#well. he is half and half but he has passports and everything its his culture

[wolfsnake]

Feeling homesick for a country Ive never been too

[an-ecu-harrypotter-au]

TPS Part 13: Bienvenue Kwimpers

"Ah got mah letter from Pop. Do we gotta bring anythang?"

"We're only going to be in France for a week, so I would bring about a week's worth of clothes and a toothbrush. My father would take care of paying for everything."

"So no passport?"

"No. Wizards don't have anything like that for international travel. The Ministry of Magic only requires identification for people who work at that building. My father has a specific card saying he's an ambassador merely for formality reasons. He's one of the most well known wizards in the UK."

Ah process it when Ah realize somethin.

"How come we got Christmas an Easter off but we don't got any type a church here?"

"It's quite simple really. Wizards simply don't celebrate those holidays for the same reason. For us it's meant to be a celebration of the changing of the seasons. It's only because my mother is Bulgarian that my family even knows who Jesus is."

"Huh?"

"In Bulgaria, people are more religious. Even though Veela are not human, they still have to learn the basics of Christianity. That way they can blend in with humans."

Somethin jus ain't makin sense ta me.

"Ah thought ya said it'd be dangerous fer Veela ta be round humans?"

"Yes but there are always half blooded and human born wizards out there. It's meant to avoid common cultural differences even though it's the same country."

Ah shake mah head an go back ta mah Herbology book.

"What'd ya think our Herbology final's gonna be like? If we gotta match plant names ta pictures Ah can do that real easy."

"It's possible. I think we might need to perform the Severing Charm on a Spiky Bush."

"Oh yeah that'd make sense. Herbology's also bout carin fer these plants. We gotta use it ta trim the bush so it don't kill nobody wit its spikes."

Ah make sure ta write it down so Ah don't ferget ta practice that spell.

Time Skip

"Pop are ya sure Trevor's gonna be ok without me? Maybe he'd like goin ta France too."

"Trevor's gonna be fine son. We dunno how we's even gettin ta France. Might not be good ta bring a frog wit us. France sees frogs as good eatin."

Ah gasp.

"Yer so smart Pop! They'd eat Trevor up real quick wit how he's hoppin round so much."

"He's much safer wit yer cousins this way."

We get our suitcases out the cab an make our way ta the train station. Ah see a real tall guy in a suit lookin round when he sees us. He comes up ta us an shakes Pop's hand.

"Ah, Mr. Kwimper. Glad you can make it. I'm Henry Gryffindor."

"Nice ta meet ya. Ya know mah son Toby right?"

"Yes of course. Jacklin did tell me all about you and your son. Now don't you worry about transportation. I have it all taken care of. I hope my appearance isn't too strange."

"Nah yer good. Look like a regular businessman from London."

"Splendid. It has after all been a while since I last had to walk amongst humans. My wife brought Jacklin to the station at the beginning of the year."

He keeps talkin ta Pop as he leads us away from the train station. Ah see some carriage but no horsies.

"Now Toby you have the cloak I allowed Jacklin to give you, yes?"

"Yessir. Do ya need it fer somethin?"

"Indeed. I need to wear it so I can manage the thestrals without being seen."

Ah don't even wanna ask wha he said so Ah jus give it ta him.

"Thank you. Now if you and your father can step inside the carriage, I'll have us to Gryffindor Manor in no time."

"Ok sir."

Ah get in wit Pop as Jacklin's daddy puts on the invisibility cloak.

Time Skip

"Toby I'm so glad you can make it!"

Jacklin hugs me before Ah can even put mah suitcase down. She probly don't get friends over which Ah think's pretty sad if she's so excited ta see me.

"Jacklin do ya know how yer daddy got invisible horsies fer his carriage?"

"Come again?"

"Ya know invisible horsies. He flew us by carriage but Ah saw he ain't got horsies pullin 'em."

She makes that face Ah'm used ta seein by now. It means she's gonna tell me somethin Ah know's gonna be way too hard ta figure out.

"We use magical creatures that are only visible under certain conditions. Humans can't see them at all."

"Ok."

Ah see this tall blonde woman walk in an Ah can tell jus by lookin at 'er she's Jacklin's mom.

"You must be, Toby. My name is Olga. Jacklin told you I am from Bulgaria."

"Yeah. She did."

Her Veela magic's way more stronger than Jacklin's. Ah hope Pop don't have no trouble wit 'er.

"Come. I made food before trip."

Ah follow 'er an Jacklin ta this huge dinin room. Pop's speechless an Ah'm hungry.

"This is not fancy meal. I hope you like moussaka vith some kyufte."

Ah look at the table an see somethin that looks like lasagna an meatballs. Pop dunno a thang bout Bulgarian food but he sure looks excited as he sits down.

"Sounds good ta me Mrs. Gryffindor."

Ah sit down between 'em an Jacklin. Ah look at mah plate an Ah gotta ask Jacklin wha all this is.

"What're we eatin?"

"Moussaka is a dish that's very popular in Greece and other countries. In Bulgaria, they use potatoes instead of eggplant. It's very similar to the shepherd's pie you tried last month."

"Ok. Wha' bout these meatball lookin thin's?"

She looks at mah plate.

"They technically are meatballs, Toby. The main difference is that in Bulgaria you would grill these like you would a hamburger. They also have onions and soaked bread in them."

Ah nod an take a bite a the mouska. Jacklin's right an wrong bout it. Sure it's got the potatoes an meat like a shepherd's pie but it's still all stacked like a lasgana'd be stacked.

"Are you liking moussaka?"

Ah like up an see Jacklin's mom lookin at me an Pop.

"Yeah."

"It's delicious, Mrs. Gryffindor. Specially this creamy stuff on top."

"I use yogurt for top layer."

Pop really loves it cause he's all smilin. Ah try one a the meatballs when she hands me this lil bowl a somethin.

"Put in podluchen. Is yogurt sauce."

"Ok."

Ah try it like she wants me ta. Ah'm realizin yogurt ain't jus meant ta Dannon. It can be used fer meaty thangs too.

"Tastes good thanks."

She smiles an Jacklin's dad calls 'er over an pulls out 'er chair so she can sit.

"Dear come over and sit down. You need to eat too before we leave for France."

"Thank you, lyubimi."

Ah jus assume it's some kinda Bulgarian petname an keep eatin mah food. The pot lucken sauce's startin ta grow on me. Ah like it.

Time Skip

"So uh... what exactly do ya do as an ambassador, Henry?"

Ah listen ta Pop talkin ta Jacklin's dad. Ah wonder if he really is some kinda wizard king.

"Why I represent the United Kingdom using the title my ancestor, Godric Gryffindor, created. It's a title that's existed longer than our Ministry of Magic. While I do work with them, I am not their boss nor employee. My position can never be taken away from me as it was made into a permanent law: All legal heirs of Godric Gryffindor shall have this ambassador's position. As the only founding family with a reliably traceable heir, my family is the only one to have such a position."

"Huh. Looks like mah son weren't exaggeratin when he said Jacklin was a wizard princess."

He chuckles a bit an Ah wonder why.

"I can definitely see why he would think of that. It is true that being a Gryffindor would be a similar experience to being part of a royal family. The only difference is that our word is not law. It never has been and it never will be. My family has strived to maintain international diplomacy and create a common ground. We do have our privileges I don't deny that, but we are by no means royalty."

Now Ah know where Jacklin gets her speech type a talkin from. Ah get he's tryna explain this big concept as much as he can but still. It's a lot ta think bout.

"So fer this trip ta France, why'd ya need me agin?"

"Ah yes. A squib is unable to see all countries Ministry of Magic buildings as well as any confidential building. As part of my annual trip to France, I was asked to be a part of their quality review inspection. I am to visit Paris to ensure France's security system against humans are up to international standards. It's not a common occurrence so I wouldn't need your help on a regular basis."

"Ah get it now. Yer auditin their internal controls."

Ah see Jacklin's dad's eyes light up like Pop understood wha he said. Pop's real smart like that. He ain't worked nowhere fancy but he jus has a good mind fer pickin things up.

"Now just to be sure, how exactly is Toby a pure blood? It's not that I doubt such a claim, I'm merely baffled at how the Kwimper clan disappeared from the magic world. Our archives show that the last Kwimper was recorded to the Ministry of Magic in 1910."

"Yeah Ah done a lil diggin mahself an found out it's cause we jus fled ta Ireland an not tol nobody. We did got a lotta squibs in the family but we also jus never went back ta Hogwarts. Our kin jus kept ta themselves till some a us went ta America. Mah wife, lord rest 'er soul tol me she can do magic. Ah tol 'er Ah know bout it, but can't do it. She tol me since Ah'm a Kwimper Ah oughta write ta the people in Britain an tell 'em bout Toby. Weren't till Ah got his letter Ah found out she was right bout 'em bein a wizard."

"I see, but how do you know with absolute certainty that your son is a pure blood? A long line of squibs would surely intermingle with a human even by accident."

Ah look at Pop an Ah wonder how he's got an answer fer it.

"Jus happened ta work out that way. Kwimper clan still liked keepin thangs ta themselves. Much rather'd use magic ta be farmers an fortune tellers. Now mah wife, her family done thangs different. Simply wouldn't let me live it down if Toby had magic an he ain't been taught right."

"Tell me Samson, was your late wife Native American by any chance?"

"Yeah mah wife was part a the Cherokee tribe that kept ta themselves up in the mountains. Even got Toby papers sayin he's part a the tribe too."

"My goodness! No wonder Toby is a wizard."

Ah look at Jacklin.

"Ah have no idea wha's happenin."

"Native Americans have the highest percentage of wizards out of any other race. It's almost impossible for someone to be an official member of a tribe and not be one. The Kwimper clan has a properly educated wizard after all these centuries because of your mother, Toby."

Ah dunno wha ta say. Ah almos wanna cry but Jacklin's mom comes out wit desserts.

"Baklava?"

"Yeah thanks."

Ah take a couple pieces an start stuffin mah face. Ah can't even remember if Jacklin tol me wha Ah'm eatin or not Ah jus gotta eat it. All jus too much ta handle.

"Son ya bes slow down wit yer eatin. Gonna be all sick iffin ya don't. Now Ah know this baklava's jus bout as good as it gets but ya gotta least save some fer me."

He pats mah back an Ah think Pop's tryna make a joke ta take mah mind off wantin ta cry. Ah think it worked cause now Ah wanna know wha makes it so special.

"Dear, why don't you tell our guests about your baklava recipe."

"Yes. In Bulgaria ve use volnuts and sugar syrup to make baklava. You like?"

"Oh yeah Olga. Goes real good wit this Boza."

Jacklin's mom smiles an that shows Pop's real smart at talkin ta people. Always seems ta know wha ta say ta make people feel good.

Time Skip

"Alright, everyone. Now that we all finished eating, I'll show you how we can all get to Paris. Follow me."

Ah get up an follow Jacklin's dad ta a fireplace.

"This fireplace is specifically designed to take me to any Ministry of Magic building in the world. Using Floo powder, I simply have to say Paris, France. Once I throw it into the fire, it would take me right to Paris practically in a blink of an eye. So long as you speak clearly and stand very still, you can't go wrong."

"Wow."

"Jacklin I trust you to take Toby and mummy on your own. Come with me Samson. I'll take you and your family's luggage straight away."

Ah watch Jacklin's dad take the powder an step inta the fireplace wit Pop. Pop's holdin our suitcases an looks a lil nervous at the fire.

"Paris, France."

Jacklin's dad throws it inta the fire an they jus disappear in a flash. Jacklin waits a couple seconds before she grabs the powder. Her mom steps in the fire.

"Alright, Toby. Just step into the fire and I'll send us all to Paris."

"Ok."

Ah step in the fire next ta 'er. Fire don't hurt so Ah feel good bout that. Ah grab onta Jacklin so Ah don't move.

"Paris, France."

Everythang jus goes black.

"Son? Son? Wake up son."

Ah think Ah fainted fer a second cause Ah wake up on the floor.

"Wha happened?"

"Oh dear. This is entirely my fault. I should have warned you that it's important to keep breathing. If you suddenly inhale, you could faint."

Ah look up at Jacklin's dad an he looks real concerned.

"Ah'm awright sir. Ah get real bad motion sickness. Ah sometimes get sick jus flyin on a broom."

"Are well enough to stand?"

"Yessir."

"That's good to hear."

He helps me up. Ah look round room.

"Welcome to Paris, my friends. This is the French Ministry of Magic headquarters. Now I just have to meet with the minister before we can be on our way."

Ah see a kinda short man come in the room an looks right at Jacklin's dad.

"Monsieur Greefindor!"

"Ah Emile. Just in time. I'd like to introduce you to the Kwimpers. They're the family that's going to be helping me with the review process."

"Zat is good news."

He shakes Pop's hand then mine.

"I will be taking you to your 'otel room. You are guests and will be treated well. Come with me."

"Very well then. Olga, Jacklin, back to the fireplace. Samson, I'll be seeing you and Toby at the hotel when you arrive."

Ah watch Jacklin's dad grab the Floo powder.

"Hotel De Ginestou."

He throws it in the fire an they all disappear.

"Pop Ah'm glad Ah don't gotta use the fire agin."

"It's awright son. We might be usin a carriage ta get ta the hotel. Jus hand the nice man yer suitcase an we'll get goin."

Ah see a french man come up an Ah give 'em mah suitcase an another guy takes Pop's.

"Now come with me to the carriage. We will take you to the Hotel De Ginestou."

"Lead the way Emile."

We follow 'em downstairs ta the carriage an mah eyes get all big.

"Pop they got horsies! Can ya see 'em? They got these big wings an long blonde manes! They gotta be all girls."

"Yeah Ah see 'em son. French government's real trustin. Probly got spells keepin humans outta this part a the city. Horses probly hide their wings so we look like a regular carriage."

We get in the carriage an Ah realize somethin.

"How come wizards ain't got cars? Everythang looks like we're in the 1800s when people still used candles."

"Cause wizards don't want nothin ta do wit humans. They gotta hide from 'em so they ain't gonna be as up ta date wit technology. Ya tol me Jacklin's camera don't wanna work at Hogwarts cause all the magicin messes wit it. Probably the same thang fer cars an all kinds a fancy equipment."

"Does that mean Jacklin ain't gonna be able ta use 'er camera here?"

He pats mah shoulder while lookin straight. That tells me Pop's thinkin up somethin real smart.

"French government probly don't want humans takin pictures a their fancy wizardin buildins so 'er camera probly won't work. Gonna have ta get a regular camera fer that."

"Jacklin probly won't like that. She really wanted ta learn how ta use it right."

"Oh Ah'm sure it'll work wit all the human places like the Eiffel Tower. Can't have humans not bein able ta take pictures a thangs. France'll lose money from all the tourin if that happens."

"Yeah yer right Pop."

Time Skip

"Samson you say you need a different type of camera for our pictures?"

"Yeah Henry. Jacklin's camera don't work at Hogwarts so Ah don't think it'll work if we gotta be goin ta secret wizardin buildins."

"Ah yes. The magic interference. You bring up an excellent point. No matter. I will cover all expenses. Just tell me what you'll need."

Ah see Pop thinkin. Ah know camera's gotta have film but Ah don't think Jacklin's dad's gonna know how all that works.

"We have ta go ta the camera store. They still got 35 mm film ya need fer cameras. How many pictures do ya think we'll need cause that matters too?"

"I have a list of various locations."

He hands the list ta Pop an he counts 'em all.

"Yeah Ah think a couple rolls a film'll do. Just gotta know the words fer camera or photagphy store in this country an Ah can find it easily."

"Splendid, I can take you through the human side of Paris in the morning. For now, what do you think about dinner at the Cafe Abringer? No need for a carriage it's just a stone's throw away."

"Sounds good an all Henry but uh, what do they got ta eat? Toby can be a real picky eater at times."

Ah don't wanna admit it cause that'll ruin thangs but Pop's right. Ah hope that got somethin Ah'll like.

"No problem at all, Samson. They have the most delicious roast chicken that goes with any way to cook a potato you can possibly think of. It should suit Toby's taste quite well."

"Oh yeah Ah like roast chicken Pop. Jacklin's been tellin me all bout potatoes in France like the poms daphine."

Jacklin's dad chuckles.

"Well, Toby I certainly am glad to hear you've been learning about different types of food. Since France has strong ties to the UK you won't have to worry about not understanding the menu."

"Ok sir."

We start walkin ta the cafe an Ah talk wit Jacklin cause Ah think Ah said somethin wrong.

"What'd ya call those potatoes ya get here?"

"Pommes dauphine."

Ah look at 'er.

"Yeah. Ah ain't gonna be able ta remember that."

"That's alright, Toby. What's important is that you try to learn what it is that you'll be eating. That way you can't be caught off guard by something that's quite common."

"Is this somethin y'all do on a regular basis?"

"Of course. When you travel like my father, you have to learn about the culture of the country you're visiting."

Now everythang bout why Jacklin an 'er dad talk they way they do makes sense. Ambassador work's gotta be hard if ya gotta know a lot bout the people yer visitin. Ah jus hope the food's good where we're goin. Tha's all that matters ta me.

Time Skip

"So what'd everybody get?"

"Your Pop ordered a seafood stew, I ordered the beef, mother ordered the fish, and father got the duck meat pie with the roasted scallops."

"Scallop?"

Ah think bout that. Ah see this small roundish white thang that people eat.

"Oh yeah we got a lotta those in Florida. Ya get 'em all over the Gulf Coast. Ah only see the rich people get 'em though."

"That makes sense, Toby. In that case, I have to ask if you know what sole is?"

"Sole? Maybe if ya describe it Ah'll know. Ah ain't too good at memrizin fish like Ah am at snakes an plants."

"It's a flat fish with both eyes on the right side."

"Ohh. Closest thang Ah can think of's a hogchoker. A real small fish so Ah don't think people really eat those less they gotta."

"Well, what type of fish do you normally eat in Florida?"

Ah gotta think real hard cause Ah know it all depends on what part a Florida yer from. Shellfish ain't the same as regular fish ya catch wit a fishin pole so Ah can't answer wit somethin like shrimp or lil crabs.

"We usually eat catfish. All the rich people get stuff like snapper or tuna."

"I understand now. Different types of fish are available based on who can afford it."

"Yeah."

The waiters come over wit our food an Ah'm tryna not drool on the table. Mah chicken looks good jus like Jacklin's dad said.

"Now let's tuck in everyone."

Ah wanna show Ah'm a big boy an start cuttin up mah own chicken. This a real fancy place so they brought me a whole roast chicken. Ah dunno if Ah'm gonna be able ta eat it all but Ah'm sure gonna try.

Time Skip

"Would anyone here be wanting dessert?"

"I think we should see your dessert menu. My daughter of course would like the mi-cuit au chocolat while my wife and I would like the creme brûlée."

"Excellent choices monsieur. I will bring the dessert menu."

Ah watch the waiter walk way. By now Jacklin's gotten used ta me askin bout thangs so Ah don't even gotta ask 'er.

"I usually get a mi-cuit au chocolat or a molten chocolate cake for dessert because it's small. A creme brûlée though is a custard topped with caramelized or burnt sugar."

"Ohhhh. Sounds real good."

Pop an Ah get the dessert menu. Ah look through it an Ah recognize one a the names.

"Hey Jacklin it's that opera cake ya talked bout a while back."

"Yes, but after such a heavy meal, I wouldn't recommend getting it. That is unless you want to get it so you can take it home with you."

"Hmmm. Ah'm gonna see what else they got first."

Ah read the names tryna figure out what they all are.

"Well Ah'm stuffed. Ah'll jus get the fruit salad an some coffee. Wha bout you son?"

Ah look at Pop wit a serious face.

"Pop why'd nobody tell me they got apple pie here? This some kinda secret everybody wanted ta keep from me?"

