#pillar 84

[onedaytripin]

One Day Kota To Bundi Trip By Private Cab

If you are looking for a short and sweet getaway from Kota, then Bundi is the perfect destination for you and One Day Kota To Bundi Trip By Private Cab best way. Bundi is a charming town in Rajasthan that boasts of a rich history, culture and natural beauty. Bundi is famous for its palaces, forts, lakes, step wells and paintings that reflect the glory of the Rajput era. Bundi is also known as the…

[tossawary]

Details (quote plus thoughts) on Shen Qingqiu killing the Skinner Demon and his reaction afterwards, including his conversation with Luo Binghe about using his disciple as bait, and his promise that Luo Binghe will never suffer any misfortune. Long post. Warning for a brief description of graphic violence, specifically the Skinner Demon's body afterwards.

"The corner of Shen Qingqiu's mouth twitched, and he gathered all of his spiritual power into his right hand, lashing out with a palm strike and smacking Die-er in the chest. The demon flew back like a kite with a snapped string.

This was the first time that Shen Qingqiu had killed someone. But he didn't hold back, not even a little. First, because this was a book; second, because this was a demon who'd killed countless people; and third, because if he didn't, he'd be the one who got killed.

Shen Qingqiu gazed down at the horrible state of "Die-er": four limbs twisted and broken, bleeding from the seven facial apertures. He turned away, bombarding his own brain with a barrage of his three reasons until they blocked out the screen of his mind.

Striving to remain calm, he slowly stood and straightened, settled his hear and breathing, fixed his posture, and turned to Luo Binghe.

"This is your first time seeing someone 'eliminate demons and uphold justice,'" he said. "Were you scared?"

Luo Binghe's still-childish face was slightly pale.

"If you wish to 'uphold,' you must 'eliminate,'" said Shen Qingqiu, composed.

Luo Binghe gritted his teeth. His voice quavered. "Shizun, if this disciple may be so bold as to ask, just now..."

When the second half of the sentence didn't arrive, Shen Qingqiu spoke, "You want to ask, if that ceiling beam hadn't suddenly come crashing down, what was this master's plan?"

Shen Qingqiu had no choice but to suffer in silence, he yearned to tell Luo Binghe: Don't worry, even if the ceiling beam hadn't collapsed, perhaps the wall would have. Even if the wall hadn't, perhaps the pillar would have. Long story short, you definitely wouldn't have died, the boss definitely would have, and that's all there is to it.

But he couldn't speak these words, so he could only adopt an unpredictable air and evade the question by changing the subject. "If you're asking this, are you blaming this master?"

Luo Binghe shook his head. "No," he said, his expression sincere. "If this disciple could give up his life for Shizun, it would be an honor."

Shen Qingqiu was shaken. This kid really was too much of a white lotus!

"Then this master will promise you in kind," he said after thinking for a moment and settling on properly ambiguous words. "Even if an accident befalls this master, no misfortune will come to you."

This was an absolute truth. Even if Shen Qingqiu died one hundred times - ah, on hundred times - Luo Binghe, the protagonist with impervious plot armor, would go on living in perfect health.

"On this matter, I speak nothing but the truth." His voice resounded as he said this, his expression confident and collected, without the slightest hint of falsehood.

When Luo Binghe heard these words, it was as if his life force had been ignited. The sunflower that had begun to wilt revived, full of renewed vigor.

Holding Xiu Ya in both hands, Luo Binghe lifted the blade until it was even with his brows and presented it to Shen Qingqiu. "Shixun, your sword!" "

Volume 1, Chapter 2, pages 83-84.

This is a weird moment, emotionally, because it's both Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe's first time dealing with violent death (and demons). Shen Yuan didn't even go to look at the skinned body! (And neither did Luo Binghe!) Ming Fan did that part of the investigation! I doubt Shen Yuan in his past life was ever in a position where he saw a dead body at all, much less a mangled one or a skinned one. (I have personally seen donated human bodies (muscle + bone) used for the study of anatomy, and it is... an experience. It's not pleasant.)

They are both very young here. In fact, Luo Binghe is almost certainly both more acquainted with violence (being regularly beaten up as he trains with Cang Qiong, his shitty childhood beforehand) and with death (his adoptive mother's death, probably witnessing some other horrible stuff while he was on the streets) than Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan may have seen gore in media before, but this is very real. This is where his entire transmigration experience suddenly becomes a lot more real than it was before this mission.

Shen Yuan is a laid-back person who strives to go with the flow, and he's not afraid to deal out violence and to kill in defense, especially when the Skinner Demon is a serial killer. He goes on to face even greater violence throughout the novel and at least kills plenty of monsters at the Immortal Alliance Conference.

And yet it reads to me as though... he's seeking comfort here? He seems shaken-up. But he can't express it because that's OOC. And he presumably doesn't want to put the weight of his upset on Binghe even when he's allowed to share his emotions, when the OOC lock breaks shortly after this exchange. I think that he does want to comfort Binghe here, to apologize for using him as bait, to thank him for saving him, but also... I think he unconsciously wants someone to comfort him here, to talk it through with someone, to make himself feel better by looking after someone else.

Binghe, however, is not at a point where he's willing to be especially emotionally vulnerable with Shen Qingqiu. It's too early. "Shizun, I'm scared, please comfort me," probably would have gotten him beaten about a week ago. He's far more focused on the fact that Shen Qingqiu used him as bait, that's what scared him most, that his teacher might honestly want him dead. It's also a threat that's still present, so that's what he asks after.

And Shen Yuan can't really explain himself! (The System would't let him if he tried, probably!) So he dodges the question! In a way that makes him look pretty good, still, I think, kind of implying that he did do something. (Because otherwise it's way too much of a coincidence!) And when Binghe isn't interested in talking out the Skinner Demon's death, in talking out their mutual first encounter with violent death and killing, Shen Yuan just kind of... buries this incident immediately. He goes to the Ling Xi Caves shortly after this. He doesn't talk to anyone about it. Which is how he ends up dealing with... a lot of his negative feelings later on.

I think Binghe is lying when he says it would be an honor to die for Shen Qingqiu here, honestly. Maybe later on, when his relationship with Shen Qingqiu is even closer, he would mean it sincerely, but right now? It's too early, in my opinion. I think Binghe would genuinely start to mean this after Shen Qingqiu gets poisoned by Without a Cure for his sake, but not before. Maybe he wants to mean it now? He wants Shen Qingqiu to be worth dying for because otherwise... what is all this fucking suffering for?

Whenever I reread SVSSS, I'm struck by how... quiet... Luo Binghe is at the beginning. When Shen Qingqiu accidentally ends up spying on the first interaction we see between Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying, which becomes the scene of Ming Fan stealing the false jade pendant, Binghe is... quiet, thoughtful, determined, solemn, angry, resentful of Ming Fan, possibly also resentful of Ning Yingying. I don't think his self-confidence is high, but... I don't know, I don't think he's as much a "white lotus" here as he presents himself to be to Shen Yuan and his fellow disciples. His life has sucked. He's aware that the world is kind of shit, even he hopes his future will improve.

When Binghe is dealing with Meng Mo, he's savvy, stubborn, unimpressed, demanding, aware of his high ground and unwilling to cede it. Even after the time skip to right before the Immortal Alliance Conference, when Binghe and Shen Qingqiu's affection for each other is at its highest, Binghe isn't particularly... puppy-like at seventeen. He's eager to see Shen Qingqiu again, eager for his approval, but he's also relatively confident, almost suave with statements that could be read as flirtation, running parts of Qing Jing Peak on Shen Qingqiu's behalf.

(Part of the reason that Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe fail to immediately reconcile after Binghe returns from the Abyss is that Binghe has genuine anger over Shen Qingqiu's betrayal and isn't willing to just throw himself at Shen Qingqiu's feet to potentially immediately be stabbed again, and I don't think Binghe's ability to feel anger started with the Endless Abyss.)

I do think Binghe at the beginning of his time with Cang Qiong Mountain Sect wondered if / assumed that Shen Jiu's treatment of him was happening because he was genuinely doing something wrong. And I do think that after Shen Yuan shows up and starts saving him and treating him well, Binghe became intensely attached and went on to rationalize Shen Jiu's behavior as necessary correction of some wrongdoing + trying to make him stronger. But I think some small part of Binghe at this point in time must at least suspect that Shen Qingqiu is just as asshole. Binghe is too clever not to have considered the possibility, even if Shen Jiu repeatedly broke his heart disappointing him.

Anyway, Shen Yuan promising that no misfortune will come to Binghe? Even if some accident befalls his master? WILD thing to say at all. ABSURD thing to explicitly promise the protagonist.

It's possible that Shen Yuan still assumes that this point that he'll be able to prevent Luo Binghe from going into the Endless Abyss once the OOC lock breaks. I don't think Shen Yuan knows yet that the System is going to force him to push Binghe in or lose 10-20k B-Points and probably die. Shen Yuan still hopes that he'll be able to "cling to those thighs" and avert everything! It's so early on that the System probably hasn't made those threats yet!

It's also wild because... it seems like Shen Yuan is completely forgetting about emotional harm? He later tries (and kind of fails) to rationalize to himself that going into the Endless Abyss will just make Binghe stronger, so it's fine and good for Luo Binghe actually, not a misfortune, but he must know on some level that Binghe being in "perfect health" physically does not mean that Binghe will escape without mental and emotional scarring.

At the moment, I think that Shen Yuan desperately wants to comfort Binghe, without knowing how to do it without showing physical affection or friendliness, so he makes this RIDICULOUS promise. Partly because he still believes he'll be able to change things and he wants to promise to look after Binghe forever.

[spirk-trek]

The Voice Fanzine | Vivienne Rivers, 1982-84

Since it may be difficult to read these, I did my best to transcribe them all into bullet points below the cut :)

"S'Tireth Collected XXVIII"

"I don't care if Gayle Freyer does say it's possible!"

"Nobody asked me if Spock eats meat...! -J.T.K."

"Jimbo, I'm pissed with pilgrimages..."

"Sodom today, Gomorrah... THE WORLD!"

"Smile... me?"

"Jim, I think we're getting stuck in a rut."

"I'm a sucker for k/s"

"Spock is unsurpassed in post coital metaphysics. -J.T.K."

"Spock is was a sensitive Vulcan virgin!"

"Have fun with your fetish!"

"Spock looks great in leather. -J.T.K."

"Have fun with your agonizer."

"Sodom today, Gomorrah the world!"

