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moonbeambucky · 4 years

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Hey Neighbor (Epilogue)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3498 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is it 🥺🥺 I’m so sad we’re at the end but I couldn’t be happier by all of your reactions, even when things weren’t at their best I loved hearing your screams. Now we can all cry together as we say goodbye. Thank you so much for reading their story. Btw I started a Patreon for those who would like to support me.

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 25 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Breath fogs the window as you stare out of it, a grey haze has rolled over the city, the sky a sunless landscape of thick clouds and cold winds. It snowed the other day and what remains on the streets has become soot covered or murky slush. It’s nicer to stare at the white dusting on the branches of the trees below, taking in the soft peace of the afternoon.

The world has grown quieter over the past few weeks, your world at least. You can’t say the same for the hoards of people in Times Square, packed like sardines as they count down the hours for the ball to drop.

Graduation was behind you. Nearly two weeks ago you finally crossed that stage to receive your diploma. Technically the real one was still coming in the mail but it’s the symbolism that counted. All of your friends cheered as your name was called, tears of joy and relief welling up in your eyes as you did it– you finally did it!

Wanda hugged you tight afterwards, both of you letting your tears fall. She adjusted your graduation cap, decorated with a lightning bolt for Pietro. It was the first thing you did when you received your garments, to make sure a part of him was with you on such an important day. You left her arms for Peggy and Steve’s, then Sam, Natasha and Clint and then there was Bucky.

He grabbed his crutches, lifting himself up from the chair though you didn’t make him walk. A few steps closed the gap between you and you held him, your arms securing around him as a precaution as he balanced on one leg.

His smile was so beautiful as he murmured, “I’m so proud of you,” holding his gaze before you kissed tenderly, humming against his lips.

You’ve been dating ever since that day in the hospital and life couldn’t be better, especially since you and Bucky laid out some terms. From now on you would always be honest with each other, never holding back your feelings. You were a team who loved and respected each other to talk and more importantly listen.

Bucky managed well on crutches but there were still things he couldn’t do, taking for granted days he could have gone outside for a walk. Sure he had muscles, but his arms were killing him, especially on the days he had to go to the doctor for a checkup. He started physical therapy too, to keep up with strength and flexibility for the rest of his body.

It was exhausting but you were there to help him almost every step of the way. Showering was a pain though Bucky insisted on some independence, wrapping up his cast as he sat on a cold plastic chair that extended over the tub. It made him feel like he had aged 80 years but he got over it.

You did what you could to help him heal but the greatest comfort Bucky found was when you were cuddling together. He cherished those moments the most, when you held him, resting your head against his chest, or when his head was in your lap as he stretched across his couch, your fingers lazily combing through his hair.

It was the quiet moments together, crossing the threshold of intimacy in new ways. This was the slowest Bucky has ever gone since he was in middle school, swallowing a nervous gulp before asking if it was okay to hold a girl’s hand.

Life after had been a blur; his guard up, women in and out, no chance to settle, in and out, no connection, faces blend together, names are nothing more than letters on his phone for a good time, in and out. It was all noise, a constant buzzing in his head until you came into his life.

You’ve opened Bucky’s ears and the noise became sweet music. You’ve opened his heart, the melody it sings is a love song and he’s soaring. He doesn’t waste time on regrets, instead he spends each and every day getting to know you and love you in new ways.

You celebrated Thanksgiving together, with his parents coming to your apartment so Bucky didn’t have to travel. George brought most of the food over, it wasn’t barbecue but it was just as delicious. And this year you had the time to bake a pumpkin pie.

Your days were spent working at The September Foundation up until graduation. Elena hired you for Metro-General and you start there on the first Monday of the new year. Ideally, you’d like to still volunteer when you can and knowing Tony it’s something he fully supported. Things couldn’t be better.

“Doll, are you ready?”

Bucky’s voice pulled you away from the window and you climb off his bed and into his waiting arms. The basketball shorts he wears reveals his skinny left leg, paler than the other thanks to the dry flakiness he’s still working on remedying. He was in a cast for almost three months and just got it off a few days ago. You went with him, holding his hand as he beared weight on his weak muscle after so long.

He just finished the strengthening exercises he was supposed to do every day and now he needed to shower. You both did actually since tonight was Natasha and Clint’s annual New Year’s Eve party. You pull your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind you and Bucky follows you to the bathroom. He can shower without his seat now but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want help and you happily obliged. The water ran cold by the time you actually finished and you really didn’t mind at all. Now that Bucky’s cast was off you were looking forward to getting even more physical again.

Though you showered at his place you finished getting ready at yours since you could. Living next door to your boyfriend was obviously convenient. You were able to be together and still have the space you needed. For now it worked though you can see yourself moving in together. A smile stretches across your face when you think of it, Bucky playing his music, no walls in between, a far cry from how things began.

You open your closet to find a dress that would work for the theme of this year’s party which they claimed was winter except they asked all their guests to wear either red or green. You bit your tongue, thinking that sounded more Christmas than winter but you didn’t argue, it wasn’t your party. You pulled out a crimson colored dress that had a beautiful lace overlay. The back was sheer and though it was a little short you felt it was seasonally appropriate with its long sleeves. You finished your hair and makeup, finishing off with gold chandelier earrings and peep-toe heels.

A rhythmic knock rapped at your door and you knew it was Bucky. Opening the door your jaw dropped. Maybe it was the fact that you had mostly seen him in shorts and sweatpants over the last three months, and not that he didn’t make those look good, but the outfit he was wearing now looked incredible. He looked sharp in a juniper green suit with a soft tartan design, a brighter green patterned tie stood out against his light shirt. His shoes were dark brown with a hint of mahogany that reflected in the light and even though he looked amazing you were surprised he didn’t opt for sneakers to be more comfortable with his leg.

“Fuck, you look beautiful,” he spoke first, biting his lip as he looked at you up and down.

He shaved since you left him and your hands went to cup the smooth skin of his cheek. “Not more beautiful than you.”

You pressed your lips to Bucky’s, deepening the kiss with your tongue which was probably a bad idea since it only increased your urge to rip Bucky’s suit off and take him right there. You forced yourself back from him, walking towards your couch to grab your bag.

Bucky followed you as quickly as he could considering walking still felt a little strange. His arms went around your waist pulling you closer to him as his lips began to kiss your cheek, trailing down your neck. You hummed in delight, exhaling stuttered breaths, almost losing yourself to his touch before you pulled yourself out of it.

“We can’t,” you stressed, reluctantly. “We’re gonna be late, come on.”

He sighed acceptingly, waiting for you to unplug your phone and grab your keys. Just before you were ready to leave his arms wrapped around your waist one more time and Bucky spoke before you could say anything.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The swell of your heart reached your lips as you gazed into Bucky’s eyes repeating the same words you’ve known and felt for so long. After another sweet kiss you locked up your place to take the long trip up one flight.

Clint greeted you at the door, his arms pulling you and Bucky into warm welcoming hugs. Unlike his guests, Clint was dressed in a white suit jacket, with black pants and a matching bow tie. He welcomed you into the apartment that was not filled with as many people as you expected.

There were familiar faces in your friends, including Sam who was able to take off this year. Right away Bucky teased him about his red suit calling him Elmo.

“Yeah whatever Kermit. And what about this one?” Sam teased, pointing at Steve. “That’s all you had?”

Steve blushed pink, feeling insecure about his outfit choice, a cozy forest green cable-knit sweater. “Like I’m supposed to have a fruit punch suit in my closet?”

“It’s cranberry and I look good,” Sam declared, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket.

You let the boys continue to have fun as you said hello to Wanda and Peggy, both looking beautiful in their dresses. “Where’s Natasha?”

They shook their heads. “Haven’t seen her,” Wanda said, heading towards their marble island to grab a drink.

It was decorated with a row of mason jars, each filled a quarter of the way with coarse sugar mimicking crystal snow, with a candle in every other one and a chunk of bright red cranberries and sprays of cedar leaves sticking out of the others.

“But we just got here, so I dunno,” she finished.

You were looking around for familiar guests, surely the partners of her law firm would be coming again. An older woman sat on the couch talking to another unfamiliar face, the back of their heads glowing thanks to the curtain of twinkle lights that decorated the large walls of the living room. In the corner was their Christmas tree, a tall spruce decorated with frosted pine cone garland, matte red ornaments and thick burlap ribbon.

Clint brushed passed you, kneeling in front of the older woman who looked curiously familiar. Nervous energy was pouring off of him, from the way he kept chewing his nails to the constant tremble of his leg. He smiled as he passed you again standing near the door. With Natasha still not in sight you decided to do a little digging, by way of introducing yourself.

You walked over to the woman Clint had been speaking to, standing in front of her and the two people she was mid-conversation with. The man was big, his Santa-like belly was testing the buttons of his red shirt as it stretched across the material. His eyebrows were bushy and his brown hair was long in the front, looking a little messy as if it had been brushed through with only his fingers. He had a long beard that matched the color of his hair though it had a lot more grey in it.

The woman was beautiful. The emerald top she wore brought out the green flecks of her hazel eyes and her red lips drew you right into her beautiful smile. Her dark hair was braided with a crown, the rest of the locks falling onto her shoulders.

You caught their attention, extending your hand with a smile as you introduced yourself. The older woman spoke first, her voice as soft as a songbird as she told you her name, Edith, followed by the fact that she was Clint’s mother. Well, that explains it. You see the similarities now, the glasses she wore didn’t hide the fact that they shared the same eyes. Even her mouth was the same, thin lips that grew into the same beaming smile.

“I’m Melina,” the beautiful woman said with a Russian accent. “This is Alexei.” She pointed to the man who smiled at you. His grip was strong as he took your hand in his meaty paw. “We’re like family to Natalia,” he grinned proudly.

“It’s so nice to meet you all!” you said, sitting beside them to talk all while in the back of your mind your brain was working to put together why they were here. Sure it’s a holiday but family members have never come to Clint and Natasha’s for New Years before. In fact, Natasha doesn’t even have family. The only “family” you knew of would have to come from Russia to–

Holy shit.

You find an acceptable way out of the conversation, rushing over to Bucky and pulling him away from his conversation. Your hands are jittering with excited energy, eyes as wide as your mouth is open.

“Bucky, don’t you see what this is?!”

He looks confused for a moment before his attention is diverted. Bucky looks past you to another unfamiliar person that walked in. It’s a man with brown skin dressed in all black. A dark goatee framed his face and the straps of an eye patch secure comfortably around his hairless head. Though Bucky tried not to stare he couldn’t help but notice the veining of scars stretching out across his temple and cheek. He stands tall and silent with his arms clasped behind his back waiting.

Clint cleared his throat, a nervous smile settling on his face. “Now that everyone’s here I’d like to welcome you to… our wedding.”

Gasps of surprise fill the room with everyone rushing up towards Clint as he tries to field questions, hoping no one was truly mad at the abrupt announcement. “I knew it,” you whispered under your breath, gently slapping at Bucky’s arm.

The man in black walked towards the front of the living room, clearly the officiate who asked everyone to get settled as they were about to begin. Clint knocked once on his bedroom door, before taking his place beside the man who introduced himself as Nick.

A young woman with blonde hair slipped out of the door. She nodded to him, cracking a hint of a smile before she settled next to Melina. A moment later everyone’s eyes were drawn to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open again.

Natasha stepped out looking like a dream, in a floor length shimmering ivory gown that showed off her well sculpted shoulders with its high halter neckline, embellished with beautiful beading. She clutched a delicate bouquet of white roses and winter greens with cranberry sprigs woven throughout. Natasha walked up to Clint without fanfare, just the audible sighs of those around her admiring the back of her dress, dazzling and tasteful cut outs that showed off more of her toned body. The fabric cinched above the small of her back, a small train sweeping around her feet.

She handed her bouquet off to the blonde girl, her “sister” you presumed, remembering an old conversation with Clint. Brushing back a loose tendril from her face, Natasha smiled widely as she stared at Clint, bringing her hands forward to connect with his.

Nick began speaking and you took out your phone to capture a quick picture as the impromptu ceremony began. Bucky’s hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as you watched your friends exchange their vows.

Clint’s hands communicated his words in sync as he spoke them. “Natasha, what more can I say to the person that knows me better than I know myself. Because of you the sun shines a little brighter each day, flowers have a sweeter fragrance and my heart is filled with treasured memories. Even the not so great ones like that time in Budapest that I know we remember very differently.”

A chuckle simmers amongst the small crowd and Natasha dips her head down to laugh.

“Because of you my heart found a home, and like my stomach, it will never be empty...” Clint smiled, taking Natasha’s hands in his. “...because it will always be filled with your love, a love that I promise you I will never let go.”

Natasha sniffs, brushing aside a tear as she gathers her thoughts. “Clint, you’ve given me a second chance in life, you’ve shown me what friendship and love truly mean. I promise to trust and respect you and give you the best of myself. I promise to always fight for you, never against you, to be by your side through whatever life brings. I promise to make sure we always have snacks in the house and to clean up all the stains from your shirts when you drop food on them.”

Clint’s shoulders shrugged with acceptance as he chuckled under his breath, “It happens a lot.”

“Yes it does,” Natasha repeated, smiling wider. She exhaled a deep breath before continuing. “I promise to love you through the good times and bad and to choose our love every single day. You are my best friend, my soulmate and I'm the luckiest person on Earth to be able to call you mine.”

You felt Bucky press a kiss to your temple, leaning his head against you as the ceremony continued. When it was time Alexei dug into his pocket, pulling out the rings. With Nick’s concluding words Natasha wrapped her arms around Clint’s neck, and his held her waist; their love sealed with a kiss as everyone cheered in celebration.

They pulled back from each other, Clint resting his forehead against Natasha’s. He brought his hand up, bending his middle and ring finger into his palm. Natasha did the same, their fingertips touching as they signed “I love you” before turning to face their friends and family.

Edith was the first to hug the newly married couple who made their way through everyone until they got to you. Bucky and Clint hugged as he congratulated them. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can.” Natasha laughed, pressing her cheek to Bucky’s as they hugged. She moved to you and you wrapped your arms around her tightly. “We’ve been planning this wedding for so long it was never going to happen unless we did it this way.”

“It was perfect,” you said, pulling back from your hug with a huge smile. “Congratulations, I’m so happy for you both.”

As the night went on you formally met Yelena, the blonde who Natasha grew up with, and learned about her exciting work. You were in similar fields as she worked to free people of human trafficking, mostly young girls that were to be indoctrinated into radical terrorist groups for forced marriage or even espionage.

Her work was more hands-on as she physically raided underground bunkers or warehouses. It made you feel like you weren’t doing enough even though you knew that wasn’t true. All the years spent working towards your goal reaffirmed that, and in just a few days you’ll officially move into your office in Metro-General, across from Elena’s as you begin doing what you’ve always wanted to do, help people.

You’re lost in a comfortable stare as you look at the Christmas tree, realizing the countdown to midnight had begun.

Ten! Nine! Eight! ...

You turn around, looking for Bucky in the small room that was crowded with everyone standing so close together, huddled around the TV that showed the view from Times Square.

Seven! Six ...

The shimmering ball was descending and you were alone until….

Five! Four! ...

“Hey neighbor…” A voice called and you spun around relieved. Bucky smiled, bringing you close into his arms.

Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!

He leaned in, his lips hovering above yours, pausing as you spoke above the roar of cheers. “Have I ever told you how happy I am that you moved in here?” you purred.

“Every day. It’s like music to my ears.”

Bucky smiled tenderly, sealing the small gap between you, kissing you softly as he poured all the love from his heart out and into yours. Your hearts beat to the rhythm of your own symphony, a song that had a rocky beginning of notes that stretched high and low, but now it was a steady ballad you would continue to create together with your love.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff

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pastel-odette · 3 years

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Revenge- A Banana Fish Fanfiction

This is a fic written for @emi-joanna. Sorry it took so long, I started work and college this past month. I hope it's as angsty as you requested!

(tws are properly tagged as tw _____)

“Eiji! Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!”

Eiji came rushing out of the house, locking up before making his way to the car. “What took you so long?” Aslan asked. Eiji opened up his satchel to reveal various snacks and sweets. “I had to grab the essentials,” he said with a smile. Aslan chuckled. “You really think we’re gonna need them?” “Yes!! During last year’s shrine visit you whined and whined about being hungry, so this time I thought I’d come prepared.” “How do you even remember that?” “Magic, my love. Now enough questions! Let’s go already!” It had been seven years since the couple had moved to Izumo. The first year had been the toughest. Despite being months out of the hospital, Aslan had still been reeling from the attack from Lao. The realization that even after Dino was dead, even after he thought he was finally free, someone still wanted to kill him had hit him extremely hard. He had felt foolish for thinking he would ever be anything other than what Dino made him. To hunt and be hunted, was that really all there was left for him? He had almost wished he hadn’t survived. He didn’t even understand why he survived in the first place.

The decision to move to Japan with Eiji did not come easy. Almost every part of him was screaming at him to abandon that hope that he could ever have a normal life. The physical distance made it seem more unattainable, too. However, Eiji was persistent. He would text every day, and call as much as he could. He was determined to make sure Aslan saw their original plan to move to Japan through.

Eventually, Aslan caved in. He said goodbye to New York, and started a new life with his soulmate. It wasn’t until he laid in bed that night, Eiji sleeping peacefully next to him, that what he did hit him all at once. An entirely new country with nothing to protect himself with.

For a while, they stayed at the Okumura family house. Eiji’s father was still in the hospital as he learned, so it was just the two of them, Eiji’s mother, and his sister. He felt surprisingly welcomed, like he was truly part of the family. It was strange to him to meet people so truly kind and hospitable upon first meeting. It wasn’t long until it started to feel like home.

But it still didn’t feel safe. He would lay awake at night, Eiji beside him, terrified of every little noise he heard. On the rare occasions where he did sleep, he would have terrible nightmares, and when he would jolt awake he would reach for a gun that wasn’t there.

The Okumuras noticed how fidgety and cautious he was. So, they installed a security system in their house. They did everything, big and small, to help him adjust to this new life. When Aslan and Eiji moved out into their own house, they took a lot of these things with them. The security system, the protective charms, the little statues of gods that could protect them. It stunned Aslan how… good he felt to be living this life.

Izumo is where Aslan had found peace and happiness. “We’re here,” Aslan said.

They made their way through the rows of trees together, surrounded by other people also dressed for the chilly weather. Some wore their traditional kimonos, some wore more casual winter clothes. As they approached the torii gates they saw a familiar person standing there. “Mari!” Eiji shouted as he waved to his sister. She waved back as she walked up and gave them both a tight hug. “How are your studies going?” Aslan asked with a soft smile. “Well, just as tough as last year. But I’m glad to finally be visiting again!” She beamed.

When Aslan moved to Japan, Mari was right there alongside Eiji to greet him. She was thrilled to meet him, and sympathetic when she realized Aslan had lived a much different life than her and her brother. It wasn’t long until she felt like his own sister. When she moved to Tokyo for college, he nearly cried with how proud he was.

“You’re not wearing mom’s kimono this year,” Eiji pointed out.

Usually, Mari would wear a deep blue kimono with a stunningly complex design depicting a soaring phoenix and a gold-colored obi. It was passed down through many generations until it was owned by their mother, and now her. Now she was wearing a pale yellow kimono with a much simpler chrysanthemum pattern and pink obi with a chrysanthemum obidome to match. Mari gave a sad smile. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I just didn’t want something so… connected to her anymore. So my friends took me shopping and I found this. Don’t worry though, I didn’t throw away the other one or anything. It’s still in my closet.” “I think it looks good. Suits you,” said Aslan. Eiji nodded his head. This time, Mari beamed.

Being the very first day of the New Year, the temple was crowded with all sorts of people. The chozuya was completely packed, and it took them a few minutes before they were able to purify their hands. Ash always wondered if his hands could ever be truly pure, but he tried not to think about that as he poured the water. It was supposed to be a day of celebration and good luck. He didn’t want his thoughts to ruin that.

Every year, Aslan wished to the gods for protection. Protection from violence, from grief, from assault, from everything that made his life miserable for so long. This year was no different. However, there was something else this year he needed extra luck for. He prayed for that too.

Next, they went to exchange their omamori. Aslan chose the protection charm, as he did every year, and Mari chose the education charm. Usually, Eiji would get the protection charm just as Aslan did. This time he chose the success charm. “What goal do you want to be successful?” Mari asked.

“This year, I’m determined to have my own photo gallery.” It was a goal he had for a while, but this year he was going to have the luck of the gods on his side.

Finally, they needed to pull their o-mikuji.

“I’m a little nervous,” Mari jokes. Most of the time she had negative fortunes. However, this year, she would apparently have a future blessing (and small luck in her romantic relationships). Aslan was given half-blessing with lots of luck in travel. Then it was Eiji’s turn.

“Curse…”

“Well, it could be worse,” Aslan said, “at least you’re not super-mega-cursed.”

Eiji just sighed and folded up the paper.

“You’re not gonna read the rest of it?” “Nah. Not really a point.”

As they left the shrine, Eiji trailed behind and sulked.

Aslan gave Mari a nudge.

“You talk to him, you're the psychology major. I’m no good at this stuff.”

Mari nodded and went to walk beside Eiji.

“Listen, if it’s just a regular curse, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It’s mostly just little everyday inconveniences. The worst I’ve experienced with just a regular curse is that really bad breakup I had with Yui.” “With who??” “Hush, Aslan, this isn’t about you. Anyways, I don’t think you have anything to really worry about.”

When they get to the parking lot, they have to part ways. Mari made plans to go visit some of her old friends, and Aslan and Eiji had to return home, as they were going to host dinner that night.

When Aslan and Eiji arrived home, they were greeted by a very excitable golden retriever. They had gotten him about a year ago, when he was just a year old, from a local shelter. Even then, he still acted a little bit like a puppy.

“Hey, Bud,” Aslan said as he knelt down to pet Buddy. The dog jumped up to lick his face.

“Should we start dinner now?” Eiji asked as he put down his stuff and made his way to the kitchen.

“You can. Might as well. Just in case someone comes early or something.”

“You can’t just spend all afternoon petting Buddy, you know.” “I know, I know! I’ll help you in a minute.”

Buddy didn’t seem to mind all the extra attention he was getting, though. But eventually, Aslan had to go help his partner.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” asked Aslan as he put on his apron. He didn’t always help in the kitchen, his skill level was limited to basic survival foods, but over the years he got better and better at it. It felt very domestic, to cook alongside someone.

“How about you start on the datemaki? I’ll make the ramen.”

Aslan nodded, and they both started getting their ingredients. The kitchen was large enough that they could work around each other comfortably, and it wasn’t long until the kitchen started to smell delicious. Buddy noticed this, and trotted over to beg for treats.

“I have nothing for you,” Aslan said. Still, Buddy sat beside him, wagging his tail and giving him an expectant look. Aslan tried to ignore him as he started to whine, focusing on mixing the ingredients together.

“Here, Buddy!” Eiji called the dog, waving a large bone. Buddy instantly jumped up and ran over, wagging his tail furiously. Eiji then gave him the bone, which Buddy took to the living room happily.

“There we go, that’ll keep him occupied,” Eiji smiled. Aslan couldn’t help but smile back.

They continued cooking nonstop into the evening. As time went on, the more dishes they completed, and the more it started to look like a full meal. However, they were still pretty far from done.

Aslan sighed as he stretched. There was enough time to just take a tiny little break, he thought. He leaned against the counter and looked over at Eiji. His partner seemed distracted by something as he stared off into space.

“Hey.”

“Ah!” Eiji jumped, fumbling the bag of flour he was holding before dropping it on the counter.

“Ohhh no!” he exclaimed. Aslan chuckled slightly before helping his partner clean up the mess.

“Looks like your bad luck has officially begun.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Eiji said as he smacked the other with a floured towel. Ash looked down at his arm then back up at Eiji with a smile.

“Really? You wanna start this?” He dipped his thumb in the flour before smudging it across Eiji’s cheek.

“You’re on!”

And that’s how it started, a full-blown flour war.

Nothing was spared. Flour was thrown, smudged, and flew everywhere. The counters, the floor, their clothes, their skin, their hair and skin, all of it was covered in at least a thin layer of flour.

It was stupid, it was childish, they had wasted an entire bag just making everything dirty. But they didn’t care. It was fun. They were having fun and messing around together. At that moment, they weren’t thinking about having to clean up and get back to cooking, they just thought about each other.

The couple just laid on the floor together as Buddy sniffed around them before licking Aslan in the face.

“No, Buddy!” Aslan squealed, pushing Buddy’s face away. The dog just wagged his tail as his owners helped each other up.

“You’re a mess,” Eiji laughed.

“Speak for yourself! You’re even dirtier than me! Go take a shower, I’ll clean this all up.”

Eiji kissed Aslan’s floured cheek before going to wash himself and his clothes.

Once everything was all clean, both of them included, they had to work faster in order to get everything done by the time their guests would arrive. Occasionally, though, they would look over at each other, and laugh silently before getting back to work.

Eventually, they had a complete New Year’s Day dinner. Eiji set the table while Aslan arranged the food into the boxes.

“Well, I’d say it looks pretty good,” Aslan said.

“We make a pretty good team!” Eiji shouted from the dining room.

When everything was all set for their guests to arrive, they high-fived to celebrate their hard work. It was the first time they cooked for New Year’s all on their own, and it was the first time they would be hosting.

The first to arrive were Ibe and his wife, Namiko. They met shortly after he returned to Japan, and she was a very kind woman, the kind that got along with all her neighbors and would check in on them from time to time. The couple greeted their hosts warmly with hugs and a bottle of sake.

Buddy was thrilled to have guests, and quickly ran over to receive pets from two of his many favorite humans.

It wasn’t much longer after that when Mari arrived, and the party officially started. Chatter filled the house as they ate. They talked about everything that had happened during the past year, everything they accomplished, and everything they hoped to accomplish this year.

“Well, I have no complaints,” Ibe said, “We traveled a lot this year for work.”

“It was great! So many fun new places we visited,” Namiko said.

“Mine was just another normal year of classes. I made a new group of friends, and they’re really great," Mari said through a mouthful of food.

“We adopted our dog,” Eiji beamed. Buddy was resting in the living room. After a while of whining for food, he had finally given up, and they knew if they mentioned him by name he would come over and start begging again.

The party went on late into the night as they continued to chat and drink. Everyone’s spirits couldn’t be higher as they celebrated the past and welcomed in the future, giving a toast for good luck. Eventually, though, the night had to end. They said their goodbyes to each other, and the guests went home, leaving Aslan and Eiji to clean up.

Aslan felt content as he washed the dishes. It was a great night, surrounded by people he loved. Seven years in Japan. He hadn’t felt like Ash Lynx in so long. He felt like he had control over his life.

A partner, a house, a dog, a legal job, friends, a little sister. The old ladies on his street fawned over him as if he was free from sin. The local coffee shop knew his face and order by heart. Nobody feared him, they were all friendly towards him, and treated him as if he really was normal.

Oftentimes it felt unreal. But as he sat on the couch, Eiji nestled into his side, he knew it was.

“Thank you,” Eiji murmured.

“For what?”

“For helping out today. For everything you do. You’re so good to me.”

Aslan smiled softly.

“I should be the one saying that to you.”

“How about we’re both good to each other?”

“Yeah,” Aslan whispered, “I can agree with that.”

The next few days of the New Year were spent with Mari. The plan was for her to go back to Tokyo on the fourth, when the holiday was over, so they wanted as much time with her as they could.

During the Japanese New Year, businesses are closed for the next three days. They couldn't go to restaurants, shops, or the market. So mostly, they just spent time at Aslan and Eiji’s house. Watching TV, playing board games, and video games on the SNES they got a few years back. They could also go to the beach.

Izumo was a coastal town, with cliff sides to the north, and a long, thin strip of beach to the west. When the three of them stepped out of the car, they were glad they brought thick coats, as there was a cold breeze.

“Come on Buddy!” Eiji said as he opened the car door. The dog jumped out of the car, wagging his tail happily.

The beach was an important place in Izumo, something Aslan had learned shortly after he moved. On the northern shore of the beach, there was a very large rock with a small shrine on top, too high for humans to reach. Every October, the gods would come to Izumo, and convene at the beach and its shrine.

Aside from it being a spiritual place, the beach was also just beautiful. It reminded Aslan of when he was younger, when he and Griffin would run across the sand and splash in the waves. Sometimes, when he and Eiji would take a walk along the beach, they would see children or a family, and he would feel a bit of nostalgia.

Now, he walked this beach with his new family.

It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky. They were only planning for it to be a relatively short walk, and would return to the car not long after the sun fully set. It was just nice to get some fresh air.

The trio walked in silence, aside from Buddy’s pants, until Aslan broke it.

“You know, Mari, you got a pretty interesting fortune this year,” he said.

Eiji caught on to what he meant. “Yeah! Are you excited for it?”

“For the future fortune? I guess so. It’s better than I get most years,” she said.

“No no, I mean about your romance fortune,” Aslan smiled.

Mari became slightly flustered, glaring at the couple. They just laughed in response.

“You should really get back out there again,” Eiji teased, “You’re not still heartbroken over Yui are you?”

Mari lightly punched her brother in the side.

“Of course not! That was the beginning of high school! Butt out of my love life!”

“But you, dear sister, are the one that butted into my love life when I went to America.”

“I shall have you know, dear brother, that I have matured since then. Besides, the charm I gave you worked, didn’t it?”

Eiji looked over at Aslan with a smile and squeezed his hand.

“Yeah. It did.”

The sun had begun to set at this point, halfway across the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, soft pinks and reds across the sky. The three stopped to admire it, Buddy sitting beside them.

“I think this is a moment worth capturing,” Eiji said. He got the polaroid camera from around his neck. They all posed close together, Aslan picking up Buddy so he could be in the shot, with the sunset in the background.

“Smile!”

Click.

The photo printed slowly, and Eiji shook it so it could develop faster.

It showed the four of them, happy in smiling, in the place they loved so much. They waited for the sun to set fully before returning home.

Instantly, the photo went up on their wall.

Unfortunately, the fourth eventually came, and Mari had to leave. At the train station, they said their goodbyes.

“Be sure to write!” Eiji said as she waved.

“I always do!”

With that, the train doors closed, and she left Izumo. Since it was the first day of the new year that businesses were open, Aslan decided he might as well go run some errands.

“See you at home,” he said as he pecked Eiji on the cheek.

“Mhm, see you.” Eiji waved goodbye to him.

The first stop was the coffee shop. Why not, right? It was a very cozy little shop and the majority of the patrons were locals and regulars. When the barista noticed him, he smiled.

“The usual?”

Aslan nodded, and the barista got to work. The coffee shop was relatively small compared to those in America, and it was warmly lit. As Aslan sat at the counter watching the barista he felt the chill of the mid-winter weather.

“Here’s your coffee,” the barista said as he placed the mug in front of Aslan. Most people see Aslan as the type of person to drink straight black coffee. And for a while, he was. As soon as he was “old enough” to drink coffee, he would drink it without sugar or creamer. It fit the persona he had and made him seem more mature to those around him. Now he didn’t care about any of that. He made his coffee super sweet. Tons of sugar, tons of creamer, because that was the way he actually liked it.

Usually, he would take the time to stay and chat with the barista for a bit. He was a funny and friendly guy, most of the reason Aslan liked this coffee shop in particular. However, today he had the odd urge to get home as much as possible. Maybe it was just because of the chill, he thought.

The next stop was the grocery store. They only really needed things to replace what they had used to cook dinner on New Years, including the flour that they had wasted.

He absentmindedly went through the small store until a voice called out to him from behind.

“My dear Aslan!”

He turned around to see his neighbor, Mrs. Tanaka. She was an old woman, kind as can be like almost everyone else in the neighborhood, who loved to garden in her front lawn and chat him up whenever she saw him. Aslan greeted her back and smiled.

“How have you been? How’s Eiji? Did you have a good new year?”

“Everything is good. How was your trip?”

The two chatted for a bit, catching up on things that happened since the last time they talked. Most of his neighbors he could strike up a conversation with just like this. It was the kind of neighborhood he could see himself and Eiji growing old in. It was a weird thought, to grow old with someone in a small town, but it was right.

They said their goodbyes, and Aslan continued shopping as normal.

When Aslan came home, the front door was unlocked. Huh. Maybe Eiji just forgot. However, when he opened the door, he was met with a horrible sight.

There lay Buddy, unmoving, in a pool of blood.

Aslan dropped his bags and rushed to his dear pet. He picked him up gently as tears began to fall.

How did this even happen? When? Why wasn’t he here to stop it?

