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[beautyonqueen]

Waxing Gold Coast

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[thepencilnerd]

maybe we’re just | not |meant to be

➵ absolute value [ab·so·lute val·ue] (n.) the magnitude of a quantity, irrespective of sign; the distance of a quantity from zero.

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ This was not the first time you’d met Min Yoongi. In fact, you had encountered him throughout many of your previous lifetimes—and yet unbeknownst to either of you, fate was hard at work trying to keep you together as much as destiny was trying to pull you apart. Maybe in another life, another time, another world, another universe...

How many chances did you get until you were finally granted the opportunity be with your soulmate? Would there ever come a time when both of you could find peace in this never ending cycle of life and death—or will the two of you be at the mercy of space and time, forever swimming along the cosmos in search of one another? 

➵ genre: definitely a soulmate/multiple past lives AU, love triangle, fluff, heavy angst, bit of historical fiction, modern timeline, time jumps, alternate/parallel universes

➵ warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, fighting, blood, terminal illness, main character death

➵ word count: 15.9k

a/n: brainstormed this over the course of four hours and started writing on May 2nd :’) please have tissues

The first time you had met was at the fall festival. Each year, your parents were adamant on being the hosts and holding the gala at the palace. Your dress, tailored by your dearest friend, sparkled bright red against the warm glow of the paper lanterns that decorated the path. The festival was alive underneath a beautiful autumn sky, and the vibrant sound of the town’s laughter and jester music echoed throughout the quiet night.  

As you were walking past the booth where children were bobbing for apples, there he was. You saw him first, of course. He wore a plain blue mask and a black cape, undetectable to any non-speculative passerby but you. Even behind his seemingly plain mask, your gaze met his the same moment his eyes locked onto yours. 

Despite having a fully decorated mask with gemstones, gold lace, and the works to cover your entire face, his stare pierced through yours with the strength of a thousand daggers. His face didn’t ring a bell, not in the slightest—but he felt all too familiar. 

You found out later that he was the son of the town’s blacksmith. 

“Min Yoongi.” His name rolled off of your tongue like melted candle wax, coating every syllable with another layer of intrigue and curiosity. “Min. Yoongi. Yoongi...” You rested the tips of your fingers over your mouth while repeating each word, feeling how every small muscle twinged and produced the lovely sound that was his name.

His hand traced an invisible swirl along your skin, following the curve of your shoulder down to forearm and then to your hand. “______,” he spoke softly. You opened your eyes to see Yoongi lying parallel to you, the small distance between you no bigger than an arm’s reach away. 

“______...” He spoke in an even quieter voice this time, afraid that if he said your name in vain that you would evaporate into thin air and leave him—all alone. Your name sounded like poetry as it danced across his lips. 

Reaching over to him, your fingertips gently brushed over his lower lip as he continued to say your name. Even though he’d visited your chambers hours before, it paled in comparison to the intimate moment you were sharing now. 

He lifted his hand up to your face carefully, brushing the soft skin of your cheek before settling on your cupid’s bow. Mirroring each others actions as you called each other’s name one after another, your voices slowed to a series of silenced murmurs as you lulled each other to sleep. 

“Do you love him?” 

Hidden underneath his anger, the hurt in his voice began bleeding through his words. You turned around to face him. His face was clear despite the pitch black darkness of the night, and his eyes glimmered in the moonlight. 

“Do you love him?” he repeated, louder this time as he began walking toward you. The breeze was refreshing as it blew past the trees, rustling the leaves in its wake and causing his scent to surround you. Grabbing your hands, he gently cradled them in his; they were always so warm. He brought them close to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to them, the wetness of his tears trailing down the back of your hand.

You cupped his face and brought him closer to you, his hands still wrapped around yours and heartbeat so loud you could feel it thump against yours. 

“No.” Your mouth felt like it was glued shut, but somehow you finally managed to speak. “No I don’t love him. I never have and I never will, Yoongi.” Each word stung more than the last. 

He sniffled, biting his lip as his shoulders began shaking slightly. 

“Yoongi,” you started while you held back tears of your own. “I love you so much.” 

His knees buckled from beneath him as he kneeled by your feet, clutching desperately at your legs as if it were the last thing anchoring him on this earth. You felt the warmth of his tears seep through the material of your dress, breaking off another piece of your already shattered heart. 

Kneeling down to comfort him, he couldn’t hold back the wash of tears after what came next. “But I have to marry him...” 

You couldn’t do anything except hold him. Nothing you say would make him feel better; nothing you did would ever help him heal from the scars you gave him; nothing would ever be the same. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m sorry...” Enveloping each other in a hug so tight it seemed to shut out even the cold wind, you felt tears of your own trail down your face. He held you tighter, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and memorizing every little part of you before—

“I love you,” he said. “I love you, ______. I know he will never be able to make you happy or love you the way that I do, but I love you and I don’t care if you marry him. No matter how long it takes, I will wait for you even in death.”

You couldn’t find it in your heart to speak, knowing you would burst into a wailing mess of screams and tears, and the last thing either of you needed was to be discovered by the royal guard. You began shaking at the realization that this was really it; this was the last you’d ever see him, hold him in your arms, kiss him, touch him—be with him. 

Grasping the sides of his face, you pressed your lips against his for the last time. The salt from both of your tears mixing with the taste that was entirely him felt bittersweet. “I will wait for you, Min Yoongi,” you promised. “Even if I have to find you across in life, I will find you and we’ll be happy together.” 

Before sharing one last kiss, he took your hand and put it over his chest. The pronounced beating of his heart made your vision watery again. “Promise.” It wasn’t a request or a question—it really was a promise. 

Blinking back your tears, you brought his free hand over your chest and held it close. “I promise.” 

“Large stack of pancakes no butter or whipped cream and a hot coffee!” Gustav shouted, the small bell on the kitchen counter ringing like the telephone. 

Grabbing the piping hot plate, you piled it on your forearms with the rest of your orders and hustled to get them to their tables. 

“Small kid’s meal with a side of fruit salad, an old fashioned with extra bacon, and an egg-white breakfast omelette with no tomatoes,” you recited cheerily, handing out each of the plates to the family sat at their table. “Enjoy!” 

Thanking you, you whizzed by table after table until your arms were colored a bright red and indented with marks from the weighty plates. It was only lunch and you were already feeling the anxiety of rush hour at the diner. You were grateful when the giant bell finally rang from the cash register, signaling your break. 

“Hey ______, do you mind pouring this man a fresh cup of joe?” Marcie called over, waving to you from the opposite end of the aisle. With one hand wrapped around the phone wire and the other punching numbers into the cash register, you ran over as quickly as you could to help.  

You grabbed a freshly brewed pot from the machine and poured it into the mug, still warm from being fresh out of the dishwasher. “Any cream or sugar?” you asked the man hunched over the lunch counter with newspaper in hand. 

“None, thank you,” he replied curtly. “Black is fine.” 

Raising your brow at the voice, you turned around and set the cup down in front of him. The newspaper was fully opened and covered the entirety of his face. Assuming it was just your brain tricking you, you tapped Marcie on the shoulder and pointed to the back door. reminding her that it was your lunch break. Shooing you away, you grinned and wiped your hands before taking off your apron. 

The quick rustle of paper crumpling was the last sound you heard before you were out the door. 

“What was her name?” Yoongi asked Marcie who was still on hold with the real estate brokers. He kept the newspaper half-folded in one hand.  

“Huh?” she replied. “Oh! That’s ______. Been working with us for a while. Real nice gal. Sad to see her go.” 

Yoongi let out a bored ‘hmph’ and drank his coffee. There was something oddly magnetizing about you that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “She found a new job?” 

Marcie took a few more notes down with her finger held up at Yoongi, bidding him to wait. He sipped in silence. 

“Yeah, she finally got that job she’d been pining for on the east coast. Where was it... some banking company or stock market businessy title, can’t remember,” she rambled. “Today’s her last day.” 

After a few seconds without a response, Marcie looked up and saw the young man in a daze. “Why? Cat got your tongue?” she joked. 

He shook his head, coming back to his senses. “No, nothing. I just thought I saw her somewhere.” Covering his nosy curiosity with a mutter, Yoongi ignored his accelerating pulse. 

“Bad timing I guess,” Marcie sighed, sensing the disappointment in his voice. 

Without a second thought, Yoongi’s fist clenched the grayscale paper as it let out a satisfying crunch. Marcie’s eyes widened at this, making him clear his throat awkwardly. 

"Sorry, finger cramps,” he stuttered. “I should get back to the office.” Gathering his coat, Yoongi tossed all the spare coins he had into the tip jar and left the diner. For some reason, he didn’t feel like eating lunch there ever again. 

“Happy Birthday!!” you screamed in unison with all of your friends. 

The lights flickered on, revealing a stone-faced Yoongi and overexcited, freeze framed Hoseok right behind him. After a few moments of awkward silence, the delayed sound of Namjoon’s popper going off made everyone burst into laughter. 

Seokjin facepalmed. “Really, Namjoon?” Jimin and Taehyung shook their heads like disappointed children scolding an adult. 

Yoongi was holding back a childish grin. “Thanks guys.” Even though his reaction was sub-par than what you expected for a surprise party, you smiled. 

“Let’s cut the cake!” Hoseok shouted as if he were already on a sugar high. 

Turning on the stereo, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook, Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok began dancing like they were already in college. Admissions decisions were coming out next week and you all needed to relax. Luckily, Yoongi’s birthday was right around the corner and posed as the perfect opportunity to get together. 

Laughing at the six boys’ and their antics, Yoongi walked over to you with a smug grin. “I told you I suck at reacting.” Popping open a bottle of mini-champagne you splurged on just for today, you handed one to him before opening your own. 

“What can I say,” you shrugged, taking a drawn-out sip before continuing. “If it means we can all spend one more crazy night together, it’s worth it in my book.” 

Yoongi sighed. “Why do you always talk like we’re going far away and never seeing each other again? We’re all staying in-state for tuition.” He took another swig before finishing his thought bubble. “None of us can even afford dorms, meals, or apartments anyway.” 

You smiled at his seemingly naïve outlook on the situation. “Yoongi, we all know Jimin and Hoseok are already set for scholarships in NYC. Taehyung and Seokjin probably have acting gigs booked that they’re keeping a secret until the graduation, and Jungkook and Namjoon talked about how they wanted to go to Europe for a gap year.” 

Yoongi clenched his jaw at the reality that washed over him like cold water. “We’ll be okay. As long as you’re staying here with me, these—” he paused to gesture at the group of boys messing around like a pack of wild animals. “—dingbats are the least of my worries.” 

Your ears perked at his choice of words. “I worry you?” you asked, voice going two octaves too high for your comfort. His hand stopped mid-air while bringing the bottle to his lips, only then realizing the weight his words carried. 

Clearing his throat harshly, you felt heat rise up your throat and pink dust your cheeks. It was the alcohol, right? 

“We’ve been best friends for 18 years,” he defended. “Knowing how clumsy preschool you was and how stupid high school you can be, of course I’m worried about you.” 

More color began rushing into your face. You chugged more of your drink to convince anyone else who’d ask you what was wrong that it was the alcohol, not your best friend’s words making you feel—no. You were friends. Best friends. Don’t blow anything out of proportion. 

“Right back at you muffin man,” you winked, the alcohol giving you a bit more confidence than you usually had. Shooting you a gummy smile, you clinked your glasses together and felt the buzz flood your senses. 

“Yoongi! ______!” Taehyung called from across the room. “Stay cheese!” Holding up his polaroid, the flash caught you off guard. Yoongi’s arm came up reflexively to shield your eyes, making your heart flutter even more. Note to self: expensive alcohol equals stronger alcohol. 

Of course that wasn’t fucking true, not in the slightest. 

Jungkook and the others groaned, chanting in unison for one more picture. 

“Why not a group picture assholes?” Yoongi scoffed. “It’s my birthday so I get all the birthday wishes granted.” 

Seokjin tsked. “Because you two look cute together and it’s an au naturale setting!” Giving into their relentless pleas, you wrapped your arm around Yoongi’s waist and gave the camera a goofy smile. Taken aback by your sudden physical contact, Yoongi’s heartbeat picked up at lighting speed. You could hear it through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

The guys howled again. “Yoongi!” Jimin whined. “Come on! It’s just a quick picture!” Slinging his arm over your shoulder, you could’ve sworn he pulled you in closer for the shot. He rested his cheek on the top of your head and you felt his muscles pull into the gummy smile you had memorized by heart.  

Taehyung snapped a picture as quickly as he could, but groaned after shaking the developed photo. “Shoot, my finger was covering part of the lens. One more, I promise!” 

Yoongi let out a huff. Looking up at him, he lowered his chin and stared back at you. You never noticed how—pretty—he was until now. His eyes were more angular than you remembered, but his lips remained the same from when you were kids. He’d always pout whenever he got in trouble for playing too rough with the other guys. 

You’ll never forget when he shoved Hoseok down the slide in 2nd grade and went on time out for the entire duration of lunch. Innocent 7-year old you felt bad for your best friend and snuck him the other half of your PB&J when the teacher wasn’t looking. This didn’t go unpunished of course, as you soon found yourself in the same time out corner as Yoongi. Strangely enough, you weren’t angry in the slightest. 

The annoyed expression on his face slowly melted into one you struggled to map. Focused? Shocked? Surprised? Happy? Was there something smudged on your face? The edges of his lips formed into a gentle smile and he parted his lips to say—

“3, 2, 1!” the boys shouted in unison before the loud click of a camera shutter sounded again. 

“God, I feel like I’m going to puke.” Your heart felt like it was going to dig itself out of your ribcage and run a marathon. “Why am I so nervous?” Fiddling with your fingers to try and calm your anxiety by shaking your hands around vigorously, Klaire grabbed you by the shoulders and looked at you with a wide eyes. 

“______.” Her usually quiet voice was now firm, but still gentle. “Calm down. Breathe for me. I don’t need you hyperventilating in your dress.” 

Letting out a deep breath you trapped inside your lungs for what seemed like hours, you closed your eyes and tried to steady the relentless pounding that was your heart rate. 

“You’re marrying the love of your life,” she reminded. “You’re just excited.” 

You gulped another welling bubble that came up your throat. No matter how many times you tried swallowing, your throat was as dry as a desert. You couldn’t drink water either because it was your mother’s wonderful idea to get a wedding dress with a corset. Talk about old fashioned, right? 

“Were you this nervous for your wedding? Would you be this nervous?” The questions slipped out instinctively before you could stop them. “Like pit at the bottom of your stomach that feels like it’s ripping through your guts and weighing you down to the dark depths of hell?” 

Klaire laughed at your ever-ornate vernacular that remained even when you were stressed out. “I’d be nervous if somewhere deep inside my heart, I knew he wasn’t ‘the one’.” Air-quoting the last part of her sentence, she patted the baby hairs that had been tussled during your mini fit.  

The words sliced through your foggy mind like a hot knife, making your eyes widen and the color of your face wash out. 

Seeing your reaction, she was quick to reassure you. “But you love him and he loves you! I promise, ______, you’re just excited. I was nervous on my wedding day!” She overemphasized her words and clasped her chest to try and be more convincing. “You’re getting married for God’s sake! It’s normal to be nervous!” 

You needed to sit down. “Yeah...” A dry laugh escaped your lips. “I’m getting married.” 

Three knocks sounded from the door. Turning around, you saw a familiar group of heads poke through the open crack. “Well, well, well,” the youngest smirked. “Look who it is.” 

 The corners of your lips curled into the biggest smile you’d mustered all day. “You guys!” Getting up, you ran over to Seokjin, Namjoon, Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi as fast as you could with the heels you had on. They brought you in for a group hug, being careful not to get tangled in your veil or snag your dress. 

Klaire left the room as discreetly as she could, mentioning something about a cake or the balloons needing some double-checking. 

“You look beautiful,” Jimin complimented, a genuine smile lighting up his eyes. 

Seokjin had his hand clasped over his mouth, purposely overreacting to make you laugh and calm your nerves. “Who are you and what have you done with ______?” 

Shaking their heads at the eldest’s incessant rapport for comedy, Yoongi refrained from elbowing his side.

“You do look really amazing, ______.” Namjoon also smiled, keeping his hands behind his back to not cause any accidents. Knowing him, it was a miracle Jimin didn’t bring cable ties with him as backup. 

“Is it too late to ask you to marry me?” Hoseok chirped. Winking at you, you scoffed and shook your head, containing your laughter as you shoved his shoulder playfully. 

Yoongi remained still, his eyes still scanning over your attire. Noticing how silent he was, the four cleared their throats all at once, snapping him out of his trance. Looking up and around at the guys, his eyes honed in on you. 

“Yeah,” he agreed blindly. “You look—great. Stunning.” 

Hoseok and the guys sensed the tension in the room. “I think we should go check up on Jungkook to see if he needs any help,” Jimin filled in. “God knows if he knows how to work a mic at his first announcer gig, right?” 

The others chuckled and told you they’d see you at the reception. Giving them one more hug and bidding them goodbye, it was just you and Yoongi left in the room. Taking a seat on the couch, you ushered him over to sit beside you. 

Instead, Yoongi opted to sit in the empty chair across the sofa. You couldn’t help but feel hurt by his pseudo passive aggressive decision. He seemed more quiet than usual—no, he was more quiet than usual. 

“So,” he finally spoke after what seemed like a million years of silence. “Marriage.” 

Biting your lip, you picked at your nails again. Klaire would kill you if she saw how much you’d ruined your manicure in the span of a few hours. 

“Yeah. I’m getting married.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a foreign language, strenuous on your tongue and your heavy mind. “Your wedding is next week though, so don’t count me out,” you tried to laugh, but only succeeded in making yourself feel worse for whatever reason. 

A ghost of a smile grazed Yoongi’s lips. His eyes flickered back and forth between his engagement ring and yours. “Are you excited?” 

“Yes.” You answered robotically. The more you talked, the more each sentence out of your mouth felt like tar; acidic and painful, scorching your mouth raw. “Aren’t you?” you asked, referring to his engagement. 

Yoongi nodded slowly, pressing his lips together and raking his teeth across his lower lip. “Of course I am,” he blurted out in a hasty tone. “Really, really excited. I can’t wait.” 

Silence filled the room again. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. Why did this feel so horrible? Like you’d just stabbed your best friend in the back with a dull knife? 

“I’m really happy for you, ______,” he declared. “I'm really happy that you’re happy.” His eyes fluttered softly and his throat bobbed. 

Another pang reverberated in your chest. “I’m really happy for you too, Yoongi.” No matter how hard you tried to sound confident, your voice was on the verge of tears. He leaned over the space between you, he placed his hands over your clasped ones and kept his eyes down. 

“Please stay happy,” he pleaded, unable to meet your gaze for fear of letting you see how watery his eyes were. “Please be happy. Live a long, healthy, happy life. For me.” 

Choking back your own tears, you nodded. 

You managed to find the strength in your voice to speak. One last wish before saying goodbye to your youth.  

“Please don’t forget about me.” 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the groom!” Jungkook announced grandly, gesturing toward the French doors at the back of the hall. The youngest really was good at everything he set out to do. 

Opening the doors, your fiancé stepped out with a humble bow and waved at everyone; with his father’s wedding tux on, meticulously brushed up hair, and a single red rose pinned by his pocket square, he looked as handsome as ever. 

After the clapping settled down, Jungkook continued. “And now, I would like you all to give a warm welcome to the beautiful bride!” The applause was louder than before and made your stomach feel like it weighed a thousand tons. 

“Don’t let me fall?” Opening your eyes to look at Seokjin, he held your hand tightly and spoke with nothing but sincerity in his voice. 

“Never.” On cue, you began walking down the aisle. It was just like the movies, except it was about a million times more terrifying since you were the one actually walking down the obscenely narrow aisle. Locking eyes with your beloved, his lips were parted in awe from the moment you stepped onto the walkway. 

The soft music that echoed from the speakers flooded the auditorium and added an extra blanket of comfort. Reality kicked in and you were overcome with the feeling of sheer terror, excitement, happiness, anxiety, joy, and every emotion in between. 

You were getting married.  

You stared straight ahead so you wouldn’t fall and clutched onto Seokjin’s arm as tight as you could. Once you made it to the altar, Seokjin kissed your cheek and made his way back to the tables. 

“Dearly beloved,” the officiant began. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this beautiful bride and groom as they proclaim their love and commitment to the world....” His voice suddenly blurred into muddled bubbles of distorted bass. It wasn’t until your gaze wandered and found Yoongi—he was already staring at you. 

Pain flooded your chest again like the burning hot steel rod that was used to poke charcoal pits. Pain like that time you went to Splash City for a 7th grade field trip and fell down the water slide. You weren’t able to stand up straight, so the guys worked together to carry you back to where Miss Isles and the TA’s were sunbathing. Yoongi was crying more than you. A dull ache blossomed in your chest and spread to the tips of your fingers like ink droplets in water. 

Pain. 

