#head full of thoughts about my devout kids today

[accessible-tumbling]

[image description one: tumblr tags by user Vanillaspit. They read: #this was like when I had a severe trauma on Christmas Day n I was in telling the family their mum was gna die #all whilst wearing tinsel wreath bauble earrings looool #nursing

Image description two: a group of tumblr tags. User soupcans: #s/o to when i did full corpse paint whilst working in the ER. really smart choice ! definitely didnt have any bad side affects !. User Nicomrade: #prev… User Soupcans again: #I KNOWWWWWW IT WAS FUCKING TERRIBLE. IT WAS SO SO SO BAD I JUST LOVE HALLOWEEN SO MUCH

Image description three: tags by user sheathandshear reading: #Halloween costumes are strictly regulated in my dept after An Incident involving Minnie Mouse doing chest compressions #adventures in nursing.

Image description four: tags by user screaming-weevil reading: #note to self #wear simple costumes you can easily remove when stuff like this comes up #< prev tags but imagine your doctor takes off their cat ears to give you your terminal diagnosis.

Image description five: tags by user brownheadedcowbird reading: #if you've never seen morticia addams doing cpr... do you even work in healthcare.

Image description six: tags by user tikkun-halev reading: #i work in a hospital... today i was like 'i hope nobody says anything about my festive ghostface t-shirt' #and promptly turned a corner to find someone wearing a giant inflatable patrick star costume.

Image description seven: tags by three different users. User meowingatthesea: #saw a tweet yesterday from a pediatrician saying 'before you judge your pediatrician for not being costumed or in the Halloween spirit #know that they might have once had to do chest compressions while wearing a santa hat with jingle bells' #and yeah.... #i get why they have no costume. User highempressofdirt: #and that is why at my clinic anyone who wears a costume has to have a change of clothes #specifically for something like this. User sameensass: #in a hospital thats just a blood bottle.

Image description eight: a screenshot of a Reddit thread in the Emergency Medicine subreddit. User MDBabyMama: Costumes in the ER. Thoughts on staff (RNs, techs, etc) wearing Halloween costumes while working. Setting is a rural Level 1 trauma center. Professional? Unprofessional? Curious what you all think. User doctor_B: I used to wear costumes on Halloween. Then I had to tell someone that he had cancer while dressed as batman. Now I wear a silly hat or something that can come off for serious business.

Image description nine: a reblog by tumblr user beneathhergaze reading: I once had to give detailed vasectomy aftercare instructions to a very devout Catholic man (who'd already been feeling unspeakably Capital-G Guilty for wanting the vasectomy in the first place and I think was straight-up already planning to do penance after he was healed but iirc the number of kids was approaching double digits at that point and he and his wife had just Fucking Had It). It was also Halloween and I was dressed as a demon/devil-type creature. A cute one, certainly, but one all the same, horns and all. Between processing his emotions about the vasectomy and handling the fact that I had to use an interpreter (meaning it was awkward and took twice as long), I doubt he heard a word any of us said. If his eyes had gotten any wider from staring at me I think they'd have simply fallen out of his head. Anyway, I stopped wearing costumes to work after that.

Image description ten: tags by user sovaharbor reading: #i remember being like 13 or 14 and at my GI doctor for an appointment like right before halloween #he told me i needed an endoscopy/colonoscopy done while dressed as gru and i started SOBBINGGGG #so gru had to comfort me and tell me i would not be awake with cameras going down my throat and up my butt.

End ID]

I’ve told this story ten thousand times and I will tell it for the ten thousandth and first: whenever I think about wearing a costume to work on Halloween, I remember the time I saw a doctor breaking what must have been devastating news to a sobbing patient while the doc was dressed as a ketchup bottle.

[glittercleric]

I often get asked how I manage to constantly play devout characters without getting bored or having them all blend together. Well, the answer is as easy as, they all approach their faith very differently!

Alessa: a war cleric of Torm who really should have been a vengeance paladin, considering she has sworn herself to hunting down the necromancer who killed her previous party including her husband. She somehow managed to toe the line between living only for her revenge, and still remaining true to Torm’s teachings.

Gwyn: happy-go-lucky, self-indulgent light cleric of Lathander who is not particularly devout actually, she just fell into the faith when she tried to rob his temple, and her best guess about how she still has powers is that he just finds her neat.

Teivo: rash Tempest cleric hand-picked by Umberlee when the ship he was serving on met a stormy end. He absolutely can’t stand organized religion and threw the Umberlant tenets out the window the second he was done with basic training. Morally dubious, pretty selfish, defiant of any and all authorities except for Umberlee.

Vanya: an eladrin small-town doctor turned grave cleric who was raised into the role from a young age and abandoned by her parents as soon as she was old enough to run their clinic on her own. Previously kind and insecure, she took a dark turn when she started having visions of a great undead threat, and became very zealous, willing to throw her morals overboard for the greater good.

Sid: Providence paladin of Tymora constantly in the shadow of his heroic older sister, who fled his home town in anguish when it seemed his crush was starting to fall for said sister and enlisted to the Order of the Gauntlet. Very idealistic, dedicated to bringing both justice and joy to the world, ended up running an informal rehabilitation program for wayward youth, redirecting their anger at the injustices of the world towards those who perpetuate them instead of society at large.

Liv: Watchers paladin / clockwork sorceress of Erathis. Incredibly confident in her abilities, very strategic, seemingly unshakeable. However, below the surface, doubt simmers as her prayers go unanswered, and she has to ask herself if maybe dedicating her entire life to Erathis to the detriment of her personal happiness was a mistake.

[theladybarnes]

▸▸ CAPTAINS ( CHAPTER SEVEN )

“My son's a homosexual, and I love him. I love my dead gay son.”

▸ summary: after making a choice, blue’s friend step in to pull her into some light ▸ pairings: peter x reader, bucky x reader ▸ word count: 5,813 ▸ warnings: cursing, guilt, thoughts of suicide ▸ series masterlist

Dear Diary, 

 I didn’t think I could possibly update you with an even worse entry but as it would seem, my teenage angst is full of shit and a growing body count.

 I’m scared. I’m scared of school, leaving home, and Peter. But mostly, I’m scared of what I’ve become. I’ve never been a good kid, nor even promising to be one. But what I’ve helped do is far more sinister than I could ever imagine. 

 I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. All I do know is that I have to make a change. I can’t keep living like this.

  TWO DAYS LATER

 “We’re gathered here today, to bid farewell to two remarkable men. Two of whom did not yet have the chance to live the lives that they wanted. For the world could not accept them yet, for the homosexual men that they were.” 

 The awkward coughs began to echo within the walls of the church. Grabbing your attention from the pamphlet in your lap. It was just like with Steve that the Senior class had been invited to the next student funeral. This time a double funeral for Westerburg’s first gay couple. 

 “My wife Joyce, the Rumlow family and I wanted to thank you all for joining us today.” Started Mr. Walker, the red that rimmed his eyes made him appear more angry than how he sounded. In fact, the man nearly sounded heart broken. Which only added to the twists that were drilling into your gut currently. 

 “It’s been harder for us to come to terms with the news of our boys. They played their roles of devout good Christian members of society. We would have never realized that they were secret lovers all along.”

 Peter who had indeed kept his word on picking you up, sat up straighter. Suddenly interested in what Mr. Walker had to say. Luckily he did not expect for you to really talk on the way there, claiming he had a headache and wanted to get it over with. 

 On the way in, a couple of people had approached him. Checking in to see if he was okay since this was a lot like Steve again. You nearly turned pale at the way he switched up his mood to play off like he was hurting. Now you know better. 

 “I think we as a town can do better in taking care of our children, we should be watching them bury flowers in our gardens. Not watch them be burried.” Mr. Walker had fully turned into full blown crying. Looking over to the casket before he faced the crowd again. 

 “My son’s a homosexual, and I love him.” He reached over and placed John’s football helmet to sit on top of the casket. Admiring it before he burst again.”I love my dead gay son!”

 After that, things dwindled down. Sam made his way to the front, giving a speech on behalf of the team. It’s kind words, you noticed, possibly easier for him to talk about the team rather than his friend. It was the only speech of the day that didn’t leave you feeling like shit.

 Bucky surprisingly had come to the service, choosing to sit in the back with shades covering his most likely tired eyes. He gave a small wave on your way in, ignoring how it made Peter pull you in tighter to his side. Considering how different Peter had been acting, you didn’t wave back, worried with what it could bring next.

 At this point in time, there was no way to label what you thought Peter was. All you did know was that you didn’t want whatever it is he wanted from you. Be it his partner in crime (literally), friendship, relationship, anything. You were absolutely done.

 “Let’s get out of here.” Peter grumbled, making you notice that the service had come to an end. Nodding your head, you climbed up from the pew and followed the line of people slowly making their way out towards the front of the building.

 “Uh Peter!” A male voice called out from behind you two, causing you to stop in place. The very much dorky, but relaxed Mr. Lang jogged over to the two of you. Giving you both a sympathetic smile as he patted Peter’s shoulder. “I was hoping to get a word with you. I had a brilliant idea on how to get word out to the public about teen suicide. We have a news team coming in this week to interview some of the student body.”

 Great, now the national news will hear about this..

 “That’s fine, Sir. I can have something written up tonight.” He shrugged, looking confused at what Mr. Lang’s intentions were. 

 “That’s great. We’ll be able to talk about the importance of suicide and how we can work together to bring it into light.” He clapped, proud of himself for some reason. 

 “You mean the importance of preventing suicide, right?” You spoke up, feeling a little unease with how excited Mr. Lang sounded with the news coming in. The older brunette looked down at you curiously before he blinked at what you said. 

 “Of course that’s what I mean..duh.” He chuckled, clapping at Peter’s shoulder before he asked for a moment alone. Needing a breather from the two of them, you happily made your way outside alone. Standing by the car as you waited for Peter come back out. 

 “Hey, Blue.”

 Turning you noticed Ned coming up to you. His appearance was haggard and he had a tired look in his eyes. “Hey, Ned.” You replied back, scooting up from the car to walk over to him. “How are you?” 

 He pursed his lips, frowning down at the ground at your question. “I’m kinda unsure how to answer honestly. Been..thinking a lot.” You nodded your head, feeling sort of the same way. “It’s uh sad what happened to Brock and John, isn’t it?”

 “Is it?” You said before you could think. It sounded a lot worse than you intended. “They used to hurt you…why would it be sad?” You added after. Needing to continue to make their deaths seem more reasonable to you. 

 “Yeah, but it’s a human life..shouldn’t be just killed off for nothing, right?”

 You meet Ned’s gaze anymore. His question sounded more pointed than you would have liked. “Well, they decided to kill themselves..so..” The shorter man scoffed at that, causing your hands to become sweaty at the way the conversation was going. 

 “Did Peter ever tell you about MJ?” 

 Looking up at Ned, you’re finally met with his sad expression. “What?” You asked confused. Only having heard of MJ once before. “Why would he talk to me about an old friend?”

 “Well, they were together for a while.” He shrugged, kicking a pebble towards the car. “You remind me a lot of her..except…” Raising a brow, you waited for him to finish his sentence until you caught where he had been looking now. Peter, with a glare had come out of the building finally, and was making his way over to where the two of you were now.

 “Ned?” You asked softly, wanting to hear what he had left to say. “Except for what?”

 Peter was closer than ever now, the slight jingle in his keys grew louder. Ned pulled you in for a friendly hug, putting it so that he could lean up in time and whisper a chilling few words into your ear. 

 “She had the guts to tell Peter no.”

  It’s a few hours later, after saying goodbye to Ned at the funeral, and eating a quiet lunch with Peter at the diner that the boy finally approached the front of your house. He cut off the engine a few moments ago, settling for your silence once again as he took your hand in his. Toying with the rings on your fingers affectionately. 

 “So what time should I pick you up for school tomorrow?” 

 A calloused finger brushed against your cheek, causing you to look up at Peter. He was looking at you with deep gentle eyes, something you used to enjoy with him until things began to turn sour. 

 “I don’t think I’ll be going to school.” 

 “Why not?” 

 There was no real reason you could give him, and no answer you could say that would really satisfy him. So instead of hiding away from it, you spilled your thoughts, letting Peter have a piece of your mind. 

 “Because I don’t like what we’ve become, Peter! I don’t like going to school every day and seeing all the pain and hurt we’ve caused the school to feel!” 

 Peter scoffed, releasing your hand from his hold as he ran his long fingers through his hair. “It’s all just a fad to them, Blue. They’re eating up the attention that they give to each other because it makes them feel like better people to speak up about feeling sad. No one gives a real shit about anything.” 

 “I give a shit, Peter! I don’t want my senior year to be filled with murders and sadness! I just wanna graduate and get the hell out of this town!” 

 He reached over and gripped at the back of your neck to pull you in closer. His hot breath slapping your face as he began to grow angry. “You’re gonna finish your damn senior year regardless. Why the fuck do you care about how other people feel? I’m happy! That’s all that should be your worries.” 

 You kept your mouth shut, scared to speak out about how little you care for his happiness at the moment. “I know you’re happy..I just..I need to be alone for now.”

 He didn’t seem to be happy with that but when he didn’t reply back, you took that as the okay and proceeded to make your way out of the car. But before you could get your foot out, he gripped onto your wrist, tightly as he forced you to look over once more. 

 “I will be seeing you soon.”

 A part of you is curious what he meant by soon, but if you truly dived into those kinds of worried thoughts, you might not sleep at night. Nodding instead, you give Peter a small smile, hoping to appease him enough to let you go. 

 Eventually, after another minute of intense staring, he did. Waving you off like you were bothering him. Which honestly, you might have at this point. But being out of his space already felt lighter. It made you feel like weight had been lifted off knowing you could have a small break from Peter. 

 Once inside your room, you quickly made your way upstairs, ignoring the sounds of your father calling out your name. He’d only ask about the funeral anyway. The state of your room was surely a bigger mess than you remembered, but having a moment of clarity from your recent “break up” felt like you could do a change. Starting with cleaning up. 

 The sounds of murmurs from outside your window caught your attention. Normally the neighbors weren’t as loud, or even really home for that matter. Plus, it’s not like someone would have a party after recent events anyway. 

 Pulling your curtains back you crack open the window and stick your head out, looking towards the source of the noise. Which, like all other decisions, you really wish you hadn’t. 

 Bucky paced around his backyard, talking angrily with someone. Though he was loud enough to catch your ears, it wasn’t clear enough to hear what he said. But from the tone of his voice you could tell he was upset. Popping up into view moments later was someone you really didn’t expect; Wanda. 

 Her hair had been cut short, something you didn’t notice at the funeral, and she had changed into a different outfit. Making you think Bucky had called her over. She was looking at him worried, trying to reach out to possibly call him down. What the two were talking about was a complete mystery. Thinking maybe it might be a nice idea to go over and check on them, your idea is completely shut down as you watch Wanda march over and pull Bucky for a deep kiss. 

And when he doesn’t pull away, you decide that maybe a nice long nap would be better than anything else in this world. 

  THREE DAYS LATER

 The sounds of banging on your front door was the first thing that managed to pull you up from your sleep. Which you were only semi thankful for considering you had fallen asleep on the couch for the third night in a row. After witnessing the kiss between Bucky and Wanda, it sort of sealed the deal on skipping out of school for the rest of the week. 

 Your father, who was worried about you, asked whether or not you were okay, worried that you might have the same fate as the most recent students from Westerburg. And while you were feeling low about yourself, you settled with telling him it was just a regular stomach ache. So with that assurance, he left you to stay at home alone for the remainder of the week. Using the time to yourself to watch daytime television and feast on snacks as you tried to not think about your two friends. 

 “Hello?! Blue?!”

 The familiar female voice nearly made you cringe as you tried to blur out the image of the other day out of your head. But since her voice sounded so sincere, you couldn’t help but feel a little bad that you had ignored a few calls to your house that might have been from her.

 A louder knock came this time with a deeper voice calling out to you. 

 “If you don’t let me in, I’m breaking the door down.” 

 “Bucky, you’re not going to do that. You’ll break your foot.”

 “I don’t care, I have to see if she's okay.”

 Groaning at the idea of the very last two people you wanna see being right outside your door, you quickly run to the guest bathroom and fix up your hair. Even if you didn’t want to see them, you knew they couldn’t see you looking like the mess you felt like. 

 “I’m coming in! Count to three!”

 Running back to the door, you make it just in time to unlock everything, and stop the beginning of Bucky’s counting. The bright afternoon sun was bright against your eyes, making you suddenly remember that you weren’t even aware of what time of the day it was. Blinking slowly, you’re met with two pairs of nervous gazes. 

 Wanda, giving out a small sigh of relief gives you a friendly wave. Bucky on the other hand has decided to forgo boundaries and pull you in for a tight hug. Murmuring to himself about your current state. “What are you guys doing here?” You grumbled into his chest. When he noticed that he was squishing you, he pulled you back so that he could cup the sides of your cheeks. 

 “What are we doing here? Are you serious?” He asked, almost insulted by your question. “It’s been three days since anyone at school has seen you. When we asked Peter if he’s seen you, he told us you told him you needed time alone.” A part of you can’t help but melt into his affectionate touch, revelling on the way his thumbs kept rubbing over your cheeks. But the presence of Wanda right beside him, made you feel guilty, pulling back so you could lean against the door frame. 

 “I hadn’t been feeling good since the funeral. Just needed to be home for a while.”

 “And ignore all phone calls?” Wanda piped up, looking at you worriedly. “We’ve both been trying to call you for days. You had us worried that…well we were just thinking the worst, honestly.” Her lips turn into a frown before she glanced over at Bucky. “Had to stop this guy from coming over a couple of times.” 

 Bucky. bashfully looked down at his hands, laughing a little bit before he shook his head at her words. “Didn’t stop you from complaining my ear off about her either. She’s called you everyday from my house. Looking at your window from my room.” The two seemed to share some sort of inside joke at their recent hang outs, making your face grow red in an unjustified anger. 

 “Well, I’m alive. So you guys can go back to whatever it is you were doing.”

 You got ready to close the door on the happy couple when Bucky stopped you. “Wait,” he pushed the door to stay open, stepping in now so he could be closer to you. “Just because we can see you’re alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.” He whispered softly, looking down at you. His blue eyes looked softer at the moment, making your chest feel warm at the way he kept looking at you. “Hang out with us, we ditched school to be with you.” 

 Wanda reached over to grab your hand into hers, giving you such a sincere smile that it almost made you feel guilty again for being mad at her in any kind of sense. If anyone were to be with Bucky now, surely someone like her deserved a kinder boyfriend. “Please hang out with us, we can just hang out here if you want. Or go play croquet in Bucky’s backyard?” 

 The two looked at you now with such puppy dog eyes. Despite everything in you screaming to turn them away, reminding you that you caused most of their recent pains, a tiny little voice in your head pleaded with you. Begging to hang out with people who didn’t hurt you, who didn’t want you to hurt others. 

 “I don’t even know how to play..”

 “I’ll be your best teacher.” Bucky insisted, getting excited at what your answer will be next. Sighing in defeat, you gripped back into Wanda’s hand, giving the two a small smile. 

 “Okay, let’s go.”

  “I think we’re being swindled here, Barnes.” The two stared over at you from the bench, wondering how it was you were winning for the third time. Which if you were being honest, you were wondering the same since this game really was a bit confusing now and then.

