#anyway. inscription are today and places are limited

[machidielontheway]

i am chatty today because i've got ✨The Anxieties✨

i choose to stop two choirs this year cause i didn't have fun like before (a long while, actually) and i had said to friends "i will come back with you to this other choir, the one we met all in, like you already have since a year". and i really thought i would cause it would let me keep community, and a regular occasion to work on what we'd see with my singing teacher.

but in the last two months i felt so relieved and free to not have to go back to the choirs i stopped, i began feeling like going to this other one would be again 'stiffling', even tho it's at a very low level (beginner level, altho a good beginner level). and that it would become a chore again.

i went to the open session yesterday and seeing all my friends and having fun in the warm up was really, really nice. but the choir work in itself, while of good sound quality and with a good chef, was so sloooow to my own needs. and we can't talk for real when in session, or just quick when the voice working is changing, so it's texting or nothing.

and i felt that i would be soon unfulfilled / bored in it, of the pace, and also the songs are nice but not really my taste (it was once 100%, but now it's only 50% to what i heard was planned.)

cons : - lot of people, mask is somehow accepted. i don't want to go back to singing in mask because it's really hard and creates problems which i have already, in terms of Singing. but given how covid moves lately i also don't want to be in 60 people's company in one medium room without a mask. - "slow" pace, potentially boring "what am i doing here" thinking. i could definitively bring something to do, or just read or something, as lot of people do, but i don't want my choir experience to be "you come for 2 hours and, besides warming up, you sing 15 of them". i know a good numbers of good / high level singers are in this choir and don't mind cause the ambiance is really nice, the quality is here, and the community is good, but i don't think i would have liked it. - i already have three weeks a night taken (danse, tv night with friend<3, and instrument soon if i'm not averse to it after the trial class tonight). going to choir would make it four nights a week taken every weeks (unless i double one night which is possible but not ideal especially on the long term). and i want that time to try new things / try to go forward in my life ! - i don't want to double down on my "choir the last years has been more of a duty sometimes than anything else" and continue and risk disliking it even more. i feel like simply singing in the grass or in a church with friends brings me much more pleasure, simple giddy fulfilling and without anxieties. yeah i can't sing masterpieces i've been dreaming to sing since years, needing 40 persons, but those masterpieces are not going away. they will still be sung in years and years (indodana and baba yetu my beloved)(that, funnily enough, are going to be sung this year in one of the choir i left lol. didn't change my decision) - having "one night more" gives me a little more time to try to be more active in reaching out to friends and proposing drinks or outings or so (....maybe. that's the plan. "if you wish you had a friend like that, be that friend" post)

pros : - singing and spending a little time every week with my friends, who as adult is hard to do in other circomstances ! - not feeling like my friends are having fun and sharing time together and i'm all alone not being there :( - working on what i'm working on with my singing teacher... maybe (loosing your long-time used crutches / wrong things you did because you didn't know better is very hard in context of choir where you body has sooo many automatisms)

So cons are winning a lot. but i'm so scared i'm making the wrong choice !! especially imagining them all having fun and feeling like i'm the one not there, shunned of my own desire. it uh. it hit a little bit deep in the never healed wound in my heart.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 21

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is the product of my limited knowledge of Chinese characters as I attempt to learn the language. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Buy me a Ko-fi ☕

Chapter 21 - Paying Homage to Our Ancestors

Song Qingshi got up early and took Yue Wuhuan to the ancestral hall to pay respect to his ancestors.

The ancestral hall, which other sects attach great importance to, is remote and inconspicuous in Medicine King Valley, hidden in the trees, dilapidated and not much better than the medicinal servants' residence. Outside of the ancestral hall was a medicinal garden. Yue Wuhuan had passed by several times and thought it was an abandoned building and ignored it.

Song Qingshi pushed open the door, sealed by an array.

There was a thick pile of dust inside the ancestral hall, and apart from the simple tables, chairs and offering table, there was only an old painted scroll.

"Actually, it doesn't matter if you lock it. There aren't any valuables," Song Qingshi explained with some embarrassment. "I haven't been here for many years. Wait a minute while I clean it up." Then he rolled up his sleeves and first used a cool breeze spell to blow away the dust. After throwing cleansing spells everywhere, he set up an incense bowl on the altar and put flowers and fruits around it. Finally, he found a broken mat, patted the dust off with his hands, and said with satisfaction, "All done."

Yue Wuhuan stood beside him, holding the incense in a daze. He had never seen such an unrefined sect in his life. . .

Song Qingshi unrolled the painted scroll on the offering table and hung it up.

The scroll had no figures or inscriptions, only a boundless sea of clouds. A brilliant light beamed through the depths of the sea of clouds, lighting up the sky.

Song Qingshi tried his best to explain: "I accidentally got the inheritance from my ancestors in the hidden realm. My ancestors didn't leave a name, only the surname Song. I didn't have a surname then, so I took my ancestor's surname as a sign of respect. . ."

There were a lot of killings in the immortal world. Many children had lost their parents. His original body was one of them. Because he was born with two kinds of spiritual abilities and had a very high talent for medicine and poisons, he accidentally obtained the Medicine King's inheritance in the hidden realm and created the Medicine King's Valley. Practicing medicine and treating diseases, refining alchemy to make poisons, and occasionally going to the hidden realm to grab some rare medicines unknowingly helped gain the sect the reputation it has today.

"This inheritance in the immortal world was placed directly into my consciousness, so this painting is the only physical material left by the late master. I guess it has special sentimental value, so I used it as an offering. In fact, I don't know what the painting is about. It may be a landscape. . ." Song Qingshi, feeling guilty about his random assessment, quickly dismissed it. "Anyway, I have copied all the manuscripts that are suitable for inheriting the sect and put them in the library. You can read them yourself."

After Song Qingshi finished his introduction, he felt confident that he hadn't missed anything and instructed Yue Wuhuan to offer incense.

Yue Wuhuan lit the incense respectfully. When he was about to kneel down, the incense went out.

He re-lit the incense, knelt down again, and the incense went out once more.

Yue Wuhuan looked at Song Qingshi worriedly: "Could it be. . . the master doesn't want to accept me as a disciple?"

"Impossible. You're so smart. The late master couldn't be happier." Song Qingshi waved his hand. He lowered his head and pondered for a moment, "Speaking of which, I don't recall ever having kneeled here before. Every time I come here, I clean up and leave after I burn incense. I must have forgotten. . . I guess the late master might not like being bowed to by his disciples, so try offering incense directly."

Yue Wuhuan dubiously inserted the burning incense into the burner, stood up and saluted.

Sure enough, the incense in the burner burned steadily and didn't go out.

Yue Wuhuan couldn't help asking: "Is this disrespectful to the ancestors?"

"The late master didn't like these sorts of things. He liked. . ." Song Qingshi recalled the inheritance that the original body received. Those inheritances were full of knowledge, leaving almost no personal traces except a very interesting word, which seemed to be his motto, "Question."

Question authority, question knowledge, question everything in the world.

Questioning is the driving force behind scientific research.

Song Qingshi wasted a lot of energy explaining his philosophy to Yue Wuhuan: "The late master didn't want us to respect him personally. What he wanted us to respect was knowledge, to carry out his philosophy, to study well, to study carefully, and to never hesitate to question what he left behind just because he was the master. Although Master was very powerful, he could still make mistakes. We have to find the correct answer in the neverending mistakes."

Yue Wuhuan hesitated: "The correct answer?"

Song Qingshi said happily: "Well, I've already studied and proved several mistakes of my master and re-revised the answers."

His theory can be described as shocking in the immortal world where masters are respected.

Yue Wuhuan was too shocked to speak.

"Perhaps this is the root of Medicine King's Valley foundation," Song Qingshi said longingly. "If I die, I hope to be like my master, to not have my disciples worship, and to not leave portraits and names for future generations to admire. These things are a waste of time. If you have the time to do these things, you might as well use it for research. It's better to finish the projects I haven't finished, correct the mistakes I made, and create more interesting. . ."

Before he finished speaking, Yue Wuhuan yanked his arm heavily, interrupting his thoughts.

Yue Wuhuan stared at him fiercely. His face was as gloomy as a sky about to rain. He almost gritted his teeth and said, "Don't say such unlucky things..."

Song Qingshi finally came to his senses and said with a smile, "Don't worry, I'm talking about the end of my life."

Medical students aren't afraid to talk about life and death, and he didn't feel that this topic was anything special.

Yue Wuhuan panicked and interrupted sternly: "Don't say that!"

Song Qingshi realized that he was really angry. He thought about his psychological problems and obediently shut up.

Yue Wuhuan also knew he should bow his head, but he didn't want to apologize.

The two were silent for a long time and finally silently pretended that this topic had never happened.

The worship ceremony was completed.

. . .

Song Qingshi liked to eat sweets, especially sorbet. Yue Wuhuan was very picky about the taste, thinking that the ones bought from outside weren't good enough and too dirty, and there was no good cook in Medicine King's Valley, so he took the time to study various sweet food preparation methods. Every day, he cooked all kinds of sweet food for him in different ways, which was especially delicious.

After An Long discovered Song Qingshi's private stove, he became incredibly grabby and tried to get Yue Wuhuan to cook for him too.

Song Qingshi was instantly angry: "Is my eldest disciple a waiter?"

An Long didn't care about such reasoning. He made a big fuss, just wanting to eat desserts made by Yue Wuhuan.

"Forget it. He's very busy," Song Qingshi lost his temper. He put down his book, rolled up his sleeves and said, "I'll do it for you."

An Long's eyes lit up with joy.

Although Song Qingshi loved sweets, he didn't go out of his way to eat them. He was fine whether he ate them or not. In the original world, he was the eldest young master who only had to stretch his hand out for food. In this world, he would rather fast than make food, so he had never been in a kitchen in either of his two lifetimes. His brain was filled with tens of thousands of herbs but had no place for oil, salt, sauce or vinegar. . .

He stood in the kitchen in a daze for a while, trying to figure out how to use various utensils. He couldn't find a recipe and didn't know how to make fire with ordinary firewood, so he simply used spiritual fire and made dessert like alchemy.

Finally, after mucking around for a long time, he brought out a plate of round dumplings with charred black skin, each of which was exactly the same size and shade of charred blackness. Perfectly satisfying for anyone with OCD.

"These are green dumplings." Song Qingshi had always been brave in the face of failure. He took out the finished product to prove that he had tried hard. He then said, "It probably won't taste good, so I should throw them away. I'll ask the cook to make something for you. As long as it doesn't bother Wuhuan, anything is fine.”

An Long smiled and watched, then suddenly picked up a dumpling and threw it into his mouth.

Song Qingshi didn't have time to stop An Long from indiscriminately eating them, so he was a little worried about diarrhea.

An Long chewed it carefully for a long time and praised: "It doesn't look like much, but the taste is actually alright."

Immediately afterwards, he happily threw a few more dumpings into his mouth until only the last one remained.

Song Qingshi was dumbfounded. Even he didn't dare taste this stuff after it came out of the oven. Was it really edible? So, in a brave and challenging mood, he put the last dumpling into his mouth and chewed it. The explosive taste rushed over his taste buds in an instant. The fishy taste was worse than the most bitter medicine and was bad enough to make him nauseous.

Song Qingshi was so disgusted that tears came out of his eyes. He quickly spit out the dumplings, gesturing to An Long speechlessly.

An Long slapped the table and laughed crazily, so much that he couldn't sit upright.

He was like this in the past. He would be willing to hurt himself in order to make fun of the original body. He has a good grasp of how low he could go before he went too far with the original body, so he could successfully walk on the thin line of death every time. When he saw that Song Qingshi was about to explode, he quickly wiped away the tears from laughing, regained his dignity, and added: "I'll never ask Yue Wuhuan for food again."

Song Qingshi instantly dissipated his anger.

An Long said playfully: "It's only the first time you made it. It's precious. You must try again."

When Song Qingshi thought about his creation, he felt a little embarrassed.

An Long chased after him: "By the way, do you want to see the new poison I developed? It's very cute."

Song Qingshi immediately forgot such insignificant things as dumplings and happily dragged him to the research room.

On the way, An Long smiled and asked, "You're really nervous about this darling Yue Wuhuan. What's wrong with him?"

Song Qingshi glanced at him vigilantly, unwilling to answer this private question, and instructed: "Don't mess around."

An Long pondered: "That's interesting. . ."

The more Song Qingshi didn't allow things to get messy, the more he wanted to mess things up.

How fun is it to mess around?

. . .

After finishing sword practice, Yue Wuhuan was returning to his room to shower and change clothes. When he passed by the corridor, a small paper ball hit the back of his head.

The ball of paper fell on the ground and rolled around. It seemed like there was something wrapped inside it.

Right now is when Song Qingshi does pharmaceutical experiments and can't be disturbed. . . So he squatted down obediently, picked up the paper ball according to the other party's wishes, and slowly unfolded it.

Wrapped in the paper ball was a terrifying double-headed centipede, with countless legs wriggling and disgusting mucus flowing from its two grotesque mandibles. It opened its teeth and claws to pounce on him.

Yue Wuhuan thought about it and wrapped it in the paper again. He threw it away and said angrily, "Immortal An, don't do such childish things."

"What? Qingshi's not here, and suddenly you're too lazy to pretend to be good?" An Long laughed and came out from behind the screen wall. He beckoned, and the centipede immediately crawled out of the paper ball and returned to his palm, "This little guy isn't poisonous. It’s just for scaring people. Every time it can scare a beauty into screaming and trembling, it’s very fun. Why aren’t you afraid at all? I’m a little disappointed.”

Yue Wuhuan said helplessly: "If the Immortal Master wants it, I can scream for you."

"Don't, it'll sound too fake. I won't like it," An Long flipped his hands, and the centipede disappeared. He walked over lazily, looked Yue Wuhuan up and down curiously, and praised, "I never thought that a man could be so beautiful. Even more beautiful than Miss Wan in Mingyue Tower. I know you only like men, but still, I don't feel disgusted."

Mingyue Tower was a famous brothel in the immortal world, and Miss Wan was a famous prostitute.

This analogy was extremely malicious.

But Yue Wuhuan didn't care. He smiled and said: "I've heard that Immortal An's confidantes are all over the world and have seen countless beauties. Many immortal maidens and devils are jealous and have even fought over you. Today, it's a great honour for Wuhuan to be praised for his beauty."

"Young Master Wuhuan is joking," An Long heard him secretly mocking his flirtations and was amused, "My confidantes can't compare to the many that must be fascinated with you. I once knew a friend, what was his name? He's still a hero following a righteous path. He can't forget about you. Knowing that you have willingly entered Medicine King's Valley and can no longer get close to him, he gets drunk and complains a lot."

Yu Qing talked nonsense after drinking in Xilin, which tarnished Song Qingshi's reputation, so he killed him and sent his body to Medicine King's Valley for research.

Yue Wuhuan pretended not to understand: "I never remember dead people."

An Long sneered and said, "Beauties are so ruthless."

"Yes, prostitutes are ruthless and heartless." Yue Wuhuan pointed out his sarcasm. He raised his head, brushed his hair that was wet from the sweat from practicing sword practice behind his ears, and walked a few steps. He lazily leaned against the corridor's screen wall, raised his eyes, and asked provocatively: "Immortal An, don't you think it's interesting to be alive?"

An Long followed and bent down. He pressed his arm tattooed with the five poisonous creatures tightly against the screen wall next to his ear. He towered over him, smiling wickedly, and took off his disguise, baring his sharp wolf teeth: "I think I think you're a funny little fake. I want to know what's hidden under this beauty's skin. Let me have a look, okay?"

Yue Wuhuan smiled and asked: "Is Immortal An interested in my true face?"

An Long frivolously pinched his chin and forcefully lifted it. He examined his face carefully, leaned forward, and said fiercely: "Very interested."

Yue Wuhuan looked at him quietly for a moment and reminded him: "Master seems to have finished his experiments ahead of schedule."

An Long withdrew his hand quickly. He panicked momentarily before suddenly remembering that he had blocked Song Qingshi's spiritual detection so he wouldn't be discovered.

Yue Wuhuan lowered his head and held back his smile.

"You dare lie to me?!" Realizing he had been tricked, An Long was furious and wanted to flash his claws at this ignorant guy.

In an instant, a spiritual fire rose under his feet.

An Long sensed the crisis and immediately jumped away.

Immediately afterwards, several spiritual fires forced him to retreat several feet away.

Song Qingshi appeared behind him, wishing he could smash An Long to death with spiritual fire for bullying his little angel without a second thought. Fortunately, Yue Wuhuan had reminded him that he should secretly use his divine sense to check what An Long was doing while he was here; otherwise, this dead dog could have torn down Medicine King's Valley! Although high-level cultivators were able to isolate the divine mind from detection, when he found that An Long's aura had suddenly disappeared from the research room, he realized something was wrong. He thought he was going to hide and do bad things, so he came here after discovering Yue Wuhuan's location.

An Long pointed at Yue Wuhuan, so angry that he couldn't speak properly: "You!"

Yue Wuhuan whispered aggrievedly: "I didn't lie."

Song Qingshi rushed to Yue Wuhuan in one large step. He carefully checked whether he was injured, and asked nervously, "Did this guy bully you?"

Although he didn't see what had happened, it didn't take much thought about who was right and who was wrong between the fierce and domineering An Long and the cute little angel. Was there much to consider when comparing who's stronger and weaker between a mentally fragile patient and a rough and thick-skinned immortal? What's more, An Long can kill Yue Wuhuan a hundred times over with just one finger! He must take good care of his little angel! Not just for the investment but to protect him!

Song Qingshi was eccentric and magnanimous, and frankly, he was justified.

An Long glared desperately at Yue Wuhuan behind his back, the kind of gaze that held a particularly strong deterrent effect.

Yue Wuhuan looked at it and said softly and protectively: "No, Immortal An is quite nice. He's joking with me."

Song Qingshi looked back at An Long suspiciously. The spiritual fire on his body was still burning, and there was a faint urge to switch to a poisonous fire.

An Long instantly switched to a pure smile: "I wouldn't dare bully him. I'm just chatting casually and telling jokes."

"Yes," Yue Wuhuan continued to persuade. "Master, I seldom go out, so I'm quite curious about the outside world. Immortal An is good-natured and had a lot of interesting things to share. I'm happy to listen."

An Long grabbed Yue Wuhuan's shoulders and patted his chest. He laughed, "He and I hit it off right away. We just want to be friends."

Yue Wuhuan admitted with a smile: "Immortal An really didn't bully me."

Song Qingshi gradually extinguished the flame and doubtfully asked: "Is that so?"

The two of them nodded at the same time: "Yes."

Song Qingshi was a little confused and scratched his head. When he saw An Long blocking Yue Wuhuan from leaving with a domineering posture, he felt angry. He really didn't understand what they were doing. Could it be a misunderstanding?

"You go first. I'll find you next time to play a little longer," An Long greeted Yue Wuhuan with a hidden threat. and then dragged Song Qingshi away as quickly as he could. "Come on, let's see if the petri dish from yesterday has any results."

"Don't be angry. I really dare not bully your glass man."

"Rule 72."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop talking about it. Have a drink with me."

"I don't want to."

". . ."

Yue Wuhuan saluted politely and watched the two leave.

The King of Xilin Poison stood in a high position all year round. He didn't need to think many things through. Violence was enough to crush everything.

Therefore, his temptations and thoughts were superficial and very easy to guess.

It's just investigating his miserable past that brought up despicable suspicion; suspicion that he had someone backing him up, suspicion that he had evil intentions for Medicine King's Valley, suspicion of his ambitions, and even suspicion that he had feelings for Song Qingshi. But he was also worried that if there was no evidence, Song Qingshi would tear him apart, unwilling to actually investigate. He wanted to find an excuse to wind him up, try to find out his true face little by little, and then crush him to death.

This matter isn't difficult to solve.

Since the King of Xilin Poison wants to see his true face, then he'll show him his true face.

He hoped he could take it. . .

[yamayuandadu]

Wikipedia troubles, or “Father Enlil, (...) don't let your precious metal be alloyed there with the dirt of the underworld“

clarification regarding my post about troubles with a certain site i’ve been contributing to a lot for the past few months. To preface this with a mythical metaphor: in Inanna’s Descent, when Ninshubur pleads with the other gods to save Inanna, she uses the formula “don't let anyone kill your daughter in the underworld. Don't let your precious metal be alloyed there with the dirt of the underworld. Don't let your precious lapis lazuli be split there with the mason's stone. Don't let your boxwood be chopped up there with the carpenter's wood.” Currently this is what is happening to the Inanna article, I am afraid.

