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gingyboo · 4 years ago

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Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

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Chapter 6

The journey to Wakanda passed quietly, Sam and Torres sat in the cockpit whilst Nancy dozed against Bucky’s shoulder. It had been a long 24hrs and the few hours of rest on her sofa hadn’t curbed her exhaustion. She remembered what her doctor had told her about taking things easy, well she certainly hadn’t been doing that, these past few months she’d felt stronger than she had in 5 years. Still she rested. Bucky watched over her silently, absentmindedly twirling a piece of her hair again. Mid way through the trip she woke up and smiled up at Bucky.

“Hey, do you know how much further it is?” She asked stretching out.

“Couple of hours at least.”

“No in flight movie?” She laughed.

“I’m afraid not”

“Sorry, I keep falling asleep on you.” She brushed the creases out of his jacket.

“Keep the habit, I don’t mind.” He swung an arm round her shoulders. “Tell me about your dad.”

“What do you want to know?” She asked.

“I don’t know, what’s he like. You don’t talk about him much.”

“Well…” Nancy told him, told him about Martin Cartwright. The man who’d carried her around on his shoulders when she was little. Who’d locked his work away in his study and never brought it into the home. Who’d chased Kit around the garden on the weekends. Whose marriage had broken down and how hard he’d tried to hide it from her and her brother. Who’d left her alone in London for a job he was dreading only to fall in love with Wakanda, with the people and the culture and Katima. She told him about his frantic phone calls, asking her to help him out by attending a function the next day that he wouldn’t be able to make, that had then become a more common occurrence.

“I think my father stopped coming home because what home was changed for him. He’d rather stay out there, help communications between our countries, he’s not so interested in the politics anymore.”

“And you are?” Bucky asked.

“No, I’m no politician, I’m a distraction. Mr financial secretary is having issues at home, his 13-year-old daughter is going through a difficult stage and he just wishes things could go back to how they used to be, his wife doesn’t look how she did when she was 25 anymore and he knows he doesn’t look the same either. They’re arguing more than they are talking and so he leaps at the chance to escort a young rich socialite to the ballet. He then makes some half-hearted attempts to lobby her for information but inevitably he falls asleep, not before making some obvious attempts to peek down the front of her dress, deciding she knows nothing and there is little behind those green eyes he liked so much and she’s not even worthy of proper conversation. She’s just another pretty face, should make his wife jealous though.”

“You’re more than just a pretty face. So much more.” Bucky stroked his thumb over her cheek bone. He felt an anger within him, a strong regret that he hadn’t thrown the financial secretary out of the box the night before.

“I can play part. Played it for so long I don’t know what I am, my dad tells me nothing of what he’s doing, what his plans for British-Wakanda relations are. All I know is he won’t let my people take advantage of the Wakandans,”

“I’d like to see them try,” Bucky interjected, and Nancy nodded.

“But you see they will try, not the British people per se, but the people at the top, they will always try to exploit for their own gain. My father’s made a lot of people unhappy with his silence on matter.”

“Good, though I’m surprised they let him keep his post so long.”

“They tried to remove him once, the Wakandans wouldn’t allow it, they said they wouldn’t accept a replacement.” Although she’d been pleased her dad’s job was safe, she had taken the brunt of the British displeasure, she’d heard the whispers behind her back at dinners. That her father should be looking out for his own country first, especially after everyone returned from the blip. Some thought earning Nancy’s favour would give then a path to her father. So many insincere friendships had made Nancy feel more alone than ever. And then Bucky had appeared.

Bucky looked thoughtful for a moment. He stared into her eyes and smiled.

“I have a feeling I’m going to like your father. Standing up for what is right even if his country is against him, reminds me of a man I knew. A couple on men actually.” His eyes drifted behind her to the cockpit. As if he sensed his gaze Sam turned around.

“Not long now princess, you might want to come up here and see this.” He called over to her. Nancy carefully removed the straps securing her to the bench and made her way into the cockpit. Torres’s expression matched hers as the giant black panther came into view.

“It’s amazing.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before.” Bucky had silently appeared behind her.

Torres landed the jet expertly and not wanting to wait for steps to be put in, Bucky leapt from the plane lifting Nancy down after him. As soon as her feet hit the ground she was running, seeing her dad across the tarmac. He met her halfway enveloping her in a crushing embrace. He had greying blond hair and Nancy’s green eyes. He was wearing smart tailored suit which looked out of place next to the Wakandans manning their landing strip.

“Angel, thank god you’re safe, I never would’ve forgiven myself-“ He was a few inches shorter than Nancy’s 5’11”.

“I’m okay dad.” She hugged him back just as tight.

“Are you, you’ve been okay, no instances?”

“Dad, I promise you, I’m okay.” Bucky and Sam had stood back giving the pair some space, as Nancy drew away they both came to her side.

“Thank you, all three of you,” he waved at Torres who was still in the cockpit. “I am eternally grateful.”

“That’s what we do.” Sam said extending his hand, which Martin shook whole heartedly.

“Let’s get you inside, I’ve had a room made up for you, I’m sure you need rest, I’ll get some food put together,”

“Dad we need to talk, these people they meant business, I have a right to know what’s going on.” Nancy stood tall, she reached her hand out, reaching for Bucky’s, she needed the strength his touch gave her. Bucky stepped closer to her, breathing deeply and laced their fingers together. It didn’t go unnoticed, Martin Cartwright frowned, but said nothing about it.

“Nancy, you should rest we’ll talk later.”

“No, we’ll talk now.” She stayed firm.

“Okay, okay.” He gave in, leading them inside a large building with walls of windows. Through winding corridors, he led the trio to an empty meeting room. Martin sat on the edge of the table.

“Tell me what happened.” They each explained, Nancy her night at the ballet, Sam and Bucky described the men who had fought them and then followed them through London, they explained staying at the house until Torres could bring them to Wakanda, they spoke of the confrontation at the airfield though Nancy left out the mention of her brother.

“I am immeasurably grateful,” he thanked them again, “I should like to speak to my daughter alone,” Nancy held Bucky fixed by her side whilst Sam was led away by a member of the Dora Milaje.

“Bucky stays.” She said shortly, viewing her dad through narrowed eyes.

“Nancy, what is this?”

“I want you to explain and I want him to hear it to.”

“Explain what?”

“Why? What’s going on that would make someone want to ransom me. This was calculated, planned out, they weren’t giving up. Do you honestly have so much power that they thought it worthy to control you? And who are they? Dad I will stand by you, I trust your choices and judgment, but I can’t do so blindly anymore.” She threw the words at him in one breath.

“And he has to hear all this because?” Martin shot back staring at Bucky who was leaning against the wall, staring straight back.

“Because you put him in danger too.” She said quickly, eyes flicking back to Bucky. He stepped forward resting a hand on her shoulder briefly.

“And because I’m her soulmate.” He said clearly. Martins face changed them, the subtle look of guilt he’d had since their arrival was replaced with sudden fury. He dash forward punching the ex-winter solider back up against the wall, his forearm to his throat. Bucky did nothing to stop him, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Dad!” Nancy shouted.

“You!” He shouted in Bucky’s face, “you gave my daughter nightmares for years, you have haunted our family, don’t think I don’t know who you are!”

“Dad stop, what are you talking about!” She reached out grabbing her father’s shoulders, he turned his head towards her, tears in his eyes.

“You don’t remember, but I do, you were in your ballet class, he appeared, Nancy he tried to shoot you.” Realisation dawned on Bucky’s features.

“It wasn’t me, I don’t even remember that I’m not that person anymore,” Bucky plead. “I’d never hurt her, I couldn’t.”

“I’d never let him.” Nancy stated defiantly. “Please dad, let him go, it cannot be changed, are souls are one, you know this.”

Martin Cartwright released Bucky reluctantly.

“How could you keep this from me, you’ve known he was out there, all this time.” Nancy’s face cracked, a tear escaping her eye.

“I knew him for what he is, a murderer.”

“He isn’t anymore, he is pardoned, the winter solider is gone, I am Bucky’s, and he is mine, you accept us both or neither of us.” She stood beside him now, holding tight to his vibranium hand, the black and gold metal stark against her pale fingers.

“Nancy.” Martin warned, the stern voice she hadn’t heard since childhood.

“Together, or not at all.” She said finally. That conversation ended there, Bucky felt Nancy relax as she realised her father was retreating. He ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“Angel, I don’t know what these people want, I promise you.” He started meeting her eye before adding “I am going to try to tell you more, I just worry, I don’t want to burden you.” Nancy nodded, mouthed a thank you and allowed her father to lead her to her room in the ambassador’s apartment. The embassy building they were in consisted of a ground level of conference room, then each floor held apartments for different countries, all together in one place. Martin mostly stayed at Katima house further into the country, finding it quieter than the busy city. Katima was on her way back from Paris having completed her assignment there, Martin explained to Nancy whilst Bucky went in search of Sam. He hoped they could have dinner the following evening.

“Is Bucky invited?” Nancy asked.

“If he must be, if it means you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there regardless, but I want him there.” her dad nodded in acceptance.

“Here you are, make yourself at home, I’m sorry I can’t send you back to London, not till I know you’ll be safe.” Nancy resisted insisting that as long as she was with Bucky she would be safe, she didn’t need to rub salt in that wound. He kissed her forehead briefly before walking away. Her dad was still so awkward around her, treating her with kid gloves, distancing himself. She made her way into the apartment, it was tastefully if neutrally decorated with blacks and whites and greys everywhere. She threw her hold-all down on the sofa and made her way through to the bathroom. She ran a steaming hot bath and soaked off the grime of travel. Her skin pink and hair damp she dug out her pyjamas, a loose-fitting red vest top and some black cotton shorts. She explored the apartment then, the bedroom had been prepared with crisp clean sheets, the fridge was stocked, and some additional clothes were folded in the draws. Nancy found herself curled up on the sofa answering a frantic text from Samara when there was a knock at the door, the control panel showed Bucky leaning against the door frame. She skipped over letting him in.

“Nancy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t remember, I never want to hurt you.” he cupped her face with both hands.

“Bucky it’s okay, it wasn’t you,” Nancy protested.

“It was though,” he continued. Nancy covered his mouth with her hand.

“Stop it, we can’t change the past, only our future.” Bucky nodded in agreement as Nancy lowered her hand. She saw Bucky’s eyes dance over her face, noticed the goose bumps from earlier had returned. Then she was kissing him, or he was kissing her. Her hand found the pack of his neck and weaved into his hair, he lent forward still cupping her face. he smiled against her lips.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.” he laughed, kissing her again.

#bucky barnes #winter solider #sam wilson #captain america #mcu #mcu fic #soulmate

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vtscasefiles · 4 years ago

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Case File 563-7

Trigger warnings: blood, gore, death, infant death, guns, gun violence

[Editor’s note: this is one of VT’s shorter cases. It does not have a happy outcome. You have been warned.]

Case begun: 1/12/20**

Case concluded: 1/13/20**

Case locale: [REDACTED], Nevada

Marked as Closed

From the outset, this case stunk. Even Ramona had misgivings. She practically begged me not to go. “VT, there’s something wrong here. I don’t know what, but I just have this feeling.”

“It’ll be fine.” I’d assured her. “It’s a simple shakedown. It’s just a spirit. It’s nothing too insidious.”

Famous last words.

This case came to my from a friend of a friend. It was a simple haunting, the spirit was pestering a young family. Nothing a few sprinkles of blessed water and a liberal application of smudging couldn’t fix. Worst case, I’d have to exorcise.

Still, Ramona’s words bothered me, so I packed up a few extra goodies. Salt, my saint bone necklace (It’s only a toe bone, don’t ask where I got it.) and a few rounds of my most potent ammunition. I don’t want to say what it was made out of, due to the...questionable nature of how it was sourced. Point being that they’d deal with anything short of a god.

My friend, [REDACTED AT SUBJECT’S REQUEST], met me at the bus station. My car was out of commission, due to it being a piece of shit. Though [REDACTED] was more than happy to loan me their car.

I really wish I’d listened to Ramona.

I arrived at the client’s house around noon. They were a friendly enough couple. Due to ongoing SC investigation, I’m only going to refer to them as Husband and Wife. I could get in a lot of hot water if I put their names out there and someone fucked up the investigation.

Husband was tall-ish. Only a scant few inches taller than myself. He was your typical, hipster fella. Too tight pants, a band tee with a band he listened to “before it was cool” and a scruffy little beard with an overly manicured mustache. Wife was more my speed, though. Overalls, splattered with paint and a tank top. We love a handy lady.

They welcomed me graciously, introduced me to their newborn, who shall be known as Baby. She was a cute, little thing...even I could admit that and I hate babies. They scream, puke and shit, usually at the same time. Not for me, nope. Even so, I held the kid at their insistence and the girl just...stared. I couldn’t help but pull faces until the child started to laugh.

So, maybe “hate” is a strong word.

They took me to the room where their little spirit friend was causing the most havoc. It was to be Baby’s room. A crib settled in a corner, toys strewn around for the child’s amusement. A light fixture shaped like a unicorn.

Oh, and let’s not forget the words “HELP ME” painted on the wall in bright, yellow paint. Perfect décor for an infant, right?

“So, Husband.”, I’d said, turning to face him, Baby still in my arms. “We going for an escape pre-school motif or something?” he laughed a strained laugh.

“We didn’t have this problem when we moved in.” he said, rubbing at his eyes beneath the glasses that I don’t think he actually needed. “After Baby was born everything sort of...escalated.” he shuffled his feet and frowned. “We don’t want to move. We put a lot of work into our home, VT.”

“Well.” I said, foisting Baby off into Wife’s arms. “It might be a wandering spirit...might even be a kid. They tend to gravitate towards new parents, in hopes someone can help them. I’ll come back tonight to see if we can’t contact the spirit and figure out what’s going on.”

“Tonight might be...problematic. We have a little ceremony planned for Baby.” she said, smiling and dimpling in the *cutest* way. “All the neighbors will be there!”

You see where this is going now, right? Fuck, I wish I had.

“I mean, so long as it isn’t in this house. Large gatherings might upset the spirit.” I said, softly. Baby was already dozing in her mother’s arms. “If it has to be here, I can always come afterwards.”

They agreed and [REDACTED] had me drive them home before I took the car to their motel. I was scheduled for another walkthrough around ten, tonight. That gave me time to shower, check my gear, take a nap and check my gear, again.

Then it all went to hell.

It’s no secret that most PEs are riddled with ink. I’m no different, but all of mine are on my back and upper arms. It took time to learn which portion of my skin would react to whatever was in the air.

The dead center of my back, right on top of the upper portion of my spine, lit up like fire. Usually, it’s a small, specific spot, but it felt like there were three or four of the small, inked runes lighting up at once.

Necromancy.

Blood magic.

Demonic presence.

Those are the big three tattoos. If one of those goes off, I know I need back up. If all three go off...run. Just run. Necromancy in of itself isn’t a strictly forbidden art in the SC, but blood magic is. Demons, on the other hand...well, they’re just like other members of the SC. Some are good, some are bad and some...some need a hot lead injection right between the eyes.

That tattoo only lit up in the presence of a demon with evil on the mind. Feeling the pain in my back, my fight or flight responses kicked in. I strapped Peace to my thigh, shouldered my bag and made for [REDACTED]’s car.

I made it to the house at 9pm, a full hour before I was due. Cars were lined up down the block, so I just parked in a vacant driveway. I could apologize later. My phone jingled it’s clarion call and I answered immediately. I always answer Ramona as quickly as I can. “VT!” she was practically in the midst of a panic attack. “I was scrying and I had to call. VT, you need to come home now. Whatever case you’re on, drop it.”

“There’s a kid in there, Ramona.” I protested, eyes on the lit up windows of Husband and Wife’s home. “I can’t walk away.”

“VT, you don’t even like kids. And honestly...all I saw was blood. I hate to say it VT, but that child is probably -- “ “I know!” I shouted, the burning in my back getting all the more intense. “I know. Look, I know I don’t like kids, but that doesn’t mean I want to let one die. If there’s anything I can do, I have to do it.”

Ramona went silent, and I waited. “...I’ll pray to the spirits for your protection, VT. Come back to me alive, okay?”

“You got it.” I responded, my finger making for the screen to terminate the call. “Bye, Ramona.”

“Wait!”, her sudden shout stilled my hand. “Give ‘em hell.” I smiled and terminated the call.

The time for subterfuge and lockpicking had passed. I emptied a box of Elinor’s “special blend” into my pocket and checked Peace’s cylinder. Everything looked ready.

I bolted for the door and hammered on it. No answer. No sound beyond the door. I kicked, just next to the deadbolt and only got a wonderful jolting sensation that sent me limping and cursing in a circle.

I wasted no time in stepping back to the street and running, full tilt, for the nearest window and diving straight through. I felt the glass slice open my arm as I covered my head for protection.

I rolled across the carpet as I landed and came up with Peace in hand. Nothing. No one. The house was completely empty.

All of these houses were built the same, so it was a fair guess this place had both and attic and a basement. My leg still smarted, so the thought of climbing stairs up didn’t appeal, so I resolved to check the basement.

It’s always fucking basements.

The door was easy enough to find, right beneath the stairway to the second floor. It was locked, so with some creative ingenuity, I had it open.

