#person a flies out of the country for work that very morning and both of them are miserable

[arknights-imagines]

waahh hi i love ur writing!! can i request an affectionate doctor having a sweet kissing session with executor + silverash? i just wanna give them a lot of affection and make them feel always loved 😭

Anon hiya!! 🥳 Tysm for this request sgsugshs it's so cute and I love it!! 😭🥺 Executor and SilverAsh are some of my favourites to write for sgsugshs 💕 I tried to make it as soft and lovey-dovey as I could so I hope you and everyone else likes it 👉👈

Also, because Executor's Birthday was July 7th I gave him some extra love in his part svshsv!! 🎂🥳 He deserves a break lolol 🥺 so Happy (late) Birthday Executor and happy reading to everyone!! 🥺🥳

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Kissing sessions with Executor and SilverAsh

Imagine format; mixed perspectives! (written in second person)

Contains: SilverAsh, Executor, gender neutral Doctor as the reader, brief mentions of background characters, established relationships, kissing described in detail, lots of soft fluffiness 🥺, barely suggestive material in SilverAsh's part?? 🤔, Executor being hesitant and unsure in his part, reader/Doctor being very soft in both parts svjsgshs

Word count: 2.7k in total!

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SILVERASH

“My dear...you’re still working?”

SilverAsh’s eyes had just read the last sentence of the novel in his hand, and now they looked at you with surprise. He had expected you to have lied down in your small bed with him by the time he closed his book - but as it turned out, you were still sat at your desk nearby and going through papers.

The Feline’s voice interrupting your work caused you to blink slowly, and then you turned your attention towards him, expression meek. “You’re awake? I thought you went to sleep…” “And I thought you would be away from your desk by now.” His reply came with a lift of the brow. SilverAsh set his book beside him before propping himself up on his forearm as you sighed, “I’m almost done, I’ll come to bed soon.”

Unconvinced, the Guard Operator stood from the bed, his height allowing him to make his way towards your desk in just a few strides. You had already picked your pen back up and returned to your papers by the time he set his hands on your shoulders - his touch gentle, but firm.

Before you could shoo him away, SilverAsh lowered his lips to your ear - his snow-coloured hair tickled your cheek and his breath was warm as he spoke in a low, smooth tone that met your ears like melted chocolate, “I must say, my dear…” He met your gaze from the corner of your eye before he continued, “I’ve stayed with you this entire evening, and yet I still find myself longing for you.”

When his gaze met yours, his eyes were warm and serious despite the playful lift of his brow. A quiet apology came from you in reply, one of your hands lifting to rub at your heavy eyelids. Humming in acknowledgment, the Feline’s hands left you momentarily in order to spin your desk chair around before they returned to your shoulders - this time his fingers slid down your arms and took your hands in his own.

You had expected him to gently usher you to bed, but what came instead made your eyes grow wide. In a few swift movements, SilverAsh took your place on your desk chair and pulled you to sit in his lap. A small chuckle left him as your eyes searched for his, surprise on your face; when his name left your lips in question, the Guard Operator tilted his head to the side in fake confusion. “Hah...that surprised look on your face, you amuse me so my dear.” His hands came to hold your waist, “You’re tense. Relax for me...after all, no one is better suited to bring you ease than me, isn't that right?”

His eyes were locked with yours, and with every word he whispered to you, he moved his lips closer to yours. He held this sincere warmth that was meant only for you in his gaze; when you looked carefully enough, a glimmer of desire was there as well. Despite that, SilverAsh patiently waited for your reply, his eyes flicking to your lips for a split second or two in order to silently communicate what he wanted from you.

His affectionate gaze caused some of the tension to fade from your body, and you sighed softly; your voice was almost inaudible when you replied, “That’s right, Enciodas.” There was only a sliver of space left between the both of you - you felt him smile before he muttered, “Very good…”

SilverAsh had been moving so slowly, and yet when his lips finally met yours it was as if all his patience left him; his head tilted in order to kiss you deeper and one of his hands drifted up from your waist to cup your jawline. The air around the both of you became warm, and so you practically melted into him. A few seconds into the kiss, your senses were null - but then it all comes rushing towards you.

Your papers are long forgotten when you lifted your hands from his chest to his hair. SilverAsh hummed gently against your lips as your fingers began combing through the fluffy locks - and when your touch grazed his snow leopard ears they twitched slightly, much to your amusement. You thought about taking a second to comment on it, but the Guard Operator didn't seem to want you to pull away, and so the thought faded quickly.

The Feline’s touch attracted all your focus, it’s so warm it's almost burning - or perhaps you were just flustered because of the close proximity, in all honesty, you were far too distracted by the kiss to tell the difference - and on his lips was the cool taste of peppermint. It was a stark contrast, the mix of hot and cold was so distinctive that you were sure you’d be thinking about it later on; though it was unbeknownst to you, SilverAsh certainly hoped so.

As the kiss came to a close both of you stilled, wordlessly taking in every detail of each other.

For someone who everyone said was ruthless and shrewd, SilverAsh encompassed so much tenderness in moments like these. When it came to you, his hands were so gentle, his voice was so soft, and his gaze was so warm; but no one else would ever be able to understand that side of him, because he reserved it for you and you only.

“E-Enciodas…” When the two of you finally broke away from each other, his name fell from your lips breathlessly. Taking his hand from your waist, he gently ran it up and down your back, “There you are, my dear. Ease up for me.” His soft gaze met yours, and a smile painted his lips when he noticed the rosy blush on your cheeks - you weren't expecting him to act so bold all of a sudden, but you had no complaints. Your head dropped to his shoulder, and he sighed in content as an easing warmth came over his own body. You were always so warm, so soft - he didn't want to ever let go of you.

The kiss had rendered the two of you a little speechless, and so for a while you both sat in serene silence. SilverAsh’s voice cut into the quietness softly after some time, “I apologize, it seems I was rather touch-starved and couldn't handle myself.” You shifted a little in his lap, but didn't say anything in reply. Lifting a brow, the Feline tilted his head in order to whisper into your ear - then your soft snoring met his ears.

He blinked, then a light chuckle came from his lips; you were fast asleep. Well, you had been working all day, so the Guard Operator was glad you were finally resting. If SilverAsh had known a kiss was all it took for you to relax, he would’ve had you asleep hours ago. That was alright, now he knew for next time.

Involuntarily, a grin came to his face as he shut his eyes and let his head rest against yours. Your lips had left a lingering warmth on his own; a warmth that the Feline found comforting, and maybe a little too pleasant. His smile grew - yes, SilverAsh was sure ‘next time’ would be happening quite soon.

EXECUTOR

You really couldn't thank Executor enough for allowing you to come along with him for his mission back at his home country - Laterano was truly breathtaking, from the architecture to the way all the citizens dressed. Considering your position as Rhodes Island’s tactical leader, you understood that accompanying Operators on their missions was a little dangerous and maybe not always necessary, but you had wanted to spend more time with the Sankta so he complied. After all, he could protect you if anything were to go wrong.

The view outside the window you were currently standing before almost felt like a dream. You understood that there was work to be done, and that Executor only agreed to stop at a hotel room because he knew you were both tired from talking around and trying to find intel pertaining to the mission but still - taking the time to relax couldn't hurt.

By the time you both settled into the hotel room, the sun had just begun to set; Executor had explained that it was going to be an uneventful evening, mostly just paperwork and going through flies.

“Doctor,” As cool and steady as always, Executor’s voice cut into your silence - your rapt attention went to him as he approached you, moving into your peripheral vision, “You should take this time to rest. Our work tomorrow begins very early in the morning, and I do not know when we will be able to have a break.” As you turned to face him an appreciative smile came to your lips, “You should rest too, Executor.” A shake of the head came in reply, which wasn't much of a surprise; “Do not worry about me. The Notarial Hall has requested that I complete multiple reports about the work we accomplished today, so I have no room to rest for very long.”

Your smile fell slightly. He had more work to do on top of what had already been assigned to him by Amiya? The Sankta before you took note of your mood shift right away; eyes thoughtful, he blinked for a second then spoke once more in a softer tone, “...However, if you wish for me to take some time to rest with you, then very well.” A little sheepishly, you looked off to the side before admitting that you were concerned with all the work he was deluging himself with. A bit of warmth broke onto Executor’s usually calm, unreadable facial expression as he began to remove his distinctive uniform coat; “I appreciate that. I do not want to cause you to worry over my wellbeing, so I will take some time to rest.”

Pleased, your grin returned - wider this time. The Sniper Operator’s demeanor grew warmer at your visible content. Quiet, he joined you in staring out at the sunset beyond the hotel room window. The air around you two was quiet, serene; but something was pulling on inside your chest, wanting to move closer to Executor. And so, your hand found his, and ever-so-slowly you laced your fingers together. Under your unexpected touch, the Sankta stiffened by a hair. He read something on your face, something that caused him to drop the formalities and call you by the nickname he had started getting used to addressing you as, “Hm...yes, love?”

Too focused on how your hand felt in his, you didn't reply. Instead, you turned to meet his gaze with a soft smile on your lips; a few emotions you couldn't distinguish flashed behind Executor’s eyes for but a split second at the affectionate expression on your face, before the coolness in the blue of his gaze melted into warmth.

His eyebrows furrowed together slightly as he stared back at you, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding his words, “...Please excuse me, I… I cannot read your expression.” Emotions weren’t the Sankta’s strong-suit in any sense, but considering how understanding you had always been towards him, he wasn’t afraid to admit so. Voice just above a whisper, you assured him it was alright and let him know he could come a little closer. His hand remained in yours as he did so, shoulders tight and posture a little tense while his free hand hovered a little awkwardly at your side; you chimed with a light laugh at his behaviour, “It’s okay, you can touch me Executor.”

Executor was a little uncertain, but after a few seconds his hand settled comfortably on your waist and the other squeezed your hand ever-so-gently. Then he admitted to you quietly, “I am unsure on where to put my hands.” You shook your head, “This is perfect, don't worry.” The space between the both of you was barely a sliver as you leaned closer to him, expression still full of affection; his eyes flicked down to your lips, and yours glanced at his. Facial cues were something the Sniper Operator failed to understand, but the warmth balling itself in his chest told him to pull you closer. His mind told him that this wasn't appropriate, that his focus should be on his mission and his work, not on you; but the tugging in both his chest and yours was so intense that there was no use pulling back now.

And so, the Sankta finally broke the silence. “Love?” He paused, debating on whether or not he should speak, before mumbling his words against your mouth slowly, “May I kiss you?” He didn't have to ask - you replied in a small nod and Executor wasted no time closing the space between your lips and his own.

Gentle, careful; those weren’t words the others at Rhodes Island would associate Executor with, and yet that was all that ran through your mind when his lips captured yours. And his lips, they tasted sweet; as if he had just eaten a slice of cake or a spoonful of sugar. It was so stark considering how cold and stoic he appeared, but you couldn’t help but adore it. It was almost poetic - maybe you were the only one who would be able to witness and receive this sweetness from the Sankta.

He leaned into your touch when your hand came to cradle his cheek, and his arm slipped around your waist in order to pull you closer - so close that he was certain you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. But that was what he wanted and you allowed him to do so. Your fingers began running through his hair, pushing the white strands away from his face. Executor almost melting. The Sankta’s usual mechanic mind completely malfunctioned at both your close proximity and touch; every gear jammed and every cog stopped turning.

For Executor, this was so utterly odd. On the battlefield, the Sniper Operator was anything but hesitant; when his gun was in his hands, he knew exactly what to do. But with you - when it was you in his hands, his mind was overcome with uncertainty and all his thoughts became incoherent, all because of you. It always made his chest fill with warmth, it always made his stomach flutter, it always made his heart beat too fast, and yet it always felt so right.

When the Sankta ran out of air, he broke away gently; his eyes slipped open to meet your own as he rested his face in your palm. Your voice was soft against his lips, “Are you okay?” Giving you the softest expression, he unwrapped his arm from your waist so he could hold your hand to his cheek, “Yes love...thank you. This may not make any sense to you, but I feel almost energetic now.” A small chuckle came from you in reply. “You’re welcome, Executor. If you’re feeling so eager, we can get back to work in...just a minute.” Though you said that, you didn't seem to be interested in pulling away, and in all honesty neither was he. Yes, his mission was important; but surely taking a second more to rest with you was okay.

Executor’s gaze observed both you and the surrounding room carefully. You were looking back at him with eyes full of adoration and the most effusive grin, the sun through the window almost caused the rosy flush on your face to glow and was surely glinting off his halo and wings, the sunset-painted room was full of warmth that embraced him like a freshly washed blanket - his heart grew a little more with every detail he took note of.

The Sankta returned back to reality when your head fell on his shoulder and you whispered out a small, sincere confession - “I love you Executor.” His heart leapt and his breath hitched at the three words despite you having said them to him multiple times by then, and as always, he let one of his rare smiles grace his lips and replied right away, not missing a beat: “And I love you - more than I am able to describe.”

Honestly, though he tried as best he could, Executor wasn't sure if those words adequately expressed how thankful he was for you, how much he adored the way the feel of your shared kiss was still on his lips, how badly he wished to hold you and never pull away - but he supposed, if anything, it was enough.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Book of Soulmates - OT7 Bonus

Hello everyone! Happy Valentine’s day! I know some of you are way ahead of my timezone and have already passed Valentine’s day, but I hope that you guys enjoy this regardless! 

@nochujeonjk​ requested a Yoongi hot & cold au, so I thought that I’d throw together this special little story to wrap up the soulmate aus nicely. hopefully this is alright!

Thank you all for reading, and you’re always welcome to drop in any time. I love hearing from you. Stay tuned for the epilogue to my series ‘Mine’ this week, as well as Jimin’s red string of fate series coming on February 22nd!

premise: how to boys would react with simple day-to-day tasks while managing their soulmate bonds, and how they meet their soulmates

Seokjin - barcode bond

honestly tries not to look at it too much

but there are days when it’s all he can look at

is quite curious about the technology used to scan the barcodes 

when he thinks nobody is watching, he’ll go down to the entrance of the Bighit building and scan his barcode over and over again

he’s a little jealous of the others’ bonds, which seem more personal

but he’s also terrified of the day when he’ll be notified that somebody with his same barcode entered the building

like, how is he supposed to talk to you?

these are usually what he thinks about during boring interviews

but then there’s a day when he’s biking to work

and he’s keeping his head down, just trying to keep out of sight

but he sees you

and he knows

which makes him realize that maybe his bond isn’t so impersonal after all, if he can recognize you without any help of a machine

so when you walk inside a shop and he notices that you do indeed have a barcode bond, which you scan as you walk in, he’s calling Namjoon and telling him he’s going to be a little late

and before he can even think it through, he’s throwing his bike in the bike rack and walking in after you, scanning his barcode

and watches as it declares a match

after that, he realizes he has no clue what he’s doing

but that just makes you smile

every once in a while, Jin will drag you down to the entrance of the Bighit building just to scan both of your barcodes and see them match up

it just never gets old

Yoongi - hot & cold bond

he’s grown up being fairly cold, so he’s used to it

but it’s not the most pleasant sensation

used to take really long, steaming hot showers

but now he just gets in and out as quickly as he can

because he knows that the warmth is only temporary

and he wants you

so when he wakes up one morning absolutely freezing, he can hardly get out of bed.

what he doesn’t know is that you’ve left the country for school, but find yourself in a similar cold situation

Bighit, worried for Yoongi’s health (mentally and physically), set out to find you

it’s pretty easy. a letter, phone call, and plane ticket later, you’re heading back to Seoul just to meet Yoongi and get your body temperatures normal so you can head back to school

Yoongi takes the longest, hottest shower of his life, trying to figure out what life at a warm temperature will be like

but it still does nothing to prepare him for the shock of you does to him

you’re...radiant. smiling from the second you want into the room where he’s waiting for you

and as his internal body temperature soars before settling down to an average level, he just stares at you with the widest eyes

what ensues is a long-distance relationship in which Yoongi claims that he’s cold when you’re gone

you both know that’s not true - after soulmates with this kind of bond meet they have a normal body temperature regardless of distance

but you still cave every once in a while and let him fly you back home to him

the man literally flies you thousands of miles just to cuddle with you for a few days before you have to leave

the boys tease him mercilessly for it

but he just pretends he has no idea what they’re talking about

Hoseok - timer bond

this man strives to be organized - for good reason

he feels like if he’s clean and organized, it’ll make this entire bond easier to manage

he doesn’t very often show how nervous it makes him feel, but there have been a few times that the boys have found him in the studio late at night, eyes closed with his timer covered

everyone is grateful that they don’t have that bond

but Hobi handles it like a champ

he’s smiling when there are only 60 minutes left, because finally, but then he realizes that he’s in the studio

and literally nobody that isn’t authorized is allowed inside

lol you’re totally not authorized

but you’ve also got a package to deliver, which is your part time job as a university student

so when you ask for where you can deliver a package that Hobi ordered online, an intern tells you that he’s in his studio

which leads to you wandering around the Bighit building

utterly lost

and realizing with more panic than you care to admit that you’ve literally only got thirty minutes left before you meet your soulmate

the only thought on both your and Hobi’s mind is how you have to get out

so you take the stairs, when you finally find them with just a few minutes left on your timer

still holding Hobi’s package when you stumble out the doors to find that you’re in a flipping parking garage

who on earth is going to be chilling is a parking garage when they’re about to meet their soulmate?!

Jung Hoseok, that’s who.

he’s debating between driving his car somewhere more central, or sticking around the building

but he’s a fool and dropped his keys

so naturally you pick them up right as he’s running back to grab them, heart pounding out of his chest

needless to say, you get to deliver him the package, his keys, and your heart

0:00

Namjoon - shared pain bond

he immediately apologizes to you in his mind every single time he breaks something an hurts himself

oh he totally knows that you’re gonna give him an earful when you meet

but he’s so excited

like, giddy schoolboy excited to someday meet you

there’s no rush, but he thinks about it a little too much

he’s learned that you must be a little clumsy like him, because it feels like you stub your toe all the time

but he really doesn’t mind

if the boys so much as begin to bring you up, he dies

like the awkward little bean he is

but he also stresses about how he’s supposed to find you

the boys invite him out with some other friends to get him to de-stress

you’re there

he’s there, obviously

and literally everyone else that’s there already is pretty sure that you two are soulmates

so they just watch you two as the night progresses, wondering if either of you will catch on

you literally get up to go to the bathroom and stub your toe on the way out, but Namjoon is so focused on the menu that he doesn’t make the connection. he just frowns a little before continuing asking Jimin what he’s getting to eat

Jimin can’t answer him because he’s laughing so hard

it isn’t until later that night, when you’re at your apartment that you begin to wonder

Namjoon thought you were really cool, and ends up FaceTiming you thanks to the boys dropping several hints

His hands are shaking a little when he pinches his skin, just enough for it to sting

you hiss a little, frowning at your arm before continuing with whatever you were talking about

Namjoon is pretty much out of commission from that point on

so this boy freaking courts you for a couple of weeks before you finally realize that HE’S YOUR SOULMATE AND HE’S KNOWN ALL ALONG

how do you find out?

he tries cooking for you one night and hurts himself consistently enough that you’re left reeling with both laughter and tears 

he’s embarrassed about hiding it from you, but admits that he just didn’t know how to tell you

you tell him that you don’t mind...but that you’re definitely going to use this against him in the future

Jimin - shared dreams bond

the sweetest soulmate ever

with one of the best bonds, everyone tells him

Jimin gets paranoid before he goes to sleep, and repeats “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over again in hopes that it’ll somehow be translated into his dreams

gets super jealous and grumpy if you dream about guys, even if it’s purely platonic

but oh my lanta does he get so excited and giddy when you dream about beautiful things like soulmates

the other boys are so curious about his bond, so they ask him about it al the time

like, “what did she dream about last night, Jiminie?”

he’s positive that you know who he is, he’s sure he’s dreamt of him and the boys countless times

but he also knows that you probably won’t just show up at his dorm

so he’s dying to have something to go off of, to help him find you

that’s when you dream about your first day of university

he knows that campus

and he’s there the next day, mask on and hood up, flowers in hand

he has no clue what he’s doing

but he just hopes that somehow he’ll run into you

the first day he goes there, he comes home empty handed

instead of being all mopey and sad like the boys expected him to be, he’s even more determined than ever

he’s on campus with a new bouquet every day

on the fourth day, you come running over with your books in hand

he dreamt about this last night 

you’ve been scouring every inch of the campus for him, and heard from a friend that there was a mysterious guy chilling in front of the science building

of course the science building is clear on the other side of campus

so you’re out of breath and frazzled by the time you make it over there, but so happy

and Jimin practically throws the flowers at you, he’s suddenly so nervous

which makes you laugh

and your laugh makes him laugh

and that night you dream about each other

Taehyung - initials bond

ugh this is the worst bond

like, Tae will fight anyone on it, it’s hands down the worst

because he’s met countless people with your same initials!

but maybe fate understands that this bond sucks, because it’s also becoming more and more rare

it eventually just gets to a point where Tae decides to take matters into his own hands

he literally designs his own t-shirt with his initials on the back and yours on the front

fans think it’s adorable

you’re shocked when you see it selling out

soon almost every ARMY owns the shirt and begins the ‘initial project’

you don’t want to tell people that you’ve got KTH on your wrist, because what if it’s not him?

