#best car rental los angeles

[gorgeousexotics1]

How To Avoid Hidden Fees When Car Rental Lax Airport

Introduction:

Have you ever had trouble calculating the exact cost of renting a car? Do you frequently encounter Hidden Fees when renting a car due to unfair and random cost practices? To avoid this danger, here is a guide on how to avoid paying hidden fees when car rental LAX Airport.

01. Skip the Rental Car Insurance

Before car rental lax airport, you will be offered an insurance package from the car rental company. This is not a requirement for renting a car but is somewhat optional insurance. It is wise to skip this insurance package as it is often rather expensive and less necessary than other types of car insurance.

02. Check the Car for Damage

Before renting a car, you should thoroughly check the vehicle's state. Look at the tires, check engine oil and transmission fluid levels, and measure the length of gas or diesel fuel in the tank.

03. Avoid Airport Rentals

Avoid renting a car at or near the airport. The rates are often higher, and most car rental companies demand extra fees for this. As there is little parking at the airport, you will have to pay for car storage, even if you return it at the end of your trip.

04. Watch for Toll Charges

Car rental companies often charge extra fees for tolls which may be required on specific itineraries. Always ask if tolls are included before renting a car, and always watch the highway for these charges.

Conclusion

After car rental LAX Airport, finding yourself with a large and unexpected charge on your credit card statement can be quite stressful. Keeping these above mentioned tips in mind will help you avoid hidden charges when renting a car.

[lagroundbreakers]

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[hardly-an-escape]

what's in a name? | Dream/Hob | 9300 words | rated E

this is my submission for @designtheendless's 3K commission giveaway: a Dreamling fic based on their fanart above!

tags: alternate universe - human, photographer Hob Gadling, artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, model Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, strangers to lovers, snowed in, only one bed, light dom/sub, oral sex, face fucking, anal fingering, anal sex, anonymous sex, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, and Hob is no less of a horny little weasel, brief Princess Bride references, alcohol consumption, impulsive decision making, callous disregard for the geography of northern California, they go from 0-60 because they’re both nuts, neither of them are in a great place but they do make each other better rather than worse

Hob is on an ill-fated road trip through California. He’s making his way slowly down the coast toward Los Angeles when, trapped by a snowstorm in a small town near Mount Shasta, he meets a mysterious stranger in a diner. They share a night of anonymous passion – but when the sun rises, Hob finds that he can’t just leave the stranger behind…

this story developed partially from Picture Perfect, one of my Fluffbruary 2024 fills. I also incorporated some of designtheendless's other suggested image prompts, so do make sure you check their original post! and thank you so much for extending the deadline, it meant I had time to get my CHBB fic submitted before pivoting to finish this... and even so I'm still barely getting it done in time just because of who I am as a person :D

Hob leans forward over the steering wheel, brows furrowed as he peers through the driving snow at the street ahead. The windshield wipers are going like mad; he’s seen a plow or two out, but they seem to barely be making a dent, so traffic has slowed to a crawl. Which is, frankly, for the best, since the weather is bad enough that only a true nutter would be out in it at all.

Well… nobody’s ever accused Hob of being sane.

His GPS instructs him to take the next right and informs him that his destination will then be on his right. He can just make out the neon sign through the thick flakes: Townhouse Motel. “Vacancy,” it says below the old-timey script, blinking on and off. In the distance, the sun is just beginning to settle behind some mountains that he’s sure would be beautiful if they weren’t hidden behind such inclement weather.

He pulls in the driveway. The lot is nearly empty, so he parks right next to the office door and jams his winter cap on his head before hurrying through the flurries.

The bored teenager behind the front desk barely looks up from the reality show playing on her tablet as she runs Hob’s credit card and gives him his door key – an actual, physical key. Room 1389. He decides it’s not worth it to ask why the room number has four digits when the motel has maybe a dozen rooms total.

He does ask if there’s somewhere nearby to get a bite to eat and a drink.

“There’s a diner across the street and down a block,” the teenager says, “but they don’t serve booze.” Then, finally looking up, perhaps seeing the bags under his eyes and his generally downtrodden demeanor, she relents. “There’s a liquor store about two blocks past that. You can bring stuff back to your room, I guess. It’s not like anybody is going to ask questions around here.”

That, Hob thinks as he heads back outside and moves his rental car a little closer to his door, is obvious. There’s a general air of neglect clinging to the motel, and indeed to the whole street, from what he can see: the buildings are a little more weatherbeaten than can be plausibly explained by a cute vintage aesthetic, and at least one storefront seems to be permanently boarded up. The recession has clearly hit Northern California just as hard as it has the rest of the United States.

What a time to be playing tourist. What a time to be – well, he won’t think about that right now.

His room is clean, at least. Someone, at some point in time, has made a half-hearted attempt to decorate it with a seaside theme. The bedlinens are various shades of blue, rather than your typical beigey-white. There’s an unfortunate painting of a mermaid hanging over the outdated television, and a slightly less unfortunate painting of a lighthouse above the bed. The bathroom wallpaper has little seashells on it.

Hob leaves his camera bag on the desk and his duffel on the end of the bed, grabs his wallet, turns his collar up against the cold, and heads back out into the snowy evening.

The diner is, as promised, only a short walk down the street, but Hob is shivering by the time he gets there. The wind cuts right through him – silly British man that he is, he thought California would be warm, even in winter. He hadn’t really reckoned with unpredictable mountain weather, or with the cold front that was chasing him down through the southern end of the Cascades. The weatherman on the radio had been calling it “freakish.”

A little bell tinkles merrily when he pushes open the door. A waitress calls out a greeting, tells him to sit wherever he likes and she’ll be right with him. There’s only one other person in the diner, a slender man dressed all in black who is hunched over a cup of coffee at the counter. He glances up and immediately back down as Hob stomps the snow off his boots and takes an empty booth far enough away from the front door that he won’t feel the rush of cold air if anyone else comes in.

The waitress bustles over, bringing him a cup of coffee without even asking. Hob wraps his fingers around it gratefully. He doesn’t normally drink coffee this late, but it’s been the kind of day that calls for it: so cold, so uncomfortable and distressing, that the sturdy ceramic mug is exactly what he wants. The bitter note of slightly burnt coffee is tempered by the cheap, artificially flavored vanilla creamer he only ever uses at this kind of greasy spoon diner. He breathes deep and feels something inside him start to thaw.

When the waitress comes back with a menu, he warms up even more. She is middle-aged and comfortable, nice and no-nonsense, the sort of person with an indeterminate American accent who could have come from anywhere: Illinois, or Florida, or five minutes down the road. She recommends the olive burger with fries, and a side of fried pickles, because they’re the best in the county, and then her excitement simply bubbles over.

“I’m just so darn tickled to have two Brits here in the same night!” she enthuses. “Oh gosh, is that okay? Can I call you Brits or is that rude?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Hob laughs. “Two of us, eh? That is a coincidence.”

“I know, right? Okay hon, lemme just get your order in and I’ll be back to warm up your coffee in a sec.”

She bustles away again, and Hob looks curiously at the man at the counter. He must have heard her comment, but he hasn’t turned around, or indeed acknowledged Hob in any way since he came in. He shrugs mentally and turns away to look out the window at the thickly swirling snow. It’s dark enough now that streetlights have come on, casting cones of light in which the flakes dance like a very slow sodium-tinted tornado.

He wishes he had a book. Or a crossword puzzle, or one of those packets of crayons they give to kids at restaurants. Something to keep his hands occupied and his mind off of everything that was threatening to consume it, off of the last few days, off of her –

Then the man from the counter slides into the booth across from him.

“Hello,” Hob says.

“Hello,” the stranger says. His voice is surprisingly deep and resonant, coming from his slim frame, and he looks to be in his late twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Hob. He is very pale. His dark hair is sticking up rather wildly and his eyes are a cold, clear blue that reminds Hob of the way the sky had looked this morning, before the clouds had descended.

“Who are you, then? Aside from a fellow Brit?” asks Hob.

“No one of consequence.” He’s lugging around a small backpack, which now rests on the bench beside him.

“I must know,” Hob says in a very bad Inigo Montoya accent.

“Get used to disappointment,” the stranger says with a smirk, and Hob laughs.

“Oh, we’re going to get along just fine,” he says, holding his hand out across the table. “My name’s Hob, yes that’s my real name, and yes, it is a long story.”

The stranger shakes his hand briefly. His palm is warm from cupping his coffee cup, but the tips of his fingers are cold. “Pleased to meet you, Hob.”

“And do you have a name, stranger?”

“I do. Several, in fact.”

“Any of them for public consumption?”

The stranger shrugs. “Will you forgive me if I maintain a certain level of mystery?”

Hob shrugs too. “That’s your lookout, mate. No skin off my nose.”

They chat. About the weather, and how odd it is, and how different to England. About books – the stranger appears to be a voracious reader, and Hob had loaded up an old iPod with audiobooks in preparation for a lot of driving, which sparks a lively debate on the merits of printed books vs reading aloud. In the midst of this, Hob’s food arrives, and he is derailed momentarily from the conversation by an overwhelming need to unhinge his jaw and stuff as many chips into his gob as humanly possible. The stranger watches in amusement.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hob says, muffled by his burger. “Been driving pretty much all day and I didn’t really want to stop, so…”

He’s suddenly self-conscious, very aware that the man sitting across from him is slender and willowy and dressed all in black, and that he himself is very much… not that. Dressed for comfort and warmth in slightly baggy jeans and a flannel shirt and his puffy jacket balled up on the bench beside him. But the stranger seems unbothered, simply smiling slightly and snagging a fried pickle off the plate between them, which Hob had invited him to share moments after it had arrived.

They are good; crispy and salty and uniquely American. Hob is certainly prepared to believe they’re the best in the county.

“So are you staying here in town, or is that shrouded in mystery as well?” he asks, once he’s slowed down a bit.

“I’ve been staying in a cabin up the mountain, a little way out of town. With my family.” He said the word family as though it is faintly dirty. “One of my siblings thought it would be good for us to get away together. But I have found it… trying.”

“Up the mountain, eh? Are you going to be able to get back in this?”

Hob tips his head toward the window. It is very dark now, and the snow is falling more thickly and wildly than ever. A crease appears between the stranger’s eyebrows.

“To be honest, I had not thought that far ahead.”

“Do you have much experience driving in the snow?”

To Hob’s surprise, the stranger actually blushes, just a gentle stain of pink across his cheekbones. “I… walked.”

“You walked?”

The waitress, stopping by the table to warm up their coffees, echos Hob’s surprise.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “In this? How are you fixing to get home?”

“I was planning to walk back,” the stranger says with some asperity. “But I admit I was not anticipating this kind of weather.”

“Let me check on the roads for you,” the waitress says kindly. “Which cabin did you say you’re at? My brother-in-law lives up that way, I’ll give him a call. I’m sure we can find you a ride.”

She goes back behind the counter and picks up the phone.

“I’m happy to give you a ride,” Hob says quietly. “If she thinks it’s safe.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“‘S okay. I want to.”

“Bill? It’s Jan. I have a question for you,” says the waitress.

Hob realizes, suddenly and with some surprise, that it is quite true, that he is not just being polite: he does want to help this mysterious stranger, who talks like a 19th-century Byronic hero and dresses like a college goth. His stomach is doing the tiniest little swoop every time they make eye contact, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

The waitress calls over to him.

“You got four wheel drive, hon?”

Hob thinks about the little Honda Civic in the motel parking lot. Thinks about mountain roads and snow. Shakes his head no.

Scraps of the waitress’s conversation float across the diner and Hob takes another bite of his burger.

“– well they’re foreign, Bill, they don’t –”

He snickers just a little; can’t help himself, really, because the waitress is just so kind and helpful and also clearly more than a little bit befuddled by their presence in her diner. These two Brits, total strangers, so unalike one another – and yet here they are, sharing a booth and a plate of fried pickles, five thousand miles and change away from home. He exchanges a look of camaraderie with the stranger and eats some more chips. They’re good too.

“– and tomorrow? What’s the overnight –”

After another minute or two the waitress thanks her brother-in-law and hangs up the phone. Her face is serious when she comes back to their table.

“Well, boys,” she says, “I don’t think anyone is going anywhere tonight. Bill says it’s pretty bad up there, and only getting worse. The plows aren’t even going out yet on account of the snow’s still coming down so hard, it doesn’t make sense to try and clear anything. You going to be able to find a place to stay?” she asks the stranger.

He looks at Hob. “Did you mention a motel?”

“Yeah, the Townhouse?” Hob says, and the waitress nods along. “I don’t know for sure if there are rooms available, but it didn’t look like the parking was full.”

“Probably not, this time of year,” interjects the waitress. “It’s a fine place, and Paulie can certainly use the business. I’ll bring your checks by in a minute, guys.”

She leaves them again. Her sensible sneakers squeak against the floor tiles as she walks.

“Thank you again for your offer of a ride,” the stranger says quietly. “That was very kind of you.”

“Course. I’m just sorry you won’t be able to get home tonight,” Hob says.

“It is my own fault. I should not have behaved so impulsively. But my siblings…” The man frowns. “As I said, they can be difficult. I would have done something regrettable, had I remained in the house.”

Hob waves a hand. “Ah, it happens to the best of us. Especially around family. You should hear some of the fights I’ve had with my sister, we can scream the paint off the walls when we get going.”

“Indeed,” the man says darkly.

