#there was a crowd following us around and many photographers and all the tourists asked for photos too and were complimenting us 😭

[nipuni]

Last weekend we had the most wonderful day doing 1900 historical reenactment with these lovely ladies we had the pleasure to know! 🥰 We walked around royal gardens, watched the air balloons take off, played with the horses and chickens and had an amazing picnic in a beautiful estate! It was such a dream 😭 I look forward to more incredible events with Anacronicos ❤️

[monster-disaster]

[goblin] Rust

goblin!Rust x human!Reader Good to know: public sex, freeuse

Summary: You work in a bar where the rules are slightly different from the outside world.

The bar is calm. The lights from the bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling are dim, casting a warm glow across the place. Quiet music plays in the background. The singer's voice is deep and hoarse. You can barely hear it because of the sound of the bottles as your co-worker fills up the shelves behind you while you are busy swiping down the counter with a wet rag. All around, the air is filled with the quiet murmur of conversations. The clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughters echo off the walls. They are decorated with posters and faded photographs. The wide windows are darkened with the name and logo of the bar. The tables and chairs all around the place were crafted decades ago. They are still sturdy and marked with the memory of the countless drinks poured and the many fights that escalated over the years.

"They are here," the vampire behind you hums, glancing over her shoulder to the window. You can see the motorbikes parking down in a long row. The rumbling of the engines shakes the walls and goes straight to your core. "I can hear it," you reply, watching to door burst open with a loud thud.

Soon, the bar is full of bikers, taking their places all over the room as usual. They are loud and dominating. It's nothing you are not used to. You've worked at the bar for a few years. You know most of the patrons since Grimbrook is usually not a place for tourists. Especially not the bar with all kinds of monsters and humans.

Your next hour is busy with taking care of everything. The smell of alcohol and cheap beer is heavy and thick in the air, mixing with smoke. You can't hear the music anymore through the crowd's constant noise. Laughs and shouts boom every now and again from various tables. The boots thud heavily on the wooden floor.

"There is my favorite girl," the goblin greets you from one of the booths next to the walls. His smile is barely noticeable under his crooked nose. His green skin seems a bit more yellowish under the hue of the lights. The black leather jacket he always wears is over the backrest, leaving him in a black t-shirt and jeans. "Hey, Rust," you greet the male. "How's your night?" "It's better now that you are here," he hums, slipping his hand on your hip. His fingers grope your flesh, letting his nails dig into the fabric of your black skirt. "Really?" You laugh, stepping away from his hold as you put the empty bottles and glasses on the tray in your other hand. "I'm busy." "Well, you wouldn't be if Eva would do her job," Rust replies with a hungry smirk on his thin lips. Following his gaze, you see your co-worker on an orc's lap. The male is big and sturdy. His large hands are on your friend's hips, keeping Eva on his lap as she drinks from his neck. They grind to each other the whole time. "Oh, I think she is doing her job just fine," you laugh. Rust's hand is on you again. "And you?" His thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric of your shirt and bra. "I'm doing it, too," you reply. "Just not the fun part." "Don't make me wait for too long," he shouts after you when you leave their table.

You can feel wetness already pooling between your legs, ruining your panties. Heat lits up in your belly, and you have to force yourself to leave the goblin with his friends and continue your job.

"Are you done?" You smirk under your breath when the vampire female appears next to you. Her usually pale complexion seems much healthier. There is a slight hint of pink on her cheeks, and her lips are red and swollen. "With the orc?" She asks. "Yes. For the night? No." You laugh at her reply while serving the monsters around the counter. Your nose is full of the smell of the various drinks. "Oh," Eva continues. "Rust wants to see you." A knowing smile tugs on the corner of her lips. "I-" "Don't worry," she adds before you can say anything. "I will take care of everything while you are busy." "Like last week?" "Oh, shush."

Leaving the vampire at the counter, you make your way to the booth where Rust is still sitting with a half-orc and a demon. They are talking. The half-orc laughs at something. His head tilts back, and the golden loop around his tusk glint in the light. His voice is hoarse but booming.

Without saying anything, Rust pulls up your skirt until it's around your waist, and anybody can see your matching panties covering your mound. His nails graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he tugs you closer to him until you are sitting on his lap. His body and the desk in front of you barely give you enough space, and you have to spread your legs not to kick Rust's friends. Because of the height difference, the goblin has to sit straight if he wants to continue talking with the others. His voice is a deep rumble on your back, and his words fan over the curve of your neck.

"That's what I am talking about," he grunts into your ear, squeezing your hips as you start to grind down on him. The rough fabric of his jeans and his erection underneath it rub against your slit repeatedly. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every passing second. Your palms are on the table as you try to keep your balance and circle your hips on his lap. You can feel him moving under you. He pushes up, nudging your clit. Your lips part in a silent groan.

The male and his friends continue talking while you chase your own pleasure. Your pussy aches for more, your hole clenches around nothing.

"Stand up," Rust says, stopping your movement. The muscles of your legs flex as you keep your weight above him, slightly bending over the table. You can hear the zipper of Rust's jeans as he frees himself, but your attention is drawn to the demon in front of you. He reaches over the table, unbuttons your shirt, and pushes down your bra until your breasts are bare for his dark eyes. His forked tongue licks across his sharp teeth. Your nipples are tight peaks. The edges of the lacy cups rub against them every time you move.

"C'mere, love," Rust grunts, grabbing your hips again to pull you back onto his lap. His cock slides into you easily. He is not as long as your other patrons, but the piercing at the tip makes you forget everyone else. You can feel the cold metal rubbing against your walls, nudging you in all the right places. "Fuck," the male grunts behind you when you are fully seated on him. You envelop his cock warmly and tightly. He can feel your pussy clamping around his shaft, begging for more. "This is your job, no?" He asks, satisfied. "Keeping my cock warm with your sweet pussy."

And to your utmost disapproval, that's what you do for the next ten minutes. Rust doesn't let you fidget and squirm, craving every bit of friction you can get. He keeps you on him, enjoying your misery while his friends talk and stare at you. Their gazes are heavy and hungry on your tits. You push them out some more with every breath you take as you lean back against Rust's chest. His hands from your side slip down between your legs. His fingers tease across your slit, finding your clit with slow circles. You are soaked. Your arousal drips down onto his lap.

"One more minute, and she will combust," Eva states, smirking as she puts a few new bottles down on the table. Her eyes rake over your bare chest, unashamed. "Do you think so?" Rust jokes but grinds up into your hole. The sudden movement takes your breath away as your head falls back on his shoulder. Eyes flutter shut. "But she is so warm."

He teases you for a few more seconds before making you move on his cock finally. He uses your hole to his heart's content while his friends in front of you stare openly, sipping their beers. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and every circle of your hips as you get higher and higher on the goblin's cock. His clever fingers work on your clit with experience. Rust knows how to drive you crazy with need.

Eva is still at the table, watching. Her dark eyes glint with hunger as she leans closer. Before you know it, your moans get muffled by her lips. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, dominating you while Rust fucks into you. Your pussy is tight and demanding. You want everything he can give you. The burning coil in your stomach grows, and your muscles tense. You almost scream when Eva bites your bottom lip, licking down the blood and sucking for more. The slight pain and the stretch of your aching pussy are enough to push you over the edge. Every nerve in your body bursts with pleasure. Your limbs start to tingle, and your hole clamps down and pulses around the goblin's erection.

"Fuck," Rust groans, pushing you up over the table. Your stomach is flat on the wooden surface. You feel him pulling out of you, and soon, his warm seed paints your waist and ass while you are still shaking after your orgasm. Your muscles jerk, and your pussy clenches.

Blood slips down your chin from the corner of your lips. When you look up and see the demon standing up, too, tugging on his cock a few times before pushing his length into your open lips, you know you will have a long night.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

[nickcarr-scoutstories]

“I once peed on the statue of David,” says the older man riding in my car. And the weirdest thing is, I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth.

I’ve been driving around with this man for several days now. An artist (painter, photographer, sculptor, etc, etc), he’s also a personal friend of the director, who has asked him to help advise on the overall look of the film I’m scouting for. I’ve been tasked with driving him to visit all the location selects so he can suggest innovative ways to storyboard them.

We’ve had an interesting few days together. After hours of awkward silence initially, we finally found common ground over a shared love of punk music when my phone accidentally started blasting it out of my car’s speakers, and he insisted I play it louder. We further bonded over the fact that I had lived in Italy years ago during college, near where he had gone to art school in the 1960s.

He’s since shared a lot about his life, and it’s become clear that this small, quiet man in my car is actually quite fearless, and has put himself in some incredibly dangerous situations over the years to achieve his art.

I’m reminiscing about my travels through Florence, and I mention I had some trouble when my brother, also an artist, came out to stay with me for a few weeks. For some reason, he was determined to touch every famous sculpture we came across, no matter how many velvet ropes and watchful guards and angry older brothers were there to try and stop him. And so he did, at museum after museum, gallery after gallery. In fact, he even got us kicked out of Michelangelo’s Tomb of Giuliano de’ Medici for touching Night.

“That’s just part of being an artist,” the man in my car says. “It’s important to go through a period when you need to prove you’re above those that came before you. Like a Greek god killing his father.”

“And if you think briefly touching a sculpture that’s been around for hundreds of years is a crime,” he continues, “consider what I did. I once peed on the statue of David.”

Long pause as I wait for the follow-up where he tells me the punchline to what must be a joke. It doesn’t come.

“Are you…serious?” I ask slowly, totally unsure if he’s putting me on or not.

“Oh, very serious,” he says. “It was back in the 60s. Like your brother, I had something to prove over the artists who came before me. So I decided that, as my final project for art school, I was going to pee on the statue of David.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I treated it like I would any other art project. I was going to do it. It was just a question of when and how.

“So I came up with a ritual that I would repeat each day. I made a bag lunch in the morning. I arrived at the Accademia upon opening, with a small folding chair. And I would sit and stare at the statue all day. I would eat lunch there. I would go to the bathroom there. And I would only leave at the end of the day when the museum closed.

“I did this day after day, week after week. And I studied every facet of the daily operation of the museum.

“I knew the individual guards. I knew their routines. I knew their personalities. When they would take their lunch breaks. When they took bathroom breaks. When they snuck away for a cigarette.

“I knew the maintenance workers. When they’d come to clean, and for how long. There was one in particular who used a wooden ladder, and often left it against the wall. This was key, as the statue is on a base seven feet off the ground.

“I knew the museum staff. When they’d come to work on exhibitions, and when they tended to be off in their offices.

“And I knew the habits of the visitors. When it was mostly tourists, when it was mostly students. When the crowds grew large, and when they were nonexistent.

“I studied this week after week, month after month, until I finally pinpointed exactly the day and time I would have a window where no one was in the gallery.

“And so the day came. I made my lunch. Arrived with my chair. I set up in my usual location. And I stared at David, waiting for the moment to arrive.

“And then it came, and it was like watching a perfectly made clock operate. The last guest stepped out of the room. The guard saw his moment to escape to the bathroom. The ladder was leaning against a wall. I was alone with the statue. And I knew I only had under two minutes.

“I quickly got the ladder and leaned it against the statue. I climbed up to the base. I undid my pants. It was the perfect moment. And then – I couldn’t go.

“I was in a panic. I had worked so hard and so long, and here I was in the moment, and I couldn’t do it.

“’No,’ I told myself. ‘You can do this.’ I relaxed. I focused. And then – the stream came. And I peed all over David.”

“Then what happened?” I ask.

“I quickly pulled up my pants and returned the ladder, just as the guard returned. And I left.”

“Did anyone ever find out?”

“I don’t know. I never went back.”

“Huh,” I say, absolutely perplexed as to how to digest this story. “Well, this many decades later, are you glad you did it?”

A small smile raises in the corner of his lips. “Of course!” he says quietly, as if I’ve just asked the most foolish question in the world.

--

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More stories: nickcarr.com

[segredosjogados]

Title: Lost and Found in Paris 

📚Synopsis: you, a supermodel used to the frenzy of the showbiz, and your boyfriend Angus, new to the system, run away from a Louis Vuitton show after party to have your own Paris moment. 

🏴‍☠️warnings: sex is not mentioned but it's implicit / curse words, I think lol 

✏️word count: 733 

ps: I didn't review it. English is not my first language. Being a supermodel has nothing to being super skinny and actually falling for unhealthy patterns. This is a state of mind. So if you, like me, does not fit in the supermodel standard, know that, actually, you are supermodel material. We all are. 

This time, welcome to my 🧚🏾‍♀️ soft mind 🧚🏾‍♀️

Paris at night is a dream. 

Paris at night with the man you love is even dreamier. 

Angus and you had different jobs in the Paris Fashion Week. He was there to do some modeling and watch the shows. You were there to walk for some haute couture brands and host the Vogue in Paris series of videos. The two of you, after all, were there to work. 

And have fun. 

After the Louis Vouitton show, you went to an after party held by Tyler, The Creator. There were many celebrities there, including A-list rappers, a lot of other supermodels, actresses and actors. You were taking a lot of pictures. You actually were used to this industry, its high and lows, its wicked habits and the way you should just behave to be seen as the number one face for many brands. Angus, on the other side, was not accustomed to it at all. You could see by the anxiety invading his body when he had to pose for pictures, talk about Euphoria and his upcoming movies, his new lifestyle, how Irish he was and shit like that. 

So to help him with all that, you decided to take his hand and run away. 

Sometimes it's good to run away from the biz, from the noise, from the frenesi. You knew Paris very well because of the several times you've been there and also your very good sense of geography. 

"Let's have our own show" you said, before grabbing his hand and leaving the party at the back door, where no photographers would be waiting. 

Angus followed you energetically in a hectic Paris night, with lights everywhere, people all around. Your feet were stepping firmly while his tripped here and there. 

"Where are we going?" he asked. You didn't answer. Just kept walking. 

A few minutes later, you were near the Eiffel Tower, the most crowded place to be, still the safest one. Since there were too many people around, you'd go unnoticed, like every other couple, tourists or peasants. 

"How do you know Paris so well?" he asked, panting from the acceleration you had. 

"This is just the Eiffel Tower, everybody knows it, I can see it from the flat I'm at" you replied with a Los Angeles accent in your voice, trying to pretend you were not tired from the run you had. You turned around to face him, 

"You're fucking bold" he replied "Leaving the party like that…" Angus started, you interrupted. 

"They ain't gon notice it, the max that's gon happen is Ty (Tyler, The Creator) texting the both of us tomorrow morning. But he gon be drunk as hell, don't pay no mind" you replied with a smirk on your face. 

That was it. You were at the most romantic place in the world, with the guy you wanted to spend some good summertime. 

"Paris is full of mysteries, secrets, stories" you started, looking at the tower on your left. Angus was looking at you with eager eyes. "and ours is just one of them" you finished. When you looked at him, matching his eyes, it was impossible not to come for a kiss. 

And that's what you did. 

You touched his face with your two hands, cupping it and getting it closer to you, as you leaned your lips onto his. He let the softness of your lips invade the innocent lips of his, with the flavor of rosé invading the moistness of the kiss. 

His hands traveled to your back, traveling up and down with his huge football player-like hands, sending shivers to your whole body. 

There was nothing like the feeling of your desires coming together. 

You slided your hands to his neck, then to his back, making them go up and down, tracing your fingers as circles, noticing how deeper he would let the kiss go as your hands chose different places to be. 

"We…" you tried to break the kiss to catch a breath "need…" but it was impossible since he was addictive, making you kiss him more. 

"Yes" he said, knowing what you wanted and what he wanted too. 

"Come with me" you said, breaking the kiss. His face was puzzled. 

"A new run in Paris?" he asked with a smirk on his lips. You looked at him, looked at the Eiffel Tower, took his hand and started running with him again. 

[ethan-torchio-angelo]

Oh, love

Summary: It takes a year of trial and error, of love and heartbreak, for the two to finally realize there's no one else they'd rather be with. Or in which she becomes they're photographer for a summer tour and falls in love with the dark haired drummer.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual content

A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to @ethanesimp for proofreading and hyping this fic up, thank you so much amore! This is the first piece I've written for any of the members of maneskin, and also the longest thing I've ever written! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

January

It’s a call in the middle of the day that begins it all. She’s been in a shoot all morning, running around snapping photos of a wanna-be teen idol. She’s been here many times, being hired to do promo shots for someone who never makes it farther than this. But this call, she knows it’s different. She’s heard the name, seen some videos, she knows this won’t be like the rest. She’s instructed to clear her schedule for the week and to be in Rome by the end of the day.

The cold air hits her as she leaves the building, suitcase and camera bag in hand. This is the moment she’s been waiting for since joining the company, the chance to become a permanent fixture instead of hopping from gig to gig. She’s told that they requested her specifically, that one of the band members saw her collection from a festival last summer and was dead set on booking her for their summer tour. It’s all new to her, the feeling of being the first choice and not second best. She barely hears anything that’s said on the plane by their manager, too busy trying not to freak out.

It’s only a few hours plane ride, but it feels like a lifetime. Thoughts run wild in her head as the seconds tick by, she can’t remember the last time she’d been this excited, or nervous, for something. She’s greeted by more people from their team as she steps off the plane, and is quickly ushered to the villa they’ve been staying in. She barely has time to process the beautiful new city she’s in before she’s hidden by walls of an even more beautiful place.

They give her time to relax and unpack, but clear instructions to not leave the property without security. Things have been crazy, she’s told, since their winning last year fans have become more clever with their tactics. She laughs at some of the stories, but heeds the warning all the same. She’s seen quite a few things that have shaken her to her core, so she knows to be careful and wary.

Music floats through the halls and into her room, the band practicing on the other side of the villa. The music fills her veins with a feeling she can’t quite place, but it’s a welcome humming that gets her blood pumping. She grabs her camera and follows the melodies, laughing at the jokes thrown around in english whenever someone messes up. She angles herself behind a corner just right where she can take pictures while still being hidden from the band.

Her heart races at the scene in front of her. It’s a family like she’s never seen. They all seem to orbit around each other, pushing and pulling each other into their atmospheres. She watches Victoria dance around the room, bass in hand, strumming the lines to an old song. Thomas lays on the floor with a notebook reading off words, Damiano repeating them as he draws on eyeliner. And Ethan, who sits at his drum set, twirling the drumsticks in his hand as he observes the scene before him.

She captures picture after picture of their dynamic, taking the most of Ethan, who seems to have a magnetic pull to him. She only pulls herself from the moment when she’s spotted. “Sai, qualcuno chiamerebbe questo strano comportamento.”

The words are warm against her ear, and she jumps at the unexpected presence. She turns around, laughing to hide her embarrassment, trying to translate the words in her head. She freezes when she sees it’s Ethan, trying to figure out when he slipped away from the rest of the group.

“Ah, niente italiano. Er, it’s unusual, what you are doing.”

Another nervous laugh leaves her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. There’s something about the way the group is when no one is watching, it’s hard to ignore, it needed to be captured.”

He smiles at that. It’s soft and warm and she feels as if the world has stopped spinning. A song plays between their hearts as a silence falls over them. There’s a beauty about him that makes it hard to focus on anything but him.

A series of crashes followed by loud curses in Italian breaks the spell that they were under and Ethan pulls himself away from her to go and manage his friends. She uses this moment as an excuse to slip away and tour the rest of the house, ending in the kitchen where dinner is being prepared. She snaps a few photos of the chefs cooking, already envisioning the blog post they’ll go along with.

When everyone has made their way to the dining room a toast is made; to new adventures, to new friends, and to family. Sweet wine and light rain makes the time pass faster and the evening flows into night easily. The group parts only moments after midnight, long days ahead calling them to catch up on sleep now.

The month flows by with days and nights blurring together. It seems the studio is really the only place they call home, spending every waking moment in the room that houses their instruments. She stays with them through the long hours, snapping photos of the weird things they get themselves up to. Her hard drive slowly fills with collections of each band member, ones for the public eye and ones she sends to them to make them laugh.

The end of the month brings a party, something small to celebrate sold out tour dates. A night out to a local bar and far too many drinks. She dances with Victoria, who has become her best friend in the few weeks she’s been with them. Damiano and his girlfriend are not far away, but much more caught up in their own world. Thomas has disappeared somewhere, no doubt warming someone's bed for the night. But through all the commotion, she can’t stop watching Ethan.

He’s sitting at a table nursing the only drink he’s had that night, planning to take on the role of babysitter at the end of the night once everyones had too much to drink. He drums his fingers on the table, following the beat of each song that plays. He seems lost in his own world, content with being by himself. She moves away from Victoria, who easily finds another partner, and makes her way to the table.

“Sembri solo,” the words fall from her lips quietly as she takes a seat beside him.

He smiles at her, “Seems your little lessons are paying off.”

She blushes at that, not realizing he’d picked up on her daily lessons with their English tutor. “Only enough to not seem like a tourist.”

A small chuckle escapes his lips, and she wishes she could bottle the sound.

“But don’t change the subject. Tonight was about having fun, celebrating a big accomplishment. Yet you’re sitting here alone.”

He sighs at her insistence, “Sometimes we don’t need to celebrate everything so publicly.”

Something pulls at her heart. She can’t imagine having such a public life, but she understands how it must feel to never have anything to yourself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, a light tingle shooting between the two of them.

She pulls her hand away quickly, a small blush forming on both their cheeks. He offers her a small smile to make the moment less awkward, and she returns it.

The night ends not too much later, the rest of the crew having decided that warm beds would be much more comfortable than the crowded bar. She helps Ethan herd their friends home, laughing along with him at their drunken antics. Victoria jokingly calls them mom and dad as they help her to bed, and the blush that was plastered on her face earlier that night makes a second appearance.

It’s almost morning by the time she makes it to her own room. Ethan isn’t far behind her, realizing for the first time tonight that they share the same hallway. “Buona notte,” comes his voice from down the hall.

She turns to face him, catching herself stuck in his stare. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

“Buona notte.”

February

February brings more time in the studio and less time outside the walls of the Villa. While winter in Rome is not like the ones you’d experience in colder places, it still brings a chill to her bones. She steals one of Victoria's sweaters after a night spent lounging under the stars, a small break from a busy schedule.

A fire had been lit and a bottle of sweet wine was making its way around the group. She’d set her camera aside for the evening, planning on enjoying a night without the calls of work. She doesn’t know when it happens, but suddenly she’s swaying to a drunken beat in the arms of Damiano who can’t stop giggling at her two left feet. The man had not believed her when she said she couldn’t dance, but was now biting his tongue as they moved around the courtyard.

As the night seemed to come to a lull, a game of truth or dare was proposed and all were in agreement. She finds herself sitting beside Thomas on the floor as Victoria begins the game, a stupid dare aimed towards Damiano that earns him a new haircut. The night drags on in a flurry of laughter and silly dares. By midnight half the group is wearing someone else’s clothes, and the others have barely any on.

She’s moved to be sitting by Ethan, who has an arm casually draped across her shoulder. It shouldn’t feel so electric, his skin touching hers, but it does and it’s the only thing she can focus on. Her heart feels like it’s almost beating out of her chest and the blush on her face isn’t caused by the alcohol in her system.

Damiano is the first to notice her situation, and starts poking fun at her whenever it was his turn to ask her something. It started off innocent enough, small questions aimed towards her love life, but it soon caught the attention of Thomas who was the first one to issue a dare towards the girl. This was how she’d ended up sitting beside Ethan, cuddled into his side. Ethan was oblivious to the things going on around them, until Victoria dared her to kiss him.

It seems as though time stops, the laughter fades and the silence becomes deafening. She turns towards Ethan, a mixture of panic and excitement painted on her face. He smiles at her, “We don’t have to, amore.”

“A dares a dare.” She shrugs at him.

A round of cheers raises up around them as the two lean in. It’s meant to be only a small peck, something good enough to count in the eyes of those around them. But as she goes to pull away his hand reaches up to tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. Their lips meet again without any hesitation and it’s like the world lights up around them. Blame it on the alcohol, but if she were to die right now she’d be happy.

They pull away a second later, a small laugh leaving both of them, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm.

“Awe, they’re blushing! How cute!” Comes the voice of Damiano, further pulling a blush from the girl.

She grabs one of the pillows beside her and aims it at his head, laughing when she misses terribly.

The night fades into morning and they all climb to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a moment she wants tattooed in her memories forever. She’s got her arms wrapped around Victoria and the three boys huddle around them, alcohol still flows through their veins and they’re all singing different versions of the same song.

