Kathleen Parker will occasionally come into contact with a word previously unknown to her. So some go off to schools of higher learning and, at least hopefully, become more erudite in that regard. Then, returning to society at large, they are judged to be “better spoken” or, if some caution is not used, they might be judged by their past friends as “talking down” or having become ivory tower idiots “without a lick of common sense.”

(One way to see the difference in “sizes” of languages is to compare the bulk of their lexicons, dictionaries and, especially, thesauri.)

This phenomenon of there being too many words, from too diverse origins and, therefore, too many nuances, surely impacts politics. The term “blue collar” is bantered around. And then there are references to the “hinterland”, the “fly over area” and the “rural states.” Now the pollsters and pundits openly divide us as being college educated, or not. It is not difficult to witness that the more educated a population-at-large is the more interest there is in a society larger than its immediate surrounds. (That enlightenment, I believe, can be attained either by formal schooling or simply by the dominate attitude prevalent in the “blue” regions.) NOW – can a higher quality vernacular derived from a higher level of education be equated with more caring for one’s fellow man – or what is generally referred to as “progressivism” or “liberalism”? I firmly believe that, yes, it can, but the broaching of that hypothesis is not generally well accepted. I believe that the best expenditure of money, by any nation or society, has to be on educating the populace. It is well established that liberal-arts, science, professional and trade educations result in higher rates of employment, less crime/incarceration and overall better environments.

There are, today, two men in the positions of being at least titular national, and to some degree world, leaders ... Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel and Donald Trump of the United States. The Israeli need not rely on his language of few words. The American totally lacks the ability to command his language of many words, only a smattering of which he has committed to memory. Netanyahu, educated in the U.S. (and other parts of the world) speaks, fluently and eloquently (though sometimes not very sensibly), in several languages. Trump, who does not have time to read books, seems to have a severely limited vocabulary made up of about fifty percent adjectives and superlatives which he is able, at least in his own mind, to enhance by simple reiteration. From his main source of enlightenment, Fox News, he can attain, by ear, all the facts concerning world events, past, present and to-come. His minions are said to bring him everything praiseworthy from the more stellar printed news outlets such as Breitbart News and Sunday tabloids.

The editorialist George Will is by no means a flaming liberal but Donald Trump is simply too much for him to ignore. In a recent piece Will used these words to begin: “It is urgent for Americans to think and speak clearly about Donald Trump’s inability to do either. This seems to be not a mere disinclination but a disability. It is not merely the result of intellectual sloth but of an untrained mind bereft of information and married to stratospheric self-confidence.” Isn’t that great? While I’m at it I will include more of this Will article, not so much to emphasize Trump’s atrocious use of English, but to demonstrate just how limited this man’ storehouse of knowledge apparently is. Trump actually stated these two unbelievable miscarriages of history: “Frederick Douglass is an example of somebody who’s done an amazing job and is getting recognized more and more, I notice.” Will wrote of this insane group of words … “Because Trump is syntactically challenged, it was possible and tempting to see this not as a historical howler about a man who died 122 years ago, but as just another of Trump’s fender benders, this one involving verb tenses.” The other one was Trump saying that Andrew Jackson was “angry about the Civil War” though that conflict did not begin until 16 years after Jackson’s death.

But perhaps we should try to be more tolerant of this strange man with his affliction of solipsism. He was, after all, able to become one of the world’s leading authorities on the history of China/Korean Peninsula relations in a ten-minute conversation with the present leader of China, President Xi. If Trump’s “university” was still in operation, he could, I suppose, teach at least a six credit-hour course on the subject to those who are considerably slower learners. And then, too, this brilliant man would be able to fabricate any missing pieces from the ten-minute lesson and believe them to be absolute, not alternate or fake, facts. This ability is a product of Solipsism.

Oh please! Enough of that and back to the English language:

(But here is another aside that I believe warrants mentioning. I just re-read the preceding words and found many “errors” according to this computer. Some of them I corrected. To some of them I said to-hell-with-it. It is my conviction that if “spell check” can be allowed to so sanitize the language that no creativity can seep in we will have lost too much.)

German is a harsh language; so much so that the users do not need to add swear words to enhance it. French, on the other hand, is so soft that it seems to me more a noise than a language. (It’s not a wonder that those two peoples have had a few differences in the past!)

The Queen’s English, Australian English, Jamaican English and American English, and other Englishes, are so different in inflections, emphases, and even spelling, that it is said that as close friends as England and America have been since about 1812 the only thing separating the two nations is a common language.

Let’s look at a few rules that have, somehow, come to be accepted for use in the English language … keeping in mind, of course, that “rules exist to be broken.” Some are not rules at all. Huh?

Take, for instance, the comma … please. Now in the 89th year of my life I have given up hope on the subject of commas. Some of my dearest friends are emeritus professors and retired teachers. The sage, and my friend, Marge Bramer, will probably take time from her extremely busy life to read this --- if for no other reason than to be polite. She could red line all sorts of transgressions on the language and as highly as I regard her intellect and learning I will probably simply fall back on excuses like that it’s an age thing. But, seriously, it seems to me that the comma is best used sparingly to make the sentence sound right. Lately I have taken up the use of …’s as a substitute for the comma or colon or about anything else I think works at the time. Nobody seems to question it, even my spell check. Am I somewhat disappointed? Maybe

There are more exact rules such as that it’s i before e except after c … but don’t rely on that too much. And the rule that a preposition must not be used to end a sentence with. How did that sound to you? The damned spell check threw green ink, or some kind of compound?, at it. And see? How can a ? be used like that in the middle of a sentence?

It has long been a puzzlement to me that our words stolen from French can end in “in”, like the composer Chopin’s name, but be pronounced as though it is “an.” But our words that are actually French, with silent letters (what the hell are they there for, anyway?) must be recognized as being French or our pronunciation will seem, to the linguistic snob to be gauche. I would still rather ride a train into a de pot than a depo because it’s simply more honest. But some people who use languages other than English would rather fight than give them up, or let them become too adulterated. Remember the salty old uncle of the bride in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding? In his defense of his ancient and beloved language, stated that “all words have their origins in Greek.” Some wise-ass young woman asked if that included Kimono.

A few years ago there was a fleeting movement to attempt to “clean up” America’s slang with its abundance of “four letter words” and swearing. “Only people with limited intellect and knowledge of the language resort to the use of offensive words”- they said. At the time it seemed incumbent on me to allow as how that seemed to be pissin’well true, goddamit. But modern music, especially rap, has mooted that cause anyway.

My wife get’s exasperated when I argue with her because, she says, I can debate with her beyond her ability to sensibly retort. I have attempted to argue without playing word games or using the language to my advantage. It doesn’t work.

There is a difference in playing with words and playing on words. As I have stated before, I do love the English language. I also love debate and I also love, sometimes, to respond to cute little bits of pseudo psychology. One such bit, as I deem it, is considering the breakup of someone’s romance – “Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” Using that “deep” philosophical question, and in light of the facts that humans practice animal husbandry, and we are descended from both gatherers and hunters, I often offer vegetarian acquaintances a play of words with the “love” question: “Is it better to have lived and been eaten than never to have lived at all?”

In days ahead I might decide to add more to these words as examples of fine, humorous or powerful writings come my way.

Until then I will leave you with this: What a beautiful bird the frog are / When he stand he sit almost / And when he sit he sit on what he ain’t got / almost.

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