Gonna turn this blog into a normal personal blog since I like tumblr a lot and want to have a non fandom affiliated one. Will knock down the layout soon
“We simply copied capitalism [from the West]. We did not consider the national conditions in Mongolia: the historical development of our country, the nomadic sector in our economy, how many inhabitants we have, and so on. We simply replicated [the West]. […] Enterprises were privatized. That was in my view the first major mistake. Many Mongolians lost their jobs. Highly skilled and trained individuals landed on the streets. The industries were destroyed. Some people managed to buy businesses and take them abroad and thereby became very rich. Others lost everything. There was suddenly a huge inequality in Mongolia. […] Agriculture was also ruined. Prior to 1990, we were exporting wheat. By 2000, we had to import 85 percent of our wheat from Japan and the USA. Within the space of 10 years, we ruined everything. This is what happened after we listened to the World Bank advisors that came to Mongolia. They had never been to our country. They knew nothing about the structure of socialist society and the nomadic economy. It was the same in Africa and Latin America. They told us that everything we built had to be ruined, and in the end, they ruined it very well.”
- Дэндэвийн Тэрбишдагва (Dendev Terbishdagva), former deputy prime minister of Mongolia (2012-2014) in interview with Internationale Forschungsstelle DDR, July 2024, Улаанбаатар.
I somehow managed to get this one out earlier than usual. There wasn’t a lot of text, so that probably had something to do with it. haha Anyway, can’t promise the same happening again, but I’d like it to.
Before we continue, here is the same note as before: As I am currently without a real income, I would very much appreciate it if you could throw me a couple bucks via my ko-fi account. (included again, because tumblr now axes your posts from the search even for internal links, so I might as well) It doesn’t have to be a lot, just what you think my translations are worth really.
Xander watches himself in the mirror, somewhat nonplussed by the image before him. He straightens the lapels of the tux, the black silk soft against his fingers. Folding his arms, he adjusts the length of his cuffs, making sure that the cufflinks his father gave him — a pair of embossed gold clubs— sit prominently on the fabric. Otherwise, he looks sleek. The jet black fabric, almost lacquered in appearance, lends him a more austere regality. Underneath, a black silk shirt. All black, but none of the gloominess of a funeral. Perfect. Some might describe his entire get-up as “prince-like.” Dignified, even. Considering it’s for his wedding, Xander doesn’t mind.
Next to him, the tailor stands at the ready with a measuring tape.
“If you could turn, sir,” says the tailor. Xander obeys, and immediately the tailor stretches the measuring tape along the side of his leg. His keen eyes study the numbers, and he lets out a “Hmm,” sound as he rolls the tape back up.
Behind them, the sound of footsteps approaching.
“I can’t get this thing to close,” Leo grumbles. The younger brother marches in from his side of the fitting room, fussing over the cufflinks for his own suit.
Glancing over his shoulder, he notices that Leo’s collar is still unfolded, the starched fabric stiffly standing over the lapel of his jacket. The white shirt underneath is a bit ruffled, and the bowtie is draped like a severed wreath around his neck.
“Here, let me help you.” Xander steps off the riser and tackles the bow tie for his brother.
Standing in front of him, he’s reminded once more of how much his siblings have grown. He recalls a time when they were all small babies, when they took their first steps, when they said his name and proudly called him brother… Leo, especially, having once been positioned as his own rival for their father’s affection. All of those impressions of childhood compress into the moments it takes Xander to knot the tie.
With the tie done, he moves onto the cufflinks. They clasp seamlessly in Xander’s hands. “Straighten your collar,” he says, and Leo obeys, his hands scrambling to crease the panels over the lapels of his jacket.
“You look good,” Leo comments.
“Thank you.”
The brothers exchange curt nods before awkwardly facing the mirror together. Two men, one taller, visibly older, sunken eyes, and a gaunt face. The other, a younger reflection. Shorter hair. More feminine curves around the face. Sometimes, Xander thinks he sees the spitting image of Leo’s mother. His mind flits between past and present, the ghosts of their family hanging onto life through their children.
