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cutesilyo · 3 years

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i know your eyes in the morning sun — an indophil fanfic

When a homesick Indonesia is unexpectedly taken out of his meeting for a day trip in Rome with Philippines, he isn't expecting much more than exhaustion ahead of him. Instead, what happens is a whirlwind of food, fun, and a surprising amount of reflection on their histories and differences as nations. And as he looks deeper and deeper in the other nation's bright eyes, he learns to come to terms with the feelings he's been ignoring for far, far too long.

Alternatively: a nation who's too attached to the past goes on a date with a nation whose entire philosophy is built on trying to live in the moment. Yes, there is kissing involved.

Also available on AO3, FF.net

—

“Tell me why we’re here again,” Indonesia groused.

“Unofficially, it’s because I’m busting you out of that damn meeting.” Philippines grinned, his purple eyes glinting mischievously under Rome’s bright sun. “Officially, it’s because we’re on a date.”

All Indonesia could do was sigh. He had arrived in Italy two days ago for a G20 summit, and all the meetings he’s had to attend since then had left him tired and restless. It would have been easier if it was like a normal ASEAN meeting, where he was at least familiar and friendly with all the members. But in the G20, he was the sole Southeast Asian nation there, and he found it difficult to get a word in everyone else’s chaos. Most of the time, he simply preferred to keep his head down and daydream about going back home.

It was during his third-favorite daydream (a peaceful afternoon at Borobudur, dressed in gold just like the old days) that Philippines had burst through the doors with his perpetually bright eyes and cheeky smile. Before he could even process what was happening, Philippines was happily dragging him out of the room while everybody else waved them goodbye.

And that’s how Indonesia found himself in his current predicament. Outside some random pizzeria in a foreign country, dazed out of his wits, and with the one nation who got under his nerves the easiest.

He really wanted to go home.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Philippines patted him on the shoulder with a laugh, and Indonesia couldn’t help but tense uncomfortably. “It's not like this is a real date, I just made up some lame excuse to get them off my back. Besides, you were bored out of your mind there, weren’t you? I bet you weren’t even listening. You were probably thinking about your temples.”

“No,” he denied, but the other nation simply smirked knowingly. He felt his face go red in embarrassment. “Well, can you blame me? I don’t feel right around all those Westerners . . .”

Philippines just laughed at him as they walked in.

There wasn’t much to walk into. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but just a small family-owned business that only had two round tables to the side. Other than them, there didn’t seem to be any other customers. Different flavors of pizza were behind glass, oddly rectangular in shape rather than the circular pizzas he was used to seeing in advertisements, but their names and prices went unlabeled. Even if they were, he doubted that it would help him much; while he was steadily getting used to English, the Romance languages were an entirely different matter.

“Buonasera,” the middle-aged woman behind the counter greeted them.

Indonesia could only nod awkwardly in response, but Philippines grinned cheerily. “Buonasera! Ciao bella, come stai?”

The two struck up a light conversation while he tried to decide what kind of pizza to get. He was used to thick-crusted, American-style pizzas, and he really didn’t see the point of eating something so expensive when a good terang bulan was always available. Besides, even if he didn’t particularly like pizza, he could see that the ones available here were an entirely different beast from the ones Pizza Hut sold at home. Much more greens and vegetables, for one.

Indonesia hoped he didn’t look too clueless when Philippines finally turned to ask him what kind of pizza he wanted. He just pointed at a random one and prayed for the best.

The other nation looked amused, but he didn’t comment any further. He just turned back to the woman and presumably rattled off their order in rapid-fire Italian that he could barely catch. They continued their conversation from where they left off, and whatever it was that Philippines was saying, it made the woman blush like a maiden. Suddenly, for a reason that he refused to name, he felt consumed by irritation.

His stony silence continued until the woman had given them their pizza, warm and each slice served in a small tray, and bid them goodbye. He’d barely given them a glance until they sat down on a bench just outside the pizzeria.

“So, what do you think?” Philippines asked him. He seemed more excited than he was. “This is your first, right?”

“I’ve eaten pizza before,” he grumbled.

“But this is different,” the other nation insisted. “This is pizza al taglio, Rome’s specialty! Come on, just start eating it already. I could hear your stomach grumbling since we left the meeting room.”

Indonesia stared at the pizza dubiously, ignoring how quickly Philippines was eating his own slice just beside him, before giving it a bite.

It was . . . good.

Not that he was going to tell the other nation that. He couldn’t bear the smug smirk that would be thrown his way.

Instead, he said, “It’s folded. It’s like a sandwich.”

“Boo,” Philippines stuck his tongue out at him. “If you must know, it’s called panino and it’s a lot better than eating it unfolded.”

“Unfolded,” Indonesia repeated. “You mean, like normal?”

Philippines gasped overdramatically. “I can’t believe you just said that! No, pizza al taglio is supposed to be eaten panino! Just ask Romano, he’ll say it's the best.”

“And I imagine if you ask Italy Veneziano, he’d say the opposite.” He took another bite, careful not to let any of the grease on his hands, and hummed appreciatively. “I think I ordered something different though.”

Philippines just laughed, a bit sheepishly. "I . . . may have taken the liberty of changing your order. The one you pointed at back there had pork sausage slices on it, so I got you something more halal. That one has arugula and mozzarella, and I know you like things a bit spicy, so I asked the lady to give you something more piccante. This slice has pepper flakes baked in the dough."

"Oh," he blinked, a bit stunned. Indonesia felt warmer than the pizza in his hands. "Terima kasih."

"Hey, as long as you're here with me, ako bahala sa'yo." Philippines stood up and grinned at him, eyes bright and his half-eaten pizza in his hand. "You know, the best thing about pizza panino is that you can eat them while we're on the go! How about we walk around the city, and I'll take you out on a real date?"

------

This was a mistake.

He and Philippines have never really hung out together much; either they only met for formal occasions or they were always joined by at least one other ASEAN member, so the chances they had to be alone were usually few and far in between. If he was being honest, it was probably better for his heart that way.

Still, he probably should've known better than to let Philippines take charge, because his definition of walking around and the other nation's idea of walking around were vastly different things. For one, he'd definitely rather be driving rather than walking anyway. It didn't help that he was still stuck in his stuffy formal suit and dress shoes, while Philippines was both comfy and stylish in his boots, jeans, and a fashionable overcoat. And though he preferred to get to his destinations as quickly and efficiently as possible, Philippines loved making stops at every little statue or shop that interested him. What's worse is that he couldn't just leave the other nation behind — between the two of them, Philippines was the only one who actually knew how to speak Italian and knew how to get around the city. His only choices were to suffer alone in a foreign land or to slowly murder his feet following Philippines around, and just this once, he'd rather swallow his pride.

"If only my motorcycle was here . . ." Indonesia sighed. "How long are you going to take?"

"Just a bit longer!" He heard Philippines shout from the back of the souvenir shop. "My neighbors would never forgive me if I didn't get them anything, you know!"

He was idly inspecting a small plastic replica of the Coliseum when the other nation emerged a few minutes later, proudly carrying about a dozen silver keychains in his hands. Indonesia couldn't stop himself from grimacing at them; in rupiahs, that was probably the cost of a plane ticket.

"You aren't going to buy anything?" Philippines said. He was fiddling around his pockets for spare coins. He seemed to have forgotten that his wallet was probably in the small leather bag he was carrying, and Indonesia didn't feel like telling him.

"Pass," he said. "I'll wait outside, if you don't mind."

Philippines shrugged, turning back to the cashier. "Suit yourself."

As soon as he stepped out into the cobblestone streets, he immediately felt restless for a smoke. The architecture, the weather, the people . . . it all just reminded him how far away from home he was. It was autumn in Italy, colder than it would ever get at his house, and with a sharp pang of his heart he realized how much he missed everyone.

He started worrying about whether Singapore had gotten enough sleep last night, because often the young nation would look at data until the sun rose, looking for where he could make himself stronger. And Malaysia got dehydrated too easily for someone with his water resources, so he always had to remind him about refilling his water dispensers every once and a while. Brunei had always been quiet, but he'd been too reclusive than was healthy these days; and even though Timor-Leste couldn't face him sometimes, he still hoped she was doing alright. He trusted Thailand and Vietnam could handle everything over at the mainland, but he couldn't help but be concerned about them anyway.

Then there was the nation he was with right now.

All of a sudden, he felt a warm breath on his neck and a whispered: "You're scaring the other tourists, mahal."

Indonesia barely held back a scream, furiously turning to face a mirthful Philippines that was clearly having the time of his life teasing him. "Would you stop scaring me like that? And don't call me mahal!"

Philippines just waved him off with a laugh. "Please, that was barely a scare. And you deserve it! I thought the way you kept staring at my bag was weird, but you meant to tell me my money was in it, right? Silly Indonesia, I can't know things if you don't actually say it."

"Don't blame me for your denseness," he shot back. "Besides, your idea of a date must be really sloppy if all you do is take me to tourist shops. Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Are you saying you wanted something more romantic? Oh Indonesia, how bold of you!" Philippines looked at him slyly.

He was suddenly reminded of how difficult it could be to talk to Philippines sometimes. "I just thought you'd take me to actual places, like the Coliseum. Or maybe a castle, I don't know."

They walked together in amiable silence towards a nearby bus stop. He almost cried in relief when they finally sat down after what felt like hours of walking. Maybe Indonesia was just feeling his age, but he was not nearly as full of energy as the nation beside him.

"I know you've been to the Coliseum before, so taking you there isn't nearly as exciting," said Philippines, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. "Just so you know."

"Everything always has to be exciting for you," said Indonesia, with a huff.

The other nation winked at him. "What can I say? I love a little thrill."

He couldn't help but be amused at that. Whether it was thrill rides or thriller horror movies, Philippines was always raring to go. Still, though he was grateful, he was starting to feel a bit guilty about all the trouble he put the other nation through. He knew Philippines could be impulsive, but he didn't think he was the kind of person to drop everything and fly to Europe just to rescue him from another boring meeting. "I've been meaning to ask, but how did you end up in Italy anyway? I'd hate to think that you spent so much money just to go here."

"Don't worry! I didn't come to Europe for you," Philippines grinned brightly. "You're just a stop on the destination. I'm actually headed to Munich."

Ah. For some reason, that only made Indonesia feel worse.

"See, when I'm in Europe, I like to start by visiting the Vatican," the other nation continued. "Then Germany said that he had a meeting in Rome too, so we were planning to catch the train together. Didn't you notice that he was rushing to end your meetings as quickly as possible? It's Oktoberfest, you know."

Indonesia nodded slowly. "I guess September does end next week . . . ?"

"Dios mio," Philippines laughed. "I mean the beer festival, not the month. I'd invite you to join us but I know you don't drink."

"Even if I did, I don't think I could keep up with you and Germany," he admitted, which made the other nation's eyes twinkle with pride. "That still doesn't explain why you decided to crash the meeting."

"That's just because you weren't checking WhatsApp, which I'm grateful for." Philippines handed him his phone, which was opened to the group conversation they had with the rest of the ASEAN nations. "Here, I bet you left your phone at the hotel or something."

He did, but that was beside the point. Indonesia took the phone.

The first thing he saw was a selfie of Philippines at the airplane, snuggled up under the airline's provided blanket. Just boarded from Dubai! Be arriving at Fiumicino by morning, anything you guys want?

Abang is in Rome too, isn't he? Malaysia had asked. In that case, the both of you should bring back gifts! I need the best cheese for my sea cucumbers. Also, remember the keychains.

Singapore had sent one of his custom stickers. The merlion was sticking its tongue out.

Stop being so mean to him, or else he'll end up crying to me again, Thailand replied.

Not my problem he's a crybaby, Singapore said. Then he sent another merlion sticker.

Vietnam sent a laughing emoji, and then: You should visit Indo while you're there. You know how sad he gets when he has to go abroad alone.

Malaysia sent a GIF of a crying scene from some old movie.

Eh? But if I'm going to visit him, I want it to be a surprise! Philippines had whined. If he goes online soon, he'll already know. No fun in that.

It should be okay. He's probably asleep now anyway. And he doesn't check his phone during meetings, unlike you, Thailand pointed out.

It will be good for him to see a friendly face, Vietnam added.

Take care of him lah, Singapore had said. Make sure he enjoys himself this time.

PIRI WAIT I HAVE A GREAT IDEA, chatted Malaysia. I'll DM you just in case, so abang can't find out. He'll love it, trust me!

Oh no, said Vietnam, Thailand, and Singapore in separate, individual messages, to which Malaysia simply replied with another GIF. Brunei even mustered the energy to send a worried-looking emoji.

The last message, sent earlier this afternoon, was a selfie of Philippines with a cheeky grin. He was standing just outside the meeting room, and he had sent it with the caption: He won't know what hit him! <3

Indonesia sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, until he was nudged gently.

"Come on, the bus is here," Philippines stood, putting his hands on his hips. Then he frowned at him. "Hey, Indonesia, is there anything wrong? You look a bit shaken."

"No, everything's fine, I just," he stammered. There was such a powerful feeling in his heart that he didn't have the capacity to explain. "Um, I don't have my phone with me, so. Please thank everyone for keeping me in their thoughts. Tell them I'm doing my best to make all of you proud."

The other nation stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

If Indonesia let a few tears drop while they were on the bus, Philippines was kind enough not to say a word.

-----

Their stop was on top of a hill. There was an impressively large monument of a man on a horse, but Philippines dragged him to the nearby café as soon as they got off the bus, and Indonesia realized that he was probably better off with a nice snack than looking at some old statue anyway. To be fair, he had been waiting for dessert all day long, and the crepes were warm and delicious and more than enough to satisfy his sweet tooth. He finished his in record time, and bought another one right after.

"Ah, there's that smile," Philippines teased, once Indonesia had returned to their spot. "I was wondering where it went."

He was too engrossed with his enjoying his food to respond, but he motioned go on.

"It's just—I've seen you with tourists, you know." Philippines delicately sipped on his drink, slow and careful like an old cat. "Remember when we had that ASEAN hang-out at Bali? The restaurant near our hotel was full of foreign customers, and the staff was overwhelmed, so you decided to help the staff serve tables and entertain the guests. You seemed really friendly there."

"You knew about that?" Indonesia flushed with embarrassment. He thought he managed to sneak out successfully; it was at the point that Vietnam and Laos got crazy drunk, after all. "Well, it's very different dealing with foreigners at my home and actually being in a foreign place."

Philippines hummed contemplatively. "I think I get it. You feel more in control when it's them coming to you, rather than the other way around."

"Yeah, I suppose so." He crumpled the wrapping paper in his hands. "It's different for you though, right? I think you're more used to foreigners than I am."

The other nation laughed nervously. "I'm not sure Boracay and El Nido can even compare—"

"I'm not talking about tourists."

He knew, of course, that Philippines met with many nations as part of his duties, but he had always taken to this role so naturally that Indonesia could only assume that his history had given him a leg up. Spain was stricter on imposing his culture on the other nation than Netherlands ever was with him, or England with Malaysia and Singapore. America was just as obnoxiously stubborn when he colonized him right after. And although he never forgot his roots as part of Southeast Asia, Philippines also kept much less of his pre-colonial culture and history than the rest of them. Anything before Spain took him away was hazy and, as far as his memory was concerned, he had spent his youth growing up with the Americas and Europe — and with his mannerisms and how close he was with the Western nations, he certainly acted like it.

When Philippines arrived at the meeting earlier, everyone was accepting him with open arms. Spain had fondly ruffled his hair and America invited him to a party at his place next week. France had cooed adoringly at how much he had grown since his youth and England reminded him that he was due to visit London's hospitals in the next month. Germany's cheeks were pink as he asked how he was doing and Italy immediately began talking his ear off about food recipes and restaurants. Mexico began crying with joy at the sight of him, while Argentina and Brazil embraced him like family. It was a miracle that the both of them were able to leave as quickly as they did; he was sure that they'd make Philippines stay for at least another hour, if they could.

Meanwhile, Indonesia's own presence was always forgotten. The only time he was talked to the entire meeting was when Australia made an awkward half-joke, half-apology about the spying issue again.

"I guess it's easier for me to relate to them," Philippines admitted, a melancholy look in his eyes. He was looking down at his still half-eaten crepe with an oddly bittersweet smile on his lips; the sun, only just beginning to set, cast a dark shadow on his face. "And for them to relate to me. But I would be lying if I said I don't feel out of place with them too, sometimes. Despite everything, we're still very different. Besides, all the cultural similarities in the world can't make up for the fact that I'm so far away from them all. There just isn't enough opportunity for me to talk to them as much as they can talk to each other."

Indonesia didn't know what to say to that. He settled for a neutral, "I'm sorry I brought it up."

The other nation waved it off. "I'll forgive you if you take a selfie with me later."

He didn't have any choice but to accept.

As he waited for Philippines to finish his food, Indonesia took the time to observe the other people around. Many of them were trying to take a picture with the huge statue, but there were also families walking around with their happily enthusiastic children. If he looked farther, he could see busts of what he assumed were various historical figures lining the pathways. Going by the number of cars that had been parked just across them, it seemed like the park was of good interest for both tourists and locals alike. There were enough people to suggest that the place was well-loved, but there were nowhere near the crowds he'd see when he passed by the other popular tourist destinations. The statue of the man with a horse was large and grand, but he didn't recognize it; he was sure that, whatever this place was, it wasn't featured on the usual travel brochures.

"I'm curious," he said slowly, "as to why you're so familiar with Rome."

Philippines gave him a wry twitch of the lips, sitting his chin on the palm of his hands. "I thought we were done talking about me and the West?"

"This is different," he defended. "I'm just asking why you know about this place. Italy never took us anywhere like this for the G20 formalities."

"Well, of course he wouldn't," he said, idly swirling his drink around. "Just think: if you have a nice and peaceful park that's meant more for relaxation and you also have more famous and historically significant places available, then you would rather take your visiting diplomats to the latter, right? So Italy takes you to Palatino and Campidoglio instead of here. If it were you hosting the meeting, you'd take them to Monas instead of Taman Surapati."

Indonesia thought about that for a moment, but no matter how much he wanted to argue, he was forced to accept that Philippines was right. Then he frowned. "But you just take everyone to Luneta."

The other nation winked. "It's to my benefit that Luneta just happens to be both historical, relaxing, and beautiful. Makes my life a lot easier."

"You're not actually answering my question," he pointed out.

Philippines simply hummed, leaning back on his chair. His hair was blowing in the cold autumn breeze. "There's not much to say. I've had to visit a lot recently, since Italy is full of my migrant workers, more so than anywhere else in Europe. But when we were younger, Romano used to take me here often. The things he'd say — well, now that I think about it, I think you could relate."

He almost choked on his spit. Indonesia had never been in much contact with Romano, especially as his younger brother was always the one who represented Italy in their meetings, but he couldn't see any similarity between him and that foul-mouthed, angry brat. At the very least, he liked to think he was much more friendly and polite.

Uncharacteristically, the other nation didn't take the opportunity to laugh at him this time. Instead there was only a faraway look on his face, pensive as he stared out into somewhere unknown.

After a moment, Philippines finally said: "Do you still remember being with your old empires?"

Indonesia stilled.

"I know I don't, but you were old enough to remember living with the other maritime nations together as Nusantara," the other nation continued. "There was a glory that you could remember living before Portugal and Netherlands came to your shores. You weren't Majapahit, but you carried his legacy and his blood; just like you carried Srivijaya's.

"Romano lived at Spain's like I did, you know. He liked me for some reason, probably because I used to get sick all the time and couldn't really annoy him as much as the others. One day, he took me to Rome for the first time. I was so amazed at finally seeing all the old ruins I used to read about in books, and then when I looked back at him, he was crying. He told me it was like he could never escape the shadow of his grandfather."

Philippines' smile was terribly bittersweet. "I remember thinking that, for the first time, I was grateful I couldn't remember who I was before Spain came. And ever since I met you again, I kept wondering if you ever felt like Romano did. Maybe you had all that burden on you and you never told us. Maybe you felt lonely too."

He remembered.

Back when all of them were just children, back when he had never seen fair skin except for when he traded with the Eastern Asian nations up north. China and India, of course, were always present. Vietnam was older, and despite all the fighting she did, it never looked like she was ever frazzled by it. Myanmar was the same, but because he was so distant and preoccupied with his own kingdoms, Indonesia saw him the least. He would see Khmer more often when she had to pick up her sons, cheerful Thailand, friendly Laos, and belligerent Cambodia, from whenever they decided to come by. In their household, Malaysia was already energetic, but he was always doubly so whenever Singapore was around; those were the days that the smaller nation still admired his brother. Timor Leste was still sweet and shy, hiding behind him at every hint of danger. Brunei, quiet as ever, spent his time diligently picking flowers for a young Philippines across the sea. Steady, dependable Majapahit had welcomed them all with a smile, and taught him to do the same.

Indonesia grew up without ever really knowing what loneliness was. Even after Majapahit had already faded away, Netherlands had visited him much more often than was necessary or appropriate for a normal colonial relationship. And though he was separated from the rest of them, his siblings were never too far from him either.

So he had to take care of them too, when he could. He had to, because he was the one who remembered the most about what life was like, before. He had to, because he was the oldest. He had to, because that was what Majapahit taught him. Whether he began to feel more and more weary as the centuries passed by and his own territory expanded didn't matter, because being able to take care of as many people as he could — that was the greatest power any nation could ever have.

Of course he remembered. He never let himself forget.

A gentle nudge from Philippines shook him out of his silence. Softly, he said, "You don't have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable. Believe it or not, even I know when to back off."

"Sorry, you just caught me off-guard," he said, taking a moment to compose himself. Then Indonesia sighed. "You're not normally so serious. I was completely unprepared."

Philippines pouted. "Is it really all that surprising? I just thought, since you asked me a pretty personal question just now, it's only fair that I do the same to you. Answering that made me feel sad, so you needed to think of something that made you sad too! At least the both of us can feel sad together, instead of just me being sad all on my own."

Indonesia felt his eye twitch. "Your logic is really something."