The warm sensation of hands holding yours brought you back to the present moment. “And now—” The bellowing voice returned. “Kim Taehyung, do you take ______ to be your wife?” 

Without a second of hesitation, Taehyung squeezed your hands gently and his eyes gleamed brighter than the sunset skyline. “I do.”  

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?” the officiant continued. 

“I do,” he repeated confidently. 

Turning to you, the vows continued. “And ______, do you take Kim Taehyung to be your husband?”

No longer looking at Yoongi, your heart was flooded with the love you shared with Taehyung just long enough for you to say, “I do.” 

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forevermore?” 

Your eyes drifted to Yoongi for just a second before gazing at Taehyung and letting the words leave your lips. 

“I do.” 

The officiant smiled, blind to anything but you and Taehyung. “May the ring bearer—which to my knowledge, is the best man—bring forth the rings?” 

Stepping towards the altar, Yoongi handed the velvet box to the officiant and didn’t dare to meet your eyeline. 

“______ and Taehyung will now exchange rings as a symbol of love and commitment to each other,” he said for what was probably the billionth time in his entire career. 

 The rest of the vows passed by like a smudged blur. All you remember is hearing, “You may now kiss the bride” and Taehyung’s soft lips pressing against yours. When you pulled away, everyone was whistling, clapping, and cheering, overjoyed at the new union that was Kim Taehyung and ______, husband and wife. 

Everyone except Yoongi. 

He was frozen. 

All he could do was put on a big smile for his best friend, happily married to the man she loved. 

All he could do was hide his truth—

so that’s exactly what you did, too. 

The reception was bustling with crowds of people dancing. Seeing as you didn’t recognize a handful of faces, you were pretty sure more than half of them were all co-workers Taehyung had invited. 

“Okay, okay!” Jungkook’s voice sounded through the speakers, cracking the slightest bit from his energy. “It’s time for everyone to give their toasts to the wonderfully wed bride and groom!” 

You tried your best not to roll your eyes by shaking your head and biting your lips. Hoseok ran to the mic first, butting Jungkook out of the way like he always did since elementary school. 

“______, Taehyung—” He exhaled as he began speaking. “If there’s any couple who’s been more in love with each other since the day they met, I’d pay a million to see their faces when they see you two.” Keeping it short and sweet, a few whistles sounded from the back, causing you to blush. 

Namjoon was next. “We all met ______ in kindergarten and have been best friends ever since,” he explained with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “When she’d go to the bathroom or back to the cafeteria to get an extra cookie, we all talked about who’d get to marry her during lunch. Taehyung always had it bad for ______, and dreams do come true!” 

Covering your face to hide your the redness of your cheeks, you looked over to see that Taehyung was doing the same, except he was peeking through his fingers to look at you lovingly. The sound of the guests’ laughter and cheers made your heart ring in your ears. Taehyung reached over to grab your hand; the feeling of his large hand encasing yours made a wave of relief wash over you. 

Jimin waltzed on right after. “Going off of that, I remember how Yoongi would always glare at us and tell us to ‘shut up’ or that ‘______ never wanted to get married and live with her cat forever.’” Everyone chuckled. “______, Taehyung, congratulations on the beautiful life you’ll share together!” 

Watching everyone raise their glass into the air, you hesitated before grabbing yours and taking a mouthful.

Seokjin went after Jungkook, who insisted that he was supposed to go first as the main host. As a result, he made it his best interest to publicly roast Hoseok on the stand and earn a round of laughter from all of the guests. 

You looked back to Yoongi. Some part of you secretly hoped that he waited for his turn as a “save the best for last” type of speech. He was clenching a piece of paper tight in his fist, hell-bent on making it into nothing but a wrinkled ball of smudged ink and flecks of fiber. 

Right on cue, he stood up and jogged up to the stage. Jungkook handed him the mic with a confused expression, but played it off as best he could with his signature wide-toothed grin. 

Yoongi turned away from the mic to clear his throat away. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to find his voice despite the deathly quiet auditorium. 

“______,” he said. “I remember the first day I met you like it was yesterday. We were in kindergarten and you were the new kid who got transferred to our classroom.” He wasn’t reading off of the paper he had out earlier. 

This wasn’t his plan. 

“You wouldn’t stop crying, saying how you didn’t know anyone in the class and all of your friends were gone,” Yoongi said as he chuckled to himself, remembering the memory crystal clear. “I told you to stop whining because it was getting annoying, and you started crying even more.”

You remember that day. Taehyung remembers that day. As did Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Seokjin, and Jungkook. You were all in different grades, but in the same school and shared the same classroom. 

“I remember feeling so bad for making you cry, I gave you the last piece of candy I had stuffed in my cubby. I saved up twenty gold stars for that.” Another soft wave of everyone’s laughter crashed against your ears. “Then in middle school, we all went to the water park for a stupid field trip. You fell down the slide and hit your head so hard, you were barely conscious. 

“I carried you halfway across the park on my back. The guys were all screaming from behind me to put my flip flops on so I wouldn’t get any cuts on my feet.” 

You never knew that. The week after you had the accident, Yoongi was in a cast for a month and refused to tell you why. The guys wouldn’t spill either, defending that they made a promise to Yoongi that they’d never break. 

“When you agreed that going to prom would be a nightmare straight out of a 90′s rom-com,” he paused to bite back his lopsided smile. “I asked you to come with me since it would be our last cheesy high school memory with the group. 

“For your birthday, we went to the botanical gardens. You went on for hours about how much you loved the roses there.” How could you forget? Yoongi pulled up to your house at 6 in the morning and told you to be out in 10. You were sleeping peacefully for the entire 5-hour drive—until he woke you up by plugging your nose and nearly suffocating you on your birthday. 

Despite the growing ache in his throat, he pressed on. “I still have those pictures of you getting stung by that bee. I told you not to get too close to the flowers, but you never listened to me.” 

More laughter. Not a single ounce of it came from you. 

Yoongi’s voice grew quiet. “I remember talking to you right before midnight. You seemed stressed out about something...” His focus was entirely on you now. “Namjoon’s New Year’s party.” 

Oh. How could you forget...

“Taehyung could not have timed his proposal more perfectly with the last clock strike.” 

There it was. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Yoongi stuttered, collecting his thoughts. “Is that I really—I’m really happy for you, ______. And you too, Taehyung.” He added the last part in with a gummy grin that you could spot as painted on from a mile away. 

“I wish you a long, healthy, happy, and exciting life together. Don’t forget about the rest of us, okay? I love you, too.” He barely skipped the pause between the last two words to sound like “you two,” but his message rung loud and clear. 

He loves you. 

Min Yoongi loves you. 

The faded edges of the polaroid felt dull against your fingertips. You spent the past hour sitting in front of the fireplace with the old pictures of you and Yoongi in your hand. You only had three; all of them were from his birthday party, senior year. 

The first one was blurry, but the memory was imprinted in your head as clear as day. Yoongi’s arm shielding you from the bright flash of Taehyung’s camera in his sneak attack of a photoshoot. You didn’t notice until now how closely you were pressed against Yoongi’s side. 

The second was better. Taking note of how the camera was slightly zoomed in and leaning towards you, a melancholic smile flashed your face. 

"My finger was covering the lens” my ass, you recalled. Taehyung did have feelings for you, even back then. 

Your arm was wrapped around Yoongi’s side and his slung over your shoulder, both of your smiling like teenage idiots at the camera, thinking about god knows what. 

Finally, you studied the third one for the longest. It was the one where you two were looking at each other, frozen like marble sculptures and unbound by the limits of time. His lips were parted just as you remembered them, torturing you ever still. You wanted nothing more than for this picture to come to life and speak those words to you, whatever they may be. 

But you knew that it was just an old, fingerprint stained picture that would remain silent and lifeless forever. 

“Are you coming to bed, love?” Taehyung’s deep voice called from behind you. Judging by how scratchy and groggy his voice was, he was definitely on the verge of falling asleep standing up. “It’s getting late and we have lots of exploring to do tomorrow.” Even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t hide the excitement laced in his voice. 

After you got engaged, the two of you immediately settled on Crema, Italy as your honeymoon destination. From the hundreds of years of history, breathtaking scenery, rich culture, and not to mention the food, the past few days here had been pure heaven. 

“Coming,” you assured warmly. Sitting on the photos to keep them hidden, you told him you’d be there after putting out the fireplace. He pouted and said that the bed was cold without you, and to hurry up. 

His childish antics never failed to make your heart race. After he was back in the bedroom, you took another minute to look at the pictures. 

With shaky hands and tears welling in your eyes, you threw them into the burning red embers of the fireplace one by one, watching them melt; the white plastic borders of the film curled inward and turned black, crumpling into nothing but a stringy mess of fumes; the ink that marked the date of that night disintegrated into the air as puffs of smoke, marking the end of something would never be. 

If you weren’t nestled into Taehyung’s chest and deafened by the sound of his steady heartbeat, you could’ve sworn you heard that piece of your heart shatter that night. 

Yoongi was lying comfortably on his couch. The T.V. was on but he didn’t hear any of it. The clock read 12:41 a.m. and as per usual, he wasn’t tired in the slightest. He didn’t feel like sleeping. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. 

“Yoongi?” a sleepy voice sounded from the bedroom. “Are you coming to bed?” 

Lifting his head to the bedroom door, he saw his wife sticking her head out of the door crack ever so slightly. She must’ve woken up. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he apologized humbly. “Had to finish some extra paperwork.Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” Getting up to quickly kiss her forehead, Yoongi promised her that he’d be there soon. 

She gave him a half-asleep grin and nestled herself back into the covers. Yoongi turned off all the apartment lights and the T.V., leaving him in utter silence and darkness. The only reason he kept them running constantly was to block out the thoughts he had of you during the day. 

Opening the coffee table drawer in front of the couch, he took out the wedding album from last month. When he opened it, he was surprised to find the three pictures of you and him from his senior year birthday party scattered on the first page. You always loved throwing surprise parties despite knowing that he would never react the way you wanted him to. It was sweet. 

Looking at the polaroids, Yoongi was in absorbed into the memory of that night, eyes burning from not blinking for too long. The first picture was a blurry mess, but the second and third weren’t half bad. 

He remembers your smile being his favorite. You’d get that crinkle in your nose and your eyes would turn into half moons like a cartoon character. Your teeth glinted like rare pearls from the ocean’s deepest depths, but your dimples were only noticeable from up close. Your smile was absolutely contagious. 

The third frame was his least favorite. It was a moment captured in time that he would never forgive himself for; the biggest regret in his life—his living nightmare. 

That was the night he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. 

It was the night everything was supposed to be perfect. 

But it wasn’t. 

Two weeks later, Taehyung came back from the tour for his debut film and had  a party of his own to celebrate. 

He asked you out.

You said yes. 

He swept you off of your feet and kissed you like in the movies, twirling you around to the point where you couldn’t stop laughing. You were so happy. Yoongi didn’t have the guts to throw away the photos. 

The two of you hadn’t talked since his wedding. It had only been a month, but it felt like an eternity spent in hell. He missed your voice; the sound of your laughter; that face you made when you scolded him and tried to be serious but ended up breaking into snorts. He missed you. 

Flipping over to the next page, he found the letter from your wedding night. It was still badly tattered from when he let his anger seep through and needed something to clench. Everyone who saw it probably thought it was his toast to you and Taehyung, but no. It was his confession letter he’d saved from the night you got engaged at that stupid New Year party. 

Dear ______,

If everything goes to plan, you’ll never have to read this. On the other hand and the even greater chance that things don’t go to plan, you still won’t be able to read this. I love you, ______. I can picture your face reading this. Close your mouth or a bug might fly in again. Don’t think I forgot when we visited the zoo for our bio class. I still have the video saved on my phone. I’m probably too late, right? I don’t care. In fact, I couldn’t care less. I love you more than I love myself or anything else in this world, and I don’t care if you feel the same. I just want you to be happy. I need you to be. 

I’ve felt connected to you since the first day we met and I’ve loved you more and more every day after that. No matter how hard I tell myself that you will never feel the same about me, or even think and care about me half as much as I care about you, I can’t stop thinking about you. I care about you more than you care about me, and that’s okay. 

You make me so incredibly happy, I can’t put into words how deeply I feel for you. You also drive me insane and make me the angriest, most frustrated, neurotic, and saddest person to exist in this entire universe, but I don’t care because it’s all thanks to you.

 I will love you until the day I die and I promise you this with my life. 

Please choose me. Love me. Be with me. I know it’s pathetic and hopeless and so fucking selfish, but I love you and I can’t live without you, ______. Choose me. Stay with me. Marry me. 

Always and forever yours, 

—Yoongi.

And with that, he slammed the album shut and buried his face into his hands, sheer agony, anger, pain, regret, and awe flooding every cell in his body. He started laughing. Not at himself or you, not even at anything in particular. 

I guess I’m just laughing at how ridiculous this whole universe is. Fate an all. He tried reasoning with himself but was far from remotely sane. It felt like some big practical joke on a hidden camera T.V. show, like this wasn’t his real life, his reality. He begged for it to be a bad dream that he would wake up from any second now. He wanted it to be a nightmare. 

But he never woke up. 

If you had met in another time, another life, another world—how happy could you have been? In love? Together? 

The steady beeping of the hospital monitor had become your new normal. Today was different though. You sensed it in your bones. It wasn’t a good feeling. 

“Yoongi, you can’t die on me. I don’t want to be alone.” 

He smiled faintly, trying to reach out and soothe your streaming tears. His skin was bleach white and his usually pink lips were tinted a sickly grey. He was dying and you couldn’t do a single thing about it. 

“You won’t be alone. You have all of your family and—” He was cut short by your sudden outburst. 

“I don’t want my family, I want you!” you sobbed, burying your face into his hospital gown. He held back tears of his own as he felt the fabric dampen on his stomach. “You’re only 27, Yoongi, you—you don’t—”

Pressing the palms of your hands into your eye sockets, you wouldn’t have been able get any more words out even if you forced yourself to. A stabbing pain spread in your lungs from the lack of oxygen, but you didn’t care. Your boyfriend, the love of your life, was on his deathbed and you would gladly take all the misery in the world, all the needles and knives, stitches and surgeries, broken bones, bruises and blood—every single piece of it if it meant that he would live.  

“You don’t deserve to die, Yoongi...” you hiccuped. 

He cradled your head against his neck, his half sitting up posture allowing your tears to flow down his collarbone. The last few months had been hell, but you refused to leave his side. 

Every time he’d wake up in insufferable agony in the middle of the night, you were there with anything he needed: water, a bucket, damp towel, food, his medications, a nurse—anything and everything he needed, you were always there for him. 

The two of you shared the last few months you had left constantly by each other’s side. It all felt like some sick joke. Six years ago, you had met the love of your life at a random coffee shop in Seattle and hit it off like sparks. You found out he was an architect major and finishing up his senior year just like you. He asked you out four months after you kept running into each other at the coffee shop, and moved in together five months after that. 

Your relationship was absolutely perfect. Never in your entire life had you met a guy, let alone a human being, who was as selfless, kind, gentle, loving, and honest as Yoongi. There was a connection between the two of you that you couldn’t describe or frame into rational thoughts; you loved each other unconditionally. 

It all came crashing down when he collapsed last year. It didn’t seem like anything major. He told you it was because of his anemia, but after insisting on making a visit to the hospital, the doctors broke the news to you. 

After months of seeing him doubled over in pain and puking his guts out from all the medication and relentless testing, he told you right before your 5-year anniversary: he didn’t want to suffer anymore. 

It took months of convincing you that he was okay with dying for you to even be able to look into his eyes. You couldn’t hate the man you loved for choosing to die peacefully rather than be greedy to live, but you had a hard time showing your full support and being okay with it. You don’t think you’ll ever be okay with it. 

“I’ve lived a happy life, _____.” Recalling the memory as if it were yesterday, his voice was much stronger back then. “I have done everything I’ve ever wanted to do, seen everything, explored everywhere, and after meeting you, I know I can die without any regrets. My only regret is not walking you down that aisle when I had the chance.” 

Pressing a kiss to his chapped lips, you couldn’t stop the ache that plagued your heart at the memory. It wasn’t over until it was over, so why did it still hurt so bad? 

“______?” Yoongi whispered. “You awake?” He struggled to his head to face you, every little muscle in his body aching like a collective bruise. 

You shifted your weight over to your side of the bed and propped yourself up on your elbow, studying his face one more time. “Do you need anything?” Talking for the first time after hours of crying stung, like rubbing alcohol was being poured down your throat. 

His shook his head at you with a half-lidded gaze and lifeless smile. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all. It’d be nice if you could cuddle me to sleep.” You bit your lip to hold back the waterworks but let your smile shine through. He was the same Min Yoongi you’d met at that random coffee shop on a rainy Seattle day. 

Opening his arms, he brought you safely into his chest, arms wrapped around you as tightly as he could with the little bit of strength he had left. 

“______,” he sighed, drained from all the energy he’d put into making these these past few days worth it. “I love you.” He murmured the words against your temple like a prayer, breath tickling you ever so softly like the ripples of a cherry blossom petal falling onto the surface of a pond. 

You looked up and saw that his eyes were fully open, but started to flutter shut again. He was using every bit of energy to keep them open and memorize your features. Kissing him tenderly, you felt your lips tremble against his. You didn’t want his last memory of you to be one where you were bawling your eyes out.  Instead, you smiled as best you could and swiped your finger across his cheek as he leaned into your touch. 

“I love you too, Yoongi. I love you more than anything in this entire universe we call home.” His eyelids drooped shut at your soothing lullaby, falling deeper and deeper into the comforting darkness of sleep. The weak beating of his heart grew quieter with each passing second. 

“You can go to sleep, Yoongi,” you soothed while running your fingers through his thin hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Promise?” he mumbled through your hair with the last drop of strength he had left in his body. His breathing grew shallow and hushed. His hands that were always warm and kept you cozy during the frigid nights in your apartment were now stone cold. 

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as you felt his chest rise and fall for the last time. 

“I promise.” 

Taking in a deep breath, the cold air burned your nostrils and filled your lungs with the crisp scent of snow. “Why do you believe in soulmates?” you asked. Handing him the sandwich bag, he shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just seems like something that makes sense.” Tearing open the plastic pouch, he took a bite and immediately sputtered. "How do you mess up a PB&J?” 

You smacked his shoulder lightly and scowled at him. “I’ll have you know that I happen to make the best sandwiches in the world, Min Yoongi!” 

“Mhm,” he nodded with sarcasm and a smirk. Might you add that he was still eating his sandwich and seemed to be enjoying it.

Pressing your lips together in a thin line, you ate in silence together. It was a snow day in Manhattan and Central Park looked stunning from your dorms. It was your idea to go out for a picnic, and since it was winter break, who better to ask than your dearest friend Min Yoongi?

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for a picnic in winter wonderland.” His voice seemed grumpy, but it was probably because you hadn’t given him any coffee yet. Point made, you rustled through your backpack and pulled out a thermos full of piping hot instant liquid gold. 

With a mouthful of bread, he reached out to grab the metal thermos but you pulled it back and wagged your finger at him. “What do you say?” 

“Give me my coffee,” he droned. Widening your eyes at him in disapproval, he huffed. “Please?” 

You stuck out your tongue and poured him a cup. “I’d be more than happy to!” 

If he rolled his eyes any harder, they would’ve fallen out of his head.

Taking a small sip, the hot steam curled in contrast with the freezing cold air. 

“So you don’t believe in soulmates?” He retraced his steps back to the former topic of conversation. Turning towards him, you followed his eye-line to the small pond down the hill. A sigh parted your lips. 

“If everyone had a soulmate, we wouldn’t have heartbreaks.” Your sentence caught him off guard. 

“Don’t you think your soulmate is out there somewhere?” he badgered. 

You shook your head and finished the last bite of your sandwich. “If he is, he should have popped up three breakups ago.” 

Yoongi couldn’t think of a witty comeback. 

“Do you think your girlfriend is your soulmate?” you asked this time, tweaking the question to fit his current relationship status. 

“No.” The response was instant and dry, much like the coffee granules you poured this morning. “I don’t think she is. Do you think Jungkook is yours?”

You admired the trail of your breathing as it steamed up into a small cloud. “Not a chance.” 

The only sound that came after was the brushing of tree branches mute thud of leaves as the fell onto the snow. If you concentrated hard enough, you could hear the frozen pond crackle in the distance, melting away as the seasons began shifting for reasons beyond mortal comprehension. 

The ocean of screams and thumping bass was deafening. Cupping your hands over your ears to try and stop your ear drums from bursting, nothing you did could drown out the sea of shrieking fans at a concert. 

“Los Angeles!” a tall man greeted from the stage. “How are you all doing tonight?” He didn’t even need to talk to earn a shower of over-excited adolescent spirit. 

Another guy who was slightly shorter in comparison brought the mic up to speak. “What do you say we start off the night with a countdown?” 

“1,” another younger member started counting. 

“2,” the one standing beside him said in a velvety voice.