[Editor’s note: Creative ingenuity means VT shot the lock off.]

The instant that door swung open it felt like someone had pressed a branding iron to my back. I ignored the pain and sprinted down the stairs, slamming into a wall as I reached the bottom.

The metallic scent of blood hit me with all the force of a sledgehammer to the nose. Corpses. Corpses everywhere. All in various stages of decomposition. I recognized Husband and Wife, not by their clothes, or faces...but by their hair. Wife’s golden mane of unruly curls and Husband’s stupid little manbun. (Why don’t they just call them buns for fuck’s sake?)

Every corpse in here wore the same robes, bore the same jewelry. I recognized the design. They worshiped Death. Not Elinor’s Death, the supposedly nice lady with the kid. They worshipped violent Death.

They worshiped murder.

I fought valiantly to keep my dinner in as I saw what they’d had on the altar in the center of the room. I lost.

I couldn’t bring myself to unwrap the bundle that had no less than thirteen or fourteen daggers sticking out of it. The amount of blood on the altar told me, if the daggers didn’t, that they’d finished their sick little ceremony.

Baby was the sacrifice.

Human sacrifice has been a thing since the dawn of time. So has child sacrifice. It’s become taboo in the SC, due to the fact that pure innocence is a force so powerful that it often rages out of control.

Doesn’t stop a few fuckwits from using it and dying for their trouble. I felt no sympathy, in fact I’d dearly hoped their deaths were slow.

“Do you want to kill them?” a voice, so sweet in my ear, practically lulled me straight to sleep. “See them suffer? I can make that happen. I can make every sick fuck out there pay for the wrongs they do.” it was my voice I was hearing. “We can slaughter them all. Val, we can -- “ That snapped me out of my daze. “Only my mother calls me Val.” I said, squeezing Peace’s grip. “And I hate that bitch.”

I turned and saw who’d been whispering. It was a mirror image of myself, albeit a perverted one. My features were too fine, too distinct. It was like someone took my face and stretched it over my bones. It smiled in a way that if I ever say that expression on my own face, I’d lay down on some train tracks and wait.

“What? You don’t want to make them suffer? They killed an infant, and for what? Power? To summon something they shouldn’t? C’mon, VT, we both know better.” the mirror me scoffed and threw up her hands. “You do this job because you like the blood.”

“Not really.” I said, conversationally. I knew what this was, this was what they’d summoned. After killing it’s summoners it still wanted more. There was only one way to deal with something as malevolent as this. Deprive it of power. “I do this job because it pays the bills and I was born into it. Plus, I just so happen to be very good at what I do.”

“Murdering living things? Banishing non-living things?” it asked, grinning.

“No. Dealing with trash like you that only exists to hurt others.” I smiled right back. “So, I suppose you could call me a glorified garbage woman.”

That pissed it off. It’s face warped into an unholy mask of fury and it lunged. When a demon takes on a form, it’s trapped with that form’s physical ability. The demon was just as strong as I was, with none of the training. Meaning it’d be dangerous, but manageable.

It grabbed onto me and we both tumbled to the floor. Peace skittered away from my grip as the demon slammed it’s fists into my face. I felt my nose break and my lip split beneath the melee onslaught. It seemed to notice the gun and lunged off of me to make a wild grab.

I took my chance. The instant it’s weight left me, I made a wild grab for it’s hair and yanked. It screeched it’s rage and continued to paw for the gun as I mounted it’s shoulders and slammed it’s face into the concrete floor again and again and again. I couldn’t kill it, not with my bare hands. The more effort I wasted on the demon, the stronger it’d get. I shoved to my feet and aimed a hard kick to it’s ribs, leaning down to grab my gun. The demon was already on it’s feet, thick, black blood oozing across my distorted features. “Yes...yes...fight. Struggle. Feed me.”

“Nah.” I said, wiping my bloody, broken nose on my sleeve. “It’s garbage day, bitch.” I pointed Peace dead at the demon’s head and fired. My ears rung with Peace’s gunfire scream. The demon’s head was decimated and it’s true form started oozing out. A thick, gray mist that hung in the air and screamed. I couldn’t very well shoot that.

A demon can’t be killed. Some make physical forms for themselves, examples being incubi or succubi. Some take on forms of those they find aesthetically pleasing. Some take on the forms of their victims...but when the body dies, their true self escapes. The dingier looking the cloud, the more evil the demon.

And this bitch looked like pollution.

I made for the stairs, determined not to let the demon try and slide it’s way into me. Possession is tricky enough to deal with, I didn’t want to cause another PE more trouble than they already had.

The second I topped the stairs I realized I’d made a mistake. Someone was already waiting.

And she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was olive in coloring and flawless. Her hair hung about her like a veil made of pure shadow. Her eyes glowed an unearthly green, devoid of pupil. I barely even noticed that she was wearing a billowing robe that seemed to want to suck me in.

“Run.” I panted, trying to push past her to no avail. “Demon. Very angry demon.”

She smiled, softly and nodded “I know. Please, stand aside, VT.”

VT? She knew my name?

She brushed by me, leaving my skin like ice. I couldn’t move, speak or think. I don’t know how long I was standing there, staring into space. A horrifying screech pulled me from my hypnotic trance and sent me barreling down the stairs. The demon was trying to cling to the pipes that ran along the ceiling of the basement.

The woman was inhaling it. “Stop!” I shouted, grabbing her shoulder “It’s going to kill you!” she paid no attention, continuing her upsettingly long inhale. “Stop!” I shook her, but too late. The last of the demon had just vanished past her full, stupidly kissable lips.

Fuck.

She coughed, swallowed and smacked her lips. “Unpleasant.” she said, rubbing her throat. “But slightly tangy.” she smiled and looked to me. “You’re covered in blood, will you be alright?”

I wiped the blood from my face and nodded. “Yeah, nothing serious. What...are you?”

The woman laughed and I felt my stomach drop. “Oh, silly, little girl...you know already, don’t you?”

That’s the first time in my life that being called a silly, little girl was a turn on. “No.” I whispered, softly. “I have no fucking idea.”

She laughed again and approached the bundle. One by one she pulled the daggers free. I take no shame in saying that I looked away. I just wanted to go home, at this point. When I was finally able to look back at the woman she held a baby in her arms. No. Not a baby. The Baby.

The bundle was still slack and bloody on the alter, but Baby was sleeping peacefully in this woman’s arms. Either I’d gone crazy or -- “Its her soul.” the woman said, conversationally. “It had been locked up in here as bait for the demon.” she caressed the infant’s cheek with a finger.

“No!” Husband’s voice sounded off like a gunshot. “No, you can’t do this to us! We command you.”

The room was packed. The robed figures were all standing atop their corpses, slowly approaching the woman still toying with the sleeping infant. Wife spoke next “She was our ticket to immortality! To godhood! You can’t stop us! We own you, now!” they weren’t paying any attention to me...and the woman wasn’t paying any attention to them.

A voice I didn’t recognize rang out “Kneel before your masters!”

That brought the woman from her trance. She didn’t look angry, only mildly annoyed. “Kneel? Own? Command?” she asked, frowning. “No one commands me, fools. I cannot be contained. I am not some dog on a leash.” she snapped her fingers and the spirits all dissipated with a clarion scream. “This is tiring.” she said, shaking her head. “It’s my granddaughters’ birthday party today, can I not get one hour’s peace?”

“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step forward. “What are you?”

The annoyance fled her face and she smiled, sweetly. “I said you already know.”

The entire world dropped from beneath my feet. Primal fear exploded through my being as every atom of my being screamed at me to run. Run and never look back. “Death.”, I whispered, causing the woman to laugh. “Elinor’s Death.”

“I am everyone’s Death, child...but you may call me Isali.” she smiled. It was a smile only a mother could possess. “My...husband gave me that name. Isn’t it so strange. You exist for so very long by one name...and someone gives you another. One that you love with all of your being.” her eyes met mine “You know that well, don’t you...VT?”

VT. Ramona had given me that name and I’d latched onto it with all my might. “Yes.” I whispered, nodding slowly. “I do.”

“Do tell dearest Elinor I send my regards.” she said, enveloping Baby in her robes. “Oh, the corpses here have your payment for this job. You may empty their pockets, if you wish. I believe it shall more than cover your expenses.”

“Isn’t that...disrespectful?” I asked, feeling squeamish at the thought of looting corpses.

“Are you implying they are deserving of respect?” Isali asked, an elegant eyebrow raising. That was a fair point. I immediately started to rifle though the corpse’s belongings. She watched me, carefully as I did. “I must go. My granddaughters will be ever so upset if Grammy isn’t in attendance. VT, we will meet again.”

“Wait.” I said, pushing to my feet, still waring with that primal desire to bolt. “Elinor...Elinor said you have a son? How?”

She laughed, brightly and shook her head. “Love, child. Love.” she looked thoughtful for a moment then turned her back to me. “Come with me.” she took a step forward...and I followed.

The world went topsy-turvy, and my brain felt like a block of ice in my skull. When my feet stopped moving I was at Ramona’s bedside. Alone. I didn’t know how much time had passed, or if any had passed...but Death -- Isali, she knew what I wanted more than anything in the world at that moment. And gave it to me.

I pulled back the sheets to Ramona’s bed and crawled in next to her, snuggling up to her back and trembling. Even in her sleep, Ramona’s a caregiver. She rolled and threw an arm over me, squeezing me close. Come morning, she raised hell for my staining her sheets with my blood. Isali was never mentioned.

Case closed

#tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: infant death #tw: guns #tw: gun violence #VTverse #OC #writing #horror

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starfaring-princelotor · 6 years ago

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Lotor's Gift Chapter 4 - Decisions Decisions

Summary:

Lotor has a lot to think about now that they have escaped from the Empire’s attack. And he has a decidedly bigger problem to deal with - you.

Lotor walked into his room, checking to make sure his wine bottles were still secure in their cases. Axca had saved their lives with her expert piloting skills, but he would have been secretly disappointed with the loss of his collection. Some of these bottles could never be replaced; the worlds they came from, unfortunately, did not exist any longer. He poured a generous glass of the beautiful amber colored nectar and took a long drink. He felt the potent liquid burn a trail down his throat. Perfect.

He walked to the windows that surrounded his chambers and watched the stars fly by, looking like comets as they hurtled through hyper speed towards the neutral zone. He leaned his forehead against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He was the Crown Prince, not some flunky general. He felt no familial connection with Zarkon, although at least he still called Lotor his son in public circles. The Witch was nothing to him. Well, nothing more than a threat to his life and puppet-master over his father. The words you had spoken to him about a possible assassination seemed to be accurate. It appeared he was walking a very fine line. The time to make his move was rapidly approaching but he was nowhere near ready yet. He wondered what drove them to decide he had to be eliminated. He had been so careful, watching every step, calculating everything down to the most miniscule detail. What had caused them to suddenly want him out of the way permanently? All questions that needed answers and he would find them, eventually. Opening his eyes, he turned and leaned his back against the wall, enjoying the cold that seeped through the ship for a brief moment.

He swirled the glistening liquid in his glass as he walked back to his desk. Now, he had to plan what to do with you. He sat down and picked up his data pad to turn on the link to the monitor in the sick bay, making sure you were still strapped in the bed and sleeping. He looked at your covered form, only cinched down where the restraints held your waist safely. You were sleeping quietly, mouth slightly opened, and he noticed the swelling had completely receded from your face.

He felt a slight pang of desire as his eyes lingered on your curves. This line of thinking wouldn’t do. He had other things to concentrate on than to imagine the bliss of placing kisses down your neck to your collarbone which was practically begging for his attention. Not to mention how pleasurable it would feel, plunging his hands into your hair as you ran your hands down his back to grip his ass and perhaps use a bit of pressure by your nails to mark him so slightly? He had to turn the visual off before he was unable to control himself. Something about you was driving him wild, and he had no idea what it was. He had never experienced complications like this before when acquiring a spy.

Initially you were just meant to be his ears in an outpost, listening for just such news as you had delivered. He found it was easy to say a few pretty words, give a useless trinket here and there, and deliver a well-placed kiss or two in order to establish his own network of willing participants to follow him. You did your job well. But he couldn’t return you to the outpost. The Empire knew who you were now. You were marked as a loyalist to him. You were as good as tortured and dead if he sent you home.

He had to admit he was surprised at the action of the mineral stone in the necklace. It had reacted as he put it on you. “No,” he thought. “It had reacted before I put it on you. It was reacting to my inner desire.”

“I have no desire in that matter,” he said to no one, trying to convince himself otherwise. “She is nothing but a soldier in my army.” He took another drink from his glass.

“Are you sure about that?” he argued with himself. “The stones are incapable of projecting false feeling.”

He knew about the properties, which is why he chose that particular stone for you. It was a failsafe way to determine your true intentions. If you had actual desire for him he would be able to use that to his advantage, to place you where he needed, and you would not question him. He never assumed you would undertake such a perilous journey to get to him. Apparently, he underestimated the little mouse he took you for.

He had to admit you had guts. Hiding on a Galra ship? With no weapons? You were depending on your stealth and you nearly made it. If you had been captured early in the flight you would have been in worse shape when he found you than you were. It was not common practice to take stowaways to the Witch. She must have believed you had information about him due to the proximity of Ulippa and the most recent activity with Throk. She could make a connection out of the flimsiest of details.

Acxa was beside herself when Lotor announced the covert operation to collect you. A coded message had been delivered to him through a trader knowing he was looking for scaultrite. Once he broke the code, he discovered they were privy of a conversation between two privates repeating the rumor of a human girl being caught catching a ride from Ulippa. It was just a coincidence they happened to be in the vicinity of you when the message arrived, and he figured it out.

He was caught in a serious dilemma, he realized. The attraction he felt for you was immediate. He’d never had that reaction before to anyone. Perhaps he could use you as a more personal guard. You had proven your courage, that was evident. He had remembered you taking down the Galra soldier even while shackled and injured, until Zethrid was able to dispatch him while Ezor attempted in her own infuriating way to secure you and get away to safety. Perhaps he could convince them to catch you up on how to best be of service, overcoming your apparent complete lack of Galra genetics, to be a fighter. To be lethal, if necessary.

“Are you sure that’s all you want from her?” his thoughts were roaming back down to the med bay. “Just another female to be a guard?”

“That’s enough,” he snarled out loud, grabbing the wine bottle and topping off his glass. “I’m not going to have an argument with myself about this.” He drank deeply, as if to indicate the end of his mental sparring.

“Not just a fighter, or another body to warm your bed. She could be someone closer than that. Special. A lover in all senses of the word,” he exhaled loudly.

“Mmmm, perhaps.” He refilled his glass, still irritated that he was arguing with himself, even though he’d pretty much told himself he was done with the conversation. “That decision will have to be made later,” he said, contemplating the possibilities. He had not been able to trust anyone enough before to even consider letting his guard down. It was too deadly and he very much preferred being alive. But this was you. You. A little blip on the radar, but nothing more. Not a princess, nor a Galra leader, or even a member of a government friendly to his cause.

You were only supposed to be convenient. An unlikely ally that would go unnoticed by any of the Galra top brass who crossed your path. Like Acxa had stated, “…not even that striking.” Lotor frowned, his eyes narrowing and his brows knitting together. He sat his glass on the desk, grabbed his data pad, and reactivated the link to the monitors.

Ah, there you are. Still sleeping, but now you had a slight smile on your face. You looked completely at peace. And completely delectable. You were moving slightly, dreaming perhaps. Then he heard you moan, saw your hands grasp a pillow next to you, wrap your arms around it, pulling it tightly against you.

Yes, definitely dreaming. He felt heat rush down to his core and he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his lips. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as he fought against the urge to rush down and show you exactly how you made him feel. His heart rate ticked up and he could feel his armor getting unbearably tight in his groin. This was madness! He lifted his hand, intent on giving himself some relief, but then he paused. No. This was not going to happen.

Instead he reached for his sweet wine, tipped the glass back, and emptied it. He clicked off the image and closed his eyes, trying to bring himself back under control. His head felt that wonderful slight buzzing from the potent drink, and he was able to begin to relax. He still felt a desperate desire to go pay you a visit, only to see how you were healing of course. However, in his very uncomfortable and undisciplined state he didn’t think that was such a good idea.

He pressed the button for the com to the bridge. “Acxa,” he said.

“Yes, Sir?” she answered. “What do you need?”

“Have you plotted the course?” he asked.

“Yes, we’re only 13 hours away at present speed. Ezor and Narti only found minimal damage to a portion of the hull under the docking bay. It shouldn’t cause any trouble and we can get it repaired once we arrive in a friendlier territory,” she reported.

“Good,” he said. “I’m very proud of the way you handled the ship today. We owe you our lives.”

“Sir?” she said, quizzically. Silence filled the space for a few seconds before she asked pointedly, “Are you drunk?”

“Why would you assume that?” he asked, feigning shock. “I’m merely complimenting you. I’m as proud as I could be at your ac…”

“Yep, you’re drunk,” Acxa said. “Stop while you’re ahead, sir.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “I think I need to rest a bit. There are only a few things I will allow to be disturbed for. One is if Zethrid comes up with any corroborating information about those rumors. Two is if my little patient wakes up and tries to leave the medical bay. And third is if we run into any more trouble from my father or the Witch.”

