#not only welsh BUT also from our world

[nadiajustbe]

Every single enemy of Ingary, trying to figure out the secret code which Royal Wizards have been using for months: What kind of combination is this? Is that a encryption?? A reverse spelling?! A secret alphabet..?

Ben, in Welsh: Do you think they'll ever find out?

Howl, responding (also in Welsh): I think it's gonna take them a while.

[dykepuffs]

How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?

(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")

You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.

(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)

Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”

And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.

Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.

So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.

Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)

It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.

So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.

First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?

If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)

How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?

What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")

If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?

When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?

If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?

Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?

And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?

Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[theastrophysicistnextdoor]

The Ineffable Detective Agency presents: Decoding 1941 Hell – The Hidden Morse Messages

The Good Omens team never fails to surprise us: In the Hell scenes set in 1941, there are subtle beeps in the background that many might have missed: morse code messages! 

We took the time to decode these messages from about 5 minutes of the show – some parts are easy to identify, some parts are really hard due to overlying sounds or noises. 

We used the 5.1 audio and selected only the channel with the morse signals. Check out an easy snippet – which line is it? :)

Then, we applied high- and low-pass filters to emphasize the code’s pitch around 1360 Hz. Some of us have pretty sharp ears, some of us worked with the frequency spectra to mark short and long signals as well as pauses in between. 

Here is what we have heard or seen, together with some facts and thoughts on the lines. Let us know what you think!

S2E4 06:19 to 08:23 “Have a miserable eternity”

Here are the pieces we have successfully decoded: 

HAVE A DREADFUL ETERNITY

We are wondering why this is different to the text via loudspeaker as well as Furfur’s “have a miserable eternity”...

TOMMY’S A LEGEND

Do we know a Tommy?

1) There's the Welsh magician/comedian Tommy Cooper (his magical act specialized in magic tricks that appeared to fail), who was the inspiration for the red fez in the magic shop. Cooper died live on television suffering a heart attack. :(

2) There's also the lead character Tommy in Brigadoon, the plot of which feels seriously GO-coded. There is a magic village hidden outside time that only appears in Scotland once every 100 years and is connected to the rest of the world with a bridge, outsiders who find "clues about the village and its people that make no sense", and a plot about unlikely lovers who are separated (because one "can't just leave everything in the real world behind"), and an ending that reunites the lovers against all odds because of the strength of their love ("I told ye, if you love someone deeply enough, anything is possible ... even miracles.")

PAUL’S OUR MIXING HERO

Could that be the Re-Recording Mixer PAUL McFADDEN?

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABAN

The phrase "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" is a quote from Dante’s Inferno, Prelude to Hell, Canto III, Vestibule of Hell: Dante passes through the gate of Hell, which bears an inscription ending with the phrase "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate". So, the minisode is THE place where we get quotes from the two most famous literary accounts of Hell – with Furfur's quotation of Paradise Lost in the dressing room at the Windmill Theater: "In dubious battle on the Plains of Heaven". 

S2E4 09:16 to 10:09 “Processing the Nazis”

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION

S2E4 11:07 - 13:12: “The offer to return as Zombies”

These two minutes are very tricky: while in the first half it is ok-ish to identify the signals in the spectrum, the second half is overlaid by so much noise… – yes, we are calling the dialogues and sounds in hell noise now :D – that we chose a different approach. 

It looked as if the sequence starts from the beginning, so we compared both parts, and now we are quite sure that it is the same pattern. 

DO NOT LICK THE WALLS HEAVEN LOOKS DOWN ON YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE PATHETIC ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION DO NOT LICK THE WALLS HEAVEN LOOKS DOWN ON YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE PATHETIC ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION DO NOT LICK THE WALLS HEAVEN LO …

So those are the sections we are pretty certain we have correct. However, there is one section we are still unsure on - maybe you can help?

Back to S2E4 06:19 to 08:23

We have been fighting hard with the first six seconds, before “HAVE A DREADFUL ETERNITY” and we think it is:

SHE’S IN MA PHONE

Who are we talking about now?

Do you have any other ideas of what this could be? If it is “She’s in ma phone”, what does that mean? Or is the S just noise and it starts with an H? Or even with a B – BE’S IN MA PHONE?

So, what are your thoughts on all of these messages? Why go to the effort of putting morse code here? Is it a fun easter egg, or something more? And why say “dreadful eternity” in morse when the quote used in the show is “miserable eternity”? We have so many questions!

Spoiler: There is more code hidden throughout the series.  Let us know what you see or hear!

-... .    -.- .. -. -..    - ---    . .- -.-. ….    --- - …. . .-. 

An amazing joint effort with @noneorother, @kimberleyjean, @thebluestgreen, and @embracing-the-ineffable at the @ineffable-detective-agency (with the incredible @maufungi, @somehow-a-human, @lookingatacupoftea, @komorezuki, @havemyheartaziraphale, and @dunkthebiscuit)

See more of our posts, plus a collection of Clues and metas from all over the fandom, here.

[sgiandubh]

Hi! 

Fitness Anon here…

Just had to run a few errands this morning and there I spotted him - I will call him ‘local S’. Whoever he is, is not really important at all. It is about the perception - or the non-perception“ - of the  ‘rest of us’ towards him. 

He is an actor who lives in our neighborhood with his family - played leading roles in some TV series in the last 20 years and also plays theatre frequently. I think he has the same level of recognition C and S may have in Scotland. 

The first time after moving here I met him at the post office. But with a toddler and a crying baby in tow I did not recognize him immediately. A few weeks later a friend of mine (who grew up here) and I went to a park with our kids and  ‘local S’ jogged past us. I asked my friend if he was the one I thought he was. She looked a little bit confused at first and then said: Yes, and he is living here since a few years! Nothing else - no chatting, no gossip - nothing. And that hasn't changed to this day.

‘Local S’ lives here and is part of our community. None of us would think of taking a photo of him waiting in the line at the local bakery or anywhere else. And we certainly wouldn't post anything on social media about seeing or meeting him. None of us are impressed when we meet him or ask him for a selfie. It's also not a bad thing that none of us here are interested in 5 minutes of Instagram fame.

In the situations where I meet him, I never realise him as an actor and semi-famous. Because his every day appearance is completely different from his TV roles. In his most well-known TV role, he had to wear an unusual costume like Sam. So when you see hin in his normal attire, he looks totally different.  

I meet him in normal everyday situations, just as I do with many other people. This could be one of the reasons why we don't consider the ‘local S’ to be famous. Meeting him in a jogging suit, sweating and buying rolls has nothing glamorous at all. The other reason is probably that he doesn't appear to be recognised as someone famous. He lives a completely low-key everyday life. Sometimes he is featured in the relevant magazines to promote his TV roles. As far as I'm aware he hardly talks about his life at home there, only about his projects.

What I have just described probably also widely corresponds to Sam's (and C's) life in Scotland. They are known in their community and neighborhood. However, it is not considered that an appearance of them is a sensation. They are part of the everyday life there, just as ‘local S’ is part of my everyday life. And that is not glamorous or exciting - neither in Scotland nor anywhere else in Europe or in the world. That's why probably little or nothing is known about their everyday lives at all. 

Dear (returning) Fitness Anon,

EVERY SINGLE WORD OF WHAT YOU WROTE. And then, some more.

While living in Paris, I spotted (not necessarily in that order):

a) Kristin Scott Thomas, at the (now defunct) posh, Waitrose French wannabe, INNO supermarket, in Montparnasse. Her caddy chock-a- block full with Tŷ Nant Welsh spring water (very classy cobalt blue bottle and a novelty, in 1997). Now, The English Patient is easily in my top 5 movies. I chuckled in my Barbour and quickly busied myself with paying and getting out of that store ASAP. Everybody knew who she was - TEP's movie posters were all over town and in each and every métro station. Nobody flinched.

b) Daniel Auteuil, one of my favorite French actors. Formidable in Patrice Chéreau's La Reine Margot (and pretty much everything else), insane chemistry with the beautiful Isabelle Adjani. He was hailing a taxi, somewhere near Avenue de la Motte-Picquet, steps away from my flat, circa 2001. I grinned like an idiot and passed my way.

c) Catherine Deneuve, The Legend. I already wrote about it, a while ago. We were in line, at the movies, I (loudly) betted it was her and she smiled. That's all. And that is all it should be.

About my Greek experiences, I have written here, by the way: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748463393458061312/im-interested-to-know-whether-you-came-to-enjoy?source=share . Even in a warm, expansive Southern European country nobody gave a flying duck, ever. Just humorously mentioned seeing them having coffee around town, while gossiping, Nothing more.

You'd have to be overly obsessed and/or really parochial to think people who live in the same neighborhood with actors, business tycoons or politicians would ever give a damn about it, every single time they spot those people somewhere.

[kurishiri]

Roger’s replies to (some of) his chat keywords on LINE

this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

these aren’t all the keywords, but it’s probably the majority👌✨

also if you’re not aware of it, this is like a little event they’re holding on LINE where sending certain “key words” will trigger a response from Roger!

1. ロジャーさん

💬: Roger

🍻: Did you call me? Don’t worry, I’m listening veeery closely.

2. おはよう

💬: Good morning

🍻: Morning, lil lady. Breakfast is the first step to feeling energized. So go and eat, even if it’s just a little.

