#My wifi was down and writer's block hit me at the same time

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Run Away with Me | Bodhi Rook x Reader (Oneshot)

Word Prompt: Pining

Words: 2612

Fandom: Rogue One (Star Wars)

Summary: Growing up with Bodhi Rook, you had ideas of what kind of future you wanted, but life doesn’t always go according to plan. If it was meant to be, you will meet each other again. Title inspired by Eastside by Benny Blanco, Halsey, and Khalid

-

It was your neighbor, Bodhi Rook, that started your fascination with the stars. You remembered late nights where the two of you would climb onto the roof and trace out patterns in the sky. Then, you’d listen to him plan out how he’ll reach those stars, becoming a pilot and explore.

The two of you were young at the time and didn’t really have an idea of what was going on around you. To you, the world was just you, Bodhi, the sands of Jedha, and the stars above. Bodhi would even say that he’d take you anywhere once he became a pilot and have his own ship. The way the stars reflected in his eyes, it was hard to say no.

Then, you had to move away. Your parents were restless and you didn’t know why. How could you? The world you saw didn’t include politics and war. You thought your father was a simple businessman, a trader, who would travel to different moons and planets to earn money for the family. Turns out, it started that way, until he realized how much more money he could earn from being a smuggler. His contacts increased, the credits increased, and the danger increased. And somehow, along the way, he had crossed a member of the Empire.

It was no longer safe for your family in Jedha. You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

-

Being a smuggler’s daughter has its pros and cons. You found out what you were good at, negotiations, creating alliances, and reading people, and you were quick to learn how to use a blaster. Plus, you get to explore and see different worlds, meet various species, and learn different languages. This wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but smugglers can’t be choosers.

You had heard about the Empire occupying Jedha and your mind went immediately to Bodhi. Is he safe? Is he still on Jedha? Did he ever get to become a pilot like he wanted? It had been years since you saw him and you try to shake it off as a childhood crush that you needed to get over. What are the chances in this vast universe of seeing him again?

You often follow your father during the meet ups while your mother stayed on the ship, running it for a quick getaway. With you by his side, you were able to play good smuggler, bad smuggler to get the deal you wanted. Only when he knew it would work, of course. Some species or settlements were more violent than others, so he taught you how to pick and choose your battles.

“Sometimes a deal isn’t worth it,” he had said.

One day, your father caught a virus from another planet and it would take weeks or months to recover. So, your mother stayed behind with him on a neutral planet while you went off on your own. You took on simple jobs to start off with, but traveling alone was driving you mad, so you managed to buy a scraped up droid and found some spare parts to fix her up. Desa, you called her, because of the faint red and brown paint that reminded you of the deserts and mesas of Jedha. Now, it was just you and her.

-

You couldn’t believe that the Empire was able to build something as destructible as the Death Star, powered by the kyber crystals that they had mined from Jedha and the other planets that they probably occupied. Jedha was merely a test subject for their new toy. Your home was gone. You remembered looking up at the stars, tracing patterns in the sky, hoping that your stargazer friend escaped. At this point, you weren’t even sure if he was still alive.

You tried your best to remain neutral throughout your jobs, only accepting deals that won’t drastically compromise your stance. After what they had done, you were definitely against the Empire and only prayed that something would be done to stop them before more people die and homes obliterated.

It was getting harder not to pick a side. The more you travel, the more people you see that were just trying to survive. Suddenly, it wasn’t just illegal weapons and materials that needed smuggling, it was people. Families trying to escape the war. You couldn’t just let them die.

“It’s your call,” Desa said, “I will follow.”

Just like that, you were smuggling refugees to safer planets and moons, settlements that were welcoming them in and fought against the Empire. You try your best to save as much as you can, avoiding both stormtroopers and Rebels along the way. You didn’t always succeed. Some were lost causes, some were so close to a safe haven.

“We just need hope to keep us going,” a mother said to her family.

The settlement that you took them to were attacked a few weeks later. You almost wrecked the ship when you found out, but Desa had easily restrained you until you calmed down, collapsing in her cold metal arms.

You later hear in the corner of a shady tavern that the Resistance managed to destroy the Death Star. The war was still raging, but at least the looming threat was gone.

-

“I don’t do these kinds of jobs, Edwards,” you told one of your contacts.

A contact that you’ve known for years had recently joined the Rebel Alliance and contacted you for a smuggling job. You gave it a shot and met him on a neutral planet in one of their taverns, finding the man in a corner booth. It was then when he proposed a job that would help the Rebels against the Empire, involving using your ship to transport some of their men for their missions.

“But, I’ve heard that you’ve been specializing in… people,” Edwards said, low enough so that only the two of you could hear.

You sighed, looking over at Desa who shrugged stiffly. “I don’t do escorts,” you repeated to him.

“We’ll pay you for each trip,” he insisted, sliding a datapad towards you, showing you his offer.

It was a lot, more than three jobs of smuggling a refugee family. Funds were running low as your ship was getting older and more repairs needed to be done. It would be easier to buy a new ship, but you were sentimental and it was your first ship that you bought with your father.

“It’s your call,” Desa said.

“I knew you would say that,” you muttered, sliding the datapad back. You drummed your fingers on the table and leaned back, adjusting your leather jacket. “How many groups?”

Edwards shook his head. “Just one. Rogue One,” he said.

“Never heard of them.”

“They’re the crew that infiltrated Scarif and stole the Death Star blueprints that helped the Alliance take it down,” he whispered, looking around for people listening in.

“And why do you need my ship?”

“Everyone sees you as a neutral party, a simple smuggler. Their U-Wing and cargo ship are recognized by certain groups that are affiliated with the Empire and those who holds a grudge on them from a mission or two. I’ll tell you the details of their mission only if you accept.”

You sighed again. “Fine.”

The next morning you waited by the docking area, Desa scanning the area with a metal hands wrapped around a blaster rifle. It was ten minutes passed the promised meet up time when Edwards finally appeared with cloaked figures trailing behind him. You adjusted your stance, readying for any potential threats.

“Edwards,” you greeted the man.

“(Y/n), this is the crew I was talking about. I’m sure you’ve received their mission briefing,” he said, gesturing to the group behind them. One figure in particular looked restless.

“I have. Show me your hands,” you ordered, eyeing the group. Desa poised her rifle, warning them to not test her.

“Do as she says,” Edwards told them calmly.

They slowly raised their hands, showing them empty. When Desa was satisfied, she nodded at you. “Alright. My ship, my rules. If anything arises that goes against the deal, it’s over and I’ll either eject you into space or drop you off at the nearest neutral settlement. Depends on the occasion,” you said.

One person nodded, stepping forward, revealing a man with soft brown hair and a stubble wearing a blue fur parka and a blaster strapped to his leg. “I’m Captain Cassian Andor,” he said, shaking your hand, then gestured towards the tall thin figure, “That’s K-2SO.”

“I’m perfectly capable of introducing myself,” the droid snipped.

“Reprogrammed Imperial droid, huh?” you said, impressed, “Nice to meet you. Come aboard.”

Cassian nodded, his droid friend following him into your ship. The next two figures seem to be a package deal. “I’m Baze Malbus and this is Chirrut Imwe. Thank you for helping us,” the taller one said. You nodded and they climbed into the ship.

“I’m Jyn,” the woman said, not bothering to shake hands, “And if you ever cross us-”

“The same goes to you, too,” you replied, “And don’t worry, I never take contracts that conflict with each other. You have my word that no warm will come to your crew from us unless it’s from self defense.”

Jyn was satisfied with this, offering you her hand. You shook it firmly and shared a smile with her before she climbed in behind the two monks. You were finally face to face with the last of their crew, but you felt like you knew them already. The hooded figure shuffled up to you and launched forward. Desa readied her rifle, but you held a hand up to stop her.

“I missed you,” Bodhi cried, holding you tightly.

Your eyes began to sting as you hugged him back. Your stargazer friend. Your first love. He was here holding you. “Oh, Bodhi,” you breathed, “Let’s continue this inside, yeah?”

He wiped his eyes and nodded. You turned to Edwards who was silently watching the whole thing. “Did you know?” you asked him.

“I suspected. I knew you were originally from Jedha and he was, too. He had the same habit as you, looking up at the stars with a faroff expression,” he said, stepping away, “This is where I leave you, until next time.” He held his arm out.

“Alright, take care of yourself, Edwards,” you said, grabbing his forearm firmly before pulling away.

He nodded. “May the force with you.”

-

The mission ran smoothly and you found that you worked well with the crew. Five people and a droid, they were a force to be reckoned with. With Cassian’s leadership and Jyn’s assertiveness, the monks’ fighting skills, K2’s diverse skill set, and Bodhi’s flying skills, you understood how they lead a battle on Scarif even when outnumbered.

Bodhi had proudly told you that he became a pilot, though under the Empire as a cargo pilot, but he had been the one to send the message to the Rebellion about the Death Star plans. You assigned him as your copilot without a thought, hoping that you wouldn’t get distracted by Bodhi’s flying competency.

When the mission was over, you flew them over to the Rebel base on Yavin with a sinking feeling in your stomach. You had never gotten so attached to a contract before. Well, you never had spent this much time with your contract before. They had become your comrade and your friends and Bodhi… you thought your feelings for Bodhi were reduced to friendship, but they were merely dormant.

You carefully landed the ship after getting clearance while you tried to keep your expressions neutral. You opened the ramp, allowing them to climb out while a small team of medics rushed over to check on the crew. Desa placed a hand on your shoulder as you looked over at Bodhi. He had moved to the back of the ship, helping K2 and Baze unload their bags. One particular bag was too heavy for him, so Baze gently pushed him aside and grabbed the bag for him.

“Bodhi told us about you,” Jyn said, suddenly appearing next to you.

You jumped and cleared your throat. “Good things, I hope,” you joked, covering up how startled you were.

“Nothing but good things,” she said, “He would tell us how attentive you are, how you were kind and patient enough to listen to his ramblings about the stars, and how the stars were reflected in your eyes. He’s still lovestruck with you, (Y/n), and I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Honestly, I had a bet with K2 about who would break first during the mission, but you two idiots don’t even know that you’re both in love with each other.”