March

The beginning of spring in Rome is magical. Flowers start to bloom, mornings are coated in a light dusting of rain, and clothing starts to become less of a necessity. She takes photos of the band trapezing the streets. The Villa studio has become too familiar, moving instead to a studio in the city.

By now, a routine has been put in place. Mornings sipping coffee and eating fresh pastries while she laughs at the varying states of wake the band is in. Afternoons in the studio, recording their new album while she collects photos and videos for their ‘making of’. Evenings spent in restaurants and bars, eating some of the best food she’s ever had, and she swears she’ll never eat anything better.

She’s never fallen in love with a city like this before. Maybe it’s the city, or maybe it’s the people she’s with, but she swears she never wants to leave. It suffocates her in the best way possible, the feeling of being home. She hopes that when the tours over and her contracts up, that she’ll move here, maybe even keep these people she’s grown so close to in the past few months.

She’s thrown out of the daydream by Thomas yelling at her in a mix of italian and english for not paying attention. It’s the middle of the afternoon, they’ve taken a lunch break at a restaurant down the block, and Thomas is expressively telling a story. His hands are in the air and he’s almost knocked his wine glass over too many times to count.

Damiano sits across from her, fiddling with her camera, snapping his own photos that he presents to her proudly. She laughs at every one, but never discourages his actions. Victoria is on her left, Ethan on her right, both vying for her approval as they argue over something. She’s overwhelmed by the different directions her brain is being tugged, but the hand that snakes its way into hers calms her.

She looks down to see Ethan rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, a soft smile grazing his lips as they make eye contact. She returns it, whispering a small thank you to the boy.

That night, she lays in bed, in the room she’s begun to finally call hers, thinking of the boy with stars in his eyes. She doesn’t know if it’s feeling like she finally belongs somewhere, or the wine that still coats her veins, but there’s something about him that she wishes she could become a part of. She wants to wrap herself in it and never leave. She’s falling for him, hard. Vaffanculo.

April

It is Victoria's birthday and everyone has decided that she must be princess for the day. Ethan and Damiano have been up since dawn making an extravagant breakfast, something that should be put in a five star restaurant. Her and Thomas had disappeared shortly after waking, returning with a stack of presents that was almost as tall as him, and the best bouquet of flowers she could find.

After decorating the patio with anything and everything they could find, it was a mad dash to Victoria's room to wake her up. She protested, claiming that sleep was more important than being awake, but at the mention of presents she was the first one out of the room.

It was a morning of happiness, and a much needed break from their hectic schedule. She recorded the entire day, from the dramatic wake up call to the celebratory sparklers that were set off that night, it was all captured.

After breakfast the princess requested a trip to the beach, and no one would dare refuse her. They found something private, a little hidden oasis an hour's drive from the villa. They spend hours there, switching between swimming and laying in the sun. She finds herself alone on the sand with Ethan at one point, watching the others like proud parents.

She tries not to think about how close his body feels to her, how she can feel the heat his body is radiating seeping into her, the smell of his body wash. He’s invading all of her senses and she’s trying so hard to focus on anything but him. “Let’s go on a walk?”

His voice is warm as the question escapes his lips. She turns to look at him and she’s thankful to be able to blame the sun for the blush on her cheeks. She nods and gets up to follow him, brushing off the sand that’s clinging to her bathing suit and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

They disappear down the beach, walking side by side, a comfortable silence enveloping them. It’s not till they’re halfway down the beach that either of them speaks. “Are you enjoying your time?”

She doesn’t miss the hint of worry that laces his voice, and she’s quick to reassure him that she is. “Yes, very much. This is probably the best job I’ve had in years.”

He softly chuckles at her words, “Good. Good. We’re trying to make you feel like one of us, don’t want you running away.”

She’s grateful for the confession, glad that they don’t see her as just another person that works for them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He bumps her shoulder with his, a small smile forming on his face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They head back to the group soon after, realizing they’ve let the day slip away and need to leave soon if they want to make their dinner reservations.

A small vineyard hidden in the valley, they’ve booked the place so it’s just them, and ordered every bottle of wine on the menu to taste. They laugh away the night, enjoying plates of delicious food and letting their minds wander. A gorgeous cake is brought out at the end, half of which ends up destroyed thanks to an impromptu food fight. More presents are opened and Victoria starts tearing up, blubbering about how much she loves the idiots she’s surrounded with.

They walk through the dark streets of Rome, singing happy birthday loudly in every language they know. It’s unusually cold, but she’s somehow been wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, his arm slung over her shoulder. She’s holding Vic’s hand, Damiano and Thomas taking turns with her camera.

The air surrounding them is electrified, she looks up into the sky and thanks the stars for the life she’s living.

May

The summer tour is fast approaching, and nerves are starting to set in. The already high energy group somehow is bouncing off the walls even more, making for an interesting collection of photos. Nerves are starting to get the better of them, and she often finds one of them wandering around the Villa at odd hours of the night. She’s good at being able to channel her nerves into something else, focusing all of the energy on a new project.

One night though, it gets the better of her. She tosses and turns in her bed for hours before she decides that sleep isn’t coming. Instead of lying in bed willing her brain to shut off, she throws on a pair of shoes and heads for the front door, thinking a walk in the warm spring air will do her some good. What she doesn’t expect to find is Ethan sitting out on the terrace, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, lost in his own world.

She doesn’t mean to catch his attention, hoping to allow him this little bit of uninterrupted peace, but he spots her anyway. “Buona serata,” He rasps, voice laced with the quietness of the night.

“Buona serata, Ethan.” She returns the greeting.

He motions for her to sit down in the chair beside him, closing the book and placing it on the table. “What’s troubling your mind tonight?”

She’s not used to the way someone can read her so well, but there’s something about Ethan that brings her comfort in the fact that he can. “Nerves, I guess. I’ve never done a gig this big, never spent so much time with one group. I’m used to being moved around a lot, still getting used to being a permanent fixture I guess.”

The words are heavy on her tongue, never having voiced her worries out loud before. He takes a long drag of the cigarette hanging from his lips, “La vita ci dà solo ciò che sa che possiamo gestire.”

“Some would think you were a poet in a past life.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. A comfortable silence falls over them and she wishes she could bottle this feeling to keep with her forever. He turns to look at her, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling that washes over him. He’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to kiss her, but it sends him spiralling.

He reaches his hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, “Le stelle brillano più luminose nei tuoi occhi, amore.”

The words and his actions cause her heart to raise and her breath to hitch. They’re close now, the closest they’ve been since that night in February, and all she can think about is that kiss that they shared.

Neither knows who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips are touching and it is everything and nothing like they remembered. While the other kiss had been hesitant and brief, this one was full of purpose. Their noses brush and their breaths tangle together, he bits her lip for a moment and a small moan escapes her. He swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He grabs at her hips, lifting her from the chair and placing her so she’s straddling his lap. She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs softly, earning a groan from the man. The sound sends shockwaves through her and she rocks her hips against his almost involuntarily. His lips move from hers to the side of her neck, pulling small whimpers from her as he nips and sucks at the skin. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. The feeling of his body pressed to hers, the pleasure he can so easily give to her.

She moves her hands down to fumble with the hem of his shirt and that’s when he pulls away. “While I would normally love to do that here, how about we continue this somewhere more private?”

She nods eagerly and removes herself from his lap. He all but drags her inside the villa and towards his room. She trips over her own feet and they both laugh at her clumsiness, falling into each other as he tries to catch her but trips over his own feet in turn. He leans in to kiss her again as their bodies collide, this one sweeter and softer than the previous one.

The moment passes quickly and soon she’s being dragged through the halls again, only to be met with a half asleep Damiano standing in the doorway of his room. They stop in their tracks, jumping apart, trying to act like nothing was happening. “It’s rude to have a party and not invite everyone, you know.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glad that he didn’t know what had been happening moments prior. Ethan is quick to explain that they were just having a cup of tea on the terrace and were now heading to bed, and thankfully the lie is believed. Damiano wishes them a goodnight, heading back into his room, and the two are left in silence in the hallway.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispers to her.

Her heart sinks, but she nods her head in agreement and turns to walk back down the hall to her room. She’s not really sure how the night was going to end, but this was definitely not how she wanted it to; walking in silence next to someone her heart aches for, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

He walks her up to her door, still ever the gentleman, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte, amore.”

The words should not sound as sad as they do, and she tries her hardest to keep the tears welling up in her eyes at bay as she watches him turn and walk away.

June

How do you go back to being just friends after making out with someone? Well, you don’t. At least, not fully. They dance around each other without knowing it, avoiding any contact that could lead to something more or allude to something else, but there are still moments where the world seems to slip away and it’s just the two of them.

The tour kicks off at a festival in Amsterdam. Blue skies and sunny days greet them as they get off the plane. They have a day to explore before their first show, and no one can decide how to spend it. In the end, Victoria drags Thomas off to do some shopping, Damiano plans a trip to a few museums with his girlfriend, and she is left with Ethan.

She’s not truly stuck with him, but she doesn’t feel like wandering a forgein city all by herself. Since the night in the Villa, they haven’t spent longer than a few minutes alone together, both refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

A trip to the beach seems like the best place to be, and within the hour she’s lounging in the sun listening to Ethan read a book. It’s peaceful, the sound of the waves and his voice lulling her into a half sleep. She’s got a drink in her hands, something sweet and fruity, and she’s sharing a cigarette with Ethan. It’s a scene she thinks one would find in a movie.

She rolls herself over so she’s laying on her back, staring up at Ethan who sits beside her. She places her hand on his leg and traces random shapes into his skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips, and he tries to stay focused on the book in his hands but finds it hard to do so. “You are very distracting, amore.”

She looks up at him innocently and she can’t help but admire him. His hair is tucked away in a bun, but a few pieces have fallen out and are flying in the gentle breeze. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks, broad chest on full display. He catches her roaming eyes as they make their way back to his face, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “Or maybe I’m the one distracting you, no?”

She smiles shyly and looks away from him, because yes, he is distracting her, and she’s finding it very hard to not kiss him right now. He chuckles at her, reaching his hand towards her face and turning it back towards him. He leans down towards her, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

All she can do is nod, and a second later his lips are on hers. It’s sweet and slow, she can taste the tobacco on his lips and it’s intoxicating. She moves so she’s sitting up, leaning into him more, the world around them fading out until all that is left is them.

A few days later they find themselves in a hotel room in Munich. There’s music playing and everyone’s laughing. Her camera hasn’t left her hands all night, every moment needing to be captured as they ride the after show high.

She’s in the middle of recording Thomas’ one man act when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. She knows exactly who it is by the scent that invades her nostrils and sends her brain into overdrive. She lets out a sudden, loud laugh, as his fingers trace themselves up and down her sides, collapsing into his chest as she struggles to breath.

He picks her up and spins her around, letting out an equally loud laugh at her protests. He’s happy, and it’s something that looks better on him than any designer outfit he could ever buy.

He falls onto one of the beds, pulling her down with him. She lands beside him tangled in his arms, he’s looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. The world seems to silence around them as their eyes lock. Her smile softens and she reaches her hand over to brush an eyelash off his cheek, he catches her hand before she can pull it away and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently.

He looks ethereal in this moment, hair strewn all over the place, a wild look in his eyes. She reaches for her camera and brings it up to capture him, never wanting to forget this moment.

The streets of Prague are empty, save for the two of them walking hand in hand down them. It’s early, almost too early to be considered an acceptable time to be awake, but they continue on nonetheless. A wild craving for something sweet had brought upon their adventure, and with the look she was giving him, he couldn’t say no to accompanying her.

They had been sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, watching the sun starting to peak out over the horizon and sharing a cigarette when she had turned to him with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I want something sweet.”

The comment had earned her an offer to order room service, but she shakes her head at the idea, standing up and walking back into the room. “No. Something real, maybe a coffee too.”

He follows her in, watching her pull on a shirt to cover the bralette she had been sitting in. “È presto, amore. Let’s go to bed. We can order something when the sun is awake also.”

She smiles at his words, but makes no move to stop dressing. She grabs her wallet and room key before heading to the door, stopping to turn and look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.” He says after a moment, throwing on his jacket and walking over to her.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sun is starting to make it’s daily appearance, and they are happy. The small bakery they stumble into is just opening for the day and they’re greeted by the owner, an older lady with the sweetest smile. She speaks in broken English, an obvious language barrier between the group of them, but no one seems to mind.

She orders herself a poppy strudel and a coffee, Ethan ordering a croissant and an espresso, before sitting down at one of the small tables. He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. He presses a soft kiss into the crown of her head and she sighs in content.

Moments like this are what she lives for. She might only be here because she works for them, but somewhere along the way she’s become part of their little family. She looks over to Ethan who’s lost in conversation with the owner, and she whispers to herself, “Penso di essermi innamorato di te.”

She doesn’t know that he hears her, his smile spreading wider across his face.

July

The turnover from June to July happens mid concert in Stockholm. She swears she can feel it, the sudden shift, a slight change in the air. She’s running around in front of the stage capturing pictures of the band in what she’s come to call their ‘natural habitat’. There’s an indescribable buzz in the air as they perform, the crowd becoming louder and louder with each song.

She keeps catching Ethans eye and there’s something primal in the way he looks at her. During a song switch, while Damiano rambles to the crowd, he motions her on stage. He tells her to get closer to everyone, promising that they won’t bite, and she giggles at him. She does what he says nonetheless, capturing some up close photos of the band and a few great shots of the crowd.

All too soon the show is ending and everyone’s piling into the car, a small party taking place in the backseat. Damiano has music blasting from his phone, Victoria and Thomas are dancing along to the beat, and Ethan is belting out the lyrics. She watches the group of them, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and she’s never felt more at home.

When they get to the hotel he’s quick to pull her towards his room, thankfully void of a roommate for the night. The second they get into the room, his lips are on hers. He pulls her close to his body and her hands tangle themselves in his hair. It’s nothing like any of their previous kisses, it’s heated and fast, every thought trying to be conveyed by the fever of it. She pulls back slightly to catch her breath and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Join me in the shower?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement, but she nods her head eagerly, quick to follow him into the bathroom. He strips himself of the few clothes he’s wearing (most having been thrown off during the show), before turning to her. He reaches his arms out towards her, pulling her close to him and tugging on her shirt. She barely registers him pulling off her clothes, too focused on his body in front of her.

She’s never seen him so bare, and she’s having a hard time focussing on anything else. It’s not until her body hits the warm water that she snaps back to reality. He looks wild, eyes blown with lust, a wicked smile on his face. She firmly plants her lips on his, moaning into the kiss as he grabs at her. His hands are skilled and know every way to pull those delicious sounds from her lips.

It’s quick and dirty, and it is everything she has ever imagined it would be.

An hour later, she’s tangled up in the sheets of his bed, his entire being engulfing her as they watch the stars outside the window. She wonders if they are watching them too.

Paris is the city of lights, a statement she’s never been more sure of. The streets are lit with every light, shining brighter than the stars. She’s in a permanent state of bliss, after the night she shared with Ethan. Their relationship is hidden from the public, living in stolen moments and nights in hotel rooms, but she’s never been happier to be someone's dirty secret.

The band is electric on stage, something about the city they’re in taking their performance to a whole new level. The show goes on longer than it should have, but none of them even care when their manager comes over to reprimand them. They hang around to greet fans and take photos with anyone and everyone, and it’s not until security has to kick them out that they finally leave.

They find themselves in a bar, not sure what part of the city they’re in, but no one cares when the night feels like this. They drink expensive drinks that they can’t pronounce the name of, dance to songs they don’t know the words to, and feel more alive than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the world turned itself up to 11 just for them.

She dances with Ethan, not caring who sees because the night is theirs and no one cares. She kisses him in the middle of the dance floor and he pulls her into a vacant bathroom. It’s hot and heavy and the smell of alcohol envelopes them, but they couldn’t care less. Is this love? They don’t care. They’re young and dumb, and well, you only live once.

Back at the hotel they spend the night wrapped in bedsheets on the balcony, a bottle of champagne and a pack of cigarettes shared between the two of them. He points to the stars, a stupid grin on his face, “Le stelle brillano solo per noi.”

She snorts, throwing an abandoned pillow at him. He grabs her arm and pulls her into him, tickling her sides until she’s begging him to stop, tears staining her cheeks but a laugh like no other leaving her lips.

As the night bleeds into morning, and both are hazy with sleep, he whispers to her, “Sei il mio universo.”

They walk down the streets of London, his arm slung over her shoulders as she rambles away, both blissfully unaware of the few fans snapping photos down the street. They don’t notice the group of girls following them, cameras and phones in hand, capturing picture after picture of the couple.

By the time they reach the shop, the photos are already out into the world.

As they order, reposts and comments start flowing, and their phones start lighting up with notifications.

Before they can pay, she’s crying.

Rule number one of being in the public eye; never look at the comments, distance yourself from social media as much as possible, it will never end well.

The final stop in Rome was supposed to be a welcome home. A big celebration was to occur after their last concert, but now, it’s nothing more than finding the quickest way back home. She sits in one of the dressing rooms the entire show, waiting for it to end, scrolling through her social media.

She knows she shouldn’t be, that’ll all it’s doing is hurting her, making her feel worse. But she can’t stop. The comments aimed towards her and the drummer are terrible, and she wishes she could just delete herself from existence. They aren’t even dating, at least not officially, but she’s been deemed the girlfriend from hell. She’s unknowingly stolen something that never belonged to anyone to begin with.

Damianos girlfriend is in the room with her, telling her of her own horror stories dealing with fans, and she knows she’s just trying to help, but she really wishes she would just shut up. She loves the girl to death, she’s been a blessing this entire time, but she feels her mind is too far gone to be saved from the madness.

It’s only a few minutes later that the band wanders in, the usual after show high replaced with a sudden heaviness. Ethan comes to stand by her after putting his things away and pulls her into a tight hug. “Amore mio.”

He’s sweaty and could definitely use a shower, but the hug is comforting. She rubs his back soothingly, knowing this is just as hard on him as it is on her. Their management team has told everyone to remain quiet about it, disappearing from the internet until further notice while they figure out how to manage the situation. It’s maddening, the inability to speak out and protect her. He wishes he could snap his fingers and everything would be fixed, but he knows nothing is ever that easy.

They make their way back to the villa in silence, the car filled with a strangeness. She’s sandwiched between Victoria and Ethan, leaning on the bassist's shoulder, watching her play a game on her phone. It’s not how anyone wanted to end the tour, but the world is a strange and cruel place. Everything good always comes burning down.

August

There’s a party at the villa one night. Things have calmed down enough that she doesn’t spiral every time she looks at her phone, but there’s something in the way Ethan acts around her that makes her uneasy. She’s standing out on the patio, trying to avoid the questioning eyes from everyone in the house. She hasn’t spoken to Ethan all day, and the alcohol coursing through her veins makes her even angrier than she knows she should be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him walk out the door beside her, a small scoff leaving her lips as he tries to speak to her.

“Couldn’t be bothered to talk to me all day, what’s changed that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He looks at her, stunned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

She scoffs again, placing her glass on the table across from her. “Since London you’ve done nothing but ignore me. I get that this wasn’t easy for you, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for me. I needed you, Ethan, and you left me.” Her voice is raw and scratchy, the feeling of wanting to cry tickling the back of her throat.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how Dami does it, how he can deal with the comments and messages. My brain won’t shut off, I can’t stop thinking about how if I had been more careful, I could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. I feel stupid for thinking I could have. I hate seeing you like this, I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His voice slowly lowers, till it’s nothing more than a whisper, words meant only for her.

“I was never what you wanted, was I? This was just all some stupid game to you. I was just someone you could use to get off.” Her voice is laced with pain, a small crack coming out as she speaks.

He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and turns to look away from her. He walks a few steps before turning to face her again, “No. No, you were exactly what I wanted. You were everything to me. We were the same type of crazy.”

“I don’t understand Ethan, then what was the problem? This feels like a confession and a break up all in one.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, watching as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket and lights it.

The familiar sight creates something warm in her chest, memories of summer nights like this flash through her mind. Spending the evening sitting on the balcony of different hotel rooms, sharing a cigarette between the two of them while they let the events of the day soak in. She’d give anything to go back to one of those moments. He blows a breath of smoke out and starts to speak again, “I don’t know, amore. I don’t. I want to tell you I love you, to hold you and call you mine. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something it’s not. I want to, believe me, I do.” He steps towards her and reaches out his arms, “But we both know we can’t.”

She doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re there, pooling in her eyes. It’s only been a few months since they’ve met, there were no promises to be anything more than a summer adventure, but this doesn’t feel right. Her heart should not be breaking at the thought of losing someone she barely even knows.

He stops when he notices her state, reaching out to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Merda. Merda! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

She looks up at him through clouded eyes, “Then how was this supposed to go, Ethan? Breaking my heart wasn’t supposed to hurt me this bad? I was supposed to smile and tell you that I'm not madly in love with you and these past few months meant nothing to me?”

His heart breaks slowly at her words. He never meant for the night to go this way, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that everything could be okay. But he can’t, so he pulls away from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

They’re the only words he can manage to get out without breaking down. He takes a second to watch her, memorize all the features of her face, before turning around and walking away. It’s a sight that rips her heart out, watching his form disappear back into the house. She knows this is it, the goodbye she’d been preparing for these past few weeks, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Before she can help herself, she’s calling after him. “Being in love isn’t a weakness, you know!” But the words fall upon deaf ears.

Vic finds her standing in the same spot an hour later. She’s got a smoke lit in her hand, the third one from the pack. She hasn’t touched her lips to any of them, but the smell and the feeling of holding it brings her comfort. She was never really one to smoke, but she found it entrancing to watch Ethan do it, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s silly, how something so small can mean so much.

Her heart aches in the most unbearable way, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Vic doesn’t speak, just stands beside her. She doesn’t need to ask to know that she is well aware of the events that have just unfolded, she’s just grateful for the company.

September

It’s stupidly hot in London for the time of year, but mother nature loves her unexpected heat waves. She’s home now, having left Rome shortly after the fight with Ethan, assuring their manager that she would be able to edit and upload all of the photos and videos from the comfort of her own flat.

Vic and Thomas had driven her to the airport, had walked her all the way to security and hugged her tightly before letting her go. She’d promised to keep in touch and Victoria had made her pinky swear that if she was ever in Rome again, she’d come visit. The flight was short, and she was glad the time difference was only an hour.

Her sister had picked her up and dropped her off at her flat, and she’d immediately collapsed into bed. That was three days ago, she’d barely moved since. Someone had caught her at the airport and the photos were everywhere, articles upon articles had been released, she’d had non stop messages from everyone, but all she could bring herself to do was turn her phone off.

Her photos make it to the front of magazines, her articles getting featured all over the globe, she’s made a name for herself. She gets emails from prospective clients wanting to book her in at shows, her boss sending her information for more high end gigs, but all she can think about is her drummer boy.

Her phone still sits turned off on her desk, she refuses to turn it on for anything, resorting to using only her email, but she knows everything that’s going on with the band. She’d been asked to join them again in a few months, to become a permanent part of their team. She hasn’t been able to reply.

She gets panicky thinking about seeing him again, about the things people will say if she’s caught in the same country as him. She’s stopped receiving death threats, but there’s still comments that creep in, fans thanking whatever gods made them seperate.

Victoria tries to reach out every few days, worried about the state of person she’s become, but she can’t even manage to type out an I’m okay. The world seems to be too fast and too slow, too bright and too dark, too much and not enough. Her heart aches and it’s a pain so deep she thinks she’ll never be okay again. Love is a cruel, cruel creature.

October

She finally brings herself to go back to work at the beginning of the month. She books herself in for a small band, someone no one really knows but she hopes they will one day. She’s in Amsterdam now, trying hard not to think of the memories the place brings. The band is good, the music heavy and the beat strong. They find a way to tell a story that leaves everyone with a soul searching question by the end of the night. Do you know who you are?

She’s only with them for a few nights, a short gig, but something she needed to get the ball rolling, to remember why she was doing this in the first place. After submitting the photos and writing an article that sends another wave of offers her way, she takes a few days to explore the city. It was wonderful before, when the air was warm and it felt like there was magic enveloping the city. But now, with the change of seasons, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers.

She walks the empty streets one night, huddled in the safety of her hoodie, camera in hand, and captures moments. A couple standing under a street light, a cafe closing for the night, kids running. It’s not until she hears a laugh she’s all too familiar with that her heart stops and her blood turns cold. She turns, ever so carefully, hidden behind the side of a building, and sees him.