“I’m glad you did come to town, though. It’s been kind of nice,” Hob says tentatively. “Having someone to talk to tonight.”

“Indeed,” his stranger repeats. But this time one corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “It seems to have worked out in my favor.”

Hob smiles back. “So, are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun, eh?” Hob glances down at his own hands, folded on the table, back at the stranger. “Is that what this is?”

The stranger smirks. He leans forward and plucks another fried pickle from the plate. He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue just a little bit farther than necessary to pop the slice into his mouth. He chews, and smirks some more, and gives Hob an unmistakable up-and-down appraising glance, and underneath the table he presses one ankle against Hob’s instep.

Oh. Hob feels a surprising but not unfamiliar spike of arousal in his gut. So that’s where this is heading – has been heading, since he pushed open the door and the stranger had glanced up at him. Had he blushed, when his eyes met Hob’s? Or is he applying more detail to that brief interaction after the fact, now that he thinks he knows what his stranger is thinking?

And when had the man become his stranger?

“I see,” he says, and presses back against the bony ankle under the table.

Ten minutes later, they’ve settled their bills – his stranger had apparently eaten a club sandwich before Hob had arrived, and he’s weirdly relieved that the man has consumed something more substantial than coffee this evening – and are gearing up to head back into the cold. Hob is zipping up his coat when he realizes the other man appears to have only a thick black hoodie and a knit beanie (also black, of course). He glances out the window, where it’s still snowing pretty hard, and raises an eyebrow.

“You going to be okay in just that?”

“You said it is only a couple of blocks? I will be fine. I tend not to feel the cold. And,” he adds defensively, “when I originally walked down the weather was not quite so… inclement.”

“If you say so,” Hob says as he opens the door. The waitress calls out a good night and he waves to her over his stranger’s shoulder. Wonders, just for a moment, what she thinks of the fact that they’re leaving together, or if she will ever think of them again at all. They step out into the snowy evening. “The girl at the motel said there’s a liquor store down the street. Mind detouring there? I was thinking of picking up some whiskey, or something. Something to keep a man warm.”

The man chuckles and they head down the street. It’s not until they’re away from the diner windows that he takes Hob by the elbow and gently draws him just outside the circle of a street lamp.

“Surely,” he says, voice low, stepping into Hob’s space, “there are many ways for a man to… keep warm.”

And he kisses him.

His lips are warm and dry, a little chapped. It’s a simple kiss, a chaste one, just their lips touching and the barest pressure of the stranger’s belly and chest pressed against Hob’s, swathed in layers of winter gear. It lasts for a heartbeat, two, and then the man steps back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Oh?” says Hob, giddily. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Obviously,” responds his stranger.

“Well, I don’t know, mate,” says Hob as they make their way down the street. He resists the urge to link their arms together. “Maybe you play footsie with every guy you meet in random diners in Northern California.”

“Perhaps.”

The liquor store is a brief respite from the wind and the snow. Hob selects a mid-range bottle of whiskey and they trudge back to his motel room. The snowflakes and the streetlights and the swirling wind make everything feel more than a little bit surreal, like something out of a dream or a fairy tale. The two of them could be adventurers, explorers, wading through an arctic wasteland in search of shelter. The mountain looms behind them, dark and mysterious, like a great castle or some monstrous beast.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” asks his stranger, kicking off his boots dropping his backpack by the desk. “I’m afraid I did get rather sweaty, hiking down earlier. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up.” His gaze, beneath his long eyelashes, feels heavy and significant.

“Go right ahead.” Hob gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to nip down to the lobby and get a bit of ice.” He retrieves the ice bucket from the desk, brushing close to his stranger as he does. The brief contact jolts him back to the real world. They’re not in the arctic waste; this handsome, ethereal man is here, in his motel room. He is pulling off his somewhat sodden hoodie and draping it over the back of the chair, and sniffing dubiously at the sweater he wears underneath it. He is real.

Hob waits until he hears the shower turn on to slip out the door.

Although he has his moments of cluelessness, Hob is not a stupid man. He knows where this is going. He recognizes the signs, the coy little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past two hours, and no, he’s not a stupid man, but if he were a better one he might be able to resist the temptation of falling into bed with a beautiful stranger who won’t even share his name.

But there’s something about this man. Hob wants him. Already can’t resist him. Wants to wrap him up and keep him warm and kiss his collarbones and, yes, wants to fuck him, wants to feel him shudder and moan and wants to watch his cheeks flush and his head fall back in ecstasy. He hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time, and now it’s come out of nowhere to slam into him and hook into his gut, this wanting.

He throws a few scoops of ice from the machine in the motel lobby into the bucket and goes back to the room.

He’s kicked off his boots, unwrapped one of the shitty plastic cups, and poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey by the time he hears the shower shut off. There’s the usual shuffling noise of towels, a brief blast of the cheap hair dryer mounted to the wall. Then the door opens and the stranger emerges, and Hob is slammed from the real world right back into a surreal dream.

The man is even more beautiful without his clothes on: Hob would compare him to an elf or a fairy prince, but he’s too busy choking slightly on the spit that’s suddenly flooding his mouth at the sight of long, slim limbs, a narrow waist, and a temptingly well-defined Adonis belt that disappears under the cheap motel towel wound around his hips.

There’s a long moment of silent eye contact. Hob’s leaning up against the desk, cup cradled in one hand. His face heats as he watches his stranger’s eyes travel slowly down the length of his body and back up, pursing his lips slightly. His mouth is very pink, with the kind of full bottom lip that’s made for nibbling on, and the rest of his skin is as pale and smooth as… well, as snow, with just a touch of redness from the heat of the shower spreading across his chest.

Hob downs half of his whiskey without even thinking about it. He can’t look away. He can’t think, can’t even blink. He’s afraid that if he does, this vision will disappear and it’ll just be him, alone, a saddish man alone in a motel room with a bottle of booze and a bag of expensive camera equipment, and then who knows what will happen?

His stranger gives him one of those tiny half-smiles, suggestive, not quite a leer, and stalks across the room toward him.

He widens his legs and his stranger steps in to stand between his feet. He takes Hob’s drink out of his hand and tosses back the last swallow of whiskey before setting the plastic cup aside. Then he hooks one finger into the collar of Hob’s flannel shirt and pulls him into a kiss. His mouth is a study in contrasts: warm from the whiskey and cool from the ice, soft tongue and sharp teeth. They sink briefly, gently, into Hob’s bottom lip, and Hob pulls the man close against his chest and returns the favor.

The kiss is turning wet and messy when the man pulls back far enough to start fumbling with Hob’s shirt buttons. He’s pulled the tails of the shirt out of Hob’s jeans and has it about halfway unbuttoned when a phone starts ringing.

It’s not the room phone – it’s coming from a pocket of the man’s backpack.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck. “We are busy.”

The phone rings three times; four times. The stranger has finished with Hob’s shirt and is pulling the tee beneath it out of the waistband of his jeans by the time it finally stops.

His fingers are toying with Hob’s belt buckle and ghosting over the seam of his fly when it rings again.

The stranger groans audibly.

“Do you think,” Hob says with the carefully deliberate cadence of the very turned on, “that your family might be worried about you?”

“I do not care,” his stranger grumbles, and sinks gracefully to his knees.

Eventually the phone stops ringing again.

He’s worked Hob’s belt and fly open and is nuzzling into the opening of his jeans, nosing at the base of Hob’s cock through his underwear and Hob is panting, his stranger’s hot breath so close to where Hob wants him most – when the phone rings a third time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snarls the stranger, and stands.

He fishes a slightly battered-looking BlackBerry out of an outside pocket of his backpack and stabs at the call answer button.

“What.”

He turns away, so all Hob can see is the furious, stiff line of his stranger’s back. He can’t hear the other half of the conversation, and he doesn’t think he wants to; every fibre of the man’s body radiates anger and discomfort and perhaps a little bit of shame. Hob adjusts himself discreetly, rezips his jeans, and tiptoes over to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Obviously I am alive. I am fine.” A pause. “I took a walk.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, I know what time it is. No, I am assured that the roads were too bad to make it back to the cabin. I am in a motel room in…” He looks over to Hob. “What is the name of this place?”

Hob supplies the name of the motel, and that of the town as well, just for good measure. The man relays the information into the phone. There is another long pause.

“That is none of your business. Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you speak to me like that again I will hang up the phone.”

There is another, longer pause, during which the stranger’s face grows progressively redder. He is very deliberately not looking at Hob.

“No. I said no. I will arrange for my own transportation in the morning. I –”

The person on the other end of the phone must say something truly outrageous, because his strangers eyes bug out in a way that looks almost uncomfortable.

“Do the entirety of the known universe a favor and crawl back into whatever slime hole you emerged from and leave me alone,” he hisses. “Goodbye.”

Hob can’t quite muffle a snort at this crowning line. Siblings.

His stranger hangs up the phone with a vicious jab of a button and slams it down on the desk; then seems to reconsider, retrieves it, and shuts it off entirely before throwing it into his backpack. He sighs, a surprisingly tired sound.

“I will have another drink, if you don’t mind,” he says. “And then I would like it very much if you would fuck me. Please.”

Hob’s cock, which had been feeling distinctly neglected, gives a twitch.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says. “Are you –”

The stranger waves a dismissive hand. “I am quite sober enough to have sex with you. And I could easily afford my own room, if that’s a concern. I am here because I want to be.”

“Glad to hear it, but that actually isn’t what I was going to ask,” Hob says mildly.

“Oh,” the man says. A faint blush rises on his cheekbones. He scoops up the whiskey bottle and uncorks it, taking an unceremonious swig. The towel hangs dangerously low around his hips. “What were you going to ask?”

His stranger pauses with the whiskey bottle against his lips. Hob watches the long line of his neck work once, twice, as he swallows, and figures he may as well put his cards on the table.

“I was going to ask if latex condoms are okay. For when I fuck you into the mattress in a minute here.”

The man clears his throat. “Oh,” he says again. “Yes. Latex is fine.”

“Good. Anything you don’t like? Hard boundaries?”

He pauses. “I do not enjoy being choked. Or having my hands restrained in any way. But I like… I like it a little bit rough. It feels good. To be used.”

Hob leans back on one elbow. “Is that what you want me to do? Use you?”

“Yes.”

The word drops into the quiet room like a handful of snow might drop off a tree branch – soft and muffled and sending the same delicious shiver down Hob’s spine.

“I can do that.” Oh, yes. Hob can use this beautiful man, if he is offering himself up to be used. “C’mere, then.”

His stranger walks slowly across the room to where Hob is half-reclining on the bed, feet still planted on the floor. He kneels between Hob’s legs and runs his hands slowly up and down his thighs from knee to hip. “And you?” he asks. “Your boundaries?”

Hob considers. “I’m with you on choking, not a fan,” he says. “I’m not big on pain, generally, but I can give it to other people, if they need it.”

“Alright.” His hands are still rubbing up and down Hob’s thighs, a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. When he speaks again his voice is thick. “Would you consider the preliminary negotiations to be concluded now?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your mouth than spout off like a horny nineteenth century robber baron?” Hob counters.

His stranger smiles, a proper smile that crinkles the corners of his blue eyes, and unzips the fly of Hob’s jeans.

In short order he’s pulled them open and pushed Hob’s boxers down just enough that he can get his cock out. He’s not quite hard, not yet, but he gets there quickly between his stranger’s gentle, surprisingly soft hands and the way he immediately buries his nose in Hob’s pubic hair and breathes deeply as he looks up through his eyelashes.

Then he opens his mouth, and wraps his tongue around the head of Hob’s cock, and Hob’s brain makes a noise like radio static.

Oh, he is good at this. Unfairly good. Supernaturally good. He teases Hob for long, long minutes, working up and down his shaft with light touches of just his lips and tongue, ducking down now and then to mouth gently at his balls, until Hob is twitching and swearing and straining, perched on the edge of the bed. When he finally has mercy and takes Hob’s cock fully into his mouth, it is barely a relief. He is so wet, so hot, and he sinks down on Hob with no resistance, no trace of a gag reflex. Before he can stop himself, Hob’s hips jerk forward that final fraction, and suddenly his stranger’s nose is brushing his pubic bone and his throat is contracting around the head of Hob’s cock.

He’s expecting the man to pull back, to splutter in indignation, but instead he makes an encouraging noise and squeezes Hob’s thigh before folding his hands almost primly in his lap.

“Fuck,” Hob mutters. He makes an experimental shallow thrust into the tight, wet heat of his stranger’s mouth. “Really?”

His stranger can’t nod, not with Hob’s prick in his mouth, but he moans. Hob feels it vibrate all along the length of his shaft and has to stifle a whimper of his own. He sinks one hand into the soft riot of the man’s hair, still a little damp from the shower, and cradles the back of his skull. The bone feels sweet and finely formed in his hand.

“You want me to fuck your pretty face?” he asks, soft and just a tiny bit mean. “Yeah? That’s what your mouth is good for, isn’t it?”

He thrusts again, in and out, and the stranger’s eyes roll back a little in his head, so he does it again, and again. Soon he really is fucking his face, not too hard but deep, fingers tightening in his stranger’s hair as his eyes fall nearly shut, narrowing to crystalline blue crescents.

