#the emptiness and all the signs and foundations of villages long gone

[prussianmemes]

i think listening to your east german / čssr / ssr mid-80s playlist - or other boomer music of choice - while staring out at the fields forests and farms between plzeňský and ústecký kraj is even better than cigarettes and coffee for the soul

#sudety no.1!!!!!!! #středočels and moravacucks can't compete to the swagger of economic depression post-german ghost regions #was camping and hiking near the state borders a few weeks ago #the emptiness and all the signs and foundations of villages long gone #real #txt

[comicaurora]

Slowly making my way through the TOTK B roll stream, had a few thoughts on the emptiness of the sky islands. In a way, would it not be more surprising if there were more remains to be seen? Ignoring the whole 'it's a game, decisions were made by the developers' bit, nature can take over surprisingly quickly in the right circumstances. In a way, it's more surprising so much survived in BOTW (like the bomb hut ruins. Fire damaged wood? Should be gone in a decade or two anyway). (contd)

So the thing about the Sky Islands in Tears of the Kingdom is that, not only are the ruins fairly well-preserved - presumably due to having been in the Sacred Realm for the last 10,000+ years - but even with them damaged and tumbledown, it's fairly clear from the layout of the islands and their structures that they were not residences. That's not something that would've been lost to erosion and time, that's something foundational to the architecture of the place.

When the game designers want to show a place people live on the surface of Hyrule, they hit a few key points: distinct-looking homes with beds, places that make food, and an inn for travelers. The buildings are different sizes, decorated or personalized by the residents. They're laid out relative to one another in a way that allows for easy, convenient traversal. It's intentional design that makes the villages feel lived-in, cozy, and worth protecting.

Inside the buildings, little details show the presence of living people, even if the building is empty at the time. Table settings, notebooks, pictures on the walls. They feel like they've been shaped by the influence of people, living and working and customizing their environment.

These are all, to be fair, things that we wouldn't expect to last very long if the town fell to ruin. When we explore the sky islands, we aren't expecting to find well-preserved paper maps or notebooks or anything. But if they were lived-in - if they were Zonai population centers rather than temples, ritual centers and factories - that would still be reflected in the basic layout of the structure itself. A residence is designed to accommodate for every basic need, meaning we'd expect the buildings to have places for them to sleep, to eat, and to relax. On the Sky Islands, we find none of these things.

The most common buildings on the sky islands are these isolated stone one-room ruins. They look and feel like storehouses - a few pots, some crumbled masonry. No doors or interior rooms for privacy, no comforts, no sign of a place to sleep, no adjoining buildings. These things were never homes.

The Great Sky Island is the only really plausible candidate for a place the Zonai might've actually lived, being about town-sized with several buildings, but it's not laid out like one. The buildings are either small one-room storage sheds or the massive Temple of Time, and there's no sign of other specialized buildings that could have been used for things like food, rest or other necessities. The Great Sky Island feels like a large, beautiful public park built grafted onto the Temple of Time.

The larger dungeons are more internally complicated, but not in the way that residences are complicated. The water dungeon looks like some kind of huge open park - wide avenues, plazas, devices built for mobility. It feels like a place meant to be traversed and admired, not stayed in.

The wind dungeon is more clearly built as a weapon platform, nowhere we expect people to live. It makes sense that it feels sterile and lifeless.

The larger, more complicated sky islands are also designed for clear utility. The spheres are some sort of celestial observatories, featuring a control system, a treasure chest, and nothing else.

Wildcards like Lightcast Island were clearly built to serve a single purpose - in this case, a lighthouse and attached microdungeon - but contain no signs of life. Zonai came here for a reason, but they didn't stay.

The glide challenge islands are visually impressive, but ultimately the rings are empty - they don't even have structures on them. They exist for the dive challenge and nothing else.

Same deal with the labyrinths, which exist explicitly as puzzles and challenges.

The mines in the depths are also clearly structured for utility - storerooms, construct part repositories and a lot of conveyer belts for moving zoanite. The purpose of the building is very clear just from the layout, and these are not places where anyone was supposed to be staying outside of work hours.

This, along with the layout of towns on the surface, shows that the designers are very good at constructing architecture that reflects the in-story utility of a place, which means the lack of signs of life in the sky islands is not a limitation of the console or the imagination of the artists - it's an intentional design choice.

The end result of all of this? The Sky Islands feel like somewhere that the Zonai built and visited, but not where they lived. They feel cold and unwelcoming and liminal. There's no sense of loss or tragedy, just a feeling of emptiness - people used to come here, but they don't anymore. There's none of the poignancy of an empty dining table's unused place settings or an abandoned child's toy. None of the Sky Islands that descended during the Upheaval were places where the Zonai lived. At the peak of their power they were mistaken for gods, a massively thriving technologically advanced civilization - I'd expect their homes to be cities, towers of jade and marble bustling with the activity of a post-scarcity utopia. None of the Sky Islands show us anything like that, and given how well the designers can portray a lived-in place even without any people in it, this is assuredly intentional. The Zonai built and visited and used the Sky Islands we can explore, but as a whole they lived somewhere else.

But throughout it all, there's this pervading unease - the fact that there's no obvious tragedy makes the sky islands feel more unnerving. We know just enough of the story to infer that something happened to the Zonai - something bad, if we read into Rauru and Mineru's reaction - but whatever it was left no scars. The Zonai constructs don't even realize anything's amiss. The buildings have been damaged only by time and gravity; the forges and mines and observatories and temples are silent and abandoned, like the Zonai all went home one night for dinner and just never came back.

The Sky Islands don't feel dead, they feel lifeless. A place people passed through but didn't leave their mark on. When Link traverses the islands, he isn't just alone - he doesn't even have the comfort of signs of life. The only evidence he has that anyone ever came to these islands are the fact that somebody built them in the first place. They left no marks, no art, no notes, no diaries, no toys, no graffiti. They're just gone.

#asks #not aurora #tears of the kingdom

[bubbletimestories]

Bosom bonus chapter (Destiel fic I guess)

Hello !

This fic is a bonus chapter of Bosom that you can find here if you want ^^

I lost the chapter long ago and had to write it again so it's not very polished but it's cute <3 I hope you're gonna like it.

Themes : pregnancy, hypnosis, mention of blood, Destiel, love, family, desire, fatherhood, Dean and Castiel becoming a real non-platonic family

Little summary of Bosom : Sam and Dean went into a village where men fell pregnant of little girls growing fast, parasites that provoke a huge love and protective instinct in the father and everybody around. The brothers have left the town but Dean is possibly pregnant.

*********************************

(On the road again)

The two brothers set off again on the roads, as they always did, without a specific destination except for adventure. This sentence was very cliché, but I keep it. This little break had been most enjoyable, but now it was time to go back in search of new monsters to kill, new threats to contain. Except that a new case doesn't appear every day.

Sat in the passenger seat, Sam was bored like a dead rat. He watched the landscape go by, a perpetual succession of trees, while thinking that by dint of being stuck with the same person and the same old rock tapes, he was going to go mad eventually. It was probably the nicest option available to him, anyway. It was always better than "dead in excruciating pain", "tortured by Lucifer" or "employed in a fast food restaurant whose mascot is a clown". All in these gloomy thoughts, however, the hunter noticed an incongruous detail: since the time they had been running on the roads, Dean had not yet been speeding. He who was so inclined to make the Impala's engine roar had been very reasonable since leaving the small town. It was both surprising and ... appreciable. But the young man didn't really have time to think about it, because one of the many cellphones started ringing, a sign that they were about to resume service. A few sentences later, they were on their way to a new investigation, such as Scooby-Doo and his faithful companion in the green t-shirt.

- Pee break!

Dean braked hard without warning, his brother almost crashing into the dashboard and choking off a slew of curses as he straightened up. The driver had already gone into the thickets, holding back from laughing, for he had, of course, been looting on purpose. He wouldn't really be him if he didn't play pranks on his dear Sammy. So it was very proud of himself that he settled down behind a bush to… relieve more than his conscience. Knowing full well that his brother would look away in embarrassment, the young man began to hiss pointedly while slowly lifting the edge of his t-shirt. Knowing that he was out of sight, the Winchester finally took the time to examine the slight bulge in his abdomen, smiling as he saw a small glow appear on the surface.

- You are the weirdest food poisoning I've ever seen.

It had been two days since he realized something was wrong and it was already very late compared to other fathers. But come to think of it, Dean's body had gone through so many states (human, vampire, demon) that it took so much more for his body to panic. And then he'd come back from the dead so many times that he wasn't sure he was quite human anymore. Regardless, the hunter wasn't overly worried about not being alone, but he made sure Sam didn't know. It was his little secret.

After putting his belt back on, the young man got back into the car and turned to his brother with a big smile before throwing himself on him, putting his hands on his cheeks.

- A little hug Sammy? - DEAN! You're disgusting, you haven't even washed your hands! - We share everything, brother.

The younger man's insults responded to the older laughter, and a few hours later they arrived in front of an old, dark wooden building as night fell on the horizon. A hunter was waiting for them, anonymous since he will likely die in the fight, and quickly informed them that he had wanted to face the bloodthirsty ghost lurking in the house alone, but had not succeeded. The ghost's body was hidden in one of the walls so they were going to have to play with mace to be able to burn that bastard. As usual, Sam let the other two chat while he got the materials ready, did the final research needed, before jumping into the mouth of the wolf. Ammunition loaded with salt, lighter, iron bar, it was necessary to prepare for all eventualities. Finally, they made their way inside the dark building, their heavy boots cracking the blackish floor.

- We'll take care of the first floor. Sammy, go and inspect the second, we'll go faster.

With a nod, the hunters agreed and parted, soon rattling their hammers against the walls, tearing the silence of the night. They only had a short time before the entity that haunted these places manifested itself, which is why they busied themselves as best they could, sweat soon running down their backs. As Dean wiggled his arms made hard by the effort, he noticed a gaunt form appearing a few feet away from him, that of a black-toothed man staring at him, stroking the handle of a long razor. That's it, the hunt could begin in earnest. Without waiting, the Winchester raised his weapon and fired without taking the time to aim, showing absolutely no fear at the grimacing specter. The first bullet missed its mark, but the second hit the apparition in the head and he disappeared with a furious cry, alas for a short time. It was necessary to move faster, to search every corner in search of the corpse. Sam must have been alerted by the gunshots, his brother raised his voice to tell him that everything was fine, but the movement needed to be speeded up.

One by one, the partitions were gutted, revealing themselves empty as time went on. Fatigue began to win over the hunters who hit with less regularity. Through his plaid shirt, the eldest Winchester brushed his stomach for a brief moment, time to catch his breath. He did not notice until too late the drop in temperature which formed a thick mist as it left his lips and when he turned, it was to meet the perverse gaze of the phantom who was advancing quietly, his long blade outstretched towards the young man.

- And shit ...

Far from being paralyzed with fear, Dean raised his weapon and tried to shoot the murderous specter again, but the latter was faster, the razor cutting through the air to bite into the shirt and especially the young man's hand who stepped back, hitting the bulkhead. A mad laugh rose in the throat of the dead man whose dark eyes sparkled with bloodthirsty madness. Disarmed, his adversary now appeared to him as a prey, a superb victim to be cut up. The latter knew he was cornered and could not think of anything other than his imminent death. What was going to become of his baby? The young man suddenly felt his insides twist and he fell to his knees uncomprehendingly, his mind brutally clouded with pain as the ghost's blade left a deep mark in the wall where the Winchester was.

His partner, whose name doesn't matter, had witnessed the whole scene without really deciding what to do. But the moment Dean narrowly dodged, the anonymous felt a fierce conviction set his brain ablaze, permeating his bones with unheard-of strength that screamed "save him." Save him ”. He knew then exactly what to do, the solution was now crystal clear and he walked up to the specter without a hint of fear. There was no room for fear in his head, only the deep, overwhelming desire to protect the kneeling man and what he was wearing. He rushed at the ghost, an iron bar wielded in his clenched fist like a modern version of Braveheart.

Blood splashed on Dean's shoes as the pain in his guts disappeared, which finally brought him back to reality. He had time to make out the specter before it vanished and a body collapsed heavily on the rotten floor. From the slit throat a scarlet stream escaped, but the hunter's face expressed a proud serenity, as if he had accomplished his mission and died fulfilled. Called upon by screams, Sam ran down the stairs to find the gruesome spectacle. Fortunately, his brother was unharmed, though deeply shocked. He helped him up, being careful not to slip into the pool of blood, two bodies were expected to be burned that night, but they had no time to feel sorry for themselves.

- I couldn't find anything up there and neither can you, it must be in the cellar. - A corpse stashed in the basement, it's so obvious that I wonder why we didn't think about it earlier.

It was with these common sense words that the Winchesters descended into the foundations of the old building to find the corpse and end the grueling night. Turning their backs, they resumed their masses to shatter the plaster of the walls, raising clouds of dust making them cough, stinging their eyes. In the opaque atmosphere soon looms the murderous specter, his livid face completely distorted with hatred and thirst for blood. Rather than stealthily approach to slaughter the hunters, the ghost let out a hoarse cry that caught the attention of its attackers.

"Keep looking, I'll take care of him," Sam cried, brandishing his hammer with one hand, the other firmly grasping a gun loaded with salt.

The iron end of the sledgehammer sliced through the air, but did not touch the apparition, which encouraged the younger hunter to increase his efforts. Although he didn’t yet know where his desire to protect his brother really came from, Sam already had enough of the motivation between brotherly love and the survival instinct. In his back, the beatings had resumed, made more frequent by the situation of ambient stress. The specter's attention kept returning to Dean for some obscure reason, and the other hunter took the opportunity to empty his magazine, causing the attacker to disappear until he was without ammunition.

- Dean! - I'm almost there !

The mass slammed down into yet another wall which revealed a piece of yellowish skull, they were finally nearing their mark. Without bothering to dig out the bones any more, Dean sprinkled them with oil and salt before setting them on fire. The ghost let out a final angry howl before being consumed, calm falling abruptly as the cry of rage still echoed in the ears of the Winchesters. They had won. Yet good humor did not light up their dust-blackened features, for they had yet another body to remove. So it wasn't until early morning that they were able to lean against the Impala to catch their breath, their faces drawn with fatigue.

- Let's go back to sleep, I'm exhausted. - Who are you saying that to…

As always, they had to wash their faces, find a motel to be able to collapse on one of the shabby beds smelling musty but since the time they walked the roads, the boys would probably have had more trouble sleeping. in sheets scented with lavender. Exhausted, Dean sat down to remove his shoes without thinking about the condition of his clothes, a precaution that wouldn't have been wasted judging by his brother's surprised look. Without him explaining it yet, it seemed to the tallest of the Winchesters that a faint glow emanated from the torn shirt. Driven by curiosity, he walked over and parted the fabric to reveal the terrible secret of his elder brother who put his hands on his abdomen, reflexively.

- I can explain everything, Sammy, you see ... - How long have you known?

Instead of his usual disapproving look, Sam's face lit up in surprise as he brushed the slight bump where a unique treasure lurked. Embarrassed, the father-to-be whispered half-heartedly that he must have been pregnant for five days. Five days ... and he hadn't realized it! To say that his brother received such a gift ... it was more luck than they had had in the past ten years and yet they had experienced miracles. The long-haired giant looked up at Dean jokingly.

- Hopefully not all of your children are bloodthirsty monsters.

Somewhat reassured by the reaction of his younger brother, the young man softened and they went to bed in a good mood after this perilous mission. Once rested, they decided to go for something to eat, on the one hand because eating is a vital need, on the other hand to celebrate Dean's pregnancy. Sitting on a tired bench, the latter consulted the menu with the utmost seriousness until a waitress came to take the order.

- The daily special for me, please. Dean, a big burger? - Yes, I'm ravenously hungry ... Although no, the salad. Or the burger? I crave a burger badly, I could devour eight of them, with big fries, but I still have to take care of my body and my health and the salad seems like a much healthier choice, especially now. But I really want meat and cheese, something fatty. I do not know what to choose !

With disconcerting rapidity, the hunter sank into a deep anguish to burst into tears under the stunned gaze of the waitress who did not know at all what to do or what to say. Even Sam, who was always quick to invent an excuse to get them out of any situation, was dumbfounded by such a spectacle. He eventually recovered and mumbled that his brother would have a burger with green salad, giving the waitress the opportunity to run away without asking for her rest. Dean calmed down as quickly as he had panicked and the rest of the meal went off normally, if we omit the curious looks around.