He’s beautiful, even more than she remembers, and he looks happy. He’s walking with two girls, the resemblance making her sure it’s his sisters, but in this light she can’t be sure. She’s never met them, but he talked about them often, and she felt a pang in her chest for the homesickness he must have felt.

She tries to run, tries her hardest to get away, but she’s in an alley that leads nowhere and he’ll for sure be able to see her no matter what. The voices of the three get closer and she starts to panic, but there’s nowhere to go and she knows she’ll have to pull on her big girl pants and face him. But her heart won’t stop beating so loudly and she’s afraid she’ll break if he looks at her.

She pretends to be busy with her camera, focusing all of her attention on settings she knows are perfect, but a voice carries it’s way to her ears. “Hey stranger.”

It’s soft and it makes her knees weak and she hates herself for it. She looks up at him and his expecting eyes and her heart breaks all over again. She can’t help it, but suddenly there are tears running down her face and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He places a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away, “No it’s not.” She says between breaths.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should not be here. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, but one of his sisters stops her, “Let us walk you home, please. My brother may be a dumbass, but we have good genes. Let us make sure you get back safe.”

She doesn’t know why the words calm her, but she nods her head and lets the girls lead her in the direction of her hotel. The twins, Eleanora and Lucrezia, talk to her in fits of italian and english, trying to keep her brain occupied. But her whole body is on high alert, too aware of the man trailing behind them and how much of a fool she must look like. She feels like a mess, like someone drowning in a foot of water, but she can’t help it.

They walk her into the lobby of her hotel, the girls wish her a goodnight before shoving Ethan towards her. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and he must see it in her eyes because he tries to leave. But his sisters won’t let him, they stand tall and he looks like a child being scolded by his parents.

“Can we sit?” He asks, pointing to a couch.

She doesn’t want to, she wants to run up to her room and cry, but she nods. They sit and it is silent. Her stomach is in her throat, her eyes hurt from trying not to cry, but she sits and she waits. She studies his face, the crease in between his eyebrows that only forms when he’s confused or thinking, she wants to reach over and smooth it out. He turns towards her and catches her staring, a small smile forming on his lips.

He takes her in, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time in months, and something in his heart breaks. How did he ever let her go? Why was he so stupid to ruin something so beautiful?

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, amore. I know I can’t say it enough, I know it’s not as easy as that, but I’m sorry and I love you. So much it hurts.”

The words hit her like a truck, they knock the air out of her lungs and the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay start falling down her cheeks. She stands up so fast she gets light headed, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

She turns and starts walking towards the elevators. He calls after her, but she’s determined to leave, to get away. He runs after her, catching her right before the doors of the elevator close, and he wishes she didn’t look so broken. The doors slip close and she is gone and he feels like he could break something.

Her room is cold and she wishes she was home in her flat. She throws herself into the shower, the water burning her skin, and she sobs. She sobs so hard her body shakes, she screams and hopes no one can hear her.

He’s still standing by the elevator, crying now, too. His body aches in a way he’s never felt before and he hates that he isn’t holding her right now. He knows he messed up, he beats himself up for it everyday, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay, but he has to do something.

November

The ground is covered in snow. It is peaceful and quiet. He’s not used to this, the cold and the snow, but he understands the appeal. He’s standing outside her flat, or at least what he hopes is her flat, Victoria wasn’t exactly sure which one was hers. He’s bought her favourite flowers and he’s prepared to pour his soul out to her.

He paces outside her door for what feels like hours, trying to get himself to knock, but before he can, she opens the door. “Ethan?”

Her voice is soft, his heart sings at the sound of it. He turns to face her and the sight before him takes his breath away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off everything he loved about her, a coat thrown over her arm, she looks like an angel on earth. “Do you have a moment?”

She’s running late for dinner with her sister, but she’s afraid if she says no to him, she’ll never see him again. She hasn’t forgotten that night in Amsterdam, wishes she would have been brave enough to stay and talk, but she can’t change the past. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

She lets him into her flat, taking the flowers he hands her, and brings him over to her couch. “So.”

The script he’d had prepared in his head is suddenly gone from his memories. “I’ve thought this through a thousand times, planned this out a million different ways, but I can’t figure out the right words to say. I’m sorry, amore mio. I can’t say that enough. I never should have left you, shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did. Loving you was easy, and I think that scared me.”

She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say. She feels tears bubbling in the back of her throat and she hates that this is her response to everything revolving around him. He notices the shift in her, can tell she’s about to cry, “Amore mio, please don’t cry. I’ll start and then neither of us will be able to do anything else.”

She laughs quietly at his words, “I don’t think there are any tears left inside of me. I cried them all for you.”

His heart breaks at her confession. He moves closer to her and wraps himself around her. She hates how easy it is for her to melt into his touch, but she enjoys the comfort of it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours amore.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but he hears them.

He pulls her tight to his chest and holds her. She doesn’t care about anything else but this moment and him.

She wakes up the next morning in her bed. The sun is streaming in through the windows and she can smell Ethans body wash laced in the fibres of her bed sheets. She rolls over, expecting to see him beside her, but is met with an empty bed. Her heart sinks, afraid that everything he’d said was too good to be true, that he’d left her, again. But the sounds coming from her kitchen prove her wrong.

She gets up, quickly changing out of the dress she was wearing the night before, and follows the sound of clinking dishes. She’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Ethan, back turned to her, hunched over her stove. There’s the smell of coffee brewing and something soft playing from the radio. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can almost imagine this being a daily occurrence.

He turns around when he hears the floorboards creak, a smile on his face, “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Buongiorno.”

He hands her a cup of coffee and plates the pancakes he’s made. She smiles at the domesticality of it all. He sits down beside her on the couch and they eat in silence, leaning against one another. Afterwards, she washes the dishes and he dries them. Neither one of them says anything until the sun is high in the sky and they are laying in bed together. “I love you.”

It is the first time she’s said it in such a permanent way, she recites it like it is a fact written in history books. He looks down at her, she’s curled up on his chest, a hazy look on her face. He reaches down to tuck her hair behind her ear and leans his head towards her, “Ti voglio bene.” He seals the statement with a soft kiss.

It’s light and barley there, she chases after his lips as he pulls away, and he chuckles in a way that sends butterflies into her stomach. She places herself on his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair as his tether to her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stares at her, memorizing all of the features of her face. He loses himself in thoughts of days spent exactly like this, of a life he hopes isn’t just a dream. He flips them over carefully, laying her down on the bed. He hovers over her, arms on either side of her head, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

December

“Move in with me.”

It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting in bed sharing a pot of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, she’s leaned into his side, and he whispers those words.

She hasn’t yet told him about the offer from the band's manager, to become their permanent photographer, but it seems like the perfect moment to. “Yes.”

“Really?”

She laughs at his shock, “I was offered to come and work for the band full time, I haven’t replied yet. But I want to take the job.”

A goofy grin makes its way onto his face, “Do it! Right now. Tell them yes, come and stay with us. Be my girlfriend?”

He’s rambling and he doesn’t care. She smiles at him, her heart bursting with love for the man. “Okay, yes! Absolutely!”

Christmas is celebrated in their apartment in Rome. The band is there, her sister flies out and his family comes too. It is a day filled with love and laughter. They eat a grand lunch that they spent the previous day cooking, his mom brings a homemade panettone. They exchange gifts in the evening, and it is everything she’d dreamed of.

On New Year's Eve they make a trip to the villa. They sing songs and drink expensive wine. Fireworks light up the sky brighter than the stars. They sit out on the porch and tell stories of things that seem so far away. He’s sitting beside her, hands intertwined. He tells her about all of the things he wants to do in the new year and she is mesmerized by the way he talks.

There will be a moment in time when the world stops spinning and everything goes quiet, and she thinks that if that were to happen now, it would be the perfect way to go. Surrounded by the people she now calls family and the person she loves most in the world.

Fireworks go off in the distance, someone shouts out a drunken happy new year! and as time flows from one year to the next, she realizes that this is all that will ever matter.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (7)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.8k warnings: ✨kissin✨ 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“I can't believe this happened,” Natasha groaned, sinking further into her couch cushions as if it could swallow her whole. She held a bottle of cheap vodka in her right hand, her left digging through a bag of sour cream and onion chips. Her red hair was untamed for the first time since you’d known her with strands sticking out at the sides and pieces falling out of her braid. She took another swig from the bottle.  

“Maybe it’s not that bad?” you offered, though the slight alteration of your pitch gave way to your doubt.  

Natasha had been hired through her new security firm to work the art rooms at MOMA. You’d walked her through the hiring process and sat through hours' worth of practice interviews and resume building and anxiously bouncing your knee as you both huddled around the library computer and waited for the email to come through confirming her hire.  

She’d worked so hard for this job. She’d held it for almost six months without incident.  

Nat deadpanned as she wiped the excess droplet of vodka from her lips with the wrist of her sweatshirt. “I tackled a civilian, Y/n.”

“You said he was acting suspicious! Isn’t that enough of a defense?” you tried, betrayed again by your tone. You winced.  

“He was staring at me with those beady little eyes of his,” Nat grumbled, shoving a few more chips in her mouth, continuing before she had a chance to swallow. “He kept looking over his shoulder toward me like he was checking the surveillance of the exhibit, like he might be staging a robbery in his head or coming up with methods to blow it all to shit.”  

She huffed the hair from her eyes, only for it to fall down exactly back into place at the center of her forehead. “Turns out the only plotting he was doing was to get my phone number. Didn’t know that, of course, until I’d had him pinned to the ground and his hands behind his back.”

You sighed. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for veterans like Natasha to struggle in maintaining steady employment. Adjusting to civilian life never came easy. It was why so many soldiers chose to reenlist again and again. Even after years of PTSD and the fractured relationships their distance left behind, they boarded that plane. You’d witnessed it firsthand.  

“They fired me,” Nat admitted, sinking further into the couch.  

She was one at the VA the others feared. With her strong features and deep voice, intimidating glare and the aura of a woman twice her size, no one took to her be anything but the stone-cold persona she amplified. You were one of the few she let her guard down around long enough to see the fragile, loving person underneath.  

“I’m sorry, Nat,” you told her. You reached for her hand, squeezing it in your own.  

She shrugged. “It’s fine. Move on to the next one, right?”

You nodded. Keep moving forward. It was the most she could do.  

“But enough about me,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “What’s going on with you and the broody amputee?”  

“Nat!” You swatted her hard on the arm.

She was unbothered, shoving another handful of chips into her mouth. “Don’t pretend like it's not completely obvious how much the two of you are into each other. Every time I look up to take a sip of coffee at book club, one of you is making heart eyes at the other. Spill.”

You didn’t know where to begin. It felt like you’d known Bucky your whole life. But you started with the moment Sam introduced you at the VA. You told her about the moments at the library and how eagerly he read through every book you placed in his hand. You told her about the coffee trips to Luciana’s and the extra time he spent helping you set up for book club and cleaning up when it ended. You told her about the walks in the park and surprise visits at the library. 

There were a few moments you left out, like Bucky’s panic attack on the crowded streets and the flashback episode the fireworks created, but you told her about the good parts. The holding hands. The comfort you felt when he walked into the room. The kiss you’d shared just a few hours earlier.  

“Shit, we’re talking about James Barnes, right?” Natasha laughed as you told her he’d been the one to press forward to kiss you first. “Sam used to talk about him all the time before he started showing his face around the VA. I’d gotten the impression that he was barely keeping it together after what happened over there, like he was a ghost or something. Sounds like he’s got some game back though.”  

You nodded, a laugh on your lips though it felt a little drained. You thought of the picture on Sam’s desk and the vibrance in Bucky’s smile with his arms thrown over the shoulders of his closest friends. You thought of the version of the man Natasha described, the same one Sam referenced in the library the day before when he thanked you for helping Bucky find himself again.  

Curiosity crept it. It was more than that, though. You wanted to understand how a man so full of life and charm and energy could be wiped clean so quickly. You wanted to know, not for your own selfish indulgences, but so you could better understand the man you were falling for. A man who lost himself for so long and was only now starting to pick up the pieces again.  

“Do you know what happened to him?” you asked, a bitter taste of shame lingering in your mouth.

“I don’t.” Natasha shook her head and you sighed, nodding. You resigned to let the inquiry go entirely – it wasn’t something you’d ever ask Bucky about directly, but then Natasha cleared her throat. “I do know he came home with a Bronze Star, though. Sam said he won't even look at it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A what?”

“A Bronze Star. It’s awarded for exceptional bravery in combat,” Natasha explained. “My guess is it’s got something to do with how he lost his arm.”

You suspected as much. He carried himself with such distain, as if he couldn’t stand the body he was in. You’d felt the sharp cringe in his back whenever your hand drew too close to his left side, how he’d often stare at you in disbelief whenever you so willingly reached out to touch him. He’d never once removed his jacket in front of you and sometimes you wondered if he made careful avoidance of the mirrors in his own home, too.  

***

The first time you saw Bucky again, you’d kissed him on the sidewalk. Rushed up to him as you skipped steps descending outside the doors of the Brooklyn Library, hands pressed firmly to the sides of his face, and just... kissed him.

It startled him at first, enough for his arm to hold out at his side, frozen, for just a second too long before it settled on your spine. Your fingers gently traced along the stubble on his cheeks, smiling bright against his lips, and he’d kissed you back as tourists and locals filtered through the busy walkway as if they were little more than a blur around you.  

It became routine, it seemed, for Bucky to be waiting at the steps of the library for you. He didn’t shy away when you raced towards him, didn’t flinch when you reached for his hand, didn’t hold his breath so tight he could hardly focus.  

Instead, he was full of laughter. He made jokes that would put Sam’s cheesy one-liners to shame. He walked with you on empty residential side streets even when his anxiety had started to ease only so could take his time with you, dragging his feet along the pavement to stay by your side as long as possible. It was what he told you, anyway, and your heart just about leapt from your chest. 

You began to see glimpses of the man in the framed picture upon Sam’s desk. Outgoing. Flirtatious. Charming.  

Sam noticed the difference almost instantly. The way his eyes flickered over to the two of you, narrowed upon the absence of space between you both as you leaned against Bucky on the couch, books nestled in your hands. Sam had been standing in the doorway to book club, peering in through the window, when you noticed him staring. His smile grew wide upon his face, a very unsubtle and enthusiastic thumbs-up followed, and you waved him off before Bucky noticed he was there.  

No one in book club asked questions when after another meeting, you’d taken to resting your head on Bucky’s lap as you read, his own book settling on your shoulder. Tony peered over the top of his binding a few times with a curious stare the time Bucky had finished his book early and spend the remainder of the time reading yours over your shoulder, his finger drawing patterns on the top of your thigh, a kiss pressed to your shoulder here and there. Natasha smirked from her seat on the floor.  

It happened so quickly, how easily you’d fallen for him.  

Always in the smallest moments, in the sweetness of his smile, in the way he glanced over at you every so often as if he were checking to make sure you were still there. He opened up pieces of himself to you, set them gently into your hands and waited to see whether you’d keep them safe or throw them to the fire. It was agonizing for him – the vulnerability of trust – but you’d hoped that by protecting the pieces he showed you, he’d feel safe enough to give you more. You wanted it all. You wanted all of him.  

Sam insisted he’d never seen Bucky smile as much as he has been since he met you, including in the time before the war. It surprised you at first, until you remembered the photo on Sam’s desk. It was the same smile Bucky flashed you just moments before when he swiped a bite from your donut while you were talking to Tony. Teasing. Lighthearted. The weight of mere feathers on his back.  

“Y/n? You alright?”

Bucky’s voice drew your attention away from the tourists wandering around the park, taking photographs of the ducks at the edge of the pond and the old oak trees with leaves of fallen red and orange at their roots, the open branches giving way to a view of the Manhattan skyline.  

You blinked a few times, turning to Bucky as he sat on your left, his brows furrowed in concern. You must have been quiet for too long, which was unusual for you, so you pushed out a smile for him, a slight squeeze in his hand.  

“Just thinking,” you told him.

“What about?”

You pulled his hand into your lap, tracing over the lines in his palm absentmindedly. A distant pulse of his heartbeat could be felt in the tips of his fingers.  

“You.”  

He smiled at that, the corners of his mouth curving high up into his cheeks. A twinge of pink rested on the tips of his ears. He chuckled in an effort to hide his nervousness, though it lingered into his voice. “Me? I’m sitting right here.”

“What? I can’t think about you?” you teased, bringing his hand up to your lips as you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He watched you with the kind of awe that left him speechless for a moment. It was your favorite look on him; how his lips parted ever so slightly, the blue of his eyes shading into something softer, the muscles in his face slacking.  

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess that’s okay.”

“Good,” you smirked, setting in against his side. You rested your head on his shoulder, playing with his hand in your lap as you watched two little boys chasing the ducks around the pond, flapping their arms and trying to encourage the ducks to fly.  

You’d been sitting on the old, wooden bench under the tallest oak tree for nearly two hours when you glanced up to find a series of dark clouds rolling in and obstructing the cast of red and oranges filtering along the horizon. They hung heavy and ominous as a shadow lingered over the park.  

“Hey Bucky?” you started, sitting up straight as you gestured to the clouds. He had a sort of sleepy look in his eyes like he could have been content to sit there with you all night long. “We should probably get out of here before—”  

You felt the first raindrop on your cheek. Wiping it away, you looked up into the sky just in time as sheets of rain poured out from the clouds. You gasped, grabbing a firm hold of Bucky’s hand and yanking him up to his feet.  

“Come on!” you yelled over the rush of rain as it slammed onto the cobblestones in the park and shook the trees. Bursting into laughter, you threw the hood of your jacket up over your head in a half-ditched effort to stay dry. Bucky’s hand secure in your own, you took off running, only for his laughter to follow you as he chased you down the streets.

Rain drenched into your hair and ran in droplets down your spine, clothes soaked through to the bone by the time you realized where you were running. Luciana’s was just around the corner, calling to you like trumpets at the golden gates. Hot chocolate nestled between your palms, the warm hum of the radiator, nibbling on leftover pastries from the day. Truly, Heaven.  

By the time you reached Luciana’s, you’d nearly slammed into the door trying to get inside. The canopy was incredibly small, no bigger than space for a single person, but you reached out and gripped Bucky by the lapel of his jacket and tugged him beside you to pull him from the rain. You could feel the heat of his breath through his labored pants, the small puffs of warm air pressing out into the cold, and you laughed nervously at how close you were standing.  

“Her daughter has a dance recital tonight,” Bucky read from the sign posted on the inside of the door. “It’s closed.”

Sure enough, as you looked inside, the lights were out, chairs flipped upside down and resting on the tops of the tables. Rain poured against the windows, the mist of it still catching your spine and you pressed up closer to Bucky, nearly against his chest. You tried to control how fast your heart was beating, but you were almost certain he could feel it.  

“Okay, let me think,” you said, more so to yourself, as you looked out into the streets. They were empty, save for a few cars going about ten under the speed limit and a few teenagers sprinting by in backpacks and school uniforms. Your apartment wasn’t too far from here...

“Follow me!” you shouted over the rainfall, grabbing a hold of his hand.  

***

Bucky didn’t have much time to ask questions, because your hand was in his again and suddenly you were dragging him back out into the streets. You took him down the block, through a few back streets, and along a series of brownstones with fallen leaves littering the streets and the high arch of tree branches shading the sidewalk in small relief from the rain.

You skipped up a few stairs, shouldering open the door and pushed Bucky inside. He waiting in the small doorway as you dug through your bag for a pair of keys, wiping a line of rain from your forehead. You exhaled in relief as the door unlatched and you reached for Bucky’s hand again, guiding him inside.

One floor up and the first door on the left, you stepped inside of your apartment and quickly began rushing around to rid yourself of your jacket and the soaking wet shoes on your feet. Bucky stood planted on the doormat, the door closing slowly behind him.

Rain tapped against the outside windows, a dark cloud of grey hanging in the sky and casting a shadow into your living room. A single lamp illuminated the space in a soft yellow tone, touching over dozens of blankets hanging over the couch and bundled up in a basket on the floor, books piled high on the coffee table, newspapers with highlighter marks folded neatly on the kitchen table, and a few cardigans draped over the chairs.

“Can I make you coffee? Tea?” you asked from the kitchen as you wrung out your hair in the sink, shaking off the excess droplets from your hands. Bucky glanced down at the floor, realizing he was carrying water through the hardwoods in your apartment. He winced, quickly making his way back to the doormat.

“I’m alright, thanks,” he said, keeping himself as small as he could on the mat.

“Take your shoes off,” you instructed, pointing to the series of boots lined up by the door. “I’ll go find you some dry clothes.”

With that, you disappeared into your bedroom.  

Bucky stepped out of his shoes, wandering further inside. He’d been too out of it the last time he was inside your apartment, too unfocused with one foot across the ocean to really look around.  

He found himself drawn to the hallway leading up to your bedroom, with pictures hanging along the wall in old, wooden frames. Some from what looked to be your childhood, with softer features upon your face and dressed in overalls and bright pink sneakers. Then, a few from high school with your arms hung around the shoulders of your friends, mid-laugh. But there was one in particular that caught his attention. 

At the very end of the line, hung a photograph of you standing in front of a couple who looked to be your parents. You seemed to be a few years younger, judging by the cut of your hair and the softness in your features. On your left was a man dressed in an air force uniform, hands clasped behind his back. You were standing on an airbase, smiling, but your eyes were red, reflective. Like you’d been saying goodbye and were desperately pretending otherwise.

“This was all I could find,” you said, emerging back from the bedroom with t-shirt and sweatpants in hand. They were too large for you, men’s sizes, and Bucky felt his heart clench as he saw the faded air force logo on top corner of the shirt. He wondered if it belonged to the man in the photo.

“Thank you,” he nodded as you placed them on the counter.  

You were wringing out your hair with a towel when he realized you’d changed, too. The dampness on your skin clung to the fresh cotton of your t-shirt, pulling it tight against your chest. He exhaled a tense breath.  

"God, look at you,” you laughed, a hand reaching up to touch the tips of his hair as they dripped excess water down onto his shoulders. You pushed it to rest behind his ear, brushing the lingering rain from his cheeks. “It’s unfair, you know?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, confused. “What is?”

“That you look this handsome soaking wet.”

His instinct was to laugh, but the way you were looking at him made his breaths a little shallow, his stomach twisting into knots. You weren’t teasing as you said it, no lingering joke in its wake. He swallowed.  

“I... uh... what? No.” He tried to brush it off, but your hands had slid along his waist behind the hem of his jacket and it stopped him dead in his tracks.  

He held his breath as you flattened your palms against his stomach, running your fingers over what once had been hardened muscle before he let himself fall into darkness that took over his life for months. Now, his body favored something softer. You didn’t seem to mind though as you bit down on the fullest part of your lip, hands sliding around to his spine.  

“Let me take this off? Please?” you asked, voice low, with the kind of inflections laced within your tone that made Bucky shift uncomfortably in his stance. Your hands slipped up along his chest, lingering by his shoulders and you gripped onto the lapel. It was soaking wet.  

“You must be freezing,” you tried again, a little lighter this time, offering him a sweet smile. You must have noticed his apprehension because you softened a bit, letting your hands rest against his cheeks as you drew his attention to you. “It’s alright, Bucky. It’s just me.”

He searched your eyes as you gazed up at him and though he tried, he found no reason to turn you away. His heart was pounding in his chest, his right hand shaking a bit, but then, you leaned forward and captured his lips against your own, and suddenly, he was at ease again.

You kissed him and his right hand found its way to rest against your lower back, pressed flat against your spine; it clenched into the fabric, seeking more, and his fingertips brushed over a sliver of bare skin. He felt your hands slid down along his neck, to his collar, until they slipped under the fabric of his jacket against, resting on his shoulders. You were waiting for his permission.  

Then, as you pulled away from his lips for only a second, he nodded. Your lips returned to his almost instantly, and he wondered if maybe you were trying to distract him, or help to ease him as the fabric draped down off his shoulders. His heart was thunderous in his chest, louder than the press of rainfall against the windows outside, but there was a sense of calm in it, a nervousness certainly, but a comfort, too.  