“Understood,” she said. “Rest well, sir, and I’ll keep an eye on everything here. You’ve had a trying day.”

“Yes, well, at least we all survived to see the end of it,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Please look after yourself, dear. You have also had a difficult day. We can’t have both of us deteriorated to worthlessness.”

“I will leave the bridge soon. Zethrid is due to relieve me shortly,” she said. “Acxa out.”

Lotor walked across his room and sat on the bed. It seemed to call him. He reached down, pulled off his boots, before standing again to remove his armor. Quickly and efficiently the discarded armor lay about the room, and he was soon standing in his body suit. It would do for now as he fell back onto his bed and collapsed into the pillows. He would figure out exactly what to do in a few hours, when he and Acxa could discuss the recent developments with you as well as a possible life on the run. Then they could strategize. But for now, he really needed to sleep.

#lotor x reader #submission

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freaoscanlin · 6 years ago

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Kaleidoscope Heart Chapter 3

Laurel raised her wrist to the light, her chest tightening. A bruise would have faded to green and yellow by now. If it truly was a soulmark, it could only be the stuff of dreams and fairy tales—two of the farthest things from her reality.

Laurel gets a soulmark and discovers several things she knew about herself to no longer be true. A love story in three parts.

Read on AO3.

Rated PG-13, Laurel/Felicity, tw for recovery and addiction, grief, injuries. After a long delay on the part of the author, Team Arrow races off to Nanda Parbat to stop Ra’s and Felicity’s timing, as usual, is terrible.

It was an unbearable flight to Nanda Parbat.

Every part of Laurel burned with shame to be sharing a jet with her sister’s killer. Knowing that they needed Malcolm Merlyn’s help, that they couldn’t save Oliver or the city without him, didn’t bank the fires at all. Knowing that he was their only chance to save Nyssa from whatever her father had in store for her.

Because of this, Laurel took the seat on the jet farthest from Malcolm. The others gave her a wide berth until Felicity plopped down in the seat next to her and unceremoniously tucked her legs under her. She rested her head on Laurel’s shoulder. “If I stare at my tablet for another minute, I am going to throw myself off the plane. Please talk to me so I can stop playing the ten thousand things that can go wrong in a loop in my head.”

“I’m not sure I’m good for conversation right now,” Laurel said.

Felicity grimaced. “Oh, sorry. I can leave you alone.”

“No, it’s fine. Please, stay.”

Felicity seemed to think it over for a minute. She shifted in the seat, getting more comfortable.

Obligingly, Laurel forced herself to relax. These little displays from Felicity had become almost commonplace after Diggle’s wedding. In the past few months they’d gone from hesitant friends and teammates to instinctually supporting each other—with a great more affection. Felicity was usually the one to initiate things, bumping her elbow into Laurel’s side, hooking their arms together while they walked, or simply hugging her in greeting. And Laurel, cut off from her father with her sister gone and mother long ago having abandoned her, found that she was practically starved for casual touch. It was almost pathetic how needy she sometimes felt.

So now when Felicity cuddled up to her, Laurel pushed some of her bad mood aside and absently reached up to toy with her friend’s hair. Felicity tilted her head, almost imperiously, toward Laurel’s hand. Laurel almost wanted to laugh as she stroked Felicity’s hair. She could be so much like a cat sometimes.

“What’s that smile for?” Felicity asked.

“No reason.”

They faced impossible odds when they landed. Several uneasy allies against an army, one possibly led by a man close to all of them. Laurel had no idea what to expect—had Oliver truly lost his mind? Would they be able to stop the plane? Would the League simply be waiting to kill them, as the “Assassins” in their title would indicate?

She pushed the fear aside. “You should get some sleep,” she told Felicity. “It’s still a long flight.”

“You should, too.”

“I—can’t. Not with him here.” Laurel pasted on what she hoped was a brave smile. “But no reason for both of us to suffer. Get some sleep. Use me as a pillow, if you want.”

Felicity popped up the armrest between their seats. She curled up—again like a cat—and settled in with her head in Laurel’s lap. After a few seconds she grumbled and repositioned herself. “I need lazier friends. All of you are hard muscle. It’s not comfy.”

“So sorry for my rocking bod,” Laurel said, and Felicity laughed.

Before long, Felicity’s breath evened out and she went lax. Laurel carefully stretched and wrangled a blanket over her, making sure not to wake her. Across the cabin, she met Malcolm’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow at Felicity sleeping in her lap then at Laurel herself.

Laurel glared, and turned her attention back to the window, fury burning in her chest. She’d brokered deals that gave repugnant criminals sentences far more lenient than they deserved. That injustice—for the greater good—had led to so many restless nights. And it had nothing on the self-loathing coursing through her now.

If Sara could see her now, all but breaking bread with her killer, she would be so disappointed.

Felicity made a noise in her sleep and wriggled to get more comfortable. She groped around until she found Laurel’s hand—which she tucked under her chin like a security blanket. It was, to put it frankly, adorable. She had her fingers wrapped around the leather cuff, with absolutely no idea what lay underneath.

In the time Oliver had been away, leaving the team to carry on without him and find their rhythm again, the circuit board feather had grown more intricate. Maybe it was because she’d stopped fighting against the idea that Felicity could be her soulmate. Maybe it was because they’d been through hell together lately and that had tightened whatever bonds existed. Either way, she didn’t mind.

The guilt, however, gnawed away at her. The mark might be on her skin, but it belonged just as much to Felicity. Felicity, who’d probably spent countless hours daydreaming about soulmarks. The longer Laurel put off telling her, the worse it would be when she inevitably found out.

But every time Laurel moved to share, her courage withered. This was entirely new territory for her, and Felicity was fresh from a relationship with Ray. It made sense to take her time and make sure. Maybe the increased contact was simply a touch-starved Felicity replacing what she’d lost with a close friend. Or maybe the soulmark wasn’t one-sided. Either way, all of this was now to Laurel. And Felicity’s friendship mattered more than ever, so she really, really did not want to screw any of this up.

Besides, there was a strong chance they wouldn’t even survive the next twelve hours. If they didn’t stop Ra’s al Ghul, it wouldn’t even matter.

Cold comfort, at best.

Half an hour before they were due to land, Felicity woke up and began the final checks on her tablet, barely sparing Laurel a glance. Laurel let her work in silence—or as silent as Felicity, who tended to mutter to herself even during an intense hacking session, could get—while she steeled her own nerves for the upcoming fight. At the fifteen minute warning, she picked her way to the private cabin to change into her armor. She pulled on the first layer, leaving the jacket on the bed, and held a staring contest with her mask and the wig. The entire League of Assassins had to know who she was by now. What did it even matter?

She had just stuffed the wig back in her kit bag when a soft knock sounded at the door. Felicity poked her head in. “Tatsu says we’ll have a hike when we land, so I’ve been sent back to remind you to put on sunscreen and—what’s that on your arm? Did you get a tattoo?”

Laurel jolted, her gaze snapping to her wrist. The cuff had been pushed up her arm so that the edge of the soulmark peeked out.

Casually, she nudged the cuff back into place, hoping her hand didn’t shake with the cold terror suffusing her. “It’s a feather,” she said. Not technically a lie.

“Why is it covered up? Can I see it?” Felicity asked.

“I—” Laurel cast about for an excuse. She was about to blurt out that the tattoo artist had done a terrible job, but she was saved by Diggle showing up to let them know the plane was about to land and that he needed Felicity to confirm a few last minute details for him.

Felicity followed him out, though she did cast one quizzical look at Laurel as she left.

Laurel pulled on her jacket and buckled into her armor, but she had to admit that the nerves weren’t entirely to blame on the battle ahead.

* * *

By the time they were escorted into the main chamber of Nanda Parbat, Laurel’s left arm felt as though she’d plunged it straight into a brazier of burning coals. She walked toward the back of the group, teeth gritted, arm tucked close to her midsection. If the guards noticed dripping blood, they didn’t comment.

She’d peeked at the wound a few times on the forced march into the headquarters, but she didn’t dare get a better look. One of the assassins had sliced the back of her arm when she’d followed Felicity to provide cover. Though she’d managed to winch some of the buckles on her sleeve closed to apply pressure, she could feel the warm slide of blood down her arm and onto her wrist, right over the soulmark.

When Oliver—god, his eyes were so empty of the Oliver Laurel knew—looked at in the line, Laurel slid her arm behind her back. She did let out a hiss of pain when a guard grabbed her by the elbow to march her into the cell. She covered by demanding to speak with Nyssa.

No answer, of course. At this point, she wasn’t even sure the guards could talk. Laurel kept her teeth gritted, hoping her friend and trainer was safe.

In the cell, her vision went briefly white when they clapped manacles around her wrist. Laurel hoped she seemed casual as she took a seat on one of the stones, but it felt like more like collapsing. She needed to tend her arm, she knew. It was growing worse by the minute.

But the cut sliced near the soulmark and no way in hell was she letting Malcolm Merlyn see that. Laurel angled her body away and applied pressure to her arm. She gritted her teeth harder.

“I can’t believe Nyssa would agree to marry him,” Felicity said.

“I don’t really think there was much agreeing,” Diggle said in a bitter voice.

“We need to focus on getting out of here alive,” Merlyn said.

“Is that…even a remote possibility?” Ray asked nervously.

Laurel tuned the rest of them out. Her hand shook as she unbuckled some of the straps on her sleeve.

“Wait a second,” she heard Felicity say. “Laurel, what’s wrong with your—”

The door to the cell slammed open. In short order, Diggle was taken off by one set of guards and Malcolm—shouting in Arabic—by another. Laurel kept her jaw clenched and her wound out of sight of the guards.

The minute Malcolm and the guards had vanished, Laurel cleared her throat. “So, funny story, I got sliced pretty bad.”

Felicity dropped an oath Laurel hadn’t heard since law school and scrambled over. “Oh—oh, damn, that’s a lot of blood. Laurel—hell, there’s so much blood. And you’re really pale.”

She reached for Laurel’s sleeve, to push it back, and Laurel instinctively tensed and pulled her arm away.

This was not how she wanted Felicity to discover the soulmark.

But Felicity actually tsked at her, like she was Oliver or something. “Laurel. You’re obviously hurt. Just let me look.”

There was, Laurel saw, absolutely no way of hiding it. And her arm hurt so badly. So she held her arm out, and waited.

“God, they really got you,” Felicity said in a rush. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“It’s not deep,” Laurel said.

“Help me with her sleeve?” Felicity asked Ray, who’d been hovering worriedly behind her. “You don’t have a first aid kit on you, do you? Laurel, stay with us, please don’t pass out.”

“I’m not even dizzy, Felicity. It’s fine.”

“Still, this looks bad. Seriously, you should have said something!”

“Let’s maybe patch her up before the guards come back,” Ray said. “That’s who you’re worried about noticing, right?” He looked at Laurel, a line between his eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” Laurel said, and she grimaced as they ripped her sleeve. That would take forever to repair. She would have to send Cisco an apology fruit basket if they made it out of this in one piece—though things weren’t looking too hopeful at the moment.

Felicity continued to scold as they applied as much first aid as they could to Laurel’s arm. She didn’t seem to require an actual response, and Laurel figured it helped her to have somebody to berate, so she let her attention drift in and out. In the end, they tore off strips of Felicity’s hoodie for makeshift bandages, layering those on while she gritted her teeth and did a few breathing exercises she’d picked up at the single yoga class she’d managed to attend in the past few months.

She didn’t dare look at her wrist, where she could see a good inch of the soulmark that wasn’t hidden beneath the manacle.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Felicity asked again. “That could’ve been super serious, Laurel. It still might be, if we don’t convince the guards for basic supplies allowed to us by the Geneva Convention.” She raised her voice for the last bit, directed at the cell door.

“I don’t think these guys follow the Geneva Convention,” Ray said. “My nanotech could clean that right up. If we get out of here.”

“Th-thanks,” Laurel said, carefully moving her arm.

“Nice ink, by the way,” Ray said. “Seriously cool design.”

Laurel’s stomach dropped. “Thank you,” she said what she hoped was a casual voice. She knew he was just being people-pleasing affable Ray, but she kind of wanted to kick him.

“Ink? Oh, right, your tattoo!” Felicity perked up slightly in spite of the worried pall across her face. “I didn’t get to see it earlier. May I?”

It took every ounce of willpower Laurel had left not to yank her arm and wrist behind her. Instead, she gave in to the inevitable and held out her arm.

Ray eagerly leaned in closer. “The feather’s because you’re the Canary?”

“Seemed fitting,” Laurel said, using the excuse of blood loss to lean back against the column.

“The colors are really pretty,” Felicity said, sounding genuinely impressed. Laurel swiftly stole a look at her; Felicity had her fingers resting lightly on the manacle, and her face didn’t portray any sense of understanding. She patted Laurel’s thigh.

She thought it was just a tattoo.

“I’m going to go ask the guard for a first aid kit, or whatever the Nanda Parbat equivalent is. God, I hope it’s not leeches,” Felicity said, and Laurel grimaced.

As Felicity climbed to her feet and walked toward the cell door, Ray—after glancing at Laurel for permission—gently lifted her arm. “What’s this pattern? It’s really intricate—oh, circuit board. Neat. Bringing the Canary into the digital age?”

“That’s definitely one interpretation,” Laurel said.

She saw Felicity’s shoulders tense, and the woman stop in her tracks. She looked over her shoulder with a puzzled frown.

And the cell door slammed open, making all of them except Tatsu jump. As Diggle stumbled back into the cell and Felicity shouted at the guards for medical supplies, Laurel leaned back against a column and closed her eyes.

This truly was it. Felicity was a literal genius, and it didn’t even take one of those to see why Laurel might be evasive over a tattoo. Why she might not want a sworn enemy to see what was supposed to be a simple bit of ink. What a circuit board feather might mean.

Where did that leave them now? Laurel had no idea.

She heard shuffling on either side of her. “How is she?” Diggle said.

“I’m fine, though this stings like a bitch, so if you’ve got any grand rescue plans, now would be a great time,” Laurel said without opening her eyes.

“Sorry, I left them in my other coat,” Diggle said.

And then Laurel felt the manacle on her wrist move slightly. She opened her eyes to see that Felicity had eased it down so that it hid the soulmark from sight. Surprised, she met Felicity’s gaze, which seemed to radiate alarm. Her eyes had gone almost comically wide, and her throat worked.

Tatsu, Laurel noticed, was regarding both of them with interest. Laurel braced for the questions to come.

But Felicity just turned to Diggle. “Please tell me Oliver has some plan to get us out of here.”

Diggle only shook his head, grimly. All hope had faded from his face.

“Fine. That’s…fine. We’ll just have to do it ourselves.” Felicity met Laurel’s gaze, not looking away. “We’re going to get out of here. And when we do, this team needs to talk. About a lot of things.”

Then she turned away, leaving Laurel in utter confusion.

* * *

Dying sucked. Dying and knowing that she’d been betrayed by Oliver was even worse.

Worst of all, Laurel had time to think as she collapsed to the ground in a coughing fit, feeling the virus seize her muscles, was that she hadn’t told Felicity ages ago. She should have taken the chance, and damn the consequences. As black overtook her vision, she curled up, clutching her wrist. Her last vision was of Felicity, chained up on the other side of the cell, meeting her eyes before they both passed out.

* * *

On the flight back to Star City, Felicity stayed on the other side of the plane. Not once did she look at Laurel, who spent the flight ineffectually stitching up her sleeve and worrying over Nyssa. Any calls she placed to her father went straight to voicemail. Not that she expected that to work, but it burned. After the third, she nearly threw her phone at the seat opposite in disgust.

“No luck?” a quiet voice asked, making her jolt.

“God, warn a girl, will you?” Laurel released her death grip on the arm rest. “I don’t really want to die of a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” Felicity gingerly sat down next to her—keeping a healthy distance this time, Laurel noted with a sinking stomach.

“It’s fine. We’re all a little on edge.”

“Um…” Felicity’s gaze flicked down to Laurel’s wrist, which she’d once again covered with Sara’s cuff.

Laurel instinctively glanced toward Malcolm, who was once again meditating near the front of the plane.

Puzzled, Felicity peered that way as well—and then understanding seemed to dawn. She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I guess I see why you weren’t in a hurry to tell us you’d nearly sliced your arm off.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? It’s a fairly shallow cut,” Laurel said, frowning.

“Still—”

“It worked out. I didn’t want him to know.”

“Yeah, he’s apparently not alone in that, is he?” Felicity frowned.

Laurel winced. “I don’t think now’s a good time to get into that.”

“Or ever, apparently, as it really didn’t look like you were going to tell me at all.” Felicity scowled. “But never mind that, we have other problems. I wanted to check over your arm.”

“It’s fine. I already cleaned it up earlier with the medkit. It barely even hurts anymore.”

“Even so—”

“Felicity, it’s fine,” Laurel said, scowling back at her. “Also, it’s my arm, I think I would know whether it’s okay or not.”

She wasn’t entirely talking about the cut on her arm, she realized.

And Felicity seemed to know that, for she held Laurel’s gaze for a long, simmering moment, clearly annoyed. Then she rolled her eyes and stalked off, muttering about how vigilantes were all alike. Laurel wasn’t sure she liked that much, as being compared to Oliver tended to rankle, but at least Felicity had retreated to the other side of the plane, giving her some much needed space.

