#tbilisi loves you

[marsprincess889]

Ok so I'm back to bringing you guys' attention to what's going on in my country.

I don't have the heart to tell it all in detail. In truth we're all so familiar with it that talking about it seems comical. But to keep you up to date, there have been massive protests in Tbilisi, Georgia since late November.

On 25th of October of this year, the Georgian Dream party falsifies yet another election and on the 26th of november elects themselves as the ruling party again, despite EU, most of the other nations and all the other parties recognizing the elections as illegitimate. Recently they chose their new president, who was basically the only option. The photo of the literal bulletin from the parliament leaked.

People demand another election, a fair one. Peaceful protests soon turned into police beating up the protestors, even teens and women. They're still using water cannons mixed with pepper spray, in December btw. You can look up the videos, even on here.

The main thing that is painful to me and my generation in all of this is the fact that this is a completely new, modern and different version of the same damn fight. Right now I'm thinking of young men and even women and others who were severely beaten up, about people struggling to make ends meet who have their loved ones in such situations, young people trying to build their future who see less and less hope every day in their homeland but are desparately trying to hold on to the last tiny bit of it, maybe even goimg to protests in that state. Today I heard two girls around my age talking. "We gotta get out of here right?..." "yeah... but who are we leaving it to?" "The country?..."

Being free and sovereign in your homeland should not be an uphill battle or a luxury.

We have been fighting against Russian influence for centuries. For those who don't know, even when the repression isn't obvious, they still attack bit by bit(killing or kidnapping our citizens near the occupated borders??????), often with an old and tried tactic: trying to erase our culture and history, and with it our spirit and identity. And with all the other horrors, this is a huge insult.

My heart sinks everytime I read a random comment on a map or other type of video saying "Georgia is not Europe", "but Georgia is Asia". Not that there's anything wrong with Asia, but those statements mean something different and much deeper than an average foreigner suspects. Georgia never ever was "not Europe" to me. This isn't even about joining EU immediately as much as it is about us voicing our own wishes, opinions and truth as the vast majority of our country.

One thing I want to say to people who are far away from this is this: please do not fall for propaganda. And by that I mean Russian propaganda. If you just try to keep it clean while posting about us or checking sources while reading about us and calling out misinformation, it is going to mean a lot.

I tried to not write about this cause let's be honest, what can I do here?

I hope this will do at least something.

I do have followers so, I'm also asking them🤍🤍🤍 even those who just know me from astrology. Please consider reading and reblogging. 🤍🤍

reblogging(esp with tags) is still support.

Edit, additional info that you should probably know: Georgian Dream is a pro-russian government, they just banned wearing masks and goggles(those protect you from pepper spray by the way). If you walk by the parliament in Tbilisi your eyes and skin will almost definitely start to "burn" and you'll most likely start coughing.

There have been phone numbers calling and cursing at/insulting/threatening citizens, even pre-teens, believe it or not. And since the government passed "the russian law" earlier this year, we are most likely being tracked😐

Here is my post from this spring, written in an angry and tired state.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Thirteen

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Thirteen: Traitorous Englishwoman

Summary: With most of the pieces of the puzzle, Sherlock and (Y/N) put together the truth of the traitorous Englishwoman.

            (Y/N) sat silently beside Sherlock as he called Mycroft. Even if Ajay was dead, if the truth person who betrayed AGRA was alive, the case wasn’t done. Mary had to watch her friend believe she betrayed him and then saw him die before she could tell him the truth. Sherlock and (Y/N) wouldn’t stand for that. They’d bring the true traitor to justice.

            And unfortunately for the culprit, (Y/N) and Sherlock were clever.

            “The Englishwoman. That’s all he heard,” said Sherlock. “Naturally, he assumed it was Mary.”

            “Couldn’t this wait until you get back?” said Mycroft.

            “No, it’s not over,” said Sherlock. “Ajay said that they’d been betrayed. The hostage-takers knew AGRA were coming. There was only a voice on the phone. Remember, and a codeword.”

            “Ammo, yes, you said,” said Mycroft.

            “I was right,” said (Y/N). “The lack of knowing the spelling makes all the difference.”

            They narrowed their eyes. As soon as they had evacuated the hotel, (Y/N) had gone to their Mind Palace—Sherlock to his—and they had gone through the tiny bits of knowledge they had in every possible combination until they landed on the truth.

            “How is your Latin, brother dear?” said Sherlock.

            “My Latin?” said Mycroft.

            “Amo, amas, amat,” said (Y/N).

            “I love, you love, he loves,” said Mycroft.

            “Not ‘ammo’ as in ammunition but ‘amo’ meaning love,” said (Y/N).

            “You better be right,” said Mycroft, voice growing somber.

            “Even if it’s not her, it’s someone who knows her and everything she does. Everything the British government does,” said (Y/N). They knew that in London, Mycroft was narrowing his eyes. They knew it because they were always right.

l

            A few flights later, (Y/N) and Sherlock were standing behind a one-way mirror watching Mycroft interrogate Lady Smallwood, aka “Love.”

            “This is absolutely ridiculous, and you know it,” said Smallwood. “How many more times?”

            “Six years ago, you held the brief for foreign operations. Codename: Love,” said Mycroft.

            “And you’re basing all of this on a codename?” said Smallwood. “On a whispered voice on a telephone? Come on, Mycroft.”

            “You were the conduit for AGRA,” said Mycroft. “Every assignment, every detail, they got from you.”

            “It was my job,” said Smallwood.

            “Then there was the Tbilisi incident,” said Mycroft. “AGRA went in.”

            “Yes,” said Smallwood.

            “And they were betrayed,” said Mycroft.

            “Not by me,” said Smallwood firmly.

            (Y/N) cocked their head. It seemed truthful.

            Smallwood sighed. “Mycroft, we’ve known each other a long time. I promise you, I haven’t the foggiest idea what all this is about. You wound up AGRA and all the other freelancers. I haven’t done any of the things you’re accusing me of. Not one. Not. One.”

            Mycroft furrowed his brow and looked at the mirror. Sherlock and (Y/N) looked at one another. So it didn’t end at Lady Smallwood. Someone else, someone close enough to her to know everything, had betrayed AGRA.

            But who?

            (Y/N) and Sherlock went for a long walk, silent except for bringing up the information they had and trying to frame it in new ways to jolt their memories.

            “Someone knew the codenames,” said (Y/N). “Someone high up? One of the other people working with Lady Smallwood?”

            “Mycroft had no reason to betray anyone. He’d handle getting rid of AGRA in another way if he wished to, anyways,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) nodded. “And Porlock has as much power as Lady Smallwood, so there was no motivation there.”

            “So someone with less influence than her that would want her to be caught if it came to light,” said Sherlock. “Someone willing to wait.”

            “So someone older, patient,” said (Y/N).

            Sherlock and (Y/N) looked at one another as realization dawned.

            “What was it Mary said?” (Y/N) cocked their head. “ ‘You’d be amazed what a receptionist picks up.’ ”

            Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “They know everything.”

            They took off running back towards Mycroft’s office. There was work to be done.

l

            “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the PA system. “The aquarium will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit. Thank you.”

            Sherlock and (Y/N) walked forward through the tunnels of the aquarium, blue light shimmering around them. They stopped when they found a lone woman sitting on a bench.

            “Your office said we’d find you here,” said Sherlock.

            “This was always my favorite spot for agents to meet,” said Vivian, staring at the sharks and fish. “We’re like them. Ghostly, living in the shadows.”

            “Predatory,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, it depends which side you’re on,” said Vivian. “Also, we have to keep moving or we die.”

            “Nice location for the final act,” said Sherlock. “Couldn’t have chosen it better myself. But then I never could resist a touch of the dramatic.”

            “I just come here to look at the fish,” said Vivian. She stood and walked closer to the tank. “I knew this would happen one day.” She turned. “It’s like that old story.”

            “We really are quite busy. Would you mind cutting to the chase?” said Sherlock.

            “You’re very sure of yourselves, aren’t you?” said Vivian.

            “With good reason,” said Sherlock.

            “There once was a merchant in the famous market of Baghdad,” said Vivian.

            Sherlock sighed and looked at (Y/N). “I really have never liked this story.”