That’s when he saw it. The wound on Buddy’s neck. A bullet wound. Someone… shot Buddy. There was no way. He was supposed to be safe in Japan. He was supposed to be safe with Eiji. Eiji... “Eiji!” he shouted. No response. He shouted again. The house was silent. Aslan gently placed down Buddy’s body. He had to make sure Eiji was okay. Eiji had to be okay, right?

Aslan crept through the house silently, listening for any sounds that might lead him towards Eiji or the intruder. As he approached the kitchen, he saw a pot on the stove bubbling over, so he turned off the stove. This whole thing must have happened fairly recently. A knife was also missing from the drawer.

Finally, he made his way to the bedroom.

What he saw terrified him.

Eiji. Sprawled across the floor, next to the open closet doors as if he had been pulled out, a knife in his hand. A bullet in his forehead. His eyes were wide open, and his cheeks were stained with tears.

Ash fell to his knees. This couldn’t be happening. Eiji couldn’t be dead. He was dreaming, he was hallucinating, this was some kind of joke. What separated him from his old life now? What stopped him from being Ash Lynx again?

Ash sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed. His love had been murdered. The bastard shot his dog, too. Why? He didn’t do anything. Neither of them did anything. It wasn’t fair.

He reached into the closet and pulled out a small box. Inside was a silver engagement ring. He picked up Eiji’s greying, cold hand and slipped the ring onto his finger.

“I know that we could never get married legally. But I still wanted to think of you as my husband. After all we had been through, didn’t we deserve that much?”

Eiji didn’t respond. His glossed-over eyes stared at nothing. Ash closed them.

“My soul will always be with you.”

--------

This might turn into a chaptered fic

Thank you to @syanara for betaing!

Tag list: @mycatshuman

#banana fish #banana fish fanfiction #ash lynx #aslan jade callenreese #eiji okumura #tw death #tw murder #tw guns #tw animal death #tw dog death

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california-raccoon · 3 years

Text

eye’s on the sparrow

He just stares at her, like he’d been wishing for his mom but she appeared instead. This belief - in wishing, in divine intervention, in fate - is probably the reason why he chooses to believe in her. BLEACH / AU / ICHIRUKI • [← PART 1 ○ PART 2: A study of Rukia Kuchiki]

III.

Of all the things Rukia considers herself as, fortunate is not one of them. Though the echoes of fortune haunt everything she sees and touches, she considers she’d rather do without it all. When she looks in the mirror, she recognizes herself, but it’s in a vague way. She knows what she looks like, but she doesn’t actually know who she is.

It isn’t that she’s ungrateful for what she has.

Her parents love her as much as any daughter; her childhood with them is filled with memories of picnics in the park, trips to museums… the annual cherry blossom festival where she’d walk down the rows of trees, warmth on her face and always two hands to hold.

They have always been kind, giving, and extremely passionate about their work. It seeps into her blood, as if they were related, to work twice as hard, to shine twice as bright. Rukia wears her last name like a medal she’s won and lets it define her completely.

Her father is her pride. He works tirelessly at the Kuchiki enterprises, recently inheriting the company from their now-retired Uncle. She learns importance of proper etiquette and strategy from him. Her mother is her heart, working at a non-profit that finds shelter for the homeless. Rukia used to ask her why she worked, not really in need of anything given their status, but her mom just ruffles her hair, and tells her there’s more to life than money. Rukia understands, because what else had she ever wanted besides the two of them?

Adjusting the hem on her black dress with a tug, she takes one last look at herself before leaving her room.

She is thirteen when she attends her mother’s funeral.

Her mother looks asleep in the coffin, make-up caked on, her giving her an artificial glow like she’s just sleeping. Rukia thinks it’s a pointless gesture, but she appreciates it anyway. She’d like the last look of Hisana not to be the pale image she used to visit in the hospital to say goodbye. The cancer came quickly, too late when they found out. They’ve already been grieving for months.

The event is small and intimate, mostly filled with family and friends. Her grandparents and cousins hug her and keep her soft, reminding her of everything her mother was. When they share their stories of Hisana, they reveal sides of her mother that she’d never known: when she and her friends got lost traveling around Japan during their last high school summer, her first big win gaining a successful client at the office, one of her first dates with Byakuya retold by her best friend. She was adventurous, determined and loved fiercely, they say; she will be missed. Rukia cries. It’s the first time she’s cried since she’d been adopted.

Her dad takes it the worst. After the funeral he floats around like his gravity’s been taken from him, no longer tethered to Earth. To counter this, he chains himself to his desk, focusing on his work to keep himself grounded. She comes home from school to an empty house.

If this is the cost of having a family, Rukia thinks, she isn’t sure it was worth the price. The loss she feels in her chest is too heavy; six years of happiness ending so abruptly that no fortunate person could ever experience.

So Rukia lets herself float. She skips classes and spends the day in arcades, in parks, talking to homeless people and stalking cats.

It takes her back to another time, hazy infinite summers sneaking out of the orphanage and playing by the river. It gives her the idea.

On a fair winter morning, Rukia takes a train to Karakura. The ride itself doesn’t take too long, and she hides her school uniform with her coat so as not to seem suspicious.

Walking around the streets, the town is quiet and serene. It feels like a dream. The buildings don’t seem as tall as they used to, the distance of things having shrunk between her steps. The river flows beside her at a constant ebb that floods her with nostalgia.

When she reaches the hill, she takes a moment to take it all in. Overgrown foliage and forest trees surround the Torii, weathered and dulled by time. It welcomes her like the arms of the birth mother she never met, but she ignores them in favor of the off-beaten path to the side of it, leading to the gate of a traditional-style house.

The laughter she hears from the children stops her cold on her feet. Rukia hides behind the gate and stands there, watching. The boys are running, all pranks and belly laughs with one another and the girls are gathering the toys to fight back at them. They were playing house when the boys had usurped the game with a declaration of war. There’s one kid, a little too scrawny and too short, who joins in the fight anyway, scrappy and unwavering.

She watches till she realizes her cheeks are wet, tears coming undone at the sight of it all, guilty for everything she’s built up in her head. These kids are tenacious, hoping for a better life that’s out of their control as foolhardy as it is. She was once that child, until fortune smiled upon her and gave her everything she wanted. Who was she to refuse it now when it was all she had asked for?

Rukia’s family may be broken, but it doesn’t mean she can’t try to mend what she has, to be grateful. Her mother was everything to her - to them - and she doesn’t regret anything about her life with her. She thinks of her mother, her ferocity for living, and keeps the spirit close to her heart.

Stepping away from the orphanage, she walks back to the station with renewed energy. The town itself seems to come alive with her. It’s the late afternoon and there are kids playing by the river, others biking past her in their school uniforms.

She deep in thought when a glint of orange across the street that catches her eye. She knows him, she realizes. He looks a little menacing, with a crinkle between his brows and a frown that’s permanently taken residence on his face. The look doesn’t suit him, too angry for someone so young. She doesn’t think she’d recognize him if it wasn’t for his hair. It has to be him though, right?

Rukia thinks she should say something. Hey. Hi. It’s been too long. Didn’t we used to write to each other? …it’s been years. Do you even remember me? The thoughts spill into her head all at once and jumble into a pit in her stomach.

What should she say? What would he think?

She stops walking and settles for a polite wave and a firm “Hello” deciding not to yell across the street. Panic calcifies in her chest when she can’t remember his name.

In the end, he doesn’t notice her. He’s got his earbuds on and when he’s closer she swears she can hear him humming a fast tune. They cross each other on the street with little fanfare.

The moment it’s over, Rukia just laughs, the sound foreign as it escapes her lips. She thinks herself silly for even trying.

Rukia’s mind wanders as she watches the landscape from the train windows morph from open fields back to the compact buildings she’s familiar with. She wonders what happened to him. She wonders if she’s changed as much as him.

Back home, she cooks a dinner big enough for two and waits for her dad to come home. He finally arrives two hours past his usual office hours. If he’s shocked by her gesture, its marginally expressed. The stovetop ticks to a lively fire as she reheats the food while he hangs his coat in the foyer. She’s laid the dishes out onto the table into a traditional setting she knows he’d appreciate.

“We can’t do this to her,” Rukia breaks the silence during the meal, fire in her words. “She would hate what you’ve become.”

“She’d hate what you’ve become too, skipping classes all the time.” He responds with ice, eyes low. “Don’t think I didn’t know. Your school’s called me every day this week.”

“You’re right and I’m sorry, but—” She grimaces, gesturing a slight bow to apologize.

“It’s hard to lose someone, isn’t it?” He says softly. “I don’t blame you for taking some time for yourself, but tell me next time… I know your mom usually handled these sort of things better, but…”

Rukia’s eyes are wide, her heart gutted at seeing her dad this way.

“I’ll make a deal with you. No more skipping classes but you have to come home for dinner.”

“I can’t help the office has been busy lately—“

“No excuses.” Rukia interrupts, strengthening her resolve, but her voice cracks. “I hate coming home to this empty house every day.”

There’s no response from him then, but his brows lift slightly in an expression she’s not used to.

“I visited the orphanage today.” Rukia says, the implication unfolding before him. She looks at him and his brows are still raised. “I just - I just wanted to see… to remember that time. I’m grateful for everything you’ve both done and given me, but.”

She takes a breath. There’s no fire in her now, just the calmness of knowing. “I forgot what it was like. Not to have parents. Or anyone. I don’t want to lose it again.”

The chopsticks clink against the porcelain of her dad’s bowl as he puts it down. He looks at her with a warmth that she’s never seen from him.

“I’m sorry… You have a deal.”

They don’t shake on the agreement and neither really speak much after the talk, but she feels the shift in him after dinner. Over the weekend they buy a frame and candles and set up a shrine by the dinner table. They buy flowers every week for Hisana. It’s not a lot, but they’re trying, and it’s enough.

Still, sometimes, she’ll take a train every once in a while back to Karakura.

#ichiruki #ca-r-makes #am i officially a fanfic author when i have a fic that i will never finish

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webslinger-holland · 4 years

Text

The Royal Family | Chapter Four

Summary: When two royal family’s decide to conjoin their countries, they arrange a marriage between their eldest children. Once the two royals meet, it takes a lot of convincing before they are ready to begin their reign together...

Warning: sexual tension, flirting, lots of kissing

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Type: The Royal Family Series

MASTERLIST

The spring day opens with the same gentle pace as the new blooms. The winter time had passed in its somber majesty. It had only brought skies of richly marbled greys and trees so elegant in their bare beauty. Those cold days for calmness and reflection are waning now. And a new spring energy will rise.

The blossom arrives like cake frosting on the trees in delicious creams and pinks. The petals burst out from lower down the branches, leaving the tips still in tight bud. The evergreens and spruces scented the air with their new growth. The trees had almost looked like dancing ladies. They wore dresses of different shades of green dresses which were more fabulous than any designer could craft. They would move in perfect harmony with each other, choreographed by the gentle breeze.

The eastern palace had been frantically scurrying around the place to clean up the last minute touches. The servants had been working all day to prepare for the garden party that would take place in the late afternoon. The gardeners had to make sure that the royal garden looked its absolute best for that special day.

The gardener (who was a little old man) had spent the whole last week working diligently on the gardens himself. He liked to shape the trees to his liking with his clippers. He groomed the bunches of flowers with his bare hand, occasionally sending some to the palace for the princess. He was also able to clean the fountain from the last winter. Now the garden would be the prime and perfect centerpiece for the garden party.

The grand tent had been set up to linger underneath some trees. The footmen had been ordered to carry the various tables and chairs out to the tent for set up. The maids would organize the tables and chairs to their liking. They placed the white lace tablecloths on top of the small white circular tables.

The ladies that worked in the kitchens were carrying out the fine china dishes. They were also starting to bring out the food that they would serve at the garden party. The little fluffy sandwiches would be served on the silver platters for it would be the main course. There were breads and biscuits that were practically tumbling over the sides of the wicker baskets on the wood table. There were small bowls of various fruits on the side, drizzled with a teaspoon of sugar. And there was one particular thing that would be a grand surprise.

A few small kettles of water were placed on the table to make warm tea. The little teabags were neatly ordered in little rows, showcasing the number of different flavors. And a little bowl of sugar was placed beside the warm kettles for a little added sweetening.

There were beautiful crystal glass pitches filled to the brim with pink lemonade. The ice buckets would come out later, so that the lemonade could be served with ice cubes for the guests. There were also a few bottles of champagne for the gentleman that didn’t really care for lemonade. There were pitchers of nice cold milk that would be served to the children. There were beads of water running down the sides of the glasses due to the cold liquid within the pitcher.

The princess of the east would be hosting her first garden party. She had spent the last couple weeks sending out invitations, choosing the foods that would be served, and organizing the decorations to her liking. She was beyond overwhelmed when the day had actually arrived.

She was telling the servants to do this and that. She had changed her mind in regards to the champagne. She found herself rearranging the setting on the guest list for the millionth time. She also made a grand request the day prior. She wanted there to be chocolate at the garden party (which was hard to come by).

The good news concerning the young couple’s courtship had rapidly spread throughout the entire kingdom. The servants whispered amongst themselves. Many of them were placing bets on the date that the royal couple would be engaged and married. The entire royal family was beyond thrilled with the news, expressing their sincere congratulations to the young couple. This garden party would be to celebrate their newfound courtship.

The three princes had found themselves walking amongst the preparation of the party in the front yard. The three of them did not pay any mind to the servants scurrying around them, frantically trying to make the last minute adjustments. They would settle their gazes on the young princess who was growing more stressed with each passing moment.

"Tell me, dear brother," Harry said with an evident smirk plastered on his face. He turned his head to look at his older brother standing beside him, tilting his head to gesture towards the princess in the short distance. "Have you kissed her yet?" Harry wondered.

"That is none of your business," Thomas said. He had been quick to avert his gaze, choosing to pretend to be focused on something else instead of having to listen to his brother’s taunting voice. Though he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, he couldn't suppress the smile from growing on his lips. This would give away any secrecy in the matter.

"Oh...so you have kissed her,” Harry concluded. He could see the evident blush on his brother’s cheeks. He would only raise his eyebrows in amusement, chuckling to himself at the notion. "My brother has had his first kiss,” Harry exclaimed a little too loud for his brother’s liking.

In the background, the prince’s personal assistant was making sure to linger behind them. He had turned his head to search some of his surroundings, watching the servants scurry around with keen eyes. His baby blue eyes would settle on this young servant carrying a bundle of neatly folded lace tablecloths. He could have sworn he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

In that give moment, the princess was fussing over this beautiful bouquet of flowers in the center of the table. She had taken one single step backwards to admire her work. She almost wondered if she had picked the right china dishes or if she should send for the other one. She just couldn’t think straight.

“You look stressed,” Thomas called. He had taken a few steps forward in his place, leaving his two brothers and personal assistant behind. He had grown to know her well over the past few months, especially during their courtship.

“I am stressed,” Y/N confessed. She had turned her head to look over the small stretch of her shoulder, staring at the three princes in her presence. She took hold of one of the white lace tablecloths from Elsie. She spread the tablecloth onto the next table. “There is still so much to do,” Y/N sighed.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Thomas suggested. He strode towards her, stopping to stand right in front of her. He could tell that she was about to make some protest, but then she began to process his words. He spoke again. “It might take your mind off things,” Thomas hinted.

The princess of the east had glanced at some of her surroundings in fear that some of the servants might catch onto the conversation between them. She was able to come up with a hundred excuses, but he simply refused to accept them. He had started to lead her away from the commotion with a hand on the small of her back. She was very reluctant to leave the front yard for a while.

The two royals were walking down the long gravel pathway of the newly opened gardens of the palace. He had caught her mumbling to herself under her breath as if she were making mental notes in her head. He had to tell her to not worry about anything. He said that he knew something that would take her mind off things.

With great precaution, the prince had brought the princess to a small stone gazebo hidden beneath the trees. He turned his head to look over the small stretch of his shoulder, checking to make sure nobody was nearby. He grasped onto the her, leading her towards the well-known hideout. He placed his hand on the small of her back, politely pushing her forward first.

The princess grabbed a handful of her skirt with both hands, lifting her skirt up so she could climb the steps. She did not hesitate to walk towards the stone wall of the gazebo. She found herself spinning around on the heels of her feet to face him, pressing her backside against the stone wall.

The prince had been following behind her. He turned his head to search some of his surroundings one last time. He quickly joined her in the privacy of the stone gazebo. He walked right up to her, so that he could press his body against her's. The coast was clear. They were alone now.

In an instant, their lips crashed together in synchronized harmony. He had carried his hand to rest below her ear, cupping her cheek with his large hand. His thumb was caressing her cheek in the most soothing manner. His other hand rested on her hip, holding her closer in his embrace. She ran her fingers over his forearms. She pulled him closer until there was no space left between them.

Their hearts were beating rapidly against their chests, threatening to break through the thin barrier. They could practically feel the blood and adrenaline pumping and coursing through their veins. They felt a rush of euphoric bliss envelop their beings, making their hearts sing with pure joy. Their hearts could barely contain the million different emotions surged through their bodies; desire, hunger love, lust.

The prince's mouth was warm; the caress of his lips gentle yet firm. He found himself tilting his head to the side to deepen their connection. He pressed his pink tongue against the seam of her little lips, begging for entrance. His tongue delved into her mouth, exploring every single aspect without any hesitation. He moaned at her sweet taste.

The princess's lips were so soft and smooth. Her lips were moving against the prince's lips as if they were two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces. She stifled a surprised gasp as his soft lips captured hers again, causing her body to flush with heat. She could feel the heat traveling through her veins, warming her heart.

The young woman was currently trapped between the stone wall and the strong prince. Though she didn't seem to mind. Her fingers were digging into the sleeve of the prince's coat, pulling him even closer to her. She refused to let him go. The obscene noises of one's saliva exchanging was streaming throughout the stone gazebo, bouncing off the hard walls. Their lips molded against each other’s perfectly. The kiss was so passionate.

In the end, the two human beings would need oxygen to survive. They had quite reluctantly pulled away from each other. They leaned forward to rest their heads together. They panted heavily to regain their breath. They stared into each other’s eyes, feeling at a loss for words.

"Thomas," the princess gasped. She breathed steadily to herself. She was lost in his gaze. “We must get married soon. I cannot bear to go another day without being able to express my love for you to the entire world. I need you," the princess begged him.

"I agree," he said. He was smiling softly down at her. He nudged the tip of his nose against her’s. "But...I need to finish sorting out a few things first. I need to finalize my inheritance, prepare for my coronation, and begin to start learning how to rule a kingdom."

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of them. She had found herself glancing between his eyes and lips, contemplating whether or not she should just kiss him right there and then. She opened her mouth to speak from her heart.

"I wish...I were an ordinary woman,” the princess of the east confessed. She lifted her hand to weave her fingers through his long locks of hair. She hummed softly to herself. “That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about hosting garden parties or sorting out inheritances. It would just be you and me...forever and always,” the princess of the east concluded.

“But you we not an ordinary woman," the prince shook his head at her. He had been so gentle to tuck a single strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. He could feel her leaning her head into his embrace, holding onto his hand. "You are a princess,” the prince whispered to her.

With some hesitation, he had taken her into his arms once again. His soft brown eyes were shimmering with the strong sense of hunger and desire. It would take all of his strength to be gentle with her. He let his lips touch her’s so lightly that he could hardly feel it. He pulled away in an instant.

For a brief moment, the two royals just stood there staring at each other. Unable to resist any longer, he had stooped his head down to her height. Their mouths pressed together in a long passionate kiss. They had grown closer together until there was no visible gap between them. It was the kiss of a man who had waited years for the moment, and feared that it would never come again

His warm lips brushed against hers in the most delicate and delicious manner. He was forced to swallow the groan of pleasure that slipped past her sweet lips. She pressed her hand against his sculpted chest, memorizing the feeling of his firm hard muscle underneath her hand. She could feel his heart beating within his chest. She smiled against his lips.

When the time came, the guests had begun to arrive for the garden party. The lords and ladies were wearing some of the finest silks for the joyous occasion. The princess of the east was currently standing at the front of the tent, greeting the guests with a bright smile on her face. Her dear prince was standing right beside her.

The dukes and duchesses would bow or curtsey to the royals. They had also gone to great lengths to offer their congratulations to the young couple on their new courtship. They were so proud of the royal family at this moment.

The young children were running amongst the crowds of adult in the tent. The sound of children’s laughter could be heard throughout the courtyard. They were playing with each other. They must have been on a sugar high from all the sweets and treats.

The earls and dukes were currently playing a game of croquet in the front yard. They would use the long wooden mallets to strike the colorful balls into the metal hoops stuck in the ground. There was a servant on the sidelines who was keeping track of the score.

The marchionesses and baronesses would be found chatting amongst themselves about the latest topics and trends. The ladies could be easily found hiding underneath the tent in the cool shade. They just loved to indulge in the foods and drinks that were being served at the garden party. They were also very keen to point out how the prince was fretting and fawning over the princess.

At one point, Prince Thomas had draped a white lace shawl over Princess Y/N’s shoulders to provide some warmth and comfort. She had turned her head to look over the small stretch of her shoulder, sending him the kindest smile. She could feel his strong hands resting on the tops of her shoulders, which only brought her even more comfort.

During one of the conversations, Thomas had wanted to dismiss himself for a brief moment. He tilted his head to the side so that he could press one small kiss to her cheek. She had just barely leaned into him. She had already begun to miss his touch once he had left her side. She wanted him back right away.

The young prince had told the servants to prepare a small picnic underneath one of the shady trees. They would lay out this nice cream colored blanket on the soft blades of grass. The servants would also bring some refreshments for the royals.

Within a few short moments, Prince Thomas would return to his princess’s side. He had actually dragged her away from this boring conversation with an older duchess. He was quick to dismiss themselves from the duchess’s presence.

He had guided her towards the small scenery hidden underneath the shady trees in the short distance. He held out his hand to show her the display with a proud smile on his face. She did not hesitate to smile back at him. She picked up the skirt of her dress, stepping onto the soft blanket. She lowered herself into a proper sitting position for a princess with her legs bent to the sides. She noticed that he had joined her side on the blanket.

Slowly, Prince Thomas had poured two glasses of champagne for themselves. He had handed her the glass of bubbly golden champagne, holding his own in the other hand. He proposed a small toast to the success of her first garden party, which would only result in a small giggle from her. He clicked his champagne glass against hers in a gentle notion. He took one long sip of the gold liquid.

During this time, the princess of the east had found herself observing the garden party from a distance. She could see the two young princes talking amongst the ladies. She also saw her father speaking with the prime minister. She almost couldn’t believe that she was able to put this whole thing together. It was just perfect.

Beside her, the prince of the north was laying on his right side. He had propped himself up with his forearm. He was currently watching the game of croquet in the distance. He had a handful of green grapes in his hand, popping them into his mouth on occasion.

Slowly, the princess had turned her head to look down at the prince sitting beside her. She could see that his body was facing her, but his line of focus was directed to the game. She lay her hand to rest on top of his own.

Without hesitation, Thomas had turned his head to direct his attention back towards her. He was so taken back by her beauty. He was awestruck by the way her long locks of hair tumbled over her shoulders and the way her creamy skin was glowing in the afternoon sunlight. He was looking directly at her with such love and adoration in his eyes.

She had worn a soft cream dress for the garden party. She had these pretty little gloves with lace around her wrists. She was holding her white lace parasol in her hands, which had provided her some shade. She very easily could be mistaken for an angel from the heavens.

“What are you staring at?” she wondered. She was looking down at him with a slight tilt of the head. Her soft and kind eyes were sparking with curiosity. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You,” he confessed. He had been pulled away from his thoughts about her. He was quick to reach over to grab the white china bowl of small chocolate (dipped) strawberries. “Here. Try this,” he said.

The young prince pinched one of the small strawberries between his fingers, carrying it towards her light pink lips. She did not hesitate to wrap her lips around the strawberry, digging her teeth into the sweet and juicy fruit. She closed her eyes in pleasure, moaning at the wild taste in her mouth.

Very gently, Thomas pulled the green stem of the strawberry away from her mouth. He could clear see a small smudge of chocolate lingering at the corner of her lips. She had grabbed one of the cloth napkins to clean the chocolate. She lifted the napkin towards her mouth, but she was quickly stopped in her tracks.

In that moment, he had taken hold of her wrist to halt her movements. He pulled her hand away from her face, keeping a steady hand on her. He forced himself into a sitting position on the picnic blanket. He slowly leaned forward until he was only centimeters away from her face. He pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth in a simple kiss.

His tongue had slipped out of his mouth to collect the smudge of chocolate, drawing it back into his mouth. He turned his head to kiss her properly on the lips. He did not hesitate to swallow her moans of absolute pleasure. His insistent mouth had begun to part her trembling lips, sending wild tremors throughout her nerves. He would never forget the taste of her lips in that exact moment. She tasted like chocolate.

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#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland royalty #tom holland royalty au #tom holland!prince #tom holland!king #tom holland!royal #tom's princess #tom holland oneshot #tom holland imagine #tom holland series

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softowlhours · 4 years

Text

by the lakeside

bokuto koutarou(horror!AU)

it should’ve been the perfect summer getaway. you were both in need of some down time away from your busy careers. but things get a little eerie when there’s a voice in your head that isn’t yours and you find out that you’re not alone in that pristine white house on the hill.

genre: horror, angst, fluff if you squint

tw: descriptions of drowning, asphyxiation, strangulation. suggestive sexual situations.

a/n: i promise i’ll proofread this later and also write an epilogue but until then please enjoy this story it took me way longer than necessary to write. i’ve read it so many times that i don’t find it scary anymore. but i hope you do! :)

word count: 6k

my body feels like an empty shell sometimes, a carcass I am dragging around. when I look into the mirror I don’t recognise myself. i don’t recognise him, either.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

bokuto’s hair gleams silver in the glorious morning light. wind blows through your own strands as you zip past the lush green meadows. you could see the sheep dotted on the grassy planes like puffs of pure white clouds. far away, there stood giant mountains. their high peaks looked like they were breaching the baby blue ceiling of the sky. you only notice your gorgeous surroundings with half a mind, because your eyes keep trailing back to the man besides you. you admire his profile, the sharp slope of his nose, the chiselled cheek bones and jaw line. you zero in on the plush of his lips and it is then that you notice his teasing grin.

‘admiring the view?’ he asks.

‘mhmm. a sight for my sore eyes.’ and he truly is. your gaze drops a little lower. his toned chest peeks from where the buttons of his shirt have come undone. his biceps flex and strain against the fabric as he manoeuvres the steering wheel. he looks like a movie star, straight out of the golden age of film. the red vintage convertible he drives only adds on to your day dream. you can’t help but feel like a heroine starring in your own block buster romance. heat rises to the tip of his ears and the back of his neck at your shameless appraisal. bokuto notices the way lust is barely concealed on your face. he fucking loved the way you looked at him, like he was the guiding star you were always attuned to. the one for whom you’d always search for in an endless night sky.

‘your eyes are sore from staring at your computer screen all day everyday.’ he ignores your attempts at flirting, and instead addresses what has been eating away at his mind lately. he’s been worried about you. you often called him out for pushing himself to the point of breaking when it came to volleyball. but, you never noticed how you were inclined to do the same when it came to you own work; buried under papers and ink, day after day as your work ethic kept you confined to your study room. you being a best selling author, him a pro volleyball player; you truly were the power couple worthy of everyone’s envy and admiration, but your lives could get stressful at times.

‘kou, I’m sorry ‘m dragging you away from your routine. the game season starts in two months. you should be hitting some balls right now.’ you withdraw your hand, and he instantly misses your touch. you appear a little crestfallen as you opt to idly fiddle with the lace bordering your sundress.

‘hey,’ his voice is silky, tone slightly chastising. ‘don’t apologise. this was my idea anyways. we need some time away. from everything.’

‘you know that,’ he continues, ‘i’ll never be too busy for you, right? it makes me feel lonely when you just withdraw from me... shut me out.’ his face eyebrows furrow a little. ‘for you I’ll always carve out time.’

bokuto had a way with words that always left you stupefied. they weren’t embellished and gaudy, like yours. all you ever did was spin fairy tales. Yes they were beautiful, but they were also false. unlike you, he always spoke from his heart, and you wonder if that was why his sentiments without fail reached others.

‘oi- don’t fall asleep.’

‘i’m not sleeping!’ you snap out of your reverie. ‘i’m sorry i… never realised you’d feel that way’ puffing out a sigh, you lean back lazily on the leather seat. ‘i haven’t been feeling much inspiration lately, and when i do write i just hate every word of it.’

‘maybe I should retire,’ you muse. ‘never write a word again. let people remember me as the genius author I’m not.’

‘but you are a genius writer!’ bokuto insists. ‘give it a fifty years and they’ll be teaching your work as a part of the curriculum. i’ve never read anything better!’

‘that’s because you rarely read!’

‘i am a picky reader,’ bokuto shrugs, cocking an eyebrow as he looks at you haughtily. ‘so congratulations that your writing actually piqued my interest.’

snorting, you pinch his thigh.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

it’s almost evening by the time you drive past a small sleepy town. the few houses have their curtains drawn. there’s a small supermarket and a polyclinic but you notice how the streets are mainly empty, save for a couple of children who play seven tiles on the roadside. fifteen minutes and more grassy meadows and sheep later, you arrive at what looks like the edge of the world. surely you’re being a little dramatic calling it that, but the road winds up the gentle slope of a hill and on top of it sits a pristine white house. bokuto pulls up the car in front of massive wrought iron gates, a chain holds it shut.

‘okay, but when nori said ‘vacation home’, this is not what I had in mind. Is he actually the heir to a conglomerate or something?’ you observe, definitely appalled.

‘uh- knowing his stingy ass, i’m not sure?’ bokuto sounds and looks puzzled as well, so you know he wasn’t expecting it either. he reconfirms the address konoha had messaged him. ‘do we climb the gates? because he never gave me a key or anything. he said the place has a caretaker who’d-’

‘how can I help?’

your heart leaps to your throat, and both you and bokuto snap your heads to your left to look at a man who stands on bokuto’s side of the car. neither of you had seen him approaching and it was as if he were a magician, materialising out of thin air. old, sinewy and dressed sharply in a suit, he’s hunching to be at your eye levels. upon closer look the fabric of his clothes looked worn out and they fray at the edges. his hair is slicked back and he wears gold rimmed spectacles, its lenses the shape of half moons. his smile is serene, demeanour dignified but there’s shrewdness in his tone.

‘um- hi.’ bokuto greets recovering first. ‘i am konoha’s friend. i assume you’ve been expecting us?’

a beat passes.

‘indeed. allow me to show you around.’

bokuto parks the car under a shed close to the gates and you walk down the stretch of the garden. it is immaculately kept, and roses of all colours bloom neatly in rows. a giant sycamore tree stands close to the house, its branches brushing the roof. when you stand on the porch of the house the gate seems miles away. bokuto wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side. he sneaks a soft kiss under your left ear as the caretaker opens up the door for you.

the inside of the house is splendidly furnished and it leaves you awestruck. simple but gorgeous, a modern castle of sorts. a cream colored leather sofa sits in the centre of the living room, the rug in front of it is white and fluffy. There is a box television- the kinds popular decades ago, and you wonder if it actually works or if it’s just for show. the chandelier above is a million crystals and an open kitchen makes up the far end of the living room. a stair case winds its way up. but, what truly catches your eye are the massive french doors which open up to the stretch of a green lawn. calling it a backyard would be a bit inadequate; for the trimmed grass meets the surface of a great lake, its water like molten lava reflecting the evening sky. you can see the outline of ducks waddling away, probably on their way home. the lake stretches out for almost a mile and after that you see nothing but the thicket of the woods. it is almost the end of july, so while the days are warm, the temperatures tend to dip quite a bit at night. you shiver a little and snuggle closer into bokuto’s side. the caretaker, in his monotonous voice, explains to you how your room shall be upstairs, the one to the right. there were four other rooms which were mostly empty and locked for the sake of easy maintenance. you tune him out when he moves on to the instructions regarding the heating and locking systems.

you’re entranced by the house, and standing there in its magnanimity you feel like you’ve been drawn into a picture book. you can imagine breakfasts every morning on the front porch. afternoons spent lolling on the grass besides the lake. you would keep a vase filled with freshly cut roses from the garden, in the centre of the kitchen table. spend the nights sitting in front of the fire place when winter laid its thick blanket of white snow outside. your high flying careers felt like a distant dream. your laptop back home could collect all the dust it wanted to. you could just stay here forever wrapped up in each others arms.

i’m lonely. i hate how you’re always away from home because of volleyball.

bokuto notices your distant look , the slightest way your lips are set in a grimace. it tugs on his heartstrings. makes it difficult for him to breathe.

bringing his mouth close to your ear, he whispers your name bringing you out of your head. you blink, biting back the ugly realisation that had just intruded your brain. you had never felt that way before, you had forced yourself not to. it was long ago when you had decided that you’d never make him choose between you and volleyball. or maybe that loneliness was something you’d always felt. but because you were afraid of it; you had hidden it under your skin, in between your bones.

if i could, i’d steal you away and keep you all to myself. in a cage just for me and you.

too afraid that he’ll somehow read your mind, you step away from him, disoriented by the venomous voice of your subconscious as you look around for the old man.