If this was any sort of victory, it felt like a hollow one. Laurel sagged back against the seat and stubbornly returned to work on her sleeve. She did not look Felicity’s way even once.

God, this was a mess.

* * *

And of course Oliver wasn’t a traitor.

An asshole? Sure. That much was obvious from the way Diggle nearly laid him out flat. But secretly he had been on their side all along. The helter-skelter plans he had devised with Malcolm Merlyn showed just how much Ra’s and his men had backed everybody into a corner. Laurel could appreciate that much. But now that everything was out in the open, she could admit his betrayal still stung. Hope also didn’t seem to be in great abundance among the team. They’d been outsmarted by Ra’s: fractured by broken trust; Roy had faked his death; Nyssa had lost her heritage. And there was no way in hell they could physically fight a pathogen.

But why let a little thing like semantics stop them?

“Can you talk to your father?” Oliver asked her directly. He was considerate enough to wince, but not thoughtful enough to send anybody else on his task. “We’re going to need police backup to canvas all of Star City.”

The last thing she wanted to do right now, with everything so raw, was confront the man who she’d hurt—and who had lashed back at her in turn—for months. But Laurel nodded and pulled on her jacket. “I’ll do my best,” she said, as she knew better than to promise anything where her father was concerned.

“Good, then everybody has their orders.” Oliver looked at each of them in turn. Laurel wasn’t the only one who glared back. “Good luck.”

Laurel exchanged an eye-roll with Diggle and turned away without glancing in Felicity’s direction. Since their tiny dust-up on the plane, they’d avoided each other.

She wasn’t surprised when Nyssa fell into step next to her. “How’re you doing?” she asked her friend, quietly.

“I have had better days,” was Nyssa’s neutral reply.

She’d always had a thing for well-crafted understatement.

“God, I need a drink,” Laurel said, and Nyssa’s face radiated alarm for a split-second. “But I’ll settle for a burger on the way. You hungry?”

“I believe the term Americans would use here is ‘starved.’”

“Works for me. I need to get my car keys from my locker, so—”

“Laurel! Wait up!” Heels clicked along the tile in the hallway as they both turned to see Felicity hurrying along toward them.

“I shall wait in the car,” Nyssa said.

“Okay. The combination on my locker is—”

“I do not require it.” And Nyssa sauntered off.

Laurel had only a second or so to wonder if Nyssa worked at it or if being that unsettling came naturally to her, before Felicity arrived, a little out of breath. She nearly careened into Laurel in her hurry, and possibly would have fallen over if Laurel hadn’t grabbed her arms with an alarmed, “Whoa! What’s the matter?”

“Matter? Huh? Oh—oh, nothing.” Felicity flushed and stepped back out of reach. She looked at Laurel’s wrist and away just as quickly. “I just—I didn’t want what I said to you on the plane to be the last thing. Just, like, in case. Not that I don’t have the utmost faith in you, I totally do, but as this year has more than proved, bad stuff happens and you can never really know, you know?”

“Know what?” Laurel asked, as the words had tumbled out on top of each other in a rush.

“Just know.” Felicity’s flush darkened. “None of this is coming out right, which is the story of my life. Look, just—we have so much to talk about. Just be safe out there, okay? Um, don’t die.”

And Laurel found herself jerked into a hug that was as strong as it was short. She blinked and Felicity was scurrying away, the back of her neck bright red.

“Hey!” she called back before she could stop herself. Felicity turned, still walking. “The same goes for you, too, you know.”

“Thanks!” The grin Felicity flashed at her as she vanished around the corner could light up entire city blocks.

* * *

Eight hours later, Laurel gritted her teeth and lowered herself into an ice bath. It turned out literally saving the world didn’t even factor in: injuries sustained in the fight hurt just as bad after saving thousands from a killer virus as they did after a humiliating loss.

Which was downright rude, but not much she could do about it.

She blew out her breath at the cutting shock of cold before she deliberately relaxed her muscles in the frigid water. The city was safe. Nyssa was safe. Even Oliver was safe. Ra’s al Ghul had been defeated, things with her father somewhat aired out if not entirely fixed. She’d earned this chance to kick back and tune out and deliberately not think about anything.

Easy enough to do when she had the base to herself. Diggle had gone home to Lyla and Baby Sara, Thea had vanished somewhere to brood—Laurel planned to track her down later—she had no idea where Felicity had vanished to, and Oliver was packing to leave. He had asked Felicity to go with him so maybe she’d changed her mind and was packing.

Laurel didn’t really want to think about that.

Using the ice machine to fill the base tub seemed like way less work than stopping to buy ice on her way home, so Laurel had done that. She let her head rest on the back of the tub and half-closed her eyes. The slosh of water and ice lapping against the sides of the Jacuzzi tub lulled her into a doze.

“Uh…how naked are you in there?” Felicity’s voice from the doorway made her lift her head, and smile in spite of herself. Felicity had her hand over her eyes.

“Per the base’s ‘no nudity rules,’ I’ve got a sports bra on, and shorts,” she said. “If you can’t handle the sight of naked abs, you picked the wrong team.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Felicity hovered in the doorway for a long moment, hand still over her eyes, and Laurel watched her seem to literally decide whether to stay or go. Not that Laurel blamed her: Laurel’s own stomach had suddenly tied itself in knots.

Evidently, the more courageous part of Felicity won, for she lowered her hand and picked her way across the base. She’d traded her Nanda Parbat attire for a cute pencil skirt and a polka-dotted top. Only when she drew closer did Laurel see that the polka dots were actually butterflies. She hesitated and took a seat next to the tub, her eyes on the wrist that Laurel had left uncovered.

Later had arrived.

“May I?” Felicity asked.

Laurel, not sure she trusted her voice, nodded.

It felt different than Ray or Nyssa observing the mark. For one thing, the mere brush of Felicity’s fingertips triggered tiny electrical pulses through her arm and shoulder. While Ray had looked intrigued and Nyssa coolly interested, Felicity seemed more awestruck.

“You know, I really thought I had hallucinated it,” Felicity said, tracing a finger along the feather’s spine. Laurel shivered, and tried to blame the ice bath. “It was pretty dark in that dungeon. It’s circuit board. Just like you said at the wedding, only you weren’t talking about Oliver.”

Laurel nodded again. “It had already come in by then. Not…as detailed.”

“God, and these colors.” Felicity shook her head. “I guess this means you’re my soulmate.”

“Well, you’re certainly mine,” Laurel said. “I don’t know if it goes both ways.”

“Can it?” Felicity finally met her gaze and smiled, and Laurel promptly forgot to breathe. “I’d really like it to.”

“I—ah—” Her brain suddenly refused to cooperate. “What about Oliver?”

Felicity blinked. “What about him?”

“You—he—” Why were there no words? “Look, there were some very pining looks thrown around. It was not subtle. At all.”

A slow grin began to spread over Felicity’s face. “Were you jealous?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Because you sound jealous. Just a little bit.” Felicity tapped a finger against her lips, looking contemplative. “You know, it’s probably a little mean to be flattered, but I think I am.”

Laurel groaned and contemplated ducking her entire head under the water. “Sure, be flattered. You know, these last few months have been…confusing. I didn’t even really believe in soulmarks and then all of a sudden, I’ve got one. For my best friend—another woman. I’ve never been attracted to women before, but my soulmate is a woman, and now I don’t even know if I’m gay, or straight, or what. I don’t know what I am.”

Felicity pursed her lips. “Are you sure?”

“I just told you I’m not.”

“Hmm. I think your soul might be.” When Laurel gave her an exasperated look, Felicity laughed. “I’m not trying to be all mystic or whatever, I swear. It’s just that your soulmark happens to be the colors of the bisexual flag.”

“Bisexual? Like Sara?” Laurel asked. She lifted her wrist to frown at the soulmark. Months before, the thought of being anything but straight had nearly sent her into a towering panic. But now, perhaps, she shared an identity with Sara, one more little connection.

“Of course,” Felicity said, “no one really knows how these marks work. The colors could be coming from me.” Laurel’s gaze cut to her, and she smirked. “What? You didn’t suspect anything? Not even when I kept accidentally hitting on everybody, no matter their gender?”

“You’re magnetic. It’s a kind of magic with everyone you meet,” Laurel said. It was one of her favorite things about Felicity, actually. “I guess I just thought that since you and Ray—and you and Oliver…”

“Huh. Yeah, I can see that. Oliver and I did have something, once upon a time. It literally blew up in our faces.” Felicity shrugged, and Laurel froze as she scooted closer, her eyes sparkling. After the last few weeks of sheer misery, it felt like a light in the darkness, and she didn’t know whether to trust it. “Maybe I could have had something with Oliver again, but see, there was this stunningly gorgeous teammate of mine—you should see her, she is seriously cute—who just kept popping up in my life with food, and making me laugh, and debating things—”

“Arguing, you mean,” Laurel said.

“She’s a lawyer, it’s part of the charm. And she always made me feel special, even when she was exposed to the genuine horror that was my goth phase.”

“That picture was incredibly cute, though.”

Felicity let out a put-upon sigh. “I do occasionally question her taste.”

Laurel flicked water at her, and she yelped, holding her hands up in a time out gesture.

“I didn’t make you feel special,” Laurel said. “You are special. The sheer force of you made a fancy magic doodle manifest on my skin. That’s talent.”

“What can I say? I’m magnetic.”

“You are.” And damn if self-confidence didn’t look amazing on her. Laurel wanted nothing more than to play along, to smile back and just flirt—she’d missed this so much—but the sinking feeling in her stomach refused to go away. “Are you still mad I didn’t show you? I know you love soulmarks.”

“Are you kidding? Soulmarks are terrifying. You’re literally wearing your heart on your sleeve with absolutely no guarantee the other person feels the same way. I’m impressed you didn’t take off running when I figured it out.”

“Manacles,” Laurel said.

“Even so.”

“Massive blood loss, too.”

“Oh, if you’re going to be pedantic about it.” Felicity wrinkled her nose. “I really am sorry about what I said on the plane. Like, I thought about it and I realized: I might not have showed you ever if it had been me. So I totally get it. Not that brave either.”

Laurel eyed her. “I don’t know. You seem plenty brave right now.”

“I have literal, colorful, and very detailed proof you like me.” Felicity grinned. “It gives me a little bit of an edge.”

But as much bravado as she projected, Laurel could still see the way Felicity’s thumbs twitched, never stilling, and how her chin trembled just slightly. Felicity was as nervous as she was. That, more than anything she had actually said, sent a wave of sudden calm through Laurel.

“Hey. Come here.” Laurel reached out with her dry arm.

Felicity immediately wrapped her fingers around Laurel’s wrist, thumb tracing the spine of the feather as she leaned in. Compared to the icy water, she felt like a furnace. The kiss was slow at first, both of them hesitant, until Felicity changed the angle. She slid her fingers into Laurel’s hair, tugging a little. Amused—and ridiculously turned on—Laurel kissed her back with just as much fervor. She touched Felicity’s cheek—

Felicity jerked back with a yelp. “Cold! Gah!”

“Uh.” Laurel looked down at the bath and shook her head to clear it. She’d completely forgotten about the literal ice water. “Sorry,” she said with a wince.

Felicity clapped her hand over her mouth to unsuccessfully stifle a giggle. “Wait, did you forget where you were? Got a little carried away, did you?”

“You started it.” Laurel flicked water at her, laughing when she shrieked. “It’s not that cold.”

“Yes it is, and I am staying decidedly out of range of you and your icy fingers of death.” But Felicity laughed as she scooted back. “Which is not to say that I am opposed to what we did, and in fact I would like to do so again, but somewhere decidedly less frigid.”

It came out, Laurel noted, like a question. The hesitance seemed to be creeping back.

“We should.” Laurel folded her arms over the edge of the tub. Her grin was probably dopey as hell, but she didn’t care. “Tomorrow night? Now that we don’t have the end of the world to worry about for at least a couple weeks, we should maybe go to that new Thai fusion place on Main. Seven o’clock?”

“It’s a date, soulmate.” Felicity closed her eyes in horror as Laurel cracked up. “Oh god. Let’s both pretend I never said that. In fact, I’m just—gonna go. While I still have a modicum of cool left. And sense, too, because, like, you’re all wet and you like me and—okay, bye.”

And distinctly bright red, she scurried off without a second look.

Left alone in the base once again, Laurel waited until Felicity was definitely out of hearing range before she indulged herself and ducked under the water to let out a happy scream—one from which she surfaced with a gasp and a great deal of swearing. Elated or not, she was still in a literal ice bath. And enough of that, really. She’d deal with the aches on her own later. She climbed out, trembling.

Even freezing, she couldn’t stop smiling. The rest of her might have felt cold, but her wrist burned with warmth. She held it up to the light, flexing it as she admired the colors. For the very first time, she saw the mark as neither a trap nor even slightly cursed. Felicity knew and she felt the same way. Things with her father were…better. They’d saved the city. Maybe just this once she was entitled to a shred of happiness, Laurel thought as she dressed to go home and face-plant onto her mattress and stay there for at least twelve hours.

No, she determined. She had a date with her actual soulmate. The soulmark was permission to be happy.

And damned if she wasn’t going to take it.

#laulicity #lauricity #laurel lance #felicity smoak #arrow #arrow fanfiction #llance #superpowered dorks #soulmark au

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thesidewaysalmos · 6 years ago

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IV - The Job

The wind whipped across my back, threatening to throw me over the thigh-high lip of the building. The gravel dug into my knees, my back ached from the stillness, and my arms were getting sore from bracing the rifle for so long. A constant feed of chatter played out in my ear, but most of it was just background noise that I could safely ignore.

The city’s streets were crowded: pedestrians crossed my line of fire, occasional dogs on leashes, some birds perching on a nearby post-box, a poster flapped from the gentler breezes down on street level. A quiet ringing in my ear made it through the radio chatter, and I tapped the earpiece. “News?”

“Target still in the room. No movement. ETA fifteen. Think Research is wrong?”

“Uncertain,” I replied, keeping my eye on the doors. “Hold.”

I reached to my left, unclipped the radio from my belt, switched to channel 13, and keyed the button. “News?”

“Negative. No visual. Light’s on.”

“Secondary room?”

“Negative visual, no lights.”

I sighed, “Copy. Out.” I set the radio back down, and turned my attention back to the phone. “Cannot confirm visu—”

The radio chirped twice, interrupting my train of thought. “Hold. Target spotted leaving room.”

I turned my attention back to the front door, and about half a minute later, the voice on the phone replied, “Confirm sighting. Headed toward front.”

“Copy.” I replied, and glanced up the street. A large truck rumbled into my sight picture, and double-parked across the middle of the street. “Sight obstructed,” I told the phone.

“Green truck?”

“Yes.”

“Target is climbing into the truck, I think that’s the vehicle.”

“Copy,” I replied, and adjusted my sight. Although I had done most of my training on an M4 variant, the rifle I was using was a far cry heavier. The recoil bucked against the bipod, and despite resting the stock squarely on my shoulder, I felt shoved slightly off balance. I adjusted my knees, shouldered the stock again, and checked my aim. The round was high and left, hammering into the body paneling next to the engine compartment. I adjusted for windage, and fired again. By then, the truck had thrown itself in gear, so I fired two more shots in quick succession, for safety.

“Confirming hit,” the phone told me, “tire blown. Calling.”

Good. The line disconnected, and I keyed the radio. “Target stalled, moving to position 2.”

“Copy, good luck. Out.”

I got up from my position, incredibly stiff, and picked up the rifle. I’d have to disassemble it on the move. I slid the stock in as I rose, and started disconnecting the barrel. I reached the door, shoved both halves of the rifle into the bag, and hit the stairs. Down two flights, then I crossed the interior hallway to the elevator, which I took to the second floor. From there, I broke into the service hallway, and took the service elevator to the loading bays in the back. At the lip of the alley, a tinted-windowed limo was waiting.

I slid into the back, and started stripping off my gear. Tactical vest, shirt, binder, and pants all formed a pile on the floor as the limo started its engine and pulled into traffic. My last piece of equipment, a thigh-holster and sidearm, I strapped back in to my bare leg. In the place of the mission gear, I unbagged the clothes that hanging opposite the rear door. slipped on the rich, opulent evening dress, took uncomfortably long to get earrings in, and struggled to clean any make-up I’d smudged with the scope, wind, and the mist that had rolled in early afternoon while at my perch.

After too much time fighting with the make-up, I appraised my hair. Even though I keep it short, the wind had thrashed it out of any reasonable position. Drivers knew enough to generally keep rides quiet, but this one said “One minute out.” from the front as we eased gingerly through city traffic in the enormous vehicle. I frowned at the reflection in my hand mirror, hair will have to do as-is. I smoothed it out a little with my hands, and checked to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

I had, and put the diamond-studded necklace on and slipped into heels as we rumbled into the circle drive. I quickly packed my tack gear into a workout bag, and threw it toward the front of the limo, away from the door.

A few seconds later, the driver opened the rear door, and I slid gracefully out of the limo. The dress was red, touches of pearlescent color worked into the fabric, made notes of orange and purple shimmer a little as I stepped onto the carpet. I smiled warmly, focusing to keep my eyes from squinting at the change of light.

