#He absolutely had to sell his soul to meet a man as majestic as the heavy weapons guy tf2

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au #4

Here it is on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866

Preview: Once on the train, it's quickly made clear that Laxus will not be enjoying a delightful morning meal. Hell, he won't even be enjoying his morning at all. Something Laxus has never once thought of in his life is currently making said life miserable. He's motion sick and he can't even stand the plain smell of bread, so he's also banning the others from eating, dragging them along in his illfated anguish."Oh baby, I'm so sorry", Bickslow says somehow managing to sound amused and sincerely worried at the same time. "If we had known, we would have walked to Paris with you", he claims, patting Laxus' head. Evergreen snorts at that declaration and Freed flat-out says: "No. No we really wouldn't have. Don't give the princeling false hope like that." Laxus groans in response and completely out of it, he grumbles: "Shut up. Let me live the illusion of someone caring about me."

Fic under the cut!

Once on the train, it's quickly made clear that Laxus will not be enjoying a delightful morning meal. Hell, he won't even be enjoying his morning at all. Something Laxus has never once thought of in his life is currently making said life miserable. He's motion sick and he can't even stand the plain smell of bread, so he's also banning the others from eating, dragging them along in his illfated anguish.

"Oh baby, I'm so sorry", Bickslow says somehow managing to sound amused and sincerely worried at the same time. "If we had known, we would have walked to Paris with you", he claims, patting Laxus' head. Evergreen snorts at that declaration and Freed flat-out says: "No. No we really wouldn't have. Don't give the princeling false hope like that." Laxus groans in response and completely out of it, he grumbles: "Shut up. Let me live the illusion of someone caring about me."

"Dramatic, aren't we?" Without giving him a chance to protest, Freed stands up from where he'd been seated with his friends. "Move over", he orders because the man apparently doesn't know how to ask things. Laxus complies, because he absolutely doesn't want to fight the man right now and mercifully, Freed doesn't lord it over him. Instead, he pats his lap and Laxus looks at the man's legs in confusion.

What does he want now? Sure, they're nice legs but he doesn't see why Freed would need to bring that up now. "Lay down, idiot." Dang, it's almost as if the man can read his thoughts. Deciding to not experience any more thoughts today, the idiot in question tentatively lays his head down.

Vaguely, he's aware of Freed carding his fingers through his hair and it makes him feel sort of warm and fuzzy. He wonders whether certain parts the other man allows his fingers to linger on are pressure points, because he feels a bit better, but also more sleepy. He blinks slowly and yawns. He thinks he can hear someone chuckle above him. "Why don't you take a nap?" a pleasantly deep voice asks and bonelessly, Laxus complies.

"Well well well, how the turntable-turns have tabled during this turn", Bickslow smugly states as he shoots Freed a wink. Freed shudders in disgust. "Don't open your mouth again. Ever." Pouting, Bickslow reaches over the table to poke Freed's cheeks. "But baby, I need to open my mouth to eat. I'll die otherwise." Slapping his hand away, Freed blankly stares at him. "I will not retract my statement. Repent."

Ah these truly are her boys, Evergreen thinks as she watches them converse without an ounce of intelligence being spilt into their talk. "So, what do we think about the young man currently residing in your lap? I personally think we're going to have to work very hard to pass him off as a royal. He's nice, but not exactly majestic."

"Neither is Makarov", Freed interjects and she reluctantly nods at that. "I suggest we go through with it." Out of his jacket's pocket, he plucks a pocket watch. "We've got this one and the lad over here has what seems to be the key to it. Not that we really needed it", he says as he puts the object back and briefly shows them the key they had ordered by a blacksmith. "It is a nice touch, though."

"How are we going to teach him his background? Amnesia isn't going to cut it", Bickslow muses and Freed smiles a wicked little smile. Lately, his smiles have been like that a lot and Evergreen wishes he would relax and enjoy himself for a while instead of playing this grotesque caricature of himself.

"We teach him through the power of suggestion. I don't think that he'd like classical teaching very much and more importantly, we have to sell him as the true prince. Give him tidbits here and there and let him glue the pieces himself. He'll think that he's remembering his life and will consequently come across as a genuine person in front of Makarov. We've got this you guys."

"Do we want to have him though?" Bickslow asks and for a moment, his usual tomfoolery has made for a seriousness that he doesn't often showcase. "Don't you think he deserves better than a couple of strangers lying to him? We're abusing his trust, you know." With each word, Bickslow had shuffled a bit closer to him and in the end, they were nearly nose to nose. Bickslow's eyes have this unnerving quality to them that makes it look as though they are able to see the deepest part of your soul and right now, Freed's exposed to the full extent of it. Evergreen feels a bit sorry for him.

That is until he opens his mouth. Freed's good with words and that makes the string of words that leaves his mouth only more insufferable. "So? People who believe lies and promises of love and family are practically asking to be deceited. The sooner one learns that, the better."

Bickslow leans back with an eyeroll. "Didn't you say that you suspected the prince is still alive? And didn't you call yourself 'the greatest detective' all those years ago? If you're so smart, why are you dragging him into this?"

"Well, the difference between me now and the past me, is that know I can admit that I'm stupid", ignoring the noises of agreement from her and Bickslow, Freed continues, "Secondly, he wanted to go to Paris, we're helping him." Bickslow barks out a laugh at that. "Sure Jan", he says and pats Freed on the shoulder. "Sure, sure."

A commotion outside their train compartment dissolves the tension between them and shifts their focus elsewhere. "I'll go look", Freed offers before gently getting up as to not wake Laxus. For someone who doesn't care for their ward, he's awfully considerate, going as far as shoving a scarf under his head before he darts out of the door.

As soon as Freed's out of sight, Bickslow brushes a part of his hair over his right eye. "Hur dur my name Freed, me no careth for anyone", he mocks their pseudo-brother and Evergreen stifles a laugh. "You know that's how he warms up to people right? One day one he'll hate you and one day two he'll tell you about the crimes he's comitted. He is like that."

"Still, I don't know what he's thinking lying to this man. I'm not sure I agree." Evergreen smiles whistfully at that. "That's because you and me have a history with the prince and Freed doesn't. We're looking for an old friend and who knows what Freed's looking for."

Evergreen remembers meeting Freed as though it was yesterday, mainly because of how similar they had been. She and Bickslow had been looking for anyone who could give them hints about the young prince's whereabouts and whether he was alive at all. But nobody wanted to give two snooty little kids like them the time of day, except for another snooty brat, laughing at them. "It's obvious that's he's still alive, dummies", he had said and she had kicked him in the shins before asking him who exactly he thought he was.

Surprise had flickered in his eyes (she still doesn't know why, but does it really matter?). He had proudly declared himself 'the world's best detective', which of course prompted both her and Bickslow to laugh at the tiny brat. Stomping his foot he had declared to lead them to their prince and well, would you look at the situation now? The boastful brat had become a brother to her, but there are times when she has no idea what's going on in his head. His past seems to be his greatest motivation to move forward, but it simultaneously seems to drag him back the most. It's a shame he doesn't want to talk about it.

Speak of the devil. Freed pops his head back in and his face betrays his troubled feelings. "Guys," he says and clacks his tongue, "There's a bit of a problem with our passports. They're in the wrong colour, so it's quite obvious that they're fake."

"Ah", Bickslow, the one in charge of making them helpfully says. "Oh dear", Evergreen adds, wanting to heighten the rising tension in the atmosphere and piss Freed off a bit. She didn't make those documents though, so have fun dealing with it Bix!

After two seconds of thoughts, Freed grumbles out his temporary solution. "Bix, the conductor is coming from the right, go stall him for a bit. Ask him where the toilet is or something, I don't care. Join us after ten minutes, we'll be waiting in the wagon where they store the heavy luggage. Let's move." Before either of them can ask what he's planning with their fourth member, Freed has already gathered him in arms. "This looks so suspicious", he sighs and Evergreen suggest: "I could cry a bit? Nobody asks a nice lady why they're crying. Nice ladies are respected."

"If only you were a nice lady", Freed can't help but chime in and she gives himan ice cold glare. "One day, I'll mix out your shampoo for a mixture of shampoo and bleach with a high enough percentage of shampoo so you won't be able to tell the difference but also a high enough dosage of bleach that your hair'll fall out." She yanks the door open after that, fortifying her threat and Freed quietly follows. Bickslow goes the opposite way.  

Laxus wakes up feeling sicker than before. He retches and before he can actually vomit, he's dumped on the floor. A bucket quickly appears in his line of sight and luckily, it's quick enough. Throughout the act of rearranging his guts, somebody strokes his back and murmurs soft and encouraging words. That part is quite nice.

