#pavel your broken english

[izzylovesyou2022]

Adventure Is Out There~ Pavel Datsyuk/Henrik Zetterberg

Hank was finishing packing his truck for the camping trip he was taking with his best friend, Pavel, when his cell phone rang. He closed the cab of his truck and, without looking at the number, answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Sasha, where you? I wait outside for 15 minutes. You fast usually.”

Hank snickered and wrapped his fingers around the door handle on the driver’s side.

“Sorry, Pav. I was trying to find all my stuff. It’s been a while since I went camping,” he reminded Pavel as he hopped up into the seat.

A snort from the other end of the line caused Hank to roll his eyes.

“Good excuse, Hank. You want keep me waiting.”

Hank put his keys in the ignition and started up the car.

“Keep that up and I’m not taking you at all,” he playfully threatened, turning his phone onto speaker so he could back out of the driveway.

“Okay, fine. I angel now on. Deal?”

Hank chuckled.

“It’s a deal, Pav. I’ll be there in five, okay? Just stay right where you are.”

Five minutes later, as promised, Hank pulled up to the curve near his friend’s house and honked his horn.

Pavel, half-asleep on his front porch, jolted awake and swung the bags up over his shoulder.

Hank scampered from the car and took one of Pavel’s bags from him.

“Here, let me assist you with that,” he said, throwing the bag into the back-seat of his truck.

Pavel gave him an exhausted smile and climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“Thank you, Sasha.”

Hank got himself buckled in and started the car just as Pavel let out two huge yawns.

“If you’re tired, go ahead and sleep, Pav. It’s a five hour drive anyway.”

Pavel, being the stubborn Russian he was, gave a firm shake of the head.

“Not want you lonely.”

Hank shook his head and carefully turned out of the driveway.

“Not going to be lonely, Pav. You’re exhausted; I can see it in your face. I want you well rested for all of our activities for this weekend. Okay?”

Pavel didn’t argue the matter anymore and curled up into a tiny ball in the seat.

“Lizzy kept up most night. She no stop crying. Momma offered watch her. So I here.”

Hank turned on the piano music he’d kept in the car for Pavel and continued to drive.

“Sleep, Pav. I’ll let you know when we’re there.”

Pavel instantly feel asleep, leaving Hank alone with his thoughts.

As he made his way closer to the camping grounds, he would occasionally glance from time to time at the sleeping man. He couldn’t help but notice the hair that fell in his face, or the way he was using his hands as pillows, or the cute little snores that escaped from his lips, or the smile he got when, Hank assumed, he was having a happy dream.

-I wish I could make him mine. He’s so perfect. He’s just want I want in a boyfriend: beautiful, sweet, funny, and a family man.-

Finally, after four hours of driving, Hank pulled up at the campsite. He climbed out of the car and thought about waking Pavel up, but decided against it. After all, he did have a baby that kept him up all night.

It took him about an hour and a half to unload everything from the truck and put up the tent (which was really hard to manage on his own) but eventually he did it all and then figured it would be a good time to wake Pavel up.

Sneaking to the passenger’s side of the car, Hank smiled softly down at his friend and slightly shook his shoulder.

“Pavs, we’re here.”

A grunt and a glaring side eye met his cheerful tone.

“I need bathroom. Where one at?”

Hank chuckled and stepped back a few paces to let his friend out.

“We might have to walk to find one. Unless you wanna go pee in the forest.”

A pout and a smack on his arm was Pavel’s reply to Hank’s cheerful teasing.

“I need walk anyway,” Pavel said gruffly, starting down the wooden path.

“Hey, wait up, Pav,” Hank called, chasing after his friend. “I need to use the restroom too.”

After walking for several minutes (or miles), Pavel sighed and tipped his head so that his eyes met Hank’s.

“I sorry. Not mad you. Just stress with baby.”

Hank laid a soothing hand on Pavel’s back—at the base of his neck—and rubbed a circle around it with his fingertips.

“It’s okay, Pavs. You just woke up. Not everyone can be a ball of sunshine like me.”

Pavel stiffened at the touch at first, but soon relaxed into it, allowing Hank to massage his troubles away.

“Not blame me if eaten by bear,” he teased, turning his sour mood into a teasing and joyful one.

Hank, pleasantly surprised at his friend’s change of tone, pouted at the joke.

“Not funny. What would you do without best friend,” he countered as the two of them raced into the woods together.

The both of them relieved themselves before Pavel could answer.

“Not bothered poor rookie.  You not steal clothes. You not steal food my house.”

Hank whined and stuck out his tongue.

“You’re not nice, mister. You’re mean,” he said even as he held out his hand for Pavel to take.

The gesture making him smile, even though he wasn’t an old man, Pavel took his hand and got pulled to his feet.

*10 at night, around the fire*

“Pavs, come on! I’m about to make smor’es…… s’mores,” Hank yelled out to his Russian teammate, who was hiding in the tent. Dammit, he still got tripped up on that word. Something about that “S” and “M” combo.

Pavel, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, popped himself out of the tent and ran to Hank’s side.

“Sugar. Not good you. But I not care time. I hungry.”

Hank laughed and tugged the tray that held the ingredients towards them.

“Do you know how to make them, Pav?”

The older man snorted and whacked Hank’s elbow.

“I Russian. I not dumb. We invent s’mores, you not know,” he asked, snatching a marshmallow from the bag.

Hank got his own stick and marshmallow and placed it over the fire.

“Liar. We invented s’mores. We just exported them to your country.”

Pavel snorted in amusement and turned his marshmallow over to brown it.

“You not know history. We invent s’mores. Whole world know it. You thank me, not me thank you. Oh, you marshmallow burn.”

Hank moaned in embarrassment and moved his stick away from the flames.

“Great. Now can’t eat it. I hate burned food!”

Pavel snatched the burnt treat off of Hank’s stick before the young Swede knew what was happening and replaced it with his browned one.

“I eat then. Me like burned food. It good. You crazy,” he mumbled through a mouthful of s’more.

Hank rolled his eyes and, unlike Pavel who had decided it was a good idea to stuff the entire thing in his mouth, ate his s’more with small, careful bites.

Then, when he’d finished eating, he caught sight of Pavel’s face. It was covered in chocolate.

“Oh my gosh, Pavs. You look like a little kid. Your face is plastered in chocolate,” he laughed, using his thumb to wipe it away from his friend’s cheeks.

Pavel snickered and playfully licked at his thumb.

“What you? Mother,” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Hank, unable to control himself, howled with laughter, losing his breath in the process.

“Oh….my….word…..Pav…..you…..are…..hilarious,” he gasped between giggles, wiping at his wet eyes with a fist.

Pavel grinned with pride and helped himself to another marshmallow.

“I know. We Russians known that. We famous for.”

Hank, in the moonlight/firelight, almost lost his balance. Pavel’s figure, his graceful movements, his bright eyes, cheerful lips, his wrinkled nose, made him so breathtaking. He was the most beautiful sight in the world.

“Take picture. It last longer. Woods going nowhere,” a heavily accented voice said, breaking Hank through the fog of his thoughts.

“I was just thinking about what trails we’re going to explore tomorrow,” he defended himself.

Pavel shrugged and chewed contently on his bar of chocolate.

“It tomorrow. We enjoy now. Think too much, you do.”

Hank didn’t bother replying to his comment. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the ground and twisted the shirt around in his hands.

-Should I tell him? I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. But, I’m going to explode if I don’t get it out. I have to take a risk at some point, right?-

“Penny for thought,” Pavel teased, once again jolting Hank from his clouded thoughts.

Still, the young Swede didn’t say a thing. Beads of sweat that didn’t come from him standing near the fire appeared on his brow, but that was quickly wiped away.

“Henrik! You worry me.”

Finally, Hank twisted his head to look at his friend.

“Just thinking about someone.”

“Who?”

“A friend.”

“What friend?”

Here was the moment of truth. It was now or never. He had to take the risk.

“Pavel, I really like you. As more than a friend. I’ve had a crush on you for almost the whole year, but I was too scared of saying anything for fear of ruining our friendship. I’m sorry if I scared you off, but I needed to tell you.”

His head, once again, fell onto his chest as the hands, that had sat so still in his lap, started to tremble. 

There was nothing but silence for a minute, but then Pavel spoke.

“You no scare off. Like you too.”

The gasp that echoed from Hank’s lips was unattractive, but he didn’t even care as he gazed, no, stared, upwards at Pavel.

“Y-you mean it?”

Pavel nodded.

“Never surer in life. Want you. Not just love-making, but love you all ways.”

Hank moved himself closer to his friend, trembling, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

“Can I kiss you,” he asked, eyes carefully watching the older man.   

Pavel’s heart couldn’t help but melt at how anxious and shy Hank was acting. If this was truly his first relationship, he’d make sure it was a good one.

“Yes, Henrik. You can kiss me.”

Hank covered the last new inches between them, cupped Pavel’s cheeks, and uncertainly pressed his lips on Pavel’s.

The kiss was awkward, but neither of the men really cared. All they could think of was their love for each other.

When Hank finally pulled away so they could catch their breath(s), he felt like he was on top of the world.

Pavel snuggled himself into the other man’s warm, strong chest and relaxed against it. So, was this what love felt like? He didn’t mind it!

Hank drew his arms around Pavel’s waist and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Pasha.”

Pavel poked him in the stomach and offered him a wry grin.

“Love you too, Sasha.”

[pharlapcartoonist]

I'm loving all your Good Omens inspired playlists, but I think it's sad it's all in english. There must be plenty of local songs that perfectly encapsulates the show and its ships. And I would love to hear them! Find some new music

I'm from Czech republic, for example. Here are three of my favourite local song that are basicaly Azicrow (with some parts translated to english)

Když se svlíkáš by Jelen

We know each other for a thousand years and million days

Even though the world is changing to unrecognisible

In those thousand years and million days

There are still things that never become trivial

Štěstí by Marie Rottrová

You're preparing me tea and warming my hand

Telling me "Melt, icy girl"

I'll give you an aspirine, if you want, or a kiss

Wish a termometer, distance of starry sferes

Or simple words

I have everything - just try to melt

I don't really know you, get to know us finally

I want to give you a name

Luck, call me that and I will melt

Luck, you've raised in your arms

Luck, call me that and love me

Luck, that can learn to smile

Hejno padlých andělů by Pavel Bobek

On the way to darkness of the night

In front of me is the first of mornings

The way you've loved me today

Noone was ever loved

The only question is burning me

That I have no idea

If you've ever felt the same way

In someone else's arms

I know I have no right to judge

I wasn't given a clear shield

But the way I've loved you today

Noone was ever loved

God saves the fallen angels

Repaire broken wings

Learn sharing hearts

And what love means

[manogirl]

(In no way does my posting this imply that I think the way BL actors are stereotyped into seme/uke roles is a good thing.)