In the days that followed, the two boys decided it was best for the future dad to rest in the bunker until the end of his pregnancy, the life he usually led was not at all suitable. Even if that meant that Sam was going on a mission alone, it didn't bother the giant who kept giving news regularly. Eight or ten days after their departure from the village, the eldest brother received a visit from his dearest friend, the angel Castiel, who was obviously not up to date with the latest news. Knowing the angel's anxious nature, Dean preferred to remain silent and chat as if nothing had happened, not without admiring the shy but sincere face of the brunette. Castiel spoke with his usual seriousness about Heaven, about what was going on in the supernatural world and then, shyly dodging the hunter's gaze, he pulled a box out of a large plastic bag.

- I brought some pie, I thought you'd like it.

Indeed, the sight of the delicious pastry covered with shiny cherries was enough to make your mouth water, the young man had not eaten pie for weeks and he had to contain himself with great difficulty not to swallow it up. Still, he wasn't the only one who enjoyed the dessert and after a few bites, the little being in his belly began to express its enthusiasm by stirring. Nothing to do with the delicate brushing of human fetuses, it bounces with the force of a rubber ball, snatching an exclamation from his father. He couldn't deny it, either for appetite or discretion, Dean laughed helplessly, all the more so when he saw his friend's incomprehension.

- The baby is a big pie lover, too, and she thanks you, I think.

Illustrating his words, he lifted his shirt to reveal his rounded and shiny stomach, still all smiles as if after a good joke. Castiel, on the other hand, wasn't laughing at all. Instead, he jumped up, staring at the bump as if it were the Devil himself. He had never heard of such a phenomenon, and his default mechanism was fear. Coming into something he didn't know was new enough that the angel panicked.

- Dean, what happened to you? What's in your stomach? - It's called a baby, Gabriel must have mentioned it to you in passing.

The joke had no effect on the divine being who continued to stare at the stomach with fear and anger, too powerful to be subjected to the influence exerted by these creatures around. Obviously, Dean was not in his normal state, he harbored a dangerous parasite and it would inevitably end in chaos and death. Feverish, Castiel explained his point of view, encountering the jovial relaxation of the hunter who suspected that the news would be difficult to swallow. He let the angel pour holy water on his abdomen, squeeze a silver blade there, recite a few words in strange languages. Then, he took advantage that his friend was kneeling in front of him to take his face in his hands.

- You think too much, you didn't even congratulate me. - Now is not the time to laugh, Dean, this thing is growing, probably at full speed, we don't have time to ...

Castiel's warning was cut short, muffled under a teasing kiss that stirred the celestial entity to his depths, annihilating his thoughts in a breath, a squeeze. The shock paralyzed him and the hunter took the opportunity to prolong the embrace of their lips as long as possible before pulling back as if nothing had happened, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. The poor angel was completely confused, unable to continue to be worried or angry. So he vowed to watch Dean to monitor the progress of this pregnancy and find out whether or not he was right to take a dim view of it. As he left the bunker that day, he couldn't help but bring his hand to his lips, still feeling the heat on his mouth, the heady sensation of the kiss. He was to learn later that the new condition of Winchester made him very… affectionate. The hugs, the teasing looks sure made the angel blush from ear to ear, but it was nothing compared to the fit of madness when the belly started to draw more strongly. Grateful to his mate for bringing him fries, Dean threw himself on his neck without warning, a move to which the prudish and delicate Castiel did not know how to respond other than by awkwardly pulling away. The hunter concluded that he was undesirable, too bloated for the angel to look at him, and sulked in his room for long hours.

That put aside, Dean enjoyed the quietness of the bunker to go about his business and marveled more and more every day at the evolution of his body and of what was inside. He who had taken so long to realize the treasure he was carrying could only think of that, walking barefoot through the silent halls talking to his child. Besides, he was far from being a carrier father like the others, he was much stronger, much richer than ordinary humans and the entity at the center of his life could only be special too. Imperceptibly, the two beings changed, sublimated with each heartbeat, to achieve a degree of perfection that the first goddess would never have hoped for for her kind.

One day like any other, Castiel arrived for a visit and the hunter almost ran up to jump into the arms of his friend who was still very surprised (and moved) by this sign of affection so spontaneous. Hris blue pupils rested on the body with shapes hardly concealed by a loose shirt buttoned up to the collar, the radiant face, the sparkling eyes, the smiling and sublime mouth... There emanated from all his being a warm joy which finished disturbing the angel with a too human heart. Although what he felt did not depend on the fetal pheromones, he harbored a deep desire to stay with the Winchester, for all eternity.

- If you only knew how happy I am to see you ...

Dean approached his friend and put a hand on his cheek before capturing his lips in a kiss that softened to hot, catching the breath of the young man who felt himself respond to the hug, his own hand sliding behind the masculine back so as not to let him slip away. When he felt the tip of a tongue tickle his mouth, Castiel was electrified, but just as he was about to indulge himself a little more, the tasty lips parted from his. A stifled protest escaped him and he remained petrified, still vibrating from this intimate and far too short exchange. The infamous tempter smirked innocently, looking down at the bump under his shirt.

- She is happy too, we missed you. Very much.

With slow movements, he took the angel's hand and rested it on the outstretched flannel, appreciating to feel him caress his belly, greet the little being it contained. Even if it was not the first time that Castiel had the opportunity to visit his friend and see his fulfillment, it was always a great moment to have this intimacy, without fearing the interested gaze of a Sammy who did not had no illusions about the duo. His hand resting on the brunette's, Dean watched him staring at his swollen abdomen with that shyness all his own. He put words to his own emotion.

- To think that it's been two weeks already… it's happening at full speed. You will see, she has become very restless.

The brunette quickly looked up at the young father, worried about losing himself in their intense green and blushed. He waited only a few seconds, his palm resting against the warm fabric, before feeling a jerk against his fingers, followed by another as if the baby wanted to rest her hand against his. He whispered to himself:

- I would like to see her grow up...

The tender tone of his voice made Dean want to kiss him again, but instead he took his hand and laughed.

- You better be there to help me! On the other hand, I am a little tired, it bothers you if we continue to chat in my room, I will lie down a bit.

Maybe Dean had an ulterior motive, at least the cherub had none and he nodded as he followed the hunter down the halls, their hands still entwined even when the future father stretched out on his mattress with a sigh of relief: without being painful, the belly began to weigh heavily. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Castiel watched his friend slowly undo the buttons of his collar, descending along his finely chiseled chest ... Finally, the young man parted the flannel to proudly expose his more than rounded belly radiating lightly in the quiet of the room. It might sound strange, but the angel found his companion magnificent in gentleness and fragility, a million miles from his usual manly and confident demeanor. He immediately liked both sides, but for the first time he was not ashamed of such a thought. In the half-light an intimate atmosphere created that put the angel at ease, as if inside a soothing cocoon. Dean's pregnancy had allowed the two men to find themselves far from the violence and danger that constituted their daily life, without threat to eliminate, without a deadly shadow to hover over their heads. In the calm of the bunker, they had then been able to meet again, to simply be together and that was enough for the happiness of the divine being. Obviously, he knew things wouldn't last (they never lasted) and that they would soon return to their dark and tense daily lives. But he had decided to worry about it later.

The father-to-be eyed his friend fondly, detailing the locks falling on his forehead, the line of his jaw and his cheekbones that would soon turn pink. Embarrassing Castiel had always been one of the hunter's favorite pastimes, but he had never yet admitted how much he loved to see the blush rising to the young man's cheeks, that candor that then stood out on his face as if he had not been a millennial and heavenly being, but a shy teenager. Dean lifted the angelic hand and brought it to his lips before resting it on his blossoming lap with an encouraging smile.

- Talk to her. She recognizes your voice ...

Dean knew full well that his friend would refuse at first, there was only to see his blue eyes rounded with a mixture of joy and worry, his hand trembling slightly at the contact of the plump belly that fascinated him. But the hunter also knew that he could get anything from the angel and that he would not refuse him for such a tiny request. Shy and embarrassed as he was, the young man wanted to bond with this child, it showed on his face. Castiel finally nodded and took off his overcoat to be more comfortable, then resting his hand between the hunter's and the bulging surface. Through the thin skin, a delicate form curled up against the offered palm as if to say hello, a bewitching glow emanating from the fetus.

- Uh ... hello, little girl?

If the two friends could have heard the baby, they would have heard a crystal clear sound expressing simple and pure joy. Fortunately, the little being had other ways of making herself understood and she began to radiate a bright orange, imprinting her shape on one place of the belly and then appearing at the other end of the rounded abdomen, bouncing all over the place. with an enthusiasm that took her father's breath away. Fearing that she would hurt the hunter, Castiel put his two hands on either side of his stomach to calm the overly restless little angel.

- Be good and don't hurt your father.

Immediately the shaking ceased, to the delight of Dean who took a deep breath and laughed, amused by the baby's overreaction, but also by how quickly the latter had obeyed the angel. The certainty that he had the two dearest beings near him (sorry Sam) moved the young man who slipped green eyes filled with sweetness towards Castiel. He rested his rough palm against the beloved cheek, enjoying the touch as he glided lightly up the warm neck to stroke the jawline with the tip of his thumb.

- You see ! A child always recognizes the voice of their parents. - Oh Dean…

The time that flowed like a long trickle of honey came to a standstill as they looked at each other, losing themselves in pale eyes imagining an idyllic, slightly cliched, but incredibly alluring future. The small heat ball continued to form a bump against the hand of the angel, this tiny creature that gathered humans and legendary beings around them. By her mere presence, she had transfigured Dean, given him back a peace and happiness he never thought he would ever achieve and just for that, the angel loved this child. To think that he had wanted to destroy it, to make it disappear from the body of the hunter when he discovered it… Then he had fallen under the spell of this innocent, indistinct form, which made the Winchester smile. He had fallen under the spell of this quiet, simple life, where the man he loved embraced him without embarrassment or reason, where he no longer felt ashamed to feel for his companion more than a brotherly friendship.

- I… I'm sorry I misjudged you. Stay warm for a while longer to be able to grow taller. I'm looking forward to meet you.

Without really realizing it, the young man had leaned down to rest his cheek against the taut skin, the tips of his fingers moving back and forth in imprecise shapes on the thin, sensitive flesh that shivered slightly. Touched by so much tenderness, Dean closed his eyes and began to stroke the mass of dark hair, concentrating on his sensations, on the angel's gestures against his deliciously numb body. This was what he had dreamed of without ever perceiving it clearly, what he no longer believed he deserved after all this time hunting, torturing and killing. Castiel observed the treasure buried in his friend, studied its almost translucent chest, the magical light which moved on its surface in a fragile and bewitching ballet. The young man straightened up and put his lips on the bulge, kissing this unborn child to whom he already owed so much. He began to deposit cuddly kisses along the dark line crossing the belly and the creature began to radiate with joy, changing from amber to a soft pink, from a delicate red to a sparkling gold, extending its light and its warmth even in the bones of its wearer who was at the height of joy, his limbs subtly illuminated from within. The whole thing was so beautiful that Castiel felt a bubble burst inside him, a flood of feelings that fear could no longer hold back. Suddenly straightening up, he spoke without thinking, but did not regret his words, for they came from the heart and had long waited to be released.

- I want that with you, I want to have a child who would be ours. I want… I want… I want to be with you, Dean.

The man opened his eyes again and was silent for several seconds, staring silently at the angel who, if he realized what he had just confessed, couldn't manage to look away or feel embarrassed. Finally, the hunter's face relaxed into a beaming smile and he pulled the cherub close to him with a burst of laughter.

- Cas... Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas... it took a long time!

Even as he spoke quietly, his hoarse voice reflected his emotion and he thought of Sammy, his comments and knowing looks, from the time he had been expecting this. But deep down, he didn't care about his brother, being a pregnant man, or having denied the obvious for so long: he was happy. He hugged the angel tighter against his heart and the angel let it go, putting a possessive arm across the muscular chest without being able to believe his luck. Of course, there were all those kisses, those special moments for several days, but Castiel only saw it as a game, a way for the father-to-be to have fun. But in his arms, he couldn't doubt anymore, not when he felt the tender kiss Dean placed on his forehead, whispering:

- Me too, I want you and forever. I can't think of a better father for this child. We're going to be a family and we'll have another, and another. I love you, Cas.

It was a promise of the future and there needed no sign for the two lovers to decide to sign this pact with a kiss, their lips joining with a timid tenderness to quickly become pressing and feverish. Strangely, it was Castiel who proved to be the greediest, propping himself up on one elbow to extend the carnal embrace, leaning over the hunter until they had to catch their breath. Eyes sparkling with love and mischief, they hugged and when the angel's shirt fell to the floor, his fiery mouth descending down Dean's throat, it was time for the other Winchester to return to the bunker with as much noise as possible.

The day of deliverance finally arrived, life couldn't be reduced to hanging out in the bunker, eating whipped cream with Castiel or laughing stupidly because he couldn't see his feet, Dean was impatient for his child to come out of this big belly to be able to really meet her. He realized how lucky he was, not only to carry life, but to be able to do so without a problem. Unlike previous dads, his features weren't emaciated, he didn't feel particularly tired or weak. However, when the first contractions arrived, he found himself like all the others, on his back breathing hard. The pain was bearable but for how long? Sam had just been warned but it would take him several hours to get back, his brother didn't have that much time ahead of him. Already, the surface of his swollen stomach was moving frantically, lighting up in shades of warm tones to express the urgency of the expulsion. With his hand tightly wrapped around a large knife, the Winchester was ready to do his Caesarean himself but couldn't help the fear surface. Could he survive to meet his daughter?

- Dean, I heard you praying and I made it as fast as I could ...

Castiel suddenly appeared at his side, prayed for his hand and rounded his eyes, feeling his tremble. The great hunter who had faced Death in person, the Devil and the whole of Heaven was afraid. Gently, he wiped his forehead already soaked in sweat, that simple gesture sufficient to appease Dean who gave him a teasing look. Before screaming when the thing that was hiding inside him began to tear his insides to see the light of day. The time for uncertainty was over, the child had to be brought out quickly, without instruments or care, on the carpet of an old bunker. His blue eyes suddenly serious, the angel caught the distraught and pained gaze of his lover, speaking in a surprisingly calm voice.

- I won't let you die, Dean. Neither you nor our child.

They concluded this promise with a silent nod before the young man's world was darkened with blood and pain like he had never felt before.

***

The clock struck the hour but no one bothered to count the strokes, it didn't matter at all. Lying in a pool of blood, Dean stroked his daughter's little head, feeling her warmth against his bare chest. He felt great, which was not the case with Castiel who was catching his breath, still nauseous after all the efforts to keep the man he loved alive and then heal his wounds. Now they could enjoy a well-deserved rest, their fingers intertwined and hearts in unison, a real family.

#destiel #bosom #spn fic #pregnancy #love #hypnosis

[thepelagoislands]

New Island: Pruina Rock

@summertidesun​ | @dancing-lxghts​

In the distance, there is fog. From your small boat, you can see a mass of fog lined with a shore of white and topped with the jagged tops of bare mountains. This doesn’t look like normal fog at all, either. Not with the way it remains frozen in place, like crystal. Not in the way it’s completely opaque and nearly solid. After a few moments of sailing towards it, you spot a long, black pier jutting out from the fog. The pier is large, intricate, like it used to house hundreds of ships in a time long since passed. 

And after you step onto the dock and wander closer to this white shore and fog...you’ll notice that they aren’t either of those things. The shore isn’t made of white sands. It’s simply a normal shore coated entirely in a thick, fluffy layer of snow. And the fog that you see isn’t a fog at all. What lies before you and your companions is what looks to be a blizzard, completely frozen in time. Millions of thick snowflakes, each one intricate and different in design, sit unmoving in midair. The illusion of fog is simply these snowflakes sitting at a standstill. And if you touch or move these snowflakes, they simply melt on contact, the cold water trailing down your skin like normal. 

The ground is coated in snow, the accumulation reaching up to at least knee level on an averaged sized person. It is quiet, like an average day at sea.

> I Actually Hate This

> I Wanna Find Elsa

As you walk through the frozen blizzard, you leave something akin to a tunnel behind you, a straight path through the snowflakes in your shape. All the while, there seems to be no indication of any pathways or signs of any sort. If there was a pathway, it has long been buried in the snow, and you are simply trudging in a straight direction in the hope of finding something. 

However, as you reach further and further into the island, there’s a sudden shift in the air. First, it’s the rumble of the ground. Then, it’s the smell of ice. Then, the temperature, while already cold in this snowy tundra, drops way below freezing.

And the moment is finalized with a long, deafening roar.

And just as the roar finishes, the snowflakes all around you begin to move. It’s slow at first. The snowflakes slowly begin to twitch out of their time frozen state, and then they start to fall one by one, and then even more fall from the sky, and then the wind begins to pick up. The process takes several moments to take shape, but even if you’re running back at full sprint, you would never be able to outrun it. The time frozen blizzard has begun once more, and you are caught up in the middle of it.

