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thekidultlife · 4 years ago

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Plot: After an unexpected encounter with Yoon Jeonghan during a baby shower, more memories unfold from your mind, and his.

Genre: slice of life, angst

Pairing: Jeonghan + fem!reader + Mingyu

Warnings: a bit of explicit language

A/N: Many thanks to my incredibly amazing beta reader, @secndlife, for helping me make this beautiful! Also, I would like to express my gratitude to @xuseokgyu for taking the time to make lovely banners and even a teaser for this series! You are both a joy to work with and I am so blessed to have you both help me. 🧡 Lastly, to our followers and readers who are continually supporting this blog despite its inactivity, thank you! More details about my future works will be addressed after this fic.

Taglist: @haotheheckk, @jeonjungkaka, @soonhoonsol, @fluffyhyeju, @minkwans

“If you love me like you tell me, please be careful with my heart. you can take it, just don’t break it — or my world will fall apart.”

🍁🎧🧡

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley you were walking on were damp from the rain that had recently poured. It was chipped and uneven in some places, and your thin-strapped sandals would sometimes slip and get stuck between the cobblestones. Despite the imperfections of this street, you had come to love it, just like every other self-respecting college student living around the vicinity. Behind you, the signage of restaurants and thrift stores flashed in bright neon blues and violets, blending with the honey-golden glow of the lights coming from the shops and apartment buildings that rose around you.

This alley was the most beautiful place to go to in the city.

It was a beautiful Saturday night, too, and in your opinion, you had spent it well.

You were walking back to the dorms with your friends and a couple of seniors. You were in the back of the group, where it was quieter. Clutching your arm was Jung Mirae, one of your roommates, who was struggling to walk straight after too many beers.

In the process of half-dragging Mirae, an alarm from your phone rang. You hasted to get it switched off.

Bright laughter pierced the stillness as the ones just a few steps ahead of you, Park Hyewon and Lee Joonyoung, your best friends besides Mirae, kept on cracking jokes that would make the whole group roar with laughter. You giggled at their ridiculousness occasionally while trying to keep Mirae on her feet.

Hangout nights are incomplete without these two, you thought to yourself, as you studied long-legged, pink-haired Hyewon and the tall, broad-shouldered Joonyoung. You watched as they made mean comments at each other and then made up for the teasing by giving each other kisses.

“Gross!” someone called out from behind you, and you could not help but smile.

Joonyoung turned around and playfully gave the finger to the person who had shouted out. "Go get yourself a girlfriend, Sunwoo! It's clear to me that you’re in need of love.”

The group snickered at Joonyoung's words.

As you listened to everyone talk about how good the night was and how hellish the next week would be with final exams coming up, you felt cold fingers touch your cheek.

You turned to Mirae, who was looking up at you with quizzical—albeit drunken—eyes.

“Hey, Y/N." Mirae’s voice was loud and clear in the narrow alley. You brushed her hand away gently. "Why are you crying?”

“What do you mean?” You put a hand over her mouth and tried to tell her to stop spouting off nonsense, but it was then that you felt it—the wet trickle of tears on your face. Surprised, you wiped them away with your hand.

It was true.

You were crying.

The walking paused. Footsteps ceased over the cobbled pavement as everyone halted to look over at you. Your cheeks reddened at the unwanted attention.

“Y/N, is something wrong? Here, let me have Mirae.” One of your classmates reached out to take Mirae.

“Thank you.” I think I drank too much, you despaired, as you kept wiping at your face and waving people away. You made attempts to control your emotions, but nothing could stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you kept saying over and over with a hoarse voice that almost didn’t sound like you. “Keep walking, please! Don’t mind me. I think I just drank too much.” You gave a shaky laugh and rubbed your eyes. “I get like this sometimes. Sorry.”

“You did not drink too much tonight, though,” someone commented dubiously. The others agreed and continued to look at you with confused expressions. "You never do."

“Jin-ah is right. And you don’t ‘get like this sometimes,’ babe.” Just a few feet away from you and leaning against Joonyoung, Hyewon crossed her arms. Her face, full of concern over your sudden outburst of emotions, made her look as though she hadn’t spent the night drinking as much as the guys did. “What's wrong?”

“I really don’t know, to be honest.” You pushed a strand of hair away from your face and made a poor attempt to smile at Hyewon. "I think it’s just the beer. Really."

Hyewon looked like she didn’t want to stop questioning you.

Please don’t ask me anything more, you begged with your eyes.

Joonyoung nudged Hyewon casually.

"Okay." Hyewon shrugged as she reluctantly conceded to your lame answers. She walked up to you, linked her arm with yours, and turned to grin at the others placatingly. “Let’s go home for real, gang! I think my girlfriend here just needs to sleep.”

Everyone nodded, put on happy faces, and eagerly put the awkward scene behind them. They once again started with the jokes and laughter and even managed to loop you into their silly conversations. However, their eyes avoided you most of the time, and their jokes were careful. You sensed that nobody wanted to have any part in pulling any triggers you might have. Tonight was no time to be sad. With finals coming up, no one needed any sort of emotional baggage. You felt bad for making them cautious, but you were also grateful for their thoughtfulness about your feelings.

The happy atmosphere became short-lived, though, as five minutes later, a sound cut through the alley and through the facades that everyone was putting up for your sake. It made all of them stop in their tracks once more. Even Hyewon stiffened beside you.

The sound perfectly explained everything that was going on with you, and there was no hiding it now.

Your alarm was playing again.

“Oh, fuck.” Hyewon let out a huge breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked as though she was trying to block out the sound. “Y/N, for goodness’ sake, don’t be an idiot. Don’t listen to it. Turn it off—”

But of course, like an idiot, you listened.

“Hey there. If you find yourself listening to this, then it means we have made it to Year 3. Please meet me at the same place where we are tonight: the art pier, one hour before the day ends. I'll be the stupid-looking guy standing by the yacht statue while holding too many roses. I love you. Happy Anniversary!"

This alarm shouldn’t be ringing—because you didn’t make it to Year 3.

“Please turn it off.”

Joonyoung, who was right behind you, reached for your bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out your phone. Glaring at the screen, he shut it off and dropped the phone in the bag again.

The alleyway was silent for a while.

Hyewon sighed. And then she leaned against you and said softly, “Let’s go home.”

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley you were still walking on were damp from the rain that had recently poured. Hands would steady you from behind when your thin-strapped sandals would slip and get stuck between the loose cobblestones. No one drunk should walk on this alley with its imperfect pavements, but you had come to love it, just like every other self-respecting college student living around the vicinity. As you passed, the signage of restaurants and thrift stores flashed in bright neon blues and violets before melting into the ever-constant amber colors of the street lights.

This alley was the most beautiful place to go to in this city.

It was a beautiful Saturday night, too, and in your opinion, you had spent it well. But you weren’t supposed to spend this night here. Not in this place, despite its beauty, no.

You were supposed to be somewhere else.

You were supposed to be with someone else.

“I know that everybody here is trying to be nice, but let me say it for all of you here, so you don’t have to wonder how it sounds.” Joonyoung kicked a crumpled beer can out of his way as he walked. “Fuck Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Oh, please, Lee Joonyoung.” Hyewon sounded tired. “Thank you for making Y/N more miserable.”

“What do you mean? Bubs, I’m not the douchebag who—ah, whatever.” Joonyoung shrugged and flung middle fingers up the sky. “Wherever you are, Yoon Jeonghan, fuck you!”

“He’s completely drunk,” Hyewon said apologetically, looking around her; some of the campus seniors with you were friends of Jeonghan’s. “Sorry.” And then, looking at Joonyoung exasperatedly, she hissed, “Joonyoung. Cut it out.”

“Let him be,” you said in a drained voice, “let him be.”

You were supposed to be with Yoon Jeonghan tonight, but you weren’t. He was long gone, and all you have left of him was something that you had somehow forgotten to remove, something you wished so desperately to forget.

All you have left of him was his voice—frozen in time through that alarm.

The rest was memories and history.

🍁🎧🧡

Mingyu sips from a coffee mug and nods in understanding as you finish speaking. He leans back on one of the steps of the townhouse, where you both sit. Cars drive down your neighborhood street, their headlights coloring the concrete road with hazy white and yellow lights. You watch their signals blink as they find spaces to park. Leaves continue to fall, and some end up in your hair. You feel Mingyu brush them away. You smile and do the same for him.

It is way past midnight, and here you both sit, snuggling to keep warm against the cold night air and talking about a love long gone.

“So,” Mingyu traces the rim of his coffee cup as he puts the pieces together, “you and Jeonghan-hyung dated during uni days?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm. We dated for two years. And then we broke up during my junior year, which was when that alley story happened.” You look at your boyfriend in mock suspicion. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you sure you want to listen to this story? Because we don’t need to talk about this if you aren’t comfortable—”

“—No, no, baby, I’m okay!” Mingyu chuckles a little bit as he turns to you. “I’m perfectly fine. I really want to know. If you’re not comfortable talking about it, though, we could just put it behind us.” He smiles at you. “I’m okay either way.”

He had stepped onto a minefield of your past without warning. He’s not supposed to be okay either way. You keep staring at him, not believing what he said.

“But, babe…” You sigh as you look at him. “Instead of talking about how Jeonghan and I ended up dating years ago, why don’t we talk about other things first?” You keep searching his face for any sign of uneasiness, any sign of hurt or confusion. “Like, how you felt when you found out. Or, how to avoid getting ambushed by stuff like this in the future.” You lean against him. “I don’t want something like this to happen again, no matter how great we both are at handling surprises. I think this is a good time to talk about things we haven’t talked about yet. Exes, our most embarrassing moments—” you giggle as Mingyu laughs at your last words. “Hey, I’m serious here!”

Your mind recalls the events of the night. You remember twirling in front of your full-length mirror to admire your new dress. You remember how perfect Mingyu had looked when he stepped out of his car and walked up to you. You remember the car ride, the conversation that you had about meeting his family and kissing underneath the porchlight of Aera’s house. You remember the baby shower: meeting Mingyu’s parents, Kim Aera, and Mingyu’s other friends. You remember how happy and secure you felt with Mingyu beside you as he introduced you to his family and some high-profile friends. You remember the crib and the games.

You remember Choi Seungcheol’s surprised expression and shaking Yoon Jeonghan’s hand for the first time in years. You remember Kwon Soonyoung’s drunken announcement.

“So, the former flames have finally met!”

“Well, I guess I got surprised when I found out that you guys used to date,” Mingyu clarifies, “but if we will talk about whether I had strong, negative feelings about the whole thing...” his voice trails off as he looks at you.

“...Uh-huh?” you prod.

Mingyu shakes his head. “I didn’t have any.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry about me. To be honest, what surprised me the most was the fact that I handled the situation pretty well. Back when we were still at Aera’s house, I really did my best to be careful with how I took in the whole thing. I took care not to show how surprised I was with my expressions, my words...”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod along with him as his voice trails off. “Yes. I agree. You handled it pretty well. But I am still so sorry for dropping that bomb on you that way.” You look up at him with an apologetic expression. “We haven’t really talked about past relationships that much yet, so...”

“Y/N, please don’t overthink.” His face hovers inches away from yours as he looks deep into your eyes. “See?” He makes all sorts of cute expressions, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m okay.”

You become willing to believe him, but then you catch him looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Although,” Mingyu adds, “I did feel a bit self-conscious.” He sighs dramatically, and he pouts—adorably. “I mean, he’s the Yoon Jeonghan. You dated the Yoon Jeonghan that most girls nowadays are swooning over. Who am I compared to that?”

As he continues to make such cute faces while saying the most outrageous things, you stare at him, open-mouthed. “What the hell.” You had seen through his joke, of course, but you could not help but look at him incredulously. “Is my boyfriend actually saying this to me right now while looking so drop-dead gorgeous beside me? Is he really comparing himself right now to someone else?”

Mingyu ignores your words and continues. “Yoon Jeonghan, actor extraordinaire, ranking twentieth at this year’s Asia’s Sexiest 100. Hmm. Yes.” He considers his words and nods. “I did feel intimidated. He’s good-looking and is amazing at acting and—”

“—Whoa, whoa, whoa.” You put your mug down beside you, and you giggle as you take Mingyu’s face in your hands. “You are one gorgeous person, too, and I am so, so in love with you. Stop comparing yourself to him.” You nuzzle his face, smiling. “I know you’re just joking about this, but please. Stop.”

He continues to look at you with a playful pout, but his eyes turn darker voice drops a notch lower. “Make me.”

You feel him grin against your lips as you make him stop speaking.

At the back of your head, you remember Kim Aera’s words when she talked about her husband.

“Not all women are as fortunate as I am, you know? Some of us meet such crappy guys that it’s a miracle I ended up finding someone worth the wedding vows.”

You aren’t one to believe in fortunes, so you try to think about all the things you must have done right to deserve a man such as Kim Mingyu. More importantly, you wonder if you would be able to keep him by your side.

Too much thinking, too much thinking, you chastise yourself as you kiss Mingyu harder, wanting to erase everything from your mind.

“I love you,” you say after a while.

“I love you, too. But where were we with your story?” Mingyu lets go of you and takes his mug once more. Leaves still fall from the trees. The streetlights glow brighter as midnight darkens. A green sedan stops directly across you both, and you watch as a man staggers out of the driver’s side.

“Well, if you really want to hear all about it, it would take us all night.” You look up at him with an enticing, hopeful smile. “Do you want to stay the night here? Hyewon and Joonyoung would be thrilled to have you. We can do storytime together with them.” You shake your head. “I still haven’t said a word to them about meeting Jeonghan again because we only went upstairs to get coffee. Hyewon will get a kick out of this.”

Mingyu laughs softly. “I can imagine.” He kisses your forehead before taking your hand. “Let’s head back inside.”

No more cars drive down your neighborhood street. No more hazy yellow and white headlights color the dark concrete road. Mingyu takes your hand and pulls you up from the steps. You feel him brush away some leaves from your hair once more. You look up at him appreciatively, and you do the same for him. Across the street, a glaring woman opens the front door for the drunken man from the green sedan.

You retreat indoors for the night. You think about how to tell Mingyu everything. And when Hyewon opens the door to greet you both, you wonder if she and Joonyoung would help you get the facts right about how you and Jeonghan started and how you and Jeonghan eventually ended.

With all these thoughts in your head, you faintly hear your phone ring in your purse. Getting a sense of déjà vu from the story that you had told Mingyu earlier, you feel chills run up and down your spine as you pull your phone out.

“Who’s your midnight caller, girlfriend?” Hyewon goodnaturedly teases as she takes your empty mug from your hand. Her face looks flushed, and you remember that she and Joonyoung had been drinking when you left them earlier. “Joonyoung! Mingyu’s here!”

“I have a confession to make,” you say as you look at the caller ID. “Mingyu and I ran into Jeonghan and Seungcheol at his cousin’s baby shower.”

Hyewon’s face pales at your words. “You what?”

“We did,” Mingyu says softly, scratching his head while smiling at Hyewon. “He’s a good hyung of mine and Aera’s in the industry. We’ve been friends for a long time, but I didn’t know that he and Y/N used to date.”

“Huh,” Hyewon breathes out. “All these years, the only way we could see him was on TV. We never ran across him, ever. And now we find out that he’s good friends with your boyfriend’s family.” Hyewon raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Imagine that.”

“You met Jeonghan?” Joonyoung bounds into the foyer, which suddenly becomes crowded with the four of you there. “Was he with anyone else?”

“Just him and Seungcheol-hyung,” Mingyu answers.

“Let’s not talk about this here. Come on in, you two. We still have some pizza, chicken, and beer.” Hyewon manages to push the two guys into the living room. She turns to you, clearly wanting to talk to you in private, but you put up a hand.

“Hold on.” Your phone is vibrating in your hand, and you hastily answer the call. “Hello?”

🍁🎧🧡

He leans on the railings of the rooftop bar, a drink in one hand and a phone in the other. As he gazes at the city below, he knows that he has had too much to drink. The lights have started to pulse too much. The numbness inside him has finally reached his fingertips. He considers stopping to drink this last glass, but his call finally goes through.

At the sound of the voice on the other line, he decides that he needs this one last shot of bourbon.

“I know that it’s too late to call you now,” he whispers almost inaudibly, “but if I don’t say this tonight, I probably never will.”

He lets go of the empty glass in his hand, and he watches as it shatters on the ground.

“I miss you,” he says, oblivious of the curses and complaints from the people around him. “And I know that you’re in a happy place now, but I—” A painful pause ensues as he stands there, lost for words. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he tries to ignore the ache in his throat and the burning in his eyes. “—I just wanted you to know that. Everything about this call feels wrong because I know that I am not supposed to and that I have no right to call you anymore, but I will never stop wondering how these words sound like if I don’t say it right now.” A tortured grin spreads across his lips. “I miss you.”

The phone falls out of his hands, and he blindly falls to the ground to pick it up. Sharp fragments from the broken glass cut through his skin and the material of his pants, but he doesn’t feel the pain. He is too numb right now. He couldn’t even feel his legs. As he futilely tries to smoothen the cracked screen on his phone, he hears a loud voice coming from a megaphone.

“And cut!” The director’s voice rings loud and clear throughout the rooftop bar. He walks over to Jeonghan, who is still trying to bring his phone back to life. “Okay, did I suddenly step into some shitty romance movie after the break? What was all that?” The director impatiently turns around and gestures to the crew behind him. “I need a medical kit here; and another phone, please. Geez. What has gotten into you tonight?”

“Sorry,” Jeonghan says apologetically. “I just got too immersed with my role.” He shakily stands up. “And I can’t feel my legs.”

The director shakes his head. “Look, Jeonghan, I know that you love ad-libs. I love your ad-libs, too. You know that. But your last lines threw me off.” He squints his eyes suspiciously at Jeonghan. “Where did you go tonight? You were fine the whole day, and then you suddenly get picked up by your friend. The minute you come back to work, you’re a different person.” He shakes his head again and walks away. “Read the script and pull yourself together. We’ll be taking a short break. And apologize to your co-star for spouting out all that mushy stuff!”

“What was that about?” Seungcheol has appeared from out of nowhere, arms crossed. “Why were you telling Jihoon that you missed him?”

Jeonghan laughs. He gestures weakly with his hand as he answers, “It’s the bourbon.”

“Who on earth actually drinks half a dozen shots while filming?” Seungcheol pauses as he studies Jeonghan’s face. “And why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” Jeonghan wipes away something wet from his face. “Stop bitching, Cheol, and just help me sit down somewhere.”

“Oh, Yoon Jeonghan.” Seungcheol sighs as guides Jeonghan to the nearest steel chair. “You said you would be able to come back to work after the baby shower! God, I was an idiot for believing you.”

“This is not about the baby shower,” Jeonghan protests weakly as he leans back against the chair. “Leave me alone and let me rest. Please.” He closes his eyes.

“So," Seungcheol fishes around for words, "what was that about?"

Jeonghan doesn’t answer.

Seungcheol sighs again. “Was she the one you were ‘talking to’ in that phone call?”

Silence.

“Jeonghan—”

“—She looked happy.” Jeonghan’s voice is calm, but tears still escape his closed eyes. He leans to the side as though he wanted to sleep. “They looked happy. And when I saw them kiss by the front porch when we got to Aera’s, I felt funny." He grins. "I felt funny because a part of me got hurt—” He pounds his chest. “—Right here.” His grin widens. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just like this because I haven't seen her for a long time."

The rooftop bar is buzzing with activity: the director is making changes with the camera angles, someone is adjusting the brightness of the floodlights, and the extras are practicing the not-so-easy art of blending in with the scene. Jeonghan hears someone sweep the broken glass from the tiled floor.

“Mingyu is a good guy,” Seungcheol offers sympathetically. “At least we can both be sure that she will be alright.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jeonghan continues pounding his chest with his bandaged hand. “I know.”

“You are my first romance, and I’m willing to take a chance that till life is through, I’d still be loving you.”

🍁🎧🧡

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley that he is walking on are still the same. It feels damp, even though no rain had poured that night. It is still chipped and uneven in some places, and he remembers how your thin-strapped sandals would sometimes slip and get stuck between the cobblestones. Despite the imperfections of this street, he knows that you loved it. But while you had loved this place for its bright lights and broken cobblestones, he had loved it for what it contained: the restaurants and thrift stores, all of which still had signs that flash in bright neon blues and violets.

And he loved them because of the memories he had created inside them—memories that he had made with you.

He vividly remembers the first plate of spaghetti that you shared at Georgie’s, a quaint restaurant that would have been considered Italian but for the sweet spaghetti sauce that it serves. He has not forgotten the taste because he still goes there on Thursdays. And he has never forgotten the way you had laughed while eating spaghetti as he confessed that he wanted to date you.

“You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds coming out of your mouth,” you had said while pushing away your plate. Your eyes had been gleaming with humor then, but your voice had been guarded and careful. “To put it simply, sunbae, I am not going to date you.” You had shrugged, and locks of your hair had tumbled across that denim jacket that he had loved seeing on you. “You know why.”

He had known then.

You had never fallen in love before. That knowledge should have made him cautious, but he admits to himself now that it had made him all the more desperate to snag that spot in your heart marked, “First Love.”

It was at Georgie’s that you had first rejected him, but it was there that you also said yes to him a few months later. Twirling pasta in your plate, you had murmured, “Okay. Let’s date. But Yoon Jeonghan—” Your voice had shaken. And then you had looked at him.

“Please be careful with my heart.”

He had answered that with your first kiss.

At signless thrift stores that are scattered a few stalls away from each other, Jeonghan remembers patiently waiting for you as you picked clothes for him and art supplies for yourself. He remembers how you would stand to the side to let Hyewon and Mirae haggle with the storekeeper. He remembers your apologetic expression when you felt like Hyewon or Mirae had taken the bargaining too far. He smiles as he remembers how embarrassed you would be during those times.

And then he smiles wider as he remembers Hyewon’s sharp fingernails that had dug on his shoulder when she pulled him aside during the first time he tagged along for the shopping. He chuckles as he remembers how menacing she had looked.

“If dating my goody-two-shoes Y/N is payback because I broke your best friend’s heart a few years ago,” Hyewon warns darkly, “then you’d better know that I’ll be coming for you. And I have no qualms whatsoever about tearing you to shreds. You got that?” She had dug her nails deeper at that point.

“I don’t care what history you had with my best friend,” he had answered calmly. “I am dating Y/N because I love her. That’s all there is. You’re reading way too much into this, Park Hyewon.”

“Am I?” Hyewon had scoffed, clearly unconvinced. “Yoon Jeonghan, why are you dating Y/N? The real reason, please."