but where there a will ARMY, there’s a way

so tae tae finds out through the grapevine about you

and basically calls you out over vlive

it’s hilarious

staff wanna kill him but can’t do anything about it

but man he just wants to meet you

so with some assistance from ARMY, you guys meet

it’s at a flower festival in Ilsan

tae’s wearing his glasses

and all he can think about is that you look like you belong here, among all of these flowers

so he tells you that, with the shyest, sweetest smile

and you marvel that this is the same man that literally hunted you down using social media and his fan base

you’re still a little skeptical, so you ask him how he can be sure that it’s you when there are so many that share your initials

and he just smiles again

and asks if he can hold your hand while you guys walk around and enjoy the festival

so you agree, albeit a little hesitantly

and as you guys walk around, you realize that you know exactly what he’s talking about

hand in hand, smiling up at him and thinking that he belongs with the stars glittering above you, you realize that there’s no way he’s not your soulmate

he looks down at you and sees that you get it

but he wants to make sure you know it anyway

so he shuffles a little closer and squeezes your hand a little tighter

and from then on, you’re known as ARMY’s soulmate, since they helped you two find each other

Jungkook - drawing bond

obviously, Jungkook loves drawing

he’s very good at it, too

so nobody questions him when he’s off in the corner of the practice room scribbling something on his arm or leg

he jokes how about how you two complete each other because you rarely draw, you write

notes, grocery lists, titles to books, whatever

you write, and he draws.

so if you need to buy apples (they’re on sale!) Jungkook is grabbing a pen and doodling a bushel of apples on his knee

you love it

he mainly loves you

the boys tease him nonstop about it, because it’s so painfully obvious

he’s a goner, and you haven’t even met each other

but he’s so nervous to meet you

and there’s no rush, really

but when he sees Tae trying so hard to find his soulmate, he wonders if it’s time for him and you to finally meet

his bond is the easier by far

and there are so many night where he lays in bed with a pen in hand, wondering if he should just go for it. drop his number, an address, his name, anything

but he never does

he’s so afraid

and he’s so in love that he feels like you’ll freak out when you realize that he’s fallen in love with a person he’s never had any face-to-face contact with

but then there’s this night where all the boys are hanging out together and their soulmates are present (because they’ve all met by this point) and Jungkook realizes how happy he feels

like, he’s genuinely happy. for his hyungs, for himself. he’s lucky that he gets to have this strange little family.

and he realizes that you should get to have this, too. 

so that night he scrawls his phone number out on the back of his hand with a simple note

‘call if you feel comfortable with it’

you freak out

like, fist pumping while also wondering if this is gonna blow up in your face

by the time you’ve weighed all the pros and cons, it’s nearly three in the morning. but you’ve got to call him. now.

so you do, secretly praying that you get the voicemail

but kook is up. of course he is, he’s been waiting on the edge of his bed since eleven pm.

he answers and you realize as soon as he says hello that you’ve fallen in love with this man

which is terrifying, but if he was the one to give out his number, he must want to meet you, right? 

right.

when you do meet, everyone is there. all the boys, all of their soulmates. watching as Jungkook leaps off the park bench and runs to you, and he giggles.

giggles. it’s adorable.

and it’s cute and awkward and a little crowded with all 14 of you, but it’s better than you’d ever imagined.

Jungkook waits all of two hours before grabbing your hand and whispering, “I love you”

so you grab a pen from your bag and smile up at him as you write “I love you, too” into your skin

masterlist

aaaand that’s a wrap! overall, this was the 20th and final installment to the Book of Soulmates! This one was a bit different from the others, since the others are actual mini stories with one member at a time, but I hope you enjoyed!

Happy Valentine’s day!! Love you all! Stay tuned for the fun things coming up! Check my navigation tab to see what’s next!

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

More safe house shenanigans as the gang looks for leads.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : My Damsel in Distress

Delayed Flight 

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141 - Disbanded

Safehouse 110197, Brazil

Soap haven't slept like this for quite a long time. He almost felt guilty that he's peacefully sleeping all while the world was in chaos. 

Slowly got up after noticing that Alex and Ghost were still asleep beside him, they looked like they just slept and he didn't bother waking them up for breakfast. Another scan of the room indicated that everyone else is downstairs. 

John quickly tiptoed across the room and swung the door open. On the other side of the door was France who looked focused while carrying two mugs of coffee.

"Oh! You're up!" she said in surprise as her coffee mugs wobbled. John's quick reflex immediately caught her hands and held them tight until it stabilized.

"I'm sorry I surprised you. Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, a smirk escaped his face as he noticed a faint blush from the female's cheek.

"Yeah. I brought you coffee since the hot water was almost out and you were still asleep." she stammered, not making eye contact to him. Soap looked curious, where was the woman that confidently rejected him yesterday? 

"Aww. So you are concerned!" he mused, holding her hands tight, drawing the steaming coffee mug close to him.

"Not really. I just thought that you're the last one to drink some so the kettle would finally be empty. Don't get your hopes too high, MacTavish." she gently shoved him the mug and carefully stormed off. There she was, back on her guard.

"Well, thanks for the concern." He greeted as he stepped down the stairs while sipping his coffee and met with everyone in the living room.

"Aren't we supposed to do recon for Samantha?" He asked, addressing the leaders who were casually reading a newspaper.

"Negative." Jack said, not looking at the Scottish soldier.

"We still have fuel from Nikolai's plane but we can't waste in on suspicion alone. We have to get solid intel." Price added.

"So we're like chilling here. Doing nothing." He said.

"Not exactly nothing. Ghost might have a lead anytime soon. For now, why don't you run some errands. Maxine needs some things for us here." Price replied, eyes still focused on the paper.

"John?" Maxine peeked from the kitchen and both Price and Soap turned to her.

"I meant Price." she dismissed, making Soap turn away from embarrassment.

"Can I come with them instead of making a list?" she asked, Soap could see Roach behind her eyeing on the interaction. 

"Sure. You've got three bodyguards with you. Just make sure you're always with at least one of them." he muttered. Beside him, Jack stood up and placed the paper on the table. 

"All-righty then, I'll lead you to the town just this once. Next time out, you'll be on your own. It's quite a long walk. And you lad, dress less suspicious." he pointed to Soap's camo pants. Soap actually felt scared at Alex's former CO. His very being still intimidated the Scot.

"I'll be back in a minute." he mumbled and dashed upstairs while France walked by Maxine to the door.

~

"I know Price told us to wear civilian clothing but for some reason you still have the ability to stand out and raise suspicion." France announced as the small team of four exited the safe house en route to the nearby town.

"Is it the hair?" Soap quickly placed one of Price's bucket hats and flashed a grin at the two ladies behind him. "Happy now?" he asked.

"Aside from the fact that you're wearing a t-shirt too small for your size? Yep. When did you last buy clothes for yourself?" France replied sarcastically and asked. Maxine giggled as she walked beside her sister, something she started to accept and try to recall.

"You're just finding an excuse to look at me." He muttered as he dashed to catch up with Jack, who was peacefully enjoying the walk.

"I'm amazed as to how you two act like you're not soldiers right now. How do you do it?" Jack chuckled as he rolled his eyes to Soap's direction, trying not to laugh at the Scot. If he was being honest, the hat did him a worse job. It made his head look small and unproportional to his bulky build. He turned back to France and Maxine who were silently signaling him to keep quiet.

The road was quite long and Soap finally found a small puddle of water to look at how he looked. No wonder they were giggling. He looked like a teddy bear who had a small head.

He then shyly took off his hat and glanced back at the puddle. Maybe it was time for him to buy larger clothes.

"Yeah. Guess someone has to help me pick some clothes as well." he muttered, while France paced beside him and gave him an assuring smile.

"I could always help, John." she said cheerfully and their eyes met. John slowly felt the sincerity on her smile, his heart sped and he found himself inching his face closer to her.

"The town's almost there!" Alex yelled from the distance as the two broke their gazes toward each other and quickly caught up with the two.

Awkward silence. They walked together behind Jack and Maxine who were now discussing what Jack's interests were back in the day. Not that it mattered to John, as all his mind was thinking was this pretty lady walking beside him. He wanted to graze his hand against hers, just to feel her smooth touch, he wondered if she'd let him hold her.

But he insisted, France was more of a slow but steady kind of person. She pointed it out to him multiple times and if he really wanted them to work, he had to do it the old-fashioned way. Sure the kiss was sudden, but what they had back at the Gulag was something worth waiting for and kissing her anytime now would never feel the same as the first.

Jack and Maxine quickly split off toward the market while the two of them remained by the center of the plaza. John scratched his head as he stuttered to ask her where to go.

"So… um… where to?" He asked.

"Looks like they got some cool jackets over there! You think you look good on those?" She asked excitedly.

"What do you think?" He asked shyly.

"Hmmmm.. Maybe… I'm not quite sure." She replied. John expected the classic you'd-look-better-without-any joke but she's not that kind of girl, and he's digging it.

When they say time flies by when you're having fun, John resonated with the quote. They spent most of the time laughing over clothes whose designs didn't make much sense and ended up buying most of them. Despite all the things going on around the world, John felt normal when he's with her, something he hasn't felt in quite a while. He'd even imagined that they're actually boyfriend and girlfriend whenever people around look at them. He was happy. He could get used to this.

~

It was about lunch time when they returned to the Safe house, and the scenery inside was the most unexpected thing ever.

Price was sleeping by the couch, his whole head was covered by a newspaper which had "End' times" written as the headline. Ghost and Roach were fighting over a piece of broccoli on the table while Alex sat by the stairs, wearing a shirt with a huge whale printed on it, playing with a lighter, flicking it open then closing it back as he stared at the flames.

"So that's where Smokey went." Soap muttered.

"Smokey?" France asked.

"My lighter." Soap replied confidently.

"Really?" 

"Yep." he said, popping the 'P' as he unloaded most of the supplies to the kitchen.

"What happened here?" Jack asked, taking off his jacket, completely regretting wearing it in a tropical country.

"Roach ate my broccoli!" Ghost complained.

"Ghost ate my pie!" Roach complained back as Jack sighed and placed a palm on his face.

"We had pie?" Soap asked, his eyes beamed at the table, only to be disappointed that there was none.

"Technically it's a tart and it's supposed to be for Maxine." Ghost smiled shyly eyeing at Maxine.

"Well, it didn't have her name on it so I assumed…" Ghost replied.

"You don't have to assume! You should've asked!" he yelled.

Soap was amazed at the spectrum of the team, which ranged from very righteous and courageous warriors to actual toddlers. It made him happy that he joined this little group he could call family.

~

Another day had passed and they still had no leads. But Ghost looked like he was onto something as Soap found him with Price as they discussed matters that sounded serious. He just hoped it was a lead. He's starting to worry about Alex who was constantly moping around. With nothing to work on, all he could focus on was Samantha.

"Guess you liked playing with that lighter so much." Soap leaned by the door, looking concerned at his comrade.

"Hey man. How was the market." Alex asked, his tone was nonchalant, almost lifeless.

"Well, it was busy. Jack led us there because you were asleep all morning…"

"Yeah. I couldn't go there. We shared so many memories in that town. I just can't handle it at the moment." He frowned and tossed him the lighter which Soap caught immediately.

"Thanks for this. And if you ever need someone to talk to… We're here for you, pal." Soap said awkwardly. The term pal was very American and he thought it'd be appropriate.

"Thanks, pal." Alex chuckled and stood up. 

"Let's go get dinner." Alex added, his eyes were fueled with determination. And Soap was happy that he's taking small steps to recover.

Next Chapter : Lurking in the Shadows

Notification Squad my Beloved

@beemybee @smokeywhalee @enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach @whimsywispsblog

[fundielicious-simblr]

(This is going to act as an update post on Zoe and her family, I'm trying to be more proactive about talking about the other kids in the 'heir' families that aren't the main characters. This also makes it so that I can do smaller updates when I do the big holiday family updates, so that the post itself doesn't become a dissertation 😂)

(Zoe's POV)

How fast time flies! Life in Oasis Springs with little JJ has and is fun, over time he’s made leaps and bounds with all of his learning and potty training. Whilst I helped teach my siblings, it definitely feels different with your own child. Every spill and accident means we’re just that much closer to having him be fully potty trained, which will be a big win for the both of us! We’re working on fluency with colours and letters, and after those are down we can start with bible memory!

(rest is under the cut! - got too long 😂)

With Francisco going off to work during the day, it took awhile for me to get used to being alone when we first got married. After having JJ it made it easier because I could just dedicate all my time to him during the day, my sister Priscilla moved closeby, so we’d see each other whenever we had the time. Now she’s got a baby of her own, we’ve been having to coordinate schedules to see each other. Annette comes down to see Priscilla for some twin time, and while she’s in town she’ll drop in to see JJ and I. It’s great getting to hang out with my younger sisters and being able to invest in their lives and keep our sister bond strong. Annette isn’t married yet and has no one she’s interested in, so she keeps herself busy with babysitting for the mothers in our church as well as investing in the lives of others and volunteering at various church camps. When she isn’t doing that, she’s visiting the siblings that are spread out everywhere, soon she’s planning a trip to see Beckett and Mandy out in Selvadorada on a short missions trip.

It’s great getting to sit down with Francisco when he comes home and getting to hear all about his work day. Obviously there are loads of things I don’t understand about his work with the military, but he’ll tell me what he can whilst explaining the complicated jargon. Sometimes he’ll get sent on short training expeditions out into the desert which have me worried sometimes, as you never know what can happen out there, but he always reassures me that he’ll be back safe and sound.

I’m still working on my music, I play at our church on the weekends so I’m always looking for ways to arrange the hymnals. In the new year I’ll be teaching at a music camp hosted by my parents church, so I’m working on different pieces for that. I’m almost done arranging a piece for a new recording that I’m doing for a small hymnal EP, so when JJ is doing his extended play time, I’m practicing on the keyboard that is in his room. Sometimes he’ll come and watch me play and is captivated by the music, it’s such a blessing to see his little eyes light up at the sound of music, I can’t wait until he’s old enough to begin learning.

Francisco and I had talked about expanding our little family and were excited to see what the Lord had in store for us, there were 2 or 3 times that I hoped I was pregnant but received a negative pregnancy test. To be really honest, it was very hard to want something and get a negative test result. I’ve spent time calling my mother and having her comforting voice was such a blessing to me during my quite teary phonecalls where I’m sure she could barely understand a word. After seeing my mother have baby after baby every year, and now seeing my sister and sister-in-law have children quite easily, admittedly it was hard to be content in my struggle whilst also being happy for everyone else. There were many times I ran to the Lord in prayer for contentment, and for patience as I wait for what he has in store for me, and it helped calm my heart.

It’s been great seeing Francisco as a father, he’s in love with parenting JJ and being a good example for him. He takes initiative with both correcting JJ and having a good teaching moment, as well as being the fun dad who loves to play outside. He tries his hardest to make sure he can come home and read JJ a bedtime story, but if he can’t make it then I gladly read to JJ at bedtime. 

My sister Annette was over visiting when I felt like I should take a pregnancy test, and praise the Lord it was positive! I’ve prayed and prayed over again for this moment, and now that it’s here I feel overjoyed! Telling Francisco was the best part, he was so excited for us to grow our family. We took these pictures to announce to our friends and family about our new addition that will be joining us this winter.

With the joys of pregnancy come the trials, and by that I mean morning sickness. I’ve got it much worse this time round than I did with JJ’s pregnancy, meaning that on bad days Francisco has had to step up and do things that I would usually do. Good thing his mother made sure that both her boys knew how to cook and do their own laundry when they were teenagers or else this would be another trial for us to endure 😂

Another new thing I’ve had to get used to with this pregnancy is the size of my belly, with JJ I only really started showing in the 2nd trimester which is standard with your first baby. With this baby it seems that I started showing as soon as the pregnancy test came out positive, and since we know there’s only one baby in here, their positioning is more frontal that JJ was. 

This pregnancy came right on the tail end of our time here in Oasis Springs, Francisco got his new orders and he’s being stationed out at a base near Windenburg! He got promoted right before his time here was done, so we all got to dress up and head to the ceremony, I must say, I love seeing him in his uniform! Living by Windenburg means I’ll be close to my sister Amira who lives there with her husband, I love that being able to move around every 2 years means that I get a chance to see different friends and family more regularly as the years change. When we’re on our way to Windenburg we’ll be stopping by newcrest for Harvestfest with my family, it’ll be so good to see everyone again before we head out to our new home for the next 2 years!

                                                            💛

(AN) The accidental irony in this post being military themed wasn’t planned but is unfortunate considering the recent events. This post would’ve gone up on Saturday the 28th, but unfortunately time and circumstances meant I couldn't bring myself to do much for a bit as well as not having access to my laptop. Early on saturday morning I found out that a girl that I knew was one of the marines killed in the Kabul attacks. I’m not in the military, I’m not even American, but she was stationed at the base in the country where I live and were deployed to Afghanistan from here not too long ago. Being a civilian I wasn’t as close to her as some of her fellow soldiers but we saw each other when my friends and I would hang out with our military friends on the weekends, she was truly a kind soul and her death as well as the others have shattered everyone’s hearts. It’s so jarring having to deal with the fact that a person that you used to see almost weekly is now gone, I jumped back into tumblr as a form of distraction and am hoping this helps keep my mind busy. My condolences go out to all the families and friends of those who lost their lives this weekend, and to everyone affected by these losses, please reach out to get help if you need it. May they all rest in peace. 

[gstqaobc]

