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kythed · 4 years

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what love tastes like

terushima yuuji x reader

synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster

“Taste,” he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first it’s metallic, salty, but then it’s sweet.

You take a sip.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never tried Monster before?” he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him.

“Never. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl.” You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. It’s really too much for me, you think. But of course, you won’t tell him that.

“Not anymore,” he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- it’s attractive, to say the least. “Now you’re my girl.”

You’ve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and you’re whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises.

Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own.

And you’re okay with it.

He’s about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all.

In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. “Guess it’ll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?”

You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin.

(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)

He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which aren’t exactly visible to the onlooker’s eye. There’s a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. “Why, you want one too? Let’s go to the parlor then.”

When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. ‘Mine’ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. “Then this will have to do.”

(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.)

He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death.

“They were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,” Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You don’t believe in ghosts, so it must be because you’re cold. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself.) “I want that kind of love.”

You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. “The kind where you die for one another?”

“The kind where you die with one another,” he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manor’s anterior.

You remain silent.

“Life is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,” he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Wanna make a bad decision with me?”

The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. There’s no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuuji’s unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop.

You’re not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, it’s exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. It’s deliciously gratifying.

If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe you’re okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty.

“What is it?” he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel.

You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. “I love you.”

One second passes. Then two.

He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You must’ve misread this whole thing. You’re just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired… your mouth goes dry with regret.

When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye.

“Well, thanks for today,” you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. “I had a lot of--”

“I love you, too.”

Startled, you look up. “I- what?”

“I said,” he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and you’re overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. “I love you, too.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you fervently— but this time, it’s chaste, it’s… loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.

Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; he’s aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There’s something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after he’s slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye.

Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but he’s not your average troublemaker. There’s something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture.

There’s something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless.

Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friends’ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.)

He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- “Just in case,” he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation you’d be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. “You never know.”

(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses.

All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang.

But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers don’t see.

They don’t see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They don’t see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile.

They don’t hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay.

They don’t feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They don’t feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state.

It’s during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait.

“You know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?” he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. “That’s only half true. He didn’t teach me, but I had to learn because of him.”

You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does.

I’m sorry.

“I’m scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.”

You can.

“I’m sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.”

Don’t be.

“I think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.”

I know.

Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that.

You just aren’t anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears.

One morning, he’s sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next he’s gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.

“Yuuji?” you call. “Is this some sort of joke?”

It’s not.

You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethin’ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want.

The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, you’ve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You don’t even know why you’ve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason.

So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. It’s not a graceful recovery, but it’s a recovery, and that’s what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you don’t go on a single date, but that’s okay. (You’re just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)

Soon, you’re whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy.

You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. You’re filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, he’s sitting next to a girl you don’t recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.

It wasn’t because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.

“I was the problem,” Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?”

You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.

“You showed me that wasn’t true.” He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. “I started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasn’t me. Love isn’t for me.”

“It could’ve been,” you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating.

“Maybe someday,” he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.

The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for.

As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. “Just for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.”

You smile. It’s a genuine smile, but it’s sad, too. “I know.”

And the thing about fear is that some people can’t bear it well enough to let themselves love someone.

You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. It’s not until you’re halfway home that you realize you’re crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans.

You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one he’s sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret.

You hope that this time, he’s scared. But not so scared he can’t let himself stay.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq terushima #terushima #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader #terushima yuuji x reader

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danadeservesadrink · 4 years

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Do You Believe in Fate Chapter 6

Are You Free On Thursday?

Read on AO3 here

Tagging @today-in-fic @baronessblixen and @suitablyaggrieved

“Dana Scully speaking”

“Are you free on Thursday?”

“What’s Thursday?”

“Well Thursday really could be anything you want, but I really could use another tour of the town, and I believe I still owe you a trip to your favorite restaurant…”

“Oh, so Thursday’s a date?”

“Yes”

“I really, really would love to, but my car is in the shop and I don't want to have to make my mother drive me all the way to the city, could we do Saturday?”

“I can pick you up.”

“Mulder that's silly, you’d be driving all the way here and back and I have to be in the city the day after anyway, early too-”

“You could sleep with me?”

“Mulder!”

“Not like that. I can take the couch and you can have the bed. It’ll be like a sleepover. You can stay the whole weekend”

“I have a hotel room already. I just can’t check in until Friday night.”

“Oh.”

“But I suppose a ride to the city and comfortable accommodations are too good of an offer to refuse”

“Don’t forget the free dinner”

“How could I? You’ll have to meet my mother when you pick me up. Think you can handle that?”

“ Scully , meeting the parents already? Should we be picking out china patterns?”

“Don’t make that joke in front of her, she’ll take it seriously”

“Trust me, I’ll be ok. I met your sister and that went well”

“On the taxi ride back from the bar she discussed repeatedly the ways she would have taken you down had you not been so charming”

“See! She likes me.”

“Mhmm”

“I promise. Best behavior, cross my heart”

“Alright Mulder. I’ll see you Thursday”

“See you Thursday”

Mulder was nervous. Probably more nervous than their first date. How was a second date more nerve-wracking than a first?

Because you’ve finally convinced her that you're a half decent man worth spending her time on, and if you mess this up that will most certainly be the nail in the coffin for any form of a relationship with the incredible Dr. Dana Scully. And also you’re meeting her mother.

The entire drive up he had been focusing much less on the road and mostly on the thought of the visit that was to come. It felt like he’d been in the car for eons when he finally pulled up the gravel driveway to the Scully household.

The house looked like a home. It looked lived in, with the various shingles tilting down at an angle and toys strewn about the front yard. There was a garden containing marigolds and tulips, but wildflowers sprouted up between neatly planted rows. A small red tricycle was left abandoned next to the spot where he had parked. He left his car and walked up the front porch, observing dolls, shovels, and magnifying glasses left on the staircase like an archaeologist. If he wasn’t mistaken there was a plastic pizza pie slice wrapped in the tendrils of a morning glory plant. He found himself thinking about how Little Shop of Horrors would have been a lot funnier if Audrey II preferred pepperoni as he rang the doorbell.

He was hoping Scully would answer but instead he was greeted by the one Scully he hadn’t met yet.

She was just as short as the rest of them, but instead of the red hair usually accompanying the Scully women, her hair was a curly brown, tucked behind her ears as she watched the child pressed to her chest fuss. When she saw him she beamed and he recognized the Scully smile.

“Dana, your friend is here!” She shouted back over her shoulder, and then turned back to Mulder. He grinned back sheepishly as he extended a hand. She shifted the child on her hip and shook it warmly.

“Fox Mulder” he didn’t know why he sounded so formal, but she chuckled anyway and it reminded him of Scully.

“Maggie Scully, dear. Come in, make yourself at home.” He walked into the house, hands in his pockets and took in the warm chaos of the Scully household. It looked just like the outside but more clustered. Toys littered the floor and he found himself watching his step as he navigated the room. The living room had a large fireplace surrounded by bricks, the mantle decorated in family pictures and wooden statues. Maggie bustled about, picking up a stuffed duck off the couch and handing it to the baby, who immediately cooed and wrapped its arms around it.

“Sit” she insisted, pointing at the leather couch, so Mulder sat and sunk deep into the comforting cushions. “Did you want anything to drink dear?”

“No thank you” he replied, and watched as she headed into the kitchen, still taking in every element of the Scully household. It was in stark contrast to the household he grew up in. His childhood halls had been decked with wax fruit baskets and wine cabinets, shelves stacked high with glass teacups that he was not permitted to run near, the tinkling of their dainty handles alerting his mother to any misbehaving. His mind wandered to thoughts of a little red-headed Scully running through these halls.

Maggie returned sans baby and began picking up more toys that he hadn't even seen under the coffee table.

“Dana’s upstairs getting ready, I’m sure she’ll be down in a minute. So tell me Fox, what do you do?” He chuckled to himself hearing his name spoken aloud. When it came from the mouth of a Scully, the typical disdain he felt for it was absent. Perhaps it was because of the genuine warmth with which she said it, warmth he was unfamiliar with coming from even his own mother, that he didn't correct her. Instead he simply grinned back and answered.

“I work at the FBI.” She raised an eyebrow and he could tell she was holding back a comment. He hadn’t expected to make it through the day completely unscathed. He felt more like he was picking up his date for prom now.

“I see. I assume you went to a good school then.”

“I went to Oxford. Got my Ph.D there as well.” That seemed to impress her more than it had impressed her daughter. Delighted at the change of subject, Maggie began to ramble.

“Oh England is just beautiful isn’t it. I’ve always wanted to go, but my husband never had the chance to take me before her passed, and now with Emily…”

“Emily?” Mulder was confused, forgetting momentarily about the infant in the next room.