‘he left while you were zoning out, princess. said he’s going home.’ he pulls your back against his chest, long fingers begin snaking up a well known trail up your thighs. your cute little sundress does little to stop him. ‘he’ll be back by noon tomorrow, to tend to the garden and all that.’ bokuto speaks in between the kisses he’s placing along the side of your neck. ‘apparently, he lives in that town we drove by earlier.’

‘mhmm.’

‘want to live in a house like this someday.’ he asks you, his voice hushed. you rest your head back on his chest, as love and lust pools in your stomach and clouds your thoughts.

i’m scared someday you’ll leave me behind.

“me. you. maybe a dog. maybe… children?” he continues and your eyes widen at that.

‘you want all that?’

‘with you? yes I want everything. i’ll take everything that you can give me.’

liar.

you turn around and pull bokuto into a heated kiss. his chapped lips meld into yours and your teeth clack a little from the suddenness of your movement. by now it is completely dark outside and the living room is dimly lit by a lamp. bokuto seems unaware, too lost in you to be notice space and time. but, a weird sensation surrounds you. you feel the whisper of a cool breeze, a murmur disturbing the stillness of the house. with one hand, bokuto cups your behind. the fingers of his other rake through your hair. it’s a buzz now, like a thousand bees hovering over your heads. you feel dazed, you’re needy, you’re confused.

there’s someone else here. the two of you are not alone.

‘ow,’ you yelp in pain.

bokuto jumps away from you, but his hands are badly tangled in your hair.

‘I told you to tie your hair in the car!’ he is laughing. ‘it’s a nest in here!’

the buzzing dies down. the silence that follows is deafening. you wonder if you’re delusional with the lack of sleep.

as bokuto carefully weaves his fingers out he places a chaste kiss on the little crease in between your eyebrows. he finds you so cute, it physically hurts him.

‘don’t worry, babygirl,’ his voice drops a few octaves. ‘windswept looks sexy on you.’

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

later that night as you are lie under the drapes and canopies, you notice how the bedroom is much like the rest of the house- fit for royalty. bokuto snores softly, but you lie awake with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is a mind-numbing rhythm. a thin sheet of sweat covers your bodies and you try to ignore the wetness in between your legs. you should probably change the sheets as well, but your body refuses to move and you don’t know where to find any new ones. sleep evades you so you let Bokuto’s question roll around in your mind. a forever with him. of course you would say yes. there was nothing more that you wanted than that. but the dread from earlier which you had managed to keep at bay with lust, slowly begins to resettle in the pit of your stomach.

he promises you an eternity now, but he’ll leave you behind soon.

you somehow clamber out of bed, making sure not to awaken bokuto. picking up his shirt from where it lies on floor, you put it on. the bedroom has identical doors from the living room, made of glass, and they open onto a small balcony. you draw open the lacey curtains and step out into the chilly night air. the sight that awaits you makes you gasp. a fine mist rolls over the water, but the lake itself is still. its surface is like taut cellophane. beyond the lake where the woods begin, it is pitch black darkness and you cannot tell where the woods meet the moonless sky. it’s a new moon night, but where you expect to see the stars is an empty hollowness. its eerily silent. too silent. no insects trill. no wind blows. you stare intently into the water for so long that you swear you see something lurking just underneath its surface. the mist that hovers slowly inches towards the house, coiling like endless bony fingers.

that pool of velvety darkness, i wonder what it’d feel like against my skin.

come to me then. feel it for yourself. your voice, no, her voice purrs.

you whirl around to see bokuto. he’s standing a feet away from you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

‘whoah! easy,’ bokuto exclaims, surprised by your jumpiness. no way it had been him who had spoken moments ago. ‘what are you doing outside?’ he asks. ‘i nearly got a heart attack when I saw someone standing out here.’

you look back towards the lake, and you’re utterly confused. the mist seems to have instantly vanished. you can even hear the water now, softly undulating. it appears akin to a creased sheet of silk.

had you been hallucinating? dreaming with your eyes open?

you fight down the growing panic and instead walk over to him, squishing his cheeks. you softly kiss his pout. ‘aww. baby’s scared?’ you coo.

he grumbles something about you catching a cold but tugs you inside and you decide to let it all go. you’re tired and tomorrow will be a new day.

had you turned around, you’d notice how the stars were glittering like cold hard gems in the night sky.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you were pleasantly lazing about in the sun. the lake was a glittering blue and the woods looked benign during the day. they weren’t as dense as they appeared to be in the absence of light. from where you lay, the house looks like an entity of its own. imposing and regal. bokuto is dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants as he plays around witha volleyball, tossing and spiking it all by his lonely self. you didn’t remember seeing him pack a volleyball, but then again somehow he always seemed to miraculously have a one at his disposal. today, he hasn’t gelled his hair up in its usual style, so it flops onto his forehead in a way you wished he’d leave it more often.

‘y/n! nice receive!’ he hollers at you.

he spikes the ball aiming straight for your stomach and you somehow manage to block his assault. thank god he hadn’t used a quarter of the strength he usually puts into his spikes.

your strong and annoying man.

‘you trying to murder me or what?’

he pulls you up to your feet. ‘i’ll be teaching you how to spike, drama queen. it’s insane how you’ve been with me for all these years and haven’t learnt a thing or two about volleyball. people would die for a one on one training session with me.’ he brags as he fetches the ball from where it had rolled off to.

you try to copy his motions, but what he can effortlessly pull off is an impossible feat for you. you send the ball upwards and jump as you try to match your timing to spike it. but before you can hit the ball it lands on your head.

bokuto is losing his shit, doubling over with laughter. and you try to look angry but end up giggling with him.

‘i give up!’ you complain. plus my boobs jiggle since i’m not wearing a sports bra,’

‘babe, thats kinda the point!’ he beams.

a perfect spike lands on his face.

‘owww, that’s foul play, y/n! ’ he yells. rubbing his nose, he walks over to you.

‘you should be punished!’ he scolds you, but places a kiss on your temple. his hands wander downwards to unzip your dress. he lets it fall to the ground. you know where this is headed. you think he’s going to kiss you so you close your eyes and lean towards him but before you can react, he’s bending down and suddenly you’re being lifted. he has you over his shoulders and your peals of laughter warm his heart. he hadn’t heard that sound in a while.

bokuto marches straight into the lake and dumps you in. the water is cool and refreshing, just as you had imagined it. it’s shallow enough so you’re chest deep in the water when your feet are planted at the bottom. his body glistens with dampness, hair a floppy wet mess. he was so beautiful, that even though it was irrational you felt a little bit shy. you’re splashing each other with water, the atmosphere’s light and bubbly with amusement. bokuto tries to catch you but you slip out of his reach. he is being his loud and dramatic self as he falls face down into the water, complaining as he comes up with his eyes screwed shut.

‘i swear i’d rather be blinded by your beauty than this water.’

you shake you head, feigning disdain and then you’re swimming away from him, towards the safety of the house. it must almost be noon, and you vaguely remember its time for the care taker to come around. you did not want to be seen in your wet underwear. bokuto calls out to you, apologising. there is water in your ears, it laps all around you as you swim. it dulls all sound and every other sense until the only thing you hear is your thumping heart. when you come up for air, you can see the blue sky, when your face is in the water you can see the stones and pebbles littering the bottom.

but, when you come up for air again, the sky is overcast. laden with dense gray clouds.

the water runs icy, lead flows through your veins. your body is sinking like a ship. it feels like you’re trying to move through viscous jelly. when you try to pull up for air you cannot break through, the surface traps you like its the cellophane you remember seeing the night before. a tight grip on your waist, abruptly pulls you under. your flailing hands try to grasp at nothing in particular. you wonder if its bokuto just messing around, but you know it isn’t. you don’t feel his presence anywhere. your fingers suddenly entangle into something. your eyes burn when you try to open them and look. jet black strands of hair, a bone white face, a mouth that is open like a gaping wound. you scream and nothing but gurgles and air bubbles escape you. you try to pull back but your hands are stuck in the weedlike hair. Funny you think of the evening before, when bokuto’s fingers had entangled in your messy hair the same way.

‘kou…koutaro!’ you try calling for him. you hear your disembodied voice, feel the water flood your mouth, your nose. but you feel all alone with that woman straight out of nightmares. fear has you in its grip, your minds a mush.

you hate him so damn much. you hate him, you hate him, you HATE him. a voice repeats the same words in your head. you wonder if it sounds like your own or someone else’s. you cannot tell the two apart.

you feel a hand wrap around your arm, its large and warm and it feels like home. as it drags you out of the water the ashen face seems to quiver and distort. her eyes flicker open. they roll in their sockets but when they fixate on you, you see eyes just like your own. but they are transparent like marbles; burning with betrayal and accusation.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you wake up with a start to screams piercing the air. they are shrill and blood curdling. your hands are on your ears as you try to block out the sound but it only gets louder. it takes you a moment to realise that the screaming had been you. bokuto holds you in his arms, you can feel him shaking underneath your palms that grapple at his back.

he’s crying.

no! why is your bokuto crying? you pull away a little just enough to look at him, but the way his features are twisted in melancholy punctures a hole through your heart.

‘y/n, babe… babe,’ his lips quiver stealing away speech but he forces himself to speak. ‘ i looked everywhere in the water but I couldn’t find you. you were swimming and then you just stopped. i thought you were fooling around but you were down there for too long. so i come over but... I couldn’t see you anywhere at first. i panicked! holy shit... i was panicking.’ he shifts away from you, an arms length away. leaning back on the sofa, he stares up at the ceiling. ‘You weren’t even struggling, just stopped moving. Do you remember what happened?’ bokuto drags a hand down his face. he’s visibly distressed.

‘i don’t know what happened,’ you croack. ‘it felt like I was stuck. my feet wouldn’t come lose. as if someone was there with me in the water, holding me down…’ a sob escapes you.

bokuto pales a little at your description. but there had been no one but the two of you in the water. hell he hadn’t even seen any fishes.

he had pulled you under in the first place hadn’t he. there’s no one here but the two of you.

you remember not being alone in the water. you remember the heaviness. but nothing else.

bokuto opens his mouth to say something, but you cannot concentrate. the urge is too strong. before you can think, before you can answer. you are bending over and puking your guts out.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you spend the rest of the day, clinging to bokuto. and he doesn’t mind. he seems to be craving that constant feeling of your skin on his. something to remind him that you were okay, that you were here now. he makes his way around the kitchen with you stuck to him like a little koala.

“sit down on that chair just for a minute, y/n. i can’t find the plates!” he tries to loosen your chokehold on him but you only tighten it and bokuto booms out a laugh.

‘i swear you’re lucky you’re cute.”

‘just consider this weight training.’

bokuto had put together a light meal. you reckoned you’d be unable to stomach anything too heavy.

‘we were supposed to be having fun. i feel like i’ve ruined everything.’ you mumble gloomily. you’re sitting on the chairs you pulled up around the kitchen island. a make shift dining table.

‘it’s okay. its enough to just be together.’

‘oh no been away from you for a five whole minutes.’ your expression is of mock worry as you rush over onto his lap. you immediately bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent calms you down. he chuckles at your antics.

‘do you think we can just go home?’ you ask apprehensively, still feeling bad about having spoilt your perfect little getaway. ‘i don’t feel like staying here anymore.’

‘sure, baby girl .’ bokuto replies in a heartbeat, and you wonder if he feels the same unease in remaining here any longer.

‘we can leave tomorrow morning.’ he suggests. ‘it might be a bit too late to leave now. plus, caretaker-san didn’t even show up today.’

‘is it okay to just leave?,’ you ask.

from where bokuto sits on the dining table in the kitchen, he can see the doors in the living room that open up to the porch. it’s around three in the afternoon. the weather was beginning to turn awfully gloomy.

clouds slowly fill the sky eclisping the sun that had shined all day. it leaves everything in shades of gray.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you wake up alone in bed. the remnants of an eerie dream still lingers in your mind. you had been combing your hair, which was unusually thick, dark and long. you kept brushing the silky smooth strands, on and on and on, until they started coming loose in your hands. shuddering as you recall it, you turn around to see the wall clock read nine p.m. where was kou? at some point you had fallen asleep although you did not remember coming upstairs to the bedroom. he must’ve carried you from where you and him had been lying on the sofa downstairs, idly chatting.

your body is still heavy with exhaustion but you force yourself to sit up. hearing the water running in the bathroom, you call out to bokuto. ‘kou?’ you pad your way over to the bathroom. when you open the door there is no one inside. water drips from from a leaky tap into an empty bath tub. strange. where had the sound been coming from then?

you find yourself mesmerised by your reflection in the mirror right across from you. when you step inside the bathroom, the tiles are dry and frigid underneath your feet. the lights are off, however, the bathroom is faintly lit up by the light filtering in from the frosted windows. the bags under your eyes are dark and puffy, your lips look ashen. you look like you had lost a tonne of weight over the span of the past few hours. tracing a finger along the outline of your reflection, you notice how your eyes were a forlorn abyss. hollow like the dead.

mine. stay with me. don’t leave me alone. a voice whispers to you and you listen, enchanted.

you see the corners of your lips quirk up in your reflection. your expression twists into that of deranged happiness.

so, you’ll stay?

you don’t feel the smile on your face.

you’re backing away slowly. a scream dies in your throat.

that isn’t you. it’s her.

you’re running full speed out of the bathroom and you make it just in time as the door slams shuts behind you. the edge of your thin white slip gets caught in between but you yank it loose with enough force. bursting out of the room like a bat out of hell you’re hurtling downstairs. you have to look for bokuto. you must leave. now!

you’re me, i am you. he doesn’t love you, so just stay with me. I’m lonely.

you try to call out to bokuto but you cannot find your voice.

and then you see him. sitting on the sofa. the relief you feel is momentary. the old television is on, and the screen is grainy with static but bokuto’s eyes are intent on it. he’s still as if he were carved out of stone. he doesn’t acknowledge your presence just keeps staring ahead with an owlish gaze. you place a shaky hand on his shoulder and he finally turns to look at you.

his eyes that usually are like pools of golden honey are dark and murky like cheap kerosene. his features are sharper, more cunning. a devil in your lover’s skin. the mist outside thickens, appearing as if they were pale white walls surrounding the house.

i told you to just stay with me. you should’ve stayed with me in that cool dark water.

he doesn’t love you, i do.

suddenly bokuto is stalking towards you, his movements hypnotic like that of a panther, sinuously fluid, predatory. a feral look glints in those foreign eyes. he slams you against the nearest wall, his hands tightening over your neck. your head meets the hard surface with a thud. those large arms that have always felt like home suddenly feel empty and cold like a prison cell.

you’re just a prisoner in his cage. he doesn’t love you like I will.

black spots fill your vision, as your air supply is slowly being cut off. ‘kou- please don’t.’ you whimper. a flicker of recognition flashes through those eyes, but the grip around your neck only tightens. ‘kou-’ you call again softly. tears fall freely down your face. your hands go limp by your sides and in the process you knock over a vase that had been on table besides you. it falls to the marble floor with an obnoxious crash. the ceramic splinters into a hundred pieces. bokuto’s eyes widen and the darkness from his face lifts. it is as if a thick patch of clouds obscuring the moon had drifted past, letting its pure light fall to the earth once again. he’s your bokuto once again.

horror struck he lets go of your neck and catches a glimpse of the angry red fingerprints left behind like a morbid necklace. you collapse to the ground.

a door bangs shut somewhere in the house, startling you both. bokuto is about to crouch down next to you when suddenly the volume of the television is cranked up. the harsh static sound grates your ears, like a drawn out growl. there’s thumping coming from behind every surface of the house- the walls, the floors, the ceilings. every door, every window swings open only to shut back with a bang, over and over until shards of broken glass lie like a carpet all over the floor. the house is alive with the breath of countless souls that live in its every crack and crevice. you both look on with horror as heavy mist begins to pour into the house. bokuto’s teeth chatter with fear, and he tries to get you to stand. he follows your gaze which is fixed to where your bedroom had been. and he sees it then. on the door which opens into the room, there’s a shadow of a woman. he can discern the long straight hair which she combs on and on and on.

‘f-fuck!’ he spits.

he harshly pulls you over his shoulders but transfixed you crane up your neck to continue looking at the shadow. hastily he manages to grab the keys which he had hung on a hook by the main door. the shadow grows darker, more defined as if whoever it belonged to was coming closer. he feels you struggling and you scream to be let down.the main door to the house is already open so with one last glance at the chaos behind, you are both bolting out of the house.

‘y/n, run! to the car. hurry, hurry, hurry!’ he shuts the door, hoping it would buy you some time. he’s not really sure what he’d just seen or what any of it meant. but thinking would come later. he grabs your hand as you start the mad dash across the front garden. you notice despite your compromised vision due to the mist, how the roses look wilted. the grounds gooey and wet underneath, and your feet sink into the soft mud making movement sluggish. but you don’t stop. moments later, the door behind you flings open with enough force that it comes loose from its hinges. the whole house seems to be angry.

come back here.

don’t leave me alone.

an overgrown root coils around your calf and yanks you back. your hand slips out of bokuto’s and he turns around, horrified, to see you being dragged into the ground. like you were falling into quicksand.

‘hold on to my arm,’ bokuto bellows, ‘and just don’t. let. go!’

the circulation in your leg is being cut off and you cry in pain. you can feel the disgusting way the soft earth keeps parting further to let you in. you want to let go, give in to the struggle. maybe it’d be better to just lie buried here, decomposing till you forget whats fear, whats pain.

your name is rolling off bokuto’s tongue like a chant. his muscles burn with strain. the sweat and slick makes his grip on you weak and he notices how you’re letting go. he reads the resignations on your face. but why are you letting go? why are you trying to leaving him alone?

bokuto loses his footing and falls backwards and almost loses you, but he manages to interlock your fingers. he’s grunting with effort, and roars with frustration when it doesn’t seem to be working. it is then when you see the blood covering his feet, the glass splinters buried deep into his soles. in your haste to get away you never noticed how he had walked all over the shards with you over his shoulder. the ache in your heart swells. you know he’d never leave you behind. it was the two of you, or none of you who’d make it alive out of here.

the thought of bokuto buried deep into the ground, lips blue and crusted with mud gives you a renewed conviction. with the last spurts of energy you hold tight onto bokuto’s arm with one hand. the other digs into where you find soft but solid ground. you attempt to claw your way out and fight the drag of the noose around you ankle that tries to pull you in the opposite direction. away from bokuto. bokuto is inching backwards, his voice hoarse with all that screaming as he does his utmost to haul you out.

rain begins to pour in heavy cascades even though there hadn’t been a single cloud in the obsidian sky. and suddenly you feel earth’s hold on you go slack. bokuto and your efforts come to fruition as your foot comes loose and you tumble straight on top of bokuto’s body. but its too early to celebrate. a loud thunderclap spurs you both into action and you run and run, fighting the burn in your lungs until you reach the car. bokuto, is grateful, infinitely grateful that the keys had remained in his pockets during that struggle. he hands you the keys and with no time to waste you’re running to the car, afraid that something inauspicious might happen again if you didn’t hurry. bokuto notices with relief that the iron gates are not chained shut like they had been upon your arrival, and with some effort he swings them open. bokuto clambers into the passenger seat and you floor the gas as you drive straight out of the gates, into a calm quiet night.

it takes you a moment to notice that the rain had stopped.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

the two of you are covered in dirt, in blood. absolutely shattered with exhaustion. bokuto finally feels the pain that had been dampened by adreneline. it now ignites like an inferno. he almost tears his lip trying to bite back a whimper. in the rear view mirror, you catch a glimpse of the house. it looks regal and imposing, as it had when you’d first arrived. you can see the dimly lit bedroom, the curtains billowing gently in a slight breeze. the glass on the doors is intact. the garden is immaculate once again and you can see patches of soft grass spread out where the mud had almost eaten you up alive just a few moments ago. a shaky laugh escapes Bokuto, and before you know it, feeling delirious, you’re laughing with him.

bokuto’s phone rings and the sound cuts short your hysteria. with some effort he retrieves it from the dashboard where he’d left it two days ago. he had planned on not letting anything distract him from you on this short getaway. he puts it on loudspeaker.

‘they picked up!’ you hear Konoha say to someone and the collective sighs of relief are audible.

‘dude, where have you both been? we’ve been calling you all day. ms. nakamura told me that you never made it to my vacation home?’

‘ms. nakamura?’ bokuto rasps.

‘yeah, the caretaker I told you about?’

‘the caretaker was a man!’ you snatch the phone with from bokuto with one hand while other remains on the steering wheel. you’re yelling at the receiver like a mad woman. ‘we came to your villa, but that man opened the gates. listen, there’s something wrong with the house and lake behind it is-’

‘what lake? there are only corn fields behind my house. which is, by the way, a traditional japanese one. where the fuck have you both been?!’

you and bokuto look at each other in confusion, and you hit the brakes. you glance back at the house which is now far, far away. if you squint your eyes you can see the outline of a man at the gates. the lamp in his hand glows golden like a distant star.

a woman’s shadow is dark and lonely against the delicate lace of the bedroom’s curtains.

#bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!!#hq #haikyuu angst #bokuto angst #bokuto fluff #bokuto imagines #hq scenarios #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 13

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU. Declan plans a date and hopes it goes well. It goes so well neither of them wants it to end.

Warnings/Tags: Mild. Language. Date Night. Bella softening up and stepping up! Maybe they finally kiss?

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

Thanks to Bella’s stellar work ethic, she was able to concentrate despite the buzzing in the back of her skull. With her still highly suspicious coworkers she managed to avoid questions with glares, but the bravest and admittedly closest to her, CeeCee, wasn’t convinced.

She stands in Bella’s doorway after hours, door open for the 4th day in a row. She’d been playing old Motown all day, they’d even caught her dancing and singing to herself in the studio, chewing on a pen and swinging her hips as she read over papers.

“Alright. Who is he? Or her, what the hell do I know?” CeeCee shrugs.

Bella's eyes shoot up from her clipboard, looking wide at her ballsy business partner. “What?” she asks with no inflection.

“I’m not stupid. I know you. I have eyes. You’re happy about something.” she says with a jutted forward chin, giving Bella tight lips that show her obviousness.

Bella only stares, her eyes under a deep set brow.

“The Motown all day? Singing and dancing to yourself? I even saw you smile at your phone today. You tell me nothing is going on I’m gonna tell you you’re full of shit.” Her bold statement delivered with a back and forth of her head.

“Then save us bother the time and tell me that then.” Bella snaps back quickly.

“UGH.” she throws her head back dramatically. “Fuckin’ Scorpios I swear to GOD!” she groans and turns to leave. Bella smirks as she returns back to her checklist.

----

All Declan had told her was to dress comfortably and for movement. To say she was curious was an understatement. She’d suggested something fun that would help her forget the hard week she’d had. While it had been tough, there was something different, something that kept her mood from crashing despite the workload and meetings. She’d not told him about that part though.

With his advice in mind, she’d dressed comfortably. She struggled to find the balance between form and function, fussing over if she looked “cute” enough. Which was something she hadn’t weighed in many years. But he made her want to consider things like that again. He brought out something in her that made her want to be feminine. After years of leather and denim, of hard brows and severe hair, she’d found herself shifting. This was also something CeeCee noticed. She’d even worn a dress to work more than once in the past week, and on a non-meeting day. Wearing her hair down and loose, softer make up in lighter colors and less black, she felt a part of her opening up that hadn’t since she was young. Her armor of leather not feeling as needed when she had him around, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself so much. She knew she was in good company.

Declan makes it to her house, the roar of a motorcycle surprising her as she fussed over Robbie before having to be out the evening.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” she scoffs out a playful laugh. She watches him pull up on an old bike, something like her dad would’ve ridden when she was small. A surprising shade of turquoise, but what was more surprising was how he looked.

He was no stranger to showing more skin in the warmer months, just like her, but riding a bike requires a bare minimum of coverage to still be responsible. Plus maybe he’d gone to the gym every day this past week, gone up to the woods and started clearing out his stomping grounds of the winter build up. Maybe he’d wanted to look good for her. She was making him consider his appearance just the same as he was her. He hoped he succeeded, as he knew she’d look good to him no matter what.

She wracked her brain for the long since buried information on motorcycles she had from her childhood. Her dad having his and treating it like a member of the family before his wreck. After it he’d dabbled a bit here and there, helping friends work on theirs. But he’d kept being a fan of them, trading road trips for magazines as he got older. She gets washed over with an odd, warm nostalgia. She thinks of the old pictures of her parents, him in his leather jacket and her in her bell bottoms and flowing dresses. She wonders if this was what her mom had felt like when big Sandro had rolled up to take her out all those years ago. A deep pull in her gut that she didn’t want to acknowledge told her yes.

She jumps and shakes out the nerves. “Be cool. Be cool.” She whispers, stretching her arms and neck as he makes his way to the door. “Be cool. You can do this. It’s just a date.” It was a date right? Shit, had he said date? She knew he liked her, no room for wondering there, the almost kiss was still burned into her mind. So it was a date. Or was he going slow? Was he going slow because of her or because he wanted to? Her brow furrows and she scratches her big wavy hair, falling past her collar bones now as she’d opted out of the usual spring cut. The doorbell makes her jump and she rolls her eyes at herself in harsh judgment. She counts to ten slowly and breathes, then goes for the door.

Declan stood with gleaming shoulders in the late afternoon sun. His tank top long and loose, faded over dark jeans and his usual shit-kicking boots and chain. The leather vest was something she’d not seen him in before and to say she was a fan was an understatement. She wonders if there’s more leather where it came from and if he had a collection to rival hers. She doubted it but filed the curiosity to his kinks away for later.

“Hey, Babe.” She greets first and boldly, pulling the door back to welcome him in.

“Hey Bells.” A broad closed mouth smile that makes his eyes nearly disappear comes across his face at the sight of her. A dress cut in at the waist with a little ditzy floral print of white and yellow against a black background reminds him of some cool girl from a 90s sitcom. It brushed at her knees and he saw her same little boots loose around her ankles. With effortless hair and makeup, he wanted to hold her against him and feel that softness. The cotton of her dress under his hands as he leaned in to hug her, the warm berry vanilla scent of her as he kissed her cheek and made her blush as she side-eyes him before moving away.

“Gonna grab my purse. Say hi to Robbie if you want. He missed you.” She tells over her shoulder with a tone that suggested he wasn’t the only one.

“I’ve missed him.” He responds in a deep and even voice, Robbie already loudly announcing his presence and rubbing between Declan’s legs. “Hey, baby dude.” He mrmurs with a scratch to his fluffy butt. Robbie purrs in approval.

“Alright.” she announces with a black leather crossbody bag to match the jacket. Warm for the weather but she wouldn’t get on a bike without it.

“I know I said comfy but, I don’t know if a dress will work for what I’ve got in mind.” He responds with a hesitant face.

“Oh, I’m prepared.” She responds proudly, hand reaching down to lift the hem of her dress to show shorts underneath. “Got bike shorts underneath.” She grins.

“Always prepared huh?” He nods in approval.

“I try.” She smiles sweetly, bending to pet Robbie one last time. “We’ll be back, kay? I put your catnip toy on the bed for you.” She coos at him, taking out her keys.oo

“Hope you don’t mind.” He says, shrugging to the bike.

“I should’ve known you had a bike really. Black Wolf and all.” She answers, putting her keys and zipping shut her purse. “But you’d never mentioned it.”

“I don’t ride her in the winter. Well, not this one anyway.”

“She special?” Bella asks as he moves to grab a helmet out of studded leather saddle bag

“The most.”

“So this is the woman I’m competing with huh?” She chuckles.

He feels his face flush slightly, thankful for the color he’s gotten in the woods the past week to hide it, skin now a warm-toned tan that caught the sun like a dream. Bella wanted to run her fingertips down those muscled arms and feel every curve of muscle he’d earned. “Yeah. My first love.” He explains after clearing his throat. “First bike.” He clarifies, handing her a black matte helmet, same as his. “My mom hated it, so I painted it her favorite color as a way to suck up to her.” He grins at the memory.

“Did it work?”

“Eh. Not really.” He fully laughs and mounts the bike, holding his hand out to her. “You got it?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about me. Dad had bikes growing up.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Ugh. Lucky.” He remarks, getting out his keys and readying his foot to kick off. “You gotta tell me about that later.”

“Can do.” She nods with her helmet on, now fearlessly wrapping her arms around him, the warmth of his stomach and chest against her palms and fingertips as the unbelievably soft shirt shifted in between her fingers with the flutter of the wind. He wasn’t reckless or fast and she appreciated it greatly. It’d been decades since she’d been on a bike.

They pull up and Bella peels herself from the hot skin of his leather vest, looking forward to seeing all of in motion as she’d gotten her fair share of his arms during the ride. Although driving out of town had been an unexpected but lovely detour, the site of his arms, which up close rivaled the tree trunks on the sides of the two-lane road they rode on. They pull up to a long line of fencing. His bike not the only one there, but by far the coolest in her opinion.

“Forest Fortress?” She states out loud with a wrinkle of her nose in question as she shakes out her hair from her helmet.

“So you haven’t been here before. Good.” He proudly declares and takes her helmet.

“You gonna tell me what it is or do I have to keep waiting?” She smiles.

“Have you ever played paintball, Bella?” He asks, half bent and securing the helmet in the saddle bag.

“No, but I’ve played laser tag.” She offers.

“Think of it as laser tag that hurts.” He laughs.

“So this is a paintball place?” Her brows go up and she shakes out her dress.

“Hope that’s okay.”

“Hell yeah it’s okay.” She answers with a big grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly. “My legs are gonna get totally fucked though.” She lets out an amused noise.

“Nah, they have protective gear you can use. Wouldn’t have let you leave in that if I thought I’d be bringing you back all bruised. Robbie would never let me live it down.” He kids with a straight face and she manages to suppress a girlish giggle at him beaming a killer smile her way.

With his charisma and gentle guidance, he found that smile that he was worried might only exist at the festival still fully engaged as they went through the steps of putting on gear and teaching her how to use the guns. People knew him there, half bro hugs and slaps to the back in greeting all the way until they were both equipped and ready to head out into the obstacle course.

“So you do want to be on the same team or different ones?” The guy at the last stop before the entrance asks, knowing she was a newbie.

Before Declan can even turn to look at her she answers definitely “Different.” With a big and challenging smile.

“Look at the balls on this one.” the guy laughs and slaps a blue stripe on her gear. “And red for you D.” He remarks with a firm slap to his back. “Clean fight guys. You heard the rules.” He commands and opens the gate to reveal a scattered and varied series of wooden and rope courses in a fenced-in area of the forest. A rainbow of paint colors splatted all over everything. Tarps, haybales, stacks of giant tires, it was essentially a playground for adults. Which was a perfect choice in Bella’s eyes as she scurried away as soon as they crossed the threshold much to Declan's surprise. He was more than thrilled with her enthusiasm for his choice and the feisty competitive behavior it was bringing out in her.

The alarm blares and the shots start. She decides to keep an eye out for Declan, but take out anyone else if they popped up. She took out one person, her smaller size and workout routine she’d amped up for the warmer months helping her out. Declan was at a disadvantage with his height, she would see his back arched and bobbing around but could never get him head-on. So she uses the pole dancing classes to her advantage and shimmies up behind a terrace, thighs burning as she aims and misses. He whips around fast and sees nothing and she decides to just have some fun and jumps on his back, the unexpected attack knocking him to the ground as he hears her distinct laugh from on top of him as he moves to face her.

“Got ya bitch.” She snorts and laughs.

“Jesus Christ Bella!” He mutters out as he scrambles. “Where you even fuckin' come from?”

“Always look high.” She answers rolling off him as she keeps laughing quietly to not draw more attention to them.

“You didn’t shoot me though.” He grins wickedly and holds his gun up to her.

“I missed.” she shrugs. “Worth it though.” She leans back and sighs and smiles at him.

Well dammit, now he didn’t want to shoot her, laid back looking all soft and smiling at him.

“But you haven’t shot me either.” she raises a brow and grins, gun pointing at his chest now.

“Seems we’re at an impasse partner.” he says with a cowboy twang that makes her snort.

“If we eliminate each other, we can start over, or go back to town and eat. If we don’t, we have to walk 10 paces and try our luck with everyone else.” she replies with a playful wrinkle of her nose.

