#like one talking about how it's disgusting on its own but delicious in small dose

[icharchivist]

being too terminally online on this website has a lot of downsides, but what isn’t one is when you see a joke being pretty funny, and then, at some point, either hours or years later, you see a joke about this joke, and then closely afterward another one, and then it takes like one hour for this joke to suddenly become Tumblr Big Meme, and because you were online the entire time you saw how it went from normal joke to website-wide joke and it’s hysterical. I love it here.

[canadian-riddler]

idk if tumblr ate my ask but. if it did, 30 (obsession) for the riddler or scriddler?

Tumblr says, ‘your other ask was delicious, nom nom nom’

I says, ‘even if it hadn’t this is taking me a really long time because the music I’m listening to has made me too hype to write with any speed at all’

AO3 :D

‘Obsession’

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma [Scriddler]

The first time Jonathan saw him was on the front page of the newspaper.  He could say with absolute certainty that was the day it started. 

Before that day Jonathan would have been first in line to declare there was no such thing as a human being that was so attractive that one could not control themselves.  It was poppycock, he insisted.  Anyone who allowed something as primal as hormones to waylay their every thought was a weakling and a fool.  Jonathan had looked upon a lifetime of people and had never so much as done a single double-take.

The newspaper was in a browbeaten metal box next to a bus stop.  It was locked and the only access was either by key, vandalism, or coin.  Jonathan obviously did not have a key, the location made it difficult to vandalise, and he was loath to pay for absolutely anything.  But one of those three he needed choose, and he justified the third by telling himself it was a small price to pay to get the newspaper into his hands and thus have physical evidence that the man pictured there really was not so beautiful as his memory was bound to recall him.  He tucked it under his arm and did not look at it until he was safely home, and he discovered he was correct: he was not so beautiful as he recalled.  He was even moreso.

Jonathan put the newspaper into his desk drawer and failed not thinking about it.  Every single minute of every single day was haunted by the image of the beautiful man printed upon its face.  He could not sleep for the thought of it.  His lectures at the university, already marred with his general disinterest with being there, were now riddled with pauses and repetition as his thoughts unravelled even while he was speaking them.  He was well-known to the staff as a solitary and unpleasant creature, so his constant inquiries as to the man in the newspaper were met mostly with confusion and dismissal.  He was disgusted in himself for the asking but he could not stop.

Until the night he no longer had to, for he entered his apartment to find Edward there within it.  He stood in the doorway to his bedroom motionless and thoughtless and directionless.

“Well,” Edward said, his voice beautiful and direct from his lips to Jonathan’s ears, “you wanted me.  Here I am.”

Jonathan had never put a single neuron into concluding what Edward must have smelled like, but all of the ones available were thinking about it now.  He had no name to put to the man’s subtle scent other than ‘perfect’.  And he was draped casually across Jonathan’s desk, which would doubtlessly cause it to sink into the wood and remain there long after he left as an olfactory spectre which Jonathan would find himself unable to escape.

His hair was in that god-awful tousled style that Jonathan would now never be able to see on another man without thinking of him.  It was that certain colour that was achieved only by maple leaves only on one day of the year and some of it was visible from the top of the shirt of which he had not done up the top few buttons.  Jonathan had a nearly visceral need to see the rest of it, and whereupon it ran down his torso, down towards his artfully concealed genitals.  Jonathan’s own were filling with a steady heat it was already too late to hide.  Not even the rare shame threatening to wash through him was enough to convince his barely used equipment to settle back where it belonged.  For all his former conviction, it turned out he shared this carnal similarity with all those he had debased after all.

Edward laughed.  It was condescending, and Jonathan hated that he deserved it.  Edward swung himself to sitting with his knees spread and Jonathan hated that he had done it.  “Surely you haven’t been stalking me all this time just so you could stare at me,” Edward said.  “What was your aim, hm?  Did you mean to lock me up in your basement, perhaps?”

Jonathan had indeed fantasized many times about that very thing.  About restraining him, naked, to the wall with manacles which would chafe and bruise and ruin his beautiful skin.  He would leave him down there until he was emaciated and weak and then this would all end for he would have been made ugly as all of humanity was.

Edward shook his head and twitched his wrist up to eye level.  “I’m out of time, I’m afraid.  Good talk.”  And he simply stood and left as Jonathan stared after him, his entire body rigid and unmoving.

The obsession somehow escalated from there.

His room was soon plastered with every newspaper page which contained any mention of Edward.  Any and all news stories about him were preserved on video tape.  He dreamed and he dreamed and he dreamed of Edward, and he had never before been one for masturbation, but it did not matter how often or in what way he did it for the intense sexual desire Jonathan had for him never ceased.  In the dreams Edward was always beautiful, always enticing Jonathan to come to him, but when he did his hands could not feel the shape of him nor could his mind conjure up any image of what he may have looked like beneath his clothes and he knew it was because whatever he managed to think up would be so far inferior to the real thing that it was not worth the effort to visualise.  He lost hours sitting at his desk, the scent Edward had left behind erasing all notion of time or purpose.

Then Edward began to turn up in Jonathan’s daily life.

Jonathan did not ever have to look for him.  He would simply appear at places where Jonathan was already fated to be.  Some of these places were common sense and some of them were not, but Edward appeared in all of them nonetheless.  Jonathan could not leave his apartment without scanning every person he passed for Edward.  He could not remain inside of his apartment without scanning every person who passed the window for Edward.  Night was the only time he could continue his work, and continue his work he did for he had concluded it was his only way out of this.  Edward had stolen his body and so Jonathan would steal his mind.

When next Jonathan saw him the toxin was ready.  He approached, which he had never done before.  Edward’s smile implied he had anticipated such a thing and Jonathan hated the thrill it sparked in his stomach. 

“You have something in mind today, I take it?” Edward said.  His words were the lyrics to a song no one had the skill to write.  Jonathan nodded. 

“I have a truck parked out back.”

Edward hummed in satisfaction and followed him.  Jonathan did not want to take his eyes away when he lifted himself into the bed and leaned back in it as though it were his own and not Jonathan’s, but he had to.  He had to stop this now.  He removed the needle from the glovebox and concealed it behind his back.

“What have you got there?” Edward asked.  Jonathan did not answer.  He instead climbed onto the bed and straddled Edward and pressed his left wrist above his head, at which time he -

They were so close together.  And he knew.  Jonathan could tell that he knew, but he had come anyway.  All of this together stole Jonathan’s breath and his thoughts and replaced it with the violent need to grind his body against Edward’s until the ever-present ache between his legs was relieved at last.  He glanced downward to find that Edward’s bulge was no more present than it had been before, but his was firm beneath Edward’s knowing fingers.  He turned his head aside, into his right arm, in an attempt to dissipate the ensuing moan into his sleeve, but he knew the moment he did so it had not worked.

“Something tells me,” Edward said with accursed playfulness, “that drug isn’t going to be one of the ones I like.”

Jonathan could not answer because his ability to form words had been lost with a motion of Edward’s free hand.

“You know, if I wasn’t certain that was a lethal dose of your little fear experiment, I would have gone for it.  But as it is I’ll have to refuse.  No hard feelings.”

Jonathan bent down and pressed the point of the needle against the side of Edward’s neck.  Edward did not flinch.  Sweat was beading along Jonathan’s hairline and underneath his arms and the place where Edward’s hand was still bewitching him.  “If I kill you,” Jonathan murmured into his ear, “then this will end.”

“Why would you want it to?” Edward whispered.  His breath seemed to caress Jonathan’s skin.  “Tell me, Jonathan.  When was the last time you felt this much excitement?  This alive?  You never have, have you?  That’s why you’ve fallen into this so hard and so deep.  Your work gives you purpose, but it does not give you life.  Not like I do.”

Jonathan prayed that his grip upon Edward’s wrist would not weaken and that his thumb on the plunger would not falter.

“If you kill me,” Edward went on, the sound of his voice making Jonathan helpless, “you will never know the part of yourself that I have awoken.  And you can’t have that.  Can you.”

Jonathan’s breath stalled.  Edward’s eyes glittered knowingly in the dark and Jonathan could not stop looking at them.

“Drop the needle and do what you should have done when I laid myself out so nicely for you on your desk.”

Jonathan’s body obeyed against the panicked protestations of his mind.  He was kissing him at long last, hard and desperate.  His hand had released the needle and was clenching as much of Edward’s buttock as it could grasp, and Edward was laughing but Jonathan did not realise it until he ran out of breath.  He lowered his head to the breast of the man who had broken him and left it there.  Edward’s free hand was in Jonathan’s hair, at once reassuring and condescending, and he did not want for him to ever move it.

“Oh, Jonathan,” Edward fairly hummed into his ear, “you have been fun.”  And his hand, still holding Jonathan’s crotch, clenched and twisted it with sudden violence.  Jonathan saw white and that was all he was able to perceive for a good few moments.  His resumed awareness told him he was curled against the side of the truck, and once he had regained enough of his breath he scrabbled his hand up the bed until he could push himself to sitting.  He looked over his shoulder to see Edward sitting atop the other side, and as soon as their eyes met Edward smiled and swept his legs over the side and disappeared.  Jonathan could not get up fast enough to chase him and he noticed with a start that the syringe was gone.

Days went by.  Days, and then weeks, and then months.  Edward had gone.  He had vanished.  Jonathan tore through newspapers for mention of him in between glances at the ever-on television for a hint towards his whereabouts.  He scoured the Internet to the best of his limited ability and glowered at the publicly viewable footage and photographs and words describing the man who should have been his and only his.  He fantasized about storming into the places who thought they had the right to publish anything about him, inflicting upon them their worst fears and watching as the building burned to the ground before him.  He did not purposely sleep, and the occasions he found himself doing so he woke with clothes both sticky and sweat-soaked, driven by dreams of all the things he could have done when Edward had been beneath him but had not.

It was seven months and twenty-five days later when Jonathan received the postcard.  The photograph upon the front contained nothing he recognised, but the words upon the back froze his very blood:

You want me.  Here I am.

Jonathan learned then there was something worse than lust.  The rage that rose up in him was blinding and numbing and deafening, and a scream of fury tore a strip into the back of his throat that would echo for days.  His hands, divorced from any thought at all, tore the postcard asunder into a hundred jagged pieces and his eyes did not watch himself do it.  When vision returned to them his breath shuddered and his legs weakened.  He found himself kneeling on the floor amidst the fragments, and after a moment he began to gather them together in a panic.  “No,” he whispered to himself with a horror he would never learn how to inflict upon another.  “No!” 