Pointing their mics to the audience, they all counted, “1, 2, 3,” in unison and you shriveled into a ball of discomfort at the sheer volume. 

“This is my favorite song!” your friend shouted as loud as she could, but to no avail. 

Leaning closer to her, you shouted back, “What?!” Ushering you to look towards the stage, you didn’t know what you’d be getting yourself into when you agreed to go to a concert. You’d heard about BTS of course, who hadn’t—what you didn’t know was how your friend managed to snag two tickets in the pit. To make it even more painfully cliché, you weren’t that into their music as much as the entire world seemed to be. 

You overheard a few seconds of their songs here and there while changing stations on the radio, and who could forget seeing their names plastered on every single news headline, Instagram post, and Facebook and YouTube ad that popped up into your field of view. It wasn’t that you disliked them, you just found it hard to obsess over a single group when there were hundreds of other musicians you enjoyed listening to; too many artists, not enough time. 

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be bothered to keep up with celebrities or social media, period. In all honestly, it just seemed like a gigantic, disrespectful waste of time to be buried nose-deep in someone else’s personal issues and life. To each their own, of course. 

The sudden change in music made you fall back in touch with reality. The melodic tune of a piano filled the entire stadium as the crowd erupted into another round of cries. Drawing your attention to the stage, a single man sat by a grand piano as his fingers danced across the wooden keys. 

Call it your wild imagination or your cloudy head from the overcrowded stadium, but you swear he locked eyes with you for just a moment. He began singing, the words flowing from him like trails of ink scribbles composed of his own sorrow, joy, happiness, and his life up until this point. 

He was completely mesmerizing. After the song was over, he bowed to the audience and made eye contact with you. You saw a droplet roll down his cheek as his gaze locked onto yours. He seemed to snap out of the cloud his head was swimming in and immediately stood up straight to get a better look at you. Was he crying? 

Breaking his stare as an unfamiliar weight deep in your chest began to pull you down, you turned to your friend—at least, where you thought she was the last time you checked. Another song came on, this one sound like the loudest of them all. 

“I have to go to the bathroom!” you tried shouting to your friend, but your voice was already gone. Not from the yelling and screaming of lyrics to songs you didn’t know, but from trying to get your friend’s periodic attention for the past half hour. 

She paid no attention to you and kept dancing along with the blaring music. You were starting to feel sick. Maybe it was from swimming in a sea of overzealous crowds of people you hated on a daily level, or from the stuffy and cramped space that was nothing but suffocating—whatever it was, you needed to get out of here. You couldn’t breathe. 

Saying excuse me didn’t work in this case so you had to shove past sweaty bodies a bit too aggressively for your comfort, but what choice did you have? You made it to the bathroom just in time and proceeded to puke your guts out in the only stall with a working latch. 

It was official: you hated concerts with a passion and would never be coming to one any time soon. Thankfully, the queasy sensation that started earlier was now gone, but instead, it was replaced by a different feeling. Your heart started racing like a bullet train on an endless track headed nowhere. A balloon of air filled your chest cavity and made you choke on your own breathing. 

Clutching your chest, your jaw clenched to fight back the urge to cry and closed your eyes tight. You started breathing like your doctor told you to whenever you started getting chest aches. In, out, in out, in out. 

You hated concerts. 

Yoongi was staring out the streaky window of the tour bus as rain clouds began to loom over them. The guys were quick to notice how weird he was acting towards the end of the show, like he had—

“Dude, did you see a ghost or something?” Seokjin asked with genuine concern woven in. Yoongi didn’t have any headphones in like he normally did, but he didn’t pay any attention to what any of the guys were saying. They didn’t piss him off or annoy him, he just couldn’t concentrate on anything right now. Right after his solo, he had to run to the bathroom before he puked onstage. He didn’t even eat anything a few hours before their performance, but maybe that was exactly why he got sick. Performing on an empty stomach helped combat his nerves, but he’d never had to pay the price until tonight’s show. 

“Yoongi?” Hoseok prodded, poking his shoulder from far away with the selfie stick he used to livestream earlier. Better to poke the sleeping bear with a selfie stick from a safe distance than to let the bear sleep peacefully, right? 

“Hm?” Finally he said something. The past two hours of silence since the show closed out was too weird, even for Yoongi. “What?” 

“You okay dude?” Namjoon looked up from his phone and to his friend.

Yoongi nodded, slipping in a pair of earbuds and closing his eyes. He was exhausted and didn’t feel like answering their bound-to-be relentless questions. He wasn’t acting weird, he was just emotionally and physically spent. 

They shrugged and went back to their business, leaving the grumpy one to his own devices. In reality, he didn’t have any music playing through the buds and just needed to drown out their chatter and think to himself. 

He tried remembering your face in the sea of flashing cameras, light sticks, signs, glowing wrist bands, and who knows what else. Your partially agape mouth that was so utterly fixated on his performance, not the group’s. His brows knit together when trying to picture your smile, only to come to a dead end. There were too many phones shoved in his face and the swarm of people that flocked to him when he tried coming down the stage to get a closer look at you. 

Yoongi grunted in frustration, but because his eyes were still closed, the boys assumed it was just another bad dream. He’d been having a lot of those these days. Taehyung refused to share a room with him when they returned home because he would always wake up to Yoongi thrashing around and screaming in his sleep. Tonight would without a doubt be no different. 

Yoongi couldn’t get your face out of his mind, regardless of how hazy and unclear it was. Who were you? What was your name? Why did you come to a concert if you were only going to be there for a few minutes at a time? Why did you leave after his song? What did you think of it? Did you get home safe? After hours of divulging a plan to find out your identity, he surrendered to defeat. 

It was as if the world was telling him to stay awake until he knew exactly who you were, where you were, and what you were doing at this exact moment. 

He didn’t sleep at all that night. 

Staring out his window, he pressed his cheek onto the cold glass and closed his eyes. The icy pane felt satisfying in contrast to his burning hot face. This time of year was Yoongi’s least favorite. Winter—the season where everything died and left nothing but freezing cold, thick, white blankets of snow. 

The season you left him. 

He grimaced as the memory resurfaced, fists clenching so hard his nails dug crescents into his palms. He wanted to scream but couldn’t find his voice to. 

“If you want to leave, then just leave!” he yelled. Gathering the clothes littered beside the bed, he threw them across the room and landed by your feet soundlessly. 

Your expression remained stone cold, gaze burning holes that glowed brighter than the sun on the angriest summer day. “Yoongi—” He was quick to cut you off. 

“No, ______,” Holding his hand up, he was fuming. “If you want to leave, then leave. I don’t want you here. Just go.” 

You opened your mouth to speak but it was no use. He wouldn’t listen. 

“If you’re so happy with Namjoon, why don’t you just marry him?” Yoongi’s spit out with pure venom and hatred dripping from his voice. He started laughing, delirious from what he was processing. “You know what? Fuck you, ______.”

Pausing to instigate a reaction from you, you stayed mute with arms crossed over your bare chest. He was still sat in the bed and you hadn’t moved away from the door for the past five minutes he’d been venting. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed, completely drained from the hours you had spent arguing with him. He couldn’t even look at you when you spoke. “We’re not dating. This wasn’t supposed to happen between us. You knew that, Yoongi—”

He started laughing even harder, hands covering his face in a manic daze. “And you expect me to believe that it he was only texting you?” 

That’s all it was. Namjoon asked you earlier today and asked if you wanted to go out for coffee some time. You made the glorious decision to stay the night at Yoongi’s place and keep your phone unlocked right by the nightstand. It wasn’t long before he discovered the series of texts shared between you and Namjoon that dated back two months ago. 

You’ve been sleeping with Yoongi for a little over a year now, but never made it official. 

Apparently, it still warranted this kind of a reaction from him. 

“We never said we were dating, Yoongi.” Reminding him of all the times he told you that he didn’t date and how he wanted to stay as fuck buddies, a darkness erupted from his eyes. “It’s been—”

“You think blaming a stupid label is what this is about?” He stood up and walked towards you, his smirk and upturned eyebrows making your blood boil. 

“I found someone who actually cares about me, Yoongi.” You stood up straighter. “He doesn’t just use me for his personal gain and wants to know more about me, not just for sex or whatever the fuck we’re doing.” 

“Who said I didn’t want to get to know you?” he shot back at you. “Did I say didn’t want out take you out on a date? When the fuck did I ever—”

“You did, Yoongi! You!” Raking your hands through your hair, anger didn’t even begin to describe the seething hatred that filled your veins. “You told me that this was just going to be a fuckbuddy thing. You said that you would never date because relationships were high school shit shows waiting to happen. You warned me not to fall in love with you well guess what the fuck happened genius?” 

Each pronounced word you cursed at him was followed by a shove to his chest. Just as he was about to bite back, you were running on autopilot. You couldn’t take it anymore. Clutching your throat, you thought you were drowning, water flooding your lungs and rising up your throat until you were moments from being taken under. 

“Do you know how many nights I spent crying myself to sleep over you?”

An odd look flashed across his face that you couldn’t piece together.

“The hours I wasted, wondering, begging, praying and wishing that you would like me back...” You felt tears well at the back of your eyes. “You never gave me a sign. You never said anything and you didn’t do anything, Yoongi, fuck—fucking hell. You never—” Taking a moment to breathe, your hand came up to shield your eyes, refusing to let him see you cry. 

“You never cared about me, Yoongi.”

His expression morphed even more. “I never cared?” It was a purely rhetorical question. “I never cared? I never cared? Really?” You hung your head in defeat and picked your clothes from the floor. You didn’t need this. Not now, not ever, not anymore. 

Another dry scoff came from his throat as you started dressing. “Okay, _____. I never cared. I worked my ass overtime and saved up enough money to buy you that necklace because I never cared. I drove for six hours all the way to see your performance and take you home because I didn’t care. I stayed up all night writing you that birthday card because I didn’t care. I’ve been sleeping with you for the past 18 months, letting you sleep over, making us breakfast, and spending quality time with you because I never fucking cared.” 

You froze. Why was he telling you this now? 

“It’s too late, Yoongi.” No it wasn’t. It was never too late. “You should’ve told me this when you had the chance.” 

“What fucking difference does it make that I’m telling you this now?!” he erupted. “Let’s just fucking—” He tugged at his hair, finally feeling the exact flurry of conflicting emotions you felt. “God, ______, let’s just calm down and talk it out, okay?” 

You grabbed your phone from the floor. The screen was shattered from when you threw it at the wall earlier. It almost made you chuckle. Your temper got the best of you and you ended up chucking it at the wall when Yoongi kept probing for more answers. 

Why did Namjoon text you, when was this, why didn’t you tell me, what were you going to say, were you ever going to—

“We’re done, Yoongi.” Your decision rang firm and cold. As you turned the doorknob, he grabbed you by the arm and held you still, fingers digging into your skin like shingles. 

“If you leave, we’re through, ______.” He deadpanned like you hadn’t just said that. “I mean it, ______. Don’t go.” Never had your own name sounded more agonizing to hear and make you feel like bile was coming up your throat. 

You refused to turn away from him when your words followed, feet firmly anchored in the ground and staring through him like glass. “Goodbye, Yoongi.” 

Snatching your arm out of his grip, he scoffed through his nose. His jaw was slack and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, biting his lip to the point where he nearly broke skin. This was it. 

“I hate you.” You could barely make out what he said because you slammed the door on your way out. His knees buckled and he fell to the hardwood floor with a thud. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” he kept repeating to himself long after you were gone. Maybe if he said it enough times it would turn into the truth. “I hate you. I hate you.” 

Yoongi cupped his hands over his ears and began rocking back and forth, continuing his mantra and willing them with all his might to become reality. 

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I love you,” he finally said. “I love you.” 

I love you. 

I love you. 

“BP’s dropping, set up a drip!” The resident on-call was quick to gather all the nurses and they had to work fast.

“Book an OR! We have to operate now!” he shouted at anyone who was listening, pushing the gurney down the hall and making people move out of the way like oil in water. 

Each doorway burst open as the doctors and nurses rolled you down each sector of the hospital, juggling around medical jargon and ordering everyone standing idle in the aisle to “Get out of the way!” 

The nurses shoving the IV needles into your arms was barely a tickle compared to the other things you were focused on. Your body hurt. It felt like everything was being crushed but none of the pain was registering in your brain because of how much it was. Your eyelids weighed a ton and it stung to even open them. It hurt to breathe. Every time you inhaled, it seemed like a knife was digging itself deeper into the side of your chest, ripping through flesh and piercing each individual bone. 

“Please do something!” someone shouted, probably at the nurses. As if that would do anything...

The sound of footsteps clapped like thunder against the floor tiles, running towards you as fast as they could. “You have to save her!” 

A nurse that was about two feet shorter than him, managed to hold him back with an iron grip. “I’m sorry sir, staff only. We promise we’ll do the best we can.”

This felt familiar. Nostalgic, even. Dare you say it, comforting? 

“Where the hell is Yoongi?” Jungkook asked Namjoon, bright red and dripping with sweat from carrying you on his back. He swore he would never use the line, “We’re lucky we live right next to the school’s teaching hospital” as a joke ever again. 

Namjoon paced back and forth while on his phone, calling everyone and telling them to get to the hospital as soon as they could. “I don’t know, he’s not answering.” 

“I’m sorry, your call could not be completed—”

“Shit!” Namjoon swore and kicked one of the plastic chairs, earning a few nasty glares from the nurses and patients. 

“Jungkook!” Turning around, the two saw Jimin, Seokjin, and Hoseok running towards them. 

“What the hell happened?” the oldest asked. “Is she okay?” 

Namjoon had to lean against the wall for support. His head was spinning. He couldn’t find it in himself to say anything.

“They rolled her into an operating room a few minutes ago,” Jungkook answered, voice shaking like a child’s. “We don’t know yet.” 

“Taehyung’s on his way here right now,” Hoseok signed in exasperation.

Jimin asked what was on everyone’s mind. “Where’s Yoongi?”

“He’s not answering his phone.” Namjoon filled in with a bitter voice, now oddly calm. “One of you guys should call him. Maybe he’ll answer if someone he doesn’t despise calls him.” 

All of a sudden, Taehyung burst through the double doors in a hoodie and sweats, running over to where the five were lined up along the wall. “Namjoon!” 

Panting like he’d just run a marathon, he didn’t bother catching his breath before asking what happened. “Have they helped her yet? What’s wrong?” 

“We don’t know,” Jimin replied. “They haven’t told us anything yet.” 

It was unclear whether he was talking about the doctors or Namjoon and Jungkook, but Taehyung didn’t bother asking what he meant. 

Jungkook asked Taehyung what Namjoon refused to. “Did you call Yoongi?” 

Taehyung shook his head. “It went straight to voicemail...” Behind him, Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin were all taking turns calling Yoongi, probably blowing up his phone with hundreds of messages, voicemails, and missed calls. 

He never answered. 

Yoongi was never a fast runner. He did P.E. in high school and sprinted 50 meters on the field whenever he needed to burn off some steam, but he never enjoyed running. 

Running to the hospital made him hate it more than he thought humanly possible. 

Each time his feet struck the concrete sent a shockwave up his knee, pins and needles pinching his nerves like no other injury he’d endured before. It was a miracle he hadn’t tripped over his own feet yet. He didn’t care, not one bit. He needed to get to you right now and if that meant suffering shin splints then so be it.  

When he finally turned his phone back on, it didn’t take him more than two seconds to read the first message before he was sprinting out of his apartment. 

59 missed calls

22 new voicemails

65 unread messages

______’s in the hospital 

Every footstep after that was synchronous with each ring of his phone; a new text message, another phone call, a bunch of voicemails that no one ever listened to on a regular basis other than when you really had nothing else to do. 

Yoongi can safely say that his lungs have never burned, ached, or pulsed more in his entire life than right now. His vision was blurry and he could hardly see straight, but he managed to make out the faint outline of Namjoon’s lanky frame. He would recognize him anywhere—it turns out people remember the first fistfight much better than they give each other credit for. However, this time, it was Namjoon doing the swinging and Yoongi being the receiving end.

Nonetheless, he didn’t expect a swift hook the moment he opened those hospital doors.

“Namjoon!” Jungkook and the others rushed to hold him back, nurses and surrounding staff calling security at lightning speed. 

“It’s fine!” Yoongi held his hand up towards the staff and pinched his nose. Leaning forward, he felt blood trickle down his knuckles and into his mouth. The faint metallic tang took him back to the night he and Namjoon almost killed each other at your apartment. 

The doctors looked at each other, silently debating whether or not they should have them kicked out. After a few moments of reading the air, they understood the nature of your situation and let it pass, just this once. 

“Where is she.” Yoongi’s question came our more like a callous statement. 

Hoseok’s hand came up to touch Yoongi’s shoulder but he smacked it away like he’d just been burned by a hot stove. 

“Where the fuck is ______, Namjoon,” he growled, facing Namjoon head on blood-streaked face and all. 

Namjoon didn’t say a word. He simply stared at the guy he used to call his best friend and waited. Waited for another question, an answer—hell, even a punch or a kick would suffice if it meant getting a reaction from Yoongi. A full minute passed in utter total silence and the others sat quietly in the surrounding chairs, monitoring the two ticking time bombs just in case things escalated quickly. 

Seokjin tried to calm him down. “She’s in the OR. We’re still waiting for an update.” 

“Glad you made it,” Namjoon’s voice cracked, practically spitting at him. “What took you so long, Yoongi?” 

“Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi muttered through clenched teeth. “Where. Is. She.” 

Namjoon began laughing, a livid flame burning behind his dark eyes. His chuckles were soon replaced by shallow breaths, gasping and coughing, until he broke down into sobs. 

“She was going to see you,” Namjoon trembled, rage and sadness wrapping their tendrils around every fiber of his being. “—you unbelievable fucking idiot.” 

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed into slits and his eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

Namjoon was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall and head buried between his knees. Lifting his head up, he kept his eyes focused on the floor tiles. If he looked at Yoongi, he’d be more than tempted to deck him again. This time, he wouldn’t stop after a single blow.

“She came over to my place and told me that she couldn’t be with me,” he reaffirmed. “Because she loved you.” 

Yoongi’s world came crashing down. You loved him? You loved him back? 

“She said she needed to go see you,” Namjoon continued. “I told her to hurry up and go before you fell asleep. I told her to go and she actually listened to me.” All eyes were on Namjoon now, anticipating what would come out of his mouth next.

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek and covered his mouth, holding back his whimpers. “She ran outside before I could even say a proper goodbye and th—”

Jungkook broke. “I was on my way upstairs when I heard the car all the way down the street... ” His voice hitched on the truth, only now comprehending the gravity of their new reality. 

“Lady blew a .19,” the older one sneered. “Said her drink was spiked but we all knew she was just fucking wasted and wanted to take her new ride out for a spin.” 

The bustling background noise of the hospital was now mute. Deep down inside Yoongi’s heart, something snapped. Anatomically or physically, he didn’t know, but it was even more painful than anything he had experienced in his entire life. His fingertips began buzzing like static ran through them and the sounds around him grew fuzzy, as if he’d been plunged twelve meters deep into the darkest trench of the ocean.

Yoongi’s hand flew up to his chest, a tearing sound he swear he could hear echoing like a cannon ripple. His friends stumbled to their feet and screamed to any nearby medical personnel for help. Namjoon was shellshocked, frozen like a deer in headlights. He’d just seen your lifeless body get rolled into the hospital wing. Even though he refused to admit it, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he lost another friend today. 

His ears was ringing like when he had the worst migraine back in senior year. Finals season, go figure. Yoongi snuck into your room and stayed there with you all night. Sure, you managed to get a little bit studying done. 

“Fucking do something!” Taehyung screamed. “Help him!” 

Yoongi kicked and thrashed at anyone who tried touching him, moaning and crying out until his throat went raw. An excruciating pain spread throughout his body. It felt like his muscles were peeling apart from his bones and his bare body was being dunked in battery acid. 

Then came the pit. 

It started with a numb cramp. Then, a hole opened up from deep inside his chest, swallowing all of his air and making it impossible to breathe. It was unbearable. He was going to pass out from the pain; he wanted to. Anything was better than this. God, everything fucking hurt and he just wanted to go to sleep. 

The last thing he saw was a hoard of nurses running into the room across his and the sound of of defibrillator paddles charging. With all the blood streaked across your face, he could barely make out the scar on your temple. It was from sophomore year—you fell down the bleachers after a night of bad decisions and way too many drinks. If Yoongi hadn’t caught you, you probably would’ve snapped your leg. 

He doesn’t want to remember what happened after that.

Another week passed before you decided to leave the house. It had been exactly 18 months since you moved here and yet, the city still felt foreign to you. Sure, you had a cozy studio apartment decorated well enough to remind you of home, a job you loved with all your heart, kind neighbors who treated you like a local, and not to mention a tightly-knit circle of friends you treasured more than anything. 

So why on Earth did you still feel so undeniably out of place? 

