#but my parents are flying across the Atlantic and I’m scared

[throughthethornvine]

you know I’m afraid of all things Plane because the SECOND I hear about anyone flying the first thing I check is that the plane isn’t a boeing anything

[bluejaysandblackbats]

11.3k km

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Willis gets a new job on one condition: he works the night shift for his first three months. With Catherine in rehab, Willis is forced to contact his ex-wife to take their five-year-old son into her custody for the summer. But there's a catch. Willis promised her every summer after in return for her help.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Willis Todd, Jason Todd, Catherine Todd, Sheila Haywood

Additional Tags: Split Custody AU, Canon Divergent AU, Fluff, Angst, Kid Jason Todd, Jason Todd Has Three Parents

Chapter One: Across The Globe

Willis sat with Jason on his lap. “You see, kiddo. Catherine’s your mommy, but you’re a special little boy because you’ve got another mommy. Her name is Sheila,” Willis explained. Jason swung his feet as he looked up at Willis. 

“But which mommy do I come from?” Jason asked. Willis placed a steadying hand on Jason’s stomach as Jason reached for a toy car on the table. 

“You come from Sheila. Sheila lives in a country in Africa… And she wants you to visit her for the summer,” Willis answered, “How cool is that, Jay! The summer in Ethiopia. Ethiopia is in Africa. You’re going to fly over the ocean—. Jason, stay with me for a second. You’re here—. You’re here with me right now.” Willis showed Jason on a globe Catherine picked up at a thrift shop. 

Jason touched the globe in the same spot. “Good. Now follow my finger. Your plane is gonna take you ‘round this way. Over the Atlantic. Yeah, see… And then, you fly over all these other countries until you get to your ma. Sheila,” Willis described, “Now show me where I am.”

Jason obeyed. “Daddy… Daddy, am I gonna come back?” Jason asked. Willis frowned as he pressed his lips to the back of Jason’s head. 

“Yeah… Of course, you’re coming back. Don’t be cuckoo. Daddy loves you so much. I’m gonna miss you from May, June, July, and then I’ll get you back right before your birthday. Can you remember all that?” Willis asked. 

“Ethiopia is a country in Africa. I’m gonna fly from here to here,” Jason answered as he traced the globe with his finger. Willis grinned. 

“You’re one smart cookie, Jason. Before we pack your bag, let’s talk to Mommy Catherine at the doctor,” Willis whispered. Jason hopped down, and Willis grabbed his hand. He locked up and took Jason downstairs to the hallway payphone. Jason stood on his tiptoes, holding onto Willis’ leg for balance. 

“Cab’s coming, bubs,” Willis whispered. 

Jason tugged on Willis’ shirt. “Daddy? Are you gonna get mad with Mommy again?” Jason asked. 

Willis frowned as he picked Jason up. “Daddy’s gonna be calm. I promise. Does it scare you when Mommy and I are upset?” Willis asked. The counselors at the rehab center told Willis to ask Jason those sorts of questions. 

“Sometimes… How come you get mad when she’s sick, but you don’t get mad when I’m sick?” Jason asked. “Is it ‘cause she’s a grown up?”

“Well… Hm. No, that’s not it. When she’s sick, it’s just—. I get frustrated because I can’t fix her, and I don’t—. It’s frustrating when you love somebody so much, and you can’t help them. The doctors say the best thing we can do is talk about how we feel to each other,” Willis explained, “And sometimes when I talk I get loud. It’s not a good thing to be loud. It scares people. I can be scary sometimes.”

“It’s okay… Everybody gets upset sometimes, Daddy,” Jason replied as he wrapped his arms around Willis’ neck. 

Willis blew out a heavy breath to keep from crying, but his tears fell anyway. “I’m sorry, Jason. I don’t want to be like—. I want to be a good dad. I don’t wanna scare you… I don’t—.” 

Jason kissed Willis’ cheek like Catherine kissed Jason’s cheek when he cried. Over and over. 

“It’s okay, Daddy. I don’t think you’re so scary right now,” Jason reassured him as he held Willis’ face in his hands. “Are you having a bad day?”

“It’s a little tough today. I think I’m just tired. Daddy needs to take a nap later,” Willis replied as he kissed Jason. “See how gentle you are with my feelings? I have to learn how to be like you. I have to have soft hands and soft words. Do you think I can do it?” 

“Uh-huh. You can do anything, Daddy,” Jason whispered. The cab pulled up and Willis buckled Jason in and climbed in beside him. 

**

At the rehab center, Catherine sat fidgeting with a cootie catcher. Jason made it for her the last time he visited to keep her from getting bored. Willis entered the common room, and he let go of Jason’s hand. Jason ran to her, and she wearily smiled as she opened her arms. “Mommy, I missed you so much,” Jason whispered. 

“I missed you too, baby. Do you wanna sit up here with me?” Catherine asked. Her voice was far away. Willis walked over and sat across from her. “Hi, Willis.”

“Hi, Catherine. How’s it going?” Willis asked. 

Catherine kissed Jason’s temple. “Working the program. Taking it a day at a time,” Catherine answered automatically. She wouldn’t complain. She couldn’t allow the discomfort to get to her. “Jason, you smell so good. Did Daddy wash your hair? I could just eat you up.” She playfully nipped at his cheek. 

Willis smiled at the sound of Jason’s laugh. “I wanted him to look his best today,” Willis replied. 

“Mommy, I’m gonna get on a plane all by myself soon. I’m gonna go all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to Ethiopia. That’s in Africa,” Jason stated. Catherine nodded. 

“I know. Daddy told me all about it. Are you excited to meet Mommy Sheila?” Catherine asked. 

Jason nodded. “Is my other mommy your sister?” Jason asked. Catherine chuckled as she shook her head. 

“No, baby. Your daddy used to be married to Sheila before he married me. Sheila’s very excited to see you. She wrote me a letter about you. She’s going to pick you up from the airport,” Catherine answered. She fixed his bangs. “Pinky promise me you’ll be good.” 

Jason gave her his pinky. “I promise, Mommy,” Jason whispered. 

Catherine sighed as she rocked back and forth, holding Jason as close as she possibly could. “Take lots of pictures and draw lots of pretty things for me to hang up in my room,” Catherine whispered, “And have fun. You’re going to another country. That’s so exciting. A whole new continent. Wow! Wow, baby.” Catherine tried to sound happy, but she was afraid. 

Jason kissed her cheek and held her face. “Mommy, I’m a little scared,” Jason whispered. Catherine smiled. 

“Don’t be scared, baby. Sheila’s gonna take good care of you. She loves you just as much as we do. It’s an adventure. You’re gonna go on a big adventure all by yourself like a big boy. Everyone is so proud of you. This is a big responsibility,” Catherine reassured him. Jason hid his face in her shoulder. Catherine looked at Willis as she rubbed Jason’s back. 

“Do you not want me anymore?” Jason asked. Catherine covered her mouth, and Willis stood up. 

“Of course, we want you. You’ll only be gone until school starts up again,” Catherine answered, “And maybe I’ll be home again, too.” Jason softened. 

“And we’ll have a big party when you come back… Because you’re gonna have your own room and everything. We’re gonna move into the new place and everything, and I’m—.” Willis stopped talking. 

“Jason, are you hungry?” Catherine asked. Jason shook his head. “Well, that’s good. Willis is gonna pack you a nice big lunch for the plane trip. You’re gonna go to sleep and wake up and eat your lunch. Then, you’ll be in Ethiopia with Sheila… Plane rides are so much fun. You’re gonna love it.”

“I am?” Jason asked. 

“Mhm. I’ve been on a plane before. I love it. If you look out your window, you’ll be able to see the clouds and the ocean will be right underneath you. It’s beautiful,” Catherine smiled. She nudged Jason’s cheek with her nose. “Do you love me?” 

“Of course, I love you, Mommy. Don’t be cuckoo,” Jason replied. Catherine laughed. 

“I love you too, Jason. And thank you for visiting me,” Catherine whispered, “Let’s play on the cootie catcher. Give me a letter.” 

“E,” Jason replied. 

Willis leaned in, grinning as he watched Catherine play with Jason. “A-B-C-D-E. Give me a color,” Catherine smiled. 

“Green,” Jason answered. 

“G-R-E-E-N. And let’s do your name. J-A-S-O-N,” Catherine spelled it out as she opened the cootie catcher. “You’ve got the yellow star. Make a wish.” Jason closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose eliciting a laugh from Catherine and Willis. And then Catherine and Willis locked eyes… And smiled at each other.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Second Chances - Mark (Midsommar)