“I am hungry.” he answers with a pout of his lips.

“You know I am.” she smirks.

“A truce? A duel?”

“A...betrayl?” she tilts her head, finger on the trigger as another alarmingly charming smile comes across his face.

He flinches like he’s going to shoot her, only wanted to get her to wince and give her shit for it, but instead he knocks her gun and sets it off when he startles her, shooting him in the thigh. “Oh shit!” She squeaks, covering her mouth and sitting up as he balls up and groans. “Please tell me I didn’t just shoot you in the dick.” she begs with a serious face that makes him contorted up in discomfort, snort and laugh loudly.

“Glad to say you did not.” he groans.

“Oh, thank God.” she exhales sharply, rubbing his arm and frowning. “I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, nah I know. My fault.” he shakes his head. “Guns involved. Shouldn’t have fucked around.” he grunts out, sitting up. “It fuckin’ hurt but I’ll live. Be a nasty bruise. That was so fuckin’ close.” he lets out a pained chuckle.

“Yeah that had to hurt, dude, I'm so sorry.” she gives him an entirely genuine apologetic face, leaned in close to his that was still grimacing as he rubbed his leg.

“I’ll live.” he gives her an exhale and a nod, giving a good show of his words. “Well you know what might help?” he says, leaning and looking at the splat of paint.

“What?” she asks so earnestly he feels guilty already.

“You could kiss it and make it better.” he responds with a straight face and she shoves his shoulder so hard he hits the ground, forcing out a laugh from his chest.

“Maybe later.” she rolls her eyes and stands, dusting off her legs. “You fuckin’ goof.” she shakes her head and reaches her hand down to him. “Timer’s about to go off.” she nods towards the large LED board above the box where the scorekeeper watched.

They walk with his arm around her shoulders back towards the front, her arm around him as if she were helping him along.

“The 'ol seduce and betray. I like it.” the guy at the front holds his hand up for a high five as she passes.

“Oh fuck you Kyle.” Declan bellows out.

“Thanks.” Bella grins wide and answers the guy's gesture enthusiastically.

Since she’s mildly maimed him, they decide to go eat instead of going for another round. The energy sourced of nearly an hour hunting other humans had taken its toll on them both. The same closeness, the same warmth, and smiles they’d grown so fond of from each other over more junk food in a shitty little diner he liked. They talked bike’s, his and the ones she’d ridden, the ones her dad worked on, how he’d wrecked and her mother wouldn’t let him ride now out of worry. He learned about her family a bit and was glad to see she’d had a good upbringing, parents still alive and together, something he’d always wanted in a family and for himself. At that small table in the crowded room that felt like no one else was around, they sat and talked for nearly two hours without even checking the time or their phones, it felt to oddly effortless. They both felt heard and like they were interesting to someone else. They talked about nature, about music, sharing their favorite things that everyone else told them they talked too much about.

So when the time came for Bella to go home, her gut was telling her no. In fact, it was screaming it at her. He’d left with another cheek kiss and a tight hug, proving to her he was more than decent. She watches his broad shoulders slumped, jacket now on to guard against the night chill as he rode, his hands shoved into his jean pockets and biting his lip, wondering if he should’ve kissed her.

'You can’t let him leave', her conscience tells her. 'Don’t let him leave. This day was damn near perfect. You KNOW he wants it and you’re brave enough to admit you do too. Just… get his attention. Do something.' Her brain scurries and her throat turns to stone, her mouth open and trying but her nerves wanting to keep her quiet. It would be real if she made a sound. It would turn into more if she called out for him. Knowing you’re living a defining moment is funny. You can let fear freeze you, taking the easy way out, or you call push your cards all in on the table and win big. Or lose everything. But isn’t a life lived with failures better than a life lived with what if’s?

“Declan.” she forces out, the keys in her hand shaking from her nerves, not even moved to be put in the door.

He shuts his eyes for just a second, hiding the relief on his face. God, he had wanted to say something. “Yeah?” he asks over his shoulder, his hair soft around his shoulders, skin still warm and seemingly glowing in the sconces by the door and the solar pikes in the ground along her walkway despite the sun being long gone.

“I-” she starts and doesn’t know where she’s going. But she started. That was like half of the job, wasn’t it? “I don’t... uh...” she licks her lips and puts her keys back in her purse. “I don’t really wanna go home yet.” she manages, looking down before meeting his eyes.

“Oh.” he says, hiding his delight with pursed lips and a nod. “Well that’s, y’know, fine with me.” he shrugs and turns fully towards her, taking slow steps as her feet also carried her towards him.

“You wanna... I dunno... go somewhere else? Like... somewhere you like to go on a nice night like this?” she offers, eyes hopeful as they looked up at the man nearly a foot taller than her as he ran his fingers through his hair. The night was almost as lovely as he was. Almost.

“Yeah. I’ve got a place. Can’t tell anyone though. It’s a secret.” he leans in and gives her a wink that she doesn’t act exasperated by, just a lazy smile on her face.

“I won’t.” she replies softly.

“Let’s go then.” he whispers, taking her hand and walking her back to the bike.

---

The ride is serene and gorgeous. The moon out, bright light dropping through the tree canopy, the long dull roar of the bike as she held herself against him both rumbling together with the motor. She doesn’t know how many times she sighed, but she couldn’t stop. This day had been so nice and it really was a perfect night to be outside.

To a small clearing they drove through a barely broken in path to a large tree on its side. A marked stopping point, a few others having been removed offered a little meadow to see up into sky. Out in the forest, there was no noise or light pollution to take away from the view. They check that their phones were on silent subtly, they weren't taking any chances of being interrupted.

“This looks like someplace in a movie where teens come to get in trouble.” she remarks with a grin, fluffing her hair and shaking her jacket, standing as he turned to sit sideways on the supported bike.

“Or some 30-somethings looking to get away from everyone else.” he offers with a voice that was deeper and more even when he was among the trees. His face fell softer as if he felt at home there.

“You make this?” she asks, looking around, the moon giving enough light to see around up to the tree line.

“Somewhat. Cleared it out a little. Beat out the path over time. I like to get away up here. Sometimes I camp out.” he shrugs his explanation.

“It’s really nice. It’s so quiet.” she whispers.

“Don’t have to whisper.” he gives her the same warm smile that made her give him a chance in the first place.

“Feels like I should.” she remains quiet, standing closer to him, almost between his legs.

They both occupy the silence, looking up at the stars, feeling a slight breeze, taking in the sounds of nature. She wasn’t used to it. But she certainly felt like she could learn to like it. “I can see why you like this so much.” her voice still soft. “Only missing one thing for me.”

“Wassat?” he mumbles, looking at her with her eyes shut and face to the sky.

“Music.”

“Yeah...no wifi out here.” he chuckles.

“I’ve got music saved actually.” she announces, pulling out her phone and ignoring all the usual alerts.

“‘Course you do.” he gives her a smile, watching her nose twitch in thought as she was lit up from the phone screen.

“What? Should I not play it?” she asks with more genuine concern that makes him even more certain there’s a real soft kitten under that hard exterior.

“No, go for it.” he answers with a casual shake of his head.

“‘Kay.” she bites her lips. “There’s only one playlist I have saved, but it’s a great one. My parents wifi up at their cabin is shit so I saved this one so they could listen to it once I hooked up their stereo in the house for them.”

“Please tell me your parents aren’t country fans.” he snarks.

“No, no. They’re cool. Well I mean, I think they have good taste in music anyway.” she smirks. “It’s all Motown and 60’s stuff.” she explains as the Supremes comes over the phone, she sits it on the back of the bike. “One of moms favs.” she reminisces with a happy expression, moving her hand and hips in rhythm. “We’d watch old recordings and do the dances. I still remember most of them.” she admits with a shy smile. “Guess it’s the dance training. Or we just did it way too much.” she chuckles.

“Dance training?” he asks with a nod of his chin.

“Yeah, I danced as a kid. Mom with her pop culture dances and wanting me to learn the Celtic stuff. She thought I was good at it, so she put me in classes. Dance team in school, that whole thing.”

“Should’ve known.” he huffs out.

She turns her face to him, feet still playing out the easy steps.

“You’re good.” he offers with another charming smile.

“Oh.” she looks back down and smiles at the ground with her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Thanks.”

“You don’t think so?”

“It’s not that it’s just...I’m not really the best at taking real compliments.” she admits with a nervous laugh.

“I caught on.” he offers softly and leans forward.

She continues to sway and he contently watches her, wondering if he should make a move or just let her be. “You have a favorite out of these?” he suggests, thumbing through the long list.

“A few of course.” she snickers at herself.

“I wanna know what you're into... pick one out for me.” he urges, his voice slipping deeper and her body notices as it tightens and reacts.

She nods and leans in, getting close and bending over his long legs. His eyes turn a deep shade of brown, growing more lidded as he moved in close enough to smell the sweet scent of her perfume in her hair. Goosebumps bloomed over her skin at the feel of his breath, she gulps and plays it cool, making another little list of her favorites. She thought maybe she could set a soundtrack. Set a mood that couldn’t be ignored, interject with her encyclopedia of knowledge on the music of the time. She decides to loosen herself up first and get a laugh out of it, always a good place to start.

“Alright. Hit play.” she orders with a cheerful smile, Jackson 5 coming through and it wasn’t what he expected. She starts with the dance steps he knows to be associated with them, little turns and hand gestures and he sits back with crossed arms and nods his head to the beat. He applauds with an impressed face even though she didn’t do much and she bows. A cute smile with flushed cheeks as she leaned over to check the playlist.

“Don’t worry about it. Just relax. That’s what this place is for.” he whispers and stands, pulling her away from the bike. He’d seen the songs on the list, he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about with any mood being killed. With the night ripe and the air tense between them, he wanted to facilitate what he thought she wanted and knew he wanted. Maybe she was more timid with things like this than he realized. Her confident front falters as he takes her into his arms, a hand sliding under her jacket to her back pulling her in, another taking her hand, elbows bent with fingers laced together. The moon was bright enough to see her face, surrounded in a soft frame of thick wavy, naturally almost black locks. Her green eyes caught the light as they sat wide and almost innocent as she spanned over his chest and to their clasped hands. He leans his face down closer to her, his voice sweet and calm, trying to ease any nerves she had about getting close to him.

Her first thought when being taken into his arms was boy, is he bigger up close. But the quick second was realizing how close they’d been already. They’d slept skin to skin, nestled like little bunnies together and she hadn’t had a problem with it. So why was standing close and holding his hand erupting a fire in her stomach that threatened to bubble up and out of her throat with words that took away from the moment? It was like when bypassing her mind, her words changed from yes, I want this, to, did you know that when this song was recorded- putting up her wall to keep her from getting too close. But there was nothing to be afraid of at this point. He’d proven himself on all fronts. He was one of her best friends so quickly it threw her off her game, she didn’t bond quickly with people, she didn’t attract good men who helped their friends and cared about other people. Why was all this happening now?

With AlGreen lending him the mood, he keeps her close, looking down curiously as she looked thoughtful but almost frightened. “Thought you might want a dance.” he speaks, making her look up at him. “It’s all you bothered me about down there, thought you might want to show me a thing or two when it isn’t pouring rain outside.” he offers with a soft smile.

“Or getting electrocuted.” she adds and he feels her take a deep breath, her posture straightening and watching her come back to herself slowly. “Need to slow dance properly.” she almost mumbles, but he’s close enough and observant enough to catch the words. His choice of song isn’t lost on her. “Good one to do though.” she offers with big eyes that catch the moon and shine, making him sigh and only nod in response. He moves his hips to the beat and hers follow suit naturally. “You’re better this time.” she praises.

“Good teacher.” he says with a kind smile.

“Oh. Go on.” she looks down and chuckles nervously.

“Maybe I will.” he speaks low and pulls her closer.

She has to respond so she closes her mouth and blushes. The moments build, the last push in Tired of Being Alone, the vocals screech and he moves them fast in a circle, causing the tension to break as she squeaks much to his delight and he moves his hips and shoulders faster. “Keep up Bells.” he laughs, she does she as she throws her head back for a moment, the song fades fast, her head falling to his chest and she chuckles at how nervous she is. But it wasn’t any match for the next song. One of her mom’s favorites she’d sing to her father when they were being sickly sweet with each other. Natural Woman by Aretha, a song that could move even the most stubborn heart. And Bella was no exception. From the get she knows she’s doomed. Or would it be blessed at this point? Maybe it was a sign. One of those moments her mom told her about. When the universe just tapped you on the head and said, pay attention girl. So that’s what she did. She danced with the one man to make her feel anything since she was young to the song her parents slow danced to when she was young, thinking she wasn’t awake, peeping down the hall to see them swaying in the living room. The string section builds her confidence and takes a deep breath and does what she really wants for the first time in a long, long time.

She looks up at him and gives a little smile, finding him already watching her intently, his face as dark and calm as the sky behind it. She bows back and puts her back to his chest, swaying with both hands interlocked in his for a moment, placing them across her stomach, and she felt no resistance from him. He even bent his knees like she told him, feeling his nose in her hair as it brushed close to her ear. This was how this should've gone at the festival, this was the way they were dancing before and now without a cloud in the sky, there wouldn't be any interruptions.

From his vantage point he watches her shut her eyes, her chin up and head rested on him, one hand rubbing over his, a slow and smooth ascent up her own body, fingertips grazing her neck, pushing her hair out of the way before it snakes up and touches his face. With eyes still closed she turns her head towards his, he can feel her heartbeat racing under his palms. Her fingers are soft and light up his jaw and into his hair. He shivers at the touch, an almost grunt coming from him, putting his head even closer to hers. He wasn’t going to pass up another invitation when she was so boldly presenting it. The words ring too true, and she knows she has to face what she’s doing. She has to be the one to do it, because he’s too good too.

When she opens her eyes he’s already there, looking down at her with his deep, dark brown eyes. A heavy brow almost hiding them if the moon hadn’t been so full. With a brief flutter of lashes at how handsome he really could be so close up, she looks to his lips. His parted just as hers were, trying to calmly get more air as their heart demanded more of them as their pulses raised. As the song rolls into Percy Sledge smoothly, they both know there’s no turning back this time. Nothing to break them apart except themselves, and neither wanted to. A melodic organ he feels in his chest, this’ll be it.

He watches the lump in her throat bob and he smiles, grazing his nose against hers and feels her body give a little shudder when he got close. The air is thick and tense, the night air hot only around them, the moon and stars the only witnesses to what felt like such a monumental moment for both of them. With her head twisted, chin lifted to meet him as close to the middle as she could, they share one more glance between them, a final chance to bail and neither take it. Back down to their lips their eyes move, sharing a breath, his hand moving up to her face, as hers still rested in his hair. They break on the blare of a horn, both their breathing halted with the warmth that washes over them all the way down to their toes.

What starts as one press of lips, almost chaste with his rough fingers against her smooth jaw grows deeper, turn after turn of their mouths, until Bella can’t stand it any longer. With a tiny whimper, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, she turns in his arms, only parting for a moment and in a flash he runs cold, afraid the moments gone before she crashes her lips back into his, hands on his chest and the other in his hair, he gives over to her, leaning back against the bike, arms moving tightly around her to hold her close between his legs, splayed fingers working lower than they ever had before to her hips and between her shoulder blades, not wanting to even catch his breath as her arms slide around his neck.

They could’ve stayed like that forever. They both wanted to. This perfect moment, him surrounded by nature and her picking the soundtrack to her life was something they both wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. Her chest felt like it was full of fire, the butterflies in her stomach only fanning it with the rapid assault of their wings. Her fingertips tingled, only feeling warmth where he touched her, feeling the press of his impressive hands against her body under her jacket. His lips were softer than they seemed for a man that looked like him. The strong cupids bow and pinked color they natural held were always hidden at least in part by his facial hair, but she was getting to experience the full breadth of them tonight.

The kisses turn softer, more lips, more breathing, and her hands move to his rising and falling chest. With closed eyes still living in the blissful moment, their foreheads rest together as they take a few breaths. Wow, they both almost said. Few kisses felt like that one had. Some might never experience it. A painfully strong mutual attraction based on more than aesthetics. Built on friendship and trust and months of earning a place in each other's lives. It was real and raw and those things felt so rare for both of them.

“I can’t believe I waited so long to do that.” she eventually whispers, eyes still shut as her breaking the silence between them makes his eyes open to see her eyes flutter, half-lidded and pupils blown, fingertips light and shakey on the thin material of his shirt.

“You did it at the perfect time.” he coos back.

“Ugh.” a hand moving up to push back his hair as she beams up at him. “You’re so nice. Sweet, I mean.” she shakes her head, still trying to get the blood to flow to it and not the other brain that was shouting orders at her she was ignoring. “And… patient.” she adds with a huff of a laugh.

“Worth it.” he grins, kissing her cheek, the warmth flooding her all over again.

“Can we just... do more of that?” she lets out a girlish giggle he’s never heard, her head falling into his chest as her shoulders shake. She brings her head back up, shaking the hair out of her face and tracing her thumb over his cheek. “I’m so rusty at this.” she admits and he sees no shame or hesitation in her eyes now, only brightness.

“We can do as much of that as you want.” he kisses her softly. “And you don’t feel rusty to me.” he purrs back against her lips, eyes dark under a relaxed brow as she hummed happily.

“Not bad yourself, Harp.” she nudges her nose to his and smiles into a kiss, a content sigh shared as a kiss grows again. It felt so good, so right, just like she hoped it would. Just liked it should she thinks. He was so hot and pliant to the touch, a small lick of her tongue to his bottom lip makes his nostrils flare, a slow and teasing exchange between them. He bites on her full bottom lip and her eyes roll back in her head, a heavy sigh escaping her. She sucks on his after he releases it with a pop, her tongue moving to explore his own as they shared a more messy kiss, one that was clearly doing something for him as his hands ventured lower. He finally got his hands on that ass of hers, her letting out a little moan as he gave it a slight squeeze.

“Too far?” he asks, still learning the origin of her noises.

She answers by moving up into his lap, thighs on either side of him and shaking her head, putting his hands back where they had been. “No.” she answers before another wrestling kiss forms. Even with the advantage of being on him, he was still not taller than her. This was new for her as well, she’d never been a man this tall this... big. All over big. Or at least she hoped the hard place resting between her thighs was growing proof of that. Her hands slip under his jacket at the shoulders, far past her own in width and she moans as how hard he is under her hands. She greedily explores the planes of him, and he does the same. Hands down his chest to a stomach that was almost hard, fingertips pressed into shoulder blades that shifted as he easily picked her up to resituate her. Which she really didn’t mind at all. In fact she thought she might’ve found a new kink. No man she’d been with had even been strong enough to pick her up and throw her around so to speak, and literally. Her mind was full of racing ideas for him.

They kiss like teens at a make-out point as she’d teased upon arrival. Moans and pants exchanged against now swollen and wet lips, tongue in and outside of mouths as they explored what worked and didn’t, and so far there wasn’t a thing that didn’t feel good. It all felt too good and that was another problem entirely. One of those good problems she’d always heard about but never had herself.

She felt like taking her tits out of her dress, him getting those shapely lips on them and grinding on him until they both came. But she didn’t. She’d like to say she knew better, but she didn’t. She only knew not to go too fast, which is where she’d been burned before. “I know we have to stop at some point. But I don’t want to.” she half moans into a lippy and loud kiss.

He smiles against her. “I know babe. I know.” he groans and moves his hand back up to her waist. Hers on his jaw, thumbs swiping over the short sides of his beard as she kissed the corners of his mouth, the tip of his nose, wanting to feel every part of him against her lips.

“Mmph. That’s nice.” he hums with closed eyes and continues to his cheeks, that masculine brow, over the scar that lies there and one to his forehead.

“You’re very, very kissable.” she giggles, nuzzling his face with her nose. Touching him felt like a drug.

“So you are. Among...other things.” his nostrils flare as she bites her lip at him.

“Will there be time for that later?” she whispers, an almost naughty turn to her words.

“All the time you want.” he raises his brow, his voice deep with grit and hunger.

“How about we make time for it?” she asks, fingers into his beard and scratching, wanting to take in as much of him as she could.

“Mmm?” he asks, grunting as a response to her question and to the affection.

“We should make time. We’re both busy, I don’t want to go another week without seeing you... without... this.” she coos and kisses him softly.

“Then let’s do it. Let me take you out. A real date.”

“Oh, a real one huh?” she teases, kissing his cheek.

“Yeah. We’ll go downtown, meat, and wine the whole thing. Wine and dine.” he says playfully.

“Wine dine and...sixty nine?” she asks before her nose wrinkles and her face falls into a giggle.

“Like I said, whatever you want babe.” he grins.

Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag

#Declan Harp #Frontier #frontier fic #declan harp x reader #declan harp fanfic #declan harp fan fiction #declan harp fic #declan harp au #declan harp modern au #frontier au #frontier modern au #jason momoa frontier #frontier fanfic #frontier fandom #frontier fan fiction #frontier fan fic #declan harp x ofc #declan harp x oc #jason momoa

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thespacebetweenworlds · 5 years

Text

Umbrella

This was written for the @aftgholidayzine! Many cool creators in the fandom have done art and word constellations for it, so check it out!

Beta’d by @sisaloofafump (an angel). Read it on ao3 here.

Laila knew these to be truths: Alvarez had a first name, but nobody knew it. Alvarez was one hell of a backliner, but Laila would never admit that. Alvarez had jokingly referred to Laila as her enemy in their first week of summer practice, and that was what stuck. Alvarez was her roommate. And Laila had a crush on her.

Wait, no, that wasn’t a truth. Laila did not have a crush on the most obnoxious and infuriating Trojan there ever was.

She sighed audibly. Jeremy in front of her just watched her as if she was an interesting fish in an aquarium. With steadily shaking hands she reached for the bottle and filled herself another shot of too-sweet yellow liquor. It was only her fourth - fifth? - but it was now sometime between 3am and morning, and the Trojans had celebrated winning their last game before the holidays. The only other time she had been this drunk was after high school graduation, and those were not nice memories.

“Do you have a crush on her?” Jeremy asked, effectively startling Laila out of her fuzzy memories.

“What? No!” She said, way too loud. “I do not have a crush on Alvarez! I would never! She’s always so smug about bodychecking others! She’s insufferable when she steals balls! And she always washes the dishes! Always!”

Jeremy stared at her. Laila assumed he was too drunk, anyway.

“She’s just so, so… I don’t know! I tried to antagonize her by giving her a lavender scented candle for her birthday, because she always complains that my closet smells of lavender, but she just smiled!” Laila couldn’t fathom how Jeremy could be so passive about her rivalry with her roommate. “We’re enemies, Jer!”

Jeremy’s eyes searched her face. Then he nodded at nothing. “It’ll be okay, Laila.”

But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay because when Laila woke up sometime that afternoon, she had the chilling realisation that yes, she did indeed have a crush on Alvarez. Alvarez, whose eyes were as intimidating as they were beautiful, no matter the amount of makeup she wore or didn’t wear. Alvarez, whose hair looked way too good when it was wet from a shower. Alvarez, who could possibly bench press Laila. When Laila was wearing her goalie gear.

No. Nope. Absolutely not okay, Laila thought as she subtly admired Alvarez’s relaxed face on the other side of the aisle in the Trojan team bus. She had white headphones in, and her brown skin looked soft to touch. Her eyes were closed, the dark lashes catching in the light from outside.

Jeremy beside her sighed, and Laila sighed back. It was the mood. Sighing was what they had done for the last ten hours on the bus, only interrupted by some sleep.

Every year, in the winter holidays, the Trojans went on a three day vacation together. It was a team building event, and a chance for the upperclassmen to get to know the freshmen off the court. They had boarded the bus at nightfall and had been going north ever since.

“Beautiful,” Jeremy said quietly. “So very pretty.”

“Yes,” agreed Laila, her eyes stuck on Alvarez’s nose. She’d tried to convince Jeremy she didn’t have a crush, but the downside of having a best friend was the forced honesty and the inability to hide things. “How can her nose be so attractive?”

“That’s not who I meant,” Jeremy elbowed her. Sighing, Laila followed his nudge and saw Finn Montez, two rows in front of Alvarez. Like Alvarez, Finn was sleeping, but one of his headphones had fallen out of his ear. “Finn Montez.”

“A striker?” Laila asked, confused. A junior striker, too.

“He just,” Jeremy said, in much the same tone she had used when asking about Alvarez’s nose, “he’s so elegant, you know?”

Laila did not know. But she nodded anyway, and listened to Jeremy trying to describe the colour of Finn’s hair (black) and Finn’s skills on the court (very good) and that he once sang a Rihanna song when he thought he was alone in the showers.

Even Laila had to admit that last one was cute.

By the time they reached their destination, a small hotel next to a Target and a forest, Laila was excited for the next few days. They got off the bus and got their bags, Coach Rhemann going inside first to check in. Coach was the only adult on the trip, but the older goalies had said he usually just sat in the hotel cafeteria and drank coffee all day.

There wasn’t any snow around, but the sky was a cool grey, and the air was definitely colder than in LA.

Motion came to the twenty eight student athletes when the captain shouted that there were only rooms for two, and would everybody please find a friend. Laila turned to Jeremy, but Finn Montez was first.

Laila couldn’t believe the smile she saw on Jeremy’s face, and the enthusiastic yes he said with all his sunshine power. She was his best friend! Who was she supposed to room with if he roomed with someone else? Finn nodded, and smiled at Laila as he walked past her to put his and Jeremy’s names on the list for the rooms.

“Oh my god,” Jeremy said, staring wistfully after Finn. “Did you see that?”

“Of course I saw that!” Laila exclaimed. “Could you be any more obvious about your crush?”

“Pff,” Jeremy said and smiled even brighter, “I’m not the only one who’s obvious.”

Laila shook her head. “Yeah, coming up to ask you to room with him was pretty obvious, I suppose.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jeremy said.

They were the last to step into the hotel, a three storey tall house, painted yellow. Everything was okay until Laila saw the list with the names of the Trojans and a room number. The only free spot was next to room 201, Alvarez.

“Why doesn’t she write her first name,” Laila grumbled.

“This is wonderful!” Jeremy said. “You’ll be rooming with your roommate and your crush!”

“Shhh! Don’t shout that! And no, it’s not wonderful! Did you forget the part where we’re enemies?” But Jeremy wasn’t listening, so Laila sighed and wrote ‘Laila Dermott’ in the spot next to Alvarez’s name. How bad could it be?

Very, as it turned out.

Alvarez was lying on the bed, an arm thrown over her eyes. For a moment, Laila could only think about how good Alvarez looked in jogging pants and a sweater and how she felt slightly like she was intruding. The room was nice, the walls were painted yellow with small drawings of trees hung up, the window let in a lot of light given the overcast sky outside, and a wooden door that presumably went to the bathroom. Then she mentally backpedalled. Her bag slipped out of her fingers.

“Wait, one bed?”

“Geez,” Alvarez flinched and sat up, making a face. “What are you doing here?”

“Jeremy abandoned me, but that isn’t the point!”

Alvarez raised an eyebrow.

Laila took a breath. “Why is there only one bed?”

Alvarez lifted her shoulders in an I-don’t-fucking-know kind of way.

“How can you not care?”

“So what? It’s a double bed. We’re both girls.” Alvarez sounded like she was reading off a list. “We’re both athletes, we’ve seen each other naked. We’re roommates anyway. This is a team building vacation, so why not just play along and try to enjoy ourselves?”

Alvarez was right, and Laila knew it. She just… it felt too easy. To be in the same room as her, to breathe the same air, to not tease her about her backlining, to not be teased in response. So Laila nodded and walked around the bed, dropping her bag on top of it. She didn’t know what to make of Alvarez’s calm acceptance of a double bed.

Dinner was a loud affair. Laila found herself caught in a group of sophomores, who all wanted to know about her love life, and didn’t seem to be satisfied with her short answers. There wasn’t much to tell, really, aside from Alvarez, but Laila wasn’t saying that to anyone, as she was still trying to convince herself otherwise.

The team bonding exercises after dinner were more exhausting than Exy, and Laila didn’t even think about her room situation until she and Alvarez, cheeks flushed from the running in the exercise, closed the door to their room and found themselves standing in a room that suddenly felt too small.

“Um, do you want to use the bathroom first?” Laila asked, and Alvarez wordlessly disappeared behind the door.

Laila heavily sat down on her side of the bed. She was going to kill Jeremy. But then, maybe Jeremy was dying anyway because he shared a room with Finn Montez. Laila hadn’t even known Finn wasn’t straight. Oh god, was Alvarez straight? More importantly, why had Laila never made a point to find out? Why did it never come up in conversation? In team gossip?

When Alvarez left the bathroom Laila was glad for the distraction of grabbing her pyjamas and going through with her evening ritual. Alvarez didn’t seem straight. She definitely wasn’t straight. Laila did not have a crush on a straight girl, that would be way too heartbreaking.

She finished brushing her teeth and shut off the lights, lying down on her side of the bed. She could feel that Alvarez shifted her weight.

“Good night, Laila,” a soft voice said, but Laila was already drifting off.

Her dreams were filled with snow. Evergreen trees under a thick layer of snow, and flakes falling down lazily, as if gravity was just a game. Breath that turned to clouds ascending into grey skies. But Laila was warm.

The rain on the window woke her.

Hair tickled her nose. For a moment she was caught up in sleeping and dreaming, but then all at once she realised. Her arms were around Alvarez, and the hair tickling her nose was Alvarez’s, and her pillow was Alvarez’s shoulder, and their legs were tangled, and she could feel Alvarez’s hand on her waist.

Laila couldn’t help herself. She tensed. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

“Laila?” Alvarez’s rough voice sounded too close to her ear (and yet not close enough).

Fuckfuckfuck. Laila abruptly sat up, disentangling herself and blushing fiercely as Alvarez slowly woke up. It was too late. There was no way Alvarez would not think Laila’s entire existence didn’t start and end with Alvarez - damn it all that should not have happened. Laila wasn’t supposed to crush on her roommate, much less fall in love with - no, fuck, she wasn’t having these realisations now.

“Um, good morning,” Alvarez mumbled and cleared her throat. “What - what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Laila pressed out. Love. The word felt like fire and ice, and now, looking back on months of denial - it made sense. She sneezed. Her eyes burned. Alvarez’s eyes burned into her. And Laila panicked. She jumped out of the bed and barely registered to put on her shoes.

“Laila? What?”

But Laila was already running down the stairs, and through the foyer, and out, out into the rain. The rain washed her tears away.

It was cold, that was the first thing she noticed. Wet, the second. Still dark, the third. The Target was closed, and she could see no lights, not anywhere, not even street lights. It was so different from her home in New York City, and so different from USC campus in LA. The darkness where the trees began was imposing on the street.

She stepped into a puddle and cursed. Rain fell heavy, and her shirt was already soaked.

Cold crept into her limbs. She sneezed again. “This was a bad idea,” she whispered to herself. Why hadn’t she gone to Jeremy’s room? Why hadn’t she insisted that Jeremy shared with her? Why had she fallen in love with the girl on the team that had declared herself Laila’s enemy, and then proceeded to have a frenemy-like relationship with?

Sure, it had never been outright hostile. They were roommates, they compromised, Alvarez did the dishes, Laila cooked for two when the dining hall seemed to far away, and they collaborated on laundry. Of course, there had been the incident with the lavender scented candle, but wasn’t that just… an inside joke? Laila messed up big time.

“Laila! Wait!” Laila turned around. She couldn’t see well, but a familiar figure was moving towards her.

Laila wanted to hide. She really did. But what would be the point? She stood.

Panting, Alvarez stopped in front of her. “Are you okay? Why did you just run outside? You didn’t even take your jacket!”

“I… uh.”

“Wait,” Alvarez stepped closer, concern in her eyes, “were you crying?”

Laila couldn’t look at her. She looked down at her hands, feeling drops fall down on them, feeling the drops landing on her shoulders and drenching her. Why not just say it? What was holding her back?

“You’re shaking,” Alvarez said.

“I’m in love with you,” Laila said. The rain suddenly stopped. It was still cold, and she could hear the rain, but it didn’t touch her. “I… I thought it was a crush that would go away, but… you’re just so infuriatingly you! You always wash the dishes! Who does that! And you’re literally the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen! So yeah,” Laila met Alvarez’s eyes, nearly faltering at the expression in them, “I’m in love with you. And… and I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable -”

Lips met her lips. Warm breath hit her face and she felt Alvarez’s lips moving, slowly. Laila kissed her back. She felt Alvarez’s tongue against her lips and opened her mouth, welcoming whatever Alvarez was willing to give. She felt a hand on the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and gripped Alvarez’s coat, when she felt herself losing balance. She was kissing Alvarez.