3. こんにちは

💬: Hello

🍻: Haha, what’s going on, acting so formal like that? I think it’s great you’re always able to greet me. After all, greetings are fundamental for humans. Guess I could learn a thing or two from you.

4. おやすみ

💬: Good night

🍻: No matter how the day went, the fact you lived today to the fullest is an undeniable truth. You were great. Good night, come and see me again tomorrow.

5. ありがとう

💬: Thank you

🍻: Thank you, too. Hearing you thanking me makes me so happy, I don’t feel like myself.

6. 褒めて

💬: Praise me

🍻: Haha, you’re pretty honest and cute. You’re always doing well. And even if no one else is watching, I will be the only one to realize your efforts. …You did well.

7. 好きです

💬: I like you

🍻: An honest and good girl like yourself needs to be rewarded. So, between a kiss, a kiss, and a kiss—— well, take your pick.

8. 愛してます

💬: I love you

🍻: Who loves who, now? …Haha, you’re just so cute, I couldn’t help but tease you a lil.

9. 話そう

💬: Let’s talk

🍻: I was also thinking I wanted to talk to you, lil lady. So, come here, and let’s take our time talking about lots of things.

10. キスして

💬: Kiss me

🍻: Heh, aren’t you a bold one. Okay then, let’s kiss. Even if we do more than a kiss, they say you reap what you sow, lil lady.

11. お腹すいた

💬: I’m hungry

🍻: Anyways, first things first, eat some meat. I know of a place near the Big Ben with some good food. We can head over there and eat ‘til we’re full. ——Well, let’s go.

12. 犬

💬: Dog

🍻: Dogs are a miracle to this world. They’re so lovable and soft… it’s hard not to love them.

13. ビール

💬: Beer

🍻: Beer is the source of life! Time to drink! (he downs some beer) Pwah— Ahh… I feel alive again…

14. 筋肉

💬: Muscle

🍻: Muscles, muscles! [1]

15. コーギー

💬: Corgi

🍻: That’s my dog’s breed. They’re formally called Welsh Corgis, and they’re said to be bright and lively with very social characters. …Anyway, corgis are cute, period.

16. ボクシング

💬: Boxing

🍻: It’s something like my hobby, or maybe more like my life work. Boxing doesn’t have your run-of-the-mill kind of momentum, so I’d recommend it.

NOTES:

[1] when you send him the word [筋肉] (kin’niku), which translates to (a general) “muscle” in English, Roger replies with [マッスル、マッスル！] (massuru, massuru!) which is the “Japanese English” (katakana) version of the word “muscle.” So, I just differentiated them by like adding an ‘s’ at the end like “muscles, muscles!”

[naturistgirl]

Daron, Celtic Oak Goddess - Reprise

I would like to revisit this theme and anyway, it is a good excuse to post more naked woodland pictures. Here goes :-)

Here I stand in the lower Oak Grove of our 'Wild Wood'. It is one of the nearest pieces of local countryside to my house; only a few minutes walk away. I am a naturist and I wear almost nothing wherever I go, yet I love most of all, to walk completely naked here. Somehow it energises me, heals stress and promotes calm.

I love to touch, feel and listen to these trees. The sounds are subtle; a creak of wood bending; the rustle of leaves; the warm rough skin of the tree; in Autumn, the soft fall of an acorn and the flutter of falling leaves.

We are currently in the latter part of the 7th, complete lunar month of the year. Traditionally, this is the Oak Moon. The Ancient Britons worshipped an 'Oak Goddess', Daron whom I have mentioned in an earlier blog. The long lived Oak itself was held to be a symbol of wisdom and also fertility. It was one of the Celtic sacred trees.

Like my husband I speak Welsh. In our language, 'Oak' is 'Derwen'. Our word for Druid comes from the same root. References to the Oak exist in place names across the Celtic World, for example Cill Dara (Kildare) in Eire. Across our various nations the word for this magnificent tree is almost the same: Irish, Dair; Scots Gaelic, Darach; Manx, Daragh; Cornish Derowen; Breton, Dervenn.

The ancient Celts had a respect for their environment. They also believed that they were custodians of the nature; not her master. We hold our lovely woodlands in Trust; not only for my two lovely daughters but for the whole world. I am not ashamed to be a naked tree hugger, no matter how quirky others might think I am. We have one world and one life. I live mine naked and respect the world I'm in.

Call me ridiculously romantic but as I walk naked, hand in hand, with my husband here, I feel a special honour and blessing beneath these trees. This is our sacred place and I am so pleased to share it here with you in writing.

Thank you to my Welsh Prince of a husband for the images. He loves this place as much as I do. If you are a nemophilist and naturist like myself, or just naturally inclined; please like, share and re-blog with our blessing. Positive comments and questions are always welcome.

If you just prefer to enjoy the naked outdoor pics and ignore the story; no worries; that's okay too (if a little sad). Please like and appreciate. I don't judge, even if you have a completely empty blog with a strangely sexual name to it :-)

Jane xx

[scifrey]

ART THREAD

I have had the very great pleasure of commissioning some beautiful art to celebrate the release of my new novel Nine-Tenths. I'm going to share them all in this thread (and hopefully add to it if I'm lucky enough to be graced with more) so you can appreciate the talent of these incredible artists.

by Christopher Winkelaar

Nine-Tenths is set in a world where all the nobility in Europe are homo draconis - shape-shifting dragons who have the ability to take human form. Every culture in the world have dragons living among the humans, but the European and Asian nations are the only ones where dragons were historically elevated to the roles of monarchs, nobles, and emperors.

In a world where the American Colonies rejected British rule, this meant they were also rejecting draconic protection--and so while they won their Independence in 1793, they were soundly trounced in the War of 1812, losing all of New England, including New York State, to the British. They were absorbed into the Canadas, except for New York City, which was reclaimed by the Dutch and re-renamed New Amsterdam.

The Canadian colonies expanded west, as they historically did in our world, through a series of broken treaties with the Indigenous peoples of the continent, and the reprehensible colonialist practices which put the settlers in power today. It also means they were able to expand further south, without the Americans to bump up against.

This also meant that the Americans were unable to expand as far south and west as in our world, coming up against Indigenous dragon-protected lands, such as the Oniagara, or Aztec and Incan empires, which grew further north after Spanish contact, and flourished.

Unlike in the current version of Canada, the land was legislatively divided into much smaller provinces than currently exist, each overseen by a hereditary draconic Lieutenant Governor, who report to the draconic Governor of the Canadas, who in turn reports to the House of Lords in England (also dragons). Each province is divided into Duchies, Earldoms, and Marquessates, presided over by a noble dragon family.

As dragons are long-lived, the current Queen of England is Elizabeth (the first one). As she has not yet passed, the Kingdom of Scotland as yet remains separate from England. Ireland too is independent, the Irish dragons having beaten back the English ones. However, Wales remains a satellite colony of England, as the betrayal which brought about it's subjugation and the trickery around the hereditary title "Prince of Wales" still occurred. (This an important plot point).

by @seancefemme

This is the first piece of art I commissioned for the novel, and you'll note it's now become the cover art!

Meet the heroes of our tale: barista and disaster bi Colin Levesque, stuck in the middle of his quarter-life crisis and crushing on his cafe regular, Welsh dragon Dav, the Marquis of Niagara (though of course, Colin doesn't know he's the Marquis, and thinks Dav is just some minor noble with nothing better to do all day than hang out and read).

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin works at Beanevolence, an indie cafe in downtown St. Catharine's, in the province of Upper Canada (Southern Ontario in our world). It's owned by his bestie Hadi, and he was only supposed to be a barista until he'd graduated. But now he has his Sustainable Tourism degree, and no clue what to do next. He feels completely stuck. Luckily he has Dav to distract him.

Except that one day Dav distracts him too well, which results in a kitchen fire. As an apology for the inferno, and to help the cafe get back on it's feet while the repairs are under way, Dav volunteers as the new bean roaster, creating incredible and (and ultimately social-media viral) coffee roasts with his fire-breath.

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin and Dav start a flirtation at work.

Which leads to...

by @teejaystumbles

Luxurious dates and late-night smoochies.

by @pinkpiggy93

Which also goes a little bit viral. See, it turns out that the Marquis of Niagara usually keeps a low profile, and his sudden romance with a human has the gossip rags and tabloids all in a tizzy.

But more than that, it puts Dav under the scrutiny of Francis Simcoe. He's the Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, a dragon with a hate-on for Dav, and the perfect ammunition to ruin his happiness.

Because, you see, it's against dragonic rules for dragons to be seen to be laboring in service of humans... and Dav's new gig at Beanevolence is about to--forgive the pun--land him in hot water.

➡️ Read Nine-Tenths Here ⬅️

[msmoony7]

When Stars Align Chapter 1: Collide

Fic Summary: James Potter finds his perfect and orderly life upturned by the arrival of Regulus Black, former Beauxbatons student who fled France with his brother, Sirius, to escape their abusive family. Unexpectedly, their two worlds align. While James is trying to make sense of the unplanned, Regulus is trying not to fall in love.

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin, a boy hyper focused on school with no room for anything else, never imagined himself as a romantic. To him, it was distant and unimaginable. After Sirius Black enters his life, he finds himself entangled in an unsuspected romance, with the once unseen possibility of love unfolding before his eyes.