".... Towering pillar of green flame"

"The search for Spock"

"The masters at Gol are repressed homosexuals. -Spock-"

"I'll be blowed if Jim [is] going to read anymore of this k/s"

"Zines of the week: Crust by BEN DOVER, Trouble with Camels BESS T. ALITEE, The Testicles of Spock by JENNY TALIA"

"Spock does it with Jim-"

"Windsurfers do it standing up - Security men do it with a phaser in one hand"

[gremlins-hotel]

Uniforms of the Cold War There were many pieces and variations of the uniforms for the emergent post-World War II powers. While they remained mostly styled after yesterday's uniforms, several changes came about to bring us the outerwear that most recognizes today. These renderings are not perfect, but they can hopefully provide a suitable image of the era.

[ sources ]

Capt Alfred F. Jones // U.S. Air Force After the Air Force was codified as an official military branch in 1947, we find Alfred sporting the 1949-1964 Air Force blue (shade 84*) Field/Service uniform. This version, rather than the McPeak Dress Jacket, is based upon the Eisenhower or 'Ike' Field Jacket (M1943 accompaniment) made famous by General Dwight D. Eisenhower. The Air Force did allow for the tan jacket typical of the time to also be worn - and for fellow Hetalians you will recognize the tan or olive drab Ike jacket as the typical choice for Alfred's Cold War dress - however, in 1949, the release of the Air Force Blue drove a push for a new wave of uniforms. Its accompanying garments should be as follows; shade blue 120 cotton poplin (pictured)/shade 126 cotton oxford undershirt; shade 84 service necktie**. The uniform can be worn with either the Service Dress Cap or the flight cap (pictured above), both required to be shade 84. As an officer, Alfred's flight cap bears a silver cord braid. Last but not least, the required dress shoes shall be black and socks shall be black. *The trousers should be the same shade as the jacket, but they were made darker for artistic reasons. **The necktie - while listed as shade 84 - often ended up darker than the jacket, likely due to material.

- - - - -

Kapitan Ivan Braginsky // Red Army (Artillery)* The uniforms of the immediate post-war Soviet Union, like the United States, closely followed those of the Great Patriotic War. Ivan wears a very short-lived uniform, perhaps misleadingly known as the 'Zhukov' officer dress, despite the fact that then-Minister of Defense Georgy Zhukov was a strong pillar against the naval-styled uniform. This style was produced from 1955-1957; from the death of Stalin until the end of Zhukov's tenure as Minister of Defense. It features the M55 Dress jacket in a stormy, steely blue-gray (listed officially as gray). This jacket may have been worn as a parade, dress, semi-dress, or even service jacket (sources vary) - pictured above is the 'Parade Walking-Out' version of the jacket. Paired with the M55 are the dark blue officer breeches of the time. These would have been upheld by suspenders and paired with no foot or leg wraps. Upon Ivan's uniform is featured red piping and black velvet hat banding denoting his service in the Armored and/or Artillery forces, in contrast to the raspberry of infantry. Ivan is far too large to fit inside a tank, so Artillery became his assignment. The Zhukov-style uniform is easily recognized by the gold cockade and leaves upon the visor of the officer's cap. Hidden by Ivan's scarf are notched lapels and black velvet panels. He wears a ceremonial belt worn in conjunction with the Parade Dress. *I apologize for this section being less detailed. Finding decent sources on Soviet-era uniforms in my region that aren't on apologist forums can be difficult as I do not have access to a more formal library or archive.

[ sources ]

[johnlyngfr]

The Elephant’s Trunk Nebula

The Elephant’s Trunk Nebula is a complex star-forming region situated nearby in our galaxy. It is on our own spiral arm, at a distance of only 2,700 light years. This tubular shape, at the centre, is reminiscent of the “Pillars of Creation” but appears coiled like the trunk of an elephant.

Researcher have identified hundreds of young stars forming in this curious coiled structure. Look closely, and you can see gaps in the gas and dust clouds. These are caused by the outward-thrusting stellar winds generated by these young stars.

I photographed the Elephant’s Trunk Nebula from my garden in Strasbourg France on three warm nights in August 2024. This is an ensemble of 84 photos, where each was a 5 minute exposure (7 hours of astrophotography).

More information about the Elephant’s Trunk Nebula:

[dialittlesandbox]

Heya LMK Fandom!

I finally got my hands on all 5 Seasons of LMK and while watching S1, I started to wonder which characters/artifacts are from Journey to the West. Down the rabbit hole I go, starting a list that's all about that. For now I used a chapter summary as well as an Episodeguide, cause I haven't read the book yet and Overly Sarcastics Productions (YT channel) to start off and now a PDF of the translated version by Anthony C. Yu. (One of two full translations of Journey to the West) And while I go on and on, I think to myself, maybe somebody else would like to see that list as well, so I decided to post it here. Down below you find my sources and said list starting with the Pilot. I shall add more as I go on.

Scources: Episodelist on fandom.com Chapter Summaries of Journey to the West Overly Sarcastic Production Journey to the West PDFs of the Journey to the West 2012 Revised Edition by Anthony C. Yu

The following Template will be seen: Season, Episode: Name character/artifact - Chapter in Journey to the West Description in Journey to the West

Pilot: Monkie Kid: A Hero is Born Monkie Kings Staff - Chapter 3 Description: After defeating "The Monsterous King of Harvoc" that'S been stealing monkies from Flower Fruit Mountain. Afterwards, the Monkey King decides that they'll need an army to defend themselves and he himself a weapon. So he visits the Dragon Palace in the Eastern Ocean and ask to "borrow" a weapon from that Dragon King. After much searching, Sun Wukong settles for a " heavy (17550 lbs or 7960,546 kg) magic size-changing iron pillar"

Red Son - Chapter 40-42 Description: The Son of the Bull Demon King that's terrorising a mountain and the spirit population living there after spending years on training up his fire abilities. Now he can call upon the "true Fire of Samadhi" and was originally send there by DBK to guard the mountain. Monkey King fights him (after Red Son kidnaps Tripitaka), but with that fire on the demons side they call upon Guynyin to help out. Only then are they able to defeat Red Son and he is taken under Guynyin's care as a servant.

Princess Iron Fan's Fan - Chapter 59-61 Description: After arriving at a mountain that is on constant fire (Fault of Monkey as one of the coals that were used to cook out the immortality pills off him got shot down and lit said fire when he escaped the coltr, the the pilgrims learn from the locals that they'll need the magical palm-leaf fan from Princess Iron Fan to extinguish said fire. The fan can produce such powerfull winds, that any who stand in it's way will be blown over 84 miles (135,1849 km).

Princess Iron Fan/ Rakishasi - Chapter 59-61 Description: Wife of the Demon Bull King, the Princess was currently suffering under the absence of her husband and that her son is now a servant under Guynyin and she can't visit him. Those frustation she takes out on Monkey but can't defeat him but also refuses to give out her fan at first. At the end, she does give it up willingly, reflecting and coming to the conclusion that she wants a better life for herself. Monkey sees that she has "already worked her way up to a real human body*" and contiunes to better herself after.

Demon Bull King - Chapter 59-61 Description: Leaving his wife, Princess Iron Fan, to guard Princess Jade Countenance - daughter of a tenthousend year old fox spirit, who was very rich and died. The princess offered all that money as a dowry to the Demon Bull King and he accepted. After causing sooo much trouble the entire celestial army comes to help out, Bull Demon King surrounders and is transported off.

[pastorelpa]

Embrace the Light

The Summer Solstice

Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of light, both physical and spiritual. As I celebrate the Summer Solstice, remind me of Your enduring presence and Your call for me to be a light in this world. Help me to grow in spiritual maturity, bearing the fruits of the Spirit, and reflecting Your love and truth to all I encounter.

Today, I reflect on the Summer Solstice, the day when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky, marking the longest day and the shortest night of the year. This natural phenomenon has captivated humanity since ancient times, symbolising the triumph of light over darkness and the fullness of life. We can draw profound spiritual lessons from the Summer Solstice. As we consider the significance of this day, let us turn our hearts and minds to the Scriptures, seeking wisdom and inspiration.

Our journey begins with the understanding that God is the Creator of all things, including the sun, which governs the seasons and the rhythms of our lives. In Genesis 1:14-18, we read: "And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years: And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so. And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also. And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.". This passage not only describes the physical creation of the sun, moon, and stars but also carries a deep spiritual significance. It speaks of order, purpose, and the inherent goodness of God’s creation. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. God’s act of creation brought order out of chaos. The introduction of light was a pivotal moment in this process, it gave light and therefore rhythm to earth.

The sun, created by God, is a powerful symbol of His light and His presence in our lives. Just as the sun illuminates the earth, God’s light illuminates our hearts and minds. Jesus Christ proclaimed Himself as the Light of the World, "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." (John 8:12). This declaration by Jesus is both a promise and a call to action. It speaks to the very heart of our faith and our walk with Him. He is making a powerful and exclusive claim. Light is a symbol of purity, truth, and the divine presence of God. By saying He is the light, Jesus identifies Himself as the source of all truth and the revelation of God’s glory. Jesus spoke these words during the Feast of Tabernacles, a time when large lamps were lit in the temple courts, symbolizing the pillar of fire that guided the Israelites in the wilderness. By declaring Himself as the light, Jesus was asserting that He is the ultimate guide and source of divine illumination. Jesus, as the light, shines in the darkness of this world, offering hope, guidance, and the revelation of God's truth.

On the Summer Solstice, the sun's light prevails for the longest duration of the year. This extended period of daylight can remind us of the enduring and ever present light of God in our lives, "For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly." (Psalm 84:11). The sun is the source of light, warmth, and life. Without it, life on earth would not exist. God is being likened to the sun, which highlights an important aspect of God's nature. The sun is the source of life and light. Just as the sun is essential for physical life, God is essential for spiritual life. He is the source of all creation and the sustainer of all things.

God's light, much like the sun on the Summer Solstice, shines continuously, offering us grace, protection, and every good thing. As believers, we are called to walk in this light, embracing the life and love that flow from it. As we bask in the abundant sunlight of the Summer Solstice, let us also remember our calling to reflect God's light in the world. Jesus taught us, "Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16). Our lives should be beacons of God's love and truth, shining brightly in a world often overshadowed by darkness. The Summer Solstice, with its emphasis on light, encourages us to evaluate how well we are fulfilling this mission.

The natural world operates in seasons, each with its purpose and beauty. Likewise, our spiritual lives experience seasons, times of growth, times of harvest, times of rest, and times of preparation. "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:" (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Just as the natural world operates in cycles and seasons, so too does our spiritual and emotional life. The changing seasons, spring, summer, fall, and winter, each have their unique beauty and purpose. Similarly, the seasons of our lives are varied, each bringing its own challenges and blessings. Our lives are marked by various events and transitions, each serving a distinct role in our personal growth and spiritual development. There are times of beginnings and times of endings. We experience moments of celebration and seasons of mourning. There are periods of work and times of rest. Each of these times has a purpose. Each of these times are valuable.