            “I’m just like the merchant in this story,” said Vivian. “I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I’ve always been looking over my shoulder. Always expecting to see the grim figure of—”

            “Death.”

            “Hi, Mary,” said (Y/N).

            “John?” said Sherlock.

            “On his way,” said Mary.

            “Let me introduce Ammo,” said Sherlock.

            “You were Ammo?” said Mary. “You were the person on the phone that time?”

            “Using AGRA as her personal assassination unit,” said Sherlock.

            “Why did you betray us?” said Mary.

            “Why does anyone do anything?” said Vivian.

            “Let me guess,” said Sherlock. “Selling secrets?”

            “Well, it would be churlish to refuse,” said Vivian. “Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. But…the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I’d had it. Then she was taken hostage in that cough.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t believe my luck. That bought me a little time.”

            “And then you found out your boss sent AGRA in,” said (Y/N).

            “Very handy,” said Vivian. “They were always such reliable killers.”

            “What you didn’t know, Mary, was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers,” said Sherlock.

            “Lady Smallwood gave the order, but I sent another one to the terrorists,” said Vivian. “With a nice little clue about her codename should anyone have an inquiring mind. Seemed to do the trick.”

            “And you thought your troubles were over,” said Mary, narrowing her eyes.

            “I was tired,” said Vivian. “Tired of the mess of it all. I just wanted some peace, some clarity. The hostages were killed. AGRA too. Or so I thought. My secret was safe. But apparently not. Just a little peace. That’s all you wanted too, wasn’t it?” She looked at Mary, who shifted. “A family? A home? Really, I understand. So just let me get out of here, right? Let me walk away.” She grew serious, and her hand went into her purse—where a gun no doubt waited. “I’ll vanish, I’ll go forever. What do you say?”

            “After what you did?” Mary lunged.

            “Mary, no!” said (Y/N), and, luckily, Mary stopped as Vivian stood with her gun.

            “Okay.” Mary put up her hands to show she wasn’t attacking again and backed up.

            “I was never a field agent,” said Vivian. “I always thought I’d be rather good.”

            “Well, you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well,” said Sherlock, not taking his eyes off the gun.

            “Thanks,” said Vivian.

            “For a secretary,” said Sherlock.

            Vivian’s face fell. “What?”

            “Can’t have been easy all those years sitting in the back, keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were clever than most of the people in the room,” said Sherlock.

            Vivian’s hand wavered, and her finger pulsed against the trigger of the gun. (Y/N)’s eyes didn’t leave it.

            “I didn’t do this out of jealousy,” said Vivian.

            “No?” remarked Sherlock. “Same old drudge, day in, day out. Never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street.”

            “Dad,” said (Y/N) quietly, watching the finger waver.

            “They’ve taken up the pavement outside the post office there. The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive,” said Sherlock. “Yes, your little flat.”

            “How do you know?” said Vivian, voice trembling with shock and a bit of anger.

            “Well, on your salary, it would have to be modest,” said Sherlock. “And you spent all that money on that cottage, didn’t you? And what are you, widowed or divorced? Wedding ring’s at least thirty years old, and you’ve moved it to another finger. That means you’re sentimentally attached to it. But you’re not still married. I favor widowed, given the number of cats you share your life with.”

            “Dad/Sherlock,” said (Y/N) and Mary at the same time, but Sherlock was completely in the deduction mode, nothing would get through.

            “Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan,” rambled Sherlock. “A divorcee’s more likely to look for a new partner. A widow to fill the void left by her dead husband.”

            “Sherlock, don’t,” said Mary.

            “Dad, stop,” said (Y/N).

            “Pets do that, or so I’m told,” said Sherlock. “And there’s clearly no one new in your life, otherwise you wouldn’t be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. That probably accounts for the drink problem, too. The slight tremor in your hand. The red wine stain ghosting your top lip. So, yes. I’d say jealousy was your motive after all.”

            Vivian exhaled.

            “To prove how good you are,” said Sherlock. “To make up for the inadequacies of your little life.”

            Vivian’s eyes darted to the side as Mycroft walked into the room. Lestrade stood behind him, and other policemen were filing in.

            “Well, Mrs. Norbury, I must admit, this is unexpected,” said Mycroft.

            “Vivian Norbury,” said Sherlock. “You outsmarted them all. All except the Holmses.” He held out his hand. “There’s no way out.”

            “So it would seem,” said Vivian. “You see right through me, Mr. Holmes.”

            “It’s what I do,” said Sherlock.

            “Maybe I can still surprise you,” said Vivian.

            (Y/N) grabbed Sherlock’s arm, and a powerful force pushed them and Sherlock aside at the precise moment Vivian pulled the trigger.

            Bang!

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

[tikitania]

Hello, Thank you for a great blog and sharing ballet inside and discussion! I wanted to ask if you (or someone else who sees this) can tell what are the other good or valued professional ballet academies / choreographic schools in Russia besides Vaganova, Perm school, Eifman Academy and Moscow choreographic school (though I have heard that the latest is partly hanging on its reputation and the current state of the school is a bit solala..)

Awww, thank you! That means a lot. I rediscovered my love for ballet during COVID and was thrilled to find several Tumblr sites/blogs (@ballet-symphonie, https://melmoth.co) that inspired me to dig deeper into the dancers, choreographers, and companies that I admired. I also started attending more ballet performances, too! As rich as the YouTube / IG ballet world is — the magic is in the theater. It's thrilling! As for ballet in training in Russia beyond the big four, I really don't have the knowledge to ascertain which ones are considered top notch. But what I have done is researched where some of my favorite dancers trained — and the results can be surprising. Tereshkina trained at Krasnoyarsk and did a year or two of finishing at Vaganova. Elena Svinko, the new Mariinsky 1st soloist also came from Krasnoyarsk. Semyon Chudin graduated from the Novosibirsk Choreographic College. Alexandra Khiteeva trained for the first five years in Kazan. Historically, the Kiev Choreographic College has trained amazing dancers including Svetlana Zhakrova, Sergei Polunin, Alina Cojocaru, Leonid Sarafanov, and more. Tragically, I think training has been disrupted due to the war. Here's a video highlighting some of their illustrious grads:

Russia and in the former Soviet republics do not suffer a shortage of ballet schools because there's a seemingly an endless supply of excellent retired dancers and pedagogues to teach! It’s a valued profession there. Nina Ananiashvili has started a school in Tbilisi, Georgia — a school for the company she's leading there. For instance, Maria Alexandrova was just appointed the rector of the Sevastopol Choreographic School -- a very controversial appointment because the city is in Crimea, which is Ukrainian territory that Russia has invaded and claimed, so this appointment feels extremely political. And there are endless private schools that train at a really high level. As an example, I'll leave you with this — Maria Bulanova, aged 10 at the Kuramshin School in St. Petersburg where she trained for several years until she entered Vaganova.

[batri-jopa]

Greetings from Tbilisi!!!

OMG my dream came true I'm finally in Georgia! I was so worried that in the end I would not like being here as much as hoped but then it turned out it's getting more beatiful with every next hour of the day, no photo could ever tell you how incredible this valley landscape is!!!😭

And the food I already knew and loved in georgian restaurants before but it somehow tastes even better here! and there was live music, I recognised Ratchuli! and there were dances!❤️❤️❤️ I could not see their legs well enough but OMG one obviously can't get enough of this!!!