The other nation just laughed, as if nothing happened at all. Then he stood, his grin wide and his hand reaching out to him, and said, "Come on, it's a complete waste for us to come here if all we're going to do is sit around! You can see all of Rome from Gianicolo, you know."

They watched the sunset from the hill's peak, and seeing the yellows and oranges being reflected in Philippines' purple eyes made for a pretty sight. As the sun shone its last light on the ancient ruins of the Roman Empire, Indonesia felt strangely at peace for the first time since he arrived. Maybe he'd even ask Philippines to properly introduce him to Romano one day.

-----

The Eternal City was beautiful even at night, but Indonesia just felt tired. He could sense that Philippines still wanted to go around with him — he mentioned something about taking him to a turtle fountain? — so they settled for slowly walking down the hill. They chatted about mundane things like food, gaming, and the merits of motorcycles over bikes, and it was unexpectedly nice. For some reason, Indonesia felt as light as air. He still wanted to go home as soon as he could, but he slowly realized that he wasn't all that opposed to just spending time with the other nation either.

"Say, Indonesia," Philippines suddenly said. "Do you know how to get back to your hotel?"

Indonesia took that back. He wanted to go home immediately.

The other nation giggled. "Don't tell me that you don't even remember which hotel you're staying at?"

He quickly turned his head away. He willed himself to look anywhere but the other nation, but he could still feel how Philippines was staring at him.

"Ah! I get it now," Philippines said, delightedly. Indonesia internally cursed himself. "Let me guess. You didn't have any plans of going anywhere but the meeting, the hotel, and the airport, so you thought it was fine if you left your phone behind and if you didn't care to remember your hotel's name. And, you kept falling asleep at the hotel shuttle that takes you to the meetings, so you can't even tell me about the nearby landmarks! My, how careless of you, Indonesia!"

"Why are you so smart," Indonesia grumbled, "for the most stupid of things?"

"I don't hear any denial," Philippines sang. "Well, whatever, that works out for me. Unless you're game for scouring through the dozens of hotels around the city, I guess I have no choice but to take you back to my place, huh?"

He faced Philippines, who was scrolling through his phone again, and said, "You don't have to do that. You can probably just ask Italy which hotel he arranged for me. I can take a taxi."

The other nation hummed. "Going from his Instagram stories, he looks like he's too busy partying with the others. Looks like France even brought out his special wine for the occasion. Hey, would you want to party with them? The bar they went to is just a few stations away by metro."

The last time he went to a G20 party, he and Germany were made to strip so that everyone could stare at their pecs. The expression he made must have been grim, as Philippines immediately backtracked. "I'm going to take that as a no."

Indonesia sighed. "Well, I don't want to disturb Italy and I don't want to waste any money trying to find another hotel. If you're really fine with me staying with you for the night, then I guess I have no problem with it either."

Philippines stopped in his tracks. "Eh? You're not going to make a fuss about it?"

Indonesia tilted his head, quizzically. "And you are?"

For some odd reason, the other nation seemed flustered. He was gripping the strap of his bag tightly and his cheeks were pink. "Well, you know, you're normally so averse to any of my ideas, and you always seem so annoyed with me. I thought, for sure, that you were just going to argue against me again . . ."

"Do you really think so lowly of me?" Indonesia frowned. "I wouldn't have been with you all day if I hated you."

That seemed to perk Philippines back up. He could practically see the sparkles in the other nation's eyes as he faced him and gleefully said, "Ha! You've admitted it! So if you don't hate me, does that mean that you actually like me, Indonesia?"

He couldn't hold back a smirk. "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Philippines just laughed, cheery and bright.

When they stepped down from the bus, Indonesia was surprised to be faced with a block full of old apartment buildings rather than a fancy hotel. Evidently, the other nation was familiar to the residents; one old lady had grasped him firmly by the hand with a gummy smile as she engaged them in small talk. Philippines then took him to the second building on the right and led him through a few flights of stairs to a dark, wooden door.

The apartment was small but clean. Two bedrooms and a bathroom, then some communal space with a worn sofa and a dated television. There was a kitchen with a countertop, rice cooker unplugged, and more than a few succulents sitting by the window. The other nation's usual travel bag was still on the floor, a duffel bag easily recognizable by the numerous flag patches stitched by the sides as a memento for all the countries he had visited. A small corner was developed into a personal home altar, figures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary surrounded by flowers and golden crosses. Even though it was emptier than Philippines' own home back in Manila, it was still undeniably his in its coziness and warmth. All in all, it was modest and good; certainly more than what Indonesia expected for an apartment that the other nation probably only visited a few times a year.

"It's cute. It fits you," he said politely.

"Aw, you think I'm cute," Philippines teased. He was hanging his overcoat on the coat rack, which was a bit too tall for him — a sliver of skin showed only for a moment before being covered again by his turtleneck top. Indonesia pretended he didn't see. "Please go ahead and sit down, make yourself comfortable. Oh, won’t you take off your suit and place it somewhere? The good thing about Europe is that it’s a lot cooler here, so you can still wear it tomorrow without worrying about sweat and stuff."

“I knew that, at least.” He placed his suit on a nearby chair and sat down on the sofa. Philippines set a saucer full of biscuits at the table and gave him a glass of water, which he gratefully drank. As the other nation sat down beside him, Indonesia couldn’t help but ask, “Is this place really yours?”

“My government didn’t buy it for me like all our other properties, if that’s what you’re asking,” Philippines said, reaching out for the biscuits. There was an audible crunch as he bit into one of them. “One of the Filipinos living here bought it for her son, but he decided to move in with his girlfriend. She thought it would be a waste of money to abandon it, so she gave it to me. When I’m not here, it gets rented as an Airbnb. We share the profits. It’s actually pretty good passive income, you know.”

Indonesia gave him a wry smile. “You always find an opportunity to make money, somehow. I’d say it’s America’s influence, but I know for a fact you’ve been this way since we were kids.”

"My skill is all mine, thank you very much," the other nation boasted, leaning back into the sofa with a self-assured smirk. “I don't suppose there's anything else you remember about me from those days? I assure you, if you thought I inherited my charm from Spain, you'd be dead wrong.”

Your hair used to be so long, he immediately thought. He had taken care of it meticulously, washing it with several oils so it was always smooth and wonderfully scented. Gold adorned almost every inch of his body, painstakingly crafted with the tiniest details, contrasting beautifully with the vibrant textiles used for his clothes. Even as a child, Philippines was already used to traveling often — Tondo and Seludong would take him up north, Butuan and Sulu down south, Sugbu and Panay at the center, and a dozen more kingdoms in between. He loved his boats the most, and Majapahit would patiently humor him by letting the younger nation talk his ear off about the latest developments his different kingdoms had with their boatmaking.

Not that he had ever tried to listen in, or attempted to make prolonged conversation with the other nation. At the time, Indonesia was too busy trying to handle Malaysia and Singapore’s chaos to pay much attention to anyone else. He hadn’t gotten to know Philippines all that well until they met again centuries later; older and more jaded, irrevocably shaped by the circumstances their colonizers had placed them in.

Sometimes he wondered what life would have been like if things had turned out differently. But he didn’t have the energy to waste his time despairing over it all again, not when Philippines was still looking at him so expectantly.

“Your eyes haven’t changed,” Indonesia decided to say. “And as for everything else I remember, there’s nothing I haven’t already told you about before.”

Philippines smiled at him fondly, “You’re as terribly succinct as ever.”

Indonesia smiled back, “And as always, you’re just as annoyingly persistent.”

For a long moment, they just sat there on the sofa in silence — easy and comfortable and bathed in the apartment’s warm, golden light. The windows were open, and guitar music from the neighbors was softly permeating the room with its slow, relaxed melody. It was during these kinds of moments that Indonesia's heart felt full; that all he's been through in the past few centuries were worth it, if it meant he could enjoy more days like this. The mood was right and he felt good; perhaps if he was braver, he would have had the confidence to make the most out of it.

Eventually, the moment passed, and the other nation stood. "It's so late already! I should probably get to preparing our dinner. You can freshen up before we eat, if you want."

"Right," Indonesia said, hastily standing up as well. "Ah, may I borrow your phone? I just need to check on something."

Philippines didn't really answer, but he heartily belted out the lyrics to some old love song as he brought out a pot and a chopping board from the kitchen cabinets, so he took it as a yes. Ignoring how the photo for the lock screen looked suspiciously like the sunrise at Bali, he put in the PIN code — 8862, how sentimental of him — and was immediately bombarded by the number of notifications he got. There were messages from everywhere: SMS, Facebook Messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter, Telegram . . . it's really no wonder that Philippines was named both the texting and social media capital of the world. Indonesia had no interest in intruding on the other nation's privacy though. As he ducked into the bathroom to wash his face, hands, and feet, he did a quick Google search for sholat times rome.

If he was home, he wouldn't have needed to Google such a thing; the mosques would have already blared adzan through the loudspeakers, reminding everyone in close vicinity that it was time for prayer. His overseas workers would sometimes complain to him about how difficult it could be to pray once they were abroad, that strangers would sometimes gawk at them in public or their employers wouldn't give them the time or space to do it properly in the office. Indonesia often had nothing to offer them but his sympathies. Tonight, he decided, he would pray for them.

"Are you going to pray?" Philippines called out. He was placing a tray in the oven. "Head to the back, go in the room on the right. It should be peaceful there."

"Thank you," he said, and when he opened the door, he was greeted with a welcome surprise.

Though the room was otherwise plain, a vibrantly orange prayer mat stood out — Malaysia's picking, no doubt. Indonesia raised his hands facing kiblat, slow and reverent, and made the mental note to thank his brother later. Thanks to this, he felt significantly less alone.

-----

Philippines made a quick sign of the cross as he sat down on the table. He grinned, "Let's eat!"

It was a modest meal: baked fish with lemons, Filipino-style chop suey, white rice, and a bowl of what was unmistakably Indomie Mi Goreng. While Philippines had poured out a glass of white wine for himself, Indonesia had a glass of orange juice. The other nation was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal, though Indonesia chalked that up to hunger; Philippines ate quickly and ravenously, shoving spoonfuls of rice and noodles into his mouth without pausing for so much as a single breath. Indonesia felt tired just watching him.

Once they were finished, Philippines patted his stomach with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, that's the good stuff."

"My compliments to the chef," Indonesia said, which made the other nation giggle. "Though I have to say, I would have cooked it differently."

"I know, but then it'd take longer and I was already so hungry — I'd even go as far to say that I was absolutely famished." Philippines groaned, slumping in his seat. "I mean, I know we could've just eaten at some trattoria down the road, but I needed rice. And I wasn't going to settle for some dumb risotto, no matter how delicious it would be. You get me, don't you?"

"It isn't a full meal without rice," Indonesia agreed.

The other nation nodded seriously. "I always felt like something was missing while I was growing up. It wasn't until I was allowed to go back to Manila that I figured out that it was rice. I haven't looked back since."

Indonesia had always known that Philippines had lived in Europe during the centuries that he was a Spanish colony, but hadn't thought any deeper about the smaller implications that had on him. Some things were obvious — his devout Catholicism for one, and the conspicuously Hispanic human name he used in his daily life — but little things like this caught him off-guard. He said, "I'm sincerely very sorry to hear that."

Philippines did nothing but take a long sip of his wine. "No need to pity me so much, it's in the past now. I don't really think about it."

"I'm not pitying you," he muttered, though he wasn't able to look Philippines in the eyes as he said it. Then, louder: "I'm just realizing that there's still so much I don't know about you. I'm your neighbor, and I don't even know what your childhood was like."

Philippines smiled at him, but it was strained. His face was saying I don't want to talk about it even as he softly confessed, "I don't know all about your history either, Indonesia. Not enough. The sentiment goes both ways. And as for my time with Spain . . . well, what is there to say, really? He said he would take care of me, and he didn't. Not in the same way he took care of the others. Whether that's a blessing or a curse, I don't think I'll ever really know. I just know that it's over now, and I'm grateful.

"I bet your experience was different though." The gaze the other nation leveled on him was nothing less than dangerously curious. His purple eyes were filled with strong contempt, but contempt for what, Indonesia didn't know. "Like I said, I don't know the specifics. But I've been told your relationship with Netherlands was something else entirely."

"He and I weren't—" he stammered, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else.

But the way Philippines was looking at him made him stop. He took a deep breath and calmed himself; the other nation deserved something more honest than that.

He still remembered how tightly Netherlands had gripped at his arm, decades and decades ago, his scarf flapping helplessly in the wind. Despite all the things that had gone unsaid between them and the years that they spent together, the blond was still unbearably silent. He used to admire that stoic demeanor; tried to emulate it when he was feeling overwhelmed, always so determined not to embarrass himself or the empire. Back when Netherlands had declared him the emerald of the equator, the crown jewel of his power as a nation . . . it had taken all he had to choke back his pride. It had taken all he had to keep his secret, that budding idea that he was meant to be more than just somebody else's precious colony.

Indië, Netherlands had pleaded, and suddenly the great Dutch Empire had seemed so small.

"It was different," he finally said. "But I don't think it was any better, in the end."

With a bittersweet smile, Philippines simply raised a toast. "To tomorrow."

In answer, Indonesia downed the rest of his orange juice in one go. This time, Philippines' laugh was more genuine, and he couldn't help but stare.

He had noticed this before, of course, but now — with the other nation elegantly sitting across him, his purple eyes glittering bright, and the wine glass so tantalizingly close to his lips — Indonesia was stricken by how right at home the other nation looked. Even Singapore, who probably had the most business with the Western countries out of them all, was more guarded whenever he stepped foot on European soil. Yet Philippines wasn't out of place here in the same way that Indonesia felt, and had instead carried the same easygoing attitude he had during their own ASEAN meetings. As much as the other nation's energy and eccentricities irked him sometimes, he also found himself in awe of him as well.

The others were right. If Philippines hadn't come, he would've spent all his free time wallowing around in his hotel room just feeling sorry for himself. But instead, he was enjoying himself more than he thought he would. Hesitant as he was to admit it, he almost found himself wanting to stay in Rome a little bit longer, if it meant the both of them could spend more time together.

"You're not leaving for Munich anytime soon, are you?" Indonesia said, daring to be hopeful.

Philippines rested his cheek on his hand. "If I remember right, the tickets Prussia bought for us were for tomorrow morning? He gets way too excited about Oktoberfest, you know."

Why do I even try to be happy, Indonesia thought darkly.

"Ah, don't look so glum! You have me all to yourself for the rest of the night," Philippines winked. "But I have to warn you, Pien is having his precious beauty sleep in my bedroom, so if you have any special requests we're going to have to be very quiet about it."

"Nothing like that," Indonesia quickly said, his face hot. "I just thought, I might as well treat you to somewhere nice. As a thank you for, uh, taking care of me today. But my flight back home is tomorrow night, and you're catching the morning train with Germany, and now I'm starting to think that we don't exactly have the time . . ."

The other nation waved it off. "We're nations, mahal. We have all the time in the world. Besides, we'll be meeting again for the APEC conference coming up in November, right? I don't mind waiting until then."

"But I do," he grumbled. "And again, don't call me mahal."

Philippines finished his drink and set his glass delicately on the table. "You can promise me that you'll let me sing half the songs when we go karaoke with the others. Or that you'll pay for my food the next time we have a group dinner. Oh! When Thailand makes a mean comment to me in the next meeting, you have to defend me. Say something like Filipino BL series are better than Thai BL series, that'll really get him going."

He was suddenly reminded of how frivolous the other nation could be sometimes. Either that, or worryingly low-maintenance. Indonesia built up the courage and forced out, "I'd rather make it up to you when the two of us are alone."

This time, it was Philippines who was staring. Flustered, Indonesia rambled on. "I just mean—you know, you spent all this time with me even though you didn't have to. So it's only right that I spend more time with you too, just the both of us. It's not good enough if the others are there too."

Philippines offered, "We could watch a movie before we sleep?"

"I'll probably just pass out in the middle."

"Maybe you can make breakfast for us tomorrow?"

"You gave me snacks, dinner, and a place to sleep, there's no way just a breakfast is fair."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to spend a night over at your place?"

"It's not about you, not really. It's just, I want to do something for you. Something you want."

"I've been telling you what I want, but you keep saying it's not good enough, I don't understand—"

"It needs to be special, okay? Is it so bad that I want to do something nice for you—"

"It's not bad, I just don't get why you're being so picky about it. Like, isn't doing me a favor enough for you? Isn't this just about paying me back? What is it that you want to do with me exactly?"

"No," Indonesia stressed, feeling like he was about to lose his mind. "I want—"

He paused.

What did he want, exactly?

Philippines just smiled at him, patient and knowing and just the slightest bit sad, and stood. He was carrying his plate, and as he passed by Indonesia he gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When Indonesia looked up to face him, the other nation's eyes were soft. "I know I've said this to you before, but I'll say it again. I can't know things if you don't actually say it. Alright?"

Then he walked away to the kitchen sink, absentmindedly humming to himself, leaving Indonesia all alone at the table. The words I think I want you died on his lips.

-----

Later, after reflecting during his night bath, Indonesia found himself in a panic.

He wasn't a complete idiot. He's known for a while that Philippines was the only one who could fluster him like no other, but he often chalked that up to the other nation's cheeky character rather than anything else. His attraction to Philippines wasn't surprising either; it was no secret that he liked looking pretty, and to be honest, Indonesia has had worse crushes. But he was also steadily coming to the conclusion that his feelings went deeper than mere infatuation, and he couldn't help but wonder: why fall for the other nation in particular?

Philippines was an ally, someone he had founded and managed ASEAN with in a show of regional strength. Philippines was a friend, someone he had spent countless days with over the years along with all the other people he treasured in his life. Philippines was a stranger, someone who still felt so foreign to him despite everything. He could trace out the curve of his smile in an instant, and at the same time, he didn't have the faintest idea what the other nation was doing in the 1920s. He knew that watching a cheesy romcom was the surest way of brightening up his day, but not the exact nature of what Spain had done to him as a colony. And, for the life of him, he still didn’t understand the slightest bit of how verb conjugation in Tagalog worked — which felt especially embarrassing the day he found out that Philippines had been putting in the effort to learn both Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Melayu so he could communicate with the rest of the maritime nations better. He'd understand his own heart easier if he fell for Malaysia or even Netherlands — people who he had shared a deep and culturally signifcant history with in his extremely long life as a nation — but Philippines was, to put it sadly, not like that to him.

And yet, as Indonesia stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, all he could think about was how much happier he looked now compared to his bleak and boring morning.

He changed into the clothes that Philippines had laid out for him on the bed and had a brief thought of just going to sleep for the night. Pramoedya, if he were still alive, would chide him for such cowardice. Indonesia ended up at the other nation's door, nervously trying to build up the courage to knock. But Philippines must have heard his footsteps, as he called out: "I know you're out there! Just come in!"

Just like him, Philippines had already bathed and changed to more casual sleepwear; he was wearing a loose sweater and shorts that showed off his legs. He was sitting upright on his bed, looking amused at whatever he was staring at on his phone screen, and his face broke out into a warm smile when he saw Indonesia hesitantly trudge inside his bedroom. Pien was already sound asleep in a little makeshift bed on the desk.

"Sit here," said Philippines, while he scooted over to give him space. Indonesia gave him a look. "I'm being serious. Just move your arms a bit and—yeah, that's it. Aren't we cozy?"

Now they were both sitting on the bed, with Philippines between his legs and his arms around Philippines' waist. Cozy was certainly a word for it.

"Now you're just teasing me," Indonesia grumbled, but he didn't move away either.

"Me? Tease you?" Philippines fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Why, I'm just a poor tropical nation made to suffer through the unbearably cold Autumn months in the Northern Hemisphere! I'm severely in need of some aid and assistance, but I'm sure you and all your hundred active volcanoes can keep me warm for tonight."

"You're horrible, you know that?" he said, though he was unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. Philippines laughed with him, giddy and gleeful. "You don't know how anxious I was before this. It's not fair that you can just make all that go away so easily."

Philippines leaned back on his chest, smug as a cat. "Call it a gift. By the way, our neighbors want to know how you're doing. Anything you want to say?"

Now that he was right behind the other nation, he could see that his phone was opened to the ASEAN group chat. It seemed like everyone was spamming the chat with pictures of their pets again. Indonesia rested his chin on Philippines' shoulder and said, "I'm doing just fine. Tell them I mean it this time."

If the other nation was flustered, he betrayed no signs of it. He had now moved on to chatting with the other ex-Spanish colonies; they were all talking in Spanish and Indonesia couldn't understand a thing. "I'll tell them when I'm sure it won't get buried by everything else. But, you know, that's really good to hear. My influence, I hope."

Indonesia buried his face in Philippines' neck as an answer.

"So needy," Philippines murmured, who had put his phone down to pat his head. "Perhaps you really were lonely?"

"Not as lonely as you used to be, I think." At this, Philippines stilled. Indonesia tightened his hold on the other nation's slim waist even further, almost afraid that he would drift away. "About that question you asked, earlier at the cafe . . . I don't feel burdened by how great my old empires were. I've felt the pressure to make them proud, but I've never felt like it was a burden. Their legacy is my life and my connections to all of you, you know? I've certainly never felt like it made me lonely.

"And then there's you, and I know it's not the same for you, because you can't even remember — and that's fine, Singapore doesn't really remember much either. But Malaysia remembers enough for the both of them, and then there's me, and I remember the most, but then there's you, and you don't have that."

Here, Indonesia exhales a shaky breath. "Spain took you, and America took you, and Japan took you, and that's four centuries of you just being gone from me. We're neighbors yet we're so different, to the point where we don't share the same language, the same religion, the same food, the same history . . . and you have friends all over the world and you seem so happy all the time, but I don't think I've ever realized how lonely you must feel."

All Philippines did was sigh. "I told you not to pity me."

"I'm not pitying you," said Indonesia. "I'm just sorry."

All this time, he had been so in awe of how Philippines found it so easy to adjust to Westerners and Western culture when he himself found it so difficult. But now, with the realization that the same ability to connect with others may have also translated to an inability to connect with him and the rest of ASEAN, that same awe felt so bitter. How many times had Philippines stood awkwardly to the side when he spoke to Malaysia and Brunei in his native language? Kept worryingly quiet when they were wistfully reminiscing their pre-colonial pasts? Tried to tell a joke to lighten up the mood during a meeting, but because of differences in culture and history, it just fell flat?