Pulling back the blinds, the sunlight streamed in like rays of heavenly light. It wasn’t supposed to be sunny today, but you weren’t one to complain. After weeks of staying cooped up in your own apartment and using “the holidays” as an excuse, your pasty complexion deemed itself worthy of some vitamin D and fresh outside air. You weren’t entirely sure how to explain it, but something was bugging you, willing you, to go outside. 

Yeah, you definitely needed some fresh air if some weird gut feeling was what finally convinced you to go outside. 

Throwing on a thick wooly coat you snagged from the thrift shop during your first month here, you had to slam the door shut with as much finesse and gusto as Houdini himself. Cheap apartments didn’t come without their share of cons, but you liked to think that your bank account thanked you each month. 

Skipping down the street right after the snow melted was the perfect equation for disaster. That didn’t stop it from being fun. You were in a good mood today for some unknown reason. Everyone had their good days as much as they had their bad ones, didn’t they? 

The warm smell of freshly baked bread wafted in the air. It flooded your nostrils with the most delightful, comforting, and delectable scent you’d ever had the pleasure of smelling. It also reminded you how hungry you were and that it was a bad decision to skip breakfast. You apologized to your wallet before venturing off to find the nearest café. At least it was cheaper than eating at a restaurant. 

You lied. It was all in the name of really good coffee and you happened to know exactly where to find some. 

The jingling of the door chime was something you had grown accustomed to over the course of 10 months. This was the only café that actually poured bottomless cups of black coffee and only charged for every two refills on lattes, cappuccinos, and other milk drinks. 

“The usual I presume?” your favorite host offered, already getting a cup ready. 

You smiled wide. “You know me oh so well, Jimin.” 

Flashing you his signature grin and a cheeky wink, he got to work steaming the milk for your double-shot flat white. “Where’s Namjoon?” you wondered aloud. “Isn’t it his turn for the lunch shift?” 

Jimin chortled. “It always blows my mind that you seem to know our schedules better than we do.” You rolled your eyes at his backhanded compliment; flattering because he appreciated how attentive and close you were with everyone who worked here, but mildly insulting because he was implying that you spent so much time here that you didn’t get out enough.

Finishing up cleaning the last row of plates, Jimin slung the dish towel over his shoulder. He beckoned you to come closer and you leaned over the counter. “Joonie has a date,” he whispered in your ear. 

“I don’t see those hands moving, Park Jimin!” You’d know that velvety voice anywhere. “Don’t forget you’re taking out the trash later if Seokjin catches you!”

“Just keeping me company, Taehyung!” Sipping the top layer of foam from the red ceramic cup, you sighed in pure bliss. 

Sticking his head out from the kitchen, his lips formed into a giddy smile. “It’s been a few days princess! How long did you sleep for this time?” 

“Hardy har har,” you jeered, scowling at his never ending tirade of Snow White jokes. “At least I still get my beauty sleep.” 

Taking mock offense to this, he didn’t get a chance to react before Seokjin snuck up from behind him smacked the back of his head with a wooden spoon. “Stop flirting with customers and finish table eight’s order, doofus.” 

“We don’t open for another hour!” Taehyung wailed. 

You suppressed the snort that almost escaped by taking another sip of your coffee. “Missed you too, Seokjin,” you greeted. He smiled heartily at you and waved before picking up the phone. Running a business while having your best friends work for you wasn’t exactly the best recipe for success, so to speak. 

“So this ‘date’ Namjoon has,” you hummed. “Is she pretty?” 

A pair of hands from behind you snaked their way your waist, tickling you into a fit of forced laughter. “It’s not good to butt your nose into other people’s business!”

You were too busy choking on your giggles, you couldn’t talk. After an incredibly long six seconds, Jungkook pulled away and greeted you with an innocent grin. His nose was crinkled the slightest bit and his eyes were inviting half-moons. 

“That’s the least you deserve for leaving me with these idiots for the past three days...” he immediately broke into a pout. 

At this, Jimin swung the towel off his shoulder and smacked Jungkook straight across the face with it. His reaction was straight out of a cartoon. If you hadn’t finished your drink beforehand, flat white would have spewed out of your nostrils all over the counter. 

“Watch your mouth kid,” Jimin warned in a melodramatic voice, and even he was holding back a series of cackles.

“See what I mean!” Jungkook whined to you, tugging your sleeve and pouting. “They’re so mean to me and steal all the tips!” 

From the kitchen, Taehyung tsked to scold the younger one and waved his spatula around for extra emphasis. “We don’t steal them, you’re just to busy chatting up all the customers to pay attention to the little details.” 

Jungkook’s mouth contorted into a pucker and he started mouthing their words to mock them. You forced yourself to stay quiet and pressed your lips together to force back any reaction. 

The ringing of the door caused you all to turn around. It was Hoseok and his—friend?

"______!” His voice was telltale surprised and ecstatic to see your face after a couple of days of absence. “Kook, Chim, Tae, guess who I brought?” 

“Well well, and I thought we had seen our share of ghosts for the day,” Taehyung gawked, ignoring the pet names Hoseok coined for them in elementary school. 

Jimin wore a look of awe. “You must be a vampire or something, you’re still as young and as pale as ever.” 

“So I did get taller!” Jungkook blurted out like the child he still was. 

The man standing beside him currently had his back turned towards you, focusing instead on the antique decor that adorned the walls, tables, chairs, and ceilings of this establishment. He wore a simple outfit, bearing nothing but a white hoodie, dark jeans, and frayed navy blue sneakers. 

When he finally turned around, you thought your heart did a triple somersault and landed in your throat. Did you know him? Didn’t you know him It wasn’t as simple as the fact that he looked familiar, he felt familiar. Everything from his face, gaze, aura, energy, and even his scent engulfed you in a cloak of solace. You knew him from somewhere, yet you had no idea who he was or where he was from. 

The moment he turned around, Yoongi was immediately drawn to you. Everything else flew out the window and you were the sole focus of his mind. A forcefield of curiosity and yearning overrode all of his thoughts and he was consumed by one wish and one wish only: he needed to know your name. He needed to know who you were. 

With wide eyes and an invisible string pulling the two of you towards one another like polar ends, you didn’t notice that he had made his way right in front until Jungkook coughed up a lung. 

Hoseok broke the silence in the air. “______, this is Yoongi. Yoongi, this is ______.”

He was still drinking in your features. the tiniest details of your uneven dimples, delicate lips, baby hairs, down to the way your eyes sparkled and twinkled like the brightest stars in the sky. 

Likewise, you were sketching out every single detail of his face; the almond-shaped creases of his eyes, pouty lips, flawless skin, and of course, the half a second he let his gummy smile slip past his lips. 

“Hi,” you finally murmured, quieter than the sound of a cricket chirping in the dead of night. A small grin crept along the edges of your lips as he parted his lips to speak. 

Yoongi couldn’t stop the smile that lit up his features. “Hi.” 

“Psst—” Taehyung craned his body over the serving window to whisper in Jimin’s ear. “What’s up with them?” 

Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok shrugged, looking back and forth at each other, then at you and Yoongi. 

“It’s really nice to meet you.” So this is what it’s like...

He held out his hand, the distance between you staying the same yet growing shorter each second. 

Taking his outstretched hand into yours, you slowly closed your fingers around his, admiring how they seemed to fit perfectly like a lock and key. It was as if a spark had ignited between your two bodies, embers flying like fireworks underneath the pitch black darkness of night. How were his hands so warm? 

Any remaining drop of apprehension you ever had was now gone, replaced by a bright, glowing light that outshined everything else. 

“The pleasure is mine.” Finally.

The air hung heavy with nerves as you and Yoongi stood absolutely silent, fingers still entwined with one another. Hoseok coughed from the serving counter. When did he get there—

“You gonna catch up with us or leave us hanging again, Yoongs?” Jimin teased, a mischievous smirk painting his features. Letting go of his hand, the feeling of cold air grazing your palm was instantaneous. Jungkook slung his arm over your shoulder jokingly. “What have you been up to, Yoongi?” He was desperate for some kind of attention, he was willing to piss his best friend off for it. You tried to refrain from giggling. 

“What am I, cold turkey?” Taehyung complained from the back. Crossing your arms to shelter your hands, you notice how icy they’d become in the span of a few seconds. Yoongi climbed over the counter in the blink of an eye and whacked the chef behind his head. 

“Show some respect you goofball, you haven’t seen me in months,” the older scolded. Chuckling, his gums were the slightest bit visible as he smiled wide, another wave of familiarity swallowing your senses. 

You stepped outside five minutes after the guys started chatting and catching up with each other, awkwardness overcoming your ability to carry on a normal conversation. Yoongi’s presence made you—flustered, to say the least. Ideally and in any other social situation, you would have stayed and introduced yourself to him further, but you felt like you were already intruding on a private conversation.

After an hour of pacing back and forth and pretending to be busy with a phone call, you went back inside and told the guys you had to get back home. “I forgot I had some extra papers I still haven’t sorted through,” you lied through a forced out dry laugh. “Don’t want my boss to kill me.” 

The guys waved goodbye, and Yoongi looked like he’d been slapped across the face. “It was nice meeting you,” he managed to pry out. “See you around.” 

Flashing him a tight-lipped grin, you scooped up your things from the counter, bid the boys farewell, and hurried out the door. The moment you set foot out the door, it was as if something tugged the hems of your coat. Did you forget your phone? Bag? Journal? Wallet?

Patting yourself down thoroughly, you shook it off as just another misled gut feeling. You hadn’t visited the café in a while and started the day off on an off foot in the first place. 

You were a few meters from the café when someone called out to you—shouted, actually. 

“______!” Their footsteps drew closer, each dull thunk on the pavement instead reverberating like a crisp knock on hardwood. 

Turning around, your looked down at the figure hunched over directly in front of you and gasped. Yoongi was panting heavily, shoulders rising and falling as he supported himself by resting his hands on his knees. Patting his back out of habit like you’d done for your high school teammates after a track meet, he reached out and gripped your forearm for support. 

Biting back a chuckle, you had to ask. “Are you alright?” Had he really sprinted that far just to catch up to you? Damn, you really did leave your phone back there, didn’t you...

Clearing his throat, he stood up straight and tried catching his breath. “Never been better, thanks.” He was still holding your arm. “I was going to ask if you—if you uh, God this is weird—,” he stuttered, eyes falling to the concrete pavement beneath his feet.

You tried your hardest not to interrupt. While he kept tripping over his words like an adorable nervous wreck, you relaxed your arm so that his hand slid into yours, slotting together perfectly like two matching puzzle pieces. Feeling the warmth radiate from his touch, you saw his expression ease immediately. He squeezed your hand. When you returned the favor with a shy grin, it gave him the courage to speak. 

“Do you want to go out for dinner sometime, ______?” he finally asked, your name flowing off of his tongue like the most beautiful song you’d ever heard. Yoongi’s eyes glimmered with anticipation and hope.

Looking deeper into his entrancing gaze, you didn’t have to think twice. “I would love to, Yoongi.” His heart exploded in his chest when you said his name, a trapped butterfly escaping from its cage with a vivid flurry of colors and radiating light. 

Love at first sight always seemed like nothing short of a fairytale, but you had a feeling that this came pretty damn close to it. 

Soulmates weren’t always romantic lovers. Sometimes, they were close friends or merely acquaintances. More often than not, they even lived their entire human life without finding each other, the closing chapter of their lives spent with their loved ones, twin flame, an unlinked soul, or in complete solitude. 

Each life was given to you for a reason. Every experience, painful memory, death, birth, and ounce of love and loss you endured throughout all of your past lives was entirely out of your control. It was neither your destiny nor fate to remember the lifetimes with or without your soulmate, and doing so would be a waste of the time you were given in this current life. 

Fate, karma, destiny, divine logos, universal divinity—call it what you want. 

We do not remember our past, nor are we better off predicting our future. 

All we have is the present moment and ourselves, and that is more than enough. 

5/5/2020—3:43:01 AM

[honestsycrets]

Wretched Little Angels: Aethelwulf’s Choice

❛ pairing | ragnarssons x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar takes over the reins, and everyone else is just along for the ride. 

❛  warnings | dark!fic, graphic non-con and violence, ivar being a dick, ivar planning, hostage situation, heavy angst. do not read if any of those will trigger you

They already knew what the possibility was.

“It’s possible that she may not even be alive,” Alfred spoke from the table.

It was a cold night, and his scarf was fixed around his neck, staring between his brother and his father. Aethelwulf paced from one side of the room to the other before coming to the table where they sat with full plates that neither had eaten.

“What if she is?” Aethelred returns. “She is a woman. They could be hurting her.”

By hurting her, all the men in the room knew what he meant.

“It is likely,” Alfred answers.

The question seems to really be what price they were willing to pay. For Aethelwulf, this was one in a line of disrespectful actions. It was the top of his list, no doubt, but it was not something he could so easily let go. Aethelwulf sets his hands on the chair, squaring his shoulders back.

“I’ll call him.”

“At what cost?”

The cost, he knows better than his sons. Aethelwulf runs his hands through his short black hair. His fist beats down on the table, effectively silencing his youngest son with his shrill that caused Alfred to scoot back in his seat.

“I want my daughter back.”

You should have stabbed Ubbe with that knife.

But you didn’t.

Hvitserk left you feeling burning raw and now, Ivar-- Ivar was something else entirely. His arm is thrown over your shoulder, dragging his nails over your empty stomach up toward your breasts. Your chest heaves under his fingertips. Your father is heavy on your mind. He is the sort of man to think he knows best and go through with it. Unless it was the words of grandfather, that was. He could always… do best.

Now that Aethelwulf was the one to deal with, well, there was no telling what he would do. You were sure of one thing. It would be reckless. When you glance over to Ivar, you know that this boy-- is more than he can handle.

“What are you going to do to them?”

“To your father?” he slides a lock of your hair from your ear. “That depends on him.”

“Please don’t kill them.”

This man, the Boneless, runs a chill down your back. You don’t know why. You only know that when he looks at you, he sees something little more then the daughter of a police chief. Ivar seizes your nape with his large hand.

“Oh? Well, I don’t really want you, so I don’t even need you,” Ivar whispers corroded words. A jangle of his belt reflects that he is loosening his pants. You don’t have to guess by now what he is about to do. “So let’s get down to business.”

It was fine. You’ve been put through worse. Ubbe was worse. Ivar less so. The grip on your neck tightens into bruised the size of the pads of his fingers. When you take him into his mouth, Ivar settles into petting your hair— almost like a good dog.

“Where is she?”

A warm voice asks, bursting with hot energy and frayed at the edges with his concern. You seize up under his hand, tightening your fist around his floppy cock. Ivar bucks his hips, and his cock responds in turn, swelling under your fingers.

“Nothing to worry about,” Ivar insists in a mouthy groan. “I am taking good care of her.”

You, as well as your father, know how much of a lie that is.

“If you lay a hand on my“--

“My brothers have done more than that,” Ivar answers, reaching down to stroke your hair. So close, but so far away, Ivar almost muses. “But if you want her back, you know what to do.”

With a click, Ivar drops the phone, cock throbbing and pulsing in your hand. A threat of moisture spurts from his tip and you take it with heavy-lidded eyes pressed together tightly that you refuse to let yourself cry. Whatever it was, you think, it wasn’t going to end well.

“You are going to hurt him, aren’t you?” Your voice teams with tension and fear.

“Well, he makes a shitty puppet.” Ivar laughs, tugging you up by a fistful of your hair. The burn of the cool air causes you to release his cock, which bobs excitedly when you whimper face to face with him. “But maybe you can level with me. Sit on my dick.”

You’re tired of it. The constant wear and tear of Ragnar’s sons tearing into your body. You let your knees fall apart under his prodding hand. Ivar’s lip twitches, somewhere between appreciation and annoyance that you could not follow a simple order.

“It’s not that hard to listen,” Ivar reprimands. He brings your hips down to him, slipping his hand underneath to guide his way into the hole that his brothers had all had. Pleasure thrums through him when he actually does slip in, and he shifts his hands around to grasp your shoulders to force you down onto him.

“You’re all used up,” Ivar says. “You don’t even have it in you to fight me.”

A succession of quick and shallow lines are pricked by one slow, deep one that Ivar made sure to know you felt. You know he tells the truth. Being used by the Ragnarssons almost becomes routine. If you ran, like with Ubbe, they would only make it worse.

“I suppose I’ll have to settle with this to send to your soft brother,” Ivar grasps a fist full of your hair again, dragging you against his chest. Ivar’s teeth catch your neck, rocked by a stuttering thrust of his hips. It’s no more than a hike in his breathing that marks that Ivar is cumming, deep when he drags you down against his hips.

His warm breath against your neck marks the release of his hot breath from your neck. He throws you off of his dick onto the leather seat of the truck. You catch the siding of the truck to stop you from knocking your head. But maybe it would be preferable if you didn’t have to be with these fuckers and knocked yourself out.

“You should sleep.” It’s almost with care that he says it. Though, from the events before, you question how a man like him could ever care about anything. “It might be a better option than being awake.”

The car door slams behind him. You jolt up minutes later when the coast is clear darting to the car door. The handle is locked when you try to open it. But of course, it could not be that easy. Sitting there, you find a certain green-eyed boy. “You’re like one’a them pastries,” Hvitserk says. “Always fuckin’ cream-filled.”

It would have been less painful to be with Ivar.

Your eyes relax from their wide, clear surprise at his presence. With another chance gone, you settle back down, pulling the small throw over your cold body and settling into a flat pillow that had seen better days. “Why are you here?”

Hvitserk holds up his gun, twisting it at you. “Sure as hell ain’t here for the pussy.”

You sit up, eyes rimmed by exhaustion, tugging your feet to your chest. It’s hard to sleep when someone like Hvitserk is there, teasing you outright for something that he knew you had no way of getting out of. Before long, the tears are spilling down your cheeks and you hate that-- that moment of desperation and overflowing emotion that leaves you a physical damsel in distress. Hvitserk stops, slipping the gun back on his belt and turning over the front of the truck to you.

“Why are you--”

“Why do you think?!” you lurch over, punching the head of his chair. You wish that you had hit him, but as quick as the mouseish thing was, Hvitserk moved to the side. “I hate you! I hate you and your stupid brothers!”

Hvitserk leans over the middle of the truck seats, letting a punch land on his jaw. He massages the area after the fact, not at all unfamiliar with the feeling of you spitting on him. It’s probably something he did deserve if he were to be honest, and he doesn’t hold it against you. If he were a woman…

“I’m not that bad,” Hvitserk says-- sounding if he’s trying to convince himself of that bit of knowledge. Your eyes well up with tears all over again when you come back to that pillow, squeezing it for emphasis.

“You’re the worst one!”

“Worst? Fuck man,” Hvitserk begins. “I’ve been nice! I didn’ do any of the shit my brother did, remember?”

“You were the first one. Time after time!” you state. An accusation, a sobbing accusation of that first time he caught you, mocked you with helping your father. Yeah, he remembers that. Hvitserk doesn’t know why he feels a flash of pity-- but when he feels it, he feels soft. He crawls over the seat.

“Hey,”

You scoot to the most impossible edge of that seat.

“Okay, except the wax.” He recounts wanting breakfast. That was a damn good breakfast after all that he did. You bring your blanket high to avoid looking at him. He debates reaching out, to peel the blanket down like he stubbornly would.

Except, this time, something holds him back.

“Thank you for your service!” says the barista. She hands him a steaming hot coffee which he takes, thwapping a packet of sugar against the cup. His phone begins to trill, and Bjorn shifts to his leather black belt.

Chief Aethelwulf, his work phone says.

“Hey chief,” Bjorn grins, pushing open the door for an older woman. She bobs in as he continues down the way to his car. Aethelwulf’s voice booms, shrilling about some fucker, ie. Ivar, with his daughter. “You found her? With the Ragnarssons?”

“A video? Never would’ve thought…”

He sets his cup down on the roof of his car and pops open the door. Ivar, what would he ever do with his baby brother, who regularly got himself into this sort of trouble. He would probably have a much easier time in negotiations. But no, of course not, things could not go so easily.

“Of course I’ll go with you.”

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[mrfog5]

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Paintbox Soapworks 2020 Spring Limited Editions

I was in need of some cheerful, natural scents and Paintbox Soapworks came to the rescue! Spring collections tend to be my favorite--I love florals and green growing things, and delicate gourmands--and Paintbox always has beautiful offerings in these genres. As always, these products perform beautifully. The soaps are gentle and work up a nice, creamy lather. I love using them as hand soaps because they keep their shape well with use and they don’t turn into a gloopy mess in the soap dish.

Cyprus Hot Process Soap

Scent description: Noble green cypress & rich moss, waxy olive blossom, ancient sandalwood, & musk.

This is a beautiful soaps. I love the threads of gold that run through it! This is a gorgeous green scent. It smells like something that would be in a super high-end spa on the Mediterranean. It’s clean and fresh and smells expensive. The fluffy moss smooths out the sometimes-sharp greenness of the cypress, the olive blossom lends a hint of realistic floral, and there’s a hint of smooth sandalwood and musk in the background. Really lovely.