Everybody at the table starts laughin a lil an Ah don't think it's that funny. Pop oughta know Ah like apple pie.

"Toby this isn't exactly like the type of apple pie you get in the States."

"Then what is it? Apple pie's apple pie Jacklin."

"Yes it is caramelized apples with cinnamon but it also comes with a very specific type of ice cream made made with an apple brandy from Normandy called Calvados."

Ah give 'er a look as if ta ask how that's spose ta change thangs.

"Soooooo? If it's got apples an cinnamon in a pie crust, then it's an apple pie."

"You must take apple pie very seriously, Toby."

"Ah take all dessert serious Jacklin. Pop knows Ah love me some apple pie an nobody ever thought a tellin me they got it here."

Ah know Jacklin's a girl an don't get that ya don't mess wit a boy's love a desserts but she's gotta know Ah don't like all these complicated names. Ah look up at the waiter.

"Ah'm gettin the apple pie."

"Of course young man. If I can take your menu please."

"Yeah thanks."

Time Skip

Ah still dunno wha Jacklin was comin up wit by tryna tell me they ain't got apple pie here. Sure it don't taste like a McDonald's apple pie but Ah awready knew it ain't gonna be like that. France ain't gonna be cheap like that. They got fancy food so they're gonna make apple pie's taste fancy.

"Awright Toby. Time fer bed. We's gotta do a lotta explorin tamorrow fer Jacklin's daddy."

"Ok Pop. Night."

Ah get in bed an go ta sleep wonderin wha kinda adventure we're gonna be havin. At least Ah finished all mah homework so Ah don't gotta worry bout that till we get back ta Hogwarts.

AN: Lyubimi in this context means darling.

Tagging: @arrolyn1114, @nemos-rapture, @xanatenshi, @briefpandatimemachine, @hooked-on-elvis,

@vintagepresley, @aliengoth3, @smokeymountainboy, @bigdaddyelvislover, @mercsandmonsters,

@pledgingmylovee, @presleysgirl6, @thetaoofzoe, and @elvispresley4life.

[thedanceronthestreets]

PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change. 

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange. 

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school. 

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden. 

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then? 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency. 

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed. 

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress. 

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves. 

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket. 

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero? 

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie. 

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital. 

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in? 

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative. 

How were you welcomed in California? 

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path. 

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child? 

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology. 

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home? 

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance? 

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered? 

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this. 

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays. 

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time. 

Do you miss travelling? 

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past. 

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City? 

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle. 

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to? 

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked. 

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes? 

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet? 

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable! 

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't? 

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape. 

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate? 

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up. 

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career? 

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence. 

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life? 

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age. 

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something? 

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk. 

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

[yukinojou]

I already squeed quite a bit on Twitter, but turns out my Shadow and Bone thoughts demand longform. So that was a 40+ tweet thread or using my Tumblr for an original post for once.

I was wary about the Shadow and Bone adaptation the way I'm usually wary about good books being adapted onscreen. It was amplified because my actual favourites are the Six of Crows books, and because the American-based movie complex has a bad track record of doing anything based on Eastern Europe. 8 episodes in 3 days should tell you how much I loved it - the moment I finished, I wanted more.

First, the technical praise:

Damn but the plotting is tight. It took me a while to realised it's based on heist movie bones, where every little thing (The Freaking Bullet!) is important. The story fulfills its promises and manages not to bore at the same time - it delights by the way they're fulfilled. I called out a few plot developments moments before they happened, and I was happy about it. Such a joy after so many series where "not doing what viewers expect" led to plot holes and lack of sense. It might be an upside to the streaming model after all.

From a dramatic point of view I can tell all the reasons for all the changes, especially providing additional outsider points of view on Ravka (Crows) and letting viewers see Mal for themselves the way he only comes across in later books.

Speaking of which, this is a masterclass in rewriting a story draft. SaB was Bardugo's first, and having read later books you can really see where she didn't quite dare to break the YA rules yet, especially Single POV that necessitated a tight focus on Alina's often negative feelings rather than the big picture and a triangle that felt a bit forced. The world in the series is so much bigger, the way Bardugo could finally paint it when SaB success gave her more creative freedom, and some structural choices feel familiar too. It's a combination of various choices by crew and cast, but the end result meshes together so tightly and naturally.

Visuals! Especially the war parts because Every Soviet Movie Ever, but also the clothes (I would kill for Nina's blouse in the bar), the jewelry, the interiors. The stag was so very beautiful. And a deep commitment to a coherent aesthetic for each character and setting.

Look, you can do a serious fantasy series with colours! Both skin colours and bright sets and clothing! And all scenes were well lit enough to know what's going on, even in the Fold!

Representation (aka I Am Emotion)

To start with: I was born behind the Iron Curtain, in the last years of the Cold War. The Curtain was always permeable to some extent, and we have always been aware that while we have talented artists of our own, we never had the budgets and polish of the Anglosphere Entertainment Machine. So we watched a hell of a lot of American visual storytelling especially because yeah, you can tell we don't have the budgets. 90s and 2000s especially, it's getting better now.

In American stories, the BEST case scenario for Eastern European representation is the Big Dumb Pole, the ethnic stereotype Americans don't even notice they use, where the punchline is that his English is bad or that he grew up outside Anglo culture. Other than that, it's criminals, beggars, sex trafficking victims, refugees. Sure, we may look similar (except we really really don't, not if you're raised here and see the distinct lack of all those long-jawed Anglo faces), but we are not and have never been the West, never mind America. It's probably better for younger people now, but I was raised under rationing and passport bans. Star Trek and Beverly Hills 90210 were exactly as foreign to me.

The first ever character I really identified with was Susan Ivanova in Babylon 5 (written by J. Michael Straczynski, yay behind-camera representation). This was a Russian Jewish woman very much in charge, in the way of strong women I know so well, not taking any bullshit, not repressing her feminity. I recognised her bones, she could be my cousin. The sheer relief of it. There have been few such occasions since.

The reason I picked up Shadow and Bone in the first place was recommendations from other Polish people. I've had no problems finding representation in Eastern European books because wow our scene is strong in SFF especially, but it's always a treat to find a book in English that gets it. And Leigh gets it, the bones of our culture, and I could even look past the grammar issue (dear gods and Americans, Starkova for a woman, Morozov for a guy) that really irked me because of the love for the setting and the characters, the weaving in of religion/mysticism (we never laicisized the same way as the West, natch), the understanding of how deep are the scars left in a nation at war for centuries. The books are precious to me, they and Arden's Winternight and Novik's Spinning Silver.

To sum up: Shadow and Bone the Netflix series gets it. You can tell just how much they've immersed themselves in Eastern European culture and media, it comes across so well in visuals and writing and characters. Not just the obvious bits (though the WWII propaganda posters gave me a giggle), but the palaces, the additional plotlines and characters, the costumes, the attitudes. About the only thing missing in the soldier scenes was someone singing and/or quoting poetry.

I will blame the Apparat's lack of beard on filming in a non-Orthodox country. Poland's Catholic too, but I very much imagined him as an Orthodox patriarch, possibly because I read the books shortly after a visit to Pecherska Lavra in Kiev and the labyrinthine holy catacombs there. Small quibble, not my religion, not my place to speak.

(I've seen discussion on the issues with biracial representation in the show, which is visceral and apparently based on bad experiences of one of the show writers in a way that's caused pain to other Asian and biracial people. I'm not qualified to speak on those parts, other that Eastern Europe is... yeah. Racist in subtly different ways. If anything, the treatment of the Suli as explained in Six of Crows always read so very true of the way Roma are treated, and even sanitised.)

And now for the spoiler-filled bits:

Kaz and Inej. I mean... just THEM. So many props to the actors, the writers, the bloody goat.

I adore the fact the only people who get to have sex in the show are Jesper and a very lucky stablehand.

Ben Barnes needs either an award or a kick. The man's acting choices and puppy eyes are as epic as his hair.

So Much Love for Alina initiating the kiss. Her book characterisation makes sense, she's so trapped in her own head because she has no time to process everything that's happening, but grabbing life by the lapels is a much more active choice. Still not making the relationship equal, but closer to it.

Speaking of, Kaz's constant awareness of how unequal his relationship with Inej is, and attempts to give her agency. I'm really curious how his touch issues come across to someone who doesn't know the backstory there.

Feodor and his actor. He looks exactly like the pre-war heartthrob Adolf Dymsza, a specific upper-class Polish ethnic type that's much rarer now that, well, Nazis killed millions of Polish intellectuals in their attempt to reduce us to unskilled labour only. The faces he makes are the Best.

Nina!! Nina is perfect, those cheekbones, that cheek, I was giggling myself silly half the time. I cannot wait to see Danielle Galligan take on the challenge of Nina's plotline in Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, she'll kill us dead.

I already mentioned that the writers fixed Mal's absence from the first book, but Mal in general! The haircut gives him a kind of rugby charm, and Archie Renaux is outstanding at emoting without talking. Honestly, all the casting in this series is inspired, but him in particular.

Extra bonus: Howard Charles and Luke Pasqualino playing so very much against the type of the swaggering Musketeers I saw them play last. Arken dropping the mask at the end... Howard Charles is love.

I can't believe not only was Milo's bullet a plot point, but the fact Alina was wearing a particularly sparkly hair ornament in a long series of beautiful hair ornaments was a plot point.

In conclusion: so much love, and next three season NOW please. Okay, give me a week to reread the books, and an extra day because new Murderbot drops tomorrow...

[silver-lily-louise]

Hvor Som Helst

‘I have something to show you,’ Magnus says, and Alec looks up just in time to see him gently toss a flat leather pouch onto the breakfast table. ‘If something catastrophic happens, and our life comes crashing down around us, this is our way out.’

Shortly after their wedding, Magnus shows Alec his last-resort contingency plan. 

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~ 

‘I have something to show you,’ Magnus says, and Alec looks up just in time to see him gently toss a flat leather pouch onto the breakfast table, before taking his usual seat.

Alec reaches out and takes the folder. The surface is smooth and dark, worn a little hard over time. ‘What is it?’ he asks, beginning to unwind the braided leather tied around the front toggle – and hesitating when the whole thing starts to buzz faintly, like a lamp with a faulty wire. ‘Don’t worry, the protection spell’s keyed to let you access it,’ Magnus reassures him. ‘As for what it is… well, it’s my getaway plan.’ Alec raises an eyebrow. ‘Thought you already did the whole runaway groom thing?’ Magnus chuckles. ‘Not that kind of a getaway plan – though remind me to show you Gone Girl at some point. This is more of a… break glass in case of emergency situation.’ His demeanor shifts, turning a little more serious. ‘If something catastrophic happens, and our life comes crashing down around us, this is our way out.’ 

Alec opens the case the rest of the way, startling a little as a wave of magic rushes over him, sparking a shiver. ‘That’s quite a spell,’ he comments. Magnus nods. ‘Most people who live longer than a century take the time to develop one of these plans,’ he says quietly, ‘just in case something from the past rears its ugly head. But they rely on complete secrecy. Not even Catarina has seen this, nor I hers.’ He smiles. ‘But, we’re married now, and so I thought you ought to know.’ 

Alec smiles back, and lets the case fall open, the edges stretching out of their concertina. He pulls out the biggest pieces of paper first, recognising the birth certificates – one for William Johnson, one for Jacob Taylor – and a marriage certificate, but only certain parts of the other documentation, because he doesn’t read… ‘Swedish?’ he hazards a guess.

‘Norwegian,’ Magnus corrects. ‘I thought Norway would be a good place to start over, if need be. For starters, there are some excellent ley lines towards the north of the country. And my extended residence in New York is the exception, not the rule – I tend to prefer sunnier climes, so anyone from my past trying to find me isn’t likely to start in Scandinavia.’ ‘Makes sense.’ Alec reaches into the folder once more, this time pulling out a couple of passports. ‘American?’ he asks. ‘Won’t that stand out a little in the middle of Europe?’ ‘Well, we communicate in American English, darling,’ Magnus points out. ‘I think it’s best that our passports lend that a little context.’ ‘Good point,’ Alec admits. ‘Though now I know about this, I should probably learn Norwegian, huh? Secretly, of course.’ He flips open one of the passports, huffing in amused indignation. Honestly, if they have to use this contingency, the main thing that could give them away is that “Jacob Johnson” appears to be the only person on Earth who’s managed to look attractive in his passport photo. ‘Aw,’ Alec teases, ‘Jacob Johnson. You took my name, then?’ Magnus rolls his eyes, but he looks fond. ‘I took your name in real life too, Alexander.’ Alec laughs quietly, in half-amusement, half-joy. The novelty of being a Lightwood-Bane hasn’t quite worn off yet.

He folds the passport back up, putting everything back in the folder and retying the toggle, then sliding the secure case back over to Magnus. ‘Thank you for showing me,’ he says softly. He feels the momentous weight of trust on his shoulders; the gentle urge to cradle this act of faith like it’s made of spun glass, precious and fragile. Magnus smiles, shaking his head. ‘You don’t need to thank me, Alexander. You’re a part of this plan, after all.’ He huffs a laugh, looking down at where his hands are fiddling gently with the case’s toggle. ‘Really, it was high time you knew about it.’ ‘High time?’ Alec asks, curiosity piqued. ‘How long have you had this plan?’

‘Oh, decades now,’ Magnus says airily. ‘Changing it too regularly would just confuse things.’ He looks up, meeting Alec’s gaze again with a faint smile. ‘As for your part in it… I added that the day after Valentine attacked the Institute,’ he says – a little sheepish, but sure, too. ‘When you first told me that you loved me.’ Alec’s silent for a moment, stunned. ‘That’s… that was pretty early on,’ he says, a smile creeping across his face.

Magnus still looks slightly embarrassed, but he shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Well, I wanted you to have the option,’ he says. ‘But yes, it was early, I suppose. That’s why I didn’t tell you until now – I thought it best that our cover personas were married, because the legal and financial benefits of that would make certain things easier when establishing our new lives. But outside of that hypothetical, in our real life, I didn’t want to seem… presumptuous.’ He smirks. ‘Obviously, that’s not really an issue now.’ Alec chuckles. ‘Yeah, I get why you waited. I might have thought it was some sort of really weird proposal.’ They laugh at the imagined awkwardness; though privately, Alec’s not so sure he would have said no, early days or not. It’s not like they’ve ever been the kind of couple to take things slow.

Magnus gets to his feet, banishing the folder with a wave of his hand. ‘In any case,’ he says brightly, pulling Alec to his feet as well. ‘Hopefully we’ll never have to use it. But if we do… Well, now you know.’ ‘Now I know,’ Alec agrees, keeping ahold of Magnus’ hands. ‘For now – as long as we’re still in New York,’ he says with a grin, ‘why don’t we take advantage? We could head out to Thompson Park for the day.’

Magnus eagerly agrees to that plan, and an hour later they’re wandering through the quieter trails of the park, hand-in-hand, warm in their scarves and under the early winter sun. The contingency plan stays at the back of Alec’s mind – but as a reassurance, almost, not a worry. The Shadow World is a dangerous place, and it’s nice knowing that no matter what goes wrong, there’s a plan in place for how they can make it through together.

He doesn’t know any Norwegian, he knows next to nothing about Scandinavian culture, and he has no idea what their lives would look like in that eventuality. But somehow, it doesn’t matter; because he looks at Magnus – their intertwined fingers, the gentle smile on his lips, the sunlight catching his eyes – and something inside Alec whispers a truth with utter, unflinching certainty.

I’d follow you anywhere. 

~oOo~

[sparkles-rainbows-severed-heads]

Nazi-Hating, Bisexual King, and German actor, Conrad Veidt (1893-1943) whose performances inspired the creation of Edward Scissorhands, Jafar from Aladdin, and The Joker, was a gem in real life. Be like Connie. Do it for him.

Here’s some information on how great he was:

https://aikainkauna.tumblr.com/post/41163268378/ten-reasons-why-you-should-love-conrad-veidt

“In honour of Conrad Veidt’s 120th birthday, let us present you with a list of reasons why you should love him. Because, let’s face it, he kicked more arse than you ever will. While wearing your great-grandmother’s dress.

1. He was an awesome actor who could hypnotise the screen in both the silents and the sounds. He could do amazing things with his body language, his eyes and his voice and move like an actual cat. Oh, and he was Method before it became popular. To the point where his friends and colleagues would get worried because his entire body language and way of speaking would change. He genuinely believed he was possessed by some greater spirit when he was acting. And it shows. 2. He was an amazing human being—everybody loved working with him because he was incredibly polite and jovial and charming, but he was even more amazing off the screen. Let us tell you why.

3. This guy starred in the first gay rights movie ever and played the first explicitly-referred-to-as-gay character on screen, and the first sympathetic gay character on screen. In a movie that said it was okay to be gay and that some people were just born that way. In 1919. The makers of the film and Connie himself were flooded with death threats from the far right. They would arrange riots in theatres and release gas and rabid rodents into the aisles. But the makers of the film stood their ground. Later, the Nazis tried to burn all copies of the film but over half of it still survives and a reconstruction can be seen here.

 4. Oh yeah, and this guy also starred in an early pro-choice film, had a high opinion on women (with some progressive views for his time, when the right to vote and to wear trousers were still seen as new and scandalous things) and was a fierce campaigner for human rights and a vehement anti-Nazi for his entire life. Speaking of which… 

 5. In the Thirties, he starred in two British movies sympathetic to the plight of the Jews. While still a German citizen. Hitler sent him personal hate mail, Goebbels tried to persuade him into doing propaganda films for the Nazis instead and he told them to go stuff themselves. This was after some of his Jewish and gay friends had already been killed by the Nazis, too, so he knew exactly the sort of danger he was in. Oh, and they imprisoned him and tortured him with sleep deprivation and put him on the Gestapo hitlist. Guess what? He didn’t budge. He never raised his hand in the Heil Hitler salute, once. And when, finally, the British authorities helped him escape to England, he never went back to Germany again. Also? Despite being Protestant, he identified himself as Jewish on official forms as a form of protest. In. Nazi. Germany. I’m sorry, but Conrad Veidt’s balls»»»>yours. 

 6. He spent a huge amount of money supporting the British war effort and personally smuggled people out of the hands of the Nazis. Including driving his third wife’s Jewish parents out to Switzerland in his car under the cover of night after much bribery and passport shenanigans. In the Forties, he participated in a fund helping fellow Europeans escape Nazis and settle in the UK and the US. One of the people he helped was his Casablanca co-star, Paul Henreid. By the time Henreid had reached the UK, the war was in full swing and he was treated as an enemy alien. Connie (who had managed to acquire British citizenship just before war broke out) personally rang the British authorities and vouched for him until Henreid could finally cross the Atlantic to safety (with some monetary assistance from Connie himself). So, kids, when you watch Major Strasser menacing Laszlo in Casablanca, remember this guy actually helped him escape the Nazis in real life. 

 7. While living in London in the late Thirties, he and his wife would regularly shelter war children at their house. When the air raid sirens came on, he’d rather run back home to be with the kids rather than stay safe at the studio’s bomb shelter. No, really. And even when he’d left for Hollywood in the 40s, he would do stuff like this for the poor kids of London huddled in bomb shelters. You might need tissues. 

 8. He was made of actual sex on and off the screen. He possessed an amazing, androgynous sexual aura that would take no prisoners. He could be feminine without being effeminate, seductive and possessing and powerful without being gruff or macho, incredibly catlike and soft without being weak. Despite being skinny as hell and 6’3” tall, he was as graceful as a dancer, gliding around so smoothly it was uncanny, slightly unnatural (when Disney were making Aladdin, they deliberately based the cartoon Jafar on his performance in The Thief of Bagdad and told the animators to make him glide like Connie did. Yeah, that’s right, Disney villains were based on him. No wonder. No, really, look at that). From the Thirties onwards, he was repeatedly described as pantherlike. He had a sensuous, cruel mouth (always a little more red and open and wet than it should have been in order to be decent), large, pale blue piercing eyes (oh yeah, he was well-read in hypnotism and occultism, so he is actually hypnotising and possessing you for real), finely manicured fingernails (sometimes filed into sharp points) and a voice to melt knickers off anyone within a five-mile radius. When he smoked, it looked like he was giving oral sex to a woman and a man at the same time. Watch A Woman’s Face, The Thief of Bagdad and Dark Journey for good examples of this amazing man’s slinking, slithering, purring charm. 

 9. Oh yeah, speaking of the off-screen sex… Merle Oberon said “he would have sex with a butterfly”, Anita Loos quipped “the prettiest girl on the [Berlin] street was Conrad Veidt” and he was a major gay icon in 1920s Germany thanks to the aforementioned gay rights movie and his androgynous looks and style. Let us remember this guy spent his youth in Weimar Berlin and its cabarets, a modern Babylon where “anything goes” was an understatement. Drugs, wild parties and sexual diversions of every sort imaginable were the done thing in those days. You were considered unfashionable if you didn’t dress in drag and experiment with bisexuality. In that, he was hardly different from his peers (like, for example, his good friend Marlene Dietrich). But then again… there were people who experimented and there were people for whom it was all a phase, but according to numerous sources, he was a natural, voracious bisexual and so in love with everything feminine he genuinely loved to dress as a lady. And apparently he would fall in love all the time, so the Twenties were… busy years for him, especially when his second marriage had started to fall apart. Just don’t ask what he did to Olivier. And according to a couple of sources, Gary Cooper. Oh, and his first wife left him after she found him wearing her dress (her loss). Most of the time, his friends would describe him as a ladies’ man during the day, and going after the men as well after he’d had a few drinks in the evening. He seems to have calmed down a lot in the Thirties after he found genuine happiness with his third wife and escaped the Nazis to the UK, but apparently he was still an incorrigible flirt with both sexes until the end of his life. If you think he looks seductive and deliciously perverse on screen, that’s all real and then some. So, yep, this was a guy who was a genuine saint and an amazing human being and a naughty, naughty man at the same time. How often do you hear of both sides coexisting in the same person? 

 10. He was, basically, the last lingering sigh of Romanticism as a genuine cultural movement. On screen, he played the Gothic, Byronic hero to the hilt (The Student of Prague being one of the greatest examples of the type). In the silents, he played degenerate dandies, tortured painters and pianists and violinists, cruel yet seductive tyrants, men haunted by their doppelgängers, possessed creatures wanting to crawl out of their own bodies, sleepwalking and twitching and writhing on the screen, turning everything into a dark, exquisite ballet. In the sound films, he turned that demonic energy outwards and would pin people down with his gaze as he cursed them, would undress women with a flick of his pitch-black lashes, would curl his long fingers around their arms in a sadomasochistic, erotic stranglehold. He never completely lost his accent, but he compensated for it with pitch-perfect softness and tone, speaking very slowly and quietly when everybody else would speak loud and fast. His voice in The Thief of Bagdad was compared to poisoned honey. The MGM bosses were surprised at the mountains of fanmail he received from women in the Forties, even if they had never given him a starring role, only supporting, villainous ones. And the ladies wanted this villain, oh yes. A woman moviegoer (presumably after seeing his performance in A Woman’s Face) described him thus: “Conrad Veidt has wicked eyes, a sinister mouth, strange hands and a half-man/half- woman quality about him. His walk is frightening. There is something not quite normal about him. And yet, he was totally fascinating, charming and appealing to me at the same time!”

So, there you have it. There are many more reasons to love him, but it would take forever to try and list all of them. I suggest you watch his movies and read up on him yourself, because he deserves to live forever.”

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

Food and Wine Festival

Food and Wine Festival

Tom Holland x Reader 

Warnings: Fluff and Food

Summary: A trip to Disney World, but seeing it in a new light. 

A/N: This is my first of two works I have for @peeterparkr and @marvelousxtsh (now @lovestrucktom) for their Rom Coms writing challenge. Both of them are separate from one another. I am VERY LATE on this, but I had to get my college readings annotated before band camp starts because I know I will have no time then to work at all.

#mandnchickflicksummer

I’ve only been to Epcot once on a band trip and I realized why I don’t like it (or maybe it’s just my family). I tried to do some research before writing this. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Requests are open and Messages are open if you want to chat. I’m trying to make these shorter because I’m behind on some of my writing. Also, sorry for not really putting the events in order by where they are in the park. I haven’t been there in years and forget how it’s set up. P.P.S. As I was googling stuff, the question came up on what phd does Dr. Doofenshmirtz have on reddit? The person who asked had a username of u/SEND_ME_YOUR_D1CK and that made me laugh at 5 a.m. I’m going to link the two videos that helped me out. One is from Disney Food Blog which gives great coverage on disney snacks in all parks and one is a vlog from one of my favorite youtubers, Syndicate (on his Life of Tom vlog channel)

Disney Food Blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNk550AeBuY

Life of Tom vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG1-M-EqdLo

P.S. Ok, I’ve now seen Far From Home because I won a bet and my mom said she’d take me to see my first Marvel movie in theaters. I’m going to write something else about what happened that day. ♡

Tag list: Send me an ask if you want to be added. 

@trashinaglass and @peter-pan-hoe ( @definitely-not-black-cat and @nnatasha you two seemed to like my stuff so I added you, tell me if you want me to take you off) 

Song Prompt:

1. I see the light – Tangled

Word count: 1,383

This ended up being so much longer than I intended.

"Tom. Please. I've been to Disney World a million times. I can probably make it around Magic Kingdom without a map that's how well I know it." It was late summer, before the hussle of school and work swept everyone away, Tom wanted to get away for a mini vacation with you.

“Please come with me. Doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. And you know how much Disneyland freaks out when there's a celebrity there. Also, you can go on different things that you wouldn't normally go on.” You don’t like to admit when he’s right. Your family can be a little controlling when it comes to vacations. Like why does a baseball game need to be involved in every one.

“You know that won’t stop people from coming up to you.”

“We’ll just wear our matching bucket hats and be that couple. Please.” You couldn’t resist his puppy pout anymore, and you both needed a break.

“Ok, as long as we don't go on roller coasters if I get sick from one.” 

“I won't make you go through that. Especially the amount of stories you tell me about someone being sick on vacation.”

After a long plane ride and a good night's rest, you two are ready for a trip. You got your backpack with the old school Disney World logo ready to get your weekly tickets. You got the tickets while Tom was spending time with a couple people who noticed him. You both never minded it as long as they were respectful. You thank the lady as Tom heads back to where you’re standing. 

“Ok, you want to head to Epcot first?” 

That five letter word made you choke on your own spit.  You followed Tom up the railway to the monorail. As you waited in line, you felt the need to tell Tom what's been eating at your mind. “Tom, you know I don't really like Epcot that much.”  

“What! Why?”  

“Well, the only other time I've been here was with my family once we went on the band field trip here. You know my dad never keeps his opinion to himself about how he thinks all of this ozone layer and eco saving thing is bullshit and how he hates culture. He just kinda complained that whole day, so I've never liked the park. Also, there's more food than rides here and you know I’m not a big food guru.” 

“Is your dad coming with us?” 

“What?”

“Is your dad coming on our vacation with us?” 

“No. But what does that-.” 

“Then his opinion and voice should not affect our judgement.” To be fair, Tom has changed your opinion on a lot of things, football (English kind) being one of them. You just didn't know if you could shut up that annoying tick in the back of your head that repeats all the things your Dad would say about this place, but you were willing to give it a shot. You grabbed a food passport and map in front of the golf ball and off you two went.

Before entering the park, you booked fastpasses for the one thing you knew you loved at Epcot, and that was Sorin’. It felt like you had wings and earth with its gravity could never take hold of you again. Even with the fastpasses the line wasn’t too long because people wanted to be the first to get the food in all the countries. It reminded you how Harry would have his drones to get the cinematic videos of the ocean washing up on the beach that look gorgeous. But alas, you had to touch ground again and continue. 

You two went to have a good time eating stuff. Like you wanted to order everything from the Irish stand, except the alcohol which Tom took so you could keep the decorative cup (best boyfriend ever), so you settled on chocolate pudding with custard and the two of you split the Irish sausage with potatoes and gravy. You two weren’t worried about overfilling yourselves because 1) everyone does that at the food and wine festival and 2) there weren’t many rides that could make you throw up afterwards. 

You grab a Light Lab Phosphorescent Phreeze (you secretly wanted to collect all the cups you could) and signed up to do a Perry the Platypus adventure in the UK (just to see if Tom liked their stereotyping). “Okay, well this is from and American Disney Show Phineas and Ferb where they do a bunch of crazy stuff during the summer, and the subplot is their pet platypus is a secret agent that stops this not-so-good supervillain every episode. Dr. Dofesnberg-something was his name. You basically have to go to different shops within the country, follow the story video on our phone, and some objects will move as you interact with stuff. Basically stopping this guy from carrying out his completely elaborate and unnecessary evil scheme to rule the world.” 

“Okay, and of course it’s about golf. How can you get more British than that.” Apparently the adventure included tea once you told the cashier a secret word phrase, so yes, it got more British than golf. 

You guys stopped by Canada and you could not stop doing impressions of Ryan Renolds as you stopped for a quick snack as the Perry the Platypus mission took an hour. You ordered a Canadian Cheddar Cheese and Bacon soup with pretzel rolls to split (of which you only at the pretzels because even Tom doesn’t know why you don’t like bacon).

After the Frozen ride and a couple more snacks along the way you settled in China and watched some acrobatics and get out of the heat. You couldn’t do everything in Mexico, but the San Angel Inn would be a place you save for a different trip. You got your faces painted to be half skulls with decorative details. It definitely helped you get recognized less. 

Last stop of the night before the fireworks/water show you traveled to Japan. The architecture was realistic and you just thought of the time it took for someone to design and construct that. You both waited in line to try to see if you could get a pearl out of an oyster. You both end up getting one with the lady being very excited for you two. “Mine was 7 ¾ mm, and what was your Tom?”

“7 ½ mm. But you know size doesn’t matter.”

It wasn’t long before the fireworks and lights danced on the water’s surface and you two were heading back from a long day. Tom wanted to take the ferry boat back complaining that the line for the monorail was too long. It always is but the boat was very slow. You gave into his wishes because he was the one who made you enjoy the park today. You stood over the bow of the ship looking at your reflection upon the water until Tom broke you from your thoughts.

“So, didn't I say you would have a good time?”

 “Yes you did. My dad's opinion did not affect my judgement as much as I thought it would. It’s still hard to see things with my own opinion, but I’m getting better at it. Thank you Tom.” 

“My pleasure princess. Maybe next time we can crack some oysters and keep the pearl” You two share a sweet kiss and the fireworks in Magic Kingdom across the water started going off. Nothing could make this moment more romantic. “But there's still one more thing to do tonight.” 

“Thomas Stanley Holland. Do NOT follow that statement with ‘when we get back to the hotel’.” 

He laughed so much that he leaned back and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Not what I was going to say darling.” You’re still confused at his intentions, until he starts playing music from his phone and holds your arms out while you two are on the tip of the boat; keeping his hands on your hips.

“Only you could turn this into a Titanic moment. “I'm flying Jack. I'm flying.”

The moment had gotten better once you realized Tom had asked a crew member to take your picture, and now you have a new phone background and a new perspective.

[bezukovs]

A new dawn, a new dysfunctional child. The only tl;dr you need on Viktor is that he wears custom suits and tacky watches like a parody of richness. He is feral and chaotic and absolutely despises monarchs - despises anyone, really, whose days are not spent looking over their shoulder and whose nights do not pass in a white, vodka-addled haze, wondering whether that guy you screwed over back in ‘09 finally made parole. He grew up poor, struggling with Kieran to claw their way up in ranks no one told them were unscalable. There was no way to escape that country, not really. It seeded something deep in you that would fester like spores.He came to Genovia trailing after Kieran: he’s his right man through and through, possibly the only bit of honesty left on him. But he also came here to escape his past, sort himself out. At the end of the day, make a buck or two on the backs of kids with even poorer impulse control than him. And what better place to stay safe and get loaded than the ironclad fortress of royalty?

⋆ ° ⟡ ( THEO JAMES, thirty, cismale, he/him ) i saw VIKTOR ‘VITYA’ BEZUKHOV at the winter palace. did you know that the BOOKKEEPER / FORGER is originally from BELARUS? i heard they can be quite UNHINGED, but also RESILIENT. there’s rumours they’re at the winter palace because THEY’RE RUNNING KIERAN’S CHECKS AND A LITTLE ON THE SIDE, but you never know. FINGERS SNAPPING INSIDE A LEATHER GLOVE, SNUFFING OUT A CIGAR IN SOMEONE’S WHISKEY, FALSE BOTTOM DRAWERS always remind me of them.

okay, for anyone who’s a nitpicker like me and is wondering where does the Soviet Union play in this AU: I’m just headcanoning that Belarus is still poor, massively so, and Russia is still a vast sprawling empire that is either governed by an autocrat or that has an autocratic client-king who’s currently keeping belarus in poverty & disparity. 

abuse TWs that aren’t even worth expanding on: their childhood was hard and gritty and it stuck between their teeth like sand, they carry it on their backs, behind their eyes, hearing it creep out when the room gets too quiet

me and kieran’s mun already hc’d that viktor is a more impassioned boris (RE: the goldfinch) with worse choices and a fancy for playing billionaire dress up

don’t buy into it for a minute

he couldn’t tell an armani jacket from whatever they hand you in an airplane if you’re cold

he’s been all over europe on a number of nebulous, nondescript jobs, slipping through the cracks of organized societies: from contraband driver to signature forgery, money laundering, back-alley deals, there is neither hierarchy nor purpose to them - he only speaks the languages he was cursed in, which is, well, most of those

super rough patch a few years back, his beliefs that he can outrun everything finally cracked and began to feel off - exactly what went wrong is to be determined later but it likely involves: harsh the mi6, state secrets he had no idea about, a crazy oligarch or two

he sought kieran and was like aight boyo let’s see how hard can it be to live a normal life

turns out? quite hard. he’s bored out of his nuts half the time in genovia, even while he can see the rational benefits of its safety. he helps kieran with the books, drives some hopefuls back and forth over the mountains, talks royals into piling gambling debts, collects their bloodmoney, drinks some more, smashes a window or two.

random factoids: likely has a fake pilot license, just to match all the other counterfeited passports and credentials he’s kept over the years. his real name is not actually bezukhov but he likes to take the piss (huge adorer of british slang) on cultured people and bait them with tolstoy.

the dynamic between him and kieran is likely something very tangled and complex. there’s definitely a we fought in the trenches together friendship but also quite the king & lionheart vibes in my view? because kieran is stable. his power is only his own: it doesn’t come from other men or a stack of gold. the ice skater tried to build a future for himself even while knowing it could come crashing down. viktor both admires and despises that: how the other began to weed out the darkness in him, while vik is still nursing his own like a pet.

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 20)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: GUYS THIS TOOK SO LONG AND IM SORRY. im actually in another city at the moment and yeah, having free time has been a bit hard - i wrote this mostly on a plane and now im editing it on an uber on my way to class. BUT, theres only one more chapter to go!!! WTF!!!! its so close to the end???? i mean?????? but its been an amazing journey and mostly thanks to you all!! more thanks on the next chapter where im gonna be so cheesy thanking you all, just wait. anyway, nice fun sexy chapter to heal our hearts from the break up and stuff! hope you enjoy

Words: around 4k

Warnings: smut, alcohol, swearing probably. all in good fun tho. probably some errors cause its been a busy week

 ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 20

Paris

You hold Roger's hand as you wait in line for the immigration officer to check your passports. The activity in itself is something the both of you did many, many times before - you travelled a lot with the band.

But this was different. You were not only alone with Roger, but there was nothing concerning you - his mood, your job, nothing. You feel at ease.

Roger's idea to go somewhere where none of you knew very well was brilliant. Since you're outside of your comfort zone anyways, you were both more easy going, not overthinking anything, just spontaneous. You knew the time where you would talk about your relationship and how you want to deal with everything would come, but you weren't stressing about it. You would think about it once the time came - there was no reason to be concerned now.

Cause now you could only feel Roger's touch, hear him humming something - you couldn't believe he was humming La Vie En Rose, the most cliche Paris song of all times, but of course he was. His shoulders are relaxed, and he brushes his thumb against the skin on your hand. His smell is all around you.

You could really immerse in the presence each other, now. Ever since you left London, where almost everything between you happened, you didn't really knew anything else - the fields on the window, the french being spoken by the people on the cabin next to yours. So you just laid your head on his lap as he ran his fingers through your hair and told you about the little things you missed.

His eyesight has gotten worse, and now he can't really do anything without his contacts. He met David Bowie in an award show, and he thought of you - he knew how much you liked him. He still knew all of Fleetwood Mac's 1974 album songs by heart - he kept the album you left in the old flat.

And also stuff about the boys. John's kid was a cute, quiet boy, just like his dad, and he didn't enjoy any of Roger's songs when he went to rehearsals. Veronica was pregnant with another baby - Roger's pretty sure it's a girl. Brian was still thinking about finishing his PhD, but never got around doing it - his schedule is too crazy. Freddie was growing tired of the long hair and clean face, and kept thinking about changing his looks, but couldn't decide on what he would do. He told you that ever since Freddie and Mary broke up, he started seeing more guys - none of you thought much about it. It was just another aspect of Freddie's life.

Roger kept writing songs now, even when they were on tour or at home. He was getting annoyed at the "No Synths" rule in the band, and tried to convince them to drop it. But he was happy with the new album - he enjoyed how they simplified the process of writing it, and thought mostly about writing songs they can play live the same way they play it in studio. The last time they did it was in their first album.

You just kept looking up at him, his defined jaw glowing against the sun, his bright blue eyes looking down at you to watch your reaction, your grin once he told you he finally finished writing Sheer Heart Attack, a song he tried to get done and in an album ever since 1974.

And now the immigration officer called you, and you laughed as you watched Roger try to speak french to the guy before taking the matter into your own hands.

And when he asked you what was your relationship with him, you just smiled and said "mon copain".

-

You knew Roger chose the hotel as you packed in London, sitting between all the boxes so he could use your phone. You didn't pay attention to which hotel he picked, but once you got to the Champs-Élysées, you knew he spent too much money.

You got off the cab at the Four Seasons George V Hotel, a building that was basically a modern castle, and you stared at him, shocked. "Roger, you didn't do this", you told him, your eyes wide as you entered the spacious and luxurious lobby, your luggage already being taken to your room as the lady on front desk recognized Roger. "Did what?", he asked jokingly, raising his brow at you, even though he knew what you meant. "This hotel. It's too nice and probably a fortune", you told him, and he shrugged. "Hey, we deserve it. We always did. But now we can afford it", he winked, and then took the room keys from the front desk.

"C'mon, I want to see how you're going to react to the Penthouse Suite", he laughed, and you coughed. "Um, I'm sorry? The what now?", you asked, and he playfully pulled you into the elevator.

He kept looking at you the whole lift ride, excited and nervous - he wanted you to like it, to enjoy his efforts, to take him back into your life somehow.

When he opened the door and walked to the side, his old genuine smile was back on his lips, and you couldn't help but smile back, even before taking a glimpse into the room.

And what you saw surprised you - everything looked expensive, but still comfortable. You first entered a huge living room, and every couch looked comfortable enough to sleep in. Then you walked to the bedroom, and the huge bed caught your eye - it was big enough to fit comfortably at least five of you. The bathroom looked like a spa, a huge bathtub in the middle of it, a delicate statue of a woman under the window that overlooked the Champs-Élysées.

You walked to the balcony with Roger beside you, and he laughed when you gasped.

The Eiffel Tower looked back at you, glimmering at the sunset.

You looked at Roger.

"You're unbelievable, you know."

He smirked. "I'm just trying to get you in bed, though", he told you, and you laughed as you walked closer to him.

"You did that when you didn't have a penny, Rog. You don't have to get us a huge suite with artwork everywhere and a view of the Eiffel Tower", you said, bringing him closer to you by his collar as he snaked his arms around your waist.

"I never have to do anything. I do it because I want to. Because I love you", he whispered, his breath against your lips, teasing, feeling like the ghost of a touch.

"I love you, Roger", you told him, moving your hands to the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

-

You held his hand as the cool wind passed through your bodies. It was the next day, and you've decided to walk to the Louvre by the side of the Seine.

It would be faster if you got on a cab, but the view of the Seine, the sounds of the city and the smell of pastries and perfume made everything feel even more like a dream. You were still tired from last night, and the night before it - you and Roger were acting like a couple in honeymoon ever since you met again, stolen kisses and arms wrapped around each other, trying to make up for the lack of touch in the last couple years.

And once you were alone, you'd hug and touch and kiss and fuck passionately wherever - sloppy kisses and love bites all over each other, first in London and now here. It didn't feel like you were together again for only about 36 hours - so much has happened, yet time passed by so fast. It was like you lost touch with reality ever since you looked at his hands on the pub.

When you thought of being alone in New York, it felt like a past life. But the weird thing was how your first years with Roger also felt like another life - you wouldn't act the way you did again, ever. But you were grateful for both times of your life. You felt like you could never get here, to Paris and to Roger, if those things didn't happen.

You got to the Louvre and you were surprised at Roger's interest - he wasn't simply acting interested while trying to get you to leave somewhere else with him. He was genuinely interested in the art, commenting about each style and dropping trivia about artists.

"Someone has been spending some time with Freddie, I suppose", you noted, and he gave you a half smile. "Well, the person responsible for bringing culture into my days spend some time away. I had to look for substitutes", he said, and you jokingly nudged at him.

He still looked at you adoringly once you started talking to him about the excellent state of conservation the mummy was in, or once you started analysing "L’Européenne".

You both kept quiet as you watched the Mona Lisa, only holding hands as you tried to get closer to the painting, dozens of visitors separating you from it. It was a time for reflection, too. The Mona Lisa invited you to think about yourselves, her neutral expression making you wonder - seeing it was one of your life long goals, and now you're realizing it with Roger. Being with Roger was something else you struggled to achieve, ever since the first time you saw him. But now it was the time to realize dreams - hell, you'll start working at the British Museum in a few days.

But you got distracted as soon as you got to the Venus de Milo. Roger snaked his arms around your waist from behind you and pressed a slow kiss under your lobe before whispering "You look just like her".

You felt a goosebump on your neck, but you tried to laugh it off. "I can think of a few things we don't have in common, though", you said, and he rubbed his nose on the curve of your neck. "Like what?", he whispered.

"I'm gonna start the list with the basics: arms", you told him, and he laughed against your skin. "I can think of a few other things, too", he tells you, back at kissing your neck. "Yeah? Like what?", you asked, and he sucks on your skin for a few moments, hitching your breath. "Your skin is softer", he says, and then lightly bites you, running his tongue over it to sooth it. "And you taste amazing. Everywhere", he whispers again, and you bite your lips as you feel another goosebump on your neck, and it didn't go unnoticed by Roger. "And the way you react to me”, he whispered, wetting his lips. "God, it kills me", he said, running his fingers over the area where the goosebump was.

It was a public place, but it didn't cross your mind when you turned around and pulled him in for a kiss, making it deeper as your tongue massaged Roger’s. His fingers brushed over your exposed skin, and you could feel how strong his grip on your waist was, wrinkling the fabric of your summer dress - probably inappropriate. You pulled him even closer to you by his hair, already used to its new length after two nights. It was only when you broke apart to recover your breath that you noticed how you were making out in a public place, and only because Roger told you.

"I know we're in public and I'm trying to be more discrete now, but all this artwork just made you look even more beautiful, like you belong around them. I just couldn't hold myself any longer", he said.

-

The warm water ran through your fingers as you filled the bathtub, only in your robe, as Roger spoke with the concierge on the bedroom. He told you he was getting champagne, but you didn't see why the concierge would go to the bedroom for it. Anyways, you wanted a warm bath.

After the Venus, you and Roger had a hard time keeping your hands away from each other. So you didn’t argue when he suggested you take a cab to the hotel.

The cabbie was an older man with a very rosy skin, and he barely knew how to speak english, but he sure tried - specially with Roger. You were suspecting he knew who Roger is, and Roger apparently thought the same, an amused look on his face as the driver tried to continue the conversation with him.

He was looking amused for another reason, too. His hands took his time on your legs, his long fingers brushing over your inner thighs, making you press them together as you tried to control your breathing. Roger kept talking to the driver as he slowly moved his fingers closer to you again, and you bit your lips to hold a moan when he pressed two fingers against your core.

You were already wet from all the teasing, and it goes through the lace of your lingerie, wetting Roger’s digits. He took his fingers away from you, and you frown as he rubs his two fingers against his thumb, smirking at you.

Then the driver asks him something and he turns to answer, putting his hand on your knees and then quickly sliding them up, moving them to your core again, massaging your clit for a few seconds. He looks at you so he can see your reaction, and you can hear the driver’s voice as you grip on Roger’s arm so he keeps touching you, pressing your lips together to keep quiet.

He keeps smirking as the conversation with the driver goes on, and you decide you can tease him, too. You move your hand from his arm to his leg, and he moves his gaze back into yours as you move your hand slowly to his inner thigh. His eyes get wider once you run your finger over his length, his cock already getting hard and visible through his always tight pants. The driver called his name so he answers another question, and you wrap your hand around him through the fabric of his trousers.

His breathing audibly hitches and he tries to be discrete by making it into a cough. He answers the driver and then looks at you, but you’re looking forward, innocently. He smirks again and then pulls your lingerie to the side, and, without more teasing, puts his two fingers inside of you. You gasp, and the driver looks at you suspiciously as Roger starts pumping his fingers inside of you.

But then the car stops in front of the hotel.

You take your hand away from Roger and he does the same, feeling like two children who got caught with your hands inside the cookie jar. Roger pulls out his wallet from his pocket so he can pay the cabbie, his fingers still glistening as he holds the leather wallet.

You then walk to your room without saying anything until you close the door. “So, that guy was pretty close to figuring out our little teasing game, huh”, he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “I was pretty close, too”, you said, winking, and he smirked. “I guess you want to go back to where we were before getting interrupted?” he raised his brow.

But you wanted to tease him a bit more. So you nodded a no. “Actually, Rog, I think I want to take a warm bath”, you came closer to him, wrapping your fingers on the back of his neck. “That’s a really good idea, in fact”, he said, and started undoing his belt. But you held his hand in place. “But you won’t join me”, you said, and he pouted in protest. “Not until you get me some champagne. I thought you were gonna be romantic before luring me into bed, Taylor”, you said, and he laughed. You let go of him and turn around.

“Can you unzip me, please?”, you ask, and you can hear him scoff, annoyed at your teasing, but then you feel him slowly unzipping your summer dress, then moving his hands to your shoulders as he slides your dress down.

You're not wearing a bra, so you can feel the cold wind from the AC on your hard nipples, getting even harder as you felt his lips on your neck once again, his hands pulling your dress down at your hips before it falls to the ground.

Then you move away from Roger’s grasp as you walk to the bathroom, without looking back at him, and you can feel his eyes on you as he watches your hips sway as you walk, only in your burgundy lace panties, your hair cascading on your back.

And now you’re inside the bathtub already, feeling the smell of roses and cinnamon from the bath salts you used, waiting for Roger. You hear the door close, and the concierge is gone.

“Rog? I’m waiting for you”, you say out loud, waiting for his answers. “Actually, I think I’m not in the mood for a bath. But your champagne is here”, he says, and you can hear a fake tiredness in his voice.

“Are you sure you’re gonna leave me here, alone, in this bathtub? I’m gonna have to do something to let the time pass, you know. And you’re gonna hear me do it without doing anything about it?”, you asked with an affected voice. You haven’t teased him in so long, you forgot how fun it was, especially cause he always teased you back.

“As tempting as your bathroom plans sound, I’m also alone here, you know. And your champagne is here. Can’t believe you’re gonna waste it after I got it just for you”, he said, and you laughed. You got up from the bathtub and barely dried yourself on a towel before putting your robe back on and walking to the bedroom.

Roger was sitting against the bed’s headrest, completely naked and rock hard. You moved your hand to your lips and you let out a sigh at the vision. He looked like a greek god - Apollo, maybe, with his golden locks shining against the afternoon sun, his skin glowing under the golden hour lights coming through the window. The bed was filled with red rose petals under him, the smell filling your lungs.

He opened his eyes when he heard your sigh, and he smirked at you. “Get the champagne and come here already”, he said, pointing his head at the table where a Dom Pérignon bottle sat on an ice bucket, and you did so. You climbed on top of the bed and started moving towards him. “Are you suggesting we play with food, Mr Taylor?”, you asked, and he nodded. “Give it to me and I’ll show you”, he told you, and you gave it to him as you sat on his thighs.

He popped the bottle open and some of the liquid poured over the edges. He licked it, looking at you, before undoing your robe with his free hand. He pulled it to the sides, looking at you with admiration as if he was unwrapping a Christmas gift.

You took the robe off and threw it to the side, and his free hand moved to the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. It was a slow, delicate kiss, where Roger tried showing you love, admiration, respect. Not only how much he wants you, but how much he cares about you.

But you pulled him closer to you, moving closer to him, and your bare breasts touched his naked torso, making the two of you moan.

That gave a new sense of urgency to the kiss, and after a few seconds, Roger broke it apart. “Tell me if you want me to stop”, he told you, and you nodded. He poured a bit of champagne above your collarbone, the cold liquid making you shiver, and then Roger’s tongue licked it, warm and wet.

He looked up at you to make sure you liked it, and you gave him a quick nod. He smirked, then poured champagne on your other collar bone, and licked it off again.

As you seemed to like it, he poured champagne between your breasts, licking it off right after and waiting a few seconds to see if you’d protest. He then finally poured a bit of champagne on one of your breasts, right above the nipple, licking you and the drink.

He kept doing it for a while, sucking on your skin that tasted like champagne and cinnamon, the smell of roses intoxicating him.

You broke away from his touch, and he looked at you, confused. “Can I try it?”, you asked, and he nodded, passing you the champagne bottle.

You started above his collarbone, and you could feel him moving under you. You wondered how much he would be able to wait before fucking you, considering he was already hard before you licked champagne off of him.

Once you poured champagne over his chest, you didn’t lick fast enough, and a drop of champagne rolled down on his torso. You leaned in to lick it right before it fell to his pelvis, mere inches away from his cock.

The feeling of your tongue close to his length did it for him - he had to have you, right now. He gripped your hips and motioned them up, and you understood what he wanted, so you got on your knees and stood right above him as he positioned himself on your entrance.

You slowly moved down, feeling him filling you, and you let your head move back as you moan in pleasure, your moan intensifying as you heard Roger’s voice whispering your name.

You started riding him slowly, small moans leaving your lips every time you felt him bottoming out inside of you, but you wanted him to go deeper.

So you got off of him, and he grunted, frowning at you as he saw you on your knees in bed. But once you leaned forward, putting your weight on your elbows, he smirked. “I want to feel you deeper”, you told him.

He moved to your back, spreading your legs a little more so he had better access to you, and you both cursed under your breath as he got inside you again slowly, so you could get used to his size on this new position, his grip on your ass getting stronger once he was completely inside you again.

You moaned his name, and he moved his hands to your waist so he could move inside of you with more control.

He developed a rhythm after a few moments, and all you could hear was the sound of your skin on his and the moaning (and cursing) coming from his lips and yours, too. You could feel yourself closer to your orgasm.

It wasn’t long before you reached your high, crying his name as you pulled the duvet into your fists.

Roger kept thrusting through your high, but once he noticed you were done, he pulled out. "Can you turn?", he asked, and without much thought, you turned over and layed down, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He gave you a tired smile and then got inside you again, thrusting. "I like to look at you", he told you, closing his eyes, focusing on his movements. He was like that for a few seconds, and you could see the beads of sweat forming on his face, his blonde locks glueing themselves to his forehead.

As his movements got more intense, you could see he was close. "Y/N? Can I pull out?", he asked, and you nodded a yes. He liked to do that sometimes, when you could get messy, but it has been so long you nearly forgot.

So he pulled out and his cum fell on your torso, covering your breasts and stomach. He fell to your side and stayed there for a few moments, before opening his eyes and looking at your torso. "Sorry for the mess", he said, getting up and going to the bathroom. You smiled when you heard the sink open, and your smile got wider as Roger appeared with a warm cloth on your hands.

"I guess this helps", he shrugged, wiping his cum from your torso carefully. Once he cleaned most of it, he giggled. "Maybe a bath is not a bad idea, after all. Will you join me?", he asked, offering you a hand.

---

Chapter 21

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @brianandthemays @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy @x1975sos @16wiishes @jennycidesstuff @partydulce @melros-e @onevisionliz

[coeval-magazine]

Kedr Livanskiy

The opening of Kedr Livanskiy’s Your Needtwinkles into audibility—a breathless mist, an upbeat shift. Quickly, it’s back down to earth, leveled by warm, warbling vocals. But for a minute, it’s pure pop, effervescent teenage girlhood cut, deliciously, with a little winking excess. Yana Kedrina—the artist behind the nom de plume—is radiant, unfathomably long platinum hair echoing the yellow stripe down the side of Your Need’s album cover. This second album, the Bandcamp copy tells us, is “a celebration of life and rebirth”—a high-energy jaunt, clubby and cavorting with peaks like “Bounce 2” and the focused, grainy build of the penultimate “City Track.” 

We’re eating hummus in the back of a Persian grocery store in London when Lawrence tells me he has a surprise. It’s embargoed but Really Exciting; he needs my passport and won’t tell me why until I guess the spot. He holds up a photo of the Stanislavsky Electrotheatre, and my dumb American sensibility is like, uhh, I don’t know, it’s some grungy former Eastern Bloc destination that, five years down the line, guys in Carhartts will describe as the Bushwick of the East? Maybe, in a manner of speaking. The depth of my Russian cultural knowledge is really nil, pathetic, so he humanely cuts me off to answer. Moscow. We’re going to Moscow.

Aside from some half-retained undergrad lectures about early Soviet film montage, Kedr Livanskiy is the beginning and end of my insight into the Russian avant-garde. I stream her debut EP, January Sun, on repeat while I wait for my visa to get approved, wandering around Berlin and relaxing into the titular track’s metered, melancholy flow. I’m kind of down about a bunch of impending change so January Sunand Audrey Wollen’s Sad Girl Theory are propping me up while I twitch around the cramped apartment block where I’m staying for a filmmaking residency, in which I learn that I actually really, really don’t want to be a filmmaker. The early EP, released in 2016, has a lo-fi grit about it that perfectly suits Berlin’s much-maligned maxim, “Poor but Sexy,” with its reverberant hum. 

Landing in Moscow, I’m allayed, for a second. Compared to Berlin, everything’s immaculate—pastel confections of buildings sit low on the horizon; a glass of complimentary champagne is stuffed in my hand when I check into Hotel Richter. My room! It has a fucking fresco on the ceiling! But within a day, the smoothness sours into homesick disorientation. In line for the bar one night, I watch a lethargic progression of gallery totes, screen-printed with Cyrillic sans-serif. Vacillating into and out of elation,Your Needturns out to be perfectly suited to my first trip to Russia. Grounded by slower moments like “LED” and “Why Love,” the albumflutters into occasional severity, recalling the coarse, foggy rhythms that magnetized me to January Sun.

Of course, it matters that I don’t speak any Russian. In my total alienation from lyrical meaning, Livanskiy’s songs come to me as pure structure—texture and affect and the granular nuances of each tiny build and fall, fully divorced from signification. I feel kind of icky and preposterous as I fumble towards interpretation, so it’ll suffice to offer a personal read, here. If January Sun scored a month of depressey self-searching, Your Need, released at the beginning of May, came right as the clouds began to clear, all while retaining a sense of the meticulous depth that made Kedrina’s early work so haunting. 

Lawrence shows his movie one night at a cinema club that was founded by Sergei Eisenstein. Lights up after and it’s really well-received by a crowd comprised entirely of plausible Gosha models. An angelic blonde with pigtail braids is the first to find him in the front row, before most have risen from their seats. “It was so great! I loved it!” He thanks her warmly. She rushes out. I elbow him, giggling. “That,” I hazard through a dumb starstruck grin, “was Kedr Livanskiy.”

Later I fall into some party at Strelka, the architecture-school-cum-cultural-hub that’s hosting a NTS showcase sponsored by the British Embassy. Beatrice Dillon—another favorite from the Cult of Domesticity playlist, dedicated to Women in House, where Kedr takes up residence in my Spotify library—takes the stage. Dancing mechanically, I catch a glimpse of platinum in my peripheral. I ask my newish buddy, probably an appropriate source of journalistic guidance because he has a monthly Vice column, whether it would be bullshitty to approach her. It’s loud so I don’t really know how he answers. 

I try to put it out of my mind. I keep grooving. Eventually, my dedication to hardcore reporting outweighs my sense of personal self-preservation, so I shuffle towards her and yell over the music.

—“Hey, I love your new album!” 

Graciously, she smiles. Magnetic.

 —“I’m writing a review for this online fashion magazine—want to talk to me about Your Need?” 

—“What?” 

 Yelling now, I’m so hyper-conscious of my shrill American valley-girl affectation, I want to unzip my skin and leave my body on the dancefloor. Mortified, I still persist, pressing on in service of Journalism. 

 —“I’m writing about Your Need! Is there anything you want my readers to know?” 

She’s stilted, no recognition. 

—“Uhh….. maybe later.” 

 Is that a scoop? Whatever. I still give this album five stars.

courtesy KEDR LIVANSKIY

@kedr_livanskiy

words ADINA GLICKSTEIN

@addieglickstein

  show comments

[imjustthemechanic]

The French Mistake

Part 1/? - A Visitor Part 2/? - The Kulturhistorisk Museum Heist

Steve and Nat catch up with Loki and Thor in Norway, and then everything goes a bit pear-shaped.

They landed at Moss Airport in Rygge in the middle of the morning – the bigger Oslo Lufthavn was closer to their destination, but would be harder for them to slip through unnoticed.  At security they presented the fake passports Natasha had brought along for them. These were stamped without any comment, and if Steve looked nervous, he didn’t look nervous enough to cause any suspicion.

That done, he and Nat collected their luggage and headed into the arrivals hall.  This had beige walls and high ceilings with visible rafters and pipes, looking very much like any other airport Steve had ever been to.  People were milling around, collecting baggage and meeting friends and relatives, talking to each other and on phones in half a dozen languages…

… and there seemed to be an awful lot of people in navy jumpsuits with the word politi on the back.

Natasha appeared to notice this at the same time Steve did.  She stopped, looking around in confusion – or was she?  That was the thing about Natasha: it was so difficult to tell what she was thinking.  A terrible suspicion had suddenly entered his head.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Nat.

Steve took her arm and pulled her aside, pretending they were waiting for oversized luggage – this had its own area, over against one far wall.  A few people were there picking up things like ski and snowboard equipment, but they were busy watching the carousel.  Steve brought Nat over to the wall, and looked her in the eye.