“Oh did Dana not tell you?” Maggie looked genuinely concerned as she spoke, glancing over his shoulder at the staircase Scully would presumably be coming down. He was quick to correct.

“No no, I’m aware, I just… I never knew her name” He stared down at his shoes, feeling remarkably embarrassed that he had never asked. Maggie considered him for a moment then rose from her seat.

“Well I suppose you need a proper introduction then. Come on.” She walked back into the kitchen and Mulder followed her, feeling more like he was meeting a new boss than a baby. The disorder of the house seemed to be contained in the living room, the kitchen seeming far more clean. He noticed pencil scratches on the side of the doorway, making a mental note to check if Scully had always been so little.

Inside the kitchen was one of those toys that looked like a space shuttle control board for children, with a little girl bouncing inside, pressing buttons and spinning plastic rings to launch what he imagined were very adorable space ships. The girl upon spotting Maggie, babbled and raised both arms, bouncing up and down causing the toy to rattle and shake.

“Up, up!” she bossed, and Mulder could see the resemblance. Maggie bent and hoisted the little girl out of her play station, and walked over to Mulder.

“Emily, sweetheart, this is Fox. Can you say hi to Fox?” Mulder offered up a little wave, stooping forward to be on eye level with her. Emily decidedly did not like him, and buried her face in her grandmother’s neck. He chuckled and Maggie rolled her eyes at the little one. She turned to aim the baby’s face at Mulder, and her eyes briefly locked onto his, bright blue and quizzical. He waved again and smiled. She didn’t break the gaze, although she still clung to Maggie like a life preserver, so he took that as a victory.

“She doesn’t like strangers” came a voice from the doorway, and Mulder turned to see Scully leaning on the frame, her height almost matching up to one of the scratchy little marks. He beamed when he saw her and she stared bashfully at the ground, attempting to contain the smile on her lips. Maggie noticed and smiled herself.

“Well it's never too early to learn stranger danger” he crossed the kitchen to stand close to her while Maggie placed Emily back into her seat. “You look beautiful”

She smiled and looked back up at him. She was only in a sweater and jeans but she still took his breath away.

“Do they teach stranger danger in the FBI academy Mulder?” she quipped, and he was filled with the urge to bend down and kiss the smirk off her lips. She saw it in his eyes and glanced over at her mother in silent warning.

“You two should get going, it's a beautiful day out and Dana hasn’t been outside all week.” Scully looked embarrassed as Mulder chuckled and mouthed “All week?” at her. She swatted him away but he saw her grin.

“I’ll get her some sunshine, don’t you worry. You ready to go Scully?” Scully nodded and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, then followed Mulder back out of the house.

He opened the door to his Ford for her and she thanked him. They buzzed in impatient silence until Mulder had backed out of the driveway. He didn’t hit the bike on the way out.

“Your mother is nice” Scully smiled and Mulder was just so relieved the meeting had gone well.

“She can be a handful sometimes but she takes good care of us.”

He nodded, unfamiliar with what it felt like to be satisfied with a parent. He decided to try his luck.

“She’s a cute kid, Emily.”

Scully nodded, and he noticed she was staring out the window. Typically when he complimented a baby, the mother would begin to gush. One of the women in the bullpen had a kid and hasn’t shut up about it, plastering the kids face all over her cubicle, talking about how well he was eating his Cheerios and counting his toes. But Scully just stared silently. He noticed how Maggie seemed to be the only one to hold Emily. He wondered how long it took Scully after her return to pick her up. He thought about the cognitive psychology behind the mother-child connection and how its best formed in the early months after the birth.

With a thousand questions pinging around in his brain, he decided instead to turn up the radio. He turned back to the road just as she turned to look back at him, their eyes never quite connecting. He let his hand rest over the center console and he felt her pinky nudging his cautiously. Their hands did a little dance and with a flutter in his heart he gently interlaced their fingers, eyes still stuck on the road in front of him.

“So what do you have planned on this sunny Thursday afternoon?

It was a picnic. He had planned a picnic, basket and all and her heart was beating out of her chest with feelings for him. He had refused to tell her in the car so she was bursting with anticipation by the time they arrived in the city. He drove past all the restaurants, much to her confusion, and straight to a rolling park she had never had the chance to explore while she was living there. He popped the trunk and pulled a picnic blanket and basket you and her heart melted. She watched him carefully navigate the sandy path down to a lake, spread the blanket out with a flourish, and gestured like a magician at the ground for her to sit.

She obliged, and he followed suit shortly after.

“So I’m hesitant to ask, but please tell me you brought actual food in that basket. I’m starved”

“Scully you wound me. You think I would take you out on a lakeside picnic and fail to serve you any food?” He reached around her and brought the basket between them, coming close enough where she could smell his cologne.

“I didn’t know you cooked”

“I didn’t.” He opens the basket to reveal 4 takeout containers and a small bottle of white wine with glasses.

She was absolutely and completely charmed.

In between bites of sweet and sour chicken she talked about her job, about how Missy is moving apartments, about everything and nothing all at once. She talks with such passion about her job, about the kids she treats. He has no doubt she has memorized each and every one of their names. She tells him how Joseph has been doing so well lately, and how she hopes he’ll be home by the end of the month. He can see the glow of pride in her cheeks when she tells him how she received a letter from one of her older patients telling her she just graduated high school. With every story and anecdote Mulder could see truly how much love Dana Scully had in her heart. He found himself desperate to hear her talk of him in the same fashion.

He studies her lips as they wrap around the final bite of rice. He hasn’t gotten the chance to kiss her again since their last meeting. That kiss was all passion, his lips fuzzy from the liquor, a kiss meant to show gratitude, to convey belief. Her receptiveness was everything he needed and more. His dreams were now grounded in the solidity of her lips on his, and when he woke from them he could still taste the honey sweet beer and salt.

He wanted to taste her again. He wanted to kiss her with spice and wine on her lips. He wanted to taste her with nothing but chap-stick and her sweet, intoxicating scent. He had never wanted anything more.

She noticed him watching her and raised an eyebrow. He leaned over and took the wine glass out of her hand, placing it safely on top of the basket. She was about to question his actions but he leaned over on all fours so his hands bordered her hips and any complaints she had were sucked back in with a gasp. He smiled at her as she stared into his eyes and hoped with every fiber that she could somehow understand everything his eyes were saying.

He closed the gap and pressed his lips into hers, almost knocking her backwards, but she snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him. This kiss was about passion, but not the desperate, I need you to believe me , kind. This was the kind of passion shared between two souls who have been intertwined for millennium, like comets in orbits destined to crash into each other. In a park neither of them had never been to, under the sun and God and whoever else was watching he made a promise to her that he would never leave.

She understood. He knew because of the way her hand caressed his back, dipping under the collar of his shirt. He knew because of the way she arched into his chest, pulling him closer yet never breaking their kiss. He knew because she whimpered in his ear when he moved on to sucking the skin around her pulse point. He knew because they threw all of the empty containers and dirtied glasses haphazardly into the basket, and she pulled him towards his own car and insisted he drive them home.

#The X-Files #The X Files Fanfic #Dana Scully #msr #Fox Mulder #msr fanfiction #sam writes #txf #txf fanfic

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

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Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- This chapter.....yeah, lets not get into it. Also, I don’t know if beach houses have garages, so please just humor that possible, tiny plot hole)

Summary Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Warnings- Angst, again,

Chapter 10- California State of Mind

The not so distant crashing of waves against the populated shore acted as background music to their breakfast date. From where they sat, on the patio of the ocean side cafe, they could see the cool blue gleaming under the glory of warm yellow, while the white foam threading the tops of the waves merely appeared merely as thick, jagged bands of white. The scenic view was off to their side, her right and his left; rough, green hills, with sparse bursts of brown topped it all off, houses and vacation homes made to seem smaller with distance. The beauty of Malibu never failed to be absolutely breathtaking.

Y/n sat on the opposing side of the small, round table, the little, white china tea cup stationed on the matching saucer looked almost as delicate as Keanu thought she was. His eyes were fixed on her, and Keanu looked at her the way he always did, as if it were the last time. As if she'd change her mind about him at any given minute, and in an instant, he'd be left living a life void of her. It wasn't like he hadn't given her reasons to leave either, the holding back, the absence of in depth connection, it might have made any woman leave.

But Y/n wasn't just 'any woman'.

She was-

"Look at that," Y/n pointed a thin, fragile finger past towards the distance, disrupting his thoughts. Keanu hadn't looked in that direction yet, not seeing what she had, but already, he was matching her bright grin.

He shifted his gaze, but still couldn't quite make out what she wanted him to see, "What are you talking about?"

"That," Y/n turned in the wicker chair, folding one smooth leg under herself as she turned towards the wooden railing, guarding the deck, elevated off the shore. Y/n didn't give any further direction, to caught up in whatever she was seeing, eyes glittering with quiet joy, the morning heat flushing her cheeks and her smile gaping and breathless.