I'll be posting this fic on ao3 and the first two chapter are up now! but i'm posting the first chapter here too :) hope u like it!

When Stars Align - Chapter 1 - msmoony7 - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

Wake up, eat a breakfast large enough to feed an army, say goodbye to his parents at the train station, sit in a train compartment with his friends on the way to school, catch up with everything they missed over the summer apart. Every September first for the last six years has been the same for James Potter. Routine keeps him sane, and he holds familiarity close to his heart.

He expects his seventh and final year to be all the same as all the others and it was starting out so. He got up bright and early, he has always been a morning person, and went downstairs to greet his mother who was making breakfast. 

“Mornin’ Mum,” he says while giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Mornin’ Dad.” He ruffles his dad’s hair before sitting down at the table. Normally, he would help his mum out with breakfast and setting the table. But on September 1st, she loves getting everything together herself for her not so baby boy. Breakfast is ready quickly and the three of them eat while chatting about anything and everything to fill up their last few moments together before James is off to school once more.

“I remember your first trip to Hogwarts like it was yesterday.” His dad starts reminiscing over past September 1st’s as he does each year. “You cried the whole way to King’s Cross,” he adds teasingly.

“You remind me every year,” James smiles back. His first trip to Hogwarts is one he won’t forget. Scared and young, he had no friends and had never been away from home or his parents before. He cried the entire trip to the train station and almost the entire train ride, only to be consoled by a small boy by the name of Peter Pettigrew. Quiet Remus Lupin was also in the train compartment but was no help to James and quite literally just stared at him as he sobbed. The sorting ceremony came next and thankfully, all three boys were sorted into the same house. Having a familiar face nearby always helped James out. Since that day, the three have been inseparable. After going through this the first time, his friends have made the trip and distance from home easier. Still, he makes sure to treasure his time home with his family.

After helping his mum clean up, against her wishes, his parents load up the car with his luggage and get ready to leave for the train station. Surely he can get there himself, but his parents want to see him all the way to the train. 

The drive is filled with laughter, which eases James’s nerves. Even after doing this six times before, he still gets anxious about leaving home. Once at the station, the three of them walk inside and prepare to run through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. This has always been James’s favorite part of the entire day.

Once through, he quickly finds the Lupin and Pettigrew Families minus Remus and Peter. 

“How’d summer treat you?” Remus’s dad, Lyall, asks James. His accent is thick and almost too difficult to understand. But after years of being Remus’s friend, he’s caught on to the Welsh twang. Casual chit chat fills the air between James and the adults while James is filled with excitement on the approaching school year. Too excited to see his friends, he says a quick goodbye to the adults as he pulls his parents away to say their goodbyes. 

“I’ll miss you guys,” James says to his parents, holding back tears. This is the worst part, he thinks. And no matter how many times he does it, no matter how many friends are waiting on the train for him, he’ll never be able to do it without tears brimming his eyes. 

“We’ll see you soon, honey.” His mom consoles him, running her thumb across his cheek. 

“Please, no more trouble either,” his dad adds light-heartedly. Over the past years, he and his friends have been given the title of troublemakers in the halls at Hogwarts. “No promises,” he replies, pulling his parents in for one last hug before boarding the train in search of his friends.

Every year on September 1st, the three boys sit in the same compartment they met in. James heads over to their designated spot near the front of the train and yells to his friends as he opens the door. “Remus-” he cuts himself short as he realizes that Remus, in fact, is not in the cart. His eyes lock with a curly black haired boy he’s never seen before. 

“What the fuck is a Remus,” he says annoyed as he looks up from his book. James blushes slightly at his French accent and his attitude. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m looking for my friend Remus. We sit here every year.”

“Okay,” the mystery boy says as he looks back at his book, leaving James standing in silence. “Are you gonna stand there and stare all day? I want to finish this before we get to school.” He says without looking up from his book.

James blushes. “Sorry,” he mutters quietly before shutting the door. It takes a lot to get James to revert into himself, yet this boy did it in less than a minute. 

“James! In here!” James is saved by his friends calling him over a few compartments down.

“James!” Peter yells once he enters the compartment. “How was summer?”

“Amazing, how was yours?” James poses to both boys, trying to include Remus in the catchup. Conversation flows naturally between the three boys and they talk about everything from what books Remus was reading to new quidditch rules passed over the summer. 

“What’s with that boy in our seats?” James asks. 

“No clue,” Remus replies. “Didn’t get more than a sentence from him, not even his name. Knew he wasn’t gonna move so we just sat here.”

“Yeah,” James says quietly.

“It’s okay that we’re not in the same compartment,” Peter says, trying to comfort James, knowing exactly what he’s thinking.

“I know, just that it’s our last year here. It’s kinda sad.”

“We’ll ride the train a few more times before the year’s over. We’ll get there soon, don’t worry.” 

The conversation falls into comfortable silence. Remus goes to read his book and Peter has fallen asleep. James decides this is a good time to stretch his legs and walk around. Staying in one place too long is one of his least favorite activities. He gets out of the compartment quietly and begins walking down the narrow hallways of the train. The sun is setting and everyone is in their prospective areas, many of which are sleeping. Sleeping on the train was always difficult for James, so walking was how he passed the time this late into the evening. 

His train car was near the front of the train, so he decided to walk towards the back. He glanced into every compartment he passed if he was able to; He was a sucker for people watching. He noticed friends in his year, students in the younger years, and first years who looked scared out of their minds. It wasn’t until he got to the very last compartment in the car that he stopped in his tracks. Isolated in the very last car, he’s met by a boy who looks scarily similar to the one in his usual seat. Weird, he thinks. At first, James is intimidated by his appearance. He’s wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, black Doc. Martens, and has messy eyeliner smudged across his eyes. The boy notices James staring and opens the compartment door, smiling, which puts James at ease. 

“Sirius Black,” he smiles. “What’s yours?”

“James Potter,” he says tentatively. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around here.”

“Just transferred here from Beauxbatons. You wouldn’t have happened to see a pretentious twat in here reading that book?” 

“Pretentious twat. That’s a little aggressive, don’t ya think?”

“If you had a younger brother that shadows you with academics so hard that he literally jumps to your year, you’d understand.” 

“I did see a boy reading a book. I gotta be honest, he kinda scared me.”

“Typical Regulus fashion.” Regulus, that’s a nice name, he thinks

“So, you’re not sitting with your brother?” James questions as he takes the seat across from Sirius.

“No,” he replies, “he likes being alone and he walked me to the opposite end of the train to ensure we aren’t near each other. I know better than to bother him. Saves us the argument.” James nods in response. 

“So, what was Beauxbatons like?” 

“Fine, just needed a change I guess,” Sirius mutters quickly. James takes note of his change in expression and changes the conversation.

“Hogwarts is great, you’ll love it here.”

“Thanks, I hope so. It took a lot to get here and I know Regulus will be displeased if it’s any less than he expects.”

“I’m sure it’ll be better than he expects.”

The two boys spend the next few hours talking. Turns out, they have a lot in common. Laughter fills the compartment and James knows that he’s found a new best friend. After Sirius tells a joke that has James gripping his sides in laughter, he hears the door to the compartment open. One look up and everything in him stops. His laughter, his breathing. He swears even his heart stops.

“Oh god not you again,” Regulus says while looking at James.

“Me again!” James teases. After speaking with Sirius for hours, he feels to have gained some confidence when speaking to Regulus that he was lacking the first time. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother? He’s a joy.”

“Can you leave? I need to speak with him.”

“Dramatic as always, Reggie,” Sirius says.

“I told you not to call me that,” Regulus says sternly.

“Told you,” Sirius says looking at James now, “he’s a twat.” 

“I should get back to my friends now,” James says. “You guys are welcome to come over,” he adds.

“Thanks, but I better stay with him. He seems to be getting cranky.” Regulus smacks Sirius on the arm as James gets up to leave.

“Suit yourself,” James laughs. “I’m sure I’ll see you two around,” he says.

“Hopefully not,” Regulus adds.

James laughs once more on the way out before scurrying back to his friends.

“So there’s two new French students here and you think you’re in love?” Remus says in response to James’s twenty minute tangent after he got back from his three hour walk.

“Essentially. That’s pretty much the gist. Yeah.” His face looks prideful in his discovery. 

“Now I’m not saying no,” Remus starts, “but you should think before you barrel down the hallway confessing your love. I don’t think your ego can afford another Lily.”

“Well Lily told me if she wasn’t in love with Mary, I’d be first on her list, so my ego isn’t too damaged thank you very much,” he beams in response. Nothing can knock his pride down. 

“Whatever, I know nothing I say will stop you.”

“See, that’s why you’re my best friend.”

The rest of the train ride is filled with James boasting about his new friend and new lover, leaving Peter and Remus to count the minutes until the train arrives at Hogsmeade station. Thankfully for Remus and Peter, that time comes sooner rather than later and all three boys are off to the carriages. Once on, James is sure to point out Sirius and Regulus in the distance. Remus is thankful it’s dark out, blush creeping out on his cheeks at the sight of Sirius. 

“See, I told you they’re cute,” James says to Remus. 

“Oh shut it.” Remus can’t help but slide further into his seat as heat fills his cheeks once more. He tries to push the thought of Sirius to the back of his head, but there’s a small sliver of him begging to be paid attention to. Remus would have to work on this.  