"I love her," he repeated. "That's all."

"No. That's not it. I refuse to believe that’s your reason. And we both know here that you can’t fool me with that crap.” She had let go of him then, but not before throwing out a few more words that sounded like a prophecy. Throwing up her hands in the air and rolling her eyes, she had said, “I’m calling it: you’ll only break Y/N's heart.”

Funny how Hyewon turned out to be right.

“This alley is the most beautiful place to go to in the city, isn’t it?”

At that moment, Jeonghan stops in his tracks. He stops reminiscing.

He whirls around, his eyes wide and almost sober, searching for the owner of that voice. His heartbeats quicken. He clenches his jaw as another knife of pain stabs through him at those words.

You used to say the same thing to him. You used to say those words while holding his hand or whenever he would kiss you unannounced while you walked this street. You used to say those words while looking up at him. He would never get lost anywhere in the world, but he used to get lost in your eyes when you did so.

He squints his eyes, certain that it had been you who had spoken. But as his vision focuses on the owner of the voice, he feels his heart sink inside him.

Of course, it wasn’t you. Jeonghan laughs at himself and his stupidity.

It wasn’t you. It was some stupid co-ed echoing the words that any college student would say about this street. It wasn’t you because you were long gone from him now, and he had nothing left of you but all these memories that still plague him in this fucking alleyway.

It wasn’t you because Jeonghan had done what Hyewon had said that he would do.

A hand grabs his arm. “Let’s go, Yoon Jeonghan. You shouldn’t be here.”

Jeonghan recognizes Seungcheol’s voice. He grins at his friend’s frustrated face as he trips on a stupid loose cobblestone. “Hello, there. Why do you keep appearing out of nowhere? And did you also think of Hyewon while following me along this legendary street? You only loved this street because of Hyewon, but you still feel it, right?” Jeonghan helps himself up and absently studies his dirtied pants. “The nostalgia this place evokes?”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol snaps, “just shut up. You know, I expected you to act more maturely than this, Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan laughs. “Can’t a guy walk in peace?”

Seungcheol stops walking. He lets go of Jeonghan’s arm, and he faces Jeonghan with a furious expression. “You have no right to get hung up over Y/N,” he says with a poisonous tone. “You have no right at all.”

Seungcheol’s words slice through Jeonghan like a blade he didn’t see coming. He wasn't able to brace for it. He didn’t expect those words to come, especially from Seungcheol.

“You broke her heart.” Seungcheol’s tone is more fit for a eulogy than for a conversation with his best friend. “You made a choice years ago. What did you expect the ending to be? You can’t cry now.” His face softens. “Be a man. Accept that she’s moved on. Did you see her face earlier at the baby shower? She didn’t even look at you with any hurt or anger.” He presses a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “She looks happy. Was she surprised to have seen you? Yes. But she has clearly moved on, and so should you.”

There is silence for a while until Seungcheol hands him a face mask.

"Spare yourself the hell you'd experience from gossip rags and wear the fucking mask. You look terrible and stupid, coming here without any disguise at all. These aren’t uni days anymore, dumbass."

The cobbled pavements of the narrow alley that Jeonghan and Seungcheol are walking on are still the same. It feels damp, even though no rain had poured that night. It is chipped and uneven in some places, and both men could still remember how easily one could trip and fall on the slippery cobblestones. But despite the imperfections of this street, they both know someone who had loved it for what it was.

Yes, you had loved this alleyway for its bright lights and broken cobblestones. Seungcheol had loved it because of your friend Hyewon, but Jeonghan had loved it for what it contained: the restaurants and thrift stores, all of which still had signs that flash in bright neon blues and violets.

And he loved them because of the memories he had created inside them—memories that he had made with you.

But now he realizes that this alleyway is a literal Memory Lane, bringing him back to the past and clouding his judgment of the present.

As he walks past Georgie’s, He remembers your words again.

“Please be careful with my heart.”

Friday has barely ended, and Saturday is just about to begin, but when Georgie’s fades behind him, he laughs. He laughs like the idiot that he is, and tears pour out of his eyes as he does so.

“I will be true to you—just a promise from you will do: from the very start, please be careful with my heart.”

🍁🎧🧡

The truth has finally hit him.

Everything that he had with you—all of it—is now just memories and history.

And his conviction that he should stop riding this rollercoaster of emotions about you becomes even more pronounced when his phone vibrates, and he picks up a call.

“Where are you?” a woman’s voice asks, worried. “I’ve been up all night waiting at your apartment.”

Seungcheol mouths, Who is it?

Jeonghan flashes the phone at Seungcheol.

It was Jung Mirae.

“I love you and you know I do—there’ll be no one else for me. I promise I’ll be always true, for the world and all to see. Love has heard some lies softly spoken, and I have had my heart badly broken; I’ve been burned and I’ve been hurt before.”

🍁🎧🧡

Mingyu stops staring at the ceiling and turns to look at you. You are sleeping beside him, tucked under his arm, and he is happy. He had spent the night with you, going through your memories and learning from them. He had spent the whole night immersed in the past that you had inside you.

Yes, indeed, he had learned a lot about you tonight. And as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispers something that you did not hear. He whispers words that he just wants to prove to you with actions.

“I’ll be careful with your heart,” Mingyu whispers as he kisses your hair, your neck, your bare shoulder, “because I know how it feels to get hurt, too.” If you had been awake at that point, you would have seen the pensive, faraway look in his eyes as he walks down his own cobblestoned path—his own Memory Lane. If you had been awake, you would have worried about his expression like he knows you would. So he quickly smiles at your peaceful, sleeping face.

“I have a story, too,” he adds softly, “but I’ll save it for later.” He hugs you close to him. “For now, I’ll just be content with taking care of you.” He kisses your lips, and you stir. “Of us.”

When your eyes open, he shyly ducks under the covers, his twinkling eyes peeking at you. And as you protest that it was late and that he should sleep, he laughs softly, and he nods. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of you.”

“What?” you ask, uncomprehending. “Say again, baby?”

“Nothing.” He hugs you close again. “Just that I love you.”

You fall back into sleep at his words, and he keeps watching you until his eyes close on their own.

“I love you,” he whispers again.

“So I know just how you feel: trust that my love is real for you. I’ll be gentle with your heart—I’ll caress it like the morning dew. I’ll be right beside you forever, I won’t let our world fall apart. From the very start, I’ll be careful with your heart.”

Author’s Note: Thank you very much for reading! I know that I have been very slow and inconsistent with my updates, but as long as there are unfinished WIPs on this list, please expect me to keep posting, no matter how sporadic. Tell me what you think about this part on the askbox, comments/reblogs! Thank you! - Leanne.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #svtcreations #seventeen angst #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan #jeonghan angst #svt scenarios #svt angst

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emotionalgirl101 · 5 years ago

Text

Question | Chapter 7

Words: 3650

Genre: college au, angst, fluff

Pairing: SKZ x reader

Summary: Your best friend, Minho, had been refusing to introduce you to his other group of best friends for months now, with no explanation as to why. One night after getting drunk after work together, he gave in to your pleas. Oops.

Warning: Contains mature content (such as coarse language, violent themes, etc).

A/N: I’m back! 2019 was pretty shitty except for seeing Stray Kids and going to Korea. Thoughts and prayers go out to my fellow Aussies suffering from the fires. I hope you guys like this chapter (it’s the longest so far) and I hope to write and be more active this year!~

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You were just sitting there, staring at your phone. You had been all morning. You were just staring at his contact, looking at the ten numbers below his name. Your eyes scanning over and over again, as if at some point something would change or jump out at you to tell you what to do.

This had been what you’d spent all Thursday afternoon in your apartment doing. Once Minho had left, you quickly saved Jaemin’s contact. You hadn’t told Minho, but you had a feeling he must’ve had some idea because he didn’t give you a weird look when you hadn’t thrown out your bubble tea cup. You’d made some excuse about needing to keep it to remember your order. Instead of getting a sarcastic ‘sure..’ you received a nonchalant, simple ‘okay’. Mans had been acting weird all day.

You still stared at Jaemin’s name and number displayed in your phone. What the hell were you going to do? Do you call? Text? What if he’d forgotten all about you? What if he gave his number out to heaps of girls that came to the shop he worked at? What if you weren’t just some girl, though? What if he was genuinely interested? What if you’d left it too late? What if—

Suddenly, the phone buzzed. The screen faded out of the open contact and back to an incoming call screen, Eunwoo’s name spelled out for you. Thank g*d! It’s like she knew you were overthinking and came to the rescue. She was amazing like that. It happened often. You both just got a gut feeling that something was up and knew when the other needed you. The strange sense of intuition was rarely off, but on the odd occasion it was, a quick catch up was still the end result.

“Hello.” A smile took purchase upon your face before she spoke a word. You could bet it’d be about Jaemin. As soon as Minho had left your place, you texted her to see if she could call. She picked up the phone almost immediately and followed along with your recount of events, squealing occasionally on the other end of the line. You said that you’d contact him the next day because you didn’t want to seem too eager, and as your best friend, she didn’t call you out for lying through your teeth. She understood your nerves but made you promise to text him the following day.

“HAVE YOU DONE IT YET?!” You held the phone away from your ear. You’d expected this, and that it would happen again when you timidly replied with ‘not yet’. She didn’t hesitate to scold you. “WHY THE HELL NOT?” You opened your mouth to reply but shut it. Eunwoo wasn’t finished yet. You knew how dramatic she could be. Her reactions were the best. One of the many things you loved about her.

“He gave you his number! He’s interested! There’s no need to doubt that. All you have to do is send him a text so he has your number. He’ll do the rest.” The line went silent for a few beats. A sigh sounded through the phone. “Want to wait until tomorrow night then?” She was referring to your girls’ night that was scheduled for the next evening. You couldn’t believe how quickly Saturday was approaching. That would be a good time, you agreed mentally, softly responding with an ‘okay’ into the receiver. A few more words were exchanged in an effort to plan before you hung up.

You were tasked with grabbing snacks, an errand you’d have to run today as you wouldn’t have time to tomorrow. You had an unavoidable shift scheduled for work tomorrow, which left you barely any time to get home, changed and to Eunwoo’s by 6pm. She’d planned to start the night early as possible so you would have plenty of time to do whatever the hell you wanted. That meant your day of lounging around in comfy clothes and having some time to yourself wasn’t going to go exactly as planned. At least you wouldn’t have to stray too far from home.

You changed your pants into something more suitable to be seen by the outside world and threw on a hoodie, slipping on some shoes while heading out the door. You placed your keys in your purse and set up your headphones. You didn’t mind the walk to the shops. It was only a few blocks away, allowing you to get lost in your music and be there before you knew it.

The weather wasn’t too cold, probably assisted by the walk, but you couldn’t see the sky. There was a grey blanket of clouds hiding the sun that was inching closer to the horizon. It somehow didn’t feel too dreary. The streets were lined with trees that still held their leaves, looking deceivingly as lush and green as ever. The buildings in the area weren’t all slate grey, having occasional pops of pink, blue and yellow to break up the dull metallics. The neighbourhood was modern and still had a bit of life to it. It cheered up the atmosphere of a rainy day with ease.

Like always, you had arrived at the small grocery store sooner than you’d expected to. The shop was on the corner, well-lit and was decorated with cute signage that invited customers to come inside. You walked in the door and into a random aisle so you could fish out your phone without getting in anyone else’s way. Eunwoo had sent you a shopping list of snacks she thought were ‘essential’ to any girls’ night. You were allowed to add to that list, too, of course. You knew most of the list would be on the sweet side, so it was a safe bet to make your way to the confectionary aisle.

You realised rather quickly you’d need a basket once you saw how long the itinerary-filled text was. As expected, baskets were located in convenient places all over the store, so you pick one up on your way through. You didn’t have many complaints as to what she picked. There was a snack for every craving category you could think of.

After grabbing everything, within reason, you went to grab some drinks. You made it to the end of the aisle and were still staring at your phone when you turned. That’s why you collided with someone. Before you looked up, you began apologising profusely. To be honest, you were too embarrassed to look up, hesitating to meet the person’s eyes. What if you met them again randomly. No one exactly wants to be known as ‘the girl that walked straight into me at the grocery store that one time’.

Once you realised it was inevitable, you finally looked up to find the beaming smile of none other than Kim Seungmin. You recognised him straight away but took a minute to register why. In your defence, you were still half asleep. Yes, at 4 in the afternoon. While you were buffering, Seungmin stabilised you, acknowledging the fact that it was you with a cheerful ‘fancy meeting you here’.

You explained to him that you lived a few blocks away. You were both surprised you hadn’t seen each other in that particular shop before, especially as you both frequented the place often. Seungmin mentioned how you should make your chimek nights a regular thing. The boys had really enjoyed your company, so he said. As he spoke, it was clear that he, and supposedly the other boys, were genuinely excited at the prospect of you spending more time hanging out with them. It was a nice feeling. His eyes lit up a moment later. He then put an idea to you. “We haven’t really planned out dinner, but would you like to come over again tonight? Everyone should be home.”

On any other day you’d accept the offer without a second thought, but with a full work day ahead and the little sleep you were bound to get at Eunwoo’s the next night weighing on your mind, you knew it’d be better to stay home like you planned.

“Thanks, Seungminnie, but I’ve got a big day tomorrow. Can’t risk lack of sleep or a hangover. If the next couple of days weren't so hectic, I'd definitely be saying yes right now, though. Rain check?” Knowing you meant what you'd said, he still made you pinky promise to it. Seungmin helped you with the rest of your shopping list and waited until you had both gone through the checkout before you parted ways.

The walk home seemed longer this time around. Maybe it was because part of you really wanted to turn on your heel and sprint after Seungmin, to take him up on his offer, but you knew you shouldn’t. You’d made the right call.

You made it to work on time for a 9am start, thanks to the good night’s sleep you somehow managed to get. The shift had been steady, with a few customers coming in every couple of hours and contributing to the day's targets. You were alone for the majority, with another girl coming in as lunch cover. You weren’t really close with her, only making small talk for the brief overlap of your shifts because you felt you had to.

2:15pm. You had been checking the clock every 3 minutes for the past half hour. You had only been alone for that long. There wasn’t much to do on a Saturday. All the stock had been unpacked the day before with no new shipments due until later in the next week.

You managed to occupy your time by going through your music library. Your work place was more relaxed when it came to atmospherics. As long as the music was family friendly, language-wise, and fit the vibe, you could play almost anything your heart desired. You weren’t usually in charge. You were either happy listening to what was already playing or just not the first person in that day, thus no control. That being said, it meant that all the work-safe songs were scattered in your library. You decided the best course of action was to make a playlist, and if you questioned whether or not you should add a song, you could play it out loud to see if it passed the test. You were enjoying yourself.

It was now 2:54pm, which you only knew from the incoming text you received from your manager. She had forgotten to mention she didn’t finish up “revamping” the faulty rack. That was her way of saying that there were new items to be added from out the back and to reorganise the rack accordingly. You’d usually complain, but you were pretty bored and creating the playlist was getting tedious. You didn’t realise how much of your music was NSFW.

You were returning from the store room and making your way towards the aforementioned rack behind the counter. That’s when your ears peaked upon hearing the distinct voice. The speaker was obstructed by the left side wall of the hallway you were walking up. No matter. You already knew it was Felix.

The boy was dressed casually in a colour block jumper with a pair of black trousers and some white shoes that resembled a pair you saw in target. He was unaccompanied, phone to his ear and running his hand through his blonde hair as he listened attentively to what was being said on the other side of the line.

A light-hearted sigh tumbled from his lips, spare hand pushing through the close on the rack. You weren’t sure if they were really his taste. His face scrunched up as he flipped through the hangers, but you couldn’t be certain if it was because he didn’t fancy any of the clothes in front of him.

He picked out a shirt, forcing it off the rack and straightening it out to examine it. He tilted his head, a while later humming in acknowledgement of the person he was conversing with. He tucked the shirt under his arm after he had finished his careful consideration, moving on to dig through more clothes. You watched, amused.

He had grabbed a second shirt, two jumpers and a pair of shorts as well as ended his phone call before he realised there were a set of eyes on him. There was a subtle hint of hesitation when he turned around. His gaze was adorably blank and sheepish when he turned, but it was like a light bulb switched on when he recognised your face. "Y/n! What are you doing here?"

The amount of genuine wonder that laced his tone was so sincere. He obviously hadn't noticed the lanyard around your neck and the unusually nice clothes you were wearing - okay, you sometimes wore nice clothes, but this didn't exactly scream your usual style. You thought there would be no harm in teasing him for his lack of observation, as well as his forgetfulness. You mentioned where you worked the night you all met. Then again, the mental image of a passed out Felix followed by his hungover state the next morning flashed through your mind. Oh well, it was Felix. From what you knew, he wouldn't mind too much.

"Oh, you know, just watching you being a fashionista and leaving a trail of destruction for me to clean up later." His face changed from confusion, to processing - once he noticed the lanyard - to realisation before settling on embarrassment. His cheeks were tinged pink as he uttered the next string of words, "Sorry, I wasn't really thinking," he rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you, "I was on the phone to Channie hyung and was so lost in thought and trying to multitask. I swear I'm not usually this careless- I mean, I have a lot of respect and understanding for retail workers-"

"Felix" He hadn't taken a breath and part of you swore his face was soon to turn blue. "I'm just teasing. I wasn't serious." You chuckled lightly as his nervous laughter, followed by a relieved sigh from the blonde. "I'm glad."

You made your way over, gesturing for him to give you his items of choice. You offered to set up a change room for him while he continued to browse the mens section. You pointed out he may have missed a few things since he was so wrapped up in his phone call. You left him to his own devices and started to begin work on the usual closing duties. There wasn't much you could do, since it was so early, but at least it gave you a head start on the end-of-day.

Some time later, he made his way to the change rooms. You let him be until he called out to you for assistance. "Okay, thoughts on this outfit...?" proceeding to emerged from the change room with the shorts and one of the jumpers from earlier, a different, collared top peeking through around the neckline and past the over-layer's hem. The idea was there, but the execution wasn't. The colours of the shirt and jumper not only didn't match but were different hues. Anyone with a basic knowledge of colour theory would be feeling sympathetic towards his attempt at styling.

"Usually I have Hyunjin or Seungmin to give me advice, but they're both working today and this is the only free time I had." You nodded slowly, mainly trying to think of the best way to let him down gently enough for him not to lose hope in his ability to do this by himself. The comment about the other boys was a clear indicator that he usually doubted himself. Any other colour scheme and it would've looked great.

"Honestly, you have a good sense of style," You proceeded, worried his face would light up before you got to your constructive criticism, "but the colouring of the top half doesn't work. It also doesn't really compliment your skin tone." You looked up, gaging his response. He nodded thoughtfully. He spoke again.

"Do you think any of these would suit me?" He moved aside so you could peer into the change room. You scanned the options and managed to put together an outfit, however, you had something else in mind. "Okay. Before I do anything, what is this outfit for?" You looked to him. It went unspoken that the occasion influenced the styling choice you both had to make. You almost thought he hesitated before he spoke, ”It's for a party, but it's slightly on the nicer side." I thoughtful hum slipped past your lips. “So, are you thinking of something that looked kind of effortless but still looks really good?" He smiled at how well you understood him, "Precisely."

You gestured to the initial outfit you came up with from his chosen items, "try that on as a 'fit while i work on something. I have an idea and I think it'll really suit you." Without a moment wasted, you turned on your heel and went back out onto the floor to dig up a few things you had noted earlier. To your delight, no one else had come in. You could fully focus on your 'help Felix with styling' mission.

You returned with two similar concepts in mind, but completely different colour palettes. As you rounded the corner to the change rooms, Felix emerged in a timely fashion, decked out in the first possible outfit. It was very Felix but still had a clear theme in terms of colour. He stood in a blue turtleneck with the black pants he walked in with and his white shoes. He accessorised with the his beanie he must’ve bought elsewhere, it conveniently being a similar shade of blue.

"What do you think?" His arms spread wide to showing off the look inspired by his own taste. It was a good start, but you thought he could do better. So, you told him just that. With a quick nod and a grin, the boy took the next set from your hands and disappeared behind the curtin. You could tell he was already regaining his confidence. All he needed was a push in the right direction.

Felix returned a short while later. He looked into the mirror at the outfit while you spoke, "Okay, so this one isn't your usual style but I thought it suited your skin tone a lot better than your first outfit." He nodded again. He stared awhile longer. When he looked back to you, it was obvious you agreed. "It's really cool, but-"

"-it's way too put together to look effortless." You finished his sentence, receiving a hum from the boy, which most likely was along the lines of couldn't agree more. "Honestly, I'm kind of happy because this one already had my vote to begin with." The genuine excitement in your voice made him laugh lightly. He traded the other garments for those strung over your arm. You fixed up the pieces on their hangers while you waited.

Felix practically sauntered out of the change room, confidence radiating off of his body now. He looked good, you had to admit. Felix wore the plain white tee he already had on prior to the fashion escapade. It was fitted beautifully to his chest and peaked out teasingly from beneath the blue and black sports jacket. The positioning on his shoulders along with its length was just right. The denim jeans were a new addition, rounding out the outfit. His hair still slightly messy from the beanie, yet smoothed out moments earlier with the palms of his hands. Every element worked in harmoniously, and the way he pulled off the colour story, effortless. You did good, Y/n. The whole look was perfect, fitting the brief, and you had to admit, he looked pretty hot. "I know I don't need to say it, but this wins hands down." He smirked. This bitch knew he looked good.

Once he was back in his original attire, Felix rejoined you at the checkout. The total cost was slightly more than what what he had in his budget, but you didn't mind bending the rules for a friend. You applied your discount, to which he thanked you profusely, and sat back while the system processed what he had paid. You bagged his newly acquired sports jacket and jeans, tossing in the receipt, "if you want, you can even try it with a pair of black shoes. I reckon it'd look even better." You smiled.

He returned it, "Thanks for all your help, Y/n. Sorry for taking up so much of your time." You hadn't even glanced at the time since Felix had come in. You almost squealed when you noticed it was already 4:16pm. 14 minutes until closing. "No, thank YOU, Felix. I swear I was dying at how slow the shift was going. Besides, I had a lot of fun." His grin widened but faulted, startled when his phone began to ring. "I better go but I'll see you soon, hopefully. Thanks again!" He gave you a half-hearted wave while he answered the call. He walked out the doors, turning the corner and was instantly out of view.