Laila expected to wake up in bed when she opened her eyes and their lips parted. But she only saw Alvarez’s dark eyes, and noticed that the black sky was getting greyer. She shivered and looked around.

The trees had more shape now, and more colour, and rain was still falling around them. Laila looked up. A red and gold umbrella floated above her. It only took her a few moments to realize Alvarez was holding the umbrella above their heads. Alvarez.

Alvarez, who had just kissed Laila.

“Laila,” Alvarez said, and Laila’s knees buckled at the soft smile on her lips, “I’ve been in love with you for like, ages. Do not apologize, as I will just kiss you to shut you up. If anything, I should apologize, for not saying something sooner.”

Laila leaned in and captured Alvarez’s lips with her own. “If I can’t apologize, then you can’t either.”

Alvarez’s giggle rang through the morning. “That’s fair, but we really need to get you somewhere warm.”

Shivering, Laila could only nod. Her body hurt from the cold, and, well, Alvarez just confessed, too. Her heart felt like it was doing cartwheels when just a few minutes ago she was crying and fleeing a situation she had gravely misunderstood.

What a weird start to the holidays. Back in their room, Laila took a hot shower, before dressing in the most comfortable clothes she had with her. They’d… have to talk things out. Definitely. Probably?

Laila sat on the bed, but Alvarez quickly dragged her under the blanket, embracing they way they had done in their sleep.

“Do you feel better?” Alvarez asked quietly.

Laila suddenly giggled. “You had my heart, and we’ll never be worlds apart… maybe in magazines, but you’ll still be my star…”

“Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other, you can stand under my umbrella.” Alvarez continued, and Laila was in awe at how beautiful Alvarez was when she smiled.

“Under my umbrella,” Laila whispered. “Thank you for coming after me and being a functional human being.” She relaxed in Alvarez’s arms.

“You know, I’m pretty sure Jeremy faked his crush on Finn to set us up,” Alvarez said neutrally.

“What!?” Laila couldn’t believe - but oh, yes, she could. “That’s why it sounded so fake. I just thought it was because I’m lesbian, and therefore fundamentally did not understand.”

Laila felt Alvarez laughing more than she heard it.

Thank you for reading! Also feel free to talk to me about lailvarez any time!

#lailvarez #all for the game #heathen's greetings #usc trojans #laila dermott #sara alvarez #jeremy knox #fluff #my writing #there was only one bed #pining #enemies to lovers #i love them #aftg #tfc #long post #i hope the read more thing works #fanfiction

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ourwickedworld · 5 years

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The Rambling Man Travel Review: Athens, GA

The Rambling Man. Travel Review: Athens, Ga The Classic City!

It is like going back in time, my personal portal to the past. Yes, it is a trip back to the college town I called home for 4 plus years. But, Athens will always be a place that conjures up life’s best feelings: love, passion, soul, heartache, and be so much more than a weekend getaway.

I arrive Friday November 9th, landing at Atlanta / Hartsfield International Airport. Athens is 50-60 miles Northeast of Hot Lanta, so I have a Hertz Rental Car in my future. Yep, I am rocking a white Ford Fusion to embark on this trip. I hop on 85 North, hit the 316 East, and I arrive in Athens in no time. As I approach my past, my present rolls down the window. My first test upon arriving into any new town, I must take a smell test of any city. I gulp in the air, and the South in general, but Athens specifically has its own smell. It is late fall, the air still warm. I smell water, soil, humid days, and the trees. You can see the many plants, you can smell the many trees. The many plants again near hibernation, a yearly tradition renewed as Fall turns to Winter.

And that could be the theme, a ritual renewed, of this weekend getaway. I have rambled into and out of Athens many times. I ramble into a town where every street light reveals a picture in reverse, to quote the great REM. Athens own REM… I am rambling into a weekend ritual renewed.

Where to start? How about an early afternoon stroll of campus? My accommodations at the Hilton Garden Inn, on E. Washington St. in downtown Athens, make the walk over to the University of Georgia campus darn right easy. My destination is North Campus, adjacent to Broad St. and directly South of downtown and Broad St. You will see the entrance to campus, and will be greeted by The Arch. But be for warned, Georgia Bulldog lore has it that only graduates can walk under the arch, those who dare walk under The Arch without a degree will suffer great sexual dysfunction. This may be a rumor, but, hey now, don’t mess with Southern Folklore if you ask me, especially when considering The Arch was molded in 1857. The University of Georgia, it is an old place, established in 1785. And, to me in my humble opinion, helps to explain my theme…. Because going to Athens, it is a tradition unlike any other, a ritual renewed.

Talk about walkability… North Campus on the campus of the University of Georgia is absolutely fantastic, offering young, hopeful faces, vintage buildings, historic sights, and sounds of hope hovering all around. After the flight, the walk gets my heart pumping. I play some REM, Widespread Panic, and Futurebirds to take in some of Athens Music royalty on my walk. Well, they are not quite all royalty yet, but I am taking in a concert tonight at the Athens historic legend itself, The Georgia Theatre. And, hum baby, I get a chance to see the band Futurebirds. Oddly, and without notice, I am in touch with my 19-year old former self. I am traveling in time tonight?

So hungry, I start to chew on my Red and Black ball cap. Food is right around the bend, but I have a few errands to run prior to catching a meal on the Rooftop Bar and the Futurebirds show at the Georgia Theatre.

It has been a long travel day, and if I did not get in the walk, I would have never been able to jump back into the rental car. It is a quick errand, a brief drive. I stop by the Package Store, somehow this is terminology for a place to buy liquor in the South. I pick up a bottle of Jim Beam and a 2 Liter bottle of Coke. The only thing missing… Picking up a copy of Leonard’s Losers. Leonard Postero was a native of Athens, Georgia, known for his syndicated radio show, Leonard's Losers. He was a 1943 graduate of the University of Georgia and served as an aviator in the United States Navy from 1943–45.

Leonard handicapped football games and provided a pamphlet, at the time. one could pick up at the Package Store. I picked up a copy quite often late on Friday’s in the Fall, and it 20-years later brings motivation and joy as I, in a similar vain of the great Leonard, pick my own Loser’s through my Las Vegas Larry’s Losers Podcast. Check it out… But remember, nobody does it like Leonard, a true Athens legend. We miss ya..

My errands continue, a stop at the Old Apartment. I am literally living a Barenaked Ladies song, The Old Apartment. Yes, this is where we used to live… Not much has changed, maybe some new paint. It is as if time stands still. I walk up the stairs to the outdoor patio, my eyes see what we used to see. The pine trees willow softly under the soft November sun. My car is still running, it may have been two minutes of my time, but the drive by of the old apartment is priceless.

I ramble on, rambling back to the hotel, a fiv- minute drive back East towards campus and downtown. I grab ice on my way up to my room, I drink two tall glasses of Jim Beam and coke. The TV is kept quiet, as I sit in silence. The perspective of life, ever changing. Travel can bring emotions, so can going back in time, but I don’t have time to think. I have a quick walk over to the Georgia Theatre for dinner!! I bark out loud in a weird ritual almost getting in some practice prior to barking all day tomorrow for the big game in town.

It is sweatshirt weather, a crisp fall night. I sit upon a most perfect sunset and spectacular views of Athens. The lights of space fuse to the Rooftop Bar, as I order the Pimento Cheese appetizer and a Purple Haze cold beer. I fold one beer to the next, before eventually heading down to the music venue which sits just beneath my feet.

The Band starts to play, and all is right in the world. It’s Friday night…. And a Friday night in Athens, by almost any definition features live music.

Stars were still coming from my eyes as dawn broke. It is a football Saturday morning in the Fall in Athens Georgia. But, hot dog, what a great show last night. I pull myself out of bed, quickly rotating my head in every direction to locate my water bottle. I see the leftover food I picked up after the show, Little Italy Pizzeria on Lumpkin. Little Italy Pizzeria is Athens in a pizza box. Let us not forget, Athens is a college town. And, late night cheezy, gooy pizza is just what the Professor orders after some live music and some beers at the Georgia Theatre.

The game is in a few hours, and my schedule is a bit tight, so I improvise a walk that is efficient on time. I start my walk from the hotel and walk South on Milledge Ave. The sidewalk below my running shoes has seen many footprints over the years, the traffic is moderate, and the sights and sounds are fantastic. To a degree, Milledge Ave., despite being a fairly major North / South thoroughfare, is the home to many college sororities. The antebellum homes turned Sorority Row is fairly intense and full of viewing pleasure, especially on a game day. And, frankly, this is what I mean by getting to know a city on an intimate level by walking its city streets. This walk is Southern Tradition, beauty, tradition, excitement, and a nice flat walk with a sidewalk to keep you safe.

I meet up with a few old pals that made the trip into town for the game, Mike, Wayne, and Mark. Wayne has a friend with a tailgate, so we plan on experiencing one of the best possible experiences known to man, a tailgate prior to a football game in Athens. GA. This is quintessential Classic City, college town, out of this world unique to Athens, and a must activity to truly understand why Athens is one of America’s premier cities and college towns.

We grill out and feast on Pork Shoulder with a white BBQ sauce. Some chicken chili was in the Crock Pot, and a big bucket of boiled shrimp and cocktail sauce sit on a table full of tailgate treats. I sip on another Jim Beam and coke, we talk football and get loud.

\The Georgia Bulldogs beat the Auburn Tigers, my friends and I ring the bell on North Campus, we then bar hop in downtown. The town is happy, winning big SEC football games in November over one of it’s biggest rivals can do that to a town in the South, and the happiness is obvious. This makes for a raucous and fun night of celebration. At times, yes, this old cowboy felt like the oldest cowboy in the room, but beating one of these young Millennials in a game of darts had me feeling spry. Bar games, what a country? Give me shuffle board, darts, corn hole, billiards… Downtown Athens can accommodate your inner bar game enthusiasm. And the late, late night scene… That scene can get you in trouble….

I wake up early Sunday to catch the early Service at Friendship Presbyterian Church. I would be remiss to leave out that the South is the Bible Belt for a reason. And, the glory of a Sunday Service in the South is a most unique experience and education. Regardless of faith, something good exists in the feeling one gets upon leaving church on a Sunday morning.

I grab breakfast at the Last Resort Grill, a must see event visit into A-Town. This place is so spectacular I would live in Athens full time just to go to the Last Resort every Sunday for brunch after church. I eat the Sunday Standard, two eggs any way you like ‘em, served with grilled new potatoes, crispy applewood-smoked bacon & one of their homemade scones. For the grand sum of $8.95 cents plus tip, I eat like a king in the company of scholars and the kind hearted. What a country to ramble city sidewalks and midnight streets, Athens is a true one of a kind college town.

I head South in my Rental Car on Milledge Ave to the State Botanical Garden of Georgia and I walk the picturesque landscape lost in thought and music. The Botanical Gardens are huge and make up several hundred acres, so it was most east to get lost in the beauty of a Sunday.

I arrive back at the hotel, tired. I turn on a movie in my hotel room, and I order takeout from Donna Chang’s before I hit the shower. The shower’s warm water brings me back to the future, I have a long trip home tomorrow.

But it truly did not matter where I was, what I was eating or drinking at this point. I was happy, most content. The stars of Athens Georgia again are overhead, as I dream a little dream on a Sunday night in mid-November, a ritual renewed.

What is the soul of Athens, Georgia? It is the whispers of REM, Widespread Panic, the B 52’s, Drive by Truckers, Dayroom, Futurebirds keeping you comfortable every step of the way. It is tailgating prior to a Big Game. It is the ghosts on North Campus hiding in the past. It is going to church on Sunday. It is a cocktail and a night out at the Georgia Theatre. It is the people who make the Last Resort EPIC. It is, however, a place where you can be who you truly are without judgement or prejudice. It is the Classic City!!

Scores: Walkability: 9 of 10 Drinkability: 9 of 10 Eatability: 9 of 10 Dudeability: 8 of 10

Can you catch a fish near or close to Athens? Yes, several bass lakes, creeks, rivers to fish. Can you hunt? Yes, area well known for deer hunting, bird hunting.

We Ramble On… Next Week, Santa Cruz, CA… We head to the beach bro…

To note, pictures. We want to share some pictures… Heck Yes…

We post some pics of the places, people, cities we Podcast and Blog about. Check them out on Tumblr or on our Twitter Feed, @BarkmanPete

Thank you for lending an ear, happiness starts today. The rambling man is part of The Pete Barkman Show and the How to live a Happy Life Series, this Segment: The Rambling Man. Travel Review: Athens, GA

The Pete Barkman Show has other segments to consider: Las Vegas Larry’s Losers, each football season see Larry pick the losers for any given week.

The Rambling Man, travel review. Enjoy unique travel experiences detailing the walbability, drinkability, Eatability, and the Dudeability of cities across the county.

The How to Live a Happy and Healthy Life Series, we have covered suicide, trauma, journaling for positive mental health, Is Happiness Possible, All Change is Self-Change with more episodes coming as we move further into 2019.

The Pete Barkman Show has covered the following news topics: Mollie Tibbetts, Judge Kavanaugh, Does God Exist?, Great Rivalries, MLB, Tiger Woods, Colin Kaepernick, and Urban Meyer. We podcast on relevant stories, breaking news, historical sports moments and record breakers.

This is the Pete Barkman Show, podcasting News, Sport, Opinion. Home of Las Vegas Larry’s Losers and The Rambling Man. Check us out…. Thank you.. Until next time…

#Travel #Athens #Georgia #travelreview #Food #Eat #men #menshealth #football #collegefootball #Walkability #Drinkability #Eatability #Dudeability #TheRamblingMan #music #GeorgiaTheatre #podcast #thepetebarkmanshow

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asterinjapan · 5 years

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Of gardens and animals

Good afternoon!

Well, five PM is still noon, right?

Anyway, a little earlier today, but I still managed to see quite a lot. Since tomorrow is Disney day, I’m not sure if I’ll still go out tonight or if I’ll just get some dinner and call it a day, but I have some time to think about it still. In the mean while, here’s my report for today!

I cheered at breakfast as they had scrambled egg (which works much better with my stomach), so I could have a pretty filling breakfast, whoo! After that, I grabbed my things and made my way to the station. This time, my goal was the subway: I took the Yurakucho line to Iidabashi station, which was just ten minutes.

A short walk away is a garden called Koishikawa Korakuen. It’s one of the oldest gardens in Tokyo as it was completed during the Edo era (1600-1868), more specifically in the 17th century, with Chinese influences. Like many Japanese gardens, this garden has reproductions of famous Japanese (and in this case also Chinese) scenery, like with miniature hills and bridges. There are several bridges and small rivers named after bridges and rivers I’ve seen in Kyoto, for example.

Koishikawa Korakuen is actually very central, close to the Tokyo Dome and an amusement park ( you can see the white dome and the top of a rollercoaster from the garden). And it was a whole lot bigger than I somehow thought, haha. I think I compared it to another garden on the map and didn’t realize the proper scale. Anyway! Most Japanese gardens have something special depending on the season, as the Japanese like to pride their country on having four very different seasons. Cherry blossoms in spring are famous, but the fall leaves are almost just as popular, and it can get super busy in the popular spots when the autumn leaves reach their brightest colours.

The maple trees here had dropped almost all their leaves, but I still found an area that was a vibrant red and yellow, making for very spectacular views as the sun was shining bright today. The tree tops looked to be on fire. I took a ton of pictures and then found out I’d only covered a quarter of the garden, at best, haha.

Overall, I took almost 3 hours trailing through the garden, and even then I rushed some parts because the trees were completely barren in that area. Whoa! It was also interesting to see some of the trees (like the weeping cherry blossom tree and the trees in the inner garden) protected against the winter weather. Some have straw belts, but the cherry blossom tree has a straw cape: straw ropes are suspended from a central pole to protect the tree from snow, in the process drawing out a very basic Christmas tree shape, haha.

Anyway! Two breaks in the garden later (I had some amazake – sweet sake, although this was non-alcoholic), I made my way back to the station again to take the Namboku subway line this time. Of course, it first went past a station called Korakuen… Oops. Oh well, the next stop was where I was getting off anyway, and riding the subway for just 2 stops sounds slightly less pathetic than for one whole stop.

The stop is Todaimae, ‘in front of Tokyo University’. No, I haven’t signed up for classes, there’s a statue here that I wanted to pay a short visit.

You see, you’re probably familiar with the statue of Hachiko – if only because I post a picture of it every trip without fail, ahem. In case you forgot the story: Hachiko was a dog who always came to pick up his master, professor Ueno, at Shibuya station after work. One day, he didn’t return anymore as he’d had a heart attack at work and died there. Hachiko kept coming to the station for the ten years after, until his own passing. Touched by the dog’s loyalty, a statue was erected at Shibuya station as early as 1934 (when Hachiko was still alive!). The bronze was molten for the war efforts, so in 1948, a new statue was placed in the same spot, where it remains a popular meet-up spot to this day. In 2015, 80 years after Hachiko passed, a new statue was erected at Tokyo University: one of Hachiko happily reuniting with his master. Excuse me, I have something in my eye all of a sudden…

Anyway! The statue is actually super close to Todaimae station. I was fully prepared for a long search, but nope. Just walked out the street, found the entrance gate, and bam! There was the statue. It’s amidst some trees, but the sun was hitting it completely today, so I took pictures from every angle.

It was a short stop regardless – when I made it back to the station, I think I may have missed one subway at the most, ahem. I wasn’t done with the Namboku line, though, as I rode it a couple of stations further to Oji.

Oji (technically Ôji, a long o sound) is mostly famous for the Oji Fox Parade, which is held on New Year’s Eve. It’s a bit early for that, but foxes are still very present in Oji, at least in its shrines. Foxes (or fox spirits, more accurately - kitsune) are depicted in Asian and Japanese folklore as tricksters with magical powers (usually shapeshifting into beautiful women), but also as sacred creatures that can be a good or a bad omen, and they’re messengers of the gods. In Japan, they’re mostly associated with Inari, the god of rice and business among other things. There’s a lot of Inari shrines in Japan, most famously in Kyoto, the Fushimi Inari shrine with its many red gates. Numerous red gates in a row are usually a good tell if a shrine is dedicated to Inari, as well as the presence of fox statues.

Of course, Oji has several shrines with most of them featuring foxes, so I did 3 of them today. I started with the Oji shrine, which is close to the station and is also on a hill right next to dried out waterworks. It was a very lovely and unexpectedly rural scenery, so I sat down on a nearby rock to have lunch and enjoy the view. (My lunch was way too cute to eat by the way, I had melon bread shaped like a turtle.)

After that, I walked up the stairs to visit Oji shrine. The complex isn’t very big, but it’s one of the oldest shrines in Tokyo and supposedly grants protection against fires and natural disasters, making it a popular shrine for a new year’s visit. Not a lot of foxes to be spotted here yet, but there is a huge Ginkgo tree here which is said to be 600 years old! Whoa. It sure was big, anyway.

Next up, I took a little stroll to Oji Inari shrine. As expected with Inari in its name, there are more fox statues here, guarding the grounds and the small shrines at the complex. There’s indeed a pathway of several red gates, and then you find an Oishi-sama, or a ‘wish granting rock’ inside one of them. The story goes that if you can lift it, your wish will come true. The plaque next to it stated that if it is hard to lift, it’s a wish that can’t be easily fulfilled, so apparently this stone can change its weight depending on your wish. I gave it a go and barely managed to lift the rock, but I did it! (Hey, it’s a huge rock and I had two bags slung around my shoulder too, give me some credit.)

Interestingly, this shrine is not only in the middle of a normal neighbourhood, there’s actually a primary school in its backyard. Literally, even – one of the gates was closed, but led right into the playground, and the area around the shrine was in use as a bike park for all the mothers who went to pick up their kids. Huh.

The last stop of today was Shozoku Inari shrine, although not before going through an underground pass decorated with foxes, haha. According to legend, blue fires were spotted on New Year’s eve under a tree that used to stand here, said to be kitsunebi (fox fire) from foxes gathering from all over the country. The Fox Parade starts here every year due to this legend.

The shrine is tiny, but it’s very detailed and has some very elegant fox statues. I took my time (I was alone here anyway) and made a small prayer (if only to ward off any cheeky foxes, haha) before I decided to leave Oji again for today.

A quick hop to Tabata station and another quick hop to Ikebukuro brought me back to my hotel, so here I am! As said, tomorrow is Disneyland, so I’m not sure if I’ll go out anymore tonight. There’s some lovely winter illuminations still to see, like in Shibuya ,but I don’t want to ruin my feet before tomorrow, haha. Oh well, they’re not gone yet, so maybe another day if I can’t make it tonight.

For now, good evening and see you tomorrow! I suspect it’ll be late, haha.

#report #report: tokyo 2018 #tokyo 2018

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firewritten · 6 years

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Knock Three Times

Rusty Jenkins sat in a rocking chair on the porch of the general store. The chair was almost as old as he was, and he was getting on up there. Nigh about eighty now.

He rocked back and forth, listening to the floorboards creak. A man could sit out here all day, chewing tobacco and rocking.

Shame about that Sutphin boy. He’d been sweet on that pretty young thing, that Thomas girl. Well, weren’t gonna be no wedding now.

The screen door flew open and Farmer Brown stepped out onto the porch. The door, worn out by all this activity and excitement, slammed shut behind him.

Rusty spoke. “What you think ‘bout this weather?”

Farmer Brown looked up. Rusty followed his gaze. The sky burned a bright hard blue. The air smelled of smoke and dead leaves.

“Killin’ frost comin’. Reckon I oughta go down to Tate’s, help him cover his pumpkins.”

Rusty reached down and picked up his Dixie cup, spat a stream of sticky brown tobacco juice into it.

“You be careful out there. Boy got his head tore plumb off out that a way t’other week. They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave. Ain’t found his head yet.”

Farmer Brown nodded and stepped off the porch. Rusty watched him get in his brown pickup truck and pull out of the gravel parking lot, headed down to Tate’s.

Sure was a shame about that Sutphin boy.

–

Farmer Brown turned left on Redbrush Church Road. The Pleasant Rest cemetery came up on his right.

The spikes on the cemetery’s wrought iron fence leered at him as he drove by.

They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave.

The grave was in the far southern end of the cemetery, down by the edge of Tate’s land. Folks said that if you knocked on the gravestone three times at midnight on Halloween, Ol’ Knocky would knock back.

He’d been down there a few times on Halloween with his friends as a boy. None of them had ever had the gumption to knock more than once. He’d gone back when he was older. He and Mae had left Ol’ Knocky in peace, but they’d sure had some fun.

He drove past the end of the fence. The sun tipped the trees with gold.

–

He parked his truck in Tate’s driveway and jumped out. The house was small, only two bedrooms. Tate had built it himself thirty some years ago.

He walked up the path of square stone blocks to the concrete porch. Leaves crunched under his shoes. When he reached the door he stopped for a moment, inhaling the smell that clung to the house. It was musty, closed-in, the smell of dust motes in a slanted sun beam.

The doorbell was dead. The wires hung loose where the button used to be.

He knocked once on the door.

He stood for a while and waited. A breeze sprang up.

He knocked again, louder.

The breeze shook the branches of the trees surrounding the house. Leaves spiralled to the ground.

Farmer Brown knocked a third time, as hard as he could.

He heard movement inside. Something squeaked, a door closed, and heavy footsteps came from the back of the house. The front door swung open. Tate stood there, silent. Farmer Brown spoke.

“Good afternoon. How are you?”

“I’m doing all right. Can’t complain. How about yourself?”

“Fine, fine,” Farmer Brown answered.

Tate was lying. He was not doing all right. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin under them bagged.

“I’d invite you in, but the house ain’t quite to rights. I ain’t felt too good lately.”

Farmer Brown looked down at Tate’s hands. The thick brown fingers slid across each other, like snakes crawling all over each other in a pit.

Tate noticed him looking. The hands went still, limp.

“You want something to drink? Water, tea? I might have some pop.”

“No thank you, I’m fine. Listen, there’s gonna be a killin’ frost tonight. You got anything to cover your pumpkins? I got a tarp in the back of the truck.”

No answer. Tate deflated, drew back into himself. A crow cawed in the distance. The breeze came again. Leaves skittered across the porch.

Inside the house, something squeaked.

Tate lifted his head. He stepped back into the house, started to close the door. Farmer Brown tried again.

“You got any old blankets in there?”

The door closed. The lock turned. The heavy footsteps receded, a door closed inside the house, and something squeaked.

–

Farmer Brown walked down to the pumpkin field, carrying his tarp. Wasn’t like Tate to just shut the door on him like that.

The crow cawed again.

He stopped at the edge of the field. The pumpkins were ripe, just days away from harvesting. Normally, this time of year, Tate was crazy about his pumpkins. He’d set up a sign on the side of the road, Tate’s Pumpkin Patch, and sell ‘em for Halloween. Some years he got all up into it, with hayrides and carving contests. Didn’t seem like he had a mind to do any of that this year.

Well, wasn’t his place to tell Tate what to do. He’d just cover up what he could and go on back home. It was getting on towards sunset. Mae’d be wondering where he was before too long.

He put the tarp down on the ground, found a rock nearby to hold it. He set off down the field, looking for more rocks.

–

He was at the end of the field, close to the cemetery, when he saw a good-sized heavy rock. He bent down to pick it up.

When he stood up, the scarecrow was there.

It had not been there before. He was sure of it. He saw the field in his mind. Rows of pumpkins, grass, dirt, the shadows of the trees stretched long across the ground. Not a straw man to be seen.

Tate had never had a scarecrow, not that Farmer Brown knew of.

He remembered the bloodshot eyes, the coiling hands. Might be a lot about Tate he didn’t know.

The scarecrow was a good six foot. The pole looked weathered, like it’d been standing there in the rain and the snow and the sun for years. A pair of jeans swung in the wind, stuffed with straw. A red plaid shirt was tucked into the jeans, the arms stretched out across the cross pole. Bits of straw clung to the ends of the sleeves.

A fly landed on his hand. He shook it off.

He looked up, past the jeans and red plaid. Saw the white scarf.

It was a fine scarf. He wondered how much it must have cost. Must have been a pretty penny. Too bad about the stains. He stared at them. Listened to the flies buzzing.

In the distance, the crow cawed.

A snatch of song from childhood came back to him.

knock three times three times dead knock three times and lose your head

The scarf uncoiled itself, reared, struck.

It wrapped around his neck and yanked him forward. Dragged him face to face with the scarecrow’s head.

The smell hit him full in the gut. Bile rose in his throat.

Bulging eyes stared at him. Blood dripped from the nose. The half rotted mouth hung open like a tomb on Judgement Day. The swollen tongue twitched.

The scarecrow squeaked.

He pulled hard against the scarf. In response, it tightened around his neck. Cut off his windpipe.

He was going to die and they would find him here in the pumpkin field, stinking to high heaven, and Mae would be alone and he would never see her again.

The scarecrow squeaked again and again, the squeaks rising in volume until the thing was shrieking. Its screams stabbed into his brain.

The scarf cut into his skin and he couldn’t breathe and he felt something hard and rough in his hand.

He was still holding the rock.

He brought his right arm up. Swung it around. Drove the rock right into the scarecrow’s nose.

The thing let out a single high pitched squeak that reached into his bones and turned them to water.

He lifted his arm again, brought it down with the force of a tidal wave. The rock slammed into the scarecrow’s cheek. The scarf went limp.

He could breathe now. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the odor of decay and putrefaction. Raised his arm.

Blood flooded through his veins. His muscles burned.

Unable to squeak, its tongue stilled, the scarecrow moaned out a dirge.

His arm whistled through the air and came down like a scythe. The rock smashed into the side of the scarecrow’s head and kept going. Bones crunched. Skin tore and fell away.

The head came off the pole and thudded to the ground. The rest of the scarecrow followed, taking Farmer Brown with it.

The moaning stopped.

–

All of Farmer Brown’s bits ached. He could feel bruises forming on top of bruises. He was bleeding. But he was alive.

His hand was empty. The rock had fallen and disappeared.

He rolled off the scarecrow and looked up. It was nearly dark now. The moon was already in the sky. He could see every crater, every valley.

He could hear the footsteps when they came. Heavy and slow.

“I didn’t ask you for no help.”

Tate was coming down the field.

“You shouldn’t have come out here. I didn’t ask you to come out here.”

The footsteps stopped. Tate stood over him. Farmer Brown took a breath, a deep sweet breath, and spoke.

“I didn’t know you had a scarecrow.”

Tate’s face twisted with rage.

“I don’t.”

Tate held something in his hand. Something long and thin. And sharp. The knife glowed in the twilight.

Farmer Brown pulled his knees up, braced himself against the ground. Before he could get up, Tate’s boot came down hard on his chest and knocked the breath out of him.

He watched Tate raise his arm and thought Mae. The knife plunged.

–

Tate put his arms under Farmer Brown’s shoulders and lifted.

He hadn’t asked the man to come down here. He hadn’t done anything.

He walked backward. Farmer Brown’s boots scraped over the dirt.

Tate hadn’t done anything. It was the voice. The voice that screamed and screamed and never gave him any peace.

He hadn’t done anything. It was Ol’ Knocky. It was all Ol’ Knocky’s fault.

Farmer Brown’s head bumped against his chest.

The wind rustled through the trees. Leaves rose and fell in little gusts.

He came to the cemetery fence. Dragged the body through the gap he’d made three weeks ago.

Ol’ Knocky’s grave was in the row nearest his land. He laid Farmer Brown’s body down on it. Knocked on the tombstone.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He sat on the grass in the dark and waited.

–

Rusty Jenkins sat in the rocking chair on the porch of the general store. It’d turned cold. Winter was coming on. His daughter didn’t much like him being out in the cold air. He’d have to give up the general store and spend his time at home soon.

The door slammed. Mae Brown stood next to him, shaking and breathing fire.

“They said you was the last person to talk to him. What did he say?”

“Said he was going down to Tate’s. I told him. I said a boy got his head tore off down there t’other week.”

Mae stared at him, wild fear in her eyes.

“He didn’t pay no account. Went down there anyway.”

She didn’t wait to hear more. She ran down the porch steps and out to her Bonneville. She slammed the car door, gunned the motor, and peeled out of the parking lot in a shower of gravel. Headed down to Tate’s, he’d reckon. No one ever paid any account to what old folks said.

Rusty settled back in the chair. Rocked back and forth. Listened to the creak of the floorboards. Maybe he could get his daughter to buy him a rocking chair like this one.

He picked up his Dixie cup and spat a stream of tobacco juice into it.

Sure was a shame about that Farmer Brown.

#writeblr #my writing #horror #appalachian #appalachian fiction #ol 'knocky #farmer brown

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memsmedic1 · 5 years

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La Primavera e L’estate Circa (Jan 2, 2018-Nov 4, 2018)

The next day, after delivering our last patient to the tender mercies of the hospital, the EMT class commenced at our Yangon headquarters with 6 students, mostly our more advanced team members who had already been EMR certified.

Every day I usually taught two or three separate lectures in the morning, and then skills practice in the afternoon, with emergency responses and company responsibilities filling in any extra time.

The class went very well, especially considering it was the first time we’d taught it. Occasionally there were interesting side notes interspersed throughout. On January 11th and again on the 13th we had 6.0 magnitude earthquakes hit nearby, but they were both far enough away that the only damage at our apartment was a few pieces of flaking paint and rotten concrete chips shaken loose. On another occasion two of the omnipresent geckos were having an unusually violent row up and down the apartment walls. After a bit I glanced toward the action again and was shocked to see what looked like a giant tongue protruding out nearly half of one geckos body length and lashing furiously back and forth. Upon closer inspection I realized that he had pulled off the other geckos tail and was in the process of eating it! Also, on the night of the last day of class we got to see a spectacular full lunar eclipse combined with a blood moon which I thought was an excellent sign!

By January 30 we had plowed through through the entire EMT curriculum and the students took the final practical skills tests. The next day they started taking the online final written exam.

At this point Nathan took over administering the written tests and ambulance rideouts that remained, and also prepared for and lead out in the next EMR training that would take place while I was gone, because on February 1st I got on a plane in Yangon and started on my way back to the US.

This trip had been set in stone almost a year before when my best friend and longest-running ambulance partner had asked me to be a groomsman in his wedding!

It was so nice to come back and see all my friends in Texas again! It felt as if I’d only left just a few days ago even though it had actually been over four months! It was inspiring to see how quickly roads, homes, and businesses had been repaired compared to how everything looked when I saw it last. The only obvious signs of the historic flooding from last summers’ Hurricane Harvey was the high water mark still visible in the trees along the road and lots of dead palm trees which was partially due to flooding and also the result of exceptionally low temperatures earlier in the winter.