Camera flashes strobed around me, and I sauntered a casual, languid stride across the carpet. After a few flashbulbs, and a chatty reporter or two, the buzz quieted down, and I made my way into the gala. Socialites, wealthy donors, and reporters were milling around the foyer, offering small talk to one another. I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, found a crowded-looking area establish position, and mimed sips while looking for the arrival of the client. The phone in the tiny, red clutch I’d brought with me buzzed, and busied myself with looking like a harrowed business woman checking her email. The message on the phone was simple, “5-0 intercept. Target neutralized.”

I put the phone back in the clutch, and settled in for a long, boring formal party.

For the next three hours, I followed a woman around from a few long strides distance, keeping an eye on her and the room. Aside from what looked like some local businessmen, a few grumbling social scene reporters, and tedium, little threatened the woman, so I spent the bulk of the time maneuvering into light conversation where I had sightlines on the client, and out of long conversations with a few trust fund kids who repeatedly insisted on asking my number.

Kids…

Once the client had left the party, I stuck around for a moment to sample the cheeses. Sadly, most of the catering quality had gone into the dinner and speech portion of the night, the one I’d missed in traffic, and the cheeses were bulk store fare replated on hotel finery. Despite being cheap, bulk cheese, I tossed a few more cubes into my mouth on the way out.

One call, a few minutes, and a limo ride later, I’d found myself back in my business casual clothes, with a gym bag of personal equipment on my shoulder, and stepped onto the chartered plane to head back home.

#The Sideways Almos #Short Fiction #Writing #serialized fiction

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jarmes · 5 years ago

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JJBA Twisted Destiny Chapter 12 - Guns N’ Roses Part 2

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The Gatling guns roar as a flurry of bullets rips through the air, flying towards Johana. By the time Johana spots Vuitton’s guns, it's already too late. She doesn’t have time to dodge. Instinctively, she pulls her coat over her torso to block the bullets. Without thinking, Johana floods her coat with Hamon energy. The energy hardens the coat, making it as tough as steel and saving Johana’s life, if only briefly.

Johana’s Stand grabs her by the shoulder and rips her back, pulling her back into the building’s lobby. Johana dives for cover. She doesn’t know what’s going on but knows she’ll die if she doesn’t hide. The Gatling guns continue firing, shredding everything in the lobby.

Outside, Vuitton stabs a finger in another dog. A metal cactus grows from the dog’s corpse, with a small red button located on its trunk. Vuitton taps the button and the branches of the cactus launch like rockets, transforming into missiles and flying at the dorm building. The missiles burst through the windows and explode, filling the first floor of the dorm building with fire.

“Boom,” Vuitton says.

Vuitton turns off her guns and grabs the only dog she hasn’t touched yet. She plants a finger in the dog’s stomach and grows a strange machine resembling a cabbage. Wires grow out of the cabbage and connect to Vuitton’s bracelet, hacking into it. A holographic screen projects out from the cabbage, showing a series of names and locations.

“I blew her up, but her tracker is still detecting a heartbeat?” Vuitton mutters to herself. “She must be tougher than she looks.”

Vuitton walks over to the fourth dog and stabs a finger into its eye. The metal seed spreads through the dog, attaching mechanical parts to its veins and nervous system. The dead dog, brought back to life through cybernetics, stands up and snarls at Vuitton.

Vuitton places her hand on the dog’s head. “Shhhhh,” she whispers. “Don’t growl at me, growl at the Joestar girl.”

The cyborg dog takes off, bolting of the dormitory. The wire leading back to Vuitton grows longer and longer, becoming taught as the dog moves farther and farther away. The dog leaps through a window into the dormitory.

The dog sniffs around, searching for Johana. It walks up to a singed elevator and barks. “So that’s how you survived,” Vuitton mutters to herself. “You forced the elevator open and hid in it to escape the blast.”

The dog presses its head up to the elevator. Slowly, its head splits open, revealing a large drill. The dog jabs its drill into the elevator door and activates it. Slowly, the drill begins forcing open the elevator doors.

Johana’s Stand rips the elevator door open. It slams its fist down on the dog, destroying it instantly. “Got you now,” Vuitton says as she reactivates her guns.

Johana’s Stand grabs the wire connecting the cyborg dog to Vuitton and rips back. The force of this pull knocks Vuitton off balance. Johana’s Stand keeps pulling, dragging Vuitton towards the dormitory. Vuitton’s machines are pulled along with her, throwing off their aim.

Vuitton looks at her hand. The two gatling guns, the hacking device, the missile launcher, and the cyborg dog were all grown using the five fingers on her left hand. The only way for Vuitton to stop herself from being pulled into close-range with a powerful close-range Stand is to cut off her hand, losing her connection to her current machines in the process.

Using all of her strength, Vuitton pulls her arm back enough to bite it. She slams her teeth down on her wrist, severing her left hand. Vuitton lands right outside the dormitory window.

Johana crawls out of the elevator and walks over to Vuitton. “Who are you?” she shouts.

“My name...is Vuitton,” Vuitton says, blood dripping down her chin. “I’m a Stand User created by Woodstock.”

“You’re here for the bracelet, I presume?” Johana asks.

“That’s right, Vuitton says while reaching for her leg with her right hand.

Unbeknownst to Johana, a pair of small dogs have been strapped to Vuitton’s legs. Extra meat, kept for this very occasion. Vuitton places her finger in the dog's mouth and quickly grows a pistol.

Vuitton draws the gun and fires, hitting Johana in the shoulder.

+++

Up in Johana’s dorm room, Nero and Kan lie on the ground. Nero forced the two down as soon as he heard gunshots and explosions. “I think Johana’s in trouble,” Kan says, barely conscious.

“I know, but she asked me to keep you safe,” Nero says.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nero spots a large egg. A circular pattern, resembling a ring of fire, wraps around the egg. “That’s new,” Nero says.

+++

Johana jumps back as Vuitton fires a series of gunshots. She floods her raincoat with Hamon again, trying to use it as body armor. Unfortunately, Vuitton shoots her in the thigh, an area unprotected by the raincoat.

Johana’s Stand roars and begins spinning its armbands, creating that trademark jet engine noise. The Stand slams its fists down on the floor, creating a large hole that Johana falls through.

Vuitton looks down through the hole, into a deserted laundry room. “Running away? I guess that means you’re weaker than I thought,” she says.

Vuitton jumps after Johana. She scans the laundry room, searching for Johana. Then she hears it, a rumbling sound coming from within a closet. “You know, I’d recommend turning off those revolver things while you’re hiding,” Vuitton says before unloading the pistol into the closet.

After the rumbling stops, Vuitton kicks the door down. She expects to find Johana Joestar. Instead, she finds the drum of a washing machine. Vuitton turns around just in time to see Johana burst from with a washing machine and charge at her.

Johana’s Stand activates its wristbands and slams its fist into Vuitton. The force of the blow knocks Vuitton into a wall. The force of this impact breaks Vuitton’s gun. “I knew you’d unload that gun as soon as you thought you had a good shot, so I ripped out that drum and filled it with rotational energy, knowing you’d mistake it for the sound my Stand makes when it powers up!” Johana shouts.

Vuitton clutches her stomach. Her skin is twisted into a knot. She has a feeling that her internals are even worse. Vuitton places her finger into the remains of the dog she used to grow the pistol and begins growing a new gun.

Johana’s Stand bursts forward and smashes the dog corpse, destroying one of Vuitton’s fingers in the process. Vuitton, having only three fingers and one small dog remaining, reaches for the dog on her other leg. Johana’s Stand smashes that one too.

Johana’s Stand grabs Vuitton by the throat and lifts her into the air. “It’s over, Vuitton,” Johana says. “Your Stand seems to require dead animals to create new weapons, and I’ve smashed all of them to pieces.

“Not all of them!” Vuitton shouts as she jabs a finger into her own hand.

Vuitton screams as the seed grows out of her arm, creating a series of metal tentacles that wrap around Johana’s throat. “One finger left,” Vuitton mutters as she stabs her last finger into the stump on her left arm.

The final seed transforms Vuitton’s stump into a shotgun. “If I’m dying, you’re coming with me!” Vuitton shouts.

Johana’s Stand punches the tentacles, filling them with rotational energy. The energy spreads to Vuitton’s hand, causing Vuitton to rotate her wrist. This twist of her wrist pulls on the shotgun, turning it back to Vuitton’s head. Vuitton fires, covering the wall in a splatter of red. Vuitton and Mr. Burnham’s bracelets fall off, landing on the laundry room floor.

Louis Vuitton - Age 26 - Deceased

Johana walks back to her dorm room. “Did you get the travel accommodations handled?” she asks.

“Are you okay?” Nero asks. “I heard gunshots, and you’re covered in blood!”

“I asked if you had the travel accommodations handled,” Johana says, monotone.

“Johana, what happened?”

“I killed a woman, that’s what happened. Do you have the goddamn travel accommodations handled, or do I have to do it myself?” Johana screams.

Nero stares at Johana. “We have a flight leaving in three hours,” he mutters.

Johana glances at Kan, who lies on her bed hugging the egg. “What’s with the egg?” she asks.

“I think it’s her Stand,” Nero says.

TO BE CONTINUED IN:

Chapter 13: Go Greased Lightning! Part 1

#fanfic #jojo

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shannrussell-blog1 · 6 years ago

Photo

Considered to be among the best hiking trails in the world, the Larapinta Trail is as enormously challenging as it is unimaginably beautiful. Having worked in Central Australia for two years, I’d felt that I’d come to appreciate the cultural significance, design of the landscape and the brutality of the elements – but the Larapinta Trail was something else.

Hiking the 12 section, 271 kilometres of the Larapinta Trail over 14 days had long been a dream, but I’d also never believed in its reality. I’m a 27-year-old fella from Adelaide who craves the adrenalin of adventure but wishes the physical challenge didn’t have to accompany it.

Until hiking the Larapinta, I’d never trekked longer than 8 days consecutively. The longest solo trip I’d undertaken was only 3 days. But here I am, now back in Adelaide after an unreal adventure and I’d recommend it to anyone.

The view of Mount Sonder at sunrise. Photo: Ben Trewren

Choosing your itinerary

I chose to hike the trail East to West (Alice Springs to Mount Sonder) for a culmination of reasons:

This is the direction in which the trail was designed to be hiked.

You hike what’s considered the least interesting scenery first, but you don’t really know it as you don’t have anything to compare it with.

While the sections are longer at the beginning in terms of kilometres, I appreciated the relative flatness of starting with section 1 and 2. This allowed me some time for my body to adjust to the hot and dry climate, to my pack and to get on top of my hydration.

I was keen to finish on a high by climbing Mount Sonder as my last adventure on the trail. Better still, I wanted to enjoy the view of Mount Sonder as I approached.

The sun would be on my back instead of my face in the morning (I planned to start early and aimed to finish hiking early afternoon).

I wanted to make the most of the kiosk and showers at Ormiston Gorge between sections 9 and 10.

I had a clear timeframe, so I could confidently organise a pickup time from Redbank Gorge.

Getting started early on the long days to avoid the afternoon sun. Photo: Ben Trewren

When to Go

I was on the trail for the last week of August and the first week of September. The weather was incredibly kind to me with a daily average of 26°C and only two days above 30°C. This was such a relief as I was tormented with temperatures in the mid 30°C the week before, and similar forecasts the week after I completed the trail. Overnight was also quite mild. I never needed more than a fleece jumper and found sleeping pretty easy.

It was also a very quiet time. In total, I saw around 50 people on the trail and camped with no more than 5 people at a time. Much different to the stories from the peak period through June and July. Overall, the weather will be the biggest consideration for you when deciding to hit the trail. I was really happy with my time of year – not too hot during the day and no frostbite to my key body parts overnight.

I had clear bright blue skies every day whilst on the trail. Photo: Ben Trewren

Duration of the trail

Having allocated myself 14 days on the trail, my navigation plan was constantly changing in the lead-up. However, I was really happy with my final decision. Hiking for 13 days and taking the opportunity for a rest day on Day 11 at Ormiston Gorge.

In a nutshell, I took a day to hike each of sections 1-8. I then split 9 in half over two days, before taking a rest day. Then 10 and half of 11 in a day, the second half of 11 the following day and then 12 on the final day. While on my day off, I tackled the Ormiston Pound Walk.

Logbooks were provided by NT Parks and Wildlife at every trailhead. Photo: Ben Trewren.

Flights & Accommodation

I booked my flights to Alice Springs with Qantas using my Frequent Flyer points. It’s a 2-hour flight and there’s one flight a day from Adelaide to Alice Springs that usually arrives around 1 pm. And there’s another from Alice Springs to Adelaide which usually departs around 2 pm. I think it’s a very similar arrangement from other major cities.

I was fortunate to have friends who live in Alice Springs who generously picked me up and dropped me off at the airport, and gave me a place to stay. However, if you’re not as lucky as me, you can catch a shuttle for around $15 (cash) into Alice Springs Town Centre. Or a Taxi is anywhere between $30-$50 depending on your location.

Alice Springs has a range of accommodation like hostels, motels, and hotels which are all relatively affordable for what’s offered. When looking for accommodation, research pricing and then try and pick one a location close to the other services you’ll need (supermarkets, outdoor store, Visitor Information Centre, etc.).

Arriving in Alice Springs. Photo: Ben Trewren

How long does it take to complete?

One of the most adventurous things about the Larapinta Trail is that you can flexibly and safely choose your own adventure. I met some people aiming to complete the trail in 9 days, whereas I met others on their 20th day. It really does come down to how you want to tackle the challenge. I decided based on how much walking I thought I could complete each day (around 18-20kms), access to water and that I only had 2 weeks leave available.

Upon completing the Larapinta Trail, my longest day was 31.3kms through Section 6. My shortest day was 13.5kms through Section 7.

Try to avoid focusing on the km’s marked on the trail signs as they’re frequently incorrect (due to trail maintenance, changes, etc.). For the lightweight hikers – you can save a bit of weight by allocating maps to your food drop boxes.

Often, trailheads provided as much information as the maps did… Photo: Ben Trewren

Navigation

While I don’t recommend them because they lack map detail and the information (especially trail data) is frequently incorrect, as they’re currently the only option, it’s worthwhile getting your hands on the NT Parks and Wildlife map set available here. I got word on the trail that Larapinta Trail Trek Support (LTTS) are looking to create their own maps with far greater map detail. They also want to include more interactive information on the flora, fauna, history, cultural heritage, etc., which will be a fantastic improvement.

In saying all this, the trail is incredibly well marked with the familiar blue arrows on the white signs. Because of the abundance of signage, you often wonder whether there is a need for maps or a GPS.

Just follow the blue arrows… Photo: Ben Trewren

Food Drops & Trail Support

I paid LTTS for the End to End Solo Package and couldn’t be happier with my decision. Included in the package are 3 food drops at Standley Chasm, Ellery Creek and Ormiston Gorge along with box collection after I’d passed through (allowing me to unload gear if need be).

The package also included transfer back to Alice Springs from Redbank Gorge at the end of my walk, stove fuel provisions (as it can’t be transported on a plane), organisation of the food box room keys, PLB and SPOT hire and support and advice towards my navigation plans.

I highly recommend Zac and his team from LTTS to support you when undertaking the Larapinta Trail – they offer a huge amount of support for a range of requests.

My food boxes all packed and ready to give to LTTS before the start of my trek. Photo: Ben Trewren

Other gear to leave in your food boxes

Aside from food, your food boxes are a fantastic place for a change of clothes, batteries, toiletries and extra rewards like bottles of Gatorade.

They’re also fantastic for dumping gear you no longer needed on the trail (like my down jacket), no longer wanted (books that I didn’t have the energy to read) or became unusable (certain pairs of underwear).

Put an obvious rubbish bag in your Ellery Creek box. Unlike Standley Chasm and Ormiston Gorge, there are no bins and LTTS will need to take your rubbish for you. Double layer it if necessary to prevent the smell penetrating everything else in your box.

While LTTS help organise the pickup and return of your food box room key, you need to book it yourself. It’s easy enough by just calling Alice Springs Tourism Centre and paying your $50 deposit plus $10 fee over the phone. However, be mindful that the keys can book out (especially in peak periods) and then you need to rely on others. So for peace of mind, get in early on this one.

Picking up my food box at Ormiston Gorge. Photo: Ben Trewren

Food I took for the trek

I kept my menu varied and easy as I didn’t want to be consumed with ‘cooking’ along with my hike.

Here are some of the options I carried:

Breakfast – Muesli with Powdered Milk & Fruit Puree

Snacks – Lollies, Dried Fruit, Shapes, M&Ms, Dehydrated Fruit Straps

Lunch – Crackers, Tuna, Metwurst, Peanut Butter, Cheese

Dinner – Soup Powder, Dehydrated Meals

Looking back I would probably pack more salty snack options to assist with rehydration. For me, this would’ve looked like more soup powder, salty nuts and any other savoury snacks.

Some tips for the dehydrated meals:

Add a bit of extra water to assist with an alternative way of rehydrating.

Wait 20 minutes rather than 10 minutes for the food to rehydrate for better flavour and texture.

Eat straight from the bag (there’s a slit halfway down the pack to rip across and make it easy to eat from) so there’s no washing up.

I personally found the Back Country 1 serve sizes fine for my appetite, but recognise that I’m not a big eater.

