#yes i did graffiti the bus station

[ymdslf]

will you be an anarchist with me?

#boygenius #lucy dacus #the hold that timefighter has on me istfg #timefighter #not strong enough #ft my terribly drawn tooth #seriously why are teeth so weird #yes i did graffiti the bus station #what you gonna do about it

[samwritesforyou]

ARMY ZIP drabbles

JOURNEY

you and joon have been pretty close friends since you first came to this new highschool. your family has been moving around a lot, so you never stayed long in any schools, until this one.

your mom eventually got to know namjoon’s mother and they became friends as well.

there were always some activities for your class, and one day it was a trip for the whole day, where teachers took all of you to the place that was very similar to some kind of jungle.

it was no surprise to find this type of  surroundings in australia, so nobody was really super stoked by it.

but the exciting part was, that your main partner for the day was joon, and together you’d get lost, just enjoying each other’s company.

to avoid punishment, joon took the situation under his control and called the teacher in charge, bluntly lying about the fact that you two have gone home already. you two didn’t mind spending more time together, especially in this beautiful scenery.

after all you’d find your way out of there and joon would walk you home from the bus station, because it already got dark, and he would give you his grey jacket, because you said under your breath a silent, “how much colder can it be..”

your mom was waiting for you on the porch already - pretty mad - and joon took all the blame on himself, apologising and saying that you two got lost because of him.. she actually forgave the both of you and even invited joon to stay for a cup of tea.

the whole time beside the dinner table you couldn’t take your eyes off him, and he did the same, captivating your eyes with his..

in the hall you were just simply talking about how much fun the whole day was and you both ended up in a warm hug towards the end of your conversation.

since you’re both still underage, your mom makes a firm statement that she will drive namjoon to his own home and as you waved him goodbye you were smiling, because.. damn, he forgot to take his jacket back from you. and you couldn’t help yourself but realise that it smelled just exactly like him.. like home.

PERFECT

yoongi was this perfect friend. you didn’t know him for too long, but it didn’t matter. your personalities clicked and you started to spend a lot of time together.

he was the best baseball player in the whole school and you were fortunate enough to always be by his side, whenever some victory happened.

but what you missed on - in the early stages of your friendship - were the losses, the bad things that happened.

one day you were just passing by the slightly opened door of the changing rooms, when you heard a slight whimper.

you immediately stopped and carefully peeked through the crack, trying to inspect who’s inside.

you saw light hair and a small posture, crouched on the floor near the lockers, shuddering their shoulders, with arms wrapped around their knees, as they desperately tried to hide the sounds that sometimes escaped their lips.

it didn’t take you long to realise who it was..

“yoongi?..” you called, softly, opening the door further and making your way inside.

“i fucked it up.. i fucked it all up,” was all he said, burying his head even tighter to his knees.

so he wasn’t perfect, after all, huh? everyone kept painting yoongi as this cold and professional kid, but they just never got to see the more emotional and vulnerable side of him.

perhaps he didn’t let them see it.

didn’t want them to see it.

but he let you. and when you dropped down on the floor next to him, consoling him and patting his hair, he let you.

when you leaned towards him, he started to cry even harder, letting his emotions out, and finally felt how it was to be truly supported by someone.

that’s what true friends do, right? being here for each other in good and bad times.

ZOMBIE

it was the end of it all. the world has gone insane since last week, when a massive zombie virus broke out... somehow.. to the whole world.

Nobody knows exactly what or how it happened, but even though everyone was fairly “educated” on the apocalypse matter from all the movies and books, loads of people were still getting turned on a daily basis.

in other words, it was terrifying, and not as adventurous as in the fiction.

you were fortunate enough to find yourself, after days on the road, in the abandoned house, still filled with some leftover foods around.

you just did your evening routine and came back to your “room”, where you stood by a small window, looking out and trying to concentrate your attention on the lightest of sounds.

and you finally heard it. a zombie was approaching from the hallway, their grunting clear as day for your careful hearing.

you had no weapon, no help around..

you didn’t know exactly what was your plan, but.. something will have to do.

you grabbed the nearest brick into your palm and squeezed hard, getting nervous.

the undead person already came into the view, feeling your presence and moving in your direction.

when there were only a few meters between the two of you, the gunshot blazed through the air.

the body fell to the floor and you saw a man standing in the hallway, rifle in his strong hands.

“hey.. you okay?” a man said, fixing his freshly dyed purple hair.

“yeah..”

“good. i think you could use a friend in this apocalypse,” a man smirked and gave you a bag with some food, by this making a peace pact between you.

STREET

hoseok was an international student from korea, who was studying art and dancing majors.

you were friends for some time already, but both of you never had time to actually hang out outside of the school grounds.

you were into filmmaking and your study hours were crazy, to say the least.

but finally, summer holidays were approaching. you didn’t make any plans, because most of your friends went travelling, and your buddies from the dorms were supposed to leave to go back to their lovely families.. you just didn’t have that.

one of the final days of the semester before the big break, you were just wandering around the campus, finally having nothing to do, after months of hard work..

and suddenly your phone rang. it startled you, on the screen showing “hoseok” with his number underneath it.

you picked it up, of course.

“hey, are you in town?” you heard an exciting tone on the other end.

“yes, actually..”

“wanna hang out? come to that park near the school, in 20 minutes?”

and it was settled. when you dragged your ass over there, you came perfectly on time and hoseok was already waiting for you, sitting on top of the many big cans that were laying around here.

he simply handed you the graffiti colour. you couldn’t help yourself but to make a surprised expression, but took the paint anyways.

“let’s create something!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and started to dance around, filling the walls with some slogans and pictures of all sorts.

he noticed you hesitating at first, and gently put his elegant hand on your back.

“heyy,  don’t be afraid, it’s my first time with this kind of medium too! i just figured we could do something for the first time together and not worry about the result that much, most important thing is just having fun, isnt it?” he smiled at you warmly, and you just couldn’t help it and put your arm towards the wall, spraying his name on it.

YOUNG

it was one of those days, when everything seems quiet, slow and kind of lazy.. it was just another weekend in your small city, far far away from all the excitement of the bigger metropolis.

you were fortunate enough to meet one of the closest people in your life here, though.

you came over to jimin’s place, as you have previously agreed on.

he made you some tea. kettle boiled in the silence of his apartment and you smiled at each other, when he picked your favourite kind.

you knew each other well. and jimin knew even better about your current struggles, as of the problem that you’re trying to become a tattoo artist, but it wasn’t quite working out yet.

he was always trying to help and make things better.

so when you ended up in his room, he took out a marker from his pencil-case and showed it to you, excitedly.

“what should i do with it?” you chuckled, but sadness still prevailed on your face.

“draw on me,” he simply said and put the tool firmly into your hand, “imagine i’m the canvas and you’re about to ink my skin.”

“okay..” it seemed a little weird and embarrassing at first, but after a while you both got fully into it and your passion literally blossomed in front of his eyes and reflected there as beautiful sparkles.

���youth?..” he asked, looking at his arm, with a genuine warm smile.

“youth. let’s never forget about this. when we’re still young, you know?” you smiled and then jimin started laughing with his angelic voice.

“i like it! write more, please..”

you ended up writing things like “i  me”, “happy song :)” and a big “nevermind” in some really rough, but pretty font on his ribs.

“i really like this one..” jimin said, truly amazed.

and a few years later, after you’ve finally made it out of the small town and owned your own tattoo studio, jimin came with a request of nevermind on his ribs.

MAFIA

it was really risky to try and accomplish this mission and you knew it.

there were literally myths and stories going around this mafia, especially their leader.

nobody never described how he looked, just that he was ruthless and never spared their enemies.

all the other heads of gangs had exceptions for some people, but not him.

and when you were caught, illegally transporting some dangerous.. “items” by one of his people, you were immediately captured. this wasn’t supposed to happen and now you knew your fate.

you were held hostage for some days, but now you’re finally on the way to meet the master head behind all of this.

you were pushed into this luxurious room, doors closing loudly behind you. but it was empty..

after the uncomfortable silence the backdoor of this strange place opened and you saw him come in.

his expression was grim and intimidating, but changed in a heartbeat when your eyes met.

“taehyung?..” your voice cracked in between the pronunciation of his name and you were just.. astounded.

you were close friends until last two years, because you suddenly lost contact with each other.

“are you okay?” he immediately rushed to you, uncuffed your hands and wrapped you in a warm hug, dropping his stern facade this instant. in that second all your memories from when you were younger and just having fun together popped up in your head and you couldn’t help but only hug him tighter.

when you pulled away after a while, you cupped his cheeks with your hands and stared into his eyes, “how the fuck did you get into all of this mess?”

you just wanted him to stay this innocent and pure boy you always knew..

“i should ask you the same thing then,” he frowned his brows and pouted.

“i guess we’ll have to figure it out somehow..” you turned your head towards the doors, that slowly clicked as someone was clearly ears dropping you.

“now it’s only you and me, partner.”

MESSENGER

you were just an ice cream truck worker, giving out yet another frozen treat to a happy family in front of your face. ugh. you didn’t like your job one bit. but what can you do in summer, when you don’t have enough money from your usual income like drawing or writing articles, right? next second you look up from your phone and another customer is standing there. “can i get some ice, please? just ice,” he says firmly and tries to keep up a smile, but it breaks a few times, because the man looks genuinely injured on the side of his head. “are you sure? you should call a doctor for that-“ you can’t even finish your sentence when he just pulls his hand into the ice-cubes container himself and pushes it against his temple, part of the ice melting and some of it falling down. suddenly he’s checking his phone and then frantically looks around, not loosing his cool image. then his eyes dart back at you and he says, “do you think i can hide behind the truck? you’d still stand there so its not suspicious that the truck is here by itself?” he really seemed to be in a hurry, so you just nodded your head yes and he was already crouching next to you, in a still position. soon a group of bulky men appeared, coming to you and asking if you havent seen a younger guy with longer brown hair, tattoos and piercings. you have, and he has been hiding just next to your legs. “no, i’m sorry,” you said with an innocent smile and eventually they went away. when the air was clear, the man finally stepped away and most adorable smile appeared on his face. he was holding a small transparent package, full of white crystals. from all the happiness he kissed the package and then patted you a little awkwardly on the shoulder. “thank you so much for covering me. i’m jeongguk, by the way,” he stretched his tattooed arm towards you and you shook hands. “can i get an ice cream now?” he said, a little bit embarrassed, as he stood in front of the truck now, like a normal customer.

#namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts army zip #army zip #army zip 2020 #bts drabble

[subasekabang]

i've got some falling to do

Title: i’ve got some falling to do Rating: T Word Count: 8,020 Pairings/Characters: Neku Sakuraba, Joshua Kiryu Warnings: near character death, implied character death, injury Summary: Seven days after Neku’s returned to the UG, he receives a text that sends a chill down his spine. The Composer needs help. You’re the only one who can do it. Partner: @sugarsomg, desiquiche Author’s Note: Many thanks to @beyondworldborders for… practically writing a good portion of this. She’s my go-to Neku dialogue person. She also betad! neku-phones-sakuraba also gave this a once over and pointed out a lot of spelling and grammar errors. Title from Lemon Demon

The soda tastes sharp on Neku’s tongue as he leans back on the bench, gaze flitting around from person to person. The condensation slicks the cardboard cup in his hand, stealing his attention from the way the crowd threatens to overwhelm him. The Shibuya crowd is as loud as ever, but it doesn’t really bother him anymore, not like it used to. He likes the reassurance that people can see him, can feel him on the off chance that he shifts a little too close to another and accidentally shoulder checks someone. It’s a reminder that he’s alive, that the breath pulled through his lungs isn’t just due to muscle memory. His free hand raises to grip at the familiar weight of his headphones around his neck, but his fingers only curl around air.

Right. He sort of left his limited edition CAT headphones in the middle of the Shibuya Scramble Crossing when he’d woken up on the pavement for a fourth time to find that he was alive after-

Well. Neku’s in high spirits. He’s had a good day. No thoughts of the past are going to wreck that.

It’s been seven days since he’d miraculously come back to life after his three long weeks fighting for his right to existence in the second, hidden layer of reality hidden right on top of Shibuya. For seven long days Neku has sat anxiously on the bench at the statue of Hachiko, hoping and praying to the maybe-god he knows there is that his friends are okay and will show up to greet him. He had almost given up hope by the seventh day, but seventh days had always been so monumental when it came to Neku and his friends. If they were going to show, it would be today.

And sure enough, Beat and Rhyme and even Shiki in her unfamiliar body with that very familiar smile had finally shown up- a week from the Game at Hachiko, just as promised. Their presence had lifted a weight from his chest, let a smile grow wide on his face as Beat snagged him around the neck, as Rhyme showed him her bell with glee, as Shiki had shoved Mr. Mew into Neku’s arms in order to talk animatedly with her hands as she discussed her reunion with Eri and her family. It had been a good day spent with his friends. Now it’s late, nearly dark, and Neku’s friends have headed back to their homes. Neku stopped for a drink, wanting to revel in the moment just for a bit longer- and to linger just for a few more moments, to give that one person just a few more seconds to pop in unexpectedly with that light step, that lazy swagger to his movements.

Neku still isn’t sure that he even wants to see him, but he does want to know that Joshua is okay, despite everything. He realizes now that Joshua had spent their week together within the Game intentionally hand feeding him bits and pieces of information, showing him where to go to jack Shibuya- from Joshua. He still isn’t sure what it means. Why give Neku the chance to shoot him, in those final moments in that dark grey room, if all Joshua wanted was to be done with Shibuya? Neku would have thought that he’d failed whatever test Joshua was levering against him when he faltered at pulling the trigger on the boy he’d come to think of as a friend.

So why is everything still standing?

Why does Neku hope to hear that gratingly self-satisfied voice so badly?

Neku can’t understand- it’s impossible to. But he knows he isn’t seeing Joshua anytime soon, much less tonight, so he pulls himself to his feet with a heavy sigh to begin the walk home, one hand shoved into his pocket to fiddle with the black lacquered pin he keeps tucked away. He absently chews on the straw of his drink as he ambles through the busy Shibuya streets, headed to the station to take his train line home. He reaches for his pocket when his phone buzzes with a text. Probably just Shiki or Rhyme letting him know they got home… safe…?

Unknown The Composer needs help. You’re the only one who can do it.

Unknown Immediately

The soda cup cracks open and spills along the concrete as Neku breaks into a run towards the station.

Neku’s lungs are burning by the time he reaches the sewers that Joshua had so carefully led him to during the Game. It’s as dark and dank and cold as he remembers, the sound of his feet echoing down the tunnels so loud it sounds like gunshots in his head. He half expects another barrier pulled up to keep him out, to keep him from making sure that stupid asshole is alive- or existing, or whatever.

But no, the door to that weird retro underground club is open, cracked open with a flip flop of all things stuck in the doorway so it doesn’t swing shut and activate the padlock again. A bubble of anxiety wells and pops in Neku’s chest. What is this? Is someone here to hurt Joshua? Or is this the person who messaged him to help Josh? He doesn’t understand what’s going on.

What if this is another of Joshua’s Games?

Neku takes a deep breath and shoves the door open, barreling into that same retro lounge he’d once been forced to fight Shiki in. It’s quiet, near silent except for the hum of the refrigerator behind the bar. No sign of anything or anyone. The schools of fish in the walls and floor continue to swim idly, completely undisturbed. It seems like a normal lounge. It all sets Neku’s nerves on edge.

Neku silently pads into the room, every muscle aching with how tense he feels. Okay, room empty. Where’s the jackass then? His heartbeat thunders in his ears, reminding him that yes, he’s alive.

Which, Neku realizes as he searches the room to find no one around and no other exits except the one he entered through, means he’s in the RG. That huge wooden door that Neku had to scan for isn’t open for him now. His Player Pin is dead without whatever energy the UG carries within it, nothing more than a token of his trials. He pulls the tiny pin out anyway and clenches it tight in his hand, breathing in deep and closing his eyes as he opens his senses.

…

Nothing calls out to him, nothing shifts in his mind or pokes at his attention. No stray thoughts or Noise distract him from the solitude of his own head. There’s nothing. It’s what he’s always tried to achieve.

Now it only reminds him of that last day, barreling through a still Shibuya to finally regain his life.

With a snarl of frustration, Neku’s eyes snap open. No door. Nothing has changed whatsoever except for the speeding up of his pulse hammering away, the shaking of his hands that want to fight doing nothing to calm him.

“How the hell am I supposed to save him if I can’t even get in?” Neku shouts into the empty air, raking a hand through his hair. He stomps a foot, fish scattering in alarm underfoot. Something is wrong, he can feel it in the air. If Joshua were okay he’d have appeared already to taunt him, right?

Why Neku, did you miss me so badly today that you had to break into my home?

Yeah, jackass.

“Please,” Neku whispers into the empty air, eyes closing once again. Panic has his chest tightening. Joshua needs him, he can feel it through whatever connection has been left between them, right? So why is he being forced to just sit here? What if he’s already too late? “Please let me in.”

With bated breath, he opens his eyes once again. Relief, strong enough to send him nearly to his knees, surges through him as he sees a tall, oaken door standing before him.

The panic in his chest curls tighter and tighter with every step closer he takes, has him hesitating as he shoves past the heavy doors. What is going on? This… doesn’t feel like him. He’s done this before, he’ll be fine. He has to be fine. Joshua has to be fine.

Why does he even care about the bastard anyway? What has Joshua ever done for him, really?

Graffiti rushes past him as his aching feet carry him deeper and deeper back to that fateful spot he and Joshua had last seen one another- that smirking grin, the smoke wisping off of the barrel of the gun. Three weeks of hell, just for that. What if this is just another of those stupid games of his?

Trust your partner.

Well. It’s gotten him this far, if with an extra bullet scar to his chest. He can trust CAT’s words one last time.

Besides, he can hear screaming.

Neku feels what’s wrong before he can actually see it, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rising as something that he would describe as feeling like static dances across his skin and through his veins? What the hell? Is that Noise? That’s one hell of an energy spike for even a dangerous Noise.

But then Neku stumbles into that throne room and immediately has to throw his arm up over his eyes, squinting as a bright light nearly blinds him. Wind whips around the epicenter of this glow, tugging at his hair and his clothes and his heart. “What the hell?”

He plants his feet and squints through the bright light, grinding his teeth together through the pain as something deep in him tells him to get out, go, run. But he can’t because there in the middle of this power, this personal storm wrapped around him, is a tall figure with broad shoulders, curled over in pain and mouth open to scream, a pair of white fluffy wings sprouting from his back and flexing as if to try to pull the figure free from the storm. Neku can really only recognize him by the sight of that messy, curly hair and that connection that urges him closer, urges him to help. His partner is in pain.

“Joshua!” Neku grits his teeth and tries to take a step forward, only to be buffeted back by the power. He snarls and firmly plants his foot forward, then again, determination settling in his chest. He could turn back, return to the life Joshua gave back to him and forget this storm is happening, give in to the fear and anxiety and live like the ignorant RG person he is. Neku scoffs and takes a third step, bringing himself that much closer to his bastard of a partner. “Like hell I’m giving up on you after everything! You hear me, Josh?”

The storm seems to shudder in response, lessening slightly. That head lifts weakly, showing glazed, blank eyes that close in… resignation? No, that feels wrong. The Joshua he knows wouldn’t be giving up. What’s happened to him to get him here?

The fear curls up again as Neku fights his way through the storm. What’s to keep Joshua from killing him again, or this power that surges back up to meet his forward progress? His hands are shaking.

To think this is how he sees his partner again. No smarmy sudden howdy, Neku from around a street corner, or the bastard showing up suddenly to their friend gathering. No, Neku has to save his ass from whatever the hell this is. Fucker. He wants to yell at this idiot until his throat is hoarse, to yank him from this oppressive static clinging to him and hold him tight in relief. But Neku has to get Joshua free before he can do anything. Stupid.

“Get down here!” With another snarl, Neku shoves forward and plunges his hands into the glowing mass, eyes widening when his hands sink in to settle around a familiar wrist, a wrist he’d grabbed and dragged around Shibuya when his partner hadn’t wanted to participate in the mission. Neku grits his teeth and tightens his grip, thrusting his other hand in to snag Joshua’s shoulder. The form under this glowing feels like the kid he knows, the bastard who would giggle and taunt him. But it’s wrong, trembling under the power he’s trapped in. Static pricks along Neku’s arm, stinging warningly as if to make him release his prize. Neku shakes his head and ignores how he can’t feel his arm. “Damn it, I’m not letting go! That’s my partner!”

Neku grits his teeth and yanks, pulling Joshua free of the storm that tries to cling tight to it’s Composer. When he pulls that trembling hand free first, the white glow seems to peel away and leave a small, pale hand behind. Sure enough, as Neku hauls Joshua down from the epicenter and safe into his arms, static fizzles out and pops off of the tall form of what Neku can only assume is the Composer, leaving nothing more than the small teenager that Neku thought he knew so well leaning helplessly against his chest. Large feathered wings, disheveled and shuddering, hang limp from his friend’s back, drag against the ground as Neku quickly backs away from the storm that had possessed Joshua. White feathers rip free, pulled by the storm, and vanish upon hitting the ground. Joshua shudders in his arms and weakly looks up at him.

Joshua blinks hazily up at Neku, limp against his chest. His voice breaks when he speaks, hoarse from screaming if Neku had to guess. “N..?”

“Josh…” He looks exactly the same, right down to his clothing choices. But he also looks completely different, torn and beaten to hell and back from whatever was trying to rip him apart up there. Around his neck, hair tangled in the headband, lies a large pair of purple and grey headphones, battered and beaten from years of heavy use and worn from love. What the hell? Neku had tossed those things to the ground as soon as he’d realized he was alive. How did Josh end up with them? Why is he wearing them?

Questions for later. Are they safe?

Neku glances up warrily. The storm is just… gone, after its victim has been freed. Neku looks back down at his rescue in his arms. What was that? What’s been happening for the last week? Why does Joshua look dead on his feet? Neku frowns. “Are you okay?”

“I-” Joshua coughs, turning his face away from Neku’s. Everything about the boy in his arms looks worn and beaten. Dark circles cling to beneath his eyes. When’s the last time Josh slept? Does he even need to sleep? He sure looks it. His cheek rests heavily against Neku’s shoulder, tired gaze searching the dark corners of the large stone room. Neku follows his gaze, but can’t find anything. “I’m fine.”

Joshua seems to sigh, almost resigned as he tries to straighten up. Neku slowly lowers his arms, a hand resting between his partner’s shoulder blades- between those wings- as he wobbles, unsteady on his feet. The wings flare a bit, as if to steady him, but Joshua grits his teeth and they slump back to the ground. Neku frowns. Does that hurt him?

“You look like you’re about to keel over.” Neku scowls back at Joshua’s dirty look sent his way. It’s true. “What happened? What was that?”

“I am.” Joshua licks at his lips, gaze still slightly unfocused. Neku’s tempted to wave his finger in front of his eyes to see if he can track it. The blond leans in against the supportive touch to his back. “About to keel over, that is. It seems, Neku, that you’ve…” Joshua wobbles and raises a shaking hand to his shoulder, rolling out the joint a bit. He laughs sardonically under his breath. “It seems you’ve interrupted my execution.”

“Your what?” Neku asks sharply, baffled. As per usual with Joshua, every answer to a question only raises five more answers he needs. Joshua just cringes back at the noise, head falling back as his eyes squeeze closed. The guy looks like he’s about to drop, frail and ready to shatter. This isn’t the Joshua he knows.

Neku presses his lips into a firm line and gently takes Joshua by his upper arm, urging him towards that large throne at the back of the room. “C’mon, sit down.”

Joshua digs his heels in when Neku tries to pull him deeper into the room, shaking his head. He’s trembling in Neku’s grip, nearly collapsing in his attempt to pull back from where Neku’s leading him. Neku nearly lets him fall in surprise as panic flashes across Joshua’s worn expression, gaze locked onto the cold stone. “No, no, not there. The couch, in the Pad, but not here.”

“Okay, okay… not there. Got it.” Neku reaches for Joshua again, feeling almost like he’s reaching for a scared animal. What happened to him? He frowns and winds his arm around Joshua’s thin wait and drapes his arm across his shoulders. A little barbed tease about how Joshua needs his help rests on the tip of his tongue, laced with fury, but Neku swallows it down. He’ll have plenty of time to get mad at Joshua later. “C’mon, lean on me. You said we’re going to the pad?”

That has to be the weird western retro looking room outside of those invisible doors. What’s with that thing anyway?

