#i found a ‘modern day treasure’ when i took out money from the bank | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thepencilnerd · 5 years

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𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 || 𝐦.𝐲.𝐠.

coup de fou·dre- noun; derived from the French word for a strike of lightning, it describes a sudden unforeseen event, often in reference to love at first sight

➳ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

➳ Summary: Love at first sight didn’t exist. To you, this was a fact. Living in the city of love and lights, therefore, couldn’t have been more ironic. Paris wasn’t just the destination for hopeless romantics and tourists alike, but it was also home to hundreds of hidden treasures that were nestled around ecah street corner. Fate and destiny weren’t exactly concepts that you ever believed in, but how many times does it take for a chance encounter to turn into something even the universe couldn’t explain?

➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, star-crossed encounters, barely a soulmate AU

➳ Word Count: 9.5k

a/n: a few phrases in French but they will be translated in italics, and my French is very extremely rusty so please forgive me

Waking up to the Parisian sun was one of the many things you cherished about living in the city. The open balcony window allowed an ambient breeze to blow into your studio apartment as sunlight streaked through the untied curtains.

Reluctant to part from your disheveled bed sheets and scattered comforters, you took a glimpse at your alarm clock that read 8h47. Forcing yourself to come to terms with the fact that you had to get out of bed sooner or later, you threw your legs over the edge of the bed and hauled yourself up.

It was a lazy Saturday in your quiet apartment, but the impending doom of going back to work on Monday motivated you to enjoy as much of your weekend as possible. When you applied for your university’s Study Abroad for a Summer program, you never imagined that you’d end up transferring to and graduating from Sorbonne, let alone living in Paris to this day. California never really had anything for you to begin with, and you’d lost contact with your parents after you moved out at 18.

From infancy into adolescence, your family began falling apart at the seams. Your mom was barely home, and instead found more pleasure in placing bets and melting the plastic off of her credit card at casino resorts, while your dad couldn’t deal with the stress he got from watching her ruin their entire bank account. He didn’t care much about her livelihood, but when money was thrown into the equation, he went manic.

Being on the dean’s list actually paid off in helping you form close relationships with your counselors and teachers; ones that your parents could never give you. As they had grown well aware of your situation at home, they made sure to take your work ethic and mediocre grades into account when you handed them your transfer application forms. Putting in a good word for you, they helped you realize that family wasn’t confined to blood relations, but rather the extensive bonds that you formed with those around you.

When the opportunity to move out presented itself on a silver platter, you took it without a single ounce of hesitation. Life was hell with or without your family, so why not just get away from it all together?

It was no secret that France was a timeless country. While cities around the world began to construct office buildings and fall into the trend of modern sky-high architecture, France itself was a living and breathing historical artifact. Most buildings had been left untouched and undemolished since the Renaissance era, and they were constantly being maintained and restored like fine artwork.

Passing through each and every street, there wasn’t a single spot exempt from being anything but breathtaking. Even the street art was a sight to see. One of your favorite “touristy” spots was the Parc du Champ de Mars. The first few weeks into spring was when the flora in the park was at its peak. Nestled just behind the Eiffel Tower, the long field was a hotspot for tourists, families, friends, and couples all the like. Throughout the entire week, the park was full of vibrant and lively energy as people gathered to celebrate in the lush green grass.

The Eiffel Tower was unquestionably your favorite place. Nestled in the 7th arrondissement, or sector of Paris, the Tour Eiffel was an icon in and of itself. Known as a culturally recognizable historic monument around the world, it wasn’t just all talk. Although the climb up the tower was grueling and enough to meet your monthly exercise requirements, the view from the highest observation deck was unrivaled.

From the top, you could feel the clean air coursing through your lungs as you took in the view. The Arc de Triomphe was at the heart of the city, with the arch being the center median for twelve streets that ran through it. On the rare occasion in that you’d take the lift up to the deck at night, the whole city came to life as lights that beamed from lampposts, streetlights, and cars illuminated the entire heart of Paris. To describe the sight in words was impossible, and it made you feel like a tourist in your own city.

Every morning before you left the house, especially on days that you didn’t feel like doing anything, you prayed silently and reminded yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to live in a country that some would sell their left kidney just to visit. Thankful for waking up to breathe another day in this reverie of a city, you trudged to the bathroom and washed up.

Once you had settled into the city and stabilized living like a somewhat put-together adult, you had made it your goal to explore as much of the city as possible through any means possible. Most of the time, however, it involved stopping by at the most tourist clustered destinations. Although there were hundreds, if not thousands, of hidden treasures like restaurants and rustic flea markets, you found much more joy in hopping on the metro and letting it fate decide where it took you.

Wrapping a scarf around your neck, a necessity when the spring air was still in its early beginnings, you gathered your remaining things into your bag and hurried out the door into the awaiting city outside.

Weekends typically started off late, as you had formed a habit of sleeping in on Saturdays and crashing early to wake up early on Sunday, but your morning routine always consisted of some kind of coffee to jump-start the day. Your cozy apartment building nestled in the 7th arrondissement of Paris was not only home to the Tour Eiffel but was also a hotspot for trendy cafés and restaurants all-the-like. On almost every street corner and turn of the road, a bistro or eatery occupied the lot, and outdoor seating made them all the more inviting. With a warm and homey atmosphere, even admiring the happy customers was a delightful experience.

About a block or two from your flat building was one such café– Maison de Raphaël. You had heard stories of the original owner, Raphaël Beaumont, had fallen in love and met his wife at a café and was inspired to start his own business with her; a sign of their new journey as lovers and partners until their passing. The business was then inherited by his children and his children’s children to carry on, a constant reminder of how cooperation, understanding, patience, and hard work had the ability to build something magical.

The familiar ring of the chimes on the door was like music to your ears as the scent of freshly ground coffee and steaming hot baked goods rushed to flood your senses. Not to mention the bustling customers, golden colored hanging lights, and rustic feel that made the place feel like a second home.

Distracted by the hectic atmosphere, you tripped on your footing as you bumped into a random person. “Sorry!” Ducking your head and murmuring a quick apology, you immediately that your English slipped out accidentally. Before you could get a chance to rephrase your sentence, you found yourself at the front of the counter in the presence of your best friend.

“Y/N!” Amélie shouted, reaching over the counter to envelop you a bear hug. “Quoi de neuf? / What’s up?”

You couldn’t help but smile in return at her constantly vibrant and bright personality. “Rien de nouveau / Nothing new,” you shrugged.

“Mademoiselle?” another voice rung from the kitchen. A nickname you had earned your first visit to the café as the “lost American,” you craned your neck to the buzzing kitchen, quickly waving to Amélie’s uncle, Pierre, as he gave you a toothy grin before resuming his cooking.

“Still learning English?” you asked intuitively.

Clearing her throat meekly, she stood with her chest puffed out and chin held high as she began speaking in English with a faint accent. “The weather is quite nice today, wouldn’t you say?”

“Very nice,” you complimented her choice of sentence topic. “Je parle pas francais, désolé / I don’t speak French, sorry.” Holding your hands up jokingly, she giggled kindly at your submission to the French language.

In the years that you had lived in France, you were still in middle school level and more than uneasy with verb conjugations. You were also eternally grateful that your job didn’t require that much face-to-face conversation, as everything in this age was done digitally, therefore, virtually.

“Come on,” she scoffed. “You’re fluent enough.” Scrunching your nose at her unbearably kind nature, her French accent still laced her words as she spoke English, but it was one of those things that non-French speakers swooned over.

“Whoever invented verb conjugation is the devil,” you groaned. “Can I have—”

“One café au lait coming right up,” she hummed, knowing your order by heart. Zipping around the tiny back bar like a dancing fairy, her quick hands crafted an award-worthy latte within minutes. Signaling you to find a spot on the swivel stools that lined the window, you maneuvered through the crowded groups of people waiting in line and met her halfway. “L'heure du déjeuner! / Lunch hour/break!” she shouted, her voice ringing through the back kitchen.

Sitting comfortably on the vintage seats, the sunlight hit your skin softly as light from outside peeked through the glass. A tray with two large cups was placed on the table as the scent of fresh coffee and steamed milk immediately found its way to your waiting nose and eager mouth. However, you always took the time to admire the steamed foam artwork that Amélie meticulously painted. Every day was a different masterpiece; some days were tulips and vines, while other days were cats and feathers. Today, it was a perfectly swirled and classic rosetta.

Plopping herself down on the stool and raising it to meet your taller stature, you giggled lightly as you lowered yours, helping her in her efforts. Patting her frizzy curls down, she swept the bangs from her eyes and gave you a sheepish grin.

You had met Amélie almost as soon as you had moved to France all those years ago. A quiet and bashful girl, your coffee addiction was fed by none other than the great-granddaughter of Raphaël Beaumont himself. In a flurry of terrible French and broken English, the two of you quickly bonded after your first turmoil of an encounter, sharing common interests in the world of fashion and cultures from your respective birthplaces. While she helped you pick up French, you began to teach her English and fuel her dream to move to New York to start her own clothing line; a dream she had apparently had since preschool.

“Don’t tell me,” you hummed, quirking your lips into a smirk and knitting your eyebrows as you gestured to her vibrant red top. “New fabrics from the flea market?”

Nodding proudly, she smoothed out the lace overlay that decorated the bodice and patted it appreciatively. “I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I saw them laid out, I had to make a new blouse.”

“Prototypes are supposed to be a rough outline, not perfect products. If your mother were working a shift today, she might snatch it right off of you.” Tracing your fingers over the delicate blossoms and her impeccable handiwork with stitches, her talent never ceased to amaze you. “What am I going to do without your coffee when you leave?”

“You’ll have your boyfriend to keep you company of course,” she retorted, flipping her hair back in an exaggerated manner. “But I won’t be going for a while, so don’t get your—how do you say it again? Panties in a twist?”

“Oh my god, please never say that ever again,” you gawked, trying not to blush out of embarrassment. “Where did you even learn that?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, she raised her cup and took an indulgent sip. You also couldn’t wait any longer and snapped a picture before reluctantly ruining the beautiful artwork. Sighing in relief at the bitter taste that coated your tongue, nothing at that moment felt better than this.

“Anything on la carte / the menu for you today, mademoiselle?” she asked thoughtfully, the nickname that her mother gave on your first visit to the café sticking like tree sap and rosin.

Swirling the already half empty cup, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I might take the metro to the Notre-Dame. Maybe make a wish at Point Zéro and pray for a good workload this month?”

She facepalmed and rolled her eyes at your dull response. “Mon dieu / oh my god, live your life a little. If I had today off, I’d go with you to wish for your boyfriend to come along already.”

The legends of Point Zéro had been spread few and far between standing there with a loved one or paying pilgrimage to the journey in the city, but mostly revolved around the tale that if you stood on the brass plate in front of the cathedral and made a wish, it would come true.

“Come on,” you snorted. “You know I don’t believe in any of that ‘coup de foudre’ stuff.”

The term which literally meant “lightning strike” was an expression often used to describe a fated or unexpected occurrence such as love at first sight. Both of which you didn’t exactly believe in.

“It’s not ‘stuff,’” she mocked your tone. “C’est vrai! / It’s true! You live in the city of love, for goodness sake. Stop killing yourself with your job and enjoy life.”

Swallowing the last of your cold coffee, you propped up your elbow and rested your chin on your hand, studying the small potted plant that was placed on the wood table. “Love is stupid,” you huffed under your breath. “Everyone’s just desperate for a partner who’ll give them everything and not ask for anything in return. What kind of love is that?”

“The stupid kind,” she jeered, flicking your forehead with her index finger to snap you out of your negative thoughts. “There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around.”

After chatting about the upcoming spring fashion walks in New York and getting scolded by her uncle, you agreed to visit her after her shift so you could hang out at your place for the weekend. Bidding Amélie and her family goodbye, you returned to the bustling streets that awaited you.

Despite the sometimes overhyped atmosphere of Paris, it was a sin to deny the fact that the city was a glimmering gem. Aboard the ferry that passed across the River Seine, you were currently en route to the Cathédral Notre-Dame. Resting your elbow on the metal rail, the cool breeze glided across your face, making your sigh in contempt. Weekends were truly the best.

The usually crowded boat was relatively empty today, especially considering it was a weekend. Although there were a few families and tourist groups here and there, the entirety of the boat was overall calm. Drifting off into the vast scenery of antique architecture and busy streets, you noticed that you were just coming up to Pont Alexandre III, a monument bridge that connected the Les Invalides buildings with the Champs-Élysées. Adorned with bronze statues of nymphs and gilded phemes, they stood to represent the arts, agriculture, commerce, and war; the concrete foundation and rich values on which the country was built on. It never failed to make you feel honored to live here.

Pulling your phone out to snap a picture (as per your routine ritual whenever you passed by the bridge), you noticed a white beanie stand out in the photo and in the crowd. Although the weather could be considered chilly enough for extra outerwear, you noticed that out of the people that you had walked past in the last hour or two, this person was the first to don a fuzzy knit cap. Grinning to yourself, you ignored the silly thought as the ferry came to its stop.

The cathedral was busy as always. With the line of entry starting from the inside trailing all the way to the middle of the sidewalk, you were lucky if you could waddle through the crowds. Trying to navigate through the swarm of people, you found yourself a relatively empty spot around the brass plate that officially marked the exact center of the city. Throughout the years, the words and engraved patterns on the plate had worn off, but the central 8-pointed star was still mildly visible.

Standing beside the plate that was centered perfectly with the front of the cathedral, you admired every little detail that your eyes could drink in; the rose windows that were arranged in concentric circles, the stone statues of biblical figures, and the timeless gothic architecture that formed the entirety of the epochal construction.

You didn’t plan on lighting a candle inside today, and the number of people that were pouring outside proved your point. Maybe next week? Staring down at the timeworn brass plate, you shoved your hands inside your pockets and closed your eyes to make a wish.

“Live your life a little. There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around,” Amélie’s words echoed loud and clear in your head.

Huffing out in slight frustration, you pressed your eyes shut and wished for the one thing you had worked so hard for all your life.

I just want to be happy.

Silently praying and repeating the mantra to yourself for a few seconds, you were snapped out of your daze by a kid running headfirst into your thigh and toppling over like a Jenga tower. Gasping in shock, you immediately crouched down to help the little boy up and brush off the dirt from his plaid sweater.

“Désolé! / Sorry!” you cringed, tensing your face into an expression that screamed guilt. “Est-ce que ça va? / Are you okay?”

The seemingly unaffected boy simply nodded, making you find it odd that he wasn’t crying or wailing. Instead, he chortled as if nothing were wrong in the world. “Est-ce que ça va, mademoiselle? / Are you alright, miss?”

Smiling endearingly at his mannerism with a hint of worry knit in your brows, you gently brushed over his wavy tresses and double-checked to make sure he hadn’t scraped anything.

Pressing up onto his tippy toes to raise himself to your height, the boy whispered in your ear. “On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” Before you got a chance to reply, he skipped off and disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen as you tried to think about the words a random child had just re-iterated to you. You had no problem recognizing the quote from your favorite book of all time; Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Trying to think of all the possible reasons why a stranger, let alone a child, would reference that particular quote out of nowhere, you ignored it and settled on the fact that maybe he had been reading too many fantasy books for his own good. Even though the boy had run off somewhere, worry overcame you as you realized you hadn’t even asked him if he was lost.

Squinting your eyes as you scanned the herd of people to see if you could spot him, you were able to make out his tiny plaid sweater amongst the generally darkly clothed adults. He was standing in the entrance line with an older woman you assumed was his mother. The boy turned to the man behind him and tugged on the edge of his beige coat, pointing his finger to somewhere in the crowd. Your eyes began trailing up the tall figure whose back was turned towards you, but you recognized the white beanie from earlier like a red wine stain on linen.

He must have gotten off at the same stop as me.

Unable to see his face from your angle, the man crouched down and ruffled the boy’s hair as a toothy grin appeared on the child’s face. Lightly chuckling to yourself, you quickly snapped a picture, reminding yourself to tell Amélie all about it when you went to visit her later. Checking your watch, the hands read 12:57 and meant that lunch was just around the corner. Glancing at the eroded star once more, you turned to the spot that the boy was standing, only to find that he and his mother were already walking inside, and the man from earlier was now nowhere to be seen.

As with most major city, restaurants in urban districts could be found scattered around every block like street signs. After walking across the Pont Notre-Dame to find the nearest bistro, you stumbled upon a crêperie just short of the Tour Saint-Jacques; another landmark that was the only remaining structure of a 16th-century church that was destroyed during the revolution.

Entering the small and cozy eatery, you were greeted by the friendly hostess behind the bar, currently occupied with wiping down the glasses and silverware. Sitting down by the window booth, she brought you a menu and a glass of water to start. Ordering their special, strawberry creme crêpes with a café au lait, you sat patiently as your stomach began to growl from the long walk. Years in the city and you still hadn’t gotten used to the daily on-foot commute.

Gazing outside the window, you always found yourself magnetized by the most insignificant details about this city. Sometimes, you even found yourself staring at the cracks of old brick walls until a person tapped you on the shoulder asking you if you were alright. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you were the type of person who found joy in strolling around flea markets for hours without boredom.

After a few minutes, a plate of freshly flipped crêpes made its way to your table, the thinly sliced strawberries and fluffy whipped cream seeping at the edges practically begging to be devoured. Bordering the edge of drooling, you cut a bite-sized portion but couldn’t bring yourself to eat at a normal pace for the fear that it would all be gone too soon. This might be your new favorite place, which didn’t bode well for your old faithful crêperie two blocks down from your apartment.

Taking time to savor the light and airy texture of the filling, you paced yourself in between bites and sips, reminding yourself to eat as slow as you could to make the experience all the more worthwhile. Once you downed your last mouthful and a final sip of coffee, you handed the waitress the check as she returned to go get your receipt.

Drawn to the light outside the once more, you saw that the sun was still shining bright, remembering that it was still early spring and the sunset didn’t come until around dinnertime. Shifting your gaze to the crowded patio seats, you couldn’t help but draw your attention to a couple sat in a pair beside the rose bushes that lined the seating area.

They appeared to be in their late thirties and were bantering back and forth while eating, letting a few giggles slip here and there. It’s not that dating or commitment scared you, but it was the idea of giving yourself completely into a relationship and not knowing if the other person might leave you at any moment that seemed—vulnerable. You despised nothing more than being blinded by love, and half of the time, the romance that books and movies talked about wasn’t even real love; it was just lust. Libido-driven physical one-sided lust. Still, you couldn’t help the wishful gaze that began to form.

Would you ever find a love that was even half as passionate as what they had?

Receiving the receipt from the waitress, you quickly thanked her and slung your bag over your shoulder as you got ready to leave. However, before you stood up, a familiar figure was sat two booths down from you. The same back-turned position, white beanie, beige coat, and this time, you could make out the edge of an ivory-colored scarf that was wrapped around his neck. Blinking to make sure that your contacts weren’t just drying up, you shrugged it off as the first coincidence of the day.

You paced yourself out the door and convinced yourself that it was just that; a coincidence.

Venturing down to the 1st arrondissement in a spontaneous act of curiosity, you were drawn to the petite floral shop that was a few blocks from the bus stop. Marveling at the newly made arrangements and bundles of in-season vines that lined the floors and shelves, the kind elderly lady of the store instantly sparked a friendly conversation with you about the meanings of different flowers.

As the conversation carried on with her effortless French and you struggling to decipher her quick tempo, you understood the gist of her speech but still blanked on a couple verbs and idioms here and there. Roses were tokens of love and devotion, calla lilies symbolized beauty and purity, and lilacs represented innocence and confidence. Nodding your head to make sure that you didn’t show how clueless you were in between her complicated sentences, she gave you a heartwarming smile before clasping her hands over her mouth with a gasp, scrambling to reach for something under her workspace.

Ducking down her counter and shuffling through floral wires, foam, and a few cardholders, she found a small cylindrical glass vial necklace and handed it to you tenderly. Looking at it up close, you saw that it was a burgundy rosebud encapsulated in a clear resin of some sort.

"Pour votre aimé / For your loved one." Clasping her hands around yours, she gave you a firm look of sincerity, bordering on the verge of urgency

"Non, s'il te plaît, / No, please," you urged, trying to hand it back to her but receiving a pouted lip and a wagging finger in return. Shaking your hands embarrassingly, you denied her conclusion as quickly as the words had left her mouth. “Je n'ai pas d'amant. / I don’t have a lover.”

“Pas encore, mais bientôt, / Not yet, but soon,” she emphasized her words, laughing at your blank and confused face before waving her hands and telling you to get home early.

When you tried to hand her a few euros in exchange, she nearly bit your head off and ushered you to take off and come back again. Sighing in defeat and surrendering to her persistent nature, you thanked her once more before leaving the shop with a jingle of the windchimes sounding behind you.

Pausing to open your clutched hand and inspected the perfectly preserved bud, completely in awe at how intact and still life-like it was. Frowning slightly, you wondered why she had suddenly been struck with the idea of giving a rather pricey looking necklace to a random customer; mind you, you hadn’t paid for it either.

Feeling guilty for not at least buying a small bouquet or desk succulent, you bit your lip and debated whether you had time to go back inside and buy something before the next bus came. Scanning over the buckets that bordered the outside of the shop, you tried to see if there were any small buds you could bundle together yourself or a small cactus you could quickly buy, but it was a fruitless effort, as most of the displays and pre-made potted plants were too large for you to carry home.

Exhaling in slight annoyance you decided that it was better to come back tomorrow and catch the bus, but not before taking a quick snapshot of the colorful row of blooming petals. Examining the picture you had just taken on your phone, your eyes widened at an all too recognizable figure at the edge of the picture. Wearing that same white beanie, ivory scarf, beige coat, black jeans, and with his back still turned to you, the same man from earlier today was currently standing over the array of flowers.

Looking up, he was still facing away from you in a way that you couldn’t make out his appearance, but you could clearly hear the shutter of a camera going off as he gazed at the freshly blossomed roses. Pondering over the possibility that this was just another coincidence, you reminded yourself that you would just come back tomorrow and buy a full-size arrangement instead.