He tried for hours to reassemble the card, but to no avail.  The pieces were too small and too many.  He held the scrap which contained the most of the words Edward had written and clenched it tightly within both hands.  And then Jonathan knew something which was nearly as horrible as the rage had been, and that was sorrow.  His body was a rigid inward curl and he cried hot and bitter tears into his own knees, his forehead pressed into his clasped hands.  Edward’s laugh was echoing in his ears.  Even now Jonathan could not find it ugly.

The sleep that came to Jonathan then was of a sort he had not known in years, deep and black and dreamless, and when he awoke and looked upon the evidence of what he had spent months upon months buried inside of he felt nothing.  He felt nothing at all.  Edward was still beautiful, but whatever part of him had cared was no longer there.  His eyes fell to the paper scattered upon the floor. 

“No,” he said to it.  “No, I think I will wait until it is you who wants me.”

And he rose to his feet and laughed and began to think of what he would do when finally that day came. 

[thekidultlife]

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (4)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: ANGST. family trauma, slight self harming, mentions of drinking (this chapter is heavy. Please read at your own discretion!!!!)

⍟ Word Count: 4.1k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

⍟ A/N: I need to really double my warnings because some content written in this chapter might be triggering to some people. It’s a heavy chapter but I need to show why Y/N hates the Soulmate Bond so much. So please read it ONLY when you are 100% SURE that it’s okay for you to.

I also want to thank @oprandomfeels and @zuvaati for leaving those comments on the tags and everyone who reblogged and commented on this series because it really kept me going writing this chapter! You guys remind me that there are people out there who are looking forward for more of this series. I was in a huge slump recently that it’s been difficult for me to write anything at all, even though how much I actually enjoy writing this before. So I’m really really thankful for everyone!! I’m so glad a few of you liked this one! Alright, that’s all! Here’s chapter 4!

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 |  CHAP 5 |  CHAP 6 |

“And then what happened?”

It was, as always, a glorious day. The weather was warm despite the season, the breeze was cool to the skin and the perpetually blooming wisteria trees gave purple shade to anyone who would sit underneath. 

With an intense headache that could only be remedied by a hangover potion you have discretely snatched from your father’s wares, you were once again seated next to two of your very best friends, who were more or less intrigued by what had transpired last night.

“Like I told you! Nothing happened!” 

You exclaimed, now grumbling because it had shot another pang of dull pain to your temples. 

“What do you mean nothing happened? He brought you to your room, plus you were drunk! Don’t tell me you didn’t at least kiss him?” Soonyoung objected, quite concerned about your unintentional celibacy. 

“And why on earth would I kiss him?” You shouted back, scratching your head. “Just because he took me to my room, something is bound to happen?”

“The situation couldn’t be anymore suggestive than that, you know?” Wonwoo quietly added, twirling a pen on his fingers. “You can’t blame us for expecting something.”

Groaning at this, you took another dose of the disgusting potion on your hands. It tasted like fish left for days out in the open, and weirdly, of cinnamon. While you were trying to quell your headache, another comes in.

“Could we just put a stop to this?” You asked as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “I don’t know why you both are so curious about my night, but don’t we have more pressing matters to attend to?”

On your words, both Soonyoung and Wonwoo turned their gazes to somewhere else; anything else other than you. 

“Oh Wonwoo, don’t you think the weather is so nice today?”

“This tea sure is delicious. Where did you buy this, Soonyoung?”

You could feel a vein in your head tick in irritation. 

“Surely, you both don’t mean that my sacrifice to attend that stupid ball, to spend a night with Lee Jihoon...all of it,” you began as the two of them gulped at the dangerous intent you were emitting. “Was it all completely useless?!” 

Hurriedly, Wonwoo held a hand at you. “Alright, alright! Calm down! Let me explain.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him; your arms crossed. “Do, pray tell.”

“Look,” Wonwoo sighed as he glanced at Soonyoung who was being a bit sulky. “The meeting was cancelled. Someone had probably tipped them off, we don’t know. It was a good idea that we didn’t go inside the room, or else they would’ve known we’re on to them.” 

Your scrutinizing gaze suddenly transformed into something tinged with concern. Sighing, you exchanged looks with them. 

“Are you sure no one that night has realized who you two are?”

Wonwoo nodded gravely. Soonyoung followed suit. “Absolutely.”

“That’s good, but we should be more careful from now on. We don’t know who to trust and anyone could put the two of you in difficult situations,” you warned in a hushed voice. “You could’ve walked out of the Crystal Palace as criminals framed for sex trafficking.”

Soonyoung suddenly realized the gravity of their actions and frowned. Wonwoo was no different, but a lot calmer than his friend. 

“We’ll proceed with caution from here on out. Yet there is absolutely no way I will walk out from this investigation,” Wonwoo declared, his eyes determined. 

“I second. We will get to the bottom of this,” the other male added, glancing at you and Wonwoo.

You nodded at them and smiled softly, understanding their convictions. “We're in this together.” 

There was no way of knowing what the next few months would look like for the three of you and your small publication, yet you have to push on; you have to gamble your own safety for the truth. It was frightening of course, but the fear was not enough to quench the fire within you. 

“But the matter still stands,” Wonwoo interrupted your thoughts, taking a sip of his tea. “You really should have kissed Lee Jihoon.”

◇

The man in question pushed through the French doors leading to an expansive rose garden.

The cultured autumn roses were in full bloom in late September as its scent wafts through the air, creating a romantic feel throughout the area. Devoid of any tall trees, one could easily see the breadth of the garden as it extends to the forest of oak at the far end of the estate. The beauty of the garden was stupendous yet not surprising as the owner of such place was a high-ranking noble of ancient pedigree. A blue grey pavilion lay at the center where Lee Jihoon easily spotted the people he was about to meet.

Fresh from a hearing, Jihoon still had his uniform on, just minus the heavy robes he was required to wear in Parliament. Every third week of the month or so, a meeting is usually scheduled between his longtime friends. Just to check up on each other of course, or often times, something more. 

Marching towards the pavilion in undeterred steps, Jihoon was greeted by a warm call and the scent of brewed coffee. 

“Aren’t you running a bit late, Jihoon?” An older male asked, his military uniform easily indicating that he was a five-star general, and someone no one wanted to mess with. 

“I apologize, Seungcheol. The hearing went on more than I thought it would,” he replied, finally taking a seat on one plush cherry wood arm chair with an exhausted huff. 

“Coffee or tea?” Another asked, his lips curving into a small smile as he offered Jihoon the refreshments on the table. 

“Coffee, please. And make it black. I need something to liven my spirits up,” he replied as the other poured him one on a dainty cup commonly intended for tea. 

The man named Seungcheol simply chuckled at his friend. “Oh? Is something the matter? You look like you haven’t had a good day lately. Don’t you think so, Joshua?”

“He certainly needs coffee, in my opinion.” 

“Oh, don’t you know it,” Jihoon dismissed as he slumped on the chair, covering his tired eyes with an arm. 

“I suppose the recently discovered Cilvekan agents aren’t making anything easier,” the man named Joshua added as he placed the cup of coffee in front of Jihoon who had eagerly sipped on it at once. 

“It is making things a lot worse. It’s the reason why the hearing for today had become so long-winded,” Jihoon sighed, placing down the cup. “There are some who just can’t decide what to do with them.” 

“To be perfectly honest, it would’ve been more useful if they were interned to the military intelligence department. We could’ve used them to double cross,” Seungcheol added, leaning back against his chair. “Now that they have been publicized and a hearing is in full swing, they’re practically useless.” 

Joshua simply tutted at Seungcheol, knowing full well that he was part of the military and thus biased on his views. 

“Nonetheless, it is best advised that we steer clear from such strategies. Espionage during times of relative peace is questionable in varying degrees. It could lead us to a war we never wanted. Notwithstanding the fact that it is me who would have to clean this up if something happens,” he took a sip from his coffee cup. “I reckon we double, even triple our counterintelligence measures against agents here in Porta Persa. We clearly have no idea who we are to trust these days.”

Jihoon listened to Joshua’s suggestion, understanding what the Minister of Foreign Affairs meant. 

“I’m still undecided on my opinion but I’m leaning on Joshua on this matter. A war with Cilveka is totally uncalled for when there’s one looming just underneath our fingertips,” Jihoon remarked, crossing his arms with a serious expression on his delicate features. 

Seungcheol took a sip from his cup gravely. “I suppose it is inevitable of a future. Considering that we ourselves are partially responsible for not taking action.”

Jihoon and Joshua glanced at Seungcheol with grim look. They knew. 

“As Jeonghan isn't here, I might as well ask if you're to release more material for him to use, Jihoon,” Joshua remarked suddenly as the other simply heaved a sigh, brushing his dark hair with his fingers.

Jihoon once again sighed, another burden heavy on his shoulders. 

"I don't think I can do it any longer," Jihoon said. "The deeper my bond with her gets, the more I'm convinced that the songs I write is all propaganda. It weighs on me."

The two men furrowed their brows at him, wondering what he was talking about.

"Her?"

"Propaganda?"

"You know," Jihoon replied, doing gestures with his hands since he found it difficult to articulate what he was trying to say. 

For a while, Seungcheol and Joshua simply glanced at Jihoon with bewilderment. He wasn't exactly making sense with how he was just making shapes with his hands. That is until the general remembered their past conversation from last month. 

“Ah, this is about your soulmate, isn’t it?”

“Did something happen between the two of you?” Joshua asked with curious eyes. 

"No, I just…" he groaned again, "How do I say this? It's all… it's all so confusing! She's confusing me!" 

"Why is that? Isn't a soulmate bond supposed to prevent confusion between parties?" Joshua asked. 

"You do know our bond is different…" Jihoon remarked, and taking note of his friends' expressions, he took it upon himself to explain. "Like I told you before, she hates our bond, she hates our connection. She tried to with tamper it so I couldn't get through, but that simply made the bond unstable. Now, whether she likes it or not, her thoughts are constantly on my mind like a thick fog of ideas. It's virtually impossible not to be influenced by them."

“Have some more coffee, Jihoon. You need it,” Joshua offered as he poured into Jihoon’s cup. 

“Thank you,” the other casually took it, and continued. "Her thoughts become mine. Her passions make me doubt my own actions which I never had to before. It's…she's changing me, and I don't know if I like it or not."

The two men were quiet, Seungcheol more so because of his own soulmate bond. 

“Honestly, I’m so confused,” Jihoon confessed. “I don’t know what to do. I can't even tell her any of this.”

"Yours is a special case Jihoon," the general began as he thumbed on the ring on his left hand. "I won't pretend I understand everything about what you're going through, but all I can say is that these soulmate bonds are meant to change you. You can't be mere individuals anymore, living different lives on this earth. You have been bonded by magic and by the Universe; both your minds and hearts have become one single unit. If she has influenced you, it would be the same for her. If you are confused, she is too. And that's natural because both of you are transforming into beings that will eventually live your lives together and form a healthy family." 