“What is going on?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I just got here, too.”

“Is this a trap?” Steve asked through his teeth. “Did they send you to Wakanda to trick me into leaving the country so I can be arrested?”  He wished he’d thought of that before he’d gotten on the plane.

“No,” Nat said, perfectly calm.  “I have no idea why this place is full of cops, but I can assure you it has nothing to do with me.  Now stop looming over me, or I’ll scream?”

“You?  Scream?” For a moment Steve wanted to scoff – Nat never screamed – but then he had second thoughts.  A woman screaming in this crowded public area would attract immediate attention, and they were surrounded by the police.  If he were detained on the word of a woman who claimed he’d been threatening her, he would be arrested and fingerprinted, and then they’d realize who he was.  Nat may not have brought Steve here to be locked up, but she could make it happen at any moment.

He stepped back.  “All right.”

“Better,” said Nat.  She rearranged her clothing, and pulled a packet of gum out of her jacket pocket.  “Let’s do what we came here to do.”

Natasha popped a stick of gum in her mouth and softened it, then went up to the nearest airport employee.  “Hey, you speak English?” she asked, chewing the gum loudly. “What’s up with all the fuzz?”

The woman frowned.  “The… fuzz?”

“The fuzz,” Nat nodded.  “The five-oh.  The po-po. They’re everywhere.”  She gestured around.

“Oh.”  The employee sighed – Steve couldn’t tell if she actually recognized any of the slang terms, but she seemed to have figured it out.  “There’s been a break-in at the museum of Cultural History.  They’re trying to make sure thieves cannot leave the country with any artifacts.”

“Bummer,” said Nat.  “I wanted to see the Viking boat.”

“I’m sure they’ll let us in once they’ve got it figured out,” Steve said, conscious as always of what a terrible actor he was. “In the mean time, I guess we’ll have to find something else to do this morning.”

“I guess,” sighed Natasha.  “Hey, what do you people have for breakfast in Sweden?” she asked the employee.

“This is Norway, honey.”  Steve took her hand.

“Whatever,” she said, and let Steve drag her away. Once they were out of the woman’s hearing, she added, “see?  I told you – nothing to do with us, but possibly…”

“Possibly something to do with Loki,” Steve agreed. Asgard had influenced Viking culture. A piece of lost technology from that realm could easily have been mistaken for Viking art.

“Exactly,” Nat nodded.

There was just one problem with that – the name of the museum.  “I thought Thor wanted to meet us at the National Gallery, though,” he said.  “Isn’t that a different museum?”

“Yes, but it’s just around the block from the Museum of Cultural History,” Nat said.  “Maybe Loki found him first.”

“If that’s true, what are you and I supposed to do about it?” Steve asked.  If Loki had surprised Thor and taken him out, then he and Nat were up the creek.

“Improvise,” said Natasha.

They rented a car.  It had been midsummer in Wakanda, with the rivers dried up to trickles and the sun beating down.  In Norway it was only thirty degrees out, with a thin but wet and treacherous layer of snow on the ground.  Driving was slow and treacherous on the E6, and the trip took at least twice as long as the fifty-one minutes suggested to them by their GPS.  As they got into the city proper, the roads became drier and traffic sped up – but when they got within a few blocks of the museum, they began to hear sirens.  When they arrived, they found the buildings cordoned off by yellow tape.

“That’s promising,” Steve said pessimistically.

Natasha didn’t say anything.  She stopped the car, and they both stepped out for a look. There was police tape strung all around the two grand old brick buildings that housed Oslo’s most prestigious museums, and cops were standing guard at all the entrances, communicating by walkie-talkie.  Steve and Nat exchanged a look, and then began walking around the block.  If Loki hadn’t already taken Thor down, he would be waiting for them somewhere around here. Hopefully he’d taken Natasha’s advice about blending in.

“Think it would be suspicious if we started asking people whether they’ve seen our friend?” Steve asked.

“A little, since they’ll wonder why we don’t just phone him,” said Nat.

There was a thought.  “Does Thor have a phone?” Steve asked.  He was sure he’d seen him talking on it at some point.

“He does, but it’s only to talk to Dr. Foster and her friends,” said Nat.  “He’s very firm about it not being a work phone.”

They continued on their way around the building, until one of the policemen stopped them.

“Jeg beklager, du kan ikke komme på denne måten,” the man said.

Steve wondered if Natasha would resume her obnoxious tourist guise, but instead she replied in perfect Norwegian: “Hva skjer? Vi skulle møte en venn her.”

“Det er en bombetrussel . Vennligst hold deg tilbake,” said the policeman.

Natasha nodded, and took Steve’s arm to escort him back across the street.

“What did he say?” Steve asked.  He could guess his way through a number of languages, but Norwegian wasn’t one he was good at.

“I asked what was going on, and told him we were supposed to be meeting a friend,” said Natasha.  “He told us we have to stay away, because there may be a bomb in the building.”

“A robbery yesterday and a bomb today,” Steve observed.  “Either this place just can’t catch a break, or…”

“Or somebody’s up to something,” Nat agreed. “We’ve got to find Thor.”

There was a sudden sound of shattering glass. Steve and Nat both turned, in time to see one of the windows on the Museum of Cultural History explode in a shower of glass fragments.  The policemen ducked or ran to get out of the way, and beams of blue light shot out through the space where the smashed pane had been.  That was a very specific shade of blue, one Steve knew very well.

“That’s our cue,” said Natasha.

“Don’t need to tell me,” said Steve.  The two of them ran for the nearest entrance.

“Stoppe! Du kan ikke gå inn!” one of the cops shouted.

Steve ignored him and kicked the door open, and he and Natasha dashed inside.  Nat pointed to a sign directing them to a staircase.  “That way,” she said.

Steve’s brain was churning as he took the steps three at a time.  What were they going to do when they got there?  If Thor were in the city and wasn’t already down, he would be looking for Loki as well.  If he got there ahead of them, they could work together.  If he wasn’t, then Steve and Nat would have to come up with a way to keep Loki busy until he arrived.  The thing Loki liked best to do, as they’d already discovered, was talk – so they’d just have to encourage him to talk, and hope Thor showed up.

On the second floor they arrived in a long gallery full of tall stones with runes carved into them.  Most of these were in cases, behind glass, but two or three had been broken out and moved.  Of these, all but one were now lying on the floor.  The tallest was still upright, a long tapering thing roughly squared off, like an Egyptian obelisk, but with the runic writing on all four sides.  Several pieces of gold decoration, looking like something taken from Viking shield or sword, had been inserted into some of the runes, and at the very top, where the other obelisks came to a point, this one had a square notch cut into it.

Historians and archaeologists probably had all sorts of theories about the significance of that notch, but Steve didn’t need those. He recognized it immediately – and in case the mere shape would not have been enough to convince him, there was also a man standing in front of the stone.  He was tall and thin, wearing a dark green coat, and his long black hair was pulled into a ponytail.

“Loki!” Steve shouted.

The man spun around.  Green eyes went wide – Loki may have been expecting Thor, but Steve and Natasha were a surprise.  He stared at them a few moments, as if not sure what they were doing there.  This was their chance, then.  There was no sign of Thor, so they had to get him talking.

“Loki, whatever you’re trying to do, you don’t want to do it,” said Steve.

Loki drew himself up to his full height.  “You think you know what I want?” he asked.

“No, I don’t,” said Steve.  He held up his hands and took a step closer.  “What do you want?”

“Good question,” said Natasha.  “If it’s worship, then the people who made this stuff worshipped you.”  She gestured at the fallen stones.  “You want to destroy the evidence of it?”

“I’m not here to destroy anything,” Loki sneered. “I am here to rule.  If I cannot turn this world to my tastes, then I will find one elsewhere.”  He turned back to the rune stone, and began rotating the gold pieces he’d attached to it. “And I will no longer be your concern,” he added.

“Even if you are not the Avengers’ concern, Loki,” the voice of Thor boomed.  “You are my brother – you will always be mine!”

Thor had just walked through the door in the opposite end of the gallery.  He was undercover, wearing blue jeans and a red hoodie over a heather-gray t-shirt, but it did no good at all.  He was still definitely Thor, and nobody who saw him would have failed to recognize him, especially with Mjolnir in his hand.

“You’re late!” said Natasha.

“This was not my plan,” said Thor.  “I do not want to fight you, Loki.  I never have.”

“Good,” said Loki, “because if you kill me, you will never find where I have hidden the tesseract!”

“It's inside the stone,” said Natasha.  “It's got to be.”

Steve was torn.  The stone was a cultural artifact, and it would be a shame to destroy it.  It might be worth it, though, to prevent Loki doing whatever he was about to do.

Thor clearly thought it was.  He raised his hammer.

“No!”  Loki put his hands on the stone.  The runes lit up blue, and the pieces of gold melted and seemed to crawl into the carvings, where they began to trace out intricate patterns.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. She ran forward to pull the angry demigod back from the rune stone.  Steve joined her.  They took Loki’s arms and tried to drag him backwards, while Thor struck the stone with his hammer, and it fragmented.  For a moment the pieces of rock seemed to float on the surface of a pillar of blue energy, still showing the shapes of the runes.  Then the world went white, and Steve was flung violently backwards.

[snowydreamposts]

Endeavor normally alludes to a long excursion or journey attempted for a particular reason, frequently exploratory, logical, geographic, in high mountains. Endeavor in Nepal submits to move high Himalayas as Mt. Everest, Mt. Kanchenjunga, Mt. Lhotse, Mt Makalu, Mt. Cho oyu, Mr. Manaslu, Mt. Dhamlagiri Mt Annapurna, Mt. Amadablam, Mt Pumori, Mt Nhutse, and numerous pinnacles others.

Nepal is viewed as outstanding amongst other experience goal on the planet. Nepal’s geology packs a very changed scene into a little region. The tremendous differences in elevation and atmospheres discovered here help an awesome blend of ways of life, vegetation and untamed life. Nepal is presumably the main nation on the planet where you can ascend the most noteworthy mountains on the planet. The center of the mountain complex known as the Himalayas ‘ residence day off’ the most youthful and most elevated mountain arrangement of the world. The name depends on the Sanskrit words, “Him” signifies day off “Alaya” signifies dwelling place. The 800 km stretch of the Nepal Himalayas in the best on the planet with eight pinnacles that ascent over 8,000 meters, incorporating the most noteworthy on the planet, “Mt. Everest”. Since the time the nation opened its tops to climbers in 1949, the Nepal Himalayas has become an extraordinary venue of mountaineering action and the dramatization of progress and disappointment have given stimulus to a great many people to address a definitive difficulty. In Nepal, there has been 423 Himalayan pinnacles are opened extending from tops over 6,000 meters to the Mount Everest 8848 meters for outsiders. Nepal’s Himalayas have been a fascination in many climbing aficionados, logicians, experiences or scientist darlings.

All mountaineering endeavors planning to ascend a 8,000 or some other mountain need to get consent from the Ministry of Culture, Tourism and Civil Aviation. When a license has been gotten, the endeavor needs to carefully follow the course and the guideline as recommended in the grant gave by the Government of Nepal. A mountaineering endeavor group which has acquired a license for mountaineering will need to incorporate a Liaison Officer selected by the Government of Nepal. A campaign group needs to store trash expense before acquiring a grant. The sum fluctuates as per mountains going from US$ 500 to US$ 4,000, which is refundable after the campaign group shows the away from of the trash amassed.

In the endeavor stage, we will utilize littler, lightweight domed mountain tents. It is conceivable to be truly agreeable in these on the off chance that you are composed and maintain your pack in control. We eat in the chaos tent at a plastic table with stools or seats to sit on. Asian Hiking Team staffs are aces at cooking enormous volumes of delicious nourishment in even the most fundamental of situations. Be that as it may, we may request that you help with the procedures of planning and clearing up the dinners on the camp. Once more, this can be an incredible chance to increase firsthand understanding of another basic piece of any culture. You will likewise learn abilities and rules that are transferable to preparing any nourishment any anyplace whenever. Sanitation is constantly a major concern and we pay attention to it very.

Support in Asian Hiking Team campaigns necessitates that you are by and large healthy, mental and physical wellness. Pinnacle ascending or endeavor have required broad mountaineering experience, for example, mountaineering preparing of essential and propelled course, high and outrageous trekking encounters, liable for poise and wellbeing.

Reports which need to give climbing or campaign grant,; Passport photocopy (ought to be clear with shading output) and legitimacy least a half year, photographs – visa size, Bio-date, Health testament, protection duplicate and so forth.

The Asian Hiking Team is sorting out 423 mountains campaign, giving vital arrangements to our esteemed customers, particularly the individuals who are intrigued to accomplish progressively audacious and take testing in the mountains. Asian Hiking Team runs by proficient, experience, qualified and well-prepared master climbing guides/pioneers, good country Sherpas and offer quality assistance for excursions to make your campaign agreeable, simpler, paramount and effective once in your lifetime.

Everest Expedition

Mount Everest, the best test, is more than the well known mountain on earth. It has an exceptional delight, secret and state of mind. Fruitful authentic Everest Expeditions leaves one with the feeling of generally glad and bold individual on Earth. Mt. Everest’s nearby names give you a feeling of how the mountain directions regard from all who see her. Standing amazingly tall outlined against the common sky of Nepal and Tibet, this mountain has numerous names: Chomolungma, Sagarmatha, Qomolungma or Mt. Everest. Whichever name one picks, its unclearness despite everything lives on. The vast majority of the mountain dwellers have their fantasy to arrive at the summit of Everest in their life time. For some, who are for the most part trekkers become battled having the best perspective on it from Kala Pattar, Gokyo RI or visiting Everest base camp.

The South Col courses on the Nepalese side of Mt. Everest is the path taken by Sir Edmund Hillary and Late Tenzing Norgay Sherpa originally climbed it in 1953. Potentially the most bright anecdote about the early endeavors on Everest is the one including Captain J. Noel and his local allies. He camouflaged himself as a Mohammaden and made an excursion from Darjeeling through Northwest Sikkim and round the north of Kanchenjunga trying to arrive at Everest. Tragically, not in any case the mask could oversee him. His crucial been out short only sixty-five km from Everest when a gang of Tibetan officers constrained them to turn around. Despite the fact that there are twelve or so courses on Mt. Everest, we follow the old style course, customarily the most dependable path to the summit. Climbing Everest undertaking has been effectively sorted out and climbed ordinarily from that point forward, yet this ought not calm planned Everest climbers into lack of concern. Everest is a savage mountain. Taking note of this, one can’t move toward the mountain with anything other than a genuine assurance and centered mountaineering disposition. Everest is still as baffling, flabbergasting and brilliant as ever.

In sorting out Everest climbing undertaking while we will likely get whatever number individuals to the summit as could be allowed and significantly more critically return securely home. Nonetheless, in light of the idea of Everest Expedition, the most elevated and one of the most troublesome mountains on the planet, we can’t ensure everything. Asian Hiking Team endeavors to lead a sheltered, fruitful and pleasant experience, and will do everything conceivable to accomplish every one of these objectives.

After definite arrangements for the noteworthy Everest Expedition in Kathmandu, Fly to Lukla and start our tea-house trek up the Khumbu Valley to Everest base camp. We will set up our base camp at 5300m at the foot of the infamous Khumbu Icefall before advancing toward Camp 1 at 6200m. We will move to Camp 2 at 6,600m smacks in the Western Camp up to the Lhotse face to Camp 3 at 7200m. At long last, we’ll head up the South Col or Camp 4 at 8000m before making our Everest summit push.

Time to summit Everest from Base Camp:

Base Camp across Icefalls: 6 hours. On the off chance that everything else works out, you don’t need to segue on account of a shaky divider or something terrible occurring, you ought to be in Camp 1 after around six hours.

From Camp 1 to Camp 2: About four to five hours. On the off chance that every single fixed rope are set and you’re not in a congested driving conditions up you’ll be across rapidly.

Camp 2 to Camp 3, Lhotse Wall: About 6 hours get you from Camp 2 there. Once more, this is accepting you’ll have the option to simply do your thing, and it is anything but an enjoyment spot to be.

Camp 3 to Camp 4 Death Zone: Your last stop before the summit. It typically takes in any event six hours, regularly more, since now you’re battling reducing oxygen, the pressure and depletion from the past legs, and an absence of rest.

Summit day, in the event that you figure out how to get out before 12 PM, you’re in karma. On the off chance that Hillary Step isn’t sponsored up, you’ll be done and one summit pin more extravagant in around 10 to 14 hours. On the off chance that you can’t make it to summit before 1pm you won’t make it, so almost no can broaden this leg except if awful stuff occurs.

Makalu Expedition

Makalu is one of the harder 8,000 meter Mountains. It is estimated one of the most troublesome mountains on the planet to ascend. This Mt. Makalu is somewhat hazardous too. The last rising of the summit pyramid includes specialized stone climbing. Makalu is the main Nepalese 8,000m pinnacle which still can’t seem to be move in obvious winter conditions. Mount Makalu was first move by a French group in 1955. The West Face of Mt. Makalu was effectively scaled in 1997.

Makalu has many intriguing courses prompting the summit through west edge, west face, south face, southwest face and northwest brace. The ordinary business course is past the Southeast Peak and along the Southeast edge. The trip is direct however respectably specialized with presentation on the SE Ridge; it requires some repaired rope set.

Customarily there are 3 camps, C1 (6,500m), C2 (7,300m) at the base of the Southeast Peak edge and C3 (7,900 m) toward the start of the SE edge. With extremely low Base Camp the BC is set-up at 5500m. The territory experienced on the risings shifts from icy mass intersections to soak snow fields and requires a decent comprehension of fundamental high climbing strategies. Makalu has been climbed Alpine style yet customarily all business administrators practice endeavor style to improve the odds of summit accomplishment for the customers. The base part begins from the base of the West Face at 5,800 meters and moves to the hanging ice-fall at 6,100 meters to the correct piece of the ice-fall. The subsequent part reaches out from the level over the ice-fall along 35 to 45 degree height’s stone up to the 6,500 meters high. The following segment is an ice-rock divider, 50 to 55 degrees soak and that stretches out to 7,400 meters tallness. The last area starts 70 to 75 degree rise’s stone column, which prompts the west edge at 8,000 meters stature till to the highest point of the summit. Ropes are normally fixed from 5800m to 6100m and from 6500 m to 7500m. Camps set up by the Russian Team were at the accompanying areas. The French Route on the West Pillar is a stylishly staggering line that has been only from time to time endeavored. It is an exceedingly troublesome, a precarious column that was first effectively climbed in 1971. The core of the line comes at roughly 7,600m in the region of the Seignior Wall.

Dhaulagiri Expedition

Dhaulagiri massif is limited on the north and southwest by tributaries of the Bheri River and on the southeast by Myagdi Khola. Dhaulagiri is the seventh most noteworthy mountain on the planet at 8,167 meters (26,795 ft) above ocean level. It was first gotten on May 13, 1960 by a Swiss/Austrian/Nepali undertaking. Most risings have followed the upper east edge course of the principal rising, however climbs have been produced using most headings. Starting at 2007 there had been 358 fruitful risings and 58 fatalities.

At the point when French got authorization to climb either Annapurna or Dhaulagiri, they pick Annapurna subsequent to making a surveillance of Dhaulagiri in 1950. In 1953, a Swiss gathering fizzled, at that point an Argentine gathering attempted, yet bombed one year later. Lastly, the Swiss undertaking arrived at the summit in 1960, pursuing a meandering course around the mountain from Tukuche, over the Dhampus pass.

French neglected to climb the summit from the North-East Col so their campaign was upheld by a Swiss Pilatus Porter airplane, the “Sasquatch” which arrived on the North-East Col at 5977m. Be that as it may, the plane smashed just before the finish of the endeavor close Dhampus pass. The pilots, including the renowned Emil Wick, strolled down the mountain to Tukuche.