The Summer Solstice marks a time of fullness and maturity. It is a season when nature thrives, and life is abundant. Spiritually, it can represent a time of spiritual maturity and fruitfulness in our lives. Galatians 5:22-23 describes the fruit of the Spirit, "peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.". This offers us a beautiful portrait of the qualities that should be evident in the life of every believer. These virtues, known as the fruit of the Spirit, are not products of our own efforts but are cultivated by the Holy Spirit dwelling within us. As we reflect on the Summer Solstice, let us assess the fruits of our spiritual journey. Are we experiencing and exhibiting the fullness of the Spirit's work in our lives? Are we sharing this abundance with others?

The Summer Solstice is more than just a day of astronomical significance, it is a profound reminder of God's eternal light, of His unwavering presence and our calling to reflect His glory. As we enjoy the longest day of the year, let us also strive to walk in the light of the Lord, to reflect His love and to bear the fruits of the Spirit in this season of our lives.

May the light of the Lord shine brightly in your hearts today and always, have a wonderful blessed Summer Solstice.

Amen

With love, Pastor Elpa

[wulfhalls]

lmfao no fr. remember the 7 pixel daemyra pic? how it gave us life for MONTHS? it’s been 84 years and I still think about it.

godddddddd how could I ever forget. a staple of the fandom. a pillar of the community

like genuinely us for three months straight on the daily like it was paying our actual bills

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

Summary of Tesilid’s regression rounds, with sources

Contains major, MAJOR, MAJOR spoilers for webtoon-onlys.

I recommended you read this only after the Mermaid Dungeon arc (chapter 156) or at least after Ailette talks to the Pope (webnovel chapter 140).

---

[Source chapter in square brackets]

Feel free to let me know if there's any mistakes or missing info! (Last updated: 7 Aug 2024) (In the process of updating with official TL's quotes)

Tesilid turned 20 shortly before the Holy Sword Dungeon [69].

Tesilid wakes up in the Sculptor’s Atelier with the Order of the Pillar of Light Knights of Worship each time, in the spring of his 20th year [205]. The time between each loop is “less than taking a night's sleep” [136].

Rounds 1-7: Died because of the Knights of Worship [84]

3x because of the commander Gadville’s stupid plans

1x because of vice commander Lecto making things difficult because of his inferiority complex

3x because of mistakes, betrayal and coerced sacrifices

Not clear if all of these deaths occurred in the Sculptor’s Atelier dungeon

//

Bandit Village / Harpy Queen Dungeon

Round 8:

Requested to be transferred to a different unit [84]

Gave in to the hostage threat and was killed by the bandits [84]

Readers called him "Tez the Tryhard" because of this lol [84]

Round 9: Trained to get strong & wiped out the bandits, but was lured by the village chief (bandit leader) into a trap and killed [84].

Attempted suicide for the first time [88]

Even in the present round, Tesilid still holds a grudge about this [88]

Round 10: Killed the village chief. Summoned back to the Vatican, disciplined and demoted Disciplinary action taken against him on the grounds of fighting the bandits while ignoring the hostages [84]

//

Round ?? but before 16: Goes to Republic of Magic as a diplomatic envoy, gets captured by the princess (Audillet Marcellion) and subjected to vivisection (being cut up for experimental purposes while alive) [84]

Possibly the same round: Discovered a blood relative in the Magic Republic, but things went sour soon after. [84].

Round 14: Raises his aura and divine power; devotes his life to training. Discovers that his natural lifespan was longer than average [152]

Round 16: Killed by his little brother Prince Rigarez [84].

3rd Prince Ligares Rigarez holds a grudge against the Vatican because he believes they kidnapped his blood brother the 2nd Prince Reminick (Tesilid), so he killed Tesilid as the wielder of the Holy Sword [160]. Tesilid dies with a stab wound from his brother & in the wilderness while it was raining heavily [84].

Before his death, Tesilid had acted as an official escort for Princess Celesteed. This "earned him the scorn of both princes, forcing him through unimaginable hardship" [193].

Before Round 17: Visited the Mermaid Dungeon and found the gondola with the anti-capsizing buff [147]

Round 17: Killed by Reed in the Sculptor’s Atelier. Was physically dragged to Reed by the other knights of the Order of the Pillar of Light. Was unable to resist because of the shock [93].

Current Tesilid describes his first Loop 17 differently: "he spent his lifetime wasting away, too emotionally exhausted from dealing with the fate of having to return despite the world's hostility" [156]

Narration in OG novel calls this the first time where he felt disillusioned by his life because of how he just kept dying [84]

Round 18: First time challenging for the right to open the Bible Catechism of Truth [120]

Asked “Why do I return?”; receives the answer “To save the world”.

Round 19: Asks the Bible of Truth, “How do I save the world?”. Until Round 89, all subsequent questions to the Catechism of Truth (to Ailette's knowledge) were about clearing dungeons [120] (Tesilid's question in Round 94 deviates from the OG!Novel)

//

Round 25: Queen Laviosa of the Vinchester Kingdom frames Tesilid so that she can personally flog him [193]

//

Round 40:

Becomes an aura master [191]

First loop where he meets Muriel Phylise [207]

//

Round 85: First time saving the world

Defeats all 3 demon kings, seals the Chaos and Evil. No more dungeons and demons can appear on the continent [136]

Cardinal-class divine power, aura master who has double-digit aura blades. [136]

Dies soon after the battle but is satisfied. [136]

The Church has a habit of killing him in various ways as soon as the world is saved. This includes being:

burned alive

hanged

pushed off a cliff

surrounded by knights who stab him

given poison that put him to sleep, then being given a grand state funeral and buried alive [137]

Round 86: Second time saving the world [136] and first round where he gets together with Muriel [154, 207].

Did not get life-threatening injuries in the final battle [136]

OG!Tesilid fell in love with Muriel in this round [154] / first got together with her in this round [207]

“Handed over his vitality for the Saint who had been in a tragic accident” [136].

Muriel was cursed by a demon [207] and Tesilid

Round 87: Third time saving the world.

Ailette calls this round the end of Tesilid’s puritanical life [154] and the point at which she would no longer be able to tease him for his lack of romantic experience [164].

" 'You entered the saintess' bedroom to share your life force with her because she was dying, then...you, uh, you stayed the night.' The original story mentioned that when morning came, the birds sang outside the window. Considering the genre, that left only one possible interpretation of what could have happened." [208]

Round 88: Fourth time saving the world, now with minimal damage to allies. Visited the Saint seeking a quick way to die [136]

Died in place of the Saint who was falsely accused because of some conflict [136] within the Vatican, for which Tesilid took the blame [207]

Tesilid was overprotective of Muriel in this round which meant she was safe from physical harm [207]

Saint frames Tesilid of being a cult leader. As he was about to be burnt at the stake, she smiled kindly at him and said, “This world needs you to die. I’m sorry, and thank you for your sacrifice, Sir Tesilid.” [136] 

(Note that Ailette refers to Rounds 86-88 as the ones where Tesilid is "betrayed by a woman that he loved with all his heart. Three consecutive times. [...] He probably would've died for her many more times had he not realized the truth” [84]. But in Tesilid’s POV [136] as recounted above, he seems more ambivalent about the Saintess.)

Round 89: Asks the Bible of Truth, “How do I stop regressing?; is told, “You just need to save the world”. Destroys the Library, hacks Demon King Inferinos to pieces, and commits suicide [120; 136]

Round 90-92: Asks the Bible of Truth, “How do I stop regressing?”; is told, “You just need to save the world” [136] 

Round 93: Saves the world, then asks the Bible of Truth, “How do I stop regressing?” as the dungeons started collapsing; is again told, “You just need to save the world”. Dies when the dungeon collapses. [136] 

Round 94: Goes to the Bible of Truth again out of habit. Asks, “Where is Ailette Rodeline?” [136]

Saves the world just to have something to do, and because he was good at it. 5th time saving the world. [136]

Does not go to the Bible of Truth again until Round 99 [137]

Reed places Round 94 as the last timeline where he would have been willing to take Ailette’s hand [138]

Rounds 94-98: Saves the world just to have something to do, and because he was good at it [137]

Round 98: 10th time saving the world [137]

Took less than 5 years because he only thought about efficiency and did not spare a thought for human life.

Round 99: Walked into the final battleground with “Chaos and Evil” himself and talked to it.

Is called the “Clock Hand of the Strict Order and Goodwill”

Told to ask the Bible of Truth, “What is the truth?” [Ailette POV in Library arc, 120] or “Why does the world continue to get destroyed?” [Tesilid POV, 137].

Prayed until he died [137].

Round 100: Reed

Offers himself to “Chaos and Evil” and loses his holy power. Holy sword becomes corrupted. Is banished to the dimensional rift where time stops. Rips through the dimensional rift after less than a hundred years, compared to the estimated few hundred years. [137] 

Finds a point in time before the loop starts and sees Ailette’s Descent of Divinity (current Reed only). Visits the Vatican which was full of people celebrating the lunar genesis (start of the new month, specifically February [77]). Burns everyone (including himself) to death. Gives sincere prayers for the regression to end. Week of regression starts as the world rewinds and Reed kills Tesilid again [79; 138]

“I can’t save the world or myself, so what am I supposed to do?” / “My salvation means death, so what about the salvation of this world?" / "What if annihilation is the only way to save this world?” / “That was it. That was the answer. I will disappear if the world I belong to disappears as well.” / “You have no idea how happy I was to discover this. I’ve always hated this world.” / "To think I could destroy the world I struggled so many times to save... It feels so... thrilling." [138]

Subdued by 6 humans [156] who became legendary heroes [138] including Cardinal Cartelyena [139]

Tesilid calls this round the "timeline that I felt I was the most human" [139] (fan TL of 139 & 156 calls it the last time he lived like a human)

It's implied that in the 2nd Loop 17, the Knights of the Temple wouldn't have shown up at the near Greenwall where Tesilette reunited with the other two because they wouldn't have been tracking down the Saint [91]

Effects of drinking water from the Fountain of Life:

Early stage: insomnia, nightmares, hallucinations, confusion, mental weakness [153]

Middle stage: Lack of emotions, loss of memory, loss of three major powers [153]

End stage: Soul disintegration (still treatable), then soul extinction [153]

“You can still live as long as you breathe, even if you're not holding yourself together. Also, memory loss could be useful in the long run because your most difficult moments will feel like they never happened." [154]

Childhood:

First Prince Hardale was the one responsible for Reminick and Rigarez' kidnapping [196: "(Rigarez) will come to his sense once I remind him who's responsible for the loss of his brother."; 199]

Tesilid never found out about his familial ties to the Vinchester royal family during his loops [205].

