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imissjoongsmullet · 4 years ago

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My Prince (2)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 3

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: thanks to everyone who was kind enough to reblog and/or leave feedback on the first part! It makes my day ♥ ♥ ♥ This isn’t my most popular thing on here but it’s got such a special place in my heart ♥ Also, I promise the next part will have a bunch more fluff so look forward to that~!

►

“Come on,” you hissed under your breath as you attempted to mold your hair into the shape it was supposed to be. If Tou Ma found it messy again she’d do more than just tell you off. If she found you late on duty on the other hand she’d do even worse, so you had to get going.

It had been a whole two weeks and you still felt like a complete novice at just about everything that was expected of you. You kept getting lost and forgetting the many forms of curtsies, you’d over-bubbled the prince’s bath, lost one of his hunting coats. One time you’d even dropped a platter of fruit in the presence of the empress. You were reaching new levels of embarrassment every day and slowly but surely longing for the days spent getting your nails dirty in the gardens with your parents. At least you’d been somewhat good at gardening. In here, everything you did was wrong; everything you were was wrong. And now, you couldn’t even get your hair to sit right.

Groaning as as yet another strand of hair fell down over your eyes, you twisted around and left the maid’s quarters, hoping no one would notice. Dashing through the castle you retrieved your things, trying desperately not to look as panicked as you were. By the time you arrived at the prince’s chamber doors you were panting. You pressed a few fingers against your chest, as if that would magically calm your heartbeat — it didn’t.

To your great relief, prince Minghao was still asleep. You set down your tea tray went to pull back the heavy drapes covering the opening towards his balcony. Now the morning light fell onto his soft features you found it hard not to stare. To tell the truth, you often found yourself staring at the young prince. Minghao had grown up well. He was only one year older than you, but he already looked so much more mature, both in good ways and bad. The way he held himself in body language and conversation astounded you. It was so far from how you’d known him all those years ago and, as handsome as you thought he’d become, your heart sank at the coolness in him. It was as if someone had turned off the lights behind his eyes.

Though when you looked at him now, there was a softness about him that didn’t often show itself while he was awake. His skin looked soft as peach and his plump lips curved into a slight smile that made you not want to wake him at all.

He looked happy. You drew nearer, smiling yourself. He looked so comfortable in the soft plush of his royal bed. For the tiniest moment, you kind of wished you could just slip under the silk covers with him and forget about your duties. He had quite long eyelashes; you’d never noticed that before. They began to flutter and before you could do anything, Minghao’s waking eyes were on you.

With a small gasp you fell back, tripping over your robes and falling onto the rug on the floor. Mortified, you jumped back up, unable to look at him. Hoping he somehow, magically hadn’t seen yet another blunder of yours, you bent over your tea set and began pouring the water.

“You, um, you’re expected at breakfast shortly,” you said. Even though you’d told him this exact sentence every morning for the past two weeks, you hadn’t been able to say it properly once. You couldn’t tell whether it was due to you being clumsy or the fact that Minghao always looked like heaven in the morning.

You heard him groan behind you.

“Your tea, your highness,” you added, twisting around to find him sitting up in the bed, disgruntled frown plastered across his face.

Ignoring the biting feeling in your chest, you walked over and set the tray down beside him.

He didn’t even look at you as he took the cup and lifted it to his lips.

You took that as your cue to leave.

You saw him in the dining room next, where you were supposed to make sure the prince’s breakfast experience was on point. In reality, it was a lot of standing around and waiting. The emperor and empresses’ servants were there as well, one a bit friendlier than the other.

“You’ve messed up your hair again,” Mie whispered when no one was looking.

“I know,” you replied as the short girl’s nimble fingers ran through your hair, swiftly pulling back the loose strands into their proper place.

The room was unusually tense this morning and when the emperor finally opened his mouth you understood why.

“I think we should call forth a meeting about these protests,” he said in a deep, droning voice, rubbing a bony finger against his temple. Emperor Xu Yilan was a tall, slender man with hair down to his waist. He had been a promising presence when he’d first ascended the throne but had lost most of the people’s support in recent years, after his naivety had led to the loss of some of their land to a neighboring empire called Yientan.

The empress placed a hand on her husband’s wrist.

“What am I to do?” the man went on, eyes flitting to his only son for the swift fraction of a second.

“I’m sure your men can put an end to the protesters,” the empress said.

“No,” replied the emperor, “the people are right to protest. We need the highlands back. I’ve got to—” he balled his hands into fists on the table.

“Let us talk about something else, no?” the empress suggested, picking at the pickled vegetables in front of her with her chopsticks.

But the emperor’s head seemed to be swarming with thoughts of only one thing. Minghao didn’t speak at all during breakfast and when he rose from the table you noticed he’d barely touched his food at all.

“Follow me,” he said as he passed you on the way out.

Doing as you were told, you slid out the room, shuffling after him through the many maze-like hallways. The tense atmosphere from breakfast seemed to follow the two of you as well. Minghao was stiff as ever and quiet as night.

Through a side door you found yourself on an outdoor walkway. You’d seen it before; you’d had a pretty good view of it from the apple orchard while you’d worked with your parents but you’d never known where it led.

You looked out into the vast gardens spread out before you, hoping to catch sight of your parents. You hadn’t seen them since you’d come to the castle. You saw some tiny heads here and there behind the various greenery but couldn’t make out anything defining. You wondered whether the wisteria were blooming yet. You couldn’t quite see them from here and they’d always been your favorite. You stood on the tips of your toes to peak over the apple trees obstructing your view. Maybe you could go see them after dark, after the prince had gone to sleep and you’d be— the prince.

You spun around, half expecting to have been abandoned, yet there here was. Minghao was standing a bit further onto the wooden path, staring at you in silence.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, remembering one of Tou Ma’s many slogans: to keep a royal waiting is an act akin to treason — over-dramatic of course, “so sorry, your highness.” You bowed toward him and when you raised your head again found he was still looking at you quizzically. He blinked a few times, his eyes never leaving yours. You opened your mouth to say something else but were too scared to make a fool of yourself even more than you already had and closed it again.

Finally, Minghao turned around and continued down the wooden path. All you could do was follow. At the end of the walkway, you came upon a tall structure, protected by a pair of heavy doors. Minghao parted them, revealing the most peculiar square room. You walked in after him, gazing up at the impossibly tall walls of the place. They were lined with books upon books upon books, inter-spaced by large, circular gaps, letting in an abundance of soft sunlight. At the center of the room was a considerable open space, in which only a few low tables stood, their legs digging into the soft rugs underneath.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but let out. You’d never seen this many books before. You hadn’t even known this many books existed.

The prince turned around to you once again, and, at seeing your amazement, a tiny, smug smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He lead you to the very center before speaking.

“I need your help with something.”

A little pang of angst shot up your spine.

“Help, from me?” you questioned, “here?”

He nodded. “I’m looking for a book but I can’t remember where I put it. It is called A Vast Unfathomable Secret, about this big,” he held up his hands.

“A Vast Unfathomable Secret,” you repeated nervously, “this big…”

“I’m not asking you the world,” he said, scoffing a little as he sat down, “I’ll be here, reading until you fetch it for me.”

You felt yourself go red in the face again and turned away from him. Looking up at the massive walls of books, your legs went weak. Did the prince not know?

You didn’t know how to read.

Where would you even begin? Dread filling your sandals, you realized you had only one option.

“Um,” you started, turning around, “your highness?”

He raised his head out of a book that looked like it contained a whole universe worth of stories.

“Could you maybe tell me a bit more about what the book looks like?”

He gazed at you bewildered for a small moment before sighing.

“It has a brown cover with gold foiled lettering… quite elaborate in style, and if I recall correctly, there’s a small lily indented on the the cover as well.” He finished the explanation with a gentle nod in your direction.

You nodded eagerly back at him.

“Will that be enough?” he asked, already with his head to his book again.

“Yes,” you said at once, “yes, your highness, thank you.”

You walked up to the nearest bookshelf and began your search, thankful the prince hadn’t asked any further questions about why the title alone didn’t suffice for you to find what he needed.

Regrettably, the large majority of the books on the shelves were brown with gold lettering. It took you forever to pull out book after book, only to determine they were most likely not what the prince was looking for. It wasn’t your fault you’d never learned how to read. How could you have? Your parents didn’t exactly have the money for such luxuries. You’d always been curious though, when you’d seen the upper class sit in the sunlit grass, their noses so deep within the folds of the leather bound objects they wouldn’t even notice if a mouse darted right in front of them. What was it about books that enthralled people so?

Minghao seemed to understand. You sneaked a glance at him from behind a large brown cover, finding him hunched over the little table in deep concentration. His index finger treaded gracefully across the page as his eyes devoured the contents. His lips formed inaudible words as he read. Every once in a while he’d run a hand through his hair, only for it to fall back into his face the next moment. You were staring again; you couldn’t help it. Everything about him made you not want to look away, which was definitely not helping you find the book.

No, you thought to yourself, twisting back around towards the shelf and forcing your hand to wrap around yet another brown spine with gold lettering. You kept going tirelessly, working your way up in silence until you needed the ladder that ran all the way up to the topmost shelf, at least twenty feet up in the air.

Your concentration was cut abruptly with the dull thud of a heavy book. You looked down to see Minghao rise from the floor. He walked over to the bottom of the ladder and beckoned you down.

“I’m sorry, your highness,” you said, still finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eyes as you addressed him, “I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s okay,” he replied and you were surprised to find him… calm? Content? Kind? Happy even? All of the irritableness from this morning seemed to have fled out of him. Books really must be wonderful things, you thought.

“You can keep looking next time,” he went on, “I really would like it at some point.”

“Yes, your highness,” you breathed in disbelief at his sunny demeanor.

That night, all you could think about was Minghao. Minghao and the way he’d sort of smiled at you, Minghao buried in his books, Minghao looking at you from across the walkway. Minghao. Minghao. Minghao. But paired with these wonderful images were sickly waves of dread.

Ever since coming to the castle, you’d known you’d had to be careful; you’d known there was a chance you might…

But he’d been so cold towards you that, in the first few weeks, you’d been able to oversee the tiny flutters in your chest. Now, it was as if the lid of the jar had been lifted and a thousand butterflies tickled your insides mercilessly, making you squirm in the sheets of your bed. It seemed almost cruel, how all of a sudden you couldn’t sleep from the thought of his deep, brown eyes. Especially because the prince would be married off in a couple years’ time and you’d be left alone once again. No, pining after the prince was about the silliest thing you could do at this point; you shouldn’t waste your time. The biggest thing you could hope for was for him to smile at you again the way he had when you were children — when you’d been friends.

“Things are getting out of hand, don’t you see that?” a voice boomed over the long, low table, where five men sat.

Emperor Xu Yilan sat at the head of the table, looking flustered. Around him sat his three most trusted advisers, a pudgy, red-faced man, an elder with a beard so long it lay in his lap, and a youngster with heavy-lidded eyes. Lastly, was Minghao, who looked anything but happy to be there.

“I understand that,” said the emperor calmly, hushing the passionate man to his right, “but we can’t just declare war on Yientan. We’re not ready for that.”

“Perhaps it would be more prudent to send another delegation to plea for the freedom of Shingmin,” the elder suggested.

“As if that will work this time,” the red-faced man grumbled, shaking his head, “listen, the Shingmin highlands belong to us. Shingmin people are our people!” he raised his voice again, slapping his palm onto the shiny, wooden table, “it’s time to take back what’s ours!”

“And how do you propose we do that?” the emperor interjected in a high pitch. You’d been watching the scene from the sidelines, waiting to refill Minghao’s cup should he require it. But he hadn’t touched his drink since the start of the meeting. He’d merely kept his head down and let the other people speak. You gazed at him worriedly, wondering what was going through his head.

“This will not just blow over, your highness,” the eldest adviser said, “the people are angry, they demand justice for Shingmin and rightly so!”

“I will not go to war,” the emperor snapped back, putting a bony finger down onto the table.

“So we have lost.”

“How cowardly!”

“Silence!” the emperor hissed, before putting his head in his hands to rub at his wrinkled face, “we are simply not ready. I’ve led our troops once and failed. I cannot live to see that happen again.”

The silence that followed weighed so heavy, you felt like you could barely breathe.

“Your highness,” the youngest of the advisers spoke up at last, making heads turn. He folded his fingers together calmly and addressed the emperor himself. “Forgive me for speaking so boldly but,” he paused, thinking, “there is one option we have yet to discuss.” His eyes then went to Minghao, who looked like he was holding on by a fraying thread.

One by one, everyone’s attention turned to the young prince.

“I understand he is only seventeen years of age and the enthronement usually happens at twenty,” the young adviser explained, “but given his… reputation,” another pause, in which the entire room held its breath, “wouldn’t it be wiser to hasten the ceremony a little?”

Minghao sat very still, but you could see in his eyes that his whole earth was shattering.

The emperor looked at his son, bushy brows furrowed, contemplating what had just been suggested. You wished he would just say something because the tension was becoming unbearable, even for you. You couldn’t imagine what Minghao must be going through.

You knew what the young adviser was suggesting, of course, and why. There was a valid reason to believe Minghao could do what his father couldn’t, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying for the young prince.

There was a story, a myth, concerning the imperial family of Namin that went back nearly a thousand years. You’d heard this story told as a lullaby when you were a child and couldn’t sleep. Your mother would point to the top of the imperial castle, where the golden dragon statue sat, overlooking the empire, and she’d tell you how that statue used to be a real dragon, how the first ruler of Namin had befriended the dragon and even saved its family from death. In return, when Namin came under attack of a foreign army, the dragon had fought for Namin, giving its life to protect the emperor he’d come to love. As the dragon breathed its last breath, it turned into the golden statue that now sat at the top of the imperial castle, promising that it would come back should the empire ever need it.

Only, the dragon had never returned since, even when Namin fell in deep trouble. Skeptics said it was because the whole thing was fake, but most believed the reason the dragon hadn’t returned was because the emperors that had followed the first hadn’t been worth fighting for. Most believed the dragon was waiting for a worthy ruler to fight alongside of, which is where Minghao came in.

The day of Minghao’s birth was the brightest the land had seen in a long time, making the dragon shine like never before. On top of that, there were various accounts of people saying they’d seen the dragon move that morning, this all leading to the common belief that prince Minghao would be the one to awaken the dragon and bring Namin back to it’s former glory.

After what seemed like forever, the emperor finally spoke up.

“What do you think about this, my son?”

Minghao’s lips parted but it was clear no sound would come out. He closed them again and looked down.

"An enlightened idea," the old adviser said, nodding slowly.

"Precisely," the younger adviser replied, "if we have the ceremony this summer we could—"

"He's too juvenile!" the red-faced adviser cut in.

"He's proved himself more than capable I say—"

"He doesn't even know how to wield a sword properly!"

“He's not bad with a bow, I've seen him—"

"The guards barely take him seriously!”

The sharp scrape of a chair brought the heated conversation to a halt. All eyes went to Minghao, who had risen, eyes still cast downward. Without a word, he turned around and strode out the door.

“Son!” the emperor called, though he didn’t follow.

“See!” the loudest of the advisers sneered, “young and reckless! How would he run Namin?”

It took you a few moments to realize what had just happened. The conversation had been so heavy it had sucked you right in. You shook the daze from your eyes and spun around, following the prince’s hurried footsteps. It was hard to catch up to him; you still weren’t too comfortable with the tight sandals and the restricting robes you had to wear. All you could do was shuffle awkwardly after him, watching the back of his head as it went.

“Minghao!” you called after him, forgetting all about proper terms and honorifics. You didn’t even know what you were doing. The only thing going through your head was how dreadful Minghao had looked and how you wanted to help him. It didn’t matter you hadn’t the slightest idea of how exactly to help him.

“Minghao, please wait!” you yelled, watching him approach his chamber doors.

You reached them just a moment after he opened them.

Abruptly, he turned around to face you in the door frame, the grave sight of his face making your insides churn.

“Leave me,” he ordered, his voice loud and stern, before slamming the doors in your face.

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muertawrites · 4 years ago

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Aphrodite Kallipygos (Zuko x Plus Size Reader) [Modern AU]

Summary: Zuko takes up an art class as part of his therapy and ends up falling in love with a woman who’s a work of art in her own right.

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: There’s a scene in this fic where a couple of thin girls engage in some rude behavior and are criticized in a few none-too-kind words. I want to make it very clear that this scene does not reflect my views of thin people or body positivity - these characters are meant to be a metaphor for greater culture and its strict, unrealistic views of what women should look like.

Author’s Note: I hate rom coms but after writing this fic it dawned on me that I would be excellent at writing them. Also, this one goes out to all my art hoes out there. I geek out pretty hard about art history in this one.

Speaking of which, I reference real-world cultures within the structure of the Avatar universe in this one as well. Something I like to do when I zone out is think about which actual countries would belong to which bending nations; my heritage is primarily from the British Isles, and what with liths like Stonehenge and the hella castles hanging around out there, I think we’d be earth benders - same with cultures like the ancient Egyptians and the Pueblos. I also love the idea of Pacific Islanders who can bend both water and lava, and Incan air benders, and I really wish the idea of global cultures as benders were explored more in the Avatar universe.

Have I mentioned that I’m a massive fucking nerd?

~ Muerta

Zuko never considered himself much of a creative. When he thought about it, he realized that that part of his life had never really been explored; his father always pushed him to focus solely on his bending and combat skills, never allowing even the consideration of other practices or hobbies. As much as Zuko was passionate about the martial arts he'd mastered, he also came to learn that he never had a choice in being passionate about anything else.

“I think you should take an art class,” his therapist suggested. “It would be a good outlet for you, and one that isn't directly influenced by your family.”

“I don't think I've ever drawn anything, though,” Zuko admitted. “I wouldn't be any good.”

“It's not about being good,” his therapist explained, “it's about exploring things that weren't available to you in your youth, freedom of expression. Consider it - there's a shop in this neighborhood that offers classes.”

She handed him a business card adorned with an array of different art styles, from delicate watercolors to bright, bold cartoons; it read, “classes for everything” in a cheerful, clearface font.

Zuko shrugged and pocketed the card. A week later, he was enrolled in a basic studio art course.

He arrived for his first class embarrassingly early, passing under the bell of the shop’s front door twenty minutes before it was scheduled to begin.

The building that housed the shop looked to be older than the rest of the neighborhood around it; the storefront was tiny, with crowded shelves lining each wall and tables and racks wound throughout the center of the space, creating a maze that led to the checkout counter. The room’s ceilings were high, supported by beams in a dark stained wood that matched the floor below. Paper mache sculptures and handmade lanterns hung from the rafters, and the simple, antique plaster walls were decorated with paintings and sketches, likely given by the shop’s clientele. From somewhere in the back, a radio sang folk music, accompanied by the hum of an electric fan.

Zuko wandered through the labyrinthine merchandise displays until he reached the register, where he was met with the single most beautiful sight he may have ever laid eyes on.

You stood behind the counter, leaned over a textbook with a pencil in hand, tapping it back and forth over the pages; you bit your lip in concentration, a few strands of your hair falling loose from the messy knot atop your head and over your cheeks, though you were too focused on your reading to care. An apron bearing the shop’s logo was tied around your waist, emphasizing your body's dramatic curves.

To Zuko, you were gorgeous. He couldn't place what exactly about you allured him; all he knew was that his pulse had quickened to a near dangerous pace.

You looked up at him when you noticed you were no longer alone, flashing him a kind, somewhat distracted smile. He nodded curtly, too nervous to do anything but stare.

“Can I help you?” you greeted him politely.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a pitch higher than normal as he spoke.

“I'm here for the art class,” he told you.

You smirked a little, peering down to check the time on your phone.

“It's a little early,” you said. “I was just about to start setting up. You could help me if you want? So you're not so bored while you wait?”

“Yeah,” Zuko mumbled, “yeah, sure.”