"I don't know Seungcheol. I want my freedom in my thoughts and in my actions. Everything I've known is turned upside down and it's making me uncomfortable." 

"She must be feeling the same way too. Didn't you say she hated the bond itself? She must have hated how someone else's thoughts are entering her mind as much as you do," Joshua interrupted, his voice calming and sweet on Jihoon's nerves. "Look, Jihoon. You're a strong person. You're someone who's intelligent, hardworking and efficient in everything you do. You can do everything by yourself. But that is also your greatest weakness. You're too comfortable on your own. You're afraid to let anyone else in because it could ruin the balance you've maintained in your life. I admit that soulmate bonds are frightening in its own way, but it's there in order for us to grow."

"But I've got you, my friends and my family to share my burdens. Isn't that what I'm doing right now?" He asked, now a bit frustrated.

"But you hold us at a distance. You've never been able to truly share that side of yours that is raw and vulnerable. You know you can't stay like this forever," Seungcheol continued, parrying Jihoon's argument. 

Jihoon sat himself straight in a huff, unable to reply because he knew Seungcheol had hit the target directly. He is afraid, yet he refuses to admit it. He thought that having a bond would make things easier for him, but everything proved to be much more than he can swallow. 

For a moment, Jihoon sat there in silence as he took a sip of lukewarm coffee from his cup, yet his feelings of tension refuse to calm down, the hairs on his back standing in aggression. It was unusual since he was no longer conversing with Seungcheol and Joshua, and tried to dive deeper into the feeling.

In an instant, he knew it wasn't his. 

A pang of pain flashed inside his chest, making him clutch on it with a tight grip. The cup he was holding fell to the ground into pieces, as Seungcheol immediately raced to his side. 

"Jihoon! Is something wrong?" He exclaimed, watching the other groan in pain and then turned to Joshua. "We have to take him to hospital!" 

"I'll prepare the carriage!" 

"No!" Jihoon suddenly shouted, his breaths turning shallow. "No…no….I need to go back to the dorm. I need to find her." 

◇

Exhausting your supply of hangover potions, you went back to your house in town to steal from your father's wares. You never really had a problem with brewing potions, proving that you had an affinity to the craft which could've been passed down to you from your father but come heaven and hell, you will never admit that. 

With a small wooden box attached with a leather strap that hangs from your shoulders, you sneaked into the empty house and to your father's now closed shop. Much to your surprise though, the lights were on and heavy crates tower beside the ingredients cabinet. 

"Oh, you're here."

A familiar voice greeted you from the office, making you turn around swiftly. 

"Father…" you replied, your face marred with sharp eyes and a deep frown. 

"Are you staying at the Royal Academy now?" He asked, stepping out from the shadows and into the light pouring from the glass windows of the shop. He was much tanner and thinner, a clue that he has been to the tropics for some time. 

"Yes. I'll be taking some potions and some stuff with me. I'll be gone as soon as I can," you told him with a cold voice as you filled your box haphazardly with numerous ingredients in a way that they almost slipped out of the container. 

“How is Soonyoung and Wonwoo?”

You curtly replied. “They’re good. Still the same.”

“Are you eating well? Are the dorms good enough for you?”

“They’re fine. I’m living comfortably.”

“Have you met any new friends?”

“I’ve met a few people.”

“Who are they and where are they from?”

You huffed, annoyed and impatient that this conversation was still ongoing. “I can send you a list later if that makes you happy.”

“Don’t join those sororities or fraternities, do you understand? They’re dens of insurgents.”

You chose not to reply, his subjects gradually turning sour in your opinion. Talking to him always felt like talking to a machine.  

If there was any way much faster than the rate you're going right now, you would've done it. You wanted to leave as soon as possible with just a few words and greetings exchanged. Heart thumping with adrenaline, you were fueled by the darkness inside of you, yet you kept it concealed before things could get ugly. 

"I heard from Mr. Kwon that you're still running around with that little tabloid of yours," your father began and you knew instantly where it would lead to, "You better stop this childish play and find something meaningful thing to do." 

If there was anything stopping you before, it was long gone now. 

"It's not childish play!" You screamed, ignoring the fact that Alizarin berries had scattered on the floor. "You don't understand how much this means to me! You never even tried to understand me! So don't try and pretend you know what's good for me when you don't know who I am!"

Your blood was pumping wildly in your veins, your fists tightly clenched. Anger that has long been restrained now broken free and flowing rapidly in your blood. But you knew this was exhausting, so you tried to slip away as fast as you could.

"Have you forgotten how much I sacrificed for you, you ungrateful child? How much I worked so hard so you would be able to live comfortably?" He retorted back, watching your once retreating figure stop from reaching out for the door.

"I never wanted any of those! I never begged you for luxuries! We could be hungry and homeless right now, I don't care! I know we could crawl out of that eventually!" You shouted, your shaking back was the only thing he could see, until you turned to him, your cheeks wet with tears. "I only want one thing, Dad! Just one thing! I wanted you to stay with me… For you to show me that I still had a father even after mom died. Yet you couldn't give it to me." 

"No, you listen to me. I had to leave for you to have food to eat! I had to work hard for you! Don't you know how much I love you? How much I did for you? I don't think you understand that because you keep on running around with that silly paper pretending you know everything about the world."

It was always like this. You already knew. Arguing with someone like him, you felt, was like talking to a wall. He was in a different page and refuses to see your own. The real child here, you begin to question who it really was. 

Yet you kept going, the fury in you refusing to subside.

"Do you ever listen to anything I say?Yes! Just neglect your own daughter and give her all the money in the world and expect her to be grateful! Yes! That's what a good parent is! If mother was still alive, she would've loved me more than all the food you could ever give me! You would never know how much strength I needed to have when you left me here all alone!" 

Your jaw was rigid with sorrow rage, teeth gritting. Yet, much to your surprise, all he did was laugh at you mockingly. 

"Isn't that great? You being so strong after all!" 

It hurt you, more than anything. The look on your father's face, the dismissal, the invalidation of all your emotional needs, your need for his love and compassion, you never thought a parent was capable of doing that to a child. 

More tears stream down your face as you were shaken into silence. The pain in your chest unbearable, your breath turning into laboured heaves. It had hurt. It hurts so much. It wasn't really the words themselves, but the intention to mock, to belittle; that was the one that struck you to your core. 

"I hate you…" you muttered in a low voice, shaking and begging to be understood. "I hate you so much! I needed your love back then! I needed unconditional love! Yet where were you? Where were you, huh? Soonyoung and Wonwoo are much my brothers more than you are my father! They were there for me come hell and high water!" 

You took a breath and continued, your voice rising.

"But it's too late now. You can no longer take back the words you've said. No matter how much you tell me you love me, I would never believe you! You never loved me! Or mom! Or anyone! You only loved yourself and your money!"

Turning around you reached for the door, not even listening to his outraged tantrums behind you. Your own anger too loud in your ears.

"Since you care about gratitude so much," your voice was still hoarse yet resolute, as you were halfway out of the door. "I'll give you two carriages full of gold within five years from the profits we gained from that silly newspaper. That's for everything you bought and did for me since I was born. Think of it as severance pay. You lost me. Goodbye."

Leaving those scathing words behind, you ran as fast as you could. Faster and faster than the wind could ever take you. Your tears were streaming down your face, the wooden box slinging carelessly as it bounced against your hip, yet you continued running down the cobbled road to a destination no one really knows. 

All you could hear was your heartbeat slamming against your chest, the muffled cries you attempt to quiet down, the sound of your heel clicking on stone. Running away felt liberating as the wind slapped harshly on your cheeks. Yet your heart was in so much pain that you forget everything else. 

Reaching the Royal Academy dorms, you forcibly opened the door to your shared room as you immediately raced towards your own room; afraid to encounter someone you didn't really want to see. 

Yet of course, he was there. Lee Jihoon was there. 

Waiting at the common living room, he rose at your presence, his expression tinged with great worry at your state of ruin. He ran up to you, trying to make you stop moving away. 

"Y/N! What's the matter? Why are you crying?" 

His question however were brought to deaf ears as you pushed him away, shaking your head at his close proximity. You didn't want to see him. His presence simply amplified the pain you were feeling.

"Leave me be, Jihoon!" You screamed, pushing him further from your doorway. "I don't want to see you! You're the last person I want to be comforted by!"

You slammed the door, the desolate sound reverberating across the expansive room as you sat there on the floor, still crying. 

You were tired, exhausted. Legs that were trembling with fatigue, lungs that were almost bursting at the seams. Your heart was aching with so much pain and heaviness. 

I will no longer believe in anything. Love is temporary. Love will eventually fade away.  Soulmate bonds are stupid and fake. It's stupid. Stupid. Stupid. This is stupid.

You choke out a cry. 

Gathering all the strength left in your body, you crawled to your bedside and pulled out a huge and heavy trunk from underneath. As you unlocked it with not much gentleness than trying to break it, you were greeted by various bottles of potions. 

If soulmate bonds could really bring happiness, then why is it that I'm in so much pain? Why did mom die then?

Eyes spying on the clear glass bottles, it didn't take much time for you to decided what to do. 

If this is what love is, then I don't need it. If I'm just going to suffer, then I don't want it. I'm fine on my own. I don't need stupid soulmates to make me happy.

Picking up a familiar bottle, you harshly pulled out the stopper and swallowed everything in one gulp. Instantly, you felt the effects moving under your skin, making you shiver, yet it didn't matter, the pain in your heart was far more painful than anything you’ve feeling right now. The magic wrapped itself around your wrist, tighter and tighter like a vice suffocating the bond.

From now on, I'm living for myself, by myself. I don't need love from anyone. I won't beg for love from anyone. No one could ever give it to me but myself.

Another set of sobs spilled itself from your lips as you clung tightly on anything you could get your hands on. They continued gushing like an uncontrollable waterfall, as your heart rejects the words your head was conditioning you to feel. You knew you wanted love more than anything, but that would only make you weak. And weakness is the last thing you needed right now. 

I need to erase every last bit.

Pulling the glove which was hiding your bond mark, you gazed at it with extreme disgust on your face. The thick horizontal bars only reminded you of your father's mocking laugh. 

I hate this. I hate this. 

You rubbed on the black lines with your thumb, hoping that it would lighten the color. But of course, it didn't, so you continued to rub it off. Again and again, and again until your thumb was warm and your wrist an inflamed red. 

Disgusting. This disgusting thing! I wish you never came into my life!

In desperation, you scratched it with your sharp nails, teeth clenched. It was ugly. It felt like chains binding you to a future you never believed in. Straight bruises of scratch marks mar your skin, yet it didn't matter to you. The pain was dull and empty compared to the weight on your chest. 