So, long story short, as most of you probably have noticed I am contributing relatively often to wikipedia as of late, starting with the creation of a Matara-jin article a few months ago. Among other things I wrote, rewrote or at least significantly improved the following:

articles about Mesopotamian medicine goddesses:

Ninkarrak from the western frontier, Nintinugga, who was associated with funerary offerings, Ninisina, who took over Inanna's gimmick in Isin, Bau, who became a healing goddess by chance, Gula, who eclipsed her peers - as expected from someone named “the great” articles about Inanna's courtiers and associated goddesses:

Ninshubur, her sidekick (my best work overall imo, the one article I wrote which I think fully deserves the “good” badge but I am not vain enough to apply myself), Ninegal, a goddess turned into her title, Nanaya, just the horny part distilled (bought a book just for this one!), Irnina, inexplicably cthtonic personified victory

articles about Mesopotamian gods too insignificant for anyone else to care about them:

Tishpak, a god so foreign nobody knows where he came from, Sebitti, seven warlike brothers, Enmesharra, Enlil's evil uncle, Urash, not the earth goddess – there are two... Urashes, Ningishzida, Dumuzi but with a snake gimmick, Zababa, a war god who's NOT Nergal, Ninimma, Enlil's court scribe, Gatumdag, popular as ersatz mom among kings of Lagash, Manzat, the rainbow

articles about Mesopotamian goddesses whose main trait was being someone's wife: Marduk's wife Sarpanit, Adad's wife Shala, Shamash's wife Aya

articles about Hurrian gods: Alalu, primordial vanquished king of gods, Kumarbi, his son, divine Saturday morning cartoon villain, Ninatta and Kulitta, a pair of divine musicians who always appeared together, Allani, oddly joyful queen of the dead, Šauška, who was so firmly genderfluid there's two of them in the most famous image of the Hurrian pantheon, Lelluri, a mountain goddess, Kubaba, who isn't Cybele, Goddess of the Night, who has no proper name despite being a case study in important religious rituals, Belet Nagar, who was like Ashur before Ashur got popular, Nupatik, who was important but we don't know why

articles about Eblaite gods: Ishara, ��independent lady of love associated with scorpion and cannabis” popular everywhere where she went, Aštabi, a war god who really wanted to be like the weather god, Hadabal, who used to be famous but vanished out of blue, Kura, whose mask had to be renewed each year, Adamma, who left her husband to hang out with Kubaba

articles about Elamite gods: Pinikir, sort of like a bootleg Ishtar and an international sensation, Jabru, who exists only in Mesopotamian texts about Elam, Humban, mandate of heaven personified, Ruhurater, oddly obscure creator of mankind, Inshushinak, the underworld judge and his Akkadian helpers Lagamar and Ishmekarab, and Simut, the “strange star”

articles which were borderline unusable before due to low quality of sources:

Astarte, who was much more than vintage Bible scholars might lead you to believe (but not a fertility goddess), Dagan, who wasn't a fishman, Qetesh whose existence proves that Egyptians were fond of making ocs for their favorite foreign franchises

assorted articles about general topics pertaining to Mesopotamia:

Sukkal,  Hurrian religion (ongoing project), List of Elamite gods; also a much needed overhaul of List of Mesopotamian deities (ongoing project)

and, last but not least, a solid chunk of the Inanna article.

Two guiding principles of these ventures were the following:

people who cannot access academic resources or don't know how to use them and as a result rely on wikipedia aren't any less deserving of receiving up to date, credible information

Wikipedia's mode of operation isn't flawed in itself and the only problem is lack of will to edit it

I think I did a pretty good job at these two things, honestly. I made sure to rely on rigorous, credible, and, if possible, easy to understand sources, and removed the horrors which sometimes were hidden in bibliographies: a book written by a hate preacher who believed Bush didn't start enough wars; 1930s race science; what I can only describe as a hybrid of Woman's Encyclopedia and a bdsm manual; a fringe book asserting that Minoan palaces were graveyards and that Egyptians only learned mummification from superior Minoans; etc. Of course, it’s a thankless job, but as long as I could make the site more credible undisturbed, that’s fine by me. I even got some help in a few cases, most notably that of the god list, indicating that the work was on some level appreciated. The only problem I've encountered prior to today came from editing the Ereshkigal article – I've removed the claim the Burney relief depicts “Lilith”; this edit was however undone. I left a message on the editor's page, complete with links to articles about the Burney relief AND about the possible Mesopotamian forerunners of Lilith (who are undeniably not depicted on the Burney relief). They're responded rather dismissively to it, and asserted that even if unproven, a connection existed, so I pretty quickly gave up, as they relied on sources which were outdated or fringe. I focused on fixing two long, important articles instead: the god list, and the Inanna article. Some parts of it were alright, but there was much work needed: fringe theories trying to assign greater antiquity to relatively late myths, and frankly insane hyperdiffusionism, had a prominent place in the article, while well attested association between Inanna and similar deities from cultures closely associated with Mesopotamia wasn't, much of the info was outdated, scandalous hot takes about Dumuzi's treatment were all over the place, the section on Inanna's descent favored Jungian confabulations over credible research, etc. My progress on fixing that had been slow and steady. However, today the aforementioned person intervened when, in between editing the Inanna article and the god list, I reverted a dumb, brief , unsourced edit – made by a third party - which asserted that Inanna's descent is “similar to Persephone” which it isn't – if anything is similar to Persephone in Mesopotamian mythology it's Nergal and Ereshkigal. They pretty clearly didn't take it well: not only the unfounded speculation went back up, but they also added a “source” affirming it, from a controversial -medical- author, not an Assyriologist. They also added Persephone to the list of Inanna equivalents in the infobox, removing any credibility whatsoever from it. The author of the claim this is all about relied on sources so antiquated that they interpreted Inanna's sexual character as her being a child-snatching boogeyman. Inanna's primary connection to boogeymen is that she was invoked, alongside Nanaya whose sexual connection is even more blatant, to -ward off- child-snatching boogeyman Lamashtu (whose character was not sexual, because sumerians and akkadians weren't victorian aristrocrats and weren't paranoically afraid of sex - and why would a demon representing death in infancy be sexual in nature, anyway?). Simply put, the book in mention is worthless as a source. Of course, I reverted that; when it went back up (despite a justification being included in my reversal) I edited the Inanna article to remove this outlandish claim (you have a limited number of possible reversions per day for some arcane reason), also adding other information about Inanna I had prepared: a few tidbits on Assyrian royal inscriptions which involved the warlike and erotic aspects at once, suggesting that transgressors should lose both potency and bravery in battle, some info on love poetry about her and Dumuzi, that sort of stuff. The weird person reverted my edit – removing valuable info – and reinstated the claim. For a moment I lost my cool and reverted this edit, which sadly put me in the reversion overuse danger zone, but which was a necessary sacrifice to save the credibility of article I put weeks of work into. See the edit history here. As you can guess HaniwaEnthusiast is me. I left messages critical of this decision on the talk page of the article and on the talk page of the outlandish editor. Sadly, they responded rather rudely, and basically declared Wikipedia isn't meant to be credible, and that favoring academic sources over random crap is an “ivory tower” approach and should be discouraged; they also insulted me but that's much less relevant and much less hurtful than their desire to spread lies. If you ask me it's more of an ivory tower attitude to say people who cannot access or don't know how to use academic sources do not deserve equally credible info and need to be at the mercy of weird wikipedia editors. What's the main problem here, though? That person is a mod. Not a random user. They have 16 years of Wikipedia experience. They spread fringe, pop-spiritual claims about Lilith and the like, so I assume they have an ulterior religious agenda of some sort, which they seem to actively encourage judging from these ventures. I'm not sure if the Inanna article is a lost cause yet but I do think the weird addition of Persephone they made is a step into some hellish direction, and I am entirely certain I cannot win this conflict. Simply put, I think that if this is the sort of staff the site has, this is a lost cause. I am not sure if I will go back to editing.

[freddiesaysalright]

Journey to the Past - Chapter 1

Joe!Dimitri x Anastasia!Reader

Summary: The royal family is overthrown in a violent revolution. However, rumor grows that one daughter survived. Could the last of the line be found? Will a con man and a princess put a twist on what it means to live a fairy tale? 

Word Count: 3.4K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Thanks for keeping up, everyone! Hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Warning(s): None

Moodboard

Prologue

Chapter 1 here we go!!!

That same face swam before you. The kind looking little boy, just a year or two older than you, with soft brown eyes and auburn hair. His face stuck out, but there were glimpses of other things around you. A parade. Dancers. And then chaos. He was always in a crowd. At least until the last hazy memory. The clearest sight of him as you focused on his features instead of the searing pain in your shoulder and abdomen. 

You sat up, pushing the image to the back of your mind. He had to be a dream. You had never been to a ball or a parade, anyway. At least, not as far as you could remember. And you couldn’t remember much before the day you came here, to the orphanage. 

Now that you were an adult, you worked there, but you’d been a resident from the time you were eight or so. Having no memory of who you were before then meant you had no idea when your exact birthday was. A doctor examined you and diagnosed you with amnesia due to a traumatic head injury, and guessed your age based on your development. The women at the orphanage had chosen the day you arrived to be your birthday - not that it meant any celebrations, but so that they had something for the record. 

You tried to remember your past. Especially as a child. You were visited by doctors and specialists, but no one could trigger anything that brought something significant back. All you knew was that you had been wounded, a kind boy brought you to the hospital, and from there you went to the orphanage. You couldn’t even remember what your parents looked like. 

There was only one clue as to who you were that was found among your belongings. A necklace. It was a fine, gold chain, at the end of which was a pendant, with jewels creating the shape of a flower. On the back was an inscription that read “Together in Ramimont.” 

You found out that Ramimont was the capital city of a country to the south. Why you would have family there was beyond you. But someone had given it to you, and whoever that person was must have loved you. Who else would give such a sentimental trinket?

With a sigh, you stretched and got out of bed. You padded over to the chair in the corner of your room and stepped into the dress you wore every day. There was an almost exact copy of it hanging in the wardrobe next to your coat. The choices at the orphanage were limited - so you’d taken whatever fabric you could to make your dresses. Old curtains mostly. And while they weren’t fashionable, they certainly kept you warm. 

Stuffing your feet into your boots, you left your room and headed downstairs. Sophie, the headmistress of the orphanage was waiting for you. Your brow furrowed. That was unusual. 

“Is everything alright, Sophie?” you asked her, coming to a stop. 

She wrung her hands and looked desperately at you. 

“Come with me, Y/N,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Heart rate quickening, you followed her into her office on the main floor. Upstairs, you heard the children beginning to rise and dress. You hoped whatever this was wouldn’t hurt them too much. 

Sophie closed the door behind you and gestured to the old dining chair that faced her desk. You took a seat right on the edge. She moved the newspaper out of the way and you caught a glimpse of the headline: RUMORS OF THE PRINCESS… but you couldn’t see the second half. It didn’t concern you anyway. This country had no royalty. Not since the Revolution.

“Y/N, I’m terribly sorry about this, but we’re going to have to let you go,” she said. 

Your stomach dropped. You were...sacked?

“I…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, dear. It’s just that the city has cut funds for this place, and now I can only afford to pay myself and George.”

George was in charge of the boys at the orphanage. He answered to Sophie at the end of the day, though. 

You took in a shaky breath. Fear made your blood feel cold as ice. 

“W-what am I going to do?” you wondered. 

It was half to yourself, half to her. This place was the only life you had ever known. 

“I’ve arranged for you to get a job as a street sweeper for one of the hotels nearby,” she said. “I’m afraid they can’t pay you as much as we did, but you’ll have a roof over your head.”

You swallowed even though your mouth felt dry. You barely made enough to live with your current salary. How could you survive on less?

“There is something else you could do,” she said, lowering her voice. 

You scooted closer to hear, eager. “What?”

“Go to Ramimont,” she whispered. 

The government was very strict about travel, so you understood her secretive actions. To discuss leaving could be considered treason, so not even George could overhear. 

“What?” you gasped softly. “You really think I should?”

“It’s up to you,” she replied. “But if you’ve got some money saved, I think it would be the perfect opportunity.”

“But I don’t even know who I’m looking for,” you said. “How can I -”

“Whoever gave you that necklace is probably missing you just as much as you’re longing for them,” she said. “But going is your only chance of finding them.”

You sat back, considering the idea. You had always wanted to go. And you did have a bit of money saved. Only, you had no idea what was required of you. If you had to get some sort of papers, what could you provide? You had no evidence of your identity. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you said aloud. 

“I don’t really know, either,” Sophie admitted. “But the knowledge is not behind the walls of this building. You’ll have to move on first.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”

Her eyes were equally watery. “Oh, dear. I’m going to miss you too.”

You jumped to your feet, crossed around her desk, and hugged her. She sniffled and patted your back. And before you knew it, it was time to pack your bags. 

***

Joe read over the words again. RUMORS OF THE PRINCESS ANASTASIA ALIVE. Beneath the headline was a photo of the princess - the rest of her family cropped out so it was just her proud face. He could never forget that girl. And the horror he witnessed that day. There was no way she was alive. 

He re-focused and started to read the article. It mentioned that there was a reward offered by the girl’s grandmother, the Dowager Empress Marie Malek Lee. His eyes widened at the number. That much money meant the kind of freedom he had longed for all his life!

The wheels in his head began turning. If anyone had a chance at that money it was him. He had worked in the kitchen, he had met the family. And then there was the music box. He had more proof than any other person could hope to provide. Plus, he had Roman. 

As if summoned by the mere thought of him, Roman came through the door. He shook some snow off his jacket and hung it on the rack. Joe looked up and smiled. 

“Morning,” he said. “How was town?”

“Ugh,” Roman groaned. “Everyone’s all aflutter about this rumor regarding the princess. It’s clearly a distraction!”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “A distraction? From what?”

“They closed another border today,” Roman said gravely. “They’re shutting us in, Joe. We need to get out if we’re going to do it.”

Joe paused. Another border closure was definitely concerning. And it meant difficulty in their plan. But Joe’s new plan meant getting out with the addition of money. He would have no qualms splitting any earnings with Roman, who had become his closest friend. 

Roman was only about ten years old than Joe, but with a whole different experience. Being the scandalous love child of an earl, most would have thought his life difficult. It was in some respects, but astonishingly, Roman’s father welcomed his son with open arms, and tried to make him part of society. The mother being a prostitute made some members of the nobility scoff, but when King Nicholas himself accepted Roman, the rest of that class had to suck it up. 

That is, until the Revolution came. The earl packed up his family, and had to pay for each of their exit visas. In their rush, Roman was left behind. He was the forgotten son, after all. 

Roman got his revenge. He went to his father’s mansion and completely ransacked it. He took all the valuables left behind - jewels, furs, antiques, etc. - and sold them. He kept one thing, a diamond ring that belonged to his father’s wife, and he gave it to his mother. She didn’t live much longer, but Roman still had it. 

“I was thinking about this whole Princess Anastasia thing,” Joe said. 

Roman rolled his eyes. “Not you too! I thought you had some sense!”

“Hear me out,” Joe insisted. “Between the two of us, we could train any girl to be that princess. We just gotta find someone who looks enough like her.”

“Are you serious?” Roman returned. “You want to con the Dowager Empress?”

“What’s she ever done for either of us?” Joe pointed out. “Why shouldn’t we get something out of our knowledge?”

Roman paused, mulling it over. 

“What woman would agree to this?” he said. “We’d have to split the reward money three ways.”

“Believe me, the amount is more than enough to split three ways,” Joe said. 

He tossed the paper to Roman, who began reading it over. Concern crossed his handsome, angular features as he read. 

“Let’s say we do this,” he said. “How will we find the girl? We can’t exactly put out an ad for people to audition. We’d be shot where we stand.”

“I know some people, I’ll get the word out,” Joe insisted. “Come on, Ro, this is our chance.”

“I think we should just consider ourselves lucky to be able to get out of the country,” Roman replied warily. “Is money really worth all this risk?”

“Money is the most important thing in the world, Roman,” Joe said seriously. “And I don’t intend on being without it anymore.”

“Money has never been the most important thing in the world,” Roman said. “The Lee family had more money they knew what to do with, and they still ended up dead.”

Joe didn’t answer that. He was all too familiar with that story, though he’d never shared it with his friend. 

“Ro, I’m doing this,” he said. “Whether you’re with me or not.”

A beat passed as Roman eyed him, a bit worried. Then he smirked. “You couldn’t pull it off without me anyway.”

Joe beamed. “So you’re in?”

“I’m in,” Roman said. 

They shook on it. 

“Who knows? Maybe we will find her,” he continued. “If the Dowager is offering a reward, there must be some substance to the rumor.”

A fleeting image passed in the front of Joe’s mind. Bloody snow, a weak girl in his arms, her eyes falling shut as he called to her. He shook his head to clear it away.

“I doubt it,” he said. 

With that, he took to the streets, telling his most trusted contacts that he was looking for the lost princess. 

***

The snow crunched under your boots as you trudged up to the hotel. You didn’t imagine there were many tourists in the country. What was there to see? The capital was only government workers and poor people. There was the old palace, but it was boarded up. As far as anything else, you had no idea what might draw people here. You noticed that most of the people coming to the hotel were in uniforms of some sort. They must be visitors from around the country. Or even other countries. 

You set your bag down and stood across the street from the hotel that was to be your new home. If you took the job. There was also Sophie’s suggestion to consider. The latter was definitely the more frightening option, but if the reward was finding your true family, then it should be worth it...right? 

You glanced down at the necklace, thinking it over some more. If you went into that hotel now, you may never get another opportunity to leave. You picked up your bag, determined, and walked away toward the train station. You had to take your chance. 

The train station was toward the edge of the city, near the old palace. You could see the towers looming over the land around it. The area was rather deserted, which you found surprising. As you looked at the abandoned fortress, you felt a sort of pull from it. Like you had been there before. 

You ignored this feeling and pressed on to the station. You couldn’t be worried about some crumbling castle. You had to get out as soon as possible. 

The line for tickets was excruciatingly long. You waited for nearly two hours before you were face to face with the attendant at the booth. He looked impatiently at you. 

“Where to?” he asked gruffly. 

“One ticket to Ramimont, please,” you said. 

“Exit visa and passport?”

“I - uh - well -” you stammered. “I have some money.”

“You can’t purchase a ticket without an exit visa and a passport,” he explained, rolling his eyes. “You may get those documents at the parliament building downtown.”

“How long does that take?” you asked. 

“Depends on how much money you have,” he said. “And who you know. But until you have those, get out of my line.”

You started at the harshness of his address, but did as you were told. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to face it. It was a woman. She was not really dressed for the cold weather, with her chest that exposed and skirt just under her knee. She also had a heavy rogue on her cheeks. 

“If you’re looking to go to Ramimont, you should see Joe Mazzello,” she said quietly.

You stepped closer to her. “Who?”

“Joe Mazzello,” she repeated. “He’s at the old palace. I hear he’s got a ticket, but there is a catch.”

“What’s the catch?” you wondered. 

She shrugged. “Dunno. Heard it from a friend. But you might have a better shot with him than with the government.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, Miss…”

“You don’t need to know my name,” she said. “You didn’t hear this from me.”

You nodded. After thanking her again, you left the train station. This time, heading for the one place you were avoiding earlier. Perhaps it was fate calling you in. Hopefully, you were meant to meet this Joe person and he would deliver you to your family. 

You stopped yourself. You didn’t want to get carried away in a hope. 

The castle was a sorry sight. With wooden planks in the windows where glass used to be, dustings of snow being blown in by the wind, and a fully collapsed tower, it looked a bit haunted. And of course, the lack of people added to the eerie feeling. You peered in between the boards and into the darkness. You couldn’t see anything, really. 

You picked this window because it was far enough away from the main entrance that you might be able to sneak in without startling anyone. You tested the plank in front of your chest. It was fairly loose - whoever had done this did it quickly and carelessly. You supposed the New Order didn’t want anyone to see the symbol of the old ways as up for grabs. 

You tugged on the board. It groaned beneath the force until finally you pried it enough and it came clean off. You stumbled back as the pressure released, but collected yourself and tossed it away. There was enough room for you to get in. You stepped through first and then reached back for your bags. You set them down against the wall, and then looked up and gaped at the high, grand ceilings and plush carpet. Everything was so...regal. And even stranger, it felt familiar to you. 

Across the corridor from the window, you saw a dusty, faded painting. It was enormous, and a portrait of a man and his family. He was tall, with soft brown hair and bright blue eyes. Unlike the portraits of men before him, he was smiling. The lady beside him looked equally happy with a wide grin. A silly detail you noticed on her was that the artist had depicted her shoes to be made of glass. 

She had a baby on her lap, and three other children surrounded their feet. A gold plate on the frame appeared to have some information etched into it, so you stepped closer to read it. It said, “King Gwilym, his wife, and children.” 