[jormofyore]

Codes of Honour and How They Are BS

Screw it, I’m going to talk about codes of honour in Pathfinder and D&D, and the intrinsic problem with them all.

            For those who are curious as my background, I’m an English major who has taken some medieval studies classes, and I loved them all. I often get into arguments with a “certain friend” who is often, what feels like, frequently up in arms about alignment and codes of honour. He’s particularly against how Paizo got rid of alignment. This time I’ll be talking about how we look at codes of honour in some of our favourite TTRPG’s and how they are all bullshit.

            See, the initial problem with Paladin’s and other classes with codes, is that we have this idea of what chivalry constitutes. But people are mostly wrong about the when of them. The code of chivalry, as it’s often applied in classic Western TTRPGs, goes back to around the 12th and 13th centuries Europe. That part isn’t controversial. The problem is that the only real written code we properly know of dates to 1884 from a French historian named Leon Gautier who read too many medieval romance novels and epics. This is kind of like how the code of Bushido is sort of 11th century, but also 19th century kind of recent. Point being, these codes we have are far, far more romanticized than what they originally were, and what we see them as now is likely not what they were when originally formulated. It’s not just a case of history being written by the victors in the case of Central and South American histories (I can’t/won’t speak of African codes of honour because that’s a huge weakness in my education.) In fact, we have no written records of the actual Code’s of Chivalry and its predecessors, we only have Gautier’s fanfiction. Arguably, these codes date somewhere into Ancient Rome, but that’s a little fuzzier and based on Roman storytelling as opposed to non-romanticized record keeping.

            This leads into the second problem. Whose code of honour are we using in TTRPG-land? These European codes of honour are abstract and what we know of are only from, again, poems and epics and modern revisionisms. Cultures from all over the world had codes of honour, and I guess, sure, you can default to European codes of honour for your western-themed game, but that means you’ve fallen into the idea of thinking Europe had one code of honour. Guess you fell for my trap card. Here’s the thing, there are, at the very least in Europe, 5 main codes of chivalry in Europe. I stress “at least.” Loosely, there are the ones from what we know now as the Germanic Tribes, the Frankish Tribes, the British and Welsh, the Italians, and the Saracens. We know of 3 official ones in some random dude’s poem Ordene de chevalerie, and even then, it’s mostly romanticized ideals from the crusades, which, last I checked, wasn’t where a lot of honour was happening. “So Jorm,” you argue, “Then we’ll use the British one because we all speak English in America, right?” Oh yeah, did you know the British one, from what we can gather, either condoned or endorsed slavery, whereas the other European codes explicitly did not? Doesn’t sound much like what a Paladin does, does it? Last I checked everything we come across in TTRPG’s is that Paladins hate tyrants and slavery, so have fun with this argument in the future.

            So, this is where I like Paizo’s approach with trying to distance themselves from Christianity and it’s influences in our game worlds. They simply got rid of alignment and the silly line “Act with honour” by instead detailing what rules every deity has (Edicts and Anathema, if you’re curious), and a list for what each kind of Champion stands for. Bang. Done. It’s quite a simple and elegant solution to get past these arguments while also getting rid of that abstract code of honour BS. Sure it’s “More rules”, but honestly, it reduces the number of arguments and lets you get into the meat of gaming.

            Anywho, while I would like to continue my rant on this topic, it’s after 3AM and I’ve got a game of Civilization 6 to finish before I sleep.

Jorm of Yore out

[laviejaguardia]

Is Latino not an ethnicity????

It isn't (and it isn't a race either). Latinidad is a political identity with some sociological, cultural and historical background. What it does not have -and I cannot stress this enough- is shared genetics/common ancestry which is how I see it most referred.

Here's the definition of ethnicity from Wikipedia:

And to use roughly the same source, here's the Wikipedia disaggregation of Latin America today (which ofc I have issues with lol I'm not missing the irony of telling you "Latin America is sooo diverse" while using the "Asian" category, but I need to make do:

See what I'm getting at?

Let's continue, you can say "well I didn't mean genetics, I meant everything else"

Okay language:

Latin America includes hundreds of native languages like Quechua, Mayan, Guaraní (oficial language of Paraguay!), Aymará or Nahuatl, and always has! Without counting the beautifully mixed and improved Spanish, Portuguese (which I called Brasilero for years as a kid lol) and French, or even later additions like Welsh, Japanese, Chinese or Arabic from immigrant clusters that still speak it or are currently arriving into the continent.

So language isn't it either.

I don't even need to get into traditions c'mon look at Carnaval in Brasil, día de los muertos in Ecuador, an 9 de julio in Argentina and tell me those are all the same. Look at empanadas, tacos, humitas, pizza brasilera, tequeños, asado, sudados, etc

Religion? Argentina alone has the second biggest Islamic and Jewish populations in America after the US. Sure Christianity is paramount given the invasion and imposition by Catholic monarchies by the Spanish and Portuguese, but to say it's the only religion is to spit in the face of again, hundreds of native people's whose religions have been systematically erased since 1492. It is also quite reductive to only take institutionalised religions as valid forms of worship, or to ignore the fact that most Catholicism here would give European orthodox Catholics a stroke.

Now, history and social treatment, here's where the good stuff is.

Independencias:

These all look super different but these are processes and most of them took place in the first 3 decades of the 1800s so they're not that far off. These were carried out with an idea of hermandad. They used to be virreynatos under the same rule, we (patriotas) were all getting independence from the same monarch power (realistas). There was a lot of collaboration between administrations and armies. This was a decision from the leaders of the time, to seek strength in numbers.

The fact that we had to gain independence is a point of contact as well. At that time "patria" was understood as the desire to be independent, there were no neat lines to separate the territories. At this point in history you'll find lots of key people like San Martín, Juana Azurduy and Bolivar talking about "pueblos americanos" as a way to claim independence from imperialist/colonial European rule. (Brasil had a different history with the Portuguese court moving there)

The term Latin America or Latinoamérica came by a little later, the earliest it's been found used is 1856 by a politician from Chile, as you can see, the context it is used in is purely political.

Historically, the term when used by Americans is heavily tied to a way to gather strength in solidarity for independence and rejection of foreign imperialist aspirations, from the United States, France, Spain, etc etc.

I think latinidad is in a way a self fulfilled prophecy, we were invaded and as such "unified" where before were hundreds of different peoples. We took that very same unification and made it ours, in part because the rest of the world insists on putting us all in the same bag (included with things like the School of the Americas in the 1960s-1980s where all of Latinamerica was deemed safer for the US to be ruled by genocidal military governments than democracies that smelled just a little communist. Spoiler! it wasn't safer for us who had to actually live under them)

I reject the idea of latinidad as an ethnicity because it stems from the idea of "la raza latina" which is very very racist ("latinos" were the white Europeans from Romance language countries aka Spain, Portugal, France and Italy, there was a clear hierarchy there usual to the era that still affects our social and economic framework). It's reductive and it pretends to obscure and muddle a very clear and deliberate political choice that is to identify as latinoamerican.

This also applies to the latin people who emigrate to the US and their descendants, both the ones fixing the lawns and the ones emigrating without need of a visa to work a stable 9-5. Even if it seems only the first ones get the name.

So what's latinidad? It's whatever we say it is, hope this helps ✌️

[bri-the-nautilus]

Elphael: What's In a Name?

Earlier today, my esteemed comrade @the-unkindled-queen made a post wondering about the etymology of Elphael, Brace of the Haligtree. My initial digging turned up a few Reddit comments where the general consensus was that Elphael has its roots (ha) in Hebrew linguistics, with one interpretation being "Family of God" and another being "Work of God":

Now as a linguist and Bible scholar, I think these are awesome. I love seeing all the languages and cultures that these games draw inspiration from, and the Hebrew connection is a neat contrast with the Haligtree itself, which is linguistically Welsh. Additionally, the connection to Abrahamic faith and Hebrew words for people and acts of God is a nice throughline for the way the game portrays Miquella and St Trina as Messianic protectors of the sick and poor. Add in the spiritual atmosphere of Elphael and the Haligtree (prayer rooms, mausoleums, and altar-like statues of Miquella and Malenia abound), and it's a very pleasing little theory.

Soulsborne and especially Elden Ring borrow heavily from Welsh for names and whatnot (like the aforementioned Haligtree), and out of idle curiosity I began to wonder if there was any basis whatsoever for an alternative theory linking Elphael's name to Welsh. My only reasons for going down this path were the vaguely Celtic sound of the name and the fact that the Haligtree proper has a Welsh name. I didn't find anything like this during the search that led me to the Hebrew theories, and plugging various fragmentations of "Elphael" into a Welsh->English translator didn't spit out anything of value. I was about to throw in the towel when I did what I probably should have done before faffing about with the translator and just searched "Elphael Welsh."

And oh golly do we have ourselves an Elphael. Or an Elfael.

Welcome to the infinitely confusing world of medieval Welsh history.

Medieval Wales was divided into several regions, called cantrefi. Each cantref was further divided into several territories called commotes. The cantrefi are pictured below. We're mostly concerned with the central yellow one, Rhwng Gwy a Hafren, but also remember Gwynedd. It's in orange up top.