Returning back to the direction of the bus stop, you almost screamed when you read the time. Nearing dinner time, you dashed down the street as if your life depended on it and tried to catch the last bus home.

The good news was that you ran faster than you had in your entire life and could probably skip cardio for the next few months. The bad news was that you missed your bus and were out of breath, freezing, and hungry.

Your watch read 4:40, making you groan as reality struck. Internally facepalming yourself and saying a prayer to your bank account, you swallowed your pride and told yourself that this was a foreboding from the high heavens as motivation to work harder. A white lie never every once in a while never hurt anyone, right?

Stumbling across a somewhat affordable diner combined brasserie, the enticing smell of roast beef and freshly baked dinner rolls wafted you inside. Since it was a peak hour for early diners, you were lucky to find yourself a spot in the back patio seating. Eyeing the rather empty area oddly, it clicked when you pieced together how full the front and indoor seating area was. Following the waiter to your table, you sighed in relief when your legs came in contact with the leather cushions. With tired legs finally being able to leisure and be limp on the ground, your tired out-of-shape muscles bid you a wordless thank you.

Gulping down the jug of water the kind server had brought you, he chuckled before giving you a break to catch your breath, clearly noticing your exhaustion as you struggled to form proper sentences. If your day to day French was awful, imagine what it sounded like when you were fatigued beyond words.

Deciding on a bowl of bœuf bourguignon with pommes frites / beef stew with fried potatoes, the waiter jotted down your order and excused himself. Closing your eyes and trying to control your growing hunger, you almost fainted when you rolled your head back and turned to two seats down to your right.

“Beanie boy?!” you shrieked, widening your eyes and cupping your hand over your mouth when you realized how loud you had just shouted. The same boy from earlier jolted from his seat, dropping his pasta entwined fork and yelping as well. Coughing to clear his throat from his near-choking experience, you couldn’t believe your eyes. How did he get here?

“Pardon?” he choked, grabbing his napkin to wipe his mouth. Noticing his choice of English, you raised your finger shakily and pointed to him as if he were a zombie that had risen from the dead. “You speak English?” you asked with your jaw agape. He simply blinked and nodded.

Right before you could continue, the waiter walked into the seating area and looked at both of you with bulging eyes before hastily setting your food down on your table and scurrying off.

“Have you—do you—have you been following me?” you mumbled. Your mouth was still agape in shock, periodically opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Cocking his head and furrowing his eyebrow softly, his lower lip jutted in a pout and he shook his head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Jaw dropping entirely, you blinked harshly and checked once more if your contacts were dried out, but gulped anxiously when he was still in front of you. “No. No, I’m not, I just—how?”

“May I sit?” he peeped politely, his extroverted statement contrasting with his outwardly introverted appearance. Nodding unconsciously for the fear that you’d be an awful person if you denied someone eating dinner alone a companion, he got up and shuffled through the chairs and sat down in front of you.

The dim light now illuminated his features, making his face thoroughly visible. Under his knit cap was coarse dark brown hair that framed his round yet angular face. His soft eyebrows drew attention to his brown eyes, while his lips seemed to be formed a perpetual pout.

“I guess this is all just one big coincidence, right?” you forced out an awkward laugh in order to diffuse some of the tension and pry your staring eyes off of him. Maybe it was all in your own head.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, it looked as if he were holding back a laugh. Barely narrowing your eyes to try and analyze his micro expressions, he resumed speaking.

“If you want to call it that,” he chuckled lightly, his voice now emphasized crystal clear. “I’ve had a pretty weird day today.”

Feeling yourself relax at his ability to make casual talk with a stranger like yourself, you felt a grin tug at the edges of your mouth. “I’ll raise you on that bet.”

Eyebrow lifting at your challenge, you raised your eyebrows at him tauntingly, a sudden surge of confidence rushing over you that you had never felt before. He eyed you wearily before raising his fork to his mouth and poking his chin with it, his aim inadvertently ruined by your locked stare. You coughed to hide a snort.

“So what brings you to the 1st arrondissement on this fine Saturday night?” he asked speculatively, deep-set eyes never leaving yours as you replied.

Chewing slowly to think of an answer, you shrugged shyly and gave him your honest answer. “Just another boring Saturday, I guess...” He nodded understandingly, seeming to accept your plain response. “What about you?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I didn’t feel like sitting around in my living room again was the most productive way to spend the weekend, so I thought it’d be a good idea to work on my portfolio.”

Holding your spoon as it came halfway to your mouth, you set it back down and grew interested in his occupation. “Photography major?”

“Photographer, actually,” he smirked playfully, emphasizing the last syllable ever so slightly. “But I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who got mistaken as a student.”

“You thought I was a post-grad?” you scoffed, amazed and flattered that you could still pass off as a woman in her very early twenties.

He grinned widely at your surprise, showing off a gummy smile that made your stomach feel weird. Did they cook the meat all the way through? you thought.

“I guess we have more than one thing in common,” he remarked, winding another mouthful of pasta around his fork neatly before engulfing it like a child.

“You mean ferry rides and flower shops?” you joked.

“Don’t forget cathedrals and cafés,” he reminded, shooting you a cheeky wink.

Shaking your head at his bold nature, the two of you broke into giggles, unable to hold back the recollection of strange concurrences that had occurred in the single day alone. The waiter stopped by the table to refill the water jug, making you both shift in your seats and try to tone your laughter down. Whispering something in the waiter’s ear, he shuffled his hand under the tablecloth, but you assumed your eyes were just deceiving you again.

“So you’re a photographer, are you?”

Quirking the edge of his lip and a brow into a pondering expression, he couldn’t give you a definitive answer. “It depends—am I still a professional if I don’t think my work is particularly that good?”

“Touché,” you hummed. “May I be the judge of that?”

His eyes ducked down timidly, indicating that he was genuinely unconfident in his work. “How about we make a deal of some sort?” he offered.

Jutting your chin down and pressing him to continue, he smiled coyly. “Let me spend the evening with you as reimbursement for dinner, and I’ll show you my portfolio.”

“Is that a euphemism for something I don’t want to know?” your mind urged you to ask apprehensively, noting the kind tone that laced his voice.

“No, I promise,” he raised his hands in defense.

“What do you mean ‘reimbursement for dinner?’” you air-quoted, still not sure of what his intention was.

“Considering I already slipped the waiter my card,” he whipped out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “—and I’ve already signed the receipt, I’d say that this boring Saturday just turned into a spur of the moment hang out between new acquaintances.”

Suppressing a scoff at his daring personality that emitted sheer confidence and shamelessness, you caved in and agreed. This was considered a “blind date,” right?

Continuing our discussion and jumping randomly from topic to topic, the flow of the conversation never stopped, continuing along effortlessly as hours seemed to pass by like seconds. The playful banter was exchanged with teasing comments and jokes, making the rumbling of passing streetcars become drowned out by the combination of your hearty laughter; a sound that you had unintentionally begun to memorize note by note in your mind.

Before you knew it, the sun had already begun to set and was falling fast. A mutual look of understanding crossed your faces when you checked your watch again, the dreaded hands that you had grown to dislike throughout the day clearly reading 8:05.

“I live in the 7th arrondissement. Is it alright I walk you home?” he asked softly, a tone of reluctance lacing his quiet voice.

Blinking your eyes rapidly and coming back to your senses, you nodded, wondering for a split second how he knew which district you lived in, but remembered that he boarded the same ferry as you this morning. Telling yourself that nothing lasted forever and that the night had to come to an end eventually, the two of you rose from your seats and slowly dragged your feet to the exit.

The view from the Pont Alexander III bridge was beautiful during the daytime, but the lampposts that illuminated the pathway at night was an entirely different experience. The ornate and extravagant bridge that you had seen glimmering during the daytime was now toned down, making the statues appear to be asleep.

Considered the golden hour by many, you understood why the lavish name had been given to the spot at this time. The line of the sunset followed the arch of the bridge, skimming it lightly as the sun itself disappeared beneath the skyline. The pastel blue, warm orange, and vibrant red-yellow gradient skies were accentuated by the very golden street lamps, making it the perfect destination to stop by before the end the evening.

“Do I get to see those pictures yet or was this all just a grand scheme to spend the evening with me?” you remarked coyly, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a grin when you saw a light blush fan across his cheeks. Darting his tongue out to wet his lower lip, he still seemed a bit nervous.

“I promise you that my pictures are worse,” you assured. “You looked pretty professional around the roses though, so I wouldn’t really worry.”

Face surrendering into his grin, he pulled out his camera from his satchel and stood beside you, both of you resting your elbows behind you on the rail of the bridge. Handing him your phone and exchanging it with his camera, you each began scrolling through the gallery pictures. You were absolutely spellbound.

He had managed to capture each setting of the landmarks in Paris perfectly. From the Louvre to the Museé d’Orsay and the Arc de Triomphe all the way up to the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, his shots were somehow able to encapture the pure essence and splendor of the city.

“These are—” you gaped. “I don’t—”

“They’re pretty mediocre,” he admitted guiltily as his hand began rubbing the back of his neck instinctively.

“No!” you defended. “They’re just—wow. They’re amazing...”

“Thanks,” he blushed at your compliment. “Your pictures are pretty good, too.”

Rolling your eyes at his makeshift compliment, you accepted it nonetheless. “They’re mediocre,” you mimicked.

He ruffled your hair jocularly, taking your mind back to when you saw him at the cathedral. “Did I mention that I make a great model?”

Your head tilted in confusion at his query but your eyes widened when it dawned on you; he had seen the pictures you’d taken of him. Showing you your phone, he began swiping across the screen, exposing the few pictures that you had snapped of him covertly.

“Oh—” you stuttered. “Those were just—I thought it—I thought it would be a funny story to tell my friend. My best friend. She loves movie-plot stuff like this. Coincidental situations, accidental encounters, you know. Stuff like that?”

Hoping he would understand and look past your rambling mess of words, he burst into a fit of laughter as he showed off his gummy smile again; one you had already begun to grow fond of a little too quickly for your liking.

“Keep scrolling,” he giggled, pointing to his camera in your hand. Following his directions, your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as they caught images of the places you had visited earlier today—with you as the central subject of the pictures.

The first was of the ferry ride; you were holding your chin up from your elbow on the rail and gazing across the river with a serene and tranquil expression. The second was of you standing on point zero; your eyes were shut tight and concentrated firmly on the brass plate, making you remember your wish that you had prayed for. The third was of you at the crêperie; your mind flashed back to the moment when you were staring out the window at the lovely couple. In the captured photo, your wistful gaze conveyed the definition loneliness.

The fourth one at the flower shop was the one that stood out from the rest.

In the other ones, you seemed like you were lost in the haze of your mind and constantly living out of the moment; whether it was thinking about your past or the future, this one was one of pure joy as you were gazing at the beautiful colors and delicate scents of the flora. A repressed grin slipped past your lips, turning into a full-blown expression of awe.

“Do you mind if I take another one?” he asked delicately, rubbing the back of his neck again, a habit you deciphered as one that stemmed from nervousness. Nodding your head as warmth flushed your cheeks, you handed him the camera and panicked, unable to think of a pose.

“Just relax and smile,” he encouraged, giving you a heartfelt grin as he adjusted the lens.

Narrowing your eyes at the ground for a brief second, you retreated to your accustomed position of propping your elbow up and resting your chin on your hand. You looked out across the rippling river and now dark sky as the once bright colors had grown dusky and dim. The shutter clicked once, making you turn to him and click again.

“Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction. / Love doesn’t consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” He spoke in a near whisper to himself as he repeated another quote from Saint-Exupéry, making it the second one today.

Taken aback by his words, you struggled to find words yourself. “Did a boy—a little boy tell you that, by any chance?”

He looked up from his camera display and at you with widened eyes. “I told you today was a weird day,” he stared at you in disbelief. Feeling at ease around his amusing reaction, you shook your head and let out a nasal snort, staring thoughtfully at the river.

"I’m guessing you’re an Exupéry fan too?” you added. Fiddling with his hands, he simply nodded, the edges of his lips curling into a carefree grin.

“Le Petit Prince is a classic tragedy,” he sighed. “I cried for days when my mom explained the ending to me.”

Patting his back and comforting his pouty face, you accidentally let out a giggle. “I thought I was the only one.”

Standing beside each other and glancing at the rippling waves below, you found your eyes drift to a couple on the street that bordered the bridge. Oddly enough, they seemed to mirror the pair of you with their similar taste of clothing and friendly bond.

“Do you think the rose was selfish?” you wondered aloud, not expecting a response from him. It had been an odd question that plagued your very existence ever since you had read the book as a child.

“No,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. “They were so blinded by love, they didn’t understand what it even meant. Would you still call that love?” he pondered, his voice coming out just shy of a whisper.

Your head shifted to him, studying his features as he continued to look across the water. Changing his position to mirror you, his lips relaxed before forming a sympathetic smile.

“Love is easy to find if you look hard enough, especially in a big city like this— but it’s the good kind; the wholehearted, selfless, and genuine devotion that makes everything worthwhile. That’s the one that’s almost impossible to find.”

Feeling his eyes pierce through you, you shyly averted your gaze away and returned to the view of the sky, which was now completely enveloped in darkness as the day was finally at its end.

“That kind of love isn’t something you find; it’s something that comes to you,” he iterated softly, his captivated eyes never leaving you. “But I couldn’t agree more.”

“On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur, / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly,” you started, curious to see if he were as passionate and borderline obsessed with the children’s fable as you were.

“L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux, / What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” he continued, completing the second half of the quote.

Diverting your attention back to the streets below, you swore you felt your heart hiccup.

Within the few hours that you had spent together, you felt as if you’d known each other all your life. There was some kind of connection, a bond, that neither of you could explain. Whether it was your mutual inarticulate French speaking skills or the fact that you had delved deep into the past circumstances that resulted in moving to Paris, time didn’t seem to exist when he spoke to you. To say that you felt comfortable around him was an understatement; you felt like you were home.

Thankfully, Maison de Raphaël was just around the corner from the bridge. You didn’t notice how much time had passed until you checked the time again; it was already 9:30, meaning Amélie would be off work soon.

“I guess this is my stop,” you exhaled, trying not to show your discomfort from all the walking you had done today. Even though the sky was now a deep navy blue, flecks of light constellations began to peek through the dim clouds.

“Time flew by too quickly,” he noted, his hands instinctively returning to stroke the nape of his neck.

Puffing your cheeks to stifle a cheesy grin, you could only nod curtly in agreement. “Way too quickly.”

A few awkward seconds passed before each of you found the courage to speak.

“I—” he started.

“Do you—” you tried to ask.

Cutting off each other’s words, he gestured kindly for you to start first. “You should get home,” you insisted, feeling the guilt grow inside you the longer you kept him here.

He blinked a couple times, opening then closing his mouth as he tried to form a response.

Why oh why of all the things to say did you have to say that stupid sentence, you groaned silently, mentally scolding yourself for being so brusque.

“Oh—yeah. Of course,” he replied while forcing out a cough. “Thanks for tonight.”

Laughing warmly, he couldn’t help but look at you with that same gummy smile you had already known by heart. “Will I get to see you again?” you asked, worried for a second that you might’ve sounded too hopeful.

He considered the realistic possibilities. “It’s a pretty big neighborhood, but judging from the day we’ve spent and the places we both like to visit, I would say the odds are in our favor.”

Holding his hand out, you shook it tenderly, afraid that if you let go too quickly, the universe would find a way to make sure that you’d never see him again. It’s not like you ever believed in fictional concepts like the power of the universe or romantic deities, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The air around you grew cold with melancholy, the two of you more than clearly able to feel the tension as you were forced to accept the reality of parting ways.

Not even a few seconds after walking in the opposite direction, you turned around and bid him one more but hopefully not last farewell.

“Get home safely!” you shouted through cupped hands. He hadn’t moved far from the previous spot he was standing in. Only when you were at the entrance of the café and saw his still unmoved distant figure did you understand that he waited there to make sure that you arrived at your destination safely. Peering through the glass pane, you saw him give you a final wave before his shadow faded into the night.

“So you just left?!” Amélie’s jaw dropped to the ground. “And you didn’t even get his phone number?”

“Yes!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands and slamming them down onto the counter by the cash register. “Don’t rub it in.” Somehow, you had managed to compress in your entire day’s worth of events into a five-minute rant. Breathless at the end of your makeshift speech and in a fugue state, she brought you a glass of water, still gawking at you as you chugged it in four gulps.

“Punaise... / Damn...” she whispered. “Are you alright?” Sniffling slightly, you didn’t realize that tears had begun to flood your eyes until her hands rubbed your back soothingly.

Why were you crying?

“You two must have really had something special going on,” she sighed, still stroking your shoulders tenderly.

“Don’t start with that fate and destiny crap—” you whined but were cut off by her abrupt hush.

“Do you know how starstruck both of you would have been to not even ask for each other’s names?” she dragged out the last word, craning her neck and raising her eyebrows so high they looked animated.

Tears pricked your eyes again as the lump in your throat returned. You broke into full sobs now. “I didn’t even get his name!” Tangling your hands into your hair, you wondered if all those years studying for school actually grew your practical intelligence or just made you dumber.

“Amélie!” Pierre hollered from the empty kitchen. “Un café au lait!”

“On est fermé! / We’re closed!” she groaned, rubbing her temple as she tried to think of a solution to your predicament.

“Vingt minutes! / Twenty minutes!” he barked back.

“Who in their right mind orders coffee at night...” she grumbled a few profanities. You shot her a quick smile and shooed her off to quickly finish her shift so that the two of you could go back to your place. Sleepovers were more fun as adults, especially when champagne was added to the equation.

With your head buried underneath your scarf and crossed arms, you could barely hear the muffled exclamation of Amélie’s cheer as she greeted the last customer of the night, judging by the tone of her voice to come to the conclusion that they were also a regular.

You didn’t even know his name. You didn’t even get his stupid freaking name and you were beating yourself up over how absurd the entire situation was. It’s not like you really knew each other, right? You were appalled at your own desperation. You couldn’t believe actually crying over some random guy.

It was just a fun day with some random stranger. A random stranger who you just happened to click with. A stranger who you coincidentally ran into multiple times, just as luck would have it. An unknown guy who shared the same interests as you and admired the beauty in little things.

A person who you were wholeheartedly and completely mesmerized by right down to the last bit of fluff that was stuck on his beanie.

“Love at first sight my ass—” your obscenity was interrupted by a forceful cough that belonged to none other than your best friend.

“Last time I checked, you were the ‘innocent’ one of us two?” she hummed, raising her brow in a comical manner. Rolling your eyes and wiping the edges of your eyes, your tears finally started to come to a slow. All that remained was a pink flush on your cheeks and a red nose Rudolph would be jealous of.

Noticing the plate of coffee in her hand, you eyed her skeptically and asked her what she was doing watching you cry like an infant instead of serving the last customer so you could go home to your emergency ice cream stash.

Clicking her tongue mischievously, she set the porcelain cup down in front of you. “Pour vous, / For you,” she bowed dramatically.

“What?” you hiccuped.

“Special occasion?” her lips formed into a quirky grin. Nudging her head to the design she had etched into the cup, it was a new pattern. The base was a classic rosetta, but rather than have the buds of the leaves extend and thin out at the tip, she had drawn a plump heart. It was unusual. Out of all the different designs she had drawn on hundreds of cups, you’d never seen her draw a real heart, counting the number of times she had remarked how “cheesy” and “cliché” it was.

“I didn’t order a—” you stammered.

“I guess we have more than a few things in common...” a soft-spoken voice trailed from behind you.

Feeling your breath hitch in your throat, you felt your entire body tense up in shock, too anxious to turn around. Slowly turning your chair to the source of the voice, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes and a beaming smile.

“I forgot to ask you if you wanted to get a cup of coffee with me,” he grinned.

In a heartbeat, you found yourself throwing yourself into in his arms as they enveloped you in a tight embrace. Fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, you nestled your head into his chest as he held you close. It was the first heart fluttering hug you’d felt in years.

“I could’ve sworn I recognized the person I bumped into this morning,” he chuckled deeply.

Your eyes widened to the size of flying saucers.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Y/N, Yoongi” Amélie peeped from the counter, ogling the both of you while waggling her eyebrows impishly.

“Y/N,” he repeated slowly, your name rolling off of his tongue like honey.

“Yoongi,” you greeted with a giggle. His name felt like words you had been waiting an eternity to say.

Amélie read your facial expressions, making hers contort into one that resembled Munch’s painting of The Scream. “You have got to be kidding me,” she drawled out with her hand cupped over her mouth.

Yoongi’s hands wrapped around your waist and pressed you closer into him, sighing in content at the feeling of fulfillment that washed over both of you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he looked down at you, introducing himself formally and taking the opportunity to accentuate your name once more.

“The pleasure is all mine,” you beamed, never feeling more at home than in the arms of Yoongi in this exact present moment.

Maybe this whole coup de foudre thing wasn’t a total fairy tale after all.

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knowfromme-blog · 5 years

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5 Paid Life & Money Apps That Are Actually Worth The Money

Not too long ago, I wrote an article for TFD all about the fabulous free apps that attend me manage my health. And while I try to be as frugal as possible when using mobile apps, there are a select few that I’ve found really enact warrant the price tag.

