#I queue like a Shooting Star Silver

[blueberry-beanie]

Glass Animals at Max-Schmeling-Halle in Berlin | 20th October 2024

Berlin showed itself from its most "welcoming" side again - but it couldn't stop the concert magic from happening!

I hate Berlin. Berlin hates me, too [insert EE-song here]. But honestly, this concert was worth the hassle. I was already on my way to the train station at 8am when I realised I won't catch the train. So I hat to take the 10:30am train. Alright. Sitting on the floor in the train again, the usual procedure. In Berlin my go-to restaurant greeted me with no soap in the bathroom and mediocre food. Then I of course got lost on my way to Max-Schmeling-Halle.

Queuing with awesome fans

Once I arrived the bad luck took a break, because I met some lovely fans who have been queueing for hours already. I didn't manage to catch all names, though. One was from India, the other from Italy and one from Slovakia. The others were from Germany, including Moona, a girl in lovely mint-green sweater and skirt, with a red heart necklace, a whole bunch of buttons, alien-earrings and pineapples pinned to her blouse. She gave out self-made buttons to everyone.

The queueing-experience was much better than last time. I got number 24 (like the advent calendar yay!) and we just had a good time. Some people were painting on luminescent make-up, someone gave out silver stars to decorate your face with. It was lovely. Moona was excited because it was her first concert. We all agreed to stand next to each other at the concert and have a good time.

The security at the entrance was honestly really nice and they did their jobs well, so all of that went smoothly. The venue itself is kinda ugly, in my opinion, and they turned on the music so loud that we all couldn't talk to each other at all anymore. I got the place I didn't want: First row, right in the dead center. It's a bit awkward for photos, but I would soon find out why that would be the least of my problems. Also Moona stood on my right side, so that was really nice!

Attempts to ruin the mood

The Big Moon was their support act and they were honestly awesome. Rarely a support act got me thinking wow, I gotta check out their stuff. Unfortunately I couldn't enjoy the show. I thought that one girl behind me was not feeling well, because she had been supporting herself with one hand on the barrier for a while. I let her, because being second row is fucking exhausting. She then proceeded to just elbow her way into the first row between me and the girl on my left side (they did not know each other). I was like "what the fuck?" But you couldn't really talk it out because the support act was playing. In a short break I asked her if she was ok and she was like "yeah sure". I said it is kind of low of her to do stuff like that. She first pretended to not understand the problem, but two songs later disappeared into the 3rd row.

I was determined to not let this ruin my mood, but I was not prepared to what happened once the concert truly started. Lo and behold - a second girl appeared from nowhere - and wanted to pull the same move. This time I was less willing to have discussions. I asked her right away: "Hey, are you feeling ok?" She said yes, just resting. Alright, I thought, and gave her no more space than for one hand. She tried at some point to wedge herself in, but it didn't work, because Moona and I were busy dancing and jumping and enjoying ourselves.

That is, after I had YET ANOTHER person trying to ruin the mood. Now this one was a very special. He was the security guy in front of us, and I think he thought of a seperate job description for himself. A girl telling him before the concert she isn't feeling too well and asking if he maybe had water for her? Nah. People wildly throwing themselves around a bit later? Not his problem. Someone has a tiny point-and-shoot-camera? How dare they! The rules of the venue do not apply tonight - as soon as something wasn't a phone (even if it is an old pastel-pink grandma camera) he immediately became active. He even spotted them in 3rd row. And of course he spotted mine. He even wanted to literally smack my hand. I argued with him for a short time (which is hard when the fucking concert is literally happening rn), but decided there is no arguing with idiots. The venue allows cameras, by the way, just not professional equipment, as literally any other venue. Later I saw him pulling the same moves with other people. So I only have a few shitty phone pictures to share, no prism-magic, no close-ups.

Wavey Davey on Fire

Fuck all of this, Wavey Davey was on fire, and so were we! Glass Animals are surely a bunch of guys who know how to party. Dave has an amazing stage presence, you feel very connected with him right away. So it wasn't difficult to let go of all the bullshit. Moona and I were dancing and doing synced arm movements and overall we just had a great time. Moona was a bit overwhelmed from finally seeing her heroes up close and started crying at some point, so I attempted to comfort her a bit and gave her a napkin as well. She was really sweet in general, even awarded me a pineapple-pin like a medal.

Glass Animals again brought a really cool stage set up with them. Last time it was the swimming pool, this time a whole spaceship! It was rumbling and glowing and there was a ton of fog. The pineapple was placed like royalty on some rocks to our right. In the background several monitors were blinking. In the middle a huge glass-sphere displayed animations. During Lost in the Ocean Dave even ascended into the night sky on a tiny platform. It was fucking awesome. I got to admit, I haven't listened to their new album that much, but the show was amazing nevertheless. So much energy, the sound was amazing, Dave has an awesome voice, too. Ed and Drew came over sometimes, too.

Moona didn't get to give her buttons to Dave, but he did look at us, pointed and winked. He complimented the us all a lot and for Gooey he went to the back of the venue to sing in the middle of the crowd. That was really cool. I don't think the crowd's energy matched the one in 2022 even remotely, though. That time everyone was fucking insane, yelling each song's lyrics and screaming like no tomorrow. It was as if the show started where others end, where everyone is euphoric, but it just kept getting more insane. This time the crowd was alright, just nowhere near that level.

For the last song, I decided to keep up the tradition and let someone else stand in my spot for a while. At the last Glass Animals concert a girl behind me was so happy to experience that and I honestly don't mind. So I turned around and gestured to the girl behind me, who has been enjoying herself totally calmly and not bothering anyone the whole concert. She happily obliged and stood on my spot. Not fast enough. Suddenly that other girl from the left, who has been trying to push me away for a good portion of the time wedged herself in there like a bolt of lightning. I got really angry, like, how obnoxious should you be to do stuff like that? I took her by the shoulders and firmly said "no". She immediately started arguing "you don't own this spot". Tough luck girl, maybe just come a bit earlier to get your desired spot instead of just... having no manners? She then honestly proceeded to press the other girl to let her in instead. The girl, very confused by all of this, obviously said no. I don't know what to tell you, she anyway proceeded with her antics, even hugged that other girl from behind (they did not know each other!) and tried to smuggle herself in there. She was not drunk, btw. That was her sober self.

The concert ended, we were immediately rushed out. But not before meeting pineapple-girl - the girl who got awarded the magnificent pineapple by Dave. And - it was the same one like 2022! I recognised her and she is lovely, we took a pineapple photo all together in a group and everyone congratulated her with her pineapple-luck.

At the merch stand Moona got herself a shirt and some accessoires, but there was no CD for me (or vinyl, for that matter). We went to the station and parted with a hug. It was so lovely to dance and sing together, that honestly saved this weird concert for me.

How to not go to Berlin Südkreuz or The yellow paper

Even in my hostel I lucked out and had a very strange roommate, who put her alarm on 4 am for no reason (and went out of the door and forgot to turn it off, so I had to turn it off) and then proceeded to rummage around until 8am and still not leave? Very strange. I thought she was going to catch an early train/flight, but nope. Whatever, I had things to do.

I was on a mission to find the yellow paper™️ for my stupid plans regarding the goddamn satirist whom I'm probably not going to see this year if things continue like that. So the yellow paper is sth that you can get for a few cents in the US, I guess, but here in Germany I found out it is surprisingly hard to find (if you don't want to pay absolutely insane prices for it).

In Berlin, however, a huge art and stationary supplies shop exists and they have these yellow pads. So I went there and got to experience the wonder of the biggest art and crafts shop I've ever seen. They have seemingly everything for every purpose imaginable, even their own printing and gilding workshops. They had Japanese handprinted papers, all sorts of paints, brushes, glues, fabrics, anything you can think of. And, of course, the yellow pads. I walked out of there with my treasure and knew I just missed my train back, because it only leaves every 2 hours. Fine, I thought, and developed a plan to go to used book shops.

I found two of them nearby, but didn't actually buy anything. Half an hour before my train was supposed to leave I went to the nearest station, only to discover there was a malfunction on the train tracks - and the only trains going to Berlin Südkreuz, where my train was supposed to leave from, were delayed. I somehow still got there in time, to discover the train home was also delayed by quite a bit. Ok, I thought, let's get something to drink because I haven't had a single drop today and that's not healthy. The moment I stepped on the train platform I saw my train leaving - five minutes earlier than announced. Now that's a first: Deutsche Bahn leaving earlier.

Food lady to the rescue

At that point I wanted to cry or scream or panic. I didn't do any of that but instead took a bus to yet another book shop nearby, this time an Oxfam shop. On my way I passed by a vegan Cigköfte-place and decided to try and get some food. Now, with my luck, that very day the banks were on strike and you couldn't get any cash. So I had only five Euros on me, and of course that place didn't take cards. The owner, however, was a very sweet woman. She greeted me like a mum ("Are you hungry, too, dear?") and immediately advised me what I could eat for my money, prepared something delicious I don't even know the name of and overall saved the day.

With some good food in my stomach, I entered the book shop and immediately found a whole bunch of books. So many great finds, I couldn't buy all of them. However, I bought four for the price of one new book, even got back to Südkreuz in time AND didn't have to sit on the floor for once. I started reading a book called "Mindfuck" about the Cambridge Analytica scandal and that is honestly a shocking, intriguing story. I had wanted to read it for a long time, but I couldn't afford buying it as a new book.

The train was delayed, but I still got home on time, even met my flatmate on my way to the supermarket and got to see a beautiful sunset. Home sweet home. My roommate was lovely, she had been to Frankfurt book fair and brought me several newspapers and two huge (!) books from Correctiv she got for free! Now I have so many great books to read and fond memories to remember.

Berlin, I think I will have to visit again. Can we please work out a truce? We can be friends, I'm sure. Til the next time!

[wndrflgrl]

tag dump !

♥️ - have no fear ! amy rose is here ! ( ic. ) ♥️ - ah shit here we go again. ( ooc. ) ♥️ - call it my girlish intuition ! ( dash comm. ) ♥️ - k getting the hammer. ( crack. ) ♥️ - i wanna be a wonderful girl ! ( visage. ) ♥️ - i guess i’m so easy to understand. ( headcanons. ) ♥️ - but there are nights that i have trouble going to sleep. ( thoughts. ) ♥️ - everything i want i get ! i want shooting stars. ( likes. ) ♥️ - sweet sweet you’re so sweet ! ( music. ) ♥️ - the moon is shining for you ! ( answered. ) ♥️ - it knows that i adore you ! ( anonymous. ) ♥️ - i just do whatever comes to me naturally ! ( memes & prompts. ) ♥️ - girls just wanna have fun ! ( dash games. ) ♥️ - i only wanna protect you ! ( & team rose. ) ♥️ - that cool shade of blue ! ( & sonic. ) ♥️ - you could be my sweetest honey for eternity. ( saved. ) ♥️ - follow me through the stratosphere ! ( queue. ) ♥️ - you’re the star of my scene ! ( promo. ) ♥️ - LISTEN UP FELLAS. ( psa. ) ♥️ - every little thing you do i do adore ! ( silver / eterisks. )

[snowdice]

Folds in Paper (Chapter 4: Before All the Paperwork Got Signed)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Chapter Summary:  

I can draw a straight line Through my mind Right back to the good times Back when all the stars were aligned Before all the paperwork got signed

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away: the mask.

Which… was why he ended up getting arrested.

Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

“Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

“Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons or something than can be healthy and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to Cultural Outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you. He asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

“But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and the staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen the receptionist gestured to for him sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.” Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said, pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet? I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[saysomethingspiderman]

Something Wonderful (PT. 2)

Synopsis: During your time as a professional photographer, you had come across incredibly good looking men, but there was just something about Tom that stood out. Who would have thought shooting the self-titled “walking meme” would change your life forever?

Chapter word count: 2k

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven // Part Eight

Was there a word for feeling so far out of your comfort zone that you’d rather jump into a lake with bricks attached to your ankles? Irrational? Maybe. Dramatic? Most definitely. It was just drinks, nothing to fret over.

Ever since you left Tom at the house after the photoshoot, he’d been all you thought about. There had been no mention of Tom when you’d arrived back home to London the following night, only telling your flatmate Olivia you had a date with someone you’d met at work. You weren’t entirely sure why you kept it a secret. Perhaps because you knew Olivia would make a huge fuss or maybe because you didn’t want to get your hopes up that things would go far enough to reach a second night out. Yet in spite of trying to convince yourself it was just a casual thing, you still spent most of Saturday afternoon going back and forth between near enough every outfit in your wardrobe.

“Do you think I should just call and suggest we go somewhere else?” you asked and tossed a pair of heeled boots into the ‘no’ pile at the end of your bed. You glanced up at Olivia, who stood leaning against the doorframe. “All these outfits make me look even more like a hobbit than usual.” After fastening the buckle around your ankles, you stood and walked over to the mirror, testing your balance in a pair of incredibly high heels.

“You said he’s not that tall anyway, so I’m sure he won’t care,” Olivia shrugged and folded her arms. “I’ll tell you you look hot if you tell me his name.”

You shot her a look in the mirror. “I’ll tell you it another day, I don’t want you stalking him on Instagram or something.” You turned around a little and tugged the black dress down to stop it riding up your bum, then gave a little nod. “I think this is the one… I guess a little black dress can never go wrong.”

“Where are you going anyway?” asked Olivia as she moved further into the room to look through your handbags.

“Uh, Monkey House up in Mayfair. I’m meeting him there.”

“Very fancy,” she smirked and handed you a sparkling silver clutch that matched your heels.

You scrunched your curled hair to mess up it a little and double checked your red lipstick hadn’t transferred onto your teeth, then gave a small nod before grabbing your phone to order an Uber.

“Don’t wait up!” you grinned a few minutes later as you left the flat, allowing yourself to get excited. After getting comfortable in the car, you took your phone from your bag to let Tom know you were on your way.

[Y/N] 8:42pm     Just left now. Should be there in about ten minutes.

Tom 8:44pm     I’m running late, won’t keep you too long!

[Y/N] 8:44pm     You better hurry, I might wander off and find another bloke to buy me a drink...

Tom 8:45pm     You wouldn’t.

[Y/N] 8:45pm     Can’t promise anything ;)

Even though you arrived later than you thought you would, you still stood outside the bar next to the queue of people waiting to go inside. You looked around expectantly, trying to catch any sign of Tom. Just as the awkwardness of standing alone outside a bar began to creep up on you, you felt a gentle hand on your arm.

“Shit, didn’t mean to scare you,” Tom laughed, having both felt and seen you jump out of your skin. His eyes quickly scanned your frame and he gave a boyish grin. “You look lovely, [Y/N].”

“I can definitely say the same about you,” you replied and didn’t even try to hide the fact you were checking him out. His black shirt stretched across his shoulders, showing off his muscles, and his black-and-white trousers made his legs look good. “And I suppose that’ll excuse your lateness.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his thick hair. “I’ll try to be on time next time.”

“Who says there’ll be a next time?” you asked with a raised brow and grinned at the eyeroll he gave you in response.

You followed him into the bar, walking straight past the queue. There were a few mentions of Tom’s name you heard in the distance from people waiting in line, but you made a point to ignore them. It was to be expected that Tom would gain at least a little bit of attention, you just hadn’t expected it on your night together. The second you stepped into the lounge, the music blared into your ears and it was as though your heart began pumping extra hard to stay in time with the beat. It wasn’t overly crowded, but it was definitely busy and you kept close to Tom as you shuffled over to the bar. You ordered a martini and Tom got himself a beer.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled, raising his bottle to tap against your glass. “Now let’s get fucking hammered!”

The two of you talked and laughed and joked for hours, only realising you hadn’t moved from the bar after your fifth drink. Tom spotted an empty couch towards the back and you got comfortable on the plush cushions, unable to keep the smile off your face as you continued chatting. He told you all about his parents and three brothers, and it was so incredibly clear how much love he had for them. Then his dog Tessa came up. The way he spoke about her was like he was speaking about an actual baby. Gosh, how could someone be so adorable?

“She’s such a good dog,” Tom sighed heavily, unable to focus on you properly from the amount he’d had to drink. He leaned back against the cushions and held his hand over his heart. “I just love her so much, you know? She’s the sweetest.”

You giggled almost uncontrollably at the look on his face. “Are you sure you’re just friends?”

“Friends?” he repeated, eyebrows raised dramatically. “She’s family!” He pulled his phone from his pocket and, after the few attempts it took to type in his password, opened his photos to show off Tessa. His face softened and his eyes glowed with adoration. God, he was drunk. He shifted on the couch to get closer and held his phone out as he flicked through the photos, though lifted the screen nearer to his face to squint at most of them, clearly unable to see properly.

“I almost feel like I should leave you two alone,” you laughed and when he hiccupped in response, you got up and headed to the bar, returning with a tray full of shots. Tom’s eyebrows shot up when he saw the amount you’d brought back.

“Do you want me to die?” he asked, shouting a little over the music.

“It’s my birthday!”

“And me dying is a part of that?”

You winked and slid four glasses his way, then sat down with your own collection. After the count of three, you downed each shot of vodka as fast as you could, spilling some down your chin in an attempt to finish first. The burning in the back of your throat caused you to cringe in pain and you shook your head as though it would help, but you realised instantly that that was a huge mistake. The room spun. Your stomach churned. You held it back. There was no way you were throwing up. You weren’t that weak.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Tom groaned, leaning back fully against the cushions with his hands over his face. He took some deep breaths and peaked through his fingers, shaking his head at your smirk. “You’ve killed me. You’ve literally killed me.”

“What was that?” you asked, cupping your ear as your leaned into him, body pressing against his. The heat radiated from his skin, almost burning yours. “Did you just say you’re having a great night and there’s no one else you’d rather spend your Saturday night with?”

He laughed and swiftly moved his arms so he could tickle your sides and pulled you closer. The stench of alcohol on his breath made you dizzy, but you knew yours was just as bad. “Let’s go outside, I think I need some air,” he slurred and slowly pushed himself up. He stopped for a moment, swaying on the spot, then helped you up from the couch as though you were the one unable to stand still. You were bad, but not in as bad a state that Tom was. You kept hold of each other, giggling quietly, and you found your way out to the front where all the smokers stood huddled together.

“I wish I wasn’t going away tomorrow,” Tom said, leaning back against the brick wall for support in case his legs gave way.

You looked up at him with a deep frown and squinted a little, trying to focus on his blurry form. “On holiday?”

“I wish!” he laughed and hiccuped. “Work stuff. Films can’t promote themselves as my… Someone would say…” He gave a groan and ran a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I don’t feel so good, [Y/n]...”

You grinned at the taller man and wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him steady since the wall wasn’t doing much to help. “How about we get you home? I’ll order an Ub-”

“No, I don’t want to go home.” The pout he gave was reminiscent of a child and it was truly charming. “This place doesn’t close until four… We’ve got all night! Let’s paint the town red!”

“I know you’re a movie star, Thomas, but you don’t need to bring those cheesy scripts into real life,” you smirked and reached up to pat his cheek lightly.

A grin lit up his face and he grabbed your hand to pull you that little bit closer. Your heart sped up and you could hear it pumping loudly in your ears as you gazed up at him. His eyes were beautiful. You swallowed nervously when you noticed him leaning in, the bitter smell of alcohol and his woody cologne hitting you hard. You couldn’t get enough of it. You knew it wasn’t right and you shouldn’t be doing this in the states you were in, but that logical voice in your head had disappeared way earlier in the night. It was long gone.

His breath tickled your lips and goosebumps ran all the way up your arms and legs. You leaned into him, all the voices in the background fading until they were muffled and unable to interrupt you in your little bubble. Tom paused when you nudged your noses against each other. In a swift movement, he turned and threw up on the pavement, splashing sick all over your toes.

“I really don’t feel well...” He hunched over and wiped his mouth, face scrunched up.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” you murmured, trying your best to avoid looking down at your feet. The sight of sick splattered on your skin would surely make you gag. You shook your head and kept an arm tightly around him while you ordered an Uber.

Tom’s head rested against your shoulder as he snored quietly the whole ride back to your flat. Of course, you had no idea what his address was and it would’ve probably taken a lifetime to get that information out of him, so the easiest option was for him to crash at your place. He mumbled to himself and giggled into your hair when you helped him out of the car and assisted him up the multiple flights of stairs.

“Okay, next time you’re drinking lemonade all night,” you told him sternly, though ended up laughing loudly as the two of you stumbled up the last few steps. After a number of tries, you managed to unlock the door and guided Tom into the living room towards the couch.

“Are you taking advantage of me and my vulera-vulnerb… drunkenness?” Tom licked his lips teasingly and fell down onto the couch, pulling you with him, but you chuckled and shook your head.

“Not tonight.” You gave him a wink and pushed yourself back up shakily, wobbling on the spot. “Now sleep. Don’t make too much noise or I’ll kill you.” You ruffled his hair gently on your way out, almost certain he’d already fallen asleep. The night definitely hadn’t been boring, that was for sure.

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[kafeuka]

[1/1] the hopeless case of a romantic

█ Title: the hopeless case of a romantic █ Summary: It wasn’t how he imagined it would be, but that night, Jeongguk knew he would not have it any other way.  █ Status: Completed █ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin This is written for JIKOOK WEEK DAY O1: Then and Now  

i.

Yoongi hyung often accused Jeongguk of being a hopeless romantic, as if having a big heart, a gentle soul and a love for love is a crime. He believed in soulmates; the idea of two people whose names and story were whispered amongst the stars never failed to warm his heart. This belief stemmed from his parents, the two human beings whom he loved most in the whole entire world.

He wanted someone who would look at him the way his father looked at his mother; as if she hung all the twinkling stars, shaped all the silver moons with her hands and paint the skies when the sun set. He wanted someone who would love him unconditionally, just like how his mother loved his father although she despised his smoking habit.

Despite their age, they were not shy in showing affection for the whole world to see. Jeongguk wondered how they were so comfortable with each other that whenever they were together, the rest of the world just seemed to melt away. As if the world was theirs, and the others were just living in it.

Because of this, Jeongguk was never really into a relationship. Not that he ever had one. Most of the times he would just admire someone from afar. He would rather not get involved at all.

Hoseok hyung suggested that he should go on blind dates. Initially, he agreed.

The first phase – adding them as a friend, sliding into the DMs – was great.

The next step – meeting and actually going out on a date – however, was terrible.

Gone the confident, charming boy from the DMs. Always replaced by the stuttering, sweating mess that was Jeon Jeongguk. It was awfully easy to compliment someone when you were staring at a screen, but when it comes to staring into their eyes, Jeongguk found himself shaking.

At the age of twenty, Jeon Jeongguk gave up in finding the One.

All of his crushes were out of his league and most of his admirers never called after the second date. He was not that desperate to send cute text messages to someone as he had this irrational fear of being a burden, but it would be great to have someone who would listen to him rant about how his day went.

As much as he hated to admit it, Yoongi hyung was not entirely wrong. He was not only a hopeless romantic, but he was hopeless and romantic.

 ii.

When Jeongguk asked Yoongi hyung how he knew Seokjin hyung was his soulmate, he answered: “They say when you meet your soulmate, you just know it’s them.”

He hated how unhelpful those statement was, because that was not how he met his.

His parents’ love story was a typical love story. It was love at first sight – Jeongguk’s favourite. They met at a fair held at the amusement park. His father took the job of the ride operator for the summer, and as the stars had written it, he met her at the end of his shift. He always mentioned that she reminded him of a firework, beautiful and mesmerizing that his world stopped. She was queueing then, waiting for her turn and he saw a chance and took it.