You grinned, waving him behind the counter and through a door to the back room. To his surprise, what he expected to be a minuscule stockroom turned out to be a space larger than the actual shop, lined on one wall with massive warehouse windows that poured late afternoon sunlight into the room. Metal shelves and boxes lay haphazardly about, mixed in with a scattering of easels, pottery spinners, canvases, and other art supplies. You directed your guest to a stack of chairs in the corner, instructing him to line them in a half circle in an empty portion of the room while you placed the easels.

“So, do you have a name?” you asked, attempting to make conversation that could drown out the repetitive radio drone.

“Zuko,” he introduced himself.

You stopped what you were doing, fixing him with an awed, slightly amused gape.

“Firelord Zuko?” you wondered.

He blushed, nodding.

“Oh spirits, I'm sorry I didn't bow!” you exclaimed, dropping into a low curtsy. The gesture was mixed with equal parts mirth and genuine respect; Zuko was unsure how to respond, his heart flickering as he watched you.

“I heard you were living somewhere in the city,” you continued after making your own introduction, setting an easel in front of each chair he positioned. “Not into the whole royalty thing?”

Zuko shrugged. He focused on his work, too nervous to look you in the eye.

“Just weird going back there,” he told you. “I don't really want taxpayer money going to making sure I live above my means.”

You leaned against the last chair he set down, smiling warmly at him.

“That's very respectable,” you responded. “Thank you. Y’know, as someone who pays taxes.”

Zuko chuckled softly as you handed him a bin of art supplies, instructing him to set one of each item at every station. He did as he was told, stealing glances at you whenever he was sure you weren’t looking.

“So, uh… do you own this place?” he asked, fumbling over his words.

“Oh, no, this is my professor’s shop,” you replied. “I just work here part time.”

“You’re a student?”

You shook your head.

“Nope. Graduated last year. I work days at the history museum downtown. I also give art history classes here, and help out with the ones Professor Cong teaches.”

“Oh.”

Zuko paused, unsure of what else to say.

“... They teach a different type of history just for art?” he asked after a moment.

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle the sound and apologizing, giving him a little nod as you collected yourself.

“Yes. Some people even get whole degrees in it,” you giggled. “Not that it’s a useful field to learn anything about.”

Zuko shrugged, trying to shake off the embarrassment of sounding stupid in front of such a cute girl; little did he know, you found the question beyond endearing.

“It sounds important,” he contested. “I’ve been meeting historians from all over the world to correct all the propaganda from the past hundred years. It never occurred to me that I would need different historians for art.”

You smiled at him, meeting him where he stood and handing him one of the sketch pads from your bin. His cheeks pinkened, his eyes darting away from yours as he took it and mumbled a “thank you”.

“I like you, Firelord Zuko,” you decided aloud. “My classes are on Wednesdays. You can come if you want - free of charge.”

Zuko nodded, swallowing heavily as he met your gaze once again.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I appreciate it.”

You laughed a little bit, taking his now empty bin and returning both to their place on a nearby shelf. The shop’s bell rang from beyond the threshold and you went back to the front counter, telling Zuko to take a spot wherever he liked. He sat in the front row; wherever he thought he could be closest to you.

For the next five weeks, Zuko attended not only his studio art class, but your art history class, showing up early to each lesson so he could spend time alone with you. Despite the fact that you invited him to sit in, he paid the fee for the second course, not wanting you to go without the extra pay for your work - he found a doodle of a turtle duck on his seat the next time he showed up, the fuzzy little penciled duckling telling him he was a terrible listener, but thanking him anyway (with a heart scribbled in beside the words).

With your guidance, Zuko learned that there was much more to art than just vibrant colors and pretty decoration. Everything in art, it turned out, had significance, each piece and work holding insight into the people and cultures who created it; you spoke passionately about the art of the Egyptians, who used specific shapes and colors in their imagery to tell stories beyond the written word, about the mysteries of prehistoric structures that revealed how early humanity was much more sophisticated and interconnected than considered at a glance, about the symbols that translated and influenced across centuries to shape how each nation, each culture, portrayed themselves into the modern world. He found himself hanging on every word, falling even more deeply enamored with you with each moment he spent with you.

It didn’t take you long - what with the easy, pleasant conversations you shared before classes - to discover that Zuko lived relatively close to you, only two stops away on the local metro. Knowing this, you often saw each other on the days you weren't at the shop, meeting at the station between each of your respective neighborhoods and having coffee or dinner in one of its many cafes, talking about anything and everything and managing to pass several hours together in what seemed like the blink of an eye. You loved being with Zuko, finding the more you did it, the less you wanted your rendezvous to end; you thought about him all the time, getting all kinds of giddy whenever he crossed your mind.

On one of your extracurricular excursions, you and Zuko wandered around the local high street, marveling at the different streetside vendors and dreamily window shopping behind the glass of the upscale boutiques, doing little more than enjoying each other’s company. It was a hot day, and along your way, Zuko stopped at a coffee stand to get you each something cold to drink.

A pretty young woman in line in front of you eyed you up and down, her gaze flicking from between you and Zuko with disgust. She jabbed her slim, graceful elbow into her equally as flawless friend’s side, whispering something in the other woman’s ear as they both glared at you, sniggering cruelly behind flat stomachs and angular, willowy frames.

You sneered at them, making a point of hooking your arm within Zuko’s and pressing your much wider hip against his, the poison of the encounter sinking into your skin and infecting your thoughts. Zuko noticed your change in demeanor immediately, steering you away from the scene as soon as your drinks were served.

“You okay?” he asked, still holding tight to your arm.

“Fine,” you quipped, biting back tears. “Just a couple of pretty bitches proving how fucking hideous they are on the inside.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Zuko halted, pulling you to the side of the street and out of the way of traffic. He lay a hand on your shoulder, the firm, able grasp of his palm somehow making you feel even worse.

“Someone would really make fun of you?” he wondered, outraged and incredulous. “Why?”

You shook your head, smiling defeatedly as your lower lip quivered.

“People have made fun of me since I was a kid, Zu,” you told him, speaking as if he should’ve just assumed it. “I’m fat. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“So?” Zuko replied. You were so shocked, you physically leaned away from him, raising your eyebrows. “Yeah, you’re fat. That doesn’t mean you’re not pretty. I… I think you’re really pretty. Gorgeous, even. You’re beautiful.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his eyes never once leaving yours.

“... Did I break you?” he tried after a moment, sounding concerned that it was a genuine possibility.

You laughed, shaking your head in feverish disbelief, attempting to clear the confusion that fogged your battered brain.

“No, I just… Nobody’s ever called me pretty and fat before.”

Zuko shrugged.

“Both are true,” he told you. “I like your body. You look like one of those Greek sculptures. Of the goddesses.”

You stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of dishonesty or patronization; all you found looking back at you was the clumsily genuine man you were quickly falling in love with.

“... Have I ever told you about Aphrodite Kallipygos?” you asked.

Zuko shook his head, as confused as you had been a few seconds ago.

“She’s a statue of Venus,” you explained. “She’s got her dress raised up over her backside, and when they found her originally, she didn’t have her head; the guy who restored her sculpted it so that she was looking back at herself, admiring her body. There’s even a whole folktale about a pair of brothers who fell in love with two women because they had, like, beautifully fat asses and the town built a temple dedicated to Venus and her butt. The name literally translates to ‘Aphrodite of the Beautiful Buttocks’.”

Zuko chuckled, raising the hand at your shoulder to cup your cheek.

“See?” he said. “Men have worshiped thick, juicy butts since the dawn of time!”

You laughed, your cheeks turning bright red as you buried your face in your hands, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his chest and further hide yourself.

“Zuko, oh my god,” you breathed. “Promise me you’ll never say that out loud in a public setting ever again, please. You’re the fucking Firelord for Tui’s sake.”

Zuko chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and hugging you tightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still grinning. “Made you feel better, though.”

You pulled away from him, affectionately punching him in the shoulder. He laughed, gasping at you in mock reproach before pressing a finger into your side, shocking you with a burst of static electricity; you cackled as you jumped away, sticking your tongue out at him.

Zuko felt a rush of lightheadedness as he watched you, savoring the sound of your laugh and the radiance of your smile. It was then he realized he was in love with you.

The next studio art class focused on model drawing - more specifically, a nude model. Zuko, having been raised in what was arguably the most reserved family in the world, was nervous about the idea of having to sit in front of a stranger for an hour, not only staring at their naked body, but immortalizing it in graphite on a page.

He was mortified when he arrived at the class and found you sitting in the corner, wrapped in nothing but a silk dressing gown.

As you climbed the platform you were meant to model on, your limbs rattled. You began to question your sanity, wondering what you thought you were doing offering to pose for the class, what kind of statement you thought it would make. You faced enough judgement from others about your weight with your clothes on - what the hell did you think they would do when you stood before them completely naked, every bump and crevice on full display for them to gawk at and criticize?

You glanced to the side at Professor Cong, seeking some sort of assurance or comfort from him; he, being the seasoned professional in his mid-sixties that he was, sat reclined in a chair in his Hawaiian shirt and flip flops, scrolling totally undisturbed through Pinterest on his phone. Honestly, you expected no less - his obtuse reactions in the face of the awkward and uncomfortable were basically a superpower.

Taking a deep breath, you untied the knot holding your dressing gown together and let it fall, slipping gracefully from your shoulders and to the floor. You assumed a comfortable, classic pose, purposely facing yourself away from the man whose eyes you could feel searing into your back.

Zuko’s breath hitched as he watched you undress. Though he only saw the full of your body for a moment, he was captivated. The swell of your breasts and curve of your stomach sent him into a dizzy spell, his mouth going dry and his skin heating with a noticeable flush. The rolls of your back, the ripples and divots along your thighs and rump, the stripes etched into your skin like the veins through a granite block, he drank in every part of you, moulding every detail with a focused hand as he sketched. He made note every scar and beauty mark. Once or twice, his mind drifted towards the salacious, imagining how your body would feel beneath his, soft and supple, releasing exalted breaths and enraptured moans, your nails dragging down his back as he drove you closer and closer to infinity…

He inhaled sharply, snapping himself back to his work. You were Venus, Minerva, Diana - a goddess among men. He would gladly spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

The moment the class ended, you gathered your dressing gown and made a beeline for the employee bathroom, getting back into your clothes as quickly as you could physically manage. The experience of nude modeling wasn’t nearly as harrowing as you expected it to be; you actually found it kind of freeing, being able to show yourself to a room full of other people and come out of it unscathed, in fact feeling quite beautiful - what had you nervous was the fact that you’d have to face Zuko immediately after the fact, seeing as you took the train home together after classes. His was the only opinion you cared about, and you wanted nothing more than to convince yourself that he hadn’t judged you as harshly as the self-hatred brainwashed into you made you believe.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Professor Cong stood in front of one of the empty easels in the back, smirking at the drawing the student had left there.

“Your boyfriend left you his piece,” he teased.

You blushed, glaring at him as you approached and snatched the sketch from his hands.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you tried in vain to defend yourself.

Professor Cong just chuckled.

“I’ll believe that when I see evidence to the contrary,” he replied.

You looked down at the paper in your hand and felt the breath drain from your lungs, your heart and stomach soaring into your throat.

Zuko had drawn you in the image of Venus, your body draped in gossamer fabric and your head turned over your shoulder, eyes cast downward and lips slightly parted in a blissful, ethereal expression. In the corner of the page, he’d written “Aphrodite Kallipygos” in his sweeping handsome script, beneath which was his signature and the date. You’d never once seen yourself look so beautiful, let alone in the eyes of someone you loved so fiercely.

You swallowed hard, rolling the drawing and securing it with a hair tie from your bag before exiting the shop through the back, knowing Zuko would be in the alley waiting for you.

“Hey,” he greeted you when you appeared through the storeroom door. “Are you okay? You looked really ner-”

You interrupted him by throwing your arms around his neck, slamming your lips into his in a desirous kiss. It took him less than a second to recover himself from the shock of the action and curl his arms around your waist, pressing his body against yours and lifting you every so slightly off the ground, kissing you just as hard as you kissed him. When you parted, you were breathless, your cheeks fiery red and your lips swollen the color of vermilion. Zuko smiled at you, one side of his mouth curling up slightly higher than the other.

“So you liked it?” he asked.

You laughed, nodding.

“Zuko, I loved it,” you gasped. “I love you. I think I loved you as soon as I met you but that sort of thing is really cliche and stupid to admit.”

Zuko chuckled, raising his hand to your cheek and kissing you again, his lips soft and tender this time around. You sighed happily into his mouth, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the feeling of his body sharing the same space as yours.

“I think I loved you the moment I met you, too,” Zuko confessed, his nose grazing against yours as he pulled away. “But you’re right. That sort of thing is really stupid and cliche.”

You giggled, tugging gently on the collar of his jacket.

“Come on,” you prompted him. “Let’s go back to my apartment. You’ve already seen me naked; we need to make it even.”

Zuko laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the alley, his side pressed firmly against yours.

“Fair,” he agreed. “But if you want me to pose for any art, you’ll have to sign some paperwork. I’m still Firelord, you know.”

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andreawetzels · 3 years ago

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Andrea's guide to Barcelona

I spent the past 5 months living and working in the beautiful and vibrant city that is Barcelona. I have written all my favourite spots in a small notebook, but I thought it would be a good idea to write it down once more. This time in the online world of Tumblr (so I can find it too in the future).

Favourite neighbourhoods:

El Born (lots of cool shops, think of concept stores and gift shops)

El Raval (a bit alternative, you can find various graffiti paintings)

Barrio Gótico (basically the heart of the centre)

Touristic Things:

La Rambla (not very special to me, but it’s nice to have seen it)

Placa de Catalunya (if you want to see the busiest square and shopping streets of Barcelona, then definitely go here!)

La Sagrada Familia (the most famous church in Barcelona of course, if you are under 30 and go on a Sunday after 16:00, you’ll get a discount, which means you can visit the church, go up on one of the towers ánd get the audio guide for 15 euros)

Park Güel (there’s a free nature park, which is great to walk around, but also make sure you visit Park Güel and take a photo on the famous bench)

Placa d’Espanya (walk up the stairs for a view of Barcelona)

Magic fountain (near Placa d’Espanya, fountain show with lights and music)

Camp Nou, FC Barcelona game (even if you don’t like football, it still is cool to watch a FC Barcelona game and experience the atmosphere)

Do the Gaudi houses tour (on your own, for free, look it up on the web and give yourself a tour!)

Swim & Chill

Favourite beach: Playa del Bogatell (bit more quiet, more locals there, less annoying people who want to sell stuff and a cleaner sea)

Piscines municipales Montjuïc (the olympic swimming pools of Barcelona, great way to cool off and get an amazing view of the city. Make sure to bring your own drinks and food because there aren’t really food places nearby. It’s also a good idea to bring a hat because there aren’t many shadow places.)

Parc de la Creueta del Coll (beautiful parc with small pool/lake, a lot of locals with small kids go there)

Vintage shops and markets:

Lost & Found Market (basically a big flea market, I wasn’t a big fan of it)

Two Market (everything only costs 1 euro, but the entrance fee is also 1 euro, if you go early you can definitely find something cool and cheap)

You will find most vintage shops on Carrer Tallers, like: Holala vintage, Flamingo, Flamingos vintage kilo, etc.

If you’re looking for new and second hand vinyl or cds, go to Revolver Records on Carrer dels Tallers 11. They also sell band shirts.

Palo Alto Market (great market every Saturday and Sunday with food trucks, clothing, lifestyle goods, live music and much more!)

Nature & Sights

Ciutadella park (a lot of green, also a lot of people who do work-outs there)

The Montjuïc (one of the most famous hills in Barcelona, there are also a lot of touristic things to visit there, my recommendation is to go to the Teleferico Barceloneta and take the cable car to the Montjuïc)

Tibidabo (visit the Basílica and go up on the tower for a fantastic view)

Bunker El Carmel (it is quite a walk, bring some food and drinks, go in the late afternoon and have a nice picnic while watching the sunset)

Parc del Laberint d’Horta (nature park to walk around, which also features a maze!)

Food & Drinks

En Ville (very fancy menu del dia, if you’re into that)

La Tagliatella (good and cheap chain Italian food)

UDON (cheap fast food, asian style, go for their variation of the menu del dia)

Spice cafe (best carrot cake in town, seriously!!! Also try their homemade raspberry lemonade, it’s very refreshing)

Federal café (great for brunch, nice poached eggs, also a good place to work at)

Surf House (especially great in summer, after an afternoon at the beach, have the burger, fries and mayo-mango sauce or the phi phi salad!)

Eyescream and friends (very cute shaved ice cream with little eyes on them, you can choose the ice cream flavour and two toppings. It’s super yummy, they have cute branding and it’s very instagrammable!)

Bacoa (if you like eating burgers, this is the place to go to!)

Maka Maka (also a great burger place, with a very nice looking exterior)

La Boqueria Market (thé food market in Barcelona, definitely worth a visit, buy a cup of fruit or a smoothie or try a macaron ice cream sandwich from MIMA Ice Cream)

Brunch & Cake (delicious and extremely good looking brunch food! They have two locations, one by the sea and one in the city. Be sure to come early, because it gets very busy and you’ll have to wait in line to get a table)

FOC BCN (great latin food and cocktails, but make sure to tell the staff if you don’t like coriander)

Cosmo bar (very hip and trendy looking bar with great food, amazing cakes and nice coffee & juices)

Café Cometa (same owners as Cosmo bar, same hip-trendy-quirky restaurant, but with more light and it’s a bit more relaxed. Try the munch brunch, you can assemble your own brunch plate)

Chök the Chocolate Kitchen (amazing donuts and cronuts, they have two locations, but not a lot of seats, mainly focused on take-away, try the Kinder bueno donut)

Trópico (healthy and tropical foods and AMAZING juices and smoothies, try the smoothie with pink dragon fruit!)

Ice Wave (they take cream, add your toppings and create it into ice-cream rolls, which is already a show to watch on its own, they also sell fantastic ice-cream crepes)

Gaudí Bakery (incredible cakes, also great to take-away, try the Red Velvet!)

Can Dendê (Very cute little brunch/lunch place, try the pink lemonade, bagel with salmon and waffle fries)

El Nacional BCN (bit more expensive, but definitely the most beautiful eating place with multiple restaurants inside, especially magical around Christmas time)

Granja Petitbo (restaurant with a vintage and hip looking decor, try the waffle with cheese, chicken, spinach and strawberries)

Syra Coffee (brilliant coffee, kind baristas and amazing sweet goods from Lukumas)

Flax & Kale (worth a visit for the healthy food lovers, try the pink salmon burgers, coconut yoghurt with fruit and granola or the banana bread, or ALL OF THEM)

Tapas tour (book yourself a tapas tour and learn more about the history and culture of Barcelona, while eating tapas at various places)

Museums and Art

MACBA Museu d’Art Contemporani (Keith Haring mural

Museu Picasso (

Disseny Hub Barcelona (if you’re into design, then go here! From graphic design to furniture, there often also are cool exhibitions)

Google online for a free street art tour (or find a tour yourself and go explore the city!)

CCCB (museum with contemporary art, last time I was there, they had three exhibitions going on, very interesting!)

On Placa d’Isidre Nonell, there’s a mural of two lips kissing each other, made out of small photos: “The sound of a kiss is not as loud as that of a canon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer.”

Clubs, bars and parties

Brunch in the park/Brunch in the city (in the summer, there’s brunch in the park on the Montjuïc, which is really cool, in the winter it’s in the city, most of the time in Poble de Espanyol)

Sala Apolo (a lot of events, but especially concerts, I went to Allah-Las for example, very authentic venue)

Paradiso (if you go through the vintage fridge doors, you’ll find yourself a secret bar with amazing cocktails! Try the pineapple one)

Shôko (club which often has R&B, hiphop and classics playing)

The Lime House (cheap and strong mojitos)

The George Payne (Irish bar for a night of karaoke, they also sell a cheap black-out tray for 20 euros you’ll get: 2x Sex on the Beach, 2x Sangria, 1 caraffe of Vodka + Redbull, 2 shots Jäeger, 2 shots Tequila and 2 shots Sambucca)

Pacha (club if you’re more into techno/deep house)

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caltropspress · 4 years ago

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FEEDBACK LOOP #6: Cargo Cults’ “Rammellzee”

Since these symbols and all symbols are drawn, infinity’s separation from all symbols must be shown through drawing. The only proof of such a separation of the infinity would be the understanding by the majority of the planetary peers. There is no other way.