You were struck with a pang of sadness. You looked up at King Gwilym’s smiling face and felt such pity that his line was ended. That his descendants had met a tragic end and his legacy was disappearing into time. You had no idea why it broke your heart like this. You didn’t know the man or his relations, and yet, you felt this hurt for him. The only comfort was that wherever they were, they were all together now. 

To the left, were more paintings. You guessed, more generations of royals. You walked on and observed them, heartstrings still pulling at their fate. Three paintings over from Gwilym was the final royal family. King Nicholas greatly resembled his great-grandfather Gwilym. He had a wider face, and a thick beard which added to it, but the eyes were exactly the same. Round, blue, and kind.

His wife, Alexandra, was stunning. She wasn’t as warm as her husband, but she had the grace and elegance of a queen, for sure. Similar to King Gwilym’s queen, she had the youngest child in her lap for the portrait. The only boy. On the floor, four girls sat together, holding hands and smiling. 

You blinked and a tear slid down your cheek. Hastily, you wiped it away. Why on Earth were you crying? Sure, you knew the royal family’s story was unfortunate, but why was this feeling so personal?

You shook your head and continued on, re-focusing. You needed to find this Joe person, and quickly. This place was overwhelming. 

Every part of the palace felt like something you had dreamed and were trying to recall after waking up. It felt fuzzy, but certain things were coming through with perfect clarity. Then you came upon a ballroom. 

For a fleeting moment, it was dazzling with light and glittering jewels. Important people waltzed around it, and you spotted King Nicholas amongst the crowd. He spun his daughter around, lifting her high in the air, and you giggled along with her. 

As quickly as the vision came, it went. Once again, the room was dull, faded, covered in cobwebs and other debris. You stepped and a plume of dust formed around your boot. You scanned the ballroom and spotted a long table against the wall with serving platters and the like spread out. The silver was tarnished and pieces were missing. Even so, you picked up a tray. You examined it, and wiped the dust away. When it was clear, you looked at your reflection. What you saw startled you.

It was you, but as a little girl, looking remarkably like the youngest of the four in the painting, in a pink silk gown and a tiara sparkling on the crown of your head. You gasped at the sight and dropped the platter. It clanged to the floor and you winced. 

“Hey!” cried a voice from the other side of the ballroom. 

You whirled around to face him. It was a young man, probably about your age, with auburn hair. His face was familiar to you the same way this palace was, and it frightened you. 

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s going on?” another man questioned as he jogged to join the first. You felt as if you’d met him before too. 

You didn’t answer either of them. Instead, you took off running back the way you came. 

“Hey, wait!” the redhead called, and he pursued you.

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Back on it' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Back on it"

"Sometimes, I'm feeling so free, forgetting about the big problems I have in my life because you're there for me and I just want to enjoy those rare moments with you."

Chapter Summary : After paying her respects to Lazar, Yirina is finally going to Laos with Park to join Woods team to work against Naga.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3500

------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't know of what Park was planning but she did right today, she managed to give me an moment to finally pay my respects to Lazar himself at Tel Aviv, his homeplace. Even if I still feel that guilty in me of that particular day for what happened, I still remember the positivity of Lazar's behavior that he was showing to me, he was really my brother....it's been 3 years since he's gone but he is never forgetten by me & Park. I wished things to be differents but it happened sadly. I hope that he found better peace at where is he now....He can't be forgotten !

It was hard for me to leave the cemetery and it was the same thing for Park too but we finally managed to get out, still having tears on our faces as we were going back into the plane that was awaiting for us, ready to fly away from the city to get to our destination : Vientane in Laos. Since we left Tel Aviv at nearly 10 AM, we should arrive in the Laotian capital after midnight. I didn't sleep too much on the flight, mostly checking up my diary and everything I did write for almost 2 months and also writing down that memory about meeting up with Naga.

Like I thought, we arrived at Vientane after midnight at 1 AM and to say, we were an bit tired of the flight as we didn't take an nap for the large part of it, hoping that we could get to the place Woods is awaiting for us. Me & Park were surprised to discover that Garrett was awaiting for us at the airport, asking if we did have an good flight and how I was feeling after what I did. We did answer his questions before we could leave the airport, our equipment with us to the direction of Woods's team safehouse.

"Wait, where's the safehouse ?" I was asking that question to Garrett who was driving, Park on the front passenger seat and me on the backseats as I could see that we were getting out of the city limits, 5 minutes after we left the airport.

"Yes, where it is ?" Park added as she didn't know like me.

"Okay, you're ready to hear this ?" Garrett started, his eyes quickly looking at us before getting them back on the road in front of him. "Let's just that the CIA managed to reuse an old Laotian Air Force base for them." He replied, making my eyes go wide...how did they succeed ?

"Are you kidding ?" Park raised an eyebrow to him.

"Not at all !" Garrett scoffed, removing his right hand from the steering wheel for an few seconds to strectch his fingers.

"But the governement is communist !" I exclaimed, having some history knowledge about the country in my head. "They will found out that the CIA is here."

"Maybe, the CIA is bribing the governement to keep their eyes shut." Garrett said, his right hand passing through his lips before putting it back on the wheel. "Since Naga is hiding in the jungle, having an old base at our disposal is helping us." He then looked through the mirror to me. "I heard that Woods briefed you an little on that."

"He didn't tell much about it." Park told him, looking outside in the darkness of the night as we were leaving the Laotian countryside to enter its jungle "He said that he will make an full briefing for us tomorrow."

"He's right since everyone is exhausted after today." He stated to us. "We had an mission today and it was very long." He looked at an roadsign outside before he take an turn to the right on an dirt path. "We shouldn't too far from the base now." He added before he start to make some signal with the car lights, shutting it down and lighting them up in an quick succession.

"What's that for ?" I demanded, pretty curious.

"Signal code to say that we're friendly." He responded as from afar we could see the entrance of the base that was looking pretty old and its gates opened. "It's the best way to make sure that we aren't greeted by bullets."

"Because they're shooting at sight ?" Park asked to him, an bit confused.

"Why they wouldn't be ? They want to keep their presence an secret and no one want to have problems here with the local authorities." Garrett expressed, nervous about thinking about it, that could be heard in his voice and his face. "And also because it's the CIA." He continued as he was parking the car in an parking space, filled with military trucks. This base was guarded like an normal one with military personal on watchtowers and guards patrolling around.

"Yeah...because it's the CIA !" I thought to myself, saying it in an very low voice, knowing well of the CIA's bad business...well, everyone in his car know about it. "This place is looking well to not be old." I proclaimed, looking outside to see the base that was in an good shape.

"Of course, they renovated the place down." Garrett breathed before he got out of the car with us too. "They even decide to use some Huey helicopters." He pointed to us in an direction, discovering some helicopters that were checked up by crews.

"Looks like some people here wanted to relive the Vietnam War." I spoke up, seeing those helicopters, having flied in some of them...in my fake memories of course and I'm sure that we will have to use them in the future. I was thinking of it as we were unloading our own bags from the car trunk.

"Some of them are from the US reserves and two of them are belonging to the Lao People's Liberation Army Air Force." Garrett told us, helping us to get our bags out of the car. "We can thanks the CIA's bribes to the governement." He sighed in relief before he closed the trunk. "Okay, let's go join the team." He started to move away from the car as me & Park follow him inside the main building of the whole place that was looking like an big hangar.

"Here you are, you two !" An strong male voice said as we were entering the hangar with our bags in hands, it was Woods himself dressed in civilians clothes coming towards us. "Welcome to Laos." He offered his hand to me & Park and we shook hands with him separetely, getting our bags on the ground.

"You did miss us, it seems." I scoffed in an funny voice and Woods rolled his eyes around.

"Both of you ? Well...yes." He admitted, sounding not sure. "Before we start...."

"Yes, we know the warning, Woods." Park stopped him as she knew of what he was going to talk along with me...don't be too public, girls !....."It's good to see you too."

"Fine, since you know that....It's still for you too, Garrett." Woods continued to his statement, pointing at Garrett.

"I know but Song is been away with Sims, Mason and an small part of your guys in the jungle." Garrett expressed to him and me & Park were pretty curious and he could see it on our faces. "Woods send them for recon, should be back in the afternoon today." He added, giving us details about it...until I saw from afar, Hudson himself, arms crossed and leaned against an wall, looking at us, me especially, he wasn't willing to get to us to say something...he's kinda creepy....must not look at him, now...

"They should come back here with intels about where this little drug warlord is hiding inside the jungles." Woods stated, crossing his arms to look to, what I suppose to be his desk as he walk to it. "But there's something you two should see." He sniffed as he was taking in his hands two playing cards before getting back to us. "You need to watch your back." He told us, handing the first card to Park

"What the fuck ?" Park started, looking at the playing car that she was given : an picture of her on it, she was the Queen of Hearts. "Helen Park : To be captured alive !" She repeated, seeing the inscription on the photo.

"You're not the only exception, this is your playing card, Yirina." Woods gave me the other cards and I could see that I was also the Queen of Hearts alongside Park.

"Yirina / Bell : To be captured alive !" I whispered with the same inscription Park had on her cards. Now the whole Perseus Collective know that I'm alive and well. "Where did you find them ?" I demanded to Woods.

"From the Perseus agent that allowed us to know about Naga." He replied, leaning against his desk behind him. "The same thing like Adler, you became Perseus targets." He added.

"Yes but you know well that we ain't going to hide." I spoke up, giving my thoughts to Woods about it. "And besides, they think that I'm 'Bell'." I continued, seeing this name alongside my real name even if it was troubling me to be honest. "Damnit." I sighed, pulling the card in my jacket.

"Seems that someone needs some Bourbon !" Another voice came in and when I look around, I could discover an old face I didn't see for an month..

"Wolf ?" I breathed, amazed to see him here.

"I heard that you worked with Wolf an month ago in the New Orleans and Sims asked for him to come so I agreed." Woods explained as we were shaking hands with Wolf, he didn't change in an month to say.

"It's good to see the two of you here." Wolf said with an smile to me & Park before he look at Woods. "Any news from the recon team ?"

"No, we should have informations about them in the morning." Woods responded before he removed himself from his desk. "Anyway, you might want to take an look around." He suggested to us as we just arrived and we nodded.

Once we nodded, Woods took us for an little tour around the place and also outside, presenting the base like if he did live there, he did also gave an workplace near Garrett's desk and we learned that we were going to sleep in an dorm with everyone....great ! All of that while been watched by Hudson himself, still at his same spot, looking at us with his eyes hidden by his usual sunglasses, he's looking like Adler in my first days in that safehouse 3 years ago.

When the whole presentation 'à la Woods' was finished, we got our gear out of our bags and put at our personal workplace with Park until it was time for everyone to go take an nap but not for me as I wanted to do something before actually going to sleep. So, as Park & the other were going to sleep, having an little kiss from her before she left for the dorm, I decided to go see Garrett that was the only one with me to not go directly to sleep.

"Garrett ?" I started in an low voice, walking towards his desk with joined hands. "Is there any secured lines here, I would like to make an call." I explained to him.

"Oh, an call ?" He whispered, getting up from his chair. "Yeah, sure, follow me." He gestured as I follow him behind and then, we arrived in a another room where there were some phones on an table. "Who do you want to call ?"

"Zasha !" I replied, getting myself near an phone.

"Good...well, I will leave you to it then, Yirina." Garrett smiled at me and it was reciprocal until he left the room, not closing the door behind him as I start to dial Zasha's number from their office in Century House. It's one of the numerous things I have noted in my diary, not wanting to forget about it....one ring.....

"Zasha Smirnov !" I could hear their voice in an rapid moment, having heard only one ring, meaning that they were near the phone at their office.

"How's my best friend at work ?" I said in an good mood, trying to think positively. Because of timezones, it was only the beginning of the evening in London.

"Oh, Yirina !" They exclaimed, sounding happy that I called. "I'm so happy that you're calling, you arrived in Laos ?" They demanded.

"Yes, it's almost 2 AM in here, what about you ?" I responded, checking if no one was coming in in case.

"Almost 8 PM, I was going to join Portnova at her place of work." They replied, making me smile, knowing that today was the first day of job as an maths teacher in the University of London. "Hopefully, your call was well made because I was ready to leave." They stated.

"Well, guess that I'm lucky !" I said before I make an little laugh and they did the same too. "How's work, Zed ?"

"Honestly, it's perfect, very nice." They answered, hearing them having an breath and sounding very good. "The people I'm working for are very nice." They added, sure of their words.

"That's the main thing, I knew that you will like the MI6." I stated to them.

"Hey, today, they brought me to play an little game during an break." They told me, getting my attention on it and removing my eyes from the door.

"Really ? Explain." I said, very curious.

"They called it 'Bullshit'." They started, narrowing my eyes as I thought that they were insulting me before realizing that was the name of the game. "It's hard to explain but I will try : we're playing with an deck of 52 and we had to get rid of the cards that we were given" They breathed as I heard it before they continue. "You have to play cards in an order but if you don't have it, you have to lie but if you get caught lying, you're taking the pile and if you're thought that someone was lying didn't cheat, you take the pile."

"That's sounds an great game to say." I exclaimed, sounding happy that Zasha was able to have an good animosity with their new friends at the MI6.

"At first, I thought I was so bad at it but then, it worked and I won by an lot." They admitted to me, laughing about it. "The others were either focused on calling out the others instead of me."

"Now, you got very lucky !" I scoffed, making them laugh through the phone.

"I have an lot of fun to be real, it's wonderful." They told me. "It's sure that me & you are going to make an game."

"Count on me & Park !" I affirmed to them, raising my index finger.

"By the way, me & Portnova are....well, we're organizing an little private wedding party to celebrate our union and you & Park are invited." They revealed to me, making my eyes goes wide.

"Really ? I....Zasha, it's amazing." I was in an loss of words, feeling the happiness in me about hearing that idea from them. "When it will be ?"

"Since you're in Laos for undetermined time, it will be the 4th of June." They responded and I nodded to myself before I look around....to see Hudson standing at the door and looking at me.

"Okay, Zed, I will be there, don't worry." I smiled before Hudson creepiness remove that smile, making me look away from him. "Listen, I have to go...say hello for me & Park to Portnova." I demanded.

"Don't worry, I will, give my regards to Park too." They asked.

"Good, I will call you later, bye Zed !" I told them.

"Bye, Yirina." They said before I hang up the phone, finding myself alone in that room with Hudson who, when I turned around, was still there near that door.

"Are you going to stand there and still looking at me as an creep or you're going to talk ?" I asked to him, serious in my voice and clenching my fists

"No." He answered briefly before he took an pack of cigarettes in his hand. "Follow me, we need to talk." He ordered in an harsh tone, gesturing at me before he walk away.

I could have tell him to fuck off and going to bed for good but then, I found myself obliged to follow him and wanting to know what does he want with me. I thought that he was going to talk with me near his desk or mine but instead, it was outside that our talk was going to take place, near the big door of that hangar. He stopped himself once stepped outside, to light up his cigarette but he wasn't talking at all.

"What do you want ?" I directly ask to him after an few seconds of weird silence.

"Need to talk things about you." He responded, blowing some smoke out of his mouth, his eyes focused on looking in the horizon.

"Really ? You're suddenly interested in knowing me better ?" I said, offusqued as I was crossing my arms, looking away from him. I wasn't pleased to be with that guy.

"Listen, there's things I'm sorry with."

"Oh yeah ? Like you're sorry that you worked with Adler to brainwash me ?" I asked him rhetorically.

"Do you think that I was pleased with that ?" He got his eyes back on me as I was doing the same by hearing his words, getting my attention. "It's not because I'm Adler supervisor means that I did agree on that." He added to his statement as I was keeping an straight face. "Believe me, I wasn't happy about that at all."

"But still, you still treated me like if I was only an terrorist." I exclaimed, remembering the few little talks I had with him in the past and they weren't good. "You're the one who ordered Adler to terminate me...why aren't you finishing the job since Adler wasn't doing it ?" I questioned him, sure of my words.

"I have my reasons, Grigoriev." He responded, taking an deep breath.

"Wow, I'm not 'Bell' for you, anymore ?" I breathed, faking to be amazed towards him as inside of me, I was wondering what make him change his mind to call me by my real name. "Are you going soft or it's maybe one of your usual lies ?" I continued, wanting to know even if I could prevent in advance that he wasn't going to respond. "It's sure that you don't believe someone that isn't an american."

"Yes." He simply whispered.

"For you, you need to know that I'm an british-russian woman but I guess that it doesn't change an thing for you, still staying the good american patriot, right ?" I stated clearly in front of him, remembering some words that Park used to describe him.

"What I wanted to say is that it's good that you're here." He affirmed to me, making me narrow my eyes. "I know that Adler did brainwash you, left you for dead and an lot of things but you know well of the dangers of letting Adler in Perseus's hands." He continued, trying to convince me of 'Adler's good side'

"It doesn't please me but since 'I have no choices'." I quoted the numerous times I think about that possibility. "Isn't strange to see the brainwashed woman trying to rescue the man who has broke up her brain ?" I demanded, not wanting any answers from him and I even gestured that he didn't need to respond, it was strange to be sure.

"Do you have memories back ?" He chuckled, changing the subject as he crush his cigarette with his feet.

"Yes." I replied in an low voice. "Why do you want to know ?" I added.

"I just wanted to know about this, wondering what was your past." He answered, scratching the back of his bald head.

"Sometimes good, sometimes bad." I sighed, thinking of all of the memories I did relived, it was an lot of them. "Things that I can't talk about and if I do, it's only to my closest friends." I admitted, making him sure that he's not part of that category.

"I understand." He breathed before I decided it was time to get back inside and to go to sleep. "Grigoriev !" Hudson stopped me before I could have one feet inside the hangar. "How do you feel right now ?"

"Right now ?" I repeated, an bit confused of that ordinary question from him, my hands right on the door handle. "I don't know, been to an place that I thought to have set an foot in my 'old times', it's making me nervous." I said, mentioning that fake memories I had in my head. 'Bell' knows Vietnam...not me. I then put my right feet inside before I stopped to look at him witn an serious glare....

"I'm just trying to redeem myself and make the good, Hudson, keep that in mind !"

[finleyjayne]

Dancing into Destruction

previously named Dancing Dreams

Boyfriend!Bucky x reader

Thank you to this anon for the request hope you like it. This is my first request ever so feedback is definitely welcome

Warnings: as you can see warnings include but are not limited to, Swearing, ANGST, intimidation by a loved one.

  Your relationship with Bucky was a dream. You both were naturally inclined to fill each other’s needs. Being with the other was as natural as breathing. Don’t let anyone fool you; you had gone through your fair share of lover’s quarrels with the tough super-soldier. They just never lasted longer than a few days. You built it with great care, making a foundation of trust and respect. Even though you had been dating each other for a bit over six months, he was very considerate of your need to wait to take it into the more physical aspects of a romantic relationship. There were often moments when you would have to take a step back when things got heated, but he never made you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable about your need for abstinence like some of your past boyfriends did. It was commendable, making it easier to commit to him and plan for your future together. 

 As you reached new heights within your connection, things became even more smooth. The time spent with Bucky seemed to be the best moments in your hectic life, leaving you with clarity and peace. Though most of the time you spent together consisted of you doing your schoolwork, lounging on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, while Bucky read or filled out reports from his latest missions. This complied with your idea of a perfect date; Simply spending time with the other without feeling like you have to suffocate the other with your presence or physical contact. Sure, every once in a while, you would cuddle close, watch a movie, just lay in his arms for hours talking. It was perfect. You were sure that Bucky felt the same way. 

 Your six month anniversary all but proved to you how much Bucky cared for you. He gave you the five-star gala treatment. A trip to the spa where they pampered you until your thoughts swam away, then dinner at the most exuberant restaurant he could convince Stark to pay for, then he finished the night off with a walk in the park where we first ran into each other. Well, more like you ran into him. To top the whole experience off, he gave you a gift showing just how much he listened to you when you went on your many long random tangents. When you had first opened the envelope, you were confused as to what exactly you were reading. The paper had a list of six dates and a pair of little stick figures dancing together, nothing else. Looking up at Bucky, you saw him blushing lightly. 

 "You mentioned once that you had always wanted to go dancing but were scared that you wouldn’t be any good, so I signed us up for dancing lessons at the dance school on 3rd. Those are the days and times that we have scheduled,“ He rasped bashfully, hand finding the back of his neck.

 You looked back up at him, the embodiment of deer in the headlights, as your brain raced to put the pieces of what he just said together. “Well, shit.”

 The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. Bucky’s face droops immediately as he looks at you like a kicked puppy.

 "We don’t have to go if you don’t wanna. I just thought it would be fun—something to add variety.“  Bucky quickly covered, his cheeks turning even ruddier as you continued to stare at him. 

 "What? Oh, oh, that’s not… I don’t mean that that way, Buck, I just…. my gift will look real stupid now.” you explain quickly, trying to calm him. “I mean like I wasn’t expecting you to actually… so I made you something.” You hand him the small box from your full-skirts pocket. 