 “I’m thinking it was all just an act to make us look bad.” He chuckled, leaning on his elbows as he watched you set up your final hit. For the remainder of the afternoon, the two of them set on giving you praises, feeling the need to shed some positive light in your life. Which honestly at times felt a little too much, but considering there was heart behind their reasoning, you didn’t give much lip about it. Settling for teasing them back now and then.

 “You guys are such bad spectators.” You laughed, feeling a little better when they both gasped. “Sore losers.” You added once you took Bucky out with your hit. Glancing back at them, you noticed that instead of being upset at their loss, the two were looking back at you with happier expressions. 

 “I say that’s the end of that game.” Wanda clapped, throwing her mallet on the grass before she skipped over to you. Her fingers ran gently through your hair before she pulled you in close. “Next time I’m going to get you to play a game I know you’ll do bad at. Like, poker or something.” 

 Bucky, stood up from the bench now to stand on your other side. Looking at you with that too sweet of a gaze that made you feel red in the face. “Or I’ll pick a game I know I can shred the two of you on, like basketball.”

 “Again, such sore losers” you laughed, leaning your head to rest on Wanda’s shoulder. It shouldn’t matter whether or not they were together. The fact was, these two wanted to check if you were okay. Not a lot of people would genuinely do that for you these days. 

 The three of you continued to laugh and joke around with each other as you walked back towards Bucky’s house. The warm breeze of the upcoming summer made the approaching night sky feel comforting. You three were all sharing a couple of sodas (which you surprised Bucky had considering he nursed beers poolside since Steve’s funeral) when a beeping sound hushed the three of you. 

 “Shoot, it’s my brother.” Wanda sighed, looking at the small screen. Picking up the call, she took her leave to the other side of the pool. Leaving you and Bucky alone. 

 “I’m really glad you decided to hang out with us.” Bucky chirped, sitting up from his chair to lean closer to you. The lingering scent of his cool water cologne flooded your senses, making you remember how tightly he held onto you earlier in the day. 

 “Well, I couldn't leave the couple worried about their sad friend.” You joked lamely, twirling the dark soda in the bottle. “But I’m glad I did too. Haven’t had a sort of carefree kind of day in a while.” 

 Bucky’s brows seemed to rise up at your statement. “Couple?” He questioned. Before he could press on to what he wanted to know, Wanda returned back to the chairs, giving you both a small smile. “It looks like my mother wants me home to help out with tonight’s Paprikash.” 

 “Guess that’s sort of the end of this play date.” You laughed, reaching over to gather up some of the empty bottles you guys had gathered up. “Well don’t end things so soon because of me. The night is young.” Wanda interjected, pointing up to the gradient purple sky. “You guys have the rest of the night to hang out.” 

 Staring at her curiously, you were about to ask her why she’d be comfortable with that before she winked over at Bucky, making the man blush a bit as he shook his head at the girl. “You two have fun, okay?” She smiled, waving goodbye before she made her exit through the back gate. 

 “What’s that about?” 

 Bucky shrugged his shoulders, continuing to look at his bottle now rather than meet your gaze. Making you wonder why he was suddenly more nervous again. Was it because Wanda had left? Did he maybe feel like he shouldn’t be alone with you?

 “I can leave if you want me to?” You offered, unsure of what you could do to make him feel better. His head snapped up, shaking quickly at the notion. 

 “No!” He croaked, clearing his throat quickly. Placing his bottle on the floor, he moved over to sit next to you on your lounge chair, pulling your feet to rest on his lap so he could be as close as he could. “I don’t want you to leave.”

 “It’s okay, Bucky. I promise you nothing bad will happen if I go home. I don’t want to make Wanda upset by me staying here any longer than I need to be.”

 “Why would Wanda be upset? She just said you should stay..”

 Frowning at how he seemed to think you weren’t obvious to their newest relationship, you pulled your legs off his lap so you could sit up and face him better. A small glare plastered on your face as you said the words you dreaded admitting to all night. “Because you and her are together. I can’t just stay late at my friend’s boyfriend’s house.”

 Bucky nearly choked as he sputtered out words to you. His hands gripped at your shoulders to keep you from getting up as he tried to formulate a reply. “Wait, I’m confused. When did you think she and I got together?”

 “Bucky, you can’t possibly think that I’m dumb. I’m literally your neighbor.” You pointed over towards your window. “I saw the two of you kiss the other day. It was so..passionate. You seemed pretty into it. Then today you guys both come over and check on me, telling me you’ve been together the whole time. It’s clear as day, Buck.”

 Instead of saying anything, Bucky can only stare back at you. Brows knitted together with his lips pursed. “Look, I get it. She’s amazing. Any guy would be lucky to have her.” Reaching over to cup the side of his cheek, you hold yourself from leaning in to kiss him before you speak again. “And she’s lucky to have someone like you. But I shouldn’t stay. Or else..”

 Not wanting to finish that sentence, you begin to get up when he reaches out to hold you in place. Using his hands to grip at your hips so that you could still be so close to him. “Or else?”

 “Or else I might do something I regret..”

 “Like what?”

 He leaned in closer, brushing his nose up against yours, eyes drifting close as he waited for you to make the next move. Without really thinking of the consequences, you close the gap between you two and press your lips together. Tasting just the small hint of the grape soda that he had been drinking moments before. 

 One of his hands snaked up from your hips, pressing against the side of your body before it found its place at the back of your neck, deepening the kiss further. You almost hate yourself for how much you enjoyed every second of this. Bucky was truly the only thing these days that made you feel so light and happy inside, but every time you took a step into that happiness, you were reminded by how guilty you should feel from it. Especially now.

 “I’m not with Wanda.” He said against your mouth, pressing down to give soft kisses to your jawline. “What you saw was Wanda reminding me that I can’t move on from you.” He admitted, pulling back a little to give you a break from his lips. 

 “What?” 

 “I was arguing with her, telling her that I have to move on from you because even though I see you walking around with that piece of shit, Peter. I have to give you the space. Let you be happy..it’s what you’d want for me.”

 The hand at your hip began to draw small circles at the small inch of skin that peaked out above your stomach, making you tickle a bit before relaxing into his touch. “She argued that you and Peter weren’t good together. That she sensed you would need us by your side. It was when I said I wanted to move on from you that she rushed in to kiss me. Asking if I enjoyed that in any sense.”

 “What did she mean by that?”

 He tilted his head, looking at you with a sad smile as he brought his hand up to caress your face gently. “Before you, I didn’t feel the need to be with one girl. Hell, sometimes I’d be with two girls before I’d move on. It was so easy then, making out, fooling around with anyone that I liked.” The tip of his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, almost inviting you to spread your lips apart again. “But then you came along. And just like that, I’m ruined.”

 A lump began to crawl up your throat, feeling so utterly wrecked that last sentence. Were you supposed to be happy? Yes. Were you? A little. But Bucky couldn’t know why you were so hesitant. Surely, any admittance to the truth would destroy him. But that knowledge didn’t stop the small voice in your head that sought for his help so desperately. All he seemed to do was want to help you, make you feel better, make you feel good. And you couldn’t let him. You didn’t want to let him. 

 “I’m sorry if seeing that made you feel like we were together, but I have to be honest, Blue. I only want to be with you. Regardless of what you might think or say, I can’t change how I’ve been feeling. All I want is you. And I know you’re with Peter right now, but-“

 “I broke up with Peter.” You blurted, not realizing in the hope you’d given him with the small truth. “I told him I needed a few days alone..but I don’t want to be with him..I can’t..”

 A beautiful smile spread over Bucky’s face as he took in what you said, making him lean in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know that shouldn’t make me so happy, but it does.” 

 “But Bucky, I meant what I said in the hallway, I just make things worse for you. It’s all I’ve been doing since I got here.” His head shook quickly, pressing even more loving kisses against your forehead and cheeks. 

 “I don’t care what you think you do. I’m telling you now that all I feel when we’re outside of that stupid school is happy. You make me happy, Blue. Even when it’s you doing something simple like talking about movies while getting drunk or kicking my ass in games.”

 His admittance is so..genuine. It’s needy like when Peter would speak with you, but instead of being more so with the needs of what he wanted, it was him praising the things you gave him by being yourself. You didn’t have to hurt anyone or join him in anything harmful to make him happy. But Bucky couldn’t forgive you for all that, Peter already knew and still wanted you. Could you say the same for your friend?

 “You don’t have to say anything right away.” Bucky added when he noticed how quiet you had gone. “I just wanted you to know how I feel so there’s no confusion.” Pressing one last kiss to your lips he pulled away from you finally, giving you breathing room to help clear your mind. “We can always talk about what you want to do later, okay?”

 Nodding your head, you give Bucky a small smile before pulling him back into your embrace again for a well needed hug. “I’m glad you decided to check on me today..I wasn’t..I haven’t felt happy with myself in a while..”

 His hand rubbed at your back, pushing the two of you to lie together on the chair as he hugged you tightly. “I know how you feel. I haven’t felt as happy everyday as I used to.”

 “Well, I guess if we were happy every day of our lives, we wouldn’t be human beings. We’d be more like game show hosts, right?”

 He chuckled a little bit, making his chest vibrate against your cheek. It was so comforting, you felt like you could sleep with that sound. “I guess you’re right, but if everyday was being happy with you, I wouldn’t mind it so much.” Looking up from his chest, you caught sight of Bucky happily staring down at you, making you blush a bit from his warm gaze. 

 “You’re really laying it on thick, Barnes.” You teased, leaning up to peck at his lips gently. Even if you knew you couldn’t enjoy this moment forever, there was no way to deny him the affectionate touches and kisses you wished to give him for so long. 

 “A little bit, but I think you like it.”

 “Sure, or you want me to like it.”

 “Is that so wrong?” He asked, continuing to rub gently at your back. The night sky had grown darker in the past few minutes, making your eyes droop a bit with a sudden tiredness. If Bucky had wanted to go inside by now, he didn’t make a point to tell you so. In fact, he adjusted you a bit better so that you were laying on top of his body now. Making it more comfortable for you both.

 “No, it’s not wrong.” You sighed, giving in to the slight sleepiness that was coming in. He hummed at that, closing his eyes as he relaxed against the chair, looking peaceful before he urged your head to rest back down against his chest. 

  Eventually the night did come to an end. Bucky’s sister sheepishly had made noise when she stepped out to check on her brother when he hadn’t come in for dinner. The two of you must have looked like deer caught in the headlights when you woke up. Both of you had napped for a couple of hours after your talk. 

 Bucky had walked you back home, making sure you were okay and back inside before he went off to bed himself. He promised you to give you time to make a choice on what you wanted with him, and while you wanted to deny him again, the small smile that lingered on his face from before caused the words to die in your mouth. Making you instead settle on giving him a sweet goodnight kiss. Which he happily turned into a small make out kiss instead. 

 The only thing that truly drove you two apart was the familiar sounds of a car wheel screeching down the street. Something that made you anxious as you watched Bucky enter back inside his home from your window.

 Figuring it was just your nerves and anxiety from the past few days, you made your way back up to your room. Checking in with your father briefly before you wished him a goodnight. The lingering touches from Bucky still feathered across parts of your body as you got ready for bed. Reaching over for your diary, you’re about to make a very happy entry for once when you notice it wasn’t in its usual place. Panicking for a second, you try to recall where you left it last when you notice the blue book sitting open on your desk. 

 Picking it up, you read over the handwriting that looks like yours, with words that you never wrote down. A deep pit of fear builds up finally. Giving you the final clue on what it was Peter would plan next. Reaching for your phone, you dial the number of the one person you could turn to right now.

 “I guess my kiss left you wanting more. I thought you wanted to get some sleep.”

 “Bucky, we need to talk.”

 “Are you alright?”

 “I have to tell you something...Meet me outside?”

 “..I’ll be right out.”

 Dearest Diary,

 Tonight I’m making my final entry. It was after realizing that I’ve cheated on my dear boyfriend Peter with my idiotic neighbor, that I realized I cannot continue my life of sadness and deceit anymore.I’ve hurt and ruined the lives of so many people. I hope my dear boyfriend can forgive me for the hurt I’ve caused him. Please give him all my love. It’s what he deserves.

 Yours, 

Little Blue Bird

tag requests: @edgycatx

[cindersandroses]

Digital Get Down, Chapter 5

AUTHORS: cindersandroses ( losille2000 and cinderella1181)

CHAPTERS: 5/?

PAIRING: Actor!Henry Cavill/ Plus-Size OFC

GENRE: Romance/Fluff/HUMOR

FIC SUMMARY: When SuperHank met OrcPrincessPeach on the World of Warcraft message boards, it was love at first raid. Now, almost a year later, they’re ready to take the next step and meet in person. Half a world away from each other, both decide to meet in Atlanta for DragonCon, since she was already going to be there for her work as a game designer at Blizzard… never mind that she is a devout nerd. They both have to face the fact that reality is very different from a digital world.

RATING: Mature

WARNING: Mentions of assault.

AUTHORS NOTES: Love you all!

Also on AO3!

Chapter 5

Opal turned to the side as she looked at herself in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door. She smoothed the front of her dress over her rounded belly and picked at the slight ruching that was meant to help hide her imperfections along with the black color of the dress, but it did neither. There’d be no hiding anything. This was about as bodycon as one could get, and indeed she bought it a long time ago because she thought she looked hot in the form fitting silk. As soon as she got it home, though, and really looked at herself wearing it in the harsh light of day, she put it away, in the back of her closet with the other beautiful clothes she’d bought but never found the courage to wear.  

That was changing. Now. Today. Okay, not today. But as soon as she walked back into her house. She planned to go straight to her closet and pull them all out and wear each of them as soon as she had the right opportunity or occasion. Considering that most of them were on the fancier side of things, meant for dates, she figured she’d have more chances to wear them now, anyway.

Even though she and Henry would literally be halfway across the globe from each other after this weekend. She couldn’t dwell on that fact, though. If she did, then the sadness set in. She refused to let that particular emotion claw its way back. They’d make it work if it was going to work. It wasn’t like she couldn’t just take her computer places and work there.

If she could convince her boss to allow frequent trips.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t also spend part of his time in Los Angeles. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Henry walked by behind her, drawing her attention away from those troubling thoughts. He fumbled with the cufflink on his left shirt cuff. She was going to make a quip about it, but the words died on her lips when she noticed he looked at her like a fat kid looked at cake. He licked his lips, smiled, and walked into the bathroom.

She couldn’t help but blush. She never would’ve believed he was truly stealing glances at her, but that notion had been squashed earlier at the spa. In fact, now she was hyper aware of his long, molten stares. 

And it was all because of the wonderful esthetician who completed her facial after their massage. What had started out as a traumatic experience ended up making her feel the most confident she’d ever felt in her own skin, thanks in part to Jessa the esthetician’s enlightening conversation. 

“He’s looking at you like you are the purest water and he’s just had some hot sauce.” 

Opal giggled, and blushed, looking at the woman.  “I just keep thinking he’s going to be like, ‘Ugh, not my type’ and leave, Jessa.” 

“Girl, please. You got one of those peach bottoms that men love to get a handful of. You already got him eating out of your hand, he’s not stopped glancing over here this whole time,” Jessa said, putting her hand on her hip. “And if he does do that, I got a handful of fine brothers who would eat that peach bottom up. So you just let Jessa know and I’ll hook you up.”

The comment made Opal laugh loudly, disturbing the serenity of the spa and resulted in a few perturbed glares from other clients. Henry had glanced up, one eyebrow raised in interest. She smiled at him sweetly and he went back to his shave. Opal smiled. “Thank you, Jessa. I’ll keep you updated.”  

Opal had made sure to slip Jessa an extra tip, even though she was sure Henry had tipped everyone well. Stingy wasn’t really a word she would use to describe this man, not materially or emotionally. 

Or physically.

Definitely not physically. He liked touching. Being affectionate.

She did not; or, more aptly, she was not used to it in the romantic sense. But she wasn’t even that affectionate with her family. There were a few hugs here and there as a child, but they weren’t overly huggy. And then there was the other thing he didn’t know about, because she never talked about it, that prevented her from initially enjoying his touches.

It was getting easier, though, the more he touched her. She found, with some relief, that she actually quite liked being close to him in that way. Perhaps there was hope for her, after all.

Opal moved away from the mirror and followed his trail to the bathroom. She rested a hip on the door jamb and watched him finish his grooming. He saw her in the mirror and smiled. 

“Like what you see?” he asked, that insidious brow raised.

“Nah,” she said with a grin. “I was just thinking about how you use twice the product I do.”

Henry rubbed his hands on a hand towel to remove the remnants of whatever moisturizer he’d used on his freshly shaved jaw. “That’s because it takes a lot to make me look this good. You’re already bloody gorgeous, so you don’t need it.”

Her cheeks heated and she shifted her weight awkwardly on her bare feet. Why were compliments so difficult to take? 

“And as an answer to your question, I do like what I see,” she replied. “I appreciate your efforts. But I also love getting to just observe each other. That’s what we were missing over the last year.”

Henry stopped and smiled at her. “I watched you getting ready, and that’s why I’m so behind. I couldn’t stop watching you. You are enchanting,” he whispered. 

The air caught in her lungs upon hearing the deep gravelliness of his sentiment. He closed the distance between them. The hunger, the lust, the pain, the joy, the need, all passed across his face. He leaned down and brushed his lips across her temple.  “We’re going to make a hell of a couple tonight, Princess.”

“Yes, we are,” she replied breathlessly. 

“Let me finish getting ready. You are distracting.” 

Opal giggled. “Pot, kettle.” 

She moved away from the door and went back to the bed to struggle into the sky high heels she had thought would be great to wear, but now she regretted the decision to pack them. Her feet were going to ache by the end of the night. But--the minx inside her reminded--that could possibly lead to another massage. This time, just with Henry. 

As she finished up the last buckle on the strappy things and stretched her legs out to check how they looked, she noticed Henry watching from across the room with a glazed look in his eyes. She laughed at him, because it was the exact same look she’d had as he secured the waistcoat around his trim torso.  “This… me putting on shoes shut you down?”

Henry reanimated with a shrug. “I have a thing for really high strappy, almost slutty, heels. Nothing like…” He stopped and blushed slightly. “Uh, never mind.”

Opal stood up and went over to him, just barely shorter than him now, and grinned. “I will have to remember that for later,” she replied. 

“Oh, god, please do. Bonus points for silk stockings and the whole belt contraption,” he murmured.

She giggled. “You know, men and women are so different. You want the littlest piece of clothing on me, but I’d rather see you in a three piece suit.”

“I can fuck in a three piece suit just as well as I can without,” he teased.

His comment, and the harsh word, caught her off guard. Taking the opportunity, he went over to grab his cell phone. He beckoned her with a crooked finger. “Come here.” 

She didn’t ask for clarification or even think about it; her feet in their dangerous footwear moved of their volition. When she reached him, he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her head, all while snapping a quick picture. He looked at it, smiled, and turned it around for her to view.

Her cheeks were high with color. Her skin glowed; her eyes sparkled. Her smile showed almost every one of her teeth. Everything about it made her seem so vital, so alive, so… beautiful. She had never seen herself so happy. Simply being near him made her want to beam from ear to ear. 

He smiled softly. “Now you see what I see when I look at you.”

“I don’t always look like this,” she protested.

“You do,” he replied. “Let me send this to you so you can send it to Amber.”

