#I hope no one sees the Shakespeare one up top without reading the description

[infernal-house-demon]

Idk why I’m on such a writing/reading advice kick today but I’ve got so much to say.

This post’s topic: Fig’s guide to reading the classics

I’m was an English major, so of course I am here to tell you that many of the classics are classics for a reason: they’re really fucking good. But I also understand that I’m a big nerd with a special interest and not everyone has the same motivation as me. Hell, sometimes I don’t have the motivation. So, here are some tips for having an easier time with them.

DONT READ SHAKESPEARE

Before anyone freaks out, I am not advocating for you not to consume Shakespeare’s plays. I adore Shakespeare with all my heart. His plays are phenomenal—but they are just that. Plays. If you read the script like it’s a book, of course it’ll feel boring and confusing. That isn’t how they’re meant to be consumed. Obviously the best way is to see it is performed live, but not everyone has that opportunity, myself included. However, you can find lots of recordings online for free. If those aren’t for you either, try listening to them! BBC has a lot of them as audio for free online, many with notable actors you’ll recognize! (Nothing better than hearing David Tennant perform Shakespeare directly into my ears. I love it.) It makes so much more sense to see/hear it performed. It flows so much easier, the emotion carries through in the performance, I promise you you’ll have a far easier time understanding the plot.

2. GOOD TRANSLATIONS

If you’re reading something that was in another language, find a good translation. I thought the Odyssey would be tough to get through in school, but when I actually read it, it was an easy read! I personally like the Robert Fagles translation. Do some research, see what people recommend, and find one that’ll be best for you.

3. ADAPTATIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

Find other ways to get yourself excited about the story. If there’s an illustrated version of the book and you’re a visual person, get it! My brother got me an illustrated version of the Divine Comedy and while my reading is still going pretty slow, the pictures absolutely help me engage more. Additionally, if a book seems daunting to you, try an adaptation first. (I am typically a read the book before the movie type person, but if doing it the other way around will get you into it, do it!) Keep in mind adaptations will be different (I’m looking at you Epic: The Musical, my beloved) but if they get you interested in the story and themes then use that as your way in.

4. TAKE YOUR TIME

I kid you not when I say that it’s been five years and I still haven’t finished the Great Gatsby. It’s because I only read it when I’m at the airport. It’s my airport book. I don’t read it on the plane (motion sickness), I only read it while I’m waiting to board. For whatever reason, that’s the context where it’s easier for me to get into it. I will finish it someday. Probably. There’s no rush.

5. SUMMARIES

Summaries are your best friend. I read A Tale of Two Cities in high school. I thought it was fantastic. There were absolutely chapters where I had to look up the spark notes to figure out what in the fuck was going on. Especially with writing from this time period, sometimes you encounter a sentence the length of an entire paragraph, and suddenly it’s four semicolons later and you can’t remember where you started. Language evolves and changes; you’re not stupid if it doesn’t come naturally to you, and you should give yourself whatever help you need to in order to still engage with it.

6. TAKE YOUR TIME (Part 2)

You don’t have to read them all. Ever. Read the ones that sound interesting to you. If people try to say “oh my god you haven’t read (insert famous literature here)” just ignore them. I haven’t read the Picture of Dorian Grey. I still haven’t read the Iliad even though I’ve read the Odyssey. Maybe I’ll get there someday. I’m certain I’ll like both of them. But I’m not in a rush. They’re in my pile of books to read and I’ll get there when I get there. There’s nothing wrong with having a collection of unread books. And again, you do not have to read all of them. They’re not all worth reading anyway, which brings me to my next and final point.

7. IF IT SUCKS, HIT THE BRICKS

There are a lot of books touted as classics, many of which we have to read in school, that I think are stellar. There are other ones that I think have no right to be held up as anything worthwhile. This is about my personal beef with the Scarlet Letter lol. I had to read it in one of my university classes. And let me tell you: I could not finish this book. Now, not to sound full of myself, but I have good reading comprehension and a wide vocabulary. My nerdy ass was explaining what was going on in Shakespeare to my classmates when I was 13. English is where I thrive. When I tell you that reading the Scarlet Letter felt less interesting to me that reading a car manual, I am not exaggerating in the slightest. It felt like raking my brain over hot coals. It was boring. I hated it. I straight up don’t think it’s a good book and I’m certain there are better ones out there that cover the same topic and themes. So I didn’t finish it, and in fact refuse to ever pick it up again. Just because something is a classic, doesn’t mean it’s good, and doesn’t mean you have to read it. Find the ones that work for you (I have so many recommendations). Also, look at other stuff from the same time period that isn’t considered “classic.” Ask yourself why. When I personally look back at what we were given in school, a lot of it was white male centric. I was lucky to have professors at university who showed us voices outside of this.

All this to say, reading stuff from different periods of time is such an enriching experience, but if it isn’t something you’re deeply interested in, it can be hard to get into. I hope some of this is helpful and makes the idea of engaging with these stories easier for people.

[ithinkabouttzu]

Hi!!! Is it possible to get a BoB ship???

I’m 5’3 with a hourglass build but I’m always a little self conscious about my chest bc it seems to draw a lot of attention, sometimes unwanted. Other than that, I’m pretty confident though most would say I’m pretty quiet unless I’m totally warmed up to someone. I tend to be very stubborn and sometimes say mean things when I’m angry, but I always try to keep a cool head as much as I can. I have auburn hair and really dark eyes. Freckles and dimples that everyone seems to love when they notice. It usually surprises people bc I have really bad resting bitch face 😭. Some people I know have gone so long without realizing I have dimples tbh.

I love to read!!! Like totally obsessed. I also know way too much about dogs but I love all animals in general. Id say baking, running, and gardening are like my top hobbies but I also love a glass of wine and a good tv show tbh. I for some reason have a knack for drawing in either very unhinged guys or very calm guys. Idk why there’s never been some middle ground there but 🤷‍♀️. Idk if any of this even helps but I love your ships! If you can’t get to this one, it’s totally fine! Thank you!

Thanks for your request lovely! Sorry this took so long to get to! life has been busy but i'm glad to finally put this out :))) of topic but from your description you sound gorgeous! Hope you enjoy <33

I ship you with......

Joe Liebgott!

Song recommendation:

I think you two would compliment one another so nicely.

You want unhinged? Here’s your guy, he’s the perfect mix of sweet and psycho. An awesome boyfriend and chaotic in the best way, but if someone crosses you wrong he’s coming at them full force.

When he first meets you, he would swear that you were the girl for him, he genuinely thinks you are the prettiest human being he's ever met, he'll do anything to have you.

Let's say you're a nurse and you two meet in some small pub before D-day. He would be staring at you all night, just waiting to make a move on you. He wants to approach you but then all of a sudden he gets really shy?

And he never gets this way when it comes to women , so he's not really sure what to do. Just say hello? Ask you to dance?

He finally decides on the latter, making his way to you quickly before he can regret it. And when finally gets to you, he's blank. It's like he's forgotten everything he was going to say to you when he looked into your eyes (sounds corny ik but just bear with me) it’s also so cute but the first thing he would notice about you is your dimples 🥺

You guys would have a ball, dancing and talking all night with one another, by the time the night ended, he would be completely smitten with you and try to see you anytime he could, and even during the war he would write you tons of little love letters that would make you smile

He thinks you’re jaw-dropping beautiful, he can’t help but think about you in such a sweet way, while he was gone, he would spend any down time that he had thinking of you or writing you letters. All of the guys would tease him about it for sure 😭

And don’t even get me started on how cute some of the letters would be, he’d write them in his best handwriting and write out the sweetest things ever (he would turn into shakespeare fr)

When he finally comes back from the war and you two settle down together, the first thing he gets for you is a sweet little dog. (if you want one) He knows how much you love them and would do anything to make you smile

Speaking of making you smile, this man would be so attentive to you when it comes to your interests and such. If you wanted, he would buy you plenty of books and he would always ask you about the book you’re reading, or if you want to run with him he would go along with you for sure!

I know for a fact that he would LOVE your baking, I mean this guy looks forward to your famous brownies and cookies. For his birthday his ask for you would be lots of your homemade treats for him.

He would hate for you ever to be self conscious about any part of your body, he would remind you over and over again how beautiful you were to him, and if anyone tried making you feel uncomfortable he would make sure to kiss their ass.

He would love to watch a nice movie with you over a nice glass of wine, it’s probably one of his favorite times with you honestly. Just you and him relaxing with one another after a long day.

Both of you can tend to be a bit stubborn sometimes but it’s really only because you guys want the best in y’all’s relationship, even if he does (very rarely) get snappy with you he’ll make sure to buy you flowers and some treats to say sorry

I know for a fact that he would be so attractive to your confidence, just the way you walk and the way you carry yourself makes him want to praise the ground you walk on.

Also, he lowkey finds it attractive when you get mad at him or you show him that resting bitch face. Like whenever you get heated about something you love and you’re trying to prove a point all he can do is look at you with love 😭

Overall he’d be such a great bf. He’s so sweet and supportive of you and just know that he would ALWAYS be in your corner no matter what 💞

Thank you for your request!! I hope you enjoy again lovely!!! 💝💝

[rubysunnday]

your song, prt 2 | c.b

Summary: As their wedding day approaches, Y/N’s parents continue to disappoint her. Colin reminds her that his own family is now hers.

Part 1 

Colin Bridgerton had a way with words.

Ever since the concert, he hadn’t stopped writing Y/N little notes, proclaiming his love to her and comparing her to a summer’s day. Y/N was almost certain that half the things he wrote down where stolen directly from Anthony’s copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets, but she wasn’t complaining.

In the dozens of letters he sent her from when he was on his travels abroad, he always managed to describe what he was seeing in a way that made Y/N feel like she was there. From his vivid descriptions of the Grecian beaches lined with houses of every colour to the snowy heights of Norway, Colin somehow always made her feel as if she was there.

Y/N treasured each and every letter he sent her, tying them all together with a beautiful ribbon that he'd sent all the way from Amsterdam. They sat on her shelf next to the dried flowers that had been a part the bouquet of flowers he'd given her for her birthday.

She had spent the day with the Bridgerton's since her own parents were too busy up in Scotland to come down to celebrate.

Her parents were constantly disappointing her. They had barely even acknowledged her since she’d announced her engagement and she was tired of being ignored. 

Y/N walked into the drawing room of Bridgerton House, a fake smile on her face. 

“Y/N!” Hyacinth squealed, running up to her future sister-in-law and hugging her.

“Hello, Hyacinth,” Y/N said, returning her hug.

"I thought your parents were coming," Anthony said, noticing Y/N's lack of escort. His brow furrowed in concern as he noticed Y/N’s forced smile.

"They are in Scotland," Y/N replied, sitting down on the sofa and sighing. "They are too busy with my sister's horse riding competition to bother coming down to celebrate."

Y/N was trying to hide her upset about being forgotten by her parents. It wasn't the first time it had happened and it probably wouldn't be the last. Y/N's sister was their dream child - the talented one who would probably be the diamond of whatever year she decided to make her debut in.

Y/N's own debut had been almost ruined by her parents. Her grandfather had died two days before she'd been due to be presented to the queen and her parents and vanished overnight to Cornwall, leaving Y/N behind with no one to present her or accompany her to the ball.

Which was when Colin had stepped in. They'd found each other out in Hyde Park where Y/N had gone to escape her house and by the time they'd walked back to Bridgerton House, Colin had decided that Y/N was worthy of so much more than what her parents were giving her.

"Anthony!" Colin yelled, as soon as he walked inside the front door of Bridgerton house. "Anthony!"

"Colin, be quiet, it is fine," Y/N said, hitting his arm not too gently.

"No, it is not fine," Colin replied, his usual cheeky grin absent. "This is one of the most important days in your life and they have just left you! Anthony!"

"Colin, will you stop yelling!" Y/N hissed, noticing the staff giving them both bizarre looks.

Colin didn't listen. "ANTH - oh, there you are."

Anthony Bridgerton all but ran down the stairs, panic on his face. "What, who is injured?"

"No one," Colin replied, frowning. "What made you think that?"

"You yelling, probably," Y/N muttered, yelping as Colin elbowed her.

Anthony sighed and closed his eyes in despair. "Colin,” Anthony said slowly, looking up “what do you want?"

Colin shoved Y/N forward, the woman almost falling into Anthony at the sudden shove. She shot Colin a glare but he ignored it, putting his hands on her shoulders and spinning her back to face Anthony.

"Y/N, here. Our wonderful, amazing Y/N, has been abandoned by her parents. They will not be able to present her to the queen in two day's time nor will they be able to escort her to the ball. Therefore, I was wondering if you and mother could do it."

Y/N looked up at Anthony. She'd known him since she was eight and the Viscount had become a parental figure in her life, replacing the lacklustre figure that was her actual father. But asking him and his mother to present her to the queen was a massive ask.

Anthony's eyes softened as he looked down at Y/N. He put a hand on her shoulder and nodded. "Of course we can. Come upstairs, Y/N, Eloise will be very annoyed if she finds out you stopped by and did not say hello. We can talk more then."

Y/N took Anthony's arm and let him walk her up the stairs. She glanced behind her and mouthed a thank you to Colin who sent her a smile and a thumbs up.

Anthony gestured to the sofa next to Eloise and Y/N blinked, suddenly remembering where she was. 

"So, your parents are continuing the standard they set when they did not turn up to your debut, then?" Eloise asked, moving up as Y/N sat down next to her. She offered the tin of sweets she was holding out to her.

"Please, do not remind me," Y/N muttered, taking a red sweet. "Thank you, again, for saving me," Y/N said, looking up at Anthony and Violet. "Truly."

"Do not worry about it, my dear," Violet replied, waving her off. "Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

"If you do not - Colin, what on earth?"

Y/N stared at Colin, who was struggling to hold a large bouquet of roses, hyacinths, elderflowers and daisies, with a perplexed look.

"Happy birthday!" He exclaimed, setting them on the table in front of her.

Y/N leant back to avoid being poked in the eye by a branch of elderflower. "I..."

Colin's face fell. "You hate them, I can tell. I was not sure how big was too big or how many flowers to include -"

"Colin, I love it," Y/N said, cutting him off. "I just was not... expecting anything."

Colin smiled down at her. "I could not remember which flower was your favourite out of them," he said, fiddling with a daisy, "but I remembered you liked how purple contrasts with blue and how yellow breaks the colours up like it does in a sunset. Specifically -"

"The Athens sunset of July 1814," Y/N said softly, remembering every single detail of that letter.

Colin's description of the sunset had stuck with her ever since. He'd described it in so much detail she'd felt as if she'd been sat next to him on the beach.

Her birthday flowers had only been the start. Colin seemed to remember every passage that had transported her, every sentence that had made her envy his freedom, every word Y/N had felt connected to and turned it into affection and gifts.

He made her feel wanted and loved when her own parents forgot about her or dismissed her. Whenever she cried he picked her up and read from his journals to distract her. Every single ball he would compare her dress to a sunset he'd seen and Y/N would just listen in awe as the words flowed like a song.

And then he had actually written her a song and had gotten it performed at the opera and Y/N had fallen head over heels in love with him. Colin had proposed to her that night and Y/N hadn’t hesitated before saying yes.

Colin had began leaving notes around her house, counting down to their wedding day. They’d come accompanied by flowers or little presents and even watercolours of her favourite places. Y/N kept them all in a box under her bed, hidden away from her parents who, if she was honest, didn’t really care about Y/N’s wedding or her successful match. 

Her parents lack of interest in her or her wedding hurt. Y/N was hoping that her match to Colin would have at least perked something inside them but all she’d received was stoney silence and her father telling her that they couldn’t make it. He didn’t say why they couldn’t make it, just that they couldn’t make it. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Colin asked quietly, nudging Y/N’s arm.

Y/N turned her head to look at Colin, realising that he’d evicted Eloise off the sofa and taken her place. Benedict and Anthony were both looking over at them with matching looks of concern but Y/N focused on Colin and nodded. “I am fine, Colin. I am simply thinking.”

“Well, we all know how dangerous that is for you, my love,” Colin replied teasingly, winking at her. His smile faded as he noticed her solemn expression. “Come on, tell me what is wrong.”

“My parents,” Y/N said quietly. “They... well, you know what they do to me. They have said that they are not coming to the wedding and have not even acknowledged me since we got engaged. They do not even acknowledge my birthday and I just -” Y/N cut herself off with a hefty sigh and dropped her head onto Colin’s shoulder. “I am so tired of them.”

Colin rested his head on top of Y/N’s and held her hand. “I know you are, darling. I am sorry they are not better parents. But,” he lifted his head up and gently tilted Y/N’s chin up, “you do not have to worry about them anymore. My family is your family, Y/N.”

Anthony, who had been listening to every word, spoke up. “Y/N, I will happily walk you down the aisle if you do not want your parents there.”

Y/N nodded and smiled, feeling tears burning her eyes. “Thank you, Anthony.”

Anthony could read her like a book and got up, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I promise you, I will not let them ruin your day.”

Y/N nodded. “I know, Anthony, thank you.”

Colin nudged her. “See, I told you. Besides, I do not believe that Hyacinth will let you go anywhere without her. You are a Bridgerton now.”

Y/N smiled sadly and kissed him on the cheek. “I cannot wait to marry you, Colin Bridgerton.”

“I cannot wait to marry you either, Y/N Bridgerton,” Colin replied with a smile.

[yoonjinkooked]

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien | Jimin

moodboard by the lovely and amazing @flajka, who was also my #1 helper and support through the torturous 10 month journey that this story was. 

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers, smut, romcom

Warnings: explicit sex, slight exhibitionism (fingering, out in the open but not in public, boat sex, oral (f and m receiving) brief but gory painting description, a lot of cursing, Jimin will end you Word Count: 19k+  Summary: You keep meeting a handsome stranger in Paris. One coincidence after another leads to the most amazing trip of your life A/N: This shit took 10 months to write. Thank @flajka, Kehlani and Jimin’s sexy Paris photos.  Spotify playlists for this fic are: 1 / 2 / 3  - I had to separate them because you can’t put Edith Piaf on the same playlist as Ace Of Base.  Hope you enjoy! 

Looking up from the screen of your phone, you blink once, twice, three times – you are not where you are supposed to be and Google maps are the stupidest invention ever.

It took you two hours to find your Airbnb apartment yesterday, all because Google maps were not quite user friendly. Not to mention that your sense of direction was utterly pathetic.

Yet despite all of that, you were absolutely positive that finding ‘Shakespeare and company’ would be an easy task – after all, you were so close to it, having just spent 10 minutes mourning the fact that the Notre-Dame was still very much unapproachable. From there to the bookstore, the route should have been easy to follow but alas, it was not. Somehow, you have managed to confuse yourself even further.

Looking around in place, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the green doors and a sign that tells you that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as bad as you think it is – ‘Shakespeare and Company’.

There it is, the bookstore with such rich history, one of your must-see places in Paris, something that the ‘Midnight in Paris’ lover in you had to tick off the list – there it is, right before you and very much closed. You check the time, finding that it is almost nine – a quick Google search, which is something you should have done before leaving your apartment – tells you that it opens up at half past nine.

You don’t have time, you absolutely don’t have time to sit around and wait for it to open. It’s going to take you some time to reach the 7th Arrondissement and once you do get there, two museums await. Wasting time, waiting for a bookstore to open is not a luxury you can afford right now.

Perhaps you will have time before you leave. After all, you still have a week to spend in the city of light and although your plans are pretty strict and well-organized, you are aware that some changes are bound to happen. But you will leave that for the last day – right now, you only have a few minutes of your life to offer to a closed bookstore.

As you take photos of the famed location, you recall the comments your mother made before you left, about how a young woman shouldn’t travel alone in a foreign country. She had a point – one shouldn’t travel alone if they want to have at least one photo of themselves on the memory card. It sucks a bit but you don’t let it dampen your mood – you don’t need photos to preserve the memories. A selfie stick was always an option but it was also beneath you – something you’ve decided when they first appeared.

“Is it closed?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump a bit, as you weren’t aware that you had company. The man looking at you seems to be about your age and a tourist, if the camera around his neck is anything to go by. The brief once-over you give him lets you know he is also unnaturally attractive.

“Yeah,” you tell him, offering him a compassionate smile when you see his expression sour. “It should open soon though – about half an hour, if Google is correct.”

“Thanks for the info,” he smiles, before he lifts up his camera and starts taking photos. You realize that the chit-chat is over, so you resume taking photos as well. Just a few seconds later, his presence gave you an idea.

“Hey, would you mind taking a photo of me?” you ask sheepishly, smiling when he nods his head at once. “I’m travelling alone and I just want at least one photo of me in the folder, you know?”

“I can relate,” he chuckles as he takes the camera from you. “How do you want to take it? Casually touristy, right in front of it or artsy, with you looking up at the sign in awe?”

“Artsy,” he laughs at your immediate response, to which you simply shrug. “When will I be artsy if not in Paris?”

“Touché,” he agrees, before directing you so that he can take a decent shot. “Turn a bit to the left.”

A few seconds later, it’s his turn. After settling your own camera around your neck, you take his and take a few photos of him as he stands in the same spot you did, looking up at the sign in fake awe. This gives you a chance to properly look at him for the first time. He is indeed handsome, insanely so. Dark brown hair swept away from his face, insanely clear skin and a jaw that could cut right through glass. Looking right at him is almost blinding and you rush to take the photos.

“All done,” you smile as you return the camera to him. “I think you have a few decent shots there.”

“Thanks,” he smiles as you adjust your backpack, ready to take your leave – Shakespeare will have to enjoy your company some other day. “Enjoy the rest of Paris.”

“Yeah, you too,” you smile back at the man, mumbling under your breath as you leave because it serves you right to meet the most handsome man ever half-way across the world.

By the time you finally escape the Parisian metro, you are dead tired. Musée Rodin was just as beautiful as ‘Midnight in Paris’ made it seem to be. You’ve spent the good part of the morning roaming it’s gardens, before finally moving onto Les Invalides, which housed the tomb of the oh so great Napoleon Bonaparte. That was arguably less exciting than Musée Rodin, with you actually giving up on it completely as soon as you saw his tomb. The comments you thought of while admiring the size of the tomb and him obviously carrying his complexes into afterlife were left to you alone, making you chuckle at random times and earning a few curious looks from your fellow tourists.

Your tourist escapades ended at Champ de Mars, with an impromptu picnic which included sitting on your jacket and eating a marvelous French feast made up from pre-packaged Starbucks caramel macchiato and salt&vinegar chips – mmm, so French it hurts. Originally, you wanted to wait for the infamous light show to start but after just an hour, you have already given up and made your leave, hoping not to get lost in the metro yet again.

Luckily, you didn’t. You were so tired by the time you got to the place you rented in the outskirts of Paris that you barely had the energy to shower. And tomorrow, with Versailles being your top priority, your day was bound to be even more tiring.

You are fuming, absolutely fuming, wanting nothing more than to curse out loud and stomp on the ground. You have been tricked and that was just the drop that made the glass overflow.

You woke up with a massive headache and after forcing yourself to eat a bit, you could finally drink medication. By the time you were ready to leave your rental apartment, the timetable you made for today was already long forgotten – you’re at least an hour late.

But that isn’t a problem. It’s not even the ever confusing metro, because somehow, with a lot of help from locals, you’ve managed to figure out where you should wait for the right ride to Versailles. All of it was a bit stress inducing but definitely not a problem. The real problem occurred when you were in front of the magnificent golden gates, which you couldn’t even see because of the massive line.

Clutching your fast pass ticket, you approach a smaller line leading to the entrance, hoping and praying that you weren’t wasting your time waiting there instead of in the massive crowd, hoping that your fast pass can actually let you pass, fast.

You were mistaken. Apparently, every single human being waiting in the long ass line also had the fast pass ticket. How long do people without a fast pass have to wait is a question you don’t even want to know the answer to. With a few huffs and puffs, you took your place in line, annoyed at anything and everything, starting from the stupid agency who sold you this worthless ticket, right down to your best friend who suggested taking this trip together, only to bail on you to let her boyfriend take her to Ibiza.

As if all of that was not enough to ruin your mood, rain had started to fall, damping your clothes enough so that they match your mood.  At least you were ready for it, having read up about the unpredictable early summer rains of Paris and making sure to never leave the apartment without your hideously yellow umbrella.

An hour and a half later, you finally put the damn fast pass into use and enter the extravagant home of some Louis – you’re not ashamed to admit to not know which one. After all, you were about to learn.

The inside of the magnificent palace left you with mixed emotions, in all honesty. On one hand, it truly is as grand and striking as you had always imagined it to be. On the other hand, the crowd was killing you. Teens running around and touching things they shouldn’t be touching, people looking at everything through the screen of their phones and cameras instead of actually looking… It all left you feeling a bit on edge and wishing you had a chance to attend a private tour or something. Knowing that you will probably experience the same thing later today in the Louvre wasn’t helping either.

