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elopez7228 · 4 years

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Scenic Route 7/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

It was the tempting smell of coffee that roused Rey from her slumber.

It took her a second to realize where she was and why there was a dog curled up against her sleeping bag. Stretching her neck and shoulders, she unraveled her hair and looked up at Leia. She had placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the tiny kitchen table.

“Mind if I take a quick shower before I leave?I don’t know when I’ll get another chance on the road...”

With Leia’s approval she found herself in the minuscule bathroom, where she washed her hair as economically as possible. Not a drop of water wasted—after all, she wouldn’t want to freeload off of a kind woman evidently already on a budget.

Afterwards, she checked to make sure that she left nothing behind (oil? Check. Water? Check. Music? Check. Phone? Charged up and ready to go. BB8? BB8...? Rey looked over to see her taking care of business in a nearby alley. She ran back soon enough with her tail wagging happily. Leia paused to hug the dog one last time and Rey could have sworn her eyes were glistening. Rey waited for them a few meters away, standing by the doorway as she gave them time to say goodbye. After plenty of hugs and scratches, Leia put a slim red leather collar around the dog’s neck. Attached to it with tiny hooks, a small metal plaque engraved with the words “Please Call Luke Skywalker 909-667-5721”.

She then handed Rey a piece of paper with Luke’s address in San Francisco. She had also written his phone number, even though the collar ostensibly took care of that. Rey entered the number into her contacts anyway and put the paper away in the glove box.

Rey opened the car door and gently ushered the dog into the back seat.

“BB8, in the car! Come on, in! Inside, let’s go! That’s right, good dog!”

BB8 had jumped into the car with puppy-like enthusiasm, rediscovering her blanket and her basket of toys. Rey gave her a pat to assure her that everything was fine before closing the door. It was time to leave.

Rey approached Leia, who was wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.

“You sure you’ll be okay without BB8?”

“I’ll still have Artoo, even if he doesn’t do much besides eat and nap. We’ll be fine,”

Rey realized she was taking about the cat. She conceded, smiling.

“Look, thanks for everything Leia...the road is a lot less frightening with BB8 by my side. I promise to take care of her,”

“Be careful out there. Send me an update now and then.”

“I will, promise.”

Leia opened her arms and Rey hugged her tightly—it was a little awkward at first but it transformed into a warm embrace. Rey felt a particular tenderness in this gesture, it was the hug of someone who hadn’t hugged anyone in a very long time.

Rey looked up suddenly, breaking the hug.

“I’m an idiot, I forgot to buy a GPS!” She exclaimed, realizing she didn’t know which direction she would be driving in.

She put her hands on her face in exasperation, chastising herself for being so distracted and trying not to let the panic take over.

“Right, no use in beating myself up, I didn’t have enough money left to buy a new one anyway. I’ll have to find a state map. It’ll be all vintage, like the car.”

Luckily, she didn’t have an exact itinerary. She knew that she wanted to get to Yellowstone, which would take a while. The park wasn’t merely a stop, it was as large as Yorkshire and equally difficult to miss.

She looked up a petrol station on Google maps, ironically so that she could buy a physical map for her journey. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to a start.

Rey waved one last time to Leia through the open car window, who looked lonelier than ever standing alone out on the porch of her little cottage.

The car emitted a cloud of dust as it left the trailer park and started a long journey. BB8 scratched at the back seat nervously, worried that Leia had disappeared from view. Rey extended a hand to pet her reassuringly.

“Everything will be fine good girl, we’re going home now,” she said gently.

The weather was gorgeous that third-of-July morning, as Rey took I-25 toward Cheyenne, Wyoming. With the breeze in her hair and a smile on her lips, her whole being felt lighter. It seemed like she was looking at the world through new eyes, reveling in an optimism that she hadn’t felt in weeks.

She basked in the beauty of the land, the winding plains dotted with crimson outcroppings, the glistening skyscrapers which formed the city’s spine and slowly gave way to the mountains in the west, whose snowy peaks overlooked a red and white prairie speckled with farms.

As she bypassed the city, she spotted the a few buffalo roaming peacefully on a nature reserve. She also saw camels, two deer on a ridge, and what appeared to be antelopes (or whatever those pale deer like creatures with tiny horns were called).

A biker on a Harley Davidson sped past her, hair flying and engine roaring in equal measure. In the distance, a freight train of unimaginable length whistled by. Everything was new to her, every sound, every color. She was glad to leave Denver behind. She was tired of the crowd, and the fumes, the noise and the pollution.

BB8 was still lamenting her fate in the back seat, whining now and then. Rey felt her heart constrict. How could she get across that they were going home to see Luke? Preoccupied with these thoughts, she completely missed the exit to Wyoming, which was supposed to be the second leg of their road trip.

In hindsight she would look back on this moment and regret not registering the symbolism of it all.

Around 9 AM she skirted Cheyenne and began the 400 kilometer trek, due west, to the park. It slowly dawned on Rey that she was finally alone with her thoughts—something which hadn’t happened since she left London, since the breakup.

Before, she had purposefully kept busy in order to stop thinking. All action, all the time, running full speed ahead. First she had cursed Finn to hell and back, then she had cried a river on Jessica’s shoulder, taken that flight, wallowed in that hotel room, confronted Ben Solo, met Rose, attended that concert, wandered those museums...it was time to slow down.

Facing eight hours of transit, alone amidst the steel and asphalt with no one but a dog (who was finally calm) for company, Rey let her thoughts run free.

She did not try to repress them, she did not try to smother them. She was no longer afraid of her unconscious, no longer afraid of regrets, remorse and tears. She would have to bring Finn's stuff back: his clothes, his records, his films and his books.

She did not seen Poe coming, waltzing into her life narrative. Or did she? Had she always seen this coming? Finn and Poe met in high school. They had been on the same football team. They had essentially been friends for forever. When Rey entered Finn’s life, it had been through a hypocritical turn to dating apps. They had bonded over a mutual love for Terry Pratchett novels and Poe had even become her older brother of sorts. Poe had no bitterness, no animosity toward her, there was just a unique brotherhood between the two men that seemed to make Finn happy. Should she have seen it coming, then? In his eyes? In his nonsensical rambles whenever he got drunk? And how could she have ignored the signs all these years, of the feelings Poe had harbored for the man who had been part of his life for so long?

She had finished her degree in graphic design, and right after getting her diploma, she had moved out of Jessica’s to start living with her brand new boyfriend. He was an engineer who was three years older than her and already making a living.

Rey considered that she had never been alone. Before moving in with her ex-future-husband she had lived with Jessica for most of her adult life. What was she afraid of? Being abandoned again? Getting bored? Wasting away? Was she always going to live in the shadow of others? Didn’t she have any ambitions or goals for herself?

This trip was a first, after all. The first time she did anything alone, the first time no one took her hand, the first time she was ever truly free. Still on the highway, her eyes widened at a passing sign: “Smallest town in America, Bufford, WY. Population : 1". Behind it, a little shack, boarded up with wooden planks and metal sheets.

Beyond, rolling plains, dry and arid masses tinted with yellow and ochre, and not a single tree. On the highway drove an endless parade of monstrous chrome-plated trucks, cars hauling camping trailers, and bikers wearing bandannas instead of helmets. And all the fauna of this strange landscape seemed to ignore the ever-present six-by-four posters lining the highway. Not the one touting MacRoy and associates Laramie attorneys, nor the other claiming “God exists, call 1-800-FOR-TRUTH”.

BB8’s groaning derailed Rey’s bitter train of thought, and she glanced at the back seat. The dog was rolling around restlessly and yes, Rey thought now was a good time to take a break. It would be too early for lunch but at least BB could stretch her legs. Rey kept an eye out for the next exit, or the next petrol station. She used her turn signal to get off the highway at Elk Mountain, a rural outpost sleeping under the desert dust like a cat lounging in the sun.

It was almost a ghost town. A few rusted pickups, a red-brick general store that could have come straight out of the Buffalo Bill era, and half a dozen wooden shacks, in true American spirit. They looked like they couldn’t even stand the first winds of a storm. There must be storms here at some point, she thought, in the winter at least.

How did these people live? Effectively two hours away from the nearest civilization, at that? Rey shrugged. She wouldn’t want to question anyone, if there existed anyone here, that is. Rey parked her car (yes, it was hers now, for the time being) on the side of the road. She opened the door for BB8, who was clamoring to escape. But Rey had predicted this, and she blocked the door with her body as she leashed the dog before letting her out.

She would have preferred to let BB8 roam, but she couldn’t risk it. What if BB ran away across the desert to join Leia Skywalker in Denver? What if she chased after grasshoppers onto the highway, and subsequently fell prey to one of those gleaming trucks on the highway? She would flattened like a pancake. Both of them had to tame each other in a way, and that would take time. Meanwhile, Rey filled the dog's bowl with water and let her drink up. She covered up all the supplies in the car to avoid theft and locked the door.

They took a short walk. BB8 began sniffing at everything on the ground, tail bouncing and ears perking, until she paused to relive herself against the tire of an old truck. Rey looked around, expecting the owner to come up, a rifle in one hand and a cowboy hat in the other, threatening to shoot both of them.

But no, everything was silent, or as silent as it could be amidst the ceaseless chirping of the cicadas.

Eventually, the heat was overwhelming and the arid wind left Rey parched. Time to go back.

Gingerly walking back to the car, Rey hesitated. It had to be fifty degrees Celsius inside, the car was a suffocating metal monstrosity whose only upside was relative speed. She could feel the sweat drops running down her body.

Yet another hour's drive took her to Sainclair, a city huddled around a monstrous refinery, whose black, smoking towers rose to the sky like Isengard in Lord of the Rings.

"The whole bloody city must live in this factory," Rey thought, as she made herself comfortable inside Penny's Diner, a chrome-clad hole-in-the-wall with a decidedly vintage feel to it.

#reylo #fanfiction #modern AU #scenic route

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blankdblank · 4 years

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Loki Baby Pt 11

@theincaprincess, @alishlieb, @lilith15000

Changed and tucked in ready for bed your father smirked heading up to his usual room glad to have a full bed and your company again past video chats and saved recorded messages sent through your systems to keep up to date on each other’s adventures and progress. While you stood in your kitchen setting the wine glasses on the drying rack after rinsing them off. Behind you Loki stood looking you over adoringly only to hear K9 ask, “Am I allowed to sleep in your room or will you be requiring privacy, Bluejay?”

Smirking at the wall while Loki’s cheeks heated up in a growing blush you answered in a giggle, “No privacy necessary. Sleep where you wish K9.”

In a turn he said excitedly, “I shall meet you upstairs then.” Trotting to the stairs he bounded up like a giant bunny to his fainting couch at the foot of your bed.

Loki wet his lips and when you turned to peer up at him said, “I should let you get off to sleep.” Then turned to head to the door.

“If you like.”

Pausing for a moment he said, “See you at breakfast, Miss Pear.”

“See you at breakfast, Prince Loki.” The title made him flinch against his urge to race back to you. He would head off to bed alone aching to be near you, he would wait till breakfast and lie there smirking to himself as he scrolled through the social feeds on his phone packed with rumors and edited pictures of the pair of you and K9. A future he never expected to find on this planet unfolded in front of him all the brighter for the fuller look of your history. Now he could see why his mother had been instantly taken with you, instantly supportive.

In his social wandering you did some of your own in changing to a pair of shorts. Climbed onto your bed you set the phone aside and grinned at K9 contently sprawled across his couch settling into his first information update and full system check for the night resembling twitches and night runs like a real dog. As you closed your eyes you pulled up the covers and tried to keep your dreams from wondering what nightmare Steve had unleashed knowing what you had to do before to calm the Reapers, and what unthinkable things you would have to do again. For the innocence your title gave off it held a weight darker than if it had been a crow, often dubbed by others a Reaper in your own right tasked to determining who lives and dies to save the universes and cease the rage of the healing creatures. If Tony didn’t hate you now he surely might later when he realizes what you had to do, with very good reason.

Classic and sleek a black dress coated in red roses in a 40’s style synched top crossing your bust for the straps and a bell like layered skirt you dressed adding black platform heels a bit more pinupish than close to the era but kept you close to Loki’s height. Half pulled back your curls slicked easing your simple makeup on to finish the look. With purse in hand you ensured you had your trusty green gnome statues and your sonic screw driver and pen alongside your mini blaster gifted from your father.

Into the hall on the second floor you smirked seeing your father in his service uniform and his widening smile saying, “There you are Pumpkin. Fabulous as always.”

“I could say the same about you. Dare say you might be the talk of the town by morning. Your blues always weaken the knees.” You said looping your arm in his offered elbow making his grin spread matching yours.

“Can’t wait to see the guys again. And to see off Timothy, great guy.”

“Amazing arms.” Making your father chuckle deeply in your trot down the steps.

Breakfast was over and in a black suit Loki was smoothing his hand over his tie peering up at the pair of you in stating, “K9 was asking if he might be able to attend.”

“For what I know usually we don’t bring pets to funerals unless they are the deceased’s.”

Jack patted K9’s head, “It’s ok little guy, we’ll take you out after, alright?”

K9 nodded, “Affirmative. There was a database I was meaning to delve into further. This shall allow me ample time.” Eagerly he turned to hurry back to your study making you smirk and see Loki join you towards the door.

A short drive later and the jaguar parked and you joined the countless others in entering into the church. Along the way giving a weak grin to Pietro. Who patted the arm of the other surviving member of the platoon next to him starting up a ripple of grins and subtle nods on your way to approach Timothy’s children who stared at you and Jack in awe.

“You look-,” sharply his son let out a breath, “Just like in the pictures. Like your Mom and Dad.”

Jack shook his hand, “Your father was a great man.”

Timothy, “He would have been glad to see you’ve come. He had such great impossible stories about your parents,”

“I imagine he has. We’ve heard more than a few of our own about him.”

At your side Loki smoothed his hand more around your side in your step away to claim your seat, feeling your body tensing in the gentle lies. Their parents would know the truth but to their children you were no more than stories, impossible stories with living faces to remind them of you.

Bucky came next to fill his seats with Sam, Rhodey, Tony and Thor here to support the fallen soldier. Silently Natasha took his side after slipping past a group of others peering around only to pause for a moment locking eyes with your father who Bucky’s face dropped in seeing once he had sat down. Thor’s eyes scanned over from his brother to the pictures propped up, including one with you in a uniform in the middle of a city you had helped them dismantle a buried bomb, making the blonde look at you again. Loki’s gaze caught his eye and a smirk ghosted across the blonde’s lips hearing through their mental exchange just what race you were while his fingers tangled with yours on your lap.

