#i have 0 $$ to fly myself across the country | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goeymoey · 4 years ago

Text

What if you tricked me?

A BBS short! (Part 1/??)

Hope you enjoy :) !

——-

Nogla’s mic popped as he sat down in his chair. The signature black headphones already perched on his head.

“ Okaay, what we doin’ today boys?”

Miles away, in a different country, Tyler sighed. “ You really gotta get that mic fixed, man.” He turned on his web cam for emphasis and gave Nogla’s profile picture a frown. “ It sounds like shit.”

“ What do ya mean?” Nogla faked a whine. “ It sounds great! everybody loves the sound of my voice through this here mic! Am I rights boys?”. While turning on his web cam as he talked, Nogla leans back in his chair with both arms spread wide open.

“ I sound like a god!”

A neon green light highlights around Brian’s box as he snickers. “ Yeah...the god of shit!” Brian flicks his web cam on but, instead of being greeted with a smiling Irishman, he shows his middle finger.

Nogla sticks out his tongue. “ Shut yer fuckin mouth, traitor.” He crossed his arms with a pout. “ You’re the one who gave me the mic in the first place!”

Tyler and Brian lock eyes on the screen as the later smirks widely.

“ Why do you think that was?”

Nogla shrugs. “ I don’t know! I thought it was because you were being a good friend but-“ He gives Brian a hard stare through his screen “-OBVIOUSLY I was incorrect in my assumption! Hmpf!”

Another mic pop echos through the others headphones after Nogla’s shout, and it makes the two begin to snicker.

“ Sorry for trying to be a GREAT FRIEND and give you something of mine!” Brian says through a laugh. “ I guess I’ll go fuck myself next time!”

“ Shut yer cunt mouth you dirty-“

Nogla’s mic pops as it cuts off the final word to his sentence.

“- Next time I see ya, I’ll make sure to stick my foot up your dirty arse!”

Tyler bangs on his desk with a closed fist before taking off his head seat and walking away from the screen.

His faint laughter can be heard even as he walks out of his office and down the hall.

Brian smiles wide at the echoing laughter of his friend. He hunches over his keyboard, to be closer to the screen, as if he was about to follow Tyler himself.

“ You made the man leave the room, Nogla! how do you feel?”

Nogla scowls. “ I feel nothing towards any of ye cunts now...fuckin hate y’all...”. He mumbles. “ Especially-...Hey! Brock!”. Nogla cuts himself off as the discord ping of someone joining the voice call rings in his headset.

“ Just the man I wanted to see!”

Brock sighs and turns his web cam on. He stares at Nogla with a slack face of indifference.

“ Hey Nogla.”

The tall Irishman smiles wide. “ Did ya miss me?”

Brock scratches at his chin. “ No.”

“ What? Come on, Brock! I’m giving you all my love right here and you just-“ Nogla exaggerates his movements while shaking his hand in front of his face. “-give me this!” He slouches back in his chair. “ You give me nothing.”

Brock smiles. “ Okay...Hey Brian.”

The other Irishman smiles at the acknowledgment and tips his head. “ Hey Brock. How’ve ya been?”

“ Oh, y’know...” Brock holds in his laughter at the sight of Nogla giving him a deadly stare through the screen. “...same old things everyday, every night...the use’.”

Brian stretches his arms behind his back causing the bottom of his shirt to ride up a bit. “ Oh the woes of a single man in he early twenties. Never having any fun.” He rests back into his chair with both arms laying in his lap. “ Bet you wish you would have taken me up on that trip to Ireland, huh?”

Brock rubs at the back of his neck. “ Kinda...but not really.”

Nogla has given up trying to get Brock’s attention back and is now glued to his phone.

He mumbles something under his breath, but the other two males don’t catch it.

The door to Tyler’s office shutting muffles in the back ground of everyone’s head phones as the tall man comes stalking back to his chair. His attention is also focused on his phone, but his face is a mix of confusion and frustration.

He doesn’t reciprocate the others greetings and instead hastily shows the screen of his phone to the web camera.

“ Did any of you guys get this message from Evan?” Tyler’s grip on the blue cases phone tightens as he asks the question.

“ It says he sent it to me a while ago, but I left it down stairs.”

While listening to Tyler speak, both Brian and Brock brought out their phones.

“ Ummm...Yeah...” Brian starts awkwardly. “ I got a message from him too but...but it’s just a link with no url...” He mimics Tyler by holding up his phone to the web cam. “ It’s just a grey box...is that what you got?”

Tyler nods and sets his phone out of view from his camera. The screen facing up at him...just in case.

“ Yeah...it’s weird...How about you, Brock? Nogla?”

“ I got the box.” Brock shows the two his phone.

From his slouched position, Nogla mumbles. “ Same here.” His eyes stay glued to the screen. “ I already clicked on it, and it doesn’t seem...weird.”

The three watch as Nogla sits up and exposes his screen. “ I think it’s just a new game, or something like that.” He faces his phone towards him and then scrolls up on the screen. “ It’s like asking for my email and stuff like that so, I’m just guessing that’s what it is.”

Brock puffs out his cheeks. “ But what if it’s a virus?”

Brian shakes his head while tapping on the link. “ Evan wouldn’t send us a virus. He’s too smart for that.” His eyes shine against the brightness of the phone.

He flips up and down on the screen and then nods with a hum. “ Yeah, I think this might just be a new game for us to play. It all looks that way.....you wanna check it out togther?” Brian looks up from his phone. “ It says it’s multiplayer.”

Tyler purses his lips in an unsavory frown. “ I don’t know...it still seems a little sketchy.”

“ Aww, please, Tyler?! Please!” Nogla clamps his hands together in a plea while bowing his head. “ I’ve already set up my account and made my avatar! It’s too late to back out now!”

Brock huffs. “ Maybe for you.”

Nogla points at the screen with a strict finger. “ You shut yer fuckin mouth you god damn short prick!”

“ Hey! Don’t call me short!”

“ But you are!”

“ No I’m not! I’m 5’9!” Brock glares with his arms crossed. “ It’s like the average height.”

Nogla makes a ‘pft’ noise. “ That’s just what short people say! Now-“ bouncing up from his seat, Nogla waves his phone around dramatically “- hurry up and make y’all’s profiles before I start without ya! I’m getting bored!”

The others sigh at Nogla’s childish behavior, but fill out the link anyway.

It takes a few more minutes then Nogla would have liked- since Brian couldn’t decide whether he wanted his character to have blue or brown hair- but he refrained himself from succumbing to his impatience.

Brock was the last to finish his avatar with a worrying smirk as he tapped the ‘save’ button.

“ Okay, I’m ready. Who’s making the game?”

Nogla pipped up with shimmering eyes. “ I will you slow cunts! I’ve been waiting forever, let’s do this!”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “ It’s been like five minutes.”

“ Well, it felt like a long time!”

Brian scoffed at his friends whining. “ And yer just making it longer by complaining about it.” His arms sit across a wide chest as he laid back with the black cased phone sitting on his desk.

“ Just make the game already, jeez.”

Nogla huffed. “ I’m going I’m going....Okay, what are your guys usernames? The same as always?”

All three nod in agreement.

“ Yeah.”

“ Mhm.”

“ Weirdly, yes. I didn’t even have to change the ‘s’ in ‘Terroriser’ to a ‘z’ or add a 0.”

Brock hummed. “ Same here, and usually my names the first to go.”

Nogla rolls his eyes. “ Whatever, boring. It should be sending you an invite riiight....now.” He points to the screen just as three simultaneous dings pop in the others headphones.

“ The game won’t be able to start unless we all accept so, hurry up!”

Tyler looks down at the acceptance button suspiciously. “ I still don’t feel good about this...but fuck it! Let’s do this!” He taps the button and waits for the others to join.

Brock nods. “ Yeah, it might actually be fun!” He accepts the request.

Brian hesitates as he reads the short paragraph of rules before accepting.

“...this may be too much for some audiences...viewer discretion is-...I think this might be a horror game!” Brian exclaims with glee.

Brock’s face turns pale. “ A horror game? Does it say what it’s about? I didn’t read the warnings!” Brock looks down at his phone with worry as his free hand fiddles with his hair.

“ I wouldn’t of accepted if I had read that...”

Tyler snorts. “ Quit being such a pussy, Brock. It’s a mobile game. No mobile games are scary.”

“ Except for Five Nights at Freddie’s.” Nogla interjects.

“ That’s different.” Tyler responds.

“ How is that different? It’s a mobile horror game?”

“ It’s different because FNAF is based off of real life human things...like the fear that toys are alive or...yeah.” Tyler bites his lips in thought. “ Stuff like that.”

“ That sounds dumb.”

“ You’re dumb!”

“ Shut the fuck up, Nogla.”

“ No. You shut up.”

Brock sighs in irritation. “ Brian, hurry up and accept the invite before I blow my brains out from listening to these two.”

Brian absently nods as he reaches the end of the paragraph. “ Yeah yeah...im almost done.”

He taps the accept button.

“ I was just-“

“ Ooh Shit-“

The world turns black for all four men as their bodies slump down into their chairs. Phones slip carelessly from hands as headphones ride up on their heads and chairs creak beneath pounds of dead weight.

Tyler’s web came shakes as his head slams down on the desk in a dead black out. The door to his office jiggles behind him, but stays shut.

Brock’s head rolls back over his chair as his jaw unhinges to let his mouth hang open freely. The top of his headphones slide forward onto his forehead while his shoulders rise up on the chair.

Nogla’s arms simply drop dead and hang off the armrests of his chair while his head props up, unmoving, on his shoulder.

Brian’s body fully slips out of his chair as all dead weight transfers to the front of his seat and sends the furniture flying backwards. His camera also shakes as his body slams against the ground without trying to catch himself.

Then everything is still.

A green highlight appears around Tyler’s web cam as a bird chirps outside, but nobody moves and nobody talks.

...

Soon, their chests stop rising.

#banana bus squad #i am wildcat #dathi de nogla #the gaming terroriser #moo snuckel #fanfiction bbs fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

lizzystride-blog · 7 years ago

Text

//sorry for absence as of late; been busy with commissions, work and rebooting my League blog (v slowly over @katarinaducouteau) Prod me if i owe you, but i dont think i have anything to reply to, so... omw to work but hmu if you wanna do a thing!

#nervous laughs #got a funeral to go to sometime soon and #i have 0 $$ to fly myself across the country #0$ to cover the rent i would have to make up for missing work #hahaah no that wasnt what i woke up to today #hearing that ive lost some fam again #super #no im not venting here because its my least active dash and #i dont want attention drawn to it #but im #i need it out of me #;out of salt #tbd

1 note · View note

micahstravels · 4 years ago

Text

“Claw Marks”

*I wrote a lot of this over the past few months, then pulled it all together and finished it while I was alone in isolation. Like so many other people, last year did not go as expected. The result (of many factors) is that I will be moving out of New Zealand, my home for the past four years. Even though I made this decision, it still feels very surreal.

Most of what is written here is from the last year: some is my own processing, some is recapturing moments, and some are just snapshots of things I write but devoid of the context in which I wrote them.

Maybe this will not all make sense, but my hope is that maybe you’ll find some of your own thoughts and emotions articulated.

Again, thanks for reading.

—

The Slow Turn

A year changes you a lot.

What has unfolded over the past few months was everything I did not want to happen, a series of events that hit the ground like a pile of dominoes, one right after the other, and by the end of November I was on the floor.

I came across a quote from David Foster Wallace during that time. “Everything I’ve ever let go of,” he writes, “has claw marks on it.” Look, I am aware that I cannot hold on to things forever, at some point I must let go. But there was always a difference between freely relinquishing what’s in my grasp and having my fists pried open.

Of course, a habit of mine is that I shred things out of fear.

I board a flight leaving from New Zealand in early December. As the country shrinks, I feel hot tears soak into my face mask, and I know that the next time I fly away like this, it will be with everything that fits into two suitcases, maybe three. “The next time I fly away like this, I know, it will be for good,” I wrote on the flight.

But what no one knows is that I knew this in the middle of last year, when I awoke one morning with a gnawing kind of feeling that this country was giving me the last of what it has to offer—there wouldn’t be much left soon. For even in July I had a sense of what was coming in November. What has followed I can only describe as an inner shift, akin to someone placing their palms on my cheeks and slowly turning my head, forcing me to look away.

What is happening now is the slow turn, as my grey eyes hold the faces of all the people this country has brought me to love. The slow turn, a shelf full of books, a plant growing up the bare wall, early morning sun. An old green car in the driveway. The slow turn. Two friends on the other end of the phone, they are saying they are happy for me, this is the right thing, red eyes, tears streaming, I am crying too, I say sorry twice and they say don’t you ever apologize for this again. The slow turn, my name to take off the lease. The slow turn. A final drive out to the beach with the black sand, the one where I used to sprint into the Pacific. Out to lunch, my mom asks if I am sure, I’m sure, I say while I sit on my hands. The slow turn, “I’m sure, but I hate this,” I write on the flight back.

A slow turn, a pivot. Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. I will attempt not to shred anything as I return only to pack up, which is the same as being told not to be afraid.

“The next time I fly away like this, I know, it will be for good,” I wrote on that first flight.

I book another flight. This is the beginning of the end here, my time to wrap up. What do they call it? A transition.

—

No Easy Way Out

Here, finally, I relinquish my right to a direct route.

A fictional right; a right I never had to begin with.

—

“Culpable”

tengo que tomar una decisión: volver (regresar) o irme de nuevo (correr)

dime, si te dejo una vez más ¿me perdonarás?

—

Load-shedding

There are two main ways to carry a load: on your back or in your arms. It appears that one cripples you, while the other builds endurance.

Look, I know about this burden—I just need to consciously decide how I want it to mark me.

—

My Bottom Lip is Bleeding

I thought I was going to pass out in spin class the other day. I remember it being a 30-minute class, turns out it was sixty. By the 30-minute mark I’d given everything I had and then some, but then the instructor starts calling out halfway there! and that’s when I knew that I was in trouble. I kid you not: the instructor looks dead at me from his bike and says, bite down, girl, it will help you keep going and forget the pain. I’m so embarrassed to be singled out, but whatever. Bite down, girl. I clench my teeth together tight and keep pedaling. The feeling I experience after it’s over is one of exhilaration, akin to pride.

Two days later, at 6:32 in the morning, a rejection email, after I’ve given everything I have—and then some. I sit up in bed, howling softly.

Bite down, girl. Just bite down.

Look, I don’t know what I am going to do or what is going to happen, but I know this:

I hope one day to look back on this tender season in my life, and I hope for two things—(1) that I kept going and (2) that the feeling I experience when looking back is one of pride.

—

The Return

I forgot the Spanish word for dreaming (soñar) and then later I forgot the word for glasses (lentes) and then in the middle of a conversation I forgot how to properly construct a sentence in the past tense.

This terrifies me. I have to go back.

There are some things you can afford to forget; this is not one of them.

—

Implosion

We spent an entire lecture discussing the ethics of using aborted fetus stem cells as a treatment for Parkinson’s. One life sacrificed so another could be prolonged, I write.

The offhanded way the lecturer talked about it—as if this were a minor inconvenience to research, as though this shouldn’t even be a debate at all—left a gross taste in my mouth. A student raised his hand and asked if the stem cells strictly came from aborted fetuses or if spontaneous miscarried fetuses would also be used. The lecturer replied that miscarried fetuses should always be treated as human remains, therefore the wishes of the family must be respected, whereas aborted ones are considered medical waste and thus, “in his opinion” should be released and used for research purposes. If I had the guts that few people have I would’ve raised my hand and said exactly what I thought about that. “In my opinion.”

Instead I write: I do not know what to do with or where to put this knowledge; it weighs heavy on my chest.

The thought of entering such a sterile yet fascinating field terrifies me. Will I learn to live with this weight? Who will I become in the process? I get home and drive to the beach; it’s pouring.

Who am I with this?

The past two years have been marked by a lot of questions, specifically about where to locate my beliefs in this fast-paced yet very complex, very septic world I’ve ventured into. There have been so many things in this field that I love, but there are so many ethics that I do not have answers to. Euthanasia for terminal, painful diseases? Stem cell therapy? Funding for Western diseases or the same funding instead for clean water? 3D printing organs? Cell cloning? Aborting babies with cystic fibrosis, with down syndrome, with cleft palates?

Do I want to study in the West? Do I even like living in the West?

I am twenty-four and find myself caught in the undertow of a forceful wave that I thought I could swim through, but it’s just a lot stronger than I originally expected. So many people around me seem to be riding these waves effortlessly, taking in the information and spitting out model answers, picking it all up and rearranging it neatly to fit into a worldview that is both contemporary and politically correct. But what if all of this doesn’t fit in mine?

I think about this a lot, about the way I want to look at and approach this world. I also think a lot about who I would like to be. And, in my final year of this one degree, I’ve reached the conclusion that if any stray piece of information can be molded, compressed and folded so that it stacks tidily within a worldview, I don’t think that speaks to the flexibility of the worldview—I think it speaks to its demise.

I think it foretells of a worldview that will uphold anything and everything, collecting opinions and beliefs as they come, unwilling to shed the information that doesn’t fit, until it can’t anymore, until it collapses in on itself. A worldview that was always destined to implode.

The task ahead of me is to figure out how to build one that will last.

—

December

The end of this year.

I feel sun-bleached, really. Or something like it.

I look across the table at my friend, at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. The weariness we feel from a difficult year is evident between us: she barely touches her food while I devour everything on the table that is edible. I want to ask if I can eat her sandwich; I almost ask the waiter to bring me another plate of food. And a refill.

I think to myself that we are both starving differently, each malnourished in a kind of overtired way.

We were all running so fast, I say, we weren’t prepared for the standstill.

She looks at me. But what were we even running for?

Ocean Vuong, in one of my favorite books, “I am not with you because I am at war with everything but you.”

A standstill, yes. But now, also, a turnaround, a furious sprint away from a war in which I don’t remember enlisting but fought in nonetheless. A long run in the other direction, a long run back home.

What were we even running for? I will not—in an attempt to build this life—venture so far off into the distance that when I turn around the people I want to show it to most are gone. I will not.

I have come back to you because I am done fighting everything that took me away from you.

—

“Open to hear a new voice message”

0:59. “Hey Micah, hope you’re good. I just wanted to check in on you. Look, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while and I think now’s a good time. And it’s that I don’t think you should let the fear of what has happened over the past few months and years make you into something you’re not. I just see lately that you’ve been grabbing all of these back-up plans out of fear that one or all of them are going to fail. But I’ve never known you to be someone to look for worst case scenarios. You have never been indecisive and you were never easily overwhelmed or even frantic. And I find that being with you now, there’s something off, there’s something within you that doesn’t belong. I think you’ve become scared and that’s ok, we all get scared, but I think it’s time to not be scared anymore. I see how the fear of what has happened has begun to shape you into something you’re not, and I think it’s time to let that girl go and bring the old one ba—”

0:33. “It cut out on me. Bring the old one back, that’s what I was saying. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that. You know I love you and I’m always rooting for the real you, but I will also root for you even when you’re scared, just as long as you commit to letting that scared part go. And I think—no, actually, I know—that what’s ahead is daunting, but you don’t have to be afraid of it. Anyways, I have to run but iloveyousomuch and I’m here for you, always. Have a good day, see you soon.”

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. Fear included.

—

June

When he walked away, I was overcome by a feeling that I was off-balance; the world felt like it was spinning. He left and I tried to steady myself, to sit upright again.

But those damn eyes left me reeling.

"Your eyes, an ocean, I drag a raft out to sea, no one has found me.”

—

Molting

To live in this peaceful country at this point in history is, as the news says, to be free. Everyone that can is migrating back here. But for me, that freedom was always relative, that is, it’s now contingent on the fact that you can no longer come and go as you please.

But I have to come and go: a whole piece of me lives somewhere else in the world.

Nonetheless, I find myself conflicted about leaving, conflicted about staying. I request a sign and get a picture of someone ripping off the outer layer of my skin, like someone helping a snake molt out of its old scales. In other words, this season has ended.

When I was a little girl growing up in Australia I used to find leftover cicada exoskeletons stuck to trees. At six, I used to wonder if it hurt the insect, and if it did hurt, did the cicada just shake off its outer layer anyway, out of necessity? In Mexico, at twenty-four, I sit on the beach and watch a hermit crab pull its spindly body out of a shell that has become too small.

I can’t stay in a country that won’t freely release me anymore, I can’t stay in a country that has nothing left for me, it is time to go. This knowledge hurts but I process it anyway, out of necessity.

I think about the snake, about the cicada, the hermit crab—the girl. All of us molting an exterior layer that has built up over time, shedding what we’ve outgrown, the difference between the creatures and I is that their instincts told them this would happen. The difference between us is that they’re not sobbing while they do it. I pick up four years of my life, like a shimmering, translucent wisp in my hands, it weighs nothing, it weighs everything, and I lay it on the ground and I make myself leave it behind.

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, that’s what he said; that’s what I’m doing now, only gently.

This dead skin glows like a green light behind me, green like the neon exit sign that I am now running towards in this new, baby-soft skin.

I just don’t know where I’m running to.

—

Mornings

I want to write about my family, without saying too much.

I want to write about what it’s like to drive down a windy road, my dad at the wheel saying that we need a plan, we need a timeline, and I agree, I want a plan and I want a timeline; my mom says nothing. The Mexican desert is a blur past my tinted window, burnt orange, flecks of gold, a cloudless blue sky—and all I can think about is how I need a plan, I need a timeline. I pull out my phone to take notes, as if all of these things that we have been hoping for, for three years now, could be scheduled. If they could be scheduled they would’ve happened by now.

I want to write about the two people I love most, without saying too much. We take a road trip to the centre of the country, where we ate at a different restaurant for breakfast, lunch and dinner for ten days. There were colourful buildings, a sunrise ride up in a hot air balloon, late nights watching Lost reruns. My dad buys fresh pastries in the morning, my mom and I walk through the market for hours, we order hot chocolate so thick and creamy and rich that we cannot finish it.

When we returned everybody said that it looked so beautiful, you must’ve had such a good time, but what is sharpest in my mind is how they both looked, what it was like to wake up in the same space as them, the many conversations over breakfast, lunch and dinner, the two of them holding hands as we walked between the colourful buildings, how it felt to know that an undercurrent of many things that are still not ok ran beneath us, but here in these moments, we are ok.

For I cannot write about this without writing about the ache we have all had to adjust to. An ache with a pulse, I wrote in 2018. I will not say too much except that the past three years have been hard, some days so gutting it took my breath away—I was spiraling—a lot of calls across the world where I put the phone down and howled. In November a series of events hit the ground like a pile of dominoes, in November I was on the floor, in November the elapsed time was now marked in years—in November I almost gave up. In November I was ready to raise the white flag, in December I flew to Mexico with the intention of raising it, come for me disappointment, I surrender, just let me catch my breath and then take me.

But how can I write this? That is not the whole story. The untold part of the story continues, such that throughout this elapsed time, these three years, I have looked at my dad on multiple occasions and he refused to raise that white piece of cloth, I look to my mom and she won’t either. They are better than I am, more resilient than I am, and even though this hurts like hell, if they will not raise a flag in surrender then I will not either. I will not give up, either.

A month into my time at home, I wrote down Renaud’s words:

"I will love you until we run out of mornings. Then I will love you in the dark.”

There is much to say of a family in the dark; every family experiences it at some point. But for ours, I can only write about how it stripped us of a lot but gave us back so much more. For it is dark but I know their faces, even if I can’t always see them, I know what things feel like, where we all fit in this black space, the presence of an extra Person whom we all take turns sleeping next to. One morning, my mom holds me like I’m a child again and I weep just like one; I weep out three years worth of disappointment. “Then I will love you in the dark.”

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. But not this, this I will not be letting go of, ever. I would like to write a lot more, about two months at home in Mexico that returned something lost to me; the mornings when I woke up to the dog scratching at the door, my dad on the couch wrapped in a blanket, my mom in the kitchen stirring oatmeal—and everything is not ok but everything in that moment is good, we are good. But this is all I will write here, for the rest of the story is written down somewhere else; the rest of the story is for me, for us.

Besides, there are mornings are coming, the ones where the light trickles in gradually, slowly, and then all at once everything is bright again. These are the mornings that are coming; I mustn’t waste my energy.

4 notes · View notes

timotey · 5 years ago

Text

Ficlet: A Piece of You (Now a Part of Me)

Dark Blue Kiss/Kiss Me Again ficlet, PeteKao. Set at some point in the future.

Notes at the end of the fic. For @inlovewithjdramas. Sorry it took me so long.

Pete is in a car accident. Kao isn’t. They both end up in the OR.

🤕🤕🤕

He wakes up to dull pain. All over, really. He doesn’t understand. He tries to move - and then, a much sharper stab, in his abdomen, so sharp in fact that it steals his breath away. He gasps.

A rustle, a soft voice, “Son? Pete, are you awake?”

His dad.

Clenching his teeth, Pete turns his head to the side and cracks his eyes open, just a little. “Dad?” he croaks out.

His father, dressed in scrubs and with a surgical mask on his face. Only his eyes are visible and they look old. Old and distressed and relieved and tearful.

Pete tries again. “Dad? What hap’n?” What’s wrong with him?

His dad strokes his hair gently. “You had an accident, son,” he replies softly.

Accident? “Car?”

“Yes, a car accident,” his dad says.

A car accident. Where was he going? Pete racks his brain for a while - his mind is foggy and fuzzy and running sideways it seems - and then it comes to him: He was meant to pick up Kao from school.

Kao!

His eyes open wide, alarmed. “Kao?” he croaks out.

His dad leans closer, takes Pete’s hand in his - gloves, he has rubber gloves on - and assures him quickly, “He wasn’t in the car with you. He wasn’t there. I promise.”

Oh. The relief is so profound, so deep that it saps all of Pete’s strength - he had so little of it, how odd. His eyes close. “So where… where is he…?”

He doesn’t hear the answers.

He falls asleep.

xXx

The second time he wakes up, it’s day. He doesn’t remember if it was day before; it’s all blurry. But now it’s day and he feels better. Much better, actually. And there’s a nurse puttering around his bed, a pretty older woman in scrubs whose eyes smile brightly above her surgical mask when she sees him awake.

“Good morning,” she greets him cheerfully.

Pete looks around slowly. “My dad?” he asks.

“I finally convinced him to go home and get some sleep!” the nurse replies, adjusting Pete’s blanket a little.

Good, Pete thinks.

“And… and my boyfriend, Kao? Was he here?” Pete hopes that he was. But at the same time he hopes he didn’t just sleep through Kao’s visit.

The nurse clucks her tongue. “He tried - he was very adamant - but the doctor wouldn’t allow it.”

Oh. Pete guesses that only family members are allowed in the ICU - because that’s where he’s been staying, apparently - and it makes him sad, the thought that he might not get to see Kao before they let him out of here.

But then the nurse continues, “She ordered your boyfriend to stay in bed for at least one more day. The surgery went exceedingly well since you’re both strong, healthy boys--” Then she pauses and looks Pete up and down. “Well, apart from all the bruises and scrapes you suffered, honey. But, yes, you both passed the surgery with flying colors and you’re going to be just fine - in time. It was a major procedure, after all. Your boyfriend, though? All he seems to think about is you!” She sighs and shakes her head.

Pete stares at her as she rants about the foolishness of youth and then he cuts in with a sharp, “What surgery?”

The nurse falls silent and her eyes widen. She glances towards the door and shuffles her feet uncomfortably. “I thought-I thought your father told you…” she stutters out, apparently realizing that she said something she maybe shouldn’t have.

“What. Surgery?” Pete repeats firmly, glaring at her. The machines by his bed beep loudly, telling the world all about his anxious state of mind. What happened? Where is Kao? How is he?

Stepping closer, the nurse waves her hands quickly, trying to get him to calm down. “He’s fine. Your boyfriend is perfectly fine. I swear. I promise,” she blurts out, obviously realizing the cause of Pete’s distress.

And yes, those words do allow Pete to dial down his anxiety a notch. Still, he frowns at her and his voice is firm and unbending when he asks her, “What is going on here? Tell me now or I swear I’ll climb out of this bed and go find out myself!”

“Fine,” the nurse allows. “Your car accident, it really messed up your internal organs, mainly your liver. The doctors had to remove it.”

What?

“And since there’s no dialysis treatment for liver like there’s for kidneys, you needed a transplant immediately,” she continues. “Your father, of course, offered but he’s too old and his health isn’t up to something like this, even though he’s in a spring condition - for his age. So your boyfriend stepped in. From some past school project he remembered you two had matching blood types and…” She shrugs. “We did all the necessary tests and he was a perfect match.”

Pete stares at her. Kao… Kao gave Pete a part of his liver? There’s a piece of Kao inside him now? Pete touches his abdomen, stunned. “Is Kao-is he really alright?” he whispers. That he himself almost died will hit him later, he’s sure. But right now, all he can think about is Kao.

The nurse smiles. “He’s doing really well. Liver is actually a very adaptable organ. In time and with the proper medication and care, it’ll grow back and you’ll be both as good as new.” Then she adds, her smile turning fond, “You’re a really lucky guy, you know? Your boyfriend loves you very, very much.”

Pete smiles back, just a little; he won’t be able to truly relax until he sees Kao with his own two eyes, until he checks for himself that Kao’s really okay, he knows that. But he still smiles and petting his abdomen lightly, he replies, “I know.”

He loves Kao, too. Very, very much.

xXx

The third time Pete wakes up, it’s evening, the sun is about to set - and Kao is there. He’s sitting slumped in a wheelchair by Pete’s bed, dressed in a hospital gown. He’s holding his abdomen with his left hand and Pete’s hand in his right one, rubbing Pete’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Hey, love,” Kao greets him warmly when he sees Pete blink his eyes open groggily.

When Pete hears Kao’s voice, when he feels his touch, he’s immediately wide awake. “Kao,” he whispers, studying Kao warily, looking for signs of… something. Kao hurting? Feeling ill? Uncomfortable? But besides a slight twitch now and then when he moves wrong, there’s nothing. Kao really does seem fine.

“How do you feel?” Kao asks softly, staring at Pete with so much love in his eyes that it makes Pete’s throat thicken a little.

Pete shrugs. “Good. Like someone pulled through the wringer but… good. Thanks to you, from what I heard,” he adds, turning his hand in Kao’s and squeezing it.

Kao smiles.