After 3 whirlwind weeks in Texas that included lots of motorcycle riding and Mexican food, I flew north and got to spend two more wonderful weeks visiting family and friends in Montana! Here I shared more stories of my work and was even able to go skiing in Canada!

As my time back home wound down my mom and I drove to Spokane where my return flight started from and I was able to see two more dear quondam-Texas friends before flying out on March 7th.

I arrived back in Yangon just in time to help pack up our 4th floor office in town and four story apartment in Hlaing Thar Yar and consolidate both into a two story house where we additionally transferred the company and NGO address and registrations.

While the new house was still located in Hlaing Thar Yar township, which is generally considered the worst township because of its poverty and the intolerable volume of traffic over only a few, poorly maintained roads, it had several major improvements; we no longer had a dusty, noisy street directly outside our front door and a permaswamp out the back door, and now we had real doors instead of large metal roll-up “shop” doors which were always letting snakes, rats, and mosquitoes inside through their large gaps.

On March 12 I started teaching an intensive Advanced Emergency Medical Technician (A-EMT) course at our new office headquarters. A-EMT class ran until July 16 because there is both an hour (400) and content requirement for certification, and as we were more busy than ever teaching other classes and responding to emergencies I wasn’t able to hold class every single day. This course was quite similar to January’s EMT course except it was significantly longer, covered many additional topics, and went into a lot more detail on everything. While an EMT certification is not a necessary prerequisite for a student interested in becoming a paramedic, successfully passing an A-EMT course is required.

On March 22, M-EMS was invited to the US embassy in Yangon to meet with the ambassador, the Honorable Scot Marciel, about medical development needs and challenges that we had observed while working in Myanmar. The next day, I and one other employee went back to the embassy to teach a long-scheduled class for security and maintenance staff focused on triage, first aid, and medical evacuation procedures in the case of an attack on the embassy.

On Wednesday, March 28, I drove across the city to the Road Transport Administration Department to apply for a drivers license so I could finally drive legally, although I hadn’t had any trouble with my Texas license so far. Fortunately all the offices I had to visit were in the same building, but there were so many steps and repetitions that it took nearly the whole day. That evening however I was able to walk out with my Burmese license in hand!

On Saturday night, March 31st, Nathan and I along with a couple other team members loaded up in our ambulance and struck out for Myitkyina, an average of 24 hours drive north of Yangon. We have good friends here who had finally been able to bring our Land Cruiser ambulance down to their home from where it had been languishing uselessly 3 days drive further north in Putao, the original intended location for our volunteer ambulance service in Myanmar.

Sunday night after arriving and Monday morning we met our friends and worked to get the Land Cruiser back into working condition. Then we drove over to the pharmacy to pick up some needed supplies before starting on our return trip home that evening.

The pharmacist was an acquaintance of ours from previous visits and when he recognized us he told us about a patient who was the relative of a friends friend who desperately needed a ride to the hospital in Yangon. This was particularly interesting to us, in addition to possibly being able to help someone, because our Land Cruiser was unable to be licensed and therefore vulnerable to confiscation in the central parts of the country, so if we had a patient on board we would be much more likely to make it past all the tolls and checkpoints without arousing too much suspicion.

Therefore we agreed to evaluate the patient and see if he qualified for us to treat and transport. After the pharmacist made a couple phone calls the son of the patient came to meet us at the pharmacy and immediately insisted on taking us out for lunch (shrewd). Next we drove over to the tiny local hospital where we found the patient in a small dark room with several other sick people.

The patient was a 90 year old Sikh man who had been completely healthy until March 22nd when he suddenly began experiencing weakness, shortness of breath, chest pain and a productive cough, and low oxygen saturation.

When I examined him he was polite but was anxious and confused, and in significant distress, having difficulty breathing and hypoxia that was much worse when laying flat, and chest pain that was much worse when he sat up. These are the only two options for taking a patient on an airplane, so without sedating and intubating him first, he would have to go by ground.

After starting an IV, giving him oxygen, and connecting our Lifepak 12 cardiac monitor, we moved him from bed to stretcher to ambulance and then drove across town to his house where all of his family had assembled to say goodbye. They had prepared a traditional feast and insisted we eat with them before starting on our journey.

After the meal and endless goodbyes we got the patient loaded up and pulled out of town just after dark Monday night to begin the 734 mile drive to the “special diagnostic hospital” in Yangon which was the closest thing Myanmar could offer to what the patient needed. I was in the back with the patient performing patient care and Nathan was driving.

After about 16 hours on the road we made it to Mandalay mid morning on Tuesday, April 3rd. The patient had a doctor relative who lived here so we brought the patient to her house where they had a bed and an oxygen tank waiting for him (the oxygen tank was empty however so we had to keep him on our own dwindling supply while they rushed to fill it). After that little excitement we temporarily turned over care to the family doctor so we could wash the ambulance, buy more medicine, refill our O2 tanks, eat, and rest for a bit. Late that afternoon we again loaded up the patient and drove the last 7 hours to the hospital, finally arriving at 1230 AM on the 4th, approximately 30 hours after starting the call.

On April 20th, almost halfway through the A-EMT course, a fire broke out at the 300 acre Htein Bin landfill a couple kilometers from our house. The most likely explanation was that the fire started by spontaneous combustion, since Yangons’ 2,000 tons of daily garbage that avoids the ocean has been dumped here indiscriminately for the past 17 years, without any safeguards to prevent decomposing organic waste from self igniting, but whatever the cause, it was a terrible stroke of misfortune for the people of our township.

Burning dozens of meters underground in many areas, the flames that were visible broke through to the surface unpredictably and were no larger than campfires, and unlike the billowing black smoke from the nearby Hlaing Thar Yar factories, the heavy, suffocating white smoke of the dump fire easily blended in with the clouds and regular smog, creating a false sense of normalcy.

You could tell the smoke was in the air when you breathed though, as the toxic, vaporous miasma permeated everywhere and burned and stung when inhaled, even inside the ambulance or the house. For several days we took to wearing knockoff N95 masks in a vain attempt to shield our lungs. The toxins from all the plastic, textiles, household and commercial trash were so bad and so concentrated that at least 5 people died and dozens of others were hospitalized.

Hundreds of volunteer firefighters descended on the dump with minimal to no personal protective equipment and antique fire engines, each rival group competing for recognition and donations as they heedlessly dragged fat, leaking, low pressure hoses around disregarding warnings from international experts that adding water to that much organic material was just helping the fire to spread faster. Walking around the burning wasteland it appeared that the people who lived in the dump or made their living scavenging for recyclable objects were carrying on with business as usual, picking their way around the flames that occasionally burst through the surface.

Myself and a team from M-EMS paused our ongoing training and spent several days onsite at the fire passing out fake N95 masks that had been donated for the purpose, and treating firefighters injured by trying to fight the fire in flip flops and/or stepping in hidden sinkholes, along with burn injuries, inhalation injuries, other minor trauma, and dehydration.

We also participated in a massive effort to vaccinate all the firefighters and other exposed personnel on site for tetanus, which was also donated for us to administer. The general population was amazingly supportive of the firefighting efforts. We received dozens of calls from random citizens asking what supplies we needed and what they could help us with, and other groups providing different resources received the same assistance. Private citizens also showed up en masse with homemade food, water, snacks, ad hoc rehab shelters, and other amenities for the firefighters. In fact, the government had very little to do with the event other than the precipitating factors.

The fire burned unabated for over two weeks until a couple of early monsoon rains were finally able to drown it out.

On May 1st I took a bus to Myawaddy and crossed over to Thailand intending on doing a quick visa run and then coming back. But as I was walking down the street in MaeSot I saw a familiar truck parked along the side of the road with my good friend —the nurse who I’d helped at her mountain clinic just before I started working at M-EMS— in the back of it!

It was so nice to see her again after all this time. She was in town dropping off a patient at the hospital and resupplying for a return trip to her village that afternoon and she persuasively invited me to come with her again, so I talked to headquarters and ended up taking a spur of the moment trip back home with her and her wonderful assistant and our mutual friend Blet Jaw.

I was able to help her treat patients, garden, hike to different villages to hold medical clinics, and play football (soccer) with Blet Jaw and the local kids.

During this time we were extremely fortunate to be able to sell our Land Cruiser ambulance which had just been sitting idle for nearly the entire time we had owned it. Even though it was very painful to let it go, it was perfect timing because only two weeks later the government took the next step beyond just prohibiting old or improperly imported vehicles from getting licensed and banned all unlicensed vehicles from the roads (you would think this would have been the case all along, but until this point the government only attempted to confiscate fancy attention grabbing vehicles without a license, which is why we’d always been leary about driving our Land Cruiser).

This took an enormous number of the volunteer rescue groups’ ambulances out of use, since most of them are either too old or improperly imported or both, and certainly included our Land Cruiser, which we found out after first importing was two years older than the 16 year old limit to receive an emergency vehicle license.

An interesting postscript to the Land Cruiser saga is that not two months after purchasing it fully stocked and equipped from us, the group that bought it drove it from their border region to Mandalay, where it was promptly impounded and its three crewmen arrested and thrown into the infamous Mandalay Central Prison, currently filled to three times its designated capacity.

Early on May 17 I crossed back into Myanmar and met up with Nathan and several other team members in Myawaddy, who had brought across a load of supplies we needed at our office. I was happy about the timing since it meant I wouldn’t have to subject myself to the grueling, slow, uncomfortable, 2nd class bus ride back to Yangon.

Let me talk about the Burmese busses for a minute. There are three distinctive levels of bus quality in Myanmar: VIP and 1st class, (which are both brand new arrivals to the country even since I’ve been here) which sometimes have semi-comfortable air conditioning and seats, either silence or relatively quiet music and chanting monks on the speakers, and hardly any unscheduled stops or breakdowns.

Next there’s 2nd and 3rd class, blaring loud obnoxious movies or music, and all but guaranteeing extracurricular stops and breakdowns. Sometimes they are chintzy new Chinese models (if you think Chinese products are bad in America, you should see what they export to the rest of the world) and have aircon set to Antarctic Winter, or old no-aircon post-war Japanese models clearly made for post-war Japanese legs. Often the storage compartment size to amount-of-stuff-to-be-stored ratio is inverted and any available space in the passenger compartment including the aisle is packed with everything from suitcases to bags of rice.

And finally, “Cattle Car”, which is the main method of transportation in Yangon other than taxi, with either large songtau-like open trucks, or busses that may be missing windows, side panels, or seats, and filled to beyond capacity with more people standing wedged together in the aisle than sitting on the seats.

But I digress.

After helping to load the van with our Thai spoils we crammed ourselves in after it and started on the time-consuming but short distance-wise (153 miles as the crow flies) trip back home. Driving around the northern tip of the Andaman Sea adds another 107 miles to the trip, but the steep serpentine mountain road and rough narrow dirt road coming into the Central Valley disproportionately lengthen the journey.

Early afternoon we were making good time and were about 2/3 of the way home when our automatic transmission cargo van started making alarming sounds and having trouble downshifting. First it struggled to get into 5th gear, then it started having trouble getting into 4th gear.

We stopped in the only “town” between where we started having trouble and Yangon and found a little teak and bamboo mechanic shop. They took a look at it and said there was heavy transmission damage but they could try to salvage it if we left the van there for several days. We decided to spend the night nearby and have someone drive our ambulance down in the morning to pick us up so the van could stay at the mechanic, but the only government approved hotel for foreigners was closed for remodeling leaving us with very few options.

We decided to screw the probably already screwed transmission and just drive it as far as it would go and then figure out what to do from there. The noises kept getting worse and we started smoking as we screamed along down in 3rd gear, and the “slow, annoying” bus I would have been on cruised effortlessly past us shortly thereafter. Happily, the transmission survived all the way back to the office, over 12 hours after embarking on what should have been an 8 hour drive that morning.

On June 28 I drove up to the capital with a couple teammates where we had been invited to attend a 4th of July celebration hosted by the US Embassy. We were invited because we were friends with several of the embassy officials and also because we’re the highest trained and by far the best supplied ambulance in the country, and the head of the medical unit wanted us to be available in case the ambassador or any of the guests were to have an emergency.

This meant that we had a special clearance to park in the restricted area right outside the hotel the event was hosted in!

The evening was a blast, getting to see the ambassador and hang out with my embassy friends and meet other expats was awesome, plus there was various pieces of artfully curated Americana scattered around and a surfeit of almost American tasting food to gormandize if desired. Out of the several hundred celebrators, somewhat surprisingly not a single one needed medical attention, and our evening’s festivities went uninterrupted.

The next day we visited a beautiful and expansive botanical garden in Naypyidaw for a few hours and then drove back to Yangon that afternoon.

*******************************************************************************************

The summer monsoon was an extraordinarily wet one and caused unusual amounts of damage this year all across Asia, with powerful storms, record rainfall, and shoddy infrastructure combining to wreak havoc on cities and countryside alike...

...While exploring the ‘Tham Luang Nang Non’ cave in Mae Sai, far northern Thailand right on the Myanmar border, heavy monsoon rains caused a flash flood which trapped an entire middle school soccer team deep inside the cave from June 23 to July 10, setting in motion a truly heroic cave rescue which some of my friends participated in but which cost the life of a Thai navy seal diver...

...Remnants of Typhoon Prapiroon combined with sustained heavy rainfall resulted in major flooding and mudslides throughout June and July in western Japan, forcing over 2 million people to evacuate and leaving over 200 dead, with dozens still missing...

...On the Vang Ngao river in Laos, the 410-megawatt Xe-Pian Xe-Namnoy hydroelectric dam collapsed Monday night, July 23rd, triggering the catastrophic release of 5 billion cubic meters of water, leaving 40 people dead, hundreds still missing, and over 6,000 homeless in Laos and northern Cambodia...

...In Myanmar also there was extensive flooding, even more than the normal monsoon rains cause. The 2018 North Indian Ocean cyclone season was the most active season since 1992, with the formation of fourteen depressions and seven cyclones, though not all of these affected Myanmar of course.

In Hlaing Thar Yar we are far enough away from the coast to escape the brunt of these storms, but we still had so much wind that the rain constantly blew up under our roofing tiles and our poorly fitted windows leaked like a sieve; I had a constantly multiplying family of Aedes albopictus wigglers living in my windowsill all summer! Every day for months it seemed, we were out on the roof calking tarpaper nail-holes under the roof tiles. In Yangon there was sometimes six feet of water over certain parts of the city, which usually drains off quickly after the rain abates but has to be factored in when responding to emergencies or transporting to the hospital!

One day, the entire Myaungmya suspension bridge, the only bridge connecting Yangon to Myaungmya, fell into the Irrawaddy river, killing two people and providing a real boon to the ferryboatmen.

The Ministry of Construction told the public not to worry about the other 29 aging suspension bridges suspended around the country because “it has carried out maintenance work on them regularly”.

We felt very reassured upon hearing this message as we regularly traversed two of these bridges nearly every day on our way to and from downtown Yangon 😆.

On July 16 the final online written exams were administered and the A-EMT course was successfully completed, much to the delight of everyone!

I had to renew my visa again so I took the night bus to Thailand on July 17th. Since I had a little extra time I caught a Songtau out to visit my friends at Sunshine Orchard that afternoon (Wednesday the 18th) and spent the week with them. There was a group of student volunteers from Asia Pacific International University helping with some construction projects around the school campus so I got to know them a little bit and helped out where I could. On Wednesday the 25th I was able to hitch a ride in their van as far as MaeSot where I was planning on crossing back to Myanmar.

However, even though the road from the Thai-Burma border to Yangon is elevated several feet above the surrounding countryside which is mostly rice paddies, heavy rains had covered a hundred kilometers of the road in over two and a half feet of water that even the largest vehicles couldn't get through. I waited for over a week but ended up having to take a bus up to Chiang Mai and fly back to Yangon instead.

On August 29th, the Hswar Creek Dam, holding a large irrigation reservoir in Bago Region, central Myanmar, collapsed, which flooded or destroyed 85 villages and displaced over 63,000 villagers. Incredibly, only a small handful of people were killed or went missing but the deluge did manage to wash out bridges on the only two roads that connect Yangon to Naypyidaw, Mandalay, and the rest of the north half of the country.

One of M-EMS and MFA’s long-time areas of interest to expand into was disaster relief, so earlier this year we implemented a disaster response protocol to respond to these uncommonly severe cyclones, the dam bursting, and regular monsoon flooding.

We immediately had more requests for flood relief than we could handle, both in regard to the need, and to the donations of food and clothes that continuously poured in for us to distribute. We provided aid locally and also made trips to deliver loads of donated supplies like rice and other food, clothes, and medical supplies to the hardest hit areas in Bago Region, Mon state, and Karen state.

The villages that aren't situated right on a river usually don't have boats, and are often flooded out of their homes or at least stranded when rapid or unusually high flooding occurs.

Usually we collaborate with various local rescue groups we know in order to get help hauling more supplies to our flooded destination, and with other friends at the destination to find out where the needs are the greatest and set up boat transportation to get us there when we run out of road. At that point we load the boats and take the supplies to the affected villages and either give everything to the villagers directly, or meet with monks from the local monastery who are involved in feeding and housing flood victims already and leave the supplies with them.

It's amazing to see how everything looks so different when there's 5 or 6 feet of water covering the ground. In some places the flooded rice paddies and fields look like an enormous shallow lake with little islands of coconut and sugar palm trees, tall grasses, and sugarcane being the only things still visible. I would think that this would dilute the fish but the fishermen have a heyday. On our way to one village we passed an isolated bamboo house that was on stilts, and the floor appeared to be floating on the water it was so high. The only dry thing near the house was a huge mimosa tree, where some children from the house were playing and waving to us as we floated by! Another village had made a makeshift paddlewheel boat out of a bicycle lashed to the middle of a raft of plastic 5 gallon gas cans with wooden slats tied to the spokes of the back wheel.

Not all the villages we visit are still flooded. Sometimes there's several flooded villages in the vicinity of an easily accessible non-flooded village, or the water has already gone down but no one from the government or other aid groups have donated any supplies to that area, and all their rice and clothes were washed away or ruined when it flooded, so we helped them also.

On top of flood relief we were still constantly occupied with becoming certified to teach additional courses, and teaching CPR, First Aid, ACLS, PALS, EMR and specialty courses, and responding to emergencies. During my time with Myanmar EMS I personally taught or oversaw over 50 different classes and courses! The demand for training far exceeded the supply and only increased the longer we offered it.

From August 27 through September 7 we taught another 80 hour EMR course at a monastery in Yangon for 40 rescue volunteers, including a small contingent that traveled all the way down from Putao in order to attend!

One night we were woken up by a caller on our emergency line telling us about a possible suicide somewhere in Yangon. Astounded by this remarkable vagary, we pressed for details and found out that the caller was calling from America! It turns out he had been chatting with his Burmese girlfriend and at some point, she had gotten all depressed and told him that her cat had just died and she was so lonely without him and now without the cat too. She then said she had decided that she was just going to overdose and die and then hung up on him and turned off her phone. He had rushed online to see if there was any kind of emergency medical service in Yangon and found our website so now he was calling and asking for help.

We asked for any address details and fortunately he had an apartment number and partial address which was obviously meaningless to him, but we had a general idea of the location and soon we were on our way. After interpreting the address two or three different ways without success we struck on the right combination and arrived at the apartment only to find that it was on the third story and the entrance was through the lower apartment which was locked and shuttered. We beat on the lower apartment until we were convinced no one was home and tried shouting up to the third floor without success.

It was at this moment we discovered that the only time you can truly be alone and have some peace and quiet in Yangon is when you just really need someone to notice you!

Walking around looking for an alternate entry point we discovered an antique British era fire escape bolted to the crumbling bricks on the back of the building. Pulling the ambulance around back we could stand on top and just reach the lower rungs. The bottom sliding section of ladder was rusted solidly in place and we were hopeful that everything else was solid as well.

Clambering delicately up to the second balcony we knocked on the door which was opened after a while by a groggy looking gentlemen who didn’t seem the least bit phased by our unorthodox approach.

We explained who we were and why we were there and then he said “yes; I have a daughter, she’s in her room sleeping at this very moment.” (By now it was nearly 3 AM). We said “Oo ley; (uncle) why don’t you go check on her right now and make sure just for our sake that your daughter is ok.” He acquiesced and pottered off into the bowels of the apartment leaving us floating out in the ethereal third story Yangon smog layer. In a couple Burmese minutes he was back smiling and assured us that she was sound asleep in bed.

“Oo ley; if she has poisoned herself she may appear to be sleeping peacefully when in fact she is dying or already dead. Just wake her up and let us see that she is well before we leave.”

The man was gone a little longer this time but when he came back he was moving much more rapidly and said that she wouldn’t wake up. He finally invited us in and led us to the girl’s room where we found her to be unresponsive in bed. She was cool, pale, and diaphoretic and was only breathing 8 times per minute. We assisted her breathing with a BVM and checked her blood sugar which was 31 mg/dL. After starting an IV and administering 25 grams of D50 (50% dextrose) she rapidly began showing signs of improvement. We searched her room and found an empty bottle of antimalarial medicine which causes rapid hypoglycemia and can cause blindness if overdosed on.

By now she was fully conscious and cooperative and her vital signs were stable. We carried her out to the ambulance (via the stairs this time) and took her to the hospital in case there was anything that they could do to protect her vision.

Since before teaching our very first EMR course, one of my main behind-the-scenes responsibilities was to develop and improve our course materials, which is a never ending process, and as our lineup of available courses increased so did my job of upgrading our teaching materials.

Because of the complete lack of credible Burmese language medical books, we had also begun editing, formatting, and translating both a basic first aid book and an EMR textbook into Burmese. This was an enormous, frustrating process, but after over two years of work, both projects were completed and published this year!

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thebestintoronto · 5 years

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Toronto - A Multicultural Treasure - Canada, February 2019

Welcome to Toronto, the most multiculturally diverse city on the planet, where more than 180 languages are spoken on a daily basis. A popular adage describes the city as "New York City run by the Swiss," and it's true—you can find world-class theater, underground tunnels, shopping and restaurants, the sidewalks are clean and the people are friendly. It's estimated that over half of Toronto's residents were born outside Canada and despite its complex makeup, Torontonians generally get along extremely well. When the weather is fine, Toronto is a blast: a vibrant, big-time city abuzz with activity. Some of the world's finest restaurants are found here, alongside happening bars and clubs and eclectic festivals. Yes, winter in Toronto can be a real drag, with things getting messy on the congested highways and crowded public transit system. But come here with patience, an open mind and even during frigid days and bone-chilling nights, you're bound to have a great time. There is a fresh international buzz about this city. Perhaps it's the influx of flush new residents from across the globe; or was it the Pan-Am Games that shone a spotlight on Toronto? Either way, this is a city that is waking up to its own greatness.

A little bit of history:

When Europeans first arrived at the site of present-day Toronto, the vicinity was inhabited by the Iroquois, who had displaced the Wyandot (Huron) people, occupants of the region for centuries. The name Toronto is likely derived from the Iroquoian word tkaronto, meaning "place where trees stand in the water". This refers to the northern end of what is now Lake Simcoe, where the Huron had planted tree saplings to corral fish. In the 1660s, the Iroquois established two villages within what is today Toronto. By 1701, the Mississauga had displaced the Iroquois, who abandoned the Toronto area at the end of the Beaver Wars, with most returning to their base in present-day New York. In the 17th century, the area was a crucial for travel, with the Humber and Rouge rivers providing a shortcut to the upper Great Lakes. These routes together were known as the Toronto Passage.

As a major destination for immigrants to Canada, the city grew rapidly through the remainder of the 19th century. The first significant wave of immigrants were Irish, fleeing the Great Irish Famine -the vast majority were Catholic. By 1851, the Irish-born population had become the largest single ethnic group in the city. For brief periods, Toronto was twice the capital of the united Province of Canada: first from 1849 to 1852, following unrest in Montreal, and later 1856 to 1858. After this date, Quebec was designated as the capital until 1866 (one year before Canadian Confederation). Since then, the capital of Canada has remained Ottawa, Ontario. Toronto became the capital of the province of Ontario after its official creation in 1867.

Following WWII, refugees from war-torn Europe and Chinese job-seekers arrived. Toronto's population grew to more than one million in 1951, when large-scale suburbanization began and doubled to two million by 1971. Following the elimination of racially based immigration policies by the late 1960s, Toronto became a destination for immigrants from all parts of the world. By the 1980s, Toronto had surpassed Montreal as Canada's most populous city and chief economic hub.

As is my usual practice, I’m taking up “residence” in a Hilton property – this time it’s the Doubletree on Chestnut Street in downtown. My red-eye flights via Detroit had me touching down at Pearson International by 10:30am, temperature was just 13f with a wind chill of -17f, heavy overcast skies and thick snowflakes beginning to float down to add to the existing accumulation on the runways. To say it was cold would be a vast understatement – my breath was a stream of white mist as I walked up the gangway from the plane into the terminal, shivering all the way. My arranged transfer to the hotel was via Jayride Shuttles, an excellent shuttle company I have used in the past. They are significantly cheaper than most transfer services to the city (I paid $35 USD for a one-way trip) and it can all be done online via their website. By noon I was checking into the Doubletree right in the heart of the entertainment center of Toronto – a 26-story building and my home-away-from-home for the next couple of weeks is on the 24th floor, overlooking the city center ice skating rink. A small room by my usual standards but very cozy, with a bay window affording sweeping views of the streets far below. The Wifi signal is always strong and stable and of course, numerous American/Canadian television channels to satisfy even me! After the redeye flights and having been awake for more than 39 hours, I was more than ready for a hot shower and a long afternoon nap – I can unpack and get settled in later.

My first morning in Toronto and I awoke to a fresh layer of snow blanketing the immediate area and glistening in the bright morning sunlight. Skaters are already zooming around the rink, wrapped up like Goodyear Tire Men from head to foot in thick coats, scarves, hats and gloves. Temperature was -9c with a wind chill of -13c…. that called for hot coffee and lots of it. After the standard hotel buffet breakfast (or “brekkie” as it’s known in Canada), I stopped by the front desk to collect a city street map and some sightseeing literature – now I’m ready to plan my 2-week stay. Thankfully I picked an ideal location to use as a base of operations – I’m in easy walking distance from just about everything and even though it means braving these crazy temps, I’m ready to take on the challenge of Toronto’s outdoors. I have my winter coat (only one I own), gloves, umbrella and even a scarf – only missing the requisite fur hat…..you can now refer to me as Nannoka of the North, bring on the blizzard…. LOL.

Just as I was debating whether to go out for dinner or eat in, the fire alarm went off in my room – so loud, it startled me out of a half doze. Then came an announcement that the fire department was its way to check out the problem. This lasted for almost 25 minutes with the alarm shrieking constantly, only halted temporarily when an updated announcement was made by hotel staff. Finally it was determined to be a false alarm and things seemed to return to normal – yeah right. By this time, I had made the decision to eat in so made my way to the elevators. Turns out when the alarm was triggered the elevators automatically stopped, and until a serviceman arrived to release them, they were not moving. I had a choice: either go hungry or hike down 24 flights of back service stairs……no contest, I’m headed for the lobby on the ankle express (aka hiking). If I hadn’t been hungry earlier, I had definitely worked up an appetite when I reached the ground floor. See how much fun can be had while traveling the globe…. certainly boggles the mind at times.

Hemispheres Restaurant and Bistro is the inhouse eatery on the lobby floor. Having opted to eat here this evening, I was pleasantly surprised at the menu options. I selected the pea soup puree with wasabi cream which, in spite of its name, tasted way better than it sounds. My entrée was a fantastic Bistro burger with smoked gouda cheese accompanied by sweet potato fries – a really fantastic dinner. Considering I was dining in a hotel restaurant the resulting $27 USD bill was reasonable, and the food was excellent. Thank all the gods on high the elevators had been released for service by this time, and I didn’t have to hike UP 24 flights – that was NOT on my list of things to do this evening!

In spite of my clothing preparations, my sightseeing plans went to hell in a hand basket when I opened the drapes the next morning to see light snow falling. That wouldn’t normally have stopped me, but what I heard on the local weather newscast did. The City had issued a severe cold temperature warning, along with a major storm announcement moving into the area tomorrow morning, along with a prediction for heavy snowfall, ice pellets, freezing rain and mercury readings I don’t even want to think about. Sand trucks are being readied for the upcoming blizzard, so being outside and exploring is out of the question for a day or so…. I’ll use this time to finalize upcoming trips and watch the snow drifts get higher and higher outside my windows.

I’m looking at the blizzard right now – make that a “whiteout” – swirling outside my windows….I awoke a couple of hours ago to relative calm and low temps. Promptly at 7:30am the predicted winter storm rolled into Toronto and it has been hell on wheels ever since. The order to close all city schools went out very early; except for the subway, city transportation is at a standstill; the airport has cancelled multiple flights, government employees are working from home, and yet there are people on the street walking their dogs! The winds are howling, blowing the snow in all directions building drifts against every available wall, and I have a front-row seat for all this excitement – how cool is that?

Unfortunately I missed one of the city’s most popular events by just one day…..Winterlicious, created by the city and held from January 25 to February 4. It featured delectable three-course prix fixe menus at nearly 200 participating restaurants and an eclectic culinary event series city-wide. Bad logistical planning on my part.

However I am in time and in town for another spectacular event: the Toronto Light Festival, now in its third year. Approximately 750,000 lights are used to create a magical experience that sees the area’s 50+ Victorian-era buildings surrounded by light sculptures and dazzling canopies. Here I’m on a new visual journey and imaginative cerebral adventure, designed to entertain and inspire. The Festival transforms this neighborhood into one of the largest open-air galleries in the world, lighting up the long winter nights with distinctive works from both local and international light artists. Formerly the home of Gooderham and Worts, which was once the largest distiller in the world, it is now a designed National Historic Site. A free event which runs thru March 2nd is located in the Distillery Historic District. This entire complex is a romantic, creative and pedestrian-only village, lined with cobblestone streets and endless galleries, restaurants, cafes and shopping boutiques.

Winter here offers something else for free, ice skating at the Evergreen Brick Works. The Don Valley Brick Works (aka the Evergreen Brick Works) is a former quarry and industrial site which operated for nearly 100 years, providing bricks used to construct many well-known Toronto landmarks. Since the closure of the original factory, the quarry has been converted into a city park which includes a series of naturalized ponds, while the buildings have been restored and opened as an environmentally-focused community and cultural center by Evergreen, a national charity dedicated to restoring nature in urban environments. The outdoor rink weaves thru snow-covered gardens under exposed beams of the old brick factory roof and is considered one of the most picturesque skating rinks in Toronto. Bring your own skates or rent a pair for $5 (USD $3.74). Open 10am-5pm Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays from December to March, with Winter Wednesdays from 5:30 to 9:30pm thru February 20th. These hours are always weather-dependent. My days on ice are long gone – I’m thankful to stand upright and walk without assistance these days - but it will be a great photo op and an interesting evening while I’m here, not to mention a chance to hoist a couple of hot buttered-rum toddies!

The most iconic (and definitely most visible) landmark in Toronto as to be the CN Tower measuring some 1,815’ high, making it the tallest structure in the western hemisphere. Located at 290 Bremner Boulevard, it provides numerous options for scoping out city views from three observation decks, with my favorite being the glass floor elevator watching the street get further and further away as you ride higher – certainly not for the faint hearted! The Skyped Observation Platform is the place to see Niagara and New York state on a clear day and for a really special meal, book a table at 360 Restaurant. This revolving eatery dishes up signature Canadian cuisine with a seasonally changing menu. Don’t even think of coming here without your camera – it’s the ultimate photo opportunity.

Known as the Castle on the Hill, Casa Loma took three years and $3.5M ($2.6M USD) to build. It’s owner, Sir Henry Pellatt, filled Casa Loma with priceless artwork from Canada and around the world. It stood as a monument to its creator – it surpassed any private home in North America and was once the largest private residence in Canada. With soaring battlements and secret passageways, it paid homage to the castles and knights of days gone by, and to this day it remains one of the only true castles on the North American continent. This grand estate features secret tunnels and doors, as well as colorfully lush gardens and very ornate details, like the family coat of arms on the library ceiling. Case Loma is also home to a historic-themed series of theatrical escape rooms, where guests can choose from 4 different games. Located at 1 Austin Terrace, you can find times, tickets and more information at escapecasealoma.com.