After a moment more of searching, Keanu thought that he'd found what she was pointing at; a little spectacle on the beach, a group of performers doing a demonstration on the sand, surrounded by a small group of giddy spectators. "Do you wanna go closer?" Keanu leaned forward, taking her hand that laid absently near her tea, fingers curled in and long, manicured nails barely grazing her palm. Y/n's hand was easily engulfed by Keanu's, her tender touch contrasting his slightly calloused one. Awaiting her answer, Keanu regarded her with soft admiration and unspoken wonder, Y/n was a lot of things, beautiful, intelligent, interesting and for a while, his.

For a while.

They hadn't brought up anything from the last week gone by, the confrontation with her father, their heart-wrenching dance at the bar or the oozing ache from the morning after. They never talked about anything that would constitute them being, in most respects, a healthy couple. Instead, Y/n and Keanu had somehow buried it inside themselves, he'd hid behind the mask of nonchalance and she'd taken up pretending that nothing of the sort had happened. It was better that way, or so he thought.

"No," she shook off his offer, finally turning to face him again. Bringing the elegantly detailed china to her full lips, she took a brief sip, before gently setting it back down and squinting her eyes at Keanu, "Why are you looking at me like that?" When she tilted her head, some of her loosened tresses cascaded down her shoulder, some of it brushing the "v" of her sparsely exposed cleavage, and the rest strewn over her bare upper arm.

Huffing, Keanu quickly glanced away, hoping his growing out, salt and pepper scruff would hide the pinkness in his cheeks, "Looking at you like what?" He faced Y/n again, finding her penetrative stare still cast in his direction. He never wanted her to catch him staring like that. There was a lot that he didn’t want her to know.

"I don't know," Y/n shrugged, just as a salty, cool breeze ruffled their hair, strands whipping at their faces. Unlike Keanu, Y/n scoffed quietly, fighting against it to shift her hair off her cheeks, running her unattached hand through it as the air settled again. Keanu kept staring through it all, not even realizing that his lips were still quirked in an absent, adoring smile. She really was stunning, in a soft sort of way, not too in your face, but certainly well above average. Keanu would often suspect that Y/n was only of those girls that children would gleefully mistake for a princess. Alas, he didn’t know any children, so the point was mute. “You never look at me like that,” Y/n eventually continued, and Keanu couldn’t tell, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was his stare, but there was a distinct, rouge, hue tinting the apples of her cheeks and the edges of her ears, making her matte, nude lipstick stand out and her eyes seem brighter.

Licking his lips, Keanu just shook his head, “I don’t-” He cut himself off when his ears caught their names in a conversation at a table not too far off. For the briefest moment, he glanced around, realizing that it was coming from a group of young girls were at a table, just a couple over, barely in earshot.

“Are they dating or something?”

“Oh my god, they’re holding hands, definitely.”

“She’s so young though. Look at how old she makes him look.”

“Just hurry up and take a picture.”

Keanu didn’t have enough time for his reaction to be organic, and when he jerked his hand away from Y/n’s, she jumped, surprised and he hit his elbow noisily on table top, some of the wares clattering loudly, drawing some more unwanted attention. Clearing his throat, Keanu tried to act natural, ignoring Y/n’s probing gaze, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he loudly cleared his throat again, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, “Why don’t we go for a walk?” Keanu declared, not really giving Y/n any sort of room to politely decline or say that she preferred to stay for a bit longer before he was hastily chucking a generous amount of notes beneath his half filled coffee mug, certainly enough to cover their breakfast bill and then some.

“Sure,” Y/n seemed weary, though still taking Keanu’s offered hand, which he quickly retracted when she stood, letting him lead her out of the cafe, his palm barely touching the upper part of her back.

Y/n couldn’t determine what had stirred it, but the change in Keanu’s behavior had been almost instant. He’d never had a problem with affection before that morning, but within mere minutes, there had been significant changes. Since he’d let her hand go at the quaint little restaurant, nearly a half mile back, he hadn’t dared to take it again and his had stayed at the center of her back, barely touching the skin left exposed by her flowing, white sundress and even with that, he’d been sure to leave some space between them. There’d been less distance between them when they were just friends.

“What’s going on with you?” Y/n gently broke his thoughts, noticing his pensive stare cast towards the water as they strolled along the shore.

Shrugging, Keanu started swinging his other arm, the one where his hand held his shoes. The water washing the shore occasionally, more times than not, would reach their feet, the chill renewed each time it happened and the pull of the sand that followed each time was a little comforting. “You know,” he changed the topic, a clear indication that the matter wasn’t up for discussion, “Sunsets look great from up there,” he gestured to the hills, specifically to a little cliff in the distance that appeared to jut out, hanging over a sapphire depth, “I should take you some time.”

“I’d like that,” Y/n forced a smile, pretending that his reluctance to address the matter didn’t sting a bit. Nearly three months together, and still, he didn’t trust her enough to let her in? What were they doing anyway? Hesitantly, Y/n turned a bit as they walked, reaching up to peck his bearded cheek, her breath catching soundlessly when Keanu flinched.

It was almost like he didn’t really want to be there with her.

Blinking the ache away, Y/n sucked in a deep breath, her heart slowing a little when they reached a more secluded part of the beach, where there were still people, but not too much on the shore, most of them opting to ride the waves. Just up ahead, maybe about another mile and a half or so was where her father lived, his house among many of the other impressive Malibu properties. Maybe she should go see him when it was time for her and Keanu to part, they hadn’t spoken since he’d left her place after all.

“I’m going to Santa Clara next week,” Y/n blurted out when the silence started to bear down on them, the weight of it hefty on her shoulders, though apparently going unnoticed by Keanu.

“To see your aunt?” His glance directed at Y/n barely lasted ten seconds and it was only when they opted to perch themselves amidst a cluster of boulder formations on the higher parts, where they were dry, while the lower half was covered in moss and no doubt housed crabs and other little wonders of marine life, did Keanu seem a little more relaxed, snaking an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close, so Y/n’s head could rest in his side. It was confusing, the little, though obvious shifts, even if they’d just started. He seemed to turn on and off so easily. “You’re gonna spend the week?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n toyed with her loosely wringed fingers, twirling around rights and picking at her nails, “Maybe. Why?”

“Nothing,” Keanu quickly changed his mind though, and Y/n could have sworn that she saw him scoping around first, as if to ensure their privacy. “I guess I’d miss you,” he pecked the top of Y/n’s head, rubbing his nose into the scent of her coconut shampoo before pulling away.

“You could come with me,” Y/n had no idea where the suggestion came from, but suddenly she was hoping he’d say yes. It was without motive, and foreseeable reason, though Y/n did think that it would be nice to take Keanu along, so he could see where she’d spent most of her teenage life and meet the woman who’d practically raised her after she’d begged to leave her mother’s house at twelve.

Keanu pondered on the offer, and already, Y/n knew his answer. They weren’t even exclusive, not really, and things were so tumultuous between them, it was the last sort of situation that you took home. She didn’t know why she’d asked anyway. “I don’t know,” he seemed to be in search of an easy let down, his whiskey pools still matching the water before them. Some of the surfers were starting to disperse, the refreshing morning sun now taking on a new intensity as minutes towards midday ticked on, “I’ve got a lot to do at Arch, and I still wanna spend some time with my sister and mom. I’m sorry,” he added, quite awkwardly, at the end.

Y/n, once again, tried to fake that ever popular, California nonchalance, the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude. So what if he didn’t want to go? “It’s fine,” she waved the issue off, hoping the thickness in her chest was one she could soon easily swallow, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks baby,” he barely grinned empathetically, “Maybe next time.”

Maybe there wouldn’t be a next time.

For a while longer, they remained there, though things weren't as comfortable as they used to be. Even if that date was really intended as a way of bridging the gaping gap between them, it had only served to widen it. That morning, they were meant to push past everything that had happened in the past week, neither of them really wanted to talk about it anyway, but Y/n couldn’t help but think that it had significantly grown, and only in the matter of a couple hours.

Y/n was just letting Keanu help her off the rocks, stumbling into his chest as she jumped down. Surprised, he steadied her at the waist and she gulped thickly as they stared at each other, swallowing awkwardly. It took a minute, but eventually they both chortled quietly, reveling in the brief moment of normalcy. It was nice to, even for less than a minute, return to what they were before, whatever that was.

Clearing his throat quietly, he put some space between them, not much, but just enough for Y/n to notice, “Come on,” he turned, headed towards the way back, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Actually,” Y/n gently weaned her hand out of his, knowing that he definitely wouldn’t want to walk with her to Roger’s place, “I think I’m gonna go see my dad, his place is right up there,” she nudged her head towards the row of impressive houses lining the shore. Then after yet another strained exchange, Y/n and Keanu shared a cut-short goodbye kiss, and looking back once or twice uncomfortably, Keanu headed off.

When his figure grew small with distance, Y/n turned on her heel. Blocking out the sun with her free hand, Y/n dragged her lower lip through her teeth. She hadn’t been nervous about going to see her father until she’d actually begun the trek to his place, her feet sinking in the sand, making Y/n wish she could just be pulled under.

What was she supposed to say anyway?

That she was sorry for getting with one of his friends? That she was starting to think that he was right after all?

Neither seemed like a viable option, and anything that followed was in a similar respect. Everything was so complicated, and complicated was hard. Maybe it would have better if she and Keanu had just left things the way they were before, when they were just friends; friends that didn’t fuck. But now, it was too late. She liked him too much; the way he made her feel when things were good. It was incomparable, and it was all him. The laughs, his touch, how safe she felt when he held her.

Maybe he was worth the bad times, and if he wasn’t, then did it even matter?

Taking a deep breath, Y/n’s already leisurely pace slowed as she grabbed the smooth, white-painted, metal railing. Much unlike her shaking legs, her heart quickened. Her palms felt sweaty, and suddenly, the sun seemed hotter than it actually was.

Eventually, when she reached the front door, Y/n opted to push her finger into the little silver button, sounding the doorbell, rocking back and forth on her feet as she waited for someone to get the door.

But no one came.

It was strange, but only because Y/n could see his car in the garage, through the thick strips of blue tinted accent glass. Shaking off the first hints of gnawing worry, Y/n rang the doorbell again, twice, before sifting through her tiny shoulder bag for her keys. Getting the little bunch out, Y/n immediately singled out the spare to the house, inhaling nervously as she unlocked the door.

“Dad?” Y/n called tentatively upon entry, looking around and then straight up the stairs, finding no one in sight. "Dad?" Y/n called again, her tone peaked with curiosity when she heard a rustling coming from above.

Half of her wanted to investigate, while the other argued against it, urging her to leave and only come back after a phone call. Though, it wasn't hard to decipher which half won when Y/n's palm made contact with the cool material of the railing, skimming it as she headed up. Instead of calling again, Y/n carried on, following the the muffled sounds, apparently coming from down the hall.

She was near the end, finally about to call again, when, out of the master bedroom, came a woman, maybe a head taller that Y/n, long brunette hair interrupted by the first signs of grey. She was older, maybe mid forties, and just doing up the buttons of her pale blue shirt, long legs on display by a skirt that ended mid thigh. Y/n gasped softly, drawing her attention and jumping at the sight. "Who are you?" Were the first words that clumsily tumbled out of her mouth, which at that point could only work on instinct.

"Who are you?" The woman’s eyes squinted in return, not willing to just give away her identity to some random she'd met in the hallway of a house that wasn't hers.

"I asked first," Y/n scoffed defiantly, straightening her back and folding her arms, "Wh- dad?"

Was that what karma was?

It certainly felt like it.

Y/n's jaw hung slack and all but dragged on the hardwood floor as her father came out of the bedroom, the same one the woman had just left. Buttoning her shirt. With a wrinkled skirt. And bed hair!

There was a lot of things of Y/n didn't want to know. That was definitely at the top of her list.

"Kiddo," he tried to chuckle nervously, though failing miserably and only barely managing a contained huff of surprise.

"You have a kid?" The woman's eyes went wide as she turned to Roger.

"I'm not a kid," rolling her eyes, Y/n could easily recognize that the matter of her maturity was the least of everyone's problems, but it still seemed like a worthwhile mention.

"I do," Roger placed a gentle hand of the lady's back and Y/n tried to not be too alarmed, since her parents' divorce, she hadn't really seen him with another woman. It wasn't like she didn't want him to move on, in fact, Y/n could spend hours nagging him about it. Her mother had been remarried twice since everything had been finalized, and meanwhile, Y/n was sure that Roger hadn't dated anyone seriously since then. "Annie, this my daughter, Y/n. Y/n, this is my friend, Annie." Friend, right. Reluctantly, Y/n took Annie's offered hand, shaking shortly before hastily retracting, stiffly returning it to her side.

"It's nice to meet you," no it wasn't, not really. Maybe over dinner, where Y/n didn't have to know what she'd just found out; fine, but like that, not so much. "Dad," Y/n quickly refocused her attention, "If this is a bad time, I can come back."

"No, no," Roger huffed loudly, glancing towards the bewildered woman beside him, "Annie was just leaving."

"Right," she nodded vigorously, slightly shocked, her clear green gaze shifting between Y/n and Rogers's uncomfortably wooden forms, "I am. I'll see you around Rog," Rog? "And it was nice to meet you Y/n."

Awkward.

Y/n watched as Annie hurried down the hall, waiting for the district sound of the front door being pushed shut, before turning to her dad, "Dad!" She scolded impulsively, "You just kicked her out!"

"What?" Roger scoffed incredulously, licking his lips and leading them down the stairs, towards the kitchen, "No I didn't. She was ready to leave anyway."

"Ugh," Y/n rolled her eyes dramatically, glad that the spot light wasn't on her and even happier that Roger seemed far more at ease than he'd been the evening he stormed out of her place. "You are so bad at signals. She was not, you should have asked her to stay."

"Yeah, okay, I was not going to do that," Y/n eventually relieved her father of a steaming mug of coffee, prepared just the way she liked it, easing down onto a stool on the other side of the counter, "Besides, you're here, so we should talk."

The one thing she was avoiding, even though she'd ventured to his house. "Yeah," Y/n punctuated with a lengthy sip of her scalding coffee, nodding astutely as she set it down with a soft thud, "I guess we should." After that, they both seemed to be waiting for the other to break the tense silence, and eventually, Y/n was the one speaking up, "I'm sorry," she laid out, thinking on the matter yet again, "I should have said something, about Keanu."

Agreeing firmly, Roger leaned down on the counter, facing the pushed in stool next to her, "Yeah, you should have," he sighed. "But you are a grown woman, and you can see whoever you want," he smacked his lips, trying to soften his next words, "Even if it makes me wanna punch him in the face."

For a minute, Y/n waited for him to continue, holding her breath for more, for a long list of reasons why she shouldn’t be running around with Keanu, a lecture about how there were great men her age who’d treat her right if she gave them a chance, and maybe another about how aimless dating didn’t really make sense. But it never came. “That’s it?” Y/n grabbed half of her lower lip, dragging it through her teeth, “No…..”

“No what?” He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head, “You want the dad speech?” He eyed her curiously, though Y/n didn’t offer a response, “Well, I’m not gonna give it to you; you’ve grown, and so have I. It’s like I said,” he sipped his coffee as punctuation, “I’m not gonna like it, but I can’t stop you either.”

At that, Y/n smiled, and quietly thanked her father for his acceptance, be it as hesitant as it was. Glancing down into her mug, staring that the creamy contents, she quickly found that the spurt of jubilation was very short lived, and already, she was once again baring the wear and tear of her complicated relationship as an unsung bruise. Sure, her father had done a little to clear her guilt, but that didn't change the fact that she and Keanu seemed to be falling apart at the seams.

"Everything okay?" Y/n jumped slightly when her father reached put, tapping her wrist. Though, she quickly perked up, and while it was a little difficult, Y/n found a smile ready to be offered.

"Yeah," she shook her head, hoping the troubles would just fall away, "Yeah, I'm fine dad," she reassured, masking her lie with another sip of her coffee. "So," with ever intent of chasing the topic, Y/n set the cup down, "What's going on with you and Annie?"

Cocking a brow, Roger just shook his head, pushing away from the counter, "Do you really wanna know?"

"Eh," Y/n shook her shoulders absently, inwardly cringing of the thought of her father and some woman, whoever she was, "Probably not."

He hadn't meant to ice her out, to draw out visible hurt or to flip a switch just like that. They'd been having a good time, and for the first half of it, Keanu had gotten to thinking that things would be okay again, Y/n could somehow push past the ache of their ambiguity and he could gain some clarity on what exactly she meant to him. She meant something, he knew that much.

But then he caught wind of what those girls were saying. 'Look at how old she makes him look.' Keanu hadn't really paid it much mind before, but after he'd heard the words, sirens went off in his head. He was old, and Y/n was still bursting with life; young and far too easily impressed. There were more years between them than she'd lived and her affections for him couldn't be more than the by-product of her obvious, though unchecked, issues. They both had issues.

He was reckless and lonely and she was desperate to be more than she'd deemed herself.

With a soft oomph, Keanu slouched into the leather chair behind his sleek glass desk in his office at Arch. He hadn't bothered to alert anyone of his presence, wanting to have five more uninterrupted minutes with his thoughts before his meeting. Staring blankly at his helmet, discarded carelessly near the edge of the top, Keanu could feel himself losing awareness of the environment around him, immersing himself in his thoughts the throb of despair consuming him.