Warning: Major spoilers for the movie, drug use, this fic is dogshite, toxic relationships, and just overall fucked up situations

~~~~~~~~~~

(my gif actually)

“Dani, do you really think it’s a good idea to go?”

Dani sighed heavily when you asked that exact question for the fourth time while she was marking her calendar for when their flight to Sweden would take place. “Yes, Y/N. I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

You knew she wasn’t fine.

“I just, I do think getting out of this tiny little apartment would be good for you...but does it have to be on the other side of the world?”

Dani scoffed. “It’s not on the other side of the world, babe, it’s just across the Atlantic.”

“It’s far enough.” You pouted. “Plus, going with that guy isn’t a good idea either.”

“You’ve known Christian as long as you’ve known me, Y/N. You should know his name by now.”

“I do know his name, I just don’t like saying it.”

Dani frowned. “He’s my boyfriend, you’ve gotta learn to accept him at some point.”

You shook your head. “He doesn’t give you what you need, Dani. He’s terrible at supporting you all the time. He’s an asshole.”

“It’s my relationship. Not yours.” Dani snapped, quickly sighing in frustration and sitting next to you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No, I’m sorry. I...just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Dani smiled weakly, placing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in for a side hug. “I know, babe, I know. I gotta believe this trip to Sweden is exactly what we need.”

“I really hope so, for your sake.”

Dani subtly wiped away a shed tear off her face, faking a wide smile. “So, did you decide if you wanted to go to the party tonight?”

“Depends, is Mark gonna be there?”

“You know he is.”

“Then no.”

“Come on, Mark’s a good guy.” She’s stifled a chuckle.

“Girl, you can’t even keep a straight face.” You laughed.

“You used to be date him and actually enjoyed spending time with him, ya know.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Please, it’ll be fun! Pelle and Josh will be there too, it won’t just be Mark.”

“Josh is a smart ass who gets on my nerves. I mean, who the hell studies anthropology?”

“Hey!”

“Oh hush, you’re studying psychology.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “Okay, Ms. Environmental Scientist.” She said, making you chuckle. “So, are you coming to that party with me or what?”

You didn’t really enjoy going to parties...like, at all. Even if Dani invited you to one, you always made some sort of excuse to get you out of going. But ever since the incident with her family, you felt you needed to spend every waking moment with her, mostly out of fear that you’d lose her forever. You probably spent more time with Dani than her so called boyfriend. 

You felt selfish for feeling pained that Christian was the first one she called when she got the news. You knew her family, actually made an effort to get to know them unlike Christian, and always saw her parents as your own and her sister was always kind to you. You felt like you lost a lot too, but you didn’t allow yourself to feel that way for long, not when they weren’t actually your family. If you were being honest, you haven’t allowed yourself to grieve at all. You spend most of your time taking care of Dani, never having the time to do anything for yourself.

The company Dani kept also was one of the reasons you never wanted to go to one of those parties. Pelle was nice, you could actually see him as a friend. Josh was a know-it-all. To be fair, you were a know-it-all too, but at least you didn’t brag about it every chance you got.

You couldn’t stand Christian. You always saw how awful Christian treated Dani, and how she just took it. One day, you actually almost got into a psychical fight with him for how he gaslighted her. Dani didn’t talk to you for a week after that, and after that, you tried not to let your anger out because you didn’t want to lose your best friend.

Mark...god, Mark could be so annoying. You used to be a couple, it’s true. But after seeing him not do anything about his “best friend” mentally abusing his girlfriend, you couldn’t just stay with him anymore, it just didn’t feel right. Plus, him being way too overprotective was not something that you liked in a person. It was heartbreaking since you actually liked him a lot, you could’ve truthfully say you loved the guy.

You didn’t dislike Mark as much as Christian, but he constantly got on your nerves after your break up. But Dani always reminded you how insecure he must’ve been after the fact. Doesn’t excuse his behavior, of course, but it did help keep your anger in check whenever he tried to push your buttons. If he wasn’t such a dick, you probably would’ve seen an actual future with him, that could’ve been happy.

Yeah...you really didn’t want to go to this party. But seeing Dani’s almost pleading face, you couldn’t argue with her.

So, you were dragged to the last party you would attend before Dani and her friends were shipped off to Sweden, until she got back.

You could see the obviously look of annoyance from Christian when you and Dani entered the apartment. He took Dani to the one of the corner’s of the room and you could faintly hear their conversation, “Why’d you have to bring her, Dani? She almost punched me in the nose last time...”

Your fists clenched instinctively, making your nails dig into the soft flesh. It hurt, but at least it kept you from socking the dude in the face like you’ve always had the urge to do. A dull glared expression settled on your face.

“Aw, is someone happy to see me?”

You immediately rolled your eyes when you heard Mark’s voice, him walking up to you with a shit eating grin plastered on his pale freckled face. “No, I think she’s probably thinking up ways to kill you, friend.” Pelle joked, making you smile a little.

“Honestly, he’s not that far off.” You shrugged, half joking.

Mark scoffed, rolling his eyes, brushing off your hurtful comment with a bitter smile. “Why are you even here? We didn’t invite you.”

“I’m here for Dani.”

“Well, we didn’t explicitly invite her either.” Pelle smacked the boy behind his head so you didn’t have to. “Dude, ow! Hey, it’s not my fault Dani’s a buzzkill.”

Almost as if you could only see red, you were about to punch the ever loving fuck out of his handsome stupid gorgeous face when Christian came up and pulled you out of the room.

“What the fuck do you want?” You hissed, forcibly pushing him away from you.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m not looking for a fight. Okay? I have to ask you something.” He sighed.

“Spit it out then.”

“Do you want to come to Sweden with us?” He asked monotone, not hiding the glare directed to you.

“Wow, you must really want me to go.”

“It was Pelle’s idea. He thinks it would be good for Dani.”

“Since when do you care what’s good for Dani? Oh, wait, you don’t. It seems Pelle cares more for her than you do.”

“I care about Dani, okay? I care. That’s the only reason I was convinced to ask you. Please, just...she needs you. She’s your best friend, you don’t want to let her down, do you?”

Gaslighting. You knew that Christian wouldn’t be able to convince you without his number one douchebag power to make your heart bleed more than it already does. He didn’t even have to ask a second time.

And next thing you knew, you were on a plane headed to Sweden. Of course, they had to torture you with booking you a seat next to Mark. But you could handle it for Dani.

“God, I can’t wait to see all those Swedish ladies.” Mark mused, a slight smirk on his face, knowing that comment would upset you.

If those Swedish ladies had any sense, they’d stay away from the giant man completely, is what you wanted to say. But deciding to keep your comments to yourself, you just tried not to gag, rolling your eyes and keeping your eyes trained out the window, seeing the ground getting farther and farther away until your flying above the clouds.

“Silent treatment, huh? I always took you for a social butterfly.” He teased.

You took a deep breath, turning to look at him with a sickeningly sweet smile. “You do know there’s a mosquito flying around your head, right?”

The smirk on Mark’s face quickly went away, turning into a panicked expression. “Where? Where?” He almost shouted, flailing his arms around his head to swat away the imaginary insect. His panic made you laugh. You felt evil, but you convinced yourself he deserved it. When he heard you laugh, he quickly realized you lied. “Not fucking funny.” He pouted, running his hands through his hair, still paranoid.

You sighed when he kept a frown on his face, still looking around for that fake fly. “I swear, there’s no fly. This is the cleanest plane I’ve ever seen in my life, okay? There wouldn’t be any bugs in here.” You never could stay mean for long, even if it was Mark. The small grateful smile Mark gave you made it worth it, and suddenly felt your heart yearn for him against your will.

Many hours later and you finally arrived in Stockholm, only to be told you guys had to travel four more hours to get to Hälsingland. “Oh my god!” Mark whined, like a little bitch you might add.

Thankfully, you always came prepared, sticking some ear buds in and blasting music at full volume to avoid possible small talk and annoying remarks from the two frat bros. You really loved your preparedness after taking your ear buds out for one second only to hear Mark talking about seeing some video about a woman with three clits, what a moron, a cute moron...

You looked at the time, it was nearing 6 pm, but the sky was still blue as ever. It was a bit unnerving, but you tried to ignore the sense of dread you felt when you guys finally arrived to one of your destinations.

You tried not to laugh as Mark pulled his socks over his jeans and walking in a panic to try to avoid potential insect threats in the grass. “Dude, just fucking walk!” Josh fussed.

“Don’t you see all the bugs?!”

“I’m sure all those bugs are much more terrified of you than you are of them.” You voiced.

“Yeah, well, what if they’re so scared that they gang up to attack me in retaliation, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, speeding up your pace to catch up with Dani. Pelle introduced his friend, Ingemar, and his friends, Simon and Connie. They seemed like good people, until they pulled out the shrooms.

It’s not like you hated drugs, you smoked pot pretty much every other day before bed, but shrooms looked hardcore compared to grass. You did not want to partake. But Dani surprised you when she accepted the offer of the tea. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Dani?” You asked concerned.

“She can think for herself.” Christian voiced with a happy and calm tone, but you didn’t mistake the threatening undertone in his voice.

“Hey, it’s okay. Promise.” Dani reassured. You just didn’t want her to have a bad trip or anything, it’s not what she needed, as if you actually knew what she needed. You didn’t even know what you needed half the time. “Are you going to?” She asked, her hand holding onto the bag of shrooms outstretched to you.

“Oh, no. I’m good.” You backed away slightly.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” Mark asked mockingly. “You gonna be a pussy?”

Your eyes narrowed in annoyance. If only looks could kill...You grabbed the bag, popping a couple mushrooms in your mouth, immediately cringing in disgust at the taste. You chewed quickly and swallowed, almost regretting the action as soon as you did so. Since when was Mark of all people able to successfully peer pressure you into doing something you didn’t want to do? The fuck?

“There’s a nice place to sit over here, guys!” Pelle voiced, motioning the group over to a tree in the middle of the field.

It didn’t take that long for the drugs to kick in. You’d never taken shrooms before, but you definitely noticed when you came up due to how the world around you was starting to look warped, almost like nature was breathing. You felt more appreciative of nature in that moment, and with Pelle talking all philosophical like, it wasn’t hard to relax into the sweet embrace of the drug.

You looked over to Dani, she was the most calm you’ve ever seen her, but you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. You snapped out of the thought, not wanting to hyper focus on a drug. “Oh fuck, a new person.” Christian groaned.

“What? I don’t want new people right now!” Mark whined.

“Now who’s being a pussy.” You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear it.

“I’m going lay down. Everyone else lay down too.” Mark settled on the ground, still breathing heavily. “Guys, do it, it feels so nice. Josh, Y/N, can you lay down please?”

“Fuck off.” You spat while Josh did as he was asked.

“Y/N, please, lay down.” You furrowed your brows when you heard the desperation in his voice, almost like he was going to cry.

“Jesus, fine.” You huffed, laying down on the soft grass.

The sun shining through the leaves of the trees was enough to put you back into a relaxed state, almost giggling at the warped rays of light. “This is nice...” You whispered to yourself.

You jolted when Dani stood up all of a sudden. “I need to go for a walk.” Dani voiced, the waver in her voice clear as day to you.

“Dani, are you okay?” You stood up, wobbling slightly, Dani’s figure waving as she walked away.

“Fine, I’m fine.”

You wanted to follow her, but were you capable enough to give her support if you were high as a kite? It didn’t matter at the point. You probably stood there trying to decide for about five minutes before you actually starting walking in the same direction Dani went, but then it was too late. You didn’t see her anywhere.

Walking into the woods, you immediately got lost in nature, enjoying the colors that seemed to be amplified from the drug. You smiled to yourself, not even the arms wrapping around your shoulders could force your mouth to pull downwards. “Hi.” Mark whispered, giggling as he tightened his embrace.

“What?”

“What?”

You turned yourself around in his arms. “Why’d you follow me?”

“I’m not allowed to see what my friend is doing out in the woods?”

“I’m looking for Dani, and we’re not friends.”

Mark pouted. “We used to be more than friends. Why’d we ever break up?”

You frowned. “Cause you excused Christian’s behavior towards Dani. Plus, you were always a dick.”

“Rude. And to be fair, I’ve been trying to convince Christian to break up with her. They should’ve called it quits awhile ago.”

“The first thing you’ve said in your entire life that’s actually correct. How’re you an undergrad again?” 

If you were sober, you would have never let Mark lean in and kiss you. At least, that’s what you hoped you would’ve done. But his lips were so soft and he was so gentle, you almost wished you were sober to experience the kiss better. It almost felt nostalgic in a way, even though it hadn’t been that long since you two broke up. You had to stop yourself from leaning back in for more when he pulled away.

“You reciprocated.” Mark smiled softly, caressing your face gently.

“Did I? I didn’t mean to, sorry.”

“I miss you, Y/N, a lot. I know you miss me too.” He whispered.

You shook your head and quickly walked away, not feeling like talking about...well, your feelings. Sobering up quickly after that, you kicked yourself for allowing that to happen, even if you happened to enjoy it very much.

You pretty much avoided Mark after the encounter in the woods, you were too awkward to confront your problems with other people, in that regard anyway. But thankfully, six hours after finding Dani peacefully sleeping off the drugs, it was time to hike through even more woods to get to Pelle’s village. 

“So, we’re stopping in Waco before we go to Pelle’s village?” Mark joked.

Yeah, the all white clothing everyone wore did put you off just a bit, almost giving you Jonestown vibes. But they were so nice, taking your bags and giving you strawberries. They seemed like okay people.

You looked over to Mark, rolling your eyes as you saw him exhale smoke from his vape pen. Even in the presence of strangers, he still had no respect apparently. Josh even had to stop him from eating prematurely during one the first meals of the day. The ritualistic part confused you, but you just wrote it off as culture shock.

Sitting in between Dani and Pelle, you almost hit yourself for not remembering a very important fact. “Happy birthday, Dani!” You grinned. “I can’t believe I forgot, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Dani rubbed your shoulder. “Pelle actually gave me a drawing, which was incredibly sweet.” She said, causing him to have a slight blush on his face.

“I actually did get you something, but it’s in my luggage. Make sure to remind me tonight. But what about Christian?” Dani frowned. “He forgot...of course he did.”

“It’s not his fault. I forgot to remind him, that’s all.”

“Dani, you shouldn’t have to remind him.” You scoffed. “Let’s just hope he remembers soon, else I’ll have to castrate him.”

“Anyway, what’s up with you and Mark? You’ve been avoiding him ever since we hiked here.” She whispered.

You internally groaned. “I always avoid Mark.” Dani just gave you an unimpressed look. “Can you like, stop being a mind reader for once in your life?” You whined.

“What happened?”

You sighed, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “We kissed...” You quickly put your hand over her mouth to stop her from squealing like a school girl. “Shh. It was when we were both high. Didn’t mean anything, at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that right?”

The conversation didn’t sway your decision to not stop avoiding Mark, you were going to avoid him for as long as possible and not even Dani could convince you to do otherwise. But you kept thinking about that kiss, and you suddenly found yourself wondering if there was any shock therapy places in Sweden.

Walking around the village a bit more by yourself to try and get some more bearings, Pelle joined you with his usual calming smile. “How are you liking it here so far?”

“It’s pretty interesting, I’d say. Living in New York never really gave me opportunities to be in nature, so this is great. I probably never wouldn’t come if it weren’t for you, Pelle.”

Pelle nodded. “I felt it was best for Dani, considering. She needs someone she can count on.”

“Yeah. It’s great that you’re looking out for her, it’s like you should be with her instead of Christian.” You cringed. “Oh god, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Damn it.”

Pelle chuckled nervously. “It’s okay. Speaking of couples, are you and Mark-”

“Nope.” You quickly interrupted. “Not a chance.”

He hummed in thought. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just, he told me about what happened...”

You groaned. “That little shit.”

"You know, I think you should give him a second chance."

You laughed. "That came out of nowhere."

"No. It didn't. Mark has always had a thing for you. And I probably shouldn’t tell you this but, he always talks about how he regrets how things went between you two. He still cares about you.”

You frowned, the feeling of missing the bastard starting to bubble up in your heart. “We weren’t good for each other. He needs to grow up.”

“Yes, I do agree he’s...a bit immature.” 

“An understatement, Pelle.” You snorted.

“Personally, I am a big believer of second chances. I just think what if I die tomorrow, would I be happy with my choices in life? You never know when that time will come.”

“Jesus, since when have you been so dark?”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You don’t know when you’re gonna die, so I’d try to live life without regrets.” He smiled calmly.

You kept thinking about what Pelle said well into the night. You had trouble getting over the creepiness of his statements at first, but you knew he meant well. You did miss Mark, more often than you’d admit. You hated that you kind of agreed with Pelle about the whole regret thing.

The next morning, you woke up with a terrible headache. Thinking way too hard for hours on end wasn’t good for your brain. But, it did give you some perspective on how you’d go about interacting with Mark. You admitted to yourself that you did want to be with him, but you also didn’t want to rush into giving him another chance, knowing that just a smidge of eagerness would give the man an overinflated ego.

“What was the name of that activity you said last night, Pelle?” Dani asked.

“Ättestupa.” He answered.

“Sounds fun.” You said, half joking. “Wish we knew what was going to happened, but you seem to love surprises.” You directed to Pelle, a cheeky smile on your face.

From afar, Mark couldn’t help but glare at Pelle. To anyone one else, you were just being friendly, and if Mark had any sense at all, it would’ve just been a friendly smile to him too. He couldn’t help but feel jealous, but even he knew he had no right to be jealous since you two weren’t together. Maybe that was his problem, he thought, being too overprotective when you were in a relationship with him. God, he knew being an immature bastard would bite him in the ass one day. He just didn’t realize someone important to him would be scared away in the process.

The brief eye contact the two of you made threw you for a loop, that sense of longing for one another.

“Can you two stop eye fucking each other, please?” Josh voiced rudely. Strangely, it didn’t phase the two of you. Josh only rolled his eyes. “Fine. Miss breakfast then.”

You eventually forced yourself to look away from Mark, the both of you following the rest of group outside for the meal. Of course, the only seat left was next to Mark. How convenient...

Mark was silent as you stood next to him, taking short glances at you and the ground nervously. “Somebody should tell those girls they’re walking stupid.” He joked, trying to lift some of the tension. It didn’t work. 

A boy rung a bell, an old man and woman walked two their assigned seats, and everyone only sat down until they did. Another rack of culture shock moved through you were the couple started chanting in what you assumed was Swedish, but it was honestly hard to tell.

After that, you just ate your food in silence. You were annoyed that you were too awkward to even look in Mark’s direction. But eventually, he cleared his throat to speak. “Did you sleep well?”

It was odd, hearing him sound so timid and quiet. “Uh, I guess so. I don’t really remember falling asleep.” You chucked nervously.

“So...yesterday-”

“Please, don’t.” You interrupted with a huff.

“I think we should talk about it at least.”

You bit your lip in thought, silently agreeing with him. “Not right now. Maybe after, whatever Ättestupa is. Okay?”

He sighed, nodding his head. “Fine. Fine.”

Mark stayed behind as you, your friends, and the rest of the Hårga journeyed to wherever this activity was taking place. You all were standing at the bottom of a cliff, waiting. “What’s this activity supposed to be?” You asked, but no one gave you an answer.

You sighed, crossing your arms around yourself. Whatever was supposed to happen was taking a long time, you almost felt bored. But soon you really wished you’d stayed behind with Mark back at the village.

Everyone watched as the old woman stood at the edge of the cliff, holding her arms outstretched to the sky. You could sense Dani hyperventilating, and you also felt a feeling of dread. You had no idea what was happening, and it scared you.

You let out a loud gasp as the woman fell from the cliff, her body falling onto a stone platform below, her face hitting it hard enough to completely mutilate any recollection that this woman was a human being once. Her face was caved in, it almost didn’t feel real.

You were in silent shock, not comprehending anything else around you, even with how loud Simon and Connie were freaking out.

All you could do was watch as the old man did the same, walking off the cliff and hitting the platform leg first.

“Oh my god, he’s still alive...”

All of the Hårga cried out when they saw the poor man was still alive, sharing his pain that he must’ve been feeling. A few members of the village ended his suffering, taking a large mallet and caving in his face like his partner in the senicide.

One of the elders, Siv, said that taking their own lives was a great joy and that this ritual had been done for many years. You couldn’t believe how barbaric these people were when they were so nice at first. Why were all these people so unfazed by seeing their own people die violently in front of them?

All you could do was follow everyone to the village in silence. You did the same as Dani. You needed to be by yourself right now. You sped walked to the woods surrounding the village, leaning against a tree in exhaustion. Did that really happen, you asked yourself. 

You slid down to the ground as you let the tears start flowing. You didn’t want to be in this place anymore, how could you? You thought back to what Pelle said. He knew that the ritual was happening and he didn’t warn you guys at all. Why would he do that?

“Y/N?” You heard a voice call out. You didn’t answer, you didn’t trust your voice not to come out distorted from your sobbing. Finally making his way through the clearing, Mark saw you hugging yourself on the ground in tears. “Are you okay? I...heard about what happened.”

“No. No, I am not okay. I just saw two people jump to their fucking deaths!” You tried not to cry.

Mark was never good an emotional support, so he simply walked over and sat next to you as you cried. You didn’t know how he managed to pull you onto his lap without you noticing, but you didn’t find it in yourself to care, so you just held onto him like your life depended on it. You didn’t want him to let you go.

“I wanna leave this place...” You mumbled.

“I think that’s understandable.”

“How’s Dani? Did you see her at all?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t want to leave without her. I gotta find her.” You wiped the leftover tears from your cheeks, standing up with along with Mark. “Will you come with us?”

Mark didn't expect you to ask that. “You want me to go with you?”

“I have a bad feeling about this place. I don’t want any one of us to stay here, but I want you and Dani to come with me at least. I...I still care about you too.” Mark blushed as soon as you said that, making you chuckle lightly. “Seeing those poor people die...I don’t want to live with regrets, I already have enough of those. I don’t want to give up on us without trying to make things work. I admit, I gave up on you too easily. I don’t want to do that again. Okay?”

Mark couldn’t help himself, he soon planted a passionate kiss on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, you weren’t afraid of opening yourself up to him anymore. You wanted him, you’ve always wanted him. It just took a rough wake up call to remind you of that.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tip toes to meet his lips easier. You felt safe in his arms, him holding you so close that the world and the messed up situation you both were in seemed to fade away. But you knew you were limited on time. You both pulled away breathlessly, wearing smiles on your faces.

“I love you.” Mark said, shocking you. “What? Live life without regrets, right?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, you’re right. I love you.”

“Now, let’s get outta here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, I left it open ended on purpose. I’d like to think that they escaped the Hårga. But if they didn’t, at least they’re together lmao. 

Whenever I feel bad that Mark died in the movie, I just think to how he must’ve put up a fight since that cunt who led him away had a busted lip. Did he deserve it? Yes, probably. But...but...he was a cutie pie🥺

Also, I’m trying to write a fic with Kenny from We’re The Millers, but IT’S SO HARD. Kenny, in general, is hard to write since he’s so...well...himself. Another thing is that the plot is all over the place and my mind keeps bouncing between a bunch of ideas so, it’s literally starting to look like gibberish. But i’m trying

[queerchoicesblog]

Home Is Where Your Heart Is

Folks, here’s the final update of the wlw story set in the Sixties, my third  miniseries of the wlw writing project. I just thought this was the right ending for this story...for once.

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

New wlw miniseries will be posted once I gather enough inspiration and manage to write properly!

Previous Chapters: Living The Dream, The Girl Next Door, New Beginnings

___________________________

Two years after that day, I am flying all the way across the Atlantic, destination Paris. This time though I am not serving champagne and assisting the passengers. This time I am a passenger. It's my first time back 'on the other side' since I joined the Pan Am Airways...and it's the first time on a plane for Kelsey, sitting by my side. I let her have the window seat so that she could admire the ocean of clouds beneath us. She looked like a kid in a candy shop, sitting happily in her seat as the other passengers kept flowing in the main aisle. She even hushed me when my colleague was going through the cheerful welcoming speech, explaining the route and the safety measures. I shook my head and smiled at her enthusiasm. Then when the plane finally entered the takeoff runaway, I leaned closer and whispered to brace herself because we would need high speed to lift. She nodded and instinctively searched for my hand inhaling sharply as if she was the pilot in charge of the procedure. I took her hand into mine just as the engines started rumbling and I will never forget the look of purest amazement on Kelsey's face when we lifted from the ground and the airport buildings became smaller and smaller beneath us.

Of course I called her back. We met at Central Park a couple of weeks after our little chat. The sky was gloomy and chilly gusts of wind reminded us Spring is a whimsical season but I stopped caring about it the moment Kelsey waved at me. She was waiting on a bench holding herself in a plaid coat. It's silly but I remember every single detail and word we said that day. I asked her about her last exam and gave her a little gift I bought her during my last trip, reminiscing our conversation at the airport cafe. She wasn't expecting anything of that sort and gaped at the teddybear in beefeater uniform. I told her the clerk kindly reassured me that Archie, short for Archibald, was in perfect health conditions so he didn't need to be admitted to the toy hospital: she could keep it, he would make good guard of her. She chuckled and threw her arms around my neck, just like that, without thinking. I hugged her back and inhaled her perfume: it was sweet, vanilla maybe? When we parted, she insisted to get me a hot cocoa in return, "at the very least". So we ended up in a cozy little cafe she knew a few streets away. A good friend of her had worked there for a while before landing another job in a hotel, she told me: she offered to replace her but she had little luck and ended up at the airport. I found myself thinking that such shift wasn't so unlucky after all: had she got the job here, we would have never met, maybe. I hardly go downtown when I'm home, I mainly spend time with former colleagues or pay a visit to Nancy or my parents, whenever I can. How could have we met if she hadn't worked at the airport too? I didn't say it out loud though, I didn't want to be too blunt or -worse- make it all about me. She knew quite a few things about me already while I knew so little about her. We talked for hours, till the lamp lights gleamed in the streets, brightening the darkness now gently embracing the city. Kelsey told me more about her childhood in Michigan all cold mountains and icy lakes to skate on...it suddenly made sense that she wasn't bothered in the least by New York chill! How one day her hometown felt too small to contain her dreams so she moved to the big city, guest of an older brother who wasn't sent off to war. She enrolled to the nurse school and didn't waste time looking for a job. Even if juggling school and work was hard, it was what she wanted. And she felt like she was making her Nana proud. I liked hearing her talking of that woman who must have had a great influence on her or her roommates who held the wildest parties in the weekend despite their flat being anything but big enough to have room for all the friends and acquaintances they always managed to gather. It was a miracle that they hadn't had trouble with the neighbors so far... I couldn't help but notice that she quickly dismissed her parents and the sisters still living in Michigan. I wonder now if it has anything to do with the hint of sadness at the corner of Kelsey's eyes: as far as I know they didn't attend her graduation, months later, only her brother. He's in a Polaroid picture with the two of us pinned to the fridge: wearing his best suit and half hugging Kelsey, standing in the centre in her graduate gown and holding the gorgeous bouquet he gave her. We all smile at the camera...I'm sure Kelsey cherishes that picture as the brightest memory of her special day. Well, maybe one of the brightest memories of her special day. She held a little party in the evening to celebrate with her friends and roommates. His brother joined too and gallantly kept me company when I had no one to talk to. He reminded me of my Noah: he would have liked this party. Maybe he would have tried to impress the ladies with some smooth dance move and pouted at me if he failed...I suddenly realised that I could only hope he would still have legs to dance and walk when we meet again. If we meet again. I did my best to shake away such thoughts for the sake of the guest of honor, our graduate. I had a great time, despite the occasional nostalgia: we laughed, danced and drank cheap champagne, sloshing it over the rim as we cheered to the "new best nurse in town". Sadly, I couldn't stay as long as I wanted: I had to leave early in the morning, duty called. I left when the party was still in full swing after calling a cab. My steps echoed in the empty ground floor hall as I headed to the door, fixing my hair. The silence was abruptly broken a moment later by the sound of a familiar voice. "Sadie, wait!" I turned. Kelsey approached, panting as if she had run all the way down the stairs. Knowing her, she surely did. "Hey, nurse, wrong floor, the party is up there. Well, last time I checked" I joked while she caught her breath. My tease made her laugh. "Yeah I know...about that" she said, scratching the back of her neck. "Thank you for coming, I-I know you're always so busy and I truly appreciated you making time for me. It means a lot to me having you here today" She went quiet for a moment, breaking eye contact and looking at the tip of her shoes. I open my mouth to speak just when she met my gaze again with a deep sigh and a deep crimson spreading over her cheeks. "You mean a lot to me" Before she could think twice, she gently ran her hands up my arms and leaned closer. I tasted the cheap wine on her lips when they touched mine and smiled against her mouth as I returned the kiss. A sparkle of electricity ran through my spine as I pulled her close and her hands found my neck. Too soon a car honk outside broke the spell and we parted. "I'm afraid that's my cue and your guests are surely waiting too" I sighed and made to go but she stopped me. "Hold on" she giggled and ran a thumb underneath my bottom lip. "There, lipstick fixed, you can go now. If you have to, that is" We smiled to each other as I opened the front door. Before going my way, I gestured to the taxi driver and turned towards her. "You sure you're not drunk though?" Kelsey blushed and hugged herself. "What? No! I mean, maybe I'm a bit tipsy but..." she glanced over her shoulder to check if someone joined us and dropped her voice. "...But I meant it. I've wanted to do this for so long" I did my best not to blush myself and run into her arms once again. "Fine but...you owe me a sober one when I'm back. Just to make sure, you know" I winked, flashing her a smile. "Goodnight, nurse". That was the first of many kisses and many dates. Soon she found a job at the John Hopkins Hospital so meeting up was not always easy but now I all wanted when I had my time off between flights was to spend it with her. Talk to her over the phone whenever it wasn't possible. I held back a little at first: I didn't want to fall head first just like the other time just to be abandoned when I was no longer needed. Nor to be accidentally outed: I wasn't sure how my boss would take that. I explained it to Kelsey one night after much consideration: my voice surely shook as I spoke because I was dead scared that she would have changed her mind immediately after hearing my confession. I was wrong: there was no need to rush things, she said. She wasn't exactly out too and - she added with a soft chuckle- after all, she always knew that dating a Pan Am stewardess wouldn't be exactly easy. It wasn't easy, she was right. But she made it worth it. She won my heart with gentleness and sweetness, and I like to think I made her fall in love with me in a similar manner but only she can confirm it. Kelsey was extremely romantic, more than I first suspected. Unless she was terribly late, she would never leave for work without pinning a gracious note to the fridge if I was still sleeping, and she baked decadent heart-shaped chocolate cakes for my birthdays. When we went skating at Central Park around Christmas, with the excuse to help me balance, she wrapped an arm around my waist the whole time. For our first anniversary, we opted for a dinner at my place. I bought a bottle of champagne and a rose on my way back from the airport: when I handed the chas to the cashier, the heart was pounding in my chest in excitement...I felt like the main character of a romantic movie. Kelsey was a vision in the floral dress she bought for the occasion. When after dinner, we put on a soft record and slow danced barefoot in the living room, all the miles I had left behind to be there that day vanished from my mind. All I could think of was the woman in my arms, the scent on her skin, the comforting warmth radiating from her body when I spooned her at night. Her contagious laughter, those emerald eyes I would have never forgotten. It took me a moment to process she was whispering some Beatles lines into my ear. Oh please, say to me You'll let me be your man And please, say to me You'll let me hold your hand Now, let me hold your hand And when I touch you I feel happy inside It's such a feelin' that my love I can't hide That's when I...cried. I hid my head in the crook of her neck and cried all the tears of joy I think I would have never shed. They kept flowing, I couldn't stop. Poor Kelsey got all concerned and mortified, fearing she had ruined our night. When I could finally speak again, I cupped her face and brushed away a loose strand of hair. Smiling through the tears, I stroke her cheek and told her not to be silly. I'm sure the kiss I pressed on her lips after dropping the l word put her mind at ease. Since that day I am one of the most envied members of my crew. My colleagues always asks of my mysterious lover who puts such a big smile on my face and pamper me with the best anniversaries and sweet surprises. I don't share the full details with them and I'm amused to hear their theories concerning this or that passenger. I soon started realising what others found out sooner then I did: how badly I missed -and I still do miss - Kelsey when I'm away. I love travelling and all the perks my job has, but now a five days land off in a dream destination also meant five days, possibly a week without seeing my love. One day a pilot I befriended gave me his old Polaroid camera as a belated gift and I started taking pictures to show her once we were reunited. Old cathedrals, breathtaking tropical beaches, views of European streets or Japanese gardens....everything that would catch my eye. We make albums of them and they're all piled up in the living room library side by side with Kelsey's medicine books. Now a picture of us relaxing in the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower lays there too. When my feelings for my sweet nurse became stronger and stronger and she started spending most of the week at my place, I decided to ask her to move in with me. And to make a phone call. I wasn't sure what my parents would say so I called Nancy instead. I needed to call her anyway and I told her. The truth, at last. I caught my breath for the whole time she took a long pause before speaking again. "Are you happy now, Sadie? I always thought you deserved happiness, that kind of happiness but never figured out why it seemed so hard for you...are you now with this girl?" No trace of judgement or mockery. If my confession made her somehow uncomfortable, she didn't show. On the contrary, she asked if we could all have lunch together when they would visit New York the next month: Fred would be busy with business meetings for the most time but maybe we could have lunch downtown: she, little Cathy, Kelsey and I. And so we did. Kelsey was awfully nervous about the meeting even if she was curious to get to know my best friend. She soon discovered she had no need to be so tensed: Nancy flashed her one of her brightest smile and pulled her into a hug as if they were old friends already. Little Cathy was a bit shier and politely shook her hand before hiding behind me. She loosened up during the meal though: by the end, Cathy even offered to share some of her fries and surprisingly picked her to walk her to the desserts display. I asked the two of them to bring back something for us too and Cathy nodded before offering her hand to Kelsey. When they was out of earshot, Nancy took the old conspiratorial look I remembered from our high school days. "Someone's blushing" I chuckled but before I could say something she argued that she had so much time to make up to. And my companion seemed awfully nice. "As mom used to say, a health professional is always useful in a family" she added absentmindedly, playing with a stray. "Now we're family, huh?" "Hush, best friends are basically sisters and sisters are family" she shrugged. "And even Cathy likes her as far as I can tell. Oh, here they come and full of sugar!" As the two of them slided back into the booth and handed out our desserts, Nancy spoke again. "Kelsey, I was just telling Sadie that you should come visit one day" she suggested, throwing me a smile before addressing my love again. "Fred couldn't make it today but you can stay at our place and we can show you around. It'll be fun, especially if you've never been to Florida. What about Thanksgiving? If you have time and no previous arrangement that is" Kelsey froze with her fork still at mid-air searching my gaze. Her cheeks turned a little pink. "That would be-" I started but Nancy was quicker than me. "Take your time, just think about it. We don't need an answer now but we will be so happy to have auntie Sadie and Kelsey whenever it suits you, right, honey?" As she put an arm around Cathy's shoulder, her little girl nodded enthusiastcally and flashed us a chocolatey smile. Nancy, the gleeful avalanche. That eventually hosted the two of us during the winter holidays since Thanksgiving didn't work out. They took us on a Christmas lights tour and treated us like the most renewed guests. Fred kept a bit to himself as usual: I don't know what Nancy told him but he was friendly to both of us. We spent a whole afternoon babysitting my "niece" as her parents went buying the finishing touches for the grand dinner. We baked gingerbread men and Cathy was all smiles and cute contagious laughters. Covered with flour and ginger but happy. The few days we spent in Florida were so different from the life I dreamed and I'm used to, on and off airplanes, surfing the clouds and being one of the "feminine icons of the decade" as a magazine claimed". Yet they kindled something inside me: I will never regret my choice of becoming a stewardess but Nancy was right when she called it "a strategic retreat", among many other more appealing things. I remembered the question Kelsey asked me when we first met about being always elsewhere...sure, travelling around satiate my curiosity to see the world, meet new people but it was also a way to run away from what I thought I could never had: a place in the world, a place to call my own where I could feel loved and myself. All it took was a fortuitous meeting at JFK airport. All it took was a brilliant girl from Michigan. Now, little girls still ask me for pictures when I walk out of the Pan Am gate and tell me I'm the woman they want to be one day. But I don't bask in that glory as I used to when I started. When the vessel touches the ground again, I know that the best time of my day is approaching. Just an hour away. My heart bursts in sweet excitement for when I open the door of my apartment, hang my bowler hat to the coat hanger and smell the coffee brewing in the kitchen. I'll smile, hearing familiar steps approaching from the bedroom, and say my favourite refrain: "Kelsey, love, I'm home".

[canarhys]

jason shouldn’t have lightning powers.

hear me out. look at nico and hazel. they are both aspects of the same god, hades/pluto. nico has the death aspect (dead summoning and contact, shadow-travel, banishing to the underworld) while hazel has the wealth aspect (gem summoning and manipulation, mist-control?, cursed gemstones). the only things they have in common are that they could consume persephone’s pomegranate seeds and go into death trances, and they are huge targets by monsters. it’s creative and fun to see different kids of the same parentage.

but then there’s thalia and jason. thalia is amazing, as she summons lightning and electricity, the thunder side of zeus. it’s also great to see that she is acrophobic, and is unable to fly or summon the wind, because that totally breaks the thought that demigods aren’t scared of the things they can control.

then we have jason.

he has the whole package without consequences. he summons lightning and the wind, he can fly and electrocute, and he is totally fine on land, sea, and air. what? that’s a major problem that i have in riordan’s writing - jason’s powers are generic for a son of zeus/jupiter. sure, it’s possible that a demigod can have all the aspects of their parents, but it doesn’t work for jason. riordan made him sound too perfect, too much of a percy 2.0 and less Character with a Personality.

i’m not saying that i hate jason, because i love him so much. but he seems to be like a character who’s just...a hero. that’s it. no flaws, nothing. so i’m just going to go forth with my ideas for how jason should’ve been:

first, he only has aerokinesis. don’t even try me. think of how amazing that would be. when he first arrives at camp jupiter, a lot of people make fun of him for only having the wind side of jupiter. in theory, they think that a child of jupiter without lightning power is a child not worthy enough to be named a kid of the big three. to them, wind is just the breeze on the back of your neck. he doesn’t seem all that powerful if you think about it, despite his cold blue eyes and a wolfish stare. they called him airhead all the time, and say he’s only good at flying.

jason, at first, is angry. he hates that he’s unable to control lighting, the thing that zeus is most famous for, and he hates it - that is, until he accidentally causes a tornado around him when he is being teased again. he watched as the wind picked up the guys surrounding him and threw them several feet away. then came his drive, which drove him to, instead of sulking about the powers he doesn’t have, develop the powers he does. and he becomes an absolute beast on the battlefield.

spectators watch in shock as jason releases a massive column of air from his mouth, blowing back enemies at alarming distances. they watch him fly over the land like some kind of eagle, finding his next prey and striking. his mere presence could make it hard to breath. one time on a quest jason fucking swooped down like an eagle and massacred a whole battalion of monsters. and that doesn’t even count the one time while fighting krios that he summoned a goddamn hurricane.

next, he’s seasick. i got the idea from a post i saw on tumblr (i’d credit you but i forgot who you are, sorry!). he hates the ocean. it scares him to the point where he will fly to get across the atlantic, even if it kills him. his biggest fear is drowning, which almost happened to him once - worst experience of his life. he bonds with hazel over this, and they both try to ease other’s phobias (and throw up over the side of ships together).

as a bonus, i kind of feel like jason would be sorta afraid of thunder? he doesn’t like how it just happens at random - there’s no warning, and suddenly there’s a giant boom and he wakes himself up at night and he can’t tell anyone because he’s supposed to be a natural leader, not a wimpy teenager.

three, he has anger issues. it’s common for children of zeus, and jason, like thalia, is no exception. sure, he looks patient, but his patience is as low as the earth’s core and he gets angry easily - especially if someone won’t take him seriously. if he thinks you’re slacking off, he’ll correct your behavior gently at first, but if you manage to make him lose his resolve (which is half-hard, half-easy), you are absolutely fucked. also don’t mistreat someone in his presence, or you’re equally - if not more - fucked.

but the it’s to the point where he will lash out a bit more severely than you’re supposed to. it’s not his fatal flaw, and wrath isn’t his strong suit. but when he gets angry, the winds drop and you can see lightning in his eyes and he becomes so intimidating that you can’t even stare into his pupils anymore.

he has a giant pet eagle, fuck you (tempest was just riordan’s way of making percy 2.0).

finally, his fatal flaw is ambition. this is the same as thalia’s flaw, and i feel like it fits for jason too. he wants to be a strong leader and noble warrior, and he pressures himself to be absolutely perfect in order to achieve his dream - to be the person everyone can look up to. he doesn’t want them to feel abandoned, to feel like they’re useless and stupid and worthless, and he wants to be an example that: “hey, if that guy could grow from being abandoned at a young age and having zeus’ weakest power to being a hero, why can’t i?” he has the need to be perfect, to be a shoulder to cry on, a person who rose from nothing. he doesn’t want them to feel like him when he was left in lupa’s hands. when he was being downgraded just because he wasn’t a lightning boy.

but that means he criticizes himself severely and doubts himself a lot. and i mean A LOT. to the point where he makes himself train and train and fight and fight till his body falters to become the hero he strives to be, to be known. sometimes he worries that he isn’t enough. he shouldn’t be a leader, and he feels like a failure a lot. he pushes himself too far and gives everything his all. even if he passes out in the end. he wants to be a hero. he wants to protect all the kids he’s ever known and let them know that they are worthy, they are able.

he just wants to be someone for them.

[mascaracoffee]

Lil Minnow (Arthur Curry/ Aquaman Imagine)

I have not been able to go see Aquaman due to studying for boards so keep that in mind if something is off-script. Let me know what you think I have a part 2 in mind if yall like it.

No warnings- slight cursing

A gasp scratched past my parched lips, resting eyes flying open frantically scanning my surroundings as my chest ached, eager for my heart to return to normal rhythm versus its current erratic state in my throat. Light split the dark sky outside my window drawing my attention to the thunder rumbling amongst the ominous clouds that raged with the firepower of rain. The Atlantic an eerie, swirling mass of dark ink highlighted with harsh, angry waves tipped in foams of white as the wind danced along its surface.

’11:15’                                                                                          

Glowed back at me from my desk across the room, reminding me I had only fallen asleep half an hour ago before being jolted awake by the thunder I assume.  Begrudgingly I kicked the blankets off my bare legs and sat straight, grounding my palms into my eyes in annoyance.

Thud.

I peaked over my fingers to my closed door as the sound vibrated through the house.  My foggy, sleep brain was slow processing the possibilities, maybe the wind?

Thud. Thud.

I stood from my bed and softly opened the door. The cabin was dark, soft shadows dancing through the windows creating softer grey shapes amongst the walls as the danced with the storm outside. My bare feet took the steps one by one, being careful to skip over the one that creaked obnoxiously, number 14 on my ‘at home to do list’ that seemed to be ever growing.

Once I reached the landing I peeked around the corner into my kitchen, all seemed to be in place.

THUD

My body jumped at the much louder disturbance just to the right of me.  Stepping into the dining room I released a sigh at the root of my problem; swaying back and forth on their hinges, my French doors stood agape, rain and wind spluttering inside from the gaping opening to the outside.  I skidded against the wet wood floors and managed to latch the doors shut before I glared down at the mess at my feet.

After drenching three towels, I tossed the laundry into the bin and trudged back up the stairs to my room stretching my neck of the stress settling in my bones.

“bout time”

My body jolted and a scream left my lips as my body registered the tall, muscled frame standing before my window.

“Easy lil bit”

The voice chuckled catching my small fist as it swung through the air aimed at the perp. They stepped forward a chuckle falling past their smirk and a beer, no doubt from my fridge, in their hand.

“Jesus Arthur” I sighed releasing the tension in my body as I fell into his bare chest “you scared me to hell and back.”

“Sorry doll” he mumbled using his much larger hand to guide my face up to his. His lips were tart with salt and his hair held the grit of the ocean as I explored him, desperate to get reacquainted with the man I missed so much.

Arthur set his beer bottle aside, now devoting both his hands to my body slipping beneath my sleep shirt. A whine escaped my lips as he jostled us, pulling me up his frame to wrap my legs around his trim, tattooed waist, a hand moving back to caress my head the other firm around my waist .

I got lost in his kiss, savoring the taste of sea salt and beer that embodied Arthur’s persona so perfectly. His lips left mine to pepper kisses along my neck, his beard tickling the sensitive skin creating goosebumps in their wake.  Suddenly, I was dropped onto my bed, Arthur’s body still entwined with mine, his bulging biceps straining as they caught his weight as to not crush me.

“You left the door open downstairs” I gasped, tangling my fingers into his thick, mane as he latched onto my throat. “bout broke my damn neck on the wet floor.”  Arthur lightly bit my flesh in response.

“You really want to talk right now” Arthur growled, grounding his core between my legs.

I pulled his lips back to mine in response the kiss rough and desperate as we both shed our remaining clothes.

Arthur’s arm was tight around my waist as his free hand swirled affectionately against my ribs, my nose tucked into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“So how are things down below?”  I mumbled, running my leg along his beneath the covers.

“Good” Arthur nodded, the tone in his voice coated with hope “Finally getting things in order.”

“But still bad enough to have to keep me a secret?” I whispered, focusing my gaze on a particular pattern in Arthur’s tattoo.

Arthur’s chest rose and fell with the heavy breath he released.

“Its complicated” Arthur began with a shake of his head, raking a hand through is hair  “Even now there are some that still think like Orm did, hate the surface world and everyone in it. I don’t want to-“

“Put you in danger” our voices echoed together, having heard this time and time again since Arthur’s return to Atlantis. I blinked back the tears that burned my vision “I know, I just miss you is all.”

Arthur sighed sadly “I miss you too sweetheart” he pressed a kiss into my hair “more than you can imagine.

I bite my lip and sat up out of Arthur’s embrace as the tears began to slip down my cheeks, the tightness in my throat constricting my air.

I stood, yanking on a t-shirt and loose shorts prepared to escape downstairs when Arthur’s arms trapped me to him.

“Hey, hey” he soothed tucking my hair behind my ear “What’s going on?”

I shook my head, my hand covering my mouth to keep my tears at bay.

“Hey look at me” Arthur ordered in a soft but stern voice. Our eyes met. “Talk to me, what wrong?”

“Atlantis” I spat out, the city’s name tasting like vinegar in my mouth. “After all you’ve done, how much you’ve proved yourself worthy of being king and there’re still those that are blinded by hatred. That they would hate me, they would hate-“

I turned away cupping my mouth to keep a sob, or bile, at bay.

“Babe,” he said softly pulling me to his chest. “Where’s this coming from?”

I steadied my breathing, my eyes tracing over the intricate pattern adorning his abdomen, taking my time to focus on the ink work and steady my breathing before I reached his eyes.

“I’m pregnant”

Moments passed, Arthur’s eyes grew in size as he stared at me. I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain.

“Please” I begged my voice breaking as I reached for one of his hands in hope for a response “Please say something.”

“Say it again.”

I blinked up at him in confusion as he squeezed my hand in return, prompting me once more.

“Say it again?”

I reached for both his hands, placing them on my lower abdomen on the firm bulge that could have passed as the result of an all you can eat taco bar.

“I’m pregnant, Arthur.”

I had to blink rapidly, blinded by the large, white smile that broke out over Arthur’s tan face.

“Pregnant! When did you find out? How far are you? Oh my God, you’re pregnant!” he spluttered out questions one after another as he fell to his knees, face level with my stomach.

“I found out about a month ago, after your last visit. I’m about 10 weeks.”

His grin looked as if it would split his face in two, his eyes shining through slithers as his cheeks crinkled around his eyes. He gently pulled up my tshirt and lowered the waistband of the shortss, he took a moment and just gazed at my belly. Gently, he pressed his lips to my navel repeatedly before he looked back at me and stood straight, his hands remaining on my stomach.

“I love you” he beamed pressing his lips to mine feverishly. “I love you, I love you!”

Arthur tightened his arms around my waist before lifting me from the floor and spinning me his laugh booming off the walls in joy. 

“We’re gonna be parents!” my feet found the floor again “Baby you’re gonna be a mama and I’m gonna be a dad, I mean a cool dad, not an embarrising-”

 He studied my face his expression falling slightly at my lack of excitement.

“Why aren’t you thrilled about this?” Arthur chuckled awkwardly “Baby you’re pregnant! We’re gonna have a baby! You and me!”

“That’s what I’m scared about” I admitted pulling away from his grasp “Atlantis will hate our baby, just because they came from me! Think of how they saw you and you’re half Atlantian. They basically exiled you, your own people because you were different! What will they do when they find out your heir is only a quarter Atlantian? You said so yourself the council was pushing for you to marry, Atlantis is gonna want a full blood as their leader, not my baby! “

My face served as the battleground of my emotion, tear-stained and flushed with a trembling bottom lip. My arms ghosting around my abdomen protectively as my gut twisted sickeningly at the thought of anyone hurting my child emotionally or physically, especially my child’s own people.

“Sweetheart,” Arthur said softly stepping toward me, his expression torn and dejected. He hated seeing my cry, he always voiced it when I cried over The Notebook, in that situation Arthur knew what to do; cuddle me with beer and pizza before we ended the night in the bedroom. But this? Arthur woulnd’t have a clue how to fix this.

I stepped into his open embrace, allowing what was left of my guard to crumble. I cried softly into his chest as he held me tight, his fingers running along my spine soothingly. The tips of my fingers curved into the cords of muscle in his back, desperatly clinging to him. Once I wept the last of my tears, Arthur pulled me back to lock eyes.THe swirls of blue and gold were lit with emotion; determination and devotion.

“Do you trust me?”

I nodded dumbly, afraid to speak in fear that my voice would break. And I did. I had known Arthur for most of my life. We grew up together on the water, his father a lighthouse keeper mine a fisherman. When the rest of our classmates pointed and made fun of us, Arthur especially, we would reciprocate by spending our time swimming with dolphins and playing tag with fish, I trust him and his gift with my life. When Arthur took his throne, I trusted he would come back for me and forsake all others in my absence, he did that.

“Then trust that I will do everything in my power to protect you, both of you.” He ended the comment pressing his palm to the small swell of my belly.  “Atlantis has changed and for the better, they will be more welcoming of my heir than you would think.” Arthur smiled affectionately.  “They will love you both, how could they not?”

“Arthur” I shook my head “Atlantis doesn’t even know about me! The council told you to keep me a secret because they were afraid of how the people would react for this very reason, I don’t think Atlantis would be ready for a ruler with any less Atlantian blood. How are they gonna handle the news their now beloved king is sneaking out at night to warm the bed of a land walker” I sniffed “And besides you said so yourself, there’s still those that openly hate the surface. What do you think they would do to our child?”

Arthur’s face fell at my question as if he had forgotten about the rotten apples poisoning his tree. From the stories I had heard, I had no doubt those with ill intent toward the surface would have no moral dilemma in ridding Atlantis of anyone with surface blood.

“Not a damn thing that’s what. All the more reason for me to beat their asses out of Atlantis”  Arthur growled, pulling me back towards the bed. “I don’t want you thinking about any of that. Its not good for the baby.”

“Oh so now you’re an expert Mr. ‘I’ve known I’ll be a dad all of five minutes.’?”

I smiled adoringly up at him.

“Details, details” Arthur scoffed pulling my body to his under the covers.

We lay side by side, legs intertwined, his hand on my belly as he tucked my head under his chin. With Arthur wrapped around me I felt all my earlier worries melt away, I knew Arthur would do everything in his power to ensure our safety. God, how I wish he could stay above water a little longer.

“I don’t want you to worry sweetheart” Arthur’s voice rumbled through his chest “I’m gonna have someone keeping an eye on you all the time. No one is gonna touch you or our lil minnow.”

I chuckled at the nickname as we casually talked about our baby. What would they look like? What would we name them?  Who would they grow up to be?

When I opened my eyes the darkness of night was kissing the warm oranges and yellows of the morning as the sun and moon shared the sky for the briefest moment. I stretched my arms out only to be met with a cool bed. My eyes snapped out the window toward the ocean to see the lone figure walking along the beach toward the water. His broad shoulders stark against the rising sun, as he reached the lapping water he paused and seemed to turn his head and look directly at me. After a sorrowful moment, the body turned back toward the water and began to descend into the depths and within a blink of an eye, his body had disappeared from view and back to the world below like so many times before. Another night hid away between us.

I sighed heavily already missing Arthur. As I fell back into the bed I felt crumpling beneath my head. I retrieved the crumpled note with scratchy handwriting.

‘I’ll be back soon. Take care of yourself lil mama and the minnow. Love you both so much.

-Arthur

I gently reached down and cupped the small bump, rubbing my thumb along it soothingly.

“I guess its just you and me for a little while minnow.”

Let me know what you think! Part 2, maybe?

[bulgarianmermaid]

Traveling solo in Africa, changing jobs locally, finding a new home overnight all alone while mending a broken heart… “Impossible” they said, “I’m possible” I read. It was ME I was fighting for and I had Myself and I in my corner. And the angels above 👼 At the end my crazy Morocco adventure turned into an absolute fairytale better than I could have ever imagined 🏰 (And no, Mom, there is no man involved, just me and my wild heart)

“Aren’t you afraid of flying?” the little girl sitting next to me on the plane to Morocco asked. “Why would I be afraid, sweetheart?” I wondered. “But what if we fall?” she said. “And what if we soar?” I asked. She told me it was her first time flying and she was very scared. So I decided to tell her the story of my first time on a plane. How old do you think is old enough to travel alone? If you ask my crazy parents 3 yrs old was plenty to send me off alone on a flight from Algeria to Bulgaria with a lay over in Paris. The proper term is “unaccompanied minor”, a child that travels alone and gets taken through security and from gate to gate by a flight attendant 👮‍♀️ I still had to sit all alone on the planes yet I didn’t make a sound 👼 Three decades later my parents get really worried when I roam the world solo. “Really, Mom, really, you are worried NOW?!”

Thanks to my incredible Grandma who raised me while my parents traveled the world, every new experience was presented to me as the most fun adventure one could go on. And every new place visited as a land from the fairytales. That woman, my Grandma, was a magician with her words and her touch. So a plane was a bird that would take us to the land of Alaeddin and the desert was the land of the 1001 Nights of Shekerezhade. I celebrated my 3rd birthday in the middle of the Sahara desert of Algeria, having just joined my parents on their own African adventures. Three decades later I celebrated my birthday in Africa again, on the coast of Morocco, where the Atlantic Ocean washes the sands of the Sahara. French is my first language, not Bulgarian (I still understand French if you speak slowly 😱) and coming back to Africa always feels like coming back home. To my first memories of a home – dusty, dirty and oh, so wild and free.

  I didn’t grow up rich 💰 Even though my parents were traveling around the world for work and dragged me across Europe, to the Sahara Desert of Africa and thru the Gobi Desert of Mongolia all the way to China before the age of 10, we never had much money. Or a car I could use. My parents didn’t introduce me to the outdoors, enroll me in any sports, or teach me survival skills. They didn’t believe in any of that. But ONE thing they insisted on was languages and education and I have to thank Mom for that. I started learning French when I was 3 yrs old, I wrote and read in French by age 5. I speak 5 more languages (NOT fluently) and I happen to enjoy an elephant memory, two university degrees from some of the best schools in the world and a razor sharp brain.

I came to Morocco for work, I stayed for surfing 🏜 That’s the recap of my 2 months here. There is nothing else but the desert and the ocean. You must love surfing and water if you are planning on staying 🌊 I had been working on Online, Digital, and Social Media Marketing and Online Bookings for a Moroccan surf & yoga camp for 3 months and I was really excited to finally be here in person. Well, what I thought would be a “one man show” turned into a “complete shitshow” by week 3. But when your accommodation is connected to your job and you are a tall blonde traveling solo in Africa, you think twice before you quit. So I thought for a week and finally couldn’t take another day of it 😦

I had met a boy in those first 2 weeks and for once in my life I decided to give a relationship a chance, not run away and stay for him another few days. I purposefully call him “a boy” because a man would have acted differently. A man would have seen my worth beyond the current setbacks I was experiencing. A man would have been my rock when I was standing on shifting sands. When said “boy” heard about my work troubles and living condition challenges he said he didn’t want to invite my problems into his life and “sent me off” to figure it all out myself. He could have helped, it wouldn’t have cost him a thing and I wasn’t asking for much, just a roof over my head for a night and a warm hug. Instead he chose to cut all ties and continue with his “perfectly designed” life (and home) because in his eyes I was a “complete mess”. I chose to let Fate take care of him…because payback is a bitch and the Universe never disappoints.

So with professional setback under one arm and personal disappointment under the other and having just acquired a short spell of “Moroccan shits” I hastily packed my suitcase and took a “berber taxi” 🚗 (car not camel) to see a friend at a brand new surf and yoga camp (Surf Safari Morocco) close by for a couple of days, enjoy their pool and heal my body while figuring out my life. Because in Morocco it is just a matter of time before you get the shits – personal, professional, just shits. How these old “berber taxi” cars from the 1980s still function is beyond my understanding. How they make it up and down the hills is a sheer miracle. Considering 3 people sit in the front, 4-5 in the back and there is always room for 1 more (in the driver’s lap perhaps as there is already someone sitting in mine 😂) I guess we could pish the car all the way to town if it broke down.

My dear friend and yoga instructor Julian @hostelyogi who saved my life more than once

In retrospect, I should have left Morocco back then but it is too easy to judge life in retrospect and I am a warrior, I wasn’t going to let one asshole (ok, maybe 2) ruin my whole Morocco experience. When Plan A didn’t work out (it never does), it is time for Plan B. Oh wait, I don’t have a Plan B. I never do. Perhaps with the 100% chance of Plan A not working out in my life, I should start preparing a Plan B 🤔 I believe in the power of the Universe, I believe when we set an intention and we really want something the Universe responds. Not always in the way we expected, often in a better way 🙏 Sometimes it is hard to sit still and wait for the future to unfold while you are shaking in uncertainty but if you are patient and watch out for the signs, I promise you the result will be more beautiful and grand than you ever expected.

The surf camp where I went for 1 day to relax and recharge (and ended up staying a month) took me in with all my physical and emotional pain. They hugged me until I stopped crying – thanks Julian and Evan. They saw my worth even through the thick wall I had put up and hidden behind – thanks Younes and Mohammed. They gave me a week to just surf, eat, sleep, and heal. I will be forever grateful for that. (And do laundry, because after a month in a dusty, little Moroccan town nothing makes you happier than the sight of a new washing machine and European detergent.) Within a week after moving in, meeting the owners, observing camp operations and enjoying myself tremendously in and outside of the water, I was asked to help manage Surf Safari Morocco and take over Digital Marketing, Social Media and Online Bookings. Less than a month later we are completely full (actually that was true after JUST a week when management believed in my strategy and took immediate actions to implement my recommendations). For there are FEW things I’m very good at IF you believe in me and WORK is one of them.

Surf Safari Morocco – the greenest grass and the cleanest pool in town 🙂

To all the people who didn’t help me on my journey, who tried to stop me from succeeding or attempted to stall my growth – THANK YOU 🙏 For showing me I had verged off my true life path and I had to change course a bit. For the only constant in life is change and this mermaid does change better than most 🧜‍♀️ My Moroccan adventure has been one HELL of a story 📝 with plenty of ups and downs and “drowning time” in between (some call it surfing but I’m mostly under water 🙂 “Rugs to riches”, “nada to Prada” or just another way to say – believe in yourself even when no one else does!

Finally, a tribute to the girls who shared my first month of the “Moroccan shit show” – I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did without you – Charlie’s Angels or MY angels – for true friendships are built in the most challenging of moments and we were together thru thick and thin 🙏 As we have all headed out on our new adventures (I was the very last one to leave Morocco from the group and I thought I would be the first) all I want to say is thank you Annie, Leah, Meli and G – for your friendship, your advice, your emotional support, your translation from German, and for having my back when you were pretty backless yourselves 💪 Yours truly, The Total Mess ❤

  Morocco – My Crazy African Adventure Traveling solo in Africa, changing jobs locally, finding a new home overnight all alone while mending a broken heart...

[paullicino]

On America(na)

(This piece of writing was entirely funded via my Patreon, where it was first published earlier this month. I might very well never have written it without the support of my patrons, so my huge thanks to all of them. That Patreon will be hosting more work like this in the weeks to come, some exclusively, plus life updates, travel news and much more. Please pledge if you’d like to support more work like this.)

“The trouble with America,” my father says, “is that it’s too big.”

As he speaks, a morsel of food misses his mouth and begins to fall down his body. Like a climber who has lost their grip, it tumbles down the terrain and bounces off his belly, coming to rest in a crevasse somewhere in his trousers. My father has opinions about America. He has never been there and he doesn’t know any Americans. He never will and he never will.

The time is spring and I am in a small car, winding up around some sort of hillside that overlooks part of Seattle. I don’t know what Seattle really is, nor where it begins and ends, only that the city is spread thin like butter across so many square miles of suburban sprawl, a grey smear that stretches to the horizon and which is marbled with the wet and warm greens of whatever trees have been spared its splay.

The sky is the colour of hope and the thinnest haze falls over everything toward the horizon, turning all that is distant into a ghost of an idea. Somehow, impossibly, someone has painted a grand white spirit above it all, a glowing pyramid grander than any pharaoh's tomb. My mind insists that there is no way that there could ever be any mountain this big, yet it stands there both so large and also so far that my imagination tells me it could never create anything nearly so grand.

I look at the peak and the slopes and the rocks and the snow that trace and shape its features and I recognise them all at once. Their aspect is immutable eternity and their countenance is the unforgiving divine.

The face of the mountain is the face of God.

I first flew to America in the summer of 2002. Flights and accommodation were almost absurdly cheap. Less than a year before, I had taken a day off work to travel into London and meet friends. My workplace was a secure facility where my colleagues would get locked in a windowless room, without access to media or the outside world, and so they began to call me from the office phone to see if it was really true that aeroplanes were being deliberately flown into famous American landmarks. Another friend of mine told me how he had kept trying to change the channel on his television, trying to get away from the same disaster movie and simply find out what was on the news.

I was an idealistic young man and my response was to write a letter of sympathy to the President of the United States. My response to a lot of things is to write about them and I write to politicians and to friends and to authorities and to whoever is waiting outside the window after I fold up the paper and launch the plane out into the world. You never know where a paper plane is going to go.

My father had said that we’d plan a visit to America someday and perhaps rent a car and drive across it, going from state to state, seeing sights like the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building. All of those are near each other, particularly when their pictures are printed on the same page of a holiday brochure.

It seemed eminently possible. It was the 1980s and it was Morning Again in America. Nothing wasn’t possible. I was watching Knight Rider and Columbo and The Dukes of Hazzard and The A-Team. Mr. T was the coolest person I’d ever seen and I’m not sure if my parents were annoyed that he seemed such an aggressive role model or that their son liked a black man.

My father had lots of plans. Others included building an elaborate model train set and converting the loft. He never did any of these things and after he left my mother, I travelled to America by myself, with my own money, under my own steam, at a time when so many other people were still scared to fly there, even scared to fly anywhere at all.

I ran down the stretched spine of an airport in Detroit, thinking I had only five minutes to catch a connecting flight, because I didn’t realise I’d changed time zone and had an entire hour to find my plane. I landed in Chicago so tired and so sleep-deprived and with arms so ruined from dragging luggage that my hands shook when I tried to lift a glass of water. Nothing out the window of my motel room looked real. From the accents to the asphalt to the traffic to the telegraph poles, it was all sights and scenes stolen from film and television. All these disparate pieces were America, sure, but seeing them all together at once and assembled in front of me felt artificial and alienating.

I burned myself lying in the sun by lake Michigan, reading a physical copy of The Onion, rattled around The Loop on trains that told you which side their doors were going to open and hurtled up to the top of a skyscraper to stare out out so far that I could see Indiana and Wisconsin and the speckled imperfections that flit across my weak and broken eyes. The sky was the colour of hope and the thinnest haze fell over everything toward the horizon, turning all that is distant into a ghost of an idea.

I tried to do everything I could, but the trouble with Chicago was that it was too big. I came back with sheets of notes about my trip and I wrote all about it. I hadn’t flown in eight years and what I most remember writing about is the strange sense of suspension I felt as I crossed the Atlantic. Here’s what I said:

“Blue above and blue below. Right now we've just passed by Iceland and we're going to have a brush with Greenland soon. I feel a little more stable now, which is good, as I previously had a sensation whereby I felt the plane was suspended by a single piece of string that could be cut at any time. Takeoff was not much fun either (it was a lot less fun than I'm having now, which is very little), as I was convinced we were climbing too steeply, banking too quickly and likely to stall at any time. We didn't, which was nice. The engine I can see out of my starboard window has also stopped wobbling about, so that’s good.

The only in-flight entertainment with which I can distract myself has so far consisted of a Cybill Shepherd documentary. As you can imagine, this hasn't helped anything.”

I think now that no small part of that sensation was caused by my repeatedly drinking wine before and during the flight, something that I thought would make me feel more relaxed. It did not. Instead, I constantly worried that the plane would crash and/or explode. I also wrote this:

“I've just been to the toilet, which was fun. Thankfully, no hideous explosions occurred and, as a result, I was not thrown out of the plane into a -31C low pressure environment squirting a stream of piss as I went.”

I was getting into folk music and one song I was listening to was called America. It told the story of two people travelling across the country and trying to understand both it and themselves. There are two things about this song that are very realistic. The first is that they fail. The second is that they get stuck in traffic.

The time is winter and I am in Texas. The world is broad and warm and bright and easy. The roads are impossibly large, huge and hulking raised highways that wind like petrified snakes across the landscape. Infrastructure itself is a monument, a colonnade of concrete that conquers the landscape and rivals any classical architecture, every other onramp or highway a temple to the motor car and its pantheon of petroleum-powered processions. I am a passenger, passive in all of the endlessly ongoing ritual that is traffic.

A freight train slices across the perfectly flat skyline. It is so long that I never see its start or its end, only an infinite horizon of boxcars and hoppers. Every other thing in Texas feels like a stereotype I should roll my eyes at, but I’m instead filled with fascination and delight, even at everything that’s imperfect or ridiculous and, as ever, I can’t stop making friends who are American, some who will become very close and vitally important to me. I can’t stop enjoying myself. The trouble with my enthusiasm is that it’s too big.

I’m not supposed to like America. I grew up British, English, and all the playground talk was about how silly America was and is. The people aren’t as smart. They don’t have a good sense of humour. They have everything easier and still don’t do as well or work as hard in the same circumstances. I don’t now know what this mentality was, but it seemed some sort of contempt or resentment.

My father served with Americans in NATO in the 1960s, just as Kennedy and Khrushchev began to stand nose to nose. They were boisterous and bad at being soldiers, he said. The British were better and, in particular, more sensible. All these conversations, playground or personal, were also always about who was better. There was never the idea of being equal.

Other friends with parents who are more motivated or more middle class will go to America and come back with stories of things we don’t have. Those things are mostly different food or different cars or so many different sights to see. Or more television. They have things like Star Trek and The Simpsons, as well as a life full of tiny and so distinctly different details. I am an idealistic young boy and I can’t help but think about things that are somewhere else and different.

The time is spring and the wind is freezing. I am in a bar in New York with a group of actors who have just performed a superb evening of improv comedy. Paired off, each performed an exercise where one must adhere to a script and only recite lines they’ve learned, while the other has no knowledge of this script and can only react, with no idea what lines might be coming next. The results are a combination of hilarious, ridiculous and ingenious, in spite of all these Americans having such a terrible sense of humour.

We’re served food in small plastic baskets, a detail that strikes me as the most New York thing possible, and the actors talk about the lines they had to learn or the responses they had to invent. The actor sat beside me asks me who I am, where I’m from and how it is that I’m friends with another member of the group, a series of unpretentious questions that suit this very unpretentious group of talented people. We comment that we have the same first name and only later do I discover that he is Paul Rudd and that my friend is a little intimidated by him. A few days later, Ed Harris shakes my hand and fixes me with eyes the colour of an iceberg, but I’m not intimidated by anyone. It’s only Ed Harris.

The time is last week and the weather is Los Angeles. An eighty foot tall palm tree lords over the parking lot I am stood in, its shadow a sundial for an already setting afternoon sun. While my friend takes a ticket out of a parking meter, a man takes the trash out of a nearby bin and selects the most recyclable items, methodically emptying all the bottles he finds. These contrasts are so humdrum that nobody comments on them, though I still see fewer homeless people here than I do in San Francisco or Seattle. Block after block of those cities are packed with so many people who have nowhere to sleep that it’s an exercise in hiding humans in plain sight. Here, across LA, they are still more subtle, camped under bridges or living in every concrete nook the infrastructure affords.

All these cities are about some intersection of media and technology and convenience and big business, so being in them or near them is itself so prestigious and important that it teleports increasingly large amounts of money out of people’s pockets every month. Still, none of the geniuses and products and companies that make so much money in these places can dispel the displaced and disaffected because there is no profit to be made in helping the helpless. Instead, the richest and poorest people in the nation exist right on top of each other, never making eye contact.

It helps to have a motor car. An automobile. Millions of people lock themselves in boxes to travel from convenience to convenience, driving through banks and post offices and diners and cafés, These petroleum-powered chairs play their music and offer holders to place their drinks and demand huge roads and parking lots just so that each person can have their own private and portable room to journey inside. These are supposed to be convenient, but every time I’m inside one, the person in control becomes confused or angry with all the other people in their portable rooms and there is swerving or swearing or long periods of grinding gridlock.

Still, they help because they keep you apart from the disillusioned and the disenfranchised by shutting out the outside world. My problem is that I can’t legally operate an automobile and I like to walk or share my transport with other people. Walking can be particularly odd, even dangerous, as more than a few roads are not built for walking along and, in many places, it’s only the most disadvantaged people who you’ll share the pavement with. It’s a weird way to meet everyone who has been forgotten.

I miss trains.

The time is winter and I am supposed to be rolling through southern Oregon, but there has been some kind of mistake and our locomotive has taken a detour through a fantasy land torn straight from an Ivan Shishkin painting. I am trying to use two cameras at once to capture everything I see, because otherwise nobody will ever believe that I have been here or that any of this could possibly exist.

Every single tree is lathered with snow and a deep gorge runs parallel to the tracks, traced out by the jagged and reckless route of a ragged river. Above it there is a colossal hump of sleeping rock, shrouded in fog, and every curve of our route reveals some new variation of this scene, endless rearrangements of majestic mountains, rippling rivers and frozen forests. Everything everywhere is beautiful all the time and can’t afford to miss any of it in case I might never see it again.

The United States doesn’t have enough trains and it doesn’t spend enough time using them to show people how beautiful its landscapes are, whether those are forests or deserts or peaceful pacific coastlines. Instead, it shuttles everyone through airports with security that will look inside your shoes and airlines who will try to charge you for your seats and your bags. Flying has become a minor melodrama, but if you don’t want to ride your portable chair for forty hours, it’s the only way to put the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building on the same page.

The airports are ugly and the views are as likely to be of clouds or darkness or the seatback in front of you. Not enough people realise that, down there, everything everywhere could be beautiful all the time.

The time is autumn and the air is thick like soup, wet and warm and wrapped around me everywhere I go. I am in Florida and I will drink an awful lot of scotch that will all be paid for by a man who is impossibly rich. The man will never know or notice, because he is also paying for so many other people, plus an extremely famous DJ and to rent an entire theme park. Meanwhile, drunk, I will accidentally damage a toilet stall and a bouncer will mention who I am a guest of and suddenly there was never any problem.

A milkshake will save me from a hangover that makes the inside of my skull feel like cheap carpet charged with static. Someone will joke that, like Las Vegas, what happens in Florida stays in Florida, but I will meet a person who will begin to change my life and the what happens in Florida will follow me to England and then back again to the United States. One night, I will break into a state park and climb to the top of a ridge and see an entire city and coast blinking below, laid out like Christmas lights, while the din of a thousand spawning frogs fills the night behind me. Another night, I will lock myself in a tiny and windowless room, curl up on the floor in the dark and simply cry.

There will be a single ship bobbing in a bay beside a seaside restaurant, a sky-high hotel bar with the best view in the city, the steel outline of a old bridge hulking beside me in the darkness like the skeleton of a long-dead dragon. There will be so many experiences and I will pull all these disparate pieces apart to keep the good ones and learn from the bad.

The time is a year of incredible emotional upheaval. I will stand on a hill and look at city shining in the sunlight, asking myself why I can’t and why I shouldn’t try to live somewhere different. I will stand in front of hundreds of people applauding things I have done, the artificial barriers of the internet finally stripped away. I will stand by the Pacific as I begin a romance of the sort I thought I could never enjoy. I will even visit Florida again to enjoy a kind of demented excess that involves cocktails in bowls, or take a tour of an island chain populated by some of the most expensive properties in the world, all ready to lose every cent of their value as the sea rises around them. I will stand tall across America and, while my life will take me elsewhere, it will be America that gives me the confidence and the love and the inspiration to be more than I already am.

On one trip I take a bus, because that is normal to me in Europe, and the only other person riding with me is a frustrated woman whose ride abandoned her and who needs to get to work. She has her shoes in her bag and she tells me she is a dancer. The shoes are enormous and so I naively ask how anyone could possibly dance in those.

There is a moment where she is deciding if she can trust me or if judgement will follow what she says next. She makes a choice and tells me she is a stripper. I don’t know if she expected shock or disgust, but all I have for her is a whole barrage of questions about what that is like. She talks about the money she is saving and the plans she has to move away from her small town and all the men who can’t understand that they aren’t allowed to touch.

She leaves me her number and says I should call sometime. I try once but the number is engaged and I am not brave enough to try again. I am nowhere near as brave as her.

The time is night and I am waiting for my ride. I am lost and so are they, so I stand on a street corner by the emptying train station and a tall, slim African American man approaches me. He is asking only for spare change, and only for the change I can truly spare, and it’s really no problem if I have none and he really is sorry to disturb me. The man has just come from a place nearby that offers support to veterans and is concerned I may not believe that he is one, so he produces a card to prove his service.

The man is impossibly polite and sincere in a way that I will never be able to be and when I ask him about his service he names places in Vietnam I have either never heard of or would struggle to find on a map. He has no job and no home and no family and still stands straighter and more stately than perhaps any other person I have ever seen. He is a marine and he has more dignity and decency in one toe than I have in my entire body and I feel pitiful giving him the dollars in my wallet. I am not intimidated by anyone, but I am humbled forever by this man.

The time is now and I am in Seattle again, the place I have visited more than any other and where all my memories are the colour of wet sidewalks. I am staying with a non-binary friend who is showing me their huge stockpiles of food and telling me I’m welcome to eat all I like, a statement that makes me uncomfortable as it has just followed a description of all their cost-saving measures and how poor they are. I feel like the majority of my queer friends are poor. For some reason, they all want to help look after me.

This friend, maybe one of the most important people in my life, has just collected me from the airport and has a habit of treating me to road trips I wonder if they can really afford. I don’t think they have the money to try to travel across the country and understand both it and themselves, but they still try to help me do this.

I try to convince them to let me buy them food.

My alarm goes off. It is morning again in America, but I am no longer a child and, in the country of impossible vistas and eminently possible dreams, I wonder what is realistic. I look at the television shows I watched thirty years ago and they’re full of white dudes. I find an old episode of The A-Team where they beat up a bunch of Mexican men and I feel disappointed. I look at my friends here and feel I haven’t listened enough to the experiences of those who are black, asian, hispanic or queer. I listen to my folk song and it’s two white men singing about a nice ride on transport that had often been segregated just a decade before.

It’s morning again in America and more children than ever will be homeless. More than one in ten homeless adults will be a veteran. Forest fires are more persistent and deadly than ever and last week I saw California hills covered in charcoal, as well as damage caused by indiscriminate blazes that burned right to the sea. Violence against LGBT people is on the rise and the number of those being murdered has nearly doubled from 2016 to 2017. There is a new song about America and it feels far more realistic and referential, more candid and circumspect, as well as more appropriate for those who who don’t have the opportunity to travel across the country and understand both it and themselves, who can’t fit the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building into the same life, who struggle to enjoy all the splendour of the country they were nevertheless born in and are citizens of.

The time is jumbled and I am a paper plane and I never know where I’m going to go. I am in Portland, Maine, nestled into one of the oldest corners of the country, and I am peering through the fishy fog at a town like no other in America, but then I am in Minnesota, nervously watching news of a nearby tornado, but then I am in Indiana and sat at Kurt Vonnegut’s typewriter, or looking at Kurt Vonnegut’s Purple Heart, or reading each early draft of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, every one of them abandoned in favour of a fresh start that hoped for something better.

There are so many fresh starts and so many beginnings, each one the same but different, as the author tries again and again. One line in his finished novel will read  “Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.”

But then I am in Arizona and the desert is purple, or I am in Virginia, or I am in Utah or New Hampshire or Massachusetts or Colorado, where the rocks are red and I see a saddlemaker for the first time. A saddlemaker.

But then I am in a university and Ursula Le Guin steps in through the door. Every single person in the room begins to behave differently and this tiny woman walks through an atmosphere thick with reverence and respect so rightly earned. Later I will stand up to speak to her and think about how so many important choices I made in my life, choices that seemed terrifying at the time, lead me to that moment, a moment that shows me how they were right and true and that I was so impossibly good to myself in making them. I will ask a question and I will remind myself that I am not intimidated by anyone.

She will speak back to me and the voice of Ursula is the voice of God.

But then I am in Maryland in a rainstorm, the thunder rippling around me and the lightning tearing open a sky too large to exist on this planet. I am in San Diego and there are Bible passages and references on a plumber’s van. I am in Pennsylvania, looking at the Liberty Bell. I am in Los Angeles and it is Christmas and the tree is eighty foot tall. I am trying to be in all the museums in Washington DC and I zigzag across the town like the lines on a Pollock, but the trouble with American history and culture is that it’s too big.

But then I am in love, more than once, and I will give my heart to people who come from this country at which I am supposed to glower or frown. I will want to give them my all.

The time is summer and the Illinois night is flush with chirping cicadas. The kitchen light is too bright and I eat dessert with the grandmother of a young woman I like and she warns me not to go too far south on the Chicago metro.

“When the people turn the colour of the chocolate on your eclair,” she says, “go the other way.”

I have never heard someone say something so brazenly racist in such an everyday setting.

The time is winter and my partner tells me that so much of America hates people like her. I had never considered this before because America is full of people like her, but she tells me stories of violence and assault and racism and being scared. No matter how precious or important I think she is, there are so many people who will never see that.

My father sees America as three hundred and thirty million people who are all the same. I see it as the same number of people who are all wonderfully different. Some of those people are remarkably similar to my father and sure would like everyone to be the same.

What an impossibly stupid idea. How can you even try that in the country where the deserts are purple and the rocks are red and the air is thick like soup and the forests are frozen and the palm trees are eighty foot tall and the old bridge is the skeleton of a dragon and the horizon is a train. Why would you even want to, when there is so much excitement in what is somewhere else and different. There is no way to pull all these disparate pieces apart any more than there is any way to mash them all together or make the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building fit on the same page. There is no America waiting for you to understand both it and yourself, just like there is no life that makes sense from the things you find in gift shops. Both are tasks that are too big.

Trust me, you will never fully know America and you will never fully know yourself. That doesn’t mean, however, that you can’t love both.

The time is this evening and I edit all I have written here and wonder if I will be called a cynic or a patriot or an idealist or an idiot. I am all of these things and also none, as I pull these disparate pieces of myself apart and mash them back together again. People tell me everything here is going wrong and there is so much to be unhappy about, but my affection for America won’t go away and if I ever think it might, I want you to help me reach for it and pull it back. I will never desert my American friends and nobody can ever erase the joy I’ve felt any more than they can turn back the tears that run down my cheeks as I write this.

I cannot edit this any more, much as I cannot edit America. There is no grand theme I can find, no story I can invent by reshaping and realigning pieces that never joined together in the first place. There is only a messy and imperfect whole, across which I have zigzagged like the lines on a Pollock. I doubt me or my journeys make sense to anyone.

I have spent a small though significant fraction of my life in this country, but I have invested a disproportionate amount of my love, energy and enthusiasm here. I regret none of that and I have received rewards and restitution tenfold. My only problem now is that my experiences have left me with a condition both chronic and terminal: The trouble with my heart is that it’s too big.

(The pictures featured are, in order: The America Map in Denver Airport, Gas Works Park in Seattle, Chicago downtown viewed from somewhere like Roosevelt Road, a still from It's Morning Again, Manhattan, Austin, Dealey Plaza, Times Square, Los Angeles, Hollywood, somewhere perhaps in the Willamette National Forest, somewhere in Northeastern Washington, Orlando, Sausalito, Indianapolis, the WTC Memorial, San Francisco's Bay Bridge, Estes Park, The White House, the Kurt Vonnegut Museum, Ursula Le Guin speaking at Seattle University, the Portland Head Lighthouse, Washington DC, Philadelphia and the Golden Gate Bridge.)

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

I’m trying to get into the mood to write but you know how it be sometimes.... so I thought I would share some really self-indulgent stuff I wrote. Really self-indulgent as I used my actual name in all of these, and all of them are different prompts some friends came up with on discord (from the villainousfe server) and I was like “ah yes another reason to love Gangrel” so if you want to read them, they’ll be under the cut! None of them are NSFW, but a few are... sort of suggestive uwu

This particular piece was based off the story of blue beard; I think this particular prompt was “what fairytale would you and your villain be based on?” or something similar! 

“I’ve heard tale of you before…” it was the following morning after she had refused him, and he… respectfully left her alone. It was strange, every rumor, every tale and swears for revenge; they couldn’t all be fake.

“Tales of what?” Gangrel, blue beard– she wasn’t sure who the man before her was, but the overwhelming evidence pointed to anything but the monster sisters whispered about over later morning tea.

“Surely you’re not so foolish! You know why I’ve come!” She rose from the table, skirts flowing and poked breakfast shifting with the sudden movement.

His eyes followed her movement from across the mantle; the winter morning was cold, but perhaps only an afterthought to the cold look on her face.

“I had a feeling but… I thought you would have a change of heart.” He sighed, placing the small cup and platter and coffee down, raising after her. “… I’ve been honest with you wholly; I would never want to hurt you.” His features seemed so kind, his smile so sure. The woman before him was still unconvinced though. “Sylvie…” the name hurt, though. Perhaps he had been honest with her, but she was hardly honest with him.

“This isn’t about me!” Her raised voice brought alarm to his form, and he took a hesitant step towards her. She held her ground. “What about all the woman who came before me? All the ones you killed and then left to rot?” Her voice tore through his form, and for a moment, his gaze fell.

“So, an assassin? I presume you’re not even Sylvie, maybe even not even the woman I’ve come to love.” Why did his own words cut through her, make her weak in the knees and want to cry? “That’s alright, if I’m to die I guess I’d like it to be by your hands, I can’t repent enough in this life for what I’ve done in my past.”

She was trembling now, swallowing hard and trying to find the right words to say. “Love me? You, you really love me?” And as she took a step towards him, she remembered the tears of parents who put lived their daughters, the brothers and sisters left alone. “But… what of the other women who loved you?”

“I was a different, horrible man then. Years have passed since then, and when you came to me, I knew you would change my life.” A bitter chuckle left him. “You have every right to think me horrible, to seek revenge for all the woman I’ve slaughtered. If you want my head, I knell offer it to you on a silver platter. But… just know, with you by my side, I truly felt like a changed man.”

The woman took a few steps forward until she was looking into his eyes l. “My name, its, um, Sydney…” she murmured, not meeting his perplexed gaze for a moment. “I’m… unsure how to really feel… but I’ve always been of the opinion that those who want to change should be given the opportunity to do so… so um.." she took a deep breath and continued speaking. "I can’t say I love you as you do me, but I would be honored to remain by your side and help you continue to grow.”

Just as the words left her mouth, Gangrel scooped her into his arms. “Sydney… thank thank you for this second chance”.

I can’t hardly remember the premise of this one, but it was probably something along the lines of “how would you react if your villain got into a fight?”

"Gangrel, you told me you would stop doing this" I sighed, wringing out the wet washcloth before giving it to him. "Hold this on your cheek, it will help reduce the swelling. We'll put peas on it later." I smiled at him, and he gave half a smile back; I could tell it hurt him a bit to do so.

"What would I do without you to heal me, love?" I sighed and flicked his nose. He flinched back and frowned.

"What if I'm not here? What if, what if you get hurt bad enough that my help isn't enough? What... what if they..." I couldn't get the word out of my mouth, the sound catching on the sobs in my throat.

"Love..." It seems the words caught in his throat, as well, as he looked upon me struggling not to cry.

"You told me you would change... that only *I* could help you change... but then you end up like this again? Running off to who knows where to fight god knows who... for what?" I swallowed hard, the tears freely falling down my face. "Like, was that a lie? Did you just.. just.. say whatever you needed to get me to believe you?" It hurt to say those words aloud, but they had been my fears as of late. I could see his expression fall, his hand falling to his lap leaving his right cheek open.

"Where did you... why... is that how you really feel?" He looked so hurt, and I felt so hurt, and I hated to fight with him and I just wanted everything to be okay. "I-I don't know..." I sniffled loudly, trying to compose myself. "I don't know what to think, okay? All I know is I care, I care so much... I love you so much, but I'm so scared for you." I looked into his eyes, and he closed his.

"Sydney, I..." he opened his eyes again, and slowly, making sure I had time to move if I didn't want it, he grabbed my hands. "I never meant to disappoint you, or... make you think I don't want to change. I... it takes a lot to change, and you have been helping me... without you, I have no doubt I would be the same, wicked man I always was. I *know* you've helped me change... Just seeing you cry, cry over me... it hurts, I feel terrible for having made you feel this way..." He took a deep breath, and squeezed my hands a little tighter for a moment.

"Then.. what do we do? Where are we now?" I asked in a shallow voice.

"Well... today, that fight I, uh, had..." I urged him on with a look, and he continued. "They had been claiming that I was using you, misusing your kindness and for whatever sick means they deemed I had. And.. I just, I couldn't take that!" I slowly blinked, trying to process this.

“You big idiot...” I hugged him, tight, trying not to laugh. “I just… I love you so much, but you do realize acting like that just… isn’t the answer?” I pulled back and gently held his untouched cheek, smiling at him. For some reason, I was still crying.

“What was I supposed to do with them bad mouthing our relationship like that, then?” He asked, smiling a bit as well as he saw the grin spread on my lips. “I.. I don’t know… I just… goodness, you’re a mess.” I hugged him tight again, and he held me even tighter.

“I’m getting better every day with your help, dear.” I could hear him chuckling over my shoulder.

“Gangrel… really...” I pulled him at arm's length, still holding his shoulders. “Please, I love you so much. Stop being stupid on my behalf, okay? I.. want to see you become the better person you promised me you would, okay?”

“I...” He smiled softly and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “Only for you, love. It’s your help, your love that helps me get this far.”

“And stop being so… romantic. It's unlike you.”

“Is it? We’ll have to change that~”

Oh I LOVE this one, the prompt was “What if you or your villain died?” Its written a little differently than the rest (I think its in 3rd person limited rather than first person). Nudity is mentioned, but nothing explicitly NSFW happens.

It just, didn’t make sense. They weren’t those type of people; they hardly went and tried new things, hell they hardly left the house. These things weren’t supposed to happen to a happy couple like them.

She had always adored the water; something about it simply drew her in, to the point where if one saw her there, they would think it where she truly belonged.

And Gangrel thought he would end up alone, not with such a sweet soul. She had her own drear moments, but somehow with her love, he made her care just as much for her as she did for him. So they were wed, and how sweet it was; he felt, as an “old” man, his young bride deserved better, but if what she wanted was him, who was he to say no?

Water, she chanted. Just take me to the water; tropical, atlantic, pacific, lakes or creeks, it mattered not. So it was, they honeymooned in rural Montana, renting a cabin alongside the clearest, majestic lake. And for a time, they were happy.

But, so it seemed, happiness wasn’t meant for Gangrel; he was used to suffering, it only pained him that she was dragged in with him.

“Gangrel, Gangrel come on! It’s only us!” Her giggle was the sweetest sound, her smile his delight. “No one will see us, and it’s our honeymoon~” even as she clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer to the water lapping on the sandy shore, she was wiggling her way out of her flip-flops, tugging down her shorts and struggling to rid herself of her bra. Gangrel could only shake his head, kiss his young bride and give in to her demands. After all, it was their honeymoon, a once and lifetime opportunity; what was a litter skinny dipping?

“Whoo hoo! Bare it to the water, to the moon! They don’t mind at all!” Her blonde hair floated amongst the water, her pale face grinning as she cheered him in. His own tan form easily merged with the murky depths of the now dark water, but, funnily enough, his wife (how he loved to call her so) stood out like a beacon.

“Isn’t this fun?” She giggled quietly into his ear, dancing and swimming around him.

“I can’t say it isn’t.” He mused, watching her as she twirled.

“Try and get me then!” She dived under, water flying up to hide her wake. Shocked, he looked below, but the murky covering shrouded her, and only the light caresses from her slender fingers could help him guess where she may be.

“Got ya!” From his left she rose, catching his shoulder and peppering him with kisses, only to disappear to the murky depths once more.

Only when she began to pull him down with her did he begin to worry; he wasn’t as strong a swimmer as her, but… it would be okay. She liked to tease, to worry his poor old heart only to soothe it later. She pushed limits, asked herself just how long she could stay down there.

Gangrel once more felt her touch, gentle and fleeting again his foot. It was colder on their part of the lake, and she had been down there quite a while… when she resurfaced, they would return to the shore, and start a fire inside.

But still, she teased him; moments increasing to minutes before Gangrel realized the bubbles before him were not natural. Her name caught on his lips, he dived down after her, looking blindly for any part of her. But the water had missed her just as much as she missed it; today the lake was unwilling to relent its sweet child.

When his lungs seemed to burn more than the panic in his gut, he surfaced, guided by the light of the moon. But no giggle greeted him, no shining smile nor blue eyes; just the whisper of the forest around him, the lapping of the waves, and the smoldering feeling that Gangrel, too, should have drown with his young bride that night.

if you’ve gotten this far, then you’re allowed to see this one LMAO the prompt was “what would your villain do if you didn’t study for a test” and I happened to have a very specific AU in mind so... yeah

"He knows... he knows I didn't study..." It was lunch, but come next class period I would be in Mythology... the class my uh, err, you know, the class Gangrel taught. Fine and everything, except I may have... not studied for his mid-term. But hey I'm smart I don't need to study? Right? Right.

"Say that to the books face..." I muttered, glaring down at the recommended book for his class. Usually, I would hang out with him during lunch hours for... reasons. You know. But I was, for once, dreading his class. His class isn't even needed for graduation why does he do this?

"I bet he just wants to see me sweat..." I sighed again and glanced at my phone. It was 11:50 am, and my lunch period was practically over. With an overly dramatic sigh, I grabbed my stuff; backpack, then purse, then phone, and walked... a few feet to his classroom. I wasn't far, just outside the English wing of the building.

"If it isn't my favorite student!" I didn't look his way, I could hear the smirk in his voice. At least my seat faced away from him. "What kept you during lunch, dear? I missed you." He was chuckling, very aware of why I wasn't in here, with him. I even ignored all 20 of the text messages he sent me. What a cruel boyf-- err, teacher I mean. Either way, he was an ass.

"You know why," I said, mustering up all the venom I could; which, to be fair, wasn't much. "When I should have been studying somebody decided it would be a great weekend to distract their student" I huffed. Even if we did have fun watching all those movies and just... hanging around... what if I fail this test?

"I have no idea what you mean, dear." After the words left his mouth, the bell rang, and I glared at him as best I could. Soon after, other students began to file into the classroom. You know, students who got to study because their teacher didn't sabotage them, because they weren’t "dating". What bullshit.

So, a begrudgingly took the test, even as I felt Gangrel's grin on my the entire period. Well, half of it at least; the test hardly took me 20 minutes, even. We had another project to work on but fuck him. I'm drawing.

Next period I happened to be an aid, for Gangrel. It also happened to be his plan period. Not sure how he got that to happen, but it had been that way for.. most of the year. So, as the bell rang again, and students now filed to exit the room, I stood from my chair.

"You big meanie." I jabbed him in the chest right after getting out of my chair. "You know what you've done. I don't know why you want me to fail your class, but now it might happen!” He just chuckled and ushered me into his arms, despite my complaints otherwise.

“Love, you did fine. You missed hardly anything, too.” He cooed.

“Wait did you already grade mine?” I pulled back and looked up at him suspiciously.

“You were the first to finish, of course, I did.” He held my paper up as proof; there lay my name, and the little doodles I made in the columns while I thought about the answer.

“Well, still… that was mean. Have me hang out with you all weekend and then surprise! It’s midterm day!”

“Aww, is it so wrong for me to want to relax with my gir-” I shushed him by jabbing him particularly hard in the stomach.

“No saying those words in this building, mister,” I warned him, crossing my arms. The door was closed by the last student, and locked behind him, sure. But still.

He rolled his eyes but complied nonetheless. “You really are no fun, you know that right?” He passed a stack of paper my way, along with an answer key. “If you don’t want to play nice, fine, then grade papers too.” I frowned but sat back at my desk.

“Fine, but don’t expect much from me. You played dirty, so its only fair I return the favor.” Thus, I began plotting… Somehow (despite the ending turning out well) I would get back at him…

T H I S  ONE... I don’t remember the prompt in the least bit, but we were talking about flowers that had pollen that made you really horny? I love flowers, this was a great fun to write.

Gangrel knew how she loved flowers. How his precious summoner would spend hours growing them, painting them, adoring them… even if sometimes she sneezed, and her eyes watered and got a little puffy, nothing would stop Sydney from seeking them out.

But still, she found time for him, to help him grow and become a better person. He was grateful in a way he felt words couldn’t quite convey, and that small bouquets couldn’t quite conceive. So it was convenient that he heard of a field of flowers not too far from here. A place where the two of them could take a days journey to relax, and enjoy the flowers and each others company.

“We have to be getting close, right?” Sydney danced around him, white cloak following her twirls and skips. She stumbled often, but never quite fell.

“If you look now you might see them just ahead” Gangrel mused. With a gasp she sharply turned her gaze away from him, to see the field of flowers before the both of them. It seemed to stretch on further than the eye could see, and beckoned them both forth.

“Come on Gangrel!” Excitedly she took him by the hand, heedlessly running forward toward the golden, yellow and pale flowers. Without warning, Sydney jumped into the flowers, pulling Gangrel in with her as well. The two tumbled a bit, giggling as pollen and petals and leaves galore covered them. When they finally stopped moving, chests heaving and hearts pounding with little giggles still, they rested. Sydney had landed on top of Gangrel, who lie laughing under her.

She sneezed once (of course, away from him) and beamed down at him. The golden flowers around his face framed him so perfectly, she couldn’t help but stare, heart swelling with the love she had for him.

“Gangrel…” Her hand gently traced the curve of his cheek, resting softly against it soon after. “This is so lovely, thank you for being so thoughtful…” her hand was on the move again, seemingly of its own volition as it traveled to rest on his chest.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it… it wasn’t easy to pull you away from those Askrian do-gooders…” Gangrel found his own hands moving to rest on her hips, the trail where her hand once was on his chest feeling like the desert sun. She was leaning down now, straddling him as their faces came ever closer together.

“I’m having a lot of fun, but…” her free hand tangled in his hair, tugging it ever so lightly. Gangrel found he wanted her to pull more roughly, though. “Doesn’t something feel, off to you? It’s as if I can’t get close enough to you…  like being parted from you would kill me…” her lips rested just above his, the ghost of her words lingering on his needy lips.

“I know just what you mean milady…” with a wicked grin, he pulled her down roughly on to his body, eliciting a breathless moan from her as they grinded together in just the right way.

“I do think it’s the flowers….” But she couldn’t seem to care as their lips finally met, an ache in the both of them fulfilled. Although not the intended outcome of the days travels, neither party could find it in themselves to care as they were captivated by the other.

I’m gonna be honest with you, I wrote this one the other day bc I was horny but... I don’t think its NSFW, just kinda like the one before lol. This is the last one!

She was snug against him and shaking like a leaf. She had already apologized profusely for it, but Gangrel actually found it charming; she was so excited and nervous all at once just to be in his grasp. Never had a woman just been so... innocently wanting his touch.

They were cuddling, Gangrel having his arms circling her waist both above and over. He wanted her closer still, but he was having problems of his own; such a sweet touch did that to a man who had not known it in so long. Subtlety, he tried to create a little distance between them, just so she couldn't feel his growing need.

And though shaking, Sydney's mind was racing as well. How long had she been waiting just to be held like this from him? Too scared to really move, but feeling everything. How his hand rested just under her breast, or how he always tried to move away from her, as if she couldn't feel his growing heat. Both too afraid to speak; one freighted of the unknown, the other scared to lose the one in his arms.

“Stop moving away from me.” She finally spoke through her tremor. Gangrel froze and additionally had to hold in a soft moan as she scooted closer to him, unintentionally (or so he thought) grinding against him. “I like having you this close.” She whispered. Apparently, all her courage entered her at once, because without even speaking she moved the hand that (surely rested uncomfortably) sat just under her breast to cup it, her hand over his own. Mixed signals no doubt, but Gangrel couldn’t say he hated the way she tangled her legs with his, or how every subtle movement either of them made had the two of them grinding together painstakingly softly.

“What are you trying to do to me, love?” His voice was sultry in her ear, making her already nervous blush worse.

“I-I’m not sure...” Was she shifting due to nerves or simply to feel him through the th layer of her shorts? “It just… feels really good.” Her voice was a low whisper, unsure of what she wanted but loving what she was feeling.

“Is that so?” All subtlety out the window, Gangrel pulled her snug against him again and unabashedly grinded against her. A breathy gasp left her throat as she followed in suit. “Just tell me when to stop then dear.”

[astridxreyes]

W H O    A R E    Y O U?

ASTRID REYES

AGE: 28 APPEARANCE: Astrid rarely wears makeup and, when she does, she wears a bare face kind of "no makeup" makeup look. She likes fashion and likes experimenting with clothes, but often is seen in more plain jane clothes in an attempt to blend in (ex. t-shirt, jeans , sweaters, white sneakers). GLASSES/CONTACTS? She has glasses that she occasionally wears, but only to help her blend in as a "human" who needs reading glasses. TATTOOS? She has a matching tattoo with her friend Liv (who she accidentally turned into a harpy) that says "to infinity" across her rib cage (here); A couple of watercolored little birds on her right collar bone (here); stay gold tattooed across her left wrist (here); a tattoo that says 'but without the dark, we'd never see the stars' on her left upper thigh (here); a little anchor on the back of her neck (here); and a little elephant on the back of her ankle (here). SCARS OR BIRTHMARKS? Astrid has a couple different scars on her body. She has some scars on her hips and her wrists from TW: self harm; Her left wing doesn't tilt exactly right and a has a scar across from it; she has a tiny little scar that can barely be seen across her right temple. RICH OR POOR? Astrid grew up in poverty and although her adopted family is very wealthy, she lives a lower middle class lifestyle not wanting to borrow money from them. SPECIFIC TICK OR MANNERISM? She fidgets with her hair when she's nervous, often switching up her part from one side to the other or fidgeting with the hem of her skirt or shirt as she talks to people; she also has a tendency to rock back and forth slightly on the balls of her heels and nibble on her bottom lip.

P E R S O N A L I T Y ?

What is your idea of perfect happiness? 

“I don’t really know if I believe in perfect happiness anymore, but I guess if I had to pick I’d say that moment when I just forget where I am. When the world around me fades away and I just can exist without the past or... fear of the future.” If she had to pick a specific moment, she knew it would have been when she was flying, high above the trees, far away from any source of people whom she could hurt, where she could just sing to her hearts content, letting the wind kiss her cheeks.

What is your greatest fear? 

Being found out, being sent to prison or even worse, transferred. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare the shit out of me, excuse my language, to be sent somewhere- anywhere- away. But, I think the part of me that scares me more is what would happen to my family- the Reyes who took me in when they didn’t have to- and my friends like Liv. I did this to her, I scratched her. I turned her. I ruined her life and, because of me, she might end up spending the rest of it behind bars. And Damien- he already lost so much. I wonder if he’d even look at me again if I ruined what was left of his family, Astrid couldn’t help but think. But, she wouldn’t ever dare mutter it out loud.

What is your biggest pet peeve or trait you deplore in yourself? 

“There’s kind of too many to list. But, I guess if I had to pick I’d say just not feeling able to be myself? Or even really knowing who I am? I sometimes see other people around my ages, fooling around laughing and letting loose. You know, those people who are the focus of every group they’re apart of, who make you laugh out loud and are just magnetic? Those people who everyone can’t help but be drawn to? I see them and I get jealous, so freaking jealous, because I can never be like that. And it’s not just because-” Because she was undeclared. “I just- sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in my own body. In my own skin. Like no matter who I’m around or what I do, I’m on edge and petrified of being myself, of letting people in, of getting hurt again, of having someone take something of mine that wasn’t theirs to take. I hate that I don’t feel safe, that I haven’t felt safe since I was like 10 years old and will probably never feel safe again and- and I hate when I look at these bright amazing people, I know deep down that I’m not one of them and I probably never will be, I guess...”

What is your biggest pet peeve or trait you deplore in others? 

“I don’t know? I don’t really know if there is one. But, maybe being entitled? Those people who feel like the world belongs to them and everything is for their taking even if it’s not?”

Which living person do you most admire? 

“I have two. My mom and dad. My adopted mom and dad. They took me in and gave me everything. Not just a home, but a family even if it was far from easy. They’re kind of the coolest people in the world and I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Which living person do you most despise? 

“I don’t know if he’s alive anymore, but...” Charlie...

What is your greatest extravagance?

“College? I only went for a year and a half before it was just too much to keep paying for on my own, but it’s definitely the most I’ve probably ever spent on anything.”

What do you consider the most overrated virtue? 

“Maybe faith? I don’t just mean in the ‘higher power’ sense. I mean just hope. Believing that everything is going to be okay, even if the world is falling apart at the seams?”

On what occasion do you lie? 

“I kind of lie everyday, now-a-days. About who I am? Where I came from? But, I guess I lie the most when I tell people ‘I’m fine’.”

“What is the quality you like most in a significant other?

“Optimism? Or maybe humor? If someone can make me smile or let my walls down, they’re a-okay in my book.”

 Do you have a catchphrase? Which words or phrases do you most overuse? 

“Maybe ‘Gosh Darn it?’”

Who or what is the greatest love in your life? 

“Fiyero Tigelaar. And if you know who that is, then you probably know why.” She’s a little theater nerd and fell in love with singing and the stage.

When and where were you happiest? 

“The first time I flew across the lake. I kind of had a whole Harry Potter riding a hippogriff, moment. It’s was pretty awesome.”

Which talent would you most like to have?

“Shapeshifting would be pretty cool, but I’d settle on getting over my stage fright?” Or singing without the possibility of accidentally paralyzing someone or knocking them out... Kind of puts a damper on being a broadway star and all.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? 

Being Declared without having to go to jail, would be pretty cool? She couldn’t help, but think.

If you could pick up and go anywhere, where would you most like to live? 

“Just get me anywhere in Europe with a backpack and I’ll be happy.”

What is your most treasured possession? 

“My Hello Kitty backpack. It’s silly and cheesy, but it’s all I’ve got from before I ran away, so...”

What do you value most in your friends?

“Faith, trust, and I have yet to find someone with pixie dust, but that would be cool too.”

Who is your hero of fiction? 

“Elle Woods. She got into Harvard. You know, not like it’s hard or anything.”

What historical figure do you most identify with? 

“Amelia Earheart. She was the first female aviator to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean and she just never let anything hold her back. I don’t know if I’m anything like her, but I want to be.”

What is your greatest regret? 

“Not getting out fast enough when Charlie... when I was turned.”

What is your life’s motto?

“If you’ve seen Warm bodies-”

Would you describe yourself as being an optimist or a pessimist?

“Optimist. I’d say I’m a glass half full type of person, but I drink water too fast to have half of anything left.”

Introvert or Extrovert? 

“Introvert aka a not so closeted loner... I really should get that on a t-shirt.”

How do you hope others will see you? 

“Hooman?”

How are you seen by others currently? 

“Nice? Which I kind of hate by the way. I mean being nice is great and all. At least, I’m not the devil or anything, even if our pastor might disagree if he-” learned the truth. “But, in my experience, nice is kind of the go-to-word to describe someone you know nothing about.”

How do you see yourself? 

“Like Tracey Turnblad shoved inside a scrappy filipina body.”

How do you react to praise? 

“Last time someone complimented me, I’m pretty sure I flailed my arms and made a sound that could best be described as an awkward dinosaur noise? So not great.”

How do you react to criticism? 

“I thrive in it. My self-esteem loves being taken down a notch. But, in all seriousness, I try to prove them wrong and often end up doing something I’ll probably regret like doing a weird rollerblade dance routine to Stayin’ Alive. Clearly, one of my finer moments.”

Do you often make snap judgements or take time to consider? 

“I’d like to think I’m a rational thinker, but... did I mention the Staying’ Alive boogy dance? On Roller blades?”

Do you think you lead more with your head or your heart? 

“Bu-dum, bu-dum, bu-dum...  I was trying to make a heart sound and the second I did, I instantly regretted it.”

When was the last time you cried? 

“When half of the ice cream in my cone fell on the ground. What? It was a very traumatic experience.” Even, though she knew it was actually when her parents asked her if they could adopt her. Happy tears.

What is your guilty pleasure? 

“The Bachelor franchise. It’s like watching a car crash. It’s horrifying, but you can’t look away. That or singing to show tunes in my car at the top of my lungs when no one’s watching or sitting in the taco ball parking lot eating a quesarito while... also listening to showtunes. And then I end up ordering dominos and make the deliver guy knock on my window like I’m doing some shady drug deal when in actually it’s just for cookie brownies and those parmesan bread knots... I have a lot of guilty pleasures.”

When was the last time you showered? 

“This morning and every morning like a hygienic person?”

Are you the type of person who talks in the movie theater? 

“No. Unless it’s a horror movie. Then, you’ll find me curled up in my chair, peaking through the cracks in my fingers covering my eyes, screaming at the characters not to go in the room and asking them why in the world they’d be asking if anyone’s home when they hear a creepy noise upstairs, as if the killer is just going to respond with ‘oh hi love! I’m just making myself a sandwich. But, don’t worry. I’ll be down in a giffy to kill ya.’”

Are you more of an indoor cat or an outdoor bird? 

“I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a plane-” (Cue Five for Fighting - Superman) She’s an outdoor person.

Are you a fan of Harry Potter and, if so, what would be your Hogwarts house? 

“Honey badgers don’t care.” She’s a huge Harry Potter fan and a Hufflepuff all the way.

Do you like superheroes and, if so, which character is your favorite? DC or Marvel? 

“Yes! And Kitty Pryde aka Shadowcat.”

Did you used to play Pokemon? And if so, what be your starter Pokemon? 

“Yes! And in the versions I’ve played, Squirtle and Piplup.”

Star Wars or Star Trek? Or neither?

“Both?”

If you were in the Hunger Games, what would be your game plan? 

“Hide?” Hide until I get caught and then fly up real high or sing until anyone who tried to attack me gets stunned so that I can escape?

If the zombie apocalypse happened today, how would you defend yourself?

“I’m a goner anyways, so...” ZOMBIE HARPY HERE I COME!

What’s the first thing you do when you’re home alone?

“Slide across the floor like I’m Tom Cruise in Risky Business while singing ‘What Dreams are Made Of’ into a hairbrush like Hillary Duff.”

What is the most overplayed song you listen to? 

“Defying Gravity or Satisfied. Can you tell I used to be a theater kid in High School?”

Do you believe in a thing called love?  (cue the Darkness song…) 

“I believe in a thing called love Just listen to the rhythm of my heart There's a chance we could make it now We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down I believe in a thing called love Ooh!...

too much?”

Do you believe in love at first sight? 

“No. I believe in lust at first sight, but when you think about the cliche disney fall in love moments- Prince Charming couldn’t even recognize Cinderella when she didn’t have a big ball gown on and, in Snow White, which also was Prince Charming funny enough... he was kind of a stalker and necrophiliac? And yeah... I don’t know if I want that personally.”

If you could travel to any period in time, future or past, where would it be? 

“I’m kind of happy now, to be honest. Even though I wouldn’t mind reliving the early 2000′s again?”

Have you committed a crime? 

“Who? Me? Nooooo.... Never....” I’m literally undeclared so... you do the math?

If you could commit a crime and get away with it, what would it be? 

I’d like to continue being undeclared without being caught, thank you very much.

If you found yourself trapped in an elevator with a group of strangers, what would be the first thing you’d do? 

“Panic? I’ve seen Tower of Terror and I have no want to be the little girl in that movie.”

[zachthevagabond]

12 Words to Describe my French Christmas

Fat!

The French Paradox is a real thing. For one of the thinnest nations on earth, the French CAN EAT! Breads, tons of saturated fat, and desserts washed down with endless champagne, whiskey and coke concoctions, and various French digestifs from various regions around the country. How are these people thin?! I have no doubt that I consumed more calories at each meal this Christmas than on Thanksgiving. Between our Christmas Eve dinner at Chloé’s parents house and our Christmas Day feast with Jérôme’s parents, I think I’m ten pounds heavier and equipped with a redefined pallet. Both families served traditional French Christmas dishes that are among my favorite dishes in France: breaded frog legs, foie gras (duck and goose liver pâté), escargot (snails), boudin (blood sausage) stuffing and roasted turkey, smoked salmon, and endless champagne. One dish that I’ve never tried in France that did not make the list of my French favorites was raw oysters. Chloé’s mom’s reminder to “Squeeze lemon on each one to make sure they’re moving and still alive before you eat them!” may have been what turned me off to the dish –LOL!

Bûche de Noël

The classic Yule log-shaped cake is what ends the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day meal in France, Belgium, Switzerland, and Québec. Google “Bûche de Noël” and tell me the pictures aren’t the most appealing cake you’ve ever seen in your life. For possibly the first time in my life, I almost couldn’t finish dessert. Absolutely delicious.

Honorable

The region of France that is closest to Luxembourg is called “Le Grand Est” (the Grand East). Both Chloé and Jérôme grew up in this region, and their parents live minutes away from the French-Luxembourg border.  It’s not uncommon to meet people from this region that have never met an American. How exciting! Chloé had shared with me that her dad, in particular, was super exited that I would be joining them for Christmas Eve Dinner. She explained that he was talking about it all afternoon up until the dinner party started: “Can you believe it? We have an American is coming to Christmas Eve tonight. At our house! An American!”

Cookies + Fudge

I have discovered that Christmas abroad has been the truest test of the expatriate life. Jérôme would assure you that I was lying if I said I didn’t shed a tear or two after hanging up on the phone with family on Christmas Day. Red wine mixed with emotions of home proved to be overwhelming for a couple of minutes. Cookies and fudge were two items that I missed most (along with my family, of course!) that are not part of French Christmas traditions. Seeing friends on Instagram and Facebook posting pictures of dozens of Christmas cookies and peanut butter fudge made me want to fly home just for a fresh batch of Grandma Barb’s chocolate chip cookies!!

Courses

A French meal puts us to shame. Dishing out a basket of chips and pretzels just doesn’t quite do it for the leading culinary nation in the world. At both dinners, there were no finger foods or chips in sight. Every appetizer moved through a rotation and was passed around the table each at a time. Chloé’s mom moved in and out of the kitchen like a well-oiled five-star chef as we moved through each course and on to the next. This way of eating is so much more enjoyable –but also dangerous! You don’t necessarily realize how much you’re eating because the meal is moving by so slow as you become lost in conversation. Dishes and plates become uncountable, and you wonder if the meal is going to end before the button on your pants explodes. Just to give you an idea of how elaborate this meal was, we arrived at 7pm to begin with appetizers, and finished the meal to open presents just before midnight on Christmas Eve.

Familiar

What’s often the most shocking part about being 3,500 miles away from home are the similarities that you see across the Atlantic. Every time Jérôme’s father made a joke, his mom would look at me and shake her head in disgust at how lame it was…the EXACT face that Grandma Barb and my mom give me when my dad and Papa think they’re God’s gift of comedy. That overall cozy, warm, and “most wonderful time of the year” feeling of Christmas was just as strong here as it is in the States –despite the different smells coming from the kitchen, customs, and language being spoken around me.

Drinking

As many people know, the French are all about pairing what they drink with what dish they are eating. Since you’re moving through a meal of up to ten different dishes, you’re constantly changing alcohols to best fit the dish you’re eating. Aperitifs, dry white wine, red wine, dry white wine, washed down with a digestifs and endless champagne. Chloé’s father, who has Italian roots, also wanted me to have a taste of every type of alcohol that any Italian has ever drank. Needless to say, my head was spinning by midnight when we opened presents on Christmas Eve.

Fatigue

Christmas is a lot for everyone.  It really does become exhausting to meet people, hold conversation for hours in a different language, and try not to physically combust as you’re body is combatting 3,000 calorie meals filled with new foods and alcohols. Needless to say, these past two nights after Christmas Day, I have slept ten hours a night and eaten less than Christmas Eve’s appetizers alone. 

Hugs

Americans love hugs. For us, hugs are often the way we greet, thank, love, and cherish our friends, family, or current romantic interest. When leaving Chloé and Jérôme’s, there was nothing I’d rather do than to throw my arms around them and their family members to thank them for such a welcoming Christmas abroad. I had to stop myself, of course, as I knew that hugging is not part of their culture. As you’ve read before, the French do not hug. Hugging a French person can be the most awkward experience of an American’s time abroad: they literally freeze up and aren’t sure what to do with their hands or bodies. It’s one of the funniest cultural differences I have ever seen. Instead, I gave everyone French kisses (only one person got the dirty kind!) on each cheek before leaving.

Turkey

Who knew the French ate turkey?! I have always observed that duck is much more commonly eaten here than chicken or turkey, and so I was quite surprised to find turkey and blood sausage stuffing to be the main dish of both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinners that I attended. The next time a French person makes fun of me at how absurd Thanksgiving seems to them, I can make fun of them for eating turkey on Christmas instead of meatballs and lasagne! 

Mystical

The magic feeling of the holiday season is possible to feel anywhere in the world. Just look through some past pictures on my blog of the various Christmas Markets that I’ve been lucky enough to visit around Western Europe!

Belonging

Sometimes it scares me how quickly we can become comfortable with people, their families, and life in a new country. I felt a sense of belonging at every second throughout this holiday season with my French friends and their beautiful families. Due to the kindness and generosity of the people closest to me, my first European Christmas was one of the most memorable holiday experiences I’ve had in my life.

[ablonde-bibliophile-blog]

James and the Giant Peach

by Roald Dahl

Published in 1961

128 pages

Why I Picked it Up:

After reading through The Count of Monte Cristo, which was altogether enjoyable but hideously lengthy, I wanted to take up a book that was the complete opposite. At 128 pages in length and vocabulary meant for children, this one book on my shelf was calling my name. Truthfully I haven’t even seen the Disney movie, as the animated characters scared me a lot when I was younger. But Roald Dahl is known for creating whimsical classics like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Fantastic Mr. Fox. And once I really thought about it, I realized I hadn’t read a single book by Roald Dahl. So despite the fact that I am 22 years old, I decided to give this children’s book a read.

Summary:

If you don’t know the story of James and the Giant Peach, it involves a young boy named James Henry Trotter. His parents are eaten by a rhinoceros that escapes from the city zoo, and he is forced to live with his two abusive, hideous aunts, Aunt Spiker and Aunt Sponge. The two aunts hurl insult after insult at the young boy and force him to do manual labor while they lazy around all day.

Then one day, a mysterious man shows up and gives James a bag of magic bag of crocodile tongues which will bring anyone who eats them great happiness. In his rush to eat them and find this happiness, James spills them all over the ground near a large peach tree in the yard, and they disappear into the ground.

While the magic may not have worked for James, it takes hold of the creatures in the yard, and James and his aunts watch as an enormous peach grows upon the formerly barren tree in their yard. It grows bigger and bigger until it is the size of a building. Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker open up the yard to charge visitors to view the giant peach, but what they don’t know is that a cast of fantastic creatures have made their home inside of the gigantic fruit.

Upon exploring, James finds a small tunnel at the side of peach and crawls inside. Once he reaches the center, he is shocked to find a cast of characters who had also digested the famous alligator tongues. He befriends a giant spider, grasshopper, centipede, glowworm, earthworm, and ladybug.

Hurrying to get away from the two horrible aunts, the friends detach the peach from the tree and it rolls toward the coast. Soon, the friends and their fruit vessel are having adventures floating across the Atlantic Ocean and flying in the sky (pulled by a group of presumably exhausted seagulls) until they arrive in New York City, where they are welcomed with open arms.

My Thoughts:

I didn’t love it. Perhaps if I had read it at a younger age, I would have thought it was fascinating and mystical. However, I was always scared strange animations in the movie and thus never picked up the book as a child. I also find myself wondering if it has just been too long since I’ve read any sort of fantasy genre. This reads as more of a fairytale than anything, but I found myself constantly doubting how realistic small points of the plot were. For instance, “There’s no way those seagulls could have pulled them across the entire Atlantic in one night, does Dahl not understand distance?” 

I found myself having to pull back and remind myself to suspend disbelief. This is a children’s novel, and more so it is a fantasy children’s novel. I don’t know why I was being so hard on it. Perhaps because I had just read an enormous, complicated classic like The Count of Monte Cristo, I felt so unaccustomed to the simplicity of this book.

It was cute, and were it not for a few strangely racist lines (product of the times, I suppose?), I could see myself reading this with my children one day. For instance, when the Centipede claims he would rather be friend and eaten by a Mexican than encounter the mythical cloud people in the sky. ...Where did that even come from? What do Mexicans have to do with this?

But altogether, it was a lovely story about finding friends and accepting one another for who you are. Despite the fact that the bugs argue with one another, James fits in quickly to their group and they all care for one another throughout their crazy adventures.

Perhaps I will pick up a few more Roald Dahl books and see what I think. I’m most eager to try something like Matilda or The BFG, which I am already familiar with.

[thebestpirate]

The Longest Sail EVER (Uruguay to Cape Town)

On January 13th, 2017, the Gulden Leeuw left for a grand adventure of our 34-day sail. The thought of starting this voyage scared me half to death because I am the biggest family’s girl you’ll ever meet. My family is full of my best friends and I didn’t want to leave them for a month. However, with the help of my newly found family on the ship, I learned that even a 34-day sail can be full of fun and adventure. Moving back on the ship was surprisingly very easy. I thought it would be a stressful process, but it took maybe an hour. Also, the boys and girls got to switch sides in the dorms, which means we get the better air conditioned side! I can use my blankets every night… I bet the boys can too because the South Atlantic is SO COLD, but still… It’s such a nice feeling. Also, last semester, my bed was one of the closest to the ceiling. When I raised my elbow, it would hit the ceiling, so there was NO WAY I’d possibly ever be able to sit up and most nights I’d hit my head on the ceiling. But no longer do I suffer with a tiny sleeping area. My bunk this semester is still a top bunk, but the ceiling is higher and I can actually move as I please. It’s heaven.

We met our new maritime crew the day we came back to the ship on the 10th of January. They’re a group of amazing people and so many of them are from the States. I haven’t been around so many Americans in a very long time. I very much enjoy being around people from all over the world (it’s probably the coolest thing about CAF), but it was cool to meet people who live closer to me than others.

Our watch groups were changed this semester and man do I love Watch 6. Svea, Elizabeth, Haylee, Brody, and Klaus are some of the best people to hang out with on watch at 4 to 6 in the morning.

On the 18th of January, I was writing in my journal saying “…we’re on our way to Tristan! I really hope we get…” And I just stopped writing because I then wrote, “AAAAND I totally lost my train of thought because there were a bunch of pilot whales SO close to the ship.” That’s the cool thing about Class Afloat. You’re excused from class when there are whales, dolphins, sharks, turtles, etc. It’s a crazy thing to think about and I can’t imagine what living on land is going to be like after experiencing this. Anyways, what I was going to say in my journal was I really hope we get to make it to Tristan Da Cuhna. (Spoiler alert… We made it to Tristan! But I’ll talk about that in a bit.)

On Jan. 21st, a bunch of us were watching High School Musical 2 and you better believe we sang our hearts out. I’ve never met a group of people who understand my love for HSM. Watching the second movie brought me back to when we were in UNEDCO in Spain and we watched the 1st movie in the building we had our classes in. It’s crazy to think that we had a month off the ship and now it’s been a month at sea (with a short stop in Tristan). Before watching HSM2, it’s Megan’s clumsy story of the day… I had just gotten out of galley and I was taking the massive container of rags to the laundry room to start cleaning them. I was walking and the second I stepped on the tile floor, which was super slippery that day, my right foot slipped right across my left leg and I tripped myself. I landed ONLY on my right knee with not only my own weight, but with this darn container of rags. It hurt SO bad, but I ignored it while watching HSM2 because that felt more important at the time. The next day I realized I couldn’t bend my leg… Whoops. I went (limped) to the Medical Officer, Chris, and he put me on the “less physical work board” because walking was a struggle for a solid 48 hours. It took longer than that for the swelling to go down, but I could walk like a semi-normal person after the 1st 2 days. For the time I was crippled, I was walking like a had a peg leg. It was kind of funny, but extremely painful.

The next day (the 22nd), there was an all hands call for a job on deck and, even though I was still injured, I just did an easy job. But… It happened to be Sunday Dinner that day and we were all dressed nice. My skirt was NOT happy in the strong wind outside. It takes skill to haul on a line and hold down your skirt at the same time, but the girls managed it really well so props to us.

On the 24th, we saw at least 4 sperm whales. They were beautiful (and insanely close to the ship). Seeing marine mammals never gets old. Later that day, there was an announcement over the loud speaker that simply said, “big whale on starboard side.” I had been having a rough couple of days in terms of mental health so it’s things like that that make me cheer up a bit. I hadn’t gotten out of bed that quickly in a whiiiile. Also, don’t worry family… I get a little down every now and then because I get impatient waiting to talk to you guys. I cheer up when crazy stuff happens, but sometimes you just want to call your family. The Southern Atlantic, however, does not have cell service. I also found out that morning that I got accepted as a Teacher’s Apprentice for the Anthropology 12 class. Everyone can apply to whatever they want to be on the ship as an apprentice and I knew being a teacher’s apprentice would be more my speed compared to something maritime related. I’m so proud of my work for Anthro!

JANUARY 27TH! My 19th birthday! I am now a 19-year-old and it happened on a ship in the middle of the Southern Atlantic Ocean. How cool is that?! Lindsey, I’m definitely not 8 anymore. In fact, I’m now DOUBLE that. I know, it’s crazy to think about. I got bucketed like what normally happens on peoples’ birthdays and oh my gosh it was cold. I have a video of it because I didn’t want to get bucketed with cold water and not be able to make fun of myself later on.

Time to talk about TRISTAN. Some sailor’s only dream of making it to Tristan because sometimes the wind/weather doesn’t let you anchor outside of their small, isolated home. But we made it! With a lot of hard work, we got to anchor outside of Tristan on the 29th of January, which was earlier than expected, but that’s the window of good weather we had and this crew made it happen. I went aloft (to just below the lower topsail) with John, Kyle, and Liz. I was a little scared, but the waters were calm and we were anchored so I felt confident enough to make it up there. The view of Tristan was breathtaking. We actually went onto Tristan on the 30th and I saw a ROCKHOPPER PENGUIN the second I stepped onto the island. I was in love. I sent some post cards to my family that I hope make it there soon. We visited the school that very few kids attend (considering there’s only about 280 people on the whole island). We got the chance to play ACTUAL BASKETBALL with a few of the kids and I didn’t realize how much I missed throwing things and running around, two things that are prohibited on the ship. We got the chance to climb the volcano that erupted in 1961 and I got some BEAUTIFUL pictures. We only had one afternoon on Tristan so it was over way too quickly, sadly. We made our way back to the ship on the dinghy and set sail the next day on the 31st.

In the beginning of February, I began to prepare my lesson for the Anthropology lesson I would be teaching regarding Sex and Gender. Being the teacher’s apprentice for Anthropology has been a blast and when the time came to teach my 55-minute lesson, I felt 100% prepared. It went extremely well because not only did I work hard on the presentation, but sex and gender is a topic I know a lot about (self-taught because little Megan and current Megan are constantly curious about how that stuff works). Everyone told me that I did a good job and they feel like they learned a lot about sexual orientations, romantic orientations, and gender versus sex.

On board, mostly throughout this long sail, a game known as Jungle Speed has been spreading like wildfire. It’s a hit amongst individuals on the ship who have to get some pent-up energy out. It’s a game that involves a lot of yelling. We’ve actually drawn blood playing this game because it’s so intense when you have to be the first to grab something. It’s harder to explain through text, but consider playing it one day. I’m for sure going to force it upon my family.

In mid-February, we had a handover day, which means the students take over the ship while the maritime crew gets the day off. They keep an eye on us just in case, but I think we were pretty successful that day and the other handovers that have happened throughout the year. Every handover day (at the time I’m writing this, we’ve only had two, but another one is coming up), we fly the huge pirate flag that we have onboard. It’s the small things that make things like this fun. Even though I wasn’t acting as a maritime crew member, because I was a teacher’s apprentice, it was still fun for me to watch my friends be captain, 1st and 2nd officer, engineer, ABs, and bosun. You get a really strong proud feeling when your student crew can take over the ship for a full 24 hours.

On February 13th, we anchored outside of Cape Town and all anyone could think of was “FINALLY!” This was a parent port so many of us had been anticipating seeing our families. I had not seen my sisters since I left in September. We had to anchor until the 16th and I was growing impatient having to wait for 3 days to see my best friends. My siblings are my best friends so seeing my sisters was a big deal. I cannot thank Chris enough for bringing them with him to Cape Town because, not only did I get to see them, they got to experience something outside of our normal life in the United States. Travelling is something I believe everyone should do and I am so glad my sisters got to go to Cape Town, one of my favorite ports.

I enjoyed our long sail, but we sometimes tend to go a little crazy waiting for land to appear on the horizon. One of the most interesting things I’ve learned is that you can smell land when you approach it after so many days at sea.

Thank you for reading this VERY LATE (sorry about that) and very long post. I’ve been putting off typing about this passage for quite some time because of the length I knew it would be, but here it is!

<3 - Megan

[journeyanddream]

The Fight

25th March 2017; International Convention Centre; Exhibition Hall 5 & 6, Level 3

It was roughly 8:30am when I was finally assigned to a seat in an area. “Seat 20 - Group 462″; right in front of the white board. For the next 30-35 minutes, I remained in my seat nervous and anxious, not knowing what to expect while anxiously waiting for the exam to begin. I watched as the exhibition hall slowly filled up with bleaked souls with pale complexion - GAMSAT attendee; and during the wait I couldn’t help to gaze around and examine every aspect of the hall: the ceiling was grey and at “floated” 15m - 20m above the ground, it was intersected by white criss-crosses and zig-zags that were made out of large pipes, “Are they made out of glasses? Are they lights?” I thought to myself. During the waiting time, I tried to do just about everything that was possible without standing up, making a noise or disturbing others. I’ve tried to close my eyes and rest on the tables to get in some rest but i couldnt, with GAMSAT in my mine, i was restless. I tried to massage my eyes and forehead in the least obvious way; I meditated and envisioned a future of being a doctor...a good one; I thought about the past and reflected on what I could have done better; I thought about my parents and my friends, thinking they might be just as worried about me as I am worried about them, “What’s mum and dad doing? Have they eaten by now? Are they worried about me?” I guess the saying one always think back to family and parents in stressful and dire situations is true. I also took a fair amount of time to examine my fellow students who is stuck for the next 7,8 hours: to my left there was a somewhat 40 year old Asian man wearing a black jacket with a square face who had his equipment laid out neatly in front of him, it’s interesting how people who isn’t your ordinary “20-year old Billy who is fresh out of college and just finished a degree in medical science”; he, however looked like a working man, a dad who has a few children and a family to feed; yet he is still chasing his dream and why should i ever give up mine, I’m only 19. 

“Please write down your name, GAMSAT ID, gender and booklet number on the cover.” a calm yet powerful female voice rained down that resonated readily across the entire venue; After hearing this I thought to myself “Here it is, there we go, the real deal now”, I laid out my information carefully on the test paper cover in green. This felt so familiar yet so different; I’ve studied for the materials for the past 2.5 months and i’ve done many practice questions but yet it felt so surreal and unfamilar when i am actually sitting here, in a foreign place. I was nervous and I was scared; my forehead was sprinkled with sweat marks; my hands twitching: what if i dont get in? what if i perform badly? what if i disappoint myself and my parents? what if i never get to become a doctor? But before i could fahtom the entirety of the beast laying infront of me...my stream of thoughts were interrupted by “Reading time start now”. I panicked for a second and immediately gathered my mind together and went into section I: it begins

I skimmed and flipped through the pages in a way that doesn’t compromise speed nor thoroughness..to the best of my ability. My head immediately went to Jack’s technique: first, identify where every passage is approximately, second, located the longest passages that require the most time and lastly, start reading the longest ones first and move on. Immediately after flipping through the pages, i knew i was stuck in a shit storm; the texts were unfamiliar, they were long and tedious, to make it even worse the questions were abstract...but sadly no time to think, i gotta get to it. I buried my head deep into the booklet and started reading. However, it wasn’t long till i encountered another tempest; i was an inexperienced sailor in a poorly made wooden shaft, who is ironically attempting to sail across the Atlantic during its worst turbulence. I wasn’t focusing, and my mind drifted faster than i could gather, the sentences weren’t registering in my head and every few lines I read i have to go back and read again because the words seemed to just enter my eyes and fly out of my ears; either way i am doomed. As soon i realized my situation, i panicked because it seemed like all those practicing didn't take effect. It’s like practicing to shoot a basketball with 85% accuracy in practice and ends up missing every shot in the game. Perhaps i was nervous, scared, anxious and under massive stress...this is the highest mountain I had yet to ascend, i was a tiny mouse trying to climb over the Mt Everest.

(A typical section 1 cartoon)

I annotated the passages with a combination of lines, stars, arrows, circles, smiley faces, sad faces and squares (Just like Jack said)...as I soon as I moved on to the questions, I felt a looming presence shrouding over me and my mind went into short circuiting. The questions and its accompanying passages made my question whether or not I am reading English; or perhaps I’ve been stuck in an alternative reality and I couldn’t actually understand English. Who soon followed was series of uncertainty and self-doubt; I was so certain that this was a purgatory; a hell and the punishment had not only tormented my body and mind, but also my self-worth and confidence. The questions continued to make zero sense and passages just got harder and more abstract as time went on...and i knew i am behind on time. As 2 hours ticked by, my breath became heavier and shallower; I could feel my brain pressing tightly against my skull  and I felt a sudden rush of blood and my eyes soon became blood-shocked...”30 minutes left for Section 1″...”WHAT!..30 minute, I still have 35 questions to do!”, essentially I had used the first hour to complete the first 40 questions, with only 30 minutes to finish the last 35. (This show how slow I had been). I have barely 1 minute for each question; which means I can no longer afford to read carefully and wholly. What entailed the next 30 minutes was a combination of skim reading, guessing, randomly circling and a bit of analysis...It’s no longer about getting it right, when finishing the exam became an issue. And it is fair to assume I had essentially ‘guessed” and “winged” half of section 1. Abysmal! 

Section 1 ended with a slaughter, and I wasn’t the one dealing the blow. I constantly looked over to the 40 year old dude next to me and gauged his speed in relative to mine (something I’d never do usually). I became so uncertain during the last 10 minutes of “guessing”, I was willing to give up my own integrity and pride to get a few glimpses of his answer paper. “Just a few” I thought to my self. But who was I lying to and who was I deceiving in this whole “peek and guess” game...Is this even how a doctor should behave? I doubt. I didn’t have time to rethink the exam, when section 2 paper was handed down...”A double sided, reverse printed red/brown booklet”. I tried my best to take a mini-break and a deep breath to throw away anything that has happened; accepting that nothing could be done even if i get a fail; I should instead focus on the next two sections where I CAN do something about it. But how naive was I at that time, it was just a “shit-storm” after another “shit-storm”. They only got worse from that point... To be Continued