For the foodies in the crowd, St. Lawrence Market should be on your “must see” list when in town. Named by National Geographic Magazine as one of the world’s top food markets, it dates back to 1845 and features more than 120 vendors selling all manner of fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, fish, cheese and baked goods. No, you don’t have to be shopping for a rack of lamb to justify a visit: the market is also home to a variety of takeout food stalls. It is made up of three major markets: Farmer’s Market only open on Saturdays 5am to 3pm; Antiques Market only open on Sundays 5am to 5pm; and the main South Market open Tuesdays-Thursdays 8am to 6pm, Fridays 8am to 7pm, Saturdays 5am to 5pm and closed on Sundays. A big plus is the Market Gallery located on the second floor of the South Market. It’s home to rotating exhibits that chronicle Toronto’s unique history via photographs, maps, paintings and more. Located at 92-95 Front Street East, just a couple of blocks from the Distillery.

And of course you can’t visit Canada and not visit the Hockey Hall of Fame (Canadians LIVE for this game). Located at Brookfield Place, 30 Yonge Street in downtown, it’s Toronto’s tribute to the national obsession featuring memorabilia, displays and interactive games. Fans are invited to do their own play-by-play commentary on classic games in the TSN/RDS broadcast zone, tour a replica of the Canadiens dressing room, or test their skill and block shots from some of the game’s greatest shooters. Visitors can also have a photo op with the game’s ultimate hardware: the Stanley Cup. There’s a new permanent exhibit here - The Mask - which chronicles the evolution of goalie masks as a means of protection and self-expression. Currently there are 90 masks on display.

Toronto boasts some of the best museums, including The Royal Ontario, Museum of Illusions, Gardiner Museum, Gibson House, Aga Khan, Museum of Contemporary Art and others. It also has numerous shopping centers and malls, the best known being the CF Toronto Easton Centre located downtown at 20 Yonge Street. One of the busiest malls in North America, it offers more than 250 shops, services and restaurants under its roof. An elevated pedestrian bridge over Queen Street connects to the flagship Hudson’s Bay department store and Saks Fifth Avenue across the street. Not being a shopaholic in even the vaguest sense of the word, you won’t find me anywhere near a mall 99% of the time, but this place is worth a visit if only to gawp with stunned reactions, at the price tags on the haute couture at design houses such as Balmain, Dior, Givenchy, Rodarte and Jason Wu (a favorite of Michelle Obama). Do people really buy stuff with that many numbers after the dollar sign? Evidently they do – enough to give both me and my credit card heart attacks.

Just 90 miles south of Toronto across Lake Ontario is a natural wonder of the world - Niagara Falls. I have visited it previously in summer and winter seasons many years ago – I think the most dramatic of all is right now, slap in the middle of February and during one of the coldest winters we have experienced in decades. During my sightseeing planning session on day one, I found a fantastic combo deal online via City Sightseeing Tours which, for a grand total of just under $80 USD, gets me not only my favorite HOHO 2-day unlimited-use bus ticket to explore Toronto, but also a full day tour to the Falls. I’m booked for Valentine’s Day and expecting it to be a frozen winter wonderland from start to finish.

The tour coach arrived some 20 minutes late, due to rush hour traffic and the ever-present construction sites, but finally around 10am all 35 tourists were onboard, and we made our way out of the city. It’s about an hour and a half drive to reach the Falls, paralleling Lake Ontario and passing thru the towns of Mississauga and Hamilton. The weather was holding well, and the sun actually made an appearance just before we reached Niagara. Yes, it was a winter wonderland with the thundering Falls throwing mist hundreds of feet into the air, much of which falls as frozen rain on surrounding rocks and embankments. This frozen mist builds up layer upon layer on virtually any available surface, until the entire area becomes a surreal landscape of sparkling snow, blue/white ice, and when accompanied by the most brilliant turquoise green water of the rushing Niagara River…..well, this place is simply stunning. The verdant green color of the water is a byproduct of the estimated 60 tons every minute of dissolved salts and "rock flour" (very finely ground rock) generated by the erosive force of the river itself. It’s something to see in summer time, but nothing compares with being here in the dead of winter. Niagara Falls is the collective name for three waterfalls (Horseshoe Falls, American Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls) that straddle the international border between the Canadian province of Ontario and the US state of New York, forming the southern end of the Niagara Gorge. The American Falls usually appear to be more “frozen” than the Horseshoe Falls because they only receive about 7% of the Niagara River flow. With less water cascading over these Falls, there is a greater opportunity for ice buildup. Superlatives are not in short supply here: the cumulative output of the falls is the highest of any falls in the world, with Horseshoe Falls being the most powerful on the North American continent. In the dawn of the automotive age, Niagara Falls was the top honeymoon and summer vacation destination and even though it no longer has that claim to fame, it still attracts millions of tourists every year.

There has only been one occurrence where the flow of Niagara Falls has been stopped due to a freeze-up which actually happened on March 29, 1848. After an extremely cold winter, the thick ice of Lake Erie began to break up during a duration of warm weather. Followed by a strong eastward wind, this caused the ice to form in the mouth of the Niagara River which then caused a blockage of water from flowing down towards the Horseshoe Falls. When water comes crashing down over the Falls into the rocks below, it causes it to turn solid and form what is known as “The Ice Bridge” connecting the American side to the Canadian Side. Many years ago, the Ice Bridge was a popular tourist attraction as visitors would gather on the bridge and admire the beauty that the cold winter weather had created. Both Canadian and American visitors would gather to walk on the bridge, where they could enjoy fresh food and beverages as some entrepreneurs set up concession stands during these cold times. That was all until an unfortunate disaster occurred on February 4, 1912 when the bridge broke off and caused three people to drift down the river to their death. Ever since this incident occurred, walking on the Ice Bridge is forbidden. For the majority of winters the Falls are known to partially freeze, although the Falls never entirely freeze-up on the waterfall or in the Niagara River. Notable years for the Falls displaying this icing up are 1885, 1902, 1906, 1911, 1932, 1936, 2014, and 2017. The illusion of the falls freezing completely is due to the outer part of the falls creating a buildup of ice, but underneath that outer shell, the water is continuously flowing down the Falls at a constant rate.

I had a couple of hours to explore, take photographs and grab a bowl of hot spicy chili for lunch at a nearby restaurant. It was too cold to spend a lot of time out of doors, but I had a great viewing spot from the second floor of the restaurant building and was able to take some stunning pictures. From here it’s a short drive to our next stop, Niagara-on-the-Lake, and there’s something about this town that makes you want to linger. The heritage district here is made for walking, with its boutique shops, cast-iron planters and horse-drawn carriages transporting riders to another time and place. It’s Victorian-era 19th century is charm personified, and you could easily transplant the entire town and set it down anywhere in New England, where it would blend in perfectly. Located at the point where the Niagara River flows into Lake Ontario, it is the only town in Canada with a Lord Mayor. The permanent population is about 18,000 residents.

Besides the obvious attraction of Niagara Falls, there are many other distinct historic sites in the area that educate tourists about the significance that the region served in shaping Canada to what it is today. The War of 1812 was a turning point in Niagara Falls history, when the fledgling United States army fought British Loyalists for the new lands that would become Canada. From Fort Erie to Niagara-on-the-Lake, it’s possible to visit the past, carefully restored and recreated. At Old Fort Erie, authentically dressed guides in 1812 period costume, recreate life in this former British garrison, including daily musket demonstrations and the annual Siege of Old Fort Erie Re-enactment. Fort Erie was also an entry point for freedom-seeking black slaves escaping persecution in the U.S. The point of entry into Canada from Buffalo, was known as “The Crossing” and is the start of the Freedom Trail - part of the Underground Railroad. There are innumerable stops for those interested in the history of the area, including Brock’s Monument, a tribute to the British General who lost his life at the Battle of Queenston in 1812.The Daredevil Exhibit at the IMAX theatre showcases real artifacts from daredevils that survived the plunge, and along with the all the stories to go with how each daredevil attempted the treacherous stunt of plummeting down the Falls. The Museum is where visitors can explore the history that changed a nation with real artifacts, images, videos and interactive experiences designed to deliver full exposure to historic events in the region. The Niagara Falls Gallery provides visitors with an opportunity to experience the history of the iconic Falls from the geological creation of the Falls to the daredevils that tested the ferocious capability of nature.

Our final stop before heading back to Toronto, was at the Niagara College Teaching Distillery located in the heart of Niagara’s wine country - its claim to fame is producing ice wine. It takes 4 times as many frozen grapes to produce it compared to regular wines and is sweet enough to make you gag…..not my idea of wine drinking at all, but it is an acquired taste. 40 students each year are selected for the college course and are taught everything from A to Z about making wine. Graduation from this college gives students multiple employment opportunities, especially in the hospitality industries.

During my stay in Toronto, the weather pendulum has swung from one extreme to the other. I have seen sunlight, snow blizzards, ice storms and ferocious winds, sometimes all in one day! Temperatures have rarely risen above freezing and are usually well below that but surprisingly, I have enjoyed the craziness of it all. This is a great town to explore, even if I’ve had to negotiate snow drifts on the sidewalks, handle ice pellets bouncing off my umbrella, and figure out where I am when caught in a “whiteout” …..such is life for a road warrior.

The post “ Toronto - A Multicultural Treasure - Canada, February 2019 “ was originally seen on Travel Blog

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mrsmon · 7 years

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Albatross

ReaderxJungkook, 10k words, 19th Century/Lore AU (Angst)

Outside of the village, beyond the river but before the rolling hills that separated it from the neighboring town, there was a meadow. It was the biggest open space around, with even grass colored in a friendly green, and the trees of the surrounding woods keeping their polite distance. They lined the meadow in neat rows, like a curious audience, year in and year out waiting for the main event.

It hadn’t been long since you had moved into the small village with your parents. Before, you had lived in the city, but work and supplies had started to become scarce as machines had begun to replace humans, and the less money there was in the city, the less farmers were interested in selling their harvest on the sooty markets below the blackened chimneys.

Your mother had been born into a farmer’s family and had been sent to the city as a young girl to live with relatives. Your father had a similar background, although his childhood home had long since been abandoned by his family. He had resided in the city for over four decades and gotten used to life there, but if anything he had welcomed the chance to return to his roots.

The farm of your maternal grandparents was located by the river on the outskirts of the village, less than two-hundred yards from the meadow. Your grandfather had passed away the previous year – naturally and peacefully – and your grandmother had welcomed your parents’ and your help to keep their farm alive. They cultivated vegetables as well as a few rice fields further up the stream, and there were a handful of cows who didn’t produce enough milk to make your family rich, but enough to keep you alive. The village also had a small school where you earned a little money by teaching mainly language classes, as you spoke the clear and elegant dialect of the city-raised folk, and had been fortunate enough to enjoy the kind of school education that most countryside people deemed unnecessary.

But the times were changing, and you were a wisp of the new age, swathed in the ashy cloud of progress.

You had adjusted to the routine of your new life well. It had been a challenge at first, but now you didn’t mind waking up with the first rays of sunlight, and were almost looking forward to the sound of fire crackling in the kitchen and the smell of home-made bread and bacon sizzling in the frying pan. You enjoyed sitting at the small wooden table with your grandmother, cutting pieces from a big block of cheese for breakfast or listening to the water in the tea kettle as it slowly came to a boil. Some days, you would stomp to the cowshed in your father’s big boots to feed the cattle and get some fresh milk. Most of the time, your family creamed the milk to make butter or cheese, but on those days, especially in the winter, you enjoyed a mug of hot tea with milk in it.

If asked, you would have described your life as quiet. It was different from the city life – in many good ways, and some bad – but for the most part it was comfortable, if uneventful. You and your family went about your days, working, eating, sleeping. Most of the girls your age were already married, some with children, but you still found them to be quite the pleasant conversational partners. You would cook together, or play with the children, and sometimes you would sit in a cozy living room and tell them about the city which they had never seen, and if they felt sadness or regret about it, listening to your recollections of life there usually extinguished all such feelings.

Sometimes you wondered if they were genuinely curious or just wanted to feel like there was nothing they were missing by spending their whole life in this small village. Hearing your stories to them was like reading a book about a strange, fantastic world outside of their grasp. They absorbed the images you painted them of tall brick buildings and silk dresses, of late brunches and lavish dance parties long after nightfall. The more tales you told and the more people desired to bear witness to the retelling of your experiences in the big city, the more you realized it did not matter what of it was true, and what of it was illusion. It did not matter whether the world you created in your narration was real or not, for when you left their houses, it was as if they closed the book, laid it down on the coffee table, and returned to the confinement of their lives.

If they had tales of their own to tell, they weren’t eager to offer them to you, and you never thought to ask.

People enjoyed your stories, but as real as your past was, here it had lost all its validity. The lines of reality were drawn very strictly in your small village, and sometimes you wondered if the world you knew, the one you used to live in, still existed beyond the forest and the rolling hills.

And if it didn’t, you mused, what world had taken its place.

Such were the first months you spent in your new home, and you had gotten so used to the way things were – familiar, unchanging – that you were almost convinced you were in a dream when you stepped out of the kitchen door one morning at dawn, the darkness of the night still lazily hanging over the land, and noticed the shadows on the meadow. You could barely make out the shapes, except for the biggest one – it was a large round structure which stood at least twenty feet tall before it tapered towards the sky and ending in a pointy peak, like a crown with only one tine. There were movements between the shadows, but the wind carried no noises down to where you were standing. When you returned to the house, you set down the metal milk can onto the stove and turned around to look at your grandmother, who was silently slicing a loaf of bread. You were facing her back, but even so you could see that she was tense and her movements stiff. It had been a long and hot summer, and her age made it difficult for her to bear the heat of the warm months. You hoped the first cool winds of fall would see an improvement in her constitution, but you knew better than to ask her about it. Instead, you took the tea kettle from the stove when it started whistling and spooned tea leaves into a strainer.

“Something is happening on the meadow,” you said as you poured hot water on the leaves. “I think I saw people.”

“You did,” replied your grandmother, and you wondered if she had caught a glance as well.

“What is it?” You tried not to sound too curious, but it was hard when you finally felt like your comfortable yet monotonous life was about to be shaken by a quake of novelty. But your grandmother seemed neither surprised nor shaken. She didn’t so much as turn around when she finally answered your question.

“It’s the circus.”

If you had expected the circus to bring a new hue of color to the village, you had been mistaken. There were no clowns in bright costumes roaming the streets, or exotic animals being led around with ropes. The marketplace was not filled with crowds as acrobats gave little previews of their skills, little bites of their performances the people would greedily swallow and immediately crave more. The arrival of the circus did not even bring a subtle feeling of anticipation, a fresh wind of wonder and fascination. People didn’t talk about the circus. They didn’t exchange joyful, delighted stories or make plans to go see one of the shows together.

But they did go.

Every afternoon, you would see parents and children venture up the hill and disappear into the large tent. You could only image the attractions the cloth walls were hiding from your view. You had seen circus shows in the city; extravagant and glamorous events with performers from all over the world and animals you had only read about in books. There had been parades and lights, laughter and applause, and you remembered it to be a luminous and magical experience. Compared to that, the structure sitting at the very top of the soft green seemed much less impressive and vibrant, but you soon learned that it had brought with it its own magic.

The first time you saw Jungkook, he was strolling down the side of the hill towards your house. His black pants were tucked into his boots, and a loose white shirt fluttered in the wind, which was violently tugging on his black locks. His hair was messy and a little too long, and it did nothing to conceal the boy’s youth. Despite seemingly being of an age suitable for marriage, his mannerisms and brazen smile seemed to mock the unwritten rules of society and man’s arbitrary concept of time. If Jungkook had any worries, none of them were caused by expectations that were not his own. It was typical of the young and inexperienced, you thought.

He was in no rush, for time was on his side.

It wasn’t long before he landed on your doorstep and introduced himself, asking you for some bread, and inquiring whether the circus had been the cause of any disturbance for you or your family. When you insisted that it hadn’t, he seemed relieved, but then a curious look replaced the momentary softness of his expression.

“Why haven’t you come to see the show?” he asked, his almost black eyes gleaming with the anticipation for your answer.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” you replied playfully, as if his bashfulness had infected your own demeanor.

“I would have seen you.” Jungkook smiled and a hint of red tinted his cheeks. “I would have remembered.”

“It has only been three days since you arrived,” you said, your eyes darting towards the silent circus grounds far behind Jungkook. “I will go eventually, when my parents can make the time.”

“When you go, promise me you will find me. I will show you around. I’m sure you will like it.” The smile on Jungkook’s face grew even wide. “Promise?”

You stared at him as you tried to force down your heart that had leapt into your throat. “I promise.”

“I shall look forward to it.” Jungkook bowed slightly before turning on his heel and walking back the same way he had arrived; the loaf of bread you had given him wrapped in a piece of bright red cloth and dangling from his right hand. Just before he left the premises of your home, he stopped and spun around with a wide grin. He didn’t seem surprised to see you still standing in the door, but pleased nonetheless. He gave you a cheerful wave, which you shyly returned, before continuing on his way, and soon his shape disappeared somewhere between the shadows on the meadow.

It wasn’t long until you saw Jungkook again.

The very next day, he was leisurely strolling in the afternoon sun as you made your way from the school and across the main street that ran through the village. If you took the road to the east, so your mother had told you, you would return to the city you had come from. If you followed it to the west, it would take you to a gorgeous quiet town by the sea.

It had always baffled you a little bit that there seemed to be but those two choices.

Jungkook spotted you first, calling out your name and drawing a few inquisitive looks from passersby. When they realized the source of the brief disruption of the usual calm of the village, however, they all seemed more than content to continue on with their day. You spotted an elderly lady – Mrs. Lee, a friend of your grandmother’s who tragically had lost a child a long time ago and hadn’t been able to shake sadness ever since. She nodded when she noticed her glancing at you, so you smiled and returned the gesture before turning towards Jungkook who was jogging across the wide street, his ever-playful smile never leaving his lips.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted him and raised your chin to look up at him when he stopped in front of you.

“And good afternoon to you, too, miss.” He took a second to look at you thoroughly and ran a hand through his thick black hair. “You look very nice today. I hope you are well.”

“Thank you, Jungkook, I am indeed. How are you? Do you not have a show today?”

“The circus is taking the day off so the artists and animals can recover their energy.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting as well, then? You must be tired!”

“Never,” Jungkook said, and you believed him. His eyes were mirrors of a tireless soul and a calm heart that was not afraid of or shaken by the unpredictability of life.

“That is both admirable and enviable,” you replied lightly. “How is such a thing possible?”

“People tire from bygones, my dear. Memories and fragments of time lost and days not yet lived. It is the mind that grows weak, not so much the body. I’ve found that you cannot get tired in life if you do not dwell on the past, or cower before the future.”

“That seems like an awful difficult feat for human nature to achieve. I seem to tire just thinking about it,” you commented and elicited a deep chuckle from Jungkook.

“I must admit, there is a trick to it.”

“Is there now.”

“Yes.” Jungkook winked. “I shall reveal it to you another day. For now, may I ask your permission to walk with you?”

You laughed brightly, and Jungkook seemed delighted at the sound – or maybe he simply considered your reaction to be one signing approval.

“But you do not know where I’m going.”

“It is all the same to me.” Jungkook stepped next to you and offered you his arm. “I have nothing but time, my dear.”

“Very well then.” You looped your arm around his elbow and started walking. Jungkook seemed perfectly content with letting you lead the way, matching his steps with yours and making sure to stay close enough so your hand could comfortably rest on his forearm.

“So,” you said after a short while of comfortable silence. “What is it you do at the circus?”

“I do many things,” Jungkook answered with a fond smile. “I take care of the animals, I hang up advertisements, I recruit new artists. I do a little bit of everything.”

“Do you perform as well?”

“Me? Oh no.” Jungkook leaned down a little bit as if his next words were meant to be a secret kept between the two of you. “I prefer to watch the show.”

You had already opened your mouth to offer a response, but suddenly Jungkook stopped and pressed his arm to his side, making you stumble against him as your own body was pulled back. His strong biceps tensed under your hand that had grabbed his upper arm for support. You turned towards him and steadied yourself by putting your other hand flatly against his chest. Once you looked up, you saw a vein in his neck protruding through the skin as his jaw was working, which caused him to look a lifetime older than he was.

“Jungkook,” you said softly. “What is it?”

His body relaxed at the sound of your voice and he looked down at you. He placed his own hand over the one that was still resting where his heart was, his fingers gently wrapping around yours.

“I think I should go now, my dear.”

“But-” You turned around and found yourself at the corner where the main street made a slight left curve. A little ways down the road that branched off to the right, the one that would lead you home, your grandmother was standing, facing you, her dark stare making you lean closer into Jungkook.

“I understand,” he whispered and almost sounded cheeky again. “After all, you are the only daughter.”

You giggled and let go of his arm. “Indeed I am.”

“I will see you again,” Jungkook said. It sounded less like a promise and more like a fact that neither God nor the world could dispute, and the certainty in his voice made you smile.

“Goodbye, Jungkook. Thank you for escorting me, it was lovely talking to you.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for giving me a little bit of your time.”

Jungkook released your hand from his and you hurried down the road to meet your grandmother, who was still staring; except she was staring past you and at Jungkook, like a predator eyeing its prey.

Or rather, you realized, like prey preparing its escape.

“Good afternoon, grandmother,” you greeted her nervously. Without a word, she started walking towards your home and you hurried to fall in line with her steps.

“Why were you with that boy?” she inquired.

“Jungkook?” you replied innocently. “We were just having a conversation. You seem worried, but I assure you there is no-”

You fell silent when your grandmother shot you a look; a look that seemed to say ‘you do not know what you are talking about’ – a look that made you question whether you did.

“Grandmother-”

“Stay away from him,” she finally hissed and linked her arm with yours as if her strength had suddenly started dwindling. “He is nothing but a liar and a thief.”

From up close, the enormous tent looked weathered and worn, and if the stripes it wore had ever been of bright and cheerful colors, those times had long since passed. The lines on the gray background were washed-out shades of purple, blue, yellow, and green, and rain, grass, and mud had left unsightly stains on the edges. You turned around to look down at the village from where you were standing on top of the hill, but much like the sturdy fabric, the colors of the world seemed muted and exhausted.

Due to the questionable weather conditions, your parents had agreed to forgo the work in the fields and finally see the circus show instead. You had been trying to hide your excitement for your grandmother’s peace of mind, but your quick strides and cheery smile had betrayed your state of heart. It had been several days since you and Jungkook had so suddenly and unexpectedly parted ways, and with every passing hour you had found yourself yearning for his company more. You tried to take your grandmother’s warning seriously, but a silly voice in your head was insisting that if Jungkook was any kind of thief, it was a thief of hearts, and that there was not a single person in the world who had lived their whole life without telling a lie.

Unlike the slightly run-down exterior, the inside of the tent was an ocean of colors – deep reds and gleaming gold against the black wooden planks and cloth walls, and perfect white sand that filled the ring in the middle of the arena. You felt like you had entered a dream of magic and mystery, and your wide eyes sought to take in every inch of your surroundings. You had seen many a circus show; you had seen ballrooms and theaters and dined in luxurious restaurants and pompous mansions, but no place you had ever seen had filled you with this much awe and admiration, and the feeling of having entered a new and fascinating world that had been right before your eyes and yet out of reach – until now.

Suddenly you realized your eyes were not wandering to enjoy the beauty of the circus arena so much as they were looking for Jungkook among the crowds of villagers taking their seats and the handful of circus artists preparing the equipment or joking with wonder-struck children. As if she had read your mind, your grandmother pulled you into a seat next to her by the arm and tried to engage you in a conversation about your work at the school, but your mind refused to return to the reality that existed outside of the circus.

“Does the circus come every year?” you asked, not caring that you had interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. Your grandmother kept silent for a few seconds before she finally spoke.

“No. It comes when it comes. Dates, years, it is no matter to the ringleader.”

You looked at her, curious. “Do you know the ringleader?”

“I met him when I was a young girl, and a few times since when the circus was in town. He has tried to steal from me before. You must not trust them. You must not trust the boy.”

“He is just a boy,” you replied before you could stop yourself. You did not want to defy your grandmother, but you found it unjust that your grandmother was painting Jungkook in the colors of other people’s sins.

“My child, please open your eyes to what is real or you will lose yourself in a nightmare.”

You sighed and looked up; the golden ornaments hanging from the dark ceiling of the tent glowing like stars in the night sky. You knew that your grandmother only had your well-being at heart, that she was merely worried and overly cautious to protect her only granddaughter. But how could she expect you to be realistic when every moment with Jungkook felt like a dream?

In an instant, the entire arena was wrapped in darkness. You realized you had not even noticed where the light inside the tent had come from, until a few of the dozens of gas lanterns on the edge of the ring flickered back on. Dark smoke faded into the blackness of the unlit parts, but your gaze did not stray from the middle of the arena where a man had appeared. He was clad in a tall hat and a navy velvet suit. His dark blue shirt was decorated with white moons and stars, and his gloves were whiter yet. A red piece of cloth was neatly folded and tugged into his left breast pocket, almost giving it the appearance of a heart. He held his arms outstretched as he looked at the audience, smiling a confident yet welcoming smile. The lights of the lanterns around him danced in his piercing blue eyes, and you reckoned there must have been a trick to them. You had never seen eyes of this color, not even in the men from far-away countries that you had sometimes encountered in the city.

You shivered when you felt his sapphire stare on you, and suddenly reality felt very, very far away.

By the time the show ended, darkness had fallen over your village, but it still seemed like your world was illuminated by twinkling lights and careless laughter when you stepped outside and onto the circus grounds. People had gathered in small groups in front of the carriages and cages to chat with the performers or pet the exotic but docile animals. Finally, you felt the same magical atmosphere as you had back when the circus had come to the city, and you smiled when a girl of about ten years of age – a young trapeze artist – appeared in front of you. Your parents had already started their return to the house, and your grandmother was talking to her friend, whom you had seen on the day you had met Jungkook, not far from you.

“Hello,” you greeted the girl and bent your knees to be able to look at her better. “You were fantastic, how did you learn to do such dangerous acts?”

The girl laughed, but did not reply. Instead, she took your hand and pulled you away from the main entrance and towards what looked to be sleeping carriages for the artists. You tried to protest, but your voice failed you and after only a few dozen feet, the noise and furor drifted away and you were surrounded by the quiet of night. Your footsteps were cushioned by the grass underneath you and the lampions on the big tent were unable to reach you anymore.

You were worried that you might stumble and fall, but more than that you were fascinated by the feeling of mystery that surrounded the circus. Where the doors of the wooden wagons were open, the inside illuminated by dim candle light, you could catch glimpses of costumes and props, figures sitting together at tables, chatting, laughing, being everything you had always imagined this world to be. You wondered if the other village people were able to see the same sights as you, or if the bright lights they were cast in made it impossible to see past the carefully constructed facade of the circus.

Before you could turn around to find out whether anyone even took notice of you anymore, the girl led you around a corner, released your hand, and then skipped away, her high-pitched giggle echoing through the darkness.

“Wha-” you started, but then the wind carried a whisper of your name from behind you and you turned around, already knowing.

“Jungkook.”

“You came.” He seemed genuinely happy to see you, so much so that he abandoned his gentlemanly conduct in favor of framing your face with his weathered yet gentle hands. “You really came.”

“Of course I did,” you replied, slightly out of breath from the sensation of his touch on your skin. “I promised.”

“You mustn’t stay long, your family will worry.” Jungkook replaced his hands onto your upper arms and you threw a look back over your shoulder, as if expecting to find your family walking up to you any second.

“When can I see you?” you asked, unwilling to leave yet another meeting to chance.

“Tomorrow. The circus will travel along in three days, but I could not bear to leave without bidding you farewell. Will you meet me at the old mill by the river, tomorrow at noon?”

“I will, Jungkook,” you agreed. Your heart skipped a beat when he smiled at you warmly, his hands still firmly wrapped around your arms as if unwilling to release you just yet.

“I shall await you there.”

He looked at you intently, his dark eyes seemingly searching yours for another promise, and then he laughed, playfully and carelessly as always, and urged you to hurry back. It took you some time to make your way among the wagons and smaller tents and return to where you had left your grandmother earlier. Her friend was gone, but she had been joined by a tall figure in a navy blue suit – the ringleader. His blue eyes followed your every move as you made your way towards them, and with every step your legs seemed to weaken with nervousness.

“Good evening, miss.” The ringleader’s voice was deep and soft when he spoke, a considerable contrast to the booming words that had filled the arena not long before.

“Good evening. I am-”

“Yes, I heard,” he interrupted you with an enigmatic smile. “You are my old friend’s granddaughter.”

You looked at your grandmother in confusion – her recollection of their acquaintance had not seemed to leave room for friendship. Nevertheless, you smiled back politely and bowed.

“It is an honor to meet you. The show was just terrific.”

“I am pleased to hear you enjoyed our humble performance. You must have witnessed a hundred shows in the city that make our small circus pale by comparison.”

“Not at all, sir.” You met his gaze, his mysteriously blue eyes, and folded your hands over your chest. “I have never seen anything quite like it.”

“We really ought to be going,” your grandmother decided, putting an end to the pleasantries. Her voice was cold. “We shall look forward to your next appearance.”

“The pleasure will be mine, although I am afraid our route may see some change soon.”

Your grandmother’s mouth pressed into a straight line as she hooked her arm around your elbow and straightened her back.

“Goodbye, ringleader.”

The wooden walls of the old mill were slowly decaying, but still they offered enough shelter from curious looks, and the sound of the stream pattering against the banks and rocks of the river made for a peaceful backdrop as you and Jungkook sat on old, discarded flour bags, your backs resting against the brittle wood. You had been nervous at first, unable to avoid questioning his reason for inviting you to such a deserted place, but it had turned out that all he had sought was peaceful seclusion rather than secluded depravity.

You wanted to be joyous and grateful for having the chance to be with Jungkook, for having met him and for feeling this enthralled and alive for the first time in so many months, but you could not deny the sadness in your heart brought about by his looming departure from the village.

“How long have you been with the circus?” you asked him when the thoughts became too much to bear alone.

“An eternity,” Jungkook joked and his chest shook with a chuckle. “For as long as I can remember.”

“Were your parents circus artists?”

“I do not have parents. The circus is my family – I do not know a life outside of it.”

“That sounds very sad.”

Jungkook gently brought his palm to your cheek and tilted your head upwards to make you look at him. His irises twinkled with the tiniest hint of mockery. “Do I seem sad to you?”

“No,” you admitted. “Not in the slightest.”

“Good, because I am not. As I said, I do not dwell on the past. I have been traveling for many years and seen a great many things. Everything will happen as it is supposed to – sooner or later.”

“Is that the secret you spoke about?” you said, suddenly remembering Jungkook’s previous words. “Do you not tire because you trust in fate?”

“Precisely, my dear. And I have time on my side.”

“What about me?” You angled your head so you could look up at Jungkook. “Am I part of your fate? Was our meeting destiny?”

Amusement played at Jungkook’s lips as he searched your face for something. Then he kissed the tip of your nose and pulled your head down into his lap, his fingers soothingly running through the strands of your hair, lulling you into a state of drowsiness.

“Perhaps,” he finally replied and you sighed. You wished you could show him how you felt, or at least find words that were worthy of the affection you held for him. But your mind was slowly drifting off into sleep and your heart was drowning in his warmth, and so you intertwined your fingers with the ones of his left hand and glanced up at him.

“I do believe that fate brought us together, Jungkook. Knowing you is a blessing.”

Jungkook remained silent for a few minutes, simply tirelessly caressing your hair and staring at a point very, very far away. Finally, he brought your hand he was still holding to his lips to press a kiss against your skin.

“Sleep now, my dear,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Do not worry. I will watch over you.”

“What about you? Are you not tired?” you whispered, but you already knew the answer.

“Never.”

Infatuation.

You had only read about it in books, but you refused to accept your grandmother’s suggestion that you were infatuated with Jungkook. She had seen him walk with you until the edge of the river which you had to cross to return home, and she had reprimanded you severely, insisting that you knew nothing about him or his character, and that your infatuation with him would cause nothing but trouble.

“You are blinded by what you think is love, child.”

The words had been spinning around in your head, and suddenly you had found yourself reaching for a book on the lowest shelf in the front room of the local bookstore. Your grandmother was in the back talking with the old man who owned the shop – she had made you accompany you on her daily errands to distract you from your, what she had called, wicked ideas. The main room of the store had two large, square windows that lead out to the main road, and yet the bookshelves that lined the walls lay in a gloomy light. Where the sun did manage to break through the glass, dust was lazily dancing in its warm rays. You had tried to focus on finding books for your classes and personal entertainment, for you could only imagine how much more boring life would be once Jungkook and the circus left. But now you were turning the pages of the dictionary in front of you until you found the entry you were looking for, and your cheeks began to burn and you felt a chill on your back as if someone had walked past you and caused a draft.

Strong but not lasting.