Dhaulagiri Trekking start from Beni bank of Kali Gandaki and Myagdi Khola occasional street making a beeline for Darbang, follow the Myagdi Khola westwards to Darbang and turn north on a minor path that leads through woods into the high nation. Trekking trail prompts Italian Base Camp than going to Dhaulagiri Base Camp.

Annapurna IV Expedition

Annapurna IV lying at a height of 7525m is viewed as relatively a difficulty free top to move among the Annapurna go, a staggering Marsyangdi valley with the amazing perspectives on Annapurna II, III, Manaslu, Gangapurna. Annapurna IV was first smoothed in 1955 by a German gathering drove by Heinz Steinmetz through the North Face and Northwest edge.

The typical courses is drawn nearer from the Manang side. It requires two hours strolling from the base camp to arrive at the base of the mountain. It requires around 65 – 70 degrees of soak moving with fixed ropes roughly 500 meters arrive at camp I. To arrive at Camp II, around 1000 meters of fixed ropes will be required along the edge and a few stretches of soak climbing. From camp II to camp III it is generally simple with crisscross intersection and bit by bit moving up. Be that as it may, it will require roughly 1300 – 1500 meters fixed rope. From camp III to the summit, for the most part fixed rope isn’t required and the primary rope is utilized. There are potential outcomes of torrential slides between Camp I and Camp II.

[pinkguacamole]

Here I am in Mozambique, at the End

Today is my last day in Africa. If you consider Madagascar as part of Africa, which it technically is despite its geographical isolation, I have been in Africa for about two and a half years. Tomorrow I hop continents and fly to Thailand!

I’m at the end of a road here. As a kid I always dreamed of spending time in Africa because I was certain there was more to the 54-countried continent than the media showed. My assumptions were beyond correct. Africa is a luscious and thriving part of the world. There is SO much more to it than the sad ball of skewed crap we see represented in the western world. That skewed crap doesn’t even come close and it’s a damn shame.

I have never felt at risk. I have been surrounded by colors and culture and warmth and love and hospitality. I have also been engrossed in my own internal conflict. Africa doesn’t need my help. It doesn’t need anything from me or the west except for respect and an open mind. For that statement I am using the blanket term of “Africa” even though I have only been to 7 of the 54 countries.

Respect and an open mind, that’s it.

Of course Africa isn’t lacking of country specific political and racial issues… but where in the world doesn’t have these problems? Especially as an American in the Trump Era… I can’t say ANYTHING about other places having political issues.

Here I am in Mozambique, at the end. This isn’t the end, though. Mozambique will always be here and nothing will change when I leave.

I have only spent a few days in Mozambique because I have gotten tired. I’ve been traveling quickly these past two months, since I left Madagascar, and it’s caught up to me.

After roaming through Namibia-Zimbabwe-Zambia-Botswana, I took a long break in Pretoria, South Africa with one of my good friends from Afrikaburn.

It was a surreal experience. I slowed down, and sat down on one of the most comfortable couches I had experienced in 2 years and it was hard to remove myself. My South African friend was living her normal life, as a recent graduate of university she was surrounded by social activities and work. It was a lifestyle I hadn’t touched in years and it gave me culture shock. I was in it, but I wasn’t IN it. It was only temporary.

In South Africa I caught a cold. I was supposed to go to Swaziland, then head to Mozambique in time for my flight. I had time for it all but it would be quick. Moving pretty much every day, like I had in the other countries. I have trouble staying put when I am in Travel-Mode.

My friend’s mom was shocked. “You should take a break. You look exhausted. Skip Swaziland! Come stay with me! Use wifi! Relax!” She was the sweetest.

I wasn’t going to. I knew I had to keep going. But then I started to have stomach pains reminiscent to the flu. My body wanted a break.

So I caved. I spent 5 days sleeping, cooking vegetables, drinking wine, cuddly with a cute dog, and watching BBC Earth and war movies with my friend’s mom as I prepared to head to Mozambique.

Here, at the end, I present to you the most African experience one could have. It is a journey of uncertainty, complications, complete kindness of strangers, and everything magically working out after all:

Getting a visa for Mozambique was a nightmare! To get a visa at the consulate ahead of time I needed “proof of accommodation.” To get “proof of accommodation,” I had to contact a place to stay in Mozambique and have them fill out paperwork for me. Most cheap places I found didn’t have emails. The one I did find, Fatima’s Backpackers in Maputo, required “proof of transport.” Since I was originally planning to take local, unpredictable transport from Swaziland to Maputo, I couldn’t acquire “proof of transport.” (You book things like that in person, on the spot).

When my plans changed, I still was hesitant to book transport because buses that counted as “proof” refused to take someone who didn’t have a visa ahead of time. BUT I didn’t want to book transport until I had a visa in my hand and knew when I could leave!

It was a cycle of crap. A cycle a cycle a cycle.

After a few days of suppressing the issue and relaxing, then thinking about it with no real solution, I finally decided to book transportation for a night bus from Pretoria to Maputo for the upcoming Monday. I was hoping over the weekend I could get my “proof of accommodation” then go to the Consulate and hope they could process my visa in one day.

After many harassing emails to Fatimas (their server was down apparently), I got my “proof of accommodation” Sunday evening!

Monday morning I went straight to the consulate. The woman there was much kinder than the first time I’d gone. She said I could pick up my visa between 2:30 and 3:30 pm, but I had to deposit 750 Rands, approximately $50 to the consulate’s account at a First National Bank.

I called an uber ride from the consulate and told the driver I needed to go to the mall near where I was staying. I asked if there was an FNB bank there. He said no. He also told me I would need my passport to make a deposit…which I’d left with the Consulate. Since I have a second passport, I decided to have him take me straight home and I’d leave early to pick up the visa, stopping at the bank on the way.

I shouldn’t have listened to him.

Around 1 I made my way to an FNB in the neighborhood.

Their system was down, but “maybe I could deposit in an ATM” they said!

The ATM ate my money and processed nothing.

Time was ticking away.

A teller went to get someone to get my money back from the ATM. During this time, the line at the bank expanded to 30 angry people. Most things weren’t working and I was on the verge of a panic attack. I was so close!!

I’d used the last of my cash for the deposit so I’d need to withdraw more for my uber ride, but the line was out the door. So while I waited for the teller to return with my eaten money, I tried to change my Uber settings to use a credit card so I could race across town the second the deposit went through.

But Uber wouldn’t take either of my credit cards. It was confused with the zip code versus the country I was in. Nothing I tried would take.

My throat was getting tight. I was SO close to getting this damn headache of a visa!

2pm.

The teller returned with my money and brought me to an ATM to try again. The manager of the bank asked the group in line if I could go first since I was in the middle of a hassle and a very angry man yelled “Hell No!”

So I got in line as my stress level mounted.

Eventually the deposit went through and I was on my way out the door towards the other side of town to get my visa!

I tried to call an Uber but it didn’t work.

“Verify your credit card” It said.

“Use Cash as Payment” I pressed.

“Verify your credit card” it insisted.

It would not let me order a car.

Time was passing and I was stuck. Panic revved up inside me. No! I’d made it this far. I was going to Mozambique that night! I was going to get my damn visa!

I screamed at my phone each time Uber refused. I needed an alternative. I asked people nearby where I could find a cab.

No one knew.

A girl saw me in my fit and came over as I slumped in the shade next to a different bank to try and think. She offered to find me a cab with a different app.

A well-dressed man came up to us and said “Hi girls, I work for the Ghanaian Embassy and I was robbed here last week. You need to put your phones away.”

The kind girl said “Embassy? Is that near the Mozambique Consulate? This girl has an emergency and needs to get to the Mozambique consulate by 3:30.”

The man replied, “I think I know where that is. My driver will take her.”

I looked up in disbelief.

He guided me to his car and told his driver where to go and to collect him at the bank in a hour.

What?!

I got in.

The driver was excited to see me. He was from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. After asking me what I was doing, he promptly asked if I would marry him. I told him I was already engaged.

He then asked how I felt about Donald Trump. I told him he was a terrible con man causing a plethora of trouble. The driver said “No honey, I do not believe you. He is not that bad. You are being narrow-minded, you must forgive him!”

I told him he didn’t understand. Trump was cutting every program I believed was progressive blah blah blah all of my thoughts…

Driver: “No, God doesn’t want you to hate Donald Trump. You must forgive him.”

I huffed and said never mind.

Then the driver asked “you do believe in God?”

I told him I was not religious.

This greatly offended the driver.

“Oh no dear! You see how you needed a ride to the Consulate!? You were desperate, but God brought me to you! You must appreciate what God does for you.”

I told him I greatly appreciated the circumstance and his God for helping me. This answer wasn’t enough. We spent the rest of the ride arguing about how he believed my life was nothing until I found God and I told him my life was full and wonderful in its own way even though it was different from his.

I was SO CLOSE to getting that visa! So. Close.

Finally we arrived at the consulate. I told him I didn’t have a phone number he could call when he asked, but I told him to thank his employer profusely for letting me use the car. He told me to thank God instead. I shut the door.

I collected my visa in the office right in the nick of time and I almost cried. Since Uber wasn’t working for me anymore, the woman called a cab for me.

That night I said good-bye to the pet dog and my cushy, relaxing life in Pretoria and hopped on a night bus where I promptly passed out.

By 4 am we’d reached the border but had to wait until it opened at 6 am to cross. It was the most hectic border I’d seen yet. Lines of minibuses packed to the brim with goods, people meandering, goats sifting through trash. There was a heavy mist blanketing the eerie yellow lights of the cars in line.

Finally I crossed the border’s mess. I probably could have gotten my visa AT the border because so much was going on and the bus would have never known, but oh well. I had it in advance and hopped on over to Mozambique with ease.

I’d made it to my last African country as the sun slowly rose in the heavy fog.

In Mozambique I have been tired. It’s the end of Africa for me and my body knows. I took a chappa from the hostel in the capital to a beach town up north called Tofo at 5am the next day. I spent two days relaxing in Tofo.

I didn’t do much. One night I skinny dipped with some Estonian guys I’d met as the full moon lit the surprisingly warm water. It was euphoric thrashing in the waves.

Tofo is a great place for scuba diving but I’m getting certified in a few weeks in Malaysia and I also have a new tattoo so I didn’t want to spend too much time in the water.

Mozambique looks like Madagascar. The palm trees, fields of corn (instead of rice), grass huts, stands selling tomatoes, women in colorful fabric carrying goods on their heads. There was a Peace Corps Youth Empowerment Camp taking place at the place where I was staying. It felt like home. But it wasn’t. It was a parallel universe to Madagascar. It all looked the same, but I was an alien. I don’t speak a word of Portuguese.

After two relaxing days in Tofo, I returned to Maputo and here I am, mentally preparing for the end of my time in Africa and my next adventure in Asia.

Whew. It’s been a long road. Almost 4 years abroad. I think this new phase will be reinvigorating! A change of scenery and huge cultural jump will be fun.

Thank you for all of the love, Africa, especially Madagascar. I wouldn’t be the women I am today without all of these crazy experiences.

[indrosphere]

Babylon: the name is thought to derive from bab-il, in the Akkadian language of the time, meant ‘Gate of God’ and “Babylon” coming from Greek. Bab means gate and Il means the god or deity.

The History

The city of Babylon, whose ruins are located in present-day Iraq around 100 kilometres south-west of Baghdad, was founded at some point as a small port town on the Euphrates River prior to the reign of Sargon of Akkad, who ruled from 2334-2279 BCE and claimed to have built temples at Babylon. There were over 50 temples in Babylon. It grew into one of the largest cities of the ancient world under the rule of Hammurabi. It became a major military power Hammurabi, who ruled from 1792 to 1750 BCE.

Several centuries later, a new line of kings established a Neo-Babylonian Empire, which lasted from 626 to 539 BCE, that spanned from the Persian Gulf to the Mediterranean Sea. The Neo-Babylonian Empire was a period of cultural renaissance in the Middle East. The Babylonians built many beautiful and lavish buildings and preserved statues and artworks from the earlier Babylonian Empire during the reign of king Nebuchadnezzar II (reigned 605-562 BCE).

A Unesco World Heritage Site

The ancient Mesopotamian city of Babylon has been declared a Unesco World Heritage Site. The World Heritage Committee inscribed 29 new sites on UNESCO’s World Heritage List during its 43rd session (30 June 2019 – 10 July 2019) in Baku, Azerbaijan, which includes Babylon of Iraq. Iraq had been lobbying since 1983 for the 4,000-year-old site to be added to the United Nations’ prestigious list. Unesco previously declined to list Babylon as a World Heritage Site on the grounds that restoration and rebuilding work carried out there under the regime of the former Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein had badly distorted the original ruins. (Source: BBC)

BREAKING

New inscription on @UNESCO #WorldHeritage List: Babylon in #Iraq . Bravo!

https://t.co/thV0mwrj0X #43WHC pic.twitter.com/U83XSJnwDU

— UNESCO (@UNESCO) July 5, 2019

Our visit

We decided to visit the heritage site and went there yesterday. The summer is extremely hot and temperature  hovers around 50 degrees Celsius and still we went ahead with our plan.

Before reaching the site, we were stopped by Army people. They questioned our driver and checked our passports and recorded the details. Then we reached the gate of the site on the highway. We were stopped again and our passports were taken. That guard called someone. A gentleman arrived in his car. They discussed something and we were asked to follow the car from the gate. We stopped in front of a replica of the famous Ishtar Gate. Two more people walked out. The passports were handed over to other person. We were told to pay IQD 25,000 ($21) each for the entry fees. The person recorded the passport details and then returned our passports. We felt relieved. We were the only three visitors in this scorching Iraqi summer afternoon and may be the scrutiny was tightened as they found some crazy people! May be our zeal to visit the heritage site intrigued them or it could be a normal security procedure. 

The other person was a guide. His name is Abu Zainab Maki. He took us inside through the gate and narrated the details with lots of history. Later, he told us that he is a History graduate and from discussions with him we found that he has a good knowledge of Mesopotamian history. It was nice talking to him. 

Our Guide Abu Zainab

The Ishtar Gate & The Processional Way

Replica of the Ishtar Gate

The main entrance to the inner city was called the Ishtar Gate. The portal was decorated with bright blue glazed bricks adorned with pictures of bulls, dragons and lions.

It gave way to the city’s great Processional Way, a half-mile decorated corridor used in religious ritual to celebrate the New Year.

The street is long and is divided into three parts. The first and the third parts are surrounded by fences to prevent people from entering. The original tiles are still in situ! Our guide had the keys and he opened the locks for us to go inside the fenced area. He said that he loves Indians!

The Processional Way

In ancient Babylon, the new year started with the spring equinox and marked the beginning of the agricultural season. The Gate of Ishtar and the Processional Way were built around 675 BCE and was commissioned by King Nebuchadnezzar II.

Ishtar Gate, in a depression a little short way off the Street of Processions, still has some of its old wall decorations of bulls, symbol of Adad, god of storms, and dragons, symbol of Marduk, the chief god. The dragon here is a composite animal with the physical attributes of snake, lion and eagle. These brick relieves are not glazed, as the beautiful glazed-brick panels figuring bulls, and dragons and lions (symbol of Ishtar) which decorated the Gate, the Palace and the Street of Processions were all taken, prior to World War I, to Berlin by the German expedition which excavated Babylon then.

The Processional Way of the ancient city of Babylon is a half-mile brick road connecting the outer city of Babylon to the Temple of Marduk. Nebuchadnezzar II commissioned the construction of the gate in the late 6th century BCE as a symbol of his personal power and the power of the Babylonian empire, and the Processional Way is a tribute to the omnipotence of the gods to whom everything was subject.

The gate and the Processional Way served mostly a religious purpose for the New Year procession, which marked the beginning of the agricultural year and featured religious festivals and rituals. The relief representations in the walls are lions were the symbol of the goddess Ishtar, the goddess of love and war. Other ancient Babylonian gods that appear in the bricks are Adud and Marduk, illustrated in the Bull and the Dragon, respectively.

  Among the well-preserved status of the bricks during the initial excavation is perhaps the most valuable artefact, which are the brick fragments with inscriptions containing statements from Nebuchadnezzar II. The inscription provides the reason for the construction of such a magnificent gate and other works, which in his own words is so “Mankind might gaze upon them in wonder”.

The Processional Way and Ishtar Gate of the ancient city of Babylon functioned to glorify the city of Babylon and exemplified the inordinate cultural advancements under King Nebuchadnezzar II, and was directly commission as a means to make the city one of the wonders of the ancient world.

A representative diagram of the Ishtar Gate and the Processional way at Pergamon Museum, Berlin

Ninmakh Temple

At the right side of the Processional Way lies the Ninmakh temple. Ninmakh was the mother goddess in ancient Mesopotamia. The temple was built by Nebuchadnezzar II circa 575 BCE. It is situated east of the Ishtar Gate, and was called e-mah (great temple) of the mother goddess Ninmakh. Ninmakh means the Great Lady.

The central courtyard of the temple, characterised with the presence of the holy well. The inner santum of the temple of Ninmakh was restricted for women only, who would gather in the sacred precint of the temple and pray for good marriages and married women would pray for offspring among other worship rituals. The women also used the water from this well for ritual bathing and for purification. It was one of the several sacred wells located in the sacred precincts around the city.

The Lion of Babylon

This stone sculpture, made out of black basalt stone depicting a lion standing above a laying man, was built by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II. In the sculpture, the lion’s back has marks indicating that it was meant for a precious saddle upon which the goddess Ishtar would stand.

The Lion of Babylon is a historic theme in the region. The statue is considered among the most important symbols of Babylon in particular and Mesopotamian art in general.

Palaces of Nebuchadnezzar II

The southern palace was 1,065 feet (325 m) by 720 feet (220 m) in size. It included a throne room with a glazed brick panel showing palmettes, floral reliefs and lions. The throne and room tiles are now on display at the Berlin museum.

The king also had a northern palace (which hasn’t been fully excavated) and a summer palace, on the northern tip of the outer wall.

Rions of Northern Palace

The wall of the palace

The palace was also protected by a maze to confuse the enemies intruding the palace while the palace guards could watch them and kill them from the top of the walls.

The maze of labyrith

Inside the maze

On the other side of the highway outside the entry gate to the Babylon site, is the Murdock temple. We were told that there is nothing there and due to hot sun, we also didn’t go inside and returned home. If possible, we may visit again on some cooler days.

Neglect & Restoration

It’s pathetic to see how such a heritage site has been destroyed over the period. German archaeologists excavated the remains of the gate in the early twentieth century and reconstructed it in Berlin’s Pergamon Museum using original bricks. The Iraqi government has put up a replica of the gate. Other artefacts are now on display in the Pergamon Museum.

In the early 1980s, former Iraqi leader Saddam razed a large part of the ancient city in order to build a replica on top of some of the original ruins. After the Gulf War, he also built an extravagant modern palace for himself on another part of the ruins, overlooking the main site.

A modern place built by Saddam Hussein looms over the ancient ruins of the northern palace in Babylon

According to a UN report, American troops and contractors caused substantial damage to the archaeological site at Babylon in Iraq after the 2003 invasion. The report says key structures were harmed and the site was subjected to “digging, cutting and levelling”.

Announcing its decision, Unesco said: “Seat of successive empires, under rulers such as Hammurabi and Nebuchadnezzar, Babylon represents the expression of the creativity of the Neo-Babylonian Empire at its height. The city’s association with one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World – the Hanging Gardens – has also inspired artistic, popular and religious culture on a global scale.” It also warns that the site is in an “extremely vulnerable condition” and in need of urgent conservation.

There is a need to bring back the artefacts from the museums in the West to the original historical sites and recreate them in their original splendour to reconstruct the history. Will that be ever possible?