Stupid. Disgusting. Ugly. I hate this bond. I hate this so much!

"I'm so tired…" you muttered to yourself, burying your face on the soft mattress. 

"Why can't I just be happy?"

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 |  CHAP 5 | CHAP 6 |

-Hyeri

[my-dear-hammy]

Not Fast Enough

Masterpost

More Jamilton

Requested Tags: @propheticnugs

Part Two

By the Grace of One’s Luck

----

Warnings: Gay shit

----

Evidently, he has multiple broken ribs, a broken arm, and a leg so badly bruised and twisted it might as well be broken. Thankfully, it isn't. His other leg isn't so lucky and was completely toast as far as Hamilton is concerned. Not to mention the road rash.

Oh, and his cracked skull.

They keep telling him he is lucky. He's still alive and would probably recover. Lucky. Hamilton has a different opinion. Everything about it is unlucky. If that elk had just kept to the goddamned forest, Hamilton wouldn't be in this situation.

Silver lining of the day, Jefferson left. Probably home. Hamilton woke up to an empty room and blessed silence.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Fuck.

Jefferson is standing in the doorway holding a plastic tray of what is no doubt disgusting hospital food. The smirk stretching across his face only raises Hamilton's hackles. "Mornin' sunshine. Breakfast time," he says, stepping into the room and setting a stand over Hamilton's body so the tray doesn't rest on him and irritate wounds.

"Isn't this the nurse's job?" Hamilton asks suspiciously as Jefferson sets a tray of mouth-watering food in front of him.

"Poor darlin," Jefferson hums, "He was so busy I told him I'd take care of ya."

"I can take care of myself," Hamilton mutters.

"Oh?" Jeffersons snatches the tray back off Hamilton's lap and settles it on his own, sitting in the chair again. "I suppose this is mine then," he hums, stabbing a delicious morsel with a fork, stuffing it in his mouth and chewing contentedly.

"Hey!" Hamilton's protests as another piece of food disappears. The smell is probably the hardest part to withstand.

"No, you can do everything by yourself," Jefferson hums, swaggering his head while chewing. "Go get your own food. Go on, gimpy."

Hamilton huffs. He's just stubborn enough not to ask for the food back after a taunt like that. Why had he put Jefferson as his emergency contact again? Is this really worth it? The smell hangs about the room, making him more and more hungry. A recovering body needs fuel and sleep to heal. Hamilton can get sleep just fine, food, however, is a different story. He glances back over at Jefferson who seems to be eating slowly to rub it in Hamilton's face more.

"You asshole," Hamilton mutters again.

Jefferson chuckles and holds the fork out to Hamilton's mouth. "Wanna bite?"

"Go fuck yourself. I can feed myself." Jefferson shrugs and the fork disappears into his own mouth again, his throat working as he swallows. "Besides, I can't eat off that fork after your disgusting mouth has tainted it."

"Excuse you, my mouth is a wonder. Better than yours."

Hamilton's face heats with anger and his good arm reaches over and is barely long enough to snatch the tray from Jefferson. A quiet laugh as Jefferson picks his teeth with the fork tines, watching Hamilton play a game of finger food. Hamilton flips him off in the process.

God, this food is fucking amazing. Since when did hospital food get so good? Hamilton has been in plenty of hospitals before and knew exactly what its food tastes like. Eyes narrow suspiciously at the food as a possible solution comes to mind.

Hamilton decides the best course of action is to ignore it and keep it eating like it's completely normal. Jefferson seems to be in complete disgust by the fact Hamilton was completely comfortable picking apart the food with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. It's kinda weird having the man sit there and just watch him eat while he is confined to the bed and couldn't move. Just the slightest wrong motion was like getting stabbed fifty times. At least he could open his eyes completely now.

"Why are you still here?" Hamilton asks, looking over at Jefferson.

"I'm your emergency contact apparently, it's my job to make sure you don't do anything else stupid. How fast were you going anyway?"

Hamilton looks up at the ceiling for a second thoughtfully. "Oh, I dunno. Over one-hundred and eighty miles an hour."

Jefferson shakes his head and sighs in what Hamilton wants to call disappointment. "Dumbass. You should be dead."

"Too bad, you'll have to wait for another unfortunate accident before you can sit comfortably at home."

Jefferson rolls his eyes, settling back more into his creaky chair. "As attractive as that sounds, I wouldn't have anyone to insult anymore and that seems rather dull."

Hamilton scoffs and hands Jefferson back the empty tray, licking his fingers clean. "Thanks for the food."

A smile stretches across Jefferson's face and Hamilton ruefully wishes he just said nothing, despite how pleased the man looks. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"You forgot the coffee."

The tray is set down off to the side and one of Jefferson's legs cross over the other, arms folding. Goddamn that cocky asshole. "Why would I give you coffee? You're supposed to be sleeping."

"It's hard when your irritating voices makes that impossible."

"I think you mean sexy as fuck."

Hamilton's body burrows a bit more comfortably into his bed, grimacing slightly. "Go read a book or something if you're so intent on staying."

The shit fucking pulls a book out of his coat with a smirk. Hamilton could think of nothing more than reaching out and hitting him with it and throwing it across the room. He isn't supposed to have brought a book. Jefferson clears his throat and reads aloud, causing Hamilton to groan and wish fervently he had died.

Minutes pass faster than Hamilton thinks. Or maybe they were passing slower. In truth, he fell into a timeless stupor, the soft drawl carrying him along on a story. Maybe that voice isn't so bad when it isn't spouting ending strings of nonsense.

The soft sound of a closing book. "Mmm, why'd you stop?" Hamilton mumbles, pulling out of his state, eyes cracking open.

"Oh, you're awake. I thought you had fallen asleep."

"It was just getting good," Hamilton mumbles more. His ability of speech being slightly deterred from weariness.

Jefferson chuckles and the book reopens. "Alright then." Eyes droop closed as the voice carries on from where it left off.

The regaining of consciousness is a slow and drawn out process. But it eventually ends with Hamilton's eyes finally opening again, wondering what happened to his audiobook. Said audiobook is asleep. His long frame is draped sideways across his small, uncomfortable looking chair. Fluffy head dropped back and reading glasses askew. The book is closed upon his lap, the bookmark sticking out. So he hadn't fallen asleep while reading like Hamilton had.

A soft groan tumbles from his parted lips as the mass head of hair drops his head forward instead, resting his chin against his chest. The reading glasses slip forward slightly on his nose. Hamilton realizes he's never seen Jefferson so soft looking. There something about sleep that makes anyone look beautiful. Especially when early morning light pours in through a nearby window and makes everything glow softly. Including sleeping people. It's peaceful-

"Wake up asshole."

"You're a bastard," Jefferson groans, picking his head up and stretching out his long limbs. That chair looks incredibly cramped with his lanky frame crammed into it. His legs slip from off the armrest and plop back against the floor as he sits properly. His figure is still bent in half, resting his elbows on his knees as his hand rubs his neck, no doubt trying to ease the ache that probably formed there from the uncomfortable sleeping position.

"Only for you," Hamilton hums.

"No, you're a pisspot to everyone."

"At least I don't discriminate."

A sigh. "How're you feeling?"

"Miserable."

"Good," Jefferson stands, scooping his coat up off the floor where it had fallen. "I'm going home, and then going to work."

"Shit," Hamilton swears. "I have to call in. This is going to put me behind weeks."

"Certainly will," Jefferson says, inspecting his nails.

"Oh, you bitch. You're going to take full advantage of my absence."

"Without a doubt."

Hamilton scowls up at the Virginian. Why is he so tall? "Take me with you."

A scoff. "You can't leave the bed, let alone the room."

"Fucking watch me."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll only get yourself hurt."

"What'll hurt me is you getting free reign in the company while I'm out of commission."

"Well, that's your own fault for driving so irresponsibly," Jefferson says, standing stubbornly in the doorway, seconds away from leaving.

"Ha. You don't say shit like that when you race me to work."

"I haven't the faintest what you're talking about."

"Please, no one could possibly miss your bright magenta ass streaking down the road."

An amusing smirk plays on Jefferson's lips. "I don't streak."

"Perhaps not. But seriously. A magenta motorcycle? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Says the man that comes in neon green."

"It's not neon, it's emerald."

Jefferson crosses his arms and props a hip against the door frame. "I can't just miss work for the hell of it. I'm going and you can't stop me."

"Like hell. You're not going alone," Hamilton says, throwing the blankets off his body with his good arm.

"Hamilton, what do you think you're doing?" Jefferson asks. Ha. Let him be panicked. No way was Hamilton going to let him run the board even for a day. Even if the air was cold in nothing but a hospital gown.

"Going to work," Hamilton grits. His dose of assorted painkillers is not enough to dull the pain once he starts moving. His chest is screaming and he's only struggling to sit up at this point.

"This is ridiculous," Jefferson protests. "Outright stupid."

"As my emergency contact," Hamilton rasps, moving his better leg off the side of the bed. "It's your job to stick around and make sure I don't do anything stupid," he retorts. "Get me some crutches."

"Your arm's broken, you can't use crutches."

"A wheelchair then."

"Hamilton-"

If Hamilton weren't currently blinking away the pained tears trying to escape and biting back his cries, he might notice the tone of alarmed concern. Instead, he's muttering various broken curses, trying to shift his broken leg over.

At this point, Jefferson leaps over, carefully but sternly grasping Hamilton's shoulder to prevent any more movement. "If you move your leg, you're going to permanently fuck it up. Do you have any idea how many pins and rods are currently holding your bones together?" he asks, his eyes searching Hamilton's blazing and determined ones.

"Does it look like I fucking care?"

Jefferson's face assumes a familiar expression for Hamilton, a scowl of discontent. When did his face get so close? Jefferson's voice bites through the air, "Fine you bastard," pushing him back into bed despite his cry and picking his leg back up and replacing it onto the thin hospital mattress. "I'll call in."

"You'll what?" Hamilton pants slightly.

Jefferson sighs, carefully tucking the blankets back around Hamilton, focusing on that instead of meeting his gaze. "I can't believe you're making me use sick days for this."

Hamilton is scrutinizing him as Jefferson withdrawals a phone from his coat's pocket and punches in the name of their boss until the number pops up and he selects it. "Don't look at me like that," Jefferson bites, "this is your fau-Mr Washington? Good morning. Yes, I know I'm late. Yes, actually, I'm calling in sick. Heh, I know, I don't sound sick. It's more of a personal matter. Oh, you want to know? Right. Yeah, I'll, uh, gladly explain." Jefferson bites his lip, tugging it slightly as Hamilton watches. Jefferson glares at him, wordlessly reminding him that this was all his fault.

"If I get fired because of this-" he mouths. Hamilton can hear Washington once again asking why Jefferson isn't showing up to work. "Look, I just need a personal day, my deepest apologies," and then he hangs up and throws it at the chair like it was a hot coal.

"Smooth," Hamilton rolls his eyes.

"I panicked, okay? What was I supposed to say?"

"Not that. Now you'll get fired."

"Good for you," Jefferson groans, falling back into his chair and dropping his face into his hands. "Are you happy now?"

"Extremely, actually. You just got yourself fired. This hospital room is completely worth it now."

Jefferson raises his head up enough to scowl. "And how're you paying for this hospital room?"

It's Hamilton's turn to grit his teeth. "I'll manage," he says.

"You'll manage," Jefferson scoffs. "Look, I'm still going home. I want to shower."

"How can I be sure you won't go to work?"

"Seriously? Fine. If you stay in bed, I'll be back within three hours."

"It's doesn't take three hours to shower."

"No, but half an hour of driving there, depending on traffic. Let's say an hour for a shower, and an hour to feed myself. Then the half hour back."

"You take hour-long showers? Do you fuck yourself or something?"

Jefferson groans. "No, I'm being generous. I was including personal prep afterward."

"You're such a pretentious prick. What do you need prep for if you're only coming right back here?"

"Some people actually care about personal hygiene."

"Some people are extra."

Jefferson shakes his head with a small chuckle. "Three hours," and swept out the door. Hamilton's gaze drifted around the dull white room that seems much more empty than it did moments before. Now, what was he supposed to do?

Five minutes later, Hamilton is very glad Jefferson had left. His nurse comes in and tends to his injuries. Bandages are gently removed and Hamilton is getting washed down, something that's embarrassingly reliant on his nurse. A grueling process, for certain. Due to his injuries, it's closer to a thorough wipe down. Not to mention his chiding Hamilton for tweaking his injuries more trying to move.

By the time it's all over, he at least feels clean with new bandages and everything. Though his hair is still unforgivingly oily. Apparently, that doesn't get washed.

The nurse is kind enough to leave him a magazine to flip through instead of staring accusingly at blank walls.

It's three and a half hours before he hears a familiar taunting voice filtering down the hallway. Hamilton is unable to make out exactly what's being said, but it's obvious that it's about himself since he could definitely hear his name.

It isn't terribly long after that when Jefferson reappears in the doorway, a bag slung over his shoulder and another food tray balancing on his fingertips.

"That was three and a half hours," Hamilton says.

"Hello to you too, you ungrateful bastard," Jefferson hums, letting the bag thump to the floor and replacing the tray over Hamilton's lap.

"What took you so long?" Hamilton asks accusingly.

"Hospital cafeteria lines were longer than I expected. Why? Did ya miss me?"

"No."

Jefferson's face takes on a look of mock hurt, a hand splaying across his chest. "You wound me, good sir."

Hamilton rolls his eyes, which then fasten on his tray of fresh food, steaming enticingly. Ah, and he's been provided with a fork this time around. His eyes drift back to Jefferson as the man reclaims his irritatingly squeaky chair. His primping seems to have put a bit of bounce back into his hair that he just doesn't seem right without.

While skewering food onto his fork, Hamilton inspects the only thing in the room his eyes have yet to rake over. Jefferson. He dressed down. The long coat he arrived in has been replaced with a soft, fitting sweater and black slacks. A simple look really, but him lounging back into the chair, one leg crossed over the other, eyes meeting his gaze- oh shit. Jefferson raises an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. I'm confined to a hospital bed. Everything's wrong." Hamilton takes a large bite off his fork. "Except the food. The food is brilliant."

Jefferson smiles, folding his arms over his chest. "It's always the small things that make a day." Hamilton's still on how well the outfit suits him.

"You look better like this, you know," Hamilton says, gesturing up and down Jefferson's frame with his fork.

"Like what?"

"In a hospital. I suggest a coma."

A soft a shake of the head a small sigh, making his curls bounce slightly. "It's always the same with you."

"What'd'ya mean?" Hamilton asks around a mouthful of food.

"You verge on the edge of a compliment and reel back. Would it hurt to try and be nice for once?"

Hamilton swallows. "Yes, I think I'd actually die. Besides. That's our thing. We insult each other."

Jefferson closes his eyes for a brief, drawn-out second, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He leans down and pulls over the small duffle bag he brought, pulling out a bottle and tossing it over to Hamilton.

It's caught easily, after having to drop a fork full of food on to his lap, which earns Jefferson a scowl. Hamilton's fingers work the bottle around, reading the label. Dry shampoo. His gaze rests on it longer than they probably should before traveling to the duffle bag on the floor, from which Jefferson was pulling out a different book. "You wouldn't happen to have any underwear in there, now would you?"

"No. You can't wear any anyway. Not until you can actually get them on over your leg."

"Velcro boxers. Needs to be a thing."

"You're ridiculous."

"My ass is hanging out."

"You're in bed. It doesn't make much of a difference. You could be entirely naked right now and I wouldn't really know because of the blankets."

Hamilton grins cheekily, setting the shampoo on a nearby surface. "I am naked."

Jefferson's arms unfold slightly in surprise. "What?"

Hamilton attempts to wriggle his ass in the sheets. "Like a wee baby."

Jefferson actually facepalms softly, rubbing his face tiredly. "Why, exactly?"

Hamilton shrugs. "The nurse changed my bandages. They cover most of my body anyway, just not the important parts. It's easier like this."

"And you were wanting underwear," Jefferson mutters, dropping his hands into his lap again.

"Well, eventually, yeah."

"You're such a handful."

"Hey, I'm not keeping you here."

"Yes, actually, you are. I tried going to work, remember? Now I'm probably out of a job."

Hamilton's teeth worry at his lip for a short second. "Good for me." He didn't want to be the reason someone got fired. Even if that person was Jefferson. What if he had people he was supporting that needed that income? What if he lost his house? Became another faceless on the street? There were a lot of fates Hamilton liked the think of Jefferson falling into, but a nobody begging on street corners was not one of them.

Wait one fucking second. Jefferson is a rich pompous prick with a silver spoon shoved too far up his asshole. He could afford to be without a job.

Hamilton affords a sideways glance at the man. The room has fallen into silence and Jefferson is sprawled sideways across his chair, reading. Eyes focused through the thick-framed lenses that decorated his face. "Jefferson, are you gay?"

Jefferson looked up and drags his gaze over to Hamilton. "What?"

"Are you gay? Homosexual? Do you like shoving or receiving dick in the ass of or from another man? I'm not sure if I could ask it any more bluntly."

Jefferson's gaze narrows suspiciously. "What makes you ask?"

"I was thinking you had silver spoon shoved so far up your ass and it must make you uncomfortable for you to be a pretentious jackass all the time. But then I was wondering maybe you were just too high-strung from how pleasurable it is. So now I need to know which it is."

Jefferson just stares at him in response for several seconds before silently returning to his book. Hamilton nods to himself. "Gay then."

"It's rude to assume," Jefferson replies, still focused on reading.

"I mean come on. You dress in bright purples-"

"Magenta."

"-That only proves my point further- You're extravagant. And if you were straight, you would've sworn up and down you weren't gay."

"That's only homophobes, Hamilton."

"No, I'm pretty sure all straight people do that, homophobic or not," he says thoughtfully. Jefferson simply sighs. "Well that's too bad," Hamilton goes on.

"What is?"

"That you're gay. See, if you weren't, I would've replaced my insults with flirtations to make you uncomfortable and be safe in knowing you wouldn't take them seriously."

Jefferson looks up from his book to Hamilton, slightly confused. "Just for the purpose of making me unhappy? Is that really necessary?"

"You insulted my insult making. I was thinking about backup plans."

"I thought you were thinking about silver spoons?"

"Oh yeah! The silver spoon pleasurably shoved up your ass keeping you so high-strung and irritable. You must be desperate for a good fuck."

Jefferson rolls his eyes. "I can get laid the moment I choose to."

Hamilton scoffs. "Overconfidence is such a turnoff."

Jefferson chuckles, going back to his book and leaving Hamilton to go over the conversation again in his head and decide if Jefferson really is gay or not. "You could be bi. That's another possibility. But that also means you're gay so I suppose I'll just include it in my original assessment."

"Is this bothering you?"

"No."

"That's too bad."

"Asshole."

"Go to sleep. Focus on your healing."

"I don't need your advice."

"Fine, I'll call the doctor in so she can tell you the same thing."

Hamilton huffs. "I can't just go to sleep like that, on command."

"Sleeping pills?"

"I think I'm on enough meds. Just-"

"Just what?" Jefferson asks.

"Read your book out loud?"

A smirk. "I thought you hated my voice?"

"My mind will be so desperate to escape it'll force itself to sleep."

Jefferson laughs softly. "Alright then," he hums, setting aside the one in his hand and grabbing the one from before, opening it up. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"You just started chapter 12."

Jefferson nods and flips to the proper page, clearing his throat as he settles further into his squeaky chair. A moment later, Hamilton's eyes flutter closed again as the familiar drawl fills the room. Giving life to the ink that marks the pages of that book is something Hamilton always enjoys. A few chapters later and Hamilton is asleep.

----

[juliebeanbook]

three: who is gonna mend these white fences?

Lazy mornings at Ben’s were the nicest thing. Nestled among his copious amount of pillows, cradling a steamy mug of coffee in both hands, stretching out my legs long and slow against his sheets. A chill breeze blew through his open window, and I reached off the bed and grabbed his sweatshirt, pulling it over my head.

Ben lay next to me, flipping through the newspaper. (He was the only guy my age I’d ever met who actually read a physical paper copy of a newspaper; I teased him about how he was secretly seventy years old.) He liked to read my daily horoscope to me in dumb voices. “Today, the Libra should be careful to protect their interpersonal relationships,” he said in a ridiculous cockney accent. “An old family conflict will flare up in the near future like an angry red pimple flaring up on the face.”

“Eww!” I said, smacking his arm. “Who the hell writes these things?”

“Julie, there is clearly an undiscovered artist behind the Gazette’s daily horoscopes,” he said, gesturing to the Diversions section. “A brilliant creative mind, just waiting for the recognition he so greatly deserves.”

“Okay, fine, what else does it say?”

“Um, you’ve got to use your good mediating skills to resolve familial conflict. Blah, blah, keep your friends close, blah, blah, something about family ties and their fragility. Relevant at all?”

“Not really,” I said, but it sort of was. If my family was anything, it was conflicted and fragile. There was a reason I was staying in the city for the summer instead of opting to go back to my parents’ place; we had a strained relationship, to put it lightly.

“Actually though, speaking of family, I need to take off soon. My sister is coming over later with her girlfriend, so I should probably get back and clean the sexy apartment.”

“The what?”

“Nothing.”

Ben set down his newspaper and looked up at me. “Her girlfriend, huh?” he said, as if he’d just realized what I said.

“Yeah, Anne-Marie,” I said, ignoring his surprised tone. “I really like her. They’ve been together for forever, like five years or something? Probably longer, I think they were dating secretly for a while.”

“Are they going to get married or anything?”

I was taken aback when I realized I didn’t know. Jamie had never talked about marriage; I hadn’t really thought it was something she was considering. “I don’t know, actually. I’m not even sure if it’s legal here. That’s terrible, right? I feel like a terrible sister, I should know this.”

He smiled up at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. He was the kind of hot that made you want to smile just looking at him, like he made you happy because a person that attractive existed in the world and you were allowed to have sex with him. He reached up and ruffled my hair. “Nah. You’re a good sister. Go home and be a good sister and we can hang out soon, kay?”

“Are you free tomorrow night? We could get dinner or something.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy, Bean. I’ve got tons of…office stuff to do.” He pointed over at the desk on the other side of his room. “Business stuff. Spreadsheets. Numbers.”

“Numbers, eh?”

“So many numbers.”

“All of the numbers. Just waiting to be calculated.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

I giggled as I jumped off his bed and got dressed. “Actually, can we go a bit earlier? I’m playing a show tomorrow night.”

“Oh right, with your friend’s boyfriend’s band?”

“Yeah, The Entertainment. I did a couple solo gigs with them and I guess they liked me, cuz they want me to actually play with them. Or, you know, there’s only three of them and they need more bodies.”

“Well how about five thirty?”

“Sounds good.”

I leaned over the bed and kissed him. As his hand reached up to cup around my neck I melted into his lips for a moment before pulling back. “Gotta go use my good mediating skills to resolve some familial conflict,” I murmured, and he laughed behind me as I left.

When I got back to the sexy apartment, loud dance music was blasting, making the place sound like a club, minus the sweat and bad drinks and the sensation of a stranger’s boner grinding up on your ass. I turned the corner into the kitchen and found Andy doing something like sweeping, except instead of walking like people usually do when they sweep, she was sort of dancing, her narrow hips wiggling back and forth to the beat of the song. She hadn’t noticed I’d come in. I took off my shoes and crept towards her, reaching out and tickling her around the waist.

She screeched and turned around, hitting my arms away. I cackled.

“You’re a dick, Jules,” Andy said, picking up the broom she dropped and continuing her dance party/cleaning session.

“Love you too, Andy,” I said, grabbing some Eggos from the freezer and sticking them in the toaster. “This music sucks, though.”

“It’s my pump-up music!” she said, collecting the dust and crap from the pile she’d made into the dustpan. “I can’t clean at a useful level without a healthy dose of Jason Derulo.”

“Fair enough. Want a waffle?”

“I do. Tons of butter, a bit of raspberry jam.”

I waited for them to pop, then took a tub of margarine out of the fridge and smeared it over Andy’s waffle. “I’m going to be honest with you here, this waffle looks disgusting.”

“Says the un-converted. Just try it, I swear to God it’ll change your life.”

I put a little butter on my waffle and topped it with a spread of dark red jam. It wasn’t bad, to be honest, but I pretended to have to choke it down. Andy stuck her tongue out at me.

I joined her in cleaning the apartment but had to learn her rules quickly. Andy was a kind of Type A personality, but not a typical Type A – she was neurotic and particular, a neat freak by nature, but she played by her own rules. Her room was a chaotic mix of colour, books stacked precariously on top of each other like unsteady spines, but everything had its own place. Andy had a way of living that was specific and non-negotiable, a complex game that no one knew the rules for but her.

When the doorbell rang at one, Andy had swept the whole floor, I had arranged our kitchenette and living room so that we didn’t appear the slobs that we actually were, and Andy had forced me to change so I didn’t “reek as much of walk of shame.” (“Andy, it’s not the walk of shame; I’m dating him, I’m not ashamed of anything.”) I opened the door and Jamie burst into the room in a flurry of hugs and chatter. Anne-Marie entered more quietly, reserved as always but pulling us into gentle hugs. Tall and lean, with light hair that curled down to her shoulders, Anne-Marie had a quiet sense of dignity about her, something I had noticed in her since I first met her; it commanded a sort of instant respect.

Jamie had picked up McDonald’s on the way, so we all dived into some chicken nuggets and salty fries as we caught up. Anne-Marie had found a steady job working as a librarian in a local school; Jamie had just graduated from the local college’s culinary program. (She’d gotten a university degree in marine biology, then realized she was afraid of the ocean and spent a couple years finding herself before deciding on the culinary arts as her true life’s calling. We were all waiting for her to realize her deep-set fear of ovens or something.) “I think I might have a spot in this new bistro opening up,” Jamie said. “Like, downtown. It’s small, but I think it’ll be a good place to start off.”

“I don’t know if ‘bistro’ is the word you’re looking for, love,” Anne-Marie said, a quiet smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Well, okay, yeah. I guess it’s not really a ‘bistro’ exactly, it’s more like a bar and grill sort of thing. Like upscale barbeque.”

Anne-Marie just raised her eyebrows at her girlfriend.

“Okay, fine, it’s a burger joint,” Jamie said.

“In a truck,” Anne-Marie added.

“So it’s a food truck?” Andy clarified.

“A gourmet food truck,” Jamie said, trying to justify herself. “They cook all of these weird types of burgers. One of them has apples and white cheddar on it, with a maple mayonnaise. Fucking delicious.”

Ever since starting the culinary program, Jamie’s taste in food had sort of surpassed mine. She liked all sorts of things – foie gras, paté, plantains – that I guessed I wasn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate.

“What about you, Julie?” Anne-Marie asked me. “Have you got a job for the summer?”

“Yeah,” I said with my mouth full of at least two McNuggets. Andy laughed at me. “I’m interning at Planned Parenthood. One of the girls in my program has an aunt that works there, so she got me hooked up. I figured it was a good thing to put on my resume, you know, for when I want to get into med school.”

“What kind of doctor do you want to be?” said Anne-Marie.

“An obstetrician,” I said, almost proudly, as if I already was one.

“And a gyno,” said Andy. “Cuz Julie loves vaginas.”

“Andy, I don’t love vaginas.”

“Well, you’re going to have to love looking at people’s junk all day if you want to be a gyno,” Andy pointed out. “You’d better really love hoo-has if you’re going to be so up close and personal with them.”

“You’re disgusting, you know that, right?”

“You’re the one who wants to shove her face up into peoples’ crotches for a living.”

They all laughed at me; I just rolled my eyes and collected the greasy garbage that threatened the newly clean sexy apartment.

Mid-afternoon Andy had to leave to go work a shift at the restaurant, so the three of us hung around and watched some bad sci-fi movies, made some KD. They grilled me on my love life, and I gave them minimal details.

Then Jamie got sort of quiet. She sipped quietly at her can of root beer, staring at Star Trek or whatever it was that was on the TV. “Have you heard from Mom and Dad at all lately?” she asked, in a small voice.

“Um…yeah, they called a couple weeks ago I think. You know, to see if I’d moved in alright.”

Jamie nodded. Anne-Marie took her hand, squeezed it.

“They haven’t called you?”

“Nope,” Jamie said, her voice full of forced cheeriness.

“Jamie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine! It’s fine. They haven’t called in five years, I shouldn’t have thought things were just going to magically change.” Jamie’s voice wavered. Anne-Marie leaned her head on Jamie’s shoulder, nuzzled it with her nose.

“Well, I thought that maybe it might work. I guess –”

“It’s okay. Really. I’m used to it by now.” Jamie smiled at me, but I couldn’t smile back. About a month ago, on my suggestion, Jamie wrote our parents a long letter, making it as diplomatic as possible. If it were me writing, I would probably have ranted about how they were being shitty human beings and terrible parents and Jamie hadn’t done anything to deserve the way they were treating her. But Jamie had kept the tone relatively friendly, just reminding them that she loved them and that she wanted to be in their life. It apparently hadn’t made an impression on them.

“It was a good idea, Julie, but I’m done now. I’m just done. It’s their turn. I’m done chasing after them.”

“I know,” I said, coming over and sitting beside her. “This isn’t your fault. It isn’t up to you to fix this.”

She nodded, a few tears running down her face, and I hugged my arms around her side. Five years can soften a blow, but it isn’t long enough for a wound to heal over completely. I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up on Star Trek, holding onto Jamie tightly, Anne-Marie and I doing our best to keep my sister from falling apart.

[meeshes-on-tour-blog]

Envelopes 5 and 6

As we looked out of the plane windows descending into Cuzco, Peru, the mountainous, terracotta landscape came into view. Thousands of red, flat-roofed houses sat in the dusty-looking valleys below. Cuzco was the capital of the Inca Empire, and a very important place in ancient Inca civilisation. Cuzco is at a much higher altitude than Lima, about 11,300 feet above sea level, so there was a discernible drop in temperature, about 15 degrees. We found our guy and hopped in the taxi to our accommodation. We soon saw that there were plenty of shops selling warm clothes, and we decided we might need to buy a few warmer items, as we hadn't really packed for such cool weather.

The hotel smelled beautifully of wood smoke, and we were offered a cup of coca leaf tea to sip in the sitting room before going to our room. The coca leaf is the plant from which cocaine is derived, therefore we were expecting something much more exciting, but not even a mild buzz! We decided to increase our daily dose with immediate effect. Coca leaves are consumed widely in high altitude regions of Peru in the form of tea, or chewing them, to help with altitude sickness...as well as for other less medical purposes. Our room had the feel of a ski chalet with dark wooden beams, small wood balconies ornately carved, and a log fire in the corner. We asked for a fire one night, but were practically smoked out of the room, and had to open all the windows and doors to not suffocate. We decided it was more of a decorative feature. The towels were folded into swans on the bed, their beaks touching, and their necks forming the shape of a heart. A sweet honeymoon touch!

We went out to explore the town soon after arriving. We became immediately conscious of the high altitude as we climbed the cobbled streets. You get out of breath quickly and we needed to pause quite regularly, and experienced a faint nausea and light-headedness. We were sure we would adjust fine in time, but decided to adopt the local way of taking it very easy to cope with the altitude. The streets are flanked by narrow stone pavements, and when someone else came along from the opposite direction, one of you had to step into the road in order to pass each other. We came across quaint white-washed churches built by the Spanish, and pretty squares, where locals and tourists congregated to stare, photograph, sell, talk, and explore. Old women and young children held alpacas by ropes for the tourists, dressed in traditional colourful clothing. Some of the women had large, heavy-looking woven sacks tied to their backs, with babies, wares, or food inside. A woman thrust a lamb into my arms before I knew what was happening, and a little girl pulled a baby alpaca up next to me, as the woman opened her skirts in a curtseying pose. Jules snapped a photo obediently, and gave the woman and child some change. There are never any hard-feelings about this sort of thing though in Peru. The people are just too nice!

We meandered on and decided to look around the main square. There was a procession of hundreds of protesters forming here, with their banners and megaphones. They were protesting against government corruption and shouted and drummed loudly. We spotted police at the edges of the square facing the protesters. The protesters shouted their condemnation of the government as the police stood in mute lines. The police didn’t seem to object to or notice us photographing them. Jules managed to get a great shot. The atmosphere was generally peaceful, but passionate, and my heart swelled, as it always does, at the sight of ordinary people standing up for what they believe in. I felt quite emotional watching.

Galvanised, inspired, and surprisingly thirsty, from observing the righteous mob, we went in search of a drink. We opted for a sophisticated-looking bar overlooking the main square, and recommended by Blind Experiences. It had red, mirrored walls, and a long, polished bar displaying an array of expensive liquors. It was both chic and bohemian. We sat at the bar and ordered our Piscos, but with a twist this time. There were several interesting flavour combinations on the classic, and the ones we ordered were totally out of this world! Here we opened our fifth envelope, and it was revealed we would be going to Machu Picchu, the infamous 15th century Inca citadel. We were delighted about this, having both secretly hoped our Peruvian travels might take us there. What an awesome place to see in the New Year we thought! We had another Pisco each to celebrate, and some delicious sashimi, before retiring to bed, feeling full and woozy after our first day in Cuzco.

The next day we thought we would inject some culture into our last day in Cuzco, by visiting The Sun Temple. This was a temple originally built by the Incas, but destroyed by the Spanish invaders, and turned into a Catholic church, however, the Inca foundations still remain, and are very impressive. The masonry is incredible with huge slabs of granite seamlessly joined. We enjoyed looking around this interesting historical building, but it was saddening to understand how much Inca civilisation was looted and destroyed by the Spanish colonialists. It made me think about England’s own part in similar global conquests, which have left the same bloody handprints on other cultures, as the Spanish left on the Incas.

We felt like a lighter activity after this more sombre one, and headed to the main local market. We had been advised to try Lomo Saltado here, a popular rice and beef dish, and the smell of frying meat as you entered the market tempted us immediately. However, before food, we decided to take a look around. Walking around the market entertained all of your senses. Female vendors looked like queens sitting atop towering thrones of fruit and vegetables. There was fruit and vegetables we couldn’t even recognise too. The colours and smells mingled as we walked between the different stalls. We walked down an aisle in which women stood behind high counters that looked like walls of fruit and veg. These stalls sold freshly made juices, and due to the number of stalls, there was some fierce competition. This resulted in what can only be described as a dance-off of the arms between the sellers. We felt awkward having to choose between them, but a woman with a particularly big smile caught our eye. She gestured for us to sit in front of her stall and we ordered carrot and orange juice as we were too boring to order any of the unrecognisable options. It was delicious and served in 1950s style ice cream sundae glasses. After polishing them off she re-filled both again. We didn’t want to be rude so drank the whole thing down again, ending up pretty bloated. We wandered on and saw a couple of tiny stalls selling beautiful carved wooden kitchen utensils so we bought some for a gift. The more macabre stalls had mounds of animal muzzles, complete with tongues and teeth, and whole pigs heads sitting there, as well as what looked like dried entrails, stomach linings, and fats. Jules pointed out a pig’s head wearing sunglasses. I struggled to smile at the rather sinister humour. If you were a vegetarian or squeamish you would surely have retched or felt quite disgusted by the sight of all this butchered meat. The smells were not pleasant and we walked pretty fast to get past, taking our photos on-the-go!

After some time, these sickly, meaty odours had faded and finally left our nostrils, and naturally, we became hungry for lunch. We therefore sought out stalls selling Lomo Saltado, and our searching eyes were quickly spotted by a woman who waved a menu in our faces and shouted out at us to sit. We obeyed and sat behind a row of policemen on their lunch break. We figured if this place was good enough for local law enforcement, it was good enough for us. We shared a plate of Lomo Saltado with avocado and pickled chillies. I commented that I thought it was like deconstructed Peruvian Shepherd’s Pie. It was yum. In the mood for shopping having been in this amazing marketplace for some time, we decided to hit the shops of Cuzco to buy the rest of our holiday presents. We were not short of options either. Peru is famous for its silver and gold, so jewellery shops abound, and we got a few beautiful pieces. Most of the jewellery shops sell colourful, Aztec designs mounted in silver, which are very attractive and unique. Of the shops sell clothing made from alpaca wool of varying qualities and prices, the clothing made from baby alpaca wool is the highest quality and most expensive. We found that prices in Peru are not the cheapest in comparison to Rio and Quito, where we are now, but you can barter and strike deals for multiple purchases, which is all part of the fun. We went a bit mad and bought blankets, scarves, jumpers, socks, ponchos, and about any other item of clothing they sold for presents for people, and were laden with bags as we headed back to the hotel.

Dinner was a very relaxing affair at Pachamamma, a small, local restaurant that is extremely popular, and we had tried to go the day before, but it had been fully-booked. We sat in a candlelit courtyard with outdoor heaters due to the evening chill. Jules had a pork dish, but I was a bit more adventurous and tried alpaca. It was barbecued and deliciously rare, and tasted a bit like lamb. I would not hesitate to recommend! An incredible harpist played whilst people ate, and did requests. We heard several classics including The Beatles “Hey Jude”, and a pop song we recognised, but couldn’t remember the name of. What we did know, is that the pop song was definitely improved on the harp.

The next day it was time to leave the beautiful ancient city of Cusco for Machu Picchu via three agricultural Inca heritage sites. Sadly Jules had started to feel a bit fluey, which was a shame, however, there was no time for the poor man to rest, and he bravely soldiered forth. Our first stop was Chinchero, an Inca site above a farming community, that you have to hike up to. We needed to buy tickets for all three sites here in sols, but only had dollars. We therefore went in search of people in the village who might be able to exchange dollars for sols, but no one had any, and it was all looking a bit hopeless. After a while, with the driver’s help, we approached a lady selling corn at the bottom of the route, and she exchanged our money for a decent cut. Good on her we thought! Once at the top, Chinchero’s deep valleys, lush green mountains, and wandering sheep, reminded us of our walks in the Lake District. We walked for an hour or so, taking in the stunning scenery all around, and watching the locals farming, and hard at work. It became immediately clear that rural life is much tougher in many ways. Before leaving we sampled some local corn in its husk for a snack. It was very pale in colour, and served with a piece of cheese, and a spicy salsa. It was pretty big, but we could have eaten two each it was so delicious! Moray was stop number two, and consisted of stepped terraces in concentric circles. We walked round the outside discussing why on earth some people today still speculate that extra terrestrial beings were responsible. These stepped terraces were built by the Incas for agricultural purposes, and each terrace was designed to create different biospheres for different crops. Presumably the drier crops were higher up, with the wetter crops lower down. What amazed us about this ancient civilisation, is the sophisticated engineering and irrigation principles they used, which are particularly astounding considering the very high altitude of these rural 15th century communities. Salineras de Maras was next, and our penultimate stop. This site consisted of hundreds of salt ponds, and looks like a patchwork quilt from above. After a walk down to the ponds, and around, we were getting hot and bothered after our busy day of sightseeing (and irrationally annoyed with the other tourists). We decided this was a sign that we’d reached our limits, so we bought a couple of souvenirs of pink salt to take back home with us, and returned to the car to continue to our final stop of the day, which was Ollantaytambo.

Ollantaytambo immediately had the feel of a rural hamlet. Although hilariously the traffic was worse than central London trying to get through the centre, and we were queued for ages - Jules’s turn to need the loo rather badly! Ollantaytambo is a village in the Sacred Valley of South Peru, which includes Cuzco and Machu Picchu too, on the Urubamba River, and we were staying in a beautiful little B&B overlooking the famous ruins. The room was clean and simply decorated, and there were more swan-shaped towels on the bed sprinkled with flower petals! The room was at the end of what looked like an English country garden, with neat flowerbeds full of bright blooms, and gorgeous views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. Jules loved it immediately. I thought the owner’s baby was a girl, when he was in fact a boy, which didn’t get us off on the best foot. I defend my position that I don’t see why that is offensive, and he did look like a girl. It’s also pretty hard to tell with babies generally unless the baby’s clothes are used to gender signpost, which was not the case for this little cherub!

After we had showered and napped after our long day of travel, we went in search of a local restaurant recommended to us by the B&B. It was quite a long walk out of town, but it was nice and cool in the evening air, and it was good to stretch our legs after a day in the car before more food. The restaurant was quaint, with white walls and dark wooden beams, and was inside the train station right on one of the platforms. It had apparently been there since the 1920s. A charming old-fashioned train called Hiram Bingham, after the American explorer who “discovered” Machu Picchu in 1911, was sitting on the tracks when we arrived. It was like stepping back in time looking at the cream lampshades in every window, the polished wood, and elegantly dressed waiters in tuxedo uniforms. I so badly hoped this was the train we would be taking to Machu Picchu tomorrow! We enjoyed a delicious European-Peruvian fusion meal, including cold beer and very good local red wine, and were continually overawed by the friendliness and professionalism of the waiting staff, although we agreed Caiger & Co could give them a good run for their money. Satiated in every way, we waddled back up the hill to bed.

Sadly Jules was feeling even less fantastic the next day, which was New Year’s Eve, and we had more travelling to do. Alarms at 4am and being in transit was becoming a normal part of our every day lives, but we were loving the pace of the trip, and experiencing new and different places so frequently. No time to get bored! We were dropped at the station with our luggage and had a relaxing coffee and cake, and read our books in the station cafe whilst waiting for the train. Suddenly hundreds of tourists appeared from nowhere, the Chinese and Japanese out of place in terms of how well-dressed and stylish they were, in comparison to the ill-fitting cargo shorts and horrible sun hats of the Europeans. All of them were covered in cameras, and clearly excited for the journey ahead. Some were actually standing on the train tracks taking photos of the surrounding mountains and their travelling companions on the platforms. I couldn’t look for fear the train would run them over, but thankfully they seemed to know something we didn’t, as the rail staff were doing exactly the same.