While two of her friends were seated together, he stepped in and offered to sit next to her even though going to a someplace high was not something he considered an entertainment. Of course, his attempt caused an uproar, he received raucous boos from the other angry kids and a warning from the manager but it was worth it. He always had a small smile on his face whenever he got to this part of the story. They chatted as they waited and for the first time since he rode the rollercoaster, he was not the tiniest bit scared.

Jeongguk would never fail to let out an overly exaggerated groan, often expressing his displeasure by making faces along with a remark full of disgust, but he knew that he wanted, longed even, to feel that way too.

Meeting the One should be magical, like something that you would read in a fairy tale.  

This was how Jeongguk truly believed would happen when he finally meets the one: it will be romantic, not too cringy and pukeworthy but just romantic enough to make his friends and his cousins to be envious of him. Time will stop when they lock eyes with each other, the angels will begin to sing while simultaneously play their harps to produce a mellifluous symphony of the century and petals would fall around them out of nowhere, just like the anime he watched last week.

That was not what happened.

It was not magical or dreamy or romantic.

He blamed all the Tony/Steve soulmate fanfictions he read at 3AM for implementing the idea of “love at first sight” and “instant connection between two lonely souls” inside his head.

In fact, Jeongguk met Park Jimin on a sunny Tuesday morning in the most Boring class in the history of Boring Classes. Jeongguk hated his guts at first. Whenever Jimin opened his mouth to speak, Jeongguk would find himself rolling his eyes and praying to God for an ice cream truck to drop on him. Being run over repeatedly by a lorry was less painful than having to sit in a two-hour class with Jimin.

However, there was also a saying that goes, ‘If you hate someone too much, you’ll end up loving them too much.’

That statement, however, was something he wished Yoongi hyung had told him instead.

   iii.

They began to interact when they were allotted in the same group for their second assignment. Every second Jeongguk spent sitting at the same table with Jimin was agonising. Being in the same group at the same table meant that Jimin’s voice was now much clearer and he was now much closer.

Jimin’s face was pleasing to the eyes, he was soft and hard at the same time. He had gentle, dark and slightly slanted eyes yet his piercing gaze often made Jeongguk look away. His cheeks were round and squishy, they reminded Jeongguk of the mochi he always had after elementary school, however his jaw was as sharp as a knife. All in all, Jimin was not hideous at all, especially when he had his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Jimin had a lot he wanted to announce to the class so thanks to this irritating behaviour of his, it was not difficult to overlook his features.

He ignored the voice inside his head that screamed at him to ditch the class, but the rational part of his mind reminded him that he was a scholarship student. The last thing he wanted was to get kicked out just because he did not want to be in the same room as Jimin.

From the instructions, Jeongguk could already tell how much of a pain in the ass it would be. Decorating a booth? Creating an advertisement video? There was just too much work to be done in three months and there were only five heads in his group.

Naturally, Jimin was elected as the team leader because:

a)       He was the teacher’s pet

b)      Everyone in the group was utterly in love with him

Arguing about the team members position when you were going to be stuck with them for months was not something in Jeongguk’s list. He decided to went along with it, letting the protests vanish although they were already at the tip of his tongue and settled with an imaginary argument inside his head instead.

The first day was unbearable — Jeongguk had to lower his head once in a while to stop his eye from twitching in annoyance. Every single word Jimin uttered seemed to make his blood boil and head throb. He did not know it was possible for a person to be this insufferable. Jeongguk tried his hardest not to roll his eyes whenever the others were praising Jimin. His ideas were not exactly that brilliant, if Jeongguk were to be honest.

“Sorry, I was sort of rambling,” Jimin apologized with a small giggle.

Jeongguk managed to held back a groan. He knew damn well he was rambling and he apologized for it, but Jeongguk knew that he was not feeling sorry. Not even a little bit. Not when he had that proud smile on his face. God, Jeongguk would love to slap that smile from his face.

“Anybody had any better idea?” Jimin asked, looking at each and every one of them.

Pretending to be considerate? Man, this guy knew how to get on Jeongguk’s nerves.

He absolutely had no idea what came over him, maybe it was how the other team members were ready to lick the ground Jimin walked on, or maybe how irritating and high pitched Wonho’s giggles was, but Jeongguk opened his mouth up to speak, despite his brain being empty of ideas.

“Maybe, uh…”

All heads turned towards him, staring at him in anticipation. Somehow, instead of looking at anybody else, his eyes found Jimin’s. Jimin was beaming, dark eyes glistening as he slowly nodded to encourage Jeongguk. His gaze was different than the others, which was a good thing because it made him feel less nervous. Jimin’s smile stretched wider, and all of a sudden, the weight of the team’s collective gazes felt like it had been lifted from his shoulders.

Jeongguk brought his hand on top of the table, softly tapping his index finger as he straightened in his seat. With a newfound surge of confidence, he said, “Maybe, um… instead of making it only focusing on drawings or paintings, maybe we can… uh… consider every form of art for the website?”

“Huh… that’s not bad,” Chaeyoung murmured, before clicking her pen and started to write something on her notebook.

Jimin beamed, “I love the idea! That’s wonderful. This means that we are not only targeting painters, we are also attracting a large amount of audience who are—”

Jeongguk’s body went lax after his impromptu outburst (technically, it was not an outburst but he insisted that it was), he lain his back against the chair, wishing to become one with it. He felt thankful that nobody was criticizing his dumb idea. And never in a million years he wanted to admit it, but he felt glad that Jimin was encouraging him, instead of trying to shoot him down.

It was the first time he felt so welcomed.  

  iv.

Before the first week ended, they managed to lay everything down. When it comes to his leadership skills, Jimin was quite lenient in their task division. Jeongguk offered to work on the advertisement video, and as much as he would rather do it all alone, Jimin was determined that he needed help. As a method of group communication, Jimin created a group text for the five of them.

Jeongguk was hoping that it will be a quiet group, but it was especially alive at night and early in the morning. Jimin would never fail to send a message to greet them good morning and night, and sometimes he would send motivational messages for all of them. It took all Jeongguk’s willpower not to reply a ‘Shut The Fuck Up’ or leave the group, but he had to remind himself that he needed to be in good terms with everyone in the team.

Two weeks before the deadline, it was Jeongguk’s turn to play a huge role for their project. So far, he had only been helping with the report and booth decoration, which was not something major as everyone had taken part too. He announced in their group chat (which was probably his third time ever sending a message there) that he was going to start working on the video soon.

He completed the storyboard a few days earlier before sharing his vision to the group. He was ready to get attacked, to have Wonho judging him, to have Jimin being dissatisfied with his work, to Chaeyoung being disappointed and to have Mirae complain about how lacking it was. Unlike his expectation, they liked it. Jimin was the one who loved it the most, always complimenting how hardworking he was, and how he truly appreciated the effort Jeongguk made with the storyboard.

Instead of the usual ‘good luck Jeongguk!’ and ‘thanks for your hard work!’, Jeongguk received a private message from Jimin. They never texted privately before, and seeing Jimin’s name on a new chat caused him to raise an eyebrow. Was Jimin about to ask him to add last minute changes for the video?

With negative thoughts flooding his mind, he heaved a sigh before clicking it open.

 ✉ From: Jimin Hey! Just wondering if you are OK? If you need help, I’m here 😊

 “Huh…” Jeongguk huffed, squinting his eyes in suspicion. His thumb hovered over the keyboard before typing an answer, only to backspace everything. It was rather curious how Jimin was checking up on him, as if he thought Jeongguk was unreliable.

Seokjin hyung often told him that he was always being sceptical for absolutely no reason at all, that he always thought of things negatively instead of positively. It was a trait he was not proud of, but he could not help it when Jimin suddenly text him privately out of nowhere.

After quite some time, he finally typed a reply.

 ✉ To: Jimin I’m fine. Thanks for your concern

Belatedly, he realised the text he sent seemed rude so he abruptly added a smiley face.

✉ From: Jimin Haha, alright then. Where will you be working on the video?

 ✉ To: Jimin I’ll be going to the art room to meet up with the art students. Then I’ll probably go to library to shoot some scenes

✉ From: Jimin Okay 😊

 Jeongguk stared at the screen of his phone, waiting for ‘Jimin is typing…’ to appear. When it did not, he locked his phone and tossed it to his bed.

   Of course, Jeongguk just had to be an idiot by telling Jimin his plan. The moment he entered the art room, Jimin was already there, talking with a few of the art students and laughing about something they said. Jeongguk nearly dropped his camera when he saw Jimin, not expecting the blonde to be there at all.

“Hey, Jeongguk!” Jimin called out, waving his hand at him.

Jeongguk awkwardly waved back, not liking the attention he was getting when everybody turned their heads towards him.

“So, where do you want me, mate?” Mingyu asked as he got off from the table.

“Preferably anywhere I can work comfortably. How about there?”

“So I just had to draw, is it?”

“Yeah. Just draw whatever you want, don’t pay attention to me. I want it to look candid,” Jeongguk informed before placing his backpack on top of the table.

While Mingyu was preparing his material, Jeongguk took out his tripod from his bag and began to assemble it together with his camera when Jimin approached him.

“Do you need any help?” Jimin asked, watching Jeongguk work with his camera.

“Nah.”

“Okay, I’ll just wait for you in case you need me.”

“You can go, you know. I can handle this.”

“I know,” Jimin grinned before shrugging, “Just in case.”

He doubted that he needed Jimin to be there, but before he could ask him to go again, he decided against it. Once Mingyu was ready, Jeongguk began recording. It was only a minute in when Jeongguk announced him to stop so he could check the video. The angle was perfect, Mingyu’s facial expression was good, however the lighting was unsatisfactory. Sure, it was not as terrible as the lighting in that one battle episode of Game of Thrones, but it would be difficult during the editing process later.

Jimin must have sensed that something was troubling him that the leader stood next to him, peered on the video and asked if something was wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong except the lighting,” Jeongguk murmured, looking up the ceiling to find the lights were already switched on to his dismay.

The weather was not exactly helping either.

“I can help,” Jimin quipped enthusiastically before taking out his phone from his pocket and switch on the flashlight as he waved his phone around. “Let me know where you need me.”

The whole idea was absurd to Jeongguk, but it was worth a try. In less than half an hour, with Jimin’s help, he was done. The one who was super happy about it was Jimin, who could not stop gushing how amazing the video was and how professional Mingyu looked. Jeongguk grinned as he pressed fast forward, completely satisfied at how the video turned out.

He thanked Mingyu and the art students before packing his stuff to move to the library with Jimin following him. One thing Jeongguk noticed about Jimin was how he just had a lot of things to talk about, never running out of topic. It was irritating at first, but at times he spewed some facts that Jeongguk found to be interesting. Jeongguk let him talk, he watched as Jimin was speaking animatedly about the latest comic book he was reading.

Surprisingly, the day (and recording) went by smoothly. He even had a few videos he could use for fillers. The four hours he spent with Jimin was not horrible at all. If anything, it was quite… enjoyable.

He decided that Park Jimin was less annoying now.

   v.

He was not entirely certain when he began to feel completely comfortable around Jimin, but he knew it did not take long enough to warm up to him. Gradually, he stopped talking rather formally to Jimin and started to jest around, well aware of how much he actually enjoyed hearing the laughter coming out from Jimin.

In fact, everything seemed to go so smoothly that Jeongguk felt worried. They managed to complete everything before the deadline, they have submitted their work early and all they needed to do was now prepare for the upcoming exhibition. Finishing early meant that they have time for other assignments.

Even after they were done, Jimin still never failed to greet them mornings and nights, asking them how their assignments went. Honestly, it baffled the hell out of Jeongguk because he was so used to not keeping any contact with his previous group members. Once a project is complete, so did their team. They were only there to work, not to connect emotionally. The change was refreshing that the spam of text messages from the group did not bother him anymore. It actually made Jeongguk went from completely silent, to the one who sent memes as a response.

A part of him was embarrassed of having terrible thoughts regarding his groupmates because now he came to a realization that he actually enjoyed their presence.

More specifically Jimin’s.

After everything was done and they were reaching the end of semester, Jimin insisted on having a celebration. Truth be told, Jeongguk was not big on social gatherings but after weeks of being with Jimin, he knew he was unable to say no.

Jeongguk found himself counting days to the celebration, a bit surprised at himself for feeling excited rather than dreading it. They went to a restaurant at first for dinner, but ended up going to the nearest club after Chaeyoung suggested. He swallowed, praying to the heavens that majority of them would decline but he could not help but to cave in when he saw how enthusiastic Jimin was when Chaeyoung brought it up.

Even before entering, music was already spilling out to the street and it felt as if heartbeats were on the loud speakers. It was not as crowded as Jeongguk had imagine, but there were still a lot than he would have liked. Most of them went straight to the dance floor, laughing and grinding against each other under the acid green lights. Jimin, however, strutted to the bar. Jeongguk only followed, knowing well that he would not be able to dance if there wasn’t any alcohol in his system.

The music only seemed to get louder by the second, and by the time Jeongguk sat next to Jimin, the blonde already gulped down three shots.

“Wow.” Jeongguk had to leaned it slightly and yell. “Slow down, Jimin.”

Jimin’s pretty lips curved upwards as he shook his head. Jeongguk watched as he took out his wallet, yelled at the bartender for one Zombie. Jeongguk have only drank beers from the convenience stores and a few sips of martini, so when Jimin had his drink delivered, he was a little bit in awe. It was served in a tall glass, bright red in colour with a lot of ice. Jimin ditched the straw, sipping them in one go. Jeongguk could not help but to stare in amazement.

“Jimin,” he called out, but the music drowned his voice. He tried again, practically screaming this time. “Jimin!!”

“Yeah?” Jimin answered.

“Are you okay?”

He could not hear Jimin’s reply, but from his lips Jeongguk could tell he was saying, “Grand.”

Jeongguk began to worry then when Jimin reached out for his wallet again, but Jeongguk stopped him and ordered water instead. He paid for the overcharged water bottles and handed one to Jimin. Jimin refused, shaking his head and pushing the bottle away.

The next thing Jeongguk knew, Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise and he abruptly clamped his lips shut. Jeongguk raised a brow in confusion before Jimin stood up from the stool, nearly toppling it in the process, then proceeded to frantically turn his head in search of something.

“Jimin, are you—” He was not given the chance to continue his sentence because Jimin dashed as soon as his eyes lit up. Bewildered, Jeongguk followed from behind, not before grabbing both water bottles.

Jimin ran to the bathroom, nearly colliding with a man who just came out of it, and Jeongguk had to apologize on his behalf. After profusely repeating his apologies and bowing to show sincerity, Jeongguk entered the bathroom and was immediately greeted with the sounds of Jimin retching.

The bathroom was a lot quieter; the music was barely heard inside the pristine white walls. Jeongguk approached the stall with an open door to find Jimin was kneeling on the floor, head bowing near the toilet bowl.

“Oh, Jimin,” Jeongguk sighed before kneeling next to him, trying his best not to breathe through his nostrils.

He gently caressed Jimin’s back as Jimin heaved. Once Jimin was done, Jeongguk offered him water, which Jimin gladly took. Jimin flushed before leaning meekly against the partition, lips swollen, nose red and his eyes teary. Jeongguk offered a sympathetic smile as Jimin sniffed.

“Are you okay?”

Jimin took a sip instead of answering, his eyes avoiding Jeongguk.

Jeongguk let the question hang in the air, not wanting to force an answer out of Jimin.

Jimin had a distant look on his face, and Jeongguk understood that there was something that was troubling him.

After a while, Jimin finally spoke. “Not quite.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jimin bit his lower lip, eyes softening as he lowered his gaze. “Not really,” he answered.

“That’s okay. We can talk about something else then. Or do you prefer to just sit on the dirty floor?”

Jimin’s lips cracked a smile Jeongguk did not know he missed. How could he missed Jimin’s smile when he had seen them more than the hair on his head?

“Thank you, Jeongguk.”

“For...?”

“For being here,” Jimin smiled. Oh boy, Jeongguk thought. Oh boy. “It really means a lot to me.”

Jeongguk had seen countless of smiles on Jimin’s face before but this one was different. His eyes did not crinkle in the corners, but his gaze on Jeongguk was soft and endearing. His smile did not reach his ears, but he knew it was genuine.

At that moment, sitting on the dirty checkered floor of a club he could not even pronounce, he was certain that he found the One.

   vi.

Symptoms of falling in love according to the first website Google provided:

1. You can’t stop staring at them: check ✔

Of course, he could not stop staring at Jimin. He would not want to miss those smiles, the way Jimin would pout his lips sometimes when he spoke, how Jimin’s brows furrowed when he was thinking and the way Jimin’s eyes formed crescents and body vibrating when he laughed.

2. You want them to be happy: check ✔

Of course, he wanted Jimin to be happy. Jimin deserved everything good in the universe. Hell, Jeongguk would have swam the entire ocean and walk through fire just to see Jimin smile.

3. You always think about them: check ✔

Of course, he always thought of Jimin. The first thing he thought of after waking up? Jimin. The last thing he thought of before going to sleep? Jimin. Be it day or night, it was always Jimin, Jimin and Jimin. He was now a permanent resident in Jeongguk’s mind.

4. You’re OK with the gross stuff: check ✔

Of course, wasn’t it obvious? He would have left Jimin all by himself that night in the bathroom, but instead, he chose to stay and sat with Jimin to ensure Jimin was okay.

5. You love their quirks: check ✔

Of course, he did. Jimin’s quirks were adorable and undeniably, made his heart skipped a beat. He initiated skinship a lot, which Jeongguk did not mind, but whenever he put his hand behind Jeongguk’s nape, his thumb would create patterns. This only made Jeongguk lean in closer, his body tingling with every gentle movement his thumb made. Even his need of constant praises was endearing that Jeongguk found himself spilling praises after praises just for Jimin.

No longer was Jeongguk annoyed with his boisterous – and wonderful, if Jeongguk might add – voice and his invasion of Jeongguk’s personal face.

(And that was because he craved listening to Jimin talk and touches.)

6. You find yourself always talking about them: check ✔

Of course, he would talk about Jimin, what else was there to talk about? He first noticed when Yoongi mentioned how Jeongguk could not stop prattling about Jimin this, Jimin that. It was not as if he could stop himself.

7. You reread their text message: check ✔

Of course, he would reread Jimin’s text messages. They were cute, always full of emojis and they instantly lifted Jeongguk’s mood even just a little. In fact, he had Jimin’s text pinned.

8. You lose track of time and no amount of time spent with them is ever enough: check ✔

Of course, he could not be bothered checking the time when he was with Jimin. Spending just a few minutes with Jimin was better than not seeing him at all but he found himself yearning to have Jimin’s presence when they were apart.

9. You’ll happily jump through hoops without even thinking about it to be with them: check ✔

Of course, he would do anything to spend time with Jimin. He went to the club for fuck’s sake. He drank the bitter ass coffee despite knowing how much he hated it because Jimin dared him to. He lied about passing through the Science building when he was actually waiting for Jimin’s class to be over.

In conclusion: of fucking course he was truly, utterly and madly in love with Jimin.

   vii.

Jeongguk was aware that the pros of being in love with a friend outweigh the cons.

For starters, he saw Jimin almost every day and unlike his previous crushes, he actually interacted with Jimin properly. As his dumb ass only realised of the feelings he had for Jimin at the end of the semester, he had to rack his brains to find out reasons to hang out with Jimin. It was easier on his part, as Jimin was friendly, so most of the time it was Jimin who invited him out.

Besides, being friends meant he was able to hold Jimin’s hand without being suspicious. Jimin’s hands were soft and they fit perfectly with his. His fingers were delicate that Jeongguk was afraid he might break them if he held onto Jimin’s hand too tightly.

They became attached to the hip when they began texting nonstop every day and night. But midnights were probably Jeongguk’s favourite because there was just something about the quiet, knowing that there were more eyes closed than open, that they started to get to know each other on an entirely different level. Their usual banters and meme exchange would transition to their deep thoughts and stories. Midnight conversations seemed to hold more weight, and knowing that Jimin chose to stay up to talk to him made him want to steal all the stars and gifted them to Jimin.

Jeongguk was the type to let his phone battery died before charging, but that habit was soon replaced by charging the device while texting Jimin.

But the cons of being in love with your friend? They’re your friend.

Jeongguk had never fall for a friend before, but he knew it had to be one of the worst things to experience. He was plagued with worries and anxious thoughts, always wondering if he was being way too obvious or if he seemed uninterested. To say that he would not want Jimin as a boyfriend would probably the biggest lie he ever told himself and Yoongi hyung.

“You should tell Jimin.”

“Hyung!” Jeongguk whined, hand slapping Yoongi’s arm playfully. “You know I can’t.”

As much as he wanted to, he could not. It was risky and Jimin probably only regard him as a friend. The shittiest thing about crushing on Jimin was how it made Jeongguk kept on dancing between the lines of wanting the whole world to know his humongous love for Jimin and losing Jimin. There was no doubt that Jimin was now one of the important people in Jeongguk’s life, and he could not simply bear the thought of losing Jimin simply because he could not control his feelings.

“If there’s one thing I learnt, Jeongguk, is that you either tell Jimin how you feel and the worst case scenario is that you fucked up, maybe you’ll lose what you have with him now, but from the stories I’ve heard, Jimin’s nice and he might still want to be friends,” Yoongi said, his demeanour completely changed. Jeongguk only stared at Yoongi, mind conjuring up images of Jimin rejecting him and it made him shudder.

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi continued, “Or you can say nothing, and it’ll fuck you up instead. Not gonna fucking lie, eventually you’ll lose him too. Knowing you, I’m sure you’ll end up avoiding him, which in turn, would hurt the both of you.”

Jeongguk gawked at him.

Yoongi hyung was right. And he would not give Yoongi hyung the satisfaction of him admitting that.

   viii.

✉ From: Jimin remember that night when i hurled and you stayed by my side?

✉ To: Jimin how can i not the smell still lingered til this day :p

✉ From: Jimin fuck you ajsnsjs well i was going thru a ~difficult~ time sometimes i felt like out of place and that it’s my fault for the delay of testing the hosting but you guys were amazing, i am eternally grateful my other assignments were also a pain in the ass and i did not get along with my other teammates to add salt to the wound, i broke up with my boyfriend

✉ To: Jimin holy shit i have no idea & please jimin, it’s NOT ur fault. besides, we finished everything on time ur teammates is missing out & ur better off without ur boyfriend!!!! don’t be so hard on urself :(

 ✉ From: Jimin you make me tear up :”) thank you for staying by my side, jeongguk. i love you <3

    ix.

Jimin had a boyfriend before, which was not surprising really, because who would not want to date Jimin? But hearing it from Jimin himself, Jeongguk could not help but felt a pang of jealousy in his chest. Sure, they were no longer together, but Jeongguk would still like to know who was the bastard who dared to hurt Jimin.

After tossing and turning for weeks, Jeongguk decided that he would confess once and for all.

They did not share any classes on the following semester, but they would still make time for each other. Spending more time with Jimin was both a blessing and a curse, it was as though he owned the world and yet his heart just kept on growing and growing in his chest, threatening to spill all his love for Jimin in the form of kisses and ‘I love you’s.

Most of the fanfictions he read had amazing yet unrealistic (for him to execute, yeah) confession scenes. There was one of Tony and Steve arguing and Tony ended it by accidentally saying that he loved Steve. It was cute, but Jeongguk and Jimin were not exactly enemies to lovers.