That was what your grandmother thought your feelings were. That all the happiness, the lightness and freedom you felt when you were with him would disappear the minute he would. Furious, you snapped the book shut and carelessly dropped it onto a nearby table. How dare your grandmother talk about you in that manner, especially since your mother had mentioned before that she and your grandfather had gotten married so surprisingly and hurriedly that they had left the village in the middle of the night to have their marriage certified by a priest from a nearby town who had owed your great-grandfather a favor? You refused to tolerate your grandmother making light of your feelings for Jungkook. You were not merely infatuated.

He was your destiny.

Tears were burning in your eyes. You were not childish enough to think that you could run away with him – or that he would leave everything behind to wither away in this tiny village with you. But there had to be ways. You could write each other and maybe your parents would let you travel to the city or even the sea when he would settle there for longer performances. Who was your grandmother to decide that your love for Jungkook was doomed?

You had had enough. You put the books you were going to purchase along with your bag on the counter and walked toward the door separating the actual shop from the rest of the building. Regardless of whether or not it was rude to interrupt your grandmother and her acquaintance, you put your hand on the doorknob and were about to turn it when the voices were carried in from the next room made you halt.

“I must ask you to leave,” your grandmother said and you could hear a man chuckle in response.

“I’m afraid it is not that easy.” The tone was deep and unconcerned with your grandmother’s harsh request.

“What did you come here for? After all this time.”

“You know why I am here. I want what is mine.”

“Nothing of mine is for you to have,” your grandmother persisted, but her voice had become shaky. “Leave, immediately.”

“You have cheated me twice already, but this time you will not stop me. I will not leave.”

“Then I shall bid my farewell, ringleader.”

You had barely made two steps back when the door flew open and your grandmother rushed out, her face pale and her lips tight. Confused, you peeked into the backroom and your breath hitched when you met the intense blue eyes of the ringleader. He was now standing in the doorframe, and his expression was patient and calm, his demeanor no different than from what you had seen the day before. Contrary to your grandmother, the conversation did not seem to have upset him at all.

“Good day, miss,” he greeted you with a tip of his imaginary hat.

“Go-good day,” you stammered. Quickly, you looked around. The shopkeeper was nowhere to be seen, but heavy steps above your head suggested that he had gone upstairs to make tea or to pursue other tasks.

You could only stare at the tall, broad form of the ringleader, who gazed upon you with an impenetrable look until you felt your grandmother’s firm grip on your elbow. Stumbling along, you let her pull you out of the building and into the street. The door of the store was still wide open, and the old wooden floor was bathed in a long corridor of light. You looked back, your heart skipping another beat when your eyes landed on the doorway to the back room.

The ringleader was gone.

With the arrival of fall, the nights had finally begun to be a little cooler and more comfortable, but still sleep did not come easy to you that night. The question of what your grandmother and the ringleader had been talking about was burning on your mind, but it was a question you knew you would not get an answer to from your grandmother. You had returned home in silence, both her hands clasping your arm tightly as if walking had been almost too strenuous a task for her. After a light meal and some tea, she had retreated for the night, leaving you with nothing but confusion and worry.

You had a bad feeling about the ringleader. He seemed as cold as his ice-blue eyes, and despite his calm and almost passive disposition, you could not help but feel that he was slightly threatening. Had your grandmother spoken the truth – was he a thief? But then why had he said he wanted what was his, despite your grandmother denying it?

What was it that he wanted?

Another thought that troubled you was how Jungkook fit into the whole picture. He was but a young boy so no matter what the history between the ringleader and your grandmother was, it did not involve him. But he was part of the circus. Did he know anything about the ringleader’s intentions? Was he part of a plan? Would it be wise for you to talk to him about it?

Assuming that the ringleader was a criminal as your grandmother insisted, maybe it would give Jungkook reason to leave the circus. Maybe he would take the chance to leave his old life behind to marry you and settle down – somewhere else.

Such were your thoughts when you finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep, filled with dreams of lights, people, and children’s laughter. You felt lost, wandering around aimlessly among carriages and tents that looked familiar and yet not. At times, it felt like someone – or something – brushed past you, but when you turned around, there was nobody there.

And yet, you knew somebody was watching.

When you came back to reality with a jolt and a gasp, you were almost thankful. You gripped your blanket and tried to look around, but your room was dark and still and silent. Still out of breath, you felt around for the candle on the stand next to your bed, but before you could light it, the door of your room opened and light from the lamp your mother was holding momentarily blinded you as she stepped into your room.

“Come quick,” she whispered, trying to retain her composure. “Your grandmother is ill.”

You rose and, kicking away a red piece of cloth that had fallen near your bed, followed her out of the room.

Despite having stayed up for most of the night to help your parents tend to your grandmother, you left the farm as soon as you had finished seeing the doctor off at the main gate. Your grandmother had a high fever and had not regained consciousness even once, so he had had no choice but to leave until her condition changed – for better or worse. You had thanked him and nodded at the instructions he had given you, and then you had taken one look at the house and made for the hill.

It was still early, so the circus grounds were quiet and draped in morning mist. The grass underneath your shoes was wet and you almost slipped a handful of times marching up the incline. You held up your skirt just enough so the seam would not get drenched, and leapt forward with long, desperate strides. You were distressed, you were concerned, you were scared.

You longed for Jungkook.

Nobody seemed to be awake yet as the wagons lay in silence, the dark forest behind them giving them an almost spooky, abandoned look. You did not know where to start your search, so you simply walked between the carts and cages – the entire circus seemed undisturbed by your presence and not even the resting animals paid you any attention. The smell of fur and hay and fog filled the air, and you thought you could hear snoring from somewhere. Part of you feared that you might run into the ringleader, unable to explain your coming here without giving away your and Jungkook’s relationship. But you did not care – you had to see him.

Once again, he found you first. You saw the silhouette of a head in the window of one of the carriages, and then its door opened and Jungkook stepped out – his hair disheveled, his brown eyes barely open. He looked at you in confusion, without even the slightest hint of annoyance. He brought his index finger to his lips, indicating for you to stay quiet, before walking over to you and taking you by the hand. Wordlessly, he led you away from the quarters and to the forest where he made sure that you were shielded from sight by trees and branches.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. He took off the heavy woolen jacket he seemed to have simply thrown on before leaving his carriage and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

You wanted to cry at his kindness, but swallowed the sudden squall of emotions and tried to steady your voice.

“My grandmother suddenly fell ill last night,” you explained. “We- we do not know if- if-”

Jungkook frowned when you started stuttering, but it only took him one moment to understand. He reached out to pull you into a tight embrace, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Oh my love, I am so sorry. Has she been unwell?”

“The summer was not easy for her, but she was not sick. It is very sudden.”

“I hope she recovers quickly. She seemed healthy when she was glaring at me in town the other day.”

You could not help but laugh at Jungkook’s joke, and your heart felt a little lighter as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I am sorry for intruding on you this early, Jungkook. You must have a lot of preparation to do as you are leaving tomorrow.”

“I told you,” he said and leaned back to smile at you. “I have time on my side. Especially if it is for you.”

“I will miss you dearly, Jungkook,” you admitted, and looking up into his warm, brown eyes made tears form in your own.

Instead of answering, Jungkook kissed you. His lips were soft and tasted of morning dew, and his kiss was graceful and undemanding. It was comfort, it was devotion, it was adoration.

It was love.

You had wanted to mention the ringleader’s words to Jungkook, but bliss washed your mind blank of any thoughts that did not revolve around Jungkook and the way he held you. The way his hands felt on your skin as he enveloped your face with them to kiss you again and again and again.

“Please do not forget me,” he whispered, and you pressed your lips to his, smiling.

“Never.”

The bell chimed cheerfully as you pushed open the door to the bookstore. The shop was dim as always, and the owner was sitting at the counter, engrossed in one of his own possessions. You almost envied him the peacefulness of his job, and how working in a bookstore provided seemingly endless entertainment. One could go on a different adventure every day, if they felt so inclined, and would never run out of dreams and fantasies. Before, you could have imagined a similar career for yourself. But now you were not so sure if dreams were enough.

If this reality was enough.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you greeted upon entering the store. “I believe I left my bag and some books I would like to purchase yesterday.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” the old man mumbled and you waited for him to fetch your possessions – as well as soon-to-be possessions – from the back. You were well aware that it could have waited, but even now you could not bear being at home. Your grandmother was still resting, still sleeping, and the atmosphere in the house was suffocating. You had welcomed an excuse to make the trip into the village.

The door opened again, and Mrs. Lee’s face took on an odd expression when she saw you. You figured that she must have gotten word about your grandmother – her dear friend – and found it strange to see you out and about.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lee,” you said politely, and, almost as if to defend yourself: “I am picking up something important I left here yesterday.”

“Bless you, child, it must be difficult for you to just sit and wait.”

You blushed. “It is. I know I ought to be by her side, but seeing her like that breaks my heart.”

“She does love you very much indeed,” Mrs. Lee said. “She only cares about your safety and well-being.”

It was clear to you that she was now referring to Jungkook, and you had to refrain from rushing to his defense. He had spent a long time calming you down, listening to you, and reassuring you that your grandmother’s condition would surely improve, and even though he could not give you certainty, he had given you hope.

“Thank you. I am very lucky to have her,” you replied as compassionately as you could. Mrs. Lee did not seem to notice your underlying defiance, or if she did, she did not pay it any mind.

“And she you.” Mrs. Lee was about to begin perusing the shelves, but then she halted and turned back to you. “Would you like to see something, child?”

“Of course,” you lied, not wanting to offend the woman. With slow hands, Mrs. Lee pulled a worn leather wallet out of the pocket of her overcoat, and opened it. She handed you an old photograph of a group of children, all girls, who stared stoically into the camera. Even from the fading photograph you could tell that all of them were wearing their best dresses, and their hair was neatly coiffed in a fashion that had been popular only a few decades ago. You almost flinched when Mrs. Lee’s finger appeared in your field of vision, pointing at a girl in the middle of the second row.

“This is your mother,” she explained, and your eyes went wide. You had never seen any photographs of your parents’ childhood, and you dipped your head lower to get a closer look of your mother’s face. “She has always been an angel.”

“How old was she?” you inquired.

“About eight or nine,” Mrs. Lee replied thoughtfully. “It was a year before my little girl was taken from us. They were the same age.”

You felt a lump in your throat as you glanced at Mrs. Lee out of the corner of your eye. Her face was distorted with pain and cruel memories that would never leave her.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. This is her.”

You followed the tip of her finger until it stopped right beneath the face of a pretty little girl in the last row. She looked serious, probably tired from waiting for a long time before the photograph was be taken, but there was something about her that made her youthfulness and vigor shine through. She seemed like even at such a young age, she had a mind of her own, and dreams too big for this village.

And then you realized you had seen her before.

“She was such a special child. Always talking about things beyond her understanding. We loved her so much – but sometimes love is cursed,” you heard Mrs. Lee sigh. She said something else, but you were barely listening, too stricken by terror of recognizing the small face staring back at you from a 35-year-old photograph.

It was the little girl from the circus.

Your grandmother’s hand was cold, the skin dry. The chair next to her bed was hard and your back had started hurting, although you were not sure if it was from sitting so long or from the tenseness in your body. You felt like you were in shock, and had been ever since you had held that photograph in your hands. Shaking, you had returned it to Mrs. Lee and asked her what had happened, what she had meant by “taken”.

“She is gone,” she had replied. “She died.”

Had you been mistaken? Was the girl you had seen at the circus merely a girl that happened to look like Mrs. Lee’s daughter? The photograph was old and a little faded. It had been folded in the middle to fit into Mrs. Lee’s worn brown leather wallet. It was not unthinkable that the traces of time and your feeble memory were conspiring against you to create a false truth. Maybe your mind was weakened after all the events of the past days – your feelings for Jungkook, the ringleader’s threat, your grandmother’s health. Maybe it was all too much.

Maybe it was all a lie.

“What is troubling you, child?”

You flinched at the voice of your grandmother and almost let go of her hand, but before you could she squeezed yours tightly. Her face was pale and her eyes hazy, but she looked at you with a fond smile.

“I was just lost in thought, grandmother,” you said and smiled back. “How are you feeling?”

“I am awake, am I not?”

“Indeed you are.” You laughed softly and made sure the soaked piece of cloth on her forehead was still cool enough to provide some relief.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only a day has passed, grandmother. You did not miss a thing.”

“Is that so?” she asked, and you blushed, caught in a lie.

“I met Mrs. Lee today. She showed me an old picture of mother. Her daughter was in it, too.”

“I see,” your grandmother sighed and closed her eyes. “It has been what – thirty-four years?”

“I believe so.” You stayed quiet. Your grandmother did not seem to be listening to you anymore and instead was lost in her own memories.

“Your mother was such a good child. She never disagreed, she never asked questions. But I sent her away anyway. I felt like I had to. To keep her safe. And two days later-” She did not finish the sentence.

“Were you afraid the same thing that happened to Mrs. Lee’s daughter might happen to her?”

Your grandmother sighed and opened her eyes to look at you. They were blurred with tears.

“I was as afraid then as I am now. I made a choice, but if offered the chance, I would prefer to pay the debt myself.”

You nodded, but you did not understand. It sounded like Mrs. Lee’s daughter had died in your mother’s stead – but how could your grandmother possibly have known something was going to happen?

“People have secrets, child. And so does this village. People would like to forget the dark parts of history, render it mute. But the past does not forget, so we must remember. Even if it is not our own.”

Frowning, you nodded again. Your grandmother let go of your hand and weakly pointed at a dresser on the wall opposite of her bed. Wordlessly, you got up, walked over to it, and waited for instructions.

“Top right door,” she said and slowly lowered her arm to let it rest next to her body. “I will never forget, my dear.” She sighed heavily. “Never.”

Carefully, you opened the dresser door and immediately your eyes fell onto a framed photo. When you leaned in a little, you saw your mother looking back at you, her face serious and her dress immaculate. Next to her stood another small girl, one arm around your mother’s shoulder, a frozen but big smile that defied the tediousness of having your photograph taken. Once again, you were looking at the little girl you had met on the grounds.

And behind them, high up on the meadow on the hill, there stood the circus.

The footsteps were soft and slow, almost deliberate, but they woke you up nonetheless. You were sure that one of your parents must be wandering around the house, too worried to rest, too restless to stay still. Your grandmother had only been awake for a short while after you had returned to the farm, but soon after she had fallen back into an agonizing sleep.

Sighing heavily, you pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. Even if you were not able to give your parents peace of mind, you could at least hold them company. Wrapping yourself into a warm housecoat, you left your room and tiptoed toward the kitchen. However, when you entered the room it was empty – and the backdoor was wide open.

You contemplated waking your father before deciding against it; instead crossing the kitchen with uneasy steps until you were faced with a wall of darkness. It took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the night, but then you spotted a shape moving, heading towards the meadow. It was progressing slowly but steadily, clad in a white nightgown that fluttered around its legs in the wind.

“Grandmother?” you said, and then louder: “Grandmother?”

Without sparing a second thought, you shoved a matchbox into your coat pocket, slipped on your father’s big boots that were standing next to the door, and followed. The shape – your grandmother – was now halfway up the hill, and even though you ran as fast as you could, she had made it to the big tent by the time you reached the top of the hill. You saw her walk towards the entrance, pull back the fabric – and then she was gone.

“Grandmother!” you yelled, not caring if you would wake anyone. With clumsy steps, you rushed over to the main tent and slipped inside. It was pitch black and an uneasy feeling made you stand close to the now closed entrance. You reached for the matchbox and your fingers fumbled around with it for a few moments before you were able to ignite a match. But just as it caught fire, a soft breath of wind blew past you, extinguishing the meager flame. You were about to light another match when some of the gas lamps in the tent were turned on. They were burning on dim, and it was barely enough to see three feet ahead of you. The arena seemed much smaller than last time you were here, despite the sheer endless ceiling of darkness above your head. You walked a few feet towards the center and looked around tentatively. Your grandmother was nowhere to be seen.

But in the middle of the ring, there stood Jungkook, looking up at you calmly.

“Is something wrong, my love?” he asked, but his tone suggested that he already knew.

“My- my grandmother walked into this tent. She is here – where is she?”

Jungkook dropped the bag of sand he was holding and cleaned his hands on his black pants.

“My love, are you sure you were not dreaming? Nobody has come in here but you.”

“I saw her,” you insisted. “I followed her here.” You walked down the wooden planks towards Jungkook who still had not moved from his position.

“She is not here,” he said.

You stopped yourself from looking around to focus on Jungkook. A small smile was playing around his lips, and he had crossed his arms in front of his chest which was half exposed by the loose shirt he was wearing. Unlike all those times before, his calmness now filled you with nervousness. You could not understand why he was simply brushing off your words as if he knew them to be untrue.

“What do you mean? I saw her. She must be here!”

“People only see what they want to see. They believe what they want to believe. They like the stories, the tricks, the illusions – but they do not care for the truth. They choose complacency over curiosity, normalcy over adventure, and they hate the strange, the unknown.” There was a pause before he continued, sounding almost patronizing. “Your grandmother is not here, my love.”

A chill ran down your spine, but you found yourself unable to move. All you could do was look at Jungkook who was now walking toward you.

“I know what I saw, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckled and finally stopped a mere six feet away from you. With a wave of his hand, all the gas lamps in the tent went out and you found yourself in utter darkness.

“How did you do that?” you whispered, reaching around for anything to hold on to.

“Tell me what you saw, my love.”

“You moved your hand and then the lights went out.”

“I extinguished the flames with a gesture. That is what you saw, is it not? Hence it must mean that I turned off the lights without touching them, does it not?”

“No.” You shook your head despite the complete darkness surrounding you. “No, that is not possible.”

“Yet it is what you saw. But you say it is not what happened. You saw your grandmother walk in here – but what if that is not what happened?” Two lamps close to you flickered back on and your eyes searched for Jungkook who was still hidden by shadows.

“Then why did I see her?”

“Maybe you wanted to see her. Maybe you wanted to believe that she led the way so you could come here, and stay. With me.”

“You tricked me,” you accused him as you realized that all the coincidences had been none, and you had fallen for his stories, tricks, and illusions.

“I did no such thing. What you followed here was your desire to escape, to leave this damned village. The people act so wholesome, but all they are doing is denying the truth. They choose to be blind to their sins and call justice tragedy.”

“I- I do not understand,” you whispered. Your body was paralyzed with terror, but you could not tear your eyes from the spot Jungkook’s voice was coming from. You felt like if you kept listening to him, the candy coat of the life you had would crumble and reveal a bitterness you did not know whether or not you were prepared to taste. But you needed to know.

And Jungkook seemed pleased. Then his expression darkened.

“The first time the circus came to this village, the people got scared. They called the artists freaks, the animals beasts. They attempted to cast out the circus, but their fear of us was too strong. They massacred the people and slaughtered the animals. Yet they speak of us as the monsters.”

You stood in silence as you tried to overpower your treacherous emotions, and suddenly, like a veil of obscurity lifting, Mrs. Lee’s words were clear in your head.

“Sometimes love is cursed,” she had said.

Just like this village.

You swallowed hard to make your voice sound even.

“That is it, isn’t it? The debt.”

“Yes. We take back what they took. Your grandmother knew, so she chose to become one of the normal ones, but unlike so many others, she never quite forgot.”

Vengeance.

It was not justice, it was retribution. From what your grandmother had told you, the incident had happened long before her time. She could not possibly have been involved, and yet the ringleader seemed to hold a grudge because she had escaped the curse. And Jungkook – you felt bad. Had he been taken too? Had the ringleader been forcing him to try and steal away people from the village simply to settle a debt? You thought of Mrs. Lee’s daughter, and wondered how long Jungkook had been in this body. If his was the same fate that was awaiting you.

“So the ringleader wants to take me?” you eventually asked. You felt like you were trying to complete a puzzle, but the pieces in your hands were from two different sets. Jungkook remained standing in the darkness, and you almost said his name out loud to make sure he was still there after he had not answered for what felt like minutes. But then he spoke.

“You do not belong in this town, my love. You can never become one of them. Everything will happen as it is supposed to. And you were always supposed to be mine.”

“Jung-” You instinctively took a step back when you heard his footsteps on the planks. “Jungkook, I cannot abandon my family. Please let me leave before the ringmaster finds me. It breaks my heart, but I cannot go with you.”

“And why not?” he asked, but his tone displayed no signs of hurt or dread. If anything, it sounded like he was, once again, mocking you ever so slightly. “Do you not love me? Was it not fate, a blessing that brought us together?”

Your heart was beating fast, overflowing from betrayal and panic. Your eyes filled with tears.

“Jungkook, where is my grandmother?”

“She is not here.” Jungkook replied and stepped into the weak light, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours. “But you are.”

You could only stare when he reached out to stroke your cheek gently, and then let his hand wander down to take yours.

“Come now, my love,” he said. “It is time.”

#10k words #who am i #i promise this will never happen again probably #my brain is e m p t y #michelle made the gif because she is the best :>#and i liked it so much that i edited actual matches into the story lol #<3 #readerxjungkook #jungkook scenario #bangtan scenario #bts scenario #bts fic #angst

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gavy19-blog · 7 years

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The Face Of My Soul / ReIncarnation

Hoka Hey ! 🐎 Chapter#12 Wild America In the early 188O’s, America was booming and the people pressed on into the wild, to reach the Western Frontier. Regardless of its roughness and dangers, the vastness of this country enamored us all. As a child, I heard scary stories told by our few neighbors, for our Outpost was remote, on the edge of the civilized territory. Staying close to home was a strict survival rule. We might have been young of age, but mentally we were pretty much grown up. Life in the wilderness had its trials, and often times, did not forgive. You learn fast or you die. I tried not to roam far from our Cabin’s sight of the fort. How was I to know then, I ’d soon be living in the midst of all I feared, content and exhilarated. One day, late in the afternoon, while searching for firewood, accompanied by my younger brother, all natural sounds went quiet. My heart fell still, as fear crept into it. Suddenly, we were quickly captured by savage Indians (as I had heard they were called). I screamed and screamed, but no sound would emit from my mouth. I was terrified, my body felt like it had turned to stone. Memories abound of my first few days in captivity. The fright, the embarrassment of having to do my private necessities out in the open, in their view. That shame I felt then, still resides in me today. Just waiting to be thrown some food each day, not knowing what I was eating. Drinking only a few drops left of water from their hide bags, directly after their lips had been on the nozzle… I was disgusted but my dire thirst won the argument going on in my head. The fact that we were children, got us adopted into the tribe. This was better than being placed as slaves, or worse, tortured by the women who had recently lost loved ones in a battle against the white skinned soldiers. The Medicine Man looked me over and immediately proclaimed that I would give birth to the man that would move the Comanche into a new world. I smiled. He was my old friend from another life. His Soul recognized mine and I his. He was here to guide me once again, in this wild life. The years passed. My little brother John adapted quickly to our living and surroundings, becoming one with them. Thanks be to the Powerful Spirit, whom had put in my path, my wise spiritual advisor from the past. He was our Tribal Medicine Man. An old Soul that Knew and recognized me, from our shared life in Egypt. Through his protection, I earned the acceptance of the tribe. When I changed into a Woman, I was full of pride to be chosen by him. He whom I so admired, to be his only woman. Nocona was unusually tall for a Comanche. When I looked into his courageous face, his Soul spoke to me. I instinctively knew he would love me, and me alone. Although the men in our tribe could take a second or third wife, if they so desired, he did not. He would provide for me and protect me. I gave him my heart, once again, as I had in another life, unbeknownst to me. He was one of the elected Warrior Chiefs of the tribe. Those like him, along with our Spiritual Medicine Man, my friend, made all the decisions for our band of people. Nocona taught me the way of the land. Much to his chagrin, it was I, who most often remembered the routes we rode and paths we had walked. I had an uncanny sense of direction then as I do today…. I hardly ever get lost! My Summer Sky colored eyes fascinated him. He often gazed into them as I gazed into his dark ones., which in turn fascinated me…: but I would never tell him so, for I enjoyed keeping his vainness in check! He carved our bows and quiver of arrows. Balanced them with proper decor, using feathers which I collected for that particular purpose, and to adorn his thick long black hair. Trading skins for sharp knives was a passion of his. There was a knife for every task in our traveling bag, which was always carefully loaded upon the horses. I personally managed his precious collection, should he go hunting or raiding. Many in the village envied his weapons and gear, and would seek to make them theirs. I kept a vigilant eye, clearly displaying the knives I wore on the outside of my left boot and a second on my waistband. Sharp yet lightweight knives which Nocona had obtained in a rather expensive trade agreement, when were first united as a couple. The most precious of gifts was a tomahawk, decorated with feathers, blessed with his blood. My Son Quanah noticed it was too heavy for me to lift, so we privately exchanged it for his much lighter child size one. He kept the one his father had carefully crafted for his own use. Collecting wild flower honey combs, then spreading the golden nectar on our hands and lips to lick off each other, was a favorite pastime. I would then sit, reclining back on his broad torso, while Nocona sat against the trunk of a big tree, along the river bank. We would stare up at the clouds while he gave thanks for the shade, comfort and nourishment Mother Nature had provided us with. We were much attune to ourselves, escaping the camp to be alone when ever the opportunity presented itself. I often watched him train our horses. The Comanche were skilled riders, always fighting on horseback, never on foot! I enjoyed ridding my Mare through the soft grass growing over the plains, watching the Jack Rabbits hop quickly out the way. Their fur was soft and made good insoles for our winter shoes. Their grilled meat filled our mouths and bellies with pleasure. We thanked them for sacrificing their life for us. As the sun sets, the men paint their faces black, the color of the night, the bringer of death. They feast on fresh meat to give them strength, and dance around the campfire to pump the hot blood into every limb of their agile bodies. We Women and the bigger Children, decorate the horses. Afterwards, I lay down on the soft Buffalo skin but I cannot rest my mind. Quanah squats down on his heels beside me, pats my hand and smiles down at my worried face. He says “ do not worry My Mother, tonight is not our night to die”. I will yell out “ Hoka Hey” when we ride but Father and I will return to your arms. I look at his face then at the full moon behind him….a Comanche Moon. I worry because I know the other tribes and soldiers will be on full alert. They also know its a Comanche Moon, and a raid is almost eminent. If you lived in Texas or Oklahoma AKA La Comancheria, you knew the perils brought on by the full moon light. People would whisper to passerby’s: if you hear the howl of a wolf, beware! It may not be a wolf at all but their two legged brothers that sit upon Spanish Mustangs riding the wind…. with Machetes and Arrows as if they were extensions of their hands. Vengeance is their plan. Claiming all that they can carry, as payment for all that has been taken from them! When it is possible, it is good to have some time alone, just our small family. Unlike other couples, we never get tired of each other, and enjoy our time together and with our children. The peaceful days are few and they can evaporate as fast as a black bird can fly by. After so many years, Nocona still craves me and I him. His eyes look into my Soul and Mine into his heart. Deep love from ages gone by has formed a tight bond between us. I can feel him when he is near and yet unseen…. and he knows what I want before I actually speak the words. The leaves are changing. They fall to the ground. Their dried crackling sound gives Nocona away as he unsuccessfully tries to tiptoe and surprise me… I incline my head forward, so my long hair cascades down, hiding my smile. He is closer now, I smell the wildflowers he picked for me. How lucky am I to have such a handsome, protective man love me so much, even now, when I am huge in the belly with his third child. Every night I hear him pray for the child and I to be kept safe. So many of our tribe’s children die young. The Comanche’s rough life, constantly on the move, is not conducive to creating large families. This is sad but true for most Native American Tribes of the time. Nocona taught me how to survive in the wild. We played games like children. I seem to bring out the once happy child in him. He has tried hard to restore those young years he stole from me when he took me away from my natural family. I did not hold a grudge. After the first few very scary years, somehow, I knew I was meant to be with him. We enjoyed climbing mountains, bathing in rivers, rowing in our dugout canoe on a lake( well, if truth be told, he rowed while I watched ;) He liked to challenge himself against the forces of nature, which he considered much stronger than the will of men. I enjoyed just watching him, then tasting the saltiness of his bare skin. When we were alone, he fished and cooked…. but in the presence of others, I cooked, as a dutiful wife was expected to. He would give me side glances with laughter dancing in his eyes, while I kept mine respectfully down; sending him mental images, which I knew he clearly received! We always had a good telepathic connection. Something I also shared with my Big Boy Q. We Native Americans enjoyed the freedom to roam, but that gift of liberty carried a high price. Nocona and I paid it with the blood of our children. All died but one. Some of our tribe’s children died from diseases brought by the settlers from Europe. Others were brutally killed by soldiers raiding our camp or by our own kind. Enemy tribes who attacked our village while our men were out hunting. I remember it gave him much pleasure to dream about having daughters in our lodge when he was getting on in age. In his mind they would remain as a little girls, to play with and distract him from the hardships of our time, as the Settlers moved more and more into our lands. Our only daughter, Totsana( Praire Flower), would die very young, and far from his caring arms. Did she haunt his dreams till his very own death as she haunted mine ? My beloved Pecos, who’s teenage body was consumed by the white man’s sickness, left a hole that never healed in my heart. I would have gladly given my life in exchange for his. Only our eldest Son survived. He and I were always very close. It is funny to think he never knew I spoke English until he was an adolescent. Like his father, when no one was looking, he would bring in the wood or move the heavy cooking kettles for me. Often hugging me, and thanking me for being brave enough to bring him into this world. I prayed he would learn our people’s traditions well. Never forgetting his father or me, after we passed into the spirit realm. I clearly remember his young form walking towards me. Proud and coming to tell me about some new accomplishment. Historians call him by the name I gave him “ Quanah”, for he smelled so wonderful when he was placed in my arms….. but his father always referred to him as Eagle. Even now, a smile spreads on my lips when I say his name “ Quanah Parker”. His image is engrained in my minds eye and his Soul is still connected to mine….. I will elaborate more on that topic during Part II of my book which is about my Current Life and my encounters with past Known Souls. I can still feel the great love I felt for my big boy Q as well as his immense grief, knowing that I had passed away, before he could find me after my recapture. Soldiers invaded our camp when the men were out hunting. Though I stayed hidden in my lodge so they would not see my golden hair, they found me during their very thorough search. From the moment I was returned to my white relatives, with Baby Totsana in my arms, I was practically kept as a prisoner in their home. They held me there against my will. Ashamed to even look at me, for I had stayed willingly with the Savages, instead of killing myself, to prevent our precious family name from being soiled. That Quanah was successfully raiding, and talking peace at the same time, made them furious. After my baby Totsana’s death, I ceased to speak. Only in my dreams would I speak, and only to Nocona. He had passed into the Spirit world and was reaching out to me from that plane. More reason for my relatives to think me insane and keep me under lock and key. It was hard to make the white skins, those of my real parents race, understand how happy I had lived after I had no choice but to adapt or die. The Native People’s genuine respect for the land, its creatures and its bounty. The wonderfulness of simply being free. I am happy now though, for my big boy tried and tried until he got his message through. He was a good orator. He had the survival skills of his father combined with my tenderness. This enabled him to communicate his deep felt feelings with a passion… when his Native pride did not step in the way. I saw him from the Spirit world, sitting next to my grave grieving. His braids chopped off, as mine had been when I heard he news of Nocona’s death in the local newspapers. I could not console him, my Soul was already in a transitional path…but I was at peace, for I knew he would be my son once again in a future life….. our bond was strong, it would transcend time. Today, when I read what the historians wrote about my big boy, my eyes fill with tears of joy and pride. He did so much good. He managed to help tremendously in the progress of Comanche People, into what he knew was an avoidable new way of life. He knew what was required for them to survive and one day be happy and free again. Quanah controlled his destiny, which is tied to mine in a splendid way. Perhaps one day his father Nocona, will learn the lessons Quanah and I already learned, and let himself be guided on his true and proper path.

Many Lessons were Learned in this life: 1- Because it was a life I lived in a very deep and involved manner almost daily, I have been able to remember it almost completely… like a movie that strongly impacts you, which you see over and over again through out the years. 2-The atrocities committed in this life were paid for in the next two... karma is a very real tbing..br> 3-A strong link that transcends physical death and time as we know it, is forged with Certain Souls whom one loves deeply. 4- Mother Nature is the Grand Provider in “ the physical world”, and this prayer poem perhaps whispered by Nocona comes to my thoughts ...br> When it rains, Mother Earth is crying. Her tears can quench our thirst, water our crops and cleanse us. As her children, we should make her cry tears of joy… not Angry laden ones, that create floods and destruction. We must remember to show respect when dealing with the soil. It is not just dirt. Its top layer is the blood, flesh and bones of our ancestors, now turned to dust, who once walked this earth. They gave us life. Underneath is Mother Earth, the source where all comes from. It contains the mystical particles that make everything grow… CPB

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