You forced out a laugh. “I’ll admit I had a crush on Bodhi when I was younger, but it’s been years since I’d seen him. People change,” you defended, crossing your arms.

Jyn sighed, standing up and made her way over to the ramp. You followed her and looked out to take in the Rebel base for the first time. These people of different backgrounds, different species, different planets, fighting to be free from the Empire’s tyranny. And Bodhi was in the middle of it. He always wanted to explore, become a pilot, and help people. He finally got what he wanted.

Cassian finished talking to the general and walked back to the ship. He smiled at you and said, “We could always use someone like you,” he said.

You shake your head. “I don’t…,” you trailed off, looking over at Desa, then at Bodhi who was adjusting his new goggles. Two young men rushed up to help with the cargo and Bodhi slipped into an authoritative mode. He looked like he belonged here. He was no longer the boy that you shared a roof with. You weren’t sure that there was room for you in his new world.

“Think about it,” Cassian said, noticing your hesitation, “You are always welcomed here.”

You nodded, shaking his hand. “Thank you, Captain Andor.”

“Please, it’s just Cassian, now.”

He turned to address his crew while you slipped away into your ship. Bodhi had finished ordering where to place the cargo and listing the repairs needed in their equipment when he heard the engine of your ship starting. His head whipped around, his goggles almost falling off his head as the ramp was raised. His throat tightened as he pushed through his crew and the medics, trying to get back to you. He just got you back.

“The force works in mysterious ways,” Chirrut said, squeezing his shoulder in comfort as you flew off, “If the force wills it so, (Y/n) will come back.”

Bodhi nodded, watching you leave and unable to say goodbye or tell you to stay for the second time in his life. After you left, there were many things he was able to achieve, but they just weren’t how he imagined it to be. You weren’t there with him.

He had planned to learn how to fly, get a ship, and whisk you away from the cold desert moon. It was all part of the ideas that you and him used to plan on that roof all those years ago when the world was just you, and him, the sand from the desert, and the stars above. If the force had allowed the two of you to meet again, he held onto the hope that you would come back. It could be like old times, meeting on the roof of a ship after the sun had set and gaze at the stars.

[monstersandmaw]

Hi there. I've got lots of work in progress' I haven't gone back to in years, thing is I really like writing and want to get back into it but I just don't know how? I'm starting to think I might just not have what it takes to be a writer.

So as someone who is quite an extensive writer, what advice would you give to someone who desperately wants to write but won't ?

ooooof, Anon, your ask hit home with the accuracy of a flipping missile!! I know you’re not the only one struggling right now, and the key I think is to be a mix of very gentle with yourself and simultaneously just a little bit stern.

I burnt out completely in December 2020, and didn’t write anything for nearly five months, which was devastating. I’m a writer! That’s who and what I am. And I couldn’t do it??? I was deeply shaken by it, and I’m only just starting to claw my way back to my identity as a writer. I’ve had creative slumps before, but never a complete inability to write at all, and no one really... got it? I’ve had to postpone working on my novel, despite constant pressure from my family, which sucks.

I can’t tell you what will work for you for certain, obviously, but I can tell you what has helped me a bit, and hopefully something there will resonate, and you’ll be able to use it for your own struggles. Hang on in there, Anon!

First off, and I cannot stress this enough, you are still a writer. You don’t have to be sitting at the keyboard and typing actively all the time to call yourself a writer. You can be a writer while also taking a break, no matter how long that break is. If you want your identity to be that of ‘writer’, then you are. Tell yourself you are a writer, even when you’re not actively writing.

Force yourself to stop trying to write for a while. It sounds bonkers, and counterintuitive, but if you’re on a forced break, it might help recharge your energy. Tell yourself you’re not going to try and write for at least a whole month. Don’t open any WIP docs. Don’t re-read stuff you’ve got stuck on in the hopes that this time you’ll finish it. You’re on break, and you’ve given yourself permission not to be writing.

While you’re on your break though, feel free to use a little notebook or something to jot down any ideas you have, or snippets of dialogue/scenes etc., as scraps for the future. Just don’t try to make them into a big complete work just yet.

Read. Read lots of new books and stories. Push the boundaries of your usual genre comfort zones and try a new genre. Analyse the writing of these authors closely. Why do you like their style? What makes their style unique? Why does that sentence work so well, and why does that one feel flat or clunky? Be active in your reading, and it might trigger some enthusiasm for your own creativity. Hold onto that feeling, and see if you want to have another go after your break.

Write something for someone else. I took on some commissions recently, knowing I would be obliged to finish them, but I set a limit on the wordcount so I didn’t get super overwhelmed each time. (This is the ‘being a little bit stern’ part.)

Once your break is over (if you decide a break suits you in the first place!), write just one sentence and then walk away. Close the document and go and do something else. If you want to come back and write more later, then do. If not, you still wrote something. Do the same the next day.

Go outdoors if you can and think about your story somewhere else. Perhaps the change of environment will make it feel more refreshed. Take a notebook with you and write somewhere else. It might even feel like a treat!

Make sure you’re comfortable when you’re going to write. Turn your phone off, disconnect your laptop from the wifi, have some water or tea or whatever nearby, go to the bathroom first, put a jumper on or open the window. Just... give yourself permission to write for the joy of it. Remember why you wanted to tell these stories in the first place.

If you’re still not really feeling it, try creating character moodboards on Pinterest, or colour palettes for your characters, abstract watercolours, or whatever creative medium you fancy. Draw maps of the world, or just try and be creative within the universe of your stories without writing them.

Try a writing exchange with another author.

Take writing prompts for ten sentence drabbles or something.

And if none of that helps, forgive yourself for not having the energy to be creative in this way at the moment. Find a way to let go of the guilt and self-flagellation that a lot of creatives go through when their main focus isn’t playing ball. It’s ok to go into a creative slump, and it can take a long time to come out of it.

Hopefully some of that is helpful? It sucks, it really really sucks, when you’re not able to do something you love for whatever reason. Check out my ‘writing advice’ tag because I’ve written a few posts on creative block/writer’s block/creative hibernation before, and I might have missed some points in answering this.

Good luck, and go gently with yourself.

[momentofmemory]

it’s almost the end of october, which means one of the greatest, most terrifying exploits known to writers is upon us: NaNoWriMo.

there are plenty of super good survival posts out there, but as this’ll be my seventh time participating (six wins, hoping for a seventh), i thought i’d drop my own set of tips into the mix. i’m going to focus mostly on the practical details of how to write; if you want tips on the writing itself either search the writing/reference tags or pester me to do another one later :P with that said, ~on with the post~

Step One: Figure Out Your Goal

i know, i know, obviously it’s to write 50k, but what does that mean to you? are you expecting

polished prose, ready to send off to a publisher?

being able to write every day? 

just throwing up a bunch of ideas?

a mix of everything?

all of these are valid, but they’re going to require different approaches. if you want jaw-dropping writing, you’re going to need in the ballpark of five or more hours each day, if not more. if you want consistency, you’ll want to look at your normal schedule and set up a couple times you know you can write at. if just you want words, pretty much all you need to make sure is that you squeeze writing time in whenever.

your goal will probably change as the month progresses, and that’s totally fine. just check in every so often to remember a)what you’re working for and b)if it’s actually plausible. speaking of...

Step Two: Realize Your Limitations

1. Typing.

imma get super practical here: your typing speed dictates how fast you can get done. if you write 40wpm (the average), you cannot write the full 1667 in a half hour any more than you can run a mile in under three minutes. it’s honestly not a bad idea to check out your own speed, if only to help you understand yourself better. in my experience, actual writing then works like this (using my max speed, 89, as an example):

Absolute Max: 89 wpm (baseline)

Warring: 70 (75% of baseline)

In the zone: 45 (50% of baseline)

Taking my time, concentrated: 22 (25% of baseline)

anything lower than your max/4 probably means you’re spending a lot of time either researching or staring at the page, so just be aware of that.

2. Time & Focus

this kinda goes without saying, but best case scenario this is at least 1-2 hours of your life a day, or dedicating full Saturday/Sundays if you’re a weekend warrior kind of person. it’s so, so worth it if you can make time for it, but also don’t feel bad if you can’t! doing a half nano (25k) or whatever you want is also a fully acceptable plan.

that said, if you do have time, figure out your focus too. if you’ve never been the kind of person that can type for six hours straight, you will probably not magically become this person when it hits Nov. 1 (though with practice, you might be by Nov. 30). i like trying to write at least 300 before work and another 300 during lunch. that way there’s only 1k left for the evening, and having words on the page just makes me feel better. experiment with different ways of blocking out your time in the first few days and see what works best for you.

3. Don’t Forget You Live in a Body

writing is hard work, you will need to eat brain food! hunching over wrecks your back, stand up and stretch every so often! you will hate existing if you forgo sleep for days! and for the love of charles dickens, patron saint of getting paid by the word, take care of your mother-effing wrists!!

seriously on that last one. i’ve ignored it in the past and thoroughly screwed up my wrists one year; don’t be me. keep in them in a neutral position, do regular stretches, and if you need to, get wrist wraps (i recommend these).

Step Three: Actually Doing the Thing

the previous steps have had pretty broad advice, but now it’s time to get down to the nitty-gritty. these are mostly things i know work for me, and therefore may not for you—adjust to your own needs!

1. Write for 15 Minutes Every Day, Non-Negotiable.

i don’t even mean this is a “write 15 min and then your brain will be tricked into writing more” kinda way, but like, literally. you’re probably not going to be able to do 1667 every day—sometimes you’ll be tired and just won’t have the time. you’re very likely, however, to have 15 minutes, and you’ll want to use them. Doesn’t matter if you write 50 words or 500 in that time, at least you’ll have done something, and that’s usually enough to keep you from feeling like just giving up the next day.

2. You Might Need Physical Spaces

i’m a pretty sensory person when it comes to writing, and having a dedicated writing space is so helpful for me. going back to the idea of being an embodied person, it’s a lot easier to get your brain into a writing mode if your body’s already there. some good options include:

coffee shops (cozy! food!)

a specific room in your home (easily accessed! do what you want!)

libraries (free! quiet!)

a friend’s house (writing buddy! easy access to sounding board!)

all of these places usually have access to wifi, which is a positive.