—from IONIC TREATISE GOTHIC FUTURISM ASSASSIN KNOWLEDGES OF THE REMANIPULATED SQUARE POINT’S ONE TO 720° TO 1440° THE RAMM-ΣLL-ZΣΣ (1979, 2003)

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.

—from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland

Riding among an exhausted busful of Negroes going on to graveyard shifts all over the city, she saw scratched on the back of a seat, shining for her in the brilliant smoky interior, the post horn with the legend DEATH. But unlike WASTE, somebody had troubled to write in, in pencil: DON’T EVER ANTAGONIZE THE HORN.

—from Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49

1. I walk down the street and people look at me and say, “Who the hell are you?”

Cargo Cults (Alaska and Zilla Rocca) begin their track “Rammellzee” with the voice of the some-16 billion-years-old being himself. The song is an ode, an invocation. The organ sample provides a bizarre ride: a carousel of colors. We immediately plummet—into a well, a subway tunnel, a cosmos of linguistics. Not a nonchalant That’s deep, but a depth of knowledge where “cipher” means code, means Supreme Mathematics, means gathering with your rapfolk outside the Nuyorican Poets Cafe or in Washington Square Park: a deep connection. Mimicking Rammellzee, Alaska presents the listener with “swirling pages / forming mazes of [his] formulations” and subsequently “break[s] them down into a form that’s shapeless.”

2. Hip-hop is ageist….In blues, you ain’t official until you fifty. (Ka, Red Bull Music Academy interview with Jeff Mao, 2016)

The phrase …of a certain age has, historically, been used euphemistically to describe someone (typically a woman) who has existed for a “shameful” tally of years. Society is still undoing the stigma, but rappers have made strides.

In Adult Rappers, a 2015 documentary directed by Paul Iannacchino (Hangar 18’s DJ paWL), Alaska is [accidentally?] presented twice in the closing credits—like a double, a separate persona—which calls to mind the multiple personalities of Rammellzee: Crux the Monk, Chaser the Eraser, Gash/Olear, et cetera. Age allows for maturation, for building, for bettering. In Rammellzee’s case—and I’d argue Alaska’s—it allows for complexity to emerge organically through wisdom. It allows for reinvention, for many versions of one’s self. Age and development is how an aerosol can with a fat cap can graduate to customized deodorant roll-ons and shoe polish canisters.

It begins with jerry-rigging a nozzle and ends in diagramming a “harpoonic whip launcher/pulsating extendor” to illustrate the deconstruction of letter-formations in the English alphabet. The spirit of experience pervades the Nihilist Millennial album. As anyone who has ever sat on the couch knows, communication can also improve with age.

Artists and rappers like Rammellzee and Alaska rely on wild-styles, a self-made world that warps quantum physics and disregards notions of dimensionality. It’s dream-vision. It’s liberation. It simultaneously celebrates and critiques communication: like the image of a muted horn.

“Communication is the key,” cried Nefastis. “The Demon passes his data on to the sensitive, and the sensitive must reply in kind. There are untold billions of molecules in that box. The Demon collects data on each and every one. At some deep psychic level he must get through…”

“Help,” said Oedipa, “you’re not reaching me.”

“Entropy is a figure of speech, then,” sighed Nefastis, “a metaphor. It connects the world of thermodynamics to the world of information flow. The Machine uses both. The Demon makes the metaphor not only verbally graceful, but also objectively true.”

[…]

Nefastis smiled; impenetrable, calm, a believer.

The wordplay seems just that: play—that is, until you find the thread. Alaska cobbles together words like rubbish, W.A.S.T.E. Words appear daisy-chained together—flowery, ornate, and strung together by their stems: “fatalism, Fela Kuti, razor thin” / “smash the superstitions with acid tabs and some Sufi visions” / “deep dive Sonny Liston” / “Walt Whitman.”

The track reads like a codex. Something crafted in a scriptorium. His words are warfare—double-tracked/double-barreled—and he slips into braggadocio to prove it. It’s an authoritative posture of experience. Having started atomically small—from Breaking Atoms bedroom listening, to Atoms Family—Alaska’s flow presents nuclear now: maximum damage.

There’s a refinement to what this duo is doing: “Me and Zilla well-established with a lavish vision. / Both hands crusty with Ikonklastic Panzerism.” The boasts rely on royal diction: Camelot, palace doors, Prince Paul. Each man a king, a God, and each one should teach one. Mentor texts for the masses.

Rammellzee is an equation, And simply stated it’s the way of life I’m chasing. That’s why I praise the future-Gothic future-prophet. Gotta rock it, don’t stop it, Gotta rock it, don’t stop.

You find diversions on the song, exits into familiar chambers. GZA quotations (“I was the thrilla in the Ali-Frazier Manila”) and allusions to Main Source. Large Professor rapped “Dead is my antonym,” and if that’s to be proven true, money needs to be removed from the equation. The refrain of “Gotta rock it” not only calls to mind “Beat Bop,” Herbie Hancock, and Grand Mixer DS.T (or his later incarnation, DXT), but rockets—Afrofuturist angles, future shocks (Bill Laswell [Material], friend to Rammellzee, had a hand in all this). It’s not so much a “future-prophet” as a “future profit.” “Freedom in the process” means creativity without expectation, without the constraints of market value.

Alaska gives it to us straight: “I don’t care if you don’t like it, and I don’t care if you don’t buy it / ’Cause I find freedom in the process.” Despite becoming increasingly complex in his visual approach—like a heap of garbage that loses the definition of its component parts over the ages—Rammellzee understood time equals clarity of vision. A wasted world becomes a meaningful one. Of course, we got to pay rent, so money connects, but ownership of one’s art is about empowerment. “Selling out” is the opposite—an evisceration of one’s self and spirit. “We lost control from the second we sold the art,” Alaska raps. “We sold our future….We should be seeking enlightenment.”

The moment arrives, epiphanically: “I find freedom in the process so I’m grateful, / And that’s my main source: it’s my friendly game of baseball.” For Alaska and Zilla Rocca, it’s not a job—it’s a passion, a pastime.

5. Nascent imagination deep inside a battle station.

Post-9/11 meant luxury apartments displaced Rammellzee’s Battle Station loft, his living museum. But the art has been excavated and exists posthumously. His Gothic Futurism and Ikonoklast Panzerism seem at home archived on the internet—a network that appears more like a chaos cloud. Rammellzee deconstructed and transcended language—junk monk scripts and calligraphic cut-ups of consumerism. His art is the empowerment a recycling arrow-triangle could only hope to be. Recycle is also rebirth. Rammellzee’s career path is circuitous, deep-tunneled (subway-esque), eternal.

Similarly, Alaska’s multisyllabic patterns are an endless barrage, like weaponized letters tilted sideways, like bottle rockets angled into a bottle’s neck: “Armament / Now my names are built like a BattleBot / Locked inside an ad hoc Camelot, I rather not / Tangle with a rabid lot, hop inside a rabbit hole.”

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice “without pictures or conversations?”

Boredom can make trouble, but boredom can also breed creativity. Alaska rather not spar with trolls under ISP bridges—though he’s equipped to. Instead, he channels his energies into material.

6. Our culture is done. We lived it.

Near the end, Alaska paraphrases Rammellzee: “I’m not the first or the last to don the mask. / I see it as a title, I’m monastic with these raps.”

Living a life of art—making it regardless of accolade or monetary payment—is the highest form of creativity. Live the art and die by it, like Stan Brakhage, poisoning himself at a slow pace as he applied toxic dyes to celluloid film. Like Rammellzee executing graffiti pieces maskless, huffing the carcinogenic fumes.

MF DOOM (née Zev Love X)—a Rammellzee descendant—taught us how to revel in anonymity, the importance of not spotlighting yourself, but instead seeking out the shade, secret passageways, and the trapdoor in the stage floor. Not all of us heed the advice, but some do, and they feel the throb of real success, not the sort that shows up in bank statements and 401(k) plans.

Images:

“Beat Bop” test pressing, Rammellzee and K-Rob, art by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1983 (detail) | Rammellzee black-and-white portrait photograph (unknown) | Ikonoklast Panzerism diagram from IONIC TREATISE GOTHIC FUTURISM ASSASSIN KNOWLEDGES OF THE REMANIPULATED SQUARE POINT’S ONE TO 720° TO 1440° THE RAMM-ΣLL-ZΣΣ (1979, 2003) | Page 34 (muted post horn) in Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49, Bantam Books edition (1966) | “A scribe at work,” from an illuminated manuscript from the Estoire del Saint Graal, France (Royal MS 14 E III c. 1315-1325 AD) | Herbie Hancock, Future Shock cassette cover (1983) | Grand Mixer D.ST comic book image (unknown) | Stan Brahage at chalkboard (unknown) | Stan Brakhage, Mothlight celluloid (1963) | “Beat Bop” test pressing, Rammellzee and K-Rob, art by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1983 (detail)

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readbeneaththelines · 5 years ago

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Professor’s Pet

A/N: This is pure smut pwp. Couldn’t help myself. I know a few peole thirtsy for Professor Namjoon. So here ya go my lovelies!

characters; Professor!Namjoon x TeachersAide!Reader

Warnings: pure unadluterated smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism

Word Count: 4403

You entered the lecture hall just like all the other students. Letting the others pour in through the double doors, you waited until all seats were taken. You meandered through the maze of sleepy-eyed students, smiling as you recall your first year at Uni. You take your seat at the lone desk to the right of the lecture stage. Smoothing your skirt down, you slide into your seat and cross your legs. The doors to the back of the hall swing open, and all eyes turn to the sound. A collective sigh echoes off the walls as the young girls in the class take in the visage before them.

“Good morning class. Welcome to History of Sexuality 101. I am your professor Kim Namjoon.”

It had not been that long since you had seen him last. He took his annual vacation the last two weeks of summer break. And you had taken off for the States the month before that. What stood before you was a changed man. Usually his hair was clean cut, naturally dark brown, and skin a soft honey tone. But this, this man was gorgeous. His hair had gown out, now styled in a tousled mess. His skin was tanned to a deep caramelized honey and he was wearing wire rimmed glasses. You swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice you staring.

He made his way to the front of the room, coming to stand behind the podium. He eyes roamed the class,finally settling on you.

“Class I would like to introduce you to my Teacher’s Aide Y/N Y/L/N. She has been helping me teach for the past two years.”

There was a cacophony of hellos and sighs. You knew how the girls felt, you remembered how your heart raced the first time you saw him. Those eyes that could read your inner most thoughts. That smilet hat could melt the snow of a thousand winters’ snow. Those lips that could form words that sounded like a song as he spoke.

“Morning Class.” You stood slightly, bowing in greeting to the students first, and then to Professor Kim. “Morning Professor.”

The initial lecture went on without a hitch, and the sudden intrusion of the bell had you nearly jumping in your seat. Class was dismissed, and you gathered the papers from the long lines of conference tables. You carried them to your desk, shuffling them to make a neat pile. You felt warm breath fan across your bare neck, chills dancing down your spine. You turned around, finding him smiling down at you.

“So, Miss Y/N, ready for another semester?” You grinned cheekily, nodding in response. “Good, good. I must add, you look stunning as usual. The States treated you well, I see.”

“Yes they did. I had a lovely visit with my Auntie and Uncle. How was your trip this year? What exciting adventure did you take this time?”

“I visited Vienna and Norway. You know me, museums and nature.” You laughed, knowing good and well his love of the arts and Mother Nature. You chatted for a few more minutes while the both of you gathered your things. Just as you were about to dismiss yourself, you felt his hand encircle your wrist, turning you to face him. His eyes searched yours, lips trying to form words that never came.

“I will see you later? How about we meet up after your last class and go over the syllabus.” He nodded , his head lowering to the ground as his cheeks blushed a faint shade of rose. You placed your hand over his, telling him goodbye. He watched as you faded from sight, mentally kicking himself for not saying the thoughts that were jumbled in his head. He had to tell you, before it was too late. But he was afraid that it would change the dynamic of your close friendship, and that was something he didn’t want to lose. The meeting came and went, and still he was left speechless. He had to figure something out, and quick.

The next week of lectures sailed by smoothly, even with the occasional lame attempt from frat boy trying to hit on you. Namjoon was always quick to save you from their advances, telling them something akin to regulations and failing class. His chivalry had your heart racing,and your mind swirling. But you knew the repercussions of flirting with a professor, and your future hung on this position.

“Y/N, I need your help tomorrow with the lesson I am giving a live demonstration and I will need your assistance if you don’t mind.” He was sitting at his desk, fingers interlaced behind his head as he leaned back in the seat. “I know your going to think me mad, but I need you to dress, umm, seductively?” He was blushing again, and you could feel your own cheeks heating.

“Seductively? Well, okay. Anything in particular?” You began imagining all the skimpysexy clothes you had,but never wore because you were embarrassed. You had curves in all the perfect places, but didn’t think you should be showing them off. Damn self conscious negativity. But this was an opportunity to have people noticing you in the name of education.

“Well, how about that one skirt you have, the dark grey one. Oh, and that halter top you wore at the end of last semester.” He tried hard to hide the fact that he really wanted to see you in that outfit outside of work, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“Okay. I guess I will see you tomorrow. Have a good night Professor.” You hesitate, looking at him with hopeful eyes, wanting his to see what is there without you having to speak it into existence. There is a heavy silence that fills his small office,and the tension is so thick , you can hardly breathe properly. He looked up from his laptop, tilting his head as he studied your features.

“Goodnight. Get home safely.” You left his office, cursing your mind for the images that were popping up. Images of him undressing behind that desk, eyes boring into your soul.

“Fuck” was all you could mutter as the door shut behind you.

The next morning you showered, taking extra time to shave every inch that had unwanted hair. You styled your hair with extra attention to showing of your neck and shoulders. Your make-up was light, accentuating your features and made your eyes pop with vibrant color. You slipped into the long skirt, loving the way it flared out, but still clung to your hips. The white halter top clung to your body, the swell of your breasts peeking just above the neckline. You slid your feet into strappy sandals, then looked yourself over in the mirror. You had to admit, you looked beautiful, and decided that if this didn’t do anything to the professor, nothing would. You gathered your bag and headed out the door. The short walk form your apartment to the campus took about ten minutes. You could feel eyes on you, the leering glances from young and horny college boys. You even garnered a few cat calls, which even though disgusting in nature, brought a faint smile to your lips. You arrived early, entering the lecture hall before everyone else.

Professor Namjoon was putting a long table at center stage, between your desk and the podium. When he heard the doors open he looked up, turning to face the direction of the sound. His eyes widened and mouth fell slightly open as he drank you in. You, in return, had to stop mid-step as you raked your gaze over him. His royal blue oxford was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, the well defined muscles just barely visible. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the outline of strained muscles etched into his forearms as he leaned against the table’s edge. His long legs stretched out in front of him, the taut strain of his thighs visible beneath his khakis. You felt a flame ignite low in your belly, the heat rising to warm you throughout.

“Good- good morning Y/N. You look… Perfect.” He licked his lips, the sudden parched feeling in his mouth had him begging for a drink of cool water. You lowered your head, your inner goddess standing up and taking over. You made your way to the table, stopping mere inches from him.

“Morning Professor. I hope this is what you were looking for?” You spun on your heel, the skirt billowing out as you took it in your fingers then curtsied. When you finally met his gaze, you couldn’t help but stare back at him. It was in that moment, when there as nothing around you, that you knew you were falling, and the bottom would never come.

Just as he was about to speak, the students began filing in, and you took a few steps back. You had to force your eyes to divert away from his and greet the students with a smile that was probably wider than it should be. He straighten, saying his usual hellos and other mundane greetings. His voice was an octave lower and harsh, something that took you both by surprise.

As the student took their seats, Namjoon made his way to the podium. He gave you a sly look, then addressed the class.

“Today students, we are going to have a visual demonstration on wanton sexuality. We will discuss how to seduce and enrapture your lover. We will talk about foreplay, specifically fallatio and cunnilingus.” There was a collective gasp from the students, and you even joined in. Just what did he mean by visual demonstration? You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and the look on his face had you even more confused. He had a flat affect, no sign of what was going through his mind at that time. You crossed your legs tightly, already feeling the hint of dampness in your silk panties. You shuddered noticeably, hoping the rest of the class didn’t see. Your head snapped up when you heard him say your name.

“Y/N. Could you please join me up here?” You felt all eyes on you as your rose from your desk and joined him in the middle of the stage. “Now, Y/N is going to help me with the demonstration. Pay attention class, there may be a test on this.” He gave a wink, the class going silent as they got their pens and pencils ready for notes. Namjoon took your hand and guided you to stand in front of the table he set up. Placing his hands on either side of your waist, he hoisted you up, seetling you on the side of the table.

“No class, imagine that you have this beautiful woman before you. You want her, and you want her desperately. You want to show her who’s in control. So what do you do?” He scanned the boy and girls, nodding at their various answers. “Those were all good choices. Now lets put one into practice. “Y/N, I want you on your knees.” Something changed in his eyes. They were dark and dangerous, and you felt your legs quiver in anticipation. You quickly obeyed, sliding of the table and onto your knees. He positioned himself in front fo you,his pelvis at eye level.

“Now, babygirl, take the zipper in your teeth and unzip my pants without using your hands.” You looked up at him through your lashes, searching for any sign that he was playing. You leaned forward, using your tongue to place the zipper pull between your teeth, slowly lowering your head as you heard the zipper unlatching. He undid his belt and unbuttoned the single button, leaving his pants now laid open. You could see the black of his boxers, you mouth watering at the sight.

“Now, pull my pants down with your hands, then place your hands on your lap.” You did as you were told, resting your noe trembling hands on your lap as you waited for his next command.

“As you can see class, her hands are slightly shaking. Is it from anticipation, want, fear? This is where communication is vital.” He looked down at you, his voice becoming soft as he spoke to you.

“If you ever want me to stop, just say so. I want you to always feel safe, and know that I would never do anything to hurt you.” You nodded in assent, desire evident in your gaze as you watched him.

“Now, be a good girl and pull my boxers down with your teeth, that’s it, just like that. Using only your tongue, I want you to guide my cock into your mouth.” The second your warm, wet, tongue touched the head of his cock, he let out a breathy sigh. His legs tensed,the muscles stretching tight under his heated flesh. He was heavy on your tongue and you could feel him growing harder in the warm cavern of your mouth. It was mind shattering how his filthy words, mixed with the salty taste of precum, made you hungry for more. In the background, you could hear the scuffling of seats as the students leaned forward. The thought of you on full display, letting someone watch you, had your body buzzing with need. The idea of you pleasuring someone, and having others know it was you doing this to him, and not them, made you feel empowered. His voice brought you back to the present, and you were ready to oblige his next orders.

“Hollow your cheeks, princess. I want to feel the back of your throat. I want to feel it tighten as you swallow around me.” You wondered if you could take in the entirety of his length and girth, but you were damned and determined to make it happen. You felt the prick of tears in your eyes, but you had lost all sense to back off. You wanted, no, you needed, to feel all of him in your mouth.

“Now class, shehow compliant she is. She wants this just as much as you do. She wants to please you, because she knows you will please her in return. Watch carefully as I then fist my fingers in her hair, holding her head still as I begin to thrust my hips and fuck into her hot, wet mouth.” The groan that escaped his lungs filled the large room. You could barely hear the clearing of throats and feminine sighs over the thrumming of your heart in your ears.

“See how well she takes me, my cock fully sheathed until I can feel the back of her throat. At this point- Fuck. At this point, i can already feel my orgasm building, just from watching that pretty little head moving back and forth as I set the pace. But,I’m not ready yet. She deserves some much needed attention too. Right?”