Here’s my breakdown of which ones made the slice:

1. Buddhify ($4.99; one-time purchase) Buddhify is a really glowing meditation app. It was recommended to me by a facilitator of a DBT skills group I took last year, and I’m so gay that I found it. It’s pretty unique in its layout — the way you pick a meditation is via its Wheel. There are 12 different options on the multi-colored wheel, with topics like Meditation 101, Stress & Difficult Emotion, Traveling, Going to Sleep, etc. To be honest, I had a bit of a learning curve with this layout — I wasn’t used to categorizing the type of meditation I wanted before playing it. But once I got the hang of it, the process totally changed the way I meditate. Now, before meditating via Buddhify, I pause to consider what exactly I’m trying to accept out of my practice: enact I need something short to pass the time while on the train? Am I feeling stressed and need to find a way to unexcited down? Taking the time to ask such questions allows me to maximize the benefits of my practice — I can choose the perfect recording for any moment. After a while, you’ll find your preferred tracks, which you can “Favorite” and save for easy reference. I particularly be pleased the Traveling and Walking tracks, which offer meditations specifically designed to be used on the disappear. I’ve yet to find another meditation app with such multi-purpose tracks. I also really appreciate the fact that Buddhify is a quality app, but only asks for a one-time payment. Other, more expensive apps (i.e. Headspace) charge on a subscription-based model, which adds up over time. I like that I only had to invest $6.99 (CAD) up-front and can continue using the app for years to advance. 2. DailyPocket, formerly DailyPay ($5.99 premium version; one-time purchase) DailyPocket is a budgeting app that I’ve mentioned in TFD articles before. Although I employ many tools — such as my bank’s mobile app, or even Mint — to accept overviews of my spending habits, this itsy-bitsy app has served me well. Its premium version is 100% worth its weight in gold. The concept is fabulous: you set a weekly budget, personalize a list of spending categories, and manually enter your purchases as you disappear. Then, the app calculates handy numbers — like how many days are left in the week, how much money you should spend each day to stay within your weekly budget, and what percentage of your weekly budget you’ve spent so far. You can also see visual breakdowns of your spending in the form of pie charts. I’m not very wonderful at math (or spreadsheets), so this app does a lot of the work for me. I treasure being able to see exactly how much money I can spend for the rest of the week — it takes the guesswork out of budgeting. It kind of blends the process of manually entering expenses into a spreadsheet or journal, but combines that with the convenience of digital tools. I like to employ this app mainly for my weekly disposable income, and I employ other means to calculate larger figures (like my monthly savings, debt repayment, etc.). Again, this app only requires a one-time purchase, which makes its cost-per-employ very, very low. 3. The modern York Times Digital Access ($4 per month currently; promotional rate) When I first tried quitting social media for wonderful, I realized that there was a gap in my daily routine — I had been using Facebook to sustain up with a lot of daily news, from pages I’d followed and friends’ written posts. Without that constant stream of information, I needed a solid way to sustain up with current events. Personally, I be pleased reading The modern York Times for the bulk of my news. I like the fact that it includes plenty of progressive ideas, but also has a healthy dose of conservative viewpoints. Even though I’m very left-wing in my beliefs, I find it useful to hear opposing perspectives in order to challenge my own ideas and understand their counter-points. I got a promotional offer that allows me to pay $4 per month for digital access, which has been totally worth it. Reading the NYT truly enriches my life, allowing me to sustain up with the news while also enjoying some leisure reading. If you’re trying to limit your social media usage, I’d definitely recommend trying this strategy out — find a reputable news source that you genuinely be pleased reading, and purchase a subscription (bonus points if you can find a promotional rate, which most publications will offer to modern readers!). In the age of information overload, it can be refreshing to sit down and read wonderful journalism, instead of just scrolling through social media and taking in a haphazard selection of posts (most of which are probably not fact-checked). 4. QuickBooks Self-Employed ($7 per month currently; promotional rate) If you’re a freelancer or otherwise self-employed, I’m sure that you can sympathize with the hassle that is organizing your books and tax documents. There are many upsides to working for yourself, but having to prepare all of your famous financial documents is not one of them. When I first started freelancing, I found that I was getting indolent with record-keeping, which often meant that I was missing out on claiming real business expenses at the halt of the year. So, I ended up purchasing a subscription to QuickBooks Self-Employed (the Canadian edition), and it has been a valid lifesaver. It’s allowed me to sustain track of my accounting, book-keeping, and tax preparation pretty much on autopilot. I simply link my bank accounts/credit cards, etc., and the program automatically imports all of my transactions, which I can then brand as Business or Personal (I am a sole proprietorship, so this helps sustain things separate). I can also import images of receipts for cash transactions — the app then automatically reads the info and imports the data. This software lets me enjoy a clear overview of my total net income per month, year, etc., and easily organizes all of my tax documents for the halt of the year. There are other options out there — like hiring an accountant or tax professional, or doing everything manually — but for me, this is what works best, and it is cost-effective. The app allows me to stay organized, and to avoid the hassle of doing lots of math (this seems to be a theme in my life), so the monthly price-tag is worth it. 5. Spotify Premium — Family ($4.99 per month; $14.99 price split three ways with family members) Lastly, I enact pay for Spotify Premium. My family members and I split this between the three of us, so we each contribute $4.99 per month. While Spotify isn’t the most novel service, it does enrich my life. I’ve tried free music apps, and I’ve also used the media apps offered through my public library, but they simply aren’t comprehensive or user-friendly enough for my needs. Shelling out the $4.99 is worth it to me, as a former musician who does really appreciate the act of listening to wonderful music. It adds a lot of joy to my days, allowing me to rock out in the shower, in my room, or even with headphones on the bus. And I like the offline mode, which saves me data charges on my phone bill. You could certainly trim this app from your budget if you were really trying to save, but at this point in my life, the subscription fee is manageable and seems reasonable for the enjoyment I accept out of it on a daily basis. Sometimes the itsy-bitsy pleasures in life really are worthwhile. What are your favorite paid apps? enjoy you slice certain ones from your budget, or added others? Let us know in the comments. Mercedes Killeen is a Toronto-based professional author and editor. You can purchase her book of poetry, tulips, at greyborders.com and order her freelance services at fiverr.com/killeenm. Image via Unsplash Like this narrative? Follow The Financial Diet on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter for daily tips and inspiration, and sign up for our email newsletter here.

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#beauty #fashion #hair #makeup

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wavewood · 6 years

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The Girl at the Museum: A Zelink Modern AU

The Girl at the Museum FFN AO3

Word count: 10,344 Summary: "There was little to do on his long shifts at the museum, but he was happy to look at her and let himself craft stories about her life and his life and how one day they would intertwine in the most elegant way. Often times it felt like fate." Link spends a summer working at a museum, Zelda is the mysterious girl who is always there. Zelink Modern AU Oneshot BOTW-ish

Today, Link imagined her as a foreigner.

She came from Termina, had a thick accent, and often said, “How do you say…?” She was here for the summer on a research trip, and at the end of the season she would return to a small town in a distant country to write an obscure archeology book Link would one day find years from now, when she was just a distant memory. She would bike in the early morning to a dusty library to write in a leather notebook and eat pastries her neighbor baked. One day they would accidentally meet at a hotel bar, and she would find him charming and funny.

Yesterday, Link imagined her as a painter.

In reality, he knew nearly nothing about her. Everything he did know he gleaned from watching her, and that was still barely any information. He knew she absentmindedly ran her delicate hands through her long, golden hair when she was reading. He knew she liked to braid it when she needed a break, and then let it loose when she biked away. He knew her milky skin turned pink when she sat in the sunlight for too long. He knew she preferred jean shorts and loose t-shirts with vintage lettering. He knew she loved the museum.

Based off of her appearance, he assumed she had to be around the same age as him, or maybe he just wished it. Was she also eighteen years old, just a few months away from attending university? Maybe she was deceptively young looking but actually worked in a bank and had a husband? He constantly wondered.

At first he tried to control himself and actually do his job, but his job as a Visitor Services Associate at the Mila Vah Windfall Museum was boring. By the third day she was the only interesting thing he could see from the front desk, and so he finally gave up and watched her.

He often imagined her as a girl from his high school who was so shy that he had somehow missed her throughout the past eighteen years. Then he would charm her and she would slowly become comfortable around him. One day he’d drive her to the movies in the rain but they wouldn’t want to leave the comfort of the car, so they’d snuggle up and –

Link hadn’t meant to let his imagination run so wildly, but as the time ticked by each shift she seeped deeper into his thoughts until he spun an entire life story for her, many of which ended up with her enthralled by him just as much as he was enthralled by her.

Today she was sitting in the Wintergarden. Link sat at the front desk, as always, and stared at her through the massive window across the lobby. She sat cross-legged on the step of the small, stone fountain in the center of the glass room. Sunlight streamed down from the windowed ceiling, slipped past the leaves of the enclosed trees, and cast dappled rays on her delicate form. She was absorbed with a large book in her lap, so large that Link would guess it was a textbook. Occasionally she would run her hands through her long hair and nibble at her bottom lip. Surrounded by luscious plants, vibrant flowers, and spotted sunlight, Link thought she looked like a princess.

Sometimes he imagined her as royalty, but those dreams always left him feeling distant and hopeless.

There was little to do on his long shifts at the museum, but he found he did not mind the solitary hours. He was happy to look at her and let himself craft stories about her life and his life and how one day they would intertwine in the most elegant way. Often times it felt like fate.

He vividly remembered the first day he saw her. It was just the beginning of summer - his last one before he went to university across the country - and his first day at his new job. He had been dressed in jeans and a simple black shirt that had the words Mila Vah Windfall Museum in neat, elegant white letters. That morning he had even brushed his light brown hair, but despite his best efforts it still stuck up a bit in the back.

The Mila Vah Windfall Museum was actually a mansion that had once belonged to a wealthy woman who had very expensive tastes. She was a bold, charming woman who, by the end of her life, had collected so many treasures that she needed a museum for them all. After she died, her children transformed her mansion into a display of all her most prized possessions, from paintings and sculptures to animal skins to rare flowers. The museum was technically just a house of junk, but the junk of Mila Vah Windfall was all incredibly expensive and historic. On his first day, Link was required to wander through the rooms to become familiar with the layout and collection. He passed through room after ornate room, each time surprised at what this woman had managed to collect. She had soldier’s greaves from the Reestablishment Era, portraits of her done by Hyrule’s most famous artists, skeletons of Lynels, and even diamond encrusted lingerie.

Despite the vastness of the collection, the museum was not as popular as Link would have thought. It resided on the outskirts of Akkala, high on a hill and surrounded by gigantic trees. Not many people from the small neighboring towns had interest in making the trek, all except for one.

When she came in on his first day he had been ready to greet her as he had done with the few other guests - an overzealous smile and cheery welcome - but she ignored him and strolled past him straight into the Wintergarden. At the time he had just been amazed by her presence. She was beautiful, and he wanted to know her, yet she also had a haughty, unattainable air about her that just made him even more intrigued.

She was there nearly every day of the week from morning to early afternoon. Often times she would read, but she also frequently strolled through the rooms, taking notes in her tiny, leather notebook, and sometimes she would even draw. On these days that she wasn’t in the Wintergarden, Link would make more walkthroughs of the museum. He was supposed to check for discarded maps, but he just liked to see what she was doing.

Sometimes he tried to busy himself with something besides her, but he would always go back to dreaming of finally walking over and making conversation. He had never heard her speak before. He wondered how she sounded. He wondered if they even spoke the same language. He wondered if she would like him.

He generally liked his days off since he got to sleep in and wander around town with a few friends. Sometimes his grandma would give him some money and he’d take his younger sister out for ice cream. Sometimes, though, he found himself thinking of her and he would wait anxiously until the day came where he would work at the museum again.

A month into his job and he hadn’t gotten any better at filling his long hours with something besides watching the mysterious girl. He also hadn’t gotten the nerve to talk to her, mostly because he had no idea what he would even say. Hi, I just wanted to know if any of the many daydreams I had about you were remotely accurate? He had a feeling that would not go over well.

Sometimes when the days were particularly sunny and the amount of visitors particularly low, Link would get so bored he would even attempt doodling. He mostly just colored in the words on the note pad. Today, he was bold enough to attempt flowers. The person who worked before him had drawn intricate flower petals with many patterns and colors. They had left the doodle on the desk, and so Link felt like challenging himself and copying the intricate designs. He was surprised by how absorbed he became in the task. His lines were sloppy and uneven, but he was determined to get better.

“Excuse me?”

Link reluctantly looked up from his masterpiece of a doodle, only to freeze at the sight before him. The mysterious girl who had shown up every shift without fail was now standing right in front of him. He had never seen her this close before. Her face was gracefully round, her pink lips small and cute, and her long hair was a luscious gold. She had stuck a neon pink pencil behind her ear. Her doe eyes were a striking sea green that held such an intensity he thought for sure she knew everything about him, even the fact that he daydreamed about her constantly.

In his shock, he had not replied to her. He stared dumbly at her and noticed that she had a light smattering of freckles across her pale skin.

She lifted a brow. “Hello?”

So, she did speak his language.

“H-h-hi,” Link stammered as if his mind was a computer that had just sputtered to an end. He then abruptly stood up from his chair, accidentally knocking his pen down to the floor.

She paused for a moment and studied him carefully, likely calculating his level of sanity. Her eyes then traveled down to the desk where she noticed his many attempts at drawing flowers. She didn’t say anything, but he knew she must have been judging him for his doodles. His face was becoming redder by the second, and though the museum was required to be at a comfortable temperature, he felt suddenly hot.

“Right,” she said, regaining her composure and remembering why she came in the first place. She took a breath, and then explained in a rush, “There is an error in one of your exhibits. The plaque for the vase depicting the Battle of Lake Kolomo is incorrect. The year should be 1456 at the earliest, since that is when the battle actually took place, and currently it is 1356, which is preposterous because the coalition at Lake Hylia hadn’t even been formed yet. I am sure one of your curators made a simple error, but if there are any questions to my reasoning I am happy to discuss it. I do believe that the vase was made in 1457 since creating pottery took a fair amount of time back then and so it would have been at least a few months. I wouldn’t estimate the vase was made any later than 1460 since that was the year when new pigments were introduced to Hyrule and there are very few colors in this vase. Anyway, please let the appropriate party know of the error and that I am here to explain my reasoning if need be.”

Link could only stare. None of that had registered.

“Sorry,” he said slowly, waking up from his daze. “Could you say that again?”

The girl audibly sighed. “Please tell the curator of the East Wing section to come to the front desk because there is an error in the plaque,” she said, annoyance creeping into her voice.

“Oh,” Link said simply, blinking a few times before he finally felt alert again. “Right, okay…so for complaints you need to fill out this comment card and then – ,”

“No, this isn’t a complaint about the bathroom not having enough toilet paper – which, by the way, it doesn’t,” she interjected, leaning against the counter. “This is a flagrant error in the exhibit, and who knows how long that has been there? This needs to be addressed now.”

Link was still taken aback, now by her boldness and confidence. She gazed at him with those intense green eyes, waiting for him to follow her commands.

Remembering his training, Link placed the complaint card in front of her and replied, “I can assure you that we respond to all of our complaints promptly. This will be dealt with shortly once you have filled out the card.”

“Really?” she replied skeptically, leaning farther over the counter to glare at him. “How promptly?”

“Um…” Link stumbled as he tried not to notice how much closer she had gotten. “Very…promptly...”

They stared at each other for a moment in which Link wondered how far she was going to push this. He assumed she was wondering the same thing.

“Fine,” she resigned. She slipped the pencil out from behind her ear and quickly filled out the form with brisk movements. When she was done she slipped the pen back into her ear, gave one last final glare, and left the building.

Once she was gone, Link quickly looked at her complaint form. She had ignored the lines of the paper and the sections that had requested the date, name, and email; instead, she just wrote in large letters:

Battle of Lake Kolomo is wrong – call me.

Beneath that she wrote a phone number and signed off with her name in bold, confident strokes.

Zelda.

For a moment Link looked at the door in a daze. Zelda was not at all what he had been expecting.

As if on autopilot, Link placed the complaint card in the slot where all the other cards go. He really did hope this error would be fixed promptly.

The next day the girl – Zelda – entered as she always did: quickly and without a single glance towards Link. She didn’t go off into the Wintergarden today, but instead headed straight for the staircase into the heart of the museum. Link felt an odd mix of both relief and disappointment. Now that he had learned her name and actually had an interaction with her, which he began to realize maybe hadn’t gone that well, he couldn’t predict how his shift would go. Would she ignore him? Could he continue to spend his hours imagining storylines for her if he knew her name? Things just felt different and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that yet.

He was so worried about the future of his daydreams that he didn’t even notice her approaching until she slapped a hand on the desk in front of him. Link’s head jerked up with a start to see her staring at him with those keen emerald eyes.

“It hasn’t been fixed.” She stated.

It took Link a moment to process her words. “Oh,” he replied simply. After a second, he swallowed the lump in his throat and continued with more confidence than yesterday. “I’m sorry, Miss. I am sure it will be fixed soon.”

She glared at him a moment, and he could tell she was calculating her options on how to proceed. Like the day before, she huffed “fine,” and walked away from the desk.

The next day followed the same pattern. She briskly walked into the museum and headed straight for the East Wing, and then she briskly walked back to the front desk. She informed Link that the sign remained unfixed and Link assured her that it would be fixed soon, even though he had no idea if that was true. This time she didn’t even say fine, just glared for a moment and then stomped away, her long golden hair swishing behind her with flair.

The same thing happened the following two days. Whenever she spoke to him Link really wanted to do something different – maybe offer to look at the sign with her, or ask why she cared so much – but he would always fall back into the same instinct because her presence made him inexplicably nervous and excited.

He didn’t understand why she had this effect on him. He knew he was prone to romantic, elaborate day dreaming, but this was the first time he had actually felt genuinely infatuated with somebody. Much to his embarrassment, he was a hopeless romantic, and for some reason he was enthralled by her. He must have dreamt of every possible life for her – one where she was popular in the city, studious in a faraway land, a princess in disguise – but somehow he had never dreamt of her as she truly was, and that was perhaps the most exciting part of it all.

At the end of the week the sign had finally been fixed. Link knew this before she came in that day, and he was unexpectedly nervous when she walked in. Would she thank him? Would he finally be able to say something substantial and she would think he actually had a brain? He frantically thought of different scenarios and how he would respond to them in a way that would make her want to hang out with him more.

He was ashamed for the disappointment he felt when she returned from the East Wing only to go straight to the Wintergarden, not even glancing his way.

For a day Link denied that her ignoring him had any impact on him at all. By his second shift he had accepted that he was disappointed. He tried to go back to inventing a storyline for her, this time using the small bits he knew that he got through their interactions to fill in the gaps, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t have the same engagement with his daydreams like he usually did. He was tired of wondering what she was like. Now he wanted to know.

By his third shift, he was so incredibly bored that he did something incredibly stupid.

It didn’t take her nearly as long to notice as he had expected, and for that he was grateful. He had just finished restocking the pamphlets when she approached the front desk. She stood proudly before him with her hands on her hips and her head held high. By now he had time to prepare himself so that he was bold enough to look her in the eye and not glance away.

“There’s another error,” she stated. “In the West Wing, the sign for the Rito Tapestry of Voo Lota says that the Voo Lota Shrine is in the province of Hebra, but it is actually in the province of Tabantha.”

She spoke in a rush, like her mouth couldn’t keep up with her brain, and it threatened to rattle Link again, but he remained focused. He fought his instincts this time to go back to what he always said, and instead replied with, “So, are you really into history?”

“Excuse me?” She said defensively, crossing her arms.

“You just know so much about it,” he answered, trying to keep a calm exterior when he felt total panic on the inside. “You must really like history.”

“Oh, goddesses, no,” Zelda rolled her eyes. “I detest history. It’s almost entirely memorization, a little bit of philosophical thought, but far too stagnate for me.”

“Oh,” he said dumbly, caught off guard again by her answer. He had thought for sure that she was some kind of history buff. He did not expect somebody who knew all of these random details to hate it. “How do you know so much then?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, some things you just hear and it sticks, you know. Like when you’re listening to music and you don’t even realize that you have somehow learned all the words to a song you don’t even like.”

Link looked at her skeptically. “Yeah, but that’s for music, not for geography or historical facts.”

“What’s the difference?” She responded, and Link was amazed again by the intensity in her striking green eyes. He had a feeling she was rarely wrong.

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Are you a genius? And I don’t mean somebody who has a few good ideas, but I mean a real, certified genius who could read at six months and do calculus in fifth grade.”

She blinked a few times, taken aback, and her cheeks had a hint of red in them now. She looked down at her feet for a second, and he realized it was the first time she had looked away from him during their many interactions.

“The odd thing is,” she said, moving right past his question as she leaned against the counter. “The sign was accurate before, and now suddenly somebody changed the information to something that is completely inaccurate.”

She peered at him curiously and he tried not to smile. “Hm, that is odd,” he agreed. “Thank you for letting us know, will you please fill out this comment card so that we can fix the issue?”

Her lips turned up into a wry smile, and this time he felt himself blushing under her sharp yet amused gaze. He slipped the comment card in front of her but she didn’t even glance at it. “I expect this to be fixed promptly,” she said in an almost teasing way.

“Of course,” he put on his most charming grin and she glanced at him suspiciously one last time before sauntering away, leaving the comment card untouched.

Hours later, once she let her hair down and left the museum, he grabbed the original sign from the drawer. He discretely returned to the tapestry and switched the signs, tossing the incorrect one in the trash on his way back.

It took longer for her to notice the next error, but three days later he was thrilled to see her marching towards his desk again with the same mix of confidence and irritation at there being false information in the world.

It was an especially hot summer day so she had her golden hair in a loose bun. She wore a navy tank top that showed her pale shoulders and a smattering of freckles along her collarbone. Link was jealous of her comfortable attire – a black cotton shirt and pants was not exactly great for this summer heat.

“There’s another error,” she said. Unlike the last time, however, she was smiling. Link hoped she was smiling because of him. “On the Terminan translation for the Book of Vows, one of the words is in present tense when it should be in past tense.”

“I’m not surprised, but you know Terminan?” he asked, trying once again to seem calm and professional but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Not very well,” she admitted. “Just enough basic grammar to know that the sign is incorrect.”

“Will you fill out a comment card?” He asked.

“No,” she answered, and then spun around and left.

The next time the error was an incorrect date that was off by a year, then the wrong type of rock for a sculpture, then an artist’s first and last name were switched. She caught every single one. Each time she strode confidently to the front desk and announced the flaw. He hoped she played along because she got a reason to speak with him, but he was confident that she just loved to test her knowledge.

On a particularly rainy day she approached him again. “There’s another error,” she didn’t even wait for him to ask what it was. “The sign for the taxidermy crane says the scientific name is Dromaius Novaehollandiae, but it’s actually Gruidae.”