FROM THE MONARCHIST LEAGUE OF CANADA

As this Ecomm went to publication, we received word of the death, at the great age of 96, of Bill Silver, a significant benefactor of the League from its early days, and for many years a pillar of our Ottawa Branch.  We wished to remember him here: his ebullient spirit, fierce loyalty spoken gently, innate modesty and kindness.  Indeed Chaucer might have had forethought of Bill in describing one of his characters as a “very parfitt gentle knight.” May his ardent spirit rest in peace, and his memory be a blessing and example to us all.   LEAGUE ISSUES NEW FLYER: THE CASE FOR THE CROWN The League thought it timely and useful to issue, offer in its advertising and distribute as widely as possible - both via the website and in printed form - a new flyer which will give you, our members, ammunition to argue logically the case for the Crown in conversation with others, and, we hope, to distribute strategically. One never knows when such an item, left on a waiting room table at the doctor or dentist’s office, affixed to a supermarket or other community bulletin board, put through neighbours’ mail slots - the possibilities are many - will do good work for our cause. We hope you will both enjoy and profit from this item, and that many thousands will be distributed across the country. See item one in the WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? section of this Ecomm, below, to read online and request printed copies.   And special thanks to our wonderful team of no less than seven translators, all francophones from La Belle Province, who so kindly volunteered to make the French version one that is accurate in expression and eloquent in its prose.                     WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? Some suggestions for member activity during these times. We invite members to send additional ideas by return of email. 1.    How about asking the League to send you several print copies of our new flyer:  THE CASE FOR THE CROWN, or print them on your home computer:  https://www.monarchist.ca/index.php/publications and give them to others who may be unaware or sceptical of the importance of Canada’s constitutional monarchy, or even hostile to it. School teachers could be encouraged to read the League’s educational booklets, also available both online and in print at the same URL, or even to request a class set.   2.    When you read an editorial, opinion column or letter to the editor in a newspaper, or a tweet or Facebook post, critical of the Crown, don’t get mad - get even! In other words, use a temperate tone and logical argument to refute the writer’s attack.  Keep it brief: focus on the obvious flaws in reasoning, mis-statements of fact or name-calling substituting for logic.  Same goes for radio talk shows. In the long run, on all media, whatever the provocation, whatever the momentary satisfaction of ”giving them a piece of my mind” - an old adage remains true: “You catch more flies with honey.” 3.    Write your elected representative at the federal level to re-state briefly the reasons you support constitutional monarchy as our system of government,  and asking the MP whether not your view is shared. 4.    Once pandemic restrictions ease, try to make sure that Royal events - such as the upcoming 95th birthday of our Queen, 10th Wedding Anniversary of William and Catherine or 100th birthday of Prince Philip are celebrated both in your home but also among your wider family, your friends, your colleagues at the office,  your place of worship/faith community or service club. The League generally sends you some ideas to mark these celebrations. Remember, as they are incorporated into family life and public life, the     Crown becomes further embedded in the heart of the nation, and truly represents The Queen’s wish that it ”reflects all that is best and most admired in the Canadian ideal.” This is especially true when you go out of your way to include in your observance the newest members of our Canadian family, who generally are eager to participate in the traditions of their new homeland, and in turn to share their own traditions with the wider community. 5.    Always use a Queen stamp when you write a letter or pay a bill by mail. 6.     At events of ceremony, whether a Council meeting, a graduation, a civic celebration - whatever - make sure that the Royal Anthem is sung as well as the National Anthem. To the extent you can, discourage event organizers from having a soloist “perform” them. Far more pride and         learning develop from the untrained voices of loyal folk singing together. In that way, the Anthems are sung “with heart and voice” and not merely listened to.   A FINAL IDEA: AN ACT OF LOVING SUPPORT & THANKS Apart from the above, we think it would be enormously comforting and supportive for every one of us to  write a kind letter to The Queen, expressing your thoughts at a difficult time: her beloved husband ailing, a grand-child chiding other family members via sensational television, the drumbeat of the tabloids and the restrictions on her busy life caused by the pandemic.  A selection of letters, especially those from Commonwealth Realms, are indeed seen by The Queen - and their number and tone are summarized to Her Majesty. The address is - Her Majesty The Queen, Buckingham Palace, London SW1A 1AA, UK Theoretically you don’t need postage to write the Sovereign; in practice, it is safer to affix the international airmail stamp available from your local Canada Post outlet.   AN INTERESTING OPINION PIECE FROM TODAY’S DAILY TELEGRAPHWe thought you might be interested to see the following strongly-worded opinion piece, reflecting a good deal of the tone of recent British public opinion, rather different from much of the Canadian and US commentary. Meghan’s fake interview has real-world effects The Sussexes’ claims have undermined the monarchy and done lasting damage to the Commonwealth by Tim Stanley, March 15, 2021 Two headlines appeared on the BBC News website on the same day. At the top: “Harry and Meghan rattle monarchy’s gilded cage”. At the bottom: “The kidnapped woman who defied Boko Haram”. Well, that puts the Sussexes' problems in perspective, doesn’t it? Yet across Africa, one reads, the Duchess’s story has revived memories of colonial racism, tarnishing the UK’s reputation, and has even lent weight to the campaign in some countries to drop the Queen as head of state. The only nation that seems to think a lot of nonsense was spoken is Britain. In the wake of an interview that Joe Biden’s administration called courageous, British popular opinion of Harry and Meghan fell to an all-time low, and the American format had a lot to do with it. Oprah Winfrey is not our idea of an interviewer. She flattered, fawned and displayed utter credulity. Imagine if it had been her, not Emily Maitlis, who interviewed Prince Andrew over the Jeffrey Epstein allegations. “You were in a Pizza Express that day? Oh my God, you MUST be innocent! Tell me, in all honesty, though...did you have the dough balls?” This wasn’t an interview, it was a commercial for a brand called Sussex, a pair of eco-friendly aristo-dolls that, if you pull the string, tell their truth – which isn’t the truth, because no one can entirely know that, but truth as they perceive it. “Life is about storytelling,” explained Meghan, “about the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we’re told, what we buy into.” Meghan is a postmodernist. Just as Jean Baudrillard said the Gulf War never happened, but was choreographed by the US media, so the Royal narrative she was forced to live was fake, her public happiness was fake and, following that logic, this interview might involve an element of performance, too. People have challenged her claims, alleging contradictions and improbabilities, but one of the malign effects of wokeness is that you have got to be very careful about pointing this out. Why? Because wokery insists on treating a subjective view as objective truth, or even as superior, because it’s based upon “lived experience”. To contradict that personal perspective is perceived as cruel, elitist and, in Meghan’s case, potentially racist, so it’s best to wait a few weeks to a year before applying a fact check. In the meantime, affect sympathy. People would rather you lied to their face than tell them what they don’t want to hear. The result is profoundly dishonest, for I have never known an event over which there is such a gulf between the official reception, as endorsed by the media and politics, and the reaction of average citizens, who are wisely keeping it to themselves. Into that vacuum of silence steps not the voice of reason but bullies and showmen – like Piers Morgan, who said some brash stuff about Meghan’s honesty and, after an unseemly row on Good Morning Britain, felt obliged to resign from his job.  “If you’d like to show your support for me,” he wrote afterwards, “please order a copy of my book.” Dear Lord, was this row fake, too? I can no longer be sure, though I despised Good Morning Britain before and still do: it embodies the cynical confusion of emotion and fact, a show made for clicks, where even the weatherman has an opinion. So what is real in 2021? The Commonwealth, which does a lot of good in a divided world. The monarchy, which has been at its best during the pandemic, doing the boring stuff of cutting ribbons and thanking workers that, one suspects, Meghan never grew into (can you imagine her opening a supermarket in Beccles?). It contains flawed people, but that only adds to its realness, and they can adapt faster than you might think. Prince William got the ball rolling by telling reporters, who he is trained to ignore, that his family is not racist. His wife paid her respects to the murder victim Sarah Everard, demonstrating that she is neither cold nor silenced. I’d wager Kate does her duty, day after day, no complaint, not because she is “trapped”, as Harry uncharitably put it, but because she loves her family and believes in public service. Meghan and Harry have indeed prompted the Royal family to change: not in order to endorse their criticisms, however, but to answer them.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[whimsywispsblog]

ALL’s Not Fair in Love and War (edited)

A/N: Hey Wispies! Here’s the edited version of chapter 1. So, there’s not much of a change in the plot. It stays the same. Hope y’all like this one!

CHAPTER 1- PAIN

2 Days Before Leaving for West Berlin

21th February, 1981

"I cannot believe you Russ! How could you!" Rei shouted. This was the nth fight she was having with her husband. Adler sat on the sofa, frustrated, his hand in his hair. "A fucking child! You're tormenting a fucking child, Russ!" Her face was red, she looked livid. She had always been against using the MK-ULTRA program on anyone, but now, they wanted to use it on a 16-year-old kid. What annoyed her more was Adler treating the kid like a tool- a loose end that needs to be tied up once they've achieved whatever they need.  "That kid should be out there with other children, enjoying and partying- not in a lab getting fried and then getting killed!" She screamed, her body shaking from anger.

The same fight on the same topic, just like the last two weeks ever since Adler had saved a kid from a near-death situation in Trabzon in Turkey- not just any random kid, no. But this kid was one of the few members of the inner circle of men Perseus trusted. Damn, he was one hell of a kid with a burning determination to survive. And to not give in to any amount of torture and interrogation thrown at him.

As a last resort, when Hudson finally lost the last drop of patience he had left for answers he "ordered" Adler to perform Mk-Ultra on the kid, which Adler could have easily denied to do, just like how he killed Qasim, despite Hudson's 'orders' to bring the man back alive.

As she kept shouting, Adler finally lost his cool. "Damn it Rei! Every fucking day- do you have to throw this shit at me?" Adler stood up. Adler ran his fingers through his hair, frustration and anger written all over his face. "You have fucking changed so much over the last few days- what is wrong with you?" Adler was never the kind to let his anger take over. He would always put on his calm facade, but today, he lost all his patience. A part of Rei wanted to back down- she knew she pushed all his buttons. But she didn't, she was just as adamant as Adler, if not, more.

"That fucking kid is a spy! He worked for Perseus-" Rei chuckled darkly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Perseus, yes. The only person you've been obsessed with. Wow, Adler!" Adler walked closer to Rei. He towered over her 5'2'' petite frame. "You fucking know why." He growled, deeply. "And from when did you start caring about a random kid so much?" Tears had already started streaming down her face. Her once beautifully painted eyeliner smudged and running down her cheeks. "Really? You don't know why I care so much?" The hiccups kept swallowing her words. "Adler that is a fucking 16 year old child! You are going to torture a child! What if this boy was someone like Ril-" Before she could complete her sentence, Adler slammed his hand on the table, earning a soft gasp from her.

Why is Perseus so important to Adler, you ask? Well, for one, it's the era of the Cold War: the legendary glaring competition between the United States and the Sovient Union. Second, the United States was hardly united on anything. Sadly, for Clandestine Special Officer of the CIA, Russell Adler, it was his job to make sure that with the current situation, Perseus should get NOT A SINGLE CHANCE to shift the balance of the Cold War, unless he wanted to be a part of the grand cremation of the West, sponsored by the USSR.

"Riley is fucking dead, Rei! Get the fuck over it" Adler shook Rei's shoulders vigorously. But once he saw her flinch after his sudden outburst, he knew that he messed up. She looked pale, like a small petrified cat. Her lips quivering and her eyes wide open. She stared at Adler, deep into his eyes- the anger in it now turned to regret and sorrow.She shook her head lightly, in disbelief. "You're an asshole, Adler."

She pushed Adler off her. Taking her jacket, she left the cosy warm house into the biting cold streets. The house was a mess. Papers and files everywhere, clothes thrown on the floor and a hell lot of bags. With a frustrated sigh, Adler went to the kitchen to get a drink. "Fucking hell." He muttered, pulling out a bottle.

Hours passed since Rei stormed out. Adler had dozed off on the couch after finishing an entire bottle of Bourbon. The room was dark, with only a small ray of streetlight illuminating the room. He groggily woke up to the telephone rininging. Cursing under his breath after tripping over a chair on the way, he finally made it to the phone. "Hello?"

"Adler, it's time. West Berlin, by tomorrow night." It was Hudson. It was time for them to start off.

"Rei." No answer. "Rei?" Adler called out for her softly. Still no answer. His muscles tensed and heartbeat rising.

He walked into their bedroom. Opening her closets, there were only a few clothes that belonged to her. Papers- divorce papers. And a letter. 'Sign the papers. I will take the rest of my belongings after the mission.'

Letting out a deep sigh, Adler crumpled the letter and threw it away, after reading it. It was from Rei. Lighting a cigarette, he walked to his balcony. A lone tear fell off his eye as he looked out to the bright stars of the night sky. He missed her and he wanted her back.

-

"Are you sure that's all you have?" Park asked Rei once more, before leaving for the airport. "Positive."

"Alright then."

When Rei left the house, she ran into Park at a little Café. Lucky for them, the plan was that Rei and Park travel together first, where they meet up with Lazar and Sims at the safehouse, while Adler join the team with Bell.

Special Officer Helen Park, from the MI6, personally recruited by Russell Adler for the hunt. It was one fine morning in London, one of the few days when sunshine actually seeped through the windows of her apartment that she got a call from Adler for the mission. It was easy for Adler to pull strings of Park, she being one of MI6 best assets especially in international assignments and biological warfare and because of their prior business.

Park and Rei's friendship goes long before both of their entry to the world of Intelligence, war and espionage. They were in the same college, Oxford. Although Park dropped out earlier after the death of her brother, they maintained their friendship through the years.

"Rei, I know you're against the whole idea of Mk-Ultra on Bell. But...now we know quite a lot about Perseus."

"It's not just about performing the programme on him, Helen. It's the whole idea of what happens after. For now he trusts us, and just like how he was betrayed by Arash, he'll face it again with us once we're done. Neither the CIA nor Adler will let him live." Park glanced briefly at Rei. Her eyes were swollen from crying.

"I know they won't. But since we made Bell a spy from Mi6, I think I can pull him out slowly." Rei smiled lightly, hoping that it would be possible. "Besides, the boy knows a great deal about Perseus. I'm sure he'll be of some use to MI6, with Perseus and his brilliant cryptography skills and multilingualism."

Adler was not the type to ignore an order unless he was convinced that there is either another way round or that the order might have adverse consequences. In this case, a very complicated case, Adler's stance was understandable, but Bell does deserve the benefit of doubt, doesn't he? Maybe Park and MI6 could pull him out of the sticky situation.

The rest of the ride went quietly. The airport was not crowded, much to Rei's happiness. A crowded airport was an unbearable one. Too many people, too much noise and too sweaty. Now all they had to do was finish their formalities, rest in a lounge and then go to Germany, finally to the safehouse that included two helicopter rides. "Ugh what a pain." Rei muttered, a scowl on her face.

-

"That wasn't so bad." Park chuckled nervously at a highly sleep-deprived and hungry Rei getting off the helicopter, walking towards their rented car. They had just finished their exhausting long journey. Airplanes and anything that flies- Rei hated them with a burning passion. Ironically, the girl loves to travel to different countries. Right now she was like a zombie. Rei just groaned. "Can we at least get some food before going to the safehouse?" She wailed softly. Park smiled at the girl, shaking her head lightly. "Alright. We'll get some take-out and go to the apartment first, freshen up and change and then head to the safehouse."

"Great!" Rei hopped towards her car, taking the driver's seat.

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Treat Your S(h)elf: I Drink Therefore I Am: A Philosopher’s Guide To Wine, by Roger Scruton (2009)

You could say that wine is probably as old as civilisation; I prefer to say that it is civilisation, and that the distinction between civilised and uncivilised countries is the distinction between the places where it is drunk and the places where it isn’t.

- Sir Roger Scruton, I Drink Therefore I Am: A Philosopher’s Guide To Wine

When I first got talked into investing in the dreams of my two cousins and their French families to continue to manage an old French vineyard I thought of Roger Scruton’s book. I already had this book on my shelf alongside his other works. Re-reading it nudged me to take a risk and go for it.

For one I have always loved wine and have drunk it from a very early age. Secondly what could be more cultured or civilising than to marry body and mind through the palate of philosophy and wine?

And finally, and perhaps more importantly, the opportunity to escape the madness of modernity - as well as make peace from war as a British combat veteran of the Afghan war by not so much as coming home but finding a new one - by getting back into nature with hard honest graft on the land that Mother Nature blesses.  All of this I found especially appealing.

Of all the things we eat or drink, wine is without question the most complex. So it should not be surprising that philosophers from Plato and Socrates onwards to our contemporary times have turned their attention to wine: complex phenomena can lend themselves to philosophical speculation.

Wine is complex not just in the variety of tastes it presents – ‘wine tastes of everything apart from grapes’, I once heard a crusty old French vintner say – but in its meaning. Only the most woodenly literal-minded would deny that wine has a meaning: in its history, its role in human social life, in religious and other ceremonies. Though they drink it copiously over dinner at High Tables in their Oxbridge colleges, academic analytic philosophers do not spend as much time as they might in this kind of investigation of meaning or significance of wine – what we might call a phenomenology or a hermeneutic investigation.

Of course, there are more narrowly phenomenological questions which wine raises.

How do vintners or winemakers manipulate the underlying biochemical material to create the kinds of taste which they intend their wine to have? Does the ‘terroir’ of a wine really make a difference to taste, and if so how? What is the basis of evaluative judgements about the quality of a wine?

Arguably only those who actually make the wine and those who are life long wine connoisseurs can conceivably answer that on some experiential and technical level. But these are not the only philosophical questions in this area: the hermeneutic questions have their place too, in an understanding of the phenomena.

Sir Roger Scruton’s 224 page book is about the hermeneutics of wine rather than its psychology or phenomenology more narrowly conceived. Scruton, the late great conservative philosopher, is that rare breed who comes closer than most to bridging the gap between the grass roots and the High Table in answering such mysteries.  The result is an engaging, insightful, informative and (in parts) a very funny book. It is immensely readable, more in the anecdotal style of Scruton’s England: an Elegy (2000) or On Hunting (1998), than his more heavyweight philosophical works, such as The Aesthetics of Music (1997), Sexual Desire (2004), Beauty (2009), and his writings on Wagner and high culture. He does often come across as curmudgeonly, but his (written) relations with women, music and poetry are very delicate and tender. And so it is with his love affair with wine. It is indeed a very personal book and its is warmly personable, like the man himself, and it contains so much of Scruton’s distinctive wit and intellectual personality, it ought to be of interest not just to wine enthusiasts (whom Scruton likes to call ‘winos’) and philosophers but also anyone curious enough to understand the place of wine in our world civilisation.

The first and obvious thing to say about Scruton’s book is how the title of the book is of course a play on words. It’s a playful wink to Eric Idle’s “Philosophers’ Drinking Song,” in which the Monty Python cast, lightly disguised as a group of Australian philosophers all named Bruce, list the world’s thinkers from a drinking standpoint. This includes the couplet slightly amending Descartes’s proof of his existence: “And René Descartes was a drunken fart / ‘I drink therefore I am.’”

The pun on words is Roger Scruton’s way of taking the Monty Python couplet seriously. After all Descartes was a serious man and though he was born in Touraine, the rich French wine region, did probably not drink much. He treats all this as a paradox that G.K. Chesterton might well have toyed with - that is, as a truth standing on its head to attract attention - and examines the drinking of alcohol as a way in which human beings learn more about each other, fellowship, some of the deeper realities, God, and not least themselves.

In this Scruton is a wise philosopher who teaches us how wine cultivates our moral virtue and our civilisation. He encourages us to recognise that stream of liquid descending from our pursed lips into our throat as the red or golden chord that runs from heaven to earth, and binds everything in-between into a cosmic whole. Wine both reflects and helps constitute our participation in all strata of reality, and points the way to our redemption, divine or otherwise.

In Scruton’s Prelude (a musical term, of course) where he quotes Emerson “who commends the great wino Hafiz [a Persian poet] in the following words: “Hafiz praises wines, roses, maidens, boys, birds, mornings and music, to give vent to his immense hilarity and sympathy with every form of beauty and joy.” This is echoed in Scruton’s terms that “by thinking with wine you can learn not merely to drink in thoughts, but think in draughts. Wine, drunk at the right time, in the right place and the right company, is the path to meditation, and the harbinger of peace.”

The book is divided into two parts, labelled ‘I drink’ and ‘therefore I am’ respectively. The second part of the book is more strictly philosophical - Scruton starts it with the nice conceit that ‘therefore I am’ contain the whole of philosophy, each word standing in turn for reason (therefore), consciousness (I) and being (am). But arguably wine and Scruton enthusiasts will probably get more out of the first part.

The first chapter is a nice description of his own discovery of wine as a young man. Warmly written, the chapter is devoted to his friends who made him “fall” for wine (or is it he who made them fall?) and his acquisition of a 1945 Château Lafite, “the greatest year from the greatest of clarets”. His first memories are happy ones of his mother’s home manufacture of elderberry wine in a post-war England where the French (and Spanish and Portuguese) grape had not yet “conquered the suburbs.”

“For three weeks the kitchen was filled with the yeasty scent of fermentation. Little clouds of fruit-flies hung above the jars and here and there wasps would cluster and shimmer on the spilled pools of juice.” Other Englishmen of Scruton’s generation will recognise and sigh at this description as many fathers - including my own - made his own beer and wine from motives of both fun and economy.

Thus ill-equipped, Scruton goes to university ignorant of the rich variety of wines available even then to an English wino. At Cambridge and, later, in Paris, a succession of tutors, patrons, and friends not only introduce him to a growing list of wines but also teach him how to drink them. Some of the wines he is given are complex and expensive Burgundies, others cheap French supermarket vin ordinaire.

But Scruton discovers that all have certain inherent qualities that an educated palate can discover by drinking them attentively and appreciatively. By learning their provenance and history, he enriches his knowledge of the locality that produced the wine — and he can imagine (I would like to believe this is so) that he can glimpse the character of the local people in the wine itself. He learns finally that certain wines go with certain things, not merely certain foods, but certain occasions, certain friends, certain thoughts, even certain topics of conversation. He becomes a wino.

When in his early middle years, Scruton buys a farm in southern England, he discovers to his delight an array of homemade-wine equipment, identical to that of his mother’s elderberry experiments, on the kitchen floor: “I listened to the bubbles as they danced in the valves, and studied the wasp-edged puddles on the tiles. I had come home.” Yet it is a different person who comes home. Scruton celebrates his good fortune not with elderberry wine but by opening and drinking in quiet happiness a treasured bottle of Château Lafite 1945 that had accompanied him in the long wanderings now ended. For, by this time in his life, Scruton is a confirmed Francophile in his drinking tastes.

The chapter ends on a remark concerned with the “new habit, associated with American wine critics like Robert Parker, of assigning points to each bottle” which should not only be “viewed with nothing but contempt” but also compared to “assigning points to symphonies, as though Beethoven’s 7th, Tchaikovsky’s 6th, Mozart’s 39th, Bruckner’s 8th all hovered between 90 and 95.

Perhaps his second chapter ‘A Tour de France’ is the best one. This is a very personal, but informative and interesting, guide to Scruton’s favourite French wine regions. starting in Burgundy, down to the Rhône Valley, the Pyrenees and ending in Bordeaux with T.S. Eliot’s description of a spiritual journey that applies equally to a journey through wine:

We shall not cease from exploration, And the end of all our exploring


Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

With much reason, Scruton does not think very highly of blind tasting: “To think that you can judge a wine from its taste and aroma alone is like thinking you can judge a Chinese poem by its sound, without knowing the language.” I let out a whoop of appreciation when I read this. In one clean swoop he casually casts aside the resultant snobbery that comes from the ritualising and self-importance of blind tasting events.

I think blind tasting whilst sincere is also an exercise in showing off. I’m not saying people don’t have a nose for wine or can tell certain elements but blind tasting is not the best way to truly appreciate the full complexity of wine. Indeed in my embryonic wine making experience (by watching my cousins and the managers on our vineyard) I would say terroir is perhaps one of the most overlooked aspects of wine making and it determines the difference between good wine and a bad one.

It’s great to read that Scruton defines himself as a terroiriste. Not the French word for a terrorist! But a believer in the French word, terroir. It is derived from the Latin word terra meaning earth or land. It’s a word coined by the French to express a wine’s sense of place. There is no English equivalent for this word. It was originally used to distinguish the wine making practices of old world wine. In other words terroir is how a particular region’s climate, soils and aspect (terrain) affect the taste of wine alongside the traditions gone into producing the wine. Some regions are said to have more ‘terroir’ than others. Johan Joseph Krug (1800–1866), the famous champagne producer, once suggested that “a good wine comes from a good grape, good vats, a good cellar and a gentleman who is able to coordinate the various ingredients.” No trace of terroir.