Pete’s next words startle him, though. “You shouldn’t have done that. What if something went wrong? What if-what if you hurt yourself for nothing? What if--”

He cuts himself off because his mind still can’t work its way around the fact that Kao really did that. That he willingly let them cut him open and carve out a part of him, that he gave a piece of himself to Pete, just like that.

“You would’ve done the same thing,” Kao replies.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Pete snaps back but there’s no heat behind his words, no real conviction. Rudeness is his knee-jerk reaction to… well, to fear. Not of his own injury or death but of Kao’s.

Kao smiles again and lifts Pete’s hand to press the back of it to his own cheek. “Alright.”

Pete… Pete looks away. The fondness in Kao’s face, the understanding in his eyes, they make his throat grow thick again. He hates dealing with emotions. He hates that Kao knows him so well.

Well, not really. No. He doesn’t.

Kao brushes his lips across the back of Pete’s hand before pressing it against his cheek again. “How about you just promise me to take better care of yourself from now on, huh? A piece of me is now a part of you so, you know,” he shrugs, “I have a rightful claim to you. And I’m not giving you up.”

Kao’s words, they make Pete’s chest feel all warm, they make him happy. Still, he grumbles as is his wont, “Well, it’s not like I blew my tire on purpose. Could happen to anyone.”

But Kao’s response is a simple, soft, “I know.” He doesn’t bicker back. And when Pete looks at him, he sees the stress of these last… who knows how many days reflected in face. Pete can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for Kao. He doesn’t want to imagine himself being in Kao’s place, seeing Kao--

Pete clears his throat. “Alright. I promise,” he mutters and when Kao’s whole face brightens, he looks away again. Kao’s happiness makes Pete… it makes him... it’s so…

“I love you, Pete,” Kao tells him.

And squeezing Kao’s hand tight, holding onto it as if it were his lifeline, Pete replies, softly but with much feeling, “I love you, too.”

xXx

Notes: I based this fic on a Hawaii 5-0 episode and the comings and goings in the transplant ICU on my own experience from when my mom got her kidney transplant. It might differ by the country, though.

#dark blue kiss #petekao #kiss me again #my petekao fics #mé

31 notes · View notes

ruinmylifc · 5 years ago

Text

[ MUSE 82 ] ●● is that TOM HOLLAND? no, that’s just troy sinclair, the 20 year old cismale who is a 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐑. some say they’re entitled & sly, but their family and friends will swear they’re enterprising & nonchalant. when i think of them, i think of heated make out sessions, sleeping out under the stars, seductive smirks, fake ids, spontaneous road trips, beat drops, quickies in club bathrooms, flying first class. i wonder if HIS family knows that 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒. ●●

yeah yeah i did another thing bc i am the literal worst™ and couldn’t help myself. i’m done i promise but find out about this lil shit below. also !! find this dickheads pinterest ( here ). enjoy !

FULL NAME: troy shane powell. NICKNAME: troy boy. AGE: twenty years old. DOB: 13th june, 1999. ZODIAC SIGN: gemini. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic. EDUCATION: high school diploma ; currently studying a bachelor of athletic training at boston university. OCCUPATION: part time team member at the yacht and country club gym.

the first thing i want to say is that troy is the epitome of a spoiled, entitled rich boy. the only time you will ever catch him in a target, walmart or tj maxx is to fuck shit up with mates. target sells clothes? he wouldn’t know bc he doesn’t care. you’re going to make him ride in a toyota? no, absolutely not. you’ve knocked into him down the street? expect to hear an earful.

also this bitch is a gemini ok i hate that, i do, don’t come at me just love me. but deep down he’s a good guy. he’s just done bad things.

he may think that the world revolves around him at times and believes he deserves special treatments bc of his family’s reputation and wealth, but he will literally talk to anyone. like, he can talk that’s for sure and is one of those people that comes across as being “friends” with everyone.

toddler!troy was a very active, boisterous troy. he was always doing something and would put his all into it. whether that be imaginative play, puzzles, hands on crafts, dancing along to whatever was playing, he was a ball of energy. too much so actually, lmao. nap time was almost non-existent.

everyone knows troy for being the guy that doesn’t let things worry him, the guy that is easy going. what they don’t know, however, is from birth to kindergarten, troy had big separation anxiety which only worsened when ariana/byrson left. he was the 2 year old screaming his lungs out, banging on the glass window watching mummy and daddy leave him at daycare. definitely would lay awake in bed late at night screaming and wailing for mum to come home when she left. he most definitely clung to dad for dear life in those young years, fearing he was going to leave too. luckily, for everyone’s sake, he managed to grow out of this.

touching on not letting things worry him, it is very hard to stress troy out or upset him. school work is getting hard? oh well. i just broke up with my girlfriend? meh. dad’s got another partner? what else is new? thoughts for the future? i’ll get there. he is very much a believer in things are meant to happen for a reason and doesn’t tend to take life too seriously ( except for when it comes to prized possessions ). with that being said though, when opportunity arises or he finds something that he wants he will take it and won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

when he is hurt, however, he will bottle it and not say a single word. very closed off and tends to keep people at a distance or lie to them about his feelings when he’s down.

he loves his family, even if they annoy the fuck out of him sometimes. he isn’t overly protective over his siblings bc he knows they can take care of themselves, but will step in when need be like a good big bro.

troy thrives on fun and adventure and every weekend ( when not earning that lil bit of extra cash ) is a chance to travel. he would very much prefer to be off traveling, exploring, putting his curiosity to good use by discovering new things or partying than sitting at home being lazy. he is renowned for getting into clubs and it’s very much his playing field. clubs are his stomping ground basically.

secret.

this doesn’t like to be single, not really anyway. there are underlying commitment issues when it comes to relationships that are more than likely the root of the problem along with the fact mama left and papa has had various partners over the years.

troy doesn’t need to be the center of attention as he already knows he’s the best, but he expects attention. he works hard on physique and appearance, putting his self-worth on the constant attention he receives. negative attention isn’t ideal, though he knows that only the best have their haters. being in a relationship is a validation to him that he is worth it, that his looks and who he is is worthy. it’s not healthy.

being single for too long gives him doubt, sends him down a downhill spiral of harsh criticism and he feels as though he is nothing without someone.

not only that, but troy actually enjoys the beginning of relationships. the charming smiles, flirting, the chase, going on those first few dates and being showered in compliments ( and giving them, ofc ). he likes getting to know people, likes the process of being strangers to being together, and he enjoys sleeping with new people also. the first touches, the way he can make someone’s heart race and how they can do the same to him. it’s enticing, addicting like drugs. all the way to the honeymoon phase.

he knows it isn’t love, not matter what his lover at the time says. he has never said it, and probably never will ( we’ll see ). troy is in love with the idea of loves, and it’s sad.

the boy’s relationships tend to last a couple of months at the very most. when that honeymoon phase starts to wear off, when he’s had the sex he needs and feels as though that partner is not doing anything for him anymore... he’s out. any work that needs to be put into a relationship to make it work or when a solid, deep and emotional connection is meant to start forming, he’s done.

break ups are not easy for most people, but for troy it’s nothing. it’s as easy as getting dressed in the morning. douchebag i know fuck me dead.

connections.

best friend / bromance ( 0/1 ): this is someone that troy has known for years, possibly from high school or even the start of college. ppl joke that these two are together, and at times they run along with it for shits and giggles but they’re just very close.

friends with benefits ( 0/2 ): these are two people that he “sees” in between relationships ; they get along outside of the bedroom, but they never cross the line ( maybe ). booty calls, not talking for two months and then randomly showing up again.

enemies ( 0/x ): this bitch has to have enemies, whether that’s bc of his family or he’s done something to hurt them, he has them. gimme !

fellow college kids ( 0/x ): this goes out to anyone that goes to college at boston uni/harvard. i’m sure they’ve all partied by now lmao.

exes ( 0/x ): this i need pls and thank you! troy is bisexual so he’s been many good looking guys and gals. these would range from when he was in high school ( 15ish ) to now. i am totally up for brainstorming everything about this connection.

current partner ( 0/1 ): i have in mind that this is completely new, very much in the stages of getting to know one another, flirting, eager texting, all that stuff. chemistry is key and depending on what happens, this may only last a lil while pls and thank !

squad ( 0/4-5 ): this would include the best friend, but gimme that clique that fucks around doing the most random and strangest shit. envision them doing this whilst waiting for take off to their weekend get away. lots of pranks being played on one another, go to the gym together, pulling fire alarms in hotels, all that jazz !

#ashcroftintro.#character study ― troy sinclair.#mirror ― troy sinclair.#spotify ― troy sinclair.#aesthetics ― troy sinclair.#answered ― troy sinclair.#memes ― troy sinclair.#family ― troy sinclair.#drabble ― troy sinclair.#wanted connection ― troy sinclair.

7 notes · View notes

wolffyluna · 5 years ago

Text

Storybook Pirates - F!Hawke/Isabela

@kawuli: Something with f!Hawke/Isabela or f!Hawke/Isabela/Merrill?

“I will write something short, it’s just for a prompt-fic” I said to myself, as I ended up writing 1.8k words in the space of a morning.

F!Hawke/Isabela, largely canon compliant.

(And I am still taking prompts, if people are interested!)

***

Hawke grew up on tales of pirates. Tales of dashing rogues, battling wind and waves and worse ne’er-do-wells. People who were just bad enough that they got to do the fun things, but good enough that you could rely on them to race across the waters to go save king and country and their one true lady love.

She grew up running along the shores of Lake Calenhad, brandishing a stick as a cutlass, and saving Bethany from the Dread Tax Customs Officer Carver. (None of them were quite sure what a customs officer was, other than, presumably, the natural enemy of the pirate.)

They took turns, as pirate and captive and customs officer, but Marian was the eldest. She got to strong arm her way into being the pirate more than her fair share of times.

If Lothering was on the coast, she might have felt different about pirates, felt about them more the way she felt about highwayman. But she grew up on the shores of a lake. The sea, and the dangers of being boarded, and having all your goods taken, and the question of whether you would starve, were just as fictional as pirates to her.

And then she grew older, and maybe most would have grown out of the tales of pirates—but when she grew older and magic sparked from her fingers—running away across the waves where no one knew who she was and no one was in a position to care, being just bad enough to do the fun things, but good enough to still be a hero, and not a bomb with a slow burning fuse to abomination-hood—Well, that had appeal.

***

She ran away across the waves, to a town that didn’t know who she was, and at the time, wasn’t quite in a position to care—It wasn’t as fun as it was in the stories. Because this was real life, and in real life you have to grieve the people who die, and you can’t be assured of your victory because you are the ‘good guy’, can’t be sure you were the ‘good guy’. But she made the best of it. She would be the dashing apostate that was here to help, so she could get enough money to go and be a pirate of the Deep Roads.

(“They’re roads,” Varric pointed out. “If you’re anything, you’re a tomb robber, or a highwayman, not a pirate.”

Hawke was aware of this, but still had her instinctive dictate of highwaymen. “Tomb robber just does not quite have the same ring to it.”

Varric held out his hands, and smiled. “It all depends on how you say it, Hawke.”)

***

She went to the Hanged Man, and met Isabela. Helped her out, offered her a cut of any jobs she helped her with, hung out getting far too sloshed on far too terrible liquor.

Isabela was a pirate, a real one—and one just like in the stories. Okay, so her jokes would never get told in a children’s pirate story. But she was cocky and brave and sure of herself and gave witty one liners as she ran people through. She swayed as she walked, compensating for the yaw of the ship that wasn’t under her feet, even on land. She joked and drank and was incorrigibly greedy—but she was good hearted on some level.

She was a story book pirate, and even if Hawke was older now—you still always had that pull to childhood stories, that nostalgia for things that never happened. All that was different is she could turn to the starry eyes of ‘you’re my hero’ into the starry eyes of ‘you’re beautiful—want to have your way with me?’

(Isabela laughed. “You know it’s not that easy to get into my pants?”

“Really? What if I said I’d been looking forward to a chance to be debauched by a pirate queen?”

Isabela tapped a finger under Hawke’s chin. “I’d say I’d been looking for a chance for an apostate to have their way with me—”

“But that ship has unfortunately already sailed?”

She smiled. “Similar ships. But this specific ship?” She put her hands on Hawke’s hips, pulled her close. Her breath smelled of cheap whiskey distilled badly, and, somehow, the salt of the sea. (Hawke guess that must be her imagination.) “I’d be more than happy to board.”

Hawke grinned. “I thought you said you weren’t that easy.”

“’Beautiful’ is a dime a dozen. But ‘pirate queen’? That’s rare. Can’t let that opportunity go by.” She kissed Hawke, hard and all pressure, nearly pushing her over.

Hawke managed to extricate herself for one second to breath, and say “Aye-aye, my captain.”)

***

Isabela was not a story book pirate. Isabela told a story—and Hawke felt embarrassed that she hadn’t spotted it. Hadn’t taken the thought that this was too good to be true to it’s logical conclusion—that it wasn’t.

She knew Varric span tales. He said as much.

But because Isabela did not say it outright, and the stories were about herself, and Hawke wanted to believe in heroic pirate queens—she missed it.

She freed the slaves in her hold, and that was good—but she dumped them on the coast, no supplies, no by-your-leave, no nothing. And she may not have had a lot of choice, but it stuck in Hawke’s craw. But that could be put aside as life not being a simple as stories, people not being able to pick the perfect option.

And stealing to Tome of Koslun. Okay, so pirates stole things, Hawke was aware of that. But it got her crew killed, and dumped a bunch of angry Qunari of Kirkwall’s heads—but still reasonable. She was imperfect but she tried and Hawke would take ‘tried.’ And she had lied about it—but no real pirate was Owen the Honourable. Real pirates lied, and Hawke knew that.

But running off with the one thing that would make the Qunari peacefully go away? To save her own skin (assuming Castillon was honourable and wouldn’t kill her anyway, assuming Hawke wouldn’t be able to save her from Castillon)? It was still reasonable. That was the frustrating thing. It was the sensible if self-centred—but she still believed in the greedy, seemingly self centred person, running forth to save the day, because that’s ‘just what anyone would do.’

But no, Isabela ran.

(And okay, Hawke had given it to her, and said it was hers, but she’d hoped she could talk her around, explain that surely if they could fight their way through that, Castillon would be no trouble—

But Isabela ‘didn’t want to cause any trouble.’ The bitch.)

And now half of Kirkwall was on fire.

***

Her judgement of Isabela may have been a bit premature, Hawke would admit, as Isabela strode through the double doors, tome under her arm. “I believe I can help.”

And striding over a prone Sten was also a very nice touch.

So, Isabela:1, Arishok:0, because Hawke was more than happy to let bygones be bygones, and trading people for the safety of a city was wrong.

“When a pirate was more willing to be the bigger person than you are, that’s not looking good for you,” Hawke said, staring up at the Arishok in an attempt to be intimidating.

“Thievery must be punished. If you are willing to stand you life in for this woman—”

Hawke took her staff off her back, cool flame leaping over its end at her touch. “I am.”

The Arishok nodded. “Then we duel.”

Hawke was a good fighter. Being able to set people on fire from a distance did give her a, maybe unfair, advantage in that situation.

But burly Qunari with axes were very much not her forte. The Arishok had evidently fought mages before, knew how to get in their faces and not give them the room to cast. Every spell was risk of getting smote by that tree-cutter—and she had misjudged too many times already. She rolled back, healed herself, stopped the bleeding—and felt her connection to the Fade weaken. Not much, but enough to know she wouldn’t be able to heal herself for the next ten minutes. She went to raise herself up off the floor--

The Arishok ran over.

No time for standing. Hawke raised her staff, trying to will fire into the world, try and get him burning and rolling on the floor and her having room.

The fire grew weakly, piecemeal, like trying to light a forest fire with a candle—it would happen, but would it be soon enough?

The Arishok gained on her, and the flame was so, so small.

Something flew at the Arishok. Metal, shiny, landing in his back. A dagger.

Isabela’s dagger.

It was a weak stab, barely holding into his flesh.

But moving light objects was easier than conjuring fire, she could do it in her sleep (and she had, occaisionally, done just that, and accidentally made a thankfully empty chamberpot fly around the room). She released the fire spell, with an embarrassingly small puff of smoke, and pulled the dagger towards her.

The Arishok was strong, but her was made of flesh. He was made of flesh, with most of his important bits stuck in his chest.

The dagger inched through him, and he raised his arms, aiming to hit her while was casting—and then the dagger flew right through him.

It caught Hawke on her hand, cutting her knuckles, but honestly she didn’t care. A slice out of her knuckles was better than being sliced in half. The Arishok fell forward, and landed on her.

The Qunari, as one, turned and left.

“Uh, hey? A little help, here?”

Aveline and Fenris ran over, and helped roll the Arishok off her.

Isabela leaned on a pillar, and watched from the sidelines.

***

The official line was that Hawke had duelled the Arishok, using daggers, and stabbed him. The Champion of Kirkwall was most definitely not an apostate, what are you talking about, they are a good honest stabby bastard, just like you and me.

The line from Varric was that Hawke was apparently capable of summoning knives out of thin air.

The rest of them, that were in the room, knew what had happened.

Hawke may have landed the final blow, but Isabela had killed the Arishok.

And saved Hawke.

And indirectly saved Kirkwall.

Which made up pretty well for endangering it in the first place.

***

Hawke bought a drink from the bar, and toted it over to Isabela. It was whiskey—but the good stuff. Old, sensibly distilled, from Fereldan. Tasted of peat, but apparently some people liked that.

She placed it on the table in front of Isabela. “Here you go.”

Isabela picked it up, and sniffed it. “The good stuff? For poor old me? You shouldn’t have.”

Hawke leaned on the table nonchalantly. “Only the best for my favourite pirate queen.”

Isabela smiled, and took a sip.

Hawke spoke quietly, so that only Isabela could hear, and even the most determined eavesdroppers couldn’t. “And thanks for the help back there.”

“Only the best for my favourite rogueish apostate.”

#premium original content #dragon age #isabela #hawke #F!hawke/isabela #hawkebela #my fic #wolffy writes fic

1 note · View note

butterfly-child99 · 6 years ago

Text

You maybe wondering why I didn’t end my Italian travelling blog series with “Our own little Roman Holiday – part five”, well the end of our holiday was a nightmare, and when I look back at our holiday I really, really want to remember all the amazing, good bits with excitement and glee. And our last day in Rome, the getting home part was utter chaos and leaves an awful taste in my mouth, so I don’t really want it linking to my beautiful holiday memories. But I also didn’t want to not include it, as its important to finish our story, even the bad parts. I apologise for the lack of photos – we didn’t take more joy from hanging around an airport. To break up my story of woe, please find some random photos of my beautiful family. 😀

We got all our bags packed the night before, and so all we had to do was say good bye to our apartment, the restaurant and the colosseum as we walked to the metro to return the train station. Where we would get on our transfer to the airport. All of this went smoothly, it was once we arrived at the airport it all started to go terribly wrong.

On all our documentation it advised to arrive 3 hours early, so we arrived slightly before this as we wanted to make sure we got here on time, and I wasn’t sure about the bus transfer or journey time. We couldn’t check our luggage until it was three hours before flight check in, so we waited.

monkey monkeying around at the local country park

As we waited for this time, a sudden notice in Italian flashed on a nearby screen, and then a time appeared next to our flight. Our flight should have been at 2pm so we should have been able to check our bags at 11:30am. The sign appeared was ritardato 20:30ore, I thought that surely can’t mean that, and sent Mr BC to check it out.

Apparently it was true, we had been at the airport since 10:30 and we were now being told that the flight was delayed for 6 hours from our original take off, and 9 hours from now. What were we supposed to do with two young children in an airport for 9 hours, not the least with a very scared adult who was awfully frightened of flying. I didn’t think I could hang around an airport for that long, there was a chance, I wouldn’t ever get on the plane.

I decided we were driving across country to get home instead, and know this seems extreme and I know in my head it was ridiculous, but a fear is irrational, no one can control it or often explain it, and I definitely have a fear of flying. Getting to Rome, I had a mild panic attack and cried the whole way there, so its really hard to hear when people say “oh, you’ll be fine”, or “you’re safer in a plane than car!”. I often want to say to these people, “oh well, there we go, now you’ve said that, I’m over it! If only I knew it was that easy!” Yes, I know these facts, in fact I could probably give you more facts abut safe flying than anyone, I tell myself them all the time, but I cannot rationalise when I about to board a flight, or hang around an airport with my fear building all around. Which is why, it makes it even harder to hear it from my own husband, I know he was upset by the flight delay too, but as he is not scared of pretty much anything, he isn’t always the most empathic or compassionate of people and as it was a frantic and hectic time, I really needed reassurance and a little understanding. So there we were, delayed flight, arguing, upset, angry and tired. But we thought, as our flight should have been at 2pm, at least we can check in and go to the departure lounge and be a bit more comfy. You’d think so right? You would think the airline and airport would have thought the poor people who are going to have to hang around for at least 9 hours can come through to use the shops, restaurants and slightly more comfortable seating? You, like us, would of course be wrong. As they had officially told us the plane was not taking off until 20:30, we couldn’t check in until 4:30pm.

Poppet looking fab as always – what filter??!!

So we had to wait for 5 hours in the baggage check part of the smallest airport in Rome, it was uncomfortable, boring for the kids and I was still in agony. Also, we didn’t actually know any of this information, we got all this later. For now, all we had been told was we couldn’t check in, had no idea why the flight was delayed and we had no communication from anyone.

We decided to stay, although as I was still unhappy and scared, for a while we stayed in frosty silence. Mr BC is a great man and a wonderful husband though and apologised and all was well with the world, except we were still stuck in Rome Ciampino and our flight was still delayed, possibly cancelled for all we knew. The children were incredible though, I bought us a pack of cards and some colouring books. This entertained them for as long as it could. We had a tiny bit of ,well not excitement but something as we all had to move as some luggage had been left unattended, fortunately it was nothing and we resigned ourselves to the floor again.

Finally, after we had been at the airport for 5 and a half hours, we were allowed to check in, go through security and go to the departure lounge. We spent some money in duty free, we were given a free bottle of water and sandwich, which was the least they could give us at this point. And then we just had more waiting to do, the only difference was the floor we sat on. As it was so busy, with a few more flights delayed, there was no seating available, so we were still uncomfortable but we made the best of it and enjoyed some Italian sweets and biscuits.

Poppets Unicorn Marshmallow – just woke up from a snooze. The only photo from the airport.

Mamma BC seemed to attract the bugs in Italy and had been a bitten a few times, we had bought a insect bite one and cream but the spots were getting redder. I had to take her to airport first aid, and it turns out, some had gotten infected, but the paramedics and doctors were amazing and got her treated and on the way back to, well the floor we were still sitting on.

Finally after hours and hours of sitting on an airport floor, we made our way into the gate, where you guessed it, we had to wait some more. We still weren’t 100% sure the flight would even be taking off tonight, we had no idea why it was even delayed and there was rumours flying everywhere. Finally, we got news that our flight wherever it was, was not going to happen but they had found another plane from somewhere who would return us home this evening. We had to be bussed out to this plane, which the children loved. My fear was building but I had done some research before the holiday into relaxation techniques so I was willing to give that a go, if I could get on the plane.

Finally, we could see the plane, 12 hours and 10 minutes at the airport and we eventually took off. The flight itself was fine, nothing major happened, I even managed to keep my panic slightly at bay. I had my music on my headphones on full blast, I was writing my name, son and daughters name, music lyrics with my left hand the entire flight. I still didn’t relish when anyone moved or turbulence or the fact I was even on a plane but we made it home in once piece, and now we just had to find our luggage, get to our car, which had probably gone over into another day, which I would get charged for, and finally make the long drive home. I think this was the worst part of the day, our original flight should have gotten us to England at a reasonable time, so we could drive home. I could have a bath and go to bed ready for work the next day. The reality was we didn’t leave the airport until gone 1:30pm, so our 4 hour drive home took us to early hours of the morning, and even though I wasn’t driving, I couldn’t go to sleep as it wasn’t fair on MR BC, he was just as tired.

However, we finally made it home and fell into bed. Those first few days at home, I found it hard to remember the beauty of Italy and all our exciting adventures because all I thought about was our nightmare flight home, but now thankfully, I am over the disastrous last day, I probably won’t eve fly again, but now all I try to remember is the fun, exciting and memorable moments we had.

As for our flight, if by any small (I mean minute, almost none existent) chance I ever fly again, it will not be with Ryanair. The flight out was awful but nothing compared to our flight back. The lack of communication, organisation, poor understanding of customers and just general awful customer service will ensure we will never fly with them again.

We enjoyed our holiday so much, it spilled into our six week holiday activities. We made our own cacti terrariums with mini statues of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and St Peters Basilica. I also received my postcard I sent to myself from The Vatican! Ticked that off my list of things I want to do.

Anyway, I would hate to end our Italian adventure on a sore note, so instead I am going to share with you, one more final word on our first proper kaleidoscope adventure. If I could write a love letter to a country, I think Italy would be up there at the top. Everything from food to the art/architecture and the glorious landscapes, it is a truly beautiful country, and I cannot wait to return. Hopefully, on a tour of the wonderful country in our new camper van!!! Keep reading to find our more!

All adventures must come to an end... an awful, nightmare of an end at that! Check out my final piece on our Italian adventure. #RomanHoliday #Italy #Ryanairsucks You maybe wondering why I didn't end my Italian travelling blog series with "Our own little Roman Holiday - part five", well the end of our holiday was a nightmare, and when I look back at our holiday I really, really want to remember all the amazing, good bits with excitement and glee.

#Beautiful Countries #Family Time #Flight delays #holidays #italy #Roman Holiday #rome #Ryanair #Ryanair fail

1 note · View note

orbemnews · 4 years ago

Link

'It’s something I’m proud of': Mobile County USPS employee picks up fallen American flag while out on delivery IRVINGTON, Ala (WALA) — It is a postal carrier’s job to deliver mail, but this week a Mobile County post office employee delivered a message of patriotism with a simple act. “My flag was actually laying on the ground and I saw the USPS worker walking in the yard and I was like maybe she has some mail for the house or something, well she actually picked it up,” said Jayvien “Lee” Banks. It happened Wednesday morning when Banks was at work across the Bay. He was not there to witness it, but his camera captured it all. As Kerisa Covas got out of her post office vehicle, walked up to the flag and began rolling it up before placing it by the door. “It was amazing,” Banks said. “Nowadays you don’t see a lot of people doing simple stuff just like that or good deeds.” “We live in America and that stands for the U.S. and it stands for our country and it’s something I’m proud of,” Covas said. Without a thought for who was watching it was simply just another day on job for Covas, a two-and-a-half-year post office employee. “Myself and several of my family members have all been in the military and myself and my father have both been police officers and so the American flag is just something that we all stand for,” she said. A patriotic act delivered right to an Irvington front door. “I would definitely do it again,” Covas said. “To me it was just a common courtesy. If he would have been at home I’m sure he would have immediately went out there and picked it up.” The bracket is now fixed and the flag is flying again. Banks is thankful for the lesson learned. “If there were a lot more people like her in the world, the world would be a greater place,” he said. All content © 2021, WALA; Mobile, AL. (A Meredith Corporation Station). All Rights Reserved. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '799069027340147'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); Source link Orbem News #American #americanflag #bank #County #delivery #employee #fallen #flag #Job #kerisacovas #Mobile #Picks #post #postoffice #proud #USPS #while #Work

0 notes

akgeog2260 · 4 years ago

Text

Agaifa the Wonderful.

Who?

The story of Agafia Lykov can be interpreted through many different scholarly lenses, as the story involves history, faith, societal impacts, and geography. Her story began in 1944, born in the middle of the Siberian wilderness to a family that would come to be her mother, father, another sister and two brothers. Agafia’s parents fled from Stalin’s authoritative regime to avoid persecution in 1936, and they never left the wilderness. To exemplify just how isolated they were, they had to be told about world war 2 AFTER it was already over!

Research Strategy

The researchers were using a participant observational strategy to gather information about Agafia and her family’s history. They leveraged connections through their news agency in Russia to fly out via helicopter to live with Agaifa for a period of several days. They were actively involved her lifestyle by helping with chores, “She put Gleb to work.” This active engagement is a strong research technique as it immerses the individual to a certain extent in the life of the subject being observed. It should be acknowledged though that there is no way for them to fully be immersed, and this is part of their invisible backpack.

Privelege

The invisible backpack that was being carried by the researchers was one of privilege, as they would indeed be heading back into society after several days. Their privilege can be summarized through this quote form one of the researchers, “She starts her day with prayers, we start ours with coffee.” This quote is meant to be a joke obviously, but it is one based on the privilege that they do not need to pray for good fortune from the wilderness as they do not rely on it as modern humans only visiting. It is not explictely mentioned in the video about their privilege, but they make a few other comments throughout about the harshness of the land comparably to common civilization.

Ethics

There are a few ethical considerations to be had about visiting Agaifa and conducting this research. The first that comes to mind would be disease possibilities. Agaifa has been isolated her entire life, and this means she has 0 immunity to many diseases of the modern world. Every time she went into town during her life (less than 5 times), she got sick to some extent. Furthermore, her 3 siblings all died of pneumonia the very first time they had contact with the outside world! I would be very concerned about infecting her. The other ethical concern would be that she likely doesn’t want people to know about her! The more media attention she gets the more likely that outsiders will attempt to visit and harass her. If the researchers were to stay distant from her, they would lower the chance of transmission of any diseases. Furthermore, if they had made a disclaimer saying not to attempt to visit her that would’ve helped, but instead they put a map of where her homestead was! Although it wasn’t an extremely accurate map, I am still concern she’ll end-up with worse outcomes in her life because of this exposure.

My take on Vice's approach

If I were given this research assignment, I would have approached it a bit differently. I would have been wary of the ethical considerations I mentioned above, and made sure to keep my distance from her, as well as making sure that nobody knows her location as to not spur any travellers from turning her lifestyle into a tourist attraction. As a white man from a rich country, I should make sure to note my privilege before heading out to visit her. I should understand that I can’t fully immerse myself in her lifestyle and I can’t truly communicate what it is like in several days time, as she has lived like this her entire life! 70 years is 3.5x the life I have experienced, so the least I could do is spend more than a singular week with her.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Agaifa is an amazing person, and her story should be fascinating to people across the world regardless of what they are interested in or study. I wish she was left alone more, but I do still appreciate the small window into her interesting life.