He opened his mouth to reply but she suddenly leaned in much closer than before and his words caught in his throat.

“Make it harder next time,” she whispered. “This one was too easy.”

She quickly jumped away and walked back to her spot, leaving Link stunned and his heart swollen with an undeniable crush.

Link tried his best to keep his eyes on the old women he was talking to, but he could feel Zelda’s gaze on him and he never had to work so hard to just look at something. He gave his usual speech about handicap accessible ramps, and if he smiled a little more than usual he would not admit it was because the mysterious girl finally seemed interested in him.

It had been a week since Zelda approached him and hinted that she knew his game. She didn’t always solve his inaccuracies within a day, but his most recent one had stumped her. On the third day he heard from two of the guards that she had been circling the museum all day reading each placard multiple times, looking more frustrated as time went on. A whole week later and she still had no idea what he had done.

Now she seemed to think the best plan of action was to sit in the Wintergarden and stare at him like he was some kind of specimen on a microscope. Her attentions made him flustered, hot, and a little bit light-headed, all of which he tried to keep hidden but he knew he was doing a poor job of it.

“You feeling okay, young man?” One of the elderly ladies asked, peering up at him through her half-moon glasses.

Link chuckled nervously and continued his spiel about elevators, ignoring her question.

He soon said goodbye to the group of ladies just as his manager came up to watch the desk while he went on his lunch break. He took his paper bag out from the drawer and began to walk across the lobby to the employee break room as he always did. Halfway there, however, Zelda stepped right in front of him.

For a second she just glared at him, but then she said, “Let’s get lunch.”

Link’s heart skipped a beat. Although he became incredibly nervous, he obviously agreed.

“Tell me about yourself,” Zelda ordered as she took one of his grapes from his lunch bag and popped it into her mouth.

They sat on top of the hill just above the museum in the shade of a large tree. It was a cloudy summer day, but the air was warm and the gentle breeze was a relief against his flushed face. They sat side by side on the grass. Link munched on his meager sandwich while Zelda stole his grapes.

“What do you want to know?” He asked.

“Anything that will help me figure out what you’ve changed this time,” she replied, gazing out at the dense forest that surrounded the museum.

“So you want a clue,” he clarified and her sharp green eyes snapped to him.

“No,” she said defensively. “I don’t want you to give it away. I just need to figure you out more and that will help me solve this puzzle.”

Link wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Did he mind being just a game to her? He felt like he should have some dignity and be offended, but he was too excited to be talking to her to care.

“So,” she prompted as she leaned forward with her arms on her knees, looking at him keenly. “Let’s start with your name.”

He chuckled around a mouthful of food. “I can’t believe you don’t know my name after all this time. It’s Link, by the way.”

“Link,” she muttered, mulling it over. “Not what I expected.”

“Oh really? What did you think it was?”

“I’ve always just thought of you as Mr. Misinformed since you’re spreading misinformation to the world.”

Link let out a short laugh, nearly choking on another mouthful of his sandwich.

She popped another grape into her mouth. “Why do you work at the museum?” she continued.

“Needed money and they were the first people to offer me a job,” he replied simply.

“What do you use the money for?”

He felt it was already becoming an odd line of questioning, but he didn’t hold back. “Saving up for college mostly, sometimes I buy food.”

“When are you going to college?”

“In August.”

“Where?”

“CTU.”

“What will you be studying?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Are you excited?”

“I guess.”

“Are you happy that you’re going to CTU?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

He paused now and looked at her. “Don’t you think it’s my turn to ask you questions?”

“I don’t see the point in that,” she sighed as she flopped onto her back and stared up at the clouds. Her golden hair fanned around her head, blades of grass poking between the strands.

“Well, I do,” Link said, finally finishing his sandwich.

“You ate that quickly,” she stated bluntly.

“I’ve always thought I should become a professional speed eater,” he replied as he began eating his few remaining grapes.

“Is that what you’ll study at university?” she asked teasingly.

Link gave her an amused look, knowing she was trying to steer the conversation back to him.

“So, are you at university or in highschool or neither…?” He asked, trailing off and wishing he had the same confidence she did.

She sighed, clearly annoyed he insisted on asking her questions. In a rush of words, she said, “I’m about to go into my second year at Rhoam University. I’m still undecided in my major but I’m choosing between mechanical engineering and molecular biology. I was born and raised in Castle Town. I’m allergic to bees.”

“There,” she added a second later, smiling slyly at him as the wind played with a few loose strands of her hair. “Now that you know these basic facts, let’s get back to you.”

“Wait,” Link cut in, the words just registering. “You go to Rhoam University.”

“Yes,” she answered simply and he shook his head in amazement. Rhoam University was the top in the country, one of the best in the world, but he wasn’t surprised she was at that school. Plus, Rhoam was in Castle Town, which is where he would be starting in September…

He stopped his thoughts before they spiraled any further down that rabbit hole.

“So then, what are you doing in Akkala?” He questioned, finishing his grapes and moving on to a granola bar.

She was quiet for a moment and looked back to the passing clouds. Her smile had fallen and she looked a bit sad. After a moment, she replied with a bit less confidence than before,

“My father is sick. Nothing life-threatening, but the doctors recommended that he get away from the city to escape the stress of that lifestyle and get some fresh air. So we came to Akkala where there are plenty of trees and nothing ever happens.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Link said quietly, his heart squeezing with sympathy.

“Don’t worry,” she brushed it off, sitting back up again. “It seems to be working well for him.”

They were silent for a second, Zelda staring down at the museum beneath them and Link looking at the pieces of grass now entwined with her hair. He wanted to know more about her father, but didn’t want to push too far.

“Do you like Akkala?” He asked, resisting the urge to pluck the blades out for her.

She shrugged. “It’s fine. I see the appeal, but I don’t have much to do here.”

Link huffed in agreement. That was the story of his life.

“Is that why you’re always at the museum?” He inquired and she looked at him again with a sharp gleam that made his heart flutter.

“Precisely,” she nodded. “This is the most interesting attraction around that I can bike to. And it’s air-conditioned.”

Link chuckled. He always missed the coolness of the museum on his days off.

“Now, enough about me,” she said, regaining the confidence and quickness of her usual self. “I need to learn more about you in order to figure this out.”

And so Link spent the remaining twenty minutes of his break answering an array of seemingly random questions, but apparently it did not suffice. Zelda was still at a loss for what was missing in the museum. Before he returned to his desk, she insisted they get lunch again tomorrow so that she could continue her investigation of his psyche – or something along those lines. Oh, and he needed to bring more grapes too.

Link couldn’t have stopped grinning if somebody paid him to.

The next morning Zelda marched right up to the front desk. When she finally stood before him, she let out a big breath and announced, “I’m an idiot.”

Link smirked, already knowing where this was going.

“It was clever of you, to hide it in such plain sight,” she grudgingly conceded, “but last night I came to a revelation and realized what was wrong here.”

“And that is…?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“Your name tag,” she answered. “It says Pipit but your name is Link.”

“That’s correct,” he grinned, finally able to snap off the wrong name tag that he had been wearing for the past week. “Are you embarrassed it took you that long?”

“No,” she huffed before spinning around and stomping away, clearly both embarrassed and annoyed. Link, on the other hand, felt triumphant.

Although Zelda had solved the puzzle, Link was happy that it didn’t stop her from demanding lunch with him. The next few days followed a similar pattern as the one before. During his lunch break they would walk out to the shade of the tree on the hill and Link would eat while Zelda stole his grapes and asked a series of questions that popped out of her stream of conscious. With each day Link was able to get her to answer more and more of his own questions. He discovered that she was in fact a certified genius but only had a love for hard science, nothing that couldn’t be quantified. She told him about a volunteer program she was a part of in Castle Town where she taught chemistry to underdeveloped schools. She talked about her roommates who would drag her out of the library to parties, and how she would sometimes dance by herself in her lab when nobody was around. He also learned that her mother had passed when she was very young, and her father was overworked and often gone, but he was kind and all she had left.

He also learned she enjoyed eating chips and apples, in addition to stealing his grapes.

On Friday it was a complete downpour and so they couldn’t go to their usual spot for lunch. Instead, they ate in the Wintergarden on the same bench Zelda always sat in. The rain pounded on the windowed ceiling, and Link noticed her frequently glancing up at it, enchanted by how the water splattered and rippled on the glass.

“What are you studying all the time?” he asked as Zelda peeled one of his oranges. He was sure to bring two this time so that they could both have one.

“Whatever I feel like,” she answered. “Sometimes when I don’t know what to research I find a random artifact in the gallery and learn all I can about it.”

Link was both amazed and intimidated by her desire for knowledge and her ability to seemingly understand anything if she chose to research it. He wondered if that was what she was doing with him: researching him completely so that she could solve all of his puzzles.

He had nearly forgotten about this game he had started. They had begun speaking more as friends and less about the game. She even smiled at him when she came into the museum now. It was a coy, teasing smile, one that took his attention away from whatever he was working on.

“Can I see your notebook?” he asked, pointing to the leather book she was always vigorously writing in. It sat beside her on the bench, the pages thinning and warping with use.

She shrugged and handed it to him like it was no big deal, but Link felt as if he was holding a very important part of Zelda. The leather was cracked in his hands as he flipped through the pages. The notebook reflected much of Zelda’s own mind. It was overflowing with information, words often becoming smooshed together around the edges and arrows drawn between sections, connecting her disparate ideas. Her handwriting was both messy and elegant, the stems and swoops of her letters long and elegant but tight together.

“Don’t you ever get bored of the museum?” He wondered, running his fingers gently across a doodle she did of a flower. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all.

“Sometimes. I wish I could drive to other places, but all I have is my bike so I can’t get too far anywhere,” she answered.

“Where would you like to go?”

“The old research lab up north,” she replied. “I hear it’s a pretty small, unimpressive museum, but that’s where a lot of scientific advancement took place so I’d like to see it nonetheless.”

And, as if his mind had suddenly disconnected from his mouth, he said without thinking, “I could drive you there if you want.”

Link could feel his face become flushed with embarrassment. Why did he offer that? Would she think it was a date? What if they went and she grew bored of him, or he crashed the car?

“Really?” She exclaimed happily, shocking him out of his panicked thoughts. “Would you really take me?”

“O-of course,” he stammered out. “I mean, if you want to – ,”

“I do!” she jumped in, full of a passion that she always gets when she talked about her studies, or fruitcake. “Can we go this weekend? I’ll pay for gas and whatever else you might need.”

“It’s only forty minutes away.”

“Nevertheless, I will make this the easiest forty minute drive of your life.”

Link highly doubted that considering he was now going to lie awake all night in a mix of panic and excitement. He agreed to take her tomorrow anyway, knowing there was no way he would say no to her.

Later, after they had made their plans and exchanged phone numbers, he returned to his desk and came to an important realization. He didn’t actually own a car.

That evening Link had to beg his grandma to let him borrow her car. Even though he would be horribly embarrassed to drive Zelda in it – it was brown with peeling paint and the brakes screeched so loudly dogs would bark – but it would do. He told her that he and some of the boys from school were going to go to the beach for the day. Although he wasn’t doing anything unsavory, he knew that she would become unbearably annoying and thrilled that he was going to spend the day with some girl, so there was no way he was going to tell her. Though she was hesitant at first, she did eventually agree.

“Yes, thank you so much, Grandma,” He said excitedly, kissing her cheek with glee.

“But you should bring Aryll,” she added and his heart dropped to his stomach.

“Grandma,” he started with exasperation but she held a finger up to stop him.

“Poor girl hasn’t been to the ocean in a year. Be a good brother and take her with you. I’ll even give you money for ice cream.”

Link felt guilty – he hadn’t lied to his family since middle school when he stole a candy bar – and now his only hope was that Aryll, his twelve year-old sister, would suddenly hate the ocean and refuse to come.

He was disappointed (but not surprised) to see Aryll bouncing up and down with delight at the prospect of going to the beach tomorrow. What had Zelda done to him? She made him all worked up about going to a museum that he lied to his family and now was in a stupid mess. He supposed he could come clean but then his grandma would definitely embarrass him about going out with a girl and trying to keep it a secret. Shit.

That’s how Link ended up in the car with Aryll on the way to Zelda’s address begging her to lie to grandma and say they went to the beach when instead they were going to a museum up north.

“I’ll do it for a hundred rupees,” She huffed, grinning mischievously at him from the passenger seat. She had always been annoyingly coy and confident while Link felt like a fumbling, awkward boy all the time. He envied how easy everything seemed for her, and then he remembered that she was only twelve and it just made him feel worse.

Despite all that, he still loved her the way brothers do: unconditionally but never to be said aloud.

“That’s absurd,” Link rolled his eyes, steering the car further up the hill towards. “I’ll buy you ice cream.”

“That’s nothing, Grandma told me she gave you money for that,” she retorted. “Just for that, I am making it 150 rupees.”

“Fine, I’ll give you ice cream and ten rupees,” Link countered and she was silent for a moment, pondering the deal.

“That and you fold my laundry for a week,” She replied quickly and Link just shook his head in exhaustion. He didn’t like it, but they were close to Zelda’s address now and he didn’t have any more time to bargain.

“Deal,” he agreed and she squealed with victorious delight. “And don’t be annoying, or ask too many questions, or talk about – ,”

“Wow, you must really like her,” she interrupted with another smirk.

“Shut up,” Link said just as they pulled up in front of the address.

Or at least he hoped it was right. The house was massive and absolutely beautiful with a manicured garden, cobalt paint, and the Hylian flag floating in the breeze outside of their front door. He wondered if anybody else lived with Zelda and her father. Why would two people need three floors to themselves?

As Zelda rushed out of the front door and across the lawn, Link became horribly embarrassed of his Grandma’s car again, and of Aryll who looked positively thrilled to be meeting this mysterious girl Link had tried to hide.

“Get in the back,” Link ordered Aryll but she crossed her arms in refusal.

“I was here first.”

“You aren’t even old enough to sit up front, get back.”

“Fifteen rupees then,” she countered and Link wanted to throttle himself.

“Ugh, fine,” he hastily agreed as Zelda reached the car and Aryll quickly crawled into the backseat.

“Hey,” he greeted her, trying to be as charming and cool as he could in Akkala’s oldest car. The door creaked as she swung it open, and he noticed her wince.

At that moment he really wished he had just continued admiring Zelda from afar. It really was much easier than this.

“Good morning,” she greeted cheerily, plopping into the passenger seat. Even after talking with her for the past week, she still had that unattainable air about her. Her long blonde hair looked paler in the morning light and the sun reflected brilliantly in her emerald eyes. She wore jean shorts and a black t-shrit that had the words Rhoam the Earth on it. Link thought she was the coolest girl he had ever seen.

“Sorry, I had to bring my sister along,” Link apologized nervously as he began to drive again. “This is Aryll.”

Before Zelda could even say hi, Aryll bluntly asked, “Are you rich?”

Link wanted to throttle her now.

“Yes,” Zelda replied without a pause in the same terse, matter-of-fact tone she often used when answering questions. “Are you?”

“No,” Aryll unashamedly replied while Link’s face became scarlet with embarrassment. “What do your parents do?”

“My dad’s a politician of sorts,” she replied, nonplused. “What do your parents do?”

“Mom’s a waitress. Our dad is dead.” Aryll corrected as if it were another ordinary, uninteresting fact. Link kept his eyes on the road even as he felt Zelda glance to him. He had never mentioned his dad. He wondered if she would be weird about it.

For now, at least, the two moved past the topic and continued to bounce questions off of each other. Link was glad that Zelda didn’t seem to be upset about Aryll joining them, and he thought that they got along well. They both were honest and blunt in a way that few people ever are. Link drove in silence as he listened to them talk, and though he was still bitter towards Aryll, he did enjoy learning more about Zelda.

“Do you like Link?” Aryll asked with a teasing lilt to her voice as Link’s face became red again for what felt like the twentieth time that day.

He felt Zelda glance at him again. After a second, she replied with the same mischievousness as Aryll, “He’s alright.” And then the two giggled together and Link once again regretted everything he had ever done to that point in his life.

At the Akkala Research Museum, Link learned very little. It was a tiny museum with even less traffic than the Mila Van Windfall Museum. It sat atop a cliff right on the coast of the East Hylian Ocean and the tall, skinny trees swayed at the slightest breeze.

He followed Zelda throughout the museum, his heart squeezing with affection whenever she pointed something out with excitement or jotted a note down in her journal. She possessed an infectious joy and passion when she talked about her studies, and Link couldn’t help but feel a bit of that same enthusiasm, even though he had no idea what she was talking about most of the time.

Thankfully, Aryll stayed out of their way as she was occupied by a children’s interactive exhibit where she could build little robots. It seemed both girls got something out of their visit, but if anybody had asked Link what his favorite part was he wouldn’t have been able to give an answer. All he knew was that his crush on this mysterious girl had grown into something more and he was thoroughly doomed.

After they wandered the museum for a while, they ate some food Zelda had the foresight to pack and sat on a bench beside the cliff. Despite the panic and embarrassment in the morning, Link couldn’t help but feel content with Zelda sitting beside him and a beautiful view of the sea. Zelda and Aryll talked about the little robots that she had been playing with for a while, but then Aryll decided to wander off on her own and explore the small surrounding area. Link and Zelda continued eating their lunch, contently listening to the squawking seagulls and the distant rumble of waves crashing on the beach.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Zelda said quietly, suddenly breaking their comfortable silence.

Link looked to Aryll, who was a ways off chasing the butterflies floating amongst the flower bushes. He swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to think of his dad.

“Thanks,” he replied a bit awkwardly, never really sure what to say.

“My mother died when I was six,” she added.

Link looked at her now. She had a serene yet sad smile on her face and her eyes gazed out to the horizon. In this cloudy weather, her usually vibrant green irises seemed more teal than emerald. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he trusted that Zelda knew he felt the same useless pity that she felt for him. Instead, he talked about his dad, something he almost never did.

“My dad died a few months before Aryll was born,” he explained quietly. “He was in the military and died in combat overseas. It’s odd…I never really knew him that well, but I miss the idea of what we would have been like if he had come home.”

He stared at his sandwich, no longer interested in it. He had never spoken about that feeling before, but it was a relief to finally voice it.

“Do you…” Zelda started softly, before trailing off in uncertainty. She paused, and then tried again in a frail whisper. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

Link turned to her to see her eyes glistening, but that serene smile was still present. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t like his answer, and that she already knew it, so instead he gently placed his hand over hers and hoped that she gained the same comfort from his presence as he did from her.

This time her smile had warmth in it, and it made the heaviness that had fallen in Link’s heart lighten just a little.

At that point Aryll came back and announced that she was bored. They left the museum soon after with Link driving and everybody quietly listening to the radio. As they drove onto the highway, Link glanced to Zelda to see her looking at him with that warm smile on her face again. He couldn’t help but smile as well, and he felt inexplicably drawn to her even more since he first saw her at the museum.

At his following shift at the museum, Zelda brought him peanut butter brownies and a bag of grapes.

“This is me repaying you for taking me to the museum,” she said sweetly, handing over a box of brownies. “Aryll told me you loved chocolate and peanut butter.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Link started, touched by the fact that she took time to make him food, but Zelda quickly moved past him.

“I know, but I did.” She then pulled out a bag of green grapes and plopped them on the desk. “And these are for all the grapes I’ve stolen from you.”

Zelda then glanced to the side and Link followed her gaze, seeing his manager approaching as he usually did in the mornings to check-in.

She lifted a brow. “See you at lunch?”

“Obviously,” Link replied with a wide grin.

She winked at him and then walked back to her usual spot, her hair swishing behind her.

Link and Zelda became inseparable after that. When he worked at the museum he would constantly glance at Zelda and she would glance at him, and they would share smiles they thought nobody else could see but them. They weren’t as subtle as they thought though, because soon the security guards in the lobby would tease Link every day.

“You should tell her she looks like a model and you want to make her into a sculpture,” one security guard helpfully supplied, chuckling with his coworker as if they once again spent a few minutes trying to think of museum pick-up lines.

“Oh, oh, how about…are you an artist, because I’m drawn to you,” the other one added.

Link wanted to quit right then as the two guards laughed together beside him at the desk.

When he wasn’t trying to evade the security guards, he looked forward to his lunch breaks where they would lie on the grass beneath the tree on the hill. On particularly slow days, Link would watch her draw flowers in the Wintergarden. On the weekends they would meet up and Link would drive her to some part of Akkala she had never been to. Aryll frequently joined, much to his annoyance but Zelda was always happy to have her. The places they went to were areas none of his peers were interested in – burnt forests, lake shores with high mineral deposits, muddy banks brimming with frogs – but he soon realized he would go wherever she wanted just to spend time with her.

He often wondered how to become more than friends. He dreamed of her boldly marching into the museum, announcing she wanted to date him, and then they would kiss and laugh and it would all be so easy. Occasionally he would seriously consider marching up to her and announcing his wish to date her, but just the thought made him horribly nervous and nauseous. He always reassured himself that he had more time to figure it out, that he would know when the moment was right and it would work itself out.

That’s why when she told him she was going back to Castle Town in two days, he felt like time had passed unfairly quickly.

“What?” he gawked as they walked up the hill during his lunch hour.

“It’s a little early,” she explained. “But we start earlier than CTU does, and I need to move into my apartment before classes overtake my life.”

Link didn’t know what to say, but his disappointment must have been apparent.

“Let’s hang out tomorrow night,” Zelda suggested enthusiastically. “I need to have some more of Lon Lon’s Ice Cream before I go back to Castle Town.”

“That sounds good,” Link agreed, but the usual excitement he felt for their get-togethers was mixed with the dread of her leaving. Nevertheless, they made plans to bike and meet there tomorrow to celebrate her last night.

“It’s not like this will be the last time we will see each other,” Zelda smiled, sensing his distress. “Once you get to Castle Town and settle in, text me and we will meet up. I’ll bring you to some upperclassmen parties.”

“Oh, look at you,” Link teased and rolled his eyes. “You’re just a second year and you think you’re all high and mighty.”