The service began and stories flowed out ending with his son repeating, “One lesson that always stuck with me, was my father saying, ‘Fear is a four letter word that I refuse to cower to.’ Now this was coming from a man who shrieked at the sight of a massive beetle crawling over his hand helping me to build a go cart when I was a kid.” Making the crowd chuckle, “He was absolutely terrified, just like so many boys when they signed up, but one madwoman,” he let out a weak chuckle stealing a glance at you making the men holding your hands grip them tighter. “With a blue box, who saved a town from a buried bomb. She was terrified but she kept on, and then dropped and entire platoon in the middle of a bog,” making you chuckle to yourself and glance away in a sniffle muffled by laughs in the crowd.

Miles of green with statues mingled between. On foot behind the casket you filed around the grave holding your open purse for you and your father to press your thumbs to the base of the gnome statues that zapped themselves onto headstones in the distance across from angel statues. Curiously Loki whispered, “Sensors?”

Lowly you whispered back, “Guards against Weeping Angels.”

Quietly you stood through the rest of the burial and smirked accepting the invitation of Pietro to meet with the other soldiers for lunch. Bucky however crossed your path with arms crossed saying, “Alright, cough it up. How the hell are you still alive?”

Smirking to himself your father paused and asked with a splitting grin, “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m certain I’d remember a handsome face like yours.”

Bucky’s brows twitched together in Sam’s quick glance away at your downward glance and smirk in a joint way to keep from giggling, “Can it. I know you got the Super Serum now who gave it to you?”

In Bucky’s step closer Jack’s smile turned devilish and he purred back, “Super Serum, is that a euphemism for something or are you hitting on me?”

At that Sam covered his mouth in his full chortle making Bucky’s poking Jack’s chest only adding a challenging glint to his eye, “I’m not falling for that! I know your game Jack Harkness! You can bat your eyes all you like but you won’t fool me!”

Jack, “Junior.”

Bucky, “What?”

“Jack Harkness Junior.” He replied cockily and Bucky’s brows tightened again, “I’m not usually one for frowns but with eyes like that-,”

Bucky, “Not gonna work. Didn’t work in the 40’s not gonna work now, Buddy.”

Jack chuckled, “Buddy, I can work with Buddy.” Flashing him a wink.

Bucky, “Listen, I know it’s you, and I know for a fact if my friend Steve was here he could help me out in uncovering your lie!”

Jack, “And where is this Steve fellow, sounds mighty handsome.”

At that you giggled to yourself tapping your forehead to Loki’s arm in a glance away while Tony looked over your father running his face through his database once again. Bucky, “He’s back in the 40’s.”

Jack smiled wider, “A time traveler you say? Gee how is that possible?”

Bucky, “Oh can it! Your, daughter, SHE knows about time travel!” He said pointing at you then back to Jack, “And you haven’t aged a day! Now who are you working with and why did you send her here?”

In the momentary narrowing of his eyes Jack replied, “Be very careful what you say about Jaqi. I’m not working for anybody, I have no clue what any super serum is, and I don’t appreciate what you are insinuating.” In a pat on Bucky’s shoulder he stated with a widening smile, “Now, Jaqi, Loki and I were invited out to lunch.”

Bucky, “So was I.”

Jack fired back, “Then perhaps your manners will improve over lunch. Maybe bring out that dazzling smile of yours.” His hand folded around yours and with him you joined him on the walk to back to the car for the drive over.

Lounged back in your seat you relaxed at your table between visits from Bucky trying to catch Jack in a lie only to slink away allowing you to dip back into your stories with the men and their old days. Hours you kept the men company, though the eventual slip of Natasha into an empty seat had a hushed round of questioning for the man who looked so familiar from her escape from the people who had taken her and turned her into what she had become. It was just a stolen glimpse but his face was etched into her mind and she had to know who he was and why she could never find out who he was.

‘Close your eyes. Just close your eyes. Just for a moment.’ His voice lingering in her mind since returning from the past, hoping that she could go back to see who he was. How he gave her his coat and a bundle of food at a safe distance and backed away pointing her to safety. The only ally she knew as a child. The only one not wanting anything, acting simply out of kindness. You were now more the mystery to her as for how you were truly linked to his life, not truly caring if you were immortal like the Princes or not, merely wondering, why her?

A stolen glance at your phone had you smirking and Pietro across from you said, “I know that look.”

In a giggle you smiled and stole a glance at your father, saying, “Only one way to truly send Timmy off in style.”

Jack’s smile doubled, “Yes, I am in. Tonight, perfect timing.”

In your glance at Loki his eyes looked over your face at you asked, “Up for Swan Club tonight?”

Geoff across from you said, “Oh I haven’t heard that in ages.”

Pietro flashed Loki a wink, “Don’t forget, young Prince, blue suit.”

Loki chuckled and gave a nod, “How could I forget.” Lifting his glass for a sip as you took one from yours.

Natasha looked Jack over asking, “Swan Club?”

Jack smirked replying, “This little hole in the wall out in Italy.”

Natasha looked to you and Loki, “You’re going to Italy tonight? Isn’t that a 9 hour flight?”

Pietro answered for you, “Oh, just a figure of speech.” Her eyes shifted to him, “See, a bomb fell on it back in 44.”

Natasha, “Oh, so it’s like a, surrogate, thing? Pick a new ‘Swan Club’ to call your own?”

Jack, “Exactly. Hard to relive the old days when the old days are, well,”

Geoff, “Old,” he added with a chuckle the others joined in on.

Pietro said after a glance at his watch, “Best get a move on. Oh, Pears, save me a dance.”

You and Jack replied, “Always do.”

While you slid to get up Loki slid with you and watched Jack slip Natasha his number saying lowly, “If you want to talk later, here’s my number.”

In a glance at the number she held it up saying, “This isn’t a phone number.”

Jack turned with a grin, “How do you know if you don’t give it a try?” Flashing her a wink making her head tilt a moment in his turn away and her gaze dropping back to the number.

“Blue suit.” Curiously Loki looked over his suit and tried to hold back his anxiousness at having to swing dance. He had been using your databases to try and learn but the flailing bouncing dance seemed to put him ill at ease. Slow dances, structured, that was what he was taught on Asgard, not bounding nonsensical mortal dances. It was terrifying to think he might make a fool of himself in front of you, he was a Prince, not a clown and he hated to think he might be the object of your mockery. Decades he suffered through the mockery of those on Asgard he hated to think you might be added to that list.

“Don’t you look snazzy.” Turned around Loki looked you up and down, clad all in a mint flowing dress to the knee, the straps wrapping across you chest and torso cinching it around your figure. With a hand propped on your hip in your lean against the door frame splitting a grin across his lips, “Don’t forget the hat.”

Playfully he purred back turning to grab it, “How could I forget?” Hat in hand he turned to join you asking as you straightened up in your more comfortable dancing shoes for the era, “This is fun for you? Swan Club, so soon after losing your friend?”

The concern flooding into his eyes making you reach up to brush a strip of his hair behind his ear deepening his gaze, “Over a thousand years I have seen these people come and go, but they never leave, not truly. You catch glimpses when you least expect it.” In adjusting his tie you asked, “Are you ready to dance?”

“I have studied, though I doubt I will be any good.”

Softly you giggled and straightened up claiming his hand, “Prince Loki, it’s dancing in wartime, no one is any good.”

All the way down again you went into the bunker, finding your Tardis there already humming and ready to go. Widely your father was smiling in his trot down to join you in a yellow suit, “You are going to love this.”

Hopping through the door you smiled seeing K9 trotting through the Tardis door at your side leading the way to the control panel with Loki after you as Jack closed the door. A simple flick of a switch and a few twisted knobs later you stepped to the round scrolling navigator saying, “Come on Precious, let’s fly.” Rolling around the dial flashed blue and white while Gallifreyan symbols flashed on the screen luring Loki closer.

To your side he strode and in the shimmering central column of the flight your father joined you saying, “I am so glad you figured out how to fly without that gasping whirring sound Doctor’s Tardis makes.”

“Well, he learned how to fly it by trial and error. I learned from the best.”

Not a minute later while you explained it all to Loki the column stilled and with his taking your hand Jack led the way. Out from a back alley you were parked in and after closing the door the Tardis shrunk to a circular pendant on an unbreakable chain that looped around your neck painted with a bluejay on it.

Down the street you strode following the sound of music while Loki took in the city feeling a grin ease across his face. All around you groups of soldiers flocked around you calling out for you and Jack widening your grins greeting them in return. Entering the stone coated building through the doors opened for you by a guard smirking at you and your father as if unable to choose who he likes more who then looked over Loki approvingly until he saw his hand laced in yours. K9 remained inside the Tardis readying for the stops you said you were making after.

The music got louder as you went down the zig zagging steps through lingering soldiers and girls all the way to a packed table that called out your names in arriving. Each and every man, now back in their stunning primes in the pictures from earlier including Timothy, who claimed your hand to kiss your knuckles. “There you are Songbird, knew you wouldn’t miss Geoff’s birthday.”

“I would never.”

Jack claimed a spot eyeing the poker game, “I’m in next hand,” pulling a folded set of bills from his pocket.

Glancing between you and Loki Pietro asked, “Who’d you bring Songbird? Didn’t know you had a fella.”

Resting your hand on his bicep you said, “This is Prince Loki.”

Introductions bled into drinks being ordered and barely five minutes in Geoff stood and called you to the floor with an offered hand. Settled back in his seat Loki’s eyes remained fixed on you in your dance that bled into five more while the men chatted around him asking about his own travels. More and more he could see the men affected by your charms, the genetic allure you must have inherited from your father so easily allowing you to charm those around. Tightly his chest clenched in nursing his drink when his gaze dropped to the table at another slid of your partner’s hand across the small of your back guiding you through another giggle shared hop to start a joint step away, arms sliding together to start another spin to come together again. Sharply he inhaled and raised his glass for another sip holding back the shift of his eyes while his jealous rage stirred at the heavying of your natural scent in your bubbling joy.

For a moment his eyes shut only to open at the hands sliding across his chest from behind and by his ear he heard you saying, “Come on Prince Loki,” at the slide of your hands up hooking your fingers under his jacket you eased back signaling his arms to slide out. Leaving it on the back of the chair he stood at your setting his hat on the table in taking his hand, not twenty feet later his eyes turned from the crowds around you to you in the loosening of his tie and undoing of his top shirt button locking his eyes on yours.

“I do not wish to make you look foolish.”

His gaze locked on you stirring his grin a bit wider in your spreading smirk at the start of the next song after a moment’s pause for the band to catch their breath you said, “What good is a King if he can’t play the fool from time to time? Come be foolish, just a half step past reason.”

“This is your idea of reasoning me into this?”

“Ooh, no, Prince Loki. This is me corrupting you.” Breathily he laughed and your hand rose to give him a gentle nudge forcing him back only to tug him closer starting his timid first try at the awkward dance.

A few wobbling steps in and he said, “I am-,”

“Staring at your feet,” a slide of your fingers on his chin made him smirk to keep his idiotic grin from spreading in your move closer allowing you to say, “Everyone’s three sheets to the wind and by the time you see them again they won’t care about your dancing. They, however, will care if I’m not smiling.” In a stolen peck on his cheek you added, “Don’t let Thor have all the fun.”

Surely but steadily he melted into the awkward dance and the next three until you needed a rest and claimed a refill of your drinks. Even leaning against his arm to help him through the made up card game they had made up the flirtations never ceased and he had to force his focus on the games instead of trying to fight off the male suitors, who outnumbered the women five to one, all in uniform surely intending frivolity and nothing more. Yet even meaningless flirtations and no right to tell them off or throw a dagger at someone’s chest left him feeling more helpless than ever. A distant bell however had the music halting and drinks downed with each and every guy stealing a kiss on your knuckles on their paths to the door.

In a glance at Loki you grabbed his hat in his saying goodbye to Timothy and Pietro after Geoff had turned to go. Jack stood pocketing his bills and said, “Best be off.”

Loki grabbed his coat with his other hand smoothing across your back asking, “What is that?”

“Call to stations.”

Loki, “Even from drinking? What-,”

Lowly Jack said at the base of the stairs by Loki’s ear, “This city’s being invaded. Germans are coming.” That made Loki’s hand tighten at your waist in the sudden race of his heart in the joint trot up the stairs starting the short trek back to the same back alley where you reached up putting on Loki’s hat to open the pendant laying against your chest suddenly shifting you inside the Tardis.

Weakly in a chuckle Loki turned peering at the doors and around the ship as your hand released his. Jack with a sigh slid his tie off his neck completely saying, “I don’t know about you, but I need a nap. What do you think, Hawaii for breakfast?”

Softly you giggled, “Sounds lovely. I’ll book the table.” After a peck on your cheek he said, “Try to get some sleep, Pumpkin.”

“I will.” Down the hall he went undoing his shirt with his coat draped over his forearm, turning your head you flashed Loki a grin asking, “Want to sleep?”

He shook his head wetting his lips hearing engines roaring overhead and sirens sounding muffling at the turn of a knob lighting up the central column again glowing brighter in a few swivels and flicked switches. At your side he asked, “Those men, are they, or rather, will they-,”

In a glance up at him you smirked saying, “You know that story about me dropping them in a bog?”

Instantly his grin split open, “Now? We’re going now?”

In a giggle you answered, “No, I am, not now, but younger me is going now.”

Loki, “Ah, all of them?”

“Most.” You answered with a hint of pain in your faked hopeful tone luring him to stroke your back pulling you into a timid hug you melted into urging his arms fully around you in a tight hold. Softly you whispered, “It never gets easier. The whole club will be gone in a month. Nearly spent all the days it’s open. Then I’ll have to find another club.”

When you pulled back Loki asked eyeing the panel, “Does it take long to fly to Hawaii?”

“Bout ten minutes.”

“Then where are we off to now?” at catching your eye again he added in a smirking purr, “Or should I ask, when?”

“I have a few stops I have to make. Small bits and bobs here and there before bed.”

Eagerly K9 came up to your sides widening Loki’s smirk at your blind shift of a knob and dip of your other hand to accept the leash K9 was holding in his mouth then stepped away. “1973, Sweden.”