Indonesia was startled out of his thoughts with a painful pinch of his cheek.

"Of course you're going to be sorry if you make me sound so depressing," Philippines pouted at him, annoyed.

He sputtered, "What? I mean, I just thought—"

"Do you take me for an idiot, Indonesia?" He pinched Indonesia harder, which made him yelp. "Don't you think I'd be well aware by now of where I stand with all of you? That after sixty years together, I would've realized that I wasn't as involved in your history as everyone else is in maritime, or everyone else with each other in the mainland?"

With a huff, Philippines let him go. Indonesia tried to soothe the sting of it by putting his hand on his cheek. He almost didn't hear the other nation murmur, "Do I seem that pitiful to you?"

"Not pitiful at all," Indonesia scrambled to reassure. Philippines leaned back on his chest, still looking a bit miffed. "I don't know. I just had this sudden thought that maybe we're just a bad reminder of how much Spain and America took away from you. Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with us."

Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with me, he thought, though he kept that to himself.

Philippines simply stared up at him, eyes bright, and said, "Well, if you only realized it today, then maybe you should've considered that it isn't actually a problem."

"You could just be very good at acting like nothing's wrong," Indonesia pointed out.

"Or you can think about this: maybe there really is nothing wrong in the first place," Philippines said, a wry smile growing on his face. "I founded the association with you, you know. Maybe the rest of you were there because of old ties or whatever, but I joined precisely because I wanted to build new ones. I don't really care if I feel awkward sometimes. I'd certainly find it boring if all of you were exactly like me anyway."

The other nation was so carefree about it, but Indonesia still felt conflicted. He admitted, "Maybe the problem is just that I feel awkward. I have no idea how to approach you as a nation."

"So don't approach me as a nation. Approach me as a friend," Philippines said, not unkindly. To get the point across, he put his hands over Indonesia's in a show of comfort. "You're allowed to act outside the interests of who you represent, you know. We're people too."

Indonesia kept quiet. There had been times when he privately felt like Philippines was his exact opposite — a lively, energetic person that focused more on his human side rather than the nation side, and someone whose duties were considerably more worldly than his own: having to regularly travel to dozens of countries to check on the millions of Filipino citizens that were working abroad. Meanwhile, as such a large and diverse country, Indonesia tried his best to ensure that every single one of the people that lived within his borders felt heard. It was difficult sometimes, but it always felt meaningful to him — his people were his essence, and he couldn't let politics force him to forsake them again. Acting for his personal interests felt as foreign to him as leaving his house sometimes. Not that he never took time for himself; he tried, but a lot of the time he had to be convinced to do so. Sometimes Singapore would invite him for another tour around his house, or Malaysia would drag him into some new restaurant where they would inevitably fight over the food. But more often than not, it would be Philippines pushing him and the other Southeast Asian nations out of their shells and setting up parties, taking them to his fiestas, and prodding and annoying all of them until they would finally agree to ASEAN hang-outs like the one at Bali. Indonesia could admit harboring a deep suspicion for the other nation before, thinking that he was more in line with American interests rather than his own, but over the decades that suspicion had faded. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, he had grown on him, and now Indonesia couldn't imagine his life without him anymore.

He didn't know much about the Philippines as a nation, not much more than he needed to be aware of for the sake of diplomacy and the association. Yet as the years went by and he got to know more and become friends with Philippines the person, he discovered someone who was equal parts obnoxious and endearing, foolhardy and clever, petty and proud and unbelievably kind. And as he looked at him now, there was something in the curve of his smile and the light in his eyes that told him that things would be alright if he took things a step further — something that told him that the other nation had been anticipating this for a long, long time. Heart over head and heart over country, it emboldened him to take the leap.

"I don't want to approach you as a friend either," Indonesia murmured, and because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and kissed him.

Philippines sighed happily into his mouth as he kissed back, warm and blooming under his touch. Their kiss was relatively chaste — Indonesia had seen the other nation make out with others for a drunk dare with more passion than this — yet he couldn't complain. It was sweet and soft and lasted only for a moment, and more than anything, it was a promise: that they can take things slow, and that they had all the time in the world to get to know each other better.

Their foreheads touched, quiet and tender, and Philippines laughed softly. "It's so ridiculous," he said, his eyes filled with mirth, "that I've been waiting for so long for you to realize your feelings, and when the time finally comes that you do, you managed to confess without really confessing at all. Only you, Indonesia."

"I'm shy," he said dryly, and the other nation burst into laughter. "If you wanted a real confession, you probably could've done so yourself."

"Ah, but there's no fun in that! I like the thrill of being chased, you know," Philippines preened, wagging his finger in mock admonishment. Then, more shyly, he admitted, "Besides, if I made a move on you before you were ready, you might've just pushed me away or feel forced to return my feelings even if you didn't. If I waited, at least I could be sure you wanted me too."

"So all those jokes you made before were supposed to be you holding back? How subtle," Indonesia teased, his eyes crinkling. He held the other nation closer, smothering him with small kisses all over until what little sadness on his face disappeared and was replaced with giggles and brightness. He turned Philippines' head to face him properly and said, "I'm scared that I won't know how to balance my duties and my personal life as well as you do, and I'm scared that we'll be too dissimilar to really work out. But until the day that our differences force us apart, I'd be happy to spend my time with you."

Philippines pulled away from him slightly, an oddly vulnerable look in his eyes. "You're sure you really want something with me? That this isn't too far out of your comfort zone?"

"Oh, it's very out of my comfort zone," Indonesia said. "But recently, I've been learning that maybe it isn't so bad, you know. As long as I'm with you."

"As long as I'm with you," Philippines repeated, with a growing smile. "I like the sound of that."

They continued talking well past midnight, at some points laughing so hard and arguing so loud that poor Pien was startled awake by all the noise. And as the other nation reached out and pulled him under the covers so they could hold each other until the morning, he found himself reaching back. They kissed until their lips were red and they got so tangled up in each other until they couldn't distinguish between their own bodies anymore; despite how differently the day turned out from how his usual trips to Europe went, Indonesia swore that the unfamiliar city never felt so much like coming home until that night.

-----

"Where the hell is my sweater," Philippines groused.

"You threw it on the floor last night, it should be under your bedside drawer." Indonesia kissed his forehead and, keenly aware that he was not a morning person, gave him a cup of his precious coffee. He could tell his efforts were appreciated when Philippines greedily gulped down the scalding liquid. "Selamat pagi, sayang."

The other nation only pouted at him. "Don't call me sayang."

"After all the stupid things you've called me through the years? I'll call you however I like, thank you very much," he shrugged. "Besides, I'm not the one who has to leave in a few hours."

Philippines groaned as he pulled his clothes over himself. "This is so stupid. We finally get together and now we have to be separated like this? I mean, I'm really glad and I like you a lot and all, but I really wish you had a better sense of timing right now."

"I think you'll live." Indonesia hid his smile behind his cup. "I mean, you were the one that said you don't mind waiting until November to see me again."

"You just keep making fun of me," Philippines whined, cuddling up to him. Pien had even jumped up to nuzzle his neck, evidently just as clingy as his owner. "Where's the romance, Indonesia? The sweet nothings in my ear? The poems and songs you surely must've written while you pined for my presence? Am I to despair forever, having only been loved by a phantom version of yourself that will never return?"

"You've been watching too many telenovelas," Indonesia said, quickly setting both of their cups somewhere else before they had any accidents. At this, the other nation gasped dramatically and collapsed across his lap. Despite himself, he started chuckling at how ridiculous Philippines was being — really, how could he not find him so endearing?

Then Philippines suddenly turned serious. He stared up at him, his gaze piercing. "If you don't want me to go, I can just make up dumb some excuse again, you know. Just say the word."

Indonesia humored him. "And why wouldn't I want you to go?"

"Because I can't be there for you if you feel alone again," he muttered, expression tense and his mouth downturned in an angry frown. "I just feel bad that I'm leaving you so soon."

Yesterday, he would've been right to be worried. Indonesia probably would've found some roundabout way to say that he'd much rather for Philippines to stay just until he could see him off at the airport later that evening, if only to stave off that achingly empty feeling of waiting to go home and resenting time for moving so slowly. Philippines would have laughed and teased and inevitably posted about the day's events on his Instagram, to which Indonesia would look increasingly more exhausted with each new update, but he nevertheless would have allowed Indonesia to get away with delaying his plans to make him more comfortable.

But as it was, now Indonesia only remembered the way the other nation's eyes had twinkled in excitement when he mentioned Munich, so it was little trouble for him to simply smooth back Philippines' bangs and lightly say, "Actually, I was planning of sightseeing on my own today."

"Oh?" Philippines looked surprised — and pleased. "You are?"

Indonesia couldn't stop himself from flushing in embarrassment. Really, it had only been a passing thought he had after finishing his morning prayers, but . . . "All of you are always going on about how I can't enjoy myself abroad, so. I figured it was time I gave it a try."

Though Philippines probably knew he was still rather uncertain about it, he smiled anyway. "Well, as long as bring your phone this time, alright? I'm always just a text away if you need it."

"And here I thought you'd say some cheesy line about me never truly being alone since you'll always in my heart," Indonesia said, and Philippines was startled into laughter as he sat back up. "Don't worry. I've survived a long, long time without you by my side. I can take a little longer."

Philippines pecked him on the cheek, sweet and domestic. "Not too long, I hope. I can't wait to see the look on Thailand's face when we walk into November's meeting hand in hand. Maybe I should make a vlog about everyone else's surprised reactions."

"Whatever you like, sayang." Indonesia smiled as he stood, his hand reaching out. He pulled Philippines into a kiss — a deep one this time, slow and sensuous and full of all the things he felt too strongly to properly express in words — that left them both breathing heavily by the time they pulled away. Feeling uncharacteristically suave, he whispered, "Though I would prefer it if, in the short time that you're still here, you keep all your focus on me."

"Always, mahal." Philippines smiled back, eyes as bright as ever. "Always."

-----

Notes:

Title comes from the lyrics of How Deep Is Your Love, but specifically, it's a reference to the Christian Bautista cover. Bautista is a Filipino singer, and his cover was very popular in Indonesia a few years ago.

There are a lot of things I've had to simplify and outright ignore for the sake of story, most egregious being the fact that Indonesia actually wouldn't be the sole Southeast Asian nation in a G20 meeting. The chair of ASEAN is a permanent guest invitee, and since the current chair is the Sultan of Brunei, Brunei would probably in the meeting as well. Alas, Brunei isn't canon yet as of this writing. Sorry, Brunei!

Mahal and sayang are both terms of endearment in Tagalog and Bahasa Indonesia respectively, but with a catch! Mahal is a word that also exists in Bahasa Indonesia, but the meaning is "expensive" rather than "love" — in Tagalog you can use the word both ways. Sayang is a word that also exists in Tagalog, but the meaning is "What a waste" or "What a pity" rather than "love" — in Bahasa Indonesia, you can use the word both ways. So essentially, you have Philippines and Indonesia trying to be sweet to each other, but the other interprets it as a weird insult instead. It's really funny and really cute.

More detailed notes and references on my previous Tumblr post here!

#indophil #hws philippines #hws indonesia #aph philippines #aph indonesia #hws #mine

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hanbintms · 3 years

Photo

it is eye , kofi , back on your dash with my newest child ! as a reminder : i’m twenty4 , prefer she / her or they / them pronouns , and i reside in the est timezone ! the muse that i have flowing for hanbin is truly unmatched even though i literally came up with him within like . . . three hours , no kidding . that being said , he’s a brand new muse and i can’t wait to plot with everyone once again ( or for the first time ! ) i won’t talk your ears off as i know this intro might get a little long , but aside from that , can’t wait to write hanbin with ya’ll !

( SONG KANG , THIRTY , CIS MAN , HE / HIM ) * hey , i’m looking for the office of HANBIN KOO . they’re the EMPLOYEE / IN - HOUSE CHEF who’s known around the office as THE EPICURE , if that helps ? not to be a gossip , but i’ve heard that they’re AFFABLE but UNCOUTH , is that true ? i also heard that they’re the one who THREW ICED TEA AT HIS EX IN THE LOBBY . anyways , here’s the coffee they ordered .

statistics.

name : koo hanbin . nicknames : han , hannie , hanbinie , + binnie . age + date of birth : thirty + january 9th, 1991 . zodiac : capricorn . moral alignment : true neutral . gender + pronouns : cis man + he / him / his . place of birth : busan , south korea . place of residence : west village , new york city , new york . orientation : bisexual biromantic . occupation : in house chef and internet personality . nationality : korean ( holds american citizenship ) . ethnicity : korean . language(s) spoken : korean , english , conversational italian , and conversational japanese .

background.

koo hanbin’s life was relatively normal when he was born . his mom , koo seonghwa , worked as a nurse in the pediatric department of a local hospital in busan while his father , koo kyuchul , was an office worker . they weren’t the richest family , nowhere near it , but the koo family made it work . hanbin has more memories of being with his grandparents more often than his parents simply because of their demanding careers , but that’s not to say that they weren’t loving and attentive parents when they had time to be with their only son .

however , life began to change for him when was six years old . suddenly , the money began to dwindle as quickly as it was brought in . the refrigerator wasn’t full unless seonghwa’s mother would make some things for them , and kyuchul was coming home later and later . seonghwa began to work harder in an attempt to break even , but she never seemed to get her head above water . she’d confront her husband about the large sums of money that would disappear from their account , but he always blamed it on higher bills , raised rent , or sudden payments that he had to make . it never made any sense , but seonghwa started a separate account to ensure their son could at least have food on the table and clothes for school .

the next couple of years go by and the money situation worsens , with seonghwa getting to her wits end . she spends more time with hanbin at her parents’ place , sleeping with her son in her old bedroom and hoping he doesn’t hear her cry at night . she struggles to understand why her husband is keeping secrets from her , especially as they’ve been married happily for the last eleven years , but it takes some tough love from her mother to get seonghwa to pick herself up . so , she decides to confront her husband one night when she finds out his location from one of his co - workers , and she’s devastated . seonghwa finds kyuchul with a younger woman , gambling away her hard earned money . like a scene out of a drama , seonghwa kicks her husband where the sun doesn’t shine and promptly dragged the other woman outside to wack her upside the head with her purse . seonghwa was hurt , but she had finally gotten answers , and she wasn’t going to be embarrassed like this ever again .

so , seonghwa and hanbin permanently move in with her parents , and it takes some time for seonghwa to get over kyuchul . she focuses on her child and her job . from the age of ten , hanbin began spending more time with his grandparents in their small , but popular barbecue meat restaurant . when he finishes his homework , he helps his grandparents take orders , and he slowly begins to work the kitchen as he gets older . his grandparents soon leave the kitchen work to him as they get up in age , and hanbin runs the kitchen as if he’d been doing it for over twenty years . however , when he graduates from high school , hanbin decides to spread his wings . over the last twelve years or so , hanbin honed his cooking skills from his grandfather and spent most of his childhood in the kitchen , so his grandparents passed their restaurant down to seonghwa’s brother , and hanbin left for new york .

eighteen years old and with only enough money to get a small sublet , he knew he needed to find a job pronto . without formal kitchen training , hanbin would often get turned away from jobs ( because he was better than a busboy ! ) and eventually , the fates was on his side . he forced his way into the kitchen of a popular italian restaurant , immediately snagging the title of junior chef . hanbin , a fast learner with even faster knife skills , easily works his way up the ranks within the restaurant . within six years , hanbin becomes head chef and is a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen . although his income changes significantly , hanbin starts a youtube channel in hopes of sharing his love for food and cooking . within a year , his following grows substantially , and he’s approached to broaden his efforts by working at masters international .

at masters.

hanbin has been at masters for five years . he started working here after his youtube channel expanded , and he was approached to create his own cooking content for masters’ youtube channel .

basically , he has his own version of test kitchen , but it’s not really the same thing . he makes recipes for holidays , celebrations , and is constantly showing how to make traditional korean dishes ( would not be surprised if he has a ‘ cooking with my mom ! ’ type series ) .

gives food tips too like which wines pair best with certain foods or how to make the most out of your first hosting gig . probably has a video where he shares his cooking playlist because he wants you to get in the mood 😌 .

probably came up with the special lunch for Daddy Masters™ but gets ticked when he’s asked to cook it because does that man know a schedule ? probably not . [ ‘ we were on a break ! ’ specifically , hanbin2 was on his lunch break . ]

is it true that he threw an iced tea in his ex’s face ? absolutely , and he has no problem admitting it lmao . who was said ex ? i guess we’ll never know [ this a number one champion sound ] .

probably well received around the office but i wouldn’t be surprised if people disliked him . it could be his off putting persona or honestly the simple fact that he’s got a lot of sass and no ass .

headcanons.

you can read a full list of headcanons HERE ; below is an abridged version .

has a gyeongsang dialect from living in busan , and honestly . . . that’s hot . so , when he speaks in korean it’s rather strong and aggressive / pitch is vastly different from other parts of korea .

i literally have no idea how to explain his personality other than by using his moral alignment : true neutral . he’s kinda that guy who knows everything but won’t tell you that he does ? did he eavesdrop ? maybe , but he won’t tell you that . he’s largely indifferent to a lot of what happens around masters and maybe it’s because he’s been here for half a decade ; he’ll just make sure you drink water if you’re drunk and crying .

a Dog Father™ to a little re: big goldendoodle named duri . he is most definitely judging you and can often be found sunbathing in that solarium .

a very simple man when it comes to his coffee : caffè americano or an espresso macchiato please . and don’t forget the butter croissant !

mostly expressionless . . . like i really have no idea how to explain how he looks at people because i feel that stoic is too harsh of a word . if you wanna know how he feels though , he has extremely expressive eyes .

he won’t admit it but he loves hosting . office potluck ? he’s your guy . having a conference ? he’ll make your snacks . if you’re coming over he’ll make a charcuterie board and will lie saying he made it with some stuff he had on hand ( but that’s a lie , he went to the grocery store and obsessed over it for a solid three hours ) .

finds joy in the mundane . some people might think he’s weird because he loves grocery shopping , and heavily judges people’s carts because processed food ? yuck ! he won’t say that to your face though he’ll just be like ‘ are you sure you wanna buy that ? ’ and will sneakily replace your frozen pizza with pizza ingredients hehe .

that being said don’t take him grocery shopping with you NFUDNSFDS . he gets ticked about food waste , and those who don’t use reusable bags . probably has a lil garden at his place and composts ! is angry about people calling a chunk of cauliflower a steak ( in other words , don’t to it ) !

wanted connections.

DISCLAIMER : i will not be plotting anything romantic with characters under the age of twenty - five due to his age !

ONE TRUE LOVE : this is open to literally anyone , preferably like , 28 to 30 but we can talk details . truly , they’re his one true love as the title states , and i like to believe that they were a really happy couple who had a meet - cute . they moved in together and things were great , but they broke up when they felt a mutual dissolve in their relationship . that being said , they’re good friends now !

BEST FRIEND : who wouldn’t love a best friend . basically , they get along well , and they are used to sung’s non - verbal communication NVJCNXJV . it’d be really fun if they had totally different personalities but somehow they managed to click . TAKEN BY GRIFFIN OLSON .

TASTE TESTER : someone who he calls on to often try his food at the office . they possibly will appear in his videos on masters’ youtube channel , so i think a relationship based around food would be really fun ! TAKEN BY KENNEDY CRAWFORD / SORAYA HATHAWAY .

HORN DOGS ( DEROGATORY ) : i have no other name for this plot but i’m thinking two people who cannot keep their hands off of one another . i’m talking sneaky touches in the elevator , secret hook ups in the seventh floor bathroom , quick makeouts and nearly getting caught . bonus points if people around the office don’t believe they’re Banging™ because their personalities are so different .

CRUSH : also known as , someone having a crush on him , but he sees them as a friend ( or even worse , like a younger sibling ) . TAKEN BY AYLIN SAHIN .

PLATONIC SOULMATE : best friends , but make it sentimental . they are thicker than thieves , get on each other’s nerves , but they don’t know what they’d do without the other . finish each other’s sentences ( and sandwiches . sung will finish it ) and are borderline like an old married couple with the way they act .

that’s all i got now but i’ve reblogged some posts that can be found HERE and i’m down to fill any wcs that you may have as well !

#masters.intro #this is really long MVJCNXVC sorry ya'll

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androgynousblackbox · 3 years

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The anon tries to listen to POC, but often there's an extreme distance between how their Asian colleagues interpret a piece of media and how it's interpreted by American diasporas. For example, Asian friends interpreted the anarchist themes of Joker and praised the film, while the American fans focused on the fandom grown around the character and the "white characters get away with murder, Black characters don't get away with shouting" epidemic in American fandom and hated the idea of it. (1/2)

Anon observed similar situation with Shadow and Bone fans - Asian fans disliked how the racism subplot was executed, while American fans loved how the canonical couple is between two Asians (both actors are mixed & none of them is American, but fans neveral talk about the nuances). The anon's Russian self can't help but laugh at the Russianess being little more than poorly applied decorations in the setting. Of course, they're generalising, but those are the trends they observed happening. (2/3)

So, there's this. In Russia, Japanese teachers teach students how to wear a kimono properly and how to perform a tea ceremony while many Japanese Americans hate the idea of foreigners doing it. In several Asian countries, Joker became the face of rebellion while many Asian Americans see him as face of far right. Shadow and Bone has many Asian American fans, but the series is seen as clumsy at best by many Asian and Russian viewers. What do you think takes priority? (3/4)

The anon cannot write reasonably short, for which they are sorry! They remembered an earlier discussion about how Captive Prince is anti-Black and arguments like "it's not chattel slavery and the characters are not Black" are sealioning. But the story is written by an Australian and rooted in Australian understanding of race (the author is of the same raciallized ethnic group as the protagonist). The anon, who knows USA realities only from social media and fanfics, is really worried. (4/4)

Okay, this is a lot and before saying anything, I think is fair for me to say that I am nothing but a white latino on the internet trying to navigate english speaking fandom so there's only so much I can even say at all because my own knowledge is limited. I try to educate myself whenever possible but there's stuff I still have yet to learn. Having said that, yes, discourse such as any of these are always going to be vastly different from one culture to another because any form of racism is always intrinsically tied to the culture of the place where it happens. This is not to say that there aren't universal forms of racism, like how darker skin is generally considered less attractive or desirable on many places (including Latinamérica), but a lot of it is related back to the history of each country and whatever relationship they have to any particular race. The issue you mentioned of cultural appropiation is a very american one because america reunites so many people from so many different cultures that want to be seen and respected like everyone else. Again, not to say that it's not an issue on other places, but the way the discourse is handled and talked about is very much an american because of the way America is at the center of so many discourses and also the history of America dealing with different cultures, which is to say, not good. Anti-asian racism is a very well and alive thing right now that has resulted on hate crimes against asian just trying to live their lives, promoted and kept alive by even people in power who don't care about what happens to them. Imagine how terrible it is to hear a ex-president of America blame you, your family, your country, everyone who just looks like you, because of a disease that is killing other people. Your culture gets mocked, you get told cruel jokes about the food you eat, about your broken english, get questioned about stuff you had nothing to do with... and the same people who do that, then turn around and are using that same culture they treated less for to make themselves look cooler and trendy? And that doesn't translate at all in you being treated any less shitty, it just means that any meaning your culture had before is reduced to pretty things for other people to use and then forget about the moment other pretty thing caughts their attentions. Wouldn't that make you feel like shit? When asian american or black american or native americans talk about cultural appropiation, it's not about just saying that you can't do this or that because they are meanies who don't want to share their fun pretty things. It's about asking people to please reflect in why it's only cool when others do it but they don't, in how it feels insulting to see things that have a cultural significance to you reduced to a gimmick like any other, on asking why their fun pretty things can't be enjoyed by them and get mocked, insulted and ignored when they tried to do so. Sometimes it also means literally taking away business from communities that needs them without any recognition or payment. I have no clue about the history of Russia with Japan specifically, but if it's a Japanese person the one chosing to share that element of their culture with other people who, I assume, respect it and want to learn about, then that sounds like cultural appreciation for me and it's not at all what anyone in America is talking about when they talk about appreciation. Using a kimono and serving tea on a traditional way is a neutral act that only gains significance because of environment where it happens. About everything else... it's complicated and I am 100% with you when you say that it's very difficult to navigate as a non american don't wanting to come across as insensitive or uneducated or a full blown ass without meaning to. Unfortunately for us, the online discourse is not especially gentle for anyone who doesn't know everything American related and all the intrincated race relations on a first moment. I know this is especially hard for asian fans when americans ones want to insert their own

intepretations into their works just to make it look worse. I get it, because people say "listen to POC" but that really doesn't tell you shit of WHAT to listen for and how to understand when different cultural perspectives clashes with each other, which is almost entirely inevitable because we all come with our own cultural baggage. And even between two black americans or two asian people from the same asian country you could have vastly different opinions about the exact same topic because of them prefer to concentrate on different aspects of it. I guess the best thing to do is... do try to know what people are saying. If these group of people are saying this show is this or that, try to come to understand why they say it. And if other group is saying otherwise, listen to why. Sometimes you don't need to interject at all, sometimes your own opinion is not really needed, but at least try to see where everyone is coming from and realize that everything is an ongoing conversation where nothing is set in stone forever, especially when you account for reclamation, parody and other things that influence the way we percieve anything. Ask questions if you are confused, because you are going to be confused a lot and I am sorry, but that is part of the process. Read books if you need to. Google a lot, but also talk with people, watch videos of people talking about it and, if you want to engage, do it with a mentality of wanting to learn and understand. I hope any of this can be helpful at all. If not, I am sorry. I am still trying to figure out things myself.

#long post #racism mention

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theblackbirdsgemimagines · 4 years

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May I request for the Leona, Vil, Azul and our boy Jack getting stuck in their MC's world and their experience? (MC is with them)

Oh sweet Jesus akdhakdhsk FORGIVE ME OF MY RATHER CYNICAL OUTLOOK ON OUR LIL BLUE PLANET 😬 I think it’s understandable to be more cynical than ever in this Hell Year, lolll

Send these poor, sweet babies back home, they deserve better than to be stuck here of all places 😅 ESPECIALLY JACK AAAAAA SAVE THE BABY 💔

Ok, not even going to play with you... Vil would thrive, lol.

Just give him time enough to stop panicking over all his lost clothes, magic, etc., and find new things that works for him and his detailed self-care routine, and whatever he chooses to do, he will make Fat Stacks in.

He’s the male version of Belle Delphine, here ajdhakdhsj

He appears anywhere, on tv with some company to continue his performer career he had back home, or on youtube/instagram, and he is almost immediately just as famous here as he was in Wonderland.

Can we really blame anyone, tho? Look at him.

And there’s no Neige here!

Also, ‘my’ Vil is definitely the one that knows there are many different ways to be beautiful~. He may be a bit more blunt to his friends if he thinks they’re not quite hitting the usual mark their talents place them in. But that’s only because he cares about them, and wants everyone to see their best, as he does~. He’s an absolutely encouraging sweetheart to anyone else/a beginner at whatever their passion is, though~. And either way, he’s your best cheerleader~.

Of course he still just doesn’t feel himself without his magic, or ability to do potions. I don’t think he’d find the witchcraft in our world would suit him very well.

If he was really stuck for good, of course he’d make the best of it. But if he could go home, especially if you wanted to go back with him, he’d jump at the chance. And always be on the lookout for the chance.

But that being said, I think, aside from all the world’s problems, of course, he’d find it interesting just how similar, and vastly different, things are here.

He donates Ass Loads to so many charities, like honestly.

Rich boy knows his privilege, and lets others ride off his advantages as much as he can. 💜

He becomes friends with James Charles. You know he does.

You can’t be truly fully beautiful if you’re not also lovely on the inside, too, after all~!

Rip Rook wherver he is, he is lost without his Queen 😔

Gosh, in direct contrast to Vil, Leona probably suffers the most over here?? Jahdkshdj

I know they based his sleep habits off a irl lion, but that also sounds just a Tad Bit like possible depression to me (along with a lot of the other ways he’s behaved so far, lol).

Get this sweetheart to some therapy, maybe?? Help him get a lil energy boost at least to help him feel better 💛

He’s going to HATE the work pace people have to maintain just to eat here, 100%.

He enjoys the entertainment the most, though~. Video games, things you can watch online, all those sorts of things~. Might like a few of our sports, too~.

Poor bby struggles with having to work, though, please help him 💔

At least he doesn’t have to live under being Forever Prince, here, and doesn’t have to worry about turning anything he touches to sand. And the lions in the zoos are pretty cool to go see~!

He’d probably love it if he could go to Africa and see what our “Afterglow Savannah” looks like here~. Meet the lions that are in the wild~.

I imagine he and Jack would both lose the ears for human ones, and the tails, too. (😢💔) So he probably feels weird seeing himself like that, and might miss his tail. Especially if it helped him with balance. Give him some time to adjust to it~. There’s these neat new tails people made for cosplay, that can move around on their own, if he’d like one to help him not miss his old one so much~!

I had to really think about what the heck he’d even do for a job, cause he’s so grumpy to everyone, retail’s just OUT, lol. And I don’t think he’d be that great at something like youtube, either ajdhsjjd

It’s hard for him to not just lay around all lazy, rather than think of stuff to do for it/actually get up and go do it. Let alone all the meetings, and interacting with fans, and the like.

So maybe actually being one of the zookeepers would be a good fit for him~. He’d be obligated to actually go, and he’d get to be around lots of different animals~. Might help him feel more at home, too~. I think he’d be pretty good at it, and the animals would probably be drawn to him~ 💛

He’d also absolutely challenge the authority here (or anywhere else that has appalling governments, especially if they’re not run by women). The state of things, and the way women and minorities are treated by white men around the world, and men in general, would absolutely appall him. He so drunk on that respecc women juice, he just can’t wrap his head around what the hell the problem is with those rich assholes in power. Put him in power, and he’ll ruthlessly show them what-for! ALL the others behind him would be women! Good grief, humans!

All in all, he doesn’t mind it here, but would also prefer to be home, where he can sleep more, and Ruggie can run around for him most of the time, lol

Besides, that allowed him to spend more time with you~! 💛

(LOOKIT THAT HAPPY BOY SMILE!!! I’M DEAD 💞💞💞)

Oh, Jack. Sweet, sweet Jack.

He absolutely becomes a personal trainer as a job, here. 1000%. He lives that Exercise Junkie Lifestyle, there’s just no doubt about it.

He’s VERY encouraging to his students, though~! Build up that beef, guys, he has total faith in you~! 🤍🤍

He absolutely loooooooves going anywhere to see wolves. He’d probably really love the wooded mountains in Europe, if you ended up there, or in Oregon/Washington if you ended up here in America~. Definitely Canada, or Alaska, too~! Just give him huge trees, snowy winters, and nearby mountains, and he feels right at home~.

Idk if he’d miss his magic a whole heck of a lot, tbh?? But he WOULD miss his friends and family! It’s just not quite the same here, though he thinks it’s beautiful and interesting to see where you came from~. 🤍

He’s a good boy 😭

Also appalled with the state of so many rulers and governings both in your home, and around most of the world, lol.

He can’t stand seeing so many people suffer like that! How can they possibly live the life that’s the most healthy and happy for them to live, disabled, chronically ill, or not, if they’re suffering under an iron fist all the time?!

He CAN’T stand for it. You won’t stop him till he sees good change starting to finally happen. Especially if you live here! There’s no way he can just sit around and have you be subjected to that!

HE’S A GOOD BOY 😭

You gotta calm him down a lot and remind him there are others just as good and kind as he is, fighting to change things too 🤍

God help people if he gets here anytime within 2020-2021. He’s sucker punching nearly everyone he sees without a mask.

He’s also sucker punching every nazi he sees, too.

My goodness, please show him the movie Wolf Children! He’ll hide the fact he’s crying multiple times through it, but it’s one of his favorite movies here~.

If you do manage to go back to Wonderland, please try to bring a copy of it with you. It’s the one thing he’ll miss most, and keep asking to watch with you again, before remembering it doesn’t exist there. 😭

He also misses his tail and ears a lot. Losing all of that + his senses would be very a very awkward adjustment for him, and he wouldn’t really like it poor bby 💔 Give him lots of hugs to compensate U-U 🤍

His favorite thing to do with you would probably be to go hiking, and stay in a little cabin in the woods, for a week or two~. Somewhere in one of the previously mentioned places~.

(I couldn’t find a chibi gif of Azul to use, rip 😭)

Azul is just straight up becoming a mafia boss, probably wkdhakdjjs.

He’s the ‘good’ kind, though. He’s learned his lesson since his overblot, and he won’t outright kill people for not paying him back, or introduce drugs, or anything like that.

He’ll help people obtain what they want as legally as possible... But that doesn’t mean he still won’t be sly as hell about it, haha~.

He’ll protect loyal/good customers and the areas they live in, too~. In fact, he’d probably reDUCE crime from doing so.

He just learns all the dirty ins and outs of everything about how things run here. And as much as he’ll fight for change as the others would, because there’s no way any of that is an acceptable way for you to live, he’ll work dirty in order to take advantage of the system, to do so. What better way, right? Make the dominos fall from the inside out.

He’s a good business man, he knows doing so would also benefit him, too.

He’s like Bruce Wayne if Bruce Wayne was a rich mafia leader jeehskdje

Need health benefits to work for him? Covered. Need above-average pay to actually afford your bills and other stuff? Covered. Need education to do a job for him? They’ll train you.

He’s also practically a Gordon Ramsey, tbh. Lots of his bars will pop up across the world, if he stays here long enough, lol. But they’ll all help a good number of people, in doing so~.

He also donates as much as he can, too. If he’s gonna become even a fraction as rich as Jeff Bozos, he’s ending world hunger and homelessness every year.

And boy oh BOY will he swindle the rich akdhakdhwj

He will whip them so hard, they won’t know what the hell hit them.

He may have been under restrictions at the college, but he sure as hell isn’t here. Watch out as he spreads his tentacles wings.

And, of course, he adores being anywhere near the coast. Doesn’t matter what part of the world you’re in, he just needs to be by the sea.

All the polution absolutely breaks his sweet little heart, and that’s one of the first things on his list to fix. Dealing with trash back home was much easier... you could just zap it all away at big trash fields. But you don’t have that luxury here.

Being that he doesn’t really like his ocotpus form (bbyyyyyy 😢💔), he probably doesn’t mind the permanent legs. At least he doesn’t have to constantly take a potion to keep them, anymore.

But it’s still awkward to get used to. And he can’t stand that he can’t breathe underwater anymore, or go too far down without dying from the pressure.

He’ll dive as often as he can~. And loves to dive, or snorkle, or just swim~, with you, if you want to join him~.

He does miss his home, if only for the beauty and familiarity it had, despite a lot of bad memories around it. But there’s no doubt he’d thrive here, in a way only he could~.

He totally believes your own version of mermaids exists, and gets excited over anything that could prove it to be true 😅

Plus, he’s just obsessed with how marine life works here in general~. If he can juggle being a freakin maffia boss, and a marine biologist just out of the pure love for it, I have no doubt he’d do it~.

Humans most likely evolved from creatures in the water?? That’s amazing~! So the ocean feels like a distant memory of a second home~! He’d love to bond over that, the romantic~ 💜

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #jack howl #azul ashengrotto #twst leona #twst vil #twst jack #twst azul #sweet anon #answered #BLESS FOR THE ASK MY FRIEND I HOPE YOU LIKE THESE THOUGHTS OF MINE~! 💞💞💞

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kyanitedragon · 4 years

Text

Rules: Pick 5 shows then answer the questions given. Don’t cheat! Then tag some people.

Tagged by @thefandomsurfer. This was a lot of fun, thanks for the tag!

I choose:

Tokyo Ghoul

Noragami

Steven Universe

Blue Exorcist

Digimon

Questions & answers under the cut because they’re pretty long.

I tag @transtsumiki, @liquidlikecats, @as21-7, @rolaplayor101, @wish-ful-thinking513, @skwydd, @origami10, and anyone else who wants to do it!

Who is your favorite character in 2?

Bishamon! She’s a tough female character who also has a deep caring side.

Who is your least favorite character in 1?

Tokage. He’s the guy that tortured Yamori, caused Suzuya to be blamed for killing animals, and urged Mutsuki into bad coping mechanisms.

What is your favorite episode of 4?

I really like episode 5 of Season 2, for the scene where Rin witnesses Bon and his father fighting. It’s so painful to watch, but so endearing how much Rin cares, and how much he wishes he could undue his final moments with his own father. Rin disregards his own life to make sure that his friend won’t have to live with the same regrets that he does. It’s so frustrating to watch everyone misunderstand his intentions and for him to be blamed. Rin is bad with words, especially in tense situations like this, but he wouldn’t have seriously hurt anyone and he really did have the best intentions in his actions.

What is your favorite season of 5?

My favorite season of Digimon is Zero Two! It was the first season I watched, has my favorite character Ken Ichijouji, and my favorite digimon Flamedramon. It has its flaws, but I liked the concept of having a human kid as the villain and I liked the armor digivolutions. And Ken’s redemption arc and slow-burn friendship with Davis/Daisuke was very well-written!

Who is your favorite couple in 3?

Lapis and Peridot in a queerplatonic relationship! They were my favorite characters, and I was so happy when they became close to each other!

Who is your favorite couple in 2?

Bishamon and Kazuma! They both care so much for each other, and there’s a lot of angst in their stories and relationship.

What is your favorite episode of 1?

Episode 12 of Season 1! It was so well-made! The animation, voice acting, reveals and storytelling were wonderful, as painful as they were. I love when series don’t reveal things until the very end, and I was really intrigued by when they revealed of the details of Kaneki’s torture after being teased in episode 11, and then the full backstory of his rough childhood. All that combined with his drastic personality and mindset change by the end. It was such a great episode.

What is your favorite episode of 5?

My favorite Digimon episode is Episode 21 of Zero Two. Zero Two was the first season of Digimon I watched, and this episode was the first where you get a taste of the real angst of the series. It’s the first Digimon episode I cried over, and what made me so interested in Ken’s character. I was surprised the series could get so dark (especially since I was watching the dub on a kid’s network) but I loved it and it just made me so much more interested in the series.

What is your favorite season of 2?

I like Noragami’s arcs in Season 2 better than Season 1’s. You finally get the backstory of Bishamon, Yato, and Kazuma, and you start to get hints of Yato’s past, after being hinted and teased all of Season 1.

How long ago have you watched 1?

It’s been a couple months. I was in the middle of showing it to my friends when the Self-Quarantine happened.

How did you become interested in 3?

It was a combination of things. I had heard Steven Universe was similar to Gravity Falls, which at the time was still airing and I was very into. I had heard many good things about the LGBTQ representation. And a friend of mine had watched it and also recommended it.

Who is your favorite actor in 4?

Rin Okumura’s voice actor, Nobuhiko Okamoto! His voice as Rin is precious, and I’ve heard him play all different kinds of personalities in other series. He’s very talented!

Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5?

They’re vastly different genres so it depends on my mood, but at the moment, I’m most into Noragami of these 3. It’s the one I rewatched most recently, and we just had a manga update a few days ago.

Which show have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3?

I’ve seen all episodes of both, but Steven Universe has way more episodes than Tokyo Ghoul does.

If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be?

I guess Bon? He has a sweet family and a lot of close friends that look out for him.

Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work?

I can’t really think of any good ways to make them crossover. Blue Exorcist is about fighting demons and Satan, and Steven Universe is about gay aliens.

Overall, which show has the better story line, 3 or 5?

As far as coherent story goes, Steven Universe has a better story because Digimon series tend to have several plotholes. But as far as personal preferences go, I prefer Digimon’s storylines of kids learning to work with their platonic soulmates and the power of human emotion.

Which has better theme music, 2 or 4?

As much as I love Blue Exorcist’s In My World, I’m going to have to say Noragami has better OPs.

#tagged #tag games

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kibfpatiyxparagpsiqa · 5 years

Text

right. added that, and it’s literally just completely done now.

enjoy.

Danny has to admit, it's fun to hang around as Phantom. Even if it gives people opportunity to shoot at him, walking places just doesn't have the same feel as flying. And it doesn't get everyone to shoot at him. A lot of citizens, young ones especially, just think he's pretty cool. When he isn't invisible, they're the ones most likely to try to talk to him. And unlike, say, the ones who yell, Danny's willing to have a conversation. "Yo, Danny Phantom!" And Danny's over there in seconds, his legs quickly reforming as he stands before them. "Hey."

The person who'd called seems suddenly less willing to talk. Danny's used to people being afraid by now, though it's still weird, but even weirder is the times like now when they aren't afraid but starstruck. Someone else wearing a bandanna around their neck picks up. "Hi. Our friend's in the hospital right now." "Sorry." "Nah, you take more hits than all of us combined. But like, she drew you this thing, to thank you, but she didn't think you'd see it. However, Luke here was gonna show you. Luke, phone." Luke, still tongue-tied, unlocks and hands over his phone. The kid scrolls through the photos on the phone. Recently, the people in town are trying to really show their appreciation for Danny. He thinks it might be because of some recent visitors, one of which Danny found out was a ghost, nonhostile guy who still travelled with is friends. The whole group talked about what it's like for ghosts, how recognition and generosity matter. Danny still has their phone number. The kid finds what they're looking for. Danny holds the phone carefully as he looks at the picture. They're admonishing Luke for his terrible folder structures. It's a really sick picture. If Danny were at all willing to risk his cell number getting out, he'd ask them to text it to him. He really likes the particular pose and lighting, and they got his face exactly right, just like a mirror. Well, mirrors half of the time. But the shapes are the same! He grins at Luke while he hands the phone back. "Dude, that's so sweet! Do you like, think she'd let me see the actual physical one?" Luke has found his voice! "Yeah! Terry would actually love that. It's in her art folder, we brought it to the hospital room... not sure when or if you can visit." "Dude, just tell me when. Flag me down sometime, just, yeah. I'll bring my phone, get my own picture." "Awesome." The two other kids with them, at this point, are still messing around, but noticeably less than they were before he came over. When one notices he might leave, they walk over, and the last friend follows. "Uh, Phantom?" "Yeah?" "Can I get a picture of your logo?" "Sure. Why?" The kid swipes open their phone and he stands on the ground in front of them while they snap a photo. "D, P, oh. Never seen it this close before. Right, I'm making a collage of superheroes, and I thought, wait. I should add a real superhero who lives here! Any preference on who you're next to?" "Depends. Marvel or DC?" "More obscure heroes from both." Danny thinks about it. It's been a while since he's thought about this much. Real superheroics have kind of monopolized his focus for a while now. "Hmm. You got Captain Marvel on there?" "Yeah I do! I mean, she shouldn't be obscure. That's kind of the theme here. Too underrated." Danny nods. "These poor unfortunate souls. But yeah, I love the space origins." "Ha, what planet are you from?" "Not a planet... Aliens are cool, but there's a portal to an actual other dimension in your hometown, which is equally cool and also real." The kid can't refute that. His friend, bored, tries to throw an orange slice at him. He misses, but Danny catches it in his mouth. The formerly-bored friend turns out to be a vicious meanie. "You just can't dodge anything, can you. Are you always trying to eat what your enemies throw at you?" Danny is hurt, truly. He puts his hand over his heart and makes his best wide-eyed expression of sorrow. "Gasp. After all I do for you specifically, eating all those explosive blasts before you can, this is the thanks I get. Throw an orange at yourself, why don't you. Maybe you should practice dodging." The kid throws a whole orange this time, which Danny catches in his hand before peeling. "Oh, delicious inciendiary pain." He debates trying to hit himself in the chest and just grow another mouth there, before realizing that's horrifying. He just eats more orange slices. "So like. Ghosts can eat?" The kid with the bandanna seems curious. Danny shrugs. "I don't know. Ghosts can at least taste." He really doesn't know. Danny isn't quite a ghost. "Do you like to?" "Don't get the chance much. But sure, rather taste sweeter stuff than active plasma." He shoots a look at the orange kid, who has an orange in each hand now. Is that why their pockets are so full? They throw the oranges fast enough he reflexively goes intangible. He hears them hit the road behind him, then salutes the other kids and takes his leave. -----(can anybody tell me how to add lines proper?) It's gotten out really quickly that ghosts can eat. Not a lot of incidents involving that have happened, so Danny blames the sudden awareness everybody has of that on the internet. And a couple people are spreading the word that offerings to spirits are appreciated greatly, Danny's pretty sure those people also follow the web log of those paranormal investigators with the ghost. People have started asking if he'd like to share food they have on hand. Danny feels awkward, because he does already eat food at his own house, because he is alive. But then, the people might do that anyways if they knew that? They're trying to show their appreciation. And it's not like he couldn't just avoid their offers if he wanted, easily! Nobody's exactly chasing him down for this, just asking, when they have opportunities. He really does appreciate it too. Most everything tastes better when it's from someone whose life you've saved, or their wellbeing or family member or just their car. So Danny does usually accept whenever people offer to buy him things, or share what they have. Sure, he eats at home, but then sometimes he's pulled away before he can eat breakfast, or dinner, or anything. When people approach him at those times, he really doesn't even want to argue. So he doesn't.