I so love the Old Tbilisi architecture, as ATWD fan I can't get tired of these wooden verandas, savouring every another building🫠

there's also is some cool local street art

There were surprises like this awesome tree sculpture made with doors of old tiled stoves, of which many were made in Warszawa (Warsaw)

I enjoyed buying some cute souvenires (for myself obviously bc who else might appreciate little kvevri-shaped saltshaker or chokha socks?).

and I was holding an eagle

[human-antithesis]

Psychonaut 4 - Scrapes From The Past (Compilation) [December 28th, 2022] Country: Georgia Genre: DSBM

Lineup: David Graf - Vocals Shota Darakhvelidze - Guitars, Additional Vocals Drifter - Guitars, Additional Vocals Temur Lomidze - Guitars Timas Shilingas - Drums

Tracklist:

Serial Lier - 04:56

Nackskott (Lifelover Cover) - 06:34

My Despair Can't Be Explained - 04:42

Wor(l)d of Pain and Hate - 05:07

I Wanna Be Your Dog (The Stooges Cover) - 03:19

Tbilisi (The City That Loves You) - 06:18

Bad Morning! - 05:54

Not a Love Song - 07:31

I Measure Time in Milimeters - 05:54

In Good Movies Hero Always Dies - 07:31

Hero In - 05:11

Out of Mind - 08:13

Sterile Nails and Thunderbowels (Silencer Cover) - 02:54

The Sun Is Still Out of Sight - 06:21

[cajunmaven]

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Céleste Zéphir-Baudelaire, the 24 year old yoga instructor at the Stream Studio originally from New Orleans, LA. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're nurturing and self-destructive, but what you might not know is that they are a witch, and that they’re hiding something… ― Antonia Gentry, pansexual demiromantic, woman, and she/they.

threads - visage - musings - wc - mood board

Name: Céleste Iman Zéphir-Baudelaire

Alias: Cece, Essie

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/They

Age: 24

Birthdate: 02/07

Big Three: Aquarius, Virgo, Capricorn

Occupation: Yoga Instructor at the Stream Studio

Height: 5’1”

Hometown: New Orleans, Louisiana

Languages: English, French, Sanskrit

Family: late mother (High Priestess Mother Zéphir), father (Félicien Baudelaire), god father (Matteo Bianchi)

Friends: Stoker Addams (innocentcurse)

Relationship Status: single

Sexuality: bisexual demiromantic

Other Relationships:

Céleste, or those who know her better, Cece, was thrust into a world brimming with legacy from the very start. She was born at precisely 5:45am, the time she often time’s swears that only extremely successful people get up at. Cece is the first and only child of Felicien Baudelaire, a world renowned art curator and [redacted] Zephir-Beaudelair, a local celebrity jazz singer with deep deep roots in the world of New Orleans witchcraft. [Redacted] was a high priestess, as was her mother in a local coven that was known in reaches even far beyond Louisana; but only ever really noticed or spoken about by other witches. Her father however is not magical, but he did show her other types of enchantment’s and divination. Through the world of art. Felix made sure that she was well traveled; whisking her away to Paris, France or Tbilisi, Georgia. Anywhere that she could experience culture and language.

Despite all of this, she still always preferred her home in New Orleans. In the French Quarter. It was more than just a neighborhood to Céleste. To her, it was a sentient entity. One filled up with music, whimsy and secrets. When she was small she used to wander the cobblestone streets. The fragrant scent of magnolia blossoms mixing with the soulful notes of rich saxophone tumbling from various cafes and bars. It was a sanctuary for artists, it was no wonder why Cece would end up falling in love with Cardinal Hill too. Artist’s like her mother filling the sacred space. Her club performances were iconic in New Orleans. They drew in not only tourists, but also many locals. Everyone was eager to hear her voice that was powerful in more ways than one. The clubs at which she crooned were an eclectic mix. Places where the veil was thin; inhabited by spiritualists and high society patrons alike. It was especially thin during the night. When the French Quarter and Bourbon street would thrum with the humming energy of the iconic coven. From which she was initiated into at a young age. It was extremely secretive and had held influence for a very long time deep in the city’s roots. Céleste’s role within this coven became as natural to her as breathing.

From the youngest age possible, she was completely immersed in New Orleans. The smooth sound of jazz, the succulent riffs of R&B, and the whispering chants of her coven. Her mother’s late night performances were a staple of Céleste’s childhood, and some of her fondest memories. It was during these fleeting but lasting moment’s in smokey lounges that she felt the rumblings of her own musical prowess. She often scribbled down lyrics in shaky penmanship as she tried to mimic the sounds of her mother’s vocal runs. Over the years, she discovered her own voice. One of passion. A style that was definitely her own, shaped by her mother’s legacy and her own spirit. She was deeply intertwined in these two worlds. The glamor of her father’s life and upbringing mingling with the mystery of her mother’s. 

And while she was used to watching her mother cast spells and converse with spirits in hushed voices, sat cross-legged and curious. Cece was more drawn to a more grounded form of spirituality. Something more tangible and in tune with her own body. Kundalini Yoga, turned out to be one of these anchors to keep her on the ground. At 12 years old she would join in on her mother’s early bird sun salutations. It started off as a way to bond with her mother but it turned into a personal practice. She found that the way her body flowed was a simple and satisfying way to not only regulate her emotions but also as a way to transmute her energy. While most other kids her age were focused on more ‘regular’ activities, she was always a bit misanthropic than the rest. She was quiet and introspective to most, finding solace in the silence. Or in a book. 

Through this, she was able to harness a very fine awareness of her body’s central energy points. She studied extensively on how each pose would unlock and subsequently release stored emotions and traumas. Cece became especially in tune with her heart chakra. The energetic epicenter of compassion and love. This would eventually become essential to her magical practices as an adult. Allowing her to heal herself and others through reiki, yoga and even her music. It could also sometimes be her downfall. A blessing and a curse all the same. In many ways, yoga became her own personal spellbook; allowing her to flow with the universe. 

Following her graduation and official induction into the world famous coven, tragedy struck and she clung onto Kundalini as a lifeline. Her mother, her guiding star, passed away in a car accident. A gruesome head on collision. Cece was left to navigate the world without the woman who had meant everything to her. Her mother, her mentor. It was a devastating loss, and she found herself thrust into the role as the family’s anchor. With her father off in Paris, she had to keep the family’s French Quarter estate afloat. The owner’s of these jazz clubs of New Orleans, many of them like big brother’s to her, begged her to fill the absence her mother’s voice left. So, she tried her best to fill her shoes. In an act of prophecy that felt like it was straight out of a modern universe Frank Herbert novel. Cece found this more comforting than sorrowful; almost cathartic. The burden was heavy, so thick you could cut it with a santoku. But it also pushed her to find strength in the music. An outlet for pain so great there could be no words. Despite her growing pains, her talents started to attract attention. Her own music, which was once a private practice, became a refuge and a local hit. People started asking for CD’s of her own music and eventually she caught the attention of a local radio DJ who was compelled to play her music on air. 

Her career began to take off, but her world was further shaken when a nefarious secret about her personal life threatened every little thing she had worked so tirelessly to achieve. The intense pressure and public scrutiny would only continue until the only outcome could be a burst. An explosion in slow motion right in front of her. With her father not there to take care of it for her Cece made the hard decision to leave New Orleans behind. She found a quiet refuge in Cardinal Hill, moving into her godfather’s house. The only place she knew to go. After two years, he graciously purchased her a cute and quaint house on the lower side of Cardinal Hill. 

Since settling in she’s been slowly rebuilding her life, keeping a relatively low profile but still curating a small local following of her music. The desire to be in the spotlight remains and her divination calls to her. 

Additional Information/Headcannons:

Céleste didn’t bring a lot with her to Cardinal Hill but she did not forget to bring her collection of postcards. A lot of them were vintage one’s from New Orleans but there were also many from every place her father had visited when traveling for art exhibitions and the pull to hedonism. She keeps them in an old ornate wooden box. When she’s feeling sad she’ll look through them and feel nostalgic.

She also has a collection of vintage jazz records, some so rare that they are virtually priceless. Those are the ones she keeps locked away, only sharing them with those she trusts and cares for. She also keeps her mother’s recordings locked away, the music a tangible tether to the past.

Growing up in such an energy rich city of New Orleans, she garnered a sensitivity to the local spirit’s that haunted the historic Louisiana streets. She’s been able to see and hear spirits since she was a child, although it’s always shaken her, never fully comfortable with it. She’ll see them in old jazz clubs or the dark corners of the city. There’s a mischievous spirit from the 1920’s who often visits her during late nights, playing crooning trumpet melodies in her head. She’s come to accept them as a part of her life, but she doesn’t always welcome their company.

She uses things like clothing as an extension of her practice to protect herself from baneful energies. Carefully choosing pieces to reflect her mood and intentions for the day. For example if she’s feeling stuck or vulnerable — she’ll wear dark shades of purple for protection and encouraging intuition. If she’s feeling drained emotionally, she might wear more loose fitting, sheer or cream colors as a way to cleanse the aura around her.