You find yourself completely lost, unable to gather your bearings. You can try to make a break for it back to the pier, but you can’t seem to find it anymore. You can barely even see your hand if it’s outstretched in front of you, and if your companions aren’t keeping close by, it’s too easy to get separated and lost in this blizzard. And the longer your stay out exposed like this, the more in danger you are of getting hypothermia or worse. 

Finally, after countless moments of searching aimlessly, you see a faint yellow light in the distance. And as you walk towards this light, you’ll find that it is an  electric lamppost, standing tall outside of a small, wooden cabin. 

As you enter this cabin, you find a dark, abandoned cabin. Faint white light casted by the blizzard outside casts a dim light from clouded windows, faintly illuminating a large, unlit fireplace with a stack of clean-cut wood sitting in a pyramid beside it. Beside the front door is a small coat rack containing two thick, heavy coats. On the far side of the room is a long, rectangular table with a large map sitting unfurled upon it. And in the corner of the room is a large bed with countless blankets piled on top of it. It’s just as cold as it was outside in this little cabin, but lighting the fireplace will easily rectify that after some time. If any of your companions were separated from you in the blizzard, they too will eventually find this cabin, albeit in a more dire state, due to their longer exposure to the blizzard winds. 

The unfurled map in the far side of the room is hand drawn, painstakingly scrawled by hand. Water damage is visible on this map, and it looks like it’s been drenched in water and subsequently dried countless times. And the lines are drawn on top of each other over and over again, each individual line jagged and shaken like they were drawn by a shaky hand in the middle of the blizzard. 

The top of the map reads Pruina Rock, and it has a very rough outline of what you assume the entire island’s perimeter is. Marked in red in the center of the island is a sketchy drawing of a cabin, and this cabin has been circled multiple times. And from this cabin are multiple pathways, all marked in red with what looks like to be flags drawn along the paths.

There are multiple copies of this map rolled up in the corner of the table.

There are four destinations marked in total: The Docks, Wep’keer, The Summit, and The Den.

Travelling

Once you decide on a destination to venture to from this cabin and between locations, you can follow the directions provided by the map. As you travel by the map, you’ll find multiple wooden posts along the correct paths, a red scarf tied to each one. They will be your markers along the journey. 

However, the journey is not completely infallible. Roll the following to see whether you complete your journey safely:

t!choose safe | safe | safe | monsters

If you are to roll monsters, then from the blizzard, multiple shadows will appear all around you. They take the shape of large, shadowed foxes with bright blue eyes. And they’ll team up on you and your companions to attempt to defeat you in combat. Immediately, your map is torn from your hands and tossed to the wind, so even if you defeat your foes, you’ll be unable to navigate correctly.

Roll the following to find where you end up, should you roll a monster roll.

t!choose cabin | wep’keer | summit | den

The Docks

Upon your arrival at the docks, you’ll be right where you started. You’ll be free to leave without harm. And as you leave, you’ll see the blizzard slow before it freezes once again.

Wep’keer

As you near the destination marked Wep’keer, you’ll notice several different yellow lights, the same as the light that came from the abandoned cabin. And as you grow closer and closer, you’ll find a few buildings clustered close together, like it was the tiniest village in existence. Around these three buildings are the snow-covered foundations of new buildings, all incomplete. This town was obviously meant to be much larger, and it was in the process of building up its size. All of these buildings are abandoned in a similar fashion to the cabin, though each building has its own items within.

The General Store

You’ll find a completely cleared out general store, all emptied of stock. It looked as though this was a smaller store, only meant for a small amount of visitors and not anything stocked for a heavy amount of traffic. The only thing remaining inside is a small flyer swept under the front counter. It’s an advertisement to visit Wep’keer, a new village promising just the same amount of opportunity that Leuda did, and also promising a strong mining opportunity. 

Small Home

There is a small home with a door slightly ajar, and on the inside, it’s completely covered in snow. There is a small, golden necklace tucked away in the corner of the room. If worn, this necklace will curse the holder to only speak the truth for as long as it is worn.

Mining Company

The largest complete building is what looks to be the main building for a budding mining company. On the outside reads the following in ornate, blue letters: The Wep’keer Mining Company. On the inside, there is a front desk with two doors beside it. There are other doors, but the rooms past these doors have long since collapsed from the snow accumulation. The door on the right leads to a larger room with multiple beds, obviously mean to house any workers. The door on the left, however, leads to a stockroom filled with countless gems and ore.

In the center of this stockroom, however, is the most peculiar thing of all. There is a floating blue flame in the center of the room. And this flame has a nearly hypnotic quality to it. The more you look at it, the more you feel warm and drawn to it, growing closer and closer to it. And you start to forget about anything outside of this flame. It will only have this effect on the first person who sees it, and none of the rest of you. You won’t notice any of your other companions if they enter and talk to you. You won’t notice as the blue flame begins to cast a long shadow on the ground in the shape of a fox. 

Eventually, the white figure of an impossibly large, twelve tailed fox will appear from the shadows. As you sit distracted by this flame, the fox will scoop you into its mouth. And the only thing you can feel is the slow realization of what is happening, and just as you begin to panic, everything goes dark.

To everyone else who bears witness to this, they will only see you lifelessly get lifted into the mouth of a fox. And just as they move to attack, the fox will slowly melt back into a shadow on the floor, taking you with it. And once the fox is gone, the blue flame will go out.

The companion who was taken by the fox will awaken in The Den.

The Summit

This path will eventually lead uphill through the blizzard, and eventually after a long while of walking, you will emerge from the top of this blizzard fog and be heading towards the summit of one of the many tall, pointed tips of a mountain. The path is very long and treacherous, but at the very top of this mountain lies a large, flat circle. And in the center of this circle is what appears to be a shrine. It sits on a circular, light blue dais, and there’s an altar in the center of this dais. 

Anyone with the Summoner Class will be able to detect that this altar contains a resting place of a summon spirit. And if you approach this altar, the summon spirit Celsius will emerge.

If one of your companions has been taken by the blue light in the village, Celsius will refuse to challenge your party, as it senses that your strength is needed elsewhere. She will provide a path of ice to lead you to The Den.

Contact the main for the full summon post.

If you and your companions are defeated by Celsius, she will transport you back to the docks at 1HP each.

The Den

This pathway will lead to the mouth of a large cave. The closer you get to this cave, the colder you begin to feel. It was already cold in the middle of this blizzard, but near this cave, it just gets colder and colder until you don’t think you can handle it. Cold wind cuts right out of this cave, not making it any better. 

If you brave the cold wind, you’ll enter into a large cavern. And this cavern is a sight to behold. The walls are covered in rich ore and jewels, the walls of a mine that has yet to be exploited for all of its riches. Countless sapphires, emeralds, iron, gold, silver, diamonds...as much as the eye can see. And it isn’t just the rich rock that catches your eye. 

The cavern is decorated. The stone beneath your feet is covered in ornate rugs, all matching in beautiful, intricate patterns of blue and white. Several of the more bare walls of the cavern are draped in rich, white curtains lined with silver, beautiful framed pieces of artwork that appear to be worth millions, mirrors lined in ornate silver frames, and countless other expensive things.

The furniture is nothing to pass over either. It appears to be furnished as a home of sorts, and not one piece of furniture is dull. A wooden chest with the most intricately carved design on the top. A table with curved legs and countless, expensive possessions meticulously placed upon it. An antique bookshelf containing all the world’s rarest books and most difficult spell-casting books. A large, king sized bed dressed in the softest white sheets you have ever seen.

And standing in the center of this den is a tall man dressed to the nines in robes of white and blue. He has long, perfectly straight hair, glowing blue eyes, fox ears upon his head, and twelve fox tails.

And in a perfectly calm voice, he demands that you leave. He declares this entire cavern to be filled with his own possessions, and that he won’t tolerate anyone who steals from his collection. Countless humans attempted to steal from his cave years ago, humans who wished to harvest all the gems from the cavern walls. And he took care of them. He made sure that none of them set foot on this island ever again.

And if you refuse to leave, he will have no choice but to attack.

The Kidnapped Voyager

If you were kidnapped by the fox in the mining company building, you will find yourself waking up in the middle of the large bed in the middle of this cavern. You’ll feel safe, like you are home, even if you don’t recognize the cavern at all. And as you begin to take notice of your surroundings, you’ll find that you’ve been dressed in intricate robes of white and blue, though this does not bother you as much as it should. And as you stir from your sleeping position, you’ll see...the human form of that very fox. And strangely, though you do not know him, you feel calm around him.

The moments with the fox are calm...but strange. You find yourself unable to act against his word, and everything he tells you to do, you’ll obey without question. He’ll treat you kindly and give you food, companionship, anything you may require...but it’s almost as though you are a doll to him. A possession with considerable worth, similar to the rest of his collection.

And when your companions enter the cavern, you will recognize them...but for some reason your brain doesn’t connect that recognition to anything. You can see their faces and know that you’ve seen them before, but all your memories are hazy. And when the fox decides to attack your companions, he will order you to fight beside him. And you will have no choice but to fight these familiar strangers.

Upon the fox’s defeat, you will fall out of the thrall of the fox and remember everything again.

The Fox’s Defeat

If the Fox is defeated, the blizzard hanging over the island will vanish. It will still be a snowy area, but the thick blizzard will be gone and it will be safe to navigate without getting lost. In addition, all of the monsters will be gone.

In the cavern, you can collect up to 100,000G worth of items.

The Fox’s Win

If you and your companions are defeated by the Fox, you will be struck down one by one. Just as the Fox attempts to land a killing blow on all of you, his attack will suddenly be caught by something...or someone. Standing before all of you, defending you from the final attack, is the summon spirit Celsius, who tires of this Fox’s mockery of her element. She will buy you enough time to escape, and you will find a path made of pure ice leading you back to the cabin, ensuring you will not get lost in the blizzard.

Unfortunately...anyone still under the Fox’s thrall will still remain in his cave. Either the rest of you rest up in the cabin and try again...or you leave to call for help in defeating this Fox.

#pi:newisland #pi:pruinarock

[fiftytwobadstories]

One of my earliest memories was the day my Father sent me away. I could still see the tears in his eyes so clearly and feel the sounds of chaos in my ears. While everyone was running around the town screaming; he took me to a quiet corner, handed me a bag of whatever few provisions that he could scramble together along with the coat off his back, and told me to run deep into the woods until I could no longer hear the noise of the town. I was so young and scared, I hesitated before taking my first step, but as we heard the loud boot steps of someone coming towards us, he gave me a hard shove past the tree line. He started shouting at whoever was coming as I ran into the cover of the forest. His voice was abruptly cut short, but I kept on running. That was the last time that I ever saw my Father.

As I was told, I ran deeper and deeper into woods and away from my home. The noise grew louder before it went quiet. There was more screaming and occasionally I would hear a clap of thunder—though the sky was clear. I didn’t realize I was crying at first until my vision clouded up and I could hardly see the tree trunks just ahead of me, but I kept on running as fast and as far as I could. Though I had still yet to realize what was going on, I knew that it could very bad for me if I were caught. It was as though all of the monsters of my nightmares had been reified and were chasing me down. I couldn’t stop until I was safe—until I found silence.

As the voices faded and the thunder stopped rumbling, I allowed my feet to slow. I was deeper into the woods than I had ever been before. It was then that I truly met silence for the first time. There was the delicate rustle of the breeze blowing through the leaves and the creaking of branches, but there was an unmistakeable sensation of absence. The world I had once known was taking its last breaths. I was all alone now, with only the silence to keep me company. The two of us would walk side by side for a very long time.

Seasons passed and I taught myself how grow up on my own. Eventually, I found my way to the other side of the woods and stepped into a world that smelled of smoke. There was not another living soul in sight or even any small creatures wriggling on the ground. I was standing in what once could have been a small village, but all that was left of the homes were their foundations. I asked the silence what had happened to everyone that lived here, but it did not answer—it never did. There was nothing useful left to take amongst the stone and ash, so I continued on my way.

Since having to leave my home so long ago, I had hoped to find another town to settle in, but time and time again, I was only finding the rubble of where towns once stood. Occasionally, I would find a still standing roof that could provide shelter for a night or two, but it would never be a place that I called home. I wondered if my own home town was gone now too, but it had been so long, I wasn’t sure that I knew the way back to find out.

In one of those nights beneath the decaying roof of an abandoned house, I thought back to my Father and wondered what had happened to him after that day. Part of me liked to hold onto the hope that he was still out there looking for me, but after so many years without seeing another living thing, I wasn’t so sure anymore. As I huddled next to the small fire that I had made in the damp hearth, I started to cry. The silence would not console me that night.

The next morning, I awoke in a crumpled ball beside the hearth that had since burnt out. There was a slight chill coming in through the broken windows that signalled the creeping approach of winter. Though there was no avoiding the march of time, I could still feel a knot tighten in my stomach at the thought of it. Winter was always the worst and I still considered it luck that I was able to survive each winter of my life. Hopefully, I would be lucky again this year. I fished through the old bag my Father had given me on the day I left and pulled out his heavy wool coat. It was nearly in tatters now, but it was finally beginning to fit.

As I gathered my things and made my way towards door-less frame, I noticed scratches in the wood floor. They were in long jagged rows as though someone had been dragged outside. I ran my fingers along the lines and felt the years of dirt and grime. Whoever had left these marks, they were long gone by now. Silence lingered in that empty house before I let out a deep sigh. I stepped outside and looked out over the barren grey world to decided which way to go next, but it was beginning to feel as though all roads lead to nowhere.

Winter charged towards me like a great white beast. The snow was unending and as it grew higher, it became that much harder to push myself forward. The silence thrived in the winter and the only thing that I could hear was the laboured sound of my breathing. My Father’s coat could only do so much to keep out the cold. The wind found every single hole in the wool and plunged in sharp coldness into my body. I hadn’t been able to find any food for a few days because everything had been buried beneath layer after layer of snow. I had accepted the inevitability of death long ago, but I still kept fighting year after year. Though I was now beginning to wonder if my luck had run out.

I was growing very tired when I noticed something strange in the air. There was a tickle in my ear and I looked around to realize that the silence was gone. It was a voice travelling on the wind. It had been so long since I had last heard a voice that wasn’t my own and despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t help running towards it. There was an undamaged cottage on top of a nearby hill with a warm glow in its windows. I pushed myself harder than I could take to get up that hill, but I couldn’t stop now.

By the time I reached the door, I was crawling on my hands and knees. The voice was clearer and I could now hear that it was the voice of a woman singing. With my numb fingers, I pushed open the door and felt a burst of heat coming from the fireplace inside. I tried to speak to whoever was signing, but I could no longer move my jaw. I was nearly too weak to move, but I was able to pull myself towards the fire. As I leaned myself up against the stone of the fireplace, I noticed a record playing on a nearby table. It had been so long since I had seen one of those things. There was no-one here after all, but at least the music was nice.

I was getting so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. I tried to keep myself awake, but my body was weak and needed rest. I sat and listened to the woman singing and it reminded me of better days from long ago. I remembered sitting by the fire with my Father and listening to records on stormy nights so that I wouldn’t be afraid. I still found it comforting now. As the needle reached the end of the record, I felt my head drop and my eyes fall shut. Outside, I could hear footsteps approaching the door that I had left open, but by the time they stepped inside, I was already gone.

#writers on tumblr #lit #long reads #prose #short story #short stories #literature #creative writing #writing #writers #writer #spilled words #spilled ink

[jasperlion]

Rudolf, Mycen and Alm

For Alm, there were several factors in his life which were unshakable and very much the foundation of his ideals, experiences and goals. He was a village boy from Ram, grandson of a great Zofian general in his time, and would thus uphold his legacy by protecting the very country Mycen once protected in her time of need.

When nobles spoke down to him and his friends, spoke of opportunity and what nobility could and couldn’t do in comparison to the ‘baseborn animals’ who had no noble blood, Alm did his upmost to prove them wrong. To be the light and example to all Zofian peasants that they can, that he, like them, could. That your station at birth does not determine your skill, ability, or what you should be able to do — it’s all in what you put in yourself, and all you have to do is have the opportunity to show it.

You can see how it all goes wrong the moment the truth is laid out for him, a truth he fought so hard to deny even with the mounting evidence: why should he believe an old man in Zofia’s Keep? Maybe Mycen just found love much after or lied about having no family when he worked in the castle. Why should he believe a blade could only be lifted by royalty? Isn’t that ridiculous? Surely, there are spells that would let this happen, but maybe they wore off or were just baseless rumors so no one stole it. Why should he put any stock in Desaix’s dying words? The man was a tyrant, a despot who would lie through his teeth, as he has again and again, to save his own damn skin. Why did the... why did the Emperor ask General Ezekiel to follow him?