But that's for later. What we care about right now is the cantref of Rhwng Gwy a Hafren, which lies between the rivers Wye and Severn. This cantref is shown in detail below and is home to the commote of Elfael, shown in green. Also take note of Maelienydd and Buellt. They're light blue and yellow respectively, and we're going to need them later.

The history of Elfael is short and confusing, as one can expect from a fiefdom straddling the English-Welsh border during the post-Roman and post-Norman Conquest years. It didn't exist as a political entity for very long (it was only independent from 1155ish to about 1215 before dissolving completely in 1309), and changed hands often during its lifetime.

Our story begins with a man named Elystan Glodrydd, Prince of Buellt. He lived from 950 to 1010 CE, and at some point during his later life he conquered a territory called Ferlix, which was composed of Elfael and Maelienydd. When Elystan died, rulership of Buellt (Ferlix included) passed to his son Cadwgan, and then to Cadwgan's son Idnerth when he died.

Idnerth's reign is remarkable because he's the guy who lost Buellt. An Anglo-Norman noble, Philip De Braose, had conquered basically all the land between the Wye and Severn, which of course included Buellt. For some reason, at the conclusion of his conquest De Braose gave Ferlix back to Idnerth, but kept Buellt for himself. The end result being that Idnerth had gotten kicked out of his grandpa's commote and into what had originally been a conquered vassal territory. Once Idnerth died (presumably in shame), Ferlix went to his son, a man with the astoundingly awesome name of Madog. During this time, the Anarchy was starting.

The Anarchy was a civil war in Britain from 1138 to 1153. King Henry I died in 1135, and his heiress, the Empress Matilda, had many enemies who didn't want her to take the throne. In 1130, a castle had been built in southern Ferlix by one of these enemies, an Anglo-Norman named Pain FitzJohn, Sheriff of Hereford. This is the actual best name in this story. Pain FitzJohn is a fucking badass name. This castle, which was of course called Pain's Castle, was acquired by Madog in 1135 under foggy pretenses. It's likely that Pain wanted Madog's protection from Matilda, but we're not sure.

Old Madog knew that getting a castle called Pain's Castle was an achievement that couldn't be topped, and proceeded to die at age 65 in 1140, secure in the knowledge that he was better than Idnerth. He left five sons, who bucked the trend of going to war for their dead dad's land by dividing Ferlix amongst themselves. Unfortunately for them, this is when the Anarchy caught up with them. Another Norman lord, Hugh De Mortimer, invaded Ferlix in 1142. Two of Madog's sons (Hywel and another Cadwgan) were killed, and in 1146 De Mortimer killed a third son, Maredudd, in the process of capturing Pain's Castle. In 1155, Matilda's son Henry II took the throne of England, and when Hugh De Mortimer protested, Henry kicked him out of Ferlix. This left Madog's two surviving sons, Einion Clud and Cadwallon, to pick up the pieces. These guys hated each other, and neither brother could stomach ruling in consort with the other. But for some reason, they didn't kill each other, instead dividing Ferlix again in two. Cadwallon got the northern part, which came to be called Maelienydd, and Einion Clud got the southern part, which was called Elfael.

Einion Clud and Cadwallon still hated each other, and their realms were openly hostile, each brother still believing he was entitled to sole rule of all that had once been Ferlix. (Again, why didn't they just fight to the death like every other medieval family?) Things came to a head in 1160, when Cadwallon kidnapped Einion Clud and sent him in chains to Owain Gwynedd, the aptly-named King of Gwynedd, who in turn pawned him off on King Henry II. Eventually, Einion Clud either escaped or was released. It's not certain which of these occurred, but what is certain is that by 1165, Einion Clud was once again ruling Elfael, and at the Battle of Corwen the two brothers fought together against King Henry under the leadership of Owain Gwynedd. Politics are fucking weird.

There would be no happy ending, however. Hugh De Mortimer's son Roger was swearing revenge on his father's enemies. You might take this to mean King Henry, who kicked Hugh De Mortimer out of Ferlix in 1155, but no, Roger was actually a big fan of Henry II and had fought for the King during the Revolt of 1173. No, Roger wanted revenge on the guys who ruled Ferlix after his dad got yanked. The timeline here is a bit weird, but what's certain is that Roger De Mortimer killed Cadwallon in 1179. He also killed Einion Clud, but I wasn't able to find out when. I found a source saying that Roger killed Einion Clud after his father died, but Hugh De Mortimer died in 1181 and my reading on Cadwallon says that he was the prince of both Maelienydd and Elfael at the time of his death, which would only be possible if Einion Clud died before 1179. In fact, Cadwallon is said to have been ambushed by Roger's men in Elfael.

Anyway, that's all the history we care about for our purposes. Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but the fact that medieval Wales has the Lord of Elfael getting kidnapped by his brother seems a bit on the nose.

In Welsh history, the Anarchy leaves three of Madog's sons dead and the survivors are on opposing feudal factions. The Lord of Elfael is kidnapped by his brother.

In Elden Ring, the death of Marika's son sparks the Shattering, turning every remaining demigod against each other. The Lord of Elphael is kidnapped by his brother.

Either Miyazaki and Germ are fucking Super Saiyan level Welsh history scholars, or this is just an absurd coincidence. Either way, it's cool.

(tiny sidenote: this part is DEFINITELY conspiracy, but isn't it funny that our kidnapped lord has a sibling who rules Maelienydd??? Doesn't that sound a bit like... Malenia??? Obviously Malenia doesn't do the kidnapping in ER, but the names line up a bit too well...)

Sorry Niko, this is way more than you bargained for.

[sunlightdances]

Lost In Time | Dean x OFC | Chapter Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC Series Summary: Sam and Dean answer Jody’s call about a ghost wandering in the woods, calling for help, wearing period clothing. Thinking they’re taking a break from the end of the world and handling a run of the mill haunting, they hit the road, unaware their world is about to be turned upside down. Genre: Time travel AU, WW2, Romance, Angst Warnings: None for this part. Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural, or Sam and Dean. Eva is an original character, and mine. The depictions of members of Easy Company in this story are based on the actor’s interpretation in the HBO series Band of Brothers, which I also don’t own.  A/N: *Taps mic* Is this thing still on? Uh, hey. Hi. It's me. I have not been here in ages. But I re-read this the other day and got the itch again. So here we are - another chapter. *SNL Stefon voice* This chapter has EVERYTHING. An Outlander reference. More Band of Brothers references. Dean having an emotional ~*crisis*~ … enjoy!

Masterlist / Prologue / Chapter One / Chapter Two

1944

“Anything?” Lieutenant Dick Winters asks as Nixon walks into the mess hall in the early morning, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing.” Nixon replies, gratefully taking the warm cup of coffee shoved in his direction.

“Did you ask Harry?” Dick asks, referring to their latest transfer, another Lieutenant from the 82nd. “He’s good at knowing things he isn’t supposed to.” 

Nixon offers a wry smile. “This one might be a little harder to figure out.”

The truth is, Nixon doesn’t really trust anyone outside of Easy Company to care about what might have happened to Eva Simmons. Lt. Welsh is a new transfer, and Nixon likes him well enough, but he’s not sure who to trust when it comes to finding her.

Simmons made friends in Easy, despite all the odds, and even in her short time training with them, she proved herself smart and capable. She reminded them all of their sisters, he supposes, and he knows the men have a soft spot for her. Deep down, Dick is as worried as Nixon is - Lewis can see it in the furrow between the man’s brow, the tight set of his jaw.

Later, Nixon sits down behind his desk and puts his head in his hands. A dozen or so coded messages came through overnight, but nothing from Simmons. 

“Where are you?” He whispers, looking at the maps in front of him. They’ve only got two more days before the weather is meant to clear.

Two more days before they have no choice to drop on Normandy, whether they know what they’ll be facing there or not.

.

Present Day

Eva has nightmares. 

Dean could hear her, all the way down the hall in his own bedroom. At first, he thought something had happened to her, but when he tried to check, Jody was already there, leaning on the wall outside Eva’s room. 

She shook her head, telling him not to worry, and that he should go back to sleep. 

Fat chance of that happening. 

He has no idea how to help her, and it’s frustrating. He and Sam have faced nearly every scenario in hunting - ghosts, vampires, angels… but this? She’s not a spirit with unfinished business. She’s a time traveler. An important one, from what he can gather.

In the morning, he goes straight to the library where Sam is waiting, a cup of coffee steaming on the table. He’s frowning.

“What?”

Sam glances up. “I’m– having a hard time finding anything out about Eva.”

Dean takes a sip of the coffee. “So? It was a long time ago. Technically.” 

Sam shakes his head. “No, like– I can’t even find a record of her. Her family, her ancestry… I can’t even find any record of her enlistment.”

Dean frowns, leaning over Sam’s shoulder so he can see the screen. 

“There should be some record of this - it’s a public database.” 

Right away, Dean’s spidey senses start tingling. “I knew it.” Dean says, voice pitched low. “This hasn’t been right from the start.” 

“Before you jump to conclusions–” 

“Already jumped.”

“Dean–” Sam stands, trying to ward off his brother’s temper.

“She’s in our home, Sam. We drove for hours to help her.” 

“Dean, you’re overreacting. We didn’t even think she was real. We had no idea any of this was going to happen, and she didn’t either.”