Opal shifted uncomfortably. She’d completely forgotten about sending Amber a picture. What kind of friend was she, anyway? 

“We can’t bring our phones tonight,” he explained. “Something about making sure nothing unflattering gets out.” 

Opal looked up at him and nodded. “Okay. Let me just send Amber a text telling her I’m going out for the night.” 

She saved the picture to her phone and opened up the text stream with her friend. She took the picture, sent it, and wrote, “I don’t think I ever expected my Hank to be this real. Going out for the night. Talk to you in the morning.”

She plugged her phone in, stood up, and took Henry’s hand. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

 ~~~

Opal stood in the atrium of the Georgia Aquarium and sighed. She was enchanted. She’d been here a ton of times before at previous cons, but never on a night specifically designed to be an intimate cocktail party with all of the con’s celebrity guests.  

What actually was her life right now? 

Henry talked to Dany and Dwayne, and she couldn’t get over the fact that she was standing next to The Rock. How many times had she sat next to her brothers while they watched this giant man wrestle? If someone had told her this was going to be her life when she left Los Angeles the night before, she’d have told them they were lying. It was all a little surreal.

Dany smiled at her, obviously picking up on the fact that she had zoned out and had literal stars in her eyes.  “So, Opal, what do you do?” 

Opal hummed and blinked at her. “Yeah, sorry. I’m a designer and programmer for Blizzard. I have been there, oh gosh, almost ten years now. Best job I have ever had.”

“And you live with?” Dany inquired. 

Opal understood Dany’s reticence to accept her into the group. Dany didn’t want anything to harm the business, and even though she seemed tough, she clearly cared deeply for both men as friends. Still, though, Opal didn’t think she gave off a crazy fan vibe.

“My best friend, from like middle school,” Opal said, moving to stand closer to Dany. She leaned in to speak quietly.  “I know you’re worried about me using him, I get that, trust me. If I was in your position I would, too. But honestly, Dany, I didn’t even know he was him… until this morning when I arrived. I just thought he was a dorky British guy named Hank. That was it. In the months leading up to this I just got to know his heart and who he is, not Henry Cavill, God’s gift to women. I knew SuperHank, the cleric who runs around healing people, because he is that guy. I got to know the Hank who was shy and loved to cook and gets excited about Warhammer and new fantasy novels. Who tells me constantly that I am worthy and beautiful.” 

Dany beamed at her. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” 

“And frankly, you scare me a little bit, so I won’t do anything untoward,” Opal said.

Dany laughed and flexed a bicep. “Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t.”

“But seriously, Opal,” she said and grabbed Opal’s hand. “He needs someone he can love with his whole being, and I’ve never seen him happier than when he has spoken to me about you.” She squeezed her hand. “It’s not going to be easy, but I promise to make sure you’re okay and safe, and that you can be with him.”

Opal grinned. “He is pretty special.” She looked beside her, expecting to find him there.  “And... gone, apparently.”

Lauren smiled at her.  “He and Dwayne went to get some drinks.” 

Opal felt her stomach clench. She tried to smile, but before she could muster one, Henry was back by her side. He handed her a flute of champagne. “Here, Princess.” 

Opal took the glass from him and didn’t say a word. Her jaw clenched and it took everything in her to stop her hand from shaking. 

Henry frowned. “Is that okay? Do you want something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine,” she replied and tried to smile again. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it came off as more of a grimace because of the expression Henry returned. He knew something was wrong, but the words to explain it to him failed to form on her tongue.

Not that she really had the chance to say anything, anyway. A loud, booming voice rang out across the atrium, “LITTLE BRUDDA!!!”

Opal spun around and watched in abject horror as two grown men raced towards each other and chest bumped each other like drunken frat boys.

Dwayne shook his head.  “Seriously, you two? We’re in public.” 

Henry came back and smiled.  “Jason, my man, this… is Opal.” 

Jason looked at her, his eyebrow raised.  “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Jason…” He took her free hand and kissed the back of it. “If he gives you any trouble, let me know.”

Opal blushed. “Thank you. I will.”

Dazzled once more by the Man Also Known As Khal Drogo, Henry startled her with a hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him, still holding the flute from which she had not yet had a drop of champagne.

Henry leaned down into her ear. “Do you want me to get something else for you?”

She shook her head.  “No, I just, uh… I’m going to get my own drink.” 

She excused herself and headed over to the bar, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t running away from him and running away from the conversation she should have already had with him, even before they both decided to meet here in Atlanta. 

She wasn’t in line long when she felt his presence behind her. 

“Are you okay?” he asked again, concern written all over his face.

“I am, honestly. I just… well… it’s stupid. I don’t drink anything that I don’t see poured myself, and I very rarely drink alcohol in public. I should have told you. It’s just my hang up and, gah... I’m sorry I freaked out a little bit.”

Henry’s eyebrows knit together. He nodded, but he clearly wanted more. 

“Let me get my drink and we’ll take a walk and talk, okay?” she asked, hoping to smooth things over.

He nodded and stood quietly with her. Even though he was clearly confused and maybe a little angry, his presence was still one that calmed her and she found herself resting against his sturdy bulk as they waited. Opal ordered her cranberry juice in a martini glass. To anyone other than herself and Henry, it looked like a Cosmo. It was her fallback when she wanted to hang out with the cool kids but didn’t want to do what the cool kids were doing. Because that one time she did what the cool kids were doing? She lived to regret it.

She took his hand and started to walk through the first exhibit. Opal paused at a tube enclosure in the middle of the room full of jellies. A black light shone down into the water, illuminating the sea creatures as they performed a graceful, haunting dance around their tank. She stood quietly, Henry standing next to her, silent, thinking. 

Finally, she cleared her throat from the heavy emotion making it difficult to breathe. “I was drugged.”

Henry’s fingers curled into her back. Though he tried to mask the sharp intake of air, his gasp was still audible. “Opal, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” she said, just barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t just that. Amber and I were freshmen in college and I wanted to fit in. We went to a frat party. A guy we had art history with invited us.”

His anger was palpable; it wasn’t anger directed at her, though. Somehow, she knew that, as she stared at the gelatinous orbs bobbing through the water. She took a sip of the cranberry juice before moving on.

“I woke up the next morning, head fuzzy, in a room I had never seen before, and my panties around my ankles.” She braved a look up at Henry, to gauge his reaction. The sharp line of his jaw was set, his rage evident.

For some reason, it was cathartic to share this secret with another human. Amber knew, of course. Amber had nursed her back from the brink after they got home from the hospital.

“It’s the reason I pull away sometimes when you touch me, and the reason I am so unsure of myself. I’m sorry I never told you before, but you have a right to know.”

Henry didn’t speak; he looked at a point beyond her, staring in stony silence for the longest time. He finally tore his focus away from that point and gazed down at her. His face spoke volumes, even before his words did. He rested his chin on her head and wrapped her in his arms. “You know I would never, ever do that.”

“Oh, no, I do! I just… I want so badly for you to touch me, to be yours, I just need… time,” she said. “I don’t even know if I’m actually a virgin or not. I don’t know what they did to me. The next morning, Amber took me to the ER and a rape kit was done, but it was inconclusive. I’m sorry if this changes the way you feel about being with me.”

Henry pulled away from her and put his drink on the floor. He took her face gently in his hands. “I never, ever would feel any different about you. I just… I understand now.” He kissed her forehead, but didn’t move his lips from the spot they’d touched. His next words were muffled, but the meaning behind them was everything. “My promise to you is that I will not hurt you, and it’s all going to be at your pace.”

She smiled and pushed his hands away from her face. With her free hand, she reached up and let her hand rest on the nape of his neck. “Well, then, we can do this, cause I’m very ready for it.” 

With little strength, she pulled him down to her and kissed him. It wasn’t passionate or chaste; it was somewhere in the middle. A reassurance. A promise. Her promise to be as open with him as possible. His cue that she was okay with him pushing her boundaries. And she loved him for it.

[acciocriativity]

The First Meeting ||Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x You

Summary: Your life takes a 360º turn when you discover that you are a witch and that you are going to study and live in a world completely different from yours. In the midst of so much change, you meet a boy who is feeling the same. 

 

Word Count: 2.4k

N / A: This is the first fanfic that I am posting on Tumblr, so it would be very important to me if you leave your opinion here and also English it's not my first language, if I made a mistake, I'll like to know and correct it.

 The day started rainy, which is not surprising considering that I am in England, more specifically in the city of London. However, I, as an immigrant from hot lands, consider rainy days bad luck, because something always happens wrong. 

And to my despair, today was supposed to be perfect. 

It was only a month ago that I discovered to be a witch and for my happiness, it has nothing to do with pointy noses and pure evil. Apparently the only similarity is the hats, since in the two moments I was around real wizards, I saw several people wearing them.

 My family, for the most part, being a completely devout Catholic, did not accept my new reality so well, not to say it was hell on Earth. In short, if I went, I wouldn't be able to set foot in the house again, as they weren't going to house a sinful witch. 

That bearded gentleman was kind enough to help me find another place to stay, while my parents would think better of it. Although I was unable to thank him or at least speak after being expelled from my home, or old home.

 

I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron ever since, but because of the latest events in my life, I just went out to buy the materials. Being a witch had cost me a lot and I wasn't ready to face that until yesterday. It took me a long time to decide whether to go to Hogwarts or not, but now the certainty that I made the right choice was growing in my chest. 

 Right after having breakfast at one of the bar tables, I waited seated by the person in charge who would accompany me to Kings Cross station, where I was supposed to catch a train. I knew about it the same day that I discovered the magical world but only today I was anxious for that. I must admit that I imagined that we would fly, obviously all the stories lied to all the non-magical children on Earth.  

A few minutes later, a man in a turban appeared through the door and walked towards me, his expression showing no particular emotion when entering or even seeing me sitting, but what scared me was the fragility and fear in his voice.

- Miss Garcia, good morning, are you ready to leave? - He leaned on one leg while looking around worriedly. 

- Yes sir .. is everything ok ?? The bathroom is on that side - I knew it was inconvenient but I couldn't hold my curiosity as I watched his expression change.

- It will be a short trip but we must go now, to not risk losing the train, let's go - his posture was suddenly rigid and his face looked shaken but this time, I kept my thoughts to myself.

 At least he was kind enough to help me with the two suitcases, which were quite heavy due to the amount of books that were inside, I got some History of Magic extra books to learn more about that world. 

And he was not wrong, the path was fast despite the light rain and wet streets. We didn't talk beyond the formalities, I just found out that he is one of my teachers that year, Professor Quirrel and nothing else.

As soon as my feet took a step into the station, the man said goodbye with a nod and left to go his own way with a weird expression, but I didn't care about that for more than 2 seconds. 

I took a deep breath and started to walk following the small crowd of people who would possibly go to work in another city, since I didn't know the way to the platforms. Honestly, I didn't think it would work until I saw the license plate numbers, and I quickly hurried on, because mine was ahead. 

- 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ?? - I stopped walking at the same moment I realized that mistake, there was nothing between 9 and 10 - I don't believe it ... 

 I stood leaning against a wall looking around as if looking for someone, but in fact I wanted to find a miracle or at least an angel who could tell me what to do in that situation. 

Millions of thoughts crossed my mind within 2 minutes, most of them negative, until something drew attention out of my despair, or rather, someone. A red hair had just gone through the wall, it was so fast I could hardly believe my own eyes. 

Two more people did the same before I managed to close my mouth and walk over there, in shaky, uncertain steps. They hadn't noticed me and I thanked them mentally for it, because I wouldn't be able to pronounce a single right word. The good news is that they were certainly wizards, by the way they dressed and the most logical conclusion is that they would know the right way. 

 I waited for everyone to cross to get closer to that wall, I couldn't hear the conversation but I noticed that the right way to enter is to run. Again I took a deep breath and looked around to see if anyone was noticing me, with the station full, my answer came as a quick no. 

 I closed my eyes and ran about three short steps until I felt a sensation unlike anything I had felt so far. The stone wall seemed to have turned into a wind wall and I easily managed to get to the other side. I immediately opened my eyes after hearing the sound of a train and when looking to the side, there he was. The Hogwarts Express was written right in front of the locomotive.  

 It only took me 10 seconds to notice the difference, the clothes were definitely different and there was an absurd amount of children and teenagers, as I was walking closer to the train entrance, more people were showing up, in a way I didn't know how to explain.  

 The trip was smooth to Hogwarts, I found an empty car as soon as I arrived but soon the seats were being filled and I ended up sharing my cabin with two more girls, I soon noticed that they were sisters and that was the initial topic of our conversation. They were nice and helped me get into the current context of the wizarding world, explaining the basics about Hogwarts as well. 

- And he's here, the boy who defeated you-know-who's going to study with us! - the oldest of the brunettes spoke excitedly with a huge smile on her face. 

- One of my friends told me earlier that she met him in the hall, what is he like? - the youngest asked even knowing that none of us would know the answer. 

 This topic remained for a while, until they decided to take a walk on the train while I read, enjoying some quiet time. Honestly, I wouldn't like to be in this boy's shoes, not only because of the tragedies in his life, but also because of the amount of attention, comments and theories about him.

But I cannot deny it, I would like to meet him, who would not be curious after everything that was being commented on? 

 People got in and out of the car where I was sitting and I tried to have a decent conversation with everyone, but then when two older students came to tell us that we should change clothes, as we were arriving. I preferred to wait because a hurried crowd of students wanted to go first, so I ended up being one of the last to get dressed, but one of the first to leave the train. 

 All the way the view had been impressive but nothing had prepared me for the vision I had when I approached the lake, where we were supposed to go. It was dark and it wasn't raining, the moonlight reflected on the water of the Black Lake like a mirror and I was almost sad to see that we were going to cross by boat, because that image would be blurry. 

I could only see the outline of the huge castle on the other side, but it was enough to see all the splendor of that place and for a few seconds I was paralyzed absorbing the beauty of everything around me, until a voice brought me to reality. 

- Only 4 people on each boat, kids! - I glanced at the giant man, who was talking animatedly to some students, before I sat down in an empty space.

 As soon as we reached the other side, we gathered in a small group on the castle entrance stairs to hear one of the teachers. I remained behind and silent as I was paying attention, until I saw someone passing by and right after I felt a foot stepping on top of mine for several seconds. 

- Hey! Can't you see I'm here ?? - I said indignantly but as low as possible looking at the red-haired boy beside me.

- I ... I'm sorry, I didn't see you - he replied without even looking at me, his face turning as red as the color of his hair.

 I thought about replying but as the teacher was still talking, I just preferred to nod, accepting the apology. Only then did I realize that I caught the attention of two more students, a curly haired girl who cast a disapproving look at the redhead but smiled at me gently and at another dark haired boy, who noticed my gaze and shifted his look to the other side immediately. 

 It didn't take more than 15 minutes before we were inside that incredible hall, instead of a concrete ceiling just like outside, above my head was the most beautiful starry sky I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, with floating candles to complete the view. To my relief, it didn't seem like a common thing for most first year students, who talked quietly among themselves so I didn't look like an idiot admiring alone. 

We were instructed to stay in a queue, I had no idea what was going to happen so I was distracted looking at the stars, which never seemed so achievable until that moment. I wish I could go up there and take at least one, but it would be impossible. 

 We walked slowly until we stopped in front of the other students, who were spread out over 4 tables, my eyes never left the illuminated sky and as a result, I didn't notice that I was too close to the boy in front of me.

I got my first embarrassing moment of the year in less than 10 minutes, because I stepped on the cover of the boy in front of me. All the consequences of that went by very quickly before my eyes. In a second I was out of balance and fell, but that's not the worst part. I accidentally pulled his cloak back, the boy fell out of balance and fell with me, his back to me. It hurts, too much. No more than the weight of my humiliation and shame, but it still hurts.

 My face took on a pinkish tinge as I silently prayed that no one noticed, but that's not what happened. Today was definitely not my lucky day. I could hear half the room laughing and half whispering, so I knew for sure that I had made a big impression on people and a bigger one on the Hogwarts floor. 

- Sorry ... I was distracted - I spoke as quietly as possible looking at the ceiling and again at him.

 He didn't look at me for more than 2 seconds before looking away in that same direction and back to me again. His nod was minimal but noticeable and he soon stood up, which I had forgotten to do in those few seconds.

 What surprised me more than anything in the last month was his hand extended to help me, it didn't take me long to accept the help and so I got up and straightened my clothes trying not to show shock. This was an act of kindness that I couldn't expect from my brothers, considering how angry they would be in a situation like this, but other than shame, I couldn't see a hint of anger in his green eyes. 

- I'm really sorry ... - I said again, loud enough that only he could hear me. 

 The director had called everyone's attention, so most had stopped laughing although that redhead from before just stopped after the mini punch that the brunette gave him. 

- It's okay, it will just be another reason for people to talk about me behind my back - he gave me another small smile on the side but his tone was not the happiest. 

- And why?? I don't know who you are - I was curious because I had not met anyone important in the magical world until then.

 I could see a flash of surprise in his expression but before he could answer me, the names started to be called and little by little the children walked to the stool, where the hat was placed on their heads. After that he didn't answer me, no one else had the courage to say a word because they were very anxious to get their turn and also curious, like me, to know which house the famous Harry Potter would go to. 

- Potter, Harry - called the teacher with a serious but serene expression and a different look in her eyes. 

 From then on, the students' not-so-low whispers started again and I, who was already at the Hufflepuff table, could only be surprised to notice that the boy I dragged to my shame was actually Harry Potter himself. I didn't have the courage to look at him for more than 5 seconds, because again the embarrassment consumed me but this time harder. I only looked at him again when the Gryffindor table radiated in cheers and laughter as soon as he was drawn there and then our eyes met for the last time that night.

Harry Potter Masterlist

[when-residents-are-evil]

Entry #3

A/N: I finished entries 3 and 4 this morning uwu I don’t know when I’ll start on the next ones, but they shouldn’t come before this weekend.

 20th April 2018

07h33

Today's missions:

Try hunting

Try fishing

Learn more about villagers

Find a doctor

Learn more about Lords

Stack up on provisions for the day I'll escape (long lasting food, medical stuff, weapons (?), money, etc)