3. You Definitely Need Digital Spaces

i pretty much always write in the same processor, once again because it helps set the mood. the main options include:

google drive (solid choice, cloud backup, mobile accessible)

dabble writer (cloud backup, links to nano, dark mode, chapter options)

write or die (only for actual writing—a scary but effective motivator; save elsewhere)

word/pages/etc. (ready to go on your computer, formatting options)

scrivener (great plotting tools, detailed interface)

i use dabble writer myself (they’re a nano sponsor, so you can get it free for this month, and as a double bonus you get it half off for the rest of the year if you win). and no, i’m not getting paid to wax poetic about them, but honestly i’ve used it to win the past two years and i adore it. 

anyway my biggest tip here is that i SUPER SUPER DON’T RECOMMEND NON-CLOUD OPTIONS. it’s very risky, but if you must, do a proper back up at least once a week. that shiz is not worth it.

4. The Timer is Your New Best Friend

because i’ve heard this argument before: no, it’s not a crutch, and no, it’s not cheating. it’s literally best practices. i’m personally a big fan of this online timer, and i let it run for 15 min every time i write. after each session i check how many words i wrote, then after maybe a quick 1-2 min break, start over.

you can totally set the timer for longer or shorter periods, depending on what works for you. i’m a fan of the 15 min sessions bc it’s just long enough to get a bit of flow going, and just short enough that i can convince my spacy brain that we can get through it without wandering. it’s also a fantastic length for warring, if you’re down for that.

5. Write That Idea Down for Lewis’s Sake

the original idea for the chronicles of narnia came to c.s. lewis when he was at a restaurant, and thank the lord, he wrote it down on a napkin. he wouldn’t write it until some time later, but if he hadn’t written it down, he might’ve forgotten it. why is this important, you ask?

BC YOU WILL FORGET THINGS.

if you have an idea, write it down in your phone or your notebook or the waterproof paper in your shower, because i don’t care how sure you are that you’ll remember it, you super won’t. i’ve forgotten many solutions to plot holes in my time and i still hold vigils over their graves. don’t be me. write it down.

Step Four: Managing that Inner Critic of Yours

all right, pay attention. i’m not going to tell you not to edit, because i would be a massive hypocrite if i did. i totally edit during nano. the important part is letting your editor help you win, not hurt you. and that means gaming your critic’s system.

1. Have a Dedicated Deletion Section

many people hear “don’t delete anything” and baulk, because for some of us it’s distracting and we want to rewrite that section until it matches our vision. so, i’m here to tell you: delete it!! rewrite entire chapters!! just save the original content as part of your word count. this is another reason i love dabble, bc at the start of nano i just make a separate part of the book, label it “delete”, and any time i’m writing and dislike a sentence/paragraph i just dump it into that folder and move on. this way you still get to keep the numbers (and why shouldn’t you? you wrote them!) while also writing words you actually like. plus, sometimes that line you deleted in ch. 1 winds up being supremely pertinent in ch.15, and now you can just copy/paste it instead of having to try to remember what exactly you’d said.

2. Acknowledge Ranting as a Time Honoured Tradition

think there’s no precedent for that 2K diatribe you wrote on the london underground? well fear not, because you can’t possibly do worse than hugo’s entire chapters worth of content on the french sewer system! or melville’s frankly terrifying obsession with the finer features of whale biology!

like, yeah, maybe you’ll decide later you don’t need it, but for now, embrace that soap box. dead white guys have been doing it for centuries and still get places in college syllabi. the least you can do is give it a place in your word count.

Step Five: Have Fun!

i know, i know, it’s cliche, but seriously. if this isn’t fun, or at least rewarding, why are you doing it anyway? so enjoy it! send passages you’re proud of to your friends! daydream about it in the car on the way to work/school! cry over a notebook about the twist you just came up with! nano’s a time of fun and exploration, and you shouldn’t miss out on it because you’re thinking too much.

also, this might be counter productive to put at the end of an essay on nano, but don’t obsess over reading essays on nano :P there comes a time when one must simply do, and nano is pretty much the definition of that.

[bamby0304]

Spanner in the Works- Ch.5

Series Masterlist

Summary: Your car breaks down, leaving you stranded in a small town. Waiting for your car to get the all clear, you find yourself getting closer to Sam Winchester, the handsome mechanic working on it. Will he be able to break down your walls? Or is this just a pit stop before you continue to run?

A/N: If you want to bring Sam fics alive… check out the scent Sam from @scentsfromthebunker!!

Warnings: Fluff. Angst.

Bamby

The bell above the door chimed as Mary opened it. She took a step to the side and smiled as she gestured for you to walk in ahead of her. Fiddling with your fingers in front of you, you stepped into the diner and then waited before Mary led you over to a booth.

She was a very bubbly woman, so bright and happy. Her smile had never faltered as she drove down the road and into town. She’d greeted each person you came across, with a nod or a wave. She showed everyone with the same kindness she’d shown you.

Not many people had treated you like she did. There were a select few in your past, but the majority of people who crossed your path were entitled, overbearing, rude, dismissive, impatient. Your timid nature hardly brought out the best in people.

“So, what do you want for breakfast, dear?” she asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

Glancing down at your menu, you scanned the offered items before picking something simple and safe. “Coffee and oatmeal is fine.”

Mary’s jaw almost hit the table. “Oatmeal? On our girls’ day out? Y/N, you can have anything you want. Whatever you don’t eat, we’ll take home. Don’t feel like you have to hold back… for any reason.���

Her meaning was clear. She could tell you were trying not to be any more of a burden than you already thought you were. Getting your car fixed, accommodation… taking food from her would just add to your list of things you had to repay.

“Tell you what,” her smile returned, “I’m ordering pancakes. With bacon. And eggs. We’ll get two orders of that and whatever is left over, if you don’t want it, will go to the boys. I bet they’d love some crispy bacon.”

Coming up with no reason to argue, you gave a tentative nod. “Okay.”

“Perfect.” She beamed.

Barely a moment passed before a young red headed woman appeared by your table. “Mrs Winchester!” She looked down at Mary with shining eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming in this morning.”

Mary turned her smile to the young woman. “I didn’t know either. Sam sprung a surprise on me this morning.” She gestured to you. “Charlie, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Charlie, she owns the diner.”

Charlie appeared to be around your age, early twenties and all her life ahead of her. You could tell she was a bundling ball of energy by the way she smiled down at you, all bright teeth and crinkling eyes. It amazed you that someone so close you your age could be so different. So successful in life and comfortable in her own skin.

“Hi!” Charlie offered you her hand. “Not every day we get new people in town,” she noted as you took her hand and let her shake yours enthusiastically. “Don’t let appearances fool you, this isn’t just a diner. We’ve got a comic book store in the basement and all the free wifi a nerd could dream of. The password is on the back of every menu. Speaking of which,” she pulled a notepad out, “what can I get you today?”

You sat there and waited as Mary rattled off your order. Charlie gave a short nod and another smile, promising the food wouldn’t be long, before she hurried off. Once alone, Mary turned back to you.

“Charlie and Sam were classmates. Best of friends. Practically inseparable.” She smiled fondly.

As she went on to change the subject, you only half listened to her story about the pair’s childhood. The rest of you was suddenly focused on the thought of this red headed wonder woman and Sam. Their inseperable bond. How deep did that bond go?

You felt an extra layer of insecurity settle inside you as you sat there, picturing the two together. All you could think about was Sam and Charlie. Holding hands. Smiling. Laughing. Leaning on each other. Sharing jokes. Sharing food. Sharing a bed…

“Y/N?”

Jostled out of your thoughts once more, you looked to Mary with wide eyes. “Sorry… lost my train of thought.”

“It’s all right, dear.” Her smile turned down a notch, going from bubbly to motherly. “You know, I would love to hear more about you.”

“Me?” You couldn’t hide the shock from your voice and face.

She nodded, chuckling lightly. “Yes. You. I’m not going to push or press, but it’s clear you’re a very nervous person, Y/N. I want you to open up, in your own time, and become comfortable with us. We’re here for you, and I want you to believe that.”

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted to get to know you… you couldn’t remember the last time someone cared enough to want to listen.

“I, um… I was a librarian,” you started, offering something small to start. That tiny dollop of information was more than you’d given anyone in years.

Mary’s face lit up all over again. “A librarian? You must love books!”

“Yes.” A smile of your own, albeit small in comparison to hers, tugged on your lips. “I wanted to be a writer.”

“Wanted?” She watched you carefully, smile toning down once more. “You don’t want to write anymore?”

Shrugging, you found your gaze falling to the table in front of you. “It’s had to be a writer when you don’t have any original or exciting ideas.”

“Doesn’t mean you should give up your dreams, dear,” she countered just as Charlie reappeared with your food.

“Here we go!” The redhead plopped the plates in front of you both. “I’m jot it down on the garage’s bill. Make the boys pay for your breakfast.” She gave you and Mary a wink. “You two have a great day. It was really nice meeting you. Hope I’ll see ya again.” She beamed down at you before heading off to go back to work.

“She’s really nice,” you noted, watching her retreating form.

Mary nodded, grabbing her knife and fork. “She really is,” she agreed, not catching the sad and jealous glint in your eyes.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Charlie… more you didn’t like the fact she was this incredible person, and you were, well… you.

Mary had shown you most of the town. You’d stuck to the main street for the most part, considering that’s where all the stores were, but you did venture out a little.

She showed you where the doctor’s office was, and where the library was. She took you to the school and pointed some spots that were significant to Sam and Dean back when they were students. She showed you the park, and showed you the flower patch she and Sam had planted one mother’s day. She even took you to the church where she and John were married.

It was clear Mary was very proud of her home and her family.

You also didn’t miss the fact that everywhere you went, people were always stopping to say hi. Apparently, the Winchester family were very popular.

By the end of the day, you’d met more people than you’d ever known in your entire life time- which wasn’t much, to be honest. Everyone was pretty welcoming as Mary introduced you to them. Just like Mrs Winchester herself, they were all smiles and manners.

It was very overwhelming, so when you were just about ready to crash by lunch time, it wasn’t really a surprise.