Hob pulls back briefly to let his stranger breathe. Runs his thumb along his bottom lip, dripping with spit, before he pushes back in. He doesn’t stop until he can feel the first tendrils of orgasm beckoning to him; but as tempting as it is to keep going, to empty himself into this perfect mouth, he’s made a promise. And Hob is a man of his word, so he pulls the man off his cock by the scruff of his neck. He makes an obscene noise as he goes, and another thing string of saliva dribbles from his puffy mouth. His eyes are slightly glassy as he looks up at Hob.

“Get up on the bed, baby,” Hob orders gently.

When the man stands up the towel is just barely clinging to his narrow hips, and his erection is stiff and straining against the terrycloth. He’s so hard, Hob thinks wonderingly, just from having Hob’s cock in his mouth for a few minutes, and his own prick throbs in sympathy.

“Hands and knees,” Hob says, and the man crawls up on the bed. The towel falls away as he goes, languid but obedient, so that he’s entirely naked when Hob positions himself behind him. The contrast between Hob’s clothes and the other man’s nudity is delicious – Hob’s rough denim against the man’s soft thighs, Hob’s hairy wrists poking out from worn flannel as he runs his fingernails along sharply elegant shoulder blades.

He allows himself one long, gentle caress, from the nape of his stranger’s neck down to the shallow dimples in the small of his back, before he grabs at the man’s buttocks and unceremoniously spreads him open.

His hole looks surprisingly loose and relaxed already. Hob runs the pad of one thumb over it.

“Were you prepping yourself in the shower?” he asks, delighted. He presses gently and the furl of muscle gives, just a little, pink and fluttering.

“Hng,” says his stranger, shuddering. “Yes. I thought – I thought about your hands. Oh. I liked the thought that you were just outside the door. While I had my fingers inside myself.”

“Impatient little minx,” Hob says fondly. He kisses one of the lovely knobs of his stranger’s spine and pinches his backside for good measure before pulling away. “Stay here.”

He has to dig down to the bottom of his duffel bag in order to find the box of condoms and the little travel sized bottle of lube. He’d felt a little self-conscious when he’d packed them back in his flat in London – like he was presuming something – but then again he had been preparing for a supposedly romantic road trip with his girlfriend.

He’s glad, now, that he has them.

His stranger has remained on his knees, pitched forward to rest on his elbows, face pressed into a pillow and cock hanging heavy between his legs.

“Good boy,” Hob praises, and runs his hand along the man’s flank. “Beautiful. Oh, darling, I’m going to make you feel so good. And then you’re going to make me feel so good, aren’t you? You already have,” Hob coos, drizzling lube directly onto his arsehole. “And I know you’re going to keep being a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Before the man can answer, Hob slips a finger inside him, right up to the first knuckle. He’s rewarded with a whimper and the feeling of his stranger pushing back against him, silently begging for more.

And then not so silently. “More,” moans the stranger. “Fuck. More, please.”

Hob strokes his finger in and out, petting the velvet inside his stranger.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll get more.”

He tries to spend as much time torturing his stranger with his fingers as his stranger had spent torturing him with his mouth, but by the second finger he finds his resolve dissolving like so many snowflakes on warm skin. The man is making such wanton sounds, and his knees skid wider and wider on the slippery motel bedspread, opening him inexorably to Hob’s hungry eyes and questing hands.

“Oh. Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he moans. No more well-crafted phrases or erudite words; the only thing dropping from that perfect mouth are noises, guttural and breathy by turns, only half-muffled by the pillow his face is smashed into.

“Please,” he begs, “please, in me, I – please, I need –”

Hob obliges.

He’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life as he shoves his jeans down around his thighs and rolls the condom on. He has to do it one-handed, clumsily, because some frantic corner of his brain is convinced that if he lets go of the stranger’s hip then the man will disappear, between one blink and the next, and this whole night will turn out to have been some snowblind fever dream.

But his stranger stays where Hob has put him, desperate and writhing, begging for Hob’s cock, and when he finally pins the man down to the mattress and pushes into him, that first hard thrust is enough to silence both of them.

The room is utterly still for a heartbeat, and then another, and then one more, until Hob pulls out in order to thrust in again and his stranger wails and then Hob is fucking into him in earnest, fucking him hard, until the sound of their skin slapping together almost drowns out the sounds his stranger is making beneath him.

Almost.

His stranger moans and pants, and Hob answers him, thrust for thrust and moan for moan, Yes and Ah and Christ and Fuck, fuck me, use me, yes. He grips his stranger by the hips, so hard that his fingers leave little white divots behind when he shifts his grip, so hard that he worries he might leave bruises, and still the man pushes back against him and begs for more.

He comes, when he finally comes, untouched, rutting gracelessly against the mattress. Hob stills, grits his teeth, not wanting to overwhelm the other man as he seizes in pleasure, but his stranger continues to move against him, if anything even more desperate, even in the throes of orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “don’t, oh God, fuck me through it, don’t stop –”

So Hob hauls him up and pushes him down, one hand on his waist and one shoving his chest down into the mattress as the man’s hands scrabble at the sheets and he sobs and Hob pistons into him until he empties himself, until his prick is oversensitive and his stranger is twitching around and beneath him, and the room is finally quiet.

Then Hob takes the condom off, knots it and tosses it towards the wastebasket. He rolls them both away from the wet spot with only middling success, but he’s too tired to care. He shucks the rest of his clothes off. He is boneless and spent, and his stranger is inserting himself relentlessly into Hob’s personal space. They lie there for a long, long moment, sweaty and panting, until their breathing starts to even out and the desperate closeness has receded into normal cuddling. Hob presses a kiss to his stranger’s sweaty temple and marvels at his luck.

“I realize I neglected to ask you why you find yourself in Northern California,” his stranger says, tucked against Hob’s side, voice drowsy and hoarse. “Do you care to share?”

“It’s a long story,” Hob says. “I was – well, I am – on a road trip. With my, ah. With my girlfriend. Well. Ex-girlfriend, now. Actually.”

His stranger tenses slightly, and Hob doesn’t blame him; he knows how it must sound. “It sounds like there is a story there?” the man says, almost tentative.

“Yeah, we… we came over together, about two weeks ago. We flew into Seattle, were planning this whole big trip, right down the coast and all the way to Los Angeles. See the redwoods, do some wine tastings, the whole bit. I’m a photographer, I was thinking I could turn the whole trip into a photo essay, maybe even a book.” He sighs. “Then she heard about this yoga retreat, ashram sort of place. Bit culty, I don’t really go in for all that, but she absolutely had to check it out, so we did. Two days later, out of the blue, she tells me our chakras are misaligned and gives me the boot. Turns out Guru Todd Thingummy, who ran the retreat center, was very aligned with her chakras. As well as other, less… metaphysical things.”

There’s a sound from the vicinity of Hob’s armpit that he realizes with delight is a snort. The snort blossoms into a chuckle, and then his stranger is laughing, a frankly horrible honking sort of laugh, shaking in Hob’s arms with it, and Hob laughs along.

“I’m sorry,” his stranger gasps. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t laugh at you. It’s just… Guru Todd.”

“I know!” Hob snickers. “You can picture him, right? White boy dreadlocks and a fucking… shell necklace. Utter tosser.”

“I feel like I’ve probably met someone almost exactly like him, truly.” Eventually his stranger’s horrible laugh subsides. He shifts against Hob, playing idly with his chest hair, curling it around one finger. “In a way, I am also escaping a recent ex. She was the first person I dated after some… difficult experiences I had about a year ago. But in the end I was far more invested in the relationship than she, and she became. Uncomfortable. With my ardor.”

“She’s a bloody idiot then,” Hob says automatically, and his stranger looks up, startled.

“Do you think so?”

Hob briefly considers backpedaling. Don’t come off like a madman, he thinks to himself. Not when he’s finally talking to you. But there’s no hope for him. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’d say your ardor is my favorite thing about you so far.” He lets one hand drift down and gives his stranger’s arse a cheeky squeeze, and is rewarded with a squeak and another snort.

“You are kind to say so,” the man says, and interrupts himself with a yawn.

“It’s true. I… I’m really glad I met you,” Hob says honestly. Too honestly. He can’t help himself; the man is just so beautiful, mouth kissed red and limbs loose, fucked out and soft everywhere he’d been hard and prickly before.

Hob still doesn’t know his name.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” the man says softly.

Hob snuggles them both down into the lumpy motel pillows and pulls the blanket up firmly around their shoulders. The wind blows outside, he reaches up to switch off the lamp, and they fall asleep.

He wakes in the night and stumbles to the bathroom to take a piss. When he comes back, his stranger has starfished out and is taking up a full two-thirds of the bed, sleeping like a stone. Hob manages to reinsert himself into the remaining third and then simply lies there for a long few minutes, looking at the other man.

The skies must have cleared, at least a little, because there’s a few strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds. The pale light turns his stranger into marble, a work of art; he practically glows against the blue sheets. Hob’s fingers itch for his camera.

“You’re going to fuck me up,” he whispers. “I’m going to wake up next to you and never want to leave, and it’s going to fuck me up so bad.”

The sleeping man does not respond, of course; doesn’t even stir. Hob lies there, and gazes at him, until he slips back into sleep himself.

When he wakes again it’s fully morning. The sun is that peculiar thin shade of blue that you get on very cold mornings, but when Hob peeks out the window, the sky is clear and the snowplows have clearly been out making the rounds. He tries to tamp down a sudden feeling of disappointment.

He gets a drink of water, and when he returns to bed his stranger is stirring. First one blue eye opens, then the other.

“Morning,” Hob says.

The man hums and stretches luxuriously, rolling from his belly to his back. The sheets fall down around his hips, revealing one elegant hipbone and a tempting glimpse of dark curls. His pale skin practically glows against the blue sheets in the morning light.

“Enjoying the view?” his stranger asks, and his voice is rough with sleep and slightly hoarse.

“You could say that,” Hob says. He puts one knee on the bed, reaches out to run a hand lightly down the long, lean line of the man’s thigh. “God, you’re… you are so beautiful.”

“Come here to me,” the man says, beckoning to Hob.

Hob ducks his head and kisses up the ladder of the man’s ribs, takes one pert nipple gently between his teeth.

“Can I take your picture?” he says suddenly. “Not in a creepy way. I can even keep your face out of it if you like, I just… there’s something about you, in this light.”

“I don’t mind,” the man says.

Hob’s heart leaps.

A few minutes later, he’s gotten his camera out and adjusted. The room is so quiet, so still, that each click of the shutter sounds almost sacrilegious. He shoots in black and white. He thinks the sheets will show dark, almost black, and the man’s skin will show light and luminous against them. His stranger poses like a dream, languid and biddable, moving here and there on the bed, wherever Hob arranges him.

“You’ve done this before,” Hob accuses. He’s kneeling above the other man, shooting straight down, and his stranger has one arm thrown over his face so only one eye is visible. “Posed, I mean. You know how to move for a camera.”

“I have,” the stranger admits. “Mostly for life drawing classes, though I imagine the principle is more or less the same.”

“Incredible. Are you an artist, then?”

“I suppose.”

Hob tugs the sheet a little lower, so that it’s just barely covering the stranger’s prick, which has plumped up a little – whether from the attention of Hob himself or of the camera, he’s not sure, but it’s one of the sexiest things Hob’s ever seen. The neat patch of dark hair blending into the dark sheet. The gentle swell beneath it. His mouth waters.

“You suppose?”

“I find it difficult to call myself an artist. To claim that title. But I make art. If that is the same thing.”

“Hmm. I reckon so.”

Hob pulls the sheet another fraction of an inch lower. He can feel himself getting distracted. The itch he’d felt to photograph the beautiful stranger, now mostly satisfied, has transformed into an altogether different kind of impulse. He takes one more shot, barely paying attention to the framing. Catches himself licking his lips.

“Hob.”

“Yeah?”

“Put the camera down.”

He hastens to obey.

He’d pulled his boxers back on at some point last night, but they do little to hide his arousal as he slides under the sheets and slots himself in behind his stranger, rubbing his nose in the riotous bedhead and kissing his neck as the man tilts his head to one side to give him better access.

“I like how you say my name,” Hob murmurs. He grinds against his stranger’s narrow arse and reaches around to make a loose fist around his hardening cock. “You’re really not going to tell me yours, are you?”

“Mine?”

“Your name.”

“I –” The man’s breath hitches as Hob tightens his grip, stroking slowly up and down. “I haven’t – decided yet.”

“Well,” Hob says against the smooth skin between his ear and his shoulder. “Let me know what you decide.”

They writhe together under the sheets for a few minutes, until they’re both fully hard, until Hob’s chest is slightly tacky with sweat where it’s rubbing against the stranger’s sharp shoulder blades. He’s grunting, underwear pulled down, making quick little thrusts in the crease of the other man’s thigh, sticky and warm and so good.

“Fuck me again,” his stranger says. “Please.”

“Don’t be a madman,” Hob chides. “You’ll be so sore.”

But he doesn’t say no. And he slides a finger between the man’s arse cheeks and pets over his hole, still a little loose from the night before.

The stranger twists his neck around to look Hob in the eye. “I don’t care. I want you,” he says. “I want to feel it.”

And Hob tries his best to be a good person, he really does, but when confronted with this bald-faced desire he is only, after all, a man. So he mumbles Fuck, okay, yeah, okay against his stranger’s shoulder, and tears himself away to retrieve the lube and a condom. He fingers him open, as slowly and as carefully as he can bring himself to do it, and rolls the condom on, and he fucks him again. Face to face, this time; one knee hooked over his elbow, and long arms clinging to him like a drowning man, and panting, open-mouthed kisses that are as much simply breathing the other’s breath as they are real kisses.