_____________________________________________________________

08h07

I tried fishing with the rod I got a few days ago. It’s a disaster. I can’t stop jumping at every sound I hear and scaring all the fish. This is so damn frustrating, I almost got one but it escaped because a damn squirrel ran up a tree and I squealed. Squealed. It scared all the fish. I tried for 30 more minutes and they wouldn’t come back. So, I got no fish.

I’m also not good at hunting, but still a lot better. I’ve always liked knives, I’m a lot more comfortable with one than a fishing rod, or worse, a gun. I killed a rabbit already. I mean, it was practically dead when I got it anyway, and it took me 3 days to actually catch anything, but it still counts. Should I skin it? How do I get it’s meat? I'm sure I could use it's bones for something, but I don't even know if I have the guts for it.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

_____________________________________________________________

09h11

I spoke to a man named Iulian. Apparently, he's defending the village against the monsters and hunts sometimes. When I asked him if he could help me with the rabbit, he kind of laughed and showed me how to empty an animal and skin it. I almost threw up, but this man was kind enough to take time out of his day and teach me something, I wasn’t going to ruin that. He also explained how to make dried meat. Will write down the process in a new entry. Oh, and he gave me a few tips too, like where's my best chance to find preys, how to approach them silentely, and how to make sure the lycans (that's the name of the monsters, apparently) don't attack me while I hunt. The last thing I need is to become a prey.

I also told him about my fishing problem, but he doesn't know how to fish. So I’m not getting anything from it, I guess. I think I’ll have to learn fishing on my own.

But hey, I’ve got meat!

_____________________________________________________________

11h32

Figured out the fishing problem. The knife.

It’s surprisingly efficient. I’ve got a bunch of fish now. And I even know how to empty them!

I did throw up this time, though.

_____________________________________________________________

19h00

I sold all of my fish to the Duke, along with the fishing rod (he laughed at me, but that’s fair). In exchange for the fishing rod, he cooked me something called 'Ciorba'. It was incredible. I asked him where he got the vegetables, because I’m probably going to need some soon (I’m a terrible gardener). He gave me a few names. This village holds a few hunters, fishermen, gardeners, herbalists, and apparently a doctor! He got me a kilogram of salt, too (for the meat).

I also saw the hunter again. He gave me an approving nod. The rabbit tasted like sweet, sweet victory.

What didn’t taste like victory, on the other hand, is the painful sting in my arm. I think it’s getting infected despite how careful I’ve been. Unless I get my hands on antibiotics, disinfectant or some kind of anti-infection plants, I think I’m headed into some big ass trouble. Hopefully I’m just anxious about nothing. I’ll still try to find that doctor the Duke told me about.

One more thing that’s been bothering me, is my complete lack of defense. I can’t shoot for the life of me and I can’t waste ammo trying, but sooner or later, I’m going to need a better weapon than a knife. My best shot would be something like a machete, but I don’t think I’ll find one here. Maybe I can make one? That would mean needing a forge, though. I’ve got the skills, but not the tools or even the materials. Or maybe I can make one out of bones? I could even try making a lance, but that would need a sturdy piece of wood, or a long enough piece of metal, and I’m not sure where to find one. I should be able to get my hands on an axe somewhere.

Just need to know where I can find it. I’m not even sure the Duke will have one, and if he doesn’t, how long it’ll take him to get one. I’ll probably be dead by the time he has it.

_____________________________________________________________

23h15

They were on the roof just now. It’s a shame this house is so far away from the village. I don’t think it falls under Miranda’s protection (and even if it did, I doubt she'd help anyone who wasn't devout to her anyway). I’m writing to relax, but I’m too scared to light up a candle. It’s almost the full moon tonight, so I don’t have to anyway.

It's been 14 days and I'm really not getting used to those monsters hunting me down. I can't believe this is the safest place around. I really need to up my game.

But that's not what woke me up this time. The infection in my arm is spreading faster than I thought it would. If I don't drain it at the very least, it might turn into a blood infection really fast. I'll cut open the abscess tomorrow, unless I can't go back to sleep. I remember doing that when I was a kid, hopefully it'll work (even if it's a short term solution).

I miss my cats.

[mrsrcbinscn]

Franny’s 30 Day Cover Challenge

Playlist

Franny’s 30 Day Cover Song Challenge: (categories are mostly from here, and here, with some from here, and a couple I made) in September 2020 one of her musician friends challenged her to do the thing and she was like “It seems like a fun way to show everyone what kind of music has influenced me as a musician, singer, songwriter, and just like, person. So I’m going to do it.”

In reality, she recorded most of them in 1-2 days to distract her from how sad she is because Wilbur hates her and he’s sad lmao

It helped a little.

(If you want me to drop the playlist she mentions in #24 let me know, I have it started I can finish it)

TW: mentions of Franny’s political beliefs so tw: politics, an allusion to suicide though the word isn’t directly used, mention of 9/11 and the subsequent invasions...nothing graphic with any of these triggers but worth a forewarning

Day 01 - A song that makes you happy

Honey Spiders by The Parlotones

“The Parlotones are this fantastic indie rock band out of South Africa. And I actually thought about doing their song, uh, Stars Fall Down for day sixteen, but I’m going with Honey Spiders for day 1. There were lots of Parlotones songs, I mean. Push Me to The Floor, We Call This Dancing, Should We Fight Back...but ah, Honey Spiders always puts me in a good mood.”

Day 02 - A song that helps you clear your head

Light of a Clear Blue Morning by Dolly Parton

“I grew up on Dolly, and it’s funny because for the longest time this song wasn’t really on my radar as much as it is now. But when I was twenty-two I was going through something really difficult, and my then-fiance now husband was abroad for work, so I was alone in our apartment and just. Really, profoundly sad and lonely. So I put on a Dolly Parton record and just laid on the bed and Light Of A Clear Blue Morning played and I had a good long cry and felt so much better after that. When I need to think about how to solve a difficult problem, or I feel overwhelmed, I just listen to that song.”

Day 03 - Song you love from a band/artist you hate

Should’ve Been A Cowboy by Toby Keith

“Honestly, he’s called me a nasty lady to my face and I’ve called him a facist enabling pig to his, so I have no qualms openly saying I hate Toby Keith. That being said, Should’ve Been A Cowboy is one of the best country songs of the 90s, undeniably. I loved that song when it came out when I was thirteen, and I still love it.”

Day 04 - A song about drugs or alcohol

Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss

“This is probably cheating, because my lovely best friend Daniel and I cover this a lot at Dara & Danny shows. But today look who I have! My friend Max from Seoul Hanoi’d! Max the Korean Scot who can’t hide his accent to save his life, so let’s see how it sounds in a Scottish accent.”

Day 05 - A protest song

Talking Vietnam Blues by Phil Ochs /// and Here’s to The State of Mississippi by Phil Ochs

“This one was hard because I. Fucking. Love. Protest music. I could have done a whole 30 days of protest music - wow, let me know if I should do that and give my husband a heart attack with all the twitter threats I’ll invite. Huh. Right, so I was going to do Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven by John Prine. But I decided to do two Phil Ochs songs because I don’t think Phil Ochs is talked about enough. It’s a shame we lost him so young. Ochs��� sardonic humor and honesty in his writing has influenced me as a songwriter deeply. When I write political songs, I don’t hold back, and it’s because of Phil Ochs’ writing that I have that courage. I’ve been singing Love Me, I’m A Liberal since I was in college with constantly updating lyrics. It was so hard to even choose which songs of his to do because for his fairly short career his songbook is lengthy and full of gems. I’m Going to Say It Now, Draft Dodger Rag, Spanish Civil War Song, I Ain’t Marching Anymore...I couldn’t pick one so I’m cheating and recording two.”

Day 06 - A song you wish you wrote

When I Think About Cheatin’ by Gretchen Wilson

“I will forever be pissed off that I didn’t write this song. I’m absolute trash for my husband, so it’s never -- I’ve never had to be in a situation to ever consider -- but this song gets me every time. It feels like I could have written it. Because we do spend a lot of time apart travelling for our work. And the sentiment expressed in the song is a little too real.”

Day 07 - A song in a language you don’t speak

Khattar by Khine Htoo

“This will either be a charming attempt to sing in Burmese or I’m about to offend a lot of people. Which, being a politically outspoken woman on the internet, I’m used to anyway. So. 1, 2, 3, okay here goes.”

Day 08 - A song by an artist no longer living

Phop Samnang by Sinn Sisamouth (inspiration)

“Haha, you thought I’d see the name of this category and not do a Sinn Sisamouth song? You were wrong.”

Day 09 - A song you want to dance to at your wedding

Devoted To You by The Everly Brothers

“I’m already married, so this was actually our first dance song at our wedding. Day three of our wedding, like the more Westernized wedding ceremony day. We had a three day long traditional Cambodian wedding and I felt like a princess. An-y-way!”

Day 10 - A song that makes you cry

Borrowed Rooms and Old Wood Floor by Emily Scott Robinson

“Unfortunately, Emily Scott Robinson and I aren’t related. Sad, I know, because she’s so talented. Almost her entire album Traveling Mercies is...sad as hell. The record reminded me of early Dolly Parton, and my second solo album. You know, all those sad-ass songs. The Dress is honestly the song that makes me the saddest but I can’t even listen to it without crying so.”

Day 11 - A song that you love hearing live

Prove My Love  by Violent Femmes

“There is nobody I have seen in concert more than Dolly Parton, but Violent Femmes and George Strait come incredibly close. The Cranberries, the amount of times I saw them in the 90s and early 2000s...close fourth. Probably. The very first concert I dragged my husband to was a Violent Femmes concert, he was not prepared for how hard college me went.”

Day 12 - A song from before 1960 

There Ain’t No Sweet Man That’s Worth The Salt of My Tears by Libby Holman

“This song is from 1928. I came across it when I was in grad school and it’s, as the kids say, a bop.”

Day 13 - A song you think everybody should listen to

White Man’s World by Jason Isbell

“I think perspectives of people of color should of course take precedence in these conversations. But I find this song to be a good faith attempt of a white man coming to terms with the institutional racism and sexism in the world around him. And I think this song can be a useful tool to explain certain concepts of racial justice to ignorant but well-meaning folks. As a woman of color I think Jason Isbell did a great job not centering himself even though it was from his perspective. This song is great musically and necessary socially.”

Day 14 - A song from the 1970s

You’re No Good by Linda Ronstadt

“Linda Ronstadt is grossly underrated, that’s all I have to say here.”

 Day 15 - A song people wouldn’t expect you to like

Racists by Anti-flag

“I mean, I’ve talked about how much I like punk in the past, and I remember a video of Seoul Hanoi’d doing Spanish Bombs at a San Antonio show made the rounds, but I don’t think I’ve talked about how much I like Anti-flag. People don’t expect me to like punk for some reason. But I agree with...everything punk music is all about.”

Day 16 - A song that holds a lot of meaning to you

Blue by LeAnn Rimes

“It’s silly, but I won a county fair singing competition with this song in high school and it really fueled my passion for music, that win. It’s also the first song Cornelius heard me go full Georgia on, with the yodels and all, at the little bar in my hometown on his first trip meeting my parents. The song doesn’t cut to my very soul ot anythin’, but it’s special to me.”

Day 17 - A song attached to a memory

Supernova by Liz Phair

“I remember buying Liz Phair’s Whip-smart album when I was eleven. And in college, when I was getting ready for dates with Cornelius in my dorm room, I would dance around to a CD I burned and wrote on it with a sharpie, ‘Pre-date Movie Scene Music.’ God, what was even on there? I’m about to expose myself as the most basic 1999-2001 bitch. I remember Head Over Feet, I mean, Alanis Morisette? I was a young woman in 2000, obviously I loved her. Mm, Dreams by The Cranberries...oh, Kiss Me, Sixpence None The Richer...yeah, anyway, Supernova was on there.”

Day 18 - A song from the year you were born

Call Me by Blondie

“...I can’t believe Call Me is as old as I am.”

Day 19 - A song that reminds you of someone you miss

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing (yes, of course she does a cover with banjo)

“This was my late best friend Molly’s favorite hymn. And I sang it at her funeral at her husband’s request. Molly and I grew up together in the small town of Payne Lake, Georgia and Molly was the most devout Christian...but she was also the first person I came out to as bisexual when I was a teenager, and she said that Jesus taught her that love was the greatest commandment and that meant I was automatically twice as good at it as her. Her faith guided her every action but she never talked down on her two best friends - Dan(iel Maitland) and I for not sharing it. Molly was doing the whole emulate Jesus thing beautifully. I miss her every day and it’s been seven years. If you ever think that people won’t miss you...you’re wrong. All right, let’s see if I can get through this without crying.”

Day 20 - A song by an artist you discovered this year

Hello, Anxiety by Phum Viphurit

“I just discovered this quirky Thai-Kiwi singer and not to be dramatic, but he’s my favorite thing in the world right now.”

Day 21 - A song with a city or country in the title

Oh! Phnom Penh (track 20)

“This song was written after the fall of the Khmer Rouge, and after people began to make their way to what was left of their homes, alone, or with what was left of their families. If you want to learn more about what that was like to actually live it, my cousin Reena Boran has a video interviewing her parents and paternal grandfather and uncle about it. Reena is a journalism student currently studying in London but she lives in Cambodia. Her mother is my aunt Malisruot, my mother’s youngest sister. The video is English subtitled on her channel, I’ll link it in the description box below.”

Day 22 - A song from the 1960s

To Sir, With Love by Lulu

“I didn’t actually discover this song until I heard it covered at a 10,000 Maniacs concert in the 90s. My friend Allison was standing next to me and I just started crying and she’s like ‘are you okay?’ and all I just blubbered out ‘My dad!’ For the uninitiated, my dad married my mom, who’d raised me alone until then, when I was six and he adopted me when I was eight. My dad didn’t have to adopt me, he didn’t have to call me his daughter, he could have just been like half of my friends’ stepdads and give me a place to live and nothing else. But my dad was my biggest supporter from day one. He convinced my mom to let me join the dance team and show choir instead of science club, he was the one that talked my mom down from probably killing me when they found out I was only studying music and not music and political science at NYU. I am who I am today because he is my dad. And this song just says everything I’ve always thought about him.”

Day 23 - A song from your childhood

Una Lacrima Sul Viso by Bobby Solo

“But Franny, aren’t you a Cambodian raised in the US? Yes, but you were fooled. My very white father is also an immigrant. He is from Switzerland and while he didn’t teach me to speak Italian and German growing up, he played German, Italian, and French records all the time. My parents often spoke to each other in French and I picked up some French but properly studied it starting in high school, and I didn’t study Italian until college -- and my German is still …. [points to a spot on the screen where she later inserted a card linking to a video on her cousin Köbi Framagucci’s YouTube channel titled ‘Can My American Cousin Speak German?’ where he tests her Standard and Swiss German speaking and comprehension]. But hell if I couldn’t sing every one of the songs from my father’s French, German, and Italian record before I knew what the words even meant.”

Day 24 - A song that gives you chill vibes

Glorify by Ivan & Alyosha

“Dan(iel Maitland) and I actually have an entire playlist on my Spotify accounts of songs to listen to to get us out of writers’ block. And one that I often will put on repeat and just absorb through my headphones with my eyes closed is a song called Glorify by Ivan & Alyosha. I think it touches on a lot of the themes I include in my songwriting. Christian mythology, the darker side of humanity, it often reminds me of what I love about songwriting. If you say please I might drop a link to that playlist.”

Day 25 - A song that’s your signature song

Long Gone Lonesome Blues by Hank Williams“Right, so I chose this instead of a Kitty Wells song or I Get A Kick Out of You (her being

featured on a 2005

recording propelled her career majorly) because if you’re familiar with me you might have seen a video that went around in like….2017? 2016? of Dan(iel Maitland) and I doin’ the song at our hometown bar in 2014. I posted it in response to some tweets because hoes mad when a WOC calls out racism and sexism in the Nashville music industry. ‘Bet she don’t even know Hank’, really? You think I wouldn’t know the history of one of the two music industries I work in? Please. Anyway, she knows Hank and nails the incredibly technical yodel -- the

most difficult

one in Hank’s songbook - in Long Gone Lonesome Blues. Mm...Lovesick Blues though, that also strikes fear into my heart. Anyway stay mad I guess?”

Day 26 - A song by your favorite band

Gun Shy by 10,000 Maniacs

“10,000 Maniacs was one of my favorite bands when I was in like 5th grade through 10th. I listened to them for a little while after Natalie Merchant left for a solo career, but the Natalie Merchant era was really what resonated with me the most. Gun Shy was a bit too advanced for my little 5th, 7th grade ears to really appreciate when I first discovered the album In My Tribe. Merchant’s voice -- because like, I don’t have a very conventional voice either, so her and Dolores O’Riordan really changed my entire perspective on what a woman’s voice can sound like in rock music. Um, yeah, so her voice more than the lyrics just wowed me. And as I got closer to graduating high school and especially in college I actually understood what What’s The Matter Here, Hey Jack Kerouac, and Gun Shy were talking about. Gun Shy...really became a significant song to me because...being born in 1980 I grew up in a relatively peaceful time. The Cold War was all but thawed by my tenth birthday. But I was getting ready to leave my then-boyfriend-now-husband’s apartment for class at NYU on the morning of 9/11. We stood in line for hours to donate blood. And then my government invaded two completely unrelated countries and jingoism and terrifying, fervent nationalism, and xenophobia just smacked me in the face. And friends of mine from high school were convicted to drop out of college and join the Army, and died, for an unjust, imperialist war, and suddenly Phil Ochs, John Prine, and Bob Dylan lyrics hit a lot different, and I understood what Gun Shy was really about.”

Day 27 - A song you hate by an artist you love

Mrs.Robinson by Simon & Garfunkel 

“Paul Simon is one of my favorite songwriters ever, um, and I actually used to like Mrs. Robinson….until I got married and everyone sang it at me. It’s kind of my fault, I did choose to take my husband’s last name. And I leaned into it by making my social media handles all Mrs. Robinson...but still. Only play the song around me if you want to die.”

Day 28 - A song that a younger you would have loved

Mean by Taylor Swift

“I’m so genuinely glad that I am older than Taylor Swift. Middle school Franny did not need Taylor Swift to enable me and fuel my ego. Some of her singles, while not really 35 and 40 year old Franny’s cup of tea, young me would have played until my mother hid the record or cassette from me. Although - fuck if Tim McGraw didn’t immediately give my happily married ass flashbacks to my first love and make me bawl like a baby? Right, so when Speak Now came out and I listened to it, Mean, while not a song that adult me has listened to maybe more like ten times, I immediately thought ‘wow, I needed this song when I was in middle and high school.’ I could literally picture 7th grade me with my little guitar and my little cowboy boots my dad bought for me singing this at the talent show making eye contact with the kids who bullied me as if it was some kind of own when it’s not. I could still, almost thirty years later, name them if I really wanted. So, for 7th grade me, Mean by Taylor Swift.”

Day  29- A song that reminds you of your partner/spouse

ផាត់ជាយបណ្តូលចិត្ / Phat Cheay Bon'dol Chet by Sinn Sisamuth (translation) (female singer covering it) (modern, studio recording of a male and female singer dueting it) (a cool violin cover) (another female singer) (cool guitar cover)

Feat. some members of Seoul Hanoi’d. Andy Chaiyaporn (violin), Max Cho (piano), Jodie Batbayar (cello), Aisulu Niyazova-Li (percussion) and Franny has her guitar

“The song, lyrically, only reminds me of my husband a little bit. But Phat Cheay Bondol Chet has several memories with my husband attached to it. The first time he heard me sing in Khmer was at my mother’s house in Atlanta when I had him visit the first time to meet my parents. My mom had a little dinner party at our house to show him off, like Asian moms do when they think their daughter snags a good one, and I was hand washing the dishes while my mom and the other Cambodian parents were listening to Sinn Sisamuth records. I’ve always loved the song I’ll be showing y’all today, like I’ve always just stopped what I was doing and -- so it came on and I just started singing along without really being aware of it. And then at a different diaspora get together that summer, that song came on and I just kinda. Pulled him aside to the side yard of that person’s house to look at the stars with him and translated the song. It’s one of the Khmer songs he instantly recognizes now, so it’s special.”