She also always wears a moonstone pendant her mother got for her, everywhere she goes.

Because she’s always been attuned to the moon. Often times doing rituals under it, slipping out of her house late at night. To her backyard or to meditate on the roof.

Céleste practices in many ways besides these moonlit rituals. She also has a knack for reading tarot. Humans think that her readings are eerily accurate, just by chance. But it is the universe that guides her hands, not some parlor tricks.

Speaking of her hands, they’re also healing in subtle ways. All she has to do is lay her hand on someone’s shoulder, someone feeling anxiety and unease; before they know it a serene feeling will wash over them. An intimate and special form of healing she only gives to those she cares deeply for.

She’s also not the best cook, but she is a great baker. Often times adding medicinal herbs and incantations into every baked good. Which she always has too many of, being a chronic stress baker. Stoker Addams often wakes up with goodies on his front porch when she's particularly frazzled because there's no way she's eating all these damn muffins.

Her Capricorn and Virgo placement's often make her feel the need to be in control of everything in her life but her Aquarius sun gives her a nearly unpredictable range of emotions. So it can be hard to trust herself when she's feeling conflicted, so it causes her to retreat into herself and pull away from people.

Despite this, she actually really loves people. She has a particular soft spot for people who are considered misfits, that don't fit into societal norms. She feels a protective impulse towards them, always able to see herself in others. An extreme empath.

People sometimes consider Cece a bit mysterious because she keeps others at a distance. But she is not intentionally trying to be elusive so this is confusing to her because she's quite kind and goofy. She just really likes to read people and keep a lot of her thoughts to herself, leaving people to wonder what's going on in her head. Unless you get to know her, then she's a YAPPER.

This causes her to sometimes have what she affectionately calls 'resting witch face'.

Céleste, despite being relatively responsible and on top of things she is often fashionably late. It's not that she's trying to disrespect people, she's just running on her own chaotic time frame. She's known to show up to her classes just a few minute's before they start. This is both infuriating and endearing to her student's and friend's alike; who have just learned to get used to her own pace.

Something everyone has also gotten used to is the fact that she's just a bit of a character overall. A certified weirdo. Unapologetically herself. She's the type to blurt out the rest of a song when someone has said accidentally said a phrase from one. Or to dance along in her house or blurting out odd commentary at sometime's inappropriate times. Her sense of humor can be a bit dry at times but when it hits, it hits.

She also has a very good knack for giving pep talks. A side effect of being introspective, she always has an observation, an outside perspective. It seems like she always knows what to say, always grounded and coming from a place of empathy. She has a way of knowing how to make people feel understood and how to encourage them.

[mirabilefuturum]

hi hello today I bring you a pack of pics with Robert De Niro visiting USSR in the 1980s because yes

^ with Emil Loteanu

^ with Mikhail Kozakov (looks like the Palace Square in Leningrad)

^ with Irina Alfyorova in Moscow

^ 1987, XV International Film Festival

^ 1987, with Eldar Ryazanov and Elem Klimov, same event

^ same event, with Federico Fellini

^ Andrei Voznesensky, Robert De Niro, Zoya Boguslavskaya, Oleg Yankovsky (the legend!! I love him so much! and they were friends too)

^ also with Yankovsky

^ in Tbilisi with Iya Parulava and Drena De Niro, 1987

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 11 - Peru

I’m going to Peru in about four days time, will be gone for two weeks. – BW

It had been nearly a month since Mycroft had called her, he hadn’t contacted her since then to arrange dinner, mostly because he’d been keeping an eye on the situation with Sherlock and A.G.R.A. He was aware that one of the members was currently tracking Mary but had both limited time and resources to devote to it. People like Mary tended not to last too long, but also if Sherlock was tracking down the Thatcher busts, it probably wasn’t a good thing.

Hiking in the Andes? Or visiting Machu Picchu? – MH

Maybe both. I’ve got two weeks to fill with adventures. Do you have any suggestions? – BW

As previously stated, travelling is not my area of expertise. I’m sure I will be asking you for recommended destinations on your return. – MH

I’m sure you will. – BW

Mycroft frowned at his phone, did he say something wrong?

I’ll not be doing anything too pressing over the next few weeks, nothing that requires my full attention anyway. – MH

If that’s your way of saying “send pics” then I will try to send some when I can. I’ll be visiting my parents, so I will try to be subtle, but they find out everything. You sure you still want photos? – BW

Mycroft smiled down at his phone. Sherlock was due to arrive any minute, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care for a moment.

On second thoughts, I may have one or two things that require my attention. – MH

Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of “what are your intentions with our daughter?” either. Though I imagine you’d be able to come up with some reasonable answer that would satisfy them. – BW

Possibly. Though I’ll admit, it’s not a conversation I’ve had to worry about having with anyone before now. – MH

Really? Now that does surprise me. – BW

Does it? – MH

Bethany didn’t respond immediately and Sherlock had walked through the door of his office, taken a seat and started asking him about A.G.R.A.

I’ll keep it subtle and sneak a couple of cheeky shots when I can. I’ll text you before I leave. – BW

Mycroft smiled again, before putting his feet up and devoting his attention to Sherlock again.

‘She’s going to Peru, isn’t she?’ He asked, Mycroft just took a deep breath and chose not to engage. ‘Visiting her parents for two weeks. Lovely people.’

‘You’ve met them?’ Mycroft frowned.

‘Briefly.’ Sherlock nodded. ‘A few days before I met Beth, they’re good people.’

‘Indeed.’

‘You?’

Mycroft nodded. ‘Yes, her father and I met while he was at Cambridge, he built an aircraft that we now use for sending medical supplies to Africa. And her mother I met when she worked briefly with the World Health Organisation. They are indeed good people.’

‘And do they know about your association with their daughter?’

Mycroft chose not to answer that. He got back to the point of Sherlock’s visit.

‘AGRA, a city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is three hundred and seventy- eight kilometres west of the state capitol Lucknow-‘

‘What are you, Wikipedia?’

‘Yes.’ Mycroft smiled, a private joke with himself.

‘AGRA’s an acronym.’

‘Oh good, I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them.’

‘Team of agents, the best, but you know all that.’

‘Of course, I do, go on.’ Mycroft was enjoying the façade of Sherlock telling him something he thought he might not know, but he really needed him to get to the point and soon.

‘One of them Ajay is looking for Mary, also one of the team.’

Mycroft took a small breath. ‘Indeed. Well, that’s news to me.’

‘Is it?’ Sherlock frowned and Mycroft just gave him a look as if to say of course he knew. ‘He’s already killed looking for that memory stick. AGRA always worked for the highest bidder, I thought that might include you.’

‘Me?’

‘Oh, I mean the British Government, or whatever government you’re currently propping up.’

‘AGRA were very reliable,’ Mycroft said. ‘Then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages, but it all went terribly wrong. And that was that, we stopped using freelancers.’

‘You’re initiative.’

‘My initiative.’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Freelancers are too woolly, too messy. I don’t like loose ends. Not on my watch.’

Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed one of the files Mycroft had on his desk. ‘There was something else. A detail. A codeword.’ He scribbled on the edge of the file.

‘Ammo?’

‘It’s all I’ve got.’

‘Little enough.’

‘Could you do some digging as a favour?’

Mycroft smiled. ‘You don’t have many favours left.’

‘Then I’m calling them all in.’

‘And if you can find who’s after her and neutralise them, what then? You think you can go on saving her forever?’

‘Of course.’

‘Is that sentiment talking?’

‘No. It’s me.’

‘Difficult to tell the difference these days.’

‘I told you, I made a promise. A vow.’

Mycroft smiled, he didn’t need to wonder how far Sherlock would go to protect Mary. He’d seen it first hand with Magnusson. ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But remember this, brother mine. Agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age, they get retired, in a pretty permanent sort of way.’

‘Not on my watch.’ Sherlock was determined and left Mycroft to do the digging he required.

He spent the next few days trying to subtly dig up what he could, all the while keeping an eye on where Sherlock was going.