 His eyes grew bright as he hesitantly opened it. The delicate chain floated over his fingers as he pulled the set of dog tags and small running man charm into the light. “I was doing some research and came upon a tutorial for how to stamp metal. It seemed neat and thought you could use a reminder of what you have waiting for you when you’re out on missions.”

 "I love ‘em, doll.“ He said, letting out a chuckle when he read the inscription stamped neatly onto the metal of the tags.

 The weeks continued to pass in your typical fashion. The thought of spinning around on a dance floor in Bucky’s arms grew more and more enticing as the first lesson approached. Bucky was just as excited, occasionally whisking you into a simple box step as you cooked together in your small flat’s kitchen or dipping you into kisses, muttering how it was only the start. 

 When the day finally arrived, nothing could keep your attention for more than a few seconds. The sun was shining in the cloudless spring sky, and you were going to meet Bucky at the address he had texted you earlier that day after your last class. Your pace quickened as you neared the small boutique/studio. Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling as you walked in the metal gated door. 

 No sooner did you make it into the small studio’s hallway when your phone started blaring Man on a Mission by Oh The Larceny. Swiftly digging it out of your messenger bag, you answer. "Hey, love, I just got here. How close are you?”

 "Heya, Sugarcube. I know you were so excited for this to be an ‘us’ thing, but I just got paged onto a mission. I wouldn’t go if there was an alternative. I will definitely make it up to you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.“

 Crestfallen, your shoulders slump. You can feel the telltale sting behind your eyes, but you fight them off. You sigh into the phone while trying to keep the hurt from your voice as much as possible. "It’s okay, not that I’m not going to let you off on your promise of making it up to me. There’s nothing you can do, though. So stay safe, Make sure you come home to me. And keep me updated if you can.”

 "Of course, I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. I know you are probably bummed about missing the class, but it’s a mixed class of singles and couples. So why don’t you stay and try to enjoy it? You can teach me what I missed when I get back. Sound like a plan, Doll?“

 With your eyes downcast, you nod, "Sure thing, Buck. I love you.”

 "Love you, too. I gotta go get briefed. Talk to you as soon as I can. Try to have fun, please. Who knows, maybe you’ll make a new friend.“ And with that, he hung up the phone, leaving you in a heap of disappointment.

 Taking a deep breath, you walk into the mirrored classroom, head held high. As you scan the class, you find a place out of the way to put your bookbag for the duration of the lesson, taking the extra second to put your phone back on silent.

 There seemed to be quite a few couples paired off in the center of the room as the stragglers kept to the edges. Trying to keep your spirits up, you take a count of the fellow singles. At the sight of a few men leaning against the back wall, you let out a sigh, looks like there won’t be any problem coupling us off without having to deal with the confusion of women pairs. You were left-footed enough without the lack of a leading partner. 

 You took a seat on the side of the ballet barres as you waited for the class to begin. Within the few seconds it took you to get settled in the chair, you were approached by a taller man. He looked a little bashful as he shuffled his feet before clearing his throat and saying in a rich baritone. "Hello. I hope you don’t mind me coming over here, but my name’s Sean, and I kinda hoping you’d be my partner before we have to go through the awkward teacher mandated pairing.”

 Looking up at him, you can’t help the smile at the adorably bumbling man in front of you. “My name is (Y/N), and I’d love to be your partner for today. Truth be told, my boyfriend-slash-partner kinda ditched me for work but wanted me to come anyway.”

 "Well, his loss is sure to be my gain.“ He smiled, his straight white teeth making an appearance through his pink-tinged lips.

 "I wouldn’t count your chicks before they hatch, I will warn you that I am a bit clumsy." 

 "Ha, look at that, I don’t mind as long as you can be patient with my inability to pick up steps.”

 "Patience is a virtue I am known to exude when the time calls for it,“ you reply cheekily. You could feel the beginnings of a great friendship.

 And great friendship it was. Throughout the class, you shared many laughs, smiles, and the perfect amount of innocent banter. By the end, you were sure that you couldn’t wait another two weeks before you talked to Sean. He was super cool and was actually taking some of the same classes as you at the university. So you did what you always did when you found someone you liked, you gave him your phone number and made plans to grab a coffee after your shared class the next day. 

 Walking home, Bucky’s slight was pretty far from your brain. You sent him a little summary of the class and how he was right about you making a new friend, before plugging your phone into it’s charging station in the kitchen and going to bed.

 Bucky came home five days later, flowers and chocolates in hand, ready to shower you in all the love he could give you. Knocking on your door, you answered with a squeal before jumping onto him, throwing your arms around his neck. 

 "You’re home! Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back? I would’ve met you at the tower.” You ramble, peppering his face in kisses.

 "I wanted to surprise my best girl. After all, What better way to ask for forgiveness for missing our last date than with flowers and your favorite chocolates?“ He proclaims, squeezing you back as he walks you both into your flat, kicking the door closed behind you. 

 You are a giggly mess as he pushes his head into the crook of your neck, holding you to him as if you were a lifeline back to himself. "Well, I guess I’ll forgive you this once. After all, without you bailing on me, I wouldn’t have a new friend and note buddy in sociology.” You say. 

 "Well, I’m glad to hear you had a good time. I promise I’ll make the next one. Speaking of dancing, I wanna see what you learned.“

And so went the rest of your night; you catching him up on all the things that happened throughout your week, and him telling you about how stupid Sam and Steve were while they tried to be undercover. Followed by copious amounts of cuddles on your old couch while A little Princess plays on the TV. That is the first time that Bucky slept over at your apartment. 

 Weeks go by rather quickly, you find yourself balancing your life differently. You spend your free time between classes going over lecture notes, talking books, and just generally spending time with Sean instead of calling Bucky. You still spend most of your nights with Bucky unless he has a mission. Your study time was also different. Instead of spending it on your floor, you spend it in the on-campus library with a group of fellow classmates. 

 Honestly, you don’t think twice. Sure, you were spending less time with Bucky, but he was usually the one telling you to find ways to get out more. That’s precisely what you were doing. You were positive that Bucky would fully endorse your new schedule, and you were blind to all the signs that he wasn’t.

 Months flew by with this new agenda. You were happy, things with Bucky were great. You loved him. Your dance classes were full of spinning around the floor with him, laughing when your eyes met with Sean’s across the room. Often times, Bucky would give a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and squeeze you tighter into his arms.  

 The first time you noticed his sour face, your heart gave a subtle flutter. Why was he acting so cold? He’s the one who wanted you to make more friends. Shrugging it off as just one of his moods, you give his shoulder a little squeeze, smiling up at him. 

 More time passes, Finals draw nearer, and you find yourself spending more and more time with Sean instead of Bucky. You fill your days with endless notes, quizzing the other on what seems to be infinite terms, principles, and scenarios. 

 As you fill your days with academics, your nights fill themselves with Bucky. More time is spent with him following you around, not letting you out of his arms for more than a few minutes, and it was driving you into insanity. Bucky never was a clingy boyfriend. He always respected that you had a life outside of him. Usually, there was nothing he loved more than seeing you enjoy the freedom he fought to protect. Recently it felt as if he resented your life outside of him. He texted you constantly. If he knew you were with Sean, he would call you. If you were even ten minutes late to a date, he would get super angry. There was nothing you could do right. He was a boiling pot of hot and cold. 

 The night of your big sociology test, you came home, after a celebratory drink with Sean, to Bucky sitting on your couch. His back was curved, elbows rested on his splayed knees, hands clasped over his frown, brows pulled together in a tight scowl. This isn’t good. 

 "Hey Buck, I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight?” you say, setting your small wallet and keys on the entryway table. You try to keep your voice even as you approached him. 

 He huffed, his eyes following you as you walk further into your apartment. “Of course, you forgot.” His beautiful bariton was dark with unspoken accusations.

 "What do you mean, forgot? Did we have plans?“

 "Yeah, Doll, we did. We were supposed to meet to go to Tony’s birthday party together. When you didn’t show up and didn’t answer your phone, I got worried and came here.” He growls derisively

 "Isn’t that next week, on the 28th?“ your brows scrunching in confusion?

 "It’s been a week. Today is the 28th!” He spits, standing. “I see my concern was misplaced. You obviously don’t care enough to read my texts anymore.”

 Your jaw pops open, “What do you mean, I haven’t gotten any texts from you!” You pull out your phone and click it on to see not one, but several missed texts and a few missed calls with voicemails. “Fuck. I’m sorry Bucky, I mustn’t have turned my ringer back on after my test.”

 "Yeah, well, I would say it’s okay, but it’s not. I’m hurt, you are always gone, and when you are here, your head is a million miles away. I don’t know what happened. Actually, I do. Sean happened. Ever since you met him, it’s always 'Sean this, Sean that.’“

 Your eyes are opened so wide as you stare at the fuming Bucky. You knew he was a little jealous, but you’ve never seen him this upset at someone being close to you.

  You open your mouth to respond, but Bucky cuts you off. "I bet you were with Sean while I was sitting here wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

 "That’s not fair, Bucky. Sean has nothing to do with this. It was my own mistake, and Sean is my friend. It’s not like I could even try replacing you. Sean isn’t interested in me.“

 "That’s a load of bullshit. I’ve seen how he looks at you.” Bucky rages. “And you’re no better. You are continually eye-fucking him. If I didn’t know better, I would assume that you were actually fucking him, but you’re too much of a baby to even try that.”

 "What do you mean too much of a baby? And how does he look at me?“ you yell back, hurt piling behind your eyes, causing your sinuses to burn with unshed tears. Where was all of this coming from? This is not the Bucky that you know. The Bucky you know is sweet and loyal, not this insecure dickwad.

 "Oh, you know exactly what I mean on both counts! He looks at you like you are a piece of meat he’s hunting. Another notch in his belt. Too bad for him. You can’t even get to second base with your long-term boyfriend without backing out.” He insults, coming to stand in front of you. The few inches he has on you feeling like feet as he towers over you.

 "Bucky, I think you need to leave.“ You say as calmly as you can, trying to keep the fear from your features. 

 "I think your right. I think you need to think really hard about what you want. I love you, but I won’t play second fiddle to some snot-nosed brat. When you decide that you are willing to put forth effort in our relationship, you know where I live.” He says, walking out of your front door. 

 The door’s slam shut is the last straw; tears stream down your cheeks in salty turrets. You don’t even notice the pencil falling out from behind your ear as you collapse into a heap of sobs on the floor. How dare he? How could he say such hurtful things? I thought he was happy that I had a new friend.

 A few days go by with no word from Bucky. Your last final comes and goes. You ignore everything, preferring to mope in your self-pity alone. Your home turns into a giant blanket-fort before you can even think about what you are doing. Thinking about what Bucky said to you, you hide away from the hurt you feel. Maybe he was right, you had been spending more time with Sean lately than you did with Bucky. When was the last time you saw him that wasn’t just you collapsing onto the couch and falling asleep in his arms? A few weeks at least. 

 Gods, you were an idiot. How could you not see how far away you had drifted from him? He was right, you were scared to go with your instincts when it came to the physical things in your relationship. It was wrong of him to use it against you like that, but it was true. 

 Was he right about what Sean wanted with you, though? If so, you were going to need to set some clear-cut rules. If not, you were still going to have to make sure that you weren’t ignoring Bucky just to spend time with Sean. It wasn’t right to do that, because you love Bucky. He gave you a joy that you had yet to find with anyone else, Sean included.

  Sighing into your body pillow, you sit up. You know what you have to do. Climbing out of your blanket fort, you pull on a hoodie and some simple trainers. Quickly, you gather your keys and wallet before you chicken out on what needs to happen and head out the door, pushing your way swiftly to where you know Bucky will be. 

 When you finally make it to the Avenger’s Tower, you have gotten one too many disapproving stares from the businesspeople. You march right into the building and scan your card to get into the Avenger’s only elevator. “Friday, will you take me to where Bucky is. It’s important.”

 "Of course, miss.“ came the swift reply. 

 Not five minutes later, you were face-to-door with Bucky’s office placard. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to center yourself. Before you can knock, Bucky opens the door.

 "Doll,” He said, His tone night and day to the one he used the last time you spoke.

 "Hey Buck, we need to talk, do you have a moment.

 Your puffy eyes, disheveled pajama fashion statement, and dejected tone must have tipped him off to how well I was doing because he simply stepped aside, letting me into the office before pulling me into a tight hug. 

 "Does this mean you are choosing us?“ He whispers nervously.

 "Yes. But you need to know that you hurt me and it wasn’t okay. You should’ve just told me how you were feeling. You are an adult, Buck. The main reason our relationship has been going so well is that we are honest with each other. I love you, but you exploded, and it not only scared me, but you also used the one thing that I have problems with against me.” you say tears wetting his shirt as you lean into the hug.

 "I’m so sorry, Sugarcube. I knew as soon as I said it that I crossed the line, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t come back. I love you. Please forgive me.“

 "I forgive you, but you are going to have to earn back some of the trust I gave you. You are my priority, but Sean is still going to be one of my friends.”

 "Reasonable. I love you.“ He whispered, holding you tighter to his chest. And you knew that even if it wasn’t alright at the moment, it was going to be.

[sleepymarmot]

There were a couple of posts discussing how JGY could have genuinely thought killing NMJ would be only doing a favor for NHS -- but re-reading the flashback in the book, I find myself feeling the same way! Mental illness is no excuse for being abusive towards your family -- and NMJ is, both in words and in action! Let me quote at length:

One day, the moment he returned to the main hall of the Unclean Realm, he saw about a dozen folding fans, all lined in gold, flattened out one next to the other in front of Nie HuaiSang, who was touching them tenderly, mumbling as he compared the inscriptions written on each one. Immediately, veins protruded from Nie MingJue’s forehead, “Nie HuaiSang!”

Nie HuaiSang fell at once.

He really did fall to his knees from the terror. He only staggered up after he finished kneeling, “B-b-b-brother.”

Nie MingJue, “Where is your saber?”

Nie HuaiSang cowered, “In… in my room. No, in the school grounds. No, let me… think…”

Wei WuXian could feel that Nie MingJue almost wanted to hack him dead right there, “You bring a dozen fans with you wherever you go, yet you don’t even know where your own saber is?!”

Nie HuaiSang hurried, “I’ll go find it right now!”

Nie MingJue, “There’s no need! Even if you find it you won’t get anything out of it. Go burn all of these!”

All of the color drained out of Nie HuaiSang’s face. He rushed to pull all of the fans into his arms, pleading, “No, Brother! All of these were given to me!”

Nie MingJue slammed his palm onto a table, causing it to crack, “Who did? Tell them to scurry out here right now!”

Someone spoke, “I did.”

Jin GuangYao walked in from outside the hall. Nie HuaiSang looked as though he saw a knight in shining armor, beaming, “Brother, you’re here!”

In reality, it wasn’t that Jin GuangYao could calm Nie MingJue’s anger, but that since Jin GuangYao came, all of Nie MingJue’s anger would be directed at him alone, having no time to scold others. Thus, there was nothing wrong with saying that he was Nie HuaiSang’s knight in shining armor. Nie HuaiSang was absolutely delighted. He greeted Jin GuangYao again and again as he grabbed the fans in haste. Seeing how his younger brother reacted, Nie MingJue was so outraged that he almost found it amusing. He turned to Jin GuangYao, “Don’t send him those useless things!”

In a hurry, Nie HuaiSang dropped a few fans on the ground. Jin GuangYao picked them up for him and put them into his arms, “HuaiSang’s hobbies are quite elegant. He’s dedicated to art and calligraphy, and has no propensity for mischief. How can you say that they’re useless?”

Nie HuaiSang nodded as fast as he could, “Yes, Brother is right!”

Nie MingJue, “But sect leaders have no need for such things.”

Nie HuaiSang, “I’m not going to be a sect leader, though. You can be it, Brother. I’m not doing it!”

As his brother’s glance swept over, he shut his mouth at once. Nie MingJue turned to Jin GuangYao, “What did you come here for?”

Jin GuangYao, “Our second brother said that he gave you a guqin.”

The guqin was given when Lan XiChen was here to play Sound of Lucidity for Nie MingJue, in order to help him calm his temper. Jin GuangYao continued, “Brother, in the past few days, the GusuLan Sect is at a critical point in its reestablishment of the Cloud Recesses and you refuse to let him come, which was why he taught me Sound of Lucidity. I assume that even though I’m not as skilled as our second brother, I’d still be able to help calm you to a certain extent, Brother.”

Nie MingJue, “Just take care your own things.”

Nie HuaiSang, however, was rather interested, “Brother, what song? Can I listen? Let me tell you, the limited edition that you gave me last time…”

Nie MingJue shouted, “Go back to your room!”

Nie HuaiSang fled at once, not to his room, however, but to the living room for the presents that Jin GuangYao had brought him. With a few interruptions, Nie MingJue’s fury had mostly died. He turned around to look at Jin GuangYao, whose face seemed quite tired, robes of Sparks Amidst Snow covered in dust. He probably came here directly from Carp Tower. After a pause, Nie MingJue spoke, “Sit.”

Jin GuangYao nodded lightly and sat as he had been told, “Brother, if you’re concerned for HuaiSang, softer words would do no harm. Why this?”

Nie MingJue, “Even when a blade’s at his neck he’s still like this. Looks like he’ll always be a good-for-nothing.”

Jin GuangYao, “It isn’t that HuaiSang is a good-for-nothing, but that his heart lies somewhere else.”

Nie MingJue, “Well you’ve really discerned where his heart lies, haven’t you?”

Jin GuangYao smiled, “Of course. Isn’t that what I’m the best at? The only person whom I can’t discern is you, Brother.”

He knew of people’s likes and dislikes so that he could find suitable solutions; he loved running errands and could do twice the work with half the effort. Thus, Jin GuangYao could be said to be quite a talent at analyzing others’ interests. Nie MingJue was the only person whom Jin GuangYao couldn’t probe out any useful information about. Wei WuXian saw this already, back then when Meng Yao was working under Nie MingJue. Women, liquor, riches—he touched none; art, calligraphy, antiques—a pile of ink and mud; the finest green tea leaves and dregs from a roadside booth—there was no difference. Meng Yao tried everything he could think of yet still couldn’t find if he was interested in anything beside training his saberwork and killing Wen-dogs. He really was a wall made of iron, impenetrable by even the sharpest blades. Hearing that his tone was one of self-mock, Nie MingJue wasn’t as disgusted as he would’ve been, “Don’t help him build such a conduct.”

(Chapter 49)

To sum up: NHS, an adult man by then, is absolutely terrified of NMJ. NMJ yells at him, frightens him by hitting furniture, threatens to destroy his belongings, disparages him both to his face and behind his back, and is tempted to use physical violence against him. NMJ’s personal interests align with his duties, and so he pushes them on NHS, while hypocritically refusing to respect NHS’s own interests.

Next scene. Note that by this time, JGY has started to play Clarity for NMJ, and according to WWX, it was working as intended, calming him. This scene follows the confrontation where NMJ kicks JGY down the stairs and insults him, sealing his fate.

Remember the scene in Fatal Journey where NMJ breaks NHS’s brush? Well, they toned it down in adaptation. A lot.

Nie MingJue was on the school ground, teaching and supervising Nie HuaiSang’s saberwork in person. He didn’t acknowledge Jin GuangYao, so he stood at the edge of the field, waiting with respect. Since Nie HuaiSang was quite uninterested and the sun was bright, he was rather half-hearted, complaining that he was tired after just a few moves. He beamed as he got ready to go to Jin GuangYao and see what presents he brought this time. In the past, Nie MingJue would only frown at such things, but today he was angered, “Nie HuaiSang, do you want this strike to land on your head?! Get back here!”

If only Nie HuaiSang were like Wei WuXian and could feel how great Nie MingJue’s rage was, he wouldn’t grin in such a bold way. He protested, “Brother, the time is up. It’s time to rest!”

Nie MingJue, “You rested just thirty minutes ago. Keep on going, until you learn it.”

Nie HuaiSang was still giddy, “I won’t be able to learn it anyways. I’m done for the day!”

He often said this, but today Nie MingJue’s reaction was entirely different from his past reaction. He shouted, “A pig would’ve learnt this by now, so why haven’t you?!”

Never expecting Nie MingJue to burst out so suddenly, Nie HuaiSang’s face was blank with shock as he shrunk toward Jin GuangYao. Seeing the two together, Nie MingJue was even more provoked, “It’s been one year already and you still haven’t learnt this one set of saber techniques. You stand on the field for just thirty minutes and you’re complaining that you’re tired. You don’t have to excel, but you can’t even protect yourself! How did the QingheNie Sect produce such a good-for-nothing! The both of you should be tied up and beaten once every day. Carry out all those things in his room!”