Every time you would pass a window, you found yourself wanting to be outside and after an hour of torture and not being able to enjoy anything, you have finally given up – fuck the rain, fuck it all – most people are still inside to avoid the rain after all and you do have your trusted umbrella with you.

Stepping into the gardens of Versailles was the best decision you could have made and you regretted not making it sooner. There were very few people outside and even the light drizzle could not ruin the experience of such a beautiful place. It’s fascinating, really, to look from the balcony above and to not see the end to all the gardens, green labyrinths, with many fountains and statues placed at nearly every corner.

It was almost impossible for you to decide where to start, so you just decided to roam freely, with no end goal in mind. You don’t even bother with your camera much, once you reach the seemingly endless green maze. The view from higher ground is magnificent but as you walk around, all you see is green hedges, incredibly tall green hedges – a very literal maze of plants. The smell is comforting – a mixture of the familiar smell of rain and of plants – more specifically, grass.

You wander around, enjoying the peace and quiet. There are more people in the maze but they are far from you and compared to the crowd you were in just minutes ago, they are ignorable, unless they are heading directly in your direction.

You recognize him instantly – other than a few locals you’ve asked for directions, he is the only person you exchanged more than one sentence with – it’s the guy from ‘Shakespeare and Company’, walking towards you. Your fear of awkwardness makes you lower the umbrella so that you can pretend that you simply didn’t see him. You only lift the umbrella up when you see his feet walk by you.

It would be weird and awkward. What do you say to someone you recognize but don’t really know? Hey? What if he doesn’t remember you and you embarrass yourself for no good reason? No, this was completely ignorable, luckily for you.

You are not fast enough the second time. The next crossroad in the maze leaves you making eye contact with him, as he is standing parallel to you, with a solid distance in-between. Solid enough for you to still pretend you do not recognized him. The eye contact made you feel a bit uneasy because what if he remembers you too? The awkwardness you’ve wanted to avoid might have just doubled.

So you walk on, taking a left turn as soon as you find one, finding the first ‘hidden room’ of the maze and a breathtaking, extravagant fountain that all but begs for you to take photos of it. Consciously steering away from the direction he seemed to have been taking, you walk along.

Left, straight, left again, straight, a bit to the right – you even manage to lose track of your surroundings, hoping that you are heading towards the gigantic fountain you’ve seen from the upper balcony.

Yet somehow, you still manage to see him again and much to your dismay, make direct eye contact. He is standing parallel from you and before you turned around and started walking, you could see what looked like mild confusion on his face.

Crap. He must have recognized you to a certain extent and now you’re making it painfully obvious that you are running away from him. For no good reason, too. You could have simply said “Oh hey, I remember you from yesterday, enjoy Versailles” or something along that line and made your exit but no, god no, you just had to make a fool of yourself.

You’ve never taken pride in your title of awkward social potato and this little mishap has to rank pretty high on your list of embarrassing moments. Sure, weird eye contact isn’t that big of a deal but the fact that it could have been easily avoid it and wasn’t only makes it 10 times worse.

Surprisingly enough, as soon as you realize that you’re being ridiculous, you have a chance for a do-over.

By the time you’ve reached the grand fountain, with a very confusing yet majestic statue of horses in the middle of it, you see him again, standing right on the edge of it, luckily not looking your way. Once again you are reminded of just how good looking he is and it’s not helping you with what you are about to do, since insanely attractive men tend to make you nervous and tongue tied.

“Well, at least the Versailles was open,” you try to sound as casual as possible as you stand a few feet away from him, watching as confusion disappears from his face as he puts two and two together.

“I thought I recognized you,” he laughs and you realize that his laughter is as melodic as his voice. Damn him. “They opened yesterday minutes after you left,” he tells you and to that you shrug.

“Nine days in Paris aren’t enough – I had museums to see,” you tell him, watching as he nods in understanding, still smiling at you. “I hope you enjoyed it, though.”

“I did,” he tells you. “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a photo of me?” he sounds as sheepish as you did yesterday. “You’re the only stranger I’d trust with my camera,” he adds. He makes a simple sentence like that hit you like a full force flirt and by the time you actually take the camera from his hands, you are positive you are blushing.

You take a few photos of him, his insanely good profile in particular, hoping that you are not drooling all over yourself. “Return the favor?” you ask, lifting your own camera, to which he laughs and extends his hand to you.

Posing is always awkward, period. Posing to a hot stranger is borderline traumatic. You do it anyways, looking away from the camera because you’ve had enough “eye contact” with him to last you a lifetime. Awkwardly standing in front of him, you wait as he checks the photos before smiling up at you and offering the camera back to you. “Perfect.”

“Thanks. Enjoy the rest of Versailles,” you casually announce your departure, feeling relieved and regretful at the same time as you walk away from him, backwards. In all honesty, the kind smile on your face made you want to stick around for a while longer.

“Thanks, you too.”

You turn around and walk away, taking a deep breath to relax yourself. The Louvre awaits – hot strangers will have their turn some other time.  

Four days in Paris were enough for you to start your own list of unpopular, maybe even popular, opinions about the city. You were always interested in the city but never obsessed with it, like many are, so you’d say that your opinions are unbiased, at least to a certain extent.

For example, Parisians are nice and they actually do make an effort to speak English if you ask them something. Of course, not everyone has the same experience but the urban myth of them being condescending, rude and downright ignoring people who speak English was proven to be false.

Yes, the city is gorgeous but it has so much to offer beside a fairly tall tower.

And last, but certainly not least – the Louvre is overrated.

After waiting in rain, again (not the museum’s fault, obviously), you finally got inside, only to proceed and get lost four times. Actual four times, you had no idea where you were and where you were supposed to go next. You were nearly trampled in front of the Mona Lisa, all while watching in shock as the people were pushing each other to try and take a selfie with the iconic painting behind them. That was the first instance when you thought how much you hate people. The next one was when you saw a grown adult, a man in his 30s, grabbing an antique Greek statue by the balls.

It was at that point that the museum walking became torture to you. Paired with its confusing layout and the employees who either truly had no idea how to help you or simply didn’t want to bother with helping a pesky tourist, you ended up wandering aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing at all, wondering how much it would cost to get an exclusive, chaperoned, after-hours tour of the Louvre. Probably too much for someone who’s keeping cheap ramen in their rented apartment.

Muse d’Orsay, your present location, is something else entirely. It is painfully obvious that at least a third of the yesterday’s crowd only went to the Luvre because someone told them they should, you overheard a few say as much, and compared to that, the visitors of Muse d’Orsay came here on their own accord. It is decently full, but not crowded. The only place where you actually had to wait in line was in front of Van Gogh’s artwork, which was to be expected.

The entire place is casual, yet sophisticated, far less confusing compared to the gigantic mess that is The Louvre. You can take your time and go wherever, without having to consult a map and pray that you’re not confusing yourself even further. You can also sit and relax for a little while, which is something your tired feet are extremely grateful for but in a very unusual way, the people around you are making you feel uncomfortable. Most of them are casually sitting and sketching the gigantic clock, the centerpiece of Muse d’Orsay and while observing that is beautiful, it also remindes you that you are, to put it nicely, talentless in the same field.

So you keep on roaming, until you find your place on a bench set before an enormous painting. Definitely three times, if not four, your height, The Women of Gaul has your full attention. The piece is as eerie and hauntingly beautiful as it is confusing – like many times over the last couple of days, you’re not sure where to look first. What catches your attention, bizarrely, is the center character – a woman, standing tall and proud with an angry look on her face and holding a dead baby by the arm.

It appears as if she has killed the baby on her own accord – she’d rather lose everything she has than surrender. Admirable and scary at the same time. With all due respect to the masterpiece, she looks ready to bitchslap some soldiers.

“We meet again, stranger,” you only realize someone is talking to you when they sit a few feet away from you and you nearly choke on dry air when you realize it’s him – the Shakespeare guy, the Versailles guy, your unofficial photographer, in all of his ripped jeans glory.

“Wow,” you laugh. How big is Paris? How many people live here, how many tourists roam the streets every day? And yet three days in a row, you see him. “We keep bumping into each other.”

“Looks like our travel itineraries keep overlapping,” he chuckles. “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he adds, before the silence turns awkward. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he offers you his hand, which you accept instantly.

“Y/N,” you shake his hand. “So, how’s Paris working out for you?”

“I love it,” he admits, looking away from you to focus on the much less friendlier woman in the painting in front of you. “I like it more than I thought I would, in all honesty.”

“Same here,” you admit, finding it quite easy to talk to him, given that you are usually definitely more apprehensive when it comes to people you don’t know. But hey, you know his name now – that counts, right? “From word of mouth alone, I thought it was a bit overrated but it has its charms. Plenty of them, actually.”

“Museums or city streets?” he asks, turning to look at you again. He has striking, dark eyes that have no trouble looking directly at yours – you, on the other hand, swallow a lump. “Which do you enjoy more?”

“A bit of both, depends on the day,” you sound way more casual than you feel. “You?”

“City streets,” he answers, focusing on the painting again. “Art is amazing but art is art, wherever you are. While cities… they’re all different. Each city has its own thing and as much as I enjoy looking at artwork, I’d rather pick… exploring the city, breathing it in. Polluted air and all.”

“Makes sense,” you agree, knowing just how right he is. A museum is a museum, whether it’s in Paris or the tiniest of towns. It’s fascinating but it’s still a building with four walls and a roof – outside, the streets, the people, the charm distinct to each city – that’s where all the fun is at.

“Have you seen the impressionism area?” he asks.

“Not yet, why?”

“Me neither,” he laughs, confusing you a bit. “Travelling alone is fun but at times it can get painfully dull. I thought maybe you’d want to look around the museum a bit more and then we can go somewhere?”

Oh. Okay. He wants your company. Surprising, yet flattering.

“I’d love to,” you find yourself answering, ignoring all the possible red flags you probably should have not ignored – after all, this is fairly similar to the plot of Taken, and you don’t have a Liam Neeson waiting to rescue you. Mr. Ripped Jeans Jimin has a point – travelling alone can be very dull. With how the two of you have been running into each other for days now, it seems like the universe wants you to have someone to talk to for a while. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Montmartre?” he suggests after considering your question for a few seconds. “The stairs in front of Sacré-Cœur are always a good idea?”

He isn’t wrong - Sacré-Cœur is very much on your bucket list – scheduled for tomorrow, right on time to see the sunset. But at the same time, you have no specific plans for this afternoon and Jimin does seem like he could be good company.

Why not?

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, feeling a metaphorical punch to your gut when his face lights up once you agree with his idea. “Let’s see those impressionists first, shall we?”

The language barrier is quite something. Despite knowing a few basic French words and phrases, your pronunciation is so damn tragic, no transaction was possible without the use of English and sometimes, like right now, lots of waving and pointing.

Jimin was looking at you in amusement while you desperately tried to explain that you need one chocolate croissant. By the point the lady behind the counter understood what you wanted, you were more than happy to leave with whatever the hell she’d give you, even if it’s not your precious croissant.

“Do you want something? Are you hungry?” you ask, wanting to treat him to some food since he insisted on paying for the bottle of wine that is currently in his backpack.

He nods, proceeding to speak to state his order in what sounds like fluent French. “I got some for you too,” he tells you as he elegantly stands in front of you, taking out his wallet and smiling as he sees that you are about to protest. “No way,” he shakes his head. “I’m paying – I ordered more. Besides, if you are buying the chocolate croissant, you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”

A comment like that could have sounded extremely condescending coming from anyone else, but from Jimin, with his kind smile? No way. “You did not just diss a chocolate croissant!”

“Oh, yes I did,” he chuckles as he rushes to offer money before you can – defeated, but a little glad, you return your wallet into the bag, thinking how maybe you will treat yourself to more than instant ramen for your lunch tomorrow. “I love chocolate as much as the next guy but the raisin one? Hell, even the plain one – much better,” he tells as he takes the bag and exits the bakery, leaving you to follow him.

“I’m all for experimenting but come on – it’s a chocolate croissant. It can’t be bad.”

“I’ve never said it was bad,” he laughs at you as you finally catch up with him and the two of you walk side by side. “I’ve just said others were better, which you will confirm once you try them. Now – do we walk or do we waste money on the lift?”

How can a question so simple be so complicated? Your feet hurt, you’ve walked more since you landed in Paris than you have the whole last month – of course you want to take the lift and avoid unnecessary stairs. On the other hand, stairs pretty much guarantee that you will have more time to spend with Jimin and so far, he’s been a decent companion.

“How about… we take the lift to go up and we walk on our way down?” you suggest.

“Deal.”

He didn’t have a chance to see Montmarte either, he tells you on your way up. Much like you, he had a schedule and he kept to it. Until today, when he spontaneously dropped his plans and invited you to spend the rest of the day with him. You did not have solid plans to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a change, save from the fact that you were in good company.

And good company he was – surprisingly, there weren’t many moments of awkward silence as the two of you tried to find a place that fits you both – that was a challenge, seeing as many people have gathered to enjoy the view, a nice drink and an impromptu performance by buskers. In the corner of the stairs, a little bit away from the crowd, the two of you sit and it’s a matter of seconds before Jimin is opening the bottle of wine with a swiss knife he pulled out of his bag – a bag that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent – not that you were paying any attention to it.

“So…” he starts, pausing to smile at you as he gives you your cup, before moving on to fill his own. “Tell me something about yourself. I only know your name and that we live in the same city.”

“And yet somehow we’ve met on a different continent,” you add, smiling when he ‘clinks’ his plastic cup against yours. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” he shrugs, nodding in approval at the taste of the wine. “Why Paris? Why alone? What’s your favorite color? An actor you hate but can’t explain why? Tell me anything.”

“Why Paris? Why not Paris? There are so many places I want to see, cities I want to explore and it all had to start somewhere. My friend had wanted to see Paris while I was pretty much up for anything. Of course, she then decided that Ibiza with her boytoy sounds like a better idea than Paris with her friend,” you add, sounding just a little bitter. It’s not the nicest thing she has done but you’ll get over it.

“And your boyfriend was not interested in the beauty of France?”

Now you are confused. His raised eyebrow and tiny, barely there smile, tell you that he is absolutely asking about your boyfriend for no other reason but to confirm whether or not you have one. However, this wouldn’t be the first time for you to completely misread signs and confuse flirting with casual conversation. You decide to play it safe and not waste time on reading between the lines.

“Don’t have one,” you shrug, looking away from him and focusing on the buskers. “It does get quite boring after a while. It would be nice to have a travel partner.”

“And if you don’t, you can always ask a random, kind stranger to take your photos for you?” you join in on his laugh, glad that you spoke up that day in front of ‘Shakespeare and Company’. If you hadn’t, chances are you wouldn’t have a conversation in Versailles, which then would not continue today.

If he can do it, so can you – the can of worms is wide open. “And what does your girlfriend say about you traveling without her?” you asks, before backtracking quickly. “Or boyfriend. Or one of each, really,” you add, making him laugh.

God, there really is no smooth way to ask about the relationship status of someone you barely know, someone you’re not even completely sure you like. If two are at a club, where the music is loud and they can’t even keep a conversation, ‘are you single’ is completely acceptable. And that setting is perfect for a rejection – if they say no, you just dance away to your drink or to the next person.

This? It’s a warm day in Paris and you are surrounded by people of all ages, families even. You have been talking about the city, travelling, art and now what, ‘are you single’ or ‘would you be interested in sleeping with me’ is the next topic of conversation? No, it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you’re not even sure what you want, much less what he wants.

“Well, I don’t have either of the two so I can’t really answer that,” is that a hint of a smirk you see on his face? Okay, you may not be a champion at flirting but it looks like things are heading that way.

“Interesting,” you mumble, earning an eyebrow raise from him. Shit. You panic and focus on the plastic cup full of wine, hoping that if you drink enough of it fast, the blush that is taking over your face can be attributed to the alcohol. It doesn’t help – you move the cup away and meet his eyes, only to find him obviously waiting for you to explain your comment.

“Are you going to explain why that’s interesting on your own or should I ask about it and force you to elaborate?” he asks and you immediately turn to your cup, making him laugh, loudly, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle and his whole body move.

“I’m awkward, please don’t make it any worse,” you tell him, a part of you hoping he won’t hear you.

“As you wish,” he is still laughing and you still want to die of embarrassment. That being said, him teasing you is a good sign, you think. Now, you’re fairly certain that you absolutely are in the flirting territory and while that doesn’t make things easier for you one bit, at least now you know you perhaps won’t make a fool of yourself if you are more straightforward. Or maybe you will. Who knows?! “Y/N, do you believe in destiny?” he asks and while you’re glad the topic is changed… really?

“That’s such a broad question,” you chuckle, pausing to think about it for a second. “I suppose I do, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of destiny?”

“Okay… first, do you believe that it’s all planned out? Like, your entire life?” he asks.

“Hardly,” you answer immediately, having thought about that already, many times in your life. “I suppose that to a certain extent, it is destiny. Like… the situations that you will be put in. But your reactions to said situations are your own. Destiny can’t control how you, or the people in your life, react to something. So I guess… no?” you try to sum it up, laughing at your own rant.

“Makes sense,” he agrees as he leans back, now almost lying down on the staircase, propped on his elbow as he looks away from you and towards the magnificent view of Paris. You realize once again that he looks like a full course meal, skinny jeans and all, and you reach for your plastic cup for solace, again. “Some things are set in stone… like where you’re born, who your parents are, maybe even who you’re going to be in life. But not the tiny details… like what kind of friend you are, if you can cook or not, who will be your first kiss and so on… Is that what you meant?” he asks, suddenly turning his eyes on you and faced with them, you nearly choke on the drink you’ve been hiding behind.

Damn him and his eyes. And his smirk. And yes, his ripped skinny jeans too.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And what about us?” he asks, smirking your way again. “We’ve been running into each other all over Paris… that’s why I thought that there has to be a reason behind it… don’t you agree?”

“Could be,” you agree, knowing that no matter how skeptical you might be about the concept of destiny, even you have to admit that the amount of times the two of you have crossed paths this week is something unusual. “You think it was destined for two of us to meet and hang out on these stairs?”

“Why not?” he laughs, sensing the trace of skepticism behind your words, even though you mostly agreed with him. “I can accept that not every cute girl I meet is destiny playing its tune but we couldn’t have avoided each other even if we tried, could we?”

You’re cute. Okay. You can live with that. You can definitely live with that.

“What else does destiny want us to do?”

You’ll admit it, you feel bolder now, knowing how shamelessly he had admitted that he obviously thinks you’re cute. Sure, you’re not nearly as bold as you wish you were but… step by step?

“Well, there’s this party down at the 8th Arrondissement that I thought of going to. Nothing huge, just a regular club. We don’t have to, if you don’t feel like partying. If you do, we can sit here for a while longer and then take a cab down there or something?” he suggests.

First he thinks you’re cute. Then he wants you to go clubbing. Sure, he isn’t hitting on you per se, but he obviously wants to spend more time with you and knowing that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. Maybe it’s the butterflies that you’re feeling now, after ages of them being MIA, maybe it’s the way Jimin looks at you, with the tiniest of smirks gracing his face, or maybe it’s just Jimin himself – you’re not sure and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, he wants to spend more time with you and despite you not really giving a shit about destiny, you do want to spend more time with him too.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

And then he goes and bites his lip, mid-smile.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell you’ll survive clubbing with him. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try.

It didn’t take you long to realize that Jimin is a piece of work, in the best ways.

He is confident when approaching strangers, whether it was you, earlier today, or a random person to ask if the two of you could join their table. He can handle his drink and he does, in fact, drink quite a bit. His behavior doesn’t change – he’s still smiley, friendly, his words never slurring, his walk as perfect and sexy as it was when he was 100% sober – the only real change in his appearance is that three tequila shots in, he’s red in the face.

You? You’ve stopped drinking one shot ago, not wanting to push yourself into the state of ‘please fuck me in the alley behind this park, Mr. Stranger’ because you do tend to turn clingy after drinking a bit too much. No, this time around, you’ve kept yourself tipsy enough to throw away some inhibitions but sober enough to not jump on the guy in the middle of a crowded club.

And lord almighty, it is crowded.

You would have never thought that Parisians and a couple of tourists would be this into 90s trash music but here you are, dancing the night away with a hot as hell stranger to the tune of ‘Be My Lover’. You’ve been dancing nonstop for what feels like hours, the only break happening when he goes to the bar to get the two of you drinks and you take that chance to lean against the wall to catch your breath.

You want to chastise yourself for trusting a stranger with your drink but after debating it while you were still sober, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to trust said stranger. 

Taking a deep breath, you rummage through your bag, trying to find something to cool yourself down with, settling for a brochure you had picked up in Musée d'Orsay earlier today. You fan yourself, staying comfortably away from the crowd that’s dancing like their life depends on it.

It’s hot, it’s crowded, you’re tipsy and if you’re being completely honest, you’re turned on. Yes, in a tiny, dark, hole of a club, with a 90s eurodance song in Spanish blasting through the speakers, you can still manage to feel that way and it’s solely because of him.

For the past two hours, he has been flirting with you in ways that make you wonder if he’s actually flirting of he’s a hallucination of your deranged mind.

He hasn’t stopped touching you all night, but he does so in ways that are not… obvious. He holds your hand while you are walking through the crowd. He puts his hands on your waist while you’re dancing, but they’re positioned in a way that makes you think he just enjoys having a dance partner, not that he wants to fuck your brains out. He is close, but not close enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wants to kiss you. It’s driving you insane and you’re feeling hot – literally and metaphorically.

The song changed to something a bit more bearable for listening, but still trashy enough, when you finally felt your body relaxing and calming down after the onslaught of senses it has been through in the last two hours. However, the moment you think you’ll manage to cool your head, you see him.

It’s not that he is hot. Sure, he is hot as hell and nice on the eyes, which is something you see others noticing, as they turn their heads while he walks past them, drinks in hand. It’s not that he is so damn charming, although that plays a part too. What’s really getting to you is simply the way he looks at you.

Even now, in the crowd, as he makes his way to your little makeshift hideaway, his eyes are directly on you. He’s not even paying attention on if he’s spilling your drinks or not – nope, he is looking right at you. And despite the feeling of panic that causes, you can’t look away. You can’t hide from it, you can’t fight it – you just have to keep eye contact with him, even though you feel like weak prey.

You’d lie if you say that there weren’t moments when his eyes would look… elsewhere. Your lips, your neck or at the tiny trace of cleavage your shirt lets him see (is that one a blessing or a curse?)…  That you could deal with, as much as you were figuratively on fire. But a man with confidence to look you directly in the eyes, all the time? Yeah, you’ve kind of wanted die.

Especially now, with him sliding through the cracks between people, smiling your way, eyes burning into yours. With mere seconds to get yourself ready for him, you take a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that he looked away, enough to put your drinks on the table next to you.

“I know you didn’t want anything, but I got you a cocktail in case you change your mind later,” he tells you and the only reason you actually understand every word he is saying is because you are staring at his lips. The music is loud, loud enough to make you want to come closer to him and ask him to repeat his words but at this point, you are a certified lip reader because good god, his lips.

“That’s okay.”

You wanted to say more, you really did, but the moment he put those drinks down, his hands were on your waist and he was close now, closer than he was before, with just an inch of space between your face and his. And even this close, even with a damn inch between the two of you, he stares into your eyes, directly into your eyes, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. And frankly, he most likely does.

“Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You let him take you down into the crowd again, not even noticing the loss of your precious brochure you’ve used as a makeshift fan. You let him stay close to you and you let him keep his hands on you at all times. You let him take over your entire mind, knowing that at this point, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him.

Where? Where are guys like these? Where are guys who are confident, funny, charming and sexy, without trying to get into your pants like desperate teenagers? He has the right amount of everything and a part of you wonders where are others like him? But with him in front of you, directly in front of you, with barely an inch of thin air between you, does it really matter?

You’ve given up, totally and completely. You let him eat you up with his eyes, sway your hips to the beats of bad music in any direction he wants, smiling back at him when he smiles at you.

He is closer now, even closer than before, your noses brushing against each other every other moment. He is closer and you feel like you’re going to faint if he doesn’t do something, anything really.

It’s a weird feeling to describe. You don’t know what you want but you want it, bad. And while in theory, it would be easy to take the last step and just kiss him, you can’t do it. What’s stopping you – you don’t know, you really don’t. Yes, he hasn’t explicitly said that he wants you to do anything but his actions speak enough on their own. You could close the space between the two of you and end the misery but you can’t. Something is stopping you and at this point, it feels suffocating.

All of it. Him, the crowd, the sweaty bodies all around you – it’s too much. You need fresh air. Right now.

“What time is it?” you yell at him and you can see he’s surprised – you’ve mostly been quiet, overcome with everything else to form rational thoughts. Not only that, but you’re asking about time, of all things.