Some of his older fans make similar offerings, but from meals they made through their own efforts. Those ones are also sweet. He's heard of the taste of victory, but the taste of gratitude is great. Danny likes knowing that people appreciate what he does, however they show it, and this is more convenient than all the cards he has in a locked box in his mattress, along with the other gifts, which he finds harder and harder to hide. He vastly appreciates the art, but his parents wouldn't really get this interest as anything other than suspicious. So the food is a welcome gift, even if returning containers to the right people can be difficult. He likes the sweets, but he actually likes salty things better, and after someone asks him about preferences a lot of people get interested. It's not a large percentage of the population, more those who especially like him and who are interested in cooking and baking, but a lot more people are starting conversations with him as Phantom than ever did before. He feels more appreciated. Some people yell at him because they dislike him, but gifts like these feel more tangible, like they outweigh that, even if people already cheered for him. And again, really convenient if he misses his planned meals. Danny's a fan. ------- Rhys is popping gum across the table while Jill continues talking about the annoyance of spices. Blah blah why does everyone use like no spices blah. Benjamin's late again, but as he dashes in and skids into the booth, the mess that is his clothes says it was probably under extenuating circumstances. "Did you forget your backpack?" Rhys swirls their drink with their straw. "Oh, oh crud it's probably still under there." He puts his head in his hands, and Jill pats his head in sympathy for whatever happened. "It must not have phased with me..." Jill shifts her legs like the restless shark she is. "Phased? There was an attack?" "Seems reasonable. Sure, it wasn't on the news, but at this point that's no surprise. There's barely a consensus on how many there are in a week, but too many to fit with regular news." Rhys sticks their gum to an empty wrapper. "But yeah. Why were you getting phased through anything, Benj?" "Um. Phantom. He saved me, I was caught in a collapse, a building was just. Fell." "Shit Benj, are you okay?" Jill's holding onto Benjamin now, like to keep him safe. "You didn't have to come here, do you need medical attention?" Benjamin shakes his head. "It wasn't dangerous! Just, dusty, and I couldn't get out. I'm glad Phantom heard me, though, my mobile wasn't working." "You sure you're okay Benny?" "Yeah. I think my clothes have it worse than I do. And my poor backpack." "F." Rhys leans against the wall, stretching their feet across the booth's bench. "This probably doesn't do you much of a favor in the long run, though. I mean, you thought that crush was bad before? Phantom just carried you out of a building. Tell me, Benj, did he take you by the hand, was it bridal-style?" "Hey Rhys? Shut up in those blue jeans." "Shut up in those blue jorts." Jill cracks a grin. "Shut up 'cause it's blue Jill." They do a mock-bow toward Jill, before Benjamin keeps talking. "All jokes aside, I really wanna thank him somehow. Uh, Phantom. Do you guys have any ideas? Because I don't think my skills in the area of writing are gonna be much help." "Au contraire Benj, I'm sure it'll be excellent help impressing your new boyfriend." "Shut up, I mean it." Jill looks at Rhys, and Rhys shuts up. "Uh, a bunch of people are like giving him food... Do you think he'd appreciate that? I could help, I kind of want to, you're my friend and I'm glad he saved you." She goes very quiet, like she already thinks it was stupid to even suggest. Rhys shrugs, but is smiling. "Sure, if you think he'll have your taste in extra-spicy." "Okay, I am NOT saying that everything needs to fucking BURN, but SOME PEOPLE are WEAK, and spices are meant to be USED and not in INFINITESIMALS," "Come on Rhys he's a ghost, we could probably put tylotoxin in it and he'd thank us. He'd thank us anyway, because Jill is fantastic at this and her idea was excellent." "Oh, cool. Thanks." Rhys shoots up, their face lighting up. "Oh my god, dudes, we should so totally actually do that though." "UH, it was just an example," "I'm not sure where we would get tylo," Rhys hits their hands on the table. "No, guys. He loves jokes, he loves MORBID jokes, he IS a ghost and he'd totally survive it! And again, he'd think it was so funny. All Benji's idea, of course. I'm so proud of you I could die." "Are you sure it won't do anything?" "I mean, he gets tossed around all the time and heals up quick. And this is *poison*, the type that works on *humans*. And if you're so unsure we can add a non-fatal amount, just in case he wants a kiss after." Benjamin nods slowly. Jill is already on board. "Alright but really, where are we going to get tylotoxin?"

---------- Danny had been liking the recent trend of tangible appreciation, but. Damn it all. He didn't have much right to feel betrayed, since he'd let his guard down. Nobody could have done this before anyway. He'd practically enabled them. He was still feeling pretty freaking angry at whoever had poisoned him. He doesn't know exactly who that was, though, since he's not sure when exactly they did it. -- The night he noticed it, he was just going home in the evening. It had a good chance to be one of those nights with no attacks to present issues, especially given that it was summer. He was walking instead of flying home, mainly out of preference, but started feeling tired enough to change his mind. After getting home and landing in his room, he was all prepared to wait another hour or so for ghostly latecomers, and yet so very, very ready to go to sleep. As soon as he turned human, though, he abruptly doubled over. It was a very abrupt, intense pain, and although he managed to get up when the shock wore off, it showed no signs of lessening. He pushed his shoes off and lied on his bed, grabbing for his phone. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. As he dialed for Tucker, he tried to think about the most recent attack, or the one before that. He didn't remember any wounds. Could it have been poison? "Danny, what's up." "Tucker, hey, uh." Tucker was already sighing over the phone. "You have a problem then?" "Don't know what would give you that idea..." "You always do this, man." His tone made it sound like Danny should know what exactly "this" was. "Besides, I'd hope you aren't calling about anything that could wait at this hour." "Okay fine. ...This hurts, like, a lot." Danny felt very tired, now, and his attempts to sit up weren't doing so hot. "Shit, man. What happened?" "I don't know. I think it's poison, some kind. Started hurting when I got home... When I was human." "What? That's not... Hmmm." Tucker sets his phone down. Probably checking something-or-other. Danny was feeling worse by the second. It hurt a lot, and it hit him that he might want to leave his house. He didn't think he could make it through an interaction with anyone here. Of course, he also felt like he didn't have the energy to get up and leave. Man, at least he wasn't throwing up. But now his head was hurting, and he curled up trying not to make a sound. He noticed he was clutching his phone now, hard, and lightened up before it could crack. Did Tucker say something? Shit, could poison do that? Concussions did that, was it a headache thing? "Uhhhh I wanna go. Your place? Sam's place, going there cool." Danny flipped his phone shut in and instant and slipped into a ghostly form before he even checked the door. Remembering that one second later, he zipped his head around to find it was fortunately shut, with no sign that anyone else at home had seen him. His thoughts already felt clearer, and the pain felt much more muted. Now, being Phantom dulled most of the pain, though there was still an ache in his stomach. Did that mean it was poison he ingested? Who'd have done that? He's still not sure. After flying to Sam's place, he discovered that she was on a video call with Tucker. He's really glad he can count on them. "Sam. Tucker. Sorry Tucker, actually. I don't think I was thinking clearly." He sat on the bed, which appeared to be different than the last he saw. Change of scenery, he guessed. "It doesn't hurt so much now, and I can think. It's mostly hurting my stomach now, actually. Did I eat poison?" Sam got him to lie down on her bed, which felt pretty weird considering he was still wearing boots. But he sat up to look at Tucker on the screen, who was talking about what they knew. "Most of your enemies don't use poison. And yeah, Skulker shows up a lot, but he's an outlier, and it's been a while since he was here anyway." "Yeah, 'cause we /totaled/ his suit last time." Danny grinned, and for a brief second so did Tucker. Then he got back to it. "Most poisons wouldn't take that long to affect someone, without /some/ sign. Nothing?" Sam nodded as Tucker spoke, probably out of further poison knowledge. Danny didn't think so. Skulker was about a week or two ago, by now? "No. I mean, I felt tired before flying home, but that was still only today." Sam jumped on his words. "Like, abnormally tired? Is this another symptom?" "It could be. I think it also stopped when I went ghost, too, so there's another point." They listened to Tucker adding that detail to his notes, before Sam looked out the window, furrowing her brow. "The thing is, it's obviously a human poison, if that's true. Which could still be a ghostly enemy, but if you can get out of it so easily then what's the point? Especially since other stuff, like sickness, leaves quicker, when your temperature doesn't already repel them." Danny frowned. "Did someone try to poison me? Human me? Why would someone do that?" "I don't know! Who'd hate you enough for that, most people just don't really care! The only person who comes to mind is Vlad, which seems unlikely." "Yeah, pretty sure he still needs me alive for some reason or another." Even with the cloning efforts, Danny 1.0 wasn't obsolete yet. Sam walked to the other side of the room, to a table. It was a very small table, but as Sam lifted the edge of the long tablecloth, she grabbed a large bag from beneath. She returned with this in hand, her first-aid kit showing from within. "We're hoping it will help if we can tell what kind of poison it is. Might at least give us an idea of where to look." Danny grimaced, but nodded. "Yeah okay, alright, should probably switch back for that? Yeah." Before his friends could protest, he flipped forms to his human self. Danny immediately was forced to lie completely down, without the energy to continue sitting. "Urrrrrr." The pain hit once more at the same time. Was it worse than before? He closed his eyes tightly. "Danny! Damn it. Okay, his breathing is really fast." As she turned toward him, her voice sounded louder. He tried to focus on what she said. "We'll try to get through this quickly, but just turn back if you need to, alright?" He didn't respond. "Alright, temperature. Tucker, you're recording all this, yeah?" After Tucker presumably confirmed, Danny felt something press across his forehead. "Oh, man. Feels way too warm. I'm not liking this..." Tucker's voice from behind Sam said something Danny couldn't make out. It was probably bad. "Okay," Sam said, and Danny couldn't hear the rest. Then something poked his arm, right on the wrist. He opened his eyes, to find he was in Sam's room. She was holding his hand, and he wanted to ask about that, but he couldn't seem to. She seemed to be getting upset about something. He closed his eyes again. It felt like only a second before he managed to open them again. He tilted his head to the side to see what was up, but there was a curtain in the way. Apparently Sam's new bed had curtains on it. He moved to shift them out of the way, and found Sam sitting at her computer, frowning. "Hey, I think the poison went away. It doesn't hurt anymore." She turned around in her chair with wide eyes, before remembering he was weird and partially relaxing. "Are you sure, Danny? That was fast." "I'm thinking pretty clearly, so yeah. Not sure I remember all of that, but yeah." Sam seemed skeptical. "How did you just get the poison out of your body?" Danny shrugged. "Ghost stuff? I dunno, I'm willing to blame it on my good old fighting /spirit/." He smiled at her, but she didn't seem convinced. "Let me try something." Sam got up and walked to stand by where he was lying. "I'm not so sure it's over, but this should test whether it's done." Before Danny could say a word, she'd grabbed his arm and given it a scratch with her nails. "Hey!" he had to shout, touching where she'd clawed. Looking at it, it wasn't bleeding, but some skin was torn. Then Danny realized it didn't hurt. Sam looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? Probably not quite over, then. Besides, you were only out for a few minutes after your heart stopped, and I doubt all of the poison left your system in that time." "Guess it hasn't given up the ghost, then. But I won't either. I must be thinking with my core right now, which explains why I'm not feeling it. I hope it gets out soon, or else it's going to suck when my brain comes back online. Or worse, my nerves." It did get worse. Even despite the fact he didn't feel the tiredness as a ghost, he couldn't manage to get anything done, since at any point another function, with its associated pain sensors, could come back. He had to stay at Sam's the whole week, and as his human form started working with the rest again, even getting to a different room of the house was an effort. Worse still was when his brain activity did return, and he wished it didn't, because this time it didn't stop his heart. He just had to stay that way, in extreme pain, waiting for it to be over and getting annoyed by how hard it was to focus on anything. By the end of it, he was outright wishing for another illness or poison he could just vomit out. ------- He still doesn't know who did it. Not exactly. But he's figured it out. It must have been someone who gave him food. It must have been someone who doesn't know human poison doesn't work on ghosts, because anyone who knows he's a halfa is unlikely to be involved. And now he's just cursing himself for trusting anybody like that. The worst week of his life, that must have been. After all, the second worst week featured a /fast/ and painful death. ------- Luke's been trying to get Phantom's attention again for ages now, with Terry out of the hospital. After disappearing, the hero has been more reclusive, less willing to talk to people. He hasn't been accepting gifts, anymore, but he'd said he'd like to see Terry's work! His friends eventually convince him to give it up. Phantom doesn't want to talk, right now. ------- What happened to Phantom? He's shown a definite change in behaviour, talking less to civilians. He's declined all offerings since his disappearance. The first time he was seen in a week, he moved differently, almost as if he hadn't moved in a while. Hypothesis: He's been trapped within some place in the Ghost Zone, immobile, and interdimensional time dilation made it a longer stay than we've experienced. He's having trouble acclimating back to Amity. ------- They haven't talked about what they did. Not while Phantom stayed out of commission, the whole week. And not for another week, as the fallout of whatever happened became clear. As it became clear the blame was on them. But Benjamin's guilty conscience wouldn't let him keep silent forever, even if he was afraid to say it very loud. "I wish I hadn't gone to that stupid first-person workshop. Wish we hadn't gotten attacked, and I wish he never freaking pulled me out." He glares into his cup. "Benny, it's not your fault." Jill says, probably about to say something 'helpful'. But Benjamin starts first, and it might not /help/ but it feels just a bit better to blame someone else. "Of course not, I'm not the one who thought it was a /good/ idea to poison a hero." Rhys, previously silent, meets every challenge at equal measure. "Oh, yeah, because it was so stupid. I was totally right, if any one of us /bothered/ to check whether poison affects stupid ghosts. Or said something! You could have /told/ your little boyfriend the secret ingredient wasn't exactly love. Bet he'd know if this could be excused under 'love & war'." "Like you know one thing about love, you black widow. Do /you/ poison everyone you date? It wasn't my /idea/ to make him sick, I was grateful!" "So was I Benj! I'm so glad you're here with me it hurts, and I just thought surely, someone as dead as I am inside would appreciate a joke, but the joke fell flat. It fucked him up. I fucked up, yeah!" And everything's quiet a minute. Benjamin drinks his odd choice in summer beverage, and finds that it's cooled down some. Jill speaks up, quietly. "I poisoned somebody." Sitting sideways in the booth, she curls in on herself, upset. "Jill, no, it wasn't your idea, it was mine. Rhys lifts their sunglasses off. "I'm the one who actually seriously meant that." "I cook and I poisoned somebody. What am I gonna do?" Benjamin tries to offer her a back pat, but her legs are in the way. He pats her knees instead. "You didn't know it would poison him. You had every reason to think it would be fine." "Isn't there a rule or something that says you're not allowed to cook anymore if you poison somebody?" "That's a negligence thing though. Or incompetence. Definitely doesn't count if we gave you wrong information." Jill sips her drink through the straw, ignoring the whipped cream on top. A bad sign. "I never want to do that again." "What- Jill, you love to cook! You passionately rant about spices and-" "I mean the poisoning." "Oh, yeah, totally. Don't do that." -------- Danny Fenton doesn't know every person in this city, but he feels like he's at least seen most of them. Even if he's never talked to them, he's probably indirectly saved their life at some point. The ones he's least directly saved tend to hate him the most. Yet sometimes, even people he doesn't recognize will show him kindness. Danny likes feeling appreciated, more than even as much shouting as his detractors do can take from him. He'll talk to people again, and not just to save them. He'll trust people again, even if it's hard right now. And maybe, years later, he'll be able to hear the true story and laugh. But for now, Danny needs to think.

#danny phantom #my writing #yo danny fenton he was barely any years old by the time he'd died thrice #it was fucked #go ahead and criticize but i doubt it will help

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havecourage-darling · 6 years

Text

Walking in A Winter Wonderland

A/N: Is it socially acceptable to be excited for the holidays yet? I know everyone stayed for Christmas during PoA but, again, let’s roll with it.

*As a reminder, please note - I’m no longer posting on Tumblr. If you want the continuation of this story, you can find it on AO3 or on my Masterlist.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warning: N/A

Words: ~3.3k

Previous, 5. Missed you | Next, 7. Ireland v. Bulgaria

Masterlist

“Eggnog?” Arthur asked you, pouring some into another glass.

“Oh no.” You made a face. “I’m not fond of eggnog.”

Arthur laughed. “Me neither!” He winked and brought a flask out from his jacket pocket, pouring a hearty amount into his own glass.

“Arthur!” Molly shouted from the living room, head popping out from behind the wall. “I need you to help Percy right the tree. Fred and Ron have managed to tilt it sideways again.”

“Coming darling!” He shot you another wink and you stifled a laugh. Arthur quickly made his way to the living room and Molly rushed back into the kitchen.

You returned to your task at hand and dropped the remaining potatoes into the water. “That should do it,” you said with a smile.

Molly turned to you and frowned. “How many of those did you start?” You glanced at the full stove and shrugged sheepishly.

You’d arrived at The Burrow late last night with your parents, who had taken one step into the Weasley household and promptly became interested in every nook and cranny.

“Dad!” You hissed, embarrassed, when he’d gaped too long at a self-knitting sweater.

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame us,” your mother said, eyeing the Weasley clock with interest.

“A first wizard’s Christmas!” Your father echoed your mother’s excitement.

Unfortunately, Arthur and Molly’s enthusiasm had done little to stop their own curiosity and excitement.

“Just a few,” you assured her, stirring a pot of chili. “Mum and I wanted to make sure we got a few muggle dishes in. We’re sure you’ll love them!”

Your mother came down the stairs, hair up in a bun and huffed. “Sorry sweetheart, I needed to get the last of the presents wrapped. Oh! Molly!” Your mother looked vaguely guilty.

Molly huffed, disapproving expression evident. “I told you three, there was no need for presents! There’s a lot of us! And now you two are trying to cook! I already had to shoo your father from the kitchen!”

“Actually,” you winced. “He’s the one who started on the pies.”

Molly frowned. “That’s it! Out, out!” She pushed you towards the living room. “Go find the others - George was in there pouting, no doubt due to your absence.”

You flushed. “Molly!”

At your cry, she finally smiled. “Don’t they make the loveliest couple?” Molly asked your mother. Who, in turn, nodded with a giant grin.

“The cutest!”

“Mum!”

“Sweetheart, I knew it was inevitable!” She turned to Molly. “A mother always knows. Besides, with some people - it’s just that simple. Look at your father and I!”

“I knew the moment I laid my eyes on the two of them.” Molly waved her wand and the pot continued to stir itself without her assistance. She then turned to your mother excitedly. “Oh! I haven’t heard the story of how you two met!”

“Well, it’s quite a long story really-”

“Oh, I don’t mind!”

Your mother flushed, pleased, and started the story you’d heard a million times. Rolling your eyes, you double checked a few of the pots before disappearing into the living room.

Ginny caught sight of you immediately and grinned. “Mum finally kick you out?”

You huffed and nodded.

“Finally! It started snowing again! Ron and Ginny want to go outside, we were waiting for you.” Hermione stood and handed you your Hufflepuff scarf. “Besides, she only let you stay in there for as long as she did because you’re her favorite daughter-in-law.”

You flushed and elbowed her in the side. “Hermione!”

“There you are!” George came down the stairs and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Thought you’d disappeared on us. What’re you lot talking about?”

Hermione and Ginny snickered as you flushed a deeper red. Giving them each a sharp look you smiled at George and nodded towards the windows. “It’s snowing again and they wanted to go out into the yard.”

“Brilliant!” Fred said, coming down the stairs. “We can hit the gnomes with snowballs.”

Fred and Ron laughed, barely putting their coats on before rushing out the door.

“We’re going out into the yard mum!” Ron yelled out, pulling Harry out the door.

“Be careful! Dinner’ll be ready in an hour!” She yelled back.

You looped your scarf around your neck a few times and patted your coat’s pockets, looking for your mittens. “George, have you seen my-” He pulled them out of his own pocket and you grinned. “Thanks.”

He smiled and tugged on a hat, closing the door behind you.

You grinned, immediately looking up into the darkening sky. Snowflakes clung to your eyelashes and a soft breeze made you shiver.

George’s gloved hand wrapped around your own and you pulled him towards the laughter coming from the backyard. Before you could reach the rest of them, George tugged your hand, pulling you to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, looking up at him. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“I just wanted a moment. Everyone’s had you alone besides me,” George frowned dramatically. “Let’s go for a walk around the fence.”

You beamed at him and nodded. “Sorry, my parents are just a little...excited about our first Christmas together.” You leaned in to whisper. “I think my dad’s already decided he’s never letting your dad out of sight.”

George laughed. “Dad loves your parents, you know how he is with muggles. I think he scared off Hermione’s parents.”