The last sentence was spoken to the disciples standing by the side of the field. Seeing that they had gone, Nie HuaiSang felt as though he was on pins and needles. A moment later, the row of disciples really did bring out all the fans, paintings, porcelain from his room. Nie MingJue had always threatened to burn his room, but he had never actually burned them. This time, though, he was serious. Nie HuaiSang panicked. He threw himself over, “Brother! You can’t burn them!”

Noticing that the situation wasn’t good, Jin GuangYao also spoke, “Brother, don’t act on impulse.”

Yet, Nie MingJue’s saber had already striked. All of the delicate objects piled at the center of the field erupted in roaring flames. Nie HuaiSang wailed and plunged into the fire to save them. Jin GuangYao hurried to pull him back, “HuaiSang, be careful!”

With a sweep of Nie MingJue’s hand, the two blanc de chine antiques shattered into pieces in his palms. The scrolls and paintings had already turned into dust in a split second. Nie HuaiSang could only watch blankly as the much loved items that he had gathered throughout the years vanish into ashes. Jin GuangYao grabbed his hands to examine them, “Are they burnt?”

He turned to a few disciples, “Please prepare some medicine first.”

The disciples answered and left. Nie HuaiSang stood at the same place, his entire body trembling as he looked over at Nie MingJue, pupil encircled by veins. Seeing that his expression wasn’t right, Jin GuangYao put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “HuaiSang, how are you feeling? Stop watching. Go back to your room and have some rest.”

Nie HuaiSang’s eyes brimmed red. He didn’t even make a sound. Jin GuangYao added, “It’s alright even if the things are gone. Next time I can find you more…”

Nie MingJue interrupted, his words like ice, “I’ll burn them each time he brings them back into this sect.”

Anger and hatred suddenly flashed across Nie HuaiSang’s face. He threw his saber onto the ground and yelled, “Then burn them!!!”

Jin GuangYao quickly stopped him, “HuaiSang! Your brother is still angry. Don’t…”

Nie HuaiSang roared at Nie MingJue, “Saber, saber, saber! Who the fuck wants to practice the damn thing?! So what if I want to be a good-for-nothing?! Whoever that wants to can be the sect leader! I can’t learn it means I can’t learn it and I don’t like it means I don’t like it! What’s the use of forcing me?!”

(Chapter 49)

He kicked his saber off to the side and ran out of the field. Jin GuangYao shouted from behind him, “HuaiSang! HuaiSang!”

Just as he was about to chase over, Nie MingJue ordered in a cold voice, “Stop!”

Jin GuangYao stopped in his tracks and turned around. Holding in his anger, Nie MingJue glared at him, “You still dare come?”

Jin GuangYao answered in a low voice, “I came to acknowledge my mistake.”

Wei WuXian, What a face—it’s even thicker than mine.

Nie MingJue, “Have you ever acknowledged your mistakes?”

Just as Jin GuangYao was about to speak, the disciples who had gone to bring medicine came back, “Sect Leader, LianFang-Zun, Young Master has locked the door and won’t let anyone inside.”

Nie MingJue, “Let me see how long he can lock himself up for. How dare he defy me?!”

Jin GuangYao spoke to the disciple with a kind countenance, “Thank you. Give me the medicine. I’ll take it to him afterwards.”

He took the bottle of medicine. After everyone had left, Nie MingJue turned to him, “Just what are you here for?”

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, have you forgotten? Today is when I play the guqin for you.”

Nie MingJue gave him a straightforward answer, “There’s no room for discussion as to Xue Yang’s matter. You don’t need to flatter me. It’s not working at all.”

Jin GuangYao, “First, I’m not flattering you. Second, if it’s not working, Brother, then why would you care if I’m flattering you or not?”

Nie MingJue was silent.

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, these days you’ve been stricter and stricter towards HuaiSang. Is it the saber spirit…?”

After a pause, he continued, “Does HuaiSang still not know about the saber spirit?”

Nie MingJue, “Why would I tell him so soon?”

Jin GuangYao sighed, “HuaiSang is used to being spoiled, but he can’t be Qinghe’s idle Second Young Master for his whole life. One day he’ll realize that you’re doing this for him, Brother, just like how I realized that you’re doing this for me.”

(Chapter 50)

You know what? After seeing this scene, I’d be inclined to do something drastic to NMJ, even without extenuating circumstances such as “he threatens my life and political standing”, “he kicked me down the stairs”, or “he called me a slur”. If NMJ couldn’t control himself even under the effects of the real Song of Clarity, maybe it’s a good thing JGY killed him before he could completely black out and raise his saber against NHS himself instead of his treasured personal belongings.

(Edit: Upon rereading this post I feel the need to clarify that I don't condone violence against mentally ill people, or think this justifies JGY's actions. But from a consequentialist point of view, maybe the canon version of events where NMJ is murdered by the man he already mistrusts and hates is less painful than the hypothetical timeline where he strikes down his beloved brother in anger and has to live the rest of his (short -- regardless of JGY's involvement) life with it.)

[asheewrites]

Adventuring business

A next part to this - Cyrus POV

I blinked, frown in place, at the face moving away from mine. My lips tingled. I had no idea what to do. This was entirely unexpected. I carefully stayed in the position he had pulled me into and… waited.

He opened his eyes, said ‘Told you’ and then walked away.

As a man and a scholar, I was confused. I got nothing but insulted all day, got run against a wall, got told to shut up and then – finally - got kissed. This day did not go as planned.

I watched the inn-door close behind Therion, waiting for another shoe to drop.

When it didn’t, I patted my body down. No knife wounds. My wallet was still there. No broken clothes, everything was still there.

So. He really had just. Kissed me. And went away.

I. Did not know what to do with this information. It was… unprecedented.

Huh.

After a little longer time of staring and trying to sort my thoughts out, I followed him inside.

Since I failed to sort them, I concluded I was well and truly drunk. So I downed some water and curled into one of the empty beds. No sense reading anymore. Not today.

  The next day I woke up and my mind swam with the image of Therion, with a tiny smile on his face, moving away from the kiss he just gave me.

It was a very confusing way to start the day. I was not well versed in the… courtship rituals?

I made sure not to use inappropriate language. But Primrose said this might be misleading some ladies. Maybe Therion had been misled as well. And had developed… feelings.

This might disrupt the group dynamic and… this needed clearing up, then.

A situation I had not intended, indeed.

Now, to find a proper moment to talk to him.

… the breakfast table was not suitable, certainly. But he was occupied anyway. With Tressa. It truly was a marvel how well they got along, especially if you know how they started out.

“So, which one is worth more, if you have such a good eye for valuables, mh?” She said, in between  generous shovels of eggs and bacon wandering in her mouth.

He raised his eyebrows – or at least the one we could see – and sighed, picking at his own food. Sometimes I wondered if that was the reason he ended up short.

But he picked up both daggers and looked at them. Examined the balance, checked the handle, the sharpness. In the end, he put it down again and sighed: “This one is the superior weapon, but I’m sure you are going to tell me the other one is more valuable, don’t you?”

“Exactly! Don’t you see the inscriptions? You have to make sure you know the whole story of the item you want to sell before you sell it! Otherwise you’ll never get a decent price! The history is important!”

“… I… appreciate the try, but… I have other ideas of value. And I think I’ll be a little richer than you at the end of the day,” he shrugged and chewed on a piece of bread.

“Mh! I bet I’ll have made more money than you when we leave this town!” She looked determined. It was a challenge. And Therion smirked. And tilted his head. And said: “You’re on”

Tressa’s eyes glinted a little and she continued to shovel her food, determined to be done fast and get on the road, apparently. Therion looked much more relaxed and shook his hea-

There was a hand snapping in front of my face and I got back to my own reality of Alfyn. He sat on the other side of the table and smiled: “So distracted this morning, you got a hangover after all?”

After a moment of thought I shook my head: “No, my dear friend, I am quite aware of my limits, you were… interested in medicine books, right?”

“Yes! Also for hangover cures, cause I really did want to beat Olberic” The poor lad did look a little pale.

“Well, when we come around to Atlasdam again, I shall certainly aid you in finding the books you are looking for. My access is not restricted, there are quite a few plant-related books that might support your studies.” I smiled. Helping others to gain knowledge was never a waste of time. “I assume you already got all the ones available for medicine, but really, there are some in the deeper archives that describe certain materials that simply never came up for consideration, maybe you can finally make sense of them on your journeys”

Alfyn frowned slightly before he shrugged: “I’ll see about the figuring things out, but I’m glad for any book you can give me,” he took a look at me and might have seen something, so he added: “Borrowed, of course! I’ll only transcribe what I need”

“Well, there is no other way… but transcribing it fortifies the knowledge in your head, too. It is a lesson I gave any and all of my students, no matter if they could afford the books.” Some nobles thought it was enough to simply own the book. As if that somehow made them able to understand the text within.

“… sure would be nice to somehow get copies to look everything up…” He looked a bit defeated.

I patted his shoulder: “I know that feeling…”

A lack of books wasn’t easy on anyone.

He was a good young man, always trying to help people.

But he had distracted me from Therion, who was now… gone.

Alright, then. I would be useful for the rest of the day. The evening certainly would provide ample opportunity for a talk.

I set up a little work desk. It was very nice of Primrose to ask around and bring a few of the scholars to me. They seemed very eager to help at first, but maybe my methods bored them a little. Fact was: I was better informed about the process of book production and had made a few experiments together with the people asked to come around. They identified the paint and pointed me in the direction of a now defunct production house. I would ask around, anyway. Maybe I would find one of the still missing volumes that weren’t even in the Ruins of Eld.

I thanked the scholars and Primrose for finding and asking them – she smirked at me – and then… we went back to the inn. Where we were greeted with… clutter. Staffs, shields, soul stones, heaps of herbs, jam, olives, grapes… it was a bit of a mess, but divided cleanly into two factions. Both seemingly sure of their win. I didn’t want to see how much money they had stored away in some remote corner.

It was best to get it over with before dinner, so I asked: “Therion?”

He stopped glaring at Tressa then, laughing: “Mh?”

“Could you accompany me for a spell?”

He blinked, then shrugged: “Sure”

We took the same way we did yesterday and arrived outside, people all slowly going home. Our companions all inside already.

I coughed: “So… yesterday…”

He tilted his head again, listening: “Yeah?”

“… ah… we… both had a certain amount of alcohol… and you… expressed your feelings in a rather… obvious manner. And while I am feeling honoured, I simply wanted to point out, that-“ I stopped there, he was staring a little… weirdly. “What?”

“Dude!” Now he laughed.

“… what is it?” It was my time to frown.

“Dude, you are talking my ear off day in and day out, I literally told you I kissed you to shut you up. My feelings were annoyed by nature. And it actually worked, unlike any other attempt. So, don’t blame me, seriously” He laughed again, into his cowl, shaking his head.

“…oh,” I said, because what else was I supposed to say, really.

He patted my shoulder: “Don’t you worry about it. But hey, if you ever want to make out, any place, any time! It saves me a sermon, I suppose,” and with that, he waved his hand and walked into the Inn.

And I stood there. Apparently, everything was fine, then.

I was sure the relief would catch up with me, soon. Yeah.

[japanesepenguin]

Day 78 in Japan (Hiking the 中山道, Part 3)

+ All right, so this is Kanda Shrine, the major shrine of the region (Kanda, a section of Tokyo known for its many bookstores); it's been around I guess since the 700s, but only became famous when its patrons prayed for Tokugawa's success at Sekigahara (the final battle of the war that secured Tokugawa control of the country); after that it became one of Tokugawa's important shrines

+ Since then, Emperor Meiji was also a patron and the shrine had been important as a major shrine associated with Tokyo itself; but like pretty much everything in Tokyo, it all burned down in 1923 during the major earthquake

+ So they rebuilt it and it again burned down, like most things in Tokyo, during the firebombing of Tokyo in WWII

+ The shrine protects a number of interesting artifacts, including:

+ These lion sculptures are some of the only remaining stone sculptures from the Edo Period; there were more, but the others were lost in 1923 (the earthquake); you can see what they looked like at the shrine in 1900:

+ They also have some rainwater basins from the Edo Period, since the shrine functioned as a firefighting hub back in the day and would store rainwater for use in emergencies:

+ These were cast in 1811 and donated to the shrine by fish mongers, of which there were many in the area at the time

+ And I might be no closer to solving the buff squirrel mystery, but I learned some things reagarding the big rocks:

+ They are called chikara stones (力石) which literally means "strength stones/rock"; they were used by the people of Edo to test the strength of men; this one has an inscription explaining that some dude lifted this one in 1822; the stones were commonly located in shrines, gardens, and other places where people would gather and (I'm guessing here) get drunk and lift big rocks

+ Anyways, that's all for Kanda Shrine; back to the road:

+ I’m still very much in Tokyo at this point and although I didn't see any additional mile markers, I'd estimate I’m about 4 km along the 中山道; note the gingko trees lining the street; as the official tree of Tokyo, I think they went a bit overboard by selectively only planting gingko trees, but this is gonna look amazing in a couple weeks

+ Also, since it's clearly visible in this photo, that yellow strip on the sidewalk is a path of special tiles solely for the purpose of helping the blind navigate (it’s a distinct tactile surface); they are on nearly every major sidewalk and at nearly every major intersection; I have never once seen a blind person in Japan, but this idea of going completely out of your way and investing a tremendous amount of resources to help just a handful of people is a topic I'll be returning to

+ This was marked on my map, but in hindsight I'm unsure why; the name is Miokuinari Shrine, and it's in a residential area a bit off the 中山道, but as far as I can tell there's nothing famous here; enjoy the view of this neighborhood shrine

+ Just down the street and visible from the 中山道 is this tiny Buddhist shrine; the original was built in the late 1600s but burnt down via American napalm (1945); this little thing is all that remains of the original complex; the local legend is that there was a Malaria epidemic and people came here to pray it away, which apparently worked

+ Oh, that's my limit of pictures for today; next up: a neighborhood not-Buddha, the best university in Japan, and arson; stay tuned!

[luisprada]

Directing The Dancing Bartender From Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” Video

Director: So you’re a bartender, and then you hear the music and you dance. Maybe throw in some spins, wipe down the counter a little – whatever feels right. But, like, be happy about it. “Woo dancing! It’s fun!” that kind of thing. Sound good?

Dancer: Uh…

Director: What’s wrong?

Dancer: That’s it? What’s the story here? Why do I go from washing a glass to dancing, and so quickly? Is the song that good? I haven’t heard it yet.

Director: It’s okay. I mean, it’s fun, but when it’s over, it’s like it never happened.

Dancer: So, why am I dancing so much then?

Director: You really need direction for this? Just dance. It’ll be in the video and you’ll get paid. Easy.

Dancer: Mister Director, I am an artist. I speak through dance. It is not just movement. It is an expression of my soul. As such, I cannot physically articulate the complexities of this bartender’s emotions if I don’t know what they are.

Director: Goddamn it.

Dancer: …

Director: Alright, look – you’re a bartender out of options. Your wife is libel to pack and leave you at any second. Every whiskey sour your serve up to some morose local drunk reminds you of the heartbreaks and failures that kept you behind that bar instead of spreading your wings to soar. Sometimes you think if you just had one path out of this life, you’d take it. No questions asked, no idea where you’d land. It’s that bleak. But then, Rick Astley starts performing “Never Gonna Give You Up.”  

At first, you’re intrigued. Is this a black person singing? Sounds like it, but there’s a vague…whiteness to it. It’s almost cool but not quite. Maybe express that with a curious look over to the stage, like you’re not sure if one of your customers is stealing a napkin holder. They’re not. But for a second there, boy, did it look like it.

Dancer: Hmm. How’s this?

Director: That’s…good, actually. Didn’t expect you to nail that. Um…so, anyway -- the music. It’s an intoxicating rhythm. It bursts through your emotional wall. You’re amped up. Your problems are still there. But the lingering trauma that’s coiled itself around every synapse, influencing every word and action, is numbed. The pain, it…it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. It can’t, not while Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” is playing. So your neck bobs to the beat, your eyelids shut. You’re not going to need eyes to see where you’re headed – to an awakening.

Dancer: Right. Okay. So, you mean like this…

Director: My God…exactly like that! Astonishing! Sir, your soul radiates through every move.

Dancer: Thank you. I think I can do this. What do I do next?

Director: You’re entranced. You dance, unaware of place, time, and your customer’s growing concern for your mental health. This isn’t a small nod to a beat anymore. Each pulse of your hips is a tug at the chain that binds you to your sorrows. Your shoulders and arms dip and sway in an intrepid battle against a tenacious tide unseen to all but you.

Dancer: Mmph. Mmph. Can I do something with the towel?

Director: Like wha--

Director: Heavens above.

The Director shakes his head in disbelief. The Dancer points to his heart.

Dancer: It comes from here. I’m simply its vessel.

Director: Well, it’s perfect! Rick’s song has woken something inside of you, a sense of possibility you haven’t felt in years, the sudden opening of the door you’ve been pushing against for as long as you can remember. With a toss of a towel and a handspring, you’re breaking free of the bar’s constraints.

Dancer: I love it.

Director: As do I, but what if we harnessed this creative breakthrough and spun it into something even greater? Follow me here: what if we get some shots with you further expressing your newfound lease on life brought on by Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up”? It’s just you alone, away from the bar, dancing with abandon, feeling joy for the first time.

The Director becomes crestfallen.

Director: But…no. It’ll never work.

Dancer: But why, Mister Director?

Director: To do something like that, we’d need a feat of dancing unlike any we’ve seen before. A move so spectacular, so daring, no other physical expression could match it. But I’m afraid a move like that would be impossible to pull off, deadly even. I’m not even sure if one exists.

Dancer: I see what you mean.

Director: Oh, damn it all! We were so close! We had lightning in the bottle but could not contain it! Maybe we were never meant to. We tried and we failed. There’s no shame in that. We’ll film what we came up with and then try to live with ourselves knowing what we could’ve accomplished here today if it were even possible to touch what lies beyond mankind’s reach.

Dancer: Mister Director, if I may be so presumptuous, I might have something. It might not be exactly what we need, but like my father always said, “Do what you can with what you have.”

Director: Those are wise words. Your father was a smart man. But wisdom has its limits.

Dancer: Please, Mister Director. Just give me the chance to show you what I can do.

Director: I don’t kn—

Dancer: Please.  

The Director sighs.

Director: Fine. But should anything happen to you, I will disavow all knowledge of this conversation. It was a maneuver you attempted on your own in defiance of my directorial will. Do you understand?  

Dancer: I understand.

Director: Then Godspeed.

Dancer: Thank you. Here we go. On three…two…one…

Dancer: What did you thi--Mister Director, is everything okay?

Tears stream down the Director’s cheeks.

Director: Oh, quite, yes. Come, let’s roll camera – and change the world.

                                                   ******

                                       400 Years Later

The line extended for a quarter of a mile. Some in the queue wore white shirts with rolled sleeves, red suspenders, and loose black slacks; others in a black and white-striped long sleeve with black short-shorts and ankle socks. The ones at the front had been waiting since before dawn to be the first allowed in. With patience and grace, the ones at the back waited hours for their turn. A few thousand more would arrive as the day went on.

They were all there to pay respects to the man and the maneuver that elevated the human race to unprecedented heights of thought, empathy, and courage. They had come to watch the Dancer spring off the chain-link fence again and again in mega-HD clarity as his image projected out of a hologram-emitting cube. The cube itself obscured by a lush bed of flowers, making it look like he’s leaping way from a dreary parking lot fence and into a psychedelic sea. Surrounding the flower bed is hundreds of plain white towels laid there by visitors signifying a pilgrimage that has reached its end.

An inscription atop a pedestal among the flowers reads: “This memorial is dedicated to the Dancer, who, in this very spot, leaped onto a fence and sprang into our hearts. We never gave him up.”  

[rockandblognet]

Interview with “DEBAUCHERY”

Check out this interview with Debauchery where we talked about their musical influences, masks, style and many other interesting things 

RnB – You are an unclassifiable band, in the good sense of the word, when interpreting Death, Thrash or even Industrial Metal. An infinity of genres that make your music interesting. Where does inspiration come from, for rhythms, how for lyrics?

Hi, I always wanted to play music like AC/DC, Judas Priest, Maiden, Motörhead, Saxon & other classic metal and rock bands. And that’s what I do, only my DEBAUCHERY monster voice is different. I mean if you listen to Priest and compare their Jugulator album with British Steel, it sounds different but it is still Heavy Metal. 

The lyrics are about dark fantasy and monsters. In the beginning most were themed around the Warhammer world, 40k or Middle-Earth. Now most songs are set in the DEBAUCHERY universe, a dark and evil place with demons and dragons I made up myself. 

RnB – When occupying masks in your performances, is it difficult to act (sing, breathe)? Have the masks had some evolution in their form?