Franny did NOT say in the video that college her 100% had him sit in the grass with her outside that person’s house, where nobody could see, so she could makeout with him 

 Day 30- A song by one of your favorite songwriters

Reincarnation by Roger Miller

Feat. Seoul Hanoi’d, done more in the style of the Cake cover 

Also instead of singing the lyric “you’re a girl, I’m a boy” she goes “you’re a girl, so am I” because she doesn’t ever change pronouns, she just makes it gay because she is a bi-con

“Roger Miller, to me, is as important as Dolly Parton, Paul Simon, Bob Dylan, in the American songbook. He’s not as talked about which is a shame because his discography is iconic. Getting to be a part of King of The Road was one of the highlights of my career.”

[effortlessly-bored]

The Bucket List - Michael Gray

Chapter 1 l Chapter 2 l Chapter 3

After her meeting with Thomas, Emma had felt particularly triumphant; so, she decided to buy herself a new pair of shoes. They were black leather with a small heel and laces. The woman at the shop had promised her that they would last in Birmingham. Emma begged her neighbour to let her use the phone to call her dad, her nerves amplifying her homesickness. It was a short but sweet conversation, mostly it was just her dad telling her how proud he was. Emma worried about her father a lot, he was different since her mother passed. Emma’s father sounded slightly rushed on the phone like he had somewhere important to be; which was unusual for him.

The rest of her evening consisted of two hours at the Garrison before Harry told her to go home and have a good night's rest before her first day. Emma made herself stew for dinner. It took her thirty minutes to pick and iron her outfit for the next day. Emma made sure everything was ready to go the next morning before she went to bed that night. She didn’t actually fall asleep till the early morning, to unsure and nervous about what the next day would hold for her with both school and Michael.

Meanwhile, Michael was a frantic mess trying to get everything ready to impress Emma the next day. As soon as she left his office he ran into Tommy’s, begging to let him borrow his cousin’s brand new Rolls Royce. After Tommy agreed, Michael ran home to try and find the perfect outfit. He knew she didn’t like his super flashy suits and he wanted to try and play it cool so he chose a more casual choice. Mickey dug through his drawers until he found his favourite tie (it was a colour that Emma had said, and he quotes, “looks super” on him). He took a quick bath and set his alarm for six the next morning, wanting to be ready for everything. Michael didn’t fall asleep till the early morning; to excited to do right by Emma and anxious to see if they could go back to what they once were to relax.

Michael was outside of Emma’s flat fifteen minutes early. He had run to the bakery before arriving, picking up some pastries for her. Emma never ate breakfast. Mickey made sure he looked okay in the side mirror of the car and checked his watch.

He only waited a few minutes before Emma came out. She had a bright smile on her face as did Michael. He recognized the dress she was wearing, it was a blue button-up on top and a navy skirt. She had a beautiful pair of brand new shoes on and half her hair was pinned up.

The first thing Emma noticed was his tie, it was a dark red and brought out his eyes. His suit was more casual and relaxed, making Emma slightly less anxious.

“I like your tie, brings out your eyes,” Emma spoke.

“Thanks, your shoes look nice,” Michael said stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Really? You don’t think they’re too manly?” They were rather masculine.

Michael scoffed, “No! They’re nice, strong, and they’ll last you. Perfect for you.”

There was a short pause. “Is this really your car?”

“Yeah, um, well… no.” Michael finally admits. “I have a car, an Aston actually, but when you said you’d never been in one before, I asked Tommy to borrow this one. He only bought it a month ago.”

Emma walked around the vehicle in pure astonishment, Michael following close behind. Michael opened the door for Emma to get in. He quickly jogged around the front of the car, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Those are for you,” Michael said, pointing to the pastries.

“You didn’t have to do that, Michael.” Emma sighed. She had a sneaking suspicion he was trying very hard to impress her; he even wore his hair her favourite way. The pastries did smell fantastic.

“Please, I know you never eat breakfast; and you need to keep your strength up for today,” Michael explained, starting the engine.

Emma begrudgingly took one, surprised he remembered so many little details about her. It was delicious.

“So, how much does your mother hate me?” Emma asked, after she finished chewing in an attempt to avoid silence.

“Michael let out a slight laugh. “I wouldn’t know, she left to visit my cousin, Ada, in London after she saw me yesterday.”

“Jesus, how many cousins do you have?”

“Ada’s the last one. You’d like her though, she’s a bit of a suffragette like you. She’s got a son, Carl; cute kid.” Michael took his eyes off the road for a second to look at Emma. She looked like joy; smiling wide, eyes bright and sparkly. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a small piece of pastry by the side of her mouth. Nevertheless, she was unabashed and visibly excited.

“Did you end up writing your mum… your adoptive one?”

“No, I haven’t been able to yet. But I looked at the photo, framed it even. The boys look great; tall and buff. They look so grown up.”

“Yeah, James grew a full foot one summer. He’s planning to on going to uni, you know? Wants to be an animal doctor.”

“What about Paul?”

“Last time I saw him he was alright. Got into some trouble at school after you left, but he’s alright now.”

Mikey gave a short grunt before the conversation went into a slough.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, always,” Michael replied, turning a corner.

“Why do you hate George Palmroy so much? I just, I’ve been thinking about it and for the life of me I can’t remember a time when you two were civil to each other.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know about that…”

“Yeah, I really do, Michael.”

“You sure? It was really nothing I swear.”

“Michael, if it was just nothing you wouldn’t be this defensive. Just tell me for God sakes.”

Michael sighed before he said, “Ok fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Do you remember when we were young and your grandparents came to visit and they gave you a dreidel?”

Emma almost never talked about her mother’s heritage. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, she just knew that her mother didn’t like to talk about it. Both of Emma’s grandparents on her mum’s side were Jewish, technically making Emma half. Her mother was never very devout, and when she married Emma’s father she found it was easier to just go to church instead of dealing with the judgment of people in the countryside. Emma’s Bubbe and Zayde still tried to teach her a few things before they passed away.

“Yeah, they were there for Hanukkah.”

“When you brought that dreidel into class, I remember how proud and excited you were about it. And you taught me how to play during break in the courtyard.”

“Yeah, I beat you every time.” Emma teased, smiling fondly at the memory.

“I still think you were cheating.”

“I was not! But, what does this have to do with George?”

“Well, when you went to the washroom George fucking Palmroy came over and started mouthing off to me about you being Jewish.” Michael’s knuckles turned white around the steering wheel as he spoke. “God, I’m so happy you never heard any of it, some of the things he said were just so vile, Em. I kicked the shit out of him for that, wanted to do it every time I saw him since them.” Emma had heard Michael like this before, tense, violent and angry. It usually didn’t last long.

"Thank you,” she squeaked out as Michael composed himself.

Less than a minute later, the Rolls Royce was parked outside ivy-covered gate. It was the first bit of greenery Emma had seen since she moved. Dozens of students were making their way in through the gates, all with a similar air of anxiousness.

It was a weird moment for Michael because he could remember wanting nothing more than being one of those students with Emma. He had imagined them walking through those gates together a million times, and now she was going alone.

Emma was almost wishing he could come with her. The university was feeling more and more daunting by the minute.

“I brought my camera,” Michael said. “ I thought I could take a photo for you to send to your dad.”

“Really? That’s so thoughtful, thank you, Michael.”

“S’no problem.” He mumbled, grabbing the camera from the back seat.

Emma got out of the car, praying that her legs would stop shaking. Michael took a snapshot of her smiling in front of the main gate. He was absolutely sure it would be a beautiful photo.

“What time is your last class?”

“Um, it ends at half-past two.”

“I’ll meet you here then, yeah?”

“Oh, Michael I couldn’t trouble you like that.”

“It’s really no problem, I’ll just take you to the Garrison after.”

“Ok, but promise to figure out how to get here on my own tomorrow. I feel like such a burden.”

“Emma, you have never been and will never be a burden; trust me on that.” Michael answered. “Alright, well I better get going. You’re going to do great today.”

Emma quickly enveloped Michael in a hug, hanging on for dear life. It was the same as every hug they had before, Michael putting his arms around her and Emma resting her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back gently, trying to calm down the nerves he knew she was having. A small tear went down her cheek.

“Just remember, if anyone tries to fuck with you just tell them you’re part of the Peaky Blinders, yeah?” He whispered in her ear.

Emma let out a small laugh, wiping her tears. “I don’t think telling people I’m part of a gang will get me a lot of friends.”

“Fuck these posh pricks, you have all the friends you need in Small Heath. You’re going to do great, Em, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Michael,” Emma said, waving goodbye as she walked into the school.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

What are People to a God?

Okay okay. I know what the blog description says, but it’s my blog and I can go beyond the fandom I said I was writing snippets for.

I’ve had people talking to me about Borderlands over the last few days, and since I have only seen parts of a playthrough of the first and third (my laptop isn’t able to run them), I started researching the third game again lately… And found a garbage child. I got curious and thought I’d test myself to write someone pretty different - Troy Calypso. It was tricky to actually figure out his personality solely from canon, since the focus is more on Tyreen… But I gave it a shot. Be gentle?

Warnings for descriptions of murder under the read more. And Troy being garbage. :D

Word Count: 1,321

-

A God. That’s what he was.

He and Tyreen were going to seize control of this pathetic planet and all the stars around it like no one had ever seen before. Handsome Jack? Who’s that? A nobody compared to the Calypso Twins! They were leaders of a cult - The Children of the Vault - and would travel the galaxy to open the vaults and claim their birthright. Thousands (if not millions) of devout followers who would be willing to cut themselves to pieces if asked. Useless NPCs, the lot of them! They only served a purpose in this grand story: to help the Gods rise to power!

Of course, Tyreen was the one they would always flock to. After all, she was the face of the cult. Her white hair made her a literal beacon amongst the scrap metal and wastelands. Her larger than life personality and cockiness could probably fill the Great Vault itself. Her Siren abilities that brought fear and admiration to all that met her. But she would be nothing without Troy. A parasite, yes, but an intelligent one. He understood how the system worked with the primitive bandits. He learned their games and how to use it to their favour. Now look at them! Streaming to all corners of the world through the ECHOnet, with all the bandits of Pandora at their beck and call!

Money was no issue these days either. They could get all the luxuries they ever wanted. All the comfort, the cutting edge technology, the weapons! It was a far cry from the pathetic upbringing of [REDACTED], where everything was cold, isolated, and worn out. Who cared about that worthless loser anyway? The answer - no one! It only made it so much easier to sacrifice that youth to become Troy Calypso, the God King. No God could rise to power without such a ritual, after all. There was no place in this world to be soft. Tyreen didn’t need a hesitant fool by her side. He was just as worthy as her, parasite or not. He’d die without her, but he needed to make sure all were oblivious to that.

Even if he was always in Tyreen’s shadow, she wouldn’t be who she was without him. But when there was a day she couldn’t host the livestream because of consuming the life essence of someone sickly? Oh, everyone remembered Troy and why they should be scared of him. He was more than just the tall brother with the elongated metal arm. No… He was a threat, just as much as Tyreen.

-

It had been a fun livestream, just Troy and the audience joking around in one of the main arenas, until one of the so-called ‘heretics’ crashed the party. It wasn’t one of the ‘superfans’, just an amateur vault hunter with an ambition to raid and be someone important. Unfortunately, they were no match for the eridian-tier fans, and they were thrown into the pit where Troy was waiting. The ever-faithful droid camera hovered nearby, eager to snap up every good shot it possibly could.

“Well, well, well… Look what trash landed on our doorstep while we’re live.” His height was something used to his advantage in times like these. Troy could raise his head back and pace around the human with a cocky air. “Such a shame my dear sister isn’t here. I’m sure she’d get a kick out of you. Then again… You aren’t really worth much, huh? You’re nothing more than a faceless nobody looking for fifteen minutes of fame. But here you are! You’ve got your fame, and you’ve got the whole world watching! You’re live on the ECHOnet, baby! Why don’t we give our special guest a warm welcome?” He stretched out both arms, giving the bandits present a time to clap and jeer at the rookie hunter at his feet. 

“As you all know, voting’s still underway for the person you want killed next. But what’s the harm in giving all you loyal viewers a little refresher of how we do things around here. You want that, huh? Lemme hear it!” The crowd roared, eager to indulge in a moment of bloodlust. The hunter tried to take the chance to move, but only received a swift kick in the stomach for their actions.

“Ah, ah, ah… Not yet. We haven’t even started our little show. I was even going to let you fight for your life… But nah.” Troy knelt down so he could roughly grab the hunter’s hair with his right hand. When he spoke again, it was in a low voice so only the other could hear. The audience were distracted by the drone, who had taken the time to amp up the excitement by shooting up to record the audience. “I’ll be a merciful God, just this once, and make this as quick as possible. I could draw this out for hours. Start a donation train where for every hundred dollars, you get another life-threatening injury. It’s a shame, you know. You don’t look much older than Tyreen and I when we started streaming. You could’ve had a good life with us, kid.” A light flashing on his arm caught his attention and a wicked grin spread across his lips. It almost looked like his mouth would crack open to reveal something monstrous, but he rose to his feet before anything of the sort happened.

“It seems you’re all eager today. The donations are already starting to pour in, along with comments like ‘hurry up!’ and ‘we want blood!’. Well… Who am I to refuse?” As the camera droid positioned itself, Troy decided what was best to do. What would get the best reaction when the stream ended? An idea hit him as he reached forward again. This time, the prosthetic arm firmly gripped the top of the nobody’s head and lifted them until they were at eye level. “Let’s show them all what the Children of the Vault can do!” With a mental count to ‘three’, he squeezed. The hunter tried to pry the fingers away in agony, but to no avail. After all, what good could mere hands do against metal? While Troy would normally rely on guns or even his favourite sword, he knew there was nothing better than simply squeezing the life out of someone if he was unarmed. A skull was a tough thing, but it would start to crack under the pressure of his grip. His expression grew more manicial as he dug his fingers in harder. Then… The satisfying sound of bone snapping rang through the arena. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed how deathly quiet the audience had become until they let out an almighty roar for the God King. The body was dumped carelessly to the ground as he beckoned for the camera droid.

“I think this is as good a time to wrap up the stream today, folks! A good reminder to all you Vault Hunters out there about what will happen if you ever cross our path. Your God Queen Tyreen will be back in full swing tomorrow, so be sure to tune in and give her all that sweet adoration. And remember: don’t forget to like, follow, and obey. Later!”

He left the thrill of the arena as he returned to his personal quarters. His own space was quiet, and it provided the perfect chance to wash the blood off his hand while it was wet. Blood might look cool, but it could damage the protective coating if allowed to harden over time, and he didn’t want to have to deal with the mess of fixing that with one arm.

As per usual after a stream like that, music was turned on to a near-deafening volume. Anything to drown out that little voice that questioned if what he was doing was right, and if he was worth more than being a psychotic, parasitic murderer.

[seashellrosekitty]

The Last Dance | Prologue

Author’s Note: Here’s my entry to @spxderbarnes Em’s 21st Birthday Writing Challenge! I’m so excited because this is my first Bucky fic (or Marvel fic, rather)! Hope you enjoy this, Em! Happy Birthday, darling!

Plot: 1940s post-war era. Steve and Bucky are brothers and are teenagers, and they never served in the army because they were too young to join during the war. You find out you’re pregnant with Steve’s baby. Both Steve’s and your parents arrange for you and Steve to get married, but Steve declines. Ultimately, his father offers his other son, James (later known as Bucky), to marry you in Steve’s place.

Prompt: 10. “Are you flirting with me?”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (eventually)

Warnings: 18+ content! Teenage pregnancy, arranged marriage, religious theme, sexist theme, music theme, fluff, smut (of course), angst, Steve being a cold jerk (oops), characters coming from the comics (i.e. Bucky’s family)

Word count: 1.7k

Y/N, Y/L/N = Your Name, Your Last Name

P.S. Story starts under the cut.

P.S.S. Tag list is open for this series! For tag requests, send me an Ask!

Summer 1939. Red House, New York.

Y/N Y/L/N was selling lemonade in the park for 15 cents a glass. Every other kid was playing with a loose water hose. At the corner of her eyes, she noticed a young boy her age, seated on a bench alone. He wasn’t sulking or anything, just watching the other kids play. Then she grabbed a fresh glass of lemonade and walked up to him.

“Hi. Do you want some lemonade? This one’s on the house.” The 10-year old girl offered the brunet-haired boy. 

He glanced at her judgingly when he muttered, “Are you flirting with me?”

“No. Why?” she asked, expressing confusion on her face.

“My brother told me that if a girl gives me something, it means she’s flirting with me.”

The little girl laughed and placed the glass of lemonade beside the boy. “It’s just a glass’o lemonade. I’m selling these so I could buy the new Frank Sinatra record,” she stated with sparkling eyes. The boy accepted the glass of lemonade, his face still a questioning look.

“If you’re sellin’ lemonade, then why are you givin’ this to me?”

She shrugged. “I’ve made more than enough for the day. Don’t you want it?” The boy glared at her under the scorching sun, then drank the glass of lemonade.

“It’s good,” he remarked. “Thanks...er,” he trailed off to catch her name. The lemonade girl proudly announced her name. Then he responded with his.

“Bucky.”

“If you want more, I’m just at my lemonade stand. But no more freebies this time, Bucky,” she said with smiling eyes and mouth. 

“I thought you said you’ve made enough money?”

“I’m runnin’ a business here, pal. Oh! And tell your brother,” she said as she started stepping away. “He knows nothing about girls.”

Summer. Eight years later.

You couldn’t believe your ears. You had yourself checked by a gynecologist. You were only eighteen, and already three weeks pregnant. The world in your head felt like it was narrowing as you tried to digest the fact that a fetus has formed in your belly. How are you going to tell Steve? Your mother? Oh god, your father? What would your siblings think?

You’re the eldest of two children, spawns of a retired military man. Your mother, a devout Christian. You were born into an ideal family, really, but what happened to you wasn’t ideal. Especially not in 1946. You frowned in shame in front of your doctor, but she assured you that you’re not the only one in this predicament. With that thought, you came home, bothered in your head as you tried to contemplate on how to tell your parents about your unborn baby. And of course, your boyfriend and the father of your child, Steve. 

Steven Grant Barnes.

The two of you have been together for a year. After he smoothed his way into your heart for three months, you finally gave in. Steve was the promising son in his family. The top student in school. He worked hard in being accepted at the University of Oxford. Both of you were upcoming seniors that year. Steve was no ordinary scholar. He practically didn’t need to finish his senior year. You, on the other hand, still had a year to go before graduation. At this rate, you don’t know if finishing high school was still an option.

You knew Steve had so much to lose if your father was going to force him to marry you. But you don’t know yet for sure. Steve loves you. He’s proven that lots of times already.