Apart from the two Asian aunties perusing the sale jewellery, the floor was dead. It was now 4:19pm. You could start the end-of-day routine. You figured out that if you timed it right, you could have the floors vacuumed, tills counted and the place all locked up by 4:37pm. You sprung into action, happily reminiscing on what was obviously the highlight of you shift and enjoyed the lull of music that was still playing.

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yeosanqtuary · 5 years ago

Text

gentle breeze - pt. 14

♡ - list of chapters

♡ - mature content, but not really mature, but still kind of mature, so i'm putting this little warning here. it isn't a lot though

they were together in each other’s warmth, at the back of the cold cinema.

the two almost-boyfriends walked out of the cinema hand in hand, and on each of their faces were satisfied smiles. the janitor who was standing by the entrance looked at them weirdly. everyone who was exiting looked petrified, or either had red eyes from the crying, but the two of them were actually smiling. happily. that horror movie was praised for their scary jumpscares and horrifying plot. were they watching the same movie as the others? the janitor shook his head and went along doing his job. youngsters these days. might not even be watching the movie...

afterwards, hongjoong dragged seonghwa to the arcade, which had just opened its door to business. hongjoong had done some research beforehand, and this particular arcade is said to have one of the cheapest prices and boasts a huge variety of games. hearing this, he immediately decided to bring seonghwa here, without looking up other arcades near the mall.

it was only a stone's throw away from the cinema, and the huge arcade signage was in sight after a few steps.

"woah, this place is huge!" seonghwa exclaimed in awe, gaping at the many colourful machines in the dimly lit place.

like a typical arcade, it had all the necessary, such as basketball, shooting and car racing games. hongjoong spotted a photo booth in the corner of his eye and dragged seonghwa there without hesitation.

"oh? it's a photo booth!" seonghwa exclaimed, running towards it as soon as he saw it. "joong! let's try this!" he turned around, gesturing him to come over, and pulled open the little curtain, stepping inside the small cubicle.

hongjoong chuckled at his actions and followed him inside. once they were inside, an automated voice welcomed them to the photo booth.

"welcome to photonx photobooth! please insert 30 credits to start!" hearing this, hongjoong pulled out a game card which he had bought a few months earlier when he came with his old friends. he had topped up a huge amount of credits into the card, seeing that the price was good. literally just pay 4 dollars for a whole 100 credits, who wouldn't miss it? thus, he paid 12 dollars and got 300 credits. luckily they didn't have an expiry date.

he happily tapped the card onto the terminal, and a typical, upbeat claw machine beat started to play. they took the photos quickly but took a long time adding stickers and other stuff to them. they ended up spending 30 minutes in that small cubicle, debating on which sticker they should use and on whom.

hongjoong sighed as he left the cubicle, waiting for the photos to be printed out. on the other hand, seonghwa excitedly jumped out of the cubicle and kept his eyes on the little hole where their photos would come out from.

they were two different moods.

"joong, look! we're so cute! you're so cute! i'm so cute! but you're cuter! i love this so much! i'm gonna keep this in my phone case!" he exclaimed, jumping around, holding the two photo strips.

hongjoong felt something from that...

he smiled, taking his photo strip and placing it behind his phone case too.

and off they went, exploring the depths of the arcade.

hongjoong's game card lasted them for endless competitions in basketball, car racing and mario kart all afternoon, and stopped only when seonghwa's stomach started to grumble. their only lunch was those snacks seonghwa mistakenly bought at the cinema, and he was quite surprised he could last a whole afternoon with only those snacks.

however, this wasn't what hongjoong had thought. he felt guilty for forgetting about getting lunch before they came to the arcade. he didn't really feel hungry often and was actually quite full after the snacks, which explains why he forgets to take his meals regularly, for example, right now.

“ah, i’m beat!“ exclaimed seonghwa, who had collapsed on a small stool by a game machine.

“let’s go eat, then. i bet you’re starving by now,“ hongjoong guiltily suggested, looking down to seonghwa’s hands that were resting on his knee. without waiting for him to agree or even speak, hongjoong lowered his hand and hooked his pinky with seonghwa’s, and began walking. seonghwa stood up immediately and followed behind hongjoong’s lead, letting him bring him anywhere he wanted.

seonghwa looked down at their connected pinkies and giggled to himself. at that moment, he felt like the luckiest human alive.

they had decided to return home right after they had their linner(or dunch, if you must) since they agreed that they were already quite exhausted. hongjoong's house was located a few bus stops away from the mall, so they reached his street quickly.

seonghwa had expected hongjoong to live in an apartment complex like he did, but he lived in a small, two-storey house. it wasn't as huge, flashy and outstanding like the other houses on the same street and opposite. it gave off a warm, cosy and homey feeling that the others didn't have. its walls were painted beige, and there were decorations that seemed to be made from scratch hanging outside on their porch. seonghwa liked it very much, thinking that it suits hongjoong's personality a lot.

"mom, i'm home!" hongjoong shouted as he stepped into the empty living room, with seonghwa nervously stepping in behind him.

with the dull surroundings and silence, hongjoong assumed his parents had gone out for a date or were busy with work, which was very unlikely.

he sighed and took off his shoes, placing them inside the small cupboard, on the top shelf. seonghwa followed suit and was placing his shoes on the bottommost shelf when hongjoong placed his hand atop seonghwa's and moved his shoes up to the empty spot beside his own. seonghwa smiled shyly at his actions, rubbing the back of his head.

"j-joong, y-you can let go of my h-hand now," seonghwa stuttered in a low voice. hongjoong was still holding onto his hand as he was getting them slippers to wear. he intertwined them after seonghwa had spoken.

seonghwa's heart accelerated as every second went by, his palms getting sweatier as his heart accelerated.

"hmm? why?" hongjoong turned around after he found extra slippers and was facing seonghwa now. the sun had already started setting, and the pretty warm colour escaped through the window, illuminating hongjoong's facial features. he had squinted his eyes a little due to the sunlight, and his rosy lips were slightly parted, showing his front teeth. his fluffy bangs fell on his eyebrows, covering them slightly.

he looked so attractive under all that sunlight, and seonghwa felt like he was back in their dorm a few days ago, the first time he thought hongjoong was attractive as heck.

he felt like he was falling in love again.

again?

"i-"

"here, wear these," hongjoong released their intertwined fingers, and gently placed a pair of white, fur slippers by seonghwa's feet.

"t-thank you,"

"do you wanna take a shower first?"

"o-okay,"

seonghwa slipped his feet into the soft slippers and followed hongjoong upstairs to his room.

his room was very simple and clean. it was like every other room, a bed with white sheets, a large desk, a cupboard and a shelf with trophies, medals and other decorations, like figurines.

seonghwa placed his bag beside hongjoong's chair and went to look at the shelf.

"wow, you placed first in the 100m race? and even got first in the whole cohort?" he gaped at all the different achievements and sighed to himself, who had barely any trophies or medals.

"haha, that was all back in middle school! i barely had any in high school,"

"better than me, at least!"

seonghwa had ventured to his desk, which had a few framed photos of his embarrassing childhood.

"hey, stop looking at them. you're making me shy," hongjoong panicked, and rushed to block seonghwa from looking at the photo frames. he was standing with his back against the table, flailing his arms around to evade seonghwa's attempts to get past him.

"c'mon, i'll get to see them later when you're in the shower anyway!" seonghwa laughed and tried to push hongjoong's arms away. he leaned forward to try to grab a frame, but his foot slipped.

seonghwa regained his balance by grabbing the sides of the desk with both arms, and at the same time trapping hongjoong in between them. their faces were a few centimetres away, and he felt hongjoong's warm breath on his face.

seeing hongjoong this close sparked something in seonghwa. surprisingly, he was neither nervous nor shy and had a sudden burst of courage that he had no idea where it came from.

"you're so much more attractive when you're up close,"

"s-seonghwa-*

"you're so kind and caring. always looking out for me, even though you're quite clumsy. your hugs are always so warm, it makes me feel protected and safe. i never want to be apart from you, i want to be with you, always,"

"i-i... me too, hwa. me too. i don't think i can go a day without seeing you. damn, i don't think i can even bear being away from you for a day," hongjoong looked up into seonghwa's dark brown eyes that were staring into his own.

"hongjoong, i... i really like you,"

seonghwa snaked an arm around hongjoong's waist and leaned in, closing the gap between them. immediately, hongjoong's mind went haywire as the second he felt seonghwa's soft lips land on his. his tongue gently slid through the seam of his lips, easily entering hongjoong's mouth. seonghwa's tongue explored every nook and cranny of his mouth and hongjoong felt like his mind was breaking away from his consciousness, driving him out of control. the way seonghwa sucked on his lips occupied his senses, feeling like he was infiltrating him, invading every inch of his body.

hongjoong's arms found themselves around seonghwa's slim waist, holding on tightly, feeling like his legs were about to fail any second.

as if seonghwa had read his mind, he broke the kiss and carried hongjoong to his bed, placing him down gently and scrunching up the neat sheets. he took ahold of hongjoong's wrists and held them up, pinning them by his ears.

"hongjoong, i like you. i really like you. i like you a lot. i like you very much. i think i love you, too,"

next ->

#ateez #ateez fanfic #seonghwa #hongjoong #seongjoong #fluff #atzinc

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rayj-drash · 5 years ago

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Berlin Sketches pt 1

by T. Frank

My grandmother cannot fathom entering Germany. She was a child of the Great Depression and lived through the war safely from the Catskill Mountains of New York while her husband fixed radios on home turf. However, Germany represents a taboo in history for my grandparents as Jews. They would no sooner visit the Brandenberg Gate than they would try scuba diving without an oxygen tank.

I constantly reflect on the trusted feeling of Home since I lived in Berlin for six weeks in fall of 2018. Previously, the longest trip I took was a ten-day tour of Israel through the organization Birthright: from the peak of a mountain overlooking three desert countries, to the crowded rush of the Jerusalem shuk, and my aversion to a display of American-Israeli nationalism on a military campus. The scenes and feelings form a whirlwind of hazy memories, much like any experience on new land.

A few days after I arrived back in the Bay Area, I sat in Strawberry Creek Park watching the sun go down and the light blue sky grow faint as night approached, seeking those moments of "awe" that came so suddenly in Berlin. This bright green park reminded me of the open recreational space I loved over there, even though the grass was literally greener on this side of the pond! I distinctly remember the moment when I scarcely had to look up at the street signs and felt like whichever path I took, I would find my way. Nevertheless, five months ago, I had sent in an application for an unusual art residency, an immersion into the study of grief. I reflected on those periods of my life that had led to some of my deepest creations. Drawings of cancer cells and lungs, struggles to breathe and heal in the midst of choking emotion, flowers and vines winding through the dark themes. I yearned to express my observations of the world through whatever moved me, again.

~~~~~

The journey to Berlin was a three-legged trip with two layovers, leaving Friday evening and arriving at 10:00PM on Saturday. A huge, crowded economy flight, cheap and minimal. I tried to rest as the crew turned off all lights on board. No sooner did I close my eyes than it seemed like the sun was creeping over the horizon, and we touched down to a windy, barren tarmac. It was 9:00AM, as all the passengers disembarked in Reykjavik, Iceland, we felt the chill burrowing through our thin layers and shivered.

On the second leg, as the plane glided to the lowlands, I appreciated the bucolic farmland. I was alone in the Copenhagen airport. The crowds in Reykjavik were more diverse, like a burgeoning metropolis. By contrast, everyone arriving in this Danish terminal looked alike: tall, blond, and, permit me, Aryan. They traveled in clusters of family groups, chatting, gesturing, smiling. I dragged my suitcase past designer boutiques to a desolate, unfinished terminal, where passengers awaited their flights without customary notice; but learned to say, Takk, Danish for "Thank you". When I finally reached Germany, I connected to the U-bahn, the underground subway. The ride was over an hour long, and I gazed at the subterranean signage, lost once more. Until I arrived at Rathaus Neukölln, and my new roommate Shimon met me outside in the rain.

The next day, I left the mattress that our hostess Amelia had set up on the floor, staggering about with jet lag. Luckily there's oatmeal, my favorite companion. Shimon and his friend Devorah from Tel Aviv are home. We discuss the neighborhood. ‘What if I get terribly lost, not only physically, but mentally, too?’ I thought. ‘Is this a dream? Why am I so far from anyplace I know?’ Devorah suggested a walk to the canal, with a Sunday flea market. Late afternoon, I ventured outdoors and discovered a slice of paradise.

At the end of the block, a large mosaic mural adorned a staircase which I took to have the impression of a rooftop. A large concrete lot surrounded a beautiful community garden. Raised flower beds were home to a bounty of colorful flowers, tall green vegetables grew under the sunshine and painted poles flanked handmade structures. I spotted a concrete ping-pong table, and mustered up the courage to join two men playing. One of them wore a baseball cap with "Cal" emblazoned in blue and yellow; by chance, he attended law school at UC Berkeley, and lived several blocks away from me! After a few rounds of ping-pong, the Germans drank beer and suggested that I check out a nearby landmark before sunset.

Cheered, I walked along and found an "I Love SF" sweatshirt at a pop-up flea market. More surprises awaited. I heard music, and pushed aside brambles to emerge in Hasenheide Park, where a large circle of guitarists and drummers jammed for casual onlookers. I saw an ornate mosque with blue and gold trim, a wide courtyard, and an outdoor faucet for washing hands or drinking cool, crisp water. Next door was Tempelhof Field. A former airport utilized during World War Two to fly-in supplies from the West, the unused tarmac was reinvented as an open recreational wonderland. I entered the gates and was met with flocks of activity: bicyclists, joggers, even a pair doing synchronized roller-skating. Dry, dull grass covered the fields, but a victory garden shined under the setting sun, and the barista of an on-site cafe recommended finding a good perch.

I joined two boys from Afghanistan, Hasan and Muhamed, watching the sky from tall ladder-seats. Muhamed and I grinned, struggling to hold a conversation between the lack of a common language. Google helped, but broken English got us farther. "Do you know there are still American police in my country?,” he exclaimed. My conscience bristling, I say that most people do not speak of the Afghan-American war anymore. The sun set in deep purple and vivid pink hues. Hasan saw my eyes light up at the sight of his bicycle, and offered me a ride--so, I sat sideways on the frame, clutching his black leather jacket, and answering "Ya" when asked, "Alles Gut?"until I grimaced from discomfort and Hasan laughed--"Kaput!" The two friends saw me off at a bus stop, and I stumbled on board as the passengers stared.

~~~~~

The following Monday, I walked twenty minutes from the apartment to arrive in front of a white-painted gallery, and no one around. Feeling nervous that the entire program was a hoax (just like my parents thought when they read the acceptance letter from the dubious-sounding organization), I noticed a middle-aged man at a computer in the corner. I knocked on the window, and he let me inside. Here was a room devoid of decoration, save for a long rectangular table and six chairs, three of which were filled by women. Soon, another man entered the room and offered tea, introducing himself as our "mentor". We never referred to him by any name other than his own, even when I suggested “Alek”. He's over six feet tall, shaved head, and wore all black from his long-sleeved turtleneck to his sturdy dress shoes.

The participants introduced themselves. Sarah researched environmental grief, such as the devastation left behind from man-made disasters. Gwen studied grief theories in graduate school. Jasmine hoped to connect to refugees of war. And Sara--no error, there are two--prepared to make an installation honoring a departed friend. Linda would join us the following afternoon and plunge into an exploration of feeling othered through found objects. After we went over studio policies, we shared a bit on why we study grief, bringing several girls to tears. It felt like a group therapy session--and it wouldn't be the last.

~~~~~

Dear Talya, Gone to synagogue. It's a short walk from the canal. I forget the street name-'Pflug'-something. Come join me for Yom Kippur services. Love, Devorah. Without consulting a map, I asked for directions from three different shopkeepers to find the synagogue. Luckily, they understood English and didn’t express unsavory reactions to my Jewish-ness. Once I found the path parallel to the Canal, the temple came into view: a large building curving around a tranquil block, with stained glass windows and a grand façade. Security officers were stationed outside, and I was screened before entering. "Are you Jewish?" they ask.. "Yes." Unmoved, they question, "Do you pray?"

In August, I went to Washington, DC for my cousin’s wedding. Her family and friends are modern orthodox, or, religious. The day before the wedding, we were in shul for Shabbat services. During the long morning prayers, I read the English version of the Torah portion. The text alluded to the treatment of rape by virtue of marriage or the punishment of execution. By coincidence, this was the same chapter I studied for my Bat Mitzvah twelve years ago, but I must have been too young to grasp such explicit content. I left the room and spent the rest of services out in the hallway, tending to the potted plants as a distraction.

Did I pray? Not willfully on that day in the synagogue. Internally, yes, throughout my life: the inner dialogue between my spirit and the spirit of a G-d. But in practice, only with family over Shabbat blessings. So I answered, "No. But my Israeli friend is in there, can I go in?"

Yom Kippur services were surprisingly welcoming in Germany. Although the congregation was divided amongst the men and women, the dress code was more relaxed (jeans, white t-shirts), and several of the men held babies on their shoulders as the rabbi sang in Hebrew. I found Devorah and stood beside her. I recognized the somber prayer, "Avinu Malkeinu", and it felt no different than my family's congregation. The prayer books here were German on one side, and Hebrew on the other.

After the ceremony, we passed by plenty of people enjoying the balmy weather at dusk. Devorah was reminded of holidays in her country, riding her bike freely while everyone took time off to relax. Shimon met us to break the fast with noodle ph��. I was lucky to connect with "my people", thousands of miles away from home. As a child, I remember feeling like my relatives’ religious differences divided us. However, my cultural upbringing is something I've retained and appreciate. Joining Israelis in Germany for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, was akin to sharing a secret amongst friends.

~~~~~

As the weeks went by, I developed a habit of visiting the community garden, mornings before heading to the studio and nights on my way home. One weekend, I felt antsy as I read a book called The Truth Will Set You Free by Alice Miller. There was a campfire at the garden as they observed summer changing to chilly Autumn. I surveyed the party scene before resting into a corner of a homemade wooden bench under the dim glow from industrial lights around the lot. Although the setting was not condusive to reading, I was shy to join the group. But, when I repositioned myself next to the fire, it was apparent that these young, hip, multinational guests preferred to speak in English. Rosa asked what I’m doing in Berlin. When I told her I’m studying grief, her voice got excited and she invited her friends into the conversation.