The answer becomes clear, but the rest of himself falls apart.

Instead, he is a prince from Rigel, son of Rudolf and great great grandson to Rigel I, and in his path to protect Zofia and push back the Rigelians into their country and to their fortifications, he had betrayed his country of birth and slain its Emperor.

When he ‘proved’ nobles wrong, he had all but proved them right, accomplishing great feats and winning many a victory not as an exemplary Zofian soldier, but as a Rigelian one. He may have been raised a pauper, but he had always been a prince, dragon blood pulsed in his veins from the blood pact of his ancestor.

He was a lie, he had lived a lie and showed a lie to many people in Zofia and Rigel alike. And oh, he played his part beautifully, to be the villager to show the world what the common-folk could do, only to turn their back on them, only to be a noble. Just like them, just like those who pushed everyone else down on claims of heritage.

And this, this case of identity and ideology shattered to its core, is but one of his problems in the face of his father’s defeat and death.

His life and ideals had been a lie from the start, his thoughts to prove his grandfather’s worth and thus his own became empty words based on nothing but lies told to a gullible little boy who believed everything he was told by a man he was meant to trust. This shatters him, hurts him, more than he can ever express. And when his ‘grandfather’ is confronted with the pain wrought onto Alm by the act he was forced to commit? The man merely tells him to suck it up, that it’s no time for self pity and he doesn’t deserve to feel hurt, because this is what his father wanted, and so it had to be enough. The blind trust Alm had in Mycen is gone, and it is quite frankly something the old soldier will never get back. It is something Alm will never get back, either — the very idea that those around him can safely tell him who he is and who his family is becomes absurd as he from then onward questions everything he’s told by those around him. He can never hear the truth and confirmation from the horse’s mouth, Rudolf I is dead and gone, and there’s no way to prove he’s not being lied to again about where he came from. That it’s not all just an elaborate ruse to be played on him again and again because there’s no way to prove otherwise.

And, of course, onto the fact of the matter that he murdered his own father. Not even fought and killed would be a fitting description, for while Alm was coerced into the act by his station, his fellows and even the Emperor himself, Rudolf never once turned his lance on his son. Not once did he try to hurt Alm back, to even put up a fight. “Come, strike me.” Were the words he was greeted with, and the man did not disappoint in committing to just that. And it’s wrong, it feels so very wrong. It was a slaughter, not a battle, and it will consume him completely to know it is what his father wanted done. The very man who wished to never harm a hair on his son’s head would rather have his son kill him — inflict that sort of pain onto him that even in his death would never go away. Maybe it’d have felt better if Rudolf had defended himself — it’d have definitely felt better if his father had fought back.

Instead, he ‘fought’ (murdered) a tired man who had played a role for too long and wished to die by his son’s hands. Who looked at the boy who struck at his nigh defenseless father with pride in his eyes, something Alm will never understand.

He killed his own father, and with Rudolf went the answers he had so desperately sought since childhood. Who were his parents? What were they like? Did they love him? Why did they give him away? How did they meet? What would they have been like as his parents? All he could say was his parents were buried, how his father died, and that it’s what he wanted to happen. That his father gave him away to protect him, only to greet him upon his returns with weapons drawn but no fight at all.

And hell, maybe he shouldn’t feel this bad about killing a man he didn’t even now, but that was exactly the problem: he didn’t know his father, didn’t know anything ABOUT him. What did he like? What was his favorite food? Did he like cats too? Did he give his horse a nickname? What did he enjoy doing on his time off? Did he love his mother? Did he ever grow to love someone else? What was it like to deal with Berkut as a nephew (hehe)? What did he think of Berkut, anyway? What would he think, knowing what his nephew had done? How would he deal with the political situation? What would he do — what would be his counsel on how to deal with matters with Duma and Mila gone? He doesn’t even know how to rule. Leading an army was no comparison to leading a nation, and in not being groomed for his station, he fears he will never do it quite right. Never like his father would have done, like Berkut would have done. 

And he wishes he knew, but it was denied to him before he could even form coherent thought. All he had left was a headband from his father’s youth, a name he never felt familiar with, and a legacy to uphold that he had never really lived under until quite literally everyone else had died. At his hand, specifically.

And once more, Mycen’s apathy of it all, of his pain, his hurt and his very valid confusion only pours salt onto fresh and real wounds. Makes him feel like he really doesn’t matter. What mattered was the plan, what mattered was he did what he was reared to do and stick to what fate had in store for him. His feelings were secondary, or perhaps even lower, and so it shouldn’t matter how he feels because he just has to do what he’s supposed to do.

It’s never the same between them after that, even after their conversations eventually mend the rift with a bridge. It’s a rudimentary one that does its job, but rickety at best, instead of filling the crevice and patching the land.

And, when it boils down to it, his feelings take an emotional toll from it all. Rudolf’s death is but the first of many on the path leading to the end of the Gods, not the first of the war, but the first since he’s become aware of what this really is about. Of how Celica’s mission had been right all along to hone in on the deities that molded their world every day at their whims. But he can’t find himself dwelling on those losses, and dwelling on what he had lost the moment the royal sword plunged into both his father and his cousin, divesting Rigel of all royal blood but his own.

He can’t falter, he has to push onward. Mycen’s very words will come to haunt him for the rest of his days, and perhaps by the time the knight notices his mistake it will be far too late. He’s internalized these words, and for the rest of his life it will crush his self worth.

After all, he’s but a tool, a means to an end. He was used by his ‘grandfather’ and his father alike to bring to Valentia the peace it deserved and a liberation from the grip of Gods who were going mad. This, too, hurts to acknowledge: not once were he and his feelings considered in Rudolf’s plan, and not once did Mycen consider them once it had taken motion. He was warned of the point of no return, of course, but not so he wouldn’t take it. It was merely a sign to move forward with a hardened heart, one he didn’t have. Instead, it is soft and vulnerable, shattered and ripped apart by the time it’s done.

But it doesn’t matter.

It can be summed up in betrayal, really. Betrayal of his identity and what he believed was simply a truth that would not be changed (could you see yourself questioning if what your family claimed you to be was true?), betrayal to his own humanity, betrayal to his father even if it’s what he wanted... He feels betrayed by the fate assigned to him and the father who decided his path without taking him into consideration.

All this and more dwells within Alm and troubles his soul, and this is just from Rudolf and Mycen alone — the effects on him from Berkut, Fernand, Rinea, Mila and Celica (and, by extension, Jedah and Duma) are a whole different beast, even if one that dwells in tandem with this one. 

Related Headcanon -> Alm and his parents

#long post #hoo that was a doozy #and i think i missed things still #by his own loving heart | headcanon

[beardyallen]

Picking Up Where I Left Off

Hello again! Oh boy....the title of this is going to be a bit misleading, because I want to share what happened last night before the details get hazy.

So, after my first class on Monday (Day 7), I planned to go for a pint at the only place I’ve found nearby that serves draft beer. I invited my officemate, AL, but he had apparently fallen asleep while lesson-planning. It was 9pm when class let out, so I don’t judge him too much. :P

Order a pint was a little tricky, but we got it sorted out, and the beer itself was quite tasty. The price range for pints there were from like 30-60 yuan, so like $5-$9. Pretty average prices in the States, and I have the say the beer holds up. Or at least the two that I’ve tried...

Anyway, the place itself is just a small space, seating no more than 20 people away from the bar if people ignore the need for personal space. The bar itself sets 7 to a side, but the place was pretty much empty. At least the first night, it was.

AL felt bad for missing out on Monday night, so we made plans for Wednesday night, and I invited ML and her friend M who is apparently just visiting for a short time. After class let out, we meandered over to the bar and chatted about our students, how peculiar their prior knowledge seems to be. Mine, for instance, have never been exposed to the idea of “different sizes of infinity,” but are completely comfortable with the idea of infinitesimal numbers, those with absolute value greater than 0 but smaller than any real positive number. I’m barely acquainted with these outside of their role in the foundations of calculus. Anyway, the topic of conversation ranged from our students, to these two ideas, all the way out to the shape and size of the universe, and how mathematicians deal with what we call the Continuum Hypothesis. So far, it was a pretty dope night.

Then we get to the bar, and it’s somewhat more crowded than before. No biggie. Some of the other patrons made a point to acknowledge us and smile widely, and I think generally indicate their approval of our arrival. It was nice, but a little unsettling. We ordered our drinks, and a rather drunk individual (who I will from now on refer to as The One, as this is WeChat handle) came over to chat with AL and me.

He expounded on how thrilled he was that we were here, through a somewhat thick accent, made more thick by the 7-10 pints he must have consumed. We were both polite, and nodded along while he told us briefly how he’d visited the US only once to see Los Angeles, and how he’d been to Europe more than fifty times, which later became “more than sixty!” ML and M had gone in search of food, only to come back with two small items from a bakery that was just closing. (The establishment itself is housed in a “24-Hour Living Space,” which uses a rather loose definition of “24-Hour.”) We made our way to our table, and The One decided to join us...

All told, I think he sat there yammering on about whatever he was trying to say for a good 25 minutes. Both AL and I had finished our beers, and the only reason I was still being patient with The One was that he had vaguely hinted at the idea of buying us drinks. You know me, I’m loathe to turn down free beer! But then he made a sweeping gesture in front of us and almost knocked over the fixture in the middle of the table, repeating something about his daughter while expressing how beautiful ML is, and it just got altogether cumbersome to pretend like his behavior was acceptable.

Polite attempts were made to communicate that we would like to be left alone, but The One always had “One small item!” that he wanted to say first, which usually just involved more statements about how he likes us all a lot and the confusing bit about his daughter and ML. This is about when he started patting us on our backs. If you know me, I’m not a fan of being touched by strangers. At all. During one of his attempts to pat AL, AL somehow managed to start hugging The One and basically pulled him away from the table.

This didn’t stick.

Now The One was confused.

After a couple more minutes, it became clear that he wasn’t going to take a hint, so AL took one for the team and asked The One for directions to the bathroom. The One decided to show him.

As AL tells it, The One led him to the bathroom, waited outside and then they headed back to the table. Prior to sitting down, AL conveyed to The One that we needed time alone and that we would talk to him later.

Peace, at last!

It’s strange how, in the moment, it was rather undesirable, but now the four of us have a very tight bond that I doubt would have manifested had it not been for The One. For that reason, I’m somewhat grateful.

For other reasons...I’m not.

We enjoyed ourselves through another pint before The One meandered back to the table. We pointedly ignored him, but he seemed impervious to indirect suggestions in his current state. We should have known. When he kept interjecting into the conversation to no avail, and he became a cumbersome distraction, we discussed in front of him the fact that I have beer in my fridge back at the Guest House and that we could just hang out in the third floor lounge.

This seemed like the best plan so far, so we went to pay. And of course The One joined us, assuring us that he’d pay, he’d pay, he’d pay! A guy can only take so much before free beer + The One becomes so very much not worth it. That time had passed awhile ago. As his pestering was making the transactions more difficult, I did the only thing I could think of.

I asked The One if he could show me where the bathrooms were.

...*sigh...

This was a mistake. It worked, in that he did, in fact, show me where the bathrooms were, but he did so with his arm around me. Now, The One is probably about 5′4″, and I stand a questionable 6′0″, which means the pressure he had on my right shoulder while is arm was draped over me could have either been due to his sense of camaraderie, his drunkenness, or gravity. Or all of them. Regardless, I was uncomfortable. Especially since he kept repeating, “Relax! Relax!”

We get to the bathroom, I head in...and he follows. At this point, he had already dropped his arm from my shoulder and patted me on the back...and then lower on my back....and then not on my back anymore. The fact that I was in a foreign country was the only thing keeping me check.

Fortunately nothing happened in the bathroom, because at least there, there were no cameras. The thought crossed my mind. I could probably get away with knocking him out if need be. Not that I’m any sort of fighter, but at least my BAC wasn’t floating dangerously close to 0.2.

Anyway, the trip back to the bar was uneventful, my friends had all paid, and we left as quickly as we could, laughing as we went. All told, the bar itself was great. But now I know what baggage it might come with...and I think it would be too much to hope that The One doesn’t remember the three white guys and “the most beautiful woman” who is somehow connected to his daughter? #ohwell #definitelygoingbackforanotherpint

OH! Aaaaaaand....They carry Founders!!!

The only one I think I could justify buying is KBS...but even that would run me $18/bottle. What does it say about me that I’m still seriously considering it?

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Alright. So now it’s time to actually go back to where I left off!

So it’s time for pictures...

Here we have a nearly failed attempt at a selfie while walking through the caves...followed by two people who clearly seem far more capable at taking such pictures.

Below, you can see the entrance to the cave. Fun fact, the lion statues are a female (left) and male (right). I learned that you can always tell which is the female as she always(?) stands where her baby, whereas the male stands on a ball. In the background, you can see the Phoenix Nest that we visited, too!

Above, you can see the whole group. The guy in the blue shirt was a damn riot! He kicked things off at the entrance of the cave, a small door about 5 feet into the mountain, with a spot-on impression of Igor, beckoning us on!

Below is a just a pic of the four of us, NR on the top left, S on the bottom left, and ML on the bottom right.

Alright, so the picture of the stairs hardly does it justice, but whoever took this picture was only about halfway up this particular set of stairs, which was only one of several equally long staircases. It just kept turning and continuing...seemingly forever.

And below we have me, walking in a tunnel that’s barely tall enough for me stand up straight, having my picture taken. I’m not sure which of those two things made me more uncomfortable. But RN seems to be enjoying herself!

As I described in the previous post, we finally made our way out of the cave, rested, then hiked up a rather small mountain. It’s more aptly described as a hill with a big ego...But the view was stellar!

Here we are entering the Phoenix Nest at the “top” of the mountain, and you can see the ceiling of it below.

One of the Daniels in our group was kind enough to get a video of us sitting up inside that nest, which I think might give you a sense of what the view was actually like.

Below, I’m sharing some pictures of the ancient village. You can see on the first one a placard of sorts describing the building. Most structures in the area had these sorts of signs, both in Chinese (Mandarin, I assume) and English. The translations were quite entertaining; I’m guess either they were missing a native English speaker to sign off on the...well...signs, or else they just had a wicked sense of humor!

You can see in the pictures below the tiers cut into the mountains. In fact, this pictures, if I’m not mistaken, was taken from a tier that use to farm small trees.

I’m not terribly certain I know what the guy in the above pictures was doing, but NR seemed to think he was doing something with honey. I didn’t want to pry too much...

These things were all over the ancient city. Apparently it was used to ground up rice and other grains. And when I say all over, I mean basically every house had one out front. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the subsistence farmers in the area still use them.

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Once we got back to Beijing, our group of four parted ways with the other groups to go visit the Olympic Greens! So cool! I mean, we have an Olympic Gymnasium on campus, which is already really cool (even though I haven’t gone inside yet), but it’s nothing compared to the Birdnest and its neighbors.

When we got there, S had to use the bathroom, so the other three of us waited outside the shopping mall there watching a bunch of high schoolers on....well, I don’t exactly know what to call them. But imagine two platforms about 4inx6in, each with two wheels oriented in a line. The kids were skating on those. And they were really good. Or at least seemed really good, seeing as nobody fell and they were doing flip tricks and shit. A fascinating way to spend the 10 minutes that we had to wait for S to do his business. He claims “there was a line!”

The mall itself was akin to a condensed Mall of America, there’s a Burger King right between the Olympic Torch monument and the Birdnest, and apparently we can go wonder around the Birdnest and even get up on the roof! We put a real big pin in that particular adventure, so I’m sure I’ll have pictures of the Greens sometime soon.

I don’t want to spend too much time talking about this as I would just be describing what I saw, and future pictures can do that much better, but I will say that there was a group of about 30 women in traditional dancing garbs from...I think Nepal? I’d have to ask NR again. They had a boombox and it seemed they were going to put on a show in the square!

Until security came...We had spent 5-10 minutes watching these women take pictures of themselves while their manager(?) griped that they could take pictures afterwards, only for security to claim that they were blocking the flow of foot-traffic.