You stifled a laugh and shook your head. “Dad doesn’t scare easily, he married an American. Oh! Which, Hermione needs to get going before dinner - she’s already stayed longer than she should’ve.”

Harry’s laughter drifted over. You turned to the sound and saw Hermione’s hair covered in snow. Fred was bent over in laughter but Ron was pink-faced, trying to brush most of it out.

“Did we act like that?” You whispered to George, despite your distance. “That obvious?”

George straightened to his full height and turned to look over at the two, still standing by the short wall a few meters away. Hermione was bright red now, pushing Ron’s hands away. Harry was making a handful of snowballs while Ginny chucked a flailing gnome over the fence.

“I hope not, but I’d reckon Lee would disagree,” George said.

You laughed lightly, closed your eyes and clasped your gloved hands together. “I can’t believe how much snow you’ve gotten here.” You quickly opened an eye and narrowed it. “Don’t you dare throw a snowball at me Weasley.”

He laughed at you, eyes bright and shook his head. “I promise.”

He tugged you off in the direction of the small tree they had on the edge of their property. You placed a palm onto the bark and smiled as a snowflake landed on your nose.

“I love the snow - I love Christmas,” you laughed and stuck out your tongue. “My dad I always used to run around in the backyard trying to catch snowflakes and make snow angels. What do wizarding families do on Christmas?”

George smiled at you and shrugged. “Regular things.”

You rolled your eyes. “George. Your regular things and my regular are vastly different.”

“We playing exploding snap, Charlie likes Gobstones, Ron likes wizards chess, Fred and I prefer pranking Percy.”

“That’s not a seasonal thing,” you joked.

George shook his head. “Right you are,” he said. “Apart from that, you’ve seen the carolers and heard the music.”

“Your mum really likes that one woman, she’s got a lovely voice,” you said. “Fred said your mum charms the wine so that it automatically refills - is that true?”

He laughed and nodded. “One galleon says they’re all off their rockers by eleven.” George leaned his weight onto the trunk of the tree and shook one of the branches. You shrieked as snow hit your bare neck and whacked him in the chest.

“George!” You scowled.

“Sorry love!” He grinned. “- had to.”

“‘Course you did.” You glanced back at the burrow and saw your mother and Molly dancing around the kitchen. You smiled. “It’s so different! A good different - although usually people put angels or stars atop of their trees.”

“Oh, wizarding families do too,” George snickered. “We just convinced mum to let us put the golden gnome on this year.”

“I like it,” you grinned. “Gives it a certain something.”

“That’s what we said!” George beamed.

You smiled and let out another squeak when George pulled you closer to him.

“I’m glad we’re here,” you said quietly, after a beat of silence. “I like spending the holidays with you.”

“Me too,” George said. “I just thought of something else muggles and wizards have in common.”

“Yeah?” You asked, settling your cheek on his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Mistletoe.”

You craned your neck and saw a floating bundle of Mistletoe above both your heads. You looked at George whose face was a bright red and shook your head. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to risk breaking tradition.”

He grinned, pleased, and lowered his head towards yours. You surged up onto your toes and almost knocked him over.

You’d come to a realization over the past few months, that kissing George Weasley was an entire experience. Every occasion called for different types of affection.

There were times when he’d pass you in the corridors between classes and gave you a fleeting, quick kiss.

Other times, you could feel his mischief when he’d pick you up and twirl you around. He’d press quick and light kisses, smiling when you’d laugh at his antics.

Your favorites, however, were moments like these. When you were both alone, together, and happy. George radiated joy, playfulness and a warmth that seemed to be unique to him.

Without removing his lips from your jaw, he pressed you into the tree and huffed a laugh when you complained.

You lifted yourself up as high as you could and tugged him closer to you. He leaned back for a moment, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes were closed, his nose bumping yours, and wore a small smile. You tried to catch your breath and watched it mix with his in the cold air.

“I think that’s enough to satisfy the mistletoe,” you joked, still feeling a bit breathless.

George pretended to think for a moment and shook his head. “I don’t think so - we wouldn’t want to break tradition.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “We definitely wouldn’t want that.”

George laughed, his eyes light and happy. He stood still for a moment, just looking at you until you squirmed. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He grinned and shook his head. “I love you.”

You froze, eyes widening. “George, if this is a joke…”

George snorted. “Definitely not, love.”

Watching him warily, you slowly broke out into a grin. “You absolute dope, I love you too.”

He let out a big relived sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically nervous. “I’ve been trying to say that for the longest time-”

“He really was! It’s pathetic!” Fred’s voice came from your left.

You gathered snow from the ground and threw it at him. “Go away!”

Fred and Ron’s laughter floated over but Hermione and Ginny managed to pull them away.

“Dinner’s almost done! I’ve got to go soon,” Hermione called out to you two. “We’ll be inside!”

You waved, indicating you’d heard her and turned back to George.

“Where were we?” You asked.

George glanced up towards the mistletoe and wiggled his eyebrows. You shook your head but smiled, just as pathetically, back at him.

///

“I think I’m going to explode,” Harry said.

Fred and Ron moaned from their seats, each slumped against each other.

Ginny huffed a laugh but clutched her stomach right after. You looked around the table and smiled at the sight.

“Why are you so happy? Your boyfriend’s dying,” George said, dramatically slumping against you.

You grunted, shifting yourself so that his weight didn’t knock you off your chair.

“Do you want some more?” Your mother asked Harry, hovering, as she usually did around him.

Molly pursed her lips, on his other side. “Did you have pie?”

Harry smiled and pat his stomach. “I did, I promise. I don’t think I can take another bite.”

Your mother continued to fuss over him and you hid your smile by burying your face in George’s hair. You knew Harry secretly loved your parent’s fussing.

“Time for presents!” Molly announced suddenly. “We left one for each of you so we could open them together!”

You grinned and pushed George off of you. “Ron! You’re going to love mine.”

A quick dash to the living room and two minutes later, you were all seated and holding two presents each.

“Awesome!” Ron grinned. He had opened his green box to find multiple Chudley Cannon memorabilia.

“Look at the robes!” You said, smiling.

“Wicked!” He gaped.

“Jessica got their signatures for me a few months ago, they played a game by her house. Said she’d do me the favor,” you said happily.

Ron pulled on the autographed quidditch robes and beamed at you.

“Oh my goodness!” Arthur said with a loud laugh. “You shouldn’t have! Look! Molly, it moves!”

You watched Arthur happily shake his snowglobe. Your dad and you had gone through a few yard sales, knowing that Arthur would love anything muggle related.

After a few minutes, you’d all broken off into groups - Ron and Harry having gone outside to take turns on the firebolt.

Arthur and your mother were having a deep conversation about a new novel they had both read. You could hear Ginny and Percy teaching your father about quidditch and the upcoming World Cup.

“We’re not trying to be forceful but, we can’t help but realize we didn’t get anything special,” Fred said with a teasing grin.

You huffed and shook your head. “I did get you two something, you just didn’t see it.” You crawled near the tree and picked up the last present. You’d wrapped it up in silver and blue paper with a giant bow at the top.

“Interesting,” George said, smiling.

“Seems a bit small for two people,” Fred joked.

You elbowed him and he laughed. “Only joking! I bruise easily you know.”

In all honesty, you had been a bit nervous about what to get them. You’d given each of the twins their own presents at Hogwarts before you’d left. This, however, you had been working on for a few months now.

“It’s something I thought up a while ago. ‘Been working on it in my spare time. I’m not that good really, it’s just something I’ve always done...you definitely don’t need to use it or name your-”

“-badger, take a breath,” Fred said and George squeezed your knee.

You inhaled deeply and they smiled, tearing open the flat box. Once they’d tossed the wrapping paper aside, they both stilled. Their faces gave away nothing, both frozen.

“Oh, you hate it, don’t you?” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not very good-”

“What’s that?” Ginny asked, passing you on her way to the kitchen.

You glanced at the still frozen twins and winced. “I’d drawn something for them - what I imagined their shop to look like.”

“Oh! Let me take a look,” Ginny said with a wide grin. “It’s beautiful! That’s such a great name, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It looks just like them.”

Ginny squeezed your shoulder as she passed you. Fred was the first to unfreeze, eyes darting to yours.

“I just - I remembered how all the Hogwarts elves call you all Wheezy. It kind of stuck after that,” you rambled anxiously.

“This is - it’s - bloody brilliant!”

You grinned, relieved, and a bit proud. “Do you really like it?”

“Like it?” George said, finally meeting your eyes. “We love it.”

“Blimey, there’s more!” Fred pulled a few more pages behind the initial one.

You’d drawn the front of a shop, the largest sketch, but had also included a few items that you had seen them experiment with.

“Don’t need this,” George wiggled his eyebrows at you, motioning to the purple heart shaped love potion you’d scribbled into a random corner.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help your smile. “It’s not much - but, I just wanted you two to see what you could get if you really tried. If this is what you want to do - if this is the dream, I want you both to know that I know you can do it.”

Fred frowned and tossed his arms around your neck. He didn’t say anything, but you knew by his expression that it meant a lot to him.

“I’m going to go show Ron,” Fred said, eyes on the drawings. “Thank you, badger.”

“S’alright,” you smiled bashfully.

Fred practically dashed out the room, bumping into a few corners on his way out.

“I can’t believe you did that for us,” George said quietly.

“‘Course,” you said, trying to catch his eyes. “I know everyone else just sees your jokes and pranks and thinks those are the Weasley twins. But I know you two like the back of my hand. You don’t fool me George Weasley. I’ve seen how much this dream means to you. It may just be a small idea now, but, maybe this will help you two plant a seed.”

George’s eyes bore into yours for a beat before he surged forward and knocked you off the ottoman you’d been perched on.

“Ow! George,” you groaned, laid out on your back on the floor. “What was that?”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding at all sorry. “You’re a lot easier to knock over than I thought.”

You rolled your eyes.

He made his way towards your torso, eyes taking in your smile. He smiled back, his hand coming up to your face. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” you said quietly. “The drawings aren’t much-”

“Not for that-” he frowned. “Not only that.”

You almost went cross eyed trying to get a good look at him.

“Thank you for believing in us, for knowing that we can do it. It...it means a lot.”

“‘Course, I’ll always believe in you two,” you wrinkled your nose. “Especially you, but, Fred would say I’m being biased.”

“I’d hope you would be, considering the fact that I’m the one you snog,” George joked.

You pretended to think. “Ginny is still my favorite, Molly’s a close second.”

George gaped, mock outraged expression on his face before he started reaching for your ribs.

“No - George, don’t you dare,” you threatened, trying to move away.

“Take it back!” He said, tickling your sides.

You laughed loudly, trying to buckle him off you, but only managed to be pinned down more.

“Alright!” You shouted after a few minutes. “I give, I give!”

George smiled. “Say it.”

“You’re my favorite Weasley,” you said, still giggling.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He grinned, leaning down to give you a kiss.

You shoved at his shoulder. “You’re a menace George Weasley.”

“Yeah,” he kissed you again, “but I’m your menace.”

Watching his carefree grin, you shook your head. “Yeah, you nutter. You’re my menace.”

George’s wide smile widened even further and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. You laughed and shoved at him again. “Merry Christmas you tosser.”

He laughed, his shoulders shaking, and kissed your nose. “Merry Christmas love.”

“George Weasley!” Molly shrieked from the hallway. “What are you doing? Get off of the poor girl!”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #reader insert #harry potter #george weasley imagine #christmas fic #primero #weasley family

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wildflower8281 · 5 years

Text

Receiving Gifts

The moment of receiving gifts is such an interesting chance to observe humanity!

How do you receive gifts?! What are your feelings around receiving gifts from people?

Do you love it or avoid & dread it? Do you burst with gratitude or is that moment maybe extremely uncomfortable or awkward for you? Or are you somewhere in between, depending on the person, the occasion, the gift?

The way we receive gifts reflects so much about us!

The way we receive gifts manifests:

Our beliefs around worthiness and our comfortability in knowing we deserve good things

How we have cultivated our energy of gratitude & receiving in general

Our comfort with expressing emotions

Our ability to receive in other realms of our life, namely receiving pleasure, love, opportunities, wealth and all manner of amazing gifts from the Universe.

In many cases our familial or cultural upbringing regarding gift-giving and how to receive gifts, the meaning of gift-giving, etc.

Following the Thread of Receivership to your Core Beliefs

So much of the energy around an awkward receiving revolves around the person feeling uncomfortable because there is a deeply seated belief that they are not worthy of gifts of love, time, service, goodness.

Also, most likely, they had no model of gracious receiving/worthiness in their lives to watch.

On the outside, it may just always feel uncomfortable & awkward, but if we focus and follow that thread, it will lead to some answers that can be unraveled, loosened up and opened to make the moment of receiving actually a moment of great joy and ease!

Whenever I have encountered a person in my life who receives gifts/compliments/love very uncomfortably, I have realized that it is very linked to their understanding of Love and Self-Worth. Like intimately tied to it.

Their stories & beliefs regarding self-worth is unique to each of them. The Medicine & Magic is in following the thread to the origin and then being brave enough to unravel it, let it go and claim a new story, create a new story around their worthiness….

The stories of worthiness and love may come from what parents have said or modeled, they may just come from our society that values hard work and does not value play & rest, thereby making being the receiver the more uncomfortable position for many, assented to unconsciously. How many of us have bought into the cultural story that in order to rest/play/receive, we must work hard first?! We must do/prove/produce before being worthy of the gifts of play/rest/leisure/luxury/love. So many of us think that is just “how it is,” but it’s actually just a cultural story that we can choose to buy into or not.

What following the thread of Receivership does for us is land us to our core beliefs about our worthiness, about what we believe to be true about simply our existence. Not our work, not our looks, not what we have done with our lives….About simply US BEING HERE.

Do you believe that you are worthy of love and gifts just because You Are?

Because You Are You? Because You Are Here?

Can you just relax and receive goodness, compliments, love from others and simply say Thank you?

If not, follow that thread, My Friend!

Why not? What makes it uncomfortable? Keep following that thread and you will arrive right to the heart of it - which is You and Your Core Beliefs about Yourself.

Why People Don’t Go There

People don’t go there because it means they can’t blame anyone else anymore.

Many people just avoid exploring this thread because addressing the awkward uncomfortable-ness means going to the core of who they are, what they believe about who they are and, wait for it,

Taking Responsibility for their beliefs about their worthiness, meaning it’s not anyone else’s fault anymore. But rather we take responsibility for how we feel at any moment, for what we believe about ourselves and for what we feel and believe even about past events in our lives. Things we may have formerly said, This happened To Me, are upleveled into This happened AND this is how I’m choosing to view it and feel about it!

People don’t go here because it means they can no longer blame someone else, or Life, or God, for how they feel and what they believe about their value & the identity they have formed around old stories...

It means facing the Truth that we have assented to stories and meanings that are not true and were of low vibrational energy for years. It means releasing the attachment we have to our identities around these low vibe stories, which for many can feel extremely uncomfortable.

We get comfy and cozy with the energies that we vibe each day, even if they are low. We create identities around our unworthiness, our anxiety, our inability to be competent or lovable or free. Insert preferred adjective. Whatever the story - if it’s been playing for decades, it will feel comfortable and familiar to us. It’s easy for our brains to loop it and it’s the frequency our bodies have become accustomed to.

Stepping out of that energy and opening into something new feels scary.

Note that this is just the brain wanting you to stay where it’s familiar and easy.

In order to expose ourselves to greater Joy, Happiness and Freedom, we need to step into those places and unravel, and then recalibrate newness.

Ooops. Welcome to the Inner Journey. Where Light is Shed on the Darkness. And re-scripting our stories means unraveling everything we’ve formerly accepted to be true.

For those who prefer to stay where it’s familiar, they will remain in the awkwardness of their energy and the Universe will not deliver more glorious and wonderful gifts because She sees that they do not know how to receive well, and are not in a stance of open receivership. She sees that they are uncomfortable receiving and also are not cultivating the energy of gratitude for all things, always. For these people, receiving gifts, pleasure, compliments, opportunities will be sparse, uncomfortable and always have a weird tinge of lack & not-worthy surrounding them.

The Truth is that Just By Being You, You Are Worthy of All Goodness & Beauty The Universe Has to Offer. When we step into this Truth and Radiate it, the Universe Loves showering us with gifts in all realms of our lives!

The Universe Treats Us How We Treat Ourselves!

The Art of Receiving Graciously

Many of us probably learned gift-receiving behaviors through our family and cultural experiences growing up: holidays and birthday parties mostly. So, depending on the energy of our families, we learned any number of ways/behaviors around receiving gifts.

My immediate family was always very expressive, gracious & affectionate, and so I learned to be happy, grateful, to hug and express joy at receiving gifts most of the time. I’m sure there were times as a kid when I may have stated, “This isn’t what I wanted” or “I already have this” but overall, receiving was an exciting time, buzzing with joy and anticipation.

Later in life, in the convent actually, I learned a further lesson about receiving. It seems as we mature into adulthood, it becomes harder for us to receive help, favors, gifts of time or service, etc. We get a little proud or independent or just begin to filter our emotions more, due to societal mores. When I was in the convent, we learned a wonderful concept regarding how to receive: Receiving a gift is an act of charity (love.)

Instead of pulling away, becoming stoic or refusing a gift/compliment/favor/service, we were taught that receiving that small act of love from someone else in a stance of graciousness is actually a gift back to the Giver, in the moment. It is actually an act of Love to receive graciously.

Think of Jesus (or any high vibrational human you prefer honestly.)

Firstly, he was always in a stance of receivership, always welcoming, always open and grateful - to others, to children, to life. Arms Open, Welcoming All Gifts into His Field.

Stance of Receivership!

Secondly, how would he receive gifts, any gifts? To him, it wouldn’t really matter what the gift was (time, service, words, food, art, a purchase) but rather he would focus his gratitude on the Giver and on the thoughtfulness, the time, the energy that person spent in preparing, seeking and sharing this gift.

Think of the ‘sinful woman’ who used her own tears, her precious oils and her own hair to wash his feet. Unlike most people, he received her in tender gratitude and noted to everyone at the table the time, energy and precious resources she utilized in carrying out this gift and act of service. Jesus would receive all things with grace and love, in the moment returning the love back to the Giver. A Full Circle. Love & Gratitude. Welcoming & Thanking.

This understanding helped me to become an even better Receiver, because I learned that it wasn’t about the gift or about me, but more about the Giver & more about Energy. The art of receiving graciously is in itself a Gift in return.

That to receive graciously is to drop the resistance we might feel towards

if we are worthy and

whether or not we actually want the gift,

and it simply opens channels of love energy between Receiver & Giver, where Abundance and Joy dwell always.

Stance of Receivership Always

Once we open and cultivate this stance of receivership, this openness to gifts, knowing we are worthy and living in gratitude, the Universe quite obviously opens the floodgates and pours forth blessings and gifts, so get ready!

(*A Note on Service/Generosity - This post is focused on Receiving, but it goes without saying that this goes hand-in-hand with the Energy of Generosity/Service. I think the majority of us are more comfortable with serving/giving/working/offering value than we are comfortable receiving it, so I’m not focusing on generosity/service/giving here. But they are like yin and yang. We cannot be in a Stance of Receivership only, obviously as that is selfish and the Universe feels that. There is an energetic chasm between Selfishness and Generous Receivership. The energy is vastly different. To be in a true Stance of Receivership implies Gratitude and the intention to use the gifts to further extend the high vibrational frequencies of love, joy, gratitude by continuing the giving/service/gifting outwards.Receiving graciously implies you are open to allow the Flow of Abundance through you and back into the Universe.)

The more I have consciously fostered this Energy of Receivership & Gratitude, the more abundance, work & travel opportunities, beautiful spaces, plentiful chunks of leisure time, amazing foods & drinks and fun experiences have been ushered my way.

It means being open to not only material gifts like on holidays, but also receiving new opportunities for wealth, for travel or amazing experiences. It means being open to new levels of pleasure & sensations in our bodies, with ourselves and with Lovers. It means being open to new insights in our hearts and minds, tapping into truths and dimensions of ourselves where the world opens up and further shows us Her Beauty, Her Wildness, Her Magic! There are Infinite Means of Abundance that the Universe can usher into our experience, if we simply believe we are worthy of them all!

Remember, the Universe treats us how we treat ourselves.

Know you are worthy, lovable and deserve all good things just by being You.

Make this your Belief System and watch the Gifts of all kinds start rolling in!

Stance of Receivership!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

(Photos: Unsplash)

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grayisholi · 6 years

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@ the DND ask game: ALL OF THOSE QUESTIONS, I CAN'T CHOOSE!! XD (or if not that, the ones you rlly wanna do!!

BOY OH BOY OH BOYIve been answering these throughout the day and I’m too lazy to reread the full document so sorry if I’ve left gaps or whatever but here it is! All 35 questions about dnd! Matt you unstoppable Madman.

1. A favorite character you have played.

You can’t just make me pick between my children!!! I think I might have to say Atticus Sallow, my faeborn bloodhunter, partially because he’s like 100% homebrew content which I LIVE for, but also because he’s probably the most kinda self-insert character I’ve ever played? Almost became the kinda angsty, brooding asshole character before he was like “get your shit together” and learned that loving people isn’t so bad.

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played.

I almost, ALMOST had the pleasure of DMing for @no-more-good-omens and their character was gonna be SO RAD and I’m a little heartbroken he never came to be. A half-drow paladin of Vecna, pretending to be your typical good and wholesome paladin? Dude, I love that kinda two faced backstabbing in a player. It’s such a shame it never came to anything (although if yall still wanna play hmu ;))

3. Your favorite side quest.

Ooh, there’s been so many good ones. Probably when i was playing as Adrian Smirks and went off on a tangent to rescue his brother ? That was the first time I ever got to see Adrian’s more raw and emotional side beneath the suave mask he wears and it was fun to explore his character in that way ^.^

4. Your current campaign.

That I’m DMing? It started inspired by Guy Fawkes and was gonna be “your party blows up parliament” but I got bored of following historical accuracy so it ended up being “blow up the palace in a magical city that just happens to be called London”. I accidentally wrote myself into a hole with this campaign tho, so once they’ve finished this arc I’m handing over the DM hat to my sister @philosophical-wanton because she seems to love it and I kinda miss being a player lmao. I can’t wait for it.