“Do you think the girls are done?” Xander asks.
Leo shrugs. Although they have their own cars, Xander would like to meet with Camilla and Elise promptly at their designated hour. For now, he has to finish with the tux fitting, and as if reading his mind, the tailor gets to work on both brothers. The tape measure zips open with each taut pull, straightened against their longer limbs — an unusually tall family.
“I’m done,” the tailor announces. Now that the 2nd and final fitting has been a success, they can relax.
Leo nods and returns to his side of the room, going behind the dressing screen and changing back into his clothes. Xander likewise does the same. Slowly, he sheds the dress of his upcoming nuptials and trades it in for his everyday, casual shirt and pants.
They leave the tailor’s boutique and enter the Mercedes waiting at the curb. In the car, Xander’s thoughts wander to the fleeting impressions of the past few days. Garon’s health is in good working order. He is well enough now to live back at the penthouse, cane in hand and a live-in nurse to watch over him. In his younger days, that might have been a plus. Next on their agenda, they have dinner with Catherine and her family, and there will be a formal unification of both parties heralded by toasts and long speeches from forgotten family members. Inwardly, Xander wishes Corrin could have seen him in the tux, only because he cares what she thinks. Of course, to show her would only rub salt on a freshly cut wound. She hasn’t taken his decision about the honeymoon very well and has once more reverted to a cold, terse manner around him.
Leo feels silly waiting in the office, like some prisoner on death row. He wishes he had a mirror, knowing full well his collar and jacket are ruffled from the prior incident. His lower lip is still throbbing from where the other boy punched him. Thankfully, the ice pack in his hand soothes the radiating pain, and it’s all he can take comfort in while he waits for the last person he wants to see to come pick him up.
Behind the front desk, the receptionist glances at him from time to time. Shaking her head, no doubt with disappointment that the senior prefect would get into something so boorish as a fight. None of the adults understand it. He had been perfect — straight A’s, model behavior, and remarkable extracurriculars with zero incidence of discord among his peers. That is, of course, up until today. Leo can only imagine what his teachers are thinking, especially those who, resentful of his brilliance, have been hoping for a day like this one.
The door to the office opens, ringing the automatic bell.
“Where is he?”
Xander’s voice is desperate yet rigid. He sounds like a father still reeling from the shock of his child’s crime.
He swivels his body, and instantly he spots Leo with an ice pack pressed against his face. Xander says nothing. He merely stares dumbfounded at the pathetic sight of his younger brother all roughed up. Leo, on other hand, looks askance. He doesn’t want to seem like the loser of a fight. His pride won’t let him, especially not in front of his brother.
Almost immediately, the headmistress comes out of her inner cubicle and shakes hands with him.
“I’m sorry you have to come to our school under such circumstances, but I think we best talk.”
Xander nods and follows her into the office.
The minutes after drag. Leo sits in the limbo of his thoughts, wondering what they might be saying to each other.
“This is unacceptable behavior, especially for the prefect,” she must be telling him. And Xander, Leo imagines, accepts with a penitent demeanor the castigations of an older adult. Thankfully, the meeting doesn’t take long. Xander eventually emerges from the cubicle and walks up to Leo.
“Get your things,” Xander says. There is no greeting, no words of disappointment or reproach.
When Leo peers up at his brother, he only finds a sullen expression. His lips pulled taut, brows furled together, and eyes drooping. Dimly, he wonders if he made his brother sad.
Leo obeys without a word. With one hand still pressing the ice pack to his mouth, he grabs his messenger bag, straightens his jacket, and rises from the chair.
“Does the headmistress need anything else from me?” Xander asks the receptionist.
She shakes her head. “You can just sign him out here. The headmistress will arrange a conference on the day of his return.”
“And when will that be?”
“She will notify you by the end of day.”
Satisfied, both brothers turn to leave. They walk to the car, leaving the marbled steps of the school in a tense silence. With the car door open, Benny is ready to let both of them in. Leo doesn't hesitate to take the first seat, and Xander follows after, positioned on the other side from his brother in the Mercedes.
“To the penthouse,” Xander orders the chauffeur.