That’s me off! Machu Picchu here I come! – BW

Beth had sent through a selfie of her sitting on the plane, waiting to take off. She was smiling with her headphones around her neck and her dark eyes were illuminated by the morning light streaking through them. Beautiful.

Hope it’s all you expect it to be, and I hope your parents are well. Stay safe and don’t be afraid to call if any of you run into trouble, I do have some pull with the Peruvian government. – MH

Back to flirting? I’ll keep it in mind. See you when I get back! – BW

Mycroft smiled as he finished getting dressed for the day, unconsciously putting on his navy suit. He wasn’t stupid, his thoughts were firmly on Bethany and that was why he opted to wear it. It was ridiculous, she wasn’t even his, she wasn’t his girlfriend or labelled as anyone significant in his life, she was a woman who he had kissed twice and had a vague association with over the last year and a half. That was all.

Over the two weeks that Bethany was gone, Mycroft was dealing with several things that he wished he wasn’t, Lady Smallwood was in meetings that she needed him to be a part of and most of it was tedious. The only thing that got him through was the occasional message from Bethany, accompanied by a picture of her on her adventures.

Machu Picchu! I reached the summit! Bow before your queen! – BW

Bethany stood at the very top of the citadel with her arms spread out and the sun shining on her tanned features. She just wore her shorts and strapped crop top, why would she have worn anything else? But it had Mycroft quickly putting the phone away to avoid smiling too much at how much fun she was having.

Parents always said I could have a pet, I chose a cat... of sorts. – BW

She was holding a baby jaguar by the looks of things, one that barely looked six months old. Bethany was laughing and Mycroft could see her mother in the background handling a woolly monkey and talking with one of the staff. She looked so similar to her daughter and it was clear where her frizzy hair had come from and her kindness towards all creatures. He wanted to respond and joke about her parents allowing her to have such dangerous animals, but in the interest of subtlety he decided against it.

Peaceful night camping under the stars tonight. – BW

It was by far the most beautiful photo he’d seen of her on her adventures. She wore her cream cable knit jumper, thick black leggings with a camping mug close to her chest. Bethany’s gaze was focused on the setting sun and once again the light streaked through her dark eyes, making them almost look a golden colour under the rays. Stunning.

The last photo he’d received from her was during a meeting with Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin, Mycroft lost focus of what they had been talking about, he didn’t think it mattered so much as they had been disagreeing for the last half hour.

Bailando con mi papa. Homeward bound tomorrow. – BW

Dancing with my dad. She wore a beautiful red dress and sandals and danced with her father who wore a linen white shirt and cargo shorts. Mycroft could see where Bethany got her dark eyes from, her father’s were almost black. They had the same smile as well, but to him, there was more beauty and radiance in hers. They seemed to be in some kind of restaurant with locals and everyone was dancing and having a good time. Mycroft felt his heart swell, to see her so carefree and happy, made him extraordinarily happy as well.

She was coming home the next day. Sherlock was somewhere in Morocco as far as he could tell and everything was starting to slot into place nicely.

‘Sir?’ Anthea interrupted the meeting, not that Mycroft minded, but it seemed to irritate Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin. Mycroft motioned for her to come in anyway, quickly putting away his phone. She handed him a file he recognised and he gave her a fleeting frown in questioning, but she remained silent. When he opened the file, he realised why.

‘Ah.’ He said. ‘Apologies, we’ll have to cut this meeting short. I have an urgent call to make.’

‘Mycroft, you can’t just-‘

‘We can pick this up later, Lady Smallwood.’ Mycroft gestured for Anthea to head out of the meeting room first. ‘Has anyone else seen this?’

‘No, sir, I brought it straight to you.’ Anthea said, quietly.

‘Good.’ He nodded closing the file. ‘Miss Wheeler will be back in the country tomorrow evening, please see to it that she is in my office at seven o’clock sharp.’

‘Yes sir.’ Anthea went to make a phone call.

Mycroft ran his hand over his face, holding the bridge of his nose, she promised him she would stay out of trouble and this did not fall under that brief. How did this not come up in her background check? How did he miss such a fine and damaging detail?

Mycroft prepared himself for the next day, knowing she would probably be annoyed and probably be upset with the situation, he needed to read through everything and try to make sense of the paper in front of him.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[amadryades]

tagged by the ever-lovely @god-infected!

Relationship status: doing face masks together

Favourite colour:  olive green, forest green, burgundy

Song stuck in my head: something my partner made me listen to which I don´t recall

Last song I listened to: can´t recall

Three favourite foods: spinach pie, stuffed grape leaves, lasagna

Last thing I googled: Paris grèves

Dream trip: Istanbul (finally!), Sarajevo, Tbilisi, Iran, Lisbon, Vienna

Anything I want right now: to endlessly sip turkish coffee overlooking the sea, with the sun hitting my face, nothing rushing me to get up

tagging @lakme @lamendia @hcsperrhodos @herbaklava and @thewavesbrokeontheshore , if you want to of course

[travelwithtravejar]

Museums in Georgia offer a Cultural Exploration: Visit 7 Must-See Exhibits

Explore Georgia's rich history through its diverse museums on our exclusive Georgia tour packages 2023. Discover archaeological treasures, sacred artifacts, and artistic masterpieces spanning over 1,000 years. The National Museum of Georgia, the largest in the country, houses an extensive collection, including Urartian inscriptions, hominid bones, ceramics, ancient icons, handicrafts, and historical clothing. Explore these remarkable exhibits not only in Tbilisi but also in various display buildings. Additionally, delve into comprehensive collections of zoology, anthropology, and geology, enhancing your immersive journey through Georgia's cultural tapestry. Join us for an unforgettable exploration of Georgia's fascinating heritage in 2023.

Georgia also has a large number of local exhibition centers and art galleries where exhibitions from diverse collections are frequently opened. The majority of art galleries are private, although this does not stop them from exhibiting the best Georgian masterworks from previous centuries. Please be aware that practically all museums in Georgia close at 18 o'clock on Mondays (and even earlier in the winter). 

Museum of Georgia

The Museum of Georgia, a section of the National Museum of Georgia, is situated on Shota Rustaveli Avenue in the heart of Tbilisi. Taxis and public transportation are both simple ways to get to the Museum. The Museum in Tbilisi is home to an exceptional collection of ancient artifacts from all around the world, including items from the third century. A permanent exhibit about the Caucasus' natural history is available to visitors to the Millennium BC.

Soviet Occupation Museum 

The Georgian History Museum houses the Soviet Occupation Museum, which depicts the 70 years of Soviet authority in Georgia, starting in 1921 and ending with its fall in 1991. Along with other artifacts depicting Georgia's social and political tyranny during the Soviet era, you can view the personal files of "rebellious" prominent personalities in Georgia as well as preparations to have them executed or exiled. One of the train cars where the 1924 national revolutionaries were executed is also housed in the hall.

National Gallery, Tbilisi

The National Gallery is one of the amazing places to visit in Georgia if you love art and want to see Georgian painters' greatest works. The structure was constructed in response to the Russian tsar's 1888 plan to establish a military and historical museum to highlight the superiority of the Russian Empire inside its borders. The works of Georgian artists from the 18th and 19th centuries, such as Niko Pirosmani, Lado Gudiashvili, David Kakabadze, and the sculptor Iakob Nikoladze, are currently on display in the museum's permanent collection. 

Dadiani Palace Museum

In addition to these objects, the museum boasts a beautiful library with books from Napoleon's personal library, furniture in the French and Russian styles, and personal gifts from British, Russian, and foreign nobles to the Dadiani family. Dadiani Palace in Zugdidi, Samegrelo region, is home to more notable remnants of both Georgian and European culture. Over 45,000 pieces, some of which were part of the Dadiani family collection, may be found at the museum. The death mask of Napoleon Bonaparte and the robe thought to have been worn by the Virgin Mary are two of the most important treasures on display here. Salome Diadiani Murat, the spouse of Napoleon's nephew Achille, brought the mask to Georgia.

