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dcnatural · 3 years

Text

Soaking Wet

Word Count: 2189

Pairing: John Constantine x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: During a storm in London, you find cover in your ex-boyfriend’s apartment.

There were many things you loved about London, but the weather was definitely not one of them. There had been no sign of rain when you left your hotel room for an evening stroll, the sun shone brightly on the clear sky. Then, almost by magic, the clouds turned gray, the wind began to hurl, and a heavy rain started pouring down.

Puddles of water splashed under your feet as you ran through the streets desperate to find shelter. The icy rain pricked your skin like projectiles, the strong winds blowing it at fast speeds. Strands of wet hair clung together in front of your face, blocking your vision and no matter how many times you tried to tuck them behind your ear, they fell off again.

Being mostly a residential area, there were no stores for you to seek shelter in and the open sidewalks offered no protection. By the time you finally found cover under the awning of a four-storey brick building, even your socks were drenched. Although the draped fabric prevented the water from falling directly above you, it did nothing to shield you from the gusts of wind and the droplets of rain it brought along.

You hugged your coat tightly around your body in an attempt to keep yourself warm. You hadn’t dressed for the weather, your clothes weren’t thick enough to act as an efficient barrier from the cold. Not even your cardigan seemed to do anything against the rapidly dropping temperature.

You considered walking into the building instead of simply hiding in front of it. The wooden door, however, was locked and without a key, you found yourself stuck where you were. Your battery had run out and, as such, you couldn’t even call yourself an Uber.

When you first heard his voice calling your name, you assumed that you had simply drifted off and were dreaming - no, if he was in it, then it must be a nightmare. But then he called again, each syllable coated heavily in his british accent, and you are pulled out of your musings.

Water beads clung to your eyelashes blurring your vision and you had to squint to see better, but there was no denying that it was actually him. His dirty blond hair was a disheveled mess on top of his head and his trademark trench coat flowed ever-so-gently behind him. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, which were slightly curled into a smirk.

“John Constantine,” you replied in a mist of distrust and awe. It had been so long since your mouth had last formed those words that your muscles seemed to fight against it, as if trying to remind you what had happened the last time you did so.

He took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out, encircling the two of you in a grayish smoke and you coughed. “That’s me, luv.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he stated, grabbing a pair of keys from his pockets and rattling them in front of you, the tiny metal pieces clinking against one another.

Your mouth opened in a silent “oh”. Of course that, out of all the apartment buildings in London, you would end up stranded underneath his. The wind picked up and a chilling breeze blew across you, causing you to shiver.

“How ‘bout you?” he continued, “Are you stalking me? ‘Cause it would have been easier if you just called.”

You roll your eyes at his insinuation. “Oh please, as if I’d want anything to do with you again. I was just walking and got lost. And then this damned storm started.” As if prompted by your words, a lightning struck the sky, followed closely by the deafening sound of a thunder and you jolted in surprise.

Constantine chuckled and you furrowed your brows. “It’s not funny!” you groaned. “It’s freezing out here and I’m soaking wet!”

He raised an eyebrow but before he could make a sound, you were at it again. “Don’t even start. You know what I meant.”

“I don’t think I do, luv. Why don’t you show me how wet you are?”

You couldn’t believe his audacity. Making jokes and flirting when the last time you spoke to him he had acted like a complete bastard. Not to mention that you were clearly in distress. “Fuck. Off.” you replied harshly, crossing your arms and turning away from him.

“I can’t leave you out here to freeze to death, it would weigh heavy on my conscience.”

“Since when do you have one?” you bickered.

“Do you wanna come inside or not?" he continued as if he hadn't heard your interruption. "I have some beers in the freezer and we could catch up while waiting for the storm to die out.”

You should’ve said no. But the cold was just too harsh and you could feel your toes going numb. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded.

"Fine. But that doesn't mean I forgive you or anything like that."

"Noted," he said, his smile widening a bit. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying something nasty about him. There was a huge list of unflattering adjectives you could call him, all of which would be true.

He unlocked the entrance and you rushed inside, immediately feeling better now that you were out of the wind's reach. John tried to make small talk as the two of you climbed the stairs up to his floor but you ignored his questions, dismissing most of them with a nod or a wave of hand.

His apartment wasn't the mess you expected. The small living room was tidy, there were no dishes on the kitchen sink and the floor wasn't littered with cigarette butts. It even smelled nice: lavender and blueberries, reminiscing of a warm summer day in the countryside.

You removed your muddy shoes and went inside. He turned on the heater and went to get the promised beers from the fridge. You sat on the carpet in front of the radiator and enjoyed the warmth. Constantine handed you an open bottle and you took it, shallowing half of it in one go, not minding the bitter taste.

Despite the heat, you were still pretty much chilled to the bone, your damp clothes preventing you from fully warming up. You coughed and shifted uncomfortably, hoping he didn’t notice your discomfort. Nor the increasingly damp patch that was forming underneath you in the carpet.

"You should take off your clothes", John suggested casually as he studied you.

You almost choked on your drink. "Excuse me?"

"You are dripping everywhere", he took the now empty bottle from your hand, "and they say that you should never stay in wet clothes when trying to warm up. Do you wanna take a warm shower? I can lend you something to wear."

You squinted. You simply weren’t used to him being this… kind? Prestative? You didn’t even know what to call it. And once more, instead of declining his offer like any sane human being, you said yes.

He led you down the hallway to his bedroom, with its walls covered in posters of classic punk rock bands and sorcery books scattered around the floor, and to the annexed bathroom.

“I’ll leave a change of clothes on the bed for you,” he said before closing the bathroom door.

You locked the door, checking twice to ensure it couldn’t be open, and waited until you heard him move to the hallway before undressing. The shower was hot and you welcomed the scalding water, letting it run down your body and wash the cold away. You tried not to think of how his soap smelled like him - citric and earthy; as long as you had known John, he had always used the exact same brand of soap - and how you would smell like him afterwards.

Despite that, you couldn’t deny that it was pleasant to have a shower, and when you were done, you already felt better. Careful to keep your back to the door, just in case his intentions were less chivalrous than he was letting out, you picked the white button-up shirt he had separated for you and got dressed. It was clearly an old, worn-out piece and you could see the markings of cigarette burns and of the places where the fabric had been thorn in combat and had been sewn back together. The garment was too big for your lithe frame, the hem hung just above your knees and the sleeves covered completely your hands, forcing you to roll them up in order to use your hands. He had left a pair of black pants but, given your lack of underwear, you chose not to put them on, the shirt did more than enough to cover your private parts. You pulled your hair in a loose bun to get the wet strands out of your neck and, after a quick glance at the mirror to ensure you were decent, walked back to the living room.

Constantine was slouched on the couch, watching television with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He smiled as you crossed the doorway and his gaze drifted over your body, lingering just a second too long on your cleavage and making you blush. He scooted to the end of the couch and patted the empty space besides him and, seeing no harm in it, you slumped against the cushions.

“Feeling better?”, he asked, passing the bottle to you, which you gladly took.

“I hate to say it, but you were right, everything feels better after a shower.”

On the screen, a man jumped from a helicopter while bombs exploded in the background, and despite not having seen the beginning of the movie, and although you weren’t exactly paying attention, you soon got the hang of the plot. Indeed, John’s presence on your side was quite disconcerting, and throughout the movie, as the bottle emptied out, you found yourself inching closer and closer to him, until your legs were touching.

As the action came to a climax and the hero saved his beloved, you felt Constantine’s hand sliding over your leg, fingers drawing little circles on your skin that sent goosebumps to your core.

“John,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch and sighing as he ventured further upward and his calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh.

“That’s right, luv, say my name,” his words were soft as he whispered them into your ear.

You shook your head. “No, we can’t.” You tried to shove him off, but didn’t put any real strength in it. You knew it was wrong, but his touch was just so good, and it felt so right.

Ignoring your plea, his free hand began to open the buttons of the shirt to expose your breasts. “Can’t or won’t ?”

You lost any ability to form cohesive sentences when his lips closed around your peaked nipple, nibbling at the raised nub. His tongue swirled over your breast and you found yourself gripping tightly at his dirty blond hair to keep him from pulling away.

While he continued to place kisses on your chest, his other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers dangerously close to your already dripping folds. He teased you, scraping his nails where he knew your skin to be the most sensitive until you were squirming under him, basically begging him to give you the relief you craved.

He detached his mouth from your body with an audible pop. “Tell me, still think we can’t?”

You rolled your eyes. “You win. Just-” Your sentence was cut short as he abruptly kissed you and, wrapping an arm around your waist, picked you up from the couch and carried your body to the bedroom.

You giggled as he laid you onto the bed, legs wide open and back propped up against pillows. His eyes were locked with yours as he spread your lower lips apart and dragged his tongue lazily over your entrance. Your hips jerked forward when he made contact with your clit and you moaned as he began to flick his tongue against it. He knew how to get you all worked up, kissing, biting and sucking on the right places to send your mind into heaven. Or perhaps hell.

Praises and profanities rolled out of your tongue as the pleasure built inside of you. Your nails scratched his shoulders leaving red trails of blood behind, urging him to continue. Dark spots formed on your vision as you reached your peak, back arching over the mattress and a lewd scream leaving your mouth.

He laid on your side, a wide grin plastered on his face. “It’s still storming outside, perhaps it would be better for you to spend the night. Just to be safe, you know,” he added with a mischievous wink.

“Shut up,” you replied, leaning over to kiss him, the taste of you still on his lips. “Just tonight. And only because it is freezing out there.”

He nodded half-heartedly and draped an arm around you, pulling you against him. “Sure. Someone has got to keep you warm.”

#John Constantine #constantine imagine #constantine x reader #john constantine x you #john constantine x reader #legends of tomorrow imagine #reader #Smut #dc #dc imagine

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vanmccannonlyfans · 3 years

Text

Cocoon

part i.

But in hell, there was relief in the utter helplessness. Here, your actions had both consequences for yourself, and others. You weren’t sure which was worse.

“How do you have so many of these?!”

Alicia had 10s of boxes of tests in her suitcase, as if they were hotel shampoo bottles or restaurant breath mints. The pink floral branding stuck out against the sea of black leather and denim that comprised her wardrobe.

“Get em in bulk on amazon, cheaper that way and saves me a trip to the store.” As if bulk buying pregnancy tests was as casual as ordering toothpaste or tampons.

You moved to the bathroom to take the test, stepping over used towels strewn across the floor. You were glad you were doing this in a place so impersonal, however uncomfortable. Whatever the outcome, good or bad, you would be able to leave without any memories tainting the space, never to return and have to relive the feeling. If this was your bathroom at home, you’d be reminded every time you had to go.

Alicia camped in front of the mirror, smacking her lips together after every layer of strawberry gloss, the wand alternating between tracing her plump lips and pumping the tube for more product. Leaning against the fake granite hotel counter, she fussed with her raven black bangs and adjusted her top.

“Is it ready yet?” She asked, without averting her eyes from their own contact, her lips now more reflective than the mirror.

“I can’t look..” The room was twisting more than your stomach as you picked up the test, double vision making it impossible to count the number of lines.

Was there just one? Two? How dark does the second one have to be?

“Does this look positive to you?”

Alicia cocked her head at the test, brow furrowed.

“The second line is faint...but it’s there.”

“Fuck,” You exhaled as you fell against the wall, exasperated.

“Didn’t you always want to be parents?”

“Well yes, but...not so soon. We don’t even have a place to live...”

Life on the road was hollow and lonely, even with your best friends. Playing shows every night to strangers who saw you as enigmas, then returning to cold hotel rooms to sleep until the having to get back on the bus or plane for the next event, repeat ad infinitum until you had crossed off a laundry list of places you had stepped foot in but not actually experienced. It all seemed so fun and exciting until you realized that you didn’t know anyone anywhere and were too tired to do things even on days off, and ended up just sleeping the day away and ordering in pizza. It wasn’t a viable situation for raising a child, and hardly sustainable for an otherwise healthy adult.

You laid on the scratchy quilted comforter, each tick of the clock intensifying your anxiety, like a bomb about to detonate. Every second brought you closer to confronting a situation that felt neither fully real nor fantasy. Like your whole world depended on what he would think.

The beep of the key card brought you back down to earth from the peaks of your existential dread. You couldn’t wait to be held, comforted, told it was going to be alright, even if neither of you had any idea what to do. His touch was a balm to your aching soul, one that no antidepressant could rival.

Van entered without a word.

“Baby?” You called to him, as if he couldn’t see you.

He remained silent, dropping his guitar case on the ground. After what felt like eons, he looked up toward the window behind you, as if you were invisible.

“I think you should go.” His eyes were sallow, skin dehydrated from all the smokes and shitty fast food and beers every night.

“What?” The single word came out like a croak, your voice evading you. First you couldn’t be seen, now you could hardly be heard, as if you were dissolving from material reality. As if only his acknowledgement made you real. “Van--”

“No,” He cut you off, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, the other on his hip, swiveling him towards the wall. His adams apple rose and fell without a word, bobbing like a buoy on a choppy sea.

“I don’t want to fight about this. I just want you to leave.” He looked down, running a hand through his hair before tucking it under his armpit as if he were chilled.

You were in disbelief. The same man who had invited you to accompany him across the world was discarding you as easily as you had tossed the test that said you were carrying his child into the bin.

“But Van--”

“JUST GO!” He belted, shaking the room with his volume. You had never heard him yell like that, hardly had ever seen him genuinely angry.

You struggled to catch your breath, hot tears erupting from your eyes.

“--I’m pregnant.”

There was a loud crack as Van’s phone hit the wall, leaving a mark.

“STOP LYING!” He thundered, grabbing your shoulders.

He was finally looking into your eyes. His were red and glassy and you could smell the last cigarette on his skin, so much so that you found yourself on the floor throwing up, then running to your suitcase like a wounded animal, then in the brass elevator, then out the lobby and into the street. You weren’t sure where you were going or how you would get there, just that you wanted to be gone.

When your legs finally collapsed from exhaustion, you found yourself out of breath in front of a bodega, simultaneously sweating and shivering from the physical and emotional trauma. You went in to buy a bottle of water and drank it in greedy gulps while scrolling on your phone to take your mind off of your predicament. At the top of your inbox was a flight confirmation, forwarded from the band’s manager. It was a plane ticket back home.

The sterile, unfriendly design of airports had always thrilled you. They were an exciting gateway to a new place in the wide world you hadn’t explored much of. You had never even been on a plane before Van had toured outside of the UK. The complete lack of rules and disregard for conventional social norms enchanted you; how strange a place to have bars open at 6am next to designer shops and restaurants more expensive than you had ever eaten in. Van would order bailey’s in your coffee while he had a morning beer, before sneaking tipsy kisses in cheap seats at 42,000 feet.

Now the airport felt like a portal to hell, sucking you back to the place you had escaped from.

You hadn’t told anyone you were coming home, or that you had broken up, or...anything. You hadn’t spoken a word to anyone besides the cab driver who asked which terminal to drop you off at. You weren’t sure who you would tell first, what you would say. If you opened your mouth, nothing would come out. Except maybe some incoherent stuttering and word salad, which fit how you felt inside--both numb and acerbic, cold to the touch but teeming with a pain so primal and acrid it could kill a horse. The water in your stomach felt like it was curdling, and you hoped you could make it through the flight without throwing up.

The cab dropped you off on the corner of your parent’s property where the guest house loomed, hardly visible through the gloaming. You fumbled with the key, hoping it hadn’t been changed since the last time. The door rattled open to dusty furniture and soupy air; musty and untouched as if it had been abandoned. You and Van used to sneak in here in for quickies and hold clandestine parties, lighting candles instead of turning on lights to not tip off your parents that you were present. The stain from when someone dropped a bottle of whiskey still marred the floorboards, and you wondered if anyone had been in here since you left.

You had hardly surveilled the place before the door snapped open behind you.

“Fuck, you scared me!” It was your brother, shaking the dew from his trainers. “Why are you back? I thought you would be gone until next year, at least.” You sucked in the thick air, scanning the room for alibis. Stretching the last few moments before you had the acknowledge that you now walked the earth all by yourself.

“Oh, you know. Just felt homesick.”

Your brother respected your lie, letting it dissipate in the stale air like the smoke from a snuffed wick.

“I never liked him, anyway”

Your parents were happy, albeit a bit startled, to see you. They had converted your room to an office and all of your old things from high school, like notes from Van and old chemistry notebooks, were collecting dust in the attic. It was good to have the guest house to yourself, to be miserable in peace without the lingering tension of having to acknowledge the reason for your return, or to have anyone ask why you were throwing up so much and sleeping for 14 hours at a time.

Your dreams were so deep and lifelike that you had trouble discerning reality from fiction in your own memory; your nightmares even worse. Once you dreamt that Van had come into the guest house bedroom with a cup of tea asking how you’d slept, how his baby was doing. When your eyes had burst open, you were cold and alone. Anguish gripped your stomach, forcing it’s contents up your throat then down onto the floor.

Other times the dreams were of him fucking you. Most nights it was just replays of your breakup, repeating every time you fell back asleep after being jerked awake from the sheer horror of that moment, worse than any organic monster ridden nightmare you had ever had. Each iteration more fresh than the last, as if someone was rewinding it over and over again on a cassette tape, starting at a high pitched blur then ending only when you could feel his hot breath ghost across your face.

Some days you woke up so paralyzed by your grief you wondered if you were in hell. Each moment was unbearably painful and eternal, the mere act of breathing felt sisyphean. But in hell, there was relief in the utter helplessness. Here, your actions had both consequences for yourself, and others. You weren’t sure which was worse.

The clinic was on the outskirts of town, far enough away you weren’t likely to run into anyone unless they were there for the same reason. The ultrasound tech didn’t make eye contact a single time, snapping her gum as she dispensed the chilly ultrasound gel in a single deft shake.

Your chest tightened when you heard the heartbeat for the first time, eyes prickling with tears. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump ticking through the monitor flooded your heart with a profound sense of relief.

Finally, something that was yours.

Tour stretched on, every night sold out. Press junkets, radio shows, interviews, and photoshoots were plastered all over social media, news papers, television, even the bus station adverts and shop bathroom posters. You quickly learned not to check your phone outside of calls and avoided the media. It was easy when you hardly had the energy to lift your head in the first place. Isolation was easier than breathing, and a lot less painful.