You called him at home and asked him to pick you up. He was more than happy to oblige and he arrived in your lawn in under twenty minutes. You told your mom that you were going to have dinner with Steve.

He drove a blue Ford pickup truck where you spent most of your steamy makeout sessions. You didn’t wait for him to honk in your street so you rushed downstairs. He kissed you as soon as you hopped in.

“Hey, beautiful. I was surprised you invited me out today. I thought you were busy?” He hit the gas when you smiled at him.

“Well, I thought I just,” you muttered, keeping your gaze at your blonde boyfriend. “Needed to get out. Can we go to that nice little cafe we went to last time?”

“Sure darling,” Steve said then held your hand. “Is everything alright? I thought you sounded...off on the phone.” Your heart started pounding, slowly, however. You scooted across the seat and clung to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’m ok, sweetie. Just glad you’re here,” you whispered. Steve’s grip on your hand tightened, assuring you that everything will turn out okay. He’ll be a good father. You said in your head with a smile.

Moments later, you arrived at the cafe and order your dinner. The cafe had a small dance floor, where Steve invited you to dance on with him. The two of you enjoyed the night, having danced to a series of upbeat and spontaneous big band songs. When you finally got tired dancing, Steve took you back to his truck and drove to your favorite after-date spot, where you either made out or just cuddled together.

That night, you were doing both. It started with a cuddle in the center of the seat. You talked about random things and recalled how fun the dance you just had moments ago. His lips reached yours in no time when you both fell into silence just after laughing about a couple who danced silly at the cafe. His lips were warm on yours, feeling velvety in their every move. They left your lips to make their way to your neck. The sensation was getting overwhelming, your insides started to clench, aching for more friction in them. And then you remembered it.

“Steve? Sweetie?” He didn’t stop kissing your weak spot on your neck but whispered, “What is it darling? Talk to me.” His hands slid on your thighs and under your skirt. One of them was already reaching the warmest spot of your body. A finger, maybe two, started fiddling with your center, making you distracted from what you just remembered. You huffed a moan and mentally shook your head. You practiced saying it in front of the mirror as soon as you got home. You tried coming up with different ways, different phrases, perhaps, to soften the blow.

But there was only one way to say it.

“I’m pregnant.” His touches halted. It hasn’t been a full second since you’ve finally uttered the sentence you’ve been practicing to say in your head, but the silence was already feeling too long.

“What?” You were about to repeat what you said but Steve interrupted you. “Are you sure?” You nodded your head and said, “I went to the doctor today. My period was delayed.” His previously lust-blown face dropped. His hands slowly moved away from you as he shifted in his seat, looking anywhere else now but your eyes. Why did he have to stop holding me? You thought.

“I’m three weeks pregnant, Steve. I don’t feel a thing yet, but darling, we’re having a baby,” you cooed, reaching for his hands again, but he flinched.

“No, no, no. This can’t happen, Y/N.” He ran a hand through his blonde hair, worries painted in his face.

“What do you mean, Steve? Of course it can. We’ve been going at it like rabbits,” you remarked. It took you a second to remember how often you and Steve have stolen moments to fool around with each other.

His brows were drawn together when he stepped out of the truck. Your head hung over your shoulders. All of the assurance you had earlier was now gone. “Darling, please come back inside.” He paced back and forth and when he heard you call for him, he stepped inside the truck and turned on the ignition and drove away to take you back home.

“Aren’t you going to say anything all?”

He drew a sharp breath and without taking his eyes off the road, he said, “Just let me think.” The rest of the drive remained quiet. His hand no longer searching for yours. They remained on the gear shift or the wheel. The gap between you two in the truck felt bigger than it looked. You don’t like the silence you had now, so you turned on the radio, only to be shut quickly by him.

“I told you, I need to think, Y/N.” You turned away. He has never been this cold to you. Whenever you had fights, you always made up before the night ended. Of course, all of those were nothing compared to this. You didn’t fight, but the distance between you two suddenly appeared. This hurt you more having him argue with you.

The cold, silent treatment has never been something that Steve had given you before. He was always the one vocal and expressive of his thoughts. And it always bothered him when you argued until you got home. He would call you to apologize and sweep you off your feet before you went to bed. Sometimes he would drive in just to see you. One of those times even led to spontaneous make-up sex in his truck.

When he pulled over to your lawn, his gaze remained forward even though it’s evident that you were looking at him and waiting for him to return your gaze. But he didn’t. You suddenly felt like you don’t know Steve anymore. This was not like him at all. His jaws clenched before finally uttering a word to you after being silent forever.

“Do your parents know?”

“No. You’re the first one I told.”

“When are you gonna tell ‘em?”

“Tomorrow.” He nodded. You couldn’t read his face, but it’s not how it was like when he picked you up earlier. You pulled the knob open, remembering that you didn’t kiss Steve goodnight, so you leaned towards him to give him a peck, but he turned his head to you and whispered, “Good night, Y/N.”

Something pointy stabbed your heart with the coldness of his ‘good night’. It was impossible that he didn’t see it in your eyes, but you saw what was in those perfectly bright blue eyes of his. Something unfamiliar to you. Something you’ve never seen in him before, or never noticed.

You barely had any energy to make a big deal of his behavior since he found out you were pregnant. All you had left to say was, “I want to keep the baby.” Then you hopped out of the truck. You remained standing on the sidewalk as you watched his truck drive away. You have never been more uncertain in your life than you were that night. Not just with how you’re going to keep the baby, how you’re going to tell your parents - but if Steve is still with you in all this.

You waited for Steve to call and swoon you over like he always did, but tonight, he broke that record. You didn’t want your family to hear you crying, so you played an Ella Fitzgerald record on your phonograph as you cried yourself to sleep.

To be continued in:

Chapter One - The Dinner

I forgot to tag these beautiful people who want to be tagged in all of my fics:

@bojabee @jurrasicpork @thejourneyofabrokenheart @sav625 @seninjakitey

[issues-of-thepresentday]

full offence have u even watched anne with an e they have given the characters much more depth that the movies and the books werent able to fully display (no hate tho) AND AT THE SAME TIME they have managed to display multiple accounts of cheerfulness with hope continually igniting the story. just bc it’s not within your expectations doesnt mean it’s a bad adaptation. adaptations reflect the outlook of society so let people today see how women, poc, & lgbt+ have progressed and shaped our society

“not within my expectations” would cover changing a few minor plot points that i would rather have stayed the same. You know, like the harry potter movies. 

But this?  Even the New Yorker calls it a “betrayal”.

Oh, cheerful you say? Anne’s optimism is replaced with ptsd and a guy who literally suffers a heart attack from beating her. 

Faithful? …….

Iconic characters are turned gay to “add dimension”. 

Female characters face constant unnecessary sexism to highlight how “regressive” society was, rather than letting them flourish in the original plot. 

Boys are turned into ruthless bullies, or creepy kids that corner her in the woods (that gilbert has to rescue her from) and religious figures into sexists (cue the pastor telling anne to just be a housewife.)

Matthew’s calm insistence on anne staying at the house turns into a wild horse chase to rescue her from a sinister man. Oh, and throw in a girlfriend and suicidal thoughts, too. And have Marilla, a devout Christian, be even more of a hard-ass than in the books, and now intolerant to some Jew she chases off the farm? 

Introduce random black guy who didn’t exist in the book for “racial diversity.” Invent gay characters because “It would only make sense that there would be somebody in the class who was struggling with identity.” 

Yeah, I love narratives that are based on “it would only make sense”.

Have a quote from Walley-Beckett, show runner:

 “I am just so proud to be a part of something that can offer this to people, and I hope all the kids, too, who are struggling with their gender [and sexual] identity, who may not have the empathy or understanding around them that they need – that they see that it’s possible to have it if they find the community, they see that it’s possible to find safe haven.” And yeah, the sole opportunity for those kids is within a hundred year old classic tale. Sure. Just take a beloved tale and inject it with your own agenda to make it what it’s not.

The show runner blatantly doesn’t care about the source material, and only does about her own agenda - because she’s apparently better than the source material that’s held itself up for over a century.

As to the “dark grittiness”?

“There are other versions of anne out there for five year olds.” - ironic, considering that this show doesn’t trust the audience to understand anything without it being smashed into their consciousness like Anne’s slate on Gilbert’s head.

i think this sums it up perfectly:

“The reason Anne Shirley has remained a feminist icon is because she’s smart and uncompromising and every day she learns a little bit more and teaches the people around her a little bit more until she has, in inches, transformed and been transformed by the folks of Avonlea. The real Gilbert Blythe helps her see that truth; he doesn’t rush into the woods to save Anne from a teenage boy calling her a “bad dog” and threatening to “teach her a lesson” while the music menaces and threatens more than just bullying.”

Mmm, totally cheerful!

TL;DR: if you have to twist something, it’s bullshit. Don’t fuck with the source material to make it about something that it’s not. End of story. 

[peacekeeper-xiv]

Honest Q&A: Round 3! Table

By the Twelve! You’re all back!? I mean… um… welcome back, all. Yes. *Cough* Well, as much as it pains me to admit it, I am rather surprised you all accepted my invitation a third time. Excluding mister Mordenson who has… um... graciously chosen to join us despite lacking an invitation… Let’s begin with the obvious question. As usual, we will go around the table.

What is it that prompts you to answer these questions?

Lloire: “I suppose for myself, it’s that I have been through a lot lately. Answering these helps me better understand that man I was and who he is and who he is becoming. The more you learn about me, the more I learn about myself.”

Beta: “That… was surprisingly honest and introspective. Um… We have to be honest right? I’m mostly here to learn more about that guy and to make snarky comments.”

Chadrick: “Aye, ye do seem t’ ‘ave a chip on yer shoulder with ‘Scars’ there lad. Fer me? Ye offered me tha’ hefty pouch o’ gi—O’… too ‘onest ye say? As ye like.”

Aasifa: “The winds blow Aasifa here. You must ask them if you are wanting to know this thing, yes?”

K’risa: “Wait, I thought this was some kinda counseling thing? You’re not just some weirdo asking random questions are you?”

Benedict: “Master Peace there has the right of it. To know oneself is to know the gods.”

Chance: “Good fucking question. Hells if I know.”

Felix: *Laughs* “Master… Peace. Hah. I was bored.”

 Alright. Well, now that we have that settled, let’s get into the list of questions our readers have, yes? Great.

Imagine a future point in your life where all your dreams come true. It's the greatest moment in your life and you get to experience it with -one- person. Who's standing next to you?

Lloire: “…I… Well… I have no idea. It depends on the path I take I suppose. We defeat the empire, it’s Ikara or Soren. I manage to uncover all the lost magicks of the world and start a new school of magick, probably Yuti. I… retire and settle down to cook and live with a family… Some unknown person I’ve not met yet or a child I suppose. Choosing one person is too difficult I fear.”

Beta: “No it’s not. Watch. Ikara.” *Eyes Lloire suspiciously*

Chadrick: “Ah’m with tha lad truthfully. But maybe tha’s just us and ye ‘ave way more close friends than we. Fer me though, Aislyn.”

Aasifa: “Hmm, if Aasifa’s dreams are coming true, he is likely alone but he is rathering companion Rahya is with him, yes?”

K’risa: “Rathering is not a word. Where are you from anyways? Oh, I, uh, sorry I asked. Anyways, I don’t know enough people and I’m not all that close to anyone anymore so, I can’t say. Maybe the kid there. He’s adorable and snarky and would probably make whatever it was all the more fun.”

Benedict: “Sunny would be with me. This much I know.”

Chance: “Helfyre.”

Felix: “Oh, you’d all be witness to it.” *cackles* “But only Aya would be standing beside me.”

 On an average day, what can be found in your pockets?

Lloire: “Hmm, crystals, jewels, a knife, a few vials perhaps. Some gil obviously. On average.”

Beta: “Gears, wires, bolts, screws, tube of grease, tools, crystals, some nuts and berries maybe. Paper, pen. Um… tape, maybe some choco- oh, that’s enough Sure.”

Chadrick: “A wee bit o’ gil Ah suppose. Most e’erythin else is in me pack instead. Ah prefer t’ keep light on me feet.”

Aasifa: “Hmm, let Aasifa be seeing, yes?” *Starts emptying out pockets on the table* “Pepper shaker, feather of big fluffy dragon with hard to say name, someone else’s grocery list, wishbone of Dodo bird. Hmm… Ball of yarn, playing card, ball from Moogle Paw game. A shell from a snail. A pair of broken spectacles, a frog. Hmm, this is where garlean rubber band ball went. Wait… where is Aasifa’s cotton bolls?”

K’risa: “H-how did, did, you, fit?” *rubs her eyes* “Anyways! Sewing needle, thread, gil, measuring tape, that kinda stuff.”

Benedict: “Gil, as the others have noted… save for Lord Taqalid there. I also keep pamphlets for those interested in learning more of the Twelve as well as marks for each of them. Would anyone here like a pamphlet, no? Alright…”

Chance: “Gil. Knife.”

Felix: “Hmm, herb, poisons, bones, stones, vial of various bloods. What’s with the look? Oh please… fine.”

 What’s a body part that you wouldn’t mind losing?

Lloire: “Do we get to live without it? If so, I’d happily remove my heart.”

Beta: “Wow…. Just wow. That… yea.. um… I’d say… Maybe a leg? I could build a magitek one to replace mine. Maybe build a firearm inside it. One of those small ones that pops out in a bind. That would be neat, right?”

Chadrick: “Right… Ye both ‘ave given this thought before Ah see… Ah’d pick, feck… me little finger on me nay dominant ‘and Ah suppose. Cannay imagine losing me ability t’ see tha beauty o’ tha world, or smell good food some lass cooked, or hear ‘er beautiful singing or… well, ye get tha idea.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is picking his appendix, yes?”

K’risa: “Your what now? I almost wanna swap seats again. I’d lose, an ear I guess? I could always wear hats to hide it.”

Benedict: “Hmm, I need my legs and arms to pray, perhaps an eye. Even if I lost both, Sunny leads us where we need to go anyways.”

Chance: “None. What? He said ‘mind’. I’d mind losing anything. You’re all freaks for not minding.”

Felix: “You know what an appendix is?” *eyes Aasifa* “I mean, that -is- the best answer, but mine is anything except my head. Whatever it is can be grown back.”

 What are three labels that you identify with?

Lloire: “Mage, survivor, guilty.”

Beta: “Yup… that sounds about right. You prolly should’a added Martyr first though. For me, Engineer, Inventor, and… Young.”

Chadrick: “Well shyte… ‘ero, dashin’, an’ expert.”

Aasifa: “What is label meaning? Oh! This thing! Aasifa is called vagrant, vagabond, and drifter, yes?”

K’risa: “Sure, Chad, sure. So glad you didn’t add humble. I guess for me it would be miqo’te, seamstress, excitable.”

Benedict: “This is an easy question. Faithful, devout, and friend”

Chance: “Merc, wolf, practical.”

Felix: “Manipulative, cunning, shadow.”

 Do you believe in soulmates?

Lloire: “… I did.”

Beta: “…not touching that one. Um, yes. I do.”

Chadrick: “Look, ye can test tha’ souls are real. Ye can also force two souls t’ bind t’gether. It’s nay ‘bout belief. It’s tha science o’ animas. But t’ answer tha question yer actually posing, nay. There be nay two people perfectly matched fer one another. Believin’ so will break yer ‘eart. There’s struggles an’ pain an’ shyte t’ work through to make things work, aye?”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is disagreeing. There is someone perfect for you, they are just not perfect person, yes?”

K’risa: “I’m with Lloire.”

Benedict: “Divine is their will. I cannot say that Nymeia’s hand does not guide two threads together in the forming of a beautiful tapestry.”

Chance: “No. Shit’s dumb. I’m with snowylocks there. You find someone you wanna be with and you work with them to make it. It isn’t some meant to be thing that doesn’t take hard work.”

Felix: “Hmm, actually. Yes. I do.”

 What is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?

Lloire: “This may sound morbid… but the calamity. It was horrifying, terrifying, yet, beautiful it its raw destructive power. Bahamut is a terrible creature. Terrible, yet beautiful.”

Beta: “That… you are just full of surprises today. Anyroad… I saw some sketches of the inner workings of Alexander while speaking with some goblins in Idyllshire. They were the most… um. I mean Ikara. Yup! Definitely Ikara.”

Chadrick: “Tha’ was tha worst save in tha ‘istory o’ lads sayin’ dumb shyte tha’ might get back t’ their lasses e’er boyo. Ye need some practice. Ah can give ye a few pointers if ye like later. As fer me? Me ma’s smile.”

Aasifa: “Friend Chadrick is sweet person at times, yes? The lights of golden saucer from afar are prettiest thing Aasifa is thinking of.”

K’risa: “Chadrick! Don’t you dare corrupt that sweet, innocent, pure boy!” *Huffs* “Oh, right… umm… Snowfields. They just look so pure. Even if it’s cold as heck.”

Benedict: “The Sanctum of the Twelve is a beautiful place if you have not been.”

Chance: “Get the feeling ‘Scars’ there would disagree Benny. Sunrise. Means you made it through the night.”

Felix: “There was this Alagan princess…”

 Moving on!

What single act are you most ashamed of?

Lloire: “Trying to kill myself.”

Beta: “Good! You should be! But um… I’m glad you realized that… so um… that’s good. Uh… Oh! I know. Um, when I upset Ikara by not knowing what she meant about liking me and an awkward first kiss and yea… I felt like a warped tool.”

Chadrick: “Stealin’ from an old woman. Ah mean, she di’nay know ‘ow dangerous wha’ she ‘ad was… an’ it was fer ‘er own good… but still, it felt nasty, aye?”

Aasifa: “Aasifa let someone he was close to take her own life, yes? He did not see how miserable she had become and did not make better. This is greatest failure.”

K’risa: “That’s, really sad. Um. For me, failing for a hero.”

Benedict: “I think those thoughts are best left for confession with one’s gods.”

Chance: “Nothing wrong with falling for a hero. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done. I wouldn’t change things.”

Felix: “What I put my daughter through.”

 Everyone has disdain for something or someone.  Who or what do you consider yourself to be “above”?

Lloire: “If I’m to be honest… those who the Imperials subjugate. The ones who work for them after they have been conquered. I have to fight off those feelings.”

Beta: “Yea, not everyone is a stupidly stubborn as you. Um… I guess… if I have to say… brutish people who only solve things with violence?”

Chadrick: “Primals. Nasty buggers. Nay ‘ave any respect fer somethin’ tha’ enslaves its followers.”

Aasifa: “The dirt? For now, yes.”

K’risa: “That’s not what they--. Nevermind. Um, I’m with Chad on this one. Fuck Ifrit and his followers.”

Benedict: “I am a lowly man in service to the Gods. No one is below me.”

Chance: “Cowards.”

Felix: “It’s better for all of your prides that I simply pass on this one.”

 What do you wish you had more time for?

Lloire: “Fishing.”

Beta: “Spending time with Ikara. I should make more time.”

Chadrick: “E’erything. There are nay enough ‘ours in tha’ day t’ get e’erythin accomplished.”

Aasifa: “Living, Aasifa is thinking, yes?”

K’risa: “To keep track of J’ahama and P’arunru and to just hang out with them.”

Benedict: “I would like to have more time devoted to do things Sunny enjoys doing. She gets bored with my reading and prayers and I would want to spend more time letting her have fun.”

Chance: “I’m kept busy enough. I’m good, thanks.”

Felix: “I have all the time in the world.”

 What are some skills that you think everyone should learn?

Lloire: “Sewing and cooking. You can get though a lot of things that way. People tend to be more agreeable on a full stomach. Knowing how to close a wound with a needle can save a life.”

Beta: “I… think you’re the only person that took up sewing to learn to apply it to flesh. I think everyone should know the basics of magitek operation. It’s not going anywhere guys, even if the Empire crumbles.”

Chadrick: “E’eryone should learn t’ play an instrument. Music can soothe tha savage beast as they say. Whether it’s an actual beast or yer beast within.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is thinking everyone is needing to know how to defend selves, yes? Hmm, he is wondering how friend L’ania has been now.”

K’risa: “The brooding handsome over there already gave my answer, but for me, you never know when your clothes will catch a snag or rip and its way better to travel through Ishgard or the desert without torn clothing.”

Benedict: “Navigation! I am awful at it and would be lost without my guide. I really must offer Llymlaen more prayers.”

Chance: “Basic shit. How to light a fire without aether, pitch a tent, gather firewood, survival in the wilderness kind of things. Seen a lot of corpses out in the wild just dead to the elements.”

Felix: “Alchemy. You’d be surprised at what can be accomplished through it.”

 How good of a dancer are you?

Lloire: “Decent. Better when it’s a slow dance with a partner. I’m not terribly great at the solo dances unless they are more ritualistic or tribal in nature.”