Joshua gives Neku a blank look, reluctance in his eyes as he nods and leans against Neku. His gaze flits over one more time to the far wall, searching the dark corners, before falling to watch where he’s placing his feet. Must be taking a lot of concentration, Neku guesses, even with the way Joshua’s leaning his weight against Neku. Those pitiful, ruffled wings that look like they should be fluffy and bright drape over his arm and drag along the ground as they slowly make their way through the graffiti halls back to the RG. Joshua’s silent along the walk except for a tiny muttered curse when he trips over his own feet.

“Careful,” Neku mutters, pulling Joshua closer. This feels wrong, seeing Joshua so exhausted and practically defeated like this. The last time he’d seen his partner, the jackass had been smirking at him over the smoking barrel of a gun. He looked like he’d had the world resting in the palm of his hand, content and satisfied with how his plans had gone. But this Joshua looks like he’s on his last legs, tossed to hell and back and only clinging on to existence for some determined reason only he knows. Neku lowers Joshua carefully to the couch when they finally make it into that glaringly bright room, despite the urgency in his nerves. “There we go…”

Joshua blinks up slowly at Neku as he sinks into the couch, a grimace pulling at his lips as those long, wilted wings get pressed against the back. His eyes slide closed for a moment, brows knitting together in what Neku has to assume is pain, and the wings seem to simply fizzle out of existence. Neku can’t quite even focus on where they would be on the couch anymore. Huh.

Long, pale fingers are pulling at a thick blanket draped over the arm of the couch, but Neku can see how much effort it takes his once proud partner to even tug the blanket over himself. He exhales slowly through his nose, but looks around to find a distraction. He draws the line at tucking his murderer in. 

Neku turns away, gripping his arm. What now? He’s got questions, so so many questions, but he doesn’t even know where to begin, much less how to get the answers out of Josh when his partner knows so well how to run Neku in circles.

His gaze lands on the bar on the far side of the room. Neku’s feet take off before he can process the thought, taking him behind the bar to search through the various glass bottles lined up against the wall. He can feel Joshua’s curious gaze tracking his movements, sending the hairs on his neck standing on end. Neku scoffs. “Do you have nothing but wine and liquor here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Neku,” Joshua murmurs lightly. He sounds so tired, but there’s a little more life to his voice now that he’s sitting down. Neku rolls his eyes. Who’s the ridiculous one here? “We have plenty of soda and juice back there for mixers.”

“I’m looking for water, dumbass,” Neku snips back, kneeling to investigate the minifridge stashed beneath the bar. He pops open the stainless steel door and breathes a sigh of relief. Behind a neat stack of soda and juices stands a few bottles of water. Neku snags one and grabs a soda for himself before standing with a groan and looking at his ex partner.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the blond look so small, curled in on himself with the thick blanket draped so carefully across him. Everything about him seems wilted, even his curly hair more tangled and limp than usual. His shoulders sag, as if those wings are still weighing him down. His gaze listlessly tracks the fish swimming through the flooring underfoot.

What’s with those things anyway? Is Joshua so far removed from humanity that he has wings? Maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised. The Reapers had wings, though they were black and gothic, skeletal and reaching. Joshua’s were long and seemed like they would spread wide if he were to extend them, feathered and full even as disheveled and painful as they looked. Joshua looked like he could have flown with them, if they were taken care of better.

Neku sighs and sets the can of soda and the bottle of water on the bar, leaning against it as he pops the tab with a quick jerk. Joshua looks up at the noise, tired violet eyes meeting Neku’s gaze. Huh. Neku’s lips turn down as he stamps down a surge of anger.

“So…” Joshua’s gaze dims even more as Neku starts off. His lips press together as Neku clears his throat. “What was that back there?”

“What was what, Neku?” Even his voice is tired, none of that cocky inflection that used to color his tone.and infuriate Neku so much. Neku needs to hear that tone again, if only so he wouldn’t feel like shit for still having the urge to deck the kid.

“That, Joshua, back in that stupid stone room.” Neku’s voice rings in the empty room, crossing the expanse between them. He’s worried about the jackass. He doesn’t know what’s going on. Is Joshua still in danger? Is Neku? He doesn’t like worrying, doesn’t like the bubble of anxiety that builds and builds and builds in his chest so he does what he always has and turns it into something else. That anger rises again. He comes all this way after missing the asshole who shot him for a solid week, and now he’s going to try and play coy? He was led like a dog to some stupid final showdown between people much more powerful than him and this is what Josh is going to try and pull in response? No. Neku grits his teeth. “What did you mean by execution? And damn it, you need to give me a straight answer this time.”

“Neku…” Joshua turns his gaze back down, expression unchanged by Neku’s outburst. He raises a delicate hand to press against his temple. He’s probably still in pain. “Now?”

“I can’t help you if you won’t share what’s going on!” Neku snatches up the drinks and marches around the bar to stand in front of the couch, facing down Joshua. He tosses the water bottle down beside Joshua, reaching behind himself to set his own soda on the table. His hands are shaking. Yelling at someone who looks like a walking corpse doesn’t feel good at all. “Why was I called here to help if you won’t even take it?”

“Called here?” Joshua blinks, expression slipping as he stares flabbergasted up at Neku. His brow furrows in as he gapes open mouthed at Neku. He clears his throat and looks away, tucking his hair behind his ear as he reschools his expression. “I don’t know of any such calling, Neku. I was a bit preoccupied.”

Right. Josh looked pretty wrapped up in that storm. Neku can’t forget those agonized screams. There’s no way he would have been able to make a phone call, much less send two different messages.

Neku can’t get over how exhausted his friend looks. The anger drains out of him all at once. With a heavy sigh, Neku flops onto the couch beside Joshua. He does relish the visible surprise on his partner’s face when he bounces for the force.

“What are you doing?”

“Staying with you.” Neku sighs and runs his hand through his bangs, shoving back the gelled spikes. “I’m making sure you’re okay. Drink some water.”

Joshua sputters when Neku reaches across him to pick up the bottle and press it against his chest through the blanket. He squirms, hands fighting free of the confines of the fabric to grip the bottle even as he protests. “I don’t need-“

“Drink. The water.” Neku snaps, crossing his arms. His gaze drifts to those headphones around Joshua’s neck. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, or anything about what’s going on in Joshua’s head, but there’s some connection between them even still that Neku has to figure out. He doesn’t know why Joshua has his headphones. But it reassured him, strangely enough. “I want to help, dumbass.”

He meets Joshua’s wide gaze. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m still pissed at you and I will be getting answers. But I trust you.” His voice softens. “I won’t leave you alone like this.”

“But…” Joshua falls silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. The fabric tightens and loosens, as if fingers are clenching at it from the inside.

Neku nudges Joshua’s shoulder. “Water.”

“This is my penance, Neku,” Joshua murmurs quietly. The plastic of the water bottle snaps as he twists the cap off. Joshua pulls his feet up onto the couch. Neku swears he sees his jaw trembling before he turns away. But Joshua’s voice does sound tight, like there’s something stuck in his throat. “I’m supposed to be left ‘like this,’ to be left alone.”

“That’s bullshit,” Neku spits. The quiet admission strikes a chord in him. He once thought he could live alone too, that it was fine if he kept his world borders closed to only himself. That he deserved it. But he learned differently, thanks to his friends. To Shiki, Beat, Rhyme, and yeah. Even Joshua. “I’m sitting here right now, aren’t I? You don’t have to be alone.”

Joshua’s silent for a moment.

“So chivalrous, Neku. When did that happen?” He laughs, quietly and sardonically. Neku wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Joshua, face still turned away, tucks his hair behind his ears. “What I mean, Neku, is that I am quite literally not allowed to have any unnecessary contact with anyone. A Composer’s identity is supposed to remain a secret, you know. Only the Conductor can know who he is.” Joshua’s expression falters, a dark shadow across that cutting gaze. “And the powers that be have decreed that I’m not allowed to have another. Can’t be trusted not to break my toys, apparently.”

Some kind of punishment? That makes sense, Josh did try to nuke Shibuya. Even if he changed his mind, Joshua shot him, and even he has to face some sort of consequences for that, right? Sounds like it, if he has some kind of higher tier watching his movement. They probably weren’t too crazy about Joshua apparently going renegade.

But if Joshua isn’t allowed to have any kind of contact, then who the hell called him here? Someone who would insist that Neku is Joshua’s only chance at living.

It seems like every answer Joshua deigns to give him, he only has so many more questions to give back.

“Does that have anything to do with why you were being torn apart back there?”

“Ah…” Joshua flinches, the fabric of the blanket tightening around him as if he’s squeezing himself inside his cocoon. His voice comes out as a near whisper. “Yes. As you can imagine, Shibuya was… rather dissatisfied with my actions. She wasn’t too happy with me trying to destroy her current UG and hand the reins off. So… it appears as if she decided to simply give me what I wanted.” Joshua’s breath hitches. “Really, she must have seen it as a kindness, perhaps. After all the trouble I went through.”

Joshua laughs, one of those forced giggles. He nudges Neku’s arm with his elbow. “But how lucky for me that Shibuya adores you so much.”

She? Does Shibuya have… her own personality or personification or something? Alright. Sure. Not the weirdest thing that Neku’s heard of in the last month. His mind is running a mile a minute, stumbling over itself. He frowns in response to Joshua’s playfulness and nudges him back. Joshua’s smile wavers, but he covers it up with a sip from the water bottle.

Neku’s surprised at how quickly he’s learning to read this more fragile Joshua. He’s entirely on the defensive. If Neku pressed hard enough, he might be able to get any answer he wanted.

He just wants to know if Joshua is okay.

“So Shibuya was mad that you tried to nuke it- her.” Neku rubs the back of his neck. “But what? Adores me? What does that mean?”

“You spent three weeks tromping all across her UG, meeting the challenges set by her denizens and spreading your influence. You left a bit of you, Neku, near everywhere you went.” Joshua just laughs softly when Neku stares, flabbergasted at him. “It’s only natural that she would grow to love you. The same way that you grew to love her, no?”

“I… guess you’re not wrong.” Neku shifts uncomfortably, lacing his fingers together to hang loosely as he leans forward on his knees for support. He used to hate this city, hate its ideals and the noise and the crowds that made it all clash. But Shibuya is his home. The Game taught him to appreciate it, to listen to people and see how their differences make it a better city. “So… what are you saying? Shibuya led me here?”

“No.” Joshua shakes his head. The tiniest and most honest smile Neku has ever seen on Joshua’s face curls his lips. “And if my suspicions are correct, I can’t tell you who did. That’s beyond my jurisdiction. Normally that wouldn’t stop me, but I’m trying to get time off for good behavior.” He laughs- forced again- and tucks his hair behind his ear. “No, Neku, Shibuya was trying to kill me. Why would she lead you here?”

“I don’t know.” Joshua just sounds so resigned. He’s never heard him sound like this before. Neku feels helpless. “Because she knew I would try and save you?”

Joshua freezes beside him, the plastic of the bottle crinkling. Neku turns to glance at Joshua, catching only a glimpse of wide eyed confusion just as his head snaps away. Joshua shakes his head as if to clear it. “Ah, well. Of course, I’m very grateful to still be sitting here.”

“Will it happen again?” Neku takes Joshua’s momentary tension as a yes. Joshua’s clearly trying to hide his reactions and expressions as he usually does, but nearly dying must affect the amount of effort one can put into that.

“I have to assume so,” Joshua murmurs. He sighs. “A Composer is not meant to be without a Conductor. A Conductor not only serves as his Composer’s link to the Reapers and makes sure the Game goes smoothly, but he also helps to assist the Composer in guiding and mitigating the sheer power of the city that runs through the Composer. And as I don’t have a Conductor, I have to try and handle all this power on my own. Add Shibuya’s anger to that and…”

And Joshua doesn’t have long, Neku finishes silently. Joshua’s set back into the couch by this point, gaze tipped idly towards the floor. His partner looks sleepy, of all things. Guess that makes sense. Neku follows his line of sight and isn’t at all surprised to find him watching the fish again. He wonders what Joshua is thinking. He’s lost the one person who was allowed to know him. And now he’s fucking dying because of it.

“There has to be something we can do…” Neku offers weakly, mind racing. Joshua doesn’t deserve to die. He firmly believes that, even as the snarled knots of dual scars in his chest twinge at the thought. He still doesn’t quite know what Joshua was thinking during the Game (what did he mean, Shibuya was going to give him what he wanted? Shibuya was killing-). But it all worked out, in the end. He didn’t destroy Shibuya. He even restored it. Rhyme’s back, and she lost fair and square. Neku’s even pretty sure that he saw a poster for a Def March concert pop up a couple days ago. Josh did all that.

Neku runs a hand over his mouth. Could he…?

“You need a Conductor, right? They won’t give you one and aren’t exactly giving you the chance to appoint a new one.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but essentially that’s the gist.” Joshua tiredly lifts a hand, letting his fingers drift through his own hair. His shoulder leans just a bit more heavily against Neku’s. Neku sits back to support him better. Joshua sighs heavily. “So I’m quite out of luck, you see.”

So if Joshua gets a new Conductor, he’ll live. Those higher ups of his have made it so Josh can’t find a new one. Probably fair enough, considering what happened to his last one.

Neku has to be crazy to be thinking what he’s thinking, then.

“What if I was your Conductor?”

Joshua’s head snaps around, wide startled eyes clashing against Neku’s calm gaze. Jaw dropped, Joshua stares. Neku almost has time to find amusement in it when Joshua’s gaze narrows. “Are you an idiot, Neku?” Joshua snaps through grit teeth. Neku’s almost offended by the venom in Joshua’s voice. “You hated every second you spent in the UG.”

“Not every second,” Neku mumbles. It’s where he met his friends, including Josh. He would still be a lonely, abrasive asshole if he wasn’t forced into the Game. It doesn’t mean he forgives Joshua, and he’s going to punch him as soon as he can without knocking the Composer flat on his ass. But he can’t let him die like this.

“Nonetheless, you don’t even know what you’re trying to sign up for.” Joshua spits, shaking his head. He scowls at Neku, glaring. “Are you always so impulsive?”

“No,” Neku answers plainly. But he’s not thinking about himself right now. He hasn’t thought about if he wants back into the Game, even if he isn’t a player. All he can see are those wings that had dragged against the ground, the way they had shed feathers all across the ground like tears. Joshua could die. Neku can’t just sit back and watch something like that happen again. “But I can’t just do nothing.”

“You absolutely can Neku.” Joshua sighs. “I’m simply dealing with what I’m owed.”

Neku frowns and scoots closer to Joshua. Josh leans away for a moment, but looks down as he slumps against Neku’s shoulder. Neku clears his throat. “Your face deserves to meet my fist, but you don’t deserve an execution.”

“Don’t I?” Joshua tips his head back, leaning just a little bit more against Neku’s shoulder. He runs his tongue across his teeth, clearly deep in thought. “… do it.”

“What the fuck, Josh,” Neku spits. A surge of hot anger runs through him. What kind of jackass does Joshua think he is? “I’m not going to punch you right now. Do you think I’m that shitty?”

“You said I deserve it. Get it over with,” Joshua says simply with another infuriating shrug. “I’m waiting.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Neku bites, leaning away from Joshua. He grits his teeth. “Don’t fucking toy with me, Joshua. I’ve got some things I want to say, but it can wait until after I help you.”

Joshua scoffs. “You do still have all of your memory, yes? I know I haven’t taken anything I didn’t give back to you. Why would you help me at all?”

“Because you’re my friend, damn it!” Why the hell is Joshua being so difficult? Is this another of his stupid games? Neku’s anger burns hot in his chest. “I haven’t forgiven you, if that’s what you’re asking, but we’re still friends. I don’t want you to die. If you need me to become your Conductor for that, I’ll do it.”

It probably isn’t that simple. But in this moment it feels like it is. Maybe the Game won’t be so bad if he has some control over it.

“I don’t get friends, Neku,” Joshua hisses. A sympathetic pang runs through Neku’s chest, quenching some of the fire. He’s… shaking. Neku’s eyes widen as their gazes clash. Is Joshua… afraid? “Apparently I have a tendency to get them erased. You should run while you still can.”

Josh… wants him to get mad, Neku realizes. Is he trying to push him away? Well. Like hell is Neku doing anything that Joshua wants. He crosses his arms. “You don’t get a say on people caring about you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“You do realize what you’re volunteering for, yes?” Joshua sneers. He’s clearly shaken. This can’t be one of Joshua’s games. Neku doesn’t think he’d ever voluntarily look so weak. “Did you like the taste of metal so much, Neku?”

Neku’s breath hitches and his chest seizes up. He hasn’t forgotten what being shot felt like, or the ring of gunfire through Joshua’s pistol. He fought so hard to come back to life. He doesn’t want to die again, he just found friends, a new goal, things to live for! But he can’t leave Joshua like this… Josh is his friend too. But Neku can’t swallow around the taste of metal in his lungs, can’t hear around the thunder of gunshot in his ears.

But then there’s a hesitant weight against his shoulder, a warmth to distract him from the memory. Neku blinks and looks down to find Joshua facing  away, but leaning to brace his back against Neku’s shoulder. He’s pulled both legs up onto the couch, knees to his chest with the blanket wrapped around him as he faces away completely from Neku. Is Josh… trying to comfort him? Neku can’t see his expression like this. It’s odd, but not unpleasant.

“What would I have to do? As Conductor.”

“That’s classified information.” Joshua sinks deeper into his blanket. If Neku had to guess, that petulant gaze is locked on the fish below again. He sounds like he’s pouting. “I don’t want you as my Conductor, Neku, we’ve been over this.”

“You don’t exactly have a lot of people lining up for the position,” Neku tosses back. He frowns and leans in to press his weight against Joshua’s. A reminder that he’s there. This isn’t going to be the last time they talk. He won’t let Joshua be alone.

Joshua sighs. Neku can see the way his finger curls again and again and again in his hair. “You’d have to die again, for one, and how boring to lose your life just after having it returned to you. And then you’d have to put up with me constantly, listening to my whining and my demands and then you’d have to obey them. And most Conductors get erased in the line of fire when someone is gunning for the Composer’s position.”

Joshua’s tone is a little rushed, a little frantic. Neku can’t help but huff softly, smiling a little.

“Do you give this campaign speech to every candidate you have?” Neku snarks.

“Only the ones I don’t want.” Joshua sneers.

Neku hums in response. None of that really sounds great at all. But Joshua’s still trying to push him away. That can’t be all to it. “I’ve seen Def March in the RG. So I could still see my friends and could grab a burger here and there.” He nudges Joshua’s back. “Could grab you some of those chili dogs you like.”

Joshua’s hair pulls taut around his finger. Neku’s a little worried he’ll pull it out, but Joshua’s sigh cuts his thoughts short. “Theoretically, yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” Neku can still expand his world from UG just as well as from the RG. He can finish the murals he’s started. He wouldn’t even have to give up any goals. Except maybe graduating, but it isn’t like Neku hasn’t thought about dropping out of school before. Hell, that only sweetens the deal.

“You are unbelievably frustrating, Neku!” Joshua shouts, running a hand through his hair. Neku’s never heard the other sound so done with the situation, not even when dealing with the Grim Heaper. “I am fine. I don’t need you as my Conductor.”

“Why are you being so frustrating?” Neku shoots back, shifting to look at Joshua properly. The other boy reluctantly shifts away to meet his gaze, frowning hard. Neku’s hands start to tremble. “I know you’re in pain. Every movement projects it so hard you should just give up on trying to hide it. You’re dying, Josh, and Shibuya’s going to finish you off if you don’t let me help you. I can do that.”

Neku sighs and sits back without breaking Joshua’s gaze, even as his friend visibly flinches. “If you really don’t want me as your Conductor, then fine. But let me fill in until you find someone you can work with so that you don’t just evaporate out of existence.”

“I don’t want to kill you again, Neku!”

“What, you already killed me once for your Game. You can’t kill me now to save your own life?” Neku snaps back immediately. Joshua looks hurt, like it took everything for him to admit that. It might have. Neku doesn’t particularly care. And yeah, he’s a little bitter. He’s allowed that.

“That was before you had to go and change! Had to go and change me!” Joshua tugs at his hair with both hands, teeth ground together. Joshua’s head snaps up to meet Neku’s gaze. He looks desperate. “Why didn’t you just shoot me?”

Neku presses his lips together in a firm line, meeting the stubborn Composer’s glare with one of his own. “How could I? You put me through all kinds of hell. You stole my life. Forced me through a cruel game. You manipulated me. But I’m still trusting you despite all that. Like I keep saying.” Neku softens his voice. Joshua’s just gotten more and more visibly distressed the more he’s spoken. “You’re my friend.”

“You trusted me and I threw another bullet at you!” Joshua scowls. Neku’s struck again by how fragile he looks. A shaking kid wrapped in blankets, beaten to hell and back and… nearly crying. Joshua hiccups as he struggles to fight back tears. Neku’s heart squeezes tight in his chest. “How could you call me a friend? I don’t… I don’t understand, Neku…”

If Joshua’s trying to convince Neku that he’s a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be saved, this heartbreaking image isn’t cutting it. He just sees a lonely kid who’s been forced into even more solitude. Slowly, timidly, Neku reaches out to curl an arm around Joshua and tug him close.

“Wha-” Joshua gasps in his ear, but doesn’t fight when Neku pulls him into a tight hug. He squirms in Neku’s grip, but rests his chin on his shoulder. “N-Neku?”

“Just shut up for a second, Josh.” Neku wraps his other arm around Joshua, shifting to rest his chin on the crown of the Composer’s head. Joshua’s chest, pressed to his, is heaving and he can hear Joshua trying to take measured breaths. Neku tightens his grip. This is… really warm. He can’t remember the last time he had a hug. He squeezes his stubborn, frustrating jackass of a friend closer. Neku closes his eyes. “I missed you.”

Joshua shifts again and takes a moment to work a hand out of the blanket. Neku hides a smile in those blond curls as a tentative hand curls in the back of Neku’s shirt. Joshua sighs softly. “I’d tell you that I missed you too, but you told me to shut up.”

“Dumbass,” Neku laughs, snorting softly into Joshua’s shoulder. Damn it. He even somewhat  missed arguing with this guy. They still have a lot to work out, but Neku just can’t let him die. 

Joshua chuckles back and seems to melt into the hug for a few moments before loosening his grip. He pulls back to look at Neku, smile slipping away. Neku’s own grin falls at Joshua’s serious look. “I don’t want to have to kill you again, Neku.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not crazy about the idea either, Josh.” Neku crosses his arms. He really isn’t. He remembers the taste of metal in his mouth, the way blood had welled in his lungs. But he got Joshua to smile. It makes Neku just as happy as when he made Shiki smile today. “As long as I can see my friends again and live my life to some extent, I can handle it.”

“I suppose you will know your way around the Game by this point,” Joshua muses, the curl of his knuckles pressed to his lips in thought. Neku raises an eyebrow as Joshua laughs. “Especially as I was one of your guides.”

Is that him giving in, or bragging? Knowing Josh, probably both. Neku rolls his eyes.

“Right.” His gaze tracks Joshua’s movement as he pulls his fingers through his messy hair. His chest feels heavy. “So… we should probably get this over with quickly, yeah?”

Joshua twists his hair between his fingers. “If this is what we’re doing, then… yes, best to get this done as soon as possible, before Shibuya…” Joshua falters. Clears his throat. “Before Shibuya decides she’s tired of waiting.”

Joshua waves his hand. Neku flinches as a familiar heavy gun snaps into being in Joshua’s palm. His partner raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can handle this, Neku?”

“No,” Neku answers honestly. “But the only other choice is to let you die, right?”

Joshua nods, silent.

Neku takes a deep breath- his last one, maybe. He glances towards the padlocked door, towards the RG. Does he have any loose ends he wants to take care of as living and breathing Neku?

No, actually, nothing he hasn’t been told he’ll be able to do as Conductor. He can keep his friendships, can keep Shiki and Beat and Rhyme and he’ll be able to meet Eri eventually and he’ll be able to create still.

And he’ll be able to work out his complicated feelings towards Joshua.

“Neku?”

“What?” Neku looks up at Joshua. He holds himself up a bit better now, seeming to sit up a little straighter. One hand lightly grips the headphones draped around his neck. Neku’s a little afraid that the familiarity of the gun in his other hand is what’s bolstering Joshua’s confidence. But he kind of hopes that it’s Neku offering to be his Conductor that’s helped Joshua pull himself together. Neku raises his chin stubbornly.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot.”