Parking the truck outside of the garage, Mary reached into the back to grab the bag of food she’d picked up from Charlie’s. “Come on, dear. Let’s get some food into these boys.” Her smile was still plastered on her lips as she got out of the car.

Dragging yourself out, you followed her with your arms in front of you, hugging yourself close as you kept your gaze to the ground. Your social batteries had well and truly run out, and all you wanted to do now was sleep and recharge.

Walking into the noisy garage, you stay two to three steps behind Mary as she headed right over to John.

“Hey, honey.” She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

The gruff man softened under his wife’s touch, leaning in for a second kiss. She chuckled and complied, pressing her lips to his cheek one more time.

“Thanks.” John took the bag of food from Mary and turned to the rest of the garage. “Grubs here, boys!”

The noise in the garage mostly stopped, save for the sound of some classic rock softly playing on a radio somewhere. Sam and Dean appeared from behind cars, all covered in grease and sweat.

Your eyes went wide and mouth went dry at the sight of Sam.

His overalls were hanging around his hips, the sleeves tied together to hold it in place. The tank top he wore must have been white once, but was now a dirty grey and covered in much. He had grease and oil splotches all over him, with his skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

As soon as he spotted you, his face lit up. “Hey.”

“H-hi.”

Dean reached John first, reaching into the bag his father offered and pulling out a sub. His eyes quickly turned to you as he ripped open the paper wrapped around the food. Watching you, he took a large bite of his food that made his cheeks puff out.

You squirmed under his gaze, looking away and trying to shift to make yourself disappear behind Mary slightly.

Sam came over to his father and brother then, give Dean a hard punch to the arm. “You’re freaking her out.”

“Noh mah fal she so skiddish,” Dean tried to say as he chomped on the food in his mouth.

“Dean!” Mary glared at her oldest son. “Manners! Don’t talk with a mouth full of food. And be nice to Y/N. She’s our guest.”

“Listen to your mother, boy,” John warned.

Looking to both of his parents, Dean sighed before dropping his gaze back onto you. He took a moment to finish his mouth full of food before saying, “Sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam argued, coming over to stand in front of you, blocking your view of his brother. “Dean’s a dick. It’s just his personality. You get used to it.” He smiled down at you, his eyes searching yours as you looked up at him. “Have you had lunch?”

You quickly shook your head. “I have a sandwich.”

Turning to his parents, Sam reached out for the bag. Without missing a beat, John handed your sandwich over. Once it was in his hand, Sam looked back down at you. “Wanna go eat on the truck with me?”

Without your consent, your head began to nod before your mouth followed its lead. “O-okay.”

His smile grew as he gestured for you to walk with him, and again, you found your body moving without your mind agreeing. It seemed despite your social batteries running low, you still wanted to be with Sam.

Bamby

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: Cheater

Summary: (Y/N) has a very important breakthrough.

Pairing: Hvitserk x Reader.

@ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila,@demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13,@fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl,@blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi,@minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela,@titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi,@whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv,@mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes,@neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies,@anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey,@ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama,@ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi,@ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog,@lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god,@im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins,@cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke,@meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7,@ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel,@funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired,@cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld,@justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome,@inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim,@idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004,@buckythetinman ,@burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @heartbeats-wildly, @berserkerbearsbabblings, @moondustmemories, @therealcalicali, @naaladareia, @cheercherry, @captainfoxy22, @biracialmelaninteen, @breathingincandescent

Part One,Part Two,Part Three, Part Four

‘Who the hell does he think he is?!’ you complained as you removed your makeup.

‘Your ex.’ Maggie said.

‘Exactly… ex, as in not now. Seriously, my first night out looking for a quick rebound and he pops up.’

‘Well I want to agree and let you rant but I did say a rebound was a bad idea.’ your friend and roommate said.

‘And I want you to listen to me rant, so the whole I told you so thing isn’t helping.’ you grinned over your shoulder.

‘It needed saying nonetheless.’ she grinned back.

‘Anyway why are so offended, most women are flattered when their ex can’t move on.’ Maggie said.

‘Well call me crazy but I don’t like that he thought some half ass apology and explanation would make me go back to dealing with his shit.’ you said as you stood from your seat and turned to look at her.

‘Do you know how shitty it feels to know all your friends talk about you having so low of an opinion of yourself that you stay with a cheating asshole?’ you said as you sat on the bed beside Maggie.

‘I don’t and just to clarify I never talked shit behind your back, I prefer the face to face method.’

‘That’s why I like you, but more than that, Hvitserk looked truly shocked that I didn’t fall into his arms the second I saw him.’ you added.

‘Well he is a boy and their minds aren’t as great as ours, I’m not just going to say you get over him though.’ she advised.

‘So just take him back and let him cheat on me some more?’ you snipped.

‘No, but be honest you love him still. He drives you nuts, but you miss him like hell and you know it.’ Maggie said.

You sighed and laid back on the mattress.

‘Of course I miss the asshole, but loving him more than me isn’t good for either of us. He’ll just get worse and I’d just sit there and let it happen. I’m gonna fall in love with me before I even think about being with him again.’

‘Self love is the best love, that’s what I say.’ Maggie replied as she laid beside you.

‘Right, and it's a new love for me.’

‘Well enjoy it, if I loved me any more than I do now I wouldn’t need Ubbe at all.’` she joked.

‘Ew I don’t need that kind of insight on your self love, nasty.’ you laughed.

A knock on the door came and interrupted your little girl talk and Maggie hurried to get it.

‘Babe!’ she cheered.

You rolled your eyes and put on your slides and grabbed a hoodie, it was time to go. As much as you loved them Ubbe and Maggie were the over sexual couple that made everyone uncomfortable.

Quickly you picked up you bag and phone and scurried through the living room, keeping your head down as you tried to ignore all the little whines Maggie makes.

At last you made it out of the apartment, with minimum trauma.

Well they’d need a few hours and it was two AM, where could you go to wait them out?

The twenty four hour cafe never let you down and a few of those pastries would definitely not hurt either.

Off you went to the cafe, once you were there you bought a danish and a hot chocolate and got a good table by an outlet so you could charge your phone.

Honestly you wanted to go to bed, but you can think of worse things to do at three in the morning.

Like moping and crying over an idiot who mistreated you.

‘Excuse me?’

You look up in shock and see a very handsome guy standing by you with a laptop bag in one hand and a coffee in the other.

‘Do you mind if I sit with you, the other outlets ore shot out.’ he said nervously.

‘Oh sure, go ahead.’ you said moving your bag from the chair across from you and let the guy sit down and take out his computer and charger.

‘Thanks, this is the only cafe with decent wifi for eight blocks and I didn’t want to go that far out this late.’ he chatted.

‘Same, so what are you working on?’ you asked.

‘My thesis, last one.’ he said.

‘Oh congratulations, my best friend just graduated earlier this month, you must be from a different college.’ you commented.

‘I’d guess so, I go to Wessex University.’

‘Oh wow, you would not get along with Ivar at all. He’s from Kattegat and a damn proud Heathen.’ you laughed.

‘Ew, a Heathen.’ the boy dramatically said making you laugh.

‘What’s your name Saxon boy?’ you asked.

‘Alfred and what’s your name Heathen Girl.’

‘Not a Heathen, but my name is (Y/N).’ you replied.

‘So what are doing out so late?’ Alfred asked.

‘Roommate’s boyfriend came over, fill in the blanks.’ you sighed.

‘Yuck.’

‘I know. What about you, bad wifi at home?’ you guessed.

‘Roommate had a sock on the door.’

‘Yuck.’ you repeated.

‘I know.’ he repeated as well.

The two of you kept on talking and chatting and just generally getting along and enjoying each other’s company.

‘You are a mess.’ you laughed.

‘I like to call myself unorganized.’ he grinned.

‘Hey can I get your number, I need to know if you are this funny all day or if this is just sleep deprivation I’m talking to.’ you said.

‘Alright.’ Alfred said as he took your phone and put in his number and called himself.

You both saved each other as contacts and the conversation went on as before, smooth and easy.

It felt like no time had passed at all, that’s why you were so confused to see the sun rising outside.

‘Oh shit, its six AM!’ you gasped.

‘Oh fuck! I should get back to the dorm, I gotta a class at twelve and I need at least four hours to get through the day.’ he said as he gathered his things.

‘Damn I better let you go, and I’m sure my roommate is finish by now.’ you said as you too gathered your things.  

‘It was great talking to you, just the kind of convo I needed after two weeks of straight lectures and my roommate checking to see if I’m dead before telling me he has a dude or girl coming over.’ he joked.

‘See you around Heathen.’ Alfred said as you both exited the cafe.

‘I’m not a Heathen, but goodbye Saxon Boy.’ you bid farewell before the two of you parted ways.

As you walked back to Maggie’s apartment you thought back to how you never got to meet new people when you were with Hvitserk.

Sure he was by no means controlling, but with him your world was him and you saw whoever he did, if he didn’t know someone then neither did you. Outside of him and his brothers you didn’t really talk to other men, some part of you hoped Hvitserk would see your loyalty and do the same.

Didn’t work.

Now you did not have to sit home and wait for him to come back from whoever he was with, you could go out and make friends again.

Once you were back hope you grossed out to see A very much naked and passed out couple on the couch.

You sighed and put the throw blanket over them and made a note not to sit there until it was steam cleaned.

Thankfully you had gotten a call yesterday saying you had been approved for an apartment closer to your job.

You went back to your room and laid down ready to crash when you phone chimed, letting you know that you had text.

Expecting it to be Alfred you looked, but it was someone else.

Hvitserk: Please don’t ignore this.

You wanted to just put down your phone and ignore it like you had all his text, but to be honest you had stopped being angry.

Being mad all the time is exhausting and you really didn’t realize that until after you had hand made a Hvitserk Pinata and beat the holy hell out it.

Your arms were sore, the rooms were a mess and even when it was broken you were so mad you went to your knees and hand ripped all the pieces to shreds.

That was how unleashed all your rage, now you had no reason to ignore his texts.

(Y/N): What is it? Is something wrong?