“Or that’s what she wants us to think.” 

Sam shakes his head, but he doesn’t reply.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knows he’s being reactive. It’s in his DNA. He has this fierce, innate need to protect his brother, to protect anyone who is important to him. But – this is all too convenient. The entire thing is batshit crazy to begin with. They’re so quick to believe a story after everything they’ve seen, but what if she’s lying?

Sam basically reads his mind. “What reason would she have to pretend she’s from the 1940s?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

Sam sighs, but doesn’t bother to stop Dean. He knows that there’s nothing he can say to change his brother’s mind.

Almost as if on cue, Eva comes in, looking tired and wary.

“Sorry…” she says hesitantly, “I was looking for the kitchen.” 

“I can show you–” Sam says, standing.

“Sam, wait.” Dean says firmly, hands on his hips. “We need to talk to you, Eva.”

She looks like a deer in the headlights, and Dean feels his protective instinct kick in, though not for her, for his brother. For Jody, for anyone in his orbit that this woman might have it out for. 

“Who are you?” Dean cuts right to the chase, his voice hard. “Really. Who are you really?”

Sam looks down, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t try to stop the interrogation this time. 

Eva looks shell-shocked. “I’ve told you–” 

“You’ve told us some bullshit story that isn’t adding up. So unless you want to figure out the hard way what it really is my brother and I do, you need to start talking.” 

“I told you who I am. I told you my story, and I know it’s insane, but it’s the truth.” Her voice cracks, and Dean feels a small shred of empathy. A tiny part of him wants to back down, but he doesn’t think he can, not now.

“We’ve been doing research–”

“I’ve been researching.” Sam interrupts, muttering. 

Dean glares at him. “Sam did some research, and he can’t find any record of you. It’s like you don’t exist.” 

He expects her face to harden. He expects something – some kind of maniacal, evil laughter. Something to prove that he’s right, that she’s really a demon out to get them. It doesn’t happen. Her face goes blank. Carefully blank. Practiced.

Something clicks in his brain. “It’s not your real name.” 

Just there - a small tick on the left side of her jaw.

Understanding dawns on Sam’s face. “You’re– undercover?” 

“Intelligence.” She says quietly. 

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “You have to tell us who you really are or we can’t help you.” 

She straightens. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that before?” 

Dean looks at her, mouth falling open in anger. “It’s not 1940 anymore! We can’t help you if we can’t figure out where you’re supposed to be–”

“It’s not happening.” Her voice is firm and sharp. “Do you have any idea what I’ve given up–” She stops herself, arms banded tight around her middle, as though she’s trying to keep herself together. “I have given up everything the last few years, my name being one of the things I threw away when I enlisted. It’s not for you to know.” 

Something in her eyes has Dean reeling. She’s serious, deadly serious. He can only imagine how it felt to be told you couldn’t see anyone, talk to anyone, even use your own name. All for the sake of your life and your country. 

There’s something else Dean feels that he didn’t expect. He wants to know her real name. He wants to know her. 

“You can trust us,” Sam says. 

“You say that, but I don’t know that for sure.” She says, shrugging. “I’m Eva. To you, I’m Eva, and to them–” She gestures broadly, “To my unit, to my friends… I’m Eva Simmons. And Eva Simmons has to find her way back. I’m going to do that without being compromised.” 

Dean shakes his head. “We don’t even know where to begin.”

“I’ll tell you as much as I can remember before I was here.”

Sam shrugs. “That’s a good enough place to start.”

Hours go by. Eva feels like she’s being debriefed. She paces, Dean paces, and Sam takes a turn pacing. Jody pops in and offers to help, but Sam and Dean instead offer to drive her home. 

Eva is relieved that she’ll have some time alone. She can’t make sense of this, and she desperately wants some rest.

She finds the kitchen, and begins to help herself, all the while wondering if she’s doing the right thing. Does it matter anymore? If she tells them who she is, who she really is, will that help? Or will it make everything worse? 

She’s in the middle of an unfinished sci-fi novel, and she has no idea how to get her life back on track. 

Keeping secrets and hiding things has become so ingrained in who she is, she’s not sure she remembers how to be herself anymore. She told herself a long time ago that it didn’t matter what she lost, as long as she helped win the war.

She doesn’t know how to let people in, not anymore. 

1942

She does her best not to fidget in her uncomfortable chair in front of the Director, but it’s no use. Her left hand tightens around her right hand in her lap, idly spinning the ring on her right hand around and around. 

The man in front of her hasn’t said a word, not even when she was introduced. He had gestured wordlessly for her to sit down as he read through her file, and that was nearly five minutes ago. 

“Why did you enlist?” He asks, blunt. He doesn’t use her name, he doesn’t use her rank, he doesn’t do anything except stare at her, face blank.

She’s prepared for this. “My brother was at Pearl Harbor.” 

Again, his face gives nothing away. “Dead?” 

“Wounded, sir. I wanted to do my bit.”

He stares at her again, not breaking his gaze even a little. “Are you married?” 

She feels herself flush. “No, sir.”

He closes her file with an audible snap, “Good.” He says. He leans forward on his elbows. “You’re certainly qualified.”

“Sir–” She stops herself, unsure. “I beg your pardon, but qualified for what?” 

“What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. You can’t tell anyone, not even your parents, not your best friend, not a boyfriend.”

She wants to scowl, but she doesn’t. “Understood, sir.” 

“The United States is launching a special operation that will specialize in intelligence, espionage, and code breaking. You were recommended to me after you enlisted and took your aptitude tests. We’re looking for someone with experience in languages, and high scores in math and science. But we also need someone who can keep cool under pressure.” 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent. 

“Your work here would be invaluable to the war effort. Anything you do here could have far-reaching consequences, for us, and for the enemy.” 

“I accept.” She says quickly. In the end, there was no choice. She would do what she could to help.

“This would mean you’re giving up life as you know it.” He says, leaning forward again to make his point. “You’ll get a series of aliases to use in case of trouble, and you’re going to have to lie to everyone you know about what you’re working on. And if it comes to it, there’s a chance you’ll be sent overseas.” 

“I’m ready.” She says, her words ringing clear and true in the quiet room. 

.

Present Day

Eva looks exhausted. She’s cross legged in the chair across from Dean, rifling through a set of record books they dug up from the archive. 

She’s in a pair of borrowed sweats and a t-shirt, and for a minute, he can almost pretend that she’s a normal girl that they met working on any other case. But it’s almost June 6th, and Dean’s not an idiot. 

Nothing happens randomly. He’s learned that the hard way. There’s a reason Eva Simmons is here, days before the anniversary of D-Day. 

“Tell me again,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What you were doing the day you– left.” 

She sighs. 

“I know–” He sits forward, elbows on his knees. “I just… there’s got to be something we’re missing.” 

“I dropped with the Pathfinders. My objective was to make contact with a member of the French Resistance. I landed fine, alone. I don’t remember anything–” She stops. 

“What?” Dean leans forward. “What?” 

“I ran into some trouble on my way. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but I– I was trying to stick to the woods and only move around at night. I was almost made, and I ran. I fell.” 

Dean makes a face. “And?” 

“I hit my head, I think.” 

Dean sits up, rifling through the book in front of him. “Any chance you remember where you were? Any landmarks…”

Her eyes light up. “A church. I was supposed to meet my contact at this church–”

Dean shoves the book under her nose. He’s pointing to a grainy photo of a church and steeple. The roof looks nearly blown off, and there’s rubble surrounding the grounds. 

“This place was a key resistance hideout during the early days of the war, before America even joined the fight,” he says, shifting so he’s facing her. “The nuns hid people and helped downed airmen. They were bombed right around the time you may have been there.”

Something flashes through her mind, a memory of a distant rumble, and then an explosion. A bright light.

“Jesus Christ.” 

“What?” Dean is leaning forward, eyes focused on her. “Did you remember something?” 

“I know where I was.” 

They stay up all night. Sam finally skids into the room in sock-clad feet, a book that looks like it’s a hundred years old. “I have something.” 

“Wait–” Dean says, holding up his hand. He wants Eva to continue, wants her to get that look on her face that he’s beginning to recognize means she’s putting puzzle pieces together in her mind. 

“Let me see.” She demands, thrusting her hand towards Sam. He comes closer, handing her the book, the pages yellowed and spine soft with age. “That’s it.” She breathes. “Look.” 

She turns the pages towards Dean. There, a description in French, and one in English underneath. “These churches. They’re sister parishes.” She reads aloud the name of the church in French, her accent impeccable. “This one here, it’s in Virginia. Isn’t that near where you found me?” 

Dean feels the breath whoosh out of him when he recognizes the smaller, less clear photo of a church steeple through the trees. It’s not far from where they had parked the Impala the night they found Eva.

Sam frowns. “So…. what? It’s a wormhole or something?” 

She lets out a hysterical laugh. “Or something.” She stands, raking her fingers through her hair. “It’s the best we’ve got, though.”

“We’ll go in the morning.” Sam says, “We don’t have much time.”

The day is spent preparing - Dean has no idea what they’re in for, and yet again, he feels the weight of the world on their shoulders. Why is it always them? He feels a calling to help people, but he wishes sometimes that the burden wasn’t always on him and his brother. 

He’s tired.