Sometimes for funsies I imagine there are support groups for actors in branded BL ships that gather based on seme/uke roles. For some reason Pond and Phuwin are very involved in these support groups. Pond will tell anyone who listens about how his language skills just can't match up to Phuwin's--have you HEARD Phuwin speak Chinese? How about English?--and Phuwin meanwhile is like, he constantly wants me to DANCE, can you imagine? DANCE.

Chimon doesn't speak at the uke group. He smiles uncomfortably. Especially when one of the guys needs a hug from the other guys. Chimon escapes to the bathroom then. Mix cries a lot and Fourth and Khaotung pat his shoulders and hand him kleenexes. Nat (of Nat and Max) always tears up when Mix cries and NuNew and Yim hug him. Prem likes to hang around with NuNew because he misses Fluke, who stopped coming when he and Ohm stopped branding. Pooh is new and nervous and tries to stick close to guys he knows. He wishes Pavel could come with, at least until he really feels like he can talk. Noeul has been trying to buddy up with Pooh, because Peat doesn't need group therapy (I am well adjusted, NOEUL). Apo has never shown up.

On the other hand, the uke meetings tend to devolve into workouts, and everyone ends up shirtless and comparing tattoos and muscles. Pavel already knows Joong and Joong is buddy-buddy with Daou, and Pavel also knows Ohm (who is still allowed to come honorarily even though he isn't in a branded ship anymore), who is besties with Perth, and anyway, they all just listen to loud music and drive motorcycles and workout. There's also a dedicated group chat for cat fathers, which is led by Earth and Force; new members always welcome! Mile brings wine when he comes, which everyone thinks is funny and cute. Zee runs a small side group called, "When your uke doesn't want to be your uke anymore", which Ohm is grateful for. Fort is very quiet, but Boss knows everyone, as does Boun. Boun is trying to get a group chat for dog owners going, but there just aren't very many dogs. They also don't CARE the way the cat dads do.

Mark Pakin is an honorary member of both groups; he sees Ford at the uke group and Neo at the seme group (also both honorary members since people still ship them all). Everyone knows Mint, Neo's girlfriend, and she once went to the uke group for a laugh. Everyone loved her.

My brain is broken.

[pretty-face-breaker]

Dragged by the Ankle - BTHB

Requested by @suspicious-whumping-egg for @badthingshappenbingo​ (original work).

c.w. noncon touching, violent beating, angry whumper, broken bones, head injury, public torture, noncon branding, military whump

— 

“No, no, please.” 

“What have I told you about English?” 

“N-... Nyet, Pavel. Proshu vas, poshchadite menya-” 

Pavel’s eyes lit up like a shark who had scented blood at Emir’s broken pleading. “That’s better.” He squeezed his nails further into his wrist as the man tried to scramble away, his eyes flying frantically from the iron set next to the bowl of water and, finally, back to Pavel’s own delighted expression. 

That morning, they weren’t alone. 

Five other men watched from their beds, all wearing identically lethargic smirks as the prisoner tried to escape his early greeting.

Pavel’s morning tortures had become routine ever since Stanislav had publicly whipped him unconscious. It had set the precedent that Emir was nothing sacred - that discipling him should be a collective effort and, most importantly, it had reminded eager soldiers that nobody was coming to his rescue. 

Emir considered this to be the most appealing thought of all.

Anybody could do it, given they were in the mood to wipe the blood off their boots. He wondered if everyone who had watched him getting his back torn into shreds had fantasized about doing it themselves and how it could be possible that he had lived this long.

“Quit struggling, foreigner,” Pavel said, chuckling. “You’re making a scene. Come on, don’t you want a little warming up?” 

“Please.” 

A round of laughter paralyzed Emir as he continued clawing at Pavel, simultaneously pulling his arm away as he fought for something to hit him with. Pavel snatched his other wrist as Emir attempted to grab his bed’s metal headboard and pulled him so violently over the mattress that, for a second, he felt weightless. 

With that, he was pinned against the bed.

“Come, Emir, you’re ruining my mood. It won’t be for long, though, when I brand those gorgeous hands of yours-”

An explosive CRACK and spurt of blood knocked Pavel to the side before he could finish. Emir scrambled away, leaving him groaning and swearing whilst holding the bridge of his nose. He heard another round of roaring, indignant laughter from the onlookers, and at that point, his heart really started to race. 

But before long, Pavel was up again, nose bloodied and eyes suddenly lit with a newfound fire. “You…” He started with a half-crazed chuckle.

The intensity of the look made Emir think for an instant that he may have been better off going quietly. 

The iron hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Really should not have done that.” 

Pavel let the blood dribble down his lip and stepped forward, in time for Emir to take a trembling step back. In a sudden explosion of energy, he fucking lunged, too quick for the man to react other than by staring in horror as Pavel’s fist slammed square into his head from above. 

He hit the ground with a crack and the voices around him became an indistinguishable flurry. 

All he felt were the blows hailing down through his poorly shielding arms, breaking and re-breaking, leaving livid bruises, blinding him until Emir could only thinly wheeze through the mess.

“Ngh- Poshch-'' Emir choked on blood mid-sentence, hearing Pavel’s breathless laugh in return. “S-Stoy-” 

“Stoy? I will stop when you’re dead. Though between then and now…” Pavel mumbled, toying with Emir’s lolling head with his shoe. He shot a glance back to the branding iron. “It was going to happen anyway, right?”

A broken sob rang out of his mouth. “Don-... ‘lease. Pavel-” Emir ensured his accent was cleaner when he said the name “You’ll fuck my nerves, you psycopath-.”

Pavel kept his wrists pinned above his head. “Tsk, that is the idea. I was going to be gentle, since you just woke up but my intentions have…evolved.” 

As he was dragged across the floor by his ankle, Emir fought and screamed the entire way, trying to latch his fingers into the planks and pulling on his assaulter with as much energy as he had left. It made no difference - the iron only got closer. The whoops and cheers only increased in volume, spiking when Pavel tossed him against a cabinet and his head bounced off the handle of the drawer. 

He really screamed at that.

Besides his blood-soaked nose, Pavel was nonchalant as he spun the steel in the furnace and Emir could only weakly watch the glow - a menacing white. Though he couldn’t make out the symbol in the spin. Only that it would soon end up on his body.  

He let a few more pleas slip through but none could be heard above the whoops, chants, and now, Pavel’s approaching footsteps. When he reached him, he kicked Emir’s hand out. 

“Turn it over.” 

“Pavel-” 

“I’m running out of patience for you, Emir.”

In turn, Emir was running out of time to be conscious. That, and bones he had left to break. 

He weakly complied, tears slipping down his face, and squeezed his eyes shut to brace for the pain. He tried not to think about how this might become a daily occurrence. 

Whether Pavel would repeat this performance every day until his body ran out of space.

Whether he would die of infection, in agony, from the accumulated wounds. 

But what came next was a splash of liquid cold on his hand that made his eyes pop open and panic stab into his heart. Just as Emir looked down again, pain whited out his mind and within a second, he was wailing. 

Pavel had pressed the iron down in its full glory, generating a deafening hissing noise that would have made him sick if he weren’t already screaming. 

Right there, in his right palm, as he lay slumped by a cabinet. 

Emir didn’t count the seconds of agony the iron pressed home. He only screamed as long as his body registered the pain, his skin melting away under Pavel’s unyielding hand and vicious smile.

His wails grew fainter and fainter until the world dimmed to black. 

–-

It must have been the afternoon when the sun cut across his face again. Emir stirred and filled his lungs, feeling unnaturally heavy and damp, as if awakening under thousands of pounds of water. Until he opened his eyes and registered the blood splattered across the floor, dried along his neck and face.

His body was in agony. 

As he tried to piece together what the morning had brought, he glanced at his palm where the pain was most potent. 

There, almost stitched into the skin, lay an abnormally large “п” character, an inch under his middle finger. The letter was cursively styled and burning, searing red in his palm. Amid his livid confusion, pounding headache and too many sources of pain, Emir tried to remember the letter. His heart stopped when he did.  

P.

He stilled, head spinning. Suddenly, the memories of the morning tied together. 

And, through the dried tears, blood, and burns, Emir's chest rumbled with laughter.

That lunatic. 

--

Tag list: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville @quirkykayleetam @yet-another-heathen  @undertheburrow​ @lektricfergus @punchhimagain @whumpasaurus101@crystalquartzwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg

[rssspockuhura]

Two Worlds Split Apart

Warning: Some M/M works might show up here because the Spock/Uhura tag is used in ref to S/U as a side pairing, past pairing, etc. Currently there is no way to filter and exclude feeds on Ao3 to get only S/U F/M works.Solution. Read at your own risk.

by Lula_Landry

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura is onboard the USS Enterprise when she’s knocked unconscious. She comes to and finds herself like Alice, down a rabbit hole in a strange kind of Wonderland. It turns out her physical form has broken through dimensional planes and emerged in an alternate reality. As Uhura navigates this new version of the Enterprise, it becomes clear there are pitfalls to be found amongst a crew she once counted as family. Her biggest problem is dealing with the fact that Commander Spock is now a complete stranger. But is he still the Spock she remembers?

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” –Alice in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Words: 11591, Chapters: 5/18, Language: English

Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Nyota Uhura, Spock (Star Trek), James T. Kirk, Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Gaila (Star Trek: Alternate Original Series), Christine Chapel, Hikaru Sulu, Pavel Chekov, Sarek (Star Trek), T'Pring (Star Trek)

Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Mirror Universe, Major Character Injury, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Biology, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/40381965 via AO3 works tagged 'Spock/Nyota Uhura' https://archiveofourown.org/works/40381965

Need an Ao3 invite? Don't want to wait? Get one via LiveJournal or Dreamwidth. Remember to check out the Spuhura fanworks community on livejournal. Follow rssspockuhura for Spock/Uhura fanworks from around the web.