“Better than being a first year,” she jibed back. “But seriously, I’m excited that you’ll be in Castle Town with me. It’ll be nice having another friend there.”

Link just smiled and kept the rest of his concerns to himself. Though they would be in the same city he worried she would become consumed by her rigorous classes and labs and hanging out with better, way smarter friends. He bet all the guys she hung out with had their own cars and could follow along when she spoke of molecules and photons.

Those thoughts plagued his mind for the remainder of his shifts, and they still bounced around in his head as he biked to Lon Lon’s ice cream café the next night. He told himself once again to stop thinking about it and just enjoy their last summer night together, but he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

At the ice cream parlor they laughed and chatted and Zelda got some of her vanilla ice cream on her nose, which was so frustratingly cute Link had to look away. They sat by the pond and watched the fireflies slowly begin to awaken and lazily float around them. She laughed at his jokes and briefly touched his arm. He tried to get the courage to tell her he would miss her horribly for the next few weeks, that he liked how much her intelligence intimidated him, that her energy was vivacious and infectious, and he felt drawn to her like a moth to a lamp.

He didn’t know how to say all of this though. Instead, he just said, “You are nothing like I expected.”

She licked her cone and raised a brow. “Oh really?” She teased. “What did you expect?”

Link smiled and shook his head. Twilight was fading into night but her green eyes were still as bright and as intoxicating as they were in the Wintergarden. Her golden hair fell gracefully around her shoulders, and her cheeks and nose had a hint of red to them, still a bit sun burnt from their latest excursion. He didn’t know if it was because he was inclined to romantic fantasies and all that, but he truly thought she looked as elegant as one of those paintings in the museum even in jean shorts and an old t-shirt.

“I don’t know,” he said after a second. “but you are nothing like I ever imagined.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Very.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and Link so desperately wanted to kiss her. His fingers actually ached from resisting the urge to cup her cheek and stroke her hair.

But then she went back to licking her ice cream, and he felt the moment was gone. He asked if she wanted to do anything else that night, but she had an early train in the morning so she decided to head back home.

They slowly walked to their bikes that were propped up against the side of the ice cream shop. It was only a few dozen yards away, but Link frantically spent the entire walk begging time to slow down and thinking of the words to say to show how he felt. All too quickly they arrived at their bikes and Zelda hopped on. She was about to take off when she stopped and looked at him.

She smiled a bit sadly and began slowly, “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks…”

“Yes,” Link agreed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“You better text me when you arrive,” she ordered with a slight glare.

“Will do.”

What to say? Would she feel the same?

“Well…” she looked to the road and adjusted her pedals. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Link said even as he internally screamed at himself to stop her and say something different. “See you later.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, shooting him one last weird glance before sighing and adjusting her bike again. She then pushed off the curb and began biking away, her blonde hair floating behind her.

Link watched her till she turned the corner.

He sighed. “Shit,” he said to himself.

Immediately he felt the weight of regret sinking in, and he realized he made a huge mistake. He knew he would never have the perfect words to say, but it would be better to say them than not at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his bike and began to peddle after her as fast as he could. He weaved between a group of moms and their toddlers, past a truck, and even ignored a puppy to try to catch up with her. It didn’t take him long to find her, but he was still as winded as if he had run a mile.

He peddled furiously down the long straight road, easily gaining on her. When he was a few feet behind her, he called out to her and she spun her head around with a start.

“Link?” She called in confusion, braking to a halt.

Link jumped off of his bike before it even came to a complete stop, tossing it into the grass. His breathing was heavy and his heart was beating furiously. She looked at him with confusion, her eyebrows furrowed and her pink lips pursed together.

“You’re like nobody I’ve ever met,” he said in a rush. “I took up more shifts just so we could hang out more. I think I’ve spent a total of fifty rupees just trying to get Aryll to behave so that she wouldn’t embarrass me in front of you. I also risked getting fired every time I switched those signs because you and I both know that’s not okay, but I did it because…because…”

“Because…?” Zelda urged, looking expectantly at him with her big green eyes.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Because I…I like you. A lot. In a, you know, more-than-friends way.”

The grin that immediately broke out on her face was triumphant and wicked and absolutely joyous. Meanwhile, he felt horrified and was ready to sprint all the way home if he had to. She jumped off of her bike and snapped the kickstand into place, never taking her sharp gaze off of him. In just a few steps she was standing before him, her doe eyes gazing up at him and her hands held sweetly behind her back. For a second she just stared at him, and Link forced himself to hold her mischievous gaze even though he was terrified out of his mind.

“It’s about time,” she finally said, and then she tugged on his shirt and brought his lips down to hers.

He was stunned at first. His brain didn’t reboot until she was just starting to pull away, but then it was like he snapped back to life again. His arms circled around her waist and held her against him as his lips moved with hers. Her lips were softer than he ever imagined. Her silky blonde hair tickled his arms and her sweet smell washed over him.

He then started laughing and had to break the kiss for a breath. She laughed with him as they held each other, their foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry that took me so long,” he apologized.

“Seriously,” she playfully rolled her eyes at him.

He gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Well, why didn’t you make a move?” He asked, not at all accusatory.

“I don’t know…” she shrugged, blushing and looking up at him with those big green eyes that he could never disobey.

“No, I know,” he replied and she laughed merrily again before reaching up to resume their kiss.

They gently held each other and shared kisses again until a minute later when a car whizzed by and honked at them, making them blush and laugh all over again.

“You better come to Castle Town quickly,” she demanded as Link picked his bike off the ground. “I am very impatient.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied and she swatted playfully at his arm. He grabbed her hand and pulled her in for another kiss. He was worried he was starting to become addicted to them.

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, giving her one last hug.

“I’ll see you soon,” she echoed, pressing her lips to his cheek. They finally stepped away from each other and got back on their bikes.

“Bring grapes,” Zelda ordered as she slowly began to bike away from him.

“Obviously,” he replied and she smiled at him over her shoulder.

He watched her bike away, already imagining all the things they would do together in Castle Town.

Notes

As usual this took an embarrassingly long time to write and it was supposed to be a short oneshot but it came out to be over 10k words.

This was inspired by “Me at the Museum, You in the Wintergardens” by Tiny Ruins.

The museum is based off of The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.

Thanks for reading!

~~Wave~~

#zelda #legend of zelda #link #zelink #zelink fanfiction #botw #loz #loz fanfiction #fanfiction #Zelda Fanfiction #princess zelda #modern au #oneshot

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your-dietician · 3 years

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Bare Feet, Beer and Heavy Metal Bangers: Golf Chills Out and Gets Cool.

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/golf/bare-feet-beer-and-heavy-metal-bangers-golf-chills-out-and-gets-cool/

Bare Feet, Beer and Heavy Metal Bangers: Golf Chills Out and Gets Cool.

Golf is one of the world’s oldest sports, with treasured traditions honed across several centuries. But increasingly over the last decade, many people have come to see golf as just plain old. And not in a good way.

The number of devoted recreational golfers in the United States has hovered at about 25 million, but the cohort is aging and more than 1,600 American golf courses closed in the 2010s. In 2004, and over the next 14 consecutive years, participation on courses waned.

These days, however, a fresh breeze is billowing through golf’s fusty clubhouse. It is not a stretch to call this movement the new golf. And new golf just might save old golf from itself.

It has helped power three successive years of participation growth that has reshaped the demographics of junior recreational golfers, who are now twice as likely to be female and four times as likely not to be white.

New golf has led to radically revised six- or 12-hole courses that reduce costs, land use and the time it takes to play a round. It has fostered a host of off-course experiences, including bustling entertainment venues that mix the vibe of a driving range and a sports bar, attracting a clientele with an average age of 31. It has meant golf courses with built-in sound systems playing music and with rounds in which no one keeps score — or cares to. Most conspicuously, in a sport in which 75 percent of the rounds are played on public golf courses, old-school protocol has been relaxed to stimulate a spirit of inclusion.

On a sunny evening this spring in northern Florida, Mike Miles, a 59-year-old former PGA Tour player who helped convert a failing conventional golf course into a quirky 12-hole public golf playground called The Yards, gazed out his window and noticed a young man on the first tee in bare feet.

“I’m thrilled to see him,” a smiling Miles said of the golfer, who was in his 20s and beginning a three-hole round known as the beer loop because it starts and ends next to the clubhouse bar. “We have to make golf not so serious.”

Top players agree.

“Whatever they want to do, they’re playing golf and that’s great,” said Jordan Spieth, who is 27 and has won three major championships. “I’ve got friends from high school and college, and they don’t keep their scores. They’re just going out to play music and have a few beers. They love it.”

Though such change might have been viewed as a threat to traditional golf 10 years ago, the sport’s leaders have now embraced relaxation.

“Offering more flavors of golf is tapping into evolutional demands,” Joe Beditz, the longtime president and chief executive of the National Golf Foundation, said. “It suits the predominant culture and is good for the game.”

Ashleigh McLaughlin, a former college golfer, is an executive with Youth on Course, a program that has subsidized more than one million rounds, bringing prices down to $5 or less. She said that conventional golf was being expanded, not replaced.

“Like most corners of the world, golf has had this kind of awakening when it relates to diversity and inclusion,” said McLaughlin, who is Black. “People can play golf in traditional ways, but there’s other ways to enjoy the game, whether you play barefoot, play music and don’t wear a polo shirt. There’s no judgment for that within the golf space.”

Like all uprisings, the sport’s mini-rebellion had a birthplace: Northern Virginia, where a golf entertainment company named Topgolf made its American debut in 2005. It has since swelled to 64 locations, the majority in or near urban areas. Topgolf facilities, which average more than 20 million customers annually, have the feel of a 1950s-style bowling alley set in a 21st century science fiction film.

While a Topgolf complex resembles a routine golf driving range, albeit one with multiple floors, it is meant to be a social experience. The goal is playful competition at each oversize driving bay, where a wait staff keeps customers plied with food and drink. Players choose from a full set of clubs to aim at targets of varying distances — from 50 to 250 yards — and sensors read a microchip embedded in each golf ball. Points are awarded according to how close the balls come to the targets and are displayed on large touch-screen monitors in each bay.

Laughter, not the imposing silence at a typical golf tee, is the prevalent soundtrack.

The secret to Topgolf’s booming popularity is a come-as-you-are atmosphere that has attracted people who don’t play the traditional game. Industry leaders once spurned Topgolf as “not real golf.” They now realize that Topgolf found a way to capitalize on a latent interest in the sport. (Television ratings for golf tournaments have been strong for decades even as it was understood that a large portion of the viewing audience did not play.)

“Topgolf took the friction out of the entry to golf and made it easy for people to satisfy their interest in the game without making a big investment,” said David Pillsbury, chief executive of ClubCorp, which owns or operates more than 200 golf clubs.

Pillsbury and his brethren in the golf community now view every Topgolf as a recruiting outpost, because industry studies have shown that a substantial number of first-time golfers got their start at a Topgolf or one of its many competitors, like Drive Shack, Big Shots and indoor simulators. The growing customer base at such sites is nearly 13 million and 45 percent female, according to the National Golf Foundation, and is increasingly drawn from more diverse and urban neighborhoods.

Next year, Topgolf, which recently merged with Callaway for $2 billion, will take a symbolically important step when it opens its first facility in partnership with an established, if flagging, nine-hole municipally owned golf course west of Los Angeles.

The course, in the coastal city of El Segundo, Calif., has been redesigned, and floodlights will be added for nighttime play. The property may become a model that proves that a modern golf entertainment venue can convert its customers into green-grass players.

The innovative spirit of the El Segundo project reflects a nationwide yearning for places to play that are unlike the stereotypical country club.

At Quicksands, a par-3 course positioned atop a stretch of sand dunes in Central Washington, the music of Metallica emanating from widely scattered speakers hints that a round will not follow tradition.

So might the advice that using a putter off the tee is the best option for the longest of Quicksands’s holes, which drops steeply downhill for 180 yards from tee to green. The entire layout, linked to the 18-hole Gamble Sands resort, can be traversed in 90 minutes with only a few clubs in hand.

A sign near the entrance sums up the vibe: Imagination on display.

Even Tiger Woods, sidelined by serious injuries sustained in a February car crash, is in on the alternative golf boom. He has become the co-owner of an expanding, technologically advanced chain of mini-golf courses. Each of Woods’s Popstroke putting courses, with multiple holes that incorporate bunkers and rough, offers food, craft beer, wine and ice cream that can be delivered to participants during play. There are two venues currently open in Florida, and this month Woods announced that his company would develop seven more courses, including sites in Texas and Arizona.

If Woods is the headliner in the experimentation category now overtaking recreational golf, Rob Collins, once a relative nobody, might now be the guru of the movement.

Seven years ago, Collins emptied his bank account to build an architecturally distinctive nine-hole course in eastern Tennessee, which was no one’s idea of a golf mecca. Collins did not have the money to build a clubhouse for his new course, called Sweetens Cove. Nor could he afford a bathroom. A portable toilet and a 20-foot-by-10-foot aluminum shed greeted golfers on opening day in 2014.

Business was slow, but another phenomenon — social media — helped spread the word of Sweetens Cove’s eccentric charm, which is a mix of playability and winsome challenges for golfers of all abilities. Influential golf websites like The Fried Egg and the popular Twitter account No Laying Up raved about Sweetens Cove’s unconventional allure and minimalist approach.

A cult attraction was born, as golfers from around the world happily made the pilgrimage into the Tennessee countryside 30 miles west of Chattanooga. Soon, Sweetens Cove was ranked among the top new American golf courses.

In March, when Sweetens Cove opened its online booking system for this year, it took 31 minutes for every available tee time Thursdays through Sundays from April 1 to Oct. 31 to sell out.

“We’ve become an international golf destination without the benefit of food and beverage, lodging or indoor plumbing,” Collins, 46, said with a laugh in May. “Led by younger generations, golf is refocusing. They crave compelling golf, and old assumptions about location, length and the configuration of the golf holes no longer apply.”

Collins and his design partner, Tad King, have become hot commodities with a slew of projects completed and planned.

“In those dark days around 2016, I never would’ve guessed that would happen,” Collins said. “But here we are.”

Buttressing the new golf movement has been a surge in the number of junior golfers who are flocking to restyled instruction programs. About 34 percent of junior golfers are now girls, compared with only 15 percent in 2000.

Jennifer Bermingham heads a step-by-step junior academy program called Crush It, which has been established at nearly 120 Club Corp courses from Virginia to California. Though the instruction is for boys and girls, Bermingham has girls learn in female-only groups.

“Girls like to work together and become friends and want to have a social element to the game and to practice,” said Bermingham, who is a certified P.G.A. and L.P.G.A. instructor. “There are always exceptions, but boys like to compete with each other and want to see who’s the winner. There’s a mentality that is just slightly different.”

New programs like Crush It have bolstered longstanding ones like The First Tee and Girls Golf, a partnership of the L.P.G.A. Foundation and the United States Golf Association that has taught the game to millions of young golfers in more than 2,000 locations.

According to data compiled last year by the National Golf Foundation, more than 25 percent of junior golfers are nonwhite, whereas just 6 percent of young golfers 21 years ago were.

Golf’s cultural revolution can be seen in every facet of the game, perhaps most noticeably in the relaxing of dress codes. Once demanding collared shirts, women’s skirts of a certain length and no hats turned backward, golf is chilling out.

Rules are being rewritten around the nation, most especially at the public courses that make up three-fourths of the sport’s inventory. To be sure, not every country club has altered its restrictions, but in many cases, only denim pants and tank tops are prohibited.

“Having to tuck in your shirt or turn your hat forwards, those things have to go away,” said Laura Scrivner, general manager of the Capital Canyon Club in Prescott, Ariz., which is operated by Troon, a worldwide golf management company. “There has to be a lighter touch now.”

Scrivner is particularly dedicated to rethinking golf’s protocols — she once ran a golf tournament called “Meet, Greet and Cheat,” which encouraged players to break every golf rule — and she has not let convention stand in the way at Capital Canyon, which is private.

JP Sipla, a 44-year-old member, is one of those golfers who plays his rounds barefoot. He calls himself a golf purist and plays to an enviable seven handicap, but his first question before joining Capital Canyon was whether he would be forced to wear shoes.

Assured there were no footwear regulations, he found himself on the club’s first tee not long afterward.

“There might have been someone cracking a joke about being barefoot, but it was lighthearted,” Sipla said in a telephone interview. “I’ve been here about a year now. Everyone knows me and they lovingly call me ‘Barefoot.’”

One of Sipla’s fellow members, Dave Dove, who is 89 and was introduced to golf by his father in the 1940s, welcomes the change he has seen in the game he still plays three times a week.

“You don’t want everybody to look the same and act the same,” Dove said. “That’s not what life is like. A golf course is a big place, there’s plenty of room for everybody. We’re just out there to have a good time.”

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master-riku · 6 years

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[Bungou Stray Dogs] 55 Minutes Part 4

Disclaimer: [ In no way are my translations perfect. Far from perfect. I’m using this to help me study. Please keep in mind that future translations of this project may change previous translations in order to fit better with the story. The project’s progress depends on the translator’s time! Thank you! ]

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On the same day, 16 minutes ago.

On Standard Island, a large-scale city floating on the sea, tourists arrived on a pier.

A man wearing a black mantle over his entire body shows dislike for the sun.

Concealing his face, he wears a black cloth over his mouth. Only his eyes are exposed which are strangely sharp.

There is another person wearing glasses; a young woman with honey-colored hair that reaches her shoulders.

She seemed to be a young and very talented woman who wore a black business suit and sunglasses.

"We entered the island safely," She said.

"Of course, there isn't a place that Yokohama's sea breeze can reach that we cannot enter. We're the Port Mafia." The man cloaked in black replied. Upon entering the island, they were given the labels of "general tourists." However, the procedure was cleverly counterfeited.

Changing their careers, manipulating their photographs, and passing confirmation by dangling money or showing violence; everything is possible with the Port Mafia's strength.

The sharp-eyed male has a name: Akutagawa.

He is an ability user who is bound to the Port Mafia.

The woman with honey-colored hair goes by the name Higuchi. She is an administrative assistant to Akutagawa.

"Number of enemies." Akutagawa asked while narrowing his eyes.

"It is estimated to be four people," Higuchi responded competently. "They are traitors to the Port Mafia who tried to invade the Port Mafia's banks last night. The traitors attempted to steal money from the safety deposit box, but they were found out and escaped. One of our members was an accountant who was assigned to manage the bank; they were killed during the escape."

"Insurgents?" Akutagawa laughed a bit.

Reddish blood slowly spilled from his mouth. "Those who rise against us, whether it is from disobedience or circumstance, will not have to wait for long to become a corpse. This is who we are. This is the meaning of our existence."

"I agree," Higuchi nodded. "I don't think that the bank robbers knew they infiltrated the Port Mafia's banks, but as soon as they gained information on the murdered accountant, they ran away to the island without taking the money they robbed. They must have thought they could escape the Port Mafia's revenge by coming to this island because it is an extraterritorial jurisdiction."

"Ignorant fools," Akutagawa's smile was colder than a snake's, and the exhale he made more sinister than an evil spirit's. "But, I congratulate their idiocy. They played an important role by giving the Port Mafia a reason to demonstrate the length and intensity of our revenges. I'll scatter their organs and make their screams long and breathless."

"There's no enemy that can stand before Akutagawa-senpai!" Higuchi exclaimed passionately.

Akutagawa nodded while clenching his jaw.

"Let's go forward, Higuchi."

"Yes," Higuchi said while following Akutagawa. "Oh, by the way, Senpai."

"What?"

"There is this world class resort on this island. Is it not important to rid of mental and physical fatigue? After the mission, the two of us should go sightseeing, visit the beach, and more!"

"No."

Akutagawa started walking away.

"Senpai, in the evening, there seems to be masquerade balls that are held at the central square. Would you like to join me? Just the two of us."

"No."

Akutagawa did not turn around and continued walking.

"Senpai, before we begin our mission, we need a base. In fact, we have a room secured under a false name at the high-class hotel, but it's only one room. We could take a break there first."

"Do you not understand 'no'?"

Akutagawa continued to walk down the stone pavement without slowing down.

Higuchi stared up at the blue sky with a defeated look.

"...I know..right..."

After parting with Dazai, Atsushi headed towards an area called the "engine depot."The island was roughly divided into residential areas, experimental districts, tourist areas, and engine depots. The residential area was where the managing staff lived on the island. The experimental district was where power-generated facilities and various experimental examinations took place. The tourist area has music auditoriums, accommodations, beaches, and shopping districts. And the engine depot is a part of the island where the necessary facilities to sail the "ship" are lined up. It is said that the "Jewel Truffle" that Atsushi and the others were meant to protect is kept in a safe room located deep in the engine room.

Atsushi walked passed modern Berlin buildings to head towards the Security Gaurd section. The clock tower that can be seen beyond the townscape had a different design engraved on it from the British side. Even from a distance, the time could be read; it was 11:27.

Atsushi gazed at the surrounding cityscape from the clock tower.

"Hmm....the buildings in this neighborhood have a different atmosphere then from a while ago..." Atsushi murmured while staring. "The buildings' walls and frames are square-shaped, they look like building blocks. A-ah, that shop's sausages...they look delicious....hm?"

Atsushi stopped walking. On the other side of the large sidewalk, in a recessed part of a building, there was a group of three tourists who were sitting down and talking.

They were a strange group of three. They were not enjoying any sightseeing, nor were they looking at a map, the three people were talking to one another face to face near the wall.

Atsushi could not hear well due to the distance, but a few words were carried by the wind: "I forgot," "At an important time like this?" "What should we do?"

Atsushi tilted his head. Did the tourists leave something behind? They did not appear to be officers on this island. One of them was a bald man, the other looked like a tired office worker, and the third was a boy who looked a bit younger than Atsushi. Just by the tone, they seemed as if they were in some distress.

Did they lose a map? If they're lost, he should help them. It was on the way towards the three strangers that Atsushi realized they were in trouble for a slightly different reason than he had expected. As he got closer, he could hear their conversation clearly.