Sighnaghi Museum

Georgia's most renowned wine-producing region is Akheti. The best tourist spot that must be seen practically all year round is this one. Home to a number of museums in Kakheti, but one is unquestionably worthwhile. This is the Sighnaghi Museum, which is situated in the romantic city of Sighnaghi. Five thousand ethnographic relics, including textiles, copper and wooden household goods, agricultural tools, winemaking supplies, jewelry, and musical instruments, are on display at the Sighnaghi Museum. You may also see the extensive numismatic collection of around 2000 coins, which includes old Sassanid Persian coins as well as local coinage issued by Georgian kings Erekle, Tamar, and Lasha-Giorgi. On the second floor of the museum, Niko Pirosmani's transient paintings are also on display.

Tsinandali Museum

In the Akheti district, the Tsinandali Museum is housed in the residence of Alexander Chavchavadze, a poet and aristocrat from Georgia. Various slices of furniture, works of fine and decorative art, and manuscripts from Chavchavadze's collections are on show in the museum. The house-Museum also features a beautiful nineteenth-century garden and a wine cellar that was constructed in 1835. Regional buses and taxis are two ways to get to Sighnaghi and Tsinandali. The stations are a short walk from several museums in Georgia.

Svaneti Museum and Tower of Margiani

Visitors visiting Georgia are required to climb the Svaneti Mountains. As the tsars transported their wealth to the mountains during invasions, the Samegrelo-Zemo Svaneti region served as the Keeper of the Georgian Treasury for centuries. The Svaneti Museum in Mestia, which is a division of the National Museum of Georgia, currently houses these artifacts, making it one of the most significant collections kept in Georgian institutions. With its renovated media library, modified foyer, and roof terrace (in the summer), the Svaneti Museum serves as an important regional social space in addition to exhibiting one-of-a-kind masterpieces of domestic and international decorative and applied arts. 

Before continuing your ascent to Ushguli, which is thought to be the highest continuously inhabited settlement in Europe, a cup of delectable coffee at a cafe with a panoramic view of the towers of Svaneti and the summit of Tetnuldi will lift your spirits and give you new energy. Regional buses go from Zugdidi and Tbilisi to Mestia. The Mestia city center is just a short stroll from the Museum to visit during Georgia tours.

[scarletscribs]

8 Lovely Walkable Cities + FREE Premium GPS Travel App

As we inch away from the age of pandemic and international travel rebounds, many of us are now planning our next vacation. During the pandemic lockdown, many of us have developed interest to explore our lovely neighborhoods on foot. If you are looking for inspiration, here are some of my favorite walkable cities. Tbilisi, Georgia: The streets of Tbilisi are lined up with many chic eateries and…

[thycoop]

Cover of the day: Day 20: Postcard of the old Tbilisi Central railway station building

Wow it's the 20th post of cover of the day, I can barely believe it! And we at least 2 readers! Wow, I can barely... oh wait I already did this

Because I'm going to Austria tomorrow I can't make this post as long as I want because I don't have too much time, so the real celebration will happen on day 21, which I'll post when I get home in about 3-4 days. A package with a lot of covers I've bought should arrive by then (It came in two batches and one has already arrived), Also I might pick some stuff up in Vienna, not just covers of course, but if it's interesting enough I might post it.

---

Today we have a mint postcard from Tbilisi, the capital city of the Georgian SSR (Now Georgia) featuring Station square in central Tbilisi.

The station square is named after... the railway station (I think it's pretty apperant). The Station was origially built in 1872, but it has since then been rebuilt several times, the one on the postcard being built in the 1940s in Stalinist architecture after the previous building was demolished, and was demolished in the 1980s, when it was replaced with a building with a brutalist building, then the brutalist building was renovated in 2010 to include a shopping center.

I think the building on the postcard looks quite nice, even though I also enjoy some good ol' brutalism. So that's nice

The back of the postcard is also quite pretty. I don't know why the Soviet Post decided to add those red paralelograms of dots (Is that how I should describe them?) But I think they are a nice aesthetic choice. Oh yeah and this postcard was made for international airmail, so it was probably ment for tourists

Also here are some closeups so you can see the halftone printing (I'm sorry I love super macro shots, but unfortunately I can only make them at 576p)

I have nothing more to say, so... Here's the cover!

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Twelve

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twelve: Confrontational Reunion

Summary: Sherlock, (Y/N), and John track down Mary. Ajay does the same.

            “Agra?” said Mycroft, raising a brow.

            After Sherlock and (Y/N) had recovered from Mary’s escape—apparently it would be good to assume in the future that she always had some sort of weapon or drug on her—they had quickly gone to first tell John and then go to Mycroft for information. Then, they could find Mary. She was a talented agent, but they weren’t going to let her disappear.

            “A city on the banks of the river Yamuna, in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India,” said Mycroft. “It is 378 kilometers west of the state capital, Lucknow.”

            “What are you, Wikipedia?” said Sherlock.

            “Yes,” said Mycroft smugly.

            “AGRA’s an acronym,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, good, I love an acronym,” said Mycroft. “All the best secret societies have them.”

            “Team of agents, the best,” said Sherlock. “But you know all of that.”

            “Of course I do, go on,” said Mycroft.

            “One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team,” said Sherlock.

            “Indeed. Well, that’s news to me,” said Mycroft.

            “Is it?” said (Y/N), narrowing their eyes. “Since their last job was for the British government, we thought you might know a bit more about the situation.” They smiled and tilted their head.

            “They’re getting fast,” said Mycroft, smirking at Sherlock, who grinned. Mycroft looked back at (Y/N). “AGRA were very reliable. Then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages, but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that. We stopped using freelancers.”

            “Your initiative?” said Sherlock.

            “My initiative,” said Mycroft. “Freelancers are too wooly, too messy. I don’t like loose ends. Not on my watch.”

            “There was something else,” said Sherlock. “A detail. A codeword.” He wrote it down.

            “Ammo?” read Mycroft.

            “It’s all we’ve got,” said Sherlock.

            “But it was just heard over the phone, so spelling could vary if it means something,” said (Y/N). In the world of spies and assassins, all possibilities had to be considered.

            “Could you do some digging, as a favor?” said Sherlock.

            “You don’t have many favors left,” said Mycroft smugly.

            “You owe me,” said (Y/N).

            “For what?” said Mycroft.

            “Magnussen,” said (Y/N).

            “I had to keep Sherlock from being exiled for that,” said Mycroft.

            “Yeah, but that was because other people wanted him kept alive, not you,” said (Y/N). They leaned forward. “So even if the British government doesn’t owe me, you do.” They smiled. “Would you help us, please?”

            Mycroft hummed. “Sherlock, they’re becoming quite impertinent.”

            “I know. I’m proud,” said Sherlock, smiling at (Y/N), who smiled at him.

            “However…say you do find who’s after her and neutralize them, then what?” Mycroft looked intently at his brother. “You think you can go on saving her forever?”

            “Of course,” said Sherlock.

            “Is that sentiment talking?” said Mycroft.

            “No, it’s me,” said Sherlock.

            “Difficult to tell the difference these days,” said Mycroft.

            “Told you, I made a promise. A vow,” said Sherlock, gaze hard and set.

            “Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” sighed Mycroft. “But remember this, family mine.” For all the sentiment insults, (Y/N) was considered a Holmes by Mycroft as much as by anyone else. “Agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way.”

            “Not on my watch,” said Sherlock.

            … (Y/N) glanced down, and their fingers twitched for a lollipop.

l

            (Y/N) leaned back with their eyes closed as the Moroccan heat baked the entire house they were in despite the shade. They were used to London air—which lacked sun so often that no one remembered it existed.

            Sherlock was playing a board game with a boy, Karim, who had given them some water while they waited for Mary to arrive.

            “You haven’t got a chance. Not a chance,” he said. “I got you where I want you. Give in, give in. I will destroy you. You’re completely at my mercy. Mr. Baker. Well, that completes the set.”

            “No, it is not,” said Karim.

            “Well, who else am I missing?” said Sherlock.

            “Master Bun. It’s not a set without him,” said Karim. “How many more times, Mr. Sherlock?”

            Sherlock’s luck with board games continued to be poor. “Hmm, maybe it’s because I’m not familiar with the concept.”

            A woman walked around the corner and stared in astonishment at the gathering. It was Mary, holding a gun, not having expected them at all.