He felt the weight of the jacket lift from his shoulders as you set it to hang over the chair. He felt instantly lighter, like you’d removed an anvil from his back, and he suspected it had less to do with the rain-soaked fabric than he cared to admit. He kept his eyes closed as your hands roamed along his shoulders, focusing on the feel of your lips as they traveled from the corner of his mouth along his jaw line.  

“Bucky?” you called so sweetly it nearly made his knees buckle.  

“Mmm?” He felt a little dizzy, high on the touch of your lips to his skin.  

He heard the soft ruffle of fabric as you grabbed the clean clothes you brought for him on the counter. Then, your hand slipped into his and he let his eyes flutter open. You were watching him with more affection than he was prepared for. His heart lurched forward, aching to jump right into your arms.

“Come this way.”  

He nodded, trailing behind you as you led him into your bedroom. The lighting was dim, barely casting in a soft orange glow from the lamp at your bedside. The clouds were still dark and heavy as they hung outside the windows, the rain obstructing the view of the brownstones across the street.  

“Here,” you set the clothes on the bed. “Get changed alright? I don’t want you catching a cold.”

You smiled for him and his heart just about burst. Then, you disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.  

Bucky stepped forward, running his hand over the Air Force logo in the top corner of the t-shirt. He picked up the shirt, and held it against his nose. It smelled like you, like maybe you’d been wearing it for years now, but there was a name written in sharpie on the inside tag. It was barely legible, but it didn’t look like your own. He tried not to think about who gave you this shirt and who wore it before him, and he quickly removed the damp one soaked to his skin in favor of the one you’d given him.  

He changed his pants, too, and a wash of relief came over his body as the chill faded from his skin. The clothes were warm, soft, and he raked his fingers through his hair, thankful it had dried enough to stop from dripping down onto the fabric.

“Hey,” you called, emerging from the bathroom. Your eyes paused on him for a moment, taking him in with the fresh clothes on and something unrecognizable flashed over your features – something that resembled sadness. You shook it off quickly, pushing out a smile as you walked toward him. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to your hairline as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

You leaned up to kiss him again and he swore everything around him came to a sudden stop. You tugged him down onto the bed, sliding in behind him as you threw the covers over you. Bucky kept his back pressed to the mattress as you climbed over his waist, settling with just enough of your weight compressing against him that he found a relief in it.  

His right hand slipped along your waist line, sliding flat over bare skin, warm to the touch. You smiled against his lips and he found himself laughing as you peppered kisses along his cheekbones, his nose, his hairline, down along his jaw, and then finally – back to his lips again.

So lost in you, in the moment, he felt his left hand slid along the underside of your shirt, fabric brushing over the top of his hand as he touched over your ribs and inching closer to your chest. He stifled a moan as he cupped at your breast, swiping his thumb along the pebbled nipple. It wasn’t until he felt an echo of a muscle spasm at his left shoulder that he realized he wasn’t feeling anything at all.  

His eyes snapped open and he found his right hand at the base of your spine, your shirt untouched. Reluctantly he glanced down at his left side; the open sleeve of the t-shirt leaving no pretenses in its wake. He was empty there. A piece of him missing. He tried to swallow back the frustrated groan before it passed through his lips, but you heard it. You felt it, too.

“Bucky?” you questioned, concern littering your eyes as you pulled away. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, of course not,” he replied quickly, brushing his hand along the side of your face until it drew a smile back to your lips. The way you were watching him, like maybe he could entrust you with the darkest parts of himself, if only for glimpse, and it pushed him to say more. “I just... I hate that I can’t hold you the way I want. There’s more that I would—” He groaned, head sinking back into the pillows. “I’m not used to... I don’t— I don’t know how to with only one... um...I haven’t— Not since before—”  

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, his ears flushing red. You seemed to understand what he was saying as you nodded ever so slightly; the fact that he’d barely learned how to manage his life again with only one arm – everything from washing his hair to getting dressed in the morning, to chopping vegetables and reading a book. He hadn’t even attempted to consider what it was like to be with a woman like this; to want to hold her and please her and touch as much of her as he could. It never crossed his mind before you.  

“I’m in no rush,” you said simply, like maybe you were implying you’d wait around long enough for him to figure it out. Or maybe, you’d be willing to help him learn again. You leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s late. You’ll stay tonight, won’t you? I don’t want you out in that storm.”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little dizzy as he stared up at you. Backlit from the soft glow of the lamp illuminating around you like a halo, Bucky would have said yes to just about anything you could have asked of him. Relief pressed over your features and you sank down onto the bed beside him, curling up against his right side.  

Your arm draped across his waist as his circled around your shoulders, fingertips drawing patterns along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then, you reached over him to turn off the lamp and a comfortable darkness blanketed the room, the only break from the silence the gentle tap of the rain against the windowpane.  

For the first night in months, he welcomed the kind embrace of a dreamless sleep.  

[cheri-translates]

[ Summer Palace x MLQC Collaboration PV ]

English translation under the cut!

Please accept a voiced guided tour from “him”.

[ Garden of Virtue and Harmony -  德和园 ]

Tour Guide: Kiro

Miss Chips, are you here yet? 

Now, your tour guide will bring you around the theatre of the Garden of Virtue and Harmony. 

If you're lucky, you’d be able to watch a Beijing opera performance on stage. 

When I was filming here before, I happened to watch a show. The effects were incredible. A miraculous thing was that even though the audience seats were pretty far from the stage and the actors weren’t wearing microphones, the sounds were especially clear and bright. Their voices were rich, smooth, and beautiful. 

Back then, I was really curious. How did they do that? I asked so many people. 

In the end, someone dressed like an envoy in the Summer Palace told me that the lower segment of the stage is a huge aerial structure. A 10 metre well on the inside, along with five pools, are used to amplify the sound effects through acoustic resonance. 

I remember that there are many more exquisite designs in the Garden of Virtue and Harmony. [sighs] It’s a pity that I can’t remember the principles behind them. 

Eh, why don’t we ask together?

[ The Marble Boat of Purity and Ease - 清晏舫]

Tour Guide: Gavin

There are many people in this scenic area during the holidays. Remember to stick close to me. 

We could head to Kunming Lake in the southern end first. There will be fewer visitors there, and it’d be more convenient for you to take in the scenery. 

If you walk along the west dyke, you can see the Seventeen-Arch Bridge and the Nanhu Island. You’d get better photographs from here.

Walk across the Jade Belt Bridge and keep walking north.

That’d be the Marble Boat of Purity and Ease.

I heard that the evening breeze is really soothing. I’m guessing you’d like it. When the time comes, we can stay here for a while longer.

But the Marble Boat of Purity and Ease is a boat made of stone. If you want to ride a boat, we’d have to head over there - the Shizhang Pavilion.

In the middle of the lake, we can view the scenery from a different perspective.

It doesn’t seem like my first time here?

Mm. I did my homework before setting out and inspected the place in advance.

Oh yes, I heard that the Kunming lake freezes over in winter. If you feel like coming then, we’ll come together.

[ Long Corridor - 长廊 ] 

Tour Guide: Lucien

The Long Corridor is a must-see for visitors to the Summer Palace.

It’s also one of its most popular scenic spots.

This place is always crowded.

Aside from tourists, quite a number of elderly who stay in the vicinity enjoy relaxing and having idle chats here.

When I was searching for information, I came across an elderly mister. He often sat along the Long Corridor, not talking to anyone. He simply stared at the coloured paintings on the wooden beams and spent the entire day looking at them. In total, he spent around five years documenting all these colourful paintings.

Afterwards, he made a book which exclusively introduced the coloured paintings in the Summer Palace.

Before I came here, I purchased the book and brought it along today.

Later, we can follow the book while walking through the Long Corridor, and look at the charm of the colourful paintings which captivated this elderly mister.

What do you think?

[ Hall of Benevolence and Longevity - 仁寿殿 ]

Tour Guide: Victor

Right now is the best time for osmanthus flowers in the Summer Palace to bloom.

Standing at the door of the East Palace is sufficient to smell the fragrance of osmanthus.

You picked a good time. Looks like you did prepare to the fullest.

During this time each year, the staff of the Summer Palace would shift all the osmanthus trees outside.

They’d decorate the entrance of the East Palace, the Hall of Benevolence and Longevity, stretching all the way to the Long Corridor. 

As long as it doesn’t rain, the fragrance of osmanthus flowers can linger till the end of the Golden Week.

However, autumn isn’t at its richest right now at the Summer Palace. Red autumnal leaves will be seen a little later.

I heard that the staff don’t immediately sweep away fallen leaves on the ground. Instead, they’d wait for the moisture in the leaves to lessen before doing so, in order to prevent a fire hazard. 

This tradition of the Summer Palace is called “delayed sweeping”. It’s meant to allow a semblance of autumn to linger for another month.

You find that there’s a sense of ceremony in this?

That is in line with your usual principles.

In that case, once we’re done strolling through the palace area, let’s walk towards a place with more greenery.

[ Suzhou Street - 苏州街 ]

Tour Guide: Shaw

Head down the steps of the Cifu Archway, walk past a white stone bridge, stay close to the stone bridge and head towards the water on a flight of narrow and steep steps, and you can enter Suzhou Street.

Doesn’t hearing this make it easy to find?

It’s okay even if you can’t remember it.

Just follow me and you’ll be fine.

The place I’m taking to you right now is a mountain path from the Gate Tower of Dawn Light towards Suzhou Street.

This place overlooks buildings on the east.

Here, this is the place.

From this angle, you can take photos of the river and two streets, and even a small bridge that stretches across the river.

How is it? Not bad, isn't it?

Typical tour guides won’t take you to such unique routes.

When we reach that side, we can take the water route.

I’ll let you experience how it feels to use water as a street and land as a market - this is a unique trait of the Jiangnan District.

What other places are you interested in?

I can take you to all of them today.

I’m pretty familiar with this place. 

You’re in luck.

With him, see the beautiful scenery of four seasons.

[oliviajames1122]

Thomas Cook

The New Thomas Cook New Business, Same Sunny Heart

After the original business collapsed in September 2019, a few committed former employees were determined the legacy of Thomas Cook would find a new life.

Two months later, Osun Tourism Group, the owners of Club Med, bought the Thomas Cook brand along with the inimitable Sunny Heart logo - a symbol of joy and happiness, and an important part of the business’ identity.

Those former employees created a new venture - one that embodies the essence of the man himself but brings it to bang up to date with the latest technology many business listings.

Our website lets you package your own holiday. You go away when you want, for as long as you want. And with thousands of hotels to choose from and more flight routes and airlines than ever before, your well-deserved getaway can be whatever you want it to be.

You can contact us by phone or Live Chat every day, 12 hours a day - and if you’re on holiday, you can reach us 24/7. You can even ask us to find your holiday for you. 

Thomas Cook's History

The Inventor of Package Holidays

The original package holiday was a train journey from Leicester to Loughborough in 1841. There were 500 passengers on board that day. And for most of them, it was the first time they’d ever ridden a steam train. 

People crowded the streets, filled the windows, and packed onto bridges end route just to get a glimpse of the carriage as it hurtled along the tracks at breakneck speed. And when the train pulled into Loughborough, the intrepid travelers were greeted by a brass band and throngs of cheering crowds.

The trip was organised by Thomas Cook, who later wrote of the journey: “And thus was struck the keynote of my excursions, and the social idea grew upon me.”

The 22-mile package holiday cost a shilling and sixpence - about a day’s wages back then. But financially, there was nothing in it for Mr Cook. Although he organised repeat trips each summer for the next three years, he wouldn’t turn a profit until 1845. 

This initial foray into tourism was a time of discovery. It proved that if travel was convenient and accessible, more people would, in Mr Cook's own words, “go beyond”. And “go beyond” they most certainly did.

For the next 33 years, he shuttled tourists up, down and around the country. He later shipped travelers as far as Japan, India and the United States on a 222-day world tour he called 'China via Egypt'. 

After Mr Cook’s retirement, the company was passed on from son to grandsons, and in 1928 it ceased to be a family business. From that point on, it changed hands five times, counting among its owners a Belgian train operator, a German bank and even the British government business listings.

Like the man himself, Thomas Cook moved with the times. Mr Cook’s lifetime saw the rise of train travel and steamships. And he embraced both with enthusiasm. As time went on, the business traded rail journeys for motor car tours and steamers for flights, always finding new ways to help more people discover the world. 

Thomas Cook was the pioneer of trouble-free travelling. He was also the inventor of convenient package holidays. And for us who work under his name in the new business, his life was a legacy we hope to live up to.

An "internationally significant" archive from one of the most famous names in travel has begun to go online.

The Thomas Cook collection features travel brochures from as early as 1858, a selection of staff uniforms, and some 60,000 photographs.

Leicestershire County Council said if all the boxes of diaries, letters, and other records were laid out, it would make a line 250m (820ft) long.

The project, funded by a £40,000 grant, will continue until April.

The entire Thomas Cook archive was acquired by the county council in 2019, following a nationwide bidding process to find a new permanent home for the collection.

The earliest holidays were around the UK, with foreign holidays coming later

Thanks to the project funded by the National Archives, items that can already be searched online include staff magazines, volumes of contracts and agreements, and historic travel brochures free business listings.

The oldest brochure dates back to 1858 with the first continental brochures appearing in 1865.

Most of the collection dates from around 1890, with samples from nearly every year being kept.

[hyucks-archive]

september 19.

word count: 7,342

genre: fluff

member(s): the one and only lee donghyuck

warning(s): it’s a sort of feel good fic, so unrealism™

author’s note: @haeloce has spoken - ask & you shall be given! this post is dedicated to you my love, thank you for always supporting my works

September 19, 2017.

You look up at the azure sky, the gentle autumn breeze causing your baby hairs to tickle at your face. You close your eyes, breathing in the fresh scent of what you imagine to be of wilting leaves and fresh pumpkins. You shove your hands into the pockets of your block-coloured cardigan; while most prefer to stick to the monochromatic nude colour scheme in the autumn, you like to do the exact opposite. Summer is your season for monochromes, while autumn is your season for colour. There’s just something about contrasting the seasons that you’ve always loved to do.

Pulling out the ticket from your jean pocket, you hold it up against the backdrop – you smile, tilting your head to the side, eyes going back and forth between the photograph printed on the ticket, and the actual, three-dimensional scene in front of you.

“Looks even better than in the picture,” you murmur to yourself, shoulders dropping in satisfaction. You bring your hand down, allowing yourself to really take in the entirety of the one place you’ve hoped to visit for more than half of your life – the Nami Island. It first became popular because it was the filming site for Winter Sonata, but that’s not the reason you’ve always wanted to come. It’s the actual view that you’ve always been drawn to; the tree-lined roads, and the maple and gingko trees that would turn golden red and bright yellow in the fall. Autumn has always been your favourite season, but you’ve never really been able to really drown yourself in the things that are said to define autumn as a season.

You’ve always wanted to visit. But you’ve always only wanted to visit on a September 19th.

Why?

Because you first discovered the existence of Nami Island back in 2008, on September 19. You’re usually not one to care for such things, but when you have close to nothing to really look forward to in life, visiting Nami Island on a future September 19 became the only thing you looked forward to. Yet, it took you a good nine years to get here, because every September 19, you were never able to take an off day from your job at the café.

This year, however, you finally managed to. Granted, you only managed to, because you decided to stop being a beta, and start being an alpha. In other words, you submitted your application for an off day back in January, at the start of the year. It’s only because autumn is the busiest season for the café though. Autumn is the time where everyone rushes in for the pumpkin-flavoured drinks and treats. Autumn is also somehow the season that’s the most associated with coffee.

Placing the ticket in your wallet, you slide your wallet back into your bag, finally ready to begin your exploration of the beautiful island.

As you walk, you’re warmed by the site of numerous families and lovers, who scramble about, trying to get the most scenic shots of the island. There are two toddlers who are fascinated by the squirrel that dashed across the pathway, and another three toddlers who are busy picking at the fallen, dead leaves, while their parents attempt to buy steamed buns as a treat. Further in, there’s a waft of coffee, a scent that is all too familiar to you. You look towards the somewhat populated, hanok-looking café.

The atmosphere is so different from the café you work at. Here, it’s tranquil, there’s beautiful scenery to motivate you, and there’s zero signs of the hustle and bustle of city life (which is something you seriously detest). There aren’t business people who rush in for an americano before zooming out of the door, and there aren’t students who hog the seats to mug for their exams (although, you’ve been guilty of that at some point in your life). It’s just people who are here to really take in the flavour of the coffee, and to appreciate everything about the island.

You decide to buy a cup of tea to-go, just to support the business.

With the warm beverage in hand, you continue to venture further into the island, eventually arriving at a water body at the end of the trail. You look around, scanning the area. It’s even more peaceful here than it was back at the heart of the island; there’s barely anyone here.

You spot a boulder under the tree, so you decide that it’s a sign for you to take a seat, to enjoy your off day, sipping on your cup of tea, while listening to the soft, gentle sounds from the water. You really like this. For more than half of your life, you’ve spent it being overwhelmed by crowds, working ‘till your arms and legs go sore, trying to “get ahead” of everyone else. You’ve always quite liked the feeling of sinking in work, especially labour work, because it takes your mind off of every other thing that went on in your life.

Now that you’re older, and your body isn’t as lively and healthy as it used to be, you’re beginning to learn the importance of taking breaks. Sadly, it’s a little too late. The reputation that you’ve established in the café that you’ve been working at all along, is one of the ‘perfect-worker-who-never-ever-takes-a-day-off-even-when-sick”. You have this whole thing about not disappointing people that’s going on as well.

Sometimes you really hate yourself for it. You scoff – who are you kidding? You always hate yourself for it.

Even the thought of it makes your nose sting and your lips quiver. You blink fast; it’s a technique you’ve come to master, and it works absolutely amazingly when you’re trying to hold back your tears. Not everybody can do this, so you consider it a pretty big talent.

You hear the sound of dead leaves cracking, so you turn your head to the side, where the sound had come from, only to be greeted by a gigantic brown bear, that’s holding a tray of tiny cups, that you assume to be samples from whatever store this bear’s a mascot of. You notice the sunflower that’s pinned to the bear’s chest, reading the text out loud, “Smile! It’s a beary sunny day!”

You break out into a smile, murmuring, “Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”

The bear holds out a tiny cup, allowing you to take a peek at the brown liquid that fills it. “Is this coffee?” you ask, looking up at the face of the bear. It shakes its head, pulling out a card that he had hidden beneath the tray. He passes it to you.

“Try our brand new bear liquid! Contains everything bear-friendly.” You raise a brow, looking back up at the bear, “You know that doesn’t sound very appetising, right? No one’s going to want to drink,” you hold up both hands, gesturing inverted commas as you say, “bear liquid.”

There’s a hint of a shrug from the bear, before it reaches behind itself, bringing out a mini sunflower badge. It holds the sunflower badge out in front of you, gesturing for you to take it. “You guys give sunflower badges for free?” you ask, bringing the badge up close to inspect it. “That’s kind of a good marketing idea, actually,” you say, spotting the name of the café printed at the bottom of the badge. “But it doesn’t seem very cost-efficient,” you continue, poking the needle of the pin through your cardigan, hooking it back in, securing the pin on your left chest.

“Thank you,” you say, patting the bear on its shoulder, “You’re doing a beary good job.”

The bear holds out a thumbs up, turning around to take its leave.

You watch the retreating figure of the bear, wondering how tiring it must be for the person that’s inside the gigantic bear suit. Luckily, it’s autumn, which means cool weather, but it also makes you think about how tiring it must be for the bear in the summer. Getting up onto your two feet, you smile to yourself, “Well, I have nothing to do,” you whisper, allowing the curiosity to take over you as you leap forward, taking hurried footsteps until you spot the bear a short distance ahead of you. “I guess you’ll be my entertainment for the day,” you conclude, grinning widely.

You continue to follow behind the bear, taking cover behind trees whenever it gets stopped by a bunch of kids and their parents who wants a photo with it. It continues to give out the bear liquid, but you also notice that even though it has interacted with more than 50 different people, it hasn’t given out another sunflower badge. You wonder if it’s because it isn’t allowed to give out too many of those, which, obviously, would make sense. Then again, what makes you legible for the sunflower badge, and not the rest?

The thought swims around in your head as you continue to trail behind the brown mascot, the tiny cups of bear liquid slowly reducing in quantity.

You stare at the teddy bear sunflowers that decorate the exterior of the café. “Oh, that makes sense,” you think aloud, finally understanding why the mascot of the café is a big brown bear, along with the sunflower. You take a seat on a wooden bench, crossing a leg over the other, sipping on the tea that’s now cold.

Finally, the bear finishes giving out the samples of bear liquid. You watch as it poses with different children who are so amazed by the big, live-sized, animate bear. You take another big gulp of tea; it must be tiring, not only does it have to wear that heavy, stuffy bear suit, it also has to continuously entertain the tourists that come by every day. Because you’re so engrossed in your own thoughts, you fail to notice that the bear has spotted you. It wonders why you’re here.

“Oh, gosh,” you gasp, body tensing up for a split second. The bear is now suddenly in front of you.

“Hello,” you greet, smiling. The bear bows its head. There’s a pause, then you decide to break the silence with, “Do you talk?”

The bear gestures at its wrist, before folding an arm, resting its chin in its paw, tilting its head to the side questioningly. “You want to know the time?” you gather from its gestures. It nods its head, so you check your watch. “It’s seven thirty-two PM,” you inform. The bear claps its paws excitedly, and you react with a confused smile.

“I can talk now,” he speaks, sitting himself down beside you. “Don’t you have to work?” you ask.

“It’s two minutes past my shift,” he replies.

“Cool,” you say. You lick your lips, pursing them, then deciding that you should ask the question that would get you the answer you’ve been wanting to know. “Hey, can I ask you something?” you start. The bear turns to look at you, “You followed me all the way here just to ask me something?”

“Well, kind of,” you say, “Technically, I derived the question after following you.”

“So you admit you were following me?”

“I didn’t deny it to begin with,” you state nonchalantly. You can hear the bear smirk under his bear head. “You’re honest, I like that,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

“Go ahead,” he cues.

“Why’d you give me a sunflower badge, but not anyone else? I thought this was part of your café’s marketing.” You point at the sunflower that’s still pinned to your cardigan. You hear the bear chuckle under its mask, its body folding forwards as he does so, a sign of amusement. “I gave it to you because I thought you might need it,” he explains, almost matter-of-factly.

You’re slightly stunned by his reply. You think back to the situation earlier – you were busy dwelling in the thoughts that make you feel sad, that by the end of it, you were blinking away tears. Just how much of that did the bear see? You’re uncomfortable just by the thought of it; it doesn’t feel right at all knowing that someone might’ve caught a glimpse of your weakness. You don’t want that. You don’t think you can live knowing that someone potentially saw you struggling.

“But don’t worry,” he begins, as though reading your mind, “I’ve already forgotten everything.”

“That doesn’t really reassure me,” you say, eyeline falling to the ground. The bear leans his body forward, mirroring your position. “It’s human,” he says. Your eyes travel up to look at his bear face. “I get really frustrated sometimes, too. But I don’t go all the way to an offshore island to release the stress,” he pokes, eliciting a small smile from you.

“I didn’t come here specifically to destress,” you share, “I came because I’ve been meaning to come for nine years already. I just only found the chance to now,” you finish.

The bear looks at you through its mesh eyes. When he first spotted you back by the water body, he saw the way your brows knitted, the way your lips quivered, and the way you were quick to blink away your tears. He felt bad for imposing on a moment that seemed so private, but he would feel twice as bad if he had just walked away, pretending like he didn’t see what happened. So he decided to build up the courage to go up to you – it worked out really well that he’s in the bear suit. In fact, it’s working out even better now, because he can stare at you, and you wouldn’t even know. He can sit beside you, talk to you like it’s nothing to him, because all you see, is a big, brown bear.

Still, he can’t deny the slight fluttering in his heart. It’s cliché, and it’s definitely not right. But he can’t deny, that he’s attracted to you. It’s superficial, he knows. But he’s also only going to be able to see you today, and today only. After which, you’d return to the mainland, while he’d remain here, continuing his job as a mascot of the café.

He likes the way you’re smiling fondly, just at the thought of being able to finally visit the island you’ve been longing to visit.

“Do you like the island?” he asks, mentally slapping himself for not being able to come up with a better question.

“Of course,” you say, beaming. “It’s everything I imagined. And,” you pause, “I got to meet a really friendly bear, too.”

His heart does another thing at your declaration. It’s foolish, he’s well aware. But again, tonight’s his only chance to experience this. Then, you’d be gone, and he’d be back to his regular daily routine.