The car starts up, and smoothly, they merge back into traffic with the rest of the cars stuck in their daily commute.
“What happened?” Xander is the first to break the silence.
Leo expects it, of course. Looking out the tinted windows, he pouts at his hazy reflection.
Frustrated by his prolonged silence, Xander begins speaking again. “Leo, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened. Obviously, you have to have a punishment, but I need to hear your side first.”
Leo doesn’t know why he sits there mute. Nor does he understand the churn of emotions knotting and twisting in his chest. He only knows that some part of him is still radiating with pain — a hollowed out ache that sears into his bones. Merely speaking adds to the sting, and it takes all his strength to muster an exasperated sigh, which must come off as petulant to someone like Xander.
“They made fun of Father,” he confesses. Eyes still glued to the window, he notices the brackish hue of a bruise forming below his lip. “First, they said it was over for me, because he’s dead. Then they mocked him for his…” he struggles to say the word, “...paralysis.”
In the background, the hum of the engine fills the space of their silence. Leo knows Xander is waiting for the bigger picture. The full story. Something like this is beneath him.
“It doesn’t even make sense,” Leo grumbles. “How can my father be dead and paralyzed at the same time? He was an idiot. I slapped him. He punched me back. The teachers stopped it before it could get worse.”
Xander doesn’t respond, but from the reflection on the window, Leo can see his expression flicker from indignation to sorrow. Leo can’t handle it — his sad eyes and grim demeanor. He is so much more used to his brother in charge, a sternness to his face that belies a degree of control and stability. Without that look, where will they be? Lost, no doubt; inert with unspoken feelings.
“I understand,” Xander finally speaks.
Leo whips around. “What?”
Xander turns away, staring at his own tinted window. In profile, his face acquires a melancholy stoicism. For a moment, Leo forgets how angry he is — why he’s even angry in the first place.
Xander pushes through the door and, almost immediately, he’s assailed by a nurse who tells him his father is awake. A pin drop silence envelops him, drowning out the background noise of phones ringing and machines beeping. The nurse’s voice fades into a vacuum, and the walls around him start to skew off kilter. He first notices that Leo is nowhere in sight, much to his chagrin. Before anything — before he can even think about his father— Xander wants to make things right. He has to get to Leo.
His legs walk toward his father’s sickroom, his movements mechanical and devoid of any will. He doesn’t hear Gunther when the older man greets him, nor does he stop to talk to Iago, who’s preening with the good news.
“He’s ready to see you,” says the nurse.
The words pull Xander back to reality.
Before he knows it, he’s in the sickroom. Camilla is sitting on a chair next to the bed. Elise is standing beside her. Their hopeful eyes are glued to their father, whose gaunt face and bluish, translucent skin give Xander an impression of death more than any sign of life. On the other side, he finally notices Leo. He too is engrossed in their father’s condition. He makes no move, no acknowledgment of Xander’s arrival apart from the telltale reddish tinge of his ears. For no discernible reason — to anyone but Xander — Leo’s flushed, and both brothers avert their faces for as long as possible.
“Father, how are you?” Camilla’s silky voice breaks the silence. She reaches out from her seat, laying a hand on the edge of the bed.
Their father, meanwhile, remains stationary on the bed. Half his face is perfectly still, with one eye shut, and the other half alert to the going-ons of the room. Garon darts a somewhat menacing look at Camilla, but he doesn’t say a word.
“The doctor said there might be some paralysis,” comments Leo, “but it’s not forever. Rehab has been proven to be effective.” Finally, he glances at Xander, but he quickly reverts to avoiding eye contact when his face reddens once more. No doubt, the scene that Xander and Corrin had acted out in the waiting room is playing in his younger brother’s mind.
Xander, for his part, cannot muster a single word or gesture toward his father. Yes he’s relieved, but his heart is still pounding, flustered by the discovery of his sordid secret. That Leo is partly avoiding any acknowledgment of the situation only makes Xander more nervous, more frightened by how he might seem to someone who should look up to him. After so many years of hard work and cultivating a dignified image, everything comes crashing down over a single mistake — one he indulged in in a moment of weakness.