“Almost 1:30AM,” he tells you, after glancing on his wristwatch, before returning the hand back on your waist. “Why? Do you want to leave?” he asks and for one second, one damn second, you see a trace of something other than pure confidence on his face. It’s not insecurity or worry, not even disappointment. It looks like a mix of all three and something else, but it’s all very faint and lasts for barely a second before he smiles at you. “It’s okay if you do. Truly.”

“It’s not that I want to leave,” you mumble, before remembering you’re in a damn club. So, you close the space between the two of you and put your lips to his ear, brushing his skin as you speak. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I need some fresh air. We can come back if you want to.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks as you pull away and you nod. “You sure?” he asks, looking at you with worry in his eyes. He’s questioning it, if only a little bit, probably worried that you’re running away and he’s being pushy. Which isn’t the truth. You are running away, but not from him, not exactly.

“Yes,” you laugh, taking his hand, as if to show that you mean it. He smiles back at you and leads the way. You think he’d go back to your borrowed table, so that he can finish his drink but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he leads the way to the area where you left your bags in exchange for 5 euros.

Seeing as you are the only ones leaving this early, the exchange for your stuff is quick and by the time you are breathing in the cool Paris air, it hasn’t been more than a few minutes since you’ve expressed your desire to leave. And the cool air helps. Well, it’s either the cool air or the fact that Jimin isn’t attached to you at this moment. With a bit of distance between you, you can actually use your brain.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he watches you take deep breaths. “We can walk it off if you’ve had too much to drink? I can walk you back to your place if you want to leave?” he suggests.

“No,” you smile at him, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by how helpful he is, as well as worried. “I’m not wasted. I don’t even know if I’m tipsy anymore,” you tell him. Sure, you might not be tipsy from the alcohol but he is a different story – you are very much drunk on him. But you won’t tell him that. “I just needed a bit of air. Maybe we can walk? Then come back or something?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nods and you lead the way. “You know, we don’t have to come back here because of me. I’m perfectly fine with just walking around. We can go somewhere else or find a bench to sit on. I can call a cab for you if you want to go back to your place.”

“I’m enjoying tonight very much,” you reassure him. There are… so many other things that you’d like to say, about him and the way he makes you feel, but you just… don’t have the balls to do so. So you simply settle with reassuring him that you’re enjoying the night. “Let’s just walk around and then figure out what we want to do next. The same goes for you – I’m fine with doing whatever you want to do.”

“You know, the last light show of the night is at 2AM,” he tells you, glancing at his watch quickly. “We can still catch it, if you’d like to. Maybe we even have time to go to the tower itself but we can definitely make it to Trocadéro on time?” he suggests and even though you normally refuse to be such a basic tourist, a huge part of you is excited at the thought of seeing the tower light up.

“I haven’t seen it yet. You want to go?” you ask, continuing with the tradition he had started of questioning everything for whatever reason.

“Sure, let’s go.”

There are people roaming around the area – of course there are, it’s Paris, there are tourists in every nook and cranny of the damn city. However, the numbers are smaller than they were when you went here the other day. You were definitely not alone but you did manage to find a section of the fence where no one was waiting with their cameras ready. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing now, waiting to capture the perfect moment of the tower lighting up.

You’ve been fairly quiet since you’ve left the club but it wasn’t the negative kind of silence, not at all. It was the silence that comes after a slightly overwhelming moment. You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same and if he does, he sure didn’t show it, but he was quiet along with you, speaking up only when you do, smiling your way whenever you’ve felt brave enough to make direct eye contact. It was comfortable and it made you realize just how much you have let this total stranger get under your skin.

“Doesn’t this feel a bit like the New Year’s countdown?” you ask, adjusting your camera so that the tower is right in the center of it – as much as Jimin is overwhelming, you still want to capture a decent photograph. It’s a once in a lifetime event. At least for us, non-Parisian commoners.

“It does,” he chuckles. “Ah, here we go!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at all the sighs of wonder you hear coming from around you. Yes, it’s a beautiful sight but… come on! It’s not a natural phenomenon; it’s a tower with lights on it! You sense Jimin reacting to it the same way you do, laughing a bit at the amazement of everyone around you but still taking a photo and enjoying the moment.

“Wait, let me take a photo of you,” he tells you and to your surprise, he doesn’t ask for your camera – he simply steps back with his. You don’t say anything and you try not to think too much of it but at the very least you are now expecting an exchange of social media or emails, knowing that you now have a perfect excuse of contacting him. Unable to hide a smile at the realization, you try to strike a casual pose, all while feeling like a complete idiot because he is looking at you again. “Wait,” he suddenly says and walks back up to you, reaching his hand closer to your face. “May I?”

You nod, not even sure what exactly you’re agreeing to here. Gently, he runs his hand through your hair, similar to the way he runs it through his own hair a few times a minute, messing it up a little bit. You don’t exactly have a mirror on you right now, but you imagine it’s the cute kind of messy, not the messy kind of messy. Why would he want you to look like shit for the photo? So, you let him, trying to ignore the way your pulse races because of him being so close. “There,” he steps away from you, smiling.

“Messy enough?” you joke, laughing when he does.

“It’s not messy, it’s sexy,” he tells you and yeah, your stupid heart is in overdrive, the butterflies in your stomach wilding and your face absolutely blushing. “It’s cute, natural. It’s more you than the preppy pose you’ve just tried to pull off,” and now he kind of insulted you.

“Hey!” you snap back, unable to keep a straight face when he starts laughing again. “You’ve known me for a few hours, how do you know preppy poses aren’t my thing?”

“I just know,” he shrugs. “Now act natural. Smile.”

You wanted to fight him back in a passive aggressive way and remain preppy but you just can’t – not with him making you smile. So you smile and giggle, pretending like he doesn’t have a camera in front of his face. If he wants you to be natural, you’re going to be natural.

After a few shots, he moves the camera away from his face and gives you the most blinding smile he had given you so far.

“Your turn,” you order him, unsure how you can even talk anymore. You feel like jelly on the inside and it’s actually quite worrying, seeing as you haven’t felt like this many times in your life. Of course, you liked people, you dated people, hell you’ve even loved a guy or two! But god good, they’re not Jimin. The guy has it all and all of it is affecting you in ways you didn’t know you could be affected.

You swallow a few lumps as you try to focus on the tower too, and not just him, because yes, it kind of needs to be in the picture too and that is the whole point of this, isn’t it? It takes you a few tries but you end up with a good shot. No matter how tonight ends, you’ll have a palpable memory of Jimin saved in your camera and you’d be lying to yourself if you say that doesn’t make you feel a bit more at ease.

“How can something be so tacky and so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?” you ask while walking back towards the fence, letting the camera dangle around your neck as you stand next to Jimin.

“It really is amazing, isn’t it?” he chuckles. This time around, you are the one shamelessly staring – he is too preoccupied with looking at the tower. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s Paris, or just tonight or maybe even you, but everything feels so… I don’t know, honestly,” he laughs, shaking his head as if he’s in disbelief. “I guess I’m just… really enjoying tonight.”

Here he is, this… beautiful, hot, kind, charming stranger, right next to you. Just a few days ago, he was no more than a fellow tourist. Just a few days ago, you didn’t think much of him. Today was a different story. Today, he didn’t let you push him into the back of your mind. Today he had made himself the focus of your day, night and quite frankly, this whole damn trip.

You don’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to. If destiny keeps messing with you, you might run into him back home but by then, enough time would have passed for you to be able to keep your cool. If it goes good… it’ll go good. And if it goes bad, you can go back to pretending like none of this ever happened, and that your whole Parisian escapade was not Jimin centric. It might be easier said than done but you’re a tough cookie. You can do it.

Why not go for it? Seriously Y/N, why not go for it?

So you do.

You step closer to him and reach your hand out, putting it on his cheek and turning him to face you – he doesn’t have enough time to react properly but you can see the flash of surprise on his face. There is no time for him to say or do anything, because you lean in and press your lips to his.

Fuck it. Seriously, just fuck it. You’re here, he’s here and with doing practically nothing, he’d made you feel more than you’ve felt in months. As tacky as it is, you truly do only live once and you know yourself well enough to know you’d end up regretting not doing this.

You might regret it anyways, who knows. But you’d eat yourself away if you hadn’t gone for it.

You’d be lying if you said that the kiss is magical. Really, it’s awkward. Your lips are not much in comparison to his beautifully plump ones and while that could be overpowering, he technically isn’t moving. What you thought would be a kiss that would rock your world, ends up being nothing more than one slightly longer peck because he isn’t moving.

You can feel it – you’ve fucked up. You went for it and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have. Feeling absolutely mortified by his lack of response, you pull away, feeling even worse when you see the way he’s looking at you – no awe, no surprise, no excitement. He doesn’t look pissed either, or confused. It’s difficult to describe it but he’s almost… scowling at you.

You’ve fucked it up. But that’s okay. At least you won’t wonder about the ‘what ifs’.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him quickly. As much as you’re trying to reassure yourself that it’s better to know than to wonder, you’re absolutely dying on the inside. If there’s a hole near here in which you could hide, right this second, you’d go there. Alas, you’re out in the open and have to deal with the mess you’ve made. “I guess I’ve misread the signals. I-“

With his hand on your back, he pulls you smack into his chest, not leaving any room between the two of you whatsoever. All that you see is him leaning into you with his eyes closed.

It’s not a peck – it’s anything but a peck. His lips guide yours to open and not even a second later, you feel his tongue moving against yours. He pulls you even closer to him, your bodies practically stuck together, with your hands squished between you. You feel him run his other hand through your hair, turning your head a bit towards the side so that he can have more access to you, as if he hadn’t had enough to begin with. His tongue is relentless and you’re absolutely sure that you’re about to faint, knees barely managing to keep your body standing.

You have never been kissed like this. Definitely not in public.

He pulls away slowly, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. He’s not scowling like he was moments ago, but he’s also not the cute, smiley Jimin he was for the better part of the day.

And you? You’re honestly struggling to breathe. A kiss is a surprise itself but a kiss like that is not something that’s easy to survive. You’re well aware that you’re practically panting because of him but it’s hardly something you can hide. You’re affected and you’re going to be affected, no matter how embarrassed you are about it.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his voice is low, much lower than before and it’s not helping your situation at all. “You should kiss me like you mean it.”

Fuck everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him towards you once again.

Life works in mysterious ways. Just this morning, you were a regular tourist, doing regular tourist things, sticking to your itinerary as you try to cram all of Paris into one week. And now? Now you’re pressed up against a wall of a random building in a part of town you haven’t ventured into before, making out with the hottest guy you have ever met, who is also pretty much still a stranger.

You don’t even care about how uncomfortable you are in this position – him kissing you makes it all better, very literally. He is a marvelous kisser – hungry, but not overpowering, with lips for days. He smells of cologne you have never smelt before but somehow know you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Even the soft cotton of his white shirt that your hand is digging into feels heavenly.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. All you can focus on is Jimin, to the point of even almost managing to ignore a whistle directed towards the two of you.

You’ve had it coming, really – almost dry humping in the middle of the street. When Jimin starts to pull away, probably because of the wolf whistle, you still chase after him, desperately trying to keep your lips stuck together. He still moves away but not too far – he nuzzles into your neck, leaving you gasping for air at the feel of his lips attacking your neck.

Is it too far? Maybe. But too far is the exact direction in which you want to go.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” you suggest. You’ve never directly propositioned sex to someone you weren’t in a relationship with and while you were internally panicking, you also know he probably won’t refuse you. Unless the thing you’re feeling against your thigh is his phone and not him being happy to see you. “My airnbn is a bit far but we can go there?” you suggest, not wanting to be too direct and invite yourself to his place. Honestly, you’d even go into a public toilet at this point, but you’ll keep that bit of information to yourself.

He doesn’t respond immediately and you would have worried about it, if he wasn’t preoccupied with biting your neck, with enough force to leave marks and make you want to crumble. You shudder, actually shudder with pleasure as you feel his tongue run over your skin. “The place I’m staying at is just a few minutes away,” he finally speaks up, stepping away from you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do you want to go there?” he asks.

The way he looks at you tells you he’s asking you more than to just go over to the place he’s staying at. You know it, he knows it. Even though it was your suggestion, he is still checking in with you, despite probably already knowing that you’d agree to pretty much anything. You laugh at his question.

“Jimin… I’m… I’m more than fine with going to your place, yeah,” you settled for that. Letting him know that you’d let him fuck you in the middle of the street, right here, right now, might be a bit too forward of you. Incredibly accurate but perhaps too forward.

The beaming smile you get from him when you agree serves like a confirmation to yourself that no, this is absolutely not a bad idea. This is everything you’ve hoped for but didn’t think would happen. This is the brief romance that novels are written about, a story you might remember when 30 years from now, your 20something-year-old daughter goes on her first trip to Paris and you remember him. Jimin will be your story, one that you might revisit often, depending on how the night ends.

Taking your hand in his, he leads the way and you follow blindly, enjoying his touch even during simple handholding. You want to do more, so much more, but if you do, you’ll never get to your end destination. Jimin must have sensed that, because the two of you are walking faster than you did this whole day – now you actually have a goal in mind. And what a goal that will be.

“Not to bring the mood down but we could have been going to your place a lot sooner if you’d kissed me back in the club,” you admit. Maybe that was a little bit unnecessary but you want to break the silence between you – and if you can compliment him in the process, why not?

“Hmm, maybe,” he sighs, suddenly letting go of your hand, only to hug you around the waist and pull you into his side, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re not the only one that was worried about misreading some signals. I wanted to be sure, so I consciously waited for you to do something.”

“Thank fuck I did because that was a close one,” you laugh in disbelief, amazed to know how close you were to this simply never happening.

“Not gonna lie, I was worried,” he laughs too, giving you another quick peck. You’re positive that you’re blushing again. Every time he kisses you, your stomach does somersaults, excited at the thought of him wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. Which is a lot. More than a lot. “I’m glad you mustered the courage to kiss a guy that’s quite obviously wanted to kiss you all afternoon.”

“For future notice – be more direct,” you warn him through laughter. The lucky girl who gets to experience him next deserves to be spared the inner turmoil you’ve went through. He spent the entire night dancing on the line between being very direct and not direct enough. One step in either direction would have settled your dilemma, so hopefully the next person will have more luck.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with you right now, thanks,” he chuckles as he sneaks his hand down to your ass and squeezes it shamelessly. You jump up in surprise but don’t feel particularly troubled about being in public, seeing as there is no public around you, at all. It’s just the two of you, walking along the river, the boats moored along the way seemingly empty. Feeling brave, braver than you ever remember feeling, you’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, making sure to show him how much you want this. You move slowly, enjoy the feeling of taking the lead and the lazy movements of your tongues, interrupted only when you feel the need to bite his bottom lip, which is way more often than you’d be willing to admit. Somehow, you once again end up being sandwiched between him and the half wall behind you. Seizing the opportunity, you sit on the half wall, pulling Jimin towards you by the belt – his hands find their way to your waist as he situates himself between your legs. This time around you’re sure it’s not his phone you’re feeling. It’s a very prominent bulge, noticeable enough to make you salivate at the very thought of what’s hidden. You’re not the only one acting braver – for the first time tonight, Jimin’s hands find their way under your shirt, eliciting goosebumps on your back almost immediately.

It’s when his fingers move to the front and graze your bra that you remember the two of you are still very much out in the open. And while at this point you wouldn’t particularly mind letting him have you here and now, the last thing you want to add to your Paris story is being arrested for indecent exposure.

“If you keep kissing me like this, we’ll never get to your place,” you warn him and contradict yourself immediately, attacking his neck with bites that make him sigh and shudder.

“Thank fuck we’re already here.”

You reluctantly detach yourself from his neck, looking around in confusion – you don’t see a house around you, at all. There’s nothing but the walkway and the park across the street. And as much as you like Jimin, you’re not going to fuck him on a bench which he sleeps on. He sees your confusion and nods towards the river. It takes you a bit too long to connect the dots.

“You’ve rented a houseboat?!” you ask in surprise and he gives you a quick kiss, pulling away with a smile.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Hotels are boring. Boats are awesome.”

“Who even rents a boathouse?” you ask in wonder, all the while feeling slightly pissed at yourself because why the hell didn’t you think of that? It sure would beat your tiny airbnb, with a building that has no damn stairs – nothing but an elevator. Why would you be locked in such a claustrophobic space when you can have a damn boat? Lesson learned.

“I do,” he smirks at you. “And tonight, I’m going to fuck a very beautiful girl on that boat. So I guess it was a good call. Don’t you agree?”

“Yep. Wholeheartedly. You win.”

You know you’re going to die of embarrassment when he realizes just how wet he’s made you but you’re past the point of caring. With the words he says and the way he kisses you, you and your pussy never stood a chance.

Before you can kiss him again and prolong the wait, he takes your hand and leads the way, first down a set of concrete stairs and then towards the second houseboat in a row; it’s close to the ones on its side, but not too close for comfort. Climbing up the stairs that lead to the impromptu balcony on the boat, you immediately realize the appeal of choosing housing like this – once you can take your eyes away from Jimin’s ass, that is. No, once you are not looking at it, you can appreciate the view the boat has – you can even see the Eiffel tower, a bit down the river. The deck has a huge table, a few chairs and way more plants that a boat deck needs. It looks comfortable, beautiful and with how easily accessible it is, just a bit dangerous. All the words you can use to describe the man who is now kissing your neck, standing behind you as you reach and lean yourself on the boat rail, hoping it is safe.

“I see you’re an exhibitionist,” you laugh when he pulls you back so that your ass is right against his crotch and good god, you can feel how hard he is as he rolls his hips against you.

“No. Maybe just a little,” he chuckles. You laugh too, until you feel one of his hands leave your hips and reach for the button on your jeans. You gulp, eyes widening and as if he can sense your alert, he doesn’t unbutton them immediately. “You?” he asks. God, consent is so fucking sexy.

You’ve never dabbled in it, never really thought about it either but now, in this predicament? “Maybe just a little,” your voice is low as you give him permission. You weren’t joking when you thought that he can do anything he wants, were you? It doesn’t matter, because you said yes and holy fuck, his hand is going down your pants.

You jolt immediately and how could you not, when he went straight for your clit, right off the bat. Jimin does not play around, that much is obvious. You can only pray the fence is secure enough to keep you out of the water.

“Didn’t think you’d be this turned on by foreplay in public,” he laughs directly in your ear because the moment he ran his fingers against your slit, you threw your head back to lean onto him more, afraid of your legs actually turning into jelly because of him. “I’m proven wrong.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume my sexual preferences,” somehow, you manage to laugh and remain sassy, thought that is cut short the moment he returns his attention to your clit, circling it very, very slowly. “But I suppose you found out some.”

“And I have the whole night to learn, don’t I, Y/N?”

“You do,” you bite your lip to hold back a moan because he started rubbing his fingers against you, the sudden change from slow to fast catching you off guard.

“You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” he presses a quick kiss against your neck, pushing you more into the rail as he rubs himself against your ass in a manner that almost has you begging for more. You are, internally, but not aloud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t think anyone could hear you down here. And I know I want to.”

“Duly noted,” you moan out because he presses his fingers into you harder – with the pressure and the speed, you know you’re going to fall apart way sooner than you’d though.

There has to be some flaw, right? He cannot be this perfect, no human being can be this perfect. If you were to stick around long enough, maybe you’d find a personality trait of his that makes him less perfect than what he is now, in your eyes, but you won’t be staying long enough to find out. For tonight, you’re more than fine with letting him be your little perfection.

“Let’s go inside?” he suggests as he drags his hand away from you and that is by far the worst thing he had done the whole night. You never want him to stop touching you, but that can be arranged at a more appropriate location. You nod, or so you think you do, unsure of your movements and thoughts, and you let him pull you by the hand and towards the door, pausing to fumble with the keys.

He opens the door and you stumble inside as he puts his bag on a hallway table – you choose to throw yours on the ground, waiting for him to turn on the lights. The moment you can see him clearly, the passion takes over you.

Driven by it, you all but slam him into the wall, almost laughing as his eyes widen in surprise. You don’t though – you don’t laugh, you don’t say anything. You simply reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up slowly, making sure that your fingers cross every inch of skin you uncover. Seeing him shiver is worth the torture you’re putting yourself through, because a part of you wants to drop to the floor and start unbuckling his belt. You fight your own instincts, wanting and hoping to give him at least a fraction of the pleasure he had given you just moments ago.

Soft to the touch but very well defined, his body is a work of art that could rival those that you have spent the last few days observing. The tattoo you discover on his ribs serves as a perfect imperfection, a blemish on the canvas that somehow looks so right. Gulping, you let him take off his shirt and as soon as he does, you’re against him, kissing those lips of his again.

You don’t stay there long – slowly traveling under his chin, down his neck and all over his chest, staying there long enough, pressing soft kisses and licks until he is properly panting. When his hips roll, subconsciously looking for any kind of friction, you decide to move further down, slowly kissing a trail down his stomach, looking up at him, enjoying the sight of him so visibly… distraught. The moment your eyes meet, he closes his. And now you know you’re doing it right, if for the first time he is the one afraid of eye contact and how deadly it can be.

“You’re killing me,” he chuckles nervously, his voice breathless. And you simply smile, slowly unbuckling his belt and pushing the pants down to his knees as slow as you possibly can. You want to offer a remark about how he’s clearly enjoying it but his cock is one major distraction, in the best way possible.

He’s hard and ready, the sight filling you with instant pride because you know that you did that. You made him like this. A little bit pliant, a little bit breathless and very much not ready for what’s about to come. He’s hard, twitching under your gaze, making your mouth water. You still take it slow, enjoying the pace set to tease him – slowly licking the tip of his dick, smiling as you watch his Adam’s apple bob from above you – he still can’t look at you.

“I love how you’ve been staring me down the whole night and now you can’t handle looking at me,” you admit as you slowly drag your hand up and down his cock. Of course, now he opens his eyes and looks down on you but the lump he swallows shows you that even though he responed to your challenge, he is still very much affected and you’re living for it.

“I see you like to tease,” is what he says, making you smile.

“Very much,” you nod, giving him a quick lick that is followed by another muffled curse coming from him. “But I can be kind too,” you conclude, before finally taking him into your mouth properly.

It’s a bit of a challenge but you are more than happy to take it, slowly sinking your mouth up and down his dick, enjoying the symphony of noises that is coming from him. Every sigh, every curse, every moan – it all just makes you even more adamant to give him the best head of his life.

“Fuck Y/N,” he barely manages to say, moaning as you speed up your movements. He gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly starts guiding you faster, eyeing your reaction, despite being momentarily distracted by the sight of you taking all of him into your mouth. “Fuck, you look so… You’re gonna make me come,” he lets out a slightly panicked laughter, gently pushing you away from him, to which you pout. Despite not being that big on blowjobs, giving one to Jimin felt somewhat like a privilege and you wouldn’t admit that lightly. Not wanting to stop completely, you squeeze him in your hand, slowly moving up and down, watching as he goes through another crisis. “Y/N,” he laughs in warning, making you stop, albeit reluctantly.

“Isn’t it the point to make you come?” you ask but still stand up when his hands grab yours by the elbows and he lifts you up to stand next to him.

“Absolutely,” his eyes don’t leave your lips and he gives you a quick kiss, biting into your bottom lip hard enough to earn a moan. “But not like that, not before I fuck you. Not before I have my way with you.”

The smile on his face looks sinister enough to make you even wetter than you were moments ago. He doesn’t sound like a man who makes promises lightly and you get your confirmation as he puts his hands on your hips and starts pushing you back towards the room behind you. You’re too fucked out to notice anything other than the fairly modern design of the furniture around you. Before you can notice anything in particular, your ass slams into a hard surface and you jump up, letting him settle between your legs again and kiss you even harder than he did all night.

You’re the target now, and good god, you’re loving it. His lips alter between being gentle and harsh, kissing you with so much passion before biting, as if he wants to show you that he’s the one in charge. And you let him. By god, you let him.

He takes your shirt and bra off quickly, not wanting to drag it out like you did, but the moment you’re half naked before his eyes, he slows down. If him staring you down made you feel nervous before, you are positively burning right now because he is eating you up. He doesn’t even have to touch you – just the sight of him, looking like he’s about to ruin you is enough to cause goosebumps to form all over your body. He comes closer, attaching his lips to your chest. You are losing your mind because he is purposely slow, kissing you all over before finally attaching his lips to your nipple, taking it into his mouth and slowly rolling his tongue against it. You swear you can feel him smiling, but you’re too far gone to check – especially not when his hand reaches for your other breast, squeezing it shamelessly. You’ve been able to control your noises for a little while, but the moment his teeth come out to play, you’re a goner. With his fingers and lips moving at the same time, you can only moan, reaching towards something, anything to hold and settling for his hair. You grip it, perhaps a bit too harshly if his moan is anything to go by – but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he simply sucks harder, making you arch your back towards him.