"It wasn't a difficult conversation. Weren't you the one who said that boss? You said, "At most, I only remember how to count up to 12-column digits, and all the names of every woman I slept with up till now."' It was the middle-aged man wearing a business suit that wore a tired expression that gave the troubled voice. His hair was thin and his body looked as if he had insufficient exercise. He was a man who has worked with money as a middle-level manager for twenty years.

His expression invited sorrow.

"That's what was said... That's what I definitely said. Is there something wrong?"

The complaints came from a muscular, bald-headed man with a frown on his face. He was taller than Atsushi by a head, but shorter than the Detective Agency's Kunikida.

"I'm the boss of the bandits. So, you all need to support the boss's every action with full effort! If the boss forgets the 12 digit cancellation code, then make up for it somehow, and show me how it's done!"

Atsushi stopped for a moment. It wasn't because the bald-headed man who forgot how to count to 12 digits had such a defiant attitude, but of course because he heard the word "bandits."

—— I received information from Scotland Yard that three thieves are aiming to steal an item --

He remembers when the captain spoke those words when he was talking about the treasured truffles.

"The boss is amazing! So cool! If something were to happen to me, I'd be safe with the boss!"

It was the third person who spoke in a very vibrant voice. His face was bright, but he was dressed poorly. His eyes shone with trust at the man called boss. He was probably younger than Atsushi by 2 or 3 years.

" Fuhahahaha! That's right, boy! Give me more praise! I'm the leader of the bandits; the reincarnation of Kaitou Thief: Arsene Lupin!"* (Kaitou Thief is a popular term in Japan for Magical thief. A very popular character that has kaitou thief qualities is Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon. Arsène Lupin is a fictional gentleman thief and master of disguise created by French writer Maurice Leblanc.)

The boss laughed in a way that made his pectoral muscles burst.

"Of course the boss's greatness is something to behold, yes," The middle-aged salary man lowered his head tiredly. "But, no matter how low I bow my head to the Earth and worship the boss, I can't stop the surveillance cameras unless I have the 12-digit cancellation code."

"The surveillance cameras, you say? Work together and do something about it!"

”There's nothing that we can do!　I'm going to cry!"The middle-aged man gave a sorrowful voice.

"Or, you know, it's okay to use that. You know, that roundish thing you brought. Where you do...something like...this."

"The mouse."

"Yeah, the mouse. And when you push it, it does this sort of.."

"A click."

"Yeah, a click! WELL, IF YOU UNDERSTAND THAT MUCH, HURRY UP AND DO IT!"

"Boss is amazing! Let's do it!" The boy with sparkling eyes said.

"You're already 43 years old, are you sure it's okay to cry out in public?" The middle-aged man lowered his head.

There was no doubt about it. Atsushi hid himself behind a tree located near the sidewalk and pulled out a mobile phone from his bosom.

"Kunikida-san" without waiting for a response from the other, Atsushi whispered in a loud voice, "It's Atsushi. I found the three-person bandit group."

"What?" Kunikida breathed behind the receiver. "Where are you, right now?"

"Uh..." Atsushi looked around. "I'm close to the Engine Depot, it's next to the white art museum."

"As for the bandits?"

"There is a really incompetent boss, a young boy who admires his boss a lot, and a very pathetic middle-aged man."

"....Pathetic...What?" Kunikida sounded confused.

"Uhm, well...They seem to be trying to disable the surveillance cameras or something."

"What do you mean disable the surveillance cameras?"Beyond the phone, there was a sound of Kunikida turning pages in his notebook. "There is an underground passage in the museum, and it is connected with other facilities on the island, and..."

Overlapping Kunikida's voice, the three bandits were speaking.

"Eeyy, you're sluggish!" The boss shouted at his two subordinates. "My power is amazing when reflected on surveillance cameras! For the people who want to see, I'll show them!"

"Uh, uhm, wait a minute - boss?!"

"Let's go, it's time to steal!"

All three people stood up and gradually began to advance to the darker side of the building.

"Kunikida-san, it looks like they're starting to make their move!"

"Don't lose sight of them," Kunikida ordered hastily. "Keep surveying them from afar. "Along with the number of guards we have, we will time ourselves and surround them. I'm on my way!"

Atsushi ran after the three people keeping silent.

Before long, the three people were already behind the art museum. A lawn was spread on one of the areas, and sprinklers watered the other side.

The three people then unexpectedly went off the road and took a turn towards the building's entrance gate, suddenly vanishing from Atsushi's view.

They did not see Atsushi when they turned around the corner, nor did they look back once.

You could say that Atsushi was lucky. Atsushi hurried following the crooked thieves' path.

However, Atsushi's luck ended there.

"-?!"

It was a dead end, and no one was there.

The building's outer walls created a cavity. To the left and right were just white walls. There was also a wall ahead. All the walls were flat. There weren't even windows or gutters to enter in.

Atsushi grabbed his mobile phone with trembling hands and made a call.

"Kunikida-san."

"What?"

"I lost sight of them."

"WHAT?!"

It was strange. He was only a couple of seconds away from the thieves until he lost track of them. The walls were as tall as 4 stories. Even if you boasted any physical abilities, you couldn't do tricks to rush up these walls without leaving a clue behind. However, if in the case of a special power....

"It couldn't be..."

Atsushi placed both hands on the other side of the wall. Lowering his head, he gazed at the wall closely. Footprints were easy to leave on this side where soft grass grew, and Atsushi could clearly see the footprints he himself left.

Oh, he found theirs.

There were footprints that belonged to three people. Two of them belonging to adults, and one belonging to a child. They were the footprints belonging to the thieves, and even though the foot prints were placed in front of the walls, they continued forward without any missteps, and then...

They faded into the wall.

"Kunikida-san," Atsushi spoke on his mobile phone. "The other party seems to have already invaded the museum."

"What? Did you find the people you lost sight of?"

"No, but their footprints have disappeared straight towards the deadend, although the details are unknown..." Atsushi cut off his sentence and breathed, "There might be a person with an ability."

"An ability...?" Kunikida breathed over the phone. "There's a possibility someone possesses an ability?"

"Probably," Atsushi said while thinking. "From the looks of the footprints, it must have been an ability that goes through walls."

"Thieves that can slip through walls...!" Kunikida struck his tongue. "Shit, if that's true, we have to reconsider our entire security plan! We're headed there soon, but it will take us at least 5 minutes to arrive. As it is, you are the closest! Do whatever you can, enter the building and chase after those thieves!"

".......Yes!"

Atsushi gazed at the wall.

The building's entrance was located on the main street. But he didn't have time to go back to the entrance.

The walls were the height of four stories, and he had no clue where he should start grabbing. It's impossible to climb such a place in a mathematical second. One must use a special power.

Atsushi closed his eyes and began to breath.

He envisioned a tiger.

It was a white tiger. It had a huge oral cavity that can swallow humans, and strong limbs like steel melded together.

It's forelimbs were like big tree trunks, and its leaps could jump over a valley. It was a white tiger of violence, completely opposite to his weak self.

As the night cooled the earth, the weakness stored inside him, and a violent ferocity reared itself.

There was no other tiger like this anywhere in this world. It only existed inside him. Arrogant and timid. Proud and Ashamed. The more he tried to conceal his weaknesses, the more the tiger appeared on the other side.

Atsushi's hair was standing. His skin became wavy, and his bones began to grow abnormal. The tendon of his legs started to elongate, and his growth extended into his boots and clothes. A white coat sprouted out like a living thing and covered his legs. A voice like a beast leaked from Atsushi's throat.

The gait undoubtedly belonged to a tiger.

It's position was similar to that of felines' with it's knees bent. The long lower limbs sprung like a coil.

Firmly digging it's nails into the ground, it looked like it was standing on its tiptoes.

Atsushi jumped.

In one leap, Atsushi was halfway up the wall, and in one leap he was facing the building's white walls laterally. The wall's materials broke under his nails while he jumped, and he continued to jump to the opposite walls as he went further up.

While kicking against the walls, the tiger made a zigzag while rushing up them vertically.

If it was an ordinary person watching him, their eyes could not catch up to Atsushi's high speed as he rushed up the wall, and made one last jump before making a semiturn in the air and landed on the building's rooftop.

"......hu...."

Atsushi stopped gasping for air.

He then quickly explored his surroundings after using his tiger's ability to reach the rooftop.

Apart from the wind turbines that were used for the wind power generators lined up, it was a flat and empty rooftop. He needed to find a way down to the lower floor.

And he found exactly what he needed.

There was a colonnade from a huge exhibition that extended from the first floor and continued to the atrium. From the roof's edges, numbers of banners with museum events written on them hung below one another.

Atsushi jumped over the handrails.

In an instant, gravity pulled Atsushi down. He fell through the air. Giving a scream of despair, the tourists from the first floor noticed Atsushi from his commotion.

Atsushi twisted his body in the air and grabbed onto one of the banners. Immediately after, the shape of his wrists changed into a tiger's arm. The tiger's nails created an irritating sound as it tore through the banner vertically.

Ripping through the cloth, Atsushi used his power as a brake, and then landed onto the first floor. Immediately, he rolled forward using his knees and shoulders to disperse the shock.

Raising his head, the faces of many tourists stared at him startled. "Haha....I'm causing trouble." He smiled bitterly to suppress the awkwardness.

From there, he then ran towards where the thieves were headed.

At that time, his mobile phone began to ring. It was Kunikida. "I got in touch with London." Kunikida seemed impatient. "I know the thief’s true ability."

"Really?"

"There was information in Scotland Yard's Special Ability Criminal Department. The name of the bandit is "Nemo." He is a giant with a bald head, and he's stolen from all over the world and is wanted."

Atsushi quickly recalled the thieves' faces. It must have been the unreasonably optimistic man called "boss."

"As you've guessed, he has the ability to go through walls. Furthermore, anything he happens to touch - whether it be equipment or friends - can also pass through the walls. However, he cannot go through walls that are more than 5 centimeters. From there, we should be able to narrow down the invasion route to some extent."

Atsushi replied in agreement and once again turned to look forward.

He clenched his backteeth while running.

As expected the other party had an ability.

The thief "Nemo" had a very deceivingly careless behavior, but he is a formidable person.

Rather than going down the stairs, Atsushi kicked off from one of the walls and reached the 2nd floor in 10 seconds. It was already confirmed that there was a passage leading to other facilities in the basement.

He just needed to find the thieves after that.

However, there was no need to because suddenly, the thieves jumped out before him.

Atsushi was surprised, but the thieves were even more surprised.

Suddenly, before their eyes, an ultrafast youth appeared. Everyone's mouths hung open.

There were fireworks scattering in Atsushi's field of vision.

"Oou!!" The thieves boss's voice was projected clearly. "This island is pretty interesting. Look at that, Gab. That boy came from out of nowhere."

"That was amazing, boss!" The boy called Gab said enthusiastically. "There's bound to be extraordinary things happening whenever boss is around!"

For a moment, Atsushi wasn't able to move.

Of course it was painful crashing into the wall, but it was the matter of making a sudden encounter that left him unable to react immediately.

"Hey, boy. You're pretty interesting. Are you a tourist? How did you do that? Do it again."

"No, no, boss. How ever you look at it, it's really suspicious!" The middle-aged man in a business suit interjected. "It's not a speed that an ordinary person should possess... with that, if the person belonged to the guards then..."

Atsushi stiffened. This was bad.

"Are you an idiot?! There's no such thing as an organization using impoverished children for security! He must have entered in one of the artillery's set up and by mistake he blew himself away in one of the art museum exhibits!"

"I've never known such a person to do that...." The middle-aged man weakly said.

Atsushi stood up while supporting his staggering feet with his hands.

He had to make time for Kunikida and the rest to arrive and give aid. There were no clear chances of winning in a battle, so he had to stall for time by conversing with them to prevent them from leaving.

"Uh-uhm..."

"Huh?"

Somehow, After uttering just one word, the boss reacted.

"I...." Atsushi's head was spinning at a high speed. He had to somehow draw their attention. Anything would be okay.

His head kept spinning, and his mouth kept moving.

"You....You lost something!"Atsushi shouted.

"Hah?"

The boss scratched his neck.

"I'm an ordinary tourist with no special features, and you seemed to have lost something, and you seemed to be looking for it, so I followed you!" Atsushi's head was shaking as he rocked back and forth. He didn't know what was what.

The middle-aged man seemed to smell foul play as he watched Atsushi. "Boss....please, he seems really suspicious."

"Hmm, but the amazing and great phantom thief does not judge an opponent in an unreasonably doubtful manner."

The boss then turned to face towards Atsushi with a sturdy look. "So, what's the item that I lost, boy?"

"What?" Atsushi had not thought of anything beyond his plan, and unintentionally stared in puzzlement.

"Like you said, the thing that was lost..."

"Aa...ehh?" Atsushi was weak when it came to adlib. When trying to come up with contents and act and talk at the same time, it exceeded his mental tolerance. As a result, he becomes defenseless.

"T-that is...you, you should know that the best, don't you?!"

"Ha?"

All three bandits scratched their heads at the same time.

Atsushi wanted to die a little. However, he couldn't stop anymore even if he wanted to. He had to stall for time.

"When you lost it, you....you didn't notice it, but you certainly had it once." Atsushi was embarrassed as he continued to speak, his head was spinning, and he felt like he was going to die. Even if you know that you are on the road to hell, at least you only go through that road you chose once. "What's wrong? The thing that you valued so much, you lost it!"Atsushi spoke faintly. He didn't know what it was. Please, someone stop him. He was about to die in shame. Rather, someone kill him.

However, the boss's carelessness was beyond Atsushi's.

"Ooooh!!!" Atsushi's disorder was suddenly drowned out by the boss's cry. "You're absolutely right, boy! I gave my entire life up to become the greatest phantom thief! And yet, nevertheless, even now..!"

Watching the boss's exaggerated grief, Atsushi became a little calm.

"Boss! Please, calm down, boss!" The middle-aged man panicked and began to shake him. "Boss, even now, you're enough! You are desperately thinking of nothing else, but what else to steal! Stop talking on the spur of the moment already!"

"Oh...what?" The boss's lamentation quickly stopped. "If that's what you say...I guess you could say that."

"Hey, hey, you shortie!" The youngest colleague stepped forward with excitement. "Didn't you just try to trick our great boss? We should tie you up and throw you in the middle of the ocean, you white-haired bastard!"

Atsushi began to sweat. It seemed like everyone was being cautious now, and he didn't really remember how it all became like this.

"I am the great phantom theif's pupil! I am Gab of the swift wind! If you can dodge this dagger, then dodge it!" The boy took out a blue shining steel blade from his bosom. The drawn dagger was made to be concealed in one's pocket.

Alarm bells started ringing in Atsushi's head when he saw the cutlery.

"Wait, wait," Atsushi reflexively stepped away. "Let's talk this over, again!"

"It's useless!" The boy started rushing towards the center with the dagger.

He had no choice, but to fight.

Atsushi's tiger power began to pour into his arms, and instantly his forearm muscles began to bulge explosively. The tiger's hair blew out from under his clothes, and the sound of a tree twisting could be heard as his fingers turned into huge tiger nails.

Knives or bullets could not go through the tiger's hair. If he could prvent the dagger with his arms, he had a chance of winning.

Atsushi's train of thought stopped; however, when a piercing scream cried.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, WHAT IS THAT? IT'S SCARY. I'M SCARED!"

The boy retreated and fell on his butt.

".....Uh, pardon?"

"What is with that arm! Don't get any closer, stop right there! The hair just grew out of nowhere! Ahhh, I'm scared! I'm traumatized, sorry boss, but can I go home?!"

"Ahhhh, isn't this what I've been telling you, boss?!" Said the middle-aged man with a miserable face. "We shouldn't have brought Gab along! Of course, Gab's an excellent follower....but look at him, he loses his nerves so fast! He's the best pupil only because the other ones quit!"

"Eh."

Was that so?

Atsushi's eyes became tiny dots. Should he just advance?

"Well, I guess it can't be helped. So, you go, Bilgo."

"M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-ME? That's impossible! I'm only a technician! Technical support is my job! I disable surveillance cameras and extract security codes! Fighting is not in my contract." The middle-aged man called Bilgo lowered his head like a small animal and retreated.

"This is...."

Atsushi raised both his arms and shouted. "This is different from what I imagined!" His soul was crying.

"No matter how you imagined it, it's no longer a problem, since we can complete the request." A low voice resonated in the corridor. "Well done, Atsushi."

"Kunikida-san!" Atsushi shouted.

Behind Kunikida, armed security guards from the island came along.

"The head of the serial group of thieves, Nemo." Kunikida said out loud while reading his notebook. "While having a powerful ability that allows you to go through many walls, because of excessively irresponsible and reckless plans, your robberies fail every time. You exhaust your relationship with your subordinates, where only the people remaining with you are amateurs who have barely any work experience.

While repeatedly failing at your robberies and being captured, your nature of going through prison walls has been a repeated offense. The number of times you have made a jail break has been 89 times. While it's impossible to call you a master thief, we can honor you as the jailbreak king."

"Guuu...uuunu.." The boss's face stiffened. "Oi, you bastards, do something!"

"S-sorry boss, somehow I was careless."

"I'm nothing but an engineer. For that reason, I surrender, so please consider my case."

The young boy was crawling on the floor while the middle-aged man raised both of his hands in defeat towards Kunikida.

Atsushi finally caught up with the situation. Apparently, Atsushi had thought that originally the robbers were 100 times worse than they actually were.

"Atsushi, please contact the client- the captain." Kunikida narrowed his eyes. "We can finally pull the curtains over this fun game of tag with these pleasant thieves." Kunikida took one step as the circle of security guards surrounding them also narrowed gradually. "Boss...boss! I'm sorry...I'll hold them back, so please run away!" The young boy said in a hurried voice. The boss gave no response.

He merely stood there on his thick legs while glaring at his surroundings. "Escape on my own?" There was no hint of impatience in his voice. "The great mysterious Lupin neither had an ability nor a subordinate, and he still performed thefts that, even now, are too difficult for me, and, so he remains in the hearts of people. I knew long ago that I couldn't be like him."

The boss's eyes stared quietly at a point in the air. His eyes grabbed hold of something from far away. "I'm different from Phantom Thief Lupin. Because of that, I have to hold onto something that he doesn't have, keep it in mind, and lay a foundation to ascend into becoming a great Phantom Thief.”

Atsushi noticed something suddenly. The boss was slouching just now. His face was hard, a shadow from a light fell from the ceiling's fluorescent light. "My ability is the ability to slip through objects less than 5 centimeters in thickness - in other words, if they are objects of a certain thickness, it means that they can stay in an overlapping state without interfering with my body."

Atsushi watched.

Something was coming out from the boss's thick chest. There was no sound, and something fell through the boss as if his body did not exist. It was about 5 centimeters thick. The width was as big as a book, it was a square metal plate. Something fell through the boss's body. Atsushi and the others were surprised; their reactions were delayed.

"I definitely will not abandon my subordinates!"

"Bo-!" Kunikida shouted. "Bomb! Get down!"

A flash of light filled the corridor.

Atsushi took off quickly with the tiger's reflex. Kunikida took the security guards and pushed them down; they all lay on the floor together. Fierce smoke and wind blew through the area.

"Geha....ha.." Atsushi coughed in the smoke as he got up. The strong sound of the explosion pierced Atsushi's ears and rung to the center of his brain. Because of the white smoke, he couldn't see what state the corridor was in.

The boss applied his ability of going through walls, and reversed it. He slipped and hid the bomb in his body. No physical examination or observation could find out if he had a bomb inside him with the ability. That is probably how he brought some work tools to the island as well.

Even so, there were no major bruises or pain. Atsushi quickly inspected his own body. He wasn't bleeding from anywhere. If it was detonated nearby, then this small damage shouldn't be possible.

”Damn!　It was a distraction!" Kunikida yelled from the other side of the smoke. "They probably ran to the other side of the wall!"

What Kunikida said was right. He had checked where the thieves were last, and no one was there. There was only the cold floor.

They escaped.

"I'll go after them!" Atsushi shouted back to Kuninkida. He explored the wall by hand due to his vision being blocked by the smoke. The underground walls were thick. If Nemo had escaped with his two subordinates, he should have had his eyes on the wall's thickness beforehand. Fumbling around, Atsushi immediately found something. It was an automatic side door. It's a door painted in the same color as the wall, but it seemed like the thickness was thinner than the other walls that he had touched. There was a high chance of escaping beyond this door. However, it was locked, and it would not open even if you pushed or pulled it.

"Kunikida-san! They might be beyond this door!" Atsushi cried while the smoke was fading. "Please tell me how to open the door!"

"It's probably a security door for certification ceremonies." Kunikida came running furiously. "Use the silver coin on the door's certification board."

Atsushi then remembered the silver coins that were given to them when entering the island. They had an identification transmitter built-in, and they should be able to open places where tourists couldn’t go.

Atsushi took out the silver coin from his bosom and in a hurry brought it close to the door. However, a dull electronic beep resounded, and the door did not appear to open. "Show it to me!" Kunikida approached the door. "...This is strange. I can't even open the door with my silver coin."

"Please, back away." One of the guards came close. "No one is allowed to enter that door."

"......What?" Kunikida turned around and looked back at him. "What do you mean?"

"The destination is a special confidential area, and only people with permission can go in. Please get away from it."

"Get away?" Kunikida's eyes narrowed in anger. "Hey, we were hired to catch the bandits who are running away as we speak. Are there any other secrets or things that need permission? If you're so obedient, open it and catch them!"

"We are not given the authority to enter as well." Somehow, the situation was becoming suspicious.

During the initial explanation of their duties, there was no word about the Detective Agency being unable to enter an area. Even with this situation, it was not the time when thieves were escaping now. "WE'RE MAKING NO PROGRESS. Atsushi, contact the captain! Hurry so we can have this door open and enter inside!"

"The captain also has no authority," The security guard said without expression. "If you need confirmation, you're free to call him."

Atsushi took out his mobile phone. Even though they were underground, there were radio signals. Looking through his phone, he pressed the captain's contact. "Kunikida-san," Atsushi said while listening to the phone. "I can't connect to the captain."

"What?"