            “Oh, hi, Mary,” said Sherlock.

            “Hello, Mary,” said (Y/N).

            “What concept?” said Karim.

            “Happy families,” said Sherlock. He looked back at Mary. “Nice trip?”

            “How the f—”

            “Please, Mary, there are children present,” said Sherlock.

            “I’ve heard and seen worse,” said (Y/N).

            “Still a child,” said Sherlock.

            “How did you get here?” exclaimed Mary.

            “Karim let us in,” said Sherlock.

            “Hello,” said Karim.

            “Karim, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?” said Sherlock.

            “Sure,” said Karim, rising and heading to the door.

            “Thank you,” said Sherlock.

            “No, I-I mean, how did you find me?” said Mary.

            “We’re Holmses,” said (Y/N).

            “Really though, how?” said Mary. “Every movement I made was entirely random. Every new personality, just on the roll of a dice.”

            “Mary, no human action is ever truly random,” said Sherlock. “An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped on to a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably. I myself know of at least fifty-eight techniques to refine the seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables.”

            Mary nodded.

            “But that’s super hard, so we just put a tracker on the flash drive before we met you,” said (Y/N), straight to the point.

            “Oh, you bastards,” said Mary, beginning to laugh.

            “Yeah, but your face,” said Sherlock, grinning.

            “ ‘The mathematics of probability,’ ” said Mary.

            “You believed that,” said Sherlock.

            “ ‘Feasible variables,’ ” said Mary.

            “He hadn’t practiced any more lines,” said (Y/N).

            “In the memory stick,” groaned Mary.

            “Yeah, that was my idea.” John stepped into the room.

            Mary looked at him, and her smile turned somber.

            “We need to talk,” said John.

            Mary nodded.

            “AGRA,” said John.

            “Yes,” said Mary.

            “You said it was your initials,” said John.

            “In a way, that was true,” said Mary.

            “In a way?” repeated John. He shook his head. “So many lies.”

            “I’m so sorry,” said Mary.

            “I don’t just mean you,” said John.

            “What?” said Mary.

            “Alex, Gabriel, Ajay. And you’re R,” said John.

            Mary nodded.

            “Rosamund?” said John.

            “Rosamund Mary,” said Mary. “I always liked Mary.”

            “Yeah, me too,” said John. He smiled, but it fell. “I used to.” He stood and turned away.

            “I didn’t know what else to do,” said Mary.

            “You could have stayed. You could have talked to me,” said John. “That’s what couples are supposed to do. Work things through.”

            Mary nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She looked down, knowing she had been in the wrong.

            “Mary, I may not be a very good man,” said John. “But I think I’m a bit better than you give me credit for. Most of the time.”

            “All of the time,” said Mary. “You’re always a good man, John. I’ve never doubted that You never judge. You never complain. I don’t deserve you, I…All I wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that’s all.”

            “I will keep you safe,” said Sherlock. “But it has to be in London. It’s my city, I know the turf. Come home and everything will be alright, I promise you.”

            A red dot appeared on John.

            “Get down!” shouted (Y/N).

            Mary’s reflexes were quick, and she pulled John to the ground as a loud “Bang!” shattered the night. More gunshots followed as the group found cover, Sherlock pulling (Y/N) close protectively. Ajay kicked the doors of the hotel open and came in, gun still cocked. Mary pulled hers and shot at him. The two circled each other before ending up behind columns in the wall.

            “Hello again,” said Ajay.

            “Ajay,” said Mary.

            “Oh, you remember me, I’m touched,” sneered Ajay.

            “Look, I thought you were dead. Believe me, I did,” said Mary.

            “I’ve been looking forward to this longer than you can imagine,” said Ajay.

            “I swear to you, I thought you were dead,” said Mary. “I thought I was the only one who got out.” She held out her gun to Sherlock, and he took it. Now Ajay wouldn’t know who had it.

            “How did you find us?” said Sherlock.

            “By following you, Sherlock Holmes,” sneered Ajay. “I mean, you’re clever. You found her, but I found you, sir. Perhaps not so clever. And now here we are. At last.”

            Sherlock shot the light, and they were thrown into darkness.

            “Touche,” said Ajay, now having a harder time figuring out where they were.

            “Listen, whatever you think you know, we can talk about this, we can work it out,” said John.

            “She thought I was dead,” scoffed Ajay. “I might as well have been”

            “It was always just the four of us. Always, remember?” said Mary.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Ajay.

            “So why do you want to kill me?” said Mary.

            “Do you know how long they kept me prisoner?” said Ajay. “What they did to me? They tortured Alex to death. I can still hear the sound of his back breaking. But you, you, where were you?”

            “That day, at the embassy, I escaped,” said Mary.

            “Ha!” scoffed Ajay derisively.

            “But I lost sight of you, too. So you explain, where were you?” said Mary, buying for time.

            “Oh, I got out. For a while,” said Ajay. “Long enough to hide my memory stick. I didn’t want that to fall into their hands. I was loyal, you see. Loyal to my friends. They took me, tortured me. Not for information. Not for anything except fun.”

            (Y/N)’s gaze went to the ground. Even if they didn’t want him to hurt Mary and didn’t agree with going after people without proof, they could understand his pain.

            “They thought I’d give in. Die,” continued Ajay. “But I didn’t. I lived. And eventually, they forgot about me rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there. Till one day, I saw my chance. Oh, and I made them pay. You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things. Little whispers, laughter, gossip. How the clever agents had been betrayed. Brought down by you!”

            “Me?” said Mary. He really believed it, just as (Y/N) said.

            A truck passed by, and light circled in. Everyone moved at once. Sherlock handed the gun back to Mary, and Ajay stepped out. They faced each other, guns drawn. John held his own gun at the side, trained on Ajay.

            “You know I’ll kill you,” she said. “You know I will, Ajay.”

            “What? You think I care if I die?” said Ajay. “I’ve dreamed of killing you. Every night for six years. Squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat.”

            “I swear to you, Ajay,” said Mary.

            “What did you hear, Ajay?” said (Y/N). If he would just see sense, then maybe they could stop this situation from escalating. “When you were a prisoner, what did you hear that made you think Mary betrayed you? What exactly?” They needed facts, logic.

            “Ammo,” said Ajay. “Every day, as they tore into me, ammo, ammo. We were betrayed!”

            “And they said it was Mary?” said (Y/N). “They said her name?”

            “Yeah, they said it was an Englishwoman,” said Ajay, still glaring at Mary.

            There. It couldn’t be certain it was Mary. (Y/N) opened their mouth.

            Bang! Bang!

            Two shots from the doorway. Ajay fell. He lay unmoving.

            “No, no!” Mary fell to her knees next to Ajay.

            The policeman who had arrived at the site of the gunshots stared at the scene in front of him. (Y/N)’s eyes softened in sadness. They had been so close.

            But too late all the same.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

[morulezopelforever]

Some Snippets from my ATWD Khinkali Series

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3240997

If you like Merab, Irakli and their friends from the movie you will luuuuv them in my fics on Archive of our Own. Here are some tasty bits:

Mum walked in scratching and yawning, wearing an old bathrobe over flannel pyjamas and with her hair disheveled.

‘Ah, the dead have risen,’ Grandma sighed. ‘You’re never up this early.’

‘I am now. I woke from the cold. The heating is off. Is there any coffee going?’

‘No. For your information, the electricity was cut off...Again.’

Grandma, a little more visible now in the growing daylight, raised her hands like a priest dispensing a blessing.

‘You should marry your Mr. Lasha, Teona. He’s rich. You’re his cleaning lady, but you like him and he likes you. Have him marry you, then you and I can both finally rest.’

‘I won’t, Mother.’

‘Why not?’

‘His wife wouldn’t like it for one thing.’

‘Ay, ay, ay, what years we’ve lived.’

(From ‘’Another Glorious Day in Tbilisi’)

The Scotsman carefully dissected the construction with his spoon, took a bite and then spat it out.

‘What’s this?’ he roared. ‘You call this cottage pie?’

‘Quite an audacious remark for someone whose home town is famous for its deep-fried Mars bars,’ Ninutsa scoffed.

The other students giggled. ‘Quiet!’ Aleko snapped in Georgian.