5. Favorite NPC.That I’ve written? Probably Hai Shen, the youngest son of a group of circus performers who were killed and the party got blamed for their murder. He had such a great attitude and his dynamics with the party kicked ass. And the twist that he was actually dead the whole time and it was his soul that had stayed behind to help solve his family’s murder? ICONIC.

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

NPC death would probably be Hai Shen, actually. After the party had brought the real killers (A cult to the demon Prince Orcus) to justice, Hai’s time on earth had come to an end. He had really beautiful moment with the party before being reunited with his family. Alternatively, the time I broke my entire party’s hearts? “Artagan’s staff comes cracking into Ellios’ chest, forcing him onto the ground. Artagan raises his sceptre in hand, pointing it menacingly at the young prince. And for the first time, you see him. Like, REALLY see him. He’s not the strong and powerful leader you’ve all come to know him as, he’s not Prince Ellios of the Four Realms. He’s just a boy. A boy who is much too young to be involved in such a grand scheme. And the fear in his eyes. You see the fear he’s managed to keep buried for so long, finally coming to the surface. And then? You don’t see anything, aside from his cold body hitting the ground.” I got punched three times for that moment, but GOD was it worth it.

7. Your favorite downtime activity.

Like in game? A healthy lil bit of vandalising the local law enforcement buildings is always a good time.

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

Aw man, how can I pick ? I gotta say, that one time we, a level 6 party, managed to take down two earth elementals was pretty rad. The DM kind of expected it to be one of those encounters that we saw and immediately tried to run from, but what she didn’t take into account was that ALL of us had chaotic alignments so we just went crazy. The DM was rolling really badly (thank God) and we were getting really creative (“I use the produce flame centripetal to light my bottle of ale on fire and create a molotov cocktail” “you do WHAT”) and after like an HOUR we won and it was amazing. The rush I got from that victory was better than any drug my dood.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

I know I say it a lot, but I legit can’t choose. There’s so many great things about ttrpgs that a lot of people don’t really think of. The creative fulfilment I get from a session is incomparable, the friendships you can build that you couldn’t form in any other way. And like, not to get too real for a sec here, but I grew up with undiagnosed autism and didn’t understand how a lot of social situations worked, and DnD was such a good mechanic for me to try communicating with people without many real world consequences, and I appreciate that experience so much. It’s just such a great thing my dood.

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most.

Can they be the same thing lmao? I mean, I’m obviously partial to Count Cassius, the vampire lord that Adrian slept with lmao. I also always appreciate a good beholder, until I get hit with three disintegration rays IN A ROW.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play?

We’ve got kind of a monthly schedule with my main campaign, and I manage to get a couple online games in-between them, but honestly I’d kill to be the kind of group that got together every weekend.

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

Oh MAN. “I say we do this.” “Yeah, but that’s coming from the guy who decided to tie 3 50ft ropes together to escape the palace.” “iT wOrKeD dIdN’t iT ???” i.e that time I forgot I gave the gnome rogue flying boots so when I planned for them to get arrested at the palace, they managed to escape by tying their ropes together, sending the gnome with it to the top and climbing the wall. I had to improvise the rest of the session. Also “FLINTON BELINDA SKINTON” bc as a role-play exercise I got my party to come up with rumours about their characters and the gnome rogue called Flint AKA Flinton B Skinton decided that one of their rumours was that the B stood for Belinda, and it was GLORIOUS.

13. Introduce your current party.

My current group consists of Flinton B Skinton, gnome rogue. He’s a quick-fingered, silver-tongued gay disaster who can sell anything to anyone. He’s a charming flirt, and a veritable genius in his own right. Kava Daardendrian, dragonborn ranger who loves nothing in life more than her animal companion - her pig Snortin Norton. She’s fun and sassy and shameless, she’s great. There’s Sparks, the fire Genasi Monk, and full embodiment of a disaster lesbian. She drinks, fights, and gets laid, and doesn’t deal with her problems in healthy ways. An icon. And finally Milo, the halfling Bard who falls in love at the drop of a hat and just wants everyone to get along. I call them “The Shenanigang” and I love them.

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed.

A party I joined late? We had Sylvia Moondrop, the half elf sorcerer who was just trying to get along with everyone despite what the world seemed to want. Orland the half orc bard who was just trying to shake off the Barbarian stereotype his family left him with. Rose Morleen, air Genasi fighter who was literally born to kick ass and take names. I joined as Mason Terrai, the Earth Genasi Alchemist with a perchance for explosives. The very definition of chaotic neutral.

15. Do you have snacks during game times?

Of COURSE. What manic wouldn’t ?

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer?

I used to play online a LOT back before I had friends who were into dnd, but I VASTLY prefer playing in person. The chemistry that’s built not only amongst the players, but also the actual characters themselves is unparalleled. It’s just such a great experience.

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

Anyone can attempt anything, the only restriction is the dice. Don’t question the DM unless it’s out of session, then bully the dm on the groupchat until he’s so pissed off he gives you inspiration just to get you to shut up. And also canon lore and canon rules are bullshit when it’s convenient. That’s about it

18. Does your party keep any pets?

Our ranger, God bless her, has her pack pig Snortin Norton, sold to her by one Flinton B Skinton. And Flint really wants a monkey, he’s been trying to find one for ages.

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

Not really ? I’m the kind guy that if my dice rolls a 1 I will bench it for a bit, but tbh all my dice are cursed af and I’ve kinda just learned to roll with it by making my characters canonically terrible at everything lmao.

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing?

Aw man I can’t remember when or how, it’s been so long. I had a couple friends who were kinda into it, but all the games they tried to run were complete disasters. I only really started playing I’m the past year or so? Maybe a little more ? Adrian was my first character, and he was a very RP heavy character in a party of tanks and they all hated him but MAN was it fun.

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done?

Oh all the time. One time my character was careless and didn’t check for traps on a legendary artefact and it lead to the death of a party member. One time my character got angry at his party and walked out. My characters don’t make good decisions, but that’s part of the fun.

22. What color was your first dragon?

White! I thought it was silver at first and went to go say hi, and it clawed me within half my HP straight away lmao.

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns?

Oh dude, original all the way. I live for that shit.

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game?

Depends on the session, but usually a good few hours, couple of days if I’m DMing.

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

“You wake up in a mysterious forest. The strained autumn sun shines through the trees. The only thing you can see it each other, the trees, and an old sign post leading to a path that says "Myrrill” on it. What do you do?“ "We walk in the opposite direction of the sign deeper into the forest.” “…of course you do.”

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters.

I wrote a full carnival show one time for them to watch, and then it got derailed when a horrific monster attacked. But writing all the characters and their acts, and watching my players get entranced as I described it ? Magical, my dood.

27. Do you allow homebrew content?

I live and breathe homebrew content. I don’t know what my games would be without it. I LOVE homebrew.

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

I make some pretty sick characters if I do say so myself, so I throw them in a LOT.

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions?

Oh dude, role play all the way. Fighting and killing stuff is great, but role-play is just so good. We can go from laughing with a bartender to crying over a backstory reveal and it’s just beautiful.

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

Depends on the party, but i find the best players are a little bit of both XD

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race?

Official ? I’m a fan of the hexblade warlock? Bards are always a good call, and to be real playing monks make me feel like an absolute badass. Race wise, there are just so many. If we’re only talking players handbook stuff, half elf is always rad. Outside of that? I’ve been researching the Shadar-Kai lately and I’m LIVING. They’re so rad.

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

What would you call the disaster gay? I don’t really gear my characters towards usefulness in combat, so it’s just whatever the class happens to lend itself to.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

I usually write my character, personality, backstory, alignment etc, before I even pick a class or even a race. I basically just make OCs and apply them to dnd rules, and it’s SO much fun. 10/10, would recommend.34. Do you tend pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor?

FLAVOUR. My party usually hates me, but what I lack in combat utility I more than make up for in creative out of combat skill checks XD.

35. How much roleplay do you like to do?

Boi, I even RP my combat, and the great thing is it rubs off on my party too. I’ll have a really low initiative and everyone else will be like “I attack and do 10 points of damage” but then on my round I’m like “I use my staff to leap across the battlefield towards the opponent and launch out with a spinning kick to their jaw” and everyone else is like “oh, okay, that’s what we’re doing.” and the battle becomes so much more dynamic and cinematic, it’s amazing !

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years

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04/25/2019 DAB Transcript

Judges 4:1-5:31, Luke 22:35-53, Psalms 94:1-23, Proverbs 14:3-4

Today is the 25th day of April. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it is always, always, always a joy to walk in here around the global campfire. And here we are together, stepping outside of all of the responsibilities and obligations and even chaos that's going on around us, and just let God's word wash into our lives and in over us and into us and then we leave this time rejuvenated. It's pretty amazing what can happen in just a few minutes with the Scriptures. So, let's get to it. We've begun the book of Judges and we’re beginning to meet the judges. We met 3 of the 13 judges yesterday. Some of these judges, you know, there’s just a paragraph of mention, others have the full, you know, kind of story and what we’re ultimately learning is what happened after Moses and Joshua, what happened after the children of Israel moved into the promised land. So today we’re reading from the English Standard Version and we’ll read Judges chapters 4 and 5.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the Old Testament we’re learning of the judge Deborah, a valiant woman leader of Israel and of Jael who did away with the enemy lieutenant general in a way that would've at bare minimum taken some bravery, right? You’re sneaking up on a man of war as he sleeps with a tent peg and a hammer and…and yeah you drive the tent peg with the hammer into the head of Sisera, the general and, of course, he dies doing away with the military leader who has been oppressing the children of Israel in their land for a couple of decades, which is powerful imagery. I mean going back into that time, it is an entirely patriarchal world. So, seeing Deborah and Jael once again shows God pulling people forward, pulling...pulling them forward even as they're doing everything they can to fight against Him and His will and ways for them.

We move into the gospel of Luke and we’re moving back into the passion narrative and we find Jesus in intense agony of prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. And even though we have just passed through Easter and have just kinda lived out this story it comes at a good time. It's easy for us to get through Easter and just kind of move on. We've focused our energy and efforts on the passion narrative and then we just kinda move on. It's nice to encounter it again and let it sink more deeply into our souls, what it cost, what it cost for us to take for granted, our freedom's.

Then we get into the book of Proverbs and we hear these words, “where there are no oxen the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox.” So, if the manger weren't clean because the ox was there, how would the ox have made the manger dirty. It would've made manger dirty by just being itself right and just doing whatever it did, including pooping and peeing all over the place. It has to be cleaned up to keep the barn clean. So, the barn will stay clean without the animals, but the abundant crops won't come without the strength of the animals. So, you have to maintain the animals in the barn in order to have the strength to have the abundant crops. And this, like most of the Proverbs, simply imitates our lives. The proverb wasn't written to give us an agricultural lesson. We can kind of deduce that if you’ve got an ox in a barn and you’re not to clean up the barn then the barn's gonna be disgusting, but in our lives in community things can indeed get messy at times and they need to be maintained and cleaned up, but the strength that we have together is vastly superior than the strength that we have isolated and alone. And if we want an abundant harvest for the kingdom, then we’re going to have to learn to clean up after ourselves and even clean up each other's messes. It's gonna get messy. And I think that we can probably even as the body of Christ to deal with the mess if we could get over who we’re going to blame for the mess. And the best possible way that we can do that is to realize that we are all a mess, but together we are strong.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that. We work so hard to not look messy. We work so hard to disguise the truth of the fact that we’re all going through the same life at the same time on planet Earth with all of the same challenges and some of us are more challenged than others in certain areas, but we’re all challenged and we’re all struggling and we’re all learning that we are utterly dependent upon You and the faster that we can learn the faster that we can just deal with the mass and we can just clean the barn and we can maintain it and then we can have an abundant harvest for Your kingdom once we get out of our own way and out of Your way. So, come Holy Spirit. Help us to be patient. Help us to offer grace today. Help us to reveal Your kingdom today and be mindful of the fact that's what we’re doing with every thought, word and deed in our lives. Come Jesus we pray. In Your mighty name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here. So, be sure to stay tuned and stay connected in any way that you can or that you want too.

Check out the Community section of the website. That gives you all the links to stay connected. Check out the Prayer Wall. That is wonderful place to stay connected as well. All of this is available in the Daily Audio Bible app, as well as the website. So, check it out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello everyone, this is Kiki in Arizona, it’s a beautiful night out here. And what I’d like to say is that I have a praise. My husband is doing better with his broken hip. He’s in his second rehab. Hopefully he’ll be home in two weeks, we’re not sure. But I really wanted to call in and say is that Brian, I just love this Daily Audio Bible. I’m in my fourth month of listening to you and I have never heard a pastor as good as what you have told us. I’ve never heard the it read the way you read it. I’m learning so much. All the years I went to Sunday school and church I have never been so intrigued with the Bible. I can’t believe how much I’m listening and learning and remembering every day and I want to say thank you so, so much for all that you have done in this four short months for me. A Gentlemen the other night said, “your commentary”. And I was trying to figure out what was the word to use about what you say after the readings and commentary I think was the right word. Your commentary on Good Friday after the readings was spot on for me. I thought of how you said it’s such a solemn day on Good Friday and how would we have felt the day that Jesus was crucified and how we have taken that ourselves. It would’ve been terrible. It still is terrible to think about it. And I saw the movie of the crucifixion on __ and I watched that. And tomorrow will be a great day. Tomorrow will be Easter Sunday and He has risen and I thank you, thank you, thank you. Everybody out there, thank you for all the prayers. So, I just want to end it before it ends me. So, thank everybody and happy Easter.

Hello, my DAB family this is Mark Street from Sydney Australia. Today is Resurrection day, Sunday the 21st of April. Family, I’m just ringing in because unfortunately the devil has got to me today and I’m really, really, really angry with myself. My exes new husband pushed my buttons about things that I was not doing. Just to cut a long…I’m not gonna say he said, she said, but at the end of the day I did the wrong thing. I lost my temper totally and just screamed at him and I’m so angry with myself. Of all the days when Christ told us to __ through words I can’t __ words and...ahhhh…just so angry with myself. This Lenten season I’ve been so good and this last day…ahh…please pray for me that God will turn this evil situation where I lost it into something good and I can come out the other end a better person. I’m just so disappointed in myself as well. Thank you, family. Bye.

Hi all this is the Misfit Man from Cincinnati. Just calling in today to give some encouragement to Johnny from Colorado. I just wanted to let you know that we are definitely lifting up Nick in prayer and I just wanted to encourage you to never stop reaching out to this community and never stop praying, lifting your friends up in prayer, and lifting everything up in prayer to God and that this, this is the church. And my pastor has a saying. He says, “there’s nothing like the church when it’s working right.” And this Daily Audio Bible community is the church working right because the church is not one, two, three buildings in your town or however many, you know, brick and mortar things there are with the name “church” on it. The church is all of us, every believer in Christ in the entire universe coming together, lifting each other up, holding each other accountable, being there for each other when we’re down and praising with us and rejoicing with us when we’re having great times. So, just never forget that. No matter what happens in your life, reach out to the people around you, be in community weather it’s over the phone calls here or face-to-face just, never lose that. There’s going to be discouraging times in your life when things don’t make sense but just remember in those times that there is one thing that makes sense and that’s Jesus. And to reach out to him and to all of us who are also trying to follow him. So, love you brother. Keep up the good work man. All right. Bye.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family, this is Julie calling for Lisa. Lisa I am virtually holding my hand out to you right now in response to your call. I am praying to our Father to heal your husband’s cancer and give him strength and you as well. And I’m praying so very hard for you right now, that the Lord heal your illness, your problems and let you breathe well. I’m praying this very hard. And Lisa I want you to take your hand and put it in your heart and say, “keep the faith” and then reach it out into the sky and make a fist and pull it in and say, “grab the grace.” And I want to keep the faith and want you to grab that grace because it’s yours and I want to breathe easy. Lord, please watch over Lisa and help her. Lord please dry her tears and make her smile and give her strength. For this I pray. Amen. Have a good day.

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rochellespen · 6 years

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Watching Doctor Who Season 37 (Series 11), Episode Four

Ok, I’m going to have to say it: Doctor Who has a checkered past in regards to spiders.

I mean, I understand the temptation to go with arachnid-like monsters. Spiders often creep people out, so giant, mutant spiders should have an even greater horror vibe to them. Unfortunately, it seems arachnids of all sorts never fare well when appearing in Doctor Who.

Thus we have comically stiff spiders with goofy voices in Planet of the Spiders. We have genuinely threatening, but also drama-queen diva spiders in the meh The Runaway Bride. And then you have what could have been truly creepy spider-like creatures in Kill the Moon which were wasted by being featured in a dire episode like Kill the Moon.

So when I saw the title of this one, I had to resist the temptation to roll my eyes. And not just because we got another music pun/reference in an episode title (first Bowie and now the Sex Pistols...). I figured we could be in for some very first class cheese with this one.

All that said, I decided to give Arachnids in the UK a go with as open of a mind as possible.

As usual, spoilers from here onward....

Episode Thoughts

This episode went back to the season opener’s structure of having things happen that appear unrelated at first, but quickly fit together into a main plotline well before the episode ends. It’s a smart technique as it can help to cover any thinness to the plot.

We start with Robertson, a guy who is suspiciously similar to another hotel-owning, multi-millionaire businessman with a crass, harsh personality who decided to run for president. Seriously, not since The Happiness Patrol have we been given such a painfully obvious reference to a real-life political figure on Doctor Who.

And wait, is that Chris Noth? Why yes, yes it is. That’s something I seriously did not expect and it’s fun to see him in this. XD

Anyway, Citizen Robertson here rants about a possible threat to his political future and fires a random employee for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. This actually turns out to be not so random later on....

(Side note: They do name drop Trump later in the episode with Robertson mentioning that he can’t stand the guy. I guess that’s one way to deflect the obvious....XD)

Meanwhile, the Doctor actually manages to get her companions back to their correct time and place and soon appears to regret her efficiency. Fortunately for her, Yasmin is up for inviting everyone to tea which everyone immediately accepts.

After wonderfully awkward moments with Yasmin’s family and some poignant moments alone with Graham, we finally get to the spiders. Well sort of. We just get one spider to start out with, but there was plenty of foreshadowing before that to let us know that it won’t just be one spider.

Soon, the plot ties together when we realize that it was Yasmin’s mother who got fired and a neighbor of Yasmin’s family has a friend/co-worker/? who is a specialist in regards to spiders and who is worried that she hasn’t shown up for a few days. This eventually leads to a showdown in the lavish, recently finished hotel between humans and arachnids.

Some more quick side notes....

The hotel they chose for the principal location is a good one. It has the right Overlook Hotel vibe to it which is perfect to accentuate the horror in this episode.

Ok, having Yasmin’s mom be the one who got fired by Robertson is a solid way to tie the plot together. Having an arachnid expert be friends with someone who lived in the same building as Yasmin’s family and having her show up just as the Doctor starts to investigate teeters dangerously toward deus ex machina territory.

But on a much funnier note, did anyone else notice someone (Ryan, I think?) making shadow puppets in the background while the Doctor and McIntyre were talking about Serious Spider Stuff in McIntyre’s lab? That’s the sort of offhand detail that I just love...

Now, back to the rest of the episode...

As can be expected with someone like Robertson, all of his employees are taken out by the spiders leaving the Doctor, her companions, Yasmin’s mom, Naija, and our new friend, Dr. McIntyre to find out that there’s is both abandoned coal mines underneath the hotel (which is niffty for the spiders to get around) and a toxic landfill that was very poorly managed.

Ok, at this point I need to stop to consider something that’s bothering me about the plot.

I think we can all agree that Robertson is a terrible person and was horribly negligent in allowing the landfill to combine stuff willy nilly. But if we’re going to assign blame for the mutant spiders, shouldn’t some of it be placed on McIntyre and her lab? These scientist are manipulating spider DNA and apparently not being careful enough in making sure the specimens are dead before disposal. Even if Robertson didn’t have an unusually toxic landfill mutating these spiders further, those half-dead “super spiders” could have wrecked havoc on local ecosystems. Thus, I hardly think McIntyre should be acting like she’s on some sort of moral high ground compared to Robertson.

In the end, it’s decided that it’s more humane(?) to suffocate/starve all the baby spiders in Robertson’s panic room and drive the huge mother spider out of the hotel...to where, I don’t know. However, Robertson clearly wanted a chance to kill something and thus, shoots the giant spider before it can asphyxiate.

This leads to another little issue I have. The Doctor and McIntyre were just going to watch that giant spider slowly suffocate and die. Robertson shot it once and put it out of its misery quickly. I guess I’m at a loss as to how Robertson’s solution in and of itself is crueler than a slow death.

And the thing is, I think the writers missed an opportunity here. Having Robertson clearly show no remorse for what he did was chilling enough. But I think we could have added an even more sinister edge to his character if it was made clear that his decision to shoot the spider would be considered merciful and correct by many and that it wasn’t a black and white decision.

That way, the horrifying aspect of his character would not have been what he did but instead the mindset and motives of why he did it. Few things are more evil that someone who hides their malevolence under the guise of good intentions.

After that painfully abrupt ending, the Doctor prepares to leave and discovers, much to her surprise and delight, that Graham, Ryan and Yasmin aren’t ready to say goodbye to her and traveling through time and space.

So did Arachnids in the UK avoid the usual trap of tacky spider themed episodes? Well.....

The thing is, there are several things this episode did right. The number one was a wonderful mix of humor and lowkey scares. We get moments like Ryan and Graham’s two man comedy act leading up to a terribly creepy shot of several giant spiders skittering toward them. The atmosphere of the hotel and some well placed jump scares are balanced by the hilarious sight of mutant spiders gravitating a energetic grime tune (actually listened to it again while writing this, and it really set the mood).