He’ll ruin you. He will absolutely ruin you and you are perfectly fine with it.

After what feels like an eternity, he detaches his mouth away from you and your eyes meet. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, especially now when he looks so blissfully fucked out. His hair is a mess, his lips red from all the kissing and sucking, his torso a work of art. He looks so fucking hot, you moan. At the very sight of him, you moan. He’s not touching you, he’s not teasing you, he’s not doing anything but looking at you and that is enough to make you moan, moan and rut your hips in his direction, looking for friction which you find in the form of his thigh. He lets you, he lets you move against him. Your moment of pleasure doesn’t last long, because he steps back, fumbling to unbutton your jeans. You lay down, ignoring the cold of the table against your naked back, lifting your hips to help him undress you completely. Unlike the slow, sensual moves that you used on him, he is quick, taking them off as fast as he possibly can. When you’re left in nothing but your underwear, that is when he slows down again, crouching down out of your sight.

“Fuck!” you gasp in surprise when you feel him nuzzling his nose against your clothed center – you can feel how wet you are and you know, you know he can smell it, feel it, see it and you absolutely do not care. In fact, you’re even more turned on by the thought of it – he clearly is enjoying it and you want nothing more than to let him know how good he’s making you feel.

He doesn’t torture you for too long and other than a muffled curse, he doesn’t comment on how wet you are for him. Instead, he goes right down to business, using his fingers to move your underwear to the side and he immediately attaches himself to your clit, sucking on it harshly, with the same fervor as when he was sucking on your nipples.  

“Fuck, Jimin!” you moan out, gripping his hair with all the strength you have, knowing that that must have hurt – again, he shows no signs of having a problem with it. Fuck, he probably even likes it.

“What is it baby?” he asks, not waiting for your response and instead choosing to lick up your center. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you manage to reply, momentarily distracted by the feel of his finger sinking into you.

“If you let me, I’ll eat you out for hours tomorrow morning,” he tells you, pausing to bite on your thigh, a bite that you know will leave teeth marks, but you don’t protest. “As much as I’d be willing to do it for hours right now, I really need you on my cock.”

“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, biting your lip at the feel of him sinking another finger into you, slowly dragging them in and out as he stands up, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You say nothing more – you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You move your hips in time with his fingers, riding them like you would, and hopefully will, ride his dick in a matter of moments.

“Bedroom?” he suggests as he stops his assault on you. You nod, somehow managing to sit up, nearly laughing at the sight of him. Half naked, with his jeans still hanging right above his knees, his member standing up proudly. How he could wobble you towards the table in that state is beyond you. You don’t have a chance to ask, too distracted with the sight of him licking his fingers, all while looking directly into your eyes. He’ll be the death of you, that’s for sure.

You stand up, leaning against the table as he loses the last articles of his clothing – you barely have the time to take a few deep breaths before he starts kissing you again, his tongue overpowering yours as you moan at the taste of him. You don’t bother opening your eyes, letting him lead you towards the bedroom, trusting him that you won’t end up overboard, hoping that if you do, you wouldn’t be too turned on to notice. You hit a wall and a door on your way there, giggling by the time he is pushing you onto a bed, finally letting you breathe. Standing above you, he somehow manages to look both menacing and hot at the same time. His eyes tell you to wait, which you gladly do, watching him as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You choke on your own breath when you notice his ass, for the first time without the barrier of skintight jeans – it’s a sight, alright. You watch as he fumbles through his suitcase, smiling at him when he turns around, waving a condom at you.

No matter how much you’re into him, there’s no way he’s fucking you without protection. You’re glad he’s on the same page, not even stopping to suggest going bare. While you’d like that and you’re guessing so would he, it’s simply not happening. He walks towards you, not putting the condom on immediately, instead choosing to give his member a few strokes, enjoying the view of you on his bed, naked and waiting. Though your lip bite was an unconscious reaction at the sight before you, he is affected, grunting at the sight – the moment the condom is covering his dick, he is rushing to get on top of you, finally letting you feel his whole body against your own.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he tells you before kissing you passionately, flicking his tongue slowly as he settles between your legs. He doesn’t enter you immediately, instead choosing to grind onto you, making the both of you moan into the kiss. You’re the one who pulls away, if only for a moment.

“Please,” you moan out, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing against you, pushing you closer to the edge – too close, considering you didn’t even have a chance to feel him inside of you. “Please just fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he gives you a quick kiss before finally sliding into you. Slowly and with ease, he fills you up in a way that makes you moan – louder than you did the whole night, feeling absolutely shameless. You don’t care, you don’t care where you are or who can hear you, if anyone – he feels that damn good.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, taken by surprise with him slowly rolling his hips into you. It’s as if he can tell you need no more time to adjust to him, he starts moving a bit faster with each roll of his hips, making you curse out as you grab onto him, your fingers digging into his skin. It seems he enjoys you being rough with him, showing him how good he’s making you feel because he isn’t complaining and you know it has to hurt. He wastes no time, dipping down to take your nipple into his mouth, never stopping his dick from moving in and out of you in the best of ways.

“God,you’re so tight baby!” he grunts as his thrusts become harder and faster, so much so that you faintly notice the sound of the bed thumping into something, most likely the wall. You don’t care, you really don’t – you pull him closer to you, blindly reaching for his lips, enjoying the way he overpowers your senses, even smell - he smells like sex and expensive cologne, the most mouthwatering scent you’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling. The moment your lips touch, you feel his hand graze your clit, eliciting a particularly loud moan for you. Unable to focus on anything, you give into pleasure and let him do whatever he wants with you, the onslaught on your senses killing the little sanity you had left.

You dare and think it can’t get any better than this and right as you do, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, pinching your clit between his fingers at the same time. You weren’t ready – you weren’t ready for it at all and with his actions catching you by surprise, you lose the little control you’ve had, coming hard. The orgasm washes over you stronger than any orgasm in your recent memory, making you gasp and moan, holding onto him with all the strength your body has left. He is losing his cool too – his hands give in and he’s pressed up against you completely, lips grazing your ear. “Just like that, come all over my cock,” he urges you through your high, his words making it even harder for you to calm down.

Body shivering, you somehow calm down your breathing – it’s a challenge, seeing as he still hasn’t stopped moving completely. He slowed down enough not to send you in complete overdrive too soon. Even his consideration is a turn on – almost as strong of a turn on as him using your body to pleasure himself, still rolling his hips into you and moaning softly, directly into your ear, the moan turning more high pitched when he feels your nails running up and down his back.

Turning your head towards him, you search for his lips. He kisses you eagerly, stilling himself inside of you for a moment, as if he wants to focus on the kiss and kiss alone. Slowly, he moves away from you and leans back, running his hand up your thigh. He raises his eyebrows as he pushes your leg up, asking you for permission. You nod, moaning as he moves your leg towards the side. Quickly, you turn to your side completely and judging by the moan he lets out, that’s exactly what he needed you to do.

You want to do more, you do. You want to ride him till you can no longer move but he is so damn overwhelming, all you can do right now is just… take it. And you’re not complaining. Slowly but surely, the pleasure builds up again and you realize there’s a strong chance you’ll come again. Suddenly brave again, you look at him, directly at him, as you put a hand between your legs and start rubbing yourself. The moment he realizes what you’re doing, he looks down, lifting your leg up so that he can have a better view. “Fuck,” is all he says, followed by the sexiest groan you have ever heard a man make.

“I’m so close,” you warn him, wanting to feel all of it again but somehow not wanting it to end.

“Come on baby, come for me again,” he urges you on. As much as you want to, you really don’t want it to be over anytime soon - the buildup was so damn hot and you simply don’t want to stop. Thinking about his earlier promise about eating you out for hours is what pushes you over the edge. Feeling Jimin and think of the dirty words he whispered in your ear is enough for you to come again, your entire body shivering with pure pleasure. Looking up at him, you notice the way his face scrunches, the way his voice is deeper and his moans never stopping… he takes over you again.

“I’m going to come,” he warns you, making you remember that he can’t come inside of you and fill you up, which is something you would really, really like. You settle for the next best thing.

“Come on me,” you tell him, moving your leg out of his still firm grip, and spreading your legs as much as possible, now having a perfect view of him slamming into you, much faster than he did before. “Come anywhere you want,” you urge him, biting your lip as his hips lose rhythm at your suggestion. In the speed of light, he slips out of you, leaving you empty and wanting more, more of him, more of his dick, more of anything he’d be willing to give you. You watch as he takes the condom off in the speed of light, still rubbing yourself and ignoring the overstimulation you are feeling, absolutely urged by the hottest sight you have seen in your entire life: Jimin, stroking himself with a firm grip, moaning loudly as he closes his eyes, his face scrunched in pleasure.

You watch in awe as he finishes all over you, the streaks of his cum reaching all the way up to your breasts. You have never, never in your entire life, experienced anything hotter than this. You know now, there is nothing hotter than watching Jimin orgasm. And you have never in your miserable life had sex nearly as good as the one you had now.

Jimin’s body gives up and he falls directly on top of you, making you chuckle. Your hands roam his back, as if you are comforting him through the aftermath, completely ignoring the fact that his now softening member is still rubbing against you. Both of you are sweaty, your bodies covered in his cum but you don’t care and neither does he. Once he is finally able to move, he simply leans a bit to the side, just so that he can look at you. And he does. With the brightest, sweetest smile that shouldn’t belong to a man who fucked you as hard as he just did.

“Hi,” you speak up first, shocked at how rough your voice sounds. Perhaps you were a bit louder than you thought you were. He smiles and you feel yourself melting again, accepting that you are whipped for him, way more whipped than you should be for someone you barely know. He doesn’t make it any easier on you when he leans in for a kiss, his lips slow and lazy and yours following suit, ignoring the butterflies that are going berserk in your stomach again. You ignore it all, shutting your brain off and enjoying the post sex glow that he is radiating with.

He pulls away but not before caressing your face and pushing hair behind your ear – a very sweet action for someone whose mouth can do all those dirty, lovely things.

“That was… wow,” he admits and for the first time since you’ve met him, you think you see a blush on his face – a blush that isn’t caused by alcohol, that is. Is he suddenly shy? Is it the post sex blush? You don’t know and you don’t care, as long as you can keep looking at him.

“Wow seems appropriate,” you agree, joining in his laughter. He is still chuckling as he nuzzles into your neck, giving you a few quick pecks before pulling away.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he raises his eyebrows, giving you a way out if you don’t want to take him up on his earlier offer. “I could call you a cab or even walk you back to your place. I’d like you to stay the night though.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can use my legs at the moment.”

It wasn’t supposed to be such a funny remark but for some reason, he laughs hard and after fighting it for a few seconds, you can’t help but join in. If you look past his hotness and the ease with which he communicates with people, he really does have a comfortable aura around him – if he laughs, it’s contagious and you don’t mind joining in.

The two of you calm down and after a few moments of silence, he runs his hand through your hair again, pushing it away from your face as his eyes focus on different parts of it – first your eyes, then your lips, then your cheeks. It looks as if he is trying to memorize you and to that you can relate because this is one night you’d never want to forget, not one part of it. And not one part of him. “Let’s go and get cleaned up?” he suggests.

You’ve lost count of how many times you have let him take you by the hand and lead the way for the both of you. You are yet to regret those decisions, gladly letting him lead the way now, knowing that wherever he takes you… it’s going to be good.

You wake up feeling content, well rested and sore, all at once. With a dumb smile on your face, you giggle and bury your face in the pillow – it smells of him, making your memories of the night before even more vivid.

His promise of devoting hours to you and your body this morning did not wait until dawn. It all occurred the night before, with you still kissing one another by the time sun had started to rise and the birds had started chirping.

It all comes back to you in flashes, the bath you took together, the way he caressed your skin as he was washing you up, before his hands went a bit further south. Both the sweet words and the dirty talk are engraved in your mind forever, just like the way he made you feel all of last night.

You knew it before, you’re sure of it now – he has ruined you. He has absolutely ruined you, in the best way possible. And you don’t want it to end.

You knew it had an expiration date. This is a trip romance – short, sweet, steamy and memorable. It had an expiration date the moment the two of you shared the first smiles in front of ‘Shakespeare and company’. While the thought of it does leave a bitter taste in your mouth, you’re a big girl and you can live with it. Smiling, you decide to enjoy the morning, or early afternoon, with Jimin. You’ll deal with the negative side effects later.

“Afternoon, beautiful,” you hear him, turning around towards the direction his voice is coming from – he is leaning against the doorway, smiling at you, looking too hot for his own good with gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a part of his dark hair pulled back in a makeshift bun. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he smiles as you close your eyes and shamelessly yawn, remembering a second too late that you should put a hand over your mouth. You open your eyes just in time to see him sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your naked thigh and slowly moving it up and down your skin. It’s not as sexual as his touches were last night – in fact, this feels more comforting than anything else. “How long was I out? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I slept like a log. And it’s 2PM now, so you’ve had a few hours.”

“2PM?” you’re shocked to realized you’ve already lost half the day. It was very much worth it, though.

“You have somewhere to be?” he teases you, probably unaware how he makes the butterflies in your stomach go nuts. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s not aware of your dilemma – do you go, do you stay? Does he want you to go or does he want you to stay? What are you even supposed to say now?

“No, not really,” you shrug, cowardly throwing the ball into his court. You’ll admit it, you’re a whimp and you are more than happy to let him decide if you should be on your way or stick around a bit longer.

“Well, I’ve made us some quick lunch. I wanted to order something but wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around for food… so I figured I’ll make something and eat both portions if you bolt,” he admits through laughter and you’re immediately relieved – you weren’t the only one uncertain about everything.

“I don’t have to bolt. And I’m also kind of starving,” you admit, shuddering when you remember that the last thing you ate was a croissant almost a full day ago – you’re absolutely starving.

“We can eat on the deck if you want?” he suggest, before breaking out into a sudden smile.

“What?” you ask, confused with how he’s looking at you. You either have something on your face or he’s going to make this whole thing 20 times more difficult and you’re afraid the second situation is more likely.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that,” he shrugs as you let him run his hands through your hair.

“Half-dead and messy looking? I’m sure I am,” you roll your eyes.

“Not messy. Sexy,” he corrects you, the same way he did last night. With a sigh, he pulls away and stands up. “I’m starving too, so you’d better hurry up if you don’t want me eating you up instead.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that, to be honest,” you admit, hiding your face in his pillow, knowing that you no longer have the dark to hide the blush that appears whenever you say something a bit more straightforward.

You expected him to say something or maybe laugh – you absolutely didn’t expect to feel his teeth on your right ass cheek. You jump up in surprise, nearly hitting him in the head when your leg jerks, but that only makes him laugh. You’re smiling way too wide for someone who’s just been bitten on the ass and you decide to scream into the pillow once he’s away enough not to hear it.

“Your clothes and underwear are dry and clean but feel free to steal that shirt from me,” he winks at you. “I’ll wait on the deck.”

With that, he leaves you alone to get dressed, try to gather your thoughts and maybe, just maybe, control your emotions a little bit. It would have been a lot easier if he was the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of guy but surprise, he’s not! No, he fucked you like a full-fledged sex god, giving you the best night of your life, while caring enough to throw your clothes into the washer and drier and even wanting to feed you the next day. Nope, still no flaws in sight for Park Jimin.

You wash up quickly, slapping yourself a few times for good measure, hoping to calm yourself down enough to be able to turn around and leave very soon. You still don’t know if it had worked but your bag is packed and you join him on the deck, dressed in your jeans and the shirt he wore yesterday that he generously let you sleep in and steal for good.

He doesn’t notice you immediately, leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. The sight of him sitting like that, with his dark hair pulled back and tied, his neck in full view and all but glowing in the sunlight makes you want to cry. The man is actually so goddamn pretty it almost brings tears to your eyes. It doesn’t help when he notices you and smiles at you, pointing at the two bowls set on the table.

“I know it’s just noodles but honestly, I’m too pretty to know how to cook,” he explains as you take a seat. You burst out laughing at his comment.

“Cocky yet very true,” you nod in appreciation. “Don’t worry, I love ramen.”

“It’s lame but I at least I’ve added poached eggs,” he tells you, looking oh so proud about adding an extra ingredient.

“Nothing beats instant ramen,” you reassure him. “It smells of youth, not having enough money and artificial flavoring. I’ve never felt more at home,” this time around, it’s he who laughs, wishing you a good meal as the both of you dig into the food. You weren’t lying when you said it’s more than okay – you just need some food in the belly and it’s not like you’ve expected him to greet you with a full course meal. It’s the thought that counts and it’s more than enough. Actually, it might even be too much.

Halfway through your lunch, the silence between you turns slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t anything that either one of you did – it’s just the entire situation. The clock is ticking, the both of you know it and neither one of you is quite sure how to act about it. You can’t stay here for another day, even if you wanted to – your stuff and a huge chunk of your money is back at your airbnb. Even with that little detail aside, you’re not even sure if you want to say – not to mention, if he wants you to stay or not.

But it feels… wrong. It feels wrong to leave just like that, pretending like he hadn’t given you an amazing night. Not only was the sex mind-blowingly good… even before that, he was a perfect travel partner yesterday. He’s good company and knowing you’ll be saying goodbye to all of that… it doesn’t sit well with you.

Despite avoiding eye contact for a few minutes now, you fail and the moment your eyes meet from across the table, you know you’ve reached that page of the little novella the two of you wrote. He knows it too, setting away his chopsticks, sighing as he leans back into the chair. You say nothing, watching him as he stares you down, slowly shaking his head.

“I don’t want this to end,” he admits. You stay silent, following his suit as you put away your own chopsticks and lean back into the chair, completely shutting down the rest of the world – you no longer hear the birds or passing boats. You don’t see the tourists walking along the river, you don’t even feel the subtle waves that gently sway the boat you’re on – you can only focus on him, on his face, on the way he looks bothered by this. “It feels wrong to end this but at the same time, doesn’t it feel like the only proper way to go about it? Am I making any sense?” he asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah,” you nod immediately, assuring him that you do understand it. “It feels good, it feels right, like it would be a shame to walk away from but… what else can be done?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, leaning towards you. “It feels equally right and wrong. What are we going to do?”

You can go back to get your stuff and spend the rest of the trip here with him. You can exchange numbers and meet up back home. It could lead to something beautiful, a continuation of a marvelous chapter one, just as easily as it can lead to a complete disaster. Life’s unpredictable and you don’t know if it’s worth it to possibly ruin this amazing… encounter.

How can you even find an answer to that? Not like this whole thing hasn’t been…

“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together, smiling at the confused nod he gives you. “We met here so many times. Different days, different times, we somehow ended up together. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?” you ask.

“What are you suggesting here? To… see if we meet again?”

“Exactly,” you nod, feeling proud of the solution you’ve come up with. “You believe in destiny and I don’t. If we meet again, I’d be willing to question that belief. We go our separate ways. If it ends up being a onetime encounter, we’ll remember it with smiles on our faces. And if we meet…”

“I don’t let you walk away again,” he smirks at you. You don’t say anything as that smirk turns into a genuine, real smile. He means it, he actually means it. And if you meet him again… you will too. “What happens if we run into each other back home?” he asks.

You remember how you talked last night, realizing that the two of you were hanging around the same places before, perhaps even at the same time. It made you wonder how many times you have passed one another, without a second glance, thinking of other things, of other people. Running into him back home seems more likely than seeing him again here in Paris.

“Then we say hello and see where that takes us,” you answer adamantly.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

He offers you his hand from across the table and you shake it firmly, suddenly a lot more hopeful than you were moments ago. No, you don’t believe in destiny but if there’s someone that could make you question that, it’s Park Jimin himself.

“Fucking hell,” you curse under your breath as you wrestle your way through the crowd – for the first time since you’ve arrived in Paris, you were stuck in the metro during rush hour and you have never felt so many backpacks smacking your face in such a short amount of time.

Trying to get Google Maps on, you make your way up the stairs and into fresh air, taking a deep breath when you do. If your phone is correct and based on your previous experiences, it’s probably not, you’re a five minute walk away from the Luxembourg Gardens.  A perfect way to end your last full day in Paris – outside and hopefully away from any kind of crowd.

You walk in the direction your navigation deems right, checking every few seconds if it had started spinning out of control like it did yesterday – there is nothing more stressful than your GPS telling you to turn right and once you do, immediately telling you to take a sharp left.

It’s the smell that makes you take a detour – it’s always the smell. Sure, you could continue to sheepishly follow your navigation but when the smell of freshly baked pastry smacks you in the face, you know where you’re heading. The bakery is fairly empty and you test your poor French as you order a plain croissant.

Damn him and his plain croissants. Something that should be so simple and so irrelevant now irks you, almost to the point of you changing your order to a chocolate one. You don’t, already knowing that you’re nowhere near proficient enough in French to explain your change of heart.

The lady behind the counter is a bit of a bitch, not waiting for you to put your wallet away before she hands you your meal, giving you a dirty look when it takes you a second too long to take it from her. Offering her a sour, kiss-my-ass smile, you take the pastry and head towards the door, now trying to juggle your food, phone, wallet and the door handle, all at once.

You’ve just managed to close the door behind you and turn around, nearly avoiding a collision.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, gripping your phone and the pastry harder, stopping them from flying out of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!”

Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. You slowly look up, scared of both confirming and denying your suspicions, unsure which one would hurt more – him being here or him being a product of your imagination. You know that voice and you know it well.

It’s him, looking panicked and checking if you have a hold on your things. “I’m sorry, I…” he goes mute once his eyes meet yours and he realizes it’s you.

Jimin stares at you, not saying anything. One second before the encounter turns uncomfortable, you watch in amazement as he grins at you, a grin so wide and genuine your heart skips a beat.

“I… I could have dropped my croissant.”

He huffs a small laugh at your horribly timed Vine reference, pursing his lips as he tries to hide his smile – why, you don’t know and don’t care to find out because he can’t do it. He can’t hide his smile and it’s evident that he’s happy to see you. So are you, thanking and cursing at destiny at the same time.

Taking your empty hand in his, he says nothing as he intertwines your fingers and starts walking, slowly leading you away with him. You follow him, desperately thinking of what to say, of what to do but somehow too panicked to actually do anything. It feels like one of you should do something and apparently, he thinks the same because he suddenly stops and turns your way.

He puts his hands on your face, pulling you in for a kiss. The moment your lips are pressed against his, you remember how much you’ve wanted to do this since the last time you’ve kissed him, before walking down the steps of his boathouse. The relief that fills you as he deepens the kiss makes you a reluctant but firm believer in destiny.

No words are needed, you know that now. So when he leans away and smiles at you, you smile back, reaching for his hand again. He leads the way and again you follow, knowing you’re definitely not going to regret it this time either. THE END

[reddie-fangirl24]

For the crossover request: Titanic crossover with Richie and Eddie, and the scene in Titanic when Rose goes to find Jack below deck ❤ Have a good trip!!

I hope you enjoy the fic! It was fun to write!

Support me on my Ko-Fi!

Eddie raced through the mazes of hallways in the first-class staterooms, shoving right by people not even caring how they reacted. There was no time for politeness. He was on a mission.

Screeching to a halt, Eddie nearly slipped himself up on the ground. The floors were still so polished.

“Mr. Andrews!” he yelled out of breath. Thomas Andrews was just in the midst of a conversation with a maid when he turned around in surprise. That expression of pure fear continued to linger in his eyes. “Where does the Master of Arms take someone under arrest?”

Having no idea what Eddie was even talking about, Mr. Andrews couldn’t ask questions, “Eddie, I told you to…”

“No!” Eddie burst out making the man jump. “I’ll do this with or without your help! But without it will take longer!”

Taking a moment to study Eddie, Mr. Andrews gave in, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take the elevator to the very bottom, go left, down the crewman’s passage, then take a right.”

Eddie’s mind was sprawling but he nodded in gratitude. “Bottom, left, right! I think I got it!”

“Eddie!” Mr. Andrews caught his attention just as he ran off again. “Hurry.”

Nodding at him again, Eddie ran off back through the mazes of hallways until he was in the grand staircase area. A group of people was standing around one of the elevators as a lift operator was giving instructions in this annoyed tone of voice. He’d obviously given this speech over and over many times tonight.

“Excuse me, could you please take me down to the bottom floor?” Eddie asked tapping the man gently on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Sorry, sir, the lifts are closed.” The man answered just barely glancing at Eddie.

“No, please, I just need…”

The lift operator heaved a sigh and placed his arm in front of Eddie, blocking him from going inside. “Sir, I just told you…”

Eddie practically bulldozed into the man, hitting him against the wall. “You listen to me, God damn it!” Eddie cursed through his teeth. “Take me down now!”

The lift operator did as he was told immediately pulling the lever to go down. He stood as far away from Eddie as he could, obviously afraid.

What was even coming over him? Whatever it was it felt like an immense weight off Eddie’s shoulders.

The ride was slow as Eddie breathed in and out, making sure that he remembered to breathe. His inhaler was in his pocket. Whenever he got too excited he’d hyperventilate. He prayed as he watched each floor go by that Richie would be okay. 

As they went lower, Eddie started to feel an immense chill. Right when he looked down at the next floor a huge amount of water started pouring into the elevator, flooding it!

Eddie screamed, grasping the walls. The water was absolutely frigid!

The lift operator climbed onto his chair also yelling out in alert. He did stop the lift for Eddie, right when they were on the floor.

Ignoring the immense cold, Eddie threw open the gates and thrashed through the flood of waters into the highway. It was just up to his knees now.

“I’m going back up!” And the elevator disappeared.

Eddie eyed the man for how cowardly he was.

Which way? Which way? Walking through the knee-deep water for a moment, Eddie looked all around for where the crewman’s passage was. He didn’t have to go to another lower-level did he? Eddie had never been swimming in his life. And he wasn’t even wearing a life jacket!

Focus, Eddie, focus!

Finally, Eddie found a sign that read ‘Crew Only’ leading down a hallway. Running down it, Eddie pushed himself through the water and pushing objects out of his way. His long black jacket was making this difficult as he tugged it through the water.

That was when he came into another hallway.

Oh, which way now? Panting hard, Eddie looked in each direction. Down the crewman’s passage and then take a… normally Eddie could easily remember the littlest of facts but he was so overwhelmed from what was going on including the pain of the frigid water that he couldn’t get his mind straight.

“Richie? Richie?!” Eddie’s voice echoed throughout the lone hall.

The lights dimmed, briefly going out for only a second.

Richie’s heart jumped. He had just climbed on top of the desk for safety to get out of the flood of water. No, please, anything but his worst nightmare.

“Richie!” A familiar voice rang out from the hallway.

Feeling his heart skip a beat, Richie listened again as that familiar voice called out his name from a distance out in the hallway.

Was that… “Eddie!”

Eddie stopped, turning around, looking all around for where he heard the source of the voice.

“Richie?”

“Eddie, I’m in here!” Richie beat his cuffs against the pipes incessantly.

Eddie ran in the direction of the noise, struggling through the water growing deeper by the second. Pushing open a door, the lovers were reunited, together once more.

Their lips met in hungry, fervent kisses, hardly giving one another the time to breathe. If only Richie’s hands weren’t restrained he wanted to hug Eddie.

Tears immediately fell from Eddie’s eyes, collapsing into Richie’s arms, continuing to kiss him. “Oh Richie, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I am so, so, so sorry!”

“I didn’t do it! Myra put…”

Eddie stopped Richie, hugging his lover close to his shoulder as he smoothed his hair. “I know! I know! I should have said something! Or done something! This is all my fault that you’re trapped down here! I knew they framed you but I didn’t do anything! Myra got inside my head again, just like she always does, I can’t believe...”

“Hey, Shakespeare, enough lamenting and get me out of these!” Richie gestured to the cuffs.

“Right, right…” Eddie took a breath. His heart was racing. He couldn’t let Richie notice that.

Richie pointed towards the desk. “See if you can find the key in one of those drawers or even that cabinet! I think it’s silver.”

Eddie went to the cabinet first, opening it, searching the few keys that were hung up on the hooks. “I don’t think these will do. They’re all brass!” Eddie alerted.

“Check the desk then!” Richie gestured with his foot.

Eddie flung open all the drawers, throwing out papers. Right when he noticed a little box of keys, Eddie ripped out the whole chest from the drawer. His breathing was building immensely again.

“What happened to your face?” Richie asked noticing the red mark on Eddie’s face.

“Huh?” Eddie asked, shivering from the cold and the stress.

“Your right cheek. Looks like it was bleeding,” Richie pointed out.

Eddie touched the spot, just now feeling a cut. “Oh, Myra hit me.”

This riled Richie up, shaking his head. “Oh, I’ll take care of her!”

Eddie smiled. “You won’t have to.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“Thanks to your lessons I spat in her face!” Eddie stated matter of factly with his chin elevated high in the air.

“Wow, good for you! Wish I could have seen that!”

Eddie grew lost staring into Richie’s baby blue eyes. His heart rate just started to calm down.

“Hey, pay attention! We don’t have much time!” Richie ordered him half laughing.

Eddie went back to his search. None of the keys matched Richie’s description. He dropped the drawer into the flood of water. There was nothing inside any of the other drawers. Nothing.

That was when a thought flew into Eddie’s mind. “I have to find help.” He announced staring frightened into Richie’s eyes.

The water was almost two feet deep.

Richie rolled his eyes, looking out the port window again, then back at Eddie, nodding. “Okay, go fast!”

Eddie kicked through the water and kissed Richie.

“I’ll be alright,” Richie assured him, though he knew he looked as scared as ever.

Eddie nodded, then thrashed through the water back into the hallway. “I will be right back!”

“I’ll just wait here…” Richie called out hoping it would be a funny joke. Oh please, come back soon, Eds…

[grindellore]

fanfiction: and when he falls (chapter 1)

Fandom: Harry Potter | Fantastic Beasts Pairing: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald Characters: Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, Ariana Dumbledore, Bathilda Bagshot Rating: T

Summary: In the beginning, love was blossoming between an unearthly beautiful boy with radical ideas and a penchant for talking big and a spirited boy with a ready quill who was forced to take on the role as the head of his family far too early. In the end, there would be two broken hearts, and the beautiful boy would set out to change the world on his own while the spirited boy would be left behind with utterly destroyed family bonds and a well of guilt inside of him.

Also available on my AO3 (see the link in my profile).

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. —Cardinal Wolsey on the “state of man” in William Shakespeare’s All Is True (Henry VIII), 3.2.371-372

The umpteenth version of “those two months of insanity”, but I hope my take on them will still be an interesting read. Canon compliant up until Crimes of Grindelwald with two reservations: First, both of Grindelwald’s eyes are blue (as stated in the Harry Potter books and the first Fantastic Beasts script), just as my physical descriptions in general attempt to comply with the books (Dumbledore has elbow-length auburn hair and a wispy beard; Grindelwald shoulder-length, curly golden hair and—I quote from Deathly Hallows—“a Fred and George-ish air of triumphant trickery about him.”) Second, I hc Dumbledore lied when he said the next time they met (after that fateful duel in 1899) was their duel in 1945.

Chapter 1

Gellert Grindelwald was crouching in the grass in front of the mossy tombstone; positioned, perhaps, directly above the remains of the person interred under it. If there were still remains, that was. The stone was crumbling; all raw, weathered coarseness and sharp, jagged edges. Gellert saw it but he also needed to feel it under the tips of his fingers; needed to follow the traces of the nigh illegible name and, most importantly, the triangular mark underneath. He closed his eyes to eliminate one of his senses, focusing on the sensation of the engraved dents in the stone.

Yes, there was a circle inscribed in the triangle; a line, too, bisecting the angle directly under Ignotus Peverell’s name. They were faint, but they were definitely there.

Gellert drew a shaky breath. This, he thought. This was it. He had been right to visit his aunt in Godric’s Hollow; not just to draw upon her vast library and equally vast historical knowledge, but also for this. This grave, seemingly unremarkable save for its age.

“Are you a distant relative of the Peverell family?”

Gellert all but started at the sound of the deep voice. When he had entered the graveyard, he had been aware of the black cloaked boy, kneeling in front of another grave with a bouquet of white lilies in his hands and shielded from the world by the thick curtain of his flowing auburn hair, so long it was almost touching the ground. Gellert had decided not to greet him, reluctant to intrude on the silent conversation he might be holding with the person he was mourning or, perhaps, with God.

Now the auburn-haired boy was standing right next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a worn but elegant pair of high-heeled, buckled boots.

Gellert, who had always had a sense for first impressions, allowed his own golden curls to flow out of his face, looking up at the boy before he rose in a smooth motion. The other was half a head taller than Gellert, even subtracting the heels. His form was as thin and slender as his face, with a wispy beard, a long, even nose and faint freckles under the rims of bright, light blue eyes.

Right now, these eyes were staring at him, thunderstruck. Gellert knew that reaction. He had seen his own face in the mirror; all even features and angles and long, black lashes over eyes that were a slightly darker shade of blue than the other boy’s. His golden, shoulder-length locks gave him an unearthly, almost angelic appeal that made most people hold their breath for a second when they first saw him.

“Not to my knowledge,” Gellert said smoothly and added a dazzling smile to the rest of his striking outward appearance. He straightened, making himself as tall as possible as he extended a hand towards the boy. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gellert Grindelwald, Bathilda Bagshot’s great-nephew.” The other took his hand, but before he could say anything, Gellert added: “And you must be Albus Dumbledore. I saw photos of you on Aunt Batty’s chest of drawers. She told me a lot about you; said you’re brilliant: Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize…”

“Stop it; stop it!” Albus chuckled, holding his palms away from his chest. “You’ll make my face turn as red as my hair if you continue like that!” This wasn’t the kind of reaction Gellert had expected. It made Albus’s eyes sparkle and softened his features; made them pleasant and appealing.

Now it was Gellert who was staring, if only for a split second. He had assumed Albus would be rather sullen; depressed maybe because he had just come from a grave—and not any grave but his mother’s, if he recalled correctly from the abundance of information his aunt had fed him at his arrival in Godric’s Hollow.

“My great aunt does have a tendency to talk quite a lot about other people, and it’s often things that are a bit embarrassing,” Gellert conceded with a smile. “Usually good things, though.”

“Bathilda is a charming lady,” Albus said with a genuine smile of his own. “A brilliant historian, too! I wish I had an aunt like her.”

“She’s wonderful even though she’s a bit nosy.” Gellert cracked a grin, registering with satisfaction that Albus held his breath again even though he managed not to stare this time. “Asked me if you wanted to come over for coffee and cake, too.—Well, more like tea and cake,” he corrected himself. “For teatime, anyway.”

Gellert silently cursed himself. He knew his English didn’t betray much of his accent even though it was a bit lilting, but now he had given himself away as a non-native speaker for good. Sure enough, Albus Dumbledore, the wizarding wunderkind, would catch on to it.

“Bathilda may be as English as one can get, but you’re not from here, aren’t you?” Albus asked, sure enough, furrowing his brow in curiosity.

“No, I’m from Sopron, actually,” Gellert admitted. “Or Ödenburg, if that rings more of a bell. It’s in Austria-Hungary. Part of the Kingdom of Hungary, to be precise. My mother’s Hungarian; the father’s Austrian.”

“Interesting,” Albus said, eyes sparkling. “I’m sorry I must decline Bathilda’s invitation, though,” he added, and the light was suddenly gone from his eyes, as if someone had extinguished a candle. Gellert felt a strange and uncalled-for desire to do or say something to see it again. “Please tell Bathilda I’d gladly have accepted her invitation, but I’m afraid I must take care of my younger sister. I left her alone for far too long already, whiling away time at the cemetery.”

Gellert was fairly sure spending time at a deceased family member’s grave couldn’t exactly be called whiling away said time, but he decided not to comment on it. There was something peculiar about this boy; he was young, but there was an air resembling that of an absent-minded professor about him. Gellert felt drawn to him without being able to explain what exactly it was that made Albus so fascinating; what made him think desperately of ways to convince him to accept Bathilda’s invitation after all.

“Why don’t you just bring your sister along to Aunt Batty?” was the most natural thing that came to his mind.

“I’m afraid my sister is very frail … shy and easily distressed when she meets new people…” Albus’s voice trailed off, seemingly unconvinced by his own line of reasoning. He looked to the ground rather than into Gellert’s eyes.

“Why don’t you just ask her if she feels ready to meet me?” Gellert suggested, hope rising in his chest, fluttering up just like, as he hoped, the sparkle in Albus’s eyes. “I’m assuming she already knows Aunt Batty?”

“She does,” Albus admitted, “but she has never been to her house … Besides, my brother will kill me if I take Ariana to Bathilda’s.” He sighed.

“Then make sure he won’t find out about it.” Gellert smirked mischievously. Albus gave him a surprised look. Then the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Fine,” he said, already turning on his heels. “I’m going to ask her.”

Interesting, Gellert thought. Albus had to be fairly desperate to escape his household charges, judging from how fast he had changed his mind. Either that, or… But Gellert quickly pushed that train of thought out of his mind.

“…so lovely if he could finally bring little Ariana over!” Gellert heard his great aunt say from the kitchen. He was in her sitting room, leaning against the bow-fronted chest of drawers on which she kept photographs of people close to her in silver frames. There was a particularly English note to the room, with embroidered doilies and colourfully painted flowerpots and saucers everywhere, but also a note that was purely Bathilda: There were stacks of books all across the room, some of them with an opened book on top and at least one scribble in the margins of the opened pages.

Aunt Batty’s sitting room was a little chaotic, but Gellert supposed it was practical if you were a famous historian and needed to draw on written texts all the time for your own books and articles. Nonetheless, he was feeling a little out of place in his spotless black trousers and black-grey striped waistcoat; too monochrome for the vivid colours of the room.

“Gellert, did you hear me?” his great aunt interrupted his musings about the room. “Should I set the table for two or four; what do you think?”

“Better set it for four,” he called back. “I think it’s better to have too many rather than too less place settings on the table, even if they don’t come in the end.”

He watched as four flowery saucers materialised on the wooden table in the middle of the room, followed by matching teacups and plates. Then there was a knock at Aunt Batty’s front door, and his attention strayed from the self-setting table.

“I’m going to let them in!” he informed his great aunt, already on his way to answer the door.

“Thanks, darling!” he heard her call from the kitchen.

Remembering what Albus had told him about Ariana’s shyness around unknown people, he opened the door slowly and with gentleness. Albus, now wearing purple robes, stood in front of him. His sister was half hidden behind his back, ogling Gellert from under Albus’s arm.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he greeted them both, beaming at Albus in particular. Then he turned to Ariana, bowing down a little to be on eye level with her. She had to be about a head smaller than him, though it was difficult to tell because she wasn’t standing upright.

“You must be Albus’s sister Ariana,” he greeted her, extending a hand. “I’m Gellert, Bathilda’s great nephew.”

She only stared at him suspiciously, making no move to take his hand. He reacted by extending only his bent index finger to her. She tipped at it with her own index finger, making a sound that was almost like a chuckle. His smile broadened.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked her. “Aunt Batty has made her famous chocolate cake.” She nodded. Albus exchanged a relieved look with Gellert as he went inside with his sister.

“Albus!” Bathilda exclaimed, storming out of the kitchen with open arms. She was smaller than Ariana, but that didn’t stop her from hugging Albus with the protective fierceness of a mother hen; it hadn’t stopped her from hugging Gellert with equal fierceness at his arrival either. Albus stooped down and hugged her back, smiling quietly into the tight bun of her brown hair.

“And Ariana!” Bathilda took Ariana’s hands with gentleness, smiling fondly at her. “Would you like to help me a little in the kitchen? Tea is almost ready.” Ariana nodded, and Bathilda tugged her along.

Albus clearly wasn’t at Bathilda’s for the first time. He walked alongside Gellert to the sitting room, taking a seat in a chair next to the empty fireplace. Gellert sat down across the table, scrutinizing Albus’s outward appearance.

“Honestly,” he said, “you’re fitting into this room way better than I do. Though I must admit the colour of your robes jars a little with your hair colour…”

“Interesting,” Albus said completely unimpressed. “A male individual who understands the idea of matching colours. What rarity.” He paused for effect. “Which colour would suit my hair better, Gellert; what do you think?”

“Green,” Gellert said without thinking. He realised he had been led up the garden path the moment the words left his mouth.

“Well … green.” Sure enough, Albus conjured a green carnation out of thin air and attached it on his purple robes. He raised both eyebrows. “Better?”

Gellert stared at him, utterly lost for words—and he was never lost for words. His heart was thumping in his chest. Albus had to know what he was alluding to, but what was he implying? That he was…? That he thought Gellert was…?

The truly unsettling thing was that he would have been right. Gellert’s head was hurting. He hadn’t known he was so easy to see through.

Then again, maybe Albus hadn’t seen through him after all. Maybe he had been making a statement about himself, or maybe it just amused him to scandalise other people. But that was something he, Gellert, thought funny! Would a model pupil like Albus even do such a thing?

Suddenly a large chocolate cake appeared on the table and their cups were full of tea—herbal tea by the scent of it. Gellert was immediately distracted. He found even black tea just barely tolerable, but herbal tea… Gellert sighed inwardly. As Aunt Batty’s guest, he needed to drink what was served to him, grin and bear it.

“Ah, wonderful!”  Albus exclaimed, apparently delighted by the sight of the chocolate cake. “May we help ourselves to a piece, Bathilda?”

“Of course!” Bathilda said, walking back into the sitting room with Ariana. She smiled at Albus. “After all, I know how much you enjoy my cakes.”

“Well, but first of all, we need to serve the ladies,” Albus said as he pulled his wand out of his robes and gave it a flick. Two impeccably cut pieces of cake separated from the whole of it and settled on the plates in front of Bathilda and Ariana. “Then the well-travelled guest.” Another piece went to Gellert’s plate. “And, finally, myself.” The piece of cake that made its way to Albus’s plate was of the exact shape and form as the other three. Gellert raised his eyebrows.

“Are you a believer in the distributive norm of equity?” he asked curiously. “Donum suum aequale sibi?”

“Much as I’d love to distribute sweets proportional to body height,” Albus said, corners of his mouth twitching, “I believe that would be rather impolite toward your aunt and my sister.” Gellert laughed.

“Well then, Gellert,” Bathilda said. “How do you like my cake?”

“Wait a minute, Aunt Batty!” Gellert replied, still giggling. “I need to take a bite first!”

“And you, dearie?” Bathilda turned to Albus. “What do you think?”

“It tastes delicious as always,” Albus said and took his first bite. Gellert blinked incredulously. Bathilda didn’t seem to have noticed; she left her chair and headed for the kitchen again, muttering something about forgotten cream.

“Did you just…” Gellert asked as soon as his great aunt was out of earshot, staring at Albus.

“So what if I did?” Albus put down his dessert fork. “Any other answer wouldn’t have been socially acceptable anyway, would it?” There was an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Besides, I know from experience that your great aunt makes the best pastries and cakes in the whole West Country of England!”

“Oh, thank you, dearie!” Bathilda, who reappeared with a full bowl of cream floating beside her in mid-air, had apparently only heard the last part of Albus’s declaration. Gellert hastened to take a bite of his piece of cake as well so he could make a statement about it based on evidence.

“Delicious!” he exclaimed after a pause. “There’s a lot of cocoa in this cake, isn’t it? It tastes luscious, almost like melted chocolate!”

“The recipe is a family secret.” Bathilda smiled at herself. “Then again, you are family, so perhaps I’ll hand it to you if you behave nicely during your stay here.” Gellert wanted to tell her how she was probably much better at baking than him anyway, but he didn’t even get to say a word.

“I wish I was part of your family too if that’s the only way to get this recipe!” Albus declared in such a heartfelt way that Ariana started to giggle again. Bathilda made eye contact with her.

“Sweetie, I think your brother is a bit silly today,” she declared. Ariana nodded eagerly, and soon all four of them were grinning. Then Bathilda seemed to remember something.

“Oh dear, I completely forgot to properly introduce you three!”

“It’s no problem, Auntie,” Gellert tried to calm her. “We already introduced ourselves to each other, and you told me so much about Albus...”

“But Albus hardly knows anything about you, darling!” Gellert winced.

“Please, Aunt Batty, let me tell him myself!” he asked, hating how desperate he sounded. He saw the scene right before his mind’s eye: Gellert, this is Albus, the star alumnus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Albus, this is my good-for-nothing great nephew Gellert who was expelled from Durmstrang Institute. Would Albus still want to talk to him if he learnt right now that he...

“But I think your research project would benefit enormously if a bright boy like Albus could look into it!” Bathilda objected gently. Gellert felt dizzy with relief as he realised she wasn’t going to tell Albus about the disgraceful end of his schooling.

“A research project?” Albus piped up.

“Um, yes, it’s ... a bit difficult to explain.” Gellert blushed. Again, he saw the scene right before his eyes: Hello, I’m trying to find three magical artefacts from a children’s tale. Who was going to take him seriously? If only he could get enough time to explain ... preferably without Ariana and his great aunt present...

“It involves an enormous amount of historical research, which is why Gellert came to me in the first place,” Bathilda explained. “Unfortunately I’m pressed for time to finish a revised edition of my book on witchcraft trials at the moment; the publisher needs the final draft by the end of August. But you know your fair share of magical history as well, don’t you, dearie?”

“Oh, it would be an honour for me if I could help you!” Albus said eagerly, turning to Gellert.

“Perhaps we could go to my room and have a look at Aunt Batty’s books together?” Gellert suggested. “I’m sure she would love to stay with your sister in the meantime; wouldn’t you, Aunt Batty?”

“Of course, darling!” Bathilda beamed. “I need to work on my book this afternoon, but you enjoy knitting, don’t you, Ariana?” The girl nodded and smiled at her. “So we could sit together while I’m writing and you’re knitting,” Bathilda suggested. “How does that sound?”

“Lovely,” Ariana said quietly. It was the first word Gellert had heard her utter during the whole afternoon. She had a bright and pretty voice.

Then Gellert turned to Albus, watching his inward struggle with his promise to take care of his sister himself and the temptation to leave her in Bathilda’s care instead. Just like in the cemetery, Temptation won with ease.

“Thank you, Bathilda,” Albus said. “That’s very kind of you.” Then he gave Ariana a tentative smile. She smiled back, but neither of them said anything.

“Come with me?” Gellert asked before Albus might change his mind. Albus nodded and followed him to the stairs. They were steep and narrow, so Albus was quite close to him when he stopped right behind him. He took the green carnation from his purple robes, twirling it between his long fingers.

“Your reaction was quite satisfying,” he commented offhandedly.

“What?”  Gellert’s hand clutched around the landing. His knuckles turned white.

“There, again,” Albus said. “You seem so confident and sure of your own beauty. I wanted to see if I could do or say something that would unsettle you.”

Gellert stared at Albus in bewilderment.

“As it turned out, I could.” Albus smiled. His eyes sparkled. Then he flicked his wand, and the green carnation vanished. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. That was not my intention.”

He knows. Gellert felt the pulse of his own heartbeat in his throat.

“Oh, you didn’t disturb me at all,” he said as smoothly as he could and resumed walking. But he was sure he hadn’t fooled Albus.

Notes:

Oscar Wilde popularised green carnations as a symbol for homosexual men in Victorian England. He was tried for “gross indecency with men” in 1895 and jailed in Reading Gaol from then until 1897. Putting a green carnation on one’s lapel would have been considered risqué, to say the least, in 1899.

My headcanon that Gellert is from Sopron is very, very similar to that of Kierkegarden. I developed it independently but we were apparently thinking along very similar lines of reasoning: Nurmengard, the prison Gellert Grindelwald built, is located in Austria; Szent Gellért is a patron saint of Hungary; and Grindelwald is a village in Switzerland, which could be a Habsburg reference since Habsburg Castle, the originating seat of Austria’s long-time ruling family, is also located in Switzerland. (If you want to read this headcanon in a little more detail, follow the #grindellore tag on my blog 😉) Choosing Sopron as the place Gellert was born seems pretty natural, too, considering it’s an old city that used to be part of the Kingdom of Hungary; its status as Hungarian, not Austrian, remained controversial right after WWI; it was bombed several times during WWII; and it was the site of the “Pan-European Picnic”, a peace demonstration in 1989.

In case anyone’s curious: I hc Albus as about 1.85m in this fic; Gellert is about 1.75m; Ariana is c. 1.50m. Albus is frequently described as tall and thin even by the standards of the early 1990s in the Harry Potter series; he would be huge for a human man by the standards of the late 1890s.

[divnitae]

Free Falling (kth)

characters : kim taehyung x you (guest appearances by the mochi, park jimin) 

genre : fluff, romance, au

description: a story of how kim taehyung continues to fall in love with you throughout the years 

author’s notes : this marks my official debut into this writing business, and though this isn’t my first time writing, it is one of my first works launched on tumblr ( was an avid aff writer once upon a blue moon ). ending is a little rushed, but i’ve been fixing and rewriting so many moments here that i realized i should just let this go and move on to one of my many other plot bunnies. neverthless, i hope you enjoy and i apologize in advance for the plethora of writing styles mashed into one here since i’ve been writing this in bits and pieces, and every day launches a different style / approach to convey what i want for this. should also warn you that this isn’t proofread so there may be typos / weird sentences here and there, oops! 

word count : 3065

Five.

That’s the age Kim Taehyung claims to have fallen in love you, or so he says while retelling what he also perceives as the greatest love story of all time since Romeo and Juliet. You have to remind Taehyung then, that the Shakespeare classic is more of a tragedy than an epic romance, and that knowing the real definition of love at that young of an age is highly implausible. But once Taehyung’s mind is set on something it’s hard to change his mind, so despite your protests and eye rolls, Taehyung remains firm that it is five when you first make his heart skip a beat. 