With a sigh, he wills himself to push away any thoughts of mortification and shame. He steps forward, moving closer to his father so he can lay a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, father. The company’s in good hands. We’ll handle everything until you make a full recovery.”
These words seem to reassure Garon, for he shuts his eye and lets out a huff of breath, as if exhaling in relief. This touches Xander, who hadn’t seen his father so fragile before. Between the earlier incident and seeing their father like this, he begins to feel an itch in his throat. Yet his eyes remain dry, stinging with how hot everything feels.
Their tender silence is broken by a nurse who enters the room. “We’re going to do a check-up, if you don’t mind.”
Xander nods, and with one look at the rest of his siblings, they all rise to leave.
His thoughts are muddled even as they walk into daylight. Yellow panes on the plastered walls waxing with the coming seconds. Camilla turns to her older brother. “Get some rest, you look tired.” Behind them, Leo walks without saying a word. Xander doesn’t dare turn around.
The elephant is practically stuffing the room, and Xander can’t find the words nor the will to say anything to his younger brother. What must he be thinking? Corrin was supposed to be a secret, now she’s become sullied in Leo’s eyes as some mistress.
Xander stops in the middle of the hallway. He waits for Camilla and Elise to be out of earshot.
“Leo, about earlier-”
“It’s fine,” Leo cuts him off. His gaze is anchored to the floor as he mutters under his breath. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I won’t say anything.” He stops speaking to nibble on his lower lip.
Stunned, Xander doesn’t know what to say. His mind is going a mile a minute, trying to rehearse a speech he had conjured from the mire of his thoughts. Now, Leo tells him it’s not necessary. Can that really be? His jaw goes slack in disbelief. There’s no way, he thinks, that Leo is fine with this.
“I still think we should talk.”
“Like I said, it’s not necessary,” Leo answers, his tone hovering between curt dismissiveness and forced politeness.
For a brief moment, Xander is suddenly reminded of Leo’s age — his youth and naivete disguised as unrelenting zeal for work. Now, he’s confronted with the fact of that innocence being shattered; of a darker, seedier life foreclosed. Try as he might, he can’t save what’s been lost.
“It is necessary,” Xander insists, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Leo, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”
Anchored to the floor, Leo stays tight lipped. Xander could see from the corner of his eye his younger brother’s fist clenching at his sides.
“Who even is she?” he mutters, a churlish pout forming on his lips. “All this time, I thought you were working so hard…”
That breaks Xander. His face contorts in a painful wince and lets his arm drop. “I haven’t been running away, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then what have you been doing?!”
Silence. A roil of tension stifling the air. Leo tries to move forward before Xander can get another word in. Xander tries to follow, but he’s accosted by Catherine, who calls out from the opposite end of the hall.
“I heard. I’m so relieved for you, Xander!” She then wraps her arms around him for a hug.
Time seems to stop. Catherine hugging him, Xander wide-eyed with surprise, and Leo, glancing over his shoulder. The moment moves at a glacial pace, and Xander can feel his face flush just as Catherine tightens her embrace.
The seconds resume when she lets go. Ahead of them, Leo leaves with a huff, prompting Catherine to arch her brow in confusion. “Is everything okay?”
“Y-yes,” he says, getting flustered. “Listen, I have to go.”
“But-”
“Sorry…”
Xander navigates around her and breaks into a half-jog down the corridor. He tries to reach the elevator before the door closes, but fails. He watches glumly as the lights above flash with every floor of Leo’s descent. Every second, he gets further and further away.
Do you think there shouldn’t be a Jewish state at all? Not even in a different continent?
You might need to sit down for this one but ethnostates shoud not exist, regardless of what continent they might be on lmao
The existence of an ethnostate by default means the subjugation and violence committed against other groups of people and you cannot name anywhere, definitely not a continent, where a homogenous ethostate can be established without displacing the people already living there who are not part of the ethnic group.
The only way this can ever be achieved is through ethnic cleansing and you're literally asking me if I'm in favour of that and the answer is fuck no
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