Hvitserk: No, I just want to talk, really talk not like tonight with all the noise. You and me sitting down

You read that text over a few times before you replied.

Y/N: What is there to talk about?

Hvitserk: I owe you an apology and an explanation. A real one, not just me begging you to take me back as I am.

Hvitserk: Not that I don’t still want you to take me back if that’s on the table, lol

You hated how that stupid man could make you laugh.

Y/N: when do you want to talk and where, maybe I’ll show up.

Hvitserk: Tonight at nine, our special place.

That took you by surprise, you hadn’t been there in forever, you were surprised he even remembered.

Y/N: Alright, if I’m not busy.

You hesitated for a few seconds before you closed your eyes and hit send.

With that said you put down the phone and turned it off before rolling over and making yourself go to bed.

After you woke up a around two you got to work packing your things and during your breaks you would look for a good moving company to take your things from storage.

Honestly you were being productive AF, and while you were proud of yourself you knew you were just trying to procrastinate.

You didn’t want to think about your meeting with Hvitserk, you still weren’t sure you were even going to show.

“GO BESTFRIEND THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!” your phone blasted Ivar’s ringtone.

You picked it up and put it on speaker while you went back to marking boxes.

‘What the hell are doing you idiot?’ Ivar said.

‘Hello to you too Ivar.’ you laughed.

‘Don’t get cute, my idiot brother is a nervous wreck right now and you can’t tell me you have nothing to do with it.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, all I have done is agree to see him tonight.’ you said.

‘So it was you, I swear to the Gods (Y/N), this idiot is one call away from me killing him.’ Ivar said.

‘Good, don’t tell me you don’t think he deserves to sweat for while.’

‘He does obviously, but why does he have to get on my nerves while he’s in it. If he calls my phone one more time I swear I’m going to track his phone and hit his ass with my car.’ he ranted.

‘It would be a shame to go to jail right after your graduation, plus with the move I don’t think I will have enough money to put on your books.’ you teased.

‘You suck, I hope you can’t find anything to wear tonight.’ Ivar bit.

‘Who says I’ll go?’

‘You will, you’re too curious not to.’ Ivar said before the line went dead.

‘Asshole.’ you smiled.

You looked at the time and saw that it it was six, you’d need to leave soon, and you did need to start getting ready.

Ivar was right, as much as you hated to admit it, you wanted to hear Hvitserk out and did want to look immaculate.

So you showered and put on a outfit, for yourself, not him. You wore jeans, heels and a crop top, make up done and accessories added.

You were ready to go, but before you got to the door you stopped.

Why not make him wait for once?

You sat back on the armchair and cut on the TV, you weren’t going to leave at nine.

It was easier said than done you found out, you felt really bad and caved, leaving at eight forty five.

By the time that you do reach your location it was nine fifty.

You got out of your car and looked at you and Hvitserk’s special place.

His father’s first house, it was a small house in a middle class neighborhood; Ragnar had lived here before he had started off his company. This was where he stayed with his first wife Lagertha before he met Aslaug on a business trip.

After his divorce and his company had truly taken off he moved out and into a new larger home with Hvitserk’s mother, but he never sold his first home.

This is where Hvitserk took you for your first date, where you and he had sex for the first time. This was where you two came to be alone before you had moved in together.

It was the place where you pretended you truly were the only woman in Hvitserk life.

Hvitserk's car was in the driveway so clearly he was here waiting for you.

A small part of you was surprised by that as you walked up to the door and rang the bell.

Immediately it was thrown open, you were surprised it wasn't yanked of the hinges.

There he was, Hvitserk, the man who broke your heart and destroyed your world.

He was dressed in a dress shirt, business pants and shoes.

It was your favorite outfit on him and he knew it.

'Hi.’ Hvitserk said nervously as he looked at you and your attire.

You knew he liked you better in dresses and skirt, easy access and quickly removed. You hoped your clothes would convey your secret message that you were not here to have make up sex.

'Hey.’ you said back.

'I didn't think you would show.’ he said as he stepped aside and let you in.

'I thought about it, but I do think you owe me an explanation. I deserve that at least.’

'You do, and you deserved more than what I gave you.’ he said sincerely.

'Come on, I cooked if you're hungry.’ Hvitserk offered, leading you to the kitchen.

'You cooked, by yourself?’ you asked in shock.

'Well it's just pasta and garlic bread, nothing gourmet, but I did my best.’ he blushed.

If you judged by how much he ate you would think he cooked all the time, but you would be wrong. You had to drag him away from whatever he was doing to make him help you cook otherwise he’d live on junk food and takeout.

So the fact that he had actually cooked alone spoke volumes.

You went to sit at the table and Hvitserk pulled out your chair like he always did when you two were out before he sat down the plates.

He went to the kitchen for a second and returned with two plates of and sat one down across from you.

You thanked him for the food and began eating, it was pretty good and you let him know as much, this seemed to make him sigh in relief.

‘I’m happy you like it, but I’m even happier that you came (Y/N). I know that you didn’t have to and I didn’t deserve it.’ he said.

‘You didn’t, but I do, so please tell me the truth. Why did you cheat and why did you never stop.’ you asked sitting down your fork.

‘I...at first we weren’t serious or exclusive and I thought there was nothing wrong with what I was doing. I thought you had felt the same way, we were just...going on dates. Then it was more and you wanted to be official.’

‘I begged you to be exclusive, because I already knew what was going on then.’ you corrected.

‘And I said we were, and at first I tried, but then I went out and met someone I don’t even remember the name of. It felt horrible seeing you after that, but then nothing changed and I thought I had gotten away with it. You didn’t say anything, so I just…’

‘Kept on doing it, because I didn’t say anything?’

‘Because I thought I could, I never thought you would find out or that you would leave. I thought...no I knew you loved me more than anything, and I took advantage of that.’ Hvitserk confessed.

‘You did, and I knew...and I hurt.’ you said as tears came to your eyes.

‘I always knew and I always acted like I never saw it because I did love you. I don’t know why but when my friend sent me that picture of you with that secretary...I couldn’t pretend anymore. I was tired and angry and just fed up with you and your shit.’ you finished.

'I didn't know that you knew, and I know that's no excuse, but I do wish you would have spoken up before.’

'I tried once, when I asked to be exclusive, and you looked me in the eye and lied. You said I was the only one for you whenever I asked.’

'You are, the other women really meant nothing to me. They would get angry when I'd leave or they get impatient with me not spending time with them, but I didn't care. They came and went and it never had any affect on me, then you left and everything went wrong.’ he explained.

‘I couldn’t stand waking up without you, being in that apartment and not hearing you moving around, even the shows we watched together weren’t as good without your commentary to make me laugh.’ he finished.

‘Just because you cared about me more than the others doesn’t make it better. There should have been no other women, maybe before I asked to be exclusive you had an excuse...but after that?’

‘I know that, I should have been faithful to you and respected you enough to tell you what was happening. What I did was hurtful, disrespectful, dishonest, stupid, and arrogant. If by some miracle you took I would spend every second trying earn your trust and showing you how sorry I am.’ Hvitserk promised.

‘Oh Hvitserk...I have waited two years to hear you say those words, then I spent a year realizing I’d never hear them.’ you said.

‘And this year?’

‘I think at this point I just don’t care. Even if you were telling the truth I don’t trust you. I don’t want to go back always wondering what you are doing and never feeling like I’m enough.’ you answered.

‘Please (Y/N), don’t let this be the end of us.’ he pleaded, standing up and walking around the table and taking your hand before he kneeled in front of you.

‘We did have good times when we were together but honestly the bad outweighed the good tenfold.’ you said sadly as you pulled your hand away.

Hvitserk looked devastated and despite you feeling in your heart you were making the right decision it broke your heart to see him like this.

With a heavy heart you stood from your seat and Hvitserk stood as well.

‘A lot of what went wrong with us was your fault, but not all the blame was on you. I didn’t communicate that your actions were hurting me and I let it carry on. You were the love of my life but you are bad for me, I’m sorry Hvitserk.’ you apologized before walking away.

‘I will keep trying to show you that I’ve changed, I will make you see that I can be trusted not to hurt you like I did before.’

You stopped by the door with your hand on the door knob.

‘That’s another thing, I don’t want you to do anything for me. You need to do it for you Hvitserk. This can’t be the type of man you wanted to be, this is how Ragnar  destroyed both of his marriages.’

‘He’s still married.’ he tried.

‘Does your mother love him?’ you challenged as you turned to face him.

When he didn’t answer you continued.

‘Does he love her? Is their relationship what you want for the two of us? Because if it is then it’s good thing we ended things before I started to hate you.’ you finished before you left.

Closing the door behind yourself felt almost like some deep metaphor, your time with Hvitserk had come to an end and you knew it. There was no going back to what it was because what it was wasn’t good for you.

Even if you had taken him back and he had actually stayed faithful this time you would probably still be looking over your shoulder. The paranoia would drive you nuts, there would be no point in the relationship if there was no trust.

Your head was much clearer after your talk with Hvitserk which was really all that you wanted to get out of this.

Once you had got into your car your phone chimed with a message, you pulled it out of your pocket and saw that Alfred had texted you.

Alfred: Another sock on the door wanna meet at the cafe again, I’ll buy the pastries.

For a second you looked up at the house where you left Hvitserk, but then you replied.

(Y/N): I’m there.

[margsld]

Outlander Epi 3.07 Recap

Crème de Menthe mixed with lemonade is dreadful.

This week's episode saw an unfamiliar writers name on the title cards, for fans.  Karen Campbell is credited and by the surname, sounds like she comes from good Scottish stock!  We like her already.  It was another difficult part of the books to cover which drew mixed reviews but I actually enjoyed this episode. 

We start in the middle of the previous episode’s cliff hanger which had our fresh-from-the-clouds lass Dr Claire, in da house or kittle hoosey to be exact.  She was scarily caffeine deficient and fighting that accountant thug for her life!  To distract him she asked what Pi times 3,562 was and while he couldn’t resist such a juicy random calculation, she grabbed the nearest knife.  Go Claire!

No caffeine makes Claire very nasty so he had to dodge her viper-like advances which sent him tripping, smashing into the fireplace’s stone hearth like a pumpkin falling from a great height.  The resulting thunk meant Mr H&R Block was not going to be lodging any returns anytime soon. 

The cavalry arrive too late as usual.  Jamie, Fergus and Madame Jean/Jan burst into the room after hearing the kerfuffle. Claire was sipping her cup of Joe by then calmly declaring "He’s dead, chillax!"

Suddendly Mr H&R Block aka Blockhead stirs on the hearth and Claire rejoices that he hasn’t died.  She's like a cat playing with a half-dead mousey.  

Now fully caffeinated and firmly under the Hipocratic Oath, examines him and diagnoses a severe swelling on the brain.  Hitting stone from a height will do that to a head, Claire.  Much to Jamie's chagrin, she's determined to give him a second chance and knows it will kill him if she doesn’t do something fast. 

#AccountantLivesMatter!

Jamie can’t hang about and watch though as the excisemen who hired Mr Blockhead, will be looking for him soon.  He organizes the last of their smuggled casks & barrels hidden in the basement to be moved.  He then sends Fergus and Young Ian to negotiate their sale on his behalf so that he can pretend nothing is going on if/when they are raided.

Claire races to the local apocothary for brain surgery supplies and pushes in like a two year old waiting to get on the jumpy castle.  Another customer, a Mr Archie Campbell takes opposition to her impatience and she offers to pacify him by visiting his sick sister (as an experienced healer or killer in the next few minutes, if you don’t move). He accepts this offer and Claire leaves with her supplies, keen to dig her scalpel into Mr Blockhead’s smashed-in noggin. Party on!

Ian (all of 16, making him a master negotiator) talks their customer into buying all the barrels for a good price and throws in 3 Crème de Menthe barrels to sweeten the deal. As you do.  Nothing dodgy about Crème de Menthe sold by a 16 year old. Nope.

Back in the Brothel, Claire is prepping for building a shed.  Errh sorry, saw a drill and jumped to conclusions.  No.... she’s drilling a massive hole in her assailants head. Mayhap so he can get better Wifi or you know...live.  Same same. 

Downstairs Madame Jean is pulling out her hair and all her charm school knowledge as the shifty Sir Percival arrives with his henchman, the freaky Mad Eye Moody doppleganger. Creepy much?

Claire is like a ghoulish kid in the candy store and is soon drilling a hole in Mr Blockhead’s block head.  Yi Tien Cho is her surgical assistant/cheer squad through the process. Eventually and after some classic grinding/sucking sounds, blood gushes out and we assume Mr Blockhead will live to ride the excise wagon again. *Cheer!

In the basement, Sir Percival is unhappy to find the floor is bare apart from some spilled water.  At least we hope it was water.  I'm not touching it.

With the coast clear, Jamie heads back to check on Claire.  Unfortunately, Mr Blockhead will not be lodging his tax next year and has died.  That bed needs to be burned now surely?

Claire is unhappy to lose her patient because her God complex is firmly ingrained after saving people for 14 years.  Jamie is his usual supportive self and says she can save someone else another time.  Moving on. Whisky anyone?

To celebrate their successful barrel clearance sale, Fergus and Ian chug a few coldies down at the pub.  Soon it’s clear that Young Ian has goo-goo eyes for the barmaid Brighid.  Fergus calls her over and leaves Ian with her to get cosy. Fergilicious is the best wingman ever! 

Ian is a virgin and inexperienced with women but followed Fergus' advice even though he was nervous af.  Bridhid is taken with his cuteness so agrees to have a drink with him.  In the background Mad Eye Moody quietly watches on giving Ian serious side-eye.  Not the good sort either.  Ominous music alert.

Claire is still sulking about the dead guy in her bed.  Building a bridge, she decides to go find another patient that needs her and is not likely to pop their clogs before sunset. She goes to visit Archie Campbell and his ailing sister Margaret. 

Like my husband in his cave on a Wednesday night, Margaret isn’t in the mood for company.  Archie introduces Claire to Margaret and Margaret unexpectedly springs to life, ranting wildly about blood and Abandawe. I love her, she's fun. 

Archie explains she is known as a Seer and people pay well to hear her visions.  Seems Scotland had a lot of cray crays errhh, I mean Seers in this era.

Claire provides the recipe for some wicked herbal teas before suggesting another visit tomorrow.  Archie declines her self-invite explaining they are catching the red-eye to the West Indies on the ‘morrow, to see a rich client.  Oooh la lah!

Young Ian has turned the Printshop into his private Love Shack and is wooing his new GF with songs and kisses.  Stop!  You are killing us with cute. 

Claire returns to the Brothel to find Jamie at the table.  The king was in his counting house, counting out his money.... along came a frustrated Claire and said it’s time to move.  Burning the bed wouldn’t be enough for me either, Claire. 

As always, they are interrupted by a knock at the door announcing Ian Murray Senior is down stairs.  Stuff a duck, it's peg leg!  I've missed him so much.

Ian is very happy to see Claire but he’s frantically looking for Young Ian. He’d run away from home again, the wee pest.  Jamie lies to him and Claire is trying to think of England so Ian can't see she knows something. Ian is really distraught and it tugs at all our heartstrings.  Jamie promises to bring him to Lallybroch if he turns up.

On the way out Ian asks Jamie if Claire knows the big SECRET.  She doesn’t.  OMG to the max.  Ian runs/hobbles all the way home to share the gossip with Jenny McHappypants.

Over in the Love Shack, Ian’s cherry has been carefully popped, stuffed and mounted on the mantelpiece for prosperity.  They have company though and hear someone breaking into the shop. 

Ian sends Brighid scarpering and goes to confront the intruder - Mad Eye Moody.  MEM is looking for the smuggled barrels and is searching high and low.  Ian tells him there is nothing to find and to leave but as happens, a fight breaks out.  After a bit of shovey-lovey, MEM bumps a secret door and out pops some hot-off-the-press seditious pamphlets.  Bugger.

Ian struggles to grab the pamphlets off him.  MEM pushes Ian off, pulls out his pistol and shoots at Ian, missing him but accidentally starting a fire.  Things soon escalate into a scene from a Burning Man festival in Carfax Close.  Oh Lordy there's a fire!  *pass the marshmallows  Young Ian finding himself trapped, waits for help.

After Ian has left, Claire confronts Jamie about lying to his family. She's upset that Jamie thinks he knows what’s best for Ian Jnr instead of letting his parents know he's ok.  Claire tries to reason with the stubborn gingernut but he thinks she should be used to lying, having lied their way around Paris.  Typical bloke logic to bring up something that happened 20 years ago.  Ugh.

Claire throws the “you aren’t his parent” line at him and he returns a volley of bitterness for having missed Bree’s upbringing.  Turns out Jamie is jealous of Frank too. Duh, Frank was a sexy spy! 

Before they can throw ashtrays and start slamming doors, Jamie is alerted to the fire and races to the Printshop with Claire close behind.  

On arrival at the Printshop and finding it ablaze, Jamie realises Ian is still inside and goes to his rescue.  We all love the nod to Batman as Jamie jumps from the top level down to young Ian with full super hero drop slow mo. Rounds of applause please.

Checking Ian is breathing and looking for a way out, Jamie finds the miniature of Willie and stuffs it in his pocket.  Sentimental fool, there's a fire!  Get out now!  Throwing Ian over his shoulder like a Santa sack, he climbs a press, squeezes through a window, down the front stairs to safety.  Just in time to see the Edinburgh fire department squirt a tiny water pistol at the inferno.  Good job fellas.

Knowing his life in Edinburgh is now cooked.  *pun intended  Jamie instructs Yi Tien Cho to go pay Leslie and Hayes for their work.  Fergus is sent to try and intercept Mad Eye Moody before he can give the pamphlets to Sir Percival and make Alex Malcolm a very wanted man.  After that, he instructed Fergus to then round up Ned Gowan (Solicitor from Season 1) and get him to Lallybroch.  Jamie wants him to help sort out the fact he has another wife there.  Confucius say WHAT!!!!  That is a pretty yucky Secret Mr Fraser.

The End.

Can't wait for next week!  Thanks for reading.

[koohiss]

30 years since the last critically acclaimed movie, but only like, 50 or 10 since the last one, depending on how time works, skywalkers are fucking shit up in the galaxy once more...