The blond man was alternately gagging and drinking water.

‘This was frozen an then reheated, right?’ he asked David. ‘It’s definitely not fresh. It’s hard as a rock.’

‘My father owns a construction company,’ Sopo said calmly. ‘It was the easiest thing for me to scoop up some debris from a demolition site…There’s real cottage in that cottage pie, sir, so it’s as authentic as anything.’

(From ‘Joining Forces’)

Irakli went to the counter and drafted a glass. The pompons of his mariachi hat were dangling in front of his glasses, blocking his view and thus causing him to spill beer onto the floor.

Merab walked past, nearly slipped in the puddle but managed to come to a screeching halt on the heels of his cowboy boots. He smiled and mopped up the mess. ‘Love,’ Irakli whispered, feeling his heart contract at the sight of the beautiful creature who looked so angelic in his embroidered Mexican jacket. Then he took the beer to Ioseb’s table.

‘Have you chosen a dish yet?’ he asked.

Merab’s father nodded, smiling now. ‘Yes. I’d like a Sloppy Ioseb sandwich. Sounds good to me.’

‘Oh yes!’ Irakli confirmed. ‘Sopo created it in your honour.’

‘My future daughter-in-law is a lovely lass,’ Ioseb said. ‘And I am glad that Merab is finally doing something useful with his life under your influence.’

Irakli cast a glance at Merab, who was now clumsily drafting beer and singing Pistolero to amuse the guests at the counter.

‘Useful?’ Irakli said to Joseb. ‘Well, I’m trying my best, and…’

Joseb pointed at the menu. ‘And oh yes, I’d like some Mexikhinkali and eggplant fritters for a main course…Thanks, son.’

(From ‘Not in a Million Years’)

David wound his way through throngs of people down a lane at the Eliava Bazaar until he got to his father’s car part stall.

‘Morning, son,’ Ioseb greeted him. ‘Do sit down. Could you spare your old man a fag? Business has been bad lately.’

David offered him a cigarette, lit up one himself and settled on a crate.

‘What brings you here at such an early hour?’ Dad then asked. ‘Some beef with your girl?’

David shook his head. No, there’s no beef between Sopo and me, he thought, if only it were so because it would mean we were living together at our little flat undisturbed. Everything I wanted from watching football on TV to inviting my mates over for drinks and making love to her has been impossible ever since Aleko moved in, but I won’t tell Dad any of this.

‘It’s something else then,’ Dad tried. ‘Money trouble?’

‘No.’ In fact, he and Sopo were making loads and had no time to spend it.

Now Dad smiled. ‘Ah! So you’ve done what any man should do before he turns twenty-five…By the way, Sopo is older than you, it’s ridiculous…Anyhow, did it finally happen?’

‘I don’t understand, Dad.’

‘Did she have a visit from the Holy Spirit?’

‘What?’

‘She in the family way?’

‘What?’

Dad angrily stubbed out his cigarette. ‘You dumb calf…Did you get her pregnant?’

David felt anger surge within him. He and Sopo had decided not to start a family until she had earned her PhD, which would be some three years down the road.

‘No, nothing of that kind,’ he sighed. ‘I’m just tired. Our tenant is a nuisance.’

(From ‘Expansion’)

Ready for some fun? Read all about the adventures of Merab, Irakli, David, Sopo, Mary, Ninutsa, Luka and...Aleko under this link:

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3240997

[girl903]

it was strange to be kissing while you could hear smoke bombs but it made me think how you said love conquers hate like the blacked out graffiti that someone put "love" over and while we were drinking coffee after sleeping all day inside was warm and not only because the heating never turns off like it does in Berlin but it doesn't in Tbilisi

[skygurutraveltourism]

Best International Destinations To Explore On Your Christmas & New Year Holidays

Christmas and New Year are magical times when every corner of the world lights up in celebration. From vibrant lights in city squares to snowy mountain getaways, each destination offers its unique vibe for the holiday season. If you’re planning to explore some of the best holiday destinations this year, Skyguru Travel-Tourism LLC offers customizable holiday packages to these fantastic locations.

Dubai

es alive during Christmas and New Year, transforming the city into a spectacular celebration hub. Though no snow, the city dazzles with incredible light displays, lavish decorations, and grand events.

Celebrate New Year’s Eve: Enjoy the iconic fireworks at Burj Khalifa or celebrate by the JBR and Dubai Marina waterfront, where you’ll find festive lights and parties until dawn.

Luxury Yacht Parties: For an exclusive experience, try a Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve yacht party with your loved ones, complete with festive decor, fine dining, and stunning city views.

Shopping & Festive Markets: Dubai Mall and Mall of the Emirates feature Christmas-themed markets and events, making it a perfect time to shop for souvenirs and festive treats.

Armenia offers an incredible winter experience with a more traditional Christmas atmosphere surrounded by snow-covered landscapes and charming architecture.

Snowy Adventures: Yerevan, Armenia’s capital, is enchanting with its Christmas lights and winter markets. The surrounding mountains offer activities like skiing and snowboarding.

Christmas Markets: Local markets are brimming with handcrafted gifts, festive food, and traditional Armenian treats, providing a warm and welcoming holiday atmosphere.

Traditional Celebrations: Armenia celebrates Christmas on January 6, allowing you to experience unique festivities, religious ceremonies, and traditional Armenian hospitality.

Celebrate Christmas in Georgia, where Tbilisi’s cobbled streets and charming architecture create a fairytale-like holiday setting.

Festive Decorations: The city center is lit, and Liberty Square hosts one of the most beautiful Christmas markets with everything from artisan crafts to Georgian delicacies.

Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony: Experience the ceremonial lighting of Tbilisi’s grand Christmas tree, followed by street performances, music, and food festivals.

Winter Adventures: For the adventurous, Georgia’s snow-capped mountains offer skiing and winter sports at resorts like Gudauri, making it an ideal destination for a Christmas holiday.

4. Almaty, Kazakhstan

Almaty, known for its breathtaking natural landscapes, offers a serene yet festive setting for your holiday celebration.

Winter Sports: Visit Shymbulak Ski Resort for a thrilling ski adventure surrounded by the stunning Tien Shan Mountains.

Holiday Markets: The city has charming holiday markets to explore handmade crafts, seasonal treats, and Kazakh specialties.

New Year Festivities: Almaty lights up during New Year, with dazzling displays and celebratory events. Experience the local traditions with folk performances and Kazakh music.

5. Thailand

Thailand is the perfect escape for a warm and vibrant Christmas. Known for its beautiful beaches and bustling nightlife, Thailand offers a unique tropical twist on Christmas and New Year celebrations.

Festive Parties: Cities like Bangkok and Phuket are known for their lively Christmas and New Year parties. These celebrations take place on beaches, rooftop bars, and in the streets, giving visitors the ultimate experience.

Explore Local Markets: Thai markets during Christmas are a feast for the senses, filled with exotic food, seasonal decor, and traditional gifts.

Island Adventures: Take a break from the cold and explore Thailand’s beautiful islands, such as Koh Samui and Phi Phi, where you can enjoy festive beachside parties and delicious Christmas feasts.

Why Choose Skyguru Travel-Tourism LLC for Your Holiday Packages?

Our international tour packages are tailored to offer a unique holiday experience, whether you’re seeking a snowy adventure or a beachside retreat. At Skyguru Travel-Tourism LLC, we provide customizable holiday packages designed around your needs, giving you flexibility and convenience for your dream Christmas and New Year’s escape.

Customizable Holiday Packages: Personalize your travel itinerary, from hotel choices to excursions.

Visa Assistance: We handle visa processing for all destinations so you can focus on enjoying the holiday spirit.

24/7 Customer Support: Our team is here to help you every step of the way, ensuring a hassle-free travel experience.

Plan Your Festive Getaway Today

Book with Skyguru Travel-Tourism LLC to make this holiday season one to remember. Our holiday packages make it easy to explore top destinations worldwide, providing unforgettable memories and unique experiences with your loved ones.

Ready to book? Contact us today, and let us take care of your holiday plans. With our holiday package services, you can celebrate the most wonderful time of the year and enjoy the trip of a lifetime.