#TWEWY #TWEWY Bang 2020 #The World Ends With You #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #shadowstryker #submission

[la-luna-es-hermosa]

Ang Halimaw - Kabanata Isa. Mahiwagang Gubat

Translation: The Monster - Chapter One. Enchanted Forest

※ Main Masterlist ※  Ang Halimaw Masterlist ※ Time Traveller!AU || Immortal!AU || War!AU || Filipino Mythology!AU ※ Series || Genre: Smut || Angst || Adventure || Romance || Horror ※ Pairing: Kim Jongin x OC (Paula) ※ Summary: Paula, an eighteen-year-old Filipino-American girl goes back to her province after her grandmother’s death. She will go on an adventure as she tries to find the village her late grandma grew up in. In a twist of events, she never knew that she will see her grandma’s lover and fall madly in love with him. Will he save her in his peculiar world? ※ Warning: Age Gap, Dub Con, (Technically) Incest, Swearing ※ Word Count: 1930 ※ Note: I was inspired by Miss Peregrine’s Home of The Peculiar Children and I Love You Since 1892 for this one. I can’t even sleep while writing chapter four and three on this story. - I was scared shitless. 

Grandma’s stories exploring the forbidden forest always amaze Paula. I wish I could go on an adventure of my life in a place like that. Paula never really had the chance to get out of her house most of the time since she came from an immigrant family and they aren’t living in a Filipino community. People often bullied her and her sister because they live in this white majority gated community. That often left Paula in her own world. In a world where magic, time travel existed. 

She always talked about her friend Lucille and how she fell in love with the same man Lucille treasured. The love of her life. Paula listened to her attentively. She is always curious about Lucille, the woman the Jongin fell in love with. When her grandma died at the age of 100, she left her with a box. It had a framed picture of Lucille and the said Jongin in the mansion, she was wearing a white gown and he was wearing a suit and tie. They really looked like a married couple, which they were. She wished her grandma had someone else. - That’s how she got here in the first place. That is why she walked and explored it. She wants to see it.

Grandma was the one who adopted Lucille’s son with Jongin. Her uncle Delfin. “I still remember vivid memories of running with Delfin as we got out of Chalamaria. Delfin was very small at that time.” Stella told Paula.

Ah… The polluted air of Manila. It has been a while since I saw Manila. I live in the US now. Manila is a big place, yet I don’t remember it being like this. - Maybe it’s jet lag that’s making her think that way. She held tightly on my luggage. Waiting for a taxi to get me to the bus station. Her parents refused to come with her. When the taxi arrived, it was a long ride from the airport to the hotel. She opened her phone and listened to music. Ah… She always loved the music of the 50s.

When she arrived at the bus station, she doesn’t where she’s going. She got inside the bus. She opened her phone and listened to music again. She grabbed her wallet and she smiled as she was holding her grandma’s wedding picture. She can see the woman’s smile on the picture. The bus ride was longer than the taxi. Yet it gave her rest. When she sees the lush agricultural area of her country.

When the excruciatingly long bus ride was over, she immediately had a sigh of relief as she held her small luggage with her backpack. “Where is the town of Chalamaria?” She asked the people around the nearby town. “Ask the elders. Haven���t heard that name since.” The college student said. She walked more into the town. She asked more people around. People around the nearby village always told her that the enchanted forest was a dangerous place that no one should go to. - Let alone a young and untested eighteen-year-old. She couldn't care less. She just wants this Jongin to fill in the cracks in their beautiful love story. She has so many questions unanswered by my grandmother. Anxiety started rushing in her veins. Then, only one woman came in to answer her.

“Hello?” She asked an elderly woman. The woman seemed to not hear her and continued on stirring her ube halaya. - A Filipino jam made out of purple yam, milk, and sugar. The smell is very familiar as her grandma used to make it for her. The thing definitely smelled like sweet childhood memories.

“Hello?!” She said it one more time, louder. “Yes, darling?” The woman replied. “Do you know where Chalamaria is?” She asked the lady. The woman smiled bitterly, it looked like a bad memory went to her. “Yes. According to legends, Chalamaria is a town that existed 70 years ago. It was burnt by the Japanese. Everything was gone except the ruins of the big mansion. It’s filled with monsters. Nobody wants to ever go there.” She didn’t care. Those aren’t real. - She assured herself. 

The old woman continued speaking. “Women are not allowed to enter that area.” She said to Paula. “Why?” Paula was beyond curious about why she’d say that or the fact Chalamaria doesn’t exist on google maps at all. Any map she sees, no results. Sometimes she feels her grandma is lying to her. But, there is a historical text of the said town.

“I’d still go.” She said to the elder. The elder was shocked to hear what she said. "What is she thinking?" The old woman mumbled and went back to stirring her halaya. “Young people these days…” “I never saw someone as determined as her. Well, maybe this will be the last time I will see her.”

"Why?" She asked the woman. She was stopped in her tracks. "If you're a virgin, it's a bigger warning. Virgin young girls never make it alive. We even call it the virgin paradise. Because of the virgins that never leave.” The old lady continued. When she heard of that, Paula’s heart raced even more. Knowing her grandma survived Chalamaria, she can as well. Her grandma was the only virgin who did not die on the island.

“Minseok knew that Lucille doesn’t love him.” Grandma always said. She feels pity for my grandfather, but at the same time, I feel sad for my grandma who never met her lover again. It was a pity for grandma to know they were never destined to each other.

“Before I met Junmyeon, I met a man named Kim Jongin. He was handsome, he’s a Korean man living in our country during the Japanese occupation. I was with Lucille. She fell in love with him the first sight.” The story was as old as time as I would say. She always held onto her memories. Many say Jongin is dead, but she never believed it. It still can't wrap around her head why a stupid man like Jongin would leave her grandma.

“He was incredibly handsome. Even as old as I am, I still vividly remember his beautifully sculpted form, his kissable lips, golden complexion, his irresistible charm, everything about him. He’s probably dead by now. I never went back to the forest where I found him… old age as well as he never wanted me to go back.” She always tells her. Gosh, she can be an erotica writer just by the way she describes him. It's such a pity I never got to meet this man. - Paula thought.

As Lucille died, and in accordance with Stella’s wishes, she told Paula to go back to the mansion and wear the wedding dress while doing so. - Well, that's why Paula is walking in the forest in a white 40's wedding dress while wearing her grandma's pearl necklace. Given by Jongin to Stella. She truly looked like her grandma. She was just as beautiful as the former was. "The wedding dress was the dress Stella wore before letting him go. It was the dress." That was from her grandma’s words.

Her grandma never had enough time to tell her the whole story. Why did Jongin also give her things if Lucille was his true love? Why is grandma thinking of him like that if they’re only friends? There are many burning questions in Paula’s head. The story has so many holes. So many unanswered questions she wants answers. And what better way to hear that than hearing it from the man himself.

Then, that's why she packed her bags and decided over a three day Journey. Rain or shine, she walked through it all. She was always reminded by Grandma's warnings. "Do not take a picture of the house." She is literally going on a journey to nowhere. This place is closed by the government. Nobody knew of this place's existence.

As she started walking, she saw something. A ruined sign with rust and termite. “Welcome to Chalamaria.” She read the sign as she touched each letter. A faint smile appeared in her face. She furrowed her brows and opened the rusted golden gate. The town is filled with ruins. - Oh, so that’s Chalamaria, an early 1900s luxury town. - She thought to herself. She walked passed all the mansions and she saw a graffiti that said “BURN THE RICH” the graffiti seems old. 

I want to see if this Jongin is still alive. I can feel he still is even if I never met him. It’s not a jump of blood because I am not related to him. Then, while walking in the vast and beautiful landscapes, I saw something. Is this it? Is this his house? I saw the house was rotten, it looked like ruins. It has aged through time, so I took a picture of the house, admiring the beauty it has.

Even if it was old. She did that, disregarding her grandma's advice. She was curious. She looked closer at it and saw an old skeleton wearing a suit and slacks with blood like the one in the old photo her grandma told her to treasure. Is this the Jongin? She knew he'd be dead but not in this horrific way. Jongin died 80 years ago. The day Lucille got married to him. Looking at the skull, the man was hit with a missile or a bomb of some sort.

Suddenly the clouds started pushing back, like a rewind at a super-fast rate. It felt like someone was pressing the switch multiple times over and over again. The skull wearing a suit just magically disappeared. She looked at her watch and it started suddenly pushing back time. She started looking at the surroundings "What the fuck is going on?" She asked herself as the skies suddenly go back and the house almost started repairing itself. Maybe this is why her grandma always told her not to get a picture of that house. She saw her phone not being able to open.

It looked like a flipbook right in front of her eyes. She never thought she'd ever see something as beautiful as this one ever in her lifetime. She can't believe that the stories her grandmother told is true. The story that got her grandma labeled as crazy from the day she went back to the village as she started telling everyone. Everyone believed Jongin wasn't real, in fact, he is. Right here and there.

Maybe this is why no one wants to go to the enchanted forest. - She thought to herself as she slowly walked. Holding firm to her backpack, she suddenly felt something was off as she saw a gated mansion. Her grandma told many great stories about this mansion. Her adventures with Lucille. She looked at her phone about that mansion. It was supposed to be rotten, filled with leaves and it was supposed to be old. - But the mansion in front of her looked new. It looked exactly like in the pictures but new.

She decided to open the golden gate and give it a knock. “Is there anyone here?” She asked nicely. Then suddenly, someone opened the door. She was shocked to see him. A man wearing a tailored suit, looking at his Rolex. He had a beautiful golden tan complexion. He has very soft and kissable lips, beautiful almond eyes. Is he Jongin or this is a fucking joke? He's supposed to be dead by now. What the hell? - She thought to herself.

#kpop #exo #fanfic #kim jongin #kai #kim kai #kim junmyeon #suho #kim minseok #xiumin #exo xiumin #exo suho #smut #kai smut #jongin smut #jongin fluff #exo k #suho fanfic #xiumin fanfic #kai x oc #xiumin x oc #xiumin smut #xiumin angst #kai angst #kai fluff #jongin angst #exo m #doh kyungsoo #do kyungsoo #do exo

[alix-writes-things]

Ember’s Story Chapter Three: Spray Paint and Quick Escapes

“Ember, no.” It’s 10 p.m. on Saturday night, and I’m talking to Everett over the phone. “You’re going to get arrested. Or, worse, your parent’s are going to kill you.”

I ignore him and continue getting ready. I’ve decided to get my revenge on Ethan for upsetting me and my friends. I grab the box of non-flammable spray-paints that I keep in the back of my closet for things like this and begin picking out the cans I know I’ll need.

“Ember, you have to listen to me. It’s one thing if it’s on the back of the bowling alley. It is a whole other thing if it’s someone’s house or car.”

“I don’t care. He deserves it.”

“How does Nox feel about this.”

I hesitate before responding, “They’re fine with this.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

I continue sorting through the box; picking out any colors I might need. “They are.”

“Then you won’t mind me asking them, right?”

I freeze holding a can of red spray-paint. “Well, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Oh, yes, it is.”

I groan while he adds Nox to the call.

“Hey,” Nox says.

“Nox,” Everett says, “can I ask you something?”

“Everett, I don’t think you should bother them.”

“Oh, that’s alright. What’s up, Everett?”

“Do you know what Ember is planning?”

Nox sighs. “Yes, I do, and I think it’s a bad idea.”

I can almost feel Everett glaring at me through the phone. I can already tell that I’m never going to hear the end of this. I almost consider not going through with it, but the memory of Nox’s reaction is enough to convince me to do it.

“Nothing either of y’all says will convince me not to do this.”

“You are going to get arrested. Right, Nox?”

“I’m not going to get arrested,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air.

“Ember,” Nox says slowly, “this is a bad idea. What if you get caught?”

“I don’t get caught,” I say.

“That’s what you say every time,” Everett says, clearly annoyed.

They continue to take turns lecturing me about how I’m going to get arrested. I put myself on mute and continue sorting through my box of spray paint. I’m reaching for my bag to add another half-empty can of blue paint when my younger brother, Amias, walks in. Although it’s nearly midnight, he’s fully dressed in a black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a pair of beat up, grey sneakers. He has his shoulder-length, dark brown hair that our parents won’t allow him to cut tucked into a light-grey beanie.

“What’s up, dude?” I ask him while continuing to pack my bag.

“I couldn’t sleep. I heard you drag out the paint box and decided I want to come with you,” he says nonchalantly.

I smile at him. He likes to come with me on, what he calls, my “vigilante projects.”

As if on que, Everett says, “you better not even think about dragging Amias into this mess. It’s one thing to take him when you’re tagging the bowling alley, but it’s a whole other thing to take him to vandalize someone’s house.”

I unmute myself and reply, “too bad. He’s fourteen. He’s older than I was the first time I tagged a house. He can come if he wants to.”

Everett sighs and says, “he already asked, didn’t he?”

“Yes, I did,” Amias speaks up, lowering his voice slightly, “I’ll be fifteen soon, and Ember has done way worse at, like, twelve.”

“First off,” Everett says, “Ember has done way worse at ten.”

“Wow. Throwing me under the bus. I see how it is.”

“Second off,” Everett continues, ignoring my comment, “just because your idiot sibling has done worse doesn’t mean you should be doing this. Also, you won’t be fifteen for another five months.”

“Wait,” Nox says, “who’s Amias, and why is he fourteen?”

We all pause before bursting out laughing. Amias and I try to keep quiet so that we don’t wake up our parents, but Everett, whose parents are probably still awake, is the loudest of all of us.

“I meant,” Nox starts to say before succumbing to laughter again.

It takes us about five minutes, but, eventually, we all calm down enough for Nox to speak.

“I meant,” they say, “why is Ember bringing a fourteen-year-old to vandalize a house, and why have I never met this kid?”

“Amias is my younger brother who likes to go with me to tag buildings. You’ve probably met him before and don’t realize it.”

Our parents don’t let Amias present as a boy or use He/Him pronouns at school which is probably why Nox doesn’t recognize his voice.

“Anyways,” Everett says, “Amias shouldn’t be going with you. You shouldn’t be going in the first place.”

“Give up, Rett.” Everett hates Amias’ nickname for him, so Amias only uses it when he’s trying to bother Everett. “I’m going with Ember, and that’s final.”

“Seriously, dude,” I say, “you’re fighting a losing battle here. I’m pretty sure Nox gave up five minutes ago.”

“Ten, actually,” Nox says.

“Fine. But, when you two get arrested, I’m not bailing you out.”

“Whatever. We need to go before it gets too late. We won’t be back until close to 5 a.m. as it is.”

“Bye,” Nox says, “let me know when you get home.”

“Bye, idiots,” Everett says.

They hang up, and Amias starts going through the box to pick out the paints he wants. I always let him do his own thing when he comes with me, so he tends to pick out his own set of paints.

“Where’s the turquoise?” he asks, searching through the box.

He likes to use turquoise to tag his art, so I always make sure to have at least one can of it in the box.

“It’s probably at the bottom. I bought a new can a few days ago.”

He finds the can at the bottom and adds it to the bag he keeps in my room for when we go on “vigilante projects.” I make it a point to only vandalize buildings that are owned by people who deserve it. The bowling alley is a regular spot of mine and Amias’ because we’ve both had issues with the owner. This is Amias’ first time graffitiing someone’s house, and I can tell he’s both nervous and excited.

Once he’s picked out the paints he wants, we spend a few minutes arranging the cans and random articles of clothing in our bags in a way that will muffle the sound of the cans rattling and prevent the cans from bumping into each other. We can’t risk someone hearing the cans and putting two-and-two together. Not only do I not want to get my brother arrested, but I’d also like to avoid giving Everett the satisfaction of being right.

We start picking our way through the house; avoiding the last step because it creaks, crawling across the furniture in the living room to avoid making noise, and using the back door because it’s on the opposite side of the house from our parents’ and sister’s rooms and makes less noise. We hop the fence because the lock on the gate sticks and makes a lot of noise.

Ethan lives about a mile down the road, so it takes us a while to get there. We stop at a gas station to buy coffee about a half-mile from our house. I have to cross to the other side of the road to wait, but it’s worth it if it means getting coffee.

We walk the rest of the way in near silence. We never discuss our plans for a project, and tonight’s no different. We like to surprise each other with what we come up with.

Before we walk into the neighborhood, we slip on masks to hide our faces from security cameras and to protect us from the spray paint fumes. Ethan and Everett are on the football team together, and Ethan’s parents let Ethan throw parties when the team wins homecoming or championship games which means I go to his house a few times a year. His is the large, blue house at the back of the neighborhood. Even in the dark, it’s not that hard to find.

We get to Ethan’s house at nearly one o’clock. We drop our bags and pull out the colors we want to start with. Amias heads straight for the garage while I walk towards Ethan’s car. It was a sixteenth birthday present, and he treats it like it’s his child. He named it Roxy, so I spray “ROXY” in black on the newly cleaned hood. On the roof of the car, I paint a big, bright rainbow.

I look over to check on Amias and see that he’s nearly done with the outline of his masterpiece. Smiling, I move to the right side of the house. After locating Ethan’s window, I get to work.

About two hours later, Amias comes over to check on me. I’m nearly finished, so I shoo him away before he ruins the surprise. I add the last line and pull out my favorite, blood red paint. I add my tag and pull out my phone to take a picture. I have a password-protected folder labeled “art projects” that I keep the pictures of the work Amias and I do in. I walk over to the front of the house where Amias is to see his creation.

“You never fail to impress me, little dude,” I whisper.

“I know. And, stop calling me little. I’m the same height as you.”

I roll my eyes and pull out my phone to take a picture of the garage. He’s painted a picture of a pride parade that I recognize from his sketchbook. He likes to bring brushes and sponges with him to make things like this easier.

He grabs my hand and pulls me around to the side of the house I was working on. He stops when he sees what I’ve painted.

“Dude,” he says, “that’s amazing.”

I start to point out all the obvious flaws when he clamps a hand over my mouth.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, “you took a picture, right?”

I nod, and he removes his hand from my mouth. He stands there for a minute, tracing the painting with his eyes.

“You need to submit this to the art contest next year,” he says.

“I can’t for multiple reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that this is illegal.”

Amias starts to say something but stops when the light from the room above us turns on and the curtains open. We scramble to pick up our bags. Luckily, we’d learned the hard way to only have one can out at a time in case of situations like this. We’re nearly out of the driveway when the front door opens, and someone starts running after us. I start hoping it’s Ethan because he can run fast but not that far, and both Amias and I are used to running for long periods of time.

We’re halfway out of the neighborhood when I hear the footsteps behind us falter. We don’t stop running because we both have too much experience with being chased, and we know it’s possible he’s going to go back to get his car. We run until we reach a 24-hour convenience store we can duck into.

Amias and I are both covered in paint, so we head to the bathrooms in the back. There are only male and female bathrooms, so we both duck into the male bathroom knowing there’s no one except the bored cashier in the store. We head into separate stalls and start changing into the clothes we have in our bags. I take off my mask and the black beanie I used to hide my vividly red hair and change out of my black t-shirt and jeans into a grey hoodie and blue jeans. I reorganize my bag and head out of the stall to wait for Amias.

It’s another five minutes before Amias walks out. He’s wearing a navy-blue hoodie and a different pair of black skinny jeans. Like me, he’s taken off his beanie and has tied his hair into a flat bun at the nape of his neck. He’s slightly panting, and I think I know why.

“How long did you bind today?” I ask him calmly.

He looks at his feet and mumble something.

“What was that?”

“Almost fourteen hours.” His voice is shaking, and tears are falling from his face.

“Okay. Let’s get home. I think it’s safe to walk now. You’re taking that thing off as soon as we get home.”

“Alright. How long did you bind today?”

“About the same.”

He looks at me incredulously. I put my hands up in a defensive gesture.

“I’ve been binding since I was eleven. I can handle fourteen hours every now and then. I’m not saying it’s healthy or that anyone else can, but I don’t nearly pass out after fourteen hours.”

He glares at me and makes me promise to take it off as soon as we get home. I agree to, and we start walking home. It’s almost five a.m., and we have to be home before our parents wake up at six. We’re only a ten-minute walk from our house, so we’re not too worried.

We go back in the same way we left. I stop at the gate to text Nox and Everett to tell them we’re home safe. We have to be up by 6:30, so Amias and I decided on the walk to Ethan’s house that, if we got back with less than two hours until then, we’d hang out in my room. We have barely over an hour until we have to be up, so we head to my room. I open the door and freeze causing Amias to walk into me.

Lying on my bed, fast asleep, is our parents’ favorite kid: our fifteen-year-old sister, Hope. She got most of our mom’s genes, so rather than thick, dark brown hair, she has thin, blond hair. She’s the smaller of the three of us, so her thin, 5’4” frame would have been almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for her bright pink nightgown standing out against my black and blood red bedding. She’s also an incredibly light sleeper, so she wakes up at the sound of my bedroom door closing.

“Well, hello,” she says as sweetly as ever, “if it isn’t my two favorite sisters.”

She adds a heavy emphasis to the last word knowing it’ll bug us. She’s our parents’ favorite because she’s the “normal” one. This means she gets told almost everything and loves to get me and Amias in trouble as often as possible.

“What do you want this time?” Amias asks, obviously annoyed.

“You two snuck out,” she says, clearly enjoying this.

I roll my eyes and say, “okay? What do you want?”

She giggles and hops down from my bed to get in my face.

“You two are so dead when mom and dad find out.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Amias says, his voice shaking slightly.

“I think I would. You see, mom and dad already resent you because you, Ember, are dangerous. They had to change their whole lives to accommodate a mistake like you. They resent you, Amias, because you take after our sister. You’re stubborn, you break the rules, you’re disrespectful, and you’re trying to reject the fact that you’re a girl. It’s quite fun, really, to watch you two get in trouble. Mom and dad get their revenge for you making their lives miserable, and I get spoiled for a month or two to make you jealous.”

“What do you want us to do?” I ask knowing she’s just trying to exploit us.

“Oh, nothing,” she says sweetly, “I’m just excited to find out what kind of trouble you two are going to be in.”

“You bi-,” Amias starts to say, but I clamp my hand over his mouth to prevent him from making things worse.

Cussing is punishable by getting our phones taken away for a week. Insulting Hope is punishable by being grounded for a week. I don’t know what happens when you combine the two, but I’m not eager to find out.

Hope giggles and skips out of the room. Amias and I turn to each other and question how we’re going to get out of this one. I don’t know that there is a way to avoid what will probably be the worst summer vacation ever, but I don’t voice that concern.

Amias walks into my closet to get changed while I change next to my dresser. When he comes out, we both sit on my bed and wait. He spends a few minutes trying to draw before giving up. Neither of us are feeling very creative at the moment.

He pulls out his phone and starts smiling at something. I look over to see a picture of my painting. What was only a few hours ago now feels like a lifetime ago. Amias gets out his sketchbook again and starts sketching my painting.

“What’re you up to?” I ask him.

“Oh, nothing,” he replies, “just sketching.”

We sit in silence for the next 40 minutes. We both know what’s going to happen as soon as we head downstairs for breakfast, but neither of us acknowledge it. I type out a message explaining how the night went and send it to Nox and Everett. It’s a Sunday, so Everett won’t be awake until around eight, but I’m not sure when Nox is going to wake up.

With ten minutes until breakfast, Amias and I start getting ready. We all have to be fully dressed and ready for the day before we come down for breakfast. Since we’re already in trouble, Amias and I decide to wear whatever we want and face the consequences together.

We start heading down the stairs, and I’m starting to realize where I got the inspiration for my painting. Hearing Hope’s sickeningly sweet voice doesn’t help.

“We are so dead,” Amias says.

I nod my head and continue walking into the dining room. Seeing my sister with a bright smile on her face and my parent’s fuming makes me picture my face in place of randomly mentally generated one I used in my painting. Mentally, I’m bloody, bruised, and crying, but I’m smiling through the pain.

Word count: 3,093

#Ember's Story #Chapter 3 #oc story #writing #original story #my writing #tw cursing #tw blood mention #tw bruises #tw crying #tw bullying #tw transphobia #tw transfobia #let me know if i missed any tags

[clovertrails]

Finding a new trail

Leaving my front door, I turned left, walking south. After a few intersections, I hit Mosholu Avenue, a commercial street whose name derives from the Algonquin word for “smooth stones” or “small stones.” Oddly, the river that does run through Riverdale, which likely created the “smooth stones” which the word mosholu describes, is named Tibbetts Creek, after a European settler. It’s kind of odd to name a commercial avenue after a geographic feature of a river, no? But perhaps that could be read in a hopeful manner—to think of the urban commercial avenue as a river incarnate, a life-giving force through the town.