Visit to Babylon Heritage Site Babylon: the name is thought to derive from bab-il, in the Akkadian language of the time, meant ‘Gate of God’ and “Babylon” coming from Greek.

[iansoakparanormalelimination]

My Paranormal Life: The Bog Creature

My life has been turned upside down and backwards many times, so many times in fact that I wonder why the twists seem to take the shape that it has so repetitively. With the last several years culminating in several life changes that started when I was a child, introspection set in and I began to really sift through the years seeking answers. Or at the very least some kind of clues. Nearly going blind will do that to you, nearly dying several times didn't seem to be the ticket.But those are tales for another time.The differences in my life from others I know has been so dramatic that in the growing darkness of my sight I began to try to piece together something. Was I always different or was this difference pushed onto me? Or was I always different and then made MORESO?Going back into my memories the differences begin right away. No one else I know can remember their first steps, getting diapers changed, the distaste for the feel of plastic pants over their underpants as they are potty trained. The first feel and silence of being sat in a depression of snow at 10 or 11 months. I could read well before entering Kindergarten because of my mother's teachings, since she labeled everything with the name of the thing in our shared bedroom, even my crib. Yes, I can clearly remember those times, even the abuses my parents and elder siblings sent my way, though those didn't ramp in intensity until after I was back home and turned 6 years old. Forgive me, I'm getting slightly ahead of myself but with reason, as you'll eventually read.Oh, and my blindness that I avoided, which you've doubtlessly been asking yourself about? Trauma Induced Cataracts from concussive impacts to my head from beatings and car accidents...no, not when I was driving, these happened when I was a child and before the law and normal use of seat belts stepped in to protect us from ourselves. and our parents.Now, needless to say this is all completely true. I know you'll all wonder if this is the case, if it's true, can I provide you with as much documentation as you need that won't be compromising, etc? I could, but that would make my life somewhat less private, but the information is available. Even my Doctor's information on the implants in my eyes so I can see can be screenshot and put up if you need convincing.But why am I telling you these things about my vision? Simple really...something didn't like the idea that I could SEE them. Really see them.As I am a child of two nations born in the US, this means a large amount of cultural background goes into the sum of my parts. With a Cuban father and mother from England, you can see what an amazing contrast there would be between the two parts of my family. The differences are so vast with one half of the family being very spiritual, Santeria being a large part of the religious makeup of the Cuban side. On the other is the celtic influence of my mother's family, with deep ties to the old faiths of the islands of the United Kingdom, all the way back to old religions of pagan and druids.As a baby I never knew how protected I was by my tias(that's aunts in Spanish) and their diligence to keep the house we lived in safe from the other world they knew was there, and feared...terrifically in fact. Constant blessings, use of camphor, holy water and cleansing with incense happened all the time. These kept my dreams untroubled and I feared the dark only because I could not see.Eventually, we moved and the home I would grow up in did not have ANY of those benefits. I began to see things in the darkness most easily. Aside from feeling things when I was near something spiritually active at a distance, I could see things, too. See what? Indistinct shapes, swirling patterns of movement as of fog or ether and something causing eddies in it just out of sight. But sometimes I saw more....much more.Take for example my tio Mickey and his wife, my tia Olga. As a little child we'd go there all the time because tia Olga was my godmother. Her mother, forgive me I do not recall her name, lived with them and had her own room. She was very old and not in the best of health, but she had an aura about her that said she was kindly and wished she could do more when my brother, sister and I came to visit than just sit in her room or lie in bed. Sometimes she was too exhausted to get out of bed and we had to play quietly on the other side of the house on the covered porch.I had a habit of wandering off and going places I was told not to go, following feelings that seemed to draw me on that were tied to my gut around the level of diaphragm. Inf act sometimes I would wander blocks away from home or to parks, scaring my family silly. I would go to tia Olga's mother's room and as I'd walk in, a man standing next to her bed would look up and smile most of the time. My memory of him is as hazy now as it is of her, but I remember dark but warm eyes, steely gray hair swept back and slicked down to keep it neat with a light blue guayabera. He was thick in the upper body, muscular but not overly so. I couldn't see his lower body since he was on the opposite side of the bed. She would look away from him to me, following his gaze to see me standing in the doorway."Hola, señora." I said."Ay!" my tio Mickey would say from up the hallway to get my attention, and I'd turn to look at him as he and his big dog, Duke, came towards me. I look back to apologize for bothering her, my mother's demand for proper English manners you see, and the man was gone. There was no place for him to go I should point out. And no one else lived there since my cousin, Michael, had moved out some years before. Keep in mind I think these events happened when I was 4, I'm pretty sure of it as my cousin's wedding had been the year before this when I was three.No one could ever tell me who that was, no one wanted to even mention it. The fact is it only started whispers between adults about the events, fearfully whispered discussions amongst them. Discussions I was not allowed to even think of eavesdropping on.It wasn't long after this that my tia Olga's mother passed on. I never found out who the man was in the room with her, but I am assuming it was someone very close to her for the simple fact I never felt menaced by what I saw and the room felt brighter after she passed, as if her illness or frail body had trapped her light. And once it was free the room fairly scintillated from its passing touch. Funny to think that years later when I brought my girlfriend(who would eventually become my wife) to visit tia Olga in her sickbed that it was in that very room. No, she was not there looking over her daughter, but the room was still bright with the light she'd left behind.A parting gift to ease her daughter's pains.Not all I saw was friendly as I'm certain you're wondering at this point if everything I saw was benevolent or kindly. As I'd said before the protection afforded us was lost when we moved as my mother never let my aunts do their ministrations again. We were given these tiny bags with a bead and a rosary medallion inside to wear under our clothes against our skin, pinned to our clothing with safety pins, to ward off evil. Because of the thing I mentioned, and a considerable many more brevity doesn't allow me to mention, I was given one more than my brother and sister. One of my patron saint, Joan of Arc. No, I'm not a female, but there is no Saint Sean. That's my name, by the way. Sean....same spelling as Sean Connery for whom I was told, jokingly or not, to be named after. Joan in French(she was French after all) is Jeanne. That's pronounced the same way as Jean of Jean Luc Picard fame for the Trek Nerds amongst you. Which as you can easily hear sounds a lot like Sean, a name that none of my cuban relations could easily say except my cousin, who was raised in the US.Forgive me for all this preface, but I thought I'd give you some idea of the events and history before the "Big Event".My mother's relations had come to visit us singly or in combinations for a little while, and I do believe I even got to see my Great Aunt Lily more than once in the US. My mother's father, Grandad, had been setting aside money since she'd left home to have her come home, either to stay or for a visit, and this money he'd made from quitting smoking. Funny enough, he'd been saving so long that the amount had grown high enough for us to all come visit them over the Summer. My father had to work so he couldn't come with us, his job was very demanding. Our "Talismans" given to us by the Cuban side of the family were not allowed to come with us and remained in a box back home, despite loud protestations. My mother was most insistent on that as she was embarrassed by them.We got our passports and in June of the year Star Wars IV A New Hope came out. So we were literally flying to UK less than a month after its initial release and I had to miss the phenomenon of the Summer that it was in 1977, but its impact was felt all over England in merchandising that tantalized me in the form of bubblegum cards with stills from the movie on them.My time in England was, to put it lightly, not boring.Why, you might ask? Whether it was walking everywhere or taking buses or trains, we were dragged to every moor, castle, monument, palace, and place of interest my mother could think of to see. This in direct contrast to the part of Los Angeles where we'd lived that requires a car and a long trip to get anywhere meaningful...it was a shock to say the very least about it one can say. All of this while traveling between the homes of my Grandad and Nanny(that's my grandmother if you hadn't guessed), my Aunt Sonia and my Aunt Celia in various places around England.From Heathrow we were driven out of the city to my Aunt Sonia's home and outfitted the next day with cagoules and wellies. For anyone not familiar, those are rainproof jackets that cover to the thigh and waterproof calf height rubber boots. For you see we had been impelled to come because that year since the previous 2 years had been a "Drought" and rain had been scarce, but 1977 was the end of the drought and we saw 3 sunny days all Summer long as nature dumped 3 years worth of water on England to make up for her laxness.Sonia's home was new and the neighborhood she and her family lived in was newly urbanized portions north of London that once just been rolling hills and forests. I slept well there, felt nothing and nothing ever happened. The same could not be said of Celia's or my grandparent's homes.Celia had an old home that was more than a century old and with much history, in a portion of England known for minor nobles living, and dying, nearby in their mansions. My grandparents flat was in the middle of a rebuilt portion of London, in an area that had been annihilated during the Bombing of London.When we first went to stay with Celia it was a bit of a shock. Upon first stepping through the front door and removing my wellies, I noticed the air was thick...and cold. To the left of the large front door was a toilet behind a closed door under a large staircase with a banister. My eyes were drawn to it as we were lead inside by my aunt, distracted with talking to my mother about her coming wedding. Another reason for our presence, so my mother could be there for her younger sister's wedding.The cold stopped as we got to the third stair and turned right on the small landing and proceeded up the stairs. Now the air was just thick and unwelcoming. We were shown to our room we'd be sleeping in, we children. It was across the hall from Celia's room and next to my mother's room. I kept looking at the door to my aunt's room, a pulsing sensation in my ears and pressing on my chest. So distracted was I, that I didn't even notice I was being asked something by my mother as she ushered me into our room to unpack.Celia smiled at me as she opened the door to her room, something about getting into her regular clothing now that she was not traveling anymore that day. I looked past her into the room with eyes wide and the feeling of dread growing. She saw my curiosity."What is it, Sean?" she asked me she looked over her shoulder into the room. Past her I could see her bed and nothing else. I looked back at her as she entered the room and then walked out of sight to the right towards what I would later learn was the walk in closet. Doing this she crossed my view of the bed and when it was clear again I saw something that chilled me to the marrow and the pressure came back enough to make me gasp.There, in the bed, now sat an old woman in a sleeping cap and nightgown that looked like something from the 18th century. Her hair was grey and tied up into the cap, her skin was parched and wrinkled but she couldn't have been older than 70. I apologize I cannot be more descriptive than that, not only was it 4 decades ago I was terrified. As I write this the terror is fresh in my breast and my heart is hammering just as it did then. The woman was sitting in the bed looking in the direction that Celia had walk out my field of view, then slowly she turned to look at the doorway. It seemed at the time she was turning her head at the sound of my gasp. Her eyes were angry, unwelcoming and accusing of some misdeed I was being blamed for.I've included a link to something vaguely similar to what I saw. Keep in mind, it's not the same but it can give you a rough impression of what I saw.At that moment my sister and mother walked past, breaking my line of sight as they walked past to go downstairs to get the rest of the suitcases to unpack. I stood frozen, my brother asking me what was wrong as they walked by. After they passed the old woman was nowhere to be seen.I told no adult, nor my sister,  as I remembered the response seeing things like this had gotten me in the past at home. I confided in my brother only, and he'd told me he hadn't seen anything. He proceeded to tell my mother and sister all about all I'd said and all the future events. And yes, she looked real. Like any person you see on the street looks. Solid and alive. That's how a great deal of the spirits I see look, or so I have learned. They appear as they did in life...rarely as how they died unless it was violent or traumatic. This was something I would learn much later but I mention it here in case you're wondering.Needless to say, I always kept my eyes averted from her room so I'd never see that woman again, even refusing to use the upstairs bathroom as I'd have to pass her and risk seeing or feeling her again.My grandparents flat had no oppressive feel to it, but there was a ghost all the same. A figure would walk into the bedroom where my brother and I slept, look around and then leave. He was dressed in a strange helmet shaped like a brimmed soup bowl with a chinstrap and a strange heavy jacket with leather buckles that looked water resistant. I could never see his feet as it was always too dark in the room. As the man entered he always seemed to bring a light with him, as if he glowed mildly. Otherwise I would not have been able to see much of him in the pitch dark of the middle of the night. I have no idea if I woke each time he came, but when I did awake it was usually prefaced by the feeling that I thought my mother had just walked in to check up on my brother and I, which she did now and again.I'm including a link to a picture of what the man looks like that walked through the home at night looked like.One thing I forgot to mention was my mother's morbidity when it came to graveyards. She has been tracing our family tree for ages, and this meant we were usually dragged to find headstones with her maiden name on them. One particular graveyard near my Grandad's flat was apparently where my great grandparents were buried. This graveyard was never empty of people walking through it and looking around. We'd be there many times, clearing the weeds and bracken from the shared grave of my great grandparents and placing flowers before I asked my mother why so many people were milling about. Her answer was:"I don't know Sean.....what people?" she asked as she looked around, finally paying attention to what I asked her. As the youngest in the family I'm rarely listened to and almost everything I said was dismissed or outright ignored. Never before had I wished my mother had ignored my question.I looked up at all the people who were walking amongst the graves and pointed at them. Specifically I pointed at a girl with reddish hair tied up in a pink ribbon that was wearing a light sweater and a dress that came to her knees. Remember when I said we saw three sunny days that summer in England? This was not one of them. We were in our rain gear, this girl and all the others were not. They were all in different attire. Some looked dressy such as suits and dresses, while others were dressed casually. Some looked like they were dressed in the current clothing styles, some were considerably older. I had not noticed it before that moment. Further, not a single one of them even had an umbrella or rain gear of any note to ward off the pattering rain I could hear making noise against the plastic cagoule hood. And though the rain was not falling heavily, it was falling around us sufficiently to turn a sweater completely sodden in minutes.Suddenly breathless, I realized two things:Ghosts can appear in the daylight outside. Something as a child I'd assumed was a "safe" time I would not have to worry about running into these things I was quickly becoming terrified of. And these ghosts had suddenly become aware of me.All of them.As if they were discomfited at scaring me, they all turned to look at me with impassive expressions on their faces, except for the girl I pointed at, and then each of them turned away and faded from sight. It was almost as if they had pulled a screen in front of themselves or stepped from one room to another by changing the focus of their attention. The girl with the reddish hair and the pink ribbon? She didn't disappear, instead she smiled and stayed fairly close listening to our conversations and watching, all in a completely non-threatening manner. No one seemed to notice her or see her throughout our time there, which I was eager to cut as short as possible.Threatening or not, I was leery of her and unwilling to let her close, always keeping my mother between us. I have no idea who she was and I was too scared to find out or even try to talk to her.Just two things I must mention about this graveyard not directly related to the ghosts or spirits I saw there:Firstly, the church that stood before it was where my Aunt Celia was married that summer. Secondly, this was where my Grandad was buried when he died of massive heart attack in his flat in August just after my mother's birthday. And no, I never saw him again. His spirit, despite staying in the flat many more days, never came to me. Nor, might I add, did the man in the helmet ever appear again to me.I'm sure most of this seems innocuous and far from dangerous to the reader, but you have to see it from the point of view of a 5 year old child. Not only that, you have to understand that before this I'd never encountered so many and so often. Only had I ever seen things swirling away, or faces peaking out my closet. But there was much more to be seen in England....ever so much more.For instance, the area along the Thames where the beheadings of many condemned folks that had stayed their last days in the Tower of London gave me nightmares throughout my time there. Things I'd rather never recount or remember. Things that still leave me shaking whenever I see the Tower of London in pictures or film. Rooms filled with ancient torture devices at Windsor Castle and other museums gave brief flashes of things that made me sit up in my bed at night drenched in sweat for years. Darker things did occur during my stay in the UK, but let me finish with the "Event" that seemed to mark the end of things as they had been, and none of the events eclipsed it.Though we stayed with the relations I mentioned and never went to stay with my uncle(Billy), we did however get to visit some distant relations. Distant in both lineage and in mileage. One set was in Scotland and was not spiritually noteworthy except to say that it felt as safe as if I was back in my old home, as though something protecting me. I would later discover that the reason for this was that the family was said to be protected by a few spirits and an "Elemental". For those of you good with a search engine you might discover my family name in Scotland from just the clues I have given you here.But the scariest experience I had was visiting second or third cousins of my mother's, Glynis and Roy. Once again I apologize for not knowing exactly. They are a nice couple with a home that had a past they had no clear answers for. At my aunt's wedding we were told by my aunt Celia about the "Ghost of the Bed". It was an antagonistic spirit that menaced only adult males that slept in the bedroom, not allowing them to sleep, shaking them, waking them with shrieking, attacking them and other more painful events. They'd look into the history of the house and it went back about two hundred years, it being one of the old homes in Wales with a history rich and mostly lost through time. Of course, Roy had only been told these things and had never tried to sleep there himself. A friend of his had tried and left in the middle of the night, never to return.No one stepped forward with more information as to why the spirit did what it did, whether it was male or female, or what had brought its darkness into the home in the first place. All this was recounted by Celia with dark glee, as she looked on the paranormal I would later find out as a fan of Hammer Horror films looks on schlocky movies as something to be sometimes laughed at and sometime horrified by. A non-believer and mundane in every sense of the word, who would later run experiments on haunted locations with me as a guinea pig on her many visits throughout my childhood.Terrified at what I could end up seeing, and now thoroughly exhausted from lack of sleep and decent food. But that's a story for another time. Suffice to say, the words "Cuisine" and "English" to not belong sitting back to back and are as unrelated as any two words can be. Want to know why Harry Potter is always eating candy and treats in the movies? Can't ever go wrong with English sweets and candy.The trip to Wales was long and arduous as we had to stay on the train for several hours and a few train changes and a bus ride. Before it was all over I had been menaced by my sister and brother with the idea of the ghost in the house...ghosts they didn't believe in or could see. Menaced with the idea of being put in the bedroom I was so scared of sleeping in. You know how that is, how children are."We're going to put you in there, Sean! We're going to make you sleep upstairs with the ghost!" they'd torment me, then wail like ghosts, holding their hands in grasping poses like a walking revenant out for human blood.I'd wail and run, scared out of my wits already at the very knowledge I was going to be near it. Certain in fact, despite my mother's claims they wouldn't, that they'd do it all the same and make me sleep in that accursed room.Well human endurance can only go so far when living on egg and chips, fish and salad and saveloy. I passed out on the last bus despite trying to stay awake in order to make sure I was able to make certain I was not put in the wrong room. My siblings had a nasty habit once they knew about the ghosts I could see of locking me in closets just to hear me shrieking in the darkness...darkness that was sometimes not void of...others. I was scared that they would force me into the room and make me face it as they had threatened.My fears were in vain, they never did go through with their threats.I awoke, as children do, slowly and softly to find myself in a bed already despite the fact i could tell by the ambient light that it was still daylight. And it was also sunny outside, one of the three days I mentioned. I was covered in a thick blanket that felt almost as heavy as one of those lead coats they throw on you when you get X-rays at the dentists office. I was warm and comfortable for several seconds before I realized where I was, then terror blossomed in my chest and my heart began to hammer against my little ribcage. I sat up, struggling under the weight of the blanket I now saw was doubled up and made of very heavy material. Don't ask, I have no idea what the material was or if it was a comforter. All I recall is that it was heavy and warm.Sitting up, I look around me at the room. The bed was old and I could hear the springs shift as I did. The headboard was metal, rather like the kind you see in old movies of hospitals, but it was larger and wider. It seemed so large to me at the time, disproportionately big for a child of my small stature. To my right was a window with the pulldown shade drawn from the lintel to within an inch of the sill. I could tell the window was open because of the way the shade moved slightly now and then from air flowing around it, causing the sun that was coming in to vary in intensity. Under the window was a low chest of drawers made of dark stained wood, it looked antique and sturdy. To my left was a tall dresser that was at least 4 feet high but with no mirror on it, also made of dark stained wood. That made me feel frightened for some reason, the lack of a mirror. Don't ask me why.Directly beside the bed on my left was a nightstand made of lighter wood with a single drawer in it. Set atop it was a glass of water and a couple of Welsh Cakes next to the glass. My stomach rumbled at the sight of them and as I reached for my first, I heard a sound and looked at the door for the first time which was just in front of the foot of the bed.The sound of my family, downstairs, laughing loudly at something. It seemed to come up to my as if mocking me, teasing me. Almost like I was put here on purpose to test me, to torture me and expose me to my fears. Because after all, to them it was not real. It was explained away as imagination how many times by my mother since coming to England? I'd long lost count. And I could hear my brother and sister laughing at something, the low voice of Roy interjecting something and then another burst of laughter.Well, I thought, I'll show them. I'll get away. I'll call them all stupid and mean for trying to scare me and laughing about it! Always picking on me, the littlest in the family. The butt of all their insults and tortures! How many times had they locked me in a closet with things reaching for me from the dark? Or in a room with a ghost that could see me as well as I could see it, all in the name of helping me get over my "fears"? So many times!Tears had been tracing down my face as I thought of this, but now they intensified from drops to streams that blurred my sight as my horror and feeling of betrayal intensified. My cheeks were soaked and stung slightly from the hot, salty tears.I moved to get up but paused... I felt it then. Through my whole body I felt it...like suddenly I was deep under water. The pressure was intense and almost like a nightmare in intensity. Like drowning out of water, sinking deeper and deeper every second, the crushing feeling growing tighter and tighter about me. Pressing on my little chest, my shoulders creaked as they were forced into my body and my wrists were crushed into my stomach, almost as if a gigantic hand was gripping me. Looking back now I have no idea how I survived.I tried to move, but my arms could not defeat whatever it was that held me. Another chorus of laughter from under the door drew my attention downward and I could see the gap beneath the door with light from the hallway illuminated a small patch of the wooden carpet and the edge of the rug that the bed sat on. Fighting to draw enough breath to scream for my mother, all I could do was sip the air a little at a time into my lungs and let it out. I tried making noise, little gasps of "Help!" "Mommy!" and calling for my sister and brother...but looking back they couldn't have been louder than a whimper. They were far from where I was and downstairs...and they would probably ignore me anyway as they usually did. I felt betrayed as well as terrified beyond comprehension...but it wasn't even close to what I was was in for.A sound, distant, but persistent and strange reached my ears then in the silence of the room. It didn't echo, it seemed as though the sound was sucked away as soon as each sound finished. It grew steadily louder, and by that I could tell it was getting closer. The grip hadn't lessened on me and in fact began to push DOWN so my little legs were bent at painful angles on the bed. The springs squeaked in response to my downward pressure into the bed and I heard my mother say:"I think I heard Sean upstairs, I'll check on him later. Going to step out for a cigarette...." and it trailed off as she must have gone outside, and the sound of a door opening and closing...then silence. They had all stepped outside, I could now hear the sounds of my brother and sister laughing distantly from the slightly open window to my right.My right hip protested the pain of being crushed in the semi-sitting position with my right leg splayed out to the right and my left extended in front of me. The noise I'd heard, now seemingly emboldened at being alone in the house, grew louder. I could finally tell at last what it sounded like...it was like a groan, only it sounded like a person groaning while inhaling rather than exhaling. And it didn't stop this time, it was inhaling and making the sound, getting louder and louder, closer, but I couldn't see from where. My eye were now rolling around in my eye sockets searching every corner of the room to see if i could find the source of the sound, all the while my mind was crying for my mother, my tears now soaking through the neck of my polo shirt in front of my chest.The groan stopped for an instant, then began again, louder this time and I sensed it was very near. I looked down at the doorway, something had attracted my attention despite the new, burning pain in my chest. What attracted my gaze was the light from under the doorway which was slowly...going...out. It was being blotted out as if by a shadow of something moving over the source from the left of the door to cover the light. Eventually the light was absorbed by a solid line of shadow, and I knew it could not have been a person.A person could not make those sounds.A person could not make this kind of completely eclipsing shadow over the light. There would be a shape of feet or legs or something in the light.The sound was now just outside the wooden door, louder than before, and something more. It was not a single groaning. It was the sound of several people. NO! It was a chorus of them, and it sounded now almost like a painful gasping into air starved lungs, only it never paused to finish taking the perpetual inward breath! The groan didn't sound like it stemmed from pain, no. It sounded almost like an engine getting going, as if it was drawing something it wanted into it. The louder it got, the more I hurt at the pressure of the crushing sensation.As I watched the shadow over the light was taken away as something DARKER began to slide under the door. I know what you're thinking. Darker than the shadow? Darker than a lack of light? YES! Darker! And fuller! I could see an amorphous mass sliding under the door that was darker than midnight and as it entered the room, the sunlight that came in around the shade in the window grew dimmer! The pressure on my chest surged angrily as I was suddenly flung back in the bed and banged my head against the slatted metal headboard, which in turn smashed the wall. The sound of it, though it should have been loud, was like a muffled clunk even to me! As if the sound had been sucked away, or muffled underwater, or with a pillow! Take your pick of metaphor, I'm sure you get what I mean.My head, now dazed from the collision, was too loopy and weak from lack of oxygen to appreciate the reality I could now breathe. All thoughts of escape had long gone and all I wanted was my mother to come rescue me. To drive it off and protect me, to enfold me in her arms. But I realized that would not happen. Despite her promises, she'd put me here or allowed me to be put here. Either way she didn't really care about me.Blearily turning may gaze downward I watched the foot of the bed for signs of it as I prayed,"Let me die fast so it can't touch me or take me! Please...just let me die!" I was so scared all my limbs had gone cold from shock.The groaning started at an all new intensity, revving upwards in the chorus of sound and my eyes grew wide in terror as the dark mass now surged upwards into the air as if standing! And it didn't stop! It stood, and spread out as if oozing into the air, sucking the warmth and oxygen from the room, the light growing dimmer and darker as I laid there numbly, panting in ultimate terror. My thighs grew hot as my urine burst free into my jeans and ran out of my pants and onto the bedding. The groaning changed to an almost overjoyed, triumphant tone and it spread to the left and right like bat wings...reaching around to engulf me in its wicked, hungry, embrace."please, please, please, please..." I realized I was panting, begging as my tears blurred my vision, the mass moved up the bed and the "wings" oozed in slowly to engulf me. All I heard was the groaning, it filled my ears then and seemed to crawl into my head and echo there. A fresh wave of tears made it so all I saw was the blur and the cold feeling in all my limbs, my head propped at a strange angle against the headboard, forcing me to watch as it closed in.The anticipation of its icy touch on my already cold skin repulsed me and I began to shiver uncontrollably. Then, just before I knew it was going to touch me, my vision cleared slightly and I could see it was about to touch my shoulders and embrace me. The noise it made surged one last time, bestial sounds of the predator about to make a kill......but it was all suddenly blotted out by the intense, white hot agony on top of my head! A burning, watery feeling far more intense than if you ever get a shower of hot water in the tub, and it was only happening to the top of my head. Wave upon wave of heat! An agony like the top of my head had just been ripped open with a welding torch or a blow torch, only it didn't fade! And the room was suddenly filled with a blinding white light, so bright my eyes had automatically drawn to slits to protect them!The whole room was filled with it, except for the stygian patch of nightmare before me on the bed. It had halted in mid reach and was now illuminated completely, I could somehow tell it was in pain.Now I could see it entirely, and I wish to heavens I never did. The thing was made up of the images of faces and bodies! All black against black but easily discernible! All caught mid scream, or wail, or groan, or some position of pain and writhing. Contorted in agony, moving slowly within the mass, undulating to the tune of their own trapped misfortune. All molded together into a thin sheet of ultimate darkness, pressed into a fabric of utter damnation! This thing wanted me to become a part of it! Don't ask me how I know, I just KNOW! And though what was in it may have once been human and had the potential for love and mercy, all that was left was the desire to add more to its flock of tortured souls. I have realized since then that the faces I saw, the darkness that it was, it was all merely a covering for the real force behind it. The thing hiding behind the curtain of souls.The light in the room intensified and the burn to my scalp lessened at last, allowing me to move slightly. The mass lept off the bed and seems to be sucked under the door, all the while thrashing left and right as it drew in it's "wings"  to remove them from the reach of the light. It passed into the hallway, the groaning sound receding as sounds from outside and light returned to the room. I could hear my siblings playing and my mother talking to Glynis about something..No idea what it was but it felt so good to hear it no matter what it was.The light was dimming finally and I looked around the room to see where it as coming from, weakly swiveling my head around to try and glimpse the source. But I was against the wall, nothing should have been able to be behind me and that is exactly where it always seemed to be. Always behind and above me, always out of sight.My strength, what little the light had imparted, was flooding out of me rapidly. The thing was gone, I wanted to escape, get out of the room! Now! Reaching my right arm to the left egde of the bed I tried to grab on and pull myself out of bed. I failed as the last of the light and the burning sensation fled me, I tumbled out of bed and headed to the floor.I don't remember hitting the floor.In fact, I don't remember anything that happened for the next three days.My next memories were that I was in Sonia's little green jalopy, heading away from train station in her town and on our way to her house.It took a long time to piece together the story, but here's what I know. They think I'd fallen out of bed after peeing in it that first day. I had gotten up, cleaned myself up and my mother found me half clothed trying to change the sheets. They'd fed us supper, I ate hearty of the wonderful food Glynis had cooked then we'd gone to bed. Through it all I acted normallyThat ws  but I remembered none of it. Perhaps it was shock. What I do remember is eating the Welsh Cakes. Glynis made them herself. Even made me a stack to eat. That my brother didn't like them and my sister was trying to stay in shape for gymnastics meant I had all I wanted.You can say I'm delusional, or that I'm not sane. You can say anything you like. I was never more scared than I was that day, that was because I was a little boy, but I know what I saw.In case you're wondering, did "It" stay in that house? No, in fact Glynis and Roy said that after we were there, during a visit to the US before moving to new Zealand,  someone across the street had died and they figured it had gone to follow the person. Roy slept in the room once to make sure and nothing had happened. I had a different take on things but never spoke to them of what I knew. Wasn't worthwhile telling them the thing followed me and made my life hell, guilt never solved anything.I don't know what it was, I don't care to name it. Give it a name if you need one, I could care less.What I do care about is that from that day on my life was different. It couldn't get to me, so my family turned dark. I don't know if it was the thing that wouldn't let people sleep or not in the tale we were told, I also don't care. What I care about was that my family went from being what it had been to cruel and often times vicious. After we came home the darkness got to my father. I know this because he beat me until I was unable to keep control of my bodily function, even gave me a concussion......all on Christmas Day in 1977. Merry Christmas. The reason? Because I accidentally opened the wrong present.Car accidents followed, also. My father began to drive angry, regularly. I nearly went through a windshield with a full backpack on at age 9, the only thing stopping me was the fact the window wasn't made to shatter. 1970s construction...gotta love it. My mother began to regularly deal out damage to me because my siblings would blame me for things they wanted to see me punished for. And my siblings began to use me as a whipping boy when they were upset. As they explained it, and I am quoting my sister directly here:"Just coming into a room with you in it makes me want to...just hit you, Sean. Find something heavy and WHAM!" to this my brother quickly agreed with her.It made me feel worthless and I withdrew from their presence as much as I could. This seemed to make them more antagonistic, my brother acted as if he were always being egged on to find anything he could easily get away with hitting me in the head with. This even included putting a metal nut on his finger and lashing out at my head when no one was looking., especially the top of my head. Complaining to my mother was useless. I always received a tongue lashing to the effect that either it wasn't serious what was being done or a shout at my brother to stop it. No further punishment to dissuade such behavior was ever meted out.The only solace I had in this time came from my Cuban Grandfather. Papacito. He would protect me, when I was near him I was safest from all of them. Naturally, this dark thing made sure he was gone as soon as possible. My parents divorced suddenly, and my mother drove off my aunts and grandparents. Despite the fact they lived next door to us, she found a way to make them move.After that point the cataracts started to form, and though I could see the spiritual things somewhat as dim outlines I could not see them as clearly as before. No longer did they look like normal people. You see "It" didn't want me to see so easily anymore and it figured out how to reach me. At least that's what I think.Now I have ocular implants and I can see as any of you can see....mostly. Couple more laser treatments. No more cataracts. My ability to see ghosts seems as it was when I was 5.I know this because I was shopping one day after the first surgery and my left eye was unbandaged two days prior. A little girl ran past me giggling and knocked over produce as I watched, then ran through a cart loaded with produce as if it wasn't there. The person stocking the produce, a dour looking hispanic lady, never looked up to follow her. She only humphed in annoyance and picked up the peppers,putting them back where they belonged. I asked if she saw the girl and she gave me a puzzled look.You may be wondering does misfortune still follow me, are my steps dogged by this thing? No. It's gone now.And with good reason, I might add.But that, as they say, is another story.`