You had learned the hard way when you had tried reading the paper each day. You could leaf through mindlessly, until page 6 which always featured a half page spread of Van and a nameless girl, all uniquely the same. They always took similar form, as if made in a factory by formula: tight jeans and low cut blouses, cakefaced and bottle blonde; each one skinner, prettier, and younger than the last. Some looked like they had school the next day. You stopped reading the paper.

When you told your family you were pregnant, your mother cried--whether out of shock or happiness, you weren’t sure. Your brother punched a hole in the wall, then went outside to smoke. Your father just sighed--a long, deep sigh that validated his disappointment in your circumstances and choices. His reaction was the most heartbreaking.

Unlike your mother’s reaction, you knew unequivocally that his was one of disappointment. You were supposed to go to uni, maybe Oxbridge or a fancy American school or even elsewhere in Europe where you could learn a new language and lounge on picnic blankets in the sun with a bottle of wine and fancy cheese while mulling over your Literature seminar readings. You were supposed to be interesting and clever and successful and far away from here. Instead you were back where you had started, some wash up’s discards, nothing to show for it except a new dependent on your taxes.

Your brother followed you back to the guest house, determined to argue as ever. He was a man of few words until he was upset, and then every word cut like broken glass.

“Are you sure you want to keep it? It isn’t too late for you to finish up and go to uni.”

You had almost forgotten that you basically dropped out to follow Van on tour.

You had told your family that it would just be a couple stops, then you never came home. Until now.

One day your mother phoned in a rage after receiving a letter from the school that you had been expelled on the grounds of truancy. You remembered you told her you were turning in your work remotely—an obvious, bold faced lie.

Your relationship with Van had changed you from a studious rule follower to a fool, lucky in love, dropping out of high school to accompany someone else building their dream. Loving Van was like climbing a tree, higher and higher with no thought of how you would get down. But now you were flat on your ass, with another between your legs.

Your personality change had sparked concern in your friends in family, allegeding that you were “not that type of girl” to abandon everything for a man.

“I’m not really sure what type of girl I am,” was your only response.

After all,how could you know who you were meant to be when you were so young? Being with Van, being Van’s, was fun and exciting in a way you had never experienced. You’d never really dated, and didn’t have a lot of friends outside your brother’s friends, which was how you met Van. He was always nearby, goofing around and causing trouble.

Your earliest memories of Van were of riding bikes through town, collapsing in the cool grass when your legs turned to jelly and you could hardly peddle anymore. Van would blow dandelion seeds in your face while you giggled and rolled away from him. All of the hours spent under the gushing lemony sunshine ended in grass stained knees and freckled cheeks that lingered long after the popsicle drippings had been washed from your fingers.

That was the beginning--the familiarity; the quintessential bedrock of love that matures as you do, which each outgrown shoe and lost tooth. The type of childlike innocence entwined with companionship that warms your stomach just to think of, having had such a pure memory to call your own; an endless syrupy summer’s day that no one can take away from you.

As you grew and changed from girls and boys to women and men, your love morphed right along with it. There were many long stretches of time you hadn’t seen him at all, either from busyness with school or a row with your brother. But whenever you saw him again, that warmth returned right back to you, starting in your stomach and burning up to your sternum, bright and effervescent.

Your relationship mutated from platonic to romantic one night at a house party. Alcohol was still a novelty to you and two bottles of beer was your limit. You and Van were sitting together on a couch, the dim room filled with your other friends, illuminated only by fairy lights and the occasional flicker of a lighter. Van was telling ridiculous stories all while gesticulating wildly, each one making you laugh harder than the last. The combination of the alcohol and throwing your head back with laughter so many times had made you feel like you were on a rollercoaster, vertiginous and bubbly.

As if you hadn’t had enough, you got up to get another drink and fell back down onto the couch--except you missed your original spot by several inches and landed squarely on Van’s lap. You laughed out loud at your clumsiness. If you were sober you would have been so embarrassed! But your lowered inhibitions helped you see the humor in the situation. The room was aglow and the world was still big; the energy of youth electrifying the room.

Van instinctively placed a hand on the small of your back to steady you, and quickly jerked it up towards your shoulders as to not make you feel uncomfortable. A twinge of excitement seared in your stomach. You had never really touched before, and this felt nice in the most unexpected of ways--as if you had found something you didn’t know you were looking for.

You studied Van’s face, having never been so close to it. The perfect slope of his nose, the confetti of reddish freckles across high cheekbones, the pink pillowy lips that outfitted his wide mouth.

He must have been staring at your lips, too, because they clashed together as if drawn by magnet. There was no saying who kissed who as your heads met, puckering together needily. You wrapped your hand arms around him, leaning into his warm body so that your heads were resting on the couch, lips married together. His mouth tasted sweet like fairy floss, the room spinning like a carousel. You weren’t sure how long you made out for, but it felt like you were alone in the room full of people, coiled in the sweetest embrace that made time stand still. When you finally came up for air Van was grinning like he knew something you didn’t, gingerly tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I hope your brother didn’t see that,” he joked, making you blush.

You didn’t remember much of how the rest of the night went or how you ended up in your own bed the next morning, but the mere thought of having kissed Van so publicly both thrilled and mortified you. Surely people would talk--or were they all too drunk to notice? Did this mean he fancied you, or was it alcohol fueled happenstance?

At school the next week you heard his voice echoing in the halls, and turned to see him hanging on another girl while fraternizing with a group students the same year as Van and your brother. He tickled and teased her before hugging her from behind, then kissing her cheek with fervor. White hot shame flared inside you, ruddying your cheeks. You hurried home in a daze, scolding yourself for being so naive. He was a flirt and you were a fucking idiot for allowing yourself to be involved with someone like that--your brother’s friend, no less.

But the next weekend the same booze soaked gathering reoccurred, this time with more warm bodies packed into a smaller room. You sipped from a can while exchanging small talk with a girl from your chemistry class, wondering if you should leave or have another drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Van had arrived with the same girl from earlier, making a scene as he greeted his friends.

You decided to have another drink.

Cracking open a fresh can, you turned away hoping Van wouldn’t notice you. You smiled and nodded while your classmate blathered on, not registering a single word she said, unable to concentrate on anything other the imaginary tension in your head. The slick condensation beading on the aluminum can was your only anchor to reality as your body flushed from the discomfiture as much as the humidity. Though you hated to admit it, you wanted to be the girl next to him. Instead you slurped more beer, hoping to reach a level of inebriation where someone else started looking better.

Eventually the heat of the room became too suffocating to bear, and you excused yourself for a smoke. The noise of the party was barely a low thrum from the cement patio, despite being eight feet away. You sat on the very edge of the pavement, stretching your legs out into the dewy grass. The damp chill grounded you, your heart rate descending as you exhaled into the ether. The stars scrambled against the inky sky, floating in and out of focus as your nerves melted away with each crisp breeze. You were more drunk than you thought, but it felt nice out here where you weren’t being choked by calefaction and confronted with Van with the other girl.

The first drag of your cigarette was interrupted by a body shuffling next to yours, thumping down beside you on the cement.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here by yourself?” It was Van.

You scanned over the back of your shoulder to see if the girl was around you. She was not.

“I’m alright,” you sighed, tapping the ash from your cigarette onto the curb.

Van wrapped his arms around his crossed legs, shaking his hair out. From under his fringe, his eyes searching your face for clues to decode your expression.

You exhaled the smoke so at least there would be something between you to shield you from his intent gaze. The chirp of crickets in the distance filled the silence. Snuffing the butt out on the cement, you got up to leave without a word. Van grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

His expression nearly broke you, wide eyes begging for an explanation, confused as it was hurt. Letting out a deep sigh, you weighed your options: stay with him and exchange meaningless platitudes or leave. Leaving seemed like the better choice.

“I’m going home.”

Van sprang up. “You shouldn’t go alone this time of night after drinking. I’ll walk you home.”

Secretly, you loved the initiative he was taking. He wasn’t asking, he was announcing. This type of attention and caretaking were foreign to you, even as the kid sister and tagalong. No one ever fussed over you. Even though Van was known for being sweet to everyone, you were pleased as punch he was fussing over you.

Dark was the night as you trudged home, guided only by the flaxen incandescence of streetlamps and drunken intuition. For a long time neither of you spoke, reveling in the quietude of the sleepy town in the dead of night.

Van broke the silence. “So how’ve you been?”

“Same as it ever was,” you sighed, still uncomfortable with the hidden motive of his small talk. “Is your girlfriend gonna be upset that you’re walking me home?” Van laughed to himself, even though it wasn’t a joke. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Only partially did those words alleviate the tension that had been badgering you all night. The alcohol poisoning your bloodstream was making you bold.

“So you just kiss all your friends like that,” You kicked a bottle down the road. Van’s head jerked up, turning towards you.

“Let me kiss you not as a friend then.” You stopped dead in your tracks. Of course he could be bolder than you. For the second time that night, you looked into his eyes and saw he was serious. You could feel yourself freezing in place like a deer in the headlights, but your bodies were being pulled together as if magnetized. Van grabbed your face as your lips married; exchanging greedy, hungry kisses. His arm migrated around your lower back, pulling you into him, subsuming your bodies as one. You kissed as if you couldn’t breath without the other’s air, desperate and smacking.

Even when your lips finally parted, your figures remained cocooned together. Your noses brushed at the tip, studying each other’s faces. Never had you seen Van so still and ruminative before. He brushed his thumb across your cheek before imparting a final kiss.

“How’s that for not friends?”

Soon Van was coming to your house to see you more than your brother and their friends. He would meet you in the hallway to exchange forbidden kisses, risking demerits and suspensions. Now instead of lurking on the outskirts at parties you were right next to him, the center of attention, with his arm wrapped around you.

You could tell your brother wasn’t comfortable with your arrangement, but he never said anything discouraging. You had never smiled so much in your life, and people sometimes didn’t recognize you next to him. You drank more and wore less. School began to feel like a prison, entrapping you 8 hours a day when you’d rather spend time with your sweetheart. Even in subjects you loved, you couldn’t focus. You tried to study while the band practiced, but you’d always get distracted by how cute Van was and his never ending questions about their creative direction. You started helping manage their shows, calling venues and arranging transport and making sure every piece was in its place.

Soon you were helping out so much that you were hardly home and rarely saw your other friends. As the band became more successful, you would occasionally skip school to accompany them to far off gigs and events, reveling both in the rebelliousness of playing hooky and the sheer delight of watching your favorite person achieve their dreams.

One of your favorite teachers had warned you against following Van, confronting you during office hours when you had dropped in to ask about an assignment. There was genuine concern in his expression, as if you were his own child that was making a stupid mistake.

“I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but you really should rethink your decision to leave. You could go to a great school and study whatever you wanted. You’re brilliant and clever and could charm the most stoic of souls. There are plenty of people in the world like Ryan, who will want to harness your energy to use for themselves. Don’t let them.”

You had thought he was just jealous, or perhaps had a tiny crush on you. You smiled at your past naivety. He was right. Your brother agreed.

“He picked you because you were hardworking and clever and too sweet to realize he was taking advantage of you! You were the best girl at that school and he fucking knew it. None of the girls like Alice or Nia would have lasted longer than a second with him! They would have crumbled from not being the center of attention, nor do they have a brain cell to show for it. He wanted someone to support him and do all of the hard work while he took credit for all of the glory. I mean, he didn’t even arrange you as a manager or assistant like Larry so you could get paid by the touring company!”

You hated when your brother was right, because it was a gut punch every time. He was a man of few words, but those choice words stung. You had organized much of the band’s earlier endeavors, like communication with agents and venues and examining contracts for faulty clauses and loopholes. The band was hardworking and talented, but still too hungry for success to make good judgements on their offerings. Without you, they surely would have fallen prey to a lecherous label under a contract that would have destroyed them.

“I know it wasn’t malicious, because he can’t pull his head out of his ass to think about anyone else. He surely knows you could achieve more without him, the thought just never occurred to him because it’s his world and the rest of us just live in it. And now you’re having his child in the town he abandoned while he’s living out his rockstar fantasies. Did he ever even call you to make sure you made it home, and the plane didn’t fucking explode with his unborn child on it? Does he even fucking know your pregnant? Does he even care?”

You turned away so that your brother wouldn’t see the hot tears in springing from your eyes.

“You can go now,” you mewed, hoping he would take the hint.

“If he sets foot in this town again, I’m going to fucking kill him.”

It was a promise.

#this is a wip but i wanted to post it bc it is both cringe AND fail #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #catb fic #catfish and the bottlemen fic #vanfic #van mccann #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction

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darkshadow90 · 4 years

Text

Break Out Arthur Fleck/Joker x reader One Shot

Summary: You’re visiting a friend in Arkham since she was checked in a few days ago. As you start to leave, everything goes south. Joker is on the loose, and with most of the security overwhelmed, you’re stuck hoping you can get out safely.

A/N: Hey, guys. This is my first one shot about Arthur in Arkham at the end of Joker. I’ve had a hard time with writing him based on that personality since the glimpse we get of him full Joker is so brief. But it’s better to give it a shot than not try at all, right? Arthur will probably be darker in this story than what most people are used to. But I know some of you have been looking forward to this story, too. This is also my first story with a reader pairing, so It’s probably not gonna be the best thing out there. The reader is female and so is her friend. The reader’s friend doesn’t have a name. It can be whatever you want. Also I use a mobile device, so I’m sorry there’s no word count, gifs, or photos, and that this doesn’t look as nice as stories other people have written. This is a lot easier for me. There will be some violence, but nothing too bad...hopefully. I’ll let you decide the reader’s fate at the end. I hope you like it 😊 The weekend had finally come after a grueling work week. One of your friends had been checked into Arkham due to stress and anxiety. She was dealing with a lot of stress at work, and was increasingly worried about bills and life in general. She called you earlier that week and told you she might be on the verge of a mental breakdown. For her safety, the two of you decided it would be best if she checked into Arkham. You had the weekend off, so you decided to go visit her. What you didn’t know was that it going to be one of the most intense days of your life.

You showered, and dressed yourself in a long sleeved shirt, a pair of jeans and a regular pair of shoes. It was nice to wear something more casual than the more formal dress shirts and heels you were required to wear to work. You finished getting ready, ate breakfast, and left your apartment. The bus ride to Arkham was relatively quiet. Gotham was usually very crowded, but on this particular Saturday, it wasn’t too loud or crowded. Maybe a lot of people took the weekend off. You couldn’t blame them. It seemed like everyone was spending every waking hour working, so if they needed a break, why fault them for it?

You finally made it to Arkham. The streets still looked dirty, and they were busy as usual. That hadn’t changed. You shook your head and kept going. You went inside to ask the receptionist which floor your friend was on. She told you she was on the fifth floor. You took the elevator. It stopped on the third floor the doors opened. Two men walked in. One of them was handcuffed, dressed in white scrubs. He must have been an inmate. The other man was standing behind him. He was a bit larger. He was an orderly.

The doors closed. The man in handcuffs was standing next to you. You got a better look at him. He had dark hair with bits of gray in it. He had gray stubble on his face. He was looking straight ahead, staring at the doors. He didn’t seem to notice you. You looked away. Something about him made you feel uneasy. You didn’t know what it was. Because of your small size, you learned to be especially careful of anyone who might seem like a threat. You were grateful the orderly was there with the two of you. The elevator finally came to your floor and the doors opened. You got out without looking at the two men. You didn’t want to draw attention to yourself, especially because the man in handcuffs was next to you. You felt like someone was watching you. Against your better judgement, you turned around. Sure enough, the man in handcuffs was staring at you, smiling. It wasn’t a friendly smile. His eyes were dark and cold. You felt chills go down your spine. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction he made you unsettled. “Don’t even think about it. Let’s go.” The man behind him said. He didn’t reply, he just kept staring at you until the doors closed. It was only a few seconds, but that brief moment felt like hours. ‘What was that guy’s problem? The cream definitely slid off his Oreo. What a weirdo,’ you thought.

You walked down the hall to your friend’s room. She told you she was feeling a lot better. They gave her some medication for anxiety and referred her to a therapist. She said she could go home in a few days. That made you feel so much better to know she was getting the help she needed. Plus, you didn’t want her anywhere near that weird guy. You told her about your unpleasant encounter with him. She said he was locked up on the maximum security floor. He was isolated from all the other inmates. Only authorized personnel were allowed on that floor. That was a relief. After you were sure she was going to be okay, you told her you would be back to pick her up in a few days. You went to use the bathroom.

When you came out, you heard a voice over the intercom. “Emergency! An inmate has escaped from the observation room on the maximum security floor! All inmates’ rooms will be securely locked until he is apprehended. Please remain calm.” The woman could barely keep herself calm. There you were, stuck in an empty hallway. Thankfully your friend was safe. But that also meant you couldn’t go back to her room and wait it out. ‘Shit what do I do? He could be anywhere.’ You didn’t waste any time. You ran down the hallway, back to the elevator. ‘Okay. Which would be the quickest way out of here? It will probably be too risky to wait for the elevator. On the other hand, that guy could already be taking the stairs.’ The lights dimmed. ‘Screw it. The stairs it is, then.’

You sprinted down each flight. You couldn’t blame people for taking the elevator with so many stairs to climb. It was exhausting, but you had to keep going. You finally made it. Now you just needed to get through a few more hallway doors, and you would be home free. At least, you hoped you were. You knew you were on the main floor, so the main entrance couldn’t be much further away, according to the directory. You took a moment to catch your breath. You were creeped out by the emptiness of the hallway. The dim lighting only made it worse. You swallowed your fear and continued down the hallway. You carefully looked around for any sign of him. So far, so good. The next hallway wasn’t as easy to get through. You turned through the corners. You thought you had made it. Until you saw him walking down the path in front of you. ‘Of course this would have to happen. I can’t go that way. If I do, he’ll see me. If he turns around he’ll see me. Shit.’ You looked to your right and saw a door. You made a run for it. It was unlocked and you went inside. It was an office. ‘That was close. I can hide in here until it’s over.’ There was a phone on the desk. Your anxiety skyrocketed as you heard footsteps from outside. You got down on your hands and knees and crawled to the desk. You hid underneath it. “Knock knock.” You thought your heart was going to explode. You didn’t say anything. If he didn’t find you right away, maybe he would leave. ‘Please, go away...please. Why me?’ You were taken out of your thoughts when you were suddenly pulled out from under the desk. You cried out and thrashed around as you were pulled against the man behind you. “Shhhh shhhh, little kitten,” he cooed. “You were the only visitor to come here, and today was the day I planned on getting out of here. Can’t have you calling the police and ruining it. I’m gonna need you to go to sleep for a little while.” That voice. You knew that voice. Of course you wouldn’t have recognized him without the red suit, clown makeup and green hair. “You wanna hear a joke?” He was the Joker, you couldn’t doubt it then. You were panicking even more. “This one is a killer. Knock knock.” You felt your stomach drop. “Who’s...who’s there?” “It’s me. Joker.” You didn’t have time to react. His grip around you tightened. “W...why?” Tears fell from your eyes, and everything went black.