(Except that, in Jeongguk’s head, they kind of were. Although, the hatred was only one-sided.)

But Jeongguk knew for sure that he would not want to let Jimin know through text. There were a lot of memorable texts in their chat, and he would not want to feel upset when he scrolled through them in the future to find the texts of Jimin rejecting him amidst of it.  

“You’re an idiot,” Yoongi voiced out as he stirred his ramen with the wooden chopsticks.

Offended, Jeongguk scoffed as he crossed his arms, glaring at Yoongi from where he was sitting. Yoongi ignored the daggers Jeongguk was throwing, instead he slurped the noodles.

“You’re the idiot,” Jeongguk countered childishly.

Yoongi licked his lips before he avowed, “You’re thinking too much. It should feel natural. You have to mean it, show him that you are serious.”

“You mean like… take him out on a fancy dinner or?”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. You can just text him right now, say that you wanna be more than friends, and that’s it.”

“Huh. How did you confess to Seokjin hyung then?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I didn’t. He did.”

   x.

When it happened, Jeongguk was not planning on it at all. They were having their usual midnight conversations again, and when the conversation seemed to shift into something less serious, Jeongguk had the urge to tell Jimin how much he meant to Jeongguk. He was driven to do so when Jimin ended his text with his usual ‘i love you <3’ that Jeongguk knew it was just a habit of his.

Gathering his courage, he asked:

✉ To: Jimin hey jimin can i call you?

Barely five seconds passed and yet Jeongguk was already sweating buckets. He was convinced that Jimin would not want to, maybe he had a feeling that this was about to happen and Jimin chose to turn off his phone. He saw the speech bubble, indicating that Jimin was typing, and he did not give Jimin the chance to send his text because he abruptly pressed on the green button.

It only took him one ring for Jimin to answer. As soon as he heard Jimin’s raspy, “Hello,” from the other line, his brain chose to empty all his thoughts. His mouth was drying, desperately trying to find the right words so he would not sound like a creep.

“I love you,” he blurted out.

Jimin let out a giggle before answering, “I love you too.”

“No, no, I mean,” he licked his lips, gripping on his phone even tighter. “I love you like I love love you. I love you as in I would drive you to the moon. I love you as in I wanna hold your hand and never let it go. I love you as in I would bring you breakfast in bed, if you’d let me. I love you as in—” he took a deep breath, internally wincing at how his voice was so shaky, courtesy of his heart hammering wildly against his chest, “— I only watched Frozen despite hating it because it was with you, and that is better than not spending a few minutes without you.”

“Oh.”

Jeongguk could not tell what Jimin was feeling from the tone of his voice.

Disappointed? Congratulations, Jeon Jeongguk, you just ruined a friendship that could’ve lasted a lifetime.

Angry? Jeon Jeongguk, you dumbass, why the fuck do you have to go and develop feelings?

Jeongguk wanted to throw his phone to the nearest wall, the silence from the other line was suffocating him. He was certain that he had just ruined one of the best things that ever happened to him. This was what he got for listening to Yoongi hyung again. Confess, he said. It won’t be that bad, he said.

“Jeongguk, I—”

I’m sorry. I can’t. We’re just friends.

Jeongguk screwed his eyes shut, biting his lower lips. He waited for the rejection to hit him like a punch. It was inevitable after all.

“— I’m glad. I’m glad you feel the same way.”

“Eh?” Jeongguk blinked, straightening his back. Were his ears defying him?

He heard Jimin huffed a weak laugh. “I love you too, love as in when I close my eyes, all I see is you.”

“Oh.” Warmth and embarrassment flooded through Jeongguk at once. He cleared his throat. “Well, okay, then. I’m gonna hang up.”

“Wait! You’re gonna hang up on me? After I confess my love for you?”

He could see Jimin slyly grinning now, probably enjoying the situation more than he should. Jeongguk chortled, “What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know…” Jimin sighed, but he was unmistakably smiling. “Maybe you can ask me out?”

“Hm,” Jeongguk pretended to ponder, his heart swelling. His hands were shaking and the drowsiness he felt earlier subsided, swapped by the sudden surge of happiness he felt in his veins. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Jimin giggled again, causing Jeongguk to bit his lower lip to tamper the smile that was threatening to take over.

“I’ll be waiting then.”

That night, Jeongguk did not sleep at all. How could he, when reality was finally better than his dreams?

   xi.

“When did you know?” Jimin asked. He scooted closer to Jeongguk, resting his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

Jeongguk hummed, wrapping an arm around Jimin. “Know what?”

“Know that you’re in love with me,” Jimin whispered, sounding bashful as he nuzzled his nose against the crook of Jeongguk’s neck.

“Oh, that,” Jeongguk murmured. He twisted his lips to the side, slightly ashamed and reluctant to tell Jimin. “That night at the club.”

“Yuck!” Jimin giggled, reeling his head back in surprise before playfully hitting Jeongguk’s chest. “That night? I was on my worst, oh my god. I was puking, for God’s sake!”

Jeongguk laughed, shaking his head in embarrassment. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I had some feelings way before that but that night, I just knew, you know.”

Jimin scoffed. “Out of all times and places…”

“What about you?” Jeongguk asked, turning towards his boyfriend. “When did you know?”

“Did you know why I broke up with my ex back then?”

Jeongguk grimaced, he was not fond of Jimin’s exes. Up until now, he still had no idea who it was.

“Because, well, this is embarrassing. I had a crush on you. Initially, I thought it was dumb of me to throw away a relationship over something that was not certain. But that night, when you chose to comfort me and stayed by me, even when I was at my worst, that’s when I knew that I…” Jimin shifted his gaze elsewhere, pretending to be interested at the bowl on the coffee table. He reached out, grabbing the bowl and picked on the popcorns.

“Holy shit… at the same time? Really?”

Jimin shrugged, holding the bowl closer to him before he lifted Jeongguk’s arm to rest against his shoulders.

“You know,” Jeongguk mumbled before planting a kiss on the back of Jimin’s head. “We don’t have to watch this. I know you don’t like The Walking Dead.”

“’Course I don’t,” Jimin replied, munching on a popcorn. “But I’d watch this with you. I mean, it’s better than not spending a minute with you.”

“God, I hate you.”

Jeongguk knew Jimin would never miss the opportunity to make fun of Jeongguk’s confession, and although it was humiliating, a part of him was glad that Jimin did.

   xii.

This was how Jeon Jeongguk’s wedding vow went:

“Jimin, I used to believe that I would hear bells when I first met my soulmate. Instead, all I heard was your deafening laughter in class, which now I have come to love. You are the kindest person I’ve ever met, you are gentle in everything you do and I think that’s the most beautiful thing a person can be.

Thank you for staying with me, for being by my side. Thank you for bringing sunshine and colours to my life, for always believing in me, for never giving up on me even after I accidentally ruined the ikea shelf. Thank you for giving me the best version of myself.

I promise to make you laugh when you’re taking yourself too seriously, to care for you and to have Disney marathon without skipping Frozen with you. I promise to love you unconditionally. You are the sunlight that rose again in my life, reincarnation of my childhood dreams, my soulmate.”

[waitingtobelit]

Title: Holy Ground

Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Rating: PG-13 for heavy making out, slight violence, and Dean’s language.

Summary: Trying to drown out Michael’s relentless attempts at breaking out, Dean goes running in the early morning and winds up encountering more than he bargained for. A lot more. 2186 words.

Notes: I wanted to write something for Dean and Cas’ anniversary, and I’ve been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift lately, so here we are.

Disclaimer: I don’t anything regarding Supernatural or any of its characters. This was written purely for recreational purposes, and no profit is being made from this. I also don’t own “Holy Ground” by Taylor Swift, some of the lyrics of which are the source of inspiration for this particular story.

You can also find this piece at AO3 here:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407789/chapters/49155086

Running is its own kind of music, Dean finds. He likes to run; he can create his own rhythm, set his own pace. It’s one of his more practical hobbies, helping to keep him in fighting shape and to burn off the excess booze and burgers he tends to consume on a daily basis. Running is one of the few forms of exercise that Dean understands and understands well; after all, he’s been running his whole life long.

 Running is also an escape; Dean can shut off the rest of the world when he runs, creating his own sort of peace.

 Even if that peace only lasts for the time it takes for Dean to complete the run.

 When he runs by choice, there are no monsters to be hunted, no world on the verge of falling over the precipice for the umpteenth time. There is only the music: the combined melodies of his feet pounding the dirt, his heart pounding in his chest, and the pounding of his music playing overly loud in his ears.

 Running might not be a sunny April afternoon winding down the road in Baby, Sam and Cas by his side after a long hunt, but it comes pretty damn close.

 And it’s the best weapon he currently has at his disposal to deal with the unrelenting pounding on the door inside of his head. Michael grows more demanding, more violent, the longer they hold out; the more time they spend searching for a cure outside of a box at the bottom of the ocean. Dean doesn’t trust himself to sleep tonight, in the same way he hasn’t trusted himself to sleep for the past two nights straight, dangerous and unstable territory. And running will, in the long run, only drain him of more energy. But what else can he do, when he fears losing control, falling under as Michael takes control of him once again, this time, for good?

 Running gives him a sense of control; Dean is quick to shrug off his flannel and his jeans in exchange for a worn Led Zepplin t-shirt and his favorite pair of running shorts, a rusted beige color that practically matches Cas’ trench coat. After quickly slipping on some socks, he grabs his keys, his wallet, his phone and his headphones; he sneaks in an ankle gun and an ankle knife into his socks, careful as he ties his running shoes.

 It takes him all of ten minutes to get ready, even with Michael screaming in his head. He queues up his favorite running playlist, one Cas helped him make, and presses play as he slips his headphones over his head. Full of Led Zepplin, Motorhead, AC/DC, and, yes, Bon Jovi, Dean gives himself over to the wailing of the guitar and the stomping drums as he makes his way out of the bunker and into the night.

 A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s 3:15 in the morning. Even though Lebanon’s a small town, and the bunker is situated even further in the middle of nowhere, Dean knows he’s taking a risk going out on his own like this. With all of the things that go bump in the night that want him dead? He’s basically a running bullseye.

 But he’s always loved the woods around the bunker, the way nature seems so especially raw and untamed so far from human civilization. He loves the feeling of unpaved dirt beneath his feet and unbroken wilderness surrounding him; he loves the way all of it makes him feel so unbound, so without limits. So free.

 He’s quick to dismiss any concerns and worries - tonight is all about running hard enough to silence the archangel running riot in his brain.

 Dean’s appreciative of the coolness of the night air, the way it flows down his throat like a strong whiskey as he breathes and nips at his bare skin like an early morning frost. The world glows dull silver beneath the moon and stars, shadows bursting out in abundance between the trees like weeds. With Robert Plant crooning in his ears and the offbeat beauty of the world around him, Dean almost forgets how screwed he and the rest of the world happen to be in that moment. He can almost believe heaven really is a place on Earth.

 That moment of belief doesn’t last long.

 A sudden impact of another body striking against his own forces Dean’s headphones away, flying through the air and landing in a nearby bush. Dean flails as his body hits the ground, a distinct thumping sound commemorating the occasion.

 “Fuck!” He shouts, wincing as his head bounces against bare dirt and the world turns into a carousel of blurs and faded edges. He reaches for the knife in his left ankle, but the asshole who charged him blocks him from doing so. He only just has time to glance up and see a second set of teeth descending from the young (young looking) man above him before his instincts kick in and he rolls.

 But the vampire is strong, a seasoned fighter; he moves with Dean and winds up trapping him against the ground after a second roll. The world spins, an archangel yells, and a vampire grins just inches from his face, poised to take a bite. Dean’s going to die; Michael will take control, and he can’t stop any of it from happening. Panic begins to rise in his throat like bile.

 A swooping sound rattles the air and silver flashes; the smirk on the vampire’s face flies off with the rest of his head as the blade of a machete cuts it clean off. Behind the weapon, one angel of the Lord stands, expression fierce as he waits for the vampire head to finally land. He gives the remaining body a good kick, sending it over towards the head.

 “Cas. Thank God.”

 Dean lets himself relax into the ground for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Which is, of course, when Michael increases the intensity with which he pounds on the door inside Dean’s head, and Dean, vulnerable and exposed, writhes, a worm caught on a particularly nasty hook.

 “Dean!”

 Cas shouts his name but Dean can barely hear him over the waves of pain shooting through him. He groans, clutching at his head; he can feel the heat and weight of tears as they spill down the side of his face just as Cas kneels beside him, pulling him up and in towards his chest. Instinctively, Dean reaches for what he can of Cas’ coat, fingers curling in the rough and worn fabric as Michael beat, beat, beats against the door in his head. (He thinks he can feel the wood of said door start to splinter.)

 “Cas,” he groans, almost sobs. “Cas, he’s so loud. I can’t - ” And he hates this; hates that he’s breaking, hates that he’s so vulnerable and weak and exposed. He’s supposed to be the strong one, the one holding Team Free Will together by his sheer stubbornness alone. But right now, in this moment, Dean is drowning (again), only able to really cling to the one lifeboat in sight.

 “Shh,” Cas pulls him in close, the warmth of his body seeping through what little space remains between them. In spite of his wincing, Dean catches sight the moment Cas’ eyes light up silver blue with grace; his chest tightens as the air leaks out of his lungs at the beauty of that grace as Cas presses a hand to the top of Dean’s head.

 “I’m louder,” Cas declares, his features contorting into a particularly determined expression that doesn’t help with Dean’s current state of dizziness. A fluttering sound echoes in the brittle early morning air, and, suddenly, Dean finds himself cocooned by both Cas himself and his wings. Or, what remains of his wings, at least. The tips of those wings feel like cool cotton against his heated face; Dean can almost taste the flush that spreads out across his cheeks as he lets out a noise that can only be described as a whimper at the sensation.

 Another moment, and Michael’s pounding dulls, just a bit. Whatever injuries he’s sustained in being tackled to the ground are gone, and it is just enough for Dean to pull himself up a bit; enough for the world to come back into focus. Funny how the world looks exactly like Cas, he thinks. And he should move; should go and look for his phone and headphones. But he can’t move; he can’t bring himself to part from this peace painted shades of silver and blue.

 His hands are still very much entwined with the fabric of Cas’ coat, and his gaze is still very much fixed upon the blue gaze above him, bright and warm as starlight. Dean’s throat is dry, as if he’s gone too long without water. His heartbeat is now racing, picking up at a graceless, crooked pace as his heart tries to claw its way up his throat. Feelings he’s spent nearly as much effort at keeping at bay as he has keeping an archangel imprisoned in his mind find their way through all of his cracks as Cas tightens his arms around him.

 “Cas,” Dean breathes. No. Prays. Cas’ name on his lips is a prayer, a plea – a desperate verse from a song gone unsung for far too long. His fingers curl in Cas’ trench coat; his lungs and heart beat wildly, a raising crescendo from an old folk song, as he brings his face closer to Cas.

 “Dean,” Cas replies, and Dean swears he can see every thought and feeling he’s ever had about the angel reflected in those blue eyes, blue as the best days spent out on the road, chasing after a hunt. Blue as the thunder that announced Cas’ presence when they first met.

 Dean’s eyes flutter and fall shut just as Cas’ lips press against his own and the angel tugs the hunter as close as he possibly can against him. He’s right, Dean realizes; Cas really is louder. For once, Michael grows quiet. Buried, almost, by the very essence of Cas.

 That first kiss turns into a second turns into a third. With each push and pull, the kisses grow in intensity and desire, blooming from so many years spent nurtured in unspoken words and loaded gestures. Cas parts Dean’s mouth with his tongue; Dean presses Cas’ name into the angel’s tongue, letting all of his most intimately vulnerable pieces follow suit.

 “Cas.” (I love you.)

 “Cas.” (I need you.)

 “Cas.” (Don’t leave me.)

 “Cas.” (I’ve loved you since I first saw you.)

 And Cas answers with those same words, spoken in the language of Dean’s own name. Dean’s hands move into Cas’ hair, and Cas’ hands move all over. One hand finds its way to the place on Dean’s shoulder where the mark of his hand once stood out, raw and read against pale skin. Cas clasps his hand around that shoulder, and Dean shudders, Cas’ name falling from his mouth like a beloved Led Zepplin lyric.

 Dean has never mentioned this to anyone, not Sam, nor even to Cas himself, but he remembers the exact moment Cas’ hand touched his shoulder down in Hell. He remembers the sudden sparks, like shattering lights, racing from Cas’ grip to travel all throughout Dean’s body; he remembers his soul catching fire, a different kind of fire from the sulfur and brimstone caging him in the Pit.

 This morning, his soul is struck by lightning.

 Cas’ wings seem to flutter above them both, delicate yet slightly frenzied, like a butterfly taking flight. They keep brushing against Dean, light, feathery touches that seem to warm him all the way down to his bones.

 Dean isn’t sure whether he’s falling or flying; Cas is gentle as he lays him down on the ground. But, God, he wants to keep doing this forever as he and the angel blur all of their lines together. The sun starts to rise, but the moon lingers; gold, ombre, and silver all blur their lines together too.

 Too much entwined with Cas, Dean fails to notice that his phone has landed fairly close beside the pair of them, his headphones not much further in the distance. He also fails to notice that, in the scuffle, the phone shifted from his running playlist to the playlist he’d put together as a potential new mixtape for Cas a few months ago, a playlist much less rigid in structure and filled with songs he would never openly admit to liking.

 Currently, that playlist is blaring one Taylor Swift song repeat, Taylor Swift who sings of dancing and never looking down.

 Dean discovers a new kind of running in the break of dawn; Cas learns what it means to never look down.

 While they blaspheme together, while they concentrate their own ground, Taylor sings:

 “Cause darling, it was good never looking down. And right there where we stood was holy ground.”

[ichigo-daifuku]

Heartstrings

SLBP Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Tokugawa Ieyasu/MC

A retelling of a classic East Asian legend starring the Archer of Tokai.

Mature | Referenced Abuse and Implied Sexual Content

Part of this story was set in the Another Story Event Series (When Fate Brought Me To You & Blossoms of Love, Blooms of Strife)

Word Count: ~5.4k

Part 1 of 春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō

運命の赤い糸 | Red String of Fate

An invisible red thread that connects two people who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance.

Days in Sunpu were mundane for Matsudaira Motoyasu.

In an annex connected by a corridor to the main house, he spent his days in silence. A scroll inked in neat, calculated brushstrokes sealed his routine life in place; every move he made prompted by the Muromachi Shogun and sworn protector of Suruga, Imagawa Yoshimoto.

Motoyasu’s body had gotten used to waking up between six-thirty and eight-thirty in the morning. He would change out of his bedclothes into proper attire, fold his bedding, and wait for breakfast. Although long gone cold upon arrival, he ate his meals quietly. With each dish chosen by Lord Yoshimoto, Motoyasu made sure to finish them all within the allotted schedule. He was allowed to visit the toilet during certain times of the day. He would do so, and in the span of proper minutes, finish his business and return to his room. Most of his hours were spent on comprehending the text he was instructed to read, his posture always perfect—back straight and heels tucked underneath. At times, Lord Yoshimoto would drop by his room in the middle of the day to check on his progress. Motoyasu was used to it. Regardless of the amount of his readings, he finished them all before sunset, just in time for dinner.

Lord Yoshimoto would, on a regular basis, instruct Motoyasu to practice archery in the area close to the annex. Armed with his bow, he shot countless arrows to hone his skills to perfection; one bull's-eye after another. The discovery of Motoyasu’s innate talent for archery seemed to have pleased Lord Yoshimoto. It led to his encouragement of Motoyasu to take up the bow from time and again. After each session, Motoyasu returned to his room and accomplished whatever was next in his daily list.

Although it was rare, Motoyasu was occasionally allowed to go on walks around the city. He would be given a list of errands to run, and then he would return to the residence and report to Lord Yoshimoto.

It was a circumstance similar to that when it happened. That certain afternoon, an even rarer task was given to Motoyasu.

Silver bells tinkled as the annex door revealed the regal purple robes of Lord Yoshimoto. The bittersweet aroma of the outside world slid through the gap as he entered Motoyasu’s space, his footsteps light against the wooden floor. Motoyasu was quick to set the book he had been reading aside to bow and offer his most polite greetings. Lord Yoshimoto smiled and sat down in front of him.

“I have a very special assignment for you, my dear Motoyasu.” Lord Yoshimoto’s expression, as always, was nothing but benevolent as he spoke. “The Imagawa will be welcoming an esteemed guest tonight, a samurai whose alliance would prove to be beneficial for us.”

Motoyasu knew when he was permitted to speak and when he was not. He kept quiet, a smile on his face as he waited for Lord Yoshimoto’s next words.

“I would like to give him a bottle of the finest sake in Sunpu. See to it that you obtain it from any of the places written here.” Lord Yoshimoto pulled a piece of folded parchment from his sleeve and handed it to Motoyasu.

He received the parchment with both of his hands and bowed, “As you wish, Milord Yoshimoto.”

“I trust you will be back on time?”

“Of course, Milord Yoshimoto.”

It was the day of the spring festival. The streets of Sunpu were more crowded than usual, the jovial sound of merrymakers’ laughter all over the place. The vibrant attire of men and women stood out in contrast to the light pink colors that tinted the trees. Children swarmed the stalls to play games in hopes to win a prize while merchants littered the sidelines with a variety of goods such as masks and other trinkets. A wide selection of food was available in the stalls, from seasonal harvests like strawberries to traditional desserts like daifuku. The sweet scent of confectioneries tickled Motoyasu’s nose as as he strolled along the path in his everyday robes, eyes straight ahead and a piece of parchment in his hand. In an unexpected moment, a little boy ran straight towards him. He sidestepped easily, and a cloud of dust seeped through his robes as the child sped past him. He didn’t mind it. No, he didn’t mind it at all.

“Would you like to make a wish to the heavens?” The moment he paused, an old woman approached him, a strip of white paper in her hand outstretched his way. Beyond the streets, torches were lit around the temple where the wishes were to be offered. The blow of horns and ring of bells seemed distant but audible; indications that the performance of sacred rituals were currently underway.

Motoyasu only shook his head in response to the old woman’s question. As the old woman nodded in understanding, he went on his way.

A falconer's bird was never free; it would take flight, only to spin around and return to its master. Motoyasu was at the festival to fulfill the task Lord Yoshimoto gave him, only allowed to be wherever the list told him to go. Even if he was away from the residence, out of Lord Yoshimoto’s sight, Motoyasu’s every move was commanded by the strings suspended above his shoulders, tied firmly around his hands and feet.

He found the festival stall which sold the specific sake Lord Yoshimoto wanted as a present for his guest. The line was long. Motoyasu took his place at the very back. In a matter of seconds, a father and son pair was quick to fall in line after him, and more people arrived to queue. In front of him was a man who reeked the stench of hard liquor. He didn’t mind it. No, he didn’t mind it at all.

Motoyasu waited for his turn. Soon, there was only one more person before he would be able to make his purchase and go back to the residence.

“You’re lucky. This is the last one,” the store owner said as he checked the payment handed to him.

Droplets of saliva fell from the drunken man’s mouth as he guffawed. “It seems the gods have blessed me today, then.”

“Oh, no,” the young boy behind Motoyasu said to his father, “Now we won’t have any souvenir for Old Man Shige.”

