#The best places for solo female travel

[tripcounselors]

Solo Trip in Goa

There is no experience that can compare to the exhilaration of traveling alone on one's lonesome and uncovering previously unknown aspects of the locations one visits. Not only are trips taken by oneself great for recharging one's batteries and giving one the option to arrange excursions according to one's own areas of interest, but traveling by oneself is also an excellent way to save money. Despite the fact that India is home to a great number of other sites that are very comparable, Goa is an excellent starting point for a first vacation taken on your own.

Goa has everything that you could desire in a great tropical vacation, from lazing on the brilliant white beaches and enjoying the throbbing nightlife to exploring the local markets and engaging in water sports activities. Goa is located in the Indian state of India. Goa is an excellent choice for any kind of vacation, whether you're looking for a place to kick back and relax or for a trip that's packed with exciting activities. If you are a first-time traveler or are in need of greater knowledge on how to plan your trip, here is our comprehensive guide to aid you in arranging your next solo holiday to Goa. If you are a first-time traveler or are in need of greater information on how to organize your trip, contact Trip Counselors.

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck's #CoDVacationMode challenge.

Title: Best Laid Plans Pairing: 141 x Reader, (Female Reader) Warning: 18+, implied smut, sexual situations, sexual thoughts Prompts: Budget Motel, Solo Vacation, Running into the same person (s) Word Count: 4.3k Summary: A nice long holiday to 'find yourself' is just what you need after a messy breakup. You look forward to the restful retreat for months, dreaming about what you'll do with all your free time. But when the trip finally arrives, everything goes completely off the rails.

This got extremely out of hand in length, as my stuff usually does. I can do a part two if there is an interest 💙

The summer plan of 'finding yourself' after an extremely messy breakup was not going to plan. In the slightest. You were supposed to hop off the plane on an island in the Mediterranean, catch a ride to your rented flat, and find a lovely man, or five, to occupy your next month in blissful self love.

The first flight had been extremely uncomfortable in coach, the seats too small and your neighbor too loud to be able to sleep. That was fine you told yourself, it was just a few hours. You had a four poster bed with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean to sleep in for the next few weeks. What was a few hours?

Then when you arrived at the impossibly small airport after the second flight you found out your luggage hadn't made it. It was still on the mainland and they'd be sending it on the next flight; which wasn't until the following day. Fine. You could survive on your travel clothes for a night.

But the final straw had been when you arrived at your rented space to find the owner standing outside the place. It was flooded. Completely and utterly ruined, water running from the ceiling where the pipes had burst and their other place was already booked. So were all the other areas around. Summertime on the island was busy which was why you had to book this place out four months in advance. The owner apologized and hoped to have it ready in a few weeks so maybe you could finish your vacation there.

The only place with a vacancy is a small motel on the edge of town that looks like it rents rooms by the hour. You sigh as the taxi drops you and you walk up to the front counter. It's like the start of a horror movie, the fluorescent link flickering as you sign in and pay for a room. You'll find something better tomorrow you tell yourself.

At ten at night, there is nowhere around to eat so you settle for the vending machine that is on the way to your room. It only accepts cash. You hadn't had the chance to exchange currency, that was part of the plan for tomorrow. This was turning into such a disaster. Maybe you should have just stayed home, maybe it was the universe letting you know that this was not going to be the hot girl summer you thought.

Tilting your head back to hold back the frustrated, and tired, tears you hear footsteps approach. Carefully wiping your face you turn to see a man standing behind you at the machine, casually digging out his wallet as he looks at you.

"Oh, please go ahead," you mutter as you step aside, "I was just...leaving."

"Didn't find anything appetizing?" The man asks as he steps forward and peruses the selection inside.

"No cash. Had a bit of a change of plans and didn't expect my first night in the country would be vending machine food."

"You should always carry local currency," the man says with a grin and you catch the emblem on his ball cap is a British flag. Perhaps another tourist.

"I'm figuring that out," you answer as you look at your room key number to see where you need to go.

"What do you want?" He asks as he makes a selection, a candy bar.

You pause and stare at him with an eyebrow raise. You weren't one to accept anything from strangers but you were starving.

"What do you want?" You parrot back at him taking a step back.

He chuckles eyes roving over you before producing another bill and stuffing it into the feeder.

"No strings. Just don't think you should go to bed hungry. Even if it's shitty vending machine food." He presses in the selection and watches it fall to the tray below before bending down to retrieve the bag and holds it out to you. "Crisps?"

"Thanks," you say skeptically, taking it and preparing to run.

He smirks, unwrapping his own sweet treat and taking a bite. "See you."

You wait until he is gone, disappearing into his room down the line before hustling to your room. You slip in and slam the door shut, sliding the chain and lock into place before flipping on the light. The room is about as delightful as any seedy motel that hadn't had an update since the eighties would be. You're fairly certain something skittered under the bed when you flipped the lights on.

The next day isn't going better.

You can't find anywhere else to stay on the island. No one has any sort of openings for at least a week. Your luggage had arrived at the place you were supposed to be staying at, but since no one was there they took it back to Athens. You spend another few frustrating hours to arrange it to arrive at the motel but now they say it'll be another two days. You couldn't do another two days of dirty clothes and motel soap.

You opt to go shopping, to try and make the best of it and find some nice airy clothes and hygiene provisions. Shopping takes up the rest of your day and when you arrive back at the sketchy motel you walk up to your door and slide your key in the lock to get in. It jams. You rattle the knob in frustration, juggling your bags as you fight with it.

It's not budging.

"Need a hand?" Someone calls and you turn to see the man from the night before. But he also has a friend. The other guy is older, a bit taller, definitely gruffier, and would have been a bit more intimidating if he didn't have a boonie hat on like your father.

"Ah, no I got it," you answer as you try to shoulder the door open. It doesn't budge and you sigh.

"Here," he offers walking over, his friend lingering back with his hip on the railing just watching.

You step away from the door as he wiggles the key a bit and grabs the handle, his hand completely encapsulating the knob, and he lifts it. The lock slides free when he twists the key open again and he opens the door allowing you to slip past.

"Humidity shifts the doors, just give them a good lift," he says with a grin as you shuffle past and turn to stare up at him. You watch as his eyes sweep over the room before back to you.

"Well, I'll hopefully only be here another day or two," you answer, "thank you..." you pause to get his name.

"John."

"John," you say with a nod before moving to shut the door.

"Wait," his hand stops the door shutting and your heart jumps into your throat. "Key," he supplies pulling it from the knob and holding it to you. "Don't want anyone just wandering by and letting themselves in," he finishes with a small wink before turning away as you snick the door shut. You watch him walk away through the eyehole before turning back to your dismal room to make the most of your evening.

You are going to the beach today.

You had enough of phone calls, trying to make arrangements, and sitting in the infested motel room. Perhaps this was all part of that grand universe plan, a great story to tell later and a lesson to just roll with whatever was thrown at you.

You didn't have your suit but that was fine; a summer dress and a bottle of wine tucked into the tote bag you bought would keep you entertained. There is a public spot to visit and you decide to walk, taking in the summer day and the sights as you wander. Finally happening upon the beach an hour later before groaning. It's all the way down a hill, a hill full of steep stone steps that look like would be your demise at one misstep. Fuck it, you came this far.

Pulling out the wine you wander down carefully, sipping right from the bottle as you go. You don't pass anyone on the way down and when you make it to the sand half the bottle is already gone. You should have brought two. No matter.

You walk along the shoreline watching the water lap against the sand as you continue to sip. You aren't sure what the rules are for alcohol on the beach, let alone in public, so you keep tucking the bottle away as people happen upon you. A man runs past you and you twist to watch him pass. He grins at you over his shoulder but that's the only acknowledgement he gives you before he continues.

But then he comes back a few minutes later, slipping past you with a polite 'excuse me', hands brushing your shoulders as you step into the shallow surf to give him space. He's shirtless this time and you stare boldly as he goes, twirling the bottle in your fingers as you watch the sun shining on the sweat on his back. You bring the wine up to your lips to finish the last dregs, leaning back a bit tipsily to get the last drop. When you tilt forward again you nearly splutter the liquid out as you see the man standing right in front of you. How did he get back to you so quickly?

"Drink that whole thing yourself?" He asks, his Scottish accent thick as he eyes the bottle in your hand. You almost see a twinkle in his eye at your unsubtle attempt to grip the neck of the bottle to prepare to swing it as a weapon if needed.

"Going to tattle on me?" You shoot back willing your eyes to stay on his face. Not the way his chest heaves a bit to catch his breath, the lines of his muscles on his stomach that are taunt and oh so chiseled. And definitely not at his arms where the veins are on prominent display after all the cardio. Fuck. You snap your eyes up and he's smirking at you like a cheshire cat.

"Me? Never," he answers before looking over at the hill and the stairs, the only way back up. "Just curious if you plan on spending the evening down here," he grins, "you'll break your neck walking up those after all that. Especially out here in the sun, nary a drop of water in sight." With that, he sips on his own bottle of water and pulls his shirt that he's tucked into the waistband of his pants to wipe the sweat off his face.

"Be better than where I'm staying now," you mutter glaring at the stairs for a moment. "I think I have a multi generational family of roaches under my bed."

"Aye, roaches are better than rats though," the man states and he sees your eyes widen. "Thinking better of camping out here?" He laughs as you turn to stomp toward the stairs. You better start walking now if you want to make it out by sundown.

He follows though and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Only way in or out," he reasons and you sigh before beginning your hike.

Your legs are on fire after only twenty steps and there are many more to go. He's a few steps behind, quietly following and politely looking at the ground, at least when you turn to stare at him. Halfway up you can't take it anymore and you step off to the side to bend over to breathe. The wine is churning in your stomach and you're slick with sweat from the heat. You wave him to go past you but you watch his legs stop in your vision before he taps you on the arm with his water bottle.

You snatch it with a muttered thanks before taking a few sips and handing it back. He's watching you quietly before you stand up and continue your march in silence with him still lingering a few steps behind you.

At the top, you breathe a sigh of relief before remembering you've still got about an hour's walk back. Maybe the rats would leave you alone if you just crawled under the bushes on the side of the road and slept there.

"We have to stop running into one another like this," comes a voice that makes your head snap up. It's the man from the motel in the baseball cap half leaning out the passenger window as he looks at you with a grin.

"I'm beginning to think you're following me," you answer the tone not a joke.

"Small island," he reasons as the guy from the beach walks around to climb in the car. Did all of these people know one another?

"Great, well enjoy," you answer and twist to walk the opposite way of the car.

"Motel's the other way," he calls and you hesitate in your steps. Goddamn it.

"Small island, I'll just walk the circle and get there eventually."

"We'll give you a ride." John is driving and he's watching you in the side mirror.

"I'm fine, thanks!" You shoot back and continue walking, stumbling a bit over some loose gravel.

"Careful."

A hand catches your elbow and you yank it back quickly looking up. Was all of Britain on this vacation? What are the odds you run into yet another British guy based on his accent?

""m fine," you snap as you take in him. He's tall, so tall you have to crane your head back to look at him. There isn't much to see of his face though between the black facial mask and sunglasses. He has a bag of what looks like takeaway in his hands and someone yells from the car for him to hurry up.

"The stumbling walk tells me otherwise," he answers as he blocks your path from continuing your walk. "Not safe to be out here alone in your state."

"Yeah? And what? Safer for me to get in the car with you lot?" You glance over your shoulder where the men inside the car continue to watch.

"Yes." He nods off to the right where another group of men are watching the whole scene unfold and as if on queue one wolf whistles while staring blatantly at you. "Considering Johnny was kind enough to keep them away from you on your walk, I would view us as the lesser of two evils."

"I-what?"

"It's the middle of the hottest part of the day, you think he went for a run for fun?" He laughs a bit, "get in the car."

Something about his tone is commanding enough for your confused, and tired, brain to listen. Maybe it's stupid. No, it is stupid. But what other choice do you have? You walk toward the car and the man in the back, Johnny, leans over to open it from the inside and you climb in.

The back seat is cramped once the other guy climbs in and he shoves the food into your hands, his knees tucked nearly to his chest. You take it before staring at John as he pulls off the curb and heads back to the motel.

Your heart is hammering through the whole drive, staring at street names, markers, anything to help you when they inevitably drove you down some side road and tried to murder you. No, they'd certainly murder you. Johnny's arms were the size of a small child and the guy next to you looks as if he could smash you under his foot.

True to their word though, you arrive back at the motel very much alive. Johnny gets out first and you slide out next to him and hand him the food with a shove before making to run for your room.

"Hang on," comes the big guy in the face mask's voice. You halt and twist as he walks over and sticks a Styrofoam box into your hands. "Living off wine and vending food is no way to spend your vacation." You swear he's grinning as you stare down at the box before he twists away to follow the other three men toward their room.

The food is delicious. You sit in the very center of your bed, above the blankets, and eat it all while watching the fuzzy television. You realize as you doze off in your wine haze that they had bought you food. There had been five boxes of in your hand sitting in that car as if they knew you'd say yes.

A few hours later you decide this was it. This was the thing that was going to send you into a breakdown.

Sunburnt, hungover, and the goddamn water in the shower is a very slow trickle that barely splashes the bottom of the tub. When you attempt to call the front desk for help it just rings. And rings. You're near hysterics in laughter, or rage, as you storm toward the door. Whoever is at the front desk is about to get an earful of misplaced anger.

Flinging the door open you make to storm right down to the front when a bit of your senses come back. You don't have shoes on and you are very much wrapped in just a towel. You twist to try and stop the door but it clicks shut just as your palm hits it. Shit. Shit. You wriggle the door handle hoping against hope that it didn't lock properly but it's good and snug in its place.

Gripping the towel knot at your collarbone you walk over to the railing and peer toward the front desk. Maybe no one would be around and you could just dart in there, ask the manager for another key, and run back before anyone saw.

The office is dark; they've closed for the evening it seems which is why no one had picked up.

"Oh my god," you whine as you twist to look back at your still very much closed and locked door. What do you do now? No phone, no key, no clothes. You glance to the right as someone steps out of their room and the leering look he gives you makes your stomach churn.

Lesser of two evils comes the masked guy's words. Right.

Before you can think better you walk down to the room that you know the four men are staying in and bang on the door. It's the middle of the night so you assume you're about to wake them but you barely get two knocks before it swings open. John is standing there looking very much awake, and perhaps a bit shocked at the state you're in.

Goddamn.

Where Johnny had been chiseled bronze earlier this guy is a broad-shouldered solid wall of man that you hadn't noticed the first time. He's not nearly as cut, but you know that brute strength lingers under his skin. Your eyes trace over his pecs that seem to bulge under his compression t-shirt.

"Ah, I know it's late...and this is all a bit odd," you say, your eyes sweeping into the room to see Johnny and the masked guy playing cards at a small table, their eyes darting between you and their hands. "But my shower wasn't working and one stupid thing led to another and I locked myself out of my room and the front desk is closed." You glance at the other stranger still standing watching you. "And I'm pretty sure if I don't get somewhere else my neighbor is going to kidnap me."

John looks out the door at the man who's smoking and smirking now and his hand gently comes between your shoulder blades to guide you inside.

"Kyle is just finishing up his shower then you can get cleaned up. See if I can scrounge up a shirt instead of just...that," his eyes give your body a once over and you feel goosebumps break out along your spine at the scrutiny.

You shuffle inside and grip at your towel to make sure it's good and wrapped before leaning against a dresser. This is so fucking awkward. The other two men continue their game doing their best to not stare and you jiggle your leg restlessly. What the hell were you going to do now? Just...sit here with them all night? You should have slept on the beach and risked the rats.

"This a guys' trip?" You ask into the silence in an attempt to fill it, noticing there were only two beds for the four men.

"Something like that," John answers as he brushes past you to sit on one of the beds. "What brings you here?"

"I decided to follow a stupid self-help book about finding yourself and a series of unfortunate events landed me here. I'm going to leave the author a horrible review." You sigh wistfully as the bathroom door opens. "I was supposed to be staying on the beach with my pick of men to bring home every night and just a nice break from reality for a bit. Little bit of 'eat pray love' in my life. But this has been a disaster."

"You've got at least one of those things," comes a voice, Kyle, as he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel slung around his hips. You have to mentally make sure your mouth is not hanging open at the sight because, fucking hell, he's gorgeous. The steam curling off his skin, water droplets still glistening on his chest, and a smile that about takes you out.

"Bloody showoff," Johnny mutters and you glance over at him before back to Kyle.

"Says the one running shirtless earlier, how's the burn?" The masked guy asks as he shows his cards and Johnny tosses his own in disgust at the loss.

"Sorry. What was that you mentioned? I've got one of the things?" You ask your hackles up a bit. This whole trip had been an absolute disaster, you hadn't gotten anything you had hoped for so far. "Fairly certain this motel is not the beachside villa I booked."

"Having your pick of men to bring home to your place," Kyle answers simply as if it were obvious. "I mean technically you're in our place but that's semantics." He waves a hand absently at the final word and you feel your toes curl at the thought, which he clocks instantly.

"I-what?" You ask a bit shocked looking between all of them.

"Do you think we would tell you no? Especially in that little number," John asks with a grin, his eyes on your fingers as you tug at the towel to see if it would grow an extra inch to cover more skin.

"And if I were to pick? What then? Rest of you go stand outside and wait? Sounds boring for the rest of you." You snipe sounding braver than you felt in an attempt to call their bluff. Surely they were messing with you.

"Can't just pick one doll," the masked guy answers and your eyes widen. "All or none, otherwise someone will be jealous and it's a whole fucking thing." You can see his eyes crinkle with a smirk.

Oh. Fuck. You squirm a bit under all their watchful eyes.

"Way to cut to the chase Simon," Kyle mutters as he takes in your shocked face.

"Dancing around it doesn't change it," Simon answers as he leans forward in his chair to peer at you. His head is cocked to the side a bit as if studying you, watching your body language as you process the newest development.

"All...are all of you," you stumble over your words, the filthy thoughts going through your mind despite the shock of it. "At the same time?"

"Promise we won't break you...unless you ask," Johnny supplies with a grin. "We can start slow though," he reasons cutting a look over at Simon as if warning him to keep his mouth shut.

"Can I," you lick your lips and dare a glance at the bathroom, "can I have a moment?" Because you are going to combust under their heated looks if you don't get away to breathe.

Kyle steps to the side and gestures to the bathroom to which you scamper to as quickly as possible. You shut the door with a snap and flip the lock before gripping the counter.

Were you really considering this? How could you not? But four men? Strangers. But the part you were most looking forward to of this vacation was no strings attached sex. And they certainly looked interested in helping you with that plan. Four? How would that even? Fuck, Kyle looked good. And how would it feel to grip onto John's chest and just...ride him? Shit, stop. But Johnny's arms looked plenty strong enough to hold you down so Simon could make you scream. Stop! These men had been purposely corralling you these past few days. But it was hot...how they wanted you. To share you. No.

Your brain is a garbled mess of thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror. You need a drink, or ten. You take a shuddering breath, then another, as you steel yourself for your decision.

You only live once, right? You could always tell them to stop if you didn't want it. You could change your mind halfway through and end it...though you doubted you'd back out since just the thought of so many hands all over you, worshipping you, made your core ache with need. After all these shitty few days you deserved a good night, dammit. And who better to help than four men who had quite literally been chasing you around the island? Maybe the universe wasn't such a bitch after all.

"Fuck it," you announce as you pull open the bathroom door to give them your answer. But Kyle is already standing there and he grips you by the back of the neck to pull you to him in a heated kiss, stealing the rest of your words out of your mouth.

[wardenparker]

At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria. 

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak. 

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo. 

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead. 

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light. 

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach. 

Tonight you fear it might be you. 

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way. 

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you. 

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky. 

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man. 

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo

Alan Tags: @nrthernsong @inept-the-magnificent @trulybetty @justcallmebirdie @jefferson-in-the-tardis @thesluttylittleknee @munsonownsmyass @laurfilijames @hudson-bay-girl @ruflirtingwithme @rhoorl @scorpio-marionette @absurdthirst

My Masterlist!

[valeriele3]

“We will meet again”

Venti x Reader

Angst to fluff? Idk

“Hey, did you know? They say Lord Barbatos used to have a lover!”

“Really?! Did they mention who it was?”

“People say they aren’t 100% sure on who it is but according to ancient carvings and books they were a beauty that no one can even dare to compare!”

“Don’t cry..It’s okay Barbatos”

“I’ll be fine” They smile softly

“It’s not okay! And it’s not ‘fine’!”

“I’m sorry..I’m so sorry..This wouldn’t have happened had I protected you better..! It’s my fault! I’m sorry..” Barbatos cried

“Dear look at me” The smile they had, had completely vanished and in place was a frown and a stern look

Barbatos slowly lifts his head

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine, if I had been more careful I wouldn’t have gotten hit”

“But—“

“No buts. Listen to me, it is not your fault. It is completely mine”

“I don’t have much time left but please, remember that I love you and nothing that happened today was because of you. Got that? Now smile big for me would you?”

“Yes ma’am..!” Barbatos sniffles and tries his best to give the brightest biggest smile he could muster

“Thank you love..”

“If only we could’ve met in a better place without wars and fighting” they smile sadly

Barbatos could only stay silent and listen intently

“Don’t look so sad dear..We will meet again. And I will continue to look after you even in death” They say as their eyes slowly close and took their last breath

“Y/N..? Y/N..?! Don’t close your eyes! Please..Don’t leave me..!”

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me..You liar..”

“Hey N/N do you play Genshin Impact?”

“Genshin impact? What’s that?”

“It’s a hit game full of hot characters! Oh and it’s an open world. You can play solo or co-op, open chests, collect characters, do domains, and etc! You should play it! Oh— definitely not because I’m lonely in-game of course..Hahah..”

“Liar. Anyways..Sure! You got me interested in the hot characters”

“Nice! Tell me when you unlock the co-op feature then I can help you earn EXP to rank up!”

“Alright~ Don’t get too excited now. We still have 2 more classes”

“Oh right—”

‘Is that the Traveler? Ah, they’re climbing the city walls again’ Venti sweat dropped

“…”

“Ugh I can’t take ittt!” Venti ruffle’s his hair in frustration

‘There’s just something about the Traveler that gives me vibes or aura that they used to have..It’s warm, comfortable, and it makes me feel safe..The way the Traveler looks at me, it’s like they know everything about me..’

In the distance a mysterious person watches the “young” bard amused by his actions

“I told you didn’t I? We will meet again love”

“That is not a lie. Please wait a bit longer..I will reveal myself when the time is right”

“For now, please guide my vessel to the right path” The person whispers to the wind before vanishing as if they were never there

Note: Please let me know if I accidentally used any female or male pronouns for the reader and if I used any unrelated tags (Like the Sagau tag since I’m not sure if it’s even considered a sagau)

[justforbooks]

Fleur Adcock

One of the leading New Zealand and British poets of her generation who was fascinated by the past and ancestral voices

Fleur Adcock, who has died aged 90, was one of the best loved and most esteemed poets in Britain and New Zealand. The full span of her work from 1960 until 2024 was published earlier this year in a 600-page volume of collected poems to coincide with her 90th birthday. She also translated Latin and Romanian verse, and edited The Oxford Book of Contemporary New Zealand Poetry (1982) and The Faber Book of Twentieth Century Women’s Poetry (1987).

Fleur’s deceptively relaxed conversational style is often barbed with an oblique take on reality. As the poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy said: “The sharper edge of her talent is encountered like a razor blade in a peach.”

Her poetry deals with life’s surprises and oddities, the unexpected or unexplained that can cut the ground from beneath your feet. Take the conceit of Regression, a poem from 1967: “All the flowers have gone back into the ground.” What appears familiar and recognisable becomes uncannily different as in dreams or nightmares.

In the same way Fleur probes the everyday with psychological accuracy. This appears in even her most tender poems, such as On a Son Returned to New Zealand (1971), about her first-born son, on his way home to his father: full of motherly pride in the first two lines – “He is my green branch growing in a green plantation. / He is my first invention” – she acknowledges the pain of parting with the wry comment, “No one can be in two places at once”.

Yet she is equally adept at melodrama: the awful realisation of the mistakes one has made, that haunt us in the middle of the night, occurs in Things (1979) when, at 5am: “All the worse things come stalking in / and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse”.

Fleur not only wrote about children, lovers, family relations, and increasingly, as she got older, her ancestors, but her world of affections, as the Australian poet Peter Porter called it, extends to animals both mythical and real, insects and creatures. In her precise observation, even the most insignificant or repellent win her admiration.

Slugs coupling “glide about, / silently undulating: two / slugs in a circle, tail to snout” and she exults at their climax: “they’ve dressed themselves in a cloud of foam, / a frothy veil for love-in-a-mist”.

In the groundswell of women’s poetry of the 1980s, Fleur – one of the few female poets to have joined Edward Lucie-Smith’s circle, the Group, in 1963 – became a voice to be listened to. She was an influence on a younger generation of poets that included Duffy, Carol Rumens, Vicki Feaver and Jo Shapcott, especially in writing about subjects such as smoking, celibacy, old age, masturbation, illness and bereavement, and thus opening up new topics for poetry.

There were some risqué tongue-in-cheek poems acclaiming the solo woman, like Smokers for Celibacy (1991), which concludes “Altogether, we’ve come to the conclusion that sex is a drag. / Just give us a fag”. Others celebrate women as superstars, fantastic figures of legend, elevated stratospherically, such as The Ex-Queen Among the Astronomers (1979), whose “hair / crackles, her eyes are comet-sparks” and who “brings the distant briefly close /above his dreamy abstract stare”.

Fleur was born in Papakura, in New Zealand’s North Island, to Cyril Adcock (who published as CJ Adcock), a teacher, and Irene (nee Robinson), a music teacher and writer. Fleur’s sister, Marilyn (later the acclaimed novelist Marilyn Duckworth), was born the following year.

In 1939 the family travelled to Britain so that Cyril could study for a doctorate in psychology at Birkbeck College, London, with war breaking out while the move was in progress. The sisters were evacuated, first to Grange Farm in Leicestershire – but other moves followed and Fleur counted 11 schools in seven and a half years.

Upon the family’s return to New Zealand, she studied classics at Wellington girls’ college and Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington. In 1952 she married the poet Alistair Te Ariki Campbell, and they had two sons, Gregory and Andrew. They divorced in 1958; a second marriage of five months followed in 1962, to the writer Barry Crump, before Fleur departed for Britain in 1963.

She had already written most of her first collection, The Eye of the Hurricane (1964), which was published in New Zealand: many of these poems are placeless, reflecting her passion for the English landscape and inability to engage with the natural world of her native country.

When settings appear, as in her next volume, Tigers (1967), published in the UK, there is a sting. Stewart Island (1971) begins: “‘But look at all this beauty,’ / said the hotel manager’s wife”. It concludes with the image of a seagull descending with jabbing beak, and her comment, “I had already / decided to leave the country.”

Although Fleur’s work fitted into the mainstream of postwar British poetry despite its outsider interrogations, she carried out her personal explorations with the zeal of a newcomer. She developed a passion for places and journeys: the landscapes of Northern Ireland introduced her to her maternal roots, and made her aware of the ethnic complexity of her New Zealand identity; she fell in love with the Lake District, discovering Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals, as Arts Council creative writing fellow at Charlotte Mason College of Education in Ambleside (1977-78) , and then with the north of England, as Northern Arts literary fellow at the Universities of Newcastle and Durham.

Well established by then, and familiar to many as a poetry commentator for the BBC, she resigned in 1979 from her position at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office library to become a full-time writer. Later she supported herself when necessary by tutoring for the creative writing organisation Arvon.

After the publication of Poems 1960-2000 (2000), Fleur stopped writing for a decade. But then a late flowering occurred, with five new volumes, enough to double her previous output, as she became, in her words, “embarrassingly prolific”.

A strong motivating factor was her fascination with the past and ancestral voices; this was tied up with her reconciliation with New Zealand, a reunion effected over decades by constant travel back and forth, but now more intensely focused on the early years, her parents and their colonial origins.

It was a sideways glance at her country of origin, fuelled by her curiosity about places and her unceasing search for connectivity, an elliptical rather than a full circle. Poems in The Land Ballot (2015) and Hoard (2017) record excursions and road trips: titles include Kuaotunu, Rangiwahia, Drury, Pakiri, Ruakaka, Alfriston, Helensville and Raglan. Reviving memories, they fill in those gaps invisible in the earlier work that had shaped her poetic signature.

They also completed Fleur’s voyage of discovery within the frameworks of her immediate past, the genealogical past and the deeper past of New Zealand’s colonial history.

Among many honours Fleur was awarded the Queen’s Medal for Poetry in 2006 and the New Zealand Prime Minister’s award for literary achievement in poetry, 2019.

She is survived by her sons, Gregory and Andrew, six grandchildren, Oliver, Lilian, Julia, Ella, Cait and Rosa, and seven great-grandchildren, Charlie, Ash, Seth, Alexandra, Jean, Ella and Mira Fleur, and by her sister, Marilyn.

🔔 Fleur Adcock, poet, born 10 February 1934; died 10 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[the-derpy-duck]

Quickshadow is amazing the essay

This is for @cayennesugar and cayennesugar only

Quickshadow is a Rescuebots character that appears in the show’s fourth season. She prefers to work solo and is absolutely perfect.

She’s obviously skilled in her craft and she knows it. She is confident and snarky but she’s also not a villain which I like. She’s not a braggart, but she doesn’t pretend that others are better at a job then her. The first thing she says to Heatwave when they first formally meet is that he is short. I didn’t really get why people shipped them together but some of what she does could be read as flirting (theirs an episode where she appears and when Heatwave asks why she’s back on Griffin Rock she says something along the lines of ‘I thought you missed me’ in a sarcastic tone). I don’t personally ship them but I see the appeal. Heatwave and Quickshadow have a very interesting relationship to me. I want to see them interact more because it’s fun.

When she was assigned to work with the rescue bots she seemed sort of upset when Blades said Heatwave didn’t like her (looking at her face she seems a bit more surprised) which I think is interesting. She doesn’t intend to offend Heatwave and probably wanted to be on good terms with him. She doesn’t do teamwork and seems to be introverted but that doesn’t mean she would be opposed to the idea of ✨friendship✨ and I do think that they would work well together, especially after the episode where she was put in charge. Teamwork is something that she did need to learn, but she still chooses to work on her own because that’s what she is good at and how she best works. She has her own system and I respect that. I also like that she wasn’t really an antagonistic force or rival to the rescue team. She was actively helping before she revealed herself and was teaching the team a lesson that they would need to learn eventually. Chase was prepared for the issue that arose when the plan went wrong and she was able to learn.

I absolutely love her transformation. It’s probably my favorite in the show because it does a good job of conveying her personality. She is quick witted and has a tendency to show off. She has a strong skill set and is well coordinated. I just really love the way it looks, it’s one of the smoothest bits of animation in the show. And her design is fantastic! She isn’t given boobs that would be out of place amongst the others and doesn’t have eye lashes or lipstick like other female transformers have had in the past. The main way you’d tell the difference in gender is her voice and the fact that the others use she/her pronouns when referring to her. Her head piece is also quite unique, the darker color contrasts nicely with her mostly white color scheme. I like the blue used for her as well, and I really like that she has her wheel on the right side of her car in vehicle mode because she’s British. She has a small amount of kibble that looks nice with the rest of her robot mode.

I like that she can manipulate her body to be able to gain speed, travel faster underwater, and even fly for short periods of time/slow her fall. She could 100% fight in a war and kick some ass. Not that the rescue bots are actually physically weaker from the other Cybertrionians, they handle environments much better than a lot of the autobots in prime. But that’s off topic. Quickshadow has one of like three fight scenes in the show. She takes on a temporary mentor roll to Blurr and Salvage but doesn’t like it because they are special. When she races Blurr she wins not because she’s faster but because she was smarter (which is a lesson that Blurr would utilize in a later episode) and the way she talks to Optimus makes me think that she is known for this. Also her message to Optimus is one of the best ways to do a ‘last time on…’ it made me actually listen to it instead of just skipping over and it’s very engaging in my personal opinion.

Also she’s British

I like her a lot. She should be used in more stories as she has a unique perspective and skill set. I also just really really like her. Hasbro please make better toys for the rescuebots I will buy all your overpriced legacy figures if you just make more rescue bots.

[reunionatdawn]

My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 4: AM Alois/Byleth)

Maybe this is cheating. I already chose Dimitri as the best partner for Byleth in AM. And you can't get the Byleth paired ending with Alois at the same time as the paired ending with Dimitri. But hear me out.

Byleth: Actually yes. Alois: Ooh! So, who is it then? Someone I know? It is, isn't it? Captain Jeralt, listen up! I'll ensure that your daughter is matched with none but the worthiest partner!

Since he is a happily married man, Byleth has a completely platonic relationship with him. Even his S-Support at the Goddess Tower does not rule out a romantic tryst with another character later. If you're playing as Female Byleth, he even promises Jeralt that his daughter will be matched with none but the worthiest partner.

(Crimson Flower) When all of the fighting was over, Byleth embarked on another wandering journey as a mercenary. She traveled all over Fódlan, following her father's steps. When she at last drifted into Remire Village, she was reunited with Alois, who had moved there with his family and was now living on a farm. On Alois's advice, she decided to stay a while, and before she knew it, five years had passed. She fell in love with a kind man in the village, and they had a modest wedding. It is said that Alois was so overcome with emotion on that day that his weeping could be heard from anywhere in the village.

And in CF, Byleth marries a kind man in Remire Village, completely ruling out Edelgard and anyone else in the Black Eagles army (lol). If Alois is recruited in CF, he will express doubts about whether he joined the right side. So, it is not surprising.

(Verdant Wind/Silver Snow) After the war, Byleth ascended the throne of the United Kingdom of Fódlan, and Alois retired from the Knights of Seiros to serve the former professor. Alois became the new leader's right hand, and his duties in that respect kept him busily engaged all over Fódlan, giving all he had to support his/her reign. Alois's cheerful character was beloved by his subordinates, who rallied behind him to create the most numerous order of knights in all Fódlan. It is said that Byleth relied on Alois as though he were his/her own father.

In VW/SS, there is no mention of her getting married, which is consistent with SS's lack of a lord and Claude's departure. And given Claude's shady behavior (he couldn't even attend her coronation?) it makes sense that Alois would not be supportive of their marriage.

(Azure Moon) When Byleth took on the role of archbishop in Rhea's place, she reformed the order of the church little by little. Eventually this included the Knights of Seiros, and Alois was named captain and the archbishop's right hand. The captain's duties kept him busily engaged all over Fódlan. His cheerful character inspired those under his command, unifying the Knights of Seiros in a way they had never been before. The archbishop relied on Alois as if he were her father, and Alois in turn treated her like his child. It is said that Alois was so overcome with emotion on the archbishop's wedding day that his weeping could be heard through the applause.

His AM paired ending is actually the only one that implies Byleth got married to another playable character (and the route's lord is the default romantic partner for Byleth). And this ending also tops off Alois's character arc the best, too. He achieves his dream and surpasses Jeralt, while at the same time standing in as a father figure.

If you get the Alois/Byleth paired ending, Dimitri's solo ending doesn't contradict him marrying Byleth. So, my headcanon is that both S-Supports and paired endings are true. Alois is Byleth's right hand, and he gave her his blessing to marry Dimitri in AM, and bawled at their wedding.

[wingingitonwheels]

Day 2: Soy Cansada

I’d hoped that because I had my home with me I’d be able to camp wherever I saw fit. The problem is that unlike Argentina, most of the land is fenced, but that may change. But what that has meant is that wild camping isn’t possible and looking for official accommodation is needed, and certainly on the route I’ve travelled, avoiding Ruta 5, there’s been few options. I got to a point yesterday where I began to hatch a plan as the tank finally hit zero in Llancagua, 4 miles back down the road on a final climb that in the heat of the day, nearly finished me off. I had water but I went to a vineyard shop and asked for more. As expected they were charming and so was I. I’d sit on their bench as I cooled down and when the moment was right, I’d ask them where the nearest habatacion was. They’d say there was nowhere and I’d ask if I could camp in their vineyard. All very simple. Then as if by magic, using a different word in google maps to search (this time hostal, not hostel, hotel, camping cabanas), this little gem in which I now write from appeared! Hallelujah 🙌 .

“This” is Hostainer. Elish and Eliana are small-holding farmers with two Dalmatians, Bongo and son, Max. They also have sheep and chickens, and have created just 4 cabins and a vast playground in front of it and a water feature which Elish turned on just for me. Who wouldn’t want to stay? I didn’t love the cockerels that woke me at 3:30am but hey, this is rural Chile! I was a little bit broken when I arrived, and sat on my deck scoffing the last bit of food I had: banana chips, chicken slices and a stale bit of bread. Eliana walked past and commented “No Fruta? oy oy oy!” appearing two minutes later with two oranges and four strawberries. There wasn’t anything that could have made for a better stay, other than to have arrived 3 hours earlier and not be sun baked and knackered. Six dog chases probably didn’t help!

I’m trying to think of anywhere in the world where I’ve been that is quite so rural and still tastefully commercial. Those selling their wine produce have home-made signs and are barely noticeable as you pass. They are marketed using their position on the road: 4.5km vineyard. Vendre Vino Tinto/Vino Blanco. The road is so quiet, you have to suspect that they must be selling most wholesale as passing trade must be minimal. In terms of geography, it’s both like Tuscany and where Idaho meets Montana. And always, no matter where I’ve been so far, the snow-covered tips of the Andes are visible, even now as I head towards the coast and Concepcion.

It feels like today is the day to, let me try and put this positively, to try and destroy the myth that South America is a bad and dangerous place.

Over and over again, when I’ve spoken to people from outside of the continent about travelling solo as a female on a bike, the overriding impression is that “you’re going to die at the hands of a sadistic maniac”. They may not use those words but this is what they mean. I read an article last weekend which made my blood boil. To quote:

“Earlier this year, after six weeks of travelling alone around cities across Latin America for work, I met a male photographer friend in Buenos Aires. Walking together at night, my shoulders slackened, my mood lifted, my brow unfurrowed. That's when I realised how hard I'd been working to keep myself safe.

Six weeks of grasping my house keys as a makeshift weapon in my hand. Looking over my shoulder when I heard a noise and crossing the road if I had to; scanning every person I passed as a potential threat. I do the same when I'm alone in Belfast - my hometown, London, or Barcelona. I don't feel less safe in Latin America, but I was completely alone here. When I tried to explain this to my friend and he said, "Yeah, I've not been taking my iPhone out" it was clear that he, like the best men I know, was wildly clueless about the daily lived experience of the women they know.” (Anna Hart: journalist - Independent)

At the swimming pool a few weeks back, a lady overheard me talking to a friend about my trip. I didn’t know her and when I’d finished, she spoke to me and told me “South America is dangerous though”

It is probably the most common emotion that people share with me, both this and last time I visited. Other than the journalist quoted (which blows my mind that she’s a journalist at all, as that means leaving the house, viewing the world and not being “scared all the time” - I don’t know how she breathes!), the people sharing their fears have never been to South America, which is a pretty big continent! I quoted some stats from crime indexes on my last trip but I won’t do that now. But I will say that most of the time (not all! Sometimes I’m tired and make stupid decisions, I’m human), I have common sense. For example, I considered riding out of São Paulo south to ride rather than jump on more planes. I didn’t in the end, not because of the Favelas which are known to be dangerous, are mapped on Google Maps, but because it was raining. I chose not to ride from Venezuela or Guyana as they have huge problems at the moment. It’s no surprise if you look at a continent the size of a continent, there will be areas with troubles. I wouldn’t ride through Ukraine or Iran right now, and North Korea isn’t looking too appealing. Most of the time, 90% of problems happen within the city boundaries, and if you’re not savvy, you might be one of the unlucky few who had a bad time. London is no better. And whilst all fear seems to point towards men, I can’t forget of the 3 incidents in all my time travelling, one of those was instigated by a woman. Some people are bad. Most are good. Look for the positive.

For the people I’ve met so far, once again, Chile is proving to be as welcoming and open as Argentina. Joanne welcomed me into her home on the first night heading south in San Fernando. Mario, deaf but so keen to speak to me that he got his hearing aid, then took me on a tour of his reserve. It was for me a real “Ben Fogle” moment. (I love New lives in the wild). He insisted on letting me sleep in the own cabin as his only guest. And in the provo shop somewhere on the huge Ruta 5 detour, despite his disfigurement, was so keen to talk to me and shook my hand with gusto as I left.

So, in turning the world’s perception on its head, I’m excited to confirm I’ve swayed at least one person’s opinion! It’s someone I used to work with, who like me is now a freelance consultant I’d happily (and have actively tried to) work with again. He recently joined the Facebook group and doing “the most bonkers thing I’ve ever done” and joined the winging it mentality, landing in Buenos Aires next week to smash his way round South America for six weeks! Go, buddy! Anyone else coming?

I neeeeed a shorter day today. I look like I’ve been bitten by horseflies several times in both eyes. It’s not a great look. So south west bound, slowly and less. Around 560 miles from Puerto Montt. If this was the UK, for which the distance of this leg is (Lands End to John O Groats or vice versa) today I’d either be in north Staffs or going the other way, around Edinburgh. A way to go then. Where’s breakfast?

[beautifulpersonpeach]

This isn’t related to BTS so feel free to skip this message if you want. I’m guessing you’ve either live in Korea or at least have been there but do you think Korea, Seoul in particular, is safe for a woman to travel to alone? I’m planning a trip there and I’ve read (mostly from other travelers) conflicting accounts on if it’s safe or not so I was hoping to get a local’s opinion. I’m not aware of your gender so the answer can be as vague or as detailed as you feel comfortable giving.

***

Hi @ahhockey

My family does and yes, after not visiting Korea at all during the pandemic, in the last year or so I've been able to travel home more frequently. Korea is very safe for solo female travelers. I suggest you take all the usual precautions like avoiding very crowded areas, watching your drinks, staying in well lit public areas, and communicating often with people you trust about your whereabouts. The subways are fine but taking a taxi is my preferred way to get about. Taxis aren't as expensive as it is in the US/UK, you're not expected to tip, many drivers can communicate in passable English too and you can download the app beforehand so it's not too difficult - I really suggest going for taxis over using the transit system in Seoul if you can. Also, if you're traveling before September, I suggest you try to stay above ground and avoid underground malls and subways as much as possible. July to September is raining season and flooding can happen very suddenly and escalate quickly. And just as a general rule, I'd say avoid public bathrooms too. It's something I personally do and it isn't limited to Korea either. Even though there's less molka instances in Seoul recently and sometimes fears do get overblown, I suggest avoiding public bathrooms in Seoul unless it's necessary.

I'm not sure if this would be fully applicable to you, but based on what I've seen, it's race rather than gender that impacts how many Koreans treat you if you're a foreigner. Rather, race more than gender impacts any considerations. And so I'd add, if you're lighter skinned, you're fine to move about solo all the time, but if you're darker skinned, I strongly suggest you try a buddy system while there. You can do this by joining travel forums and connecting with other foreigners going to the same destinations I think.

I hope you have a wonderful time in Korea! Koreans have the best cuisine after Japanese, Nigerian, and Lebanese food. In my opinion. If you like kalguksu there's many really good places along Donhwamun-ro near Unnidong. :) Good luck! 💜

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi there, can I please request romantic matchups with a Pirates of of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, Star Wars and Tolkien character??

I'm British Korean, 1,63m tall, with tangled wavy black hair, monolid black eyes, freckles, full lips and a Grecian kind of nose...I'm curvy, I suppose, but also on the thin side, and I do not shave, since I find it unnecessary. I'm a straight female who feels feminine, if that makes sense? Um...I wear "weird" and second-hand clothing as others would describe it, with lots of earthy tones, black, natural fabrics, velvet and gold and wooden/Amber jewellery. I think I could say my style is goblincore/ravencore? Quite féminine, at the same time.

People say that I'm an extrovert in disguise, who comes across as intimidating and passive at the same time. It's true I'm a passive person. I don't talk much, but once you get to know me I can be crazy and reckless. I have mood swings and battle anxiety :(((((((. I make art, write, read, dance and travel. I love swimming in wild places, since rushing water and clear lakes etc calm me. I play several wind instruments. My favourite colours are black, purple and brown, and I speak fluent English, German and Korean.

I think that's all? I think so. Thank you so much! Lots of love, xxxxxx

Thank you for requesting a matchup! I hope you enjoy the headcanons! I'm sorry for the wait! <3333

---

Pirates Of The Caribbean;

Henry Turner:

🏴‍☠️ You met Henry when you were running away from the men in red coats with your best friend Carina, long story short, that was how you and Carina ended up on a pirate ship with Henry Turner

🏴‍☠️ And it wasn't long until you and Henry got closer... And closer... You never knew you'd fall in love with someone in the middle of the ocean

🏴‍☠️ Neither of you really realized you both had feelings for one another until after finding the trident; from the onslaught of worry, almost dying, that was enough for Henry to confess his feelings to you as the ship hung on the edge of the cavern of ocean water

🏴‍☠️ Once you, and most of the others, left the ship with your lives, Henry brought you to meet his mother, which you were a bit nervous about but she loved you

🏴‍☠️ Henry loves you deeply, he finds you incredibly smart, your love for reading and writing is something Henry treasures; overall, you and Henry are the perfect match, with the love for traveling, swimming in sweet open waters, and dancing in your spare time, you are the most perfect match

---

Harry Potter;

Fred Weasley:

😜 You met Fred when you were on the Hogwarts Express, he was one year older than you, but he and his twin George were quick to help you learn about what First Year is like, in the end of the conversation, you were hoping you would spend more time with the twins; especially Fred

😜 You were glad to see that Fred and George did actually check up on your throughout the years, and throughout those years, you got extremely close with the mischievous twins; and soon enough, you began to grow a crush on the eldest twin himself

😜 In the beginning, it took a bit for Fred and George to get you to join them on their little pranks, but really how could you say no to Fred; even when you and the twins would get caught, you were surprised when Fred would take the blame; you never spent a second in detention because of him

😜 Only after the Triwizard Tournament did Fred confess to you about his feelings, revealing that he in fact loved you since his third year, it overwhelmed you, this confession, but you were beyond overjoyed

😜 When Umbridge arrived at Hogwarts and Fred offered to take you away to stay with him and work with him at his and his twin's shop, you didn't hesitate to take his hand; for the next couple of years, you spent your time with Fred, helping run the shop, having picnics on the weekends, and thinking about the future

---

Star Wars;

Han Solo:

🔫 You met Han with Luke and Obi-Wan, and lets just say that you were part of the reason Han said yes to letting you, Luke, and Obi-Wan use his ship; (Han wouldn't admit that it was love at first sight, he didn't want to sound soft, but...); who gave you permission to be so stunning?

🔫 You sort of liked Han when you met him, thinking that he was really cute, but the more you spent time with him, the more you felt your feelings for him grow into something more, and Han didn't really help with that growing feeling, he loved to tease and taunt you whenever he could

🔫 It didn't take long for the two of you to end up as a couple either, during your stay at Hoth, you and Han may or may not have shared a kiss in a pretty secluded hallway; Chewie, Luke, and Leia all had a bet on who would confess first, and obviously Leia won

🔫 Being in a relationship with Han wasn't always sunshine though, just like any relationship there were cloudy days, but whenever there was a fight, you and Han would always make up; whether that be with a conversation upon the matter or a spontaneous heartfelt kiss

🔫 In the end, you and Han were a match made from the stars, always having each other's back and always making sure the other was okay after a long battle or fight, Han was a kind and caring furball and you couldn't help but fall deeper and deeper in love with him each passing day

---

Tolkien Characters;

Fili Durin:

👑 You joined the Company after Gandalf convinced Thorin to let you come with, and that's when you met Fili Durin, the eldest Prince; and let me tell you, you could not get over that hair, blonde and glowing like the bright rising sun at dawn

👑 You didn't know it at the time, but Fili felt this urge to protect you, even though you proved to be an excellent fighter; but Fili wouldn't just protect your from orcs or goblins, he would always be there to hold you if you were feeling anxious or nervous, his warm hugs always calmed you down

👑 You began to wonder if Fili felt the same about you after escaping Mirkwood, he was always there to make sure you were still in your barrel alive, and when you and the Company were on the small boat of Bard's, Fili was there to hold you close to make sure you were warm enough and wouldn't die from the freezing air and damp clothing

👑 But, during the battle, when you saw Fili fall to the ground after being stabbed, you quickly made your way to him, thankfully, you came just in time to save him, repaying him for all the times he saved you; there and then is when you both confessed your feelings for one another

👑 Resting in a comfy bed in the recovery wing, you stayed with Fili as he got better, hardly ever leaving his side; there is when you let him braid your wavy black hair, Fili clasping a black and purple bead into your hair to secure it; neither of you could believe how lucky you both were

[bambydiaries]

Impressionism women in history 𓅔

Welcome to my history literature-art-class. Please take a seat.

Berthe Morisot (1841–95)

Berthe Morisot is the best-known of the female Impressionists, having been given a solo retrospective that traveled Europe and North America starting in 2018. Born in 1841, Morisot first showed at the age of 25 at the 1864 Paris Salon. Morisot was the only woman invited to show in the first Impressionist exhibition (formerly called the Anonymous Society of Painters, Sculptors and Printmakers) in 1874, and she went on to participate in all but one of the eight exhibitions between from 1874 to 1886. She was close with Manet, even marrying his brother, and the two influenced each other, in a way that ultimately moved her work in bolder, more abstract directions. She painted with loose, bold brushstrokes that emphasized expressivity over naturalism. A critic wrote at the time, “Her painting has all the frankness of improvisation; it truly is the impression caught by a sincere eye and accurately rendered by a hand that does not cheat.” In the The Garden at Maurecourt (ca. 1884), she depicts a mother gazing at her child with little sentimentally, perhaps even boredom or exhaustion. With its probing depiction of its sitter’s mental state, the painting exemplifies Morisot’s sensibility. Morisot died of pneumonia in 1895, at the age of 54, leaving behind an oeuvre that hints at the further breakthroughs she was poised to make. 

(BTW, here you can get wallpapers from her)

Mary Cassatt (1844–1926)

Mary Cassatt was the only American among the founding Impressionists. She came from a well-off family in Pittsburgh that supported a formal arts education first at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts and then in Europe, after the vaunted Philadelphia school rebuffed her requests to study nude models. During her travels throughout the continent she learned under academic mentors such as Jean-Léon Gérôme and Édouard Frère and studied classical masterpieces by Correggio, Velázquez, Rubens. She settled in Paris in 1874, where she began regularly showing her portraits in the Salon. In 1877 Degas invited her to begin showing with the Impressionists, and she participated in four of the eight exhibitions. “No woman has the right to draw like that,” Degas reportedly said upon viewing Cassatt’s Young Women Picking Fruit (1891). She took the thinly veiled insult in stride, and the two maintained a close friendship based on a shared respect for asymmetrical composition and classical Japanese prints. Cassatt supported herself as a successful portrait artist and printmaker, having declared herself unfit for marriage or motherhood. In spite of this, her subject was often. the relationship between mothers and their children. In contrast to Morisot’s bold, expressive brushwork, Cassatt often depicted her the facial features and figure of her friends and family with great precision. In The Boating Party, the man’s expression is obscured, placing the focus on a deftly rendered woman and child. Cassatt once said her goal was to depict women as “subjects, not objects.”

Eva Gonzalès (1849–83)

Gonzalès never exhibited with the Impressionists, but she was close with some of the movement’s top artists—including Morisot—and her art is stylistically similar to their work. Like other aspiring female artists in 19th-century France, Gonzalès was barred from attending the École des Beaux-Arts, though like Morisot and Cassatt, her affluent upbringing afforded her the opportunity to attend private lessons. In 1869, she met Manet in Paris, and she became his only formal student. His influence on her work is evident in A Box at the Theatre des Italien‘s flat perspective at the subject’s direct gaze. The year they met, Manet created a portrait of Gonzalès, and in response she produced her own series of self-portraits, asserting her identity as professional peer—something far more than a museu. She died in 1883 at age 34 from an embolism after the birth of her son, having achieved her goal of exhibiting in the prestigious Paris Salon. In 1885, a 90-piece retrospective of her work was held at the Salons de la Vie Moderne in Paris.

Could write a book about them, ngl.

Thank you for reading till the end,

Atenea 𓅖

[wags-confessions]

hey Guys do you remember when we talked about budget friendly travel destinations ? Could the anons who travelled quite a lot come back and give me some suggestions for solo travels as a female? — Belle //

hey belle you live close to freiburg right? i always think city trips like amsterdam/paris are great because you can easily reach them by train (db/flixbus). if you want to leave in may/june places like barcelona/nice are also affordable to fly to and sunny. flights to dublin and milan are also always cheap. and if you’re going in june even places like greece/croatia/bulgaria are affordable but you definitely have to look for the best offer. those are some of my go-to’s :))

Thank you for the suggestions!! If any of you guys wanna meet up somewhere one day I’d be more than happy to! Me and my friends decided to take a roadtrip down to south of France 💕 that’s all I’ve got so far then I’ll see where I’ll be confident enough to go on my own! — Belle

[aonoexpat]

🇳🇱NL to NZ🇳🇿

15-12-2022

Soooooo, here we are. The very first post of AoNoExpat with some background information is ready for consumption! It's been a long time coming, and a lot has happened since I first started entertaining the idea of traveling to Aotearoa, also (colonialism-ally) known as New Zealand. The option was offered to me by a couple of great friends, who have emigrated there a while ago. I have been unhappily searching for my place in the Dutch job market for a while now, and haven't been able to find it. Combine that with an increasingly unstable and unpleasant political climate, and you'll surely see why I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since that conversation.

The deciding moment happened on June 21st, when I declined a job offer in The Netherlands in favour of taking the leap. I'd wanted to travel again ever since my gap years after high school, and would have done so again after getting my bachelor's degree in AI, had it not been for Covid-19 making it virtually impossible. Now I'm getting a new opportunity, and I couldn't be more grateful for it.

As soon as I'd cast the proverbial die, my friend gave me a to-do list:

Get your driver's license; public transport in Aotearoa is not the same as in Europe;

Get your Working Holiday visa.

The driver's license would be a challenge, but luckily the application process for a WHV was quick and painless. I applied July 6th, and got approval on July 13th. A WHV allows me to stay in the country for up to 12 months from my arrival date onward, and while I'm there I'll be legally allowed to work to support myself. I've traveled with a WHV before in Australia (lmk if anyone knows a non-colonial name), and my reviews are tremendously positive. I'm very happy Aotearoa offers the same opportunities.

After some summer holiday activities, it was time to start with driving lessons. Turns out I have both a fear of driving and a fear of failure, and my verbally violent right-wing self-opinionated neurotypical cis-het male driving instructor didn't seem too bothered by that. After a gruelling total of 58 lessons and many an afternoon spent crying out of pure stress, I took the final exam on December 6th and PASSED. December 14th saw me picking up my license and driving home all by myself for the first time! I just need to convert it to an international license and then I'll be good to go.

Apart from the driving lessons, I haven't been sitting still these past few months. I consider myself an avid climate activist, so the thought of taking a plane to travel to Aotearoa didn't sit well with me. So, I promised myself I would try anything and everything in my power to get there some other way. Let me take you on the journey that was figuring this out:

My first thought was: FINALLY, a great excuse to take the trans-Siberian express! I'd heard about this 6-day train journey from Moscow to Beijing for the first time in 2014, and had been dying to take it ever since. However, then it hit me: the vast majority of this journey takes place in Russia. Russia, a country that The Netherlands currently aren't the best of friends with. But, who knows, perhaps it's still fine to travel there? I consulted the website of the Dutch ministry of foreign affairs, which quickly and aptly crushed that dream for me: "Are you currently in Russia? Leave. Are you living in Russia? Move out. Still want to go there? You're on your own, pal. We can't help you."

OKAY, so, not the trans-Siberian express, I suppose. Maybe I can duck underneath Russia, then? Take some trains, buses, hitchhike for a bit? I'd always prided myself on having a good sense of geography, but had not realised this would force me to travel through a selection of Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan and Syria. Seeing as I'm a solo female traveler, my friends and family weren't too thrilled about this.

Very well, traveling over land didn't seem like it was going to work out, and I hadn't even gotten into the mess of getting tourist visas for all of the countries I would have to pass through.

If land wasn't an option, how about sea? Traveling by boat? For example, maybe I could travel to the Americas, travel across to the other side, and try to get another boat to Aotearoa. Right? Sounded pretty easy at first, but that too turned out to be a lot harder. For traveling by sea, I had three options:

Sailing: I signed myself up at findacrew.net, a place where people who want to work on a boat and people who have a boat that need people to work on said boat can connect. Seemed like a great opportunity at first, but I quickly lost hope this would help me get there. Most people who have a boat do not casually travel from Europe to Oceania, and the website has some unfortunate restrictions that make it difficult to find the right people. For example, a lot of boat owners only want to be messaged by verified members. Very understandable, but to become a verified member you need to pay a monthly fee (not the biggest problem) and upload a scan of your ID (YES A BIG PROBLEM). I appreciate what they want to do, but I'm very big on (online) privacy and my ID is way too sensitive a document to share with some website that says nothing about how they will protect it. Besides all of that, these trips are long, and many boat owners are retired men that are looking for 1 person to help. I like to think I see the best in people but the thought of being alone at sea for 60 days with Philip the middle aged stranger didn't strike me as super safe. I've had my share of bad experiences with travel companions that turned out to be a lot different than they seemed at first glance. So, unfortunately, I chose to abandon this option.

Cargo ships: I heard that these huge sea monsters often make some extra cash by transporting a handful of passengers. I didn't think this option would be pleasant, but after watching some videos from people who have done it I was HOOKED. This seemed like a dream, the views from the ship looked fantastic and the rooms were very decent. Yes, cargo ships are also big polluters, but they don't make significant money off of passengers, like planes and cruise ships. The argument 'it'll go without me anyway' actually works for these. Sure, it's expensive (about €100-€150 per day), but it would be worth it, right? Right, but here's the catch: ever since Covid happened, cargo ships no longer take passengers. Because these trips can take a long time, there's too much risk that the destination country changes its Covid regulations while the ship is at sea. This can leave these ships stuck with passengers that are no longer allowed to disembark. I've emailed with Hamish from freightertravel.co.nz, and he told me cargo ship companies might start taking passengers again around 2024. Not an option at the current time, unfortunately.

Cruise ships: my last resort was trying to get a job on one of these. I didn't want to pay for a cruise because pollution-wise they're not much better than flying, but how cool would it be to be a lounge singer B99's Doug Judy style and earn my way across an ocean that way? I talked to a former Holland-America cruise ship musician, who put me in touch with two USA-based talent agents. I contacted both of them, but neither got back to me. After that I sent emails to 14 different cruise ship companies, offering my services as a musician or cleaning staff. I was willing to do any menial job, I told them I was not interesting in getting paid or gaining access to any facilities other than some food, a bed and a bathroom every now and again. Only 6 responded, out of which 1 was interested in having me audition. However, their first ship would go on its maiden journey from Belgium to Norway in July-August. Not the right journey for me, and any later ones would be too late. Sadly I had to write this off too.

As a final attempt, I made a post on LinkedIn asking my network for tips on how to get there, but this too yielded no results. Since I had officially run out of options and I knew that planes would get more and more expensive closer to departure, I finally admitted defeat and booked a plane ticket. It hurt my soul, but I have to draw the unfortunate conclusion that at this point in time, my destination does not lend itself well for any other modes of travel. I'm hopeful that by the time I will head back, some of the above options will be available again!

The plan is now as follows: early February 2023, I will fly from Paris and arrive in Te Whanga-nui-a-Tara (Wellington) 29 hours and 35 minutes later, which is relatively short for this journey. The flights cost me a total of €1.287,90. I'll still have to get to Paris so the price and duration will both increase a little in the end.

WELL, that's about all I can share right now! I'm hoping to update this blog whenever I can, so feel free to follow me to keep track of my journey :) Just a fair warning: I'm not making any promises that I'll keep this up as time goes on, if I no longer enjoy this I won't hesitate to stop.

I'd love to answer any asks you might have, I'll be honest and open about my experiences, but I will strictly not share any personal information.

I'm very open to feedback, please tell me if anything on this blog strikes you as offensive in any way, I'm continuously learning and my ego is not easily bruised.

I'll also be using this blog as a place for people from home and people I meet along the way to leave little messages or pictures for me. I look forward to building a lovely collection of wonderful memories! <3

[thelucknowpubliccollegiate]

Must-Visit Places and Experiences for a Female Solo Traveler in Lucknow

Lucknow, with its rich history, welcoming locals, and cultural heritage, is a fantastic destination for female solo travelers looking for unique experiences. From visiting historical sites like Bara Imambara to exploring vibrant markets, the city offers countless activities for all interests. For those curious about Lucknow’s educational options, visiting top institutions such as the best ICSE school in Lucknow can provide insights into the academic culture here.

1. Explore Architectural Marvels

Bara Imambara and Chota Imambara: Start your journey with these historic sites that showcase intricate Mughal architecture. The Bara Imambara's central hall, without supporting beams, is a fascinating spot to explore.

Rumi Darwaza: This grand gateway, often called the "Turkish Gate," is an iconic symbol of Lucknow's architectural legacy and a popular photo spot.

2. Wander Through Hazratganj

Shopping and Street Food: Hazratganj is a must for a taste of Lucknow’s vibrant life. Enjoy traditional chikan embroidery shopping, visit modern boutiques, and indulge in delicious street food like golgappas and kebabs.

Café Culture: Hazratganj has several charming cafés perfect for relaxing and watching the city go by. It’s a great place to unwind with a book or simply people-watch.

3. Savor Local Cuisine

Tunday Kababi: Known for its melt-in-the-mouth kebabs, this place is a paradise for food lovers. Be sure to try galouti and seekh kebabs for an authentic taste of Awadhi cuisine.

Royal Café: This café is famous for its basket chaat, a savory snack that combines various flavors and textures in a unique serving style.

4. Spend an Evening at Ambedkar Memorial Park

This park is a serene, well-maintained spot filled with intricate stone carvings and wide pathways. It’s especially beautiful in the evening when the lights come on, creating a tranquil ambiance.

5. Learn About Local Education

If you’re interested in learning about the education scene in Lucknow, consider visiting institutions known for excellence, like the best ICSE school in Lucknow. You can gain insights into the city’s academic landscape and see how Lucknow balances tradition with modern education.

6. Relax by the Gomti Riverfront

This scenic riverfront park offers a lovely escape with well-maintained walking paths, gardens, and views of the Gomti River. It’s a peaceful place to stroll or just sit and soak in the tranquility of nature.

7. Participate in a Cultural Workshop

Take a class in traditional Lucknow crafts like chikan embroidery or attend a cooking workshop on Awadhi cuisine. It’s a fun, interactive way to learn about the city’s culture and take a piece of it back with you.

8. Visit the British Residency

The ruins of the British Residency tell the story of the 1857 rebellion. Walk through the grounds to see bullet-scarred walls and lush greenery, providing a historical insight into Lucknow's past.

Safety Tips for Solo Travelers in Lucknow

Stay in Central Areas: Consider booking accommodation in areas like Hazratganj, where you can find more tourist-friendly facilities and easy access to transport.

Travel During Daylight: For first-time solo visitors, it’s best to explore landmarks and public spaces during the day.

With its captivating history, vibrant markets, and warm hospitality, Lucknow promises an enriching solo travel experience. From exploring architectural wonders to tasting delectable cuisines, every corner of the city holds a story waiting to be discovered.