#arthur fleck #joker fanfiction #joaquin phoenix joker #joker fandom #joker x reader #joker arthur fleck #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x reader

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romantic-witch · 5 years

Text

Next to Me // David [pt.1]

imagine: letting david go

part 2 is now available on my page!

inspired: next to me (imagine dragons)

where: as soon as you start to realize your feelings for david, you also realize david and liza still have feelings for each other. (well at least that’s what you thought)

warning: english is not my first language. please warn me if i have any grammar mistakes.

I couldn’t focus on any of my work. Zane’s vlog’s due date was two days from now but David said we were all invited to this CRAZY party so I was trying my best to finish it as soon as possible. But I know that was going to be impossible since I chose the wrong house to edit it. I was going to edit it in Alex and Dom’s place but then Alex said Dom had a girl over, and I thought I couldn’t bare listen the poor girl’s moan. But David doing crazy stunts was some other level shit. I didn’t want to go to my dorm as well since it’s literally an hour away from here. I was editing it in kitchen while all of the “fun” stuff was happening in the living room. It was Saturday night, tons of good films opened yesterday, all my friends are having a bonfire near the beach... I have zero clue on why am I here. I could just fucking leave and finish it tomorrow. I didn’t even want to go to the party, which was probably on USC and I am still bitter that they didn’t accept me. I looked up in the blank ceiling and thought “God, I don’t even know if you are up there, but can you just give me a clue on why I am here. I thought you were suppose to guide me through my problems.”

I sighed and grabbed my tiger milk boba tea. I took a big sip and edited the video to zoom in on Heath’s face. I put the boba to the right hand sight of my laptop and then David came in.

“Hi Pearl, I didn’t know you were here.”

He grabbed a Red Bull out of the fridge while I almost choked from the boba.

“Are you okay?”

I swallowed the boba and barely said “Yes.”

He came right next to me and asked: “Zane’s new video?”

His face was literally 3 or 4 inches away from my face, scrolling through the vlog with his left hand, while his right hand was holding the energy drink, his thumb was “wandering” around my back. He took a quick glance at me and then take a sip from the drink while getting back to his “normal” position.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” he asked.

“I don’t know David, I have shit ton of work to do and really can’t handle frat boys yelling “chunk” every five seconds.”

“We are not going to a frat party, it’s at Liza’s place.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, she’s heading New York to shoot some stuff for MTV and said she didn’t buy any tickets back to LA, so she’s throwing a one last party.”

“David, I really need to-”

“Come on it’s Liza’s last day and she never throws parties and her house is massive. Pleaseee.”

He started doing his puppy face, which I’ll admit, was too adorable.

“Okay, you dork, I’ll come.”

I got some decent clothes from my small suitcase in my car and realized these were the only clothes I bring with me to LA so I had to drive back to Long Beach if I need clothes for tomorrow. Great. I head to the only bathroom that didn’t smell like puke, put on a black blouse, wore a mini plaid black and white skirt to match my black converse. I was washing my hands when David opened the door.

“Oh, sorry. I thought no one came to this one.”

“Why do you think I came here?”

He bursted a classical David Dobrik laugh and handed me the towel. The second I grabbed the door handle he added:

“You look really nice by the way.”

I thanked him and got out of the bathroom with the other clothes I had, as quick as I can. I thought my heart was going to came out of my chest. The fact that David complementing me, this one wasn’t the first, only made it worse.

Only Alex, Matt and Heath were ready and chilling in the living room. Matt and I started to talk about Avengers: Endgame and after maybe 5 minutes David came to the living room. He wore a black and white striped shirt and black jeans. At least he wore something other than a black t-shirt. He looked casual and confident at the same time, which is probably one of his traits that made him have big dick energy.

"We are not gonna fit anyways, should we just go?" asked David.

All of the guys accepted it and right before David started the Tesla, Natalie came out of the door and hop on. David put the Tesla in the autopilot mode and start to vlog the guys while they were discussing whether we should turn around to wait the others or not. After two minutes of discussion we decide not to and head to Liza's place.

This was going to be my first time going to her house and I was nervous. Liza knows who I am but for some reason I get so anxious while talking to her.

Maybe it's because you like her ex you dumbass.

"Pearl!" I hear my name coming from Matt.

"I asked about that crazy theory of yours?"

"Oh, I think Scott is not the real one. He could not be able to get out of that microcell universe thing."

Matt than, desperately, added:

"Maybe it's Loki."

I smiled and suddenly catch eyes with David. He was looking at me with that half smile of his. He then immediately start to go through the footage in his camera. I turn back to Matt and start to analyze the trailer the third time today.

Liza’s house was huge. The second we get into “mansion” I spot three youtubers I used to adore as a middle schooler.

I said hi to Liza and agreed with her when she said:

“The Big Apple has been better than the Angels all this time.”

The party goes on with me talking to a bunch of people, including my childhood fave Tyler Oakley, but not even having a word with David. He mostly hang out with Liza, and I get it it’s her last day, but man just say hello to other guests as well. I was talking to James and when I said I came with David, his face went sister shook and said:

“David’s here?!”

He was all over Liza. She went to a other room once and David just stood there ‘till she came back. Literally just stood there and drink his beer. They were happy together, and I get it. It is hard to let go of those feelings. But man it’s almost been a year and a half since they broke up. I thought it’s been long gone by now and had a chance.

I feel even more selfish thinking these. Me ever having a shot with David? His heart belongs to Liza, literally everyone knows it. He might not admit it, but he deep down knows it as well.

Me, Natalie and James were sitting on the couch. It was almost 1 am and I needed some sleep.

“Natalie, do you know when are we going?”

“Uhm, you just missed Scott and Kristen. They headed back to the house. Our last option is David I guess.”

James immediately hopped in and said:

“Hello, I can take you back as well kitty girls.”

While Natalie tried to convince James not to, I got my phone and my wallet and said:

“I’m heading out for a walk.”

Well my intention was to walk to the nearest bus stop. For a student who is coming to LA every weekend had to know some of the busses here and there. And I knew 302 was passing two street away from the house so I was hoping to catch one of those.

It was almost 1 am and I was walking on my own in the hills. What was I thinking? With both making the decision to walk to the stop and come to Liza’s at the first place. I am probably going to get kidnapped. The map on my phone said I was almost there, just got to make a two minute walk, that’s all.

“Where are you going?” someone shouted from a far.

I was getting scared so I didn’t even look behind.

“Pearl!”

I stopped. I turn around to see David maybe 300 meters behind me.

I said: “I’m going back to Long Beach.”

He was getting closer to me.

“I mean- I am going to the house first, because my car is there, then I’m heading to Long Beach.”

He was coming closer and closer.

“I should’ve never come David. I hate to introduce myself as the editing girl, like why would you invite me anyw-”

David pressed his lips against mine. For just a split second I let myself enjoy the moment, his fluffy lips and his smell but like I said just a second. I stopped kissing him and looked him in the eyes.

“David you’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not. Test me.”

“Okay. How many fingers do you see?”

I put my middle finger up.

“Hahaha, very funny Pearl Manglona.”

I start to walk to the bus stop, again.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m serious. I’m not drunk.”

“David, I know you for almost four months now, I know you are not someone who hooks up with every girl you see, so I’m assuming you are drunk or maybe wasted. Like stage five of being drunk.”

“Is it too cliché to say you are not like every other girl?”

I just roll my eyes and continue to walk. I turned right and saw the bus I suppose to be right now, turning left and going to my destination. I sighed and sit on the edge of the sidewalk. David sat right next to me just a couple seconds later. I pulled my legs closer to my tummy while David sat cross-legged.

“Who are you David?

“Who am I?”

He was confused.

“Yeah, that’s what I asked.”

“I mean, I’m David Dobrik?”

“Who is in love with Liza Koshy.”

David opened his mouth pretty quickly but I also added:

“David, look me dead ass in the eye and tell me you are not in love with Liza, then I’ll consider believing you.”

He could’t.

“Those feelings don’t go away that easily, I understand. Just please think your actions a hundred times before doing it.”

Another 302 numbered bus was coming towards us. I get up, my eyes were starting to tear up.

“Because others might have going through the same shit as well.”

I hop on to the bus. The bus slowly passed David and the bus stop. I sat in the back of the bus and cried silently. I texted Zane that I’ll be finishing the video from Long Beach and put my phone to sleep mode. What a waste of a lovely night.

Follow me to access part 2 as soon as possible.

lots and lots of love <3

zayn :)

#david dobrik #david dobrik imagines #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik fanfic #david dobrik fanfiction #david dobrik one shot #david dobrik fluff #david dobrik x reader #vlog squad #vlog squad imagines #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad fanfic #vlog squad fanfiction #vlog squad one shot

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hiraethtae · 5 years

Text

I purple you not- PT 5: I am Fine

Previous Parts: Prologue, Pt1, Pt 2 (½), Pt 2 (2\2), Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5

ao3

Synopsys:

Kim Taehyung runs an army twitter and is much active in the fandom. He’s known by all the fandom by his internet alias Teaberry and yet none of ARMY know his gender, name or have ever seen his face and is a mystery persona who is known mostly for spreading positivity. What happens when He decides to take drastic measures by buying 300 BTS world tour tickets and giving them away to ARMY, as a move against the resllers?

by doing so, Taehyung aquires the attention of the the world and the boys he stans, while changing the meaning of ARMY altogether.

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

notes: IT TOOK ME 10 MONTHS TILL I COULD CONTINUE THIS STORY IM SORRY OMGOD WTF(cough) anyways!! Pt 5 is out!!

|_PT 5: I am Fine.

It's been several days since everything blew out of proportion and Taehyung was one hundred per cent done. Actually, he wasn't. He was more likely trying to convince himself to walk away before it got more out of hand then it is. Teaberry's account was flooded with messages and so were Taehyung's notifications. In the first time of his life, Taehyung put his phone on silent and started thinking maybe he bit off more than he could chew. He sat on the sofa in his black and white apartment and pressed his hands to each other. Breathing in deeply and then breathing out through his teeth, he raised his head and decided that he honestly could care less.

Or so he said. It’s not that Taehyung didn't care. It's just that he was feeling so much at once that he was overwhelmed and couldn't understand what he was feeling; only that he was on the verge of a panic attack. Taehyung's work phone decided to distract him at the right moment. A blinking notification lit up the dark screen; 2 NEW MAIL.

Taehyung picked up the device with cold fingers and slid it open. He had two letters he had not seen yet. One was from the Mama organizers who invited him each year to the yearly Mama awards, and the other from Holly. Taehyung decided that he could reply to the first mail later on. He never attended the Mama awards and Taehyung wasn’t planning on changing that habit. Holly's mail only had 2 words.

H a v e f u n.

And beneath it a single document of several fansign tickets and one ticket to a BTS concert.

Taehyung threw his phone against the wall and couldn't breathe.

|_8th of June

On the day of the fansign Taehyung considered running away to live in New Zealand and changing his name, living out his days in a hobbit home, farming out the rest of his life… he had it all figure out. Instead, he reacted as any normal human being who was in a stressful situation would react: Taehyung locked himself in his room and moped while trying to control his harsh breathing. His coping mechanism wasn't doing so well for him. Staring at the wall blankly for hours could make a man go mad. Unfortunately for Taehyung, he also had a habit of overthinking and that usually made it worse.

This morning Holly dragged him out of his covers and forced him to shave and wash up. She helped him dye his hair too. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles matching his yet the reasons for their exhaustion varied. She had been coming by each day, forcing him to get out and breathe some fresh air; to jog with her in the darker hours of the night when no one was around.

"You need to be alone right now but you also need to take care of yourself. So no people or crowd, er, except the fansign of course but a crowd of girls shouldn’t be a problem. But you have to get out of here." She worked at night when he slept, golden eyes rimmed with red.

It wasn't always this way. Taehyung was naturally cheerful. He found joy in the simplest things and the most ridiculous ideas. He used to love crowds, being in the centre of attention making everyone laugh and smile with him. He knew those parts of himself weren’t erased (considering his whole plan for fighting off the resellers) yet a part of him has withered away. It happened over the years. Taehyung lost his passion and instead, a faded polio photograph of him was left. The reason he was standing here was because of BTS. Vante and Teaberry exist because of BTS. It's time Taehyung brought them back he just wondered if he could do that.

"I don't understand why you never went to see them," Holly said while rummaging around in his closet.

"See who?"

"BTS? The group who basically because of them I'm your best friend?" She didn't turn around to see him shrug.

"I was busy."

Holly snorted and gave him an amused look. Her eyes were sharp and her teeth were bared in a smile Taehyung found chilling. She threw a bundle at clothes into his lap. "Liar."

Taehyung clutched a fist into the fabric and moved his gaze away from her. Her eyes, on the other hand, bore holes into his side profile.

"I think you were scared of what would happen when you see them for real."

Taehyung started tapping his foot on the carpeted floor. Holly closed the closet door with a loud click. Taehyung swallowed and looked up. Her hair was a shade of dark brown then. "I think you were scared you would realize it was all for nothing."

Years have passed since that conversation. Four years to be exact and the flame truly did die out. It was odd how their interactions involving his inner psyche almost always involved Holly rummaging in his closet. Today, she found this whole situation as a learning experience. She was crouched in his shoe closet like a red-headed gremlin, picking up and examining different pairs of expensive soles Taehyung has gathered over the years. Holly turned around and looked at his outfit, frowned, then proceeded to rummage again with a loud clatter, “I think it's time for you to go and make sure that flame burns bright again."

Taehyung shuffled in place, bare feet pushing into the soft carpet on his floor. His toes peaked beneath his slightly oversized pants and wiggled. "Why did it die out in the first place?"

"Honestly Tae, who’s the one who studied psychology in their free time? You know the answer to this better than I.” She huffed and threw a pair next to his peaking toes. Holly leaned her chin into her palm with raised brows. Taehyung stubbornly kept his mouth shut and stared in absolute fake fascination at the fake plant on his desk. Holly let the silence drag on for another minute before sighing and got to her feet. Taehyung closed the apartment door after her as his phone began to ring. Holly’s name appeared on his screen next to a purple heart and he didn’t offer a greeting as she continued where she left off, uttering his dreaded thoughts.”-I think in your attempt to preserve your passion from a distance-" Holly's voice echoed from his phone on loudspeaker while Taehyung started to make coffee very loudly as well as the sound of cars and wind as she walked on the street to get to her day job didn’t affect her volume. "-pushed you away from the original feeling that made you go 'This is what I want to do. This is what I want to share with the world.' And as a result, your subconscious burned the flame out by itself."

"I always knew I was self-destructive," Taehyung said wryly and gagged on the bitter taste of his drink. He decided to make tea instead.

Holly laughed in a hollow way while a bus horn echoed in the empty apartment. Her voice crackling through the phone she said, "Aren't we all?"

Taehyung picked up his phone that had seen better days and wandered into the bathroom. His eyes weren't rimmed with red like before and his eye bags had mostly disappeared. His hair was dyed a dark black which grew out into a tiny mullet behind his ears. His cheeks looked fuller and healthier. He stopped biting his lips last weeks and they weren't bleeding any more. Taehyung looked healthier then he was for a while and it made him feel that on the inside he could be better too.

"See you later."

Holly hummed a reply while a woman screamed “Taxi!” in the background before the screen went dark. Taehyung looked at his reflection once more and tried to smile. It made him happy to see it was more genuine this time. He was dreading going to the fansign but also alighted. It made him feel what he lost all those years ago. It made him feel young, alive and burning.

When Taehyung arrived at the fansign he thought he must have gotten the wrong address. Yet, the gaggle of girls holding different Army bombs, wearing shirts with the names of the idols etched on them in different colours and the excited screams of hormonal teenagers seemed to prove him wrong.

Taehyung tucked his chin in his blue scarf and tried to breathe normally. He used to not mind crowds and revelled in them. Now he couldn’t help but shrink into himself. If his followers on Twitter could see the outgoing Teaberry now… The mere thought made him snort bitterly.

An incredibly short girl came running by, screeching like a bird and stepping on Taehyung’s shoes. He looked down at his soles and then at the girl who ran off still screeching and wearing a very unflattering Min Yoongi meme shirt. Taehyung blinked after her, a pout already forming under his face mask. It not often he got trampled by girls but his shoes were new and WHITE. A voice interrupted his moment of sulking. “Need a wet wipe?”

Taehyung blinked and turned away from the girl who was now flailed her arms around, smacking peoples things from their arms as she told something to a gaggle of her friends with an excited expression. A boy yelled at her when she made him drop his phone and the girl apologized with wide eyes.

In front of Taehyung stood an amused looking woman who appeared to be a year or so older then Taehyung. She had smile lines and a grin to match, hair raised in a casual bun. Hanging from her neck was a professional camera.

Taehyung looked down at his shoes again and smiled sheepishly, his mask hiding his expression. “I think I might. Thank you.”

The woman snickered and handed him a disposable wet wipe with Burger King logo. “First time at a fansign? You have to be careful of the small ones, they are just balls of energy.” Taehyung opened the plastic and breathed in deeply the lemony scent wafting from the wipe, it’s refreshing smell immediately calming his nerves from the stuffy area. Crowds made him anxious these days. Taehyung couldn’t remember how it felt not to be in a constant state of social anxiety. He crouched down to clean off the smudge and grunted when it refused to wipe off the white sneaker. A hand suddenly appeared in front of him. Taehyung looked up at the woman and her camera dangled dangerously close to his face when she leaned down, brown eyes glinting.

“My name is Soomin.”

“Taehyung.” He replied and took her hand, smudge forgotten.