At Mosholu, I turned right (west, toward the river), following the avenue as it rounded corner, passing the local Tudor-style NYPL branch. Past the Riverdale Neighborhood House, a quaint colonial building with a pool and playground that looks vaguely hospitable for a certain kind of respectable citizen. Past the weedy baseball field, past the playground, mostly empty during the pandemic, but sometimes with a gaggle of teenage guys, chilling.

I usually crossed the street at this point and walked up a sidewalk to a curious little park that exists as an island amidst a crisscrossing web of highways. I walked up the street mostly because I didn’t feel like crossing the six-lane avenue just yet. Wanted secluded lanes that would allow me to keep to myself.

The park consists of a hilltop, a green island that just peeps over a loop-de-loop of highways, another one of Robert Moses’ concrete graffiti scrawls over the landscape of the Bronx. There’s a dog park in the middle that’s sort of falling apart; I’ve never seen anyone using it, dog or human. Mostly there are a lot of benches, facing outward and inward.

I kept walking, down garden-style, five-story, red brick apartments. Turned onto a quiet residential road with suburban single-family houses. No sidewalks, just gravelly weedy transitional spaces between grass and pavement.

I remember the gates first. I didn’t yet know it was a school; all I saw was a gate and behind it, trimmed lawns rolling up to a genteel brick building. A gated compound, vast flat fields, lacrosse fields, parking lots – of course, a private school. I followed the road as it sloped downward, hugging the edge of the prep school. There is something so sinister about a totally manicured lawn. How much labor, how much capital, do you need, to sustain this ugly face of control? Walking alongside the compound, I thought of all the iterations of this sort of gated, fenced-in, land – estates, kingdoms, plantations. 

At the end of the hill, the road spilled into nondescript dirt space. From a handful of cars, I gathered that it was a parking lot. The air changed, becoming cooler, denser. Ahead, the gravel met a chain-link fence tagged with the NYC Parks logo, a green maple leaf. This was a park? An old traffic cone and squashed cardboard boxes lay fallen against the fence. If you were walking quickly, or even driving, you would miss it entirely. My mind flashed to other Hudson parks I knew – Riverside Park, Riverbank State Park, Fort Tryon, Inwood. But this one was new, never previously encountered on a map or in person.

It seemed out of nowhere, a glen of hickory and oak, between mansions and railroads. No surprise, my mind flashed back to the gated private school that I had just passed. It was not lost on me that the serendipity of slipping into this trail occurred next to a private school with a 50K tuition in one of the richest neighborhoods in this zip code. Technically, this is a public park, but it is geographically located for the wealthy elite.

Not knowing what was inside this park, or how far it extended, I entered. Dusty paths, tall hickory and oak, flush with undergrowth. I followed a dirt trail and saw the glimmers of sunlight through the kaleidoscopic canopy of trees. I soon found the chain-link fence that formed the eastern perimeter of this park, and glimpsed the water beyond, drinking in its murmuring waves. Wandering more, I came across a dried-up gully, with a fallen tree trunk spanning its width. The top of the trunk had eroded into a temptingly flat surface. Certainly passable, if one had the guts to try. I walked five steps forward, paused, and retreated. Too old.

One thing to know is that the trees there were very tall. They do not rival the California redwoods, but the distance between the bushy undergrowth and the swaying canopy overhead felt vast. The treetops were so tall that they caught all the river wind, swirling it amongst their branches, so that I, a small ant standing below, heard the roar of the wind more so than felt its touch on my skin.

In the immediate vicinity of my body, there was the peace and quiet of overgrown trails and mossy trunks, but several leagues upward (what does a league measure? I do not know, but it feels like the right word), the treetops were in a great upheaval—maple, oak, hickory, all mingling—caught up in the wind, swaying and fluttering in one uplift.

The trail itself is fairly narrow, walk about 15 meters one way and you will see the faint outlines of a chain-link fences. On the riverside, you’ll catch sight of the railroads ahead, and on the roadside, the outlines of secluded houses, lights of vehicles driving by.

But this place, it felt like a little gem, one that, momentarily, was all my own. I knew that if I pulled up Google Maps, I would find this trail on the maps, and that if I searched it online, I would find the NYC Parks page for this trail, explaining in byte-form. The zoning, the planning committee, the pushback, et cetera. But it would say nothing about how it felt, walking through desolate suburban streets and posh gated lawns to then discover, without notice, relief. A windy green corridor, tucked by the river, rushing, still, roaring, quiet—all at once. 

I returned to the trail the next day, and the day after that. I found my legs craving, turning toward the park. One day during dinner, my mom inquired after where I went walking that day, and I mentioned that I went to Riverdale Park, by the river. They were puzzled – where?

Is it by the train station, my mom asked. By the train station, I sometimes see a little trail there and wonder what it is, she said, referring to the Riverdale Metro North station that services the Hudson Line, connecting Grand Central in midtown to Poughkeepsie up north in the valley.

No, I shake my head, no, thinking that she was referring to the pathetic concrete strip accessible to pedestrians by the train station. It’s basically a 15 meter long sidewalk with a single bench and overflowing trash cans where you might sit down and look over the Hudson. It’s certainly something, at least, but one cannot feel antsy, gazing upon the vast sweep of the Hudson while hemmed in by these arbitrary fences for “viewing.”  

Mine was a place that I had resisted placing on a map; it was this little gem of a shady glen pocketed into the outskirts of a suburb. It’s further south of here, next to Wave Hill, I said. You walked there? My dad asked, incredulous. Yes, I walked, I said, hiding my pride in my nonchalance. It’s only like twenty minutes.

Of course, my parents did not understand. They keep to their established routes – to the train station, to the field, to the grocery store. Whatever trail that my mom was referring to was not it. Besides, the trail was quite far from the train station – at least half a mile or so south of it.

I showed them the trail on Google Maps, pointing out the green rectangular patch. Ah, we have never been there, they mused. A week or so later, Saturday afternoon, instead of taking the car to the beach on Long Island, as is our tradition, we drove over to the trail. They were astonished when they arrived at the dirt entrance of the park.  A secret! They exclaimed. They’ve been keeping this a secret! Five years and we had no idea this place existed. Who would have known? So out of the way. Who was keeping this secret??

I chuckled at their astonishment, their indignation, that they had only now discovered this place. Part of my reaction is a weariness of knowing my parents calcified habits. They have lived in New York City for almost a decade now but still – my dad especially – are still suburban in their bones. Their favorite store remains Costco, where they shop at least once a week, despite having been empty nesters for more than a few years now. During the weekends, they drive up north to the suburbs to go hiking more often than they drive south to Manhattan for entertainment. The most urban that they venture is to the local Asian neighborhoods – Chinatown, Flushing, Elmhurst, for shopping and eating.

But their indignant exclamation, they’ve been keeping this secret! lingers with me and evinces, I think, a kernel of truth. If you zoom out from where I’m standing, in this little park in Riverdale, and run your eyes down the western length of New York City, you will see green hugging most of the coastline, corresponding to the richest zip codes in Manhattan. I think about the other, far larger and more famous park, Van Cortlandt Park, that sits next to the 242nd street subway station and attracts more populous crowds of Black, Latinx, Asian, and white residents, picnicking, playing baseball, soccer, flying kites, working out. Of course, Van Cortlandt has far more acreage and resources to avail itself to such recreation, but the park is well-trodden and busy, evidenced not only by the multitude of bodies but also the glass shards that depressingly litter its trails. Most of all, I guess, Van Cortlandt is unmissable, obvious, in plain sight. 

On the other hand, the trail running through Riverdale Park is sequestered away, on the margins with a nondescript entrance and overgrown signage. This trail offers the illusory feeling of having discovered it by yourself, a feeling of privacy within a public space. And within this privacy, unexpected and lively things emerge. But how might relishing the serendipitous joys of stumbling into one’s own world of green manifest not the sublimity of nature (or the self, touched by nature), but rather the hoarding of wealth, in its material and immaterial forms, across private and public lines? How might we deem both of these to be true and think of them together?  Things to keep thinking about…

#walk #publicspace #Riverdale Park Trail

[catchandelier]

We’re staying at a hotel tonight, or so has been the repeated line from higher perches than mine, as I don’t have the money in this relationship and I don’t drive either. In the normal course of life- even the abnormal course of life under quarantine- my lack of driving was no great hardship. I have legs and I am glad of their use; and before the quarantine, I had a rather good grasp of the public transport system. At the very least, I could get where I meant to when I meant to, and back home again in a reasonable time.

I wonder: will the bus stops still be there? The train stations? The bank isn’t, after all.

Some of the graffiti down lake street as we headed out: No Justice, No Peace; Fuck 12; George Floyd Presente!; Make Being Black Legal; Mama I Can’t Breathe. These are also the slogans that stuck. The only one I requested explanation of is the significance of 12, and thus why it should get fucked; 12 references an outdated police code for drugs, or perhaps a segment officers tasked with the apprehension of those selling drugs.

On our way out, I saw murals untouched by violence of any kind, unmarred by spray paint; I saw ordinary people, in their long sleeves and masks and gloves, with trash bags and brooms and a will to help; I saw the empty burned out husk of a store I shopped in last year; I saw USPS mail cars being loaded onto a truck of their own in preparation for evacuation; I saw police cars hiding behind concrete dividers, kin or kind to those seen during highway construction. It strikes me now that the police in that car perhaps think the concrete will protect them. It won’t; but they will still be surprised when it doesn’t.

I am outside the city now, and from the window of my room I can see the airport (instantly obsolete the day it opened, poor thing) and no planes fly from it, and now under curfew there are no cars, or at least very few, passing by in the night. This of course means there is very little interfering noise from here back and back to the heart- I can hear all the sirens downtown from all the way at the airport. I can hear it through the glass window. I can hear it through eight stories of air and a wide parking lot and fifteen-twenty-half an hour of highway. It is faded and distorted by distance, but I Know; faded enough that I almost thought the sound was ringing only in my head. It isn’t; and I was still surprised that it isn’t.

I am thankful I can’t hear the pop of teargas. It sounds like gunfire; which is to say, it sounds like a small firecracker, or a champagne popper with depth. The movies are for entertainment; they don’t have to show you, or let you hear, the truth if a bit of film-flam makes for the better story. I can say now, I prefer the story. Would that all guns were just heavy toys to make it easier to pretend.

Friday morning from behind our front window; a building about a block away was on fire, the flames licked and danced above the blocking roof of the bank, which also (eventually) burned; and it was a very strange and poignant moment, when brown smoke smeared the sky grey to the left of my position viewing the fire, and to the right, the clear blue sky dazzled with clean white clouds I’ve come to expect this time of year. In the windowsill, our noisy and bold cat, who is quite small in size- such that I sometimes forget she only weighs eight pounds when I haven’t picked her up in a while. On the couch, below the window, our other cat, nervous and desiring only to be at someone, anyones, side. He, I think, ate a brick when no one was watching; perhaps it is his slight personality that makes his dense body such a shock. The small one doesn’t care if you hold her; the large one wants to be put down, now, after a measured count of eight.

The foul smoke that rose from this conflagration- and the others that dotted the city- so nauseated me that day, I did not eat until half past noon, when my head ached with hunger. The miasma of tear gas diluted in the air was so thick on the Wednesday before the Thursday before that day, I couldn’t help getting a pernicious sinus headache that I woke with, and went to sleep with, and could not escape even in filtered air.

The poison was already inside me, you see.

I was reminded that day of this: although people have their squabbles and ruinations, the greater whole of nature doesn’t give a shit. The cat in the windowsill slept; the cat on the couch was no more nervous than he always is. Somehow, I find it heartening. The world goes on. The poison is cleared; and if damage remains, so what? I am alive to be damaged, and heal.

As we left, I saw there were people sweeping the streets of broken glass-front shops and a building that was only a little bit still on fire, mostly on the roof, or so I heard; I couldn’t actually see it from my spot in the car. There was a dollar store burned to rubble, smoke still rising from its leech colored soot-blacked bones; the liquor store, the bank, the targets, and more still, looted and burned. And more people coming to see and join and fight; my friend Hannah who went out today- yes, this very day- and stood in protest at the capital, which is St Paul. My friend Hannah, who is brave, and white, and this day in such terrible danger I felt as if time would not move until I heard she was safe again. She is safe, just to gut that small moment of tension for you.

(I will thank you not to conflate Minneapolis with St Paul. The Twin Cities have different counties, and were built in different eras of urban design; one is Catholic and one is Protestant; one is moneyed and the other classed; one has a garbage disposal service that works, and the other has ruined their alleys with mercenary action. Prince came from Minneapolis, not St. Paul. I quite like Minneapolis and Minnesota, for all its warts and horrors, and I will get snippy about this little thing. The big things, I think, are well past snips.)

South Minneapolis is home to a number of anarchists, and to them I give thanks- for it is they who had a whole entire fire hose- a real one- and perhaps a wrench, and it was our block’s community that wrangled the thrashing thing in place long enough to douse the bank. My father, and my stepmom’s sisters husband, were among that community. They are also quite brave, I think.

My personal notes on the escape and subsequent confinement inherent in fleeing riots and rioters and flames and other such insurrections:

Bring a book. Bring your game system- Switch, Xbox, gameboy etc. You might think it’s just a digitized version of cocaine or opium, but oh what a blessing to be able to not think and worry about things you have no power to change; to escape somewhere the world can not touch but in such and such prescribed way, and that you can change in any way you’d like.

Animal Crossing is a very good game.

You will stay longer than a night, pack for longer than one night; you will get tired of food rationed from what you can order. You will not get tired of not having to do dishes, but you will get tired of not having a full sized trash can or any replacement trash bags.

You will get bored, and miss your homely comforts, the weight of your bedding and the mess of your things. You will miss your pets and your projects and your games you left at home because they were too heavy to take with you.

You will miss your laundry room. Bring laundry detergent, and dryer sheets, and that pouch of coins you never use because why would you.

You will not miss the noise; but the new uncertainty, laid atop your back (which aches from the weight of plague’s uncertainty) like a fine sharp knife, will steal sleep from your eyes and thin your last nerve to the very edge of breaking. Even with the silence, and perhaps the privacy.

You will want to start fights and be rude and cruel for no reason other than you know how, and can, and are bored, and you can only really control yourself at this point. You won’t actually do these things because you’re still a person, for now, and you’d like to still be a person at the end of all this.

You will continue to hope for an end, and ignore the news as best you can because it’s all lurid and terrible and you really just want a breakfast where you don’t have to aggressively find reasons the world isn’t a terrible place.

(The world is not a terrible place, for clarity’s sake. I’m just a little tired of the weather and cnn at free breakfast when all I want is an omelette and some juice.)

You’ll find ways to cope, again; you’ll find ways to resolve yourself to waiting, again. You’ll start a new book, or a different project, or take a nap. You’ll make a new schedule, to stave off boredom, again.

You will and should and can do all of those things; I give you permission. But.

Under absolutely no circumstances can you allow yourself to believe that the deprivation and calamity we are experiencing right now is in any way normal. Let no one, not even yourself, convince you that this- this state of the world, the quarantine, the too-closeness of your family and the distance from your friends, your skin crawling over itself with restless unending boredom- is normal. Revolution is necessary; it is not normal. Quarantine is necessary; it is not normal.

Aim for acceptable. But don’t accept it.

Oh, and if you’re up to it, do try and take more than two nearly good photos of a total five- human memory has an unfortunate habit of failure. Scars and memories fade away; but photographic glory is forever.

[To gut some more of that dramatic tension for you, we’re all safe and at home now. But the rebellion rages on.]

#RiotZone #show them what rebellion means #rise up #godspeed rebels

[guylty]

Have you got your tickets for UV locked down? Maybe you are like me – tickets bought but not all other details finalised. Priorities, right? The most important consideration is to make sure we get to see RA on stage. Flight? Accommodation? Can be dealt with later. On the latter, I’ve had a few questions bts about hotel recommendations. Now, I do not want to presume better local knowledge than all the English/British fans. However, as a frequent visitor, and particular while I was still working for my London client, I was put up in hotel accommodation on many occasions. In that sense, I may have seen more London hotels than our actual London-based fan sisters *waves at Hariclea and tinyclanger and anyone else whom I am shamefully overlooking here* and can possibly make some recommendations.

A quick note on location and transport

My collection of Oyster Cards. Yes, I’ve had to buy several because I stupidly left mine at home… They give you a little wallet for safe-keeping when you buy yours.

All hotels are fairly centrally located – if you are a walker and do not mind 45 minutes walking, they would even be in walking distance of the city centre of London. Transport, on the whole, is not a problem in London. The tube is never far away. I recommend you buy a so-called Oyster Card upon arrival in London. This is a commuter card that you load credit onto. You can buy it at any (larger) tube station (ticket counter). You can get the £10 deposit back when you return the card before you leave London. You charge your card via the ticket machines located in every tube station. Paying for the tube is via flashing the card at the gates for entry and exit. A display at the gates will always tell you how much money you have left on your card. An Oyster card is a must, even if you only stay for three days. The difference in price between buying single tickets and using your automatic card credit, is significant: A single journey will set you back £4.90 whereas the Oyster card is £2.40!!! Also, the Oyster card has an automatic cap. That means you will pay a maximum of £8.20 (zones 1-3) versus single journeys or a daily travel card at £13.10 (zones 1-4)!!!

However, the best tip when it comes to London public transport, I received from local Hariclea: Bus fares are much cheaper than the tube. A single journey will set you back only £1.50. The daily cap for Oyster Card here is £4.50. So if you can, take the bus. Or walk, that is *my* personal tip. For a long time on my travels to London, I did everything by tube, thinking that London was a huge city and everything was very far apart. It took me 3 years to realise that Piccadilly Circus was only 250 meters away from Leicester Square! Doh. So make use of Google Maps and walk. You will be rewarded with a fantastic view of the city, too, because London treats you to a journey through all architectural ages in almost every street.

Fleet Street. From Tudor half-timbers to 1920s in 500 meters

Guylty’s Hotel Insights

I’ll give you a little review of all the hotels I have stayed at in the last four years. A caveat at the beginning. At least half of them were paid for by my client – and they didn’t skimp. I would not have paid £350 for a hotel room myself. My budget – even while still employed by them – would usually not stretch to that. However, I am including it here, too. Who knows, maybe you have a significant birthday/anniversary, or you want to treat yourself to an extraordinary London experience. Or maybe you just appreciate a lovely boutique hotel, just like I do. Where possible, I will add my own pictures – and occasionally even videos – for a little more insight into the hotel. Links to the hotel website under the name. In no particular order…

Pop!Thoza sneaks up on breakfast

The Rookery – my absolute favourite, but the above mentioned luxury option. Located in Farringdon, opposite Smithfield Market – a boutique hotel completely furnished with antiques and with every room looking different. Close to two tube stations, near the Barbican centre, too. It really looks like the photos on the website – or in my videos. Yep, I have three of them, just because the hotel was so beautiful, I had to document it every time. But I’ll only bore you with one of them. (If you want to you can see the other two if you click on my name on the video below!) This hotel has beautiful common rooms but no breakfast room. So if you want dinner, you need to eat elsewhere. Breakfast is available – but only served in your room. However, it was not any more expensive than in other hotels, and at the same time so good that I always set the alarm for two hours early so I could have long, leisurely breakfast in my fluffy bed before I went to work.   

https://vimeo.com/133549399

Purple light show. Not sure what mood *that* is…

Citizen M in Southwark (Bankside) is completely at the opposite end of the style spectrum. Ultramodern hotel. Every room has a kingsize bed (no single rooms available) and lots of tech gimmicks. Has a fantastic entertainment offer with wide screen TVs in every room. You can operate different lighting scenarios with an iPad in the room, and the blinds are automatically adjusted depending on whether you have set the room settings on “romantic” or “business” 🤣. Located behind the Tate Modern, but still very central. I loved this place and stayed there a couple of times privately, too – my son called it the “cyber hotel” and specifically asked me to book us in there when I gave him a trip to London as a gift. He (age 18 then) even shared the kingsize bed with me – that was the price for being in the cyber hotel… Buffet style breakfast is available in the hotels bar area. I loved the cool style and design of this hotel.

The Park Plaza County Hall is also situate d on the Southern bank of the Thames. I was upgraded to a suite there – with a separate sitting room and a small kitchenette. Comfortable, modern, light-filled rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows. The kitchenette would be really useful if staying for a few days and trying to budget a little bit because eating out in London is expensive. It doesn’t mean you have to cook – but just having a fridge for a pint of milk for your cornflakes in the morning, would already save you a good bit of money. I did like this one very much and remember making a little video – can’t find it anymore, unfortunately. It is part of the Radisson chain, so good quality.

I slept on top bed – wanted the “young” feel

Z Hotel City Another very modern hotel, centrally located in Fleet Street. The rooms are very modern, but also fairly small. I had a room that was billed as a “family” room with two double beds. But even though the room was tiny, they solved the problem really well: One double bed was like an enclosed alcove (fitted with a big TV) while the second double was built on top of the alcove and you accessed it via small steps. The second double also had a TV screen. The drawback was that the hotel did not offer breakfast, and even though it operated a café next door, it did not provide a discount to residents. However, as you can see from the photo, this kind of room would really lend itself to sharing if you are coming with a friend. Share the costs – still get privacy. And style, too.

        No real vines, that’s the graffiti on the wall!!

The Malmaison on Charterhouse Square. Another boutique hotel in Farringdon (like the Rookery above) (near Barbican), located on beautiful Charterhouse Square where you get London at its historic best: There is the eponymous Charterhouse from the 14th century, then there is Georgian architecture, the Victorian hotel building, and an Art Deco block of flats (which was used as location for Hercule Poirot’s flat in the Poirot TV series with David Suchet). Every room differently decorated – modern eclectic. The rooms were small but beautiful and all decorated differently. The first time I stayed there, I had an “inside” room with a kind of blind window into a lightwell. The room had really funky decoration with a graffiti-sprayed wall. Breakfast was not included but available in the basement restaurant – really nice, though.

        Glimpse of room on the right. Bathroom had massive dimensions. Wheelchair compatible

The Premier Inn County Hall is probably on the affordable end of the scale. Centrally located, directly behind the London Eye and more or less directly on the banks of the Thames. The rooms were not particularly cosy or original, but clean, light and big. Probably more on the practical side. Prices are pretty good for London – and for the location. Breakfast available in the hotel – nothing special, but good price.

          You can see what I had for breakfast

The Marlin Aparthotel was an affordable option when I took my mum to London last year. This hotel is fairly well connected, just behind Waterloo Station. In walking distance of the Old Vic Theatre and Westminster on the other side of the Thames. The rooms were bright and modern – and they came with a kitchenette. We ate breakfast in our own room every day and saved on another tenner for meals that way. This hotel is easily accessible by bus – which will also get transport costs down…

Lastly, The Grange Strathmore Hotel is the last hotel I stayed in when in London in April this year. The building is the former residence of the Earl of Strathmore (the Queen Mother’s father), and as such an imposing Victorian residence in a very pretty part of London. The room was small and looked out onto the mews at the back. Kensington is a very nice area for walking and looking at the grand white townhouses, but it’s not as central as the other hotels listed above. Also, I didn’t find the transport options quite as close as the other hotels.

So, here is an overview of the hotels and their relative location. It’s an interactive map – you can click on the markers and see which hotel it is.

That’s it for my own experience with hotels in central London. As I said – not necessarily the cheapest *thanks to my former employers*. I am sure there are other, if not better options available. If anyone has some recommendations, please add them in the comments! And for further questions – I’m delighted if I can answer, although I am sure that the resident Londoners are probably better equipped than I am.

Leaving you with a little London Lucas for good measure.

  Notes on Staying in London Have you got your tickets for UV locked down? Maybe you are like me - tickets bought but not all other details finalised.

#fandom love

[ythmir-writes]

A Thousand Mended Seams ch03

fandom: Ikemen Sengoku character: Ieyasu Tokugawa

brief summary: Ieyasu goes to fix a Ward. But something seems to have been waiting for them.

A Thousand Mended Seams masterlist: prologue // chap 01 // chap 02

other works // ao3 // ko-fi

no warnings

Chapter 3/?? – Dousing

      When Ieyasu and the others had first migrated to the City, all of the City’s Kapitans – or the Liga, as they were collectively called – had welcomed them.

      On three conditions.

      Not because their reputation preceded them but more because that has always been the arrangement; all Cities must receive back the protection they give. Those were the rules, and the City had named its price. Services to be rendered; bodies to be kept; favors exchanged for further favors.