Annika was vivacious and full of life. I noticed her wisps of fuzzy blonde hair, bright in the glow of the fire. She was working on a memoir, and was also the subject of a photoshoot documenting her journey with cancer. As she spoke, I folded a paper crane and gave it to her, provoking a sense of delight. My idea for the residency then was to make a handmade book for participants to share their experiences of grief, and to make origami together. Annika agreed to be interviewed the following week.

~~~~~

I took the S-bahn, the above-ground trolley, several miles northwest where the buildings are close to the city center. Annika told her story: how, at age 26, she discovered the cancer in her breast and rushed into several months of intensive treatment including antibody therapy, anti-hormone medicine, and chemotherapy. She ultimately received a double mastectomy and chose breast implants. For a month after surgery, Annika couldn't lift her arms over her head. It was painful, but her energy was focused on how to function normally again. Now, she was in recovery, undergoing radiation and daily physical therapy. She wholeheartedly embraced her body, and I felt a mixture of awe and love for her resilience and positive attitude.

I encouraged Annika to leave her mark in a communal scrapbook of stories. She drew a breast in pastel colors with words circling the nipple, such as "soft"-, "round"-, "hope"-, and "loss".- After I left the apartment, I boarded the train and closed my eyes. In the dark, I envisioned a bare, cream-colored orb, shiny and wet, like a peeled lychee fruit. Perhaps, I reasoned, this represented Annika's true self.

Back in the studio, I was at a loss to contribute during our group discussion. I almost broke down, overcome with emotions that arose from the interview. So I took a break from the sterile white walls, and sat under the chestnut tree in the courtyard. I picked up a spiny shell, cracked it open to reveal a creamy-brown belly. I wrote a meditation on the seed of the tree. I reflected on impermanence, on patience, on Annika taking her time to heal yet reveling in every healthy moment. I like taking my time.

"Hey Aleksander," I remarked in the midst of studio time, "Since the interview with Annika, I’ve been feeling down.” My mentor was sitting at a desk, drinking tea and writing in one of his many small notebooks. "Do you feel your own grief surface?," he replied. "No, more like I put myself in her shoes, and feel compassion." He advised, "Keep a journal--one just for yourself, your thoughts and daily experiences. And one for your work in the residency; write down everything you're thinking. It'll help, trust me."

----- Talia Frank lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She contributes to the Donut Club, an East Bay writer’s group. Visiting Berlin in 2018 inspired a love of community gardens and allowed her to re-examine Judiasm within a global context.

Reach the author: [email protected]

Visual art: www.cargocollective.com/taliafrank

Blog: https://wanderlustblumen.wordpress.com

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roswellroamer · 5 years ago

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Day 12. February 10, 2020. Te Anau day ride. 155km.

Woke to low 40's and gray which made me question the Carrot and Weather Channel apps which had shown 72° and sunny. But closer inspection revealed a marine type layer probably due to the massive lake's shores which was projected to burn off by 11. The kitchen came stocked with farm fresh eggs, bowl of assorted fruit, milk, butter, juice, yogurts, cereals. We set about making some eggs and toast and then of course after finishing off yesterday's blog we grabbed the two frisbees and the "golf course diagram" and headed out. A half life sized chess board on the sprawling manicured lawn provided the tee for the first hole. All the bikes were truck tires with the hole number painted on the rubber. Got to explore their grounds and have some fun tossing the 'bee. We then got into our GoreTex gear and headed towards Milford Sound after a CalTex has stop in town. Knowing we couldn't get to Milford due to road closures/flooding we were aiming for a swing bridge made of three cables. One for your feet and one for each of your hands that spanned the west branch of the Eglinton River. It was featured in one of the NZ touring books I had bought last summer. We saw that the trail sign to identify the turn off was the Earl Mountain turnoff and headed that way. We wound a bit away from the water and gained some elevation and then came to a construction zone. Not being sure if this was related to the recent flooding we got in mine behind a few cars and waited. Maybe less than ten minutes and the opposing truck, bus and camper passed us then we were allowed to proceed. Usually the 120km up to Milford takes over two hours due to the heavy traffic. Top tourist destination in NZ, one road in and out. Lots of buses and cars jockeying to get parking at the roadside attractions. One huge benefit of having the road closed about 75km ahead was that there was hardly any traffic! Great road and scenery as jagged Teton-esque peaks wound into view between the nearly sheer yet forested canyons as we gained elevation. After passing through a few more, wait, take a wild guess... sheep farms 🐑 we came to a diversion. Funneled into a lane off the road to what appeared to be a toll booth, explained to the gal we were in search of a cable bridge off the Earl Mtn. Trail before the closed section. She allowed us to pass. So far so good.

You can tell when you enter Fiordland NP. Sure, there's a sign off to the left (but placed behind a farmer's field/fence so inaccessible for a reasonable picture). But immediately farmland disappears and you are envelopes in the eery dense tunnel of what seems to be darned close to tropical forest. With the 21 feet of annual rainfall being lush shouldn't be a surprise but the immediate drop off in brightness is dramatic as well. Almost like going in a cave. There are some open "flats" but much of the area along the one road there is heavy forest. The other concern for vehicles but especially bikes involves the encroaching algae/moss on the roads. Two tire tracks are largely clear of it but the center of the lanes and the road as well are mostly a bit greenish with the slippery stuff. Lots of "slippery when wet" signage and it wasn't for the Bon Jovi album. I imagined it could be taxing to stay in the worn and clear tire tracks on one of the 250 rainy days. With clear blue sky and dry along with no traffic, the 55,65 and 75kph turns were superb sweepers and we had a ball carving up that road. One of the stops was at Mirror Lakes. Aptly names and even though a couple of fish had disturbed the surface, the pics are keepers. We rode up into Fiordland a ways and then there was the Earl Mtn. sign. We pulled in to the parking area and saw the line of yellow tape across the entrance to the trail. Also no other vehicles were there. The sign said it was closed and also had a few poison signs around the lot. They described the poison that was dangerous to animals and people to attempt (as is often done here) eradication of a non-native predator. In this case it seemed to be some sort of weasel that was endangering a bird that lived on the ground. We had discussed this cable swing bridge and yellow tape and warnings weren't gonna stop us! We worked around the tape and stepped into a dense forest trail. The first 10 minutes took us along an occasionally muddy trail. Tons of tree roots. Most of the deep mud had sticks or small logs tossed in to provide steps but a few ill advised steps resulted in 6" plunges and lovely boot pulling sucking noises to dislodge my Alpinestar SMX-6 from the muck. Then found my way down a thirty foot hill by treading solely on exposed tree roots from one tree! (Pic above) After that, following the well marked red triangular plastic blazes into the heart of Frodo land, the forest was a magic pliant spongy floor. It took a while to figure out that about 6-8" of moss has somehow grown over a network of interconnected tree roots. When I stepped, the entire ground in a five foot radius would give in and move a bit. It was weird and beautiful. After another 10' we heard the Eglinton River and were blocked by some fallen trees and yellow tape. A work around brought me to the river just above the cable swing bridge. A very large tree had fallen on the bridge from our side and collapsed it. Instead of a V shape, the 3 cables were mostly flat but still spanning the river. Ugh. No go. Managed to work our way with some difficulty through the dense brush to get close enough for a pic on the first rung of the bridge which was also the last possible one to reach due to the tree and damage. Pic above. There was a cute little bird on the ground by the bridge remnants. He seemed happy to see us. Wasn't afraid of people evidently as he strutted about watching us, walking under the branch I was balancing on without flying away. He seemed to enjoy company. Said goodbye to my new friend 🐦 and found the blazes trail which included a half dozen improvised detours to avoid deep muck. Scaled up the root ladder which must have been connected to Eywa as the whole forest seemed a bit magical. 🌳 One couple was following our lead to enter the forbidden enchanted forest as we exited. They were disappointed to hear the wire bridge was out. The entire trail from there is about a three hour hike.

I must comment that tons of serious hikers (trampers in local speak) come here and cover long distances. Temps are good. Views and scenery fantastic. None of those deadly spiders and snakes one may encounter across the Tasman Sea in Oz. I get it, just don't love hiking that much to spend days or weeks doing it. This area shows why Peter Jackson used it for LOTR. Nearly pristine and just overwhelmingly stunning. With boots and Klim pants properly mud coated, we were now sweating quite a bit. In fact while holding my Latitude jacket I believe I finally lost my first set of reading glasses on this ride. I have a couple spares but oh well. Think they fell out as I was scaling some of the hill or tree root sections. 👓 I opened up all the vents on my jacket and pants and started the bike to stand and let the 65° breeze do its job. Turned around a couple kilometers further at Lower Holyford Rd. as the heavy machinery was at work. Estimated repair on the sign said that the road would reopen on Friday, four days from now. We stopped a few times on the way back for scenic spots that were too good to pass by. One of the files above is the .gif of some chopper footage. Stopped to watch him load and fly away with a few tanks of what may have been fuel? Most likely bound for Milford Sound which was still isolated from the rest of the country's road system. On one of the last stops Ted must've not closed his bag since when we pulled into Te Anau town center his right saddlebag/pannier was open! Ba quick inventory revealed his polartec jacket and a plastic bag with a wipe were missing. The chain lube that Kiwi gave us as well as a helmet lock were still in the pannier. Those darned side opening clamshell designs! I said I'd get a table at the Ranch outside and wait for him to hopefully retrieve his stuff. I showed him how to flip up on the iPhone to reveal exactly where that last pic was taken. He was just putting on his helmet when a white car pulls up. A guy walks out and hands him his stuff! So lucky. They are bikers and saw his stuff and followed us into town. Nice. After some thank you a they drove away and the day got even brighter. The Ranch delivered me a couple Cokes and an interesting prawn twist dish. 8 shrimp individually wrapped in a long thin dough sheet and fried so the whole 8" long finger is edible and 3 sauces to dip accompanied the serving. Then a calamari salad. 😊 Back to the homestead for some blogging (so I won't fall asleep tonight trying to get this down) and rest before we scored a reservation at the top place in town. The Redcliff cafe. Ted was here last year and unable to get in! We rode to town and were walking down the street when Ted recognized the Aussies who returned his stuff at lunchtime. We turned around and flagged them down. They were perfectly willing to join us for a thank you beer and had a nice time talking with them. They were riders but here to scatter ashes of a friend up north and had received money and were encouraged to make a great trip out of it. They had been to Burt Munro as well. Our appointed hour arrived and we were seated on the back porch of the Redcliff cafe. A few tables of Americans nearby and some conversation with a California couple by us and an excellent meal. I had a salmon tartare dish followed by venison which was amazing and a date and ice cream dessert which were each remarkable. Redcliff did not disappoint. Probably the biggest culinary splurge of the trip. Even with a couple drinks my total ended up being just over $50 and it would've been 50% more for that same meal at home. Had a great evening and got back to the homestead in dusk around 10. Ready to roll northward tomorrow. 😴

#teanau #newzealand #motoadventure #advrider #fiordland

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beckzorz · 6 years ago

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PREMONITIONS 2 (5/8)

or, Adventures in Pursuit of a Seven-Year-Old Seer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 2483 Summary: It’s been over a year since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t be happier. If only you could figure out why your precognitive niece is burying you in abstract crayon art… Warnings for part 5: Mild swearing, mild violence

Canisteo. Steuben County, New York. Population: 3,254.

Distance from the city: 300 miles.

Expected travel time? Five hours.

How long does it take you to get there?

Seven. Fucking. Hours.

A semi-trailer truck crashed on the highway an hour out of the city, blocking all three lanes and setting traffic to a standstill. You’re stuck in the same spot for almost forty minutes. After that, things pick up, but just barely. The cars inch along until, finally, you beak free of the bottleneck. With every minute that passes, you can’t help but imagine what horrors your family is going through. It’s an effort to unclench your hand from the wheel to change gears, adjust the heat, try to listen to the news…

Every minute is torture.

When you finally pass the “Welcome to Canisteo” sign, your heart leaps. Finally! You can swoop in, find your family, save them…

Find your family…

Main Street is quaint, almost disturbingly so. Light, colorful buildings with detailed facades line the sidewalk. The last snow was a week ago; what remains has gone gray and yellow. Weak winter sun streams in through thin clouds overhead.

You drive up and down Main Street, passing banks and restaurants and people wandering around during the lunch hour. No one is familiar. The sun on the snow is blinding, and you alternate between squinting and blinking.

After your second U-turn, you pull over. You peel your hands away from the wheel and go into park. Your hands are stiff, stiff with cold and terror. They tremble as you pull the key from its slot. You shove your hands between your legs and press your forehead against the steering wheel, vision blurring.

You’ve followed Gemma’s map. You made it to Canisteo. But what are you supposed to do now?

Well, sitting in your chilling car isn’t going to accomplish anything. You check the signage—yes, you’re good to park here—and stuff the map of Gemma’s drawings into your backpack. The bag is a solid weight on your shoulders as you wander through the center of town. Things seem as tranquil as they appeared at first glance. The restaurants aren’t too busy, the sidewalks are neatly paved, traffic is limited. After a lifetime spent in the city, the serenity is more disturbing than anything. Even if your neighborhood is relatively quiet, there’s still the hum of the subway, the cars and taxis…

This place feels halfway dead.

Every person you pass gives you a look, and you prickle under their stares. Sure, you’re a stranger. What of it? There’s no harm in city folk visiting small towns.

Your shoulders are around your ears by the time you duck into a cafe for a bite to eat. You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and your gut is cramping. You force down a sandwich. Nausea curls at your gut as you eat—more wasted time! these twenty minutes might be the difference between life and death!—and you try not to cry into your tea.

If you get so hungry that you pass out, you’re no help.

But having eaten, you have to come to terms with the fact that even sated, you don’t know what to do.

What if Canisteo isn’t the right destination? There’s no message for you here, not that you’ve seen, and you have no idea how to grill the locals. Interrogation is a skill you don’t have, be it as a good cop or bad. You don’t know how to weasel information out of people—being honest is what you’ve been taught, what you know. How the hell are you supposed to magically discover the—lair? Hideout? Maybe they’re upstairs in this very building. Who the hell knows! You sure don’t.

You bite your lip hard as you stare down at your empty plate. You will not cry in a cafe. You will not.

“Are you alright, miss?”

You flinch and stare over at the older man looking at you from the next table. Your heart races. Why is he bothering you? Does he know? Is he one of them?

“Y-yeah,” you manage. You unclench your fists, force a smile. “Just trying to figure out where my brother got to.”

The old man nods and turns back to his bagel and newspaper. Your hands shake as you gather your things. Is the man watching you? Are the eyes you feel on you malign or concerned?

Are you even thinking straight?

You flee the cafe, not once looking back until you’re locked in your freezing car. From here, you can just make out the man at the cafe window. And all he’s doing is sitting there, bagel and newspaper in hand.

You sag in your seat, breath coming as heavy as if you’d just run a marathon. Through the windshield, Canisteo’s tranquility laughs at you.

Why did Gemma summon you here? What are you supposed to do?

Were you even supposed to come?

Hands shaking, you pull out your phone and try Bucky. You haven’t tried since the last call before you left, and he hasn’t gotten back to you. But it’s been almost eight hours. Maybe now…

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

You let Bucky’s voicemail message finish before hanging up. You don’t bother leaving a message. What is there to say? ‘Hi, Bucky, I drove halfway to Canada because Gemma’s abstract art looks like a Google map and that definitely means I’m in the right place!’

Right. Because that sounds so convincing.

You bang your forehead against the steering wheel and stare mindlessly at the dashboard beyond. The plastic of the wheel is cold against your face. Focus, dammit. There’s no point in letting yourself get paranoid. Gemma’s never led you astray before.

Astray, no. Into trouble?

Your hand drifts to your side, where under your jacket and shirt a scar lingers. The one time Gemma had led you into trouble, you’d been shot saving Bucky’s life. You were fine, in the end, and you’d gotten a dream boyfriend out of it to boot. For whatever reason, the assassin had never come after you, and nothing like it had ever come up again.

But now?

Kidnapping isn’t the same as murder. But as much as you’d stopped the bullet, it was Gemma who’d put you where you needed to be.

Your breath catches. Slowly, you sit up, tension clogging your throat. That fateful night was well over a year ago, but revenge is a dish best served cold.

Is this kidnapping to do with last Halloween?

“Oh god,” you whisper.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thumps in your chest. No wonder Bucky’s been off the grid. Of course he’s been ignoring your calls. If there are assassins involved, he’d certainly try to keep you out of it. He was apologetic about you getting shot even when you were a stranger. Now that you’re dating…

Certainty settles over you like a wet blanket. If anything happens to you, Bucky will blame himself. And you aren’t about to let that happen to the man you love.

The man you love?

Your lips part and your eyes widen.

Well, shit.

Sure, you and Bucky have been dating for almost a year. You’ve teased each other, shared longing looks, and reached for each other in moments of distress. But neither of you have ever mentioned love.

Maybe you’ve told him you love his body, or his hair. Even his arm, with all it can do. But not him.

Hell, it took months for you to even put a label on each other. You can still remember the summer day you took Gemma upstate when Bucky first called you his girl.

Your throat burns; you clap a hand over your mouth. Oh god, why didn’t you realize it before? Of course you love him—he’s perfect. Funny, beautiful, smart, sexy… And he’s had nothing but respect for you from day one. Not like so many others, who roll their eyes at your boring job or wince at your cheekiness. Bucky just grins.

Before now, you’ve never really worried about his superhero status. By the time you see him after missions, he’s back to his usual fantastic shape. The things you’ve worried about are more mental than physical.

But now?

If you hadn’t been there, if Gemma hadn’t brought you to the right place at the right time, Bucky might have died last Halloween, gunned down in the street with his milk and his phone. Steve would have arrived too late. You… you never would have met him. Your heart clenches at the thought. You can’t imagine life without Bucky Barnes. He’s your everything.

You take your phone in hand again, your finger hovering over Bucky’s name. He might not answer now, but he’s bound to listen to your messages at some point. You tap on his name and press your phone to your ear, your jaw set.

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

This time, you don’t hang up right away. Instead, you wait for the tone.

“Hi Bucky, it’s me. It’s, uh, around one pm. I know you’re busy, but I w-wanted—” Your voice shakes. What if this is the last message you leave him? What if he doesn’t feel the same? You swallow away your fear. “Sorry. I wanted to tell you I love you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but no matter what happens, I love you. So damn much, Bucky.” Tears are pricking at your eyes. You’re sure you sound wrecked. “Please be safe. No matter what happens to me, please take care of yourself.” You sniff. “Bye.”

You hang up.

---

The next four hours, you drive around Canisteo and the surrounding towns. There’s no sign of Matt, Sarah, or Gemma, let alone any assassins. With every hour, your heart drops. Isn’t there supposed to be some special time window for finding kidnapping victims? You can’t remember it off the top of your head, but it’s been close to twenty hours.

What about Sarah’s morning vitamin? What about Gemma’s? It’s the middle of winter—are they warm enough?

Are they even alive?

You try not to consider that.

The sun sets around five, and you go back to Canisteo to grab dinner. Maybe there’s a villain at the convenience store. Maybe it’s the woman with the pink hat and bubblegum, or the skinny teenager with skin-tight jeans.

Probably not the teenager.

Hopefully not. No teenager should have to be involved with anything remotely connected to this—but then you think of Gemma, and what she is going through at age seven, and you can barely muster a smile for the cashier.

There’s a hotel five miles away, and you drive to it with a heavy heart. For all your determination at dawn, today has been nothing short of wasted. What good has your upstate adventure been? You haven’t found your family, nor even a hint of them. Bucky and Steve are on the case—what was the point in getting involved yourself? You’re no detective. You certainly aren’t a hero, either.

You check into the hotel. When you get to your room, you pull the curtains tightly closed and dump the contents of your backpack on the bed. Gemma’s folder, your laptop, some granola bars, and a water bottle is all you thought to bring with you. You don’t even have a toothbrush. And of course, you’ve forgotten about the granola bars until right now. Great. More money wasted.

You open your laptop and log into the spotty wifi. You put the rest of your things back in your bag and stuff it under the bed.

It’s been over four hours since you called Bucky. There’s no harm in trying again, right?

“The number you are tryi—”

You hang up. There’s no point in leaving another voicemail. He’ll get it eventually. You curl up on the bed with just the bedside lamp on and search Google maps for likely lair locations. A warehouse here, an abandoned building there… They could be anywhere, and you just don’t know.

You hate not knowing.

An enormous yawn cracks your jaw. You don’t know how you can be tired after everything that’s happened. Then again, terror is exhausting. And you’re no help to your family right now. Tears come again to your eyes—you’ve never cried this much in twenty-four hours—and you wipe them on the stiff pillowcase.

Then your phone rings.

You sit up so fast your vision blacks out. You feel blindly for your phone. Your vision clears as your fingers finally catch hold of your phone.

It’s Bucky. You answer in a flash.

“Bucky,” you breathe. “Oh my god.”

“Darlin’, what’s going on?”

Bucky’s voice fills your ear. Tension you didn’t even realize was there seeps out of you at the sound. God, you love that sound. You hold the phone with both hands, fingers curled around it as though Bucky could feel you holding onto him.

“Are you okay? Did you get my calls?” you ask.

“I’m okay, yeah.” He sounds exhausted. Has he slept since last night? “I saw you called. Didn’t listen to your messages yet, figured I’d just call back. What’s going on? Did the police get back to you at all?”

In the background, you can hear someone else talking. Steve? It’s impossible to tell.

“No,” you say. You bite your lip. “Do you have any news?”

“We tracked them upstate, but we don’t know exactly whe—”

“Finger Lakes?” you interrupt.

Bucky’s brief silence is tense. “How do you know?”

“Because Gemma left a map,” you say, gaining confidence as you continue. “The art she left me—it was a map, Bucky. A map to Canist—”

A bang on the door cuts you off. You stare in horror as the knob turns, gray plywood splintering against the dark rug.

“What’s going on?” Bucky demands. “What—”

“They’re here,” you gasp. You scramble off the bed and run to the bathroom, locking yourself in as the front door slams against the wall. Your hands are shaking so bad you can’t even tell if Bucky can hear your harried whispering. “I’m in Canisteo. No, the hotel near it—Gemma’s map is under the be—”

You scream as the bathroom door bursts open. A man in dark clothes and a scarf and goggles over his face rushes at you. The phone drops from your hands as you careen back, and you can dimly hear Bucky yelling at you through the phone.

The man grabs your neck and slams you against the wall. You see stars as your head ricochets. The man lifts his foot and slams it down on your phone.

The screen cracks. The line goes dead.

The man slams you against the wall again, and then you see nothing else at all.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #the premonitions story #becca writes

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craniumculverin · 6 years ago

Text

Bound Rencounter

The first of a few fics of @donc-desole‘s Ripper!AU I’ve had in the works for a while. They act as a sort of prologue to the actual events of the AU.

The breeze is pleasant and the air remarkably clear on this Autumn afternoon in Yharnam. The constant cloud cover that accompanies the season is missing, leaving the sun free to warm the brick and stone of the city, along with the multitudes of people enjoying the respite from New Pthumeria's typically gloomy weather. Here and there along the main avenues, where streets branch off into the more residential areas, conversations can be heard, and the occasional sound of instruments or boisterous laughter from the locals' rarely-opened windows. Such a beautiful day was not to be ignored in the valley-bound capitol, especially with the ever-daunting Winter just around the corner.

Despite the out-of-place cheeriness all around, Alfred is in a downright foul mood. As he walks through crowds and down bustling streets his focus is entirely elsewhere, ignorant of how nice the weather is or friendly the faces are. No, his mind is still back at the University, in the meeting he's just come from.