Soomin introduced him to a few more girls, all carrying oversized cameras in their hands or around their necks. They were close to his age and were hobbyist fansites. They were inside of the hall at the beginning of the line and in the first row, Taehyung in the middle between 3 bickering woman.

“I can’t go to each concert or meeting they have, I have a life too.” Bok Jo snorted, her short black hair held back with a bright orange headband. “Their schedule has gotten so busy I don’t know how those full-time fansite masters do it.”

“Soomin, on the other hand, is a free-lance photographer for a living. She has more free time then all of us combined.” Mina said, inspecting her camera lens with her tongue between her teeth and furrowed brows.

Taehyung turned to the latter with raised brows. “Freelance? And you take idol pictures in between?”

Soomin grinned, unabashed. She was sitting in a laid back manner, her arms casually thrown over Mina’s chair. “Same idols pay me to take their pictures too. I work for Dispatch part-time.”

Bok Jo produced an offended noise. “How can you? They basically eat up scandals and whatever other bullshit.”

Mina piped up with raised brows, “BUT, their pictures are good.”

“Yeah, whatever still frigging snakes.”

Soomin shrugged. “I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

Bok Jo’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “You better. Or you won’t be any better than those saseaengs. All that invading privacy shit is crazy.” She turned toward Taehyung. “What about you new kid? You have a fansite?”

Taehyung blinked, surprised at being addressed. “Uh no, it’s my first time seeing them.” He spent the majority of the conversation listening or zoning out and the others have seldom addressed him. When they just walked in Taehyung tried to slip into the back but the three women noticed and dragged him next to them, laughing about “getting the best shots” and “come on boy you will be right in front of the stage.”

Bok Jo and Mina gaped at him with raised brows, “Really? With that kind of camera?” Bok Jo asked in surprise. “That baby isn’t cheap! Not a lot of pros use it either.”

“Yeah the only one I could think of that uses that camera all the time is Vante but he’s been on hiatus for almost over a year.” Mina mused and probed at Taehyung’s camera. Taehyung smiled sheepishly and pulled the device closer to his lap. He took it on a whim when he went out, thinking of taking a few pictures to commemorate his first fansign and maybe getting a few pictures of BTS’s members on the way.

The last time he used this camera was almost a year ago when he went to visit his grandma on her birthday. Vante’s last photo was of her strawberry fields and Taehyung hadn’t touched it since. Taking out of its box that was stuffed beneath his bed for over 6 months was progress. This was progress.

Taehyung shrugged and let his lips curve upwards slightly beneath his face mask. “I’ve had it for a while.”

The three women exchanged amused glances just as the venue turned dark. Girls scream assaulted Taehyung ears as his eyes shot forward to stare at the stage to witness the 6 members of BTS walk on stage with smiles and waving hands, mics in their hands. Taehyung gulped nervously as Flashes echoed around him. Soomin, Bok Jo and Mina already set off in taking pictures and Taehyung couldn’t help but gape in amazement. Big eyes wide and a wide boxy grin spread across his face as he raises his own camera and took his first picture of 6 smiling men that he has loved and looked up since their debut all those years ago.

The fans begin their fanchant and the boys laugh with bright smiles. Kim Namjoon hair is dark brown and slicked back softly as he greets the crowd, a big smile showing off his dimples. Taehyung can faintly hear faint buzzing in his ears as the crown and noise blend all together. He stares and stares and raises his camera once more, taking picture after picture. Jimin and Hoseok laugh at Seokjin’s joke and wander off to sit down at the table for all 6 members. Yoongi and Jimin shuffle after them with Jungkook in toe, poking the cotton haired elder with a cheeky smile. Picture after picture of grinning boys and bright eyes.

Soomin suddenly leans into Taehyung’s field of vision with glinting eyes. “You are natural.”

With a start he realized that most of the fansite masters have put their cameras down, waiting for the boys to be seated once more and for the event to begin. Taehyung capped his lens with an awkward laugh. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken so many photos.”

“Those are some high-quality ones too.” Bok Joe whistled and slapped him on the back. “Welcome to the family, kid!”

Mina smiled at him over her head with an approving nod and Taehyung felt a feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time bloom in his chest. At this moment he truly felt grateful for Holly sending him those tickets.

Jeon Jungkook was smiling at the fangirl sitting across from him. Her bright pink dyed hair is similar to Jimin’s hair currently suited her well as she gushed to him about her day. The fan signing began without any problems and Jungkook breezed through one signed album and another short conversation quickly enough. Female faces blurred together in a flurry of colours. A break appeared and he waved, smiled and posed for the fansites in the front row while Jimin poked and pulled at Jungkook’s hair, entertaining the crowd.

It was BTS’s first fansign promoting their new album “WINGS”, before their scheduled world tour. To say Jungkook wasn’t excited was an understatement. A week has passed since his mental breakdown in the dorm and to combat against it Jungkook threw himself into practice. His bandmates dragged him away from the dance studio to play games, watch movies, and even play board games once they noticed. All the attention eventually made him antsy so he declined Jimin’s offer to play a video game with him yesterday, instead choosing to bundle up in his bed and watch youtube videos. Namjoon took him aside this morning with a soft gaze. “Gguk, no overworking till you drop okay?”

Jungkook nodded and while all the members played and joked with the makeup artists running around, he drew in his sketchbook instead. Yoongi probed him with his leg when he was applying the finishing touch, “That looks great Jungkook-ah.”

The rappers hair was dark with blue streaks and his gaze was sleepy. Jungkook grinned at the other, “Thanks, hyung.”

He could handle being around the members but sometimes he needed his space. His social battery needed recharging, especially before a fansign.

Jungkook waved goodbye to the pink haired girl, briefly looking down to fix his shirt as the next person sat down in front of him.

“Hello.” A surprisingly deep voice said. Jungkook looked up in surprise. It wasn’t often they saw male fans, especially at a fansign. The boy seemed to be the same height as Jungkook, dark hair hidden in a hat and a face mask covering his lower half. The fan’s eyes, on the other hand, Jungkook could see clearly: One monolid and the other no, dark and big. He found them fascinating.

“Hello,” Jungkook said just as softly, a smile blooming across his face. The male stared at him and then shook his head with eyes crinkling at the sides. The boy was smiling and Jungkook was endeared. “Hi.”

Jungkook laughed at the second greeting, “What’s your name?”

“Taehyung.” The male replied, his voice breathy and low. Jungkook found it oddly appealing his voice. He had never heard such a timbre before.

“Hello Taehyung, I’m Jungkook.”

“I know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched in a cheeky smile and he pulled the album Taehyung was holding in his hands closer to his side of the table, flipping through the pages and pen in hand. He noted that Taehyung had really nice hands and long fingers.

“First time at a fansign?” Jungkook continued, peaking to see Taehyung staring at the album. The male jerked upwards, eyes wide and nodded quickly.

“First time everything. I’ve never gone to any event or concert actually.” Taehyung murmured, voice soft but reaching Jungkook’s ears perfectly clear in the crowded hall. Taehyung smiled beneath the face mask again, eyes crinkling. “I’ve been BTS’s fan since debut.”

Jungkook grinned in response and leaned forward, chin in hand. “What’s your favourite song?”

Taehyung laughed. No, he giggled and Jungkook was captivated. “I can’t choose.”

“What do you listen most to then?”

Taehyung seemed to think for a moment while looking upwards at the ceiling with a hum. His gaze met Jungkook’s amused one. “Whalien 52 and Jump.”

“Damn those are old.”

Taehyung laughed once more, now a deep and genuine big guffaw. “No, they aren’t.”

Jungkook began to write in the album, taking his time and scribbling a drawing. His eyes glinted as he leaned even farther forward. “Bias?”

Taehyung leaned forward too. His eyes were a shade of deep caramel. “Shouldn’t I be asking the questions, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook felt a jolt of surprise at the drop of honorifics but accepted it. He didn’t know how old the other was but he seemed close to his age. He grinned in response. “You seemed kind of nervous.”

“Anyone one would be.” Taehyung mumbled, gaze dropping to stare at his lap. “I’ve been hearing your music for ages and I’ve followed you since debut…You guys mean a lot to me.” He looked up at the last statement, eyes honest and big and full of an emotion Jungkook didn’t know to describe. He often heard from fans how much BTS’s music meant to them. The idolt couldn’t help but appreciate their fans more each time he heard it. Seeing Taehyung’s eyes reflecting a look he saw each day in the mirror made him understand that their music was more than just songs to the fan.

Jungkook noticed one of the staff members out of the corner of his eyes motioning the line to move forward but he ignored them and kept his gaze on the other. Jungkook added another sentence to Taehyung’s album. “Taehyung-“

“Hyung.” The other interrupted with a cheeky raise of his brow. They were dark and bushy, fitting the males face nicely. His veiny hands were hidden under the table and Jungkook leaned forward again, motioning for the other to lean in as well before whispering in Taehyung’s ear.

“Tae-Hyung, can I see your face?”

Taehyung looked at Jungkook with surprised eyes. Their faces were close and Jungkook could hear Taehyung’s breath through the face mask. Maybe calling the other by a nickname was too much but Jungkook didn’t regret blurting it out. It sounded natural on his tongue, the others name. Suddenly one hand appeared and tugged down the black material, revealing a rectangular and slightly bashful smile.

Jungkook eyes widened and he breathed out a tiny, “Wow.”

Taehyung’s cheeks grew tinted and he laughed, standing up to move on. The male’s beauty caught the idol off guard and he couldn’t help his surprised reaction. Jungkook often met fans who were ashamed of their own appearance and hid their faces away from the members at fansigns. He always tried to make those fans as comfortable as he could and to not to be frightened to show their appearance to him. Often their shyness was for nothing: their fans were perfect as they were. But he had never seen a fan with the face of a model, or even an idol himself.

Jungkook grabbed the others hand and pushed the album into the male's grip. “Thank you, Tae-Hyung. I hope I see you again.” He squeezed the others hand, lacing their fingers. The male made him surprisingly comfortable and he spoke to him in ease. “Maybe next time without the face mask.”

Taehyung grinned with bright eyes and squeezed back before letting go and waving. Jungkook’s hand suddenly felt weird without Taehyung’s hand in his grip.

“No Jungkookie, Thank you.”

Jimin leaned into Jungkook’s side once Taehyung left with a curious gaze, “You’ve been talking to him more than 5 minutes. Everything ok?”

Jungkook could only stare at the retreating male figure and think that the “Thank you” Taehyung meant was more than just for the signing. He looked back at his older bandmate and grinned. “Never better.”

#I purple you not #taekook social media au #My writing #( ;my writing)#bts au #bts fanfic #fanfiction

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katbot · 6 years

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Logic, Bushes, and my first rolled cigarette.

This is a the sequel to Rescheduling, Accents, and American pride. I nab a second date with N, the Ameriboo.

“actually can we do nine?”

“Nine is fine. I’ll head to the library then head down to you around 8:30. I’ll pick a cheap bar”

“ace! see you then”

I crush a set of logical reasoning questions and give myself a break when the next section is Logic Games.

Around 8:45, I finish my make-up and head down to Christopher. I know every bar in this area and want to pick one that fits my vibe.... without charging $10+ for a pint.

I feel like Goldilocks. This bar’s too crowded. This bar’s too dive-y. This bar’s too bougie!

I’m in between Shade or Triona’s.

The first— a faux-dive with 15 dollar cocktails but cheap beers. Triona’s, a sports bar with cheap beers but water downed mixed drinks.

When he texts me he’ll be late, I treat myself to cheeky cocktail at Shade.

I grab my favourite window seat and pull out my workbook. Logic games can’t beat me with a cocktail in hand! I’m 100% wrong and end up spending most of my time texting my date for next week— a freelance guitarist from Greenpoint.

N catches me off guard. He slips into the chair across the table with a cheery, “Hiya!”

“Hey!” I wrap up my books & phone conversation like a guilty child.

“How was LA?”

We pop into the conversation like old friends. I’m delighted when he’s chill with staying at Shade for another round. I insist he add his beer to my tab to avoid the hassle of opening his own.

We exchange week events and he shares pictures of LA beaches. It’s beautiful, but I could never see myself out there. Like most New Yorkers— I can’t drive. He tells me about his hour-long bus ride to the centre of town and I silently thank my immigrant parents for picking the right coast.

We shuffle next door to Triona’s. When I begin to order a drink, he grabs me by the shoulder and insist he buy the next drink.

He’s staring me down. His brown hair has turned less floof and more mane.

“I-uhh. I-I’m going to get liquor. Get the next round.”

I’m not rich by any means, but I remember his poor comment from last week and feel bad. The fact that I freely throw my card at bartenders means most of my dispensable income (gladly) goes to booze. Booze that’s mostly pricey gin.

“What are you getting? Vodka?”

His intensity is throwing me off guard.

“No — gin.”

“Niceeee,” he coos. His UK appreciation overtakes his intensity, but it rolls back when I correct his pairing assumption.

“And soda?? What are you mental??”

He gives me shit until the bartender comes over then, ask for my preferred gin before ordering.

He opens a tab. We're in it for the long run!

I’ve got a smug blush on when we settle into a side table. The conversation flows well; he tells me he’ll be gone till mid-May, for stop back home to England.

We match pints to pints once I finish my gin. Alternating rounds depending on whose too lazy to get up.

At one point his phone chimes, and he groans. “Ugh. Sorry. It’s my program. It just crashed.”

It’s the reason he was late today. It’s a bunch of coding shit that vaguely ties into politics, but he surprisingly explains it in an uncomplicated way. I’m impressed and can actually make sense of it.

“So... if it’s just that one digit that’s off...can’t you just replace it with the proper unit?? How long will it take?” I speak slowly to not fuck up the basic terminology and…. because I’m entering the tipsy territory.

He nods. And we he tells me it’ll take a few minutes I insist he do it right away.

We squabble until I put my foot down. “Promise you, I’m not offended. You're gonna be behind tomorrow. It's not worth it."

He begrudging pulls out his laptop, opens up the terminal, apologizing the entire time through. “So sorry.” He repeats, typing away like a mad man.

“Literally no stress.” And I mean it. I’m definitely tipsy and check on my #boysquad.

“Date going well?”

“Yeah! Hardly feels like a date though. Def friendzoned myself. ”

“Make a move!!!”

I scoff and put my phone away just has N slides his laptop away.

“Already?!”

“Already! Thank you! Next pint on me?”

He begins to prep a cigarette when I mention it’s a skill I never developed. He props paper and tobacco in front of me and starts a How-to lesson. It’s an awful cigarette that he ends up reshaping.

“Not so bad for the first time. Shall we pop off now?”

It’s an amazing cigarette. I’m not just saying that because I (kind of) rolled it.

In-between drags, he gives me his UK number. “Yknow....in case you want to talk to me while I’m abroad.”

“Uh...okay sure.” I ash my cigarette and save the number as Nx2.

When we head inside, I suddenly realize I’m tired of the scenery.

“Hey, do you wanna head to another bar? Grab one last pint?”

“Yeah. That sounds chill.”

We’re standing up to close our tabs, when he reaches for my hand and pulls me over for a kiss.

It catches me off guard and I pull away with a, “Whoa. I—“

“Oh god. I’m sorry. I thought you wanted—“

“No. I— I do. I think you’re really hot. I just wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t think you were into it.”

“Oh no. You’re super cute. I’m definitely into it.”

I laugh and excuse myself to the bathroom, where I text the #boysquad — “wow I think this dude wants to fuck me???”

When I get out, N’s smoking outside the bar. “So. Bar??” The plumes of smoke obscure his face.

“Yeah. It’s just a bit late now. I’m afraid they’ll last call us quickly.”

“Well, there some bars in Bushwick still open.”

I laugh. Imagine me going to Brooklyn?

“Or we can go back to mine and have a few cocktails?” He leans and begins kissing me.

I laugh again, “Listen. I think you’re really hot. And I really want to fuck you. I just...didn’t expect this. I thought we were doing the more friends thing. THIS is great but the thing is....I haven’t shaved in months.”

He stares at me, genuinely confused and after a beat says, “…So?”

“No no," I waving my hands frantically. "You don’t understand. I literally mean MONTHS."

He's still staring at me dead pan, a stream of smoke jets out of the corner of his mouth.

"So, would you be down to fuck me in like a month when you’re back from England?”

This time he laughs, holding my hand he answers.

“Yes, I’d be down to fuck you in May.... but I’m also down to fuck you now.”

He leans in and kisses me again. I shake my head and step away.

“You don’t understand. It’s like a Kate Bush bush.”

He replies instantly,

“I love Kate Bush.”

---

The lights on Williamsburg bridge are illuminating N’s hand on my thigh. My hands are folded together in plain sight. I don't mind the tiny PDA but the cab’s stern glances into the rear-view mirror are making me uncomfortable.

It isn't until the safety of Bushwick's darkness that I reach over for his hand. He squeezes it tight and I like that he's not trying to fuck in this cab.

We pull up to his apartment and he pays for it fully, despite my (admittedly half arsed) offer to split.

Holding hands, he unlocks the front door, and we silently walk up the staircase. It's one of those buildings where people leave their shoes outside the door.

The apartment is cool. Spacious and lofted. There's a tube map on the wall that makes me smile.

He makes one greyhound & one Tim Collins while I’m in the restroom.

His room is cute. It’s reminds me of my own. I observe the pictures has I pulled off my jeans. They're a bunch of him and his friends. They're holding beers and smiling hard in most of them.

We fuck for hours. I’m surprised and grateful his refractory period is so short.

I'm so used to a one and done session, I have a back to back orgasm that makes me go cross eyed.

After the fourth time, I start to get dress when he sharply ask where I’m going. “It’s so late. Of course you’re staying. I wouldn’t let you go home at this time, it's too dangerous.”

I’m thrown off. Most of my sex life has been me getting kicked out at 4am, and his random dude wants me to stay? I'm embarrassed for myself and successfully play off my dressing as "just underwear lounging."

I can't believe he buys it.

After, cigarettes and chatting. We settle into bed. He’s outrageously cuddly. He wraps his entire body around me, and plays with hair.

I’m thrown off by the intimacy. I’ve never had anyone’s fingers through my hair.

I’m so turned on….

After the fifth time, we actually settle into bed. Octopus’d together, we both knock out quickly.

I wake up before my alarm goes off. I’ve got to get in early to change into my spare work clothes.