Beta: “Yea, no. I’ve got two left feet. I’m really bad at dancing.”

Chadrick: “Step dance, slow dance, dance at a ball. Ye name it, Ah’ll manage it. Lu’ made sure o’ tha’.”

Aasifa: “Yes. Aasifa is thinking he can dance well.”

K’risa: “I haven’t had much chance to learn. -Someone- was still pouting about his ex and her dancing.”

Benedict: “I… do not dance. Sunny does though! She is very good at it.”

Chance: “Do I -look- like I dance?”

Felix: “No, not really wolf-boy, but neither does Lloire there, so... Myself? I was forced to learn eventually. Been a few dozen years since I’ve needed to though.”

 Do you have any good luck charms or rituals?

Lloire: “Aye, I have a Gagaroon luck-die that Soren gave me a while back. I never travel without the thing. I’m still alive despite my best efforts, so I imagine the thing works.”

Beta: “Yea, if that thing is to blame, we all could use one. Um, I have a lucky wrench? I guess that counts?”

Chadrick: “Psh! Me blood is lucky. An’ Ah’ve all tha charm Ah’ll e’er need.” *Laughs* “Jestin’ aside, nay Ah di’nay carry around any sort o’ lucky charms.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa has pendant that is for this purpose, yes? He is loaning to friend to keep safe.”

K’risa: “Nope. I’m all full up on luck and charms, thanks.”

Benedict: “Nymeia is favored by those who seek luck. Having her with me at all times should suffice.”

Chance: “Fools that trust to luck wind up dead.”

Felix: “You, mister wolf, are no fun. I have one of our companions old coins. He was the embodiment of luck.”

 Worst injury you have had?

Lloire: “Assuming we’re not going with self-inflicted, it would be the repeated beatings to my face that left me half blind.”

Beta: “Oh, not counting self-inflicted. That took out half of yours, huh? Um… I guess the small burn I got when that ceruleum tank caught fire?”

Chadrick: “Ah ‘ad this ‘ead injury, made me forget who Ah was fer a time.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa was stabbed through stomach once. Very painful! Yes.”

K’risa: “I’ve been lucky enough not to get hurt too bad yet.”

Benedict: “As have I.”

Chance: “Took an arrow to my heel once. That brought me down awhile.”

Felix: “Just one? I remember I took about fifteen or so once. Blood everywhere.”

 Who influenced your personality growing up?

Lloire: “My ma’ and Aliya later.”

Beta: “Um… Lucilus I suppose.”

Chadrick: “Lad, yer still growin’ up. Fer me it was definitely me ma an’ me da. Both in their own way.”

Aasifa: “The Commander of the Guard.”

K’risa: “My father.”

Benedict: “Halone largely, but also my aunt.”

Chance: “Myself.”

Felix: “Nettle’s family.”

 If you could remove one emotion from your life, which would you choose?

Lloire: “Guilt most likely.”

Beta: “I’d get rid of bitterness. I hate that feeling.”

Chadrick: “Nay a damned one. There’s too much o’ life in each. Ye get rid o’ sadness an’ ye lose sight o’ wha’ it means ‘ be ‘appy. Ye lose guilt per say, an’ wha’ is there t’ make ye learn t’ nay ‘urt others?”

Aasifa: “Fear. Aasifa would be fearless!”

K’risa: “Jealousy. It’s a nasty nasty emotion.”

Benedict: *turns a shade of red* “Desire.”

Chance: “I think that’s just call lust Benny. And oddball, fear is important, keeps you alive. I’m kinda with snowylocks. You need all of them to be effective.”

Felix: “No, no. I like Lloire’s answer for once. Guilt weighs too much.”

 Well, thank you for your answers. Will I see you all again next time?

Lloire: “Most likely.”

Beta: “Sure. It’s interesting to see what you come up with to ask us.”

Chadrick: “S’long as ye keep up our agreement, aye.”

Aasifa: “If the winds blow Aasifa this way.”

K’risa: “Why not?”

Benedict: “Twelve willing.”

Chance: “…”

Felix: “Perhaps. We’ll see.”

Tagged by: Uh, I made this one. So @me?

Tagging: @wicked-virtue @yutikyis @waitingrose @susukosuko @hedgearcher @hana-xiv @devil-you-know @nebula1984 and anyone I might have left off or forgotten.

[buzzdixonwriter]

“Fire & Forget” Theology

About a month ago I posted the following link on a Facebook page administrated by mi amigo Art Greenhaw.  Art liked this clip of Ron Austin, a retired screenwriter and TV director, speaking to a Dominican gathering earlier this summer and asked my opinion on it in the context of his Facebook page’s theme, Methodist Renewal: Reversing the Decline.

Well, I tried. 

Really.

I put a lot of serious thought into it, and since I couldn’t see how to fix current problems without addressing some systemic issues going waaaaaaaaay back, I decided to include a brief overview of how we got to where we are today, and by that point I was at the 1,400+ word mark and I still hadn’t addressed the main issue that Art wanted to me address.

But in the meantime, reality happened.

Reality in the form of Roy Moore and far too many evangelicals normalizing his behavior and in celebrities and politicians on both sides of the aisle being revealed as amoral sexual predators and other politicians being willing to lie and various religious leaders overlooking the sins of their own and pundits defending the indefensible bad behavior of those who benefited their ideological POV, and I realized my previous lengthy response was now rendered null and void by a rapidly changing cultural environment so I’m going to cut through all the BS and get straight to the core issue of what Christian churches and denominations should do right now, today, this instant:

Shut it down.

Mind you, this is a far more optimistic and restrained improvement over my original version:  Burn it down.

But the frank, ugly, brutal yet irrefutable truth is this:  American Christianity as a movement is over, and whatever Christian movement replaces it, it’s not going to be church as usual.

Period.

Full stop.

Now, I know this will dismay a lot of people who love their local churches and their denominations, but I am not the sort of person to offer a criticism without offering a solution as well.

So bear with me, we’ll get to the religious / spiritual / theological issues in a moment, right now let’s discuss what to do with the organizations that exist today under the Christian banner.

Turn them into chautauquas.

No, seriously -- bear me out!

Chautauquas would satisfy almost all the needs and functions offered by churches today. 

For those unfamiliar with the term “chautauqua”, they were old fashioned tent shows that traveled the US, offering cultural / educational / inspirational lectures and entertainment to folks in the hinterlands.  Elvis made a movie about them -- The Trouble With Girls (And How To Get Into It) -- and while it isn’t very good movie even for Elvis, it does paint a vivid and mostly accurate picture of what the chautauqua experience was like.  (And how many Elvis movies have Vincent Price and John Carradine in them, hmm?)

By turning churches into chautauquas, the local / neighborhood congregation would become a social magnet for the community, offering inspirational lectures and classes and scouting and public service events, but stripped of all specific American Christian content.  The larger denominations would turn into networks of speakers and performers to supply programing for the local meeting halls, providing administrative and logistical support.

Denominational institutions such as hospitals, orphanages, soup kitchens, etc., would continue as tax exempt secular charities.

The local chautauqua would operate seven days a week, with numerous classes and lectures for all ages and interests, some supplied by local staff, some by local volunteers, some by the various former denominational networks, some by itinerant freelancers.

All lectures and performances and presentations and events would be dedicated to uplifting their audiences, encouraging integrity, tolerance, compassion, honesty, and charity. 

Jesus would not be banned from the chautauquas -- a lecture on the Beatitudes would be a fine thing for all audiences, believers or not -- but other philosophical and spiritual leaders would be taught as well.

There could even be Bible classes…for adults only.

Because you see, the way in which American Christianity has presented the Bible is a YUGE hunk of the problem we’re having today, and arguably the number one contributing factor into the implosion of American Christianity.

I do not believe we should be teaching the Bible to little children, certainly not to anyone under the age of 12, and we should only teach the Bible to those who want to understand it fully.

We cram little kids into a Sunday school class, tell them fairy tales -- and that’s how they’re processing the dumbed down Bible stories we’re feeding them -- and end up creating false impressions in their minds of what those stories mean in proper context.

We give them crayons to color in a big bright rainbow over the ark, let them glue cotton bolls over the sheep gamboling down the plank, put glitter on Noah standing there with a big smile plastered over his face that God spared him and his family…

And we never really take them past that point, do we?

Our entire approach to the Bible is kept at that dumbed-down-and-not-at-all-accurate first depiction.  When they become adults, the lesson plans and sermons don’t deviate much from that initial image that completely belies the meaning of the flood story, that completely ignores the complexity and the contradictions of Noah and his behavior.

We argue we do that out of deference to visitors who may not be familiar with the Bible, or to keep from confusing young kids in church with a more thorough study, but a story told badly should not be told at all, and the messages we should derive from Bible study have to first fight their way past a morass of misconceptions that have been carefully hammered down on us for years.

So, no, no Bible stories for anybody under the age of 12.  Teach ‘em Christ’s parables, those are okay:  Little bite size tales that vividly illustrate and illuminate a specific moral or spiritual point, but please stop trying to hammer the Bible into their heads.

It only warps and distorts them.

(The Bible stories, that is; not their heads.)

I recognize that due to varying methods of organization it will be more difficult for some churches and denominations to reorganize into chautauquas -- the process will be more than simply changing letterheads and signage -- but it can be done.

Because the alternative is that they go out of business.

I want to focus on that word:  Business. 

Let’s not mince words:  American Christianity is a business.  It provides a living for tens of thousands of people.  It has income, it has expenses.  It has a house nut to meet.  There are gas and electric and water bills to pay, insurance to cover, salaries to be met, etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Whatever the ostensible purpose of this business, it’s a business.

Americans like business, and while it’s absolutely true that the business model of Christianity originated thousands of years ago in Europe (and to be fair, all the major religions are run like businesses, going back to the paganism of ancient Greece and the polytheism of ancient Egypt), this business model has distorted, diminished, then discarded the gospel of Christ.

Christ’s message was not how to make a buck.  (Yeah, prosperity gospel shills are quick to point to the parable of the talents, etc., but tap dance around the far more numerous admonitions that rich people will go to hell.)

Christ’s message was not about how to achieve and maintain power.  (Christ did not care about specific institutions and governments; he wanted his followers to live and act justly no matter what system they were in or under.)

Christ’s message was about how to live righteously in an unrighteous world.

There’s an old Jewish legend of the Tzadikim Nistarim, the 36 righteous people who stave off the day of judgment simply by being in the world.

The legend is emphatic that these righteous people need not be Jews, or for that matter even particularly devout or religious.

They just have to be righteous, and by their mere presence in the world, the world is saved.

Metaphorically, that is what Christ was teaching us to be.

Yeah, he had a lot of teachings on heaven and hell, but he crafted his message for his audience so that they would grasp his teachings at their level of understanding.

They were anxious about their future; Christ taught, “Don’t be anxious.  Your Father in heaven loves you.  Love one another as He loves you.”

American Christianity teaches:  “Be anxious.  God doesn’t love you unless you do what we say.  Obey our rules and you’ll go to heaven.”

That’s the business of American Christianity speaking.  A business that needs repeat customers to keep the coffers filled.

You cannot serve God and Mammon.

Becoming a Christian is like learning to ride a bicycle.

Once you learn, you just ride the bicycle.

You don’t keep coming back to take the same lessons over and over and over and over again.

Christ taught a “fire & forget” theology. 

“Fire & forget” is a military term for self-guided weapons that, once locked in on a target, can be fired and trusted to find and destroy the target on their own, without direct control from the person who launched it.

The lone wolf terrorists of various ideologies operate on the same principle.  The ideologies radicalize them, encourage them, spur them on, but don’t actually provide logistical or tell them what to attack.

Having absorbed the message, they go and act on their own.

Followers of Christ should operate on the same principle -- though obviously for the sake of righteousness, not hate and terror.

Once we have the gospel of Christ -- the good news -- we don’t need any organization to guide us.

We will not act unrighteously.

We will not willfully harm others.

We will not let others suffer if we can help.

We will not worry about the day, but have faith.

We will be the light of the world, the salt of the earth.

[rosie-leonard]

Rosie and Rahner: A Day in the Life

Meal trays created by St. Thomas the Apostle, Glen Mills, Pa. parish volunteers who believe one scrap of food can save a life. Photo by Rosie Leonard.

Not a plate goes to waste, thanks to Sarah Rahner, a woman who has spent the last four decades orchestrating and working with nonprofit organizations such as “Caring for Friends” to bring less fortunate out of hunger and isolation.

Rahner, a currently retired and devout catholic, spends her days in the St. Thomas The Apostle church gathering, packing, preparing, and freezing food for the homeless, local families in need, and nonprofit food-drive organizations.

In the 1980s, Rahner and her husband joined St. Thomas and organized a food-drive service for the parish out of their house in Chadds Ford, Pa. What started as a small organization grew to be a well-renowned, volunteer-oriented organization within the parish that is still prospering today.

Most recently, the organization’s horizons have spread to a local film production agency located in Boothwyn, Pa. Each week, Rahner ventures out to the set of future TV show “Mare of Eastwood” to gather food trays the cast and crew did not touch because “there is so much food in this world that goes to waste when, instead, it should be saved and sent to those who need it,” Rahner said.  

Recently, I met with Rahner in the St. Thomas social hall to see where all the magic happens, as well as learn more about her and her history with nonprofits.

How long have you been a part of St. Thomas’s parish?

Well, I will put it this way; my youngest daughter is 50. We were originally part of St. Cornelius’s parish, but they did not have a school, so we sent our kids to St. Thomas The Apostle school while also attending church at St. Cornelius. We were very involved with St. Cornelius but thought it would be best that, since our kids went to school where there was also a church, we should switch over and make it easier for everyone. We switched over when my youngest daughter was still in school, so that would place us at about 25 maybe 30 years or so ago?

And when you switched, how did you get involved with volunteering and St. Thomas’s organizations?

My husband and I were very involved in our old parish organizations, volunteering, events, so when we switched, my husband looked into everything, and we joined in. However, they— St. Thomas— originally did not have involvement with certain non-profit organizations such as “Caring for Friends,” and that’s when we stepped in.

What exactly is “Caring for Friends,” and what does it entail?

There are many people in the world, especially in Philly, who are starved, poor, sick, and sometimes left isolated in their homes. These people often lack family and friends to support them, so the Caring organization has volunteers meet with clients throughout the five-county greater Philadelphia region and provides them with the meals we, and many other organizations pack up. The clients receive home-cooked meals, a visit, and a friend. They pick up and prepare the meals that are gathered and packaged at religious organizations and their center in North East Philly. They have been doing this since 1974.

How did you get the parish on board with your involvement with “Caring for Friends”?

We originally did everything out of our house— just us. We stored all the food and drove it up to Philly, where their homebase is, and delivered it to them. We then branched out and asked for volunteers, and they, of course, were more than happy to take it on.

When did you decide this was the direction you wanted to go in life?

[Smiles] I never decided. My husband has always been the one to get involved in everything, and he drags me along with him. When they asked for volunteers one Sunday many, many years ago, we decided to join. We continued to insert ourselves in charity events, organizations, and volunteer work, never thinking it would go this far or that we would still be doing it now at 80 years old.

How did you first seek help, donations, and volunteers? And is this a method you continue to use in 2020?

Through the church bulletin and word-of-mouth. [Looks through folder on table] Here, if you flip to the last page, you will see the “ads” people put in, ours is on the bottom. We would place “ads” in the bulletin or have the priest mention it at the end of mass, requesting meals and people to help pack up the food that had been donated. This is the most efficient way, it works, and we still use it today.

Was it difficult getting people to volunteer their time, donate, food, or help out with deliveries?

Fortunately, we live in a very generous and giving community. People are never shy when it comes to donations and volunteering. We also have a prayer group, and those ladies agreed to be on our food-packing list also. We are never short a hand.

One of the three freezers used to store packaged meals for “Caring for Friends.” Photo by Rosie Leonard. 

On what days do you meet and pack/prepare the food?

Every day. We have two to three ladies come in each day and collect donations, pack and sort the foods, and help send things out for delivery. Certain days are just for packing, certain days are for delivering, and on Mondays, we collect.

I know you now get the food packages picked up and delivered to “Caring for Friends,” so you do not see those you are helping, but have you ever met the people or families you are aiding?

I have never met them, but if I know people who are in need, I bring them food trays. Last week, we had leftover ice cream, and I brought it to a mother and daughter within the parish. They were beyond grateful because the mother cannot get out much or move around well. It brought them a lot of happiness. There is also a non-destitute family of nine within the community, and I try my best to bring over food trays or things that can’t be frozen here. The mother says that she goes grocery shopping and comes home with one brown bag full of what she can afford. By the time the bag hits the counter, the food is gone. Most of the time, the mother does not eat because she wants her children to be nourished.

Knowing that people are in these situations year-round, is it difficult that most people only acknowledge it during the holiday season?

Well, fortunately around here, everyone is incredibly generous year-round. Everyone seems to be aware of what is going on, and they do their best to help. As for other areas, I cannot speak for them, but I can imagine.

Alongside all of this, I hear you recently got involved with a movie production company in the Garnet Valley area. Please tell me more about this and your affiliation.

Well, just last year— maybe it is two years now— a man named Nate Rose contacted the parish in hopes of donating the leftover food from the sets to somewhere/someplace that could use it. He apparently had called around to a lot of other places/organizations, but they were not interested. So our parish director talked to me about it and, of course, I said yes. So now, each day, I head over and pick up all of the leftover food that was prepared and served there. On Mondays, the food is picked up and placed in the freezer to be distributed and packed up on Tuesdays. We bring it back here, pack it up, and send it out. They always have beautiful displays of food, and most of it goes to waste, which is why he sought out for a local organization to take it.

Is there anything else you think I, or others, should know about hunger and isolation?

There is so much food in this world that no one should ever go hungry. By saving that extra piece of chicken, bowl of potatoes, vegetables, or what have you, you could feed one person or maybe even a whole family. One “scrap” can go a long way.

For more information on “Caring for Friends,” visit: https://caringforfriends.org

[dunntown]

SuperUnKnown - R.I.P. Chris Cornell

“I woke the same as any other day

except a voice was in my head

it said, “Seize the day, pull the trigger

Drop the blade and watch the rolling heads.”

A BiPolar perspective to Chris Cornell’s death.

Thursday, May 18th, 2017 - It was around 7:45 in the morning. I silenced the alarm on my phone, hushing the soothing sounds of Fat Mike from NoFx’s voice as he wakes me most mornings lately with the lyrics “One morning I woke up, scratched my balls and eyes..” This being the opening lines to the song “I don’t like me anymore.”, It’s sort of appropriate for a guy who struggles with bipolar disorder and depression. I decided to go about my morning routine of scrolling through and deleting the massive amounts of spam mail I seem to get while I sleep. The first thing I saw, however, was a newsletter from my local rock station. “BREAKING: Chris Cornell Dead”. I just sort of sat there for a moment, wondering what kind of dead celebrity hoax this was. Chris Cornell, the guy who was a monstrous part of my musical adventure as a teen was dead. It was so strange, he seemed so healthy. He didn’t seem to have any real drug or alcohol problems that I ever recall reading or hearing about. It was a bit jarring. 

I proceeded to flip through the various news sites, sort of exposing myself to as much input as possible into how one of my favorite songwriters had met his demise at the age of 52. It’s important to note something to those reading this who may not realize what it was like for those of us on April 8th, 1994. I was in 6th grade. My childhood friend Lonzo Jones, a guy who sadly is no longer with us, rushed up to me as I left a class and said “Dude, did you hear? Kurt Cobain is dead!” I was really confused then, and I had to wait all day to hear more when MTV delivered updates via the broadcasting of Kurt Loder. I think it’s important to explain why that moment is so memorable because I feel like May 18th will always be the day that Chris Cornell died for me. (I’m aware Joy Division’s Ian Curtis lost his battle with depression on this day 37-years ago as well). 

Chris Cornell, the powerful, dynamic singer whose band Soundgarden was one of the architects of grunge music, died on Wednesday night in Detroit hours after the band had performed there. He was 52.

The death was a suicide by hanging, the Wayne County medical examiner’s office said in a statement released on Thursday afternoon. It said a full autopsy had not yet been completed.

Mr. Cornell’s representative, Brian Bumbery, said in a statement that the death was “sudden and unexpected.”

I read this and many other write-ups like it. “Suicide” and “Sudden and Unexpected” are the two things that stand out to a guy like me the most. I haven’t been one to shy away from the fact I suffer from mental illness. (more on this in a moment.) The stories kept coming in that Chris had hung himself and almost immediately the internet was awash with more commentary and the gushing of fans. I wasn’t aware I knew so many fans of his work. It’s strange how that happens. It’s even stranger than that as I sat and went over some comic work I am trying to catch up on, the one person I kept thinking about was a friend I had in middle school named Gary Gilbert. Gary was without a doubt the biggest Soundgarden fan. We used to have weird “grunge rock wars” about who was better as I was a devout Nirvana fan and he was all Soundgarden. I almost immediately thought about “I wonder how Gary is taking it?”. This led me to do something I haven’t ever done in my life. I searched for him and sent him a friend request on facebook. So, here I am, wondering about how a guy I haven’t spoken to in 20-years at least is feeling about the death of Chris Cornell. 

I guess this history lesson wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t explain one of the things about why I loved and adored the grunge scene so much. I missed the punk scene. However, I totally would never have known about punk music if not for bands like Nirvana, Mudhoney, and Soundgarden. I didn’t learn about the Sex Pistols until I heard Kurt Cobain talk about them in an interview in 1992. Grunge was my gateway drug backward into my obsession with Punk and Hardcore. 

So, I now come to the first real part of this blog. Grief is weird. I believe a big part of the process is trying to reconcile to yourself that this is a permanent fixture in your life. You go your whole life taking advantage of these artists and actors and musicians... Then, poof!

I loved Chris Cornell’s work. I personally believe out of every grunge era musician, he was probably the most well rounded of all of them. His voice is capable of giving me goosebumps and some songs will forever resonate with me. Soundgarden was the middle man of Grunge. It bridged the gap between Punk/Sludge/Noise rock from bands like The Melvins and Sonic Youth to the more commercially recognized bands of Nirvana, Alice in Chains and Pearl Jam. Soundgarden plays loud, hard, yet poetic rock. Their music was built on Led Zeppelin, Hardcore Punk, and Black Sabbath. They defied the expectation of what a “Grunge” band was and stood out among their Seattle scene as the toughest machine in town. Chris Cornell’s thunderous, multi-octave vocals pierced the souls of all of the angst-ridden and angry youth who also weren’t finding solace in the nonsensical poetries of other bands at that time. Cornell’s lyricism is some of the most well-versed poetry I’ve ever heard. Cornell spoke to kids with depression through experience, and told stories of sardonic nihilism, inner torment and defined the battles of depression as beautifully catatonic waves of torment. 

Cornell spoke to me... 

"Whatsoever I've feared has come to life. Whatsoever I've fought off became my life. Just when every day seemed to greet me with a smile sunspots have faded. And now I'm doing time 'cause I fell on black days."

When I was in high school, I thought there was something wrong with me. It was always a roller coaster ride of emotion. I’d always suppress it and I got really good at it. In 10th grade, a good friend of mine named Robert Patton killed himself. It really shook our school, and today, when I read the report about Chris Cornell’s suicide. I immediately remembered what our Principal had said to us about Robert’s death. 

“sudden and unexpected.”

Robert was a fun kid. We laughed and talked about all kinds of crap. I never saw it coming. He seemed so happy... He didn’t seem damaged or broken, not like how I felt. However, I bet you not many of my friends knew I was depressed back then either. I am bipolar and suffer from bouts of depression and mania. I also suffer from clinical anxiety and have ADHD. I’m a cocktail of neuroticism and to this day can’t believe my current and/or ex Wife/Girlfriends haven’t murdered me in my sleep. 

One of the things I decided this morning was that if the facts came out and they said he had indeed committed suicide, I’d write this version of the blog. I wanted to make sure it held a clear message about mental illness and hopefully could help someone. 

I always get asked, “What’s it like?”

So, here is the best way to explain how it all works. Mania is sort of this awesome high. You have energy and motivation, and you just don’t want to stop. Couple that up with ADHD and sometimes it creates severe problems. You’ve now lost your impulse control, so for example. I wanted to find a particular record. (Led Zeppelin 4) I decided to hit a pawn shop and a couple thrift shops. Waste a couple hours and get home for dinner. I was severely manic that day though and my ADHD coupled with it made me hit every thrift shop, pawnshop, and anywhere else I thought I might find it. I searched for 6-hours before Aly (wife) made me buy it offline. 

The best part of mania is the optimism, you could literally burn down your home and just go “We can rebuild it and make it better too!”. I’m also much more on point creatively. I get so many ideas, so many great moments of artistic expression. Sometimes being manic is like a comic creator's super power. When Mania strikes, I do as much as possible to capitalize on it. 

I feel more outgoing, charismatic, secure in who I am and what I am doing. I feel like I can do anything. I wake up with a drive and determination to get things done, and I just go and go and GO. I am way more sociable, I talk too much, I dominate conversations, I interject when I don’t need to. I can’t keep on topic cause my brain is working faster than the conversation that is happening. I sometimes depress myself thinking back on these times as well. Sometimes, you just can't recognize when you’re being “TOO MUCH” for some people.  During manic spells, I feel like Superman. I can do anything, my self-esteem is up, I can conquer the world. However, the major dread of anyone who recognizes their mania is that we know it’s only a matter of time before we crash. The thing about mania that is so appealing is that without the highs of manic episodes, I don’t think I could tolerate the lows of depression.

I've givin' everything I need. I'd give you everything I own. I'd give in if it could at least be ours alone. I've given everything I could to blow it to hell and gone. Burrow down and blow up the outside world."

The point of this is to discuss why Chris Cornell could have been suicidal, depressed, and mentally ill... and no one would have known. In the song “Fell on Black Days” he basically defines what it feels like to fall into depression from a manic episode. 

When my depression kicks in, I am just intolerable. I want to be left alone, but not too alone. I want to not exist, but I fear not being remembered. I don’t want to go anywhere, but I don’t want to be here. When people talk to me, I feel they are judging me, chastising me, making me feel like I am incapable of doing anything right. It becomes really easy to hide.  Seeing people be happy is the worst, It annoys me and makes me angry. It reminds me that I am broken and that my bipolar disorder is always there. I’ll always have instability and the most annoying part is the people who tell me “Cheer up!” as if it was that easy. The nuances of daily life also begin to start dragging my mood deeper into the void. This is where suicide becomes... endearing.  I’ve contemplated suicide pretty much during every depressive state. I have tricks, mechanisms to break my thought process. My kids. Music. Art. Comics. Writing. Sex. All of these are ways I trick my brain into walking away from the ledge. If I feel I am not able to do it alone, I’ll sometimes text, message or call a friend. This is that exposing my own personal life part. If any of my friends read this and you ever complain to yourself. “Why does Martin call me and just not have anything to say?” It’s because if I'm on the phone with you, I'm not self-harming. I am very cognitive of my mental state and I am very good at keeping it in check. Sadly, some are not. Some fight for a very long time and some give up. Robin Williams comes to mind. 

"Boiling heat, summer stench 'neath the black. The sky looks dead. Call my name through the cream. And I'll hear you. Scream again. Black hole sun won't you come and wash away the rain? Black hole sun won't you come? Won't you come?"

I sometimes imagine what it’s like for normal people. I imagine they deal with stress and anger and anxiety in a much different way. If I told you that I sometimes have gotten so angry I’ve punched myself in the face, causing damage to my teeth... Would that make sense? I have bad teeth, and some people have asked me why. Why are they chipped? Why are you missing one? They don’t look unbrushed. It’s because I used to punch myself in the face. It was reactionary and really destructive and thankfully, I’ve not done that in a very long time. Don’t get me wrong, I totally do have my “normal” days. I get to have them every so often. I think it’s why I take so much pleasure in the little things.  I think Chris Cornell gave into his depression. I think he let go of his fight because like anyone who suffers from clinical depression will tell you. Sometimes, when you look into the future, you can’t see anything but a cold, dead, blackness. 

The night before his death, Cornell performed in front of a sold-out show in front of a legion of fans. He lasted longer than his grunge brethren like Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley, Shannon Hoon, and most recently Scott Weiland. Cornell experienced almost 2x the life as some of these tragic artists. He was very much alive to all that looked upon him that night as he played them out to a cover of Led Zeppelin’s “In My Time of Dying”. His haunting words catching me in the heart were “I feel bad for the next city.”. I would have bought every album as I always did of Cornell’s work until he hung it up. His future was to be that of an aged and grizzled rock vet, strumming an acoustic guitar and telling us more stories about his inner battle with his own demons. I always envisioned Chris Cornell being my generations Jonny Cash. That, sadly, will never be the case. 

A lot of you, my fellow fans have been asking “why?”. 

You will never truly understand the answers to that question if you do not grasp the silent killer that is mental illness. Chris Conell will go down in legend as one of the best singers and songwriters of Rock & Roll. 

"I got up feeling so down. I got off being sold out. I've kept the movie rolling. But the story's getting old now. I just looked in the mirror. Things aren't looking so good. I'm looking California and feeling Minnesota. So now you know, who gets mystified. Show me the power child. I'd like to say that I'm down on my knees today. It gives me the butterflies, gives me away till I'm up on my feet again. I'm feeling outshined."

RIP

Chris Cornell

If you’re ever struggling emotionally or going through a tough time, you can always call Call 1-800-273-8255 Available 24 hours everyday! National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

- Martin Dunn

[travelworldnetwork]

By Victoria Stunt

18 January 2019

If I closed my eyes, I could see her. It was Friday evening in July 1956. Thirty-one and travelling alone, my grandmother had just arrived at Mexico City’s Hotel Geneve. She’d be tired; she would have just stepped off a five-day bus journey from Toronto. More than 60 years later, I could relate. Twenty-six and travelling alone, I had listless bags under my eyes, and I was checking into the same hotel.

There I was – ready for her spirit to guide me

I arrived in Mexico City a few hours before – luckily by plane, but nevertheless exhausted from an overnight jaunt. I’ve been based in Medellín, Colombia, for the last four years, but Mexico City has always lured me. And now, I finally had an excuse to make the trip.

Amidst boxes of old letters belonging to my maternal grandmother Jean, my own mother had recently found her old tour itinerary for Mexico City; it listed the hotel room where my grandmother stayed, the sites she visited and receipts from the stores where she shopped.

Following her itinerary would be an experience, I thought. Perhaps something to pay homage to Jean. So, as her only granddaughter, there I was – ready for her spirit to guide me around the centuries-old city.

View image of More than 60 years after her grandmother, Jean, arrived in Mexico City, writer Victoria Stunt decided to retrace her steps (Credit: Credit: robertharding/Alamy)

You may also be interested in: • What it means to know when to leave • Where people speak the Aztec language • The islands of unbridled imagination

My grandmother died when I was 14, and for years, she stood still in my memory as a patient woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Born in China to missionary parents, Jean spent her 20s and early 30s travelling throughout Canada and the United States as a nurse. She raised four kids in the small Canadian city of Thorold and cared for me, my brother and our cousins every summer in nearby Niagara Falls. She obliged us to write summer diaries, habitually loaded us in her minivan and drove us to a nearby pond to catch frogs. When I got tired of playing with the boys, we’d sit down in a quiet spot, I’d lean against her and she’d read me a book.

My grandmother didn’t tell me much about travelling in her younger years; according to my mother, Jean didn’t talk about herself a great deal. That’s why, we both concluded, reading through her old letters and documents was so intriguing. They acquainted us with a different version of Jean.

View image of Stunt was inspired to travel to Mexico City after reading her grandmother's letters and sorting through her old documents (Credit: Credit: Victoria Stunt)

Back on that Friday night in 1956, she was young, single and unrestrained. She’d crossed two borders and travelled for days through dusty desert. At a time when many women were expected to stay home and keep house, my grandmother was unfettered in Mexico City – and at liberty to explore it on her own terms.

Based on her crumpled itinerary, Jean left Toronto with a loose tour that listed ‘at leisure in Mexico’ on the itinerary. She rode the Greyhound bus through Detroit, Michigan; Indianapolis, Indiana; Memphis, Tennessee; and Laredo, Texas. According to Jean – and as retold by her father Rundall in a letter to all his children – the ‘buses had gotten progressively shakier and shoddier as she travelled southward’. Several buses had broken down, as had their air conditioning systems.

Still, everything was going as programmed. “Alors – mañana – over the border!” wrote Rundall in another letter, sent to the Hamilton Hotel in Laredo, where Jean stayed at the US-Mexican border.

View image of Like her grandmother, Stunt stayed in Mexico City’s Hotel Geneve (Credit: Credit: Victoria Stunt)

I wondered if my grandmother thought the journey warranted the destination. Hotel Geneve is grand today, and would have been in 1956. Opened in 1907, it was the first hotel in Mexico to admit women travelling alone. Fitting, I thought, for the sake of both Jean and I. The hotel felt like a destination in itself. With a floor-to-ceiling library and a heavy chandelier dominating the lobby, it looked like an old film set. I hardly left on my first day.

However, it seems Jean used Hotel Geneve purely as a base. My grandmother had a packed schedule during her short four-day stay. She’d go to Puebla, a city 135km south-east of Mexico City; to Teotihuacán, a pre-Aztec city settled in 400BC an hour north of the capital with ancient temples, plazas and pyramids spread throughout; and on a tour of Mexico City – although I wasn’t exactly sure where.

View image of The Hotel Geneve was the first hotel in Mexico to admit women travelling alone (Credit: Credit: Hotel Geneve)

I’d be in the capital for just five days. And as I spent more time in the city, much of the trip became a game of comparison. I made my way down Paseo de la Reforma, a monumental street three streets up from the hotel, and I tried to imagine what my grandmother saw back then. There certainly wouldn’t be any of today’s glass skyscrapers. The iconic Angel of Independence would be there, towering over the avenue – although the following year, Mexico’s 1957 earthquake would hit, and the gold-covered statue would fall into pieces, later to be replaced.

I spent my days taking the metro around Mexico City, checking off not only the sites my grandmother might have visited but my own bucket list, too: the Coyoacán neighbourhood; the Vasconcelos library; and the Zócalo, a main square in the historical centre of Mexico City built on Aztec ruins.

At a time when many women were expected to stay home and keep house, my grandmother was unfettered in Mexico City

The Zócalo was somewhere I figured my grandmother had gone. A devout Catholic, Jean likely wouldn’t have missed the Metropolitan Cathedral, which was built on the square between 1573 and 1813. In fact, my grandmother rarely missed a Sunday mass. She’d even attend the same services I did with my Catholic school. And when it came time for the students to shake hands in peace near the end of mass, I’d whip my head around to find her. We’d catch eyes from across the church, and she’d hold up her hand in a peace sign. She was a constant, smiling face in the crowd.

I entered the Metropolitan Cathedral – something I thought Jean would be happy about – and then made my way to the centre of the Zócalo. I had my hands in my coat pocket, overcome by the square’s sheer size. Groups of families and friends walked by. But for me, standing idle as people whizzed past, it’d never felt so good to be alone.

View image of Jean’s four-day itinerary included a day trip to Puebla and a tour of the ancient city of Teotihuacán (Credit: Credit: Victoria Stunt)

Like many women today, travelling alone is something I do often. But despite speaking fluent Spanish and being based in Latin America for years, some loved ones still thought it’d be better for my partner to be my chaperone. For me, landing in a different country to explore solo still feels like a small push against the social system.

I wonder if Jean felt the same way 62 years ago. At the time, women in Canada were earning around 59 cents to the dollar. Women in Mexico had just got the right to vote in 1953 after years of fighting. Jean supported herself financially and wanted to explore the world; and when she did, she was giving the system a full-out shove.

As my trip progressed, I understood my grandmother was a more relentless traveller than I am. After sitting for five days on a bus, perhaps Jean felt she’d better squeeze everything in. I travelled to Teotihuacán on public transit, but never made the day trip to Puebla as she did. I did try to visit the stores where she shopped, since the addresses were listed on the receipts she kept. At one I found a hotel. The second boutique, simply listed at the ‘corner of Londres and Calle Génova’, was now either a convenience store, taco chain, an off-license liquor shop or a Starbucks.

View image of Stunt made sure to visit the Metropolitan Cathedral, a site her grandmother, a devout Catholic, surely visited (Credit: Credit: Mark Kanning/Alamy)

As I retraced her steps, I thought about what drove Jean to break the mould. The needle pointed to her family. Her parents lived in China for 10 years starting in 1921 – in fact, the first time my grandmother travelled was from China to Canada, on a boat for three months as an infant while her parents were on sabbatical.

Landing in a different country to explore solo still feels like a small push against the social system

As an adult, Jean’s parents encouraged her to travel. For months, her mother sent letters convincing Jean to go with her to the Bahamas. They went together in 1955, and her father, Rundall, proudly commented on their trip in letters sent to the family – just as he did when Jean set off for Mexico.

Since moving to Colombia in my early 20s, I’ve never been able to fully explain why I’m there. One year quickly turned into four, and as I matured, the reasons I listed to my family varied. But while in Mexico, Jean reminded me just as her parents did for her, that there was no justification needed. Jean boarded the bus to Mexico City because she felt like it, and that was reason enough.

View image of Following in her grandmother's footsteps reminded Stunt that she did not need to justify her desire to travel (Credit: Credit: Victoria Stunt)

My grandmother met my grandfather the year after she returned to Canada from Mexico. They married in 1958, raised their family of four kids, and she continued working another 30 years as a nurse. Her adventurous spirit never faded, though. She’d drive across Canada with her kids – east one time, then west another. And she’d point out car number plates to her grandchildren, encouraging us to imagine far-off places.

Not long before she died, Jean went to China with her younger brother. She said she’d found the house where she was born using only an old photograph. Travelling to connect with the past, I now realise, must be a family trait.

Travel Journeys is a BBC Travel series exploring travellers’ inner journeys of transformation and growth as they experience the world.

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