"Why I'm even required to attend any of Byrgenwerth's administrative functions is beyond me - I rarely ever have anything to add to the proceedings, and rarer still are the times I'm asked to share if I do! I'm just another student more than anything, not some official!" If his unnecessary inclusion were due to anything he'd hazard a guess it has to do with his late mentor's status, what with how highly revered his work and contributions still are to the Healing Church, and thus Byrgenwerth University. As proud as he is to be the great man's last and only living protégé, the status has certainly brought on… unexpected expectations from his new peers and superiors. And far too many questions.

Alfred scowls and grips his cane even tighter as he mulls over the Professor of Theology's most recent salvo of disparaging remarks and sly insinuations. Since the very first day he'd been introduced to the department head, the shriveled old coot has had it out for him. A pompous, rigid gaffer born into both his money and position, with nary a lick of work put in to get him where he is - and he has the gall to ridicule Alfred's work, offhandedly or not!

So what if his dissertation is taking longer than their arbitrary time limits - lulls in productivity affect every great work in progress! Regardless of how old you are, or who your mentor was, or how long you've technically been attending! Everyone is prone to a block from time to time! And his topic of study is not a pointless cause! As if it wasn't bad enough that the Professor and a few other Byrgenwerth fellows have taken to belittling Alfred, they're also incredibly nosy. Every time he's forced to attend some event or meeting the questions come, every one of his answers scrutinized and dissected. Why can't they just take him for what he's been proven to be? Why can't they just accept him as what he is now instead of seek out what he once was? It's all so damn infuriating! If not for having to finish this bloody doctorate by their rules, he'd have given those bastards what for ages ago!

Pausing his brisk pace near an overlook, Alfred realizes he's letting himself get riled up again. With a harsh sigh he decides to take a break to calm himself down before unnatural thoughts start creeping in. That's always been a problem for him, ever since he was young; anger boiling over into something truly… disagreeable.

He steps off the path to lean against the warm stone of the balustrade, only now noticing the rarity of the day's direct sunlight. Looking down on the buildings and streets below helps him to calm and refocus, the comings and goings of the city's denizens a welcome distraction. After a while Alfred sighs again as the last of his tension dissipates, this time almost wistful in nature. It used to be so much easier to keep from falling into such negative lines of thought. When there was always something to be doing, somewhere they had to go, people to be met, knowledge to be shared…

He promptly pushes away from the edge and continues walking. No need to dwell on the past in such a melancholic fashion - it does nothing and no one any good. And the acceptable time for mourning is passed.

Alfred's fumbling to find a new topic to ponder is cut short as he rounds the next corner. Mid-stride, he manages to quickly sidestep just in time to avoid a gaggle of screaming children as they bound up the sloping street, cheering and ordering each other on. Watching them go with a frown, he just catches sight of a little mongrel as it tears away from the rowdy bunch and down an adjacent alley. As they disappear his annoyance is replaced with amusement, the idea of such a tiny mutt evading so many tenacious hands drawing a chuckle out of him. His expression slowly shifts the longer he looks back. Brows knitting together, he turns in the direction he'd been going to take in the buildings and businesses around him. The frown slowly returns the longer he takes in his surroundings. Nothing here is familiar.

He hasn't a clue where he is.

His frown turns to a scowl as he steps and weaves through the crowded area to search the skyline. His target is quickly found - the enormous Astral Clocktower, his and just about everyone else's go-to landmark when trying to navigate the bizarre city. Alfred curses under his breath. It wasn't at an angle or distance he's used to seeing - which means he's nowhere near the district he was supposed to be headed! And if the tower's time is to be trusted, he's been walking for hours! Anger wells up, hot and tempting as Alfred curses even louder, causing a couple passersby to nervously glance his way. With a harsh exhale that sounds more like a snarl he swiftly stifles it, eyes closing as he tries to reason with his temper.

There's only himself to blame for such a stupid mistake, and it was his own damn anger that caused him to get lost in the first place! Getting angrier will just make things worse, like usual. Besides, this is a chance to explore new territory, something he wouldn't have done otherwise - at least while there's daylight. Maybe he'll find a shorter way to get to and from the gate he must take to reach Byrgenwerth, cut down on the time he has to dedicate to those blowhards. Plus it's not like he has anywhere to be for the rest of the day - his dear Siegward has gone much longer than this without a walk, and is too well-trained to make a mess indoors. In fact, an unplanned walk on a lovely day might be exactly what he needs to loosen his persistent writer's block! The hands of fate have changed his path in greater ways before, with far worse situations than this!

With that Alfred smiles and opens his eyes, ready to continue his jaunt now that the urge to hit something is gone. He looks up and down the street before heading for the nearest corner, eager to put a name to wherever he is. It's definitely a more business-oriented area as there's plenty of glass-fronts with displays and placards denoting different services, but with how many people are loitering there must be housing very close by. Many of the buildings are of the New Pthumerian style, the ornamentation and stonework as distinct as any Pthumerian handiwork. Most bear the scars and scorch marks to prove they've stood since prewar. Other buildings are obviously newer being of a plainer European or English style, while a few scattered lots are still in the midst of being rebuilt or renovated.

Turning down another street, Alfred notes both sides are lined with uniform New Pthumerian terraces, roofs like stairsteps as they follow the curving, slanting street. The paths aren't nearly as busy as on the last stretch, and as he peruses the various forms of signage he sees why - most of these appear to be private offices. A good deal of them look to have been at least partially rebuilt or repaired, as many of the roofs and windows are noticeably newer. Likely whatever fire or barrage that took the other buildings stopped before it could finish these off.

Alfred shakes his head at the thought of so much being lost for such ridiculous reasons. "The sick people would've died anyway - why let so much of historic worth be destroyed in the process? There may have once even been a library or museum with records of the Old Pthumerian religion, destroyed as if it were some plague-ridden hovel! What a terrible waste…"

Coming to the end of the street Alfred turns his mind to figuring out which avenue he's about to enter, when something in his periphery grabs his attention. His pace slows considerably until he comes to a halt at the corner, now a ways beyond his new focus. Above the doorway of the end terrace hangs a bracket sign, much like many others along this street, except that it's an eye-catching off-white instead of the usual black or brown. Even from across the street every word is legible, the large, neat letters painted in a deep Prussian blue. There's an English surname at the top, which isn't uncommon to see nowadays in the capitol, but it's the familiarity of it that has Alfred lingering.

Hewlett Private Practice.

"Surely it's- it couldn't be… There's plenty of outsiders in Yharnam, it could be someone else entirely…" Alfred worries his bottom lip as he stares, people and the occasional cart milling between he and his conundrum. "But he did say Yharnam… and it is a private practice, with that name. It must be Percy…Well, good! Did what he set out to do and… and did it well, by the looks of it! Good for him!" He firmly nods as if in conclusion before turning away to continue along the busy avenue. A scant distance from where he'd stood he suddenly stops, wringing at the head of his cane as he starts worrying his lower lip again. "Would he… I wonder… It's been years since we saw one another, and so much is different now…"

Looking back, Alfred finds himself unsure of what to do. He'd like to go visit his old acquaintance, but what he needs is to maintain as much distance from his past as possible. The doctor only knows him as a man that, for all intents and purposes, no longer exists - a past life those Byrgenwerth bastards would gleefully use to destroy his current one. To reintroduce himself would be terribly unwise. However…

Alfred's been rather lonely since his move to the city. Though he'd never trade in the life his late mentor afforded him, he has to admit it's become less than ideal as of late; between his superiors' barely disguised aggression and the persistent lull in his work since arriving, living in Yharnam hasn't been the most pleasant experience thus far. Someone he knows he could trust would make everything so much more tolerable… And who better to put his trust in than someone that saved his life? "What was it the old man used to say? A wise decision doesn't mean it's a good decision, a foolish decision isn't always a bad decision… It went something like that…"

His mind made up, Alfred turns and makes his way back to the end terrace, a giddy smile on his face despite himself. As he comes to the entrance he pauses as a woman exits, tipping his hat with a small bow as she passes. With a quick glance up at the sign to solidify his resolve, and then through a curtained window to no avail, he enters the doctor's office. Immediately behind the door are a few steps down, leading to another door which opens to a small landing that gives him an elevated view of a surprisingly light and airy space.

Directly below and in front of him sitting at a tidy desk is one Dr. Percival Hewlett, his features hidden as he looks down, intent on his writing. The physician must have heard him on his way in, as he glances over his spectacles before continuing his paperwork. "My apologies sir, but office hours are over for the day. If you're able to come back tomorrow, I've plenty of times available to schedule an appointment."

Alfred's smile broadens as he hears the familiar baritone voice after so many years. With a flourish he whips off his hat in one hand, and with his cane in the other holds them aloft at his sides as he practically shouts, "Percy!"

The other's head snaps up in response, one eyebrow dangerously quirked. His expression of perplexed annoyance quickly shifts to one of scrutiny as he takes in his visitor. Silence hangs between them as the moment lasts a beat too long, but then the doctor's features soften into bewilderment as he slowly sets aside his pen. "…Alfred…?"

A hearty laugh erupts from the blond before he swiftly takes the stairs down, utterly delighted to be remembered and amused at the other's shock. "Percy, my good man! It's been so very long!"

"…Yes it has," Percy says rather absentmindedly, removing his lenses as he stands to come around the desk, "my word, I hardly recognize you!"

Another bout of jubilant laughter escapes Alfred as he leaves his effects on a chair and comes to stand before the shorter man, immediately raising his arms to draw him into a hug. Just as the doctor stiffens he remembers himself and pulls back, instead extending a hand in proper greeting. The tension in Percy's shoulders evaporates on accepting the firm handshake, further relieved when all the younger man does beyond shaking is to place his other hand atop his own. On noticing how ecstatic Alfred is to see him he can't help but break into a smile as well. "Goodness - how have you been?"

The blond can hardly contain himself as he shakes with renewed vigor. "Very well, Percy - very well!"

"I can see that!" Percy chuckles as he places his other hand atop Alfred's before gently pulling away. He gives him another subtle once over. "You've certainly done well for yourself, haven't you! I must admit I'm surprised to see you here, let alone in such fine attire and with- ah…"

The blond shakes his head, grinning at the other's discretion. "A tolerable sense of propriety? Even a hint of gentility? I can't blame you at all - I'm a very different man from last we met!" They both laugh, the doctor more out of relief.

"What happened to bring about this change, if you don't mind my asking?"

Alfred's mind flies into a flurry of possible explanations, none of which feel adequate. With a grin, he settles on giving the simplest for now. "I met a most amazing man that took me on as his assistant. I owe him everything, truly. But what of you Percy, how have you been? You've followed through on your plans, I see! How goes the practice?"

The physician's head tilts slightly at the vague answer, but his smile only wanes when questioned. "You've a good memory - I have gotten my practice established here, yes. Sadly I've not as many patients as I did back in England, but I suppose that's to be expected with such a large number of practitioners all in one city… I've decided to see it as more time to dedicate to my research, rather than a hindrance."

"Mmm, I suspect you've received the same sort of hospitality that many others have from the locals - cold shoulder and then some toward any 'outsiders,' from what I've gleaned," says Alfred, frowning for the first time since entering the office. "I'm lucky to apparently look quite like a native from the countryside, so I haven't suffered as much. Let me guess - most of your clientele are foreigners and not Yharnamites?"

Percy sighs wistfully. "You've guessed correctly. I'd hoped at first it was simply my being new in town, but the longer I'm here the more I see otherwise. I can comprehend the sentiment behind their actions, what with recent history, but it's still such a silly way to express their contempt. Ill-conceived and shortsighted, if nothing else."

"And bothersome."

"Ha! Yes, that too..."

Now that his excitement has abated, Alfred is settled enough to really take a look at his old acquaintance. His silver-white hair is of the same style and cut, now perhaps a tad more white than silver. If the passage of time has touched him at all beyond that, it's with wrinkles too well hidden by his wry grin to be seen. In fact, there's barely any evidence of the years since they met! What is evident, however, is the sense of weariness Percy exudes - different from if it were just the end of his shift, or if today had been taxing. It's more the sort of weariness Alfred has been feeling as of late; the sort that lingers, builds up over a long period thanks to constant hardship and dissatisfaction. Perhaps he's putting too much emphasis on what the doctor had said about lacking patients - and thus funds - or their shared but slightly different troubles with the prejudiced locals. Maybe he's simply reading too much into a tired man's manner…

Whatever it is that's different about him, it doesn't suit Percy in the slightest. Alfred comes to a decision suddenly as the doctor shifts to lean against the desk - one he's sure is both wise and good. He leisurely makes his way back toward the stairs and nearby chair. "Well Dr. Hewlett, with your office hours over, I shan't keep you any longer than I already have."

Percy looks up from the papers he'd begun to straighten, more curious than surprised. "So soon? Here I thought you'd want to catch up, extrapolate on all that's happened!"

"Oh-ho I most certainly do! But I don't want to keep you from your off-hours. Perhaps tomorrow we can talk, following my appointment? I know of the most delightful bakery… somewhere close by. I think. How about I bring something along for us to enjoy during our chat?" As Alfred turns from retrieving his hat and cane he catches a glimpse of a rather wide-eyed Dr. Hewlett. He swiftly regains composure, clearing his throat and pulling out a pocket journal as he dons his spectacles, utterly nonchalant. "You'd like to schedule for an appointment? Is there something ailing you?"

"Yes - and no, not really. It's just, despite having the funds and being in a city full of practitioners, I find I've neglected to find myself a personal physician. Irresponsible, I know…"

When Alfred looks up from fiddling with the brim of his hat he's greeted by a knowing smirk from the physician, a touch warmer than he ever recalls seeing. The taller man quickly looks away and masks his own grin by donning his hat. A hum comes from Percy as he looks through his schedule. "If it's an appointment to get you established… How does eleven o'clock sound? By the time we're done and the paperwork dealt with, it'll be about the time I close for lunch anyway. You may stay for that time."

"Wonderful, that works splendidly!" Alfred beams down as he ascends the stairs. He stops on the landing to lean against the rail, meeting the doctor's eye as he peers down. "I'm so glad I've found you again, Dr. Hewlett. A friendly and familiar face is just what I've been needing. Truly fateful!"

A chuckle floats up from the older man. "Fortuitous indeed, Alfred."

"Right - tomorrow at eleven! I look forward to it! Goodbye Dr. Hewlett!"

With that Alfred ascends the remaining stairs and is beyond the inner door in a heartbeat. As the outer door shuts behind him, the physician remains leaning against the desk, lost in thought as he looks up at where the blond had stood. Another chuckle escapes him, shaking his head as he moves around to his chair. Pulling out a blank file for his newly returned patient, he can't help but smirk to himself. "…Fateful indeed…"

#bloodborne #bb #ripper!au #alfred bloodborne #executioner alfred #alfred the executioner #percival hewlett #donc-desole ocs #original content

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lisaontheroadagain · 6 years ago

Text

On Tokyo

Everything here seems to function as it was meant to. Trains, traffic, pedestrians. Despite 13 million people inhabiting metropolitan Tokyo, I witness no jay walking, no traffic jams. In five days, I literally hear someone honk their horn once. Everywhere I go people seem patient, waiting in single files lines, for restaurants, for elevators, for buses and trains. When the train arrives, notoriously on time, the train car aligns perfectly with markings on the ground, the commuters quietly stand in two single file lines on the side of the car doors until everyone exiting has deboarded, then enter themselves, quickly, orderly. On the escalators, everyone stands to the left, so those walking more quickly have free passage on the right. On the streets, everyone walks to the left, keeping to their own lane, staying off the raised yellow tile navigation system of lines and dots for the blind, a kind of braille for the feet. The whole of Tokyo seems like a well-oiled machine, each denizen aware they are a cog in a larger system, willing to play their part.

I count five pieces of trash on the ground in five days of walking my way through Tokyo. Despite walls of boarded panels covering up construction, not a single one is grimied with the familiar markings of a graffiti tag. I see no homeless people, except for a small tent city under the train tracks in Shinjuku. Each denizen has a large cardboard box, taped into perfect orderly rectangles and squares of varying sizes with thick blue tape. Pairs of shoes sit neatly outside, even the homeless feeling enough dignity not to sully their makeshift home with dirty shoes.

Every toilet has a bidet. Most have heated seats. Some of them have “privacy” buttons where the sounds of chirping birds or crashing waves will play loudly enough to hide whatever squeeches and pffts want to work their way out of your body. Even in train stations the toilet paper is so often folded into neat triangles, I wonder if it’s an anonymous origami gesture from whoever peed there before. Every seat is clean and dry, the floor of every stall without a single stray piece of ply.

I never see a single Japanese person in yoga pants or casual “comfy” clothes. Everyone looks like they have a stylist. Perfectly manicured and coifed, fashionable, in sync with the latest trends, attention paid to every inch of their look from the tips of their nails to the lace lining on their ankle socks. I feel self-conscious of my messy wave of curls, the stray frizzy hairs out of place, the bra strap occasionally slipping into view. The masses of passerbys – both men and women – create a dizzying scape of haute chic, a magazine spread come to life, each individual worthy of their own page. Some are more alternative, gothic punk, “kawaii” cute, Anime cosplay, Lolita-esque life-sized dolls with contacts to make their irises the size of a cartoon. But everyone – everyone – looks to have thought carefully about their look for the day.

I am astounded by the attention to detail. In the fashion, the interior design, the service, the food. Every plate, every chopstick, every corner of every room, every morsel of every meal, the size of the ice cube, the shape of the cup, the type of flower in the vase. It all seems chosen, intentional. Remarkable, more for what is not there than what is – the finesse is in the editing, the negative space. Everything is an elegant composition. An homage to efficiency. Even the signage in the public bathrooms, perfectly clear instructions in any language, to sit, not squat, to put toilet paper in the toilet and everything else in the trash. The organization of the train station, each car of the subway, each exit of the station, with its own number, so you know where to stand, where to walk, to exit closest to your destination. Someone has thought about this in advance, someone cared deeply about my experience of the bathroom, my experience of the train. In Shinto, the Japanese religion, everything has its own spirit – the trees, the rocks, the leaves – every object meriting respect. I can feel the dignity with which objects are treated here, the care with which they are imbued. It makes me want to slow down and pay more attention to the details in my life, to have fewer, nicer objects, worthy of my care.

We, too, are treated with the same dignity and care. Everywhere we go we are greeted with the utmost courtesy and respect. Everyone wants to please us, to make us feel honored. We are thanked and bowed to so many times entering and exiting an establishment, I feel awkward and embarrassed by the attention. They bow and I bow back and they bow again and I bow again, unsure when we can politely stop. Almost everyone is incredibly kind, helpful. But almost no one is friendly. There is so much respect I feel trapped behind a wall, simultaneously welcomed in and completely shut out.

I get frustrated by the persistent pleasing. When I ask our travel guide for advice on what to do for the day, she doesn’t give me a straight answer. She is shy, uncomfortable giving her opinion, searching for clues of what she thinks I want her to say.

I get exhausted by the intensity of Tokyo. The nonstop onslaught of people, places. The streets show no letting up, no reprieve. Buildings are stacked 9 levels high with businesses, neon signs in foreign symbols piling on top of each other, stretching into the sky. Shops and restaurants upon shops and restaurants, packed with people, ten story fashion malls seemingly on every block, with sprawling basement food halls hawking perfectly curated bento boxes, wildly expensive single pieces of fruit, beautiful pastries, gleaming sushi, slices of marbled wagyu, yakatori skewers, tonkatsu, onigiri, karaage, donburi, mochi, and on and on. More shops and restaurants fill the train stations, floors of underground malls beneath the tracks. Vending machines line every spare inch of street side real estate, a brightly lit convenient store on every corner, all busy inside. The constancy of the commercialism is crushing. I can barely breath.

Until we step inside and off the streets. The whirring of the city in unceasing motion quiets as the door shuts, giving way to an oasis of calm. Inside the restaurant, or teahouse, or bar, with just six seats, maybe twelve, it is jarringly serene. Like the clothes they wear and the food they serve, the design has been flawlessly fashioned. A single flower arranged inside a bud vase to arch perfectly over the bar. A shelf with perfectly arranged sets of cups, liquor bottles placed side by side, an exacting two inches apart. A set of rattan baskets, one arranged neatly by my seat as a receptacle for my purse. I am greeted kindly, in sync, by all of the staff. Then it is quiet, no music, perhaps a few hushed voices, speaking in low conversation. Time stands still inside. Tokyo, outside of this one room, ceases to exist. Here is serenity. I could stay for hours, barely remembering there is anywhere else.

For a while I’m grateful for the respite. To know that whenever I need, there is a nearby establishment I can escape into for a moment of peace. But then even the quiet begins to suffocate. If outside is chaotic order of overwhelming magnitude, inside is delicately crafted, oppressive calm. Though seemingly opposites, they are but versions of the same strive for perfection, two different expressions of the same exquisite restraint, varying functions of the same set of rigid rules. I want to scream. I want to throw my beautiful plate of pea tofu with sea urchin foam and a single curled carrot strip at the walls. I want to claw my way out of the suffocating precision and tear my hair and jump up and down headbanging to Rage Against the Machine. I suddenly think I have insight into the high rates of suicide, the infamous lack of sexual desire, the fascination with violent manga and tentacle rape porn. I think I get the escape into virtual worlds, the otaku obsessionism, the gritty shibari/BDSM scene. After only a few days I need an outlet for my individuality, a place to express my energy, a way to kindle my life force before it quakes beneath the conformity.

In the middle of all this, I find myself eating a 14-course meal at a restaurant called Inua that won best new restaurant of the year. Each dish is spectacular, creative, colorful, beautiful, an homage to the nature from which its components came. One dish – a sort of savory sweet fruit rollup created from local plums, laid like an artwork on a piece of honeycomb inside a wooden frame, baked with edible flowers and a variety of herbs – somehow tastes simultaneously new and familiar, exotic and comforting. It is so beautifully plated, so magical and delightful and whimsical in concept, so confounding in its flavors, it awakens all my senses and reminds me how exciting it can be to exist in a human body that is able to see and smell and hear and touch and – above all, in this moment – to taste. To taste! I am so humbled by the dish and the experience the chef created for me in this bite of food I am moved to tears.

I find myself at TeamLab: Borderless, an immersive digital art museum filled with wide halls and hidden rooms of moving images. Ceiling to floor digital sunflowers, a parade of traditionally-drawn 6 foot bunnies I can follow across the walls of the entire exhibit, a room filled with lanterns that grow brighter or dimmer based on the proximity of its viewers, fields of digitally lit lily pads, floral tigers and elephants stampeding by, screens of digitally dripping water that change their flow pattern when I interrupt them with my hand. It is a maze of art work that responds to me, knows that I am there, is changed by my presence, allows me to become part of it. I watch a four-minute experience known as the Cave Universe, a dance of birds flying in such dizzying immersive beauty that I feel like I’m doing somersaults, turned inside out, unsure which direction is up. I lose my balance, assure myself I haven’t done any drugs. It is so thrilling, a rollercoaster ride standing still, I watch it at least four more times.

I find myself in the middle of Tokyo’s busy streets, six inches off the ground in a red and yellow go cart, wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle onesie. It is the most fun way I’ve ever explored a new city, wind in my face, foot on the gas pedal; there is an immediacy to the experience I immediately love. Plus, we are clearly bringing joy to hundreds of pedestrians as we whiz by. They are waving, taking pictures. I feel adored. Like I am famous. I am delighted seeing their demeanors change, serious grimaces and blank stares breaking out into huge smiles, excited eyes, when they see us pass. Hordes of school girls make heart shapes on their heads for us to mimic back, business men in taxis roll down their windows to say konichiwa. It is the first time I feel a bridge to the Japanese people that isn’t completely shrouded in politeness and etiquette.

Thankfully it isn’t the last. We bond with our bartender in the tiny ten seat bar, one of 200 in the Golden Gai. He speaks almost no English, but he pours good Japanese Whiskey, and he smiles and makes charade-style jokes like we’re old friends. The chef at our Michelin starred sushi restaurant stands in front of us and makes us nigiri piece by piece, telling us about a day in his life, waking up at 4am to go to the fish market, living on three hours of sleep per night, smiling and laughing, eating up our experience of his meal like we eat up his fish, clearly devoting his life to the thing he loves. The owner and waitress at the neighborhood soba shop teach us how to slurp soba and ask our help translating a few lines on their menu, giggling at the fact “beefsteak plant” actually means “shiso leaf.” But so far these experiences have been the exception rather than the rule.

The language barrier certainly makes things challenging; not many people speak English well. But it feels like it’s more than that. I have a sneaking suspicion that, like most everything else here, the distance is intentional. We are here, as tourists, as their revered and honored guests, and they our venerable hosts. It is not lip service – service is an art form here, completely genuine, a great source of pride. The formalities, they are the tools of the trade, a signal of how seriously they take their hosting, how important the exchange. And yet, I can’t help feeling the politeness is also obscuring something more. What? Whatever the “real” Tokyo might be? I am not sure. All I feel is the wall. This sense there is something else I can’t yet see, some way I can’t yet connect. It leaves me feeling lonely. Isolated. Hungry for meaningful interaction. Yearning for depth. I am craving authenticity. Personality. Someone more themselves than they are pleasing. Someone who will tell me like it really is. I can’t help but wonder what this city would be like if I had a way in, someone who could show me behind the courtesies…because there must be something behind the courtesies...right?

Perhaps the next time I am here, for I feel fairly certain this won’t be the last. Until then, we board a train for the countryside, leaving Tokyo behind….

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alexanderessex3dstoryart · 4 years ago

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Script-Writing - World-Building and Planning - Billboards and Holograms

After reviewing Cyberpunk 2077, I thought I would plan my process looking ahead for the script-writing essay as I didn’t really have a clear plan to what I wanted to write. This lead to me researching online how to write a script itself as I was feeling a bit unconfident from how long it’s been since I’ve last looked at the project from working on other projects. One website that really helped me out was the website ‘WriteBetterScripts’ as they detail what steps you should take before writing up a screenplay. Looking at the website, I felt comfortable with looking further into the history of my location and world much further on from the previous lecture I had on script writing as like the article says, it would help me understand the mechanisms of my world and how my characters react to them all.

To help establish this for my script, I took the notes from my last lecture with Carla as the whole process of thinking how every exact thing is made influenced me to look into the nitty-gritty details of the world I want to imagine for myself so that the writing process was easier for me. I first looked at one of my earlier mood boards that I had created for both the script-writing and character design projects as this captures the overall tone and feel for what I want going on in my scene with the bright lights illuminating the city whilst a dark vibe happens on the lower parts of the city giving it a false persona. The main focus from the mood board was to see how I could research parts of these images and look into the history of where these sections came from and how I can mentally put together the background and mechanisms of my scene for the essay. Focus points I found from looking at the mood board were the bright lights of the outside city and the slum-like environment that was inside the lower decks of the city. Ideas like Blade Runner and Ghost in the Shell immediately springed out to me as these may be films and media I want to look into more as I go through this project.

Working off the previous lecture and mood board, I wanted to look into the history of my area and the makings of some of the things that are set in the world. For example, Led screens and holograms were peak interests of mine from the subject matter I want to go for in this essay being a story of a man obsessed with celebrities and idols that leads him to destroying what he loves most out of pure rage. I started by researching on different websites that detailed what goes into the making of LED billboard and Screens as these would be the main focus of my city area where my characters would walk in and receive different feelings to what they see. Here I learned different things like an LED screen consisting of little lights packed closely together which can’t be seen by the naked eye and how they only emit three colours being - Red,Green and Blue. How these lights are packed together to create one larger thing reminded me a lot about my Jekyll and Hyde characters and how they seen in the world as Jekyll to me is one of those small Red, Green or Blue lights that are packed closely together in the monitor and Hyde being an ad you see on an electronic billboard that you see in Times Square. This is because Jekyll to me is a small individual that doesn’t have any standout details to him compared to the celebrities and idols that dominate the city’s culture which comparing to my Hyde character is a lot more eye-turning since there’s been nothing like him before to exist being this humongous mechanical beast that no-one has seen before as it’s out of the general public’s imagination.

Alongside this, I did a few bit of research on the different types of billboards that are visible in New York where there’s this one website detailing what each billboard is used for in the city from events, ads and celebrations. One thing I really took out of it was the shapes of these screens as they curve and warp around buildings to create unique visuals that you couldn’t make on a traditional sign. Things like animations, placement of the promoted material and how it’s structured all make it as memorable as possible for people to see thus in term making people remember what was on the billboard itself. This lead me to creating a mood board between New York’s Billboard culture to Shibuya’s layout as I wanted to see and realise the differences of how both cities advertise and use colour on their billboards. Looking at New York’s billboards as previously mentioned, use complicated shapes and techniques to advertise their work and promote events with curved and flexible boards as well as different kinds of rectangles and squares. They act very unconventional but somehow work amazingly which is what draws your attention to them as well as giving each board in Times Square room to breathe with a lot of them having their own space to show off what the boards have to offer. Comparing this to Shibuya in Tokyo, the billboards are a lot more clustered together like how LED’s are laid out when you zoom in. There’s so much more colour on offer because of this to the point where it feels overwhelming and feel like they’re all watching you as you walk on the streets. And this is why I love it as it also makes feel like you’ve entered into the future when you step into the city for the first time as you can’t comprehend all the colours that surround you and just wants you to look at them all.

Both of these cities I found have different ways of advertising and how they format it which is why I feel I imagine a mixture of both of these cities in my world for Jekyll and Hyde to explore in and add to the dense city I imagine it to be.

One last bit of my LED screen and Billboard research is that I stumbled across this article which features Tokyo’s famous advertising areas like Shibuya without the advertising, bright colours or 3D text and replaced with just bright blocks instead. These are the works of Graphic Designer Nicolas Damiens and to me, I think it takes away the character out of the areas as it’s very mute looking but however not dull as the white out blocks give ti a new architectural feel to it all. One revelation that I had when looking at these amazing images is that this could be how my Hyde character interprets the city for himself as he despises the culture so much to the point he can even pictured out what’s even being displayed other than just hollowed out people. Comparing this to Jekyll where all he sees are the flashy colours and imagery to the point his dreams have come to life.

Overall, I feel really pleased with this first bit of research I’ve done on my world-building for the script as I’m starting to pick up the pieces to how both of my characters visualise the land around them which will definitely be important to my scene as I at least would love to feature it outside which would let me able to express the city fully. I think for the next post, I plan to look at other futuristic details like holograms to help with not only the advertising of the city, but to also play with the humanity of the Hyde character as whilst he’s a giant mechanical beast, he wants to be seen as normal as well despite being made out of rubbish.

Websites

The complete guide to the screenwriting process - https://writebetterscripts.com/how-to-write-a-script/

LED Screens FAQ - https://www.yslv.co.uk/led-faq#:~:text=An%20LED%20Screen%20is%20like,create%20a%20range%20of%20colours.

Digtal Screens and BillBoards - https://www.timessquarenyc.org/do-business/promote-partner/advertising-sponsorships/digital-screens-billboards

Tokyo without ads: Japan's capital stripped bare – in pictures - https://www.theguardian.com/cities/gallery/2015/aug/12/tokyo-without-ads-japan-stripped-bare-in-pictures

https://www.kingman.com.au/signage-throughout-the-years-how-the-digital-age-has-changed-signs/

How Do Electronic Billboards Work? - https://www.ledsignsupply.com/electronic-billboards-work/#:~:text=Digital%20billboards%20are%20made%20with,so%20eye%2Dcatching%20and%20unique.&text=If%20you%20are%20looking%20for,maintenance%20way%20to%20create%20buzz.

#ScriptWrtitingBA2a

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uterusclub · 5 years ago

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The very moment we discovered Moulin Rouge was being made into a stage production, we KNEW we had to see it! Unfortunately, the debut occurred in Boston, which well, was expensive to fly to, but we were also, unsure of the ‘reviews’ for the show. It was decided, thereafter that whence it went to Broadway in NYC, we would make the trek. Thus, our adventure begins . . .

Our kick-off to NYC was not without it’s complications. My parents, fortunately, informed us that ‘work’ was being done on the blue line and therefore, offered a ride to an open station with which to catch the ‘el to the blue, then orange line (damn you Southwest for being so damn far). Rousing at 2:30 a.m. was fairly delirious due to Christmas Eve-ed sleep but we rallied as best we could and eventually arrived at Midway Airport with approximately 1/2 hour until boarding. It is at this point; we thanked the transportation Gods or rather, ourselves, for being pre-check TSA members as we quite literally waltzed through security in a matter of minutes. Booyah! Chicago to New York travel time is not terrible – approximately 2 hours. We amused ourselves by using the on-flight, Wi-Fi entertainment to watch Crazy Rich Asians, which was good enough to pass the time.

Off the plane and on our way to public transportation, I left all the work to Sharon who had watched a video about catching buses from the airport to travel into the city. First step, get a ticket to catch a bus to a connecting bus/train. Next – get on appropriate bus to take us to . . . oh wait – is this the correct bus? Yep, immediate confusion. Sharon’s phone kept re-routing which caused her ultimate reaction to be ‘let’s just go one more stop’ as we could see our pinpoint on a map begin to divert from our destination. Long story short, we got off in, who knows where, and caught an Uber already housing a very nice couple who bid us well in our travels once they departed.

We were dropped off at our first, essential stop – a gift and luggage store in Times Square to relieve ourselves of our burdensome baggage. Sketch-tastic to say the least but the concern grew less worrisome as we noticed a multitude of said shops along the streets of Times Square. Luggage-free, we headed to our first endeavor: Madame Tussauds Wax Museum! There was quite a line outside but surprisingly, it moved along quickly and we entered without a hitch (thanks Groupon). Naturally, we grabbed a bunch of awesome pictures – despite the fact that I was unfamiliar with a good portion of the figures we observed. It was delightful surprise to see a commemoration of Cats since we’d seen the production recently (refer to previous blog), however the best part of the entire exhibit was most definitely the Phantom of the Opera shtick where you could pretend you were singing as Christine and also stand/sit on a fake chandelier! Let me not forget the mirror maze as well which, at one point, I lost Sharon and careened into glass with my phone on several occasions.

Following our wax museum adventure, we walked next door to the conveniently situated Ripley’s exhibit (again, thanks Groupon). Now I’ve never, personally been a huge fan of these since I don’t care to reach much but I guess this is a Sharon nostalgia thing. In any case, it was pseudo interesting. We took a few pictures and Sharon disappointingly found a Zoltare machine that provided no physical fortune. There was a cool, trippy, tunnel in the middle of the exhibit, which was cool for a minute but nothing to write home about (irony). Towards the end of our walk through, it became pretty apparently that we were both STARVING. We had made reservations at a little French restaurant down the street; however, we were a bit early but proceeded there anyway.

Le Rivage was our first food stop for our trip! I did minimal research on this place but based on location, reviews, and the fact that they did a show pre-fix meal option, was pretty much sold. We were both pleasantly surprised that the restaurant appeared casual and ‘classic’ – if that makes sense. This place was definitely not ‘hopping’ and had a more ‘old-school’ feel to it that we both dig. Upon being seated at our table, I noticed a can-can picture in an adjoining seating area and made my way over there to grab some pictures. We pre-faced our meals with mimosas and indulged in a French Onion Soup Burger and Boeuf Bourguignon – both DELICIOUS! Swooning in culinary satisfaction, it was now time to get MORE physical uncomfortable. Up to this point, I have failed to mention our ingenious plan on packing our Moulin Rouge-designated outfits in our purses. A much-debated discussion, it made much more sense to dress sensibly for the plane ride and then change into said outfits right before the show – especially since mine involved a tulle skirt and corset! Post-meal, we both took turns walking downstairs to the restroom to change. I’m not sure how Sharon’s transition went but it was quite the production getting in a corset and tulle shirt in a tiny, bathroom stall. Once I excited the stall and begin adding my accessories at the sink, an older lady entered and quite literally gawked at me. She complimented me and just continued to stare before mentioning that she’d heard the producer of the movie Moulin Rouge raved that the stage production was ‘spectacular.’ Transition complete, I headed upstairs to rejoin Sharon and was met with silenced stares all around the dining room. Quite honestly, I did NOT think the outfit was THAT unusual. It probably didn’t help that I was filming the entire area for the duration of the stare-down. Almost felt like I should have choreographed something as part of my exit! Next time.

Get-ups secured, we were now set and ready for Moulin Rouge situated just about a block or two down the street. It was about an hour til show time but upon arriving at the Al Hirschfield Theatre, there was already a line down the block. For the next 40ish minutes, we stood in line with beaming hot sun and bellowing scalpers antagonizing our wills to live. At one point, I peered into the restaurant we stood outside of and saw a girl conveniently dressed in what I’d consider Moulin Rouge attire. She would eventually be seated nearby us like some groupie conspiracy. Once inside the theatre, complete chaos ensued. Sharon immediately went to grab some very expensive sippy-cupped drinks while I perused the gift-shop area – convinced I would pay anything for something Moulin Rouge-inspired. But a $100 hoodie was not in my budget. So I opted for a magnet. When we finally entered the seating area, our minds and eyes were BLOWN! The stage was BEYOND gorgeous! I was most impressed and grateful that everyone was allowed to take as much video and pictures as they liked – although that eventually became annoying when we attempted to take a selfie with no one in the background (impossible)! We received MANY compliments on our outfits and ended up sitting towards some like-minded Moulin Rouge fans who raved about it being their favorite movie. As the minutes neared show time, performers began slowly slinking about the stage in scantily clad outfits – staring Legolasy at the audience.

Once the show was underway, it was magic – but with some drawbacks. Sharon and I would later have a full-blown, extended conversation about the show but to summarize our feelings on it, it could have been better or perhaps, different. As purists, we honestly just wanted a replication of the movie on stage. This, was not as such. The main story line was there, sure, but the adaptation felt a bit forced – almost TOO much freedom was taken with it, I fear. To be more specific and assuming you’re familiar with the movie, the original does throw-backs to a few contemporary songs. This show took that concept and multiplied it by a thousand ie there were a lot MORE snippets of a lot more RECENT songs which, again, I feel lost any sense of integrity. Every time a throw-back clip was initiated, audience members laughed in recognition, which to me, makes a mockery of the movie. Sharon internally lost her shit when Satine began singing Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’ and I couldn’t agree more. I wont knock it and say there weren’t SOME good additions – for instance, Christian singing Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ but all in all, it didn’t work for either of us and I’m fairly sure we were the only ones in the theatre feeling that way.

With a slightest defeatist attitude, we made our way back to the gift and luggage store to re-burden ourselves with our belongings. It was at this point, Sharon realized one of the wheels on her luggage bag was defective and not moving. Scraping her back down the street, she ultimately began carrying her entire case in her arms like a massive, dumb baby. While we were, fortunately, not going too far, the walk, still in our uncomfortable outsides, felt long. We eventually arrived at our next stop: Bibble & Sip which is an ADORABLE coffee/tea/pastry shop that is Alpaca themed! With the combination of luggage frustration and scrunchiness, Sharon remained in the distance while I got in line to grab some goods to go. I opted for a Good Luck Hazelnut Alpaca dessert and Black and White Mouse cake which were, oh my god, AMAZING!!

Our desserts weren’t consumed until we arrived at our Airbnb which again, was trekked to under blistering heat, faulty luggage and air-constricting clothing. But we made it! Sharon had found this joint situated at 50th and 3rd Avenue in East Manhattan. The ‘renter’ was a Japanese man who, based off of the amount of signage and locks on things, appeared to be a bit OCD but it tolerable. We had a bed and couch, ability to access a/c and well, minimal tv capabilities. All in all, not a bad set-up and for the price and location, no complaints! After arriving, we changed and ‘regrouped’ for a minute before deciding NOT to venture out for a late-night, rooftop silent-disco we had acquired tickets for. Instead, we decided to slum it for the remainder of the evening – and by ‘slumming,’ I mean grabbing drinks and getting some dinner.

During the course of our very, extensive research, one of us had come across a place called Ophelia Lounge that was conveniently located a few blocks from our Airbnb. We headed there for a celebratory, evening drink and were very impressed with the elevated view, delicious cocktails and unpretentious hospitality! We had only wished it had been later in the evening for an even more spectacular, night view. Following our drinks, we attempted to pre-order our food for pick-up but the restaurant we called was busy so we walked over to Hide-Chan for ramen that I’d read wonderful things about. The restaurant was confusingly situated next to another Asian restaurant that we accidentally venture into first. We then headed next door to the ascending stairway at which time, the hostess informed us they didn’t do ‘take away’ requests. Huh. Odd. We then asked if the adjoining restaurant was there was well but couldn’t exactly make out the response but upon going next door, the men was most definitely, NOT ramen. We then decided it was in our best interest to hike back UP the stairs and just eat there and I’m very glad we did. This was the first time I’d ever seen/ordered garlic butter edameme and it was AMAZING! This was also the first time I’d been asked about the firmness level and shape of my noodles. In any case, food was STELLAR. My only complaint would be the SUPER boisterous, young Asian men seated next to us who were having the time of their LIVES! Ramen in bellies, we headed home and passed the eff out. Day one = complete!

The next morning, we roused fairly early with plans of walking to Central Park, which was about 30 minutes away. After heading out, we grabbed coffee at a Dunkin Donuts and made our away to Central Park Zoo to see their red pandas and penguin feeding. The zoo, while quaint, was comfortable and their employees, very helpful. While in line for our tickets, Sharon inquired if there were any bats and were told yes! Making our rounds once inside, we up the bats first which was nothing short of a glassed, dark room with flittering figures. At one point, I asked Sharon to use her phone flashlight to see if the bats were hanging on the ceiling and sure enough, they were! Walking clock-wise, we hit up the red pandas next but sadly, saw nothing. We continued on our way to came across the seals that were super adorable and rambunctious. We then circled back to the red pandas and were pointed out one, hidden and barely moving, shrouded in foliage. Our last stop off was the children’s petting zoo, which contained guess what – an Alpaca – and some sheep’s that were cool. Sharon was offended the Alpaca walked away from her after supplying some food.

After our fill of animals, we now headed through Central Park in order to see Belvedere Castle. On the way, Sharon bought a hot dog from a vendor who attempted to up-charge her. She was offended with both the hot dog and the altercation. Once we reached the castle, we were both pretty underwhelmed. The joint was swarming with people and it was a clusterfuck attempting to ascend the narrow, winding staircase to get to the view-top. Continuing on our way through the park, we were now headed towards Astro West Fine Minerals, Fossils and Meteorites shop, however finding an exit out of the park became problematic. We kept walking, soaked in our own, hot juices, for what felt like forever. On several occasions I suggested scaling the walls in order to reach actual ‘street.’ And of course, once we asked where an exit was, it was a few feet ahead of us.

Making our way to the streets, we eventually found Astro West Fine Minerals, Fossils and Meteorites, which, our sole purpose was to split a geode for a souvenir. I had called the shop a few days prior to inquire if they had an ‘abundant’ available since I’d read complaints about them being out of stock. When we arrived, there were maybe 15 available – all ugly blobs situated inside a marked barrel. I selected one based off solely based on its symmetry and we watched the machine in action that was really just a glorified saw. Once split, the attendant showed us the inside which he described as a ‘light blue.’ I’d describe it as a bunch of bullshit, personally. Definitely NOT worth $25. But I guess you win some, you lose some.

Next on the agenda was Grand Central Station. Arriving in style via Uber, we immediately made our way upstairs to the Campbell Bar, which is allegedly haunted. Our bartender was pretty awesome and gave us some free shots. The decor was outstanding. To keep on schedule, we then headed back downstairs to find the Jacque Torres Chocolate shop on ground level. On our way, I caught an amazing ceiling in my peripheral view and followed it to an outstanding, horoscopial view! We then continued on our original journey, found the chocolate shop and nibbled on some free samples before grabbing another Uber for our next venture!

Remember Stomp? Yes, I know, it’s definitely been a minute. I haven’t thought or heard of it in a very long time but it is most definitely alive and kicking! I should know. We bought tickets. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect with this show – not that I wasn’t familiar with the basis for the show – but the longevity of its existence made me a bit leery. When we arrived, we were told no photos or videos were allowed. Ok, fine. We took our seats at the far, back end of the theatre but were eventually upgraded for ‘good behavior’ to the second row! Once the show began, I was in COMPLETE awe. I think that a good portion of the show, I was imagining myself a part of it – like, I actually started considering trying to audition for it! I was blown away by the talent and attitudes of all the performers. Everyone appeared to be having such a good time with each other but also as solo performers. Talk about an inspiration! Next time you’re in NYC, definitely make a point to see the show!

Just around the corner from Stomp was our highly anticipated dinner reservation at Beetle House! Which reminds me, I dressed for the occasion – ie I bought and wore green, light-up suspenders for a good portion of the day. In any case, we were far too early upon arrival and as such, loitered outside the restaurant a bit. Eventually we were let in and seated. The restaurant was cool, yes, but very tiny and a bit understated for what I had anticipated. We had both seen video clips promoted the restaurant that entailed costumed performers. We saw none of this, which sure, it was still relatively ‘early’ but nonetheless, the emo-inspired work staff didn’t really convey much of a Burton feel to me. Our meal option was a pre-fix appetizer and main course that we were both pretty underwhelmed with. We did order some cocktails, which apparently all come with dry ice for major points for smokey drinks! All in all, disappointed. I’d go back – but only for the drinks.