It begins with snack time at kindergarten, and today the teachers are passing out everyone’s beloved chocolate pudding. Because Kim Taehyung is an obedient kid (at this moment, you let out an un-lady like snort), he is the last in line because he had to put away all the blocks he was playing with into the cubbies. By the time it reaches his turn, there is exactly one cup left and just as his small fingers are about to clasp onto the delicacy, another grubby hand comes into view and snatches the pudding right from his eyes. 

Taehyung’s eyes widen and his mouth pops open into a small ‘o’ as he turns his head upwards to meet the eyes of no other than his childhood nemesis, Park Hyunjoong.

 Hyunjoong’s lips are curled into an evil simper as he stares down Taehyung, daring the latter boy to say something and when Taehyung doesn’t attempt to do anything, Hyunjoong lets out a loud chuckle. Taehyung’s been conditioned to let Hyunjoong have anything he wants, since the bully was bigger and also had a posse of other boys that followed Hyunjoong’s actions suit. From running over Taehyung’s sandcastles to smearing black paint over Taehyung’s masterpieces, Kim Hyunjoong was a force that Taehyun could not reckon with, and so with great reluctance, Taehyung swallows down his disappointment and pride, ready to let Hyunjoong take his snack. 

But that’s when you come into view, marching in without a single fear in the world as you jab a finger into Hyunjoong’s side, causing the boy to jump up and simultaneously let go of the pudding cup. You catch it easily and step towards Taehyung, shoving it into his chest as he fumbles to get a good grip.

“Don’t you have better things to do than to steal other people’s food?” You turn your heel back to face Hyunjoong, who is still flabbergasted at the series of events. He releases a huff and something along the lines of “my parents told me not to fight with girls” before storming away, obviously a little shaken that someone had come in to defend Taehyung.

“T-Thanks,” Taehyung clutches the chocolate now with all his might, and when you turn around and flash him the sweetest smile he has ever seen in his life, his heart starts up a drumroll that quickens with each passing second.

“You’re welcome.” You say and after a moment’s thought, you reach out and interlock your fingers with Taehyung’s, giving him a slight tug forwards, “Come on. Let’s build a sandcastle." 

You two have been inseparable ever since, much to the young boy’s delight.

 ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Twelve. 

Taehyung is the newest addition to the community center’s junior soccer team and it’s either the best decision his parents had ever made, or it’s the worst. The sport helps wear off the seemingly endless bundle of energy Taehyung always carries, but it also paints his skin with purpling bruises and temporary scars. Still, Taehyung’s youthful passion for soccer helps keep him enrolled, and this is why he’s continuing to spend his Thursday evenings running around the grass field, kicking the black and white ball back in forth to his new friend (who will also eventually become one of this closest), Park Jimin.

You on the other hand, spent Thursday evenings learning how to draw and paint at the same community center’s art class. You get out an hour earlier before Taehyung, but given that you are attending the same place as Taehyung, his parents and yours worked out a carpooling arrangement. So, every Thursday after you finish packing all your colored pencils or watercolor paints, you make your way to the field and sit on the bleachers, watching Taehyung’s practice for the remaining time.  

This particular Thursday is no different. The sun’s in the process of beginning to set when you make your way towards the bleachers, carefully climbing your way up the steps, before sitting down on the metallic benches. You pull out the short novel your class is assigned to read and open it up to the bookmarked page, skimming through while occasionally looking up to see Taehyung wave frantically at you or to see him exchanging high-fives with Jimin. You smile every time you two make eye contact, and after several minutes you decide that you can’t focus on the reading. So, you put the book back into your knapsack, pulling the zipper all the way around to securely enclose all your school supplies. Satisfied, you lean back against the higher set of benches, charcoal colored locks spilling over the seats as you drink in the sight before you.

Taehyung has moved onto goal and defense practice now, which consists of alternating the boys into goalie and scorer spots. You watch as Taehyung throws a bright, boxy grin at you before turning frontwards, top teeth sunken into his bottom lip in unmistakable determination as he focuses in on all the possible blind spots of Jimin, who is the current goalie. Inhaling a deep breath of air, he takes a few steps back before charging at the ball until the sole of his bright blue soccer cleats make contact with the ball, sending it flying in a diagonal direction of the post.

Jimin is fooled for a mere second, but the second has taken its toll, and despite earnestly lurching towards the ball, he fails to catch it, and the team erupts into cheers.

Taehyung wastes no time to jog up to his friend, who flashes him a good-natured smile in return, and runs out of the goalie spot, in which Taehyung fills in.

Another teammate whom you don’t recognize is the next one up, and he too, like Taehyung wears the expression of pure conviction. That is perhaps the reason why he sends the ball flying with two much force, in a crooked angle that somehow winds  up being the same direction as Taehyung’s face. 

The time slows as you watch in horror as the soccer ball makes contact with the goalie’s face, and he’s knocked back, landing on the soft patch of grass.

You hastily run down the bleachers, towards the forming circle. When Jimin spots you, he makes room for you to wiggle in as well. 

Their coach has already arrived and is inspecting Taehyung carefully, brows knit together in worry. Taehyung on the other hand, remains motionless for a few more seconds before emitting a low hiss of pain. You feel your eyes beginning to water in worry and empathy, and you’re just a half step away from crying when Taehyung opens his eyes, and looks at you.

 His nose is bleeding, right eye in process of becoming a black one, but he still manages to crack a grin at you.

You let out a soft sob as you dash the remaining small distance to your friend, hands gripping onto one of his.

"A-Are you okay?” You choke out and Taehyung wants to say yes, but he is in pain, so all he can do is let out another groan.

You free your left hand, reaching into the pocket of your jeans to pull out a clean tissue and begin pinching his nose, just the way your mother taught you when a bloody nose was happening.

“I-It’s okay, y-you don’t have to s-say anything.” You sniffle as you start dabbing at the mess under the bridge of his nose, “Y-You’re going to be okay.”

And Taehyung knows it is, because you’re here, taking care of him just as if you were his guardian angel.

 ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

 Eighteen.

It’s the night of your graduation, but instead of celebrating it, you’re flooding Taehyung’s chest with warm tears. Your first boyfriend, first love, Park Jinyoung, had just broken up with you after going out for about nine months.

Distance. Different paths. Dreams.

He had tried to explain the reasoning to you with the three different d’s, but all that resonated in your ear was, “Y/N, I think we should end this.”

You feel Taehyung’s hand rhythmically patting your back, his chin on top of your head as he feels every tremor, every vibration that is sent down your spine because of your loud sobs. Taehyung has never liked that sparkly-eyed boyfriend, wait, ex-boyfriend of yours for some “unexplainable” reason , and if he’s disliked him then, he’s hating him now, for bringing you tears instead of laughter, for breaking your heart, which simultaneously breaks his.

Who, in their sane mind, would break up with you?

Your bed shakes with another shake that’s not your own. It’s Taehyung’s phone which lays haphazardly next to him.

A message from Jimin (whom you’ve also become good friends with) saying that he just wrapped his graduation dinner with his parents and was on his way over to your house with chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Taehyung quickly texts back an okay and smiley face before tossing the device down again, returning to soothing you.

 "I-It’s n-not l-like I didn’t expect t-this.“ You croak out, momentarily pulling away from Taehyung’s warmth. Your lashes are wet, voice is hoarse, looking so small that Taehyung just wants to pocket you and shield you from all the pain in the world.

"H-He’s b-been hinting at it s-since we turned in app-applications.” You continue, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. From the corner of your eye, you spot Taehyung wordlessly reach for the box of Kleenex on your nightstand. “I j-just d-didn’t expect him to end it be-before trying it out.”

Taehyung remains silent as he carefully dabs at your eye with the soft cloth, much like the way you wiped away his injury almost six years ago.

“Am I j-just not good enough for h-him to want to try?”

 Taehyung, who has been quietly supporting you for the past hour and a half, looks up at you, shell-shocked that you would even imply such absurdity.

 And he voices it too.

“Where the f*ck is that coming from, Y/N?” He demands, almost shouts, because that sort of implication is just ludicrous and he wants to clean out any speck of insecurity from you.

You shrug, “Why else would he break up without even trying?" 

"Because he’s an idiot.” Taehyung replies without missing a beat, “And as cliché as it sounds, you’ll find someone better. Someone that will fight through thick and thin with you. Besides, he’s not even that great. His face looks like a girl’s, and all he does is whine about how bad cafeteria food is, and he makes you wait for him after his classes instead of the other way around, and —”

“Stop it, Tae.” You cut off Taehyung’s long list of complaints of Jinyoung, “I don’t want to be that kind of ex." 

At Taehyung’s confusion, you explain, "You know, the kind that just has negative things to say about her past boyfriend. I don’t want to be that kind of girl. He’s a nice guy despite everything and I wish nothing but the best for him.”

Taehyung wants to melt at the spot, because you are truly an angel. He feels the quenching of his heart them; it’s a bittersweet feeling because as much as he feels the pain with you, he feels blessed to know an angel like you — to love an angel like you. 

Love.

It’s at that moment when you finally get up from the bed, ready to box up any items that remind you of Jinyoung, that everything clicks.

Taehyung loves you … has been loving you.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Twenty-one.

It’s sloppy and rough, but you shouldn’t expect anything more from a product consisting of intoxicated minds and unspoken feelings.

 It begins with a sudden feat that started a few weeks ago, when butterflies began swarming in flocks whenever your certain childhood friend happened to be near you. You realize then that he was no longer the chubby toddler who needed saving from playground bullies, no longer the clumsy athlete who always got injured someway somehow, no longer the sibling like figure because your recent thoughts of him were highly inappropriate for a brother.

No, you liked-liked him, possibly even more because the way you felt about crushes was nowhere near the intensity of this.

On the other hand, despite his composed facial features when you pull away from him for air, he’s a train wreck. 

His feelings had been locked in a chest, key thrown out into the seven seas, yet you had managed to find a way to unlock all these hidden feelings.

Your lips are swollen, lipstick smudged, bangs matted against your forehead, and even though to others you look like a mess, to Taehyung you couldn’t be more beautiful.

He loves you even more now that his lips had been atop of yours.

He loves you even more now that his arms had wrapped around your waist. 

He loves you even more now that you were flushed and red-faced, and that it’s mostly due to him than the cheap soju you had taken shots of hours ago.

And he loves you even more now that he has heard all your hidden feelings, coming out in a flurry because you’re scared and nervous.

He stops you with a finger pressed against your lips, his brows furrowed. 

“Shh.” He hushes you and you feel your stomach drop because he obviously doesn’t share the same feelings and now you just ruined your greatest friendship of all time, but he responds to your change in facial expressions with an amused look.

“What are you thinking about?” He says softly, hooking a finger under your chin to tilt it upwards, “I just wanted to be the one who confessed first since I obviously have loved you longer.”

You’re at a loss for word at his outspokenness, but your mind turns blank once more when he slams his lips against yours.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Twenty six.

If Park Jimin was a mean person, he would shut off his phone, flush it down the toilet, or something along the lines so he could never be reached again. His mobile phone began to tremor approximately an hour ago, but now it’s in a full blown out seizure, no thanks to a certain Kim Taehyung, who Jimin know regrets calling a close friend. 

But Jimin is not a mean person, so he leaves his phone on, lets the Kakoatalk messages arrive in a frenzy because Taehyung isn’t patient enough to send everything in a long block, and tries to be even more understanding than he already is.

Taehyung is currently having a panic attack because nothing he had planned is going through.

He originally had a reservation at your favorite Italian restaurant, but for some reason the booking never got marked. You two had arrived there decked in semi-formal clothing, only to be turned away because the restaurant is always full and despite Taehyung’s pleads, the effort is futile. 

Which is why you two are currently strolling down a busy street, pausing every now and then to pick something up from the multitude of food carts stationed in this area. You don’t seem to mind, but Taehyung is crushed that he couldn’t provide a romantic setting.

Hence the nonstop complaints sent to Jimin’s way, interrupting the older boy’s peaceful night of League.

Jimin lets out an annoyed yelp when his champion dies in the middle of a team fight because his phone had set off at an unexpected time, causing him to flash and burn all his abilities in the wrong order. There’s curses and swears sent his way from his teammates because his death ultimately leads to an “aced” for the other team, but Jimin still remains cordial when he unlocks his phone to read Taehyung’s crisis, which currently involves the younger boy spilling fish cake soup all over his white dress shirt and now he looks like a mess and he couldn’t possibly propose to you this way.

Propose.

Yes, that’s what Taehyung intended to do on this particular day because he can’t imagine a life without you and can’t wait to set a new milestone in your two’s life together. 

But he’s having second thoughts about this, that is until his phone lets out a soft chime, indicating Jimin’s response.

jimin: she’s seen you in your boxers that has holes in it and you think a little stain is bad? man up and get this over with so you can let me climb to plat in peace.

Taehyung locks his phone with a gulp, swallowing down hard as he peers nervously at you who is currently collecting more napkins to dry Taehyung’s shirt. 

“Ever the klutz.” You chuckle as you wipe at the wet spots, and Taehyung is panicking so hard that he lets it all slip.

“Marry me.” He squeaks and you pause momentarily in your actions to look up at him, making sure that you heard right. 

Did he just propose while you were cleaning his shirt?

“I-I love you so much.” He stammers, “Loved you since I was five, and every day with you I continue to fall in love with you more and more." 

Your heart is ramming against the chest at this point, and it only threatens to escape your chest when he drops down on one knee in old fashion.

"So, will you make me the luckiest man, Y/N, and allow me to love you more and more through the years?”

 … 

Jimin dies again, when his phone excitedly buzzes again, alerting him that he is now a best man and that he probably should just stop playing video games for the night because this is probably the first of many text messages from a very animated Taehyung.

[chemicalperfume]

All That Takarazuka: Sagiri Seina x Towaki Sea Cross Talk

A couple of months ago, @chevalierene requested a translation of this interview (and very graciously provided materials for it to be made possible.) Read more below for some warm discussion between Chigi and Hitoko about “Caleb Hunt, Private Eye”, and the special system that is shinjin kouen. I also translated a small section at the end, with the reporter’s description/impressions of the leads of each 2016 shinjin kouen (from Shakespeare to One Samurai From Kagoshima).

Special thanks to @animaniacal for beta-reading and puzzling over English with me. <3

Snow Troupe Show Special Talk: Top Star x Shinjin Kouen Lead

A shinjin kouen is a regular show as performed by young actresses who have been with the Revue for seven years or less. In particular, the young actress who plays the lead, the same role as the Top Star, receives special attention. We spoke with the Snow Troupe Top Star, Sagiri Seina, and shinjin kouen lead, Towaki Sea, about “Caleb Hunt, Private Eye”, then we looked back on the up-and-coming actresses who starred in each troupe’s 2016 shinjin kouen performances.

-- What kind of man is Caleb, in “Caleb Hunt, Private Eye”? Sagiri: He is a very straightforward man, with justice as his core, who always pursues what he believes in. Also, the way he does not waver out of concern for himself or his surroundings, and just faces the case straight on, is another part of that wholehearted determination to help the weak and those in trouble. Isn’t that right?

Towaki: Yes, I also believe he’s a very straightforward person.

Sagiri: While he’s a private detective, which is not a common setting, I think there must be people working in normal companies and independent businesses who are like him. Caleb’s sense of justice can resonate with everyone, after all. As a play, it is not just a “hardboiled” crime drama, there are some comedic elements, too. You can see that through Masatsuka Haruhiko’s direction, and I think the play constantly switches gears between the comedic and the serious aspects of solving a case.

--Masatsuka’s works are known for their natural dialogue and characteristic manly worldview; doesn’t this make it a highly difficult production, especially for a shinjin kouen?

Sagiri: It is essential that we maintain the pauses and tempo of natural, everyday conversation, even with dialogue that is merely there to move the story along. This is difficult even for me, with all my experience, so I think this role will be a big challenge for Hitoko (Towaki). She’ll need to bring the role into existence while standing on stage as an otokoyaku within a very minimal world, wearing a simple suit as if it’s her everyday clothes…. A really big challenge.

Towaki: Yes!

Sagiri: I’m looking forward to seeing how Hitoko will make this role her own.

Towaki: I always watch Chigi-san (Sagiri)’s rehearsals, but I’m also aware that I shouldn’t become too much like Chigi-san’s Caleb...

Sagiri: Yes, that’s it! It’s amazing that you’ve noticed that.

Towaki: *laughs* I think that is especially important with this kind of play.

Sagiri: Yeah. Even if you use me as reference, you need to play it like it’s an entirely different part.

Towaki: Yes. This will be my third shinjin kouen lead, so instead of just studying by observation, I have come to first think about the part on my own, and then watch how Chigi-san acts it out in rehearsals. Seeing Chigi-san’s acting really helps me figure out the parts I don’t understand by myself.

--Such a dilligent youngster we have here!

Sagiri: Ain’t that the truth!

Towaki: Absolutely no such thing!

Sagiri: Even that first time she played one of my roles, in the “Maeda Keiji” shinjin kouen, she thought about the role and her acting very deeply, and asked some very perceptive questions. Even some that made me go “I hadn’t thought of that!” and then made me reassess some things *laughs*. There have been many times she’s asked good questions, which I enjoy. Throughout my own shinjin kouen era I was in a frantic state, so I think Hitoko is really amazing.

Towaki: Not at all! However, “Lupin III” and “Rurouni Kenshin” didn’t have particularly strong romance elements, while in this play I have a lover for the first time, and there are kissing scenes; it’s packed with first-time experiences.

Sagiri: Can’t wait *laughs*

Towaki: Chigi-san’s gestures are incredibly natural and cool.

Sagiri: Eh, I don’t think I’ve shown you much of that *laugh*

Towaki: No, it is all very educational for me!

-- What is Towaki’s appeal as a stage actor?

Sagiri: While she has all the makings of an otokoyaku and a Takarasienne, she also has the humility to not rely too much on her natural talent, as well as the ability to think for herself. That said, if instead of overthinking and then freezing up, she could add to her other qualities the daring to just go for it, even if that takes her in a different direction than she’d intended, I believe she would rise even higher.

Towaki: Before I go out in front of people, I’m scared of freezing up, so I end up thinking too much. I always want to give it my all and do it properly, though.

Sagiri: Yeah, you can do it, but something inside you is holding back.

Towaki: I lack confidence……..

Sagiri: No one is confident. We don’t have confidence, that’s why we rehearse.

Towaki: I think I’m scared of not being able to do it. Even if the rehearsal room is where you’re supposed to mess up, I don’t want to be seen messing up.

Sagiri: You are still too protective of yourself, definitely *laughs*

Towaki: I’ll do my best!

--What can one gain from performing as a shinjin kouen lead?

Sagiri: An endless number of things. Personally, more than anything else, I think I realized that no one can go out on stage alone; that a play becomes possible when everyone’s strengths become one. You are given the privilege of standing in the middle, wearing the most beautiful outfit, and having the brightest spotlight shine on you. You are automatically made to stand out, so you must grow into someone who can rise to the occasion. That realisation has probably led to where I am today.

Towaki: During my first lead, I realised I couldn’t do it without the support of everyone around me. The second time, there was the dread of having to exceed the first, along with feeling that I must pull everyone forward, and so it didn’t go well and I stumbled. This third time, as one of the senior actresses in shinjin kouen, I would like to look over the play in its entirety and also get to show off being the “energy at the centre”.

--Snow Troupe has many rapidly maturing young actresses. What kind of performance are you aiming to get in your troupe’s newest production?

Sagiri: It’s been a while since we had a completely original play and revue combination; therefore, I would like for us to enjoy our material, make the audience discover new, charming points in all our performers, and want to follow the show’s entire run.

2016 Shinjin Kouen Playback

Performed only once in each theatre during a show’s run, the shinjin kouen is a place of diligent study for young talents. The lead actresses walk their first steps to stardom, as the future hope of each troupe.

Shakespeare: Rukaze Hikaru, Haruha Rara

Rukaze, who joined the Revue in 2012, was chosen to play her first lead in her 4th year. Her vivacious role-building, robust singing and stage presence that capitalises on her whole 174cm of height, all made a memorable impression. Her classmate, Haruha, was the heroine. With her lovely looks, she exhibited high suitability for the position. A fresh and striking combination.

Rurouni Kenshin: Towaki Sea, Irodori Michiru

The second lead for Towaki Sea, the hopeful who debuted in 2011. Thanks to also being given the part of the “shadow” of the protagonist, Kenshin, in the main production, her sword-fighting is now magnificent. Her originality in building the role and her emotional singing charmed audiences. The heroine was Irodori Michiru, also in her second lead role. In the main performance, she got to display her aptitude for acting in a boy’s role, which earned her favourable reviews.

Die Fledermaus: Shidou Ryuu, Maaya Kiho

A highly difficulty production, adapted from Johann Strauss II’s operetta, served as Shidou Ryuu (class of 2010)’s first lead. With earnest singing and youth as her main weapons, she displayed quite the stately stage presence. The role of the heroine went for the first time to Maaya. She lived up to her reputation as a true talent of outstanding vocal and acting skills.

ME AND MY GIRL: Yuunami Kei, Shiroki Mirei/ Ayaki Hikari, Oto Kurisu

This grand musical was split into Acts 1 and 2, and the pairs of Yuunami / Shiroki and Ayaki / Oto played the leads in each. Yuunami built her role as noble and straightforward, while Ayaki used her raw talent to act with a remarkable aura. Shiroki and Oto, who got to shine in the main show as well, are both certified talents. It turned out to be a very high-level performance.

NOBUNAGA: Akatsuki Chisei, Yukarino Koyuki

With her excellent dancing skills and robust vocals, Akatsuki Chisei got to play an active part in the main show as well; this was the third lead for the strapping young star, who joined in 2012. She broke new ground for herself playing an imposing Nobunaga, quite different from her own personality. Her classmate, Yukarino, served as the heroine for the first time. A musumeyaku of adorable countenance but inherent vocal skill and charisma, she enchanted audiences.

Elisabeth: Rukaze Hikaru, Hoshikaze Madoka

The one to lead the shinjin kouen for this Takarazuka staple, was, for the second time, Rukaze. The role of Der Tod demands strong vocal prowess, and with her powerful singing voice, she gave an enthusiastic performance. The heroine was Hoshikaze from the 2014 class. Since she was chosen for her first heroine role in 2015, she is a rapidly rising musumeyaku star. She also delivered a great performance in the main show as young Rudolf.

One Samurai From Kagoshima: Amahana Ema, Kozakura Honoka

A combi that each received their first lead roles, Amahana and Kozakura. Amahana joined the Revue in 2012. Even in a difficult nihonmono role, she managed to enchant audiences with her dynamic acting and beautiful guise in casual traditional wear. The lovely Kozakura, of the 2013 class, also displayed staunch acting and vocal skill. It was a passionate shinjin kouen overflowing with youthful energy.

[trouvxilles-blog]

Character Development : Description

BASICS

Full Name: terrence oberon yoon Nicknames: terry, “t” (lance usually calls him this), dumbass, asshole (both on more than a few occasions) Sex/Gender: male Right or Left: right Age: 21 (international) Height: 5′9 Eye Colour: dark brown Hair Colour: black Distinguishing Marks: a mole on his right cheek; scars across his left wrist; a small diagonal scar on his right temple from getting into a fight; a small, light birthmark on the left side of his chest, and a small, light, heart-shaped birth mark on his right hip bone. Paragraph Of Physical Traits: his skin is fair with golden undertones. his overall body type is slender, but toned from rotc training. he has soft features that people think make him look pretty, and broad shoulders that tells people he’s actually a man which especially helped when he grew his hair out. his arms are toned but still pretty skinny despite doing push-ups and playing basketball; his hair is an uneven dark bob with just as uneven bangs.

FAMILY/RELIGION

Parents: yoon sangchul (father, unemployed asshole alcoholic), alice han (estranged, former file clerk; he doesn’t know what she’s doing now) Siblings: five (5) - titania (tanya), 26, works a desk job her friend got here in the morning and as a bar waitress at night - lance, 23, web developer because he’s basically a genius, got a scholarship in one of the top universities - juliet (julie), 16, 10th grade, takes a lot of babysitting opportunities - tybalt (ty), 14, 8th grade psycho, usually helps julie babysit when their rundown house turns into a daycare every saturday  - robin (puck), 7, 1st grade, they love him Marital Status: single Significant Other/s: changes frequently (but who has time for commitment when you barely have time for yourself?) Children: none (unable to think about children when he’s already basically taking of three.) Other Relatives: an aunt who lives in chicago, a grandmother somewhere in northern california, an uncle in incheon (married with kids), grandparents in chuncheon Pets: none (can’t feed a family. obviously can’t feed a pet.) Friends: generally has a lot of friends because he’s way too outgoing and obnoxious for his and everyone’s own good; however, he’s picky when it comes to people he wants to keep a constant figure in his life. - bob kim (a barista from the usual cafe he goes to for coffee runs; he still wonders if that’s his real name; regardless, he still has a crush on bob) - sylvan carter (a barista from the same cafe; bob’s best friend and wingman; in love with terry, but terry doesn’t know nor does he care; terry likes him enough but can never get his name right.) - charlotte ‘charlie’ lee (his baby who he adores so much and will do anything for, including buying charlie cake with what’s left of his money) - aiden kwon (he’s only friends with aiden because aiden is friends with charlie; and also terry knows aiden likes charlie so there’s that.) - kiel sang (a non-blood related twin; both their existence essentially defies any known laws of metaphysics - but their whole relationship is something We Don’t Talk About) Enemies: gets into a lot of petty fist fights, but doesn’t really make lifelong enemies; he probably even fucked one of the people who beat him up at one point. Ethnicity: korean Religion: agnostic (or whatever) Beliefs: he believes in a higher being, but not necessarily a god. he thinks there are probably multiple gods out there making bets and just watching people get fucked over. he still prays sometimes, but he doesn’t tell anyone that. Superstitions: he sticks bills onto every mirror in the house during new year on the off chance that they can earn more money that year. julie and ty have been helping him for the last six years. it doesn’t hurt to try. that’s basically it. Diction/Accent: his southern californian accent is indistinguishable unless he says certain words. he’s also a better english speaker, so he often mispronounces korean words.

SCHOOL/WORK/HOME

Education: public school (primary and secondary); college: verse-dependent, on a cadet scholarship // kookmin university (achieved admission scholarship as a freshman) / santa barbara city college (under financial aid - federal work study) Degree(s): working on his bachelor’s degree in broadcast journalism Occupation: broadcasting student-intern for a tv & radio studio in the morning, mini-mart employee by afternoon night Own or Rent: own; his family owns their own borderline dilapidated house, originally owned by an aunt who moved to chicago. Living Space: cramped; it’s not small in its entirety, but with seven people living together in a two-story, two-bathroom (upstairs has a toilet and a shower, downstairs only has a toilet), four-bedroom house, it’s going to get pretty cramped. terry shares a bedroom with two brothers, lance and tybalt; julie shares a bedroom with their youngest, puck; tanya gets her own room because she damn well deserves it; their dad has his own room, but he’s never around so it’s basically an empty space with a bed. Work Space: the mini-mart isn’t a large place, but it does hold necessary items like basic consumable items and toiletries, which is why they have a lot regulars customers, mostly people who live nearby. the studio is a relatively large media conglomerate. his internship is in the main headquarters which houses multiple enterprises. Main Mode of Transport: walking because it’s free; sometimes the bus or subway if they can’t travel on foot; they steal unattended bikes or skateboards when they have to.

PSYCHOLOGY

Fears: failure, losing control, losing any one of his siblings Secrets: no one from his internship and workplace knows he has bipolar disorder or the fact that he’s gay; they keep illegal drugs at home; his family steals shit to survive. IQ: around 130 - typical for a post-graduate student. (fun fact: his older brother’s is around 160, go figure.) Eating Habits: quick eater because he’s always in a hurry, but not a messy one; sometimes eats on the go - he’ll stuff a piece of bread into his mouth anime style and run out the door to make it in time for class Food Preferences: he’ll basically eat anything aside from pickles (when you have no money, you can’t exactly choose what’s in front of you especially when you know your sister worked her ass off to put food on the table); he loves sweets, especially the hard butterscotch candy the mini-mart owners let him get for free. Sleeping Habits: usually sleeps on his stomach. at the end of most days, he just plops on the bed, exhausted. sometimes he forgets to change out of his jeans. when tanya checks up on them, she has to pull the covers over him. Book Preferences: contemporary classics (the little prince, a clockwork orange, the catcher in the rye, lolita, etc.), can quote shakespeare’s plays but prefers his poems, short stories because they’re quick to read since he doesn’t get much time to himself anymore. Music Preferences: alternative rock, indie rock, indie pop - basically music that pumps him up and keeps him awake. Groups or Alone: groups, mostly because he’s used to it, living with seven people and all. he’s also an extrovert, so he really doesn’t mind being around people. he doesn’t mind being alone every now and then, though. Leader or Follower: both. a follower - when tanya’s in, she’s in charge. he was in rotc, so he’s good with following directions. a leader - when tanya and lance are out, he’s in charge. when he was promoted in rotc, he was praised for being a good leader. Planner or Spontaneous: spontaneous. even his college major was a spontaneous, last-minute decision. he’s especially (dangerously) spontaneous when manic. Journal: used to have one - started multiple ones throughout the years - but never had the time and focus to actually fill one out completely; during junior year, his journal served as a mood diary (as suggested by a therapist). he managed to write on it for three months, and then just forgot about it. Hobbies: reading fiction novels, basketball, soccer, hanging out with his siblings, hanging out with kiel his friends, flirting with bob at the cafe, getting drunk, being an asshole. How Do They Relax: what is relaxation he’ll stay at home and read; he also reads a lot during idle hours at the mini-mart, especially if he takes a night shift. if he’s not too tired, he plays basketball. What Excites Them: seeing kiel almost everything excites him when he’s manic. coffee runs get exciting just because he gets to see bob. What Stresses Them: financial issues (but that’s an issue for their whole family),the possibility of not arriving on time and missing deadlines, not being able to earn enough money. Pet Peeves: slow walkers or people who tend to block the fucking way, especially when you’re in a hurry; people who can’t follow simple directions; people who are habitually late and end up making him late; people who take food from his plate without asking; loud whispering because i can fucking hear you; sudden shift in deadlines; simple grammatical errors. Prejudices: people with mental illness are dangerous and a hindrance (as a collective, despite his only experience being with his bipolar mom and alcoholic dad, hence why he refuses to believe he has the same problem). Attitudes: depends on his mood - manic, stable, depressive. when manic, he has no value for his life (and the law). lance had to force him off the roof once. when depressive, he can barely (or doesn’t) get out of bed. he overdosed once. when stable, his general outlook in life is optimistic - because what else can you do in this situation but hope? Obsessions: keeping things in order, getting enough money to feed the kids for a week, kiel Addictions: caffeine (mostly strong cheap-ass coffee, but they’re also stocked up on soda); alcohol and nicotine (not as bad. he smokes a lot, but he’s trying to keep both under control); does weed sometimes; isn’t really into hard drugs. that’s about it. Ambitions: join the marines (formerly), get into west point (on hold because tanya can’t stand the idea; lance is still trying to talk him out of it); else, he’ll apply for a job at the studio after graduation and work his ass off all the way to the top (from a lowly production assistant to scriptwriter/director/producer; hell, he’ll act if he has to; he’ll take what he can get).

OBJECTS KEPT IN

Purse/Bag: he has a messenger sling bag where he keeps his phone (a black nokia lumia his older brother passed on to him), a worn-out wallet with barely any money in it, a secondhand paperback novel, a pack of cigarettes. Wallet: money (or how much of it he has), an old photo of him and all his siblings (from when the youngest was only two years old), an old family photo tucked behind it, school ID, fake IDs Fridge: two milk jugs, a loaf of bread, cans of sodas, beer (lots of it) - that’s its usual content. Medicine Cabinet: mood stabilizers (lamictal), antipsychotics (abilify, zyprexa which he doesn’t use anymore because he overdosed once), aspirin, some pcp/angel dust that tanya doesn’t know about, and some weed lance hides that everyone knows about anyway Glove Compartment: he doesn’t have his own car but his dad’s glove compartment is filled with receipts, unopened letters (mostly bills), drugs, and money he spends in one go. Junk Drawer: literally junk, except he probably has a gun in there somewhere, and a pack of weed he shares with lance. Backpack: handwritten notes on yellow paper, photocopied pages from required textbooks, photocopied notes, scripts that need proofreading and editing, a secondhand novel that changes on a weekly basis, pens that are pretty much out of ink, a pack of cigarettes. Desk: journal (mood diary; just in case he feels like writing in it again), colored pens, pages from scripts he had to edit and proofread, a pack of cigarettes, the laptop he shares with everyone in the house. Clothes Pockets: loose change, mostly. a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a few small bills stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. 

OTHER

Halloween Costumes: would be easier if they can actually afford already-made costumes. the siblings used to come together to make costumes for julie, tybalt, and puck with whatever items they can salvage. their close neighbors help them out, too. now that they’re older, they just make one for puck. it’s fun for all of them. it’s something they look forward to yearly. Talents: creative writing, especially comedy writing (he doesn’t think so, but lance does); shooting hoops; shooting a pistol or rifle, and getting perfect aim almost every time; showing up at the last minute; balancing at least ten piping hot coffee cups at the same time; forgetting sylvan’s name; being an overall asshole (he’s the best at this) Politics: a liberal, but mostly neutral. he has other shit to worry about. Flaws: mental instability, addiction, pride, self-destructive tendencies, tactlessness, recklessness, impulsivity, always ready to throw punches, noncommittal (relationships) Strengths: fitness, aim (they were taught to shoot a gun in rotc), intellect (fast learner), wit, determination, creativity, resourcefulness, humor, humility, loyalty, never backs down from a fight. Drugs/Alcohol: a lot of alcohol, frequent drug use (mostly just marijuana; the last time he took pcp, he was manic and almost died from both mania and drug hallucinations), prescription drugs (mood stabilizers and antipsychotics he refuses to take). Passwords: phone: 0603 (it’s not a secret), e-mail: b!tch_y0u_th0ught1004 (tybalt has been trying to get into his e-mail even though he just uses it for work purposes); others: 060395 Prized Possessions: doesn’t really have one except for the photo of his siblings tucked in his wallet. Time and Place: february 22, 2016; 10:00pm; seoul, south korea // february 22, 2016; 5:00am; santa barbara, california. Special Places: the beach. the sound of the waves and the feeling of his toes buried beneath the sand relaxes him. back in santa barbara, his mom used to walk them to the beach every weekend because it was close by. Special Memories: when he got promoted from cadet to officer cadet in rotc. when he had chickenpox, tanya stayed up all night to take care of him. when lance first found out he was gay and confronted him. when he finally told tanya he was gay, and she said i know. during his first mood crash, julie would constantly check on him and bring food up to his room. when tybalt won first place during his first science fair. when puck took his first steps, and all five older siblings were there to witness it.

[wesonerdy]

Shondaland brings their dark and twisty signature to Romeo and Juliet! Get a sneak peek of tonight’s Still Star-Crossed premiere.

Courtesy of ABC/Bob D’Amico

I haven’t met a juicy period drama that I didn’t love, and now that Shondaland is entering the game, you know things are going to be good.

Most of us probably read William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet in high school. I read it in ninth grade, followed by a screening of Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 film (cringe-worthy because who wants to watch love scenes with their English teacher and classmates!). There have been several renditions of Shakespeare’s iconic tragedy, including Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 trippy modernization, starring Leo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. I think my favorite is the adaptation for Shakespeare in Love (1998). Watching Joseph Fiennes’ Will Shakespeare derive inspiration for his plays as a result of his relationship with Viola De Lesseps (Gwyneth Paltrow) is positively swoony. And those are love scenes that I can definitely get behind 😉

In any event, it might be difficult to think about how anyone could bring something fresh to this well-known and often-told tale. But as we’ve learned, you can always trust Shondaland to bring a brilliant twist!

Still Star-Crossed actually follows the lives of the Capulets and Montagues in the aftermath of Romeo and Juliet’s tragic death. We can recall Friar Laurence’s impassioned speech to the families as they arrive at the tomb where the two lovers have died. I think we all hope that, given this sacrifice and unfortunate waste, the Capulets and Montagues can come to some sort of truce. In Still Star-Crossed, we see that this is definitely NOT the case.

This time, we follow Juliet’s cousins, Rosaline Capulet (Lashana Lynch) and Livia Capulet (Ebonee Noel). Rosaline finds herself in the middle of a political play to try and save Verona. She will prove she’s a force to be reckoned with, especially when it comes to her destiny, and must make tough decisions regarding her loyalty to the Capulet name. On the other hand, Livia is a hopeless romantic who dreams of a marriage to provide her with a life she’s always wanted, but her yearning for love makes her an easy target, and she gets drawn into a sordid secret, without her knowledge.

Lord Capulet (Anthony Head), the patriarch of the Capulet dynasty, is willing to maintain the legacy of his family’s name at any cost. Lady Capulet (Zuleikha Robinson) may want the same as her husband, but a mystery surrounds her true ambitions.

We also get to know Romeo’s cousin Benvolio Montague (Wade Briggs). He’s now thrust into a position of responsibility because he’s the sole heir to the Montague name and must abide by a sinister plan to solidify his family’s prominence. The Montagues are on the precipice of matching the Capulets social status, but Romeo’s death threatens to stall their ascent. Angered by grief and the loss of his son, Lord Montague (Grant Bowler) will stop at nothing to ensure the Montagues are the most respected family in Verona.

A newly crowned Prince Escalus (Sterling Sulieman) is determined to end the bloodshed between the Montagues and Capulets, but his only solution forces him to decide between following his heart and protecting his kingdom. Eager to help her brother rule Verona, Princess Isabella (Medalion Rahimi) finds herself drawn to the throne, but quickly realizes that obtaining power as a woman will require succumbing to a twisted scheme.

In fact, the Capulets and Montagues aren’t the only ones affected by Romeo and Juliet’s tragic fate. The keeper of Verona’s darkest confessions, Friar Lawrence (Dan Hildebrand), feels a deep responsibility for their deaths. Similarly, the Capulet’s lifelong caretaker, Nurse (Susan Wooldridge) feels guilt. She holds many secrets of her own, including the fact that she is tending to Count Paris (Torrance Coombs), who was supposed to wed Juliet, but was left for dead after a brutal fight with Romeo.

Still Star-Crossed has all the things we love in period drama and historical fiction/romance: so much drama and intrigue, secret machinations and power moves, love lost, found, and lost again… but what’s also exciting is how the series brings in a non-traditional take on casting and prominently features actors of color. Yet, in a recent interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Heather Mitchell (Still Star-Crossed‘s Showrunner), is adamant that historical accuracy doesn’t always mean “white-washed”:

“The Renaissance was much more diverse than I think most of us, having just taken high school history or whatever, [remember],” she says. “Shakespeare in the 1500s is writing about an interracial marriage in Othello, and Alessandro deMedici is the ruler of Florence, and he’s a biracial man. And you’re talking about all these cultures along the Mediterranean who have been trading with the Arab world and the African world, and by the Renaissance, they’re starting to trade with Asia. This was not a white world, really. You may remember whatever artwork or whatever you want to, but I think, in reality, this is a more diverse world than people think — and on top of that, we just cast the best actor for every role.”

BRAVA… and I cannot wait for tonight’s premiere!

  “In Fair Verona, Where We Lay Our Scene” (written by Heather Mitchell, directed by Michael Offer), literally sets the stage:

ABC’S PERIOD DRAMA EXPLORES WHAT HAPPENS AFTER ROMEO AND JULIET’S TRAGIC LOVE STORY ENDS AND IGNITES A TREACHEROUS FEUD BETWEEN THE MONTAGUES AND CAPULETS, WHICH UNFOLDS IN THEIR BELOVED CITY OF VERONA－In the wake of Romeo and Juliet’s tragic deaths, the Montague and Capulet rivalry escalates. A new royal takes the throne in Verona and struggles to determine what is best for his city, which is at the epicenter of mayhem. (via ABC)

Watch two clips from the upcoming show, which uses Romeo and Juliet’s love story as a springboard. In the first clip, we watch Friar Laurence marry Romeo and Juliet, and we already get an interesting twist with the presence of two witnesses. And in the second video, we see the ill-fated end of that romance, with the lovers’ funeral.

Think you know what happened at Romeo and Juliet's wedding? Think again. A new story unfolds on #StillStarCrossed, Monday at 10|9c on ABC. pic.twitter.com/WkaxllZYC7

— Still Star-Crossed (@StarCrossedABC) May 26, 2017

Peace between the Montagues and Capulets? Looks like the royals have their work cut out for them. #StillStarCrossed begins Monday at 10|9c. pic.twitter.com/7QwWQSuIRt

— Still Star-Crossed (@StarCrossedABC) May 27, 2017

  I already adore Lashana Lynch’s Rosaline. A servant? You better leave your prejudices at the door Benvolio! And as anticipated, the potential for peace between the Capulets and Montagues is sabotaged before Romeo and Juliet are even in their graves. I wonder what idea the FINE Prince Escalus will come up with now?

  Check out 40 images from Still Star-Crossed, including stills from tonight’s premiere and character images. I’ll be live tweeting (@WeSoNerdy) so join me at 10:00pm ET to watch!

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  PREVIEW: ‘Still Star-Crossed’ Series Premiere “In Fair Verona, Where We Lay Our Scene” Shondaland brings their dark and twisty signature to Romeo and Juliet! Get a sneak peek of tonight's…

[ciathyzareposts]

Eric the Unready – The Acceptably Decent Underground Empire

Written by TBD

Eric the Unready Fondor Bindlecrank Journal Entry #2: I’m well on the way to rescuing the princess. My magic banana worked, I think. It took me to the location of one of the items that Bud the Wizard told me I’d need to complete my quest. I had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t, but with my cunning disguise, some people randomly giving me needed items and a little ingenuity, I now have the pitchfork I need. One down – four to go.

Greetings all. Hope you’re doing well. This week I took a break from randomly reorganising all the rooms of my apartment and played a bit of Eric the Unready. Let’s see what happened…

Day 3: Enchanted Forest – The Air Down There

After my magic banana had me dropped off at my next mission, I find myself in a cemetery.

The occupant of the sepulchre must have paid for an extremely long-term newspaper delivery before he died.

As has become standard in this game – I start my day by reading the paper. And as usual, the paper consists of an article about Eric’s previous mission, another article or two about current events (all full of jokes, of course) and seven to ten classifieds which are mostly funny references to film, literature and the occasional historical figure, covering all bases from Homer and Shakespeare to Batman and Winnie the Pooh.

Call me Frank.

Looking at my inventory, I notice that I have my Tort-Ease back, even though I had used it all by trying to loosen the banana in the previous mission. In the comments of the previous post, Vetinari mentioned that the magic backpack I have puts items back in my inventory as a way of avoiding dead-ends. It’s certainly not the most elegant of ways to do so – but there are weaknesses with all approaches. From my point of view, any way of avoiding dead-ends is better than just keeping the dead-ends in the game in the first place. The standard ‘you don’t want to use the Tort-Ease on that’ is only a little better than letting me use it but magically giving it back to me. The magic gold piece from my last mission that just kept replacing itself whenever I spent it was a better dead-end avoidance solution as there’s an in-game explanation. Anyway, enough about my magically reappearing Tort-Ease – back to the game.

Last time I didn’t have time to investigate the new items in my inventory before being dragged to the cemetery so I do that now. I read my coupon and find out that it’s “Good for 5 free acting lessons with the bard” and that my root beer float is still in my inventory and surprisingly not melted to nothingness by now.

The first thing I try is pushing or pulling at the sepulchre lid, and I’m unsuccessful. Because I’m convinced that it will be used to loosen something at some point, I also try my Tort-Ease, reloading my saved game after it doesn’t work on the lid. Giving up, I move on.

Further into the forest, I find a tree with a face. I can’t get past him as he trips me with his roots whenever I try to pass, but I can talk to him.

This is the second game in a row we’ve played that’s referenced Halley’s Comet!

I happen to be stopped by the most sarcastic tree in the forest.

Seeing as this is only the second screen in this section and I can’t think of anything to do, I just randomly offer all my items to the tree one at a time.

I didn’t get the joke until I was looking at my screenshots for the purpose of writing this, but I finally worked it out – it’s ROOT BEER so it gets the tree roots drunk!

Past the newly-rooted tree, I find what I’m looking for, sort of.

I’m sure I would have tried moving the branches based on the description alone, but this picture makes it rather obvious what my next move should be.

So the tree is growing upside down. That’s an enchanted forest for you. As I descend below the carefully hidden trap door, my screen changes to an all-text view – at first I thought I’d accidentally pressed one of the function keys, until I started reading.

This part of the game references Zork a lot.

The text-only view is one of the options for playing the game. If you’re playing in that view, you won’t get the joke here.

After reading the mail from the mailbox, I’m put back into normal picture view, and find out that the mail is a standard sweepstakes prize letter from the Dwarves’ Clearing House.

Joe Pranevich spent a lot more time adventuring in this house than I did.

I can’t go back the way I came from because of a scary spiked turnstile – a sign next to it states “Do not back up. Severe hero damage!” Ignoring the turnstile for now, I go west and end up in a huge underground cavern. The cavern consists of two shops and the top of the upside-down tree – way too high for me to reach.

Just because it’s obviously too high to reach, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try anyway

With two store options, I go to the rock store first and find a guy with a loud plaid shirt and moving hands.

This guy reminds me of someone else from another adventure game.

The adventure game references are coming thick and fast in this game. I like a good pop culture reference, so I’m happy.

The shop contains two rocks that are different from the others (i.e. actionable). There is a starter rock worth twenty zonkmids and the much expensiver headrest special.

I’m guessing the NSGUE is the Not So Great Underground Empire

Not having any money, I leave Fran’s store. As I go, he gives me a free miner’s starter kit (pickaxe) which I’m sure will become useful.

I go to the publisher’s clearing house next, where I get many options to make jokes about the proprieter’s appearance.

In Eric the Unready, I don’t think the fourth wall existed in the first place.

I give Ed McDwarf my mail, which he will happily exchange for a prize, as long as I can prove I’m Mister Fondor Bindlecrank.

Obi-Wan Kenobi wouldn’t have a problem with this puzzle

I think the game’s humour and extensive parser is rubbing off on me. I’ve enjoyed doing multiple things in one line that I knew wouldn’t serve a practical purpose. On this occasion, it was GIVE MAIL TO DWARF THEN DANCE. It wasn’t useful, but it was damn fun!

I go back to the white house, figuring that my pickaxe could help me through the door, but first have another go at getting past the turnstile.

I loved this. The game actually did completely stop for ten seconds before continuing with the “There. Now don’t do it again.” line.

After I finished laughing, I shipribbed the wooden boards with my pickaxe, then went inside. The inside of the white house shows me a beard in a trophy case, and a rug. I move the rug to reveal a trap door, which I open.

Once again, the game gives me an easy, nonsensical solution to a puzzle. Funny, but not a shining example of adventure game puzzle solving skills.

I open the trophy case with my new key, then get my beard, a little disappointed I couldn’t make my own beard out of an itchy cat, some sticky tape and a black marker.

Upstairs is a pile of human bones with a dwarven driver’s license in them (why?)

The ID is for Fondor Bindlecrank, but he’s too small and bearded for Eric to match. I’ve got the fake beard sorted, but  I’m hoping to either get smaller somehow or edit the ID to make it closer to human size. But in case it works anyway, I try using the ID without altering my height.

But last night you assured me size doesn’t matter…

With no clear plan, I go back to all possible locations (there are only five potential locations in this section at the moment) and find that Fran has new dialogue options, but nothing actually helpful to my quest.

This is the second time you’ve talked about this cousin you don’t want to talk about.

One of the options in the dialogue is about the balloons. Fran tells me that a dwar had already tried to get the pitchfork with the balloons, but as balloons and pitchforks don’t mix well all he got was a lovely headstone.

I go back and try once more to do something with the spiked turnstile.

This was by far the funniest part of the game so far for me. I loved how the game also greyed out the north section of the map icon.

I keep trying things with the game continuing to reiterate that the things I’m trying to do won’t help.

Even when it was being this clear, I still thought the balloons might be useful. I just think I have trust issues with game narrators.

Despite the fact I feel this game is very easy in general, I was really stuck here. I tried lots of things and it took me an embarrassing amount of time before I noticed one of the verbs on the left menu… KNEEL!

Now, if this was a pure text adventure without suggestion verbs I’d probably still be stuck here.

Anyway, I went back outside the Publisher’s Clearing House, knelt, wore my beard and went in with my ID to redeem my all-expenses paid day at the magic Dwarven Theme Park, which is immediately and magically constructed in the cavern outside.

A big ferrous wheel stands in the middle of the cavern, and there are some new areas available. I first try southwest and find another text adventure reference, a maze of twisty passages, all alike.

Once again, I’m blatantly given an item I need, like the key in the white house trapdoor.

Any other time I go to the maze I just get lost and end up back in the cavern, with nobody else randomly giving me stuff. Looks like that direction was a one-time thing.

Back in the cavern, I pull the lever, sit in the ferrous wheel, and press the button to turn it on.

The test specifically points out the lever and it’s included it in the graphics on the otherwise empty ground. Hmmm.

Anyway, despite many attempts at trying things on the pitchfork, I can’t do anything with it yet, so I check out the other direction I haven’t been yet.

We all probably recognise the game of Memory. Should be simple enough.

I lose a lot at the memory game. The dwarf is quite good, but fortunately not perfect. I was a little concerned he might have the memory of a computer at first, but he screws up enough that I eventually won after about 15 minutes. I could have easily cheated myself by taking screenshots every move but I tried doing it fairly seeing as the dwarf wasn’t using his computing powers to beat me and I enjoy a little puzzling.

Now that I’ve won a slingshot and a random stranger has given me 20 zonkmids, I go back to buy a starter rock from the rock emporium. There’s a free bungee cord with every purchase for… well, just because, really.

I go back to the ferrous wheel and try various ways to shoot either the pitchfork or the lever with my new slingshot and rock.

History lesson: The game keeps calling it a ‘ferrous wheel’ and I assumed I must have been wrong thinking it was spelled ‘ferris wheel’ all my life. Ferrous made sense, as they were probably originally made from iron, but a quick trip to Wikipedia tells me that the wheel is named after its designer, George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr. Calling the wheel ‘ferrous’ is likely a joke from the game’s writers, but if it is, it’s gone right over my head.

Note: SHOOT LEVER WITH SLINGSHOT while the wheel is at its lower position gives me a WITH WHAT? YOUR FINGER? Response. This annoys me a little.

Now that I’m closer to the pitchfork and I’ve stopped the wheel from moving, I stand, then take the pitchfork. And of course, now I’m stuck at the top of the wheel without a spare rock. Thankful for my free bonus bungee cord, I tie the cord to the tree and jump.

Seems the Pitchfork of Damocles has had the dwarves feeling like they’re living under the Sword of Damocles. Ah, I get it now – I feel so stupid.

Now that I’m the hero of the dwarves (or dwarfs, if you pluralise like Snow White) I take my reward of a two foot high rock and go back to the white house’s upstairs, where the attic was two feet too high for me to get to.

Eric isn’t scared – he knows gnus are herbivores, but a more important issue is why the game lets me read the Bunge-o-matic fine print while I’m in the pitch dark?

I can’t see, but I notice a stone slab above me. I started to get cold sweats at the thought of typing this, but I typed… gulp… push slab. (to see why I have post traumatic stress related to pushing slabs, feel free to read here.)

I like that Eric understands that a deadly blaze and destruction signifies a completed quest.

Something else I only noticed because I was looking at old screenshots in order to write, was that I had already been told about the mystic types who ran away dropping torches as I climbed out of the sarcophagus way back when I read the morning paper.

I found this extremely subtle and clever – particularly the reference to the fans who ‘carry a torch’ for the singer before I found people who freaked out and ‘drop their torches’ as I climbed out of the sepulchre. And I would have missed it completely if I had just been playing the game for fun!

As has also become standard at the end of each day/quest, we get our next cutscene with the Queen and Sir Pectoral. They discuss their plans for the future. The Queen plans to transform the kingdom into her warped idea of progress.

Maybe old King Fudd is actually the villain of this place, keeping his people in the dark ages and avoiding technological progress.

After the Queen’s little vision of the future, I’m starting to get a Monty Python and the Holy Grail vibe about the land this story takes place in. I won’t say any more to avoid spoiling a 45 year old movie.

Okay. the Queen is clearly still the villain. But her ideas of progress aren’t evil – any future that includes a McDonald’s can’t be all bad.

I’ll be back next week after another week of finding weird things in the back of cupboards I haven’t opened in years.

Strangely, I barely spent any time in the actual Enchanted Forest in this quest. Most of my adventuring was done under the forest. And I also noticed that the magic banana that was supposed to take me to each of my quest locations is no longer with me. It seems that rather than deliberately taking myself to each location, coincidence will randomly bring me where I need to be next after I burn down my previous quest location. In fact, maybe I was wrong about the Queen – maybe Eric is the bad guy – burning down the entire kingdom one location at a time. Keep tuned to find out what Eric the Unready unintentionally burns down next.

Session time: 1 hour 35 minutes

Total time: 2 hours 55 minutes

Score: 195 out of 1000 (in 532 turns)

Inventory: backpack, bungee cord, coupon, book, Tort-Ease, Pitchfork of Damocles

Note Regarding Spoilers and Companion Assist Points: There’s a set of rules regarding spoilers and companion assist points. Please read it here before making any comments that could be considered a spoiler in any way. The short of it is that no points will be given for hints or spoilers given in advance of me requiring one. Please…try not to spoil any part of the game for me…unless I really obviously need the help…or I specifically request assistance. In this instance, I’ve not made any requests for assistance. Thanks!

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/eric-the-unready-the-acceptably-decent-underground-empire/

[newyorktheater]

  In a city with 1,200 cultural institutions, how do you create a new one that stands out?

That was the question – and the charge — that then-Mayor Michael Bloomberg put 14 years ago to Dan Doctoroff, according to an opening ceremony speech by Doctoroff, the chairman of the board of The Shed, the $500 million performing arts center that officially opened on Friday at 545 West 30thStreet, between 10thand 11thAvenues, just north of the end of the High Line, as part of the $20 billion Hudson Yards development.

Here’s how they want you to picture The Shed:

“Evening view of The Shed from 30th Street”

View of the Shed from Hudson Yards

View of the Shed from The Highline

The McCourt

Another view of the McCourt

The Griffin Theater with view of The McCourt. (That wall can close.)

Here’s how I first experienced The Shed (I had to get off the High Line for the street-level entrance, the only way to get into the building.)

MY view of The Shed from 30th Street. Photograph by Jonathan Mandell

The aim of The Shed is to offer original works in the performing arts, the visual arts and in popular culture in an eight-story building of 200,000 square feet (the same number of square feet as the new Whitney Museum.) The Shed has five spaces for show, including two galleries, two theaters, and a “skylit, multipurpose room” on the top floor. One of the theaters is the McCourt, which is topped by a moveable shell that can expand (on huge industrial wheels) to cover the adjoining outdoor plaza, and accommodate an audience of 2,000, if they stand. (1,250 if there are seats.) The first production at the McCourt is “Soundtrack for America,” a five night concert series offering a taste of 400 years of African-American music.

The other theater, on the sixth floor, is the  500-seat Griffin Theater. The Griffin’s inaugural offering, “Norma Jeane Baker of Troy,” starring Ben Whishaw and Renee Fleming, opens tonight. (Watch for my review.)

The Shed, New York: Norma Jeane Baker of Troy, rehearsal with Ben Whishaw and Renee Fleming Rehearsal, LondPhotograph by Stephen Cummiskey

The key buzz words among the team that put The Shed together seem to be: flexibility, inclusion, and multidisciplinary.

“We wanted to prove we could design a flexible building without defaulting to the generic,” said Elizabeth Diller, one of its architects, who called it “an anti-institutional institution” and a facility “perpetually unfinished.”

Whether or not New York’s 1,201stcultural institution stands out in the city will take time to assess, but it already stands out from the rest of Hudson Yards, a gaudy concentration of overall glass buildings which has been widely panned.  “The largest, mixed-use private real estate venture in American history… glorifies a kind of surface spectacle — as if the peak ambitions of city life were consuming luxury goods and enjoying a smooth, seductive, mindless materialism,” the New York Times architect critic Michael Kimmelman wrote in his appraisal“Hudson Yards epitomizes a skin-deep view of architecture as luxury branding.” His description of the Shed doesn’t sound any more complimentary – it features “a giant sliding roof, eye-catchingly swathed in a tufted Teflon-based sheeting that can bring to mind inflated dry cleaning bags.” But he does offer some hope for the arts complex. “If New Yorkers take to the Shed and eat at the mall, Hudson Yards may come to seem less like some gated community in Singapore.”

Alex Poots, formerly of the Manchester International Festival and the Park Avenue Armory, is the artistic director of The Shed. “We want to provide a space for artists working in all disciplines to make and present work for the broadest range of audiences.” In addition to “Soundtrack of America” and “Norma Jeane Baker of Troy,” the first productions include  new work by the artist Trisha Donnelly and “Reich Richter Pärt,” described as “an immersive live performance and exhibition exploring the shared language of visual art and music”

Coming June 22: “Dragon Spring Phoenix Rise,” a  “futuristic kung fu musical” co-conceived by Chen Shi-Zheng and the screenwriters for “Kung Fu Panda.” Here was a brief excerpt presented for the press:

While the people behind The Shed say they are looking to the future of the arts, “Fosse Verdon” is presenting a look at couple that reigned on Broadway in the past, and Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi considers the power of the arts in the present. (Scroll below.)

Fosse Verdon

Preview with 18 photographs and three videos of “Fosse Verdon,” which airs every Tuesday for eight weeks starting tonight on FX.

Nicole Fosse on her parents and the show

“My parents really changed the framework for Broadway. Pieces like Hamilton or In the Heights or Rent can happen because of my father’s work. Musicals are different because of the way he constructed his musical. I also believe that my mother had an impact on the nature of what can be considered sexy – that strong can be sexy, innocence can be sexy.”

The Week in New York Theater Reviews

Mrs. Murray’s Menagerie

For its first production in its new second home downtown in a spruced-up Greenwich House Theater, Ars Nova is presenting the latest devised piece by the much-praised ten-year-old company The Mad Ones. In “Mrs. Murray’s Menagerie,” the creators of a 1970s children’s television program have hired a company to conduct a focus group made up of parents of young children. In real time, six characters who have never met before gather around a conference table for 90 minutes to answer questions about the series and the characters in it, many of whom are puppets.

The Lehman Trilogy

The Lehman Trilogy, an inventively staged, extraordinarily acted, and historically blinkered theatrical epic, begins and ends with the collapse of the Lehman Brothers, the venerable financial institution, in September, 2008. But these moments serve as tiny bookends to what is really the main story being told at the Park Avenue Armory – the story of the three Lehman brothers, after their arrival in America in the 18th century

The Diary of One Who Disappeared

There’s beauty in the suffering that comes from longing. That message comes through clearly in “Diary of One Who Disappeared.” Everything else is elliptical in the production of this hundred-year-old song cycle that has been expanded and staged by Ivo van Hove.

What The Constitution Means to Me

People are gushing about Heidi Schreck’s play as if it’s another Hamilton, and in some ways it is. No, it’s not a groundbreaking hip-hop musical.  Indeed, “What the Constitution Means to Me” is a play with no music, a three-person cast and an informal air. It wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate to sum it up as a civics lesson, Schreck telling stories about her life and her family to illustrate a few amendments of the United States Constitution.

Yet, like Hamilton, it’s a civics lesson that’s stimulated an extraordinary response….On second viewing, on Broadway, I am not as carried away by this show as so many people seem to be, although I think I understand why they are…. It can still serve as a salve for the politically shell-shocked and disaffected; they just have to be a little richer.

King Lear

As King Lear, Glenda Jackson enters with a casual swagger, giving off a scent of power that’s lasted a lifetime.  But Lear is portrayed by an 82-year-old woman, lean and light and, at 5’6, dwarfed by the dignitaries and daughters who share the stage in the opening scene at the Cort Theater.  If Jackson’s performance turns this inventive but imperfect production into a must-see of the Broadway Spring season, it’s not just because of her impressive stamina and control. It’s also the appearance of physical fragility that helps make her Lear stand out.  …DIrector Sam Gold creates some memorable theatrics in his King Lear, some of which illuminate the text for us, little of which undermine it for me.

Ashes

“Ashes” is a play based on the true story of a pyromaniac who terrorized a Norwegian town by torching homes for a month until he was unmasked as the son of the fire chief. Itis a haunting work of theater that has toured 15 countries and was recently presented at HERE. It is peopled with dozens of characters—the arsonist, the fire chief, the fire chief’s wife, many of the townspeople, and a writer who grew up in the town and wrote a book about the incident  What may have been the most remarkable moment in a show full of remarkable moments was the curtain call. Only three people took a bow.

The Week in Theater Awards

Lucille Lortel Award Nominations 2019 Off-Broadway: Carmen Jones, Rags Parkland, Mlima’s Tale Lead

Congratulations to @laurendyee winner of Steinberg/@Theatre_Critics New Play Award + $25,000 for #CambodianRockBand pic.twitter.com/3YZmu2tF2l

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) April 8, 2019

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/03/theater/shakespeare-modern-english-play-on-festival.html?smtyp=cur&smid=tw-nyttheater

Big winners of UK’s @OlivierAwards — @ComeFromAwayUK and @CompanyWestEnd, including @PattiLuPone https://t.co/Clvz6SJgLg pic.twitter.com/61haUasrdx

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) April 8, 2019

The Week in New York Theater News

The Play On! Festival at Classic Stage Company will feature readings of the modern English translations of 39 Shakespeare plays that the Oregon Shakespeare Festival commissioned from established playwrights. May 29-June 30

The Perverse Influence of Titus Andronicus

There are 14 deaths in Shakespeare’s bloodiest play, beheadings, live burials and worse. T.S. Eliot called it “one of the stupidest and most uninspired plays ever written.” But it’s inspired many — including Taylor Mac whose “sequel” to the play, “Gary,” is opening on Broadway. “The image of a mother made to eat her children was hard to shake, and a couple of decades after its 1594 premiere, artists had already begun to appropriate — O.K., fine, cannibalize — its plot for uses comic, tragic and savagely satirical. Its blood has spattered everything from bootleg Dutch tragedies to Japanese anime to Game of Thrones. Directors have staged it with almost no gore and with nothing but gore. It has been modernized, musicalized, performed by puppets and adapted to Kabuki. Stephen K. Bannon sent it into space”

Underground Railroad Game will return to Ars Nova’s midtown theater, May 30–June 15 with an opening night set for June 1. Creators Jennifer Kidwell and Scott R. Sheppard will reprise their performances. “Welcome to Hanover Middle School, where a pair of teachers – Kidwell and Sheppard – are keen to introduce you to today’s lesson. The nimble duo goes round after round on the mat of our nation’s history, tackling race, sex and power…”

Kathleen Chalfant

Rattlestick’s Fall 2019 season will present is a new play by Cusi Cram about the 161-year history of St. Vincent’s Hospital, the local Village that was shut down in 2010. “Novenas for a Lost Hospital” will star the great Kathleen Chalfant.

  Trump’s White House doesn’t support the arts. Nancy Pelosi is rallying the cause instead

The “To Kill A Mockingbird” cast was in Washington at Nancy Pelosi’s invitation to perform scenes for middle and high school students Tuesday at the Library of Congress.

In the absence of a White House that welcomes the nation’s preeminent composers, painters, scholars and singers to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue — and let’s face it, many of them would probably say no thanks — Pelosi seems more and more inclined to cast herself as the ceremonial head of state for the arts.

..It was Pelosi, for instance, who occupied the Opera House box when the Kennedy Center Honors were doled out in December, seated next to Cher and the other Honors recipients. President Trump was a no-show for the second year in a row.

Pelosi on Mockingbird and the arts: “In this play, we learn something so important: decency. In our country right now there’s a craving for decency, and this play is about that.”

“I do believe that the arts are the most unifying force in America. It all has the power to make us laugh together, to make us cry together, to forget our differences, to bond together in the spirit of creativity. So in that spirit, there’s something that the arts can teach us, that is very hard to convey in other ways.”

  The Shed Opens. Fosse Verdon begins. Pelosi on Art’s Power. #Stageworthy News of the Week In a city with 1,200 cultural institutions, how do you create a new one that stands out?

[sempiternalsandpitturtle]

What do copywriters do, and why do businesses need them?

Yikes, gotta get this one right.

So, you want to know what us writers do all day? Well, when we’re not out fighting crime, solving rubix cubes blindfolded or providing the office eye candy, I’d like to to think we’re quite a useful bunch for a business to have around.

This article will focus on a copywriter’s core responsibilities, and what value they bring to the company table. It will also clarify, once and for all, the difference between copywriters and content writers.

Let’s just hope it reads well.

Copywriters play a vital role in your digital marketing efforts….I promise

The difference between copywriters and content writers

Two roles, both alike in dignity, in your digital marketing team, where we lay our scene.

While quoting Shakespeare is the most cliche thing you can do in an article about writing, this new and improved opener from Romeo and Juliet has two important takeaways:

Copywriters and content writers are not the same thing.

Their contributions are equally important to your digital marketing efforts.

Let’s unpack these ideas a bit further.

While the terms ‘copywriter’ and ‘content writer’ are often used interchangeably, the types of writing they produce perform different functions:

Copywriters: These folk are primed to pitch your brand directly to your target audience. They’re experts in finding that killer verbal jingle that will sell your service, product or idea. As well as traditional advertising media such as billboards and TV commercials, these are the people behind your social media ads and marketing emails.

Content writers: Content writers generally sit much further up the sales funnel. Their content emphasises thought leadership – positioning your brand as an industry authority and drawing prospects to the next stage of the buyer journey.

Thus far I’ve spoken about the roles as if they’re performed by different people. While for some businesses this may be true, in reality it’s likely one writer wearing different hats (varied headwear is another copywriter role prerequisite).

This article is about copywriters, so we’ll take the job description above and leave content writing for another day.

Readers are more discerning about the #content they consume than ever. With that in mind, here are the top Australian #marketing #blogs that can help in 2019. https://t.co/zZPurwuUZY pic.twitter.com/ciqOXHe3M5

— Castleford Media (@castlefordmedia) 10 March 2019

What do copywriters do?

Consumers only see the fruits of a copywriter’s labour – powerful, promotional content that seeks to prompt the reader into taking an action.

However, there’s a lot more to this than simply putting digital pen to paper. A good piece of writing is likely to have gone through the following steps before it appears before your eyeballs:

1. Strategic brainstorming

In order to create a message that resonates with your target audience, a copywriter needs to know who this is. Ideally, your content strategists will have created user personas that provide crucial targeting info such as ages, genders, interests and pain points.

Equally important is your brand style guide. This is a copywriter’s instruction manual, detailing essential editorial building blocks such as tone, style and reliable citation sources.

As we’ll see a little later, this isn’t a one-way street – the process comes full circle, meaning that copywriters can play an important part in informing future strategic decisions.

2. Subject research

At first glance, research may seem to be more the domain of your two-ebooks-a-week content writers. However, the ability to amass and distill relevant source information is equally important for copywriters.

This is especially true if your business offering is complex. In this instance, getting to grips with new products or services is likely to involve a lot of reading, and perhaps even interviews.

Some copywriters take this a step further and move into the realms of technical writing. These expert wordsmiths specialise in taking particularly jargon-heavy or technical subjects, and making them accessible to all.

The days of quantity over quality in terms of #socialmedia posting are over. Today, your content needs to hit the mark every time. Here’s why. https://t.co/qwxWMfziox pic.twitter.com/2J1lHjIPcw

— Castleford Media (@castlefordmedia) 25 February 2019

3. Copy editing

A great way to sort the sheep from the goats when recruiting a copywriter is to ask what editing experience they have.

This is important for two reasons:

Self-editing – Your copy needs to be flawless. Grammatical gaffes, myriad misspellings and clunky constructions distract from your message, preventing it hitting home. If your copywriter has editing experience, they’re likely to be more critical of their own work, making for higher quality output.

Peer editing – Importantly, editing experience doesn’t mean experience as ‘an editor’. Not all businesses can justify having one senior editor, but having writers who can reliably check each other’s output is invaluable when it comes to efficient production.

4. Sourcing imagery

Depending on your departmental setup, your writers may have responsibility for sourcing on brief imagery to accompany their scribblings.

Why does your business need a copywriter?

So, what material difference will someone with these skills make to your business. There are a number of reasons why a copywriter can be a real asset to just about any company:

1. Creating a powerful brand image

The way your brand presents itself can have a huge impact on your bottom line. In fact, one-third of consumers say that trust in brand influences their choice of retailers, according to PwC.

Your copywriters have a huge part to play here. Trusty style guide in hand, their writing should speak the language of your consumers, both in terms of the words they choose, and the topics they address.

The term ‘brand style guide’ is bandied around a lot in #marketing circles, but what do they contain, and why does your company need one? https://t.co/yFxVohBM8Z pic.twitter.com/k5X5m9JHCZ

— Castleford Media (@castlefordmedia) 8 March 2019

2. SEO wizardry

While pleasing your target audience is goal number one, your copywriter will always have one eye on impressing the internet’s master of ceremonies – Google.

Why does this matter? Well, according to the Australian Postal Corporation, Aussies spent $213 billion on online goods in 2017, an increase of 18.7 per cent from the previous year. However, with so many companies vying for the top slots on search engine results pages (SERPs), good writing alone won’t cut it. A seasoned copywriter will possess a number of tricks to rub the algorithm the right way, and help your business cut through the noise.

When it comes to SEO, a copywriter help can by:

Stress testing keywords: While your strategy team will have defined priority keywords using tools such as Google Console, your copywriter can take these insights a step further. They can analyse competition on keywords for individual pieces by examining SERPs and seeing where the best balance between relevance and competition lies.

Including the necessary HTML tags: As intelligent as Google’s crawlers are, they’re not human. Take images and videos as examples – without the appropriate tags a bot can tell that these elements are present, but that’s about it. A copywriter can signpost these features to Google so that they contribute value to your content from an SEO perspective.

Optimising your formatting: Your writers can glean information from existing SERPs that will help your content rank. For example, taking information from Google’s ‘People Also Asked’ box and building it into your subtitles will increase the value from a user perspective, and therefore in SEO terms as well.

Keywords may sound like an SEO blast from the past, but used in the right way they can still be effective. Let’s deep dive into keywords in 2019. https://t.co/8nNlk6uUPl pic.twitter.com/vFsoQ5iQ11

— Castleford Media (@castlefordmedia) 8 December 2018

3. Helping to build out strategy

As mentioned, copywriters play more of a role in digital planning than simply following advice from content strategists.

They can help influence the direction of future campaign strategies as a result of one of their core responsibilities – research.

Those hours spent picking through endless SERPs mean that we writers have a deep understanding of digital marketing trends within a given industry. Crucially from a strategic standpoint, this means we know:

How our content is doing: If we’re continually searching industry related terms and our own work is never popping up, something is wrong. This could indicate that keyword research is off the mark, or that a change in style is needed to capture imaginations.

Where the gaps are: By looking at our work next to that of industry competition, writers are perfectly positioned to find gaps in the available content. Exploiting these value vacuums is the stuff of strategy dreams, helping to build the idea of your brand as an authority voice that consumers can trust.

Phew, that was stressful. How did I do?

from http://bit.ly/2HxnLOd

[necromancy-savant]

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking glass; I, that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to see my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determinèd to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the King In deadly hate, the one against the other; And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says that “G” Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.

- Shakespeare’s Richard III, 1.1.1-40 So, I did this for my Shakespeare class, and honestly it was therapeutic. Richard III was the last thing we read in the semester, but there was one point a few weeks in where I got a brief description of this part without actually reading it. At first I thought it might be something I’d really like, but then I thought maybe Richard just got rejected or something, and I wouldn’t let myself get my hopes up. But then later I was given the option to memorize either a sonnet or a monologue for some extra credit, and I decided to read this over and see if it might be good for me. 

I had nothing to worry about. This play exceeded the expectations I wouldn’t let myself have.

It probably sounds depressing at best and horrible at worst, but I relate to this character so much. I’m trans and ace and I feel really different from most people mentally and emotionally, and honestly being ace alone would have been enough for the middle section of this to resonate with me even without having everything else top of that. I think lots of aces know what it’s like to feel broken and incomplete, even if they don’t feel as bitter about it as I do. My voice got choked up the first time I read it out loud. I know what it’s like to feel all of the things I see here and in the rest of the plays Richard is in (the others are Henry VI Part 3 and like 5 minutes of Part 2). It’s like Shakespeare stared into my soul across time and space, and I imagine it would be unsettling if it weren’t such a relief to me. I’m not going to tell my entire life’s story right here and now, but I identify really strongly with Richard. I could give a 10000 hour lecture on everything I get out of these two plays, but I’m already rambling so I figure now is not the time. I just wanted to share something that meant a lot to me and explain why it does, since on the surface it’s probably a strange thing to be so moved by, but these plays make me feel a lot better about my life.

I like to read this on both a literal and figurative level, and I think the text encourages us to do so. None of the characters can tell where Richard’s physical problems end and his mental ones begin; they all believe it’s all the same thing, and he believes it too, having heard it so many times.

Basically what I love about these plays is that they tell me that I have every right to be upset and angry, but there’s still no need to do anything I’d regret, and that it’s a mistake to think no one cares about you. I’m not sure why it makes me feel so much better to read something about someone who makes all the complete wrong decisions as a result of feeling the way I have and do, but I suspect that’s what catharsis is supposed to be. I rarely see myself in anything at all so I fucking love this. I realize it’s problematic in a lot of ways, but I’ve decided it’s not such a crime to let myself have this since it means so much to me.