The train turned up, but sadly it was not the Hiram Bingham I had hoped for, however, it was a wonderful substitute, and the nicest train we have ever travelled in. Everyone had their luggage carried onto the train for them and arranged neatly in the luggage racks by the most smartly-dressed rail staff you’ve ever seen. The staff actually looked more like flight attendants. The Peruvians are incredibly industrious and organised, and we were perennially impressed. I actually saw one of the employees help to take a woman’s coat off, and fold it for her! Tea and cake (!) was served immediately. It was much more like being on a plane than a train. We were won over, and decided Peruvian trains are the best in the world. Also the toilets were spotless, with pan pipe music, reed diffusers, and hand cream! What?! By contrast I thought of the rank, over-priced carriages of National Rail, with their blocked, smelly toilets, grumpy passengers and staff, and propensity for cancellations and delays. Not proud to be British moment number three. The view from the train of the passing landscape was fantastically mystical. The train tracks ran parallel to the Urubamba River all the way to Machu Picchu. This river has the most ferocious rapids I’ve ever laid eyes on. So much so, people don’t even go white water rafting, as you would surely drown. A Japanese and French man sadly did when they attempted this. The river crashes over boulders in deep ravines, as the black, jagged mountains rise up either side like canine teeth tearing into clouds. It’s like watching a film, seeing this spectacular scene from nature flashing past. The steep gorges rose up either side of the tracks dramatically as we flew through dark tunnels. We were reminded of nature’s power and our own mortality and insignificance.

Arriving in Machu Picchu you almost feel like an explorer from a bygone era. The station is old-fashioned, and you can imagine men in cream linen suits and khaki, with hats, their battered leather suitcases piled up on the platforms. Also the hotel staff collecting guests transported all of the luggage on huge carts pulled by hand. The exotic foliage all around is reminiscent of an unexplored jungle, and the mountains tower above the town, making the place feel enclosed and spiritual. The hotel was a contemporary, glass-fronted building, with an Eastern Oriental feel. Our bedroom confirmed we were definitely on honeymoon, with more heart-shaped swan towels, and two red roses on the bed, as well as strawberries dipped in chocolate on a silver platter. We took one look at the prices of the spa menu and decided against a massage, but Jules was not feeling well at all by this point. I ran us a hot bubble bath in the big tub and put some rose petals in it and ordered Jules a hot toddy. We soaked in the bath for some time and then dressed for our New Year’s Eve dinner! Walking into the dining room was slightly like being on a cruise-ship, and as if to confirm we were definitely on one, we were immediately garlanded with yellow paper necklaces, and given gold “2018” glasses, and giant gold “Happy New Year” top hats. We went with the flow and giggled at each other’s ridiculous appearances, as well as uploading some photos of us to Instagram so others could have a good laugh too. There was a performance by a Peruvian band, which was fun to watch, and there was a very sweet old couple on the table next to us, who held hands all the way through and clapped along. Perhaps it was feeling like we had aged 40 years, or it was the large amount of food we consumed, but still feeling unwell, and despite it not being midnight yet, Jules announced he needed bed, and I was more than happy to do the same. We therefore retired to our room, literally before the retired couple next to us, who were still shaking their tail feathers to Peruvian tunes. We wished them a Happy New Year on the way out, hoping very much that we’re still holding hands at their age. We found the terrible film The Devil Wears Prada, the only English speaking channel on TV, and watched that in bed. Amazingly it still wasn’t midnight when the film thankfully came to an end, and we fell asleep, only for 2017 to become 2018 whilst we slept.

New Year’s Day, and we had an exciting activity planned for us by Blind Experiences - “A Mystical Tour” of Machu Picchu! We were to be accompanied by a local tour guide Eddy, and more unusually, a local Shaman...Danielle (?!). True to his Shaman roots he was dressed from head to toe in white linen, and had long, shiny black hair flowing loosely about him in waves. He was very short, even smaller than me, and spoke in a very shamanic way, infrequently, and mystically. So far, so shaman! Jules and I loved it. We all set off by bus to the beginning of the trek, and from there we walked up to Machu Picchu by foot, but not before engaging in a series of Inca rituals and ceremonies on the way up. We gave offerings of coca leaves to the gods, blowing on the leaves three times, and laying them before the mountains. At this point the heavens opened and it seemed to get wetter and wetter as we climbed up, marvelling at views of Machu Picchu from different angles from the trail. We stopped in a sacred place whilst Danielle cleansed our bodies and minds with a Shamanistic ritual involving him tracing our bodies with a stick (one for males, a different one for females) fashioned with quartz stone, which, as we had learned in Cuzco where we bought some, has healing properties, and aids good health. He made a whistling sound as he moved the stick up our bodies from our feet, and chanted incantations in Inca language. We were asked if we could see colours and Jules reported seeing some, but I confessed I had not, which resulted in me being pronounced as generally unbalanced. Fair enough. Jules was pronounced to have a good wife. I couldn’t disagree, this man knew the truth. We were also informed that Jules is ruled by water, and me by the sun, a harmonious coupling apparently! After this ritual was completed for each of us, Eddy announced that Danielle wanted to do a special Inca marriage ritual just for us, as it was our honeymoon and New Year’s Day. He therefore asked us to face each other and look into each other’s eyes, palms pressed together. The rain was still coming down hard all the while, soaking us through. The shaman muttered incantations under his breath whilst binding our hands together with a string of beads. We were asked if we would like to say some words to each other. It was very special and romantic standing there in the pouring rain, bound together not only by marriage, but literally, but when Jules had to repeat Inca words after the Shaman I really got a bad case of the giggles. I pulled it back together as quickly as possible in order not to offend, but could not look directly at Jules for the rest of the ceremony due to fear of a second fit. Amazingly, when the ceremony ended, the rain had completely stopped, and the sun streamed brightly through the clouds onto our bedraggled forms. The shaman remarked upon this transformation with a knowing look in his eye. We climbed higher still and completed one more ritual at “The Witches Rock”, where we blessed coca leaves, incense, wood, and other materials, all representing the elements, such as the sky, the sun, etc. The Shaman asked us to think of family and friends and transmit positive energies to them. He then secreted these newly blessed materials in our natural surroundings to bring our good wishes true. Fingers crossed!

We had completed our trek, and it was time to explore Machu Picchu’s infamous ruins, as the rain beat down harder still, it became quite comical how wet we were. I have never been so truly soaked through! It is a blessing it wasn’t actually cold, and the rain, despite coming down by the bucketful, was warm. Apparently it is very good luck if it rains on the first day of the New Year, a symbol of cleansing and new beginnings! Definitely no need for the factor 50 suncream though that we’d slathered ourselves in in the morning! Despite it being low season and the number of tourists much, much less than the 5000 a day (!) that visit the site during the high season, I was surprised by the number of tourists around. There were more plastic ponchos and rucksacks than you could shake a stick at, and everyone was doing their best to enjoy this amazing heritage site despite the downpour drenching them through. Interestingly, the Shaman appeared serene and dry below his umbrella, as if he was strolling in the park on a sunny day. It must be magic I thought.

It was very interesting to learn that the Incas had carved compasses out of stone. Obviously they just had the constellations and sun to go by, and yet not only was a point in the carved stone pointing to geographic North, but to magnetic North too! How did they know? There was an amazing imitation of a condor carved right out of the stone floor and walls of one of the ruins facing East. Eddy explained that this was to transport the souls of the dead up to Heaven as the sun rose, the Incas being very religious/spiritual about such things. There were also carved stone basins on the floor of one of the rooms, which they used to lay silver in and cover with water. This then functioned as a mirror in which they could study the stars in the night sky above. The views of the mountains, and cloud, and mists all around, were truly breathtaking. I filmed the speed at which the view is obscured by the mist and cloud. One minute the ruins and mountains are clearly visible, the next, they are hidden behind an opaque white cloak. A Mystical Tour indeed! I could go on, as we learned and saw so much visiting this inspiring place, but my enthusiasm and focus was waning slightly, impeded by the merciless rain. My boots were filled with water and squelching as we traipsed about. Jules announced his were completely dry. Thanks Hoolio. We were looking forward to warmth and shelter, and were pretty sure this weather was not helping Jules’s recovery. However, we valiantly completed the tour, and dived into the bus, as bedraggled as all the other tourists.

We were dropped by the bus right outside our hotel which we were incredibly grateful for. We staggered to our room and ran another hot bubble bath and ordered a hot toddy (sans alcohol) for Jules, who sipped it in the bath. It was also time to open envelope number 6, and in doing so, we discovered that we would be flying to Quito, Ecuador, via Lima, on the 3rd of January! This was a very happy surprise, and all the information included by Blind Experiences pointed to another fascinating city experience in the capital. Jules slept for the rest of the day and I read. We surfaced for dinner, which was very delicious, but Jules climbed into bed soon after due to feeling pretty terrible. It’s not often you see Machu Picchu on a sick day though, so it was pretty cool how much we’d done, and we felt an early night in a comfortable bed was not the worst way to end the first day of the New Year.

The next day was a bit of a right off due to Jules feeling even worse, however, unfortunately we had some quite gruelling travel ahead of us. Jules’s sinuses were blocked and he had fluey symptoms, not ideal on honeymoon. He slept in the hotel lobby after we checked out whilst I went to a drugstore to get some meds. Using Google translate (English to Spanish), I managed to purchase nasal spray and decongestant, however, the mechanism of the spray did not work, and it was a sad-looking affair as Jules coughed and spluttered, and I tried to get the mechanism working with a series of odd objects, safety clip, pin etc. Photos of Jules snoring open-mouthed, and me bedraggled from my outing in even more rain, would not have been very Insta-worthy honeymoon shots. We dragged ourselves to the station on foot, and travelled back to Cuzco on the lovely train, but we had to unexpectedly change to a bus for the last leg of the journey, which was a couple of hours, and due to some emergent stomach issues Jules was experiencing, we had to ask the driver to perform an emergency stop at a service station. He kindly obliged, and after some time Jules emerged from the gents looking sincerely relieved! We arrived back in Cuzco in the evening, and took a taxi to the same hotel we had stayed in before. Jules was not up to going out for dinner, so I went to the end of the road and managed to pick up takeaway burger and nachos which we ate in bed. This cheered Jules up a bit. We also managed to find a film in English on TV which ended up being quite good. Clearly junk food and telly was an effective cure for a Brit abroad, because when we woke up at 4.45am the next day, another painful early morning, Jules thankfully had started to feel better.

Jules is the first to admit he is not the best patient when it comes to being poorly, and is prone to slightly exaggerating his symptoms, and catastrophising at times. Now he felt better we laughed at him pronouncing doomfully on the bus, that he was sure he was dying, that he may need hospitalisation, that the end was near, and that Blind Experiences were trying to murder him! As I said, only slight exaggerations of course. Hurrah I thought to myself, Mr Grumps has deserted us, and Jules and I are alone again. We laughed some more regarding some of Jules’s “unruly” behaviour over the last couple of days on our way to Cuzco airport, and agreed it was positive that we take our unreasonableness in turns, not all at once. Surely the sign of an equal marriage we surmised.