“Want some company?” Eva asks from the doorway, and Dean jumps, startled. “Sorry - I’ve gotten used to moving around without making much noise.”

Dean smiles. “I guess you have.” He waves her closer. “Come here for a second, let me show you this stuff.” 

He surprises himself by telling her what he feels he can about hunting. He’s not sure if telling her any of this is going to change things in the present day, but at this point he’s too tired to care. 

Hell, she might not even survive the war, he thinks, and the thought makes his blood feel cold in his veins. He watches her as she runs her fingers over the various weapons - mostly the guns are what catch her attention - and feels a pang deep in his chest at the thought that in a few days they’ll never see her again. 

Not like this, anyway. He shakes the thought away, feeling foolish and sentimental. “Can you tell me anything about what you do? Why’d you enlist?” 

She pauses, meeting his gaze quickly before she takes one of his pistols from the case and begins the familiar motions of stripping it and cleaning it. “My brother was at Pearl Harbor.”

Dean frowns, but doesn’t interrupt. He watches her hands work with careful, precise motions. 

“He was pretty badly wounded, and I was… I was so furious. I wanted to do something to help. Truthfully… I wanted revenge.” She meets his eyes, and though he expected to see regret in her face, it’s not there. Her eyes are clear.

“I went to every women’s recruitment event I could get to in a day’s train ride. Nursing was out of the question - I’d only end up making it worse–” She says, her nose scrunching up when Dean laughs. “I had half a mind to join the Red Cross and become a Clubmobile girl.” 

When he shakes his head, she explains.

“A lot of them are attached to the field hospitals and air bases. They’re going to do a lot of good work - it’s not just coffee and donuts, no matter what men back home say.” She looks up, meeting his gaze once more. “I just don’t have the temperament for it… I was– am– too angry.” 

“That sounds like a normal reaction.” Dean muses. 

He’s fascinated by the way she’s going about her work with the gun, her hands sure and steady as they move over the pieces and clean each one thoroughly. He pictures her a few years younger and wonders if it always came so easily. 

“I was recruited, basically. I still hadn’t found a unit and I was telling someone at a party about it. Two days later, I got a letter telling me to show up to this building in Washington DC – no name, no office name, just an address.”

“The spooks.” Dean jokes.

She laughs. “Yes. Apparently the guy I talked to at the party was actually some junior agent with the OSS–” she stops, “do you still have that?”

Dean shrugs. “Not sure.”

“Well – it was a completely new, secret organization. Focused on espionage and intelligence. I was athletic, spoke French and German, and could do math. That’s really all it took. Whatever else I didn’t know, they taught me.”

“And you ended up in Europe.”

Dean can’t really fathom what she’s telling him. He can’t imagine setting off to do something so monumental at her age. He pauses, wondering if he’s going to get smacked for it. 

“How old are you? I’m not– I just wonder, how old were you when you–”

She grins. “Relax. I’m twenty-seven.”

He whistles. “I– I just can’t believe you had the guts, really.” He stops, watches as she looks at him questioningly. “I’m sorry I was so… I’m used to people lying to me.” He doesn’t quite know why he’s telling her this, but something about her makes him trust her. He feels like he can tell her things he hasn’t told anyone in a long time.

“In your defense, it must seem insane. It still seems that way, to me.” She finishes her task, and hands him his pistol. “For your inspection.” Her voice is light, teasing.

Dean takes it, their hands brushing lightly. “Looks good to me, Private.” His voice is nearly a croak, the quiet moment feeling too soft, too intimate.

“That’s Lieutenant to you, Winchester.” 

Dean’s eyebrows rise, a surprised laugh escaping him. “No shit?”

Eva chuckles. “My college degree had some perks, after all.”

Dean grins.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 59 – Spear by Nicola Griffith

So after loudly complaining about this year’s Hugo nominations enough, it was recommended I try using the World Fantasy Awards shortlist as a reading list instead. Spear is the first result of that – I’d never heard of either it or Griffith as an author before, but the library helpfully had a copy with only a three-week hold. It was, well – unevenly paced and characterized, often beautifully written, a setting I’ve got an enduring fondness for, a bunch of things. But at the very least I’m not confused or annoyed that anyone would nominate this for a ‘best novel of the year’ award, so beating the Hugo’s!

The book’s Arthuriana, of a mythological and Early Medieval type. Specifically, it’s a queer retelling of the story of Sir Percival (Peretur here, the book makes an attempt to use Welsh names for most. Artos and Cei and so on) intermixed with celtic mythology (the Four Treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann are stolen to be the Grail, Excalibur, the Stone the sword was in, and Peretur’s Spear). Also Peretur is a) a demigod raised from birth on soup and water drunk out of the Grail/Cauldron and b) a lesbian. The book follows her childhood, raised in the wilderness with only her mother and wildlife for company, how she eventually leaves her behind to fufil a dream of becoming one of the king’s companions, and the trials she undergoes to become accepted by them. The second half of the book then follows her falling in love with Nimune, accidentally breaking the geas that was hiding her mother and the cauldron from her father (a wrathful Tuatha Dé) the organizing of the grail quest and her, Lancelot, and Nimune going to kill her dad and retrieve the grail/cauldron. And then bury it away after lying to everyone that the queen had had a sip from it and wouldn’t be infertile anymore. Having thus doomed the kingdom, they set about enjoying their lives together.

So, queer early medieval Arthuriana retelling. Which on reflection probably seems like less of a natural/obvious combination to people who spend less time on tumblr than I do. The ‘Early Medieval’ part of that seems pretty carefully researched, and the book takes great joy in describing everyone’s panoply, situating the politics in a very specific post-Roman collapse politics and geography, and so on. In that sense reminds of Bernard Cromwell’s take on a ‘historicall’ Arthur in the same era (which I read far too young because my father had just left them lying around the house and still inform my default view of the genre.) The queerness is just presented to be taken as a given more than part of the actual plot – being a crossdressing lesbian causes Peretur exactly zero problems at any point, and Arthur/Lancelot/Guinevere are a loving polycule so actually it’s a net reduction in sexuality-related drama compared to the usual.

The basic conceit aside, the most striking thing about the book is easily the prose. It’s written in a kind of elevated, mythological or capital-R Romantic voice. There are passages that are legitimately quite beautiful, and just overall does a lot to sell the story as somewhere between chivalric romance and myth.

Otherwise – I pretty much adored the first half the book, covering our hero’s childhood and attempts to build a reputation that will earn her acceptance from the king’s court and a place at the round table. Peretur’s naivete and utter lack of understanding of politics form a nice contrast with her being, well, a superhuman demigod with magical wild empathy skills when it comes to everything else. The second half, on the other hand – I mean it just tries to pack in way too many plot points and too much lore in not nearly enough page count. The effect – one long procession of character revelations and things happening without preamble or fallout – fits the whole mythic style but, like, not in a good way.

Also since the whole happy ending is built around a central romance it’d help a lot if Nimune felt like more or a character and less of an exposition fairy. Peretur legitimately had more chemistry with Angharad-the-innkeepers-daughter from the second act. Also since it was how the book ended, the big choice to hide away the cauldron/grail and make sure neither king nor queen nor anyone else ever drinks from it is presented as this, like, considered and moral decision without ever touching on any of the massive hypocrisy inherent in it for ms. ‘grew up drinking from it every meal. But it’d corrupt and drive insane anyone else who did. For sure.’ was just deeply irksome to me.

Still, not at all a bad read. Maybe a bit style over substance, but it’s a good style and worn well.

[llyfrenfys]

how is welsh not an ethnicity? /gen bc at this point i genuinely don't think i know what an ethnicity is! on forms it tends to be skin colour, but when i google it there's always an emphasis on culture.

This one is a bit of a sticky topic since it is a situation where the same words can mean slightly different things to different people and conflation between similar words is common.

I'm going to use a crochet metaphor for this since it is a non-problematic version of the same problem. So, in crochet, there are various different kinds of stitches, the most common being single and double crochet. However, in the US and the UK, there are terminology differences which can get confusing since they refer to similar (yet distinct) stitches. What is called 'Single Crochet' in the US is called 'Double Crochet' in the UK. And what the US calls 'Double Crochet' is called 'Treble Crochet' in the UK. This kind of thing happens all the time in various situations - be it a hobby, a topic or a concept, linguistic differences can arise in two or more groups which leads to all groups involved using the same terminology, but it meaning wildly different things to different people.

This is the situation when it comes to defining race and ethnicity. Like crochet, in the English-speaking world, the US uses the terms race and ethnicity differently to how the UK does it. Ditto for other Anglophone nations like Australia, New Zealand etc. But for simplicity I will just focus on the US and UK for now. [Note: there will be many caveats and nuanced things which will require a pinch of salt in my answer here, so do keep in mind I'm simplifying a lot here to avoid this post from getting too long]. This is also where I introduce a third term to the mix: Nationality. Nationality is our 'Treble Crochet' in this metaphor.