The problem for me has to be the easy out the plot took. I get wanting to keep this an Earth-bound problem (and making an eco-statement). But the separating of the so-called “good guys” and “bad guys” wasn’t neatly done and the ending felt far too much like the writers couldn’t think of a good solution in the time they had left.

Thus, this episode works far better as a showcase for humor, atmosphere and characterization than it does as a carefully plotted story.

Character Thoughts

So how about that characterization then?

Two things were well defined in this episode.

The Doctor is going to continue to be socially awkward, high-energy goofball.

This Doctor is not one who wants to brood by themselves somewhere even for a few moments. She clearly is one of those Doctor who vastly prefers to travel with companions.

Continuing in the tradition of each Doctor often being a “reaction” to the previous one, Thirteen is certainly far less prickly and much more openly social than Twelve. She seems to thrive on the “family” environment a crowded TARDIS creates. The only Doctor I can compare that to is probably Five who also seemed very invested in traveling with a group although there is far, far more harmony on Thirteen’s TARDIS than there ever was on Five’s.

Myself, I’m enjoying a return to the idea of the Doctor being warmer and more familial as I never thought being difficult and prickly were necessary solely to create a sense of “otherness” about the Doctor. Whittaker still manages this with Thirteen’s scattershot, quirky approach to experiencing new places, people and events.

A lot of the humor in this episode was pulled off nicely by Whittaker whether it’s the cringing moments of awkward around Yasmin’s family or her sudden thought that The Spider Mother in the Ballroom could be “the best novel Edith Wharton never wrote.”

Meanwhile, Ryan and Graham also have some wonderful bits together as they (very reluctantly) keep having to go out on spider-related missions in the hotel. The two of them continue to be a fun team who are slowly trying to figure out this family “thing” they have been thrust into.

Funnily enough, while on the surface this could look like an episode that would focus more on Yasmin since we are spending time with her family....it really doesn’t. The most we get is some insight as to why she wants to travel with the Doctor: because she loves her family, but clearly doesn’t always get along with them that great. I think this is another opportunity the writers missed as we could have gotten a bit more insight into how her family played a role in the person she became. Instead, their presence seems to mainly service the plot (Naija) or try to add to the humor (the rest of her family).

The Last Word

I’m afraid Doctor Who may never have a completely solid episode featuring spiders....even with this effort. This is episode is a fun ride most of the time with some great moments of humor and characterization, so it manages to not be truly cringe-y. However, it would have been nice if the writers had put more thought into how to end the main plotline and found more interesting ways to develop Yasmin’s family and by extension Yasmin herself.

#Doctor Who #thirteenth doctor #series eleven musings #arachnids in the uk

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avengerofyourheart · 7 years

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In the Arms of Justice Pt 22 (Cop!Bucky x reader)

Characters: reader x Detective Barnes, Steve, Tony, Pepper, Sharon, Clint, Natasha, OC Sarah and Maggie Rogers. (Most only mentioned)

Summary: Reader is a witness to a crime, tying her to the investigation as well as the police involved. She never would have guessed how that one night would continue to change her life years later.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst. Some anxiety, also blood, murder, weapon and death mentions (none of it graphic), violence against women, gritty police drama tv show kind of feel.

Word Count: 1263

Tags at the bottom. TAG LIST IS CLOSED, I’M SO SORRY.

A/N: Welp. We’re nearing the end! I’ve got one more part planned and then we’ll have to say goodbye to Detective Barnes. At least for a while. I’m so grateful to all of you for your passion and support for this series. As always, your comments and feedback mean the world to me. Thank you!!!

<<<Part 21 Part 22 Epilogue>>>

In the Arms of Justice Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

_________________________________________________________

Previously:

You laughed as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you to his side. Getting lost in his gaze for a moment, you pecked a kiss to his lips and then flicked your eyes to the side to see someone approaching.

“You ready for this?” you asked Bucky, seeing the tight line of his lips.

Taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand and nodded. “Time to face the music.”

_______________

Stepping forward a few feet with you beside him, Bucky stopped in front of the goateed, dark-haired Captain. He looked vastly different than how you had seen him previously in his office and in court, which was always in a finely tailored suit. Instead, he was currently dressed in jeans and a black band t-shirt with an unzipped hooded sweatshirt over it. It was a jarring sight, like seeing your teacher outside of school or something. Bizarre.

“Captain Stark,” Bucky greeted him, extending his hand.

“Barnes,” the Captain replied, shaking the man’s hand roughly before releasing it and turning toward you. “Ms. (Y/L/N), it’s good to see you in one piece. Mostly,” he taunted, nodding slightly to the wound on your side.

“Nice to see you again, Captain. It could have been a lot worse, but Detective Barnes does have a knack for saving my life,” you smiled tightly, sparing a glance to Bucky who had his gaze trained on the grass at his feet.

“Uh huh,” Stark made a noise indicating doubt. “So, uh…is this fairly recent?” he asked, point a finger between Bucky and yourself with his eyes flickering down to your joined hands.

“Very,” you spoke up quickly. “We’re still getting to know each other.”

“Really? You seemed to know each other pretty well up on the deck,” he smiled knowingly, sticking a hand in his pocket.

You just smiled. “Yes, well. Life is short. We need to cherish happiness whenever it’s offered.”

Stark seemed to pause at that. “You make a good point. On another subject, I meant to tell you, Brock Rumlow’s mother passed away yesterday.”

“She did?” Bucky finally spoke up, which was good since you had frozen at the mention of Rumlow.

“Yes, and there are instances where inmates are allowed out under special circumstances for funerals and such…”

There was a rushing noise in your ears, the thought of him somehow escaping during transport flashing through your mind. You were brought back to the present by a squeeze of Bucky’s hand in time to hear Stark finish his statement.

“….but apparently his extended family didn’t want him there. Can’t imagine why,” he spoke sarcastically and you finally released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He wasn’t getting out for the funeral, thank heavens. “That woman really did a number on him, though. It’s no wonder why he turned out the way he did.”

At Stark’s last comment, your frozen limbs were suddenly filled with fire, a fury blazing in your chest. You had to speak up then.

“He was free to make his own choices, though,” you addressed Stark, straightening your spine. “A child isn’t solely a product of their parents. It can be a factor, of course, but many people with less than honorable parents grow up to be great contributors to society. Rumlow could have made something of himself, but instead chose to take that upbringing and become a killer. His mother can’t be blamed for that. On the other hand, the child can’t be held responsible for the ‘sins of the father’. Or mother in this case. It is our actions that define who we become, don’t you agree, Captain?”

Stark seemed stunned by your sudden righteous indignation, then finally responding. “Um…yes. I do agree. Well, it was good to see you again. I’m going to go get some food,” he said, offering a nod to you and Bucky before leaving.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said to you quietly, although Stark was now safely out of earshot.

“I know,” you admitted, stepping around to face him. “But I wanted to at least subtly make him think about how wrong his treatment of you is. He doesn’t have to know why I said it, especially since I’m assuming some of what you told me is classified.”

Bucky gave a half-smile, embarrassed. “Maybe.”

You chuckled lightly. “Your secret’s safe with me. I just know you deserve to be treated as the kind, hard-working, law-abiding, honorable man you are. I love you,” you pressing your lips to his as your fingers wound into his chestnut strands.

“I love you, too,” Bucky echoed after breaking apart, touching his forehead to yours. “God, it feels so good to say that.”

“Well, it’s good to hear it,” you said with a smile, then taking his hand. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat while we can. I’ve heard police officers have quite the appetite.”

He laughed at that. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

You walked up the steps, hand in hand, to join the crowd of hungry people. Bucky introduce you to everyone and they were all welcoming and happy for the both of you. Officer Barton had arrived by then and he came to give you a hug. After your hospital stay, he felt so terrible about leaving you with Rumlow but once again, you held no ill feelings. Rumlow would have done whatever it took to get you alone and you never regretted letting Barton take that armed robbery call. It had been the right thing to do. He was one of your closest friends now.

You had heard that Barton and your boss, Natasha, had remained in contact and were possibly dating but you preferred not to know the details. Witnessing the weird chemistry they had upon first meeting was more than enough information for you. If they were happy together, though, you wished them all the best. Besides, a happy Natasha was better for everyone at the office.

After everyone had eaten, the sun began to set and the majority of the crowd had departed leaving behind only a handful of people, including you and Bucky. Captain Stark had left just after dinner with a beautiful woman with long, strawberry-blonde hair and an air of sophistication. You heard from Sharon that she was Stark’s fiancee, Pepper, a highly successful CEO in the city and the more sensible partner in the relationship. Part of you wondered if she knew anything about Stark’s grudge against Bucky and if not, how she would react if told. You decided to leave it alone, though. Meddling would only open up your relationship to scrutiny.

As the remaining friends and co-workers all settled into chairs on the lawn around the fire, stories flowed and laughter rang throughout the yard. Little Sarah and Maggie were given marshmallows and sticks to roast them on under careful supervision from Steve. You watched as the girls ate the messy, gooey S’mores their dad had assembled for them, then thanking him with sticky kisses that made you chuckle to witness.

Bucky pulled his chair closer to yours to put an arm around you and placed his other hand on your thigh. You watched him for a minute as he listened to one of Barton’s stories, the flickering flames casting shadows upon his handsome face. For a short moment, you were transported to another place and time where you sat on the side of the road beside a young police officer, flashing blue and red lights coloring his features.

Bucky caught you staring, squeezing your shoulder with a smile. “Everything alright?”

You nodded. “Everything’s perfect.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, leaving a smile upon both your faces. You felt the glow of happiness fill you, grateful to have these new friends and the handsome man you love beside you. Difficult as the past few months, or even years, had been, they lead you right to this moment where you felt safe, happy, and loved in the arms of Detective Barnes.

________

Epilogue>>>

____________________________________________________

Awwwww! The fluff!! I probably could have left it there, but I have way too many thoughts of what their life is like a little ways down the road so I thought I’d do an epilogue. One more part, you guys! Ah! I can’t believe it. Any thoughts or feedback is appreciated! I love you all!!

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newstfionline · 7 years

Text

A Palestinian’s daily commute through an Israeli checkpoint

By William Booth and Sufian Taha, Washington Post, May 24, 2017

BETHLEHEM, West Bank--Under starry skies, a young Palestinian Everyman wakes before dawn to begin his daily commute to work in Israel.

There are thousands like him. They are building Israel. Five or six mornings a week, long before the Muslim morning prayers, before the cocks crow, when packs of dogs still own the dumpsters, his alarm beeps. Today it is 3:30 a.m.

His name is Tarek Al Taweel. He is a Palestinian construction worker, not without skills. He builds modern high-rise apartments in a Jewish settlement in East Jerusalem, where a five-bedroom penthouse sells for $600,000.

The job is okay, he said. He makes 250 shekels, about $68 a day, twice what he would make in the West Bank. He works beside his father, uncles and brothers. They’re proud of their craftsmanship. They keep photographs on their mobile phones of their aluminum work, fine carpentry, elaborate tiling.

It’s not the work. It’s the Israeli checkpoint. “I hate it,” Taweel told us. The daily crossing drains him. It makes him feel that life is desperate and ugly.

“Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I don’t want to go to the checkpoint. Sometimes I put my head back on the pillow,” Taweel said. “My wife will say to me, ‘You have to feed our child. Get up. Get up!’ And I get up and go.”

The Israeli occupation of the Palestinian territories of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip began 50 years ago in June.

Taweel turned 30 last year.

Like Taweel, four of every five Palestinians have never known anything but the occupation--an evolving system by which the Israeli military and intelligence services exert control over 2.6 million Arabs in the West Bank, with one system for Palestinians, another for Israelis.

This summer, the Israelis will celebrate their near-miraculous victory in the 1967 war, when in just six days, they took all of Jerusalem and their armed forces crushed the Arab armies thrown against them.

On the other side, the Palestinians will mark a military occupation going on for so long that many Israelis barely seem to notice anymore, except the young soldiers sent to enforce it.

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu refers to it, when he speaks of it at all, as “the so-called occupation.” Some of his fellow citizens say there is really no occupation, because all the Land of Israel was awarded to the Jews by God. Other Israelis argue that Gaza is no longer occupied, because Israel unilaterally withdrew from the coastal strip a decade ago.

Whatever it is called, it appears to be never-ending. Shelves of books have been written about who is to blame for not making peace. Presidents Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and Barack Obama failed to find a “two-state solution.” President Trump says he wants to make “the deal of the century” between Israelis and Palestinians, and just spent two days here.

But what does it feel like? To be “occupied” in 2017, by a country that boasts to be the only democracy in the Middle East?

The first time we saw Taweel he wore dusty jeans and carried a plastic bag with a can of oily tuna fish and a short stack of pita bread. On the spur of the moment he agreed to be a guide of sorts, not only through the chaotic Israeli checkpoint he dreads, but the emotions felt, but not always expressed, at the crossing between his worlds.

His father cautioned him that speaking to two journalists, even for an American newspaper, could jeopardize his permission to enter Israel.

“The permit is life,” the father told us.

The Israeli domestic security service, Shin Bet, keeps voluminous files on Palestinians, and it denies and revokes work, travel and medical permits every day, and need give no more reason than “security.”

“I don’t care,” Taweel said. “It’s okay.”

It is dark outside his family’s three-story home in Hebron when we arrive to follow Taweel on his daily commute.

Although it might take him three or four hours to get to his construction site in East Jerusalem, the entire trip is only 20 miles as the crow flies.

His uncles, brothers and their families live in the kind of extended family compound many Palestinians prefer. A little after 4 a.m., the first lamps appear in the windows, just for a minute, switched on, then off, as if someone is looking for a lost boot and doesn’t want to wake everyone inside.

One of his uncles comes out to offer a cup of coffee. “We leave in the dark and return in the dark,” he said. “It’s unnatural.”

Taweel has a high school diploma and a handsome face that is hard to read. He’s got hazel eyes, square shoulders and an athletic build.

He is recently married, and when we see him away from the checkpoint, with his family, he doesn’t look anxious, but alive with pleasure. Nine months ago, his wife gave birth to a chubby-cheeked boy they dress in cute little track suits.

Taweel is skilled at stonework, drywall and plaster. His competence got him a job.

But it was his baby that got him his permit.

Israel is closed to Palestinians without travel or work permits, except for residents of East Jerusalem, who have a special status. Palestinian women over 50 and men over 55 may enter for a day without a permit from the West Bank, if the checkpoints are open. All Palestinians living in Gaza need special permission.

Construction workers from the West Bank who seek permits must generally be at least 23 years old, married, and have a child, so Taweel could not get an Israeli work permit until his son was born.

Today there are more than a hundred kinds of permits issued by the Israeli military authority for movement.

A permit to travel or study abroad, pray at the Jerusalem holy sites, visit relatives, attend a wedding or funeral, get medical treatment and work on the other side of the separation barrier.

To get out of Gaza--which is under the control of the Islamist militant movement Hamas, a terrorist organization--is even harder. Israel pulled out of the Gaza Strip in 2005 but still maintains a land, sea and air blockade with restrictions on travel and trade. No Palestinians from Gaza commute to work in Israel.

Taweel’s work permit allows him to enter Israel in the early morning, but he must leave by the end of the day.

The Israeli intelligence officers assume that family men like Taweel are not only less likely to carry out terrorist attacks, but less likely to commit any crimes--such as smuggling or spending the night in Israel--for fear of losing their permit.

Around 4:20 a.m., Taweel and six co-workers walk to the end of their street and pile into a van for the ride to Bethlehem. Everyone but the driver immediately nods off.

Taweel said, “More sleep is a blessing.”

Heading north on two-lane Highway 60, they pass the Palestinian town of Saer, home to many construction workers and also a dozen of the young stabbers and car-rammers in last year’s wave of violence, which left 35 Israelis dead.

Across the highway is Kiryat Arba, the Jewish settlement infamous as the home to the American-born physician Baruch Goldstein, who massacred 29 Muslim worshipers with a machine gun at the Cave of the Patriarchs in 1994.

Taweel’s van speeds toward a crossing called Checkpoint 300, or Checkpoint Rachel, because it abuts the Tomb of Rachel, the biblical matriarch, a shrine sacred to Muslims and Christians and considered one of the holiest for Jews.

Checkpoint 300 passes through Israel’s high concrete walls, tagged with Palestinian graffiti and Banksy murals, erected during the second intifada, or uprising, in the early 2000s, when Palestinian suicide bombers were targeting Israeli civilians.

The crossing today is the scene of frequent clashes between young Palestinians throwing rocks and burning tires, and young Israeli soldiers who fire tear gas, rubber-coated bullets and live ammunition.

It’s now almost 5 a.m. Bethlehem is asleep, only the bakeries are bright. But as the convoys of taxis, vans and buses reach the checkpoint, men stir and rush toward Israel’s separation barrier, here a 26-foot-tall cement wall with watch towers.

There are already swelling crowds. It’s a Sunday, busiest day of the week, with thousands of men shoving forward, squirming under fluorescent bulbs.

Taweel was not ready to risk the crush. He is perched above the entrance to the checkpoint on the Bethlehem side, squatting on his heels, elevated on the rubble of an old stone wall, watching the shoving match below.

“It’s too crazy,” he said. “Let’s wait.”

Taweel saw his impatient uncles and brothers shoulder first into the scrum, followed by his father. They pushed on the back of the man in front. His father smiled weakly up at his eldest son through the bars. Father and son looked sad.

Later, Taweel explained that they were ashamed that a foreigner had come to watch such a spectacle.

A few years earlier, Taweel’s father suffered cracked ribs, when he was crushed at the checkpoint. An uncle with high blood pressure once fainted and had to be rescued. During our visit to the checkpoint, one man had a heart attack and another with asthma collapsed.

“You never, ever want to fall down,” Taweel warned.

There are now 70,000 Palestinians working legally in Israel, most of them in construction, plus an additional 30,000 to 50,000 working without permits, who scramble through drainage pipes and scale walls with grappling hooks and handmade ladders, to enter Israel.

There’s no panic this morning. Real panic is rare. But you could see easily how it could happen, like a stampede at a rock concert or a soccer stadium.

It looks a little scary, we said.

“It is scary,” Taweel said.

There are 13 major crossings that allow Palestinians with work permits like Taweel’s to enter Israel. Palestinians will argue which checkpoint is the slowest, fastest, the most crowded, the easiest, with the rudest or most professional soldiers or private security, and the most vile toilets.

Some crossings have vastly improved. But Palestinians say Checkpoint 300 is still one of the worst.

Thousands of workers from all over the southern West Bank must squeeze through each morning. There are no real alternatives. If you’re from Hebron and work in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv, it is the straightest line.

As we watched the crush, the Palestinians we asked conjured fantastical words in Arabic to describe the experience to come.

First the workers say they’re funneled into “cages,” the long barred passageways, then jammed into “chicken pluckers,” the clicking turnstiles. Then they pass through the “aquariums,” where the bored Israeli soldiers sit behind thick bulletproof glass, matching green IDs to faces.

It doesn’t take a psychologist to see the meanings behind the metaphors. The Palestinians say the words all describe animals in a zoo.

The crowds were thinning a bit. The line was moving.

After about 30 minutes, Taweel said, “Let’s go.”

The men are wearing work clothes still dirty from the day before. The older ones in coats and the young in hoodies. They are rugged-looking, a lot of them skinny, with hacking coughs. They are carrying table saws and joint knives.

The men move as a kind of wave, back and forth, two steps forward, a step back.

On this side of the separation barrier, there are no Israeli soldiers or security. No Palestinian police either. The movement forward is by remote control of the Israelis watching closed-circuit TV screens. Once into the chute, we stand three shoulders abreast, every part of your body touching someone or something.

The men smoke cigarettes to the filter, even in the lines. Vendors sell paper cups of coffee, which are passed through the bars. The men joke, flash anger, and check their phones.

The later it gets, the more the workers begin to push.

As Taweel gets closer to the turnstiles, Palestinians are climbing over the bars and almost stepping on our heads.

The workers call them “wall crawlers” and “snakes,” the young who jump over and slither under the bars to cut the line. Those who did not cut in lines said the crawlers demeaned themselves--and that this was intentional, that the Israelis wanted this to happen. Why else would they let these conditions persist year after year, they asked.

When ordinary Palestinian workers at Checkpoint 300 are asked what it feels like to be “occupied,” they use three words, consistently. Frustration. Humiliation. Pressure.

With the word “pressure” they sometimes grabbed their chests, mimicking a heart attack, or held their hands together and squeezed, like it felt in the cages.

“I think they do it deliberately, to put us in our place,” said Abu Rafat, 51, a stout barrel of a man with gray hair, a tile worker.

Before we enter the crossing, Abu Rafat points at a scrawny man hovering at the edge of our conversation. The man is growing anxious, keeps looking at his mobile phone, because if he doesn’t make it through the crossing by 7 a.m., his ride to Tel Aviv will leave without him and his boss will dock a day’s wages.

“Look at his eyes,” Abu Rafat said. “Does he want to kill himself? Or somebody else? You can’t tell.”

We reach the turnstile. Three men crowd into a space for one. It is locked, then opened, then locked. You can’t see by whom--a distant security officer or young soldier.

“Watch your hands,” someone shouted.

Taweel and others rush toward the aquariums. They rip off their belts. Their things are scanned. They passed through metal detectors. They press their thumbs on fingerprint readers.

If the workers don’t make it to their job site, they also lose money because most pay a Palestinian broker (who likely pays a cut to an Israeli contractor) 2,000 shekels, or $550, a month in excess “commissions,” charges that both the workers and Israeli government consider a bribe.

The work permit system has been condemned by Israeli human rights groups, as well as the Bank of Israel, as riven by corruption. The Palestinian workers are as likely to blame their own people as the Israelis.

“Permit millionaires,” one laborer described the middlemen.

“Scammers,” said another. “Thieves.”

A worker with a bristly beard and hands like sandpaper, named Abu Omar, 42, said: “We’ve lost our leaders. Our government doesn’t care.”

He waves toward the checkpoint. “Look at us,” he said. “We’re sheep without a shepherd.”

On the Israeli side, Taweel runs toward his ride.

He is late for work.

#Israel #Israeli checkpoints #Checkpoint 300 #West Bank #Palestinians

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