Cottage Pie they reckon! One of my favourite rehydrated meals on the trip Photo: Ben Trewren

What kind of food is available at the Kiosk?

The usual cold drinks, ice-creams and chocolate bars are available at both kiosks. But it’s the range of homemade and fresh options that I really craved – especially when spending 14 days on a hiking trail.

At Standley Chasm, I had the Lasagna ($18) which came with three generous serves of salad. They’re also open for dinner Thursday to Saturday. I came through on a Saturday so I made the most of the fresh food and had a Steak with a massive bowl of steamed veggies for dinner.

Upon arriving at Ormiston Gorge, I tucked into their Big Breakfast ($16), while also enjoying their Salad ($10) and Steak Sandwich ($10) over the course of my stay. They also do a ripper of an Iced Coffee and the cakes are worth every cent. They were also very generous to package up a Lamb and Rice ($10) for me to reheat at dinner time.

Breakfast at Ormiston Gorge Kiosk. So good. Photo: Ben Trewren

Boots & Gaiters

The important thing to know about the Larapinta Trail is that there are rocks, rocks, rocks and more rocks. This is why you need boots that offer support. The second important thing to know is that the trail conditions exceeded my expectations. Not once did I feel like the trail wasn’t ‘clear’ to hike through so it wasn’t necessary to have epic amounts of ‘protection’.

I hiked in a pair of pretty solid Scarpa Kailash GTX boots. Upon reflection, I would’ve opted for a lighter and more breathable pair of boots that still offered support. Most importantly, make sure your soles are in good nick and are durable enough to handle the rocky terrain. It’s not uncommon to hear of people’s boots disintegrating mid-trail because they lacked quality or they had been overused prior to starting. I saw one lady wearing Dunlop Volleys?!

I’m also very grateful for the advice I received beforehand to hike in shorts with ankle gaiters because that’s all I needed. I also really appreciated the ventilation from this combination. I did see a few people with trousers that zip off into shorts, which are also a great clothing option. Because the trail is in such good condition, I only experienced an occasional brush with spinifex. You always felt like you could clearly see what was on the trail. In saying all this, I didn’t even see a single snake!

Giving the feet a break and celebrating the Bombers making the AFL finals! Photo: Ben Trewren

Clothing to wear on the trail

Clothing is something I ummed and ahhed about a lot as I felt there was a fine line between getting it right and wrong. Knowing that I have a pretty warm body, but also cautious of how bitterly cold Central Australian nights can be during the winter months, it was tough to call.

I hiked in shorts and a t-shirt that were lightweight, breathable, and also super durable. On my feet, I wore my trusted Wigwam Merino Socks to look after my feet (which they did 95% of the time).

I carried a fleece sweater (which was all I needed when temperatures dropped) and a spare t-shirt to change into. At the start I had a pair of long compression tights and a down jacket, however, once I realised that overnight temperatures weren’t that cold for me, I left my jacket in a food box.

I found the compression tights fantastic to wear upon arriving at camp. Especially as they gave me the peace of mind that they would hold my legs together when I seriously doubted they would on their own.

At my halfway food box at Ellery Creek, I included a second change of clothes. I also threw fresh undies and socks into every food box (thanks, Forrest Gump) and included a fresh t-shirt for my day off at Ormiston Gorge.

On top of Brinkley Bluff. Photo: Ben Trewren

Doing laundry

I carried all my clothes in a Scrubba Wash Dry Bag because it has a range of advantages. It easily holds everything I wear, keeps out dust and moisture and has a valve for expelling air for packing. Most beneficial, however, is that when I needed to wash my clothes it did a fantastic job of breaking down the gunk without wasting too much precious water.

Don’t forget to also take along a clothesline to dry your clothes on after giving them a good scrub.

Washing day on the trail. Photo: Ben Trewren

Sleeping gear for Larapinta

When it came to sleeping, I trusted my Sea to Summit Basecamp II Bag and Thermolite Reactor Extreme Liner to get the job done, so I slept in very little, sometimes nothing which gave the skin a chance to just take it easy and breathe. Very happy with this plan of attack.

Shelter

In order to save weight and knowing I had spent over 300 nights in a swag before, I decided on a bivvy bag as my shelter. I knew that many of the trailheads already had platforms established, with shelter options available, and that packing my bivvy only required ‘stuffing’ – so I was pretty confident with my choice.

The usual setup at camp. Photo: Ben Trewren

Should you bring a tent?

Overall, I was happy and unphased with this decision until getting to Ormiston Gorge where I had thrown my 1-man Zempire Atom tent into my food box so that I had some ‘sense of security’ for leaving my gear unattended during my day off as well as when I would head to summit Mount Sonder a few days later from Redbank Gorge.

Upon picking my tent up and using it, I realised the peace of mind it gave me compared to my bivvy. At night, I could go to bed and zip up the inner and automatically my fears of what ‘may’ happen decreased. I felt much more comfortable to put a podcast in my ears because I didn’t feel the need to hear what was happening around me. I also didn’t stress about pesky mice getting into my gear as much.

In hindsight, I’m still undecided whether I would opt to carry the extra weight and spend the extra time pitching and packing up the tent for the entire journey. But I certainly appreciated ending the trip with the comfort of the tent.

Enjoying the view of Mount Sonder from the tent. Photo: Ben Trewren

Additional gear Packing Tips

Toiletries

Lip Balm and Moisturiser are worth throwing into your toiletries because the dry air will wreak havoc on your skin.

Tea Tree Oil helps manage the funky smells and germs coming from your feet.

Hand Sanitiser is definitely worth it because water is scarce, plus you need to stay on top of your hygiene.

Wilderness Wash and Wipes are a must because they’re bio-degradable and soft on the environment and they give you an opportunity to wash – either yourself, your dishes or clothes.

Tools and accessories

Overcome the fear of the stigma, and grab yourself a set of hiking poles. They’ll improve your balance, take the strain off your legs, provide support and at the worst, protect you against a raging animal.

Small tweezers/Splinter Probes are fantastic for dealing with endless prickles and if needed, draining blisters.

Carry a

Making the most of the sun and charging the batteries. Photo: Ben Trewren

Hydration Gear

Nuun Active tablets as they’re low in sugar and carbohydrates and are available in a range of fruity flavours.

Comfort gear

Throw in a packable daypack for when you reach Redbank Gorge. You won’t need to carry a full pack up Mount Sonder, just the essentials.

Have some foam to sit on. The comfort is really appreciated by your bum and it offers fantastic protection against the prickles. I personally loved the Thermarest Z-Seat.

Sitting at the top of Serpentine Gorge at the end of section 7. Photo: Ben Trewren

Where to go from here?

In the second part of my Larapinta series, I talk about what to expect on the trail – water sources, facilities, camps, phone reception, hazards and leaving no trace on the track.

Are you prepping for a big hike like Larapinta? What do you think is the most challenging part?

The post Hiking Larapinta Part 1: Preparation appeared first on Snowys Blog.

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travelling-trooper-blog · 7 years ago

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Sometimes things don’t go according to plan and you have to improvise.

We were schedule to fly out of Helsinki to Oslo on the morning of September 1st, however when we got to the airport, we were told that our flight was cancelled. I had just checked the flight status the previous night, so this was a huge surprise to me.

We were eventually given a flight on the next flight to Oslo, which was at 7 pm that night. We essentially lost a day in Norway.

Now initially, the plan was to stay in Oslo for a few days before heading towards Trolltunga and Bergen, then flying off to Alta in the north before returning to Oslo. However I found a host that really excited me in Oslo, and I decided I’d want to stay with her. Unfortunately, the dates I requested were the only dates she wasn’t available to host us, so I re-arranged everything, deciding to spent the night in Oslo, and then head to Trolltunga the following morning.

This didn’t happen either. I ended up enjoying myself so much with our new host for the night, Esteban, that we ended up staying up until 3 am watching Narcos and eating pizza. The following morning, we watched a bunch of music videos and concerts on YouTube before eventually going out to enjoy the beautiful weather. We visited Holmenkollen to get a great view of the city, and ended up catching some of the Toughest Obstacle Race action.

Just look at these crazy people! They’re climbing up a ski jump ramp. You couldn’t pay me to do this stuff!

Anywho, we ended up hanging out until 3 pm, and by then, I knew we couldn’t get to Trolltunga by the end of the day. Instead, we hopped on a train to Honefoss and found a place to camp for the night.

The next day, instead of heading to Trolltunga, we headed to the city of Bergen. From what I read, it was easier to get to Trolltunga from Bergen anyway, so I figured we could check out Bergen first then head to the mountain afterwards. Unfortunately, because we’d already lost so many days, we wouldn’t have time to fly north to Alta. It was okay, though, because I booked us a mult-day fjord tour departing from Bergen. I figured this would be enough. And if anything, it just gives me an excuse to come back to Norway one day!

Once again, things didn’t go according to plan, though, because the 9 am train was completely sold out when we arrived at the train station. We’d have to wait until the 3:30 pm train. So be it.

Now Bergen…

My immediate reaction was “Get me out of this place!” But this was a strictly emotional response. See, our train arrived in Bergen at 7 pm. The plan was to find a nice place to camp for the night and call it an early night. Google Maps showed there was a perfect spot about an hour and a half walk from the train station. No problem. I could use the exercise after a day of sitting around.

What Google Maps didn’t tell me was that the walk would be completely uphill. When you’re strapped with two VERY heavy bags like a freakin’ pack mule, though, this is no easy feat.

I found this place towards the very end of the hike–because that’s what it had become–and just couldn’t resist. There was a bench calling my name, and I sat down and began writing.

After about half an hour, I packed up again and continued my search for a campsite. Shortly after, I found this perfect spot. Aside from the 8 degree weather, it was paradise.

The following day would be dedicated to seeing as much of Bergen as possible. At this point, I still wasn’t too keen on the place. My legs were still sore from the previous night’s climb.

We headed to the train station to lock our bags up for the night and start exploring. I very quickly changed my opinion of Bergen. It is amazing picturesque, as I would learn over the next 12 hours of walking.

First stop: The wharf.

Obligatory pretty church shot.

Obligatory art shots at Kode 1.

Sadly, neither the clocks, nor the candle holders invited us to be their guests.

Pretty flowers! Welcome to Bypark.

It was while sitting here enjoying the view of the water that I noticed a funicular off in the distance. There was no way I wasn’t going to check that out!

I enjoyed a delicious burger and a nice pear cider at old Bryggen, and went in search of the funicular.

Of course, the ride was totally worth the view at the top!

Bergen is apparently obsessed with these trolls for a reason I was never able to figure out. Souvenir shops were filled with them.

Then I saw this sign. It inspired the following exchange.

Trevor: Do the 3 km hike.

Me: No.

Trevor: Do the 3 km hike.

Me: I don’t wanna.

Trevor: We’ve already been walking for seven hours.

Me: I don’t care.

Trevor: It’s 3:30, and we told our host we’d be there between 7 and 8 tonight.

Me: We can contact them and let them know we’ll be late. He said any time before 11 is fine.

Trevor: I really don’t want to do this.

Me: Sure you do!

Trevor: No, I don’t.

Me: It’s settled! The 13 km Ulriken hike it is!

Trevor: I hate you so much right now.

And so, we now had a 13 km hike ahead of us. But in typical Norwegian fashion, things didn’t go according to plan. See, I thought Ulriken was just a hiking trail that would eventually bring us back to the funicular.

I was wrong.

About 3 km in, we got to a T intersection on the hike, but didn’t see a sign pointing towards Ulriken. I pulled out my phone and turned to our old friend, Google. That’s when I learned that Ulriken is in fact a mountain. In fact, it’s the highest of the seven mountains in Bergen. This meant the trail was ending in a different place all together.

Trevor: Let’s head back.

Me: Onward!

About another kilometre and a bit later, we came across a hiker who was heading in the opposite direction. I asked him if it was possible to get back towards the city, and he said that if we continued straight, it’d be about 45 minutes to the bottom of the trail. From there, it would be another half hour to the city centre. Perfect!

HOWEVER, he urged us to continue towards Ulriken, because the views were well worth it.

Trevor: Don’t listen to that guy.

Me: Onward!

Trevor: It’s already 5:00. We’ve already hiked 4.3 km. That’s respectable.

Me: Onward for another hour, and then we head back?

Trevor: Fine.

And so, we continued on. To his credit, the gentleman was right!

We eventually got to an impressive ascent, and agreed that we’d turn around when we got to the top.

We never made it to the top, though. Without realizing it, I’d totally lost my sweater. I had it hanging on the strap of my backpack. I knew I’d just recently lost it because I’d just taken the bag off to check something, and I definitely remember having the sweater at that point. It was probably just another 8-10 minutes to the top, but I figured this was a sign we should head back.

I must add here that the Norwegians take their hiking very seriously. They are pros at it. Descending is always the harder part of a hike for me because I don’t have a lot of muscles in my knees, and I can sometimes feel them shake under all my weight. Throw in my lack of coordination, and you have a very slow and cautious hiker–especially on these rocks. I mean, the trail had devolved to nothing but a series of sharp rocks. Doris would’ve been right at home here, but not I. It was a matter of placing your foot at exactly the right place. One slip, and you’d be done for. NOT SO FOR THE NORWEGIANS THOUGH! These people were practically running down the goddamn mountain like they were part mountain goats or something!

Sure enough, I found my sweater without a problem. Some hiker had been nice enough to leave it hanging somewhere visible for me.

At this point, I’d like to think that we had hiked about 6 km, because back when we met that other hiker, the sign said 8.7 km to Ulriken. However, about 20 minutes before turning around, we walked past a sign that said 9.1 km to Ulriken! So based on time and my pace, I think we’d hit about 6 km at that point. We backtracked about 1.5 km and started making our way back to the city. The train station was 5 kilometres away at that point.

We picked up our bags and schlepped another kilometre to our host’s place for the night.

And that was how we accidentally hiked 13 kilometres. My blisters have blisters, but it was well worth the pain. I love you, Bergen.

The Travelling Trooper Does Bergen Sometimes things don't go according to plan and you have to improvise. We were schedule to fly out of Helsinki to Oslo on the morning of September 1st, however when we got to the airport, we were told that our flight was cancelled.

#bergen #bryggen #floyen #funicular #kode #norway #oslo #star wars #travel #travel blog #trevor the travelling trooper #ulriken

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forthehopebeyondtheblue-blog · 6 years ago

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The Story of Abigail’s Birth

January 12, 2019

I’m propped up in bed with our sweet babe swaddled and lying besides me. Abigail Claire Shrift was born at 10:25 Sunday night on January 6 weighing 8 pounds 11.8 ounces. She is absolutely perfect. I can’t believe tomorrow marks one week of life for her. Early last Saturday morning (4:30 am to be precise), I woke up with some mild cramping. I got up to use the restroom and, upon inspection, realized I had lost my mucus plug/ had the “bloody show” as it called. I laid back in bed and was awake until 6:30 with mild, irregular cramping until I fell back asleep until 8:00 or so. This essentially was the start of it all. Esther was gearing up to go to the airpot that morning, but was able to change her flight to the following day since her ticket was with Southwest. All of Saturday I had off and on cramps (some much worse than others), but for the most part was able to carry on as normal… Minus, of course, the odd slightly exhilarating, slightly terrifying knowledge that labor had begun, but I had no idea how it would unfold or progress.

By evening, the cramping had began to worsen. I went to bed but only dozed between contractions before calling it quits on sleep and getting up at 11:45. From then on, contractions began coming every 3 to 10 minutes. Around 4:00am, contractions were close enough and for long enough that we called the birthing center. We packed up and made the drive to the center with Mom, Dad, and Esther’s concerned faces ushering us out the door. Upon arriving at the birthing center, the nursing monitored the baby’s heart rate and my contractions for 30 minutes or so. With the heart rate monitor and contraction timer (not sure the exact term) strapped around my belly, it was hard to get into a comfortable position, so it was a great relief when they had gathered enough data to remove them. The midwife on call checked my cervix (not a fun experience) and said I was 90% effaced (still not sure what that means) but only 3 centimeters dilated. Because I wasn’t far enough along, they couldn’t admit me into the hospital yet. They let me labor in the room for awhile to see if I would progress enough to be admitted, but by 7am the midwife’s shift was ending and we made decided to head back home without going through another cervix check. Before we left, they gave me some medicine intended to help me rest.

Once we got home, David took a nap, and I laid down for a little bit, but the contractions became too painful to labor through them on my side. The initial cramps I experienced Saturday had been replaced with contractions that radiated throughout my lower back and hips. We had learned in the birthing class that back labor is due to the baby being face up and one way to cope is to apply counter pressure to your back and hips. As a result for most of labor, David had the palms of his hands pressed into my lower back and would squeeze as hard as he could when the contractions came on.