[islam-defined]

Good Deeds

There are more than 40 verses in Quran where Allah tags believers with good deeds like:

“Those who believe & do good works, We do not waste the reward of those who have done good [18:30]

"As for those who believe and do righteous deeds, for them there are gardens to dwell, as an honorable hospitality for what they used to do. [32:19]

"But those who believe and do good deeds, will have a never-ending reward" [84:25] and so on there are more.

"Indeed, Allah will admit those who believe and do good into Gardens, under which rivers flow. Surely Allah does what He wills"[22:14].

“O you who believe, be aware of Allah & seek a way to Him, & strive in His cause; that you may succeed [5:35]

This shows how much good works and righteousness is important for a belief of a believer. That’s why Prophet (Peace be upon him) said that Islam is built upon pillars. Truly, the pillars without righteousness and good deeds is like a home of termites (evil deeds) that crumbles into dust one day because the pillar was in fact a dark hollow inside. This is the ethics of Islam .

[cecilyacat]

BBC Big Read List

Many years ago, I first started tallying the books from the BBC Big Read list, seeing how my reading and interests correllate. I don't take it as the "one truth" on which books are worth reading or "good", I just find it interesting which ones I agree with. Let's go!

Out of the BBC's "The Big Read" list from 2005, which ones did you read, plan to read or started to read, but didn't finish? The ones I read are fat, the ones I still want to read are in italics, the ones I started but didn't finish are crossed out and all the other ones I have either never heard of before or never wanted to read them.

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien 2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen 3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman 4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams 5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling 6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee 7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne 8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell 9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis 10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë 11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller 12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë (and I thought it was horrible. But I wanted to finish it!) 13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks 14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier 15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger 16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame 17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens 18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott 19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres 20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy 21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell 22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling 23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling 24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling 25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien 26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy 27. Middlemarch, George Eliot 28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving 29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck 30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll 31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson 32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez 33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett 34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens 35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl 36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson 37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute 38. Persuasion, Jane Austen 39. Dune, Frank Herbert 40. Emma, Jane Austen 41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery 42. Watership Down, Richard Adams 43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald 44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas 45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh 46. Animal Farm, George Orwell 47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens 48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy 49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian 50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher

51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett (and I love it) 52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck (didn't finish it in school but want to try again) 53. The Stand, Stephen King 54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy 55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth 56. The BFG, Roald Dahl 57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome 58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell 59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer 60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky 61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman 62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden 63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens 64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough 65. Mort, Terry Pratchett 66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton 67. The Magus, John Fowles 68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman 69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett 70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding 71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind 72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell 73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett 74. Matilda, Roald Dahl 75. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding 76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt 77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins 78. Ulysses, James Joyce 79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens 80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson 81. The Twits, Roald Dahl 82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith 83. Holes, Louis Sachar 84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake 85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy 86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson 87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley 88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons 89. Magician, Raymond E Feist 90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac 91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo 92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel 93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett 94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho 95. Katherine, Anya Seton 96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer 97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez 98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson 99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot 100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie

101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome 102.Small Gods, Terry Pratchett 103. The Beach, Alex Garland 104. Dracula, Bram Stoker 105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz 106. The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens 107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz 108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks 109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth 110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson 111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy 112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13¾, Sue Townsend 113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat 114. Les Misérables, Victor Hugo 115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy 116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson 117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson 118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde 119. Shogun, James Clavell 120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham 121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson 122. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray 123. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy 124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski 125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver 126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett 127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison 128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle 129. Possession, A. S. Byatt 130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov 131. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood 132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl 133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck 134. George's Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl 135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett 136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker 137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett 138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan 139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson 140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson 141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque 142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson 143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby 144. It, Stephen King 145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl 146. The Green Mile, Stephen King 147. Papillon, Henri Charriere 148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett 149. Master And Commander, Patrick O'Brian 150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz

151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett 152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett 153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett 154. Atonement, Ian McEwan 155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson 156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier 157. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey 158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad 159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling 160. Cross Stitch, Diana Gabaldon 161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville 162. River God, Wilbur Smith 163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon 164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx 165. The World According To Garp, John Irving 166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore 167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson 168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye 169. The Witches, Roald Dahl 170. Charlotte's Web, E. B. White 171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley (I've read excepts for uni) 172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon Williams 173. The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway 174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco 175. Sophie's World, Jostein Gaarder 176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson 177. Fantastic Mr Fox, Roald Dahl 178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov 179. Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach 180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery 181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson 182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens 183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay 184. Silas Marner, George Eliot 185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis 186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Grossmith 187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh (I stopped after the toilet-scene. Too disgusting) 188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine 189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri 190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. LawrenceLife of Lawrence 191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera 192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons 193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett 194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells 195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans 196. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry 197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett 198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White 199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle 200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews

Read: 57 Want to read: 60

Some of the books to read I know very little about except the title and that they're classics, some others I know a lot about (and I even have "Men at Arms" on my TBR pile for when the mood strikes me next). I like reading classics once in a while, but especially older ones I can't read too often, I need to be in the right mood for that style of writing.

The last time I updated this was in 2015 and I had read 44 and wanted to read 72 - so 15 books in 9 years xD Like I said, it's not a challenge or a goal to read all of them, just a convenient way of keeping track of which classics I want to read eventually.

[trivialbob]

While driving to the library* this afternoon I saw a Chevy Celebrity station wagon, moving under its own power. These were made from 1982 - 1990. I’m shocked that one is still on the road in my state.

They were not the best cars. Around here you can still see sometimes, at least in the summertime, autos built in the 50s, 60s, and early 70s. Who hasn’t turned his head at the sight of a ‘57 Chevy, a ‘66 Impala, or a 1970 Camaro? But an ‘84 Celebrity? Clearly that name is a misnomer. No one ever rear-ended another car while drooling over a 1985 Chevy instead of watching traffic. ‘80s GM vehicles are the nadir of desirable cars. Some are more rare than ‘57 Chevys.

A design feature I do like of cars like this Celebrity era are the narrow B-, C-, and (on wagons) D-pillars. Hondas of the era had wonderfully thin roof pillars. Today’s cars have much larger blind spots around thick roof pillars.

Station wagons are some of my favorite cars. I’d love to have an Audi or Mercedes wagon. BMW stopped selling 3- and 5-series wagons in the US some time ago. Boo!

*When I got to the library I saw a librarian wearing an N95 mask and rubber gloves. If you don’t know which employee I’m referring to, I understand. Because several of the librarians there wear gloves. One sports a plastic face shield over her N95.

I had to ask a question. When I see someone wearing a mask I reasonably try to keep my distance, out of respect. And who knows, maybe that mask is to protect me from their diseases.

As I approached the six-foot, once-federally-recommended, safety perimeter, the librarian chirped then leaped back at least three feet. I stopped abruptly, giving her an extra foot of security, then loudly asked my question. Uh oh, I was in a library when I shouted.

Doesn’t matter. She hated me either way.

[kitchen-light]

Detail of the Rice Chest

by Monica Youn

In the 2015 Korean film The Throne, the rice chest sits in the center of the vast, symmetrical courtyard of Changgyeonggung Palace.

The film is called The Throne in English; in Korean it is called Sado.

A Korean-speaking audience would be presumed to know in advance who Prince Sado was.

An English-speaking audience is presumed not to have this knowledge.

Although this is a historical film, for a Korean-speaking audience the well-known story functions as mythology, at the level of symbol.

For an English-speaking audience the unknown story functions as narrative, at the level of plot.

There is an “I” in this poem.

I know who Prince Sado is, I can read the Hangul word Sado. But I do not speak Korean.

I am a member of the English-speaking audience.

I know about Prince Sado from The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyeong(1804). But I know about The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyeong from Margaret Drabble’s The Red Queen (2004).

Margaret Drabble’s The Red Queen is about Lady Hyegyeong. But Lady Hyegyeong was never a queen, nor is she associated with the color red. The name is misleading.

The name of the film The Throne is also misleading. The film does not focus on the throne; it focuses on the rice chest.

Like a magnifying glass, the stone courtyard focuses the gaze on the rice chest. The gaze increases in intensity and heat.

July temperatures in Seoul average 84 degrees Fahrenheit, with average humidity of 78 percent.

I have been to Seoul in July, I have worn hanbok on a summer day, but only once.

I have never seen a rice chest.

The rice chest is a functional object and stands in contrast to the highly decorative architecture of the palace courtyard. Its plainness renders it inscrutable, impenetrable.

According to the website Hanji Happenings: “The solid rice chest was generally made of pine but never decorated as a reminder of the importance of its presence in the home.” I learn from that statement that in Korean culture to be decorative is not to be important, and, conversely, that to be plain, inscrutable, is to be important. I do not know whether this is true.

According to the book Things Korean, the rice chest “always looks chock-full. There are always those four pillars at its corners which seem to be holding up a massive roof, as if this were some imposing religious edifice.”

Because of its oversize lid, the rice chest appears top-heavy, charged with kinetic potential. With four small feet it seems to be crouching on its haunches, to be hunkering down.

“Hunker down” is a Scottish term that refers to squatting on the balls of one’s feet, low to the ground but in readiness. It implies an apprehensive stasis, tense with the potential for sudden movement, poised to flee or to attack.

I have hunkered down, but only once.

Midway through the film, the rice chest is bound with thick rope, with a knotted webbing of four or five thicknesses of coarse, fibrous rope. The quantity of rope exceeds the function of the rope to such an extent that the rope binding seems decorative, symbolic.

I have been bound with rope, but only once.

There is something almost comic about such an excess of rope to bind a single imprisoned and dying man, the way there is something almost comic about a circle of guns pointed at a single unarmed man. I say almost comic rather than actually comic because, although these images provoke the same pent-up tension as suppressed laughter, I do not know who would find either of these images funny.

After it is bound, the lid of the rice chest is heaped with grass.

For a Korean-speaking audience, the grass-covered rice chest would resemble a traditional grassy burial mound, would evoke ancestral tombs, or even the prehistoric dolmens, which feature massive rocks perched on four small feet.

I have seen the grassy burial mounds of my ancestors, but only once.

For me, the rope-clad, grass-covered rice chest resembles a barbarian idol.

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “barbarian” originally comes from the Greek meaning any non-Greek and carries a derogatory connotation for those who speak a language different from one’s own.

When I say “barbarian,” it means I find the rice chest foreign, inscrutable, although it is Korean—Koreans speak a language different from my own.

In the film, the walls of the rice chest are made of thick planks, with chinks between them that admit slim shafts of light, drips of water.