Following our dissatisfied meal, we then took a transit-commute from hell in hopes of reaching Brooklyn. After being given opposing directions from pedestrians and Sharon’s wonky, ever-changing GPS assistance, we eventually ended up at a witch store and then eventually at Urban Jungle – a thrift store. Again, unimpressed with this underwhelming Ragstock wanna-be, we continued onto Brooklyn Cider House. This place, well, seemingly pleasant, left us wanting in terms of customer service AND cider. Our waiter was less than helpful with recommendations and most of the drink options appeared to be ‘dry.’ As our spirits continued to dwindle, we then headed to the bookend for the evening – Theatre XIV for burlesque! And if you haven’t yet caught the trend, we were again, far too early to be admitted so we walked down the street to a bar called the Johnson for some $6 ‘Painkillers’ ie. frozen, pina colorado concoction. Four drinks later and claw-machine defeated, we were buzzed back to a state of satisfaction. Making our way back to the theatre, we entered and marveled at the Fifty Shaded Wonderland surrounding us.

Adorned to the nines, this show, Queen of Hearts, was eccentric, to say the least! I have NEVER seen such a mind-boggling burlesque show in my LIFE! There were obvious, classically trained dancers involved, not to mention, MANY male performers. Dancing, singing, hooping – there was no end to the extravagances our eyes beheld. Speaking of, we spent a good portion of the show staring at the couple seated in front of us which entailed a very uncomfortably, molesty dude who we could only assume, was sloppy rich. We discussed trying to corner his companion in the bathroom to find out what the deal was but we were both far too lazy. Sharon bought me an expensive, gingery cocktail that was god-awful. We followed up the rest of the night’s consumption with canned ciders from which we both got pretty blitzed! While we awaited our Uber, we saw the aforementioned creepoid with his girl being photographed by police officers. We can only begin to wonder whatever came of them but I’d be very confident picking him out of a lineup. For the duration of our Uber ride home and still beaming from booze, we spent the entire ride arguing over the virtual trivia game situated in the backseat area. Sharon doesn’t recall giving me bad/wrong answers and/or giving me crap for being incorrect but it was boisterous and most likely, very annoying, fun.

Ah, good o’ hungover Monday. Yikes! With a slightly rough-start to the morning, we took our time getting ride in order to avoid the hectic, rush-hour commuter traffic. After pre-GPSing our route, we successfully public transited to Supermoon Bakehouse for some blueberry and Pomegranate croissants! Sharon was mind-blown by this place – simply based on not only the aesthetic peel of their goods but also, the deliciousness! High recommendations for this joint – although, I’d suggest taking your food items to go since the tables and chairs were that of children.

Continuing our route, we now headed towards what would appear to be Chinatown for a confusing stop-off at a gorgeous, Jewish Temple museum called Eldridge Street. I’d literally come across this place during research and noted that Mondays were their pay-what-you-can. Being non-religious and certainly non-Jewish, my interest was all about the glorified ambience and were were NOT disappointed. There was a calm, safe, feel to the temple. Definitely one of the more beautiful things I’d high recommend when visiting NYC.

Next on the roster? Catacombs! Oh but wait, this isn’t what it sounds like, unfortunately. The description was giving us Catacombs by Candlelight, which we both assumed, would somehow involve ghosts. This was not as such. We were met with quasi-interesting, New York history involving politicians and rich families that were memorialized in the underground passageways. The highlight of the tour was the Australian couple we spoke with briefly about koalas – duh. I’m sure under different circumstances (not tired, hung-over, bored, hot, wanting ghost stories), one would find this tour highly interesting (my mother) but ‘twas not as such. The tour even ran a bit over-time so we bounced early to catch an Uber to our lunch at Thai Villa.

I researched this restaurant and loved it solely based on its gorgeousness. Unfortunately, we caught this place during the boisterous, lunch rush and weren’t entirely able to enjoy any sense of calm. We could barely speak due to the deafening sound – including the pretentious, vapid couple next to us. I did not enjoy my pai thai but was also suffering from post-laxative discomfort, to be fair. We ate as quickly as possible and headed out towards the next item of our agenda: Rose Wine Mansion.

Once again, with reservations at 2pm and us far too early, we killed a minute or two buying an I Love New York, pink onesie for Bear (yeah, yeah, he loves it) from a souvenir shop before standing restlessly in line for admittance.

When we were finally hustled in, accompanied by an ear-drum throbbing, security alarm, we took an elevator to the entrance of the exhibit. As we were basically the first people in ‘line,’ we got first dibs on every single room. We also didn’t care too much about the ‘interactive elements’ of most rooms, which killed a lot of time. We pressed on fairly quickly as we are want to do, indulging in our favorite, Cleopatra-endorsed red wine, Banfi Rosa Regale. Case in point, we drank some last night (8/2/2019) as you can buy it at Binny’s (SO good)! Other than that and taking a bunch of free photo-booth pictures post-exhibit, it was a quick in and out for us.

Making our way down the street, we stopped off at the free Houdini Museum situated, strangely, inside a high-rise building. The ‘museum’ was quite small, though we were told it was the second largest in the world. We took a once-around stroll while some magic nerds exchanged card tricks in the center of the room. Disinterest in tact, we caught another Uber with a delightful, Asian man who almost got pulled over for running a light but played off his foreignness to get out of it and eventually showed me his uncompleted dragon tattoo. He dropped us off near Enchantments – an occult store we’ve previously ordered, personalized candles. The store was awesome – cute, black kitties sleeping and hilarious, witchy employees who seems very down to earth. We requested personalized, carved candles and hung out for the duration of their creation. Once obtained, we headed over to one of the many bars on our roster for the afternoon: Mother of Pearl. Hawaiian-themed, this joint, wasn’t, again, open when we arrived so we pre-drank at a hookah lounge down the street. Once we re-attempted Mother of Pearl, was ordered their well-known ‘Shark attack’ drinks which I found unimpressive. I also can’t recall what type of alcohol they entailed but definitely, not my jam. Our bartender though, was pretty awesome.

The evening continued with an Uber back to where we had been for the Rose Mansion for two more bars: The Magic House Rooftop Bar & Lounge and The Fleur Room. Now the Magic House Rooftop Bar & Lounge sounded and looked very impressed from the videos I’d watched. There’s rotating carousal seats, mini-golf and an awesome view. But in all reality, the in-person was not up to snuff. All the carousal seats were ‘reserved,’ the ‘mini golf’ consisted of maybe four rounds revolving around sexified animal statues and the drinks were, well, at least mine, expensive and just terrible. Waste of time and money – not to mention all the effort to actually get UP to the joint! Security is completely elaborate and unnecessary – I felt like the goddamn FBI was running the entire thing! Not a fan. Next up – The Fleur Room. To be fair, we were both kind of at our wit’s end at this point in time. Once we made our way up to the bar, again, beautiful, poshy views and the decor was GORGEOUS but after looking at the drink menu, I just couldn’t do it. I was super over the expensive, elaborate drinks that sounded and inevitably, tasted like garbage. Maybe I’m not sophisticated enough to get the appear or maybe these places are just trying too hard. Either way, we refused to spend more money on drinks we’d end up hating and just took our necessary pictures and videos to supply to ya’ll.

As our final stop-off and NOT on our original agenda (we cut a bunch of stuff), Sharon researched a pizza joint nearby our Airbnb for an easy, chill dinner at the home front. She came across Patsy’s Pizzeria. I called in a large, garlic and cheese pizza for pick-up during which time; a lovely Jamaican woman named Diana who complimented my tattoos and pants accosted me. This woman kept on talking about her brother being a dance choreographer and professional in Milwaukee and eventually tried to network us. I gave minimal interesting and effort in the exchange on account of exhaustion and hunger. Eventually, pizza was on hand and we made it back home to consume said pizza that was actually pretty decent.

Our final day in NYC was quite a doozy. We woke up fairly early and again, killed time to avoid the rush hour, commute traffic. Luggage in tow, we caught some pre-GPS-ed public transit to NYC’s Magic Jewelry to get aura photographs. After once again, standing in line, waiting for the place to open, a little crowd began to form behind us. Eventually, one snap and a brief explanation later, we were done! Side note: Sharon is now obsessed with purchasing the equipment to start her own business. We then walked over to the nearby Ghostbusters Fire Station that became a clusterfuck due to the gapping tour crowd and the fact that the firehouse is ACTIVE. We stood and waited for a truck to pull into it before snapping a few pictures and heading immediately away.

After once again, catching pre-GPS-ed public transit, we now headed towards of lunch-stop: Cafe Colette. This place got awesome reviews and also had beautiful pictures of the inside. When we arrived, the staff obligingly took our luggage from us for storage. I was once again, underwhelmed by the atmosphere, however, the food was definitely on point! Sharon apparently ate some orgasmic chicken sandwich while I consumed some delicious, fish tacos. We were both quite satisfied. Trudging along with our luggage we continued on our way to the Williamsburg Hotel for their Hightea Teapot cocktails we’d seen advertised videos for. When we arrived at the bar, our bartender, Angelo, advised that it was not available during weekdays. After a polite plea by Sharon, he agreed to make us a cocktail anyway which we shared and was MOST delicious! With time to kill and dessert on my brain, I suggested we find a place for dessert. Sharon quickly googled a nearby French pastry shop by the name of Caprices by Sophie. We shared a delightful, chocolate éclair before ultimately deciding that we should forgo any additional, scheduled plans and head straight to the airport.

One very long Uber ride later, we were at LaGuardia several hours early for our flight. Once we again, fast-tracked through security via Pre-check TSA and began to get settled, Sharon noticed our flight had been canceled! And queue confusion and anxiety. Never have I had this happen to me before. As we had already checked into our flight, I was unable to attempt a reschedule on my phone. We ended up lining up at the Southwest desk in order to speak with an attendant. Throughout the chaos, we realized there was an earlier flight boarding for Chicago. With attempts and determining if the flight was booked, Sharon called Southwest and was told, they could not advise as such. We were, safe-net, booked into a later flight that would eventually connect in St. Louis with an arrival in Chicago at midnight; however, we were still hoping to hope on this flight about to leave. Eventually, amidst the chaos and confusion and annoying and anxiety, we were allowed onto the earlier flight home which, with it’s own delays; brought us home at approximately the same time we were originally scheduled to arrival. The hellish commute involved sitting on the runway for takeoff for god knows how long and my discomfort with a very antsy, obnoxious, Alabamian seated next to me. Despite the very, very long commute, the dadness grabbed us at the Montrose blue-line, accompanied with Bear whose distress meowing ironically comforted me. When we reached our wonderful, sweet, home, we showered to rid ourselves of the New York stink, downed some food and barely absorbed some background television.

It’s crazy to think about how fast-paced Chicago is and yet, New York feels even faster! Or perhaps it’s the abundance of things and people and the distance between places that makes it feel so much more arduous. It could also have to do with our inclinations of packing in as much funness as possible into every single trip. Regardless, Chicago was most definitely missed. We were a part of you, New York, New York, but you can keep your hot, street garbage.

Where the Streets Have Hot Garbage The very moment we discovered Moulin Rouge was being made into a stage production, we KNEW we had to see it!

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armydemanila-blog · 7 years ago

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#OBF Maginhawa (Mis)Adventures

being a freshie in ateneo meant having awkward and inconvenient timetables, having been the last set of students to enlist for classes. this meant breaks that lasted an average of three hours in between math 11 and enlit classes. to anybody else, it would’ve meant more time to bond with blockmates and making new friends, and new memories - all the works and perks of being a happy, stress-free freshman in college. not for jeon jungkook however.

jeon jungkook was good at many things, especially when he put his mind to it - and from that alone, one could only begin to fathom what he could do if he put his heart and soul into the mix too. he was valedictorian in his batch; he was good in sports, in dance, in music, in everything but math. and multitasking. but multitasking was really only ever meant for computers, anyway.

his ultimate waterloo, however, lied in his social skills. or lack thereof. a major lack thereof.

another unfortunate germ was the fact that com majors were predominantly consisted of females. mostly grown up females. as in those creatures with the flowery sweet perfumes and the high pitched voices and the porcelain bodies made of cotton balls. jungkook was awkward enough trying to mingle with male same-age strangers. but add in girls, and jungkook practically shrunk himself into non existence.

which was how jungkook ended up hanging upside down on the edge of his bed, all alone in his empty dorm room. evidently, mingyu and yugyeom didn’t have the same social ineptitude he had (which was ironic really, since he was the one who had communication as his major).

which was also why, when he heard his phone chime from his desk, he fell head first on the floor in his haste to get it.

vhyung: kookie!

jungkook smiled. v-hyung - well, actually taehyung, he found out recently (but he still called him v-hyung in his mind) - had his weird, eccentric moments, but he also had equally, weirdly impeccable timing.

kookie: ?

vhyung: you wanna go on an adventure with me?

jungkook grinned. he could almost believe the rumors that taehyung was an alien. or had psychic powers. his bet’s on psychic powers.

kookie: sure!

it turned out ‘adventure’ with taehyung meant hunting for the harry potter-inspired café in maginhawa. without downloading the google maps directions. or knowing which jeepneys to ride. or where to get off said jeepneys. they’d ended up getting off by the UP Diliman oval. idly, jungkook was suddenly satisfied with the size of the ateneo campus. if he’d chosen to go here instead, he’d have probably gotten even more lost than he was with taehyung right now.

“hyung, what do we do now? do you know where to go?” jungkook asked after the sixth TOKI jeep passed them by. if he was perfectly honest, he was having second thoughts about this adventure.

“mhmm,” taehyung hummed non-committally, still looking for the right jeep to ride. as if on cue, an IKOT jeep finally approached their spot, and taehyung brightened anew.

he practically dragged jungkook after him, even running a bit despite the jeep making a deliberate stop to wait for more passengers. he practically dove for the seat behind the driver, tapping the old man by the shoulder.

“excuse me (ahjussi), will you be passing by maginhawa?”

it turned out the jeep didn’t pass through the street. instead, the jeepney stopped outside the gates for 20 seconds, and they had to walk the two remaining blocks to maginhawa street.

maginhawa street was this long winding street teeming with mom and pop shops, family restaurants, small time eateries and concept cafes. the food was great; more often than not, easy on the budget, and sometimes had really unique concepts. to jungkook, it really did sound like a “blissful street”.

now if only they could get there. because despite taehyung’s nonchalant reassurances (for the last time, kookie, we’re not lost. just trust me! don’t you have faith in your hyung?) they were hopelessly, undeniably lost.

maginhawa was supposed to be a street with restaurants left and right, one after the other. so far, they’ve only seen houses and apartment blocks; the only food being sold was by some street vendor selling sorbetes for P10 (the avocado flavor was worth it).

“okay,” taehyung said finally, scrolling through his phone. “according to the sorbetes ahjussi, maginhawa should just be around that corner.”

he pointed to the end of the street, curving to the right to an intersection. jungkook exhaled through gritted teeth. they trudged through under the scorching noon sun, squeezing in between vehicles parked along the sidewalks.

“aha!” taehyung exclaimed, pointing up at the rusted street signage, ‘maginhawa st.’ in badly faded white paint. still, taehyung looked at it like it was a puzzle from one piece. “see! i told you, we’d get there eventually!”

jungkook held himself back from point out that this was only maginhawa street, not the actual café they wanted to go to.

taehyung swung his arm around his shoulders, turning his phone camera to selfie mode to capture the lackluster street sign, all faded paint and rusted notches.

“ready? 1! 2! 3!” right as the camera shutter sounded, another hand wrapped itself around the smart phone in taehyung’s hand, snatching it away as the person sprinted past them.

“huh-?”

“wait, what?”

it took a solid second before the situation sank in. someone just stole taehyung’s phone. holy shit.

“hey! wait! give that back!” taehyung yelled, and before jungkook could even blink, was already tearing after the snatcher. with a curse his mother would’ve slapped him for, jungkook ran after them, half his mind still not fully comprehending the situation.

“hyung, wait!”

later, jungkook would look back and end up face-palming himself at how ridiculous they must’ve looked. three grown males chasing after each other under the scorching 2 o’clock sun in the more residential area of maginhawa st. (he also finds out later that they could’ve hitched a ride with seokjin who had also gone out to maginhawa that afternoon, instead of going through all that sweat and trouble.

“wait, so those three mofos screaming and running down the street was you guys?”

“hyung. can you please just drop it?”

“what? no! oh my god! that was you guys!” seokjin broke down into pure, unadulterated laughter.

“hyung shut up, you sound like a window wiper.”)

jungkook finally managed to catch up to taehyung, pulling him back to the sidewalks barely in time from getting run over by a truck.

“wait! stop-!” taehyung tried to lurch forward again, but jungkook held fast.

“hyung! hyung-!” the younger boy grunted, pulling them back further into the sidewalk, nearly tackling him until they were sitting on their butts, gasping for breath. “let it go, hyung. it’s useless.”

taehyung didn’t reply, coughing and trying to regain his breath.

“we’ll just get a new phone, okay?” jungkook continued in between breaths. a part of him saw the irony of the situation - him, the freshman, comforting and generally being the more sensible of the two of them (relatively), the older sophomore. taehyung grunted, then groaned, shaking his head of fire engine red hair.

he mumbled something jungkook couldn’t quite catch. “sorry, what?”

taehyung grinned sheepishly, “the phone wasn’t mine.” oh no.

jungkook was almost too afraid to ask. “who?”

“chimchim’s.” how he could muster an even brighter grin given the situation, jungkook didn’t know.

“won’t he get really mad?” taehyung merely shrugged, getting up then pulling his dongsaeng to his feet.

“well, chimchim is really bad when it comes to replying and answering his phone, so nobody would notice for another two weeks…” he turned around just then, and his face lit up in a blink of an eye.

jungkook turned as well, and stared. “is that…”

behind them, a small café not unlike the size of olivander’s from the movie, stood, a large chalkboard poster boasting the café’s special ‘butterbeer’ imitation drink out front. through the glass windows, they could see the several empty tables and a newspaper framed on the wall proclaiming the headline ‘boy who lived’ taken from the fourth book. too bad harry didn't move in the picture.

“see! i told you we’d get here eventually!” taehyung grinned widely, shaking him by the shoulders.

jungkook grinned as well; for a while there, he thought they would never find the damn place, and instead get hopelessly lost until dinner time rolled around, and they’d get locked out of the dorm…

the cold blast of air conditioner never felt so heavenly as they entered, a small golden bell ringing cheerily. a lady greeted them with a smile as they approached the counter eagerly.

“two butterbeers please!” they ordered immediately (maybe a bit too eagerly, if the slight jump and tiny step back she made were of any indication). they ordered the house specialty sandwich, and another fries and split the bill evenly. they made a beeline for the table with the floor cushion seating, the lack of customers allowing them to sprawl their worn out legs. as he took in the shelves of leather bound books, and the stuffed owl in a golden cage, jungkook was starting to think it was all worth it.

“y’know what i think, kookie?” taehyung said eventually as they sipped on their tall glasses of butterbeer (butterbeer was actually just liquid butterscotch, but hey. butterbeer!). “i think all that thief fiasco was part of some magical fate or destiny or prophecy or something, to lead us both here, in this harry potter-inspired café, drinking motherfricking butterbeer - magic.”

“do you think they could also give us magic to find jimin-hyung a phone?” jungkook asked thoughtfully.

(“ah,” jimin sighed despairingly, “the days when you used to call me hyung. where have they gone?”

“they were gone the day he outgrew you,” jin sighed just as despondently, watching jungkook snatch another calamari from his plate.)

“ah, but magic is not something given just like that, my young pupil,” taehyung said sagely, words muffled by a mouthful of cheese fries. “for things like that, one needs lucky felix.”

“i don’t think they have that here, hyung.”

“which is why we have the second best thing - colt 45 beer.” taehyung continued simply.

“huh? i thought you weren’t allowed alcohol?”

but taehyung shook his head, “no, not for me - for jimin.” he gulped down the last of his butterbeer. “he’s low tol - like really low tol. hasn’t been able to build up his tolerance yet.”

“…i still don’t understand how that’s going to help.”

“he drinks the beer, gets piss drunk, and that’s when we tell him.”

“won’t he remember in the morning?”

“yeah, he’ll remember that he accidentally flushed his phone down the toilet - after puking in it.”

jungkook nodded thoughtfully. yeah, that sounds like it’ll work.

“so… how do we go back to campus?”

taehyung opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. “let’s just wait and see if magic will come to our aid again.”

just then, the little gold bell on top of the front door chimed again, and seokjin came in, hand fixing his bangs.

“ah! seokjin-hyung!” taehyung and jungkook called in unison, waving their hands high in the air.

“oh, i thought i saw you two,” seokjin smiled, approaching them like some prince from a fairytale. “you guys done? i was just gonna buy some cauldron chocolates to go before heading back to campus. wanna go with me?”

“that’d be great hyung! thanks!” taehyung grinned happily while jungkook gazed at seokjin with wide starry eyes. “we’re saved! v-hyung, magic does exist!”

(“so was that really just magical coincidence back then?” jungkook asked, taking a swig of actual beer in walrus.

“no,” taehyung snorted. “i just noticed seokjin hyung’s truck parked across the street. and he always buys cauldron chocolates for the weekend.” “oh.”)

- Miss March Muffin

as a side note, this sorta happened irl. except, instead of stolen phone, i got myself a cut on the arm. from a wooden plank. random, i know. idk either.

i hope this was funny, and you that guys enjoyed~! :)

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calinatere-blog · 8 years ago

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Ending Chapters

No; I’m not leaving or anything like that. It isn’t that depressing. And I’m still working on Ben and Asori. In fact, I’ve left them in a rather compromising position because I need to talk.

Just over 18 months ago, I was hit by a truck while walking across the street.

That kind of truck.

He was turning left and didn’t see me in the crosswalk. I remember, licking my ice cream cone and looking out the corner of my eye... “that truck is really close.”

Then I went flying. I landed several feet away square on my tailbone. I couldn’t breathe. He stopped, jumped out and yelled “Oh my God! I didn’t see her!”

It was August. Hot as hell and the pavement was even hotter on my now nearly bare road-rash covered ass. This woman jumped out and took charge. I have no idea who she was. She called my boss for me. Got someone else to call 911. She organized a string of people to hold umbrellas to block the sun. Someone even gave her a blanket to cover my legs so I wasn’t flashing the whole of downtown. She called my brother.

The ambulance came. The EMT was the guy who used to cut our grass. Lived across the street.

“What’s your name and Date of Birth?”

*gives information*

“Calina, it’s Curt.”

“Oh hey Curt. How’s your momma and them? Are they still on....” Because no matter how big Nashville gets, if your a native, you will find one another.

I yelled at the dispatcher to take me to my preferred hospital. I scared my big boss - when word got around the office, they stopped a high level meeting and put their emergency contact plan into action. He ran out to tell me they were calling my brother and to find out where I was being taken. He thought I was dying. I was just being moved onto the stretcher. I was terrified and in tremendous pain.

Then I met Jimmy the Trauma Nurse. I can’t write or think or talk about Jimmy without tearing up. Jimmy is my hero. He stayed with me until his shift was over even through I was out of trauma by that point and just in regular ER. He made sure the next shift knew exactly what was going on. He gave me drugs on demand....

“I love you, Jimmy” as the morphine kicked in.

He laughed at all my jokes and played along.

“We are waiting for the results of your pregnancy test before we take you in for the full-body CT scan.”

“I get it. Y’all just don’t me to have mutant babies.”

“No Ms. Calina. I don’t want you to be forced to send your mutant baby to Xavier’s School for Gifted Children. Boarding schools are not a good choice.”

“Don’t make me laugh Jimmy. It hurts too much.”

Writers, if you ever need or want a perspective oh the ups and downs of physical and emotional recovery after major trauma... happy to talk to you. Because I’ve been there. It’s my journey; not the same as everyone elses journey.

There are days when I am very angry and wonder if that driver ever felt bad. (Yes, I’m sure he did).

I have PTSD triggers and am now trying to find a CBT therapist (there is actual research that this is a thing... PTSD after motor vehicle accidents). I still can’t walk across that street. I can walk across other ones... but not that corner. I lobbied Metro for a change in the light timing. I got new signage instead. Eh.

I have panic attacks. I had one just before writing this. What triggered it was the notification that the settlement with the insurance company came through. I think that is why I am writing this. I finally feel free to talk about it. I’m free to say “why me?”

“Why the fuck weren’t you looking before turning?”

I have nerve damage in my right elbow - you can still see the welt after 18 months. My cat, especially when it gets cold or the barometric pressure drops, will lay his wee little chin on that spot on my elbow and purr. He also knows exactly where to rub on my right leg to get my attention... because it will cripple me as my leg nearly gives out. I may never be able to sit for any length of time without a cushion with a hole cut out for my tailbone. My coccyx and the wing of my L1 vertebrae were fractured along with the nerve damage of the tissue surrounding it. The first thing I said to myself laying on the pavement was “I am not dying here. Now wiggle your feet.”