“Do you live on Nami island?” you ask.

“I don’t. I take the first ferry here every morning, and the last ferry back every night. The pay is good, so I don’t mind the tedious travelling,” he shares. “Wouldn’t you rather just live on this island?” you question. “Do you know how expensive that is?” he replies.

You shrug, “Wouldn’t your total expenses spent on travelling equate to renting a place here?”

“I travel for free,” he says, “The boss pays for that. I bring in customers by wagging my bear butt, so it’s a fair exchange.”

You laugh, amused by the way the bear phrases its words.

“Must be nice,” you say.

“What about you? You look like a student, so I’m assuming you work part-time?”

The bear notes the smile you force out. He can see the slight bitterness peeking from your eyes. He mentally slaps himself a second time – he must’ve said something wrong.

“I’m actually taking a gap year right now,” you share, “So I’m working full time, to save up for school.”

He understands now. It’s odd, to say the least. He feels a form of connection with you, even though he knows this’ll never come to fruition. Still, even if it’s just for tonight, he’d like to be able to just talk about what he’s been bottling up for the last few years with someone. Even better, that this someone is someone he mildly feels attracted to, and whom will go back to being a stranger after the conversation.

“Somehow, you’ll feel that whatever you make, it’s never enough,” he begins, turning his bear face away. You wait for him to continue.

“No matter how much I earn, it’s not enough. I was once naïve enough to think that I’d be able to eventually fund myself to do the things I want to do, but as I’m ageing, I’m starting to understand that that’s not possible. It’s all fiction. Fantasy. It’s all what I conjure up in my head.”

Your shoulders sink upon hearing what he has to say. Why does it seem to hit the exact points? Why do you seem to be able to relate to his plight? In other words, there are other people out there, dealing with the exact same things as you?

“Don’t say that,” you manage out, trying to think as positively as possible for the both of you. “Money doesn’t buy happiness.”

The bear turns to face you, tone serious as he says, “Yeah, money doesn’t buy happiness. But money buys you the things that make you happy.”

You feel a sting in your heart. You’ve always tried to psycho yourself into believing that what you’re going through isn’t so bad. That you’d still be able to be happy, because money doesn’t buy anyone happiness. Because of that, you’d always feel guilty for not being able to find contentment in your situation. You thought it just meant you’re greedy.

You realise now, it doesn’t.

You try your best to paint on a smile. But the bear knows well enough that it’s all pretence. He wishes you didn’t have to try so hard to be okay. At least, not in front of him.

“Who knows where we’d be a year from now? We might even be doing the things we like,” you say, feigning a tone of excitement.

“We wouldn’t know where each other is a year from now,” the bear says.

“Will you still be working here, a year from now?” you ask.

“I’ve been here for six years now.”

“It must’ve been cute, to be able to see a bear mascot getting taller every year,” you comment, lightening the mood. You can hear the bear smile, which makes you smile in return. The bear’s heart does another flip.

“Anyway,” you say, “How about I see you, a year from now, right here?”

The bear’s breath stops for a moment – are you for real?

“Really?” he asks. You nod your head. “Really.”

“Okay,” he agrees, though you can’t see the goofy grin on his face.

“What’s your name?” you ask, only realising now that you’ve basically revealed just about everything about yourself to him, excluding your name, yet you don’t even know what he looks like under that bear mask.

“Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck.”

“Donghyuck,” you repeat after him, smiling, “Nice name,” you say, telling him your name in exchange. “So Donghyuck,” you say, getting up from the bench. “A year from now, I hope I can walk away with my memory of you, not being a bear.”

Donghyuck chuckles, agreeing.

“See you in a year, y/n.”

September 19, 2018.

You hold the bag of carp bread to your chest, your heart filled with excitement. You’ve practically anticipated for the entire of 2018, for the 19th of September to come. It’s interesting how just one conversation, of course, filled with mutual understanding and relatability, had created such a connection between you and Donghyuck.

There hasn’t been a day where you didn’t find yourself thinking about Donghyuck. You’d wonder if he had earned enough to do something he likes. You’d wonder if he’s staying adequately hydrated despite the scorching sun. You’d even wonder, if he still remembers his promise with you. A part of you is obviously afraid that after making a trip down to Nami island, that the boy in the bear suit would’ve completely forgotten about you. A part of you is afraid that when you greet him with a smile, he’d look at you with confused eyes, questioning how you know of him.

Then again, an even bigger part of you is simply hopping around in absolute joy at the mere thought of being able to reunite with a friend. You’ve never been able to meet anyone that could relate to you, the way Donghyuck can.

Upon arrival on the island, you rush off the ferry, immediately heading towards the café he works at. It’s close to 5PM in the evening. You were held up at work, because your boss had insisted that you at least take the morning shift, which made you jittery the whole day because you weren’t sure if you’d be able to make it. Luckily, it wasn’t that busy today, so you were even let off ten minutes prior to the end of your shift.

Just as the café comes into view, you spot the giant bear hobbling about, playing around with the group of kids. You immediately break out into a bright smile, a sense of relief washing over you. At the very least, he’s still here, like he said he’d be.

You bring up the bag of carp bread – will Donghyuck like this?

Donghyuck smiles at the adorable children who are rushing to cuddle him. He isn’t sure of the exact time, but he can tell that more than half of the day has gone by, and there is still no sign of you. He’s beginning to think that maybe he shouldn’t have been so naïve in the first place, gullible enough to think that a random stranger would actually come all the way back to the island just to meet with him again.

Heck, he’s in a bear suit. Nobody’s ever going to like a person that’s in a bear suit.

“Look here,” a mother coos, holding up her camera. Donghyuck bends down beside the child, holding him close as the mother begins to snap numerous shots of her baby son. “Thank you,” the mother says, reaching for her child as she presses a loving kiss to his forehead, gushing as she whispers praises to her little boy. Donghyuck has a pursed smile on his face; must be nice for that kid.

Donghyuck isn’t given the chance to dwell on the topic because a rush of kids come by, screaming and yelling excitedly at the sight of the bear. He joins in, chasing the kids around, and that is when he spots the one person he’s been waiting for (a whole year).

You’re standing there, a bag in hand. He isn’t even able to control the smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey!” a child shouts, tugging at Donghyuck’s bear leg.

You bring the bag of carp bread back to your side, smiling widely as you make your way towards the bear. As though working in your favour, the kids begin to clear just as you approach your friend. You give a small wave, your heartbeat picking pace in fear that he might not remember you. Just as quickly, though, your heartbeat slows when he returns the wave. He points at the wooden bench that you were seated on a year ago, and you get what he’s trying to say immediately.

You head over to the bench first, taking a seat as Donghyuck poses for a few more pictures with different children.

Once he’s done, he jogs over, stopping a small distance in front of you.

“Look what I brought!” you say excitedly, waving the bag in the air. “It’s carp bread, because bears eat fish,” you giggle. You thought you were really witty to have thought of such an idea.

Donghyuck chuckles. Now it’s his turn to feel nervous, because he’s going to have to remove his bear suit to reveal himself, like he promised.

“Are you going to change out of that?” you ask, looking on with anticipation.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

You wait patiently for the boy to return. He does, within five minutes. He tries to soothe his hair down as he approaches you, moistening his lips with his saliva, tugging at the end of his hoodie to make sure he looks decently presentable.

You look up, meeting eyes with a tanned skin, lean-looking boy, who is making his way towards you. You raise both brows – is that Donghyuck?

Sure enough, the boy stops just in front of you, scratching the back of his head in an attempt to let out his nerves. He smiles shyly, formally introducing, “Hi. I’m the boy in the bear suit.”

Your encouraging smile calms Donghyuck’s active nerves. He looks at you in the eyes, the same feeling of attraction he had felt a year ago, still evidently present a year later. He wonders if you feel it too.

“You know, you kind of look like a bear,” you comment, eyeing Donghyuck up and down. He rolls his eyes in response, scrunching his nose, “I don’t.”

“Here,” you say, holding out the bag of carp bread. “Eat your fish.”

Donghyuck scoffs, feigning offence, before taking the bag from you, and taking a seat on the bench, gesturing for you to sit beside him. He brings out a carp bread, splitting it down the middle. He hands you a half, and you take it graciously, biting a chunk off. “So how has your year been?” you start off, still in a little bit of disbelief that this is how Lee Donghyuck looks like.

For a whole year, the only image you’ve had of him, was the brown bear suit, with the sunflower badge. Even when you tried to imagine what he looks like under the mask; you’ve never came to the visual image of the being before you. He’s good looking, obviously, and by that, you mean that he’s way better looking than you had imagined him to be. There’s something that’s just really cute about his small little button nose, his doe eyes, and his round face.

“What you said was true,” he says, swallowing. “2017-me would’ve never been able to guess where I’d be a year later,” he continues, “I’m learning how to dance.”

You smile in pleasure, “I’m so happy to hear that.”

Donghyuck returns the smile. “What did you do for the past year?”

“I saved,” you say, smiling proudly. “I saved enough for now, so if I keep the momentum going, I’d have enough for university, too.”

“Then I guess it’s mandatory for me to tell you that you’re doing a great job,” he commends.

You feel something stirring in your heart. You’ve never been told that before. It feels funny, now that you’ve heard it. Donghyuck notices the change in your expression, and somehow, he knows the reason why.

“You can always come to me to brag and show off,” he says, tone gentle and encouraging. “I’ll always tell you how you’re doing a good job.”

You look at Donghyuck, meeting his eyes. He’s sending you signals of comfort through his gaze, and you’re receiving them well. Somehow, it’s only the second time you’re having a conversation with him, and it’s the first where you’re looking at the actual him. Yet, it feels as though he’s impacted your life even more than the people who’ve been in it for way more than he has.

“Want to know a secret?” you ask. Donghyuck nods his head.

“Back when I was younger, I was walking beside a classmate in school. We were about to go down the stairs, but she tripped on her own shoelace. She rolled down the stairs, and laid unconscious,” you recall, letting out a deep sigh at the end. Donghyuck looks at you with a brow raised, “And?” he prompts, urging you to continue.

“You’d think my first reaction would be pure concern for that classmate,” you say, focusing on the dead leaves that decorate the ground. You kick at a maple leaf, “But it wasn’t. When I saw the way everyone rushed forward, all attention on her, I thought to myself, ‘why wasn’t I the one who rolled down the stairs?’,” you take a pause, turning to read Donghyuck’s expression. He doesn’t seem to have any real thoughts about what you said.

“Twisted, right?” you end off with a pursed smile.

“No,” he states, taking another bite of his carp bread, completely unfazed.

“No?” you repeat.

“No,” he reiterates.

“Why not?” you question.

“Because,” he says, “It’s not abnormal to think that way.”

“You don’t have to side with me just because we are friends, you know?”

“I’m not. I just think that it isn’t crazy weird why you thought that way.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s kind of like how it is in my dance class. There’s this guy, his name is Jisung. He’s younger by two years, but his talent is more than double of mine. He gets a lot of love and attention for being the youngest of the team, and for being the talent that he is. Sometimes, when I see the way he gets praised for executing a move really well, I’d think to myself, ‘why wasn’t I the one being praised? I thought I did the move pretty well’.”

You chuckle at his kind attempt to try to make it seem as though what you had thought at the time was normal, though the circumstances are obviously far from being similar. Donghyuck is sweet, to say the least.

“I’m sure you dance well,” you say, eyeing his long legs, “You look like you’d dance well,” you correct.

“I’m serious about what I said though,” he says, reverting the topic, referring to how he’d be willing to listen to you brag any time.

“I might just take you up on the offer,” you reply, “As long as it remains valid, for a long, long time.”

“Are you trying to tell me to stay in contact with you?” he questions.

“You mean you didn’t intend to?” you raise a brow.

“You’d know where to find me when you need me, but I can’t say the same for myself for when I want to see you,” Donghyuck says, looking at you expectantly. Can you take that as a confession? Did he just say that he wants to see you?

Then again, so what if it is a confession?

You’re well aware of how you feel about the boy. You know that there’s a connection. You know that sparks are flying. You know. You know it all too well. But how can you be sure that Donghyuck is meant to be something more? You met him under circumstances that most wouldn’t even consider normal, and it’s barely the second time you’re talking to him. How can you be so sure, that he’s supposed to mean something more to you? How can you be sure that you’re only feeling this way, that you’re only feeling the butterflies and the somersaults inside you, because you’re truly attracted to him, and not because of how he makes you feel?

He makes you feel understood. That’s unfamiliar to you.

“Please,” you begin, in an attempt to try to brush off what he had said. “I kind of like that we see each other once a year.”

Donghyuck feels a light sting in his heart. “Why?” he asks.

“It makes our friendship special. How many people can say that they know of someone, who becomes their friend, on only one day out of the entire year?”

Donghyuck fakes a smile, “So you’ll be back in a year?”

“Yes.”

Donghyuck nods his head. Maybe he should just be happy that this means he’ll get to see you, at least another time, a year from now.

He shouldn’t be too greedy, right?

September 19, 2019.

It’s the third time that you’re going to be meeting Donghyuck. You’re starting to kind of understand what people mean by ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. Oddly enough, in the past year, Donghyuck wasn’t just a passing thought like he was in 2018. This year, he was quite a prominent thought. Sometimes, you’d even have sleepless nights, spent tossing and turning, just thinking about him. You’ve even gotten the urge to just go online to search for him, but there are so many Lee Donghyucks in the world, that you weren’t sure if you’d be able to find the exact one. It would also be a breach of your friendship terms, since the both of you are supposed to only rekindle every September 19th.

Today, you managed to take the full day off. You check your watch – it’s 10:47AM. Why have you arrived at Nami island at such an early hour? Knowing fully well that Donghyuck has a shift to fulfil?

Simple.

You miss him. A lot more than you’d like to admit.

Sounds silly, you’re obviously aware. How can you develop feelings for someone that you only see once a year, and that you barely know?

You’d like to think it’s just because of how curious you are as a person, which results in constantly being curious about Donghyuck. But again, that’s just you trying to talk yourself into denial. No matter what you say, you can’t deny that you’ve debated over fifty times about coming to Nami island before the 19th of September, knowing fully well, that he’d be here.

But every time you were about to purchase the ferry ticket, you’d stop yourself.

A year may have gone by, but the same worry still remains.

How can you be sure, that his presence in your life, is meant to be something more?

“Hey!”

Your attention snaps up to the familiar voice, the voice you’ve only been able to think of for the past year.

“Donghyuck?” you murmur. He isn’t in his bear suit today.

He dons a bright smile, jogging over towards you. “We must have more telepathy than we’re aware of,” he comments, chuckling to himself. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you ask, “You’re not working today?”

“I took the day off,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d actually come this early, though.”

“And what if I didn’t?”

“I would’ve sat at that wooden bench until you showed up.”

His non-hesitance as he said that elicits a feeling of warmth to spread through your entire body. Donghyuck really makes you feel things, huh?

“You’d do that?” you ask, just so you can hear it loud and clear. Donghyuck smiles, nodding his head. “You would’ve done the same. Otherwise, what did you intend to do while waiting for me to end my shift if I were working today?”

Your smile only widens.

“What do you have planned for the day?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he replies.

“Shall we find somewhere to sit and eat then?” you suggest.

So five hours later, you’re seated opposite Donghyuck, empty plates and half-empty cups between the both of you. He has his arms propped on the table, listening intently to whatever you had to say. Conversation is easy when it comes to Donghyuck. He shows you that he’s listening. He makes sure to pay attention to what you say.

You feel the connection growing by the minute.

“That doesn’t justify why you’ve never dated anyone before,” he says, shaking his head disapprovingly as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Says you,” you retort, “But I’m sure if I showed my co-worker a picture of you, she’d go crazy.”

Donghyuck chuckles, “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not!” you defend, trying to put on the most serious expression you can possibly make. “She’s cute too. Come to think of it, she’s totally your type.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows. “What makes you think I’m into cute?”

You smile, rolling your eyes. “Okay, then what is your type?”

“Shouldn’t you know best?”

Silence.

Donghyuck’s just staring into your eyes.

Your heart is thumping so hard, so fast, you’re starting to lose feeling in your hands and legs.

You let out an awkward laugh – there’s no denying it this time. It’s definitely a confession.

“Very funny,” you say, trying to change the topic. “I have to leave already, I’m working a full-day shift tomorrow and I’m in charge of opening,” you say, getting up from your seat. Donghyuck follows after, allowing you to lead the way out of the eatery.

“Hey,” Donghyuck calls, taking your wrist in his warm hold, turning you around to face him. “Don’t you think it’s about time to tell me where you work? Or where I can locate you? Or your number, at the very least?”

You’re looking into Donghyuck’s eyes, and you can see the sincerity. Like him, you want this to be something more. But you can’t just turn a blind eye and rid the fact that you’re just not sure of what might happen in the future, and that’s what scares you. You don’t want to commit to something, at the expense of knowing all too well, that you might get hurt. What if Donghyuck was never meant to be a part of your life? You’ve seen it in the movies – when you let someone in, and they weren’t supposed to be in to begin with, it only ends in tears and sorrow.

“Look, Donghyuck,” you begin, trying your best to think of a way to get your point across accurately.

“What makes you so sure that we’re meant to be something more?” you ask.

Donghyuck’s brow twitches, a sign that he’s taken aback by your question.

“See? You don’t know it yourself. What if we commit, and it just bites us in the back?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his hair, “How would you know that?” he counters, “What if it doesn’t?”

The both of you just stand there, looking into each other’s eyes, trying to find the answer you’re both looking for.

“I believe in fate,” you say, breaking the eye contact. “On September 19, a year from now, I’ll be working at the café,” you continue, eyes finding its way to meet Donghyuck’s once more. “It’s located in Seoul. If, on that day, on the 19th of September, 2020, you’re able to somehow find me, I’ll take it as the sign that you and I are meant to be something more.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows at your proposition, “But Seoul is so big, how am I supposed to-”

“If you can’t find me, it just means that’s the end of our connection,” you cut in. “And you can’t cheat. You can only start looking on September 19.”

Donghyuck thinks it’s the end. He doesn’t think it’s possible. But if he wants this enough, he’s going to have to try.

“Promise?” you ask, putting out your pinkie finger.

“I promise,” he says, hooking his finger with yours, pressing your thumbs together.

What’s going to happen a year from now?

September 19, 2020.

“Here you go, enjoy your drink,” you greet, passing the iced americano to the man in the suit. He tilts his head in gratitude, before scurrying out the door. You take a moment to stare at the door, it’s going to be afternoon soon, and there’s still no sign of Donghyuck. You wonder if he’s even taken up the challenge, and is actually going about Seoul right now.

“Why do you keep staring at the door today? Are you waiting for someone?” Eunha, your co-worker, asks. You shake your head, shrugging, “I just can’t wait to knock off, that’s all,” you lie. Eunha furrows her brows teasingly, leaning in close as she says, “Please, I’ve worked with you for years now. That isn’t your ‘I-can’t-wait-to-knock-off’ look,” she says, pulling back.

You roll your eyes, hitting her on the arm lightly, before re-busying yourself with preparing the orders of the customers.

Another few hours go by, and now, the sun is beginning to set.

“You’re staring at the door again,” Eunha lilts, a teasing smile on her face as she sips at her coffee. “Stop, I’m really just excited to knock off soon,” you say.

“If you want to knock off so bad, you can knock off now,” she says, placing her coffee down on the counter. “I’m cool with closing on my own tonight.” She blinks her big eyes a few times, smiling teasingly, knowing that you’d deny her offer.

“I can’t do that to you,” you say, laughing awkwardly, “Think about all the times you sacrificed your nights staying with me for closing. I ought to return the favour.”

“Ought?” Eunha repeats, giggling to herself. “You’re definitely hiding something.”

You roll your eyes, moving on to do the dishes to avoid slipping up any further.

Donghyuck sighs, coming out of the eighth café he’s looked into today. As expected, this is basically mission impossible. How is he supposed to be able to find you, when you didn’t even bother with giving him any clue aside from that it’s located in Seoul?

He looks around, trying to spot any other cafés that might be in the area, before he’d move on to the next.

There’s still a good few hours before the end of September 19.

He might still have a chance.

You bite down on your lip. It’s five minutes to closing.

“I guess we weren’t meant to be,” you murmur, eyes refusing to leave the doors.

“Whoever it is you’re waiting for, they’ll show up,” Eunha chimes in, continuing to wipe down the counter.

“What makes you so sure?” you ask.

“Because it’s my first time seeing you anticipate something like that,” she says. Eunha might not be someone you contact outside of work, so it’s easy to forget how well she knows you. But Eunha is right. You've never anticipated anything this much.

“I hope you’re right,” you say, pursing your lips.

You didn’t know it a year ago when you made the proposition, but you know it now.

You really want to see Lee Donghyuck walking through those doors.

But as the time slowly dwindles away, you can’t be sure that it isn’t just your own wishful thinking.

Donghyuck kicks at the pavement, running a hand through his hair. The day is almost over, and still, no luck. He has been to eighteen different cafés already, and there’s just no sign of you.

If only he didn’t have to work the morning shift, then he’d have more time to actually look in more cafés.

He stops a short distance in front of the nineteenth café. He isn’t usually one to believe in anything like fate, but he’s desperate at this point. He looks to the sky, clasping his hands together, “Please. Make 19 our special number. Please let y/n be in this café.”

Taking in a deep breath, Donghyuck walks forward, towards the café.

Eunha checks the time, then looks over at you. You're sitting there, dazed, expression blank. She purses her lips in sympathy, calling out, “Do you want me to lock the doors or wait another f-”

Eunha is cut off when the bell chimes. You immediately turn towards the entrance of the café.

It's Donghyuck.

Oh gosh, it's actually Donghyuck.

Donghyuck makes eye contact with you. A sense of accomplishment and warmth overwhelms him. You feel your nose stinging, and your heart swelling.

“Sorry, we’re cl-”

You don’t know what comes over you, but you run forward. You throw yourself into Donghyuck’s arms, hugging him tight.

“Okay then, I’ll be over there,” Eunha says, excusing herself.

You pull away.

“You found me,” you sniff, grinning wide.

“I promised I would,” Donghyuck replies, reflecting your expression.

“I guess we are really meant for something more,” you mumble, taking in the moment.

“So,” Donghyuck says, holding out his phone. “Can I finally have your number?”

[taeminstetrislips]

SCHOOL TRIP SERIES - ITALY PT. 3

Florence

After a bus ride full of UNO games, the group finally arrives in Florence. The entrance is announced by your professor at the head of the bus and in response, the entire group goes quiet. The occasional sigh of someone ogling the sights out their window is the only noise heard besides your professor. He begins reviewing the brief history you learned about the Medici family and their impact on art in the Italian Renaissance. Your first destination would not exist if it weren’t for them: The Boboli Gardens behind Palazzo Pitti.

Once you are all let off, you are lead through the beginning with narration from you professor almost like a tour guide. He describes Florence as being one of the largest contributors to Italian art with its many guilds. After a good thirty minutes, you are set free to wander. You easily break loose from the group and start to wander over to something that caught your eye earlier. Whether or not the rest of your friends followed, you didn’t know. Something was summoning you to this tunnel-like path, completely made of trees bending and folding into one another above you. You look at the perspective in front of you and take note that if you were a painter, you’d love to try and capture the beauty you saw before you. Letting the weight of your head fall backward, you squint into the sunlight streaming in between the leaves above you. It isn’t until then that you slowly turn 180 and catch Jaehyun looking at you. You let out a small laugh as a sign of slight embarrassment, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. His small smile only grows into a grin before he walks closer.

As if in slow motion, he walks over to you and the wind picks up. It gently tosses his hair into his eyes and across his forehead as he speaks. “I saw you take off on your own and wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like you found a pretty cool place.” Once he reaches you, his hand stretches out toward the side of your face and retreats with a leaf he pulled from your hair.

“Oh, thanks.” You say in response to the gesture and respond to his last statement with, “Yeah, I saw this before on the walk and knew I wanted to check it out before everyone else got here for pictures.”

“Fair,” he responds, continuing the walk through the tunnel toward the other opening where you are let out into yet another stylized garden with statues whose light and shadow of depth changes as the clouds pass over the sun. The two of you take time to silently observe the statues, walking calmly and enjoying each other’s presence. Although, you can’t help but notice the tension you feel in your chest as you occasionally sneak a peek at him or make fleeting eye contact. One time, you catch him looking at you first and he holds your gaze for a second, his eyes widening as if he was scared to be caught before slowly relaxing and turning away with a smile on his face. That dimple returns.