The stranger comes first, his beautiful face screwed up in ecstasy, and Hob follows him over the edge mere seconds later.

The other man falls back into a doze almost immediately, drifting off as soon as Hob has disposed of the condom and wiped them down with a handful of tissues, but Hob is buzzing with too much energy to lie back down. He cleans himself up, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth quickly, before dressing quietly and creeping down to the motel lobby to look for breakfast.

There’s a coffee machine, a few muffins – prepackaged, not fresh – and a rather sad fruit bowl with some mealy-looking apples. He assembles what he can and shoves some creamers and sugar packets in his jacket pocket. He asks the bored teenager at the front desk (a different one than the night before, although bearing a distinct family resemblance) about the weather report, and learns that although it’s supposed to stay cold, no more precipitation is in the forecast. Then he goes back to the room.

His stranger stirs again at the rush of cold air when Hob lets himself back into the room.

“I come bearing provisions,” he says, setting the coffees on the bedside table and dropping the rest of his meager bounty in the man’s lap.

“Foraging for our survival?” he asks dryly.

“Something like that. It’s slim pickings out there, I’m afraid. But hey –” he picks up a muffin and wiggles it “– chocolate chip!”

His stranger snorts and mutters something about being spoiled.

Hob is very careful not to say anything about how he’d like to spoil this man very much, actually, for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond that, because Hob has so longed for someone to care for, and because this man so obviously needs it. Hob eats his muffin, and very carefully does not say anything reckless or emotional.

They finish their motel snacks, and drink their coffees (Hob’s with a little creamer and one sugar; the stranger’s with no cream and an absurd amount of sugar). And eventually Hob broaches the subject that’s obviously hovering between them.

“So,” he says. “What do you want to do now? I’m still up to give you a ride to your cabin, if that’s what you want. The roads are supposed to be cleared by now.”

“I suppose I should,” the stranger says, fiddling with his styrofoam cup, not meeting Hob’s eyes. “I did tell my sibling that I would return in the morning.”

“Okay.” Hob clears his throat. “Alright then. Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes them another hour to leave the room. Hob showers, and then his stranger decides he needs to rinse off as well, and then there’s a frustrating search for car keys that turn out to have been kicked or dropped halfway under a bedside table at some point the night before.

Then the stranger stops Hob in the doorway with a hand on his elbow and kisses him, long and slow and wordless, before they step out into the brilliant snowy sparkle of the late morning.

The drive is very quiet. The stranger directs Hob out of town and along a rather steep road that winds up the thickly forested mountainside. It’s certainly not a road that Hob would have wanted to drive in last night’s weather, and even with clear skies and plowed roads he takes it slow, acutely aware of the grip of the rental car’s tires on the snowy highway.

Only one time does the stranger wince and shift uncomfortably when Hob cannot avoid a bump in the road. Hob smiles, and swallows his smile, and deliberately wrenches his mind away from the vivid memories of just why his stranger might be wincing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

His stranger is silent, except for when he briefly tells Hob when and where to turn. The farther they drive up the mountain, the stiffer he becomes, until he’s gripping the seat with white knuckles and his mouth is one firm line.

Hob doesn’t think it’s the wintry roads that are making him so tense.

They pull over, eventually, at the base of a long driveway. Through the trees Hob can see a large house – not really a cabin by any stretch of the imagination, but built of logs, and with a wisp of woodsmoke floating up from a picturesque brick chimney. They both gaze up at it through the trees. Hob puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.

“Well, here we are,” he says.

“Indeed,” his stranger says, and his voice sounds tense and slightly strangled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Hob waits for him to open the door and walk away.

The man does not move.

A minute stretches by, and another, and another, and still his stranger has not opened the car door.

Hob dares to hope.

“Come with me,” he says suddenly.

His stranger looks up, startled.

“I mean it. Come with me. Go get your stuff and we’ll just. Drive away. Go down the coast, find somewhere it’s actually warm. Or don’t even get your stuff,” he adds hurriedly, aware that his voice is sounding increasingly unhinged. “Say the word and I’ll just turn the car around. We’ll go. Anywhere you want, just… come with me.”

The man looks at Hob with an unreadable expression for a long moment. “You know nothing about me,” he says finally.

“I know I like you. A lot,” Hob says. “I know last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, maybe one of the best nights of my whole life. I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. So, I’m asking. Come with me.”

“I haven’t even told you my name,” says his stranger. “I could be a serial killer.”

“You could be, yeah. But I don’t think you are. I think… I think you just want someone to want you.” Hob reaches across the gear shift and briefly touches his stranger on the cheek. The man’s eyes flutter closed and Hob doesn’t think he’s imagining the way he leans ever-so-slightly into the gentle touch before he looks down. “I want you.”

There’s another long silence, punctuated only by an occasional call from the chickadees flitting through the trees.

“My name is Morpheus,” he says to his hands, clenched in his lap. “But some people call me Dream. People – people close to me. Call me Dream.”

Hob smiles. “Can I call you Dream, then?”

Dream nods. “Let’s go,” he says. Hob’s smile widens.

“Want to get anything from inside?” he asks.

“No. I think not,” Dream says. All of a sudden it’s like the tight strings of his body are loosened: he leans back in his seat, crosses his ankles, looking relaxed for the first time since they’d gotten out of bed. He lolls his head to one side and peeks at Hob and his face looks fey and happy in the afternoon light. “I believe I have everything I need for now.”

Happiness wells up in Hob’s chest, a rushing feeling like a mountain spring swollen by melting snow. He puts the car in gear and reaches over to take Dream’s hand.

“Right then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

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[fcble]

FREEZE FRAME — A series of timestamps taking place over the first leg of Fable’s second world tour.

SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 2:49 PM KST — THE FABLE GROUP CHAT (SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA)

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 17, 10:02 AM PDT — JOSHUA TREE NATIONAL PARK (JOSHUA TREE, CALIFORNIA)

“This is it?” Mingeun asks.

Byeonghwi is inclined to agree with him. They’ve been on the road for almost three hours, having left the comfort of their Los Angeles hotel early in the morning. If not for the sudden loss of buildings in the little town they passed through fifteen minutes ago, he’d swear they weren’t moving. 

“Isn’t it fun?” Andrew asks from the driver’s seat. 

Byeonghwi, stuck in the middle seat of the back row, leans over Haksu to look out the window. As far as he can tell, they came here to look at rocks, sand, some scraggly plants, some more rocks, and surprisingly, a lot of other people and cars. 

“It’s the great American outdoors,” Andrew continues, rolling down all four windows of their rental car. Haksu immediately rolls his back up. 

“It’s just rocks,” Mingeun says, raising his voice over the wind whipping through the windows. 

“And sand,” Byeonghwi adds.

In the passenger seat, Intak reaches toward the center console and skips the next song.

“I like that song,” Haksu complains.

“That’s the third ballad in a row,” Intak says. “It’s putting me to sleep.”

Mingeun fiddles with a small video camera. Byeonghwi wouldn’t put it past him to “accidentally” drop it out of the window. He wishes they could have a vacation without the cameras. He could go anywhere on his own, or with normal people who aren't celebrities, but his closest friends are the rest of Fable. The smallest saving grace is that this time, there's no camera crew. It's just the five of them—Andrew had insisted on driving and told Daewoong in no uncertain terms that he wasn't allowed to come and besides, they wouldn't all fit in the car—and Mingeun’s camera and Haksu's playlist and the great American outdoors.

“Let’s play a game,” Mingeun says, setting up the camera to point to the rather monotonous landscape. “I spy something beige.”

“Is it that rock?” Haksu asks, pointing out the window.

“It was that one that we just passed.” Mingeun points vaguely to the back of the car.

“This is fun,” Andrew repeats, though it seems like it's only fun to him. 

Byeonghwi starts to feel a little bad for him. When he heard they had an extra day of vacation in LA, he thought they might go to Disneyland. He’s always wanted to go to Disneyland. Then Daewoong and Andrew disappeared somewhere last night after their concert, and returned with a car. Byeonghwi woke up to Andrew’s alarm and a Toyota key fob on the nightstand.

“I think it’s fun,” he ventures. It isn’t the full truth, but it isn’t a lie either. It’s fun to spend time with the people he likes, even if they’re stuck in a car all day, because they can’t risk getting lost in the desert one stop into their world tour.

“Thanks, Hwi.” In the rearview mirror, Andrew’s expression is inscrutable behind his sunglasses. 

Intak skips the next two songs on Haksu’s playlist.

Haksu crosses his arms, elbow poking uncomfortably into Byeonghwi’s side. “I don’t understand why we’re listening to my music if you’re just going to skip every song.”

“Intak-hyung can’t have the aux. He’ll make us listen to SoundCloud rap,” Mingeun complains.

“Which is better than lofi beats to chill and fall asleep to,” Intak says.

Byeonghwi always finds it amusing that a group of singers can’t come to a consensus on music to listen to.

Andrew interrupts over both of them, launching into what Byeonghwi takes to be his best argument-defusing method of too many facts. “Did you know this park is around our ages? It was established in 1994.” He sounds like he memorized that from somewhere. “The national park system as a whole owes much of its success to President Teddy Roosevelt. He died for our sins. That’s why we put him on Mount Rushmore.”

“That was Jesus,” Haksu mutters.

But Byeonghwi sees the flash of Andrew’s grin in the mirror, and he knows he said that on purpose. His phone vibrates in his lap, and Byeonghwi unlocks it to see a new group chat consisting of himself, Mingeun, and Haksu. There’s only one message from Mingeun, which reads, if i act like this in canada, push me into the waterfall.

Got it 🫡, Haksu sends back, and Byeonghwi starts to think that maybe looking at a bunch of rocks might be better than Disneyland.

FRIDAY, APRIL 19, 8:29 AM CDT — CIVIL GOAT (AUSTIN, TEXAS)

Andrew probably doesn’t have to be working all the time. Technically, he’s working because Fable is on tour, but in the early hours of the morning, he has no obligations other than the ones he sets himself. He doesn't have to wake up early in the morning and drag Daewoong out to a coffee shop with him so he can do real work. He does it anyway.

His current project isn't anything related to Fable, but a simple review and some feedback for the debut mini album of Zenith Entertainment’s next idol group. Their main songwriter is a fresh-faced, barely twenty-year-old Korean American who asked Andrew for a Gmail address so he could share his music over Google Drive. Andrew felt practically geriatric next to him, like he should be checking into a retirement home soon. Apparently kids these days don't burn demo CDs, which works out for Andrew, because his laptop doesn't have a CD player.

He's just getting into the rhythm of his review of the proposed title track when his thoughts are interrupted by a girl standing much too close to his table, asking, “Can I have your autograph?”

He registers the question first, her WHEN TIGERS USED TO SMOKE: THE FIRST WORLD TOUR sweatshirt next, and her UT Austin lanyard third. A fan, then. “Of course.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Daewoong start to stand across the room. Andrew waves him back down into his chair.

She drops her bag into the seat across from him and rips a page out of a notebook.

Andrew closes his laptop and picks up her proffered gel pen. “What's your name?”

“Hanna. H-A-N-N-A.”

He signs a piece of college-ruled folder paper, scrawling out a simple “thank you for supporting Fable” message alongside his dusty stage name, Yejun, in messy cursive. 

Hanna beams anyway, tucking it away into a folder. “I'll frame it.” It doesn't sound like she's joking.

She busies herself with tucking away her new autograph, but she seems to be lingering, as if she's indecisive about something.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Andrew says, even though he knows he shouldn't. 

“You don't have to,” Hanna says quickly. “I don't want to bother you. I have to go to class.”

“You aren't bothering me.” Andrew lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell my manager. I'll put it on the company card.”

She smiles at that, and lets Andrew accompany her to the counter.

Andrew's phone buzzes as they wait. He picks it up long enough to read over half a warning message from Daewoong, before dismissing the notification. If Daewoong genuinely means it, he can walk over and demand Andrew leave. Until then, Andrew plans on ignoring him. It's ridiculous that he needs supervision.

Hanna clutches her latte with both hands. It doesn’t look like she’s going to drink it—probably because Andrew bought it for her.

“Thank you so much for the drink,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “I know you probably hear this a lot and it definitely sounds cheesy but I just wanted to tell you that your music has really inspired me. I'm learning how to play the piri because of you. It makes me feel like less of a fraud.”

That’s a feeling Andrew knows all too well. He wishes he wasn’t so intimately acquainted with it. He thinks he should have gotten over it by now, but he hasn’t. He imagines it’ll plague him for his entire life. But none of that is anything he can say in front of a fan, because he’s the idol, and he’s supposed to have his shit together. 

“I’m glad,” he says instead. Every follow-up line he can think of feels hollow and forced, like he memorized it from the playbook of Shit Idols Are Supposed to Say, which he did. “I'm glad I could be someone worth looking up to.” And someone I never thought I needed or wanted when I was younger, Andrew adds silently to himself.

The starstruck expression on Hanna’s face has yet to waver. “I'm really excited for your concert tonight.”

“I'll see you there,” he says, cheesy as it is, because he did read the playbook of Shit Idols Are Supposed to Say. Haksu would be proud.

He watches her pick up her backpack again, putting her drink down for the shortest few seconds. The coffee shop's door swings shut behind her.

And Andrew feels a little better, because it means he’s doing something right. He’s done some good in the world. Then Daewoong strides over to his table, and says, in what might be the coldest tone he’s ever heard, “We're leaving.”

Andrew is getting better at picking his battles, so he packs up his laptop without a complaint. Taein’s new group will have to wait.

MONDAY, APRIL 21, 1:23 AM EDT — THE FABLE GROUP CHAT (NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK)

MONDAY, APRIL 22, 12:49 PM EDT — HORSESHOE FALLS (NIAGARA FALLS, ONTARIO)

So far, Mingeun thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at keeping his cool. It’s easy, because he doesn’t have the same boundless enthusiasm for Canada that Andrew has for America. It looks like he won’t need Haksu to push him over the edge after all. It’d be difficult, anyway, because the guard rail is almost as tall as him, and he’d hit the rocks bordering the falls before the water.

He watches Andrew flip through a glossy pamphlet, oversized sunglasses covering most of his face. Mingeun can sense the way he’s going to share something he just learned, so he excuses himself, leaving Intak to suffer alone. He joins Byeonghwi and Haksu at the rail instead. Byeonghwi is taking everything in with the same wide-eyed innocence he had in every previous city. Haksu is trying to take a selfie without all the crowds in the background. He keeps repositioning himself, holding his phone up, posing, and then frowning at his screen. Mingeun watches him struggle a few times before he intervenes.

“Give me that, hyung,” he says, holding his hand out for Haksu’s phone.

Haksu gives it up without complaint. “You have to get my good side.”

Mingeun rolls his eyes. “Every side is your good side.”

“I know. I was making sure you knew it too.”

Mingeun stands back and makes sure part of his finger is over the camera lens in a few of the pictures. It won’t make Haksu any less cocky or more humble, but it amuses Mingeun. He hands the phone back to Haksu, watching closely for his reaction.

“For an idol, you’re really bad at taking pictures,” Haksu says. “What’s this?”

Mingeun peers over his shoulder at a picture of shapeless pink blob with the barest hint of the waterfall in the background. “You,” he says, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

“That’s not what I look like!” Haksu squawks.

Mingeun takes a step back and pretends to consider him. “I don’t know. I see a resemblance. What do you think, Hwi?” He tugs at Byeonghwi’s shoulder and shoots him one of his characteristic death glares with the silent message to play along. Byeonghwi can be a bit of a killjoy sometimes, and that's not what Mingeun wants right now.

To his relief, Byeonghwi seems to get it. He shades Haksu's phone screen with his hand, looking intently at the picture. “I think Mingeun-hyung is right.”

Haksu pouts, sticking out his bottom lip so far it almost looks like he might cry. “You're both terrible.”

“I know,” Mingeun says, content with his antics. Haksu makes a good victim because he always bounces back. In a few hours, he'll recover perfectly fine and tweet the good pictures of himself. Mingeun doesn't doubt it.

THURSDAY, APRIL 25, 10:33 PM BST — HILTON LONDON BANKSIDE (LONDON, ENGLAND)

“We have a special guest with us tonight,” Mingeun says. He flips his phone around so that its screen is visible to their live broadcast camera. The remnants of their room service dinner peek into the bottom of the frame, phone and plates resting on the same hotel room desk, but Mingeun either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Byeonghwi pushes his plate out of view.

“Hello, everyone.” On screen, Eunsu waves with both hands. He’s silhouetted by what appears to be his bed, plain blue covers draping almost to the floor. Byeonghwi reaches over Mingeun and increases the phone’s volume. “It’s been a long time.”

Eunsu always says the same thing every time he’s in a setting like this. This time around, Byeonghwi has to admit it’s accurate. He can’t remember the last time they’ve done anything like this. Eunsu commenting on Mingeun’s Instagram posts doesn’t count. 

“If you don’t know me,” Eunsu says, “I used to be Fable's lead rapper. Now I'm a normal citizen and Mingeun's best friend.”

Byeonghwi doesn't think there are any other idol groups with such a public relationship with their former members. But Eunsu left on good terms, and he never wanted to leave, so Byeonghwi thinks they're different.

“What’s the topic for your live?” Eunsu asks.

Mingeun shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t pick one. You can decide.”

“One butt or two butts,” Eunsu suggests, but Mingeun dismisses him almost immediately.

“Old news. What about whether or not you should be able to sing if you want to be an idol?”

Byeonghwi shoots Mingeun a wide-eyed, worried glance. He resists the urge to turn around and check how Daewoong, sprawled out on a mountain of pillows on one of the king-sized beds, out of sight but within earshot, is reacting to Mingeun's proposal. It's more topical, sure, but he doesn't want to cause controversy.

“I’m joking,” Mingeun says. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking. “There isn’t anything to discuss.”

“Five Mingeuns or five-year-old Mingeun,” Eunsu proposes, changing the subject with the speed and alacrity of someone well-accustomed to Mingeun.

That’s an old debate too, but this time, Mingeun has a different complaint. “Why is it always me?”

“Haksu-hyung,” Byeonghwi suggests, and watches Mingeun’s expression light up.

“Let’s all answer at the same time,” Mingeun says. “One, two, three.”

“Five-year-old Haksu-hyung,” Byeonghwi says at the exact same time as Mingeun. Eunsu follows with the same answer a second later, delayed by the slight lag of FaceTime.

Byeonghwi could have predicted that. Five Haksus would be unbearable, and everyone else present knows that too.

“That’s what I thought,” Eunsu says, sounding almost sad. “Is there anyone you would pick five of? Present company, for me.”

“Andrew-hyung,” Byeonghwi answers next.

Of course Mingeun has to disagree with that too. “Five-year-old Andrew would have too much to say.”

“And five of him wouldn’t?” Eunsu asks.

“I wouldn’t mind five of Jaeseop-hyung. Or Intak-hyung,” Mingeun continues like Eunsu didn’t say anything.

“You have to pick five of Intak-hyung,” Byeonghwi argues. “We’d lose him if he was five. He’d be too quiet and go missing.”

“That’s better,” Eunsu says, interrupting the end of Byeonghwi’s explanation. “He’s the opposite of Andrew-hyung. All we have to do is give him an iPad. He won’t go anywhere.”

Despite the slight delay in Eunsu’s responses, it almost feels like he’s in the room with them. Byeonghwi lets Mingeun and Eunsu’s careful dissection of five vs five year olds for every Fable member fade into the background. He’s always been something of a third wheel next to the two of them. The years that have passed since Eunsu’s departure dissolve in public interactions like this. It’s like he’s still one of them, and it makes it impossible for any of them to move on. 

And at times like this, when Byeonghwi is sitting in a hotel room of a foreign country, he feels almost guilty. It was Eunsu’s dream to be an idol to escape his small hometown and see the world. Why is he the one here instead, achieving a dream that was never his at all?

Mingeun kicks Byeonghwi’s leg under the desk. “You’re spacing out. Thinking about the worst five-year-old Haksu scenarios?”

“Yeah. They’re pretty bad,” Byeonghwi says. This isn’t his dream, but it is his job, so he plasters a smile on and continues Mingeun’s conversation.

SATURDAY, APRIL 27, 10:14 AM BST / 11:14 AM CEST — AIR FRANCE FLIGHT 1381 (SOMEWHERE OVER THE ENGLISH CHANNEL)

The roar of the jet engines drowns out any other noise, and that gives Haksu the confidence to take out a small camera. That, and he’s bored. The flight is only a little over an hour, but they’ve been on so many planes over the past two weeks that he’s exhausted everything he downloaded from Netflix and the majority of the same handful of in-flight entertainment options available on every flight.

“Mingeun-ah,” he says softly, poking Mingeun in the shoulder. “Where are we?”

“What?” Mingeun cracks one eye open, Haksu having interrupted his dozing off in his seat. Then he notices the camera. “Turn that shit off, hyung. McDonald's. Nike. Coca-Cola. Samsung.”

Haksu pouts and lowers the camera. “You’re no fun.”

Mingeun yawns and rubs his eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it. Ask your question again.”

Haksu doesn't really trust Mingeun not to mess it up again, so he does the exposition himself. He turns the camera on himself, so the two of them are in frame together. “We're going to France!” he stage-whispers. “It’s my first time, and I'm looking forward to it a lot.”

Then he turns in his seat and faces Mingeun. “Say something in French.”

He watches through the camera’s preview as Mingeun says, “Croissant. Cafeteria. Montreal.”

Haksu sighs, still disappointed. “I'll ask Andrew-hyung instead.”

The click of his seat belt unbuckling somehow cuts through the road of the engines. He kneels in his seat, pointing the camera over the back of his seat to where Andrew and Intak are locked in an intense game of air hockey on Intak's iPad. 

“Have you heard of Paris syndrome?” Andrew asks without looking up. The puck disappears into the virtual goal on Intak’s side.

Haksu stops the recording again. He trusts their video editors to somehow spin Mingeun's words, but not whatever Andrew is presenting him with. “I don’t have any kind of syndrome.”

Intak takes his iPad back. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

Haksu can’t tell if his comment is meant to be demeaning, or if it’s just Intak being Intak. He ignores it and moves on, starting to feel slightly ridiculous as he turns the camera on again. “Have you been to France before?” he asks, deciding he doesn’t want to hear whatever French drivel Andrew will provide him with if prompted. He knows the answer to this question too, but the camera doesn’t.

“Once, when I was in college,” comes Andrew’s predictable response.

“Did you like it? Are you looking forward to performing there?” Haksu prompts. He’s used to conversations with Intak being akin to pulling teeth. Having the same experience with Andrew was unexpected.

“Of course,” he answers through gritted teeth. It comes with the silent assurance that he wouldn’t dream of saying anything else. “I thought you were bothering Mingeun.”

Haksu sighs, resting his chin on the top of his seat. “Mingeun’s boring.”

Mingeun jabs him in the side. “Am not.”

Haksu drops back into his seat, any thought of recording anything replaced with exacting his revenge on Mingeun. 

Daewoong’s icy baritone interrupts his thoughts. “You’re behaving like children. Sit down.” He stands in the aisle, looming over Haksu’s seat. “Camera, Haksu.”

He hands it over without complaint, leaning away from Daewoong and onto Mingeun, who pushes him off only half-heartedly. For once, it seems like Mingeun is actively trying not to cause problems.

Daewoong returns to his seat and Haksu rights himself in his.

“Your fault,” Mingeun whispers.

“Yours, actually,” Haksu whispers back, unwilling to take the blame for something he was provoked into doing. 

Mingeun shrugs. “Whatever.” Then he goes back to listening to his music, leaving Haksu to stew alone in silence.

MONDAY, APRIL 29, 3:49 PM KST — THE FABLE GROUP CHAT (SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA)

[ja-lin]

Lovestruck in-game vs real life -- Los Angeles (Gangster's in Love, My Siren Crush backgrounds, but also used in other series), all photos taken by me w/ my phone

Los Angeles skyline (night) -- Photo taken from Griffith observatory. The observatory closes at 10PM, your car will be locked-in/cited if you park at the top and don't leave by 10PM. Suggestion is to park at Greek Theater and walk up to the observatory, it's a 15-20min walk. 2800 E Observatory Rd, Los Angeles, CA 90027 Griffith observatory (night) -- While the observatory is closed on Mondays, this is the best time to visit with less people there. You can still walk around the grounds and take photos. The parks, grounds close at 10PM. 2800 E Observatory Rd, Los Angeles, CA 90027 Rodeo Dr -- In Beverley Hills there's a street with all high end shopping and eateries. Worth a walk through even if you don't buy anything. 9480 Dayton Way, Beverly Hills, CA 90210 Santa Monica Pier -- During weekdays you can drive up to the boardwalk and park there. During weekends it gets pretty crowded and you'd have to park at the public garages nearby in downtown. The Ferris wheel is worth a ride during the day to get a high view of the entire beach. Surfing classes, rentals are available. 200 Santa Monica Pier, Santa Monica, CA 90401 Santa Monica beaches -- I went on a weekday and there were still a lot of people, but the beaches are nice especially at sunset. I didn't get a chance this time, but I heard beaches at Malibu are also very nice. Los Angeles skyline (day) -- There's free parking about 1 mile down from the observatory and a dirt hiking trail (it's kinda steep) that leads up to the observatory. The short hiking trail is a good spot to get a view of the skyline in the daytime. 2800 E Observatory Rd, Los Angeles, CA 90027

[danime25]

In The Snow

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Ken got so excited by the prospect of seeing snow. Driver shattered his hopes, but tried to find a way to make it up to his boyfriend

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Content/Tags: Fluff

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

“Wake up.” Ken joustled the nearly comatose man in his bed. His boyfriend roused from his sleep and looked up at Ken with a cocked eyebrow

“What?” Driver asked the other man. 

“It’s supposed to snow today.” Ken smiled

“It’s Los Angeles.”

“No, but the weather said it’ll snow. Here.” Ken pulled Driver out of bed and showed him the TV. Sure enough, it said that it would snow. In the Midwest. Driver sighed softly,

“Ken, we’re hours… days away from where there’d be snow.” He explained

“But it looks so close on TV.” Ken sighed, “I’ve never seen snow before, and when I was watching that one scary Christmas movie the other day… they had snow.”

“Scary Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Ken mimicked a scary face, “with the ‘ho ho ho’ thing?”

“Oh. A Christmas Story.”

“What story?”

“The name of the movie.” Driver tucked his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants

“Oh.” Ken nodded

“I’ll make coffee.” Driver said a moment later and went into the kitchen. Ken sat on the couch and leaned his head against the arm of it. Driver could tell Ken was slightly upset. Was it really such a big deal to Ken to see snow? Well he could take the two of them out to Lake Tahoe. But he didn’t really have that much money to rent out a cabin and the gas to get there. Colorado? Too busy. He sighed again as he brought two cups over to Ken. He sat beside him and ran his calloused fingers through Ken’s fluffy hair.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” Ken looked up at him

“The snow.” Driver shrugged

“Oh.” Ken nodded, “I wish there was a place where we could experience winter.”

“Wait.” Driver got up from the couch and flipped through his laptop. When he found what he was looking for he threw his jacket on, and threw Ken’s jacket at him. Ken quickly got up from the couch and put the piece of clothing on quickly. Driver ran out to start the car and Ken followed after him. He managed to get the seat belt in just barely before Driver put the car into reverse and they went off to wherever it was that Driver was taking them. Ken had only driven with Driver once before, and it was such a smooth ride. He wondered a little bit about why he drove with such… passion to wherever it was that they were going. After saying ‘Oh Mattel’ more than once on the drive, the couple arrived safely.

“I love it.” Ken said with a smile, “Where are we?”

“Let’s go inside.” Driver replied, turning the engine off and getting out of the car. Ken followed him and as they walked in Ken felt cold. Not cool, not chilly. Cold. He shivered a little bit and Driver took off his jacket, placing it on Ken’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” Ken asked

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Ken looked over at a giant desk that said ‘Rentals’ and tilted his head. Driver went over there and came back with two pairs of skates. Ken looked at them for a second before watching Driver as he slipped his shoes off and put the skates on. Ken tried pushing off the floor and moving like he was on roller skates, but fell face first.

“You have to… be on ice.” Driver sighed and did his best to help Ken back up onto his feet. He stomped across the floor, with Ken a couple steps behind him. They made it onto the ice and Driver managed to get a good glide in before looking behind him. He stayed in the blue lane and watched as Ken stepped on the ice. Ken started slipping again and Driver did the stupidest thing he could do at that time and did a whole lap around the rink before stopping behind Ken. “Do what you did before… in the locker room.”

“What?”

“Like you’re on roller skates, just push off,” Driver said as he moved away from Ken while saying the words ‘push off’. Ken pushed off again but kept his legs straight. He tried to keep them in but his feet seemed to move against him. Then there he was, down on a full split on the ice. Thankfully it was a gradual slide rather than a fall on his ass. Driver tucked his hands in his pockets and made a loop around Ken. Ken sat on the ice as kids moved around him, giving him a look of ‘get out of my way’. He was amazed with the way that Driver slid across the ice with such grace. He made it look effortless. Almost like how Barbie made roller skating look. After seeing Ken on his butt, Driver went over to help him, using the wall to get him onto his feet. Driver took Ken’s hands and while watching his back pulled Ken along to get him used to the feeling of moving across the ice. Ken watched as he moved forward and Driver encouraged him to push with his feet. He let go of Ken for a moment and Ken made it a couple of feet by himself. He seemed more content either leaning up against the wall or sitting on the side of the track. Before he totally got off the ice, Driver stopped next to him at an angle where the ice collected and hit Ken’s feet. Driver took the pile of ice that laid on the ground and put it into his hand.

“What are you doing…?” Ken asked, only for Driver to carefully sprinkle the fragments over Ken’s head. Ken looked up at it with a smile and let it hit his face.

“It’s like it’s snowing.” Driver replied. When he was done sprinkling Ken, Ken pulled him into a quick kiss. Driver returned the kiss with a careful peck and looked at his partner. Ken smiled back at him with a blank expression. Driver took his hand and let him skate by his side. Ken makes it one lap around the ice rink and decides to call it for the day. Driver promises him he’ll only be a couple more minutes, and Ken heads to the locker room. Sure enough, Driver comes in less than 10 minutes later with sweat collected at his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Ken asked

“Yeah, just wanted to see how many times I could make it around the rink in 5 minutes.”

“Wow.” Ken whistled a little bit

“Let’s go home.” Driver nodded

“Okay… and thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“For finding a way to let me see snow.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Love you.” Ken said with a smile. Driver gave Ken a quick kiss on the cheek and wrapped his arms around the other man as they walked out of the rink.

[kemetic-dreams]

Robin Hughes Harris (August 30, 1953 – March 18, 1990) was an American comedian and actor, known for his recurring comic sketch about "Bé-bé's Kids". He was posthumously nominated for the Independent Spirit Award for Best Supporting Male for his performance in film House Party.

Robin Harris was born in Chicago, Illinois. In 1961, the family moved to Los Angeles, where he attended Manual Arts High School. Harris then attended Ottawa University in Kansas. According to The Washington Post, "...in the funeral program was a picture of him as a lean high school track star. He earned an athletic scholarship to Ottawa University in Kansas, and he never gave up playing basketball."

During this time, he began to hone his craft of comedy. He worked for Hughes Aircraft, a rental car company, and Security Pacific Bank to pay his bills. In 1980, he debuted at Los Angeles' Comedy Store.

During the mid-1980s, Harris worked as the master of ceremonies at the Comedy Act Theater. His "old school" brand of humor began to gain him a mainstream following. Harris made his acting debut playing a bartender in I'm Gonna Git You Sucka (1988). Harris also had roles in 1989's Do the Right Thing and Harlem Nights. Harris played the father of Kid in House Party (1990). He followed up later that year with a small role as a jazz club MC in Mo' Better Blues.

In Harris' "Bé-bé's Kids" routines, Harris' girlfriend Jamika would insist that he take her son and her friend Bé-bé's three children with them on a date, as she continually agreed to babysit them. The children would regularly make a fool out of and/or annoy Harris. "We Bé-bé's kids", they would proclaim, "we don't die...we multiply."

The Hudlin Brothers had intended to make a feature film based upon the "Bé-bé's Kids" sketches, but Harris died while the film was in pre-production. Bébé's Kids instead became an animated feature. It was directed by Bruce W. Smith and featured the voices of Faizon Love (as Harris), Vanessa Bell Calloway, Marques Houston, Nell Carter, Jonell Green, Rich Little, and Tone Lōc.

In the early hours of March 18, 1990, Harris died in his sleep of a heart attack in the hotel room of his hometown Chicago's Four Season Hotel after performing for a sold out crowd at the Regal Theater, at the age of 36. At the time of Harris's death, his wife was pregnant with their son, Robin Harris, Jr., who was born six months later, in September 1990.

In 2006, a posthumous DVD, titled We Don't Die, We Multiply: The Robin Harris Story (2006), was released. The film features never-before seen performances by Harris and accolades from such contemporaries as Martin Lawrence, Bernie Mac, Cedric the Entertainer, D. L. Hughley, Robert Townsend, and Joe Torry. The film features a rap performed and dedicated to Harris by his son, Robin, Jr.

[dominickeating-source]

Dominic Keating Interview (2002)

In her own words, Cyndee Rowe is "a freelance writer, who loves sci-fi, fantasy and a lot of really cool indie films. Okay, okay. I admit it I am a rental movie junkie! There, I said it. I have a very understanding husband, three high-spirited children, a greyhound, a siamese cat and two birds and we all live peacefully, in spite of the two year old yelling, 'mine! mine!' in our house in Texas."

She spoke to Dominic Keating via telephone about two weeks after the San Antonio convention.

Were you always interested in acting?

I was about ten I think, when the school I was at decided it was time to put on a play. My mum had been an actress, so I guess it was in my genes, my blood. But it was never talked about in our house. My father had rescued her from the devil's jaw, if you will. Well, as I say, this English mistress auditioned for this school play. I went along because all my mates did, and she went and gave me the lead part, and I loved it. I don't remember very much about it. I remember on the first night having my make-up applied behind the scenery, backstage and her telling me I had impossibly high cheekbones, and I liked that. And I guess my fate was sealed. I went to another school, a big school that had quite a theatrical tradition. Then I went to University in London at University College and they had a West End theater at their disposal, so I did a lot of plays there. But it was quite a while after I left university that I pinned my flag to the acting mast. I was a bit nervous, given the education that I'd been afforded. They weren't being paid to tell my parents that their son had to be on stage, if you know what I mean. I was meant to be a lawyer or an accountant or you know, go into advertising or something. So I battled that for quite a while before I found myself at the age of about 24, sort of washed up and unemployable in my mind. And I just thought, you know what? I really want to act. And that's how it started.

What made you decide to move to the U.S.?

Fame and fortune and uhm, I suppose I'd met a girl too. I had finished a show I had done at home for five years. I did a half hour sitcom at home called Desmond's. I came out here on a holiday, actually to Northern California. I had some friends up there and their brother was getting married. We had a bachelor party in Vegas, and I ended up in L.A. after that for about a month at Christmas. Christmas of 1993, and I met a girl of course. I had been hanging out at Dantana's on Santa Monica Blvd meeting quite famous people and they all thought that I was terribly funny and I thought I should give it a shot. So, I went home and I started, you know, opening my big mouth about moving to America, and I rented out my apartment and I sold a car that I had and God knows, eight years ago that was now in January.

What's the biggest difference between working in America and working in England?

(Laughing) You get paid a lot more money!

It seems that there is a lot more emphasis on the theater in England…

Only in as much as there is more theater and an actor starting out can get their licks and chops sharpened in pub theater. People do, at least they used to… I don't know what attendance is like now. But I think that people in London do tend to go to the theater probably just as much as they do in New York. Los Angeles is a film and television town, it's just that simple. You don't come here to do great theater, so don't imagine that you're going to. That's not to say that there isn't a live and thriving theater community here, 'cause there is. But I think, a lot of the time, you know ask any actor quite honestly and you know, they want to be doing film because you get paid and you get recognition. I've done some of my best ever work and three hundred people have seen it over a five week run. Now I'm doing Star Trek, I did an incredible episode two weeks ago and you know what? Millions and millions of people are going to see it. You know that's a buzz! So that's why I came here to L.A. I tell you what I really thought, I wanted to do movies. Still do. I've done a couple along the way here. At the time England just wasn't making any films. Merchant Ivory was the only group going through London with a movie about every eighteen months to two years. I nearly got cast in plum roles two times running. Both those guys that actually got the jobs in front of me became movie stars. I got impatient, I didn't want to wait around. I thought, you know what? I'm going to go to L.A. where they make movies and try my luck. I was 32. I was single. I had some money in the bank and I thought if I don't do it now, I'll never do it. And thank God I did.

Do you like working in the sci-fi genre?

I do, you know a lot of the stuff I've done here on television has been that genre. I've done Buffy, Poltergeist, The Immortal, G vs. E . . . You know if you throw a stone at sci-fi shows, you're going to hit one of them. It's not that I've made a conscious decision, it's just what you go up for. What you get until a certain point in time where you might start to try to pick and choose a bit more.

Do you have any favorite films or television shows?

I loved a lot of The Sopranos. And favorite films, what have I been watching? I often don't go to the movies a great deal. Not a lot of time at the moment. Amelie is wonderful, well worth seeing. I don't like, what I'm not a big, huge fan of is these big blockbuster, blow 'em up, shoot 'em up. I can't care less about things like that. I don't mind watching them on cable one Friday night when I just happen to be in and I want something to chew my eyes out. But I don't make a point of going to see films like that. I need some characters and I need to have some empathy with these characters in order for me to watch a movie and go, "that was really good."

Do you have a favorite actor or director that you would like to work with?

Well, you know, a lot of them . . . I guess that Soderburgh fella is pretty hot right now (laughter). One would always like to, you know, be in that gang, the number one gang. You know, given the break I reckon I got the talent if you know what I mean. It's just a lot of . . . it is luck, you know, they happen to be in the right place at the right time, any one of those actors. What I feel with this gig is that the door has opened up and I'm looking through it right now. It could just be that I become, you know that Star Trek is my professional life now for the next ten or eleven years if we do the movies. And that fortunately or unfortunately the business won't allow me to do anything else because I will be so associated with it. And if that's the way it is, that's fine you know? I would love to be uhm . . . to have the luck to be an actor that can span, . . . to have that notoriety, that he is just a good actor, and that we want him to do this as well as he can do it. It could just be that the business doesn't allow me to, I'm ready for that too.

Is there more pressure with being involved in a potentially long-term series?

Well, in as much as that . . . you know it's got two edges to the sword. One is, it's the only job in town that's virtually guaranteed you a seven year gig. That is incredible as an actor. You can actually make plans, you know (laughing) buy a dog, and have a life like normal people. Not worry whether or not your show is going to get picked up. Can I afford that car? Shall we go for that house? You know this is a fabulous opportunity to uhm, you know, I'm a cancerian. There is nothing I like better than security, let me tell you. It's incredible that I chose to be an actor in the first place! The other edge of the sword is that it stamps you completely with the insignia of only that and no one can really see past or beyond it. So, you have completely null and voided any opportunity to do anything else. You know I am at an age now and a place in my life where I don't care quite honestly. (Laughing) I've been through the rigors and outrageous fortunes of this game. I am very, very happy that this has come along right now.

Do you have any desire to direct?