[annalaurendet70]

⭐ Ongoing edit posts ⭐

Diary entries of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia in the anticipation of the birth of his sister's first child

1 July 1895 Saturday

The east wind blows remarkably constantly - for the second week in a row without a break. Between the reports he received Kuropatkin. We had breakfast at the Cottage. I rode my bike and walked with Alix. Drank tea with Mom. I read a lot. Dined at the Farm and had a fun evening together!

📌 Cottage ~ Cottage Palace at Peterhof.Dacha of Empress Alexandra Feodorovna of Russia (wife of Tsar Nicholas l)

📌 Kuropatkin ~ General Alexei N. Kuropatkin, Russian army commander in Manchuria

2 July 1895 Sunday

In the morning, everyone was in anxiety about the famous event with Xenia. But the day has passed and nothing! We were at mass and had breakfast at our place; Mom stayed at the Farm. We walked and visited Ksenia and Sandro. I read until 5 o'clock.

For tea arrived: Mom, Comrade Mikhen and D. Vladimir. They also dined with us: D. Misha, Georgy, Sergei and D. Pavel. The evening was wonderful, we skated.

📌 Farm ~ Farmers Palace at Peterhof

3 July 1895 Monday

The whole day passed in agonizing anticipation about Xenia. Mom spent the night at the Farm and did not close her eyes all night! Walked with her from the Cottage to the Farm. We had breakfast at home with the village of Alexei and Petusha.

Today they started to mow a large meadow, so the scent was wonderful in the rooms. At 4 o'clock we went to see Comrade Sasha. After tea I was studying, when I suddenly learned that dear Xenia had a daughter, Irina! Immediately Alix and I flew to the Farm. Thank God everything ended well! We saw Ksenia and her little daughter. Dined at 8¾ with Misha. Let's go to say goodbye to Mom, who has now calmed down from her worries!

4 July 1895 Tuesday

Ksenia and the little one spent the night and day well. As always, we went to Mom's in the morning. At 12½ there was a prayer service in the church and breakfast in the Cottage. At the hour of the walk, Mom came to us; in our bucket, we tried new inventions of the Americans, with which you can walk in the water. You sit as if in a bathtub with your legs stuck in rubber trousers. This thing swims great, but the movement in it is not very fast.

Comrade Sasha arrived for tea. I read it until lunchtime. At 8 o'clock ate: Mom and George. We spent the evening at home.

5 July 1895 Wednesday

The weather was bad, it rained at times, and a lot of water was blown from the sea. After the reports I went to take in the Bolshoi Dvor. There were also Bulgarians who had come to lay a wreath at the grave of dear Pope. We had breakfast at the Cottage with Comrades Evgeniya and Alex. I read it in the rain. Rode his bike. After tea we stopped at the Farm. The three of us had dinner with Misha. In the evening we rolled.

📌 Evgeniya ~ Princess Eugenia Maximilianovna of Leuchtenberg

📌 Alex ~ Duke Alexander Georgievich of Oldenburg

📌 dear Pope ~ his father,Tsar Alexander III of Russia

6 July 1895 Thursday

Finally the weather settled down and the day was wonderful and not hot. We had breakfast at the Cottage: Petyusha, Militsa and Sergey. I had to read a lot; one consolation that the meetings of the Committee of Ministers are over! He chopped down a large tree broken by the storm. Walked with Alix along the river, "musique de l'eau" . We dined at our place. Threesome with Misha and Sergei frolic in the “outing” in the sea! We rode in the evening.

📌 Music of water (French)

📌 Outing ~ Sunrise (English). In this case, perhaps we are talking about the previously mentioned American invention.

📌 Petyusha ~ Grand Duke Peter Nikolaevich Romanov of Russia

📌 Militsa ~ Grand Duchess Militsa Nikolaevna Romanova of Russia

7 July 1895 Friday

Excellent day. After the reports he received Stelman, the commander of the "Princess". We had breakfast at Mom and Cherevin's. During the day he chopped dry trees and sweated. Again we sat with Alix under the Bridge by a small river. After tea we visited Xenia. Read. Dined with us: Mom, etc. Sasha. In the evening we rode as always.

July 8th. Saturday.

Nice foggy day. In the morning “Princess” came from Petersburg and stood on her barrel. Sandy Dolgoruky had breakfast. The Kyrgyz of the Ural region presented us with a beautiful white horse. I made a good ride with Misha. We drank tea with D. Pavel. Read. Visited Xenia. Dined: D. Vladimir, T. Michen and D. Pavel. Show them “outing”. Ride with Alix.

📌 D.Vladimir ~ Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich Romanov of Russia (Iassume it is his uncle as the next name mentioned in Michen

📌 T. Michen ~ Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna Romanova of Russia (the Elder)

📌 D. Pavel ~ Grand Duke Pavel Alexandrovich Romanov of Russia (I assume it is he)

9 July 1895 Sunday.

Wonderful heat, in the morning it was 20 °. Having stopped by Xenia, we went to mass. We were dying from the stuffiness. Read. I rode a bicycle and a kayak. After tea it started to rain. We had a family dinner. Ride with Alix.

10 July 1895 Monday.

The heat was tropical all day. Frederiks, Olsufiev, Benckendorff detained me from walking until 10 1/2. After the naval report, I had a conversation with Pobedonostsev. D. Alexey and Yuri.Had breakfast. I walked, rode a bicycle and died from the heat. Andrew the Greek arrived here to live from Pavlovsk. I swam with Misha and Thormeier. After tea I read and went with Alix to Xenia. Dined: Yuri and Stana. We rode in the evening.

📌 Frederiks ~ Baron Vladimir Borisovich Frederiks

📌 Benckendorff ~ Count Paul Benckendorff

11 July 1895 Tuesday.

Olga's birthday. They gave her various white furniture, covered with beautiful chintz.

At 12½ there was a prayer service in the church. Breakfast: D. Misha and Georgy. I read until 3 1st July. Saturday.

The east wind blows remarkably constantly - for the second week in a row without a break. Between the reports he received Kuropatkin. We had breakfast at the Cottage. I rode my bike and walked with Alix. Drank tea with Mom. I read a lot. Dined at the Farm and had a fun evening together!

12 July 1895 Wednesday

It was a good day. After the lecture there was a big reception at the Farm. We had breakfast: comrades Olga, Ella, Minnie, Misha, Pavel and all the small fry. We returned to our place and by 3 o'clock gathered at the Farm. From here they took little Irina in a golden carriage to the church. There was a wonderful honour guard from the Guards Crew. There were about a hundred invited; a tent was set up for them at the right door of the church. During the christening, Irina screamed almost incessantly. Mom and I were her recipients. The heat was unimaginable. Congratulating Xenia, the family chatted for half an hour on the terrace. Returning home, I went to swim in the sea. After tea I read. At 8 o'clock we had a rather large lunch. We rode four of us with Ella and Minnie.

Photo Grand Duchess Xenia Alexandrovna Romanova of Russia with her first born,the Princess Irina Alexandrovna Romanova of Russia

[joestories]

The Silent Magician

November 1, 1961

Dear Aleister,

If, perchance, someone offers you the opportunity to perform a very special show for the leader of a small, troubled country on the other side of the planet—even if said leader has asked for you by name—politely decline. I’ve gotten myself deep into something. And I’ve broken all three of my cardinal rules.

Everyone is dead, Aleister.

It looks bad, seeing it typed on the page like that. But that’s the truth of the matter.

I want to get this all down while the events are fresh in my mind, but also because I worry, dear friend, that if somehow I fail to make it out alive, this might the only way to recount what’s happened. I might as well start with what I’ve been concealing from you.

It was no lie when I said I’d be traveling to Europe to perform a special show. What I left out is that the people paying for this show weren’t the best sort of people.

I received the letter near the end of summer. Apparently, I was still a celebrity in the world’s farthest crevices. They were so far away that they couldn’t smell the stink of desperation that had attached to me after I’d performed one too many bar mitzvahs. And even the bar mitzvah circuit was drying up.

This leader (or dictator, as I would learn), Konstigt, had grown up watching my old routines on smuggled filmstrips. He still loved me all these years later. And he was willing to pay handsomely for the pleasure of having me perform for him in his palace.

I had grown weary of magic, but perhaps this was what I needed. One last show. Go out with a bang.

I wrote back immediately and the following day I received a visit from a pair of rats from the CIA. Apparently it’s a big deal for them when there’s communication between the country of ██████████████ and a person stateside. They paid me a visit to learn whether I was a spy or an imbecile.

They had my return letter, which had been intercepted. They read it back it me and I was immediately embarrassed by how effusive I had been. They said I sounded like a desperate, sad old man and they were right.

Cooperate, they said, and the charges would disappear. What charges? They couldn’t say, but cooperation seemed simple, not a large deviation from my original plan. I would meet with them at a tavern in town each night and tell them everything I had learned about Konstigt. I would be doing my country a service. They would offer me protection and if everything worked out, I would be rewarded handsomely.

A month later, I found myself in a succession of smaller and smaller planes until I arrived at a small village at the foot of an old castle spire; this was the palace at which I would perform. I was shuttled through the village in what appeared to be a taxi cab. Perched in the back window was a tiny figurine of a serpent. I pocketed it.

Milton called the serpent the subtlest beast in the field. But there was nothing subtle about this country’s obsession with serpents. Quickly, let me recall at least ten instances in which serpents factored into my time spent here:

A magnificent stained glass window in the cathedral.

A sign hanging in front of the tavern where I would rendezvous with my CIA contacts.

The tattoo on Mila’s wrist.

A mural in the lobby of the hotel I stayed at.

On a coin I received as change at the aforementioned tavern.

A wooden toy that I observed a child in the village playing with.

A huge parade float that was operated by at least three people

Engraved on the barrel of a pistol held by a dead man.

An actual snake, which slithered over my foot as I made my way to a secret rendezvous

The figurine. The one I had stolen. It will reappear later.

And of course, barely anyone in this serpent-obsessed country speaks English. The only English I hear is American music on the radio. Where is their music?

The taxi deposits me and my luggage in a hotel lobby. It is eerily quiet. I seem to be the only guest. A concierge silently escorts me to my room. It overlooks a courtyard and features a painting in which a woman on a beach stares at a shark in the ocean.

I open my suitcase and am displeased to learn that it has been ransacked by some sort of brutish security detail. The contents smell vaguely of cheap cigarettes.

My trick gun had been seized. I’m not surprised by this, it looks realistic, even though it can’t actually fire a bullet. I will need to find a replacement before the show.

Of the four decks of playing cards in my suitcase, I am missing four cards. The queen of hearts from each deck. A strangely superstitious people, this bunch.

My clothes have been rifled through. My cape looks to have been trampled by schoolchildren. My poor hat, which is in no way magical, seemed as if it had been run over by a steamroller.

The rubes left my most magical items unmolested. The puzzle cube is untouched. I am able to locate my invisible dagger after feeling around for it inside the lining. Of course they had no idea it was there.

The concierge reappears and leads me back to the lobby where a uniformed military man is waiting for me. He leads me inside the castle walls and through corridors until I am in a tall wood paneled room adorned with paintings of crying women. From the far end of the room, I am approached by a tall man with grey hair and a grey beard. He wears a white, military-style coat. He is smiling.

The first English spoken to me the day I arrived was by the dictator himself. Konstigt says, “I am so happy you could make it.”

He is flanked by two serious looking men. He introduces them. On his left, wearing a black uniform is Pavel, his chief of police. On his right, in a pale green uniform adorned with hundreds of medals is Vlad, the commander of the military.

He asks about my flights. He asks what I think of his country. I smile. I am genial. This man is a fan.

“If you need anything, I will provide it.”

“I’m going to need a coffin, for the final part of my act. I couldn’t bring one with me.”

“Of course. One will be delivered to you tonight. What else?”

“They took my gun,“ I said.

"Ah, well you’re going to need that for your famous bullet catching trick, aren’t you?” He knows my act well.

Pavel says something. I think he’s asking what I said. Konstigt replies in their gibberish language.

This is where it all started to go wrong. I’m about to break the first of my three rules: never explain a trick, even under penalty of death. I always thought that last part was an exaggeration.

Pavel draws his gun. It’s polished silver and ivory. Every surface reflecting light. I’m squinting as it directs sunlight into my eyes. The gun is pointed at me. He says something. Konstigt laughs as he translates: "Pavel wants to see this famous bullet catching trick!”

Panic sets in immediately. The bullet trick is an illusion. I am sputtering, talking fast, trying to explain that. The gun isn’t real. The bullet is transferred to the mouth with sleight of hand. When you strip away the showmanship, it really is quite a simple trick. Konstigt looks disappointed, but he waves at Pavel and the gun is lowered. Even though it is no longer an imminent threat, the gun continues to reflect light at me, daring me not to look at it. I notice a serpent engraved on its barrel.

“You talk too much,” says Konstigt. And in that moment, I make a promise to myself to talk less, starting right now. They can’t understand me anyway. My vacation will be one of profound silence.

I am whisked back to my hotel. I try to relax and rehearse my act, but it’s no use.

It gets dark. At the predetermined time, I wander into the village and find the tavern. The CIA goons are easy to spot. They look as out of place as I do. We settle into a booth in a dark corner. “Can you draw us a layout of the palace?”

“And a good evening to you too, gentlemen.” A notepad is placed in front of me.

I had been escorted around so quickly that I couldn’t remember it with any clarity, but I am embarrassed to admit this, so I make an attempt. I draw the outline of the entry hall, with the two smaller halls coming off of it. My drawing resembles a diagram of the female reproductive system. I slide the notepad back to the goons. “I’m sorry, this is all I remember.”

They want to know if I have any idea where they’re keeping the diamonds.

“Diamonds?”

“Don’t play dumb with us, we know you know about the diamonds. That’s why you’re really here.“

But I’m not playing dumb. "I’m here to perform my act.”

“You want us to believe you came all the way here and put yourself in serious danger to perform? Are you an idiot?”

The other one chimes in. “Listen, if someone asks you if so-and-so is the reason you’re really here, the answer is always yes. That’s the first thing they teach you at the academy.”

I wander back to the hotel in a daze. When I open the door to my room, there’s a loaded revolver on the nightstand and a pine box coffin propped against the wall.

*

Aleister, have I told you the story of how I decided to become a magician? I’m certain I have, but it bears repeating.

You might know of the vanishing of Orius in 1899. He was a genius performer, but he was not well known. This story takes place on the night of his final performance. He told his audience that he was going to perform an illusion that could be performed only once by any human, and for this reason he had saved it for his last show.

He was going to turn completely invisible.

But the only way for this to work was for everyone who was not pure of spirit to turn around. This was in Bavaria in 1899, so I don’t need to tell you that this meant everyone in the audience.

And so, with the entire audience facing away, he narrated as he vanished each part of his body. His legs, his arms, his torso, and finally his head. Now, as the legend goes, there was a one young child in the audience, and this child thought himself to be pure of spirit. So when Orius had been reduced to a disembodied voice, this child turned to look. And he was the only one to see that Orius was invisible. He cried out in shock, “He’s truly vanished!”

The audience had been transfixed, but this shout caused them all to abruptly turn to the stage. The spell had been broken, and Orius was immediately made visible again. There was thunderous applause, even though no one in the audience had witnessed this trick. Only the boy had seen it. But that boy had seen something truly magical.

I was the boy.

*

My spirits had improved for day two.

I took in a hearty breakfast, of which the predominant ingredients were boiled cabbage and sausage. The populace seems to sustain itself on boiled cabbage and sausage. The streets stink of it. A dedicated vegetarian like yourself would starve here.

I set about the town collecting the odds and ends that I will need for my show. I am still far from understanding the language, but I have noticed that the locals have bestowed some sort of sobriquet on me in their ugly goat tongue. It sounds like plo-nee-ba-ka. I suspect it to mean something like outsider or interloper. And I was one, wasn’t I? I made a mental note to ask a trusted source for a translation, should I find someone to trust.

In the meantime, I had developed a set of hand gestures for communication. And I started to figure ways that I might incorporate them incorporate into my act.

The townsfolk were full of energy. I was swept up in a parade that deposited me in the what I judged to be the most blighted part of town. And yet, I was not robbed, I was simply subjected to more singing. They have folk songs they sing here, as you would expect, but I was surprised to hear them interspersed with American music which they had written new lyrics for. The crowd performed a version of I Want to Hold Your Hand and I can’t imagine their version was a direct translation. The intonation was too violent. If I was to guess, the hand in this song had been torn from the wrist of an enemy.

I stumbled upon a group of children who had gathered for a show. I joined them. The show was performed with a strange collection of puppets and toys. The plot, as I could gather, was that a benevolent stranger arrives from space. The stranger befriends a mountain princess, and she then betrays him to win her country’s freedom. The only evidence of the identity of the performer is a visible tattoo on a wrist. It is, of course, a serpent.

At the conclusion of the show, one of the children tugs at my sleeve. I look down and he presents me with a note. I examine it: a clock face reading 11, and an image that I recognized as the stained glass window of town’s cathedral. It was a serpent wrapped around an inverted cross. I suppose it would be bad manners to ignore such a finely crafted secret invitation. I put it in my pocket. How would I occupy the next five hours?

I decided to wander back to the palace. I had intended to survey the theater in which I would be performing. This is a very important step before any performance. And I should admit, I had been indulging in drink. All the townsfolk were. Would you reject a beer stein from a smiling man that just a minute before was singing violent love songs?

I was permitted entry to the palace by the guards, but they were not able to direct me to the theater. They did not appear to speak English. I got lost and wandered from room to room hoping to bump into a human who might understand me.

I finally crossed paths with a soldier, but when I got his attention, he seemed very nervous. I used my hand gestures on him, they had no effect. My presence seemed to have spooked him, and he exited the room in a hurry.

I followed him out of the room and through another chamber. When you’re lost in the wilderness, you follow a river. When you’re lost in a palace, you follow a man. Eventually, he would lead me to other people, and perhaps one of them would speak English.

I was horribly, horribly right.

I followed the spooked soldier around a corner and bumped into him. He had frozen in place. Pavel was before us. And this man’s behavior seemed to trigger something in Pavel.

“Mr. Pavel, I am very happy to have happened upon someone who speaks my native tongue. Might I trouble you for directions?”

I was ignored.

Pavel started speaking in a low, accusatory voice. The soldier stuttered a reply. Pavel unholstered his magnificent shiny pistol. The soldier attempted to speak, but Pavel motioned for him to stop. He pointed at the soldier’s groin with his gun.

The soldier, with much hesitation, started to turn the pockets of his trousers inside out. A few handfuls of dirty, unremarkable looking rocks spilled on the floor.

Pavel laughed. “Diamante!” he shouted. Just my luck that this should happen to be the first easily understood word in this guttural swamp language.

Pavel continued to laugh. And the soldier uncomfortably started to laugh too. And so I started to laugh.

Pavel stopped laughing, lifted his gun to the soldier’s head, and fired. The soldier dropped dead on the ground. Pavel resumed laughing. I did not.

I watched a blood stain grow larger on the dark crimson floor. I recalled that most of the floors in the palace were this color. A utilitarian consideration? Easy to conceal bloodstains when all your floors are already the color of blood. What kind of monsters run this country?

I thought of the CIA men laughing at my naivety the prior night. They were right. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

Pavel seemed to remember that I was present in the room, and now he addressed me. “Yes, magic man. Have you got any tricks for me?”

“I… I’m afraid not.”

He studied me. “Do you often travel with thieves, then?”

Aleister, you know that if I was to be honest, the answer to this is yes, but this was certainly not the right thing to say in my present situation. But he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He waved his pistol in my direction.

“Why don’t you let me see what you have in your pockets, magic man?”

A magician and a thief have a thing in common: They both always know the exact contents of every one of their pockets at any given time. Left front pocket: mysterious note. Right front pocket: pilfered serpent figurine.

I was a fool for not destroying the note as soon as I had read it. Old age has made me soft. But there’s always a way out. You know the adage? One can escape from anything. It sounds better in Latin. I have escaped from locked rooms, arguments with shopkeepers, moving vehicles, and marriage proposals. I will escape from this.

Misdirection is the greatest ally of both the thief and the magician. The note, I had inferred, should not be revealed. The serpent figurine I was less certain about. But no one trusts a man with empty pockets.

And so I did have a trick for Pavel after all. I reached into my pockets and turned them out quickly. With my left hand, I palmed the note. With my right hand, I revealed the serpent. As my right hand extended forward, my left hand slipped the note into my sleeve. And then both hands are palm up. The deception is so simple that you would never know anything was out of the ordinary.

Pavel looked at the serpent figurine. He smiled. “Now, how can I help you?”

I was delivered to the theater, but I was feeling scatter-brained, owing to the fellow whose brains I had seen scattered moments before.

*

In the evening, I once again met with the CIA goons at the allotted time. They were overjoyed by the evidence of diamonds. That I had witnessed an execution didn’t seem to have any effect on them.

One of them gets a serious look on his face. He wants to know if I could use my magic to teleport the diamonds from their location into a suitcase that could then be whisked away. I tell him this is impossible. He wanted to know if this was because I didn’t know exactly where the diamonds were being kept? I told him I am an entertainer. I’m not actually capable of magical acts. He seemed very disappointed in me.

“Do you mean to say that nothing you do is magic? Everything is just an ordinary trick. Something that anyone could learn?“

"I suppose that might be the most pessimistic way to describe what I do.”

They briefed me on the plan for my show tomorrow. They told me that when the performance has ended, if there’s an opportunity to distract Konstigt or any of his men, I should keep them distracted for as long as possible. They told me they would be watching me and they would appear at the first sign of trouble.

The hour was nearing 11. We parted ways and I walked quickly across town. Hoping to avoid detection by Konstigt’s men, should there be any out looking for me, I stuck to the shadows. The only trouble I encountered was in an alleyway a block from the cathedral. In the darkness, a serpent slithered over my foot. I leapt back in shock, but contained my surprise. The snakes, I told myself, worked for no one.

I pushed past the heavy door to the cathedral. A few men in monk’s robes were seated around the altar playing a card game. Another monk emerged from the shadows and lead me down a narrow side passage into some sort of catacomb.

The monk’s hood was pulled back and this monk was revealed to be a beautiful woman.

“My name is Mila. Fate has brought us together.”

I was so charmed that I agreed! Yes, fate had brought us together.

She was familiar with my routine, and had worked as the assistant to local magician whose current whereabouts were unknown (he was a drunk). She wanted to be my assistant. She was quite insistent that she be my assistant. She had been performing since she was a child. I knew I was naive to accept her offer, but I also knew my act would be much better with an assistant.

I noticed that one of her hands was still sheathed in a hand puppet from her performance earlier. This one was a donkey.

“You may join me, but the donkey must stay,” I said, thinking I was being quite clever.

She looked crestfallen. “My hand… it was mangled in a thresher accident when I was just a small child. I keep the puppets to cover my mutilation.”

I was embarrassed, and recanted my previous declaration. She would be my assistant, puppet included. She was overjoyed.

Aleister, you know my act. Two of my illusions are certainly better with an assistant:

Cranks at Work

The Ghost Talks

And then there’s three that I had planned to leave out entirely, as they are impossible without an assistant:

The Doctor’s Secret

Fancy Baggage

A Most Immoral Lady

If this was to be my last show, why not go out with a bang? With Mila’s help, I would be able to perform all of them. Was this greed, or pride, or both?

I was breaking the second of my cardinal rules: When someone offers to help, be suspicious of their motives.

I told her we must meet to rehearse tomorrow morning. She agreed. Then she got a serious look on her face, and I had utterly no idea what she was thinking, though it didn’t seem to be of a romantic nature. She came close to me. In a low voice, she said, “You’re here for it too, aren’t you?”

It? I remembered the advice of my CIA friends. The answer is always yes. So I said, “Yes.” She seemed very relieved. “Good,” she said, “I will speak no more of it.”

I bid her goodnight, and she raised her hand (the unmutilated one) for me to kiss it. This is when I noticed the distinctive serpent tattoo on her wrist.

As we were parting, I remembered something. “The people have been calling me a name… plo-nee-ba-ka, I think. What does that mean?“

She thought about it. "The hollow one. Or invisible one. Or silent. There’s not an exact word in English.”

The Silent Magician. I like the sound of that.

*

I want to amend my story of the Vanishing of Orius in 1899. Aleister, I am going to tell you something that I have never told a soul, and I want this knowledge to die with you.

I did not witness an act of magic.

Yes, the audience, they all turned their backs. Yes, I was the boy. Orius narrated his disappearance, and when I turned back to face the stage, what I saw was a sad old man. An old magician performing his final show, totally corporeal on the stage. Not a hint of transparency. He wasn’t magical, he was a liar, or perhaps, more charitably, a trickster. And suddenly a very young child, me, held his fate in my tiny hands.

And I chose to carry the lie. I didn’t know why I said what I did at the time. But I know now that I wanted to live in a world where magic was possible.

That’s the problem with magic. The keepers of magic are the ones who know it’s a big charade.

You can’t unsee the man.

There is no magic.

We know definitively, and yet we have to keep telling the lie.

*

The rehearsal was a success. The room, as I’d demanded, was empty except for myself and Mila. She had gotten some looks for her puppet (today it was a wasp), but the story of her mutilated hand elicited sympathy (or at least deference) from the guards.

They asked how I wanted to be introduced. I told them to call me The Silent Magician. Plo-nee-ba-ka.

The rest of the day was a blur. All I cared about was the show.

I watched nervously from behind the curtains as the audience was filled in. It was a mix of townsfolk and military men. Konstigt was seated front and center with Pavel to his side. Vlad was conspicuously absent.

I’m not going to bother describing my act. You’ve seen it a dozen times. Of course, I had to remove the double entendres, those only work with spoken language. Some of them I tried to relate with hand gestures, but they were single entendres at best. But it didn’t matter, there was a real excitement in the air. I had an eager audience, and my set was performed without a hitch. It was brilliant.

The standing ovation carried on for an embarrassingly long amount of time, I am certain this was due to the fact that Konstigt continued to stand and applaud and so everyone else felt the need to follow suit.

Perhaps this also means the audience was less enraptured with my performance, and was merely performing for Konstigt? Well, that’s possible, but let’s not dwell on that. Trust me, I know a great show. This was a great show.

The curtain was dropped and I stood frozen in place. It was done. I had done my act, and I had done it silently, and I had still wowed them. It was a wonderful feeling. It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Seconds later, Konstigt had appeared backstage with Pavel in tow. He stood to my left, clasping my shoulder, with Pavel in front of me. And then there was a noise from backstage and Vlad appeared.

Vlad was apologetic about missing the show. Pavel’s expression soured. I was a look that I’d seen before. He issued a command in his goat language and Vlad laughed. But Pavel wasn’t laughing. I recognized the command. He was asking Vlad to turn out his pockets.

When Vlad did not comply, Pavel drew his pistol and pointed it at him. Vlad, in response, drew his own weapon, a large revolver. Konstigt now had a very grave expression. Pavel and Vlad stood on opposite sides of me, I was positioned perfectly to catch their crossfire. I slowly started to back away, but the pine box coffin was still on the stage from my final trick and it blocked my path.

Aleister, would you agree that this seems like the best time for my buddies from the CIA to show themselves? To rush to the rescue?

They thought so too, rushing the stage from opposite ends, and when they saw the guns, they positioned themselves so one of them was behind Pavel and the other was behind Vlad. Much to my chagrin, their guns were pointed at the midsection of each man (and those midsections were aimed at me), which meant there was now the possibility of four bullets hitting me.

Konstigt had taken his hand from my shoulder. He had a furious look on his face, as if he had just understood I had been working against him this whole time. Had I, though? If you could look into my heart with a microscope, I think you would see that I just wanted to perform. That was my motive. I was pure of spirit, at least in this one regard!

Konstigt was unholstering his weapon when the cover of the coffin flung open next to me.

From it emerged Mila. With a theatrical flourish, she unsheathed her hand previously hidden by a puppet, to reveal a perfectly lovely hand holding a perfectly lovely gun. Did you see that one coming, Aleister? You were always sharper than I was. Mila yelled something in that cursed troll language, which if I had to guess, I would think might be “The revolution has started, and your time is now at an end.”

She was pointing the gun at Konstigt, who at this point has his own gun drawn and pointed back at her, which also means that both of them are pointed at me as well and I’m now in for six bullets when the guns go off.

I’ve enclosed a diagram if you’re having trouble visualizing my predicament.

[enclosed image missing]

Everyone was shouting in their terrible tongue, and I couldn’t say anything. They were yelling at each other, they were yelling at me. I was trapped. I was a fool. At least I had one last good show.

And in my last moments on earth, I thought about Orius. Not his act, but what he said. Everyone gets one chance to vanish. It’s a thing you can do only once and never again. If that were the case, I had never used mine. This would be the time to use it, if ever there was one. I pressed my eyes shut.

I don’t need to tell you the ways of the magician. We weave magic out of what we have to work with. We don’t witness miracles, but we can tell others we did.

A miracle happened. I turned invisible. I had my eyes shut, so I couldn’t see myself turn invisible, but I felt it. And it must have startled my gun wielding stage-mates because there was a sudden, terrible cacophony and the air was alive with bullets, And then six thumps as six bodies fell.

I opened my eyes. First I saw the blood. My brilliant white cape was specked with it. I dropped it to the floor and noticed a half dozen new perforations. I felt myself up and down. Where was I hit? Where did I feel pain? But I didn’t feel pain. I hadn’t been hit.

I was the only one who hadn’t.

They were all dead and crumpled on the floor.

Konstigt had a bullet between the eyes. Pavel and Vlad had felled the CIA men (whose names, shamefully, I am realizing I never bothered to remember). Or perhaps they felled each other? The four of them wore shocked, lifeless expressions. Pavel’s hand still gripped his beloved engraved pistol.

And Mila, poor Mila. Just as dead as the others. She’d fallen back into the coffin, her two perfect hands draped over her lap. She would have looked like she was sleeping if you could ignore the chunks of her brain that were splattered across stage left.

In a daze, I stumbled my way past the curtains and into the orchestra section, and I started to become aware of the commotion as my senses come back. Bodies of soldiers and townsfolk were sprinkled throughout the aisle. Some of the townsfolk had donned animal masks. A fox and a rabbit were trying to decapitate a fallen soldier with makeshift knife. There was blood everywhere. Or there wasn’t. It’s hard to tell when the floors are the color of blood.

I shuffle past numerous scenes of agony and violence. I’m not wearing a military uniform or a police uniform or an animal mask, so it’s as if I’m invisible.

The streets are in chaos. I mind my business and make my way back to the hotel. Where will I go next?

It’s when I start to consider how I might bribe my way out of this mess that I realize that I’ve broken my third cardinal rule: Always get the money first.

My room seemed undisturbed. I went to my suitcase seeking my invisible dagger. When I’m in a dangerous situation, it always calms me to hold it, even though I’ve never had to use it.

It has been sitting on the table next to me while I type this out. I am ready to brandish it if necessary. The last time I peeked outside, there was black smoke rising from the palace and the commotion seemed to have died down a bit. Even revolutionaries need to sleep.

When the sun is up, I’ll figure out what’s next. First, I’m going to try to post this letter. If you’re reading this, then at least something went right.

I’m not sure if I’m a hero, a villain, or just an invisible person. I will know soon.

With the best regards I can muster given the circumstances, One can escape from anything, Your friend always,

The Silent Magician LL

[interludepress]

Now Available: “The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic” by F.T. Lukens

“Creatures, comedy, and coming out: check.” — Kirkus Reviews

Desperate to pay for college, Bridger Whitt is willing to overlook the peculiarities of his new job—entering via the roof, the weird stacks of old books and even older scrolls, the seemingly incorporeal voices he hears from time to time—but it’s pretty hard to ignore being pulled under Lake Michigan by… mermaids? Worse yet, this happens in front of his new crush, Leo, the dreamy football star who just moved to town.

Fantastic.

When he discovers his eccentric employer Pavel Chudinov is an intermediary between the human world and its myths, Bridger is plunged into a world of pixies, werewolves, and Sasquatch. The realm of myths and magic is growing increasingly unstable, and it is up to Bridger to ascertain the cause of the chaos, eliminate the problem, and help his boss keep the real world from finding the world of myths.

Price: $16.99 print / $6.99 multi-format ebook Details: Trade paperback, 5.25"x8” Pages/Words: 304 // 72,500 ISBN: 978-1-945053-24-5 print // 978-1-945053-38-2  ebook International: Order the print edition by November 7, 2017 from your favorite book retailer and receive free multi-format eBook by submitting a copy of your receipt to contact@interludepress.com.

Available from the IP Web Store, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Target, Smashwords, Kobo, Book Depository, Indiebound and other book retailers.

About the author:

F.T. Lukens is an author of Young Adult fiction who got her start by placing second out of ten thousand entries in a fan-community writing contest. A sci-fi enthusiast, F.T. loves Star Trek and Firefly and is a longtime member of her college’s science-fiction club. She holds degrees in Psychology and English Literature and has a love of cheesy television shows, superhero movies, and writing. F.T. lives in North Carolina with her husband, three kids, and three cats. Her first two novels in the Broken Moon series, The Star Host and Ghosts & Ashes, were published by Duet Books.

Connect with F.T. at authorftlukens.wordpress.com, on Twitter @ftlukens, and on Facebook at facebook.com/ftlukens.

Cover art by C.B. Messer.

Find it on Goodreads.

From Duet Books, the Young Adult imprint of Interlude Press.

[golshxd-blog]

Desperately seeking ChiKi

  This is one way to see it: in the book of Genesis, it is written: “Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being. This is as good a definition of ChiKi as any. The breath of life.”

  For many, vital energy is to be found in a good bistro

  Another way to define it is that of the Big Bang. Limitless energy driving the universe into endless divergence. Hence, the differences within the various forms of understanding of ChiKi embody the divergence that is part of the expanding universe. An expansion driven by ChiKi .

    Still, what your pictures say, beyond the fact that they are really great images -thanks and congrats, people of DS!- is that ChiKi embodies some form of tension: natural Vs. artificial, nature Vs. man, death Vs. life, dark Vs. light, old Vs. young, etc.

  Too much ChiKi, obviously!

  Some submissions seem (my interpretation of your intent!) to show that ChiKi pics are images that, by themselves, radiate vital energy. Others posit (again, my interpretation) that the principle and workings of ChiKi must be shown. To each his/her own, thanks and congratulations to all, you are an awesome, amazing community…

  The mandatory broken bike. Does broken and sunken count as 2?

  Along with his contribution for this challenge, Johannes Hüttner sent us this poem quoted from the Tao Te Ching :

“A man is born gentle and weak. At his death he is hard and stiff. Green plants are tender and filled with sap. At their death they are withered and dry.

Therefore the stiff and unbending is the disciple of death. The gentle and yielding is the disciple of life.”

  Pavel Bochman

  Matera, Italy.

  I get it! The profusion, the diversity, the organic, yet seemingly haphazard implementation. Life, life, life everywhere!

  Bill Bokeh (pseudo)

    No doubt, there is vital energy afoot! Or at hand, rather!

  Adam Bonn

  Sweeping Sun

  The sun sweeps, and man glides. The combination of such apparently ill-matched partners adds up to what is called the Universe.

  Johannes Hüttner

    Johannes writes “Although the idea isn’t very original, nothing represents raw life force more than new saplings shooting up during spring with their lush greens. I chose Fuji´s Velvia profile during processing in C1 because it brings out the greens even more.”

Johannes says it so well…

    The bottom picture is sooo my cup of tea…

  Pascal Jappy

  Pascal writes: “When the going gets tough, cheat. Since I found this challenge difficult, I decided to cheat by creating contrasts between various locations, hoping this would enhance the vibe of each: a serene church, a spooky moore. a Tim Burton house, a pot of gold …”

  Going through picture after picture, it was obvious that Pascal sees verticals being an integral part of ChiKI. And then of course, being Pascal, at the last minute (image) he upsets my clever theory…

  Bob Kruger

    Art as (one of) the product(s) of Chi-Ki. Wow! I am in awe.

  Werner Mäder

    Werner writes “When I read about this new challenge, immediately one of my recent pictures came to my mind I shot last fall in Amrum – a beautiful Iland in the Northern See (Germany). For me it stands for what he described Chi as life force, vital force, vital energy.”

  Sand and grass. Mineral and vegetal. What binds them together? The wind! Invisible, ephemereal, unstoppable, bitingly cold or soothingly mild and warm, ever-changing energy!

  Brian Nicol

    Do I detect a them of humanity containing nature and gradually boxing it in?

  Philber

  Why is this my entry? Darkness and light. A safe road, separated from danger by a fragile barrier. Sun and warmth at the end of the tunnel. ChiKi isn’t a given, it is a path, a quest, a conquest!

    Pascal Ravach

  Pascal sent us two series. One about life force itself and one about how it manifests in various areas of Asia, depending on local wealth and relationship to the environment. Here is set 1.

    And here is set 2.

    It is hard not to see complexity as part of Pascal R’s ChiKi. Not necessarily how Bob Kruger sees it. All the better for this diversity…

  Nancee Rostad

    Ah, Nancee! You give us the vastness of the sea, the swell, sound and scent of the waves. Eternal, yet frozen into an instant by your camera. Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer. Man of freedom, always cherish the sea! (Baudelaire, mauled into English by yours truly)

  Lad Sessions

    I see benches as being for older men. Thus the sun rises as human life sets. ChiKi comes full circle.

  Kristian Wannebo

  The dancer is part of a performance after Henri Michaux, the dancers imitate the projected silhouettes.

  Forests full of vegetation, rocks devoid of life. Or are the rocks the life itself? Both one life, as illustrated by the grass growing through the concrete and the tree among the houses?

  John Wilson

  Sunlight Solitude – Santorini

Staircase – Mykonos

Welcome – Strathcona

Homage a Monet et St.Lazare

Yaquina head Light, Newport

After The Storm – Santorini

  No tension, no ChiKi for John! His choice of Santorini cannot be happenstance. The locus of the most powerful eruption recorded by man, enough to wipe out civilizations. Big, bad ChiKi!

  Posted on DearSusan by philberphoto.

[annalisehartmann-blog]

Accents on an Away Mission

Summary : My first fic posted on here, and posted anywhere in a while. it’s based on a funny comedy sketch on voice recognition technology with accents, and of course our very own “wictor wictor two” scene! 

Beta : None as its just been quickly done and its for fun!

Special thanks : to you all really! 

Swearing : There is some, yes.

A note : This is my first fic on here, and its meant to be funny and lighthearted and a bit silly. I know its not really star trekky or anything but its just meant to be fun! I hope you like it, or at least dont hate it! 

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

Commander Spock looked at the three of you as you stood in the transporter room, getting ready for this away mission.

You hadn’t been on an away mission with enterprise crew members since your transfer onto the ship a few weeks ago, and Spock, who had been a bit of a mentor to you, decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to go and explore on a planet with the others, the others being Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, and Ensign Pavel Chekov, two of the nicest men you had ever met in your career.

“Are you ready?” Spock asked your group, his face as serious and straight-laced as ever.

“aye” Scotty replied. “Yes Sir!” Chekov’s voice was keen.  “why-aye man, I canna wait like!” The entire room fell silent and stared at you. You blushed red. That bloody accent, that bloody Geordie accent. You were proud of it, but you’d spent years toning it down so people understood you. Now, in front of new crew members and superiors, you reverted back to your Newcastle accent. “I mean, yes sir!” You said, trying hard to remember the elocution lessons you’d been sent on. Spock nodded to the transporter operator and cocked his head to the side as he looked at you. Your eyes were closed and you were muttering to yourself “How now brown cow. How now brown cow. How now….”.

Before you could finish, there was a warm light around the three of you, and you disappeared from the transporter room. Spock, with his head still cocked to the side, simply stared ahead and said “Fascinating”.

--

As the three of you landed with a bump, you stared at the purple planet before you. The stones were a deep purple, the grass seemed to be a pale lemon colour and the sky was a burnt orange. “Zis is beautiful, no?” Chekov asked you. “Aye man, it’s a bonny planet for sure like” you said as you wandered off to look at a bright neon orange plant. “Vat eez boo-nee” Chekov asked, but he got no reply as you were already taking samples.

“Come on guys, lets get the data the cap’n wants then we’ll be home in time for tea” Scotty said. As the most senior member of the team, he was taking charge of your mission. You didn’t mind that, in fact you liked how his seniority made you feel safe.

 After a few hours of picking plants, getting readings of the energy and you heard Scotty call for you. “Are we ready to go home then lads and lassies?” You and Chekov walked over to where he was standing and the three of you prepared to beam up.

“Enterprise, come in Enterprise” Scotty said into his communicator.

The communicator beeped and replied. “Please state your requirements” the ladies voice spoke.

“Vat eez this?” Chekov asked, his face quizzical. “Aye its that new voice recognition that they added to the equipment. It’s meant to save us time” Scotty said. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Enterprise three to beam up”

“Please state your requirements”

“ENTER-PRISE THRRREEE TO BEAAM UP” Scotty repeated, his accent becoming thicker.

“Please state your requirements” “Ach, in the name of…..” Scotty tried not to lose his temper. He exhaled and spoke slowly. “Enterrrprise. THREEEEE TO BEAM UP!” “THREEEEE TO BEAM UP” “you’re just saying it the same way!” you cry at Scotty.

“Please state your requirements”.

“Occccc bloody thing, here, you try lassie” Scotty said and threw the device at you. You grabbed it, cleared your throat and spoke into it. “hello, enterprise man, come in, we’re trynah get home!”

“Please state your requirements”.

“Howa man, come in Enterprise, whats ganin on here like?” your voice was high pitched, you were getting as irritated as the scotsman. “It’s neet graftin that like!” you shouted and tossed the communicator to Chekov.

“Eeets vat?” he asked you. “its neet graftin, its broken!” you said getting exasperated. “I vill try, it was invented in Russia you know, voice recognition!” he took the communicator in his hand, cleared his throat and spoke into it. “Enterpwise, vree to beem up!”

“Please state your requirements”.

“Howay man we’re ganin be here forever!” you shouted, grabbing the communicator from Chekov. Scotty came over and took the device from your hand. “Look it can’t be that hard, can it lass?” he said. Clearing his throat, Scotty shrugged his shoulders a few times and spoke into the communicator in a posh English voice. “Hello, kind Enterprise, would be awfully able to get us home please before we die on his fucking godforsaken bastarding purple fuckin’ planet, away to Christ, just let us go hame!!” Scotty’s Scottish accent was thick and heavy as he shouted into the communicator.

There was silence. You went to speak and Scotty put his index finger up to sssh you. Chekov whispered. “eez et broke?” You shrugged and mouthed “I don’t know”. Silence.

“Beeeep”

The three of looked at each other.

“Please remain calm and state your requirements”.

“Calm? Calm? Is that thing telling me to remain calm?!” Scotty’s face was as red as a beetroot with anger. “Don’t tell me to remain calm lass, I bloody programed you!” his voice was loud as he shouted into the commincaor. “THREE TO BEAM UP. TO BEAM UP. THR-EEEEE T-OOO BEEEE-AM UPPPP!”

“If you would like to return to the Enterprise please say yes”

“AYE!” the three of you replied in unison.

“Please remain calm”.

You stared at the communicator. Grabbing it, you exhale a few times, and open it, staring into it. “Listen tuh wor. ah want tuh gan hyem, ahm hungry, ahm starvation an' ahm stuck on this planet see please just let wor contact the ship. If ya don’ stap this like, I’m ganin greet man, I swear I’ll greet!”.

Chekov goes over to Scotty “let me up” he says, standing up on Scotty’s shoulders. “Eeef we wabe it above high, maybe eet vil sense us”.

Scotty looks at him like he’s lost the plot but at this point hes ready to try anything. “up ye get lad!” he said. Chekov stands on Scotty’s shoulders as he waves the communicator around in the air, both of them shouting “hello! Hello!” up at the bright orange sky.

You stand up on a rock, waving your arms. Suddenly there is a beep. The commincator beeps and there is a voice “Spock here, away party come in”

“Aaawyyyyy hello” “aaaaye helloo spock come on!” “eeez us heelllo” The three of you shout at the same time.

“Away party do you copy. Please speak slowly and clearly”

Scotty sssh’s everyone, with Chekov still siting on his shoulders, he creeps over to you and the three of you stare at the communicator, not one of you daring to speak.

Scotty nods at you. “How now brown cow. How noooow brrrooown cow!” You say. The communicator beeps at you.

“Please state your requirements”

The three of you lose the plot. You start screaming into the communicator, “how way man, Geordie for life! Toon army, toon army, toon army!” Scotty picks up the communicator and throws it away. “For FREEEEDOM! SCOTLAND! SCOTLAND! ENTERPRISE!!” Chekov is hollering like a native American on Scotty’s shoulders and he runs around, shouting at the communicator.

Not one of you notice the white lights surrounding you, as you suddenly find yourselves back on the enterprise, you dancing on the spot shouting “toon army” and Chekov and Scotty dancing around hollering and shouting “freedom”.

The three of you stop in the spot as you notice Commander Spock and Captain Kirk staring at you.

“Good mission?” the Captain asks with a quizzical look.

“Yes Sir”

“Aye Sir”

“Yees Sir!”

Spock simply looks at you with his cocked to the side. “Fascinating”.

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

Tags:

@star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @lurkch @outside-the-government @whatif-animagineblog @trekken81 @yourtropegirl @jonanacoe 

[jacobmellor]

Chapter 4

What was once seen as a bit of a challenge, an opportunity to show that there may be a different way of thinking or doing had recently been getting me down. I spoke to mum about it and her response was perfect, “most stuff is pointless really”

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lib7w9AdDMY

9 months ago I left my bicycle in Da Nang, central Vietnam. That was me leaving my normal. I was stagnant, progressing through places but not really progressing personally.

Stepping out into the unknown was a really amazing step. Me, Jethro and Felipe rode our shitbox motorbikes costing a maximum of $200 across the country together. Each one a Chinese fake, bald tyres, oil leaks, broken lights, broken fuel gauges, dodgy speedos. They were constantly falling over, breaking down, making strange noises, running out of petrol. Locals gesturing they were going to explode any minute, laughing at us as they pulled out of the service station on their real Honda Waves. Well these shitboxes carried us all the way through that amazing country. Through the scorching heat, the torrential rain, over mountains, along bone shaking roads and survived an actual fucking tornado. Every second was priceless.

And upon arriving in Hanoi I quickly stumbled across a group of crazy awesome likeminded people and rented a big mad house together. A family of travellers. We hosted other travellers, ran a free community English class from the living room and taught English in kindergartens for a bit of money. Together we enjoyed everything that wonderful city has to offer.

With the cost of living so cheap and the wage for teaching English so good, we had time to do or not do. Anything, everything and nothing was possible. Sampling tasty food, playing music, painting, busking, yoga, going to festivals, trips to the islands, finding skyscrapers to climb, joining a football team, taking photos, going to circus, we did it all and more. But the centre of our world which we always enjoyed returning home to was our roof terrace. THE ROOF. Coming in from those manic streets you were instantly transported to a tranquil ish bubble surrounded by air cleaning plants and the smell of drying clothes and marijuana. The walls, tables, doors, and hanging clothes were all covered in our art and any space in between was filled with Jerome’s chilled music. Freedom. The little cherry on top of it all was Hien, our incredible Vietnamese housemate full of traditional culture and fire. At first it was a struggle to cope with our western ways but soon she blossomed into this inquisitive lover of life, opening a business teaching Vietnamese to expats, telling her parents she didn’t want to get married, yet, and trying simple things we take for granted like drawing or watching and dancing to live music for the first time. She lived in the room beneath, always keeping us in check. Check Check!

Around Christmas time everybody had made plans for something else, it’s not something to do forever, that Hanoi life, the city as I said is manic. And polluted. I was seeing family in Australia, Stef was hitching and busking back to Italy, Askar was going to Thailand to carry on his amazing journey of travelling without money. Vika and Yura back to Russia to make music, Xsenia and Pavel would carry on busking and travelling around Asia. Nick to Ukraine to meet a girl he’d met in Hanoi, Daniel to Perth to see family, leaving just Jerome and Hien in the house. But before leaving we all spent Christmas Day in Hiens home town, met her family and enjoyed a big dinner together. It was a perfect way to finish.

On the plane to Australia I cried knowing that I would see my family for the first time in 3 years, but also because I was leaving my newly found family and Masha, the woman I’d fallen in love with behind.

My mum and dad, are older, greyer but still the same people at heart, it was surreal to see them after so long. A few weeks spent relaxing, eating and just hanging out with the folks like normal. I’m very lucky. I’m also so thankful that they are happy knowing I’m happy, I couldn’t ask for anything more. It wasn’t so sad leaving them again, just sad to leave those avocado, poached egg, smoked salmon on toast breakies in the cafe.

I hitched from Sydney to Melbourne and back again and then up to Newcastle for a tree planting job. All the time planning on returning to Vietnam and Masha. I asked Daniel to come and help with the job seeing how he was in Oz, he needed money and it would be nice for him to learn how to plant. Just like that, we were planting 15,000+ native grasses by hand, the perfect job for one of the most inspiring families I’ve ever met. I’d been introduced to Paul, Tanya and sons over a year earlier when with Russ. We stayed at their house a couple of nights but never had the chance to fully get to know each other. Paul is working in construction, but has always challenged himself with amazing/insane adventures, living on the edge, sometimes even falling over the edge, but it doesn’t matter, he smashes through everything with his can do attitude and refusal to fail. After his wife died of cancer, he rode his bike to the very northerly point of Australia and kayaked, fucking kayaked to Papa New Guinea. Aaaaaand raised a shit ton of money for charity in the process. Wow, and then there is Tanya. Like us she is definitely a traveller at heart, hitching Europe and Turkey in the, I think 80’s, maybe 90’s. She’s not old old! One of the most open minded easy to talk to people in the world, she fuelled a love for horses by working in stables in different countries. After realising professional riding wasn’t for her and just going with the flow she now sculpts for a living and has life size bronze works on display across Australia. Being creative and doing what she is passionate about! If these guys aren’t an example of following what you love and achieving everything you put your mind to, I don’t know what is.