But I think Krug is wrong and vintners as well as the wine industry as a whole have come to the same realisation of the importance of terroir. Back in the 1980’s, many of these ‘terroir-driven’ wines were actually affected by wine faults including cork taint and wild yeast growth (brettanomyces). Vines thrive in a range of soil compositions from highly draining granite and schist based soils to limestone and clay and vines, in turn, react to these different soils in different ways. And on top of the differing soils, certain areas of the world have such unique combinations of geology and topography that interact with specific sun exposures that the resulting wines have distinct characteristics that cannot be found anywhere else.

Nowadays terroir is used to describe practically every wine region. Because much of European wine (old world) is steeped in tradition it is easier to get a sense of terroir. It’s a bit harder in a place like Napa or Sonoma (new world) because of the looser laws that govern winemaking but younger winemakers are coming around to the idea of terroir and trying to express the land. But certainly in France today vintners - as they come to increase their geological knowledge and environmental understanding and find ways to marry that to their unique artistry and craft - have realised the unique role terroir plays in the wine making process.

The next chapter looks at wine from “elsewhere:” Here Scruton looks at the Middle-East where wine was born; Greece where Bacchus, Dionysos, and more importantly, Eros used to hover; the United States; Australia, New Zealand and their misspelling of Syrah as Shiraz, the Iranian city of poets, gardens, nightingales and last but not least, wine; a few lines on South Africa, then Italy, Romania and Spain. But “travel narrows the mind, and the further you go the narrower it gets. There is only one way to visit a place with an open mind, and that is in the glass”.

Scruton had already warned the reader in the previous chapter not to read the “elsewhere” chapter: “After punishing body and soul with Australian Shiraz, Argentine Tempranillo, Romanian Cabernet Sauvignon and Greek Retsina, we crawl home like the Prodigal Son and beg forgiveness for our folly. . . [Bordeaux] is the wine that made us and for which we were made, and it often astonishes me to discover that I drink anything else.”  I rather fancy he is being tongue in cheek here.

This is for the “I drink” part of the book. Its author then moves to the “therefore I am” part which often needs much deeper philosophical knowledge than perhaps than even your average educated layman might have some difficulty having if they are not versed in a basic  understanding of aesthetics as philosophical discussion. But here his aim is to rescue wine from the philosophers and the so-called wine experts.

To those who have never been captivated by the complexity of wine and the way it is bound up with western civilisation, a book on the philosophy of wine might be dismissed as the typical product of conservative snobbery and elitism. But this would be a mistake. Scruton is not a snob about wine (nor, for that matter, about anything else). On the contrary, one of the strongest themes in his writing is his deep love of the everyday, of the simple pleasures of society as he imagined it once to be, where people were at one with the land and with the traditions of their culture. According to Scruton, this is something that (although it probably never existed) should be open to all, but which is being destroyed by the march of modernity. (In a nice aside, he asks: ‘Who am I to stand against the tide of history? Come to think of it, I am the only person I know who does stand against the tide of history’.)

In passing, Scruton evokes the great philosopher Avicenna who lived in Isfahan (Persia) during Islam’s Golden Age (980–1037 AD); he was a wine aficionado who recommended drinking at work defying “the Koranic injunction against wine, citing it as an example of sloppy reasoning,” that does not take into account whether it is a small or a large amount. Scruton (p. 133) also points to the fact that “in surah xvi, verse 7 of the Koran wine is unreservedly praised as one of God’s gifts. As the prophet, burdened by the trials of his Medina exile, became more tetchy, so did his attitude to wine begin to sour, as in Surah v verses 91-92. Muslims believe that the later revelations cancel the earlier, whenever there is a conflict between them. I suspect, however, that God moves in a more mysterious way.”

Scruton is very quite skeptical that the vocabulary used by so-called experts to describe wine is of much help: “If I say of a wine that it has a flowery nose, lingers on the palate, with ripe berry flavours and a hint of chocolate and roasted almonds, then what I say conveys real information, from which someone might be able to construct a sensory image of the wine’s taste. But I have described the taste in terms of other tastes, and not attempted to attach a meaning, a content, or any kind of reference to it. The description I gave does not imply that the wine evokes, means, symbolises or presents the idea of chocolate; and somebody who didn’t hit on this word as a description of the wine’s flavour would not show that he had missed the meaning of what he drank or indeed missed anything important at all. Our experience of wine is bound up with its nature as a drink [which] endows wine with a particular inwardness [and] intimacy with the body [that is not] achieved by any smell, since smell makes no contact with the body at all, but merely enchants without touching, like the beautiful girl at the other end of the party. . . Nothing else that we eat or drink comes to us with such a halo of significance, and by refusing to drink it people send an important message —the message that they do not belong on this earth.”

Again, I found myself saying amen to that.

The good part of the second part is Scruton trying to make a case for the cultural uniqueness of wine. In one sense, Scruton is right to do this: it is undeniable in many parts of western culture, wine has played a unique role in religious and social rituals, which no other drink has. But he can push his point beyond plausibility when he attempts to argue that because of the qualities of wine itself – and what it is to drink it properly – nothing else could play this role (more on this later).

The argument starts well, with a very illuminating discussion of the distinction between the various ways in which a substance can intoxicate. There are those that merely stimulate without altering the mind (like tobacco, for example). Then there are those which have mind-altering effects, but whose consumption itself brings no plea- sure (e.g. heroin). The third category contains those things which alter your mind and bring pleasure in their consumption: cannabis and forms of alcohol other than wine are his examples. Wine, Scruton argues, is in a fourth category of its own: here the alteration of the mind is internally related to the experience of consuming it.

These distinctions are very useful, and the distinction between the third and the fourth category is subtle but certainly real. It relates to the question of what non-human animals can and cannot do. Scruton makes the nice observation that an animal cannot savour wine (or any- thing else). In being able to savour or relish the taste of wine, a person no more separates out the effect of the wine from its taste than they can separate the meaning of a piece of music from its sound. Although one would not realise this from reading the thousands of words that are written daily about wine, wine would not be the drink it is if it did not intoxicate.

The last two chapters deal respectively with wine and whine, and being and bingeing. Though Scruton has something to say in favour of Puritanism, he castigates the ease with which “puritan outrage [and in particular, prohibition, but also sexual behaviour] can be displaced from one topic to another, and the equal ease with which the thing formerly disapproved of can be overnight exonerated from all taint of sin.”

He vehemently protests against “the humourless mullahs,” and the misuse of drinking, but also rejects the idea that fermented drinks are just shots of alcohol, and insists on their social functions across civilisations and time: “The burden of my arguments is that we can defend the drinking of wine, only if we see that it is a culture, and that this culture has a social, outward-going, other-regarding meaning. . . When people sit down together sipping drinks, they rehearse in their souls the original act of settlement, the act that set our species on the path of civilisation, and which endowed us with the order of neighbourhood and the rule of law.” But he has not much against drinking alone, and ends with a few words from the Chinese poet Li Po (700 BC), the same poet whom Mahler used in his Lied von der Erde (though in a very approximate translation):

A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;
I drink alone, for no friend is near.


Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

For he, with my shadow, will make three men.

Scruton points out in several brilliant passages, the prohibitionist, like the modern day Islamists and moral police in the West and the all too familiar binge-drinker are alike in their ignorance of the virtue of “temperance.” They can envisage no stopping place between abstention and alcoholism. Their absolutist logic, he argues, is like objecting to a first kiss on the grounds that it will one day lead to a divorce. And neither can really understand drinking for any reason other than to get drunk. 

Scruton confirms the wider value of temperance in our lives: “Virtue should be cast in human form if it is to be humanly achievable. Saints, monks, and dervishes may practice total abstinence; but to believe that abstinence is the only way to virtue is to condemn the rest of mankind. Better to propose the way of moderation, and live thereby on friendly terms with your species.”

As it happens, the occasional bender may actually have therapeutic qualities in moderation (i.e., if indulged in infrequently). George Orwell, who can hardly be accused of lacking a puritanical streak, thought that people should get drunk every six months or so. The experience, he thought, shook one out of one’s regular complacency and could be compared in this to a weekend abroad. Certainly it very often produces a feeling of greater humility in those who can remember what happened. Yet getting drunk is something that most drinkers do very rarely, if at all.

Changing our mood and outlook is a very different matter. Under the influence of a moderate amount of alcohol, our inhibitions are loosened. Shy people become bold, the tongue-tied talkative, the dull lively, the unimaginative fanciful, and the isolated social. (Even “mean drunks” usually start the evening in festive and forgiving mood.)

That last loss of inhibition is the most important because it promotes the fellowship that is the basis of a decent society. Not all intoxicants perform this vital function. Cannabis and similar drugs tend, if anything, to imprison the taker within his own consciousness (however expanded it may seem to him in his dreams). Except for those who lose themselves in alcoholism (and consequently become asocial in their attempts to deceive others about their condition), however, alcohol is a profoundly social drug. At the same time, not all varieties of alcohol are equally social in their effect. This thought leads Scruton to narrow somewhat the scope of his enthusiasm. Having rejected teetotalism, he continues: “The real question, I suggest, is not whether intoxicants, but which. And - while all intoxicants disguise things - some (wine preeminently) also help us to confront them by presenting them in re-imagined and idealised forms.”

Scruton makes a fascinating and intriguing point related to our historical relationship with the vine to make wine the highest ideal form. He claims that wine derives from a crucial historical transition in our relation to the earth – when human beings settled, put down roots and stopped being mere hunter-gatherers. In a memorable phrase, Scruton claims that in this way wine celebrates ‘the earth itself, as the willing accomplice in our bid to stay put.’ But of course one could say similar things about distilled spirits and beer. Such drinks are not made in such an incredible variety as wine is, but Scruton’s point is not about variety but about the intrinsic and relational qualities of the drink itself.

In the end, one cannot help feeling that he is relying a little too much on the sheer panache of his writing to help his argument bounce along: ‘Wine is not simply a shot of alcohol, or a mixed drink. It is a transformation of the grape. The transformation of the soul under its influence is merely the continuation of another transformation that began maybe fifty years earlier when the grape was first plucked from the vine.’ Wine is a transformation of the grape, to be sure. And the mind or soul is transformed in its consumption. But these two transformations are so very different that it is hard to see what can literally be meant by the one being the continuation of the other.

In fact, Scruton’s view is not just that wine is unique as a stimulant, but that it has to be drunk in a particular way in order for the harmony of taste and intoxication to take hold. It is not hard to agree with Scruton’s argument that there are more or less civilised ways of drinking wine. And this part of his thesis is very plausible: ‘The burden of my argument is ... that we can defend the drinking of wine, only if we see that it is part of a culture, and that this culture has a social outward-going, other-regarding meaning. The new uses of wine point towards excess and addiction: they are moving away from the old way of drinking, in which wine was relished and savoured, to the form of drinking typified by Marmeladov, who clutches his bottle in a condition of need.’

However I still found all this a tad unconvincing in that he makes a case that only the savouring and relishing of wine can play a central cultural role as opposed to other spirits - think of Scotch whisky for the Scots and beer for much of Northern Europe or even tea(!) for the English. So my apologies to Roger Scruton but I remain sceptical of his argument that of all stimulants, wine is uniquely civilising, however much I want it to be true.

I think Scruton is also wrong to despise cocktails. A well-made cocktail is as complex a set of taste experiences as a good Bordeaux. A good-strength cocktail is the perfect prelude to the theatre, giving one exactly the right lift to help the play to entertain, but not suppressing one’s appetite long enough to spoil a post-theatre dinner. It can be the booster rocket that starts a convivial evening. But the cocktail has its limits. The alcoholic strength of most cocktails reduces their usefulness both as an aid to sustained fruitful conviviality and to the kind of imaginative introspection that Scruton thinks necessary for a happy life.

That aside, Scruton knows that the best (including Li Po’s poetry) should be kept for the very end. The bouquet (of the wine, but in French the word is also used for the finishing of a firework) comes with the Appendix: What to drink with what, though here the second what does not stand for food, but for philosophers. This part of the book I very nearly coughed up my wine as I found it terribly amusing to pair a suitable wine, as one would with food, to a philosopher one might be reading.

St Augustine: Drink a glass of Moroccan Cabernet Sauvignon, though “the City of God requires many sittings, and I regard it as one of the rare occasions when a drinking person might have legitimate recourse to a glass of lager [which I did in Odessa, while reading Scruton], putting the book to one side just as soon as the glass is finished” [which I did not do, since I had three glasses, each of which containing half a liter].

Francis Bacon: “Any discussion of his insights should, I think, proceed by the comparative method. I suggest opening six bottles of a single varietal—say Cabernet Franc- one from the Loire, one from California, one from Moravia, one from Hungary, and if you can find two other places where it is grown successfully you will already have given some proof of the inductive method—and then pretending to compare and contrast, taking notes in winespeak, while downing the lot.”

René Descartes: “As the thinker who came nearest, prior to the Monty Python, to stumbling on the title of [my] book, Descartes deserves a little recognition. . . He has ended up as the most overrated philosopher in history, famous for arguments that begin from nothing and go nowhere. I would suggest a deep dark Rhône wine [that] will compensate for the thinness of the Meditations.”

Baruch Spinoza: “The last time that I understood what Spinoza meant by an attribute it was with a glass of red Mercurey, Les Nauges 1999. Unfortunately, I took another glass before writing down my thoughts and have never been able to retrieve them.”

Immanuel Kant: “And when it comes to [his] Critique of the Judgment, I find myself trying out [several wines], without getting any close to Kant’s proof that the judgment is universal but subjective, or his derivation of the ‘antinomy of taste’— surely one of his most profound and troubling paradoxes, and one that must yield to the argument contained in wine if it yields to anything.”

Friedrich Nietzsche: “Although we should drink to the author of The Birth of the Tragedy, therefore, it should be with a thin, hypochondriac potion, maybe a finger of Beaujolais in a glass topped up with soda-water.”

Edmund Husserl: “I recommend three glasses of slivovitz from Husserl’s native Moravia, one to give courage, one to swallow down the jargon, and one to pour over the page.”

Jean-Paul Sartre: “Sartre’s great work of philosophy, L’être et le néant, introduces the Nothingness that haunts all that he wrote and said. . . If ever I were to read Sartre again, I would look for a 1964 Burgundy to wash the poison down. Small chance of finding one, however, so there is one great writer whom I shall never again revisit—and I thank God for it.”

Martin Heidegger: “What potion to complement the philosopher who told us that ‘nothing noths’? To raise an empty glass to one’s lips, and to feel it as it travels down—noth, noth, noth, the whole length of the tube: this surely is an experience to delight the real connoisseur.”

In conclusion I really enjoyed reading this book (again and again).

This is a wonderful book for anyone who loves wine and wants to try identify what, in all its complex connections with so much of what is valuable in civilisation, might be special about drinking it. I think he does a wonderful job in looking at the philosophical and religious questions related to wine, from the Koranic injunction against alcohol to the true nature of temperance. These questions take us far from the vineyard at times, making excursions into terroir as different as Wagnerian music dramas and the philosophical nature of smells. His arguments as well as his beautiful prose are fresh, original, teasingly provocative, but also joyous.

This book is only about 224 pages but fun to read either in one sitting or dipping in and out at pleasurable intervals.

There are pages of useful advice on what wine to buy that are also glimpses into what to look for in the wine. I think his recommendations are good ones even if he leans too heavily into French wines. As someone who co-owns a vineyard I can say with reasonable confidence that I know my French wines but also wine from South Africa but confess my ignorance of wines from the new world such as California or Chilean wines. But I see that as an opportunity to discover rather than stay in my comfort zone. Here Scruton gently prods you along to do just that.

As an aside Scruton, who never shies away from his staunchly conservative Tory beliefs, perhaps forget to mention one juicy vignette in that Karl Marx’s political and philosophical ideas were probably inspired by wine. Indeed Karl Marx’s family were the happy owners of a vineyard in Trier, a small affluent Rhineland city, on the rolling hills of the Mosel River Valley. The family sold it due to hard times. Then as now these vineyards of the Mosel Valley remain mostly small-scale, are still known for their fruity white wines, and especially their lemony Rieslings and agrotourism. It seems the politics of wine (tariffs and import taxes) played a larger role in the history of leftist thought than their quaint appearance might suggest. In the early 1840s, the economic struggles of these very vineyards inspired Marx to criticise the draconian Prussian government - and in the process, some historians argue, begin developing the theory of historical materialism for which he is best known. In fact there is a delightful book I can recommend written by Jens Baumeister called, ‘How Wine Made Karl Marx a Communist’ (2018) if anyone is interested in reading more about that.

Of course it’s always hard to know how seriously one is supposed to take Scruton in some of his more extravagant comments in the book, like many things he says in his other books: ‘you could say that wine is probably as old as civilisation; I prefer to say that it is civilisation, and that the distinction between civilised and uncivilised countries is the distinction between the places where it is drunk and the places where it isn’t.’ His desire to outrage and court controversy rises to the surface, and can result in some of the funniest moments in the book. But as with everything he writes, some of Scruton’s claims must be taken with a pinch of salt or more appropriately, with a glass of claret.

Indeed I prefer to picture his words as if he was one’s old and familiar drinking companion sitting on weather beaten leather chairs and making provocative but teasingly good natured remarks out of a desire to amuse rather than to be boorish or loutish. Indeed this book is best enjoyed with a glass of wine on hand whilst sitting on a comfy old worn out leather chair curled next to log burning fire as the light dims outside.

I would whole heartedly agree with Roger Scruton that wine is a “drink that causes you to smile at the world and the world to smile at you.” Instead of imprisoning you inside a solitary introspection, it takes you out of yourself - and your ideas with you - to mingle with others and their ideas. Wine is therefore a voyage of discovery - and rediscovery - in many senses. And for this I can happily raise my own glass and say amen to that.

But what glass of wine would I raise when reading Scruton’s own book?

Well, one bottle won’t do. So temperance is out of the window then - sorry Roger. You will need a good  French Sauternes or Barsac (preferably 2014) with the nostalgic autobiography, a finely bodied Bordeaux wine (I would go with a more complex wine from Saint Emilion) with the philosophy section of the book, and a champagne (of course) to drink with the philosophical jokes towards the end of the book.

Oh go on then, finish off with a tipple of Cognac before bed time, I am sure Scruton wouldn’t begrudge anyone that pleasure.

[bangtan-madi]

546 Days Without You — Eleven: Day 412

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 3.1k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 11 / 15

Warnings — minor language

Previous — Next

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. Time flies by as you travel from Korea to Europe, then to the Americas, then to Australia. In the four months that have passed, the amount of concerts has crossed over two-dozen. You've crossed into at least half as many countries across six continents, and this is only the half-way point.

Shortly after the new year, the group finds itself emptying out of the plane. Having landed in Nagoya minutes before, at an ungodly hour of the morning, you struggle to keep yourself awake. Gravity pulls your body towards the earth. The soft rain falls, creating a lullaby for the weary souls trekking towards the ride to the hotel. You'd like nothing more than to let the ground swallow you whole.

Tour has left most of the members worse for the wear, despite the joy and fulfillment that it brings on an almost daily basis. You considered it a gift from the gods that you had a whole 36 hours before the show. Everyone needed a good shower, a proper meal, and a long night's sleep after leaving Melbourne after the last show. If the next concert was going to be a success, the boys and you needed it desperately.

Along with some cheering up. It isn't lost on you that this is the last show for the next month. After Nagoya, you'll all be heading back to Seoul, where Hoseok and Namjoon will begin final preparations for enlistment. Their date is just under a month away; once mid-February arrives, you'll be saying goodbye to two more members.

It's the thought that's consumed your mind as of late. A lot has happened since Seokjin and Yoongi were conscripted; over a year has passed. Both the time and space have allowed you to reevaluate your stance on conscription.

A soft hand shakes your shoulder, bringing you out of your quasi-dream state and back to the moment. Jimin offers you a hand, assisting you in stepping from the car. The hotel is dimly lit against the Nagoya sky, and the famous castle stands high against the horizon. Any other night you might stay and admire for longer, as this city was one of Seokjin's favorites, but you willfully allow your closest friend to tug you into the building.

As Sejin checks the group in for the next few nights, you throw your arms around Hoseok's neck, mumbling, "Up, up."

The brunet bends down, scooping you up and cradling you against his back. Hands under your thighs, arms around his shoulders, head lulling against the crook of his neck, you welcome his comfort — quite literally with open arms. The youngest member kindly grabs your suitcase.  Breathing deeply, your eyes flutter shut once again.

"Jungkookie's right," you slur on the short elevator ride to the upper floor. "You do smell nice."

Hoseok's laugh reverberates through his body, one of the greatest sounds turned to one of the greatest feelings. It's joy taken physical form.

"You're so cute when you're delirious," he chuckles.

"Don't make me out-rap you next time we perform. I have no problem taking my brother's place in 'UGH.'"

Hoseok slides the key to one of the rooms. "Oooh? Threatening me now, are we?"

Nodding against his shoulder, you tighten your arms when he tries to put you down. "M'comfy."

"[Y/n]-ahhh."

"Fiiine."

You drop your clingy arms from around his neck, and Hoseok settles you onto the queen bed in the center of the room. Jungkook drops off your suitcase, giving a small wave before departing for his suite across the hall.

A sudden vibration originating from your jacket pocket causes you to stir. A soft, quiet chorus from Seokjin's last song plays. Your exhaustion suddenly fading, you tug the phone from your pocket. Your boyfriend's face glows on the screen, giving you the option to accept or decline a face-to-face.