He didn't want to break up with her, at least not yet. But he didn't know where they were going either. The good was great and the bad was painful. And even if Keanu wanted to pretend the gap between them wasn't there, the events of that morning had proven that he and Y/n couldn't exist in their little bubble of privacy forever; sooner or later the public would know, and Keanu was stating to wonder if the hell they'd have to pay would be worth it.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @paanchu786 @thesadvampire @fanficsrusz @fickensteinn @ladyreapermc @babygirltaina @septimaseverina @snatchedbylele @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #angst #fluff #keanu reeves fanfiction #ff #fanfic #fanfiction #lana del rey #put me in a movie #chapter 10 #series

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worldhammerer-old · 7 years

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Day 5 - Civilisation & Architecture

(Don’t worry [or possibly do worry?], i haven’t forgotten about the History prompt for day 4. I just figured since I’m already pretty far behind, I might as well get to the interesting ones before i tackle the ones that are likely going to be longer, drier, and more involved)

Vuatlieo

In the western deserts of Vuatlieo many live in cave homes not dissimilar to the yaodong of northern China - typically of the sunken-courtyard variety but sometimes dug into the sides of cliff faces, or other freestanding features. Communities of these dwellings have existed in this area for thousands of years, each remaining within a single family that they support. In areas where the water table is too high to support such ventures, homes and other buildings are built of bricks of cut stone or sun-dried mud, covered over with stucco. Sometimes one comes across complexes of earthen homes, storage spaces and workshops build into the undersides of hanging cliffs or shafts dug by humans, connected by ladders and gently sloping wooden platforms - the settlements of the Xwalhabmenet and the Hwalzanmenet, two great peoples of the West prior to its assimilation by Vuatlieo.

In the central areas of Vuatleio, they favor housing made from stone or mud bricks stuccoed and painted in angular geometric designs of purple and green, of red and gold, rich and vibrant colors. Rooms are boxy rectangular prisms grafted onto each other in a somewhat haphazard way, where two connecting rooms might have very different dimensions including ceiling height based on what the builder intended the rooms to be used for. Most houses like this are built on a single level, with multi-story houses being atypical. When they exist, attempts to correct for the uneven quality of the floor - the previous level’s ceiling - are essentially unheard of, leading to disconcertingly angular lumps in the surface people walk on. The central Vuatlieone folk don’t seem to mind it, though. Almost no home in this style has internal stairs, with access to the roof or to potential other stories being provided by ladders or stairs on the outside formed by successive wooden stakes being hammered into the wall, or by natural slopes of hills or other geological formations that the building may be built into. Roofs may be the same stuff as the walls, supported by internal braces of wooden beams, or may be formed of woven corn leaves and stalks, or of baked or fired clay tiles in imitation of the East. Garden areas or courtyards might be sectioned off through extensions of the walls, enclosing some area beyond the normal confines.

The East and the Northern islands are pretty similar in architectural styles, so they’ll be described together, here. They are characterized by white or off-white buildings of clay or stone or, for certain monumental buildings, marble, built tall and supported by pillars and arches. While rectangular floorplans are favored as in the Central and Western regions, circular or oval shapes are also common and are held to be especially noble. Second or third floors may project beyond the boundaries of the first, and be supported by columns of pillars which signify a semi-private boundary while still maintaining visibility in a way that walls cannot. Stairs can be within or without a building, and as aforementioned, roofs are typically made of red tiles of fired clay, but may sometimes instead be domes of glass or beaten metal. The East being where the Emperor of Vuatlieo resides, and where the Royal Palace and City are, the Eastern style is associated with class and artistic refinement, and thus families or organizations in other regions who have high status, or wish to appear to, may have their buildings constructed in this style.

The towers of Vuatlieone wizards are famous, visible against pretty much any Vuatlieone horizon, majestic and eccentric, drawing from multiple traditions within and without the country, often from styles that only exist within the wizard’s mind. They may see multiple resident wizards over the course of their lifetime (though rarely more than one at any given time), each with their own preferences for how a building should look, and thus accrue a layered shell of balconies, windows, walls of stone or wood or metal. Their main unifying traits are their considerable height - wizards are a secretive sort, who see use in ensuring that their only visitors are those desperate enough to climb several flights of stairs or magically gifted enough to levitate to the top - and the considerable cellars at their base, stocked with the restorative wines and spirits for which Vuatlieo is so well known.

The Vuatlieone chthonic tombs are labyrinthine constructions, some of the very oldest not only in Vuatlieo but in all the known world. Their aboveground portion can be deceptively simple, an earthwork mound in the shape of a hemisphere or a long wedge or a pyramid, shored up where needed with marble or granite and marked with a devotional stele proclaiming the family or individual the tomb is associated with. An opening will lead to a staircase or downward-angled corridor which invites deeper into the tomb, and into the earth, where the complex truly begins. The dead, in the Vuatlieone folk tradition, are displayed sitting in niches along the walls, or on thrones or benches, or lying in repose on slabs; regardless of the specifics, they are open to the elements and not hidden away from the eye as they decay into skeletons, draped with funerary goods of beaded necklaces, torcs and bangles, and sometimes dressed in a curious sort of armor of beaten copper, or silver, or gold, which would have done little to protect the deceased in life but rather is meant to beautify the corpse, with breastplates that draw one’s eye to the heart, or helmets with elaborate flared headdresses that put one in mind of a peacock’s train. The hallways and open rooms of the tombs are supported by fluted columns. Statues or murals may be present to commemorate the individuals interred or specific evens in their lives, or to act as a focus for prayers to ancestral spirits residing within the tomb or underground more generally. While excavating space for their dead, the Vuatlieone sometimes broke into natural caverns or underground tunnels. While sometimes these were assimilated, in whole or in part, into the structure of the tomb, at other times the architects were content to leave the natural beauty of these spaces be, and would leave them as a vista for the dead and their visitors to view, or even wall them off (though over time not all of these walls have remained).

Along the eastern borders, at the shores of the great lakes, the particularly destitute, humble or pious may live in the massive shells of deceased snails which have washed ashore; these are cramped and, in terms of weight, relatively light, such that particularly strong winds may blow them over or even carry them some distance (including into the water, where the resident will likely drown). It’s this lightness of shell that is an asset for the structure’s other use, that of the carriage for carts drawn by aavexhãonon, the large birds that act as steeds and beasts of burden in certain southern and southeastern areas of Vuatlieo, and who lack the strength to pull heavier wooden carts for a useful distance.

Hambry

The buildings in Hambry are overwhelmingly constructed of wood, with sparing use of iron or ceramics or stone for nails, hinges, tile floors, etc. Accordingly, fires are a very serious problem which can cause tremendous loss of life and property damage. However, in most of Hambry, stone is too scarce, difficult to access, or poor quality to be a realistic building material for most people. Use of stone is reserved for the rich, the priesthood, and communal warehouses, these last being built entirely of stone in the hopes that they withstand fires that lesser buildings do not. Somewhat ironically, the main place where stone is an economical building material for most people is one of the poorest places in the empire: the Nivan highlands, up on the slopes of the mountains and the hidden valleys where they make a rough living herding yaks and cattle for their meat and for dairy products that make their way through all the Nivan astral-trail system to be deeply embedded in southern continental cuisine.

In the Nivan lowlands, the thin and scraggly grasslands and black sand beaches that lead down to the steel-grey ocean, many live in villages made from clusters of an enormous root vegetable, woody and bitter, which are hollowed out and then covered with woven roofs supported by short wooden stakes. These are typically one-room, with a hollow in the center of the room for a metal bowl (and insulating cloth between the bowl and the substance of the root) to built a fire for cooking, light, heat, etc. Other housing solutions unique to the region include the discarded shells of snails that the famous great crabs of the Kymnutari Ocean feed on, much like the ones in eastern Vuatlieo, but formed into a large cone, rather than a simple round shape. These are somewhat heavier than Vuatlieone shells, but further held down with magical stones, incised with runes by a wizard, and possibly also restrained by nets nailed into the ground with great pegs.

The kansiuq of the south have mastered the art of defensive architecture; covering their island beaches with rough-cut spiked logs, giving their fortress walls a beard of the same, placing tall towers at the corners of their towns from which enemies can be seen for miles around. The wood used is typically pine or cedar, and not always particularly well finished - visitors or soldiers stationed at kansiuq settlements often come away complaining of splinters. To some degree this is alleviated by wall hangings of furs and skins (the product of the kansiuq diet, in which meat features prominently) which may be painted, an artistic medium of the kansiuq which may convey stories about the Hambric state religion, famous kansiuq and foreigners of history, or naturalistic scenes.