No matter how long they waited, the client was not picking up the phone, however...

"Hey, do you hear something?" Kunikida said while looking around. Atsushi started to hear the sound as well. It was a strange electronic sound -- the sound of a chalmera ringing from ramen stalls.

"It's the captain's phone that's ringing..."

"From the other side of the door?" Kunikida said while touching the wall. At that time, the door opened automatically suddenly.

"Hugh!?" Kunikida said in panic.

Beyond the door, there were soldiers.

They weren't just soldiers. They had large automatic rifles with bulletproof equipment. There were more than 10 of them. One could not see their expressions because their faces were covered with bulletproof masks. "Beyond this point, you are prohibited from entering this area. Leave immediately."

"What did you say?"

"Leave, you have only one warning. If you do not obey instructions, then it will be considered appropriate to use firearms.” They hoisted their automatic rifles; their black muzzles shone dully.

More than 10 fully armed soldiers pointed at Kunikida and were ready to shoot at any time. The intimidation the soldiers emitted was the equivalent of plunging headfirst in a Lion's mouth.

However, Kunikida did not change the tone of his voice nor was he frightened. "I also have a warning, and I'll say it once. We are a detective agency who was assigned to capture thieves for a client. Even if this island is an extraterritorial property, there are extraterritorial laws for pointing a gun at a general member of the public, and don't think that I will allow you to threaten one." Kunikida's entire body emanated a murderous aura. The opportunity to capture the thieves was being blocked due to irrational reasons, and it seemed like he was considerably angry.

"Hoho, this person has a backbone." An unexpected voice came from behind the soldiers. "Everyone, rescind your weapons. There's no use trying to threaten this person with a gun." As soon as the hoarse voice ordered the soldiers, the soldiers pointed their guns down. They moved perfectly like a machine.

When the soldiers moved aside and made a clearing, an old man dressed in a military uniform appeared.

He was a small old man. When surrounded by strong soldiers, his stature stood out even more. He had a mild expression and a fluffy gray beard running down his wrinkly face. If he were not wearing military clothes, he looked like he would belong in the country side as some teacher.

"You're the head of this group of soldiers?" Kunikida asked in an angry voice. "We are pursuing thieves, and I would like you to allow us to enter this area."

"Well, if you aren't a young man with a considerable spirit. If you trained with a battalion, you would make a good soldier." The old man laughed with eyes similar to that of a teacher's. "However, I cannot approve of this entry, unfortunately-- but, if it's the case of a gold coin then..."

"You possess silver coins that are given to the general staff. Besides that, on this island, you must be in possession of a gold coin for confidential areas. If a person enters this area without a gold coin and information leaks outside, then he or she can be immediately shot to the death. This is the island's absolute code of conduct. The leaders of your country have signed a consent form."

Atsushi stared at the silver coin in his hand. Certainly, ordinary tourists received copper coins. In other words, there were many places that could be entered depending on which coins: copper, silver, and gold in order.

"However, let it be known, out of respect for your sense of justice, that the thieves have been caught."

"Is that so?" Kunikida said surprised.

"The inside of the confidential area is strictly guarded by surveillance videos, and the amount of soldiers in here is incomparable to the ones outside, so be relieved."

Kunikida glared at the man for a few seconds before slowly speaking. "If that's the case, let us confirm from the client. Would you please give me your name?"

"There is no name to be given. I am called 'Colonel' by everyone here."

"Colonel...You're certainly a military employ."

Atsushi once again looked at the old man's face. Although he had the expression of a school teacher, there were some white wounds that have faded in the old man's face if looked at closely. His shoulder width was solid, and was indicative of having been forged in the past despite his small size.

Suddenly, a wretched smell came through.

Atsushi's five senses become sharp when using his tiger ability. He is able to pick up sounds and smells that no one can usually notice. The tiger's senses must have stayed when he had transformed.

The tiger's nose caught the smell when he had sniffed. He had smelled this scent many times after entering the detective agency, but still he could never get used to it. It was an unpleasant scent, it was....

"It can't be..."

Atsushi darted quickly without thinking. He forcibly shoved himself through the confidential area blocked by the soldiers.

"Hey, what are you doing!?"

Ignoring the soldiers' shouting, Atsushi looked around the area. There was another corridor that continued from the entrance. There was little difference between the place and its interior.

"Get away from the door! Do you want to be shot dead?!" The soldiers' warnings were ignored by Atsushi.

Atsushi's eyes then caught onto a color.

There was a red color within the confidential area. The red stretched tightly in the corridor, and scattered from the wall to the ceiling. It was definitely the source of the unpleasant smell. "That is...!" Atsushi's eyes widened. It was no mistake. There was a brilliant red on a white wall, and a body lying in the center.

There was blood and a corpse.

"Get down!"

Atsushi was brought down by a soldier. Forcibly pushed by a firearm, Atsushi staggered and fell on his back.

Kunikida ran to him.

"Hey Atsushi, are you ok?"

"Kunikida-san...." Atsushi said dumbfounded. He saw it for a moment, but there was no way it was a mistake. "There was a dead body."

"What?" Kunikida widened his eyes. "It couldn't be...was it the thieves?"

When Atsushi instantly smelled the blood, he had also thought that, however...

"No..." Atsushi raised his head. The image was burned into his mind.

"Well....did you see it boy?" The old man called Colonel gave a shrewd face. "As I said earlier, the information in this area is confidential, and there is a code of conduct that we cannot abandon regardless of what the situation is. It's too bad...it won't be easy for you to go outside."

"What? Atsushi, what did you see?"

Blue clothes resembling those of a repairman. A tired face. The sound of a chalmera ringing from a ramen stand. With a faint voice, Atsushi spoke.

"It was the client....the captain is dead."

#55minutes translation #my translation:55 #bungou stray dogs #bsd #55 minutes #very dead #will always be very dead after huge projects like this

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fyeahwonderbat · 6 years

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Justice League: The Calm Between the Storms

((WARNING: Please do not read this story if you have not yet seen the movie, in case of spoilers.))

"With room for more." Diana's words echoed throughout the crumbling Wayne Manor, their meaning booming louder than her voice intended. Bruce looked over at the goddess as she surveyed the empty hall before she met his gaze. The warmth that was characterized by ger stare was crackling somewhat as if the potential for a larger team - though a frightening concept less than forty-eight hours ago - visibly motivated her to anticiapte the development of a proper justice-seeking league.

Nodding sharply, Bruce reiterated earnestly, "With room for more."

The possibilities seemed endless, and it was with such hope that the reigning Wayne was able to push through the darkness that once lurked within the manor. He took a heavy step forward, then another, and allowed his mind to examine the remains of the structure in order to estimate the construction detail he'd expect to be billed for. A smart, unattached businessman would tear down the entire building and start from the ground up. Nevertheless, an even smarter tycoon with enough money to spare could find a way to take what was still standing and make it anew. After all, none of the Waynes past would have ever imagined that their family home would become a meeting place for all kinds of men.

A prominent clicking of heels reminded him to think of the women who would be meeting in the refurbished manor as well.

As Diana wandered passed a scrutinizing Bruce, her approach sent a chill down his spine, the coolness so chilling that he rolled his head from one side of the room to the next. "Alfred," he barked for his butler and quickly thought of an excuse for doing so, just as she reached his side. "I want to get a team in here by tomorrow morning, bright and early."

"I'll call our usual contractor. I'm sure his team will be more than happy to earn even more hush money... One of them must have some home renovations of their own." Always clever, Alfred eyed his charge over his glasses before reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. The crossed expression on his face as he stared down at the screen made him look his age, in Bruce's eyes, until the old man lifted his head and dared to lie right through his teeth in front of the goddess who owned the Lasso of Truth. "Oh, no... Something else we might want to look into, Master Bruce, is having a cell tower installed up here. Excuse me a moment, I'll just step outside and see if I can get a connection."

The way that last word was emphasized sounded much more villainous than innocent.

Glaring like the Batman, he watched Alfred leave with an almost embarrassing skip in his step as he passed through the entrance like a thief in the night. A few scathing remarks came to mind in a flash - or like the Flash as he traveled through the speed force - but just as they transferred to the tip of his tongue and battled to be spoken first, Diana hummed from somewhere in the hall, "Usually, he's much more subtle than that."

The weight of the room intensified when she teased him so suddenly, giving him the idea of a gravity chamber-like training facility somewhere within his schematics for the manor. Bruce's mouth opened as he spun around to address her but the quirk in her brow stopped him in his tracks. Shifting between his masks - the CEO, the playboy in the hopes of wooing her away from his suspicions, the Batman who spoke with her as a partner and fellow hero - he could only hope it wasn't obvious on his face when he finally settled on one. "Somedays, he's quite a proficient mechanic. Others, he is a responsive liaison in the field. And then, on days like these, he..."

Diana crossed her arms and slanted her hips as she stood in the very center of the room. The way her red dress occupied all of the color in the room compelled all of his attention to be paid in full to the goddess before him. "He must be feeling nostalgic."

"Nostalgic?" Now, the confusion Bruce felt sounded off in his voice.

It did nothing to ease him when Diana merely grinned at his inability to understand her meaning for a moment or two. "There was a time when you were meant to live a much simpler life, wasn't there? As a citizen, a regular man."

"There was," Emotions slightly on edge, he could no longer remain still while under her gaze and so his feet carried him towards the windows. "But only for eight years."

"Yes, and in those eight years, there was a young boy who would have had many young girls clamoring for his affection, awaiting you at parties held in the lounge or the ballroom of this very house," Her smile hadn't left her voice at all as she imagined such a scene. Bruce could not stand to look at her as she fantasized such a recount of his childhood, but he let her carry on. "And there was an Alfred, doing his best to convince you to play nice with your friends."

The lighthearted end to her daydream forced his last step towards the window to end with a stomp. Bruce examined Diana from his nearly leaning stance against the wall and she had not moved in the slightest; poised like a treasured Greek sculpture that somehow managed to survive the devastation of the world around her, unafraid to make such observations...

Although he might have welcomed that after personally delivering her photograph in Paris, only to use the information against her when it suited him best.

Smiling tightly so that it didn't reach his eyes and to avoid showing any true amusement, the Batman's mask slipped over his face as he replied, "I'm sure he'd tell you that I am just as disobedient then as I am now... Not that you need any proof of that for yourself."

"I think the word you are looking for is 'quarrelsome'."

"Did your mother or sisters ever call you that? You can quarrel with the best of them."

"No, but they would have called me disobedient, most definitely."

A silence fell between them for a moment, the brush of a hollow breeze wandering into the manor sweeping passed them while their words settled. In moments such these, Bruce could sense the differences between them as a man of modern Gotham and an ancient Amazonian, a woman raised in an environment to become strong and a boy forced to travel in order to become stronger. They were an odd pair to have met each other, come together, and found themselves with the circumstances to shape a league of their own.

Especially when it sounded as if they were both inherently troublesome since their younger years.

"Perhaps we'll need to have a set of ground rules before anyone gets a chair at the table, to keep disobedient people in line." Bruce jested. Although, as his words washed over him, he realized just how integral that suggestion would be to keeping the peace on a team with people of multiple backgrounds and abilities.

The idea caught Diana's attention too. Her previously jovial air shifted to one of gentle professionalism as she decided to approach him for such a discussion. "We shouldn't monitor these people all of the time - we need to show them trust in order to gain theirs."

"But we do need to have better communication with each member so we don't have to go hunting them down every time we need to fight something from space."

"Absolutely." The exasperation in Diana's voice sounded as if she was having a flashback about their adventures in tracking their new teammates down.

This time, Bruce's lopsided smile reached one of his eyes. "Alfred told me that Victor hacked into my computer to talk to you."

A pointed look was delivered to him. "And the trust you build with him will stop him from doing that again."

"And the best way to build trust between us is to set boundaries. I take care of Gotham, Clark has Metropolis. You have Paris."

"I might be interested in changing locations soon, though," Diana admitted as an obvious example of what faith looked like. "As much as I love living in Paris and being able to watch over western Europe as best as I can... I cannot properly be a team leader if I am across the Atlantic." The thoughtfulness behind her decision struck a chord with Bruce instantly. Given that she was a woman of history and culture, working at the Louvre was one of the most accomplished positions she could have with her background from both experience and acquired knowledge. To hear that she was willing to give that up so that she could join her fellow heroes in America was just as shocking as it was vital.

Bruce stared into her eyes and decided to do what the CEO of Wayne Enterprises did best. "If you need help finding a place to--"

Diana's hand rose, moving just as swiftly as when she punched him, only now she rested her palm against his chest. "I believe setting boundaries between teammates means that I should be supplying you with my address, not the other way around."

Bruce spoke without thinking, "Why? I bought Clark back his old house."

"You what?"

"It was actually his mom's house."

"Oh, how sweet--"

"And I had to buy the bank to do it."

"Bruce!" Oh, how easy it was for Diana to scold him, her tone of voice suiting it. Perhaps she learned how to sound sincere when reprimanding him from all of the times she received one from her mother when she was 'disobedient' on Themyscira.

Thinking quickly, he somehow believed it was intelligent to tack on, "I also helped Barry get a job as a Criminologist in Central City, and...well, I'm leaving Arthur to his own devices. But hey, Victor can come by anytime and help me restructure my computer's defence--"

"Bruce," firm, sincere, demanding attention, he was face to face with Wonder Woman herself as she warned him, sounding out the words. "You either want boundaries or you want them all removed."

He felt the corners of his lips sink into his unshaven jaw instantaneously. It was impossible to assume the Batman ever wanted to be without his privacy, or his space to reign over Gotham individually. His ability to problem solve was suddenly proven to be problematic and it gave him a sour taste in his mouth.

On the opposite of the emotional spectrum was none other than Diana, giggling to herself as she removed her hand and supposedly stealing all of the warmth from his body as she did so. "I think your first priority should be creating our communication system, and then you can set your lines in the sand; welcome them in before you start shutting them out."

"I'm rebuilding my manor to accommodate them." Bruce pointed out with a harsher tone than he intended.

Diana ignored his rise in emotion graciously as she looked over the manor one last time. Then, she turned to him and politely whispered, "A place you chose to invite them into, so that they could join your Justice League." Her right eyebrow rose yet again in order to dare him to defy her. Whether he was going to rebuttal her claim or remain still in awe of her truth, she chose that very moment to put an end to both their conversation and her visit as she swung herself around and headed for the door. Not only had she stolen the fire within him like some Greek proverbial tale, but she absorbed all of the life that had been inside the manor for the first time in decades and wandered out the front entrance with it as if it belonged solely to her.

In all honesty, it most likely did.

For years, Bruce knew he had focused all of his efforts as the Batman in Gotham City because that was where he was needed... But that may have only been the case because he had been afraid to look elsewhere. There were times where he struggled to save the place he cherished most in the entire world, so to take on all of Earth's problems would have been too much for him. But, through a twist of events that brought the immortal Amazon into his life, he hadn't be alone whenever it counted. Not only had she been by his side against Doomsday, against Steppenwolf, but he knew Diana was now intending to take on the role of a permanent leader of their 'Justice League' by his side.

"A Justice League, huh... Well, you can't save the world alone."

"And allies may become friends if you play your cards right," Came the intrusive of none other than his scheming butler, returning from his quest to find cell service at just the most inopportune time.

Pursing his lips, Bruce looked out the window so that he could enjoy his last moment of piece before surrendering himself to the inevitable hell he had designed for himself - a lifetime of interpersonal and intergalactic challenges being discussed in his childhood home, almost like a drunken mess of those parties Diana had referenced earlier. Only this time, each guest was coming with a loaded arsenal of metahuman-level powers.

Every now and again, he realized how crazy his logic could be.

But then, he'd inhale his potentially last calm breath of his life before facing his partner in crime, proudly declaring, "Then what are we waiting for?"

(( Clearly, the movie inspired me a bit! I think it’s obvious that this story takes place as a continuation of the scene where Bruce starts planing how to rebuild his manor to make the JL headquarters. I wanted to write something for them but since the movie felt so final, I decided to go with this scene. Hope you enjoy! ~Maiden ))

#maiden writes #wonderbat #movie: justice league #justice league 2017 #wonder woman #batman

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sangfroidwoolf · 7 years

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Tony Slattery - July 2017 Telegraph interview

Returning to the Fringe for the first time in 33 years, Tony Slattery reveals to Dominic Cavendish just how lucky he is to be alive.

It’s an August evening in 1981 and in an Edinburgh church hall, a gaggle of bright young things take their bows before a cheering audience. Then there’s a big surprise, a token of good times to come.

On to the stage bounds Rowan Atkinson, who announces that this year’s festival is ushering in an exciting new award for “best comedy show on the Fringe”, sponsored by Perrier, “the bubbly water people”, and that Cambridge “bloody” Footlights have scooped the inaugural prize. Click-click go the cameras, yielding a classic “before they were famous” group photograph: Hugh Laurie, politely reaching for the cheque; Emma Thompson, looking on delighted; Stephen Fry, wearing a bow-tie and wary grin; and, behind him, a handsome young devil by the name of Tony Slattery.

Fast forward a decade and Fry, Laurie, Thompson and Slattery have become household names – reuniting in the hit 1992 British rom-com Peter’s Friends, about old college revue chums meeting up, 10 years on, to reminisce and recriminate over a boozy yet sobering weekend. Jump ahead to today, though, and while the first three have gone from strength to strength (even national treasure status), Slattery, who once hoovered up work on stage and small-screen – so ubiquitous that he was lampooned for it (in Private Eye, Viz and on Spitting Image too) – has been notable by his absence. Last year, hailing Peter’s Friends as almost “his favourite British film ever,” the late AA Gill asked: “Yes, where is Tony Slattery?”

Living, in turns out, in a rented two-up, two-down in Edgware, north London and still in recovery from a mental breakdown in the mid-Nineties that left him with a shattered career, crushed confidence and few friends. Oh, and a bank account almost empty from binge-spending on drink, drugs, impulse buys, charitable flurries and exploitative acquaintances, and years of medical help to tackle a condition belatedly identified as Cyclothymia, a form of bipolar disorder.

The man who greets me in Soho is, though it pains me to write this, a pale shadow of his former debonair self: grey-haired, with haunted brown eyes. Smiling sweetly and jittery as anything, Slattery’s speech, slightly breathless, throws up a skittering collection of heart‑stopping anecdotes, abstruse diagnostic details and such tentative expressions of hope for a fresh start to his career it almost brings a tear to your eye.

Now 57, he next month is going to brave the gladiatorial boards in Edinburgh for the first time in 33 years. The challenge? The stage‑version of Whose Line Is It Anyway? the Channel 4 improvisation show that helped make him a comedy kingpin in the Eighties and Nineties. When the call came for him to take part, “I didn’t waver for a moment. I was so excited and surprised. A bit of me thought: ‘Someone must have dropped out. They must be desperate!’ It’s a risk, I know that. What happens if the words don’t come?” He giggles. “I said to myself the other day, in a sense I’m playing the ‘F--- me, I thought he was dead!’ card”.

In the most immediate sense, it’s a minor miracle he’s even sitting here. In the past two years, he has been rushed to hospital twice. The first time, “I realised I couldn’t get up from my chair, and managed to call 999”. It turned out he had pneumonia, one lung clogged with pus, plus related sepsis. Two months on, he found himself rolling around on the floor – “There was so much pain in my stomach, I couldn’t speak”. He collapsed in A&E, and was on the operating table in 20 minutes. “Part of my lower bowel had knotted so they took out a section of my gut. I lost three stone in four weeks.” On top of that, he caught super-bug, C difficile.

All that, though, is but the stinging chaser to the life-threatening cocktail of calamity that beset him during his annus horribilis of 1996, when he cut himself off from the world in his Thameside flat in Wapping, refusing to see friends, ignoring calls, ceasing to wash, letting post pile up, and heedless of the bailiffs who hammered at the door. “I felt I had used a lot of myself up, in the wrong way, and I had had enough of it, really. I felt I had become a light entertainment construct – there was an intense feeling of waste, and self-hatred,” he says. He concedes the bitter truth of the sneering Private Eye cartoon that depicted his telephone answering machine as giving the outgoing message: “Yes, I’ll do it!” “I did a lot of rubbish. I was a scampering puppy. I didn’t take holidays. I wasn’t born into money [he grew up on a Willesden housing estate, the youngest of five, his Irish father on the production line at the Heinz factory]. So I kept saying ‘Yes’. I think people started to think ‘Oh, not him again!’ And so I stopped.”

At the “lighter” end of his behaviour during his period of turmoil, there’s the surreal incident, recounted in a documentary about bipolar disorder that Fry (the most supportive of his Footlights chums, he says) recorded in 2006: the time he tipped his electrical goods into the Thames, “with the river police shouting at me from their loudhailers”. At the darkest end, there’s a nadir he hasn’t made public until now. “For some reason, one night I took all my clothes off, then went down to [my block’s] underground car-park and lay under a car. I got bitten on my feet by rats while I was lying there.” When he managed to get to a hospital, in addition to being given antipsychotics, he was tested for plague. “I think I must be the only person in showbiz who’s been tested for plague! I thought you’d laugh at that,” he adds. I try. It’s hard.

Does he envy his fellow famous Footlighters? He claims not. “They were always in a stellar world”. He does admit to crying watching Peter’s Friends, though. “Yes, I do,” he says. “It was such a charmed time.” He’s broke now. Was he once a millionaire? “It’s possible,” he replies. “I’m terrible with money.” Was it the case he could spend £4,000 a week on cocaine, as has been claimed? Yes. “At the peak, I was taking 10g a day. A specialist said ‘You must be exaggerating, you wouldn’t have a nose left’. But I think I was snorting so much, so fast, it didn’t have time to touch the sides. That’s the only reason I’ve still got a septum.”

A bright kid – an all-rounder at school, winning an Exhibition to Cambridge to read modern and medieval languages – he dabbled with ambitions of entering academia: “I wanted to be a crusty old professor with the keys to the port cellar.” But he answered the call to become an entertainer instead, and still doesn’t regret pursuing that path, for all the troughs, not least because it enabled him to meet “the love of my life”, actor Mark Michael Hutchinson. The pair fell for each other in 1986 while appearing in the West End in Me and My Girl and have been together ever since, although Hutchinson was busy performing in the US during Slattery’s darkest times. While their relationship was common knowledge in the profession, it’s the first time he has let it slip to a journalist.

“I’m not coming out. I was never in,” he jokes. “I’m happily described as gay. I was never hung up about my sexuality. At university, I played for both sides and I think until 1986 I was unsure. But what has always mattered to me more than sex was finding someone to love. What is important isn’t someone’s body, it’s whether their smile reaches their eyes.” For all his various sicknesses, his outlook seems remarkably healthy. “What will survive of us is love,” he says, quoting Larkin.

“If all I am destined to be is a footnote in comedy history, that’s fine,” he adds. And if nothing comes of his Edinburgh foray this time round, he’ll cope. “I’ll carry on. Please don’t write that I’m a ‘survivor’,” he says, in a parting shot, cringing at the clichéd thought of it. Yet that’s exactly what he is. And he should get a prize for it.

#thought i'd post the whole 'coming out' interview for any fellow tony fans out there #lovely to discover that he and mark are still together #hope all continues to go well for you mr slattery #(near death experiences aside)#<3 #tony slattery #interview #telegraph

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awoogaslashers · 3 months

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Bitch slap

#pinterest memes #slasher memes #meme #slashers #scream 1996 #scream #michael myers #idk what to tag this as #halloween 1978 #arsenal icon marc overmars slapped with one year ban after admitting to sending female colleagues inappropriate messages #slapstick #i found a ‘modern day treasure’ when i took out money from the bank #i found the viral ‘glitz & glam’ 30 piece beauty tool set for just $30 and my shopping trick paid off #i found this in my drafts #Michael myers is so hot but also so scary and so I don’t know how to feel anymore but it’s okay because at the end of the day he’s a hottie

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goldeagleprice · 5 years

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Silver dollars of 1794-1795 were illegal

In the 1850s, when the coin collecting hobby became a national interest, there were two areas in which collectors tended to specialize. The first was the old copper cents of 1793 to 1807, while the second was the silver dollars struck from 1794 to 1804. The fact that the first dollars of 1794-1795 were struck on an illegal standard makes them even more collectible and interesting.

1794 dollar. Images courtesy of Heritage Auctions

There had been several attempts in the 1780s to establish a mint, but all came to nothing because the Confederation government was chronically short of money. It was not until the new federal government began operations in April 1789 that thoughts turned once more to the ills of the monetary system. With other more pressing matters in view, however, Congress did little until early 1790 when it asked Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton to prepare a report on a mint and coinage.

Hamilton’s 15,000-word document was sent to Congress in January 1791, but the only immediate result was a resolution authorizing the President to take care of the matter. During the summer and fall of 1791, President George Washington, with the help of Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, made just such an effort but in the end realized that a formal law was needed. The legislators took the hint, and the Senate appointed a special committee to draft the necessary bill.

Hamilton’s report had proposed the Spanish dollar (eight reales) as the basis of our silver coinage, but he had some difficulty in determining the correct weight. The Spanish government had secretly debased its dollar some years before, and thus the coins in use varied in value, according to the date.

Moreover, the Spanish official fineness for silver coins in 1791 was .902 while the actual fineness was closer to .896. The average weight of circulating Spanish dollars was in the range of 416 or 417 grains. Other countries, such as France or Germany, used yet other finenesses and weights for their silver coins.

In writing the draft legislation, the Senate committee under Robert Morris considered the various options available to them and decided that a compromise was in order. Instead of the .917 silver purity suggested by Hamilton, they opted for the curious standard of 1485/1664 (.8924+). The new United States dollar thus weighed 416 grains, of which 371.25 grains was pure silver. It is likely that the committee wanted a silver dollar fully equal in size to the Spanish version. In doing so, however, the Senators failed to take into consideration the problems this odd fineness would create at the Mint.

At any rate, after several months of discussion, Congress passed, and the President signed into law, the basic mint legislation. Once it became law in early April 1792, it was up to the Washington Administration to carry out the provisions and begin coinage as soon as possible.

Mint Director David Rittenhouse.

Within a short time of the bill’s passage, David Rittenhouse accepted Washington’s request that he become Mint director. Rittenhouse, in turn, chose Henry Voight as the first chief coiner. Little was done in 1792, however, other than to erect several buildings and construct the necessary machinery to coin money. (About 2,000 half dismes were coined in 1792 but, due to a quirk in the law, these were actually struck under the direct authority of the President as mintmaster.)

In late February 1793, the new Mint began formal operations by striking the well-known Chain cents but did not strike any gold or silver coins in 1793 because the high bonds set for two key officers, the chief coiner and assayer, could not be met. Each was required to post sureties to the amount of $10,000, an enormous sum for the times. At the end of 1793, Rittenhouse appealed to Congress to lower the bonds to more reasonable levels, and this was done in March 1794. The necessary sureties were soon obtained by Chief Coiner Voight and Assayer Albion Cox.

At first, Rittenhouse planned to begin silver coinage with the half dime, and to this end, Chief Engraver Robert Scot prepared a pair of pattern dies, from which a few pieces in copper were struck for inspection by government officials, especially the President. The mint director then changed his mind and decided to start coinage with the silver dollar instead. One factor that might have influenced him was the question of prestige; it was important for the United States to produce a coin of size and quality that would impress the Europeans.

1794 pattern half disme.

It is not clear when Scot began work on the new dollar dies, but it was likely no later than mid-August 1794 and perhaps a month or so earlier. In the meantime, word had spread among bankers and importers that the Philadelphia Mint would soon begin coining silver, and deposits began to arrive. The first of these was from the Bank of Maryland, which sent in about $80,000 of French silver coin.

In August, other deposits followed, including several thousand dollars’ worth from the mint director himself. The Bank of North America sent $22,000 worth to the Mint in late August, giving the institution a fair amount of bullion with which to begin coinage.

Because the Bank of Maryland deposit was partially composed of billon coins (billon is a combination of silver and copper in which silver composes less than half of the weight), Rittenhouse decided to begin with his own deposit, which was entirely in ingots already refined to the proper standard. Or was it?

In the summer of 1794, Assayer Albion Cox approached the director with a strange suggestion. Cox claimed that the fineness set by Congress, .8924+, for the silver coinage was too low and coins from this standard would turn black in daily use, thus discrediting the government. Cox thought that .900 ought to be used instead; it had the added convenience of simplifying calculations when preparing the ingots for coinage.

Although Cox’s argument about the coins turning black-bordered on nonsense, his next idea was even worse. Cox asked Rittenhouse to keep the matter a secret by not changing the gross weight of the dollar. This would hide the alteration from the public as well as high government officials, such as the President, who ought to have been told of this hare-brained scheme.

To make matters worse, Rittenhouse accepted the proposals and ordered that they be kept secret. It is probable that only the chief coiner was let in on the change. It was under these conditions that preparations for the first coinage of silver at the Mint were undertaken, but it was not until early October that all was close to readiness.

On Oct. 15, 1794, there was a special ceremony honoring the first regular coinage of silver under the new government. In the hurry to begin coinage, however, it was found that the largest press available was not really powerful enough to strike silver dollars all that well. Moreover, the dies were slightly out of parallel, meaning that struck dollars would have areas, especially on the lower left of the obverse and the corresponding part of the reverse, where the design did not come up properly.

The President was unable to attend this special event, being absent from Philadelphia, but Secretary of State Edmund Randolph did.

At the end of the day on the 15th, Chief Coiner Voight delivered exactly 1,758 silver dollars to Mint Treasurer Tristam Dalton, who had the legal duty of paying out the coins to the depositors. In this case, however, the coins did not travel very far because they were all given to David Rittenhouse. The director went to some lengths to send specimens to various parts of the country, at his own expense, so that others might see what the Mint was doing.

On the following day, Secretary Randolph penned a note to the President which read in part that, “The silver coin of the U.S. bears upon its face so much neatness and simplicity, that I cannot restrain myself from transmitting a dollar for your inspection.”

Although Voight delivered most of the dollars struck that day, this was not quite the end of the story. Others, perhaps 200 pieces, were judged to be so ill-struck that they ought not to be seen by the public. This would have included light strikes as well as off-center pieces. These were laid back to be used as planchets when dollar coinage resumed.

Director Rittenhouse soon contracted with a local firm to construct a special press that would be powerful enough to coin dollars; it was also to be used for medals, should the need arise. The press was not finished until late April 1795, with the first dollar coinage coming early in the following month.

It is estimated that perhaps 125 of these first dollars exist in modern collections. Whenever one of these is auctioned, there is invariably spirited bidding because of the fact that they represent the first regular silver coinage of the United States in addition to their aura as being made with an illegal alloy.

There is no record of the President responding directly to the dollar coin sent him by Secretary Randolph, but on Nov. 19, 1794, he notified Congress of this coinage in the following words: “The Mint of the United States has entered upon the coinage of the precious metals, and considerable sums of defective coins and bullion have been lodged with the director, by individuals. There is a pleasing prospect this institution will, at no remote day, realize the expectation which was originally formed in its utility.”

Unable to coin any more dollars in 1794, Rittenhouse and Voight turned to the half dollar. At the end of November 1794, a few thousand pieces were struck, but there was then a mechanical impediment of some kind, holding up further silver coinage until early January 1795. Once the difficulty was solved, however, half dollars were struck at a heavy rate for several months.

Mint Director Elias Boudinot.

In the meantime, there were complaints to Congress about the slow pace of coinage at the Mint. In late 1794, a special committee was appointed by the House of Representatives to examine the situation and make a report to the other members. The report was submitted in early February 1795 and today provides insight into the workings of the early Mint. Committee Chairman Elias Boudinot was generally understanding of the difficulties faced by the institution, though there were several minor criticisms.

One of the more interesting sections of the report was the recommendation that the silver fineness be raised to .900. The committee was not told of the secret change but had been asked to raise the standard. Some of the committee recommendations were adopted by Congress, but not this one. The Mint continued to strike silver coins at the illegal standard, however, notwithstanding Congressional refusal to accept the practice.

On the completion of the special press “for dollars and medals,” the Mint resumed coinage of the Flowing Hair silver dollars, the chief coiner delivering 3,810 pieces on May 6. This was the beginning of a flood of dollars that lasted most of the rest of 1795. Much of the bullion for this extensive coinage was deposited by a prominent local merchant/importer named John Vaughn; he was later to regret his help when the illegal standard became known.

Mint Director Henry William DeSaussure.

In June 1795, David Rittenhouse, due to ill health, resigned as director and was succeeded by Henry William DeSaussure of South Carolina. DeSaussure is known to have been a friend of the President and had reluctantly agreed to the post. DeSaussure later said that he did not favor the illegal standard but did nothing because of the “weighty” precedent set by David Rittenhouse. In September, however, because of family concerns for his health in the Philadelphia climate, DeSaussure notified the President that he would leave at the end of October.

Prior to DeSaussure’s resignation, however, the government had agreed to a redesign of the silver coinage. It is said that famed artist Gilbert Stuart remarked, probably to the President, that the current head of Liberty had a disheveled look and ought to look more refined. He offered to do the artistic work, and this was accepted. By late September, the new dies had been completed, and coinage of Draped Bust dollars began.

DeSaussure’s successor, through an odd quirk, was none other than Elias Boudinot, who had chaired the Mint investigation during the winter of 1794-1795. The former congressman had a reputation for integrity and had also been the president of the United States in 1782-1783, under the Confederation Government.

Boudinot became Director on Oct. 27 and was immediately informed of the secret standard. Given Boudinot’s known sense of public duty and strict adherence to the law, it could not have been one of his better days. The new director ordered that the illegal standard be dropped at once and the proper fineness (.8924+) be used. Boudinot then notified the President of what had happened.

Washington must have been astounded by the information, as were others when the news got out. Within a few weeks, one of the principal depositors, John Vaughn, had discovered that he had been shorted more than $2,000 by the illegal standard. He demanded his money from the Mint and then the Treasury, but both ignored him in the hopes that the scandal would just fade away.

The scandal did not go away and eventually wound up on the floors of Congress where there were acrimonious debates over the Mint, the illegal standard, and the great amounts of money spent with little U.S. coin in circulation. In 1800, after four years of wrangling, Congress ordered Vaughn paid the money rightfully due him.

Because we do not know the exact date that the Draped Bust dies were first used, we are forced to estimate the number of 1795 Flowing Hair dollars issued by the Mint. About 134,000 were made, and of these, a fair number are still in existence. The survivors are under pressure from type collectors, who must have either the 1794 or 1795 dollar for their collections, and the rare first year is beyond the resources of most numismatists.

The 1795 Flowing Hair dollar with two leaves under each wing. (Images courtesy of Heritage Auctions)

The 1795 Flowing Hair dollar with three leaves under each wing. (Images courtesy of Stack’s Bowers)

There are two principal varieties of the 1795 Flowing Hair dollar, depending upon whether two or three leaves are under the eagle’s wings. There is little difference in value, but specimens with a plug inserted (to bring up the weight to the proper level) bring much stronger prices.

The post Silver dollars of 1794-1795 were illegal appeared first on Numismatic News.

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Will You Be In Outer Darkness?

Then he which had received the one talent came and said, Lord, I knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed:

And I was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine.

His lord answered and said unto him, Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not strawed: Thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers, and then at my coming I should have received mine own with usury.

Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which hath ten talents.

For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath. And cast ye the unprofitable servant into OUTER DARKNESS: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Matthew 25:24-30

1. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because they DESPISE THE OPPORTUNITY they have to be saved.

The man who received one talent received a great treasure. Hearing the gospel is receiving a great treasure.

Unfortunately, some people despise the treasure of the gospel that is placed in their hands. God wants people to hear the gospel preached.

Some people hear the gospel once, some hear it five times and some hear it ten times. You must make the most of the opportunity that you have. Different people have different numbers of opportunities to be saved. Some people have only one chance to be saved. This may be your one and only chance to be saved!

Or despisest thou the riches of his goodness and forbearance and longsuffering; not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance? But after thy hardness and impenitent heart treasurest up unto thyself wrath against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God;

Romans 2:4-5

2. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because they ARE LAZY.

“Thou slothful servant,” said the master to the servant whom he was about to send into outer darkness. People are simply too lazy to pray, too lazy to go to church, too lazy to serve God and too lazy to study the Word.

The desire of the slothful killeth him; for his hands refuse to labour.

Proverbs 21:25

3. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because they are WICKED.

“Thou wicked servant…” said the master to the servant whom he was about to send into outer darkness.

Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time?

Ecclesiastes 7:17

The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.

Psalms 9:17

4. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because THEY ACCUSE the people who come to preach to them.

“You reap where you don’t sow,” said the servant who was sent into outer darkness. The servant could not do anything with the talent because he was spending his time finding fault with the master.

Instead of receiving the Word, some rather accuse the men of God that are sent to them. The Bible declares boldly that salvation comes to places where the accusations have been silenced.

Constant criticism of evangelists makes it difficult for them to preach the simple gospel of Jesus Christ. They always have to defend themselves instead of preaching the gospel that needs to be heard.

And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our God day and night.

Revelation 12:10

5. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because they are full of FEAR.

“I was afraid and I hid myself,” said the servant who was sent into outer darkness. Many people are afraid of change. They are afraid of the unknown. They are afraid of leaving their boyfriends, they are afraid of joining the church; and because they are afraid, they hide. They don’t come into the open to admit they are sinners.

You have to openly admit you are a sinner in order to be saved. You have to overcome your fears if you want to escape from outer darkness. Hell is full of fearful people. Fearful people are ranked alongside with the abominable, the idolaters and adulterers. Read it for yourself:

But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

Revelation 21:8

6. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because they always feel that somebody is trying to CHEAT THEM.

“You want to reap what you have not sown,” said the servant who was sent into outer darkness. The servant accused his master of reaping where he had not sown (which is cheating). Some people feel they are so smart that they always know when someone is trying to cheat them. Such people are “too clever” for God Himself and usually end up in hell. There is a kind of cleverness that is demonic, earthly and sensual. It emanates from hell and keeps people away from God.

Be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise: why shouldest thou destroy thyself?

Ecclesiastes 7:16

This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish.

James 3:15

The Village of the Cannibals

There were five sons who lived with their father in a beautiful mansion located on the top of a mountain. The eldest was an obedient son, but his four younger brothers were rebellious.

The father had warned the sons about a dangerous river nearby; but because the sons were rebellious they did not listen to his advice and kept going to this river. Each day, the rebellious children played in the river, swimming deeper and further each time.

One day, the four rebellious brothers decided to explore the banks of the river in a boat they had made. They did not know that this was the most dangerous thing they could ever do on that river. The river had carried away hundreds of people into unchartered and unknown territories.

That day, they launched out on the boat, and were swept away by the terrible currents that the river was known for. They fought to retain their balance and to gain control but they were no match for the raging currents of this powerful river. They held on to each other for hours as the river carried them downstream until it finally dumped them on the banks of a strange, unknown and frightening land inhabited by cannibals and brutal man-eating savages. For a long time the four children lay on the bank not knowing what to do.

The days passed and they attempted to go back upstream but the current was too strong. They also attempted to walk back by the side of the river but the terrain was icy, slippery, mountainous and impossible to climb. It seemed they were surrounded by the tallest mountains in the world on every side. Soon, reality set in, and they said to each other as the truth dawned on them, “We are trapped. There is no way back.”

“We shouldn’t have disobeyed our father,” they admitted.

With the passage of time however, the sons learned to survive in the strange land. They found fruits for food and learnt how to make fire without matches. With time, they could kill animals, eat the meat and use the skin for clothes. They determined not to forget their homeland nor abandon hopes of returning to their father. Each day they set about the task of finding food and building shelter. Every evening they built a fire and told stories of their father and older brother. All four sons longed to see them again.

Then, one night, one brother failed to come to the fire. The others found him the next morning in the valley with the cannibals. He was building a hut of grass and mud.

“I’ve grown tired of our talks by the fireside,” he told them. “What good does it do to remember? Besides, this land isn’t so bad. I will build a great house and settle here.”

“But this isn’t a house, it is a hut” they objected. “It is a disgrace to live in such a place.”

“What do you think our father will think of this?”

“But he isn’t here. He isn’t even near. Am I to spend forever waiting for him? I’m making new friends; I’m learning new ways. If he comes, he comes, but I’m not waiting forever.”

A few days later, two of the other sons abandoned the riverside and followed their brother’s example to settle and to build huts in the village of the cannibals. But the youngest son decided to live by the riverside in the hope that he would one day be rescued.

One day, the youngest brother heard a familiar voice behind him, “Father has sent me to bring you home.”

The youngest lifted his eyes to see the face of his older brother. “You have come for us!” he shouted. For a long time the two embraced.

“And your brothers?” the eldest finally asked.

“They have made homes here and married cannibals in the villages around.”

“Take me to them,” said the oldest brother.

The youngest brother took him to the three other brothers. But the three brothers were not happy to see them.

“Who are you? What do you want?” the brothers asked their older brother.

“I have come to take you home,” said the oldest brother.

“No, you have not come to take me home! You have come to take my mansion from me.”

“But this is not a mansion. This is a hut,” the firstborn countered in amazement.

“It is a mansion! This is the best area in Cannibal Village. I built it with my own hands. Now, go away. You cannot have my mansion.”

“Don’t you remember your father’s house?”

“I have no father and I don’t remember anything,” he answered.

Nearby cannibals who had come to witness the scene did not hold their peace but joined in, “Don’t listen to this stranger. He wants to take your mansion away from you. Send him away,” they screamed.

The oldest son could not believe his ears: “But you were born in a mansion in a distant land where the streets are made of gold and where the modern lights never go out. You disobeyed our father and ended up in this strange land. I have come to take you home.”

But the second brother’s response was similar. “I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need my father and I don’t need anything he has. I am happy as I am and everything is alright here.” But really, he was afraid of the river and he was afraid of drowning.

He began hurling rocks at his older brother whilst the cannibals screamed threateningly at him, “Send him away! He wants to drown you in the river.”

The third brother’s response was equally discouraging. He said, “It’s too far to walk. I have tried it before. It is impossible to go back up that river.” But it was because he was the laziest person in the family that he did not want to go up the river. Once again the cannibals joined in to drive the oldest brother away saying, “He is trying to seduce you. All he wants is your money. Don’t listen to this evil man. Your father will kill you when you get back. He has not forgiven you.”

In the end, only the youngest son followed the elder brother back up the river to the father’s mansion. There he was received with great joy but the other members of the household could not understand why the other children had not come back to their father.5

This is the story of the rejection of salvation by deceived men filled with diverse excuses and accusations. Through diverse excuses and accusations men have rejected the true salvation that comes from their Father’s love. They never see the lengths to which their Father has gone to get them saved.

One of the brothers thought somebody wanted to take something from him. Another of the brothers was full of the fear of drowning.

The other was too lazy to walk up the river.

What excuses do you have that prevent you from receiving Christ today? Which of these excuses is going to lead you to outer darkness one day?

7. People are sent into OUTER DARKNESS because they are too PROUD to put aside their fears and accusations.

Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord and receive the blood of Jesus Christ for your salvation.

Salvation Before Suicide

One day, I appointed a brother as a pastor. As I introduced him to the congregation I noticed the tears streaming down his face. I had appointed many pastors to the ministry but it was unusual for anyone to cry during his appointment. After the ceremony, I asked him why he was crying. He explained that he had had many other brothers who were now dead.

“My brothers committed suicide before they could hear the gospel. They were drunkards and one of them hanged himself in the kitchen.”

He continued, “Before I met Christ I tried to commit suicide three times.”

He explained, “Somehow, my attempts at suicide always failed. That’s how come I am still alive. I was determined to try a fourth time but before I had the chance to I found Christ.”

He went on, “I shouldn’t even have been saved. I am amazed that someone like me should even become a pastor.”

This gentleman was grateful for the opportunity to serve the Lord. His tears of gratefulness demonstrated that he did not despise the great talent that the Lord had given to him.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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