A grin spreads across your face, and you accept without hesitation. The call connects, and suddenly you're able to see him. He's already dressed in uniform, the patches on his collar revealing yet another promotion that happened over the new year. This status gives him even more freedom than before, and he can pretty much call you whenever he wants. Yoongi has reached the same status, although he tends to send you more voice memos than actual calls. Just like the two of you used to do.

Seokjin laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners, at the sight of you on your side. Cheeks mushed up against the pillow, eyes barely open, curled up into a fetal position, you must be a sight for sore eyes.

"Just landed, I see?"

"Shut up," you murmur.

"You look exhausted, Jagi."

"That's because she is, hyung," Hoseok interrupts from across the room. He's finished dragging his suitcase into the room, then opens the door that leads to the other bedroom in the other suite. "Can't you call some other time? We're about to crash."

You roll your eyes and snicker. "Someone's getting cranky."

"He's right,"

Seokjin chuckles, bringing your attention back to his face.

"I just got up, and I wanted to check in, make sure you got to Nagoya safely. That's all. Don't want to keep you up."

Giving a thumbs-up, you force a smile and pull yourself into a sitting position. "Never better! Slept the whole way. How the hell are you up so early?"

"You know me: I'm always the early bird!"

"Yeah, except the earlier you get up, the more chaotic you are. Remember the punching bag and yoga mat incident?"

"Well—"

"—Or the time you about choked on mangos, after calling yourself elegant?"

"Aish! I get it! At least I don't snore when we stay at any—no, every hotel."

Hoseok returns to the doorway, toothbrush shoved into his mouth and an unamused expression on his face. He gestures with a flourish of his hand. "Wrap it up with loudmouth. I'm dead. We can admire your bickering tomorrow when we're human again."

Giving the older member a nod of assurance, you watch in mild amusement as he leaves for the washroom once again. Turning your eyes back to the phone, you find Seokjin mirroring your playful, mischievous expression.

"We're the worst, aren't we?"

"Oh, definitely."

Seokjin sighs, then straightens his posture.

"Do me a quick favor before I hand up?"

"For you, anything."

"Wooow, cheesy, [Y/n.]"

"Be quiet or I might change my mind!"

"Can you show me the Castle? In the center of Nagoya? I'm sure your hotel can see it. You can see it from anywhere, pretty much."

Your smile softens at his request. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you step towards the balcony door. Even through the window, Nagoya Castle is stunning. Once the door is opened and you step out into the crisp air, you flip the view around so Seokjin can see what you do. The lights around the castle case brilliant golden light across the white and green structure.

"Wooow,"

he breathes, causing you to smile at the screen.

"That's just like how I remember."

"Wish you were here to see it in person."

"You know I would be if I could."

Flipping the screen around so that he can see you once again, you ask, "When can you use the time off you've built up? I didn't think there was anything you had to wait for after your first year."

"Not on paper there isn't," he nods, running a hand over his shortened black hair. "But you haven't been back in Korea since before then—way before then—and I can't leave the country while on leave, so..."

"You can take a day off without us being there, you know."

Seokjin shakes his head stubbornly.

"Not vacation time. Nope, I'm saving all that for when you come back."

"We'll be back for a few days when Joon and Hobi enlist, their ceremony and such," you mention.

"I know..."

His sentence trails off, awkward and hanging in the air. Your boyfriend's eyes avert yours, and something in his voice cues you to pry further.

Tilting your head slightly, you lean against the railing of the balcony. "Why the hesitation?"

"I'm not hesitating, it's nothing."

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. "You're a liar, Kim Seokjin. Fess up."

His lips pull into a smile, and his eyes flutter shut. Not out of exhaustion, as your own so desperately crave, but out of near-annoyance.

"I was going to surprise you, fool! I was going to take off those days and show up at the dorms without telling you...but I guess you read right through me."

To say your jaw dropped in surprise would be a huge understatement. Eyes gaping and breath caught in your throat, you gawk at your boyfriend as he bursts into laughter.

"Surprised, Jagi?"

"Um...yes! You—wait, how? What?"

"Korean, [Y/n]. You can rap for god's sake."

You shake your stun away, forcing watery eyes to remain held together. "You're serious? I'm really gonna see you in less than a month?"

Seokjin's laughter fades, but his eyes are still sparkling.

"Very serious. I've already gotten the time approved."

Tears prick your eyes, and you lower your head into your sweater sleeve to hide from his gaze. This only amuses Seokjin.

"Getting all soft on me again? Your cool exterior is crumbling."

"I hope you know that this is all your fault, you ass. I never used to be this close to crying all the damn time."

"It's cause you've been without me for so long, isn't it? I'm your cure."

The balcony door slides open, revealing a sleepy, disheveled, and unhappy Hoseok. He doesn't say a word, only glowers at you—whites of his eyes hardly visible as he squints—until you sigh, "Fine, I know, I know. Time's up." After which he nods once and disappears back into the hotel.

"I'll go,"

Seokjin agrees, voice lighter than when he first called.

"Gotta do some work sometime today."

You blow a kiss to the camera, one that he pretends to catch and hold against his chest, over his heart. "Love you, miss you, but you know all that."

"I do,"

he teases.

"Love you, miss you, even more."

The next morning, you're awake after most of the other members. The sound of Hoseok drying his hair brings you out of peaceful slumber, much to your grumpy chagrin.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" he cheers, already fully awake even before coffee.

You give him the universal sign of love and affection, otherwise known as the bird, and stumble towards the other bathroom. Hoseok giggles at your less-than-pleasant attitude and goes about his business as you struggle to get ready.

After stepping from the hotel room, refreshed and ready for the unplanned day, Jimin appears with a cup of coffee extended towards you. "Fuel for m'lady," he greets.

Grateful for the favor, you give him a swift hug and walk at his side towards the recreational area on your floor. Suited with a pool table, miniature bar, breakfast nook, dining and sitting area, it's a perfect place for the whole group to spread out and hang in the free time. Since the members and staff take up most of the rooms on this floor, you basically have it all to yourselves.

"So, what's the plan for the day?" you announce as you enter.

Taehyung looks up from his platter of local tamagoyaki; beside him, Namjoon continues to read the book in hand. "I don't think we've decided," the former states.

"The show isn't until tomorrow night, so we have time to kill," Jungkook states from the breakfast bar. He's piling every kind of Japanese breakfast cuisine he can find onto his plate. "Sejin says we can kill time here if we want."

"Or we can go out and explore with the managers," Hoseok adds as he enters the room. "I don't know about you, but I'm starting to feel claustrophobic."

"Agreed," you mutter. Taking a long sip from your coffee cup, you walk towards the breakfast bar and snag onigiri. Looking around, you make sure that the members are the only ones present. No managers, no staff, no cameras. "I have an idea."

At your lowered voice, you catch the youngest's attention first. Jimin grins in your direction, and you flash them both a mischievous wink. "Aigoo," Namjoon breathes.

"I think we all need to get out of here, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I kinda wanna explore Nagoya like a local. No security, no managers, no babysitters. Think about it--when's the last time we did that?"

"Went out without Sejin or security, and outside of Korea?" Taehyung asks, and you nod. He takes a moment to contemplate, eyes flitting upwards as he thinks. "Honestly, I can't remember."

Hoseok pipes up. "Since before Wings, probably. We're never really alone anymore."

Sensing trepidation from the members, you hop up onto the back of the sofa, perched with legs crossed. You press the tips of your fingers against the opposite hand's, creating a mirror image of mischief in front of your wicked grin.

"Here's my proposal. I've been to Nagoya a couple of times with Seokjin. It's one of his favorite cities, so I know all the best spots for fun. I also know how to avoid staff for the same reason."

"Yeah, you're an expert," Namjoon scoffs.

You hold up a hand in his direction. "Be quiet, Bonsai Boy. The Queen is speaking."

"She's spent too much time with Jin-hyung," Jungkook murmurs under his breath, and you choose to ignore him for now.

"So...who's going to take a leap of faith and trust me?"

Jimin mirrors your folded-hands, then slowly moves to rub them together with a slightly evil chuckle. "I'm in."

"Of course you are."

Jimin grabs the Taehyung and Jungkook by the arm, dragging them closer to you. "They are, too."

Seeing neither Maknae put up an argument to the contrary, you turn your hooded gaze to the eldest members present. "What say ye, Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon?"

Hoseok begins bouncing on his toes, clapping his hands together as he turns towards the leader. His smile is bright and wide, earning a sigh and shake of the head from Namjoon.

He gestures towards you with a defeated smile, dimples showing at the corners of his mouth. "Lead the way, Ms. Queen."

Having the agreement from each member, you clap your hands once and announce, "All right! Everyone go grab what they want for an afternoon and evening out. Make sure to grab a cap or beanie and glasses so we can blend in. I'll text the managers and tell them we're going to be hanging out in my room and that we want some alone time. Done it before, and they've never bothered me so I think it'll work. Meet back here in two minutes."

"How do you expect to get out of the hotel without being seen?" Jungkook inquires as he removes his arm from Jimin's grasp.

You reach up and pat the younger boy on the head. "Don't worry. I'm magic."

As everyone scurries back to their rooms, you text Sejin along the way; you give the listed excuse, and then grab a jacket and shoulder bag. Hoseok tosses you one of his beanies, and you pair it with your sunglasses.

Once reconvened, you nod for the boys to follow you. Pressing a finger to your lips, you tip-toe down the hall. The members follow suit, equally as quiet and sneaky, like a series of ducklings behind the mother goose. Instead of going towards the elevator, you lead them to the opposite end of the hallway. The staircase is unmarked and unguarded, but you've stayed at this hotel before on a previous trip and remembered it from then.

Opening the door, you usher each of the boys inside. "Go to the second floor. There's a fire escape we can take from there that will put us outside the building without having to run into everyone waiting in the lobby or the fans outside."

"You're eerily good at sneaking around," Taehyung repeats the sentiment from earlier, though he's smiling instead of shaking his head.

Your grin widens. "Did I ever tell you that my first date with Seokjin involved us sneaking into a theater to hear the live orchestra perform?"

"That makes a lot of sense," Namjoon chides in his usual passive-aggressive tone.

Once outside the hotel, around the corner from the entrance where most of the fanatic fans and insistent reporters pool together, you turn to the boys with two thumbs-ups. "Free at last! So, where do we wanna go? I know the best miso katsu place you'll ever visit. Or maybe we do something outside...or maybe a bit of both! What are we feeling?"

"We just ate," Jimin states, patting his stomach to show he doesn't have any room for more food at the moment.

Tapping your chin, you think back across all of the times Seokjin had taken you on various tours of Nagoya over the years. It's at least half-a-dozen times at this point, and on those days, you'd had a variety of adventures. Food, art, thrills, history: he'd shown you them all. You've explored the Castle and various other historical shrines and temples, and you've been to just about every food market and restaurant in the Showa-ku and Kita-ku wards. Museums and galleries have been ventured, as have tours of local wildlife and expansive parks. There have been many a shopping excursion, and you're an idiot if you think that Seokjin hadn't taken you to an amusement park or arcade at least a couple times. Holiday festivals, cosplay summits, local music--you've done it all.

But there's one adventure you had two years ago that's stuck in your mind ever since, the one day you both had more fun acting like children than any other date prior. A massive grin spreads across your face, and you grab the two oldest members' hands, dragging them towards the nearest subway station.

"Woah! Where are we going?"

"The Meijo Line!"

Taglist — @joyful-jimin​​​​, @gracehiii​​​, @live-2-fangirl​​​, @rjsmochii​​​​, @btsnatalena​

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Back on it' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Back on it"

"Sometimes, I'm feeling so free, forgetting about the big problems I have in my life because you're there for me and I just want to enjoy those rare moments with you."

Chapter Summary : After paying her respects to Lazar, Yirina is finally going to Laos with Park to join Woods team to work against Naga.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3500

------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't know of what Park was planning but she did right today, she managed to give me an moment to finally pay my respects to Lazar himself at Tel Aviv, his homeplace. Even if I still feel that guilty in me of that particular day for what happened, I still remember the positivity of Lazar's behavior that he was showing to me, he was really my brother....it's been 3 years since he's gone but he is never forgetten by me & Park. I wished things to be differents but it happened sadly. I hope that he found better peace at where is he now....He can't be forgotten !

It was hard for me to leave the cemetery and it was the same thing for Park too but we finally managed to get out, still having tears on our faces as we were going back into the plane that was awaiting for us, ready to fly away from the city to get to our destination : Vientane in Laos. Since we left Tel Aviv at nearly 10 AM, we should arrive in the Laotian capital after midnight. I didn't sleep too much on the flight, mostly checking up my diary and everything I did write for almost 2 months and also writing down that memory about meeting up with Naga.

Like I thought, we arrived at Vientane after midnight at 1 AM and to say, we were an bit tired of the flight as we didn't take an nap for the large part of it, hoping that we could get to the place Woods is awaiting for us. Me & Park were surprised to discover that Garrett was awaiting for us at the airport, asking if we did have an good flight and how I was feeling after what I did. We did answer his questions before we could leave the airport, our equipment with us to the direction of Woods's team safehouse.

"Wait, where's the safehouse ?" I was asking that question to Garrett who was driving, Park on the front passenger seat and me on the backseats as I could see that we were getting out of the city limits, 5 minutes after we left the airport.

"Yes, where it is ?" Park added as she didn't know like me.

"Okay, you're ready to hear this ?" Garrett started, his eyes quickly looking at us before getting them back on the road in front of him. "Let's just that the CIA managed to reuse an old Laotian Air Force base for them." He replied, making my eyes go wide...how did they succeed ?

"Are you kidding ?" Park raised an eyebrow to him.

"Not at all !" Garrett scoffed, removing his right hand from the steering wheel for an few seconds to strectch his fingers.

"But the governement is communist !" I exclaimed, having some history knowledge about the country in my head. "They will found out that the CIA is here."

"Maybe, the CIA is bribing the governement to keep their eyes shut." Garrett said, his right hand passing through his lips before putting it back on the wheel. "Since Naga is hiding in the jungle, having an old base at our disposal is helping us." He then looked through the mirror to me. "I heard that Woods briefed you an little on that."

"He didn't tell much about it." Park told him, looking outside in the darkness of the night as we were leaving the Laotian countryside to enter its jungle "He said that he will make an full briefing for us tomorrow."

"He's right since everyone is exhausted after today." He stated to us. "We had an mission today and it was very long." He looked at an roadsign outside before he take an turn to the right on an dirt path. "We shouldn't too far from the base now." He added before he start to make some signal with the car lights, shutting it down and lighting them up in an quick succession.

"What's that for ?" I demanded, pretty curious.

"Signal code to say that we're friendly." He responded as from afar we could see the entrance of the base that was looking pretty old and its gates opened. "It's the best way to make sure that we aren't greeted by bullets."

"Because they're shooting at sight ?" Park asked to him, an bit confused.

"Why they wouldn't be ? They want to keep their presence an secret and no one want to have problems here with the local authorities." Garrett expressed, nervous about thinking about it, that could be heard in his voice and his face. "And also because it's the CIA." He continued as he was parking the car in an parking space, filled with military trucks. This base was guarded like an normal one with military personal on watchtowers and guards patrolling around.

"Yeah...because it's the CIA !" I thought to myself, saying it in an very low voice, knowing well of the CIA's bad business...well, everyone in his car know about it. "This place is looking well to not be old." I proclaimed, looking outside to see the base that was in an good shape.

"Of course, they renovated the place down." Garrett breathed before he got out of the car with us too. "They even decide to use some Huey helicopters." He pointed to us in an direction, discovering some helicopters that were checked up by crews.

"Looks like some people here wanted to relive the Vietnam War." I spoke up, seeing those helicopters, having flied in some of them...in my fake memories of course and I'm sure that we will have to use them in the future. I was thinking of it as we were unloading our own bags from the car trunk.

"Some of them are from the US reserves and two of them are belonging to the Lao People's Liberation Army Air Force." Garrett told us, helping us to get our bags out of the car. "We can thanks the CIA's bribes to the governement." He sighed in relief before he closed the trunk. "Okay, let's go join the team." He started to move away from the car as me & Park follow him inside the main building of the whole place that was looking like an big hangar.

"Here you are, you two !" An strong male voice said as we were entering the hangar with our bags in hands, it was Woods himself dressed in civilians clothes coming towards us. "Welcome to Laos." He offered his hand to me & Park and we shook hands with him separetely, getting our bags on the ground.

"You did miss us, it seems." I scoffed in an funny voice and Woods rolled his eyes around.

"Both of you ? Well...yes." He admitted, sounding not sure. "Before we start...."

"Yes, we know the warning, Woods." Park stopped him as she knew of what he was going to talk along with me...don't be too public, girls !....."It's good to see you too."

"Fine, since you know that....It's still for you too, Garrett." Woods continued to his statement, pointing at Garrett.

"I know but Song is been away with Sims, Mason and an small part of your guys in the jungle." Garrett expressed to him and me & Park were pretty curious and he could see it on our faces. "Woods send them for recon, should be back in the afternoon today." He added, giving us details about it...until I saw from afar, Hudson himself, arms crossed and leaned against an wall, looking at us, me especially, he wasn't willing to get to us to say something...he's kinda creepy....must not look at him, now...

"They should come back here with intels about where this little drug warlord is hiding inside the jungles." Woods stated, crossing his arms to look to, what I suppose to be his desk as he walk to it. "But there's something you two should see." He sniffed as he was taking in his hands two playing cards before getting back to us. "You need to watch your back." He told us, handing the first card to Park

"What the fuck ?" Park started, looking at the playing car that she was given : an picture of her on it, she was the Queen of Hearts. "Helen Park : To be captured alive !" She repeated, seeing the inscription on the photo.

"You're not the only exception, this is your playing card, Yirina." Woods gave me the other cards and I could see that I was also the Queen of Hearts alongside Park.

"Yirina / Bell : To be captured alive !" I whispered with the same inscription Park had on her cards. Now the whole Perseus Collective know that I'm alive and well. "Where did you find them ?" I demanded to Woods.

"From the Perseus agent that allowed us to know about Naga." He replied, leaning against his desk behind him. "The same thing like Adler, you became Perseus targets." He added.

"Yes but you know well that we ain't going to hide." I spoke up, giving my thoughts to Woods about it. "And besides, they think that I'm 'Bell'." I continued, seeing this name alongside my real name even if it was troubling me to be honest. "Damnit." I sighed, pulling the card in my jacket.

"Seems that someone needs some Bourbon !" Another voice came in and when I look around, I could discover an old face I didn't see for an month..

"Wolf ?" I breathed, amazed to see him here.

"I heard that you worked with Wolf an month ago in the New Orleans and Sims asked for him to come so I agreed." Woods explained as we were shaking hands with Wolf, he didn't change in an month to say.

"It's good to see the two of you here." Wolf said with an smile to me & Park before he look at Woods. "Any news from the recon team ?"

"No, we should have informations about them in the morning." Woods responded before he removed himself from his desk. "Anyway, you might want to take an look around." He suggested to us as we just arrived and we nodded.

Once we nodded, Woods took us for an little tour around the place and also outside, presenting the base like if he did live there, he did also gave an workplace near Garrett's desk and we learned that we were going to sleep in an dorm with everyone....great ! All of that while been watched by Hudson himself, still at his same spot, looking at us with his eyes hidden by his usual sunglasses, he's looking like Adler in my first days in that safehouse 3 years ago.

When the whole presentation 'à la Woods' was finished, we got our gear out of our bags and put at our personal workplace with Park until it was time for everyone to go take an nap but not for me as I wanted to do something before actually going to sleep. So, as Park & the other were going to sleep, having an little kiss from her before she left for the dorm, I decided to go see Garrett that was the only one with me to not go directly to sleep.

"Garrett ?" I started in an low voice, walking towards his desk with joined hands. "Is there any secured lines here, I would like to make an call." I explained to him.

"Oh, an call ?" He whispered, getting up from his chair. "Yeah, sure, follow me." He gestured as I follow him behind and then, we arrived in a another room where there were some phones on an table. "Who do you want to call ?"

"Zasha !" I replied, getting myself near an phone.

"Good...well, I will leave you to it then, Yirina." Garrett smiled at me and it was reciprocal until he left the room, not closing the door behind him as I start to dial Zasha's number from their office in Century House. It's one of the numerous things I have noted in my diary, not wanting to forget about it....one ring.....

"Zasha Smirnov !" I could hear their voice in an rapid moment, having heard only one ring, meaning that they were near the phone at their office.

"How's my best friend at work ?" I said in an good mood, trying to think positively. Because of timezones, it was only the beginning of the evening in London.

"Oh, Yirina !" They exclaimed, sounding happy that I called. "I'm so happy that you're calling, you arrived in Laos ?" They demanded.

"Yes, it's almost 2 AM in here, what about you ?" I responded, checking if no one was coming in in case.

"Almost 8 PM, I was going to join Portnova at her place of work." They replied, making me smile, knowing that today was the first day of job as an maths teacher in the University of London. "Hopefully, your call was well made because I was ready to leave." They stated.

"Well, guess that I'm lucky !" I said before I make an little laugh and they did the same too. "How's work, Zed ?"

"Honestly, it's perfect, very nice." They answered, hearing them having an breath and sounding very good. "The people I'm working for are very nice." They added, sure of their words.