You get distracted by a buzzing in your pocket. Checking your phone, you see a text from Johnny that the rest of the group is by the lemon trees. You share this information with Jaehyun only to realize that neither of you remember how to get there. The two of you laugh together as you quicken your pace and try to navigate your way back to the group. At one abrupt turn, you are cut off by your professor strolling down a pathway. He looks at you suspiciously and you wonder why for a moment before realizing that this is the second time you were caught with Jaehyun somewhat out of breath away from others. You try to pretend that slightly dirty thought didn’t cross your mind and ask your professor if he knows which way it is to the lemon trees. He points you down the right path and you are on your way to the rest of the group.

It isn’t long after you unite with the group that you are all pulled away and driven to the Accademia Gallery. The goal is to see Michaelangelo’s David even though it is going to be very crowded. When you arrive, the crowd is so large that you all try your best to push through without knocking someone’s camera or phone out of their hands. Finding your way to an opening, you pull the first wrist closest to yours through the crowd to the backside of the sculpture. You see that you’ve gotten Johnny and his fancy camera. He’s talked about his interest in photography before and you remember how excited he was to get to photograph such a famous piece. Once he gets a good angle and a couple good shots, he comes back to you to thank you for getting an open spot. You ask to see the photos and he shows you.

“They’ll be better with editing. Honestly, that’s just as important for a photographer as the actual taking the picture itself,” he explains. “Oh my God, do you remember prof talking about this dude’s weak ankles?”

You laugh at the memory, “Yeah, I guess they look kinda weak?”

“Dude needs to hit the gym,” Johnny says, clearly with excessive sarcasm. However, some middle-aged American tourist lady nearby feels offended at the joke and shoots the two of you a death glare.

You point her out to Johnny with a small nudge of your elbow and nod in her direction. Once he’s seen her, you continue to poke fun at the proportions of the body, including parts that may not be appropriate for public conversation. This pushes Johnny to say, “ Can’t relate,” in a very deadpan voice loud enough for the woman to hear. She audibly scoffs in disgust at him, while you jab him in the side with your elbow while trying not to laugh. He pushes you gently in return, but you’re caught off guard and lose balance, almost directly falling into the woman. Now it’s your turn to glare at Johnny.

Just to change things up, you and Johnny begin a very educated discussion about how the proportions are exaggerated for perspective, how the symbol of David was actually a symbol for the city of Florence at the time, and the time when he was attacked by a man with a hammer, etc. etc. Basically, you were throwing all the facts out there that you knew until, finally, the woman walked away. Satisfied, you break through to the end of the crowd and scan the room for your friends. After strolling for a bit, you see Xiaojun just in a trance looking at the drapery on a female statue. “How’s it going?” you ask, somewhat startling him.

“Wow. Just- this is so- wow.” He manages.

You can’t help but laugh, “Very articulate. I like your review,” you tease. “Is this your favorite piece here?”

“So far, yeah.”

“Is there a gift shop here? Maybe we can get you a little replica.”

He gives you a small glare before turning back to the piece in front of him. “There has to be a gift shop somewhere nearby, we can go look if you want?” You nod in agreement. Shortly after, Renjun shows up followed by Sungchan.

Renjun asks, “What are you guys up to?”

You respond, “We were thinking of trying to find a gift shop somewhere nearby to pick up some souvenirs, wanna come?” Renjun agrees, then looks to Sungchan. “I’m down for anything as long as we can eat after,” he replies.

With that, Xiaojun takes on the responsibility of finding a place nearby. Once you arrive, the store says it’s a “gift store” but inside are not the museum keepsakes one might expect. Instead, there are a bunch of knick knacks and jewelry. But you all agree that you’ve made it this far and might as well check it out.

You wander through the scarves and stuffed toys before turning around and discovering the jewelry behind you. Renjun reaches out to a pair of earrings that had caught your eye and hold them up to the side of your face.

“How are they?” you ask.

“Really pretty! You should get these,” he says. You take them from his hand and check the price. It’s a little more than you want to spend and you think that you’d better save your money to buy gifts for your family or friends instead of yourself.

“They cost a little too much. Shame. They’re very pretty.” Renjun simply smiles in response with understanding. You don’t have much time to be upset before you’re distracted by a call from Johnny asking where you are.

“I’ve tried calling Sungchan AND Xiaojun AND Renjun. Jaehyun and I already left the museum,” he says on the other end of the line.

“We did too. We’re at a gift store right now but I think we’re going to go for food soon,” Sungchan interjects with agreement in the distance, “Want to just meet us there?”

“Sure.”

“Any ideas on where to eat?”

“Yeah, Jae and I found a spot we want to try out. I’ll send you the address.”

“Great. See you there,” you say before ending the call and rounding up the gang before making your way to the restaurant.

Masterlist

//Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I'm in grad school now so updates will take a while. But, I haven't given up on the series yet so let's keep it going y'all!

[bubbyyerrr]

Broken Bow and Hochatown

5 Senses

Audio Reading:  https://drive.google.com/file/d/1PT2nvmg6Rn5rwvz6lqsgjeFvF_iRNzVz/view?usp=drivesdk

         Broken Bow and Hochatown look like a run-down Hallmark representation of a small town in the country. There are trees and wildlife everywhere and the lake and rivers are clear and (for the most part) free of pollution. The scenery changes a bit when hundreds of tourists crowd the one road and every camping spot along the lake, but they all seek the same middle-of-nowhere getaway.  The smell of Broken Bow- pine trees mixed with lake water and grills- persists through tourism's popularity.

           Broken Bow feels like a hot, sticky air constantly surrounding you and eventually being cleared by the breeze being carried above the soft waves of the lake. It feels like the first breath of fresh air when you step through the door of your home after a long workday. It sounds like high schoolers’ trucks with enlarged mufflers black-smoking and letting everybody in the neighborhood know that they have arrived. Broken Bow sounds like the warm hellos of a people that have known each other their whole lives because it seem like everybody here has.

           Broken Bow tastes like a confusing amount of Tex-Mex mixed with fast food and the occasional good burger. It tastes like local coffee beans and homemade ice cream. Broken Bow encapsulates the full feeling of a summertime feel good movie. The sights, smells, sounds, tastes, and feelings are all quite familiar to me, to the point where I have taken them each for granted. It feels of something unique and treasured by many for its beauty in the small things.

My Love for the Small Town

My experience with Broken Bow and Hochatown is substantial, seeing as I have lived there for the majority of my life. The irony is that I had to leave for college to realize its significance and impact on my life. In high school I was more than a little frustrated with my place of living. The “city” of Broken Bow had nothing for teenagers to do throughout the year. I wanted a bowling alley, a laser tag arena, a coffee shop, or anything else that a bigger city had. In high school, my friends and I would go to a parking lot adjacent to the Wal-Mart parking lot and sit in one person’s car and listen to music and talk. If we were not spending the night and playing video games, then this was our next best option in our eyes.

           I suppose there is a charm to its uniqueness, but I was quite blind to it having only experienced its lack of activities compared to other places. Teenagers of Broken Bow have it easy now. There are two coffee shops and a bowling alley is coming to Hochatown, I would not be at all surprised if a laser tag arena was soon to follow! I am quite happy with it, despite my obvious previous frustrations, however. I now experience it in mediation as a place to escape, as many many others have.

Sustain the Environment

Broken Bow and Hochatown should be preserved as an escape to pure nature with minimalized pollutants in the water and air. My hope is that every tourist that visits would share my view and take care of the environment of the small town. People visit this place because of the clear water and sense of peace with being surrounded by nature, and if that were to be ruined or contaminated, people would come here less and drastically decrease the business that the town has thrived from. The State Park of Beaver’s Bend is well protected, but I encourage anyone staying in cabins or camping to treat the nature around you kindly so that it may continue to welcome others who visit.

Come Visit you City Slickers

I would encourage anybody that has never been to Broken Bow/Hochatown to visit with a plan of activities for each day. Floating the river is a very popular choice among tourists and locals, and there are plenty of canoe and kayak rental places that will take you to the river and pick you up when you have finished your route. It is a great way to spend the day in the sun and water and encourages little competitions among families and friends or a peaceful journey for the lone wolf types. I would encourage newcomers to the area to come in with a fresh conviction to take a step away from staring at screens all the time. Beauty is not found in the lens of a camera but the purity of the moment captured by not only the sight but the sounds and feelings of the moment.

Source: https://www.vrbo.com/vacation-rentals/usa/oklahoma/broken-bow?noDates=true&k_clickid=CjwKCAjwuvmHBhAxEiwAWAYj-KvnJaKnEyvEjDVLuL5DySkqXXfVUSPAfUCi1V3-TquPPPTnJW-GCRoCFacQAvD_BwE&ds_cid=71700000080047762&ds_kids=p60860309934&ds_kid=39700060860309934&ksprof_id=700000002166899&ksdevice=c&ktarget=dsa-1183032255545&kloct=&klocf=9026684&ds_aid=58700006721571344&ha_t=:g:&gclid=CjwKCAjwuvmHBhAxEiwAWAYj-KvnJaKnEyvEjDVLuL5DySkqXXfVUSPAfUCi1V3-TquPPPTnJW-GCRoCFacQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds

Covid Changes to Broken Bow

Whenever the pandemic hit, Broken Bow initially followed a soft lockdown and the majority of residents did not leave their homes as frequently. After a few people got it and got over it, however, this changed for the entire town. Many people ceased to take it seriously or their view of the virus became “If I get it I get it”.

Broken Bow and Beaver's Bend are located in an overwhelmingly conservative area of the United States. With that being said, you can imagine that many things did not change in Broken Bow for the most part. Our Wal-Mart asked people to wear masks, but they were ignored, and no employees enforced the mask policy or social distancing. While the franchise restaurants, excluding two, stayed the same and flourished from drive-thru and delivery experiences, the “Mom and Pop” restaurants were hit quite hard by the initial drop in business. One of our biggest, most-frequented restaurants in town, Papa Poblanos, was heavily impacted at first, but they introduced an “Order Online” option that brought a significant chunk of their revenue back to normal.

As the virus progressed and calmed down, tourism has spiked back almost as intensely as it dropped. The cabin businesses faired very well, as did all of the attractions in Hochatown. Every store and restaurant you go to, it is quite easy to point out who is a tourist and who is a local based on who has a mask and who does not. Throughout the rise and fall of the virus, Broken Bow has managed to maintain an optimistic attitude, and gives tourists from all over a safe haven to escape.

All of the following photos are from Broken Bow photographer, Matt Cameron. Matt has done photography for multiple cabins and the other photos are of Broken Bow lake, Mountain Fork River and a mountain in the Broken Bow area. Each photo is from his account on instagram, @cameronphotography.ok Link: https://www.instagram.com/cameronphotography.ok/

Now that you’ve been Convinced

1.     Prepare your budget. You should not worry about money on your vacation/detox so save money where you can, to enjoy it later.

2.     Gather your party. Do you have a group of people or your family that you’d love to escape with? If you’re going alone, this step is significantly less important.

3.     Prepare your mind and body for a change by adapting sleep and thought patterns. It can be very difficult to not think about work or other things while vacationing, so prepare yourself.

4.     Let people know ahead of time that you will not be on your phone as much (hopefully not at all).

5.     Look for the perfect place to stay. There are hundreds of cabins in Broken Bow, so find one you love!

6.     Reach out to the cabin booking services and talk about your favorite place. Get a good relationship with them so if you need anything while there, they can oblige easily.

7.     Look into possible activities that you think you might enjoy. While there is some awesome stuff to do here, you may not be able to do it all, so prioritize as much as possible!

8.     Plan out your days ahead of time. Make an itinerary if wanted, but do not be too strict with the timelines.

9.     Pack well! Your vacation is almost here, but do not get too overzealous and forget something. Make a list ahead of time and add on as the time gets closer.

10.  Make a banger playlist. No trip is complete without tunes to jam to. That road anticipation can be alleviated with some sick beats.

11.     Practice your most hick accent on the way. This step is crucial.

12.     As you arrive, just throw your bags on the bed and go eat! Get some experience and good food on the first day. My highest of recommendations to Grateful Head.

13.     Get that phone out of here! You will ruin it in all the water around here anyways!

14.     Enjoy every moment of the day. If you need a nap, take it. If you want a snack, you deserve it. Stick to the itinerary, but if something goes off schedule, that is okay! That is why you prioritized!

15.     Take a walk or a few out in nature before you go. You can take some time away from the constant distractions from everyday life and actually think in the sounds of nature. A vacation is nothing without a proper detox.

My blog over Broken Bow was an interesting one. I have written about my hometown before but never in this capacity and to this magnitude. My focus on the hometown and not so much the important events of my life in them was strange but welcome. My blog served as an homage to the place I grew up, even though I have not been overly fond of it. It became an appreciation of the roots of my parents and grandparents.

The colors used on my blog were the default colors of Tumblr. I am not sure how customizable the layout of blogs on Tumblr are. The pictures I used that I am proud of are the pictures of Matt Cameron, a wonderful photographer friend of mine. I wanted my blog to reflect a familiar place of peace that you could go to to collect your thoughts. The audience for my blog is people who have never visited Broken Bow or Hochatown before.

I put my blog together just assignment by assignment as I went through them. I feel it is strong in capturing the beauty of a small town getaway. The blog does not accurately depict the frustrations of limited activities there. I could relate the blog to my college career because of the surprising amount of musically talented people in Broken Bow. It honestly does not have much to relate to apart from the musically inclined people there.

This post was for Dr. Hembrough’s ENG 3903 course.

[chemiste]

Foresight ~ ch. 2

A/N : hello hi howdy, here’s ch. 2, let me know what y’all think!!

ch. 1

All you could do was weakly nod and follow the large mass of muscle through the crowd with Maggie attached to your arm. He swiped his keycard on a door and led you through a hallway, where you heard voices becoming louder and louder.

Fuck me.

Maggie gave you a reassuring squeeze as the guard knocked and then opened the door, pushing both of you inside and closing it. 

There they were, the band members all scattered on different chairs, a few others in all-black outfits with clipboards and headsets, and then, Harry Styles, sparkly jacket discarded on the chair next to him in the dressing room and stressfully running his hands through his sweaty hair. All his rings were placed on the table as though they had continuously snagged his hair and he got frustrated.

The room seemed to go dead silent when you entered.

Then, Harry spoke.

“How in the world did you know those songs.” 

You swallowed, “I’m so sorry I—“ the whole room erupted with loud shouts, people whipping out laptops and typing faster than you’d every seen before.

A large man came storming up to you, “Where did you leak it, or where did you find it? These songs are worth a lot more than you miss, so I suggest you speak very quickly so this doesn’t cause more of a problem than it is right now.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but was cut off by a scream across the room, “—what do you mean you can’t find the leaked file?! There has to be one! Look again!” 

You tried to butt in, “Please this is all a misunderstanding—“ “Just tell us which server you found the songs on!” “Please sir I—“ “Enough with the babbling! Just tell me—“

A large smack quieted the room, you turned around to see Maggie with the door handle in her hand. She must have slammed the door open and shut.

“Will you please let her speak?” She huffed. You had never been prouder to have Maggie as your friend.

You turned back to all the awaiting people squirming in their spots. 

 “There is no leak whatsoever anywhere online or physical.” 

A few people let out breaths of relief, but Harry spoke up again, this time walking closer toward you.

“But how did you know the songs?” You rubbed the back of your neck and squeezed your eyes shut, “This is going to sound ridiculous but, I’m psychic.”

A couple scoffs were let out and the man that had been previously screaming in your face said, “And you think we’re supposed to believe that?”

 “She’s telling the truth,” Maggie spoke up, “She’s been able to know things before others do all her life.”

“Prove it.” You and Harry spoke at the same time. You looked him dead in the eye as he continued, “How am I supposed to be 1000 percent certain you’re telling the full truth?” You said at the exact same time he did.

Now people were intrigued, “As I have your attention, I’d like you to know that I’m very sorry about the whole songs thing. It’s just sometimes I say things subconsciously and can’t register if I should know it already or not—plus the vodka I’d been drinking before didn’t help either.”

You continued, “I only know the songs because the melody had been stuck in my head recently and I guess maybe down the line your fans will figure out your blanks in the song. I only sang ‘tasted’ and ‘ride it’ because I can only predict that’s what they’re going to come up with soon. And apparently, they sing it for you since you don’t.” 

Harry’s manager, whose badge read, AZOFF, clapped him on the shoulder with a grin hanging off his face, “Man Styles, your fans are really something.”

That seemed to release the tension in the room. Mr. Azoff told everyone the crisis was averted and people scattered from the room except the band. “I’ll catch you tomorrow Harry, good show tonight.” His manager said as he left the room.

Once the door shut, a dark-haired woman came bounding over to you, “Hey Sarah.” You smiled at her and she seemed to be in awe, “You’re like a superhero!” You scrunched your nose at her declaration, “I don’t think of it that way, more like lucky guesses.” “Lucky guesses! Psh! You knew the George Michael bit of Anna, and we just put that in. You are magical.” Mitch exclaimed for his seat on the couch.

“So now what?” Maggie asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. You looked back to the British rockstar, he smiled and dramatically put his hand out to you.

Hesitantly, you slid your hand into his. “Ms.—” “Y/N” “—Ms. Y/N, will you do me the gracious honor of accepting my apology for believing something so terrible of you.” 

A couple snickers were heard from the band, and Maggie as well. You rolled your eyes at his tactics, for a super celebrity, he’s still a huge dork. “Of course I will, I totally understand what a disaster it would be to have something leaked.”

Click!

You both turned your heads to the door, where a woman with a camera stood taking a picture of your hands together. “Hey, are you the psychic people are chatting about?” 

You let go of Harry’s hand as she snapped another picture, “Yes I am, my name is Y/N.”

The photographer came inside the door and slung the camera strap over her shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, but Harry and co, its time for the post-concert shot and I want to do it on the stage before they shut down the lights.”

 Harry’s head perked up at her request and the band members got up to leave. He slipped his rings back on quickly as well before exiting.

Maggie got up from the couch and everyone headed out back to the stage. You both wandered behind them, not really know if you could leave or not. “What are we supposed to do now?” She whispered. 

You shrugged your shoulders as you walked to the side of the stage and watched the talented musicians link up to take a farewell photo. It made you smile, they each seemed truly happy in each other’s company.

As everyone left the stage to finally retire to their respective rooms for the night, Harry walked over to you, with a bit of strut in his step?

“Did you wan’ a photo or somthin’?” He asked with a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes at the narcissism, “I’ve already got a picture of you to post on my phone, thanks though.”

Now it was your turn to wear a cheeky smile, the man seemed taken back by your denial and Mags, on the other hand, was beyond herself with disbelief. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna take a picture with him, I sure as hell am!” Shoving her phone into your hand, she pulled the much taller man in for a hug and smiled at the camera. 

Click!

You smiled at the picture and gave the two a thumbs up. You glanced at the time and your eyes went wide. “Oh god, Mags we gotta go! It’s almost 12am.” You put your hand out to shake his, “It was great to meet you but we have to leave, got a train to catch early in the morning.” 

“Where are you girls headed off to?”

Maggie gave a little dance, “Paris baby! I’m so fucking excited to see the Eiffel tower again!” Both of you chuckled at her response. He turned to look back at you, “What a coincidence, I’ll be performing there the night after tomorrow. Are you sure you’re not following me?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble superstar, but that’s not the case. This is our spring break trip and miraculously Maggie’s father got last minute tickets from a colleague that couldn’t use them. That’s why we’re here right now.”

“It was lovely seeing you perform, you really know how to use a stage.” You continued. “Yeah! You really did look like sex during Caroli—” 

Shit, maybe Maggie isn’t as sober as I hoped, you thought as you immediately put your hand over her mouth. 

“Ha ha, um, so ya on that note, we’re gonna go. Bye Harry.” He chuckled as you pulled Maggie away who now realized what she had spilled out.

“Bye Y/N.”

Ding!

It was already 1am and Harry had just settled into bed for the night, he grabbed his phone that had lit up from the notification.

1 New Email : Hélène Pambrun

Harry opened the email Hélène sent him.

Hey, I edited this picture and thought you might like it, maybe something to post. Only if you want to though.

Night.

Attached-JPEG.

Harry click the attachment and smiled.

Then posted it.

“Okay, the timer is a go!” 

Maggie ran back over to where you were next to the ledge of the bridge, her ponytail bouncing with each step.

 Paris was beautiful at night, and even more so, the Eiffel Tower that was lit up in front of you. You both faced the iconic monument and waited a second for the timer to take the photo.

Click!

Mags went over to grab your phone, “It’s perfect, we are such fashion icons. Even Anna Wintour would be proud.”

You looped your arm with Maggie’s and you headed off to site see some more. You posted the picture while you window-shopped, stopping a couple times to look at certain items before venturing on. 

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow Mags?” You asked as you both entered the hotel lobby, finished with your escapades. 

 “Well, we should see if the Louvre will even be a possibility—“ “It won’t be.” “—oh, too many tourists tomorrow?” She questioned. 

“No, a child will throw up on the entry door and close it down for a couple hours for cleaning.” You answered, swiping the key into your hotel door.

 Maggie toed her shoes off and opened the bathroom door, “It’s great traveling with someone that knows if things could go to shit or not.” You cracked a smile and went to sit down on your bed opposite hers. 

As you changed into pjs, your phone started blowing up with so many notifications that it was slowly moving off the nightstand. 

“Woo’s cawling yoow at tis time?” Maggie asked with a mouth full of toothpaste. 

“They’re not calls,” you answered, picking up your phone. 

“It’s notifications on Instagram.” 

“Huh?” Maggie came over and sat down to read over your shoulder.

Hundreds of comments rolled in on your phone, you checked Instagram and gasped. 

“Maggie I have about 3000 new followers what’s going on?” The brunette leaped up to grab her phone and scroll through with you.

“Oh my god, Y/N, it looks like there are videos of you singing at the show going viral!” “What! Why did I not see this beforehand?!”

“I don’t know but these speculators are growing in size, should we contact the Harry Style’s headquarters account? People are already coming up with crazy theories and I’ve only been to one fan account.”

You watched with wide eyes as more people filled your Instagram posts with comments and questions, “Do I go on private?!” 

“No!” Maggie nearly shouted, “You can’t do anything that would raise suspicions even more, people already have screenshots of your posts it wouldn’t matter anyway.” Email coming through!

Huh?

Ding! Ding!

1 New Email: Jeffery Azoff

“Mags, I just got an email from Harry’s manager.” 

You said with a shaky voice, “What are you waiting around for, open it!” 

You clicked the message.

Dear Ms. L/N

Due to a social media outbreak, I would like to meet with you tomorrow before the concert to discuss how to further proceed in light of recent events. Please come by at 1pm, attached is the pass to show security and address of the arena.

Jeffery Azoff

“He wants me to come by before the Paris show! To talk about what’s happening.” She nodded approvingly, “See, the professionals will handle it. Y/N don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

There you were, 1pm sharp with Maggie by your side as you showed the electronic pass to the guard at the door of the center.

You had to squeeze through the line of already awaiting fans which made you feel really guilty as you felt their envious stares on the back of your head as the guard like you in. 

You opted to wear something that was not your Ramones t-shirt and funny enough, you seemed to see an increase in that particular band attire as you made your way through the crowd.

You had on your trusty high waisted blue jeans and a thin black semi turtle neck with shiny black booties for height. Maggie dressed down as well, going with a long sleeve red dress and brown thigh highs. 

Once you both wove your way through the maze that was the backstage, you arrived at B34, the room Mr. Azoff asked you to meet him.

Here goes nothing.

You opened the door and were greeted with Jeff, a few other crew members and—

“ ‘ello Y/N, a pleasure to see yeh again.” 

Harry Styles sat in a chair at the table in sweats and a pink sweatshirt that said ‘fuck I’m cute’ in cursive.

“Come please seat down, we don’t have that much time and I would like to patch things up quickly before the show so that Harry here doesn’t get bombard with shouts about our lovely Ramones Girl.” His manager said.

Well, that made you blush a dark shade of red, you sat down and Maggie sat next to you on the right, giving your hand a quick squeeze before pulling away.