In the Zrii isles, city-fortresses are built in shells of iron and Zrii metal, in the shape of truncated pyramids with pentagonal bases, off of which many semi-open promenades and boardwalks may project into the warm northern waters or along beaches. These can be tightly shut in the summer and fall months in which tropical storms are common. Inside, iron and Zrii metal are still prominent building materials, but also the jungle hardwoods, and soft carved stone. Light is provided by narrow windows in the city-fortress shells, but also by gas fires. Gardens in cup-shaped structures outside the cities were once exercises in patience and continual rebuilding, annually ravaged as they were by weather, but now trade with Vuatlieo for resilient glass in large panes that the Zrii islanders don’t have the technological expertise or facilities to create themselves is much easier (if not much less expensive), meaning that many of these gardens are now greenhouses of sorts.

Szaomngba

Szaomngba is a land of nomadic horse-riders, and so much of their architecture is based around the tent or somewhat more permanent (though still ultimately temporary) ger. The truly permanent settlements that they have make use of the volcanic stone basalt which is plentiful in that place, as well as tuff and the wood of the black walnut tree; roofs of stone, copper or bronze are common, as are domed roofs, which may be ornamented with weathercocks, spires, cupolas, or devices meant to strain the volcanic ash of Red Mountain out of the air and collect it in reservoirs for the residents’ use. These devices may also stand free in the countryside, their ash collected by travellers. Szaomngba mortuary architecture is superficially similar to Vuatlieone practices but differs in a number of crucial ways. The mound aboveground is typically meant to enclose the entirety of the tomb; though in practice most specimens have at least one chamber sunk a significant ways into the earth below. The mound is formed of a frame of wooden beams surrounding a (series of) room(s) built of wooden planks, surrounded by heaped stones packed with earth.

#aoat #world building june #wbj2017 #worldbuilding

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your-bigtacostudent-blog · 6 years

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Proper Sterilization Is important for Fingernail Salons

Maintaining cleanliness of one's nail salon is extremely important. It could greatly affect one's business. It could also make the clients feel that they are really safe. A visit to the nail treatment salon for a manicure and pedicure Nagelstudio can be an enjoyable regular experience. A salon provides clients not simply a beautiful nail art, but also gives a technician the possibility to provide good toenail care treatments for the clients. Sanitation is the proper term. The biggest difference among different toe nail salons is the degree of their cleanliness. This is the basic standards of choosing the proper salon to visit. Whether you just want to play for a quick manicure, or settle down for a spa-style pedicure, the toenail salon you choose can make a lot of difference in how exciting the ability is. When one trips a salon, stop and show around the place. The main areas to keep an eye on for nail salon sanitation are the floors, bath rooms and kitchens, manicure work stations, nail technicians, and pedicure stations. For the technicians, do they wear the proper attire? Do they are disheveled and have nails that belongs to them that look like they need to work with it? The salon floor should be vacuumed or polished regularly to remove dirt. One should also check the floor sanitation if it's free of nail clippings, insects and food crumbs on hard wood floors or rugs. The bathroom and kitchen areas should have water and soap for hand cleaning. Disposable paper towels are preferable to use. Soiled towels should not be employed by nail salon employees or the customers. Presently there ought to be a kitchen area and break area for salon employees to prevent them from eating at the workstation. A typical pedicure station should be clean, well-maintained and should be washed between salon clients. Most toe nail salons use pedicure areas with removable basins. A standard manicure workstation has a manicure chair and a table with pre-installed drawers and room for storing the trays. Toe nail technicians keep professional tools and equipment on the desk including nail stuff, manicure gels, nail documents and polish. The workstation should look organized, well taken care of and really should be cleaned between customers. Tools that are not non reusable should be sterilized with alcohol or microwave system between clients. And last but not least, for the nail technicians, they should practice recurring hand washing after each treatment to minimize the cross-contamination between salon clients. Also, they should avoid performing or treating any nail services on a customer with an illness such as nail fungus. A salon customer has also the right to expect reasonable health and safety measures during a salon visit. A cosmetic salon visit must be a stress-free experience and it must be enjoyable. This can be a need for the customer to check the entire hygiene of the salon they are visiting to avoid any problems. There are discount nail salons on almost every corner these times and quite a lot of competition within the industry. Salons that are more expensive are now going out of their way to focus in different, branded systems that are inventive in the several ways they provide you to care for your toenails. With Nail Salons on every corner, how do you find the right one for you? There are many different types of Nail Salons, from your basic services to full out Retreats for saturdays and sundays in the bed of luxury. How can you tell which one is correct for what you want done? You might enjoy paying less to have your fills done, but the expense of the product i did so that fill is still the same. All nail hair salons and spas use the same sorts of products to work on your nails, so there really won't be much difference in the sort of products found in any salon you might visit. Yet , there ARE different brands available for each and every product type. In the event the nail beauty shop you are going to utilizes a name brand product such as O. S. I, China Gaze, Creativespa, LECHAT Color Gel, Photo voltaic Oil, even at from suppliers prices, the products cost comparable at either high end or low end Salons, so what extra value are you getting if you visit a more pricey nail salon?

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analog-kyle · 7 years

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The Trans-Mongolian: Beijing to St. Petersburg

Years ago, I learned that a train ride existed that traversed Russia, from the extreme East to the Capital of Moscow, and on to St Petersburg if one so desired. One could even travel all the way to London if they desired. I would not say that I have a bucket list, but if I did, this would have been on it. We decided to put this trip on the back-burner until we had more travel experience under our belt. As a cost saving measure we would have to do almost all the planning and purchasing on our own.

Our original plan saw us doing this in 2015, with higher aspirations of doing the trip from Singapore all the way to London, but time constraints and other trips prevented this. We had then planned on doing the actual "Trans-Siberian" from Vladivostok to St Petersburg via Moscow, but decided on the route we took: Beijing to St Petersburg. This would afford us the opportunity to traverse the vast and barren Mongolia as well as much of China, while still seeing everything in Russia we wanted to see.

When we started planning, we soon realized that tickets for each train are not available until 60 days prior to departure, and with our visa applications for Russia being a big hold up, we researched some ways of buying the tickets early. RealRussia is a service based in the UK that offers a vast array of tickets for travel in Russia. Another site we found, based in Lithuania, was RussianTrains. They offered early purchases as well and are a bit cheaper, so we rolled the die and tried them.

Getting Our Russia Visa

You will need a visa when traveling to Russia, but to even apply for the visa you need a visa invitation, which is just from a company or hotel or party inside Russia saying you are coming. When you purchase tickets from Russiatrains, they give you a free invitation which lists the company name as well as where you are staying. When applying for the visa, you have to use this to fill out the gobs of paperwork required.

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Out of the many visa applications we have filled out in our travel-heavy past, this was the worst. Our names, our parent's names, where we work, where we have worked, everywhere we have visited in the last ten years, passport photos, where we lived, the last place we lived, the list goes on. We filled it all out and opted to apply in person, as opposed to using the visa service they suggest, to keep costs down. Our visa, which is for three years and multiple entries, cost $270 dollars per person and took a week to process. That week was a nail biter as a denied visa means we would have to reapply and would lose our fee. In the end, all was good and we had our visas. We already had visas for China and did not need one for Mongolia. Unfortunately, our friend Matt traveling on an Irish passport needed to acquire a Mongolia visa.

Purchasing Our Tickets

Before we had applied for our visa, we purchased our tickets for the Beijing to Ulan Bator leg as well as our tickets for the Ulan Bator to Irkutsk leg of the trip. The people over at RussianTrains were amazing. They were beyond helpful and attentive, usually making us wait no more than a few hours for email replies, which I found to be quite reasonable given they were in a time zone 7 hours different than hours.

Our tickets were delivered to our hostel in Beijing and also our hotel in Ulan Bator. Our tickets were waiting upon our arrival in Beijing; our tickets for the second leg were delivered to Matt's hotel instead of ours - the only hang-up the entire trip. The service of RussianTrains was awesome and I would highly recommend them if you're doing a trip like this.

We booked a private room on the K3 out of Beijing at $473 per person and a hard sleeper (a shared room with Nate and Matt) at $171 per person out of Ulan Bator. One of the reasons we booked so early is because the K3 only leaves bi-weekly out of Beijing and we need to assure we had seats. Speaking with others on the train afterwards however, we could have waited.

For the final leg of the trip, we booked directly through the Russian website, Rzd, their state-run railway system. The trains throughout Russia run more frequently, many run every day, some even twice a day, so the cost savings of purchasing "last minute" was worth the potential risk of not getting the exact train we wanted. These tickets were printable, so we printed them and brought them with us.

The First Leg: Beijing to Ulan Bator

I'll be posting our initial trip to Beijing as well as our day in Beijing in my post about each city.