0 notes

unsettlingshortstories · 4 years ago

Text

The Utterly Perfect Murder

Ray Bradbury (1971)

It was such an utterly perfect, such an incredibly delightful idea for murder, that I was half out of my mind all across America.

The idea had come to me for some reason on my forty-eighth birthday. Why it hadn't come to me when I was thirty or forty, I cannot say. Perhaps those were good years and I sailed through them unaware of time and clocks and the gathering of frost at my temples or the look of the lion about my eyes.…

Anyway, on my forty-eighth birthday, lying in bed that night beside my wife, with my children sleeping through all the other quiet moonlit rooms of my house, I thought:

I will arise and go now and kill Ralph Underhill.

Ralph Underhill I cried, who is he?

Thirty-six years later, kill him? For what?

Why, I thought, for what he did to me when I was twelve.

My wife woke, an hour later, hearing a noise.

"Doug?" she called. "What are you doing?"

"Packing," I said. "For a journey."

"Oh," she murmured, and rolled over and went to sleep.

"Board! All aboard!" the porter's cries went down the train platform.

The train shuddered and banged.

"See you!" I cried, leaping up the steps.

"Someday," called my wife, "I wish you'd fly!"

Fly? I thought, and spoil thinking about murder all across the plains? Spoil oiling the pistol and loading it and thinking of Ralph Underhill's face when I show up thirty-six years late to settle old scores? Fly? Why, I would rather pack cross-country on foot, pausing by night to build fires and fry my bile and sour spit and eat again my old, mummified but still-living antagonisms and touch those bruises which have never healed. Fly?!

The train moved. My wife was gone.

I rode off into the Past.

Crossing Kansas the second night, we hit a beaut of a thunderstorm. I stayed up until four in the morning, listening to the rave of winds and thunders. At the height of the storm, I saw my face, a darkroom negative-print on the cold window glass, and thought:

Where is that fool going?

To kill Ralph Underhill!

Why? Because!

Remember how he hit my arm? Bruises. I was covered with bruises, both arms; dark blue, mottled black, strange yellow bruises. Hit and run, that was Ralph, hit and run—

And yet . . . you loved him?

Yes, as boys love boys when boys are eight, ten, twelve, and the world is innocent and boys are evil beyond evil because they know what they do, but do it anyway. So, on some secret level, I had to be hurt. We dear fine friends needed each other. I to be hit. He to strike. My scars were the emblem and symbol of our love.

What else makes you want to murder Ralph so late in time?

The train whistle shrieked. Night country rolled by.

And I recalled one spring when I came to school in a new tweed knicker suit and Ralph knocking me down, rolling me in snow and fresh brown mud. And Ralph laughing and me going home, shamefaced, covered with slime, afraid of a beating, to put on fresh dry clothes.

Yes! And what else?

Remember those toy clay statues you longed to collect from the Tarzan radio show? Statues of Tarzan and Kala the Ape and Nurna the Lion,' for just twenty-five cents?! Yes, yes! Beautiful! Even now, in memory, 0 the sound of the Ape man swinging through green jungles far away, ululating!' But who had twenty-five cents in the middle of the Great Depression? No one.

Except Ralph Underhill.

And one day Ralph asked you if you wanted one of the statues.

Wanted! you cried. Yes! Yes!

That was the same week your brother in a strange seizure of love mixed with contempt gave you his old, but expensive, baseball-catcher's mitt.

"Well," said Ralph, "I'll give you my extra Tarzan statue if you'll give me that catcher's mitt."

Fool! I thought. The statue's worth twenty-five cents. The glove cost two dollars!

No fair! Don't!

But I raced back to Ralph's house with the glove and gave it to him and he, smiling a worse contempt than my brother's, handed me the Tarzan statue and, bursting with joy, I ran home.

My brother didn't find out about his catcher's mitt and the statue for two weeks, and when he did he ditched me when we hiked out in farm country and left me lost because I was such a sap. "Tarzan statues! Baseball mitts!" he cried. "That's the last thing I ever give you!"

And somewhere on a country road I just lay down and wept and wanted to die but didn't know how to give up the final vomit that was my miserable ghost.

The thunder murmured.

The rain fell on the cold Pullman-car windows.

What else? Is that the list?

No. One final thing, more terrible than all the rest.

In all the years you went to Ralph's house to toss up small bits of gravel on his Fourth of July six-in-the-morning fresh dewy window or to call him forth for the arrival of dawn circuses in the cold fresh blue railroad stations in late June or late August, in all those years, never once did Ralph run to your house.

Never once in all the years did he, or anyone else, prove their friendship by coming by. The door never knocked. The window of your bedroom never faintly clattered and belled with a high-tossed confetti of small dusts and rocks.

And you always knew that the day you stopped going to Ralph's house, calling up in the morn, that would be the day your friendship ended.

You tested it once. You stayed away for a whole week. Ralph never called. It was as if you had died, and no one came to your funeral.

When you saw Ralph at school, there was no surprise, no query, not even the faintest lint of curiosity to be picked off your coat. Where were you, Doug? I need someone to beat. Where you been, Doug, I got no one to pinch?

Add all the sins up. But especially think on the last:

He never came to my house. He never sang up to my early-morning bed or tossed a wedding rice of gravel on the clear panes to call me down to joy and summer days.

And for this last thing, Ralph Underhill, I thought, sitting in the train at four in the morning, as the storm faded, and I found tears in my eyes, for this last and final thing, for that I shall kill you tomorrow night.

Murder, I thought, after thirty-six years. Why, you're madder than Ahab.

The train wailed. We ran crosscountry like a mechanical Greek Fate carried by a black metal Roman Fury.

They say you can't go home again.

That is a lie.

If you are lucky and time it right, you arrive at sunset when the old town is filled with yellow light.

I got off the train and walked up through Green Town and looked at the courthouse, burning with sunset light. Every tree was hung with gold doubloons of color. Every roof and coping and bit of gingerbread was purest brass and ancient gold.

I sat in the courthouse square with dogs and old men until the sun had set and Green Town was dark. I wanted to savor Ralph Underhill's death.

No one in history had ever done a crime like this.

I would stay, kill, depart, a stranger among strangers.

How would anyone dare to say, finding Ralph Underhill's body on his doorstep, that a boy aged twelve, arriving on a kind of Time Machine train, traveled out of hideous self-contempt, had gunned down the Past? It was beyond all reason. I was safe in my pure insanity.

Finally, at eight-thirty on this cool October night, I walked across town, past the ravine.

I never doubted Ralph would still be there.

People do, after all, move away. . . .

I turned down Park Street and walked two hundred yards to a single streetlamp and looked across. Ralph Underhill's white two-story Victorian house waited for me.

And I could feel him in it.

He was there, forty-eight years old, even as I felt myself here, forty-eight, and full of an old and tired and self-devouring spirit.

I stepped out of the light, opened my suitcase, put the pistol in my right-hand coat pocket, shut the case, and hid it in the bushes where, later, I would grab it and walk down into the ravine and across town to the train.

I walked across the street and stood before his house and it was the same house I had stood before thirty-six years ago. There were the windows upon which I had buried those spring bouquets of rock in love and total giving. There were the sidewalks, spotted with firecracker burn marks from ancient July Fourths when Ralph and I had just blown up the whole damned world, shrieking celebrations.

I walked up on the porch and saw on the mailbox in small letters: UNDERHILL.

What if his wife answers?

No, I thought, he himself, with absolute Greek-tragic perfection, will open the door and take the wound and almost gladly die for old crimes and minor sins somehow grown to crimes.

I rang the bell.

Will he know me, I wondered, after all this time? In the instant before the first shot, tell him your name. He must know who it is.

Silence.

I rang the bell again.

The doorknob rattled.

I touched the pistol in my pocket, my heart hammering, but did not take it out.

The door opened.

Ralph Underhill stood there.

He blinked, gazing out at me.

"Ralph?" I said.

"Yes—?" he said.

We stood there, riven, for what could not have been more than five seconds. But many things happened in those five swift seconds.

I saw Ralph Underhill.

I saw him clearly.

And I had not seen him since I was twelve.

Then, he had towered over me to pummel and beat and scream.

Now he was a little old man.

I am five foot eleven.

But Ralph Underhill had not grown much from his twelfth year on.

The man who stood before me was no more than five feet two inches tall.

I towered over him.

I gasped. I stared. I saw more. I was forty-eight years old.

But Ralph Underhill, forty-eight, had lost most of his hair, and what remained was threadbare gray, black and white. He looked sixty or sixty-five.

I was in good health.

Ralph Underhill was waxen pale. There was a knowledge of sickness in his face. He had traveled in some sunless land. He had a ravaged and sunk look. His breath smelled of funeral flowers.

All this, perceived, was like the storm of night before, gathering all its lightnings and thunders into one bright concussion. We stood in the explosion.

So this is what I came for? I thought. This then, is the truth. This dreadful instant in time. Not to pull out the weapon. Not to kill. No, no. But simply—

To see Ralph Underhill as he is in this hour. That's all.

Just to be here, stand here, and look at him as he has become.

Ralph Underhill lifted one hand in a kind of gesturing wonder. His lips trembled.

His eyes flew up and down my body, his mind measured this giant who shadowed his door. At last his voice, so small, so frail, blurted out:

"Doug—?"

I recoiled.

"Doug?" he gasped, "is that you?"

I hadn't expected that. People don't remember! They can't! Across the years? Why would he know, bother, summon up, recognize, call?

I had a wild thought that what had happened to Ralph Underhill was that after I left town, half of his life had collapsed. I had been the center of his world, someone to attack, beat, pummel, bruise. His whole life had cracked by my simple act of walking away thirty-six years ago.

Nonsense! Yet, some small crazed mouse of wisdom scuttered about my brain and screeched what it knew: You needed Ralph, but, more! He needed you! And you did the only unforgivable, the wounding, thing! You vanished.

"Doug?" he said again, for I was silent there on the porch with my hands at my sides. "Is that you?"

This was the moment I had come for.

At some secret blood level, I had always known I would not use the weapon. I had brought it with me, yes, but Time had gotten here before me, and age, and smaller, more terrible deaths....

Bang.

Six shots through the heart.

But I didn't use the pistol. I only whispered the sound of the shots with my mouth. With each whisper, Ralph Underhill's face aged another ten years. By the time I reached the last shot he was one hundred and. ten years old.

"Bang," I whispered. "Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang." His body shook with the impact.

"You're dead. Oh, God, Ralph, you're dead."

I turned and walked down the steps and reached the street before he called: "Doug, is that you?"

I did not answer, walking.

"Answer me?" he cried, weakly. "Doug! Doug Spaulding, is that you? Who is that? Who are you?"

I got my suitcase and walked down into the cricket night and darkness of the ravine and across the bridge and up the stairs, going away.

"Who is that?" I heard his voice wail a last time. A long way off, I looked back.

All the lights were on all over Ralph Underhill's house. It was as if he had gone around and put them all on after I left.

On the other side of the ravine I stopped on the lawn in front of the house where I had been born.

Then I picked up a few bits of gravel and did the thing that had never been done, ever in my life.

I tossed the few bits of gravel up to tap that window where I had lain every morning of my first twelve years. I called my own name. I called me down in friendship to play in some long summer that no longer was.

I stood waiting just long enough for my other young self to come down to join me.

Then swiftly, fleeing ahead of the dawn, we ran out of Green Town and back, thank you, dear Christ, back toward Now and Today for the rest of my life.

0 notes

accuhunt · 5 years ago

Text

Highs and Lows of 2019 – and What I’m Looking Forward to in 2020.

After spending large chunks of 2017 and 2018 writing and publishing my first book, 2019 was all about rediscovering my travel mojo. And luckily for me, this year gave me many chances to push my boundaries.

Epic cross-border land journeys, under-the-radar top-of-the-wishlist destinations, taking on sustainable living challenges, getting featured by one of the world’s leading publications and launching a travel-inspired sustainable clothing collection… 2019 was all sorts of awesome and unexpected.

Like any year though, it had its lows too. I stumbled into vystopia (vegan dystopia; I’ll explain later in this post) and felt like life went a bit out of focus.

HIGHS

Exploring countries I’ve dreamt about for a long time

Just like plans and visas kept falling apart in 2018, they somehow kept coming together in 2019. I ended up with some epic adventures, of which a small sample is below:

A solo land journey from Thailand to Northeast India via Myanmar – kayaking, canoeing, motorbiking and almost finding a lost family member along the way!

A motorbike adventure to discover unmapped villages in the tribal Chin State of Myanmar.

Overlanding (with my partner) from the Persian Gulf via the south of Iran to Armenia, reaching Yerevan after a 36 hour bus ride complete with Bollywood-loving border guards who ransacked our luggage.

Delving deeper into the Caucasus as a digital nomad in Armenia.

Turning an invitation to speak at the Mountain Echoes Literary Festival in Bhutan into a slow travel adventure through the country, hoping to understand the secret to happiness.

Venturing into Central Asia for the first time, on assignment for USAID, to explore parts of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan.

A three-day walking safari in Gondwana Game Reserve in South Africa, that brought me face-to-face with giraffes and zebras!

It was hard to break my end-of-the-year Thailand ritual, but I’m typing this from South Africa with zero regrets. This life does feel surreal sometimes!

Getting featured in the Washington Post

While in Uzbekistan, I woke up to news that I’d been featured in the prestigious Washington Post among “Globe-trotting Instagram influencers changing the way we think about the world”. SUCH AN HONOR.

Slow land journeys

It hasn’t been easy cutting flying out of my travelling and blogging life (in an attempt to further lower my carbon footprint) but I swear I’m trying. Infact after overlanding from Thailand to India, I’m hooked to the idea of more such adventures.

I tried to put together some crazy plans to travel over land from India to Uzbekistan, but when I heard that one could travel through Tibet only with a private car and driver which would cost thousands of dollars, I had to drop the idea. The India-Bhutan and Uzbekistan-Tajikistan land border crossings were relatively less adventurous but I love (and hate) the feeling of walking across imaginary lines nonetheless.

Fourth reprint of my book, The Shooting Star

The cover now officially says “National Bestseller”!

It’s been over a year since my book was published, and I imagined it’d be done and dusted by now. But I’m lucky enough to still wake up to messages on how the book found you at a certain time in life, affected you, changed your perspective, gave you the courage to take a bold step… and that means the world to me <3

Embracing sustainable menstruation

I never thought I’d be that girl raving about the menstrual cup – but here I am. After fighting through all the fear and apprehension and finding courage in friends who’ve been using it for a while, I finally figured out how to use it. No more pads, no more waste. I can’t recommend this little miracle cup enough!

Winning Runners-up for “best writing in a blog” at TBC Asia Awards

It breaks my heart when people tell me they hate reading… and ask me to create videos instead. Of all the labels I carry, “writer” is the one I most identify with.

So it was both thrilling and humbling to be recognised for my writing on this blog at the TBC Asia Awards held annually in Sri Lanka (and to have a member of the The Shooting Star team collect it on my behalf).

The Shooting Star Collection

I never thought I’d start my fashion line of anything (confession: I currently own four t-shirts), but sometimes the universe just nudges you in unexpected directions! In partnership with a young Indian startup Hoomanwear, I recently launched a travel-inspired clothing collection.

It’s designed with dreamers, explorers and rebels in mind, comes in customisable “vibes” (minimal, bold, cool), is environmentally-friendly and ships worldwide in recycled / reusable / biodegradable packaging!

LOWS

Spiraling into vystopia (vegan dystopia)

At the beginning of 2019, I found myself over-consumed by the depression of living in a non-vegan world. A world where even as I type this, billions of animals are being tortured, abused and killed to satisfy our cravings for meat, seafood, cheese, eggs, leather, silk and other animal products.

When that depression began to overpower my day-to-day life, I hesitatingly began to research and learnt that many vegans and animal lovers have also lived through this. Australian psychologist Claire Mann has even coined a term for it: “vystopia” – the anguish of being vegan in a non-vegan world.

Just when I was on the verge of scheduling a consultation session with her, a vegan friend in Iran convinced me to use my influence to create more awareness about veganism. I decided to return to freelance writing and ended up writing stories for National Geographic Traveller, First Post and Travel & Leisure, and using social media to raise funds for a sanctuary for bruised and battered cows in Goa.

The state of affairs in India

As much as I consider myself a global citizen, it pinches the hardest when I read about recent developments in India. The obvious Islamophobia in the country, even among people close to me, really boils my blood. Many of my readers and family members have advised me to stick to travel blogging, but having witnessed the incredible beauty of this world and its people, how can I stay silent? I keep going back to Nelson Mandela’s words on Apartheid in South Africa in his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom:

“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”⁣⁣

Life out of focus

While 2019 was an indulgent year on the professional and travel front, I couldn’t help but feel a void that was once filled by working on my book. I tried to channel this emptiness towards promoting responsible tourism, veganism and sustainability. And initiated a couple of passion projects but each fell through for different reasons. All in all, life just a felt a little more meaningless than usual – and I sure hope to fix that in 2020.

Looking ahead: 2020

The travel blogging community unexpectedly lost some beautiful souls in 2019 – and thinking about them always reminds me to be grateful for the things we take for granted. Good health, the privilege to travel and relationships that sail us through thick and thin.

In 2020, I aim to spend larger chunks of time digital nomading wherever I go. The three months I’m spending now in South Africa feel like the new sweet spot. I also have a couple of new passion projects up my sleeve, and hope to finally work towards my dream of contributing towards reforestation in India.

Contribute to my fundraiser to grow forests in Uttarakhand

In September this year, I travelled to Uttarakhand to learn about the work of Alaap – an innovative non-profit growing mixed native forests (not just planting trees) using the revolutionary Miyawaki Method. These forests have a high carbon sequestration potential and create seasonal employment for 15-17 locals. I’ve started a fundraiser to support Alaap to grow two forests in Uttarakhand in February 2020 – and would love to have your support. Whatever you are able to contribute will go a long way!

Reader Survey 2019

Every year, I ask for your valuable feedback to work out what you love / hate about this blog and the kind of content you want to see here. I’d love for you to spare a few minutes to answer my 2019 Reader Survey. As a thank you, I’ll be sending out a signed copy of my book to two randomly picked participants (remember to enter the giveaway after you finish the survey)!

Love creating videos? Join The Shooting Star team

I feel like I’m finally ready to create travel-inspired videos on topics close to my heart – and am looking for someone to join my team part-time to get this going. If you love to brainstorm, curate, shoot and edit videos, check out details of this position and apply.

Digital marketing consultation for vegan entrepreneurs

From Dec 2019 to March 2020, I’m offering “pay what you like” consultation again for entrepreneurs who run entirely vegan businesses. See more details.

A huge thank you for reading my blog and book, and supporting my work through the years. I hope 2020 is filled with the courage to dream, a thirst for adventure, compassion for all living beings and an ever-growing love for the wonders of our planet. See you on the other side!

Your turn, what were your highs and lows in 2019, and what are your hopes from 2020?

Join my adventures around the world on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

Order a copy of my bestselling book, The Shooting Star.

The post Highs and Lows of 2019 – and What I’m Looking Forward to in 2020. appeared first on The Shooting Star.

Highs and Lows of 2019 – and What I’m Looking Forward to in 2020. published first on https://airriflelab.tumblr.com

1 note · View note

a----wilson · 7 years ago

Text

A pt 0 (C)

“Hey, Cleo, it’s Vicky… again. I’m just replying to your text. You asked why I keep calling, and I thought about it for a while. I came up with a few reasons for you. I keep calling because I wanted to hear your excitement from across the country. I now have a newspaper clipping titled ‘Down With the Sickness’ on my side of the dorm. Because I’ve bought a copy of the New York Times © every morning for the past two years, hoping against hope to see your name above one of the articles. Because I believed you were gonna make it. It was weird reading an article about me and not even getting a phone call to ask my opinion.

“I wanted to know why you wrote about me. And I know your excuse of your editors suggesting writing about past love is bullshit. Because I know you. I’ve known you since I was twelve, I was there when you wanted to be a doctor, but realized you couldn’t stand the sight of blood. I read all of your stories and observations and your little reports. I kept all of your journals that you wanted to throw away because you thought they were bad. Because I knew they weren’t and I kept them in my panty drawer. I knew that was the only place you were too uncomfortable to look in. I still have them in the back of my closet.

“Why do I keep calling you? Because I love you, Cleo Rivers. It took me three years to get over you. I read one article and I’m back to square one. I miss having someone to talk to in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. Because no matter how much shit we went through, you were my best friend. You let me live at your house for like a year and you’re still the only person who knows why. You stayed when I started to give up, and kept me from making so many mistakes. No matter how hard I try, how far away you are, or how much I push you to the back of my mind, I will never get over you.

“I know you don’t feel the same anymore, though, so I’ll stop calling. Goodbye, Cleo.”

I held the phone up to my ear for a good ten minutes after the voicemail ended. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was crying, even when I felt the salty drops falling down onto my jeans. Soon my entire body was racked by sobs that I couldn’t contain. That’s how Jack found me, sobbing cross legged on my bed, clutching my phone as if it was the only thing keeping me alive.

“Cleo?!” He rushed over to me, not knowing whether to touch me or not. All I could think of was that if it was Vicky, she’d know to hold me as tight as possible. Make me remember that I was still there, I wasn’t actually falling apart like my head was making me think. “What, what’s wrong?”

I couldn’t stop the sobbing, so I didn’t even try to speak. I just flung myself toward Jack, hugging him around the waist and holding on tight. He wrapped his arms around me in a too strong way. Vicky wasn’t as strong as him. But he couldn’t change that. And I couldn’t change what I’d said to her, what had happened between us.

We stayed there for at least half an hour. Jack kneeling by the side of my bed, holding my sobbing form to his chest. I had to calm myself down when my roommate walked in, taking one look at us and turning around. She wasn’t one for drama.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s up?” Jack asked, resting his chin on my head. I nuzzled into his sweater more, not wanting to let go just yet.

“I screwed up,” I replied. Jack chuckled against me, his chest rising and falling in quick breaths, my head bumping along with it.

“You’re going to be a journalist, I think you should be able to get more specific than that.” He was right, like he usually was. I needed to tell someone, it would make me feel better, hopefully. So I leaned away from Jack and back against the wall beside my bed. I looked at Jack, his blue eyes, which always seemed to remind me of Vicky’s.

“So, Vicky called again,” I started. Jack raised his eyebrows. I’d kept him up to date on the whole fiasco with Vicky since we broke up. Except for our conversation the last time we were both in Pennsylvania. Instead of relaying her message, because I wasn’t sure I’d make it through telling him, I played the voicemail over again for him.

“Woah,” he whispered after it ended. I knew he didn’t understand a lot of it, no one would, not unless they knew Vicky and I and everything we’d been through. But I think he was fangirling in his head. I knew, even though he was the most supportive friend ever through our breakup, he’d always been rooting for Vicky to get through to me. “Are you going to delete it or call her back or what?”

To be honest, calling her back hadn’t even crossed my mind. It had been three years since I’d dialed her number and pressed send, even though I still knew it by heart. Could still imagine my fingers pressing those numbers. But it seemed like some strange, distant memory now.

“I don’t know,” I replied. If I deleted it then I wouldn’t have to torture myself like I was. But if I deleted it, she’d be gone. She’d be gone for good. And how could I do that? Especially since I knew that-

“Does this change anything?” Jack had rearranged himself to sit on the opposite side of the bed from me. “Like, are you thinking about reaching out at all, because it’s not like it’s any apology that you haven’t heard already. But it’s still a lot, it still seems… big.”

“But it has changed, it is more now.” Jack furrowed his eyebrows. I hadn’t told him about our conversation at Radiance. He had no idea what I knew now. “She didn’t sleep with her.” I felt the guilt wash over me like a tidal wave. Jack gasped.

“Wait, what? I need an explanation like, right now.” I sighed.

“When we went back to Harrisburg last month we talked. She told me that they had never hooked up, it was just… just a stupid kiss.”

“Why didn’t you ride off into the sunset then?! That was the whole issue and it just went poof, gone! Why are you two still miserable?!” Jack cried. He was an expressive person and right now, I didn’t feel like his excitement.

“I… I told her that I needed time, I still needed to sort out my feelings about… everything.”

“What feelings, you were upset she cheated on you and guess what, she didn’t. So, what do you need to think about?” He was starting to remind me of Drew, with his jumping around and shouting with excitement. He didn’t have ADHD like Drew, but he could’ve fooled me at some points.

“I feel… really guilty.” I had to look down at my lap. The tears wanted to start coming again, but I was forcing them back. “If I hadn’t jumping to fucking conclusions then we’d be married by now.”

“Okay, so, just think about this: at least you can get married now. Get your girl back.”

“Jack, it’s not that simple,” I snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because… why would she want to marry me if I blamed her for something so terrible that quick. I didn’t even let her explain herself.”

“Then, I’m sure she wouldn’t make that mistake, she’ll let you explain yourself.”

“Jack, I’m not ready to-”

“Too late,” he said, holding up my phone, which was dialing Vicky’s phone number.

“Jack, what the hell?!”

Before I could grab the device and shut it off, the line crackled to life. “Hello?” It wasn’t her voice. It was some other girl.

“Vicky?” Jack asked, putting it on speaker.

“Oh, no, sorry, I’ll get her,” the voice replied. A muffled, “Vicky, phone for you!” was heard and then. “Hello?” It was her. I stared at the phone, willing it to just burst into flames. “Anyone there?” she asked.

“Say something,” Jack mouthed to me.

“Hey, Vicks. It-It’s Cleo,” I stuttered out. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to say so much, but I wanted to say nothing.

“Hey, Cleo,” she said, lowering her voice. “How are you doing?”

“I got your voicemail,” I said, ignoring her question. “I just wanted to say-”

I was cut off by the door opening. Emily, my roommate glanced towards us. “Your boyfriend’s still here,” she said, too loudly. I stared at her for a second before looking back at the phone. I knew exactly how Vicky was going to take that. “Vick-” I tried.

“You know what, we’re really busy with the tour and everything. You can call me back later, I’ll leave you with your boyfriend.”

“No, Vicks-” She hung up before I could get any farther. Jack stood there, horrified, same as me. Emily walked over to her desk, rolling her eyes.

“You guys and your friends are drama queens,” she replied, sitting in front of her computer and beginning to ignore the two of us.

“Cleo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know- I mean how could I have- I’m so sorry,” Jack stammered. I grabbed my phone from him and brought up the search engine.

“What flight are you taking tonight?” I asked, bringing up the earliest flights.

“What?” His voice was still quakey, but he was regaining his composure.

“You’re flying out to meet them at the first stop, right? They need a drummer.”

“Yeah, well, they said Abby could fill in for me, I wanted to stay here for the summer,” He replied. I looked up at him, taking a few seconds to read his too scrunched up face.

“Please tell me you didn’t say no because you wanted to make sure I was okay.” His silence answered the question for me. “Where are they stopping first?”

“Denver, Colorado.”

“I’m booking us tickets on the soonest flight.” My fingers danced across the device faster than they did when I was texting. “Okay, we have three hours, go get packed.”

“Wait, what?” Jack just stood there.

“I just booked us tickets, we have to be at the gate in three hours, move your ass and go pack a bag!” I pushed him towards the door.

“O...kay.” He stumbled out and I closed the door, turning to find my suitcase. Emily glanced over her shoulder quickly, probably happy to have the room to herself for a while.

---

An hour and half later, Jack knocked on my door, waiting a second before letting himself in. Emily was napping on her bed by now. I put my finger to my lips to tell Jack to be quiet, not wanting to wake the beast. Grabbing my suitcase and backpack, I followed Jack out of the room, into the hallway.

“You know this is crazy, right? Like, borderline mental,” Jack commented. He walked along beside me as I rushed down the hallway to the elevators.

“I have to see her, I can’t leave things like that,” I replied. I was pressing the button for the elevator multiple times. Jack had to grab my hand to keep from breaking the thing.

“She said you could call her back, so just call her back.” My foot tapped, showing my impatience.

“I know her, she’s not going to answer the phone, not after that. Not for a while.” I looked up at the indicator which showed if an elevator was on its way, none were lit up yet, “This is taking too long,” I commented, grabbing Jack and pulling him towards the stairs.

“Cleo, I think you need to take a deep breath.”

I focused on the steps instead of turning towards Jack when I replied, “Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I have to do this and I don’t need you interrogating my sanity the whole way.”

“Okay, I’m shutting up.” I smiled, it was always too easy to win a fight with him. We got to the ground level and I nearly jogged to the exit and out to the street. There were only a few taxis out and I was terrible at hailing them. Jack, however, gave one quick whistle and voila! A cab pulled up right in front of us. He opened the door for me and we both climbed in.

“Boston Logan Airport,” I told the driver, situating my bags. I checked my phone, seeing how much time we had. An hour and fifteen minutes.

Jack noticed my fingers tapping on my bag in my nervous way, grabbing my hand. “We’ll make it,” he replied. “Don’t worry.” I smiled back at him.

“What are we late for?” The cab driver asked, looking into the rearview mirror at the two of us. He had a beard that made him look like a friendly grandpa.

“My friend here has to get to Colorado to profess her undying love to her ex fiance,” Jack replied. The driver smiled.

“You’d be surprised at how much I get answers like that.” I let out a breathy laugh, trying to let my nerves dissipate. Looking out the window to my left, I watched the city go by, swirling like my head. My mind was running in a hundred different directions.

Maybe it was crazy, going all this way, but I knew somehow that I had to do this. I had to go set things right. Even if Vicky slammed the metaphorical door in my face. I had to tell her, explain myself. Mentally slapping myself, I remember the three or four times Vicky showed up to my dorm room, blowing her emergency money on plane tickets, just for me to slam the door. To ignore her. To not give her the time of day.

I was a monster to her. I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with me. But I had to try. I couldn’t give up on her. I couldn’t give up on almost three years of a relationship. I couldn’t give up on the nearly ten years before that. It was too big, too important. She was too important.

A while later, we pulled up in front of the airport. Jack paid the driver and tipped him more than he could afford, as usual. We raced through the huge building, reading signs as we passed them. We got told twice by security guards to slow down, like two children. Finally, we found the gate. We had twenty minutes.

We raced through the check in as quickly as possible. Jack nearly fell on his face taking his shoes off for the x ray. In comparison I tripped and banged my knee on the stairs to the plane’s hatch. Finally, we sat down in our assigned seats, each letting out a deep breath.

Jack turned his head toward me and gave me one of his goofy smiles. I laughed.