Ethnicity:

As you point out, on forms ethnicity sometimes is used to refer to skin colour, but in other circumstances there's more of an emphasis on culture. This is where the different people using the same terms for different things starts to cause problems. Using the forms example as a jumping off point, when you fill in a form and get to the section titled ethnicity, the options can often be quite confusing since some of them appear to refer to race, while others do not. In 2021 England and Wales had a census and the government made a list of ethnicities here from the results:

"The main changes to the 2021 Census of England and Wales, compared with the previous Census, were: -the ‘Roma’ group was added under the ‘White’ ethnic group -a write-in response was added for the ‘Black African’ ethnic group"

This, as you can probably see, already has Some Issues. For example, Roma are a distinct ethnic group, but have here been put under the category of white (which is a more racial classification), when many Roma would not identify this way. Some would identify this way- but the problem lies within the creation of rigid boxes with no room for overlap. Ethnicity as a concept overlaps with nationality a fair bit, since there is no agreed upon definition for either term. Things get complicated when some people approach ethnicity with solely race in mind, while others approach ethnicity with solely nationality in mind. Ethnicity can be informed by race and nationality- however - that can get sticky fast depending on context. Just focusing on Wales, however, I would argue Welshness is only informed by nationality and culture, not race. To argue there is a racial component to being Welsh would mean arguing that Welsh people have significant racial identifiers which distinguish them from the neighbouring Scottish and English- as well as the rest of Europe in general. And this, inevitably is how fascism happens. It also raises red flags to go down this road simply because by default, these arguments disqualify nonwhite people from being Welsh at all and we all know what happens when certain white traits are idolised over others...

On the other hand, considering ethnicity from a purely nationality and culture-based approach is much more suitable for Wales as it encapsulates what comes to mind when one thinks of Wales and Welshness. Welsh national dishes and traditional dress are not tied to race in any way. Race simply has not been significant to the formation of Welshness amongst its neighbours (England- more distantly Scotland and Ireland). Whereas race *is* significant to the conception of ethnicity of other nations in the world, such as Aboriginal Australians, whose modern conception of ethnicity is tied to their race in contrast with the arrival of white Australians. In other words, Aboriginal Australians are a racialised people while Welsh people are not. Ergo, it is a highly individual thing as to whether certain nations find race important to their ethnic identity or not.

Official forms may list "White, Welsh" as an option for ethnicity, however, this does not imply that white Welsh people are a separate race to "White, English", "White, Scottish" or "White, Northern Irish" or vice versa, it is more of an appeasement by the government in the census to allow people from Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland to be able to identify as Welsh, Scottish or Northern Irish where they ordinarily would have to begrudgingly select "British". That being said, the government should add "Black, Welsh" etc. options as well, but their absence here is governmental laziness than anything else (they have a box on the census to 'write-in' any ethnicity option not available on the list) so that avoids them from having to formally add in these as options. The bottom line is- it is not possible to be 'racially ethnically Welsh' but it is possible to be 'culturally ethnically Welsh'. Despite this, the latter designation is shied away from simply because 'ethnically Welsh/English/Scottish/Northern Irish' in any context is a dogwhistle used by white supremacists. Most people tend to identify as Welsh/English/Scottish/Northern Irish without any racial component to that identity for this reason.

Nationality:

Nationality is a little easier to define (but cannot be pinned down 100% for a few reasons) but the simplest definition of nationality relates to the country you were born in or are a citizen of. Nationality is not fixed and can change. However, the problems with defining nationality this way is that there are many nations which are not recognised as such internationally. Take Wales for an example- Wales is a country or a nation but it is part of the United Kingdom, which is a State. Here too is where a US/UK divide springs up, since in the US state can refer to the individual States which make up the US. While elsewhere State generally refers to a country or nation with international recognition on the world stage. The US is a State, so is the UK in this metric.

[Important to note that the US is not the only country to have states within it- the system of states within a country is called Federalism and many countries have this system. E.g. Australia has many states, but none of those states are separate countries. Neither are US states (i.e. Oregon is not a separate entity to the US on an international level- it does not send diplomats to the rest of the US or other countries, for example. Ergo it is a constituent part of the US, not separate to it. Ditto the other 48 states on Mainland America. Hawaii is *different*). Part of the confusion stems from the tendency for Americans to view their states as if they were separate countries within a regional organisation, however, this is a misunderstanding of Federalism. Many Americans point to the EU and assume the EU is a country with lots of little European 'states' (small 's') within it. This is false- the EU is essentially just a club the European countries are part of. It's like saying NATO is a country- if you understand how that wouldn't make sense, that's also how calling the EU a country doesn't make sense. Members of the EU like Germany also have Federalism- e.g. Germany has 16 states.]

Back to the point- Wales is a nation which exists within the UK alongside England, Scotland and Northern Ireland. It is possible to get a passport as a citizen of the United Kingdom, but impossible to get a Welsh, English, Scottish or Northern Irish passport. The same way you can get a US passport but not a Maine passport etc. The stickiness lies within the fact that Wales is indisputably a nation, but legally it is not possible to be a citizen of Wales. All people who live or are born in Wales are citizens of the United Kingdom by default. Therefore, defining nationality strictly on where you're born or where you move to live is exclusionary of many nations that aren't Nations (capital 'N'). See also: the Native American Nations that exist within the US who also don't have international recognition as separate nations which can issue (legally recognised) passports. The goal of Welsh nationalism is to establish Wales as an independent country to the United Kingdom, similar to the Scottish independence movement for Scotland. Hence why someone's Nationality can be Welsh without Wales legally being a separate country.

Race:

I have touched on why race isn't relevant to Welshness already a little bit, but I will add a little more here too.

There is a tendency from many people in the US (specifying US as there seems to be a real culture for it there) to identify with a country they have an ancestor from. There isn't anything wrong with celebrating your own heritage. However, this is where the US and rest of the world tend to define things differently. It is not uncommon to find any European lamenting (some) Americans who identify as the country that European is from based purely on having one ancestor from that country hundreds of years ago. This is down to the US conception of race and the racial climate specific to the US (and only the US). E.g, you may get many people in the US who are proud Irish-Americans and go around claiming Irishness because of having 'Irish blood'* from their great-great-great-great grandmother on their father's side (*another dogwhistle which many who do this are not aware of). This, and it cannot be stressed enough, does NOT go down well in Europe. 'X country's blood' harks back to the conception of ethnicity which includes racial aspects- which as I've explained, is a white supremacist dogwhistle. It also very clearly has parallels with 'blood quantum'.

The other complication is that 'Irish-American' to a European would generally be understood to mean someone with dual nationality in Ireland and the US. This terminology is overwhelmingly US based and as such, US concepts of race butt heads with how it is defined in other parts of the world. E.g. in the US it has been common to refer to black Americans as African-American (regardless of how inaccurate that can be) to the point where the term black and African-American are synonymous. This leads to the black British actor Idris Elba being called African-American, when that makes no sense outside of a US context. Furthermore, UK and US terminology differs in other ways. The US uses the acronym POC to refer to People of Colour, while in the UK BAME is sometimes used for Black, Asian, Minority Ethnicities [caveat both have their own issues which we will not get into here].

Bringing this back to Welshness, there is no racial component to being Welsh, ergo race is not a factor in someone's Welshness.

Summary:

Ethnicity is something that may be informed by both race, culture and nationality, just race, just culture or just nationality. Whichever of those a given people has is informed by the historical evolution of the people and its relationship with other peoples. Certain combinations of the above are more suitable for certain peoples than others.

Nationality is something which is usually formally bestowed upon an individual based on either where they were born or if they move and naturalise as a citizen of somewhere different to where they were born. It can also be something which is informally adopted by a person living in or identifying with a nation not currently recognised as independent by the international community, but is nonetheless extant and may even be campaigning for Statehood. Lack of international recognition is not a barrier to national identity.

Race is something which is also bestowed at birth and consists of a set of traits or features associated with different racial groups, such as skin colour.

I hope that this has been useful and informative. Since you're on anon I don't know where you are from exactly, but I hope this at least leaves you feeling less confused. As with all things, there are many asterisks and pinches of salt, so do not take this for gospel. Rather think for yourself and do some research around some of the topics I've mentioned here to get more informed on the topic.

[shrekgogurt]

Everyone is alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic today it seems! I started my day by seeing this lovely art from @artsyunderstudy ---depicting a scene in IKABIKAM Ch. 1---and losing my ever-loving mind. I also finished Ch. 9 and it is currently sitting in the beta lab awaiting review. I'm now under the wire to get my Christmas episode (Ch. 11) out by the holiday so I've gotten started on Ch. 10 which I've been looking forward to writing for AGES!!!! Start bumping Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau because it's time for that international break match I mentioned in Ch. 6!! It may be here sooner than you expect!

Baz POV, present:

Cardiff City Stadium certainly isn’t Wembley; it’s nearly three times smaller and even less notable. Of course, I don’t say this out loud. I learned to shut my mouth about the Welsh lest I face the wrath of the Cadwallader family tree. Wales may not mean much on the world stage but it’s because we stole her mythos—The Lady of The Lake rose out of Llyn y Fan Fach, not the River Thames. I only know this because Simon yelled it at me with alarming regularity during our youth. He’s probably yelling a variation right now, red-faced in the locker room down the hall.

Thanks for the tags today @artsyunderstudy @nausikaaa @ic3-que3n @thewholelemon @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @iamamythologicalcreature ! Now tagging @alexalexinii @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hushed-chorus @j-nipper-95 @larkral @martsonmars @messofthejess @ninemagicks @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @theearlgreymage @theimpossibledemon @valeffelees @whogaveyoupermission @youarenevertooold