After spending the night in Beijing we got up early and headed out to our train, which departed at 11:22 am from the main station, which was only a few blocks away from our hostel. Actually finding our boarding area proved difficult as the station is massive, overrun with people, and extremely busy. At first we went to the wrong place, only to be herded out the door and into a massive set of lines, through the turnstiles, into a throng of people trying to also get in, through bag scanners, and finally into a large hall. Our train was on none of the boards that we could see. When we finally found it; into another massive hall we went. At the station, there are plenty of food options: noodle packs like ramen, as well as cookies, candy, drinks and other cookable foods. We got some snacks and drinks and headed to our boarding area. We sat down only to realize we could actually already board our train waiting on platform one.

We filed outside and through the turnstiles to our platform, a platform I had been on before when we did a train from Xi'an to Beijing a few years prior. Most of the people getting on the K3, Beijing to Moscow, were tourists. People with hiking backpacks, young people and old, families and individuals. Our car attendant took our tickets and let us board, while Nate and Matt went off to find theirs. We had made it! Our train departed at 11:22 am, right on time.

Our room, room number 10, was spacious and covered top to bottom in red fabric. Our beds were on the right side of the room with a small table under the window and a small seat on the left. Between our room and our neighbor's was a small sink area where one could "shower" with the extendable hose and drain on the floor... we chose not to shower. The toilets were at each end of the car, a metal bowl with a plastic seat, not the worst train toilet I've ever seen.

The room next door was occupied by a British fellow, Shane, who was on his way back from Hong Kong to London. He had traveled to Hong Kong via train, making it a round trip. He was also getting off in Ulaanbaatar, not to visit but because the terms of his Mongolian visa stipulated that he could not "pass through", he had to get off for at least one night.

As our train left Beijing, we comfortably sat with our window shades open, chatting excitedly about what was to come. The views leaving the city wouldn't be considered "spectacular", but you do get to see parts of Beijing you might not normally see - part of the beauty of train travel. I spoke with Shane a bit while we were plodding along, hearing about his trip out and his return trip. His sister had taken the train with him but decided to fly back from Hong Kong, so he was going at it alone.

Once we got out of the city, which took a while as Beijing is massive, we passed farm land and sparsely populated areas. We had one stop at what appeared to be a brand new station: Zhangjiakou. Our stop here was 18 minutes. We took on a few passengers here, but the bulk of our train loaded at Beijing.

We got into mountainous terrain, skirting a river for some time. This part of the ride was beautiful, with tracks on the opposite side of the river seeing trains headed the opposite direction. Around this part of the ride, we were told it was dinner time. We had free tickets for dinner - a nice deal considering that Shane said they were not offered dinner, even if dinner consisted only of rice and chicken strips. Carmen suggested we go down immediately to see what they were offering and eat now. I assumed that only deluxe rooms were offered the free meal, which was not the case. Carmen's suggestion turned out to be a good one, when we left we saw Nate and Matt waiting in line, a line that extended all the way into the next car's hallway. Nate and Matt were able to get their sweet delicious rice, chicken, and pepper strips after a 30 minute wait.

The next major stop was the exit border of China, Erenhot. We pulled into Erenhot a couple hours after dinner, well after the sun had set. The border crossing is a very interesting place on the trip. Immediately after we pulled into the station, border guards boarded the train, checked the rooms, took our passports and buggered off; the border agent had an arm full of passports. They would open the passport, look at it, then put it on their arm, by the time they got to our car, their arm looked like a roof made of open passports on their arm. Passengers are allowed to get off the train, which Carmen and I did, where we also found Matt wondering about.

I shot a few rolls of film here through my panoramic camera as well as my GF670w. We spent an hour or more on the platform as the crew did some car changes. We were told we could stay on the platform for the next our or get back on the train for the bogie swap, which is what we opted to do.

After we boarded, the train is then backed into a shop/depot, each car is cut from the train and left near some hydraulic lifts. Then, each car is individually lifted off its wheels, and new, wider wheel sets are put under the cars, all while you're on the train! In Mongolia and Russia, the train gauge is wider than that of China, which is why they replace the wheels. This whole process takes about 2 hours in total, at which point the train is taken back out of the shop and put back together.

Leaving Erenhot, China, we went about a mile down the tracks to the border of Mongolia, Zamiin-Uud. Another set of border guards enter, check the room, take your passport, and go do their thing. The whole process, exiting China, getting our wheelsets changed, and finally entering Mongolia took between five and six hours. As the border guards exited to the train and we were preparing to leave, a couple from farther up the train was pulled off. I assume they did not have the proper visa for Mongolia. According to Matt, Nate was fortunate enough to have slept through the entire border process. We went ahead and followed Nate's lead and went to bed with us in our private room and Nate and Matt in their peasant's room.

We woke up sometime in the morning as we were skipping along through the Gobi Desert, a barren place with very few towns on the way. At the border the previous night, our original diner car was replaced with a better diner car with full meals and a full dining staff. This car was decked out with ornate wood carving covered in what appeared to be gold leaf. Aside from the cooked meals, they also sold a few things one might need such as sodas, water, beer (which Nate and Matt took advantage of) as well as snacks and candy. The diner took Mongolian, Chinese, Russian denominations as well as Euros. The food on this car was a full menu of items ranging from salads to meat and chicken dishes. Matt and Nate both ordered food, which they let me have some. I thought it was tasty and filling.

Continuing on, we had a 25 minute stop at a station in Choir, Mongolia. At the station, people will sell you everything you might want on the train: noodles, soda, crackers, fruit, water, napkins and so on. Every stop we had allowed us to restock any food and supplies and had the added benefit of being able to get off the train and wander about. In Choir, Carmen and Nate followed the lead of many others and walked about 100 yards from the station to check out a statue. The statue is a commemoration of Jügderdemidiin Gürragchaa, Mongolia's first cosmonaut. I stayed behind to take some photos on the platform and spoke with Cheng as well as restocking on some food items.

Choir was our last stop before Ulan Bator. My wife spent most of the ride in our room, reading, writing in her trip journal, or just enjoying the views. I spent most of the ride in the dining car with Nate, or in Nate and Matt's room playing cards with a Canadian we met named Max. Max's travels seemed to be even more exciting, as he was taking a six month trip from Singapore to Lisbon.

By the end of our train journey from Beijing to Ulaanbaatar, we had been traveling for about 27 hours, including five or so hours at the border crossing. The first class room was well worth the extra expense, and the views were unique and interesting(why? what made them interesting?). We pulled in to Ulaanbaatar on schedule and left the train. We had a three day stop over, which I will write about next. I'll delete this place holder and add a link to that post when I do.

Ulaanbaatar to Irkutsk, Train 263

After our time in Ulaanbaatar, we embarked on leg two of our trip: Train 263. We booked a hard sleeper, as that was the only accommodation the train had to offer. With this booking, we had to share a room with Matt and Nate, which proved to be just great.

We had our tickets and arrived at the station a few hours early. Our train, a massive one with 20 or so cars on it, arrived an hour before we were set to leave. Our car was the head car on the train. We grabbed some food for the ride while at the station and boarded the train. We did not have anyone from our original train on this ride, instead we had two Malaysian women, a gent from Croatia, and a few others whom I did not speak with. We left Ulaanbaatar on time: 8:40 pm.

The first evening of the ride was uneventful; we pulled out of Ulaanbaatar as the sun was setting and weren't able to see much of anything outside our window once the sun was gone. We did some chatting on the train and then all turned in for the evening.

We woke up the next morning as a single unit, the rest of the cars has been taken off and dissapeared, at the Mongolia border. We arrived around 6:00 am, hours before the border even opens, so there was a lot of sitting around. Our car attendants, two women this time, told us we had two hours, so we wandered about, spoke with some fellows working on an engine, spent time in the room, and so on to kill some time. Eventually, border control got on the train and checked our passports. An engine then showed up, hooked up to our paltry one car train and took us about 6 miles across the Russian border and into Russia.

Russia

When we arrived in Russia, the tracks were flanked with razor wire for the few miles before the actual border station. The border station itself, Naushki, was very large. As soon as we pulled in our engine was cut off and 4-6 border patrolmen entered the train. Some of the patrol came through and checked the room, lifting the seats and climbing on the bed to look at the storage above. The others were the passport control. Carmen spoke some of the few words of Russian she learned to the first one and he lit up! After she said "I don't understand" in Russia as he starting speaking quickly to her, he just chuckled and went on his way.

The entry was an extensive process, the guards took our passports, scanned each individual page of our passport, looked it over with a loupe, then checked our visa the same way. The intense search had me so worried we were going to get denied. I worried for no reason as everything turned out just fine.

We had to spend another two or three hours at the station, so we decided to head across the street to check out some local shops. As I walked out of one small shop, this woman said something to me, asking if I wanted something. Nate came over to investigate and when he turned around he was holding this hot fried dough thing with meat in the middle. Color me jealous and hungry, I went over and got some for myself, so did Matt, and wouldn't you know it, she had something for Carmen, a potato version! The mysterious food from the lady's bag was delicious! I have since learned that they were pirozhki (fried dough with various fillings), or at least, to the best of my knowledge they were.