"What's going on?" he asks as soon as he's able to, which actually takes an embarassing amount of time. "Your royal highness, we saw it fit to move you to a more serene cabin", Freed says and Laxus takes the time to properly look around. "This is the bagage compartment", he dryly notes. "But it's more serene, right?" Freed retorts. Laxus wishes he could go back to sleep or put the other man to sleep (permanently).

Then it hits him. If they're hiding, that must mean something's wrong. And if there's something wrong, that means he can bully Freed for being an incompetent ass. "Say Freed", he says casually, "There wouldn't happen to be anything wrong, right? You, as my number one loyal servant, wouldn't allow that to happen. Surely you wouldn't put me in harm's way."

"Don't worry my prince, no harm will be inflicted to you except for the harm done by these hands", Freed snaps back and finally, finally Laxus is truly grating on the man's nerves. "Where is Bickslow?" he asks to let the man calm down so he can later rile him up again. "On his way here, he should be here about now."

As though his name had summoned him, Bickslow cheerfully joins the party. "Hey guys, who wants to play dress up with whatever we find in those bags?"

They don't get the chance to answer as the smell of fire alerts them to things not being quite right. Immediately, Bickslow opens the door he just came through only to discover that it isn't connected to the wagon in front of them anymore. Upon opening the door behind them, they  find out that they aren't connected to that part of the train either. They are however, still hurling forward at an impossible speed.

"Looks like someone's trying to kill us. Bit of an overreaction to fraud if you ask me", Evergreen bemuses. "Find the source of the fire and put it out with wet cloth", Freed orders Evergreen and Bickslow. Laxus, you help me search for the brake."

It doesn't take long for Laxus to find the brake. It takes him an even shorter amount of time to break it. He had lost his balance due to a bump in the rails, grabbed onto the handle and broke it off. It had been a honest to God accident, like what Freed's going to make his death look like if they make it out of it.

"That wasn't a bump Laxus. That was a change of track. We're now unfortunately moving towards that." Calmly (how he does it, Laxus doesn't know), Freed points at a rotting bridge. "Dang, do I give my last words and epic I-love-you-guys-speach? By the way Laxus, you're included." Bickslow's words may be those of a bit of a lunatic, Laxus still feels oddly touched. Freed breaks the moment by rolling his eyes. "No idiot. Grab that rope over there and bind a shitload of crooked iron to it. Then we'll throw it on the tracks on hope it gets stuck somewhere."

Quickly they set to work, Evergreen, Bickslow and Laxus trying metal object to the rope as Freed instructs them with his level voice. The way he keeps his composure makes it easier for the rest of them to do the same. When Freed is satisfied with the result, he hands them all big coats and blankets before ordering them to throw their rope. "These are for breaking our fall, should the rope-trick not work." Laxus nods and breathes through his nose, trying to not let his eyes travel to the nearing bridge.

A hook on the rope gets stuck on the rails and without hesitation, Evergreen and Bickslow jump out. Laxus, thrown off by the sudden change in rhythm feels sick again. Within a second, the rope breaks and the shock throws him off his feet. Fuck, he's going to die.

"Laxus." The sound of his name draws his attention to Freed who offers him his hand, still so calm and composed. "We're going to have a bit of a harder landing, but we'll be alright I think. I'll count to three and we'll jump." Laxus nods and collects himself.

"One."

He takes the hand. Freed offered after all.

"Two."

And because Freed's an unpredictable asshole, he jumps and drags Laxus with him before they've even reached three.

"Three!" Freed yells before the world goes black.

#Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fraxus #Evergreen fairy tail #Bickslow #fanfic #Anastasia au #TheFairyWrites

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Germany to Eurovision with two total strangers turned friends overnight

First, S!sters, let me tell you how it works, hey!

I am never too sure why but German national finals just almost NEVER work in my exact favour. Granted, I have forgiven them for Roman Lob because I have had literally no other reason to hate him other than “eww he’s winning every single Unser Star für Baku show bar one he’s such an easy winner”; and maybe Michael too because my only vitriol towards him was that he’s such a great soul... but only on his non-ESC stuff? If I had anyone else at the time, it would have obviously been the energy of Xavier Darcy and his song too! But at the same time Xavier would have placed worse than Michael so I’ll assume that Michael was actually the best possible choice for Germany at the time? Sorry, voXXclub, Ryk and Ivy Quainoo fans.

But god damn Germany, you could have given us just at least SOME ounce of competitiveness this year, couldn’t you??? And you'll know exactly why do I feel this certain way about this next target of my reviewing. Meet Carlotta Truman and Laurita Spinelli that were assembled specially for the German national final (which hopefully gives you a bit of a heads-up of where are the things going) and have a song written especially for them to pretend to be something they are actually not looking like to be, without their involvement... this songwriting camp experience has turned them into S!sters. Got that? Even the exclamation point part? Good, because you'll probably never hear of neither them, nor their song "Sister", ever again. Just like it is accepted for a German entry as of lately, I suppose.

It starts off innocently enough, with the music-box-y sound, and then quickly escalates into the singing on top of a different set of instruments. If there’s one thing I can’t fault this song for, it’s the instant relatability levels this song hits you with: “I’m tired”, “I’m tired of competing”, “I’m sorry for the drama”, “I tried to steal your thunder”... if these aren’t moods. Now what does this message tie into? Of course one of the songwriters (Laurell Barker) talked about the message of it being somewhat related to women who get aggressive with one another for things and I think I remember that the choruses represent their unity or so. However, I’d like to interpret it a little differently. If I consult myself of the meaning of this song for myself, it is somewhat indeed about two sisters that find it hard to get along a LOT (e.g.: me and my sister irl), but the chorus represents that in the end of the day, they’re still sisters, therefore, they’re each other’s family parts and the “fire” burning in between of them is the sign of the by-default sisterly bond and that it can be strong. If I listen to Laurell, however (and I should because it’s HER song and HER interpretations should be official), it’s two women who probably compete for a man’s attention and get angry at each other when they either receive something from that man (”how dare you get more flowers from him than me!”) or they don’t (”it’s your fault he didn’t look at either of us today!”). At the end they’re just “tired of competing” and “tired of always losing” and secretly accept the fact that they should just get the man notice them both equally so he can hang out with two chick of one’s price, all at once. ^^

But what about how the song sounds? Well, that’s the problem. It’s just your standard average pop tune that doesn’t offer anything fun nor exciting. It uses simple instruments (guitars, music box), simple melodies (the main leitmotif progression on this song is C - E - lower B - C), even the simple stage presentation (the girls were dressed in black for this song on the NF). Simplicity is key, but for a country like Germany, they often tend to wander off into a painfully average or just plain ‘misunderstood-idea’ category. Cascada had a good tune but in a rapidly evolving Eurovision their act just looked completely uninspired - just some chick with a mediocre dress dancing on stairs with random camera shots to the backings. While the others were even more fun and intriguing (or diaspora overvoted them). Elaiza for some reason was uninteresting for most songwise, to say the least. Ann Sophie wasn't so bad but the German staging director did not get the gist that turning your ass against Europe is a no way points magnetiser, not even from the thirsty guys looking for attractive Eurowomen. Jamie-Lee was so-so but she refused to let her otaku look go away for her Eurovision performance, therefore everything looked so confusing and there was no absolute point in anything, not even in those laser trees. And Levina was... ehhhhh... and like someone said on Twitter few days ago, this was a song with no staging. It's sad to see Germany sending something cookie-cutter but it's even more awful when they send something remotely decent but their staging sucks at the end. Even the one for "Sister" is not gonna feature the spinning platform they had in the NF originally for Tel Aviv, that's a shame.