N greets me with a groggy “Mornin’? Off to work?”

He’s still stupidly cute and I regret not calling out the night before. I scramble around the room, cursing myself out for not following my organised protocol.

This is what happens when you haven’t heard sex in nearly two years.

God— why is it so hard to put jeans on???

I give him a kiss on his forehead and he wishes me a great day.

I can hear his roommate rustling to leave, I’ve got to get out of here now.

The ride to work is quick, once I battle the streets of Bushwick for a piping hot coffee & BEC.

I text my groupchat the universal emoji of "I just got laid."

The chat explodes.

One friend replies, "Well. God damn. I never thought I'd see the day Tess gets laid."

Gee. Thanks guys.

It’s 8:30 by the time I sneak into my office. I’m tired and dehydrated but successfully on time. I sport a stupid smile on my face that evolves into a stupid grin when N text me around noon.

When I finally get home I run a bath, schedule STD testing in four weeks, and fall asleep with union jacks on my mind.

Lessons learned:

> Gelling with someone doesn’t inherently mean you’re friendzoned. You may just gel well from the start.

> I can do the casual sex thing!!!

> Rolled cigarettes might be my new vice.

Rating: 8.5

App: OKC

#KDD

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happiness-in-oblivion · 6 years

Text

Senior Szn No. 2: Thoughts on Moving

~~ Full Disclosure: This post is quickly becoming an excuse to post all the beautiful parts of this state, so get ready for more pictures than actual words. But hey, a picture is worth a thousand words ;) ~~

I am 100% sure that when it comes down to pulling out of my driveway for the last time, I will bawl my freaking eyes out. That’s because despite being an Aquarius, I have emotions.

Let’s make this perfectly clear: these are my current thoughts on leaving New Mexico (AKA the land of enchantment). I am not saying that I currently hate my state or that I never had fun; on the contrary, I’ve enjoyed all eighteen years here. But it’s time to talk a bit about the current state of Albuquerque, NM.

Yes, the same Albuquerque that brought the nation Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. The same Albuquerque that has (don’t fight me on this) the best green chile around.

Because I don’t want to make this a post that seems to be hating on my hometown, I will begin with all the positives.

Pros

1. diversity and mexican/latin@ empowerment

The OG homies and I at the local paleteria. Let me tell you, this is the place where I come to break my healthy eating. Also, that happens often.

In 2016, New Mexico was announced as having the largest Hispanic population at 47%, with California coming in second at 36%. So I guess you could say that we slay.

From what I’ve mostly encountered in ABQ, being cultured is something to be extremely proud of. Albuquerque is filled with multiple perspectives, and we function. Now, I did say mostly, because I have encountered some dumbasses that thought calling me “lamb chops” and telling me my Greek father had to lower his standards to marry my Mexican mom was actually funny. But that kind of ideology is quickly shut down.

I thought this kind of inclusion was extremely common. In that sense, I guess I was in this naive bubble. When I spent the summer in California with my dad in 2016, I was a bit shocked by the state with the second highest population of Hispanics.

BTW, we were staying in Palo Alto, which is definitely important to mention. We had to drive to a separate city limit to eat flautas and Caldo de Rez, which we found weird. And then, as we drove down El Camino Real and took a random turn, we found a run down street that was filled with Spanish signs advertising hair salons, supermarkets, etc. The blatant street segregation was the biggest culture shock I’d ever received.

The only true purpose of that little rant was to emphasize how wonderful New Mexico is. Although there are definitely neighborhoods that are predominantly Hispanic, New Mexico’s roots proudly seep into culture and diversity. Good segway… :)

2. proud (albu)quirky culture

New Mexicans pride themselves when it comes to: breakfast burritos, green chile, luminarias, flamenco, and so on.

Now that I’ve stated the obvious, I’ll talk about my personal favorite part of Albu-quirky. Because of the diverse community that Albuquerque fosters, we have really cool and local spots to just chill and hangout. As I write this, I am thinking about the countless coffee shops and bookstores that display a bit it of our very common quirkiness.

Pretty rad mural outside of Zendo. I often come here when I am trying to wear my cool new glasses and baby blue turtleneck, if you know what I mean. This mural is one of countless examples of beautiful downtown art.

When it comes to coffee shops, I think Albuquerque has a very desired vibe. After taking a few classes, I usually end up at Winning Coffee. Located right across the street from campus, Winning is where hippies come with their wild dogs while they gain insightful stories from homeless people. I’m not lying. it’s also located next to a movie poster store that features classics (even from Audrey Hepburn!). When you walk inside, you’re greeted by refreshing and new art on the wall with every passing week, a calendar filled with poetry slams, and a makeshift bookstore by a retired man who sells amazing vintage cover books for cheap. I mean, c’mon, what is not to love?

You see, other than Starbucks, most coffee shops around here aren’t chains, so they each have their own unique style and vibe. Depending on the mood, I may end up at Winning, or I may go down one block and sit in the bucolic setting that is Limonata (yes, like the drink). Here, you can enjoy homemade crepes and empanadas. And I don’t usually drink caffeine, but their chai’s are to die for.

Limonata: “Good Food, Good Coffee, Good People”

Also, I can’t forget the fact that this obviously looks like a house, because it definitely was. The bathroom literally has a bath tub that they have expertly filled with plants to make you experience a jungle in a few minutes.

Heck, there’s a coffee shop in Taos called World Cup that has different currencies as its wallpaper. it’s literally a hole in the wall, and people simply pin new and refreshing culture on the wall for the heck of it.

That adobe architecture though, am I right?

4. cheap concerts

Although I have not been to a concert in a hot second, that does not correlate to a decline in awesome ass shows in this city. In fact, this past summer Khalid came on over, and most of my friends hopped into the venue with at most an $80 ticket. (Let me point out that I am upset that I didn’t go and had I not been in another state I would have quickly hopped in as well)

I will admit it’s not always fun when an artist you really enjoy didn’t include New Mexico in their tour because they don’t think we’re in the country. BUT, the ones that do include us experience a great crowd. And, not being New York does have its perks. Cheap tickets for an unforgettable night? Perfect bargain.

I was in seventh grade when I attended my first concert. The tickets were $35 to see Sara Bareilles and OneRepublic. I went with my little sister and my friend and her mom. The venue was in our local casino, which includes an open view of the beautiful sky and a scenic landscape as the background. Right after the opening band, Harper Blynn (check out their collab with Sara Bareilles too), my sister and I went to their bus in an attempt to meet them, and meet them we did.

When they found out it was our first concert ever, they gave us a free signed copy of their CD, took pictures with us, and signed their names all over my seven-year-old sister’s arm in Sharpie. It was AWESOME.

5. badass nationwide events

If there is one thing that New Mexico is known for, it is for our rad balloons. You know, as in hot air balloons?

Every year, Albuquerque is home to the International Balloon Fiesta, where hot balloon aficionados can come and either display their artwork of a balloon, or sip some Piñon coffee and eat a breakfast burrito while watching each beautiful hot air ballon go up into the most spectacular sunrise.

Seriously, to come to this thing requires a lot of might from Burqueños. I mean, I enjoy watching the balloons over the interstate on my way to school, but I am never in the mood to wake up at four in the a.m. only to wait in an hour of traffic to battle for a parking spot a mile away from the park grounds. On top of that, you’re pretending not to freeze your ass off as you slyly inch closer to the balloons with fire.

This is not the only time Albuquerque is seen internationally. We also have the Lantern Festival in October, where people can enjoy a mini version of a hot air balloon (basically). But hey, that’s not all.

I had to talk about Festival Flamenco Internacional. OMG. What a week. Every June, the National Institute of Flamenco brings incredible flamenco artists to teach classes and perform. For a week in the year, people between New York and Japan fly to Albu-quirky to learn from the hottest (artistically and literally) artists.

This picture has an incredible story, so hear me out. So all summer, my friends and I fundraised to see these amazing people and their art. Well, the opening night of the week, our director managed to sneak us into the very prestigious gala as waitresses and servers. After the amazing show where I spent the entire time internally crying, we returned to the party only to find our dance idols on the dance floor. They were regular people jamming to salsa music. It was so surreal! And then, our amazing director asked them for a picture with all of us. I am hugging Claudia Cruz to my left, who was one of my teachers for the week. Throughout the week, we had genuine conversations, and she even told me I was a good dancer with a followed wink. She messages me on facebook to remind me that I’m awesome and she can’t wait for the day to come when I visit her in Spain. Like, are you kidding me?!

(Also picture from left to right: Claudia Cruz, me, Sage, Marco Flores, Agueda Saavedra, Madison, and Jose Manuel Alvarez)

6. nature

This is another given that comes hand in hand with living in New Mexico. Although I will admit sometimes I may not be a complete outdoorsy person, I do genuinely enjoy the beauty of NM. I mean, the mountains that surround Albuquerque prevent pollution from reaching the sky that blesses the citizens with orange and red hues with every sunrise and sunset. Also, there are countless hikes to go on, and the view is spectacular. It’s a tradition with family and friends of ours to go on a weekly hike during the summer. Then, we go to Marble Brewery and enjoy tacos and beer (I don’t get any beer; oh well).

This was the view after a hike on the mountains during Thanksgiving Break.

Just a casual picture taken by my friend while hiking around Tent Rocks. Nothing too unusual, right?

Current Cons

Now that I’ve extensively covered all the amazing things that NM has to offer and have probably already lost several readers, I will go into the initial motivation behind this post. Although I admit now that after writing all the things from above, it seems like the list below doesn’t deserve to be mentioned. But trust me, it needs to be.

1. violence

Albuquerque got recognition from the NYTimes, and not the good kind. BTW, this was published in 2014, and it claims that the “rate of violent crime in Albuquerque is nearly double the national average.”

Don’t get me wrong - violence in ABQ has always been present. Before, however, it was usually localized violence. By this, I guess I mean that if you knew the places to avoid, you didn’t ever have to actually witness the gang violence or the constant murders. In other words, you could live in Albuquerque reading of the violence but never having to ever witness it.

Well, that has definitely changed.

During this past week, a homeless man has exposed himself to my dance class, my mom witnessed a man piss on the side of my neighbor’s house while walking our dog, and a lot more serious stuff (trigger warning ahead).

Specifically, a man was hanging onto the side of the bridge overlooking the major freeway for 13 hours. This happened literally right outside of my house. As we drove back form church, we saw a herd of policemen trying to calm this poor man down. He did not yield until 1 a.m., and he was transported to the hospital safely. It was absolutely horrible. Even worse?

Two days later, my friend told our group chat that her stepfather (who is a cop) had to respond to a call that a sixteen-year-old boy was on the side of a different bridge. As the cops approached the bridge, he jumped. He didn’t die; instead, he is faced with irrecoverable brain injury.

Like you’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now. How the hell did Albuquerque become so violent? From the influx of desperate homeless people walking down Central, to the shooting that happened right outside of my dance institute, Albuquerque has definitely become a place where violence is beginning to occur on a regular basis. And the worst part? I think I am starting to become numb to it. It’s not normal to think these things are normal.

2. 49th in education

So, this report is from 2017. Believe it or not, this is actually a step up from 2016. We were a solid last in the country for education. And I genuinely didn’t think that education in my state was that bad. That’s because, despite me absolutely despising my school, we are number one in the state for education. That means that while I was receiving a buttload of homework and a ridiculously difficult education, other public high schools would rank as an F on academic abilities. But do you know what I think of all of this? It’s fucked.

I don’t know if this is nationwide, but I didn’t know it was not normal to spend most of the day studying for statewide tests. In other words, New Mexico had the SBA (Standardized Based Assessment). Most of my school day involved multiple choice questions and answering reading comprehension questions that would be featured on the annual standardized test. And trust me, it’s not the teacher’s faults. Most teachers were forced to stick to this because if students did not receive good scores, teachers and schools would be in major jeopardy.

This kind of thinking didn’t end in elementary school. While I was supposed to be reading a new chapter for a striking English book in sixth grade, we’d instead sit in front of our computers, reading pointless passages about horses and spaceships that we gave no fucks over and were expected to write an analytical essay comparing the breed of horses with the flight of spaceships. You’re thinking, wtf? Exactly. It’s pointless.

**I am now begging you to actually click the link I am posting here, because it’s definitely the most important one here. Enjoy this slam poem, “Love Letter to Albuquerque Public Schools.” In it is Olivia Gatwood, a personal inspiration of mine that I got to meet and speak with in September and will see again in April.**

3. “land of entrapment” / “university near mom”

This one is really silly and I guess I put this as a comedic conclusion. I guess in a gruesome way, because of the education many teenagers receive, we seem trapped (bringing the infamous nickname above). I know that personally, before I actually took college courses outside of the state, I did not picture myself at any top-ranked college. In fact, some people around me don’t even consider a college. Not because they’re too lazy or not into higher education, but because it is not practical. It is not practical to attend college courses if you have family members that need an income from you now, not in four years.

I hate when people judge other’s circumstances. Genuinely, Albuquerque students will often end up at the University of New Mexico, which is not a bad university at all. And yet, in this land of entrapment, it is also humorously deemed the “university near mom.”

I guess what I mean is that after all this effort and living in this weird ass situation of shootings and standardized testing, my generation still feels trapped, constantly looking to move. And that’s what happened to me. I was given a glimpse of what independence looked like, and I immediately jumped at the opportunity to leave New Mexico.

I’m glad I wrote this post. At the end of this, I wonder if anyone is actually left after this long rant that was both good and evil. And yet, I already see the day I miss this place coming sooner rather than later.

Thanks for sticking around. :)

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thatwriteroverthere · 7 years

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Imagine instead of Henry dying, he loses his memories. A Supernatural AU.

Sam and Dean’s grandfather had time travelled to their time period seeking help to defeat Abbadon, a Knight of Hell. After she was dead, Henry had insisted on passing his legacy on to his grandsons, but neither was much interested in giving up hunting in favour of doing endless research as a Man of Letters. As you were still a hunter in training, Sam and Dean often didn’t allow you to accompany them on the more dangerous cases, thus you were left alone in the huge bunker with barely a thing to do. Henry had changed that. There were occasionally some rather intimate moments between you and him when the boys were out hunting.

On one particular occasion, your shirt and shoes had been tossed somewhere on the carpet and you and Henry were under the covers. His bare chest was touching yours. You could feel the bulging muscles that were usually hidden by his multi-layered suit. You broke off a kiss to tease him about it.

“Is that a six-pack I feel under here?”

“What is a six-pack?” he asked.

You stared at him, before bursting into laughter.

“What?”

The bang of the bunker door. Sam and Dean’s loud voices...

“Shit!”

Scrambling out from underneath Henry, you grabbed your shirt and shoes and ran into the bathroom next to his room. You almost tripped over your phone, which had fallen out of your jacket pocket as you carried it away in such a hurry.

“Hello?” a voice called. Henry’s door opened and the boys saw him standing there shirtless. He tried to replace his shirt as slowly and as casually as he could.

“What are you doing?” Dean accused.

“Working out. I thought it would be a good idea if I was going to go on more hunts with you boys.”

They glared at him suspiciously. A Man of Letters? Working out? They were usually known for their brains, not brawn.

“Whatever, we’ll be doing research. Where’s (Y/N)?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Try downstairs.”

The door closed and you slowly peeked back into the room, having put your clothes back on.

“Wait here,” Henry whispered.

He peered out his bedroom door and saw the boys sitting at the table downstairs, their backs turned. He beckoned you out. You grabbed a book from Henry’s room in case they saw you walking downstairs, you could pretend you had been reading in one of the rooms. You hadn’t taken more than a few steps towards the stairs when Dean had apparently found something interesting and sprang out of his seat. You darted into the nearest room. Dean shouted for you and Henry. You emerged with the book.

“What were you doing in there?” Sam asked.

“Reading.” You held up the book.

“In the boiler room?”

“I find the rumbling noises... soothing,” you said unconvincingly.

“Well, I found something better. Take a look at this.”

Dean turned his laptop towards you and you read the newspaper article on the screen.

Witches were unpredictable; either it was going to be a reasonably chill case or the boys would need all the help they could get, so you and Henry were allowed to tag along. The witch you were hunting was, unfortunately, rather dangerous. You and the boys had her cornered, Henry sticking behind chanting a magic-dampening spell. Before it could fully take effect, she shot Henry with what looked like a purple bolt of lightning. He was thrown back and the witch escaped in the precious few seconds it took for the three of you to panic.

He clutched his head, screaming about flashes of images and memories that were not his. Countless, vivid, violent memories. The pain seemed to be getting worse. Dean decided to put him out of his misery and knock him hard on the head. When he woke, he was back in the bunker, his head still throbbing. Sam explained to him that he had been cursed. The memories he was reliving would soon drive him insane.

“Is there no way to stop it?” he had asked.

“There is one,” you told him.

***

For the spell to work, it had to be raining. It was cheesy, but the water literally and metaphorically had to wash all the bad memories away. Witches certainly had a flare for the dramatic. There you all were, outside the bunker in the rain, Henry knowing it was the only way, but not wanting to go.

You held Henry’s hands as Sam performed the spell. When it was done, Henry blinked in the rain and met your eyes. You waited for him to recognise you, but he did not.

“Here,” you raised your umbrella to cover him.

“Thank you, Miss. I’m just going across the street.”

He immediately started towards the curb, barely even looking at you. He didn’t even notice you were crying. Your Henry would have noticed. You crossed the street, not taking your eyes off him, silently begging him to just see you. Once sheltered under a disused bus stop, he brushed down his suit.

“What are you gonna do now?” you asked him.

He thought for a moment, then said, “I have to get back to my family.”

He looked straight ahead while he was saying this, like he was trying to remember where they were. He shook his head and snapped himself out of it, realising you were still there. .

“Well, thanks again.” He beamed a polite smile, but his tone suggested that it was well past time for you to leave.

“Right. Bye, then.”

You ran back across the street and straight into the arms of the nearest Winchester, where you broke down in tears.

***

The time had eventually come when the boys would need the blood of three legacies to open a magically sealed safe. You had located Henry and paid him a visit, trying to explain the situation. It was the same old ‘you people are crazy’ line and he had tried to escape, until Dean got frustrated and had tied him up. He kept saying he had to get back to his family and that we should let him go at once.

“Let me go! I have to find them!” he demanded.