“That’s alright, son. We’ll get some at the restaurant before we leave tomorrow.” The father patted the little boy’s back, and the two of them went to a nearby food stall instead.

Their voices faded into the distance as Motoyasu left. There was no use in sticking around when he had a more important task to fulfill. Unlike the father and son, he needed to make his purchase right now. Although his first attempt to acquire a bottle the finest sake in Sunpu was unsuccessful, it was fine. There were still two more places where he could get them. He turned to a corner and unfurled the parchment. Although he knew every word, character, and stroke in it, Motoyasu looked over the list again. He simply cannot afford to make a mistake.

However, his second attempt proved to be as fruitless as the previous. Motoyasu was quick to notice the lack of bottled goods upon his arrival to the next designated place. The line was shorter compared to the first stall. Still, Motoyasu decided to make sure and proceeded to ask the seller about the sake.

“My apologies, young man. You see, since today is the festival, a lot of people wanted to enjoy hanami and yozakura with sake. We sold them out hours ago.” The store owner frowned as if she felt bad for Motoyasu. “How about some dango?” she suggested with a smile and proceeded to hand him a stick. “No need to pay for it, just enjoy the festival.”

Motoyasu glanced at the pink, white, and green dumplings skewered together in the stick, the expression on his face a neutral mask as he shook his head. He was quick to leave after the expression of his refusal. He unfolded the parchment once more in search of the final location he was instructed to visit.

It turned out to be a restaurant on the outskirts of the celebration. Motoyasu was met by a dim establishment; the door seemed to be locked, and although lanterns were lit by the entrance, no one seemed to be inside nor was anyone around the area.

That’s it, Motoyasu thought with a smile. His swollen lower lip that had been split open a few days ago stung at the motion. The fading bruise on his cheek ached at the same time, but there was a strange numbness in his body. The end result will still be the same, Motoyasu echoed in his thoughts. His everyday life was enough proof of the absolute power Lord Yoshimoto's held over him. Even his name, ‘Motoyasu’, had come from Lord Yoshimoto’s own. Although he learned things the hard way, Motoyasu was now a master of it: in every task given to him, the tip of every arrow he would shoot should only hit the target, no more and no less.

The sun had set, and Motoyasu had failed. He clenched his fists on his side, his whitened knuckles hidden by the darkness. He was already resigned to his fate. Tonight, it was a severe beating he would receive. Lord Yoshimoto would take a fistful of his hair and yank him to his feet. “Everything I do, I do for you, Motoyasu,” he would say. Motoyasu’s knees would wobble at the force of Lord Yoshimoto’s cruel hands, but he knew what to do. He would meet Lord Yoshimoto’s gentle eyes with an equally kind smile of his own, and only then would he be released from his grasp. He could already feel the hardness of the wooden floor as he sprawled on it. Eyes would sneak glances at the affair, but it was a common occurrence no one saw. It would be another night where his shoulders would tremble under the thick fabric of his blankets in order to silence himself from an emotion he vowed the light of the world would never see.

Motoyasu turned to make his way back to the residence, empty-handed.

“Your destiny is golden,” a raspy voice said from nearby.

Motoyasu internally scolded himself as he failed to notice the arrival of another person in the area.

There, an old man sat on one of the wooden benches near the restaurant. Although far from the festival, he was dressed in bright, resplendent clothing, and beside him, a woven cloth sack filled with his belongings rested. The book in his hand had a crimson cover, the full moon the old man’s source of light as he read. The haze of smoke that came from the old man’s kiseru on his other hand mingled with the beam of moonlight. Motoyasu could smell the bitter tang of tobacco from where he stood. He didn’t mind it. No, he didn’t mind it at all.

The old man’s eyes were trained on his book as he spoke again, “Many will plant and wait for the perfect opportunity to harvest the strawberries. Even more will knead the rice cake and fill it with the right amount of red bean paste for the fruit. That includes you. You will work for it. You will suffer. But unlike the others, you will know the sweet taste of daifuku.” He took a puff from the kiseru and released the smoke to the skies.

Was the old man pertaining to him? If so, Motoyasu almost wanted to laugh. Strawberry daifuku. He could not remember what the taste of it was like, nor the last time he had one.

Despite Motoyasu’s lack of response, the old man continued, “You are sly, cunning… very intelligent. You will meet many who are similar.” He paused to flip a page in his book. “But unlike them, your destiny is golden.”

With those words, Motoyasu thought that perhaps, the old man was a fortune-teller who swindled money from those who attended the festival. It was unfortunate for him; Motoyasu was not there for such nonsense, nor was he someone easily fooled. He maintained his calm demeanor as he passed by the old man with the aim to go back to the throng of people at the festival, and then to the residence to face his fate. “Pardon me,” Motoyasu said. 

“Takechiyo.”

Motoyasu stopped in his tracks.

Takechiyo. That little boy who loved to eat sweets. That unfortunate little boy. He knew him, the child he was once upon a time, Takechiyo.

Before he could stop himself, the question slipped past his lips, “Pray tell, how did you know that name?” Even at that moment, his words were polite, but the slight knit in his brows broke the image of his nonchalance.

“It is written here in my book,” the old man had the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he answered, “Matsudaira Motoyasu.”

Motoyasu spun around and faced the old man. His expression was devoid of his smile nor did he have the neutrality he had mastered—it was a look of displeasure no person has ever witnessed in a very long time. There was a moment of silence as Motoyasu kept his composure in check. “Who are you?”

“Me?” The old man took another puff from his kiseru before he continued, “I am just an old man under the moon.”

Motoyasu’s fists were once again clenched on his sides. First, the old man spouted nonsense about the future, and now, it seemed that he—a stranger—had crucial knowledge not only about Motoyasu’s past but also his present. Motoyasu was torn. He was not supposed to listen to the deranged ramblings of this person; it was not something included in his daily list. The task was to purchase the sake and leave. The end. He had already failed in that aspect, and yet, the fact that this stranger knew certain things about himself bothered him to no end.

Motoyasu’s thoughts were interrupted as the old man spoke again, “Did you know that there are strings that bind twin flames?”

Motoyasu didn’t reply. His feet remained rooted on the ground, the old man’s words foreign to his comprehension.

“Right there.” The old man used his kiseru to point at Motoyasu’s hand. “Around your little finger.” He raised the kiseru to his lips to take another puff, the smoke stronger than it was before. “I see a lot of tangles in your string. Would you like to see who is on the other end of it? After all, she is right here.” The old man looked up from his book, eyes finally trained on Motoyasu.

“A twin… flame?” Motoyasu replied, his voice a mere whisper in his incredulity. Would he even wed? As the heir of the Matsudaira clan, perhaps he would have to take a wife. If so, she would surely be a woman chosen by the Imagawa for him; a political marriage. It didn’t matter. At the back of his mind, it seemed the old man might not be a fortune-teller but rather a matchmaker. Still, that didn’t explain why he knew so much about him.

“There.” The old man used his kiseru once more to point at the distance, towards the sidelines of festival. “That girl.”

On the surface, Motoyasu’s blood began to boil. Why was it that the future that he himself was unsure he had was being dictated to him by this stranger? He was tired. The piece of parchment inside his sleeve felt heavy. The only future he had was what waited for him the moment he would step on the grounds of the residence. In a spur of frustration and anger, Motoyasu picked up a pebble and turned towards the direction the old man pointed at. The first thing his eyes zeroed in was the giant cherry tree. It flared his sudden hatred even more. Although there were a number of people from afar, he knew at once which girl the old man pertained to. It was that one—that girl who stood under the tree he despised. The large ribbon on the back of her obi was visible to him even from afar, her kimono embellished with a spring flower he knew so well, its hues the very same as the tree’s petals. The hairpin she wore on the side of her head sparkled under the moonlight. It happened in the span of a second; Motoyasu hurled the pebble towards his target—the hairpin—equipped with the perfect aim and strength of a skilled archer.

But unlike all of the other targets he practiced with, this particular one moved. The girl turned around, and the pebble grazed her forehead. There was a twinge of something inside Motoyasu as he stood there, transfixed. One of her hands was quick to cover her injury, while the other held a short wooden branch against the tree bark in an abrupt motion to steady herself from the unexpected impact. Cherry blossom petals fell around the girl. The moonlight etched every single detail of the scene in his mind in perfect clarity. Motoyasu thought of her as someone who would be as transient as the blooms, his eyes wide and unblinking so as not to miss a second of the strange encounter. 

And she was, transient. In the few seconds that he gazed at her, she had already run away and before he knew it, left more blossoms in her wake. After she had gone, it was as if Motoyasu came to his senses, suddenly aware of suddenly aware of how loud and rapid the beat of his heart had become, how his mouth fell agape, and how his breaths came out in short pants. He spun around, but the old man was nowhere to be seen. There was no book with a crimson cover, nor was there a cloth sack on the wooden bench. The scent of tobacco from the kiseru lingered, the haze still present and on its way to ascend to the heavens. In the place where the mysterious stranger once sat rested a package wrapped in golden silk cloth.

It was a bottle of sake.

Days in Hamamatsu are never mundane for Tokugawa Ieyasu.

For a time, he supposed old habits die hard. He still spent a considerable amount of time holed up in his chambers as he read a stack of various texts. Nonetheless, it is with a purpose; he aims to broaden his knowledge and apply it in the days of battle and in the governance of Mikawa. There is always something new in his quest for the restoration of the land. His retainers are something else as well. Once, he might have thought of them as mere pawns, but things have changed. For the better, he thinks.

Nights in Hamamatsu are… even more interesting, to say the least. Although Ieyasu will never admit it out loud, it is all because of her. The kitchen wench. That girl who always grins like the simpleton that she is. The one who seems to invade his thoughts every second of the day. After that battle in Nagashino, the two of them seem to have developed an inclination towards spending the nights in each other’s company. He eats his breakfast and lunch in the Main Hall, but dinner is always served in his chambers. She excitedly talks about the night’s menu as she sets the lacquered tableware down, the food still warm and fresh from the kitchens. After dinner, Ieyasu begins his choice of nightly readings. She serves him tea and does her own thing, keeping him company while she mends her clothes or writes letters and entries in her journal. Most of the time, the two of them keep to themselves but will have short conversations every now and then.

“Lord Ieyasu, these ink and brushes are great to use. The strokes come out so beautifully. See?”

“Of course, they are mine after all. You know what will happen if you ruin them, don’t you?”

“Right, right,” she replies distractedly, already back to writing whatever it was she was writing.

Some nights, Ieyasu will be engrossed in the book he reads as he buries his nose in it. Unbeknownst to her, the reality is that he steals glances at her from time to time. He finds her focused on whatever she does. Other times, she is already sprawled over the floor, breaths even as she sleeps peacefully. He carries her to his bedding and tucks her in his blanket. He clicks his tongue, a habit he has acquired over the years, only the action is not due to his usual vexation, but because of silent affection for the girl deep in her slumber.

Some nights, she remembers the time and proceeds to go back to her own room. She bids him a good night, and although she tries hard to hide it, Ieyasu notices the slump on her shoulders as she slides the shoji door shut. He hears the faintest of the sighs that escapes her lips as she walks away. As he lays on the bedding and tucks himself with the blanket that carried the slightest hint of her fragrance, he frowns and wonders why.

Some nights, they share a kiss, or two. Maybe another deep kiss that leaves them panting heavily afterwards. How many times have they kissed now? He isn't sure.

Things were simpler then, before that incident in Owari.

The strawberry daifuku, the token of apology she brought for him, is still on the table, yet to be eaten. The last thing Ieyasu expected was for her to be the one to apologize to him. Yet, he should have known. Her words and actions are always genuine. She is kind. If only he could be even just half as honest as her.

Everything happened quickly afterwards. Although the night is still young, it proved to be a night of many firsts already. It was the first time he told her, or anyone for that matter, of his deepest and sincerest feelings. Affection. Adoration. Love. The both of them saw and touched each other in ways neither of them have ever known before. He has never been so close to anyone and he finds that he… doesn't hate it. Not at all.

“You’re all sweaty.” He pats her on the side of her waist. Her eyes fluttered shut and her bare body is above his own, their legs tangled together. She rests her head over his chest, just above his heart. Her arms are draped over him, surrounding him with warmth.

“Hmm…” She makes no move to get off him nor does he do anything to push her away. “You too, Lord Ieyasu.”

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

“I wouldn't dream of it, Milord.”

They are quiet after that. He finds himself touching the strands of her hair and before long, running his fingers through its silkiness. Her forehead is covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and his fingers brush the fringes stuck to her skin aside. That is when he sees it.

“Oi.”

She hums in response. “What is it?”

“Where did you get that?”

“Get what?”

“That scar.”

“Oh.” She opens her eyes as her fingers reach to trace the scar on her forehead, close to her hairline. “It’s a long story.”

Did Yasumasa do this to her? Was it that Sanada Yukimura? Or maybe that fox he kept with him? Whoever it was would pay dearly for it. “Tell me.”

To his surprise, she giggles, her eyes crinkling into a smile. “Okay,” she says and looks far off in the distance. Her body is so close to him, yet her thoughts drifted years back in the past. She begins her story with her younger days, when she had already begun to assist her parents in their restaurant in Kyoto. 

“There was a time when Father, Yahiko, and I went on a trip to help around a restaurant owned by Father’s cousin. He and his wife requested for our help on the day of a festival.” Her index finger absentmindedly strokes his collarbone in languid motions. He shivers under her touch, but she does not notice as she continues her tale. “Of course, I wanted to see the festival, but we were busy with the restaurant. Luckily, it was closed early, just before sunset. Everything was sold out by that time, anyway. Uncle and Aunt were participating in the rites in the shrine, and the three of us were free to enjoy the rest of the evening in the festival. I was so excited.”

Ieyasu listens. There are many things he does not know about her. His fingers once again comb the long strands of her hair. He is busy twirling it around his finger when her next words make his motions come to an abrupt stop.

“It was in a place quite far away from the capital—Suruga. The city was not like Kyoto, but it was still full of life in its own way. The cherry blossoms were beautiful.”

Festival. Suruga. Cherry blossoms. The story is so familiar that he himself drifts years back to the memories of his past.

“I was waiting under a giant cherry tree for Father and Yahiko. They told me they would return with some dango and souvenirs. The last thing I expected was a person jumping down the tree. He appeared so suddenly that come to think of it, he might have been a shinobi.” She laughs. “Anyway, that man gave me a short branch of cherry blossoms, and then… he said something strange.” She pauses in thought, as if she is trying to figure out what the cryptic message meant even if it has been years since she heard it. "'I wish you all the best in your destiny.' That was what the man said. I didn’t understand. Still, I bowed to express my gratitude, but when I raised my head, he was just… gone. I looked around for him and that was when I was struck by something on the forehead. I ran to find Father and Yahiko at once because it stung a lot… and there was blood."

She glances at him, back to the reality of the present. “It was fine, though I started having my hair cut this way. Even if the scar is barely visible, I’ve grown quite fond of wearing it like this.” She gives him a smile that reaches her eyes as she touches the scar that has almost faded. “It’s been such a long time. Father got me my hairpin in one of the stalls at the festival. He told me it would go well with the outfit we rented. I don’t remember much about the kimono's appearance, but I remember that the little me felt pretty when she wore it. Like one of those kimekomi or hina dolls. It had flowers, I think.”

“Hollyhocks,” Ieyasu says, his voice a mere whisper.

“Huh?” She looks towards him in confusion. Illuminated by the glow of the lantern, her eyes are bright, and she is golden.

The intensity of her stare makes him look away. “If you’re so proud of it being pretty and all, then it must have been hollyhocks.”

Her eyes never leaves his profile as she calls out to him, “Lord Ieyasu?”

“What.”

“Does this mean that you think I would look pretty wearing a kimono… with hollyhocks?” she asks, her final word filled with uncertainty and reluctance. From his peripheral vision, he sees her gaze shift to the ceiling.

Ieyasu smiles. For most of his life, there have been many things hidden in it, but it is with her that he can smile truly, happily. “My, my. Aren’t we a little audacious tonight?”

She frowns. “After all we’ve done?” she mumbles under her breath.

“What are we blushing for?” he teases her and tilts his head to get a better view of her face. “You decide to get shy now... after all we’ve done?”

“I-I’m not blushing!” She covers her flushed cheeks with her palms. 

For a moment, he thinks he sees a silken cord around her little finger, but it is gone in a blink of an eye. It didn’t matter to him. He takes her hands in his as he moves to uncover her face. She looks up to him again, eyes wide and innocent, and also full of love. He touches her to prove that she is real, that she exists. She is right there, and she loves him for all he is.

He kisses the scar on her forehead. It seems he had already hurt her before he even knew her. Since they met, he has hurt her many times with his words and actions. The quietest of apologies slips past his lips, and she trembles. She heard it. He would pay dearly for everything he has done to hurt her. Hells, he will do anything for her.

He kisses her eyelids. She had seen the best and worst in him—the real him—not just the Tokugawa Ieyasu he presented to others, and still chose to stay. His lips brush the slight saltiness of her tears. He hated himself for making her cry back in Owari. He never wanted to ever see her cry again, but if it were tears of joy or pleasure, like the ones falling down her cheeks now, then he is willing to make an exception.

He kisses her cheeks. He would pinch them at the most random moments—when she least paid attention or when he wanted to tease her. He loves to do it. After all, she has the best reactions, she gets flustered easily and turns red in a second. He vows that the expression would be for him and no other. Only him.

He kisses her lips. It is where words of kindness, honesty, and love never faltered even at the most difficult moments. He knew no better way to express his affections, no better way to convey the words he had a hard time saying other than through the kisses they share. From the first brush of her lips on his, he was a goner. She never fails to stir these emotions in him, these feelings he never thought he was capable of having. Although he would never admit it out loud, he would not have it any other way.

He was once a little boy who sat inside his room with a book and gazed at the giant cherry tree that bloomed in the back of the garden. He was once an outsider who looked in, even if his feet were planted on the same ground as others. He remembered the cherry blossoms outside the annex. How the blossoms that swayed in the moonlight, free—unlike him. How each petal looked like a mother's tears as she wept for her poor child. But somehow, in the arms of her, the woman who has filled him with love, the memory was not as bitter when he looked back at it now. Those days were remnants of the past. He was a guest no more. Not a gift. Not a prisoner. He has freedom and dignity. He is Ieyasu, Lord of Tokugawa. Still, he found he disliked being ‘Ieyasu’ for the longest time, thinking he was worth nothing, if not for it. It is different now as she calls his name in between their kisses, he is reminded that there is someone who knows him beyond the name. No tricks, no masks, no pretensions. She knows who he truly is and loves him for it. As she cradles his face with the gentlest of touches, he knows there will never be another one for him but her.

The last thing he thinks before the two of them lose themselves in the throes of passionate desire is that he wants to see her, once again, in a kimono adorned with hollyhocks—this time golden and grouped in threes.

Special thanks to my dearest friend and fellow ESL writer, ReverberatingEchoes, for beta reading this work and encouraging me to continue it! I’ve had the general idea for this story since last year but I was initially reluctant to write about SLBP Ieyasu because he’s my favorite character.

There were two East Asian legends intertwined in this work. First was, of course, the tale of the Red String of Fate (運命の赤い糸), which featured the "old man under the moon”. The second one was the tale of the Musubi no Kami (結びの神), the Japanese deity of love and marriage in Shintoism. Aside from those, you may have spotted some other Asian/Japanese culture references as well ★~(◡ω◕✿)

春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō [AO3]

lit. spring, summer, autumn, winter

春 || Heartstrings (Tokugawa Ieyasu/MC)

夏 || Sunkissed (Honda Tadakatsu/MC)

秋 || Crossroads (Sakakibara Yasumasa/MC)

| 秋 | Destiny [Crossroads Alternate Ending]

冬 || ???

Ichigo Daifuku's Masterlist

[emmielupinblack]

A Song for You

Sirius Black x Reader (Modern Rock Band AU)

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: bottled up feelings, fluff.

Word Count: 1,834

Author’s Note: This is not related to the other Rockband AU I’ve written. This is a completely independent piece. I just love the idea of rockstar Sirius. Yum. Enjoy. The song mentioned is “Buzz” by Halestorm.

Read on Ao3

You grabbed your guitar and pulled it onto your lap. You practiced a few cords, then softly sang your newest song to yourself. It was insane that the group agreed to let you sing a song for your newest album. Honestly, you never thought you would even have the guts to do it. But, there you were, ready to record.

Remus, James, and Peter had already recorded their bits, which left Sirius and you for today. As lead guitarist, you were probably going to do your instrumental part first, then finish with the vocals. Easy enough, right? It’s not like this wasn’t your third album in that very recording studio. You had done some back up vocals. But this was new, different, and definitely nerve-wracking. 

Sirius rocked his head on the other side of the glass, his headphones gently ruffling his wild curls. His fingers glided over his guitar. He was an artist, a work of art while his body swayed to the music blaring in his ears. His silver gaze was locked on his fingers as he raced to the finish.

Once Sirius completed his bit, he grinned to himself and pulled his headphones off. You were up. And it was going to be a long day.

“Y/N,” the recording agent barked at you. You turned to him, a sweet older man named Albus, and nodded.

“I know, I’ll grab my guitar.”

“Actually, let’s do the vocals first. James needs to redo a few songs, or at least pieces of them. We can do your instrumental part with him tomorrow. Let’s get the vocals out and call it a day.” You nodded, then turned to Sirius as he walked into your space. 

“Looks like we’re going our bits together,” Sirius muttered to you, patting your shoulder gently. “Ready to rock n’ roll?” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. I know it’s going to take a while. I apologize in advance if I royally mess up every five seconds.” You blushed a little as you watched Sirius extend his hand to you. You took it and allowed Sirius to lead you into the recording room.

The white walls stared back at you as you approached the two sets of mics in the middle of the room. For a moment, you were afraid that you would forget the words to the very song you wrote. But, you weren’t live. You weren’t even going to perform this song to an audience for another month, when your next tour began. For now, you were with your closest friend, who just happened to be the subject of the song you were about to record. But, he didn’t need to know that. 

You grabbed the headphones that rested on the large mic and strapped them onto your head. Sirius mimicked you, shooting his award winning smile. Then, you both turned to Albus on the other side of the glass, who nodded. 

The music started in your ears, the parts that had been recorded previously. Then, your queue came up, and you leaned into the mic.

“I do admit, I've come to like the attention, the heavy look in your eye,” you sang into the mic. Your eyes flicked over to Sirius, who was already looking at you. His lips were curled into a devilish smirk. Oh shit, did he know? No, he couldn’t know. It was just the song. And, he had admitted a few months earlier that he was ‘obsessed’ with your voice, which is why he offered to give up his thrown as lead singer for one song. 

You turned back to the mic and continued the song, but all you could think about with every word was the gorgeous man beside you. So far, you were knocking out every line. But, when the chorus came up, you found your body buzzing. It wasn’t often that Sirius’ voice was singing along with yours, at least not when you were the lead. His voice alone was enough to give you chills, even after almost five years of performing with the band. 

“I like the buzz deep 'cause of what it does to me. I get a fuzzy feeling washing over me. I get a rush now honey when you're touching me. Is it love? “ Sirius’ voice was barely a hum beside you, but your skin prickled anyway. It always did, every recording session, every concert, and especially when he sang to himself during your frequent house parties. 

Sirius swayed his head as you continued, glancing over at you with his storm cloud gaze every few moments. His eyes appeared darker than normal, almost causing you to lose focus. But, you held you composure just barely, blasting your way through the rest of the song. 