“So, we’ll probably be there around eight or so,” he commented, looking at his phone. “I’m trying to get us hotel reservations, which is kinda hard this last minute, but whatever.” I leaned my head on his shoulder, watching him scroll through hotels and prices.

“Thank you,” I said. He lifted his hand and patted my head, making me laugh again.

“Of course.” I closed my eyes, trying again to calm my head.

It felt like just when I relaxed enough to fall asleep, we were bumping to the ground. I jerked up, grabbing Jack’s arm and jerking him awake as well. “Jesus, you scared me,” he said, groggily. I looked out the window beside me and saw that we were on the ground, moving towards a loading dock.

“We’re here,” I replied. Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. He wasn’t a morning person, or rather, he wasn’t a waking up person.

“I kinda got that.” He stared out the window with me, waiting for the flight attendants to let us out. As soon as we were allowed, he stood up and stretched his long bones. I pushed him forward quickly to get my bags and get off the cramped plane. He laughed at my pushiness, slowly grabbing our stuff from the overhead compartments and leading me toward the exit.

The minute we stepped out of the plane , my hair blew into my face. Jack took a second to laugh at the sight before it thwacked him in the face as well. The flight attendant at the door had to remind us to keep moving. I regretted not wearing a jacket. Usually I was more prepared for trips, I would have looked up the weather to see what I’d need to have on.

Jack and I walked through the airport for a few minutes, looking for exit signs and following them. When we reached the sidewalk outside, Jack immediately hailed a cab and got us in to get out of the treacherous wind. “Do you know where the Courtyard hotel is?” He asked the driver.

The middle aged woman looked at the two of us and smiled. “Course I do, sweethearts,” she replied. Her black hair was pulled up into a messy bun, slightly reminding me of Sasha. “I’ll get you there in less than twenty minutes.”

“Why are we going there? Isn’t that expensive?” I asked Jack. He turned to me and tilted his head before raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah, you were sleeping when I texted Drew. I asked him where they were staying so we could go straight there and you could find you girl. And he said we could both stay with him in his room if things go bad.” I smiled at the black haired man in amazement.

“Wow, okay, thanks.” He simply smiled and grabbed his phone to text Drew that we were on the way.

The cab driver was correct on her ETA, we pulled up to the hotel in fifteen minutes or less, tires screeching. I insisted on paying her, since Jack had paid the man in Boston, but he still snuck her a huge tip through the window.

I stared at the tall building as the cab drove away. Jack put his hand on my shoulder, sighing.

“Good luck, Babe,” he commented. We walked into the hotel and to the elevators. “Okay, so Vicky’s room is on the third floor and Drew’s is on the fourth. Vicky’s room number is fifteen. Text me if I need to tell you Drew’s room number.” I nodded as we stepped into the elevator. I took a deep breath. Then, realizing it did nothing to calm me down, took another. “Is this where I should give you a pep talk or something?” I laughed.

“No, I don’t know how much help a pep talk from you would do.” We both smiled. I watched the dial on the elevator move up to the third floor, sucking in another deep breath.

Jack opened his mouth, presumably to wish me good luck again, but the doors opened before he could. And there she was. Hair now blonde and starting to grow out on the side. Earbuds in both ears. Eyes moving from the ground up to meet mine in confusion. Eyebrows furrowing.

“Cleo?” I tried to open my mouth and say something, but I couldn’t find the words.

While I was stumbling, Jack pushed me forward out of the elevator. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he replied, pressing the button to close the door and leaving me to trip over my words more.

“What are you doing here?” Vicky asked, pulling her earbuds out simultaneously and stuffing them into her front pocket.

“I.. uh, I didn’t want to leave things how we did on the phone.” It was as if I just realized how stupid my plan was. I felt myself blushing, from my neck to my cheeks.

“You could have just called me back,” she mumbled, looking at the ground.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer me.” I watched as she looked up and to the right, anywhere but at me. “Vicky, what you heard on the phone… Emily was just being annoying.”

“What the boyfriend thing?” Finally, she met my eyes. I nodded. “I figured you’d meet someone, I’m glad you did, you deserve someone a hell of a lot better than me.”

“Don’t do that,” I couldn’t help but say. “You are more than enough for anybody on this God forsaken planet. Don’t you dare tell me you aren’t good enough.” Vicky continued to stare straight at me, still missing the sparkle in her eyes. “I was going to tell you that Emily was talking about Jack.”

“Oh,” Vicky replied, looking down again. “So, you two…”

“What? No!” I couldn’t help laughing at the idea of dating Jack. “No, she was just being snide, Jack couldn’t be more into guys if he tried. I’m not dating anyone.”

It took a few seconds of silence, but finally, she looked up at me again. “Okay, then why’d you call me back?” Now it was my turn to look at the ground, not wanting to meet her eyes.

“I… Vicks, I’m so sorry,” I said, looking up into her electric blue eyes.

“For what?” She mumbled, running her hand through her longer than usual side of hair. I hated that I was making her nervous. And that I was so nervous.

“I was an ass. I was terrible to you and I never let you explain your side, I just made my own. And then, what’s worse is, I finally got the real story and I still iced you out for almost two months. I’m a bitch. I just wanted to apologize for that. If you don’t want to see me again, I’d understand.”

Vicky didn’t say anything for a long time and I was going to turn and leave her alone when I noticed the tears. She had teardrops welling in her eyes.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll go,” I said quickly, turning to the elevator, but Vicky grabbed my wrist.

“No, don’t go,” she said, wiping under her eyes. “I just… I missed talking to you.” I saw the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “So, in all of that spiel did I ever actually here that you forgave me?”

“What? There’s nothing to forgive you for, you didn’t do anything. I’m the asshole, I need you to forgive me.” Vicky laughed.

“Cleo, I could never hold anything against you.” Suddenly, she let out a huge breath of air, hunching over a small bit. “God, I thought you hated me.”

“Never,” I breathed out. Vicky looked back up at me, eyes sparkling, like they’re supposed to. Then, the blonde lunged forward and hugged me. The kind of hug that I’d needed for so long.

I felt her sob against me and I couldn’t help the few tears that dripped from my eyes. “I missed you so much, Cleo,” she sobbed into my shoulder. I held her head against me, pressing my lips to the top of it.

“I’m so sorry.” I kept repeating that softly into her head. Finally, she pushed away from me just enough to grab my face between her hands.

“Stop saying that,” she whispered. “Can we just skip to the part where neither of us need to apologize anymore?” I laughed, a watery laugh, nodding. “Good.” I saw her eyes flicker down to my lips, I could see her thinking to herself if she should go for it or not.

Before she decided, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers. I hadn’t felt her lips against mine in over a year and I loved every second of it. Too soon, we had to pull apart for air, but just as quick as we pulled apart, Vicky pinned me against the wall next to the elevator, tangling her hand in my hair. I let my own hand sift through the longer strands of hair on her usually shaved side, loving the new feeling. Just as she pressed her other hand onto my waist, the elevator beeped open.

We both jumped apart as a middle aged woman walked out, giving us a disgusted glare on the way. Vicky looked down, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway in the opposite direction. She mumbling a small, “C’mon.” She unlocked her door with a swipe card as we got there. I stepped in first, looking around the nice room. A queen sized bed and a couch were on one wall, with a TV, dresser, and countertop on the other. A small kitchen in the entranceway and a door to the bathroom across from it.

I turned to say that it was nice, but before I got the chance, Vicky pulled me around and pushed me against the door to the bathroom. She pressed her lips against mine, picking up exactly where we’d left of in the hallway. I let out a small moan, pulling her waist against me with a free hand. As our hips knocked together, Vicky moaned and I found myself getting a tightening feeling in the pit of my stomach. She moved her hips toward mine again slowly, causing the feeling to strengthen. I moaned, just a bit louder this time.Vicky pulled away slightly, looking into my eyes.

“Have you-” she started.

“No,” I replied, knowing she was talking about whether or not I’d lost my virginity.

“Are you- Are you still waiting?” Her breath had gone ragged, I knew she wanted to, but she wouldn’t go any farther without my okay. She knew how I felt about this.

“I think- I think I want to,” I commented, looking into her eyes.

“Are you sure?” I nodded, wordlessly. And then she was picked me up by my thighs and laying me gently on the bed.

---(V)↓

The sun woke me, falling in soft rays into the room. When I opened my eyes, there she was. All tousled hair and fluttery eyelids. The light glanced off of her hair like a movie scene, making her outline almost glow.

It was almost overwhelming, how much I was feeling. All I had wanted for so long was for this woman to be in front of me again, and here she was. This beautiful, smart girl that I’d loved for so long.

Leaning forward, I gently pressed my lips against her forehead. She moved towards me a little, without opening her eyes.

And then someone was banging on the door. I turned my head in the direction of the door, not wanting to get out of the bed. Then I heard someone yelling through the door, “Vicks, what the hell?! Wake up!” Sasha.

Crap, what time is it? I grabbed for my phone on the bedside table, but it wasn’t there. Looking over, I saw an empty table except for a digital clock that read ten thirty in bright red numbers. Where was my phone? I remembered having it when I went out to get dinner, when I found Cleo. Then everything happened. It was in my pants pocket, where ever they were.

Before I could even think of what to do, Sasha opened the door with her extra key card. She took a few steps, paying more attention to her phone than to the room around her. “Vicks, we’re going to be late for lunch.”

Cleo popped her eyes open at hearing her voice. Finally, Sasha looked up, her eyes widening like some cartoon figure. “What the-”

“Sasha?” Cleo asked, slowly trying to sink into the bed farther. Trying to disappear.

“Sash, could you please wait outside?” I snapped. The blonde woman tried in vain to hold in a laugh as she back stepped to the door and exited. I blew a stream of air out, running my hand through my hair.

“She looks good,” Cleo whimpered from beside me. “I haven’t seen her in a while.” I looked over to her, laughing nervously.

“That is not how I pictured this morning going,” I replied, slipping out of the bed to collect my clothes and get new ones for today. I had gotten my bra and underwear on before Cleo spoke.

“So, we actually…” She trailed off quietly. I looked back at her, she was staring down at her legs under the covers.

“Are- Are you okay?” I asked. That had been her first time. She always told me she wanted to wait until marriage, but last night… If she was upset…

She looked up at me, her eyes trailing over my half naked figure. “I just- It was…” I slowly stepped towards her, afraid that I’d done something wrong. “It was amazing,” she whispered, smiling towards me. I let out a breath of air that had some kind of laugh in it.

“God, you scared me, I thought you were gonna freak out,” I said, leaning my forehead against hers. She giggled softly. “We need to get dressed now.” She nodded against my forehead.

“So, you guys are back together, I see,” Sasha commented when Cleo and I finally left the room. Cleo smiled at me, reaching down and taking my hand. “And Cleo, you finally swiped your V-card, I see.” I glared at Sasha for the comment. Cleo just laughed nervously.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied in a small voice. Sasha just laughed to herself and started walking to the elevators. We followed behind her.

“It took you guys long enough,” Sasha said over her shoulder.

#Anonymous #original work #my ocs #please dont steal #idk #story #excerpt from a book i hope to write

3 notes · View notes

ohniico · 7 years ago

Note

1, 2, 5, 10, 15, 20, 23, 26, 30, 34, 38, 40, 44, 50, 55

GOODNESS.

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

I like less milk. Just enough to get the cereal wet for me.

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

YES. I detest Summer with a passion and Winter feels like home to me. I don’t do well with heat (which is stupid because I live in California)

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

Yeah. Probably because I had missing teeth when I was younger and I just never really grew out of that. Someone told me today that my smile makes them melt though, so :)

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

Always fall asleep on my back, wake up on my side! Like clockwork.

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

The molecular cloud Sagittarius B2 in the Milky Way Galaxy smells like rum!

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

Blue eyes in anime. In real life, green eyes make me go out of my way to try to be funny to cover up how weak they make me.

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

I love to draw. Music is more of a weekday after work thing, but my weekends seem to be all about making or looking at art lately.

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

I have some old, really beat up Chuck Taylors (who doesn’t??) that I’ve never gotten sick of.

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

Absolutely. Close calls in car accidents are an easy way to get my hands shaking too much to think. Once when I was 18, I was cut off by a truck while I was on my bike and I slammed into it and I swear I could see my life flash before my eyes.

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

I had this baby chicken stuffed animal I always used to keep in my bed when I was really little. It was yellow and soft with a bib that said “Happy Easter!” on it. I have no idea what it had to do with Easter or where I got it from. It used to peep if you shook it, but eventually the soundbox wore out. I think my parents still have it somewhere.

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

People that are dicks for no reason. People that never have anything nice to say. If you’re complaining every time you open your mouth, it’s the quickest way to make my attention disappear. I’m not saying people should never complain about anything, but if everything is wrong then you might need to take a look at your own mindset.

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

I don’t really have any jewelry now that I think about it…

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

I had a very hectic and emotionally draining day today.. But my morning was lovely.

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

I would say anime figures, but considering how many of you on here are in the same boat…

I have way too many fucking guitars

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

I don’t take extra steps to prove a point, but I will fly to the gosh-dang moon to make a joke even if it’s just to make myself laugh.

For instance, a few months back I was in a bar with my best friend before he moved across the country, and we were joking around about our futures. We bought the cheapest drink/shot combo on the menu (Miller High Life) because we thought it would be hilarious to drink shitty liquor on purpose. We did this twice. And then after the second time, we bought a pitcher of it, because we wanted an excuse to ask everybody we ran into if they “live that Miller High Life™”. No one was watching us do this. We spent a stupid amount of money on horrible alcohol because we wanted to make ourselves laugh. And then we spent 45 minutes making an online dating profile just so we could put “don’t message me unless you live that Miller High Life™“ in the description. (the site rejected us before we even finished.)

Thanks for asking!

#long post

4 notes · View notes

againstthegrainphoto · 7 years ago

Text

ok. I’m going to write this novel. it’s going to be so long that I’m actually using the website....not my phone. because keyboard. Here we go:

Ghost. Oakland, CA. 7/5/17.

So my friend Sarah and I went to see ghost and iron maiden in Oakland. If you don’t give two shits about my san francisco adventures and just want to read about ghost....skip down. It was a bit of a hot mess of a trip. I had to work monday, So I worked my 8 hours and then left to pick her up. Because both of us are night people and night driving is WAY better than day driving. traffic in seattle was a complete nightmare starting out. there was a huge accident at the west seattle bridge exit. So I finally get to tacoma and pick her up.

(nice unintentional product placement for the best nameless ghoul tote bags ever)...we stop at fred meyer and get car supplies and gas. Then we are on our way. We make a stop in portland for dinner and an awesome visit with @lucifersbrightstar....we had such a good time!! (seriously, it was really great to hang out!!! <3 )eventually we head for cali. We made such great time. Sarah ptfo around medford. And as I’m flying down I5 the sun is beginning to come up and as I make it to the cali border and the ipod (on shuffle) is playing ghost’s cover of “here comes the sun”......I almost started crying it was such a beautiful moment.....like you can’t make this shit up.....

We made such good time we made it to the hotel hours before check in....we even went and scoped out the venue and everything....but by that time I was like “I need sleep now” So we check with the hotel and they were like Sure! check in now! your room is ready! and thank satan for that....because I went and ptfo. We rested and slept a couple hours before heading into San Francisco. We took the BART.