[peckhampeculiar]

Nunhead Nick

Words Seamus Hasson; Photo Lima Charlie

In a classic case of the chicken and egg scenario it’s uncertain whether the Old Nun’s Head was named after the area or if it is in fact the other way around. While historians can argue about which came first, there’s no debating the charm and elegance of this local boozer which has a history dating back to the 17th century.

Although the original pub that stood on the site has long-since been replaced; the present Tudor-style bar was built around 1934. Inside, its classic wood panelling and comfy snugs have offered refuge to generations of local residents.

The current custodian of this much-loved Nunhead establishment, Nick McNeill has been at the helm for the past six years. It’s a role he clearly relishes. “I always describe my job as basically inviting the general public to come to my house and have a good time,” Nick tells me.  

“It’s my job to show them a good time, whether it’s through the selling of really nice drinks, really nice food, the entertainment we do or just the general atmosphere and the staff. You know, I want people to come to my house and have a good time and there’s genuine job satisfaction in that.”

I arrive at the Old Nun’s Head on a Wednesday evening to find Nick and Ludo - his two and a half year-old Miniature Labradoodle mingling with the patrons. Nick’s convivial nature and laid back charm is clearly popular with locals but it’s obvious who the real star is.

“Everyone knows Ludo.” Nick says. “He’s lived here since he was a baby. The minute he sees a regular customer his tail starts wagging and every time someone opens a bag of pork scratchings he’s their new best friend.

“We’re a very dog friendly pub and I love having all the different dogs coming in here. And it’s nice to have our own resident dog.” Whilst I distract Nick with questions about the bars food and entertainment, Ludo takes on the role of the perfect host, attracting the attention of passing customers.

His residence in the bar (he lives upstairs with Nick, Nick’s girlfriend and the bar manager Monica) perfectly sums up the establishments sense of fun and irreverence. The bar’s function room hosts a number of regular events including comedy nights, drag queens and queer cabaret shows.

Later that week, Nick informs me they are getting ready for a ‘chilli karaoke competition.’ “Basically you start singing the song,” he explains. “Then after 30 seconds they stop the song and you eat a whole jalapeno chilli pepper. Then you have to finish signing the song. I think it suits this place, it’s silly and we try not to take ourselves too serious.”

And what about the drag queen nights, are they traditional acts like Danny La Rue? I ask, channelling my inner David Brent. “Oh no no no no no definitely not, no,” Nick politely but firmly corrects me. “It’s much more modern, gender fluid, non-binary, arty. Some of it’s political; some of it’s just fun. There’s some stand up, some of it is just dancing and lip syncing. There’s also some quite poignant poetic stuff.

“There aren’t many places in South East London where you can see drag queens and drag kings and stuff like that. We do it because we like it and because it’s fun, not because we’re trying to send any particular message or capture a certain market.”

Comedy nights at the Old Nun’s Head are run by piñata and are described as ‘DIY comedy at its very best.’ “It’s a really varied off the wall comedy show with a real mixture of stuff going on,” Nick says. “It’s not just here’s a bloke with a microphone telling jokes.

“You can go and see that in 100 places and that doesn’t excite me. What excites me is the kind of event where you walk through the door and you’re not quite sure what you’re going to see. We don’t want to be predictable.”

Predictability isn’t something The Old Nun’s Head could be accused of when it comes to entertainment. The bar also hosts drag bingo once a month and even the weekly quiz night is hosted by a stand-up comedian.

On top of all this the confederation of lady arm wrestlers hold events at the bar three or four times a year. “That’s another quite high concept comedy slash sports entertainment show.” Nick laughs.

The bars culture of fun and flippancy extends to their social media accounts which are full of satire and clever memes. When Donald Trump was elected president they offered a free pint and a hug to distraught American customers who showed up with their passport. Then there’s the rather bizarre preoccupation with Ryan Gosling.

As well as being the pubs Wi-Fi password, the website proudly states ‘The Ryan Gosling of Pubs.’ “The guy who hosts the quiz nights used to work here,” Nick explains, “and every time the phone would ring he would answer and say something really stupid.

“One of his favourites was ‘hello, the Old Nun’s Head, the Ryan Gosling of pubs.’ “I’m not sure of the exact thinking behind it but it just sort of stuck.” No doubt if Gosling ever turned up at The Old Nun’s Head, he would be made feel very welcome (if a little freaked out).

Not everyone however buys into the pubs ethos and one slightly uncharitable reviewer on Trip Adviser called them “smug, self-satisfied hipster scum.” “I was like whoa,” Nick says elaborately. “I mean our most regular customer is a guy called Eddie who sits at that bar stool over there. He’s a local legend, everyone knows Eddie, he’s the elite hipster, he’s in his 70s and drinks Kronenberg.”

Nick says that that they’re very passionate about the choice of beers and that they rotate, particularly local breweries as much as possible. Just don’t mention the F word (Fosters) or the C word (Carlsberg) or indeed the S word (Stella).

“We do sell some of the more mainstream stuff as well. I don’t like it if you go into a pub and everything is just exclusive crafty. You know, we’re a pub for everyone so yeah you can get a pint of Kronenberg or a pint of Guinness,” Nick explains.

Food at the Old Nun’s Head is provided by a number of outside caterers who show up on different nights. While I’m there it’s the turn of the hugely popular Garden of Edun, famous for their authentic Nigerian street food. (During our interview pub regular and Nigerian food enthusiast, Vijay turns up for his weekly take-away).

On Monday and Tuesday nights, it’s the turn of Burger Bear who also provide their award winning burgers on Saturdays. Tiger Bites who make Bao buns with fried chicken and vegan fried ‘chick’n’ are currently filling in on Thursday and Friday nights and on Sunday’s traditional roasts are served from the kitchen. It’s fair to say that Old Nun Head’s menu is a cut above your typical hackneyed pub grub. “I always quote that it’s been a good five years since a portion of fish and chips were sold in here,” Nick tells me.

Nick’s passion for the pub and the area is infectious. He first came to South East London 15 years ago when he was a student at Camberwell Art College and has worked in and managed a number of local bars since.

Being in the trade he has kept his finger on the pulse when it comes to change. “When I was living with art students in Camberwell the idea of going into Peckham back then for any reason was crazy. I think Bar Story was the one cool place in Peckham and that was it.

“How it’s changed in those years is amazing. I like Nunhead because we’re that one step away from Peckham. There’s a lot happening in Peckham, It’s a little bit slower in Nunhead and that suits me.”

“What I love most about it is the long running family businesses that have been here for decades. I’m glad that we’ve still got some of that old Nunhead mixed in with the new bars and shops.” When it comes to the pub, Nick is a big advocate of serving the local community.

He considers the staff to be his extended family and when he was told that our photographers were coming out to take his picture he insisted that everyone would be in it – including Ludo of course.

“We try not to be a destination pub,” Nick says. “This is a pub for Nunhead or people who live in and near Nunhead. We want this to be a local pub to be really proud of. My main job isn’t to get people from across the river to come here; I want the people of Nunhead to adore this pub as much as I do.

“We’re not really trying to be cool here, there are cooler pubs in Peckham we’re just about having fun really.”