Well if there’s something I can admire the song for is that the girls kind of sound good when they do the song live? Unlike San Marino 2018 (which is also two girls only paired for a national final that never knew each other in their lives but having to pretend to be besties after winning the NF they sang on), they truly sell the thing nicely without making it out to be a mess. The spinning platform might have helped a bit more and with it being gone so is the magic I guess, but I guess the ladies might make it work some more at SOME point (at least with their singing)... Also the structuring of the song is pretty smeared out but interesting. I'd expect them to go "oOoOo SISTER! WahOoO SISTE-ER!" after the whole chorus but Carlotta and Laurita are rebels - they use it after half a full chorus, omitting the second chorus line. And they manage to somehow bring that chorus back, so they can end it with proclaiming once more that something "[shines] like city lights, torches in the skYYY". Then they go all like "don't you try to hiiiiide iiiit, dON'T YOU TRY TO HIIIIIDE IIIIIT... SISTER!" and the music box closes everything. Bookends. And its simplicity is nice enough to not bother me, and the instrument touches (again, guitar, and they even tried to make the chorus slightly majestic, with strings I suppose, and thise backings that repeat the song's leitmotif melody) are quite delightful in itself, so that it wouldn't be boring, melred out vanilla with maple syrup - instead it's a bit more 'orchestral' vanilla. It's vanilla that's at least accompanied with some vocal strenght. I do imagine playing just that "oOoOo SISTER" part alone in a background of a fancy ball, with red carpet, punch bowl, silver sparkly dresses and chandelier lights. Everything of there filmed from top view until camera pabs to someone that looks like Anne Hathaway.

In the end I actually kinda like this, and I even liked Levina to some degree 2 years ago (but wasn’t fond of Jamie Lee and Ann Sophie, the better of the average German entries). It stands its ground out more than them - it has more going on for itself without needing to sound like a ripoff of another song or an anime fangirl staging. It has some nicer things going on for itself that I could care about (like the ‘orchestrale’). I have a feeling I might not like the girls' chemistry on stage and that it won't transmit to the viewing audience’s TV screens though, but more on that on the below résumée:

Approval factor: It’s... approvable, nothing much of complete approvable, but the feeling of liking this is there, so go ahead with it Germany...

Follow-up factor: Do I need to say more on this? You know what, these last two years for Germany proved that they decided to not improve on their result, Michael Schulte was just a fluke and if the Germans were more cloudcuckoolanding on last year’s German NF, they would’ve sent that only vanilla NF song they had in there...

Big 5 factor: If (emphasis on “if”) S!sters are staged nicely - decent vocals (no voicecracks like Levina), a bit better staging, “believable” chemistry - they maaaay escape bottom 2 at best, maybe even explore some more beyond the bottom 5... if anything else fails, bottom 5 is locked. I mean, they have plenty of places to fuck up in, like, making the girls look way too fake happy at each other at the end, or just let them scream “SISTEEEER” at each other with no mutual emotions exchanged at each other. Just like Italy was feared to look like last year - two men yelling angrily/passively-aggresively at each other. So can be S!sters, but the catch is that they’re’nt the fan faves. And they’re singing in English. And barely anyone of the “locals” would care about them anyway, just like the Eurofans don’t. (Also can S!sters get better stage clothes for Eurovision? Please? That’s just my flop suggestion, idk if it will give them better points but I would dress Laurita in a white suit (white crop top, white coat, white pants, even the stilettos white). Just because... they could play ying-yang with each other. Laurita can still have red lipstick on if she wants btw)

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

Soooooo, Unser Lied für Israel. To be honest with y’all, this wasn’t a very favourable edition for me because, for one, I have never heard of any of those final NF acts. Wish they admitted Kasalla to the lineup, so then I could’ve had another clear favourite next to the first one down below that I’ll be talking about in this bonus. Second of all that... like I said, I wasn’t very hyped about this NF much unlike last year, where even some “who is she where did you find her” people tried their asses off to be appealing, and hey, a mediocre German NF filler-declared-winner did not win for once! (instead she went for judging talents in her actual home country and even danced a bit to that country NF’s winner song while it was performed as a competitor) This year, not only don’t I have an act that I would actively mourn of its NF loss, but also aside from my apparent favourite, the songs weren’t even that likeable by me. Yes, a lot of them were nice and Germany certainly upped their game, but I feel the same way I felt with Dora - only one good song, then another decent favourite that I have I guess, but that’s it. Let’s find out who won this NF for me and some other things:

• Look Germany, I found you your saviour you seemingly rejected! Well yeah fine, she didn’t do well with the international jury and S!sters did (only because the biased German juror pushed them into 1st), but let’s all agree her song would be a-bangin’. Meet Aly Ryan and her stylish synthpop tune “Wear Your Love”, complimented with a cool stage show, with projected stripes and everything! The expert jury rewarded it with 12 points rightfully, I’d say. Germany should’ve followed suit :) (also the trumpets remind me of a British NF fan flop from last year, “Legends” by Asanda. Is it just me???)

(this might as well just not matter anymore now that Aly’s management thought that it’s the best idea to block the fans that go to her DMs... granted that some artists could really use some privacy Instagram-wise, but that’s what disabling DMs is for. At least Aly still has fans though, unlike most other ULfI candidates. She should have enjoyed her attention, no? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) UPDATE: despite this people still would’ve wanted to see Aly win, and I agree. Some minor things are forgotten anyway and the artists are loved still if anything.)

• Not necessarily my favourite now but there was this cool chick going by the moniker Lilly Among Clouds. Nothing particular in her song “Surprise” sounds like there’s a happy sky with few clouds - it’s very much so a cloudy sky with a slightly dramatic storm coming out of them, complemented with Lilly’s bold vocals and the tone in her voice, and those orchestrals were something (and this song has an orchestral-based music video if anything). The song dragged in between a lot of the parts (verses felt like a passenger in a vast desert and the choruses were like a big oasis) but maybe those in-between song parts were to signify the calm before the storm, the warning before the “surpriiiiiiise”. Would have been a bold choice for Germany, this chick. Oh and I didn’t put a video down below (instead it’s linked somewhere) because I still have this screenshot on my phone. I love it.

• Besides those two, there also were two other remarkable ladies, and they they have a lot of things in common, besides their dark skin and that they’re ladies - BB Thomaz and Makeda. Two powerful ballads and two powerful vocals! Granted they were not my faves (I like 1,5 of both those songs combined though) but I admire their singingwork. It was magical. Not to mention are their songs themselves - BB Thomaz sang “Demons”, a quite personal song about overcoming one’s fears, bullying, naysayers, depression and everything like that, and also spawned this iconic line I am probably going to use on my T-shirt someday: “my demons can go and *dramatic thump* themselves!”. But I would’ve liked it more if the whole song sounded just like the verses - granted, it makes sense for her to go all showtune-y happy when she declares that her demons can go and *you know* themselves as she’s no longer dependent on them, but I found the choruses cheesy either way. Whereas Makeda, the sweet lil lovely gal, decided to go for a romantic ballad about not hating a guy after he breaks her heart. Her song “The Day I Loved You Most” is one big role model of mine now when it will come to my future relationships: I will never have to worry about the days when my non-existent future BF is a dick to me - instead I will rather cherish the good ole’ days in my heart without whining big time about our broken-off relationship! Yeah that’ll do I suppose. It was a nice ballad to me. Makeda also nailed one damn big great highnote live and that’s how I understood why International Jury and Eurovision Expert Jury loved it so much. Televote dares sink Makeda and uproot S!sters? For shame. Inb4 y’all ask me “but what about the other two?!?” - lol they’re not worth your attention. They’re just twink songs. I like one of them enough to be my 2nd of ULfI, but lbr, no one and absolutely no one, cared about them. That’s all.

• This NF started off with the hosts collectively attempting to make “You Let Me Walk Alone” sound somewhat funny? idk? and then Michael came back to save his own goddamn song out of the entrance door from the audience and right onto the stage <3 amazing. 

• Yet again, I commend the hosting of this show that has, and how much does it try to make a knock-off Eurovision, ever since last year ❤ Starting with the logo, continuing off with live commentary during the ending and the beginning of performances, including interval acts, and a sequenced voting ❤ One of the few complaints I have is that the postcards seemed waaaaay longer than each individual competing entries? I know I tl;dr with my reviews a lot here but some NF shows just get out the stories of singers' lives rather quickly and painlessly...

• ULfI decided that it'd be a good idea to outrival Festivali i Këngës in terms of ridiculously unnecessary interval acts. Yeah. There was this cowboy guy with glasses doing his own tunes, then him again on another interval act (I forgot but wasn’t his name Udo?), then Lena at some point (one of the better interval acts actually), then Michael Schulte, then this one dude from a band Revolverhed (who later voted as part of the International Jury as the German juror and... 12′d S!sters out of his The Voice mentor bias for one of his ladies. Yeah yeah, rigging...)... there were just a little too many, that’s what I’m saying.