http://giphy.com/gifs/MxmFJQgJaNXj2/html5

I was the Bride. I wiggle my feet a lot. I gained a lot of weight because pain sucks. I don’t know that I will ever do the things that I used to do.

I am finally going for a hair cut next week - the first time since the accident. I am going to have them cut most of my hair off a la Helen Mirren

Not this exact cut but she is speaking to me right now.

The first time I drove my own War Rig after the accident was to the final screening of Mad Max: Fury Road. Shiny and Chrome.

I have felt like the weight of that man’s momentary lapse in judgement has been pressing on me for the last 18 months. The money is appreciated and will be put to good use (credit card debt... buh-bye. Hello savings).

But now... now I feel like I can really start the healing process.

#car accident #pedestrian #ptsd #sharing my story #pain

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laurensdy · 8 years ago

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Full disclosure: this post is both the longest and the most spontaneous I’ve done so far, after an exhilarating stay in the nation’s capitol—both to observe the Inaugural landscape and to attend the Women’s March on Washington. Hopefully that explains the excitable, rambling syntax.

In the last weeks of 2016, I created matching signage and t-shirts—for myself, my aunt who also drove from New York to D.C., and my sister who lives in a nearby Maryland suburb—that featured the “feminist fist” and poignant quotations from iconic minds. I pored over the choices for quotes for weeks, wanting to summarize our purpose for marching but also represent a variety of people, of women.

I chose a Wilma Rudolph quote for the shirts: “The triumph cannot be had without the struggle.” I ended up using permanent marker to write the names of my female ancestors on the sleeves, both living and passed, who couldn’t be with us on the march. I wrote the names of my mother, older sister overseas, younger cousins—and even the “founding mothers” of the Women’s Rights Movement on one side.

Only one man was represented on the four matching 2×3’ signs, in Albert Einstein’s “Great spirits will always be met with violent opposition from mediocre minds,” carried by my sister. My aunt carried Eleanor Roosevelt’s “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” Her best friend trekked from New York City with her husband on his birthday, and he received a rousing version of “Happy Birthday” on the Metro ride into the city that morning. She carried Malala Yousafzai’s “We cannot succeed when half of us are held back.” I a line from Sojourner Truth’s powerful speech ‘Ain’t I a Woman?’ “Where there is so much racket, there must be something out of kilter.”

Since I was in town early, I was able to wander around the Mall during the days leading up to the Inauguration. Streets were blocked, secured, sound-checked and fenced off well in advance, large crews working to set up bleachers, Porto-Pottys, and patriotic pomp associated with the induction of our next leader. The Lincoln monument was nearly buried under audio scaffolding and white folding chairs for the “Make America Great Again” welcome concert, and the Capitol building property was a labyrinth of bike-rack-barricades. The general forecast was gloomy, drizzly and overcast, which felt appropriate.

I practiced the route from the rally point to the train station where a coworker would arrive on Saturday morning, strolling past the vast office buildings for the staff and members of the House and Senate. I wondered where I was in relation to the members who, at that moment, sat in Cabinet nominee hearings. I thought about the thousands of suffragists who had marched before President Wilson’s inauguration, advocating for women to have the right to vote, just over a hundred years before this moment (I’m confident others were reminded of this coincidence, given the number of signs I saw reading “I can’t believe I still have to protest this shit.”).

The day before Inauguration, supporters of the incoming administration descended en masse. Souvenir stands of MAGAtrinkets popped up overnight, and at one point I actually began singing Union Army songs quietly to myself as a coping mechanism. My aunt and I barely eluded nightfall within the Capitol District while returning to my sister’s workplace (a few blocks north of the White House). As we passed McPherson Square a protest began to gather; this location would be the site of rioting and broken windows about 24 hours later.

We stayed in on Friday night, save for going to Bethesda for an exercise class (my sister is a fitness instructor). Saturday morning came early but dry, and even by 7:30 a.m. the Metro station was crowded, growing thicker by the minute with more and more people, flowing from all directions with an unspoken connection—perhaps because everyone had the same hats. Women (and a few men!) of all ages, races and creeds chattered excitedly as the railcar carried us to Union Station, at one point singing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” (in addition to the aforementioned Happy Birthday performance).

I’ve been to protests, rallies and marches—most at the regional and state level, but one national event—before. But the magnitude of the crowd, the diversity of the crowd, and the palpable, passionate enthusiasm was stronger than any others I have experienced. I admit I was frazzled; somewhat overcome with the mass of energy, and constantly trying to ensure the four people in my party stuck close. By 8 a.m., it was crowded enough that one second of complacency meant a momentary confused search for your loved one. Thankfully I connected with a coworker who had bused into the Station early; routed from the NY area, her bus was full of marchers, resulting in a direct/much faster route.

We were lucky to come from the direction closest to the stage, early enough to beat the true descent of the crowd. Cell service was quickly unattainable as the volume of users crashed every network. Though we crowded close together and remained standing for about four hours, we were only 20-30 feet away from the soundstage that hosted some of the most iconic voices in feminism, social justice and pop culture—smack dab in the middle of the crowd that, we learned later, was more than twice the anticipated size and filled the entire two-mile march route. I was awed by so many of the performers and speakers, but my absolute favorite was Angela Davis.

(Watch Angela Davis’ speech here.)

For hours we crept along Independence Avenue, every inch of space filled with energized, chanting marchers, thrusting their signs overhead like shields. “We will not go away, welcome to your first day.” “Say it loud, say it clear: Immigrants are welcome here.” “White silence is violence.” Love, not hate—that’s what makes America great.” My heart swelled with pride watching my sister take part in her first organized assembly, disorganized and chaotic as it was. Throngs of people sprawled all over the National Mall, Ellipse and every neighboring street, brimming over with passion and greeting each other with the instant bond that protests create.

Well after dark, we made it to Union Station where my coworker would catch her bus home. The six-hour trip would take her 24, so congested was every path out of the city. By the time we returned to my sister’s apartment, we were so exhausted we could barely move. As we turned our phones back on and plugged into the news covering the marches on every continent, I was moved. I have never seen this many people assemble before.

There’s been a lot of discourse following the March—some people think it was dumb, and others think it was the beginning of a revolution. I see it as the crest of our own wave in the ripple of movements that have come long before us—aspiring to take one more step on the staircase of progress, but knowing that we couldn’t have gotten to this step without taking the ones before it.

This is our history. We will write it.

#WomensMarch #WMW #WomensMarchonWashington #feminism #progressive #politics #history #activism #LGBTQ #racism #POTUS #Trump #whyImarch

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businessliveme · 6 years ago

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Porsche’s New $133,000 911 Is Worth Ladling On All the Upgrades

(Bloomberg) — More than a mere model-year update, there are enough changes on the 2020 Porsche 911 Cabriolet to cause an Instagram comment war. The Porsche 992 (as the brand calls it internally) is the most significant redo of the iconic sportscar since 2011. It may also be the last non-hybrid 911 ever built.

While test-driving it through sunny countryside near Athens, some of my fellow travelers described the enlarged rear end, widened by two inches and with larger rear tires, as “ample” and “fulsome”—about how they’d describe Kim Kardashian. Others, however, called the new stance too big, a case of butt implants gone bad. If you can imagine them saying this right after sucking a lemon slice, you get the picture.

By the same token, as I dodged lazy dogs and Grecian pot holes the size of kiddie pools down the rural roads of Attica, I loved the smooth screens of the interior and the quick shifter that replaced the conventional joystick setup of the previous generation. They felt fresh and modern, easy to read and use. But after reviewing photos from the drive, several friends (and when I say friends, I mean Instagram acquaintances) said those dual 7-inch screens erase the car’s “classic” spirit. They hated the shifter’s tiny “tic-tac” shape.

To which I say: Haters gonna hate. Better a car that causes a polarized reaction than no reaction at all.

The goal here, as with any new iteration of a well-known model, is to get the most out of the car, and on that front, Stuttgart’s designers and engineers have more than succeeded. If you are yourself considering a new Porsche convertible—and aren’t we all, at least in our dreams?—here’s how to further maximize that investment.

Buy the all-wheel-drive version.

This is an easy one. If you’re at all worth your salt as a driver and sporting enthusiast, I imagine that (1) you want to drive your fun car year-round, not just in summer, and (2) many of the roads you wish to transverse are not 100 percent serene and smooth—what you’d really need to push a rear-wheel-drive sports car.

The roads in Greece were narrow, with lanes tangled like a sidewinder, no roadside signage indicating upcoming curves, and only halfway paved, half the time—in other words, the opposite of a pristine German highway.

Drop the additional $7,300 on an AWD Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet (starting at $133,400), and you’ll be able to drive confidently in dirt and snow and ice, with more contact and control on the road at every turn, whatever the season. The increased practicality will help you more fully embrace this driver-oriented car.

Get the paddle shifters.

I realize this is a controversial suggestion. I realize it’s scary to let go of the idea that a manual Porsche is the only way to go. I can hear you now: “What will the other guys say when they see it at my Sunday cars ’n’ coffee? They won’t respect my driving abilities as much, or they’ll think I can’t handle a stick shift!”

I agree with you: For any classic Porsche—and racing Porsches and Porsches you’ll want to drive like a demon, in general—go for the manual. It’s more fun and makes you feel more engaged as a driver. You’ll be touching history as the star of your own movie, like Steve McQueen for 2019.

But this is a convertible. It is made to be comfortable and accommodating and suitable for enjoying swooping vistas overlooking sapphire oceans while you (me) listen to The Kinks—and to maintain that attitude, even if you get stuck in the sort of inclement conditions that daily driving provides, such as pockmarked side streets, hilly neighborhoods, and stop-and-go traffic. (Yes, those were all me, too, on this recent Athenian drive.) As anyone who has done it once, let alone daily, will tell you: Working a manual under these conditions is among the most annoying ways to spend your time.

Let the PDK paddle shifters be your saving grace. The new eight-speed configuration has better fuel efficiency and enhanced performance in the lower gears, compared to previous seven-speed models—and it’s faster to drive than the manual stick, too. The 433-horsepower 911 Carrera 4S hits 62mph in 3.4 seconds; the rear-wheel-drive 911 Carrera S version gets there 0.1 second later. Top speed for the AWD 4S is 188mph, and it’s 190 mph for the S.

From behind the wheel in Greece, I felt the car wrapping the road like a boa constrictor, hugging it so closely I never felt it falter or hesitate, even when I tried to push it past the Sunday Drive range.

Disengage the Start/Stop.

I’m all for fuel efficiency, but oh, how I loathe the automatic start/stop function of most modern cars. Shutting off the engine the moment you roll up to a stoplight or are standing in traffic makes for slower starts off the line, and it’s especially jarring when you’re driving a manual. Half the time, I think the car has died outright.

In Greece, I spent an entire 12-hour test drive looking for the button to disengage it and never found it. Usually, it’s set in the center console, in the steering wheel, or in the roof of the car, near the rearview mirror. Here, it’s buried in the infotainment system. Or if you have the Sport Chrono Package, it can be deactivated via the programmable Individual mode or by switching the car into Sport or Sport Plus mode when you start it. This multi-step approach is annoying, but it’s the unfortunate reality we’re dealing with here. (Fix this, Porsche engineers.)

Put a premium on safety.

The 992 model line has a new night vision system ($2,540), dynamic chassis control ($3,170), park assist ($1,430), and side mirrors that fold in automatically when the car is parked (the latter’s $370 cost is a pittance, given how often they saved me problems on narrow streets during innumerable breaks for strong, dark espresso on this test drive).

The lift kit that raises the front nose ($2,770) also saved my bacon several times negotiating odd inclines on driveways and park paths. When you consider that these all can help avoid some serious collisions, it more than pays for itself.

And for your own good, consider the $2,720 Sport Chrono Package, which adds two driving modes—Sport Plus and Individual, which lets the driver create a personal vehicle setting configuration—to the standard Normal, Sport, and Wet options. The latter is special, too, a new standard feature on all 2020 911 models. It monitors the level of water on the road and automatically adjusts the throttle, rear differential, rear spoiler, and ABS of the car, and warns the driver of potential hydroplaning. It’s worth getting even if you, like most, will never put this car on a track.

Choose the options that matter.

A big part of the fun in getting a new car—any new car—is making it your own. And the new 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet is a fantastic canvas. Here’s what I’d do: Get the cool Carrera Exclusive Design wheels ($2,630) painted in Jet Black Metallic ($1,290); the ceramic composite brakes painted in high gloss black ($9,860); a bespoke paint job to match my cocaine-white personality ($11,430); a bright red tachometer dial ($420); and black leather ($1,260) and carbon-fiber trim ($2,100) with personalized illuminated door-sill guards in carbon fiber as well ($1,640).

Extras such as the $400 ionizer (just put down the roof!), the $1,060 lane-change system (just open your eyes!), and especially a $690 leather pouch for your key fob (for the first time ever, the car doesn’t even use a key to start the engine; you turn a nubbin on the left side of the steering wheel), seem a waste of money to me.

Skip the sport exhaust.

Do us all a favor, speed racer, and leave the $2,950 sport exhaust in the shop window. You want your neighbors to stay friendly, right?

And keep the top down.

Have you ever seen a car that looks better with its rag top up? Neither have I.

The top of this Carrera has new magnesium layers to make it stronger and quieter in the cabin when the roof is in use; sure, it comes in four color options (please avoid the brown one) and is probably more durable than your average canvas flap. But it still looks pretty bad when it’s up. Soft tops inevitably ruin what often is an otherwise-beautiful body line. They look cheap when the rest of the car looks well-made; even after all these years, many leak wind and rain, flutter in the wind, and generally disintegrate over time while the rest of the car remains stoic.

(To really see my point on what soft tops lack, look no further than the new McLaren 720S Spider—at twice the price of this Porsche, it’s not in the same league, but its glass roof is incredible.)

If you have the cash to buy a convertible, you might as well slap on some sunscreen and drive it like one.

Embrace the infotainment.

Porsche’s redesign of its infotainment system to be quicker and more intuitive spoke to my inner, impatient New Yorker with no proclivity toward nor interest in technology. If you’re smarter than the average bear, you’ll be able to connect to Bluetooth in less than a minute. (Finally!) Of its new comfort and convenience functions, I appreciated the 911’s “100 percent connectivity,” in which you can ask the car to find gas prices, parking garages, even hotel and restaurant ratings, or plot your destination via “Voice Pilot” without having to manually type an actual address.

One note: The placement of the steering wheel—even when adjusted—blocks the two new seven-inch screens that form the dashboard gauges behind the wheel. This is unfortunate; I found myself ducking a bit in my seat to see the indictors behind the wheel as I drove.

Make delivery an experience.

Ensure that the first minutes behind the wheel are as memorable as possible. You can pick up your car at the Porsche Experience Centers in Atlanta or Los Angeles for $525 or $550, respectively. Each has a track, lounges, a restaurant, and a historical component where you can learn more about the brand that produced the car. Or pick up your new car for free (minus flights and accommodations, of course) at factory headquarters in Leipzig, Germany, and Zuffenhausen, Germany.

Most of all, get out and drive.

It’s tempting to keep mileage low on new cars, like keeping a new pair of shoes in the closet to ensure they’re pristine. But no one likes a garage queen! Cars are meant to be driven.

With the Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet, Porsche has updated an icon, making it appealing enough to those who want a shiny new sports car while maintaining enough of its original body and soul. The 992 combines the best attributes of a sports car, a daily driver, and a grand tourer. You might as well enjoy every inch of its voluptuous glory.

The post Porsche’s New $133,000 911 Is Worth Ladling On All the Upgrades appeared first on Businessliveme.com.

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nightrainlily · 6 years ago

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DAY SEVEN: ART IN CROISSANTS, PERFUME, AND SCULPTURE

we’re old pros now. we woke up early and caught the train at three bridges to Victoria, then beelined to the Victoria tube line, took that to Green Park, then took the Piccadilly line to Leicester Square, then walked to Covent Garden. if you can keep up with all that, you’re a local.

we stopped for breakfast and finally coffee. we haven’t had coffee since we left Sweden, and we became really caffeine dependent on the dark, smooth Swedish blends during our stay there. going cold turkey was hard, and Joelle and I were feeling it. we each got our favorite drink (a latte for Jo, a cappuccino for my mother, and an americano for me), and were absolutely overjoyed when they arrived at the table. I had strong crema. I knew it was going to be a good day.

my breakfast was also delicious (I’m going to talk about food a whole lot in this post, so if that’s not your thing, you might want to skip to day eight). I had a broiled grapefruit and granola, which may sound simple but really was just so very satisfying. side note: some people say that almond milk tastes like dirty water and that it’s terrible, but honestly I could drink it by the gallon. it’s so creamy! and smooth! and delicious! Joelle had coconut yogurt with pistachios (we all agreed pistachios are a seriously underrated yogurt topping) and this croissant that I could actually hear flake when she bit it. Joelle loves croissants—she gets excited thinking about how good the croissants are going to be in France—and my mother and I are encouraging her to start a croissant blog, the content of which will be ratings of croissants by flake, butter content, taste, cost, pull value, size, golden brownness, etc. she tells me this one was an eight out of ten; too much pull and too little flake, but the coloring was a perfect buttery bronze. once our caffeine kicked in, we were in high, high spirits. way up there.

the three of us are fond of quieter, cleaner spaces, like Kensington and Covent Garden. we walked through tea shops, parfumeries, and chocolatiers. the rows of stalls of the jubilee market stand on the outskirts of the square, where artisans and merchants sell their wares. I bought a tiny stamp of an “a” in the art deco style to use on my letter seals. oh, the things I do for my pen pals.

back to the topic of perfume: the word itself is derived from latin which translates to “through smoke.” Romans, Persians, and Arabs each developed their own versions of the latin original. what we call perfume in the states is actually a range of products which include eau de cologne (seven percent concentration), eau de toilette (ten percent concentration), eau de parfum (fifteen to twenty percent concentration), and actual perfume (forty percent concentration). I gravitate towards clean but also spicy scents; the one I’m wearing the most right now is coipaba balsam, palo santo, and cyprus. I found three blends today that I liked: a bergamot, oudwood, and birchwood one; a bergamot, agar wood, and geranium one; and a lemon, camellia leaves, and iris one. I only recently started to appreciate perfume and the niceness of a scent. I’m a musician, so when I think about art, I most often think of sound, but of course visual art is the most prominent form, and performance as well. only recently have I realized that the sense of smell can also factor into artistic expression as well; in the same way that a chef crafts a sensory experience, someone who crafts smells is also an artist.

after we felt we’d fully explored the Covent Garden area, we walked to the British Museum. we sort of came around the side, and then suddenly it was looming over us, stretching on for city blocks. its architectural influences include the greek revival style, which manifests in huge portico with forty four columns overlooking the street. the entrance opens onto the great court, a circular space in the center of the museum that is five stories high, centered around the reading room. the light filtering in from the cloudy sky today gave the marble room a gray cast, which seemed to me perfect museum-viewing weather.

some of the British Museum’s most renowned pieces are from ancient Greece, which include The Thinker and remains of the Parthenon. the only other public viewing opportunity for the Parthenon is in Greece, where the rest of the pieces still remain. the figures especially are exquisite—the folds of dresses fluttering in the wind, the detail of facial hair, the realness of human anatomy and movement. the ability to turn stone into figures that feel truly alive is something to witness and appreciate, if you ever get the chance.

the other section where we spent the most time was the Asian exhibit. our highlights from those rooms were the Chinese pottery, incredibly well preserved and incredibly detailed, pieces from South Asia centered around Hinduism and Buddhism, and the life-size model of a Korean scholar’s home. whereas the Greek rooms were mostly white marble, the Asian art was vibrant in both design and coloration. I saw the sculpture of the god Shiva, dancing in a ring of flame which conveys the Hindu belief that time is cyclical. some postage stamps in the modern section of the room show Kazi Nazrul islam, a Indian poet during the Indian revolution. the special room of jade sculptures had pieces ranging in size and delicacy, but all were beautiful and reminded me of the small gifts my grandfather used to bring home from Korea.

I didn’t even talk about the Rosetta Stone, but you get the gist of that. it was amazing. I felt like I was in the presence of a god.

I keep a list of professions I would pursue if I could live infinitely and money were no object. it includes: florist, music producer, magazine editor, professor, and now, museum curator. I love organization and the process of finding beautiful or interesting things. my blog, I suppose, is a form of curation, and my playlists definitely scratch that itch as well. to become an expert on something, to know more about it than almost anyone in the world, is a gift which gives you the power to enrich peoples’ lives. in his book The Tipping Point Malcolm Gladwell discusses three types of people: connectors, mavens, and salesmen. I would like to think I’m a maven, because I so enjoy learning about things and then disseminating that information to specific outlets that will most appreciate it. I think I get it from my mom, who reads the newspaper and clips articles for the people she loves. I take that concept to the next level. and being a museum curator would be the next next level.

although we didn’t get through every room, or even every floor, of exhibits, the museum was set to close and we were dead on our feet. we set off towards a row of restaurants, and as I looked around on the map, I saw a By Chloe. I’ve wanted to eat at a By Chloe for literally years, but the locations in L.A. and New York never quite made it into the family vacation itinerary. by the time we got there we were so hungry we could hardly stand, but just seeing the menu rejuvenated me. a lot of people ask me if being vegan is hard because I miss certain foods, but restaurants like By Chloe really fill the gap. I ordered a spicy Thai salad (on brand much?) and a side of mac and cheese, because I feel like if you’re a vegan offered mac and cheese and you don’t take the opportunity to at least try it, you’re probably doing it wrong. my mother got the same salad as me and a cauliflower soup, and Joelle got a taco salad (also on brand. another side note: Joelle’s list of her favorite foods does not include any Mexican dishes, but she’s ordered it consistently when we’re out and says that’s what she’s missed most since leaving home. this girl loves her Mex). and we got sweet potato and regular fries. with beet ketchup. and chipotle aioli. basically, we were feasting and I was in heaven. I’m always grateful when my friends and family compromise and eat at vegan restaurants, so thanks for fulfilling my dreams, guys!

then we stopped for gelato, and although I didn’t get any I’m going to talk about it anyway because it looked really good: my mother got coffee and dark chocolate, and Joelle got cheesecake and dark chocolate (another one of Joelle’s favorite, most beloved foods: cheesecake). there are gelato shops, and good gelato too, on every corner in this city. we love that.

and although we were in an unfamiliar area, we walked a block or two and found an underground station, read the map, and took it home. the London underground is by far the easiest public transportation system I’ve ever used, and I so appreciate the frequent stops, clean trains, logical signage, and ease of access to other lines. we’ve been able to get around entirely on our own, without any major mishaps. like we haven’t even gotten lost once. I count that as a victory.

today was rich. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re feeling full-up of art, culture, and good food.

signing off,

amaya

1. Dedicated to the One I Love - The Mamas and the Papas

2. But Not for Me - Chet Baker

3. Something Soon - Car Seat Headrest

#europe2018

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