The dancers moved on, and so did we, but NR kept our heads on a swivel to see if they would start up again. Eventually they did, but we were far enough away, and the humor of watching them for 10 minutes without seeing them dance struck me as a better story, so we only caught glimpses of their dance. Looked impressive enough. *shrug*

We eventually walked back into the shopping center to find some food and made ourselves comfortable in a Shanghai Hot Pot restaurant that specialized in fish-based cuisine. It was soooooo good, even though I haven’t figured out a delicate way of extracting the fishbones. Apparently its acceptable to plop a hunk of meat in your mouth, suck the meat of the bones, and spit the bones back out. (So many opportunities for inappropriate jokes in that sentence! Aren’t you glad I didn’t go for any of them?) God, I loved having that meat in my mouth! (Okay, so I went for one...)

All told, we had been out and about for 15 hours that day, and on our feet for more than 10 of them!

So I don’t feel bad at all for how I spent Day 6: feet up, sitting 5 feet from my TV playing Kingdom Hearts 3, sucking back beer after beer! It was quite glorious.

Day 7 rolled around, and work began. I don’t have too much to share on that score, but it turns out getting packages delivered here from the US is somewhat tricky. Especially when you don’t realize that the address provided in the Welcome Handbook didn’t even include a street address! My Kindle eventually got here in one piece, thanks to the exceptional generosity of one RS. It even came with a note and an image of Owen Wilson saying “Wow!” So that inside joke played on repeat in my head for a good hour after picking up the package.

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The workweek has been mostly accounted for above, excepting a trip to buy shoes, which was somewhat more involved than it had any reason to be...And apparently my feet are large enough for shoe dealers to not bother carrying my size. *shrug*

I have plans to visit the National Museum on Saturday with NR, and then the ICB faculty are taking a trip Northeast next weekend to visit a beautiful little town near the Great Wall. It’s only a day trip, but I’m going to look into the possibility of splitting a hotel room to see the Great Wall and the town lit up at night! Seems worthwhile, if you ask me. Especially since I don’t have rent payments for several months! Booyah!

Alright, it’s officially quitting time (whatever that means), so I’m heading back to my room for a pint or two and the company of my comic book collection.

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

[wolfofansbach]

The Bolshevik’s Last Rites

I wrote this in a quick sitting earlier 

She saw him come in the darkest part of the night. His coat near sloughed off in tatters from his reedy shoulders. His hair was stark with frozen sweat. He licked his lips but it did nothing. Beads of ice weighed on his lashes. The ice and snow splashed over his chest and stomach were red. But whenever more blood dripped out, it met the hard winter air and froze solid.

He raised a pale, draining fist and pounded on the monastery door. He pounded again and again, with the strength a dying man shouldn’t have.

She was in prayer when he came. The cross hung between her fingers and scraped her knees. Her lips were moving fast and silent. She could not hear God through the storm. She could not tell his thunder from the big guns anymore.

She did not know if the cannons were still roaring or if it was now only the sky. If the battle was won, then let heaven have decided it in their favor. Ice and snow slipped into the monastery, despite her best efforts to seal up door and window. Everything was white and cold and crackling.

The pounding came harder, and at least she was plucked out of her faltering commune with the father. The torchlight grew dimmer as if something black approached.

The building was ancient. Its foundations were dissolving. The alcoves that held torches and icons had been carved by hands that did obeisance to the khans. The heavy oak door rattled in its frame, like a great beast was beating away at it. But it was only the blizzard. And the man.

But she looked through the little hole in the oak and saw such a pitiable, sallow figure that he could not have moved a grain of salt. The snow at his feet was red.

Behind her, the monastery was empty. The creeping sickness came and went. Melancholy took the rest. The four graves in the field were full. She dug them herself, with the help of two sad workmen. And they were gone now too. There was little moving still in the town.

She threw the door open.

“God help me,” croaked the supplicant, and he fell inside.

At once the snow began to melt in the tender torchlight. Rivulets of water and blood and filth ran through the creases in his coat and boots and skin. He smelled like a soldier. He was on his knees, elbows propping him up. He muttered something. She knelt down, and he lifted his head.

The very first thing she saw was that he was very young. A boy, really. He had no hint of hair on his chin or lip. His cheeks were full and even red, despite his condition. His eyes were full and wet, and he looked like he desperately wished for his mother.

And then she saw his cap. It was an ordinary broad-cloth hat, drenched with snow and shredded in multiple places. But a red star was pinned off to the side. It was crudely sewn, and on the verge of falling away. But it was there. She shook her head and stepped back. He reached out after her with a grasping, bloodless claw.

“You are a bolshevik,” she said. Her lips trembled. She searched his belt and his coat for any sign he was still armed, and saw nothing. But he was a red. An enemy of the church. An enemy of God.

“I am a Bolshevik,” he affirmed. He kept his eyes to the stony floor, unwilling or unable to look at her. “Help me. I think I’m dying.”

She could have thrown the door open again. He was so weak that she could have taken him by the arm and thrown him back out into the snow. She could have let him stain the white hills with his gore and filth and kept the monastery clean, for what it was worth.

She reached down and lifted the cap off of his head, and she plucked away at the strings that still held the red star in place, and when the hateful insignia was gone, she threw it aside and placed the stripped cap back onto his head.

“Will you kill me?” She asked.

He shook his head, and that was enough. She lifted him to his feet and helped him along.

In the old refrectory, where her dead sisters once ate, she pulled away the hanging shreds of his old coat and the dirty shirt underneath. The would was still dripping gore. It was sharp and deep, perhaps a bayonet or a cavalry saber.

She was not sure she could do anything for it.

“Will I die?” He asked, his lips now glistening, and his big, youthful eyes trembling with fear.

“I don’t know,” she told him, truthfully.

“I am afraid to die,” he said forthrightly.

“It’s okay. So am I.”

“But you’re not dying,” he responded in a sort of plaintive way, as if it wasn’t fair. Which perhaps it wasn’t.

“No. Not yet.” She dabbed away at the blood. “What is your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why not? If you die, I will dig a grave for you, and put a cross over it, with your name.”

“Because I don’t want God to know.”

“God sees everything,” she reminded her. The most basic of Christian precepts.

At that, the boy moaned in miserable horror and put his arm over his eyes.

“There is no God!” He pronounced with a shaking voice. His fist clenched. She cocked her head. He sounded much less sure than he likely hoped he did.

“And yet you do not want him to know your name?”

“No! God! I don’t know,” he whimpered. Tears rolled down his fair, ruddy cheeks. He sniffled. She felt a deep, unwitting pity for him, like for a wounded calf in the field. “The priests conjured God…to frighten the peasants and the workers…there is nothing…nothing,” he mouthed the word ‘nothing’ one more time.

“There is nothing?” She questioned.

She tried to bind up his wound, but it was difficult. She was no expert. He helped her, even with his shaking hands. The bandage was soon stained red all the way through.

“The revolution!” He cried, suddenly. “The revolution…”

“The bolsheviks lied to you, dear one,” she sighed, as if he were a little child, though she was likely little older than him, and perhaps younger. “There can be no paradise on earth. Only in the next world with Christ.”

He looked past her. She turned, and saw he was transfixed by the tapestry on the far wall. It was the day of judgment, and a crudely drawn Christ and his avenging angels lifted the church up to the sky and cast the wicked into the pit. The flames were painted so long ago. They flaked and faded on the old stone. But they still looked so bright.

“With Christ…when I was very little in our village my mother brought me to church. She always brought me to church. And there was a priest there. He was very old but he was so strong. His voice. And he told us always that if we ever abandoned the church…if we turned our backs on God…on Christ…we would burn forever. Forever and ever, there would be nothing. Only fire. Oh God, can you imagine forever?” He moaned.

“Eternity is very long,” she said, and she tenderly gave him a wet rag to wipe the grime from his face, which he gratefully did.

“is it true?” He begged of her, with a voice that was sure she knew the answer. And before she could answer: “Oh God, sister! I’m afraid of the fire!”

“Do you believe in God?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” he cried again. “I have never seen him but…never…never I have never seen Lenin, either. If God is really there…will he throw me into the fire?”

“I am not God,” she answered.

“But can’t you tell me?” He implored.

She wanted to answer as she would answer. Hadn’t she suffered these same terrors time and time again? But what did she believe? So she said only what she had learned to say.

“Do you detest your sins?”

“When the whites come, they will shoot me. Won’t you tell them not to shoot me?”

“No one is coming to shoot you here,” she assured.

“No. No, they will come,” he responded. “God, I am a coward.”

She motioned mildly to the wound in his side. And she decided to ignore any resemblance it bore to the lance-wound in Christ’s flank.

“You do not look like a coward.”

“I wasn’t a coward when I had my gun. I wasn’t afraid of anything then. But now…” he sobbed with the pain of it all, whether psychic or corporeal. “Now I am afraid. I don’t want to die.”

She clasped his hands.

“Pray with me, then.”

“Won’t you give me the final rites? To cleanse my soul? If—if there is such a thing?”

She frowned.

“I cannot. Only a priest can—“

“Please!”

“It isn’t my right. I am—“

“You’d give me over to the fire, then.”

“I would not.”

“Then you must—“

“I cannot.”

“I cannot die in this state!” His eyes turned feral with terror. She saw the tapestry of damnation reflected in them. She saw the damned spiraling towards the fire that smoldered forever. The wrath of judgment.

“I—there is no host to give you.”

“There must be.”

And she broke the law of the church, because it was she and him in the dark torchlit convent, and she could not bear the boy’s hideous terror another moment.

She brought him a lump of bread and cut away the parts that were bad, and brought some wine that was more water.

It was not permitted. Any of it. But perhaps she had grown slack from the isolation. And the others were dead. Rigor had not saved them. Only God was watching. If she was sinning so greatly, then God would repay in his time. So she knelt next to the bolshevik.

“Do you detest your sins?”

He opened his mouth to accept the lump of bread that was not the host. Then he sprang back, as if bitten. She nearly spilled the wine. Perhaps it was his state of body that so addled his mind.

“And if I do this…and I say I believe…only to save myself now. God will see that, won’t he? And then he’ll punish me, and the fire will burn even hotter, won’t it, sister?”

She closed her eyes. She knew not what to tell him, because his terrors unnerved her, too. She swallowed them because she was supposed to be calm, and a servant of the Lord. And he was frightened for his soul, and she should offer him hope and salvation. If she could.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I am not God. Only God knows these things.”

“But you can speak to him, can’t you?”

“I—“ she was suppose to, wasn’t she? Was she the only one who heard nothing back when she spoke? Or did no one? When the others spoke of their communion with God, did they mean only the vague warmth she could sometimes make herself feel, or did they experience something she simply could not. “I have never heard his voice,” she admitted.

The boy looked saddened. Offended even. His lips twisted up.

“So then the commissars are right?”

“What?”

“And you are all liars! And not a one of you has ever spoken to God?”

His face grew ever paler. His lips were near blue.

“I—that is not what we mean when we speak of talking with God. It is…different.”

“Then you couldn’t even save me from the fire, if you wanted to?”

His wound was bleeding again. He fell back, movement seeping out of him.

“I can do nothing. God can, perhaps.”

She tried to raise the wine to his lips again.

“But all my comrades…they would be in flames too, wouldn’t they? If they didn’t believe. No matter how bravely they died…” his lips moved and sound stopped to come out. His words became soft and then slipped away entirely. “And my father, who never believed?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. “I don’t know your comrades.”

He looked past her, and his eyes were full of terror again. The tapestry hung in the windless air, illuminated in torchlight. All the horrors of hell spun in glorious, vibrant threads. Beautifully grotesque. The roasting flesh and the eternal, hopeless anguish. One could nearly smell it, and both of them shuddered.

“But I…doesn’t the church teach…that we will be damned, if we don’t believe?”

“The church does,” she said, in such a way that gave the vague impression perhaps she did not entirely agree.

“Then if they are there…then I should…” but his thought was chased off by the terror. “No, sister. I could not bear the fire, not even for my comrades and my father. Not forever. Dear God, I am a coward.” And he leaned forward and buried his face in her sleeve. “Please save me!” He wailed, sobbing again. “I don’t want to burn! Please…”

“Do you believe only because are dying?”

“No! I don’t believe! God, that is what you must save me from! Please!”

“Please, drink the wine. Take the bread.”

“Will it help?”

“I—“

“Will it help me? My soul? If…if there is a soul…no! No! There is a soul! I believe! I swear, I believe!” And they both knew he was lying. “Will it help?”

“Yes,” she promised him.

“And you promise this?”

“Yes, she lied”, because she did not know.

So he sipped the rancid wine and choked down the moldering bread and they told themselves, though they scarcely believed it, that it did some good for his spirit, if there was such a thing.

But the bolshevik did not die. And the whites never came to shoot him. And in the monastery, by miracle, he regained his health. And he thanked her each day for her succor and her aid.

And then one morning he had gone off into the melting snow. All that was left was the red star that had come off from his cap.

The war wound on, and the land turned red. Bloodied. The white was scrubbed away. Churches burned.

And it was some years later that the nun saw the red horsemen cantering down the streets towards the monastery. Her charges, the novices that had come under her care—and she could hardly believe she was no longer a novice herself.

“The bolsheviks will slay us, God be with us,” moaned one young girl.

“They will not,” the nun said, even if she did not fully believe it, remembering the young bolshevik who was only a boy and who was afraid.

But the soldiers tramped up to the monastery and threw the doors open. They were chekists, and the holy women trembled.

“By order of the regional soviet this monastery is directed to turn over 100,000 roubles worth of wealth. Gold, jewels, silver, or what have you.”

The nun shook her head, and she could hardly believe it.

He was older now, and though he was still fairly young there was scruff around his chin and his eyes were less cloying. His cheeks twitched as he chewed on nothing. If he was still afraid, he did an admirable job of concealing it.

The chekists fanned out to take stock of the convent and to strip it of valuables. And the chekist who had been the young bolshevik that was afraid stormed into the refrectory.

“You don’t remember me?” The nun asked, calmly.

He said nothing. He stood before the grand tapestry displaying the torments of the damned. His face was hard and angry.

“Lies,” he spit, to no one in particular.

“You were the one who was afraid of the fire,” she said.

“I’m not afraid of anything!” He shot back. And he looked back to the tapestry like it was an old foe. Which perhaps it was. His eyes that shone with fear that night shimmered with hatred. And he drew an old cavalryman’s saber and swept it across the width of the ancient tapestry. It rippled, and then the priceless old thing smoothly fell in two. The nun started. She imagined the old wound, long since healed and scarred over beneath his black coat. It had been red and angry and mortal that night. Now, she supposed, likely you would hardly see it. Like his terror.

He still gave no showing that he recognized her, but she knew he did.

“You’re not afraid anymore?”

“I’m…” he walked off.

But the chekists did not bother the sisters, and then the captain who had been the boy ordered them to take only half of what the soviet had demanded. And as the bolsheviks amassed to leave again he said to her, quietly and aside: “you saved me that night. My body, but not my soul, because there is no such thing.” And he was determined to convince, whether himself or her.

“Are you so sure only because you’re not now dying?”

“No, but because I was dying, and peered beyond the veil, and I saw nothing. No heaven and no hell.”

He did sound surer than he had been.

“We spoke of forever…”

“Eternity is very long. It’s lucky for us that it does not exist.”

“I’m glad you lived,” she said. “Even as you carry away our precious things.”

“Why?”

“Because all the gold in the world isn’t worth your soul,” she said. And he went to go again, his men fluttering at his back and his boots clicking on the stones he’d bled upon that winter, she spoke again, and he caught only the impression of her words on the wind: “if there is such a thing.”

#original fiction #russian civil war #bolsheviks #russian revolution

[100yearoldcomics]

February 26, 1922 The Captain and the Kids by Rudolph Dirks

TOP PANEL [ID: Der Captain searches for the Kids in the snow at night. To his left sits an igloo, inside of which the Kids are hiding. /end]

MAIN COMIC [ID: An old farmer walks up to der Captain in his living room with a complaint. Behind der Captain, the Kids carry a box and a musket. /end] Farmer: Hey you, somebody's a swipin' my empty cider bar'ls and as a citizen, I want a investigation!! Captain: Sure, sport, explode more clear, und you bet I ge-haff der law on dem! Hans: Vait! Safe der firevoiks, Fritz!

[ID: The farmer leads der Captain over to his cider barrels, sitting beneath a tree with a sign nailed to it that reads "Cider for sale." In the background, the Kids mess around in the farmer's empty barrels. /end] Farmer: O'course, I ain't exac'ly sure, but I got my suspicions a pointed on them gang o' road repairers in the village yonder! Captain: Ha! Chust leaf der mystery to I'm, mister. I'll disguise up like a barrel und keep peeled a sharp eye! Hans: Und don't stop 'til you get to der steamroller! Fritz: Chass!

[ID: Hans and the farmer walk off as der Captain sits in an empty cider barrel beneath the tree. Fritz, also in a barrel, walks past him. /end] Farmer: It's gittin' so a bloke's gotta nail down th' foundation of his own shack! Captain: Chimbly mackral! All ready so soon comes action!