But the walls of Korean rice chests are made of solid panels of wood. Planks with chinks between them would admit pests, especially insects, into the rice chest. Such a design would not be functional.

Partway through the film, we see a multilegged insect enter the rice chest through a chink between the boards. “We” here refers to both English-speaking and Korean-speaking audiences.

The single insect is followed by a horde of identical multilegged insects wriggling through the chinks in the walls. We understand the insects to be a hallucination of the dying Prince Sado. Their function is symbolic, the danger of allowing chinks in the walls.

In the film, through the chinks in the walls, Prince Sado is able to see and to speak to his dog and to his ten-year-old son, the Grand Heir.

But in fact these incidents never took place. They are not hallucinations but fabrications of the filmmakers just as the multilegged insects, the chinks in the walls of the rice chest are fabrications of the filmmakers.

The chinks allow the gaze to penetrate what would otherwise be impenetrable, to penetrate the inscrutable, barbaric figure of the rice chest, to reach the human inside.

In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which is familiar to both Korean- and English-speaking audiences, Tom Snout, a “rude mechanical,” plays the part of a wall that features “a crannied hole or chink.”

The joke is that a human being portrays an inhuman object, since only an inhuman object would feature such a chink. I do not know who would find this joke funny.

When asked to “Show me thy chink,” Tom Snout holds up two fingers.

I have seen boys hold up two fingers. Calling me a chink, they would place their two fingers at the corners of their eyes, stretching their eyes into narrow slits through which it must have been difficult to see. They found this joke funny.

I have seen men hold up two fingers. They would use their tongues to penetrate the chink between their fingers, rendering the gesture obscene. The tongue thrust between the fingers reads as sexual, whereas an outthrust tongue without the fingers would be merely rude. Neither gesture is intended to be funny.

Both the boys and the men would use their two fingers to symbolize my body, a body that, without a chink, might seem impenetrable.

The primary meaning of the English word “chink” is a split or crack, a narrow fissure or valley. It derives from the same root as germ, as in “germinate.” “The connection being in the notion of bursting open,” as the Online Etymology Dictionary explains.

Chink also has a racially derogatory meaning, referring to a Chinese person, or, by extension, to any East Asian person, since an English-speaking person using a racially derogatory term would not be expected to differentiate among East Asian peoples.

I have asked boys to differentiate among East Asian peoples. Upon being called a chink, I would say, “You’re so stupid! I’m not a chink, I’m a gook!”

The Korean-American comedian Margaret Cho later used a similar statement as a punch line to a joke. I find this joke funny, and some members of a Korean-speaking audience might find this joke funny. I do not know whether other members of an English-speaking audience would find this joke funny.

The term gook was used by English-speaking soldiers to refer to Korean people during the Korean War. It was later used by English-speaking soldiers to refer to Vietnamese people during the Vietnam War, since English-speaking soldiers do not differentiate among East Asian people.

The term gook may derive from the Korean word for “American”—miguk. Hearing Korean people say this word, English-speaking soldiers thought the Korean people were calling themselves gooks (“me gook”) and followed suit.

The word miguk in Korean means “beautiful country.” Miguk is a transliteration of the Chinese characters meiguo, which also mean “beautiful country.”

I know how to pronounce miguk but not meiguo.

There are several accounts of why meiguo came to mean “American.” Some claim it’s simple phonetic approximation; others claim that meiguo was selected out of several possible phonetic approximations by nineteenth-century American missionaries and then made official in the 1901 Boxer Protocol after China’s defeat by eight foreign powers. I do not know which account is true.

All commentators seem to agree that neither Korean people nor Chinese people literally believe that America is a beautiful country.

But both Korean people and Chinese people must call America beautiful in order to speak its name.

Neither Korean people nor Chinese people refer to themselves as gooks or chinks.

Neither Korean people nor Chinese people refer to themselves as Korean or Chinese.

Korea is an English word, which seems to derive from a mispronunciation of the name of the Goryeo Dynasty by Silk Road traders that was first recorded by Marco Polo.

China is an English word, which seems to derive from a mispronunciation of the name of the Qin Dynasty by Silk Road traders that was first recorded by Marco Polo.

I have said Marco Polo’s name many times in a game that requires you to say his name many times. I do not know the origin of the game. Because of the r and the l, “Marco Polo” would be a difficult name for Korean speakers to say, but I am not a Korean speaker.

I have called myself a gook many times.

I have called myself a chink only once, when a white high school friend used the term in conversation, then stopped, realizing her gaffe. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I know what you mean. [X] is such an FOB.” “What’s an FOB?” she asked. “Fresh off the boat,” I said. “I may be a chink, but at least I’m not an FOB.” We laughed together, to relieve the tension, although I do not think either of us found my joke funny.

I used the term “FOB” to show that I considered [X] to be foreign, a barbarian. I called myself a chink to make myself seem more American.

Fresh Off the Boat was my white husband’s favorite television show during the time we were married. When we watched it, I hoped that laughing at the pushy Chinese immigrant mother on the show would lessen his dislike of my pushy Korean immigrant mother.

I hoped that allowing my white husband to treat my parents as endearingly foreign, fresh off the boat, like the endearingly foreign TV family of Fresh Off the Boat, would make me seem more American.

None of the actors in Fresh Off the Boat are fresh off the boat. Nearly all of them were born in America. By pretending to be foreign, they make English-speaking audiences feel more American.

My parents are not fresh off the boat. They have been in America for over fifty years. They speak both Korean and English.

A television is a box that allows us to put people inside it.

The television is sometimes called an “idiot box,” from the Latin for “private person,” from the Greek idios, meaning “one’s own.” But those inside the box have no privacy.

We put the inscrutable into a box so they may be scrutinized.

I made [X] inscrutable. I put [X] into the box.

I made my parents inscrutable. I put my parents into the box.

I decorated the box so it seemed foreign, barbaric. I made the box inscrutable so it seemed like a distant ancestor. I buried it so it seemed like a grave.

I made a chink in the box that the gaze could penetrate.

I stayed outside the box. I treated what was inside the box as a joke.

I was the English-speaking audience.

I watched Fresh Off the Boat on the idiot box.

I watched The Throne on the idiot box.

In The Throne a parent puts his son in the rice chest.

After the son’s death, the rice chest is forced open.

After the son’s death, his mouth is forced open. Three spoonfuls of rice are forced into his mouth, rice that might have kept him from starving to death in the rice chest.

After the son’s death, a name is forced into his mouth.

The name is Sado, a name which has meaning for Korean-speaking audiences.

I have said Sado’s name many times.

The son never called himself Sado.

There was never a chink in the rice chest.

No one could see into the rice chest.

There is a “you” in this poem.

You are a member of the English-speaking audience.

I let you see into the box, into what is private, into what is foreign, into what is inscrutable, into what has been buried.

I am the chink in the box.

from "From From", Carcanet Books, 2023

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 65: Birthday Beets

SATURDAY - WINTER 20

With his new role, Alex didn’t need to work on the weekends anymore. But, as Achilles often said, there was no rest for the weary, and this little nugget must have rubbed off a bit on Alex, as he’d taken to spending his Saturday mornings training in the mountainside spa. 

Achilles had joined him halfway through his workout, favorite pen in hand per usual. He’d parked himself on one of the surrounding wooden benches (not nearly as comfortable as the ones at Orange Grove, unfortunately), legs crossed at the knee as he hunched away from the spa’s chipped neon tiles. 

It was a longer workout than usual, to Achilles’ mild annoyance (the pages of his notebook kept curling in the humidity). But he said nothing, merely munched on some pistachio nuts he’d snuck in (not that there had been anyone in the lobby to stop him) while listening to Alex flutter kick his way up and down the pool. 

“All nervous energy, I think I might’ve broken a personal record,” Alex said, after finally calling it in at noon. With a grunt, he clambered out of the water one handed, the other ripping off his swim cap to reveal a messy cascade of brown curls. “Not even vi—vicarious? Vicarious. It’s all just me. Was that right?” 

“Very good!” Achilles threw him a pistachio that bounced off his forehead. “Whoops.” 

Alex bent down to retrieve the tiny nut, eyeing it closely before tossing it in to a nearby trash can. “Man, I couldn’t even eat a pistachio if I tried, haven’t got an appetite… welp. It is what it is, let’s go… four and half hours ’til they’re back…” 

They made their way towards the locker rooms just in time to see Lewis, in bright purple swim trunks trimmed with gold, and Marnie laying towels down by the hot tub. At the very first sight of that grey walrus mustache, Achilles immediately dove to behind a trio of pale blue tables, instinctively yanking Alex down with him.  

But it seemed like Lewis had a similar idea, though it was Marnie alone he unceremoniously shoved behind a potted plant before stepping forward, twirling the aforementioned mustache.“Achilles! Alexander! Good seeing you youngsters taking advantage of one of our community’s many little ‘hidden paradises’ as I like to say.” Lewis doffed an invisible cap (he must’ve left it behind in the locked room). 

“Yes sir!” It was Alex who, after smacking Achilles who’d only groaned in response, stood to great the mayor. “It’s great having a pool in the Valley, now. Marnie, hope you’re doing well.” He gave her one of his warm smiles as she tip-toed out from behind the fern. 

Taking advantage of Lewis’ momentary distraction (too busy shooting Marnie a wicked glare), Achilles promptly popped up like a groundhog from behind the table with the confidence of one who hadn’t just attempted to run from the premises. “Lewis, Marnie, good to see you both! The spa really is wonderful, and it looks like we had similar ideas—glad to see the weather hasn’t been keeping you both from enjoying some valuable, quality time together.” He seamlessly dodged Alex’s kick without breaking his grin. 

“Ah… yes, yes…” Lewis’ browed furrowed as he digested Achilles’ words. “Well, we don’t want to keep ya from your plans… Alex, give your grandmother my regards, please. Tell her happy birthday from me. Been here all her life you know, 84 years! A true pillar of our community!” 

“Yes sir!” 

With tight-lipped smiles, the two continued on their way to the locker room. 

“Man, why do you hate Mayor Lewis so much, he’s not that bad.” 

“That mustache just activates my fight or flight. And just you wait until he hears you’re swimming competitively again, you’ll be his new target… new ‘star of the community,’ he’ll never leave you alone…” 

*****

“Four hours to go… Okay, now don’t be too mean to him, okay?” Alex said, tossing his goggles into the tangerine gym bag at his feet. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Hmm.” He leaned against the lockers and crossed his arms. “Well, I mean, I guess you can be a little mean…”

“Okay.” 

“Oh, but he is 86 years old…”

“Yes, for sure.” 

Alex poked his head out from the sweatshirt he was still wrangling on. “I guess, just don’t… bad cop it up too much?” 

“Yessir.” 

“I just need him to like, be open to chatting with me after that.” 

“You got it.” 

*****

George had taken Evelyn out to the Zuzu Botanical Garden to see the special holiday lights and decorations, leaving Alex and Achilles alone to prepare her early birthday dinner (“It’s early because they’re old.” “Thanks for the explanation, Al.”) 

Alex had prepared tonight’s menu—beet salad with arugula and leek, roasted Cornish hens with stuffing, mushroom bourguignon and mashed potatoes, and of course, a triple chocolate cake. 

All, to Achilles’ overwhelming distress, to be homemade. 

“Look, but I’ve thought this out, be proud of me. See, all you have to do right now,” Alex had said, a tiny little hen in one hand, a paper towel in the other, and flecks of cranberry sauce on his face, “Is cut those thingies.” He waved the game hen at the pile of produce Achilles had just washed. “I believe in you.” 

Achilles examined a leek closely before setting it back down on the cutting board. “Glad one of us does…” He ran his (clean) finger along the edge of the knife he’d grabbed from the drawer.

Alex was, not unexpectedly, painfully neat in the kitchen (to the disappointment of Dusty, who’d been hoping for scraps), but even so, Achilles thought it best to keep out of his way, and attempted to move his overflowing basket of produce to the kitchen table. 

“You put that knife down, Achilles Oleander Desrosiers Robinson, don’t you go carrying five thousand things at once, you’re gonna hurt yourself—or worse, Dusty—”

Atop the dining table, next to a small stack of wrapped gifts, was a bouquet of freshly cut tulips for which Alex had had to place a special order. In addition to a new vase, Achilles had purchased for Evelyn a nice set of bakeware, whereas Alex had thoughtfully put together a gardening gift basket, complete with new gloves, her favorite flower seeds, and more. 

“2pm,” Alex said, eyes darting towards the clock on the oven as they had been every ten minutes for the past hour. “We’ve got another three hours before they’re back…” 

Unlike Alex, Achilles had been feeling quite calm about the situation, cutting his beets with a steady hand (maybe that was the real reason Alex had had him cutting vegetables instead of over-spicing the Cornish hens). It was, perhaps, a bit strange, given he was treading in somewhat unfamiliar waters having never had to have a similar conversation with his family. But he told himself not to overthink it—in typical fashion, he’d prepped quite a bit the night before after Alex left—and instead attempted to spread his placidity by telling Alex a “fun” story from his childhood. 

As the hours ticked away, though, and the prepping transitioned to actual cooking, Alex’s nerves slowly seemed to settle. Balancing four dishes was surely quite a distraction, and by the end of the third hour, Alex was resting across two kitchen chairs with his head in Achilles’ lap breathing easy. 

That is, until they heard voices at the doorstep.

A look of terror streaked across Alex’s face, and he froze. But in the second just before the front door opened, Achilles squeezed his arm and leaned over to kiss him softly on the nose; and with Achilles’ hand on his shoulder, Alex scrambled up from the dining table and greeted his grandparents with convincing enthusiasm. 

*****

Dinner was, as Achilles had predicted, a somewhat awkward affair, although not nearly quite as awkward as it could’ve been, thanks to George’s determination to remain absolutely silent. The old man had seemed to be all smiles and laughter before entering the house, but his lips had formed a squat little line the moment he’d caught sight of Achilles. 

That left Achilles, Alex, and Evelyn to carry the conversation among themselves, and outside of Alex’s oddly loud voice—his nerves breaking through or overcompensating for his grandparents’ hearing?—it was, all things considered, an ordinary birthday dinner. 

Alex and Achilles had just finished clearing the table, the former’s hand now trembling as he carried the dishes back to the sink, when they saw George beginning to make his way to the living room. Achilles quickly called after him. 

“Hey, George—I’d like to speak with you.”

The old man gave a start, likely surprised Achilles was speaking directly to him, before grunting, “I have nothing to say to you, young man.” 

“Oh no worries, that’s fine. It’s actually me who’s got something to say to you, I don’t need you to say anything back.” 

That got his attention. With a scowl, George turned himself around. “You can set aside the cheek, boy. I knew your father, Perry was a good man. Didn’t he raise you to respect your elders?” 

 “Ah, no, you see, my dad actually raised me to respect only the people I thought deserved it.” 

It was a sassy response and he knew it—from the corner of his eye, he caught Alex’s grimace. 

Best not push your luck. He told you not to be too much of an asshole, Achilles…  

Achilles returned to the dining table and took a seat, just as Alex and Evelyn (whom Alex had forewarned) made their way noiselessly to the living room. As they had planned it, Alex would join the conversation later—but for now, it was up to Achilles. 

George didn’t seem to notice their retreat. Likely torn between a spiteful unwillingness to back down and his distaste for Achilles, George paused in the entryway for several seconds before ultimately deciding to stand his ground and return to the dining table. 

Achilles chose to take this as a somewhat promising sign, until George, glaring at him from across the stained wood grain, said, “Fighting my grandson’s battles for him, eh?”

But he responded smoothly. “I don’t see why it has to be a battle, George. But consider me the overture and your grandson Act 1 of a… a one act play. Hmm. I apologize, this metaphor is getting away from me.” 

George only grunted. 

Unsurprising. The joke had been a poor attempt to break the tension—of course, he was only remembering now that George was not a theatre goer. 

“I asked you to stay away from my grandson.” 

“That wouldn’t have changed anything, George.” 

“He doesn’t know what he likes, and I’m afraid to say your presence has influenced him and made him think—”

“He hasn’t changed, George. He’s the same person you’ve always known and loved, his sexuality has always been a part of him—”

“It’s not normal.” 

Achilles sighed. What he wouldn’t give for an ounce of Alex’s patience… but he succeeded in keeping his tone as light and easy-going as possible. “I suppose one could argue it’s not… the norm, per se. But it’s normal.” 

“Says who?” the old man shot back. 

Yoba, George— He had to bite back his scoff. Time to put your research to use… He’d made sure to have done his homework on the off chance George was the type to respond to a solid statistic. 

“Well, who’s saying it’s abnormal? In fact, a recent study conducted by the Ferngill Psychiatric Association has found significant evidence that homosexuality is a normal variant of human sexual orientation. Not to mention, same-sex marriage is legal in the Ferngill Republic, George, and nearly 82% of all Ferngillians support and believe that—” 

“Your father—Perry. He knows about your… preference?” 

“It’s not a preference, George, this isn’t a choice that I actively make every morning when I wake up, just as I’m sure you don’t wake up every morning and choose to be straight. And yes—both of my parents are aware and have always respected me and loved me for who I am. It’s their unwavering support that’s allowed me to share my life with them fully and honestly.” 

George said nothing, and so he plowed forward. 

“I understand that it must’ve come as a surprise, and that you likely need some time to adjust. Really. I understand. And so does Alex. But you’re refusing to even acknowledge his existence, George—frankly, I could describe it a number of ways, but all I’ll say is that it’s demoralizing and wrong for Alex to be treated like he straight up doesn’t exist in his own home. A home he’s almost single-handedly supporting, mind you. 

“So all I’m asking here is that you listen to him. Listen to him and give him even just half of the respect that he has always been so generous in giving to you.”

He paused, and found himself looking upwards at the ceiling now.  

“Alex is—he’s just so selfless, isn’t he? And kind. And good. And he’s sacrificed so much and— and he loves you so much, and it really hurts—” He stopped to swallow, to catch his breath. Fuck, bitch, don’t you start crying. “It really hurts that you’re willing to set aside everything he’s done and everything he is as a person because of this singular part of who he’s always been.” 

He wasn’t sure at what point Alex had reentered the room, how much he had overheard, but when he looked up, there he was.  Standing in the doorway, hands folded across his chest, biting his bottom lip. 

They shared a glance for half a heartbeat, and Achilles thought perhaps he really would cry. But instead, he forced himself to look away and stood. “Well. I’ll leave you two to it. Thank you for listening, George.” 

He brushed Alex’s hand on the way out the door. 

*****

After taking a moment to himself in the bathroom to make sure his eyes were dry, he joined Evelyn across the hall in the living room. She seemed intent on her knitting, but looked up when he entered, a kind smile on her face. 

The Mullner household didn’t have a couch, but Alex must’ve pulled up the armchair earlier, and  Evelyn now patted the cushion with her free hand, motioning for him to take a seat. 

“I’m sorry dear, I wish I could do more for the both of you, but I’m afraid I just don’t know what more to say to George.” 

He sat, and found himself suddenly exhausted. “I understand.”  

She sighed, her knitting needles clacking as she brought the scarf closer to her face. “I told Alex I think he needs more time. At 86 years old, it can be a little hard to change your ways overnight, I’m sure you understand, dear.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“But I think this little talk you boys are having with him will be good. He told me you always know what to say… It’s been very tough for Alex, this past week, I can tell… I’m afraid George can sometimes be a little too tough on him, and he has always cared very, very much for his grandpa’s approval… I don’t know if he’s ever told you this, dear, but Alex’s father was not a very good man.” 

“Yes, I’ve heard.” 

“But I think you have been very good for Alex. I imagine he’s very happy with you… I’ve never seen him quite like this before with his girlfriends.” She set her knitting down in her lap. “He deserves to be happy. He’s a good boy.” 

“Yes ma’am, he is.” 

*****

Achilles wasn’t staying the night—that would really be pushing his luck. But after a sustained stretch of silence suggested the conversation in the kitchen had reached its end, he snuck a glance over to the hallway only to see Alex covertly motioning for him to join him for perhaps a debrief in his bedroom. And so he bid Evelyn a final happy birthday and farewell. 

He arrived in the doorway to find Alex sitting on his bed, a comically small, but seemingly well-loved, stuffed stegosaurus in his lap. On previous occasions, Achilles had paid it only a cursory notice—it had sat on the windowsill with the rest of the few stuffed animals and action figures from Alex’s childhood—but he recognized it now from Spirit’s Eve, from Alex’s memory. What had it witnessed over the years? What comforts had it had to provide? 

He shut the door softly behind him. “How’d it go?” 

Like Evelyn earlier, Alex patted the space next to him. “Honestly? I don’t know. I think I blacked out.” 

“Fair enough.” Achilles took the offered seat. After a beat, he lay a tentative hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’m very proud of you.” 

Alex lay his head onto Achilles’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “It did make me feel braver, watching you talk to him first. I’d thought as much…” 

Achilles nodded into Alex’s hair and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. But in a burst of frustration, Alex sat back upright and began beating his forehead with the heel of his hands. “God, I can’t even talk to my own grandpa without help… ain’t that just pathetic…”

“No, it’s not pathetic— Al, hey— Al—”  Alex had begun to visibly shake, his head buried in his hands, and Achilles could make out the sudden sound of stifled sniffs.