I actually do. I've already started that wheel rolling. I'm doing a directors course at the L.A. film school here. I have to follow in the footsteps of Roxann Dawson and Robbie McNeill. I talk to LeVar Burton quite a lot on the phone. So, yeah I would love to add that little feather to my cap.

Do you think Lt. Reed will get to have a romantic interest?

It's feasible, I wouldn't rule it out, I don't know. They're not going to make him the first gay character on Star Trek like I read in the tv guide. (laughing) They said that I would be the first gay character on Star Trek. And I like… What!!?? I'm playing another poof, I can't believe it. Will this follow me around for the whole of my career? Not to say it disparagingly, but I have played a lot of gay characters cause I'm good at it I guess. But no, I don't think he is going to be that. And, seven years we've got to go and I would imagine they'll have us run the whole gamut.

If you could play any character from any Star Trek series who would it be and why?

Well, I'm not that familiar with all the incarnations but hmmm… I think I'd make a pretty good Data, Brent Spiner's character was a very interesting character and a wonderful acting challenge. I actually just met him the other day for the first time. I was on set on the movie that they're filming right now, Nemesis. Yeah, it's either that or Patrick Stewart's character, just cause it's a hell of a part and he's the captain and he plays it so well. He is a charming man, I met him for the first time too. I'd been making fun of him since I got this job. Just saying that as an English actor we all looked at him when he first came over to do Star Trek. Throwing our arms up in the air, oh why, oh why Patrick? You could be playing Mistress Quickly at Leatherhead right now! (laughing) So yeah, one of those two.I think for me, Enterprise seems a little closer to a more believable time.

Yeah, it definitely has a human element that you can accommodate. It's funny and it's more dramatic dare I say? There's more room for drama. And there is a lovely chemistry between all the characters and as actors we all get along so well. You know I've been in two shows, long running shows. Well, this I hope is going to be the second. When I was in Desmond's at home in England, right from the read through, from the first table reading there was a simpatico between all the actors that sat round that table. And sometimes the scripts weren't great. But you know? It didn't matter, because the chemistry between all of us as we rehearsed and as we shot came through on the TV screen. That is what really made that show run. People liked tuning in and it never felt, it wasn't, it never felt anything but easy to watch. And I think that Enterprise is going to be the same. Characters you feel comfortable watching, I hope this is going to be the same with us. And with Scott [Bakula] at the helm, he's comfortable, he's so comfy to be around. He's a great guy, he truly is, a top-notch geezer as we say in London. (laughing)

A lot of fans can be very detail oriented . . .

(laughing) The "Techie Trekkies" I've nicknamed them.

Has that caused you to research some of the technical aspects of the scripts?

Yes and no. I mean I'm learning, it's all pretty simple to be honest, once you . . . it's not, it isn't rocket science and it does make sense when you read the scripts. It truly makes sense what they are talking about. You don't have to be a complete physicist to understand the concepts that they are outlining. And as an actor, why wouldn't I want to know exactly what it is I'm saying? It lends more credulity to what I'm doing. It's not that I'm rushing off to buy Star Trek encyclopedias and bibles. But I'm surrounded by it on a daily basis, now at the production office and at Paramount, and even just talking with you guys. I'm learning all the time and it's not water off a duck's back, it is all being absorbed and integrated.

There are a lot of different types of people who attend the conventions . . .

Yeah, it crosses the gamut. When I saw my first pack of portly Klingons waiting at the stoplight to come across the street to the convention. I look out the window of the car and I go, "there are my peeps!" It truly is interesting, you get the mother of two young sons and then you get the nineteen year old babe who is just into sci-fi. It really is an extraordinary demographic.

In fact, I saw you at a convention in San Antonio . . .

Oh, you did. Isn't that a beautiful town? We had such fun there. You guys that come to those conventions. I have a quiet moment in the airport as I come away from them to get on the plane and go home. There is a great sense of thanks in my heart. You know without you guys, the people that come to the conventions and those fans that truly love the show. You know none of this would have been possible for me. I am eternally grateful, I really, really mean that.

I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, and I want to wish you the best of luck. This new series has definitely held my interest . . .

Yes, it's got something about it, doesn't it?

Source: www.dominickeating.com

[polijakefim]

Outside Magazine, November 2016 | Travis fimmel, Vikings actors, Happy play

Travis Fimmel’s Minimalist Broasis

Vikings star Travis Fimmel has exactly three possessions: his trailer, his pickup truck, and his horse

I’d been told to meet the Australian ­actor Travis Fimmel, best known for his role as Norse warrior Ragnar Lothbrok in the ­History channel’s Vikings series, at his ranch outside Los Angeles. Given the popularity of the show—four seasons, an Amazon Prime ­release, and season five in the works—I had assumed that Fimmel’s pad would be some secluded midcentury hideout with a well-stocked kitchen and a gym worthy of a broadsword slinger who’d also recently anchored a Warcraft film adaptation that made nearly half a billion dollars worldwide

But the address led to a dusty outdoor riding arena just off the highway, where Fimmel, barefoot in a pair of camo cargo shorts and a surf tee, greeted me from the back of his 15-year-old chestnut quarter horse, Wanker.

“I’m just getting him warmed up so he doesn’t buck you off,” says Fimmel, who is 37 and was raised on a dairy farm in Echuca, Australia. He grew up working in his family’s cherry orchards, camping and fishing with his two older brothers, and surfing behind dirt bikes in irrigation canals. He came to L.A. when he was 21, after being scouted by a modeling agency and dropping out of architecture school. Almost immediately, he was stopping traffic on billboards modeling Calvin Klein underwear

"Among a generation who’ve shunned material possessions, Fimmel has achieved an advanced state of stoic minimalism."

Still mounted, Fimmel led me in my rental car up to his broasis, which, it quickly became clear, was actually a dilapidated 18-foot beige and white Nomad travel trailer parked permanently in the shade of a pepper tree between a water tank and the tack shed. 

“Got it real cheap, over in Phelan,” says Fimmel. “Towing it back, the side panels were flapping, and the back door fell off.” The ranch belongs to longtime stunt coordinator Walter Scott. Fimmel showed up in 2010 looking for riding lessons ahead of a big-screen remake of the 1960s TV show Big Valley. Most of the work around his family’s farm was performed on ATVs, so he was a novice horseman.

“Just ask me about when I first met him,” says Scott. “He says he knew about horses—everything he learned right here, on that horse. Roping and everything. Him and another guy came. He never left.”

The film went down in flames after the director was convicted of committing tax-credit fraud on a previous project, but Fimmel stuck around the stable and now squats there when he’s not traveling. “Out here it’s just good people. No industry,” Fimmel explains. “Just the stunt boys.”

Among a generation who’ve shunned material possessions as barriers to life experience, Fimmel has achieved an advanced state of stoic minimalism. According to him, his only worldly possessions are Wanker, the Craigslist trailer (which now has air-­conditioning), and a red 1982 GMC stepside pickup with a ’73 bed (which does not). ­Before the trailer, he lived in an old Ford Econoline with a pop-up bed. 

“It got taken off me,” he says. “It wasn’t road worthy.” Unlike the cool kids who gussy up Sprinter vans and Westfalias, Fimmel only recently upgraded from a flip phone to an iPhone 4, does no social media, and rarely checks his e-mail. “I’m always getting texts asking why I’m not responding on Instagram or Facebook, and I’m like, ‘It’s not me. You’re writing to some stranger.’ ” 

Fimmel helped me into the saddle, and we headed out for a hack on a trail behind the property, him riding Scott’s horse Josey. It was hot, and Wanker wanted to stop in the shade. Fimmel’s ultimate goal is to save as much money as he can and end up back in Australia on a nice spread—“with three or four wives,” he jokes, though at the moment he says of the opposite sex, “They all hate me, although it’s not for lack of trying. When you do a lot of traveling, it’s hard.” 

He eats what he wants, works out only when he’s forced to, and does his drinking at the local VFW hall. But for a guy who regrets his modeling days and says he wasn’t looking to get into acting—“Still not looking to, mate”—he’s stripped away everything else. If he could, he’d spend three months studying for each of his parts. “You get sucked into it, trying to be good at it,” he says. “I wish you could make money and people never saw what you did. Then you could relax and not care about how bad you are.”

It’s the proper amount of self-hatred for an action hero who’s actually good at his craft—more Viggo Mortensen than Chris Hemsworth. He starts shooting a blockbuster bank-heist film, Finding Steve McQueen, in September, starring alongside Kate Bosworth and Forest Whitaker. 

Fimmel is extraordinarily soft-spoken—introverted, even—for a guy at risk of being typecast as a barbarian. At an interview with three of his Vikings castmates at Comic-Con in July, Fimmel managed to get through the entire Q&A saying exactly zero words. But he’s only now being tested in parts with more range, like his supporting role as a bearded-hipster pickle entrepreneur in the 2016 roman­tic comedy Maggie’s Plan and a loving, alcoholic father in an adaptation of the horse-racing novel Lean on Pete that was shot in Oregon and wrapped this summer. On that project, he ducked out for a few days to reel in his first steelhead with a friend at the mouth of the Chehalis River. 

It was nearly 100 degrees on the trail. The Blue Cut Fire had just broken out in San Bernardino, and disaster-relief crews were a constant presence on the highway. Each of the past three summers, Fimmel has escaped this kind of heat, shooting Vikings in the cold mists of Ireland. The Ragnar role even landed him an endorsement deal as the face of high-end down-jacket company Canada Goose, which photographed him earlier this year among the icebergs of Newfoundland. 

Here, though, it was just really hot. We put the horses up, Fimmel hosed Wanker down, and we went for a Bud Light at the VFW. If any of the vets and bikers recognized him, they didn’t show it. This time next year, it may not be so easy.

Lead Photo: Jeff Lipsky

[gorgeousexotics1]

Luxury Cars for Rent: 5 Tips for Finding the Best Car Rental Deals

Introduction

There is nothing like driving a luxurious sports car to make you feel all-powerful. Finding the right deal is challenging if you are looking for a platinum car rental Beverly Hills. This article will talk about five tips on renting luxury cars at affordable prices without sacrificing quality or luxury in your next rental experience.

01. Know the Different Types of Luxury Cars

Knowing your different types of luxury cars will help you avoid spending money on a rental vehicle outside your budget. Some luxury cars can range from a Lamborghini to a Lamborghini Aventador. Knowing what car you are renting will help you to make choices on cars that fit in with your lifestyle and budget.

02. Ask About Insurance

You can learn more about the insurance options that come with your rental by asking questions. The platinum car rental Beverly Hills may include insurance in the cost of your rental, or they may offer you a choice between additional insurance options. You can choose the type of insurance you want based on your personal protection requirements and liability concerns.

03. Book Your Car Rental Early to Save Money

The best way to rent luxurious cars at affordable prices is to book early by platinum car rental Beverly Hills. Not only do you save money by booking early, but you can also find more discounts and deals by planning ahead of time. You can find great deals when car rental companies are trying to bring in more business or when they are trying to clear inventory.

04. Check Out the Extras on Your Car Rental

The extras on your car rental can add up quickly, so it is essential to be diligent and ensure you are not charged for services you do not want. Some extras may include insurance, which we already discussed, but also toll road fees, convenience and security charges, taxes, etc. Ensure you know what will be charged to your credit card and what type of car rental experience you get for the money.

05. Know Your Car Rental Refund Policies

Not only is it essential to know the cancellation policies for your car rental, but it is also important to know what happens if a mechanical breakdown occurs or something unexpected that is out of your control. Keep this in mind before you book your car rental. You are making sure that you know these policies ahead of time can save you a lot of frustration and money.

Conclusion

When you know how to rent luxury cars at affordable prices, you can save money and get the most out of your next car rental. Being aware of your car rental terms, checking out the extras, and knowing the different types of luxury car rentals will help you to have a pleasant rental experience.

[gobbluthbutagirl]

honestly i think at this point if i was gonna go back and do my whole life over i would do everything exactly the same. like genuinely what is funnier than trying to move to los angeles with no job experience $1500 to your name and 75 pounds of luggage, realizing immediately once you get there that that won’t work, going back to south carolina and applying for a job at walmart as a cart pusher, getting rejected, checking yourself into vocational rehab due to the resulting belief that you must be unhireable, having the voc rehab job training center be shut down like 1.5 months in due to the beginning of covid, getting a job at the ingles bakery, buying a car before you even have your license, almost killing your insane coworker justine who was designed in a lab to torment you, finally getting your license at age 23, driving ALL the way across the country to los angeles by yourself after only having said license for a month and a half, having your car totaled by getting t-boned 3 days later AND THEN having a guy merge on top of you and damage the rental car like 3 hours after that and swearing off driving forever, moving into a shithole apartment with a one-legged florida man named dave who still has a “stop the obama agenda” sticker from 2010 on his wall as your landlord, getting a job at THE number one WORST target ON EARTH making $15 then $16.75 then $16.90 then $17.25 an hour, working there for 18 months exactly and then quitting because your favorite lead left, then deciding you hate your apartment SO much that you would literally rather move back to south carolina temporarily than continue paying $1425 a month for it. and i was even a cart pusher at the target before all the carts were stolen! and i have been quoted as being, and i quote, “the best there ever was”

[mariacallous]

San Jose has long been known as the home of vast parking lots and suburban sprawl, but a coalition of transit advocates and tech companies have introduced tools they say will turn the city into a testing ground for the future of housing and parking policies in California.

The tools include an Airbnb-like platform for parking garage management and a heat map of San Jose’s parking demand that advocates want to use as a guide for managing metered parking in the city and identifying areas where street parking can be replaced with things like parklets and bicycle lanes.

At the heart of the tech rollout is a push to limit the construction of new large-scale parking lots and expand parking restrictions on city streets in San Jose — a city that is one of the most “overparked” municipalities in the state, according to transportation advocates — and pave the way for more homes, retail and restaurant spaces.

And city officials are on board. In December, San Jose became the country’s largest municipality to abolish decades-old parking minimums that fueled expansive concrete lots and commuter sprawl. Other cities, including San Francisco, Los Angeles and Berkeley, have eliminated all or most parking minimums for new developments. The state also banned parking requirements near public transit stops last year.

In San Jose, housing and transit advocates worry that despite the city’s policy change, developers will continue building car-friendly structures, limiting the density of San Jose’s building boom and the impact of a new BART line in the next decade. In the city’s downtown, developers have historically provided at least one parking space per apartment unit.

“Many developers are probably just going to stick there,” said Stuart Cohen, the founder of TransForm, the organization leading the tech rollout. “Because it’s just what people have done traditionally. So we’re really trying to create a new model of development, where often you won’t even have to have one space per unit.”

The $1.6 million project, backed in large part by a Knight Foundation grant, will see TransForm push developers to scale down their parking garages by using Parkade, a private application that allows both tenants and landlords to manage limited parking spots by renting out unused spaces.

Evan Goldin, the Parkade CEO, said the company helps buildings make better use of limited parking by eliminating unneeded long-term parking spots and turning others into short-term rentals that cater to guests. In one case, a Los Angeles apartment eliminated some parking and used the space for a restaurant, he said.

“There were literally people that lived in the building that were renting long-term parking just so their girlfriend could come over twice a week,” said Goldin. “That’s pretty silly.”

Another company, Parknav, will provide a real-time parking heat map and phone app of San Jose’s downtown area that shows expected parking availability based on studies of cell phone data and other metrics.

Cohen said the map can be used by city planners to see where parking demand is high to expand metering locations, along with providing a roadmap for adjusting rates that fluctuate with demand. One example would be hiking parking meter rates at peak periods, like lunchtime near a business district.

“You can much better come up with regulations for parking,” he said. Right now he said city parking management is “all visceral and best guess.”

Parking has been an important driver of housing costs because it reduces the number of dwellings that can be built and hikes the per-unit cost of development. A 2020 SPUR report estimated that parking garage spots cost about $50,000 per space to build, and even more if the garage is underground.

The impact of San Jose’s elimination of parking minimums is still unknown. Michael Manville, an urban planning professor at UCLA, said the city shouldn’t expect parking garage construction to end anytime soon. The likely impact is a “little bit less” parking with some more housing that “adds up over time.”

Even if a developer wants to build less parking, the other challenge, said Manville, is convincing lenders to finance a project that veers away from vehicle ownership in a city where the car has historically been king.

“The key is, do you have a market in mind of people who are willing to walk a block or two to get their car?” said Manville.

While a short drive through San Jose will reveal large parking lots sitting half empty, some parts of the city, including neighborhoods in East San Jose, are already facing a severe parking crunch. Some community representatives say the city needs to take a cautious approach to discouraging parking when public transit is not a viable option for their residents’ day-to-day lives.

“When developments are not including parking spaces it’s not going to deter these residents from not having cars,” said Councilmember Peter Ortiz, who represents East San Jose’s District 5. “They’re just going to park in the surrounding neighborhoods, which are already being impacted.”

[drivelux]

Your Complete Guide to Los Angeles to Santa Barbara Travel

Learn how to travel from santa barbara to los angeles. Enjoy the scenic drive along the Pacific Coast Highway and know which public transportation would be best for you in case you do not have your own car. You will then explore coastal views, charming stops like Ventura and Malibu, and have the opportunity to ride the train to Los Angeles- a nice, smooth ride with lots of beautiful sights. These would require a strict plan and transit schedule, but there are car rentals and rideshare services for those who want flexibility. Finally, we outline the must-see attractions in Los Angeles-from the iconic Hollywood sign to the vibrant Santa Monica Pier-so you can make the most of your trip. Perfect for both tourists and locals, this exhaustive guide travels from Santa Barbara to Los Angeles, creating an unforgettable journey of culture, fun, and breathtaking scenery. You can take the road and enjoy everything that Southern California has to offer.

[seo-pricing-usa]

Seo price in usa

In today’s competitive digital landscape, seo price in usa face stiff competition when it comes to ranking on Google. To stay ahead, it’s essential to implement a robust SEO strategy that focuses on visibility, local targeting, and user-friendly content. In this guide, we’ll dive deep into the critical elements of  highlighting key tactics to help your business dominate search engine results and attract more customers.

The Importance of SEO for Car Rental Businesses in the USA

Search Engine Optimization (SEO) is vital for any car rental business that wants to capture a larger share of the online market. With millions of searches happening daily for car rental services, being visible on the first page of Google search results can make a significant difference in bookings and brand exposure.

For car rental companies in the USA, an optimized SEO strategy can lead to increased website traffic, higher conversion rates, and improved customer trust. Ranking high on Google means you're more likely to appear when potential customers are searching for services like "best car rental in Los Angeles" or "affordable car rental near me."

Local SEO for Car Rental Companies in the USA

One of the most critical components of car rental SEO in the USA is local SEO. Since most customers are looking for car rentals in specific locations, optimizing for local search queries can significantly boost your visibility.

1. Optimize Your Google Business Profile

Your Google Business Profile (formerly Google My Business) is an essential tool for ranking in local search results. Ensure that your profile is fully filled out, accurate, and up-to-date. Include important details like your business address, contact information, hours of operation, and the types of cars available. Also, encourage satisfied customers to leave positive reviews, as this can improve your ranking.

2. Use Location-Based Keywords

Incorporating location-based keywords throughout your website is crucial for targeting customers in specific areas. For example, if you offer car rental services in New York, make sure you include keywords like "New York car rental," "affordable car rentals in NYC," and "best car rental service in Manhattan." These terms should be placed in headings, meta descriptions, and throughout your website's content.

3. Create Location-Specific Landing Pages

If your car rental business operates in multiple cities or states, it's a good idea to create separate landing pages for each location. Each page should be optimized with local keywords, such as “car rental in Miami,” “car hire in San Francisco,” or “vehicle rentals in Chicago.” This way, when someone searches for car rentals in those specific cities, your business is more likely to appear in the results.

Keyword Research and Optimization for Car Rental SEO

A strong keyword strategy forms the foundation of your car rental SEO efforts. To rank on Google, you need to identify the right keywords that your target audience is using and optimize your website accordingly.

1. Focus on High-Intent Keywords

High-intent keywords are search terms used by potential customers who are ready to book or inquire about services. For example, “cheap car rentals USA” or “book luxury car rental in the USA” indicate that the user is looking for immediate services. By targeting these keywords, you can attract visitors who are more likely to convert into paying customers.

2. Long-Tail Keywords

Long-tail keywords are more specific phrases that tend to have less competition but higher intent. Instead of just targeting "car rental USA," you might focus on “SUV car rental in Boston” or “best economy car rental in Florida.” These long-tail keywords allow you to capture niche markets and stand out from the competition.

3. On-Page Optimization

Ensure that your website’s on-page SEO is optimized for your chosen keywords. This includes using keywords in key areas like:

Page titles and meta descriptions

Headers (H1, H2, H3 tags)

URL slugs

Image alt text

Content throughout the website

Each page should be optimized for one primary keyword along with a few secondary keywords that support the main topic.

Mobile Optimization and User Experience for Car Rental SEO

With a large percentage of users booking car rentals via mobile devices, it's crucial to ensure that your website is mobile-friendly. Google also considers mobile-friendliness as a key ranking factor, meaning websites that perform well on mobile are more likely to rank higher in search results.

1. Responsive Web Design

Your website should be fully responsive, meaning it adjusts seamlessly to any screen size. This is particularly important for car rental customers who may need to book while on the go. A slow or difficult-to-navigate mobile experience can lead to lost bookings and a higher bounce rate, both of which negatively impact your rankings.

2. Fast Loading Times

Page speed is another important ranking factor. If your website takes too long to load, users are likely to abandon it and search for other car rental options. Optimize your site by compressing images, minimizing code, and using a reliable hosting service to ensure fast loading times.

3. Easy Navigation and Booking Process

The user experience (UX) should be smooth and intuitive, with a straightforward booking process. The easier it is for customers to find what they’re looking for and book a vehicle, the better your website will perform in terms of SEO and conversion rates. Include clear calls-to-action (CTAs), such as "Reserve Now" or "Check Availability," prominently on the page.

Content Marketing and Link Building for Car Rental SEO in the USA

Content marketing is a powerful tool for building authority and increasing your search engine rankings. By consistently publishing valuable, relevant content, you can attract more visitors to your website and establish your car rental business as a trusted resource in the industry.

1. Create Valuable Blog Content

Creating a blog with useful, engaging content is an excellent way to improve your SEO. Topics like “Tips for Renting a Car in the USA,” “Best Road Trip Cars for Long Journeys,” or “How to Choose the Right Car Rental in Major Cities” can help you attract more organic traffic. This type of content not only boosts your rankings but also keeps users on your site longer, improving engagement metrics.

2. Build High-Quality Backlinks

Backlinks from reputable websites signal to Google that your website is trustworthy and authoritative. To build high-quality backlinks, consider guest posting on travel blogs, partnering with tourism websites, or collaborating with local businesses in the car rental and travel industry. The more relevant backlinks you have, the higher your site will rank.

3. Leverage Social Media

While not a direct ranking factor, social media can help amplify your SEO efforts. Share your blog posts, promotional offers, and customer testimonials on platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter to drive more traffic to your site. Engaging with your audience on social media can also enhance your brand visibility and reputation.

Tracking and Analyzing Your Car Rental SEO Performance

The final step in mastering car rental SEO in the USA is tracking and analyzing your performance. By monitoring your search engine rankings, website traffic, and conversion rates, you can make data-driven adjustments to your strategy.

1. Use Google Analytics and Search Console

Google Analytics and Search Console are invaluable tools for tracking your SEO performance. Google Analytics allows you to monitor key metrics like user behavior, traffic sources, and conversions, while Search Console helps you identify keywords you're ranking for and any issues with your site’s SEO.

2. Regularly Update Your SEO Strategy

SEO is an ongoing process, not a one-time fix. As Google’s algorithms change and your competitors adjust their strategies, it’s essential to keep refining your approach. Regularly updating your website content, focusing on new keywords, and optimizing your site’s technical performance are all crucial for staying ahead in the car rental industry.

[xcarrental]

Want to Experience the Best Luxury Car Rental Los Angeles -  XCar RentalExperience the ultimate luxury with Luxury Car Rental Los Angeles by XCar Rental. Whether you're attending a special event, celebrating a milestone, or simply want to explore Los Angeles in style, we offer a fleet of premium cars tailored to your needs. From sleek sports cars to elegant sedans, our vehicles are designed to enhance your driving experience and make every moment memorable. At XCar Rental, we prioritize customer satisfaction, providing top-notch service and high-quality vehicles to ensure a smooth and luxurious ride. Book your Luxury Car Rental in Los Angeles today and travel in style. Contact us now to reserve your dream car!

[lboogie1906]

Robin Hughes Harris (August 30, 1953 – March 18, 1990) was a comedian and actor, known for his recurring comic sketch about "Bébé's Kids". He was posthumously nominated for the Independent Spirit Award for Best Supporting Male for his performance in the film House Party.

He was born in Chicago. His father Earl, was a welder, and his mother Mattie, was a factory seamstress.

In 1961, the family moved to Los Angeles, where he attended Manual Arts High School. He then attended Ottawa University in Kansas. During this time, he began to hone his craft of comedy. He worked for Hughes Aircraft, a rental car company, and Security Pacific Bank to pay his bills. In 1980, he debuted at Los Angeles' Comedy Store.

During the mid-1980s, he worked as the master of ceremonies at the Comedy Act Theater. His "old school" brand of humor began to gain him a mainstream following. He made his acting debut playing a bartender in I'm Gonna Git You Sucka (1988). He had roles in 1989's Do the Right Thing and Harlem Nights. He played the father of Kid in House Party (1990). He had a small role as a jazz club MC in Mo' Better Blues.

In “Bé-bé's Kids" routines, his girlfriend Jamika would insist that he take her son and her friend Bé-bé's three children with them on a date, as she continually agreed to babysit them. The children would regularly make a fool out of and/or annoy Harris. "We Bé-bé's kids", they would proclaim, "we don't die...we multiply."

He died in his sleep of a heart attack in the hotel room of his hometown Chicago's Four Season Hotel after performing for a sold-out crowd at the Regal Theater. His brother found him dead.

At the time of his death, his wife was pregnant with their son, Robin Harris, Jr., who was born six months later.

A posthumous DVD, titled We Don't Die, We Multiply: The Robin Harris Story, was released. The film features never-before-seen performances by Harris and accolades from such contemporaries as Martin Lawrence, Bernie Mac, Cedric the Entertainer, D. L. Hughley, Robert Townsend, and Joe Torry. The film features a rap performed and dedicated to him by his son, Robin, Jr. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence