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gazetotheabyss · 11 months

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Not Your Average Toy Story

When the road looks rough ahead And you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed You just remember what your old pal said: Boy, you've got a friend in me

-Unknown

___________________________

His kid found a doll in the lot cross the street from their apartment building. It wouldn't have been a problem if it weren't so fucking creepy. It was one of this dolls made to look kind of like an old fashioned porcelain doll, but it's body-- stripped of all clothes-- was dirty muddied fabric. Most of the paint had been swiped away from its eye by friction. Visibly you could tell someone had dragged this thing across the pavement.

"It's creepy. I love it." When she looks up at him with those pleading eyes, the grips of despair that had long since threatened to overtake him seemed to melt away into the fatherly nature. Charles had always wanted what was best for his family, and tried everything in his power to ensure that it was what they had. For a while, they'd had it. But when her brother died suddenly, SIDS, Dahlia's mother couldn't take the pain-- And followed Bradley out of this world soon after. Having to bury half their family so suddenly had taken its toll. Suffice to say, spoiling her and making her happy offered what little solace he needed to keep going.

He told her it was fine, so long as she cleaned the damn thing up. Which she did, cheerfully. Insisting on giving her a bath like it was her own baby. Whatever, she drew in the rest of the face, he helped fill in some of the finer details with her, and honestly the thing looked a little less creepy afterward.

But only just a little.

Despite her pleading, Charlie had told her she couldn't sleep with it. Just in case it had bugs in it or some dirt or thing they might have missed when cleaning it. His reasoning sufficed, and she was content to simply take it to her room and set it upon the chair in the corner. At least that's what she said she'd do with it. A long day at work had meant it was time for a beer to decompress. Sometimes it was just a quiet lament in silence, sometimes he turned on a movie or something as background noise. While for the moment he was between the two-- His thoughts of choice were quite quickly stagnant.

Mid-swig of his craft choice, one of the few indulgences he allowed for himself, he sees that one eyed worn-faced thing sitting on the couch across from his chair. Staring-- No, not staring, it was a doll, it didn't have real eyes. But it was definitely facing him. The chill of discomfort lingers within him again just looking at it again. For a long moment he stared at it with narrowed eyes. She always chose to keep the weirdest fucking toys-- Disturbing his own peace, he grumbles quietly to himself while he drags himself out of the chair to pick it up.

Fast asleep, once her head hit the pillow she was probably out like a light. Forgot to grab her new friend. Dahlia had been his first, every part of her had been a learning experience. Never once did he shout or scream, or even raise his voice to her. Her response had been to still be quite the model kid. Never getting into trouble, keeping plenty of kids at school. They'd both had it rough, they shouldn't have had to support one another like this-- Charlie planted a gentle kiss on her head, and made his way back to the living room.

Passing out at some point mid-beer, Charlie had found some comfort in his sleep for the first time in a while. But when his eyes open at the gentle glow of morning, he feels his heart jump into the back of his throat when the doll is mere inches from his face.

"You put him in my room last night?" She sounded almost disappointed, lip jutting out in the most exaggerated young pout she could muster.

"Yeah, I thought you wanted to sleep with him last night?"

"Barty wanted to keep you company. He thought you looked lonely." With the gentle shake of his head, he exhaled softly.

"Sometimes being lonely isn't so bad. I was fine, Barty, I promise." Well worked digits rub his eyes to scrub the sleep away. An errant yawn or two is signal for coffee. Something he'd have to inevitably get on the way to take her to school. "You get yourself ready all by yourself this morning?"

"Yuh huh! You were sleeping and I didn't want to wake you up." She's scooped up into his arms quite easily. With soft little pats at her back, his face brightened.

"That's nice of you. Let's get you to school, yeah?"

When he got back the eerie quiet of the apartment wasn't something he expected to make him so uncomfortable. These days, with so little private time all to himself, he couldn't have let it go to waste, even with that feeling nagging at the back of his mind. Breaking from the main entryway though, he'd almost tumbled face first into their carpet over that stupid doll. Charlie'd managed to catch himself at the last minute on the wall. That really didn't stop the frustrated huff, or the mild little violent shove of the doll with his foot.

"Fucking-- Barty--" Eyes were still heavy, and though he pretended to be in good health and spirits around his daughter... He was tired. So when he could have sworn he'd heard a child cry out in pain with the kick, he stopped frozen solid in his tracks.

In his mind he'd heard it clear as day, the agonized cry of a baby boy. Brief as it might have been, he feels the cold sweat start to bead at his brow thickly. Mouth dried to cope, heart pounding in his throat.

Coincidence. Someone next door, or their downstairs neighbor. Or even just the tired mind had begun to wear away at his sanity finally, and begun to break the walls down. Charlie dragged his palms down the breadth of his face, pulling his face down to sag as he tried so very badly to wipe away the exhaustion. And failed. Supposing there would be no weakness in giving in this once, he slumped suddenly heavy feet along to the bedroom. Paranoid still, he'd closed the door behind him, and collapsed on his bed.

Not really certain how long had passed, a crash woke him from his slumber with a groggy stir. Followed in tandem with an infants sing song laughter. That had gotten him up to his feet sooner than anything else potentially could have. Along with the accompanied gurgling coos, and gentle sounds. Cold was the sweat upon him while his lip trembled. It finally happened, hadn't it? Cracked beneath the weight of the world that had bore itself down upon him. The victim as a mortal trying to be Atlas and carry the weight of the world upon his shoulders... No measure of stillness were present in his hands as his grasp furled around the knob to his door to shakily rip it open.

Only to still find it empty as he'd left it maybe two hours prior. No broken baubles, no ghostly children. Just the shitty apartment, and that fucking doll sat squat in the corner, looking up at him. Charlie tried his damdest not to blame the failing of his mental health the past day on this doll that had been in his life for such a short time-- But his mind was the furthest thing from rational. Sunken eyes blink once, twice, again-- Slow deep breath in, gentle one out exhaled through his nose.

He needed air.

Even if it was only for a little while before he'd had to go get Dahlia from school. It would be enough.

When he went to get her, the mask went back up. Everything was alright when she was around. Things feel a little better when she's home. All seemed calm when he talked to her about her day, asked her how everything was. The earlier morning's exhaustive nightmare slowly became distant memories.

And you know, for a while he genuinely did forget. Dahlia is sent off to bed, and he is once again left to calmly collect himself in the dead silence of the night. Lips purse tightly when he laid his head back against the back of the couch. The rushing patters of feet across the wood in the kitchen snap him back to reality, head jerked up in that sudden second.

“Dahlia. It’s bedtime.” He reminded in a soft soothing tone, pacing in his mind before he rose. But he received no response. “Dahlia I said it’s bedtime.” Something began to rustle about in the drawers. And whatever it had been did little to even pay him any mind. “Dahlia?”

“What daddy?” The voice groggily answered from the bedroom behind him. And there it was. That feeling returned to the forefront of his mind, with hairs rising to stand on end.

“Nothing, honey.” An air of calmness remained leveled in his tone, there was no reason to make her upset if someone had broken in. “Sorry for waking you, baby.” She didn’t answer back again, but he very clearly heard her groggy sound of affirmation, and the thud of head on the pillow.

What was happening?

Steady steps drew him closer to the kitchen, and the rustling that came from it, but before he could have rounded the corner, an unmistakable shape rushed out by him. Charlie felt the sharp edge of the kitchen knife shred the side of his thigh deeply before he got any sort of sound out to react. The sudden assault drove him down to his knee. The sight that greeted him wasn’t any more welcoming than the agonizing pain had been. The contorted gangly limbs of the doll twisted itself. Those cloth limbs moved less like arms and legs and more like tendrils of some hellish octopod. It moved about on all fours, rather than bipedally. The paring knife it had used to rip open his leg hung loosely from one of the four amorphous limbs, while its head turned on a swivel.

The state of shock was almost too much to have found words for it, let alone raise hands to defend himself, but as it lunged, he did just so. The winding limbs of matted fabric undulated as they wisped around his hand. The thing laughed while it attacked, like a child it had found some sadistic sense of amusement in his pain. Charlie had been a fighter, though. If there were any outcome to this, it was that he would not go down without some sort of struggle. Opposite arm clenched a clawlike grip around the head of the abominable thing, ripping it from his body, and sending it through the air against the far wall.

When it collided, it took on an arachnid’s pose, wriggling and furling limbs to scuttle to the floor safely, and rush to hide behind the couch.

It allowed Charlie one thing, a moment of clarity. To realize what the fuck was really happening. The pain he had been suffering. He hobbled toward the couch, carefully and not without any sort of hesitation. Without more than a step or two forward, it leapt again. This time coming straight for his face. With great sacrifice of a harsh laceration along the length of his wrist, he struck the thing back down to the carpet, but didn’t give it more than a chance to yelp before he snatched it from the ground and threw it out the window over the sink.

Charlie waited until he’d heard a thud, and only then did he go to look out. Checking on his handiwork, he saw a mess of blood and doll parts. Any sort of energy that remained was spent ensuring he wasn’t going to bleed out, and that whatever that thing was wasn’t going to get back in if it wasn’t dead.

If he slept that night, it would have been more like fleeting moments of unconsciousness that collectively lasted about thirty minutes when added all together. Not even from the warmth of his bed, but the alert position of the couch. That thing had been around his daughter, and then it tried to kill him.

In his daze, it’s really her that snaps him out of the tired pseudosleep he’d stumbled into.

“Daddy?” She spoke with a yawn, rubbing her eyes. “G’mornin’.” And like always, she walked forward like nothing happened. As if his night of madness and pain hadn’t happened. Plopping right beside him on the couch. “Have you seen Barty? He wasn’t where I left him.”

That thing—That fucking thing. He tried not to snarl when he talked about it, “No sweetie, but I’m sure he’ll turn up right?” She hummed a little affirmation and leaned her head against him.

“You want some breakfast?” Another sound to the affirmative and he chuckled, patting her on the shoulder. “Alright, I’ll make us some pancakes.”

Breaking away from his daughter was hard, but honestly, he was sure that eating something might make him feel better too. The griddle fired up, and hot, batter in the process of being mixed—But his blood ran cold again.

“Daddy, I found Barty!” The thumping of his heart felt so violent he might have thrown up. She had his attention again, even if he wore the mask to pretend nothing was wrong.

“Where was he sweetie?” The butcher knife from their rack was carefully held behind his back, lip twitched idly.

“He was under the coffee table.” She said it so calmly, holding him up proudly with both hands.

“Oh, he’s dirty honey--”

“But he doesn’t look--”

“He’s dirty, honey.” It was the first time his voice had ever raised at her, and it was the first time he got even remotely violent with her when he snatched the doll from her hands. “Let me clean him up for you.”

“Okay daddy, be careful with him. He said he’s got a headache.”

Charlie was going to make sure that whatever this thing was, a headache would have been the last of its worries. But he still kept that strong face up for her, smiling and carrying the doll back to the kitchen.

Out of eyesight. Angry hands furled around its throat, throttling it as he slammed it down on the counter. It yelped, it yowled, struggled hopelessly against his grasp. When the point of the knife finally pierced the cloth surface of the doll’s body, a burst of blood spewed forth from the wound. Gushing from this new seam, it spewed itself across Charlie’s upper body. Once again, he’s given pause.

When it cried.

That sound...

“Daddy?” Dahlia sheepishly asked from behind him. “What are you doing to Bradley?”

“B-?” He looked down at the thing again, if only to still affirm what he knew, that it was still that thing. “Bradley’s dead, Dahlia.”

“No, he’s not. He’s right there.”

No, no he was—His crushing grasp had slipped, if only enough for that horrible thing to slither out from beneath him. Scurrying up his arm, and latching its cloth coated tendrils around his mouth. He struggled, fought against it with everything he had—But it... It was stronger than it looked. Why was Dahlia just looking at him? Why didn’t she help?

“You and mommy were so tired. He wouldn’t stop crying.” Arms were flat at her sides, staring without even the faintest flicker of emotion in her eyes. All he could do was limply struggle as the cloth shredded, and those fleshy blood-soaked appendages thickened and bound him even tighter. “But I made him better. The man helped me do it. Now he doesn’t cry so much.” A smile, “Mommy didn’t like it either, she tried to break him too. But I can still make it all better.”

Exhaustion was kicking in pretty quickly, vision fogged, and the struggle left him. Blood loss and no sleep betrayed him, and everything went black.

When consciousness came back, he wrote it all off as though it had been some awful dream. But he was still restrained. Even though the doll itself was gone again.

“You and mommy were just so tired...” She said so sadly, Dahlia fidgeted with her fingers. Almost as if she had briefly reconsidered everything. “I just wanted to help. You never let me help.” She—There was a shadow behind her. Its grand shape stretched high to the ceiling. Yet against it all, he could do was try and struggle.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be a big happy family still. Me and Bradley had to fight Mommy to be with us, but she did too.” Meekly still, she set her barbie on the table. Its twisted melted face was what had drawn Dahlia to it in the first place. It had always looked like it had been screaming. But now it was as though he could hear it. “I got one for you too. I know my broken ones always made you sad, so I saved the new one grandma got me for Christmas for you...” An untouched Ken was sat beside his twisted lover, and Charlie went still. What was... What was she talking about? “Don’t worry, you won’t be like Bradley. I waited too long for him. I keep having to find him new dolls ‘cuz of that.”

She looked at the shadow behind her, what had undoubtedly been the grand puppeteer of destroying his family, corrupting his daughter. He could only look up with pleading eyes. Why? Why him?

“Can we do it now?”

That was the last thing Charlie remembered.

Fading in and out had taken its toll on his mental state... It had to have all been a nightmare. When he dragged himself out of bed, he’d drink some coffee, and things would go back to how they were.

But his arms didn’t move. No matter how much he willed or pulled at his mind to work the nerves, they just remained at his side. Then he tried legs, putting all the effort he could possibly manage in trying to crawl of the edge of the bed. But his legs didn’t move.

His eyes darted from corner to corner of the brightly colored bedroom in horror. He tried to scream. But there was no mouth. Just a plastic facsimile. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.

“Can I take my dolls?” Dahlia asked the police officer.

“Sure, you can sweetie. Your grandma’s gonna meet us at the station, okay? You can tell us all about what happened with your daddy.”

Charlie felt himself lift into the air, held tight in the grasp alongside two others. “Daddy was real sad. After my brother died, him and my mommy were both very sad...” She hung her head, looking at her dolls. “I just want us to be together forever.”

No... No no... she wouldn’t... Dahlia would never...

#horror story #scary story #short story #scary stories #creepypasta #creative writing

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ru-footprints · 3 years

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[The Craft Beer’ Narrow Road] Strange Fellows Brewing

I went to Strange Fellows Brewing at Clarke Dr. How far from Commercial-Broadway skytrain station to SF brewing is about 15 minutes by walking.

This local brewery is well-known by people who loves Vancouver Craft Beer.

They specialize making the tropical and fruity tasted beer.

Location

Along Clark Dr, there are some auto mobility repair manufactures. Industrial feels around there.

Navigation

You will see the counter when entering into the store and grab some beer, then feel free to find seats inside or outside of patio.

Interiors

Interior Space is like Vintage and Industrial style. I found Pendant Lightings and Metallic Plates which give Uniqueness and add Values into the space.

ON TAP

1. TALISMAN - WEST COAST PALE ALE

Refreshness, Tropical, Citrussy Aroma. Best beer in Summer time.

2. JONGLEUR - BELGIAN STYLE WIT

Most Favorite Belgian Styled One. Never tired of drinking it every single sip.

3. GUARDIAN - IPA

Juicy and Citrusy Taste. May be Game Changer.

4. POPINJAY - WEST COAST SOUR

Sour Ale. Hesitate to leave my comments here because the Sour beer is not mine.

Small Gallery

I liked that we appreciate the artworks and see them that I haven’t known before while drinking some beer. This can be the one of entertainment styles.