[ID: Der Captain chases after Fritz in his barrel. Hans drives a steamroller beside them. /end] Hans: Fine voik Fritz, but don't veaken! Captain: Ha! Der farmer feller vos right! But you bet der Captain get der crookers!

[ID: Der Captain apprehends Fritz's barrel - but Fritz crawls out of a manhole further up the street instead. /end] Captain: HALT in der name of der police department!! Hans: Get aboard, Fritz, if you vant der choy of a choy-ride! Fritz: Haw!

[ID: Der Captain looks into the barrel, angrily surprised. The Kids ride on the steamroller. /end] Captain: GONE! Hans: Alright darlink, toot der vhistle!!

[ID: The Kids hit der Captain with the steamroller, knocking his barrel on its side. Fritz toots the whistle. Both Kids laugh. /end] Fritz: ♫ Merrily ve roll along ♫

[ID: The Kids steamroll der Captain down a tall hill - at the bottom, the road crew takes their tea break. /end] Bill: Now listen, Shorty, if you wants me to shove that steam-roller up the grade, I wants less canned milk in my tea! Shorty: Alright Bill, drink hearty. Better luck next time, old sinner!!

[ID: The Kids turn off the road and let der Captain roll down by himself. He hits both road workers and their equipment, flinging the workers into the air. /end] Hans: Dot's a roll vot gathered no moss!

[ID: The road workers, now with bumps on their heads, look angrily at der Captain. /end] Captain: Ooh, excuse der apologies mister, bud did you see sumting of a barrel vot got lost? Bill: Huh, dat's a lovely question to ask a gent after spillin' his tea, ain't it? Shorty: Holy mackral! Wot hit us, Bill? Fritz: Home, Chames!

[ID: Bill, the larger and burlier of the road workers, holds der Captain by the ankles and dunks him into a barrel of tar up to his waist. /end] Bill: Well, sister. Here's one yer soitinly welcome to. Now go to it, you old sea lion! Shorty: And seein' it's a cop wot done it, just see how long the old fish kin hold his breath!

[ID: The freshly-tarred Captain angrily walks a bloodhound hot on a trail of scent. The farmer leans on a stone wall on his property to speak with him. /end] Farmer: Wall Orficer, what luck? Captain: Lots you bet, der minute I lay hands on der lubbers!

#newspaper comics #vintage #history #1922 #the katzenjammer kids #the captain & the kids #rudolph dirks #transcript available #1920s

[nataliesnews]

Balfour, attacks, nice people  20.2.2021

Saturday there were fewer people at Balfour. One of the reasons being that they had a big demonstration in Tel Aviv about the handling of the Corona. There are also many people against the vaccinations. That I do not agree with. You don’t want to get vaccinated so don’t but why demonstrations against it. Of course there is the problem of people who do no get vaccinated and are being laid off. As happened here. I spoke though to Anastasia and she says it is fine. She is very bright and studying and says that the time that she has now as she will get unemployment allows her to devote herself to finishing her studies  (cyber) and she has moved in with her boyfriend in Sderot so I feel better about her. She will be better off and I am not talking about her being fired but about the lousy treatment they got from the management here in the very beginning when they were the only ones who stuck it out with us here in Nofim.

 Last night there were several attacks on demonstrations including one woman who got out of her car and threatened the demonstrations with a pistol. It turned out to be fake but you can imagine how in this atmosphere of violence how frightening that was. I actually only walked part of the way last night as, because the crowd was small, I could not keep up with them. They also did not stop at any time to gather the stragglers. Tali from Ramat Gan wanted to walk with me and also some others offered but I said that as my aim is to walk with them to be counted and I do not sit for long at Balfour itself there was no point in it.

 Friday       What a celebration. This evening for the first time in a year I am having people for supper. 6 of my friends who over the last year have taken me out walking on various occasions. There are others too of course but I don’t want to exaggerate and have complaints again so softly softly now the moon……. So each week I will invite. But what a wonderful feeling. I will again feel that I am living in my little flat and not just in an empty room.

 I was so thrilled. Sheryl sent a poster that her Zianda (my great niece) and the son of my cousin, Ivan, Jethro were going to be on a zoom in South Africa for youngsters who have just written matric. I had problems signing up and wrote to the paper and within less than five minutes they got back to me and sent me the link. My cousin did not even know that it had turned into a family convention!!! As the two youngsters even though I doubt that they have met are third cousins if I am working it out correctly.

 I went out to buy some baigels to have with cheese, etc. and it was not bad at all. Luckily it rained last night and has melted most of the snow and the little Arab shop is not far from here. But when I got there I found that some fellow had parked dafke on the slope that one can go up and the step up is high for me. Luckily he came out and moved off but then I looked and saw that it was tiled and very slippery. I stood there for a moment wondering what to do when suddenly the same car stopped and the man and his daughter came running to help me up. Such a little thing. Hardly worth writing about but it gave me such a warm feeling.

 Noga and I were the only ones who had gone out to demonstrate…I had a conscience as the day before I had really chickened out and there were only three of them. I am not making a vulgar sign….that is a V. But when it started raining again we gave up after half an hour.

 Pictures of Jerusalem in snow

   ‘Amazing detective work’ reunites best friends thought murdered in the Holocaust

82 years after fleeing Nazi Germany with their families, two childhood friends are brought together by USC Shoah Foundation researcher who 'linked' their testimony

https://www.timesofisrael.com/amazing-detective-work-reunites-best-friends-thought-murdered-in-the-holocaust/

 Don't Say We Didn't Know 735

On Monday, February 8, 2021, Israeli soldiers came yet again to Humsa Al-Buqa'iya in the Palestinian Jordan Valley, demolished and confiscated materials of 16 structures that served for dwelling and sheep pens. These had been donated following the previous demolitions earlier this month. This time they confiscated all the water tanks of the village, demolished and confiscated everything that belonged to two families who had constructed outside the 'firing zone.'

*** 

On Tuesday, February 9, 2021, Israeli government agents escorted by police came to the Bedouin village of Umm Batin (near Shoqet Junction), demolished a house and arrested 10 persons. The next day, they came to Khirbet Al Watan village (south of Hura), demolished two houses and uprooted about 70 olive trees.

        N

#Balfour attacks nice people 20.2.2021

[colbypuppythebaker]

Story starts under the cut! Wrote up a Horrorswap story for Halloween!

Warning- horror story, things aren’t always what they seem...

According to local legends, those who climbed Mt. Ebbot never returned. These stories spoke of shifting forest paths, pitfalls, and evil spirits and monsters that were supposedly locked away within the mountain itself.

You never were one to believe such stories. They were fun, sure, but stuff like magic and monsters just didn't actually exist in the real world. That's what you had told yourself as you set off on your hike. You were going to climb up the mountain, and you were going to come back and prove once and for all that the stories were just stories.

Supplies gathered and journal in hand, you set up the winding, narrow mountain trails making use of paths worn by local wildlife. To avoid the pitfalls, which you were convinced were either old abandoned mine shafts or sinkholes, you kept a walking stick handy to test the ground as you moved forward. The woodland was breathtaking, undisturbed by human hands. Or so you thought. Every now and again you would spot something, the tattered, faded remains of a toy or small article of clothing. You documented these in your journal, you could not deny that these things made you uneasy. Of all the documented disappearances, many were children. Some of the locals believed the mountain somehow called to them, but you would not be surprised if some of them hadn't been abandoned or worse out here.

After all, what better place to hide a body than a place nobody dared tread? You spun around as a branch snapped behind you just in time to see two squirrels scurry back up a tree. Dusk was setting in and you were starting to think that going on a hike alone in prime dead body dumping territory might have been a bad idea. Packing up your journal, you set back down the path where you had come from.

Or at least, you thought you were heading back. As the light continued to fade you couldn't help but notice that none of the scenery looked familiar. You had made note of a few distinct landmarks on the way- a large patch of mossy ground, a tunnel of trees, a miniature waterfall. As you continued to wind through the trees you instead found other noteworthy things that you couldn't have possibly missed before. Patches of smooth stones on the ground suggesting ancient paths, remnants of buildings where only the foundations remained. You nearly fell down a steep slope when you spotted a tall, dark figure in the ever dwindling light. Upon closer examination, it looked to at one time be a statue, though it was so weathered and overgrown with vines that it was hard to say what it was once a statue of.

None of this sat with you well and you were starting to panic. You were sure that you were at least heading down the mountain, but if anything it seemed you were heading further up. It was getting darker, soon you wouldn't be able to see at all. A distant rumble warned of an approaching storm (strange, you had checked the weather and it was supposed to be clear). 

You were about ready to curl up against a tree and hope you could find a way out in the morning when something caught your eye, a light. It looked unnatural, whatever the source was. It was a bright, steady white glow that seemed to draw you in.

As you drew closer you stood amazed, the glow came from a large cavern with great pillars carved from the rock face. The flowers and mushrooms growing in the area near the entranced were bright, vivid colors that seemed to glow faintly in the dark. 

This cavern would be a great place to take shelter from the storm, you hurried in as rain began to fall. As you did so for a moment the strange light became blinding, as though you had gone through the actual light source. You stumbled forward as you rubbed your overexposed eyes, your foot hit air.

And so, you fell.

Thankfully, instead of hitting the unyielding cold stone floor, you found yourself landing atop something soft. As your eyes finally began to readjust to the faintly lit surroundings, you slowly began to recognize what had broken your fall.

Dolls, dozens of them. You recognized these, they were a common enough sight at the local village. Traditional Temmie dolls, they started out as being symbolic protectors for people's homes and eventually it became common to give them to children. 

There was something sad about the sheer number of these dolls at the bottom of this pit. Looking up, you realized you couldn't even see the top where you had fallen in. Maybe there was something to that whole "protector" thing, such a long fall even with a cushioned landing you were amazed you were not more injured. Looking back to fish for your walking stick, something suddenly occured to you. There was a doll missing. You swear there was a doll missing. There were two little dolls in sweaters standing watch over the pile before, now there was only one. You started moving with a bit more urgency getting out of the pile. You began to leave, then turned around. You weren't one to believe in stories and superstition, but maybe one of those good-luck dolls could help sooth your nerves.

Something had turned the remaining sweater-wearing Tem doll around, the black button eyes felt like they looked right into your very soul.

You shuddered, turned, and walked quickly forward. You're an adult, you don't need to carry around some child's toy to feel safe. You told yourself that your mind was playing tricks on you as a soft, young laugh echoed in the cavern behind you.

Down here the cavern walls had been carefully carved, giving it a more man-made look. The style reminded you of the ruins you had passed through earlier, but the structures down here were better maintained. Surprisingly there was plant life down here too, you could swear that the foliage almost looked cultivated. Every now and again you would spot more Tem dolls. Some sitting among the flowers, others up on small podiums which held burning braziers. Every now and again you think you catch a glimpse of the one in the yellow and green sweater, just out the corner of your eye, but any attempt to look closer was met with nothing but shadows and flowers.

There were many signs that suggested you were not alone down here. The fires, the gardens, but who could possibly be living down here? Your imagination raced from missing people, to murderous hermits, to tales of monsters and evil spirits... but you didn't believe in monsters. Monsters, ghosts, magic, that was all stuff of fairytales.

You froze, echoing through the cavern you could hear footsteps, soft with slight taps like a cat with long claws padding along the floor. Slow, steady, whatever it was had to be large. And it was getting closer.

Thinking about it, this far up the mountains it was not entirely impossible for there to be something like, say, a bear. Down here. With you. 

You ducked into the shadows behind one of the pillars, knocking over a Tem plush in the process. The soft clicks of nailed paws on the stone grew closer, you held your breath as they came to a stop next to your hiding spot.

  A deep, gentle voice came from the other side of your pillar. "Is there somebody there?"

Okay, that was not a bear. Bears did not talk. Hermit murderer was still on the table. 

The voice drew closer, "do not be afraid, my child. Did you fall down, are you alright?"

Tightening your grip on your walking stick, you peek out from your hiding place.

Your heart skipped a beat. The large, horned, white furred beast was just like how some of the monsters in the old stories were described. Evil creatures that stole children, mislead travelers, they could even imprison you after death by capturing your very soul. 

But, this one did not look like a bloodthirsty beast. He had a soft, concerned look in his hazy eyes. He smiled at you, though you were pretty sure he couldn't see you. The pupils of his eyes were cloudy, white, and they did not focus on you. "Howdy, my child. My name is Asgore, I am the caretaker of these ruins," he held out one of his massive paw-like hands, "allow me to guide you, would you like some tea?"

You questioned him, tea? That was perhaps the last thing you expected from a massive monster. Asgore nodded, reached into his coat, and pulled out a chipped tulip-shaped teacup to offer you.

Baffled, you tucked your walking stick under your arm and accepted the empty cup. He then brought out a thermos and carefully poured hot tea into the cup.

As the sweet aroma filled your lungs the fear and anxiety you had been feeling faded away. You smiled back at the kind monster, thanked him, and took a sip. It was as though the steam from the tea was swirling inside your skull, none of your surroundings really registered as Asgore led you through the ruins. This was nice, peaceful, why you wouldn't mind just staying here forever.

At some point you must have dozed off, the world faded and when it returned you could just register being carried. The large, clawed paw-hands supporting your body surprisingly gently. He felt so warm, so safe.

The world faded again.

Your surroundings swirled around you as you struggled to focus your eyes. There was a fading numbness in your limbs, as though you were detached from your own body. Before allowing the dizziness to take you once more your eyes locked onto a pair of familiar button eyes. One of the Temmie dolls from earlier.

The surroundings looked normal enough, a simple room with a chair by a fireplace that filled the room with soft, warm light. Flower pots and vases decorated the top of a bookshelf and the table before you. Yet, as you stared into the doll's eyes, you felt yourself becoming more and more uneasy. 

It was incredibly difficult to collect your thoughts. The fogginess and numbness was lifting, but you still felt light-headed. As you lifted your arm to steady your head a new addition caught your eye. Gauze was wrapped around your forearm and wrist; you began to become aware of a dull, throbbing pain. 

As you slowly tried to comprehend how the injury had occurred, the massive monster returned carrying a tea set on a platter.

"Ah, you are awake. I have fixed us both something extra special," as he went to set down your teacup he collided with the Temmie doll, "oh!" His paw jolted and the cup slipped from his paw. The liquid that was in the cup immediately spilled over the table.

The liquid was thicker than tea should be, deep red in color. 

"Oh dear, excuse me," the monster stepped back and hurried back towards where you suppose the kitchen was.

Looking between your sore arm and the liquid spreading on the table, soaking into the note, your muddled mind managed to connect the dots. You needed to get out of this place.

Standing as quickly as you could you rushed out the only other exit to the room, out into a main foyer. Spotting your belongings by the door, you go to retrieve the walking stick. If anything it might help hold you steady in your current state. Asgore's voice carried from the other room, "my child? Where have you gone, you have not had your tea yet."

Now was the time to run. Your first instinct was to reach for the door, but the handle refused to budge. Looking around, there was a hallway with a couple doors, or stairways heading down.

The Temmie doll in the green sweater was at the top of the stairs.

You decided to question that later, the thing had apparently saved you from drinking blood-tea so maybe it was trying to help you out? That was illogical- but now was not the time. Scooping up the doll as you passed you hurried down the steps into the dark basement.

After rounding a corner you slumped on the wall as the world threatened to fade out again. Maybe, if you kept quiet, you would get more time to recover from the drugged tea and blood loss.

The sound of heavy paw pads on the stone floor reverberated in the small tunnel of the basement. You held your breath.

"Do not be afraid, my child," he was almost at the corner, "you will be very happy here."

He slowly turned the corner and for a moment you thought your idea had worked, that he would walk past you. Instead, he stopped.

"You cannot hide." Slowly he turned to face you, tiny embers began to dance around his paws, "I can hear your heart beating."

His fire magic flared, blinding you as those large, clawed paws lunged for you. In an instant a force pulled you sideways by your arms, there was a loud crash of claws digging into the stone wall. 

"m0ivs u nawt-smarts pants!"

Following the new voice, you soon found yourself colliding with a stone door before the spots could fade from your vision. There was not much time, as evident by a ball of fire impacting the door just above you. 

Asgore pleaded behind you, "please, come back! I can't be alone again!" 

Somehow you were able to push the heavy doors open, bolting into the next room. There was the Temmie doll again, waiting for you beside another open stone door. Snow and cold blew in from the outside. (at this point you didn't care how it was doing that, it was helping you.)

It was an exit.

You burst out of the ruins into the cold and white, the sound of the heavy doors closing behind you echoed in the snowy silence.