      The third condition was special. Tailored in a way for the unique conditions of their group: Ieyasu Tokugawa, famed sorcerer, potions master, and third unique timeshifter, the Stag Duke who Remembers, must paint the City’s wards.

      Embarrassing titles aside, Ieyasu had jumped at the recognition of his talent and the rare opportunity to practice his craft on such a large scale. How many magicians in this day and age could claim that they were singlehandedly tasked with such a grand project?

      However, after the joy of being commissioned had settled down, Ieyasu had thought it a rather unusual request.

      In the usual course of protecting and setting barriers for a city, it was the local magicians that painted the wards. They were the ones who had the flavor of the city at the tip of their tongues, or rather hands, after all. And they were the ones who knew best how to bend and curate the magical protection unique to a location.  

      When Ieyasu had mentioned his doubts to Nobunaga, that he might not be the best sorcerer for the job, Nobunaga had only smiled and told him to just do his best. When Ieyasu had added that the Liga asking their group to set up necessary protection was only the Liga being more indebted to them – and dangerously so – Nobunaga’s smile had only widened, told him not to worry about it and leave it at that.

      So Ieyasu had left it at that, and proceeded to do his best and beyond – painting all fifty-six of the City’s wards at strategic locations to create a web of protection so intricate that should the time come that they glowed at the same time, the City would become a sparkling gem.

      Ieyasu had taken two whole months to complete the project and by the end of it, nearly swore off any chalk, charcoal, ink, and spray paint for half a century. To make sure he would not need to touch any marking instruments again unless it was completely necessary, Ieyasu had made the wards as permanent as magically possible. It had taken just a tad bit more time but it made them stronger and just a little bit more smudge-proof than most. It was his life’s greatest work to date.

      So it was curious how anyone could tamper with them – much less prevent him from sensing that something was amiss. It was not impossible (nothing was truly permanent after all) but it did mean that there was serious magic involved.

      Ieyasu worried about that.

Mitsunari seemed to worry about it too, his hands uncharacteristically fidgeting at moments while they rode the bus.

      When they reached the block where the grocery was located, Ieyasu could feel a few wisps of magic in the air; something hot, burning, with just a hint of something electric, and the sound of popping bulbs.

      But as they entered the parking lot, suddenly nothing. Just empty space.

      Ieyasu chewed his lip again, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets f his coat. Sensing nothing was much more concerning than sensing too much at the same time.

      He was not sure what he expected to see waiting for them but Masamune and Hideyoshi in the middle of an empty parking lot standing idly and chatting while waiting for him was definitely not on the list. It made a rather casual scene, and it looked as if the ward being smudged was not an emergency enough for the Liga to raise an alarm.

      Masamune waved from where he stood and Hideyoshi turned around to greet them.

      “What’s this?” Ieyasu asked as they came within earshot. “I heard ambulances, police cars – this doesn’t look like an emergency.”

      “I did say that part was over.” Masamune said, pocketing his phone.

      Hideyoshi sighed, crossed his arms. “The hubhub is over and done with. But our job isn’t.”

      Ieyasu gave their immediate surroundings a sweeping glance. There was no signs of any struggle, none of the drunken fighting that had supposedly transpired. As a matter of fact, apart from the four of them, nothing seemed to exist within twelve feet from where they stood.

      “What happened?” Ieyasu finally asked.

      “Werewolf pups. Long night. Some sort of initiation? Ritual? A newborn Were?” Hideyoshi looked at Masamune, who in turn shrugged. “Their oldest was in charge and he was being pretty vague. Stories were completely inconsistent.”

      “Clearly drunk, too.” Masamune added.

      “In any case, the pups were sent directly to the police station for questioning and possible detention overnight.” Hideyoshi continue. “They’re not in any state to be wandering about.”

      At that, Ieyasu raised his brows. He had half-expected the culprit to be strong and old magic, not were-magic. “Werewolves?” He asked. “Smudging my ward?”

      “Pack magic?” Mitsunari sounded partly shocked partly curious.

      Masamune raised his hands, equally baffled. “We’re not sure either how it happened. They didn’t have an Alpha with them. According to the pack, one thing led to another and then one of the pups slid down across the cement like it was ice. Next thing they knew, she had paint on her paws when there shouldn’t be and then there was only pain.”

      “Ahh.” That would explain the ambulance Ieyasu had heard when Masamune called.

      Part of the formula that gave the wards their permanency was how any disturbance or tampering could not be made by simple physical means. No matter how often the wards could be painted on, rained on, marked upon, or even slathered with concrete and made into a busy parking lot on, the Ward stayed. Like stubborn graffiti, or tough grime. Or really old chewing gum stuck on a wall.

      If anyone attempted to disturb it, the Ward would react defensively. Mostly depending on how much of the Ward was affected. Like a good punch to the gut, if the Ward had not been completely nullified. Violently, if it was completely erased. The point wasn’t so much as to stop the ward from being tampered – that was near impossible – as it was to make sure Ieyasu would know who to look for.  Traces of his magic from the erased Ward would stain whoever did it and Ieyasu, along with possibly Nobunaga, would follow the trail to ask some very serious questions.

      Ieyasu looked around the parking lot a second time. Nothing. No trace of anything. Like something had gobbled up –

“Did the werewolf pup die?” Mitsunari asked.

      “Nah. Had to be rushed to the hospital though.” Masamune said. “She got concussed. Thrown what, fifteen meters? Ward shot out some really fierce lightning too. The Kapitan here made sure the Alpha was on their way to reach the pup.”

      Ieyasu could imagine how it had happened. “Did the Alpha ask for reparations?”

      Hideyoshi made an impatient sound. “If anyone should be asking for reparations, it should be you. It’s your ward. Commissioned by the Liga, no less.”

      Hideyoshi was right, however Ieyasu found the idea of claiming reparations from a were-pack tedious. It was not like he could not fix the problem to begin with.

      But something did not feel right, like he was missing an obvious clue. “To smudge any ward discreetly without the warder knowing, you should know it’s there in the first place.”

      His three friends nodded. That was basic knowledge.

      Ieyasu chewed on his lip again, looking around the parking lot as if the perpetrator would unwittingly try to come back while they were there. “The wards’ locations are not public knowledge. No one except us and the Liga know. How did the werewolves know where it was? How could they smudge it without me knowing?”

      “They claim it was all an accident.” Hideyoshi’s eyes told Ieyasu he did not believe it. “We suspect someone might have accidentally tampered with it before the werewolves got their hands on it. We’re requesting the tapes. We got eyes there, there, and there.” Hideyoshi pointed to the streetlamps that had security cameras. “Whoever could have done something to it, consciously or not, would have been recorded.”

      “It’s a good thing too the place is currently closed.” Masamune said. “Can you imagine the collateral damage a shocked werewolf pup in pain could have caused? Without an Alpha trying to calm it?”

      Hideyoshi and Mitsunari’s frowns meant yes, they could. And so did Ieyasu. It was not pretty or even relatively safe for anyone who was not part of the pack. It would be a longer night for all of them if that had happened.

      “Nothing to be done about what didn’t happen.” Ieyasu then said. “I’ll start on the ward.”

      “How long will you need?” Hideyoshi asked.

      “Depends.” Ieyasu began to walk fifteen steps to his right, counting as he did. “But seeing as the werewolf pup isn’t dead and we don’t have the City’s packs howling for blood, I’d say maybe twenty.”

      “Mitsunari and I will get the tapes.” Masamune said, heading for the store, quickly followed by the other.

      “Be careful!” Hideyoshi shouted at them.

      Ieyasu stopped just a short way from another street light, its bulb broken, probably from the Ward’s reactions to being disturbed. He knelt down on one knee, and began poking at the concrete with two fingers, trying to feel for the center of the Ward.

      Before being cemented over, the entire block had once been just a small empty park, a splash of green in a city transforming into a sprawling metropolis. Back then, Ieyasu had simply walked towards the middle of it all, found a good rock, sprinkled the ingredients over the soft, fresh grass under it, and the Ward had come to life.

Right now, it was not going to be just as easy.

      Ieyasu found the center about two feet from where he started, a minor zing that raced up his arm and went all the way down his spine and up again towards his nape. Tiny crackling sounds, electricity snapping at air, and then there was a warm glow as the Ward recognized him and his magic.

      Ieyasu pulled with his mind, coaxing the Ward to resurface. Slowly, the place where he knelt glowed with a bright teal color, as if neon lights had flickered open beneath the ground.

He brought out his supplies: a small paint brush, a small bottle of ink, a pack of mint candies, a parking stub, and three used cigarette butts. Back then, it had all just been flower seeds, bird feathers, and maybe drops of sweat and tears. All of them, even magic, had to keep up with the times.

      “What’s the diagnosis?” Hideyoshi asked.

      “It’s smudged all right.” Ieyasu said. “Almost a third is all that’s left, just wiped out clean. Werewolf magic is strong, pack magic stronger, but not erasing-wards-with-a-simple-swipe-of-paws kind of strong. Even with a full moon. Or several.”

      “The Liga wants to know if you can fix it.”

      “With my eyes closed.” Ieyasu answered, bemused. “Did they really ask that?”

      “Yes. You should’ve seen the look on the Kapitan’s face when they saw what caused all the alarm.”

Ieyasu frowned. Why doubt his abilities after everything he has done?

      “We got the tapes.” Masamune called out as he walked back towards them, with Mitsunari in tow who in turn was grasping his backpack tightly with both hands, smiling brightly at them.

      “All right.” Hideyoshi said. “It’s your floor now.”

      “You might want to stay back a little.” Ieyasu placed the pack of mint, the parking stub, and cigarette butts in the middle of the Ward, covered them with the plastic bag, wrapped it around thrice. Then, he dipped his brush into the black ink, took a deep breath and –

      The sun searing into his back as he walked across the lot, long lines at the cashier and even longer queues of vehicles snaking around the small space, the smell of newly painted pedestrian crossing, paper bags rolling empty in the wind, a crash of  – I can’t believe you forgot to get tissue rolls again! mum said I had to wait in the car it’s inhumane to leave a pet under this weather and didn’t I tell you to park it nearer do you know how much two bags weigh – gum chewed until the mint turned into ash and there was nothing but the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and the pairs of eyes that watches watches watches you enter and cross and leave and don’t forget your coupons and your receipt sir please –

      Ieyasu gathered the sensations into him, channeling them through his body, turning them into energy and magic and pushing them back out again into his brush as he wrote the protective seals that formed the Ward.

      That was all there really was to Warding; take the rules of life around an area, those repeated actions done again and again and again, those that form life through repetition, and became rituals in their own right – and gather them and mix them and pray they help keep the place safe.

      Take a parking lot, for example. Walk in any country, any city, any small town anywhere in the world, and grocery parking lots basically worked the same way. You got a parking ticket, or stub, depending on where you were in the world, you chewed on gum when you waited, maybe you have a cigarette or two or three – because damn the line is long and there’s plastic everywhere and did you forget that corned beef brand your mum told you to get and were you even counting your change? Little things that were universal. Little things that make up the experience. Little things that, if you knew how to capture them and knew how to bend them, you could create a ward to protect it all.

      At least, for sorcerers, that was how it worked. You found magic in life. You breathed it. And you channeled it to work for you.

      But you have to know how to listen to it first.

      Ieyasu opened his eyes and was just about to put in the final seal to finish the ward but suddenly, something hissed – at first a whistle then before any of them could pinpoint where the sound came from, it turned into a loud screeching roar.

      “Get away!”

      Ieyasu felt more than saw Hideyoshi – ever alert, ever careful – pull him back with a gesture of one hand. Then the concrete underneath both of them caved down nearly three feet, to avoid whatever it was that had swiped at them from above.

      A frustrated screech, the sound of train wheels magnified several times and the urgent thud thud thud of metal on metal.

      “Incoming!” Mitsunari alerted them.

      Ieyasu saw the car, a small dark spot in the sky becoming bigger and bigger, and then his line of view was blocked by Hideyoshi again, who had moved in front of him, arms moving upward. As if summoned, the lights from the remaining streetlamps all flew towards the car, impaling it before making it explode into harmless chunks. Bits of car parts rained down in a noisy clack clack clack.

      “Another one!” Masamune shouted, tracing the arc of the car with his ancient katana. Ieyasu clicked his tongue. Masamune would use any excuse to wield his sword again and a flying projectile was enough of one. Masamune swung in a lazy arc, blue light pulsed from his sword and cut the second car in half, which fell in a loud crash.

      “What the hell is going on?” Ieyasu shouted, scrambling to his feet. The magic of the ward was slowly ebbing from his mind. If they did not act quickly, he would have to start the ritual again. That was the downside of being a sorcerer; it was pretty hard to concentrate on doing magic while you were being distracted by projectiles. “Mitsunari?”

      Mitsunari was looking towards the other side of the parking lot. “I’m seeing one spirit. One very big and angry spirit.”

      “What kind?” Ieyasu asked.

      “Anger, movement, a solid core, the desire to sleep and wreck havoc. Poltergeist or Kanaima.” Mitsunari said, squinting. “I’m not sure which from here.”

      “Why is there a spirit?” Hideyoshi asked over the sound of another car falling in bits and pieces around them. “There was absolutely nothing in this parking lot when we got here! And we disturbed nothing. Nothing!”

      Ieyasu gritted his teeth, an odd sense of déjà vu filling his tongue.

      “I’m not sure either.” Masamune was poised to strike. “But oh boy I’m not going to wait to find out!”

      “Wait!” Ieyasu tried to hold Masamune off but it was too late. Reckless, aggressive, so very very sloppy in watching his back, Masamune shot off like a bullet towards the spirit.

With a frustrated grunt, Ieyasu held out his hands. “Mitsunari!”

      “Here!” Mitsunari did not need any other instruction. Mitsunari, purple-eyed and pale, whose soft features belied the fact that he was the most precise sorcerer among them, who saw with cat’s eyes and spoke to foxes, who needed only flick a wrist and there was wind beneath Ieyasu’s feet and he flew towards Masamune who had just barely reached the spirit –

      “Kanaima!” Masamune announced. “We got ourselves a vengeful spirit!”

      Ieyasu landed with a grunt, shifting his knees to soften his fall, his hands touching the ground. Instantly, teal colored lights zigzagged towards Masamune, coating him in a ward for protection.

      And it was just in the nick of time. Masamune had raised his sword to strike but the kanaima had roared and it sounded like trains colliding in the underground. Hot and angry smoke billowed towards them, and both men braced themselves against it.

      More smoke blew from the holes of what looked like the kanaima’s mouth and eyes. Its entire body was black liquid, dripping and dripping like oil and tar and muck, and every time it moved, something seemed to spark inside it.

      The kanaima arched towards them, raising its hands and swiping at them, howling in a garbled tongue. Masamune deflected the blows with his sword and tried to strike back. But no matter how much he cut, his blade did nothing to the kanaima, which simply roared again, irritated that it could not pin Masamune down.

      “This is what you get for being reckless!” Ieyasu shouted at him while he searched for his bag for his left-over containers.

      “We all need exercise!” Masamune shouted back.

      “Masamune! We are literally going to be sucked into a vortex of doom if you’re not careful!” Ieyasu wrapped his hand around a bottle, prayed fervently it was his extra round of blessed water, and took out his hand from the bag. “We got one shot –”

      Then as if it had had enough, the kanaima slammed down its hands. The ground shook violently, large cracks cutting through the parking lot and Ieyasu staggered for even footing. Somewhere a pipe blew and water hit him square on the back, soaking him and blurring out the sound of the kanaima’s screams.

      Ieyasu wondered if the night could not get any worse.

      Masamune charged, sword glowing in golden light, and managed to cut one of the kanaima’s arms, sending the spirit in a frenzy all over again. Ieyasu scrambled to his feet and then cursed under his breath. The kanaima’s torn arm simply dissolved into steaming pool of black tar, smelled of despair and death. Then the kanaima regrew an arm. Two. And then three and four. And Ieyasu raced towards Masamune, pushing the bottle of blessed water in his hands.

      “One shot.” He said through gritted teeth. “Dead center in that glowing bit right there. Make it work!”

      “Three.” Hideyoshi squeezed in, suddenly beside them. “Mitsunari and I have extra.”

      Ieyasu whirled to see Mitsunari several feet away, hands planted on the ground and doing his best to counter whatever earth shattering chaos the kanaima was doing.

      Thank all the gods for Mitsunari –

      “You’re the only one unprepared.” Ieyasu hissed, would have shook Masamune if they were not so busy running from the kanaima’s reach. “I told you to always always bring condiments – !”

      “Focus!” Hideyoshi peeled away from them, pointed at the kanaima, holding his wand now and blasting a beam of light at it. Hideyohsi’s spell tore a hole through the monster’s shoulder for two seconds, before it filled up again with blackness and the night. The kanaima aimed for Hideyoshi – missed – and Hideyoshi rebutted with two more beams of light.

      All the while, Masamune was going for the kanaima’s left, flanking him.

      As if sensing their teamwork, the kanaima’s gaze shifted towards Masamune then back to Hideyoshi. It screamed and grew three more pairs of long, spindly arms.

      Masamune swore. Hideyoshi doubled his efforts. In response, the kanaima grew in size, as if gathering more energy, and turning them into more arms and legs than they could bother to keep count.

      Ieyasu planted his hands on the ground, called on his ward, and got to work.

      They say kanaimas were vengeful spirits. Those who died violently come back with murder spewing from their hands, and unanswerable questions where their hearts had once been. Anger. Sadness. A dying scream stifled too soon, too abruptly. There was no appeasing a kanaima. There have been efforts over the centuries; pity always the soul that cannot move on. But all efforts to calm kanaimas have failed. Some debts can never be erased. There was only retribution or death.

      Ieyasu’s eyes stung with wind and water but he kept his gaze on the ground. He tuned out the kanaima’s screams, focused on warmth, protection, and guarding light glowing below him, drew out the symbols with the mixture of dribbling mud and broken concrete.

      No one knew exactly how to recreate a kanaima by choice, what kind of death had to be suffered, what kind of wish so ardent for the victim to be brought back and chained ever after. Some say that to become a kanaima, you had to be killed by one, sucked into its abyss, drained of all blood and magic and  hope. It went without saying that none of them had any intention of letting each other go down that path.

      But there was another entry on the kanaima, a footnote he had read once, lifetimes past. Ieyasu scoured it in his memory, lifting it from other memories, something about a desire, a wish, a craving –

      And as Ieyasu remembered, it all made sense. The emptiness. The déjà vu.

      “Mitsunari!” Ieyasu called upon his friend again. How many times had he relied on him tonight? How many times in so many lifetimes? He could fill a ledger, maybe more. Maybe he should make sure to watch the damn tapes next time with Mitsunari to compensate.

      “Lord Ieyasu?” Mitsunari was beside him, smelling of burning hair and lightning.

      “Kanaimas are vengeful spirits but there is one thing we’ve forgotten about them.” Ieyasu wrote feverishly on the ground, fingers almost splitting in effort. How in the ever loving hell did Nobunaga ever manage to do sorcery while talking? “They aren’t so much victims as they are often spectators. Made to witness those they love die and be lost before their eyes.”

      Mitsunari’s eyes were trained on the kanaima, watching out for Hideyoshi and Masamune, but his ears were all Ieyasu’s.

      “This kanaima was triggered by the Were.” Ieyasu said.

      “When the Were was rebutted by the ward, the kanaima must’ve seen it.” Mitsunari followed his reasoning. Frowned. “But it does not make sense, Lord Ieyasu. This kanaima is nearly fifty years old. Its vengeance is older – and the pup was a new were, maybe only in its teens.”

      “I know. But this is my ward.” And at those words, the ward beneath them glowed, as if proud of its ownership. “A ward that no one should know about except for us. A ward that has been repeatedly attacked and attacked and attacked until – ”

      Ieyasu was unable to finish his sentence. One moment, he felt Mitsunari’s hand on his shoulder. In the next, underground pipes burst out from below them, shielding them both from hot smoke and tar.

      Mitsunari grunted with effort, curled his fingers and then opened them, and the water turned sharp, piercing, and pushing back the kanaima, its spindly limbs flailing.

      Ieyasu was drenched to the bone, his teeth nearly chattering. He could hear Hideyoshi and Masamune close in on the kanaima, fierce magicians attacking and trying to pry open the defenses of an unrelenting spirit at its moment of vulnerability. Ieyasu needed to match them, needed to finish the ward quickly so he could at least be of some help.

      Ieyasu rekindled the sensations he had grasped earlier in his head. The everyday details of ordinary people walking to and from the grocery, the waiting and hunting for parking space, the rush of afternoon sales, credit card points, loyalty card points, vouchers, the smell of a typical Saturday afternoon when groceries were packed to the full and you could not even squeeze in to just get into the counter please just this one item ma’am, my daughter needs this she’s going to die please just let me in line I’m just buying one item one item ­why can’t you let me –

      Ieyasu breathed through the kanaima’s seen memories – forced to witness repeated acts of hurting and pain – held himself up above its sorrow, and let it go.

      That was why it was very important for the local magicians or sorcerers to do Warding. They who knew the ground and the air and the walks of life and who spoke to the soul of the city and to whom the city talked back. Not fresh immigrants, not a group of six wandering magicians and sorcerers with the crest of an ancient name branded on their backs.

      Then again, none of them were strangers to the city anymore.

      Perhaps that was why at the moment, the Ward somehow felt stronger. More sturdy, like a wall of doubly reinforced steel. Ieyasu was no longer just a commissioned sorcerer but a living, breathing, part-of-the-city-kind of folk now, and it gave his magic an extra kick.

      “Don’t worry about it.” Nobunaga had said. And Ieyasu hadn’t. And Ieyasu didn’t. And maybe Nobunaga had seen that this might happen; that they would stay this long were still here, it was easier to fix them.

      Perhaps this was a sign that Ieyasu should touch up on the rest of the wards. He should discuss it with Nobunaga soon.

      With a last swipe of his fingers, Ieyasu finished the last stroke, sealing the Ward into place, breathing and willing protective life into it, grasping the tiny threads of what made magic alive in a simple parking space for a local grocery and concentrating them into the defensive circle that now pulsed again with magic.

      The ward glowed with its fresh seals. Alive. Almost sizzling.Guarding the place anew. For a few seconds, Ieyasu regarded the glowing Ward with a sense of pride, tracing his bloody fingers around its edges, feeling the magic fuller and more vibrant now.

      At almost the same time, Masamune had thrown the blessed water into the kanaima’s vulnerable center, that hot pool of anger and hunger and frustration, and it sizzled on contact. The kanaima howled in pain, thrashing its many legs and arms in an attempt to inflict as much pain as it had just experienced.

      However, Ieyasu’s ward was in place and the kanaima could now only do very little. For every attempt the kanaima made to destroy, the Ward answered back with equal fervor, striking at the kanaima with particularly powerful bolts of lightning.

      Lightning?

      “Everyone out of the water!!” Ieyasu shouted at his friends.

      Thank the gods none of his friends were that stupid. Even before Ieyasu could finish what he was saying, Masamune nimbly leapt into the air, higher than what was humanly possible. Hideyoshi pointed his wand below him and he and Mitsunari were lifted up on dry land. And Ieyasu –

      Ieyasu was damn well near swimming, drenched from head to toe –

      Three things happened very quickly.

      First, the lightning, fat and angry and very difficult to follow, lashed out towards the kanaima in retaliation to it striking the ward. The kanaima wailed in screeching agony, a screaming tearing sound of metal against harder metal.

      Second, Ieyasu had closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable. What was another death for a timeshifter if it meant his friends and the city was safe? And vainly hoped that the ward was smart enough to bounce back from him unharmed. His ward. His sorcery. It was impossible (magic never really recognized masters) but men faced with death often thought impossible things.

      Third, something tall and dark had intervened, stepping into the circle of the ward harmlessly, and with a wave of an arm, deflected the lightning meant for Ieyasu, finding a way to turn his impossible thoughts possible.

      Ieyasu looked up, and gasped with relief.

      Nobunaga Oda stood in front of him, his black coat swirling around his feet in a way that no coat should ever move. Wisps of shadow and black smoke drifted around his ankles. He looked for all the world as if he had just came out for a stroll, a picture of casual perfection amidst the chaos around him.

      Nobunaga extended an arm to help Ieyasu up. Ieyasu accepted it without fuss and was lifted with what looked like barely any effort. Then, Nobunaga turned his attention back to the kanaima, adjusting his black gloves as he did.