Yes, inside it’s hotter than hell and you don’t see a shit. The most difficult thing is to play guitar almost blind. But I love the look of the band this way. I have different masks, some are too heavy for live shows. So you will see different one in the videos. I prefer custom made exclusive masks but I have also bought some from horror shops. 

RnB – Does the use of being three musicians make it easier or more difficult to perform your music in both studied and live? Adding to this the rest of the instruments that are heard, second guitars or keyboards included in some songs

The live musicians are not always the studio musicians. I work with a group of different great people, for example bass on the album is played by Dennis Ward, he’s the sound engineer and in the studio anyway and he is a great bass player – you may know him from Unisonic or GusG. 

The guy who is playing live bass and on some shows live drums on the current tour, played drums on the Rockers & War, Continue To Kill and Germany’s next Death Metal album. 

I have a three piece Rock Band on stage because I do not know another guitar player who wants to go on tour and the songs are written on one guitar anyway. I have tried everything in the past, with five people on stage and me as singer, because my favourite bands are doing it like this. When I started with the music I saw myself as a rhythm guitar player. But in the end I never found a singer, and no second guitar player who wanted to play for longer than a tour or something. 

It is more difficult for me to play with one guitar and sing at the same time, but I prefer it this way now. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made for the band. It’s so much easier to organize and it works for my music. 

RnB – Is there a limit on the theme «Gore,» referring to excess blood in your presentations for DEBAUCHERY?

It’s only a little bit of makeup, so you will not see it on the audience. In the lyrics there can never be enough brutality. The Blood Gods are cruel beings and are out for revenge. 

RnB – DEBAUCHERY is a band capable of innovating, having a good idea or getting an effective trick from there that could become part of the Shock Rock concept of some world bands?

I don’t know, I just do what I like myself and what I would buy and would like to see at a concert. There is no masterplan. 

RnB –  Does the fact of creating a controversial concept and give something extra-musical and provocative to the musical show, allows trying to give a sign of identity to the group and differentiates it from other groups?

Yes I think so. Imagine the band without the visuals. The first thing someone sees from a band is most often a cover or a band picture, you see the image before you will listen to the music. The image of a band is the teaser for the music. And on festivals with many bands in the line up it is easier to remember us. 

RnB – Is the good provocative marketing campaign you give, close to a type of «geek» the mainstays with which DEBAUCHERY plays in your work?

I’m not sure if my marketing campaign is good, haha, I am just myself and I was always something like a geek or nerd or whatever. I mean I play tabletop games like Warhammer since forever. I love the monsters and the fantasy stories. And I make songs about these creatures and stories.

RnB – The morbidity continues to attract, as always, the human being because it has a «natural disposition» towards the horrendous and justifies it in that, throughout the centuries, people have always enjoyed executions. Do you share this idea?

Yes maybe. Most of the great stories are violent in some way and many people are definitely attracted to displays of violence and cruelty. But it is good that in my society this is mainly articulated in computer games, films and music. I think most people prefer a normal life and want to see violence only in the cinema. My music should be an escape from normal life. If you listen to DEBAUCHERY metal you can enter the World of Blood Gods, but you are always free to go back to your normal life afterwards.  

RnB – Your manager and record companies, MASSACRE RECORDS, are more than knowledgeable about everything they do and amplify your effort. Create an inscription or poster for word of mouth, magazines and media to talk about you, plus all possible support. Is that the case?

The label is definitely doing its part. They are responsible to get the CDs into the record stores.

RnB – How do they direct or direct the reactions against your «artistic model» by organizations that are morally and socially called «correct»?

There are no reactions from any organizations.

RnB – How far can the productive and inventive ribbon of DEBAUCHERY be raised?

I don’t know, so long as I have enough energy to make something new I will continue. I’m working on a new DEBAUCHERY and a new BALGEROTH album at the moment. I would like to make the visuals in the music videos cooler next time. Better animations and monsters but we will see, I’ m working on it. 

RnB – Is there influence on literary or philosophical sources, historical facts or news events that accommodate your music?

I have studied history and philosophy, so a little bit will influence my lyrics, but most of the time it is just about monsters and violence. I would recommend the Warhammer books of Graham McNeill, Dan Abnett, Ben Counter, Aaron Demski-Bowden and others; also all the stuff of Tolkien. 

RnB – CAN DEBAUCHERY be framed or labeled as rebels of your time or as a band that rose against the established power of its time?

No, I’m no rebel and the music has no political aspect, except perhaps the animal liberation. The most brutal beasts in the DEBAUCHERY universe are the gods of the farm animals and they hate mankind and our society. 

RnB – Could they succeed without the paraphernalia of your spectacles, yes or no? At the same time they are an essential claim that may be able to cover many musical deficiencies of your music created in studio but that has another aspect in the concert.

Yes maybe, I played without all the gimmicks in the past, no masks, no blood, no stage monsters, not even a backdrop. In the end the long time success of a band depends on the music.

RnB – A question or demand that arises: is the DEBAUCHERY show that makes us like his music or is it the music that makes us like all his paraphernalia and his show, is it a complex question?

I have no idea. Sometimes I think my image is too brutal and violent for my kind of music. I play many hard rock songs and AC/DC style riffs. 

RnB – The laws have been adapting to new trends and what was once a reason for imprisonment, today it is not. Have you had a problem with the law of your country or that of others because of your artistic proposal?

Yes sometimes, for example I had to pay a penalty for a lesbian porn video I have made for the song Death Metal Warmachine.

Reaching the goal is fine, but the really enriching has been a long journey and the many problems overcome throughout this. So you subsist and breathe DEBAUCHERY?

Art is my life. I’m an artist the whole day, every day. I don’t know what I would do without playing guitar and painting monsters. 

RnB: Thank you very much for spending some time with us.

Thanks a lot for your interest in my music.

By Pepe Cortez

Interview with “DEBAUCHERY” en el artículo original de Rock and Blog

[rosirinoa]

Last credits Pt. 2

Pt. 1 available here.

A month later, Professor Ackerman told his students to decide on a subject for their final essay.

“Listen up, class. For next week, you should decide on the subject for the final essay. You can choose whatever you want, as long it’s related to the class. The idea it that you work on it for the rest of the semester, so I’ll expect a high quality work. Like Otto Von Bismark said: the main thing is to make history, not to write it, but in this case, you’ll have to write… and do it properly. You cannot make history if you don’t know it.”

That day, Petra felt confused. She didn’t feel confident to pick a subject. She wanted it to be original, but she’d never written an essay like the one Mr. Ackerman was asking for. Suddenly, she remembered the Professor saying they could ask him for academic counseling, so she decided to pay him a visit. Nevertheless, in order to do so, she needed to have at least a few clear ideas, so she hurried to go back home and start with the investigation.

The next day, she went to Professor Ackerman’s office. It was a little troublesome for her to get there, since it was an unknown faculty for her, it took her a while to get to the right building.

His office was on the second floor and Petra looked at the numbers on the wall until she found number 117 and when she was almost in front of the door, she saw two people getting out of there.

“Thank you, Doctor Ackerman. See you later.” a young man with black hair closed the door and looked at the girl.

“Petra, right?”

“Hi, Gunther… Oluo,” she nodded and then looked at the other guy next to him “are you here for counseling too?”

“Yeah, we were a little confused, but the Professor gave us some good ideas to start our essay.” With a lot of discretion, he elbowed his friend and said “Oh, Doctor Zoe!... sorry, I need to talk with the Coordinator.” And then he hurried to the stirs, leaving Petra and Oluo alone.

“Petra…. If… if you need help with your essay, we could Exchange numbers and I can help you. I have great experience with academic writing.”

“Really? Cou…” she was interrupted by a yell coming out from the office.

“Why the hell is there so much noise outside my office, dammit?” the professor opened the door and looked at the students.

“Doctor!... eh, I mean… Professor, I…” Petra tried to explain.

“I’m sorry, I was just telling my classmate that I could help her with his essay and…”

“Oluo… you were just in my office, asking me how to write your freaking essay. Is obvious you don’t have the capacity to help Petra with hers. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Y… yeah, but…”

“Are you going to stay there, Petra? Get inside my office.”

“Yes, thank you.” And after smiling at Oluo, who was pretty much speechless, she went inside.

“Have a seat.”

The professor was right behind her and put a hand on the back of her chair where she was sitting, leaning forward towards her. That took Petra by surprise and she blushed a lot, but she calmed herself after seeing he was just reaching for a folder that was on his desk.

“Sorry, I need to take this to the coordinator. I’ll be right back.” And then he went out, closing the door behind him.

Petra took the opportunity to relax a little, but she had to admit her heart stopped for a moment. Professor Levi had a nice profile, and she saw it closely a moment before, not to mention his cologne… it was fresh and elegant, just like him. The fragrance lingered inside the office and Petra’s nose was delighted with it, while she looked around.

The place was immaculate. Everything was meticulously set on a specific place. There was a tall shelf filled with books and there was a computed on the desk, showing a half written document on the monitor. Behind the desk, there was a table with a small coffee maker that seemed to be brand new.

There were a few noted on the calendar hanged on the wall and even some post-it notes on the monitor, but not a single decoration of personal object… except for a couple medals and a picture of him with her Faculty Coordinator, Erwin Smith and another woman. Petra unconsciously sighed, thinking that woman could be her girlfriend, but abandoned the idea immediately and got distracted with the medals next to the desk.

Levi Ackerman… undoubtedly, the personality and the man himself picked up Petra’s attention. It was incredible; all the things he knew and the way his blue eyes sparkled every time he spoke to the class. Even his acid humor was attractive, but that wasn’t the time to think about those things, and the best way to erase that thought would be to read the inscriptions in those medals next to the desk.

They were all from trail races, and despite being from different years, they were from the same event “the Titan trail”. Petra never imagined the Professor being into sports. He certainly was full of surprises, and then…

“Yeah, I left it in one of my drawers, wait there…” the Professor entered the office and looked for something inside one of the desk drawers. Apparently, he was talking with someone… someone Petra recognized from the photo she had just seen.

“Oh, you’ve got company.” The woman smiled when she saw Petra.

“I told you to wait outside, four eyes. My office is off limits for you. Here’s the USB memory.” Levi gave her the memory stick “Petra… do you know Hanji Zoe? She’s the Social Sciences Faculty Coordinator.”

“Oh, nice to meet you!” she kindly smiled, relieved after concluding she couldn’t be her girlfriend.

“Petra Ral? Wow… I finally meet you. Erwin spoke to me about you.”

“Thank you so much for letting me take a class in your faculty.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was once in your situation, so I know how frustrating it could be to not fill the requirements to graduate on time. But tell me, how are you doing on history class?”

“Tsch… of course she’s doing fine. I’m her teacher.” Levi growled “now, if you don’t mind, I was about to speak with Petra.”

“Oh, sure, sure! See you later, then. And don’t forget about this Friday’s dinner with Erwin and me.” Hanji left with a grin on her face and when Levi saw the door closing, she sat on his chair and looked at the girl in front of him.

“She could be a really nuisance…” the girl laughed discreetly “I suppose you are here for your essay.”

“I do. I… have a couple doubts about the topic and, to be honest, I’m not used to academic writing. We are usually evaluated with exams of projects in my major and…”

“I understand… International Commerce is more practical than theoretical. Tel me, what do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking about doing an analysis about the impact of commerce on military conflicts during the XVIII and XIX century.” The Professor’s eyes became brighter and a tiny smiled appeared on his lips. Something rare on him.

“My, my… to be honest, I thought you’d choose something like the evolution of commerce through history, or something about the colonies, but… I’m glad I was wrong.” He leaned back on his chair and looked at the computed monitor for an instant, while he played with a pen on his hand “you never stop amazing me.”

“’I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.” She looked at her for a moment, but he did it in a different way than he did in class. He had a different personality, perhaps because he was inside his office and not surrounded by students, or maybe because he felt comfortable with Petra. Whatever the reason, the change made her smile. “It’s an ambitious topic, and if you don’t have experience on writing essays, it could be troublesome.” She was about to say something, but Levi continued “I’ve noticed you are very interested in the class. You frequently ask smart questions and is obvious you do some research at home, so I’ll give you a choice.”

“Yes?” Petra was expectant.

“I’m willing to provide you academic counseling for the rest of the semester, so your essay would be well done.”

“Really?”

“…But only, if you transcribe my notes to the computer.”

“Your notes?”

“Yes…” he opened one of the drawers and took out a notebook, along with a small box with note cards.” I’m meticulous man and with deep-rooted customs, and that causes me some troubles,” he opened the notebook “when I read a book or an article, I write down the important parts in a note card or in here, with my own handwriting, so I’ve accumulated a big pile of papers that need to be transcribed in the computer, so I can have a decent database.”

“I understand…” she looked at the notebook. His notes, despite of being organized, were done with a pretty messy handwriting; very different from the one he used to write on the board and Petra fund it quite amusing. That organized and strict man did have a defect, after all “deal.” She smiled.

“Alright.” And then he immediately started to look through his computer files and Petra seemed confused after his attitude change “do you have an USB memory?”

“I…” she remembered she left it in her room “No, I didn’t bring it.”

“Damn… this is just as if you were in the battlefield without a weapon…” he opened his drawer again and took a memory stick “I’ll lend you this one. Take care of it, and I expect it back without viruses, ok?” he glared at her for an instant and then looked back at the monitor “I’ll give you a couple PDF books, so you have enough information for your essay. I’ll also add a quoting and referencing manual. I don’t want plagiarism of any sort. Any idea you take out of those books, had to be correctly quoted. Do you require a writing manual as well?” he coldly asked, but the girl found his concern a little funny. It was as if he was thinking about everything in a mechanic way.

“No.” she laughed “I don’t think so.”

“Tsch… I’ll include it anyways. I don’t want to have a big disappointment when I read your progress.” And a moment later, heh handed her the memory stick, along with the notebook on his desk “Today is Wednesday, you can bring me the transcriptions next week, in this same memory. As for your progress on the essay, you have two weeks to write a general outline.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m usually here after 11 AM and until 5 PM. Not a single minute later. Except for Fridays. I go out at 12 PM.”

“Understood. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” Petra said goodbye and kindly smiled before going out of his office. He followed her with his gaze.

Once he was alone, Levi leaned back on his chair and looked through the window. When they told him an International Commerce student would take his history class, he expected a completely different girl; someone not interested on the class and who probably would abandon on the first chance, but Petra turned out to be an intelligent, kindhearted and capable girl, and she was also willing to tolerate his attitude. That’s why she picked up his attention. Now he was anxiously expecting her first deadline.”

To be continued…

 Author’s notes.

Hi there! This is the second part of this fanfic, based on rivetra week’s history prompt. I really like where this is going, and I hope you too. I certainly can picture Levi as an strict professor, one of those who are the best, but annoying at the same time.

[praditak]

This doesn’t happen often to me, I tell you. Everything around me today is a shade of golden yellow, even though it’s burning hot outside. I feel like I’m a bird of paradise singing an ode to this beautiful day because I’m remembering a beautiful day.

A Victoria’s Rifle Bird. Source: Giphy

Remember how about a month back I was lamenting my sloth-like form in this post? I’m happy to report that I’m still regular at the gym and my stamina and sessions have been improving by ant-sized proportions. But I’m taking fitness very seriously this time around because I’ve had the worst one month of my life.

A severe gastritis attack has changed my entire diet plan and I’ve had to finally let go of a lot of things I loved eating, but were not great for my gut – tea, coffee, chocolate, toor dal (why, God, why?) and idli-dosa *sobs*. What I put in my body was directly connected with how much I was moving, which wasn’t much, as I’ve already revealed in my last blogpost.

So in the spirit of keeping fit, I’ve not only been regular at the gym (as regular as I can be), I’ve also been to one trek and three hikes in the span of a month!

One of them was an official trek to Bhorgiri-Bhimashankar. I write official because it was conducted by professional trekkers. The pics I took of the trek weren’t that great because I used my cell phone to take the pics and it was raining tigers and elephants. On top of it, I had to cross two waterfalls and was waist-deep in water. Taking my cell-phone out would have been phone-harakiri.

I did sneak in some shots like these.

Paddy for miles. Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019.

  I’d recommend you to drive up to Bhorgiri village. Please do it. Please do it. The drive itself is magical because for miles around there’s nothing but rippling paddy fields, dotted with little houses, lovingly surrounded by lofty mountains and the Bhima river gushing below. In the peak monsoon, when I went, the place is bathed in thick fog that gives the place an ethereal feel. Also, you won’t find many modern facilities here, so go prepared. The folks here collect rainwater for all their needs, even drinking. I don’t remember seeing a prettier place than this in all my Pune-travels.

The customary selfie. Not the only waterfalls I saw on this trek. Not the only ones I crossed either. Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019.

  I still don’t get how my phone survived the ordeal. I experienced what horses and donkeys must feel like when it rains outside while they have to stand stock-still under a downpour with nowhere to go.

By the end of the trek, this is what my Fitbit showed me:

  That’s a personal record, people! Many may have walked more than me, but damn, I’m proud of myself! I don’t remember the last time I walked that much. I think it was nearly thirteen years ago when I walked fourteen kilometres along with my room-mate from one end of Pune to the other. But well, things were different with me back then. I was *coughs* younger.

By the day following the day of the trek and the next day too, every time I stood up I couldn’t feel my knees and every time I walked I felt like someone had stuffed jelly in my thighs in place of muscle. But it was fun and if someone asked me to do it again I would, just to explore the tiny village and surroundings of Bhorgiri a little more.

Shoutout to Pune’s own Sahyadri Trekkers for organising this trek and being such good sports with rookies like me. I’d recommend this group in a trice. They organise treks to all kinds of places around Maharashtra and even beyond. They are reasonable, responsible, punctual and thorough with their work. If you’re ever in Pune looking for a trekking group, get in touch with them.

The trip to Karla was a leisurely hike. We drove up to the mountain village of Karla from where the climb up to the caves begins. There were around 200 stone steps to the caves and it was raining hard enough that there was a river flowing over the steps, but it was fun nevertheless. Once we got our shoes wet to the point that they, in turn, were adding to the surplus of water, we shed our inhibitions. My daughter took delight in splashing in ‘giant muddy puddles’.

Peppered along the steps were shops of pooja paraphernalia and small eating joints. They don’t help the place any, but I’ll reserve the rant on how they are ruining the place for later in the post.

When we reached the top, oh my, the view was worth the huffing and puffing.

  Who wouldn’t feel refreshed after a view like that? Even if you didn’t want to look at the caves, just those waterfalls would make the climb up worth it. But since we were there to see the caves, into the caves we went. I must point out we chose the wrong month of the year. In August, rains lash the Western Ghats incessantly, and up in the mountains, it’s even worse. When I made this trip, Pune, where I live, was just beginning to overcome its flood issues. It may have been silly on our part to risk it but we were getting antsy sitting at home in weather like this when we could be outdoors exploring. And we were going in a car, so we thought what the heck!

But if you ever want to come to Karla, make sure the time of year is right. Summertime would be suicide because it will be hot and barren here. The climb up would dehydrate you quickly. Winter may be good, but it won’t be nearly as green then. Early monsoon would be best, say around Late June and July when the Monsoons are just getting started and the rains aren’t that much of a bother.

So after we bought a ticket, Rs.10 per person, we entered the caves. The view to the main cave entrance is partially blocked by the flank of the Ekveera Devi Temple, a very important and renowned temple. Although constructed around the same time, why would someone want to build a temple bang in the way of a Buddhist shrine is beyond me. Couldn’t they have built it to a side or built it at another spot altogether? Aside from that, the entrance with its high arch, its handsome pillars and its bold carvings mesmerizes you.

The Main Cave or Chaitya Griha or Cave 8. Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019

Karla is one of the many Buddhist caves in Maharashtra, along with the Bhaja, Patan, Bedse and Nasik Caves, and these other sites are better preserved and more ornamental, but the Grand Chaitya (Chaitya means prayer, Griha means hall) here is the largest rock-cut cave in South-Asia. Every time I see rock-cut architecture, I’m awestruck by the sheer ingenuity of man in an age when there were no machines, no power. Every tiny detail is hand-hewn and every rock that went into making this beautiful structure was hefted by hand. WOW!

Carved into the rock to the side of the entrance are these figures. Most of them are in good shape but time and extremes of weather have softened the features around the faces but it lends a grace, an otherworldly aura to them.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019

Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019

Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019

  I know my pictures aren’t great. Poor light, hard rain and a phone camera can do that to even the most well-intentioned images. Again, I was bothered about phone-harakiri. It’s hard to make out but just imagine these figures carved up on nearly 15 metres of unforgiving stone. Once upon a time, the entrance had two grand pillars. Now there is just one.

Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019

  As you enter the cave, the Chaitya Griha, the light plays with the structures within, so that the figures around the sides seem shy, looking down at the ground, as if they want to divert your complete attention to the stupa within, which gets the most of the little sunlight that enters the cave. It’s a beautiful effect.

Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019

  The ribbed ceiling is mostly in wood, a thing of wonder considering it’s still holding even after centuries! Carved into the stones were these inscriptions. A translation would have been welcome but none was available. I found them fascinating and looked them up online. Apparently, this is the Brahmi script, the oldest writing form in India, and describes donations made by several kings.

There is a pradakshina of sorts going all around the pillars in the Chaitya Griha but it doesn’t have figures or inscriptions.

The gush of water pouring down over the hillside was loud enough to drown out the voices of the visitors. We had to shout to each other in our party to be heard. The caves adjacent to the Chaitya Griha had their entrances partially blocked by torrents of these seasonal waterfalls. We plunged in nevertheless. We were soaked to the bone anyhow.

These smaller caves served as a monastery hence they are devoid of any figures or other ornamentation. Most of them are blocked to the public anyway because they have now become too dangerous. We didn’t venture up into the higher caves either because of a paucity of time. Having a 5-year-old with you can also limit movement.

  Smaller caves next to the Chaitya Griha Cave. Image: Copyright © Pradita Kapahi, 2019.

  I have been told that the Bhaja caves in Lonavala are in much better shape and are bigger, prettier, in a way. We had originally planned a trip to Lohagad fort, very close to the Bhaja caves, for that very purpose; we had even made half the way through, halting every now and then before a gushing waterfall or hiking just to breathe in the fresh air and take in views like these…

    But the roads and the rains kept getting worse and we were forced to turn back. We headed to Karla instead because someone told us that the road leads right up to the base of the steps. A cheat-trek. LOL!

Beware, rant begins

I always wonder why we have the propensity to ruin the natural beauty of sites like these. Every single time I have been to an ancient site – Karla Caves, Lohagad fort, Sinhagadh fort, Bhuleshwar temple, Bhimashankar temple – I have come across tourists who litter carelessly, authorities who couldn’t care less about the maintenance of the sites, traders who have ruined the natural beauty of the place with their tarpaulined shops and the trash from their wares, and temple authorities who not only are careless that their ‘holy’ site is being defiled, but encourage tourists and traders by accepting pooja offerings bought from these shops, without in the least trying to discourage this practice. It’s a wonder that where these make-shift shops abound on such sites, there isn’t a single public toilet!

Bhimashankar and Karla were exceptionally bad. Guess how we on the trekking team came to know that the Bhorgiri-Bhimashankar trek was coming to an end? About a kilometre left into the trek we saw the river Bhima beginning to get littered by masses of polythene bags, pooja garlands, paper, food scraps and whatnot. This same water downstream was clean of any of this refuse, but the moment you neared the temple it was CHAOS! Full marks to Sahyadri Trekkers who kept reminding us that we must not litter at any cost. The stone steps leading to the temple had no space left for a view of the natural surroundings which this temple is famous for, apart from the architecture, because there were countless, and I mean countless, shops hawking pooja samagri, food, chai, toys! An endless array of shops selling the same thing over and over again. Ditto with Karla caves where the garbage littered the stone steps itself. And all of this when at the entrance to these places we had to pay a Swachhata Kar (cleanliness tax) apart from a road toll and an entrance fee! Where all that tax money is going is anyone’s guess.

These were the only things that marred the adventure of these two otherwise memorable excursions for me.

I’ll leave you with a thought and a few requests –

Is it necessary that a devotee must offer flowers, milk and sweets to the deity within the shrine? Do you know your offerings could damage the structure of these ancient sites? Is your faith so flimsy that you weigh it in terms of what you offer?

Visitors: Please plan and pack before you visit such sites. Carry your own food, water and keep your pooja offerings limited to money (food and flowers attract flies and cause malodours). Use a trash can to throw your garbage. Don’t see one around? Keep it with you and throw it when you see one. STOP THOSE YOU SEE ARE LITTERING.

Government Authorities: Please use the tax you collect into keeping the sites clean and maintaining the structures; don’t divert it to other places. Crackdown on shop owners who litter. Keep only one shop of each kind on the premises. Put up signboards encouraging visitors to carry their own food & water, use the trashcans and impose penalties on those who don’t follow rules. Please make decent toilets at such places.

Temple Priests and Authorities: Please encourage devotees to stop offering food, flowers, etc., to the deity. Ask them to stop littering near the temple. Money donations would serve the temple much better, I’m sure, because all the rest goes to waste anyway.

Maintaining these places is as much our responsibility as the man wielding the jhadoo. Please be responsible citizens.

Thank you for reading. Do leave your feedback.

Read about my Bhuleshwar trip here.

Read about my time aboard a merchant vessel here.

Read about my memories of Garhwal here.

Copyright ©2019 Pradita Kapahi.

All rights reserved.

All images are subject to copyright in the name of Pradita Kapahi.

My Monsoon Diaries, 2019: Karla Caves and Other Trips. This doesn't happen often to me, I tell you. Everything around me today is a shade of golden yellow, even though it's burning hot outside.

[irescot]

Ireland Tour - Day 2 (9/5)

Today we were going to visit Bantry House and Garinish (pronounced Garnish) island.

Sharon and I were up a little earlier than breakfast was ready so we went for a walk. We saw through the window of our room that the sheep were sleeping.  Took lots of pictures of views of the lake and environs.  We walked to the modern church and saw the abbey ruins (17th C), then the cemetery. Took a close look at one of the boats on the dock and realized we woulde not go on a ride on one of them that was half-full of water and had a bailing bucket in it. Tucked away in the front hedge of the hotel was a little statue that looked like Nessie.  In the distance we saw Carol, but she chose to keep walking on the main walk, rather than the side trips we took.  

On our way to Bantry House, we made an unexpected (by us, Jason had planned it) stop at the ruins of Carriganass Castle on the Beare (pr. bear), which was really tiny, but interesting.

Bantry House and Gardens is a private estate, still owned by the descendants of the Earl of Bantry.  In fact at least one of the children was giving tours, and we had an unresolved debate whether a second one was at the door welcoming everyone and answering questions.  

Tons of pictures of different parts of the estate and its gardens. Took a limited part of the self-guided tour of the house and took some pictures there, only to find out when we were leaving that there was a sign at the entrance that said "no pictures inside, please." Oops, but didn't see it until much later.  

At the entry, there are three tile mosaics on each side. Because the mosaics cannot bear a lot of traffic, they had rugs made that look just like the mosaics.  They lay those on top and the rugs absorb the traffic.  From time to time one of the two official people lift the carpets to show people the original mosaics.  Happened to be there when it happened (took a picture and no one said anything, now that I think of it).

Other interesting pieces inside the house were a chess set, a piano made of birdseye maple, an ornate vase, a small table inlaid with JNRJ (an inscription we usually see as INRI), an ermine topped robe, and four brass instruments of the same family in different sizes.

Outside, there were many flowers and trees, a statue of Diana the huntress, a cannon, pleasure boats and fishing boats on Bantry Bay, a cemetery in the distance, a maze-like planting of hedges, and in the center a fountain with a strange rock(?) in the middle with objects on it.  It's surrounded by twisted wisteria.  Saw an ornate Corinthian capitol on the outside in an otherwise pedestrian eating area.

Then it was time to go to Garinish Island. The only way to get there is via a passenger ferry that takes off from Glengarriff. From the website:

Garinish Island is located in the harbour of Glengarriff in Bantry Bay.  It is world renowned for its gardens which are laid out in beautiful walks and that have some stunning specimen plants which are rare in this climate.  

The gardens are the result of the creative partnership of Annan Bryce and Harold Peto, architect and garden designer.  The island was bequeathed to the Irish people in 1953.  

The island boasts a Martello tower on its southern shores that has been restored.  There is an amazing view of the bay from the battlements of the tower.  

The ferry was there when we got there and we paid a fee of $15 euros for the round trip crossing.  The ferry only has seating on the inside, but plenty of it.  We were told that we would be able to see seals as we crossed, that it was practically guaranteed, but that in some rare instances, it was also possible to see a dolphin or two.  We didn't see any dolphins, but we did see seals, including a pup.  On top were perched two cormorants.

We saw a big hotel on the shore and then it was pointed to us that Maureen O'Hara was from this area and her house (with two white chimneys) was pointed out to us, although we were also told that she died in La Jolla. She actually died in Boise, Idaho at age 95 and is buried in Arlington National Cemetery where her third (and last) husband was buried. He was a brigadier general in the US Air Force. There is an annual golf tournament held in her honor in Glengarriff.

Lots of lovely flowers on the island, no problem.  We also managed to walk up to the Martello tower, although I came to regret it given the hundred steps to get there.  Martellos were small defensive forts that were built by the British during the 19th century; most were coastal forts.  When we got there, I discovered that not only were there more steps, but these led only to the first story, and that I had to go up a narrow, winding staircase to get to the upper part - do the words "no way" convey my position clearly enough? But at least Carol took our picture at the foot of the tower.

On our way down we saw a tree with cancerous-looking growths and a pretty pine tree. Then the ferry was there, and after a bunch of Dutch-speaking tourists got off, we got on and went back to Glengarriff.  

We drove on a very, very curvy road, where many of us got rather queasy, called Healy Pass in the Beare peninsula.  Jason told us that he had been warned that there was a farmer called John who was in the habit of stopping tour buses (with his tractor, I believe) and demand to come aboard.  It was also said that he was also a bit amorous and like to flirt with the women.  He told us that because at one point it did look like a tractor was going to come onto the road, but then it didn't. He said he was told by the office to never open the door to the van under any circumstances to this guy.  We all laughed and assumed it was one of those Irish tall tales.

Jason then told us that he was reaching his legal limit for driving consecutively and that there was a machine installed in all commercial vehicles that allowed the government to monitor the hours (we also heard it elsewhere), so it couldn't be circumvented.  Normally, he would just stop for the next day of the tour and let a driver with local knowledge of Dingle drive the van, but he had just found out that the man was unavailable, and that unfortunately, he would have to turn the van over to another Driftwood driver for the duration of the tour.  We were very upset because we had all bonded with Jason and loved his sense of humor and just plain niceness. So today was going to be our last full day with him.  The changeover was going to take place at Killarney National Park.

On our way to wherever we were going to stay overnight, Jason asked us if we wanted to see a stone circle. I thought he meant stone circle and so decided to stay on the coach.  It turned out to be a stone circle like Stonehenge, only way smaller.  So I snoozed.  But there were some pretty views out there anyway, including a brook and a bridge.  A farmer owns the land where this stone circle is and he decided to make a little bit of extra money by letting people come view it.  He has a donation box and over it a CCTV camera.

We then continued on to Kenmare where we were to spend the night.  It was a nice hotel except for beds that had a low point in the middle.  We went out to dinner and then retired for the night.

And that was the end of the Ireland Tour Day 2 (9/5).

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Bureau

This particular day of Anton Pavlovich’s life went awry from the start.

At first his lawyer for divorce proceedings called him by phone and with affectedly false regret in own voice notified Anton Pavlovich that the second apartment in a center of Moscow, which Anton Pavlovich has honestly acquired by not-so-honest work can’t be kept in any way because it’s considered a shared property, acquired by him along with his nowadays almost ex-wife. Then some sort of fool from Godforsaken insurance company called him and offered “new unique property insurance package with fire-protection included” – and this, together with a sad fact of his country house, which has been burned almost to ashes by a lightning strike about a month ago, sounded almost like professional, even though accidental mockery. In a doorway of this exact Moscow apartment, which has been bought on money from pension system fraud, his new mistress Jessica has been already waiting for him and with a languid voice she inquired, when her “sweetie daddy” is going to buy her a new promised mink fur coat instead of an old one, given to her by a former lover. And this new mistress, to be honest, was quite a black sheep – but his previous unmarried concubine Victoria demanded such thorough and capital investments, that it was much easier and cheaper to hire some east harem than to continue satisfaction of her growing not by days, but by wallets appetites. And at this moment Anton Pavlovich could do nothing better than to form a false smile on his tense face and go together with Jessica to a new boutique.

What can we say? That regrettable for Anton Pavlovich day was destined to come to a failure from the start. Anton Pavlovich was pressing on his car’s accelerator pedal so hard, trying to get rid on the way to the boutique of one thousand of annoying thoughts, which have been importunately biting his raging mind, that he didn’t notice how he has exceeded allowed in the urban environments speed limit of sixty kilometers per hour. Or maybe just this last hour became like a whole life, stretching into its own eternity?

Fuel truck drove into a cross lane absolutely unexpectedly. It’s, however, quite possible that it, along with its driver Vasily Ivanovich, who has become quite drunk after a recent quarrel with own wife, along with Anton Pavlovich and aforementioned Jessica have all been waiting for this year, day, hour, minute and even second of this most fatal meeting? Alas, the answer to this uneasy question is hidden from us in faraway informational archives of the universe, and we are unable to satisfy this possible curiosity of our faithful readers. No matter what, but the moment when Anton Pavlovich and Vasily Ivanovich synchronously pressed on brakes, and Jessica stridently cried, hands of invisible to them clocks stopped for an instant, as if forever imprinting it inside a memory of the world, and then a second hand made its last “tac!” and stood still. Black tinted jeep crashed into the middle of a fuel truck at such a speed that fuel track rolled sideways – and followed explosion muffled even agonal shout of Jessica. Shockwave threw away two nearby cars and three pedestrians without inflicting them too much damage – for it was yet not their year, day, hour, minute and second. Huge fiery mushroom sparked over a place of tragedy – and then everything sank in a roar of a storming flame…

***

Anton Pavlovich opened his eyes, greedily grasping autumn air, which has been flowing along with sun rays through slightly opened windows into his bedroom. He slowly wiped his eyes with own fists, trying to get rid of a recent dreadful nightmare, and sat down on the edge of a bed. “What an awful dream!” – he was thinking, having not yet come to his senses. “Swindles, frauds, mistresses, road accidents… what our mind is capable of creating! Well, never mind, – the good news is that all of this wasn’t for real, it was just a dream, a simple dream…”

That way, continuing to calm down himself, Anton Pavlovich was gathering for work. Having already had breakfast, having already put on his crimson jacket and sat down into a black tinted jeep, parked near a house, already ready for new honest and not so honest feats, he suddenly caught himself on a thought that it has become somehow unusually deserted in a yard of his high-rise building – no signs of cars, or pedestrians, or even some kind of stray dog, which wasn’t traveling here anyway. “Perhaps, it’s a day off?” – an afterthought flashed in still slightly sleepy brain of Anton Pavlovich. “Precisely, day off! No further than yesterday I have finally got divorced with my silly spouse and was going to celebrate that moment today in a bar with my friends!”, – he remembered. “All because of that foolish dream! It totally drove me out of life!” Having repeatedly glanced over an empty yard of his house and having once again hemmed to himself, he struck pedals of his car and rushed through the gates.

Rare street pedestrians completely didn’t fit into an overall image of populous capital – they, having slightly stooped, were slowly moving on streets and, it seemed, didn’t look on each other at all. No sign of agiotage or any business turmoil and haste, so common for Moscow citizens… it seemed as if the city has become extinct – or have massively moved beside that distressful MKAD in a single incomprehensible instant of time.

There was no sign of a bar in the habitual address, as well as no waiter, who has been obligingly opening doors before visitors. Instead of familiar three-lettered word an updated sign said – “Bureau”, while the first two letters of it have been written in black, and subsequent two – in white colors; and slightly below the following text has appeared: “Salon of comprehensive otherworldly services” – and in this inscription white and black letters were going in turn. “Madhouse of sorts”, – Anton Pavlovich muttered to himself, slowly parking his jeep near bureau-bar. “What sort of bullshit these fucked marketing idiots do invent to attract more visitors”.

“We are glad to see you in our salon. Welcome to the Bureau!” a good-looking young man in a strange suit welcomed Anton Pavlovich once he stepped over a spinning glass door of this building.

“Tell me, man, are all of you, folks, dressed like that here?” Anton Pavlovich questioned with a jeer in his voice, while fixedly looking into the eyes of this newly appeared waiter.

“You must be talking about my wings, right?” showing no sign of confusion, he replied in return. “Frankly speaking, I have been in that form since the time of my birth – which, it should be noted, has happened several eons before your own. And, answering your next upcoming question, – this combination of colors in our poster symbolizes Free Choice – a very useful for mortals trait, which is, unfortunately, hasn’t been given to us. What else would you like to learn about the Bureau, my former workmate?”

“Workmate in what sense?” Anton Pavlovich was taken aback for a mere second, silly looking first at the waiter, and then deep into the hall of the unusual salon.

“In most direct and every day,” quietly answered the man with snow-white wings behind his back. “A companion for all of your past life, which has been taking place recently. Absolutely, by the way, unnoticed by you,” he added as if with a small piece of grief in his voice.

“Young man, are you even in your mind? To me you a total stran…”

“Then it’s a pleasure to get acquainted once again!” young “waiter” smiled and stretched his hand, which was shining with some kind of nacreous glow, to Anton Pavlovich. “All of our services will be completely free of charge for you today! Just follow me!”

“No kidding?” Anton Pavlovich strictly raised his eyebrow.

“No desire to do so,” the young man answered routinely. “I still have to bear responsibility for your course of life.”

“So, what kind of entertainments do you offer?” Anton Pavlovich continued to pursue his own goals. “I was planning to meet here with my friends, by the way.”

“With Jessica? Never worry, she is already expecting you here. I would even tell that she is exhausted from impatience,” smiled White-Winger. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves and make it all right and in a correct order. According to our current action, we can offer you three of our most popular attractions completely free of charge.”

“Wait, what – you even keep a circus in your pocket?” Anton Pavlovich burst out laughing from own unsightly joke.

“No, no, may the Lord be with you! The circus is on the Earth, and we are different. What Lies Beyond, so to speak. We are currently carrying out an unprecedented action – we are telling all our future clients what is awaiting them in advance.”

“How’s that?” Anton Pavlovich showed a sincere surprise on his face. “In advance?”

“Well, you see… sometimes we are given permission to act that way. We already created similar actions… for example, about two thousands of years ago. We passed information regarding this action to you through one remarkable individual. What was his name… John, it seems. And his second name was so sonorous, as far as I remember, the… Evangelist, right! And today… well, you can see for yourself to what strange methods we should resort today.”

“So it turns out that your action is almost termless?”

“Well, you are certainly correct in some way. We just need to remind humankind about it from time to time. But let’s get straight to business! You surely haven’t got in touch with art for a long time, am I right, Anton Pavlovich?”

“I have pictures on walls in my home, modern kind. And bookshelves with some… classics,” answered Anton Pavlovich, trying to remember which classics were there.

“Then it’s a due time to get in touch with what is nowadays eternal. Welcome to the Cinema of Memoirs! Allow me to open a door for us…” and the White-Winged young man waved his hand, drawing something in the air. In a couple of seconds, a most real gateway appeared just in front of Anton Pavlovich’s stunned physiognomy – it was casting a same nacreous light like the one coming from hands of his unexpected interlocutor. “Follow me!”

“That’s how technology advances…” Anton Pavlovich hemmed to himself with astonishment. “What sort of inventions can scientists-physicists create. All thanks to western sanctions, no doubt!” he assured himself and stepped into the portal.

***

The room, in which both of them have appeared, indeed reminded of some sort of big Moscow movie theater – except for the audience, which consisted only of him and his mysterious fancy-dressed colleague.

“Fourth row, eighth place,” White-Winger noticed with satisfaction, taking a seat near Anton Pavlovich on a next chair. “Your place.”

“Why are we sitting so close? Let’s take places far away from a screen to better see all demonstrated events, there is nobody here except for us anyway!” Anton Pavlovich muttered discontentedly.

“Unfortunately, all other places are already reserved. They just seem as empty only now and only for you. Everything is actually much more complicated,” replied White-Winger. “And this place is just yours, for exactly when you were forty-eight those events, which you have recently ‘seen’ in a dream, have taken their place in your life.”

“And how did you learn about my recent dream…”

“Pay attention to the screen!” young man interrupted him. “Movie of your life is already starting!”

Large screen in a cinema hall, which reminded with its carved decorated edges some mirror from Middle Ages era, lit up with nacreous light, showing a small bed with protective partitions, where a small child was sleeping peacefully, smiling in his own dream.

“Memoirs of your life, beginning from the time when your consciousness has started awakening. You were about half a year, apparently. At that time, you were totally innocent, Anton Pavlovich,” young man commented on scenes.