Out, you had gotten out! Laughing at how you had survived the mountain, you allowed yourself to fall over into the snow and take a moment to rest. 

As the adrenaline faded you began taking stock of your surroundings. These woods didn't look anything like any of the woodland you had passed through on the way up. Thinking about it, there wasn't any snow atop Mt. Ebbot this time of year either. The faint smell of burning tobacco lingered in the otherwise crisp, yet stagnant air.

Using the walking stick to get back to your feet, you began to regret flopping over in the snow. The warmth of your body caused the snow to melt, soaking your clothing and sapping away your body heat. Great, escaped the blood thirsty goat only to die of hypothermia. 

Determination moved you forward, you refused to give in to the cold. If you died here, you would go down fighting!

Dragging yourself along the path you approached a small bridge with some sort of wooden gate constructed over it. Every now and again the sound of a branch snapping under the weight of the accumulated snow would resound throughout the silent woods. It was unsettling, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

As you came upon a structure beyond the bridge, either some sort of guard station or food stand, it sunk in that something most likely did have an eye on you. Nobody was currently attending the station, but a cigarette sat smoking in an ashtray on the counter. You decided not to wait for whoever it was to get back.

There was a distinct lack of the Temmie dolls out here. They had been all over the place back in the ruins. Now, you hadn't even seen the slightest signs of even the green sweater wearing doll that had aided you earlier. You should have grabbed it when you left, then again it seemed to have an uncanny ability to track you down on its own. Somehow. 

This mountain was turning you insane.

"GOLLY GOSH, FRIEND! YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ARE IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE! HAVE NO FEAR, THE SENSATION SANS IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY!"

Startled by the sudden loud voice you spun around too fast. The world tilted sideways, gloved hands quickly grasped your shoulders to keep you from hitting the ground.

You never thought a skeleton could look so cheerful.

"WOWIE, YOU'RE PRACTICALLY A POPSICLE!" Sans' eyelights darted to your wrapped arm, then back to your face, his smile somehow widening further, "WAIT, WAIT, DID YOU COME FROM THE RUINS?!"

The volume of this monster's voice was starting to make your head hurt. You made an attempt to slur out some sort of answer, but in his excitement the skeleton cut you off at the first "uuuuh".

"OH! OH! THAT MEANS- YOU'RE A HUMAN! A REAL HUMAN WOW!" The short skeleton pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug. "OH! RIGHT! YOU'RE ON YOUR WAY TO BEING A POPSICLE! LET'S GET YOU HOME RIGHT AWAY! MY AWESOME BROTHER PAPYRUS WILL LOVE MEETING YOU!"

You began to protest, but before you knew it this small skeleton had you lifted over his head as he ran through the snow and trees. This was far from ideal, you were not keen on spending more time with monsters. 

Flailing your limbs, you were able to cause the two of you to tumble over, staggering back onto your feet as quickly as you could.

Sans hopped back up almost immediately and shook off the snow. "OH! GREAT IDEA, HUMAN! WE CAN WARM YOU UP WITH SOME QUICK EXERCISES! GET READY TO JUMP!"

With a quick motion Sans sent a wave of bones bursting from the ground in your direction, they barely missed you as you dove to the side. Shortly after you hit the ground you feel the blunt force of a second wave of magic construct bones impacting your side, sending you rolling. 

"NO, HUMAN! JUMP! GO UP, NOT SIDEWAYS!"

This little skeleton was going to kill you at this rate, you were sure of it. The onslaught continued, every time you began to get your bearings he launched another attack. It was too much. You were cold, your head and heart pounded as the physical activity pushed your already drained body to the very limit.

You couldn't take it, it was hard to say how many waves you had endured. 

Energy spent, you laid on your back staring up at the falling snow and towering trees. 

"YOU'RE NOT VERY GOOD AT THIS, ARE YOU, HUMAN?" The skeleton was now right next to you, looking down with a concerned expression. Your vision blurred and finally faded as you gave in to the exhaustion.

The first thing you noticed was the gentle warmth surrounding you.

The second thing you noticed was the musty smell of mildew.

As you stirred awake you found yourself upon an old, water stained couch covered by a pleasantly warm (and thankfully clean) blanket. You could see into the kitchen from your position, a figured just out of sight seemed to be in the midst of preparing something if the steady sound of chopping was anything to go by. Thinking back to your experience with Asgore, you began checking yourself over for any new injuries.

While sore and slightly bruised, there did not seem to be any new cuts. The bandages on your arm had been replaced with fresh ones, it hurt less than it had before and you hoped that was a good sign. 

At some point as you inspected yourself the sound of chopping stopped. You only became aware of this when a voice disrupted the silence, "ah, good, you're up. looks like m' bro gave ya a real work out."

You looked up from your arm to be greeted by the sight of another much taller skeleton. An unlit cigarette was gripped in his teeth. He must have had a habit of smoking, his bones had a sickly yellow tinge to them and a faint smell of smoke lingered about his person. An orange hoodie and khaki pants kept his limbs mostly covered. Over his cloths was an old apron that looked as though it had been found in a thrift store, you could just barely make out an image of a rabbit and the words "Hoppy Easter". It was covered in stains.

The tall skeleton handed you a glass of water, which you eyed warily. In his other hand was a large muffin on a plate.

"just bringin' ya a snack and some water," when you made no move to take the items he sat them down on the side table, "have 'em or don't. I'll be in th' kitchen workin' on dinner, so don't go anywhere."

The shrugged and returned to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the water and pastry. Your stomach growled and you couldn't help but stare down the muffin. You really didn't want to trust anything given to you by monsters, but you were also very hungry and very thirsty.

The muffin called to you.

Giving in the temptation and your growling stomach, you picked up the muffin and took a bite.

You waited. Nothing happened. You took another bite, still nothing. It didn't take long for you to finish the muffin and water after that. You instantly felt much better, more than you would expect from just a muffin.

  The skeletons seemed to actually be hospitable so far, but you still were not keen on sticking around. Telling yourself that you didn't want to overstay your welcome, you quietly made your way to the door.

As you reached for the door the handle turned on its own. The door swung open and you were once again face to face with the smaller skeleton from earlier. "OH GREAT, HUMAN! YOU'RE UP! JUST IN TIME FOR US TO HELP PAPY WITH DINNER!"

There was a flurry of activity as Sans rushed you into the small kitchen area. "IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE A HUMAN HAS BEEN IN THE UNDERGROUND! WE'RE SO HAPPY YOU'RE HERE!"

"yeah, it's gonna be nice havin' ya for dinner." Papyrus snickered to himself as he turned, large butcher's knife in hand.

You took a step back, bumping into Sans. The shorter skeleton huffed, "PAPY! THIS IS NO TIME FOR YOUR JOKES!"

Boney hands gripped your shoulders as Papyrus walked towards you, knife still in hand. He shrugged, "alright, fair enough, guess we can just cut to the chase then."

As Sans freed one of your shoulders to shake an annoyed fist at his brother, you took the opening to make your escape. Wrenching your other shoulder free you bolted from the kitchen, dodging bone pillars as they rose from the floor.

The temmie doll in the green sweater sat beside the exit, the door was open. The onslaught of bones stopped as you snatched up the doll on your way out. You never thought you would be so happy to see such a creepy doll again.

Not wanting to stick around you kept running into the woods, weaving between trees. Soon you found yourself lost in the wilderness, with any luck you were finally alone.

It was still cold out in the snow, but you could swear that the doll in your arms felt warm. You hugged the Temmie tight as you started to slow and catch your breath. Safe, so long as you had the Temmie doll you were safe.

Looking back to see if you were followed, it occurred to you that the skeletons had given up their assault rather quickly. You mused this thought aloud as you slumped against a tree.

You heard eerie, childlike giggling coming from the doll in your arms.

"dey saw Tem. Yoos al reddy bel0ngs tu Temmie."

The doll moved, its' head turning to face you as the legs stretched and wrapped around you.

You were never one to believe in fairy tales. After all, they were only stories. Things like monsters and magic just didn't exist. You desperately wished that you had been right.

Local legends say that those who climb Mt. Ebbot never returned. These stories warned of shifting forest paths, traps, and evil man-eating monsters and spirits trapped beneath the mountain.

#Horrorswap #fanfiction #Colby writes #illustrated story #Happy Halloween everyone

[dfroza]

the pure significance of heavenly words

used to illuminate the truth in Love is seen in Today’s reading of the ancient book of John in chapter 7:

After these events, it was time for Jesus to move on. He began a long walk through the Galilean countryside. He was purposefully avoiding Judea because of the violent threats made against Him by the Jews there who wanted to kill Him. It was fall, the time of year when the Jews celebrated the Festival of Booths.

Brothers of Jesus (to Jesus): Let’s get out of here and go south to Judea so You can show Your disciples there what You are capable of doing. No one who seeks the public eye is content to work in secret. If You want to perform these signs, then step forward on the world’s stage; don’t hide up here in the hills, Jesus.

Jesus’ own brothers were speaking contemptuously; they did not yet believe in Him, just as the people in His hometown did not see Him as anything more than Joseph’s son.

Jesus: My time has not yet arrived; but for you My brothers, by all means, it is always the right time. You have nothing to worry about because the world doesn’t hate you, but it despises Me because I am always exposing the dark evil in its works. Go on to the feast without Me; I am not going right now because My time is not yet at hand.

This conversation came to an abrupt end, and Jesus stayed in Galilee until His brothers were gone. Then He, too, went up to Jerusalem. But He traveled in secret to avoid drawing any public attention. Some Jewish leaders were searching for Him at the feast and asking the crowds where they could find Him. The crowds would talk in groups: some favored Jesus and thought He was a good man; others disliked Him and thought He was leading people astray. All of these conversations took place in whispers. No one was willing to speak openly about Jesus for fear of the religious leaders.

In the middle of the festival, Jesus marched directly into the temple and started to teach. Some of the Jews who heard Him were amazed at Jesus’ ability, and people questioned repeatedly:

Jews: How can this man be so wise about the Hebrew Scriptures? He has never had a formal education.

Jesus: I do not claim ownership of My words; they are a gift from the One who sent Me. If anyone is willing to act according to His purposes and is open to hearing truth, he will know the source of My teaching. Does it come from God or from Me? If a man speaks his own words, constantly quoting himself, he is after adulation. But I chase only after glory for the One who sent Me. My intention is authentic and true. You’ll find no wrong motives in Me.

Moses gave you the law, didn’t he? Then how can you blatantly ignore the law and look for an opportunity to murder Me?

Crowd: You must be possessed with a demon! Who is trying to kill You?

Jesus: Listen, all it took was for Me to do one thing, heal a crippled man, and you all were astonished. Don’t you remember how Moses passed down circumcision as a tradition of our ancestors? When you pick up a knife to circumcise on the Sabbath, isn’t that work? If a male is circumcised on the Sabbath to keep the law of Moses intact, how can making one man whole on the Sabbath be a cause for your violent rage? You should not judge by outward appearance. When you judge, search for what is right and just.

Some People of Jerusalem: There is the man they are seeking to kill; surely He must be the one. But here He is, speaking out in the open to the crowd, while they have not spoken a word to stop or challenge Him. Do these leaders now believe He is the Anointed One? But He can’t be; we know where this man comes from, but the true origin of the Anointed will be a mystery to all of us.

Jesus (speaking aloud as He teaches on the temple’s porch): You think you know Me and where I have come from, but I have not come here on My own. I have been sent by the One who embodies truth. You do not know Him. I know Him because I came from Him. He has sent Me.

Some were trying to seize Him because of His words, but no one laid as much as a finger on Him—His time had not yet arrived. In the crowd, there were many in whom faith was taking hold.

Believers in the Crowd: When the Anointed arrives, will He perform any more signs than this man has done?

Some Pharisees were hanging back in the crowd, overhearing the gossip about Him. The temple authorities and the Pharisees took action and sent officers to arrest Jesus.

Jesus: I am going to be with you for a little while longer; then I will return to the One who sent Me. You will look for Me, but you will not be able to find Me. Where I am, you are unable to come.

Some Jews in the Crowd (to each other): Where could He possibly go that we could not find Him? You don’t think He’s about to go into the Dispersion and teach our people scattered among the Greeks, do you? What do you think He means, “You will look for Me, but you will not be able to find Me,” and, “Where I am, you are unable to come”?

On the last day, the biggest day of the festival, Jesus stood again and spoke aloud.

Jesus: If any of you is thirsty, come to Me and drink. If you believe in Me, the Hebrew Scriptures say that rivers of living water will flow from within you.

Jesus was referring to the realities of life in the Spirit made available to everyone who believes in Him. But the Spirit had not yet arrived because Jesus had not been glorified.

Some of the Crowd: This man is definitely the Prophet.

Others: This is God’s Anointed, the Liberating King!

Still Others: Is it possible for the Anointed to come from Galilee? Don’t the Hebrew Scriptures say that He will come from Bethlehem, King David’s village, and be a descendant of King David?

Rumors and opinions about the true identity of Jesus divided the crowd. Some wanted to arrest Him, but no one dared to touch Him.

The officers who had been sent by the chief priests and Pharisees to take Jesus into custody returned empty-handed, and they faced some hard questions.

Chief Priest and Pharisees: Where is Jesus? Why didn’t you capture Him?

Officers: We listened to Him. Never has a man spoken like this man.

Pharisees: So you have also been led astray? Can you find one leader or educated Pharisee who believes this man? Of course not. This crowd is plagued by ignorance about the teachings of the law; that is why they will listen to Him. That is also why they are under God’s curse.

Nicodemus, the Pharisee who approached Jesus under the cloak of darkness, was present when the officers returned empty-handed. He addressed the leaders.

Nicodemus: Does our law condemn someone without first giving him a fair hearing and learning something about him?

Pharisees (ignoring Nicodemus’s legal point): Are you from Galilee too? Look it up for yourself; no real prophet is supposed to come from Galilee.

[The time came for everyone to go home.]

The Book of John, Chapter 7 (The Voice)

and a heavenly courtroom scene is depicted in Today’s reading of Psalm 82 for day 82 of Autumn along with lines from Amos chapter 5 (Today’s paired reading in the Testaments with John 7) that ties in with this:

[Psalm 82]

A song of Asaph.

The True God stands to preside over the heavenly council.

He pronounces judgment on the so-called gods.

He asks: “How long will you judge dishonestly

and be partial to the wicked?”

[pause]

“Stand up for the poor and the orphan;

advocate for the rights of the afflicted and those in need.

Deliver the poor and the needy;

rescue them from their evil oppressors.”

These bullies are ignorant; they have no understanding of My ways.

So as they walk in darkness,

the foundations of the earth tremble.

I said, “Though you are gods

and children of the Most High,

You will die no differently than any mortal;

you will fall like one of the princes.”

Rise up, O True God; judge the rulers of the earth,

for all the nations are Yours.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 82 (The Passion Translation)

[Raw Truth Is Never Popular]

Woe to you who turn justice to vinegar

and stomp righteousness into the mud.

Do you realize where you are? You’re in a cosmos

star-flung with constellations by God,

A world God wakes up each morning

and puts to bed each night.

God dips water from the ocean

and gives the land a drink.

God, God-revealed, does all this.

And he can destroy it as easily as make it.

He can turn this vast wonder into total waste.

People hate this kind of talk.

Raw truth is never popular.

But here it is, bluntly spoken:

Because you run roughshod over the poor

and take the bread right out of their mouths,

You’re never going to move into

the luxury homes you have built.

You’re never going to drink wine

from the expensive vineyards you’ve planted.

I know precisely the extent of your violations,

the enormity of your sins. Appalling!

You bully right-living people,

taking bribes right and left and kicking the poor when they’re down.

Justice is a lost cause. Evil is epidemic.

Decent people throw up their hands.

Protest and rebuke are useless,

a waste of breath.

Seek good and not evil—

and live!

You talk about God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies,

being your best friend.

Well, live like it,

and maybe it will happen.

Hate evil and love good,

then work it out in the public square.

Maybe God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies,

will notice your remnant and be gracious.

The Book of Amos, Chapter 5:7-15 (The Message)

and from these lines of Psalm 47 for day 347 of the year we see the sovereignty of God our beautiful mysterious Creator:

[Psalm 47]

For the worship leader. A song of the sons of Korah.

Clap your hands, all of you;

raise your voices joyfully and loudly.

Give honor for the True God of the universe;

Here’s why: The Eternal, the Most High, is awesome and deserves our great respect.

He is the great King over everything in this world.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 47:1-2 (The Voice)

to be concluded by wisdom from chapter 13 of the book of Proverbs that points to the significance of spiritual truth illuminated in the Scriptures:

Despise the word, will you?