"That's the main thing, I knew that you will like the MI6." I stated to them.

"Hey, today, they brought me to play an little game during an break." They told me, getting my attention on it and removing my eyes from the door.

"Really ? Explain." I said, very curious.

"They called it 'Bullshit'." They started, narrowing my eyes as I thought that they were insulting me before realizing that was the name of the game. "It's hard to explain but I will try : we're playing with an deck of 52 and we had to get rid of the cards that we were given" They breathed as I heard it before they continue. "You have to play cards in an order but if you don't have it, you have to lie but if you get caught lying, you're taking the pile and if you're thought that someone was lying didn't cheat, you take the pile."

"That's sounds an great game to say." I exclaimed, sounding happy that Zasha was able to have an good animosity with their new friends at the MI6.

"At first, I thought I was so bad at it but then, it worked and I won by an lot." They admitted to me, laughing about it. "The others were either focused on calling out the others instead of me."

"Now, you got very lucky !" I scoffed, making them laugh through the phone.

"I have an lot of fun to be real, it's wonderful." They told me. "It's sure that me & you are going to make an game."

"Count on me & Park !" I affirmed to them, raising my index finger.

"By the way, me & Portnova are....well, we're organizing an little private wedding party to celebrate our union and you & Park are invited." They revealed to me, making my eyes goes wide.

"Really ? I....Zasha, it's amazing." I was in an loss of words, feeling the happiness in me about hearing that idea from them. "When it will be ?"

"Since you're in Laos for undetermined time, it will be the 4th of June." They responded and I nodded to myself before I look around....to see Hudson standing at the door and looking at me.

"Okay, Zed, I will be there, don't worry." I smiled before Hudson creepiness remove that smile, making me look away from him. "Listen, I have to go...say hello for me & Park to Portnova." I demanded.

"Don't worry, I will, give my regards to Park too." They asked.

"Good, I will call you later, bye Zed !" I told them.

"Bye, Yirina." They said before I hang up the phone, finding myself alone in that room with Hudson who, when I turned around, was still there near that door.

"Are you going to stand there and still looking at me as an creep or you're going to talk ?" I asked to him, serious in my voice and clenching my fists

"No." He answered briefly before he took an pack of cigarettes in his hand. "Follow me, we need to talk." He ordered in an harsh tone, gesturing at me before he walk away.

I could have tell him to fuck off and going to bed for good but then, I found myself obliged to follow him and wanting to know what does he want with me. I thought that he was going to talk with me near his desk or mine but instead, it was outside that our talk was going to take place, near the big door of that hangar. He stopped himself once stepped outside, to light up his cigarette but he wasn't talking at all.

"What do you want ?" I directly ask to him after an few seconds of weird silence.

"Need to talk things about you." He responded, blowing some smoke out of his mouth, his eyes focused on looking in the horizon.

"Really ? You're suddenly interested in knowing me better ?" I said, offusqued as I was crossing my arms, looking away from him. I wasn't pleased to be with that guy.

"Listen, there's things I'm sorry with."

"Oh yeah ? Like you're sorry that you worked with Adler to brainwash me ?" I asked him rhetorically.

"Do you think that I was pleased with that ?" He got his eyes back on me as I was doing the same by hearing his words, getting my attention. "It's not because I'm Adler supervisor means that I did agree on that." He added to his statement as I was keeping an straight face. "Believe me, I wasn't happy about that at all."

"But still, you still treated me like if I was only an terrorist." I exclaimed, remembering the few little talks I had with him in the past and they weren't good. "You're the one who ordered Adler to terminate me...why aren't you finishing the job since Adler wasn't doing it ?" I questioned him, sure of my words.

"I have my reasons, Grigoriev." He responded, taking an deep breath.

"Wow, I'm not 'Bell' for you, anymore ?" I breathed, faking to be amazed towards him as inside of me, I was wondering what make him change his mind to call me by my real name. "Are you going soft or it's maybe one of your usual lies ?" I continued, wanting to know even if I could prevent in advance that he wasn't going to respond. "It's sure that you don't believe someone that isn't an american."

"Yes." He simply whispered.

"For you, you need to know that I'm an british-russian woman but I guess that it doesn't change an thing for you, still staying the good american patriot, right ?" I stated clearly in front of him, remembering some words that Park used to describe him.

"What I wanted to say is that it's good that you're here." He affirmed to me, making me narrow my eyes. "I know that Adler did brainwash you, left you for dead and an lot of things but you know well of the dangers of letting Adler in Perseus's hands." He continued, trying to convince me of 'Adler's good side'

"It doesn't please me but since 'I have no choices'." I quoted the numerous times I think about that possibility. "Isn't strange to see the brainwashed woman trying to rescue the man who has broke up her brain ?" I demanded, not wanting any answers from him and I even gestured that he didn't need to respond, it was strange to be sure.

"Do you have memories back ?" He chuckled, changing the subject as he crush his cigarette with his feet.

"Yes." I replied in an low voice. "Why do you want to know ?" I added.

"I just wanted to know about this, wondering what was your past." He answered, scratching the back of his bald head.

"Sometimes good, sometimes bad." I sighed, thinking of all of the memories I did relived, it was an lot of them. "Things that I can't talk about and if I do, it's only to my closest friends." I admitted, making him sure that he's not part of that category.

"I understand." He breathed before I decided it was time to get back inside and to go to sleep. "Grigoriev !" Hudson stopped me before I could have one feet inside the hangar. "How do you feel right now ?"

"Right now ?" I repeated, an bit confused of that ordinary question from him, my hands right on the door handle. "I don't know, been to an place that I thought to have set an foot in my 'old times', it's making me nervous." I said, mentioning that fake memories I had in my head. 'Bell' knows Vietnam...not me. I then put my right feet inside before I stopped to look at him witn an serious glare....

"I'm just trying to redeem myself and make the good, Hudson, keep that in mind !"

[mstaxidriversories]

It’s my first time to fly in another country by myself.

I always dream to travel alone. But not now.

I am not that ready.

“Okay! No more hesitation, we’re here already.” My Dad said, as he held my both shoulders.

“2 months, it will be very quick.” My Sister added.

We’re not that a ‘well-off’ family. But my relatives are. Especially my mom’s side.

“Take care, Dad. You too, grumpy!” I said, I will miss teasing my sister.

“Dani!” We all look who’s calling my shortened name, and I know…we know it’s only one person….

He’s running towards us…

My sister is holding back her laugh…

My dad is a little mad? I know why, ‘cause he’s late.

“Louie!” I wave my hand. “As always you’re late!” I shouted, and he stop in front of me.

“When you come back… I’m gonna propose to you.” And then, there are his Mom, Dad and his sister…

“I’ll be back. Very FAST!” we all laugh.

“Always wear this.” He went to my back and put the necklace on me.

It’s a unique star pendant…I love stars. I love moon, I love galaxy and I love everything about Science and Astronomy… well I am not a believer of Horoscopes.

***

“Welcome to Norway, Ms. Dani Mariano.” She said as she helped me with my bags.

“How was your flight?” She asked, as we get inside the car.

“A little bit tiring, but the flight was smooth.” I said “I love the food they served.” I added.

“Well, foods never disappoints me.” We both chuckled.

“This is the apartment you’ll be staying for 2 months, here in Fredrikstad.”

“Mrs. Johnsen, wants you to feel at home here in Norway. She really wants to show her great appreciation for your hard-work all this time.” She said while putting my stuff and

“This is your keys here, card if you want to buy some gifts for your family, and car keys.”

“Oh this is too much! I am happy working with you and Mrs. Johnsen. I am very honored to have this very rare opportunity to visit Norway and also work here for the mean time.”

I’ve been there Virtual Assistant for 2 years. Ever since the Pandemic last 2020, all people or most people work from home.

“The meeting will be at 9:00 am tomorrow. If you need any help or even questions, just call me. This is my number, and this is your temporary phone.”

I unpacked my stuff. I checked the time.

Oh gosh! I forgot to inform my family that I arrived safely.

I message all of them, for sure they are all asleep.

Ouie Calling…

A smile automatically drew on my face.

Ouie: I can’t sleep, I’ve been waiting for your message.

Me: I am so sorry, I just got the access on the internet here.

Ouie: Thank, God! You arrived safely…

Me: I know you’re sleepy. It’s 2am there. Go to sleep now, you have classes later.

Ouie: I am not sleepy, but when I heard you’re voice. You’re safe… I can sleep now.

I don’t think he can see the smile on my face

Ouie: … can we video call tomorrow? I miss you

He’s sleep talking now.

He dropped his phone, and I can still hear he’s really sleeping already.

Me: I love you, Louie.

And I ended the call.

I am sleepy too, but I think I should explore the town first. Not sure if this is even a city.

It’s so beautiful.

The weather is fine and great, not cold nor hot.

As I went to the parking lot, I saw a black car. Used it’s window for putting on my lip stick. I forgot putting on.

I pushed the car’s keys…knowing that it is not my car!

Fudge.

It’s on the other side. Dummy.

At least, now I know.

I think… I am gonna explore this place by walk. I nodded to my self.

And start walking…

I brought my camera, taking photos relieves my stress…and also ice skating.

Time flies really fast, so 2 months will be very quick too.

It’s 3pm. As I walk going back to my apartment, I saw some men…setting up their instruments.

“Are you gonna sing?” I ask.

They were all wearing some masks, not a face mask. But like a handkerchief, tied behind their heads…covering their faces; below their eyes down to their necks. So they can sing also.

“bli med oss. være vår vokalist” the man with his bass guitar

Fudge! 404 not found.

“All I can understand is, Vocalist? Right?” They’re all smiling (their eyes telling me)

And the man with the keyboard stood up and tied the handkerchief to me, just like how they put it.

I was shook!

“I can’t sing very well!” I shouted.

People gather in front of us.

Teka! Anak naman ni tekla ohh! Because of shock, I was talking to myself in my mother tongue language.

“You sing first, we do everything.”

What!?

People are standing in front of us… they are not the teenagers or even adults.

They are the people with a mark on their faces… showing that they experienced a lot… that they sacrifices a lot already. People who are 55 and above … I think.

And I started singing YOU by Carpenters.

I miss my Mom, very very much.

You are the one who makes me happy

When everything else turns to grey

Yours is the voice that wakes me mornings (the guitarist starts playing)

And sends me out into the day

And we all perform…

[mybiasisexo]

Target

Genre: Angst | Mafia!au

Pairing: None

Length: 3.5k

Warning: Language | Violence | Unfinished | OC | 1st Person

Summary: A year after her last mission, Dragen has a lot to prove to both her company and herself, but when she begins to grow closer to her next target, she realizes she might be a little too soft for her current career....

Author’s Note: Started this in like 2014 I believe and this is all I wrote, probably won’t ever finish it, but you know how it issss.

MASTERLIST

Work:

Chen and I are standing outside a deserted brick building in downtown next to an equally deserted train track.

“You think you’re so brave,” Chen chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I am,” I say, smirking.

“Then prove it.”

Now I’m the one to roll my eyes, “you’re such a troll.” 

A knowing smile grows across my face as I pull out the sleek glock 22 from inside my jacket and cock the gun. When it is ready, I place the barrel in my mouth.

Chen starts laughing before growing serious as he grasps the grip, placing his index finger confidently onto the trigger.

“What are you going to do now, Dragen?” He asks me gravelly, but I spot a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

In reply, I pull my lips back, flashing him my pearly teeth, with a few gold teeth as well.

At that moment, a black van pulls up and a shorter dark haired man walks out of the driver’s side.

“Alright, guys. That’s enough,” he orders, and Chen laughs again as I pull away from the lethal weapon, wiping the saliva that had started to drip off my chin.

“I can’t leave you two alone without you fooling around. I’m surprised we ever get anything done,” the man, Kyungsoo, mutters.

“Oh please,” I say. “You know that this ‘business’ would crumble if not for us.”

“Not to mention your sense of humor,” Chen grins brightly. His lips stretch even further when Kyungsoo glares viciously at him.

After clearing his throat, Kyungsoo gets down to business, “the guy we are looking for is named Wu Yifan, but he goes by Kris. Rumor has it, he’s discovered some very…interesting information about our contractor that can ruin their business. We must capture him and figure out what he knows.”

“So are we going to get him today or…?” Chen asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “no. Today, you two are just going to find and observe. Get a good feel of him so that we can figure out how to approach him.”

Chen and I nod once in unison. Kyungsoo reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small picture, holding it out for the two of us to see. The picture is in black and white and shows the side of a man’s face, he seems to be about the same age as us.

“This is our guy. Find him, study him, and report your findings back to me. Understood?”

“Affirmative,” I reply, sliding my glock back into its hiding place.

“Alright. Good luck.” Kyungsoo heads back into his van and peels out, causing dirt to waft around us.

We cough and choke on the dirt. Once it clears we glance at each other.

“I was really hoping we would kill someone today,” Chen pouts and sighs.

I take a deep breath and let it go harshly, placing my hands on my hips, “not today. Looks like we’re spying.”

“I feel so degraded. Isn’t this Sehun’s job?”

I smack his arm, “behave.”

Chen pouts again, rubbing his arm, “let’s go.”

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Chen and I find ourselves sitting at a park, watching a basketball game.

Our boy, Yifan, is attempting to play. He’s pretty good, at least, he’s very confident.

“He has literally missed every single shot he’s thrown,” Chen says, voice filled with mild disbelief.

I sigh, “How the hell did this guy uncover vital information about our contractor that can destroy them?”

“He had to stumble upon it. There’s no way….”

Yifan tosses the ball at the basket again, Chen and I tilt our heads to the side as the ball bounces off the backboard and soars back to Yifan, who ducks just in time.

“Pathetic,” Chen says. “Should we teach him a thing or two?”

I shake my head, “we must stay in shadow mode. We need to figure him out so that we can find a way to approach him.”

“You’re right. I just feel so bad for the man.”

“At least he looks hot while doing it.”

Chen is silent and I glance over at him. He is staring at me incredulously.

“What?” I pout.

“Your taste in men is quite appalling,”

“Yeah, especially since this one cannot stay.” I pull the sunglasses that are resting on the top of my head down to my eyes and stand. “Should we go?”

“Do you think we’ve gathered enough information?”

I shrug, “No. But I’m tired and he’s boring. Maybe they got the wrong guy.”

“We never make mistakes, Dragen, you know that.”

“Ilhoon will be worried. I promised him I’d be home early tonight.”

“What’s going on between you two anyway?”

“He’s my best friend,” I breathe.

“If he were your best friend, he’d know what you have been doing for the past five years. You’re lying to him.”

“You know that this profession calls for us to lie to everyone that matters, or else they’ll get hurt.”

Chen just shakes his head, “let’s wait one more hour. Hopefully he’ll go home, and you can peep on him taking a hot shower.”

I think about Chen’s offer. It is true that we haven’t gotten much on this Kris guy—except for the fact that he’s a terrible basketball player—and after my last assignment, I cannot afford to call it a day. “One more hour.”

Chen salutes and we get settled once again on the bench.

Yifan misses again.

~*~

“We’ve gathered that he likes to play sports, basketball in particular, though he isn’t very good.”

“Also, he enjoys eating jelly filled donuts and is quite clumsy, being that he got the jelly all over his shirt.”

“In a nutshell. This man is pathetic, and could possibly be molded like putty in Dragen’s hands,” Chen finishes with a smirk.

Kyungsoo’s wide eyes bounce back and forth between Chen and I. Finally he sighs and leans back in his chair, “alright. You two are dismissed. I’ll report your minuscule findings to the boss and he’ll let us know where to continue with this mission.”

Chen and I both rise to go but then Kyungsoo asks me to stay behind. Chen and I lock eyes and I can sense the worry in his gaze, but he leaves nonetheless, he has no choice.

I settle back down into my chair and wait for Kyungsoo to speak. He leans forward, folding his hands in front of him. His tan suit is a size too big for him and he looks like a son pretending to be his father at his office. 

“Suho is still worried about your well-being, Dragen,” he starts and I try not to roll my eyes. “He wants to make sure you won’t turn on us again. You haven’t killed anyone since Minho, and giving you such a big assignment after your near failure causes him to worry.”

I bite my lip. Just hearing his name rips me up inside, causes tears to form in my eyes. I take a deep breath and suck it back in, tape myself quickly back together so that I’m not exposed.

“So what do you suggest?” I question.

Kyungsoo opens a drawer and pulls out a manila folder, sliding it over to me.

“It’s a small mission. Just a man who was trading secrets of the South to the North. He’s on the run, right on the border, but they pinned him and have been watching him. His expiration date is tomorrow at noon, and then it’s a free for all. The government wants him disposed of before then.”

I skim through his profile. Kim Minseok, thirty years old, he was an officer in our military and apparently pretty high up. I wonder what caused him to betray the country in such a way.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

I allow myself this eye roll, “I can handle it.”

Kyungsoo nods and I see a hint of a smile pull at the side of his face, “good.”

I rise and walk quickly out of his office. Sometimes that man gives me the chills. It isn’t like I think he’d hurt me or anything, but I know that he can be ruthless and is completely deadly. He’s a killing machine.

At around two in the morning, I find myself on top of an old abandoned building. It’s an extremely windy night, and my curly hair flies violently behind me. Quickly, I wrap my hair into a ponytail and resume my position: kneeling on one knee with my rifle resting on the edge of the building. I peek through the scope, scanning the area for Minseok. Finally, after an hour and a half, I catch movement. There he is, running through the deserted open road covered in filth. You’d have thought he’d know better. I mean, the man’s on the run, why is he running out in the open? Oh well, I can’t care less for the reasons behind his actions. All I care about is proving Suho and Kyungsoo wrong. I can be just as heartless as them, and I am going to prove it in three, two, one…

Bang! 

The jolt from my rifle pushes me back and I stumble for a second as Minseok falls, out cold. Quickly, I snatch my weapon and run as fast as I can carrying the heavy equipment on my shoulder. Once I’m out the building, I yank out my glock and cautiously approach the man sprawled against the asphalt. I glance around me, all is clear. Minseok takes a quick breath and I jump.

“Please,” he whispers. I swallow hard as his eyes roll up to my face. “Please, I had to do it. I’m sorry. No one ever has a choice.”

“No,” I snap back at him. “There is always a choice, always a way out.”

“I guess you’ll find out soon….” He takes another breath, but doesn’t ever let it back out.

What was that?! No time to think about it. I have to leave the scene. I run over to my unmarked van and throw my rifle in the back, carefully maneuvering the vehicle so to not leave any marks. Once I am about forty miles out, I high sped it out of there. When I am at my safe spot—a dingy 24-hour gas station—I jump to the back and dismantle my weapon. Once it is put away, I drive back to the agency, switching the van for my own Dodge Neon and finally go home.

Pretenses:

He smiles and his front teeth shine against the darkness that surrounds us.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re shy,” he breathes, taking me all in.

I smirk, pretending to be brave, “your flattery isn’t really working, Minho.”

“Oh yeah?” He growls and presses himself closer to me, causing both my heart to race and a moan to escape. His smile widens with satisfaction.

“I love you,” he murmurs against the skin of my collarbone.

Don’t say that, I think. All the same, I smile and answer back to him, “I love you too, Minho.”

“Good,” he snaps, his voice serious and deep with lust. “Because you’re mine, Baby. For forever.”

I awake with tears in my eyes. I’m still dreaming of him, a whole year later. I don’t think I’ll ever not dream of him, of the man who showed me what real love felt like.

I check the time and jump up and run to my closet until I freeze. Today is Sunday, I have today off.

I sigh and lean against my closet doorframe filled with relief. Something unhinged me about my last mission, something about the way Minseok had just given up, about what he said to me. A sense of fear crawls up my throat like a premonition and I swallow it back fiercely. I’m overreacting. Maybe Suho and Kyungsoo are right about me, maybe I am becoming soft.

I step out of my room and bump into Ilhoon. His arms encircle me and he takes a step back, catching us.

“Whoa, there,” he murmurs, chuckling as we pull away. “Good morning to you too, Dray.”

I rub my forehead and sigh, “sorry.”

“Busy night?” He asks. He starts walking away and I follow him to the kitchen, plopping on a chair as he pulls out two bowls from the cabinet. “You didn’t get in until late…”

I wince, “I’m sorry, Ilhoonie. I know you want me to come home earlier, but my job is kicking my butt.”

“All you do is fix computers,” he scoffs and hands me a bowl filled with chocolate cereal—our favorite.

“You’d be surprised how complicated fixing a computer can be. First you have to find the problem, and then you have to check the entire database and make sure all of the files and other information won’t get lost and then—”

“Alright, alright. I believe you,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re going to give me a headache with all that computer talk.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. I’m not feeling very well today, and Ilhoon can sense it.

“Well, you have today off, don’t you?” I nod. “Are you going up to your parents’ later?”

I nod again, “Zelo’s birthday is tomorrow so we’re celebrating it tonight. Are you going to come too?”

Ilhoon shrugs, “I am practically family. Plus, I haven’t seen Zelo in a while. How old is he turning?”

“Nineteen,” I gulp. My little brother is becoming a man today, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was terrified.

Ilhoon laughs, “remember us at nineteen? We went wild on our birthday!” Ilhoon and I share the same birthday, hence why we are so close.

I shudder, “that is exactly why I am nervous. I don’t want Yongguk anywhere near him after ten.”

Ilhoon’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t say anything. We finish our breakfast in silence and I help him wash the dishes.

“It’s almost twelve, get ready,” he orders as he heads to his room.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Ilhoon is very religious. If there is one thing he loves, it’s the lord. One of the requirements of living with him is that I have to accompany him to Sunday mass every week.

Once there, we sit in a pew near the middle and listen to the word. The father preaches about God’s love and undying devotion, but I don’t feel any reassurance.

I’m no angel. I’m the opposite, in fact. I’ve committed too many sins to be forgiven and I know there is nothing pleasant waiting for me on the other side.

God gave up on me a long time ago.

~*~

After mass, Ilhoon and I head over to my parents’ house. The place is packed with all of Zelo’s friends. Once my father sees me, he beams and wraps me in a hug. Since my life is so busy with work, I don’t see my family often. It has been a few weeks since Zelo and I have talked, and months since my parents’ and I have.

“Where’s Zelo?” I practically yell into my father’s ear. The music is so loud I can feel it more than hear it.

“In the living room, AKA the ‘dance floor’.” My father rolls his eyes and chuckles at my silly brother. I nod and snatch Ilhoon’s hand, dragging him with me to the living room.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by a semi-circle is the birthday boy. He’s busting all kinds of moves and I roll my eyes—I taught that kid practically everything he knows.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Are you between the ages of 30 & 40? Yeah.

What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? I remember getting up to watch the Saturday morning cartoon lineup on ABC, which I think was called, “One Saturday Morning”, that showed cartoons such as Recess, Pepper Ann, Disney’s Doug, The Weekenders, etc. I also remember watching Kids WB, Fox Kids, Nickelodeon, and the Disney Channel. 

What was your favorite toy as a child? I was obsessed with Barbies. In High School did you wear acid washed jeans? No. That was never my style. 

How much was a gallon of gasoline when you first started driving? I don’t drive.

What was your first car? Since I don’t drive, I haven’t had a car.

Who taught you how to drive? --

What was your high school mascot? I’m not sharing that.

Did you go to your Senior Prom? I did.

What did you do after graduation? I went to community college, got all the general ed stuff done and my AA, then transferred to UC to focus on my major and get my BA.

What was your first job? I haven’t had one.

What did you want to be when you grew up? When I was a kid I wanted to be a teacher.

Any posters on your bedroom walls growing up? Oh yeah. I had all the posters from the teen magazines covering my walls.

Do you remember the first time you drank a beer? Yeah, it was when I was 21.

Did you ever try cigarettes? No.

How did you spend your summers growing up? I actually used to spend a lot of time outside *gasp* Shocking, I know. I played with my neighbors or my cousins, or I just played by myself with like chalk or cruising around in my motorized toy car, haha. I also liked swimming in my little plastic or blow up pool.

If you could change anything from your teenage years, would you? Yes.

Do you remember your first time? I’m a virgin. 

Ever look back and wish some things were still the same? Yeah. :(

After high school - straight to college or straight to work? Like I said, I went to community college and then to UC.

How much did you make per hour at your first job? --

Favorite home-cooked meal growing up? My mom’s lasagna and chicken tacos.

Favorite place to eat out growing up? Getting fast food was always fun haha. 

Did your parents live in a different country before you were born?: Nope.

Do you have a preferred coffee brand?: Not particularly. There’s some I definitely don’t like, such as Folger’s and Yuba. 

Have you ever dated someone who was terrible with money?: No.

If so, how did it affect the relationship?:

How often do you paint your nails?: It’s been like 4 years since I’ve painted my nails.

Do you know anyone who's related to a current or former world leader?: No.

Do you do your own taxes, or do you hire a professional?: I haven’t had to do taxes since I’ve never been employed. 

What is something you don't have any natural talent for?: I don’t have natural talents. :X I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I have no artistic abilities... the list goes on and on.

Did you watch this year's Eurovision?: I never watch that.

Have there been any periods in your life that could be described as being chaotic?: Uh, yeah. Most definitely.

What is something you frequently forget?: Hmm. I don’t know. I have a pretty decent memory.

If I looked in your fridge right now, what would I find?: Stuff like coffee creamers, milk, eggs, cheese, Pillsbury sugar cookies, several different condiments, sandwich meat, yogurts, etc.

How do you feel about your body?: I’m very self-conscious about it and don’t like it at all.

Who is someone you would like to get to know better?: There isn’t someone at the moment.

If you had to move to a new city, where would you move?: I don’t know.

Have you ever traveled on a double-decker train?: No.

At what point do you consider a relationship to be 'long-term?': Uhh. I mean, I kind of think of it as when you both decide to be in a committed relationship and continue together going forward, then it’s a long-term relationship. Like, you’re not just casually dating or unsure of what you’re doing. Does that make sense?

What jobs did your parents have when you were growing up?: Retail jobs.

Do they still have these jobs? Or different jobs? Or have they retired?: My mom is a manager at Walgreens and my dad works at a car repair shop.

Do you own any winter sports equipment?: No. I have no use for that.

Do you have a cell contract plan, or are you on a pre-paid plan?: I’m part of a family plan thing.

Would your parents be okay with you dating someone of another race? Yes.

Do you like when friends stop by unexpectedly? No, that was never my thing. My family and I like to be notified and have something planned. I always wondered if that was a common thing to do because that’s how it always is on TV shows and movies and I’m like do people really do that?? lol. 

Where are the following people and what are they doing: mom, dad, sibling(s), best friend, significant other, ex, and last person you kissed? My mom is just getting off work so she should be home soon, my dad is in the living room asleep, my brother is in his room doing whatever, my best friend is my mom, I’m single, I have no idea what my ex is doing or where he is, and the last person I kissed is my ex, so.

How strong are your feelings for the last person you kissed? I don’t have feelings for him anymore. It’s been several years now and I’ve moved on long ago. I don’t have any bad feelings towards him or anything, though. I hope he’s well.

What was the last thing someone else bought for you? My brother bought me Wingstop for dinner tonight.

If your parents looked in your purse/book bag would they find anything you don’t want them to see? What about your bedroom? Do you have anything hidden in there? Nah. I’m also 31 years old, so they wouldn’t be looking in my things anyway.

How close are you to the last person you hung out with? Can you be your complete self around them? My mom and I are very close and yes.

If you decided to call your ex right now, do you think he/she would answer? How would the conversation go? I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t call him, though, so guess we’ll never find out.

Are you attracted to the last person you exchanged numbers with? I don’t even recall the last time I exchanged numbers with someone.

Is music a daily part of your life? No.

Yellow nail polish: yes or no? Sure.

What do you think of country music? I like some country music.

Have you ever ended a relationship but wish you could’ve kept it a little longer? Yes.

Did you go to your high school’s graduation? Yes.

If you could live the last three months over again, is there anything you’d change? I don’t know about the last 3 months... that’s not much time. I need to go much further than that.

Who was the last person to message you on Facebook? What would you do if that person told you they have feelings for you? The daughter of my mom’s best friend. Uh, no that wouldn’t happen. She’s happily married to a man. 

How did you feel when you woke up today? Like a zombie, as always.

Who was the first person you talked to today? What did you talk about? My mom. She was getting back from grocery shopping when I got up and she was telling me about stuff regarding that and some other stuff. 

When you apply your make-up, do you do it in a specific order? I would do eyeliner and then mascara and called it a day haha. I never wore much makeup. I dabbled with foundation, concealer, bronzer, and highlighter a few times, but it required too much work for me and it just wasn’t really my thing. In high school and in my early 20s I also sometime wore eyeshadow. I rarely wore lipstick, but sometimes a tinted lip gloss. 

Did you do anything sexual last night? No.

Do you think the last person you Facebook messaged is a virgin? She’s married, so probably not but *shrug* That’s really none of my concern.

Did any of your friends lose their virginity before they were 16? If so, did you feel pressured to do the same? I don’t have friends.

Has someone of the opposite sex made you smile today? No. It’s only been today for about 40 minutes, though, and I haven’t talked to anyone so far.

Does it matter to you if your significant other smokes? It would matter if they smoked cigarettes.

Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? My mom.

Do you like where you are in life right now? Definitely not. 

Do you hate it when there is a fly around you? Ugh, yes. Flies are super annoying.

Is your mom overbearing? No. 

Is there snow where you live? No. :(

[wetwellie]

Your Name AU

(because i’ve seen this movie a bajillion times and it makes me feel things and i am FEELING THINGS about zimbits rn) (It probably won’t work, but i’m gonna make it work)

 Bitty is a guy who is trying to peacefully spend his last summer before heading off to college in peace. 

He spends his days working his part time job at his Aunt’s produce stand. 

and Baking

and playing club hockey twice a week

Fairly peaceful

and...boring as hell

Until the dreams start

Jack has just started his third year at Samwell university

he’s still broken

still anxious

still the “golden boy” --even if he doesn’t feel like hes polished and shining

but he’s making do

and making friends

just a year or two left until

until what?

graduation? getting signed? 

wasting away? 

Jack doesn’t know. But he’s resigned to focus on hockey and let the rest of the world pass him by

Until the dreams start

Jack wakes up and it’s too hot

He shifts to get out of bed and finds that the covers he is tearing away from his body

are not his

or Shitty’s

or any of his roommates’

also. uh

those skinny legs and short shorts are not his

his hands look different too

and his face feels different

and the voice that calls to him from downstairs is not one he knows

huh

well

weird dream

hope it’s over soon

Bitty goes downstairs to eat the next day

His parents are both fairly silent

“I see you got over whatever mood you were in yesterday, young man”

“mood?”

“it doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he gets out of them

When he drives to the produce stand his cousins run up to him smiling

“I see that you actually remembered how to drive that thing”

“What?” says Bitty

“yesterday you were all over the place. almost knocked over the stand. if you were anyone else I’d think you were drunk”

“Aunt Judy figures you might have been possessed” the other cousin says

“With a fit of stupidity”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about” Bitty says

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t ‘get lost’ or forget ‘how to drive stick’ again, Dicky” she says using finger quotes

Later in the day, Suzanne asks Bitty if he’s really feeling ok. 

She was really worried about yesterday’s behavior

Bitty replies that , despite evidence on the contrary, he feels normal

They finish up some jars of jam and Bitty returns to his room for the night

There is where he finds it

Tucked under his pillow there is a note in scratchy handwriting

“Who are you?”

Bitty wakes up cold, in a bed that is too big for him

an alarm he doesn’t remember setting, or ever having, is blaring next to him

he looks to see the time

4:30 am

oh. 

hell no

bitty gets up to unplug the dream alarm clock, and returns to sleep

Bitty wakes up 6 hours later with another man coming into bed with him

This man is naked

and moustached

one of those dreams? huh

never would he dream about this kind of guy though

because this guy doesn’t crawl into bed, like he thought

he wraps bitty in a burrito made out of comforters and yanks him onto the floor

“I know you needed to a break, but let the coaches know before you sleep through morning practice like that”

“practice?”

“yeah. and you’re lucky that I’m waking you up in time to go to your 11am.” 

“but it’s summer”

naked moustache man just looks at him and rolls his eyes

“we’ll grab lunch after class”

“Wait!”

“What”

“...where is my class?”

Jack wakes up the next day 

and is dragged to the doctor to test for a possible concussion

“the things you were saying and doing yesterday were crazy”

“you skipped morning practice”

“After class you threw down your notes and said you’d never major in History”

“You baked seven as an apology for skipping morning practice”

“And then you dropped into fetal position in afternoon practice when Ollie was about to check you”

“And you took, i don’t know, 7000 selfies of yourself and called yourself handsome”

“have you ever taken a selfie before in your life?”

jack just shakes his head

“yeah. like i said you’re getting checked for a concussion”

Did I hit my head? , Jack asks

“no. but it can’t be” Shitty pauses “It wouldn’t be your other thing would it?”

I don’t think so he says. 

Jack has never really had memory problems. and his anxiety and panic never particularly affected him in the way described

faintly, he recalls a young boy at one of his games right before the draft, voice broken as he says “Jack, don’t you remember me?”

it leaves his mind as quickly as it entered

because he had bigger problems to figure out

namely how he had new entries on the journal on his phone

it was a summary of all of the things that “Jack” did the previous day

“Thanks for a long day of being a Big Shot on campus, handsome!”

signed Eric

Eric?? 

Who the hell is Eric? 

it happens again 

Jack spends a day as bitty

and Bitty spends a day as Jack

and they wake up not remembering too much about what happens

the only thing that cements that it’s not just a weird dream is that

well...real life consequences

Jack becomes a lot more...spinny and less up for contact when he plays hockey

and ends up enjoying time with his teammates a lot more

and has a huge country dialect now

and one time someone came up to him speaking french and jack had no idea what was going on???

and he smiles sometimes??? 

and at the end of the day he’s almost always on his phone typing away

Bitty is able to kick ass into gear with hockey

but can’t bake worth shit

honestly, suzanne hasn’t seen anything of that quality since bitty was seven

AND he had to check a recipe

also, he’s started to bike to work

driving stick is impossible

he’s very serious on some days

he spends his evenings watching history documentaries and writing in a journal

Well. It seems like this is just gonna be life for a while, they both figure

best set up some rules

Bitty, as Jack, is NOT ALLOWED TO DITCH CLASSES

no use of the word y’all

no beyonce

no short shorts

don’t drop like a brick when someone comes to check you

seriously Eric it’s fine 

Eric it’s my body that would get hurt don’t worry

also please don’t drink or use drugs in my body

it’s a long story but again

it’s my body

Jack-as-Bitty is asked to be polite to his friends and customers

and please never bake anything ever

don’t leave the house dressed like some weird clothing outlet exploded

if you yell at my teammates i swear to god, mr. zimmermann. 

don’t disrespect senor bun

or anyone

stop frowning so much, even Coach has asked me about it and i don’t know what to say

don’t watch stuff on my netflix account. your history documentaries are messing up my recommendations

Despite the rules

They find ways to keep bothering each other

But also trying to make each other better

As captains of each others teams, both teams are able to benefit from their guidance

Bitty’s team gets a lot stronger technically

but kind of hate how much of a hardass Bitty is 3 times a week

The SMH is more in synch with each other than ever

and Bitty is able to help out a lot more

But Jack ends up having to put a lot of money in the sin bin for 

‘acting off’

Jack is very upset to find a picture of himself in the swallow, sitting on the roof of the Haus shirtless and wearing short shorts chilling

like

what the fuck Eric 

But they get a little routine down, and nothing changes except for minor nuisances

so whatever 

It all works good until one day, while Jack and Suzanne are bonding over making jam, Suzanne looks Jack right in the eyes and says 

“oh...you’re not my dicky. you’re dreaming aren’t you?”

Jack snaps awake in his bed

not Eric’s bed. His bed

Huh. weird. 

He goes to check his phone and of course, there is a long journal entry left over from the day he didn’t get

It’s all mostly ok until he gets to the end

“It looks like your first big hockey game is tomorrow night! Be sure to have fun. Enjoy it!”

“There’s a comet tonight for me. I’ll take lots of pictures so that you can see it next time we ...do whatever we do”

 Jack and the SMH win the game. and he actually tries to have fun. but the only person he wants to celebrate with is

well

he’s in georgia

bUT

Jack has a phone

He dials bitty’s cellphone number that has been saved in his contact

his heart is beating quite fast. 

and then he hears 

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service”

 Jack stops switching after that

He should be relieved. overjoyed

but he’s not

he doesn’t miss the humidity

or the dirt roads

or the bugs

but he does miss something

and he’s forgetting all about it

so he tries searching online for the town

the town he can’t remember the name of

he doesn’t want to forget, so he starts drawing sketches of what he remembers

they’re not bad

pretty darn good, even

Not as good as Lardo’s, but she’s still abroad

He tries to call Eric’s number a couple more times. He gets the same results

 Jack can’t take it anymore

During the winter break, Jack flies down to Georgia for a weekend, rents a car, and drives himself in the general area he remembers the town

he stops locals and shows them sketches

“is there any town nearby that looks like this?”

they all respond in the negative

he does this for hours

the sun is starting to set when he resigns to give up

he pulls into a diner in the town he’s in, orders, and looks at his sketches again

maybe it’s possible that the town isn’t...even real?

it really could have just been his dreams

that is what he thinks when the server returns with some water

“Hey. that’s a pretty good picture of Godfrey”

 “Godfrey?”

“Yeah. I grew up there.” he says looking a bit sad

“Can you tell me how to get there?” 

The server pauses and gives Jack a mourned, but puzzled look “ it was about a 15 minute drive from here but-” 

“it was?”

“you didn’t hear about what happened?”

Jack shakes his head. 

“If you don’t mind,I’ll take you to it after you finish your dinner”

It’s all gone. 

Oh God. 

Everything from the small ice cream shop to the old creek where Bitty’s cousins would hang around

It’s all rubble

and mounds of dirt

Literal miles

Jack can’t breathe

he can’t

breathe

just breathe

just

breat--

[vernonfielding]

I got hella homies

Story No. 29 of my Season 7 Countdown Project.

Summary: “Boyle says you brought Jocelyn to Shaw's last week.”

Jocelyn meets (most of) the Nine-Nine. Takes place before The Therapist. (Read on AO3.)

She notices Amy Santiago first, because Amy is standing at the bar wearing a full police uniform, and also, she has incredibly shiny hair, and Jocelyn’s always had a thing for brunettes.

Jocelyn pauses at the threshold of Shaw’s, eyes scanning from Amy to the booths that line the walls, until she finds the one loud group sprawled around a table toward the back. She squints, trying to identify Rosa, and that’s when someone slides up behind her and says, “Don’t move.”

Jocelyn bites her lip to keep from grinning. Rosa smells like fresh lemons and leather and just now, bourbon.

“Or what?”

A hand slips onto her hip and squeezes, and Rosa says, “Or you won’t get the first shower tomorrow morning.”

She gives Jocelyn a quick peck on the cheek, and Jocelyn lifts an eyebrow. “You should probably be careful about sneaking up behind people in a cop bar,” she says.

Rosa shrugs. “I just wanted a second alone before you meet everyone.”

“That’s sweet,” Jocelyn says. She knows Rosa will hate that, and sure enough, Rosa frowns and grimaces.

“C’mon,” she says, and tugs at Jocelyn’s hand.

Jocelyn had picked the right table, and she’s able to identify everyone else even before Rosa makes the introductions. Charles has an open, friendly face and kind eyes, and he’s wearing a tan button-down shirt and the dullest brown tie Jocelyn’s ever seen. Terry is massive and very handsome, but it’s the suspenders that give him away. Amy has re-joined the table and is sitting beside her husband. Jake is the last one she places, because she’s having trouble reconciling this man with the goofy grin and laughing eyes with the obsessed, sleep-deprived, manic detective Rosa described working with on a recent murder investigation. 

“Everyone, this is Jocelyn,” Rosa says. “Don’t be weird to her.”

“Hurtful,” Jake says, but he’s smiling, He has an arm slung around Amy’s shoulders, and he leans over the table and reaches toward Jocelyn to shake hands. “You have neat hair.”

“That was weird,” Rosa says.

+++

Jocelyn’s politics swing way left and she’s definitely never dated a cop before. But Rosa is confident and assertive and Jocelyn finds that extremely attractive, and to be honest, the fact that she carries a gun is weirdly hot. She is eagerly anticipating the day she finally gets to see Rosa in uniform.

She knows the past year hasn’t been easy, since Rosa came out to her parents. Jocelyn’s glad she did it -- to be honest, she doesn’t date people who aren’t out anymore. She gets why people stay closeted, she really does. But Jocelyn has been out since middle school and even at age 14 she knew that if someone couldn’t handle who she was, that person wasn’t worth the trouble. Now she’s 38, and she won’t be anyone’s secret.

So yeah, this feels good, squeezed into a booth at the back of a dingy cop bar with Rosa and her friends. Jake and Charles are shout-singing to Taylor Swift and Amy is pretending to be embarrassed but obviously loving it. Terry tells the table in general that he’s texting his wife that he’ll be home in time to put the twins to bed. And Rosa is definitely sitting closer to Jocelyn than she needs to, one hand on Jocelyn’s knee under the table.

+++

The invitation to join Rosa at Shaw’s came out of nowhere, which has been pretty standard. They’ve been dating a little over three months, and for most of that time Rosa’s been on the murder case with Jake, which means a lot of their dates have been spontaneous and pretty casual. (Rosa also has canceled a lot, which ordinarily would be a deal-breaker for Jocelyn, but Rosa did warn her that a detective’s life can be chaotic.)

Jocelyn got the text as she was leaving her frosting and highlighting class, the last of the day, and wondering if she should see if Rosa was free for dinner. She answered yes immediately and did a literal 180 to catch a train to Prospect Heights. Jocelyn has been dying to meet Rosa’s coworkers, who are clearly the most important people in her life given how much she talks about them. Which, honestly, isn’t a lot, but still about five times more than anyone else.

Still, she was a little afraid that the night would be all cop talk. But the Nine-Nine takes her by surprise. Ten minutes after she’s met them Charles has taken out a stack of actual printed photos of his son Nikolaj and is asking Jocelyn if she’s ever had Latvian beetroot soup, and then Terry has to show her photos (on his phone, like a normal person) of his daughters. After that Jocelyn can’t resist sharing a photo of her niece, who’s just eight months old and sadly lives on the other side of the country.