“Wow, that’s it then,” Albus announced to the two of you as you peeled the headphones from your heads. You turned to Sirius again, who was already holding the door open for you, offering you another stunning smile. His eyes were still dark, almost charcoal as his gaze remained glued on you. You exited, walking into the next room to grab your small bag and head to your car. There was no use packing your guitar if you were going to be using it the next day, so you left it tucked into the corner of the room.

All of a sudden, you found yourself needing to wait for Sirius before leaving. Usually, you were out the door before everyone else, needing a nap as soon as recording was done. But, this time, you wanted to walk out with your handsome friend, needing to be around him for just a little longer.

Albus waved goodbye before disappearing into his office. Sirius hovered over his guitar just a few meters away and packed up his beloved instrument. But, he didn’t bring it with him. You were almost certain that he didn’t need to record any more. But, it wasn’t unlike him to become picky about a recording and want to redo something later on. So, he just grabbed his rucksack and heaved it onto his shoulder, then made his way over to you.

Sirius smiled, then held out his arm. “Well, what should we do with the rest of our day?” he asked, glancing over at the clock. It was just after four in the afternoon, leaving the rest of the evening free. James was at home with his wife, Lily, and their two year old son. And Remus was probably sleeping off the nasty bug he had been fighting for the last three days. Peter was never a social member of the group, preferring to be at home with his Netflix. So, it was up to Sirius and you to waste the rest of the day.

You shrugged in response, still thinking about the look in Sirius’ eye while you were in the recording room. And, now, he was walking a little closer than normal, making your head spin. 

“Is it too late for coffee?” you asked with a chuckle. “Or maybe a big, greasy dinner.”

Sirius nudged you gently. “Well, little Miss Rock Star, you definitely deserve both if you like. We can head out to that diner on the other side of town and get something disgusting and greasy.” The two of you approached your car, slowing down.

“And a coffee milkshake.” You smiled as you turned to Sirius, glancing over briefly at his bike. He had painted it recently, and the deep purple edges glistened in the afternoon sun. “That sounds yummy.”

Sirius laughed, then crossed his arms, facing you. “Y/N, can I ask you something?” You furrowed your brow and nodded. “Where did you get the idea of that song? Some of those lines are, well, pretty intimate.” You blushed at the question, not really having a good answer for him. Other than the truth, anyway.

You pursed your lips, then glanced up at him. “It was inspired by someone.” You could feel your cheeks heating up as your gaze locked on his.

“Oh?” He smirked, then licked his lips. Oh, he knew. He knew that song was about him. He had to. 

“Yeah.” You didn’t know what else to say. Honestly, you couldn’t say anything else. Your heart pounded as you watched the gears turn in Sirius’ mind.

“Well, that’s one lucky person, if I say so myself.” He raised an eyebrow, taking a half-step closer. Your heart thumped in your ribcage. He liked your too. Oh, thank god.

You nodded, finally accepting that in that moment, your relationship with Sirius Black had changed. “I guess you are.”

Sirius huffed as he took a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you. The air shot from your lungs as he leaned in, then stopped just before your lips could touch. But, you impatiently rushed forward, pressing your lips to his. 

Your entire body tingled as his hands gently gripped your upper waist, pulling you closer against his chest. The kiss didn’t last long, but it was more than you ever imagined. The man that you had been fantasizing about for the better part of five years was finally holding you like the numerous songs you had written but never shared. 

He pulled away slowly, grinning. “I was hoping that song was about me.” He leaned back just a little to get a better view of your face. “I do have one question,” he asked with a devilish twinkle in his eye.

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

“Is it love, Y/N?” he teased, repeating the lyrics. You rolled your eyes and leaned away from him, playfully shoving his shoulder.

“Shut up, Black,” you huffed. His low, raspy voice erupted into a laugh, making you smile. When he calmed down, he glanced over at his motorcycle, then back to you. Right, food.

“You want me to drive, love?” he asked, extending a hand to you again. You shook your head, grabbing your keys from your bag.

“Heck no. You finally learn about my feelings for you, and now you want to kill me? I’m driving, Black. Final word.” You bit you lip and smiled at the pouting Sirius. 

“Fine.” He headed for the passenger side of your car, smoothing his hand over your upper back as he passed. “But, if this is going to work, you’re going to have to learn to love her.”

You laughed, opening your car door. “Baby steps. Right now, I need caffeine and grilled cheese.” Sirius nodded as he slipped into the car beside you. The engine roared to life on your command. Then, the two of you headed to the other side of town for your first official date.

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 1222AD – Karabakh

Been a few days since I threw some of this at you, but here we are :D This time, brought to you from half of the Mongol horde in the steppe of what is now Azerbaijan.

1222AD – Karabakh

Sometimes, one had to wonder about the great plan.

Not to question it, of course. To all things there was a season and all that, but sometimes, it was very difficult not to wonder, especially when you were sent to drop a smattering of divine inspiration on the chief strategist of an infamous warlord. Divine could be many things, after all, including wrath and retribution.

Aziraphale slipped out of the yurt and into the coolness of the twilight.

The steppe was quiet, although the crackle of the campfires and the whickering of the horses nearby meant it could never be completely silent.

The long grass brushed against his knees as he walked away from the camp, glancing heavenwards. No, it wouldn’t do to question anything. If the divine plan wanted Subutai to get grand ideas about how to conquer the Rus regions, then that was what he would do.

A flicker on his senses made him glance around, puzzled.

It took him a few moments to identify the source, but as soon as he did, he wondered how he could have missed it.

Some half a mile from the camp, a solitary figure was sitting on a boulder, painted silver by starlight. He wasn’t dressed entirely in local attire. It looked like something from much further east, his red hair long again and braided back into a tight queue.

“Let me guess,” Aziraphale said dryly, as he approached. “You’re here to tempt the Mongols to invade the Crimea as well.”

Crowley didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the sky. “No.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Oh?”

The demon nodded towards the sky. His eyes were uncovered for the first time in an age and Aziraphale looked up to see what he was looking at. High above them, on a night sky painted with stars, there was a brilliantly bright star with a blazing tail.

“Oh!” He frowned in confusion. “It’s back again?”

“Mm.” Crowley’s lips twitched in an odd little smile. “Every eighty-odd years, give or take.”

Aziraphale looked back up at the sky. He’d seen it, of course. Anyone who had been around in Judea for a certain birth or seen the texts that came after knew about the star of Bethlehem. “Really?” He shook his head. “I thought– wasn’t that the guiding star?”

Crowley snorted, glancing at him. “Shows what you know, angel. S’been around since the beginning, that one.”

The beginning…

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly. “So long?”

Crowley nodded. He pulled his feet up, propping them on the side of the rock he was sitting on. “It was due to come,” he said, scooting over and giving the angel space to sit down. “Can’t always see it, but this is a good place for it. Wasn’t so clear out east.”

He wasn’t wrong. With open plains hemmed in by distant mountains, the sky seemed to stretch into infinity, inky dark but for the spray of stars and galaxies that lit the heavens like so many dancing candles.

“Do you–” Aziraphale sat down gingerly on the edge of the rock. “Have you seen it often?”

Crowley nodded. “Often as I can.” He propped his arms on his upraised knees. “You?”

Aziraphale shook his head, wondering how he had overlooked it. “Only once.”

“Yeah?”

“Bethlehem.”

The demon snorted. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, shooting a grin at Aziraphale. “If it’s not edible, you’re not interested.”

“I beg your pardon!”

Crowley laughed, eyes glinting. “And I bet you only noticed it because you had to go and scare the living hell out of those shepherds.”

Aziraphale had the good grace to blush. “Well, sort of. Yes.”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley returned his attention to the sky.

For a while, they sat there in silence.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Aziraphale finally murmured. “I sometimes forget, with everything happening down here. The universe, I mean. Something so infinite and so vast and so beautiful.” He shook his head in wondering disbelief. “To think that they were crafted by… well, by people like us, before the world even began.”

When Crowley smiled at the shimmering skies, he looked less like a demon and more like an angel than Aziraphale had ever seen him. “Oh, angel, you have no idea.”

[soyousian]

TNG Rewatch 1.04

okay I’ve slept and am ready to watch trek again

I'm writing these all at once and queueing them out so I have a pile in case school picks up or something

preface over! time to watch the last outpost!

I hope this one better than code of honor

oh, they’re chasing ferengi!

this is the least dramatic chase i’ve ever watched

they couldn’t even get any music

there’s the music

Why aren’t you firing on the HOSTILE SHIP?

the ferengi are so built up in season 1 and then the rest of trek they’re just weird little goblins

just absolute little bastards

geordi’s not your errand boy!

kinda fun that you can’t read ferengi because they got weird brains 

oh no oh god no not capitalists not in my space communism

WORF YOU GREW UP BELARUS DON’T PRETEND YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT EARTH

picard talks about being french more in these 4 eps than in the rest of the series (as I remember it)

don’t be mean to data!

I'm gonna cry, he just wants to be helpful!

this is the first time we see geordi’s engineering skill

WOO EEE

why did he do that?

Worf seems extra klingon in these early eps

star fleet isn’t a military organization but sun tzu’s teachings are mandatory

merde

your feelings on the ferengi might change soon, counselor

riker is so much taller than picard

picard is surrendering!

dun dun duh!

what’s gonna happen?

uh oh! the fernegi are being forced to surrender too

pretty much all the culture and customs we see in this ep get scrapped later on

personally, I like the weird little goblins better than the discount klingons

daimon tarr gets on facetime just to insult the “hu-mans”

rip to the ferengi’s second officer but data isn’t going anywhere until nemesis

also, I want to know about this “ferengi code” is it different than the rules of acquisition or is it nothing

according to memory alpha, it’s the ferengi’s first contact procedure

daimon tarr just lives in a white void huh

season 1 riker is good with kids

wait, how did those kids get into the conference room?

*sigh* William

FINGER TRAP! DATA’S FINGER TRAP!

they just don’t know about this huge and ancient space empire

oh data is baby

THE TKON EMPIRE COULD MOVE STARS!??!!

AND THEY JUST DON’T KNOW ABOUT IT?!?!?

life support is important

yo what the fuck is up with this TAS ass angle

okay that was just a shot of tarr’s teeth

the ferengi don’t know about the word swap?!

riker just takes half the bridge with him

he’s got like what, officers 2-6 in the chain of command

tasha? data?

Geeeordi?

WOOORF?

ANYBODY!?

DAta?

maybe the others past this fog machine

good thing geordi got stuck on that rock and didn’t fall on his head

the ferengi have pool noodles for weapons

oh no! LIGHTNING WHIPS

can you imagine quark, rom, or nog using one of those?

HILARIOUS

oh no! CHIPPED SILVER NAIL POLISH!

how’d they get worf?

so these ferengi like gold but in who mourns for morn quark calls gold “useless”

com badges are made of gold

WORF FLIP

ajbsakgldui the face data makes when riker gets knocked out

TASHA!

shoot this fool, tasha!

thank god the away team has a competent woman with them. the boys were getting their asses handed to them

the crystals absorb energy weapons

uh oh! it’s the wizard of oz!

this dude and his party city looking costume

portal, kill this fool!

so between now and ds9 gold loses all value

KILL THIS FOOL, TASHA!

absfaoygsn what the fuck is up with these ferengi’s wild arm movements

worf is...hungry for fighting...horny for battle...and ready to BUST A NUT UP in this challenge!

that 1.25 speed up

oh riker! you’re so interesting, mr. riker! you’re so cool! you’re so special and sexy! oh mr. riker!

yo was dr. crusher about to makeout with capt. picard?

please destroy them mr. portal sir

lotta dry ice on this planet

now riker’s got a finger trap!

aw you little shits! beaming the ferengi finger traps

Rating: 6.5/10

tldr; finally some good fucking trek

[ethenell]

Best Films of 2018: Honorable Mentions

The time, once again, has come. The Oscars nominations are out there, and they’re ... puzzling ... But anyone interested in an alternate take can look no further. 

The cinema of 2018 offered too many notable treasures to whittle down to a simple list of ten, so before we get into the meat of my countdown, here is an alphabetical list of ten films that just missed out on making my list, but are essential viewing for anyone looking to take in the best that 2018 had to offer.

Enjoy!

Blindspotting (dir. Carlos López Estrada)

I’m still waiting for the moment when the world collectively discovers the thing at which Daveed Diggs is not amazing. He had already garnered acclaim as a part of the experimental hip-hop group clipping. before reaching a wider audience and netting himself Grammy and Tony Awards for his role in the paradigm-altering musical, Hamilton. To that already distinguished list, we can now add co-writing and co-starring in one of 2018’s most original films. Blindspotting, set in Digg’s hometown of Oakland, CA, is a searing take on gentrification, racism, and police brutality that show off a deep understanding of the myriad political problems in the rapidly-changing Bay Area, while displaying an equally deft touch with the characters who find their lives irreparably damaged as a direct or indirect result. It’s impressive work from Diggs and co-writer/co-star Rafael Casal that first-time director Carlos Lopez Estrada brings to life with singular vision. Something tells me we’ll continue to see more of everyone involved, but Diggs is undoubtedly headed for greatness.

The Death of Stalin (dir. Armando Iannucci)

You’d be forgiven if you thought the creator/director of Veep, The Thick of It, and In The Loop had already mined politics’ deepest, darkest depths for the pitch-blackest comedy that one could possibly generate from the toxic combination of bureaucratic incompetence and egotistical narcissism. However, as The Death of Stalin shows with brutal precision, you would be wrong. The Death of Stalin is at times so bleak its difficult to even describe as a comedy without a bit of a cringe on your face, but it revels brilliantly in the theater of the absurd and probes ruthlessly at the ruling class with chilling contemporary resonance. And that’s all without mentioning that it features one of the best ensemble performances of the year. In a time when its easy to despair how much our everyday political reality has started to resemble a particularly discomfiting episode of Veep, Iannucci makes a triumphant return with an even more discomfiting message - never forget, things can always get much, much worse.

 Hereditary (dir. Ari Aster)

Another year, another Sundance horror breakout. Even if it doesn’t quite match up with some of its more distinguished predecessors (I wouldn’t quite put it at the level of It Follows, The Babadook, or The Witch) Hereditary is clearly the year’s best horror film, featuring a handful of sequences sure to push you to the edge of your seat, and then keep you up at night. The perennially under-appreciated Toni Collette delivers a performance of such vast emotional range that it deserves mention among the absolute best performances of the year – which, of course, meant that it was doomed to be ignored by the Oscars. Nevertheless, any fans of the genre should stop what they’re doing (including, presumably, reading this list) and watch this film immediately. You won’t be sorry.

If Beale Street Could Talk (dir. Barry Jenkins)

A pairing like Barry Jenkins and James Baldwin makes so much sense, and has such immense creative potential, that it’s generally something that could exist only in cinephile dreams. It simply makes *too* much sense. Yet, here we are, and Jenkins’ follow-up to the critically-revered Moonlight, an adaptation of one of Baldwin’s lesser-known novels, If Beale Street Could Talk, is very much real. Does it measure up to the immense expectations thrust upon it, due in no small part to Moonlight’s rapturous reception and the much-hyped pairing of Jenkins and Baldwin? In some important ways, no. Is Jenkins’ script at times overly-reverent of its source material? In some important ways, yes. But when Jenkins filters Baldwin’s story of the redeeming power of love in the face of oppression through his own unique cinematic voice, the results are breathtaking. Jenkins remains one of cinema’s greatest emerging artists. 

Mission: Impossible – Fallout (dir. Christopher McQuarrie)

At the very least, this latest installment in the M:I franchise was the most balls-to-the-wall fun I had in a theater this entire year, hurtling at a breakneck pace from one jaw-dropping set piece to the next with one of the world’s biggest stars carrying the screen from the first frame to the last. But at most, you could call it one of the decade’s best action films, with some of the most breathtaking stunt work ever put to film with an absolutely singular star who continues to push his penchant for cheating death and tempting fate for our entertainment to daring new heights. The truth probably lies somewhere between the two extremes, but either way, the Cruise’s latest ride as Ethan Hunt is undeniably one of the most thrilling yet.

 Private Life (dir. Tamara Jenkins)

With 11 years having passed since her Oscar-nominated feature debut, The Savages, hit the silver screen, news that Netflix was financing and developing a new film from Tamara Jenkins was met with nearly unbridled optimism. More than delivering on that promise, Jenkins once again delivered a film that delves deeply into all-too-common but dramatically under-explored modern adult experiences. While The Savages followed two adult siblings dealing with the mental decline of their elderly parent, Private Life details a couple in their 40s going through fertility treatments. Like her debut, Private Life uses this trying, even destabilizing experience to explore the ways in which our long-established adult lives can be uprooted as much by our own choices as by external, unforeseeable events. With two sterling performances from Kathryn Hahn and Paul Giamatti at its center, Private Life is rife with incisive observations about overlooked truths of aging together. It’s beautiful work, and undoubtedly one of Netflix’s best “original” offerings.

The Rider (dir. Chloe Zhao)

Using a cast of untrained actors to spin a poetic tale lost opportunity by way of the American rodeo, director Chloe Zhao’s sophomore feature has keyed her as a rising master of cinematic realism. The film follows the struggles of a former rising rodeo star dealing with the fallout of a traumatic head injury suffered during a bronc riding competition, and mirrors the real-life experiences of its star, Brady Jandeau. who Zhao befriended while shooting her debut feature, Songs My Brothers Taught Me. Drawing out brilliant performances and setting them against the perma-golden picturesque of the Badlands, The Rider is a testament to what truly independent cinema is capable of and is sure to springboard Zhao to greater heights.

Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (dir. Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman)

The most unexpected triumph of the year, Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse is not just a high watermark in the Spider-Man film series, it is almost certainly the best film to ever come out of Marvel Studios, and possibly the greatest superhero film since The Dark Knight. With an airtight script that spans several universes (literally) with ease, and featuring some of the most glorious and inventive animation ever to grace the big screen, Into the Spiderverse is a rare and perfect marriage between the words on the page and the visual language employed on screen. It a testament to what’s possible when talented artists with an original vision take big risks - it’s a breath of fresh air.

A Star is Born (dir. Bradley Cooper)

Even with an improbably underwhelming Oscar campaign sputtering its way to the finish line, it’s hard not to peg A Star is Born as the year’s most-talked about film. Bradley Cooper brought his gestating passion project to life with scope and vision rarely seen from a first-time director and Lady Gaga turns in an absolutely electric performance that elevates the film whenever she’s on screen. From the spine-tingling live concert scenes to the beautiful on-screen chemistry between Cooper and Gaga, there’s an awful lot to love about this latest iteration of this long-tenured Hollywood classic. Sure, there’s also plenty to nitpick at - obviously more than enough to fuel a backlash against the once-assumed Oscar frontrunner - but when this film is firing on all cylinders, it’s right up there with the greatest cinema of 2018. Cooper is officially a filmmaker to watch, and A Star Is Born looks every bit like a directorial debut that will stand the test of time. 

 You Were Never Really Here (dir. Lynne Ramsey)

One of the year’s most boldly-directed films, Lynne Ramsey’s latest is a lean thriller that goes for your throat but takes up permanent residence in your gut. Ramsey and star Joaquin Phoenix (delivering yet another show-stopping performance) bury you deep inside the mind of killer for hire, traumatized by his abusive childhood and haunted by his military past, as he embarks on a job to rescue a young girl from sex traffickers. If this premise seems familiar, believe me, the execution is anything but. Ramsey’s direction is unerringly brilliant, elevating You Were Never Really Here well beyond it’s pulpy origins to bracing, almost hallucinogenic heights. Oh, and did I mention it boasts one of Jonny Greenwood’s most adventurous scores to date? If that’s not enough to get it in your Amazon Prime queue (hint hint), then I don’t know what to tell you ...

[writing-in-grey]

We Were Invincible

I met you my senior year of high school. You had turquoise hair and talked to me as if we’d been friends a lifetime. That first day, the day I met you, you told me we were going to the mall after school. The final bell rang and I got in your car, a Volkswagen Jetta older than we were, passed down to you from your sister, who had gotten bored of the plain white paint and spray-painted a Duck Hunt mural on the sides the way bumptious boys adorn their cars with flames. We drove with the windows down and the radio blasting, and even in your ancient Jetta we overtook every car we met.

I had never before walked into a building feeling like I owned the place, but that’s exactly what we did. We walked into the mall with our arms linked and our heads held up high, ready to take the place by storm. Seventeen years old with the world at our fingertips. We dressed up in lavish outfits, posing for each other and fitting room mirrors. We stuffed our toes into the highest heels we could find, strutting back and forth with our hands on our hips and drowning in raucous laughter. We even went into a photo booth, our arms draped around each other, making faces at the camera. When the mall closed, you drove me back to my house and parked in my driveway. The stars were out, and we lay on the hood of your car, talking until the wee hours of the morning.

That is what I think of when I remember you: high heels and photo strips and lying on your Duck Hunt car as we looked up at the stars. And, of course, that feeling – like nothing in the world could possibly touch us. Like we were invincible.

We became inseparable, you and I. At school, we were above the mass populace. We were smarter, we were more charming, we had our shit figured out. We were special. While the rest of the class continued to struggle with the assignment, we whispered and giggled in the back of the classroom, because we’d already finished. While the rest of the school had to each lunch in the cafeteria, we had special permission to eat in our advisor’s office, just us two. While everyone else got caught up in petty high school drama, we were off in our own little world, above it all.

After school, we’d spend hours at the mall. We’d have countless fitting room fashion shows, each trying to outdo the other. We’d search for the goofiest accessories we could find in the Dollar Store and model them for two-minute photo shoots. We’d race each other from one end of the mall to the other, weaving in and out of shoppers and ducking into alcoves to avoid mall security telling us off for running.

I don’t think I spent a single weekend at home the whole of my senior year. Friday nights we’d hole up in your bedroom, queue up some romantic comedy or other on your laptop, and paint each other’s nails. We even learned how to make fun patterns and designs. We’d stuff ourselves with ice cream piled high with syrup and whipped cream, stay up late, and sleep in later. 

Sometimes I’d have a change of clothes with me, but usually I’d just borrow something of yours when we finally did wake up on Saturdays. Then we’d head to Michaels and each find a craft project to work on, which we’d take back to your house and start in on with more romcoms playing in the background. That year I learned how to draw, how to paint, how to knit and crochet and cross-stitch and sew. We’d spend the whole day just crafting, half-watching movies we’d already seen or didn’t care about, and talking. Talking about anything and everything. About boys and school and all that drama we were so above. About our hopes and our dreams and our plans once we graduated.

Every other Saturday night, I’d help you dye your hair, which was ever-changing. We’d sit in your tiny bathroom in our underwear, covered in spilled color and trying hard not to choke on bleach fumes. Once I even let you dye my hair, but I picked a bad color and had to dye it back a couple days later. We got it right later, though, when I finally dared to try again.

The summer after we graduated was full of late-night adventures and sleepovers that regularly turned into two or three or even four nights in a row. Sometimes you’d text me at 10 or 11pm, asking if I wanted to spend the night. I will forever associate that summer with late-night drives down the deserted country roads between our houses, windows down, moonroof open, and music blasting.