#fujiarchives #クラフトビールの細道 #craftbber #localbrewery #strangefellows #The Craft Beer' Narrow Road #クラフトビール #バンクーバー

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aprilblizzards · 4 years

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towards the start of season 7, when dean is laid up in the safe house with a broken leg for a few weeks, he starts to knit. he find a few dusty balls of yarn and some old wooden needles lying in one of the piles of stuff rufus left there, and he watches instruction videos on his laptop as he sits on the couch. he thinks it’s stupid, but he likes being able to do stuff with his hands since he can’t go anywhere. it makes him feel less restless. less useless. he starts out by making the ugliest goddamn scarf you’ve ever seen in your life. the stitches are uneven and the colors are hideous and it’s barely even rectangular, but he spent days hunched over it, and when he finishes he’s so proud of it that he wears the scarf to sleep that night, though he hides it under the couch cushions when he wakes up so that bobby and sam won’t see. after the scarf, he watches more videos and starts making other things – hats and socks and mittens – and they still suck but they’re slowly getting better. one day sam walks past him while dean is on pinterest trying to find patterns and dean slams the laptop shut with the guiltiest face sam has ever seen and sam asks him what it was and dean replies “porn” and sam drops it. by the time dean’s leg has healed, he’s got a sizable collection of shitty knitted creations, and he’s used up almost all of rufus’ old yarn. he stows the remaining stuff in his bag when they hit the road, and one night when they’re settling in at a motel, dean heads out and tells sam he’s going on a beer run, but before he goes to the liquor store, he stops in at the craft store next door to pick up supplies. he buys yarn in different sizes and textures and colors, and some smooth wooden knitting needles to go with it.

he knits in the car sometimes. after a long hunt, he’ll toss sammy the keys and stretch out in the back seat, feigning sleep, but really he’s fumbling with wool and cotton. he spends weeks working on a sweater the same color as sammy’s favorite green shirt, and presents it gravely to him on his birthday, with a face that very clearly communicates “if you make fun of this i will not hesitate to gut you,” and sam just swallows and shrugs on the sweater. it’s itchy and lumpy and makes him sweat uncomfortably, but sam tugs just once at the too-tight collar before saying “it’s great dean. thanks.” and dean grins and starts on his next project.

later, when cas comes back, dean knits him an ugly vest, because cas seems like the type of nerd who’d wear a vest.

when he’s a bit better at knitting, dean makes claire a dress for her birthday. it’s surprisingly beautiful and it’s so sweet she has to force back tears when he hands it to her. instead, she teases him. “didn’t realize you’d hit menopause, but i guess crocheting is just the kind of mid-life crisis you’d go through, old man.” and he narrows his eyes at her, tells her, “crocheting is for grandmas. knitting is manly as hell.”

and a few years down the line, when he’s settled down with cas, he keeps buckets of yarn in their bedroom. he sits jack down one night on the couch in the bunker and starts teaching him how to hold the needles and weave the yarn between them, and together they knit sweaters and hats and quilts for cas and claire and sam and eileen and jody and the girls every year.

#i need to project all my interests on dean winchester i'm sorry #but i really love the idea of him knitting and using gift-giving as a love language #spn

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kalbeliya-tunesonroad · 4 years

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Connecting to Himachal through the modern city “Kasauli”

“My soul is savoring freedom or maybe its hunting solace,

clueless I may seem but my soul has been harmonized,

blending and whisking itself into soothing and pacified energy.

ABOUT THE PLACE

Kasauli is a small hill town in the solan district of Himachal Pradesh, known for its sunsets, colonial-era houses and many more heart warming small spots. It is perfect place to spend your days in total peace of nature and still be connected modern day to day life .

TO HELP YOU NAVIGATE

How to reach

Major attractions

Accommodation

Overall budget

Breaking the budget

Unique about Kasauli / Insights

A Personal spot worth sharing

~Song of the trip ~Book of the trip

HOW TO REACH

Kasauli is 287.3 km away from Delhi and 57.3 km away from Chandigarh thus very easy to reach.

~BY BUS

The best way to reach Kasauli is by Bus. There is no direct bus or train from Delhi to Kasauli. First take a bus from ISBT Delhi ( Kashmere Gate metro station ) to Chandigarh. Also keep in mind to take a bus that takes you to sector 43 ISBT Chandigarh and not to sector 17 ISBT Chandigarh. There are many options available and it would not be difficult to board a bus from ISBT ( I took roadways). From sector 43 Chandigarh ISBT take a bus to Shimla and deboard at Dharampur ( I took Himachal Roadways which costed me around 110 bucks only). From Dharampur catch a bus to Kasauli which is almost 9 km away.

~BY TRAIN

You can catch a train to Kalka. Many trains are available at different timings ( Himalayan queen, Kalka Shatabadi, Kalka mail). From Kalka catch a private bus or roadways to Dharampur and from Dharampur to Kasauli.

“TIP” : Private buses may take long, better to take Roadways.

MAJOR ATTRACTIONS

Baptist Church

Sunset point

Monkey point

Gilbert Trail

Kasauli Tibetan market

Gurka Fort

Toy train

Gurunanak Gurudwara

Kasauli Brewery

BAPTIST CHURCH

Inside view of Baptist Church

Timings: 7:00 AM - 7:00 PM

It was built by Britishers in 1923 and the architecture of Baptist church is mesmerizing. You can roam around, sit in peace and buy beautiful bracelets. You can find shops nearby in case you want to buy anything.

SUNSET POINT

The half naked range of mountains from sunset point

Timings: 6:00 AM - 7:00 PM

The view is beautiful at any time of the day but obviously the sunset after which it has been named is amazing. You will find people clicking photos with their loved ones.

MONKEY POINT

Timings: 9:00 AM-5:00 PM

Facilities: Food and water is available with washroom facility.

Things to keep in mind:

Carry an identity proof to get in

Electronics are prohibited

Monkey point is one of the major attractions of Kasauli. It is located inside the Air force base. It is a temple dedicated to Lord Hanuman where he rested while returning to Lanka carrying Sanjivni booty. Also the top of the hill is in the shape of Lord Hanuman’s foot and it is 3.5 km away from Kasauli bus station. It takes about 15-20 minutes to get to the top. You will find hundreds of monkey in your way. Once you get at the top, you can enjoy the view of mountains and watch Satluj river turning and twisting its way around the horizon. This place is secure and strict. Also it is not hard to find, you can inquire any shopkeeper or may be army officials.

GILBERT TRAIL

Pinewood trees and the sky changing its color as the dawn hits at Gilbert trail

Timings: 6:00 AM - 5:00 PM

Location: Gilbert trail is at a distance of 2 Km from the Kasauli bus stand and can be easily reached

Gilbert trail is a 1.5 km walkway giving a beautiful view of pinewood tree, Himalayan oaks covered in a little mist, little wild flowers here and there. Make sure to be careful to wear good shoes during the monsoon season as the walkway is kaccha, narrow and becomes slippery after it rains.

KASAULI TIBETAN MARKET

Bun samosa from a shop in Tibetan market

Timings: 10 AM: 9:00 PM

Located near the mall road Kasauli Tibetan market is a beautiful place to be at to enjoy shopping and yummy food. At night the lights, people roaming around in beautiful clothes with shops full of woolens, antiques, art craft, handicrafts and jewels mesmerizing your senses.

GURKA FORT

Timings: 9:00 AM-6:00 PM

It is located in the town of Subathu at a small hillock and falls under the major attraction. It gives a beautiful background to photoholics. It is surrounded by Forest. Located at the remote corner and can be easily reached by road. Basically Gurka Fort is mostly ruins in today’s date and is known for its architectural left.

TOY TRAIN

Toy train in Kasauli gives you the beautiful scenic views. The surroundings will hold you till the end of your journey. You can board the train up to Dharampur, take the train up to Barog and return. Toy train can be booked online, check the timings online as the schedule keeps on changing.

GURUDWARA SHRI NANAK JI

Located in the market of Ghorkha on a road going towards Kasauli. Gurudwara Shri Nanak Ji is a religious place . It also provides free accommodation to the needy ones. Each Sunday Kada Prashad( sacred food) is distributed. Since it is an religious place you can visit it any time.

KASAULI BREWERY

Timings: 7:00 AM- 7:30 PM

Kasauli brewery (Mohan Meakin Ltd) serves different imported and brewed drinks and for sure serves your taste buds right. Established in 1820′s by Edward Dyer, this is Asia’s oldest working distillery.

ACCOMMODATION

From home stay to resort to luxurious hotels with wonderful views. You can easily find places to stay in Kasauli. You can make online bookings according to your budget and choice as the price variety is wide enough to fit in any pocket.

TIP: There is as such no need to hire a guide. You can easily find each place and reach them by roads.

OVERALL BUDGET

Transportation: 900 bucks

Food: 1000 bucks

Tickets: Around 100 bucks

No accommodation included

BREAKING THE BUDGET

BUS CHARGES( Includes reaching the destination and return)

2*250 = 500 ( I took Haryana Roadways from Delhi to Chandigarh)

2*110 = 220 ( I took Himachal Roadways from Chandigarh to Dharampur)

2*40 = 80 ( I took a public bus from Dharampur to Kasauli bud stand)

Total Transportation charges = 800 bucks

2. FOOD = 1000 bucks ( If you eat in good cafe and it is even less if you eat in nearby shops, there are plenty of small shops within reachable distance)

3. TICKETS = AROUND 100 BUCKS ( At most of the places you are not required to buy any tickets and if any place requires ticket formalities the price is very low)

4. Total : 1900 bucks.

Also this whole information is regarding the one day I took to cover Kasauli and there are no accommodation charges Included since I didn’t stay in Kasauli for the night.

UNIQUE ABOUT KASAULI / INSIGHT

Does the darkness of night and flickering of stars make you want to taste chilled beer when its raining heat and whiskey or old monk on a breezy cold night ? Then Kasauli brewery( Mohan Meakin Ltd ) is the place. It is Asia’s oldest working distillery famous for serving finest scotch whiskey and many other brands.

Also being a beautiful and peaceful place, its also connected through roads and is easy to cover. It is the nearest hill station from Delhi and Chandigarh where you can take a break from usual life, eat, roam in markets, sacred places and feel the nature taking over all your worries.

Also there is no problem with the crowd. So for solo travelers or solo female travelers its safe, Kasauli being an cantonment is quite safe, strict and secure . Everything is easily available and locals are quite friendly.

A PERSONAL SPOT WORTH SHARING

Kasauli is known for its beautiful sunsets and sunrises, I have been to Kasauli twice and both the times i was flabbergasted by the sunset views. Once you cover 700-800 m of Gilbert Trail walkway, there is a turning and stretched area in front of the turn, a soothing place other than sunset point to watch the beautiful sun setting behind the mountains of Kasauli and the whole city of Chandigarh covered in twinkling lights after the sunset.

~Song of the trip : Night changes by One direction

~Book of the trip : The last runaway by Tracy Chevalier

#travel travelphotography photography nature travelgram love photooftheday instagood wanderlust instatravel adventure travelblogger picofthed

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pinknerdpanda · 5 years

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Yippie-Ki-Yay

Word Count: 1,080 Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean Warnings: Fluff, friendly competition, Dean being Dean Requested by: @princessmisery666 Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul - you are a lifesaver and a light in my life. I love you.

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda Christmas Drabbles. This is a one shot, but I wrote it as a pseudo continuation of a story I’ve done the past two years for my Christmas drabbles. If you’re interested, you can read them here: The Bet & The Bet: Round 2. But this can definitely be enjoyed as is. Also, I’m the reader. I’ve never seen Die Hard. It’s on my Christmas Bucket list this year. lol

Gif Credit x

Yippie-Ki-Yay

“No cheating, Jolly Green! Keep your eyes to yourself!”

You fling an elbow behind you and connect with the youngest Winchester’s stomach. He lets out a soft groan but starts chuckling and you’re sure you hadn’t really hurt him. Though you kinda wish you had - at least a little bit.

“How is that cheating?”

You’re too focused on the task at hand to look at him, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. That cheeky, adorable, competitive bastard.

“Spying on the competition? Totally cheating.” You dip your finger into the gooey, green substance and fling it in his direction.

“Hey!” He grumbles before tossing a few brightly colored sprinkles back at you.

“Stop distracting me, Sam! This whole thing was your stupid idea!”

And it had been.

It all started on the drive home from Boise when you were discussing your favorite Christmas movies. Yours was a classic - National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Who doesn’t love watching Cousin Eddie emptying the shitter into the sewer in his bathrobe? The scene at the end where Clark goes nuts on everyone never fails to make you double over in a fit of laughter.

The brothers, however, had said in unison - as they often do - “Die Hard.”

“That’s not even a Christmas movie!” You’d argued.

The looks you’d received from both Sam and Dean showed you just how disgusted they were with your response. Matching expressions of incredulity bore down on you from the front seat and you wished you could have burrowed into the soft leather of Baby’s backseat instead.

Dean whipped his attention back to the road, but Sam had continued to stare.

“Well, it’s not. It’s about, like, bombs and stuff, right?”

It had been the worst thing you could have said in your defense. Well, the second worst.

“Have you ever seen Die Hard, y/n?” Sam’s gaze narrowed at you.

“Well, no.”

That was it. That was the worst.

Dean had nearly ran the car off the road at your admission.

“Are you fucking serious!?” He’d shot a death glare back at you after maneuvering the vehicle back to safety.

“I just, I dunno, I never did.”

“Well that changes as soon as we get back to the bunker.” Sam’s tone had been drenched in finality.

That was the worst thing he could have said. Nothing made you want to not do something more than being told you had to.

You’d crossed your arms, arching an eyebrow as you’d glared back at him.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Sam snorted.

“I mean, no. I have lived this long without seeing it. So I don’t see any reason that has to change now, just because you said so.” You’d tipped your chin up, looking pointedly away from his stupid face.

“Alright, how about this,” Sam had turned his large frame in the seat to face you as best as he could in the limited space. “How about we have a little friendly competition and the winner gets to pick the movie we watch that night.”

How you’d ended up making that “little friendly competition” into a cookie decorating contest, you can’t remember. All you know is that you have this in the bag. You think.

“30 seconds, bakers!” Dean barks from his perch at the table before taking a swig of beer.

You quickly put the finishing touches on your cookie art, drape a napkin over your work and step back just as the timer dings. Sam grunts and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s happy with the result or not, but you’re hoping for not.

“Alright! Let’s do this!”

Dean makes a big show of flicking out a napkin and tucking one corner just inside the collar of his flannel shirt.

“Ladies first,” Dean gestures for you to step forward.

You look at Sam, jerking your head towards his brother.

“You heard him, Sammy. You’re up.”

Sam tips his head to one side, his lips folding into a deep, dissatisfied frown as he rolls his eyes. Dean wheezes, clapping his hands, clearly approving of your joke.

“Hilarious, y/n.” Sam’s tone couldn’t have been drier.

“Alright, alright,” you step forward, placing your tray in front of Dean. “Don’t get your panties in a knot, Winchester.”

You tug the napkin off the tray with a flourish, revealing three snowman cookies. Each one has a different expressions on their fluffy white faces and their scarves are intricately designed with shades of green, red and yellow.

Dean grins at you, obviously impressed.

“I don’t know, Sam. You may be in trouble.” Dean tsks. “Let’s see what you’ve got, little brother.”

Sam approaches the table, tray in hand. Up to this point you’d felt pretty secure in your work, but at the moment Sam’s dimple is mocking you as he shoots you a self-satisfied grin. Bastard.

Sam hadn’t bothered with a napkin to elicit any kind of suspense so he just places the tray next to yours and stands back. He crosses his arms over his chest before turning and winking at you.

You lean over to find a tray of four, simple, round sugar cookies. Each cookie bears a single word, and while you don’t really understand the meaning, you have a feeling you are doomed.

“Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!” Dean reads the cookies and roars with delight. “I think we have ourselves a winner! I’m gonna go get the movie set up. Saddle up, y/n. You’re about to be schooled.”

Dean chuckles, grabbing one of your beautifully crafted snowmen and biting his head off cleanly. He grunts approvingly before grabbing another.

“Damn, these are good!” His voice fades as he saunters out of the room

Sam’s lips twitch, clearly trying to suppress a broad, victorious smile. It’s so adorable, you can’t help but giggle.

“Well played, Samantha,” you sass, “well played.”

Sam’s hands find your waist, pulling you forward as he presses a sweet kiss against your lips. He grips your hand and leads you out of the room and after Dean.

“Come on babe. A deal’s a deal.” He grins.

“Well, I suppose there are worse ways to pay up,” you offer. “Remember that time you had to slide down the stairs?”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “You mean the time you were checking out my ass right before I almost died.”

“Oh, Sam.” Leaning up, you place a kiss against his cheek before whispering in his ear. “I was checking out your ass long before that night.”

---

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male tiefling x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here, for your delight and delectation, is Killygren the tiefling, another character from Starfall Springs! See this dashing rogue’s character art and bio info here in case you missed it.

His story has been up on Patreon for a little while, and now it’s time to put it up on here. There’s another Starfall Springs story that’s been up on there too, but you’ll have to wait for that one, featuring an orc.

Halfway through one of the hottest summers on record, you bought a bus ticket and rode it to the end of the line.

Unconventional, unpredictable, and possibly unwise though the decision may have been, you simply snapped and needed a break.

The city was stifling, the traffic overwhelming, and you needed green fields, perhaps some cool, breezy woodland, or the soft caress of an ocean breeze. Starfall Springs, you knew from an advertisement you’d seen on the Underground, had all three. And a huge number of non-human residents as well, which, you had to admit, made you curious.

Your travelling companion on the bus was a very elderly harpy lady who saw that you were travelling alone and proceeded to talk your ear off about the local area as you drew near to the town. In fact you didn’t mind because she was actually quite interesting and very sweet.

“That’s Jaime’s farm,” she said, nodding out of the dusty window at an old farmhouse in the distance, surrounded by open pasture. There was a round-pen for training horses, and a number of horses were standing in the shade of some huge beech trees beside a field of sheep and goats and another with a small herd of russet red cows. “He’s a sweetheart,” she said, but you had begun to tune the rest of it out by then. The lilting movements of the bus, and the warmth in the air, made you feel slightly sleepy, and it was hard to focus on her voice.

Eventually, you helped her off the bus and inhaled deeply. Already the air was different here; fresher, sharper despite the haze of pollen in the air. She thanked you for being “Such a polite young man,” and made her way off along the banks of the fast-flowing river which carved through the centre of the old collection of buildings.

Alone once again, you decided to head off towards the wide, paved market square in front of you. Stall holders yelled and called jovially, selling everything from fresh fish and meat to summer produce, cakes, handmade goods, knives, and even little witchy charms. You caught sight of a palomino centaur selling cider and apple juice, apple jelly, apple compote, and even dried apple crisps, and beside her was an orc wearing an apron which bore the logo of a local dairy. His stall had the most amazing array of different cheeses, and you paused long enough to be offered a free sample.

“Visitor?” he asked jovially.

You nodded. “Yeah, just thought I’d make an escape from the city for the day. Maybe even for the weekend…”

“Well, if you need a place to stay, Killy’s inn - the Inglenook over there - is great,” he said, pointing towards an old timber-framed building on the far side of the market square.

“Thanks,” you grinned.

The orc smiled back at you, and you marvelled at how open and friendly everyone seemed here, unlike the city where the majority of inhabitants were human, and they seemed singularly morose and unfriendly.

You wandered through the market for a while, your rucksack bashing uncomfortably against your back, until you came to the far side of the open plaza. Down the length of the main road out of the small town of Starfall Springs, you glimpsed the rolling countryside beyond. Gods, but it was idyllic.

The hills in the furthest distance were raked with lines of grapevines, the terracotta roofs of the vineyard buildings glowing in the heat of the summer sunshine, and a few miles away there looked to be a vast fruit orchard. Heat haze marred any real details, so you turned away and made your way back into the town, winding your way down cool, narrow, ancient streets where any number of little shops were tucked away, from antique stores to craft shops, some with pottery and ceramics made locally, to small greengrocers.

You emerged at the other end of town near the duck pond and you paused a moment in the cool shade of the poplar trees and gazed into the murky depths. A bubbling near the far edge drew your attention, and you stared, astonished, as a horse’s head surfaced from the murky water. The horse heaved itself out of the water at the opposite edge of the pond, duckweed and little water flowers clinging to its greenish-black coat and studding its flowing black mane. It shook itself and you continued to stare openly as it trotted off towards the temple which stood not far away from this end of town, in the middle of an open meadow.

“What the…?” you breathed, realising it must be some kind of water spirit, probably a kelpie. That just wasn’t the kind of thing you saw everyday in the city though; there were very few places left which were pure and unpolluted enough for creatures like that to survive. As if to drive home the point, a tiny, glowing fairy zipped past your face, laughing and trailing a wake of sparkling dust behind them that made you sneeze and take a step back. Wherever the dust hit, the plants turned a violent pink for a few seconds before fading and returning to their usual hues.

As enchanting as the whole place was, eventually your stomach started to rumble, and you looked about for somewhere to eat. Perhaps you might even get a cheeky lunchtime pint while you were at it. It was a weekend after all.

Back in the central marketplace, you saw the old, traditional pub sign of the Inglenook swinging slightly as a breeze sighed around the square. The orc’s recommendation from earlier floated back into your mind, and you decided that you’d pop in and see what it looked like at least. You didn’t have to commit yourself to staying there if you didn’t want to.

The inside was tastefully decorated, with both traditional and modern features, though the bar at the far end was a very old fashioned, high pub bar, with a huge number of beers and ales on tap, and a vast array of spirits displayed on the wall behind.

Tables dotted the bar area, and the place was packed. You sighed, thinking it’d take ages for you to be served, and were on the verge of turning round and finding a quiet cafe somewhere else when the shattering of a glass made you halt.

You glanced around, drawn by the noise, and saw a beautiful tiefling standing beside the bar, as if he’d been about to come around the end of it and go to a table with a drink. At his dark blue, cloven hooves lay the scattered remnants of a glass tankard, foam and beer spreading in a wide pool around him. And, improbably, his eyes were locked on you.

Well, one eye was locked on you. The other was covered by an elegant sash of cloth. His long hair was a very dark blue-black, tied back in a low ponytail, and his skin - flawless save for a pale scar that bisected his mouth from upper lip to chin - was a dusty, cornflower blue. There was no white sclera to the visible eye, and the iris was an intense, fiery gold, with a slit, catlike pupil, while his left eye was covered by a sash of Tyrian purple silk with gold thread here and there, as if to accentuate the colour of his right eye.

After a second or two of staring dumbly at you as if you were some long-lost friend, the tall, slender tiefling shook his horned head, and seemed to come to his senses. A faun appeared from behind the bar with a cloth and a dustpan and brush and told him to step back while they swept up the mess.

You turned to go, not wanting to linger, despite feeling there was something going on that you’d missed. A few patrons were looking from the tiefling to you and back again, but most had either ignored the incident or returned to their lunchtime chatter.

You’d barely made it to the door before you felt a soft tap on your bicep and you glanced around to see that the tiefling had come over to you. This close up, you took in the beautiful horns that curled first backwards over his thin, tapering ears and then up towards his forehead again. The left horn ended in a gold tip and you saw tiny gold hoops flashing at his earlobes too. He was a bit taller than you, and you swallowed nervously. He was stunningly handsome, and apart from the fact that you’d never been with a non-human before, he was exactly your type.

He smiled, showing sharp, white canines and a warm smile with little dimples in his chiselled cheeks. “Hi,” he said in a warm baritone. “I’m sorry about all that just now,” he went on, waving a hand and you caught the sparkle of silver on his fingers too. “Listen, to make up for being such an ass, how about I let you have some lunch and a drink on the house?” He had an airy, lyrical, lilting accent that reminded you, for absolutely no reason at all, of summer evenings and mayflies dancing over still water.

“Really, you don’t have to do that,” you said, perplexed. “I mean…”

He smiled again and stretched out his hand in a more formal greeting. His were those beautiful kind of hands with everything in the right proportion, the dusky blue skin flecked with intriguing scars here and there, and the sight of it suddenly, strangely, made you ache to feel his touch. Things had become a bit lonely in the city, and you raised your own hand and shook his.

The skin of his palm was smooth and callused, but warm, and he held you firmly for a moment and then grinned, “My name’s Killy. Well, Killygren, no one except my mother calls me that, and I’d thank you not to use it…” he chuckled. “It’s hot out there today - let’s get you a drink at the very least…”

“I don’t understand,” you murmured.

He laughed again, a free, musical sound, and winked. “I was so struck by the sight of you, I dropped that one and made a fool of myself. We don’t get a lot of humans passing through Starfall Springs you know, and I know all of the regulars.” He jutted his sharp chin at a distant corner where an orc and a young woman were deep in conversation, their hands linked. “She was the last one to arrive. Inherited a run-down old farm not too far from town.”

“The way you speak makes it seem like the humans who do come tend to stay…”

He winked again and turned back towards the bar. He had a tail, you noted, and it hung elegantly behind him like a panther’s as he walked, hips swaying slightly, hooves clonking lightly on the wooden floorboards of the old pub. It was only then that you remembered the name that the orc had said, and realised that this must be his pub.

Emboldened, you followed him to the bar and set your rucksack down at the foot of one of the worn old bar-stools, and clambered up onto it.

“Will you let me guess your favourite?” he grinned from behind the bar.

You frowned slightly, but then allowed a slow smile to creep across your lips. “Alright.”

The faun, who had finished clearing up the shattered glass, looked up and giggled. He had a nest of golden curls and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen, his cheekbones smattered with a myriad freckles. “Don’t encourage him,” he said, shaking his head and making his wavy hair toss this way and that. “He’s incorrigible, and he rarely gets it wrong… Must be that tiefling magic…”

Killy did not look away from your face for a while, and you thought you saw a faintly glowing light through the fabric of the sash covering his eye, but it was gone in a heartbeat, and you chalked it up to mild heat-stroke or dehydration or something.

As if he’d read your mind, Killy said, “Well, first things first, a pint of water for the gentleman, but after that…” he made a show of stroking his chin with his long fingers.

“Like you don’t already know,” the faun snickered. “Just serve it to him and stop flirting.”

Your cheeks heated slightly, but the reaction was welcome enough, as was the attention.

Killy clutched his heart and shook his head. “I’m hurt, Dizzy. I’m hurt.”

The faun, presumably named ‘Dizzy’, thwapped him round the backside with a damp tea towel and retreated to take another customer’s order.

When Killy turned his attention back to you a few moments later, with, yes, what just so happened to be your favourite drink in his hand, he was still laughing softly. “I'm sorry about him,” he said, sliding your glass across the bar. “So, how’d I do?”

“The hype is well-founded, it seems.”

He fist-pumped playfully and turned back to the faun, sticking his tongue out at him - it was dark blue, you were surprised to see - and then turning back to you. “So, what brings you to Starfall Springs?”

“You can’t work that out as well?” you asked, somewhat acerbically, sipping the drink and trying not to show just how much you liked it.

He made a slightly odd expression, somewhere between strained and embarrassed, and said, “I could, I’m sure, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

You snorted, but soon found yourself telling the tiefling everything. You felt stuck in your job, your social and sex life was stagnating, you’d not had a decent boyfriend in years, and that morning you’d felt like a change of scene would be a good thing. “So I bought a bus ticket, and here I am.”

“And here you are,” he murmured softly. Killy listened to the whole thing. He’d sunk quietly onto a stool on his side of the bar, leaned his elbows on the counter top, and had listened; really listened. You’d not had anyone do this for you since… well… not even your brief stint at the therapist had been this cathartic. You found your hand resting on the ancient, beer-stained wood of the bar, tracing idle circles with your fingertip, and you noticed how close his fingers were to yours.

“Tell me something?” you asked bluntly after your third or fourth drink.

“Anything for you, handsome,” he grinned back. Coming from anyone else, that line would have been nauseating, but the way he said it, with that flippant, light-heartedness just made it seem somehow astonishingly sincere.

“How’d you know this was my favourite?” you said. “And how’d you get so good at listening?”

“I know things,” he said with melodrama in his one visible eye.

“No,” you countered, “No, that’s not…”

He chuckled and gripped your hand. The touch was so sudden, so unexpected that you let out a little moan that was way more sexual than you’d intended.

Killy only smiled and reached both hands up to undo the sash around his face. His long, blue-black hair was tied back off his stupidly handsome face in a low ponytail, and as he dislodged it to untie the covering, you felt the urge to touch it and run your hands through it, maybe even grip it and tug it. Your fingers twitched, but you remained still as he revealed the other half of his face.

“I don’t show just anyone this,” he said conspiratorially. “This eye was a special gift from someone who shall remain nameless at the moment, but it lets me see all sorts of things.”

You snorted, but then you looked at him anew.

He just laughed and you stared openly at his now-revealed left eye. A perfect, black pentagram hung in the middle of a glowing, ice blue iris, ringed with two black outer circles. It was unusual to say the least.

You leaned closer, fascinated. “That’s… kind of…”

“Gross?” he said. “Unnerving?”

“I was just gonna go with ‘cool’…” you finished rather lamely. “Why do you keep it covered?”

He shrugged and wrapped it up again. “I don’t always want to be poking into people’s business, you know? That way it helps reduce the ‘unexpected visions’ factor. Though when you walked in, I got an eyeful - quite literally - of you and me.”

“Wait… like…” you gestured vaguely and he laughed.

Killy leaned across the bar and whispered right in your ear, his breath tingling, “I mean, I can give you specifics.”

“Go on then,” you said, feeling oddly bold.

Without preamble, he murmured, “I saw me with my mouth around your cock…”

“Holy shit…”

He shrugged and drew back. “I’ve never had that with anyone, by the way. Must be something special about you.”

“You sure you don’t say that to all the boys?” you sneered.

Something softened in his face and he leaned back. “It’s not set in stone, you know? You can still say no. But something must be keeping you here. You’ve been here all afternoon. It’s getting late, and the last bus back to the city leaves in half an hour.”

“Shit.”

“You can still catch it if you leave now.”

The moment hung heavily between you, but one look at the way his sharp Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed got you thinking about him swallowing your release, and you felt heat pool between your legs. “What the hell,” you said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with open bitterness in his voice, turning away from the bar. “You’ll have to wait til I’m done working though.”

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” you hastened to add. “Look, you know my whole life’s story now. You know this was a spur of the moment trip - something I’d never normally have done. It feels… I don’t know… right?”

The corner of Killy’s mouth, near the vertical scar, twitched, and he smiled. “Drink some water. I’ll be done in an hour.”

You watched him work from a quiet corner of the bar, and you definitely sobered up a fair bit in that time. Not that you’d been necessarily drunk, but something about the atmosphere had gone a long way to helping you release your inhibitions. With the water in your system, you started to note the way Killy behaved a bit more closely. He was attentive with his customers, quiet and patient, and you couldn’t help noticing from your new vantage point that he rested one hock slightly against the other whenever he paused to hear someone speak. His eyes constantly darted around, and he had a nervous habit of playing with his right earring when someone lingered too long or got too close.

His trousers were loose linen, cuffed tight around his elegant, almost cervine ankles, and but from what you could see, his legs were hairless. He was not built like a faun, despite having the hooves.

Eventually he washed his hands and swapped shifts with a huge minotaur who came in and high-fived him as he left. Killy glanced around the bar and then spotted where you had parked yourself, and he smiled.

“You’re still here,” he said when he had drawn level with your table.

Your mouth was still dry from watching the way he had dropped his shoulders in relief and the elegant way in which he had walked over to you, hips swaying softly as though he wore heels. You croaked. “Yeah.”

“Look, just because I saw one future possibility… I really mean it. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No strings attached, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ok.”

“Just like that?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve had a couple of pints of water and an hour to think it over. Why can’t I have something that’s still meaningful with a complete stranger?”

His lips twitched again. “Right. C’mon.”

He led you upstairs, his hooves clunking softly on the bare wooden tread of the staircase, and into a very humble bedroom at the top of the old pub. A double bed occupied one wall but the sloping ceiling took out practically half of the other side of the room. A little free-standing wardrobe stood against the far end, and a pair of low bookcases stood on either side of the bed, doubling as beside tables with little lamps. It was surprisingly spartan for such an apparently flashy tiefling.

As you dumped your bag in the corner, you looked at him in surprise and he smiled softly, standing so close you could smell the soft scent of jasmine on his long hair. He had a freckle on his cheekbone. Your eyes drifted to the scars on his lip, and you wondered where he’d got them from. Before you could ask, he was kissing you. He began slowly, hesitantly, but something about the way he treated you made you ache for more.

Blood pooled in your groin and you felt your cock stir as his hands took hold of your jaw and he groaned. He had a slight shadow along his own jaw and you relished the rasp of it against your skin. He pressed his body close, his hips rearing against yours, and you grunted softly as you felt the hardening line of his cock against your hips.

Killy backed you against the closed door and as the air left your lungs with another softly articulated grunt, his fingers found their way to your waistband. He glanced at you and saw the acceptance in your face before continuing. He let your jeans fall to the floor and he freed your cock, stroking it slowly, apparently enjoying the feeling of wrapping his hand around it, getting to know the way you felt in his hand.

He stroked you, working you slowly, luxuriantly, while your knees felt like they were going to turn to water. “Killy,” you hissed, and he caught your meaning.

You stepped out of your jeans and abandoned them, allowing him to pull you over towards the bed and push you down onto it. The tent in his own soft trousers was obvious now, and you reached your hand for it, intending to palm him briefly and tease him, but he grabbed your wrist and placed it back on the bed as he tipped you expertly down onto your back.

He took your shirt off and let his palms play over your torso. As much as you may have been underwhelmed by your own body, he seemed to relish the chance to touch it. He lingered on your collarbones and on your nipples, even lowering his lips to them and kissing you over and over while his hands painted slow circles over your lower torso and hips, down towards your thighs.

“Fuck, Killy… please!” you grunted as your cock pulsed again, printing pre-come onto your skin. You felt like your skin was a size too small all over as he trailed a fingertip down the line between thigh and hips, dangerously close to your sensitive balls. “Fuck! Stop teasing me!”

He laughed and took you by surprise by lapping the tip of his dark tongue against the head of your cock, tasting you. His one visible eye rolled closed at the taste of you, and in one swift motion he licked his lips and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

As your tip hit the silky soft flesh of his throat, you gasped and cursed.

He closed his fingers around the base of your cock as he withdrew, keeping his cheeks hollowed, and he began to suck. The heat and slide of his mouth over your hard cock was incredible, and he clearly enjoyed the feeling too.

He was as clever with his hands as he was with his lips and tongue. Killy worked your cock with his mouth, alternating between long, regular strokes and teasing sucks and licks around the head of your cock, just sliding you in and out of his lips before dipping his head and letting you hit the back of his throat again. Time slid by, but all too soon you were shuddering on the edge of release.

“Killy…” you hissed. “I’m…”

White heat built rapidly and you knew you were very close.

He sucked just a little harder, his fingertips tracing just behind your balls, and you came hard into his mouth. He swallowed you down without breaking eye contact with you.

The intensity of your release had taken you somewhat by surprise.

Sure, it had been a while since someone had blown you, but still, the way he’d lavished attention on you had been something else. He stayed there while your cock throbbed and leaked the last drops of your release onto his tongue, only drawing back and licking his lips when you had completely finished.

“Did the vision live up to reality?” you finally rasped as you lay back, slightly dazed.

He smiled. “You don’t want to know what else I just saw…”

“Something tells me I might enjoy it?” you hedged. “Just… gimme a minute…”

Killy lay down on his back, still fully clothed, and smiled, glancing sideways at you. “I’m yours for the night.”

************************************

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#exophilia #tiefling #male tiefling #mlm #mlm exophilia #male reader #male monster x male reader

668 notes · View notes

johaerys-writes · 5 years

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Day 12: Watching the Sunset

For day 12 of @scharoux‘s @14daysofdalovers, featuring my OC Tristan Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus! From the as-yet-untitled Modern AU @oftachancer and I have been working on :)

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The cold southern wind whistled through the narrow cobblestone streets, bringing with it smells of burning wood, damp pavement and fresh salt spray, mingled with Antivan spices from the many restaurants along the road. Dorian wrapped his coat tighter around him, shivering. He had been in Ostwick for months, and he had gotten somewhat used to the random bouts of rain, followed by bright sunlight, which was in turn followed by more drizzle. That drizzle was the worst; that slow, steady spattering, too light for an umbrella to make a difference, but that still managed to dampen his coat and the top of his head. It could go on for days- days that seemed grey and miserable and never ending, days that Dorian had become accustomed to. What he never thought he could get accustomed to was that wind. The wind that seemed to come from everywhere all at once, swirling about him, making the leaves and scattered papers on the street whirl in lazy, unfocused patterns. It froze him to the core, and made his eyes water and his lips crack, and disheveled his carefully combed waves. It irritated him to no end. How those dratted Ostwickers never seemed to mind that awful weather, and would walk about in the middle of winter with T-shirts and thin sweaters while he had to bundle up in layers and scarves was beyond him. Southerners. A bizarre lot.

He muttered curses under his breath as he made his way to his flat, swerving past the throngs of people and laughing students. That part of the city was the busiest that time of day - the old Merchant district, that was now filled with bars and coffee shops and small restaurants, the scent of ale wafting from half open doors. Marcher ales were decent, if one liked that sort of thing. Dorian himself prefered wine, red and deliciously dry, for which the Free Marches were hardly renowned. Even so, the selection of Antivan and Orlesian wines was astounding, even in the tiniest bars. The Marchers were an odd assortment of people, that was certain, yet they seemed to know their liquor as well as any Tevinter. In that respect, Dorian had grown quite fond of the place. He wondered what else he might grow fond of, with time.

Muffled conversations and drifted from the bars and shops he passed by, and Dorian found his steps had slowed down as he glanced at the people gathered inside, chattering and laughing. He managed to spot a few familiar faces - students that showed up pale and weary at his morning lectures, dark circles under their eyes and steaming cups of strong coffee in their hands, yet were now rosy cheeked and merry under the influence of whatever brew they were sipping from tall glasses. His gaze swept over them all, never lingering on any particular one, when his steps suddenly stopped short before a small and rather dim bar, simply decorated and its chairs carefully arranged in a semi circle. The reflection on the glass window made it hard to make out details, but Dorian would recognise that hair anywhere. Light blonde, the highlights in it so pale they almost looked white, falling in soft waves around a high forehead and a sharp jaw. A strong nose, a stubborn chin, a small line in between brows furrowed in a focused frown. The soft curve of that bottom lip, curling downward, interrupted by the bite of white teeth, glistening as a rosy tongue was swept over it soon after. Glistening.

Dorian blinked, leaning forward to peer inside the bar. Yes, it was definitely him. Tristan Trevelyan. He hadn’t seen him in quite a while - not since Professor Walker had returned to the University, resuming the teaching of the Rune crafting course. Dorian didn’t miss much about teaching that course. Its preparation took up way too much of his time, time he needed for his own research, yet there was one thing in particular that he now realised he had missed. His TA meetings with the young Trevelyan had been entertaining, in a way that Dorian had never quite anticipated. Quiet and reserved most of the time, with a reticent gaze that always lit up when they talked about all the different elements of runes and their composition. Conversations about rune crafting could soon derail into deep discussions about history and philosophy, until they somehow found themselves talking about Rivain coffee and all the different reasons why it was preferable to Nevarran tea. Dorian had learned that Tristan was fond of pastries and gin, often in unusual combinations, that he disliked early mornings, that he abhorred scratchy sweaters, that he would much rather spend his summers by the beach than in the mountains. He seemed approachable, tangible, tactile, yet still so out of reach and understanding that Dorian’s thoughts couldn’t help but stretch towards him, almost obsessively.

Without quite realising it, he pushed the door open, walking into the small bar. It hardly looked like a bar; there was no music playing from loud speakers, no overpowering smell of beer and whisky wafting off the tables. In the center of the semi circle was a small make-shift podium, where a young man was sitting on a dingy wooden chair, a book open in his hand.

“...What is the true nature of the poet? What is the proper role of the poet in society? Is the artist a medium through which universal truths are expressed, or is art forged in the depths of the artist’s psyche, corrupted by flawed world-views and personal biases? What is the function of imagination and inspiration? Polmear begins by declaring that a poet has no self or identity. A poet, like a chameleon, absorbs the colorations of the outside world, becoming one with the things seen, heard, and touched. Poets should free themselves of their own limited experiences of the world…”

Dorian approached silently, taking a seat at the very last row, close to the door. There were only five or six people. Tristan was by himself, so far as Dorian could see, nodding absently as he listened to the man on the podium. When the man was finished, a woman was invited to the podium, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, her eyes obscured by the thick rim of her glasses.

"How many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever been the food of my delighted fancy,—I could brood, over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, these will in throngs before my mind intrude…”[1]

Others followed after her, each one with a careful selection of poems. Some of them were quite enjoyable, that even Dorian could admit, others just sounded like pompous fluff to his ears. Soon he found his mind drifting, choosing to study the young Trevelyan instead. He hadn’t noticed him, his expression dreamy as he listened, gently nodding when one by one the poems finished.

It seemed like an eternity later that the young man from before came to the podium. “Would anyone else like to read a poem before we finish for tonight?”

“I would.”

To Dorian’s surprise, Tristan rose from his seat. He shifted awkwardly on his feet for a breath, then made his way to the center of the semi circle. He sat at the edge of the chair, clearing his throat. Long fingers brushed over the outside of a small pocket book, its yellow pages contrasting the paleness of his skin.

“We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, streaking the darkness radiantly—yet soon, night closes round, and they are lost for ever: or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings give various response to each varying blast, to whose frail frame no second motion brings one mood or modulation like the last. We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep; We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away: It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow, the path of its departure still is free: Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.”[2]

Dorian’s skin prickled as he listened to his voice, smooth and slightly nasal, the soft timbre as it deepened, his tongue delicately rolling over the vowels and the consonants. Dorian was never one for poetry, but at that moment he would gladly listen to every poem in that book of his and more, if it simply meant listening to him.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the quiet applause that echoed across the room as the poem drew to a close, and Tristan lifted his eyes, gaze sweeping over the faces there. And saw Dorian’s. And blushed. Dorian blinked a couple times, just to make certain, yet there it was. A rosy glow, climbing from his neck to his cheeks up to his ear, behind which a pale blonde lock rested. Tristan blinked back at him, his lips twitching in something that looked like smile -was it a smile?-, then he stood up, returning to his seat without ceremony. The poetry reading was concluded not long after, and Dorian found himself standing by the door, trying to suppress the flutter in his stomach as he watched Tristan sling his backpack over his shoulder and approach him. But why in the void would he be feeling fluttery? This was just foolish. Juvenile and foolish.

“Of all the places I expected to see you, this must have been the very last,” Dorian said with a bright smile in the best imitation of a teasing tone he could muster.

Tristan’s smile was reserved when he came to stand before him. “Likewise.” He glanced behind his shoulder at the people leaving the cafe. “You came with someone?”

“No. I was just passing by and decided to drop in. It looked like an intriguing little assemblage. I couldn’t well resist.”

His eyes flashed with interest as he pushed the door open, gesturing for him to walk out first. “Are you a fan of poetry, then?”

Dorian licked his lips, stepping out into the chilly evening. He gave him a quick nod, and instantly regretted it when the fellow turned to look at him in awe. “Evidently, not as big a fan as you are,” he said quickly. “Although, I have to say, this was a very interesting reading. Which poet was it you were discussing, again?”

“It wasn’t a single poet,” Tristan said simply. “It was a feature on Blessed Age Free Marcher naturalist poets.”

“Ah.” Dorian shoved his hands into his pockets, looking ahead. “I lean more towards Tevinter poetry myself.”

Tristan hummed softly at the back of his throat, his steps falling alongside his. “Don’t ask, we may not know what the gods plan for you and me. Be wise, strain clear the wine and prune the rambling vine of expectation. Life’s short. Even while we talk, Time, hateful, runs a mile. Don’t trust tomorrow’s bough for fruit. Pluck this, here, now.”[3]

Dorian blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Tristan blinked back at him, then frowned. “‘Carpe diem’. It’s one of the most well-known Tevinter poems here. I’m afraid I only know the modern translation. Did I say something wrong?” He stopped, searching Dorian’s face. Then, a small smirk curled the edges of his lips. The audacity. “You’re not a fan of poetry, are you?”

“Very well, you’ve rooted me out,” Dorian said with a soft sigh. “Poetry has never held too much interest for me, I’m afraid. Although I do see the appeal.”

Tristan’s smile widened just a hair before melting away, the tiny dimple at the corner of his mouth deepening for a blink of an eye. He walked on, his strides steady and confident, the wind blowing through his hair. A faint scent of lavender and citrus flowers and… and something else that Dorian couldn’t put his finger on drifted towards him. He quickened his pace, catching up to him.

“So,” he said decisively, “how are your runes?”

“They’re well. Multiplying, actually.”

Dorian huffed in amusement. “Enjoying Professor Walker’s lectures, I take it?”

Tristan shrugged. “They’re alright. She is quite knowledgeable. Although I prefer your methods.”

Dorian could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. So he prefered his methods, did he? Why did that make Dorian feel giddy like a besotted schoolgirl? And why did he suddenly feel the burning need to show him the full range of his methods, preferably while slowly peeling that snug dark blue coat off him, then that fitted black sweater that hugged the muscles of his arms, then those jeans that...

He gave a minute shake of his head, swallowing thickly as he smiled. “I’m pleased to hear you found my method of teaching appealing, but I have you to thank for that. The lectures would have been significantly duller without your assistance.”

Tristan chuckled under his breath, that rosy blush returning to his cheeks. Or was it from the cold wind? “I doubt that. You have a way of captivating your audience.”

There it was again. That awkward little hop-scotch in his chest. “You flatter me,” he said, hoping his voice betrayed none of his emotions.

“I’m not. I’m only stating the obvious.”

His expression was serious, his tone as matter-of-fact as Dorian had ever heard it. “I see. Well, in any case, thank you for thinking so highly of me.”

Tristan shot him a sideways glance as he walked on, taking a step to the side to let a merry company pass them by. When they found themselves side to side again, his bottom lip was flushed, as if he had been biting it. “You’ve taught many classes before? In Tevinter?”

The mention of his country made Dorian bristle. He straightened, head held high as he walked. “I have. Quite a few different ones, in fact. I finished my doctoral thesis in only three years in Minrathous, but I assisted my mentors with many of their courses during that time.”

“Three years? That’s… bloody hell. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone finishing their PhD in less than four.” His gaze was thoughtful when it landed on Dorian. “How are you finding things here? Is Ostwick up to par?”

Dorian scoffed. “Up to par? Hardly. But I’d give them an A for effort. Or a B.” He paused for a moment, pretending to think. “An A minus?”

Tristan huffed a laugh. “Let’s settle for a B plus. That sounds fair.” Their shoulders brushed as the pavement narrowed, leading them down a small lane squeezed between two stone brick buildings. The sharp gust that blew through it smelt of sea spray and seaweed, and only then did Dorian realise that they had been walking towards the shorefront all that while. He had been so absorbed by the company of the man beside him that he hadn’t even taken a moment to think about where they were going.

Dark grey blue waves frothed and crashed against the rocky shore as they stepped upon the wide promenade. Seagulls squawked and crooned above them, gliding with the gales to perch themselves atop the old carved railing. The sun was nearing the edge of the horizon, painting the heavy clouds in shades of gold and orange and violet. Dorian followed Tristan as he walked up to the railing, his coat stretching across his shoulders when he rested his elbows on the cold marble.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The wind swirled about them, thick and sticky with salt, while Dorian gazed out at the stormy sea, the side of his hip touching the railing. The way Tristan seemed so focused on watching the sea stretch before them, it seemed to Dorian that he had entirely forgotten his presence.

“Do you miss Minrathous?”

Tristan’s voice drifted along a sharp gust, mingled with the susurrus of waves, was almost drowned out by the gull’s insistent squawking, yet Dorian heard it clearly. It was the last question that Dorian had expected him to ask, even though his time with the man had shown him that nothing about him was as it seemed. The question itself was simple. The implications behind it immense. Dorian wondered whether Tristan realised that.

He always despised that moment, the dratted moment when the matter of his heritage came up. It always did, sooner or later, no matter who he was talking to. To the people around him he must have looked odd, unusual, outlandish even. It wasn’t like he could do anything to hide it, even if he had wanted to. The Imperium had been a looming threat on the whole of Thedas for centuries, and the tales that had been woven through the people’s consciousness were of charlatanism and blind fanaticism at best, horror and despair at worst. No one was bold enough to say anything to his face, of course, but Dorian could see their reservations plainly. He could see it in their wide, friendly smiles that quivered when they were finally able to place his accent, or after he had helpfully informed them where he had learned all the “fascinating things he knew”. He could sense it in the awkwardness that followed, thick enough to be sliced through with a knife. A comment would usually ensue, something about the weather in Tevinter, where it was summer all year round, apparently, or the fine wines that surpassed Antivans in quality and lay far beyond what their meagre salaries could stretch to. Idle statements, irrelevant, inconsequential, aimed at steering the conversation carefully around the elephant in the room rather than crashing head first into it, hastily changing the subject to something else. Something safer. More acceptable. As if the very fact that he came from Tevinter was a frightful affliction, and any mention of it had to be avoided at all costs.

Dorian held his gaze on the crashing waves and the jagged rocks below them. “Occasionally,” he replied slowly. Cautiously. He stole a sidelong glance at Tristan, waiting. Another long stretch of minutes passed before the man spoke again.

“I’ve heard it’s a wondrous place. I always longed to see it.” He paused for moment, worrying the inside of his lip. “What is it like?”

Dorian’s ears pricked up, searching for the sarcasm, the apprehension, the hidden trap. There was nothing there. It was a simple, straightforward, guileless question. He took a deep breath. “It is indeed beautiful. It is unlike any other city I’ve ever visited.”

“How so?” Tristan turned to look at him, dark blue eyes glinting with interest. Once again, not a hint of mockery in them. What an odd fellow.

“The city inner is made almost entirely of white marble,” Dorian began, forgetting his hesitancy for a moment. “The marble spires of Minrathous were once the tallest buildings in Thedas. An architectural marvel. They’re still there, most of them. There are covered walkways all throughout the center, and entire markets held in loggias. There are hidden gardens everywhere, too, carefully tucked away. One moment you could be making your way through a crowded street, and the next you could turn a corner and find yourself in an oasis, with trees and fragrant rose bushes and fountains. And the bazaars…” He paused for a moment, not quite able to stop the fond smile that widened his lips. “The bazaars of Minrathous are the finest in Thedas. Of that I can assure you. There isn’t a thing you could possibly covet that you wouldn’t be able to find there. The gemstones, the exotic foods, the trinkets, the fabrics…” Dorian let out a soft sigh. “I could go on.”

“Please do.”

Tristan had straightened and was now facing him, his eyes wide with wonder, hanging from his every word. Dorian blinked, taken aback for a moment. He didn’t quite know what he had expected when he started talking, yet it certainly wasn’t it. He had been fairly certain that the younger man had only asked about his homeland out of courtesy, that he probably didn’t care a fig, yet here he was. Reciting Tevinter poetry, listening intently while Dorian spoke, eagerly awaiting more. Who was he, then? Where had he come from?

Dorian looked away, a breathless laugh escaping him. “Perhaps I should show you some pictures. I doubt anything I could say would do it justice.”

A smile, warm and slow spreading, blossomed on Tristan’s face. “I’d love that.”

Dorian looked at him then, at the strands of flaxen hair carried by the salty breeze, catching in his eyelashes and his lips. Dorian returned his smile with one of his own, following Tristan’s gaze when it left him to focus on the setting sun, and its golden hues that fell upon the thrashing, violet waves. In the day’s waning light, Dorian could have sworn that his eyes had changed their colour to match that of the stormy sea below them.

“The sky puts on the darkening blue coat, held for it by a row of ancient trees; you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight, one journeying to heaven, one that falls; and leave you, not at home in either one, not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses, not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes, a star each night, and rises; and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel) your life, with its immensity and fear, so that, now bounded, now immeasurable, it is alternately stone in you and star.”[4]

The words were carried by the wind, whirled in lazily circles about him, cradling him, enveloping him. The promenade was now empty save for the wandering seabirds, and it felt to him like they were both standing at the edge of the world; two people connected by a deep longing for the unknown, and companionable silence.

Dorian cleared his throat, swallowing through the knot that had found itself there. “Your ability to recite entire poems off the top of your head is truly astounding.”

Tristan hummed in amusement, and the flush that crept up his cheeks was definitely not because of the wind this time.

*****

[1] How many bards gild the the lapses of time! - John Keats

[2] Mutability - Percy Bysshe Shelley

[3] Carpe Diem - Horace, translated by James Michie

[4] Evening - Rainer Maria Rilke

#14daysofdalovers #dorian pavus #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #pavelyan #tristan trevelyan #johaerys writes

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tmarie82 · 6 years

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Private Party

Pairing: Dr. Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Blake Reyes)

Book: Open Heart

Word Count: ~4,100

Rating: NSFW

Disclaimer: The storyline and dialogue from the first ⅔ of this story is completely the work of Pixelberry’s Open Heart chapter 6, with my own artistic embellishments. Also, I refused to pay diamonds for that piece of red sequined fabric that PB tried to pawn off as a “shirt” in the chapter, so I’ve classed up Blake’s outfit a bit for the story.

Author’s Note: I was floored by how good Bryce’s first diamond scene was last week. Even with the fade-to-black that left some to the imagination, it was still incredibly HOT and perfectly Bryce. This is my adaptation of the housewarming party (and private party in Blake’s room) from Bryce’s perspective. This can and does fit into the timeline of my other Bryce x Blake stories, or it can be read as a stand-alone based on pure canon.

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list. You can find all of my fics in my Masterlist on my homepage.

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Bryce Lahela had always enjoyed a good party. Starting with the high school ragers he’d attended when his friends’ parents were away and then the college keg parties that would inevitably end with the cops at the door, he had developed a reputation for being quite the party boy. Yet somehow tonight at this particular party, he found himself unexcited at the prospect of free beer and drinking games. Instead he found himself anxiously awaiting the arrival of one person in particular.

Perched atop the arm of the large L-shaped sofa, Bryce tipped his head back to swallow another mouthful of his chilly IPA. He’d brought the six-pack as a housewarming gift of sorts, a casual gesture since he knew Blake loved to try new craft brews, however the beverages had proven quite handy after thirty minutes at the party without a keg. But the bad news was, since he already had a backup in the beer department, that meant there was still no sign of Blake …

He was currently chatting with Elijah and Landry, trying his best to make a good impression on Blake’s two male roommates. While he still wasn’t exactly sure where this thing with Blake was going, deep down he was hoping to see whole lot more of her in the future and he knew maintaining a good rapport with the roommates would be beneficial to everyone down the road. The two other guys were recounting the events from their expedition to the Nighthawks baseball game the other day, and surprisingly Bryce found himself rolling at Elijah’s recap of Landry’s first baseball experience.

The laughter rumbled from his chest, his head thrown back before he responded to the tale. “It sounds like you guys did it right! I’d love to go to a game sometime if you are up to it.” Bryce lifted his bottle to his lips again, taking a small swig before he noticed a slim figure lugging a large metal barrel awkwardly through the front door.

“Yeah, that would be great!” Bryce could hear Landry talking in front of him, although his attention was admittedly focused elsewhere. He couldn’t help the warm grin that spread across his face as he examined Blake, her dark hair looking disheveled in a knot atop her head and her face knitted as she struggled to get the bulky keg further inside. “And I know Blake wouldn’t mind if you tagged along.”

The mention of her name brought Bryce back to the moment, his eyes looking back to the two other men to find them watching him with knowing looks. “I’d really love that. Let me know next time you guys go.” He chugged the rest of his beer down, setting it down on the table before averting his gaze back to Blake. “But if you’ll excuse me, it appears that I am needed elsewhere …” He heard the soft chuckling from the two other men as he walked away, but his mind had already moved on.

Blake had finally made it past the front door and about six feet into the entryway tugging the keg by one handle behind her. Bryce swooped in swiftly and gripped the other handle with one hand, lifting it effortlessly off the ground. “Lemme help with that.” Blake startled at the sudden assistance and turned to him, her eyes blank for a brief second until they glistened with a genuine warmth upon recognition. Bryce nodded a hello at her, following behind her with keg in hand as they now smoothly made their way to deposit it in the kitchen. As they set it down, he finally voiced his confession. “I was wondering where you were.”

Blake flashed him a smug grin, obviously pleased to hear that he had been looking for her. “At the hospital, getting puked on. Again.”

He laughed out loud, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he replied. “I love when you talk dirty.”

He saw her eyes widen at his playful innuendo, then her face set in a satisfied grin. “At least one of us does.” She looked down at her plain gray henley and jeans with a grimace, running her hands along the fabric before glancing back up with a pleading look. “Give me a minute to get showered and changed.”

Bryce nodded, his eyes following her as she made her way through the crowded room towards the bedrooms. Of course his mind had already conjured up an image of Blake in the shower, her slick hands massaging soap across her wet skin, the water trailing over her full breasts and down the curves of her belly and then lower … He cleared his throat and shifted in place to divert the blood flow in his body, attempting to avoid an obvious physical indication of this thoughts in his pants. He quickly surveyed the room for an entertaining distraction to pass the time.

Twenty minutes later, Bryce stood in the middle of the room chatting with several of the other surgical interns when he noticed Blake emerging from her room looking clean and, well, pretty damn hot. Her thick ebony hair tumbled over her shoulders, resting atop her low-cut red blouse that revealed just enough to leave a guy wanting more. And Bryce definitely wanted to see more … which was probably obvious by the way he was staring with his jaw wide open when he caught Blake smirking at him. Bryce tried to compose himself as best he could while she sauntered slowly over to him. “Oh, damn …” was all he could think to say once she was finally standing before him.

Blake arched an eyebrow at him inquisitively, that playful smirk still lifting the edges of her lips slightly. “Problem?” She asked innocently, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to him.

Shaking his head, Bryce allowed his eyes to rake up and down her body, admiring her up close and personal. “Just admiring the transformation.” He noticed her dark eyes sparkle with satisfaction at his response, her bronze skin glowing warmly under his gaze.

“Are you saying I looked terrible before?” Her eyes narrowed in challenge as she waited expectantly.

Bryce’s eyes darkened as he met her gaze, a sly grin on his lips. “I’m saying you look killer now.” He didn’t miss Blake’s sharp intake of breath as he emphasized his words, delighting in the slight flush that crept to her cheeks at his bold flirtation.

Finally tearing her eyes away from his, Blake began looking around the party. “Well I don’t know about you, but I need to see a doctor about some shots!” She gave him a wicked smile. “You in?”

“Sounds like a plan. You lead the way, Reyes!” Sliding his hand to cup her lower back, Bryce followed closely behind as she guided them through the crowded room.

~~~

The party continued on until the wee hours of the morning, the rambunctious crowd gradually dwindling off and transitioning to a low-key gathering after the landlord came around at midnight. The keg had long been floated, the board games had been laid out, and couples had started pairing off and departing for the privacy of their own homes. By anyone’s standards, the housewarming party had been a success.

Despite the quiet vibes in the penthouse apartment, Bryce wasn’t ready to call it quits for the night. Determined to make himself useful, and hopefully win over a certain lady and her roommates in the process, he grabbed a recycling bag from the pantry and started making his way around the apartment picking up empty cans and bottles.

A few minutes into the mundane task he glanced up to find Blake watching him, her arms crossed across her chest as she observed him in amusement.

Bryce gave her a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing to the remaining trash he hadn’t attacked yet. “Just about done cleaning up over here, Blake …” She approached, leaning down to retrieve a few cans and depositing them in the bag. “Thank you.” Bryce muttered appreciatively.

Blake scoffed. “Thank me? You’re the one staying late to clean up our party.”

Shrugging again, Bryce moved forward to pick up three more bottles. “Eh. Force of habit, I guess. Messes seem to follow me around for some reason. I’m pretty used to cleaning them up at this point.”

Blake chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned over to hand the last bottle to him. “Hmm … I can see that.” As she pulled away, her fingertips grazed the palm his hand, her eyes locking on his. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, Bryce could see the heat dancing in her dark eyes before she spoke in a low voice. “You know … you don’t have to go home.”

“Oh yeah? Where would I sleep?” The anticipation buzzed in his veins, the tension lingering in the space between them.

“With me.” Her stare was unfaltering, demanding even. There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted this just as badly as he did.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” His voice came out softer and huskier, laced with desire and intention. Blake grinned smugly, extending a hand to him and he laced his fingers through hers, allowing her to take the lead and usher him to her room.

As soon as the door was closed Bryce pushed her against it, cupping her chin and guiding her lips to his in a languid kiss. He felt her body melt into him, her hands gripping him by the collar of his shirt as if she were afraid to let go. She released a soft moan into his mouth as his tongue teased hers lightly, their mouths dancing together until she pulled away breathless. “Do you think anyone saw us?” Her words came out in breathy pants.

Bryce was unable to suppress the soft chuckle. “Do you care?”

Stilling in place she thought for a moment, then shook her head before muttering her reply against the tender flesh of his lips. “Not really.”

Pushing away from the door, Blake gradually guided them to the center of the room near her bed, his arms around her waist and their breath mingling as their kisses grew more fervent. When Bryce’s hands slipped under her hem to the small of her back she arched against him, sighing at the feel of his warm hands on her bare skin. Bryce slowly leaned back, his voice thick with desire and his eyes tinged with wonder as he admired her in the dim light. “You are gorgeous and I need to see a whole lot more of you.” Like putty in his hands Blake allowed him to tug her blouse over her head, lacing her fingers through his hair as he laid a trail of wet open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone and down her chest. He relished the sound of her mewls as he reached the black lace of her bra, running his tongue over the swell of her breast peeking out while his hands reached around to free her from the confining garment. As soon as she was bare he captured one peaked nipple in his mouth, swirling it slowly with his tongue as she tugged his hair roughly, then shifting to grasp the other one between his lips.

Releasing her breasts Bryce stood upright, his eyes devouring Blake as she peeked out from under hooded lids, her arousal apparent in her labored breathing. The sight and the sound and the smell of her invigorated his senses, his pupils broad and dark with lust. His strong hands spinned her around until her bare back was flush against the soft woolen fabric of his sweater, his rigid arousal prominent against the curve of her backside. His hands made a slow path down her body, taking his time to savor every sound and shiver he earned from her along the way. The soft scrape of his teeth at the base her neck followed by slow suckling kisses made her squirm, eliciting a low moan from her throat. So lost in the sensations of his touch, Blake giggled once she realized he had managed to remove the remainder of her clothing, leaving her naked except for her black lace panties. “You are … very good at this.” She flashed him a coy smile over her shoulder.

“I’m good at a lot of things.” He placed a finger under her chin to tilt her face to his and capture her lips, his hands looping around her body to cup a breast in each palm.

She responded eagerly to his touch, his thumb and fingers tweaking her nipples gently and causing her to writhe as her pleasure built. “You did tell me you had the best hands ...”

His chest vibrated against her back as he laughed softly, eager to hear what naughty plans she had in mind for him. “And?”

“And I need more convincing.” She said with a cheeky grin. He laughed, cupping her hips in his hands and steering her towards the bed. When the back of her legs hit the bed she paused, peering up into his eyes as her hands roamed over his chest and shoulders. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, focusing on the soft fabric beneath her fingertips. “Wait ... how am I nearly naked while you’re still dressed?”

Bryce chuckled, taking one step back and giving her a challenging look. “Feel free to fix that.” He quipped, giving her his usual cocky smirk that he knew drove her crazy. And sure enough …

Blake stepped forward, her eyes locked on his as her hands tugged his sweater over his head. Her fingers moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing inch by inch of his smooth tan skin as she continued. She dipped her head to nip along his chest as she pulled the shirt from his shoulders, giggling before playfully pushing him backwards onto the bed. Bryce just smiled as he watched her lean down over him, her deft fingers working the fly of his jeans open and tugging them down to the floor. Crawling on the bed she settled on his lap, one leg on each side of his hips. He could feel the warmth of her through the layers of fabric between them, grinding his growing bulge up against her instinctively. “Better?” He asked in a low whisper.

Blake bent down to cup his face in her palms, her breasts brushing against the bare skin of his chest as she kissed him deep and slow. She emitted a satisfied sigh, her breath tickling his lips as she whispered between kisses. “So much.”

For a moment they lingered there, Bryce running his fingers over the bare skin of her back, their hips rocking together slowly as their need for each other grew. Slipping a hand between them, Bryce stopped and peered up at her, his eyes imploring her as his fingertips tickled the waistband of her panties. “Are you sure you want this?” The sincerity in his voice, although genuine, did little to mask the husky tone of desire there.

Nodding her consent, Blake met his stare. “Keep going.”

“Whatever you want, Blake.” His lips pulled up at the corner in a small smile as he laid her back against the bed, hooking his fingers on her panties and pulling them down her legs. Settling in beside in her in the covers, his traced a slow path up her thighs.

Breathing heavier from the anticipation, she did her best to respond between pants. “Whatever I want?” She gave him a playful smile before her eyelids fluttered closed at his delightful torture.

Bryce shifted his body to align himself along her, grinning widely as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him tighter. They moved together, his excitement pressing against her core, a tantalizing taste of what was to come. “Tell me.” He leaned down to kiss her, long and gentle, his fingertips dancing softly across the flushed skin of her cheek, her neck, her chest, settling at her waist. “Blake? What do you want?” He murmured into the crook of her neck as he lay kisses from her earlobe down to her shoulder.

“I want you to touch me.” She purred, her body tingling with need. She looked up to find him studying her face, his lip tucked between his teeth mischievously as he slid a hand lower and lower … Blake gasped when he found the wetness waiting for him between her legs, the slick heat causing Bryce to groan in arousal and his cock to twitch against the cotton material of his boxers.

God, he wanted her so bad … But he couldn’t take his eyes away from her as she squirmed at his touch, the soft moans and rolling of her hips against his hand giving him more than enough pleasure for the time being. “You’re stunning.” He whispered softly, his gaze never leaving her face.

She opened her eyes for a brief moment, lifting her hands to twine them in his hair and pull his face down to kiss him deeply. She laughed in between panting breaths. “And you really do have the best hands.”

He pulled away grinning wickedly, causing her to groan immediately at the loss of his touch and his kisses. His eyes flashed with a glimpse of something dark yet playful, sending a shiver from her head down to her toes. “You should see what the rest of me can do.”

Blake giggled as he moved down, kissing and nipping at her navel before moving lower, lower … but her her laughter was quickly replaced with soft moans as he licked along her abdomen, down her legs, up the inside of her thighs ... She threw her head back when his tongue ran a long stripe across her core, then another, Bryce unable to get enough of her smell and her taste. She gripped his hair in her fingers and thrust her hips to meet his mouth when he latched onto her clit, pulling it gently between his lips as he slipped two fingers into her. He could feel her begin to lose control, her legs shaking as he licked and sucked and fucked her relentlessly until she came with a cry, her back arching off the bed as she peaked.

Laying kisses up her body as she came down from her high, Bryce nestled in beside her and watched her breathing steady. He marveled at her radiance in this relaxed state, her skin rosy and slicked with a thin sheen of sweat, her breasts rising and falling in a steady rhythm as she regained her breath, her lips curled in a soft satisfied smile while she luxuriated in the aftershocks of her orgasm. “You’re amazing.” He murmured into the crook of her neck, running his fingertips lightly over her belly.

Blake chuckles under her breath, still not opening her eyes. “No … but I’m beginning to think every part of your body is amazing, Bryce Lahela.” She turned her head to face him, her gaze dropping his prominent erection pressed against her thigh. “Although there is one part I have yet to to prove this theory with.”

“Well I would hate to stand in the way of your research.” He flashes her a sly smirk, his heart rate already speeding up at the thought of what comes next.

Rolling to her side she presses her mouth to his, sliding a hand under the edge of his boxer briefs and wrapping it around his cock. Bryce moaned, his grip tightening and fingers digging into her hip as she started stroking him up and down, his hips moving in sync with her rhythm. Blake pushed him to lay down, pulling down his boxers and throwing them to the floor. Locking eyes with him, she lowered her head to start placing soft, wet kisses along his hips and across his abdomen, inching closer and closer to where he wanted her the most before backing off with a smug grin. After teasing him three times, Bryce released a short exhaling grunt. “Reyes … you’re killing me he-“ His complaint was cut short as Blake took him in her mouth, the vibrations of her laughter only adding to the extreme pleasure. “Ah fuuuuucccckkkk …”

With his fingers laced in her hair, she slid her lips up and down, up and down and again over his cock. She relished the feel of him pulsing every time she tickled the head with the tip of her tongue, the salty taste of his precum filling her mouth. One hand was situated at the base massaging whatever portion of his significant length could not fit in her mouth, while the other lightly caressed his balls, her coordinated ministrations overwhelming his senses. It didn’t take long before Bryce was thrusting his hips to meet her mouth, the warm wet sensation causing the pressure to build in his pelvis.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gently pushed her away, his eyes still closed and his teeth gritted as he forced himself to stop. “You’re way too good at that, and I’m afraid if you keep going you won’t be able to properly complete your research.” He released one last long exhale, then finally looked over to find her smiling at him. He pulled her tight against his torso, rolling her to her back as he settled between her legs, his eyes flickering with both heat and affection as he beamed into her face. “Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this view.” He felt Blake sigh against his lips as they met hers, her body melting into his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He slid inside of her, her warmth enveloping him in the most erotic and comforting way he hadn’t realized was possible. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him close as they started moving in tandem. Taking their time, Bryce took this moment to study her features, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek and eliciting a soft smile on her lips that stirred something deep inside of him. His hand founds hers gripping his shoulder, and he laced his fingers through hers, the intimate gesture stoking the heat in her gaze. She tilted her chin up to meet him in a kiss, her wanton moan filling his mouth as her tongue slipped past the seams of his lips. Feeling her moving eagerly beneath him, Bryce braced himself with her clasped hand above her head, giving him the additional leverage to roll his hips faster against hers.

Before long their slow, tender motion had morphed into frantic, heated thrusts. Bryce used his free hand to cup the back of her thigh, pulling her leg up to gain him additional access as his pelvis pounded against hers. He tried to focus on her, to stave off the aching desire for release inside himself while he waited for her to climax again. Just as he felt his willpower failing her body start quivering, her raspy moans signaling her impending orgasm. When the dam finally burst, he felt her core flutter around his cock, his name spilling from her lips as she found her release. Bryce tumbled over the edge with her, the pulsing of her walls around him drawing his own orgasm. After a few more thrusts, his body stilled as he emptied himself inside of her.

“Damn, Blake …” he mumbled, his word muffled on his lips smashed into her shoulder where he had collapsed on the bed.

“Yeah I know.” She breathes out loudly, the drowsy euphoria obvious in her tone. “I think all of your anatomical bits are in prime working order.”

“Good to know. My mother will be so proud.” He chuckled, leaning back on his side and perching himself up on one elbow. “So, was the housewarming party everything you wanted it to be?”

“I think it went really well, actually.” Blake turned face him, laying her head on her arm as she pulled a sheet up to cover herself. “Although if I’m completely honest, I enjoyed this private party even more.”

“I’m available to entertain any night of the week, but reservations fill up fast.” Bryce wiggled his eyebrows playfully until Blake swatted at him, causing him to lift his arms to shield himself in defense. “Kidding, kidding!”

“You better be kidding.” She giggled, her smile warm as she took his hand in hers. “But regardless, please be sure to pencil me in for several nights a week if your schedule will allow it.”

Bryce grinned widely as he dipped his head, his lips hovering mere inches above hers. “I’m at your beck and call, Reyes.” And when his lips met hers, all joking was quickly forgotten.

END

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Special thanks to @walkerismychoice for sharing a few screenshots of dialogue that I missed.

Perma-Tag: @abbiebishops @akrenich @alesana45 @asprankle @bella-ca @blackcatkita @blackwidow2721 @boneandfur @catlady0911 @choicesarehard @choiceslife @choicessa @choiceswreckedme @client-327 @cocomaxley @crookedslimecreatorpasta @darley1101 @debramcg1106 @domainoflostsouls @drakelover78 @drakewalker04 @eileendannie @enmchoices @flowerpowell @gardeningourmet @harlequinash @harrington-sinclaire @hopefulmoonobject @indescribablechoices @indiacater @innerpostmentality @jadedpixiescribbles @lizeboredom @lolablackwrites @marikagia @mfackenthal @mrsnazariowrites @ritachacha @romancehereicome @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @simplyaiden-blog @snyggflicka @stopforamoment @sweetfluffyunicorn18 @tabithacarlisle @the-everlasting-dream @thequeenofcronuts @walkerismychoice @wickedgypsymoon @writtenbycandy

OH (Bryce) Tags: @aworldoffandoms @divergentofhogwarts @halcyonhaarry @keira1416 @mariamulroney @simsvetements @timecanaryy

#dr. bryce lahela #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart #n*fw #tmarie82 fanfic

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bryonysimcox · 5 years

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Four wheel driving, van repairing and living slowly: Week 6, Spain

It was a week mostly spent in a cottage in the hills, editing films, fixing the van and exploring Iberic villages. It was a week of taking things slow. Here’s my round-up of week six on the road.

By far, this has been the least ‘eventful’ week on the road. By that I mean we haven’t done loads and loads of travelling around, exploring or seeing lots of different stuff. But it has made me realise two things. Firstly, the reality of vanlife is that there will always be weeks like this one just past, where we knuckle down with work and van admin. And secondly, that time is the greatest asset of all.

Living slowly is a revelation.

I’ve always been the kind of person who tries to cram as many things as possible into a day. Even if I’ve got a spare ten minutes, rather than just chill out I’ll look for any small job or activity I can do to ‘make the most of’ that time. The downside of this approach is that you’re always rushing around, you sometimes don’t give a task or activity the attention it deserves, and you’re often late because you never quite finish one thing before another pops up!

Life on the road feels like a therapeutic process which is deconditioning me from being so busy all the time. Rather than thinking about the next job I need to do or how I could make something even more time-efficient, I’m taking things one by one and really relishing activities which I might’ve previously avoided because they were ‘indulgent’ or slow. That has meant reading more books, cooking, and this week even playing my violin (which I promised myself I’d play, given that we’ve brought it all this way!). It has also meant reaching out to friends and family, and being there for others.

(image) ‘It’s okay, I’m right behind you’, my latest collage for Analogue Bryony which was made in the Barraca.

I think there’s something in the ‘slow movement’ that we should all consider. In the modern world, the idea that time is the most valuable resource we have and that we should indulge ourselves in it has been replaced by the idea that time is money and efficiency is king. It’s kind of scary that I’ve had to embark on a trip like this to see how wrong that is, and to unburden myself from being a slave to efficiency.

Spending solid days and long hours working on filmmaking and admin for Broaden makes day trips and adventures even sweeter when they come.

On Thursday, I insisted that we get out and about. Even though we have spent most of the week staying in the ‘Baraca’ (the small cottage in last week’s post), George transformed the van parked on the driveway into his own editing office and practically locked himself in there from 9am - 8pm most days. By Thursday, I was keen to explore the region around us, and George was keen to test Suzi’s 4x4 abilities, so we headed north, up towards the Iberic villages of Ullastret, Peratallada and Palau-Sator.

It was only thanks to recommendations from a family friend that we found the villages, as they were tiny settlements away from the coast. We took some pretty sketchy roads to get there, but were really impressed by how well the van can handle off-road situations, especially when put into four wheel drive. Suzi the HiAce has selectable 4WD, which means that she’s only in 4WD when you switch a button and go outside, twisting the locking hubs on the front two wheels. This manual 80s style approach may seem antequated, but so far seems pretty foolproof and means that we can cruise along in 2WD most of the time when it suits.

(images) A pretty fun morning of proving Suzi’s off-road abilities!

A series of fortified medieval towns with narrow streets and stone buildings, the Iberic villages were utterly charming.

Ullastret, Peratallada and Palau-Sator all had a similar urban structure, with an old town wall and circular street pattern. Churches, markets, towers and prisons were some of the key historic buildings, and Peratallada even had a castle situated in its core. Ullastret was perhaps my favourite, not least because so many of the modified buildings featured beautifully-designed and understated architectural interventions. It was definitely apparent that Catalunya is a wealthy region, because even civic elements like street lamps, bins, railings and paving stones are well-designed and well-made, carefully crafted to remain in-keeping with the impressive historic setting.

(images) The historic Iberic villages: peaceful and charming.

(images) Sophisticated architectural detailing characterised these towns.

From the villages, we headed east to find one of the famous beaches along the Costa Brava - a beach I’d been recommended called ‘Aigua Blava’. We’ve had so many great travel recommendations, and surprisingly many of them have been from Australian acquaintances (it really is true that you Aussies see a lot of Europe when you visit this part of the world!). Aigua Blava lived up to its name, with aquamarine water framed on both sides by fancy hilltop houses and a small sandy beach. Unspoilt by the tourists of summer season, we practically had the whole beach to ourselves. Of course, I had to go in for a swim too.

Wild swimming feels like another part of living ‘slowly’ and of being present. It’s my way of connecting with my surroundings, of celebrating the natural world and the incredible opportunity George and I have to explore these places.

(image) Another wild swim in the bag, still cold this time of year but the stunning setting of Aigua Blava made up for it.

On the note of celebrating the natural world, I’ve been determined to spend as much time as I can outside. That said, it can still be pretty chilly here in Spain even though it’s been really sunny. Whilst George spent most of the week putting the final touches into the running documentary in his van-office, I stubbornly insisted on working on my laptop outside, on the porch in front of the cottage and wrapped up in lots of layers! From my ‘outdoor office’ I wrapped up some graphic design for the running documentary (artwork to be released soon), researched film festivals to enter it into (any recommendations welcome), and pitched our videography services to countless potential clients.

(images, left to right) George editing in his van office, me wearing all the necessary gear to be working outside, and the grape vines which surrounded our cottage.

Launching a videography channel and company can feel like a bit of a daunting task, but I’m generally finding that George and I have a lot of complementary skills. It’s really nice having someone to bounce ideas off, and the more we produce, film and edit together, the more we can learn from each other and fill in the gaps of our knowledge. I know it feels like every week I say we have video content coming soon, but I really can’t wait to release some stuff to show you all. That said, filmmaking is a time-consuming process and in the name of living slowly, I’m going to embrace taking as long as we need to get the videos ready!

Sunday was our last day at the cottage and saw us dedicate our time and energy to Suzi the van.

There had been a growing ‘to do’ list for the van, and so we finally set about getting it done - cleaning her out and fixing her up. It’s hard to admit it after the painful van-building process, but George and I have realised we actually really miss having a building project on the go. We both love making things, and are already plotting future tiny-houses and electric campervan conversions (yep, just six weeks into this trip…!). So on Sunday, it was all hands on deck. I cleaned the floor and all the drawers and shelves, which collect dust and dirt so quickly. I also installed some latches on cupboard doors, which have been propelling themselves open when we drive around corners.

Meanwhile, George set about replacing the headlights and reversing lights with LED bulbs. A few had blown, so we decided that if we were going to try and take off the light clusters, we might as well upgrade all the bulbs for brighter ones at the same time. The light clusters are an absolute pain to take off, and involve removing the grill and other parts (confusing construction seems to be a trend for 90s Japanese car design). Unfortunately the bulbs we had ordered for the rear lights and the fog lights weren’t the right fit, so those two are a job for the future.

George also fitted an LED light bar below the rear bumper so that we can see more with the reversing camera, and it worked first time! It’s so cool how many different types of LEDs there are on the market these days and how affordable they are. With a little bit of electrical knowledge you can do a lot of lighting modifications.

(images, left to right) Replacing old (and dim) bulbs, removing the headlight units to get to the bulbs, and George working underneath the van to wire up our new reversing light.

Ready to hit the road again, we rounded the week off by heading south towards Valencia.

Valencia is our next destination, but we plan on splitting the journey over a few days. The first leg involved us skirting around Barcelona, naïvely taking the ‘no toll road’ option which involved a huge detour and some insane elevation. The price of the toll would’ve probably been less than the time (and fuel) spent slogging up towards Manresa at about 40MPH! Nonetheless, we battled the hills and some insane winds and finally made it back to the coastal road.

Late Monday afternoon we stopped at Torredembarra and wandered along the beach. Eerily quiet, it seems this area is popular with holidaymakers through peak season and almost abandoned off-peak. We only stayed for about an hour, walking against strong winds with a beer in hand and photographing repetitive apartment block designs. It is the curious places like this that make travelling by road so worth it, because you can stop by for a short stay and see the in-between places, places just as locals see them, and places in their off-peak state.

(images) Golden hour scenes from the empty beachfront of Torredembarra.

It feels great to be living in the van again. We had a marvellous stay at the cottage near Palamós, but Suzi is our home, wherever that may be. I’m going to carry on living slowly and take each day as it comes.

Next week, Valencia.

#traveldiaries #SuziTheVan #toyotahiace #overlandadventures #digitalnomads #vanlife #BryonyandGeorge #vanliving #hiacevan #lifethroughalens #consciouscommunity

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inquisitorhotpants · 6 years

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Support Your Local Writer! :D

So I’m going to be making a job change. There aren’t opportunities for extra money in it like there is for my job now, and so I’m going to take that extra free time and really get down to doing some fun stuff with my Patreon.

Patreons aren’t really fun without patrons, though! I’d love to have you!

There are still 8 days left in February to hit the goal of 28 patrons, at which point I’ll publish a bonus fic and Krys’ playlists from January and February (and if we meet it in the eight days, I’ll throw in March’s, as well).

Along with Press Releases, I’m planning on doing some exclusive SWTOR stuff over there, as well, so stay tuned for that, too. :D

If you’re not familiar with Press Releases, have an excerpt here under the cut.

Tuesday Afternoon

Krys Adler hates gas stations.

No, that’s not quite accurate.

She loathes them.

They’re gross. They always smell weird. Why are the floors always sticky? But it feels like she’s been in that too-small rental car forever and she’s absolutely dying for some beef jerky, so she’s going to suck up her dislike for the five minutes it’s going to take to run into this place somewhere in Ohio - Cleveland? She doesn’t know, she quit paying attention to any sign that didn’t say Erie, PA - and get a pack.

Ignoring the voice of her health-conscious roommate Jen echoing in her head, Krys barrels through the door and rounds the end of an aisle, eyes already focused on the colorful yet barren display, idly wondering if the absolutely mouthwatering man standing near it is going her way. Not that it matters - her leisurely cross-country drive is only leisurely because it’s planned within an inch of its life - but oh lord, the things she’d do to that man if she had the time. He’s got thick black hair, a strong jaw, broad shoulders. Style is a little too preppy for her usual taste, but he -

He’s got the last pack of jerky in his hand.

Oh, hell no.

“Look, Mister Too Hot to be Real,” she snaps as she reaches him, “you need to put that jerky down, because I am not stopping at another gas station today and that’s the last pack here. I’ve been in my car too long and I need that jerky. Drop it right into my hand here.” She stares up, way up - she knows she’s short, but holy hell, did his parents feed him Miracle-Gro as a child? - and opens her hand, her hazel eyes narrowed. “Drop it,” she reiterates, not unlike one would tell a particularly disobedient puppy to relinquish a tennis ball.

To her annoyance, all he does is raise an eyebrow, utterly unfazed by her outburst. “It’s generally polite to introduce yourself before demanding a complete stranger hand over a likely sub-par dried beef snack, you know.”

Krys heaves the world’s most put-upon, petulant sigh, determined to ignore that this marvelous specimen of humanity even has a sexy voice, a baritone with aspirations of being a bass. “I’m Krys. And you are? Besides the world’s best looking jerky thief?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’m Max, and I’m not a thief. It’s hardly my fault you’re slow.” He dangles the jerky out of her reach, green eyes drifting from her floof of curly crimson hair and Butane Jane t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, to her bared tattoo-covered arms, ratty jeans, and bright pink Docs. “You’re so … tiny. It’s kind of cute. You’re practically pocket-sized.”

Short jokes are not the way to Krys’ heart, and she scowls even harder. “Pal, if you think I won’t kick you in the shin to get that jerky, you are very, very wrong.”

He calls her bluff with a smirk that leaves Krys torn between wanting to pelt him with Twinkies and wanting to convince him to get a hotel room with her, strolling past her toward the clerk. She sweeps back out the door, very much in a snit, and is almost to her rental car when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“All right, all right, jerky fiend,” he says with a chuckle when she turns. “Here.” He holds the package out, grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, then pulls it back. “Would this act of pure altruism net me a thank you in the form of your number?”

It’s ridiculous to give it to him. He’s never going to call. She knows this.

She holds out her hand and makes an impatient come on gesture. “Well? Give me your phone.”

Max pats one back pocket, then the other, extracting a swank-looking phone. Once he’s unlocked it, he hands it over, looking not at all sure if she’s going to put her number in it or toss it into the bushes. Or into the road. Her thumbs fly over the display, her phone rings; she taps his phone and hands it back. “There. Not that it matters, we’re probably from opposite sides of the country. But you did give me my jerky, so I suppose this is fair.”

He takes the phone, slides it back into his pocket. “Drive safe, hothead.”

“You too, snack thief.” She tosses her own phone through the open driver side window, then gets into the Versa. Music blares from the speakers when she turns the car on, and she gives him a mocking salute before reversing and pulling out of the parking lot, headed back toward the freeway.

Tuesday Night

“So you’re telling me you were menaced in a gas station for a pack of questionable supposed beef sticks?”

Adriana, Max’s older sister, is making no effort to hide her amusement at the entire situation, and Max glares at the phone’s reflection in the mirror as he fingercombs leave-in conditioner through his hair. “I was hardly menaced, Adri. Might I remind you that this woman was -”

Fierce. Obnoxious. Gorgeous. Not that he’s giving his sister any more ammunition than she’s already crafting out of this bit of nothing. He’s almost grateful when Adriana interrupts him.

“Tiny, yes. Among other things you just couldn’t help but notice about her.” Adriana’s smirk comes through loud and clear. He might have mentioned her hair. And her tattoos. And her eyes. “To be fair, little brother, most people are tiny to you. But she did threaten to kick you in the shins. For shitty snacks.” A pause. “And your response was to buy them?”

Max leans toward the mirror, turning his head this way and that, taking mental tally of the silver starting to appear at his temples. “Well, what would you have done?”

“I wouldn’t have been buying overprocessed sticks of death at a gas station, first of all.”

“Death sticks,” he snorts. “It’s just jerky. Don’t be such a snob, Adri.”

“Says the man who drinks Corona, of all things. Of course you don’t have any standards.”

Max swipes the phone off the bathroom counter and carries it out into the main room, setting it on the desk next to the open laptop. “You don’t have to drink it. No one’s making you.”

“Good thing, too.” Adriana clucks her tongue. “Our family couldn’t handle the shame of two of us drinking that terrible beer. You know Mom’s considered cutting you out of her -” Max’s text notification goes off, loud in the quiet hotel room, followed by a slightly stunned silence. “Max. Are you texting? You never text. Ever.” Confusion weaves through Adriana’s incredulousness. The entire family knows that if Max could uninstall the texting capability on his phone, he would. “Who are you -”

Max closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, offering a silent prayer that his sister won’t put two and two together.

A small gasp from the direction of the cell phone speaker tells him that no deity in the universe deigned to answer his hasty plea. “You’re texting her! The Gas Station Menace!” Adriana exclaims. “You are, aren’t you? No, you don’t have to tell me, your silence tells me everything. You - “

Time to end this before it gets even more out of hand. “I have to go, Adriana. Work calls.”

“You bought her that jerky to get her number! I knew something about that was fishy; I know you don’t ever, ever eat in that damn car of yours.” Adriana chortles. “No way were you buying that for you. You smooth bastard.”

Just when he thinks his sister has reached peak obnoxiousness, the notification goes off again, and it takes all of his willpower to not simply lower his face into his palms and wait for something else to catch Adriana’s attention.

“Multiple texts!” Adriana sounds like she can hardly contain herself. “I’ll let you get back to your no doubt torrid gas station affair, little brother. Remember not to text anything you don’t want on the news.”

“I’m going now, Adri.”

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t -”

“Goodbye, Adriana.” Max jabs at the screen harder than necessary, then looks at his laptop, telling himself that of course he’s not going to answer those texts right away, that would be silly.

He picks up the phone, taps the notification.

It’s good to hear you got through the rest of your day without making anyone cry over Ho-Hos, that’s for sure, Tiny. I’m proud of you. How was your drive?

#patreon #amwriting #amwritingromance #swtor #come on over and join the janes!#we've got music and yummy food and snark and Marines #and art!

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caravanslost · 6 years

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for that trope thing... would you consider Damen/Laurent, 7 & 56?

Damen/Laurent Florist AU, Awful First Meeting:

Setting

Laurent is a florist and your boy takes it seriously. He spent five years as an apprentice with Paschal, who I’ve decided is a florist in this universe as well, and he’s finally saved up enough to start his own business with Paschal’s blessing.

Laurent’s shop is so hipster that walking inside is like stepping into a Pinterest board. I’m talking parquet floors, distressed wood shelving, bench spaces constructed over stacks of crates, drop lamps hanging from the ceiling, Florence & The Machine always on the radio.

Every inch of this space has been intentionally cultivated by Laurent to create an integrated experience. He’s very proud of it.

His shop is in a hipster district too. I like to think that there’s a craft beer brewery down the road, and that they’re so taken with Laurent the Florist that they concoct a special flowery brew with Elderflower and Hibiscus, and name it after him

As an aside, Laurent travels to work on a vintage bike with a basket. He parks it outside the shop, leaning it against the wall because #aesthetics.

It is not a huge shop. It’s a humble little place, long and narrow. There’s not much space anywhere but Laurent makes very effective use of it.

Scene

One display is entirely occupied by ceramics and glassware. We’re talking terrariums, bubble vases, ceramic jugs - every kind of vessel you can imagine in which Laurent can work his magic.

One fine morning, the tranquility of Hipster Street is disrupted by the ROAR of a motorcycle. It’s loud enough that everyone seems to hear it from streets away, but it comes closer and closer until Laurent realizes with distaste that it’s stopped and parked right outside his shop. He crinkles his nose.

Through the window, he sees a hulking figure disembark - face concealed by a heavy black helmet, frame concealed under a heavy black jacket.

In a slow-motion sequence, soundtracked by Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream”, Damen takes off the helmet and shakes out his curls before running a hand through his hair.

Laurent sees the whole slow-motion sequence; temporarily forgets his distaste; and finds himself thinking, Oh no, he’s hot. And tall. And hot.

Damen walks into the shop and, god, he almost completely takes up the doorway. When he walks in, the bell above the door rings. He looks up towards the till, and notices Laurent, and gives him the kind of smile that - just for a moment - makes Laurent consider giving up everything and leaving with him on the back of his motorbike.

Laurent only gives a cool nod in return to acknowledge him, He doesn’t smile back because then, this stranger is going to know immediately that Laurent is wondering whether those dark curls feel as soft as they look.

Damen takes one step into the long, narrow shop, and then another, and then a few more. He pauses by the display with the ceramics and glassware.

Something on the other side of the store catches his eye. He turns —-

—- and his oversized elbow knocks into the glassware and ceramics display —-

—- and every single item in that display tumbles off —-

—- and falls to the ground —-

—- and shatters with spectacular fury.

Neither of them moves.

Damen is horrified.

Laurent could kill. He is ready to rip this man’s motorcycle in two with his bare hands and throw both pieces at him.

Neither of them says anything.

Laurent orders Damen to get out. Damen refuses. Laurent repeats the request in a voice so low and so deadly that the or else can remain unspoken.

But Damen won’t leave. He says that he won’t leave until he’s helped Laurent clean up, and until Laurent has calculated the exact cost of the damage so that Damen can pay him the cost immediately.

Which doesn’t absolve him in Laurent’s eyes, because the store floor is a wreck and it’ll take days before replacements come in, but Laurent might let him live. Maybe.

Laurent makes Damen close the door and turn the “Closed” sign, and walks over with two dustpans. They both hunch down and begin sweeping the (many, many) shards into the rubbish bin in silence.

Laurent’s still angry, but this stranger smells really good?? And it’s distracting??

At some point, Laurent’s hand accidentally sweeps across broken glass and it cuts his skin.

There is a lot of blood. Laurent doesn’t do too well with blood. Damen immediately picks up on that fact, weasels from him the location of the first aid kit (under the till counter), and takes him to it.

A Very Soft Sequence follows, where Damen cleans and bandages Laurent’s wound with tender hands that caress a little more than they ought to. Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” soundtracks the scene.

There’s a point where Damen is focused so intently on the task that he doesn’t notice Laurent looking up silently at him, cautiously wondrous.

Laurent thinks, Oh no, he’s hot AND gentle.

When Damen’s done, he absently swipes a thumb across Laurent’s palm, realizes what he’s done, and looks down, embarrassed —

— except he’s still holding onto Laurent’s hand.

Everyone blushes.

[This was fun. Feel free to send me more.]

#Captive Prince #Damen #Laurent #lesbleusthroughandthrough #it's so refreshing to work on something other than a Bang fic jesus h christ #trope mashup

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lindsayruebens · 5 years

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The Grand #5-10-30

Last fall, Kane and I had two Frontier flight vouchers burning a hole in our pockets.

Also that fall, we celebrated being together for a decade. And then I turned 30 in December. April is Kane’s 30th birthday. And May is our fifth wedding anniversary.

And, for the past five years, we had exclusively used our vacation days for traveling to see family during the holidays and weddings. We were not only ready to celebrate but extremely ready for a vacation, and ready to do it up big.

Enter what my social-media-eschewing husband has persistently referred to as the #5-10-30 trip (yes I know there are no hyphens in real hashtags, but here we are), and he did so persistently enough that I too eventually broke down and also called it The 5-10-30.

Direct Frontier flights from Philadelphia narrowed our options considerably, and we wanted to pick somewhere we’d never been, so Denver it was. My parents very generously offered to watch Russ in Pennsylvania for a week, and after lots of research and planning, that’s how the best vacation Kane and I have ever had, or shall I say, The #5-10-30 Trip, materialized.

We rented a 2019 Nissan Rogue and basically did a loop beginning and ending in Denver. I kept a detailed journal of the trip, but I’ll spare you the less-thrilling details and share the highlights:

Day 1: Afternoon/evening in Denver

(^Ready for takeoff to Denver!)

Great AirBnB cottage in the LoHi neighborhood. After meeting us, our host ran into her house to bring us her own nice bottle of tequila, limes and shot glasses to start off our trip on a celebratory note. Cheers!

Speaking of cheers, we recommend the Recess Beer Garden, where we watched Virginia win the national title.

Day 2: Denver/Colorado Springs

We kicked breakfast off at Bacon Social House with a flight of bacon. And because we’re corny, we gave serious thought to ranking the six bacon styles (French toast was my fav, barbecue was Kane’s). Scissors for sharing the slices were included.

Next up: Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. The red rock formations were breathtaking, and we’re glad we went to the visitor’s center for info on hiking trails. Great views of both Garden of the Gods and Pikes Peak.

Another fantastic AirBnB in Old Colorado City, and delicious dinner — just say yes to the brisket grilled cheese and lamb sliders — outside at Cerberus Brewing Company while watching the sun set behind the Rockies.

Day 3: Colorado Springs

We spent much of this day in the earth.

First stop was Cave of the Winds. Holy cow, do the Lantern Tour if you can. Our self-described hippie tour-guide, John, thoroughly scared us before we even began, warning us of having to walk crouched low for a couple of minutes through under-4-foot-high tunnels, that we’d only be walking by the light of candle-lit lanterns (hence the name Lantern Tour) and that we were about to enter the supposedly most haunted caverns in North America. It’s not a tour for the faint of heart (nor the arthritic). Learned the history of the 19th-century pioneers who took ownership of the caves and held exotic parties in them, and of course there was a generous helping of spooky ghost stories.

(^Our only photo in the cave before the tour began-- not the kind of setting to take a selfie!)

Back in the sunlight, we had lunch at Ivywild School, an elementary school-turned community center/local business spot/brewery.

Dinner in downtown Colorado Springs at The Rabbit Hole, also underground. We did actually try rabbit with the Bunny Bites appetizer… a drier, leaner version of chicken nuggets.

Day 4: Cañon City/Nathrop

Spent the day at the Royal Gorge in Cañon City. The gondola ride across was slightly panic-inducing, but offered amazing views; informative short movie about the Gorge in onsite theater; then walks across America’s tallest suspension bridge. The gaps between some of the wooden planks of the floor allowed you to see all the way to the Arkansas River flowing below. YIKES. Of course Kane insisted we really feel “fully alive,” and so we were the only ones nutty enough to go back and forth several more times in the wind. Don’t worry, I felt super-alive, and thankfully, remained in such a state.

Spectacular mountain drive along Route 50 to Nathrop, where we checked in at the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Resort. It’s in the San Isabel National Forest.

(^Serious room with a view.)

That evening we donned bathing suits in 30-something degree weather to recline in the hot springs of Chalk Creek. We laid our heads on rocks, stared at the stars and crescent moon overhead and enjoyed deep conversation that also included momentarily pretending we were contestants on The Bachelor, because it was such an over-the-top date, and I assured Kane I was most certainly there for the right reasons.

Day 5: Nathrop/Breckenridge

Hot springs again in the bright morning sunshine before driving to Breckenridge, which was a little insane with hairpin turns up and down mountains. We drove through Alma, North America’s highest incorporated town, and were relieved to make it to our AirBnB. Then: A scrumptious sushi lunch downtown at The Blue Fish and perusing the town’s many shops.

We called up the Lost Bus, owned and operated by the Broken Compass Brewing, which picks up people for free from downtown Breckenridge to its brewery site a few miles away. This was my favorite brewery of the trip! Fantastic craft beers and great local vibe.

Then we walked about half a mile down the road to Flight Club for food. It was an extremely local experience (complete with a guy glass-blowing pipes next to the bar!) and even featured a local battle-of-the-bands winner, Hollywood Farmers, who were actually quite talented.

(^My view from the bar. Just some casual glass-blowing, dudes.)

Day 6: Boulder

A crazy drive to Boulder on Route 70 with foggy snow showers. But we made it in one piece to Chautauqua Park and hiked around the Flatirons on the Enchanted Mesa Trail and loved it.

Lunched at Roxie’s Tacos, where they served amazing Mexican-Indian fusion in the lovely campus area of CU-Boulder, then drove to the Celestial Seasonings headquarters for a free tea tour and samples. A highlight was the peppermint room! Free aromatherapy.

Checked into a Courtyard Marriott and ate at Avery Brewing Company.

Day 7: Boulder/Denver

Amazing breakfast at Lucile’s in adorable downtown Boulder. Walked around Pearl Street Mall, where the tulip beds were in bloom. If I had to choose one of the places we visited to move, I’d pick Boulder!

Drove back to Denver and attended a beautiful Palm Sunday Mass at the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. Proceeded to a tour of the Molly Brown House. Loved learning her incredible story: a rags-to-riches miner’s wife, Titanic survivor, philanthropist, winner of French Legion of Honor… Google her if you have time!

On to Stranahan’s Colorado Whiskey for a delightful distillery tour. We learned how it was made and aged and also how to properly drink whiskey. Not sure I’m a converted whiskey-drinker, but loved every minute of the tour.

We ended our trip where we began, in the LoHi neighborhood, at a fantastic Mediterranean tapas restaurant called El Five. We sat outside overlooking the Denver skyline and the Rockies before catching a red-eye home. It was the perfect way to punctuate a pretty near-perfect trip.

(^Dinner view. Until we meet again, Colorado!)

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somar78 · 5 years

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The Rising Sun Workshop x Young Henrys Custom Postie Bike Chopper – The Hopper

The Postie Bike is an Australian institution, they’re a lightly modified version of the Honda CT110 specifically built for Australia Post – an Australian government institution famous for its ability to find new and creative ways to not deliver your mail.

This custom Postie Bike chopper was built as a collaborative effort between the Rising Sun Workshop and Young Henrys, two iconic Sydney establishments that are very high on the must see list for visitors to the harbour city who have a soft spot for motorcycles, or beer, or motorcycles and beer.

The Rising Sun Workshop

The Rising Sun Workshop is a motorcycle workshop and award winning restaurant, with elements of both a bar and a cafe thrown in for good measure. Anyone can go visit for coffee, tea, beer, lunch or dinner. Locals can sign up and become members, allowing them to bring their motorcycle in and work on it using one of four hydraulics lifts, with fully appointed tool kits and workshop equipment.

Perhaps most importantly there’s also a resident master motorcycle mechanic on site named Brad Coles, who provides advice, guidance, and assistance to people who have limited experience working on engines. Brad is known for having the skill and patience levels of a Shaolin monk and he’s a talented off-road rider to boot.

Young Henrys

We’ve featured the work of Young Henrys on Silodrome previously, they’re a rapidly growing craft brewery in Sydney located just down the road from the Rising Sun Workshop in Newtown, not far south of the CBD. The brewery has been going from strength to strength since it was founded in 2012 by Richard Adamson and Oscar McMahon.

The team are known for their frequent releases of limited edition batches, and for their welcoming bar that operates right out of the brewery inside an old warehouse. One of these limited edition batches was called Motorcycle Oil after its rich dark color, and another was “Foo Town” lager, a special beer created in collaboration with the Foo Fighters to celebrate their ninth studio album and their “Concrete and Gold” tour down under.

The Hopper – A Custom Postie Bike Chopper

The familiar purr of the Postie Bike is immediately familiar to all Australians, it usually means the junk mail has arrived. Thousands of retired Postie Bikes have now been sold into private hands and they’re proven popular as cheap daily transport.

This Postie is unlike any other, it’s the result of a months long project at Rising Sun Workshop involving dozens of workshop regulars and staff, all captained by resident wrench Brad.

The primary goal was to turn the Postie into an eye-catching and entirely unique custom motorcycle that could be displayed at music festivals, be put into liquor stores, bars, and pubs that stock Young Henrys beer, and most importantly, the bike had to function as a draught beer dispenser including a tap, hoses, and cooling. You just park the bike next to a keg, hook it up, and you’ve got ice cold draught beer on tap.

Fitting all that equipment onto a CT110 with its 87 kilogram (192 pound) kerb weight was always going to be a challenge, the choice to make the bike into an Easy Rider-inspired chopper made it more challenging still.

At this point I’m going to turn it over to Brad to explain the fabrication-intensive build in his own words:

We had a meeting at RSW, threw out some ideas on what we wanted it to look like, and took a lot of influences from the 70’s Easy Rider chopper scene. The bike had to have the ability to pour beer from it somehow. It had to be a rideable and registed bike, and had to be over the top.

From that meeting, I drew up a sketch of the bike, and then it was all built from that original sketch.

The fabrication work was quite involved, from the hand bent sissy bar, and forklift tires that would allow the fitment of a custom made mini pallet that allowed a “magic box” to be mounted. The magic box is a special esky (an Australian beer cooler) that allows the beer to be chilled down through the lines as it comes from the keg.

A springer front end was fitted to the bike, and lengthened 150mm. We fitted different wheels to the original hubs, and went with a 19” front, and 16” rear. With the front end and wheels changed, we now needed the frame stretched, so that also got 150mm length added into it. We made up special jigs to allow the frame and front end to be welded back together and remain straight and true. All of that work has been reinforced correctly to maintain structural integrity of the bike.

We hand-bent and welded up the very narrow handlebars, as well as fitted a 5 litre mini keg onto the backbone to supply the fuel to the bike, that runs through a hand bent copper line, that resembles a line on a still. It also conveniently holds a beer can, for display purposes only of course.

The seat pan was made from alloy, hand bent, shaped and welded up, then had it custom trimmed in 70’s metal flake vinyl. The gold and white colours of the seat are meant to resemble the colour of a beer, and beer head. Naturally we also had to get custom length cables made to fit.

We used the original lower frame support, but modified it to fit the new frame length with some custom detail pieces, like the spanner shape that connects the frame to the support. It now has forward control foot pegs, with a custom-made brake linkage fitted. Being a centrifugal clutch meant we could also make a hand shifter, that incorporates the old brewery tasting bar counter top beer tap handle.

The bike also has a custom exhaust with a 70’s style kick up at the back.

We had some alloy plates cut and machined for branding, as well as allowing the beer decal to be placed when being used at events. We also fitted a set of twin rectangle “Dixie” headlights that came out of Japan. Purpose Built Moto blinkers, and a mini speedo. Almost everything else is the original equipment like footpegs, controls etc, or been custom made for the bike.

The biggest challenge on this build was time. We had members help on the build, and that was always going to be the case, but like everyone, life gets in the way, so building a custom bike takes a back seat. We had many delays with the bike, like motorcycle accidents, deadlines shifting, running a workshop, overseas holidays and as the collaboration was always about building an amazing bike on a small budget, the labor or build hours would just be put in whenever possible. It did mean a bunch of 16 hour days, but the end result speaks for itself.

I don’t know how many hours went into the build, but it is safe to say between everyone involved, with everything around the build, including filming social media short videos etc we would have hundreds and hundreds of hours in it.

If you’d like to visit Rising Sun Workshop you can click here.

Follow the Rising Sun Workshop on Facebook – Instagram

All images: Chris Corboy – Corboy Photography

The post The Rising Sun Workshop x Young Henrys Custom Postie Bike Chopper – The Hopper appeared first on Silodrome.

source https://silodrome.com/custom-postie-bike-chopper/

#cars

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gingerandwry · 5 years

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Rio de Janeiro, Brazil - Week 1

The bus ride from Paraty to Rio was easy and uneventful. The road runs along the coast, but unfortunately the view is mostly obscured by overgrowth. I caught some dramatic, beautiful glimpses, but Brazil could learn from California and Australia. Upon arrival at my Ipanema AirBnB, I took a breath then settled in for two weeks of adventure....

My friends Scott and Tony had left Paraty a couple days early to come to Rio, so I met them for drinks and dinner Saturday night. We walked to a lively, popular-with-millenials section of Leblon and ate dinner at CT Boucherie, an established steakhouse-ish restaurant that was fantastic (and a great value for how much we ate and drink). Those guys had had a big night on Friday so we all turned in early.

And it’s good we did since Scott had a full day planned for us. We started at Parque Lage for breakfast at their famous restaurant. It occupies the courtyard of a crumbling mansion (now an art school) and sits just below Rio’s most famous landmark, Christ the Redeemer. It’s a setting made for Instagram, and everyone certainly took advantage of that. The food was pretty tasty for a place that could easily half-ass it. After breakfast we walked around the park a bit and saw our first monkeys!

We then walked through Jardim Botanico, which appears to be the Beverly Hills of Rio. We walked through the Botanical Gardens as well, which are lush and beautiful. I think the most striking element were the massive tree trunks, some of which formed walls rising several feet above the ground.

From here we traveled back to Ipanema’s Praca General Osorio for the famous “Hippie Fair”, an arts and crafts market. I’m not sure what the big deal is-- it seems like every other crafts market I’ve seen. Afterwards the guys went to the beach, but I needed some literal chill time in front of a fan, so I lay low at my apartment for a while. We met up again for dinner at Zaza, a delicious Moroccan restaurant. It was the guys’ last night, but we were all pretty beat, so we called it early after a couple more beers.

Monday was shopping day, both clothes and groceries. I am not a beach person, and I was not prepared for how beached out Rio is. Even at nighttime in nice restaurants, people are in t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. I needed some more beach wear to fit in (tho I only ended up finding one pair of shorts I liked). I met up with the guys again for lunch at Barraca do Uruguai, the most famous stand at Ipanema beach selling delicious meaty sandwiches. They had to get to the airport so we parted ways and I found myself all alone in Brazil....

On Tuesday I committed to the hard work of tourism. In the morning I took the metro to Centro, the historic center of Rio. I emerged at Rua Uruguaina into a hectic street bazaar. It was initially unnerving but a nice break from laid back Ipanema. Once I got my bearings I climbed up to Morro de Conceicao, a very old, Lisbon-esque street with cute (if shabby) townhouses, and then down to Praca Maua, the waterfront area that was revitalized for the 2016 Olympics. I first visited the Museu de Arte do Rio, housed in a beautiful colonial building attached to a gleaming modern annex. The view over Guanabara Bay is fantastic. The museum was showing two exhibits, one (”Mulheres”) featured women artists and had a lot of compelling pieces. The other was a history of samba. Once again I couldn’t understand the Portuguese captions, but there was enough music, video and glamorous visuals to make it fun nonetheless.

I walked across the plaza to Museu do Amanha (”Tomorrow”), a very modern “science” museum with a lot of interactive video displays and flashy installations for these selfie/social media loving Brazilians. The science was a bit thin; it starts with a brief history of the universe then focuses on humanity’s impact on the planet, for better and worse. But it was engaging.

I then hiked up another hill to the Mosteiro do Sao Bento, a monastery that is one of the city’s oldest buildings. Its plain, humble exterior belies an over-the-top opulence inside, a theme I found in every church I saw that day. Those early Portuguese settlers loved ornate, gilded wall reliefs like you would expect from Louis XIV.

After a tasty chicken burger at the hip Cozinha Mironga I continued toward the waterfront to Igreja de Nossa Senhora Candelaria, the biggest of the city’s historic churches. The surrounding area houses lots of current and former government buildings, most of them imposing neoclassical edifices or fanciful Baroque colonial desserts (or both). I saw the Centro Cultural do Banco do Brasil (tho I skipped the current exhibition of Dreamworks art), Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Carmo da Antiga Se (which served royal functions when the Portguese throne decamped to Brazil) and Paco Imperial (the one-time royal palace). From there I walked through the extremely underwhelming (but historic) Arco de Teles into Travessa do Comercio, a charming cobblestone street of colonial townhouses, now home to outdoor cafes.

From here I cut across the hustling narrow streets of Centro to Largo da Carioca, a plaza surrounding by some atrocious 1960s skyscrapers (tho the Petrobras HQ is a marvel) and dominated by a very old church, Igreja Sao Francisco da Penitencia e Convento de Santo Antonio (phew). It’s beautifully restored and wins the gaudiest award in a very tough category. Not one inch of that chapel was left ungilded, an odd choice for an order who has taken a vow of poverty.

I then headed back up to Real Gabinete Portugues de Leitura, or the Royal Reading Room. It’s basically a library, and one of the most stunning I’ve ever seen. It’s three stories of books (over 350,000) in sumptuous but tasteful, muted decor. You can feel the knowledge surrounding you, and it makes you yearn to have more of it.

From there I veered west into Saara, a small grid of narrow streets that serves as an outdoor market and bazaar. You can probably find anything you need here and at a good price. At the end of it I found Campo de Santana, an elegant park with an odd assemblage of wild beasts-- cats, ducks, some sort of large fowl, and a cute, big rodent creature (capybara?). That was enough for one day so I headed back to Ipanema, had a big, tasty, cheap dinner at Frontera and went home to bed.

On Wednesday I headed back down to Centro to finish my tour. I started at the Museu Historico Nacional. I have a particular interest in history museums because a) I think it’s important to have some background and context when you travel; b) I’m a history nerd; and c) they are difficult to do well since good history requires a lot of text, which is not well-suited to a museum. Rio’s history museum is... decent. Housed in a well-maintained old fort, it could definitely use some refurbishing and some more engaging exhibits. After a respectable space telling the story of the indigenous people, it mostly focuses on the leaders and elites who steered the country from a Portuguese (and Dutch and French) colony into an independent republic. It has little to say about slaves, and I found no mention of the military dictatorship that ruled from the sixties to the eighties. (This is especially problematic given the current president’s favorable, revisionist view of the dictatorship.) But otherwise the narrative seems fair and accurate, if not thorough. It has almost no weighty artifacts, like original documents or “this was the actual thing that person used” items. It is mostly full of examples (of china, jewelry, slave shackles, etc.), paintings (many immense) and busts. Two awesome exceptions are a large array of carriages and early cars spanning three hundred years and an actual historic apothecary that was moved into the museum when it went out of business. I also appreciated that all of the displays had English translations tho they were riddled with errors. It made me wonder why the museum wouldn’t have them proofread before printing them up in a permanent exhibition.

From here I walked back to Praca Floriano (aka Cinelandia) which is the heart of downtown. The plaza is fairly non-descript, but it’s surrounded by some of the city’s most beautiful buildings: Theatro Municipal, Bibliolteca Nacional, Museu Nacional de Belas Artes and Camera Municipal. It was so stunning I stopped for lunch on the square and came back to see it lit up at night (when apparently the navy was attending the opera...).

After lunch I continued west into Lapa, past the iconic Arcos (an old viaduct) and the peculiar Catedral Metropolitana de Sao Sebastio. It’s a brutalist cement cone modeled after Aztec pyramids, and it looks nothing like any church I’ve ever seen (tho not far off from St. Mary’s in San Francisco, aka “The Washing Machine”). After my initial shock and repulsion, I found it growing on me, if only for its boldness and break from tradition. It’s most famous for the tall stain-glassed windows (which are impressive in their size if not beauty), but what stood out to me was the main crucifix. It’s surprisingly small and suspended in the center of the cone about 30 feet above the altar. Jesus looks so vulnerable and alone, floating in an empty void. Of all the gory crucifixion scenes I’ve seen, this more than any other moved me and actually made me sad to think about Jesus’ plight.

I then ventured further into Lapa. Nowadays it’s best known for its rowdy nightlife, and some of the bars were just starting to open up. Like much of Rio (and many Latin American cities), the area had traces of better days but now mostly looks decrepit. I made my way back, under the Arcos and headed to Cinelandia to catch the train home.

Thursday was considerably less ambitious. After a late start, I took the metro to Botafogo. Amid the usual urban grit of Rio are several beautiful old colonial mansions (as well as a notorious favela). I believe it was once an upscale artsy neighborhood that fell into decline, but some of the old buildings have been restored as museums or work spaces. Unfortunately, like so much of the city, they are hidden and inaccessible behind tall walls and fences. One beautiful exception is the Fundacao Casa de Rui Barbosa, once home to a famous writer and politician, now a museum. I didn’t go inside but the gorgeous grounds around the home are open to the public and look like a miniature botanical garden.

I made my way toward the next neighborhood, Humaita, and stopped at Cemiterio Sao Joao Batista, the final resting place for some of Brazil’s most famous residents. It’s quite beautiful and dramatic under the watchful eye of Christ the Redeemer. My last stop was Cobol do Humaita, a food market and dining hall, which are always pleasant to wander. The sun was going down so, after six days in Ipanema, I figured it was time to see the sunset on the beach. Obviously Rio faces East but the light is still nice.

Friday turned out to be my most ambitious day and, painfully, the hottest so far. I returned to lovely Cinelandia and Lapa and visited the famous Escadaria Selaron, a public stairway that has been covered in a colorful tile mosaic in tribute to the people of Brazil. It’s pretty, fun and festive and swarming with tourists. Fortunately most people turn around at the top (if they get that far) instead of continuing into the beautiful Santa Teresa neighborhood. Like Botafogo, it’s full of charming old homes in various states of (dis)repair. But these are not walled off. And they run the gamut from cottages to palaces, so there is a lot of variety, both in architecture and culture. It reminded me of Russian Hill and Telegraph Hill. Also, this being a very steep hill, there are stunning views of the city and the bay from everywhere.

There is not much to do in Santa Teresa besides admire the loveliness, which probably helps keep the tourists away. Parque das Ruinas is the main attraction-- a crumbled mansion once owned by a salon-hosting socialite intellectual. It really feels like ruins, but staircases and walkways have been installed and the surrounding grounds turned into a park. The views from the top are spectacular. The small museum next door (Museu da Chacara do Ceu) hosts a private collection. It sounded interesting but appeared to be closed for construction.

I continued walking through the main commercial area which hosts some charming little boutiques, restaurants and bars (as well as a makeshift barber and a bar perched out on one of the viewpoints). I stopped for fantastic feijoada at Bar do Mineiro and more beer at the historic Bar do Gomes. Then, rather than walk all the way back down, I opted for the bonde, a cute little cable car that runs up and down the hill.

With a little daylight left, I headed back down to Botafogo and then over to Urca for one of Rio’s premiere attractions: Pao de Acucar (Sugarloaf Mountain). It stands tall at the north end of Copacabana and offers stunning views over the entire city and bay. It’s accessible by a sequence of two cable cars (gondolas), teetering at dizzying heights. It was crowded, as I expected at sunset, but not actually that bad. I stayed up there a while soaking in the “Marvelous City” and, like everyone else, taking tons of photos.

It was my first Friday night in the city, and I had nothing to do, which would have been a shame. But a guy I had been chatting with invited me to Paraiso do Tuiuti, a samba school. I demurred, concerned that I would not understand the instructions in Portuguese. But my friend then explained that it’s not a school so much as a club that performs sambas. The schools are formed in the favelas and compete at Carnaval every year. Friday night Paraiso was having a big birthday party and putting on a show for their friends.

The Paraiso clubhouse is across the street from Feira de Sao Cristovao, a kind of permanent country fair. It’s home to dozens of stalls selling all sorts of stuff, but at night, it’s mostly just restaurants and bars with a lot of karaoke. There is also a main stage with the kind of cheesy acts you would expect at a fair. And the crowd was overwhelmingly under 30, maybe 25. It was cute good times but I was not sorry to leave when my friend arrived.

The Paraiso do Tuiuti building is a big auditorium, not unlike a high school gym. A large samba band was in full swing in the corner of the mezzanine, and various people in uniforms, outfits and costumes were milling amongst the hundreds of guests. It all felt very festive, intimate and personable. A little later the performances started. My friend explained that each year at Carnaval each school performs a new samba and competes for first place (the schools are also organized like sports leagues with a top tier, mid tier, etc.). Paraiso do Tuiuti was performing their greatest hits that night in honor of their birthday (with songs going back to the 80s), and once they were done, a couple other schools-- Estacio de Sa and Mangueira (last year’s winners)-- performed as well. The whole experience was phenomenal and unforgettable-- the rhythms, the leg work, the costumes, the energy. It was a fantastic, only-in-Brazil night that a tourist can only hope to stumble upon.

Since I did not get home until 6am, Saturday and Sunday were my lazy days off before I returned to the tourist trail the next week....

#riodejaneiro #brazil #brasil #travel #gaytravel #intentionaltravel

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