During this time, Mom and Dad had dropped off Esther at the airport and were at a local church service. They came back, though, and Dad became my hip-squeezing labor helper for awhile. I sat on the exercise ball in the living room with my body dropped over a mound of pillows stacked on the couch. Mom held my hand and at one point got me some toast which I ended up throwing up. The hospital staff had told me to not come back until my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart for an hour. By 1:00pm the intensity had really ramped up, but my contractions were still 2-6 minutes apart. I hadn’t felt the baby move in awhile (one of the things they told us to pay attention to), so David called the hospital. I could hear David’s responses to the many questions they were asking him, and it sounded as if they didn’t think it was that necessary for me to come in again yet. At this point, I was in a lot of pain and was so frustrated that it was sounding like they might encourage me to wait it out more. Praise the Lord, though, we were told to come in. I cried on the way there from the sheer pain and exhaustion of it all, but the trip did not last long. The short distance the birthing center is from our house was a blessing I did not anticipate being as wonderful as it was. Upon arriving, a midwife named Blanch was on call. A slightly portly woman with a gray bob, she had a very motherly reassuring presence in a no-nonsense kind of way. After monitoring the baby’s heart rate and my contractions again for what felt like forever, Blanche checked my cervix and said I was 8 centimeters dilated! I cried tears of relief that I wouldn’t be sent back home.

After this, the timeline of things is a bit of a blur. Our nurse, Lynnette, was absolutely wonderful. I want to cry just thinking about it. At 7pm, Blanches’ shift was up and Jennifer Taylor, one of the midwives I had seen for my prenatal check-ups, came on call. When I was next checked, I was 9.5 cm dilated. Jennifer wasn’t in the room much but told me I would know when to push. It was a little unclear, however, since my contractions were all still in my back so I really never had the urge to bear down like some women describe. Throughout this time, I labored on my hands and knees on the hospital bed, tried out the birthing tub only to quickly get out once I realized I felt weightless and David couldn’t squeeze my hips like before, and on my side with the peanut ball between my legs. At some point when I had transitioned from my hands and knees to my side, I began to feel something in between my legs. This was before I began pushing. I frantically told the nurse I thought the baby’s head was crowning. She checked me and called in Jenn and the other hospital staff. It wasn’t the baby’s head but rather my amniotic sac bulging through since my water still hadn’t broken yet. Jenn told me I was ready to start pushing and had me transition to a birthing stool which seemed to help me bear down more. Pushing was incredibly hard, and the contractions were terrible. All throughout, Lynnette and Jean were encouraging me and coaching me through while David continued to squeeze my hips and be the world’s best support. I couldn’t have done it without them. I can still hear Lynnette’s voice saying over and over again, “Come on Mama, come on Mama, you can do it.” At one point, Jenn suggested that I labor through few more contractions then change positions; however, she changed her mind when I ramped up the pushing and more progress was made. I began pushing at 9:00pm and at 10:25, our baby girl was born.

There was a swarm of activity with a respiratory therapist present since the baby had pooped in the amniotic fluid and that can pose problems for breathing. However, she did great, thank you Jesus, and was passed directly up to me. In some ways, I still can’t believe it all happened and that was me- disheveled hair, eyes closed in delirium, hospital gown gaping open and then suddenly a bloody slippery baby coming out of me and being placed on my chest. They let me sit there a few minutes and then had me transition to a the bed where David cut the umbilical cord, I delivered the placenta, and Jenn stitched me up where I tore. Abi almost immediately looked for something to suck on and stuck her wrist in her mouth. After a little bit, David went into the waiting room to share the good news with Mom and Dad and to announce she was a girl much to all of our surprise.

Once Mom and Dad had met the baby, Lynnette helped me to the bathroom and I had one of the strangest experiences of my life. I was shaking uncontrollably and almost passed out twice. On the toilet, I couldn’t get myself to go the bathroom. It was like my body had no communication with the muscles in that area, and I began to wonder if Jenn had stitched up the wrong hole (haha not really but that’s what it felt like). I was finally able to manage a pathetic trickle of pee. Lynnette meanwhile wiped me down with a warm cloth and patiently waited. It was so humbling. I felt so weak, but it also gave me such a vivid picture of the Lord’s description of Ezekiel in His treatment and care of and for Israel. To be covered in blood and be weak and helpless and so tenderly taken care of was something that hadn’t even crossed my mind when I had thought about the whole birth experience. In Ezekiel 16:9, the word of the Lord says, “Then I bathed you with water and washed off your blood from you and anointed you with oil.” After labor and delivery, I have a whole new perspective on that chapter. It also makes me think of 1 Corinthians 6:11, “… But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.” After Lynnette helped to clean me up, I was wheeled to the postpartum room and began recovery. It wasn’t until the next day that we settled on her name- Abigail Claire meaning “father’s joy” or “gives joy.”

March 15, 2019

Now two plus months after Abigail birth, labor almost seems like a distant memory. Coming home from the hospital felt like resurfacing from Rip Van Winkle’s long slumber in that I felt completely out of touch with the world at large. It seemed hard to believe that world had continued as normal while ours was irreversibly changed. Now Abi is a 13 pound chunk who coos and smiles and takes in the world around her with wide blue eyes. For all of my fear and uncertainties, motherhood has been sweeter than I could have imagined. I continue to be amazed at the Lord’s gift of life.

I pray that Abi will grow in the knowledge and fear of the Lord and that I will remember that while we love her so much it hurts, Jesus loves her even more. She is a gift entrusted to us to shepherd and instruct and nurture. It is a sobering but sweet privilege. I know we will mess up and make stupid decisions because we already have yet that is the beauty of the gospel. Christ has already atoned for our sins and has relieved us of the burden of having to be “everything” for our child. In fact, our calling as Christian parents is to remember our own need for a Savior and to help our child recognize her need as well. In a world that is desperately trying to assuage the hurts and deep wounds of the heart with self-care and motivational manifestos, Jesus tells us we are not enough. We are broken. We are sinful. This grates against our modern “sensibilities.” We have become so focused on ourselves that we have forgotten that Jesus is not our self-help guru nor is He our self-esteem boosting genie. He is the Creator of the universe who has called us to pick up our cross and die to our selfish desires daily. It can be a really hard pill to swallow, but it is on the other side of dying to our sinful desires that true joy and wholeness are found. It’s not intuitive and I fail daily, but I pray that motherhood would be an instrument the Lord uses to draw me closer to Himself as well as to use me in Abi’s life to lead her to the One who knit her together in my womb and promises to never leave or forsake her.

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jemacfarlandgo · 4 years ago

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Exactly 1 year ago today, on August 18, 2019 Leisa and Beau were supposed to say “I Do” at their dream venue, Castle Hill Inn. Instead, this bride to be spent her intended wedding day in the hospital recovering from brain surgery. When their second date got moved out due to the COVID-19 pandemic, this positive couple didn’t get the change get them down. Instead, they saw the opportunity to lean into love and appreciate every moment they get to spend together. Thank you dearly to Leisa and Beau for sharing their story with us!

“I’ve never been the type to believe in fairytales. Even as a high schooler, I never fully understood drooling over boys or the idea of soulmates. It felt so silly, so much like a waste of time to constantly wonder if he liked me, to imagine myself in a white dress walking down the aisle to a prince charming.

Perhaps, naively, I was far more obsessed with my aspirations. Don’t get me wrong, I was familiar with love, my parents a beautiful, real model of what I dreamed of, the hard work and deep reward of this favored topic of philosophers, poets, writers, and scientists. From their example, I felt like I knew love.

But it wasn’t until I met Beau that I finally understood love. Suddenly, I found myself daydreaming about a home with overgrown hydrangeas and a fireplace mantle dressed in photo frames showcasing those classic “happily ever after” moments of our wedding day. I wondered if I’d wear a veil? Would my dress be simple or intricately embroidered with lace? A silhouette fit or an A line?

With Beau, there were always questions I never had to ask. I never wondered if he would propose, if this was real. Because I knew, it just…was. The way he looked at me, the way he cared for me and made me stronger, happier, better, each and every day. The way he was patient when I was stubborn and a voice of reason when I was illogical. And the way it made me feel to be with him, to be accepted and cherished and chosen, always, as me. With him, I was home.

The night he hid my engagement ring in a pizza box and asked me to be his wife was nothing and everything like a fairytale, all at once. In fact, it was absolutely opposite of what I had imagined, yet everything I wanted, slow dancing with him to Alexa playing Frank Sinatra in my comfiest pajamas — an Ohio State sweatshirt shriveling at the collar from being worn far past its obvious expiration date — and a bare face, clean after my nightly scrubbing of all the day’s makeup residue. I was unpolished, unmanicured, and completely over the moon with child-like excitement to start calling my parents and sister, text our entire families to make the announcement. I remember reaching for my phone and him gently grabbing my hand, insisting on one more dance to internalize, relish the moment. He said, “Once we start calling, it’s everyone’s moment. So let’s just wait, one more song, maybe a glass of champagne? Let’s just be together to keep this moment ours.”

Wedding planning quickly ensued. We chose August 18th at Castle Hill Inn in Newport, RI — the first place Beau and I had ever taken our own romantic getaway. As if from nowhere, my mom began pulling out magazine clippings that she seemed to have saved in her own closet for years and emailing me every picture she found on Pinterest that might possibly align with what I envisioned for bouquets and table settings. My future mother-in-law suggested Kleinfelds and I booked an appointment. I must have tried on 30+ dresses in total before going back to the first. When I opened up the fitting room door, my mom was an adorable mess, tears streaming down her face. Beau’s mom cried, too. But when my sister started crying, I knew I had found the one.

On July 26th, Beau left for his bachelor party in Costa Rica. I had an early appointment with an eye doctor before work, and although I wanted to cancel, I had made a new commitment to myself to stay attune to my health. My mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer and it instantly became clear how I needed to stay up-to-date, to be whole, to be strong, to be there for her. So I kissed Beau goodbye and told him to return in one piece, making him promise that he would come home on Monday exactly as I had left him — no cuts, scrapes, viruses or broken bones. He told me that August 18th was going to be the best day of his life.

What I expected to be an easy appointment turned quickly into an inconceivable nightmare. From the doctor’s office, I was directed to go to the hospital immediately for an emergency CT scan. From there, I was strapped and transported in an ambulance to another hospital for an MRI, my heart shrinking in fear. I just wanted Beau.

The next morning, two people in white lab coats walked into my hospital room and my heart collapsed into the depths of my stomach. Within moments, I was officially diagnosed with a Meningioma brain tumor. We talked for what seemed like forever, me firing questions as swiftly as my mouth could eject the words, all the while my fingers swiping the unending tears flooding my cheeks. After probably the seventh time of receiving the same answers to the same questions, I gathered the courage to finally ask — What about my wedding in two weeks? The neurosurgeon, composed yet soft, promised me he would be as careful as possible and only shave the necessary sections of my skull, but if I didn’t have the neurosurgery immediately to remove the tumor from my brain, I would likely be showing up to my wedding blind.

The instant we hung up the phone, Beau booked the first flight home and my dad immediately jumped into his car and drove 13 hours from Ohio to New York. My sister was taking her bar exam to become a lawyer and my mom was awaiting her own surgery. I was in the hospital for the entire month of August recovering from the drastic procedure (as well as an additional 25 seizures) and spent the whole month of September rehabilitating with therapy, as well as overall healing. I am now blind in my left eye and a small section of the tumor remains in my brain (a certain percentage of the tumor could not be removed, as its elimination would risk additional damage/harm to my nerve and blood vessels), meaning that I will likely spend a great deal of my future monitoring the tumor with the help of my neurosurgeon, neurologist, optical neurologist, and endocrinologist.

To be forced into postponing our wedding and spending our “big day” in the hospital, trying desperately to reignite my short-term memory and regain my strength is not something that I would wish upon any couple. It was heartbreaking. And yet, I felt blessed to be on the road to recovery, reinvigorated with a new gratitude for life, for family, and for love.

As I started to make significant progress and show positive signs of returning to the person I once knew myself to be, Beau and I began to again become excited for our new wedding date: May 10, 2020.

A little over a month ago, our second attempt at a wedding was abruptly halted, this time due to a global pandemic — the profoundly unthinkable place we, as a world, find ourselves to collectively confront. This time, the cancellation was attributed to a reason that was bigger than us — much bigger. An unsettling circumstance of heavy-hearted uncertainty. Subjecting our loved ones and jeopardizing the safety of our families, our vendors, the venue, the world, was so trivial in the grand scheme of things, and associating our special day with that surmount sense of fear was just not an option.

However, I must admit, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t devastated, remembering all that we had been through to finally reach the cusp of our vows. I spent May 10th imagining what Beau and I would have looked like, standing before our entire family in front of the gorgeous Castle Hill arbor, clocking the beginning of the ceremony, the start of cocktail hour, and anticipating the toasts that would have been shared at our reception. I repeatedly imagined the smile I had fantasized, over and over, overcome his face while I walked down the aisle, to him.

Regardless, I still felt thankful. We were healthy and safe and in love. That night, Beau sat with me on our bed and asked me if it would be okay if he started referring to me as his “wife” as opposed to his “bride,” because that better resembled who I was in his heart. How could I not be filled with gratitude?

Of course, Beau and I wanted a wedding and will still be in absolute adoration for the celebration if it comes (prepare for a wild party), but truthfully, at the end of the day, the depth of our love, tested through so many unpredictable, perturbed times, IS the fairytale. My prince is a punk rocker and has stood, anchored by my side through the toughest, scariest, most severely unforeseen moments of my life, again and again, making me feel always like his center, his universe. Sure, I may never get the exact celebratory moment I once dreamed of, but I can state, without a single breath of hesitation, that I am with the man I always dreamed of.

If I’ve learned anything in the past five years, it’s that love — an inexplicable, yet tangible, tender force that when strong enough, truly cannot be smothered. A wedding, in so many ways, feels like a fairytale. But Beau has taught me, unknowingly, purely by example, that real magic lives in our everyday life, in the beauty staring directly at us at all times, often in the crevices of routine normalcy, in plain sight; in the small, conjunctive moments that weave each of these minutes into sequence that, when noticed, make us feel complete. Simple moments like snuggling on the couch or hearing his laugh that make the ordinary extraordinary.

And that, this, us, right here and now, is the realest fairytale I could have ever imagined.

To all of our family and friends, thank you for your patience, understanding, and profound support throughout these challenging times. We love you all so, so much.

To all of the brides who currently feel hurt, sad, even betrayed that their special day was stolen, please know that the celebration will come, but the gift, your personal fairytale, is still right beside you.”

Leisa and Beau’s engagement photos got postponed due to COVID but the couple did an impromptu photo session in their backyard with a phone on a tripod and the perfect barefoot backyard slow dancing. In case you needed a reminder today, every moment we get to spend with the ones we love is precious. Embrace the moments you get and take every opportunity to show love.

When a brain tumor and a pandemic stood in the way of "I Do" this couple choose to lean into love despite the challenges Exactly 1 year ago today, on August 18, 2019 Leisa and Beau were supposed to say "I Do" at their dream venue, …

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justinschumakar-blog · 7 years ago

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This is not my story. I ma sharing this story on my blog as i like ideas of it.

“

The most common question I get about my trip around the world is “How did you save up the money?”

Anddd the second most common question I get is, “How much did you save and spend?”

I actually don’t mind answering these questions at all because these are the main questions I was asking people before taking off on my trip.

So, how did I save $35,000 to travel the world for a year?

I’ll get to all the details on that below! As for the question of how much I spent? Well, I spent all of it.

Every single penny. After 14 months on the road, I really don’t have anything left. Let me explain…

Before my travels, I researched many different blogs and articles to see what the perfect amount would be for a year-long trip. Most of them recommended somewhere between $14K and $25K for the year. After returning from my travels and having met many amazing people, I’ve learned you don’t even need that much! I met a lot of people who were traveling for longer than a year on $10-14K. It can be done peeps!

I knew I wanted to splurge a bit more on this trip and never wanted to feel super penny pinched, so I saved up more than what was recommended in all the articles and blogs I read. This is because I know myself and I didn’t want to be strapped for cash if something cool came up (and a lot of cool things came up)! 🙂

At the time of saving up to travel, I was living in San Francisco, one of the most expensive cities in the USA. If I factor in what I would have spent living in the city for one year, it far exceeds what I spent for 1 year of travel. It’s sometimes nice to put that into perspective! You may actually save money (sort of) when traveling the world!

Some people may be thinking HOLY SHIT that’s a lot of money to save up. Others may think that $35K is chump change. It actually took me about two-ish years age (25-27ish) to save up the $35K.

Here’s how I did it.

1. When I started saving up money, I didn’t have any student loans or debt to my name.

I was lucky enough to not have student loans after going to college and also didn’t have debt on any credit cards or to any people. I’ve always been pretty good at never spending more than I have, so starting to save with a clean slate definitely made things a lot easier.

2. I didn’t own a car while living in San Francisco.

For the entire 5+ years I lived in San Francisco I didn’t have a car or car payment. I would use Zipcar (here’s a $25 off coupon) or borrow my friend Carly’s car when I needed a car, but I honestly haven’t owned a car since high school which has saved up a ton of money!

3. I lived in a rent-controlled apartment with roommates and a shared bathroom.

Living in an apartment with roommates is super common in San Francisco, but it’s expensive to even share a place! My apartment was rent-controlled, meaning the rent hadn’t gone up in 8 years since the original leaseholder moved in. I got super lucky and had a great apartment paying $1300 a month for my room, not including utilities which is really good for San Francisco standards.