The day you turned eighteen, I held your hand as you got your first tattoo: a purple butterfly on your wrist. Purple, our shared favorite color, the color of your walls and your bedsheets and half your wardrobe and, quite often, your hair. And a butterfly to symbolize your favorite quote: Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly. You had that quote painted on your purple walls, and butterflies littered your life. They hung on your walls, painted or drawn; they decorated several of your t-shirts, skirts, dresses, even your socks; they adorned your wall-calendar and the cover of your journal; they were on your pens and the stationary that you only used for the specialest of occasions (which meant, of course, that not a single sheet had yet been used); and then there was the silver butterfly ring that never left your finger, not even for a moment. And now you had a purple butterfly permanently on your wrist, forever your protector.

I drew you a butterfly card for that birthday – sketched in pencil and filled in with soft pastels, the blues and purples blended together with my fingertips – and you hung it in a place of prominence on your wall before we left for the tattoo parlor. Sometimes I wonder if it’s still on your wall, one college dorm room and three apartments later. Somehow I doubt the card survived when not even the tattoo managed that.

We stood in your driveway on a scorching hot day in the middle of August next to your Duck Hunt Jetta, packed to bursting with everything you’d need at college. You stepped so close to me our noses were barely two inches apart, took both of my hands in yours, and said, “What distance?” You were still laughing as you slid behind the wheel of your car, slammed the door, and pulled out of the drive. I waved until you turned the corner out of sight, and you stuck your arm out of the window and waved back the whole time. Once you were gone, I got into my own car, parked on the street and also packed to the brim, and set off myself. Yes it sucked that our colleges were states apart, but I knew we’d remain just as close despite the miles between us. Like you said, what distance?

College was nothing like high school. It was loud and fast and full, and I was so very small and lost without you. I tried to make friends, but it seemed like every time I opened my mouth to say hello, everyone in my general vicinity would simply vanish, like smoke on the wind. I texted you every time I felt like crying, which was all but constantly. I asked you how you were doing, but what I meant was, are you still here with me? Are you still there to be my lifeline now that I’m finally drowning? You texted back that things were great. You’d joined a theater club and everyone in it was just so nice. They were mostly upperclassmen who had been friends for years already, but within minutes you were one of them. You said that you had bonded with three of them in particular, two junior boys and a sophomore girl. The girl and one of the boys had been high school sweethearts; you were sure they were going to get married one day, and you’d just love it if you got to be Maid of Honor. A wish you were granted, years later.

I tried not to text you every time I needed reassurance. I tried to give you space to be happy at your new school with your new friends. I knew all of that was important, so I didn’t blame you for no longer having time for me. But I still clutched my phone so tightly I thought the casing would crack, just waiting for a text to come through. I was sure that once the chaos that was the first few months of college calmed down, once you’d had time to settle into a routine, then you’d have time for me again. I could wait. I might have been drowning, but I would become a champion at holding my breath.

I even found my own group of friends. It felt like months before I did, but it was only a week and a half. I say I found them, but really it was the other way ‘round. They adopted me, just as you had. And they were wonderful, truly. There were three of them, just as you’d found for yourself. Natalie and Amelia were roommates. It was Nat who approached me first. She said that sitting alone in the cafeteria was “unacceptable,” and I was to join her and Amelia immediately – if that was alright with me, of course. They invited me to their room that evening, and, on a whim, I asked if I could bring along my own roommate, Penelope, to whom I hadn’t said more than two words in the week and a half we’d been living together. I don’t know why she came with me when I asked her, but she did, and the four of us just… clicked.

That night, once Penny and I had gone back to our room, turned out the lights, and Penny’s breathing grew slow and even, I texted you about my newfound friends. I was so excited I thought I’d surely burst, and I knew you’d be excited for me, too. I told you everything, from how we met to what we’d done all evening, and how we had plans to hang out all weekend, too. My fingers were trembling with the exhilaration of it all as I typed, and my thumb missed the “send” button three times. I watched as the words moved from the message box to the big blue bubble, as the word beneath it changed from “sending” to “delivered” to “read.”

I told myself I wouldn’t text you until you texted me, but I always broke first. I’d have some amazing adventure with my friends, or I’d get riled up about an annoying classmate, or I’d just see something funny I thought might make you laugh, and I’d tell you about it. Sometimes you’d answer – something short, like “haha” or “sounds fun” or “ok” – but mostly you wouldn’t. 

I tried to forget about you. I tried to lose myself in my new friends, these people who actually wanted to spend time with me. We spent just about every waking moment together, the four of us, making all sorts of fantastic memories. But still what I remember most about that time with them was my hand on my phone, waiting for you to miss me. And sometimes, finally, I would start to let you go, but the moment my fingertips were about to let go was always the moment my phone would ring. You were like a drug I would finally detox from my system, right before someone slipped you back in my drink.

I don’t think I’d ever been as excited for a school vacation as I was for winter break at the end of that first semester. Nor as anxious. I shouldn’t have been, but I was desperate to see you again. I tried so hard not to be, but I was. I think I just wanted to regain that feeling that you gave me, that invincibility, that feeling that I was important. I don’t know why no one else has ever been able to give me that quite like you did. Maybe it’s just because you were the first. But whatever the reason, I was like a child waiting for Christmas morning. Or maybe more like a lost puppy trying to get home.

I texted you weeks before school let out asking when you’d be home and if you wanted to get together. I’d been home for nine days already when you texted me at 10:47pm: “Do you wanna sleep over?”

I left a note for my parents and jumped in the car. The car thermometer said it was twelve degrees outside, but I put the heat on full blast, rolled down all the windows, opened the moonroof, and cranked up the music as I sped my way down the dark, slush-covered roads. I was about halfway to your house when it started to snow, snowflakes falling through the moonroof and drifting in the windows, the few that weren’t blasted immediately back out by the heaters settling on my hair and my eyelashes, but melting before they could do much more.

My safe arrival, despite my less than cautious driving in already unsafe conditions, was just more proof that, with you, nothing could touch me. I let myself in when I got to your house, as I always had. I didn’t even need to use a flashlight as I crept my way through the unlit hallways, so well did I remember them from the innumerable times I’d done this before, and I avoided all of the squeaky stairs as I made my way up to your room; your parents never minded me coming over late, so long as I didn’t wake them. When I rounded the corner of the stairs, I saw light spilling out from around the edges of your door, just like always, and that familiar light filled me the way the spirit of God fills some. I slipped in your door and shut it softly behind me, and there everything was – the purple walls, the butterflies, my sleeping bag and pillow tucked in a corner of the room. And you. You were lying on your twin-size bed, engrossed in your phone.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” you said, without looking up.

“Your hair’s brown,” I said.

“Hang on, I’m talking to Elizabeth.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay, no problem.” I don’t think you heard me.

One minute. Two. Three. I took out my phone and started playing a game, just so I wouldn’t have to stand there like a stranger in your room.

“Heeeey, what’s up!” Twelve minutes, but you finally jumped up and hugged me.

“Your hair’s brown,” I said again.

“Yeah, I decided to go back to natural for a while.”

“It looks good,” I said. “Weird, but good. I don’t think I even knew what your natural hair color was,” I laughed.

“Oh no, this isn’t my natural color, just a natural color.”

“Oh.”

“I was so happy you asked me to hang out,” you said. “I was worried you’d forget about little old me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Oh, you know, just with all the excitement of new people and places, who even has time to remember the little folk back home?” you laughed.

“I texted you a lot,” I said, “but I wasn’t sure if they went through a lot of the time.”

“I love how I don’t even have to reply but you still know I love getting your little updates.”

I swallowed, hard. “So, um,” I said, swallowing again. “Tell me about your friends at school.”

“Oh. My gosh. They are the best. Elizabeth and Benjamin just make the sweetest couple; they’re totally going to get married someday, but I told you that already, didn’t I? But even though they’ve been together longer, I still think me and Lucas are cuter–”

“Wait, you and Lucas are dating?”

“Um, yeah, where have you been?” you said, laughing again. “We’ve been dating for months. And, speaking of, guess who no longer has their V-card?” you asked, pointing at yourself with both hands. “I gave it to him after we’d been dating for a week. How. Great. Is sex?”

“So, did you just get home?”

“Oh no, I’ve been back for about a week and a half. It is so dull here; I can’t wait to go back to school. How did we survive here for so long?”

“It’s a mystery.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. All this boredom really takes it out of a girl, you know?”

“Right, yeah.”

“Sweet dreams, then,” you said as you turned off the lights.

I unrolled my sleeping bag in the dark, arranging it and the pillow in my usual spot. I crawled in and stared at the ceiling, not remotely tired. I was barely settled when the blackness of the ceiling vanished, replaced by the soft blue glow of the screen of your phone. Through the semi-darkness I could hear the tik-tik-tiking of you texting, a sound that was still ongoing when I finally fell asleep at quarter to four in the morning, and even then I heard it in my dreams.

I woke up before you – not a rare occurrence, but usually we were up within half an hour of each other. Then again, we usually fell asleep around the same time, too; lord only knows how long you continued to text your new and better friends after I fell asleep. I dressed in the dark – the morning light blocked out, as always, by your heavy curtains – and played around on my phone for about an hour, waiting for you to wake. When you didn’t, I grabbed a book off your shelf and made my way downstairs, where I helped myself to some frozen waffles. When I finished the waffles, I stayed seated at your kitchen table and read. It was an hour and a half before you came down, and maybe I imagined it but you almost looked surprised to see me.

Once you’d finished your breakfast, I followed you back to your room, unsure whether or not that is what I was supposed to do. 

“Close the door, would you?” you asked as I entered.

I stood by the closed door as you stripped out of your pajamas and rummaged around in your dresser.

“Do you want to go to Michaels today?” I finally asked as you were pulling a t-shirt over your head. It was deep blue and featured a stylized fox face.

“Listen, I’m so glad you came over,” you said, “because there’s something I wanted to give you.” You pawed through the jewelry box on your dresser for a moment or two, then turned around to face me, your hand outstretched, palm up.

Sitting in your palm was your butterfly ring. I hadn’t even noticed that you weren’t wearing it.

“Really?” I asked.

“Really,” you said. “I want you to have something special to remember me by, even when we’re far apart.”

The warmth of your palm against the tips of my fingers was such a sharp contrast to the cold metal of the ring as my fingers wrapped around it, taking it from you. It was heavier than I thought it would be. I slipped it on, internally crowing that you had given this ring to me, not to Elizabeth, not to anyone else, but to me.

That was when I noticed your wrist.

“Hey, what happened to your tattoo?”

“Oh, laser removal. I’m really into foxes now. It’s this thing Lucas and I came up with, where I’m a fox and he’s a bear. It’s so cute. I’ve got, like, fox everything now. See?” you said, tugging at the hem of your fox-face t-shirt.

I glanced down at the butterfly ring adorning my finger – so meaningful just a few moments prior, now little more than a small hunk of metal.

I wore your butterfly ring every day for four months. I would fiddle with it every time I was tempted to keep my hand on my silent phone, waiting for a text that was never going to come. That ring was my methadone, keeping my hands busy to help me kick my addiction. It worked, and it didn’t. I stopped reaching for my phone so much, but the ring became an addiction in and of itself, worse even than its predecessor. That ring symbolized my entire relationship with you – the friend I remembered, who loved butterflies and hanging out with me; and the stranger you became, so willing to throw away everything you’d cherished as soon as you found something –someone – better. That ring was so bittersweet, and possessing it caused within me such intense and conflicting emotions that I could not give up. The highs I felt when I looked at that ring were beyond anything I’d ever known, and the lows were so devastating I thought I was surely going to die. But the thing is they all came at once, those highs and lows together, so that each felt like the other, and I came to associate pain with pleasure, pleasure with pain. I had hoped, initially, that the hurt associated with your ring would help me to let you go; if I wore a constant reminder of the pain you’d caused me, surely I wouldn’t still yearn for your affection. Instead, I grew only more attached to you, desperate for you to love me again, yet still gaining some sick satisfaction when you’d inevitably wound me further. Each scar you gave me became, in my mind, proof of your affection.

After four months of anguish, I took off the ring. I no longer understood a single emotion I had, and I had long ago gone mad with longing. I didn’t know how to fix myself, but I knew that this ring symbolized everything that was wrong inside my head. I was walking back to my dorm room after class when I did it. I was walking over a storm drain, and I stopped. Both feet on the grate. I started shifting my weight from my heels to the balls of my feet and back again just to savor the feeling of the something-then-nothing beneath my feet. I remember thinking maybe shifting my weight like this was like folding a piece of paper back and forth along the same crease, weakening it until it finally rips. Maybe if I shifted my weight back and forth and back and forth for long enough, the bars of the grate would weaken and then snap, and I’d fall right in and disappear forever.

I don’t know how long I stood there, just shifting my weight between my heels and the balls of my feet, the rest of my body swaying almost imperceptibly with each shift, waiting to fall into the eternal void that surely lay just beneath the storm drain. I do know that at some point I stopped. Stood perfectly still, so still I might not have even existed at all. Maybe the people walking all around me couldn’t even see me anymore; maybe I was invisible I was so still. I was so still that even my thoughts stopped. For just a moment or two, my mind was a perfect blank, and I took a breath as I stood there.

Then I raised your ring, still on my finger, to my eyes. I stared at it for nearly a minute, and then I took it off. I crouched down on the storm grate. I took the ring between my thumb and forefinger and held it over one of the gaps in the grate. Time seemed to stop as I held your ring over an abyss, threatening to lose it from this world forever. I think I might have cried then, but I honestly can’t say for sure. I wasn’t aware of any tears rolling down my cheeks, but when the wind blew, it felt wet against my face.

I couldn’t drop it.

Time began again and I stood up and ran back to my room as though the Devil himself were chasing me, your ring clutched tightly in my fist. I flew into my room and slammed the door behind me, still not daring to stop and breathe. I strode across the room to my dresser, and the jewelry box sitting atop it. I flung the box open and dug through the tangled heap of bracelets and necklaces I never wore that lay within. I dug until I reached the very bottom, and there I placed the ring. I piled the old bracelets and necklaces over it again, burying your ring quite thoroughly. That is where I kept it from then on, hidden at the bottom of my jewelry box. Never worn, nor even looked at, yet still not thrown away.

I no longer kept my hand on my phone while out with my friends, but I still texted you whenever no one else was looking.

With the approach of each school vacation, I always told myself that I wouldn’t ask you to hang out. And as soon as I was back in my childhood bedroom, I would always text you to ask if we could. Every yes was the same: me, desperate to remind you how we used to be; and you, dangling me along on a string, gracing me with your presence but never your attention.

After a couple years at school, we each moved out of the dorms and our parents’ houses, and into apartments near our respective schools. Once you moved out, your parents even sold your childhood home and retired to a town by the ocean. I thought surely this was it, the end of you and me. After all, we only ever saw each other when we both went home for breaks, and, with the sale of the house I knew almost better than my own, you would never again have cause to return to the sleepy little town in which we met. I was devastated, and oh so relieved.

But, for reasons I may never understand, you were not yet ready to cut that string on which you held me. Instead, you encouraged me to drive up to your apartment on breaks. I would blast my music for the three-hour drive and arrive exhausted. The three of us – you, me, and Lucas, with whom you now lived – would sit on your couch for hours as you played YouTube videos on your TV, and every time I opened my mouth you’d say, “Shh, you’re missing the video!” Then I’d crash on your couch and drive three hours back the next morning.

We soon graduated college and got Real Jobs™, but not much else changed. You still texted me just often enough to keep me hooked on you, and I would still drive three hours up to sit silently beside you and your boyfriend and then three hours back about once every two or three months, whenever you had time for me. For years, this is how it was, and I was never strong enough to change it.

Then, I met a man.

It was my first time trying a dating website, and he was the first person I talked to upon signing up. The only person I talked to, actually. I messaged him because I lived in New Hampshire and he lived in California and who could be safer to talk to as I eased my way into the online dating pool than a man who lived three thousand miles away?

Falling in love with him was faster and easier than anything I’d ever experienced. A month after we started talking, I flew to California to meet him in person. By the time I flew home four days later, I knew I would spend the rest of my life with him.

Nine months into our relationship, the lease on my apartment was up, my car was packed to the brim with all my worldly goods, and the love of my life was on a Boston-bound plane, preparing to be my co-pilot on a two-week road trip back to California and our first shared apartment. Here it was: the biggest adventure of my life thus far. All I had left to do was to say my goodbyes.

You said I had to see you before I left. Of course, I agreed. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t even out of the way; it was directly on the route we would already be driving. I told you when we’d be passing through your neck of the woods, date and time.

“I work Sundays,” you said. “Can’t you pick another day?”

“Don’t you get an hour lunch break, though?” I asked. “We can just get a quick bite to eat.”

“Saturdays are my day off,” you said. “Come up then!”

“But all our hotels are booked already. We can’t change them.”

“So just come see me on Saturday, go back and stay another night at your place, then start your trip on Sunday. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” I said, “is that we’re already going to be driving seven or eight hours a day, sometimes more, for two weeks straight. I can’t just add another six hours on top of that the day before, not when I’m already driving through that area anyway. Please,” I begged, “isn’t there any way we can make Sunday work?”

“I told you, I’m working.”

“Well then, you can come see me on Saturday. It’ll be fun; you never come to my place!”

“I would,” you said, “but I’m already driving down that way later that week. I’m getting a new tattoo! There’s a parlor that has great reviews just a couple towns over from where you are, actually. So I don’t want to do that many back-and-forth trips so soon after each other, you know? That’s just more driving than I think you realize.”

Saturday, the day before our trip was set to begin, you texted me: “So…?”

That was all you said. So much presumption in such a little word. The expectation that I’d move heaven and earth just to see you one last time before I moved.

I cried as I told you I would not. I told you I was sorry, that I wished I could see you before I left, but it just didn’t work out. You weren’t free when I was driving through, and you wouldn’t come see me, so it didn’t work out.

“I didn’t even know coming to see you was an option!” you said.

That conversation was so recent you barely would have had to scroll up to see it.

“I guess,” you said, “I’m just upset because I feel like I’m never going to see you again.”

It took me two days to respond to that message – two days for my fingers to stop shaking with anger, and with hurt, to be able to type. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” I said, “but let’s be real: I have never been a priority to you, and I am not going to put myself out now just to pretend to myself that I am.” I hit send, and my partner held me as I cried. I buried my face in his chest as I let out gut-wrenching sobs, and I felt his own tears fall into my hair as he bore witness to my grief.

When I finally sat up, wiping my puffy eyes on the backs of my hands, he asked me, “What do you want her to say back? How do you want this to go?”

“I don’t care,” I spat. “I don’t care what she says. I’m done with her, done with all of this. She’s never done anything to show me that I mattered to her, so I don’t care. I don’t care if she says she’s sorry or not; I’m just done.”

He squeezed my hand, not saying anything.

“No,” I said, “that’s not true.”

“Then, what do you want her to say?” he asked.

“Something,” I said.

My partner and I had an amazing road trip. We saw the New York City skyline from the George Washington bridge, and we explored Colonial Williamsburg. I met one of his childhood friends now living in Virginia, and he met one of my childhood friends now living in Pennsylvania. We explored the stunning botanical gardens in Atlanta, and a homeless man helped us change the flat tire we got as we tried to leave. We got caught in a sudden downpour as we walked the streets of New Orleans, as drenched the moment the rain started as we could possibly be. We drove through more ghost-towns than I could count, and we saw sun rise over the Grand Canyon. We stayed in 2-star hotels with comfy beds, free wifi, and free continental breakfasts, and we stayed in 5-star hotels with rock slabs for beds, $20/night wifi, and $15 plus 30% fees on room service. We played word-games to keep each other awake as we drove, napped in McDonald’s parking lots when that wasn’t enough. We drove through rain so thick we couldn’t see the taillights ahed of us, wind so strong it jostled the car, and skies bluer than I ever thought possible. And after two long yet incredible weeks, we finally pulled into the driveway that was ours-not-his, and parked.

“I guess that’s it then,” I said.

“Yup, home at last,” he said, knowing I wasn’t talking about the trip.

“Home at last,” I repeated.

“Still nothing?” he asked, glancing at my phone in my hands.

“Not a single word.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“I didn’t want much,” I said. “I didn’t need her to apologize or say I was right. She could’ve yelled at me, called me names, told me she hated me, even. Because even if she got angry at me, you don’t get angry at people you don’t care about.”

He reached over and held my hand.

“She did the one thing she could’ve done to confirm what I said – that I don’t matter to her.”

“I know she meant a lot to you.”

I didn’t block your number from my phone, nor did I block you on social media (although I did remove you from my friends list). I don’t know why I didn’t block you. I think part of it is because I hoped you’d actually try to contact me someday. And I think part of it was because I knew you never would. And because sometimes, the only reasons I can remember for not messaging you are the two-hundred and sixty-one days and counting that you haven’t been blocked and have not said a single word to me. The truth is I miss you, and I’m not sure if that feeling will ever end. Because even though you were cruel to me for far longer than you were kind, still when I think of you it is of high heels and photo strips and lying on your Duck Hunt car as we looked up at the stars, back when we were invincible.

[disneykathy]

DISNEY WORLD

Disney’s Animal Kingdom

This is the other park I get lost in. I’ve been there a dozen times or more but it still feels like the Moving Island in “Lost”: “Wasn’t Africa to the left of Dinoland? How can I be in Asia? Where’s the damn big tree?? I can’t see the tree!!”

Never fear...when you first enter, you have no choice but to walk straight to the first “land” of this park: Discovery island:

Directly in front of you will be the weenie for this park: The Tree Of Life! It’s huge!

No...it’s not real! C’mon, sane up.

The “tree” is a 145 foot high sculpture of an African Baobab tree. Wander around the tree, under passages and through the Discovery Island Trails. Besides seeing some interesting real-life animals, you’ll see that the “Tree of Life” aka the “BFT”, (use your imagination), has 135 detailed animal carvings in its wood. They are amazing. Please take time to explore. You just got here-you can still feel your feet.

Under the BFT, in its roots, is a theater. This is where you will find the attraction: “It’s Tough to be a Bug”.

If you have a fear of bugs, take heed: although no real insects are involved in this production, it does evoke creepy crawly bugginess. The waiting area is an underground lair with the constant sound of chirping and buzzing. And the show does evoke a few fun special effects that make most of us laugh, but, if you are creepa-phobic, these effects may shoot you right through the wall. Just sayin’.

The show is a 3D movie with characters from “A Bugs Life” who will introduce you to the life of bugs and their importance in our little Earth lives. It’s fun. You can sit. It’s air-conditioned (actually TOO air conditioned).

And for those with a phobia, really, you’ll be fine... (spiders, roaches and bees, oh my!!!).

If you stay in the Animal Kingdom until dark, come back to Discovery Island and stand in front of the BFT. Once it’s dark, they do a new projection like show on the tree that is stunning! I had no idea they did this the last time I was there, and just happened to be passing... I was like “what the hell goes on with that tree?? There were all flashy lights coming out of its limbs- I thought I was having a stroke!

Pandora-The World of Avatar:

It’s beautiful! This newest area of Disney’s Animal Kingdom is gorgeous! If you’ve seen the movie Avatar, you’ll be completely amazed at how they captured the topography and flora of Pandora. If you haven’t seen the film, you’ll be confused. Just go with it.

Avatar Flight of Passage

If you didn’t fast pass this ride, enjoy your day standing in line.

I’d love to say “it’s worth it”. It’s not. Nothing is worth waiting in line for 4 hours. Nothing. If Elvis and John Lennon cane back from the dead to jam with Billy Joel, Elton John and Bruce Springsteen, I wouldn’t wait in line 4 hours.