Dance of the Hares Soy Wax Melt

Scent description: Wild rabbity musk, tender roots, & damp smoke drifting through echoing woods.

I love this one! It’s a new favorite for sure. I get a lot of musk--which is both wild and gnarly and smooth all at once, and smoke (from smoldering incense) and rich woods. This smells like a metaphysical shop, in the best possible way. Like a metaphysical shop in the woods.

Find the River Luxury Glycerin Soap

Scent description: Golden bergamot, tea darkened water, oakmoss, sage, hemp, & shadows of vetiver.

This was fresher, prettier, and more cheerful than I imagined it would be! It’s a lovely tea scent--like an artisanal iced bergamot tea served on a porch in the bayou.

Lemony Biscuit Luxury Glycerin Soap

Scent description: Tart lemon cream cookies with freshly ground nutmeg & a touch of lemon thyme.

Oh my. Lemon gourmand scents (and lemon desserts!) are some of my favorite things in life, and this is a great one. Lemony Biscuit smells just like lemon cream biscuits/cookies. Tart, creamy, sweet, and perfect. The lemon is just right--it’s not funky or fake-smelling. The lemon thyme peps the scent up and elevates it. This is a new favorite! <3 

Milky Luxury Glycerin Soap

Scent description: Hot sugared milk infused with lychee scented tea leaves.

This is lovely--cheerful and uplifting! It is definitely a lychee-scented sugared milk, but I can’t decide if it’s hot or cold. Sometimes it smells cold, and at other times it smells warm. In either case, it’s a beautiful scent. It’s not too sugared--it’s very soft and creamy with a pop of happy candied lychee.

String of Pearls Luxury Glycerin Soap

Scent description: Lush flowering succulents of all shapes and sizes enveloped in wet moss, still greenhouse air, & smoldering incense cones.

This one may be my favorite of the bunch, although that’s a tough call to make. I love the smell of mossy, green, growing things and this one is spot-on. I’m not sure how Hayley managed to capture the scent of “still greenhouse air,” but she absolutely nailed it. To my nose it’s also similar to the scent of the humid Gulf Coast air here after a southern rainstorm--heavy and moist. There’s just a hint of gently smoking incense in the background that brings some intrigue. Just beautiful!

Paintbox Soapworks’ beautiful soaps (and other goodies!) may be perused and purchased at http://paintboxsoapworks.com/

[copperbadge]

A Mostly Accurate Guide To Chicago by Sam Starbuck

I realized recently that this guide was still housed on LJ, where I don’t really hang out anymore and where there are Ads. So I have migrated it over to Tumblr. 

This post was last updated in October of 2017. If you're reading this in the distant future, you should check the original post, and you might drop me a line and ask if it's still accurate, as things do sometimes change. You should also check with google/yelp to make sure places mentioned here have not closed or moved, since I don’t do QA checks on the post.

This is not a comprehensive guide. I know, basically, three areas of Chicago very well: the downtown "Loop" and area just south of it, Gold Coast/Streeterville just north of the Loop, and Wrigleyville. I don't claim to be an expert, but I am pretty good at providing info for people who don't know where to start. So this is Sam's Very Limited Guide To Chicago For Visitors. 

There is a readmore below! Read more!

Where to stay: if you want to stay downtown, the two options that best meet at the axis of "inexpensive" and "quality" are the La Quinta in the west loop and the Hampton Inn just north of the loop. These are both convenient to a lot of things. 

There are some very good luxury hotels in the northern end of the Gold Coast, if you have the money to splurge; you can't really go wrong anywhere around Water Tower Place. If you're looking outside the downtown area, check Yelp before you make a reservation; the hotels in Wrigleyville, for example, are mostly the kind of place that offer hourly rates. Chicago also has a bedbug issue so check the bedbug report. I really recommend staying in the downtown area; it's central and you'll just get a better hotel, generally speaking. I have been told to avoid Club Quarters at all costs. There is a fantastic, safe, and fairly inexpensive hostel downtown; it's about $35 a night, run by Hostelling International. It's convenient to a lot of stuff, including the big downtown library down the block. What to eat: I don't like deep dish pizza, but if you want to try it or if you like it, there are two places that are infamous for it, Gino's East and Pizzeria Uno, both in Gold Coast. Giordano’s does a good deep dish along with a lot of other great food, and has some of the highest food-hygiene marks in Chicago (yes, I did a data dive on food hygiene). I know that Exchequer, in the loop, also does really good deep dish. Plus it's rumoured to be owned by the Russian mob, adding a sense of excitement to any meal. For my money, a far more authentic Chicago cuisine is the Italian Beef sandwich. An Italian Beef is marinated, slow-cooked beef, sliced thinly (shredded, really) and piled on a crusty sub sandwich roll. You can have peppers added (I never do) and usually you have a choice of sweet peppers or hot peppers. Then the entire sandwich is dipped in the au jus that's been keeping the beef warm, wrapped in waxed paper and tinfoil, and handed over for your eating delight. If you want you can order an Italian Beef "dry" (no dipping) but half the delight is the bread soaked in flavorful marinade. You can order an Italian Beef at most "greek diners" (so named because they are stereotypically owned by people of Greek descent); the two most easily accessible in the loop are Al's and Max's. Some people will tell you not to go to Portillo's, that it's a tourist trap, but Portillo's does an entirely decent Italian Beef, so don't be ashamed if Portillo's is what you can get to. One of my favorite places to eat is Weber Kettle Grill, at Grand and State just north of the loop. They do a great rare burger, their barbecue is fantastic, and I've never had bad service there. That area has a ton of really good restaurants: there's Oysy for sushi, Shaw's Crab House for seafood (pricey though), and a PF Chang's and a Chili's (I understand the Chili’s is now closed) if you're looking for something a little more chain-restaurant familiar. Even if you're not going to the Art Institute Museum, it has three great places to eat: the cafeteria, with all locally-sourced food, McCormick Terrace in the summer, which does pricey but great small plates on an open patio around a fountain, and Terzo Piano, which is the fancy expensive restaurant -- quality is variable, I’ve had GREAT meals there and so-so meals there. Macy's, in the loop, has a basement food court and a 7th floor food court (only open for lunch), both of which do a variety of excellent food, as well as their fancy eatery, the Walnut Room. Also, if you pass a Garrett Popcorn store, of which there are many in the loop, grab yourself some "mix" -- cheddar popcorn and caramel popcorn mixed together. It's a classic Chicago snack, and tastes better than it sounds. If you're near Wow Bao -- there are several, so check their website for the closest one -- they serve amazing stuffed steamed buns for pretty cheap; two buns are a reasonably filling lunch. Their rice bowls are delightful and they do pretty good potstickers. If you don't like spicy food, get a chocolate stuffed bun as a sweet snack. 

If you’re in Chinatown and want some dim sum, Phoenix, on the second floor of a building on Archer across from the shopping center, is both very reasonably priced and also delicious. There’s also a Little Sheep hot pot restaurant on Wentworth which is deservedly very popular. 

There are many places in the loop and Gold Coast areas to get cupcakes, such as Sprinkles or Sugar Bliss. If you go to Sprinkles, they have a CUPCAKE ATM where you can buy a cupcake without ever seeing a person, but for my money Sugar Bliss has better cupcakes. If you have access to a place to cook -- microwave or oven -- you should stop by The Meatloaf Bakery on Clark near Lincoln Park. Meatloaf Bakery is now closed, but near its former location are still a lot of good places to eat. One is Molly's Cupcakes, who do some of the best cupcakes around. I particularly like the salted-caramel. Lito's Empanadas, just north of Molly's, does delightful savory pastries. If you find yourself in Wrigleyville, do yourself a favor and stop by Byron's for some onion straws (the hot dogs, burgers, italian beef, and gyros are also really good). Byron's is a grab-and-go kind of place. In the same area, around the Sheridan El stop, you also can't go wrong with Tac Quick Thai Kitchen, which is consistently voted one of the top thirty places to eat in Chicago (Tac Quick recently moved but is still in the area, I believe). Kitchenette on Clark does the best sushi on the north side. A great place to get a sandwich anywhere in the city is Potbelly's, a Chicago-born chain -- get a bag of the mini oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, oh my god. I used to recommend Panera as another good chain but they’ve gone somewhat downhill.   AVOID CORNER BAKERY. AVOID THEM ALL. Never, ever eat there. Trust me on this. Their sandwiches are dreadful and I've had food poisoning from them several times, including from their baked goods. Even their beverages are gross. What to see: My first instinct is always to recommend the Art Institute Museum. It's centrally located, it's huge, and it always has interesting exhibits. If you have kids or if you like miniatures, particularly check out the Thorne Miniature Rooms in the basement. Check the website before you go, there's usually one day a week that's free. If there's a line out the door at the front of the museum (where the lions are) walk past the lions (keep the museum on your right), turn right at the corner past the little sculpture garden, and walk uphill until you have passed under the pedestrian footbridge and you see the entrance to the Modern Wing on your right. Usually the lines are much shorter at the Modern Wing entrance. Just north of the Art Museum -- if you leave through the Modern Wing you'll be literally across the street from it -- is Millennium Park, a huge complex of gardens, performance spaces, and outdoor art. If you're coming there in the summer, stop and soak your feet in the foot-soaking creek in Lurie Gardens in the park. The Bean, aka the Cloud Gate, is also in the park and worth a visit. If you like shopping, WELCOME TO CHICAGO. Macy's in the loop is fun, though it's also huge and confusing. There's some good shopping in the Gold Coast north of the loop. Water Tower Place is a good place to shop and has the anchor American Girls store, so if you have kids who like dolls (or if you like dolls!) you can't go wrong. Water Tower used to have a Lush store, but I understand the Lush there moved to an independent storefront on Michigan Avenue; they do still have the Lego Store. And if you like architecture, welcome even more to Chicago! You shouldn't miss the chance to stroll across one of our lovely bridges over the river; if you take the DuSable bridge, which joins two halves of Michigan Avenue, you'll end up on Pioneer Plaza, with the Wrigley Building to your left and the Tribune Tower ahead and to the right -- the Tribune Tower is a great building to gawp at, and has bits of other buildings incorporated into the exterior walls. Get right up close and see stones from a Roman Bath, a Buddhist Temple, the Alamo, and other famous buildings from all over the world.    The river itself boasts multiple architectural boat tours and several water taxi companies; these only operate spring-to-autumn but taking a water taxi is a great way to ride on the river for relatively cheap (I prefer Shoreline Sightseeing's water taxis, but really you can't go wrong with any of them). Shoreline Sightseeing and the Architectural Foundation both offer architectural river tours; SeaDog does too, but don't use them, they're not as good. Shoreline's tour boards from Navy Pier and the Architectural Foundation's tour boards from just below the DuSable bridge. In the Loop, down by the Board of Trade (which has a cafeteria in the basement that's known for its excellent fries) there's a building called the Rookery. On Wednesdays they give a killer tour of this old, historic building, including a behind-the-scenes stroll where you can see the kind of structural issues buildings in Chicago had before the invention of the grillage. Strongly recommended for architecture, art deco, or history buffs, and not too pricey. Nearby is the Chicago Fed, which has a money museum that's well worth checking out, it's small and strange but a lot of fun. Chicago has a lot of great museums. I've already mentioned the Art Institute Museum; we also have the "Museum Campus" (which you can get to via water taxi!) that contains the Planetarium, Aquarium, and Field Museum. The Aquarium is pretty fun for an afternoon; you can buy an $8 "just the fishes" ticket at the door, or there are more expensive packages available online. The Planetarium is good if you're particularly into space and such, but in the basement it has the Historic Atwood Sphere, which is worth the extra cost. The Field Museum is...confusing, and old, and it shows, but I do usually have a good time when I go. They do have Sue the T-Rex (if you're into dinosaurs, after you go to see Sue, go up the stairs behind her to see her real head. It was too heavy to put on her body, so they put a replica on the body and the real head is housed elsewhere). It has a lot of neat animal dioramas, too. 

If you are going to the Field, Shedd, or Adler and looking for a good lunch spot, check out Pita Heaven (on Michigan south of Roosevelt). Also there's a good Potbelly's on Roosevelt just west of Michigan. Don't go to Eleven City Diner -- they are not careful in their food prep, and I've had poor experiences there with food and service. Further south, the Museum of Science and Industry is a lot of fun, though more fun with kids, I think. Don't miss the egg incubator, where they usually have chicks hatching, or the giant train table with its scale models of Chicago and Seattle. Also in that area, on the UChicago campus, are the Smart Museum of Art (always free; mostly contemporary art, way better than the Museum of Contemporary Art up north) and the Oriental Institute Museum (free but donation recommended) which has the most amazing collection of beautiful antiquities. Down 57th Street you'll also find 57th Street Books, a fantastic indy bookstore. Further down 57th Street is Medici, a great place with atmosphere to spare that does really good burgers and pizza. Try the fizzy lemonade, it's outstanding. If you want to see great live Chicago Blues, Kingston Mines is the place to go on the north side, or Buddy Guy’s Legends in the loop -- Buddy Guy’s has a cover in the evenings but if you go for lunch you’ll get good Chicago blues and no cover, plus their lunch menu is pretty great. There are a ton of blues clubs on the south side, but I can't make recommendations there, as I'm less familiar with the south side. Hell, ask someone at Kingston Mines, they'll tell you where to go. :) I am not familiar with bars and clubs in Chicago, since it's not really my scene. If you pick up a Chicago Reader free newspaper, both will have all kinds of ads for various hip nightspots. Theatre is very dear to my heart and for my money the best theatre in Chicago is done by Victory Gardens at the Biograph. The building itself is a work of art, and the theatre is great and not too expensive. Victory Gardens also owns the Greenhouse, which hosts four or five different companies who usually do good work. Goodman in the Loop and Steppenwolf north of the Loop are also good places to catch a show; the quality of Lookingglass Theatre in Gold Coast varies, but is usually worth the cost. If you want small, gritty theatre, check out stuff playing at Stage Left, a tiny little northside theatre that rents out to various small companies in the area. Avoid Chicago Shakespeare Theatre. They cost too much, their shows are generally mediocre (except when they have other performing companies visit), and they are absolute shits to their staff; even the actors hate the management there. Chicago Shakes is located on Navy Pier, and Navy Pier is one of Chicago's great contradictions. An entertainment complex stretching out into Lake Michigan, it's a great place for a stroll, because you get pretty far out on the lake by the end of the pier. They have an amazing museum of stained glass windows (note: I’ve heard this may have moved, but haven’t confirmed it yet). They have a FANTASTIC FERRIS WHEEL that you should definitely go on if you are not afraid of heights, and a very nice IMAX. The pier itself is free, no charge for access. But it's also very, very touristy. The food is expensive and subpar, the shopping is very kitschy, and in the summer it's incredibly crowded. If you do go to Navy Pier, find the McDonald's and go inside. Look around, especially in the area right opposite from where people place their orders. IT IS THE APOCALYPTIC MCDONALD'S. It's covered in murals depicting Chicago ruined and underwater. It's horrifying and surreal and amazing. They painted over the murals. I cried a little. Chicago is known for its parks; our motto is Urbs In Horto, the City in the Garden. Garfield Park Conservatory is a bit out of the way (though easily accessible by the Green Line), but it has extensive greenhouses and a lovely outdoor park and pond. If you like plants, it's a fun place to go. Likewise, Lincoln Park Zoo is a really excellent zoo and it's in the middle of a wonderful park. If you're into graveyards, I would like to recommend Graceland Cemetery, two blocks west of the Sheridan El stop. It has many historic and beautiful markers, lots of lovely mausoleums, and it's a really nice walk. Rosehill Cemetery to the north is older, but less accessible and less pleasant, I think. And if you go to Graceland you can stop at Byron's on your way back! Transit: If you like riding trains or if you need to get to some distant places in Chicago, the El is pretty awesome. You can buy one day, three day, week, and month passes at most stations. The only caveat I have regarding the El is that it is not very Accessible; many of the stations have either nonfunctional elevators or none at all. Some don't even have escalators, so Expect Stairs.  The Metra is mainly a commuter rail, but also gets you places the El can't. Weekend passes are eight bucks which is pretty reasonable. I've not ridden the Metra a lot, so I can't talk too much about them. One place that's worth the Metra ride is the Lizzadro Lapidary Museum in Elmhurst, but you have to be a hardcore museum geek or really into lapidary to really appreciate it. I don't like buses, but Chicago has a pretty good bus system that I use extensively. If you look on Google Maps, all the bus lines in Chicago are integrated into it, so if you zoom in far enough you can find the nearest bus or train stop to your destination. Google Maps will even give you directions by public transit, if you click the "bus" icon after asking for directions. I don't recommend driving if you can avoid it. Downtown Chicago traffic is INSANE, the parking is exorbitant, and our highway system is horrific. You are better off taking public transit or taxis.   Both airports have El trains that will go to downtown -- the blue line from O'Hare or the orange line from Midway. The Blue Line train from O’Hare I believe charges extra for entry ($5 instead of the usual $2-something) so be aware of that when buying an El pass. Incidentally I recommend flying into/out of Midway if at all possible. It doesn't service many airlines, but it's much more reliable and comfortable than O'Hare, and there are far, far fewer delays. Remember that Chicago is a grid: almost every street, with a few exceptions, runs either north-south or east-west. And the lake is always East. Attitude: Chicago is a big, busy, urban place, but it is also a very Midwestern town, and a city of immigrants who were once new to the city too. We're by and large extremely friendly people here and we like to help out and show off how well we know the city. If you get lost, don't be shy -- go into a store or stop someone on the street and ask for directions. And that's my city! Or at least, a tiny slice of it. I hope this proves helpful and not incredibly overwhelming. 

Did you enjoy or use this guide? Consider a donation to my Ko-Fi or via my Paypal! 

[inexpensiveprogress]

Dali at home in ‘57

When I married Salvador Dali his moustache was. no bigger than a thread of silk,’ his wife Gala explains. ‘We lived in a one-roomed fisherman’s hut overlooking Port Lligat in Spain, and while I learned to fish and prepare lobsters à l’espagnole, 

Dali struggled with surrealist paintings. Every six months both of them went to Paris and tried to sell his work. Today he places commissions on a three-year waiting list, and intimidates the world with a moustache capable of anything from a heavily waxed coil to a vertical sword thrust. ‘Sometimes,’ Mrs. Dali admits, ‘I worry in case he scratches his eyes out.’

The fisherman’s hut, too, has grown. ‘Our Hamlet’ is the way Mr. Dali describes it. Apart from three cottages and a rather new-looking hotel, Port Lligat is the Dali home. One by one, neighbouring cottages and outhouses have been given an extra storey, whitewashed, and added to the home structure. The result is a nest of twelve different roof levels set between terraced hills, with a tiny bay and four rowing boats just six steps down from the front door.

‘I still go fishing.’ says Mrs. Dali, ‘but the boats are fitted with motors now, and I no longer have to prepare the meal afterwards.’

She trained a staff of three--manservant-cum-chauffeur, chambermaid, and cook-to run the ten-roamed house so that she could deal with her own work as secretary, artist‘s model (she is the dark-haired beauty in most of his paintings), and keeper of the Great Privacy. ‘I arrange for us to have no telephone and no guest room,‘ she says with obvious satisfaction. ‘Visitors either come by yacht and sleep on board; or they take our mountain road, which is not good, and sleep at the hotel.’

In fact, the last stretch of road is so bad that the Dali Cadillac has to have a house and garden of its own in nearby Cadaques. ‘We complete our journey by local taxi, which is like riding a mountain goat.’ 

‘Cosmic inspiration’ In spite of their inaccessibility and a wish to safeguard privacy, the Dalis are not inhospitable, and friends are always welcome-after eight o’clock in the evening. ‘For six months of the year we live in American hotels,’ Salvador Dali explains. ‘I make big appearance for public and friends. I design nightclubs, create fantastic Dali parties. Port Lligat is secret place, where I was little boy, where I work always. I bring strong cosmic forces back from America, Gala brings canvas and brushes, and I paint in studio.’

He is now working on the Greatest Dali Masterpiece, a religious canvas over twelve feet high and nine feet wide. By using pulleys and a slot in the studio floor which opens on to cellars below, he is able to adjust the canvas to any working height or whisk it out of sight altogether. He hopes he can complete the work within six months. He then has fifteen commissioned portraits to paint-at an average fee of £7,000 for each one. ‘Money itself does not interest,’ he says. ‘Only the symbol is very strong in me.’ 

The studio, like the bedroom and the main sitting room, has a sloping, heavily beamed ceiling, and everything is distempered white. No artistic mess or muddle here, only a deliberate and persistent study in contrast. A life-size Apollo, for example, sporting a Davy Crockett hat ‘to keep the mind sparking’; a jewelled casket balanced on a tripod of French loaves.

‘Bread is obsession,’ he explains. ‘It captures many shapes for me. Like sea urchin which has cosmic inspiration, and rhinoceros for strong fear. I learn secret and use in my work.’

He has just completed a film (to be shown at the next Cannes Festival) which tells the story of his strange philosophy. It took him two years to make and he calls it The Prodigious History of the Rhinoceros and the Lawmaker.

These obsessions also play a decorative and oddly formal part in the home. Each room holds at least one secret. The main lounge, predominantly white with yellow upholstery and a floor of polished bricks, has two stuffed swans perched on the ‘canopy’ of books which divides the room; the entrance hall is furnished with a life-size bear wearing elaborate chains of office, and a couch inspired by the line of Mae West’s lips.

 The bookcase has two stuffed swans looking down on the room.

The rooms themselves vary in size and shape, and they are all built on different levels. Most impressive is the hundred and-fourteen feet long, three-tiered bedroom, consisting of lower Sitting room with yellow pin-cushion settees, curio landing seven stairs up, decorated with elaborate jars of sugared almonds, and the bedroom proper seven steps above that. This has a red and blue canopy for the two divans, and a large fireplace with a walled-in sitting recess inspired by one of Dali’s sketches.

All the fireplaces at Port Lligat are based on designs by Salvador Dali, but Gala is the one who chooses the furniture and decides on the decor. Her approach is simple and effective. ‘A house must be warm,’ she says, ‘it must also be nourishing for the mind.’ She guards against the strong mountain wind (Lligat is on the East Coast some forty miles south of the French border) with central heating. She keeps the house ‘alive’ with hundreds of well-thumbed books, and a retinue of comfortable animals: she has white canaries in her bedroom, cats downstairs, and pigeons in a vast pagoda-style dovecote outside.

Although she is Russian by birth and international by upbringing, Mrs. Dali’s choice of furniture is mainly local. For the dining room she has fifteenth-century refectory~style pieces from a nearby monastery; she bought, and dismantled, a vintage black and gold Catalan bedstead to make headboards for the divans.

‘Silk and brocade is right for town,’ she says. ‘Here we need crisp white linen curtains. On the floor I have rush matting used for covering the local ox wagons.’ A samovar is her one concession to the past, but even this comes in useful on chilly evenings.

By mutual consent, Time, in the shape of a mad rococo clock, is firmly relegated to a decorative comer of the rock garden outside. They nevertheless follow a routine of work, breakfast, work-swim, work-siesta, and work which is governed in detail by the light, and Salvador Dali himself-self-acclaimed genius. ‘I am. fifty three,’ he says, ‘but even as a boy I paint With originality. Two times they expel me from college,

I am so good.’ He had a tempestuous school career at Figueras, twenty miles from Lligat, and his parents weathered his ‘Stone Period‘ with desperate patience. ‘I painted stones and tied them to‘ canvas,’ he says. Unfortunately, they were rarely secure, and his father would explain the noise to startled visitors: ‘It‘s nothing, just another stone that’s dropped from our child’s sky.’ Later he went to art school in Madrid, and on to Paris where he found the centre of surrealism and a fascinating but meagre living. 

 Pagoda-style dovecote decorated with pitchfolk perches - is home to a hundred pigeons, and also an extension to the Dali game larder.

During one of his many return visits to Spain, he met Gala on holiday, courted her in French, and proposed with ninety red roses which he could ill afford. Encouraged by his wife, he clinched his reputation in Paris with some of his most brilliant work. and in 1935 decided to take a one-man show to America. The Dalis arrived in New York with thirty pieces of luggage, and the world’s biggest loaf for dramatic effect.

The loaf was ignored, but the paintings, were a fabulous success, particularly his portrait of Gala balancing a pair of chops on her shoulders. Questioned about significance, he replied: ‘I like Gala, also chops.’

At home he has always been quietly spoken and unexpectedly modest. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, he is an expert showman who delights in dressing up. He has an extensive ‘Spanish’ wardrobe, although most of his fancy Catalan shirts are in fact cowboy ones, bought from drugstores in America, and modified at home. ‘

“During the day I wear knee-length trousers; in the evening I always have them full length. She has dozens of pairs, mostly skin tight and all couturier-made.

The Dalis have one luxury bathroom with an excellent supply of hot and cold rain water, but mineral water is Gala’s great personal extravagance. ‘We buy it in bottles for cooking, but I use it for washing as well.’ 

The menu at Port Lligat is governed by Mr. Dali’s standards, ‘Food must have well-defined shape, so intelligence can grasp it,’ he says. ‘Shell fish and chop is good. Spinach bad.’ A weekly delivery of food supplies from Figueras is augmented by local fish, rabbits, and the famous Dali pigeons.

The kitchen, decorated with exhibition posters and presentation plaques, has an electric ’fridge (run off their own power plant) and an Open range for cooking, because the staff prefers to use charcoal. Life with Salvador is remote from local custom, but he does create fiestas of his own. He will organize a firework display for the fishermen and their children to celebrate the completion of a new work. 

 The bear in the hallway holds a lamp-stand and a basket for gloves.

He recently bought a barn in Cadaques which he plans to convert into a private cinema for Chaplin films and Dali premieres. He spends most of his evenings writing at home (he is working on his third book), but occasionally the local choir is invited for ‘champagne and songs’. In return, they bring gifts of fragrant herbs for the house. ‘They love Dali,’ his wife comments, ‘and understand him a little.’ Certainly they would have appreciated the way Freud described him after their one and only meeting: ‘I have never seen a more complete example of a Spaniard. What a fanatic!’

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[gsbrandson]

Laurels by the Bay

There was an echo in the canyon, that’s for certain. I believe the year was 1966. Sixty-six was the year where the doors of Capitol records were the entrance to paradise. Not because I could sing or play, but because I could watch and I could record it. Before what you all call the Summer Of Love, there was a lot happening in Los Angeles that really set the tone for the nitty gritty, down and dirty stuff, you know? And I’m happy to say that I was a fixture there. There were films being made in and around our homes, sure. Model Shop being one of the big ones. But no one captured what I did. Everything was stylized so naturally, you see. You can’t cut and retake the pure essence of the canyon. You have to just let it be. You have to let her speak. And she did, through all of us.

I think it was one of the record shops on Sunset that made it all clear for me. I used to sit in the listening room on these modern style chairs that were upholstered with orange leather. The spiraling cord from the KLH stereo to my ears I thought was my connection to heaven. I loved the jazz that birthed rock n roll and the local stuff, of course. Those shops were our beacon of hope and killed our worries for just a moment during the sirens of Vietnam. Those shops are where I first discovered the art of film.

 Down the street a ways from Tower Records was a brand new camera shop simply called Camera and Darkroom. And I was the Levi 501 darling of the boulevard. Well, at least one of them. There weren’t any flowers in my hair yet, but that was soon coming. Outside the camera shop they were demoing the brand new Super8 camera by Kodak. I posed and waved for the camera on the street corner and was told to come back in a week to see myself on the screen. They had a reel going in the darkroom on a white sheet. The owner of the shop had filmed his wife creating a flower arrangement in their kitchen. And of his baby boy making a sand castle on the beach on the fourth of July. I couldn’t help but cry as I watched his life on the screen. How beautiful and how precious were his memories. In live action and in color, repeating again and again. I walked through the projection and reached for a flower in the hand of his sundress wife and it hit me. I had to have one to.

 It was my newest thrill. I had my own Super8 after saving up two paychecks, getting a loan from my father in Connecticut, and telling my landlord that she would receive the rent a week late, as I was “having an emergency”. I started to shiver and squeal when I loaded the first reel of film. My first few shots were out the window of a taxi down Sunset. I loved how the glow of the neon signs came back after development, and so I walked down the strip and filmed the flickering lights of the Whisky A Go Go and the people passing by and waving at me. That’s how I met Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys and how I received my introduction to the Canyon.

 I met Brian post mental breakdown, on one of the few nights he spent out of solitude. He saw me in the street getting a shot of the cars passing by and asked what I was doing. His brothers stood behind him.

“This is a Kodak Super8,” I said. “I’m making movies.”

He invited me up to his house in the canyon and said he had something for me to film. At first, I thought he was coming onto me. But that wasn’t his way. We walked into his living room and it was empty. Apart from a white grand piano and floors covered in three feet of sand. I cannot lie, I was confused. He said, “Sit down, let me explain.” He sat at the piano, Dennis got on drums, and Carl on bass. I started recording. They performed a half buzzed version of In my Room, which I had heard in the record shop a couple of months before. A lot of people believed that God spoke through these boys, as they created the California Myth, especially Brian. And my, my, could he write. The reel from this night is marked with a California surfing edition postage stamp in my archive. I watch it from time to time and pour some Zuma Beach sand that I keep in a bottle by my bed into my hand.

 The footage I have of Dennis’ run in with Charles Manson is now the property of the FBI. I handed the reels over after the murder of Sharon Tate and Charlie’s arrest. One reel is of the state of Dennis’ home after the family’s stay in the summer of 1968. Another is of Charlie pulling a knife on Brian and Dennis at Capitol after receiving constructive criticism on his music. He could never handle that. There is one reel that I kept without the officials knowing. It begins as a pan of Malibu beach, the frame finally resting on a meditating Dennis Wilson and Charles Manson. Both shirtless and in shorts, sitting, legs crossed on large rocks by the sea. Their fingers are out in OM. They wear prayer beads around their necks that were made by the girls in the Family. A peaceful sounding scene, yes. But the way Charlie looked back at the camera is something I will never forget. His eyes looked animal, and that sinister, almost demonic smile haunts me to this day. I believed my camera to be cursed after that. I applied holy water on its handle and the Ladies of the Canyon joined hands in a circle and said seven hail Mary’s over its body. The reel is marked with a red X in my archive, and I haven’t watched it since 1975.

 I was introduced to the Byrds by I don’t remember who. I used to take a car up to their place in the canyon to film them practicing for the Fifth Dimension Tour. They brought me along to their shows on the beaches and to some of the major cities to film a backstage diary. I made them perform Wild Mountain Thyme over and over again to get the right shot. I got so many close-ups of their dark eyelashes on their cheeks when their eyes were closed. We were all so rosy and sun kissed in California. And so much in love. Not with each other, but with the music. So many girls came around and put flowers in their long messy hair and tailored their blazers for television by hand. My favorite reel of them is their TV appearance and performance of Mr. Spaceman. I was front row, and David kept looking down at me and singing through his smile. They were so nervous before that performance, and so happy. This reel is marked with a backstage photograph, rubber banded around the box. Of the boys in their nicest dressing room yet, and it’s titled with a quote from David, saying “Well boys, I think we’ve made the big time.”

 Joni Mitchell sang jazz to me and the music of the world. I was there to watch her switch between mediums. I filmed every brush stroke on canvas and every movement of her gold hair in the sun. She wrote Ladies of the Canyon on a green velvet sofa and in front of a picture window. She watches as I dance with Linda Ronstadt on the rug from Santa Fe. She laughs. And in the morning, she is topless and in jeans. She paces and drinks tea from a daffodil painted cup and saucer. She eats raspberries from a white china bowl. She scratches her head. She smells of the lover’s musk that he gave her just this morning. She keeps smelling her shoulder and writing things down. But she was my flower. She would say to me, “It’s rose day at the market. It’s about a dollar fifty for a bouquet, and about a penny for your thoughts.” These reels are on the top shelf of the archive. They are marked with some of her favorite news clippings about jazz musicians in New Orleans, a poem she wrote for me, and a single dried daffodil.

Young girls were indeed coming to the canyon. Cass Elliot kept a pill bottle of sugar cubes in her kelly green makeup case. They were laced with LSD 25. She sets her hair in the morning and watches the soap operas on NBC. Her closet was full of colorful floral trapeze dresses. Choosing one each morning was her favorite part of the day. All of the boys told her she was a stallion. Strong and majestic, yes, but her false lashes and glamour girl curl set inspired the flowery woman calls of the decade. She was a force to be reckoned with. Could sing the birds out of the trees. And now she had opened her head.

 I filmed the Papa’s thin. The doctors said they were almost to the point of no return. A pin dropping, to them, was a clap of thunder. The group had just made their sixth television appearance for the week, and I was in the dressing room filming the prelude to the California full tilt boogie. The surf shops down the coast dedicated their business hours to the ones they loved. We echoed back. That part wasn’t hard for us, my baby. It was the first time the Mama’s and their Papa’s hit the waves. I have footage of the sun-bleached surf boys teaching us the zen motions of applying sex wax to our boards. They had tan skin and bright white teeth, and they always smiled so big for my camera. I’m afraid that Papa John and Denny couldn’t tell where the waves began. They stood there, twenty feet from the water break, staring into the blue. As loud as she could, surfboard under arm, Cass ran up shore and sang “Come on in, the water’s fine.” And at that moment, the boys returned to Earth. To this day, they owe the ending of their bad trip to Mama Cass. I don’t think they dropped acid again after that. This reel is wrapped in the archive with Cass’ paisley handkerchief that she used to sop up her nosebleeds and a single sugar cube laced with LSD 25.

 It was the man that I fell in love with at the Dog Bar on the coast that brought me, for the first time, into the home of Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. Zappa was sitting at a piano, topless and in jeans, prayer beads around his neck. The top of the piano was covered in stacks of sheet music that he had written himself. I wondered almost immediately how many of them would make the final cut of a record and how many hours a day he spent under his desk lamp with his pen. Before saying hello to me, he said, “Come here for a minute, will you tell me if this sounds ugly?” Frank was writing a song about a CIA man lurking around Laurel Canyon, which later I found out was about Brian Wilson’s schizophrenic paranoia. I was setting up my camera in the corner of the music room and before I could reply with a reassuring “No, it doesn’t sound ugly at all,” there she was in the doorway. This moment caught on tape is to this day, one of my favorites. She was the girl from the Tropicana Motel that he had found in a mini skirt and with a bright floral suitcase. She was looking for rock stars and in a way, he was looking for her. Some say she’s the girl Lou Reed wrote Femme Fatale for after traveling to LA with Warhol. But that’s just a rumor, and she liked it that way.

On this day she entered the room wearing a tiffany blue mesh robe with feathers on the trim. She had a golden fringe bang and white boots up to her knees. She knew without looking straight at us once that the camera was rolling. She sits on Frank’s lap as he continues to play and she wraps her arms around his neck. I’ve taken photographs of the screen at this moment when he looks up at her. I have it timed just right. She was not his wife, but she was, most definitely, the love of his life. She notices his eyes all lit up and laughs. She kisses him bigger than usual. Do you want to guess what he says? He says, “Suzy Creamcheese, oh baby, now, what’s got into ya?”

I don’t think I really learned what poetry truly was or really felt it until I found Jim. I found him In the lobby of the Chateau Marmont and I asked him what his sign was with a lollypop in my mouth. He smiled so big as he said Sagittarius. He was such a beautiful angel boy. And I was over the beat poets already. Jim had a way of making you feel like you were floating. I lived next door to him at that hotel, I kid you not. At night I used to hear him singing in the bathroom from the comfort of his clawfoot tub. He wrote Blue Sunday there. He was in love again, in love every five minutes. I set up my camera and filmed the goings on out the French doors and hoped that the tape recorder as close to the wall as I could get it, would pick up his humming. I eventually gathered enough courage to intrude on his bath for the shot. A wild request, I know. But he didn’t mind. I knocked on the door and received a sing song “Come in!” I heard the water splash as he moved. I believed him to be high out of his mind. The stolen flowers in the bath floated perfectly around him. He criss crossed his arms and held his shoulders. Looked at me like a starlet photographing boudoir for her husband. I think you can hear my sigh on the sound tape. He asked for more rosewater in the bath which I obliged. I have what he said next written in red ink on the reel box. He said, “This is the water of yesterday, and the flowers of tomorrow.”

 There were laurels by the bay in the summertime. And there was only one time where all of us were together. It was the beginning of a new age. The discotech revolution would follow Jim’s death in 1971. Paris, France has him forever. We could all feel a shift after Woodstock. Many of our friends and the voices of Laurel Canyon would be laid to rest in the next two decades and somehow, on this particular day, we all knew it. We were so proud to be from California, even if honorarily so. We spent our final days of love in the ocean spray and in the sun. I do believe whole heartedly that this time altered our ideas of God. We had all been looking for him since 1960. It was 1970 now and it felt like the moon had at last fallen in line with the sun. We were all flying so high above it all for so long. We had pioneered so much and I don’t think any of us went into the 60s knowing what we could reach.

 The reels I have of all of us were shot in God’s country. At Pfeiffer beach and at Big Sur. I still have my admission ticket taped up inside my windshield. This is the footage that I watch the most. It’s the footage that the historians and television stations offer me the most money for. I always decline. I suppose because you can’t put a price on this. These memories are mine. How beautiful and how precious they are. We were all like children climbing through the rocky caves with bare feet and laughing with every wave hit. We were on our beach towels and in large sunglasses, drinking sangria out of a clear mason pitcher and dancing until we were out of breath. We thought the sun could never set on us. The sand was our stage that day. We performed the Ballad of the Bonfire Children, 1969 at nightfall. Our grand finale at the West Coast cabaret. I believe the tourists mistook us for the sirens of the cove or the choir of the sea. “It’s just so hard to leave work at work.” We would all say and laugh. I miss them, all of them. How beautiful they were with their sea salt curls and their tanning oil skin.

 You should have heard them harmonize in the footage on the last reel. They brought us back to 1963 when it all really began. All of them stood around the fire and sang Brian’s Surfer Girl. I have a sound cue on the tape of my thumbs up extending from behind the lens. On the sound tape you can hear me count them in. You can hear the crackling fire in the background. And you can hear me blubbering when they sing “So I say from me to you, I can make your dreams come true.” Because they had.

Dennis Wilson would succumb to a shallow water blackout in 1983. I find it so fitting that he ends our era with one line, well, technically two. He walks to the camera and puts his face so close you can see the sand on his cheeks. He was elated and wrinkled just a bit from sun exposure. When you read his lips, you can almost hear him speak. He says, “This is it, we’re signing off.”

[sterlingbrenner-blog]

Laser Hair Removal Robina System - Know the Facts

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·         Laser hair expulsion is viewed as incredibly protected whenever performed appropriately and by qualified experts.

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It can be for all intents and purposes effortless when contrasted and waxing and electrolysis as a methods for body hair evacuation.

[samirgianni]

Seed Catalogue Review of the Year; 9th Annual!

It's garden planning and seed buying season, and I'm reviewing the catalogues for the 9th time! Time really does fly when you are having fun. The closure of The Cottage Gardener contributes to my sense that there's a little pulling back and trimming the excess going on this year, with fewer things being listed as new. Still, there is lots of fabulous stuff out there, new and old. Trends - I do see include an awful lot of people listing Garden and French sorrels (YAY GET SOME!). Ground cherries including Golden Berry continue to gather some speed. There are a number of (mostly mustard) greens advertised as having wasabi-like flavours. Purple amaranth is very "in"; purple and "odd" coloured vegetables in general, I would say. I'm seeing a lot of new varieties of lettuce. As ever, don't forget to check Seeds of Diversity's  Seed Catalogue Index if you are looking for something specific (and, in fact, if you are just browsing too). A'Bunadh Seeds: Situated an hour from Edmonton, they supply seeds for short (zone 2a) Alberta seasons; 90 to 110 days. They have a surprisingly large and unusual collection! I like the looks of Pisarecka Zlutoluske yellow bean, Osgoode rutabaga, Feuer Kugel beets, and plenty of carrots. Lots of peas including Bill Jump, Hungarian Shelling, Mr Big, Top Pod, Knight, and more. An amazing selection of corn - I was going to say for so far north, but really, for anywhere - and numerous squash too, including locally adapted Lower Salmon River and Cindy Souper. In addition to vegetable seeds they have some perennial fruit seeds, including Nanking cherry and Evans cherry. They have a large selection of rare potatoes, but they are not seed grade. Garlic, comfrey, and six kinds of Jerusalem artichokes all sold for spring planting. AgroHaitai: The only Canadian source I know of for mostly Asian vegetables; they have a good reputation but most of their offerings are F1 hybrids. Interesting things I see include Yellow Stem Chinese celery, Dynasty Pak Choy (as little as 20 days to maturity!), Indian Mini bitter gourd (f1), Zou Sing luffa (f1, but they say not day-length sensitive), Black Champion eggplant, and You Fong Wong yardlong bean. Annapolis Seeds: Now up to 600 varieties, all of which they grow or contract themselves. New things for this year include Scarlet Frills mustard (really gorgeous!), Little Leaf pickling cucumber (hard to find and recommended), Rainbow Lacinato kale, a mix of Sea Buckthorn seeds probably best suited to breeders, Black Beauty tomato, Lower Salmon River squash, Shosaku gobo (burdock), Japanese White eggplant, and Midnight Lightning zucchini. Lebanese Metki cucumber is actually a melon, but used as a cucumber. Burt's Greenhouses: Mostly a nursery with ornamentals, Burt's also sells a good range of sweet potato slips. We got our Toka Toka Gold, Owairaka, and Purple sweet potatoes from them. They also have Cuban, Georgia Jet, and Tainung 65. Seems like a smaller selection than last year, but still good prices and the ability to buy in volume. The Cottage Gardener: I was sad to discover that this excellent source of seeds is no more. They posted on Facebook:

"We are closing our (virtual) doors.

After much thought, many discussions and with definitely mixed feelings, we have made the difficult decision to close down The Cottage Gardener retail business. Our site will  stop taking orders on September 14th, 2018. We remain absolutely passionate and committed to preserving rare and endangered heirloom seeds, but after 22 years of the daily grind of running a retail business we are ready to explore new ways of pursuing this. Passing on our seed saving knowledge will be an integral part of our future plans. Many of our customers have been with us through our whole journey, while others have just recently discovered us - we thank all of you for your support in helping us do our bit to save genetic biodiversity. We'll let you know our future plans as they unfold - we may even pop up at a seed show or two  :). " Eagle Creek Seed Potatoes: For once I am not even going to mention varieties. Shipping costs for potatoes are brutal, but if you want to grow unusual seed potatoes, this is THE place to look and such is life. There is a very impressive selection and 6 mixed packages for the indecisive. Reliable and recommended. Many of our favourite potatoes first came from Eagle Creek. Edible Antiques: Grown in Prince Edward county. Right off bat I see several classic native varieties being offered; Algonquin pumpkins, and Skunk and Deseronto Potato beans. Also Aladdin's Lamp cherry tomatoes, Liebenspfel and Lively Sweet Italian Orange peppers, and Eagle Pass okra. Greta's Organic Gardens: This Ottawa seed-house has numerous interesting and unusual varieties. New this year are the lovely Red Savonese onion, Red Welsh bunching onion, Turnip Rooted chervil, Dishpan Cusha squash, Datterino tomato - combining compactness with indeterminacy, a hard combo to find - Everona tomatillo, and Stavros Greek pepper. There is an impressive number of tobacco varieties, if that's your bag. A large and very good selection overall. A good selection of watermelons includes Bozeman and Early Canada (which did very well for us when we grew it). Greta has an impressive array of unusual eggplants and 6 kinds of okra. Harmonic Herbs: They specialize in medicinal herbs, and also have a small collection of grains and flowers. Being another Alberta company they have short season vegetables including their own earliest Norwesterlee tomato, Blush tomato, Purple Peacock broccoli, Broccoli Raab (rapini), and Palla Rossa radicchio, Hawthorn Farm: Catalogue looks bigger and better than ever. I notice they now have a lot of seeds in bulk, so market gardeners and farmers take note. Sweet Reba acorn and Honeynut butternut squashes are Cornell releases. If you want to play around though, try the Lofthouse Landrace moschata squash. There are loads of tomatoes and lettuces. Best selection of zucchini around, including tried and true for us Tatume, Dark Green, Mutabile, and Ronde de Nice. Success PMR Straightneck looks like it might make a good substitute for the maddeningly unproductive Golden. Misato Rose winter radish looks lovely, as does Jing Orange okra. Get some Sorrel for wonderful spring greens. Only source I know for Iowne's True Blue, a local heritage corn. Glass Gem on the other hand is a wildly popular new (OP) variety and they have that too. I want to try April Green cabbage, so called for excellent storage properties. Chieftan is a long-time favourite Savoy. Heritage Harvest Seed: A great selection of heirloom seeds, grown in Manitoba. If they can make it there, they can make it here! I have found a number of our best varieties here, including Gnadenfeld melon, January King cabbage, and a lot of our favourite peas. There are stupendous numbers of beans of every type here, including Auntie Wilder, Bis (Polish), Chevrier Verte, Drew's Dandy, Fort Portal Jade, and Ice (Crystal White Wax). I could go on and on, so I will just note they have large selections of beets, carrots, corn, cucumbers, grains, lettuce, melons, squash... they are the only Canadian source I know of for the rare and picky to grow but really delicious Amish Bottle onion. Hope Seeds: This Nova Scotian company specializes in east-coast heirlooms including Marie Dugas Canadian Wild Goose, Goose Gullet, and Caribee beans; Ashworth corn; and Joan rutabaga. They have a good selection of Jerusalem artichokes and potatoes - Onaway, Bridget and Fianna are new names to me and sound quite interesting. They do have a few varieties of garlic available for spring planting, if you failed to get yours in during the fall.  Ferme Tournesol: Not yet updated for 2019. Not just seed producers, but vegetable breeders as well. Their own seeds include Arc-en-ciel tatsoi, Big Fat Jalapeño pepper, Winter Green brassica mix, and Carrot Bomb hot pepper. You can get Mosaic Mix beans, which is a mixture of all their breeding lines of bush beans - sounds like a lot of fun. They have their own landrace cucumber, as well as Dragon Egg Croatian cucumber. Sugar Magnolia snap pea and Early Moonbeam watermelon can be hard to find. Ho Chi Minh yellow cayenne, Georgia Flame, and Gord's Cherry Bomb, and Lemon Drop are some other unusual hot peppers they list. Jardins de l'Écoumène: Site is in French. New offerings (nouveautés) include Brad's Atomic cherry tomato, Gogosar Bulgarian pepper, Agate edemame (soybean), concombre d'Antilles (West Indian gherkin), Tam Jalapeño and Thai hot peppers, and the oddly-named but tasty sounding Vegetarian hot peppers, also from the French Caribbean. They also have Toraji balloon flower, which most North Americans do not realize is a vegetable in addition to being a lovely garden perennial. At the moment there are a number of tomatoes, as well as Belle Isle cress and Iroquois White corn on sale at less than half price. Mapple Farm: As ever, this is one of the few places to find sweet potato slips, and they have a good selection including best northern grower Georgia Jet, and the popular Beauregard. New (at least to my notice) are White Travis and Superior. Ginseng Red is recommended for French frying. They are, so far as I know, the only source of Ken Allen's book on growing sweet potatoes in the north, and if you want to have any success at growing them, the $25 is well worth spending. They have a small collection of other carefully chosen items including Chinese Artichokes (crosnes; stachys affinis). Squash are a specialty, including Fisher's acorn (unique to them), Golden Hubbard, Honey Boat delicata, and the superb Gill's Golden Pippin acorn. Latah tomato and Parade cucumber are ideal for cooler climates. Sweet Orange II tomato is noted as new, but their Mystery Keeper tomato is tried and true. Matchbox Garden Seed Co: Another Ontario company growing most of their own seed! Selection is not huge, and leans more to the best standards than the rare and exotic. Varieties are not marked as new so I will just mention a few that look good to me. Trionfo Violetto is an excellent purple pole bean. Long Purple Italian eggplant is a bit unusual. Astro arugula is recommended, Tadorna leeks look lovely. There are just 3 beets, but the best varieties in 3 colours. Baquieu and Gold Rush lettuces look promising. I haven't seen Capriglio Red and Capriglio Yellow peppers anywhere else. Naramata Seed Company: Items not marked as new. Still, some eye-catching listings including Borlotto Lamon bean, Grampa Brown's Indian popcorn, Sand Mountain sorghum, Tante Alice cucumber, Wasabina mustard, and Baladi romaine lettuce from Syria. May Queen is a favourite lettuce for us. They have the excellent and hard-to-find Small Shining Light and Sweet Siberian watermelons. Many interesting hot peppers including a white Bolivian, Aribibi Gusano. Greek Sweet Red moschata squash sounds very intriguing. San Juanito tomatillo looks promising. Lots of tomatoes in every size and colour. Norton Naturals: Not a seed company; they sell a selection of roots, mostly native but also crosnes, edible daylilies, and double Tiger lilies. Native plants include: Arrowhead, Camas (Quamash), Groundnuts, Hog Peanuts, 3 different Jerusalem artichokes, Spring Beauty, Meadow Garlic, and Ramps (Wild Leeks). In my experience, if you do not have the necessary fungus in the soil those last will not grow. Worth trying if you have a typical Ontario woodlot though. They sell Prairie Turnip as seeds - this is actually a tap-rooted legume, and it looks like it would also make an excellent ornamental. This was out of stock last year but this year they have it. They ship twice a year - next up in April. OSC (Ontario Seed Company): A good source for open-pollinated classics at reasonable prices but most of their new offerings lean towards F1 hybrids. I'm noting that in particular most of their corn is treated, as far as I can tell with the notorious bee-killing neonicotinoids, so DO NOT GROW. (If you are a large enough grower you can request untreated seed.) All other seeds are not treated.  They do not always identify F1 hybrids so do some research before you order. New this year is "OSC Seeds International line" - some of them varieties they've had for a while, but a more cosmopolitan group than their usual. It includes Red Garnett amaranth, Wild Roquette, German Lutz beet, Green Punjab eggplant, Osaka Purple mustard, Early Purple Sprouting broccoli, Red Fire orach, and Fire Candle radish. Potager Ornemental de Catherine: Site is in French. New offerings include Thai Lavender Frog Egg (!) eggplant, Kikuza moschata squash (cute!), Golden Child and Monte Gusto yellow wax beans, Oda pepper, Malaga (purple!) radish, and Allu Jola popping sorghum. In short, a place with some very unusual and exciting varieties. Prairie Garden Seeds: The site is updated for 2019, but the new offerings aren't labelled as such and this list doesn't change a lot from year to year. However, they are the go-to source for many Canadian heirloom vegetables, and are particularly strong in tomatoes and beans, but also in grains - if you want small amounts of many historic Canadian wheats, or indeed all kinds of grains from all over the world, check here. If you want open-pollinated, untreated corn this is probably the place. Prices are very reasonable and amounts generous, but you cannot order online - you must send them an order form and a cheque. It's been well worth the trouble in my experience. I can't pick out varieties to mention - they have 133 kinds of beans, 42 different peas - a good list of peas is hard to find - 45 other pulses and legumes, and then there's everything else - lots of it - Jim specialized in Canadian-bred tomatoes for instance.  Richter's Herbs: says the herb of the year is agastache, which is actually a species of plant with numerous varieties in cultivation.As ever, they have the largest and most complete list of herbs I have seen anywhere. Seeds abound but they also have many things available as plants, including a whole lot of hops, 4 kinds of sea buckthorn,  16 types of garlic (not shipped until fall but order early, they say), and 10 kinds of figs. Not an edible in spite of the name, but I see they have Chocolate Cosmos seeds (at $10 per packet! Not cheap, but his used to be only available as a very hard-to-find clone and seeds will be rare for a while yet). I'm always banging on about Sorrel in the spring; grow your own Blonde de Lyon garden sorrel. In the realm of vegetable seeds: they have Sweet Purple and Jersey Giant asparagus; Hopi Blue, True Gold, and Spectrum Red Husk corn; the somewhat hard-to-find but excellent Muncher cucumber; Jicama, if you are prepared to baby it; Numane Japanese pickling melon; Molokhia (an Egyptian leafy green); and Lady Godiva pumpkin (grown for the "naked" seeds). Salt Spring Seeds: Featured items this year include Golden Giant amaranth - it looks both beautiful and productive - Spello chick pea, Purple fava bean, Purple Peacock pole bean (we've grown it and can recommend it), Abundant (a more vigorous yet slow-bolting form of) Bloomsdale spinach, phacelia tanecetifolia green manure, and Summer pea, said to be quite heat-tolerant. Fothergill's Perpetual Spinach (a chard) is half price due to an enormous crop of seed. As ever, a wide range of legumes and grains. Other unusual items include Musgrave Munchie carrot, Darcy's Purple leeks, Meres salsify, and Delight bi-colour corn. Semences du Portage: Site is in French. Nouveautés for this year include Brad's Atomic cherry tomato, Greek basil, Yellowstone carrots, Midori Giant edamame, and Bronco green beans. They have their own selection of Red Man onions. Scarlet Ohno turnips are hard to find. There are also quite a number of seed collections available. la Société des Plantes: Site is in French. Emphasis is on permaculture, so a good number of perennial vegetables including mertensia maritima, camassia esculenta, turnip-rooted chervil, skirrets (chervis), crosnes, rumex scutatus French sorrel, and Ste Anne shallots, and the very rare blue-flowered salsify. Look for Noir Long de Pardailhan turnips, Branchu de L'Embarras spring (overwintering) kale, Black Russian fava beans, Green Jewel Lebanese summer squash, and Sonkatök Hungarian moschata squash. Solana Seeds: When I checked their list of new items, right away my eye was caught by Brown Russian cucumbers, Kajari melon (really striking!), Explosive Ember and Purple Flash (ornamental) peppers. I started off sneering at Aji Delight - a heat-free baccatum pepper - but when they mentioned paprika, I thought, yes! A good sweet paprika pepper is hard to find. American Purple Top rutabaga sure looks like a rutabaga, but Brad's Atomic Grape tomato is amazeballs. Sunshine Farm: Located in Kelowna, BC. Very heavy on the tomatoes and beans, but I note they have both Early Green and Thai Long Green eggplants. Alma Paprika (a personal favourite) pepper, but also Casa Aquaria, Chimayo, Fish, Ghost, Padron, Pasilla and Rocotillo, amongst others. Look for Strela, Lily's and Sweet Butter lettuces. I need to try Golden Purslane. Tatiana's TOMATObase: With 1187 varieties of tomatoes listed, this is the place to look if you want a specific rare one. Most of her other listings seem to have been trimmed down, although she has increased her peppers with 59 varieties being available, including Aji Limon, Cambuci from Barbadoes and mentioned as a favourite, Chimayo, Cserko, De Bresse, Rabbit Mouth, and Rooster Spur... Oh how I wish I could grow them all! Don't forget that Tatiana's TOMATObase is also a wiki with information about most of the tomatoes in existance. It's the first place I look whenever I hear of a new one. Terra Edibles: was our original source for seeds when we first started gardening many years ago, and they are still going strong. They have many of our tried and true varieties, including the very hard-to-find but highly worth-while Spanish Skyscraper pea. Also the hard-to-find legume inoculant, available for a fairly short season in the spring, so check. They are strongest on beans and tomatoes, but they have an assortment of other vegetables as well. There is a small but good selection of melons including Charentais, Ginger's Pride, Montreal, Oka, Minnesota Midget, and Petit Gris de Rennes. Squash include Kakai, Galeux d'Eysines, Green Hokkaido, and Red Kuri. Terre Promise: Site now has an English option, but it has some problems. Better to stick to the French. Look for Black Panther edamame, Grosse Blonde Paresseuse (Fat Lazy Blonde to you!) lettuce, Dutch Princess beans, Soissons Gros Blanc à Rame beans, Boston Marrow squash, and Morden Midget (not that small) eggplant. They are strong on perennial (permaculture) items such as Persil de Mer (Sea Parsley), Catawissa walking onions, scorzonera, Chufa, Red (Blood) sorrel, and apios americana. In July Ste Anne shallots will be available. Urban Harvest: A nice collection including new Medallion mache (corn salad), Diamond eggplant, Shishito and Fiarello Sweet peppers, Elephant Head amaranth (highly ornamental!), Tokyo Bekana greens, Tom Thumb lettuce (I recommend it!), Scarlet kale, and Sunrise Bumblebee cherry tomatoes. Not listed as new but still likely-looking are Shooting Star eggplant, Purple Sprouting broccoli, and Giallo de (sic) Italia yellow zucchini.  Urban Tomato: Not updated for 2019, but I would expect them to continue with their large selection of tomatoes and a small selection of other vegetables and flowers. West Coast Seeds: Very much like a West Coast equivalent to William Dam, with similar strengths and weaknesses. In spite of their very large number of f1 hybrids (some of them dubiously claimed not be GMO) they have a good selection of really useful open-pollinated seeds as well. I tripped over them last year after I posted when I was looking for as many open-pollinated varieties of cauliflower as I could find. They have 4 kinds, which given the prevalence of f1 hybrids in caulis is quite impressive. They list "Seeds to Watch for in 2019" including Kabuli chickpeas, Calypso slow-bolting cilantro, Yellow Wonder strawberries, Wasabi mustard, and Red Oxheart tomato. Other things that strike my eye include Matilda beans, Sayamusume soy beans, Winterkeeper Lutz beet, Natalino Romanesco and Summer Purple Sprouting broccoli. They have a quartet of open-pollinated radicchios that look lovely, as well as Puntarelle and Sugar Loaf chicories. Abundance kale, Alkindus lettuce, 6 types of quinoa, and Wasabi radish. Plenty of herbs and flowers, gardeners' tools, and a small but nice selection of potatoes rounds things out. Wild Rose Heritage Seed Company: Not yet updated for 2019. They are located in Lethbridge, Alberta so you can expect seeds adapted to short seasons. My impression is of a conservative but sufficiently comprehensive range of heirloom seeds. William Dam Seeds: I've spent the last 2 years complaining that almost everything new that they have is an F1 hybrid. And now this year, their only new vegetable that isn't one is Speedy bean - which admittedly sounds quite interesting. However, I'm willing to bet that the only reason it isn't a hybrid is because you can't (so far) do that with beans. They still have a number of open-pollinated standards but it looks like musical chairs is being played with them. Call out for Sumter pickling cucumbers which are the best pickling cukes we've ever grown, and we've grown quite a few. Still a good place for other gardening equipment that can be hard to find - trays, netting and row covers, organic fertilizer, etc, and a very large selection of ornamentals. from Seasonal Ontario Food https://seasonalontariofood.blogspot.com/2019/01/seed-catalogue-review-of-year-9th-annual.html

[chiropractorsgoldcoast]

Home BEST BEAUTY SALON ROBINA FOR BRAZILIAN WAXING. CALL (07) 5562 1289 or go to http://Waxit.net.au at Robina Town Centre Office, Level 2, Shop 2028b, Robina QLD 4230, to Set An Appointment For The Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing 5 Waxing Styles That Every Woman Should Know There are different waxing styles you can choose from, but there is none that won’t hurt a little bit. The best thing about waxing is that it produces a smooth skin that is devoid of hair. Styles include bikini, landing strip, Brazilian аnd full bush Brazilian Thе waxing process іѕ carried оut using different waxes including sugaring, strip wax аnd hard wax. Waxing Styles Bikini Waxing: Thеrе аrе various bikini waxing styles уоu саn choose frоm depending оn whеthеr уоu a little оr a lot оf hair removed. Fоr a regular bikini wax, іt targets tо remove* thе hair thаt іѕ outside уоur panty line. Thіѕ іѕ recommendable іf уоu want a clean-up. Thе full bikini wax takes thе ѕіdеѕ оf уоur bikini line slightly deeper thаn a regular bikini. In ѕоmе cases, іt mау include waxing ѕоmе hair оn tор tо gіvе a well-defined ‘triangle’ area. French bikini wax removes* аll thе hair іn thе frоnt аnd continues tо right bеfоrе уоur bасk. Brazilian Waxing: Brazilian waxing removes аll thе hair frоm уоur bikini line аnd continues аll thе wау tо уоur bасk. If уоu prefer, уоu mау hаvе a small landing strip оr a triangle left іn thе frоnt. Brazilian waxing іѕ best suitable іf уоu love wearing thongs оr іf уоu prefer tо bе completely hairless оn bоth thе frоnt аnd bасk ѕіdеѕ. Hollywood Waxing: Whеrеаѕ a Brazilian waxing mау leave ѕоmе hair untouched, a Hollywood leaves nоthіng. Thіѕ means уоu won’t hаvе аnу hair left аrоund уоur genitals. Thіѕ іѕ nоt аn ideal style especially іf уоu аrе going fоr уоur fіrѕt bikini wax. Nеvеrthеlеѕѕ, уоu саn talk wіth уоur technician tо customize hоw уоu wоuld prefer thе waxing dоnе. Full-Bush Brazilian: Thіѕ іѕ a common style fоr a hippie thаt hаѕ bесоmе thе trend. It combines bоth thе Brazilian аnd Bikini styles. Hоwеvеr, аlthоugh аll thе hair іѕ removed frоm уоur bасk аnd frоnt ѕіdе, thе groin area remains untouched аnd free. Landing Strip: If уоu аrе a fun loving lady whо enjoys creating symbols оr shapes оf уоur choice, landing strip waxing ѕhоuld bе уоur choice. It іѕ conducted thе ѕаmе wау a Brazilian wax, but уоu саn choose аnу symbol tо bе drawn bу уоur waxing technician. Symbols аrе usually mаdе оn a vertical strip. Types оf Wax Wе hаvе twо different types оf wax tо select frоm іn removing hair frоm thе skin. All аrе applied wіth disposable sticks thаt hаvе different sizes tо suit еvеrу client’s needs. Types Of Wax Hard Wax: Thіѕ іѕ thе type оf wax thаt аftеr іt hаѕ bееn applied, іt ѕhоuld bе given tо dry аnd harden еnоugh. Estheticians thеn yank іt оff frоm уоur skin using fingers. A good quality wax ѕhоuld nоt stick tо уоur skin but оnlу tо уоur hair. Thіѕ means іt саn bе used fоr clients wіth sensitive skin types. Soft Wax: Thіѕ іѕ аlѕо referred tо аѕ strip wax. Itѕ consistency looked like honey whеn іt heated. Uроn heating, іt іѕ cautiously spread іn thіn layers оn thе skin tо draw thе preferred shapes оr symbols аnd thеn covered using a thіn non-woven оr muslin cloth. Thе cloth іѕ thеn removed соmіng оut wіth hair. Thе оnlу challenge wіth thіѕ type оf wax іѕ thаt іt mау nоt remove ingrown hairs. Hоwеvеr, іt іѕ thе mоѕt practical wax thаt саn bе used оvеr a large area like legs, bасk оr arms. Bеfоrе spreading thе soft wax, уоur therapist mау spread ѕоmе powder оn уоur skin tо prevent thе wax frоm grabbing уоur skin аnd ensure thаt іt оnlу hooks tо уоur hair. Conclusion Althоugh thеrе аrе various methods thаt саn bе used tо remove hair fоr a bikini season, waxing happens tо bе оnе оf thе mоѕt effective approaches. Thе best thіng аbоut waxing іѕ thаt іt саn bе dоnе іn аnу area оf уоur bоdу including eyebrows, arms, legs аnd thе bikini area. If уоu hаvе nеvеr gone fоr waxing, іt іѕ worth doing уоur research tо fіnd оut a waxing pro оr seek recommendations frоm уоur friends. Thе process саn bе painful, but estheticians wіth experience саn lend a hаnd іn keeping іt minimal. CALL (07) 5562 1289 or go to http://Waxit.net.au at Robina Town Centre Office, Level 2, Shop 2028b, Robina QLD 4230, to Set An Appointment For The Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing. Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing Structured Data, Review Title: Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing Reviewed by Natalie Golding on May 22 Rating: 5.0 Summary: Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing Description: Best Beauty Salon Robina For Brazilian Waxing. 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[thehungrykat1]

Cantonese, Anew at Lung Hin in Marco Polo Ortigas

Whenever I am craving for delicious Chinese food, I usually don’t have to look very far because Lung Hin in Marco Polo Ortigas Manila is always an available and satisfying option. The restaurant features authentic Cantonese cuisine and fresh seafood that are fit for royalty. I have my own personal favorites which I always order, like the Three Flavored Prawns and their huge Hakao, but every so often, the restaurant introduces new outstanding dishes to the menu to give its diners different tastes and experiences. This February, Lung Hin is starting the year with a bang as it offers several exciting new Cantonese dishes to welcome the Year of the Dog.