Then you’ll pay the price and it won’t be pretty!

But the one who honors the Father’s holy instructions

will be rewarded.

When the lovers of God teach you truth,

a fountain of life opens up within you,

and their wise instruction will deliver you from the ways of death.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 13:13-14 (The Passion Translation)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for december 13, the 82nd day of Autumn and day 347 of the year:

[luriashrine]

The most bare minimum notes + characters

So here is a somewhat less messy version of my notes that I have for The Sands That Flow. I’ll be going over the setting such as Land of Decadence, briefly touch on Ariadyne, Rathmore as well, and small bios for the main characters then I’ll add the minor characters are included too. To start this thing off let’s start with the main premise of the story! I’ll maybe do a character study like I did with Celia... maybe. I have no clue.

+ Plot 

Lost in a foreign land that is devoid of all hope, Ríona Ní Fannon is a runaway, fleeing from the sanctuary that the fort Rathmore could provide. Legends and myths surround the lands known as the Land of Decadence. It is the place where the end had started, where the Great Impact would change the planet for the worse. As for why Ríona would visit the land, worth noting that it was not out of whim for her to leave Rathmore, in fact, if it were up to her she would rather stay. But the sudden disappearance of her brother is what motivates Ríona... her desperation to find him and bring him home. Along the way, she meets an infamous creature known as the Celestial Husky; a beast that is said to bring bad omen. The wolf, known as Rinor, would prove to be a valuable partner during Ríona’s trek across the seemingly empty lands. 

+ Characters 

The main protagonist is named Ríona Ní Fannon a hardworking and earnest young woman yet all the same simple-minded, far too much of a free spirit. Only 19 turning 20 years old. At the moment she is the only one that keeps watch over the family farm all while studying to become a Druid; she wants nothing more than for Orrin to pursue knowledge so that he does not end up like the rest of the family: poor farmers who barely get by. Most avoid of the villagers avoid her due to A) her mercurial temperament that most teenagers seem to have and B) the fact that bad luck seems to surround Ríona. Though she carries the same values as the villagers in Rathmore and Ainscen in general that being a black and white view on things, she’s not one to judge and often treats everyone in the same manner whether they are bad or good. She has a love for tragic folklore and dark myths. Rumor has it when she’s not out drinking and gambling she’s out in the night air ghost hunting or searching for the spirits. Rather talented with bartering.   

Orrin o’ Fannon is a precocious yet joyful young boy, only 15 he is incredibly mature than his sister and intelligent far beyond his age. Due to the constant praising, he would get because of his intelligence, he is rather arrogant and loves showing off his talent. That in mind, reasonable and still possessing a strong heart, often having views that are only “right” or “wrong”. Still carries a gold heart. Much like his sister, Orrin is also studying to become a Druid in hopes that he could deal with the more legal side of things. He had expressed interest in the lands where their ancestors once resided in and what lay beyond the fort. During a night of celebration that was in honor of their late grandmother Aslíng, he vanishes.   

Rinor is a celestial husky, a group of dogs that is worshipped by the Ainscen out of respect, however, it is believed that they bring terrible luck/bad omen therefore many keep their distance from them. They are called celestial husky due to the constellations on their flanks. At first, he was pretty hostile towards Ríona but during their travels the two bond. He proves himself to be loyal and dependable, however, he is a dog as such he’s playful at the wrong moments, tends to not listen to orders, and has the worst attention span.

Maeve Ní Caellaigh is the elder cousin of Orrin and Ríona, providing wisdom to the two siblings. However, it’s not out of goodwill it’s mostly to mock the two specifically Ríona, indeed she looks down at them. Her beauty has caused her to be conceited and she is rather selfish. Quick to dismiss things that do not interest her, she’s not afraid to let her nasty thoughts to be known.

Fintan or Fin O’ Sullivan is friends with Ríona and Orrin, being around the same age as Orrin rather his a year older than him. Pretty upbeat yet eccentric. He has a one-track sort of mind.

Muirín Ó Braonáin, Ríona’s childhood friend. One to follow the rules, he can be strict however it’s out of good intentions. He’s on the quiet side and is an introvert. 

Roux, known as The Scarlet Assassin. She’s infamous for her ruthless, not at all afraid to kill off whatever comrades she made make if it means earning good money. 

Blaise, leader of a group of outlaws. He can be unpredictable, it’s hard to tell what’s truly on his mind due to this and that’s what makes him intimidating. Many try to avoid crossing his path, meeting him once could only mean death. Much like Roux, he rarely spares anyone. For some unknown reason, he is obsessed with the Ainscen.   

Libra, a simple merchant who was once a part of a cult that was researching a cure for the disease that’s rampant in Land of Decadence. Now he just travels around the lands with a partner of his, named Gemini. 

???, leader of a cult of scientists who practice a more spiritual form of alchemy in hopes of curing the disease. They believe in the myths of a time long ago, convinced that there’s some degree of fact to be found in them. 

Lucello, he’s a mischevious traveler who claims that he is studying the environment and the changes in it. Known to lie he speaks in a cryptic manner.

Location, Location, Location. + Ariadyne

A city in the sky where the rich, politically important figures, and the city planners for the city reside. While hard to see in Ainjeca due to the distance it’s easy to spot in Land of Decadence. Once, the people of Ariadyne would take resources such as important minerals and whatever food they can find or take from the remaining farmers. Those days are long gone and rarely does anyone come to the surface. The residents seemed to have predicted The Great Impact but plans for the city were in development before the signs that The Great Impact would occur. 

+ Rathmore

A village that borrows from Celtic culture. It is one of the more larger forts with circular walls protecting the village, Rathmore is known as a hill fort. In the very center of it, there is a cool cavern protecting whoever lives or works down there from the heat. Here there are a few settlements for the wealthy and enough room for the merchants set up shops; it acts as a bazaar of sorts. Outside of the caverns, the village is filled with houses known as roundhouses made of local materials such as mud and straw or woven wood, there are no windows and straw roofs cover the house and near the river, there are houses known as crannog. Traditions and myths are the foundations of the village, therefore, the villagers are extremely superstitious as well as religious since myths are intertwined with stories about God, spirits, and other divine beings that are lesser gods. Death is an important part of their culture and they respect the departed. Funerals are held by first, burning the deceased into ashes and then using a large enough urn to place food for them to the afterlife and sending them off by placing the urn in the river Styx, a starting place for the deceased to begin their journey to the Otherworld to meet with the mother of all life, God. The funerals are almost festive like with maidens singing to the dead in order to soothe their spirits throwing flower petals from the sacred springs and dancing to bards singing the goodbye song Don’t Weep Over My Grave. The living relative is the one who carries the urn and leads the legion of maidens, bards, and funeral goers. After the funeral, there is a festival and upbeat wake in order to appease the departed and sharing good stories about them in remembrance of the time they spent on the planet. There is a lot of drinking to be involved and bar fights are pretty common. Rathmore is governed by the chieftain and a council of six wise elders however the council is quite corrupt mostly due to their built up paranoia that one day Rathmore will either be discovered by outsiders from Ainjcea or marauders raiding their village which has happened a few times; therefore they are incredibly strict about the rule that you cannot leave the fortress should anyone break the rule then a force known as The Guardians would chase after the deserters and bring them back dead or alive; very few can leave the village merchants are one of them, Guardians as well to escort the merchants, and the chieftain. That said, none of the villagers want to venture outside of Rathmore since they are aware of the great impact yet not the effects, they believe that the lands are dried up, a giant dust bowl. Outside the village is a green forest surrounded by mist and small mountains, the Forest of Paradise is not too far from the village, it’s about a half an hour walking distance. Farmers are known as Planet Soothers despite having this titled and the fact that they are the backbone of society, they are low class often poor. They live outside the center village in a place known as The Hothouse District for large land use. However, because of climate change, it's getting rough to grow crops during summer and winter solstice so many have taken to raising animals. Animal farmers are wealthier yet not as much as merchants or doctors and teachers(Druids). 

#ramblings ; #that's all I can share ;v; told you that it's super short and provides some information. hopefully enough #feel free to ask any questions! #most of the info are on my twitter i realize... orz

[cwebberphotography]

Two New YouTube videos: https://youtu.be/ipOWwYufwa4

Holi is the festival of colours. It’s also the day I chose to take a break from Pokhara. After breakfast I got a ride on Nirmal’s motor bike to the bus stop. I didn’t get a seat for about 20 minutes so I bumped around in the isle. Then I walked four hours up to Panchase. Got lost, stopped a lot.  I asked directions a couple times and when I got to Green Village I was pulled in for a tea and dal baht. Arjun said if I stay a week it would be 700 NPR/night for a room and three meals a day plus all the tea I can drink.  Now I have lots of time to meditate explore, photograph, sit with the cats and watch them make food in the Gurung kitchen.

There are no decorations in this place. Mud walls and floors a fire on the ground some pots and pans and stools five inches off the ground. Somehow everything is possible in the kitchen. They have a big pot that acts as the sink/compost which they feed to the buffalo once a day. And running water outside that comes out glacier cold. After lunch I walked the trail to one of many Shiva Temples. Lots of good view points and half way up stopped in a secluded spot to meditate on a rock. Found a tree and put my hand on it to see if it would speak to me. It just said he was old as time immemorial. When I came back at sunset it was raining and hailing so I went by the fire and the cool cat warmed my lap while they made dinner. Eventually my legs fell asleep and thankfully the cat moved off. Then slowly the life blood came flowing back again. They hired a carpenter from the next village to stay there and make 20 bee hives and furniture. He was treated like a second class citizen the entire time, he ate last, only millet and dal, usually outside or on the floor away from everyone else and had his own plates and cup…I thought he was a slow neighbour at first as he chatted on about god-knows.  While eating he was striking all sorts of poses he was also drinking lots of local wine.

Soon I’m off to bed. Shuba raatri. What stars aren’t clouded over are completely over taken by the brightness of the full moon. Made even more powerful by the lack of power on top of the mountain.

A letter to the man who just arrived: This place will eat you alive. If you let it. You may leave a different person. You may not like the long cold nights and the silence of the days may cause a blissful malaise. Bamboo forests and fires in the distance. Dusk in the meadow. Hermits who don’t wave back, abandoned foundations and empty river crossings. Cow bells hidden by mountain passes. Himalayas tower over me tall with white clouds blown over, smeared across time from day break to now, they stand watch in the North over tiny galaxies in the leaves.

The higher I get the better I feel. Nepal is the top of the world. This place just got a road in 2012 and electricity is also new. I can take an evening stroll and see nothing but the view. The stars shine bright and the food is fresh within a few feet. There are no preservatives no refrigerator and the air and water are clean. The only voices I hear are miles away.

The sun emits radio waves through the vacuum of space. Exactly two months into this trip. Two months ago I left home now I’m in a cave in Nepal in a mountain in the forest with my feet up. I see maybe three or four people everyday. Wake with the sun. Ma lights two incense and makes tea and I stretch and gaze at the Himalayas. Wash my face and eat breakfast then walk into the mountains to find Shiva temples and small caves. Pink and red rhododendron trees line the path. Sit in the sun. nap on a stoop, my jacket packs into little pillow. Smell of wet green forest and only the sound of birds and falling leaves occasional bees and far away single engine airplanes. I’ve had too much dal baht. Probably eaten my weight in rice. Singing Om with John Lennon listening to Let It Be the sun dries my tears as I descend the mountain. Several Beatles references this week have brought back the thought that as time goes on coincidences and synchronisities will grow as well. The song Across the Universe has new meaning for me now as Lennon sings the mantra Jay Guru Deva and then says Om.

Fog straddled the mountain and caressed it from all angles. As I pass flowers after flowers and my path is lined with red pedals the smell of a woman enters my nostrils and I know it’s no woman but the fragrance of God and it’s he who makes all the beautiful women smell as good as they do. Without flowers there would be no perfume.

Green Village guest house is at least 25 years old. Arjun’s grandma’s older brother lived in town and lost everything in a card game so he came here where there were only a few buffalo farmers. He built the original place and lived here 50 years before he was robbed and returned to town. Slowly his family moved up the mountain and started the first tea house and added to it as others came to make a full-fledged ‘hotel’. I had a lot of questions for Arjun, he said they go to town once a month for supplies sometimes less sometimes more. Sometimes they’re without power for months at a time and before the road his aunt would walk both ways.

Today I was caught in the rain. Turned hail storm. I sat under a tree to stay as dry as possible then continued to shoot. Someone who knows Nama the Mother is here now. He’s my age and working in England and is home visiting for a funeral. He says he’s Buddhist and could not do vipassana because he’s not strong enough.

Bishal left this morning after another good talk.  Also my phone is dead and there is no sign of power coming back on. We had breakfast around 6:30 and lunch after 10 a.m. Between we chatted about London, meditation, smoking, family, LSD, books, music and getting together in Pokhara. His family caste is from Himalayas, the Gurung warrior caste, and have been with the British Army for 200 years. He told me two stories of vipassana he’s heard. One was his friend ran away early on the third day and another friend did it and told his long time girlfriend after that he had been cheating and also has a wife. Today I saw Ma with a pile of buffalo shit in her hand walking down the path.

Woke at six and had a millet pancake which includes five teaspoons of sugar, water, eggs and honey on top. The moon is still high in the sky as the sun rises. Mountains are invisible and the sky is blue. The dew and condensation drops from the roof and ceiling as the local news plays on the radio and the dude hammers away at bee hives. I went to a part of the mountain with no birds or bees or breeze and felt complete silence. It’s fleeting and actually deafening. After it disappeared I was happy to hear again. Ok with the radio, the birds and bees the chatter in any language was welcome. Here I’m able to meditate all day and stretch and read and be 100% in nature all the time. Best of all I have no worries. No worries of the future or present. All my food and shelter are taken care of, my toilet, clothes, TV time at night when there is power. Even without power or electricity I’m fine and happy.

Occasional sense desires come but that’s why I’m here. To get away from cake and chips and jungle talkies and tourists because soon enough my life will be turned upside down in Japan and Kathmandu. Monday of this week like the last 10 at least have come and gone without a whimper. Just a smile if I realize which day it is. It truly is your job you hate not a certain day of the week.

After an hour sit in my room I walked the path to Arthur and found a spot to sit in the sun. Stopping every 10 feet to smell a new smell or listen or stare far away and regain my long distance sight which dissolves in the confines of a city. Seeing people on these trails is as rare as seeing a moose in Canada. I heard people have around 60,000 thoughts (conscious and subconscious) a day and 95% of them are the same as yesterday. We are all writing our stories day by day. I would like for mine to have no repeats.

It’s Thursday, yesterday I had a hot water bucket bath and today I did my laundry which may never dry. As I walked the ridge I could hear two women in the bush and figured they were pruning trees for buffalo like the woman I came across on the way up, way up in a tree. After sitting I heard them closer, then saw four human size bunches of leaves go down the path laughing and chatting along. These people are masters of camouflage.

After an afternoon nap, out my window a man and Ma were carrying wood on their foreheads and dumping it. She’s old and he’s older and I found myself watching thinking maybe they’d let me stack the wood. I asked Arjun and he said go ahead and grab a basket. If she can do it so can I. Now she’s stacking and he’s carrying so I grab a basket and start. After 1.5 hours working bare foot the pile disappeared. It’s hard work, and if you stop paying attention to what you’re doing for one second you can really hurt yourself. That night I had two roxies (local wine) and watched the Waterboy until her Hindi soaps came on.

Pani is water. Jaro is cold. Basa means sit. Chiya is tea. Chiini is sugar.

Second last day a man from Vancouver came and we talked most of the time. He’s 44 has a house and family. Works for the city as an engineer and micro-doses LSD and mushrooms for ideas and to stay fresh. He said he couldn’t live without meditating before bed. I said I also enjoy it. On the walk down Ram Dass said meditation is a method and a trap. You need to become trapped in it for it to work but ultimately it is a method and should be dropped. The goal is not to be a meditator but to be free.

The days are long and life is short. I take it one hour at a time. I love laughing with Nama and Arjun. I could live in this area but it’s changing fast. The road is starting to be used more and people searching for solitude are all coming here. Today a picnic bus came with people crammed in and over flowing onto the roof.

After a long walk I went to warm up and watch the festivities. As soon as I sat down two guys grabbed me and forced me to dance a fast song. I danced with an old man who looks like Gandhi with foggy glasses and missing teeth. My reward was some of the best food I’ve had to date.

Thankful to be traveling alone and for strangers who dance.

      Seven days in Bhangjyang Two New YouTube videos: Holi is the festival of colours. It's also the day I chose to take a break from Pokhara.