I’d booked my flight back to Hanoi from New Zealand, because first I wanted to hitch on a boat and do a bit of cycling in real nature before returning to Masha and Hanoi. And I guess this is where that feeling of pointlessness has come from. I couldn’t find a boat and things haven’t worked out with Masha. I’m not really used to things going against me, I’m used to things being hard, I can deal with that, but all of a sudden my dream of sustainable travel seemed up in a big fossil fuel guzzling cloud of aeroplane smoke as I bailed and flew to NZ. The fact the relationship ended multiplied this feeling ten fold, I felt lost. Instead of doing what I’d done previously, enjoying the journey for what it was, riding the waves, embracing the challenge, learning from the mistakes, going with the flow, smiling at the punctures or the breakdowns, or the bad weather, shitty road, lack of food. I got down.

I was riding but not riding, my head was stuck up in that cloud. But New Zealand is so bllllllloody beautiful that it’s actually difficult not to live in the moment when your surrounded by so much breathtaking scenery. And then I met cyclists Ryan and Dee, an awesome friendly couple from England, with the positive vibe returning I’m starting to find apples everywhere, and people are giving away the best tastiest pinkest peaches you can imagine. I stayed a few nights with a girl who loved to bake. Scones, banana bread, apple + blackberry pie, a loaf of bread and then leaving and discovering a home made quiche she’d woken up early to bake and put with my lunch. Last night I stayed with a family of 6, the dad Chris had cycled from the top of the north island to the bottom of the South Island. 3000km along rough trails in 22 days. Their 3 teenage daughters outwitting me in every conversation and then waking up this morning to watch their 11 year old average sized son devour 8 weetabix, his response, “I do a lot”. Needless to say, I feel good, I feel high on life. I already thought I should write a post whilst I was riding into town this morning. And then waiting for me was a message from a profile I’d made on a boating website months ago, I have just received an email asking if I want to crew a marine biology sailing yacht to Fiji and back.

I’m not saying that being positive or living in the moment had anything to do with the boat, it didn’t. The thing on the boat may never even materialise. I’m just saying that everything is always alright in the end, so no point getting down and worrying about it. You are doing what feels right, that’s all that matters.

So yes most stuff is pointless, my pointless thing is to challenge misconceptions and push boundaries, what’s yours?

[ao3feed-hockey]

The longer I make your name, the more it means I love you.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3ck0knL

by tillyenna

At the hospital, after Pavel and Igor's car crash. Not fixing anything except maybe my broken heart.

I needed this. So I wrote it. It was supposed to be Henke/Igor focused. It is not.

Also there's a lot of extra cutesy use of russian diminutives in this.

Words: 2468, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Men's Hockey RPF

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Pavel Buchnevich, Artemi Panarin, Henrik Lundqvist, Igor Shesterkin

Relationships: Pavel Buchnevich/Artemi Panarin, Henrik Lundqvist/Igor Shesterkin

Additional Tags: off screen injury, Hospital, car crash, hurt comfort, gratuitous use of russian diminutives

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3ck0knL

[goicelevstuff]

New Post has been published on Coinlus.com

One of the fastest-growing messaging services Telegram may have suffered a slight breach as one Reddit user claims to be selling 70 million accounts. The thread — which was just recently emptied after user matdavson1994 was suspended—contained an offer for the data of 70 million Telegram accounts. According to some users on Twitter, the leaker was selling the data for 8 BTC (over $60,000). In broken English, the user explained that he detected a vulnerability in Telegram that allowed him to gain access to user information, providing a sample. If the data is accurate, it could be a blow for users of Telegram’s upcoming cryptocurrency and blockchain network, since it would allow data holders to identify users and possibly connect GRAM token balances to real-world phone numbers. We have since acquired the sample material, an Excel file containing 251,943 entries with user IDs, phone numbers, and usernames. There appears to be no way a malicious actor could use this data to infiltrate accounts themselves, but a clever person could use this to start very effective phone and messaging spam campaigns. After taking the time to browse through the data, we found that most of the listed phone numbers are from Iran. Some of the accounts have since been deleted but many of them were real. This incident’s date is awfully close to another one in which a person using founder Pavel Durov’s name registered a fake company in the UK called Telegram Open Network Limited. We do not see anything connecting these two events, but the timing seems uncanny. One source on Twitter

BREAKING: 70mn Telegram Accounts have been leaked and are for sale on the dark web. Usernames and Phone Numbers leaked - might be bad news for you $crypto people wanting to keep your anonymity. Stay safe. #telegram #crypto #dump #db #telegramhack #hack #infosec pic.twitter.com/0DXPA70NRy

— Alt Analyst (@TheAltAnalyst) April 10, 2018

that the leaker may have moved the data to the dark web to sell, but our own exhaustive search of dark web marketplaces left us with nothing to substantiate the claim. Even though we can’t find a trail for it, it’s certainly possible that the data behind 70 million Telegrams accounts is still circulating out there.

Source: Cryptovest

Cardano

Charles Hoskinson

dự án blockchain

SP8DE

- http://bit.ly/2qrf4de - Coinlus.com

[rssspockuhura]

breeding lilacs out of the dead land ( April is the cruellest month )

Warning: Some M/M works might show up here because the Spock/Uhura tag is used in ref to S/U as a side pairing, past pairing, etc. Currently there is no way to filter and exclude feeds on Ao3 to get only S/U F/M works.Solution. Read at your own risk.

by wearealltalesintheend

"So, in the beginning, they had a mission. Quite easy. In and out plan. Just go from place A to place B, rescue some loser, go back to place A. But that was in the beginning, back with Pike. Back when Jim was just a damn cadet and no one expected him to magically solve all of their problems. "

or the one in which the world is broken, Pike is missing, Spock is hiding in a ruined Walmart, and Jim is just trying his best in a no-win situation.

Words: 5964, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: James T. Kirk, Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Spock (Star Trek), Nyota Uhura, Pavel Chekov, Hikaru Sulu, Christopher Pike, Sarek (Star Trek), Nero (Star Trek), Montgomery "Scotty" Scott

Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Spock/Nyota Uhura

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst and Humor, Eventual Happy Ending, impromptu literature corner, way too many metaphors, merry christmas/happy new year/this is late i'm sorry isa

read it on the AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/9186767 via AO3 works tagged 'Spock/Nyota Uhura' http://archiveofourown.org/works/9186767

Need an Ao3 invite? Don't want to wait? Get one via LiveJournal or Dreamwidth. Remember to check out the Spuhura fanworks community on livejournal. Follow rssspockuhura for Spock/Uhura fanworks from around the web.

[sceleb-blog1]

New Post has been published on Coinlus.com

One of the fastest-growing messaging services Telegram may have suffered a slight breach as one Reddit user claims to be selling 70 million accounts. The thread — which was just recently emptied after user matdavson1994 was suspended—contained an offer for the data of 70 million Telegram accounts. According to some users on Twitter, the leaker was selling the data for 8 BTC (over $60,000). In broken English, the user explained that he detected a vulnerability in Telegram that allowed him to gain access to user information, providing a sample. If the data is accurate, it could be a blow for users of Telegram’s upcoming cryptocurrency and blockchain network, since it would allow data holders to identify users and possibly connect GRAM token balances to real-world phone numbers. We have since acquired the sample material, an Excel file containing 251,943 entries with user IDs, phone numbers, and usernames. There appears to be no way a malicious actor could use this data to infiltrate accounts themselves, but a clever person could use this to start very effective phone and messaging spam campaigns. After taking the time to browse through the data, we found that most of the listed phone numbers are from Iran. Some of the accounts have since been deleted but many of them were real. This incident’s date is awfully close to another one in which a person using founder Pavel Durov’s name registered a fake company in the UK called Telegram Open Network Limited. We do not see anything connecting these two events, but the timing seems uncanny. One source on Twitter

BREAKING: 70mn Telegram Accounts have been leaked and are for sale on the dark web. Usernames and Phone Numbers leaked - might be bad news for you $crypto people wanting to keep your anonymity. Stay safe. #telegram #crypto #dump #db #telegramhack #hack #infosec pic.twitter.com/0DXPA70NRy

— Alt Analyst (@TheAltAnalyst) April 10, 2018

that the leaker may have moved the data to the dark web to sell, but our own exhaustive search of dark web marketplaces left us with nothing to substantiate the claim. Even though we can’t find a trail for it, it’s certainly possible that the data behind 70 million Telegrams accounts is still circulating out there.

Source: Cryptovest

Cardano

Charles Hoskinson

dự án blockchain

SP8DE

- http://bit.ly/2qrf4de - Coinlus.com

[scelebmagazine-blog]

New Post has been published on Coinlus.com

One of the fastest-growing messaging services Telegram may have suffered a slight breach as one Reddit user claims to be selling 70 million accounts. The thread — which was just recently emptied after user matdavson1994 was suspended—contained an offer for the data of 70 million Telegram accounts. According to some users on Twitter, the leaker was selling the data for 8 BTC (over $60,000). In broken English, the user explained that he detected a vulnerability in Telegram that allowed him to gain access to user information, providing a sample. If the data is accurate, it could be a blow for users of Telegram’s upcoming cryptocurrency and blockchain network, since it would allow data holders to identify users and possibly connect GRAM token balances to real-world phone numbers. We have since acquired the sample material, an Excel file containing 251,943 entries with user IDs, phone numbers, and usernames. There appears to be no way a malicious actor could use this data to infiltrate accounts themselves, but a clever person could use this to start very effective phone and messaging spam campaigns. After taking the time to browse through the data, we found that most of the listed phone numbers are from Iran. Some of the accounts have since been deleted but many of them were real. This incident’s date is awfully close to another one in which a person using founder Pavel Durov’s name registered a fake company in the UK called Telegram Open Network Limited. We do not see anything connecting these two events, but the timing seems uncanny. One source on Twitter

BREAKING: 70mn Telegram Accounts have been leaked and are for sale on the dark web. Usernames and Phone Numbers leaked - might be bad news for you $crypto people wanting to keep your anonymity. Stay safe. #telegram #crypto #dump #db #telegramhack #hack #infosec pic.twitter.com/0DXPA70NRy

— Alt Analyst (@TheAltAnalyst) April 10, 2018

that the leaker may have moved the data to the dark web to sell, but our own exhaustive search of dark web marketplaces left us with nothing to substantiate the claim. Even though we can’t find a trail for it, it’s certainly possible that the data behind 70 million Telegrams accounts is still circulating out there.

Source: Cryptovest

Cardano

Charles Hoskinson

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- http://bit.ly/2qrf4de - Coinlus.com