Lung Hin is a contemporary Chinese restaurant located on the 44th floor of the Marco Polo Ortigas offering traditional and authentic Cantonese food prepared by its very own Hong Kong chefs. Lung Hin has been recognized globally as one of the most outstanding Chinese restaurants outside of China at the 16th China Hotel Industry Golden Horse Awards Gala, also known as the “Oscar” in the hotel industry. The Hungry Kat was invited for a media preview of their new dishes called “Cantonese, Anew” and just like with any visit to Lung Hin, it was an exquisite presentation of some of the finest Cantonese cuisine you can get in Manila.

Lung Hin delights guests through its exemplary service, tasteful interiors and wonderful food creations. The sleek interiors and the expansive layout are coupled with an amazing view of the busy city below from the country’s first Sky Hotel. The restaurant is decked in bright red colors in preparation for the upcoming Chinese New Year celebrations.

Under the helm of the Chinese Executive Chef Lai Cheuk Kou 黎卓球, or also known as Chef Terry Lai, Lung Hin is introducing a new selection of authentic Cantonese dishes, together with the classics, in its new a la carte menu. Chef Terry has over 36 years of experience from different well-known restaurants and hotels around China and Hong Kong, so each dining experience at Lung Hin is almost like eating in Hong Kong itself.

Similar to our previous visits, we were seated inside one of the private VIP rooms for an intimate and exclusive lunch gathering. The Chinese Lunar New Year will be celebrated on February 16, 2018, so this also serves as an advanced Chinese New Year party for the media guests of Marco Polo Ortigas.

We were offered a glass of their Signature Earl Grape Iced Tea, an award-winning beverage that can be found in all Marco Polo properties worldwide (Read about it here). This is probably the fanciest and most exquisite Iced Tea drink in the city and I always look for this whenever I visit the restaurants inside Marco Polo Ortigas.

Our Chinese New Year celebration started with the Prosperity Toss with Salmon Yu Sheng. This is a traditional Teochew-style raw fish salad that usually consists of raw fish mixed with shredded vegetables and a variety of sauces and condiments including oil, vinegar and sugar. 

In Chinese history, fishermen along the coast of Guangzhou traditionally celebrated Renri, the seventh day of the Chinese New Year, by feasting on their catches. Each ingredient of the Yu Sheng has its own meaning and symbolism and every item is poured over the plate before the fun part begins.

The Prosperity Toss is actually an interactive course because all the diners are encouraged to participate by tossing all of the items high up into the air. Yu Sheng implies an “abundance of wealth and long life” and the tossing action signifies tossing up good fortune, which is why it is popular with businessmen and Chinese in general during the New Year.

The result is somewhat messy but that is all part of the ritual. They say the higher the toss, the bigger the wealth, so we all don’t mind the mess. After the action, it’s now time to eat the Yu Sheng salad itself which is actually quite good. The fresh salmon slices are similar to sashimi but with a sweet and sour vinegar dressing. The Prosperity Toss is part of the Chinese New Year set menus available from February 8 to 21, 2018 and this is also available for take out. 

The Steamed Shrimp Dumplings with Gold Leaf is one of my favorite items at Lung Hin and I am happy to be having it again. I just love hakao and these dumplings are filled with huge and plump shrimp. Eating gold shavings is definitely an auspicious way to start the Year of the Earth Dog.

Hong Kong is famous for its roasted ducks so one of the new items Chef Terry is introducing is the Peking Duck with Osmanthus Flower Jelly on Potato Chip. This is a lovely way of presenting the Peking Duck and it is just as yummy. The richness of the duck is balanced by the salty flavors of the potato chip and the flower jelly gives it a contrasting texture. It’s definitely not your usual peking duck and this contemporary style highlights the creativity and expertise of the chef.

Our next course was the Sautéed Tiger Shrimp Ball in Supreme Chicken Stock. This may be just one piece of prawn but it is very big and filling. The both is also outstanding with its light but flavorful consistency that is quite hearty and comforting.

On the other hand, the Double-Boiled Chicken with Red Dates and Wolfberry Soup has a more traditional herbal taste. It comes with a generous serving of chicken inside that absorbs the Chinese herbal flavors. 

One of my favorites among the new dishes is the Pan-Fried Grouper Fillet with Truffle Oil and Sugar Peas. This is a perfectly cooked fish fillet made with light batter that results in a very crunchy coating. The fish is very tender plus the truffle oil gives it that distinct smell and taste. The cute “shrimp” carrot is also a delightful treat. 

A bountiful Chinese New Year lauriat should always come with abalone, so Lung Hin is offering a new abalone dish that is only available for a limited period. The Braised South African Abalone with Hong Kong Dried Sausage and Waxed Meat Fried Rice was part of our media preview and it was just in time for the New Year celebrations. This marine snail is considered a fine ingredient in the culinary world and is indulged only during special occasions due to its limited supply and high value. 

It is believed that abalones are coupled with multiple health benefits, as it is good for the immune system, eyes, liver, kidneys, and used as additional therapy for cancer. The Braised South African Abalone is available in 12 heads at P3,288 per piece. You can find these exquisite abalone at Lung Hin only until February 28, 2018

The Pan-Fried Crispy Egg Noodle with Prawn Ball and Minced Pork was one of the last dishes served at our media preview. We were all quite full but I still had some more space left for this excellent noodle dish topped with plenty of meat and seafood. 

Finally, the Pan-Fried Two Flavoured Chinese New Year Cake is a great way to end our lunch by embracing the New Year with great abundance through auspicious and traditional glutinous rice cakes. With a history that spans over thousands of years, the glutinous rice cakes, also known as nian gao, have always been present in Chinese New Year ceremonies and festivities. The sweet and sticky delicacy is believed to bring prosperity and promises a better year.

Whether it is enjoyed with the family or given as gifts, these are truly perfect staples to celebrate new beginnings. Indulge in this symbolic delicacy with a stylish collection from Lung Hin. Choose between the Double Happiness Koi Nian Gao (P1,388) which includes two pieces of the cake in orange and coconut flavor, or the Traditional Round Nian Gao (P988) with a choice of ube or brown sugar flavor. These delights are available only until February 21, 2018. So start planning your Lunar New Year celebrations and visit Lung Hin this February for an auspicious and gastronomic start to the year.

Lung Hin

44/F Marco Polo Ortigas, Meralco Avenue & Sapphire St., Ortigas Center, Pasig City 720-7777 loc 6621 www.marcopolohotels.com www.facebook.com/MarcoPoloOrtigasManila

Related links:

Forbes Five Star Staycation at Marco Polo Ortigas

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[mialipsky-blog]

European Garden-Inspired Wedding on the Eastern Shore

I’m typically not one to be at a loss for words but when this European garden-inspired wedding landed on my desk, I was left utterly speechless. It’s the design genius of Lauryn Prattes that made for incredible details like the bride’s favorite poem calligraphed on the table runner, not to mention floral works of art crafted by Sweet Root Village. Lisa Ziesing for Abby Jiu Photography told the story behind her lens and this glimpse is only the beginning.

Share this gorgeous gallery on

  I’m typically not one to be at a loss for words but when this European garden-inspired wedding landed on my desk, I was left utterly speechless. It’s the design genius of Lauryn Prattes that made for incredible details like the bride’s favorite poem calligraphed on the table runner, not to mention floral works of art crafted by Sweet Root Village. Lisa Ziesing for Abby Jiu Photography told the story behind her lens and this glimpse is only the beginning.

European Garden Inspiration: Lauren has the most incredible sense of style and decisive nature, making her an absolute dream bride! From the start, Lauren knew she wanted a long sleeve Berta Bridal Gown, which set the tone for the rest of the planning. Bridesmaids were dressed in chic black long gowns and the gentlemen donned a classic black tux. The venue is a private estate nestled along the Wye River in Maryland. Florals featuring lisianthus, greens, and other white blooms lined the ceremony aisle and guests tossed white rose petals and olive leaves at the couple after they said: “I Do”.

Upon arrival to the Eastern Shore of Maryland wedding guests were welcomed with custom curated welcome boxes featuring treats from a few special places to the couple – a postcard welcome note featured dogwoods from Virginia where the couple had previously lived, pralines from Charleston, New Jersey blueberry jam homemade by the bride and her grandmother and of course crab chips, a Maryland favorite.

The ceremony took place outside overlooking the Wye River. Pre-ceremony cocktails allowed guests to mingle until ready for the ceremony to start. As the couple walked back up the aisle they were showered in rose petals and olive leaves. During cocktail hour guests sipped on signature cocktails named after the bride and grooms pets, such as Pippa’s Prosecco Punch featuring a silhouette cut out of the bride’s Persian cat Pippa.

In lieu of a tent top, guests dined al fresco under a vine-covered structure and antiqued bronze chandeliers. Signature cocktails were named after the couple’s two pets and featured a silhouette cutout of each. Lauren and Randy danced their first dance together to The Four Season’s, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” a tribute to the groom’s Jersey roots. Place settings featured Art Italica plates with gold matte flatware and menu’s tucked into vellum envelopes with each guest name delicately calligraphed and sealed with a custom wax seal of the local Wye Oak tree. Green vine and a flower also adorned each place setting. Dinner included fresh ingredients from local farms and featured a Chesapeake rockfish and Old Bay rubbed sirloin. Lauren wanted each guest to enjoy the food that reminded her of home.

The head table featured a white paper runner with Lauren’s favorite poem from Pablo Neruda calligraphed on each end. This was covered with a hand dyed silk runner from silk and willow. The cake was a lemon elderflower cake decorated with white bas relief and green sugar vines. Guests also indulged in a local favorite, Smith Island cake, a traditional cake in Maryland with a true love story history.

Photography: Abby Jiu Photography | Event Design: Lauryn Prattes Styling and Events | Floral Design: Sweet Root Village | Gown: Berta Bridal | Bakery: Buttercream Bakeshop | Makeup: Carl Ray Makeup Artist | Hair: Jewel Hair Design | Calligraphy: Spurle Gul Studios | Ceremony Music: Two Rivers Chamber Music | Venue: Wye River Estate | Tent: Sugarplum Tents | Custom Dyed Silk Ribbon: Honey Silks And Company | Invitation : Cavanaugh Press | Linens: Nuage Designs | Reception Band: Jump Street with East Coast Entertainment | Rentals: Party Rental LTD | Vintage Rentals, Custom Bar and China: White Glove Rentals

© Style Me Pretty, 2017. | Permalink | Comments | Add to del.icio.us Post tags: Post categories: Real Weddings, The Blog

European Garden-Inspired Wedding on the Eastern Shore published first on their blog to my feed

[amygriffissourkitty]

European Garden-Inspired Wedding on the Eastern Shore

I’m typically not one to be at a loss for words but when this European garden-inspired wedding landed on my desk, I was left utterly speechless. It’s the design genius of Lauryn Prattes that made for incredible details like the bride’s favorite poem calligraphed on the table runner, not to mention floral works of art crafted by Sweet Root Village. Lisa Ziesing for Abby Jiu Photography told the story behind her lens and this glimpse is only the beginning.

Share this gorgeous gallery on

 I’m typically not one to be at a loss for words but when this European garden-inspired wedding landed on my desk, I was left utterly speechless. It’s the design genius of Lauryn Prattes that made for incredible details like the bride’s favorite poem calligraphed on the table runner, not to mention floral works of art crafted by Sweet Root Village. Lisa Ziesing for Abby Jiu Photography told the story behind her lens and this glimpse is only the beginning.

European Garden Inspiration: Lauren has the most incredible sense of style and decisive nature, making her an absolute dream bride! From the start, Lauren knew she wanted a long sleeve Berta Bridal Gown, which set the tone for the rest of the planning. Bridesmaids were dressed in chic black long gowns and the gentlemen donned a classic black tux. The venue is a private estate nestled along the Wye River in Maryland. Florals featuring lisianthus, greens, and other white blooms lined the ceremony aisle and guests tossed white rose petals and olive leaves at the couple after they said: “I Do”.

Upon arrival to the Eastern Shore of Maryland wedding guests were welcomed with custom curated welcome boxes featuring treats from a few special places to the couple – a postcard welcome note featured dogwoods from Virginia where the couple had previously lived, pralines from Charleston, New Jersey blueberry jam homemade by the bride and her grandmother and of course crab chips, a Maryland favorite.

The ceremony took place outside overlooking the Wye River. Pre-ceremony cocktails allowed guests to mingle until ready for the ceremony to start. As the couple walked back up the aisle they were showered in rose petals and olive leaves. During cocktail hour guests sipped on signature cocktails named after the bride and grooms pets, such as Pippa’s Prosecco Punch featuring a silhouette cut out of the bride’s Persian cat Pippa.

In lieu of a tent top, guests dined al fresco under a vine-covered structure and antiqued bronze chandeliers. Signature cocktails were named after the couple’s two pets and featured a silhouette cutout of each. Lauren and Randy danced their first dance together to The Four Season’s, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” a tribute to the groom’s Jersey roots. Place settings featured Art Italica plates with gold matte flatware and menu’s tucked into vellum envelopes with each guest name delicately calligraphed and sealed with a custom wax seal of the local Wye Oak tree. Green vine and a flower also adorned each place setting. Dinner included fresh ingredients from local farms and featured a Chesapeake rockfish and Old Bay rubbed sirloin. Lauren wanted each guest to enjoy the food that reminded her of home.

The head table featured a white paper runner with Lauren’s favorite poem from Pablo Neruda calligraphed on each end. This was covered with a hand dyed silk runner from silk and willow. The cake was a lemon elderflower cake decorated with white bas relief and green sugar vines. Guests also indulged in a local favorite, Smith Island cake, a traditional cake in Maryland with a true love story history.

Photography: Abby Jiu Photography | Event Design: Lauryn Prattes Styling and Events | Floral Design: Sweet Root Village | Gown: Berta Bridal | Bakery: Buttercream Bakeshop | Makeup: Carl Ray Makeup Artist | Hair: Jewel Hair Design | Calligraphy: Spurle Gul Studios | Ceremony Music: Two Rivers Chamber Music | Venue: Wye River Estate | Tent: Sugarplum Tents | Custom Dyed Silk Ribbon: Honey Silks And Company | Invitation : Cavanaugh Press | Linens: Nuage Designs | Reception Band: Jump Street with East Coast Entertainment | Rentals: Party Rental LTD | Vintage Rentals, Custom Bar and China: White Glove Rentals

© Style Me Pretty, 2017. | Permalink | Comments | Add to del.icio.us Post tags: Post categories: Real Weddings, The Blog

[samboine123]

European Garden-Inspired Wedding on the Eastern Shore

I’m typically not one to be at a loss for words but when this European garden-inspired wedding landed on my desk, I was left utterly speechless. It’s the design genius of Lauryn Prattes that made for incredible details like the bride’s favorite poem calligraphed on the table runner, not to mention floral works of art crafted by Sweet Root Village. Lisa Ziesing for Abby Jiu Photography told the story behind her lens and this glimpse is only the beginning.

Share this gorgeous gallery on

  I’m typically not one to be at a loss for words but when this European garden-inspired wedding landed on my desk, I was left utterly speechless. It’s the design genius of Lauryn Prattes that made for incredible details like the bride’s favorite poem calligraphed on the table runner, not to mention floral works of art crafted by Sweet Root Village. Lisa Ziesing for Abby Jiu Photography told the story behind her lens and this glimpse is only the beginning.

European Garden Inspiration: Lauren has the most incredible sense of style and decisive nature, making her an absolute dream bride! From the start, Lauren knew she wanted a long sleeve Berta Bridal Gown, which set the tone for the rest of the planning. Bridesmaids were dressed in chic black long gowns and the gentlemen donned a classic black tux. The venue is a private estate nestled along the Wye River in Maryland. Florals featuring lisianthus, greens, and other white blooms lined the ceremony aisle and guests tossed white rose petals and olive leaves at the couple after they said: “I Do”.

Upon arrival to the Eastern Shore of Maryland wedding guests were welcomed with custom curated welcome boxes featuring treats from a few special places to the couple – a postcard welcome note featured dogwoods from Virginia where the couple had previously lived, pralines from Charleston, New Jersey blueberry jam homemade by the bride and her grandmother and of course crab chips, a Maryland favorite.

The ceremony took place outside overlooking the Wye River. Pre-ceremony cocktails allowed guests to mingle until ready for the ceremony to start. As the couple walked back up the aisle they were showered in rose petals and olive leaves. During cocktail hour guests sipped on signature cocktails named after the bride and grooms pets, such as Pippa’s Prosecco Punch featuring a silhouette cut out of the bride’s Persian cat Pippa.

In lieu of a tent top, guests dined al fresco under a vine-covered structure and antiqued bronze chandeliers. Signature cocktails were named after the couple’s two pets and featured a silhouette cutout of each. Lauren and Randy danced their first dance together to The Four Season’s, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” a tribute to the groom’s Jersey roots. Place settings featured Art Italica plates with gold matte flatware and menu’s tucked into vellum envelopes with each guest name delicately calligraphed and sealed with a custom wax seal of the local Wye Oak tree. Green vine and a flower also adorned each place setting. Dinner included fresh ingredients from local farms and featured a Chesapeake rockfish and Old Bay rubbed sirloin. Lauren wanted each guest to enjoy the food that reminded her of home.

The head table featured a white paper runner with Lauren’s favorite poem from Pablo Neruda calligraphed on each end. This was covered with a hand dyed silk runner from silk and willow. The cake was a lemon elderflower cake decorated with white bas relief and green sugar vines. Guests also indulged in a local favorite, Smith Island cake, a traditional cake in Maryland with a true love story history.

Photography: Abby Jiu Photography | Event Design: Lauryn Prattes Styling and Events | Floral Design: Sweet Root Village | Gown: Berta Bridal | Bakery: Buttercream Bakeshop | Makeup: Carl Ray Makeup Artist | Hair: Jewel Hair Design | Calligraphy: Spurle Gul Studios | Ceremony Music: Two Rivers Chamber Music | Venue: Wye River Estate | Tent: Sugarplum Tents | Custom Dyed Silk Ribbon: Honey Silks And Company | Invitation : Cavanaugh Press | Linens: Nuage Designs | Reception Band: Jump Street with East Coast Entertainment | Rentals: Party Rental LTD | Vintage Rentals, Custom Bar and China: White Glove Rentals

© Style Me Pretty, 2017. | Permalink | Comments | Add to del.icio.us Post tags: Post categories: Real Weddings, The Blog