4. In the 2 years I started saving, my salary went from 80K to $100K+ a year at my marketing job.

When I started saving for this trip I was making about $80K a year and right before I quit my job, I was making $100K+. I was debating on putting my salary into this post, but I wanted you to get the full picture of how I saved up. I’m not going to lie, this salary definitely helped, but San Francisco is still an expensive city, so I still had to make a budget and focus on my priority of long-term travel. If you’re looking at this and thinking “Well shit, I don’t make that much money so I can’t save that up” then you’re incorrect! (I’m saying that in the nicest way).

I met tons of people who were making way less money than me when they started saving and ended up traveling the world longer than me. It really all depends on your dedication to saving and your priorities! But, like I mentioned above, you don’t need $35K to do what I did. You can do it on far less! Honestly, I’d say the sweet spot is somewhere between $15-$25K.

5. I figured out my monthly expenses and where I could cut back.

I looked at what the bare minimum I needed to live on was after looking at my expenses per month. Then I gave myself a cushion to make sure my life didn’t completely suck…haha. Then I put the difference into my new travel account (next step).

6. I set up a new bank account called “My RTW Trip” in my Wells Fargo and watched it religiously.

After setting up this account I got serious about saving. I would transfer any extra money I had for the month into this account and could slowly see it start to add up. My rule for this account was that I could never touch it or take out of it. It was easy to have it in the same bank as my checking because I could easily transfer money over from my checking into this account.

7. I set up a payment system and auto deposit.

This was key to my saving goal! I got paid twice a month and each time I got paid I set my bank account up so that it automatically transferred $250 out of my checking to my savings. This was nice because I didn’t necessarily notice it was missing and it was a great hands-off way to save. I just pretended like my paycheck was $250 less each month. I also have my bank set up so that everything I buy on my debit card will add a $1 to it and that $1 will go into my savings. So if I bought something that was $5.25 it would charge $6.25 and put the extra dollar in savings. This is a small thing, but it over time it actually helped!

8. I stopped buying new clothes for a LONG TIME!

So I kind of told myself in the first year of saving that I would cut back on shopping which I ended up doing, but then once I was about a year out of finally getting to my goal, I stopped buying new clothes altogether. Yes, I would sometimes get a new item if it was cheap, but mostly I cut back on new clothes and accessories. This saved me a TON of money. Plus, I knew I wouldn’t be able to bring all of these new clothing pieces with me traveling anyway so it wasn’t as hard as it would have been had I not had a big trip planned in my future.

9. I took a few steps to simplify my life.

Besides not shopping for clothes anymore, I did a few other things to simplify my life. One big one was cutting back on eating out and learning to cook at home instead. In SF there are always new restaurants popping up that you HAVE to go try, or old ones you want to go back to cause they are awesome. If you get a drink and food at most places in SF you’re probably looking at spending $50+ per person. I really tried to cut out how often I was eating out and I honestly think this helped a lot.

I also cut back on going to get my morning avocado toast and juice that I was obsessed with. I’m not a big coffee drinker, but that was my equivalent to cutting out my daily coffee. Going out drinking is another big thing in San Francisco and I used to go out 2-3x a week including happy hours! This got super costly, so I cut back to going out only 1 or 2x a week and pre-gaming my big nights out more at my apartment.

I cut back on getting my nails done, cut my gym membership and stopped getting my hair done as well. I would get my nails done religiously every 2 weeks and started to do my own instead. It sucked but getting my nails done twice ($100) allowed me to live a few extra days abroad. Same with getting my hair done!

10. I got clear about my priorities.

Everyone’s got different priorities, but mine is TRAVEL TRAVEL TRAVEL. I’d have friends who would go blow $500 on a few new outfits one weekend, but I’d never do that cause I knew $500 could buy me a roundtrip flight to Europe! Once I started focusing on travel being my top priority it made saving that much easier.

11. I planned to travel to cheap-ish places.

When I made my original travel budget, I first tried to figure out where I wanted to travel. I quickly realized that I needed to go to cheap places if I wanted my money to last. I mixed up my trip with Europe, the Middle East, and Asia and I’d say I did about 70% cheap countries and 30% expensive. Here’s what I spent after 3 months in Europe!

12. I sold all of my stuff.

Yes, right before I left I sold all of my furniture, my bedding, some clothes, my DSLR camera and anything else I thought I could make money from.

13. Think positive.

I don’t want to get all hippy-dippy on you all, but I do strongly believe in the power of the mind and positive thinking. I’ve read many books about attracting what you want and manifesting it into your life. For this particular trip and for getting the money I needed, I visualized my trip a lot in my mind, I pictured having the money in my bank account, and I pictured myself traveling to all of these countries.

On the last day before my trip I was so close to my goal of $35K, but still $1,000 short. Then, I got $1,000 from an unexpected source on the last day! Many of you may think this is just a coincidence, but I’m telling you, thinking positive is powerful! Again sorry if you think I’m a loony bin and disagree with me, but I wanted to be honest with you all about how I believe I got to this point. Here are some books that made me get more into the positive thinking mode about money in case you’re even a bit interested. The Secret, You Are a Badass, Big Magic, The Law of Attraction, Think and Grow Rich, Money and the Law of Attraction: Learning to Attract Wealth, Health and Happiness,

Okay, guys! That’s how I did it and I’m really hoping it helps any of you trying to do this same thing! I’d love to hear how you budget for your travels and if you have any great tips, because I’m currently saving again and could use more tips to try!“

Story writer Katie

HOW I SAVED $35,000 TO TRAVEL THE WORLD This is not my story. I ma sharing this story on my blog as i like ideas of it.

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wetmini-blog · 7 years ago

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Glasgow

The plan was to sleep on the plane, which departed at 11:45 Halifax time (delayed because they would have gotten to Glasgow too quickly, like how often does that happen) and landed in Glasgow at 8:00am. So it was supposed to be a perfect go to sleep at night, wake up in Glasgow in the morning, and VOILA no jet lag. Well. The extremely tall tailwinds made the flight only 4 hours 13 minutes. (!!! normally this would be amazing.) Syna had filled me with spaghetti, delicious beer, two cones, and a gummy. Plus I had one of my trusty sleeping pills, I was determined to end my amazing talent of never being able to sleep on a plane. You'd think I'd be knocked the fuck out. But no. No, I was not.

A very delirious and dizzy Karyn stepped off the plane in Glasgow. All I had to do was walk out front, turn left and get on a bus. What I did was walk right, circle around a car park, twice, walk up a random street not meant for pedestrians, almost got hit by a bus, and chased said bus to where the goddamn buses were, right out goddamn front of the goddamn airport. Lugging my shit and getting drenched, of course. Wet, hot, dank, fogged up glasses Karyn gets on the bus, pays her 7 pounds 50 pence fare, and ok sweet, good to go. All I had to get me to the hotel was a lousy screenshot, and I say lousy because the adjacent streets weren't labelled, only the ones I needed. So, I get off the bus at the wrong stop, of course, armed with my useless screenshot, and proceed in the wrong direction. I wander around George's Square for a while, my leather laptop case gift from Kasia is entirely soaked, but I'm cool. And man, all this walking is making me thirsty. I know Scots give absolutely useless directions from experience, so I don't bother asking for a while. OK, Finally, fuck my life, I need to ask someone. I do, she directs me.... I walk in a circle and and right back to her. I make her give me the directions again, and I set off.

I get to the hotel. But it's not my hotel. I text Stmoo and ask him if I'm getting punked. He says, there's more than one hotel of that name in Glasgow. GOOD TO KNOW. I'm not angry though, I'm not rushing. I'm just thirsty and dank. The hotel guy gives me a map and shows me where to go: actually at the very top left of the map and I'm at the bottom right. Sweet. I ask him for a drink. He says bar doesn't open till Noon. I say, aren't I in Scotland? Like WTF. I set out. Go to another bar. No, no booze. So I ask some poor hapless local where the F in bloody well Scotland can I get a drink at this hour. She directs me to the Iron Horse, and bless her, the directions make absolutely perfect sense and get me there, in spite of her accent. I got this. I walk in looking like the Dank Baglady from Hell, drop my loads of shit, pony up to the bar, and ask a girl for a shot and a ha'pint. (Belhaven's Best is most similar to John Smith's and thus will be my beer of choice for the forseeable future.) She says, she can serve me a drink, but only if I eat some food. I show her I have pepperoni in my bag. She's not impressed. No, I must spend 3 pounds for a bacon roll. Cool, I order that. It was exactly a bacon roll. Some fried back bacon shoved into a breadroll. No fuss, no muss. Now I'm feeling a bit pepped up and ready to make the trek. Glasgow is like a tiny San Francisco, lots of hills. I strap on all my bullshit and head out, feeling still delirious but much less thirsty. Hours later and ten more sets of directions, I arrived at the hotel, stripped, laid on the bed, and fell asleep for 3 hours. When I woke up I was super confused as to why the fuck I woke up. Stmoo's train would arrive in an hour and I had to be a little less greasy and dank when that happened, as we'd be going out in public. Man, I did not want to wake up. That was super tough. I washed my face, put on my eyebrows, went to Rizza's shop (she wasn't there) and then back to the hotel to wait. As Stmoo walked up I stuck my head out the window and gave him a warm friendly "ELLO!" I gave him a minute to wash up and we set off to our first bar. I had chosen Sedongo or whatever it was called because Google told me it was cheap food and beer. The Scotch was a 12 year old Glenfiddy and it was only 3 pounds for a very healthy pour. I also ate some thai noodles and tempura tofu. You know, because when in Glasgow, eat fucking thai food? Yes. We swallowed our last mouthful and set off again.

Stmoo makes me fucking laugh. He says the weirdest shit. For example, the further we got from the hotel, the more I worried about his health and wouldn't he need his jacket? And to make fun of me and my coat and umbrella, he says "You're talkin' shite, you're under a brolley." And naturally I'm spending the day both getting used to his accent and imitating it. By 7:30 we had a bet going that I couldn't go an hour without mockingbirding him.

After the second - third? - bar, we somehow agreed that we had to find the shittiest, nastiest pub in all of Glasgow. We were meandering down towards the "wee fun place" (mini fair - he insists he did not in fact call it that) when some kid tried to abscond us to sell us something. Instead, we asked him where the absolute crappiest bar could be found. He gave a phenomenal set of directions - down until the subway tunnel and go right, then where there's another tunnel, go through it, turn right again, continue ahead, until we find a statue of a man in a gas mask. The bar's across the street. We followed these directions, but got thirsty, so slammed another pint in some shitty hipster basement bar, but to be fair it did look like they made delicious pizzas. We asked the bartender where the crappiest bar in all the land was, and he gave us the same name. When we got to the place we were very sad to see that it was not in fact shitty. Bottles of wine for 6 pounds. Bottles of beer for 98 pence. Come on, this is the best bar of all time, you fucktards. We set off again. We're learning that hipsters think shitty actually means awesome, so we need to stop asking fucking hipsters. I decide I need some food so we go into this totally packed hipster bar, I know, I know, I keep doing it to myself. But, they had poutine bolognese, and it was fucking delicious. They also had a gin I hadn't tried and that was good too. I had to make them correct their menu spelling of "reposado" because it offended me. So we ask the ginger kid where the absolute shittiest bar is, but this time, we get real specific. I say it has to smell like piss, and Stmoo says we have to be at actual risk of being shanked for cheering for the wrong football team. Kid's eyes go very wide and we can tell he doesn't want to tell us where to go, but he knows. HE KNOWS. So he gives us three places, totally glazing over the first one, which means, that's gonna be our winner. And we head off again. We walk into what is supposed to be a totally scary place, but it's totally not. The football game is in fact on, people are in fact angry (green team is down 2-0, apparently evil red team is winning) and no one tries to get out of the way at the bar for us to order a drink. Cool, snobby local crowd, but no one is super gangster or pissing on things. We can tell though, in about 2 hours, the place will be really unfriendly. Stmoo asks a dude at the bar if he can move over so we can order a drink, and gets a tongue lashing for wearing a red shirt. At the same time though, the guy kind of sidles over, so we get our drinks.We sat down at a table we invented, improvised stool of sorts, and were apparently surrounded by friendly people. People give you a dirty look, you're pretty sure they want to shank you, but then you say "I like your shirt!" and suddenly you're their best friend. We had a lady take a picture of us and everything. A server was picking up empties, and we asked her, ok SERIOUSLY, FOR REALLY REALS, where is the LITERALLY SHITTIEST bar in Glasgow? She said, that's easy, that's right next door! So off we went. And YES! In the doorway was a disabled gentleman with a cane, staggering inside. Good sign! We walk in, and our nostrils are filled with the glorious stank of piss and disinfectant. We've done it! These cunts are watching the football game, too. And red is still evil. Stmoo makes me promise not to tell anyone in here that he's from Sutherland. Sunderland? I don't know, I can't understand him. Again, Stmoo has to ask someone at the bar to scootch out of the way so he can order something. But he says "can I order something," and the guy says "you can order anything you want," without moving. So it took a really long time but we did end up with a whole round for 4 pounds. We make ourselves an even sketchier table out of a display shelf thing and two pilfered chairs. The place is a goddamn tomb, it is glorious. Like it was once a tomb that people pissed in and then set up a bar. It is horrid. It is exactly what we've been searching for.

Cue random drunk Scot that you can't understand! This pleasant fellow came up and chatted to us. Chatted to Stmoo, I had no idea what the fuck they were saying. Buddy was pretty sure Stmoo and I were getting married this week, so that's funny. I was doing one of those smile-and-nod smiles, and Token Drunk Scot says "aagghgh lookit the smile onthelassie." I go to the bathroom. And the bathroom is the WORST! The absolute worst lilac colour adorns the stalls, like the owner said, I run the absolute shittiest bar in all of Glasgow and I want the absolute shittiest lilac colour for the absolute worst toilets, can you sell me that please?

Back at our "table" which is completely in the way, this little arched passage that separated the two tombs, this kid staggers into Stmoo's drink and smashes it. He then leaves the building. I said I'm pretty sure that kid owes you a beer. So Stmoo chases him out. We get out of the bar and this kid's already halfway down the street, talking to two other kids. Stmoo goes over to tell the kid, pretty sure you owe me a pint mate, and the kid looks terrified and runs away, after doing a bunch of panicked "please don't hurt me" gestures.The kids that he was talking to tell us, he's really sorry, do you guys want to come to a gay bar? Stmoo and I look at each other, our shittiest bar mission was accomplished, so yes, let's gay karaoke. Fucking LET'S. The nice kids introduce themselves, with their gaelic names, Caitlin and Caeden. I say "My name's Karyn! We're the KKK!" They shush me, looking around to ensure no one heard, and then correct me that their names are spelled with Cs. I really like these kids, so much that I got Caeden's digits. They take us to a bar that's pretty gay and fancy and swirly, nice decor, red walls, round booths, and yet still a fucking hipster bartender. A gay hipster though, so that's slightly less awful.

Stmoo's fading now, I know he wants to go to sleep, but I really wanted to karaoke. I decided to be the nice guy and get him back to the hotel, telling the Cs that I will come back to Glasgow and I will call them and we WILL do karaoke. So suddenly I'm the fucking Master of Glasgow. Completely making up for my total directional failures earlier in the day, like Chris learning Spanish by drinking too much and losing a shoe, drinking in Glasgow has given me this perfect awareness of where we are and where we need to go. Stmoo keeps bitching about a taxi and I keep assuring him we're almost there. And from a totally different neighborhood, I navigated us safely home. But first, he had to get a bottle of wine from offsales. He tried to get me a bottle of whiskey, bless him, but couldn't. You can't get offsales after 10pm in Glasgow. I KNOW! It's supposed to be fucking Scotland! Traitors.

On the way back to the hotel, he stops in a supermarket for a corkscrew. I watch the entire hilarious shamble through the window, him wandering the aisles while the security guard watches him like a hawk.

The hotel was funny because Stmoo wanted to drink wine when he clearly didn't need any, and I was pretty pumped about sleeping. I did fall asleep, then I was having a dream about someone saying to me "how can you sleep through all this noise?" and woke up with his face snoring right into my face. It was 3am. After an hour I went to the reception and asked for another room, but they were booked. Fuck. So I had earplugs and headphones and bianural beats playing and I could still hear the fucker snoring. He also stole my blanket. I am pretty sure I never fell back asleep.

At 6ish for some reason, he gets up and tries to pour wine in my cup. I tell him to go fuck himself. He says "wha, you don't like someone babbling to you at half six?"

So I mean I hate him, it's not fair he gets to sleep, in his attractive outfit of only tighty whities, and I'm the one with the jetlag. But man, this sentence makes me fucking laugh. And then he's complaining that he can hear people checking out of the hotel now, "how can anyone sleep with all that racket?" How, indeed.

We got our lives together and headed off to the King Street station. Bought a ticket to Edinburg for 12 pounds. Got on the train car closest to the snack trolley. Once it came to me I asked for a coffee and an egg sandwich. Stmoo asked for a cider, and I said "you have booze? I don't want a fucking coffee!" Everyone on the car looked at me. I guess it was pretty loud. Then I looked at my egg sandwich and said "14 dollars! I don't want this sandwich." The kind Scot operating the snack trolley informed me, that's the time, it's only 2 pounds 70. Well of course that's the time to serve it by, this is after all, the motherland, where there are almost no preservatives in everything. Stmoo was quite amused by all this.

I added a tiny bottle of Jack to my order and poured it into my coffee, and said to it, "Get in me."

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shannrussell-blog1 · 6 years ago

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