• Now how exactly did we all know of the victory of the S!sters? Why, with voting sequences, of course! At first we have had this international jury made up of random specific people, usually giving 12s to S!sters, Makeda or some other twink. S!sters won it, then came the Eurovision panel whose votes were co-read by ... GASP! WILLIAM FROM WIWIBLOGGS!!! ;O don’t worry though he did not dun goof anything this time - the 12 from the Eurovision panel went to Aly Ryan. Sounds hopeful enough, right?? Well, hell no, as then came the televoting results, announced by Mr. Jon Ola Sand and he announced the 12 to S!sters! Oh German televoting, why did you allow yourselves to be THIS brainwashed and decline the good progress since Michael???? I will never forgive Germany for pushing S!sters this far. Putting them up together last minute and also last-minute adding them to the lineup, giving them the pimpslot, making a person who knows one of the S!sters more personally a German 'representative' of the International Jury... unacceptable.

• IDK where to find this but there was this part of the winner reprise where the blonde S!ster (that’s Carlotta) was so overwhelmed with joy that she struggled to open her song straightforwardly and instead let all the tears and laughs(???) take over her. It’s obvious this happens during all those winner reprises that the winner cannot really contain their emotions for what joyballs the victories have rendered them to, but that moment still sticks out to me. The other S!ster (Laurita) was much more collected and later on both of them carried on the right track and sang the rest of this whole thing decently!

For now I’d just wish them viel Glück in Tel Aviv and I hope that their friendship last longer than Jessika’s and Jenifer’s from last year! (probably not because like these two, S!sters are bound to flop, and separate as immediately as the unfortunately-formed class group project participants, just like Jenifer from Jessika)

#eurovision 2019 #tel aviv 2019 reviews #germany 2019 #s!sters #sister #germany

[malfoydormiensnunquamtitillandus]

Granger’s Sister part I (reader x Draco Malfoy)

                           part II | part III | part IV | part V | part VI | part VII

Not Requested: A few people at Hogwarts knew about Hermione’s family in the Muggle World. Even fewer knew about her older sister. A complete muggle, you kept silent and lived as a muggle with your family until Hermione asked you to go visit her at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and  Wizardry.

The wind was blowing through your hair, making it flutter madly, bursting out like flames from under the helmet. It was fortunately not long enough to be getting into your mouth. Unfortunately, Hagrid's was. You tried fighting it for a while, at first, but forfeited in the end.

 Had someone told you before that in a few hours you would be sitting in the back of a flying motorcycle, flying towards a magic school, you would have laughed and punched them in the face for taking the piss out of you. But there you were... being driven by a giant and you were clearly not dreaming, because all of that hair felt too damn real.

"Half-giant, actually. My ol' dad was a normal guy – by the age o' 6, I could pick'im up an' hang'im in the coat hanger. Oh, how he'd laugh when I did that." You smiled. Hagrid seemed like one of the kindest of people you had ever met. The embodiment of a gentle giant. Oups, half-giant. He had told you all about Hogwarts and how great Dumbledore was and you couldn't see his eyes, but judging by the tone of his voice, they were certainly glowing. He told you about the Dark Forest and the Black Lake and all the creatures that lurked about the school grounds and the mere thought of some of them made your skin crawl.

Oh, also, Werewolves were an actual thing. How crazy was that?!

"Well, I should have gone first, because nothing about my life can top that. I mean, my parents are dentists, I'm going to graduate soon..." You laughed. "And my sister a witch." He turned to you and smiled.

"Hermione, y'know... she's abou' the brightest witch of her generation." There was obvious admiration and affection in his voice and your heart warmed up a bit at his words. You had always been mad-proud of Herminie - even before you found out she was a witch.

"She has always been the best in everything she did - such a perfectionist. She has this incredible memory and I admire her so much for how motivated she is. It looks like she inherited all the motivation of our family and I... despite having been born first... was left with nothing." You sighed and Hagrid's face became a bit stiff – he was clearly not good at comforting people. "I mean... nothing except the good looks." You laughed, giving him a sly wink. Hagrid laughed at your cheek and patted your shoulder. "Wow, wow, hands on the steering wheel, please." You were already a tad envious on your sister.

It was not long after, that you caught a glimpse of a tower poking up from the clouds and then, bit by bit, Hogwarts began to unfold in front of your eyes. You were mesmerized. You had never seen anything as majestic. The grounds of the castle were swarming with black-dressed students, walking hurriedly towards class and every bit of the campus exuded magic. You fit like a fish in the middle of a forest. Hagrid must have noticed you holding your breath, or the sparkle in your eyes because soon, his voice pierced through the swooshing sound of the wind – that was blowing slower by the minute. You were getting close to landing.

"Beautiful, ain' it?" You nodded slowly, mouth agape, too overwhelmed to articulate a verbal answer. "Hold on tight, we're landing." You tried to wrap your arms around him as much as possible and closed your eyes, hanging onto his coat tightly. With a thud that made your stomach jump up into your chest, followed by various moaning sounds coming from the motorcycle, you had finally arrived. You jumped off the bike and spun around, taking everything in.

"Careful! Don't get too close to the Whomping Willow." Hagrid warned, pulling you by the collar of your denim jacket as if you were a mere puppy.

"Wow, Hagrid... this is beyond imagination. And they were worried that I would talk about this in the muggle world?! No one would be able to even begin to imagine such beauty." You held your breath the entire way to Hagrid's hut, where you were to leave your luggage - that Hagrid was carrying for you.

"Ye' remind me of yer sister the first time she got'ere." Hagrid replied with a smile that felt somewhat nostalgic. "I remember it like it was yesterday." You smiled back and patted his arm. Your sister only had 1 or 2 years left at Hogwarts and you could understand by her letters that her friends and her were very close to Hagrid.

"Don't get yourself down by thinking too far into the future, Hagrid." You smiled encouragingly. "You know, living in the future can be as destructive as living in the past. Just enjoy the moment while it lasts." Your eyes fell upon a rustic looking hut, right by the edge of the forest you'd just flown above. Hagrid extended a hand, presenting the hut humbly. "It is absolutely lovely, Hagrid. It's just as magical as the castle – fits these grounds like a glove."

"Why thank yeh'!" By the redness of his cheeks, you could tell that it meant a whole deal to him. You complimented his humongous pumpkins and unique home décor and played a bit with Fang before he egged you on to explore a bit of the castle's ground. "The forest's out of boundaries, eh?" You nodded excitedly.

"You may not believe me, but gigantic spiders and werewolves are not something I'm dreaming to meet here." You answered and made your way, running up the hill right towards the castle. "Dumbledore will find ye' when the time's right!" Hagrid yelled from the hut's door and you waved in response.

  Oh, how you wished you got to live there too... you finally understood why Hermione always spoke of the place as if it was out of this world. For all you knew, it actually was. You walked around the castle for a bit, until you found your way inside an interior garden, where you finally sat on a bench to catch your breath. If you breathed enough of the magic air, you hoped you'd suddenly turn magical too and you got to stay. The life you'd have left behind was nothing worth pondering upon – you'd have given it in for that any second.

"Are you lost?" A voice interrupted you, just as you were about to summon the devil and sell your soul if he let you stay. Instead, you turned around and your eyes fell upon the figure of a tall, blonde-haired boy, watching you with a pair of magnificent grey eyes. You stared at him for a moment, your eyes travelling up and down, before you finally spoke.

"Hi." You smirked. "I wasn't lost before you showed up. Now I'm lost into your eyes." Your smile widened at the cheekiness of your dumb pick up line – wait, did they have them in the wizard world too? Judging by his lost, confused look and red cheeks, you supposed not. "I mean, I have no clue where I am, but I have no particular place to be, so I guess that I can't really get lost." You added, making the boy frown thoughtfully, his cheeks still flushed

"You are not a student at this school." He explained, making his previous question clearer.

"Ah, great sense of observation... so those gorgeous eyes are not only for show." He smiled and looked away, biting his lip and making you escape a laugh. He really was handsome, now that you had gotten a better look at him. The damn school just kept getting better and better. "I am visiting." You finally gave him a serious answer.

"Visiting?" He asked, now more confused than ever and his attention was all yours once more.

"Visiting." You emphasized as his eyes scanned you from head to toe. You were, indeed, easy to spot. You wore a white, summery dress that contrasted the oversized denim jacket and platform leather boots. Your long, dark hair was loose and had some nice waves in it and you had made yourself a daisy headband while you sat by the lake earlier.

"I didn't know that casual visits were allowed here."

"Neither did I, but Dumbledore agreed to it and here I am. And here you are... thank you Lord." You smiled and finally stood from the bench. You made your way towards him confidently and stopped one foot away from him, reaching your hand in front of you and introducing yourself - by your name only. "Hm, you are not a Gryffindor." You hummed and he blushed slightly as you ran your fingers over the embroidered snake on his robe.

"Oh, Salazar no..." He exclaimed in disgust, rolling his eyes despitefully. "Slytherin." He declared proudly, picking your interest. He could be cocky, you liked that... in the right amount.

"Hm... don't mind if I do slither in." You narrowed the distance between the two of you and pulled open his robe, wrapping it around both of you. "It's chilly here." Your bodies were now touching, your faces only inches apart as you looked up at him, smiling devilishly. You had no idea when you'd gotten that bold, but you were only going to be there for a short time and you were never going to see him again, so you had nothing to lose.

"You can have it." He said, sliding out of the robe and stepping away from you, leaving you behind wide-eyed.

"Oh, I don't mind sharing, c'mon." You laughed and invited him back, sliding your hands into the sleeves and opening up the robe.

"I'm fine, I was actually hot anyways." He replied almost immediately, taking a step back. You smirked and bit your lip.

"If you ask me, you still are." You winked as his face became inhumanly red.

"C-class is starting, I must go." He excused himself and left you there speechless, but smiling to yourself.

***

"Cute." You thought watching him leave. "He's hot, what was he so shy about? Maybe I came on too strong." You pondered, pulling his robe closer to you. It smelled incredible and you were a sucker for a man that smelled good. "Damn, he never told me his name." It was not often that you went straight for a guy like that, but your time there was short and it was not often that you met someone who struck you in the way that he had done.

"Sister?" A familiar voice called from the doorstep and you raised your eyes to meet Hermione's.

"Herminie!" You exclaimed excitedly, meeting her halfway and hugging her tightly. Your little sister was the apple of your eye. You loved her dearly, for she was so worthy of all the love in the universe, so she more-than-deserved yours.

"Ugh, still calling me that?" She hissed through gritted teeth.

"Always." You answered kissing her head.

"How was your trip?" Her hand slipped under your arm and pulled you towards the castle.

"Right now, even taking a piss would feel exciting, so how do you think flying in a motorcycle felt?!" You exclaimed looking at her with sparkly eyes. "I still fear that I might be in a coma and imagining everything, but I still have some of Hagrid's hair on my clothes, so I guess it's real." Hermione laughed, leaning on your shoulder. "The thing that saves me is knowing that my dry brain could never come up with something this incredible."

"You smell... wait, thinking of it, where'd you get a robe from?" She asked analyzing you carefully. "And a Slytherin one to top it off. Ugh." She jeered.

"It was a welcome gift." You smiled innocently, but Hermione still knew you too well.

"Did you steal it?" Her eyes were burning holes into your soul and you burst out laughing.

"What an awful accusation. I was actually telling the truth." You answered trying to feign offended, but she knew you like the palm of her hand.

"Making someone give it to you is not receiving a present..." Hermione laughed and picked up her pace.

"Wow..." An unknown voice broke the sound of your steps as your eyes fell on a group of guys. For a second there, looking on the right, you feared that your brain might have been overheated, because you were suddenly seeing double.

"Sister, these are, in order from left to right: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George." You looked at everyone, trying your best to remember their names... then, overwhelmed by the mass of people, trying hard to remember your own. "Everyone, this is my sister." You waved and you swore that half of those guys were drooling. You weren't some supernatural beauty, but you guessed you did stand out a bit.

"Oh, what is it? Is it a secret meeting of the 'worst things that ever happened to Hogwarts'?" A weirdly familiar voice rang from behind you right as Hermione arranged the robe's hood on your head. "And look... naturally, Granger's the head of it." Your head shot up when you heard your name, but then looked at Hermione to see that she was now shaking slightly.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron spat angrily. You instantly liked him.

"Uhhh, or else? Did they make poorness contagious now?" The other guy answered, making Ron turn almost as red as his hair.

"Just go away, Malfoy." Hermione spoke, her voice shaking a bit.

"Don't tell me what to do, you filthy mud-blood." Hermione turned towards you, embarrassed, trying to keep her composure, but you noticed that she was getting teary eyed. That was when you'd had it - what was a mud-blood anyways?

"Who in the bloody hell do you think you are, you piece of..." Your words got stuck in your throat when you turned around and your eyes met those of the guy from earlier. Your eyebrows shot up incredulously and a wide, mean grin appeared on your face. The little sheep was a bully?! By the look of it, he was choking on his words as well, because he was speechless again.

You would have been amused by the irony of the situation, if you didn't remember that he had just insulted your sister.

"Wait... you seem familiar. Have we met before or do you just look like my next boyfriend?" You spoke loudly, making everyone look at the both of you dumbfounded. Hermione's eyes widened when she figured that it was his robe that you were wearing. "Did you come looking for me?" You flirted, walking closer to him.

"N-no." He stuttered, making your eyes turn a bit meaner.

"Changed your mind about sharing the robe?" You inquired, walking closer to him and opening up the robe. He shook his head in response, making you bite your lip. "Oh... cat's got your tongue?" You were, once more, inches away from his face, your fingers tracing his smooth, ivory skin.

"K-keep it. I'll-I'll just buy new ones." He forced an answer, trying not to look as intimidated as he was in front of the others.

"Thank you, love." You replied getting closer and brushing your lips against his cheek before placing a soft kiss on it. A second later, the same fingers that had caressed his skin were now clenched tightly around his jaw, your long, red nails pressing down into his skin. "Listen, boy toy. As cute as you might be, don't you dare bother my Hermione again." You hissed angrily, looking straight into his eyes.

"Or-or else?" He stuttered, despite trying to push back. You laughed and let go of his face.

"Listen, puppet. You don't know half the things I'd to for her, so don't push me. Alright?" You smiled as you pulled his head down and pushing it back up into a nod. "Good boy."

"Don't touch me." He snapped, pulling his wand out.

"Babe, take that thing out of my face before I shove it up your ass." You growled grabbing his wand wand pulling him closer to you. "Just go." You whispered, leaning towards him, your lips millimeters apart and blowing him a kiss. You let go and walked back towards Hermione, putting your arm around her neck and hugging her, leaving a dumbstruck Draco behind. "Bye love, see you around!" You yelled looking back at him and winking.

#Draco Malfoy #Imagine #scenario #hermione granger #sister #flirt #hogwarts #harry potter #Dean thomas #Seamus finnigan #ron weasley #fred and george #weasley #Granger #reader #draco x reader

[theolivechickken]

Spring Break pt. 1

March 8

Bussed to Salzburg airport, snatched the window seat even though my assigned one was an aisle, and flew EasyJet Airlines out to London Gatwick Airport! When we arrived, we spent a lot of time trying to contact Michaela to see if she wanted to ride the train with us into town. While we were waiting, we stopped inside the convenience store at the airport and picked up some salt and vinegar chips (crisps?) to snack on. She made it to the airport not long after we did, but got caught up in customs and passport check so we wished her luck and hopped on the train to head into the city. Helloooo expensive transportation (and everything else in general). We checked into Safestay at Elephant and Castle and unpacked our bags in our purple room.

Afterwards, we had a late lunch/ early dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant next door. We all ordered chicken pho and drank mango black tea with passionfruit boba. Super cozy for this rainy day. We explored the Asian market connected to the restaurant and I fangirled at any food that I recognized. There was still some light out, so we walked down the street of our hostel to see what was nearby. We ended up turning down East Street Market which was nestled in a black community. Several individuals were closing up their street shops, but a few were still opened for business. Aubree went in to see if she could find some natural hair products for her curly hair. Patrick and I continued down the street and eventually made our way back to the crew. He went on to visit Sharon across the river, so Raine and I stayed with Aubree as she excitedly went in to get her eyebrows threaded for a cheap price. Turns out the lady nearly ripped a chunk of her eyebrow hair out but hopefully it grows back quickly.

It was lightly drizzling outside, but the wind really made the rain fly at all directions. We went back to the hostel to rest and try to decide what we wanted to do for the rest of the night. It was a hoot and a half to find a place that sold oyster cards for public transportation. Finally, we hopped on a double-decker bus and rode it to the CLF Art Cafe. Raine discovered the place via google and was expecting live music/ a DJ with some good night life. But it was pretty dead in the area and the art club was located in a multiple story building tucked in an alley behind scaffolding. I guess we showed up too early but got free admission (??) to the art club lounge/bar area downstairs. We told Patrick to come through and waited around for him to show up. It was cool and lively in the room, and then people started moving furniture around to create a dance floor.

Definitely an interesting scene. I kinda liked that everyone was being weird and dancing to some off-brand 80s inspired synth music, but it wasn’t really the scene we were looking for tonight. Patrick eventually made it, but he couldn’t find the entrance to the place. Aubree went out to look for him and they both got stuck outdoors since you needed a wristband at this point for entry. Raine and I went upstairs to try and hear the kind of music the DJ would be playing, and we ran into two girls coming down the stairs telling us “IT’S SO DEAD DON’T GO but you should totally go in with us.” We had a quick conversation with these fellow Americans and then dipped to find our friends.

Chicken Soup McDonald's for the starving soul. We were on another level of being starving, delusional, and overall confused from the whole night, which lead to us dying of laughter in the McDonald’s and back out on the streets to the bus station. Don’t know why everything was especially funny, but I swear I nearly peed my pants from laughing so hard.

March 9

Why do our roommates hate us? They’re so loud in the morning :(( One guy was trying to pack his bag, and the other was blowdrying his hair IN THE ROOM while we were still trying to sleep. Oh well, I guess it got us to wake up and start our day. Hopped on the tube from Elephant and Castle and took it to Borough. Super excited to stroll through Borough Market for some free samples and street food! I love the hustle and bustle of this big city, and I absolutely love markets. Patrick and I got some hot tea with ginger, and Raine and I got prawn wraps. They did not hold back on the shrimp either. It wasn’t one of those sad seafood wraps where they throw in two pieces of shrimp and call it seafood. NAH. Oodles and oodles of shrimp (with lettuce and sweet-spicy Thai sauce) piled into this warm tortilla heaven. Also got some fresh cherries to share (which reminded me of home and the cherries that my Lola always puts out on the table).

Next, we rode the tube to Buckingham Palace. Our stop was right at Green Park, so we made ourselves comfy on the muddy grass (rip my jeans but I managed to save them by rubbing out the mud with saliva) before walking to the Palace to meet up with Amy and her roommate Victoria. We shared the cherries and sat in the company of some good ol’ Beatles tunes.

AMYYYY wow I missed you. We had fun walking around with our new additions to the squad. At the park, we squared up with a GIANT goose and also saw a majestic swan in the river. We made our way over to Westminster Abbey and Big Ben (but rip Ben since he's under construction till 2021). Aubree and Raine went back towards the hostel to meet up with Ollie and Tom (the Londoners we met in Prague). Meanwhile, Patrick, Amy, Victoria, and I spotted a telephone booth, a guard on horseback, and a police squad investigating a suspicious car. We paused by the London Eye and ventured out to the London Tower and London Bridge. The bridge was really neat! The floor had a section made out of glass, so you could see the traffic driving through underneath. Trippy.

We made our way back to Borough and had dinner at Honest Burger - honestly one of the best burgers and rosemary fries I've ever eaten. We all went back to our own hostels to rest for a bit before going back out to meet Aubree, Raine, Tom, and Ollie at Spoons. Later, Pat and I walked through Chinatown and joined Sharon, birthday girl Madison, and Michaela and her Redlands volleyball friends at O’Neills. Perks of being small at the club: no perks. Just elbows to your face or drinks nearly spilled on you, and you're too short to see anything half the time. All in all though it was a fun night, and then Sharon lost her phone so the mood turned sour. BUT then the girls found her phone since someone turned it in! It was a wild rollercoaster ride. We all walked to the tube and went our separate ways. Our connecting metro was closed, so Pat and I ended up walking the rest of the way to our hostel through the light rain and a quiet neighborhood.

March 10

Aubree and Raine came back to the room at 4am to discover Christmas music being blasted on Pat's phone and me drowning out the sound with my snore. Morning came with a hot mess and a crime scene: we think Pat's phone was stolen by the girl who slept in the bunk above Aubree and checked out early that morning. She also managed to leave her red panties in place of Pat’s phone. Weird flex, but okay. Pat was bummed, but he also handled the situation really well. We still went out to brunch at Spoons with Sharon and tried an English Breakfast. Unpopular opinion but it was kinda bland and sad.

Holy wind batman. Almost Vienna status but not as cold. Pat and I went to the British Museum and literally traveled through time and history. People are amazing and crazy and how did we manage to come so far in such a quick span of time? We viewed so many arts and artifacts in the 3 hours that we were stuck in a time machine. My feet are feeling it man but I'm still out here having a good time.

Took the Tube to Camden Market to meet Aubree, Raine, Matt, Cousin Sam, Jack, Will, and Milky. We went to a bar that had a DOG! And tried the somewhat citrusy Punk IPA. We also went to the Blues Bar for burgers and live music. Had a great time hanging out with this jolly group of guys. At one point, Milky was telling us the story of how he saved his fish that was swimming upside-down. The trick? "I feed my fish peas. But not a whole pea cause that’s too much.” Someone please test this out and let me know if this is true.

March 11

Checked out of Safestay Elephant and Castle and went down the street to Bagel King for breakfast. It’s definitely not not what we thought it would be. The bagels were weirdly fluffy and the cream cheese just didn’t seem right.. But the mango-guava juice was pretty tasty. Patrick and I said our goodbyes to Aubree and Raine, and headed to to the train station. We managed to pool our our coins together for one ticket (how was it exact??? AMAZING luck) and then paid for another with a card. Yay for getting rid of the pounds in my pocket.

Things seemed to be working out, but the train we needed to be on was delayed. Actually, all the trains are delayed??? We rushed to find a platform with a train that would take us towards Gatwick. Hopped on one train which detoured to East Croydon and hoped for the best. The cards were in our favor and the time was too since we had plenty to check in, get through security, and even eat lunch at Nando’s.

Barcelona we're coming for you :)))

So we arrived in the evening and waited around for Pat's bag to finally roll out to baggage claim. Managed to catch the sun setting as we rode the bus into the city. Barcelona makes me feel like I'm back home in LA. Maybe because of the smog, traffic, and large open freeways, or the desert scenery, trees, and beach?

Walked from La Plaza de Catalunya to HelloBCN Hostel. Hello major tourist street with people trying to sell you random souvenirs. Poor Pat has reached his limit. Apparently our hostel reservation never went through. Luckily the reception guy was really cool and they still had two beds open for us to stay for our planned days.

Stressed, but he still had the spirit to go out into the city for some food. We found a casual restaurant nearby that had tapas. Not the dinner I was really expecting, but it was still fun to try some tapas. We had Patatas Bravas (basically french fries with a creamy spicy dipping sauce), chips and guacamole, and Moroccan chicken skewers to share.

#Studying Abroad #Spring Break #London #Salzburg Semester

[trippinglynet]

Greetings from Burning Man!

Greetings from Burning Man!

It's the New American Holiday.

Bruce Sterling takes the kids to the Temporary Autonomous Zone, where survival is a personal choice.

by Bruce Sterling

Wired Magazine, November 1996

Thursday, August 29

Stopped at the gas station for directions to the Burning Man Festival. Grizzled, portly Nevadan local growls: "If ya have to ask, you don't belong there!"

As if anybody was gonna drive all the way to Gerlach, Nevada (population 340), for some other reason.The gas station was packed with mobile homes and junker slackermobiles. The guy relented and gave us directions. Seems a multiple-pierced and tattooed lovely in a clingy peach taffeta costume had melted his heart.

Drove 16 miles. Then drove another 12 miles across the bottom of a very dead lake. Driving across the playa is like space travel: you point the front of the vehicle into emptiness and launch. Gaseous tails of flying white dust spurt up like jet exhaust. Cars and trucks leave huge wakes on the horizon, like white prairie fires. If the wind kicks up, the world becomes a twilight zone of milky haze. Driving fast in a whiteout dust fog is an excellent way to get killed.

We're in a 22-foot Ford recreational vehicle, in which I've brought the family to Burning Man: Nancy Sterling (wife, mom), Amy Sterling (9 years), and the littlest desert fox, Laura of Arabia, a hardened travel veteran at 4 months. We've never lived in an RV before. It's a mutant cross between an aircraft and a small chunk of suburbia. It's brand-new, but it shudders, moans, vibrates, rattles, squeaks, and emits foul generator exhaust.

Reached the camp, found a place to park, got out to walk around. Maybe 500 vehicles here already. People are setting up tents, parachutes, awnings, tiki torches, tribal flags. The lake bed is a Euclidean plane with zillions of dry fractal cracks. The parched Nevada mountains of the Black Rock Desert rise on three sides. Weary treeless hills full of sullen majesty.

Friday, August 30

A guy got killed last night. He rear-ended a truck while zooming along the darkened playa on a blacked-out motorcycle.

The place feels like the afterlife. When you walk across it, you just drift over endless cracked whiteness, lifting your feet maybe a quarter inch from the surface. It's all mobile; it's all temporary. Twist the ignition key and drift with the wind.

Burning Man is an art gig by tradition. Over the longer term it's evolved into something else; maybe something like a physical version of the Internet. The art here is like fan art. It's very throwaway, very appropriative, very cut-and-paste. The camp is like a giant swap meet where no one sells stuff, but people trade postures, clip art, and attitude. People come here in clumps: performance people, drumming enthusiasts, site-specific sculptors, sailplane people, ravers, journalists, cops. I'm a journalist and a newbie, but even I can tell the pros from my fellow newbies. The veterans have brought their own pennants, bicycles, flashlights, and tiki torches, plus enough water for anything.

The facts: Burning Man, a loosely organized festival, takes place each Labor Day weekend. Located in the middle of Black Rock Desert, an absolutely empty patch of federal land in northern Nevada, about 70 miles north of Reno. This year was the 11th incarnation of the celebration. Approximately 10,000 to 12,000 people hauled their own shelter, food, and water to create an instant city on the 400-square-mile alkaline flat. Temperature during the day was about 107 degrees Fahrenheit. The area is unbroken, finely cracked mud, spotted with encampments - many encampments - of tents, jury-rigged huts, and circles of Winnebagos, The vehicles and structures are organized into affinity tribes: pyromaniac camp, wind-surfer camp, piano-fire camp, rave camp, industrial grunge camp, radio camp, art camp, gun and ammo camp, and so on. Beyond this, nothing is certain. The point of it all? That's up to each participant. There are no spectators.

The alkali dust is like a fine and bitter talcum. It gets into everything, so why fight it? Just throw off your clothes. Keep maybe a straw hat, shades, and boots. Throwing off all your clothes is the cheapest, quickest way that was ever invented to cop an attitude. It's also a cool youth-culture solidarity move. Young people look great without clothes. Young people don't need 'em.

Vehicles have scattered all over the playa. It's as if a giant bowl of mixed nuts had dropped off a kitchen counter onto white linoleum. The parachute-covered Central Camp does duty as the broken bowl. All around it are cashews, peanuts, and sunflower seeds: dinky pup tents, some bigger pop tents, RVs, pickups, trailers. There's even an honest-to-goodness geodome erected by some ambitious guys who have brought a crane. Their towering construction crane arouses much envy, and they get to boast of having "the biggest tech on the playa."

The streets are vaporous formalities. They're premarked with tiny colored plastic flags: the flags get bent, they get stepped on, they even get run over. But once the* idea* of a street is established, the community standard holds.

You're not supposed to throw anything away on the playa. You're supposed to leave nothing at all. The idea of leaving no visible trace is a central part of the Burning Man zeitgeist, a performance-art process move. The organizers are very specifically eco-correct - maybe because they're so lighthearted about tolerating most anything else.

We're new here, and as a married couple with kids we are very adult and polite. So we dutifully follow orders, and we don't dump anything. It's a quick and brutal lesson in the gross inconvenience of modern convenience. Everything we own or want to get rid of becomes a burden: toilet paper, snack bags, beer cartons, dirty diapers, our unwashed clothes. Nancy and I take to wolfing down Amy's food so that we won't have to store it in malodorous twist-tie bags.

There's some good art here. When you see the good art - even though it is very temporary - it's like finding a pearl in a bag of salted peanuts. The Burning Man is good art. Flat on his back, he looks like a giant abandoned packing crate, but when he's catapulted into standing position, he becomes a striking neon symbol of pretty much everything that matters. You can sit on a hay bale at the foot of the Burning Man and the whole world passes by. It's like hanging out on the Venetian Rialto.

Had a long chat with a guy about Moscow. I'd never met this guy except through email, but he recognized me, and we immediately struck up a conversation. We talked about Russians and their literature for an hour, as we sat in a desert - bathing blue neon glow from the 40-foot Burning Man. We ruminated thoughtfully on the fate of Eastern Europe as people drove past on motorcycles that looked like aardvarks and bananas. Witchy pagan chicks stalked by in coats of body paint. Crypto-Arab hippies sauntered by arm in arm with bearded punks wearing devil horns. It felt very soothing and cosmopolitan.

The Stupa is also real art. It's constructed of books, mud, water, and wood. It's about 15 feet high. It's very majestic and spiritual. To the east there's a Forest of Meditation that is also real art. It's made of black rocks and twisted pieces of plumbing pipe, and it's about a mile across. People keep trying to camp inside that art. It's beautiful.

Had a few words with the justly legendary Larry Harvey today. Ten years ago, Larry went out and set fire to a big wooden statue on a beach. Kind of a private act of purgation and cleansing, by all accounts, but his idea caught on big time. Larry is a heavy hipster dude. He's beyond mere trendiness. Guys of his ilk can create social trends at will, out of straw, hot air, and attitude. Larry is an artist, but under these circumstances he looks just like you would expect the mayor of an impromptu city of 10,000 people to look. Larry looks real busy. He's wearing his trademark fedora, and he hasn't shaved, and his eyes are red-rimmed with dust. He's biting his lips a lot. Larry's puttering around on his battered motorcycle, putting out impromptu social fires: diverting ego trips and freak-outs, coordinating the uncoordinatable.

Larry appears to have a couple dozen city councillor running buddies who he can trust to mortar over the cracks. They all have this certain look, these tribal elder hippie-guru characters. Time has given them the faces they deserve. They all end up with this spacey Crowleyan smirk ... not seamy exactly, but some kind of terrible wisdom, like a cross between Gandalf and Nietzsche. It's truly a very interesting way to live, but you get to where you can smell it after a while. You don't want to clutch your wallet when you're around these guys, it's not like they're as degraded as, say, car salesmen or members of Congress. But when you're in their company you feel a distinct witch-doctor vibe. I kinda suspect that Larry Harvey could do interesting and terrible things to the soul of '90s America, if he really put his mind to it. And if '90s America had more soul for Larry and his friends to work with.

Burning Man is a standard hippie tribal thing, except for the highly nonstandard fact that it is not kitschy '60s nostalgia. This event is very '90s, very big, and very much alive. It's a Tim Leary, Wavy Gravy, Deadhead caravan, grab-the-mike-at-Woodstock kind of event. Feels lovely and enormously persuasive. Nonbureaucratic, participative, solidarity-driven, noncommercial, arty. With all those manifest virtues, you have to wonder why a setup like this can't seem to last any longer than a Labor Day weekend.

Maybe it's because* real* tribes aren't tattooed postmodern termite artists like the Burning Man people are. Actual, no-kidding tribes were tattooed hunter-gatherers, who lived in a world where nothing ever, ever changed. A world where witch doctors made all the important decisions.

There's another thing really different and novel about Burning Man. It's a hippie gig, but it's swarming with cops. The Nevada cops have been in from the get-go. There are plenty of concert-security type Danger Rangers, too. Security people are all over the place, and they could give two pins that people are running around naked, setting fires, and blowing things up. I think this proves that Temporary Autonomous Zones really can work in real life - as long as the cops help create them.

Saturday, the last day of August

Fiends in human guise greeted the dawn by wailing for half an hour on didgeridoos. This should be a capital offense.

Woke up, had breakfast. Looked out my RV window and saw a guy sitting on a toilet. He was skidding by at about 45 mph in a massive trail of dust. He had his toilet mounted on a wooden sled, and he was being towed by a pickup. His pants were around his ankles, and he was reading a magazine as he skidded along. It was the magazine reading that made this truly a memorable gesture.

Left "town" for a while to fetch more water. Can't take risks. We've got a baby on board. Came across a spectacular highway casualty. Bunch of Nevada sheriffs and paramedics were pounding on the rib cage of a guy sprawled right in the middle of the highway. He was lying there in a sea of shattered glass amid his violently scattered possessions: a mattress, assorted camping gear. The cab of his little Toyota truck was crushed like a bug. I can't say for certain that this dead or dying kid was headed out to Burning Man, but a hell of a lot of the traffic stacked up behind him certainly was.

People think it's good that Burning Man is difficult and rather dangerous to reach. This keeps the gawking frat boys and the sodden alcoholics at bay. To get this far Out Here you've got to pay some dues and take some risks. Gotta live on the edge, at least a little. "Survival is a matter of personal choice," as the Burning Man official tabloid puts it. But when there are 10,000 people making risky choices, cold statistics dictate that some will surely croak.

Ran into Danny Hillis, the supercomputer designer, today. Hillis was standing in the coffee line. He's here with his wife and their three little kids. His two twin toddler sons are real chips off the block. They have a real engineer's mind-set. With absolute desolation around and nothing much to play with, they ingeniously began pelting each other with dust.

Not a lot of little kids in this burg. Scarcely any old people. With a babe in arms, you're an instant public attraction. Got two shots of tequila from a crew of friendly Australians merely for allowing a young woman to dandle my infant. My baby's wearing a red tie-dyed onesie for the sake of local color, and she's coming across like The Littlest Deadhead. I'm wearing a nuclear-power-plant worker's jumpsuit, shades, sandals, and a cowboy hat with a bandanna. Nancy and Amy have flowing tie-dyed seraglio robes with veils and canteens. We're passing for normal.

Visited the i-STORM trailer where the World Wide Web contingent is putting together the live Burning Man Web site,www.istorm.com/burningman/. I enjoy hanging with these happening GenX Web entrepreneurs. They're nice guys just fizzing with creativity. It's like meeting Walt Disney when he was still drawing on a tabletop in Kansas City, Missouri. Before Walt Disney became the scary, litigious, freeze-dried media titan. OK, maybe I shouldn't give Disney any lip. Danny Hillis works for Disney these days.

Walking around the playa with my family at night. This is the time to tour the site, because Burning Man is truly weird then. "Black Rock City" has no power system, so at night it's all lanterns and chugging generators and tiki torches and lots of chemglow. Colored strings of chemglow out in the desert, woven through the spokes of bicycles and mysteriously revolving. Looming figures in costume. Huge dramatic bowl of desert stars overhead. Fireworks and flying flares casting a lurid trench-warfare glow above the massive camp. Drum-pounding maniacs with guys dancing in the grip of hallucinogens, nerdy guys capering with out-of-it clumsiness, as if they had never danced in their lives. Daughter Amy starts grumbling and complaining. It dawns on us that she's getting scared. Something to do with the evil Helco pavilion with its saw-edged performance machines and the gruesome cutout movie stars from the LA Cacophony Society. Amy is a sensitive and imaginative child. She bursts out suddenly: "This is awful! It's like a LIVING NIGHTMARE!"

It is, too, which is pretty much why we jaded adults are really living it up. But Amy won't be comforted and has to go back to the RV with Mom. It's getting late. I hitch a ride on the Aggravator, a monstrous steam-punk contraption with a flamethrower and four sets of bicycle pedals.

I then sit on the Aggravator's iron tractor seat and watch an astounding presentation, over by the sinister temple towers of the City of Dis. A formal procession begins with honks, rattles, and electronic squeaks. Pagan hierophants in tall headdresses and silver lamé march in slow step, toting flaming standards of arcane device. Swarms of nude dancers, male and female, caper up in bizarre sword-and-sorcery bondage gear. The soundtrack switches to repeated, insane, bestial screaming. An awe-inspiring insect goddess - a hunchbacked bug on red stilts - comes towering and tipping and tottering into the firelight, like a mad Kafkaesque advent. It's like a cross between Vatican ceremony, Cirque du Soleil, and a necro-erotic cannibal mantis mating ritual. The performers seem ready to burst into a flagellant orgy at any instant, in front of a solid milling crowd of at least 3,000.

This sure isn't the sort of thing one sees every day. It's something that a desperately horny sci-fi fan might see on acid and cough syrup. Then the performers set fire to the set. The tall rebar towers, turned to instant chimneys, glow white-hot and vent livid five-story flames. I'm really enjoying this.

OK, so they're not professional exotic dancers. They're eager amateurs. They dance the way '50s B-movie starlets danced in some cheesy lost-race epic. "OK, Jim, Cindy, you guys are pagan babes at the palace orgy, so just go out there and lose it, get really lusty!" They caper and dance very lustily for more than an hour, and then they get pretty tired and out of breath, and they have to sit down. But it's a lot of fun watching these tattooed San Franciscans flinging the dour garments of repentance. It's sweet to watch them lose themselves in the moment.

After the towers buckle and collapse, the screaming and chanting Greek chorus takes a well-deserved rest. The dancers hug each other, all bright-eyed and happy, and the crowd dissipates into the desert.

Then a bunch of drummers wander in and take over by the smoldering bonfire. There are swarms of drummers here. Most can't beat a steady rhythm worth a dang. But we've got a cadre of guys who really can drum, accompanied by some crazy dancers who are not half bad, either. They go at it hot and heavy, booming-banging-boogying. The drummers are really savoring the joy of life. It's worth coming a long way to see this.

Sunday, September 1

Our noses are parched and crusty. Our lips are chapped. Our lungs are lined with a fine layer of alkali dust. We haven't slept much. We decide to go out to the hot springs.

Fabulous place. It's got a geyser. Eerie maroon towers of hot mineral concretion. The water's hot enough to hard-boil eggs, but it flows out into a broad series of weedy muddy pools, so you can pick your temperature. There are about 200 hippies here, naked and covered with mud.

A nude woman covered with mud is an interesting sight, but mostly she looks like she's undergoing a spa treatment. But take some nude muscular young guy and armor him face-to-foot in black and gray sulfurous muck and he looks genuinely impressive, like a New Guinea head-hunting Mud Warrior. Hey, Nancy and I are with this. It works for us. We strip the dusty clothes from our middle-aged, married-couple carcasses and we cover ourselves with mud. The baby skips the mud bath, and my 9-year-old's not real thrilled at this prospect either, but Nancy and I are getting seriously hot, down, and slimy.

The sky is blue, and the water is poaching our desert-parched hides with deeply gratifying effect, and for the first time we really feel like we're on vacation.

A lot of air stuff today. Hot air balloon, paragliders, a skywriter plane. At night somebody constructs a fake constellation. It's a glowing mass like the Little Dipper, and it looks just like stars, except they're moving across the night sky without visible means of support. Faking the stars, cutting-and-pasting the desert sky - now that's a good trick. It's good art. I truly can't believe what I'm seeing.

Then night falls, and it's time to finally burn the Man. I've got Amy up on my shoulders videotaping this, in the midst of an enormous, boisterous, cheering crowd. A procession marches up, solemn, freakish, and deeply hilarious. Then they fire up the guy, and he explodes in sheets of colored fireworks and giant livid gouts of flames. This spectacle seriously lights my fourth-grader's circuits. "BURN HIM!" Amy is screaming, wriggling like an eel. It's without doubt the most exciting thing she's ever witnessed. "Look at him BURN! This is AMAZING! I can't BELIEVE IT! WOW!!!"

When the man's about to collapse from sheer conflagration, some brave and hefty folks grab a pair of dangling steel cables from the Burning Man's shoulders. They tug and yank. The giant wooden man goes into a weird spastic dance, pointy arms upraised and shedding massive showers of fire. A 40-foot-high wooden doll dancing in flames is a sight that really hits the 9-year-old demographic. My kid is in ecstasy, she's loudly swearing that she'll remember this for the rest of her life. I'm sure this is true.

Baby's asleep in mother's arms. It's OK. She can see it when she's older. We've got it all on tape.

Monday, September 2

Back to Reno. There are places in Reno that are seriously weird. There are lessons here. Las Vegas is a major family destination. Nevada casinos have become American family values now. It's considered just fine to go into one of these windowless scary gambling-malls, drink yourself silly, lose your ass at roulette, and then go ogle showgirls with breast implants. Republicans do this now. Working-class folks do it in polyester stretch pants. It's normal.

Meanwhile, if you want to get high and be a naked hippie, you're under suspicion of engaging in the moral equivalent of terrorism. You've got to haul out into the middle of some godforsaken desert and hope that not too many people find out about it.

It's all exactly backward. If you want to have a naked pagan art fair, you ought to have it in the padded comfort of a sealed, air-conditioned casino. It would be perfect for this kind of activity. If you want to divorce somebody or feed the gambling bug or lick your chops over paid nudity, then you ought to have to creep off to do that in some remote boondocks where the rest of us don't have to witness your gross behavior. I wonder how our culture got into this oxymoronic situation. It can't be good for us.

I went to Burning Man. I took my kids. It's not scary, it's not pagan, it's not devilish or satanic. There's no public orgies, nobody gets branded or hit with whips. Hell, it's less pagan than the Shriners. It's just big happy crowds of harmless arty people expressing themselves and breaking a few pointless shibboleths that only serve to ulcerate young people anyway. There ought to be Burning Man festivals held downtown once a year in every major city in America. It would be good for us. We need it. In fact, until we can just relax every once in a while and learn how to do this properly, we're probably never gonna get well.

#Burning Man #Wired Magazine