Close by to the station and the lady with the food bag was a small park with some walking paths. We did not want to wander too far away from the station as our attendant did not give us clear indications of how long we would be here.

Apparently we were held up waiting for another train heading towards Mongolia to show up. When that train arrived, their engine and two cars broke off, hooked up to our train, and we were ready to go. Within an hour, we were on our way. Our Russia portion of the trip had officially started. The bulk of this ride was uneventful, skirting a few lakes and mostly desolate plains. Matt, Nate, Carmen, and I did have a really good time together, though. We spent time watching movies on my laptop and walking the length of the train, three entire cars. I was able to speak more with Mislav, the gentleman from Croatia, as well (any significant conversations you had with him?). Just like the trip from Beijing to Ulaanbaatar, the really nice thing about this section of the ride was that the windows open and I was able to take photos out the windows.

We took a major stop in Ulan-Ude before reaching Irkutsk, where our train gained more than 10 additional cars. Our train pulled in and I got off as soon as we stopped. Even though I was awake for this entire stop, I looked back and our train was somehow over 10 cars longer. I have no idea when the cars were added without me noticing, as surely it would have taken some time or I would have heard it. I assume they backed the cars up to ours as soon as we pulled up and I just didn't notice it. The stop in Ulan-Ude was quite late into the night and a very brief 30 minutes long. Nate and I bought ice cream from a stand, Matt also bought beer for himself and Nate. Nate bought entirely too much ice cream, so we really had to jam our way through that quickly. We jumped on the train, pulled out of Ulan-Ude and we all went back to sleep.

Our train arrived right on schedule in Irkutsk at 1:30 am. While the trains were running on time, the problem that arose involved the time change. In Russia, all the trains operate on Moscow time, which was five hours back from our current location's time. In actuality we arrived in Irkutsk at 6:30 am, still right on time.

It was raining upon our arrival and I was glad that, not only did my bag have a rain cover, but I also decided to bring my rain coat with me. Like most Russian train stations, it is a massive complex. We made our way through the station and into the city. We had a 3 day stopover here, which I will write about soon.

Irkutsk to Moscow: Train 001m

After our time in Irkutsk, Nate, Carmen, and I got back on the train. Matt decided that he wanted to spend more time in Irkutsk and so we parted ways. He decided to stay an additional day. When we left, he mentioned that he wished he'd booked with us and left after three additional days.

This train was even nicer than our train out of Beijing. We booked a deluxe room again. We chose this train, train number 001m, because it was the only train with deluxe. It only runs on even-numbered days, so we opted to not get off this train until we reached Moscow. I would have loved to get off in Yekaterinburg, if we had gotten off, we would have had to wait an extra day to get back on this train, which would have cut into our time in Moscow and St Peterburg.

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Our room had only two beds, this time they were across from one another instead of bunked. We had a tv in the room, but it only had three channels, none of which were working. The room also featured four different lights, a small table, and a key card lock. We also had a plug for our electronics - score! Just like every other car on our trip, this one also had a samovar (a water boiler for things like, tea, oatmeal, ramen, etc.). It also had two of the nicest toilets I've ever seen on a train. The next car down, which was also first class, had a shower that cost the equivalent of $1.50.

Our train left out of Irkutsk, 11:15 am Moscow time, 4:15 pm Irkutsk time. Our first stop was a mere 5 minutes later at a second Irkutsk station. Around this time, we were told that we had one free meal for the ride, which we opted to take about an hour after departure. We figured if the food was good, we would want to know sooner than later in case we wanted to buy food again on the ride. The food turned out to be pretty good, plus it was delivered to our room. The meals were about $6.00 per person and there were vegetarian meals available as well.

The first night on this train was a relaxing time coupled with a good sleep. We had a few stops overnight, though I did not get off the train. However, I did get off the train at the first major stop at Krasnoyarsk. It was a large station and we stopped for a little more than ten minutes. There was one stall on the station but it was closed - no soup for you! Our train took on a lot more passengers, including a guy who I talked to the next day. I believe Nate's room filled up here with a family of Russians. He spent some time in our room over the next few days, or we hung out in the dining car getting food. Silly little Nate did not seem to get off the train much.

Most of the station stops were short, between five and 10 minutes. The longer ones allowed us to get off the train to take photos and find some food, usually noodles or oatmeal, food that can be prepared with hot water. At two stations, Mariinsk and Vladimir, we changed engines. Most of the stations in Siberia had snow, much like most of the ride.

Our car had a couple from South Carolina, Bill and Andrea, who were on a 66 day around-the-world adventure. They started their trip where the true Trans-Siberian train starts, in Vladivostok. They had a few day stop in Irkutsk to do laundry, get some nice meals, and just take a general breather. This is where we met them. After Russia, they would go off to Namibia, then back to Poland, onto Peru and then to the Amazon. They were extremely nice folks and you can read about their adventures here. Bill had a penchant for getting beer and filling his plastic bag up with snow to keep them cold. I really enjoyed having them on the train with us. They spent much of their time in their room updating their blog and watching movies.

We also had another couple from the UK who had sold their company and were traveling around the world. They were about my age and were jealousy-inducing. Like Bill and Andrea, they started in Vladivostok, however, they spent a few days in quite a few cities: Chita, Ulan-Ude, Irkutsk, and Yekaterinburg, which is where they got off the train. Their plans saw them headed to the US for a wedding after their train trip.

While I did really enjoy taking the deluxe car, the interaction with people is not as high as in the other car. With a private room, you tend to spend a lot of your time secluded. I did spend quite a bit of time in the diner car with Nate, for food, but also because it was a great place to sit comfortably without being in a room.

The views throughout this ride were very similar to before: birch trees, snow, and wooden houses. It was not the most scenic train ride I have ever been on, but it was still wonderful to see. The small cities we traversed were quaint, with Ladas at most houses. The rails were also very busy with passenger trains zipping in opposite directions regularly, passing freight trains at a fast clip, and track workers all over keeping the rails in operational order.

Our car attendant on this ride was a lady who we could comfortably describe as "cute". In her 50s and the build of a shot-putter, she spoke very little English, but her smile was a universal language. She made sure our room was vacuumed regularly and the samovar was topped up. She would alert us to stops and how long they were. At one point she opened the door on the opposite side of the train from the platform so I could take a photo. She had little trinkets for sale as well, including very nice podstakannik, which is a tea glass and metal holder with a handle. My wife bought one that has the Trans-Siberian on it.

Aside from the noodles and food we bought for the room, I ate proper meals in the diner car with Nate. The car was nice, the crew attentive, and the food was pretty good. The portions were small, though. One of the women working in the diner car was on her first trip as a rail worker. She spoke wonderful English and she was a very pleasant person to accompany us on the train. The other diner car attendants listened to American pop music each time we were in the car.

The train ride, through snow and rain and sunshine, day and night, took about 75 hours, or a little over three days. We arrived at Leningradsky station, which is in the northeast of Moscow. Like our last two stops, we had three days to enjoy Moscow, which I'll add in a post later.

Moscow to St Peterburg: High Speed

If our first three trains were a slow and meandering way to see the countrysides of China, Mongolia, and Russia, the last train we took was a modern way to zip between Russia's two major cities. Our tickets for this train, the Sapsan, were purchased the day we arrived in Moscow. This train was the most uncomfortable as well, having seating that is similar to an airplane.

We departed from Leningradsky station, the same one we arrived in Moscow on the 001m. Our train departed on time, as every other train we had taken thus far did. Our entire ride took us four hours, with two stops of only three minutes each. The Sapsan, while less comfortable, was a nice change from our previous trains. At this point in our trip, we just wanted to get where we were headed. There was wifi on this train, though it just was not very good. We arrived in St Petersburg, our last city, at 2:50 pm. We only had two days here, which you can read about when I write about it.

Our entire trip, well over 4000 miles by rail, had not a single problem or issue. All of our trains operated on time, the views changed from heavily populated and smoggy Beijing to beautiful mountain sides and rivers. Leaving China we were met with desolation and desert in Mongolia, the least densely populated country in the world. We saw snow, the largest and oldest lake in the world, birch trees and Russian architecture. We enjoyed the company of many diverse and unique people, and spent time with good friends. This trip had always been number one on my list of trips to do and now that I have done it, I want to do it all over again. Anyone could find enjoyment on a trip like this, and I'd suggest you do.

#trans-mongolia #travel #hogarth ferguson #trans mongolia #trans siberian #trans-siberian #gf670 #gf670w #fuji #photographers on tumblr #photographers of tumblr #artists on tumblr #artists of tumblr

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