Everyone agreed, their own voices strained and thick. Without warning, he pulled his hips back, slipping out of your mouth with a sloppy wet pop. His fingers untangled themselves from your hair. You watched as he offered his hand to you, wrapping long slender fingers around yours as you took his hand. He helped you up, his eyes running up and down your body, finally settling on your lust blown pupils.

“Alright babygirl, up on the table.” He easily lifted you up, gently setting you back down where you had started. With a gentle push, he had you laying back on the table. He reached under each knee, pulling you towards him. You felt him move your legs as he told the class your next moves.

“Legs apart and spread them wide for me princess. Good, now just close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.” You shut your eyes tight, every nerve fiber at the ready for a touch, for anything.

“Come closer everyone. I want you to really see what happens when she is worshipped and touched in the most intimate of ways. Watch how she reacts when I do this.” Your entire body shook with need, wanting to feel any part of him touching you. You almost came when you felt his tongue, wide and flat, run up along the seam of your folds which were already dripping and coated in your sweet juices. His hands were hot on your flesh as they held your legs apart, exposing your bare cunt to the class. Feeling you shake, he smiled against you.

“Don’t move baby or else I’m going to have to smack that pretty little ass of yours.” The ‘oohs’ and snickers had your head spinning. “Now class, watch and learn. She’s now laid open and needy, hungry for my lips to latch onto her clit. It’s buzzing and tingling, craving for attention, isn’t princess?” You nodded quickly, unable to make coherent words form in your head or on your lips.

He darts his tongue out, barely flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves. You can’t help the low breathy moan that falls from your lips in a whimper. Your back arches off the table, hands searching for purchase on something, anything, to keep you grounded.

“Did you see that? She how she shows me, without words, thats she wants more? Now lets see how she does when I do this, shall we?” He pullsyourclit between his teeth, nipping at it gingerly. Your hands find the tousled dark locks of his hair, gathering them in your fists as you push his head down further. He laps at your clit, the tip swirling tight hard circles over your nub as your begin to moan louder. He leans his head back, his mouth and chin glistening from your slick juices.

“Hear those sounds? That’s what pleasure sounds like. Those are needy desire filled moans.” You shook the desk with the force of your body shuddering. His voice was deep, almost menacing, as he spoke.

You nearly cum as he dips a finger inside you, slowly dragging it along your walls. When he take a second finger, entering you and scissoring them apart. You mewl and keen without caring who heard. You could feel the sting and stretch as he opens you up, making you ready to welcome him inside of you.

You are bereft of contact, suddenly cold with the absence of his lips on your dripping wet pussy. You turn your head left and right, searching for any indication of where he was. His voice guided your senses until your head was looking in his direction.

“Let’s watch her come undone class. Let’s watch her as she become raw and unbridled. I want to watch her as she looks at me. Let’s learn together, okay. But, I won’t let her cum until you all tell me if you think she’s ready.” He is looking at you, your skirt up around your waist, your panties at your ankles. He situates himself between your legs, the warm, a welcomed intrusion. He puts his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweetness before hie dips them under the lining of your bralette. He brings the edges down, exposing your breast to the cool air. Your nipples harden as he blows cool air across them, taking one is his hand and twisting it harshly between his fingers while his mouth suckles on the other. You grip his arms, digging your nails into his strong biceps. He frees one breast from his hold as they trail down your sides and to your hips. His fingers dig in, hard enough to know you will have bruises later that day. He drags you across the table until your ass is just on the ledge. You feel his hard cock coming to nestle between your folds, slicking it from base to head.

“Open your eyes babygirl. Look me in the eyes, and don’t look away.” He wraps his hand around his cock, the head a deep purple, as he gives it a few slow languid strokes. His other hand is still buried between your legs, pumping in and out of you, bringing you dangerously close to release. Your eyes open, focusing in on his. His pupil are full blown, dark and dangerous if you didn’t know what he was planning to do to you. But you did know, and that hint of danger had you thriving for more. You had to have him filling you up, claiming you as his, if only for this moment.

“P-please.” it was barely a whisper, but he had heard your words. Something changed when he heard you. It was no longer a carnal need, but something more that made him want to have you. It was the long pent up feelings he had for you that made him want to claim you as his, and his alone.

He placed the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you until you were a writhing mess. Forgetting about the class, he rolled his hips forward, inching deeper and deeper inside of you. You felt like home, the way hit fit inside you, your velvet wals stretching the closing around his length like you two were made for each other. The surroundings disappeared as he looked down at you. You were beautiful, in the throws of pure unadulterated passion, and he had never seen such raw unhinged beauty as he saw now.

“Fuck, Y/N. Do you even know how purely sexy you look right now? I will never get enough of looking at you, claiming your body as mine.” He could care less if the class was privy to the fact that he wanted you, craved you. He bent down over you, ghosting his lips over yours. When they parted in a sigh, he claimed your mouth in a fevered kiss. You could taste the heady mixture of your juices and him. Tongues danced and sought to claim dominance. You were lost in him. To hell with holding back your feelings, to hell with the risk that could come with wanting to be his.

He set a tortuous rhythm, your back lifting off the table to meet him thrust for thrust. You didn’t care about the hardness of the table as it dug into you ass cheeks, you only cared about how he was filling you and driving you to your apex. The coil tightened in your gut, burning with a need to snap. He reached under one knee, lifting your leg up and over his shoulder as he angled deeper, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust of his hips.

He was faltering in his pace, his own orgasm closing in. He wanted to hold out, wanted to see you come undone beneath him.

“Come on baby, cum for me. Let me watch you was you come undone because of me.” HIs words pushed you over the crest, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, before you were weightless and falling. Flashes of stars, in every color, filled your vision behind closed lids. The moment your walls clenched down around him, he was lost in the feeling. His cock pulsed and twitched, his seed spilling into you hot and thick. He collapsed onto your chest, both of you panting and gasping for precious air. Opening your eyes, you knew it, you knew you loved him, and from the look in his eyes, he felt the same way. He let his forehead fall against yours, hip lips pressing tenderly to yours. As the realization that there was a class full of people watching, you let out a small giggle.

“Umm, webetter finish class, professor.” you whispered. He looked around cautiously, a smile curling at his lips. The females were fanning themselves with their folders, and the guys were wide-eyed and slack jawed. The was utter silence as Namjoon began to talk.

“Well, umm, class. That is how you can tell if you are giving and receiving proper oral from someone you’re with. Review your notes, and if you get the chance, practice what your learned. I may give, pardon the pun, an oral test next week. Class is dismissed.

He quickly pulled finished dressing before the doors opened, helping you up into a sitting position. He aided you in getting your top back on and helping you down from the desk.

“I think we may need to talk about what just happened.” You said as you stood up, legs still wobbly. “I’m not saying what just happened was bad, but what happened during it.” You were hoping he would understand without you having to come out and say anything.

“Y/N. I have wanted to be with you like that for the past year. I couldn’t sit back and not do anything about it anymore. I will probably get fired for being with you, but I don’t care any more. I’m in love with you and I want the world to know it.”

You stepped to him, cupping his face in your hands. You forced him to look at you.

“Namjoon, I would be lying to both of us if I said I didn’t fell the exact same way. After what just happened, I am irrevocably yours, if you’ll have me. I only want you, only want to be with you, in every way. “ You kissed him, hoping you could show him how true your words were, when speaking them wasn’t enough. When you broke away, only parting because your lungs were desperate for air, he wrapped you in his arms.

“By the way, you would have gotten five stars and an A plus plus if that was your test.” You smacked his shoulder, your cheeks a bright hot red. He kissed the tip of your nose before pulling you closer. His chin rested on the top of your head as you placed your ear to his chest. His still rapidly beating say a thousand unspoken words.

“I love you Y/N. I think I always have, since the day you first stepped into my classroom three years ago.”

“I love you too, Joon. Always will.”

“That’s professor Joon to you.” He smiled down at you, his dimples deep and eyes bright. Yeah,being Teacher’s Aide had a whole new meaning now.

tagging my smut squad of beauties

@jungkook-me-down @namjoonieftw @seoulsunshineandstories @aspaceformyself @xjamlessparkx @flora-jimin @jinitude

@namluve

#namjoon x reader #namjooning #kimlinenetwork #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut

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floral-and-fine · 6 years ago

Text

Last Song part 1

Spiderman Noir x female reader

Warnings: lemon and cheating

a/n: I tried my best to write this in a Noir style novel, so it’s kinda dark, no one is really a “good guy” and it’s in his pov. Never really wrote anything like this, not sure how I feel about tbh. But I saw some Spiderman Noir fan art that made me want to write something for him.

Summary: The reader hires Peter Parker Private Investigator to search for her missing husband.

Queens, the city where I was born and raised. A city that has declined into darkness. A city drowning in its own filth, overrun with criminals and scum. From the dark alleyways, all the way to town hall was corruption.

Thunder roared outside my office window and lightning struck lighting up my office for a brief second. In the corner, there was a leak in the roof and there's a low buzz coming from the light fixture above.

I've stayed in this city long enough, but every time I think I can get out, something pulls me back.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and fetched the bottle of scotch. There was only about a shot left. I swallowed the last bit and sighed. It wasn't nearly enough.

There's a knock on my door and my secretary, Ms. Stacy, peeks her head in, “Mr. Parker, there's someone here to see you, sir.”

“Let 'em in,” I nod, tossing the empty scotch bottle in the trash.

A lovely woman steps into my office. She was wearing an A-line dress and lace gloves and was tightly clutching a matching handbag. Half of me hopes she hear for a date, but I know better in this kind of work.

I motion for her to take the seat across from me, “What can I do you, Miss-?”

“Y/n,” she answers without missing a beat and settles down. “I need your help, I've got no one else who I could turn to. I heard you’re one of the best private investigators in Queens.”

“Get to the point,” I cut her off.

“It's about my husband,” she starts, her eyes laced with concern.“He's gone missing… the police refuse to get involved, but I know there's something fishy going on.”

“Sure he didn't just run off with some hussy?” I questioned.

“I know my husband,” she argued sternly. “If he had a mistress, he would've had the courtesy to let me know he was leaving me for her.”

I roll my eyes, I've had other cases dealing with missing spouses, they almost always ended with them having a new lover.

“Mind if I?” she asks, removing a pack of cigarettes from her handbag.

I nod and push the ashtray on my desk closer to her. Her hand shakes as she tries to light it.

“Listen, Dollface,” I say, taking out a book of matches from my pocket. “I'm not the good guy you're looking for,” I explained to her, swiping the match against the strip. “I ain't gonna do you or nobody any favors out of the goodness of my heart.”

She leans towards the match I'm holding out for her, and she takes a quick drag and blows. “Money ain't a problem if that's what you’re worried about. Just please find him.”

Missing husband cases never go well. It always leads to unnecessary heartbreak. But if she's willing to pay, I'll keep my mouth shut for now. I got bills to pay after all.

“Fine,” I give in. “I'll take your case.”

I tell her to leave the details with my secretary, and with that, she leaves.

I get ready to head home for the night and to check in with Aunt May. I grab my hat and coat by the door and stop by Stacy's desk to say goodnight.

“So, Whaddya you think, Stac?”

She shrugs, “Think there might be something to it and something that might interest you. Here's what she told me.” Stacy handing me a note.

My eyes narrow when they spot a familiar name, Harry Osborn. So, the broad's missing husband was none other than my old chum.

“Small world,” I mutter bitterly. ...

Aunt May welcomes me home with open arms as soon as I walk in. While she has me near, she explains that my dinner is in the oven.

Not feeling hungry, I thank her and tell her I'll eat it later as I head upstairs instead. I can see that concerned look in her eye she often gives me, but she keeps quiet about it.

Digging through a box of old junk in my room, I find an old photo of Harry and myself, back during our school days. Life seemed so simple back then.

I had become aware of the sort of shady business Harry's father had been a part of shortly after high school.

Norman Osborn may have appeared like a saint in public, but that man had a finger in almost every criminal organization in Queens. It took a lot out of me to bring the Green Goblin down.

However, last I checked, Harry had nothing to do with his father's affiliations. And I hadn't heard anything through the grapevine about a new Green Goblin taking over.

But a lot can change over time and this city has a way of changing people for the worst.

Discarding the picture aside, I run my hand down my face, questioning if I can pursue this case without it taking a personal toll.

...

I started my investigation following Harry's last known activities. I searched for clues while following his footsteps.

Everywhere I went, I came out empty handed. Just when I was at my wit's end, one of Harry's employees mentioned a bar his boss frequented and adds that Harry was on his way there after work. He also warned me that the place was known to serve the shady sort of patrons in town.

The speakeasy wasn't easy to find, had to walk through what seemed like a maze of alleyways before finding the steel door to what appeared to be an abandoned factory.

As I opened the door I was greeted by a waft of thick white smoke. All eyes turned to me, watching me with suspicion. I recognize a few faces, several mobsters and petty criminals.

I approach the bar and ordered a drink. So, this is the place Harry Osborn was last seen. Not a surprise with all these shady characters around.

What the hell had Harry gotten himself into?

I run the scenarios in my head. Did he have a drug problem? Couldn't pay back a loan shark? Became a target for kidnapping?... Or worst-case scenario, Harry had decided to follow in his old man's footsteps.

There's still so much I don't know. I needed more clues and information.

My thoughts come to halt as applause breaks out. Shifting my attention to the stage, a man in tuxedo introduces the entertainment for the evening.

“Y/n,” I whisper to myself, as the dame sauntered on stage. Apparently, the missus had kept from crucial facts to herself.

She looked even better than she had the other night. The skin-tight satin dress hugged every curve of her body.

She smiles at the crowd as she takes ahold of the mic, and the music starts. It's clear that she's no stranger to the limelight.

I watch mesmerized as she begins to croon a beautiful but sad song. She sings so effortlessly. Song after song, I find that I can't possibly take my eyes off of her.

Y/n looks in my direction, her eyes locking with mine as she coos some pretty words, and with that, her last song comes to an end.

Applause erupts again as she takes a bow and disappears backstage.

I feel my teeth grind and my fists clenched, as I finally come to my senses. She must've known her husband was a regular patron here.

I practically snarl as she slides into the barstool next to me a few minutes later.

“Mad at me?” she jokes playfully seeing the scowl on my face.

I scoff turning my face and finishing my drink. “I don't appreciate getting played.”

“Didn't know you were investigating me,” she shot back.

“Don't play coy, Mrs. Osborn,” I snap. “You hired me to find your husband, and all anyone can tell me was he was last seen here.”

“Mr. Parker,” she barks clearly displeased with my tone. “I'm sure you could understand, that I would want to keep this side of Harry's life private…”

Y/n sighs, crossing her legs and adjusting her dress, there's a faraway look in her eyes, “I'm not even entirely sure what all he was up to… but I'm scared, Mr. Parker, scared that I won't see my Harry again alive.”

My blood is still boiling over her withholding information.

“Might need to get used to the idea,” I say unnecessarily harsh. “You could've helped prevent that.”

She wipes away a stray tear and I regret my words.

“I'm sorry,” I start but she interjects.

“No, you're probably right,” she murmurs with trembling lips. “I need to tell you everything, Mr. Parker.”

We take a taxi back to my office so we can talk behind closed doors. I shut the door and stand back as she leans against my desk.

“When Harry and I first met I was a lounge singer and he had a bright future ahead of him. He was educated, came from a well to do family… I Had no idea how I caught his eye,” she says with a sad smile. “But we were young, in love, and a year or so later we married.”

“Then things really took a turn for the worst after Harry's father passed, and the ugly truth to his father's success came out to the forefront,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “The bribes, the scheming, the manipulating… Harry's not cut out for a life of crime… he's been distancing himself from me and keeping secrets.”

“When I try to talk to him, he gets defensive and puts up walls,” y/n rubs her forehead, her emotions getting the better of her. “I'm afraid that even if you do find Harry, Mr. Parker, he won't be the same man I married anymore.”

“I'll get to the bottom of this,” I promise her. “But I don't know if you'll like what I find.”

Y/n glances up at me with those sad eyes. I cup her cheek feeling her warm tears on my hand.

Next thing I know we’re kissing like our lives depended on it. My fingers caress her neck, and my tongue slides across her bottom lip.

Her coat slides off her shoulders, and my mouth kisses and sucks on her newly exposed skin and collarbone.

I scoop her up by her hips and help hoist her up on my desk. I push her dress up and my hands hastily move up her thighs. In a swift motion, I yank her lace panties down.

Neither of our actions would necessarily be considered loving or affectionate. We were caught up in our passion, lust, and overall desperateness to soothe our pain and loneliness.

Her hands fumbled with my shirt and belt. I feel her delicate fingers on my chest.

I know deep down we should stop, that I should be the voice of reason, but my most carnal desires take over. There's only one thing I want right now, and it's to be inside her, to feel her warmth.

Slowly, I push into her cunt, not being able to resist any longer.

Her nails drag across my shoulders as she clings to my body. She moans, throwing her head back as she takes every inch of my cock. I take this opportunity to sink my teeth into the crook of her neck and gently biting the tender muscle.

I smile against her skin as she tugs on my hair. I teasingly grind deeper into her. Her legs wrap around my hips holding me close.

“Enjoying yourself,” I purr lowly.

She pulls me into another heated kiss and our tongues swirl around passionately.

I can hear the desk rattle as I thrust my hips into her. Slick noises fill the room along with our panting and moans.

Y/n starts getting louder and is in on the verge of screaming as she gets closer to cumming. With a few more rough bucks of my hips, she tenses and her walls squeeze tightly around my cock, milking it for every drop of my seed.

My fingers grip her soft skin tightly as I cum. I rest my forehead on her shoulder, catching my breath.

“Sleep on the couch,” I mutter. “It's not safe to travel alone this time of night.”

She doesn't utter a word as she slides off my desk and lays on the couch. Taking my trench coat in hand, I go over to her and cover her up with it.

When I wake at my desk the next morning, the first thing I notice is the empty couch. Not that I pictured things to go differently. She's a married woman after all.

Yet, a dark part of me hopes that Harry never turns up and that maybe something more can transpire between y/n and me.

…

#spiderman noir #spiderman verse #spiderman noir x reader #au #lemon #peter b parker #noir spiderman #reader insert #spiderman noir fanfic #harry osborn #green goblin

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throughthedirt · 6 years ago

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Season 1: Chapter Nine

Previous Chapter — First Chapter

Miles

It didn't matter that I was just shy of turning 44 years old. The University of Oregon campus was nearly 300 acres of property housing nearly 23,000 students from around the world. Sure, the majority were teens and young adults, but there was no shortage of older individuals seeking education. More so, I didn't have to be a student. I could be a teacher, a maintenance worker, the IT guy, even a fuckin' janitor. For all anyone knew, I belonged here. And the way I walked through those grand, window-framed doors - people knew. I had a purpose. Showing no signs of hesitation, fear, or confusion, I waltzed my way throughout the campus. For nearly an hour, I roamed the campus freely and without even batting an eyelash to any other person. I was mostly ignored by those who did notice me. But for most, it was like I didn't even exist - just like the rest of them. I was just another body in a mass of humans. But I was here for a reason, and that was to fulfill a job and keep a promise; an agreement that got me freedom in 6. Kyle Turner. Kyle fucking Turner. "Fuckin' football prick raped my niece and got off scot-free," as Correctional Lieutenant Dave Ward would say. The very first words of his that changed the course of my history at Oregon State Pen. And I had read the reports, the articles, the media frenzy - all in prison. I knew what he had done, and he was guilty. But a fully-paid scholarship and a hell of a lot of "hush-money" got him nothing. Not even a smack on the wrist. He walked. Went free. And Ward's niece? Well, things didn't go so great for her. Fearing him, she refused her admittance into UofO, afraid she would see him again. So the fucker had to die. And now it was finally time.