“This should’ve been my own problem to fix, shouldn’t it’ve, I’m an idiot—”

Achilles wrapped his arms tightly around him, held him close as Alex had done for him so many nights ago on Spirit’s Eve. “Alex, listen to me. No. It’s not pathetic. And you’re not an idiot.”

He weaved his fingers through Alex’s, clutched them so hard they hurt. And when the trembling had died down, he raised Alex’s lightly tear-stained face gently to his own. 

“There no shame in asking for help, Al,” he murmured. “Isn’t that what you taught me? I’m here for you. I get to be here for you. There’s no reason to go about it alone if you don’t want to.” 

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

29, 55, 84? :D

29. Stars, 55. Silence, 84. Shout

So! Spoilers for Chapter 14 of Minas Morgul and also it's. really long so it's going under a cut lmao.

Barad Curon shines in the starlight, and Saelinriel gazes up at it – melancholy aching in her chest. Even taken and corrupted by the Enemy, it’s still beautiful.

Karazgar’s mask is heavy in her hand, and she passes it to Morinel, who nods, slipping it onto her face.

“This ends tonight,” Saelinriel says, and pushes open the doors.

Morinel plays her part well, shepherding her and Culang before Gothmog - as Idhrin creeps through the shadows to hide behind a pillar, and 'flees' and shuts the doors with a bang that echoes up to the throne room.

Saelinriel squares her shoulders as Gothmog laughs once while he comes down the stairs of the dais, appearing from the shadows with unnecessary flare and dramatics that she's come to expect from him.

“I did not expect you to be so bold!” 

He wears the guise of Mordirith here and a laugh, born of an emotion she doesn’t know the name of, bubbles into her throat.

“Then you do not know me as well as I thought you did. A pity, considering how long we've known each other.”

Gothmog's illusions are stronger somehow than they once were, and it takes every ounce of strength she has, even with Culang's help. 

Saelinriel thinks it might be over when Gothmog crumples to the ground, but his body melts and he climbs down from the dais again – blue flame on his pauldrons –  laughing as he raises his hands. 

Then, he brings them down with a percussive movement, and fire leaps up from spots in the tiled floor.  

Saelinriel only just has time to pull Culang away from a geyser of flame, when they have to move again, and again. She’s getting dizzy by now, and she doesn’t want to think about what would happen if either of them falters. 

Lightning arcs from the wings, and she feels a wave of relief wash over her. Morinel has returned, just in time -- Saelinriel and Culang are tiring, and she doesn't know how much longer they could've managed. 

On that signal, Idhrin looses arrow after arrow, but they bounce off the wraith’s iron crown. He turns and the next arrow catches him in the shoulder. 

“Who have you brought to their deaths this time, Saelinriel?” Gothmog snarls. “Did I not say come into the light?” 

Fire bursts from the wings, and a horrible thud makes her heart leap into her throat.

Culang whispers that they must find a way to weaken him somehow, and for a moment she wonders how then she remembers. 

“You have not won,” Saelinriel says, through gritted teeth. 

Isildur and Anarion and Elendil's memory and legacy are a double edged sword, and she uses it like one.

Her own blade glitters like starlight in the dim throne room, and she feels the words and the courage coming to her and strengthening her heart. 

Gothmog growls, and she continues, holding Narmeleth's and Golodir's triumphs over his head, and he throws a pillar of flame at her. 

She dodges. 

Another pillar of flame lashes up from the ground, and it almost knocks her off balance, but Culang keeps her from falling into it.

Gothmog's anger fills the room like thunder and the flames cease as he storms down the steps and he brings his sword down on hers, hard.  “Your words are empty!” 

She blocks it, and goes for her own strike. 

It is just like dancing, she thinks, a little hysterically. Only with several partners instead of one, and any misstep might be their last. “Elendil faced the greatest evil of the Age, and he didn’t cower beneath it. He didn’t betray his kingdom or his people–” 

Her limbs grow heavier and heavier with each moment but she channels everything she has into her sword. 

“The White Tree flowers in the Court of Kings – Gondor flourishes once more.”

“Those victories mean nothing to me,” He shouts, bringing his sword in a wide arc toward your head. 

She sidesteps the blow and it glances off her shield instead – the blossoming white tree on a black field. 

There's a quarter of a second where Gothmog freezes and arrows come flying out of the darkness to catch his shoulder. 

Idhrin has braced herself against a pillar, and blood drips down from above her eyebrows and her silver hair is darkened with blood. 

Gothmog hisses and begins to close the distance between them and Saelinriel tries to step between but he swats her aside like a fly and she goes flying and lands with her back on the hard tile. 

It’s suddenly impossible to breathe and she lays there, gasping and the whole time she's shouting at herself to get up–

Finally, as lightning streaks through the air again, she does, sheathing her sword and pulling her spear from her back.

Idhrin shoots an arrow that finds its way into the darkness of Gothmog's hood. He staggers backward, bringing a hand up to his unseen face. 

Saelinriel doesn't know what comes over her but she tightens her hold on her shield, adjusts her grip on her spear and takes a breath. 

Then, she runs.

Her shield slams into Gothmog's chest with more force than she thought possible, and he staggers again, snarling and seeming disoriented.   

The elven-steel of her spear gleams in the half-light and she channels every ounce of her strength into jamming it into the space just between his chestplate and his hip armor as hard as she can. 

He lets out an agonizing cry and falls to the ground with a mighty crash.  His sword slips from his hand, and she kicks it away from him, toward Culang.  

Morinel comes from the shadows, and rushes toward where Idhrin slumped to the ground moments prior.   Saelinriel stands breathing heavily, looking down at a now wounded Gothmog who clutches his abdomen. 

Words shatter the uneasy silence.

“I sense the presence of my bones, Saelinriel! They are nearby!”

She almost screams but calms herself as Isildur's shade materializes beside Saelinriel, and there is an urgency in his voice that in some way surprises her. “I can see the chamber where my bones must lie, for the Oath-stone stands there too, 'neath the beacon!”

She sighs, slinging her spear over her shoulder and begins the climb to the beacon tower.

“This is not the Minas Ithil it was from my own days,” Isildur says, his voice echoing strangely off the empty walls once they make it to the beacon-stone that cuts through the mist that shrouds the city. 

Saelinriel bites back a sarcastic reply then frowns.

 “What was it like back then?” She asks, as she looks through the nooks and crannies of the room, because there are precious few that she can ask. 

Gothmog is not an option, and Faramir son of Ondoher might be able to tell her but she knows not where he wanders now. But Isildur stands before her, and he’s answered her many questions before.

“It was a beautiful place,” he says slowly then stops.  She doesn’t press him, and after a while he speaks again.

“The moon cast silver light throughout the courtyards and streets, and reflected off the marble walls, so that it seemed to shine. It held great houses of lore salvaged from the wreck of Numenor…” 

He sighs wistfully and then he tells her of the gardens of the Circle of Wisdom, and the melodies and plays from the Lindalire, and it hurts that she can match each location with the twisted parody.

“I am sorry,” she says numbly, after a while, and they sink into an contemplative silence.

Finally, she finds a silver tarnished casket that is not so large, but something ghosts over Isildur's face when he looks at the dust with in and he remains silent as she walks down back to the throne room.

“I swore to bring Sauron's Ring to Rivendell, and though that weapon came in the end to that valley, I did not. But now…” Isildur says finally, solemnly, "The casket of dust gives me hope. Bring me earthly remains to Rivendell and I shall at last know peace.'

Gothmog laughs weakly, despite his wounds. "Peace? What peace does this shade think to find? What peace does he deserve? I remember the tales of Elendil, and of Isildur and Anárion. We were told they were great men, valiant warriors from an age of heroes.”

“And I was told tales of the same sort about Eärnur too,” Saelinriel says viciously, months of anger and hurt that she thought she’d handled bubbling up from her core. They are cruel, maybe needlessly so, but she doesn’t care. “Sometimes our heroes disappoint us.”

Gothmog takes no heed of her words and continues to rail before finally trailing off into silence. 

Culang calls out that someone is approaching the throne room from the outside. Morinel looks up, hands freezing as she pauses in bandaging Idhrin's head.

A few moments pass and then--

The doors bang open and part of her is thrilled to see Annoth alive but – he is carrying himself far too stiffly, and there is a wild look in his eyes – something is wrong.

Saelinriel nearly drops her shield as Ugrukhôr storms into the throne room, looming over Annoth. He stands nearly as tall as Gothmog and towers head and shoulders over her. There are four orcs with him as well, though they don’t scare her.

When Saelinriel doesn't provide an adequate enough answer as to the location of Karazgar, Ugrukhôr roughly shoves Annoth to the side, and he crumples against the floor. 

He pushes past her and Culang, shoving them out of the way, and he sees Idhrin and Morinel where she is still using her runes to try and fix the damage done by Gothmog. “It may cost you your life, or the lives of more friends. Is that what you want?”

Her heart lurches as she opens her mouth to say no, but Ugrukhôr is faster, and he sends her – accompanied by an Uruk – to the top of the tower to search for Karazgar.

The last thing she see before she no longer can is that the others are surrounded by two guards apiece below. The thought hits her like an anchor being sunk into her chest: all of them are hostages against each others’ good behavior.

“Is that really Gothmog?” Lûrkh says, as they pass the fallen wraith. "He looks dead to me. How about that?”

They go up the endless set of stairs to the Beacon-room before finally reaching the top.

“I don't see any sign of Karazgar. Maybe he's gone.” Lûrkh looks at her sidelong, and blood rushes in her ears, and she prays that he has not figured out her ruse yet. “Or maybe he never came up here?”

Thankfully, he is quickly distracted by the broken Oathstone, and orders her to clear the room out of any merrevail that lingered in the shadowed corners of the room. 

She does, quickly and quietly as she can, and he is still pondering if some valuable piece of it might be chipped away and kept as treasure.

Any noise from the throne room is nothing more than a vague rumble and Saelinriel takes her chance.  Lûrkh is too surprised to offer much resistance, and he falls to the ground.

No one comes running up after her guard falls and she sneaks back down as quietly as she can.

She can’t see Idhrin but Morinel’s hands and ankles are bound, and she is pale and unmoving and there is no orc guarding her. 

A thrill of fear races through Saelinriel’s veins. What did Ugrukhôr do to her?

Culang catches her eye as she creeps closer to crouch low behind the giant pillar on each side of the throne’s dias.

She unsheathes her sword as quietly as possible and he nods. 

“Now, Saelinriel!”  

By the time Saelinriel makes it down the dias, Culang manages the two on either side of him, but there is a third behind and Ugrukhôr is too near him and he hits the ground hard. She manages the third guard, along with the one next to Idhrin.

“So that is the way of it, then?” Ugrukhôr asks as he goes to stand in the center of the throne room.  “Come, Saelinriel. Can we not settle this as equals?”

Ugrukhôr’s treatment of Annoth and of the Thandrim before him throws doubt on any promises he might make, even if she was inclined to believe him to begin with. 

But she's the only one standing between him and her friends, and she will not allow him easy access to them when she can do something about it.

So, she climbs slowly down the steps of the dias, head held high. She passes Culang, who is curled around himself, and she sees Morinel’s rune satchel flung across the room, and Idhrin is hiding his face, and Saelinriel can’t tell whether she lives still or not.

“You are alone, Saelinriel.” Ugrukhôr says as if he relishes this fact. “You came to this tower with allies, but they have abandoned you. Your Rangers may find success in the woods, but in towers of stone they die the same as any others. They cannot save you.”

She raises her head higher.

“The Thandrim crossed me, long ago, and they are all dead. The only man who remembered them will have no vengeance. I gave him death instead, and none now will wield his sad sword or bear his broken shield.”

He draws his swords with a flourish as if daring her to come up against him and, despite herself, her grip on her own sword falters.

“Saelinriel!” He bellows. “Do you dare test your will against Ugrukhôr, the Captain of the Pit? Did I say we were equal? I see now I was wrong! You are no equal of mine, for I am Gúrzyul... and I am your ending!”

She raises her shield to cover her torso and plants her feet as he comes to charge toward her.

“Prepare to join your friends in death, Saelinriel!” He sweeps his sword into her shield hard and the impact sends her scrambling backward but other than being a little dazed, she's fine.

She follows the rhythm of the fight: thrust, block, parry, and everything else fades to the background.

“The Thandrim sought mercy. They were fools. You will have no mercy from me,” he says as he brings his sword in a wide arc toward her head. 

“As if I would seek mercy from you,” Saelinriel says, as she steps to the side and raises her shield a little higher. The blow glances off her shield instead. She aims for a blow at his torso, but he deflects it, sending her backward.

He stalks forward and she doesn't manage to completely block the blow, and stumbles, nearly going to her knees.  

Instead, Saelinriel reaches for her horn, and the sound echoes off the walls and pillars, a challenge that rings and bellows, like the shout of many voices beneath the high vaulted roof, that stuns Ugrukhôr for a few moments.

Those few seconds are more precious than gold because they allow her to bring herself to her feet, regroup, and use her sword to cut a deep gash on the inside of his upper arm.

He turns – far, far faster than he should be able to for his size – and raises his sword high over his head and Saelinriel only just manages to put her shield between herself and the blow.

Her arm breaks from the force behind the blow as it pushes her down and it is all Saelinriel can do to not scream. 

Between pain-sharpened heartbeats she watches as he pauses and looks down, examining the gash on his arm that drips dark blood onto the polished floors.

“You have drawn blood, Saelinriel,” Ugrukhôr says mildly, “For that you have my respect.”

She looks up in an attempt at defiance, though she's certain the pain must show on her face and she struggles to bring herself to her feet, but it is nearly impossible as he advances on her, laughing.

There is nothing else for her to do but raise her shield again despite the pain. 

Ugrukhôr, for all he has said of hating Gothmog, pays no heed to where he lay still on the ground.

She peers up at him from the rim of her shield.

Saelinriel can only just see his head, all the rest of him is blocked by the – somehow unbroken – metal of her shield.

She hears someone picking up their sword, and for a moment she thinks it is Culang but he can barely stand and she’s forced to conclude whoever it is, they are no friend of hers.

When Gothmog comes into her sight, something heavy sinks into her chest.

What was it she’d told Corunir before they came into this cursed place when he asked her about her plan for dealing with Gothmog?  

One of us will not leave that tower.

It seems that she will not be the one leaving. She tries to steady her breathing but then– 

“At last you will know death, Ugrukhôr!”

Before she has the time to register what is happening, Gothmog drives his sword deep into Ugrukhôr’s back, and he slowly begins to tip forward.  

She only just has time to stumble out of the way (making the pain in her arm a hundred times worse) before Ugrukhôr falls face first into the ground with a resounding thud.

She's not sure what just happened, but Gothmog falters too, dropping the sword to the ground. 

Upon inspection, it’s not Gothmog’s sword at all, but Annoth’s. 

So the Captain of the Pit is undone by the sword of Annoth, wielded by Gothmog, and now both Gothmog and Ugrukhôr are undone, Saelinriel thinks to herself as she manages to unbuckle her shield to cradle her arm the best she can.

Then she goes to check on her friends.

Isildur reappears, hovering over his bones but he is stony-faced and silent.

Morinel is responsive and Saelinriel brings her the rune satchel before using the dagger strapped to her boot to slice through her bonds, before they go to kneel beside Idhrin.

She seems fine enough, all things considered, and Morinel goes about picking up from earlier with her runes as if she hadn’t just been tied to a pillar and unconscious.

"I am all right…” Culang says with a cough, when she comes to stand over him, as he uncurls and brings himself, unsteadily, to his feet.

“Are you certain?” Saelinriel asks, and he nods. 

He looks to where Annoth fell, and sighs. 

“He has achieved the vengeance he sought, though it arrived not in the manner he sought. Let him rest now, and may the Thandrim for whom he grieved find peace with the death of Ugrukhôr.”

Culang’s words echo her own thoughts, and she desperately wishes for the peace of the Thandrim – wherever they are. 

He sees Gothmog and Ugrukhôr and shakes his head.  “Is that not the nature of evil? Treacherous even to its own. None shall mourn for either of the slain.”

Death has come to Barad Cúron and claimed two of the masters of Mordor. How many countless others have perished in this throne room over the years? Saelinriel wonders to herself, turning away from them.

“By the waters of Nenuial!” Culang says suddenly, and she turns to face him – and the pain in her wrist spikes. “Gothmog clings to life. He tries to speak, Saelinriel and we should listen. Is it not said that dying men rarely speak falsely with their last breath?”

“Men maybe. A man he is no more,” Saelinriel mutters, but goes to stand above Gothmog anyways. 

It takes him a while to begin speaking again.  

 “Mordor should have been ... should have been mine. No one endured... what I have endured. A curse on them all... but I levy my worst upon Isildur who could have prevented it and did not! He calls me coward? He knows nothing of the torments that made me! From that crucible of evil I was born anew, the greatest creation of Angmar! I was to usher in a new age!”

The fire in Gothmog's eyes flickers and burns low and he looks up at her, and he looks particularly pitiful.

“Why could I not, Saelinriel?” He sounds so broken, so far from the imposing wraith she’s known through the past year, who haunted her nightmares and killed and tortured so many of her friends. 

“There were so many chances, but... the Ranger and the Elf-maid…”

Gothmog stares at the floor, his life's essence departing. 

“Narmeleth,” He says her name quietly. "I think Narmeleth knew the same torments as I. How could she fight... longer than...?”

He falls silent, and it seems as if he will speak no more.  As Saelinriel is about to turn and leave, he reaches out to her and grabs onto the hem of her tunic near the hem at her knees, a trinket held in his clenched fist.

“Listen to me, Saelinriel,” He says urgently, tugging at the fabric.  

She should have stepped back and yanked it out of his hands – there is barely any strength to his grip anymore – but there is something that stops her as if she’s bound to that spot. Saelinriel doesn't know what it is, but she thinks pity might be the closest thing to it, though she doesn't want to admit to it.

“There was a Morgul-slave who knew the secrets of this place. At my Master's command... he forged a key. ‘Only this weapon cannot be overcome,’ the dwarf said to me. I spent the time I could... seeking it... but it eluded me.” 

The fires in his eyes burn lower than before and suddenly she knows that he is dying, for good.

“I give it to you, Saelinriel.” He looks up at her, desperately. “If Mordor cannot be mine... let it be no one's! Find the weapon and use it... against all who seek to master the realm that was denied me!” 

Gothmog presses a broken key into her hand.

Then, he dies at last.

There is still, stunned silence in which none of them speak or move for  a long, long while.

“Even with his last breath he raged against Gondor, and shamed his people!”  Isildur stares down at Gothmog’s corpse with a look of disgust on his face, throwing soft blue light over the ancient walls.  He floats away from Gothmog and comes to her, with something somber behind his eyes. 

“He should have resisted Saelinriel, and died as Eärnur. My brother Anárion would have fought the torments of the Lord of the Nazgûl, and embraced death rather than succumb to such evil. So too would I. But instead, he became a tool for evil, and he died as Gothmog.” Isildur’s eyes flash.  “Let him rot where he lies.” 

He floats over to the wrought silver casket once more. “I do not want my bones to remain here any longer.”

Saelinriel nods as she sinks to sit on the steps, cradling her wrist. 

Eventually Morinel finishes with Idhrin and comes to splint her arm, temporarily, and the four (is it five, if they count Isildur’s bones?) of them stumble back to Barad Arthir. 

[beardedmrbean]

The world became a deadlier place for journalists in 2022, with 67 individuals killed while carrying out their work. That is up from 47 in 2021, according to a report published by the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) on Friday.

Ukraine became the most dangerous country thanks to the Russian invasion, accounting for 12 of the total number of killed journalists and media staff.

The report also highlighted violence in Haiti and organized crime in Mexico, accounting for 6 and 11 deaths respectively.

"The surge in the killings of journalists and other media workers is a grave cause of concern and yet another wake-up call for governments across the globe to take action in the defense of journalism, one of the key pillars of democracy," IFJ General Secretary Anthony Bellanger said.

Killings threaten press freedom

The IFJ released its report ahead of International Human Rights Day and renewed its calls for a "Convention on the Safety and Independence of Journalists" to be voted on by the UN General Assembly.

It said the 2022 figures mark a shift in the recent decline in the number of journalists being killed while on the job.

The report also named Mexico, the Philippines and Pakistan as hotspots where the killing of journalists has threatened media freedom.

The report also highlighted the killing of Palestinian-American journalist Shireen Abu Akleh by Israeli forces in broad daylight, highlighting that the number of journalists killed across the Middle East increased from 3 to 5 this year.

Hundreds of journalists in jail

The IFJ also reported on the number of journalists behind bars, which increased by 10 in 2022, reaching 375.

According to the NGO, China topped this list with 84 imprisoned journalists, followed by Myanmar (64), Turkey (51), Iran (34), Belarus (33), Egypt (23), Russia and occupied Crimea (29), Saudi Arabia (11), Yemen (10), Syria (9) and India (7).

"These figures make for grim reading and cast serious doubts on the political will on the part of governments to address such grave threats to media freedom," the report quoted Bellanger as saying.

"The number of journalists being held for simply doing their job makes a mockery of the lofty declarations on human rights and media freedom made by too many governments and trumpeted at international conferences."