Mr. Azoff rested his head on his arm that was propped up on the table, “So not to beat around the bush, the stats for this ‘new story’ are growing and quickly, E!News has already tweeted out the #ramonesgirl this morning and Teen Vogue liked a post on one of harry’s more dedicated fan pages stylesinlove that has pretty clear video and audio of seeing you and your singing.” 

He pushed the computer toward you, “These are a couple of postings you could put up on your feed if you’d like to clear up confusion or,” he paused for a moment and you leaned forward into his hesitation.

“Or what?” You simply asked, curious beyond belief.

“You could simply tour with Harry for a few more shows and make a comment or two for some fan pages that you’ve just been a fantastic friend of Harry’s for a while and already knew the songs since he had shared them with you beforehand.” 

You turned to Harry would hadn’t spoken up the whole time, “And you’re okay with that? It’s kind of a big deal to say I’m one of the people you shared unreleased music with.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, can’t very well tell them you’re a psychic, can we? That would be hard to explain to the press.”

You leaned back into the chair with the realization that this seemed to be the only way unless you wanted to show the world your sorta abilities.

What about Maggie?

“What do you think?” You turned to your friend.

She put her arms behind her head and smiled, “hey, I’ve got to go back to uni two days but honestly Y/N you could just transfer the two classes you’re taking to online and have a blast with Mr. Worldwide over here.” 

She gestured to Harry who was smiling into his hand, “I think it’s an opportunity you should not pass up. But you better call me every once in a while okay?!”

You took a deep breath and turned to Jeff.

 “I’m in.”

ch. 3

telephone hour for this chapter

foresight masterlist

<3

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Anton is moved to a new location, and all is made ready for the lantern festival at Valtoria. Madeleine has questions for her mother, and progress is made in solving the mystery of the gunman in the cathedral.

Word count 2752

A/N warnings - implied smut so still NOT SUITABLE FOR UNDER 18s

15 Up in the air

Anton paced his small cell. Instead of lying in wait to take the King hostage, he was in prison. Luckily he had a card up his sleeve – the documents that supported the fact that at the time Constantine took the throne, his own grandfather, Alfred, came out of exile in Monaco to make a counter claim on behalf of the Severus family. He had disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and Anton’s parents never returned to the country. His mother died when he was very little, and he was brought up largely by his father, who had died some five years ago.

His father had drummed into him the idea that he should be on the throne, that Constantine was corrupt and despotic. He had died a bitter man, making Anton swear that he would gather his forces and take power. In his childhood the Nevrakis family had visited them twice, and he had met his intended queen when she was a baby. They had brought with them copies of the ancient agreement that stated that should the Severus and Nevrakis heirs be of a gender and age to be betrothed, that a marriage would be binding subject to the signing of the documents that they brought with them. That and the clause in documents held by both Nevrakis and the Crown that stated that should the ruling line (in this case the Rys family) not have an heir by the end of the first year of a new monarch’s reign, that the Crown should be claimed by the Nevrakis, gave him what he thought was an iron clad claim. It just would have been a lot easier had Constantine or Liam abdicated in his favour, or died in power or just before being crowned.

He heard the key in the cell door, and it opened to reveal his lawyer and three guards – one prison guard and two King’s men.

‘Prisoner, hold out your hands’ intoned the prison guard, revealing a pair of handcuffs. He scowled, but his lawyer made a reassuring gesture.

‘It’s alright Mr Severus, you’re being transferred to you new quarters.’ She said ‘Until you reach your destination, you must, by law, be restrained. Once you are there, you will be afforded freedom within your own suite and will have access to outside space. I can assure you it is a far more suitable place than this cell’ He held out his wrists and felt the cold steel click around them. He glowered at his escort party.

‘I demand to know the names of these men’ he asserted ‘When my claim to the throne is acknowledged, the manner in which I am treated will determine whether they are rewarded or reprimanded’ He held his head high as one of the men stepped forward to escort him outside.

‘My name is Parker, Mr Severus, and my colleague is Marcus’

‘Make a note of that’ Anton commanded his lawyer, who nodded and took out her cell phone and tapped away for a few seconds.

‘Follow me please’ Parker directed, and he lead the way, flanked by his lawyer and followed by Marcus. They walked to the end of the corridor to the first locked gate, and beyond past three more, and in the lobby, two more guards waited. Anton was handed back his belongings and signed himself out of the prison into the custody of the King’s Guard. He was hurried swiftly from the outside door to a waiting van in the prison courtyard. No photographers could record his release, and he did not see if any other vehicles accompanied the van, due to the small high windows in the van. He was strapped in to a four point seat belt that doubled as a restraint when locked.

‘This is outrageous’ he growled ‘If there was an accident I would be unable to escape’ Marcus made a grimace.

‘Don’t worry, Severus, there are contingency plans’ he replied before he spoke into his security microphone ‘All stowed away’ he intoned, and the van lurched into motion.

 ------

‘So you sent him to High View?’ Olivia asked Liam as they travelled to Valtoria, the Royal limo flanked by King’s Guard vehicles. It was comprised of outrider motorcycles and SUVs, and Regina was to follow an hour later with a similar retinue. ‘I presume you’ve closed it to the public’ She referred to a manor that in the past had served as a summer residence for the Royal Family before Constantine’s father chose Applewood. It had consequently been converted into half self catering, half stately home, and was open for visitors to look around. It had fallen out of favour as a tourist destination in the last few years, and had been largely converted into apartments and cottages for both short term and holiday lets, though it struggled to make money. It was located on a small peninsula an hour’s drive from the capital, accessible only by one road and surrounded on three sides by sheer sea cliffs.

‘Of course, Livvy’ he answered ‘All the bookings have been cancelled and transferred to other properties and everyone has been cleared out.  Anton will be staying in a first floor apartment, and the main ground floor flat will be staffed by the Guard.’

‘Will he have his own staff?’ she asked

‘Just the bare minimum – cook, cleaner and personal assistant’ he answered. ‘We had to negotiate hard not to allow him any more than that’

‘And the security arrangements?’ she asked ‘Will he be allowed visitors?’

‘His movements will be monitored round the clock. At night he’ll be under lock and key, and any visitors have to be approved – Bastien or Lewis, myself and Anton’s lawyer will be consulted in every case. The outside of the castle is already monitored by security cameras, and the guard will randomly deploy surveillance drones.’ She sighed heavily

‘I suppose that will do’ she said ‘Perhaps we can enjoy the Lantern festival somewhat, but my nerves are on edge’ Liam put his hand on her arm

‘I know exactly what you mean’ he said ‘I can barely imagine being free of Anton’s machinations. I live in hope that we can refute his claim’

------

The manor bustled with activity not seen for decades. The housekeeping team were kept busy directing nobles to their rooms or suites and fulfilling their various demands and requests. Gladys had done an excellent job – all was spotless and floral arrangements adorned every room and corridor, though a few had to be moved for various guests suffering from allergies. The festival was to be held the following day, allowing time for guests to settle in and eat before retiring for the night. Marquees and stalls were being set up, and folk could either eat in the marquees or picnic in the grounds. The Valtorian public were intrigued to see the grounds of the Manor after so many years of it being private, and crowds were expected.

There was no formal dinner that night. Instead, caterers had been brought in to set up a giant informal buffet, and apart from a table for Liam, Regina and invited guests, everyone was free to sit where they wished at tables set for six. Bastien and Sophia shared a table with Drake and Riley, and Damien joined them with a pretty young woman accompanying him – a minor noble that Bastien had only come across once or twice.

‘Hey, there’s Adelaide’ Drake commented as he sat with a plate piled high with food, nodding at a table on the other side of the room. ‘She doesn’t look so well – has she been ill?’ Damien looked round furtively, and Bastien made a discreet cough. Sophia glared across at the Duchess, who she knew Bastien had some involvement with in the past. She sat at a table while her daughter picked her out some savouries. The older woman looked across at them and gave a weak smile. Drake chuckled ‘Maxwell will be able to relax, Addy doesn’t look like she’ll be chasing him tonight’

Sophia amused herself by looking round the room and identifying as many nobles as she could. Some months ago Bastien had given her files on many of them in order for her to help him with a little surveillance. She had been serving drinks and listening to gossip to glean useful information for him on the social tour when Liam was deciding on a bride. Neville Delacouer sat with Lady Penelope, and Rashad Domvallier sat at the same table talking to Lady Kiara Lady Hana Lee sat with a minor noble but looked bored at his attempts at conversation. Olivia sat with Liam and Regina, and Lord Domvallier senior sat next to the Queen Mother. They had been seen together a few times recently. He had been a close friend of the couple and had been widowed only a year ago.

‘Should Olivia be sitting with Liam?’ Sophia murmured to Bastien as the other on their table talked. ‘Tongues will wag’

‘I think they want that to happen’ he said ‘The sooner folk get the idea that she’s close to the King the better.’

‘But it’s rather complicated by Anton’s claim, and the betrothal agreement’ she pointed out. Bastien shrugged.

‘I think they deserve a little diversion from all the drama’ he said ‘and hopefully we’ll find a way round that yet’ He looked up as one of his men approached the table.

‘Sir’ he said ‘Lewis sent me to fetch you. We’ve made a breakthrough concerning who hired the assassin at the cathedral’

--------

The conversation between Madeleine and her mother had been challenging. She had already arrived at Valtoria when Madeleine booked in to her suite – or rather, their suite. Her usual icy calm demeanour cracked when they met in their shared lounge.

‘Mother, where the hell have you been?’ she snapped, not caring that she looked pale and thin. ‘Why didn’t you answer my texts?’ Her mother stood, gripping the back of a chair for support.

‘I’m sorry Maddy, I was ill’ she replied faintly

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t want to worry you, darling. You really couldn’t have done anything’

‘But I’d at least have liked to know’ she fumed ‘Did you see a doctor?’

‘I – I was in hospital, Maddy’ she admitted, tears starting to her eyes. ‘Please don’t ask me anything else. I’m back, and I’m fine’ She sank into the chair, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief.

‘Hospital?’ Madeleine tried to keep her composure ‘and just where was that hospital? Why didn’t they inform me?’

‘I can’t…’ the Duchess held the hankie to her face, dabbing at her eyes. Madeleine scoffed.

‘At least tell me whether you left the country or not’ she asked, and her mother nodded faintly.

‘Let me guess, it was one of your assignations’ she said, and paused in thought. ‘Was it some weird sex game that went wrong?’ Adelaide’s eyes grew wide with horror but she didn’t deny it. Madeleine squeezed the bridge of her nose and screwed her eyes shut.

‘Really mother, you should know better’ she said in a strangled voice ‘Did you have to pay anyone to keep it quiet?’ There was a shake of the head at this question. She couldn’t look her daughter in the eye, and tears started to flow.

‘Can’t you show a little compassion, Maddy?’ she pleaded ‘Maybe give me a hug?’ Madeleine sighed in exasperation

‘How can I be sympathetic if you won’t tell me what happened?’ Adelaide made a big effort to stem the tears, taking a deep breath and sitting straighter.

‘I just wanted to protect you, Maddy. The King may have told you he won’t marry you, but he hasn’t married anyone else. He has to have an heir, and maybe you could make some sort of arrangement’ Madeleine’s eyes opened wide.

‘You really think so?’ her tone was sarcastic. ‘I offered him a Cordonian marriage and he turned it down, what makes you think he wants me to be mother to an heir?’ Adelaide wrung her hands together.

‘He may have a change of heart’ she said hopefully.

‘Well, you’ll be interested to know that I brought the subject up again, and yet again he turned me down.’ She sniffed and Adelaide’s face fell.

‘Oh my baby’ she sobbed ‘I can’t understand it. You’re pretty, and clever, and your father and I made sure you got the best training. You’re the best Queen Cordonia could hope for’

‘Yes well, maybe if you’d allowed a little space for the possibility that I might fail, I’d have some idea what to actually do with my life now’ she said bitterly. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate you pushing me to be my best – but your ambition was rather specific.’

‘I’m sorry Maddy. Everyone needs a purpose – heaven knows I should understand that’ Madeleine sighed.

‘What was so bad you couldn’t tell me?’ she asked ‘You’re my mother, it’s not like I’d stop talking to you’

‘You’d be so disappointed though’ she replied, downcast. ‘and it might have repercussions’ Just then there was a knock on the door, and a one of the staff entered to let them know food was being served.

‘This isn’t over, mother’ Madeleine said sternly ‘I’ll get to the bottom of this ‘

------

‘So Lucretia was the one who hired the gunman?’ Bastien said incredulously. Damien looked puzzled.

‘That doesn’t make sense. She was in league with Anton, why didn’t she just go with his plans?’

‘I don’t know’ said Lewis ‘It took quite some time, but we managed to track back the payment he received, and it couldn’t have been anyone else.’

‘It looks like we have to question her again’ said Bastien. ‘But as Anton is under control, I don’t think we all need to go right now.’ He turned to Lewis ‘But I think you should go and have a word with her, see what you can find out. If she’s stubborn, then I’ll go to see her. Damien – it’s up to you. Will your work schedule wait longer? I’d appreciate your help, but it’s not essential’

‘I’ll go with Lewis if we go now’ he said ‘If we move swiftly we may even be back in time for the festival’

‘That’s fine by me’ answered Lewis.

‘Very well’ replied Bastien ‘Keep me informed, let’s see if she’ll co-operate this time’

-------

The next day Sophia woke alone, hearing the shower running in the bathroom. She rose and opened the curtains to the tall windows, and found herself looking out over a sea of marquees, tents and stalls on the lawn outside. People bustled about setting out goods and firing up grills and ovens, and flags and bunting adorned the temporary structures. Bastien came back into the bedroom, naked and towelling himself off. He joined Sophia at the window, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the nape of her neck.

‘Good morning my goddess’

‘Bas, people will see’ she protested ‘Go and put some clothes on’ Her body betrayed her by melting back into his embrace. He smelled clean and his skin was still damp.

‘I don’t care’ he murmured in her ear ‘And I don’t have to get dressed just yet’ He snuck his hand under her nightdress, skimming his hand over her belly. She could feel him pressing hard against the small of her back, but she grabbed his hand and pulled his little finger to the side, just enough to make him yelp in pain and surprise.

‘You just showered’ she scolded ‘You’ll have to do it all over again’

‘Come and shower with me and that’s two birds killed with one stone’ he insisted, this time bringing his hand to her backside and squeezing her cheek. She laughed, turning round and throwing her arms around his neck.

‘You are a persistent man, Mr Lykel’ she sighed, and stretched up to kiss him on the lips. The kiss lingered and she pressed herself to him.

‘I notice you’re not saying no, Miss Turner’ he said in a low tone, picking her up easily off the ground so that she had to wrap her legs around him and cling on to stop from falling. She squealed in protest as he carried her off to the bathroom. His gait was an undignified waddle, but he kept hold of her all the way.

‘I can never say no to you’ she laughed as he shut the door and bore her to the shower.

Next Chapter 16 Under Pressure

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [1] A Fresh Start

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-«« 

“Everybody has a geography that can be used for change; that is why we travel to far off places. Whether we know it or not, we need to renew ourselves in territories that are fresh and wild. We need to come home through the body of alien lands.”   — Joan Halifax

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Holding an aspirin tablet between her teeth, craving a drink, Lir listens to the clacking of the keyboard and blinks against the watery light streaming between the blinds. The office of Red Grave’s chief of police is smaller than the one in Fortuna, but neater: gone are the numerous potted plants, the maps and spreadsheets tacked to every available surface, the bookcases littered with little knick-knacks and family photographs. Those personal touches have been ignored in favor of something that is neat, organized, the little bit of warmth the room has coming from the soft bulb of the desk lamp and the mahogany of the furniture. It’s a bit of a relief, really. Sanctus had been old—too old, in the opinion of many—and took on a fatherly role that often left Lir feeling chafed and angry. At least here, going from first impressions, there will be no blurring of the line between duty and her personal life.

Seated with his back rod-straight is her new superior. A gold nameplate on the desk reads J.D. Morrison, and as he reads whatever file he’s pulled up on his monitor, Lir wonders what the initials stand for. James Dean is her first thought, and she finally crunches the aspirin, using the bitter flavor to smother her budding laughter. Sure, yeah, why not? Red Grave is a big city, and maybe Morrison’s parents had been so attached to the ill-fated actor that they’d saddled their son with his name. Certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s heard of.

“Detective Thorne,” Morrison says. He opens a drawer and pulls out a cigar, which he lights in clear disregard of the signs posted on the doors to the building. “Says here you transferred out for personal reasons.”

“Yessir.” The dull throbbing behind her temples grows at the scent of smoke. “Wanted a change of scenery.”

He coughs, clears his throat. “That so? Well, we’ve had people do it for less. Though your track record . . . You seem to have been on a fast path to promotion. ” Lir says nothing. The expectant silence stretches between them until it turns uncomfortable, but she’s not in any particular mood for niceties. She has an apartment to unpack and a bitch of a headache brewing and she wants to get this introduction over with as quickly as she can. Finally, Morrison sighs, silver plumes curling through the air. “Normally, you’d get a tour and time to sort out your desk, but we got a call this morning and it’s all hands on deck. You up to fieldwork?”

His shrewd gaze rephrases that question nicely. You willing to actually work? “Sure.”

Morrison studies her for a few seconds longer, then nods and stands up, raising his voice to a shout that makes her wince. “Officer Simmons!”

A young man with untidy white hair tucked messily under his cap stumbles in. “Yes, Chief?”

“Take Detective Thorne here to the alley.” Simmons’ face pales, and Morrison barks, “Now!”

“Yes, Chief!” Simmons snaps into a hasty salute before scurrying out of the office.

Lir gives one of her own to Morrison and follows, feeling a sort of bemused pity for the officer. She’d been there once, bright-eyed and eager to please, thinking that the law enforcement they showed on television, with its friendly camaraderie and kind-yet-stern chiefs, was the truth of it. Simmons must still be clinging to that, and she pops another aspirin into her mouth and chews it as they weave through the bullpen to the doors that lead outside.

Simmons doesn’t say much, though he opens her door when they reach the cruiser, flushing under her raised brow, and his uneasy quiet persists well into the ride. Definitely fresh, Lir thinks. Probably still spit shines his shoes in the morning and tells people he’s a cop with pride.The thought is bitter, and angry, and distasteful. Not that it really bothers her anymore; her mind has been particularly not tasty as of late.

They drive through cramped, winding streets that turn unexpectedly into one-ways and cross over themselves into a maze, closed in by the dingy buildings until it all feels more than a little claustrophobic. Red Grave City is coastal, just like Fortuna, but it’s much larger, with more crime, and rumors of rampant corruption and greased pockets give it an unsavory reputation with other law enforcement agencies. Yet in stark contrast, it’s as much of a tourist hotspot as Fortuna, its historic district and scenic parks and ritzy downtown drawing numerous crowds every year, regardless of the season. Lir takes all of it in, the cafès and hotels and convenience stores fighting for space, their colorful signs and banners almost garish against the dull brick, and it’s not until they pass into a more modern area with skyscrapers of steel and glass that she decides to ask where the hell Simmons is taking her to.

“What’s in this alley?”

Simmons jumps, the wheel jerking under his hands and sending them partially over the white lines. A minivan behind them lays on the horn, and Lir watches the driver raise his middle finger as he speeds by once Simmons has corrected. “Sorry, ma’am. Uh, Detective. I thought the Chief filled you in.”

“No.” She straightens. “Just that it’s serious.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he mumbles. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes.” The sight of his momentary pout sends irritation flaring hot and thick along her spine. Lir swallows it and rubs her temples. “Just crack the damn window.”

“Sure thing.” He does, and then reaches for a pack on the dash and. Drawing a cigarette from it, he says, “Call came in maybe twenty minutes before you showed up. Jane Doe found in an alley. She, uh . . . Well, it might be better for you to see for yourself, but it’s . . .” His fingers tremble as he tries to flick his lighter. Lir takes pity on him and pulls her own from her coat, and he smiles gratefully as she holds it to his cigarette, though his face is pallid and shiny with sweat. “First body?” At his nod, she sighs. “You’ve probably heard it gets easier.”

“Does it?” Simmons looks at her hopefully.

Lir snorts. “No. Eyes on the road.”

He retreats into a silence that’s not quite sullen, leaving her to her thoughts. Which mostly center around whether or not she’ll have time to find a new bar, one of the nice and private ones where no one wants to get friendly or gives a shit that she’s a cop, only that she pays her tab. When they arrive at the crime scene, Simmons stays in the car, looking ready to puke. Lir raps on the door once it’s closed and jerks her chin, signalling for him to head out, and she waits until he gives a shaky thumbs up and pulls away from the curb to head towards the yellow tape strung between a nightclub on one side and a sports bar on the other. An officer at the corner stops her until she shows her badge, then lifts the tape for her to step beneath. Immediately, she’s assaulted by the wet, mossy stench of death and viscera, and she takes the gloves and shoe covers and slides them on to buy herself time to adjust to it.

Cops swarm outside of the alley, keeping the rabid press contained. Inside, there’s only four others, three men and a woman, but Lir ignores them in favor of taking in all that she can before she’s forced to talk. Four dumpsters are present, two on each wall with the city’s waste disposal logo printed on the side; bits of trash and litter surround them: used condoms, soda cans, scraps of newspaper, all of the usual findings. There’s no spray paint graffiti, and a security camera faces out into the busy street. Maybe they’ll get something useful from it, though she doubts it. In her experience, they’re usually for show, just a weak-hearted attempt to prevent crime or a way to deter violence on the premises of businesses who host rowdy crowds.

The scenery accounted for, Lir turns her attention to the misshapen body in the center. Nude and pale, the woman is covered from chest to knee in red that’s gone black with time, her unseeing eyes staring at the sky with a terror that won’t disappear until the medical examiner closes them on the slab. She walks towards her, offal and iron making her throat constrict against nausea, and the woman kneeling next to the corpse looks up at her approach with a friendly nod. Dressed in a black jumpsuit, she’s no doubt the M.E., or someone affiliated with them, and she stays quiet as Lir kneels to fully take in the mutilation inflicted on the victim.

While the rest of her is untouched, her throat is slashed, and she’s been split open from rib to hip, the skin and muscle peeled away to reveal her organs beneath. As far as Lir can tell, nothing has been removed, but something has certainly been added: a pendant rests on top of her stomach, glistening wetly in the daylight. “I pulled it out,” the maybe-M.E. says. “Dante wanted to see it.”

“Dante?” The woman tilts her head, and Lir turns to see a man speaking quietly but furiously to two uniforms. “Uh-huh.”

“You must be the new detective. My name’s Trish.” Lir looks blankly at the hand she holds out before taking it, and Trish’s handshake is firm and cordial. “I’m the medical examiner, coroner, whatever you’d like to call me. Your stiffs go onto my slab, anyway.”

Her dry humor draws an unwilling smile from Lir. “Okay. Trish. I’m Lir, Detective Thorne, take your pick as long as it’s not Lily. What can you tell me about our Jane Doe?”

“Not much, other than the obvious.” Trish points to the wound. “This was more than likely done pre-mortem, going by the amount of blood—there wouldn’t be so much of it if she was already dead—and there are a couple of hesitation marks at her throat. But as to which of those killed her, and how long ago, why she didn’t fight back, I won’t know all of that until I take her out of here.”

Lir considers all of that. “Why do you think she didn’t resist?”

“No self-defense wounds on the hands or arms. At least, not that I can see.”

“Mm. Your guys get pictures?”

“Not yet.” Trish smiles wryly. “Chief wanted you to see it first. It’s why Dante’s giving those two a lashing, though he’s just shooting the messengers at this point.”

“Right.” Standing, Lir peels off her gloves and drops them into the bag Trish holds out to her. “Guess I should go save ‘em.”

“Good luck.”

Lir snorts as she turns. On first sight, she’s already unimpressed with the so-called Dante. He’s handsome, sure, model or film star handsome even, with his straight nose and strong jaw dusted with a five o’clock shadow, but he’s dressed like a detective from a noir novel: pinstripe trousers and a matching vest, a red tie, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, brown Oxfords polished to a dull shine. The only things that break the illusion that he’s stepped off the silver screen are the watch at his wrist, the gleaming handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt, the radio at his hip, and the Beretta in its holster next to the radio. She more than half expects him to pull out a flask from somewhere and take a swig mid-tirade, but the only time he pauses is to draw in a breath.

“—how the  hell  he expects us to carry out an investigation when he’s waiting on some country bumpkin—”     “Howdy,” Lir drawls.