Then Amy asks her about cosmetology school and says that Jake is right, that her hair is neat.

“I’ve always wanted to try short hair but I’m afraid I don’t have the face for it,” Amy says.

“You should come by the school some time for a consultation,” Jocelyn says, tilting her head to imagine a look for Amy. “I could totally cut it for you.”

“No way!” Jake says firmly, mouth gone suddenly all pouty.

Jocelyn feels a punch of knee-jerk rage, that this guy would dare tell his wife what she can and can’t do with her hair. She opens her mouth, ready to lay into him.

And then Jake says, “You said I could cut your hair if you ever decided to go short!”

Amy rolls her eyes. “No, you are not allowed to cut my hair with the paper cutter at work. We’ve talked about this.”

“My wife is the worst,” Jake says in a whine. But he’s smiling and his eyes have gone all crinkly in the corners, and Amy tips her face up to his and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry, babe,” she says.

So Jocelyn decides that Jake and Amy are adorable and she wishes she could have been at their wedding, which Rosa said was the most romantic shit she’s ever seen, and that was after the bomb scare.

After a second round, Jocelyn asks if the captain ever joins them for drinks and Amy says, “I wish” in a dreamy sort of voice, and then she and Charles launch into a story about Holt single-handedly saving Shaw’s by drinking himself sick on Charbonnay. 

“Cabernet?” Jocelyn says.

“No,” Rosa says, looking like the very thought of that particular alcohol is going to give her a hangover. Jocelyn drops the subject.

“When do I get to meet him?” she says instead.

“Holt?” Rosa shrugs. “He’s not very social.”

“Are you kidding?” Charles calls out from Rosa’s other side. He leans over the table to address Jocelyn. “Captain Holt and Kevin love Rosa. I bet they’d have you over for Kevin’s famous white rice. I’m dying to try it but I’m not allowed in their home after last year’s tofu incident.”

Jocelyn has so many questions. “What’s the tofu-”

“Don’t ask,” Rosa says. “We should go.”

Everyone ends up leaving at once. Outside the bar, Charles gives Jocelyn a too-long hug, and Terry tells her he’s so glad they met and then seems to tear up a little and walks away in a hurry. Amy’s goodbye handshake is bone-crushing but her smile is genuine.

Jake pulls Jocelyn aside while Amy and Rosa are discussing a murder case and, improbably, blood-sniffing flies. He tells her in a hushed voice that he’s never seen Rosa happier in a relationship, and then he makes her swear to never tell Rosa he said that. (Jake also calls her Jackie, but he’s so friendly about it that she instantly forgives him.)

Rosa walks her home, and they hold hands and Jocelyn gushes about how great her coworkers are. “I wasn’t expecting to like a bunch of NYPD cops so much,” she says.

It’s dark out and Rosa is pretty inscrutable at all times anyway. But as they pass under a streetlamp, Jocelyn’s pretty sure she sees the smallest quirk of a smile.

“Yeah,” Rosa says, “they’re not bad, I guess.”

Jocelyn laughs. She recognizes high praise from her girlfriend when she hears it.

“Speaking of not bad,” Jocelyn says, and pauses, tugging at Rosa’s hand to make her stop too. She slips her arms around Rosa’s waist, and Rosa gives her another of those half-smiles and lifts a hand up to Jocelyn’s face. When they kiss, Rosa’s lips are full and soft and warm, and the slide of her tongue is electric. Jocelyn closes her eyes and hums a little, and Rosa strokes a thumb along her jawline, to the pulse point behind her ear. Her other hand curls around Jocelyn’s neck to pull her closer.

They’re both a little breathless when they break apart. Rosa’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black, but there’s a spark of something fond and joyful in them. She reaches up to brush aside the bangs that have slipped over Jocelyn’s forehead.

“They’re right,” she says, “your hair is neat.”

Jocelyn laughs out loud, and Rosa’s laughing too when they kiss again.

End Notes:

Title is from Feed the Beast (Bash Brothers).

Another massive thank you to @exploding-snapple, who put together a most amazing timeline of Season 6 without which I would have been totally lost trying to figure out the timing of this story. According to her timeline, Rosa and Jocelyn would have started dating around late December/early January of 2018-19. So by the time Jocelyn met everyone (in early April) they would have been dating about three months. (If that’s wrong for some reason, blame my math, not explodingsnapple’s timeline.)

Interestingly, much of their early dating would have taken place during The Crime Scene, which must have been intense, and perhaps influenced Jocelyn’s eventual frustration that Rosa consistently prioritizes her job over her girlfriend. (Canon is fun!)

I purposefully had Rosa sharing quite a bit of personal info about her coworkers with Jocelyn, which I realize runs counter to the Rosa we know. But my thinking is that Rosa really, really likes Jocelyn, and is maybe making an effort to be open with her. Plus, I think Rosa really loves her Nine-Nine family and would maybe want to talk about them, at this point in her life. Anyway, obviously that’s all open to interpretation.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf

Travels with Myself and Another: five journeys from Hell by Martha Gellhorn

The door [of their accommodation for the night] opened onto the street and the smell thereof. The mosquitoes were competing with the flies and losing… I lay on the boards, a foot off the floor, and said in the darkness, ‘I wish to die.’

- Martha Gellhorn, Travels with Myself and Another: five journeys from Hell

This fantastic quote perfectly embodies Martha Gellhorn’s feelings when Hemingway to whom she just married had brought her to the front lines of the Sino-Japanese War for her honeymoon.

Travels with Myself and Another describes her globe-spanning adventures, both accompanied and alone. At heart it’s a collection of "the best of the worst journeys," originally published in 1978 and spanning a swath of history from the WWII Greatest Generation to the 1970's counterculture revolution. In the complexity of her observations ‘she prefigures the works of people like Bruce Chatwin and Paul Theroux and Jonathan Raban and the renaissance of first-person adventure writing. For Martha Gellhorn had a full life that very few of us can only ever dream of let alone emulate.

“Martha Gellhorn was so fearless in a male way, and yet utterly capable of making men melt,” writes New Yorker literary editor Bill Buford in the foreword of the book.

As a hard bitten war correspondent, Gellhorn covered every military conflict from the Spanish Civil War to Vietnam and Nicaragua. Gellhorn witnessed the invasion of Normandy as a stowaway after getting kicked off the press boat and wrote over a dozen fiction and non-fiction books in her 60-year career. A feminist at her core, Martha, M as UC (unwilling companion, AKA Hemingway) calls her, sets off on each “horror journey” as she’s dubbed them, without a great deal of pre-planning, other than the bare minimum required by her destination. The era of traveling by your bootstraps, hopping flights when you need them, hoping to stumble upon a hotel with available rooms each night, etc. is simply unheard of today.

Indeed Gellhorn was enraptured. She went to toe to toe with Ernest Hemingway with her courage as they dodged shell fire together. Gellhorn and Hemingway had been married a few months before and this trip to the front lines of the Sino-Japanese War was in effect their honeymoon  Their compared experiences of the trip create much of the humour, as he is happy to drink, smoke, and chat with locals, while she is trying to get material for her article and remember important details, as well as deal with guides and officials that barely speak English. With razor-sharp humour and exceptional insight into place and character, she tells of a tense week spent among dissidents in Moscow; long days whiled away in a disused water tank with hippies clustered at Eilat on the Red Sea; and her journeys by sampan and horse to the interior of China during the Sino-Japanese War.

"We are supposed to learn by experience;" Gellhorn reflects on her repeated travels in her introduction, "fat lot of good that does if you only remember the experience too late." We start out in WWII China with Ernest Hemingway as her unwilling "another," and end with her babysitting her helpless driver in East Africa. Her laugh-out-loud descriptions of lunches with everyone from Chiang Kai-shek and Madame Chiang in war-torn China to Mrs. Mandelstam in the oppressive Soviet communist regime provide an entertaining romp through history with someone who has been there. Her casual mentions of the countries in Africa and realistic dialect of the natives of the Caribbean made me pick up an atlas. Her character as a true free spirit who hires her own boats against the advice of locals shines through in her tight and un-politically correct prose. "I remember West Africa the way one remembers pain, as an incident but never the precise sensations."

While I’m sure there are readers who would find it difficult to turn off their 2018 PC filters and would find her recounting of her 1962 trip to West Africa offensive, at it’s core it is a compelling historical and sociological exploration into the changing nature of how we travel and interact with people, and is definitely worth reading. People can skip it if they feel offended but the rest of the book is a treasure of insight, history, and world travel.

When M and UC (Hemingway) go to China during World War II, it never feels like there is a great threat on their lives. When M goes to the French islands of the Caribbean, I learned a great deal about how the Vichy government affected their lives, but I was never fearful of M’s survival. These adventures, and M’s quite frequent poor decision making – when the pilot of the boat tells you he won’t wait for you to scale a dormant volcano because he can’t dock safely, you should probably heed his warning and not be surprised when you get up in the morning and he’s gone – just a thought. But all these adventures are learning experiences for M and for us, her readers, 40 years after the original publication, 70 years after the adventure.

Still I found myself admiring Gellhorn's quick and direct writing style, impressed by the amount of description she is able to capture in just a few words. I loved reading her stories that contained the honest appraisals of her thoughts and impressions of this most extraordinary woman.

Along with Freya Stark and Beryl Markham and I would have Martha Gellhorn as one of my travel muses. Her books are never far from reach. I would often take a book of hers with me when I went traveling and simply say “Oh Martha”. Travels with Myself and Another opened my eyes to the depth of knowledge in women's lives and stories. And the best of Gellhorn doesn’t typically discuss how her gender has anything to do with her ability to travel and I really love her for that. Reading her I always got a real sense of, “If M can do it, so can I!” not because of my gender but because of my insatiable curiosity and need to travel and explore.

[dinoyoongi]

Broken Bones & Salami Sandwiches

(I do not own image)

SYNOPSIS: When your excitement to watch Yoongi accept BTS’ first Grammy award takes a clumsy, painful turn. 

PAIRING: Yoongi x Y/N

GENRE: Fluff

WARNINGS: Language 

WORD COUNT: 2543

_______________________________

“And the Grammy goes to ...” the presenter takes an obnoxious pause, grinning at the camera like he's the funniest person in the world. You growl angrily, grabbing the closest item within reach which happens to be an open pack of salami and whipping it across the room. Your sister gawks, watching as the deli meat pops out of the packaging and flies through the air before falling like confetti.

“You are 100% cleaning that up. What a waste,” she grumbles, eying the slices scattered amongst your hardwood floors. You shush her urgently, waving your hand furiously in her direction. “Y/N, it's too early in the morning to be -”

“BTS! Congratulations!”

The screen shifts to a view of the group who are still sitting, shock and disbelief painting their faces. Hoseok is the first to hesitantly rise, grabbing Taehyung's arm to either pull him up or keep him grounded.

That's about as much as you see before hysteria completely possesses you.

You're on your feet, half sobbing, half screeching as you jump up and down. Through your tears and hops, you try to focus on the screen. The boys are on the stage now but they don't seem to be in any better condition than you with their red eyes and wet faces. The camera zooms in on Yoongi and you break again, resuming your hops.

At least you won't have to go to the gym tonight to work off the junk food.

“Stop screaming! Don't you want to listen to their acceptance speech? They're about to start talking!” your sister shouts at you from the couch. You pause, eyes glancing to the screen. Namjoon holds the microphone, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He opens his mouth to speak when the camera goes to a group shot. Yoongi stands next to Namjoon, the little golden gramophone in his hand.

You can't help it. You lose it again. You jump ecstatically across the room, only stopping for nanosecond cry breaks. Your boyfriend is a Grammy award winner. A two-time Grammy award winner, to be exact. BTS picked up the award for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance earlier in the show but just happened to nab the most prestigious award of the night – best album. It's something that you have heard Yoongi and the boys talk about countless times. Though they never dared to have any expectations, just wishful dreams.

“They did it! Oh my god, they did it!” you screech through your leaping. Your sister begins to nag about the possibility of the downstairs neighbors calling the police but you keep jumping. It feels like your body is too small to contain the amount of happiness that you currently have and the only way to release it is to keep jumping. It's a good plan until your heel lands on a stray piece of salami. You feel everything happen in slow motion. The meat slides across the floor, taking you along with it. Your torso falls backwards and in an awkward attempt to balance yourself, you plant your right leg behind you. Unfortunately, since your excited jumps were so high, you come down hard. Right on your leg.

Crack.

There's a fierce pain and the room is suddenly spinning. It feels like your body is too small to contain the amount of pain that you currently have and the only way to release it is to close your eyes. So you close your eyes.

____________________________________

You open your eyes to the sound of your ring tone blaring somewhere in the room. You are definitely not at home anymore. You're in an unfamiliar bed, your lower half elevated with your right leg being suspended in the air by some kind of strap. There's a decent amount of pain but it's tolerable and you suspect whatever medication has been put into the IV drip inserted into your wrist is doing its job.

The sound of your phone stops. “Hello? Yoongi?”

Yoongi. BTS. The Grammy s. The jumping. The salami. It all comes back to you.

“Y/N couldn't come to the phone because she's currently recovering from her surgery,” your sister says dramatically. You can hear Yoongi's surprised “what!” from where you're laying. Your sister snickers. “No, I'm really not joking. She fell and broke her leg in four different places. They had to do emergency surgery on it. Hey, congrats on the awards, by the way.”

With as much energy as you can muster with all the medication pumped into you, you reach out your arm to your sister, fingers wiggling for the phone. She turns her body away from you and you have never wanted to strangle her as much as you do right now.

“We were watching the awards and she totally lost her fucking mind when you guys won album of the year. She threw a pack of salami and then started jumping around and eventually slipped on some of said salami. She passed out on the spot and I had to call an ambulance. They made me turn our phones off when I came into the surgery ward.”

I whine loudly, still reaching for the phone. Your sister laughs. “She just came to but she's super groggy from the anesthesia and pain medicine. I'll let the doctor see her first and have her call you back when she can. It must be super late there – do you just want to call her tomorrow?”

“Alright, alright. I'm sure she'll be calling soon. Give my congrats to the boys and your team! Have fun!” she says before throwing your phone back into her bag. You slump in defeat, your arm falling off of the bed. Your sister rolls her eyes.  “He has to do a few quick interviews anyway. You can call him after I page the doctor.”

She presses the big red call button on the side of your bed. “Broke your leg in four different places by slipping on a slice of salami that you tossed all over the place. Way to go, champ.”

Only a few minutes go by before both the doctor and a nurse come in to check on your leg. Whilst he explains how bad your break was and the treatments that you'll have to endure during the healing process, the nurse sets you up with a can of ginger ale and a few graham crackers to help ease the grogginess. After he finishes his spiel and you finish your snack, you feel refreshed despite the throbbing pain in your leg.

“You've been with me all morning. Why don't you go out and get yourself some lunch or something?” you suggest politely to your sister, flashing her a blinding smile. She scoffs. After 25 years with you, she's able to see right through you.

“I got some snacks from the vending machine earlier. I'm fine.”

Your smile drops. “Well that can't be very healthy. What would Mom say? She'd be upset if you didn't eat a proper-”

“It was Mom's idea. She didn't want me to leave you during surgery. She's coming this way with dinner later so I don't want to fill up now.”

“Oh my god, just get out!” you screech, your patience snapping. Your sister smirks and drops your phone into your lap, heading towards the door. She turns back to say something before she leaves but you whip your arm back as if you're going to throw your phone and she laughs, closing the door behind her. Your fingers fumble to find Yoongi's name in your contacts. It only rings twice.

“Y/N ! What the hell! You fell while jumping?” Yoongi scolds as soon as he answers the phone. You exhale in satisfaction when you hear his voice. “Sometimes I think you forget how old you are.”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt, voice breaking. You sniffle as the tears begin to pool. “I'm so proud of you.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Jagiya, stop being cute when I'm trying to be stern with you. How are you? Are you in a lot of pain?”

“It does hurt quite a bit but I'm handling it okay. How are you? Is it overwhelming?

“A little,” he confesses. “I haven't had time to process it yet. We were taken off stage and immediately thrown into interviews and photo sessions. It doesn't seem real even though I'm staring at the awards right now.”

“I can't wait to touch them,” you say, eliciting a burst of laughter from your boyfriend. “You have to let me touch at least one of them before Big Hit takes them away for display. It's the least you can do for causing my injury.”

“Wait a minute. It's my fault that your leg is broken? How so?” he asks in mock outrage. You can't stop yourself from giggling like a teenager. Yoongi does that to you.

“I was jumping because I was so happy for you. If you had lost, I wouldn't have jumped and slipped on the salami. So in conclusion, this is all your fault.”

“Okay we can discuss the ridiculousness of your logic later. But first, I have some questions about how salami got involved.”

___________________________

“Can you grab me a sparkling water?” You call out to your sister as you lounge on the couch, foot propped up on about six different cushions. “And bring me a bag of chips as well!”

Your sister places the carbonated beverage on the coffee table in front of you but throws the bag of chips at your face. “You break your own leg and I'm being punished by waiting on you hand and foot. Life is unfair.”

“Stop being a drama queen,” you grumble. It's been three days since the accident. You only stayed at the hospital for two nights but the massive boot that they've installed engulfs your entire calf and completely limits your mobility. You've taken to sleeping on the couch because your bedroom is too far away from everything else in the apartment but your poor sister really has had to literally carry you through your day. “I only have to wear this boot for a week. They'll switch me to a slimmer one at the next appointment.”

“You're lucky that your Grammy award winning boyfriend is out of the country. I would totally make him do everything.”

“Two-Time Grammy award winning boyfriend,” you correct her. She glares at you, exhausted with hearing that phrase from you for what feels like the millionth time. You grin obnoxiously in response. She opens her mouth to argue when the chime of the doorbell rings out and she turns to press the camera view of the door.

“Is it Mom?” you ask, craning your neck from where you lay to see the screen. You can't make anything out though. “If it's Mom, I'm going to pretend I'm napping. Yesterday she spent nearly forty-five minutes badly explaining the plot of Descendants of the Sun to me even though I told her ten times that I've already watched it.”

Your sister snickers, her eyes on the screen. “Yeah, it's Mom. I've buzzed her in so you better hurry and get all bundled up.”

You take her advice, throwing the blanket over the length of your body and tucking it up under your chin. You shift so you're facing the cushion of the couch. You even out your breathing to look convincing, listening as the front door opens and closes.

The voice that fills the apartment definitely does not belong to your mother. “Where is she?”

Like always, your heart skips for a moment before it takes off into a gallop. Yoongi never fails to fluster you, no matter how long you've been dating or how often you see him. Your head pops up from the pillow and you scramble with your arms to push off the blanket. In the scuffle, you've somehow tangled yourself and the next thing you know, you're on the floor. You cry out in pain when your bad leg knocks against the coffee table.

Your sister laughs. “Oh, look at that. I suddenly have plans. She's all yours. Good luck.”

“I'm changing the pass code on you! Better find somewhere else to live!” you scream from the floor. Your sister is still cackling when she reaches out to pull the door close after her. “I'm keeping your clothes too!”

Yoongi hurries to the couch, gaping when he sees you sprawled on the floor. He rushes to you, lightly reaching under your arms and lifting you back onto the couch. He winces when his eyes fall on the giant boot. “Wow, you really broke it. Look at that thing. I bet it's uncomfortable.”

You ignore his concern and grab his face with both hands, grinning like a lovesick idiot. “You're really here. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

He softens under your touch, sigh turning into a gentle smile, pulling your hands from his cheeks but keeping them in his grip. “The point of a surprise is … you know .. a surprise. Surprise!”

You're giggling again. “Do you have to go back soon or can I keep you?”

He shakes his head. “We're all majorly jet-lagged so we have the afternoon off. I had them drop me here from the airport. I'm all yours for the next sixteen hours.”

“Well you're in luck,” you say, scooting back against the couch with your good leg. You pat the space next to you. “The only thing I'm really capable of right now is laying down so I will be your nap buddy. Come here.”

He frowns. “I didn't come here to sleep. I haven't seen you in weeks. I'm here to spend time with you before anniversary promotions begin.”

“Yoongi, you have bags the size of Australian spiders under your eyes. You've worked so hard and deserve a good sleep. Now get over here before you make me get up with my bum leg and drag you myself.”

He laughs in resignation, shimmying out of his sweater before plopping down. He stops himself before he's fully stretched out next to you.

“Wait,” he says, turning his body to face you. Leaning down, he surprises you when he pushes his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Well … at least it started sweet. Most of the time, the two of you really struggle with keeping things PG and you wouldn't have it any other way. After a few minutes of making out, he pulls away breathlessly, giving you his best gummy smile. “Okay, got that out of my system.”

You giggle for the millionth time in the five minutes that he's been here, sighing in content when he relaxes his body against yours. His arm reaches around you and tugs you closer to him. Within seconds, you feel your eyes get heavy.

“Yoongi,” you mumble sleepily. He hums in response. “When we wake up, will you make me a sandwich? My sister is an awful cook and she's been starving me.”

His body shakes with laughter underneath you. “Yes, I'll make all the sandwiches you want. But I have some conditions.”

“Conditions?” you ask curiously, tipping your chin to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He grins down at you.

“No salami.”