However, it’s a great ride. This is a 3D flight simulator taking you on your Banshee and swooping over landscapes of Pandora. It’s only 5 minutes but it’s a memorable 5 minutes!

Warning: there are warning all along the queue area about thinking twice if you’re not healthy. Hey Disney-none of us are. I actually thought of not riding because of the excessive warnings. But...

The truth is, if you can ride “Soarin’” without getting extremely dizzy, having a coronary or bursting an aneurysm, you’ll be swell. Only dif here is, you are riding on something similar to a Star Wars speeder bike? It doesn’t actually go anywhere, just moves to simulate what’s happening on the screen. You are in a crouched position. So, if you have neck or back issues, you may want to rethink.

Na’vi River Journey

Your boat takes you on a river journey through Pandora at night. Again, if you haven’t seen the film, most if the trees, plants, animals, bugs in pandora are bioluminescent-a fancy word meaning that they light up at night in psychedelic colors. So, this ride is like floating through a college dorm room in 1968.

Rivers of light

Again, if you are going to be in Animal Kingdom after dark, you might want to get a fast pass for the Rivers of Light show. There are multiple viewing areas for this light show-one entrance is by The Voyage of the Little Mermaid theater And the other is by Expedition Everest.

I hear it’s a beautiful attraction. I haven’t seen it. It’s like, late, and my feet hurt and I’ve seen enough cool stuff to last me. But, if your still bright and bushy tailed, by all means, go. And let me know how it was.

Africa:

I love the atmosphere here. It really feels like you are visiting an African Village (I say that like I’ve ever been anywhere near a real African Village...). The village is called “Harambe” which I think means “spend money” in Swahili. There are some really interesting shops and food stops here-linger awhile...

Kilimanjaro Safaris:

You should have a fast pass for this excursion. You should also go first thing in the morning; the animals are much more active and visible before the heat of the day. They, as opposed to us, have common sense.

For this ride you will board large Jeeps and a driver will take you over muddy rut filled roads and over creaky rope bridges through a variety of African ecosystems where you will see indigenous animals. It’s a wonderful experience.

Last time I rode, 2 long horned Bongos blocked our way And we had to sit and wait until the mood hit them to wander off. And a Rhino jogged next to the Jeep, a little closer than my comfort zone approved of.

Lions, giraffes, crocs, gnus ...you’ll see them all with a steady stream of comments from the driver. You’ll love it.

Warning: pee first. The ruts are deep and the ride is long.

Gorilla Falls Exploration Trail/Wild Africa Trek

This section is right next to the Safari. It’s a walk through African nature trail where you can spend some leisure time really experiencing the animals. And you will get a close up view of the gorillas! I have an obsession with Silver Back Gorillas And will spend quite some time in this area photographing them. Unless it’s 90 degrees, then I photograph whatever lurks in the A/C.

Festival of the Lion King

This is a theater production where they re-enact the film with all the songs...it’s full of color and pageantry and people love it but I can sit in my house and watch the movie in the a/c without having to spend a gazillion bucks on a one day pass, so I am not a fan. But what do I know??

Asia: this area is also beautiful and evocative. Lots of photo ops to take advantage of.

Expedition Everest- I hate roller coasters, but I love this one! I love the theming in the queue, I love the speed, the yeti and even the drops. It doesn’t feel as wild as it looks, and it’s a smooth ride. If you can keep your eyes open, there’s lots to see.

Again: there are all the standard warnings. I had no problem and I am a major chicken with a bad stomach...so only you know you. Chose wisely.

Kali River Rapids- the signs read “You will get wet”. They should read “You will get soaked to your undies!”.

Kali River Rapids is a wild rapids ride that takes you down a raging Indian River. The theming revolves around an illegal mining/logging camp that you will come upon, showing the decimation of the forest.

You won’t notice this at all because you’ll be praying that the raft turns in your favor and drowns the guy across from you instead. I have ridden this a few times and have never not gotten soaked.

It’s a fun ride and it feels great to get wet in the heat of the day. However, it doesn’t feel great to still be squishing in your jeans 2 hours later or freezing while eating lunch in the A/C! So... don’t wear denim jeans, or, better yet, wear your poncho!

Maharajah Jungle Trek- this is similar to the wild Africa Trek, but with Asian animals-duh. The tigers are the Star of this walking tour and you’ll see them up close and personal. The theming of this Trek is lovely-you’re in an ancient ruin of a Hindi temple.

Up! A Great Bird Adventure:

This is a wild bird show like any other bird show you’ve ever seen except for two things:

1-it stars characters from the movie “Up”

2- it’s outside in Florida so, even though the partial roof keeps you out if direct sun and there are a few large fans, you will still be hot. Unless you go on a cool day, I’d say you can skip this and not live your life in regret.

Dinoland: -

The theming here is just...weird. When it first opened it had a sort of Paleontological bent with fossil beds and some Dino bone exhibits. Then Disney realized that people on vacation don’t care bout science, so they changed the theming to...

Weirder. Now the idea is: this is one of those tacky roadside attractions you’d find on Route 66 in the 50s or 60s. Run by “Chester and Hester”, this two bit Dino-Rama themed low rent stop over features two old fashioned carnival rides - the Primeval Whirl and the Triceratops Spin. The first ride being a small roller coaster and the second is the Dumbo the Flying Elephant Ride with triceratops (triceratops’? Triceratopses?). There are also carnival games and a tacky roadside shop and restaurant. Unless you are with desperate little ones, I’d walk through to pick up the atmosphere and Keep walking.

The real attraction here is Dinosaur!- the ride. This is a dark ride in an enhanced motion vehicle through the Cretaceous period to capture a Dino...And time is of the essence because you have to find said Dino before the great extinction comet hits!

This is a fun trip with lots of bumps, quick turns and jolts..with a few true honest thrills. It is a not to be missed e-ticket ride.

I just rode it and came away unbroken. But, if you have back or neck issues I’d think about skipping it. And, again, use the facilities first.

The Boneyard, which you should save til the end of the visit, is a play area for the kiddies: there are bones to dig up, slides, ropes and climbs and all kinds of stuff to work out any energy they’ve stored up. (You want them to sleep tonight, right?). There are only a few sitting spots for parents/grandparents though. I guess Disney thought we’d be running around sharing joy with our precious darlings. They guessed wrong. They need more seats. And wine.

Well, if you followed my order... and there’s no reason you needed to... you’re done with Disney World!!! Now go back to your room and relax...cuz tomorrow you’re probably spending the day at Universal Studios! ThenThe World of Harry Potter...then Sea World...And Legoland...then of course you’ll have to take the fam to the beach... maybe Clearwater... then you might as well spend a day at Busch Gardens...wait!

You didn’t tour Kennedy Space Center??

[ilyasvieltrevelyanshepard]

Happy N7 day!

Mass Effect means a lot of things to me. I rediscovered my passion for writing with it. I met some marvellous human beings thanks to this fandom. I keep discovering new things about how the rest of the fans see my favourite games. 

As I can’t say enough THANKS to Bioware for making the game, and for the good side of the fandom, the ones who keep it alive and kicking, bringing new art, fics, gifs, screenshots, videos, playlist... THANK YOU SO MUCH!

I wanted to write something for this special day, and this little fic popped in my brain ^^ is a bit sad but with a happy ending ;)

Sunlight bathed the yard on the Villa. The crowded space is filled to the brim with recruits, families and press. The first batch of the new N recruits is ready to graduate and get their new ranges, and Alliance wanted to make the party as big as possible.

Hackett has chosen the day wisely. Ten years ago, the war against the Reapers ended with the sacrifice of many, and he wanted to remember every single soul during that celebration.

The heavens seem to be in the mood to celebrate with them because as soon as the high-rank officers begin to climb the stairs of the atrium installed on one side of the yard, the clouds opened, bright sun shining over them. Hackett walks in front of them, walking with long strides until he reaches the dais, the white sheet covering the statue beside him catching his attention while the rest of the group moved behind him. The recruits had been in parade the full time, waiting for their superiors to talk. For the first time since its foundation, the Villa has been the home of the various races of the Milky Way. After the Reapers invasion and the combined efforts to repel them, they discovered that they are even more powerful together. The Citadel will never be again what it was, and after the role played by humanity in the salvation of the whole Galaxy, they have decided to establish the Command Center of the new Allied Federation. And of course, being Hackett who he was, he suggested unifying the special task forces of each race in a single unit. Strangely, they have accepted the idea, and four years after the cataclysm that destroyed the relays, the first group of recruits arrived at the Villa.

Kaidan’s voice distracts him from his thoughts, returning him to the present and the hundreds of eyes looking at him, expectant. “Admiral, whenever you want.”

With a nod, he steps behind the dais, connecting the speaker system. “Today, I stand in front of the best this galaxy has to offer. You are the best warriors, engineers, biotics and pilots. You were destined to be more than you were, and here you are, the first graduates of the N School of Special Units and Tactical Forces.” Some of the families congregated on the terraces around the yard exploded in cheering and claps for some seconds, but it ended as quickly as it has begun. “You will have the honour of wear the same insignia as the heroes of the war. You will write your name beside the ones who gave their lives to save all of us, to give us a future to live.” His hand reaches for the covered statue beside him, grabbing the sheet in his fist. “You will wear the insignia of the thousand soldiers who died during the Reaper war, on Earth, on Thessia, on Palaven, on Tuchanka—" His voice breaks a bit when he looks up, to the shining star over his heads that is the empty hulk of the Citadel. “You will wear proudly the same colours and rank than Major Coats, Admiral Anderson,  Commander Shepard.” Nothing but the sheet flapping in the wind breaks the silence. “You will join the ranks of the best of the best. Soldiers!” The full assembly stands in parade, saluting him, even the high-rank officers on his back and the retired soldiers among the families. With a hard pull of his arm, the sheet falls, uncovering a silver statue of the mighty Commander, no helmet on her head, long locks flying back in the wind. A reproduction of the Normandy at her back landing off, a sniper rifle leaning on her hip while she smiles to the crowd. Even Hackett, having been there when they designed, created and installed the statue, feels a clutch of pain and regret around his heart. Returning his attention to the crowd, he returns the salute. “You will wear her colours, her rank. Our Commander, Jane Erin Shepard, who was, in the words of a beloved friend, ‘bigger than life and much more than we deserved’. Soldiers, the time has come to show the universe that her greatness was not a singularity. Rise and shine, serve with honour, make her proud!”

The roaring of the yard was deafening. The units are screaming their battle cries, families roaring and clapping around them, the guarding soldiers shooting salvos to the sky. Hackett let the moment end by itself. They are celebrating their lives as much as Shepard's, and they deserve it. After that, Alenko and the other admirals helped him to put the insignias from the lowest N2 to the higher N6. An hour after his discourse, the last of the N6 leaves the atrium. A lonely figure appears then from the Villa HQ. A woman, around Hackett’s age, wearing a captain uniform, walks to the atrium with a little box in her hands. The woman smiled to Hackett and Kaidan, and the red hair and green eyes make their hearts cry. The woman positions herself beside the Admirals, standing proudly between the two powerful man, touching the box lid lovingly. When the woman gives them a nod, Hackett moves back to the dais, “We have another rank to give, one that is well deserved and we have been waiting to give for a long time. The first N7 after the Reaper war.” All the soldiers and high ranks among the crowd look around, searching for a queue of who can be that soldier. “Major James Vega, step forward!”

James is the first surprised by the words, standing near the admirals in the atrium. Kaidan winks at him when he moves closer, and his breath got caught in his chest when he stops in front of Hannah Shepard. The same green eyes he loved looks at him from a different face. The statue of her shining under the sun behind them. Hackett steps closer, and Hannah opens the lid of the box, showing a ragged N7 insignia. “One of the last wishes of the Commander was to give you her N7 insignia the day you reached that rank. And the day has finally come, Major. You have served with honour, fighting against the odds in more battles than one can count in a lifetime. Exceeding the expectations of every one of your commanding officers, and later of your subordinates. And you have served your flag with honour, sacrificing more than anyone here can fathom.” Picking up the insignia from the box, while Hannah Shepard steps aside and leans against Kaidan, who puts a supportive arm around her shoulders. “An N7 can’t be trained. It must be forged in the fires of battle and defined by their own decisions. Until this day, you have surpassed yourself in every mission. Knowing that your integrity as a soldier is doing that thing which is right when no one is looking. Your deeds have led you to this place, Major Vega, under the watchful eyes of the recruits.” Hackett puts the insignia on James’ dress blues, clasping his hand when he finishes with it. Turning to the recruits in front of the atrium, Hackett returns to the dais, while James goes back to his spot near the rest of the Admirals. “Ten years ago, in this very same day, I encouraged all our races to fight together. We needed a colossal enemy like the Reapers to put aside our differences and think like a single race.The enemy pushed us, believing we will break. But we relented. We stood and fight. And we won. Part of my words can be repeated today. Whatever the universe throws at us, we will prevail. Each of us will be defined by our actions.” He looks to the statue’s face, saluting it, and the rest of the yard did the same, the non-military personnel and families touching their hearts in respect. “Stand fast. Stand strong. Stand together.” Hannah Shepard can’t fight the tear rolling down her cheek, but he brushes it aside with the back of her hand, smiling lovingly to James, eyes moving to the insignia on his chest.

A lonely figure leans against the wall at the far end of the yard. A dark-haired woman, with a prosthetic hand and leg, a patch in an eye and some ugly scars covering the few skin visible under the black hoodie she wears. Her eyes move over the buildings, a soft smile on her face recognising corners she loved. She has stayed there, standing or seating on the ground during the long ceremony. When they uncover the statue, she chuckles, attracting some looks from the guards near the door but ignoring them with shrug and a husky ‘I knew her’, she returns her attention to the atrium, while Hackett, Kaidan and the other admirals put the insignias into the recruits uniforms. Knowing what is coming, she moves closer, still near the walls. When James’ name is called, and the man in question stands from the back of the atrium. Even at this distance, she can see how well he fills his dress blues, and a lazy smile appears on her face, watching how they put the N7 insignia on him. After another little speech from Hackett, the admiral dismiss the recruits, concluding the ceremony.

The soldiers and families around her begin to walk away, leaving the yard in groups to move the party to other places. But the lonely figure stays in the same spot, eyes fixed on the atrium and the persons on it. Hackett turns, like sensing her gaze, and waves to her, taking Hannah’s arm and guiding her back to the HQ. Kaidan turns to look at her too, and with a big smile, jumps from the atrium, beckoning a surprised James to follow him. They move closer to the lonely figure, and James takes in the little details of her. The metallic shine of the prosthetic limbs, the dark curly locks covering part of her face. But when he is close enough to look at her, he stops breathing. Kaidan hugs her, raising her from the ground and making her turn around with him while giggling. “Is so good to see you outside that hospital.”

She smiles back when he puts her down, but instead of looking at him, she bore her gaze on the surprised James. “Is glad to be outside.”

James feels like thunderstruck. He will recognise that green eye everywhere, that husky voice, the lopsided grin… “I must be dreaming.”

Closing the distance to him, she offers her left hand, the one that is not artificial, waiting for him to take it. When he didn’t take, she just let it fall, avoiding his gaze and turning to face Kaidan. “I told you it was a bad idea, K. I’m going back to the apartment. See you later.”

Shepard is turning over her heels to leave when a pair of hands capture her, stopping her movement. A soft voice, barely a whisper, sounds behind her. “How is this possible?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” She looks over her shoulder to find him with a deep frown on his face, keeping more distance than necessary. “I’ve been in a coma for years. No one knew who I was. No armour, no dog tags, no hair, and more scars than skin when they found me. I wake up two years ago, not knowing who I was, with a broken body and some missing parts. Six months ago, after all my physical therapy, I was free to go. And as soon as I begun to wander the streets of London, the memories begun to flow. I contacted my mum, then Kaidan and Garrus, and I was about to contact you when Kaidan explained me about the ceremony and how cool will be to surprise you with, well, me.”

No more than two heartbeats later, James' arms are wrapped around her, hard enough to hurt if the warm feeling of his hug didn’t erase any other feel. “Tell me I will not wake up again to find you are not here.”

Raising her cold metallic hand to his face, she cupped it, tilting her head to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m here, and I don’t have any intention to leave for as long as you want this cripple girl beside you.”

Turning her over her heels to face him, he pulls her against his body, hands fixed on her back, lowering his face slow enough to give her the time to move away. But as soon as their lips are sealed, the world around them disappears. Any sound, any feeling, outside their kiss, is suppressed from their minds. It was like coming back home. Like the first day of summer, the first ray of sun after a cloudy winter. The first snowflake. The first sip of a good wine. It was perfection. They kiss until a soft cough from Kaidan enters their cloud of happiness, making them giggle when they break the kiss. James cups her face between his hands, fixing his eyes in the sparkling pool of emerald green of her eye. “It is really you. Damn, Lola, it is the greatest present I ever had.”

“Happy N7 day, my love.”

[accuhunt]

How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic.

The past few days have been rather scary. Mask-covered faces. Queues to wash hands in public toilets. Sanitizers constantly out of stock. Accusatory looks towards anyone coughing or sneezing. Eerily empty hotels, flights and streets following the lockdown travel advice for Coronavirus. Places that were once plagued by overtourism are now deserted. The spread of the COVID-19 Coronavirus has suddenly brought all usual life – and travel – to a halt.

Until a week or two ago, the panic felt rooted in social media, whatsapp forwards and even racial profiling. At that time, I posted on Instagram that I would continue my travels. But in light of recent developments, I’ve archived that post, cancelled some rather exciting travel plans until April and urged everyone to do the same.

I was scheduled to conduct a workshop on responsible tourism marketing in Madhya Pradesh and speak at the prestigious Economic Times Women’s Forum this month – but both events have been cancelled.

In fact, India has cancelled all visas for foreigners till mid April. Sri Lanka has suspended its e-visa facility. Italy is under lock down. Public events have been cancelled in most parts of the world. Schools and colleges have been shut in most Indian states. India’s travel advice for coronavirus is to cancel all non-essential travel abroad. Indians returning from China, Italy, Iran, Korea, France, Spain, Germany, Malaysia, Nepal and even the US can potentially be sent to 14 days of quarantine!

Chances are, you already know that. You, like me, have cancelled your immediate travel plans. And probably you, like me, are wondering what you can do now to indulge your wander-lusting soul!

Here are some creative ideas to satiate your travel cravings – safely and responsibly – during this uncertain coronavirus period:

Read non-fiction books by local authors to virtually explore a new region or country

I’ve dreamt of setting foot in Tibet for a long time, knowing fully well that the Tibet of my dreams is off limits (or no longer exists). So a while ago, I did the next best thing to travelling in Tibet – reading a book that movingly explores its lost beauty, culture and way of life. Tibet With My Eyes Closed is a collection of short stories by Madhu Gurung, based on the lives of Tibetan refugees in India. Some stories moved me to tears, while others left me with an insatiable longing. I can’t recommend it enough!

My point is, as per official travel advice for coronavirus, the entire world is off limits right now. But we can do the next best thing – travel to our dream places through the words and insights of people who know them deeply.

If you dream of Iran, for instance, read Reading Lolita In Tehran. If you dream of Myanmar, read From The Land Of Green Ghosts. If you dream of the Caucasus (Georgia / Azerbaijan), read Ali And Nino.

For more book recommendations, see my favorite (unusual) travel books by local authors around the world. If you’re keen to explore the world from my lens, you can also get a copy of my travel memoir, The Shooting Star

Also read: What No One Tells You About Writing and Publishing a Book in India

Learn a new language that will make a future trip more meaningful

Everywhere I travel, I try to pick up a few words in the local language. But in the weeks before I travelled to Japan, I tried to listen to one episode of a Japanese language podcast every day. By the time I landed in Tokyo, I was able to say many basic phrases in Japanese – which sure made it easier to make friends, find local vegan food and even get some unusual recommendations.

The process of learning a language can certainly make us feel like we’re almost on our way somewhere. The Survival Phrases podcast is good for conversational skills and the Babbel / Duolingo apps can help with basics. But if you really want to commit, consider signing up with an online teacher for one-to-one Skype lessons on a site like italki (I haven’t used it yet but heard good things).

I took Urdu writing lessons last year, but have been terrible at keeping up with what I learnt. I’ve pledged to practice a bit everyday now!

Also read: Unusual Solo Travel Destinations to Feed Your Adventurous Spirit

Document your past adventures

I still have tons of untold stories from my travels over the years. If you’re a travel writer, blogger, photographer, Instagrammer or any kind of storyteller, you’re probably full of stories too – and always wishing for more time to be able to tell them. Or perhaps you have a special interest in architecture, vegan food, wildlife, languages or something else – and you could combine that with your past travels to create unique stories.

All travel advice for Coronovirus suggests not going on a physical journey. But we can still journey into the recesses of our minds, relive some of our adventures and share them with the world. After all, we could all use a little break from the negative news out there!

Also read: How I’m Funding my Adventures Around the World Through Travel Blogging

Binge watch the wonders of our planet

Many of us travel to witness the breathtaking beauty of nature and the cultural wonders of the world. Unfortunately both are fast disappearing.

Video streaming sites online are full of films and documentaries about our incredible planet, wildlife, remote cultures and more. Now is a good time to plug into them, both to feed our wanderlust and to remind ourselves what we stand to lose. Maybe the travel advice for coronavirus and this time away from the road, work, school, college and social gatherings can be a time to reflect on how we need to make better life and travel choices to collectively help the planet.

I’ve been meaning to finish watching One Strange Rock on Netflix, which explains the wonders of earth from the fascinating perspectives of astronauts. And start Our Planet, which documents the impact of climate change on the world’s most remote and vulnerable regions.

Also read: Tajikistan: A Country That’s Not on Your Travel Radar, But Should Be.

Support small responsible travel businesses virtually

As you can probably imagine, this is one of the worst times for the travel industry. March, otherwise peak travel season for many places around the world, has been a month of cancellations. April might go the same way, though I really hope not. Small business owners, family-run homestays, social enterprises and responsible tourism businesses will be some of the worst hit this year.

All travel advice for coronavirus suggests we can’t physically travel this month to support them or the work they do for local communities and environment conservation. But small gestures can go a long way. Leave them a heartfelt review on Google Reviews / TripAdvisor. Mention them on Instagram / Twitter. Recommend them to family and friends for future trips. When the coronavirus pandemic is behind us, they’ll need our tourism money the most. Let’s make sure they’re found, remembered and supported then!

Also read: Offbeat, Incredible and Sustainable – These Travel Companies are Changing the Way You Experience India

Work on your storytelling

Perhaps experimenting with writing, blogging, photography or videos has been on your mind for a long time. Or you still need to perfect some skills. I know I need to get better at editing videos. I could use some professional photography help, but my heart is only half in it. I still have a ton of SEO work to do on this blog. And there’s no end to becoming a better writer.

Here’s a silver lining for the travel advice for coronavirus: Use the time you would’ve spent travelling or socializing, to work on something that might enable you to travel or work on the go in the future!

Also read: Advice for the Young and Penniless Who Want to Travel

International travel is out. But should you travel domestically now?

Many of you have reached out to ask for my travel advice for coronavirus with respect to domestic travel in India (and elsewhere). I think it’s a bad idea. For several reasons:

It’s just not fun. I felt an inexplicable anxiety during the last two days of my recent Chhattisgarh trip. Hearing someone cough sent a shiver down my spine. The last thing I wanted was to have to put myself in self-isolation in someone’s homestay or in a soulless hotel. Or worse, be quarantined in a government facility.

The fear of carrying the virus to a remote part of India. The idea of travelling from urban India – where the majority of coronavirus cases are (in Delhi, Mumbai, Jaipur, Kochi etc) – to rural India is a scary one. Imagine if we have the virus but the symptoms haven’t yet shown up. We could be carrying it to small villages where medical facilities are rare and self-isolation is difficult because entire families live in a single room. It’ll be mayhem.

The fear of infecting people more vulnerable to the virus. People over 60 and those with respiratory issues seem to be the most vulnerable to the coronavirus. We can’t risk being the vectors infecting them.

Flights, buses and trains can be coronavirus hotbeds. Given how infectious the coronavirus seems to be, being stuck among scores of people in a closed environment is a big no-no.

It’s best to postpone all international and domestic travel atleast until April (maybe longer, depending on how things turn out). We need to avoid busy places, public transport and any physical contact. We must constantly wash and sanitise our hands. And if we have even the mildest symptoms of fever, cough, cold or flu, we absolutely must stay at home and follow official protocols!

How has coronavirus affected your travel plans? If you run a travel business, what’s it been like for you?

Also read:

11 Tips to Ease Your Transition Into a Vegan Lifestyle

Incredible Experiences That’ll Make You Fall in Love With Uzbekistan

Should Travel Bloggers and Influencers Voice Their Political Opinions?

The post How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic. appeared first on The Shooting Star.

How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic. published first on https://airriflelab.tumblr.com

[crowleyaj]

To Death

For @fandomwritingchallenge.

Fandom: James Bond Pairing: James Bond/Q Rating: PG Word count: 4,781 Prompt: carnival Warnings: swearing, non-graphic violence, very light sexual content (nothing really happens though)

Q returned home from a very exhausting, tedious day at work, bearing the image of a steaming hot cup of tea in his mind. He has been looking forward to one since the moment he left his lab, and now he could enjoy it at last.

Only—he found his flat’s door open by a cranny as he approached it with a key in his hand. He panicked. His other hand automatically reached for a pen with a mechanism that could shoot poisonous darts if the right button is pressed. He always kept it in the front pocket of his bag.

He narrowed his eyes and proceeded with utmost caution. There had been an intruder in his flat, and maybe still was. He had to be ready. One slow step at a time, he approached the door and opened it; it emitted a creaky sound. Whoever was inside must have heard it.

Pointing the dangerous pen in front of him, he entered the foyer. No visible damage had occurred in there, but there was no sign of his furry friends, either. When he listened carefully, he could hear a female voice coming from the living room.

Though, he had a glimpse he had heard that voice before. But that was impossible, because that woman was—

Q neglected all of the previous cautiousness and rushed to the source of the noise. He nearly forgot to breathe.

The door between the living room and the kitchen was open ajar. He burst through it, and came to an immediate halt when he sighted the figure standing in front of the telly.

Why wasn’t he surprised to see 007 in there?

However, he was surprised by one different thing: the reason why it was so, that is to say. Well, it was two things, in fact—that, and whom he could see on a video tape.

M. His M. The silver-haired iron lady just as he remembered her and very much alive. It was merely a tape, but his brain was suddenly flooded with memories. She was telling Bond about an unfinished business; giving him instructions.

Bond acknowledged Q’s presence without moving by a bit. “M’s given me work. I’m going to Mexico,” he said matter-of-factly, without a twitch of his face. He did not add any explanation so as to why he had gone to his flat and not his fucking own. “And I need your help, Q.”

Bond needed his help. His. He trusted him enough to show him a secret recording M had bequeathed to him and him only; he trusted him enough to ask for his help with an unauthorised, off-record mission in bloody Mexico. Q figured he should feel honoured—but in reality, he had mixed feelings about it, because doing what Bond had asked him to would require going against the new M’s orders, and his own protocols. And it would require flying to boot.

Was he truly going to do this? Q asked himself before he knocked on the door and entered M’s office. Was he truly going to lie to M, to everyone, for the sake of a stupid, impossible crush?

He took a deep breath. Yes was the answer to that, apparently.

M was sitting at his desk, dealing with some paperwork. Having heard the door click as it closed, he looked up. The bags under his eyes gave away the sleepless hours he had tortured himself with whilst ordering the opposite to his employees.

“Yes, Quartermaster?”

“Good day, sir,” began Q. He cleared his throat before he continued. “I have a request to ask.”

He got this. He had prepared the speech and the impossible yet plausible stories that came with it. He had nothing to fear. Right?

M nodded, propping him to continue. “Sir, it’s my brother, Daniel. He’s been injured, and he’s got no one to take care of him, which is why I’d like to ask you for a week off.”

M raised an eyebrow. He closed the file he has been reading. “Is that it? Well, in that case, consider yourself dismissed, Quartermaster. I thought you were asking for a budget rise or something.”

Well, that went easier than he’d thought. Although it was true that he’d saved for about six months of leave he hadn’t used, and however he couldn’t see inside Mallory’s head, Q was certain he was happy to release his overworking Quartermaster without persuasion for once.

And speaking of money: “Since you’re mentioning it… Q-Branch could really use a budget rise too, after the recent development of events…”

“Dismissed, Q!” M raised his voice.

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

Q backed out of the office. He stepped towards an unexpected and most likely unpleasant adventure he might really regret later. If there even is a later.

  Why was he doing this, again? It certainly wasn’t for the sake of sanity and self-preservation; those factors were forgotten in the presence of Double-Ohs.

Speaking of which, there was one currently lounging on his sofa with a cat on his stomach. The smug bastard must have thought he owned the place, by the looks of it. The overly casual behaviour made Q nervous and slightly irritated.

“007,” said Q. He came to the sofa, holding a rifle in one hand. The other one was on his hip. “I hope you do realise I had to sneak into my own lab and get past a certain nosy brunette, in and out, in order to take this unauthorised firearm for the purpose of your little secret operation.” Bond did not seem to register any of those words. Q frowned. “It’s the only thing you’ve got. Don’t destroy it.”

“Wrong, Q,” Bond said, quiet. “I’ve got you, do I not?” He smirked, and turned his head to him.

“Alas,” he said, “but I outrank you, 007, and therefore you must obey my orders. And I am certainly not a piece of equipment.” He laid the rifle on the coffee table behind him and put both his arms akimbo.

The smirk on Bond’s face widened. Q had to look away, because he liked the way he looked more than what would be appropriate. “You work with one.”

“But you need me,” Q delivered a quick reply. He went to take his medical kit from the kitchen.

Bond cocked his head. He had to raise his voice if he wanted for Q to hear him. “And you need someone to pull the trigger for you.”

“In theory, I do not, 007,” Q shouted back. “Remember I could do as much damage as you, and far beyond. I could ruin their bank accounts and data files with one finger.”

“I could do that better.”

Q came back. “Don’t push your luck, 007. And get up from my sofa.”

  His messenger bag hung over his shoulder. He carried no other luggage than that, unlike Bond, who had a trolley suitcase that let everybody in a 500 metres radius know they were coming.

He did not need more than that: more than his laptop, his mobile, passport, wallet, some spare clothes, some gear in case something went wrong, and a toothbrush. It was that simple. It was supposed to be that quick. He hoped it would be. Perhaps he shouldn’t, because he knew the history of 007’s operations all too well, but he didn’t have much of a choice than to swallow a sickness pill, and his fear with it.

And move forward in the passport control queue by two spots. It was nearly their turn.

Butterflies flew around in his stomach. He did not know if it was because of the upcoming flight or Bond’s presence. He did not desire to know. He just moved, clutching the passport of a British citizen in his hand.

  “Can I get you something to drink or eat, gentlemen?” the nice, dark-skinned stewardess asked them with an accustomed broad smile.

Q was too dizzy to think about his stomach, or even register the question properly. They were merely two hours into the journey, but he had calculated every possible danger or breakdown that might possibly occur along the way three times.

Bond, however, “A bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

That man will be the death of him one day. With this wild approach, it might come sooner than anyone would like.

“Of course,” the woman said. She moved on to take orders from a couple sitting behind them. There were only nine people with a first-class ticket.

Q cast an incredulous glance at Bond. “If you are attempting to get me drunk so you could hit on the stewardess, good luck with it.”

“I am doing no such thing, Q. I wouldn’t dream,” the Double-Oh said innocently.

“Ha.” As if he was supposed to believe that.

Q turned away from Bond and faced the window instead. The sky was beautifully clear, and clouds stretched out beneath the plane like fluffy, white blanket of mountains. It provided at least some comfort for his eyes and mind.

Since he already happened to be in such height, he took his mobile and took a few hazy pictures. The view was breathtaking, both figuratively and literally.

Later on, when the stewardess returned with the champagne, and Q took one or two gulps out of politeness, the perpetual hum of the engines managed to lull him to sleep.

When his head fell onto Bond’s shoulders during a turn, he did nothing to move him back into the original position. He sat in absolute peace, reading a detective novel. When another two hours passed, the words in his book began to blur. He was tired, so he rested his head against Q’s and breathed in the lemony scent of his shampoo.

  It was easy to blend in the crowd at that particular time of year: it was the Day of the Dead tomorrow, and thousands of tourists travelled to Mexico to join the celebrations. Not one man was too outstanding. They passed through the airport smoothly.

It was dark when Q and Bond arrived at the four-star hotel. It was in the centre of Mexico City, a little too posh to Q’s liking. This was Bond’s world, not his. But he could adapt.

  According to what Q had dug out of the dark depths of the internet, Sciarra will be arranging a ‘business deal’ tomorrow, in a flat a block away from the hotel. The parade will provide a great cover and alibi: to both him and 007.

For now, the two of them could just wait.

Each of them had a separate suite, thank God. Q did not know how he could possibly deal with sleeping with the abomination in one room. Having him sitting next to him for the short amount of time they had before heading to their rightful quarters and calling it a night was fairly enough.

Q unzipped his bag and fished out a small piece of tech. An earpiece.

“I’m giving you this so we could stay connected. Do not—I repeat, do not—crush it, throw it away, or drown it in an alcoholic drink of any kind, please. We don’t have an endless supply.”

Bond accepted it. Their fingers touched briefly. “Yes, sir,” he said and added a half-smile.

Q, nonetheless, uttered a micro sigh. Knowing Bond, the odds of never seeing the earpiece again were too high at all times.

“That’s all. Now, I would kindly ask you to retire to your suite and not stain my sight with your presence for the next few peaceful hours.”

  It was a rough wake up. Q’s mobile wouldn’t stop yelling at him, heat licked at his feet, and when he finally brought himself to unlock his eyes to shut the alarm up, he saw 007 sitting in an armchair in front of him. Q flinched. For how long was he watching him sleep?

“Good morning, Q,” he said. “I’ve brought you breakfast in bed.”

Q sat up with a grunt. He rubbed sleep and rheum out of his eyes and reached for his glasses.

“What have you done this time, hmm?” he replied. He gazed at the other half of the queen-sized bed. A tray with a fresh glass of orange juice, two warm croissants, and some pineapple lay on top of the sheets indeed.

“Why immediately assume I’ve done something bad, Q,” Bond said. His tone bore a tinge of reproachfulness. “Perhaps I wanted to do something for you. Or perhaps I’ve poisoned your juice so I could chase after my personal vendetta without your responsible arse in the way.”

“So help you God if you dare to be foolish enough to try that, 007,” Q retorted, last traces of sleep worn off. His senses have fully woken up.

He reached for the tray, despite the disapproval of the ‘nice gesture’ from the agent. He was famished—all he had eaten yesterday was a sandwich at the airport and later an apple. Just to be certain, he smelled the juice. It looked and smelled alright, deliciously fresh, even. He took a sip and ate his breakfast in silence.

He merely asked Bond whether he had eaten and if he had checked the environs.

To his surprise, Bond lifted a plastic bag from the ground and emptied it on a coffee table. There were two skull-shaped masks, two black top hats, and two black, matching suits with white imprints of bones.

“First rule of undercover: blend in.”

  “To have the perfect aim on Sciarra, you must get on the roof of the opposite building, Bond. I think you should access it from the top floor…” Q said. The last words faded into pondering silence.

“Can you hack into one of the rooms?” Bond was buttoning his shirt. Q’s suit was already on; he tried hard not to stare at 007’s bare chest, and the bastard noticed.

“I am the Quartermaster of MI6 for a reason, am I not?” Q smirked. He opened another window and started typing quickly. “Done. You need to leave in twenty minutes.”

Bond put on the jacket. “Excellent.”

“Now, there is a CCTV camera in the flat. I’ve counted four armed men standing guard, and the heat scan showed me an unpleasant surprise in the form of an explosive ready to go off the moment you fire the first round. Someone needs to be on the inside, Bond, and that someone has to be me. You can’t go in.”

Bond’s face stiffened. He blinked.

“Please, don’t tell me you are worried, 007. I know how to fire a gun if need be,” Q responded. Though, deep down in his stomach, something twisted with an impossible hope he perhaps might truly be worried for him. Him.

“I know you do. But that is dangerous, Q.”

He knew. It had come to the point he started to regret his life choices. One of them was the decision to be insanely brave and do something he’d never thought of even considering.

“You’d asked for my help. I am helping you. I don’t need a failed mission or an agent down,” Q argued. “There is no valid argument that could convince me otherwise, which you are, of course, aware of. Besides, I happen to have invented a device that will disarm the bomb remotely; they won’t even see me coming.”

Bond stepped closer to Q. He contemplated putting his arm on his shoulders; in the end, he did not do it. “Be safe, Q.”

“Always,” Q said. “Unlike a certain somebody.”

  Bond jumped over the rails on the balcony and quickly strode along the ledges. He put the radio in his ear; the connection between him and Q was restored after a few minutes of silence.

“Q?”

“I hear you loud and clear, 007,” the man said, quiet. “I am in position. The bomb is deactivated. Sciarra and his business partner have arrived.”

Bond readied his rifle. He put the silencer on, stepping over a gap between two buildings. He was nearly in position, too. Sun shone on his face, and he had to narrow his eyes.

He was worried about Q. He wasn’t a field operative, and missions like these easily go tits up. He has had the experience. If something happens to him in there, if they discover him—

“I’ve eliminated two guards. There are only two now, but I can’t get to them unseen. I’d have to shoot,” he reported.

What secret has Q been hiding from the world? Bond thought he should never dare underestimate the Quartermaster again. That did not lessen on the worry, though.

“Wait, Q.” Bond came to the edge and hunkered down. He could see Sciarra and the other man standing in front of the window as though they were waiting for him to fire; as though they knew.

Sciarra showed the other man a shining ring on his finger, and Bond could swear he had seen one of those before.

  Q was inside, so he could hear every word of their conversation clearly. They both spoke Spanish, but he had no problem understanding.

‘Welcome, Signor Sciarra. I trust you had a pleasant journey.’

‘Do you have it?’

‘Yes. It’s over there.’

‘When do we blow the stadium?’

That kind of business deal, then. He pricked up his ears instead of shooting: one of the mission’s purposes were discovering their plans. Q was recording it, he knew, but either way, killing the men at the moment wasn’t an option.

‘This evening at six.’

‘And the flight out of here?’

‘All arranged.’

‘And then what?’

‘Then I visit The Pale King.’

The Pale King? Bond hesitated. He has never heard that name before, but he sensed it was crucial for the operation. Someone no lesser than the head of whatever convoluted organisation that connected all the criminal minds MI6 have been after for the past years.

‘A toast, my friend.’

  ‘To Death!’

“Bottoms up,” Bond said. He targeted the man. Two bullets escaped the gun barrel and crossed the distance between him and Sciarra in high speed. They broke the glass and embedded in the men’s heads. The shots were clear.

And so were the rounds Q fired to dispose of the guards who were ready to eliminate Bond the second they’ve registered the assault. He had wasted three bullets.

He was a killer now. Bond had brought him to his world, the world of manipulation, pretence, surveillance, and murder without really thinking of what consequences might his ill-considered, often premature actions have.

But it was his choice; he couldn’t have stopped him. Q can well damn obstinate when it came to fulfilling duties. He was entitled to such decisions. Bond could do nothing but go along with it.

  They walked through the carnival parade, unrecognisable in their masks. They strode fast enough to get to the hotel in time but slow enough to remain inconspicuous. They sought refuge in the shadows at the walls, where weren’t many people and no one looked. The weapons were safely tucked in the bag Q was carrying.

“Have you recorded everything?” Bond asked, voice stone cold, emotion hidden behind a shell of sobriety—and the mask. He wanted to be certain, although Q was far from an amateur.

Q did not avert his gaze from the crowd encircling them. “Yes, and I’ve extracted all data from Sciarra’s laptop while you were busy on the roof.”

Bond made a brief pause. “Can I ask you a question, Q?”

“I suspect you will anyway, so I as well might say you can, 007,” Q replied.

“Why haven’t you complete the training and become a spy? You’re as good as a Double-Oh, Q.” This question had occurred to Bond before, on multiple occasions, but had never gathered enough interest to ask. Having seen him in action just confirmed him in his professional surmise.

“Perhaps,” said Q, “but I think you’d find out I prove to be more seminal on the position of the Quartermaster. Where would your arse be without me in the lab, hmm?”

“Fair enough.” Q stopped at the crossroads to let some people pass, so Bond had to do so as well. “But that changes nothing about the fact you could be the same genius in the field.”

Q moved on. “Have you just publicly admitted I am a genius, 007?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, mister.”

  As Q’s hotel room’s door clicked closed, he promptly ran to take his laptop. After he took off his mask, he pulled a flash drive out of his trouser pocket and plugged it in. Bond, however, had a different idea about how to spend the rest of their time in Mexico. Decoding and analysing information, and subsequent dispatch to MI6 could wait for an hour or two. Especially after what they both has just done.

“Q?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm?” Q was absent-minded. His eyes flitted across the screen.

“We are in Mexico during Día de los Muertos, Q, and if someone should celebrate the festival, it’s you and me. Get up and go have some fun.”

Bond’s suit-clad form blocked Q’s field of vision. Q frowned. “I take the liberty of assuming my and your idea of fun slightly differs, Bond,” Q replied. His eyes were focused on the files on his computer. “I have work to do, in case you’d failed to notice.”

“Mallory has no idea we are here, therefore he doesn’t need the files,” argued Bond. He leant over the laptop and put his hands on the top of the screen. His tie swung before it and prevented clear sight of the contents.

Q looked up, this time. He shot an annoyed glance at Bond. “But I need the files,” he insisted. “There is something bigger than Sciarra going on, bigger than any of us. This—all that’s in here—contains more data than we thought we could ever own, Bond. I cannot even begin to imagine what we could do with the half of it.”

“Then don’t.”

Bond gave the laptop a push and closed it swiftly; Q so-so moved his fingers out of the way on time. He took it and threw it on the bed, behind Q. He held out his hands, expecting Q to take them. He did not.

His heart was close to racing at the moment. He swallowed dry. This was too much to bear. He was trying to order him around, and wanted him to just take him by his tanned, calloused, beautiful hands and go do… whatever he was intending to do?

Apparently, he did, since when Q did not respond, he grabbed him and pulled him up, already heading for the door. He somehow got his hands on the mask Q had taken off, and his own dangled on his elbow. “Since I can’t seem to convince you nicely, Q, we have to do this the hard way.”

He backed out of the room, letting go of Q only to pull the door handle. With a foxy smirk decorating his face, he led them both to the morbidly vibrant carnival parade outside. His moves told Q he knew exactly where he was going.

  Bond offered Q his arm. Q looked him in the face and back, hesitating. The little voice lurking in the subconscious whispered that allowing Bond to play his games wouldn’t be a wise idea and that he might end up in some serious trouble.

But when it came to Bond, he was never particularly good at listening to that voice, was he? So he linked his arm with his, possible consequences be damned.

“Where are we going?” he asked. They weren’t hiding anymore but walking amidst the bustling crowd, on everyone’s sight yet comfortingly anonymous in their costumes.

“I know a place,” Bond answered, tight-lipped. “They make the best carnitas in town.”

Q was slightly confused by the statement. “Are you… asking me for a lunch?”

“And a tequila,” he said, still as casual. Q knew what that meant coming from Bond’s mouth.

“Is this a date, Bond?”

Do you honestly think you can just say the two of us are going to share some tortilla or whatever that meal is supposed to be and ask me for a drink with that charming smile of yours, if hidden under a skull mask, while we’re on an off-record mission in bloody Mexico and have just murdered six assassins? Oh, of course you do.

  “If you want it to be.” Bond even began to swing in the cheery rhythm of the music around them.

“I…” Yes, his mind offered immediately. “don’t know.”

“Then it is a date, Quartermaster. Will you eat carnitas with me?”

So help me Force. “Yes.”

Bond was actually dancing now, dragging Q along with him due to their linked arms. But Q let himself be carried away, this once. There were things to celebrate, after all. Six things lying on the building’s floor amidst pools of their own blood.

  The bartender placed two snifters of neat tequila in front of them. Q and Bond lifted them simultaneously.

“To Death,” said Q, repeating Sciarra’s toast. It was to his death.

Bond added, “To us.”

They drank the strong drink off. Bond ordered another round.

Like Q had said, this man will be the death of him one day—so he might enjoy this day while he still can. He emptied the other glass as well, and did not stop Bond from ordering a third.

  He found the carnival an acceptable form of entertainment in the inebriated state. More than before, anyway, with all worries and embarrassment long thrown away and the threat of a bomb attack having been warded off, he was more apt to dance and move along with the parade through the entire city.

The hat on the top of his head had somehow been replaced by a flower crown James had bought for him. They were holding hands now, open and joyous.

If this was a date, it was probably one of the best dates he has been on. It was with James Bond—he really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the fact. James Bond.

  James hadn’t even slammed the door to Q’s room, and his shirt was already unbuttoned. Q’s fingers weren’t only skilful with a keyboard; they could make short work of a jacket and a shirt, too, and with ardour that James wouldn’t seek inside the slender body of the boffin.

Q’s mouth was firmly attached to his. The kisses were devouring and hot, and tasting like tequila, but neither of them had that in mind; they were finally each other’s.

They separated for a moment, and James took off the shirt. He threw it on the floor carelessly. Q’s hands were on his chest now, searching, owning, tracing every scar carved into his skin. His lips were pressing a myriad of kisses along his exposed neck.

James slowly navigated them towards the bedroom. Q knocked his shoes off on the way, abandoning them at a chest of drawers. James’ ended up nearby. With his hands in Q’s gorgeous hair, he stepped forward and pushed them on the bed. Q lay on his back, and James was on top of him.

They paused for an instant, looking each other in the eye. There was a spark of longing in James’. Q loved that it belonged to him of all people he could have taken to bed that night. Only to him.

James’ lips parted, and Q met him in another eager kiss before he could say whatever he had desired to say. James found his hands. Lacing his fingers with Q’s, he pinned them to the sheets.

  James lay in the middle of the bed. Q rested his head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat. The room was dark but a streak of yellow light on the ceiling. It was well past midnight, but the music and cheers of people outside did not seem to cease anytime soon. They would celebrate till the morning and on.

James played with Q’s hair gently with one hand; he couldn’t resist. Every stroke made Q shiver with pleasure. James’ other hand held Q’s. His entire body radiated warmth and warmed Q’s skin and heart.

Q closed his eyes. After a long time, he allowed himself to fully relax, and not just because he was exhausted in entirety.

“What do we do now, James?” he whispered. That question had many meanings. To be completely honest, he was not sure which he’d like to be answered.

“Now we go to Rome.”