…Meanwhile scenes continued to replace one another. Here the child uncertainly takes his first steps, stumbling and falling on a bottom. Here he diligently pulls a spoon into his mouth, being afraid to miss, eating porridge “for the father and for the mother”. Here he embraces a kitten, which was a gift in his childhood, and his eyes shine brightly with sincere children’s joy. Here he plays on a playground along with other children with steam locomotives toys, and here he takes a ride from a top of icy winter hill. Here he sails ships in autumn pools, which reflect a sky in themselves. Here he lays down together with a mother on a bed and hugs her in a sleep…

“They say that all children are precisely like Angels,” with a grief in his voice noticed White-Winger. “And adults are more like demons. These are the purest and sincerest memoirs of your entire life, Anton Pavlovich,” he continued, observing how a tear crosses a cheek of his former “workmate”.

…Pictures continued to lead their own life, replacing each other as in a kaleidoscope. Here the young “mean” man is being accepted into the Institute on protection. Here he goes to night parties with fellow students. Here parents present him with a luxurious expensive car and he uses it to the full to shine and flaunt before girls of easy behavior. Here he visits night bars and striptease clubs…

“It’s hard to tell the exact moment where everything has started falling down into the abyss,” White-Winger commented on scenes once again. “Whether it was my personal oversight, wrong education of parents, false life values of society or first and foremost your personal vital choice, Anton Pavlovich? The court knows that for certain – and I, to my own regret, don’t. I am left only with a hope that both of us will be given one more chance.”

…Images continued to float and move one after another, creating a unique feeling of repeated presence on own antecedents. Here an adult graduate of legal academy becomes an official. Here he runs roughshod over other’s feelings, deceiving and profiting on human laziness, stupidity, and fear, – believing sincerely that he lives only a single life. Here he brings a mistress – first, second, third, yet none of them is capable to bring him back that long-lost feeling of life’s joy – the one which has been living side by side with him only during a faraway childhood. Here he desires to tear all of this false life apart and become a hermit – but strong, too strong are now for his weak will his former affairs and ties…

“We demonstrate here only the brightest of your memoirs, which have been imprinted in a memory of your soul instead of a brain – and therefore became potentially immortal, having transformed into some kind of déjà vu. All other life’s nonsense, monotonous and gray life, boring and disliked job, frequent and repeating quarrels with your wife, which have brought both of you to a divorce – all of this was forced out from your brightest memoirs and therefore hasn’t been included in that movie. It was all kept in your personal record in Archives where we will soon go,” commented White-Winged “waiter”.

…Now pictures almost fly, promptly replacing each other just like years of life, rushing aimlessly before their owners, drenching them with the dust of life’s roads. New financial swindles, new “none will be the wiser” deeds, new quarrels with his wife, a new mistress – Jessica. Day of their meeting in a second Moscow apartment, trip on a jeep. Fuel track, which has appeared on the intersection of roads, pressed against the stop brakes, the terrified soul-tearing squeal of his new passion… TV screen suddenly went black and light in a hall turned on as if symbolizing the end of the movie session.

“Why… why has my movie ended on this shot… the very same from today’s dream. Why, may demons tear you apart, is that so?!” Anton Pavlovich angrily seized his white-winged interlocutor and started shaking him.

“Let’s not use the collective name of these spiteful beings in this place and context, Anton Pavlovich. You may happen to meet them face-to-face a bit later,” calmly answered white-winged young man, dexterously freeing himself from a grasp. “Let us better proceed into the Library of Fates, or, as some of us briefly call it, – the Archives. I do believe that your stay there will be able to shed some light on this question that torments you so. Shall we go?”

“All right, we go,” muttered Anton Pavlovich. “And then to my friends and Jessica.”

“Without a doubt,” confirmed young man. “They are eager to meet with you as well.”

A waving of hand – and once again a familiar silhouette of a portal appeared before Anton Pavlovich, along with a shining road that was leading deep inside it. Here he takes a step into unknown depths of this strange door and…

***

The Library was astounding. While movie theater somehow resembled the similar one in Moscow, the Archives, apparently, contradicted all imaginable earthly laws of physics. Their carved regiments ascended to such high infinity, that it was absolutely unclear, how they could even stand still under a mass of all the books that were filling them. Huge shining tables from unknown material and mobile ladders were obviously created totally not by human measures. Corridors branched and twisted, connecting and disconnecting somewhere in a far distance. Some warm lilac light was shining from a ceiling that was totally hidden from human’s sight. Fragments of floor melodiously ringed if anyone was stepping on them. Somewhere in a distance a sound of murmuring springs and singing of birds could be overheard.

“Here we store the history of all ever lived and still living beings of the universe, which do have a soul,” suddenly materialized before Anton Pavlovich white-winged companion answered as though to himself. “We constantly supplement it and therefore Library continues to grow, as it’s said between us, – not by days, but by fates. As you can see, it by no means intended to be visited by humans, – but we have been allowed to prolong our action for a little bit more.”

“Wait, are you trying to tell me that here I can get an answer to any of my questions?”

“Any question, concerning the past, yes. And the future of each soul-given individual in particular and of the worlds, in general, has many possible outcomes and depends on that Free Choice, which I have already mentioned earlier. However, access for you here is denied anyway – mostly the staff of Department of Fates Control, which is located nearby, manage here the process of transfer and obtaining of information. They are frequent guests here, by the way.”

“What-what department?”

“Fates. Control. Humans included. What’s unclear? You see, Anton Pavlovich, your mortal life on the planet Earth… how should I put it more clearly… is not one of a kind. It’s just in the last time you were named as Anton Pavlovich, and before that… and how you were called before that you can learn exactly from one of the books, located in this wonderful library. The book of your destiny, which you have been writing with own deeds. You acted – and we fixed these acts, and wrote them down, and kept here. We have even shown you these books once – through mentioned John, remember? Your civilization must have kept records of his visions.”

“And… why do you write down all of this? Do you write down everything?”

“Everything that is related to Free Choice, yes. We store it for future Court, of course. So no deception can take place. Some soul-given live beings in this universe decided for some reason that they would be able to deceive us, ‘to move around a middle finger’, so to speak. Well… let them try,” White-Winger burst out laughing. “We will write down this Free Choice as well, and take it into account in the Court.”

“And what do these employees do here? Are they here now?”

“Most likely here, but they usually stay in a working wing of the Library, and we are in a guests’ section right now. You see, some of the events, taking place in your physical world, – they, how should I tell that… are already predetermined in the highest world – by chains of your previous Free Choices, and sometimes by the will of the Supreme One himself. The staff of this department carefully watches for compliance between the fate and affairs of each soul-given live being of a physical world, and if necessary verifying its accordance with a plan of his new life, created by the individual before his birth and written in his personal book, and if such necessity arises – they try to correct fates of beings so that they can manifest themselves in a best possible way and realize all their inborn potential. Unfortunately, in a case with your civilization of a Milky Way, it’s hard to achieve that goal – the beings calling themselves as humans became too willful, evil-willful, and perceive attempts of the staff of this department to correct their distorted destinies as a chain of life’s disorders and troubles.”

“And can I… see the book of my lives?”

“Now you can,” confirmed White-Winger. For an instant, he touched Anton Pavlovich’s breast with a palm of his hand, and then waved in the air – and several moments later a weighty book from a top shelf of one of the racks smoothly descended on it like a planning bird, having automatically opened itself on the first page.

“Vibration code of your soul,” the interlocutor explained to Anton Pavlovich. “It’s easy to find a necessary book by it. So, what did you want to learn?”

“Here… what sort of lines and points are these? I can barely see familiar letters in this book.”

“These are maps of your previous Free Choices. You must understand that each choice bears certain consequences along with it and opens the opportunity for new ones, and together they all form maps. Points symbolize moments of decision-making when you choose one of the options from a set of them. Numbers above arrows are probabilities with which you would have chosen one option or another at the moment of your choice. These diamond-shaped figures indicate a degree of influence of related choices on choices and fates of other people. All of this may look a little bit unclear in a two-dimensional plane – but I, unfortunately, cannot show you at present moment spaces with more than three dimensions, however, I can assure you that in such spaces these books are read much more simply and pleasantly.”

“Useless paper crap of some sort and practically everything is unclear!” Anton Pavlovich sniffed angrily, vainly trying to find the moment of his meeting with the ill-fated fuel track in an artful design of signs.

“The language available only for chosen ones,” his interlocutor smiled again. “First and foremost for the staff of the Department of Fates Control.”

“Let’s get out of here while the going is good,” Anton Pavlovich added biliously, “to my friends and Jessica.”

“Well,” sighted interlocutor. “For preliminary Hearings then!”

***

“…Okhrimenko Anton Pavlovich is to be summoned into the hall of Heavenly Court for carrying out preliminary Hearings. Guardian Angel Michel is appointed as the lawyer of the defendant, Demon-Tempter Zakhurat is appointed as the accuser. The defendant and specified companions from his last life have arrived, Hearings are to be considered open.”

These words reached Anton Pavlovich’s hearing just at the moment when a portal, opened by his “workmate”, has transferred him with a soft melodious sound into completely new surroundings, which were resembling a court’s hall that has become habitual to him in a mortal life.

“I… what… where… what for? What a foul setup is that?!” muttered a newly teleported defendant, puzzly looking around himself and having not yet come up to his senses after so hasty change of space and own role.

“I shall explain you everything later, we will have time,” White-Winger winked to him while going to the judicial stand of white color, which was intended for him. The opposite stand of black color in another corner of the hall was occupied by dreadfully looking being with a tail, horns, and hoofs.

“The accuser, what can you tell us concerning last given to the defendant’s life in a galaxy of Milky Way on a planet formerly known as Gaia and nowadays being called simply as Earth?”

“T-h-h-h-i-i-i-e-e-f-f-f…” mischievously hissed a creature, vomiting sparks of dark flame from its mouth. “F-o-o-o-r-r-r-n-i-i-i-c-a-a-a-t-t-o-o-r. K-i-i-l-l-l-l-e-e-e-r-r. T-a-a-a-a-k-e-e-e a l-o-o-o-o-k…”

Suddenly images started materializing in a center of the hall, reminding former ones from a movie of his – Anton Pavlovich’s life – they only had more than two dimensions this time. A shot was replaced by a shot, showing everyone how Anton Pavlovich gives and takes bribes, meets with mistresses, indulges in alcoholic euphoria, and so on and so forth. This demonstration was finished with the last shot of the infantile-surprised face of the fuel truck’s driver and frozen in time shouting face of Jessica which looked almost alive.

“Quite a convincing presentation, Tempter. It’s obvious, that we are dealing with violations of three precepts and commissioning of three types of mortal – I emphasize, mortal! – sins. Does the protection party wish to have a speech?”

“Yes, your honor, I do have a wish,” and, having that said, Guardian Angel waved his wings and new images started floating through a center of the hall. These pictures now demonstrated how little Anton Pavlovich gently embraces his mother before going to bed; how he shares toys with other children from his yard; how he comes to the rescue of a school friend when teenagers from nearby district try to kick him to the death; how they walk in a park together with his beloved and future wife, how they truly love each other, at least for the first time…

“We thank you for that presentation, Guardian. The episodes, which you have provided, demonstrate that despite for a chain of serious violations of Heavenly Law, feelings of human compassion, justice and love were not completely alien for the defendant, which makes his soul potentially capable of Atonement. Whether the accusing party wishes to add something else?”

“W-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-s-h-h-h-h-e-e-e-e-s-s. K-i-i-i-l-l-l-e-e-d-d-d o-o-n-n-e-e-s-s,” horned being hissed once again, having clicked a floor of the hall with its tail.

And with these words the fuel truck driver Vasily Ivanovich and mistress Jessica materialized in a center of the hall each from his own portal.

“You!” Jessica immediately cried out with rage, having hardly managed to jump out her portal. “My murderer! If I have only known that you would ruin me that day I wouldn’t ever approach you closer than for a mile! And I need no fur coats from you, ever! Rascal! Beast! Killer!”

“Brother, you what… aye? Why you drove so… to red light? Didn’t you see… you go?” Vasily Ivanovich addressed Anton Pavlovich inquiring-puzzly. “I left my children there, my wife… who will support them without me, aye? You are a fool, brother, fool as you are!”

“Are there are any witnesses from a defendant’s side?”

“Yes, his mother.”

And once again a portal opened with a melodious tune, and Anton Pavlovich’s mother stepped out from it.

“I brought him up… as I could,” she said with a whimper and pain in her voice. “In Christ’s values. My husband was drinking, even though he was a banker. He accustomed my son to… fancy living… alcohol… my poor little son. And I… as I was able… in childhood… while he was pure… not to soil his soul…”

“Does the defendant want to add something? We should remind that, according to the rules, each and every of his word – whether kind or evil – can be used both as self-justification and as self-accusation, in compliance with the uniform Heavenly Law, established by the Supreme One.”

“I… well… didn’t know… what I was doing… I promise not to act this way from now on. To live with honor and conscience… and so on. Something like it…”

“All of them speak that way,” someone hemmed from the hall of jurors. “I didn’t know, I had no idea, give me, please, one more life…”

“I request to keep silence in the hall of hearings!”

“Forgive me, your honor.”

“If both accusing and defending parties have nothing more to add, then I suggest ending the first phase of preliminary hearings. This court session is closing.”

***

“Well… it could be much worse than that,” summed up the Guardian Angel, brushing away sweat from his wings. “You still have a chance – not a bright one, but at least one.”

“And you keep calling that as attractions? What kind of setup is that?! Return me back immediately, wake me up from this foolish dream! I still have a life, Jessica, divorced wife… I still have so many things to correct on this, how was it, Gaia!” Anton Pavlovich lashed out with fists at his newly acquired defender.

“Oh, my silly Anton Pavlovich!” sighted White-Winger with a grief in his voice. “You know what’s the hitch is? You don’t have a new life anymore! You have indeed died, my dear Anton Pavlovich…”

10.07.2017

[yuufa]

AoEx Secret Santa 2016: Nocturnal Entertainment

It’s already the 17th in Germany, so I’m just going ahead and post my contribution to this Secret Santa as well! The one I’m bestowing this Mephisto fanfiction with is @demonsandfleas ! Admittedly, this was my first AoEx fic I’ve ever written - and with Mephisto, no less! He’s a difficult character to write, but it was still a lot of fun! I hope that you will enjoy this fic demonsandfleas (and of course all other potentional readers as well)! If you smile or laugh at least once, I consider this gift to be a success. Hope you enjoy what you’ll read!

Disclaimer: This one-shot takes place in the mangaverse (chapter 83), so please be cautious of spoilers!

[ Nocturnal Entertainment ]

A principal of an esteemed school must be a formidable role-model for their students and staff alike. Not only do they shoulder the burden of the school’s continued success on their shoulders, they’re also required to be good at teaching, which isn’t limited to pupils only. Teachers need to be shown how to handle certain matters as well, especially those new to the job. After all, a principal is there to guide and advise, to nuture and oversee. As if this wasn’t enough already, they are also required to build and maintain a strong school community. A good atmosphere is necessary to keep everything running smoothly; if people start to get ill-tempered - which more often than not leads to uncooperative behaviour -, it would make everything much more of a hassle.

Throw in the additional work of being a honorary knight in the True Cross Order onto that huge pile - whilst also maintaining a barrier that slows down an artificial Gehenna Gate from inviting doom and destruction into Assiah - and congratulations: you are Mephisto Pheles, one of the Eight Demon Kings who is currently sitting in front of his laptop at 3 in the morning with even darker eye bags than usually. One might ask now, what is the King of Time doing at this ungodly hour? Was there still important work that needed to be done this night? Reports to be written, commands to be issued? An urgency to be handled delicately and swiftly?

If one were to look at the screen that Mephisto was currently staring at, it would be devoid of anything work-related. Instead, the screen displayed an online shop site filled with merchandise. Figurines, keychains, dakimuras - the list went on and on.

Mephisto Pheles, principal of True Cross Academy and one of the mightiest demons alive, was currently shopping to his heart’s content.

In his opinion, he certainly deserved to indulge himself in his pleasures, as today had been especially demanding of him. Less so his principal duties and more so his responsibilities as an exorcist. It wasn’t easy to juggle between dealing with authorities, the cram school in all its glory and his brothers’ needs. Good lord, Amaimon had certainly caused him a lot of trouble this afternoon, what with nearly getting into another fight with Rin. It was honestly exhausting to tell his younger brother again and again that he ought to behave properly in order to stay outside. Sometimes, it felt like as if he was talking to a broken recorder. Younger brothers could be rather difficult at times, he concluded.

However, instead of focusing his thoughts onto past unpleasantries, he prefered to enjoy the present to its full extend. Sure, it was 3 am and he should be asleep, by all means, but that didn’t stop him from staying awake nonetheless. As a responsible adult who paid for his bills and got all sorts of work done, he had every goddamn right to spend his free time however he wanted to. Then again, it’s not like as if he would allow anyone to tell him what to do with his life - that was just absurd. He had always lived life on his own accord and that wouldn’t change anytime soon, if at all.

As Mephisto was done shopping for himself, a sudden thought crossed his mind - what if he would buy his brothers a gift as well? After all, he had a secret mission going on; to convert all of his siblings into otakus.

Albeit a silly mission and by far not reaching the top of his list in accomplishing life goals - it would be futile to ask for the full list, as Mephisto did not like to play with open cards -, it was still something that he wanted to turn into a reality. He had already started with Amaimon, who had shown a decent amount of interest in this particular human culture. Luckily for him, Rin was also quite fond of mangas, at the very least. Even Yukio showed a moderate interest, albeit not nearly as big as the other two. Still, it was a start and progressed a lot better than what he could say about his other siblings. Especially Lucifer.

It was a shame, really. Humans have created and developed such fascinating things - how could you not try any of it out? If only they attempted it at least once, instead of wanting to burn this realm down because they experienced pain through their physical bodies. They missed out on so much fun and entertainment, he almost pitied them.

The idea of buying his siblings gifts solidified, Mephisto wondered what exactly he should buy them. It certainly wouldn’t be something that they would outright enjoy without question - what would be the fun in that? No, he was still a demon and teasing and pissing off his brothers continued to be an enjoyable hobby of his. Maybe not the most unproblematic activity to pass time, but it was plain and simple fun.

(And there goes the converting part in favour of being a smug bastard. Well, wasn’t the first time that happened.)

As Mephisto browsed through the site, he snorted at an article he just found. A mischievous grin formed itself on his lips, the King of Time chuckling amusingly as he leaned back in his chair. Gloved hands folded neatly underneath his chin while one of his legs went over the other to adjust his sitting position into a more comfortable one. “A dakimura printed on a dakimura? Oh, this is too good to pass up~”, he mumbled to himself, ordering it immediately. Who would receive it, you ask? Well, he would bestow it upon Lucifer - his poor brother needed all the rest he could get, after all. One more pillow would certainly do the trick, no? Even more so if he would draw Lucifer’s face on it with the inscription ‘This could be your body’. Motivating, wasn’t it?

He might have found this joke less amusing if he were more awake, but hell, he’s already sleep-deprived enough as is. In this state, many things turn out to be suddenly far more hillarious than they have any right to be.

The next things he ordered were equally obscure - chopsticks that looked like ridiculously thin kunais, a white hoodie with a strange penguin motive (or at least that’s what he is assuming anyway), an exceptionally badly drawn manga which makes him question how it got even printed to begin with… Anything that you would proclaim as ‘absolutely weird’ or ‘downright bad’ found itself in his basket.

When everything was said and done, Mephisto threw a quick glance towards the time - almost 4 am. Huh, time certainly passes by faster if you’re actually engrossed in something. However, time was relative to him, given his powers. Still, it was a little realization that everyone had once in a while, even if you were the King of Time.

Finally deciding to turn in for the night, Mephisto shut down in laptop and maneuvered himself to his bed. As much fun it was to surf through the internet in order to find the strangest things humanity had to offer (he would never forget that one time he decided to browse through the deepest sections of fanfictions in one particular night), he knew that his body required rest. He couldn’t completely exhaust himself, not with everything going on. There were demons to defeat, Illuminati’s to be outsmarted, people to be observed - Mephisto truly had a lot on his plate. However, he was a skilled multi-tasker - and one who enjoyed to be involved in so much fun. (Assiah continued to be the best playground he could ever hope for.)

As he layed down on his bed, his mind wandered back to all the stuff he had ordered. Oh, what wouldn’t he give to see each and everyone’s initial reaction upon his gifts! It would be a riot for sure - especially if he went through with the one he came up with for Lucifer. He might reconsider tomorrow, as this would definitely cause his brother to pop more than one vein. But for now, he simply entertained the thought, the mere possibility of it happening. That alone was amusing enough.

After all, Mephisto was already accustomed to sit back in his chair, sip on some delicious tea while watching the world around him fall into utter chaos. It was always a great pleasure to have the front seat on such extraordinarly exciting shows. Even an entertainer wishes to be entertained and life just happened to be the best stage.

But for now, the stage would have to wait as Mephisto slipped into the gentle embrace of darkness.