He whirls on her so fiercely that she instinctively rests her hand on the butt of her own gun, her pulse roaring into her ears. Dante seems to catch himself, straightening to his full height to scowl down to her, and she’s startled by the pale, frozen blue of his eyes. “You Detective Thorne?”

She shrugs. “Country bumpkin works, too.”

Dante doesn’t have the grace to look embarrassed that she overheard him. “I’m Detective Redgrave. Yes, like the city, no, I don’t give a shit. You done lookin’ at the body?”

“Sure.”

“You hear that, Trish?” Dante hollers. “Take her out.”

Behind her, she hears the telltale metallic clatter of a gurney being placed on the ground, followed by a bit of huffing, the rasp of a zipper, and more heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric. “Are you going to give me the details or am I going to guess?”

He barks a laugh. “Morrison sent you out here blind? Doesn’t surprise me. Sure, I’ll humor you.” With a grin that’s more mocking than genuine, he says, “Call came in at 7:45. Some poor schmuck takin’ out the trash found our body and had the decency to lose his breakfast outside of the crime scene before he called. No witnesses so far, no clothing, no I.D., just—” “What about the camera?” Lir points over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Can’t get to it until the owner shows up, which, according to his staff could be anytime between noon and midnight.”

“Alright. What do you need me to do?”

Dante considers her, that cruel smile still playing at his lips. “You want to help?” She nods. “Go keep those fuckers away.”

“The press?” His expression doesn’t slip, and she shakes her head. “That’s uniform work. Send them to—”

“Either deal with them or go home. I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

Just like that, he turns away in a clear dismissal. Lir stares at his broad back, her head throbbing from the night before and the rage that’s been building since she stepped into Morrison’s office: rage at the incompetence of her former chief, at the glares that had followed her once she entered the precinct, at Simmons’ earnest naivety, at whoever butchered a woman and left her in an alley like she was no better than the trash already there, at Dante himself. It’s familiar, and choking, the same burning that’s festered within her all her life with every snide, “Are you sure you can handle that? Wouldn’t you rather answer phones and let the men handle the rest?”

Instead of giving into her urge to punch him in his smug mouth, she inhales deeply and holds it until spots dance in her vision. Then she exhales and heads towards the bright yellow tape and, beyond it, the reporters and photographers craning their necks to get a look at the violence that’s visited their city. Two steps, and cold fingers curl around her wrist, sending numbness crawling along her skin from where they touch. Lir closes her eyes, counting to ten, and then she pulls free. Only on the other side of the tape does she look back, and the sight of a woman in a red dress with pale hair staring back at her sadly, her lips moving soundlessly, is exactly what she expected.  Definitely getting a drink, she muses.

The reporters are no different from the ones Lir dealt with in Fortuna, just more persistent. She repeats the phrase, “No comment,” so many times that it begins to lose meaning to her, until a uniform comes to relieve her and she’s able to hail a taxi. But she doesn’t go back to work straight away. The cabbie drops her at a liquor store, waiting at the curb while she hurries in to buy a mini bottle of vodka and hurries back out, and she cracks it open and takes it like a shot, stowing the empty bottle in her pocket as they reach the precinct. Lir tips him double, then heads inside, and the bustling and noise is so at odds with the sullen silence of only hours ago that she nearly stops in her tracks. It’s only force of will that keeps her moving to the stairs in the back and up them, to where her desk sits just outside of Morrison’s office.

Dante is seated at the desk across from hers, a phone clamped between his face and shoulder while he writes on a notepad. Lir waits until he hangs up to say, “You’re an ass.”

“Been called worse,” he replies distractedly. “Trish’s report get in yet?”

“Not in my inbox. You got a problem with me?”

“No offense, sweetheart, but city crime is different from country crime.”

“I’m from Fortuna. Not the mountains.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you dealt with a lot of purse snatching.”

Lir bristles. “Listen, jackass—”

“Go see Trish. See if she’s got a report yet or not.”

Her mouth hangs open. Then she stands, slamming her chair back into her desk loudly enough that Morrison looks out from his office with a frown, and stalks back the way she’d come, heading for the elevators. On one hand, she understands Dante’s shit attitude; she’s new to Red Grave, new to their force. On the other, she transferred from Homicide to Homicide, and there were enough of them in Fortuna that the sight of another isn’t going to send her running, and he’s a sour bastard with a chip on his shoulder who probably thinks he can do nothing wrong and his word is law. Which she’s only proving, she realizes, running his errands for him, and she jabs irritably at the button that will take her to the basement and the morgue. Next time he demands she do something, she’s going to tell him right where he can shove it. In the back of her mind, however, disappointment is bitter. So much, she thinks, for a fresh start.

[myhauntedsalem]

Chillingham’s Torture Chamber

Chillingham is a medieval castle located in northern England in Newthumberland. It is near the coast and the English-Scottish border. This castle played a major role in the bloody war between the English and Scots in the 14th century. Below this castle is a small dungeon room that is by far England’s most infamous torture chamber. It is estimated that over 7500 Scots, including men, women and children of all ages were tortured and killed in this dungeon over a three-year period.

Chillingham Castle was a strategically important location for both the English and the Scottish during this war. It was used as a starting point for King Edwards l or as he was known Long shanks armies entering Scotland. The Scottish led by William Wallace, often attacked the castle. It was at Chillingham where William Wallace made his base-camp in 1298 after a successful attack upon the English.

The following is more terrifying than most horror stories because it is true. Not surprising the torture that took place at Chillingham resulted in more than one haunting. This dungeon chamber still vibrates with the last breath of the Scottish victims of this bloody war. Marks can be seen on its walls where prisoners kept track of the number of days they were tortured before death finally released them. The screams, cries and smells of these victims, many of them innocent, are still felt, smelled and heard in several of the castle’s rooms.

The variety of torture devises used in this room is each more horrific than the last. Besides the usual implements of torture, such as, a rack, thumbscrews, chains, leg irons, man traps and an iron maiden this chamber also had other insidious items. To name just a few, a boiling pot, branding irons, items used to gorge out eyes, a bed of nails, and a chair with lethal spikes on the seat.

Some captives were tied into a barrel full of spikes and then rolled around until the flesh ripped from their bodies, only death brought relief from this agony. Other victims had a cage strapped to their stomachs. Within this cage a starved rat was placed, its only way out was to eat its way out through the victim. This chambers’ floor was purposefully built on a slant, this was to allow body fluids, such as blood of the tortured to drain downward into a trench that was at one end of the room.

Many victims had their arms and legs broken and were thrown down a twenty foot oubliette. They then were left to starve. Some resorted to eating chunks of other victims’ flesh or even chunks of their own in a vain effort to prolong their lives. The bones of the last victim to be thrown down can still be seen today. They are the bones of a female child. Her ghost has been seen looking up at visitors.

Staff and tourists have taken photographs in this torture chamber that show strange light anomalies in them. One Guide that gives tours of the castle states that he will not enter the torture chamber alone. He and others feel there is a very malevolent presence in this dungeon. Some state this ghost is the man responsible for the torture. John Sage was one of Edward Long shank’s best soldiers, rising to the rank of lieutenant. When he was wounded and could no longer fight he asked the King for another assignment. He was then appointed Chillingham’s torturer.

Sage held a strong hatred for the Scots and he had an affinity for developing new ways to torture. Brutally, he tortured and killed fifty Scots every week. Ironically, he reached a kind of celebrity status in England during this time. When the war finally came to an end it is stated that Sage rounded up what were left of the Scottish men, women and older children prisoners in the castle and took them into the courtyard and threw them on a bonfire.

The younger children were kept in Edward’s Room on the top floor in the castle as their parents burned alive. They could smell their parents burning flesh and hear their screams. Sage knowing these children would take revenge when they grew up then grabbed a small axe and chopped these children to pieces, including ones as young as a year old. This room is known today as the Killing Room. It is one of the more haunted areas in the castle. Furnishings, including a chandelier move without cause and soft voices and footsteps are heard.

John Sage met as violent an end as most of his victims. While making love to a woman, Elizabeth Charlton on the rack in the torture chamber he accidently killed her. Her father was a member of a gang of outlaws, tribal leaders and broken men known as the Border Reivers. He wanting revenge for his daughter’s death threatened Edward Long shanks. He warned that his group would join the Scots in a battle to take Chillingham if Sage was not punished. The King knowing they would probably succeed since the war had left him broke agreed to hang Sage.

A large enthusiastic crowd gathered to watch Sage’s execution. He was hung from a tree near the castle grounds. As he slowly died people cut off his fingers and toes etc. for souvenirs. His ghost is seen and heard wandering the castle. Some witnesses state that his ghost has followed them around. Many people get a sense of evil when his ghost is present.

[writethehousedown]

And The Livin's Easy, Chapter Three (Multi) - Zyan

a/n: hello! welcome to chapter four of zyan tries her best to juggle all of the characters. i think we’re pretty much done as far as introductions go? so here’s where things start to get interesting. hope you enjoy! my sideblog is @chachkisalpaca - and frey is an angel for beta-ing.

“Is that a hickey?” Jan asks during their improvised breakfast.

It’s still early, so there aren’t many people at the beach just yet. The Sun is up and shining bright, and Gigi is so sleep deprived she forgot about the purple spot in the crook of her neck.

Gigi shakes off the tiredness and blinks repeatedly, her cheeks getting as red as a tomato when she notices all of her friends are staring at her. She decides that there’s no point in lying and sets down her plastic cup with steaming hot coffee Jackie somehow managed to prepare.

“I had sex with someone last night,” she simply says with a shrug. The screeches from her friends hurt her ears, but she had seen them coming.

“What? When did your hoe ass get a hook up?” Brita exclaims, “Did you download fucking Tinder again, sneaked out when we were all asleep, and came back?” Gigi laughs at Brita’s incredulous tone, though she’s nervous and her cheeks are still red.

“Ew, no, you know I don’t do dating apps. That’s how my ex happened,” Gigi says, matter-of-factly, “You see, Nicky was hoarding the tent with her inflatable mattress—”

“Hey! I did ask you if you wanted to sleep with me!” Nicky complains, folding her arms, though a laugh fights to escape her mouth.

“Yeah, and I told you my name’s not Jackie,” Gigi deadpans, and both Nicky and Jackie shut their mouths. She smiles cheekily and goes on. “Anyway, as I was saying; I left the tent, walked along the beach, found this girl all alone, talked a bit, and I guess it just happened.”

She purposely leaves out that the girl was no one other than Crystal, and they entered the sea, floating near the shore until, much like Gigi predicted it, she fell off the board and Crystal had to drag her back to the shore. The fabric of her tank top stuck to her skin, making her shiver like crazy, and Crystal tried to help her warm up, she really did — but one thing led to another, and before Gigi knew it, Crystal was sucking on her neck as her hands pinned her down.

The girls holler, not believing what they’re hearing. All of them say some sort of variation of there’s no way your game is that good, and Gigi just lets them talk as she sips on her coffee.

Her phone rings in her bag so she aims for it, juggling to unlock it. She bites back a smile when she sees the notification from Instagram.

@crystalandmeth has started following you.

Gigi wants to smack Crystal for having such a handle. No wonder she couldn’t find her when she searched her up after that night at the bar.

*

Scarlet vaguely scans the pool; it’s just opened and it’s still fairly early, but there are girls sunbathing, taking pictures, and some children playing by the edge of the tiny pool, splashing each other. She smiles at that. Sometimes she even likes the kids - when they’re not pushing each other into the big pool and Scarlet has to prevent a child from drowning, that is.

The hotel is medium sized, but since it’s the summer, there’s not a room that’s not booked. She knows. Her mothers have owned it for the last twenty years. She grew up running around the halls and with the noise of the tourists settling in their rooms, dragging their suitcases with big smiles plastered across their faces.

Though her mothers have insisted that she didn’t have to work at the hotel during the summer if she didn’t want to, Scarlet had decided to fill the position of lifeguard for the morning shift until they find someone else. It’s not as if she minds, anyway; she has nothing better to do, since all of her friends traveled outside the country for their vacations, leaving her stuck in the island. That’s the downside of being friends with stuck up rich kids, she supposes.

She tells a few kids to stop running, brings back a volleyball that ended up landing on the deep side of the pool, and that’s about it, for the most part. The morning shift is very laid back; the pool usually gets crowded during the afternoon, but that’s Adore and Courtney’s problem.

Lunch time rolls around before she notices it, and she closes the pool with a relieved sigh, immediately going to the cafeteria.

Scarlet picks a frozen burrito and asks one of the ladies working at the cafeteria if they can pretty please heat it up with the nice microwave they have in the kitchen. Belinda rolls her eyes with a playful smile and squeezes Scarlet’s cheek before complying with her wishes.

“Damn, I didn’t know we could ask to use the good microwave,” a voice pipes up from her side. Scarlet giggles and turns around to look at whoever said that.

She’s met with the sight of a gorgeous woman with pink wavy hair. Scarlet licks her lips before answering.

“Oh, no, that’s uh, that’s staff privilege.” She shrugs, and the woman clicks her tongue, visibly disappointed. Scarlet looks at her plate and cocks an amused brow when she sees the bland vegetarian sandwich. “I don’t think you’ll need the microwave now, though,” she points out, nudging at her plate, and the woman stifles a laugh.

“Ah, that, yeah. This is all my stomach can handle right now — one of my friends got a little too carried away doing the drinks last night,” she comments, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Scarlet chuckles, she knows the feeling.

“Hangover food? Been there. I’m a little bolder though, I prefer French fries with a lot of ketchup,” she replies, just when Belinda hands her back her burrito. Scarlet blows a kiss her way and turns her attention back to the woman, slightly biting her lip before speaking. “D’you wanna sit together? I mean, unless you’re waiting for your friends.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not waiting for them, I’d be stuck here for hours if I was,” she dismisses it with a wave of her hand and laughs. Scarlet thinks she has a pretty laugh. “I’m Yvie.”

“I’m Scarlet,” she introduces herself with a shiny smile.

*

Crystal sighs as she juggles her phone, struggling to put it on speaker as she currently is trying to make a decent lunch — never mind the fact it’s four p.m. and she skipped breakfast to sleep in.

She finally manages to put it on speaker and Vanessa’s voice fills the room, her tone far too annoyed and one Crystal’s grown to know all too well.

“Can you believe it, Crys? She’s but a child, and the bitch is almost thirty! I’m disgusted,” Vanessa rants, and Crystal almost snaps her optic nerve with the way she rolls her eyes.

“Vanj, hold the fuck up. Plastique is twenty two, in case you didn’t know, and Brooke is still twenty seven; the gap isn’t that big,” Crystal says. “’Sides, you two broke up last year, it’s obvious that she has moved on. So why don’t you focus on your hot bodybuilder girlfriend before I steal her off you.” She smiles cheekily when Vanessa gasps offended on the other side of the line.

“Hey! Plastic, Plastique, or whatever her name is, looks like a fucking teenager. How was I supposed to know?” She defends herself; Crystal can almost see her folding her arms with a childish pout. “Kameron is doing some gigs in California, photographing for an ice skating tour or some shit. She’s busy, but I did invite her for the competition.”

“Ajá.” Crystal is more focused in her lunch, making sure to cut the pepper as thin as possible. She knows it would’ve been easier to just order takeout, buy a soda from the drugstore around the corner, and settle in the couch and watch some garbage TV, but sometimes she misses the taste of a home cooked meal.

Vanessa goes on, talking her ear off about Kameron and how happy she is with her. She rolls her eyes; for someone in a happy relationship she sure talks a lot about her ex.

“…But that’s enough ‘bout me. What happened with you last night? Jaida came back way before you, bitch, and you reeked of sex. Like, you could barely walk straight, and you weren’t that shit faced. Spill, Glass,” Vanessa changes the topic, and Crystal nearly cuts her finger with the knife.

Her cheeks heat up when she remembers what happened at the beach with Gigi. Crystal doesn’t know if telling her to take off her soaked clothes on a whim had been a good or a bad idea, but she doesn’t regret anything — even if she still has sand in her scalp.

She clears her throat before speaking, glad that Vanessa can’t see her awfully red cheeks.

“Well, uh, remember Smoothie Girl?” she begins, throwing the pepper in the cooking pot. Vanessa musters an affirmative response. Crystal breathes in deeply. “So, like, Jaida and I finish our thing, and she tells me we should stop sleeping around, and I got excited, thinking she wanted to go on a date or something like that. But no, she actually meant that in a literal way, and naturally, I had already embarrassed myself,” Crystal rants with a groan. Vanessa just listens, “So, she left and I just. Stared at the water I guess. Then Smoothie Girl appeared out of nowhere, shit happened, one thing led to another, and suddenly I was pinning her to the ground.”

There’s silence on Vanessa’s end for what seems like an eternity, and Crystal proceeds to cut the chicken in tiny cubes, trying to not let her nerves get the best of her. She expected Vanessa to screech so loud she’d end up deaf.

“So, what you’re tryin’ to tell me is that your cheesy ass got ditched, and instead of moping around for a week, you went and slept with someone else right after?” She inquires slowly, as if she’s talking to an infant. Crystal rolls her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Bullshit, Glass,” Vanessa declares calmly, “There’s no way in hell. You’re bullshitting me. You’ve been chasing Jaida Eleanor Hall’s ass for two years now—”

“Hey! That’s not true. It’s been a year and a half,” Crystal defends herself.

“—a year and a half, and you didn’t feel the least bit heartbroken? Really?”

Crystal shrugs, but soon realizes that’s stupid; Vanessa can’t see her.

“Vanj, you act as if I was in love with Jaida, to begin with,” she points out, perching herself against the countertop for a moment. “The girl was hot, I won’t deny it, and the sex was great — but, like, I told you I didn’t think we’d ever be something serious. I don’t hold any grudges against her.” And it’s true. Crystal’s disappointment at the moment had been magnified by the fact she made a fool of herself by misunderstanding what Jaida meant, and the alcohol usually made her a more sensitive person, if that was even possible.

Vanessa stays silent for a moment yet again, until she hears a loud sigh and some rumbling. Crystal frowns as she throws the chicken to the cooking pot, turning up the flames.

“Alright, I believe you, Glass. Now tell me, you and Smoothie Girl…?” She leaves the sentence hanging, prompting Crystal to complete it.

She laughs shortly, before checking her phone and seeing a notification from Instagram. She grins cheekily, wondering if Gigi had waited so long to follow her on purpose.

*

Jaida takes a spoonful of ice cream, trying not to choke with laughter at Monique’s re-telling of the previous night. She’d been gone for a short while, though apparently that didn’t prevent shit from going down.

“You should’ve seen Vanessa’s face when Brooke left with Plastique, oh my God, it was priceless,” Monique tells her, as enthusiastic as ever. Her ice cream melts more and more with every second that passes, but she can’t bring herself to care. Except when Monét tries to steal some of it, apparently. “Girl, had I known the bitch was that bold, I wouldn’t have invited her. I’d like her to still be alive by the end of the week.”

“Hey now, it’s not her fault Vanessa isn’t over Brooke,” Monét cuts in, “Plastique hardly knew any of y’all. She may not even know Brooke is Vanessa’s ex.”

Jaida hums in agreement, her mouth still full of ice cream. The three of them are staying at the same hotel, and they’re lucky enough there’s a good ice cream shop around the corner, so they decided to take the day off and just hang out. Not that the hangover allowed them to do anything else in the first place.

“Also, Vanessa’s a grown woman; I don’t think she goes around pitching fights because her ex’s over her, she’s better than that,” Jaida adds, wiping the rests of ice cream off her face.

Monét and Monique agree with her, and the conversation drifts to various topics, though Jaida notices they’re making an effort not to bring Crystal up. She appreciates it, because right now that’s a can of worms she rather not open.

It’s not that she regrets being with her, it’s more like she hates herself for dragging their thing for so long, and by the way Crystal bit her tongue and nodded wordlessly when she told her she rather stop this, she can tell she hurt her — at least to some degree, because the rest of the night she’d acted as if nothing happened and everything was cool. Jaida doesn’t know if it was faked or not.

Monét and Monique start to argue about something, probably about how they’re not going to be easy on each other just because they’re girlfriends now; they go way too fast for her to catch up, especially since she’s still eating her frost mint ice cream and can’t be bothered about their relationship right now — she hears about it on the daily, anyway.

Jaida brings the spoon to her lips when she looks past Monique’s shoulder, looking at the entrance of shop, and she freezes for a moment. She blinks repeatedly, until she knows for real this is not her eyes deceiving her; the same woman as last night is seating near the entrance with someone else, chatting and laughing and looking even prettier in the daylight.

She squints, trying to remember her name; Jen, was it? She’s pretty sure she heard her friend say it, but she can’t remember that well.  

Jaida pulls her gaze away when she realizes she’s staring, and tries to focus on whatever Monét and Monique are talking about. But soon she feels someone looking at her, and she steals a glance at the girl out of the corner of her eye; she finds that she’s staring back at her, but she quickly withdraws her gaze.

Jaida smiles against the spoon. She doesn’t question how is it possible she ran into her again, especially considering the island is big and the chances of seeing her again were slim. Perhaps it’s a coincidence.

“I’m telling you, ‘Nét, this bitch had an edgy phase!” Monique exclaims, tugging at Jaida’s arm, causing her to accidentally throw a good chunk of ice cream on her blouse. Monique stays still for a moment as Jaida fumbles with the tissue paper. “I’m sorry, girl,” she says, with her tone so high pitched and full of regret, Jaida finds it hard to get mad at her.

She sighs dramatically, leaving the tissues aside and standing up. “Don’t worry, sis, it’s no big deal. I can wash this, anyway.” She shrugs. “Though I’m expecting you to buy me a pina colada next time we hit the bar,” she teasingly says before leaving to the bathroom.

She can hear Monét’s laugh and the smack Monique gives her on the arm, pitching the blame for Jaida’s ruined blouse on her. Sometimes Jaida swears neither one of them knows the volume of their own voices.

She wets a tissue and gets the ice cream off her skin before it gets sticky. The bathroom is tinier than she expected, but at least there’s no one else.

Or so she thought.

“Sweet baby Jesus, Nicole, how did you manage to burn the eggs?” a voice speaks from one of the stalls, and Jaida jumps a little.

A woman comes out from one the three stalls, holding her phone in the crook of her neck as she washes her hands. Jaida stiffs a little when she notices it’s the girl from the beach. Jen (or Jan), apparently, remembers her too, because she stops for a moment when she sees her, biting her lower lip before speaking again.

“Nicks, just, don’t touch anything else from the kitchen. Jackie and I will come back in a moment — please don’t listen neither Gigi nor Brita, they’re as bad cooks as you, 'kay?” She hangs up and sighs loudly, drying her hands before putting the phone back in the pocket of her shorts.

“That’s quite an interesting daycare you got there,” Jaida comments lightheartedly, throwing the tissues to the trash. The woman chuckles, turning to see her.

“Keeping toddlers in their twenties alive is my passion,” she deadpans, playing with the hem of her shirt. Jaida laughs shortly. “I’ve heard they’re easier to take care of once they’re thirty,” she comments with a cheeky smile, making Jaida laugh again.

“I wouldn’t have my hopes up if I were you,” Jaida replies, checking herself in the mirror and making sure she’s wiped off all the ice cream

She sucks in a quick breath, looking back at the woman, who’s perched against the sink, texting someone.

“Hey,” she says, catching her attention. “This probably sounds crazy, but is there any chance you were at O'Ahu beach last night, looking for a ball, maybe?” Jaida wonders, and almost right away she sees Jen (or Jan) cheeks lit up.

“Oh, Jesus, I was hoping you wouldn’t remember me. That was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” She covers her face with her hands and Jaida laughs softly, coming some steps closer.

“Girl, it’s fine, for real,” she assures her, and Jen (or Jan) slowly uncovers her face. The rosy tone in her cheeks makes her look cute. She bites her lower lip before continuing. “I did mean it when I said I can’t be mad at a pretty girl.”

Jen (or Jan) smiles sheepishly and laugh, tucking a strand of lose hair behind her ear.

“Well, I meant it too when I said you’re not so bad yourself. I didn’t mean to finger gun you, though.”

Jaida laughs, and for a moment she forgets she has to go back to Monét and Monique. They strike up a conversation, and Jaida learns that her name is Jan and not Jen, and that she blushes a deep shade of red whenever she compliments her in any way. Jaida thinks she’s the cutest girl she’s ever met.