With his hands sliding into his pockets he followed after you, “What happened in 1973?”

“I have to pay a parking ticket.” Chuckling at his place beside you he caught your eye halfway to the door as you said, “It’s not all adventures. Fair bit of monotony to catch up on.”

“I doubt monotony could be anything close to what this box could do with you at the helm.”

At the door your smirk grew and his jaw dropped when you opened the door seeing the stained glass towers on a floating station above a planet of trees and waterfalls, turning his head he caught your giggle saying, “1973, thousand circa Zun, Swendevnokricnarius planet in the Rafbuntorlus quadrant just past the Ring of Exploding Seas. Shortened to Sweden, one of the human outposts after they started to colonize out of their own galaxy.”

Lowly he chuckled closing the door behind you watching the Tardis shrink to be your necklace again and drew out a hand from his pocket to settle it on your back starting the walk away from the fountain you had parked at to enter the city. “What language do they speak?”

“Swedish. But no worries, the Tardis has a telepathic link to us and translates everything. Except Wingdings. There are five planets on the edge of Corvus Nova who speak in nothing but Wingdings. I can scrawl out the runes for chicken and chips though. I will never go hungry, though the symbol for bathroom is lost to me. No concept of gender at all, mostly corporeal beings who harness inanimate objects that devour food to release these colorful gases.”

Loki smiled at the exciting images and wide smile on your face in a twisting step closer to his side, “And the purpose of the gases?”

“Space whales use the planet to breed there.”

“Space whales.”

“Fantasia wasn’t all wrong. Not like the ones the Chitauri brought to New York, no, much more powerful. Live off of cosmic energy and sail through stars without harming them. Even saw one soar through a sun once.” You said peering up at him with a confirming nod making him chuckle and peer into your eyes adoringly.

“I suppose we shall have to make a list of things for you to share with me then. We can compare against a list of my own.”

“Ooh, I can just imagine what mischief you’ve gotten up to.”

“I doubt I could imagine what you have been up to.”

Another giggle later you replied, “Oh you couldn’t fathom the half of it.” Making him laugh again, tightening his grip in your step closer at the release of people out of teleport pad bubble popping up through the portal platform in the ground. Mixed races of people and aliens all passing with stolen glances at the pair of you and others on the way to their destinations.

Pt 12

#Tale Teller’s 52 Week Writing Challenge #Loki x Reader OC

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sartorialatlantan · 4 years

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Silver Lining and A Brief Backstory

Whether you’re an optimist or not, anyone, even if only in hindsight, can see the silver lining of a bad situation, circumstance or series of events. When I was 20 years old I ended a three-year relationship with my first serious girlfriend. We had met at 17 or so and it was your classic teenage love story. We were young and foolish and led by a shared faith in evangelical Christianity that I would eventually and happily abandon. We had convinced each other and ourselves that it was ordained by god that we came together and that when the time was right we would get married. To add insult to injury we told nearly everyone we knew about our plans at all of 18 years old, so naturally the sting of embarrassment came with the sting of separation. I don’t need to, nor do I care to go into details of our breakup or what brought it about, but this tiny bit of back-story is crucial to understand the silver lining that would follow. Now that I’m saying it out loud, to call what followed a silver lining doesn’t even really cut the mustard, what followed was the absolute best thing that’s ever happened to me.

It’s safe to assume that anyone reading this has been through a breakup, maybe even safe to assume a bad one or two. We all know how down in the dumps, miserable and depressed and isolated and totally alone you feel when you separate from someone you were literally saying, “I love you” to not one day ago. It’s an awful place to be, whether you’re 20 or 35 or 50 etc. it’s just plain awful. And I imagine it’s existentially worse the older you get because of the looming fear that you’ll be too old to meet someone else before the clock stops. While that may be true at 78, the irrational brain of an 18 or 20 year old will tell them the same thing. So in the wake of my adolescent breakup I drank, a lot. I took up smoking and heavy drinking and gave up on the idea of partnering with someone ever again. Some of this ridiculous thinking goes back to the Christian thing, and apologies now if you take offense so some of what I say about that faith. When you’re 20, and for the last 3-4 to years you not only thought, but believed at your bible thumping core that you were paired with someone else by gods own hand and it ends, well to put it plainly you A. start doubting that there even is a god or B. find it impossible to understand why god would start something and end it. Now in hindsight, it’s really a mixture of A and B and I also now realize that if god is real, his most famous creation to date (us) has a beginning and an ending. It’s also very easy to religiously rationalize everything to fit your made up narrative, kind of like biblically cherry picking in reverse.

I’m not going to go into my exiting the church and Christian faith altogether, that would be too far removed from the topic at hand, but I will say that when I left it, and truly let go of it mentally, it was the most calming and freeing feeling I had had at that point. All it took was squarely asking myself, practically in a mirror, “do your really believe in this, do you REALLY believe in ANY of this?” When I answered “no” I felt a combination of grief and relief; on the one hand I was letting go of what had been the norm to that point and on the other I was free from what rabbi’s refer too as “a wrestling match with god”, and that freedom felt better than any made-up wave of holy spirit baptism ever had. Bottom line, if you’re an evangelical and truly believe that you have a private, gibberish love language with god, don’t mock what the Mormons believe, it’s just as ridiculous. I knew too many Christians in those days who couldn’t see that irony. Some still can’t.

Now back to the story. There I was broken hearted and feeling like life was over at 20, it was time to grow a beard and become a wandering nomad. Maybe I’ll get a motorcycle and seek out an outlaw gang and just ride til' I die. Maybe I’ll head up the east coast and get a job on a boat out of New England. Really all of my ideas involved my look first, and occupation second. Anything involving hand tattoos and a long matted beard would’ve sufficed. But then, some time passed and I would eventually turn 21, which opened up a whole new world, the bar scene. Now, still in the throws of depression, single and not loving it, I proceeded to the bar scene with a new drinking friend named Will in the East Atlanta Village. We drank and socialized all over the village, almost every night too, to excess. We were not, living, laughing or loving as the girls touting faux happiness, post break-up say in their Facebook statuses. There was the Graveyard Tavern, a very large dive bar with something akin to a dance floor and a pool table area. Then the Glenwood that at the time had a horror/cult movie theme down to movie posters laminated under the tabletops. There was My Sisters Room and Mary’s, a lesbian bar and gay bar, separated by a side street and Grant Park Pizza. Then you came to the 5 Spot, which was a dive bar and punk music venue, then across the street from there was the Flatiron, which was the shape you’re picturing. It sat below 13 Roses Tattoo, which for that era in my opinion was the best shop in town. If you took a hard left from there you could walk up to The Earl, a dive bar with pretty damn good food and a solid standing room only music venue in back. And lastly across from there was The East Side Lounge, the perfect spot if you wanted to do cocaine while watching Predator 2 on the TV over the bar. I never did cocaine, but everyone in town knew that’s where you went to score some, or to watch Predator 2 while drinking $2 PBR on draught.

This little village was our spot for nearly a full calendar year, Will and I rarely took anyone else along, because no on else was as equally miserable as us and who needs positive company when you’re binging cheap beer pitchers and smoking a whole pack of cigarettes in one night? Now, to be clear, it was always to the two of us but we were making the attempt, occasionally, to meet women. 20 something, tattooed, smoking, drinking, most likely cocaine doing, women who were 100% not interested; we were suburb boys and you could practically smell it on us, and these were city chicks, with sleeve tattoos, hidden piercings and a palpable hate for their fathers. Maybe I’m adding that last part for effect, but you get the idea. Now that said, in that time span I did manage to meet and get to know a girl or two, I think Will did too but nothing ever really stuck.

Now I’m going to back up, but keep in mind this was all happening by night, most nights of the week, but by day I was still working at the same place I am now, didn’t love it then still not crazy about it today, but that’s a whole other topic. Some days after work, before Will and I would venture to East Atlanta I would go meet up with this piano player I had been introduced to by a former band mate who needed a guitar player capable of on-the-fly melodic riffs to accent his songs. In the band I had been in before, that was literally all I did, so we were a good fit. He would play his latest song for me a few times through headphones and then I’d start “noodling” as they say until I landed on some solid melodic hooks to overlay on what he had already recorded. We had a solid system, and he paid me in pizza and beer and we could smoke cigarettes in the studio. Just for a brief tangent, you have to smoke inside in these situations. If you and your fellow musicians are trying to accomplish something in the studio, but you’re walking outside every 20 minutes to have a dart you’ll never get anything done. So I would listen and noodle and drink and smoke and eventually eat. Once I tapped into a riff he liked we’d build on it together, shape it, shorten it, lengthen it, whatever it needed, then we’d lay it down and repeat. This was a regular thing for me a couple times a week. It went like this, get up, go to work, leave, go home grab my gear, head to the garage studio, record, smoke, eat, drink, leave, drop off the gear, grab Will, and be in the Village by 10pm or so. Then we’d stay til' last call, go home, shower, sleep, wake up, repeat. If you’re doing the math, yes I was driving most of the time, it was stupid and reckless and I’m not proud of it and it was over a decade ago lets just leave it at that and drop it. There’s no one to make amends to for anything from those days, other than a few girls that I probably drunkenly intimidated buy hitting on them too much. Anyways, this was the pattern for the better part of 20 to 21. Now, cut back to my Jesus-y girlfriend from the beginning of the story. To the best of my knowledge she was off in a new circle of friends, living and laughing and loving and meeting new people and I knew for a fact she was dating around. Through this new circle of friends she would eventually meet Kristen, and if you know me, then you know my wife’s name is Kristen, yes the very same Kristen. Kristen was 26 at the time, recently divorced from a total dipshit, we’ll leave it at that, and she too was socializing with a new circle of friends.

To help you keep up with the wild web of who begat who, at this point in time, if I hadn’t separated with my girlfriend when I did a year prior, she wouldn’t have started dating who she did and met the string of people who would eventually introduce her to Kristen, my wife today. Now, for her privacy I won’t name my high school girlfriend so for the story we’ll call her Jane. Jane and Kristen and a large circle of churchy band kids all became friends, though only briefly. Kristen being newly single was introduced to some guys via this circle and Jane specifically introduced her to guy named Steven, possibly to date, though I don’t think they ever did. That said, Kristen and Steven formed a friendship and Kristen soon after parted ways with Jane and the churchy band kids because they were all just A. a little too Jesus-y and B. more than immature to say the least. Now I was peripherally aware of a lot of this via Facebook, doing the creepy ex thing. I didn’t know Kristen, but I had seen her in some photos and she had a killer Audrey Hepburn ribcage tattoo, still does obviously.

So, Kristen and Steven are friendly and attend some of the same bars and house parties and she’s out in the world dating and doing her thing. Kristen would eventually meet Steven’s newest girlfriend, Amy. Amy and Kristen became fast friends and were practically joined at the hip. Kristen and Amy were partying, dive bar hopping, nightclub dancing best friends. Meanwhile, just to take you back to my reality at the same time, I was grumpy binge drinking with Will somewhere in the East Atlanta Village. Now, here’s where it gets fun. Amy has a brother named Chad, who at that time was in a band, Chad worked at a little café/bar with a certain piano player, yes, you guessed it, the one I was working with that year. Now through this maze of people Kristen would eventually meet the same piano player and it would be an understatment to say she was into him. One night I’m in the studio with him and we’re sort of half working, half chatting and he starts telling me about this girl he’s kind of seeing and her Audrey Hepburn tattoo. It was one of those small world funny moments, because I knew who he was talking about from my Facebook stalking, and I knew she was hot, no naturally I was envious. Some time later, he would invite me and Will and Kristen and Amy to watch a band play at the previously mentioned Earl in the East Atlanta Village, I knew it well. This is where I would meet Kristen and where our relationship would ultimately begin. I could write another 6 dozen paragraphs on our early dating relationship and how it all went and maybe I will at some point, but the point of this very long-winded essay is about the silver linings of a bad situation. Now to call this love story and how I would eventually meet my wife that I would have two beautiful and amazing daughters with a silver lining to a high school breakup would be borderline insulting. But realize, at 21, now nearly 22, I was still miserable and alone and thought I would be forever. Then along comes Kristen. Now to recap, I split with Jane, became a miserable person while Kristen was divorcing her first husband from college that she really only married to piss off her parents. Kristen would eventually meet Jane, who would introduce her to Steven, who introduced her to Amy who introduced her to the piano player, who she was infatuated with for a brief moment, who introduced her to me. We’re separated by 6 years in terms of age, come from completely different backgrounds and other than this small cluster of people, had no one in common between us. In a very long-winded, round about way, I owe my heartbreaking high school girlfriend a thank you. I had to experience a terrible breakup, the kind where you don’t ever talk again, go through a shitty, drunken, depressing year and ultimately give up on having any semblance of a happy life to meet my wife, and everything changed after that. I didn’t go to college, I had a small circle of friends and most of them avoided the city. It took this wild culmination of events and people I’ve never met to bring Kristen and I together.

You might be saying that story’s not all that compelling, things like that happen all the time, and you’re not entirely wrong, but that said, I still think there’s something special about it.

The year 2020 has shown me a lot about myself. Once quarantine started I quickly learned how unimportant clothes were. Take a moment to catch your breath. I still love tailoring and will absolutely wear dress clothes again, but when you’re staring down a pandemic, drape and tie space just become less of a concern and are quickly replaced with stocking up of frozen goods and day drinking. I’ve spent the majority of 2020 in Vans and golf polo’s, and I don’t hate it. In this time I’ve found a new passion for the game of golf, I’ve cooked new things, in the early days of lock down I got creative with my photography in ways that wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been home all day. I don’t think any of us knows when this nonsense will be over, 2020 might be entirely wrapped in Covid and it might even bleed into 2021, and by then, most of the world might’ve had it. I know that I don’t want it, and if I am to get it I hope to the god I don’t believe in that it’s mild.

When your 6 year old asks if you’re going to be alive when they’re a grown up in the middle of a pandemic it stings, because the reality is I can’t promise her I’ll be alive tomorrow, let alone 20 years from now, so I lie. And when you lie like that to a child you lie big, I tell her I’ll always be alive, that way we snuff out all worry in her little 6-year-old mind, because those wheels are constantly turning. I was burdened with the reality of death at 4 years old, seeing my 19-year-old cousin dead in a coffin after a motorcycle accident. I will shield the reality of death from my kids as long as possible. Life’s stressful enough already, no reason to start the trauma early. I blame that funeral at 4 almost entirely on my hypochondria. I’m that guy, who feels a leg pain and assumes it’s a blood clot bound for my heart. A pain or weird feeling in my side must be cancer. Naturally the rise of Covid has not been kind to this sick part of my brain. As I write I feel funny, the way you feel when you sleep too long and your limbs feel numb, I’m also hoarse from over doing it with a vaporizer recently trying to relax with a little THC. So naturally the weird feelings and throat tickle are Covid in my mind. If you don’t have anxiety, count yourself lucky.

The thing I keep trying to remind myself of is that it won’t last forever. Time literally fixes everything. It took time to get over being broken up with at 20 and even more time for the stars to align and bring Kristen and I together. It will take time for Covid to sweep the world and end and time further still for the powers that be to develop a safe vaccine. It will take time for society to feel comfortable going out mask-less again; it will take time for supermarkets to feel safe enough to take down all the plexi-glass at the checkout. It will all take time and in the end, if we’re lucky, we’ll see the silver linings that came out of it. New interests, new jobs, new relationships, etc. If I hadn’t found my passion for menswear I would not have eventually reignited my passion for photography. If the quarantine hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have done all the self-portraits I did that ultimately inspired a Hunter S. Thompson theme that lead to my newfound love and interest in golf. The new interest in golf led to new ways to spend time and bond with my in laws and my own family. It’s also the first form of physical activity I’ve done in nearly a decade; all good things.

The only thing I’ve never really been able to draw a connect-the-dots of positively around is my job. I’ve done the same thing for 13 years and I’ve never liked it. It has afforded me the opportunity to do things at times, and the schedule has always been flexible around my personally needs, but I’ve never really liked being here. As I write I’m sitting in an office that I’d rather not be in. If I were single and not a parent I would've left long ago. But the stability of this place and the paycheck keep me here. I’d much rather be taking photos for brands, submitting to publications etc. but there’s way to much financial risk in that. The time for that kind of seat-of-your-pants living is in your 20’s, when you’re a renter with no kids. If I could take photos, write, travel, golf, eat and drink for a living you‘d never hear a complaint. Kristen and I often talk about what we’d do with millions to distract ourselves from what we don’t have, and the stress of the day. She works in a very unforgiving retail environment, more unforgiving now with a pandemic on the rise again in our state. I work in print, for my father. A dying industry with a parent as my superior, what could possibly go wrong? We get along 9 days out of 10, but day 10 is always noteworthy. We bend over backwards for our customers, though I don’ think they care. We once had a 20 years long client say they were thinking about switching to another printer, just to shake things up. This after 20 years of late shifts, miracle timing and total and complete ass kissing. That day I learned, that quality service only matters to a select few, the rest just want to see the bill.

So that’s 2020 so far, new interests popping up, old interests taking a back seat, looking to the past to see the greatness that came out of dark times, hoping the future is as bright as today is, compared to the depths of despair I found myself in at 20. Still thinking there is no god but hopeful for an afterlife of some kind, wondering if there is a god why he’s letting old people who literally hang his picture in their dining rooms suffocate from a wet market virus that our leadership dubbed a hoax in the beginning…I will not go on a political tangent... By the time 2020 wraps I hope to be alive and well, I hope that everyone I know is alive and well too. I hope that Kristen finally lands herself a job in UX, she graduated from her UX academy in March and so naturally the job market has been slim pickings. Beyond that, I hope to find myself doing something other than what I do now at some point. When I dwell for too long about how many hours of my life I’ve spent folding booklets for people who are ultimately going to throw them away I feel myself reaching for the bottle. Bottom line, things aren’t great now, but I hope they get better. The funny thing about that is, according to Buddhists, it’s the act of wanting something, which causes suffering in the first place. So maybe the answer for the shit storm we’re all in today lie’s in the Buddhist teachings. I’m not about to proselytize Buddhism, but what I do know is the first truth as they call it is basically, that “suffering exists” and the second truth is that “desires and ignorance cause the suffering”. So it could be a major over simplification for our current state of affairs, but maybe if we stop wanting a better today and just accept today for what it is, we’ll all suffer a little less. Because whether we’re here for it or not, the sun will rise again and set again. The earth will turn and everything that is happening today will happen again tomorrow. Time fixes everything, and we can’t control it. So pray, meditate, work, golf or buy a motorcycle and head to the nearest New England port and join a boat crew, there’s no telling what kind of crazy we’re all going to wake up to from one day to the next, so to end on a cliché, make the most of today and try focus on the positive, maybe the stars will align and when it all shakes loose, you’ll meet your Kristen.

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akmwritings · 6 years

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Vampire!Jimin: Immortality

This popped into my head at 4:00 am enjoy. It’s bittersweet so brace yourselves. — Admin Quartz

Genre: Supernatural au, Vampire au, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

••••••

“He hasn’t left his house for awhile.”

You stopped, feeling the soapsuds on your hands fizz and the plate in your palm, as you were washing dishes when one of your friends decided to call.

It was late, late evening, you got off work late, the traffic was horrible, you had a late meal, so here you were, just ready for bed but nope, they had to call.

“You sure, Tae?” you asked and continued to scrub the plate that you just ate off of for dinner.

Another voice came through the speaker. “Namjoon said he hasn’t seen him for a week,” Jungkook spoke, tone worried. “If he doesn’t hunt soon he’ll die.”

Sighing, you rinsed off the last of your dishes, then wiped your hands on the hand towel. “We all know Jimin’s opinion on hunting anyway.” You leaned with your back against the counter, arms crossed.

“Could you check on him, please?” Taehyung asked. “He’s hardly spoken to us.”

“Have you gone to visit him yet?” you inquired.

“We both did, at different times though,” Jungkook informed you. “His response was quick and just dismissed us coldly.”

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair, wondering what could be up with the bloodsucker. “Well if he’s giving everyone attitude I’m sure my presence isn’t welcome either.”

There was a pause on the other line. “But you’re his ma — ”

“Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean he’ll listen to me,” you stated, rolling your eyes. “If I piss him off enough I’ll probably be physcially thrown out the door.”

“Yeah he’s scary when angry,” both maknaes agreed with defeated grumbles, but proceeded to ask, “just pop your head in and make sure he isn’t dying.”

You thought for a moment. “How long until he becomes extremely ill?”

“It could be a few days, it depends.”

Grabbing the white sweatshirt you had lazily thrown on the dining room table and pulling the thick fabric over your head, you rushed towards your bedroom. “I’ll keep you guys updated,” you promised while shoving your feet into a pair of dark brown boots.

“Thanks.”

Striding towards the front door you grabbed your keys, a jacket to protect you from the cool winter weather, and your purse before heading towards the car.

•••

By the time you parked right in front of Jimin’s apartment, it was an hour before midnight. The city had shut down, only the lamps standing along the streets lit the roads for you to drive down, and when you stepped out of the car, the chirping of crickets hit your ears.

You stood there for a moment, inhaling the winter air and letting the chirps relax your tense composure before quietly approaching the front porch using the spare key he gave you to enter the house which lay on the outskirts of town.

The house was a decent size, more of a mini duplex, with three floors, including the basement. All lights were off and the curtains were drawn. Not for long, you thought, determined, and unlocked the door.

Poking your head out from around the door, you cautiously, slowly, let yourself in. Quietly closing the door behind you, you gently wiped your shoes on the doormat, carefully set them aside, and shrugged your coat off, hooking it on the coat hanger. The act was so natural, it almost scared you how at home you would make yourself in his house. Even in the pitch darkness of his room you knew where everything was by heart.

Flicking on the light, you were surprised to find that everything was as usual, in neatly order.

Hm, funny, the maknaes made it sound like he was in critical condition, bit he wouldn’t have the energy to clean, even at a human pace if he was close to death. You chortled, shaking your head before letting your socked feet semi glide against the wooden floor, wandering towards the staircase that lead upstairs.

You called his name. No response. So you jogged upstairs, only to find that his bedroom was empty, yet clean like the first floor, even the bookshelf, which held books from the late 1800s, had been dusted and neatly kept.

Not home? But his car is here…perhaps downstairs.

What made the house unique was the basement, as it had been turned into a dance practice room.

Jimin had a love for dancing since he could remember, and all throughout life he had mastered all kinds of dance from ballet to hip-hop.

Sure enough, as you approached the basement door, you noted a sliver of light glowing from the door and across the floor. Another fact that didn’t surprise you was how, if he was dancing, you couldn’t hear the music. His heightened hearing was so sharp he barely turned up the sound.

Warily descending the stairs, you wondered what kind of mood he’d be in and if you were welcome at all, thus taking your time.

At the bottom you were welcomed with Jimin’s elegant figure almost soundlessly gliding across the smooth floor, wearing dark pants and a loose button down. He looked to be practicing a modern style dance, and by his graceful actions, you could truly understand why many people say, “Dancing is art.”

By now, you could hear the music, it was quiet, but for Jimin you knew it was loud enough.

It wasn’t until you caught the fierce look in his eye that belied his flowing limbs did you realize, something really was wrong.

He looked angry, annoyed, his dark brown orbs piercing any soul that dared look directly at his handsome face. But as you two shared a glance in the mirror, you noticed pain flickering in his stormy gaze.

Instead of immediately interrupting his focus, you sat down, back against the wall, legs crossed, patiently waiting for his dance to end. A brief memory flickered through your mind, remembering last year how you were in this same position, watching him dance. Except unlike today, that night Jimin was in a great mood. He had grabbed your hand, willing for you to dance with him and although you were no pro dancer, he lead you through an old ballroom routine that dated back to the early 1900s.

But tonight he needed time alone, his moves getting more flamboyant, bare feet almost seeming to glide across the floor until he ended with a dramatic twirl, then stopped, and although he needn’t any air, you could see his chest rising up and down rapidly as if he were panting.

His head turned and once again your eyes met.

You didn’t shy away, instead you calmly stared back at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, sounding sad, voice hoarse, and cleared his throat before disappearing in a heartbeat, leaving behind a light breeze.

You sighed. Well, at least he looks healthy, you noted with relief and rose from the floor. Upon deciding you should let him be for a little longer, you wandered back upstairs and into the kitchen, rummaging around for any food Jimin would keep in his cupboards, and found some ramen you yourself had stored for future visits such as these.

Fifteen minutes later you held the bowl of ramen and ascended the stairs again, knowing where he would be to escape the world. The balcony connected to his room.

There he was, perfectly balanced on the edge and looking out over the quiet neighborhood, tall and poised, shoulders relaxed.

“What’s bothering you?” you voiced softly.

Jimin suddenly stood mere inches from you, but you didn’t flinch or blink, holding his gaze, hoping he would open up to you and not keep everything hidden away like he was known to do. Because it hurt you when he kept everything bottled inside, it hurt you knowing there was little you could do to help him until he shared his pain.

He searched your gaze for a moment before bringing a hand up to touch your face, and despite the cool touch of his skin you pressed against his palm. “Why are you sad?” he whispered, eyebrows furrowing in a worried scowl and his thumb caressed your cheek.

You stepped away, setting the bowl of ramen aside then pulled Jimin into your embrace. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, holding you against him tightly and breathing in your scent.

“Please,” you mumbled, begging him. “Don’t close yourself off from me.”

He momentarily tensed, then seemed to give up, and relaxed, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

It didn’t take long for you to feel warm liquid running down the back of your shoulder and staining your white sweatshirt red. Jimin began to tremble in your arms, and you heard a sob of sorts before it was muffled against your skin. The sound of his quiet sobs broke your heart and you tightened your grip on him, hoping to somehow physically squeeze all your love into that embrace.

The vampire hiding his hurt emotions was usual, but only once did you witness him cry. It was two years ago when Jimin was forced to turn Jungkook into one of them. Although there was no other choice, Jimin had been quite reluctant to change him, hell he was still wary about hunting any life form to live.

Raised during the Joseon era, Jimin’s mother had made sure her son understood how the world worked, why he should be kind, honest, just, and never take life for granted. Now, even as a “monster” which mankind so vulgarly labeled it, his mother’s morals could not be shaken. You breifly recalled Jimin confessing how his morals, but now monsterous nature always clashed, and how much of a conflict it sometimes could be.

More hot, red tears rolling down your skin broke you from your thoughts. His sobbing had stopped, but the tears had not. Moving a hand up to bury your fingers in his ebony locks, you massaged the back of his head, a way to remind him that he shouldn’t carry so much stress alone.

Few minutes later, the tears stopped running, and you two just stood there, relaxing against one another.

A harsh winter breeze made you shiver, and you slowly pulled back. “Let’s go inside.”

He wordlessly nodded, heading back in to wash his face as you took the now cold ramen in to set them on his desk.

When you turned around, Jimin was sitting on the edge of his bed, head down, shoulders slouched, eyes closed. You hummed sorrowfully, and went to stand before him only to be pulled closer so he could rest his forehead against your stomach, defeated. By habit, you massaged the back of his head with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder.

He reached up, grasping your wrist gently. “I didn’t ask to be like this,” you heard him whisper. “I never wanted this.”

In order to hear him better, you kneeled down, touching your forehead to his.

“I hate hunting, I hate taking others’ lives to live myself,” he proceeded, tone raising. “How selfish is that, huh? I’m sure it takes the number one spot for most selfish act in the world.”

He was hurting, hurting so much, and you couldn’t do anything as of now but listen. So that’s what you did.

“I wanted a family, dreamt of having children, growing old with a partner, and passing away peacefully, knowing I had lives a good life.”

“But look,” Jimin choked, and cleared his throat trying to keep his voice level. “I’m stuck at this age, damned to live out an immortal life with what feels like half a consciousness, half a soul and the only way to end it all is getting beheaded or burnt.”

His voice was hoarse and clouded, and you pressed in closer between his legs, kissing his forehead, hoping to sooth the pain eating him away.

“Life takes unexpected turns, it tosses us around, pulls us apart and puts us back together again,” you whispered, pulling away slightly and tugging on his shirt to make sure he was paying attention. “It’s got a funny way of showing us what’s truly important in life.”

Jimin swallowed. “Why is life so cruel?”

You chuckled, it was a good question. “It’s the way life is set up. It’s set up to teach us lessons. You think if God didn’t care about us he’d be willing so hard for us to learn?”

“Right now I’m convinced there is no God.”

“Then how does magic exist? How does energy exist?”

You heard Jimin chuckle at your wittiness and smiled, glad you could at least make him laugh a little. “God or not, we should understand that living an easy life is an uneventful life,” you continued whispering to him. “The most beautiful people amongst us in this world are the ones who have felt the most pain in their lives. Why? Because they’re living an eventful life.”

“But isn’t eventful’ supposed to be a good thing?”

“Who said ‘eventful’ is easy?”

Jimin stayed quiet at your response, so you continued. “You’ve been through a lot of pain, and still carry it around, and will eventually come across it again in the future,” you explained carefully, hoping he’ll understand your next words. “But you’re immortal.”

“So? Am I doomed to live painfully until my death?”

You chuckled at his words. “No Jimin. It means you get a head start from everyone else who has to live a thousand more lifetimes to learn what you’ll learn in this one, incredibly, long lifetime. You don’t even have to relearn everything, you just keep moving forward. So out of the two of us, who should be the bitter one?”

This time Jimin really did laugh, and it sounded so nice to your ears you couldn’t help but grin as he pulled you against his front, nose brushing yours. “Why are you so wise?”

“Because I’ve been through a lot too.”

Jimin pressed his mouth against yours, hungrily pulling at your lips and weaving his hands through your hair. “I love you,” he whispered, before diving back in to taste you again. “So much, so so much.”

You couldn’t respond, your brain having already melted at his ministrations; his hands pulling you closer and his lips capturing yours and trailing down your jaw.

“Have you hunted recently?” you finally managed to gasp out, trying to clear your head.

“No.”

That was all the encouragment you needed as you broke away from his tight hold only to press your wrist against his mouth, grunting in obvious pain as his sharp teeth slashed through your skin.

You felt blood roll down your arm but ignored it the best you could as Jimin desperately slurped against your wrist. “Not too much,” you warned him as you began to feel slightly dizzy.

A few seconds later you felt his tongue slide along the bite, closing it off quickly, although it would leave a scar for a few months. Lucky for you it was winter so long sleeves wouldn’t look suspicious in public.

Taking this moment to look Jimin over, you recognized the many sharp teeth all vampires held. Instead of two extended fangs like how the books and movies portrayed, each individual tooth extended into sharp weapons, both too and bottom rows of teeth, including an extra top layer of fangs that fell over and inbetween each top tooth. So no, it wasn’t a pretty sight at all. It was more gruesome than sexy.

Vampires also cried blood, as that was the only fluid their bodies held, and you recognized the tears of blood Jimin had shed a second time that night, staining down his cheeks and button down shirt — crap! You looked over your own white sweatshirt and groaned in annoyance. “Great,” you deadpanned. “This is never coming out.”

You looked back at Jimin who was now grinning widely, fanged teeth and all. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It looks cool though.”

Chortling in amusement, you nodded. “It’s definitely not terrible, just random.”

By the end, you and Jimin were both curled up under his bedsheets, your words reassuring you both that yes, life liked playing games, but the more eventful life was, the more it was worth living.

••••••

Well I hope you all enjoyed reading and gained some knowledge while reading this scenario. — Admin Quartz

#vampire!jimin #jimin scenarios #bts au #jimin au #park jimin #park jimin au #bts scenarios #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #park jimin scenarios #vampire au #supernatural au #bts vampire au #imagine #roleplay #kpop scenarios #idol scenario

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adamderiver · 7 years

Text

Night at Hosnian Farms

for @huxloween day 2: corn maze (3.4k, benarmie)

Of all the fall festivities he’s forced to participate in because of high school marching band, Hux thinks their night at the corn maze is his favorite. It doesn’t involve any American football, freshman welcome rallies, or screaming fans. Tonight, the only screams will be ones of fright as First Order High School Marching Band takes on Hosnian Farms’ Corn Maze of Terror.

Drum major Phasma says that the trip is all in the spirit of marching band bonding, and it’s practically tradition by now, since it’s their third consecutive year of driving an hour out of town to Hosnian Farms. Everyone in the band with a drivers’ license—even some with only learner’s permits—fills up their cars with band students and begins the long drive into the early October night.

This year, Hux is stuck riding with Mitaka. Apparently Mitaka’s nerves while playing his clarinet also extend to driving distances farther than ten miles, because his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel appears almost skeletal as he crawls along the highway at an obnoxiously slow speed.

Honestly, Hux thinks he would be a better driver, and he won’t be sixteen for another two months.

“When’s the exit?” Mitaka asks, eyes never leaving the taillights of Phasma’s Subaru.

“Not for another fifteen miles,” Hux says, flicking back to the page of his phone with the map. Since Hux sat in the passenger’s seat, he received the wonderful honor of being Mitaka’s navigator.

“Okay, just let me know when it’s coming up, I don’t want to miss it.”

Hux doesn’t deign that with a reply, choosing instead to watch the cars going in the other direction race past. It’s only eight o’clock, but it’s already dark enough to turn the oncoming headlights into stars shooting across the night.

It’s only been approximately thirty sections before Mitaka feels he must speak again. “What do you think the theme’s going to be this year? Last year it was zombies.”

“I heard that the year before that, it was clowns,” says Thanisson from the backseat. “They would crawl around on the ground and grab your ankles.”

“How would you know? You weren’t even there,” snaps Unamo. They’re both sophomores, like Hux, so neither of them would’ve been in high school for the supposed year of ankle-grabbing clowns.

“If it is clowns again, I’m leaving,” Mitaka says.

“You can’t go home; you’re our ride,” Hux points out, sighing. It’s just like all of them, to suck the fun out of even this. At least he might get to watch some of them scream.

“Right.” Mitaka bites his lip. “Hux, is the exit coming up?”

“Not for another thirteen miles.”

“Okay, just. I don’t want to miss it.”

Even after all of that, Mitaka does almost miss it, having to swing his Prius around the sharp turn in probably the most reckless driving maneuver Mitaka will ever execute in his life. It’s partially Hux’s fault, since he wasn’t paying as close attention as he should’ve been to Google Maps, and if it was anyone other than Mitaka, he’d have gotten yelled at.

Mitaka parks in the grassy field designated “Parking Graveyard” right next to Phasma, who beckons Hux over.

“Hux! Are you ready for this?” She’s practically bouncing with excitement, and that’s saying a lot, considering that Phasma is someone who never bounces.

“I suppose so,” he replies, feigning boredom by looking at his fingernails. It’s a game he and Phasma like to play, seeing who can appear to care the least about everything.

Phasma punches him on the arm, a signal to quit the game, and Hux cracks a smile.

“Everyone, let’s gather ‘round!” she says, addressing the whole band now. “It’s five dollars to get in, and then you’re free to wander the maze…at your own risk.” Phasma smiles wickedly at the underclassmen, trying to scare them.

As they all make their way down the path to the ticket stand, one of Phasma’s other friends shouts, “Seniors first!” and cuts to the front of the line of band students.

“Really?” Hux mutters to Phasma.

“Sorry, Hux,” she says, running to the front of the line. “I hear it’s more fun in the back, anyway!”

Right. If it was anything other than a haunted corn maze, Phasma would’ve stuck with him in the back with the other sophomores. She couldn’t care less about ridiculous seniority traditions.

At the front of the line, Hux pays his five dollars and joins the rest of the sophomores as they have the rules explained to them.

“Stay on the path,” a too-cheerful man with a plastic meat cleaver sticking out of his chest tells them. “Don’t touch our actors and they won’t touch you. And I know there’s gonna be a lot of things jumping out at you, but please try to keep the language clean. There are kids here. Hmmm…what else, what else.” The man pauses, stroking the handle of his meat cleaver. “Oh, yeah! This year’s theme is Butcher Shop Massacre! So should I say, ‘bon appetite!’” He sweeps his arm over the entrance to the maze before backing away into the corn.

The people in front of Hux surge ahead, eager to get spooked by the “actors,” but Hux hangs back. It’ll be more scary if he’s not surrounded by squealing flute players. At the first junction of the maze, the large group decides to take a right. Hux makes sure to take a left, and then he’s alone in the corn maze.

With the floodlights of the parking section fading behind him, Hux is soon enclosed by the corn. The path is only wide enough for maybe two people to walk side-by-side, and the stalks of corn are tall enough to make Hux feel like an ant crawling through a grassy field. The stalks look nearly gray in the darkness, more similar to something from an alien planet than anything more earthly. The October air is just sharp enough for Hux to leave his jacket zipped, and the light of the half-moon barely illuminates the dirt path ahead of him.

Hux can still hear the shrieks and laughter from other parts of the maze, but they somehow seem far quieter than than the whispering of the wind through the stalks of corn around him. It almost seems like the night is conspiring against him, waiting to release its monsters at a moment’s notice.

A rustling sound causes Hux to stop in his tracks. Someone is preparing to jump out and scare him; he’s an easy target now that he’s alone. They’ll probably laugh if he screams, scared by whatever meat cleaver nonsense Hosnian Farms cooked up this year. No, he won’t give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He’ll be ready; nothing can sneak up on him.

The rustling gets louder, and Hux thinks he sees a flash of something metallic to his right. He shuffles slightly to the left, keeping his eyes trained on the corn across from him. There’s suddenly no movement. The whole field around him has gone still. Hux lets out a breath.

“Boo.”

The voice is right in Hux’s ear, so near that the person’s breath tickles his neck. Hux’s fight-or-flight instincts kick in, and before he knows it, he’s rounded on the actor and socked them right in the nose.

“Ow, what the fuck, man!”

The shadowy figure staggers out of the corn, a hand over his nose. Hux has to hold back another yelp of surprise at his appearance before he remembers that it’s all just makeup to make the actors look scarier. This man sure has gone above and beyond, with fake guts oozing out of a massive wound in his side, charred flesh decorating his shoulder, and a bloody gash bisecting his face. He takes his hands away from his nose, and Hux realizes that he’s actually younger than he originally thought. The boy is probably around his age.

“Did you not hear Poe say that you’re not allowed to touch the actors?! This is assault.” His low voice is pinched. “I could have you arrested!”

“It was a reflex!” Hux protests. He’s pretty sure that this boy is under no authority to have him arrested.

“Still! You punched me!” The boy takes off his black beanie and runs his fingers through his dark mess of hair. “And you made me break character.”

“Break character?” Hux scoffs. “This is a corn maze, not bloody Hollywood.”

“A good actor brings his best to every role,” he insists, crossing his arms. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” Hux rolls his eyes. “How do you know that I won’t understand? For all you know I’m an acting student myself.”

“Please,” the boy snorts. “You’re in high school. Don’t try to pull this I-know-more-than-you bullshit on me.”

Hux sniffs, slightly offended. He always thought he looked mature for his age, passable as someone quite a few years older. Something about his bone structure, he thought. “You can’t be acting superior either, then. You can’t be older than I am.”

“Yeah, but I go to New Republic High School for the Arts,” he snaps. “So I actually know what I’m talking about.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” The boy crosses his arms.

“It means that you’re one of those kids whose parents told them that they’re special and sent them off to become artists and musicians, when really they should be learning how the real world works.” Hux pauses, but the other boy doesn’t interrupt him, so he continues. “Also, you all have ridiculous names better suited for hippies in the sixties than for the modern era. Or you have a normal name, like Henry or Kyle, but your parents decided to be ‘creative’ and add extra letters, or switch up the vowels.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, and Hux wonders if he caused some sort of brain trauma when he punched him. After waving his hand over the boy’s eyes, he blinks and begins to speak. “First of all, I can’t believe you just used the phrase ‘the modern era.’ Second, my name isn’t Kyl-o or some shit, it’s Ben. Ben Solo.” He holds out his hand to shake, and Hux stares at it incredulously.

Hux takes another look at their surroundings, the stalks of corn, the moon, the bloody makeup on Ben’s face, and says, “Seriously? You expect to make friends here?”

“Who says I want to make friends?” Ben growls in what could either be perceived as anger or an attempt at a sensual growl. Hux hopes it’s the former. Ben isn’t exactly his type, with his broad shoulders and the few inches of height that he has over Hux.

Well, Hux’s type also usually isn’t spilling fake guts over a tear in his black hoodie.

“Fine. I’m Hux.” Hux glances at the empty path ahead of them, trying to find a polite way to end the conversation. He suddenly remembers their marching band schedule; First Order HS is playing New Republic next Saturday. “Maybe I’ll see you at next weekend’s football game, when our schools play each other. It was nice to meet you.”

Hux is only able to take one step before Ben interrupts his departure.

“You play football?”

“No, I’m in the marching band.” Hux rolls his eyes and gestures to his thin frame. “Do you really think I have the build to be a football player?”

Ben studies him in the low light, resting his hand on his chin. “Probably not. You wouldn’t look good in all that padding, anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Hux swallows. Was he supposed to say thank you? Was that even a compliment?

Ben shrugs. “You know, you’re just. Good as is, I guess.”

“Well.” Is it awkward to exit the conversation now? Ben has certainly ruined the spooky mood for Hux.

“Well,” Ben echoes him, rubbing his hand over his lips before jerking back a step. “Shit. I’m bleeding.”

Hux looks at Ben’s face quizzically. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No, not my makeup, my nose! You punched me and now I’m bleeding!”

“Oh,” Hux says stupidly, still standing completely still as Ben hops up and down frantically, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tilts his head back, and at least Hux knows what to say now. “Don’t do that. Tilt your head forward so the blood doesn’t run down the back of your throat.”

Ben complies without complaint, tipping his head toward the ground. A couple drops of blood land softly in the dirt, and Hux almost laughs. Hosnian Farms’ haunted corn maze, now with authentic blood splatters.

“I’m gonna go find the medical tent,” Ben mumbles, taking two steps farther along the path before stopping. He looks back over his shoulder, face still marred by both his fake wound and his Hux-inflicted one. “Can you help me find the medical tent?”

Hux sighs. This was not what he signed up for when he got into Mitaka’s car an hour ago. “I suppose. Which way?”

Ben looks back and forth, considering.

“You don’t know?” Hux sighs. He’d be able to muster up some more compassion if Ben just had some damn common sense.

“Hey, gimme a break, I might be concussed.” Ben removes his hand from his nose and wipes the blood on his hoodie.

“That would explain a lot,” Hux mutters.

“It’s this way.” Ben points farther down the path, away from the entrance Hux had come from.

“Okay then.” Hux takes three steps past Ben, but before he knows it, Ben’s linking his arm through Hux’s. Hux turns his head to look pointedly at Ben, who is suddenly close enough for Hux to make out the tiny particles of makeup decorating his cheeks. He just gives Hux a half-shrug.

“I could be concussed. I could get dizzy and fall,” he says, his breath tickling Hux’s cheek. It’s very warm, especially in the cold night air, and Hux has to stop himself from leaning closer.

He always forgets how warm other people are, their breath and hands and mouths enough to set Hux on fire.

They shuffle along silently for an awkward minute, Hux dragging Ben along beside him. Hux doesn’t know why Ben’s long legs can’t keep up with his powerful strides. Maybe he just likes to be dragged.

“You can turn left here,” Ben says, tugging on Hux’s arm.

“There’s no turn here.” Hux gestures to the wall of corn to their left. For the first time, he starts to wonder if Ben really is concussed.

“I know. It’s a shortcut. C’mon.”

“A minute ago you could barely remember which way the damn thing was, and now you think you know a shortcut?!”

“Yeah, it’ll be a lot faster, trust me.” Ben tugs on Hux’s arm again, and Hux sighs and steps into the corn.

When Hux said he wanted an immersive corn maze experience, he thought he was being a bit more metaphorical.

The stalks brush Hux’s arms as he weaves through the corn after Ben, their earthy scent surrounding the two of them as the moonlight reflects off Ben’s dark hair. At this point Ben is pulling him by his hand, staying almost a full step ahead of Hux. Hux doesn’t remember when Ben laced their fingers together, and he’s almost glad it happened without his notice. Otherwise, he would’ve protested, and Ben’s hands are quite warm. They have a quality of security to them, slightly calloused and covering his own. It’s nice in a way that Hux doesn’t want to explain.

Ben leads him in a weaving pattern that Hux is sure can’t be a shortcut of any kind. They seem to be getting farther from the corn maze itself, since the shrieks and laughter of Hux’s bandmates are fading behind them. It seems to get darker with each footstep, Ben’s fake injuries looking more real by the second. It almost seems as if Hux is truly being led out into a cornfield by some kind of monster.

“We’re lost.” Hux doesn’t phrase it as a question, too preoccupied with imagining the search party stumbling upon his missing body, years later.

“No, we’re not.” Ben stops walking between two narrow rows and turns to face Hux, their linked hands hanging in the space between them.

“Then why have we stopped?”

Ben exhales. “Okay, Hux, I’m gonna level with you. We’re not lost, but we’re not headed to the medical tent either.”

“Then what…” Hux’s voice blows away with the wind that ruffles Ben’s hair around his face. His eyes are as bottomless as the night sky and as soft as velvet. “Then what…” Hux tries again.

Ben rolls his eyes to look up at the moon, takes a deep breath, steps forward, and kisses Hux.

It’s a thunderous moment, the blood pounding in Hux’s ears as he melts against Ben, Ben’s warmth, Ben’s soft lips. He tastes like cinnamon gum, as fiery as the blush crawling across Hux’s cheeks. Ben kisses Hux as if his lips can banish the chill from his bones, and the warmth blooms all the way down to Hux’s toes, bright as a bonfire.

Ben pulls away after several dizzying seconds. He stays close enough that they’re still sharing breath, noses nearly brushing.

“Um,” Ben breathes, “was that okay?”

“What the hell, Ben?” Hux whispers back, but his voice is as soft and breathy as Ben’s. “You’re supposed to ask that beforehand.”

“But that would’ve ruined the moment of spontaneity! Plus, you were totally checking me out earlier.”

Hux leans back and whacks Ben’s shoulder with his free hand, the other still twined with Ben’s. “I was not!”

“Yes, you were. The moment was right; it was romantic.”

“Romantic?” Hux repeats, looking at their surroundings. “You think stalks of corn are romantic?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I was talking about the moonlight, not the dumb corn.”

“Still.” Hux attempts to frown at him. “The moonlight hardly makes up for the fact that you’re dressed like some kind of murder victim.”

“Uh, yeah, about that…” Ben leans in closer again. “You got some of my, uh, blood makeup on your face.”

For the first time since they broke apart, Hux notices that the bottom half of Ben’s bloody gash has been transformed into a red smear. It looks more like Ben was gnawing on Hux’s face rather than kissing it.

“Fucking hell, Ben, what am I going to tell my bandmates?” Hux pats his pockets, searching for his phone to check the damage.

“Here, I got it.” Ben licks his thumb and starts scrubbing it over the corner of Hux’s mouth.

“Stop, that’s disgusting.” Hux shoves Ben’s arm away, stepping back. He finally locates his phone in his jacket pocket and takes it out. He’s missed one message from Phasma: Where are you?? The rest of us are all through the maze and want to start driving back.

Ben frowns. “What? It’s just my spit. We were literally making out a minute ago.”

“That was hardly ‘making out,’” Hux comments as he untangles his fingers from Ben’s to text Phasma back. Be there in 5, he sends her.

“Oh, really?” Ben says, sliding closer. He places his hands on Hux’s hips. “I don’t think I’m quite clear on the difference. Can you give me a demonstration?”

“Ben, I really have to go, my friends are leaving.” Hux steps out of his embrace.

Ben’s face falls. “Oh. Was it the cheesy line? Did I push too far? I’m sorry, but everything was just going so well I thought I’d try to say something smooth—”

“Ben,” Hux interrupts. “You’re fine, but I really do have to go, so if you could show me back to the entrance to the maze…?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Ben still doesn’t move, so Hux hands him his phone. “Put your number in, and I’ll text you sometime.”

Ben grins, and Hux can’t help but smile too. His fake scar almost suits him.

By the time Hux emerges from the corn maze, Phasma looks like she’s about to send out a search party.

“Hux, what the hell, where were you?” She squints her eyes at him. “And what the fuck happened to your mouth?”

Hux reaches up a hand to touch where Ben’s makeup still stains the side of his face. “I was kissing monsters,” he says dryly.

Phasma laughs, not sure what to make of this response. “Sounds romantic.”

Hux glances up at the moon. “You know, it kind of was.”

#huxloween #day 2 #even though it's the end of day 31 #kylux #kylux fanfic #benarmie #my writing

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saltsale1-blog · 5 years

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SEAPORT WANDERING

A little inside baseball before I begin — this is the first longform post I am doing after the Forgotten New York revamp, and I’m going to have to get used to the new WordPress “dashboard,” the module where I type all my posts. WordPress can’t leave well enough alone and moved everything around, so I’ll need to gradually reacquaint myself with where everything I used happens to be. Now, when I use WordPress, it has so many different controls, I think it’s like using Lieutenant Sulu’s console to order a ham sandwich, it’s so overstuffed. I learn software, but not quickly. When i began using WordPress in 2011, it took about two months for me to really get used to it and I was getting pretty frustrated. Back in 1992, I taught myself the publishing program, QuarkXPress, as well as Adobe Photoshop and Illustrator, and learned enough to land jobs as a mechanical artist, burnishing my resume as a proofreader and copy editor. I’m well out of practice with QuarkXPress and InDesign now, though.

In December I scouted around Manhattan between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges, but after that I wandered into the Seaport. I haven’t been there much since Hurricane Sandy struck in October 2012 and especially, since the Seaport’s redevelopment plans were announced that involved tearing down the Pier 17 building and putting new retail/housing/restaurants there. I’d go to the Pier 17 food mall if I wanted something affordable for lunch, and would go to the same place for tuna salad and fries, cost me less than $10. A new food court is supposed to open in the historic Tin Building, but I think the old $10 lunches are out.

Here is Gold Street at Frankfort, under one of the ramps connecting the Brooklyn Bridge to the FDR Drive. I’ve always had a fascination for this lower Manhattan route, since it twists and turns a bit, no doubt to get around hills or creeks that have since disappeared. Back in 2006, I walked much of it, but its lower reaches are now mostly invisible as they are hidden under street and sidewalk scaffolding that is seemingly permanent. Interestingly “Gold” doesn’t refer to the precious metal, but to the Dutch word for the yellow celandine flower, which is gouwe in Dutch, and the Netherlanders called the area Gouwenberg, which over time evolved to simply Gold after the 1664 British takeover.

North of Fulton Street, Gold Street shucks off its scaffolding, gains some lanes, and becomes less interesting. Traffic follows it under the Brooklyn Bridge to Madison Street and St. James Place.

Frankfort Street, meanwhile, is named for Frankfurt, Germany, the home town of 17th Century rebel Jacob Leisler, the only NY Governor to meet his end on a noose. It also means the street has something in common with tube-shaped lunch meat.

Why show this driveway on Frankfort Street between Gold and Pearl Streets, between the NYC Housing Preservation and Development headquarters on Gold Street and the west end of the Southbridge Towers housing development? It’s the north end of Cliff Street, which today runs only from Fulton to Beekman Streets, but used to run all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge. Check out the NYC Municipal Archives for photos of buildings along the entire length of Cliff Street in 1940.

Sadly, the Bridge Cafe at Dover and Water Streets, which billed itself as NYC’s oldest continuously-operating business that served drinks, closed after Hurricane Sandy damaged it on October 2012, and it’s never reopened. Though a neon sign in the shape of a bridge shines in the window like a candle burning to let travelers know they’re welcome, there’s currently no sign of any restoration at present. I looked inside, and found a motorcycle parked amidst where the tables and chairs used to be. The last time any reopening was mentioned was in 2016.

The cafe was built on the water’s edge, as Water Street marked the original shoreline. It was originally listed as a “grocery and wine and porter bottler”; in that era, groceries sold wines and spirits and were issued liquor licenses. Here’s a look at the building in 1940, when the Bridge was called McCormick’s.

A couple of doors away from the Bridge Cafe at 273 Water Street is the Captain Joseph Rose House, originally built between 1773 and 1781 and rebuilt in 1998. It’s the 3rd-oldest building in Manhattan after St. Paul’s Chapel on Broadway and the Morris-Jumel Mansion on Edgecombe and 162nd in East Harlem. Capt. Rose, a mahogany merchant, moved out in 1791 and was an apothecary and shoe store by 1812.

Things turned south after 1812, though, as Water Street became the province of cheap hotels and brothels. It became a dance house populated by what the local rags called “the most depraved and infamous population on the entire New York Island.” By 1868 it was the site of Kit Burns’ Dog-Pit or, to its patrons, Sportsman’s Hall. Burns, a member of the Dead Rabbits gang, held bareknuckle boxing matches and ratfighting and dogfighting matches here. These dogs, mostly terriers, were sometimes starved for several days beforehand. Burns had two of his favorite dogs stuffed and mounted over the bar. The first, a black and tan colored terrier named Jack, reportedly set an American record by killing 100 rats in 6 minutes and 40 seconds. The other dog, Hunky, was a champion fighting dog “that expired after his last great victory.” The building, shortly after, became a shelter for “fallen women.”

Nearby Rose Street was named for the owner.

Water Street, looking south through the landmarked Seaport District. The street’s Belgian blocks have been carefully maintained, unlike other parts of the district as we will see a bit later. The tall building seen in the distance is One Seaport Plaza, or the Prudential-Bache Building, a 1984 skyscraper.

I was attracted to #270 Water, across the street from the Rose House, since some of the painted sign (the readable portion says “Williams,” likely a former proprietor). Here’s the description from the Seaport Landmarks Preservation Commission report:

Bear in mind, this page won’t be a comprehensive look at the Seaport. I didn’t photograph every historic building, as it wasn’t my aim on this walk. That kind of study would have taken me a lot longer, as would this page. I’m mentioning it now in case you don’t see your favorite particular spot mentioned here. I will say that an indispensable, though not completely comprehensive, guide to the area is Ellen Fletcher’s Walking Around in South Street, published by the South Street Seaport Museum; contact the Museum at (212) 748-8600 or visit the Seaport website.

This building was constructed in 1808 for flour merchant David Lydig. He had gone into business on Peck Slip in 1789 and owned a fleet of Hudson River sloops that delivered flour to his South Street wharf. Bakers were attracted to the block with a handy flour merchant nearby. Anticipating the completion of the Erie Canal, which would enable flour to be delivered from western farmlands at a cheaper rate, he sold his sloops at a profit and retired.

Way up in the Morris Park section of the Bronx, the subject of a SpliceToday post, there’s a Lydig Avenue named for the family of merchants that included Philip and his son, David, who ran a mill in the West Farms section. David’s son Philip sold much of the property now home to Bronx Park.

The restaurant on the ground floor had been Mexican Radio, named for a 1982 Wall of Voodoo hit, but now it’s the Cowgirl SeaHorse.

Merchant Jasper Ward had speculatively purchased this property in 1800 while the East River still occupied the site, and built on it after it was landfilled and became the corner of 151 South Street and Peck Slip. Once part of a row of three buildings, it largely resembles its original appearance. The adjoining building on Peck Slip was built in 1807 for flour merchant David Lydig (see above).

Peck Slip, looking west from South Street. The street owes its great width to the fact that it once featured a short canal, or slip, in which boats were docked. The slip was built in 1755 by merchant Benjamin Peck. It was filled in by 1817. Many lower Manhattan streets were once slips in which ships were berthed, and carry the name “slip” to this day.

At the very end of the street, we see #8 Spruce Street, formerly the tallest residential building in NYC, since surpassed. It’s now known as New York By Gehry, after its architect, Frank Gehry; it’s his first major building in NYC after many years. The tower contains only rental units (898 in total), something of a rarity in New York’s Financial District. It contains a public elementary school, which the Department of Education owns, and is made of reinforced concrete. It is 76 stories and 870 feet high.

I like the building, even though many Forgotten NY fans don’t seem to like anything built later than 1950. I say that in jest, not in anger. I do like that Manhattan is dynamic, but so many of the new towers going up in places that never had them before like Hudson Yards and Hunter’s Point are plain glass boxes. #8 Spruce is new and different.

Unfortunately, Peck Slip used to be a vast plain of Belgian blocks, one of my favorite “plains” of Belgian blocks in the city. However, the city has paved over the center of the slip with asphalt, leaving just thin strips of bricks on both sides, and placed bollards and planters around the central section. This appears to be the prelude to an ambitious plan to position a public park down the center of the slip, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it stays as is for awhile.

The Department of Transportation has always been uncomfortable with traditional Belgian-blocked streets. If you look at the Municipal Archives photos linked above, you notice that a great many more streets used to be block-paved; well into the 1980s I was noticing even main route still had them in spots. However, vehicle axles and bicycles don’t play well with them. In recent months, the city has “tamed” the formerly huge Belgian blocked plaza at Gansevoort Street and 9th Avenue in the Meatpacking but putting elevated curbs around it, and in Brooklyn, DUMBO’s brick streets and exposed former railroad tracks are under fire and their days may be numbered.

The Paris Café occupies the ground floor of a 5-story brick building at 119 South Street and Peck Slip. The handsome structure was built in 1873 and was purchased 10 years later by liquor merchant Henry Mayer and converted to a hotel and a boardinghouse. Some of the frequent guests were inventor Thomas Alva Edison, sharpshooter Annie Oakley, gourmand “Diamond Jim” Brady, and Teddy Roosevelt when he was police commissioner. Meyer opened the Paris Café in 1883 and while the hotel is long gone, the Paris is still going strong. It’s one of the last survivors of the old Seaport restaurant district that formerly boasted Sloppy Louie’s and Carmine’s. I have only been in once, with ForgottenFan Lisa Jarrett, who used to work around the corner at a coffee place on Water Street; regretfully, I did not get any photos, but they are easily found. It looked like this in 1940.

South Street in the old Fish Market area

The Fulton Fish Market, NYC’s primary seafood wholesale market, moved to Hunts Point in the Bronx in 2005, after a tenure here of over 170 years. Old pictures of South Street show sloops, square-riggers, clipper ships and many other classes of vessels docked right next to the street, which formerly abutted the East River. Today, at the Seaport’s Pier 17, you can board sailing ships like the Wavertree (built in 1885) the Peking (1911) and the lightship Ambrose, and even train for sailing on the Pioneer (1885), Lettie G. Howard (1893) and W.O. Decker (1930).

I was usually in the Seaport area during the day, when the Seaport catered to the tourist trade when the mall along Fulton Street opened in 1983. Fulton Street and Pier 17 catered almost exclusively to the tourist trade, and still does especially in the summer. But before 2005, I could walk around the area during the day and breathe in the heady aroma of raw fish. Overnights, South Street was full of trucks and wholesale merchants, where restaurants and fish markets all over town would come and purchase fish which would be prepared in restaurants and sold to the public. I never witnessed it but it was a chaotic, bustling scene, totally New York City in the vibe department. The market is now way up in the Bronx.

The restaurant Fish Market, named for you know what, attempts to reclaim the old market atmosphere. It appears to be a dive bar, but has some Malaysian delicacies on the menu. The awning on South Street used to feature a number of signs of fish wholesalers, and the signage here is clearly imitative.

Around the corner, #40 Peck Slip is one of a trio of buildings on the south side of the street that were constructed as warehouses for merchant brothers William and John Mott, and according to the LPC report, they go back as far as 1813, but heavily altered since then, with fourth floors built in the 1870s.

This row, 220-226 Front, between Beekman and Peck Slip, is even older, with this stretch of brick buildings going back to around 1800. When the property was purchased by the builders, it was purely on speculation as Front Street was still in the East River and had yet to be built on landfill. The row is occupied by Jack’s Coffee, Van Leeuwen Ice Cream (“Gilded Age” was a previous tenant) and Jeremy’s Ale House, where the bras are hung over the bar and the patrons are hung over. (I remember winding up here after a Seaport tour I gave despite having a splitting toothache; nevertheless, I found the fish and chips quite good.)

225 Front, currently Barbalu, an Italian restaurant, shows traces of its fish wholesaler past as the word “salmon” is clearly visible. Many area buildings bear such traces.

A look west on Front Street toward historic Schermerhorn Row on Fulton Street. Most New Yorkers reflexively pronounce this “Skimmerhorn” but the pronunciation makes no sense to me, unless it’s an accurate rendering of the original Dutch pronunciation. Beyond it you can see the odd-looking eastern wall of 161 Front Street, a Fairfield Inn hotel. To me it looks like the renovated exterior of 2 Columbus Circle uptown, the Museum of Arts and Design. Several more boring glassy towers have sprung up downtown the past couple of decades.

133 Beekman or 208 Front Street is actually one of the newer buildings in the Seaport. It was constructed as a loft in 1914.

Formerly Carmine’s Seafood, 140 Beekman (at Front) was constructed in 1824, the same year that Beekman Street itself was built. The old Carmine’s is now occupied by the V Bar. The ground floor has undergone considerable renovation but the upper floors still look they way they did when first built.

146-148 Beekman boasts the same painted sign for Meyer & Johnson fish wholesalers that it did in 1940, and probably awhile before that. “Finnan haddie” is smoked haddock, originally produced near Findon, Scotland. The delicacypops up in the lyrics of the Cole Porter classic “My Heart Belongs to Daddy,” popularized by Mary Martin, Eartha Kitt and Marilyn Monroe, among many others.

Here’s what the block looked like in 1940. A clothing boutique occupies the ground floor these days, and a flower shop is at 142 Beekman, next door.

19 Fulton Street at Front was newly constructed for the Fulton Street mall, opening in 1983. Yet it tries to copy the design of the James Bogardus cast iron front building, way over on Manhattan’s Lower West Side, now part of Independence Plaza. When blocks of buildings there were razed or relocated in the 1970s and 1980s to make way for the rental towers, The Bogardus Building, designed by the father of cast iron architecture, was dismantled and put in storage to be rebuilt elsewhere. However the dismantled pieces were stolen and never recovered. Hence, the city made a relatively close carbon copy and built it here.

So, this is the first longform page I have done under my new template, which was built by Adam Kizer of Villing & Company, who did an outstanding job with it. This will be FNY’s template for hopefully the next ten years and beyond, and I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Check out the ForgottenBook, take a look at the gift shop, and as always, “comment…as you see fit.”

1/13/19

Source: http://forgotten-ny.com/2019/01/seaport-wandering/

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kktravelblog · 5 years

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england: april 2018

I finally reached my breaking point of sitting at a desk this past April. I always knew it wasn’t for me, but thought I’d give it a valiant effort. I mean after all, it is what everyone else was doing. After months of contemplating what’s next, I decided to quit my desk job while still giving a somewhat traditional path a try and found a nanny position in Hoboken. And the best part of changing jobs is having the opportunity to have a free week of vacation time built in. If you don’t do this, you’re honestly missing out.

I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. Typically, I use every vacation opportunity to go somewhere exotic with beaches, diving, mountains and hiking, but because summer was right around the corner, I decided to go to cloudy England, which would be only the second time I’ve visited Europe. This always comes as a shock to people, but it just hasn’t happened yet. However, this time around, England was almost too easy to pass up because my two good friends from Australia, Anna and Katie, already lived there and I had free places to stay. So within less than a week, I had a trip planned and was on my way.

This was my first solo traveling experience, which I really want to do one day (stay tuned AGAIN). I had gone to Australia alone, but I view that as a completely different category of travel. I looked it as a real small baby jump though, since I would technically have two friends awaiting my arrival in each city I was to visit. And they speak english. But it was still a step in the right direction.

I arrived in London, found wifi to alert Katie, then started my journey to her flat just outside of center city London. Once I got off the tube and made my way outside, I found Katie waiting for me. And no joke, the second I stepped outside, I felt like I was in Harry Potter. To all of you that don’t know, I am a huge fan of Harry Potter. To me, it has always been a mysterious place created in my brain while reading the books and later by Hollywood. So to see the country it was created around was surreal. I probably mentioned “that looks just like Harry Potter” more times than I can physically count. But it still blows my mind. *American fangirl*

Katie’s flat was only one stop outside the center city of London, making it extremely convenient and a great place to be. After a quick pitstop to refresh after the long flight, we headed into the city to meet up with her boyfriend and to have lunch at this cool indoor food truck market/explore a bit on her lunch break. I was quickly informed on this mini tour just how many buildings were older than the United States of America, which is pretty nuts to think about. I never cared for history, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around that fact. Katie and her boyfriend both had to head back to work, so I was left to explore the city on my own which resulted in me walking over 15 miles. I saw a lot, including Big Ben (although under construction), the London Eye, the bridge that collapses in Harry Potter, the London Bridge (from the famous song), and more. Somehow, in a square mile city though, I somehow managed to completely miss Buckingham Palace. Not sure how and the only way I realized is when I later complained that I didn’t get to see the men in the red suits and Katie and her flatmates were flabbergasted and made me show pictures of where I was.

While exploring the city was great, my most memorable day in London, to no surprise, was my solo trip to Warner Bros. Harry Potter Studio. IT WAS BLOODY BRILLIANT. I know you get it, I am a huge fan, but I just cannot help myself. Magic is so cool. I spent over three hours there, winding through the sets and reading everything available. I was incredibly shameless, to the point that not only did I have strangers take my picture throughout, but I also mounted a broomstick in front of a green screen just so I could get a video of me flying through Harry Potter scenes. Some call it desperate, but it’s really commitment. Don’t worry the short clip is public, but I have the full version waiting for your viewing if you choose to want to see it. Warning, it’s two minutes long. I also don’t think its fair if I leave out that the majority of the other people there were either couples or families. I was the only single person, who got ID’d for age. ID’d at the Harry Potter studios. But honestly, there is no shame in this game.

The next day I headed back into the city to see Buckingham Palace. Not making that effort would have been embarrassing. It’s like completely missing the Empire State Building. It honestly was worth it to see too. It puts the White House to shame, that’s for sure. After that, I spent the rest of the day wandering and then met up with Katie for dinner. We had an early night as I had planned to set off to Birmingham early the next day, with a stop to see Stonehenge and Bath on the way.

Stonehenge was really cool. I’ll be honest. I skipped the museum part due to timing (and lack of interest), so I honestly cannot tell you much about it. But I can tell you the rocks were really cool and my timing with the weather was impeccable. The entire drive to Stonehenge, plus the short bus ride from the parking lot, it was downpouring. But I swear, as soon as I stepped off the bus, the clouds parted and the sun came out. Luck was on my side. I’ll get to why in a second.

Next up was Bath. Bath is a really unique city and I definitely recommend stopping by if you have the time when you’re in England. It’s known for its natural hot springs, Bath Abbey and Roman-era Baths as well as the architecture. The architecture is traditional and old-fashioned, however the overall vibe of the city and the stores within are new and modernized. I could totally see myself living here. Check it out, and let me know what you think.

And finally, I made it to Birmingham, where Anna and I quickly headed to the local food truck markets to eat and catch up. Anna (she’s American) had been my closest friend in my Australian adventure and recently moved there with her Australian boyfriend. Dreams do come true.

This is where traveling gets cool. While in England, I had the opportunity to go visit Richard and Helen Combe at their countryside English home. Turns out, luckily, they live right outside Birmingham. If you don’t recall, I met Richard on the top of Rob Roy Glacier in New Zealand in 2015. It was a series of weird coincidences that brought us together, but showed me just how grateful I am for how the world works and the people it brings into your life. Richard had lost his son, Stephen, in a helicopter crash a week prior to us meeting. We only spoke for a short time that day, but it was an incredibly impactful conversation. After tracking him down, I was able to reach out and maintain a friendship with him and his wife Helen throughout the years. It was really cool to hear their side of the same story and how many similarities there were, most notably, that we were meant to find each other for a good reason. Spending the day with them in England will forever be one of my most memorable traveling days, of course, after the day I met them. They welcomed me into their home as one of their own and showed me a glimpse into their lives, including meeting their daughter and Helen’s mother. They also told me tons of stories, showed me around their town, took me on a short walk to a part of the city where you could see Wales in the distance, and updated me on their lives, while also being incredibly interested in mine. I will forever hold that day incredibly close to my heart.

I should also mention, I am not spiritual in any way. I believe in a lot of cliches like things always work out, when there’s a will there’s a way, etc. but I am not spiritual by any means. Except I do believe their son Stephen played a huge impact on how seamlessly my trip worked out. From the plans, to the odd weather occurrences, to how close they lived to the only other city I was visiting to… did i mention the car company randomly upgraded me from some random car to a Mercedes A class (still don’t know what it means, but know that is definitely an upgrade) for free? All of those things had to of had some help. It doesn’t make sense otherwise. But it was these moments that really reminded me of how special my friendship with Richard and Helen is. And what it reminds me of life. I always say the punchline of every joke, story, moment will always come, but sometimes not right away. And this one proved it by coming three years later.

Ok back on track now… Sometimes I need to include things for you guys, but also for my own personal memory.

After my visit with Helen and Richard, I headed back to Birmingham to meet Anna. We would later go to dinner at the local pub, and embarrassingly mess up trivia questions based on America. I spent the next day literally laying in bed, watching Netflix, letting my body relax from jet lag and waiting for Anna to get out of work so we could head back to London to hang with Katie.

My last day was super special in terms of friendships. It was really great to hang with Katie and Anna together again and honestly felt like no time had passed by since we had last been together in Brisbane. We spent the day exploring London and different markets, walking the waterway and eating good lunch (my fav meal). And of course, Kings Cross and platform 9 3/4. That night, Anna and I were left to pick a restaurant on our own. And in true American fashion ended up unknowingly picking a chain. It was still good. Heck, I’d go back. Later, we met a few of Anna’s friends at this really cool bar that legitimately had a tree in it (that Lexi also recommended. If she ever reads this blog, I needed to make sure she got her call out) and then would later go to a London club. Did you know London clubs close at midnight? No? Me neither. It’s weird to me. But we ended the night the right way, by eating pizza and face-timing both B and Eric. No better way to end the trip than all back together. If not physically, but technologically.

The next morning, I woke up at 4 am and made the trek back to the states, through Dublin, where I was able to try a Guinness at 7 am their time. I couldn’t tell you what time my body was on. However, I refuse to count that as real. I will go to Ireland for it. Again, I can’t say it enough, this trip was special in so many ways. I know it’s getting cliche. Not only with Richard and Helen, but also it was really cool to see two of my closest friends from Australia in a different country and spend the day like no time had passed. I really look forward to when we can all cross paths again. But Anna, to be honest, it’s your turn to come to the city. Katie already did. And B and Eric, you too.

And now I was off to live a semi-traditional life of being a nanny in Hoboken at 27 years old.

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

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A Time Of Undertaking: 6 Styles To Become A Badass World Traveler In 2016

As 2015 comes to a open, its normal to get romantic and start looking back on the memories constructed over the past year.

Every year has its ups and downs, and some are more fateful than others.

But as I began to think about my 26 th year and the ones before it, I realized for me, theres one fool-proof lane to stir recalls that will stand out in my mind forever, and that mode is to travel.

On top of the priceless knows that “re coming with” exploring a brand-new region, traveling obligates you a most independent, open-minded party and teaches you life assignments you might never learnt cooped up at home.

So while your health and fitness destinations and saving coin are important( and Im right there with you on those, extremely ), I would argue that we should all puttraveling more towards the top of our to-do rosters for2 016.

To help, I reached out to two millennial wandering bloggers who are killing video games, Brooke Saward of World of Wanderlust and Trevor Morrow of Trevor Morrow Travel, to be determined how we can all realize interpreting “the worlds” a realistic resolution in 2016.

Get your priorities in order.

Whether its limited vacation eras or a lack of funds, its easy to make excuses when it comes to travel.

Morrow, who is based in Los Angeles and has done everything from Tarzan-ing in the jungle to brewery hopping in Australia, declares his globetrotting lifestyle isnt plausible for everyone, but he enunciates if there is even the smallestamount of wiggle area in national budgets, all you have to do is prioritize.

He responds,

If gazing fresh is your priority, youll waste your extra money on clothes. If sitting at home and playing video games is your priority, youll invest your money on the latest PlayStation. If traveling is your priority…well, you find where Im departing. You have to really want to travel. Just like you have to really want to break a bad dres or genuinely wishes to get in shape to supersede. If “youre going” it, youll figure out a acces to make it happen. Its as simple as that.

Start out small.

So perhaps you cant afford a ticket around the world just yet. The key thenis to think local.

Morrow mentions,

Try to take three long weekend expeditions this year. Boom, youre now a traveler. Wake up early one Saturday morning and drive a few hours to the nearest big city — devour a cuisine youve never hard-handed before( perhaps Malaysian) and keep walking a neighborhood like youre a neighbourhood. Boom, youre now a traveler.

Saward, who booked a one-way ticket from her dwelling on the Australian island of Tasmania to London in 2012 on the day of her college graduation and has been at it ever since, agrees.

She speaks,

It always surprises me how much enjoyable you can have by only making a short road excursion to the beach or trekking a nearby mountain. One of my favorite things to do is re-explore my home.

Be smart with your money.

Both Saward and Morrow have learned to apply expedition first when it comes to spending.

For Morrow, that means restraint how many times he dines out per month and manufacturing his own lunches every day.

For Saward, its ridding herself of properties she doesnt require, and locating free activities to do with friends.

She alleges,

Taking all your old invests and belongings to a weekend market is a great way to reach some quick currency, as is selling your gondola. Wreaking extra alters not only sets more money in the bank but too impedes you from spending money going out with sidekicks so often, and over time you realize there are plenty of free replacements like catching up with a acquaintance for a strength walk instead of spending money used to go for lunch.

Of course, both are also pros at being thrifty on the road when necessary.

Morrow shows leasing an Airbnb or trying out dwelling exchanges, Couchsurfing, and WWOOF-ing.

Saward is a fan of the app HotelQuickly , which labor kind of like Uber, but for last-minute hotels.

Both advocated grabbing providings at neighbourhood markets instead of dining out for every snack, and taking advantage of free walking tours. Morrow does,

Im a big devotee of Sandemans New Europe Tours. They render great free walking tours in a variety of European metropolis. I think its an awesome happening to do on your first day in town.

Morrow also recommends the book How To Trip The World On $50 A Day by Matt Kepnes, and Saward wrote a upright titled “50 Space I Saved( A Lot) Of Money To Trip The World”on her blog.

Do your research, but be flexible.

Saward isa visual person who starts projecting a potential trip-up as soon as a photo catches her eye.

Morrow has a directory of ends a mile long, but he speaks its important to be flexible.

Be is accessible to what moves your way naturally. If a pal asks you to travel to a destination youve never daydreamed about, consider exiting! Or if you hear about a concerted effort or a celebration that piques your interest, bulge that end up on your schedule so you wont miss it.

It can also be helpful to plan your journeys based on the time of year( Is it rainy season in August? Will it be packed with tourists in June ?), Morrow suggests, and dont keep forgetting current exchange rates.

Ive been to Europe when the Euro is killing the U s dollars, and Ive been in Europe when the Dollar and Euro are on equivalence. Its much, much more fun to make( to Europe or anywhere) when you can stimulate your fund go further.

Dont be afraid to travel alone.

Working around your own planned is hard enough, which is why many of “the worlds” top jaunt bloggers, Saward and Morrow included, often roam alone.

Saward says hugging the no commitments stage of their own lives realise it easier to jump right in.

She adds,

It pressured me to rely only on myself, which is a really humbling knowledge, just knowing that if your entire world was taken away from you, you could make it on your own.

Morrow remembers how he was scared shitless on the plane to Nepal alone at age 18.

But let me tell you, when you return home, youll be confidently swaggering through international airports high-fiving strangers( or at the least thats how youll look ). Are well aware that you may be scared now, and thats normal, but youll be very proud of yourself for doing it. Derive confidence from knowing that traveling alone realise you a badass. Thoughts about those people sitting at home, afraid to go out and suffer “the worlds”. Do you really want to be one of those people? No!

Both travelers agree that the world isnt as creepy as it looks on TV.

Morrow tells,

In general, beings are route more category and good natured than the mainstream media would have you believe. Be street smart, be informed about, be informed, but dont be scared. Oh yeah, and dont be afraid to strike up a communication with beings at your inn/ hostel, at a bar, or on the street. If it gets weird, who attends, youll never attend them again.

Do it right while youre young.

Whatever stage in life you get bitten by the travel defect, own it! But the earlier “youre starting”, the easier it to be able to reap the benefits.

For Saward, who recommends everyone obligate Southeast Asia, South America and a Eurotrip priorities in their twenties, traveling young mean becoming more self-confident in herself.

I became a person I actually like to be around. Before advance I cared too much about what others thought of me and didn’t just knowing that I did and didn’t like( because I wasn’t intrepid enough to try anything new ).

Morrow points out that a well-traveled resume sees you a better being on paper and off.

He reads,

Aside from realizing you a lane more interesting party at parties, traveling while youre young can really change the rest of their own lives. Traveling builds you kinder, more understanding, more patient, more self sufficient — certainly potential benefits are interminable. And its not mentioned often, but the experiences had and sciences acquired from traveling while youre young, especially for longer periods of time or in places that one might consider challenging, can really be selling items in a job interview.

He proposes three types of tours for millennial travelers to kick off your 2016 bucket index TAGEND

1. Lead somewhere as geographically far from being, and as culturally differences between, your residence as you can. And if you can, stay here for as long as possible. A few illustrations would be places like India, Nepal or Japan.

2. Travel in your “countries “. Its easy to be seduced by beautiful photos to foreign targets, but its important be informed about the two countries you call dwelling and the ones who inhabit it. America is utterly gargantuan, and diverse, and beautiful. Take a superhighway trip-up, clique, visit national parks. Visit out of the lane homes. Eat at diners. Talk to the waitress. Youll be surprised that exactly inspecting different parts of American can provide a foreign experience.

3. Party! Drink vodka in Russia, defendant on a beach in Greece, go to a nightclub in Eastern Europe. Attend Carnival in Brazil. Hangovers simply get worse as you get older, so do your party traveling now!

Well, what are you waiting for ?!

Are in favour of Elite Dailys official newsletter, The Edge, for more narrations you dont want to miss .

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

A Time Of Undertaking: 6 Styles To Become A Badass World Traveler In 2016

As 2015 comes to a open, its normal to get romantic and start looking back on the memories constructed over the past year.

Every year has its ups and downs, and some are more fateful than others.

But as I began to think about my 26 th year and the ones before it, I realized for me, theres one fool-proof lane to stir recalls that will stand out in my mind forever, and that mode is to travel.

Get your priorities in order.

Whether its limited vacation eras or a lack of funds, its easy to make excuses when it comes to travel.

He responds,

Start out small.

So perhaps you cant afford a ticket around the world just yet. The key thenis to think local.

Morrow mentions,

Saward, who booked a one-way ticket from her dwelling on the Australian island of Tasmania to London in 2012 on the day of her college graduation and has been at it ever since, agrees.

She speaks,

It always surprises me how much enjoyable you can have by only making a short road excursion to the beach or trekking a nearby mountain. One of my favorite things to do is re-explore my home.

Be smart with your money.

Both Saward and Morrow have learned to apply expedition first when it comes to spending.

For Morrow, that means restraint how many times he dines out per month and manufacturing his own lunches every day.

For Saward, its ridding herself of properties she doesnt require, and locating free activities to do with friends.

She alleges,

Of course, both are also pros at being thrifty on the road when necessary.

Morrow shows leasing an Airbnb or trying out dwelling exchanges, Couchsurfing, and WWOOF-ing.

Saward is a fan of the app HotelQuickly , which labor kind of like Uber, but for last-minute hotels.

Both advocated grabbing providings at neighbourhood markets instead of dining out for every snack, and taking advantage of free walking tours. Morrow does,

Im a big devotee of Sandemans New Europe Tours. They render great free walking tours in a variety of European metropolis. I think its an awesome happening to do on your first day in town.

Morrow also recommends the book How To Trip The World On $50 A Day by Matt Kepnes, and Saward wrote a upright titled “50 Space I Saved( A Lot) Of Money To Trip The World”on her blog.

Do your research, but be flexible.

Saward isa visual person who starts projecting a potential trip-up as soon as a photo catches her eye.

Morrow has a directory of ends a mile long, but he speaks its important to be flexible.

Dont be afraid to travel alone.

Working around your own planned is hard enough, which is why many of “the worlds” top jaunt bloggers, Saward and Morrow included, often roam alone.

Saward says hugging the no commitments stage of their own lives realise it easier to jump right in.

She adds,

It pressured me to rely only on myself, which is a really humbling knowledge, just knowing that if your entire world was taken away from you, you could make it on your own.

Morrow remembers how he was scared shitless on the plane to Nepal alone at age 18.

Both travelers agree that the world isnt as creepy as it looks on TV.

Morrow tells,

Do it right while youre young.

Whatever stage in life you get bitten by the travel defect, own it! But the earlier “youre starting”, the easier it to be able to reap the benefits.

For Saward, who recommends everyone obligate Southeast Asia, South America and a Eurotrip priorities in their twenties, traveling young mean becoming more self-confident in herself.

Morrow points out that a well-traveled resume sees you a better being on paper and off.

He reads,

He proposes three types of tours for millennial travelers to kick off your 2016 bucket index TAGEND

Well, what are you waiting for ?!

Are in favour of Elite Dailys official newsletter, The Edge, for more narrations you dont want to miss .

The post A Time Of Undertaking: 6 Styles To Become A Badass World Traveler In 2016 appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

A Time Of Undertaking: 6 Styles To Become A Badass World Traveler In 2016

As 2015 comes to a open, its normal to get romantic and start looking back on the memories constructed over the past year.

Every year has its ups and downs, and some are more fateful than others.

But as I began to think about my 26 th year and the ones before it, I realized for me, theres one fool-proof lane to stir recalls that will stand out in my mind forever, and that mode is to travel.

Get your priorities in order.

Whether its limited vacation eras or a lack of funds, its easy to make excuses when it comes to travel.

He responds,

Start out small.

So perhaps you cant afford a ticket around the world just yet. The key thenis to think local.

Morrow mentions,

Saward, who booked a one-way ticket from her dwelling on the Australian island of Tasmania to London in 2012 on the day of her college graduation and has been at it ever since, agrees.

She speaks,

It always surprises me how much enjoyable you can have by only making a short road excursion to the beach or trekking a nearby mountain. One of my favorite things to do is re-explore my home.

Be smart with your money.

Both Saward and Morrow have learned to apply expedition first when it comes to spending.

For Morrow, that means restraint how many times he dines out per month and manufacturing his own lunches every day.

For Saward, its ridding herself of properties she doesnt require, and locating free activities to do with friends.

She alleges,

Of course, both are also pros at being thrifty on the road when necessary.

Morrow shows leasing an Airbnb or trying out dwelling exchanges, Couchsurfing, and WWOOF-ing.

Saward is a fan of the app HotelQuickly , which labor kind of like Uber, but for last-minute hotels.

Both advocated grabbing providings at neighbourhood markets instead of dining out for every snack, and taking advantage of free walking tours. Morrow does,

Im a big devotee of Sandemans New Europe Tours. They render great free walking tours in a variety of European metropolis. I think its an awesome happening to do on your first day in town.

Morrow also recommends the book How To Trip The World On $50 A Day by Matt Kepnes, and Saward wrote a upright titled “50 Space I Saved( A Lot) Of Money To Trip The World”on her blog.

Do your research, but be flexible.

Saward isa visual person who starts projecting a potential trip-up as soon as a photo catches her eye.

Morrow has a directory of ends a mile long, but he speaks its important to be flexible.

Dont be afraid to travel alone.

Working around your own planned is hard enough, which is why many of “the worlds” top jaunt bloggers, Saward and Morrow included, often roam alone.

Saward says hugging the no commitments stage of their own lives realise it easier to jump right in.

She adds,

It pressured me to rely only on myself, which is a really humbling knowledge, just knowing that if your entire world was taken away from you, you could make it on your own.

Morrow remembers how he was scared shitless on the plane to Nepal alone at age 18.

Both travelers agree that the world isnt as creepy as it looks on TV.

Morrow tells,

Do it right while youre young.

Whatever stage in life you get bitten by the travel defect, own it! But the earlier “youre starting”, the easier it to be able to reap the benefits.

For Saward, who recommends everyone obligate Southeast Asia, South America and a Eurotrip priorities in their twenties, traveling young mean becoming more self-confident in herself.

Morrow points out that a well-traveled resume sees you a better being on paper and off.

He reads,

He proposes three types of tours for millennial travelers to kick off your 2016 bucket index TAGEND

Well, what are you waiting for ?!

Are in favour of Elite Dailys official newsletter, The Edge, for more narrations you dont want to miss .

The post A Time Of Undertaking: 6 Styles To Become A Badass World Traveler In 2016 appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2r0N1Ap via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes