#and i'm not saying i'd spend hundreds just because of a cute case but ...

[cowpants147]

reasons I want airpods

won't get in the way

won't get tangled at the bottom of my bag

reasons I do not want airpods

another thing to charge (ugh)

they're so small and fiddly I don't wanna lose them

i know for a fact that i'll forget i have them in and will either spend ages looking for them, or get in the shower with them still in my ear or something

[mejomonster]

One of my favorite anxiety tips i read, was this: if you tend to fear the worst outcome will happen or be very stressed about something (like say going to the grocery store, a party, going to the doctor visit, riding the bus, whatever)

Before you go, take a moment to think out a few things. 1. Think the worst case, that you're possibly fearing, and what you might do if it happened or what consequences it might have. Say you're worried about going to the grocery store. For me, I may be worried worst case they won't have what I need, I'll forget what I need, the cashier tries to talk to me and i royally fuck up what I say, they call me a bitch, maybe I run into an ex at the store who tries to follow me. For me maybe I'd plan to just leave asap if any of those things happen: just go straight home, never go to that specific grocery store again, do my shopping online next time from a different store. Basically I think of what I'm scared of, and what my plan maybe is if it happens.

2. Think of your best case scenario. Really be indulgent, whatever is your personal best case. For me, if I don't want to see anyone, my best case is the grocery store is quite empty and I don't have to look at anyone, everything I need is there and easy to get to AND the Jean jacket I really want is there for sale for like $6 and in my exact size, and maybe when I check out I get complimented on my hair (or the cashier barely notices me). For you, it might be that you get tons of compliments on your cute clothes, everything is cheaper than usual, you meet the love of your life in the baked goods isle and they get your number and ask you on a date, you run into your best friend there and she talks to the cashier for you (if you don't like talking to the cashier), and you get to pet a puppy outside the store (if you like puppies). You can make the best case scenario as awesome as you want it to be. (And honestly you'd be surprised how potentially awesome the actual outing could be... I did my "best case dream scenario" for a vacation I was worried about once and 90% of my unrealistic best case stuff happened).

3. Now think of a realistic case of what will probably happen. Something in between your worst fear and best hopes. For me, for grocery shopping, the realistic case I'd think about would be: I go, some stuff is for sale and somes expensive but I mostly end up spending what I planned, it's a bit busy but no one talks to me because I don't talk to them, if I see anyone who lives around here i dont want to talk to then i just walk away from the area they're in, I get most of what I went for but maybe forget a couple things or they don't have them, I check out and maybe say "have a nice day" to the cashier and feel stupid but I leave and the cashier forgets what I said because they don't know me and see hundreds of people a day. I leave. It's not a super great time but it's not super awful.

When you actually go, the realistic case you thought of is the closest to how it will probably actually go. The realistic case is usually something that can be gotten through. (And if you thought of worst, best, and realistic cases, and the realistic is still "i get physically hurt badly" or "I have a panic attack and have no safe escape and try to kill myself" then it's probably fair to just Not Do it even if people are pressuring you to).

If something worse happens, you might already have a plan for it (my plan is to leave immediately if something I really dislike happens and pick a different grocery store in town in the future), if something better happens (like if you love puppies and get to pet one) then maybe scary outing had some parts you enjoyed.

This doesn't work for everything. It's helped me with some everyday situations though.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Walk Right In, It's Around The Back

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Big Sky

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Beau Arlen/Reader, Beau Arlen/Reader

Synopsis: Spending the holiday alone? Not if the Deputy can help it. For the sake of argument, let's say this takes place pre-introduction, when Our Hero's working as a sheriff's deputy in a small town somewhere in Texas, and You are an administrative grunt who works in the same sheriff's office.

Tags:  Beau Arlen, AU, Really Just Smut, Written Before Watching The Show So Excuse Plot Whoopsies Please

AN:  Title is from the song "Alice's Restaurant," by Woodie Guthrie. Listening to the concert version is a Thanksgiving tradition. No I haven't watched the show yet. It's on my list. Purely speculative porn based on wishful thinking on what the character might or might not be like. Blame the actor for being so goshdarn cute. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

The County Sheriff’s office is tomb-silent as you swipe yourself in.  There’s a deputy up front in case of emergency but the back office where you work driving a desk is dark and quiet.  You’re not sneaking-- you cleared this with the office manager last week and again yesterday.  Still feels like sneaking.  You can’t help but tippity-toe.

Booting up your work computer and setting up Skype’s the work of a few minutes.  You wait, and eventually your family’s faces tile the screen. “Happy Thanksgiving sweetie-bird!” your mom chirps, and the ever-present ache of homesickness simultaneously eases and intensifies.  Been almost a year since you moved five states and a thousand miles away from everybody and everything you ever knew.  Shit, you thought a hundred and ten degree heat was a myth until you moved here.  You're still not used to how bright the light is, and how everything's out in the open.  You're a trog, you like hiding places.

Anyway.  You wave hi to your sister and brother-in-law and the stepfamily in Kalamazoo and your mom in Ypsilanti and your cousins in Hillsdale.  "So what're your plans for the day?" your mom asks.

"Oh, I'm gonna go home, watch TV, hide out at my apartment tomorrow because of course some idiot's gonna start a riot at the WalMart over the last big screen TV," you say.  "Bask in the irony of people trampling each other for stuff the day after a holiday dedicated to being grateful for what they already have."

Your mom makes a face.  "I'm sorry I couldn't fly down--"

"It's okay," you brush off, "I'll be up in January even if I have to hitchhike.  So far the boss here's been pretty reasonable and I promised I'd work over Christmas.  No sense in spending money on a plane ticket when I'm just gonna see you in a couple months anyway.  What're you doing for the day Mom?"

"The usual.  Going out with your aunt to the Seoul Garden and catching a movie," your mom shrugs.

“We got the pit going out back.  Uncle Jake scored a whole pig.  The guys from the VFW’ve been taking shifts all night,” the chief of The Cousins, Daniel, reports.

"We're gonna go out and see Dad after dinner and then go visit the stepmother in the hospital," your sister says.  "He couldn't make it today."

You swear.  Your Dad's been down with a bad back for months and your stepmother's in the hospital recovering from gallbladder surgery.  "When you see them give them my love."

A big warm hand lands on your shoulder and you hop halfway to Heaven.  "Easy!" the owner says, that million-dollar smile shining out from a neatly barbered beard.

"Deputy!" you squeak.  On the computer monitor both your sister and your mother have gone quiet and buggy-eyed.  Not exactly a unique reaction to the sight of Sheriff’s Deputy Beau Arlen, who is by far the most gorgeous man you've ever seen in the flesh.  All reddish brown hair and big jade-over-amber eyes, sensuous lips in a neatly barbered beard, and a body built for sin.

"What're you doing here?  I thought you drew the short straw for Christmas," he says.

"I did.  I don't have high-speed at my apartment, so I asked if I could come in and use my work computer to talk to my family back in Michigan."  You scootch to the side a little so he can see the screen.  You introduce your family as he takes off his uniform hat like a gentleman, "This is Beau Arlen.  He's one of the deputies here."

Thank God for your mom's faultless sense of etiquette.  She greets him warmly with best wishes for the holiday.  "Taxpayers working you hard Deputy?"

"Something like that," he says.

“Shit-- sorry sir,” Daniel says, “Uncle Jake needs help out back.  Catch ya later!” and signs off.

"I should--" Deputy Arlen says.

"Of course of course," you stutter, waving him away.  "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Happy Thanksgiving," he replies and heads for the offices up-front.

Your sister cusses.  "You didn't tell me he was fucking hot!"

"Yes I did," you hiss in a whisper.  Small town, everybody's got ears like satellite dishes.  "He is also married."  At least he wears a ring.  You've never heard anyone mention a wife.  Widower?  Divorcée?  You have no idea and you haven't been working here long enough to get plugged into the gossip mill.  God knows if you had any claim to those six-odd feet of divine manufacture you'd never let them out of your sight.

"Of course he is," your mother sighs.  "C'est la vie."

"Yeah."  In the background somebody calls your sister's name.  "I gotta go.  We're sitting down to dinner."

"Love you kiddo," you tell your sister and she signs off with a smile.  Your mother hangs on the line a little longer, mostly the two of you exchanging bitches about traffic and the weather.  Then your aunt arrives and your mother signs off, leaving you in the dark back office alone and facing a long stretch of holiday to kill.  And you can tell, today the time's gonna die hard.  All by yourself, and with none of the comforting touchstones of the familiar around you.  You'd get drunk and have a good cry but you're out of booze.

"Hey."

You damn near jump out of your skin.  God damn, the man can be quiet when he wants to be.  "Jesus Deputy, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'm sorry, I thought you heard me."  A mild Texas accent makes his words soft and round.  He smiles a little, ducks his head.  Is he nervous?  Nah, can't be.  Man's got brains, bravery, and beauty crammed into a set of uniform khakis.  He's got no reason to be nervous about anything, ever.  "I was just wondering if you had a ride home, is all."

"It's okay, it's only a few blocks and it's not that cold out."  You were even robbed of a nice day to go walking in; it's been overcast and chilly, threatening autumn drizzle.

"It's no trouble.  I don't have anywhere I have to be today."

That's a surprise.  "What?  Why are you even here come to think of it?  It's Thanksgiving."

"My parents are somewhere in the Gulf on the Princess Katrina and my sister's spending the day with her in-laws in Montana."

"Shit I'm sorry, Deputy--" you say.

"Beau.  I'm off-duty-- my name's Beau," he corrects you.  "It's not a big deal.  We all get together for Christmas at my grandparents' place."

"Sounds like my folks," you say.  "For the longest time my aunt'n'uncle were the only ones who had a house big enough to host everybody, so that's where we all gathered for the holidays."  Deputy-- Beau pulls up a chair and the two of you exchange stories about holiday gatherings.  You giggle when he tells you about his twin cousins climbing on the roof playing Truth Or Dare and by some miracle coming down without a scratch.  His chuckle when you make a schluping noise describing the way your cousin eats the mashed potatoes makes you all puddly inside.  God even his laugh is sexy.

"Well," he says, slapping his legs and standing.  You check your watch and to your surprise it's well into the afternoon.  "I'm so hungry I could eat a dead shark without stopping to skin him first.  You hungry?"

"Starving, actually," you admit.

Beau clears his throat.  "I got a couple of good ribeyes at home.  We could have dinner, watch the game."

"Oh no, I couldn't," you protest, a lifetime of never assuming you're wanted because you're probably not driving your words.

"Why not?" he asks.  "Wouldn't be right, letting a lady spend Thanksgiving alone."

"I mean--" you force the words out, "don't you have to clear it with your wife?"

"My what?"  He glances down at the gold band on his left hand.  "Oh that.  We've been divorced for years.  She left for the West Coast as soon as the papers were signed."  He holds out his hand.  "Come on.  You're gonna make me spend the whole day by myself?  It won't feel right, cooking up steak for just me, and all I got besides is leftovers.  You'll be doing me a favor."

---

When you get to Beau's place, you do a quick inventory of his kitchen and throw together a cobbler from frozen blueberries, as he excuses himself to change out of his uniform and into some jeans and a dark green workshirt with shiny copper buttons.  The color brings out the red in his hair and the green in his eyes and makes him almost too beautiful to fucking look at.  The steaks are wonderful, cooked perfectly and served with baked potatoes and a side salad.  He pretty much inhales the cobbler, mumbling compliments the whole time.  It's the best Thanksgiving you've had in years, honestly.

Stuffed full, you lounge on the couch watching the Thanksgiving day game.  Cowboys versus Lions.  "The overrated versus the damnéd," you say.

"Hey," Beau chides you, handing you a beer.  "Them's fightin words round here ma’am."

"I am obliged by sport law to root for the Detroit fucking Lions.  Honey you don't know what pain is," you growl.

"Yet there you are repping the Mavericks," he points at your Number 77 T-shirt.

"Basketball wasn't a declared loyalty before I moved to Texas," you counter.  Beau cocks an eyebrow at you.  "Besides I have a crush on Doncic," you admit.  "He's cute."  There it is again, that laugh.  Beau really needs to dial back the harmless flirting, your libido’s taking it the wrong way.  Like sit on your lap and suck out your fillings, like go to your bedroom and audition as your mattress, like tie me up and make me beg-- that wrong way.  "You play ball in school?"

"Yeah," he says, "baseball and football."  He shrugs.  "It's expected."  As he relaxes, his accent thickens.  The words melt over you, like butter.  "Was baseball a dee-clared loyalty?"

"Yep," you say, finishing your bottle.  "Ti-GRRS!"  Like a considerate host, Beau gets up and fetches more beers.  This time though, he doesn't sit in the recliner.  He sits with you on the couch.  At the other end of it, leaves plenty of space between you . . . but there.  With you.

Two more beers and an epic Cowboys collapse later you are definitely feeling no pain.  "That's my cat Peggy, rest in peace," you say, pointing to the tuxedo point Maine Coon tattooed on your bicep.  Beau's sitting on the coffee table, his knee touching your knee.  He's so close, you can feel his heat and smell his cologne.  It's all making you feel a bit giddy, over and above the buzz from the beer.  You're gonna be having some very warm and wet dreams about this man tonight.  Thank God you've got fresh batteries in Mr. Shakes.

Beau unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and rolls up his sleeve to show a fleur-de-lis design on his forearm.  "It's medieval," he says.

"I know," you say, taking his wrist in one hand and touching the tattoo with the other.  "The petals stand for purity, chastity, and virtue.  The anchor is for strength and the crown is for courage."

"Exactly right," he says, smiling.

"Beautiful color work," you note, taking a closer look at the delicate shades of gold and gray.  Beau's skin makes a good canvas, pale under a fading workman's suntan.  "Appropriate design for a cop."

Beau's smile's faded a little, shifted into something . . . else.  He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, revealing a glyph inked on your neck in deep blue.  "This here?"

"It's the Chinese character for water.  I'm an Aquarius.  Feels weird," you say, "not having a bigass lake somewhere nearby."  You're rambling, like you do when you get tipsy.  "There's a limit to how lost you can get-- go east or west in Michigan, eventually you'll trip over a lake.  There's nothing like that in Texas.  You can go a thousand miles in any direction and it's still Texas."

"Not quite so far," Beau rebuts.

"You know what I mean.  Everything's so . . . out in the open."

Beau thinks a moment.  "I think I see what you mean.  I lived in Maine some years ago.  Bangor was beautiful but it felt . . . I dunno, claustrophobic?  If Texas feels weird to you why do you stay?  You're not homesick?"

"Of course I'm homesick.  I love Michigan and I miss it, but the job market really sucks and I really hate snow.  I feel betrayed," you say, waving at the window as raindrops run down the glass, "I was told it never got cold in Texas."

"They did lie, whoever told you that," Beau confirms with a smile.  "Still, Texas does have its good points.  Best barbecue, prettiest skies.  Friendliest people."

"I'll grant you those," you say.  You clear your throat, suddenly aware of how little personal space is left between you and him.  And you're aware that he's aware.  His thumb rubs the hollow behind your ear and all your hair stands on end.  His eyes have darkened to the color of Isle Royale greenstone, the same color as the stone in your pendant.  Strong white teeth clench his full lower lip.

You stand up.  "I . . . I'm a terrible guest, I'll help--" empty bottles clink as you gather them up in shaking hands.

"I got it darlin--" Beau says, getting to his feet with a grunt and gathering empty bottles and dirty dishes.

"No it's okay, I'm sorry, I was raised better, promise," you stutter, fleeing to the kitchen with your hands full.  You drop the dead soldiers into the trash.  Okay, you need to remove yourself from the scene before you do something dumb and embarrassing and biohazardous and potentially litigation-worthy.

Beau’s asking for you, and his voice turns your name into something soft and beautiful.  “Did I say something wrong?  I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!  No, you didn’t, I’m just-- I have a bad habit of taking things the wrong way.”

“Well let’s talk about that way-- just what’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“You’re just being nice.  I’m the one turning it into something sleazy.”

If this were a comic book, there'd be an Ah-HA! thought bubble over Beau’s head.  He ticks up a finger.  “I should clarify.  I was hoping dinner would count as a first date.”

And a giant flaming question mark would get inked over yours.  “Huh?”

“I mean,” he says, coming in close, “you don’t give a man a chance, do you?  You’re just-- there, with those eyes, and those legs, and that laugh.  I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to ask you out for months but things kept coming up.”

Oh God is he serious?  Offers for rides home even though your apartment’s within walking distance and his shift ends an hour before yours does, raiding the candy dish on your desk every day around lunchtime, complimenting the coffee when you pass out the cups.  That smile first thing in the morning has become a reason to live.

And how did he get so close?

Slowly, giving you time to cry foul, Beau cups your jaw.  “I mean,” his throat works as he clears it, “I can take you home if you want.  That’d be the proper thing to do, iffn I was bein a gentleman.”

And you make a decision.  “Yeah it would,” you say, standing up straight and into his personal space.  In your sock feet you barely top his collarbone.  “If I were a lady,” you say peering almost straight up into his ex-fucking-squisite face, “I’d be thanking you for a lovely time and going home to a hot bubble bath and a Harlequin romance.”

“If I was a gentleman,” Beau says, lifting your glasses off your face and setting them carefully on the kitchen counter, “I’d be taking a shower and getting ready for bed.  I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you though.”

“I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you either,” you tell him, blinking your eyes back into focus.  You’re nearsighted, it makes Beau stand out like he’s the only thing that exists in three dimensions.  “I mean, you cooked for me-- how hot is that?  I’d be very ladylike though.  Drying off, moisturizing.  I wouldn’t get into my regular jammies though.”  Beau’s smile’s turning salacious and he’s stroking down your back, firm and possessive and not gentlemanly at all.  “I’d be thinking about you, and I’d wanna feel pretty.  So I’d get out my silk nightie.”

With a sigh that’s just this side of a groan, Beau says, “I’d get into bed and try to go to sleep.  I’d be making plans to ask you out to this barbecue place I know.  But I’d keep thinking about how goddamn sexy you look when you laugh.”

“Me too.  I’d get into bed in my silk nightie-- it’s this periwinkle blue, and it’s so light I can see my fingers through it.”

“I don’t wear anything to bed usually,” Beau tells you and you blush.  “I work out in the morning so I’d really need to go to sleep.  But . . .” his arm goes around your back and pulls your body tight to his.  His knees bend and you shiver when you feel something that is not a cell phone under his zipper.  “Well.  Gentlemen never let on how damn hard a lady’s makin him.”

“A lady’d never ever write a dirty story about you in her journal,” you say.  “Again.”

His eyes spark and his gaze has gone from warm to downright hungry.  “Again?  So you think about me a lot?”

“A lady can’t admit to that,” you tell him, low and soft.  “A gentleman wouldn’t ask.”

“Mmm.  Good thing I’m not a gentleman.”

“Thank God I’m not a lady,” you confirm, putting your arms around his neck and stretching up to kiss him.

Oh hell, the Deputy knows how to kiss.  Soft lips and a broad tongue, his beard a delightfully soft-scratchy counterpoint.  Beau doesn’t just use his face; he treats kissing like a full contact sport, holding you tight and working his whole body against yours.  Makes you very very aware how big he is compared to you, how strong.

“Is this okay darlin?” Beau asks between kisses, his low voice rumbling through you like sliding rocks.

“Very okay,” you pant, squirming to get him closer.  God damn pants.  All of you feels warm and tender.  Even the weight and texture of your clothes is sweet, the pressure of Beau’s hands exquisite.  The thought of that touch on your bare skin makes you shake.

Beau squats and locks his arms around your butt.  “Up.”  You hop and wrap your legs around his waist.  “You want I should take you to bed and do ungentlemanly things with you?”

“Only if I can be really,” you kiss his neck, down where his beard doesn’t cover, “really unladylike.”

“Honey,” he says, carrying you down the hall as easily as anything, “I mean to be downright barbaric.”

“Rude even?” you tease.

“Oh no, never, my mama raised me better,” he teases back, and good Lord that look would melt the panties off a nun.

Beau's bedroom is tidy for a bachelor.  The bed's a big walnut-bedsteaded rig neatly made with a quilt you're pretty sure is handmade.  You giggle as Beau gently lays the two of you down, settling himself with his waist in between your knees and his head tucked under your chin.  "Comfy.  What is this, a pillowtop?"

"Mmm.  My daddy always told me you spend a third of your life in bed and the other two-thirds in your shoes, so they should both be as comfortable as possible," Beau tells you as he pulls off your T-shirt.  You cringe a bit; laundry day was last Saturday and you're wearing your worn-out minimizer bra and rag-bag ready polka-dotted cotton briefs.  It's not like you were planning to go to bed with Deputy Sex-In-A Stetson.  If you had been, you'd've worn the black satin-- the thong that lets your ass hang out and the bra that gives you cleavage for days.

"Goodgod," Beau says, all in one word, “look at what you've been hidin from me.  What else we got under these?"

"Well what've you got under these?" you ask, working the buttons on Beau's shirt.  You shuck him out of a white cotton T-shirt and gulp at the sight of a body that's mostly ropy muscle covered in soft skin, hair sprinkled across the chest and trailing down his stomach.  You slide your hand over the front of his jeans and goodness gracious that’s a handful.  You feel a thrill of nerves-- it’s been a while and Beau’s a big guy.  “Stupid uniform,” you say.  “Covering up all this.”

Beau chuckles, deep and dark.  Big, clever fingers work the button on your jeans and pull them off.  Light as feathers, they trail back up your legs.  Thank all the Heavenly blessings you shaved a couple nights ago.  “Pretty girl all soft and warm,” he says to himself.

“You said something about barbaric things?” you ask, your voice shaking.

“I did say.”  Beau reaches behind you and works the clasp of your bra.  “But politely.  May I,” he kisses you, trails lips and beard down your neck, “please,” curls a warm tongue around your nipple, “pretty please,” you squeak at the feel of rough whiskers and rough fingers and pulling at your tits, just strong enough to take your breath away, “take these panties off and eat you out until you beg for mercy?”

“Oh!  Um . . . you don’t have to--” Beau scoots down the bed to give himself room and slips your undies off, “I, um, you don’t-- I’m plenty turned on, believe me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that darlin,” Beau says, putting one big hand low on your belly and massaging.  It feels good, way deep down there.  You’re self-aware enough to know you’re not nearly as worldly as you pretend, and you’ve never . . . your last boyfriend seemed grossed-out by the idea so you didn’t--

“There we go,” Beau says to himself, staring down at your pussy like Christmas came early.  “All pink and purty-like.”

You damn near swallow your own tongue as Beau pins you to the bed and sucks your pulsing clit into his mouth.  Electric shocks leap through your body and you cry out, “Fuck!” as he sets your legs in the bend of his arms, crosses his hands over your tummy, and fastens you to his face.

“Patience darlin we’ll get there,” Beau mumbles into you, the baritone rumble against your softest parts a sensation all its own.  “We’ll get there,” he repeats, before doing something with his beard that lights you up like a fucking Christmas tree.  You slide your fingers into his hair, all soft and fine.  Beau’s eyes roll up to meet yours and the cocky bastard tips you a wink.

Your body arcs and your legs almost cramp as you try to close them but Beau’s right there, his head wedged firm against you and his whole face engaged in making you insane.  You slap your hands over your mouth to keep from embarrassing yourself.  Jesus God you hope this apartment’s got good soundproofing.  “Easy there grasshopper,” Beau laughs as you practically bounce off the bed.  “Easy.”

Beau’s hands go up from your stomach to your tits.  Desperate for an anchorpoint as he keeps doing things you didn’t think were possible in the real world, you grip his fingers as they squeeze.  Oh, mistake.  Now you can hear yourself, all shrill and pleading and nowhere near ladylike.  “Oh my God, don’t stop, please don’t stop, please don’t stop doing that--” you plead.  The world’s falling away, like it does sometimes when it’s good.

“You’re gonna come?  Not yet you’re not,” he growls.  Fucking growls.

“Okay!” you laugh as he unwinds your legs from his head.  Ache, that’s what you are, from the breastbone to your knees, denied need digging into you with barbed claws.  “Okay, mercy!  This is me, begging.”

“I can see that,” Beau laughs, kissing up to your mouth with the smell of you thick in his beard.  Your hands are shaking, but they’re steady enough to work Beau’s jeans open.  Every cell in your body needs him.  Inside you.  Now.  Right fucking now.

Then his pants hit the floor and, “Whoof.”

“Oh, hold on a minute,” Beau says, rolling and stretching to get at a box on the nightstand.  You can’t take your eyes off his very, very, very . . . well.  Thick, curved a little bit, iron-hard, fucking throbbing as it stands bold as love out of a tangle of wiry hair.  Your mouth waters at the thought of getting to know it and know it well but the owner clearly has other plans.  Smooth as Copperfield doing card tricks Beau takes care of protection.

You throat opens on a gasp as Beau grabs you and rolls you underneath him.  Good Lord, he’s big.  Heavy over you and thick inside you and hot everywhere.

“Shit baby,” he groans, “that’s tight.  You want more?  I got more.”

“You got more?  Gimme more.  God Beau, please, gimme more,” you beg, and if you were joking around before you’re not now, you need to come on this cock.

“Well I dunno darlin.”

No.

“I mean, givin you what you want.”

Oh hell no.

“That’s . . . kinda gentleman-like, hmm?”

He wouldn’t.

“Please fuck me.  Please.  Please.”  You squirm under him, trying to get him closer.  Make him move.  Make him fuck you like a barbarian.  But God damn him, he won’t move.  Just . . . stays put, tension turning all his muscles to stone.

“Oh hey now,” he says as you start to cry.  You can’t help it, the ache’s becoming unbearable, the denial too heavy, it’s all too damn much.  “Don’t be carryin on like that sweetheart.”  Beau kisses you, and there’s an edge to his smile that makes your inner switch flop over and show belly.

“Please sir,” you say as clearly as you can, hiccuping back tears.  Beau’s eyes spark, dark and dangerous.  The wide head of him lodged between your inner petals . . . it twitches.  “Please give me your big cock.”

He does.  Oh God he does.

Thick and heavy and so fucking deep.  You’re so wet and ready the stretch and burn feels good.  Something deep in your guts goes pop! and you shrill out a noise you might get embarrassed about later.  You throw your hands up desperately seeking something to hang onto as Beau rocks into you all hot and thick.  But there’s nothing to grab, the bedstead’s solid wood.  Beau grabs your wrists in one hand and you clutch.  There’s nowhere that isn’t Beau; sight and sound and sensation, inside and outside. 

Beau’s panting, pleasure twisting up his face.  “You gonna come for me darlin?  Come all over my cock like a good girl?”

“Yes,” you pant right back, barely able to put words together but doing it anyway because he expects to be listened to and answered and you’re a good girl.  Good girls get to fly.  “Gonna come for you, God I’m so close, gonna fucking come for you.”  Jesus, he’s fucking you so good it’s damn near an out-of-body experience.  The earth is falling away, you’re fucking flying, higher and faster than you’ve ever felt.

Escape velocity reached and you gulp air around screams as you come so hard you turn inside out.  Beau buries himself in you to the balls and just holds still, moaning as he feels every clench and pulse and wave.  His arms go around your back and pull you tight to him so he can feel as much of your pleasure as he can.  “Good girl,” he tells you as you slump to the sheets, a mess of goo clinging to a jellied skeleton.  “Put your hands up by your head.”

Weakly you obey, and Beau weaves his fingers with yours, holding you down.  He’s keeping control and you are so okay with that, you’re out in space floating weightless and free.  Except here in Beau’s bed he’s fucking you so hard he’s damn close to breaking the bed and to your shock you feel the fire building again.  “Please,” you beg and you don’t even know what you’re begging for, it’s just important that you beg.

“Come for me again pretty girl, you can do it, we can do it together, come for me, come on and come for me sweetheart, God I’m so damn close . . . so close--" his voice spikes up in pitch and your bodies arch together.  Your cunt clamps down and squeezes as his cock kicks and jerks.

Groaning, Beau slumps on top of you.  He’s squashing you and you don’t care, the squash makes you grounded again, puts you gently back on planet Earth.  He’s still holding your wrists and that’s good too, you’re so . . . blown apart, it’s going to take a minute to pull back together, Beau’s grip is keeping you from drifting away.  A snatch of the song drifts across your awareness and you pant out a laugh.

“What?” Beau slurs.

“You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant -- excepting Alice --" Beau starts laughing, and joins you on the next line.  His singing voice is surprisingly sweet, “You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant.  Walk right in, it’s around the back, just a half a mile from the railroad tracks . . .”

---

Later, you cuddle up close, nestled under Beau’s arm and feeling warm and absolutely blissed out.  “That was . . .” you grope for a word that fits, not easy when you’re recovering from the sex of a lifetime, “nice.”

Beau looks down at you, as he plays a fingertip down your arm.  “’Nice,’ sweepea?”

“Sweepy?” you lisp, confused.

“Sweet.  Pea,” Beau enunciates.    “And don’t change the subject.  ‘Nice’?  I mean, speakin personally-- the sky caved in.”  You catch the corners of his lips jittering and burst into giggles.  “Thunderbolts’n’lighting.”

“Very very frighten-ning!” you sing the next line.

“Oh if you’re gonna mock me you can get the hell outta my bed, you minx--"

“No, no no no no!” you cry out through your giggles as Beau push-tickles you across the sheets.

“The earth moved,” he switches from shoving to pulling, “the angels wept, the demons down in Hell gave us a standing ovation,” as he speaks, Beau wrestles you closer and pins you more securely to the rumpled sheets, “I think I might’ve glimpsed the face of God the Father Almighty--”

“What’d He look like?” you ask, curious.

“Ever seen Holy Grail?  Anyway, all that, and the best you can do is nice?”

You think a minute.  “Really nice?”

Beau glares down at you.  “I’ll get you for that.”

“Yes please,” you say, sliding your hands into his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

As you spread your legs to cradle his body properly, a muscle twinges and you hiss in pain.  In an instant Beau’s off you.  He looks you over and sees bruises starting to set on your arms and between your thighs.  “Jesus Christ-- did I hurt you?  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Beau, it’s just been a while.  And believe me, I’m not flattering you at all when I say you lack in neither equipment nor technique.”

Beau doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just strokes your belly with that catcher’s mitt of a hand.  “You called me sir.”

“You called me a good girl.  I think we’re even.”

“Not what I meant.  I mean-- that’s not the kind of rough you do first time you go to bed with someone.  Not without talking about it first.”

You cover his hand with yours.  “Dude.  You just gave me the absolute best fuck of my life.  Don’t ruin the moment.  Besides . . .” you hesitate.

Oh well.  God hates a coward.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-off, you know.  I mean, yeah, it was nice--”

“Really nice,” Beau interjects.

“Really nice gives us a good baseline.  I’m sure with some dedicated practice we could work our way up.”

Beau’s expression’s unreadable.  His hand on your belly turns and his fingers close over yours.  “Wouldn’t blame you if you left right now and never looked at me again.”

“Hey,” you tell him, “look at me a sec.”  When you have his undivided attention, you say, “We got mutually a little carried away but nothing happened I wasn’t on board with.  You?”

“You can be assured ma’am I was an enthusiastic participant in all activities.”  Beau’s smile is as much wry as cheerful and with that he slips under your skin.

“Okay.  So . . .” you think a minute, “how about we get a nap, have a mature conversation about boundaries, and get to work topping Nice.”

---

Several hours later your throat burns around shrieks.  Beau’s broad body pins you to the shower tile and his broad cock pulls against every fucking nerve you got.  Beau’s got his hand buried in your hair, holding your head fast as he kisses you, deep and frantic.

Swearing, Beau lets go of your hair and slaps the wall by your head, coming with a gasp.  Without missing a beat he pulls out and drops to his knees.  Two fingers slick up into you, a hot mouth lands on your clit, and you cry out as you come.

You slide down to the shower floor as Beau gets rid of the condom.  Panting, he slumps next to you.  “Well?”

You think.  “Super-duper nice?”

---

[lazanskywrites]

my favorite indie songs

My favorite blog post we've been assigned so far this semester was to explain our favorite songs. I chose to rank my top five songs from the 2014 Tumblr Girl era because there are too many songs I like to compile into a top five list.

In this blog post, I want to compile my top five indie songs. I've always been a lover of indie and alternative since I've been able to stream my own music. Ever since I can remember I've listened to artists like Foster the People, MGMT, and The 1975. I'm not trying to seem "different" from everyone else, but I never was truly drawn to rap music growing up. I love the soft, abstract, and light sounds that make up the indie genre.

Here are my top five indie songs of all time...

#5 "Walking on a Dream" by Empire of the Sun

This is a classic indie anthem, especially in the summertime. "Walking on a Dream" is without a doubt their most popular song, but there are countless other indie classics from EOTS. This song reminds me specifically of my freshman year of high school. Football games, my first homecoming, and spending countless sleepless nights with friends (before we were all employed and busy).

#4 "Loving is Easy" by Rex Orange County

Like many other fans, this was the first song of Rex Orange County that I'd heard which made me a fan. The tune is so soft and catchy that there's quite literally no way to dislike it. Alex O'Connor's voice is distinguishable and perfect for indie ballads. "Loving is Easy" reminds me of 2018 when indie became the trend. Kanken backpacks, checkered Vans, scrunchies, and HydroFlasks were all the rave when this song was popularized. Other good Rex Orange Country songs are all from his older albums (in my opinion). During 2018 I was also listening to his songs "Apricot Princess", "Never Enough", and "Sunflower".

#3 "Young Folks" by Peter Bjorn and John

I LOVE this song. No indie fan could ever hate it because of its sheer catchiness paired with light and airy sounds. I remember listening to this song in the car with my friend who'd recently gotten her license. We were all sophomores during the 2021 "return to normality" post-Covid school year and it was easily the best school year. We went to campus every other day, so each day that the majority of us didn't have school we'd spend its entirety together having sleepovers almost every night. As soon as we all began to get our licenses we felt so grown up and invincible. This song pays tribute to my friends and me as we lived in naivety and bliss. I think any of us would pay hundreds of dollars if it meant we could go back to being sixteen-year-old girls.

#2 "ILYSB" by LANY

Each one of these songs has a specific time in my life it's associated with. This song holds the most prominent memories for me. My best friend and I used to spend hours together listening to indie hits and reading...this is embarrassing...fanfiction of our favorite celebrities together. What else is there to do when you're eleven-year-old middle schoolers with iPhones and laptops that have unrestricted Internet access? We would sit side by side and share the cute stories we'd found with each other. It must make sense now as to why I'm so good at navigating Tumblr; I've been using it since I was eleven. Unrelated to being typical tween girls, this song will definitely be on my wedding playlist. I just think it's cute not only to sing to a partner but also to a best friend.

#1 Flashed Junk Mind by Milky Chance

What else is there to say besides I ABSOLUTELY LOVE EVERY LITTLE THING ABOUT THIS SONG! No, the lyricism isn't as sentimental as "ILYSB" but this was one of my top listened-to songs throughout my teens. I saw one of my celebrity crushes at the time (2017 Finn Wolfhard in case you were curious...specifically 2017) post about how he liked it, and of course, I had to follow suit. I doubted how much I'd like this song though. It's the ideal summer anthem with a funky beat and easy-to-follow lyrics. There's nothing to dislike about "Flashed Junk Mind" or Milky Chance as a band. If you like this song and want something a little slower, check out their song "Stolen Dance".

I love everything about the indie scene. The music, the fashion, and the emotions connected to it. Indie as a genre can provoke feelings of joy, heartbreak, and passion. These songs, along with others, will definitely be the songs I play loudly on a Sunday afternoon until my kids beg me to turn them down. Spoiler, I'll only turn them up.

[chevvy-yates]

OC Interview Questions

I saw @smilepal's post with Hiro being interviewed, thought it was cool and wanted to do as well (also goes for the idea to have the character answering for the interviewer, so I thought I'd make that as well.)

Tagging: @nervouswizardcycle @dreamskug @a-pirate @wraithsoutlaws @jaymber and everyone who want's to do this (no pressure).

Edit: Imagine his voice being similar to SPN S1 Dean's (just a lil' lighter maybe).

---

Name?  

Vijay. — jus' V's fine, tho.

Are you single? 

I was in fact — until last week. smirks So, I'm off the market. Sorry to all the gents and ladies out there!

Are you happy? 

I'm mostly good but I wouldn't call it happy in every case. Being happy really's kinda rare. Since I live in NC and left Portland behind, yeah I guess I'm much 'happier'. But there's always room for improvememt. (bonus ask) But you seem happy to me? That's because of my face. I got a happy face. Doesn't mean I'm always the happy cute guy you see in me. Anyways: yet, I appreciate it when I'm also not happy — See, I don't think u can achieve to be the happiest either. There'll always be times u get kicked off of your rainbow shootin' unicorn, u know.

Are you angry?

Show me one person in NC who's not? Everyone's angry. Not all the time, and I believe many hide it, so they're practically lyin'. I get angry, too, at times. But I tend to vent quickly and not wasting any more time with it because I got better things to do.

Are your parents still married?

Heck do I know? Don't care 'bout 'em anymore.

=NINE FACTS=

Birth place?  

Monterey Bay. Scenic coastline, almost looks ike some neat painting. I used to play a lot at the beaches and swam in the ocean when I was a kid. Area is thrivin' with wild life. There isn't one day I'm not thinking about it. Once I'm gettin' tired of the city life, I'm gonna buy me one of these fairytale cottages and spend the rest of my days sitting on my porch watching the sun setting beyong the ocean.

Hair color?

Ginger. And yes, I have a soul.

Eye color?

Used to be pure green but I had to replace them with optics because of the biz, so now got a color that looks green to blueish? Depends on the lighting.

Birthday?

February. Close friends get the numbers.

Mood?

's good for now.

Gender?

I'm a male.

Summer or winter?

Well, this is NorCal. It's mostly Summer throughout the year. Even Portland didn't get much of a Winter thanks to global warming shit noone could stop yet. I don't even know what a real Winter feels like. Maybe I should take a trip to where Winter still happens to be? Then u might get an answer 'bout this.

Morning or afternoon?

Often get to enjoy mornings since I mostly work at night and come home or finish a job when it's about to get morning. Yet, I've always loved afternoons way more. The moment u can just watch the sun getting lower until it's disappearing behind the horizon has always been and is very peaceful to me.

=EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE=

Are you in love?

I defintiely got that strong butterfly feeling again I haven't felt in a long while. Feels great!

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Nuh-uh. I believe it's attraction that's drivin' people mostly when they think they are in love from zero to hundred. Maybe there are exceptions, though, dunno. But for me — there's no "at first sight". It developes after time is what I can say from my experience.

Who ended your last relationship? 

I did. Personal issus I couldn't cope with. That's all you need to know. We're still very good friends. It's not easy that easy though.

Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

He told me I didn't, but I think I did. His eyes do tell me that.

Are you afraid of commitments?

What kind of commiment?*

Have you hugged someone within the last week?

Yeah, sure. Hugs are important. It's part of my love language.

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Yah, bet I got some. But I don't — uh … really care? Come to me, talk to me — rest we'll see.

Have you ever broken your own heart?

Yup. Got to do with these people called "parents" I once had.

=SIX CHOICES=

Love or lust?  

I like both but lust always seems to be stronger, lingering deep inside, waiting to get into action. I've got a better understanding of it than love. The latter is unpredictable and hits you totally unexpected. But the two can go along well together if you got the right person at your side and keep both balanced.

Lemonade or iced tea?

Lemonade — always a good choice. Am I gettin' some now? Don't forget to put some gin into it for me, alright?!

Cats or dogs?

Send me all them doggos u got! I love them. -happiest face ever- They are the only animals that love you unconditionally. Cats would eat u if they were bigger than us for sure.

A few best friends or many regular friends? 

After Portland I went with "few best friends". The rest is only mutuals, too me. U need to be careful with whom you talk about personal stuff — especially in this city. True friends takes a while to find, though.

Wild night out or romantic night in?

Can u stop askin' me 'this or that' stuff? It's both. Wild nights are a lot of fun but if I got someone I just wanna spend time alone with? — Fuck yeah! Nothing can beat a romantic night at home. I crave for that as well.

Day or night?

Where are we right now? Right – NIGHT City. More than half of the city sleeps at day and is awake around night, same goes for me.

=FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS=

Been caught sneaking out?

Where to? If u mean by that, as a kid — dozens of times. If on a job — I stopped counting.

Fallen down/up the stairs?

In my biz? Couple of times.

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?

Yup. But as I said — done with it.

Wanted to disappear?

As in getting invisible for my job? Heck, wouldn't that be awesome!? Otherwise, nah.

=FOUR PREFERENCES=

Smile or eyes?

Ohhh, it's eyes alright. They tell you so much about a person sometimes it's incredible.

Shorter or taller? 

Well, I ain't got anything against people smaller than me, but — nearly same height as me is very pleasing, bc you don't have to bend down all the time. I'm 6''4 so, there ain't many people taller than me. Well, Jackie is — was, tho …

Intelligence or attraction?

I must admit I go for attraction in the first place and therefore intelligence does come a bit short in some cases. But it is also very important. So, both.

Hook-up or relationship?

I prefer relationships, but hook-ups are nice, too — especially when you had enough of relationships for a while.

=FAMILY=

Do you and your family get along?

Why are there so many family related questions? U can answer this to yourself. Don't have to tell ya twice, bro!

Would you say you have a “messed up life”?

It was messy alright, until I got myself together and got out of it. At least for that messed up life part. The one I'm in now is a different messed up. I don't think about that much. Pulls you only down, to be honest. Just tryin' and get the best out of it everyday I wake up. You live only once, right? So make the best out of it.

Have you ever run away from home?

Not really. U could say I did but he part at home didn't bother either? Does that makes sense? Ah fuck — just get me the next question!

Have you ever gotten kicked out?

No. I was gone before anybody could have 'kicked me' out.

=FRIENDS=

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

Ehm… why should I hate one of my friends secretly? Your questions reaching the peak of lowness, seriously.

Do you consider all of your friends good friends? 

Didn't we already have a similar question? The few friends I got, are my GOOD Friends — the rest is, already said, mutuals.

Who is your best friend? 

Was– best friend. Jackie — I still miss him. But Ryder, my team mate, is always there for me if I got somethin' on my mind. I met him about the same time as Jackie. We've been very close to each other for a while.

Who knows everything about you?

Jackie knew a lot about me. I would go that fare and say he'd know almost everything, yeah. But Jack's gone, so I'll pick Ryder. He might know almost as much about me as Jackie did. And I know he'll keep private things for himself. I know I can trust him.

[indigobackfire]

Phoenix Lazar Nobleworth Silverwood

Below is a lengthy history of his parents, their involvement with dragons, and how he lost them.

Ps: I tried adding some Scottish dialect in the dialogue, but I'm not the best at it considering all I have as reference is my love for James McAvoy and Outlander. Forgive me in advance for any atrocities lol. Also, diverging from canon especially in relation to Veela powers and physical descriptions.

Phoenix's father, Emilian, was sorted into Gryffindor and with pride, he was a Gryffindor by the book, adventurous, brave, often reckless, fun, with a strong sense of protection over his friends, someone who valued courage and honor.

Emilian didn't know how he and Palmer Silverwood - Slytherin, pureblood, much more popular than him, and one of the best duelists in their year - became friends, he also didn't know how Palmer found an about to hatch dragon egg in the forbidden forest, or how he even got into the forbidden forest to begin with, but being who he was, Emilian wasn't much surprised.

The biggest surprise was that Palmer even knew who he was.

Emilian takes a peek into Palmer's robes where the egg is hidden. "So? You're the dragon laddie, Nobleworth."

"Yeah, it's a dragon egg. Common Welsh Green this one." He looks up. "And is that what people call me?"

"Are ye really surprised? You talk about them all the time, yer the best in Care of Magical Creatures, and ye have a dragon painted at the back of yer bloody robes."

"Only fair. McGonagall hates it."

Palmer laughs. "Will ye help me?"

"Aye. But what ye want me to do?"

"I dinna ken. I just don't want the wee dragon to die. The poor creature wasn't warm when I found it so it's probably motherless. I mean... they fire up their eggs, don't they?"

Emilian smiles. "You're not as unknowledgeable as you think, Silverwood. Let's go somewhere more private."

In the humid and dusty air of the artifact room, they hide. "Hand me the egg."

Palmer hands him the egg delicately as if the creature inside it wasn't one that could eat them both in a bite when grown. And for a moment Palmer wonders what he'll do, but Emilian just stands there holding the egg. And as he's about to question him, he sees Emilian's fingers get bright red.

"Mate? What's wrong with yer hands?"

Emilian snickers. "I have a secret, can you keep it?" Palmer nods eyes fixated on the egg whose cracks were very slowly growing. "I'm half Veela and whilst I can't throw balls of fire from my hands... I can heat it up to... oven temperature."

"Oven temperature?"

Emilian smirks. "Ah dinnae have exact numbers, but if ye want to give a touch."

Palmer looks at his hands again. "Nae. They're as bright as molten glass, lad."

Emilian raises his eyebrows. "Oh, I felt it move."

"Ooohh, it's gonna set this tiny room on fire."

"Let me hide it this time. I ken a place we can go. The person ye should've gone to in the first place."

Palmer widens his eyes. "Kettleburn, nae."

"Silverwood, ye cannae keep the dragon. It'll set you on fire before completing one year."

Palmer puffs as they walk out of the artifact room. "If the dragon enthusiast dinnae want to keep a real dragon, why would I?"

"A dragon lover is the same as a bee lover. You can appreciate the honey, the lovely stripes, but if ye hold it in yer hand, it'll sting you. Dragons were made to live outside, flying, spitting fire. A wee dragon is cute, but once is grown..."

"Yer a curious lad, Nobleworth." Emilian gives an awkward half smile. "I like you."

Their friendship was as unexpected to them as it was for the bystanders, but one that sustained for their last two years in Hogwarts - including Palmer's girlfriend, Clarin, an uptight but curious Ravenclaw, who despite her best instincts followed behind on the boys' adventures.

When Emilian announced he would be leaving England for the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania a couple of years later, as much as Palmer and Clarin expected that to happen, it still came with the bittersweetness of watching one of their best friends go.

Years go by, but still, their bond sustains time and distance. Every opportunity they had, the SIlverwoods would travel to Romania to visit their friend who in a lighting in a bottle chance found himself a wife of "his kind".

Full Veela, Antonia Lazar, practically raised herself as her father left her mother, a temperamental full Veela woman, to deal with Tonia herself, a task she delegated to her equally careless family members, closely involved with the Dragon Sanctuary in times the place was still informally managed.

When Emilian meets her, barely wearing rags over her body, barefoot on the grass, pearl blonde hair unruly, looking as if she was raised by wild house elves, he couldn't help his heart hammering in his chest. Female Veela beauty wasn't something he was unused to, considering his mother and aunts were ones as well, but when Antonia was before him he thought of himself before a goddess.

Emilian tries not to spill the water in the heavy buckets while Antonia doesn't seem to be struggling at all. He wouldn't have a need to even carry them if he hadn't forgotten his wand, but at least he got to be alone with her.

"Why is it that ye dinnae like us?"

"You English think you run the place just because you read about dragons in a book, think you know more than us who grew with hundreds of them." She shoots him firey eyes. "Know when I first rode a dragon? I was five years old!"

"I never say I doubted yer capacities. And I'm not English, I'm Scottish." She glares at him again. "I'm kidding."

"Don't get me angry, you won't like it me angry. Trust me."

"I would actually. I wonder what color yer feathers would be."

"I'm sorry?"

"I ken a Veela when I see one. Especially cause I'm half one."

Her expression soothes a little. She puts the bucket down and grips his hand. "Go, do your magic."

While his hand goes as hot as they can, his eyes slowly change hues to match her, never breaking eye contact. "It's nice touching a girl who doesn't mind a more... ardent touch."

She gives a small smile. "You're pathetic."

"I'd love to fly on a dragon's back with someone who understands about them. I promise I'm not here to mock or doubt you. I love those creatures more than anyone I know."

She lets go of his hand and with a smirk picks up the bucket. "Well, now you know me."

Their relationship quickly becomes stronger as they spend day after day together. The work at the Sanctuary is as rewarding as it is tiring, so at the end of long days, they would sit together and exchange stories, her of her buckwild childhood and him of his years in Hogwarts. In each other's company that they find an air of normality and peace.

After recognizing and accepting her strong feelings for Emilian - something hard considering how men had treated her before, seeking what she had to offer them more than considering her needs - and finding out he felt the same for the longest time, they decided to marry, her seeing in him a sense of stability for the first time in her life.

It doesn't take long until Antonia is pregnant with their first child, and in the pool of genes and possibilities, their first-born boy is a full Veela like his mother, something uncommon for boys. Not considering what would be 'formal' or well accepted, Antonia decides to name him Phoenix for encompassing what being a Veela means to her, a bird of elegance and fire and perseverance.

And as if it was pre-destined, just a couple months prior, Clarin and Palmer had given birth to a girl of name just as uncommon, little Indigo Silverwood, who is but three months old when they come to Romania to meet little Phoenix.

To this day, the Silverwoods wonder if their timing was the best or worst it could've been.

As in the same week they came to visit, an attack happens with the intent of capturing as many dragons as they could from the reserve, something that had happened times before but this time much better planned and heavily armed with the best wizards they could get.

They start picking up their wands in haste while seeking the fire protection potion they had brewed specially for this trip back at home. "What do they need dragons for? Can't they breed their own." Clarin asks.

"Is not like is legal or easy to do so." Antonia has her eyes soaked with tears. "They don't care about the creatures, they want money. Oh, they use their blood to make spot removers. Oven cleaners! How can you take a marvelous creature and turn it into such a pathetic thing? Then they use their hearts in you wizards stupid wands and their skin into gloves!"

"Somebody must have heard about the new Chinese Fireball," Emilian says, "People seek the gold in their horns and eggs, but if you pull them out, they die."

"Not to mention the baby Romanians. Put your goddamn boots on already, Emilian!"

"What 'bout the bairns?" Palmer asks anxiously.

"There's no time. They probably ain't getting all the way up here, but in all cases." Emilian grabs the potion from Clarin's hands turning over Jacob's and baby Indigo's mouth, knowing the fire wouldn't do harm to Phoenix. He places something in Jacob's little hand. "Jacob, if any mean person comes trying to hurt ye, throw this at their feet and run. Alright?" Jacob nods, eyes wide with fear and excitement of a five-year-old.

"What is it?" Palmer asks.

"A vial of Peruvian's Vipertooth venom, extremely deadly and volatile. Don't ask me why I have it."

Palmer looks at Jacob. "Stay quiet and protect the babies, right, love?"

Antonia kisses Phoenix on the forehead one last time then turns to the others. "Let's go, please!"

And if they knew, she would've held him a little longer, Emilian would've stopped time for a couple of seconds to look at their boy for a lingering moment more. But they didn't and time never reversed.

They weren't the only lives lost, but side by side they fought and won and lost and lost and lost. They managed to protect all but two of the dragons at the end, blood of dark wizards - and innocent ones - soaked the grounds. Dragons loose on the sky overhead, blood spilt from both sides, burnt buildings, scars that would never heal, the body of a friend devoided of life, a mother of dragons and children never to wake up again, children crying in a cabin kilometers away.

When Antonia's mother refused to watch over her own grandson, Clarin felt as if it was her own son the woman refused and it was that soon the decision to keep him came. She was still breastfeeding and no ordinary family would know how to raise him right, at least that's what both her and Palmer told themselves. Emilian's parents, both devastated by the news of their son's death were quick to agree with the Silverwoods' proposal.

And it's like this that Phoenix and Indigo are practically raised as twins, still young when he notices he doesn't look like the rest of them - a pale and blonde boy in a family of tanned brunettes - not only for his looks but by the fact that sinking his hand into a pot of boiling water doesn't hurt or the fact his anger makes his body react differently from the others or that people got mesmerized by his looks enough to do whatever he asked them to.

But the Silverwoods learn the painful way that raising a Veela child is not easy work. Not only easily irritable but also dangerous when transformed, not much to others while still young, but to himself due to painful and harmful transformation, taking hours until he could retain his human form. Meditating and thought exercises became pivotal from an early age. As not make their treatment towards him different from Indigo, they become tougher with both, demanding an altruistic, patient, and empathetic behavior from both.

This leads Phoenix to grown into a level-headed, sweet and compassionate boy who eventually got sorted into Hufflepuff without the sorting hat having to consider long.

As much as he wishes he had grown with his biological parents, he's grateful to have grown in the family he did and doesn't consider himself any less part of it, he loves his siblings dearly and considers and reslects his parents as if it was from their blood and cells he was made of.

---

This is my attempt at a concise history of Phoenix, mostly his parents who I dream of drawing someday. I'll make something in the future for his romantic life as it is its own ride. I ship him with Ismelda and boy oh boy I have some to say about that.

If you wanna more info on Phoenix, I made him an OC profile :)

[onehelluvafirstdate]

Hi! Glad I found your tumblr! I'm a big Cleon shipper since I saw 'em in the original😍 I'd like to send you these hearts for Cleon. ❤, ♡ , ღ, 💕, 💘 , 💙 , 💜 , 💛 , 💓 I hope you don't mind if it's a lot. I can't help it😂

No worries! I love doing these because it keeps my creative juices flowing (that’s gross; sorry)

Since your ask includes most of the prompt list, I’ll just do them all! Maybe that will make up for the fact that I’m almost a month late to this request.

(+ this was written at 4 am and hasn’t been proofread, so there’s probably a lot of mistakes or things that don’t make sense. sorry! but I rarely proofread any of my posts anyway LOL)

❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private?

[This is in terms of physical affection]

Claire is for both. Although Leon is only subtly affectionate in public (holding hands, etc.), he does get way more touchy in private. Claire is still way more affectionate overall though.

♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

Claire is more romantic openly, and Leon is more romantic secretly. Though, he is working on being more open about his love for her. He’s trying his best 🥺

❥: who is more likely to plan something big for valentine's day?

Leon! Again, he’s trying his best to openly show his love for her. Claire doesn’t think it’s necessary because she fully knows how much he loves her, but still loves grand romantic gestures. She knows that he’s a rather closed-off person, so it means a lot to her that he’s genuinely working on showing affection openly.

ღ: who is more likely to initiate hand-holding in public?

Both are equally likely! Claire does it a bit more and does it subconsciously, but Leon does do it a few times when he feels anxious and wary of their surroundings or in a crowd.

💕: who is more likely to make huge declarations of love in front of other people?

Neither. Although Claire is openly romantic, she respects Leon’s preference to keep their love lives rather private.

💘: who developed a crush on the other first?

Canonically, Claire did. It all started post-Raccoon at a motel when she was helping Leon clean his bullet wound. Leon was still recovering from the emotional trauma about Ada’s death, so he was oblivious to her feelings.

In No-Zombie/Bioterrorism AU, Leon did. Claire came to visit Chris one day, and as soon as he laid his eyes on her, he developed a crush.

💝: who spends more time (possibly overthinking) what presents to get the other?

Both! Leon effortlessly gets her the best presents, which leads to Claire wanting to do the same thing for him. Meanwhile, Leon overthinks wanting to top the present he got for her most recently. Claire says she likes anything he gets her, while Leon never tells her what he wants. They’ve sometimes had to resort to taking the other person on a vacation.

💓: who initiates most physical contact?

Claire for non-sexual, while it’s an even split for sexual.

💌: who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

Claire! She sends him motivational texts all the time. Although, Leon does send her heart emojis very frequently. And he means every single one he sends.

💟: who spends time reading their zodiac compatibilities?

Neither. Although, Moira and Sherry have convinced Claire to look it up once.

Moira and Sherry definitely do though. Rarely for themselves. They’ve done possibly a hundred tarot readings with each other abouy Leon and Claire’s relationship.

💙: who is more protective?

(from a previous ask)

Leon acts more on his jealousy and protectiveness. From glaring at anyone staring at Claire with bedroom eyes, to punching a guy for trying to get handsy with Claire despite her protests. It’s not like Claire can’t take care of it herself, it’s just that Leon’s instincts when it comes to protecting Claire are quicker. He does let her have some fun beating up perverts sometimes, though. He also makes sure to let people know that Claire’s taken, especially by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. Claire thinks he looks cute when he’s jealous.

Claire acts more subtly on her jealousy. For instance, she makes sure to let people know that they’re together by wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her chest against his. Or, when she’s feeling really petty, she loudly asks Leon questions only couples will primarily have, such as “When should we go and meet your parents?”, “Where should we have our wedding?”, etc.

In terms of danger, both of them are very protective, but Leon is a very large man, so he can shield her easily.

💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?

Claire gets sick more often, but takes care of Leon better in the rare cases he’s ill. She’s the maternal type, so she’s very good at taking care of someone. Not that Leon can’t take care of her, though. She’s just a little better.

💜: who said "i love you" first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

This is a little different from a previous ask (& more angsty)

Leon starts breaking down again (most likely after a mission)

He’s clearly given up on everything

Claire desperately tries to talk to him because she genuinely loves him

Leon, struggling with his emotions, kind of snaps at her, asking why she’s pitying him/why she’s still here

Claire finally says: “It’s because I love you”

💛: who believes in soulmates?

Neither. They do think that they’re a perfect match though. But, they believe they’re perfect for each other because of the effort they put into their relationship, rather than fate/destiny.

Sherry totally believes they’re soulmates. Moira too.

[langdvnshepherd]

Eeekkk, I'm that anon gushing about dad!Duncan! I'd love talk more about him, I love kids and so any of Cody's characters as dads make me weak in the knees!!! But for Duncan, I've had this idea of like the reader being like suuuper sick and Duncan wanting to help and let her rest, suggests bringing the little bub to work! Like that particular day he's not expecting for too much to go on, so he can bring his little boy along. And little bub is like over the moon to spend his day with daddy (1/2)

He would be on his best behavior and want to be just like daddy, working at his computer, taking notes, answering phone calls, etc. Just the best, most behaved little bub and towards the end of the day he'd just be vibrating with excitement to fill mommy in on his entire day!!!! (2/2)

//

STOP WE LOVE A MINI DUNCAN!!!!!

He would ABSOLUTELY be on his best behavior! He’s so excited to finally go to his dad’s work because even though it might be saddening at times, it’s what he associates Duncan with. Duncan’s always on the phone with someone about a business deal, telling bub’s mom that he’s going into the office for a bit, always on his laptop responding to emails, and always tells bub the same thing when they ask him what he’s doing. 

“Daddy’s working, bubba,” he repeats himself for the millionth time that week. 

When his wife gets sick, not bed-ridden or in need of emergency care, he offers to take him to the office for a bit so she can rest. He’s got a light load that day, so he figures there’s no harm in letting him run around his office in downtown DC while he finalizes a deal with a partner.

Everyone at the office has heard about Duncan’s son and had been subjected to look at the hundreds of photos Duncan has in his office and in his phone, but they’ve never actually seen him in person. There’s an uproar when the elevator dings and Duncan steps out and trailing behind him is his carbon copy, still wearing his fluffy pajamas with his curly mop smoothed down with some water.  Bub is clutching onto Duncan’s pinky with his whole fist, which turns everyone’s heart into mush.

When they get to his office, Duncan sets him up his own little work station at the coffee table near the couch, giving him his tablet with plenty of cartoons downloaded and at the ready for them to watch while Duncan does his thing. However, Duncan’s bub loves Duncan and obsesses over everything he does and wants to be just like his papa, and Duncan is not watching Peppa Pig on his iPad, therefore that is not what bub will be doing either. Duncan finds that his day does not consist of his son peacefully lying on the couch and possibly sleeping through his stint at the office, but rather the complete opposite.

Bub is WIRED to finally be able to see where his dad does all of this work that he practically idolizes, despite barely being able to speak full sentences. He’s tugging on wires, pulling old case files from the bookshelf, knocking over pen cups in an attempt to write his own reminder on the bright yellow sticky notes on Duncan’s desk. It’s all on accident, of course, just the fact that he’s a clumsy toddler who wants to be as much like his dad as possible.

Duncan, despite being overly annoyed yet not having the heart to scold him, pretty much gives him free rein over the office. He listens to him babble into the desk phone and yell random words into the microphone (he definitely accidentally connects to a coworker’s desk phone and they have a cute little conversation about his favorite Disney movie and the snack he just ate). He watches him fill out his own report, even helps him by telling him what to write even though it’s only scribbles and wiggly lines. He spends the whole afternoon with bub in his lap, asking him question after question about every move he makes, but he loves every second of it. 

By the time the two boys arrive home, bub is jumping on his mama, jolting her from her coma-like sleep. He tells her all about how he made business calls, filled out papers for daddy, and even how he got to ride to the top floor of the office building and look at the DC skyline from the rooftop. Duncan can’t help but note the way his heart sores as he watches his bub rave about his day at the office, and the look on his wife’s face, still riddled with signs of illness, that says the same exact thing.

[monorayjak]

My Custom - Planeswalker

I was hoping to get some feedback on him. This is my first, serious attempt at an original character, so don't expect anything good. Anyways, here is a conversation I wrote out between me asking questions and him responding. Keep in mind, please, it is 4 AM and i literally just wrote all this out...so...yeah...expect a few typos.

M(e): So, first off lets start with the basics, so, what is your full name?

D(urah): Durah Olren Voln.

M: Ok, so, how old are you?

D: I am 18.

M: So Durah, tell me, what do you want in life?

D: Oh, thats a quick jump...well, I guess what I really want is to find something to believe in, something that I can stand for. Plus, it wouldn't be bad if I found a group to call a family along the way.

M: Interesting. So tell me, out of the possessions you own, what is the most important one to you?

D: My most important possession is probably my mother's locket.

M: And why is the locket so important?

D: She gave me this locket when I was just a small kid, but it wasn't long after that one of the Gruul clans raided the area we lived in and destroyed everything, we found her body three days after they left, burnt to a crisp.

M: Oh...I'm sorry to hear that.

D: Its ok, I miss her all the time, but it has been ten years.

M: Of course, of course...so, what about your father?

D: My father...the Boros officer, he stood high and mighty for the people he protected, but when he came home everyday, he would drink as much as he could, and then he would yell at me for hours on end about how imperfect I was, because I wasn't him...and then he'd beat me until he had to go back to his patrols. I hate him. I left him behind at 15, and I haven't looked back since.

M: Hm, sounds like you have had a very rough upbringing, what about your friends? Who were you close to after your mother passed away?

D: I was closest to a young merfolk girl named Asimi and another human boy named Veran.

M: So, how have you three been doing the past decade?

D: Well, we started working together doing odd jobs for the guilds, but as time went on, they both joined a guild, and I kept working alone. Veran asked me to help him with a mission for the Orzhov not too long ago.

M: Hm, how did this mission go?

D: Poorly...

M: And why is that?

D: Veran betrayed me.

M: Oh...how...why did he betray you?

D: The council of Orzhova asked him to assassinate a Simic biomancer, and he needed a scape-goat. He told me it was a simple retrieval and delivery job, picking up some materials the Simic had sold to the Orzhov and delivering it.

M: And he left the blame on you after the mission?

D: Not exactly.

M: Really?

D: Yeah, the thing about this Simic biomancer, was that we both knew her.

M: Asimi?

D: Yeah.

M: Could Veran not bring himself to kill a childhood friend?

D: No...he was ready to kill us both if needed, what he didn't expect was for us to fight back. Asimi fought after he began to attack, but he did not plan on fighting fair, he knocked me into a wall and pulled a poison dagger on her. They fought while I struggled to stand back up.

M: What happened next?

D: I failed. He got a hit on her, and after that she was easy to finish off, he was using some kind of rare poison that basically sedated a person after only a few seconds in the bloodstream. Before I could get up to try and help, he had already finished it, and he used a powerful flame spell to char her body, before charging it at me. He knew I hated flames.

M: So, how did you escape?

D: To be honest, I don't really know. One minute I have a fading grasp on reality, I see the flames burn Asimi's body, and then start heading to me, the next minute, I only see a blinding light.

M: Your spark ignited?

D: I guess. I'm still new to this. But anyways, the next thing I know, I'm laying in a dense forest, with some mountains in the distance.

M: Well...seems you've had quite a rough week.

D: Yeah.

M: So, Durah, would you mind if we switch topics for a bit?

D: I'd be happy too.

M: Ok, well in that case, why don't we switch to a lighter one for now.

D: Sounds good.

M: Ok, so, why don't you explain your style.

D: My "style?"

M: Yes, like your clothes, how would you describe the way you dress?

D: Ah...well, to be honest, I don't have much of a "style," I was used to growing up with little money, I mean, my father did spend most of it on alcohol. But, I guess I would say, casual? I just wear some cheap coats and pants.

M: What about the trinkets you have on? Like that skull for example?

D: Well, most of these trinkets are signs of acceptance into guilds. Where I did so many odd jobs over the years, many of the factions began to see me as a, well, a "honorary member" I guess. They gave me some trinkets to prove it. I mean, this glove-gauntlet was a gift from an Izzet mage I helped move some cargo, and these goggles were a present from the Simic for helping me dive down on their missions. Now, the skull you pointed out, is actually from a Gruul clan.

M: The Gruul? But, weren't the Gruul the ones who took your mothers life?

D: Well, yes, but the Gruul are seperated into hundreds of different clans. This clan is known as "Burning Tree" and while they are still strong and respected, they don't really do the large-scale raids that took my mother. At least, they don't do it a lot.

M: Ah, well, what about tattoos? Do you have any?

D: A few. I have one that's modeled after the symbol the Living Guildpact uses on my shoulder, and I have a few Gruul markings along this arm.

M: Hmm, why do you have a tattoo of the Living Guildpact's symbol?

D: I respect him, he creates peace between the guilds, at least more than their was when I grew up.

M: Well. In theme with our previous topic, why don't we look at combat style. Do you use any weapons? Do you rely on magic?

D: I usually use cryomancy for combat, but I also have a staff that I can use in physical combat.

M: Any particular reason you use a staff?

D: Mostly just how I was trained. I took combat lessons from the Gruul and Izzet.

M: Combat lessons from the Izzet?

D: Yeah...believe it or not but some of them are excellent fighters. But anyway, the Gruul used staffs mainly as their weapon of choice, and the Izzet modified my original staff with some tech to channel my ice magic.

M: Handy.

D: Yep.

M: So, now feel free to deny it, but if you don't mind, what is your sexuality?

D: Oh...well.. that was unexpected.

M: Feel free to stay silent.

D: No, its fine. I guess I would have to say Bisexual. I mean, I've never really had any serious romances or really sat down and thought about it, but I don't really care about a persons sex.

M: Fair enough. Now, I want to ask you a question that, based on what you have told me, you may have strong feelings about, is it ok if I ask it?

D: Well, sure, I guess.

M: Ok, have you ever been intoxicated?

D: A few times, twice when I was little, and once when I was older.

M: Really? How did they come about?

D: The first time was a simple accident, my father left his out, and I got my hands on it. I puked for a week.

M: Hm, well, what about the second?

D: The second time was less...cute. My father found out I had taken a drink from his...

M: The first time?

D: Yes.

M: Well, how did he react?

D: He yelled. I remember one moment very clearly, he had me pinned to the floor and was yelling something along the lines of "You want my drink!? Here, have it ALL THEN!" After that, he poured a whole bottle into my mouth and beat me after I swallowed it, telling me "A real man would have spit it back out and hit him."

M: Oh...

D: Yeah...

M: Well...what about the third time?

D: The third time was to celebrate my freedom from my dad. Asimi, Veran, and I all celebrated my escape.

M: Well, sounds like that memory was a happier one!

D: I wish. After just a few drinks...I lost control.

M: What?

D: I slipped into those same actions...I almost really hurt my friends...I...I was a monster...just like him...I vowed to never take a drink again after that day. I didn't want to be like him, I wanted to be someone he would be sick of, someone he would hate as much as I hate him. But after just a few drinks...I became him.

M: NO! I'm sure you gained back control before you hurt your friends!

D: Luckily.

M: Well...with that I think it may be time to begin wrapping up, but just to end on a happier note, do you think you could tell us any quirks you have?

D: ...

M: Durah?

D: Sorry....quirks you said?

M: Yes, if you have any.

D: Well, a big one is my heterochromia, my eyes are different colors.

M: Well, any others?

D: One more...

M: What is it?

D: I count in song...

M: Huh...not what I was expecting to be honest.

D: Yeah...figured we should end lighter.

M: Fair. Well Durah...I think its about time I take my leave, thank you for meeting with me today.

D: Yeah, thanks for listening.

[hectorino1]

DAY 0: TRAVEL DAY

---------------------

NOTE: As you can see this one is a long one. That's what happens when you spend most of your time sitting in planes, busses and stations.

I tried to section it (ALL UPPERCASE) so that you can skip sections if you like. Also, with not much sleep there may be sections where I'm rambling or just nonsense. In any case enjoy

------------------------

No more planning, no more training, no more prepping. Today I start my travels!

My day started at 2 A.M. MTN time. I woke up early to adjust as quickly as possible to Spain time because I won't have much time to adjust. As soon as I land in Madrid I'll be taking bus rides to Pamplona, then another bus to St. Jean at which point I'll find the place I'm staying for the night and the following morning I start the Camino.

MARGOS HAPPY TRAILS CARD

As Margo and I were saying our goodbyes at the airport, she surprised me with a card. What she wrote was very sweet and I can't thank her enough for all her encouragement.

In addition to the surprise card, Margo surprised me with a little something tucked inside the envelope. She had placed the dog tag from our little Luna, our black lab that had passed away a little over a year ago. I will very much cherish carrying the tag with me along the trail. Fyi you'll be hearing more about Luna in another blog.

FLIGHT

My flight was not a direct flight from Denver to Madrid but had a 'one hour' layover in Atlanta. As you can imagine I worried whether there would be enough time to get on the next flight and whether my backpack in cargo would make it to the other plane in time. The good news is that I arrived into Atlanta a little ahead of schedule which made me hopeful.

FRIEND SPOTTING

Whilst in the Denver airport I bumped into my friend and yoga instructor Ruby. She and her husband were on their way to Paris followed by Barcelona. We both knew ahead of time that our trips would be leaving on the same day and pretty much at the same time so it wasn't a big surprise that we actually met. Regardless it's always nice to meet a familiar face at the airport. To no surprise we took a few selfies, chatted a bit, did our hugs and wished each other safe travels.

BACK TO THE FLIGHT....

The plane landed in Atlanta in terminal A and my flight to Spain was in Terminal F. Getting to it was a bit confusing but I still made it with plenty of time.

The flight was uneventful and though I tried to get as much sleep as possible I never can get comfortable in those seats and maybe pulled off 2 good hours worth, 2 lousy, and 2 awake. I even took a sleeping pill that only got me those two hours worth. I can't imagine how I'd feel if I hadn't taken one.

Hurray! made it to Madrid!

More importantly my backpack also made it (what a relief). Everything so far has gone like clockwork. Now I just need the bus rides to St Jean to go smoothly...

THE SMELL OF EUROPE

Maybe it's just me but every time I arrive in Europe/Spain the first thing I notice is a distinct smell and it always puts a big smile on my face. It's like the feeling you get when visiting a close friend you haven't seen in years. Obviously I don't mean to say it stinks but quite the contrary. I'm guessing that there is something in the cleaning products, bleach, whatever, that has this unique smell, a smell you don't usually find in the U.S. but rings of familiarity. Even as a kid growing up in Spain I could recall that same exact smell. Am I the only one to notice that? Anyhow it makes me happy. Moving on...

THE SCARE

(Five years ago)

Contrary to popular belief my Spanish is not perfect. I rarely practice it except when I am speaking with my mother. I thought I was still pretty good at it until my previous trip to Spain around five years ago. No sooner had we landed I get off the plane and as usual I head to Immigration/security. With a sly smile on my face I say to the agent 'Buenos Dias' and hand her my US passport. She looks at me, pauses for a second then asks me if I'm Spanish. Still holding that big grin I say why yes (in Spanish). The next thing that came out of her mouth was basically that my Spanish sucks and that I need to work on it. My grin deflated like a balloon. I hadn't even made it out of the airport and I got slammed. Oh well.

(Today)

In today's 'episode' I got off the plane and proceeded to immigration. I handed my US passport and without any pretense kindly said 'Buenos Dias', for which the agent (she was pretty cute looking) questioned if I was Spanish. So far so good. I said yes for which she responded in Spanish 'If you are Spanish you have to show your Spanish passport'. My heart froze. In order to minimize weight on the Camino I only brought my US passport. Did she mean I couldn't enter the country? Am I doomed before even starting? I said to her 'Excuse me?'. Her reply was the same. 'If you are Spanish you have to show your Spanish passport'. At this point she wasn't looking so cute. I don't know how many times we went back and force, the same exact words (it felt like a hundred times), when finally she laid my passport on the counter, smiled and wished me a good day. Still puzzled from this experience I asked her 'You mean I can go?', for which she responded with 'Have a good day'. I smiled and bolted.

THE BUS RIDES

Two buses arrived at the airport bus terminal at the same time. Both buses have the same destination of Soria which is where I need to go first. The details for one bus matches the description on my ticket to the letter, bus number, stops, etc. The other doesn't. I try to get on the one that matches the details but the bus driver refuses to let me board. He tells me I'm on the wrong but that it's the other bus I need to get on. Go figure. He was right and I dodged a bullet 🙂

In Soria I transferred onto another bus that took me to Pamplona for an uneventful ride.

Since I had 2 hours to spare in Pamplona I decided to leave the station in search of a bocadillo and a cana (sandwich and beer). I must have been tired because when I encountered the first street with a roundabout, instead of making it to the other side I kept going in circles. I got myself lost, and had to ask for directions. I finally got my bearings back and found a bar to enjoy a sandwich and a beer. Oh, and I found my way back to the station.

After the two hour layover, I finally hopped onto the final bus ride(Good grief) that took me to St. Jean, my final destination for the day. Of all the bus rides I've taken today by far this has been the most scenic. Within minutes of leaving Pamplona we entered the lush green mountainside of the Pyrenees. We passed charming towns and villages with their beautiful light colored stone walls, chalets up in the hills staring down at the valley. Even the old dilapidated houses looked charming. Everything was lush green and beautiful. In some ways it reminds me of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Oh I'm so excited to start hiking.

THE TOWN

The town of Saint Jean is actually pretty quaint. After checking in I took a walk around to get my bearings as to where to catch the trail. I think I'm all ready for tomorrow, but now I must sleep. It's been over 24 Hours since I left Denver and I'm ready to enjoy this bed.

Cheers