      The kanaima had not yet lost its fight. It shrieked again, aiming for the two of them now. It struck out with all of its remaining limbs and Ieyasu would have braced himself, would have answered back with an attack of his own, except –

      Nobunaga was there. And his ward was restored. There was nothing for him to fear.

      Ieyasu’s ward glowed at the approach of danger, ready to protect. Nobunaga paid it no heed and instead began to walk towards the kanaima. His coat billowed wildly even if there was no wind, and shadows as dark as moonless and starless nights, darker than the kanaima itself, lashed out to deflect the spirit’s attacks.

      Where the kanaima’s limbs were heavy lumber, Nobunaga’s shadows were whips, extending nimbly and cracking like thunder. More and more shadowssnaked out from Nobunaga’s coat, more than the kanaima could counter, more thanthe kanaima could possibly even follow, more than it could possibly defenditself from. Its wail – then angry and frustrated – turned sorrowful, panickyand almost almost as if it was afraid.

Ieyasu gripped his wrist with his other hand.

      The kaniama was right to be afraid.

Nobunaga did not relent in his attack as he approached. His shadows struck the kanaima repeatedly, some pining it down, some seemingly tearing at it with a hundred unseen hands. Until it was reduced to lie spread-eagle on the concrete, until it had shrunk and shrunk down to only three feet tall and looked less and less like the destructive spirit it had been just moments earlier.

      It tried to crawl away wailing, but there was no escaping its inevitable end.

      Nobunaga stood over the kanaima. His shadows climbed into the air, twisted together to form a huge curved blade, and came down striking the kanaima straight in its abdomen, straight through its faintly glowing light, putting it out of its misery. There was a flash of bright light. Then silence.

      And just like that, the kanaima was gone. Lifetimes of pain, lifetimes of being an unwilling witness, reduced to nothing in a mere instant.

      And not for the first time tonight, Ieyasu felt a pang of something that hurt. He wished there was a better way for them to go, an easier way, a less painful way. But then, where would all that anger go? Where would all that pent-up frustration be channeled into if not in a final display of aimless destruction? A plea for a swift death.

      Ieyasu wanted to sit down, and think for a while.

      “Lord Ieyasu, you were amazing!” Mitsunari immediately exclaimed, turning back to look at him, beaming with a sense of wonder. “Your performance with wards is top-notch as usual.”

      “I was just doing what I normally do.” Came Ieyasu’s automatic response, deflecting Mitsunari’s wide-eyed praise. He felt nothing like amazing and Ieyasu was sure he among all of them was the one who least looked like amazing.

      “It appears I arrived just in the nick of time.” Nobunaga said. His shadows were gone, his black coat unmoving as all black coats should.

      “Yes you did, Lord Nobunaga.” Mitsunari turned his attention to the other man, and Ieyasu mentally thanked him.

      “Lord Nobunaga!” Hideyoshi approached them, all smiles despite being out of breathe, tucking his wand into his inner breast pocket. Masamune was close behind, sword hidden wherever it was that Masamune tucked his weapons.

      “We weren’t expecting for you to come.” Hideyoshi continued, almost vibrating with joy.

      “I was on my way home and thought something was not right.” Nobunaga said. “But it looked like you were handling it.”

      “Sure.” Ieyasu grumbled, running his hand through his matted hair. “And I am a perfect example of someone who was handling it, all right.”

      Hideyoshi and Masamune had only soot and a few scratches as proof they disabled a kanaima. Mitsunari looked pristine, his bag not even riddled with any dirt. And Nobunaga – well, he looked like he always did. It would be unfair to Ieyasu to compare himself to them.

      Nobunaga chuckled. “You do look a little worse for wear.”

      Ieyasu shrugged.

      Mitsunari’s smile had not dimmed. “I wish I had my camera.”

      Ieyasu shivered. “There’s nothing worth recording.”

       “Give yourself some credit.” Masamune slapped Ieyasu’s back and Ieyasu almost toppled back to the ground. “You did in a short time what other sorcerers or magicians do in an hours. Maybe even more.”

      “They just need more practice.” Ieyasu deflected again. “Besides, we all did our part.” Ieyasu gave Nobunaga a pointed look. “Some less than others.”

      At that Nobunaga chuckled again. Hideyoshi choked in disbelief.

      “Of course. The Duke Stag who Remembers, can do it all.” Nobunaga teased him.

      Ieyasu hoped the heat in his cheeks was fever and not him blushing at compliments; he never did like that nickname. Too many responsibilities. “Whatever. Look, it’s done.”

      And it was. The ward was slowly fading back into obscurity, sinking into the concrete. Ieyasu regarded it one final time before turning back to his friends.

      “I’m still confused though.” Masamune said. “Why did the spirit attack us?”

      All eyes went to Ieyasu and not for the first time tonight, he felt a little bit overwhelmed at the attention.

      Ieyasu would have adjusted his coat if it were not wet and sticking to his skin. “Kanaima’s are vengeful spirits, yes. They’re animated by something that caused their deaths – it fuels them to seek out and execute retaliation.”

      But those were basic stuff. Ieyasu dug further into his mind. His friends waited for him to carry on.

      “There was a footnote on the kanaima that I’ve read.” Ieyasu continued. “I think around the industrial revolution when the scientific approach to understanding spirits became more aggressive. Someone noticed that the kanaima’s weren’t just the angrier cousins of poltergeists – more like, as part of the consequence of a successful revenge, they don’t move on. They’re forced to see more and more acts of cruelty, pain; the consequences of their action. And they can do nothing to stop it. Again and again and again.”

      “How does the ward fit in?” Hideyoshi asked.

      “The kanaima must’ve thought the ward reacting to being erased against the Were was a trap. Or something similar.” Ieyasu shook his head. “I don’t think it has anything to do with the ward though. The kanaima simply reacted to the Were being hurt.”

      “And it thought we were the perpetrators?” Masamune asked.

      “I think so. I repaired the ward. The kanaima attacked as soon as I touched it.” Ieyasu turned to Nobunaga. “Which reminds me, we need to look at all the other wards, reinforce them. Someone or something was able to poke at this one.”

      And prevented me from sensing it. Ieyasu wanted to add but he did not want Hideyoshi to panic any more for tonight.

      “We’ll put that in the agenda.” Nobunaga looked thoughtful. “But for now, I think we all deserve some rest. It’s been a long night.”

      Ieyasu gave him a sidelong glance, wondered how much Nobunaga already knew.

      “Right.” Masamune clapped his hands twice. “Now we’ve saved the city again, yes. Congratulations! We have to celebrate!”

      “We still have to tidy up.” Hideyoshi reminded them.

      Masamune flinched. “Can the Kapitans do this – just this once? Like, can we please just go home right now?”

      Ieyasu surveyed the parking lot which looked nothing like how it did when they had first arrived. And someone had to do a lot of explaining with the wrecked cars. He could already imagine the paperwork.

      “Please take clean-up seriously.” Hideyoshi frowned at Masamune. “I’ll be heading over the nightwatch HQ and have someone look over the tapes. Then there’s a report we’ll need to make for the Liga. Ieyasu, I need your statements so –”

      Masamune made a face. “But we can literally do that in the morning –!”

      Ieyasu sighed as the two bickered about which task had to go to whom, when to do the appropriate task, and how Masamune did not again bring at least the basic condiments to work. Ieyasu looked at Nobunaga, who in turn was looking up at the night sky, somewhat pensive, as if he was trying to trace something above them.

      Ieyasu looked up as well, saw the stars as they usually were, and was just about to ask what Nobunaga had been looking at when he felt Masamune grab him by his neck, pulling him in for something resembling a hug.

      “No. And no. Both of you can do that in the morning. Like, after resting and waking up.” Masamune said. “Ieyasu here needs his beauty rest – ”

      At those words, Ieyasu felt ready to fight again. “What does that even mean –?”

      “It’s been a long night for all of us – especially Ieyasu.” Masamune mock-frowned at Hideyoshi. “And I call for a late night snack for all of his hard work at the restaurant tonight. And of course, Lord Nobunaga’s here!”

      Nobunaga was smiling. “I think I can use some late night snack.”

      “Lord Nobunaga!” Hideyoshi placed his hands over his face.

      Ieyasu rolled his eyes, tried to put as much as his heart to make it as believable as he could. “You want us to celebrate by making me work again?”

       Masamune gestured. “I mean, who else is gonna –”

      Mitsunarialmost raised his hand, “I would be very happy to – ”

      “No.” Ieyasu grabbed Mitsunari’s arm before Hideyoshi could, pulled it down. “Let’s not go there again.”

      Mitsunari angled his head. “But Lord Masamune can’t go into the kitchen and you’re tired Lord Ieyasu and we can’t have Lord Nobunaga cook so it’s only natural – ”

      “I’ll do it.” Hideyoshi and Ieyasu said at the same time.

      “We will order takeout.” Ieyasu hastily added. “You can just,” he struggled for the words, “rest.”

      Mitsunari looked surprised. “But I don’t feel particularly tired.”

      “That settles it then.” Masamune grinned from ear to ear, dragging Ieyasu and Mitsunari along. “We’re celebrating working hard and hard work!”

      “We have not yet decided on clean-up!”

      It had taken a call from Nobunaga for some other local agents of the nightwatch to help with the cleaning. Then after much debate, decided only by a flip of a coin, they stopped by a local burger joint for takeout, moved on to buy drinks (juice for Masamune), and walked back to their apartment which was three floors above their restaurant. They ate and drank for the city, for good health, for their successes, and for the gods to continue smiling kindly upon them all.

      By the time they finished, the sun had begun its climb from the Sierra Madre. Ieyasu wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the rest of the day away. The moment his head touched his pillow, he was gone and Ieyasu Tokugawa dreamed of teal colored wards and a woman running hard to catch up on him.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen ieyasu #a thousand mended seams #atms 03 #ythmir writes #ythmir fanfics

[windandwater]

First, you should know that we didn’t know about any of this when we went to Crete. But we found out, when we were told the story.

If you want to be inspired and sad all at once while learning some history, I very much recommend reading the Wikipedia pages for the Greek Resistance and Cretan Resistance in WWII. Actually, I recommend reading them anyway—hi I’m a Ravenclaw and a proponent of knowledge for the sake of knowledge—but they’re also relevant to this story.

For the sake of said story, it suffices to know that the reaction of Greece, and especially Crete, to the Nazis invading, was to resist. According to Wikipedia, this is how the Battle of Crete went for Germany:

For the first time during World War II, attacking German forces faced in Crete a substantial resistance from the local population. Cretan civilians picked off paratroopers or attacked them with knives, axes, scythes or even bare hands. As a result, many casualties were inflicted upon the invading German paratroopers during the battle.

They lost in the end, but the resistance didn’t stop then. Cretan rebels hid out in the mountains and kept fighting for the duration of the war. Wikipedia once again:

As Cretan fighters became better armed and more aggressive in 1944, the German troops pulled out of the country areas, having destroyed a number of villages in the Kedros area and executing many inhabitants, aiming to cow the Cretans. Grouping their forces around Canea, the Germans remained trapped until the end of the war, refusing to surrender to the Greek army, for fear of retaliation. They eventually surrendered to the British on 23 May 1945.

It was a three hour bus ride from Chania to Heraklion. We made this trip with the sole purpose of visiting Knossos, the oldest civilization we’ve found in Europe, which also happens to be the origin of the myth of the Minotaur and the Labyrinth.

At the beginning, the bus station in Chania was playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Is that Sweet Home Alabama??? holy shit Friend: What? Me: am I hallucinating Me: tell me you’re hearing this too Me: Do they even know what Alabama is here?? Friend: Do they know Alabama is even real? Me: To be fair, I’m not even sure Alabama is real. In fact I’m pretty sure Alabama isn’t real. Or I wish it wasn’t.

A bus, another bus, and a street cat sleeping on a motorcycle. Graffiti proclaiming that a bench in the middle of a bus stop is a good kissing spot (it did not look particularly romantic). People catching the bus from stops under dripping overpasses and benches surrounded only by trees on the side of the road.

And then we found ourselves walking through the oldest civilization in Europe.

The grounds were covered in peacocks, and we could hear them screaming in the trees. I have many questions about the 19th century British man who “restored” the ruins, but after walking around them and getting very confused, I no longer have any questions about why this was the civilization that came up with the myth of an endless maze.

I no longer wonder how the people on this island and in this country looked up at the stars and the mountains and told stories about gods and monsters, or why they got so strange. So many people, in such a mild climate, in close quarters, telling stories?

Of course Crete takes its time. Of course Crete is an island of wax wings flying away and women giving birth to half-bull monsters. Of course Crete’s food will ruin you for all other food, after taking two hours to eat it.

Of course Crete is full of stories.

There’s no good way to describe the feeling of walking through ancient ruins. I think, just like the experience of living in New York, I might be spending the rest of my life trying. What I will say now is that—like New York—only the locals could describe it properly. Only the locals know the ways in which being an ancient culture has shaped them through the years and brought them to where they are.

We only got a small taste of the community, and the spirit of the people. But I can say that both are very strong.

We did some shopping, of course. There’s a row of shops right outside the ruins, the kind that pop up all over the world in tourist areas and that prey on the unsuspecting, or willingly enter into a contract with the suspecting, to prey on them.

We only intended to be there for a few minutes—we’d purchased a ticket that would get us into the Archaeological Museum in Heraklion, and had to get there before it closed.

But, you know. It’s Greece. It’s Crete.

Never go to Crete with the attitude that you need to be on a schedule or stick to a specific plan. Expect to be derailed by glasses of raki and limoncello and new friends and their stories. Expect stories about monsters.

Our first store was run by an older man who spoke very little English but found everything I said to be hilarious, so he was my instant new best friend.

The second store we went into was run by a younger guy, who started out telling us about the merchandise, so I’m still not quite sure how we ended up discovering that we were kindred spirits. What I do know is that fifteen minutes later, we had both bought more things than intended, and were yelling about politics and our terrible president in the middle of a Greek tourist shop at the end of the day.

That’s when “Sweet Home Alabama” came on in his store. I shit you not.

I had noticed the slightly-odd playlist (I think John Mayer had been mixed in there at some point) but couldn’t help commenting this time, if only for the coincidence. That’s when Nikos (his name was Nikos) said the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life:

“Yeah, I play traditional Greek music in the morning for the tourists, and in the afternoon I just listen to whatever I want.”

A few minutes later, in the middle of us still cussing out the president, “Shipping up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys came on. Okay.

I got to yell about going to the Flogging Molly/Dropkicks concert last year and bond over Celtic punk and talk a lot about Boston and how my family immigrated from Italy and Portugal.

“And why does your country hate immigrants?”
 “I don’t even kNOW, we’re all immigrants originally, it’s so stupid, our country just hates anybody who’s not white.” “There’s a little of that in Europe too, not in Greece because we love immigrants—“ “Yeah, fascism is coming back—“ “And we're doing NOTHING about climate change, the world is falling apart, why are you so worried about immigrants when the planet is dying—“ “WE KNOW, it’s so fucked up” “Well when the world ends I’ll just be up in the mountains fighting fascists” “HELL YEAH”

And as I alluded to earlier, going up into the mountains to fight fascists is not unprecedented. Nikos would even be following in the footsteps of his family.

When the Nazis invaded, he said, his grandfather was missing a hand, so he couldn’t fight, but he hid people in a basement. He walked out one morning and there was a pile of dead Nazis—right over there, not a hundred feet from where we were standing—and two partisans standing there with guns slung over their shoulders. They had singlehandedly fought them all off. And when the Nazis tortured Nikos’ grandfather for information later, he couldn’t tell them anything, because he truly didn’t know.

Are you getting chills? I was.

At that point I asked if the traditional Cretan knives he was selling were for stabbing Nazis. He said yes.

He wasn’t wrong.

Cretan civilians picked off paratroopers or attacked them with knives, axes, scythes or even bare hands.

The next day, we were back in Chania, walking around and getting lost in the city.

We didn’t have to get lost to find the bombed-out ruins of a building destroyed by German invaders. There were others just like it.

The stories are there, right under your feet. In the face of the person walking next to you. In the history they carry with them, just by existing in this time, in this place.

Nikos had started out telling us the story of the minotaur, which I could recite back to him verbatim. I read Greek myths as a child, and Greek philosophy as an adult. I learned the real, grownup versions of the mythology, then read plays and Homer and translated Latin versions of Greek stories. My feet walked in a city that looks like Greece but isn’t, learning the story of my country and where it came from.

We went from Knossos back to Heraklion city center on another bus, this time full of old ladies coming back from work, ignoring us, and having their own conversations. We were too late to go to the museum, and barely caught the bus back.

We had the chance to be in the place where the stories came from. And I think we were lucky to hear them from someone who has had them under his feet his whole life.

#adventures in text posts #my writing #crete #stab nazis 2k19 #greece #greece 2019

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Supercorp Artist AU

Kara Danvers is something of a local celebrity artist in Midvale. Every street fair she can be found drumming up interest in the arts by taking improv requests from the crowd and drawing each idea on the spot, from memory.

Most are goofy: lazy dogs with lolling tongues begging for belly rubs, a little girl with a bubble of gum exploding across her cheeks, cartoon ducklings splashing happily in hyper realistic puddles. All the while, she explains the color choices she makes, reducing her figures to their basic shapes, the concept of scale.

She also puts in shifts at the face painting station, drawing long lines so they can receive whatever ornate design she'll bestow on their cheeks. All of them are clever and fantastical-- fire engines turned to water dragons, pandas with bamboo pompoms cheering on their wearer, tigerish housecats prowling jungles of books.

But she also takes time for larger projects. Each festival, she can be found in front a wall of canvas, painting whatever strikes her fancy as crowds gather to watch for ten, twenty minutes before wandering off in search of candy apples and funnel cake.

During one such festival, a photographer from out of town is prowling the cordoned off streets, snapping photos to capture the charm of small town americana. They pause at Kara's wall of canvas, and... don't leave. They stare, captivated, as Kara swirls colors together in amorphous shapes that don't resemble anything at all but somehow convey... comfort.

The photographer snaps just one more photo: Kara, oblivious to the world around her as she focuses on the world of color blossoming in front of her. They longer a little longer, hoping to speak with her, but Kara doesn't look up from her work for hours more, long after the festival closes down.

A few days later, the town paper is delivered to Kara's doorstep. A picture of her graces the front page, but one unlike any she's seen before. Haloed by the lights of the festival behind her, Kara's profile was captured in a moment of utter concentration. The crowd at the edges of the image were hazy, but Kara was in perfect focus.

The photograph is breathtaking. A balance of color and proportion that draws the eye to her frozen image. What catches Kara's focus the most, though, is her own smile. It speaks of some hidden knowledge, of happiness. She can't recall what she might have been thinking about-- all she remembers of that session is being entirely in the zone.

The credit at the bottom of the image lists the photographer's name.

Lena Luthor.

It's not long before Kara's agent calls her.

"I've got a buyer for your festival painting," James tells her, the sound of his smile plain even over the phone.

"You know I don't sell those, James."

She donates them around Midvale, as a thank you to libraries, cafes, and schools.

"I know, but you were already not sure where this one would be going." It's true. She's already running out of new recipients around town. "And trust me, what the buyer is offering is worth breaking tradition."

He tells her a figure, and Kara nearly chokes on her coffee. "Are they insane? It's not worth that much! I did it for FUN--"

"A painting is worth what someone is willing to pay. And that was only their first offer. I could probably broker more..."

"Who is it?"

James makes a hesitant noise. "The client wants to remain anonymous. I've only spoken with an intermediary."

Kara scrubs a hand over her face. She can hardly wrap her brain around it.

"Youve been saying you want to grow for a while now. What do you say to taking that first step?"

She sighs. Midvale is comfortable. Her work is beloved, even the stuff she doesn't like. A precipice looms under her feet, and far below her small fish is about to leap into a large pond.

"Yeah, okay."

"Great! I'll make it happen. How soon can it be ready for transport?"

"As soon as they want." For that kind of money, she'll deliver it herself.

---

The painting is shipped that day, and so begins a whirlwind of notoriety. The picture in the Midvale Chronicle spreads to the county times, and then to the internet as word of her painting's fate spreads.

Galleries all along the coast invite her to show more pieces, and private collectors reach out in droves. Other artists start sending her invitations to art shows of their own, and suddenly she has connections and contacts across the country.

People want to know her.

It blows her mind, but she loves it. She loves it so much that she moves to National City and open the private studio she's always wanted. Barely a week after arriving, she receives yet another invition to a gallery opening, this time for a local photographer. She almost tosses it before she catches sight of the artist's name.

Lena Luthor.

Kara makes James come with her as backup. She doesn't know any photographers, and anxiously worries that her invitation had simply been a mistake. But when they arrive, the other guests smile at her like they've already met, nodding in greeting as Kara tries to scope out which one of them could be Lena.

She finds herself before she finds her host.

That is, on the wall under a warm focus of light, she finds the same photo of her that had run in the gazette. Again, she's captivated by her own face, somehow even more beguiling in a gallery full of other, equally breathtaking art.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

The unexpected voice beside her makes Kara jump. She turns to find a tall woman in a patchwork velour dinner jacket and wide rimmed glasses.

"This one's my favorite."

There's something about the way one hand is tucked into the pocket of her trousers, and the sharp study in greens eyes that sparkle in a smile, that clues Kara in.

"You're Lena."

Ruby lips spread into a smile. "Guilty." She extends a hand in greeting. "Thank you for coming. I was hoping to meet you."

"L-likewise," Kara stumbles, struggling to maintain her composure and not focus on the heat of Lena's palm in hers. "Wow. Y-your work is amazing."

"Thank you."

"This photo launched my career," she blurts. "And the rest... just, wow."

It's true. There are pictures from all across the country. Some are pastorals, but more feature the people that populate the towns she visited. Twin girls busting a gut laughing over a dripping ice cream cone-- a farmer's face in zoom, weathered and creased by life-- a woman alone on a bus bench, tears in her eyes. On and on and on Kara sees life captured in plain honesty.

"That's kind of you to say," Lena says.

"No, I mean it! It's amazing! I mean, when I paint like that," she gestures towards the photo, "it's because I don't see what I want to, so I have to make it. But you... its like you see the beauty that's already in the world."

Lena looks at her in warm regard, her smile turning quiet.

Only then does Kara realize that their hands are still joined together. "Oh! Sorry."

"I didn't mind," Lena returns smoothly.

Kara's heart pounds furiously. Before she can think of something else to say, a suited man sidles up to Lena and speaks low in her ear. She watches Lena nod, before turning to face Kara directly.

She's not wearing a shirt. The lapels of her jacket plunge downward to meet just below her ribs, framing another work of art in the form of pale skin and gently curving cleavage.

"Mingling duties call," Lena tells her, apology in her voice. "It was lovely speaking with you."

Kara nods dumbly.

"Please enjoy the champagne. It was very expensive."

From anyone else the comment might have seemed pretentious, but the devilish smile that comes with it has Kara laughing.

"Sure thing. I'll take care of those potstickers too."

She keeps an eye out as the night progresses, but she never gets a chance to speak with Lena again. She makes some new friends though, and regales them all about which stall to get the best popcorn balls from at the Midvale Festival, and how they'd need to stop by Buzzed and Toasted for the best cocoa and cupcakes on their way out of town.

Exhaustion drags her home before she can catch Lena's eye again. Disappointment stains the thrill of their meeting, and she spends the next morning picking apart the few words they'd shared for where she'd gone wrong.

When her phone buzzes, she's distracted enough not to notice that the caller is an unsaved number.

"'Lo?"

"Is this Kara Danvers?"

"Um... yeah?"

"This is Lena Luthor."

Kara jolts, banging her hip against the corner of her kitchen table. "Oh! Hi! Hi. How are you?"

"To be honest, I'm a little disappointed we didn't get the chance to continue our conversation last night."

A flush heats Kara's cheeks as she nervously adjusts her glasses. "To be honest... I was just thinking the same thing." She pauses. "Wait, how did you get my number? I mean, I'm glad you did, don't get me wrong, but how?"

"Mr. Olsen left your card with my assistant last night."

James is getting a bonus. Immediately.

"So, I was wondering," Lena continues, "would you be at all interested in joining me for dinner at my place tonight?"

"Wuh-- yes! I definitely would be interested in doing that."

She can practically hear Lena's smile. "Great. How does seven sound? I can text my address to this number?"

"Yeah. It's my cell. Seven sounds great."

She'll have to pre-game a snack in order to make it that long til dinner, but she can do it.

"I'll see you then, then."

"Looking forward to it."

She barely manages to end the call before her knees go weak and she slithers to the ground to lay in a pathetic heap.

"What is my life right now?"

----

The address Lena sends leads her to an upscale neighborhood near the wharf. Color lurks behind every corner: graffitied on the sides of buildings and traced onto shop windows and adorning every bus stop overhang.

Kara knows why James hadn't directed her to this area when she'd been scoping out apartments-- even with her recent windfall, she couldn't afford a place here long term. She half expects a doorman when she approaches Lena's building, but all she finds is a normal callbox.

She's buzzed in immediately and one short elevator ride up deposits her into a short hallway left artfully unfinished with polished concrete floors and exposed lighting.

Lena's loft is little different, but the industrial feel works with the high ceilings and simple floor plan. Art exists everywhere Kara as she steps inside: sculptures and beautifully blown vases, and art hangs on every wall.

Including one very familiar piece.

"You're the anonymous buyer!"

Lena looks not at all embarrassed. "I fell in love with it that night in Midvale. It makes me feel."

"Feel what?"

"Depends on the day." Lena tilts her head towards the kitchen, where tantalyzing aromas brew with promise. "Shall we?"

Pasta and wine occupies them for one hour, then two. Over chocolate cake they talk for hours more, about everything and nothing. Lena is smart, and funny, quick to smile and wildly disarming when her eyes soften halfway through their second bottle of wine, focusing on Kara like she's suddenly the only art that exists.

"You intrigue me, Kara Danvers," she says as the clock nears midnight.

Kara holds her gaze, emboldened by the wine humming in her veons. "Can I kiss you?"

"You're welcome to do more than that."

Their lips meet in a tangle of wine and chocolate frosting, and the rest of the world falls away. Kara doesn't leave until morning.

#supercorp #artist au #dunno where tf this came from #but i like #lena luthor #kara danvers

[remisu]

Dreams 03.28.21

Long entry.

Someone was removing graffiti off of an old white van. It looked like someone spraypainted Hello Kitty. Not a good image to say... Later I was driving on a rainy night. A guy was giving directions where to turn. We went up a steep hill and reached a tall black gate.

When we went inside the building, it went from night to day. I was confused what happened but kept walking. People welcomed us and offered drinks and food. I didn’t take but stared at the ceiling. It was very tall, painted in a baby blue with intricate white clouds.

Later I was in a hotel room, sitting on the bed, looking out the window. It was probably afternoon. There was a nice oceanview, the sunlight reflecting on the moving waves. Then I heard a bird chirping nearby. When I walked closer to the balcony, there was a small sparrow close to the sliding doors. I remembered I had some bread and went to get it on the coffee table. As I headed back I realized I was naked. For some reason I didn’t bother to get clothes, and instead opened the door, crouched down, and fed the sparrow some crumbs. It hopped back and forth across the balcony floor, but kept coming back to my hand to eat.

After it took off I heard a guy from the next room say: “What is that?” and a woman gasped. When I stood up there was a tall black figure slowly walking on the ocean. It was at least 5 meters tall, skinny, with horns and glowing eyes. It walked for a few seconds, then it vanished. Immediately I heard a voice behind me: “Can I stay here for a bit?” When I turned around it was a woman, naked, barely covered in white sheets. I thought the figure was her. I just said: “Sure,” and closed the balcony door. I don’t remember what she said after, I think she said she was tired and she wanted to get away from something.

-

People were circling around. When I looked closer, it was him and another guy, doing an improv rap battle. I asked myself: “How did this happen? Who started it?” The other guy rapped about his name which meant light and that he can go through the dark. Sounds cringe, I don’t remember word for word, but I thought that was a big roast.

Afterwards when the others left I offered him a hand. He looked at me and said: “Naughty, naughty, naughty,” with a smirk. I immediately flushed, I felt my ears get hot and covered them with my hands. I asked him: “What do you mean? What did I do?” And this was what he replied: “I got a goomba, an angry goomba.” What? I kept asking him what he meant by that and he didn’t say anything but kept smiling. Still don’t know what would that mean...

-

I went inside a bus, but as I went up the steps, I saw how narrow the space was. There weren’t any seats, just the floor, but it was close to the ceiling. All passengers sat down, backs against the wall. As the bus moved, I saw through the window what looked like an aftermath of a catastrophe. Landslides all over the place, cliffs fell, trees sticking out of the ocean, waters crashing over high ground.

When the bus stopped, we all got out in front of a hotel lobby. A woman escorted us inside and we waited in a dark hallway. Then a man told us that there were enemies outside, above in helicopters, and they’ll shoot anyone they see. We needed to follow a rabbit, yes, a rabbit, that can lead us a path to an underground subway. Sure enough the rabbit was trained. It learned to hide when it detected the helicopters. We ran through the hotel, and out into a lake. In the lake there was subway running and we found the station.

[drink-the-midnight-oil]

Choices

Summary: Betty Cooper is forced to make a choice between the Northside and the Southside when she is threatened by an unidentified criminal. Will she choose the home she’s always known and the mask she’s worn for her whole life? Or will she choose the dark path to new beginnings? In this oneshot, Betty is compelled to decide where her loyalties truly lie.

“Back before eight, Elizabeth,” Alice called after her daughter as Betty headed out the front door. “Your father and I have that meeting with Mayor McCoy tonight.”

“I know, mom,” Betty replied pulling the door shut behind her. She walked down the sidewalk, on her way to the bus stop. As she passed the Andrews residence, she noticed that it was unusually quiet. Fred would be off at work, but where was Archie?

Her question was answered when she saw him walking up the sidewalk towards her, his red-hair sticking out every which way. There was a look of worry on his face, but that wasn’t abnormal.

Ever since Fred Andrews had been shot, reports of kidnappings and murders in Riverdale had increased. The newspapers were filled with reports of teens going missing or someone being found lying in a pool of blood in their home. Black Hood hadn’t been caught, and this had caused a state of paranoia in Archie. He had almost gone crazy trying to find Black Hood, losing interest in music and football altogether. He stopped talking to any of his friends and after a few futile efforts, they gave up, except Betty. But that was inevitable, considering that they were next door neighbors. It had also strained his relationship with Veronica, ultimately resulting in them breaking up. No matter how hard they tried, no one could bring back the old music-loving jock.

“Hey, Betty,” Archie greeted. “Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to see Jughead,” Betty answered knowing what was about to come. Archie’s expression hardened.

“Jughead’s a Serpent, Betty. It’s not safe for you to be with him. His kind? They’re all criminals. Who knows? Maybe he’s helping protect Black Hood.”

Betty sighed. Archie had made it clear that he thought Black Hood was a Southside Serpent. And ever since Jughead had put on that leather jacket and joined the Serpents, Archie called him a traitor.

“Archie, Jughead isn’t a bad guy. And there’s no proof that Black Hood is a Serpent,” Betty said.

“I’ll get proof,” Archie replied. “You should stay away from him, Betty. He’s not good for you. The Northsiders and the Southsiders have always despised each other. You need to remember what you are. Or you might find yourself in trouble.”

“I don’t believe that. And I know that deep down, neither do you. Jughead’s your best friend, Archie.”

There was a steely expression on Archie’s face as he replied.

“No, Betty. He was my best friend.”

Betty gazed out the window as the bus drove through the streets, on its way to the Southside. She could see how the town had changed ever since Black Hood had planted the seed of fear in everyone’s minds. The buildings had lost the vibrancy and warmth that they used to radiate. The shopkeepers weren’t as friendly as they used to be. Now, the peeling paint and gloomy atmosphere made it all feel unwelcoming. The cracked facade of their once beautiful town had let in misery and angst.

The houses and shops changed as the bus entered the Southside. Shabbier homes, teens smoking in alleys, graffiti on the sides of buildings.  The complete opposite of the perfect Northside. To an outsider, it would appear dark and standoffish, but to Betty it was like a second home. She would come almost everyday to see Jughead. The other Serpents knew her as the Prince’s girl, and they all liked and respected her.

The bus pulled up at her usual stop and she got down. It was only a few blocks from here to the Whyte Wyrm. It was a breezy fall evening and the leaves patterned the sidewalk in a colorful array. Betty walked to the bar, the foliage crunching under her feet. The road was quiet and Betty could hear the steady hum of music playing as she approached the bar. 

From the distance she could make out two figures standing and talking. A tall, burly boy and a shorter girl. As Betty got closer, the girl shook her head at the boy, her pink streaks shining in the neon glow of the bar’s sign. Betty smiled to herself. Only one Serpent had those signature pink streaks. Toni Topaz.

Toni turned her head and saw Betty, a smile lighting up her face.

“Hey Betty,” she called, waving her over.

“Betty! How’s the Prince’s girl doing today?” the burly guy said. Sweet Pea.

“Hi guys,” Betty smiled. It was nice to see friendly faces. It had been a while since she had seen Veronica, and Kevin was always busy helping out his dad at the sheriff's station. "Where's Jughead?"

"Inside, talking to Tall Boy," Toni answered. 

 “Thanks,” She waved goodbye to the two Serpents and headed inside.

The bar was dimly lit and crawling with leather jacket clad Serpents ordering drinks or playing pool. Music was playing loudly and it was humid inside. There was a steady clinking of glasses. Betty smiled to herself. Even in the midst of all the drama and chaos happening in Riverdale, the Southside Serpents managed to stay united, unlike the Northsiders who were sullen and hostile.

Betty made her way through the crowded bar, waving and smiling at the familiar faces. She spotted Jughead at the back, sitting at the table and in the middle of an intense conversation with one of the older Serpents, a man called Tall Boy. He was wearing the Serpent jacket, looking as good as ever. His dark hair was tousled, one curl resting on his forehead. He didn’t wear his beanie anymore, but Betty could see a small corner of it sticking out from his jacket pocket. 

Jughead caught sight of her, a smile appearing on his face. He said something to Tall Boy and stood up. There was a new way in which he held himself, taller and prouder, when he walked. Long gone was the shy introvert and he had been replaced with a man who knew exactly what he wanted. The other Serpents made way for him, as if he was their prince. Being a Serpent suited him. In response, Betty’s heart stuttered.

“Hey Betts,” Jughead said. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” Betty replied. Jughead had been out of town for a few days on some Serpent business (”Nothing illegal,” he had assured her), and her heart ached for him every second that he was gone. 

Jughead took her hand and led her to the staircase behind the bar. There was a set of stairs that went up to the roof and a set that went down to the basement. The sound of men talking came from below them, and Betty and Jughead shared a look. Jason Blossom. Neither had been brave enough to go down there, knowing that a father had shot his son in that place. Jughead’s grip on Betty’s hand tightened and he led her upstairs. 

A blast of cold air hit Betty’s face as Jughead opened the door leading out to the rooftop. Betty closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, grateful for the cool night air. They went to the edge of the roof and sat down, their legs hanging off.

“How have you been?” he asked her.

“Fine, I guess,” Betty answered. “Where did you go this time?”

Jughead looked out into the distance, the light reflecting off of his blue eyes. “Someone forgot to make a payment for our services. We.... went to get it.”

“What do you mean ‘went to get it’ ?” Betty asked, alarmed. 

Jughead looked at her and smiled. “We didn’t beat him up, if that’s what you’re asking. It was just a reminder that a payment was due. He payed up.”

Betty stared at him, unconvinced. Jughead sighed.

“Betty, you know that I wouldn’t hurt a fly. And besides, the guy was ready with the money. I would have talked it out if there had been a problem.”

Betty smiled, relieved. Jughead put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled of cologne with an undertone of smoke. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. 

“Hey, how’s Archie been?” Jughead asked suddenly.

Betty looked up at him. “Not much better, Juggie. He’s still trying to solve everything himself.”

Jughead gave her a small nod. “Does he still think Black Hood’s a Serpent?”

“Yes. I don’t ever think he’s ever going to waver.”

Jughead was silent. Losing his best friend had been hard on Jughead, especially at a time like this when they all should’ve stuck together.

“Jughead...” Betty started. “Do you think it’s safe for us to be together?”

Jughead took his arm off of Betty’s shoulder. “What made you ask that?”

“Archie. He said that it was dangerous for us to see each other. I’m a Northsider and you’re a Serpent.”

“Betty, are you breaking up with me?” Jughead asked, hurt.

“No, god no, Jughead,” Betty answered. “I just don’t want any problems because I’m a Northsider. I don’t want the other Serpents angry with me.”

“Betts, all the Serpents love you. You aren’t like the other Northsiders. You’re the epitome of a good person. Remember how you refused to give up on my dad when he was almost incarcerated? And how you saved Pop’s from closing? And what about Jason’s murder? Who solved that?” Jughead smiled at her. “You aren’t creating the problems. You’re solving them. And this town should be indebted to you for all you’ve done.”

Betty gave Jughead a grateful smile. Leave it to him to make her feel better.

He took her hands and enclosed them in his. “Look at me, Betty.”

Betty looked up into Jughead’s blue eyes which had darkened to a midnight hue.

“I love you, Betty Cooper. With every piece of me. Don’t ever forget that.”

Betty looked at him through the tears which had pooled in her eyes.

“And I love you, Jughead Jones. So very much.”

Jughead kissed her, there in the moonlight. It was all the uncertainty and desperation they had ever had. It was letting go of the labels on them as Northsider and Southsider. It was forgetting the repercussions they would face when the civil war came. It was a promise that whatever happened, they would keep each other safe. 

Betty watched Jughead leave on his motorcycle after dropping her home. Her parents had gone out to meet Mayor McCoy and wouldn’t be back home anytime soon. Betty went to her bedroom and fell onto the bed, letting out a long sigh. So maybe she and Jughead were Romeo and Juliet. It didn’t matter. She loved him and he loved her. Nothing could change that.

A crash coming from the kitchen startled Betty. Nobody else was home. So what made that noise. She grabbed the can of pepper spray in her purse and quietly tip toed downstairs. She could make out a shadow in the light coming in through the big window in the living room. 

What if it’s Black Hood? she thought, a prickle of fear running up her spine. Her heart was pounding as she drew closer to the shadow. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and she tightened her grip on the can. 

Suddenly, the shadow disappeared. Betty went into the kitchen, but it was empty. All of a sudden, she felt a large gloved hand cover her mouth and a person was dragging her behind. Panic seized her and she tried to scream but the person’s hand muffled the sound. The can of pepper spray came up and she hit the person on the head as hard as she could. The hands released her with a grunt and the figure stumbled backwards. Betty spun to see a man standing there, dressed in black, a hood on his face. Black Hood. 

Betty let out a scream and started running towards the door. She almost made it but Black Hood grabbed her leg and she stumbled and fell. Betty kept screaming but Black Hood covered her mouth. He put his face close to her ear.

“A mouse shouldn’t be playing with snakes.” 

And then he was gone. The front door burst open, and Archie stood there breathing heavily, a gun in hand. He spotted Betty on the floor and ran to her.

“Wha- what happened?” he asked, out of breath. “I heard a scream and came as fast as I could.”

Betty sat up and pulled her knees up to her chin, shivering.

“Black Hood,” she whispered.

“WHAT!? Black Hood was HERE??” Archie sounded terrified. He sun around in a circle. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone,” Betty said, the shock settling in. Black Hood had been here, in her kitchen. He could have killed her but he didn’t.

“What did he do?” Archie asked. Betty told him what he had whispered.

The look of terror on Archie’s face turned to one of anger.

“I told you not to socialize with the Serpents. I told you to stay away from Jughead. He could have killed you, Betty!!!!” Archie was pacing now.

“Can’t you see???!!! Jughead isn’t good for you!!! You are a Northsider. He is a goddamn SERPENT. It isn’t safe for you to to be together.”

“Archie, where did you get that gun?”

Archie stopped pacing and looked at Betty.

“I got it from Dilton Doiley. After my dad was shot. It’s for protection.” he sounded tired. “You are going to have to make a choice, Betty. The Northside or the Southside. The war is coming soon. And God help you should you choose wrong.”

Archie left, banging the door behind him. Betty sat there, silent. She wanted to cry but no tears came. So instead, she waited in the dark, not knowing for what.

The next day was hectic. The police had come to investigate and they were swarming the house, looking for clues. Betty and her parents had been pegged with interview all day. She hadn’t told Jughead what happened. She didn’t want him to worry. Instead she texted him saying that she wouldn’t be able to make it tonight and she would see him tomorrow. He had said alright and that he loved her. A pang of guilt had shot through her chest when she read that. She didn’t want to lie to him but she didn’t want to worry him either.

That night, she got into bed assuring her parents that she would be alright sleeping alone. But Betty couldn’t fall asleep. A feeling of dread came over her, as if something bad was about to happen. It wasn’t until much later that she fell asleep.

                                  *                            *                           *

The buzzing noise from her phone woke Betty up in the middle of the night. She sat up groggily and looked at the clock. 1:00 am. She unlocked her phone to see an urgent text from Toni.

Betty, Archie’s here in the Southside. He’s yelling at Jughead. And he’s got a gun.

Betty ran from the bus stop down to the Whyte Wyrm as fast as her feet could carry her. She had pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and raced down to catch the late bus to the Southside. Her heart was pounding and her lungs hurt as she ran through the chilly night. She could see a large crowd of people standing in a circle outside the bar.

Betty pushed through the crowd, desperate to get to the front. The Serpents were pulling her back, you’ll only make this worse, girl. But Betty didn’t care. She had to keep Jughead safe.

She managed to make it to the front, running out into the open center.

Jughead was standing there, his jacket on the ground next to him. He was saying something in a low voice to Archie. And Archie. Archie was standing  a few feet in front of Jughead, a gun in his hand pointing at Jughead’s chest.

Betty felt her heart spasm as she took in the sight. The two boys saw Betty staring at them, a wild look on her face.

A terrified look appeared on Jughead’s face when he saw her standing there. He gave her a small shake of his head.

Get out of here before he does something. Go. NOW!!!

Betty didn’t move. 

Archie looked at her, his face growing redder. He turned back to Jughead.

“You need to stay away from her, Jones. Do you hear me?” Archie said in a dangerously low voice.

“Archie put down the gun and let’s talk this out. Come on,” Jughead replied, his hands out in front of him.

“No. She almost DIED Jughead. She almost died last night. Because of you and all your Serpents.”

Sweet Pea growled at him and took a step forward but Jughead held out his arm, stopping him.

“What do you mean, Archie?”

A look of cruel surprise crossed Archie’s face. “She didn’t tell you?”

Betty’s heart nearly stopped. This is not how Jughead needed to hear, not like this.

“Black Hood came to her house last night. He threatened her. He told her to stay away from the Serpents or she would get hurt.”

A look of hurt and confusion mixed with horror appeared on Jughead’s face. He looked at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I-I-I didn’t want to worry you,” Betty answered, her hands in fists. She felt her nails digging into her palms and breaking her skin.

Jughead’s eyes flitted to her hands and then back to Archie’s face.

“Archie put the gun down. Now.”

“No,” Archie said. “You need to stay away from her Jughead. It’s for her own good. And I know she won’t listen to me. So I have to do this.”

And Archie’s finger pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow down in front of Betty’s eyes. Serpents running forward and grabbing Archie. Jughead slowly falling to the ground, a dark stain spreading across his shirt. The gun falling from Archie’s hand as he stared at Jughead’s fallen form. A gut-wrenching scream pierced the air and she realized belatedly that it was coming from her.

She ran to Jughead, her stomach twisted into a knot. He was unconscious, his breathing shallow. The bullet had hit him on the left side of his chest which was now bloody. She peeled off her sweater and balled it up, pressing it to the wound to prevent blood loss. But there was so much blood already. Toni was next to her in a flash, telling her that it would be alright. Tears were blurring Betty’s vision. 

Not Jughead. Please not Jughead, she prayed silently.

Suddenly she remembered Archie. She stood up and turned around to see him being held there by the Serpents, a bloody lip and a bruise forming under his eye.

A storm of rage flooded through her, the tears disappearing. After what had happened to his father, how could Archie have done this?

Betty looked Archie straight in the eye.

“You wanted me to choose between the Northside and the Southside, Archie Andrews. Hear me as I tell you my decision. I choose the Southside.”

The Serpents stared at her in silent awe as she picked Jughead’s jacket up off the ground and slipped her arms into the cool leather. And in that moment, she looked positively regal. No longer was she the Northside mouse, the kind-hearted goody two shoes, the perfect girl next door. A fire had been ignited in her soul. This wouldn’t be a Romeo and Juliet story. It would be a Bonnie and Clyde story. 

Riverdale’s civil war was coming. And Betty knew whose side she would be fighting on.

Hi guys:)

I hope you enjoyed reading this oneshot. I thought it would be cool to write something where Betty puts on the leather jacket. Ride or die, amirite? I would love to hear your feedback regarding this oneshot. Thanks for reading <3

#betty cooper #badass betty #dark betty #jughead jones #bughead #southside serpents #riverdale #bughead fanfiction

[vannidajoaneblog]

Melbourne 2019

I’ve been to Sydney, Brisbane and now off to another popular place down under. Yes, I’ve been to Australia a lot! My latest trip was in Melbourne this time. 

Sorry for the very late blog post. Fourteen days plus two more for a cancelled flight back home is not an easy trip to microblog. The best thing I can do is provide the most concise paragraph and just mesmerize you with the photos. 

Anyways, here we go!  

Tullamarine

Direct flight from Manila to Melbourne via Cebu Pacific (not highly recommended). I arrived in Tullamarine - aka Melbourne Airport (MEL). From there, I met my high school bestfriend Cindy is responsible for my trip. 

Skybus

Off to the City Centre. The most convenient way to travel between the airport is by taking the SkyBus Express Airport Transfers. It is a double-decker bus that runs for 24 hours (varying frequencies throughout the day). The journey lasts 30-45 minutes. Riding this will give you a great view of Melbourne. 

Travel Essentials

First thing’s first - get your transportation card. If Sydney has the Opal Card and Brisbane has Translink Go Card, Melbourne has Myki. It is your ticket to travel on trains, trams and buses in the City and many parts of regional Victoria. You can easily buy it at a station and top up at a huge range of shops (including all 7-Eleven stores), Myki machines and station ticket offices.

Southern Cross Station 

From the airport via Skybus, we arrived at the Southern Cross Station. This is one of Australia’s most popular destinations - all sorts of enticing things you will see - cafes, restaurants, etc. I think it is a melting pot of people coming from every nation, speaking different languages. 

It is actually the most preferred station for various distances and directions from the centre of Melbourne is just a straight-forward train ride away from here, providing perfect day trips for the savvy traveller. 

MELBOURNE’S COUNTRYSIDE

Bird Feeding - Dandenong Ranges

From the City, down to the countryside - just like any other places in Australia, I started my trip by feeding them birdies. Melbourne also offers a variety of birdwatching niches to explore. 

#BirdBite

Tesselaar Tulip Festival

Then off to somewhere I’ve never been before - Tesselaar Tulip Festival. This festival began in 1954. Held over four weeks. It offers various themed days and weekends including Turkish, Dutch, Food, Wine & Jazz and Irish along with eight days packed with school holiday fun. 

When all the tulips are in bloom, there are nearly one million tulips on display. There are 130 varieties of tulips at the farm, so you could literally spend hours ogling and taking photos of them and their kaleidoscope of colours.

Orlinda Heritage Walk

Then we passed by the charming village of Olinda found at the highest part in the Dandenong Ranges. It has craft shops, antique stores, boutiques and cafés. It is renowned for its European influence and features a selection of German- and French-style restaurants and enjoy some of the region’s local produce. 

St Paul’s Cathedral

Now off to the City the next day. First off is the St. Paul’s Cathedral. It is located at the opposite of the Federation Square, on Melbourne's busiest intersection. 

This neo-Gothic St. Paul’s Cathedral is a Melbourne landmark, built between 1880 and 1931. Designed by William Butterfield, the cathedral’s architecture is described as Gothic transitional, combining Early English and Decorative Gothic styles. Highlights include the fine polychromatic brickwork, beautifully patterned floor tiles and mosaics, banded stonework, fine timbered roof and tiled dado walls.

Graffitti

Your city trip will not be complete without going through these  alleyways where you will find awesome graffiti. Artists change it every now and then. 

In these alleyways, just say “pssssst!” and they will turn around and look at your camera.. lol!

Footy Weekend

It doesn’t take long to see how much the locals love sport in Australia, especially in Melbourne. They would even consider it as a holiday. 

Australians love a huge number of different sports, including cricket, soccer, rugby union, rugby league and basketball, but nothing quite matches their passion for Australian Rules Football. Originating in where else - Melbourne Victoria, it has spread around the country.

PINOY COMMUNITY

Sunday Church & Community Services

It was nice to be adopted by a Pinoy group for two weeks. They still carries Filipino culture and tradition even if they are in a foreign country. 

Fratelli

But then we ate at an Italian restaurant :) Your trip will never be complete without a trip to an Italian restaurant here. Melbourne has a big Italian influence. 

Frankston Pier

Frankston Pier has always been a popular fishing destination along Port Phillip Bay. The pier offers a good range of fishing species for anglers all year round. You just have to deal with the birds and the crows. 

Lexie

Coming from Dubai is another best friend. This trip is sort of a reunion after the last one we had in Dubai. We just like meeting up in different parts of the world. Sleep over in her place is the first agenda :)

Grilld

Back to the city. Just along the Southern Cross station, you will find Grilld. It is a self-proclaimed 'gourmet burger' franchise Grill'd rolled into hipster laneways and streets across the country. If you want a change from the usual KFC, Hungry Jacks or Maccas, Grilld offers hand-crafted burgers made with high quality ingredients and interesting flavour combinations.

Grocery

Before sleeping over at Lexie’s, we did some grocers. Of course my fave Honey Soy Chicken Chips. 

Just Chill Indoors

Taking a break from all the traveling and sightseeing.  It is so nice to just have a chill day and have a movie marathon and do some laundry. 

Deakin University

The main reason why we came to Melbourne - to witness my HS bestfriend walk on stage and graduate at Deakin University. Stage bestfriends. It was an experience witnessing a graduation in a foreign country. Best part is the post-ceremony function :)

Great Ocean Road Arch

Off to the Twelve Apostles. Our first stop was the Memorial Arch, which is located just past the city of Torquay. The arch is a symbolic monument as it represents the gateway to the Great Ocean Road. Not only that, but the Memorial Arch also represents a piece of history. It pays homage to the soldiers who survived World War I and built the Great Ocean Road. If you’re an avid history geek, there are actually a handful of plaques on-site which you can read up on. 

Oorla Lodge Forrest

Because we arrived almost night time, we had to stop over at the Oorla-Lodge Forrest. It is situated at quiet residential street. Surrounding the area are cool waterfalls, lakes, dams and rivers. We just spent the night chilling at the lounge room over a wood fire and did movie marathon.

Platypi Chocolate Factory

The next day, in Victoria's Otway region,  we visited was the Platypi Chocolate in Forrest. It is located on the township mountain bike and walking trailhead, Platypi Chocolate is a great place to break a trip, finish a walk or ride or start a leisurely day. You can sit amongst the trees and enjoy a hot chocolate that comes with a little theatre; sip a wine or an iced chocolate while listening to the birds sing; look for a real life echidna from the balcony while munching a honeycomb-filled chocolate variety.

Stevensons Falls Walk

There is a lot of bushwalking you can do in AU and one of them is walking towards Stevenson’s Falls. These falls are located at the end of a gravel road approx 6 kms from Barramunga. The valley has a campground available from the day picnic area. You can have the 500metre walk on a graded trail.

Port Campbell National Park

The Port Campbell National Park is a national park in the south-western district of Victoria, Australia. It features an array of sheer cliffs overlooking offshore islets, rock stacks, gorges, arches, and blow-holes. As part of the Shipwreck Coast, it hosts several tourist attractions; including The Twelve Apostles, the London Arch (formerly London Bridge), Loch Ard Gorge, the Gibson Steps, and The Grotto.

Twelve Apostles

The Twelve Apostles were formed by erosion. Their proximity to one another has made the site a popular tourist attraction. The harsh and extreme weather conditions from the Southern Ocean gradually eroded the soft limestone to form caves in the cliffs, which then become arches that eventually collapse, leaving rock stacks. These massive limestone structures tower 45 metres above the ocean and were formed some 20 million years ago as the sea gradually eroded the soft craggy limestone cliffs.

Though the view from the promontory by the Twelve Apostles never included twelve stacks. Seven of the original eight stacks remain standing at the Twelve Apostles viewpoint, after one collapsed in July 2005.

Loch Ard Gorge

Loch Ard Gorge is amazing and only a few minutes drive west of The Twelve Apostles. It was one of the most stunning beaches on the Great Ocean Road

Loch Ard Gorge is named after the ship Loch Ard, which ran aground on nearby Muttonbird Island at the end of a three-month journey from England to Melbourne.

Take the stairs down to the beach and sit in wonder. And there are three easy walks you can take to discover the area and getting viewpoints.

The London Arch (Bridge)

London Arch was formed by a gradual process of erosion, and originally was a complete double-span and was attached to the mainland.

The arch closer to the shoreline collapsed unexpectedly in 1990 leaving two tourists stranded on the outer part until they were rescued by a helicopter. Prior to the collapse, the arch was known as London Bridge because of its similarity to its namesake.

The Grotto

The Grotto is perhaps the most enchanting of all the rock formations in this part of Australia. Part-blowhole, part-archway, part-cave, it offers a peaceful place to enjoy the sea views and soak in the wonderful things nature is capable of.

Standing about halfway up the cliff from the sea level, the geological formation is reachable via a decked staircase that leads down from the viewing platform at the top. You can either view the wonder from above, or head down and explore it at eye-level.

Inside, the Grotto is filled with smooth boulders and serene rock pools that have been carved out of the limestone. For the best view, look into the Grotto from the lower viewing platform, where you can see the horizon, the pools, and the jutting rock formations in one go.

San Remo Coastal Circuit

San Remo is the gateway to Phillip Island, a lively seaside town where fishing and dining options abound and pelicans keep watch along the foreshore. Yes, it was my first time to see some Pelicans. The town of San Remo sits at the end of the bridge connecting Phillip Island to the mainland. 

If you love yourself some good ol’ fish and chips, San Remo Fisherman’s Co-op serves up some of the best fish and chips in the area. We bought some before heading over to Phillip Island. 

Phillip Island

Located a few hours from the city, Phillip Island is a weekend hot spot for locals looking to enjoy some beach time. The island is renowned for the nightly penguin parade (when thousands of penguins return from the sea to nest), its koala sanctuary, and the huge seal colony that lives offshore. The island can be visited as a day trip, but due to infrequent buses, I would recommend spending at least a night here!

Panny’s Chocolate Factory

Panny’s Amazing World of Chocolate is a series of experiences, each dedicated to another facet of the story of chocolate. Visitors embark on a self guided exploration of the wonders that come from the humble cocoa bean.

There are machines with buttons to push and levers to pull, games of skill, lots of chocolate exhibitions and attractions and a unique hands-on chocolate making device where you create your own chocolate masterpiece that travels along a conveyor belt and is delivered to you, ready to eat. You can learn everything about chocolate making from the bean to the bar and watch Panny’s creations being made by our chocolatiers. 

On top of all this, you can produce your very own extraordinary chocolate bar with Panny’s Amazing Chocolate Machine and fill it with the weirdest and wackiest tastes you’re ever likely to find.

Philip Island Koala Conservation Sanctuary

A trip to the land down under can’t possibly be complete without seeing some koalas. Just a 15-minute drive away from Churchill Island is Phillip Island’s very own Koala Reserve. Here, you can get up close to and observe the koalas in their natural habitat, the Australian bushland. Along these boardwalks, you will have exceptional views and exclusive photo opportunities with the koalas. Not only that, but if you’re lucky, you might even get to spot some adorable wallabies and native birds!

 The Noobies :)

The Nobbies is a must visit. Next to the Nobbies centre is a boardwalk. It is a short and easy walk with only a few steps and you are welcomed with some amazing views of Point Grant, Seal Rocks and Bass Straight… From the spectacular view of the boardwalk, you will see nesting penguins in the natural sea bird gardens. 

Offshore from The Nobbies are Seal Rocks, home to Australia’s largest Australian Fur Seal colony, so drop a coin into the viewing binoculars and see how many you can spot.

Watching the waves pound against the 50 million year old dark basalt rocks is simply mesmerising and a bold reminder of how formidable Mother Nature really is spectacular!

Melbourne CBD 

Back to the City to see more of Melbourne’s Sights and Sounds. First, a drop by to the Post Office to deliver something and the rest.. Just walking around. Here’s more: 

The City Circle Tram

More than just a means of free transportation, the City Circle Tram provides “hop-on, hop-off” service between Melbourne’s sightseeing attractions, including Federation Square, the Old Treasury Building, Parliament House, and the Princess Theater. There’s a running recorded commentary as you pass or stop at a place of historical, cultural, or architectural significance.

Flinders Street 

Right along the route of the free City Circle train and across the street from Flinders Street Station lies Federation Square. This open square also serves up stellar people-watching. I like to take lunch here and just watch the city go by. Below the square on the river are also a number of restaurants and outdoor bars.

Brunetti

State Library of Victoria

Originally built in 1856, the State Library of Victoria is a historic institution that sees 8 million visitors a year. The library has grown into an event space that’s a source of pride for city residents. There is always a queue of people ready to pounce on the open desks. The famous central rotunda with its octagonal shape, original dark wood furniture, and book-lined walls is definitely something not to miss.

Just fixing my baggage

The highlight of my trip was when my flight was canceled. I had to stay in Melbourne for a couple of days more. It was stressful but I just tried to enjoy the free accommodation and food. Anyways, cant really rely on Cebu Pac when it comes to long haul flights, I decided to book Qantas Air on my way back to Manila. 

Between all the various day trips and the plethora of activities in the city, you won’t find yourself short on things to do while you’re visiting Melbourne. 

[thewhimsicalfairy]

DAY 1 of NO CONTACT

Woke up crying today...i basically cried myself awake...

it first came as a few tears rolled off my face and then a consistent torrent like rain showers... the finality of it all...how i know that i was instrumental in this decision...still hurt like crazy (crying like crazy again, totally not gonna be looking my best at the wedding later...) the fact that i will no longer hear from you again...even if a text meant that it was just a bone for me to pick to ruminate...but no more...

cried in the shower last night...the silent kind cos i can't risk my mom knowing... everything in this was my choice my decision and i just have to bear with it...for now for however long it takes... but it just hurts so much now for some really odd reason...i really do have it bad for you...and now i single handedly denied my own personal drug and i'll just have to live without it and figure out how to move on... i know it will get better someday somehow but i just had to put this out here... consider this a physical documentation of this non-relationship...

x x x

i asked you out for dinner...wanting to put an end to this torment that you were putting me through...technically through no fault of yours but still...

you were WFH as you were still nursing that nasty throat (which developed into a scratchy cough no thanks to the haze - you are quite delicate eh?) so i trained down to your area to meet you you gave me pretty specific instructions on how to navigate the train station and picked me up at the bus stop. we had some convo of sorts while figuring out where to dine...pointing out to me your condo block etc...first choice Chinese place at Greenwich V was dead so we settled on Punggol White beehoon place...the only beehoon you eat (also a fairly pick eater) looking over the menu i vetoed most of the choices in view of easier options for your throat...cold drinks anything wasn't gonna do your throat any favours but you wanted barley cold...anyhow more convo over dinner...we touched on your side project and how i'm really am not the target audience (i am cheap like that...) i paid for this meal...consider this our last meal together... the drive back my home we discussed music...about Jay Chou's new track and me saying i dun get the hype and his previous track was better... played that track on your phone as it wouldn't connect to the car's audio system...(tried not to look cos i know i'd spy her name but i saw it anyway) played Maroon 5's new track, that 1 i really loved...and then it was back to radio and how the DJ was some love guru and how he basically only has one listener who calls in every night to dedicate songs that night was TLC's Waterfalls...and pagers and completely random stuff really...but i always enjoyed our convos cos they always took no particular shape and form but flowed naturally...

then A Great Big World's 'Say Something' came on...this track struck a chord in me...no less cos i have been listening to the Spotify 'Heartbreak' playlist on and off the past couple of weeks...

//Say something, I'm giving up on you I'll be the one, if you want me to Anywhere, I would've followed you Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I am feeling so small It was over my head I know nothing at all And I will stumble and fall I'm still learning to love Just starting to crawl

Say something, I'm giving up on you I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you Anywhere, I would've followed you Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride You're the one that I love And I'm saying goodbye Say something, I'm giving up on you And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you And anywhere, I would have followed you Oh, oh, oh, oh say something, I'm giving up on you Say something, I'm giving up on you Say something//

it is very apparent why it resonated with me now no...

after getting off the wrong exit cos you chose not to GPS it...we made it back at my place anyhow... and we began our usual heart to heart convos in the car...this time for the last time...

you kinda expected a convo was coming (it has come to this hasn't it...everytime we want/need facetime/ask each other out for a meal, it's because we need to talk...) i struggled a bit at the beginning as always and then you said maybe you should go first but i said i will do it...then sharing that i did consider just going mia and maybe saying everything via a letter but that felt too dramatic and it'd be terribly long (like how this blog post will be) you suggested email (well i could've looked your email up which is true) but anyhow here goes...

what are we now really..? i am really nothing more than a texting buddy and it is clear that you can't give me what i want... and it has come to a point where every text you send feels like a bone to a dog and i am said dog who will ruminate over the bone till the next one gets thrown my way and i don't like the version of myself i've become... i was on this roller coaster of emotions (maybe a kiddy size one compared to the huge one that you are riding but still a roller coaster nonetheless) for the first 2 weeks but after last Thursday's lunch convo i saw it with so much clarity... that you are not helping yourself to move on from the pain and i can't keep riding this dark wave you are on pulling us both down... and as much as you have not admitted it i firmly believed that i was just a rebound... i want my happiness back and so i need to remove myself from this pain...and i'm gonna do it cold turkey even it means yanking out a piece of myself forcefully and even if it hurts...(and boy does it hurt man)

you kinda already saw my response/decision coming cos yeah it's gotten pretty obvious my responses have been lacklustre of late (i was trying to hold back something, or my walls were coming up again) but honestly what i've been reduced to is a texting buddy and that i don't want to put myself through the mental torture of wondering when this stream of bones was gonna dry up, when will the next text be and all...

you shared how your emotions worked after a sesh with your sister (sisters are truly the best really)...how growing up you never learnt about emotions from your parents (typical Asian parents) that there was no touch or hugs as a form of communication in your family (again typical Asian household as well but i had my sister who was there for me for that) and how you only learnt what you know of emotions through relationships the first one being at 15 and how you basically invested your entire emotional wealth on this one person who has now basically left this huge void in your life and heart and you'd need time to refill this emotional mana (haha gaming speak) (but yes i get it which is why i said i was the rebound) you clarified that liking someone wasn't based on how tall they were whether they smoked or drink...those were just filters...cos liking someone is just that right you can't quite define it it just happens (this i wholly agree thanks and no thanks to you) and you confirmed that we had some good times even if they were short (thank you for acknowledging that cos i have been going crazy around my head wondering if it was all bullshit and a fantasy but it just might mean nothing to you on retrospect #becosrebound) (i mean in the grand scheme of things i'm probably just an asteroid vs a meteor shower and i can't beat that and i'm also not faulting you for it...) and you've had friends tell you the same thing (clearly whatever i said about removing the source of pain wasn't just a solo voice) 19 Sept was the hearing and you've already gotten the lawyer's letter that the Interim Divorce has been filed...so between now till 20 Dec if nothing changes the divorce will be final and somehow i felt that you wavered then...that if you were given the chance or indication to undo all this you will...but you've also went to see 3 condo units last week (to buy now not to rent) and with the Interim Divorce you can actually move forward with putting up a request with HDB to put your house up for sale... i've seen the space (random googling brought me there) and it's gorgeous (and i kinda can understand why you wouldn't want to give that up) but do what you need to do...

whatever been's said and done you obviously need way more time (i’m thinking closer to a year) to get over this phase and you also acknowledged that i was the kind of girl that needs a commitment not the grey zone shit that we’ve playing at and you are in no state to give me that...and as much as i said before that i was willing to wait and be there for you and all...i realise i can't...not after knowing that you've done nothing to help yourself...and as much as i want you, i want what we shared (before everything went to shits), you probably will not want me the same way when you are whole again #becosrebound so i had to do this the hard way which is to walk away...from this heartache from you...

towards the end, we talked about my take on this whole experience (basically a post campaign report if you will) i shared that i'm glad for the experience never mind how it transpired...this great white blank piece of paper finally has some graffiti (my choice of words) / colour (yours) and i also came to understand what i want better and that was someone who will place me as priority and always choose me no matter what and making everything so easy that i never ever had to doubt his intention or meaning... and when i meet that someone i will know (hopefully haha)

and then i just said 'well have a good life', popped out of the car, collected my things at the rear seat and left with a 'bye'. 头也不回的走了...i'm glad that i ended this on my own terms and not be a wastrel and dodged the subject and have it drag on to infinity because i know i deserve better and i needed to tell it to you ftf and that you will want to hear it from me... i never gave you the option of remaining friends or anything...my time my terms...

right now i need to pick up the pieces even if it was just a short 2 month span cos just passing by IP will be like 'oh he works here', walking past Oasia Hotel will be like 'oh we first met here' and all the little things that go off like alarms... but i'll get there...where all these will eventually be like 过眼云烟...

x x x

the tears come and go in bouts...in waves...i've never cried so much over a person before, not even when my dad walked out on us... i guess it really is true that you don't really forget your first love... maybe the frequency will let up in time...hopefully...

somehow the airport has kinda became our place in my head...cos of all the flying we’ve done in between this short 2 months... guess no one’s gonna be sending me to the wedding later today... or sending me to the airport tomorrow...or picking me up from the airport when i return...just no more... right now i can't wait to spend time with friends in Sydney, somewhere which i've never gone before (((: change of environment to create new experiences and memories...

#all this shall come to pass #first love #첫사랑

[alexsmitposts]

Europe in Irreversible Decay, EU Elections are Proof of It! Europe, an “old” colonialist continent, is decaying, and in some places even collapsing. It senses how bad things are going. But it never thinks that it is its own fault. North America is decaying as well, but there, people are not even used to comparing. They only “feel that things are not going well”. If everything else fails, they simply try to get some second or third job, and just survive, somehow. On both sides of the Atlantic, the establishment is in panic. Their world is in crises, and the ‘crises’ arrived mainly because several great countries, including China, Russia, Iran, but also South Africa, Turkey, Venezuela, DPRK and the Philippines, are openly refusing to play in accordance with the script drawn in Washington, London and Paris. In these nations, there is suddenly no appetite for sacrificing their own people on the altar of well-being of Western citizens. Several countries, including Venezuela and Syria, are even willing to fight for their independence. Despite insane and sadistic embargos and sanctions imposed on them by the West; China, Russia and Iran are now flourishing, in many fields doing much better than Europe and North America. If they are really pushed any further, China, Russia and their allies combined, could easily collapse the economy of the United States; an economy which is built on clay and unserviceable debt. It is also becoming clear that militarily, the Pentagon could never defeat Beijing, Moscow, even Teheran. After terrorizing the world for ages, the West is now almost finished: morally, economically, socially, and even militarily. It still plunders, but it has no plan to improve the state of the world. It cannot even think in such terms. It hates China, and every other country that does have progressive, internationalist plans. It smears President Xi Jinping and his brainchild, the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), but there is nothing new and exciting that the West is able to offer to the world. Yes, of course, those regime changes, coups, military interventions and theft of natural resources, but anything else? No, silence! * During my two weeks long working visit to Europe, in the Czech Republic (now renamed to Czechia), a country that enjoys a higher HDI (Human Development Index defined by UNDP) than Italy or Spain, I saw several young, decently dressed men, picking through garbage bins, right in front of my hotel, looking for food. I saw young Europeans kneeling and begging in Stuttgart, the second richest city in Germany (where both Mercedes and Porsche car are produced). What I observed in all seven countries of the EU that I visited, was confusion, but also indifference, extreme selfishness and almost grotesque idleness. In great contrast to Asia, everybody in Europe was obsessed with their ‘rights’ and privileges, while no one gave a slightest damn about responsibilities. When my plane from Copenhagen landed in Stuttgart, it began to rain. It was not heavy rain; just rain. The Canadair jet operated by SAS is a small aircraft, and it did not get a gate. It parked a few meters from the terminal and the captain announced that ground staff refused to bring a bus, due to lightning and the downpour. And so, we stayed inside the plane, for 10 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour. The lightning ended. The drizzle continued. 40 minutes, no bus. One hour later, a bus appeared. A man from the ground staff emerged leisurely, totally wrapped in plastic, protected hermetically from rain. Passengers, on the other hand, were not even offered umbrellas. “I love myself”, I later read graffiti in the center of the city. The graffiti was not far from the central train station, which is being refurbished at the cost of several billion euros, and against the will of the citizens. The monstrous project is marching on at an insanely lazy pace, with only 5-6 construction workers detectable at a time, down in the tremendous excavations. Stuttgart is unbelievably filthy. Escalators often do not work, drunkards are all over, and so are beggars. It is as if for decades, no one did any face-lift to the city. Once free museums are charging hefty entrance fees, and most of the public benches have disappeared from parks and avenues. The decay is omnipresent. The German rail system (DB) has virtually collapsed. Almost all trains are late, from the ‘regional’; to the once glorified ICE (these German ‘bullet trains’ are actually moving slower, on average, even in comparison to some Indonesian inter-city expresses). The services provided everywhere in Europe, from Finland to Italy, are grotesquely bad. Convenience stores, cafes, hotels – all are understaffed, badly run and mostly arrogant. Humans are often replaced by dysfunctional machines. Tension is everywhere, the bad mood omnipresent. Demanding anything is unthinkable; one risks being snapped at, insulted, sent to hell. I still remember how Western propaganda used to glorify services in the capitalist countries, when we were growing up in the Communist East: “The customer is always treated like a god”. Yes, right! How laughable. For centuries, “European workers” were ‘subsidized’ by colonialist and neo-colonialist plunder, perpetrated in all non-white corners of the world. They ended up being spoiled, showered with benefits, and unproductive. That was fine for the elites: as long as the masses kept voting for the imperialist regime of the West. “The Proletariat” eventually became right-wing, imperialist, even hedonistic. I saw a lot this time, and soon I will write much more about it. What I did not witness, was hope, or enthusiasm. There was no optimism. No healthy and productive exchange of ideas, or profound debate; something I am so used to in China, Russia or Venezuela, just confusion, apathy and decay everywhere. And hate for those countries that are better, more human, more advanced, and full of socialist enthusiasm. * Italy felt slightly different. Again, I met great left-wing thinkers there; philosophers, professors, filmmakers, journalists. I spoke at Sapienza University, the biggest university in Europe. I lectured about Venezuela and Western imperialism. I worked with the Venezuelan embassy in Rome. All of that was fantastic and enlightening, but was this really Italy? A day after I left Rome for Beirut, Italians went to the polls. And they withdrew their supports from my friends of the 5-Star-Movement, leaving them with just over 17%, while doubling the backing for the extreme right-wing Northern League. This virtually happened all over Europe. UK Labor lost, while right-wing Brexit forces gained significantly. Extreme right-wing, even near-fascist parties, reached unexpected heights. It was all “me, me, me” politics. An orgy of “political selfies”. Me had enough of immigrants. Me wants better benefits. Me wants better medical care, shorter working hours. And so on. Who pays for it, no one in Europe seems to care. Not once did I hear any European politicians lamenting about the plundering of West Papua or Borneo, about Amazonia or the Middle East, let alone Africa. And immigration? Did we hear anything about that nuisance of European refugees, millions of them, many illegal, that have descended in the last decades on Southeast Asia, East Africa, Latin America, and even Sub Continent? They are escaping, in hordes, from meaninglessness, depressions, existential emptiness. In the process, they are stripping the locals of land, real estate, beaches, everything. “Immigrants out”? Fine; then European immigrants out from the rest of the world, too! Enough of the one-sidedness! The recent EU elections clearly showed that Europe has not evolved. For countless dark centuries, it used to live only for its pleasure, murdering millions in order to support its high life. Right now, it is trying to reshuffle its political and administrative system, so it can continue doing the same. More efficiently! On top of it, absurdly, the world is expected to pity that overpaid and badly performing, mainly right-wing and lethargic European proletariat, and sacrifice further tens of millions of people, just in order to further increase its standard of living. All this should not be allowed to happen. Never again! It has to be stopped. What Europe has achieved so far, at the expense of billions of lives of “the others”, is definitely not worthy of dying for. Beware of Europe and its people! Study its history. Study imperialism, colonialism and the genocides it has been spreading all over the world. Let them vote in their fascists. But keep them away. Prevent them from spreading their poison all over the world. They want to put the interests of their countries first? Wonderful! Let us do exactly the same: The people of Russia first, too! China first! And, Asia, Africa, Latin America first!