Approaching the glass doors of the Performance Center, I made a fatal mistake. Reaching my hand out to pull on the handle, the door stayed shut. It creaked as I tried to open it - but it was locked. "Uh, hello?" A large football player called to me in his confusion, his mouth agape and his eyes squinted as he made his approach. He was as heavy as he was tall; his long, afro-style hair alone adding inches to his height. "This building is for authorized personnel only..." He said to me, pulling a plastic card from behind him and slipping it through the swipe-pad beside the door. The pad flashed green and the door clicked. Unlocked. This place was advanced, way more security than I could have ever imagined. University of Oregon had changed in the last 6 years. Turning to him, I gave a toothy grin and begin to chuckle. "Boy do I feel old, huh." He looked at me, cautiously as he stood before the door. But I didn't let him disappear into the building before I extracted needed information. "I'm actually lookin' for someone - maybe you can help me..." I iterated, "One of your football mates, Kyle Turner." The player gave me a saucy eye glare. "What about him?" Pausing, I conjured the biggest load of shit I could muster up in 0.2 seconds. "My niece, you know-" I started to chuckle, so much so that it interrupted my speech. "Ah man, this is embarrasing on her part, but she's... she's a HUGE fan of his. And I mean HUGE. She has posters of him all over her room, you know?" "Uh-huh..." Little interest from him. Only suspicion. But I didn't let him get another word in. "I mean she's just nuts for college football. Strange for a girl, no? I guess the world is changin' and I'm far behind. Heh, heh, heh." I chuckled again, trying to fluster the boy with too much information for him to process. "But ANYWAYS -" I continued, "Her birthday's comin' up and I was hopin' to get maybe a... you know... surprise appearance from him?" There was a look of confusion on the poor boy's face. "WITH COMPENSATION, of course." Another smile. "Uhhhhhhhmm, righttttt." He replied. "Let me..." He struggled to respond. Possibly the weirdest request he'd ever received, surely. "Let me go see if he's here. I'll be right back." "Sure thing, but ah-!" I held my hand up, a signal for him to stop as he reached for the handle. "Allow me," Taking the door by the giant O shape in its handle, I pulled the steel frame open to allow for the jock to head in. In respect to him, I closed it behind him, locking me out of the building once more. I stood there waiting. Waiting patiently. With my hands stuffed in my pockets, I casually swayed my body and whistled a chirpy hymn. To my surprise, it took only minutes for the door to open again. And out came Kyle fuckin' Turner in the flesh. And he wasn't a teenager anymore. No... He was a man, now. "Uh, hi-?" Kyle would greet me, without so much as a formal introduction. Fuckin' millennials. It took me a moment to sink in his appearance. Tall, 6'1, still shorter than me. A big guy, no doubt. But size didn't matter when it came to murder. Only intent, motive, and calculation. "Yes! Kyle Turner." Pulling my hand from my coat pocket, I extended it to him. "My name is Angelo Rossi. It's great to meet you!" Turner took my hand, shaking it as firmly as I was squeezing. But as he had taken my hand in his, I had also raised my other free hand to firmly grip his bicep. A sort of gesture of greeting, but it secretly to scope his muscular size. "Yeah, thanks." The fucker would respond. Yeah, thanks? Really? Really. Releasing his hand, I returned my superior 6 foot 3 stance to it's upright position and gave a fake, cheery smile. "My niece, she's a crazy fan." Pulling for my wallet, I slipped out a photograph of a teenage girl. "Her name is Nakoma. She's... half native half Italian, like me. Heh." Kyle took the photo in his hand, his eyebrows raising at the beautiful young lady he saw in the picture. Perfect, interest. "A looker, I know. Causes me more problems, ya know?" I chuckled, taking the photo back. "So listen, I came here hopin' I could hire you. For a job, of sorts." Kyle crossed his arms before him and looked at me curiously. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, man. I'm organizing Nakoma's 16th birthday and I really want to make it special. She has posters of ya' all around her room and I thought, pffftttt, what better to surprise her with her favorite football player? Every teenage girl's dream, right?" I laughed again, thinking the idea is silly, but might actually work. "Nothin' major. There's be about 30 of her girlfriends there hangin' around the pool-" Realizing it was January, I instantly corrected myself. "Indoor pool, at her father's place. Big place, you know?" Kyle's head was nodding - Still interested. "Figured you can drop by for an hour or so, or even less if you're in a crunch. Sign some autographs, take some pictures. Grab a bite to eat, whatever you want. There'll be plenty of food, cuz, well, Italians, am I right?" Laughing again, Kyle's interest seemed to only be piquing the more bizarre and outlandish the story got. "Sounds fun." He smiled, bringing his fingers to his lips as he pondered the thought of 30 hot teenage girls in their bikinis. "But uh-" He started to sway. "I don't know-" "I'll pay you $5,0000. Cash." I confessed. His eyes widened. "$2,500 for showing up. $1,500 for autographs and another $1,000 if you take some selfies. You know' - the girls thing. Selfies, heh." I paused, my eyes growing darker as they remained hidden behind Aviator shades. "What do ya' say? We got a deal?" Swiftly changing tunes, "You know what, don't sweat the decision now. There's a lot of politics in sports, I'm old. I know it." I waved my hand in typical Italian fashion. "You gotta' business card or somethin'?" "Uh, nah but I can give you my number-" Perfect. A rich white kid, hot-shot jock, AND a moron. This was too easy. Handing him the photo, he retrieved a pen from his pocket and jotted down his digits. "Wow, thanks man. I appreciate you considering this." I waved the photograph of "Nakoma" and slipped it back into my wallet. "I'll give you a call something this week. Talk it over with your coach or manager or whoever you kids report to, heh." I put my hand out for him to shake again, "And nice meeting you again."

— — —

I found myself roaming the halls of University of Oregon on my attempt to exit the campus. My curious mind sent me further and further into the campus maze - a prestigious multitude of buildings and intricate floor plans; each with its own purpose, meaning, and unique design. Deep in UofO, I stumbled upon the Department of Fine Arts. The halls were brimming from floor-to-ceiling with murals and artwork. Slowing my pace, I stopped to appreciate the work. I had always had an affinity to for paintings. My eye had always found itself drawn to the color red. Red. My dark irises wandered the walls, finally pulling towards a large, 5 foot canvas. It soared above me - dazzling in its ocean of red. The painting was of a woman, presumably dripping in blood. A sort of, Queen of the Damned. Intrigued, my eyes shifted to the small plaque stuck to the wall by the corner of the artwork. Nicola Strom. My stomach sunk as my heart skipped a beat. "Crucifixion." The words rolled off of my lips. My head retracted slowly as my eyes closed. "Mmmm."

— — —

January 20th, 2018 - Five days after release. Eugene, Oregon had been unusually warm for January. For the most part, it was sunny and rainy on-and-off, with an average high temperature of 45 degrees F. Too warm for snow. At least, not enough sub-zero temperatures to keep it for more than a couple days, anyways. Luckily for this lovely Saturday evening, the rain had stopped early morning and the skies were greeted by a brightening sun. Kyle parked his Trail-Rated Jeep cruiser in front of the colonial-century home, red-bricked mansion. He ducked his head, looking over the place with his pale eyes as he took in the sheer size of the place. Although Eugene was home to old money - big money - it was also commonly inhabited by the middle class. Whoever owned this place... wasn't a white-collar, middle class citizen. Exiting his truck, he approached the front door, which was lavishly decorated with a Sweet-Sixteen balloon bundle. A clear indication he was at the right house. As he rang the doorbell, it only took a few seconds before he was greeted by a familiar face. "Mr. Turner." I said, standing tall with my hand cemented firmly on the back of the door. It was the first time he was seeing my hazel-speckled brown eyes. It was also the last. "Cute." I blurted, subliminally mocking his uniformed self as my eyes gazed over his full-football get-up. Shredded sleeves to show his pectoral muscles. How sleazy. Helmet and all. How sweet. "Come join the fun." I smirked, guiding him through the front door. "But maybe take off the helmet." Chuckling, Turner cracked a smile as he took a step into the house - which was, unsuspectingly, filled with the sound of laughing girls. "Too much, huh?" Kyle joked, unclasping the helmet and slipping his head free. His back was to me as I closed the door. "I thought mayb-" The moment he turned to face me, my hand - hidden behind the door the entire time - swung straight for his head. A thin medical syringe pierced into the side of his neck - administered by my right hand - Gloved. Protected. Injecting the cocktail of muscle relaxants, Kyle quickly deteriorated in a matter of seconds. His initial reaction to grab for my hand, but by the time he could react - it was already too late. He was losing almost all of his muscle ability. One. Two. Three. He hit the ground, unable to move, unable to moan, unable to call for help. With his body curled in the middle of the hallway, his eyes remained open - panicked. Looking down at his 6'1, 200 pound physique - which had been reduced to nothing in just seconds - I shook my head. Pathetic. His eyes followed my every move. He was conscious. Awake. Aware. I stepped over him and walked past him like he didn't even exist. Stepping into my living room, I smiled at the sound of giggling teenage girls filled the open-concept space. Walking over to the stereo system, I grabbed the remote and clicked - Off. Silence. Girls? What girls. There were no girls. Returning to his paralyzed figure, I crouched down to brood over him. I tilted my head to the side and grabbed his face between my gloved thumb and fingers. Squeezing his limp cheeks between them as I leaned his head to look at me. "Oh, Kyle." I made clicking noises with the back of my tongue. "Remember her?" Pulling a photograph from my back pocket - Sarah Ward. "Yeahhhhh." I flicked the photo in his face, nearly submitting to my urge to spit on him. "You're gonna die tonight." There was a dark, unforgiving grimace that crept my cheeks. "And it's gonna fuckin' hurt." Two, single-drop tears fell from the corners of his eyes. Hours had passed. Daylight turned to dark as night loomed over the city. Darkness was here. And it didn't come from the sky, nor the sun. Using Kyle's keys, I exited the mansion on the quiet, quaint street. E 22nd Avenue - a large strip of homes graciously spread apart; separated by the comfort of many, decades-old trees. I pulled the vehicle into the long driveway, reversing it rear-forward all the way to the side of the house. Two garage doors welcomed the Jeep, closing behind the front of it. It remained utterly hidden, safe within the confines of the home's garage. It would remain there until 3:45 in the morning, and a storm was brewing. The sound of the garage door sliding gurgled as it swayed open. Keeping the lights of the Jeep off, I placed it into drive and pulled it out of my driveway. The garage door closed behind me automatically, dismissing any evidence it had ever harbored a crime scene. My heart remained regular - beating as it would driving any other vehicle, on any other day, under any other circumstances. Humming, I drove the few blocks between the mansion and the University Campus. The Jeep came to the vehicle entrance of the Oregon Autzen Football Stadium. Like everything within the Performance Center, it required a swipe card to be unlocked and accessed. Holding out Kyle Tuner's card, I flicked it between the pad and waited. Flashing green, the gates to the field slid open. Although forbidden to bring any vehicles directly on to the terrain, it was 3:50 in the morning, on a Saturday. Too late for any players to be hangin' around during off-season, and too early for any maintenance workers or cleaners to begin their services. It was pitch-black, and between the sticky snow and the blowing winds - visibility was poor. Reversing the trail-rated wrangler, I slowly backed it up on to the field, parking the trunk of the vehicle directly in front of the brightly-yellow painted goal-post. Exiting the vehicle, I was dressed from head-to-toe in Kyle's football uniform, with the addition of a black long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. No tattoos were visible. Virtually nothing about me was recognizable. For all intensive purposes, I could very well be Kyle Turner. Unlatching the trunk, it swooshed open. There lay the true Kyle Turner. The flesh and blood. And there was a lot of blood. Taking the thick, twisted rope in my hand, I ran it from the back of the truck to the goalpost. Tossing it over the post's T-center, I caught it back in my hand and ran it back to the truck. The end of the rope was supported by a curled grappling hook. Kneeling behind the trunk, I fastened the hook to the hitch on the Jeep and found my way back to the driver's seat. Pushing the gears into drive, I slowly began to inch the vehicle forward until the rope strained - pulling viciously with the weight. Metal to the floor, I forced the truck into overdrive, suddenly gunning it forward and sending the object in the trunk to veer out of the vehicle. Decelerating the tracks, I watched in my review mirror as the item - two strong planks of crossed wood - reeled up against the T in the yellow goalpost. As it mounted to perfect height, I slammed the Jeep in park, and swiftly - excitedly- hopped out of the truck. It started slow at first, my heavy, rumbling laughter. But it evolved, soon developing into a magnified, thrill-infused maniacal cackle. Victory.

— — — January 21st, 2018 - The Discovery. The lights to the stadium flickered on - lighting the dark early-morning. The sun would not rise for another hour. And for a group of football jocks mucking their way to football practice, it would be a morning they would never forget. Wailing. Loud, incessant, uncontrollable wailing. The sound of screaming echoed throughout the stadium; hair-raising in its velocity, and intensity. The scene brought a grown, 21-year old man to his knees. Vomit projected from his chapped lips as he puked vehemently on the immaculate, freshly-snowed grass - staining it flaxen. It brought a wave of nausea to the entire team. Some cried, some collapsed, some gagged, heaved, hurled. But most... most stood in shock. Hailed before them was the body of Christ - a crucifixion of their most valued team member. There lay the body of Kyle Turner, naked and colorless, with only the stain of bleeding red that covered his postmortem flesh. His genitals were mutilated. His penis split in three different directions. He had been completely castrated; his balls were absent entirely from his groin. An indescribable amount of blood has been loss at its expense, leaving a blood-pour of red human serous to cascade down his legs. Cause of death? Blood loss. Slow, agonizing, harrowing blood loss. The cross hung from the center of the goalpost, the snow beneath his purple-faded feet red with blood. His hands were staked on either side; his ankles crossed and tied. His neck - the same color as his bruised toes - was mounted by barbed wire. His head bore the same fate - crowned like that of Christ with blood trickling from his scalp. RAPIST - Carved with a knife in to his forehead. SINNER - The words dripped from his abdomen in crusting blood, beginning to harden... but still moist. Fresh. — — — "Shocking news this morning on KVAL-13." Smitha George - Live News Reporter, would announce on national television. "A tragedy has occurred at University of Oregon. Senior Football Quarterback Kyle Turner, Star of the Oregon Ducks, was found brutally murdered at the campus stadium." She would go on, standing unshaken in the parking lot of the Performance Center. "Police have ruled the case a homicide after teammates found Tuner's mutilated body crucified on the goal-post of the end field." Spilling too much information for her own good - reporters classically interfered with investigations; often jeopardizing their efforts. "His hands and feet were reportedly pinned to a wooden cross, and his head wrapped in barb wire. Teammates report that the words "Rapist" and "Sinner" were carved on his body..." "... And that his eyes and lips were painted red, with blood." "Turner's vehicle, a Black 2017 Jeep Wrangler - was found abandoned at the scene. Police are looking for any information that may aid their efforts in solving this terrible case." She paused, staring into the camera as her words fed into the lives of millions of Oregon residents. "I'm Smitha George, reporting LIVE for KVAL-13 News." The clip ended.

#miles jones chapter #miles jones perspective #miles jones #dawn crow #through the dirt #jeffrey dean morgan faceclaim #jdm #murder #tw: violence #tw: rape mention

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impala-dreamer · 8 years ago

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Fix You - Chapter Two

SPN FanFic

~ After being gone for months, Y/N has returned home to the boys with no memory of their life together.~

Reader, Dean, Sam

2,863 Words Warnings: Less Angsty, Memory Loss, Sadness, Uncertainty, Little Bit O’Pain.

A/N: Hope you’re enjoying! Let me know what you think :)

SERIES MASTERLIST ~ MY MASTERLIST

Chapter Two - Coming to Terms:

The engine roared in your ears; your head still pounding as you rested in the back of the Impala.

Sam had calmed you down enough to return to the room, and after hearing them both out, you’d agreed to stay with them; at least until you could sort things out for yourself. As much as you wanted to run away screaming, hop a bus out of Dodge and see your abandoned home with your own eyes, you were stuck. They knew you. Dean spoke to you as if he’d been by your side everyday for years; Sam knew how you felt simply by the twitch of your lips, or the hitch of your breath. It took all your strength to push away the fears and lay your trust in them, even for a little while.

“How we doin’ back there Y/N/N?” Dean peeked at you through the rearview mirror, his emerald eyes passing over your reflection.

You jumped at the intimacy of him using your nickname and cast your eyes towards him. “Alright.”

“Good. Almost home,” he said with a soft smile.

“Home,” you said, looking back out of the window. He was speeding down the highway, the mile markers flying by as he swerved through traffic, in and out of the double lanes. “Where is ‘home’ again?”

Sam sighed and turned in his seat, trying to see you. You leaned over so he didn’t break his back twisting around. “Lebanon, Kansas.”

“Ah. I’ve never been to Kansas. Never been this far west actually. Well, one time we had a layover in Chicago for some reason coming back from Orlando, but that’s not really west is it? I guess…” You stopped rambling when you realized your confession was causing trouble in the front seat. Dean was looking at you again, his eyes darting between you and the road. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK Sweetheart,” he cleared his throat and looked away, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he passed an RV on the left.

Sighing, you pressed your aching head against the window and closed your eyes. You let the rumble of the car soothe your tense muscles, lulling you to sleep as you raced down the road. Perhaps in going to sleep you could wake up; maybe this was the dream and you’d open your eyes back home, safe in your bed with Matt.

You dreamt of him; of his gentle brown eyes and soft lips. Of his laugh and his awkward jokes. You were cuddled in his arms on your old blue couch watching television, his fingers gently running up and down your arm; just a peaceful Saturday night. No cares, no worries, nothing but the glow of the screen across your bodies as you sat in the dark.

The calm was broken as the front door was kicked open; the wood splintering as the frame snapped, releasing the deadbolt from its place. You screamed, jumping to your feet as a dark figure with charcoal eyes bounded towards you.

You shot up, pulled once again from your dream, but this time, thankfully. Your eyes were met by the black leather around you; you’d fallen asleep across the backseat with your head in your arms. The door opened and Dean’s voice traveled over to you.

“Y/N, we’re home.”

You sat up slowly and took his hand as he helped you out of the car. He smiled sweetly at you, but you could not return it even though you tried. You blinked up at him, your head still a little foggy from your nap.

“You OK?” he asked, placing a hand on your cheek.

You shrugged him away and stepped back. “Yeah, just a dream.”

Sam rounded the car, opening the trunk to retrieve their bags. “What was it?” he asked openly. You raised an eyebrow at him, slightly offended by his prying question. “Sorry,” he sighed, “it could be a memory coming back to you is all.”

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell.” You turned back to Dean, his hand still up where you’d left it, sadness creeping over his handsome face. “So…you wanna show me around?”

The Bunker was huge. The descriptions Sam and Dean had given you on the journey had not prepared you for the sheer size and magnitude of the underground building. It seemed a fortress; ceilings towered over your heads, ornate sconces and art deco decor surrounded you at every turn. The hallways themselves seemed endless and maze-like, making your head spin as you followed the boys out of the garage.

Down each hallway they lead you, passing through giant rooms filled with books and old electronics. You were barely able to realize the scope of things on your brisk walk through. Finally Dean stopped in front of a dark wooden door. He turned the knob and pushed it open, gesturing for you to enter.

“Here you go,” he said with a smile.

You walked in and looked around. It was a plain bedroom; empty brick walls and not much else. A tall dresser stood across from the double bed and you went to it, peering at the few personal items laid on the top. Nothing looked familiar to you. Not the hairbrush, not the half melted candles, not even the framed photograph of you laughing with the Winchesters. None of it registered in your mind as yours. It was as if someone had set up the room to confuse you, to trick you into believing you belonged there.

“So, this is my room?” You asked, running your fingers across the top of the walnut dresser.

“Yeah, though you haven’t really slept in here for a while.”

You turned towards him as you pulled open a drawer, “And where would I sleep instead?” you questioned, not catching his meaning.

Dean bit his bottom lip and let out a short, sad breath. “Nevermind,” he replied, looking away towards the hall. “There’s towels on the bed, if you want to take a shower or something; everything’s in the bathroom where you left it.”

He left before you could say anything else. It was strange, you felt like you were letting him down, but you couldn’t help it. Try as you did to search for him in your memory, he was absent. There was nothing there, not even the lapse of time.

You looked through the drawers, digging through the clothing; they didn’t feel like your things. They were too drab in color and baggy looking. You had more style than that, you thought. Exhausted, you sat down on the bed. Now this could be yours. The blanket lying across the mattress was bright red and plush, something that you would pick out for yourself. You gathered it up and wrapped it around you, feeling finally connected to one thing in this crazy new world. Closing your eyes, you breathed deeply, taking stock of your situation. You had two options as you saw it: one, run for the hills; two, calm down and see how it all played out. Fear or perhaps fatigue pushed you towards the later, and you resolved to relax and put your faith in the two men who had brought you here.

The shower felt good. The water pressure was amazing and you let the hot stream wash away as much pain as it could. You laughed suspiciously when you found your favorite soap and shampoo waiting for you. Dean had been right, everything you needed was right there.

You dried yourself and stood in front of the mirror, staring at the suddenly unfamiliar face that greeted you. There were new lines by your mouth, a deep crease between your eyes that had never been there before, and streaks of silver growing from your temple. Could so much have happened in three years to age you thusly? You looked down, your eyes filling with tears as you saw various scars, old and new, peppering the landscape of your once pristine figure. Red and white lines and closed holes greeted you in the mirror, marring your skin. You spun around to inspect your backside and saw a large black tattoo on your right shoulder. It was a sun with a pentagram in the center; nothing that you would have ever picked for yourself and you wondered what had come over you. Never had you even considered getting inked.

Sadness and understanding slammed into you like a Mac Truck, hitting you in the chest as you looked at your reflection. This was all real. They could have invented the story and set up a fake room; but your scars told the truth.

Without much difficulty you found your way back to the main part of the bunker, pausing in the archway that lead to the War Room when you heard the guys talking about you. You hung back, pressing yourself against the cold wall.

“I can’t do this Sammy, this isn’t right.” Dean was pacing, running his hands through his spiky hair as he argued with his brother.

“You’re absolutely right Dean. This isn’t right,” Sam sat up in his seat, resting his arms on the glowing table before him. “You shouldn’t have told her. We should have made something up and dropped her off at a bus station.”

Dean froze, his eyes narrowing in disgust. “Could you really have done that? Could you really have tossed her aside like that? Thrown her away after everything! How can you say that!”

“She could have gotten out Dean! It should have been her choice.”

“This is the only choice! This is her life; it’s our life! It’s my…”

Sam saw you lingering in the doorway and held his hand up, stopping Dean’s rampage. He stood up and cleared his throat, walking towards you. “Hey, you feeling OK?”

“Yeah, I think. Well... no, but I’ll be fine.” You rubbed the backs of your arms, your hands crossed over your chest. “Hey, if it matters, I’m glad you told me.” You looked between the two brothers, nodding as you spoke, reassuring them and hoping to stop the fight. “I mean, it sucks, but there’s all this time missing, a whole chunk of my life just...gone. I want it back.”

“So you believe us?” Dean asked, his eyes searching your face.

You nodded. “I do. It’s all a little ridiculous; I have no memory of anything. This place, you guys, nothing. But, I believe you.” You looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep your plentiful supply of tears from spilling again. “I’m old,” you laughed. “I’ve got wrinkles and gray hair. I’m covered in scars that I don’t remember getting. I’m pretty sure I broke my nose at some point, it’s a little curvy in the middle.”

“Yeah, twice actually,” Dean said with a laugh.

“Twice!” you threw your arms up in the air, shaking your head and letting your hands come to rest in your hair. “You see? I should know how I broke my nose - twice. I need to know. I need to know what’s happened to me.”

“We’re gonna figure this out Y/N, it’ll just take some time.” Sam spoke up in his calming voice, and you relaxed again, laying your trust in his big hands.

“OK. What do we do first?”

He shrugged, “Why don’t you walk around a bit, see if anything comes back to you. This could all be a simple case of amnesia.”

“And if it’s not?” You asked, afraid to hear the answer.

Dean came forward and placed his hand on your shoulder. You looked down at it but didn't move away this time. “Let's worry about that later, OK? You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

He smiled broadly, flashing his perfect teeth, “There's my girl.”

You flinched and he pulled away, afraid he had stepped over a line. You strained to give him a smile and raised your eyebrows, “Kitchen?”

You wished you could say that the kitchen was as you remembered it, but that would be a lie; it was just as unfamiliar to you as everything else had been since you woke up. Dean lead you inside and stuck his head in the refrigerator, rummaging around for something to eat. He called to you over his shoulder as he pulled out leftover containers. “I feel like spaghetti. We’ve got some from the other night. You cool with that?”

You pulled up a chair at the little table and laughed, “Huh, I thought you were gonna say burgers.”

His head popped out of the cooler and he turned to you with wide eyes. “Did...did you remember that?”

His smile faded when he saw the look on your face, negating his excitement. “No, I just… you’re a guy so i figured you’d eat burgers and stuff. Should I remember that? Is that like a thing that I should know? Are you a burger freak?” You looked at him, his sadness cutting you deeply for a reason you couldn’t fathom. “I’m so sorry Dean, I want to remember, I do. Why wouldn’t I? I mean… I’m so sorry please don’t be mad.”

He closed the door and came to you, kneeling down on the tiled floor in front of you. “Sweetheart, I’m not mad at you.” He reached out to touch you, to take your hand but stopped, not wanting to feel you pull away again. “I could never be mad at you. I’m… this is just hard is all.”

You took a studdering breath and looked into his eyes. He was hurting, you could tell. “Dean, were we...I mean, did we ever…” You didn’t know how to ask what you wanted to know. His reactions to you this entire time told you there was more to your story together than he had admitted thus far, but you didn’t want to assume anything. You always thought that being in love was something you would remember.

Dean shook his head, “We don’t need to talk about that right now. It’s OK.” He looked down and away from you.

“Hey,” you said happily, trying to break the morose mood in the room. “I’m starving. Take a seat, I’ll whip something up.”

Dean smiled and agreed, climbing up from the floor into the chair behind him. He watched as you flitted about the room, easily finding the instruments and ingredients you needed. You didn’t need to ask for a thing; your hands seemed to know where they were going without your guidance and soon you had two rather large ham and cheese sandwiches on the table. You put your hands on your hips, smiling down at the plates, proud of yourself. “Oh! Almost forgot,” you said, turning back to the fridge. “Heh, ‘almost forgot’. Obviously.” You laughed and pulled two beers from the door, bringing them back to the table. You set one down in front of Dean and looked around for a bottle opener for the other. Finding none, you leaned the cap on the edge of the table and tapped it, snapping the top off easily.

For a moment the world went fuzzy. You put the bottle down and closed your eyes, gripping the edge of the table as a wave of dizziness hit you full on. You swayed, groaning slightly as a pain ripped through your head. “Whoa…”

Dean hopped to his feet, gripping your shoulders to steady you. “Y/N!”

“I’m OK. I’m OK,” you waved him away and rubbed your forehead. “I think… I think I remember this.” You looked around the room. Things were coming back to you slowly; strangely, not in scenes so much as lists. The glasses and mugs were kept in the second cabinet from the right above the sink. Except for Sam’s mug that he liked to hide in the first cabinet so no one else used it. The doors under the sink held trash bags and rags and heavy duty stain remover. The contents of the room flooded back to you; filling you with wild excitement. “Dean! I remember!”

His eyes lit up, happiness spreading across his freckled face. “That’s amazing! You remember everything? How…?”

“Well not, everything,” you confessed. “But I know that there’s an insane amount of salt in the pantry and about a year’s worth of microwave popcorn.” You moved about, gesturing to things around the room as you remembered them; pointing and naming them like a toddler. “There’s a broom…” you opened a skinny door by the pantry, “yup, right here. And cereal! Sam likes Corn Flakes… they’re above the fridge; and I always dump two spoonfuls of sugar on mine because they taste like…”

“Cardboard,” Dean finished for you.

“Yeah. Cardboard.” You froze and took a deep breath, a tiny glimmer of hope that everything would be OK passed over you and you smiled.

Dean came forward, ready to wrap you in his arms, but you flinched unconsciously. He backed away, the smile fading quickly from his lips.

“You still don’t know me.” It wasn’t a question. He knew.

“No, I’m sorry. Just the kitchen I guess. I’m really sorry Dean.”

“Don’t be,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s eat, huh? Ain’t nothing some food can’t fix.”

Forevers: @1-800-misha @atc74 @arryn-nyx @autopistaaningunaparte @bea789 @because-imma-lady-assface @babypieandwhiskey @blanketmadeofstar @brewsthespirit-blog @britt-spn @bulletscrossbowpie @charliebradbury1104 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @chelsea072498 @cici0507 @clairese1980 @collectivekiera @cosmicpeanuthologram @createdbybadappreciation @cyrilconnelly @dannnyphantomm @demonangelimpala @dustycelt @faithfulpanicmoon @feelmyroarrrr @flowermisha @freaksforthewin @frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @gemini75eeyore @ghostkitty1103 @hamartiamacguffin @im-super-potter-locked @inmysparetime0 @jpadjackles @jotink78 @kristaparadowski @katrodriguez99 @lavendellove @love-kittykat21 @luciisthebest @mamaredd123 @mogaruke @megafrontliner311 @megansescape @mija-novella @milkymilky-cocopuff @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrswhozeewhatsis @my-life-is-here-soo @myfand0msandm0re @mysteriouslyme81 @naadestiel @notesfromalabprincess @notnaturalanahi @obi-wan-my-only-ho @pain-of-artifice @percussiongirl2017 @percywinchester27 @petrovadixon @poukothenerd @riddikulus-obsessions @riversong-sam @sam-winchesters-long-locks @scxrchy @smoothdogsgirl @spontaneousam @summer-binging-spn @superbasementflower @supernaturallymarvellous @supernaturalyobessed @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @thecynicalnerd @the-latina-trickster @therewillbeblood @tom-is-in-my-tardis @typicalweirdbookworm @thegreatficmaster @vine-colored-assbutt @whatareyousearchingfordean @wi-deangirl77 @wvnchxstxr @xxthevampirediariesexpertxx @yearoftheweasley @youtubehelpsmesurvive

FIX YOU Tags: @maraisabellegrey @raylin19 @dean-the-smol-bean @luckynumbrnelly

#spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #reader insert #dean x reader #series #fix you #supernatural fanfiction

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mylinlondon · 8 years ago

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Finding New Selves in Budapest, Vienna and Prague

When I left New York 8 months ago, I did so with a satisfaction that my relationship with the city had expired. I was still enamoured with the energy, the diversity, the setting sun on the West Side Highway, the spontaneous and fleeting subway kinships, the snare-like drum beat that pushes the city forward, but along with it came the constant thrum of aggression, the spiky skin I’d developed to protect myself against the self-doubt, the lurking male figure on the street corner, the indifference and anonymity necessary to survive in a city with 8.5 million people in half the space of London.

It makes my discovery and relationship with these girls that much more special.

I have a deep belief that those who have like-minded Souls have a way of gravitating to each other. Our apparent backgrounds could not be more different, our passions only tangentially overlapping, but our aspirations, our values, our curiosity were magnetic. Somehow, in one of the most densely populated cities in the world, a rare friendship emerged.

FIRST STOP: PRAGUE

Where we stayed: Stare Mesto, on the way up to Prague Castle

Why we came:

To climb the oldest Astronomical Clock in the world and take in the dusty orange rooftops

To hike up to the Strahov Monastery and sample local beer, cheaper than water, tastier than your supermarket spread, carefully crafted and prized in a region where beer is God

To take in a Vivaldi’s Four Seasons at the Klementinum, touristy but also the original site of many historical performances, including the working organ Mozart first played on his visits to Prague

To sample amazing cocktails at Cash Only, explore local bookstores and cafes in the Praha 7 neighbourhood and chat existential questions with locals (do you believe in Aliens?)

A year ago on a murky spring evening, we were sullenly sipping margaritas and chomping down free chips and salsa at Hotel Tortuga in Gramercy. We were all on a cusp, reeling from recent emotional and mental trauma – about to jump, looking at the vast unknown ahead, half unsure whether we were skirting back from the edge out of fear or to take a running start. It was that night we decided we liked being labelled a Pistol.

Fast forward, and we crackled into a dusty courtyard halfway up the cobbled hill to the Prague Castle. A salesman peddling painted canvases of the Charles Bridge eyed us eagerly as we passed his stand, and then curiously as we, giant weekender bags made awkward, found keys and swung the enormous door to the Airbnb open. Ceilings high, vaulted and faded yellow, identifiably Ikea adorned. We were in Eastern Europe, and we were sleepy.

“We can swing by the Lennon Wall, and then check out the bridge,” my thumbs are trying to place us on google maps, the Czech network patchy on my British service.

Mishearing me, Sam whispers reverently to herself, “The lemon wall…”

I can only imagine what she thought it was when she misheard me. The Lennon Wall is the source of inspiration for the young Czech Velvet revolution after the USSR occupation in then Czechoslovakia, and today it continues to be covered in resistance art, as well as the occasional obscene scribble. When we arrived, the majority of young people promptly turned their back on the art, posing, friends designated as the photographer of the photoshoot, the graffiti nothing more than a colourful edgy backdrop to the subject of Me. The sad irony was not lost.

My opinion of Prague is cemented further my second time visiting – this is a city optimized to experience gritty East Europe. Most of the city’s features are backwards looking, celebrating its colourful and fluctuating past. The setting is firmly Czech, with its uniformly gritty orange roofs and sooty stucco walls, a beautiful, dusty maze of cobblestone and unexpected corners. All modern architecture looks ill-fitted and distasteful. It was the perfect first stop to get us emotionally and mentally detached for our journey.

SECOND STOP: VIENNA

Where we stayed: Just outside the center ring, five minutes between the Naschmarkt and the Karlskirche

Why we came:

To spend lazy afternoons reading in a café, the official national pastime of the Austrians. Notable places include:

Ulrich, for local vibes, charcuterie, ice cold Viennese wine for afternoon lazing

Vollpension, for Austrian brunch in the chicest assembly of your grandparents’ furniture

Naschmarkt, for Italian, Turkish, East Asian, and Austrian spices, deli stands,

Wurstelstandes for local street sausages, especially one that oozes cheese in the middle

To sample Wiener Schnitzel and the famous Sacher Torte, both institutions in their own right

To see an Opera at the heart of European culture

Wander between an endless beauty of castles, gardens, museums, and libraries, all flowing into each other seamlessly

Pristine, cultured, a bit snobby, Vienna has reason to be proud. Arguably the capital of artistic and intellectual Europe for centuries, Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, and Freud all called Vienna home and produced their best works as residents. Compared to Prague and Budapest, Vienna was spacious, white-washed, impeccably clean, and thoughtfully designed from the architecture to the colour of tulips in the local park, nary a loose stone or chipped street in sight.

We would spend Vienna wandering bookshops and vintage clothing stores, commenting on how airy and intentional the city felt. “It would be an easy place to live,” we commented, but also felt more firmly Outside here than we did in any other place. We couldn’t get into the library without a citizen’s card, nor did we know how to pick Opera box seats when time came to purchase tickets. A waiter teased us for our American inflections, and others politely indifferent to us altogether. And so we moved on, to a city that could not be more different.

FINAL STOP: BUDAPEST

Where we stayed: District 7 on the Pest side

Why we came:

To immerse ourselves into Ruin Bars and Restaurants – you cannot miss this. Must go places include:

Mazel Tov – Israeli restaurant, a favorite of Hollywood visitors and this particular crew, who went twice, conveniently located across the street from our Airbnb

Szimpla Kert – one of the best Ruin bars in the city, it’s a cross between if 1) all the junk in Budapest was whisked away and then carefully/carelessly curated inside a hidden-in-clear-sight ruin and if 2) the Weasely’s The Burrow was converted into a garden bar

Bar Pharma for custom cocktails in a single bartop establishment tucked between two large restaurant “villages”

Soak in enormous Turkish baths pumped with natural water with hundreds of other people

Take in the city by boat, or take the furnicular up to Buda castle, or simply stroll along the Pest waterline up to the Parliament

If Vienna was homogeneously pristine, Buda and Pest were a mosaic of socio-economic and cultural history stitched loosely together by proud and distinctive local people. Just two hours away from and sharing a central river Danube with Vienna upstream, Buda and Pest were originally two cities with its own governing bodies and historical relics. As Sam noted, it felt “like going down a rabbit hole; you never knew what you would stumble upon next”. Here, you could find a bit of everything: a polished high street with brand names sandwiched along million dollar homes with sleek heeled women strolling through; a few blocks away, a crumbling, narrow maze of markets and cafes, tucked behind chipped and sooted facades; a bit further along, Europe’s largest synagogue and a series of local designer shops.

At night the city came alive with young people from all over - we didn’t know it then, but this city is known for Hen and Stag Do’s (bachelor/bachelorette parties), and there are plenty of clubs, lounges, bars, and outdoor gardens for everyone, and we certainly ran into every type. A group of costumed guys from Brighton, two students from Amsterdam, a chic French couple, plenty of Americans, and on our way home, conversation with two locals - one a true-blooded Hungarian, and the other a Transylvanian. I’d read about the sad yet confident history of Budapest on the train over from VIenna, and these two young men were eager to share more - how Hungary has never been fully recovered by Hungarians, particularly in recent centuries. You could see it too - the shoes left on the Danube in remembrance of the massacre of Hungarian Jews during the Occupation; the house of TERROR, a museum that shares both sides of the WWII story, and even in the buildings, still pockmarked by bullet holes and shrapnel from the war. This was a city that had lived, and continued living - unlike Prague, it looked forward and celebrated the gritty present, and unlike Vienna, it was a veritable quilt of scarred history and people and architecture, made tangible in the tastes and sights and experiences of the city.

We spent our last night at Szimpla Kert, the best Ruin bar we’d come upon. I straddled a beat up gymnastics pommel horse, balancing a $2 beer in hand, and on top of our heads a projector screen cranked a film reel of Hungary from the 50′s in faded technicolor. All around us, an eclectic collection of seemingly junk, though each served purpose and style, given new life in this strange space. We leaned against an upstairs window, a cool Spring breeze flowing through, sharing ideas and stories about our lives - how much credit our mothers deserve and often don’t get, who we aspired to be, past loves for better or worse, and what we actually do now in our lives that gives us energy.

Leaving was somber - even though we were returning to London, which for them was technically the last leg of their journey, there was a foreboding that the escape we’d felt for the last week was a temporary effect, that we’d return and find our lives unchanged.

That, of course, is untrue. We travel and may take home a souvenir or two - a coaster, a mug - but the places we go have a permanent effect on the way we view life, and of course on the way we view each other. I know, for instance, that it’s rare to have compatriots who you can travel with for weeks and have heartfelt conversations every day, who listen and empathize and build and disagree thoughtfully. Who can watch Disney movies and feminist comedy or aspire to a lifestyle of wellness and also great cocktails and savour them all without reserve or judgement.

We all enjoyed Budapest most, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. We view our lives through the same lens - in full flavor, in all its pockmarked glory, in all the people who come through who are wonderfully different and yet part of the fabric of what makes us so strange and colorful. And like the city, though we may become weary, or life takes its momentary blows, we move forward with energy and focus, building treasure out of what’s left over.

#travel #travel blog #budapest #vienna #prague #europe

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noplanwithavan · 8 years ago

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WISH YOU WERE HERE

There’s been a touch of holiday season “hiraeth” these last few weeks. Or perhaps that’s disingenuous. It’s not the motherland we miss. We cannot lay claim to that evocative welsh term for longing. Ours is more a background hum - a pang of kinship for the traditions and people of home. Christmas time will do that to you. When the strength of familial bonds tug most keenly. Yet there has been enough to lessen the strain - many friends - old, new and acquired have helped to see us through.

First there was the Osman family whom we met on the Costa Brava at the start of our journey. We’d kept in touch as we knew they would be heading south for the winter, and managed a rendezvous at a campsite outside Caños de Meca. Unlike us they hadn’t gone down the route of wild camping. Their smaller van with a large tent in tow ruled out that option. Instead they’d stuck to campsites - a more expensive, yet undeniably less smelly existence. We spotted their flower-powered van on our approach and followed, whopping, hooting and waving with glee. Despite only having spent a few days together 3 months ago, they felt like long lost friends. Bonded by that peculiar camaraderie which comes from shared experience. The girls picked up with their kids Nancy and Dolly where they left off. Trotting, free-wheeling and carousing around the campsite. All chitter chattering as they shared stories. Rain set in for a few days, but we countered it by hunkering down in the Osman tent. Gossiping and catching up. The adults drinking wine, while the young ones put our distraction to good use. Before we realised what game they were playing, it seemed too late to stop it - dress the parents up in the children’s clothing. Unsurprisingly Elsie got very absorbed in her role as stylist. A particularly fetching ruff was selected for Nancy and Dolly’s dad, Jay, which gave him the air of a Spanish reconquistador. She paused to weigh up the effect of her composition, but seemed unsatisfied. Clearly this was not quite the look she had in mind. Disappearing briefly into the deeper recesses of the tent, Elsie emerged moments later with a triumphal look. Rapidly, layers were added - to the face, and hands. She stepped back quizzically to admire her work, and smiled. The masterpiece was complete. With hands now bound in submission, Mr Osman was transformed - no longer a knight of the Spanish Golden Age. More like a detainee from Guantanamo Bay.

As we parted, Marcus joked we’d have to find more friends in time for Christmas. And in fact, this proved remarkably easy. Rolling our way back down the coast, we made for Tarifa. That wind-sock of a kite-surfing mecca, luring you in with its laid-back charm. We’d heard there was a good free camping community at Playa de los Lances. Surely our best shot at making festive friends. After searching for a few days without success, Marcus suggested trying down one of the many beach-side tracks. One clearly declaimed itself a campervan-free zone, with a hard-to-ignore “No Acampar” sign in large lettering. Venturing on through the umbrella-shaped pines, we broke out onto a runway lined with mobile homes. This was van heaven, curving off into the distance. With a collective gasp, it was clear. We were hit with a serious case of vehicle envy. It’s hard not to marvel at human inventiveness at such moments. The sheer cornucopia of self-sufficiency in all shapes and sizes. Big wheels, graffiti spray-jobs, even patio doors out the back. All these configurations and compromises tailored to individual need.

We celebrated the girl’s 6th birthday here, foregoing presents for an “experience” instead. After some discussion they settled on a rock climbing lesson over horse riding on the beach. It proved an education all round; the parental art of butting right out. Scaling a 40 foot rock face in nearby Bettis, Elsie baulked at the prospect of letting go to abseil down. Contradicting everything she’d ever been taught, the instructor Chris was now explaining how to let go and lean right back. She was not at all keen to put her untested faith in a rope. Sensing panic, Marcus and I tried to help, bellowing up instructions like, “Move your leg over to the right. No, not that right, the other right.” This didn’t help. We were merely fuelling the flames, a volley of overlapping commands fired at cross purposes. That was until Chris turned to us diplomatically, with the words, “I think it would help if you just let me do the talking.” Enough said. He had her down in a jiffy. From a quivering jelly back to full bravado, all in the space of a few feet. And busting to do it all over again.

During our time in Tarifa we acquired a favourite pitch at our camping spot. That curious desire to lay claim even amongst a free-for-all. If we went for the day we’d leave behind a few possessions - chairs, clothes hung out to dry. And there was good reason. Not wanting to lose our place beside the big blue bus. When we first arrived we noticed it had the tell-tale sign we tend to home in on - a child’s bike mounted on the back. Sure enough, 3 year-old Bonnie soon burst forth, wearing baggy pants and a sweet, diffident smile. Within minutes that immutable call to friendship between children had been uttered and answered. The girls disappeared inside her bus. And that was it. We had neighbours. And what’s more neighbours with extended family. A few days later Hilary and Richard, Bonnie’s Grandma and Grandpa, showed up. Swinging by in style with their vintage VW van. This was, it seems, a grand tour en famille. We stayed put, cooking together and sharing food on Christmas Day, happy to be part of this warm solidarity. Hilary and Richard provided an indulgent treat for the girls - spearheading craft sessions on the beach and trips to pick edible mushrooms. After a week Elsie and Lulu were even calling them Grandma and Grandpa, exchanging christmas cards and involving them in parental confidences. Waving hello one morning Hilary chuckled knowingly as she shared, “You can’t tell children anything can you?” I must have looked puzzled, for she added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Just so as you know…we DO have a toilet.” Blushing furiously I could hear my mind whirring…back to that conversation days ago with the girls. The one that went:

Lulu - “I like their orange van. It has nice curtains. It’s pretty cool isn’t it? Me - “Well yes VWs are good to look at, but frankly they’re not very practical. I mean it’s very small. They probably don’t even have a toilet in there.”

Repeated verbatim to the subject in question…thanks a lot kids.

Social indiscretions aside, we would have loved to stay, but Boxing Day brought with it a new chapter. Friends from the old country - the Bulloughs - were coming out to see us. The girls were crackling with excitement. I’m not sure which was more of a novelty - welcoming the first pals to have made it out to join us along this journey, or ditching the camper van and living it up in a flat for 12 days. Sadly I fear it may not have been the relaxing holiday Tom, Charlie, Edwyn and Alice envisaged. All 8 of us squeezed into a small apartment, with Elsie and Lulu clearly the more noisy and boisterous half of their merry band. But it was fab. And as a city Cádiz is hard to beat. This is Spain at it’s most Spanish. We were in the heart of the old town. Crammed into a spit of land, with the port on one side, and sweeping beaches the other. Looking out from up high there is a maze of flat roof-tops, intersected at points by over 100 watchtowers. Faded relics from a more prosperous past. Then stepping outside you’re thrown headlong into a warren of wide, criss-crossing streets teeming with life. I had the unshakeable sense that whole lifetimes are lived within just a few yards. The same faces seen day after day within invisible boundary lines - hawking their wares or pacing the plaza. It was truly an enchanting, beguiling place. Having been told from Grandma Ros that Rick Stein had done a programme on Cádiz, Marcus assiduously followed all of Rick’s food recommendations. And we weren’t disappointed, gulping down sherry, seafood and churros. Bizarrely the only time when people didn’t appear to be out and about, drinking and eating at all hours, was New Year’s Eve. We’d read that Spanish people celebrate with their families until midnight, and only come out much later. Having managed to stay awake until 12.30, we reasoned things would surely have begun to heat up by now. The odd bar perhaps cracking open to offer a sliver of comfort. Maybe even the faint strains of “auld lang syne” calling us forth. But no, the whole place was a ghost town, shutters drawn over large silent windows. If we’d kept prowling the pavements till 2am perhaps we’d have seen a party, but tired and despondent it was just easier to go to bed.

But if welcoming in 2017 was a little restrained, our epiphany was soon to come. Christmas Day is no big deal in Spain. The real festivities are geared towards the Magi. The 3 Kings visiting baby Jesus on January 6th. It wasn’t always easy to coax 4 kids around the city. To avoid the many glittering temptations in every doorway. Constantly beset by stops to the playpark or the irresistible giant magnolia trees. Their trunks inviting exploration, with bark the texture of an elephant’s hide. But if we’d tried we wouldn’t have been able to drag them home on the night of January 5th. Despite multiple separate breakdowns, all 4 refused to abandon their place behind the barriers lining Plaza de España. This was the mother of all fiestas. The Magi were on their way. A brass band heralding a cavalcade of flotillas snaking its way towards us, releasing a collective frenzy amongst the crowd. Small Spanish bodies surged forwards, elbowing their way past us, screaming “Acquí, acquí!” as thousands of sweets rained down. We tried to get a look at the girls faces, to see their reactions to this bubble-gum exuberance. But we couldn’t see them - shielded by the youthful melee they were scrabbling desperately all around - on the floor, under the barriers - for whatever pickings they could get. “Did you like that?” we asked later. “That.. was the best night of my life - EVER!” beamed Lulu.

Leaving Cádiz it was tough to say goodbye to the Bulloughs. But we were also hankering to be back on the open road and in the camper van once again. The last few days have been peaceful, sun-filled and happy. Hanging out along the Costa de la Luz - the surf spot El Palmar, Conil, and Vejer de la Frontera. And the hand of friendship has once again played its part. Big thanks to Ivan Black back home for putting us in touch with his great mates Sarah and Camden out in Vejer. Former Londoners who’ve been living in Spain for the last 12 years, we hit it off straight away. We ended up parking in their garden and had a fabulous day sharing great food, company and the delights of a washing machine and shower. Sarah even threw in a yoga lesson. New friends, old friends, friends not just for Christmas. It’s all good, and it’s set us in great stead for our next big leap. Across the water to Africa - Morocco here we come!

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topfygad · 5 years ago

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50 Top Things To Do in Japan’s Coolest City

Tokyo can never get boring—it has a plethora of bucket list worthy things to do and fun attractions to visit. While I was in Japan’s top city, I ate beef that was creatively shaped like a brain, served to me inside of my private jail cell by women dressed in pink nurses’ outfits. I drank my coffee next to a dozen felines at a quirky cat café, confirming my preference for dogs. And I found out exactly what all the buttons on the Japanese toilet do (enjoying some outcomes much more than others).

There are not many places that would provide such peculiar and cool forms of entertainment, but Tokyo is a city of many colorful facets; a mix of avant-garde and traditional. It is a town where the illuminated skyscrapers cohabitate with historic temples, unusual anime shops and cherry blossom lined streets. It is a cool destination where your itinerary can include attending a lively tuna auction hours before daybreak, nightlife that can include eating skewers of yakitori in the seedy Piss Alley or scrambling across one of the biggest intersections in the world with hundreds of others.

In other words the city is freaking fabulous and here are the best things to do in Tokyo:

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1. Buy Some Vinyl at HMV Records

Tokyo is a paradise for Vinyl Lovers! They have more record shops than any other city in the world with new collections brought in every month. HMV Records is a huge store filled with Vinyl Records. We recommend you bring along plenty of cash because you will surely get lost amidst aisles of wonder records making you nostalgic and rekindling your passion for music. This vast second-hand record shop has plenty of items and genres for music lovers. They also have a handful of cassettes with a special corner for them along with CDs.

2. Experience TeamLab Borderless

It’s hard to explain TeamLab Borderless, you really have to experience it. The digital art museum is an immersive world where the artwork has no boundaries. There is no map or ‘right way to go’, you move freely from room to room of three-dimensional 10,000 square meter building exploring and discovering. You will find things like the Athletic Forest that helps you think of the world three-dimensionally and, the most instagrammed room, the forest of lamps where hundreds hang from the ceilings. Book your ticket here.

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3. Watch Wrestling Practice at a Sumo Stable

You can’t fully understand the intensity of the sumo wrestling sport unless you are up close and personal at an intense morning practice session to witness the panting, grunting and dripping sweat. The practices at the sumo wrestling stable are not attractions created for tourists—the athletes are not putting on a show for you—they are in serious training and need to be shown respect while you are there.

Though there are over 40 training stables, most in the Ryogoku district, only a few accept visitors. The most common are Kasugano Beya, Takasago Beya and Musashigawa Beya. Make sure to call ahead to confirm that they will be having practice on the day you arrive! Or for an even easier option just book a Morning Sumo Training tour, or take a peek at this list of sumo related experience that you can quickly book online.

If you don’t speak Japanese seeing a practice on your own may be a little tricky (I went to Hakkaku Sumo Stable and needed a translator). But, it was worth the effort because seeing this Japanese tradition was definitely one of the Top 10 things I did in Tokyo!

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4. See a Professional Sumo Match

Sumo is the world famous Japanese style wrestling match which began in ancient times as a ritual to entertain the Shinto deities. And after you’ve seen them practice at the sumo stable, witness the traditional sport live and in all its glory! During the tournament months (January, May and September) you can get tickets for each day of the 15-day tournaments, or just one. I highly recommend the ringside seats which is the closest seating available to the wrestling ring with cushions on the floor.

It’s possible to find a few seats available on tournament day, but it’s best to get them in advance. You can see upcoming tournaments and book tickets here.

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5. Make a Stop at Meiji Shrine

The historical significance of the Meiji Shrine cannot be overstated. The shrine was made for the first emperor of modern Japan – Emperor Meiji. You enter this austere and mystical place through a 40-foot high tori gate and find yourself surrounded by a 200-acre park with a 100,000 trees. Wow!

The cleansing station has a communal water tank for purification of the hand and mouth before offering prayers. You can also write your wishes and tie them up to the prayer wall. The Meiji Jingu Treasure House is at the northern end of the shrine where you will find several personal belongings of the Emperor, as well as a beautiful Inner Garden with blooming flowers and a rustic well.

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6. Attend a Baseball Game

The game of baseball isn’t just one of America’s favorite pastime, the Japanese are passionate about it too. Things are just done a bit differently when you attend a baseball game in Japan, like waving umbrellas for home runs, snacking on edamame and having cheerleaders. Though the Yomiuri Giants at the Tokyo Dome draw larger crowds, you can also see the Tokyo Swallows play at the outdoor Jingu Stadium.

It may be possible to snag some tickets on the day of the game, but not guaranteed! So, if seeing a Japanese baseball game is high on your things to do list then buy tickets to a game online.

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7. Go to Dinner at a Ninja Restaurant

At Ninja Shinjuku a small robot in the corner starts to speak to you as a sliding door opens and leads you down a narrow hallway. Shoji doors open and lead you to a small room where dinner is served. This is not the kitschy place where spry ninjas pop down from the ceiling and serve mediocre food, it’s more of a molecular gastronomy experience where smoke billows out of a box to uncover a beautifully executed salad and Kobe beef is served with a trio of unique dipping sauces.

Dessert was served inside a basement room, along with a “ninja show” which really was more like a magic show—impressive none the less. But what was even more impressive was the bonsai tree dessert whose branches needed to be trimmed with scissors in order to eaten and the base was a sweet crumb that looked just like dirt. Genius.

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8. Go to the Intermediatheque Museum

The Intermediatheque (IMT) Museum is a psychedelic world of its own. Located in the Kitte Marunouchi building near the Tokyo Station, you’ll find yourself lost amidst the ancient wonders and treasures left behind for us by extinct civilizations. From early steam engines to Egyptian mummies, this kaleidoscopic wonderland has everything preserved and on display. Get inspired by the tribal art or see your kids’ faces light up by the wildlife specimens and the 19th century raconteurs of flora and fauna.

Allow yourself at least half a day to absorb the richness and literary brilliance of this place!

9. Play a Game of Pachinko

Pachinko is a Japanese arcade game where the object is to fire balls that will then fall through a maze of metal pins. Try to capture as many balls as possible into the center hole. If you walk through the Shinjuku district, you won’t be able to miss the Pachinko Parlors with their flashing neon and clinking of the balls. It can be an addictive, yet fun thing to do in Tokyo!

Understanding the game of Pachinko can be tricky without lessons or guidance from someone who knows the in-and-outs. You can book the Original Japanese Entertainment tour and you’ll get a half hour lesson along with playing time.

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10. Spend the Night in the Hello Kitty Room

You don’t need to be a diehard Hello Kitty fan to enjoy this must see (and sleep in) room. Slink over to Shinjuku and spend the night in the fun Hello Kitty Room at Keio Plaza Hotel. The room is decked out in the cats signature decor and you can even get yourself breakfast with kitty shaped/stamped food.

11. Walk Across Shibuya Crossing

The iconic Shibuya Crossing is on most visitors “things to do in Tokyo” attraction itinerary because it is dubbed as the busiest intersection in the world, which means it won’t be difficult to find yourself there when it’s insanely packed. While crowds may not be something you wish for your everyday life, trust me, you’ll want participate in the organized chaos that ensues when hundreds of people walk across the intersection at once.

For a different perspective, watch the crossing from the 2nd-story window of the Starbucks on the North side or from the 47th floor of Shibuya Scramble Square building. For an even more unique bucket list experience, walk Shibuya crossing in a kimono. Don’t forget to check out the famous Hachiko Statue right between the intersection and Shibuya Station before you set on your way! And perhaps commit yourself to some window shopping at Shibuya’s massive record stores after?

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12. Try Batto, the ‘Art of Swordsmanship’

Batto, the art of swordsmanship, is a discipline that very few have mastered, but at HiSUi Tokyo you will be one step closer as you take their comprehensive course with a real katana (a long, single-edged sword used by samurai). These techniques and swords were vital in order for the samurai to protect the community and reigning lords.

13. Get the View at Shibuya Sky

Make your way to the tall Shibuya Scramble Square building and climb to the 47th floor, to the Shibuya Sky. This rooftop observatory will get you a stunning 360-degree panoramic view of the city. You can even see the chaos of the famous Shibuya Crossing from way up there.

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14. Unleash Your Inner Anime Fan!

Japan is the birthplace of anime, the Japanese term for animation, so while you’re there make the most of it! If you’re an anime fan then there are so many shops that sell anime products, like Mandarake in Shibuya, as well as themed cafes (here are 8 good ones!) for you to explore. Even if you’re not a fan then it is still amazing to go and immerse yourself in the culture.

15. Stroll Through Yoyogi Park

Taking a walk through Yoyogi Park is a grand experience all on its own. You’ll be setting foot on the ground which represents the ancient facets of Japan, as it was once a site of military barracks, and even served as an Olympics Gymnasium in 1964. The park is divided in two parts by a wide road, one side of which is a dense forest area where people usually take their strolls and enjoy the natural beauty of the place, have picnics and barbecues. The latter has a stadium and an outdoor stage that hold exclusive events and food festivals.

16. Attend a Kabuki Theater Show

Kabuki is a unique form of Japanese theater where they combine song, mime, dance, costume design and elaborate makeup that is typically performed solely by men. At Kabuki-za you can buy Single Act tickets just to get an introduction to the style of theater, or opt for the whole show. It’s easy to get your tickets online here.

17. Get a Photo of the Giant Godzilla Head

Godzilla is thankfully not wreaking havoc on the streets of Tokyo anymore, but you can still see him peeking through the 8th floor of Hotel Gracery in the Toho Building. The Godzilla Head is a popular attraction in Shinjuku with its giant 39-foot reptilian head, piercing eyes and sharp pointy teeth! You can see him from the busy street 130-feet below, or take the elevator up to get a closer peek. Keep your eyes open for the new Godzilla Viewing Room coming in the Spring.

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18. Learn About the History at Edo-Tokyo Museum

Edo is Tokyo’s old name, and the Edo-Tokyo Museum conserves the historical culture and traditions of the city. It almost felt as if I was approaching a UFO when walking towards the building, but then I learnt that the architecture was inspired by the old Tokyo warehouse raised on stilts—it has an ultramodern feel to it with a lot of character. During my 2-hour tour, I marveled at the handcrafted figurines with unique clothing and expressions, the massive cavern room, the replica of Nihonbashi Bridge, recreations of houses and transports of the ancient people, market areas and stage settings of theatrical performances. The place will be your guide to understanding how Tokyo evolved to be one of the most influential cities of the world.

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19. Sing Karaoke

What to do in Tokyo for nightlife? Karaoke, of course. It is a big part of their culture and a huge attraction tourists as well as locals. Tokyo has plenty of fun (& sometimes weird) Karaoke bars where you can belt out a few tunes. One of the more well-known is Karaoke Kan, which was the location for Bill Murray’s singing session in the movie Lost in Translation. But, there are other clubs as well, and you can find some top ones here: 10 of the Best Bars in Tokyo for Karaoke and Other Weird Stuff.

20. See the Tokyo Tower at Night

The Tokyo Tower is the second tallest architectural wonder of Japan. Standing at a height of 1092 feet, the tower glimmers with lights and serves as one of the symbolic features of the city. It is a true marvel to see at the night time, especially because the illumination themes change according to seasons and occasions. You can see it from afar (here are the best place to do it) or you can also go up to the special observation deck and get a night time view of the city (book your ticket here). It is a sight you’ll never forget!

21. Get an Umbrella at Cool Magic SHU’s Umbrella Shop

A store solely dedicated to umbrellas? Yep, that’s exactly what Cool Magic Shu’s is. It may take you hours of perusing the aisles to find your perfectly designed rain protection, but it will be fun doing it!

22. Use all the Buttons on a Japanese Toilet

I’m sure your asking yourself, “can a toilet really be worthy of a spot on your Tokyo Things to Do in Tokyo Bucket List“? Yes, in this case it can. A Japanese commode isn’t any ordinary potty, it’s like a spa for your private parts. Not only will your butt be warm with their seated heats, but they can also clean your derrière with a hot stream of water. Plus, many public restroom stalls will play the sounds of chirping birds to mask any other noises that may be happening! Luckily, you can experience these toilets at many restaurants, hotels and public attractions.

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23. Visit the Red & White Cats at Gotokuji Temple

The Gotokuji Temple is a place that comes with a highly engaging, legendary tale of the maneki neko–the beckoning cats. They are believed to bring good luck and are a symbolic figure of the temple. The visitors make offerings and prayers in front of thousands of red and white cat statues. The kitties are all wearing a red collar with a hanging golden bell and a paw raised in the air to bring you good fortune! You’ll also find cat art in the neighborhood leading up to the temple—a treat for all the cat lovers out there.

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24. Do a Kimono Fitting

Wearing a kimono is a large part of the Japanese culture. A kimono is a traditional Japanese garment that is typically worn by women on special occasions. There are few places to be fitted for a kimono while traveling to Tokyo, but you can find a couple. My personal tour guide, Tomomi, offers private fittings in her home (this is my story about it: Do a Kimono Fitting in Tokyo, Japan), whereas you can book one of these two tours with Voyagin:

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25. Visit the Imperial Palace

The Imperial Palace is the place of residence of Japan’s Imperial family. It has a beautiful park area surrounded by grand stone walls and moats in the center of Tokyo. The main Palace area is open only on the New Year’s Greeting Event on January 2nd and the Emperor’s Birthday on the 23rd of December, but the palace exterior grounds are open for public throughout the year. There are two bridges that can be viewed right from the Kokyo Gaien plaza that’s right out from the the palace and the Imperial Palace East Gardens are amongst the best places for a stroll.

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26. Buy a Japanese Knife

Japanese knives are known to be some of the best in the world due to there keen edges, quality of steel and made-by-hand techniques. Being a restaurateur, I could not leave Tokyo without bringing one home with me! Though I bought mine at Masahisa, there are plenty of other reputable knife shops around town. You can try walking down Kappabashi Street, the kitchen district. Not only will you find plenty of knife shops, but you will also find every kitchen product imaginable, including plastic food samples used as window displays by many restaurants. For more help, read: How and Where to Buy Knives in Tokyo.

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27. Walk Across the Rainbow Bridge

The iconic Rainbow Bridge of Japan got its name because in the month December it’s lit up like a rainbow. The suspension bridge has a pedestrian pathway on both its north and south ends. It is free to take a walk across and takes about 25 minutes on foot, but you can also go on a bicycle. The north route has breathtaking views of the Tokyo Tower along with stunning skyscrapers around Roppongi and Toranomon, Toyosu and the Shiodome area. The south route offers views of Odaiba as well as the neighboring islands and the Shinagawa area.

28. Relax at an Onsen

Relaxing in a hot springs bath, an onsen, is a top Japanese tradition that you don’t want to miss. There are plenty of them in Tokyo (you can see some of the best ones here), but Ooedo Onsen Monogatari is a popular one because it’s an onsen theme park where you can soak in one of their baths, get your fortune told and/or have a foot massage. There’s plenty of entertainment on the premises to keep you occupied for at least an afternoon.

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29. Go to Tokyo Disneyland

Welcome to the happiest place in the world—Disneyland Tokyo edition! It is highly recommended that you spend at least 2 days here to enjoy all the wonderful attractions and food. There are several fun attractions unique to Tokyo Disneyland, like Dream Lights with a magical nighttime light parade (Minnie oh! Minnie!), the interactive Monster’s Inc. Ride & Go Seek and Western River Railroad to name a few.

You can book admission tickets and transfers here. Also consider splurging a little by staying at the Tokyo Disneyland Hotel which is at a short walk from the theme park and comes with many perks.

30. Visit 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT

If you are a fan of unique design then stopping at the 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT is a must! This contemporary design exhibition hall is the brain child of fashion designer Issey Miyake and architect Tadao Ando. It’s located in Tokyo’s midtown, an upscale section in the Roppongi area of the city.

The beauty of this places starts with the exterior architecture and moves about through the different gallery spaces. The artwork changes with some of the themes being things like “Secret Source of Inspiration: Designers’ Hidden Sketches and Mockups” and “Chocolate” that focused on the unique social attributes related to chocolate.

During my visit they had a beautiful chair exhibit, each designed by current and former members of the Japan Design Committee. The best part was that you were encouraged to sit in them all!

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31. Visit the Meguro Parasitological Museum

The Meguro Parasitological Museum is one of a kind, and the only one in existence that displays the weirdly fascinating collection from the world of parasites! It is a unique experience that you’ll carry with you all your life, although if parasites make you feel squeamish, you may need to cover your eyes because the skin crawling museum has parasites from all facets of life on display in hundreds of jars. Even though it sounds gross, you’re bound to be intrigued by its bizarreness, and it may even end up being top of your favorite thing to do in Tokyo!

32. Go to a Maid Cafe

Maid cafés are all the buzz in Japan! They are fun cosplay restaurants where waitresses are dressed up as working maids to serve the customers as a master in a private home rather than as a café patron. The key word is “iyashi” that translates into “to be soothed”.

Your quintessential Victorian maid fantasy will come to life with spa like services, scrumptious food along with relaxing classical music while you are enveloped by verdurous greenery! There are numerous maid cafés in Tokyo (you can see some of the top ones here), each offering a unique service with the cutest undertones like chanting “moe moe kyun” to make your drinks taste better or writing over your food with ketchup! It is definitely something to look out for.

If you don’t want to navigate a maid cafe on your own, you can book one of these tours with Voyagin: Akihabara Tour with Your Own Personal Maid! or Enjoy Maid Cafe Maidreamin in Akihabara.

33. Go to a Cat Cafe

Tokyo is filled with weird things to do and going to a cat cafe ranks really high on that list. Calico Cat Cafe in Shinjuku is an attraction that gives you the opportunity to play with unique feline breeds while drinking a cup of coffee. So odd that it’s definitely worth a spot on your things to do in Tokyo bucket list itinerary. If you prefer, you can also play with cute hedgehogs in Roppongi!

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34. Dine in a Jail Cell

Most people would avoid (at all costs) dining in a jail cell, but Alcatraz ER will give you an offbeat dining experience of a lifetime. This restaurant is designed as a jail and each cell or prison represents a dining area for a group. Staff that are well dressed in nurse uniforms tend to the call of the bang of a metal rod against the cells bars.

Brave diners (like myself!) will nosh on things like blue curry served in a urine tin or drink cocktails out of dummy’s head. Can you ever imagine eating sausage in the shape of bowel movement; well this place has more quirkiness to offer than you can imagine. A must have nightlife experience for your Tokyo itinerary even you prefer not to visit again.

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35. Go to Yasukuni Shrine

The Yasukuni Shrine is the most interesting and possibly the most controversial place in Japan. Founded in 1869, this place is said to hold 2.5 million shrines! It was made in honor of the men who lost their lives in the Boshin War and has expanded to include war martyrs since then.

The entrance of the shrine is made from a massive gray metal Daicihi Torii standing at a height of 72 feet and giving it an eerie feel. The arch then gets smaller with a Daini Torii which is the second shrine gate, and the Shinmon gate which leads into the area of shrine. The Chumon Torrii then leads into the main hall. Photography isn’t allowed but there is a lot to take in with rich cultural significance and a war museum.

36. See a Show at the Robot Restaurant

From the moment you enter The Robot Restaurant lounge to the time you depart, you will feel like you are diving into the colors of neon that bounce off the mirrors. There are dramatic fights between bikini clad girls riding atop robots, the sound of the cast playing the charismatic drums and visitors are given a glow-stick to cheer during all the action.

This place is more dedicated to a flashy show than on food, but you can order a sushi bento box or caramel popcorn to dine on while you are entertained. Plus, flowing beer and a few drinks are available, but the core attraction is the captivating chaos of the show.

Though you can buy tickets at the door, you can get them at a discount by booking in advanced at Voyagin.

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37. Indulge in a Massive Matcha Dessert

Offbeat food in Tokyo is not limited to main meals, but extends to sweet desserts too, and some of the most popular is made from matcha, a green tea. Desserts like ice-cream, mousse, cream, jelly and many more variations are available. But, I say if you are going to do it go big! I ordered this this quadruple layered matcha gateaux chocolate parfait that was topped with an entire piece of cake! Yes, I ate the whole thing! No shame.

The most popular hot spots serving these delectable and divine tasting desserts are Kinozen, Marunouchi Café, Nana’s Green Tea (that’s where I ate) and many more.

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38. Attend a Tuna Auction

You will need to wake up really early for a chance to go to the famous tuna auction at Tsukiji Fish Market (folks start lining up before 4am). But, it will be worth getting an insiders view of the buyers checking the fish quality and bidding for their prize one. After, explore Tsukiji’s inner and outer market where you can watch them expertly cut the large tunas they just purchased.

You can go on your own or book a tour:

39. Participate in a Traditional Japanese Tea Ceremony

Happo-en Japanese Garden sits in Shirokanedai district of Tokyo and is an exquisite example of natural beauty with its ancient bonsai, koi pond and blanket of cherry blossoms in the Springtime. Not only is it a beautiful representation of a Japanese garden, but you can schedule to participate in a traditional Japanese tea ceremony where you will be drinking Matcha in their wooden Muan tea house.

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40. Bar Hop in Golden Gai

What’s a trip to Tokyo without a little nightlife? Golden Gai is a neighborhood in the Shinjuku ward of Tokyo that squeezes in over 200 miniature bars into a network of six narrow alleys, made only for pedestrians. Enjoy the unique Japanese nightlife by bar hopping in the section of town where most of the drinking holes only seat 8-12 people total. Ready to go? Get the location here or just book a Kabukicho and Shinjuku Golden Gai Night Tour.

Want to read more about bar hopping in Golden Gai? See this article—Shinjuku Nightlife: A Guide to Tokyo’s Best Golden Gai Bars.

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41. Learn to Make Classic Japanese Ramen at Chagohan

You can eat ramen all over the city, but how about learning to make it? At Chagohan you can learn this skill (and dine on it afterwards!).

FYI: This isn’t the only ramen cooking class, there are re plenty of others and you can see a list at Cookly.

42. Eat at the Kill Bill Inspiration Restaurant

Gonpachi restaurant, in the Roppongi district of Tokyo, is known as being the inspiration for the fight scene from the Kill Bill movie and it’s easy to spot the similarities. Not only can you enjoy the interior design, but you can also indulge in a bowl of Soba.

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43. Make Your Own Matcha at the Urasando Garden Mini-Mall

The Urasando Garden is a collection of shops within a traditional Japanese–style house giving you the ultimate kick of nostalgia as soon as you enter. It gets its name from its unique location at the back street of Omotesando, hence the name Urasando meaning “ura” – back and “omote” – front.

There are many fun things to do and shops to explore, but what makes the best visit is being able to make your own matcha. You can choose your own cup and blend your own matcha alongside houjicha-flavored chocolate and cream filled breads!

44. Eat Chankonabe (Sumo Wrestlers Stew)

Chankonabe is the nutritious stew that sumo wrestlers eat daily as part of their bulking up diet. It is a hearty dish that is relatively healthy, low in fat, high in protein and filled with tons of veggies. There are many Chankonabe restaurants in Tokyo, conveniently located close to the sumo stables where the wrestlers practice and live. But, Yoshiba is the most unique because it is located in an old sumo stable with a sumo dohyo (ring) right in the center of the dining room (this is where I had my chankonabe experience in Tokyo).

If you’re interested in booking a tour instead of navigate somewhere to each chankonabe here are a couple highly rate ones:

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45. Drink a Cat Coffee at Oshiage Nyanko

Are you a cat person who loves coffee? This quaint little café boasts stuff dreams are made of! Tucked away in a tiny pocket-sized treasure cove, this hidden gem is located near the Tokyo Sky Tree. You will be amazed at the wonderful 3D latte art of “Oshiage Nyanko”. Although the café isn’t that prominent, it is so famous that you can easily find it.

46. Take a Sushi Making Class

If you are a sushi lover, what better thing to do in Tokyo than learn how to make it? I got a personal sushi lesson with Tokyo Tours with Tomomi, where we first paid a visit to Tsukiji Fish Market to pick up some fresh tuna for our meal and went to her private home to assemble. Viator also offers a fabulous Sushi Making and Tsukiji Fish Market tour. The best part is when you are rewarded by getting to eat your efforts. Afterwards you can wash it all down with sake by booking a sake tasting.

You can find many more sushi making options at Cookly.

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47. Go to a Ping-Pong Restaurant

Tokyo is filled with quirky dining options and The Rally Table is one of them. It’s ‘Game On’ at this restaurant where table tennis is the centerpiece of the room. So pop on in, order yourself a plate of the ping pong curry and play a game or two. FYI: It gets pretty lively at night, but during lunch it’s mostly business men so you’ll have a better chance at playing a game.

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48. Eat at a Yakiniku Restaurant

This bucket list activity is for all the carnivores out there. At a Yakiniku (grilled meat) restaurant in Tokyo you will be barbecuing your choice of raw grub on your own table top grill. If you choose to have your dining experience at the highly rated Yakiniku Jumbo Shirogane, you will be indulging in A5 Kuroge Wagyu, the highest rank of Japanese beef. Or you can try some of Tokyo’s other tasty yakiniku restaurants.

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49. Explore the Ghibli Museum

If you have seen Spirited Away, and loved it, then the Ghibli Museum absolutely needs to be visited by you! The creator of the movies, Hayao Miyazaki, also had a hand in creating the visuals of this museum, helping make it one of the most visually stunning museums in the world. Even if it’s just for a moment, you’ll have landed right in the middle of one of his movies!

50. Eat Grilled Salamander (and other delicious stuff) in Piss Alley

Piss Alley, also known as Omoide Yokocho (or Memory Lane), is best described as the restaurant version of Golden Gai, a section that squeezes in over 200 miniature bars into a network of six narrow alleys. Piss Alley is a small area filled with quaint yakitori restaurants, and a few drinking holes, most with just a handful of seats.

If you are an adventurous eater head over to Asadachi, a name that translates to Morning Wood, where you will get the privilege of tasting Grilled Salamander. Yes! Salamander! Maybe not the best food in the world, but visitors who love to challenge their eating habits visit this restaurant for the most bizarre meal. Here you can also try pig testicles, frog shasimi, raw pig testicles and snake liquor. Yum!

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51. Stay in a Capsule Hotel

These pint-sized pods have become popular for those that want something trendy, easy and economical. There are several all around Tokyo, but one of the top ones is Capsule Net Omotenashi.

52. Get Your Meal From a Vending Machine

You heard right — eat a meal from a vending machine! One of Japan’s greatest inventions, definitely not only limited to being found in Tokyo, are the vending machines at just about every corner. You can barely walk a block in Tokyo without passing by a half dozen vending machines. Though most are filled with an array of beverages, many will have food products that can easily make a meal. The list includes special items like flying fish soup, eggs, hot dogs, hamburgers, sushi, ramen and so on. My afternoon lunch of warm corn soup was surprisingly tasty!

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53. Go to an Owl Café

Oh, what a hoot! Ever thought of having an eye staring contest with an owl? Here in Tokyo, everything is possible! One minute you are strolling through parks the next you have an owl named Peanut perched on your arm! These quirky cafés (here are 7 to choose from) are almost always packed with customers, and you need to be very careful around the majestic owls. No flash photography or sudden movements allowed!

54. Sleep in a Ryokan

For a unique cultural experience stay at a ryokan, an old-school Japanese inn typically with tatami-matted rooms, low tables, and communal baths. Ryokan Sawanoya will give you this traditional feeling or opt for the updated Andon Ryokan.

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55. Discover Sensoji Temple

Another historically significant spot in the middle of Tokyo, Sensoji Temple is the oldest religious site in all of Tokyo. Not only that, but is one of the more gorgeous temples to visit, based on its exterior. Right after visiting the temple, check out the shops by Nakamise Dori, on your way back to the station.

. . .

Truth be told, there is far more to see and do in Tokyo that could ever be written down in a post, unless you want to read pages and pages worth of bullet point suggestions. But these are some amazing activities to get started from, especially if you’ve only got a few days to yourself to explore the city. And after you’ve gone once, you’ll find yourself wanting to go back, again and again, and there will always be more to see. That’s really half the fun of it! So, what are you still waiting for? Time to book your plane tickets and go!

Essential Tips for Visiting Tokyo

Getting There: Narita and Haneda International Airport are both major hubs but most international flights will land at Narita Airport. You can easily check for the best fare deals at Skyscanner, which also has the option to choose ‘cheapest month’ as the departure to find the lowest priced dates to fly to your destination. Although Haneda International Airport is located closer to central Tokyo, there are fewer transportation options from the airport to central Tokyo. There are plenty of public transportation options from Narita International Airport to the city center. From Narita International Airport, you can take the a taxi, bus, the JR Narita Express, or the Keisei Skyliner. From Haneda International Airport, you can take a Keikyu Taxi, the Keikyu Limousine Bus, the Keikyu Line and JR Yamanote Line, or the Tokyo Monorail and JR Yamanote Line.

Where to Stay in Tokyo: With so many wards in Tokyo, choosing a hotel location can be mind-boggling. But, if you want to be where the action is, Shinjuku or Shibuya may be the best district to stay for your first visit; both are conveniently located with easy access to shop-ping, restaurants, nightlife, and public transport. Plus, they look like the Tokyo you typically see on television with bustling streets, towering skyscrapers, and flashy neon lights. In Shinjuku the JR Kyushu Hotel Blossom is just a three-minute walk from the south exit of Shinjuku station. For a more budget-friendly gem try Tokyu Stay that has locations throughout the city including Shinjuku and Shibuya.

If you want to venture to other wards, the Tokyo Station Hotel is conveniently located in the heart of the city and right above the Tokyo JR station.If you want to avoid the bustle of the city, head off the beaten path to the original boutique hotel, Claska. The Daiwa Roynet Hotel Shimbashi (moderate) or Act Hotel Roppongi (moderate) are great choices in the Minato Ward district. For a less expensive option, try the Book and Bed Tokyo Asakusa, a unique hostel experience. Or try the ICI Hotel Kanda by Relief if you’re looking for a less expensive, traditional hotel. For a hotel with a little more extravagance, book a room at the Prince Park Tower Tokyo, or the Hilton Tokyo Hotel. Or search some great deals on hotels of your choice at Booking.com. If you’re looking for more of a home atmosphere (or are traveling with a group of people), head over to Airbnb that has houses, apartments and even just a room for rent in every price range.

Getting Around: Driving in Tokyo can be a bit of a challenge and parking fees can be expensive, but if you choose to rent a car, RentalCars.com has great deals. If you are not renting a car, there are plenty of options. Taxis are available all over the city. Although Uber is available in Tokyo, it is not commonly used. Download the JapanTaxi app prior to your trip to hail a taxi right from your device. Tokyo also has a great subway and train system that is easy to use. You can buy a pass in advance and have it delivered to your hotel. Be sure to download Hyperdia, an app that helps you navigate Tokyo’s subway and train system. Additionally, most of the top attractions can be accessed with the 24-hour Hop-On Hop-Off Bus.

Best Tours in Tokyo: You can find some of the top tours at Get Your Guide or Viator, and here are some of the top ones:

Insurance: It’s always a good idea to travel fully insured so you are protected in case of trip cancellations or medical emergencies. You can check out pricing at Travelex Insurance.

Universal Adapter: Your American plugged equipment will need an adapter. I use the Celtic Universal Adapter, which has brought me around the world with no problems.