Luke’s gone, Leia’s still a badass, the heavy metal empire has been replaced with the emo-lite first order, just as much nazi garbage and none of the impressive capes. Instead they have a giant toddler who stomps around and eats shit on a regular basis and jerks off to his grandpa’s dead face, probably. Fucking weeb. This pilot, Poe, who I honestly don’t feel much of a connection to, sorry, is trying to get this old man to give him a map to Luke so he can come kick ass. But the douchelord Kellog’s Frosted Fuckup shows up and shoots everyone, bc uncle issues or something. poe gets captured, but shoves the map into his magic 8 ball, which escapes and finds a random superhuman jedi lady of amazingly ironic ancestry in the middle of, you guessed it, a desert. She’s Rey, and to quote some ghost guy who once got gutted inside a palace’s weird power dungeon murder hole, she’s probably maybe might be the chosen one for real this time, I swear to the force it’s for real this time yoda. Then, this amazeballs stormtrooper, Finn, has morals and courage and heart and all the things they wanted in wizard of oz, and is like, fuck this nazi shit, I’m out, and helps poe escape. Sadly, they crash, and poe apparently dies but really leaves finn to die in a plothole of a scene that someone in the writers room should be really embarassed over. Finn meets rey, and it’s love at first “oh shit”. It’s all meet cute/meet thief for a second, and then shit starts blowing up sideways, there was hand holding and running and “follow me”s and then the girl in white and the guy with the leather jacket get on the falcon and leave the desert planet. Classic. Speaking of classic, being the collector’s machinery that she is, the falcon breaks down and they get caught in a tractor beam of a larger ship, which conveniently Han and Chewie are on. Two gangs show up, the giant squid-tribbles escape, scooby doo mayhem ensues. They get away in the falcon and nope the fuck out. Spooky the gollum wannabe teases Kyle about Han and he acts like a pissbaby, says it’s nothing. Oh, and I guess he surprises everyone because somehow this giant moronic imbecile incompetent failure came from the pure glorious happy love of han and leia. Fuck you jar jar abrams. Fuck you in the eye. With a lensflare. This bullshit. The gang checks the map and realize it’s borked, Han gives the lowdown on “it’s real” and also that some sick asswipe death-murdered the jedi like some moron trilby with anger management issues because his mom cancelled his xbox live account because he wasn’t getting good enough grades at jedi academy due to playing the sith campaign of some shitty remade SW game with a pretty decent plot that every teen boy over analyzes and gets the wrong take away from. Anyways, they go to Takodana and Maz’s epic castle that was never fully explained. For some reason they need her to find the resistance for them, which I’m like, just have Han wave at a holocam for like, 2 seconds and you will find literally almost everyone except luke because he’s pouting over history repeating itself. So naturally while they are all chilling at the castle, the party splits bc Finn is scared and Rey is gonna go home and Han is just like, eyes roll emoji. Who knows where chewie went, they act like he isn’t a character or something. But twist, the big ol space nazis find them. Rey finds a lightsaber (prolly just a family heirloom or smth, nbd) and bolts after having visions of all these epics ass movies and shit. My beloved young padawan super duper force sensitive jedi in training Finn is given the lightsaber, bc even Maz can tell that those two are always gonna watch out for each other and are obvs soulmates and he’s the best bet to get it to Rey, the inheriting granddaughter. (also, didn’t a bunch of little kids get murdered with that at least once, possibly twice???) As they leave, death star 3 and with a much lamer name but really cool lore blows the everloving shit out of coruscant 2.0, killing a few more characters that I was probably more interested in than Kyle’s boring weepy “my parents dont’ accept me for being an edgelord” lame ass backstory. Then the TIE fighters try to wreck my fave dudes with some weak sauce army, but then that same ace pilot who apparently left finn to fucking die, nbd, true love amirite? brings the party to them in an epic callback with improved graphics. Meanwhile, that boring infant Ronald mcdumbass over here shows up and after a let down of a fight (c’mon rey, shoot him!) kidnaps his cousin. Gets all creepy and makes teenagers with poor romance comprehension (not their fault, imo) think it’s love and come up with all this bullshit as to why they aren’t cousins. Sigh. But Rey, light of my life, is stronger than this woobie weeb, and she makes him have to run back to the safety of his darth vader body pillow, while she up and obi wans her way out of this bitch. The theme-swapped leto-joker looking vastly subpar offbrand trashcan may have padme’s hair, but rey has her climb up random shit abilities, which go a lot farther honestly. (they both have her hit and miss fashion taste so at least there’s that in common you goddamned r/los that’s all i will give you) Mr. Hotshot takes everyone back to Resistance HQ and conveniently brings the drama too, since he followed teeny!leias footsteps and lead a superweapon to the not-so-secret-anymore base. Everyone scrambles, finn kinda sorta maybe lies through his teeth a little so he can rescue rey, leia guilts han because apparently no (coughdudecough) director can write a conflicted and damaged woman who also happens to be strong without making her completely subsume to whichever half of the dichotomy is needed for the current scene… They go to death star 3 and prepare to fuck shit up. Specifically by doing things that have never been done before with no guarantee they will survive and sassing each other mercilessly. My babies. They find rey off being her badass self, and then right at the point where everything has to go to shit to make the third act interesting, some motherfucking emo up and kills my geriatric fave. Fuck you, marilyn manson. Fuck you. Chewie takes the logical next step and blows his fucking guts out with a laser crossbow bolt, AND blows the fucking guts out of his fanboy cosplay of the death star, because fuck you that’s why. So that’s how the dramatic “ur up past curfew” conversation goes, because I can never have nice things, no the precious goth boy has to live, apparently my needs aren’t important to multi-trillion dollar entertainment corporations, whatever. The absolute wrench fucker chases my beautiful darlings around the currently imploding fucking doom orb of stupid, and they waste his ass with amazing shows of jedi prowess. Finn fights him first and the bastard cheats with his fucking laser butterfly knife like an ass, and precious finn who has never trained a day in his life for this bullshit can only hold on so long before the cheating bastard takes him down. Then rey, pillar of light and all that is good, curbstomps his ass with the prowling predator walk of her father and grandfather before her. Suck it, ron. She’s the chosen one, bitch. Anyways, so I guess the bombs let fly boy (only) get inside and pew pew up the place enough that it rejoined it’s godforsaken stop-building-death-moons-they-don-t-work ancestors. Old ghastly jazzhands on the demon projector asks the weasley kid to go pick up kyle’s raggedy strung out ass, like I fucking care at this point. Everybody goes home (AKA chewie saves all of your asses because even if you ignore him he’s still a cool dude like that) and they totally gloss over the deaths of characters I care about to give us this arbitrary fucking scene of the golden cock block and ir3cutesty5u the soccerball annoying r2, who magically wakes up and magically doesn’t nuke their inferior asses and instead gives them the stupid fucking map, why do you even need a fucking map, all you need is coordinates, jesus christ it’s space, you can just plug the fucking three axis code into the computer and float ur ass over why is there a goddamn treasure map to safeway just use the damn gps good god. It’s space. With infinite wifi. Rey and chewie go to this bird shit covered island and find luke sulking, probably about getting bird shit on his suede jedi boots or losing his best friend and failing his nephew and sister and and the entire galaxy or something like that and then the movie ends

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 32 - ARI - Chirp City Dubs

Apparently after that gruesome Flyers loss on Saturday there was a Players-Only closed door meeting. It was at the players behest so it was a natural occurrence not prompted by anyone on the coaching staff. We can only speculate what might have been said; Jack Eichel probably said some stuff similar to his postgame comments from that awful Saturday showing. They haven’t earned anything in this league yet. The win streak is over. Time to play hockey and play it well; not shit selfish efforts. I’ve probably said it to death but the five game losing streak that followed the ten game winning one did not denote awfully different games. Philadelphia in the third and LA for the first forty were bad bad games. It’s one thing to not be streaky; it’s another to be just outright bad. Jack is intimately acquainted with what that’s like and the message with these guys has to be to find your stride. This team needs to catch the Sabs real bad to not make the playoffs at this point but more than that they need to make sure this league knows they’re back. That ten game winning streak was the rain check and now it’s time for the Christmas Card. Carter Hutton was back in net and Buffalo ended their home stand on a high note in this matchup with the Houston Coyo— I mean the ARIZONA Coyotes.

Casey Mittelstadt answered the secondary scoring bell. Perhaps he’s heard the talk of the need for a true 2nd line center and took it personally. Conor Sheary got the puck off a Coyote as they tried to transition out and threaded it to Mittelstadt through traffic and roofed it over Darcy Kuemper at 48 seconds in. The broadcast hadn’t even finished lines yet. It was hardly five minutes later Jack Eichel’s line came streaming down the ice. This time Jeff Skinner was riding down center ice where a pass from his Captain met his stick with no one in front of him but the goalie. Skinner sunk it like you know he does for his 22nd goal in 32 games. Jeff Skinner is unreal. We all must sound like a broken record but he is legitimately in the running for a scoring title this season. Sure, it’s his contract year God forbid I go into that again but he’s also on Jack Eichel’s wing. Jack Eichel is also on pace for 100 points at the moment, not to mention he’s on pace for 74 even strength points which make him one of only four players since the lockout to achieve such a feet (Thanks for that stat Jourdon LaBarber). Jack is leading by example and his left hand man Jeff is making him look good too. The fun thing about this game is that it wasn’t hard. Yea, Christian Fischer snuck a puck past Carter Hutton shortly after the Skinner goal but the Sabres dominated possession and chances more and more as the game went on.

Arizona and Buffalo used to be spoken of in the same breath frequently. This game was the McEichel Basement Bowl four years ago and you can ask Dylan Strome how that turned out for the Yotes. There was a time that arena cheered for Yotes goals in a game that was decisive in a very different way. Today the story has changed for one of these teams but in spite of playing so rarely and overturning most of their rosters there was a chippy chirpy feel in the air. You didn’t need to read lips to be able to tell these two teams were talking shit. Even as Buffalo dominated offensive zone time in the second period Arizona got their fair share of chances testing the armor of a Sabres squad we all have become acquainted with the holes of. They stayed on their game and a second period that could’ve gone like so many others have this season – that is, down the toilet – ended with nothing: no goals, no powerplays. I’ll take that improvement. Going into the 3rd frame all you hope for is that rarefied mineral we all crave: the regulation win; no theatrics, no making us clutch our pearls, no oxygen masks, just give us that oh so good regulation dub.

That third period is really when Chirp City teed off harder than a WiFi connection in the White House bathroom after Fox and Friends’ first hour. Rasmus Ristolainen wanted to kill Nick Cousins, Zach Bogosian wanted to fucking murder Richard Panik. Bogo nearly did knock Panik’s block off at one point in the third when he shoved him down into the Sabres net. Zach got up red in the face and said words I am sure were not family friendly and had Panik not given him the old bear hug Bogo would’ve fought him. No fights happened although there were a lot of hits. The only stat that matters though was still too close for comfort at 2-1 Sabres until 6:28 into third when Evan Rodrigues got rewarded for his stellar play this season for only the second time this season. E-Rod got the puck off a neutral zone turnover and skated in fast, slamming it in five hole in one of those goals reminiscent of his Boston University teammate Jack Eichel. That Larsson-Girgensons-Rodrigues line is good even when they don’t score to say the least. Evan was still skating down the bench getting his fist bumps when Bogosian very nearly got into a fight but lone behold it didn’t happen. A couple of counteracting penalties came late in this one after Arizona had already pulled their goalie and as the dying second ticked away Bogo sent it down ice and missed getting an empty netter by maybe 1.2 seconds. This one ended 3-1 Buffalo and gave us one of those oh so delicious regulation dubs.

Give me more W’s in regulation. Good teams do that and if you’re going to convince me third place in the Atlantic division is where this team belongs. Buffalo outplayed Arizona in every meaningful category in this game and in spite of how promising the Yotes may have looked through their early going; this result has to be an expectation of this Sabres team. The next four games feature three teams this club has not beat this season: one that embarrassed them in OT, one that shut them out opening night and another that just won a Stanley Cup. This time last month we were talking about hard games ahead and Buffalo rattled off ten straight wins. I don’t expect that again but I don’t want to see the Sabs at any point over that stretch. This team has talked the talk and even walked the walk in spurts. Let’s see them do it consistently if not streak…ily? Streakily? That doesn’t sound like a word but it is now. That’s my truthiness: Streakily. Trademark. Rename the blog.

Anyway, if you read through last game’s New Look Sabres you would have seen my PS that a Midseason post will be out soon. I want some meaningful reflection on what this blog has been so far in there. That is me saying leave a comment. If you read this far, leave a comment; anything, tell me I’m a bad fucking writer, I’ll take it. If you’re reading consistently let me know you exist somehow, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Drop a like and or heart on this as well and share it with your friends. Tell them it’s their Christmas present and when their inevitably saddened by the thought of that and you tell them it’s a joke and give them your real gift, then slip a little whisper that the Sabres are good and worth their time now. I watched this game in a Bar and it was fun. The last time the Sabres were fun to watch in Bars I wasn’t old enough to drink in the U.S. or Canada! Buffalo Sabres Hockey is back, baby!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Is there any team that could be moved to the Central Division that could be more screwed than the Coyotes are with it? It’s a pipe dream but I almost want Auston Matthews offer sheeted to Arizona for Arizona’s sake more than I want it to happen just to fuck the Leafs.  

[lilynoellerogers]

Cuba, Libre

From the moment the plane hovered overhead, fought back by warm sweeping winds, I could tell we had entered a different world. Already the 5am wakeup, the disorientation of being alone on a voyage I had envisioned for two, and a five hour flight had left my head a bit spun out. But landing in Havana, and all that followed that day, gave me a sense of being suspended in time and place. It was pure magic. In the final miles that the plane descended on the lush tropical landscape of Cuba, small scenes caught my eye: a group crossing a green plain on horseback to check the crops, exuberantly bright old cars barreling along a highway going about 50 but looking like they were pushing themselves to the brink, pockets of dense jungle scattered within a mile or two of Habana Centro. The plane landed smoothly, despite the strong gales of wind,  and a ramshackle faded yellow airport building appeared. We were bussed over to it and were ushered in, where numbered cubicles that looked like small wooden phone booths were the vessels we would pass through to a land that felt like the Wild Un-West. A few quick questions from an immigration officer and then a mystery door, opening up to Cuba. An immediate rush of people appeared, some well intentioned, some not as much. In the bathroom a cleaning lady hoped to do an unofficial currency exchange with me. I navigated through the crowd to get a taxi, which ended up being a new vehicle with AC rather than the 51 Chevy convertible of my dreams. But those pushed along the road with us, some looking as though they had been worked to the bone and others as though they hadn’t exited a garage since whatever year in the 1950’s they had been made. An occasional pink Cadillac would sidle up alongside us. Men selling mangos rushed to do a quick exchange with a car in front of us on the highway - “only in Cuba,” my driver said with a chuckle. Cuba by and large felt safer than many places with a similar demographic, though some opportunists were emboldened by the recent rush of tourism. My driver began to tell me about trips I could take to the countryside, and I started to prepare a kind but firm defense, knowing that the pitch for his services was forthcoming. Instead, he surprised me by suggesting that I take the bus for a couple CUC, or to walk through Habana Centro rather than taking a taxicab. He really wanted me to have a good time, and that made me smile. Somehow it felt like everywhere else we had slipped into the era of young capitalists seeing the chance for a quick buck rather than the simplicity of people who loved their country and wanted others to experience it’s beauty too. Walking down the streets also felt safe. The only frustrations were people begging for money and men hitting on me in Spanish (for which I didn't have a full enough Spanish vocabulary to adequately warn them off). I arrived to the building where my homestay was located, and a man smoking a cigar lingered in the doorway. He grunted a bit and directed me where to go. Another ancient looking man with a bulbous nose was slumped on the stairs, and his eyes smiled at me. I found my host, Magalys, who I exchanged excited noises of greeting with in lieu of a common language. My mind flashed to google translate - but there’s truly no service anywhere in Cuba. Not even easy wifi. It’s complicated. So with no raft to save us, she rattled on in Spanish, I caught every fourth word and the general gist, and smiled inside at how much I appreciated the simplicity of it all. This was a different world. The lack of technology and virtually no internet was one of the most striking things I first experienced in Cuba. I used a paper map to navigate and made educated guesses. I gestured a lot with my hands and employed a broad smile. I seemed to over-rely on the word “perfecto” for everything. Low-tech seemed to change the nature of everything. Even the fact that I pushed through a writer’s block the minute I arrived was telling. When I first found Magalys I walked past apartment doors, all mostly open but some with a barred door just to stop people from walking in. Small windows into small worlds, and again a different era. Ancient TV sets and photos of granddaughters alongside renderings of Jesus were the pretty vignettes through the bars. Beams of golden light, brightly colored walls, overgrown plants, and indoor/outdoor living abounded. I was loving Cuba. My apartment was clean, bright, and perfect. Twin balconies overlooked the streets of Havana. The capital shone in one direction and Plaza Vieja in the other. An old cherry apple red Ford convertible idled below while a group of men chatted. Stray kittens mewed and meandered across the street while street puppies play fought beside them. I ventured out in the world after unpacking a bit. I ended up At El Del Frente, a place I could tell would be my new home base. Fresh juice and a welcoming environment, as well as some young English speaking Cuban guys who told me I was their “favorite customer ever.” I’m a sucker for feeling special. I had baked plantain chips, a sweet potato puree, and some incredibly fresh cold lobster tacos. I met an English couple from Yorkshire who were incredulous I was alone, and the woman in particular seemed to feel a bit of motherly responsibility for me. As we ate on a small terrace one floor up, able to somewhat invisibly observe the happenings down below, a Michael Jackson impersonator very enthusiastically (but not too adeptly) performed some renditions of “Black or White” and “Thriller,” complete with sparkly glove. I became lost in my own imaginings of this man as a young boy, watching the only VHS tape in the house of a Michael Jackson concert, drilling himself on the moves and sounds so that someday he could voyage out with a very particular set of skills. My new friends from the UK, Shelley and Rick, took me afterwards to a bar they had been to before dinner, where there was live music. A group of women ran through songs that seemed every Cuban person in the room knew, and brayed along drunkenly. People were salsa dancing, smoking, imbibing in the crowded but pulsing space. This felt like Cuba. “Stand by Me” was also thrown into the mix and we had a chance to sing along. My usual judgments or self-consciousness in this was nowhere to be found. A city, colorful and alive, was allowing me to feel like me.

But it’s funny how days can go. The last line of this, both poignantly true and utterly false on day two. The thing I thought would be tough about traveling as a single woman alone in Cuba, my (lack of) safety or being an easy target, was only partly true. I felt pretty safe, even on blocks that looked as torn apart as Aleppo, but I was constantly catcalled and targeted for the scam du jour. Every block I walked, multiple no’s. The interaction exhaustion I experienced after only one hour “out” forced me back to my apartment to recoup. It reminded me of parts of Asia or Istanbul, for slightly different reasons. Third world with a side of being hit on constantly made it tough. The language barrier was the cherry on top. There’s not many creative ways to couch “NO” when you don’t speak the language. And sometimes they don’t listen. Yesterday a guy followed me home for 30 minutes babbling drunkenly while I completely ignored him (full disclosure: I spoke to him for a couple sentences as “nice American”) before starting to completely ignore him. But that’s the problem with going full “feminist at a frat party” NO. I feel vulnerable here. This is not my country. A way I might feel safe communicating in LA, with a full grasp of the English language, a car in clicker shot, my complete bearings of where I am…that doesn’t apply here. So in a way, you put up with it. “Nice American” it is. It’s brought up a lot of internal questions about feminism here. Sometimes I think many of our male-dominant culture issues are American ones. But as I think about it, there’s really not a single place I’ve been, with the exception of maybe Australia and New Zealand, where that’s not an issue. For some reason, I imagine Tokyo might be the same. However, everywhere else I’ve been catcalled, treated as lesser than, touched without permission. Yesterday, even my well-meaning driver touched my leg an awful lot over my virgin Mojito and his Cuba Libre - and I was the one who felt like it would have been impolite to ask him to stop. It’s truly a global issue. And I’ll be honest, in the case of Havana, it’s making me want to jet to Cancun sooner than later, as much as I also love it here.  I think being a single woman traveling here is truly not an easy task. Despite all this, yesterday was still fun. I found an old flea market near the Plaza de Armas with loads of precious small things: pins, old books, sentimental trinkets. This was nothing like the tourists markets with maracas, cheap drums, and Club Havana t-shirts. I bought a pin that spoke to me - 1972 Blood Donor - as well as an old 1988 Dave Stewart baseball card. Funny to travel all this way for that! The rest of the day was spent wandering out of old Havana and into other areas on the outskirts. I got caught in a sudden tropical rainstorm and kids emerged from every door in underwear, dancing and yelping. I took refuge in a dark corner of Cafe Miglis and had some meatballs that seemed a million miles from Cuba. I took a wander after the rain died down to the nearby Ocean Wall, the Malecon, where young lovers canoodled and fisherman sat on the wall, kicking, looking for the catch of the day while simultaneously hissing at me with approval. I made my way up to the Hotel Malecon, a grand decaying old Hotel but well worth popping in to spend time in the rolling gardens with a drink or a cigar. I exited the hotel quickly and immediately met Michael, a driver with a pink Chevy who beckoned me to come on a city tour with him. I hadn’t planned on this, but why not. I was tired and could use to take a rest and see some sights. So out we went, past the old University with the broad stairs and broken windows, through Revolution Square, a bleak places with a couple outlined portraits of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro, and up to the somewhat mythical Bosque of Havana. The bosque is a forest right in Miramar, on the outskirts of Havana, and though I cringed a little at parts of it being trashed, it still felt like something out of Avatar. People were even bringing dead things down to the river for a Santeria ceremony. We rolled home through Miramar and after a mojito on the Malecon. I fell into a deep sleep at 8pm and slept for 13 hours, exhausted by the stimulation of it all.