“You’ve been looking for them this whole time?” you asked.

“What do you mean, this whole time? What is going on here?”

“Look buddy, this may be hard for you to believe, but we are your family,” Dean said.

“No, you don’t understand. I have to get back home to my wife and son. I know they’re there.”

“They’re long gone. We’re all you have.”

“That’s impossible.”

After more and more convincing, Henry had agreed to go with you, on the condition that you let him go free when it was all over.

You were ambushed, of course. With the least hunting experience, Henry was an easy target, and the witch knew it, lunging straight for him. Sam had pushed her away, before turning to Henry and asking if he was all right. By the time he had turned back to face the witch, she was ready to strike. She thrust her fist into Sam’s stomach, as Abbadon had done to Henry many years ago.

Henry blinked several times, flashes coming back to him. Memories of you and the boys. He remembered, and was the first of the three of you to scream Sam’s name. In the witch’s momentary smugness, she let her guard down. You shot her directly between the eyes with the witch-killing bullets in your gun. She crumpled to the floor as you ran towards Sam. Henry looked down at him, then up at you and Dean.

“Cas, help us,” Dean pleaded softly.

The angel appeared out of thin air. Henry recoiled, but you told him it was OK, that he was a friend.

“Back away,” Castiel commanded.

You, Dean and Henry took a step back. Cas moved his hand over Sam’s wound. It healed instantly. Henry looked up at him in disbelief.

“What are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” he replied.

Henry opened his mouth to say it was impossible, but after the things he had seen that day, he believed it.

#henry winchester x reader #henry winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #supernatural imagines #henry winchester imagines #supernatural #spn #spn fic #Henry Winchester #Sam Winchester

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sprnklersplashes · 7 years

Text

The Future is Forever (2/?)

They stepped out into the yard, Emma starting to get excited. She hadn't had a partner before. Maybe they'd be like Bonnie and Clyde, minus the killing. Instead of running towards Regina's gates, Killian dragged Emma over to her garage.

"Wait here," Killian whispered.

"What are you doing?" she asked as his good hand twisted the latch on the door. Her head snapped up to the house, half expecting to see a light switch on.

"Regina took something of mine off me last week," he explained, pushing the door open so that it stood like a roof over them. "And I'd very much like it back. Can I borrow your torch?" She handed it over to him.

"What is this thing anyway?" she asked as she ran into the garage, shining the torch on every shelf. It was so dark that the small beam from the torch was the only light there was, giving brief glimpses of what was in the garage. He bent down and scanned along the very bottom of the walls before stopping at the far corner. "Killian."

She heard something scrape across the floor before he ran back out. He and Emma stretched up and closed the door, wincing as it slammed shut. No lights in the house turned on.

"Let's go." They raced to the heavy iron double gates, neatly avoiding damaging Regina's car. Emma knew better than to attempt to shake them; there was an electronic keypad keeping them shut.

"You go first," Killian said, offering to give her a boost. "Ever climbed one of these before?"

"I was climbing gates when you were still in diapers," she replied, taking his boost and wrapping her hands around the bars. She perched her toes on the bar below her. She reached up and grabbed another bar, pulling herself up. Despite the aches in her muscles she kept going until she was propped up on her arms and leaning over the top of the gate. With a grunt she heaved herself up so that one leg was swung over the top. Don't look down was the main thought running through her head. She swung her other leg over and carefully moved back down until she finally felt her feet touch the pavement and could take her shaking hands off the bars. Still slightly breathless, she gave Killian a thumbs up sign.

"Here," Killian whispered, passing the case he got from the garage through the bars and beginning to scale the gate himself, which took longer than Emma had with his one hand, but he managed. Emma drummed her fingers on the case as she watched him, constantly looking back at the house to see if someone was going to open a curtain and see them.

Killian jumped off the gate and landed roughly on his knees. Rolling her eyes, Emma helped him to his feet.

"A guitar?" she asked when he was upright. "For real?"

"What?" he asked. His eyes came to rest on the guitar case. "Oh yeah, that." "You hindered our mission for a guitar?"

"An important guitar," he told her, picking it up by the handle. "Come on, let's get away from here."

Emma had thought the streets at night would be scary. Full of dark alleyways and men with scarred faces and chainsaws for hands. But when she first ran away she found it wasn't like that. The streets had so many different colours in them for a start. Silver mixed with blue at one end while oranges and pinks collided at the other. It was a surreal feeling, even for a 14 year old. It made her breathe easier, she was brave, not scared. For a few fleeting moments, she felt like she could do anything.

"Are we going somewhere in particular?" Emma asked.

"Are you hungry?" Killian replied. Emma thought about it. The last thing she'd eaten was that cheesecake, which was a good while ago.

"I could eat." Killian smiled and picked up speed. She copied him. "I take it we're going to get food.”

"There's a diner just a bit of a walk from here," he explained. "As long as you're okay with a walk. They don't ask questions."

"And how would you know about this diner for teenage runaways?" she asked, nudging him. He scratched his ear. "I may have snuck out and popped down there for a burger once or twice."

"Do they know you?"

"Nah. They don't pay enough attention for that."

The dinner was tucked amongst various other shops on the street and was the only one open. Inside were light brown wooden tables and steel chairs, dirty white walls (which sort of looked gray) and dull orange lights. Emma and Killian rushed to a table at the back.

"Not that good looking but it's good food and low princes," Killian said, draping his jacket over the back of the chair. "What more could you want?"

Soon Emma was devouring a basket of fries and a coke.

"How are they?" Killian asked through a mouthful of his burger.

"Good and cheap," Emma said. "What more could a girl want?" Killian nodded and lifted two napkins out from the dispenser, sliding one across to Emma.

"Ever played this game before?" Emma shook her head. "Just tear the napkin up into as many pieces are you see fit." He demonstrated by tearing his napkin in half, then four, then eight. Emma nodded and tore hers into quarters then tore one quarter in half. "So you have six little pieces there. So you tell me six things about yourself. Then I tell you eight things about me."

Emma looked at the pieces of paper with uncertainty. Honestly she wasn't sure there was a lot to tell.

"Not anything major. Your favourite animal, for instance." Killian held up one of his pieces. "I'll go first. One, my middle name is Patrick." For every fact he said, he put a piece down. "Two, my favourite song is Love Shack by Cosmic Thing. Three, I really love burgers. Four, this is my second runaway attempt. Five, Who Framed Roger Rabbit is a cinematic masterpiece. Six, I was born in England. Seven, my family moved to the US when I was 8. And eight....." He paused, trying to find the perfect final fact. He nodded to himself. "8 is I'm glad I met you." Emma scoffed, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. "As a friend, I feel compelled to add. And partner in crime."

"You really know how to charm a girl," she remarked.

"Come on, exchange of information, Princess."

"Do you use the word 'Princess' on all the girls you run into or just me?" A cheeky smirk was her answer. "Okay so one..... my favourite movie is The Princess Bride. Two, I also happen to love burgers. Three, these boots happen to be my favourite boots." She was doing okay so far. He was hanging on to her every word. "Four..... I guess my favourite subject is art. Five.... um..... I've never been to Florida and it's the one place I want to go. And six...." She wants to say 'I'm glad I met you' but doesn't. She doesn't want to tell him that yet. "..... I think pineapple on pizza was a great invention." Killian's mouth fell open in mock shock.

"Wow. I am travelling with someone who geniunely likes Hawaiian pizza. That isn't a joke, you seriously think pineapple can belong on pizza."

"Yes. Yes I do." Killian rose and slowly backed away.

"You know, Swan I don't think this 'partners' thing will work out so I-" Emma rolled her eyes and he stepped towards her again. "Come on. Let's sail away."

"Do you have any idea where we're sailing to?" she asked.

"We'll find somewhere," he said, waving his hand casually as if he could conjure up a five star hotel out of nowhere.

They kept going, the weather seeming to get colder with every step. They were both soon shivering. Emma curled her hands into fists and stuck them into her pockets to keep them warm. Killian was hunched over trying to keep himself warm. Her feet were worn out from walking too, her legs slowly turning to Jell-o.

"Hey." Killian grabbed her arm and turned her slightly around. "Look." He pointed across the street where there was a large kid's playground, complete with slide, swingset, roundabout and big plastic castle.

"Yeah it's a park," she mumbled tiredly. "What about it?"

"I know it's not the best but it's shelter," he suggsted.

"What?" Emma asked, focussing on the park opposite them. "The castle?" Killian shrugged. He was right, even if she didn't want to admit it. It was late and that castle was better than nothing. "Okay. Let's go."

They ran across the street, managed to jump over the gate and jogged to the castle.

Inside it was cool with no proper floor, only the tarmac of the playground and almost pitch black save the moonlight coming in through the roof. There were tiny benches built into the walls. Emma took her sweater out of her bag, folded it u and used it as a pillow. The ground was still cold but at that point Emma was done caring. She almost found herself relaxing into the ground. Killian lay on his stomach with his jacket as a pillow.

"Warm enough?" she asked quietly.

"Nice and toasty," he replied. "Good night, Princess." "Will you ever call me anything other than Princess or Swan?" she asked, through a yawn. She saw him chuckle.

"Maybe one day." ***** The chill in the air and rising sun woke Emma early the next morning. She rolled onto her stomach, despite the small sharp stones pricking her stomach, and stretched, arching her back like a cat. She wanted to bury her head and sleep some more, but unfortunately that wasn't in the cards for someone who had slept on the ground. With a sigh she pushed herself up and pressed her back against the wall.

Killian was already up; his hair was sticking in different directions and he rubbed sleep away from his eyes. Still, he managed a warm smile and a nod.

"Morning Swan," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Just dandy," she replied, rising to her feet. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Six thirty, or thereabouts," he answered, consulting his wristwatch. "Which means we'd better get a move on. I'd say we have about three hours before Regina notices we're missing. A further two hours before she calls the police." They strolled out of the park together and into the town. They slipped into an empty café and freshened up in the bathroom before continuing their walk to a bus station in the centre of town.

“Any place in particular?" Killian asked as they consulted a large map of the country hanging on the wall.

"Well we're here." Emma placed her finger over the dot that said 'Boston, Massachusetts'. "And we're on a budget." Between them ,they had $360, including food. "So we can't go too far yet......" Her eyes scanned the states surrounding Massachusetts. "New York?" Kilian nodded.

"All the great musicians go to New York. Come on." They purchased their tickets at $15 each and Emma sat at the terminal while Killian mumbled something about having to use the bathroom.

When he didn't come back for a while, Emma started getting uncomfortable. What if he decided to ditch her? What if all this was an elaborate 'break in the new girl' prank and he'd gone to get Regina, who was hiding in the station? She didn't move but lifted her bag onto her shoulder and calculated this distance between herself and the door.

However she was proven wrong when Killian appeared only a few minutes later, carrying a brown paper bag. He plonked down beside her, grinning.

"There was a bakery," he explained. "And these were going cheap." He lifted out a chocolate covered pastry and handed it over to her. She accepted it with a smile, and oh god did it smell good, but she was wary.

"You shouldn't waste funds like that," she told him. He waved her concerns off. "They were a dollar each, Swan. Not exactly breaking the bank."

Slightly more reassured, Emma bit into it. Chocolate exploded in her mouth. It was the best thing she'd had to eat in a while.

“Thank you.”

They boarded the bus a while later, nestling in two seats at the very back, which happened to be the most comfortable place Emma had rested since they began their journey. Emma sat by the window with the early morning sun warming her face. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself and placed her backpack on her lap. The excitement had finally caught up her with, as well as the sugar low following the high she'd gotten from her pastry, slowly pulling her into sleep.

When she woke, it was to Killian shaking her shoulder gently.

"Hey Princess," he whispered. "We're here." She opened her eyes, blinking in the sudden brightness. Once she had adjusted, she saw a parking lot filled with buses like the one they were on.

"Doesn't look like New York," she mumbled tiredly as Killian helped her to her feet. He laughed at that.

"Well that's because it's a bus station. Come on."

They strolled out of the station and into the loud bustling streets of New York. There was a sweet mix of sounds going on; street performers, car horns, hot dogs on a street vender's grill, different conversations on around them.

"Okay, this is New York," Emma laughed. She and Killian ran along the street, taking in everything. New York was on a different scale from everything Emma had seen before, it was louder, brighter, more alive. She finally saw what the buzz about this city was.

"So now what?" Emma asked as they sat on a bench in Central Park together. Normally she'd just spent her days strolling around shops and parks.

"We survive," Killian replied. "Take it day by day. Live. Explore. And I'm sure New York has no shortage of bus stations we can kip in." Emma nodded, taking in the view.

"Can we just stay here a bit?" she asked.

"Sure. I'm in no rush."

When the sky turned to pink, they agreed to start looking for shelter. As the walked the streets of New York together on the lookout for a bus station, Emma looked up at a looming red-brick, Victorian looking apartment building. No lights were on inside and from what she could tell it was deserted.

"Hey, look," she said, grabbing Killian's jacket. She ran up and peeked in one of the windows. No one home.

"Lot of the windows are boarded up," Killian remarked, pointing up. Sure enough, the windows on the top floor were covered with wooden boards. Emma ran down the side of the house to check the back. The back yard was cut off from the rest of the world by a wire fence with a gate, but she could see that the bacl wall was sprayed with graffiti and had more boarded up windows. "It's abandoned," Emma concluded. She turned to Killian and gave him a knowing smile. "Think we could move in?" Killian looked over the house.

"How?" he asked. "We can't just break a window in broad daylight." Emma looked around, noticing the run down parade of closed shops facing the back of the house.

"We can if no one's around. Cover me." She ran to the gate and inspected the lock. Nothing too complicated. "If you see someone, scream." She took her hairpin out of her hair and began fiddling with the lock. After a few years of breaking and entering, she was an expert at this.

"Emma what are you doing?" Killian whispered, shocked. When the lock opened and the gate, after a few touch pushes from Emma, creaked open. Emma laughed and stepped over the threshold, prompting Killian to follow. "I shouldn't underestimate you." She smirked and started picking the lock of the back door. It was slightly more difficult than the gate but it managed to give way and open.

Inside was a long hallway practically covered in dust and dark. An old, broken chandelier hung from the ceiling. They didn't bother looking in the other rooms and raced up the grand staircase. There was another always upstairs, with doors on either side, some had dirty metal numbers on them, some had unpainted spots that showed the apartment number . Each apartment was the same; a small main room and what they assumed would have been a kitchen to the side, two smaller rooms and a deserted, half tiled bathroom. However, they varied in their levels of abandoned, some still had carpet or bits of furniture, some were stripped bare.

They settled in one on the second floor which had a couch in the main room and dragged in two relatively clean mattresses from the other apartments. "Well, not too bad then," Killian remarked. Emma nodded. Sure there was no electricity or running water but they didn't need that. It was shelter, it was a hideout and it was safe. Emma tested her mattress gingerly. It was soft enough and no springs poked out (yet).

"We should buy pillows or something," Emma said. "Just for comfort." "Oh look at the princess," Killian teased. "Needing her pillows. What next, having meals served to us on silver platters?" Emma gave him a mock glare. "You do have a point though." He lay back, staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched out between them; all Emma could hear was the beat of her heart and her own breathing. This was going better than her first attempt at being on her own. She wondered if that was the same for him.

"Hey," she asked. "How old were you when you ran away?" The question caught him off guard. She began to wish she hadn't said it until he smiled.

"Would you believe me if I said I was nine?" Emma's mouth dropped open and she imagined a smaller version of Killian with plump cheeks and puppy eyes and dimples running the streets. "Although looking back on it I'm not sure if that counts as an attempt. I was only on my own for two and a half weeks." "No way," she said, sitting up. "What did you-"

"Okay." Killian sat up and turned to face her. "I'm about to tell you one of my biggest secrets. I need you to keep this."

"Take it to the grave," she swore.

"I was nine and in my first foster home. And I hated it. I missed my family, I hated the other kids. So after a few weeks I packed my backpack with candy bars and comics and left." He gave her a smile but it was pained. She didn't blame him. If anyone understood what it was like to be alone from a young age, it was her. She reached over and took his hand.

"Thanks for telling me," she said.

Emma took a deep breath. If he shared his story, he no doubt wanted to know hers. And she was ready to tell it.

"I was fourteen," she confessed. "I'd been with this new forster mother and-" The words caught in her throat when she remembered Ingrid. That was one of the best places she'd been in, at least she thought it was. Ingrid took her seriously, bought her treats, let her watch TV, took her out to movies and amusement parks. She'd even bought her a little necklace for her 14th birthday; a snowflake. It was perfect.

"Are you okay?" Killian asked, crouching in front of her. "Emma it's okay...."

"No, it's fine," she said. "And um, this foster mom we were walking home and.... I don't know she starts talking about something and....." Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. "And put me in the path of a moving car." Killian stared at her, open mouthed and eyes wide. His hand slowly made its way to hers and linked their fingers. His touch made her feel calmer than she could remember and she didn't pull away. "So that's my sob story."

"Hey, look at us," he remarked. "A couple of sad loners with tragic stories." Emma laughed. "Thanks for telling me, Emma." Killian stood up and looked out the window. “Look at all the people.” Emma got up and joined him, perching on the windowsill.

“Where do you think they’re going?” she asked.

“Work, maybe. Or back to their homes.” They both cast a glance around their new home.

“Bet they don’t have something like this,” Emma said, feeling slightly down as she thought about how great a normal bed would be.

“Maybe not,” Killian agreed. “But I’d rather have this.”

“Really?” Emma asked. Killian raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Seems you have a knack for finding hidden treasures, Swan.”

#captain swan #cs ff #fic: the future is forever #emma swan #killian jones

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suitcasetales · 5 years

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Beachy Keen

Sunday was “move on” day for us so we were up a little extra early for breakfast. We were treated to a full rainbow as we ate.....

....and back at the room, I was out on our balcony watching birds and glanced down to the ground level and there was a coati just casually walking through the property.

The beautiful Masked Tityra;

This is Costa Rica’s national bird, the Clay-colored Thrush:

Along with the two German women, we departed Monteverde at 8:15, joining a couple of Olympic Peninsula residents who were very seasoned travelers (the woman said Costa Rica was her 60th country visited). I don’t know by what road they came in to Monteverde, but they were both surprised and, like us, a little uncomfortable on the unpaved, bumpy roads which tells me there was a better way but our drivers don’t take it.

I could tell we were exactly reversing Friday’s course but when we made a different turn, my immediate thought was we were giving someone a ride again! Sure enough, we pulled over in front of a little house and I was looking at the folks coming out of the house. One of the German girls shrieked and pointed at the road ahead of us and there was a marching band coming toward us. Our driver let us out so we could watch them come by. We know nothing about the band or about any tradition of marching bands in Costa Rica but it had to be one of the biggest surprises of the trip. And once we were back in the van and ready to go, the elderly woman gave our driver a bag of food. She was’t coming with us, but her food was — she was the driver’s grandmother!

In short order, we were back at the transfer center where we had previously seen the macaws but this time with far fewer people and buses..... and no macaws.....just a couple of lazy dogs.

Sunday morning traffic was so light that Janet and I easily crossed the road to the gas station for Coca Cola Light. Not only did we have to switch drivers and vehicles and gain another couple, we also had to make detours for gas, drop off one couple at the airport in Liberia and another couple at a bus stop. Finally, it was just the Germans and us in the van and we were on our way to Tamarindo Beach. It never should have taken as long as it took!

Our first impression was not good. By Wednesday, not much had changed. BUT, the more I think about it, to be fair, besides a trip to Puerto Rico for a church conference, this was the first time either of us had been south of Key West. Maybe this is a typical beach town in Central America and I’m just a spoiled American.

Our accommodation was on an unpaved street (about half of the streets were paved) behind a heavy metal gate. Upon arrival, we were hot, we were thirsty and we both needed to pee; all we wanted to do was get in our room. But no, the front desk clerk had to go on and on and on, giving us a hand drawn map pointing out all these places she recommended and telling us why. It was so frustrating. I witnessed them doing it again with two families checking in and I just wanted to intervene and scream, please just let these children in their rooms and talk to one of their parents later!

Finally, she took us to our room where we were highly disappointed. Remember, we had paid extra in order to have “deluxe” accommodations. There is no way this hotel was 4-star nor this even a top level room in this little hotel. Our bathroom at Arenal was as big as this room! We had a regular size bed, a small shower stall, no balcony and very little storage space. [The next day, we ran in to the German women on the beach. They, too, had paid the deluxe rate, too, and they were highly disappointed in their lodging.] The only good things were the wifi router was mounted just outside our room (complete with a dove’s nest on it) and the cooked breakfasts and fruit smoothies, served poolside, were good.

“Don’t even try to pass me a French Fry. I can smell your burgers!”

For the remainder of Sunday, all of Monday & Tuesday and Wednesday until 3pm, we chilled at the pool, spent some time at the beach, swam in the nice calm ocean,......

...... ate some decent food, did a little shopping and said “no” at least 100 times to the souvenir hawkers who constantly bug you on the beach, at the oceanfront restaurants and simply while walking down the sidewalk.

Our favorite Tamarindo meal was a dinner at The Shrimp Hole — Janet had parrot fish, which we had never heard of,

and I had shrimp and veggies in a Thai chili sauce.

This brick and mortar locale had grown from a roofless cart, to a covered hut (still there), and now this, in just three years. It was not on our hotel’s list of recommendations but it sure is on Donna and Janet’s! The street in front of the restaurant is being paved so that should bring them more business and they already have a great wifi password: ILOVESHRIMP. We sat outside at shaded picnic tables and even had a very interesting passerby: a Black Ctenosaur.

We had been following a strict diet since the New Year but allowed ourselves some leniency since we were on vacation. Our favorite dessert was warm pineapple pie ala mode at an oceanfront cafe named Nogui’s. They had a few other flavors, too, but the pineapple seemed to reign supreme. And, hey, the last time I checked, pineapple is a fruit. Fruit is on my diet!

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courtneymayhem · 7 years

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Found this gem from my trip

March 30, 2017 I am definitely still on CT time even though I only took a short nap when I got here yesterday and went to bed at a decent hour after walking around for 4 hours. I slept until 2 o'clock London time, which is 10am at home. I randomly woke up at 3:30 am and didn't fall asleep until 6am. That's when I sort of decided to skip my Stonehenge day trip. Part of it was avoidance behavior bc I didn't want to interact with my roommates and part of it was discomfort with the idea of navigating so far away from the city. As much as I wanted to see it, I don't really regret sleeping in (a faux pas of traveling). I obviously needed the sleep and I had more time to explore London, which is the reason I am here at all. March 31, 2017 I wanted to walk to Westminster alley and go to the free war museum on the way, but ended up strolling through a beautiful park and ended up walking an hour in the opposite direction through a residential community. I stand by my previous assessment. Observing the locals is by far more stimulating than the tourist spots. Pretty much everyone I met was nice. One gentleman passed by me twice and asked if I lived in the area bc he thought he recognized me. I said no but that we had just walked past each other prior and he smiled and told me to have a nice walk. Wandered around until I wound up in Westminster anyway and only came across two rude Brits. A couple of women who acknowledged my request for directions and proceeded to ignore me. I've seemed to have developed a sense of direction though and didn't need them. The architecture is UNREAL. Dad would love it. My parents are saviors and added the international unlimited plan to my line. It's a little pricey, but essential. I didn't realize how vital my iPhone would be. Citymapper is an absolute lifesaver. And I know my mom tracks my on Find my Friends. My original plan was to buy a local SIM card, as advised by many travel blogs and my cellphone service provider, but it was such a rip off. I misheard the salesman and thought I was getting 1GB of data but it was only 50mb. I used that in one day! And after that I kept getting texts saying the price per additional MB was increasing. Total. B.S. never use Vodafone. April 1, 2017 I continue to wake up at weird hours but am definitely getting better. Had to get up at 830 today to be ready for check out at 10. Hopefully that will put me on a good sleep schedule. And I definitely dehydrated the first two days. I need to be better about filling my water bottles. And eating. I have been in London for...24 hours now, and I have eaten a 6" meatball sub from subway and a chewy granola bar. Half of it was being tired and not hungry and the other part was idk. Currently trying to charge up all my devices. Tourist mistake #1: the outlets here have on/off switches. I have been waiting for my devices to charge for an hour. Never turned on the switch 🙄 glad I have the time to wait. I am going to hop on the bus and check out Buckingham palace before I head to the airport. I have almost all of the money I put in my Oyster card left still bc I have walked everywhere thus far so I want to use it. And I get a little more exploring with limited time. I am only three days into my trip and I already feel like I have learned a lot. Traveling alone is...quiet and a little daunting at times. I have moments of insecurity about my ability to navigate transportation and flights and reservations and money. But it's not as hard as it seems. And I know that I will achieve a new level of confidence by the end of this adventure. I am beginning to realize that this is exactly what I am meant to do at this point in my life. I am where I am supposed to be. *Also April 1, 2017 Jk this day is a wash. Lol. Being my last day in London, I set out to find fish and chips. I have been looking for it since I arrived bc my mom insists that it will change my life, but the tantalizing noms have eluded me. I literally starved myself bc I knew that as soon as I ate something, I would come across it in my travels. FISH AND CHIPS WAS THE ONLY GOAL OF THE DAY! Instead of walking aimlessly, I decided to ride a double decker, an experience in itself. The combination of starvation and motion sickness did me dirty and I puked all over myself and the bus. Luckily my stomach was so empty it was mostly just bile. Obviously I got off the bus. I had to half strip in the street bc the puke got into my camisole and I was in a residential neighborhood with no public restrooms. But I had my whole pack with me so I cleaned myself up pretty well considering. Even that couldn't detour me from my mission to find the fish and chips though and I marched onward. Unfortunately I marched straight into a ghetto ass neighborhood. I didn't feel unsafe per se, but I was definitely on guard. Still, I could find no fish and chips and I worried about my blood sugar so I ate my second subway sub in London. My adventure did bring me to meet a very pleasant gentleman who sat at the table with me. We never even exchanged names, but we talked about the political climate of the world, Brexit and Trump mostly. And when it was clear to him that I was quite lost, he walked me to the train station and directed me to the best route to arrive at Gatwick airport. I had to abandon my fruitless search for fish and chips, but figured it best to cut my losses. I am not even going to bother explaining in detail how I ride the same train up and down the line looking for the airport. It was across the way from a ginormous green field with horses, so of course I was distracted. I got there eventually, and had some pleasant small talk with two beautiful women in the way. Hannah and... I forgot. Hannah reminded me of Caitlin so I remember her. The day continued to suck once I got to the airport. Gatwick has the WORST schematics of any airtime have ever seen. It was hell trying to find the check in counter. Normally I avoid checking in person, and I almost never check luggage, by printing my boarding pass at home, but the airline is Spanish and I couldn't figure out how, even if I did have a printer. Then security tells me I have too many liquids bc they have stricter policies than the US. So I went back to the check in counter. Waited in line. Checked the bag. Had to bring it to the oversized bag place bc it was a backback and might get stuck in the conveyor belt. And all three oversized bag counters had no idea which airline they represented. So that was annoying. AFTER ALL THAT I made it thru security and chilled in the terminal, which looked like a fucking mall and was totally ridiculous, bc the airline wouldn't post the gate for my flight until 30 minutes prior to boarding. Smooth sailing from there tho. Flight was fine. Got my bag and a taxi bc it was too late to try and figure out the transportation. My hostel was...a bit of a startle. I was spoiled in London. At night the location appeared sketchy, and the doorman was...eh. Not rude, but not a ray of sunshine. The key to my door has a certain knack to it that I couldn't really figure out until the next day and the rooms were TINY. Bathrooms weren't a sesspool, nor would I walk barefoot...or touch anything more than necessary. I got a kick out of the shower though. Two tiny little stalls with a curtain for a floor with at least 20 rooms and four people to a room. Fuck modestly tho. A shower is a shower. April 2, 2017 Funny how one day can shake your confidence. I had a sort of crappy day traveling from London to Barcelona yesterday and woke up disheartened today. Didn't really even muster up the enthusiasm to explore until the afternoon. April 3, 2017 Guess I didn't feel like writing yesterday. Glad I got out and about to shake off my funk. Barcelona really is gorgeous!! More beautiful than London by far. I could live very happily here. I only wish Spanish people were friendlier. I smile at people and they give me dirty looks. And the men are pigs. More so than usual. People complain about the prices but I think it's all very reasonable. I bought some fresh fruit, a soda, and a giant bottle of water for 3.4 E and now I'm sitting at a cute little umbrella having the most delicious chicken risotto ever for like ... 13 bucks. Why isn't American food this good?! Even made with frozen veggies, this dish is great. Served under a cabana on a gorgeous strip lined with palm trees. I wasn't particularly hungry but I want to see the nightlife. And show my French roommates that I'm not a shut in. They leave stupid early in the morning and come back crazy late. They probably think I never leave. I obviously do but it's amazing how time slows down when you're exploring. Sometimes it feels like I've been walking around all day but it's only 4 hours. I havent broken my habit of sleeping on. I felt guilty for a while, but I've realized that this is my journey and I can do what I want. I'm not a museum or church touring type. I honestly just enjoy absorbing the atmosphere and casually finding the sights on my own terms. I don't feel rushed and I don't feel like I'm missing out bc so much can be done in a short time. Plus Barcelona never sleeps so I can stay up and out as late as I want. The restaurants don't even close until midnight. The clubs don't even START until 2-3am. Too late for my taste. Thankfully I'm not really a clubber. I haven't even had anything to drink since I left home. It's not in the budget. Speaking of budget, I think I'm doing pretty darn well. All things included I have spent 350 (rounded up about 30 just in case) in 6 days including the first day, which was mostly spent in JFK or in the air. But money was spent so it counts! Well. I have eaten a real meal. Maybe not a traditional Spanish one. Idk. I never know what to order. But I'm going back to my room I think. Tomorrow I should go to the beach. It's literally right down the street. This location really is perfect. April 4, 2017 It wasn't a beach. It was port vell. Which I am only slightly disappointed about. I had no intention of laying on the beach or swimming, but Barcelona has reignited my creativity. I would have love to photograph a beautiful beach. I might attempt to climb montjuic, if I can figure out how to get there. I have heard that it's a brutal climb. Ive also heard the panoramic view is worth the effort. Currently I am sitting on a bench under a balm tree with my back to the ocean eating an orange I bought yesterday. I forgot how much I love the smell of the ocean. So many people are walking by all these beautiful things without really noticing. We take so much for granted in this world. How unappreciative we are to have become desensitized to it all. This is why I wanted to go on this trip. The sights and attractions are great, but it is so rare to find a quiet sense of wonder like I have on a bench at a busy intersection. I crave reaffirmation that life is more than ordinary if I am brave enough to seek out the extraordinary. I want this inner peace to grow strong like a nurtured muscle and always carry it with me. Between the change of diet and exercise, this trip will jump start my journey to a healthier body. And this journal will jump start a a life long journey to a healthier soul. On a lighter subject, my roommates were not French. They were from Belarus and spoke Russian. How I mixed that up I have no idea. They were such a cute couple: Iliad and ??? Literally. They were both hot AF. Their dream is to bike across the US from Atlantic to Pacific. But they left this morning and two new guys checked in. One of them is staying at the hostel bc he just got divorced and was running around to job interviews. Idk anything about the other. He ran away pretty quick. Doubt I'll really get to talk to either bc I'm leaving very late tonight. Sort of dreading the task of finding my way back to the airport. I have spent three days in Barcelona without needing transportation and I would hate to have to purchase a pass now. My moment of introspection is fading. Time to wander some more and continue my quest for inner tranquility. At least I know my way around now without a GPS. I discovered a whole new section of las ramblas! It's all twisty narrow side streets and boutiques. For the first time time flew by. I was in my zone photographing the streets. I love the mix of nature, modern, and traditional. This is probably the main tourist area and I only just discovered it. Lol. It doesn't matter bc nothing caught my eye. Although I did really love this one art gallery I found on a particularly quiet street. It only features local artists and the displays were beautiful! If I had the money and room to show them off I would buy one. I did get a business card however. I also think I made tourist mistake #3. The hostel cleaned out my bunk. I think I was supposed to check out this morning. But whatever. I'm already being charged I'm sure so I might as well stay until tonight. (False: hostel is super chill and let me keep my locker in my room until I'm ready to leave.) I'll chill out at the airport until my flight in the morning. So ready for Paris!! This trip is turning out to be pretty incredible. My favorite spot in Barcelona is a tucked away courtyard garden behind the public library. It smells like jasmine and you can't hear the city. I can tell it is a local hiding spot bc old men come to play life sized chess and students sit on the stone perimeter to do homework. Tourists pass through, but it's too perfect to breeze by IMO. Meandering slowly around the city today has easily been the best of my three days here, each better than the last. Idt it's possible to run out of things to see. Not even tourist areas, but just wandering through the maze of adorable side streets and shops. Every turn is basically a new street but it's impossible to get lost. Technically I didn't "accomplish" anything today, but I think I connected to the city more. Posing in front of monuments does nothing for me. This is where it's at. On the other hand, I'm ready to move on. Barcelona is amazing, but there are many more amazing places to see. Leading up to my departure from the states, everyone kept asking me why I would ever want to travel alone. YOURE A SOLO WOMAN! They would try and reason. Not only does that line of thinking disgust and infuriate me, but I also pity these people. Only someone who has completely shed the comfort of the familiar will understand the freedom that comes with embracing the bumpy road. I've always been laid back, but even I have had to roll with a few punches. Anything can happen: good or bad. It doesn't matter though because it hasn't happened yet. It's awe inspiring to know that I did this. I made this happen. I worked for it, planned it, and I'm doing it. I wish everyone could feel how I feel. It's a subtle, sustaining satisfaction but better than brief bursts of ecstasy. A last minute perusal of las ramblas found a nice Spanish restaurant. It looked authentic like online. Tiny portions of excellent food. Sort of pricey. I got the calamari tapa and 7 rings of fried squid cost 6.5 euros. In all fairness though, it was cut thicker than we do in the US and only lightly battered. It was very good with lemon and I am totally satisfied bc I have eaten close to nothing in a week, with that one exception. I also hailed my first cab! I think I looked like a natural 😉 but I also get the impression that the taxi I took LEAVING the airport when I got here ripped me off. Shouldn't cost 25% more to leave the airport than to get there. Lesson learned. Let's call it travel mistake #4 On to travel mistakes 5 & 6: i messed up the days for my hostel and had to check out (they would have let me stay, but I kinda just wanted to get going) and I got to the airport at 11PM for a 7AM flight. I intended to just nap in the terminal but the airport is taking a siesta. For real. There's no one here. I guess they don't have nighttime flights?!? Whatever. I have my kindle charged and aderall if I need to stay awake. April 5, 2017 Happiness is fleeting so what's the point. Minor existential meltdown in the airport at three AM. Can't decide if any of this is worth it. Enjoying all these beautiful places only really feels good in the present. Bliss becomes depression the moment the wonder of it all wears off and then I'm off to another city. I can't seem to stay present. But I keep trying to recapture happiness. As if happiness really existed. Even strangers ask me why I am so sad. I brush it off like I am tired. In truth I'm just tired of being sad. Omfg. Literally two seconds later and the most perfect song comes on "I hope you dance". Thanks universe. I needed this 😘 b/t the very uplifting songs that keep popping up and a review of the pictures I've taken so far, I think I've figured out why I love photography, amateur it may be. My photos are MINE. I took them bc I saw something inspiring and they always bring that feeling back. It doesn't matter if no one else "gets" them bc they're for me. I think the concept I struggle with is that there are no answers. I like answers. I like knowing how and why things are the way they are. But there is no reason. There is no god or higher power. Happiness is a snapshot. It only takes a second, but you hold onto it to get you through all the bullshit. Eventually your life is a collage of snapshots. And I think that's pretty cool bc they're the only things that matter in the end. So take your happiness while you can and self-sooth when you can't. Am I distancing myself? Omg sleep deprivation fucks me up. That was some heavy shit out of no where. Doesn't matter cause I'm in PARIS BABY!! Literally too tired to muster up an ounce of enthusiasm. I barely remember how I got here from the airport. I have an hour and a half to check in and then I'm sleeping. I can explore Paris at night. God DAYUM. French cops walk around with big guns. Why are all the foreign cops so hot... Went for a late night walk. Grody. Paris is dirty and the men are gross. Crêpe was good. Kinda scary at night. April 6, 2017 Paris has been a disappointment. Totally overrated. I'm glad I can say that I've been here and I have selfies with the Arch de Triumphe and the Effiel tower, but that's it. I didn't connect at all. There was no authenticity imo. I walked around for a good 6 hours and it didn't really impress me in the least. I was more impressed with the most amazing orange I have ever eaten. Literally orgasmic. And i ate a whole baguette. I never knew that bread could taste EVEN BETTER. Both of which I bought from a tiny market a few doors down from my hostel. Even so far removed from the city center, this area is my favorite. It's dirtier than the tourist spots but has more character. I have been propositioned by two men in my 1 + 1/2 days here. Like, really. One rando stopped me on the street and I have no idea what he was talking about. The other was a street artist I bought a couple doodles from. He was talking about how French men are different from American men bc the French make love with their tongue....and then he asked what his chances were. I said none. I was gay and that I was leaving now. I do really love this hostel tho. Might be my favorite. I showered and got pretty to socialize at the downstairs bar but ended up sitting on the canal balcony reading... April 7, 2017 Bit of an annoying mix up with my bus this morning but it worked out. I mean, then we sat in traffic forever and the driver stopped for a break but I'm in no hurry. Lol. Met a nice girl named Catherine. Hung out for the rest of the day. Spent fucking forever walking up and down these hilly streets looking for my hostel in bumfuck nowhere. Found it but decided to just stay closer to town. But god is Brussels beautiful. And the food is so good! April 8, 2017 Total in love with Belgium. 🇧🇪 the modern parts don't overwhelm the historical parts and everything is delicious. I walked around quite a bit with Caroline yesterday and got the lay of the land so today I only needed to retrace our steps to get back to all the fun stuff, plus a few new landmarks I didn't see before. I also spent some time checking out the shops. Thankfully they weren't as artificial as Barcelona or high end as Paris. I even found a cute little chocolate shop. I wish I could have bought the fresh candies in the display case, but they'd never survive until I get home so I bought several large bars for mom, dad, Jim, and Jill. And an extra. Maybe for me. Maybe for Karen or Kat. Idk yet. I should also get Kristina and kai something. She really is such a good person and she has had a hard life. Idk if she even realizes that tho bc it's all she's known. I don't know many people who could survive her life and still be so kind and... spiritual. She has a lot of faith in the universe. So rare nowadays and I love it, if for no other reason than to reflect on my life of relative comfort. And she would be so happy with anything. She just wants that damn penpal tho. I'll do that and pick up a little something. I think that's pretty much the extent of my friends list... lmao I really love this bar I found. Ita called Gecko and it's one of the only places not choked to death by tourists. I've been nursing a 50cl beer for almost two hours and continuing a book I started reading in the park across from the Grand Palace. The music is banging. Totally in my element. A little buzzed with great tunes and a beautiful city around me. This trip is amazing. Although I wasn't going to bc I'm not a waffle person, I do think I will try one before I go. I think I'll regret it if I don't. I didn't eat the waffle. So I went to Amsterdam on an empty tummy full of beer. Arrived late. April 9, 2017 Met two American girls at the hostel breakfast, Rachel and cassie. They are studying abroad in Italy. I might have talked Rachel into being Kristina's pen pal. They were pretty nice. Also ran into my roommate, Stacy, outside the hostel and walked around with her for a while. No where in particular. Just around the park and down some streets. Walked around and just enjoyed the city. The canals are beautiful! I could stroll around all day. I basically did! I walked ~15 miles today, although I did take a much needed, space cookie-induced rest midday. I went back out later to see the red light district at night. Dutch Fuckboy. Enough said. April 10, 2017 I'm ready for a chill day. Woke up tired from being out late with the Fuckboy and wasn't really motivated to explore Amsterdam anymore. I can't believe I only spent one day there and can feel so at home so quickly. Plus, it was really cold and looked like rain coming in so I decided to make the hour + journey to the bus station early. Glad I did bc I made a new friend. The girl sitting next to me in Starbucks was crying quietly so I started talking to her about schools in holland vs the US and whatever else came to mind. It worked. She stopped crying and we chatted for over an hour. Then she told me that she broke up with her boyfriend yesterday and we talked about that. She sincerely appreciated the conversation I think and I feel like I helped someone today. We are FB friends now and I told her that she can always vent to me. I hope she takes me up on my offer. She is a nice person and I know she will do well for herself. Lmao July 26, 2017 Guess I never finished narrating my European saga. Probably bc I went to Berlin next and had too much fun and made too many friends to talk about exsistentialism and philosophy and shit. Regardless, some retrospective musings: Hope I never forget Berlin. I'll definitely go back. Next time I will completely bypass Western Europe and just do the eastern half. Start in Berlin, Prague, Budapest, Slovenia, Croatia, etc. And travel SLOWER. Needed more than 4-5 days for Berlin BY FAR. Could do 10 in Berlin and 7 in Prague probs. Although, I still do want to hit up Ireland and Scotland. Maybe do those two with Iceland as a separate trip. Next year I'm thinking Brazil (already learning Portuguese). And Southeast Asia is on the list for sure. Plus a few smaller, domestic trips for long weekends: Niagra falls, the Caribbean, camping, etc. I definitely require a lot of travel to stay happy and to deal with this bullshit world we live in. I do kind of wish I had someone with the travel bug like me. And that can afford to go/save to go. I definitely battled with the difference between being alone vs being lonely. It was better when I started socializing. Idky i didn't in the beginning. I will see the world one part at a time or until mankind has destroyed everything.

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roodiaries · 7 years

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Early 2017: Sydney Lights, Hints of the Pacific & Bum-Biting Goannas

The blog is back in AUSTRALIA (as per the theme and name, after the last entry's Asian deviation!) And it's more light-hearted and less moany than before I think :)

New Year in Sydney was an enticing prospect as popular opinion considers it to be one of the best places to celebrate. Clearly how good of a New Year you have depends totally on who you're with, what you do and what mood you're in, with the setting as simply something of a backdrop. That said, seeing in 2017 overlooking Sydney Harbour was one of the best new years I've experienced. The most overhyped night of the year lived up to its billing, one of the few times in my life it's done so (though the last four – in Edinburgh, Montanita, Birmingham & London respectively – have all been good ones).

The return from my December Asia trip was marked by a nasty bout of 7/11-sandwich food poisoning which saw me spew my guts and bile out in a hostel bathroom and cling to the toilet bowl for dear life. I was later told off for coughing too much in bed by a scary middle-aged African lady (from Sierra Leone), forcing me to put my pillow at the other end of the mattress. “Just go to sleep!”, I angrily retorted. She kept making comments aloud to herself in this dorm full of relaxed European male backpackers: “there's too much coughing in this room!...what time is it?...why does everybody hang their washing in here?” It's funny now, but at the time was very jarring. I spoke to her more the next day and she actually seemed quite nice: she just definitely shouldn't have been staying in a dorm room.

New Year came around and a big group of us headed down to village-like Balmain in the midsummer heat, weaving through the rampant picnicking masses ready to eat up the picturesque firework display, many/most with illicit alcoholic beverages tucked away to avoid clashes with the patrolling police. In my opinion, Australia is the most strict country I have ever been to in terms of rules and actual dishing out of fines for minor public disturbances (Singapore included): jay-walking in the city centre can get you a $70 on-the-spot fine; putting your feet on the seat on the train in Melbourne is $233 ($78 for children); not filling out the Census is $180 per day until you do. And alcohol is very carefully controlled: one wild backpacker party on Coogee Beach over Christmas led to the total alcohol ban in the area, which will probably be permanent now. Getting your hands on a beer at a festival or public event can be tricky too, and there were lots of signs up warning against it for New Year. Of course people still drank, but greater efforts were made not to get too rowdy and attract attention (efforts which failed increasingly as the day wore on), so that the family-friendly atmosphere could be maintained. I agree that a family-friendly atmosphere should be preserved for the public good, but the vast majority of people can and do drink responsibly so just leave us alone and let us booze at big events!

We were perched on the grass in a park on the south side of Sydney's twisty harbour (seriously, look at a map: I've never seen a port/harbour with so many coves, bays, inlets, promontories, peninsulas and creeks – it's mesmerising). I brought my friends from the farm days in Renmark to meet my uni chum Mark and his friends, and even bumped into my old colleague Sebastian from when we door-knocked together in Melbourne 9 months previously. It was a good group and a great firework display, with excellent views of the bridge, but a long arduous walk/bus journey home through the packed city.

On New Year's Day, I returned to stay with Adele and her family, also with Sara and her family, for a very homely get-together in Jervis Bay, involving feasts, soft beds, crab-infested mangrove walks and cute boat trips up creeks and bays. I then flew to Brisbane for another little getaway, deciding I had spent about $1000 less than I had anticipated in India & Nepal and so could afford more travelling before the dread-inducing job hunt began again. My long and short-term future seemed very uncertain at this point (long-term future still hasn't been sorted out, and probably never will). I was able to relax nonetheless, and immediately warmed to Queensland's capital and largest city. It seemed more spacious with wider streets and lower-rise buildings, like Adelaide but with greater charm, while also being friendlier and slower-paced than Sydney. It certainly felt like the Sunshine State on first impressions. Adele and I walked the Brisbane River with its summery Southbank swimming pools providing family fun and adding to the holiday atmosphere. The GOMA (Gallery of Modern Art) had some pretty cutting-edge exhibits, like a 22m-long Tongan mat, a scarily realistic large pensive woman in bed and a giant arch of cardboard boxes one inside the other getting progressively smaller, while West End was a cool neighbourhood with a more international and backpacker vibe (I spent a couple of nights here later). Mount Coot-tha provided a panoramic view of the city from the west; there were also some nice walking tracks and Turrbal aboriginal art designs in the surrounding forests.

Aboriginal Australia, away from well-worn narratives of horrors at the hands of European settlers in the past 230 years, is a mysterious, diverse and fascinating culture to explore. Or more correctly, cultures, since there were more distinct Aboriginal 'nations', speaking over 300 languages, on the continent when the First Fleet arrived in 1788 than there are countries in the world today. Only around 3% of the population of modern-day Australia is considered indigenous (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders), and there are only token remnants of Aboriginal culture in the main cities: an occasional sign-post, some hiking tracks, information boards. Here are some of the oldest continuous human cultures in the world, believed to be at least 60,000 years old, and discovering more about them is definitely a high priority during my time here.

Talking of culture, we paid a visit to the Castlemaine-Perkins (XXXX) Brewery, my third brewery tour in Australia! XXXX isn't my favourite of the extensive Aussie beer selection but a classic one nonetheless and well advertised (“well you wouldn't want a warm beer!”) Just on the beer note, Australia does have a surprisingly good and extensive collection of beers, especially pale ales. My favourites are Little Creatures, James Squire 50 Lashes, Kosciuszko and Lazy Yak. Try them some time (they have some in bars in the UK too, e.g. Sheffield Tap).

In the following days, I had the chance to catch up with a few friends from my previous travels, such as Hanna, who I worked with as strawberry-pickers in the Huon Valley; and Gaby from the Loja period; as well as Alex Dodd, also from Loja days: we had a barbecue in his apartment and travelled with a few others down to Burleigh Heads on the Gold Coast. Though not able to match their high level of several-dozen kick-ups in casual beach footie, it was an amazing spot to jump in the waves and watch the professional surfing.

By the time I was leaving Brisbane, I'd decided to make my way back to Sydney by land for a sort-of-roadtrip before completing my plan of finding a job in Sydney and saving up. I hitched a ride down from Brissie to Byron Bay with a cool Kiwi surfer called Bertus I'd found on one of the Facebook backpacker groups. I actually had nowhere booked for Byron, and began to stress about it as we drew nearer and I saw how packed it was. 'I'll just sleep on the beach', I'd told myself before... But the reality of that is harder and more unpredictable than it seems, unless you're a more confident, battle-hardened outdoorsy adventurer than I currently am. I was warned of druggies, drunk backpackers, cold, animals and police, and suddenly became really desperate for a hostel bed. I traipsed from one to another, even trying the most garish and unashamedly wacky & backpackery of backpacker hostels, but there was no room at the inn. Finally I did discover one very new whitewashed and spacious refuge called Byron Bay Beach Hostel, where the manager even gave me a random discount (still $45, the most I've paid for a hostel in Oz). In spite of my immense relief, the extremely hot/badly ventilated rooms and the incredible rudeness of a giant group of French-speakers in not making any effort to speak to me when I joined them outside, marred the evening considerably. To those who haven't travelled in Australia or seen The Inbetweeners 2, Byron Bay is the most popular and bigged-up traveller resort in the whole country: famed for its chilled-out hippie vibes, artisan soul, party culture and great beaches, it's a must-see for anyone travelling the east coast. Unfortunately, I simply wasn't in the mood. However, the coastal hike up to the lighthouse (via Cape Byron, the most easterly point in mainland Australia) was excellent. The guided tour of the lighthouse itself was bizarrely run by a group of charming Americans in their 60s/70s!

I'd felt the need for a dose of a quieter life as a tonic to hectic east coast life, so I spent one week at a homestay found on the HelpX website. It was in a lush green corner of north-eastern New South Wales, near the town of Casino, at the farmstead of a couple called Sue & Keith. I met another English guy there named Cameron (from Swindon), who was studying in Melbourne, and enjoyed having a companion to share the adventures here with. Most activities were dictated by the incredible heat at the time, reaching 40 degrees but with suffocatingly high humidity levels. The shed-building work usually lasted only 45 minutes before we were all simply too hot to continue, and I can honestly not remember any time where I was sweating more than for this week, especially at dinner time when we'd just returned from a trip up to the 'internet cafe' hill (the only place nearby with phone signal) and sat down over hot food, delicious as it always was. Perspiration dripped from shirtless chests like rain during a monsoon, and I required multiples showers and 20-minute sessions sitting directly in front of the fan to remain un-cooked. Dinner time was also when normally-quiet Keith would unleash his strong views on many topics, from travelling to the state of the local government: he had particularly strong political views of a surprisingly bitter and right-leaning perspective for a man who had travelled so extensively, seeing Trump as the man to lead the free world and holding contempt for Obama, describing Zimbabwean dictator Robert Mugabe as a “mild version of Obama.” Fox News was seldom not on in the background with Bill O'Reilly and his “no-spin zone” an evening routine, more amusing than offensive for Cam and me.

We helped feed the myriad chickens, hens, ducks, geese, rabbits and guinea-pigs scattered in the junk-maze front yard. The amount of random stuff/junk surrounding the house was incredible. One day we were called upon to kill a sharp-clawed goanna (Aussie monitor lizard) that was caught biting the bum of a duck. That was a pain in the arse for everyone involved. It hid up a tree and refused to come down to face us. One day involved a funny 6hr roundtrip to the Gold Coast to pick up a spa and a water tank, which we were very worried about flying off, and spent a long time securing them on the back of the ute with ropes. We also had the opportunity to meet some of the long-term lodgers at the farm, some of whom were on drugs rehab and benefits. It was a good place to come to get away from it all (for them and me), and a different perspective on Australia to what I've normally been exposed to, meeting people at a different end of the spectrum to the city kids, high-flyers and international traveller circles.

Cam and I left the farm and headed down to Coffs Harbour on the train. Coffs has the unique privilege of being located at the point where the Great Dividing Range (Australia's only real mountain range) meets the Pacific Ocean to form a beautiful backdrop, topped off with a literally huge banana, a jumpable pier and picturesque harbour. We met a German guy called Jonas and two English girls (Becky and Helen) at the YHA, and together cycled around the surprisingly large coastal town, enduring some intimidating hills and a roaring motorway, but stopping for a dip to get hammered by the powerful waves, and then drinking goon (crap, boxed wine) at the hostel over cards.

The last stop on the Unexpected East Coast Adventure was the inland small-city of Tamworth, known throughout Australia as the nation's capital of all things country music and equestrian: “an antipodean Nashville,” as the guidebook described it. It was the busiest period of the year, as the annual Country Music Festival was beginning the day we arrived, and the streets were alive with the sound of (country) music: a few genuine cowboy and hillbilly types among the masses of pretend ones, dominated by middle-aged holidaymakers and committed locals letting loose with their families. We barbecued in the nature reserve beneath a baking hot sun with my friend Rose from other Aussie adventures, and went to see some lively performances (especially one band called Lonesome Train, led by an electric and skinny ladies'-man singer who seemed 20 years younger than he actually was). The festival was a lot of fun, and we met a few interesting characters. One was one of the aforementioned middle-aged Aussie let-loosers, whose kid stole my stool when I went to the bar; half-an-hour after what I thought had been a light-hearted altercation, (while he'd been sitting next to me the whole time watching the singers on stage) he casually said: “sorry about that before... but if it was 20 years ago, I would have smacked you in the mouth.” He then proceeded to drunkenly chat semi-aggressively, telling me anecdotes about a barman from Essex: “black as the ace of spades he was. Absolute tosser...” Something told me this guy was the real tosser! Another memorable night was when Cam and I got roped into a night-out with a bunch of 19 year-old locals shouting at the back of the bus (the kind of people you dread talking to you) and had to toss our bags into a bush on the way while holding the bus because otherwise we'd have to wait half an hour. It turned out to be a fun night out in this sparky little city.

I was worried but motivated upon my return to Sydney to stop spending and start saving. Putting a cashed-up bogan to shame, I'd spent a lot and was now in the hibernation, total-survival mentality where I write down exactly what I spend – including money given to homeless people – and rule my finances with an iron fist. It had been worth it, however, for this opportunity to finally explore some of the places most-discussed in backpacker circles and experience part of the Aussie east coast. Though a fun adventure, I didn't feel the east coast lived up to the hype, lacking a certain cutting edge or unpredictability. The best thing about it is the sheer ocean-beach-coastline scenery, which was boundless and inspiring, as well as the people I'd met (sorry for the cliché). I met some shit ones, too, though ;)

Back to the future: I found a job and I will talk about a more settled life in Sydney in the next blog entry, and perhaps more about Australia as a country, too.

Thanks a lot for reading! Scroll down for photos and the previous four articles.

Oliver

#Australia2017 #LongestTimeAway #EastCoast #ByronBay #Brisbane #CoffsHarbour #Tamworth #Casino #BlackAsTheAceOfSpades #MildVersionOfObama #KillThatGoanna

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