...which I’ve never been on a subway....we don’t have these things in seattle....That shit is scary as fuck. I mean it starts out above ground..much like the monorail here....SUPER easy and fun..... and then all of the sudden the thing is SHRIEKING like a fucking demon going 80million miles an hour and going down to the pits of hell so fast that your ears are popping. and then you end up in san francisco. we then went to chinatown..

its such a fun area...by this time though it’s been over 13 hours since I’d eaten and I fell into Eskimo Hungry™ mode. Like....if you don’t know what that is...you don’t WANT to know what that is....but if you don’t keep your Eskimo fed....it’s not pretty. So Sarah leads me into the snow garden restaurant and we order so much food. And she’s like “....are you mad at me?!?!?”.....and I then had to explain what Eskimo Hungry™ is. I then consumed some chicken chow mein and half a dozen pot stickers AND TWO!!! shrimps. I hate shrimp. They taste good....but I just can’t do the texture. But I got TWO down. I was so proud. I’ve never eaten more than one in a sitting. Then the world was right again and we went and looked at all the things!! She bought herself a black pearl (she’s a pirate....btw....like “this is not a hobby” type of pirate)(...actually her hobby is burlesque dancing....).....(....did I mention she’s one of my coolest friends?)...so she bought herself a black pearl necklace and comes up and also buys me this blue pearl necklace that matches my hair color...IT WAS THE SWEETEST THING EVER.

So then we just wander around all these random shops.....and we go in this knife shop....because she’s in the market for a pirate sword....and I saw this knife. I don’t like knives. or weapons. or guns. or anything like that. But I was like......I.must.have.that....i don’t know why I must have that. but I must. And then I’m like...noooo. I don’t need it. But then I was like...well if it’s under $20. I”ll do it. So I ask how much and the lady is like $17. And I was like naaaahh. this isn’t my jam. I don’t need it. and so I walk over to sarah and she’s like are you going to get it? I’m like....it’s $17.....and she said I should get it. So I did. So now how I have beautiful oil slick looking knife which I’m not sure is legal or not. but I love it? So then we travel down to the shopping area....and walk through this crazy tunnel:

and end up in the shopping area. I found a huge chewbacca. he was like 6′5.

I found a pineapple shirt (and knew @yourinfernalmajesty1 would approve) in no other place than fucking H&M.....because of course:

Then I saw the awesomest fountain thing....I saw it and IMMEDIATELY was like murder castle......MURDER CASTLE!!!!!!! H.H.HOLMES. YOU GUYS.

of course Sarah was just like “ok heather...?!?!.”.....and I”m just like “what? am I the only fucked up one here? it’s cool.....I get it....murder isn’t everyone’s cup of tea”....I then found palm trees......I had never touched a palm tree. Or really even seen one up close in real life. Those fuckers are HUGE. Day=Made. So excite.

Then we went to sephora because it was like 4x the size of ANY sephora we have up here. I got the new Urban Decay Veletizer. (10/10 would recommend.) We then were going to take the trolly, but it wasn’t running because it was the 4th of july. But they had a free shuttle down to the place for fireworks. We were waiting by the stop and this scandinavian couple started chatting with us.....it took EVERYTHING in me to not say “kommer ni från Sverige?”....because they were so swedish it was painful. The shuttle was fun:

but terrifying......the bus driver was INSANE. I was shocked we didn’t crash and die.

our houses here look so different. Like it feels more like a different country down there than it does in Vancouver....which is actually a different country.

We went by Lombard St....which was really cool and kinda unreal to actually see in person. It has such a different vibe than seattle.

So alien. So then we are down by the water. And friggin Alcatraz. I saw friggin Alcatraz!!!! What the fuck. SO AWESOME. I had to take a selfie with Alcatraz.

then I had to take a photo of Sarah with Alcatraz. I was so stoked to see it.

We then went and got Ghirardelli sundaes and coffee at Ghirardelli Square.....I was double fisting like a fuckin champ.

We we watched the not so impressive fireworks show that was hidden in the clouds for the most part....being from seattle.....it wasn’t that disappointing. just more normal. hahaha. We then walked 80 miles back to the BART.

We stopped and got some adult beverages on the way....And FINALLY at like midnight made it back to the hotel......where I looked in my bag:

....carries everything. full bottle of wine, blue pearls, BART card. shank. UD makeup. ice cream sundae....you know....the essentials. We then started are daily ritual of in and out burger......I ate more burgers this week than I have in the past year.

At this point I finally sleep for more than a few hours. We woke up the next day and I’m like a HUGE ball of energy....because ghost. We eat breakfast at the diner across the street from the hotel and discuss game plan. We then went to walgreens because Sarah was having bad sinus allergies and also had wore new boots all around the day before and needed a blister cover.

Now...for the GHOST part of the trip:

We then go back to the hotel and get ready to go. I finally put on the beautiful dress I made.

We called a cab and went down to stand in line for pit entry....because if I’m going to see ghost....I WILL be at the front. We looked fucking awesome btw....if I do say so myself:

That venue’s ticketing system is a fucking nightmare. I had purchased my two pit tickets back on presale in January. They allowed you NO (0,none,ziltch) tickets. but put the tickets attached to the number of the credit/debit card you purchased them with. Also you HAD to enter ALL at once AT the EXACT same time. And literally no one at the venue knew what to do with me and Sarah, because I was VIP/meet&greet and she was not. So I had paid (dearly) for early entry, but if I went in she would not be allowed in. Because VIP was plaza entrance and pit was south tunnel entrance. So I asked the lady running the iron maiden vip (ghost vip wasn’t even there yet)...and she was just like you have to ask nik. So by then the ghost vip crowd had gotten about as big as it was going to get (SUPER SMALL. like 20) and I was chatting with a couple people....some of which already follow me!! it was so cool! lol. So finally nik comes out and I tell him my situation with the tickets and he’s like well I”ll just check you in for vip right now and you can go stand with her in the pit line, because honestly ghost vip only get in 5 minutes before everyone else.....and ALL of the vip iron maiden fans are already in there. So he checks me in...and I find out I get to carry around a ouija board ALL night. for the entire show......like.....did they think this through? And I didn’t drive there.....soooo I had no where to put it and was forced to just carry it. And the little itty bitty sack they give you doesn’t even fit it:

So what I ended up doing....is threading my purse strap through each side string and then putting each loop around each arm and it fashioned a sort of backpack(which were 120% illegal, not allowed at this show, leave now, type of venue)....SO STUPID. But really a different and imaginative VIP incentive really. So much better than the shirt from last year. So I was ok with it. So then we go in and go to the front of the currently empty venue. And Sarah holds a spot (and my ouija board) for me up front while I go to the place to meet for the photos. I went and saw the people who I chatted with outside and akwardly joined them. It was actually really cool to hang out with other Ghost fans, not alot of them up here in seattle, I feel like. So we got talking and we decided that we wanted a tumblr photo with papa....so me, @jennwearsblack , @burnthewitchiii , and her friend (katie?) all figured we would ask if we could do one big group photo. So watch out for that!! :D I feel like it’s going to be fucking awesome!! So then nik came and herded us all down to this small room with this weird curtained off section with black fabric.....total step up from last year. but a little odd imo. you couldn’t watch the other people photos like you could last year....like it was private. so we wait in line and nervously chat. Finally it’s our turn and we all go in and take the group photo.....then we all exit back through the entrance to take individuals. I feel like we didn’t really ask if that was ok, or give them an option about it, or a chance to tell us “no, that’s not ok.” hahaha. So finally it’s my turn.....and I go in and hand him the envelope with the doll from @lucifersbrightstar and a couple of my own photos I had printed out for him.....but I put them in such a way he couldn’t see them?....because I don’t think I could handle papa looking at my photo in front of me again. When he did that last year I basically was like “OH THANKS” and turned and ran away from him while he’s holding a small pile of photos. hahah. oh dear. So he went over and gave the packet to.....the manager dude who I totally recognize, but who’s name I don’t know. The one whom I shoved ALL my shit (purse, merch, vip bag, laminent, etc) in his arms last year while I did my photo. (bless him)....And so then papa comes back and I go “I want to do an akward prom pose! and then one with our nails!” and him and nik both kinda tried to hold in laughs. Because that’s gotta be one of the best requests ever....if I do say so myself. And then I start thinking how this is going to work out and where and how to stand and while mid thought papa goes “OKEJ. lik dis?” in his papa voice....and in one swift movement grabs me by the waist, flips me around, so all of the sudden I”m in front of him, facing the camera, and then pulls me back so my back completely pressed up against his front, and his hands are on my stomach holding me there.....I froze and didn’t know what to do. because that’s NOT at ALL what I meant or expected....I wanted like 4 feet apart hand on shoulder akward.....but his super confident un-gentle movements and his hands on my stomach freaked me out to the point where it took me a moment to realize that I am standing there holding both of my own hands in the air while papas are around me and nik is standing there with the camera staring at me waiting for me to put my hands down....so finally my brain kicks in and is like “PUT YOUR ARMS DOWN BITCH. JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST. GET IT TOGETHER”....so I lowered my hands to papas with an akward unintentional pat pat and nik took the photo. then I was like....”nails”...and I made a stupid face and papa made a stupid face and we held our hands up...and he took the second shot and I gtfo. asap. run away. i was SHOOK fam....my groove was thrown off. I am sure I look like jabba the hut in the photo from the way papa was holding my top half back at an angle and how nik was looking up at us. I probably have like 80 chins despite my on point contouring. I booked it back to Sarah and was like “WWWWHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. *SOB* IT DID NOT GO AS PLANNED. *UGLY TEARLESS SOBBING*=‘(” (..............what?.....I wasn’t about to fuckup my close to flawless make up.....or cry out the contact....)....I was shaking.....that’s not something I ever do....I generally own up to everything that happens....and I rarely get nervous around people.....I’ve photoed and met so many idiot bands....like it’s just not nerve wracking at all to deal with idiot band people......but I was like....*holds shakey hand up* “WHAT IS THIS. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME. AM I DYING. I THINK I’M DYING. *TEARLESS SOB*”......she then left me to go find beverages($9 for a fucking bottle of water if you were wondering)(she was going to get adult beverage....but at $17 a shot....she wisely passed on that)(ps--fuuck you arena shows)....that’s when I panic posted that little blurb that’s got over 60 notes(why tho)....*cries*....of course then I over analyzed and remembered what I had said about my meet and greet last year:

....then I was like...”...uuhhh.....I sure as fuck hope he didn’t read that”.....because the demeanor and vibe from him this time was like so exact opposite....and we all know he’s a fuckin lurker......*has minor breakdown* ....because honestly this is more what I was going for this year....was the akward prom pose:

...i liked that...ugh. this years photo is going to be horrible and I’m going to cry....

.....then I’m going to get my shit together...open up photoshop.....and make it work......

So then the show started and it was SO AWESOME. Fire really made it for me....totally sold me on the new ghouls. That dude is a fucking treasure.

I had so many special moments with that little ghoul......Everyone’s like “PAPA POSES FOR YOU ALL THE TIME”.....and I’m just like.....nah. he’s just doin things that papas do. goin about his papa business. per usual. it’s not my fault papa business is photogenic........fire, however. That dude would hold a pose for hours for me if I asked, I think. hahahaha. He’s so fantastic and fun and he gives so much energy.....and also takes so much energy. more so than anyone I’ve ever photoed. it was really fun to photo and watch. one time I somehow felt like he was giving me shit for photoing another ghoul...my camera was pointed somewhere else, satan forbid. and I saw him gesturing out of the corner of my eye. So I looked straight at him and made a face and stuck out my tongue while still photoing someone else and he just shook his head and then shook his finger at me. I adore him. hahahaha. There was one time where papa did his “stare into your soul” thing.....so I just stopped photoing and stared back....like “two can play that game, bitch”......I could not see new new new earth at all. what so ever. was kinda sad about that. he seemed? to do well? I mean sounded good. I still hate chAir. Still petitioning for a new Air ghoul. dude is a terrible nameless ghoul. like.....no. gå hem. vi vill inte dig. du får inte sitta med oss......no matter how good at sitting you are......ha. only new ghoul I’m not sold on. New new new water is absolutely precious. New new aether is quite a character. His poppunk/glam jumps off boxes are life. It was over way too soon. Fire tried to toss me a pick but didn’t quite get it to me. we both just shrugged at each other. lol. Then during set changes the entire crowd shifted....in a bad way. the dude next to us got fucking head butted hard and went down. security came in and removed the headbutter. but people were still being horrible....WITH NO BAND EVEN PLAYING.....Sarah got hit hard too.....and she’s recovering from a shoulder injury and so we only lasted one song up front before we gtfo. and retreated to a safer spot:

It was a sold out show. 4000 people were behind us for ghost:

....Iron Maiden fans....as far as the eye could see.....

We went and got merch during iron maiden. I asked the merch girl for the “ghost tesla shirt” and she was like “I don’t know which one that is”.......I was just like....you’re fucking kidding me right?....then once she figured out which she’s like we only have it in large and up.....so someday I’ll make a dress out of it. lol. until then I”ll just swim in it.....it already goes like half way down my thigh. lol. So then we watched the rest of iron maiden from further back.....it was a really awesome show. Their stage set up is phenomenal. So then it ends and we contemplate trying to meet ghost....and find a lost older man with a dead phone(hi richard!) who was desperately trying to find his people...lol...I ended up calling his friend...and leaving a message..”HI....I’m here with your friend richard at the north entrance....please come get him”....haha...eventually they came found him and scolded him and thanked us for keeping him safe?? hahahahah. good times.....then it was good we didn’t try to meet the ghouls....cause I guess they left before it was even over. So I was fairly heartbroken about it....because I don’t know when/if I’ll ever get to meet the new ghouls. I really do like them(aside from chAir)....I really hope papa keeps them around.(aside from chAir).....So then we call a cab to get us back to our hotel......and they’re like....we just sent our last two cabs for the night. sorry....and people were saying uber was a 2 hour wait......so we ended up WALKING back to our hotel....... Luckily it wasn’t too far....but it was far enough....and I was in huge strappy platforms and a floor length dress. good times.....maybe not so much. But we made it. And then we went and got our ritualistic in and out burgers. That shit is so fucking good. and I don’t know why. Then I posted all the photos and mourned the fact that it was over....I was still buzzing with crazy energy and Sarah fell asleep...lol. Eventually I crashed too. we woke up the next morning, packed and headed home. It was THE WORST DRIVE EVER.....what took us like 11ish hours to get there.....it took us SEVENTEEN to get back. we stopped for coffee. and we stopped for in and out one last time.......the rest was spent stuck in traffic and road work for miles and miles. it took us HOURS and HOURS and HOURS just to get out of the god forsaken hell that is northern california.

we flew through southern oregon.....until just north of salem....where we sat....like chAir.....in traffic. and roadwork. for fucking hours and hours. not. happy.

...we figured I would get home around midnight....including a stop in oregon for a smidge of tax free shopping....not only did we not make it in time for oregon stores to be open......I GOT HOME AT 4:30AM......and that concludes the epic, crazy, wouldn’t trade it for anything, hot, fucking mess, of a trip that me and a friend took to see ghost. Because I’m pretty sure that will be the last time I ever see papa III.....and I would have regretted it my entire life if I hadn’t seen him one last time.

16 notes · View notes