#I’m hoping I can maybe use my student loans to pay for my flight and shipping my things but idk. i might have to set up a gofundme to help

[actualnymph]

has anyone gone to another country for college? lmk

[bqstqnbruin]

Priceless

Ok so here I am somehow with a second fic in a matter of, what, two ish days? Anyway, this is one that I wrote and posted last year but I reread it and it sucked so I took it down and rewrote it. Hope you like it!

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: none? swearing? Typos for sure.

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You loved him with your whole heart; there was nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, and you knew that he felt the same about you. At least, that’s what you used to believe.

Ever the one for dramatics, a three am alarm was what made you question not only your whole relationship but your whole existence. The witching hour was an ungodly time to be waking up and getting ready, no matter what the reason was. Even when it involved flying off to Europe for a destination wedding that involved Jake’s entire team.

“Babe?” you call to him, the shower just turning off. He pokes his head out, hair wet, droplets of water rolling down his face as he waited for you to answer, “We’re going to have time to stop at a Dunkin’, right?” you whine, doing everything in your power to not pass out then and there instead of finishing your packing.

“Maybe?” he says, ducking back into the bathroom before coming out with just a towel on, hanging on his waist. If you weren’t so exhausted, the things you could be doing right now, your mind wanders as he continues talking, “We have to get through TSA and I don’t think they would allow you to bring that through security, would they?”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, throwing the last of what you needed into your suitcase, trying to find anything of Jake’s lying around that you knew he would forget. “What if I finish it in the car before we go through security?” you beg, hoping he’ll cave.

“Y/N,” he sings, “then you’re going to have to use the bathroom a million times and it’s going to be my fault.”

“Do I have to be pleasant before I get coffee in me?”

You hear him laugh from the bathroom as you lean back on the bed and close your eyes. “You wouldn’t be you if you were pleasant before your coffee, babe.” You do everything in your power to try to stay awake while he gets ready, him saying random things as he runs around getting dressed, you murmuring weak responses in return. “Hey, come on, sleepyhead,” he says, pulling you off the bed, “We’ve gotta get to Logan.”

You drive there in silence, praying for the moment you get coffee in you as you still struggle to stay awake while Jake keeps talking. The car stops, Jake pulling down the window when you finally open your eyes, seeing that you were sitting in the drive-thru line at Dunkin. “God, I love you,” you say, leaning over and kissing his cheek, a smile covering his face.

“Who’s paying, you or me?” he asks, not letting you answer due to the voice of the cashier inside coming through the speaker to take your order. Two small coffees, enough to hold you over for the drive to the airport before you get more coffee once you’re through the gate. He looks at you as you stare down at your phone, having to check your bank account to see if you even had the money to begin with. “I’ll pay for both,” he says, a calm tone covering her voice.

Money for you was tight. You had never really struggled to pay your bills and your share of the utilities, but you definitely didn’t have the amount of extra cash that Jake did because of the seemingly never-ending student loan payments you were making. “I’m sorry,” you say, taking the coffee from him so he can get to driving again. You hated having the money conversation; no matter who you talked to, they always seemed to bring up the fact that your NHL player boyfriend made more money in a single season than you had seen in your entire life. It always left things awkward, as the implication of you being a gold digger hung in the air between you and the person you were having a conversation with. “I can probably transfer some money from my savings for extra stuff, but I had really only planned on buying a few meals and a few other trinkets for my family,” you admit, staring at the low number that showed in your checking account.

“Hey,” he says, resting his hand on your thigh, not taking his eyes off the road, “It’s fine. Anything you want, I’ll pay for it.” You smile at him, hoping he couldn’t tell from the corner of his eye that it wasn’t sincere. That was another thing you hated: other people covering for you. You grew up being taught that if you didn’t have money for it, you either didn’t pay for it until you had the money yourself, or you forewent it entirely. Having to worry about paying someone back was unnecessary stress in your life. Or, if they were like Jake, then they would insist it was their treat, not taking the money you owed them no matter how much it was.

You look out the window, the empty, tree-lined highway lighting up as the sun rose over it, the sky turning from the dark purple night to a brilliant orange right in front of you. You had never been one to wake up for the sunrise, taking in the sight for what was probably the first time in your life. “It’s so beautiful,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this calm and quiet before.”

“I’ve seen one thing more beautiful than this,” he says, a huge smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, bracing him for the cheesy comment you knew he was going to make.

“You,” he says, proudly, trying to find your hand without looking away from the road, bringing it to his lips before connecting his back to the wheel.

“God,” you moan, both of you laughing, “That was so corny.”

“Well, they call me Chef JD, gotta have some corn sometimes,” he says, resulting in you screaming.

“I will in fact leave you if you say something like that again,” you tell him.

“Yeah? Where would you live, then?” he teases, immediately regretting his words, “Fuck, sorry.”

“I’d figure something out,” you tell him, trying to match his teasing tone so that he doesn’t think you took it the way you did. The rest of the ride to the airport is in silence, you both finishing your coffee as you pull up, seeing some of the guys getting their stuff out of their car at the same time. “Hey, aren’t international flights normally at night?” you ask Jake, Charlie, and Matt coming over to help you guys get your bags.

“Bergy booked the flight for all of us and we don’t question him,” Charlie says, pulling Jake away from you, the two of them wandering into the airport with Kylie trying to keep up with her own boyfriend

“It should be more concerning to all of you that he has to act like your father,” you say to Matt, walking with him to security. Besides Jake, you were closest to Matt. He adopted you as a pseudo younger sister, the one who knew just as much, if not more about you than your boyfriend.

Matt shrugs, watching Charlie and Jake mess around with each other in line in front of you, “It just kind of happened that way. None of us ever questioned it, like Chuck said.” The two of you watch the boys, bickering about something as they seemingly all forget their girls were standing right around them. You and Matt fall into a mundane conversation, watching Jake and Charlie together as they pass through security. The five of you gather your things, trying to find which way your gate was so you could meet the rest of the guys before boarding the flight.

Matt figured out that you were supposed to head to the left, so naturally, Jake and Charlie veered right, leaving you and Kylie with all their stuff to lug to the gate. “Where are they going?” you ask Kylie, dumbfounded as you struggle to carry Jake’s bag along with your own stuff.

“Charlie mentioned he was hungry on the way here, so I’m just hoping that’s where they’re going,” she mutters, “Dealing with all of them together is like herding cats,” clearly as cranky as you were earlier that morning as you try to stifle your laughter. Just like you, Kylie was not a person to interact with before she had caffeine in her, one of the reasons the two of you got along so well.

You get to the gate, Jake and Charlie nowhere to be seen even though you were suddenly surrounded by the rest of the Bruins roster. From the looks of the waiting area, the flight was mostly the guys and their families, and thankfully so: you would hate to be on a plane with the Bruins organization if you were outside the organization itself. You loved the boys, but god, they were loud and annoying sometimes. Everyone else on the plane would definitely hate the group, but they didn’t care. The city was fueled by the hate of everyone who wasn’t them.

Jake and Charlie finally reappear, more coffee and now food in hand. Jake hands you what he got you as you reposition yourself so you’re sitting cross-legged on the seat, slightly uncomfortable due to how scrunched up you were so you could face him. You lean over, kissing his cheek before you start eating

He turns his head to smile at you as you catch him off guard and kiss him again. “What’s this for?”

“I don’t tell you enough that I appreciate you,” you say to him, taking a bite of the breakfast sandwich he got you.

Jake smiles at you, turning himself so he faces you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, gently pulling you towards him so he can kiss your forehead, mumbling something you can’t quite make out against your skin. Charlie starts chirping Jake over something, resulting in him leaving you to go argue with his teammates. You can’t help but smile as you watch Jake and his teammates. You knew he loved them, just like they loved him.

“You didn’t have coffee in you when I was talking to you before and you were actually pleasant?” Matt plops down next to you, taking your attention away from Jake.

You roll your eyes at him, even though you knew he was right, “Shut up, Gryz. Jake and I stopped for coffee on the way here. This is round two,” you say, raising the cup to him. The two of you watch some of the younger guys aggregate around Jake and Charlie, Jake telling them some story while they hang onto every word of his, laughing their heads off with every sentence. “God, he loves you guys.”

“Yeah, but you know he loves you more,” Matt says, nudging your shoulder.

“I think he loves Oreos more than he loves me sometimes,” you joke, knowing that it’s not true. Hoping that it’s not true, more like it.

“Trust me, JD loves three things in this order: you, hockey, then Oreos. He loves you more than he loves hockey. Nothing you can do will change that.”

You both laugh, the announcement for your flight to board interrupting the noise the rest of the guys were making. Jake rushes over to your side, picking up the bags both of you were planning on bringing onto the plan, practically pushing Matt out of the way. He kisses you on the cheek, a soft smile on his face.

“What?” you ask him, linking your arm in his.

“I love you,” he says, getting in line behind some of the guys.

“I love you, too,” you say, leaning your head against his arm.

“Ready for seven hours on a plane with these fools?” Jake asks, using his other arm to gesture to the rest of his teammates.

“I’m only ready because you’re with me,” you say to him in a sing-songy voice.

“Woah! So you can be corny, but I can’t?” he jokes, sending you two into a flirty bickering match as you board the plane with everyone. You get settled into your seats, resting your head on his shoulder to hopefully fall back to sleep despite the amount of caffeine coursing through your veins. You can hear the guys talking around you, probably annoying the rest of the passengers on the flight more than they intended.

You end up in that half awake-half asleep state while on his shoulder, the sounds of the rest of the guys fading in and out as you did. You could feel Jake occasionally kissing the top of your head, resting his on yours in an effort to go to sleep like you were. Both of you were woken up by the sound of the flight attendant coming through with food, the long flight warranting a hot meal, you and Jake being handed something different than the rest of the people around you.

“What is it?” you whisper to him once the flight attendant has passed by you.

“None of the free meals looked good so I got us something different,” he says, taking a bite of what looked like chicken covered in some sort of sauce.

“We could have just done the free meal so you wouldn’t be paying for me again,” you mumble, a little annoyed that he didn’t even ask when paying for food made things awkward earlier that morning.

You sit there in silence, eating the food that Jake bought you. Honestly, it was airplane food, not something that you had even wanted in the first place but you couldn’t let it go to waste now.

“I think I’m gonna go sit with Charlie,” Jake says, getting up without saying another word once the food is gone, leaving you to sit there by yourself with the other people in the row.

You try to find something to watch on the screen in front of you, only to be interrupted by Matt appearing and Jake’s seat, startling you as you rip out the headphones you had on while the first movie available was starting to play. “Your boy just kicked me out of my seat by sitting on top of me.”

You can’t help but laugh, picturing the other passengers' reactions around then as the grown men that were Jake and his teammates acted like absolute children. “I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he did that or that fact that I’m not shocked that he did that.” You watch him with Charlie, your smile fading as his grows.

“Hey, what’s up?” Matt asks, pulling your attention away from Jake.

“Same argument that we haven’t really fought over yet.” Matt was the only one on the team that knew about the seemingly never-ending awkwardness that surrounded you and Jake when it came to money. “It’s not getting worse, but it’s more frequent. I’m just worried we’re gonna end up blowing up at each other and losing each other in the process,” you tell him, fixating on the screen in front of you.

You hear him exhale, looking over to see a sad look on his face. A single lock of hair falls down in front of his forehead, moving along with the rest of his head, “Couples fight. I don’t want to tell you that you should have this argument this weekend, but you have to talk about it. And I mean really talk about it, not just the vague undertones you two constantly have dancing around the subject.”

You stare at him, slightly confused at how something like that came out of him, “I don’t like how you said that so eloquently,” you laugh, Matt throwing his head back to join you.

“But you know I’m right,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you huff, waving him off.

Without another word, he hands you his other earbud, starting a movie on his screen that would hopefully last the rest of the flight. You rest your head on his shoulder to get a better view of the screen, picturing Jake in his place.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you must have at some point because the next thing you know, the movie is over, the plane is about to land, and Matt is trying to get you off his shoulder so he can get back to his seat. “Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, nudging his shoulder gently. “Jake’s coming back,” he says, acting as if he didn’t want to get caught with you asleep next to him.

“Hi,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes as he plops back down in his seat, him kissing your cheek as you now struggle to stay awake. “It’s like, the middle of the night now, isn’t it?” you ask him, having no idea the time difference between Boston and where you were.

“I think it’s like 10 pm. I didn’t realize I was dating an old woman,” he jokes, pulling a laugh from you.

“You wear me out, babe,” you say, everyone getting up from their seats, the boys making more noise than anyone on the plane as people anxiously waited to get off.

“And you keep me young,” he says, giving you a quick peck before handing you your bag.

You hear someone groan behind you, turning to see Matt standing there already waiting for the two of you to move out of his way. “I’m not going to hang out with you if you’re like this the entire trip” he teases.

You can’t help but scoff, playing into the teasing nature of his comment. “Sorry, bubs, you’re the only one who didn’t bring a date so that makes you our third wheel.”

“I could third wheel any of the guys here and you know that,” he tries to defend himself as Jake grabs your hand and starts to pull you off the plane.

“That’s a weird thing to brag about,” you tell him, the three of you walking in a line to go get your bags, you and Matt carrying a conversation while Jake stands off to the side, not paying attention to the movement of the unfamiliar airport around him.

Everyone waits outside for whatever transportation Patrice had arranged to the hotel, still unsure how he swung any of the details he did. The guys had way too much energy considering how many hours they spent cooped up on a plane. You were exhausted, the coffee practically gone from your system as you tried to convince Jake to just go back to the hotel room with you and spend the night in. “Please?” you beg him, draping yourself on his arm as he waited to get your room keys.

“But the guys want to explore the city,” he whines, jutting his lip out to you.

“I have no more coffee in me,” you whine back. He pouts at you, contemplating whether or not it’s worth it to try to convince you to stay in or go explore with the guys. “I will do anything you want.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling you close to him, “Anything?” he asks, forgetting the guys surrounding you as he kisses you, his grip around your waist tightening as his teammates start teasing the two of you.

“Hey, JD! Save that for the bedroom!” Matt chirps, your face turning bright red at his words.

“Ah, fuck off and let me love her,” he says, his forehead against yours. “I think I like the sound of the bedroom.”

You ignore the chirps from the boys as he kisses you again, the heat in your cheeks not subsiding until the two of you get to your room. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out with the guys? Apparently, the nightlife is supposed to be awesome in the city,” Jake says, flopping down on the bed. You had been there all of two seconds, and he was already starfished on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

You sigh, sitting down next to him. “I told you I don’t want to go out,” you repeat, a little more annoyed than you intended to sound. “I’m tired, and when we go out, we’re going to end up spending more money and-” you stop, cutting yourself off as Jake sits up.

“Hey,” he says, taking your hands in his, “I told you I would pay for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. To me it is. I don’t need you to keep paying for me for everything. I don’t want you to.”

“What’s the big deal?”

Were you really about to have the fight you and Matt talked about on the plane in your hotel room? “Don’t you get it? You have so much money while I’m constantly struggling to make ends meet because of fucking loans. Do you know what it’s like to be a grown adult and live off someone else's money, the constant looks from people when I talk about you that say they think I’m just dating you for your money? That unless you’re home and go grocery shopping for us, I have to choose between food and gas until you get back? All I am is a fucking burden.”

“What, you think I don’t know about all of that? Why do you think I pay for you? So you don’t have to worry about food and gas,” he says, getting up.

“And I hate that you do that!” you snap, “That you feel like you have to. It’s like a slap in the face that I can never pay for anything and you have to pay for everything.”

“So what do you want me to do? Stand by and watch you struggle when I have the means to help you?” The volume of his voice matched yours, hearing doors in the hallway opening and closing, praying that it wasn’t other guests trying to figure out what room the screaming match was coming from.

“I don’t mind if you help out once in a while when I really need it but it’s stuff like the second round of Dunkin’ when I could barely get the first, the meal on the airplane when they give out free ones, or when you keep asking to go out, knowing that we’re going to spend money after I told you no.” Jake rolls his eyes, pushing past you and out the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going out with the guys. You want something, you can get it yourself, see if I care,” he hisses, leaving you standing there with the door propped open by your foot, watching him walk away. Matt gets off the elevator when he tries to get on, saying something you can’t make out when the elevator door closes.

“What the hell happened?” Matt asks, looking between you and the elevator.

You shake your head, trying to hold back the tears that were forming, knowing that there were other people in the hallway that had just witnessed the end of whatever that was. “Remember the fight you said we would have? We just had it,” you tell him, flopping down on your bed with your hands over your face. You let out a long groan, feeling the weight of Matt’s body sink the corner of the mattress down. You knew he was giving you that sympathetic look that was going to make you more upset, feeding into your already upset nature just that much more.

“What happened?” Matt repeats.

“We just finally snapped. God, of all places to have a stupid fight like this, we have at the night before your teammate is supposed to get married. I mean, fuck, we’re in Barcelona, for god's sake and you and I are here watching me mope instead of exploring like we should be.”

“Well, who says we can’t?”

“My bank account.”

Matt pries your hands off your face, forcing you to sit up despite you clearly not wanting to. “There’s so much to do in Barcelona at night that doesn’t involve spending money. We can find the guys no problem, probably doing something free.”

“And how do you expect we do that?” you ask him as he tries to drag you off the bed, grabbing the room key on the way out the door.

Matt waves his phone in the air, a smug look on his face. “I have the location of everyone on the team, past and present, on Find My Friends.”

You hesitate for a minute, your wallet and bag sitting right there by the door for you to grab to go join your boyfriend and his teammates and try to enjoy the night despite the fight you just had. “Matt,” you try to protest, your eyes darting back and forth between him and your bag. You didn’t want to worry about Jake on the night out, but you knew you couldn’t be spending a lot of money. You had been out with the guys too many times before when Jake promised they wouldn’t be big spenders, only to go home and have to worry about how you were going to survive to the next paycheck.

“If you want anything then I’ll pay for it and you pay me back with food or something. Y/N, Jake is wandering Barcelona with Charlie right now, probably just as upset as you are,” he tries to reason with you. “There’s no point in sitting here alone in your hotel room when you’re in a city that you’ve been talking about visiting for as long as I’ve known you.”

You let out a groan, knowing that he was right. “I can’t stand you,” you mumble, grabbing your bag and heading out the door with him.

Matt had his phone pulled out, trying to navigate the city based on a little dot that showed your boyfriend’s location. You had no idea where you were going, and, to be honest, you weren’t sure that Matt had any idea either. You had never been in a situation where the two of you had to wander through unfamiliar territory before, but something told you it was going to be a while before he figured out how to get to the rest of the guys.

“Matt, this is useless. We’ve been walking around for over an hour already,” you tell him, sitting down on the bench that was just off the path you had been taking.

“It hasn’t been an hour, you’re being dramatic.”

Matt sits down next to you as you pull out your phone. “We left the room at 10 pm. It’s 11. That’s an hour,” you snap at him, clearly hating that you can’t find them. “I just want to see Jake,” you mutter.

“Have either of you calmed down enough to have an actual conversation with each other? You know, not a screaming match?” Matt asks you, watching the small dots that represented his teammates move around his phone screen. “If you want to try to figure out your way around here, when neither of us speaks the language to ask for directions, we can. If not, we go back to the hotel.”

You stare at his phone, seeing JD, CM, TF, two JS’s, and a DP altogether, somewhere off the road where neither of you were able to figure out how to get to them. You shake your head, thinking about Matt’s words: you weren’t sure you were cooled off enough to talk to Jake rationally, and you had a feeling he was still the same. “Let’s just find our way back to the hotel,” you tell him, getting up off the bench.

You look at Matt, the look of sympathy covering his face as he follows you back the way you came. You probably could have easily found Jake and the rest of the guys, working out whatever the hell you needed to before the wedding tomorrow. If you couldn’t work it out, what did that mean for your future, though? If you didn’t live with Jake, you would be struggling way more than you were now, probably living paycheck to paycheck without the luxury of everything Jake did for you.

Were you wrong to be mad that he was trying to help?

The two of you get back to the hotel, the empty lobby eerily echoing with your footsteps on the marble floor. You hadn’t even noticed it before, the hotel you were staying at was probably the nicest one you had ever set foot in. You were tempted to sit on one of the chairs in the lobby, wait there for Jake and the rest of the guys to come back despite the fact that they would probably be drunk off their asses when you saw them.

Matt puts his hand on your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to stay down here and wait?” he asks you, reading your mind, “Or, do you want to go back to either your room or mine?”

“I don’t want to impose,” you try to protest.

“So, you’d rather go back to an empty room and wallow alone instead of sitting on my bed, eating ice cream, and watching a movie,” he tempts you, raising his eyebrows with his offer.

“I don’t want ice cream.”

Matt scrunches his nose, letting out a laugh. “I never said the ice cream was for you. It’s summer, I can cheat on the nutrition plans a little more right now.”

He manages to pull a laugh from you, the two of you heading up to his room. You plopped yourself on his bed, your hands behind your head while you couldn’t take your mind off Jake. You really didn’t want him to be as miserable as you felt, but part of you also did want that. Was that bad?

You knew you had to set boundaries. You knew you couldn’t live without him, both financially and in life in general.

“You know,” Matt says, pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, “The guys are back here at the hotel. If you wanted to go back to your room, I’m sure you could talk to him now.”

You roll over, your back facing Matt. “I don’t think he would want to talk to me.”

Matt sighs, lying down next to you and staring up at the ceiling. “Like I told you in Boston, Jake loves you more than anything. If I know anything about him, he’s just as miserable as you are, probably back in your room panicking about where you are.”

You turn to him, narrowing your eyes. “This is your way of trying to get me out of here before the ice cream comes and you feel like you have to share with me, isn’t it?”

You both laugh, sitting up to get ready to go. “Oh, of course.”

You head out, opening the door, caught off guard by who was standing there. “Jake?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet. “I thought you would be here.” You nod, both of you standing there in an awkward silence as you held the door to Matt’s room open. You didn’t know if you should speak first or wait for Jake to do it, and apparently, he felt the same.

“As much as I love just staring at you two,” Matt breaks the silence. “Would you be able to do this with my door closed? You can be in here, but,” his voice trails off. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever it was you were about to talk about even though he already knew.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” you tell him, letting his room door close behind you as Jake took your hand in his, leading you down the hall to your room.

You don’t say anything until you get into your room, both of you sitting at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” he says, his hand still in yours but unable to look at you.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you repeat, for lack of better words to say. “We need boundaries. I get that you want to pay for things, but I need you to ask me before you do, especially if it’s something we don’t necessarily need.”

“Ok,” he draws out, trying to figure out how to frame his words. “Would you be ok with asking me for help when you need it? You know I can help you, and it kills me seeing you struggle when I have the means to make this stop.”

“I just want you to ask.”

He smiles at you, raising his hand to cup your face. “I will,” he says, his lips finding yours for a soft, sweet kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You spend the rest of the night together, trying to figure out boundaries of what and when Jake can lend you money, what should be paid back, what he doesn’t want back, everything. It was the conversation you should have had years ago, yet never did.

The next morning, you get ready for his teammate's wedding, slipping on the dress, your back towards Jake while he put on his suit. “Can you zip me up?” you ask him while he adjusted his sleeves.

He comes up behind you, his fingers holding the small zipper and slowly pulling it up your back. Jake wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in front of the mirror hung on the wall of the room, his head nestled on your shoulder. “I can’t wait until we get married.”

You laugh, craning your neck to kiss the side of his head. “That’ll be an expensive day, won’t it,” you joke.

“Yeah, maybe. But spending the rest of my life with the girl I love? That’s priceless.”

[cantgetoutofmyheda]

Omg can you write a one shot where Lexa is paid by her college peers to write love letters to their gfs/ppl they want to date. So Finn asks her to write for Clarke and it becomes a constant. Until one day clarke goes up to her and says I know its you

OKAY. So this has been sitting in my asks for like a year. There will be a few (but short-ish) parts to this. And before anyone asks, this is not based off of “The Half of It” ... but here ya go.

---

Letters

PART 1

It was Polis Record’s fault. Lexa’s atrocious week was definitely Polis Record’s fault. Had Titus not been a complete asshat of a manager and dicked the schedule around, Lexa certainly wouldn’t be having this predicament. Had Lexa’s hours not have been cut back, she wouldn’t be where she was. Had Lexa not known that her next paycheck would be half of what it normally was, she wouldn’t be writing a fake love letter to the devastatingly beautiful girl in her Astronomy class. Had Finn Collins not offered her cash to do so, she wouldn’t be writing this letter on his behalf, even though she was the one that’s had an earth-shattering crush on the recipient ever since their Freshmen orientation, four long years ago.

Let’s rewind.

“Titus, are you kidding me?” Lexa huffed at the bald-headed man who was scurrying around the break room like a headless chicken. “You did what?”

“Lexa, listen,” he tried to calm her down. “The schedule will be back to normal before you know it. I had to hire her. There wasn’t another way around it.”

She was mad. No. More than mad, “There was. But you just didn’t have the balls to tell your mistress’ best friend that you already had a full roster of people on your fucking schedule.”

“Can you keep it down!” He hissed. “This is temporary. I’m sorry. I couldn’t dock my cousin, okay? The schedule will even itself back out. You’ll be back to selling these shitty, scratched up vinyls in no time. Ride it out for two weeks, it won’t kill you.”

What he didn’t realize was that two weeks of half-pay because of shitty scheduling could actually kill her. He just didn’t realize that. There was the pressure of doing well in school, that was one thing. But there was also the pressure of doing well enough to keep her GPA high enough to keep her partial scholarship. And then the pressure of her shitty part-time job at the local record store to help make early payments to her student loans so she wouldn’t have to worry about crippling herself into debt once she figured out what to do with a fucking degree in Geology.

“Two weeks,” she warned him as she started to storm out. “This better be fixed in two weeks, Titus.”

Spoiler alert: Two weeks had come and gone, and Lexa was still screwed off of her work schedule.

“C’mon,” Finn pleaded at Lexa’s side. He had managed to weasel his way into the vestibule of Lexa’s apartment building. “I took that writing class with you last year. I know you’re good. I just need one letter. Typed. That’s it.”

She was already on the verge of a massive outburst after her conversation with Titus. The dickwad that he was, managed to screw her hours up for another week, even though he promised he wouldn’t, “This is not a good time, Finn. Seriously.”

“$200.” He stood tall in front of her. “$200 in cash right now, and all you need to do is type up a page of words that will have her vaguely interested in the person who wrote it, and that’s it. $200 right now. If you do this, then I’ll never bother you for anything again.” He scratched the back of his neck, “Listen, I just need a good way in. I can take the rest from there, okay?”

$200 was enough to cover a good portion of what she would be missing out on for the week. $200 was enough to get by. $200 was enough to get her mind to start churning.

“$300 and it’s a deal,” she tried to match his height. She straightened her back and broadened her shoulders as far as she could.

He laughed at the request, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“You’re the one that needs me,” she reminded me.

He let out a huff and pulled another Benjamin out of his leather wallet and clumped it with the other two. “Fine,” he shook his head as he handed her the wad of cash.

Lexa nodded as she took the money. She buried the pang of guilt she felt into her pocket, alongside the earnings she just made and was ready to make way up the two flights of stairs when she felt Finn grab her arm.

“Hey,” he called out. “Wait a sec. I started a letter already, but didn’t get very far. You can just go off of this,” he handed her a folded piece of paper.

She opened it and read it aloud, “Have you ever felt like you couldn’t breathe? Like the weight of everything you’ve been carrying has amounted to this one moment in your life? Like there’s this burden placed so heavy on your chest that has left your lungs struggling for any ounce of air?”

Finn nodded as the words poured out of Lexa’s mouth. He was more than proud of what he thought was eloquently poetic. Lexa’s look of confusion went missed by him as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Pretty good, right?”

“Finn,” she deadpanned. “It sounds like you just described having the fucking Spanish Flu. I’m not using this. You sound like a serial killer.”

“What?” he yelped. “It’s poetic!”

“It’s a terrifying beginning to what’s supposed to be a love letter,” she deadpanned again. She shook her head as she finally made her way to the flight of stairs, “Give me a few days, I’ll come up with what we need.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine. But you better make it good.”

She made it good. She made it really fucking good.

Clarke ran her fingertips over the paper as she scanned the words again. She had no idea who had left it for her—she walked into the lecture hall a few minutes early, as she normally did, and saw an envelope pinned to the corkboard with “Clarke” scribbled on it. She looked around, wanted to see if anyone in particular was looking in her direction. It was the usual suspects that always got to class a little bit early. Monty, the one who was always quiet in class but loudest at the neighborhood bar during happy hour. Echo, the girl who always sat in the back row and snoozed as soon as the professor opened her mouth. Finn, the boy who always found a way to have an uncalled for argument with the professor. Lexa, the one who was always in the front row and tended to herself.

Not a single one of them was paying her a piece of mind, so she let her eyes scan the letter one last time before the room filled up.

Clarke,

I was sitting on the lawn behind the library catching up on reading for a class last week. I was skimming through Voltaire’s words:

“Sensual pleasure passes and vanishes, but the friendship between us, the mutual confidence, the delight of the heart, the enchantment of the soul, these things do not perish and can never be destroyed.”

This particular passage struck a chord with me, and it was mostly because when I looked up after reading it, I immediately saw you consoling who I’d assume to be a friend of yours. I’m not sure what had happened, but she looked like she was crying and you showed up with a blanket to sit on, a bowl of fresh fruit, and sat with her and listened intently while she spoke. It was life imitating art, right before my eyes.

Voltaire’s writing is mostly straight and to the point. It isn’t hard to decipher the messages he often tries to relay, but it was most certainly a breath of fresh air to finish that passage to find a parallel to present day. Your actions on that lawn helped me see things a little clearer.

I suppose I just wanted to thank you for that. SO, thank you for being the catalyst for making something in my brain click.

Before I close this letter off, I do have a question for you. And if you feel so inclined to indulge and answer it, you can drop it back into the envelope where you found this one and pin it back to the board.

Has anything happened to you recently that struck a chord? Something that stood out to you, but you haven’t had a chance to dive deeper into it? I’d like to know.

Enjoy your week, Clarke.

Upon tucking the printed note under her laptop, she took another look around the hall, which was now practically full. She moved her computer to the side and pulled a notepad out of her bag. The professor had started her lecture, but Clarke’s mind wandered from the images pulled up on the projector from the Spritzer space telescope as her pen started to move across the page.

Hello,

I believe you’re at an unfair advantage here. You know my name. You know what I look like. Yet I have absolutely no idea who you are. So if you write back to this, I’m hoping you’ll share some insight on the person behind the pen (or keyboard, in your instance).

I’m happy that the interaction you saw helped bring better insight into what you were working on. Coincidentally, the friend that I was with when you saw me is also reading a Voltaire piece for an assignment. I wonder if you’re in the same class?

She’s taking “Romance Studies” as an elective. I tried to convince her that there was no point harping on what was considered to be “romantic” through archaic literary pieces that are now long gone, and replaced with mediocre-at-best Netflix series about teenage love.

It always seemed that with the way things were going in our lifetime… that all “romance” really was, was when two people swiped right on Tinder.

With that said… I guess I can honestly say that your letter is what struck a chord with me. Especially after freshly coming out of that conversation with my friend.

I don’t want to be presumptuous. But it seems that this gesture of yours, whether it was meant to be platonic, or if it was meant to imply a sense of something more, is making me realize that maybe—just maybe—the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic after all.

-Clarke

She was happy with the end result of what was hurriedly committed to the page. Clarke quickly tore it from her notebook and tucked the loose piece of paper back into the envelope. She scanned her fellow students to see if anyone was watching her. She slunk further into her seat and wondered if the recipient was there, sitting in that very room. Unfortunately for her, the lecture that was being given on the Nebular Theory kept the attention of every other person in the hall, so she quickly reached for her computer to start typing notes on the theory’s premise of how every planet in the system was formed.

A tedious hour later, her fellow classmates started packing up and rushed towards the exit door. Clarke took her time shutting her computer down and tucking things away into her bag. She was suddenly aware that the person who wrote to her—the person she now wrote to—could be in the room watching her to see if she had a written response back.

She waited a few more minutes, and finally deemed it safe when the last few people in the room seemed to be chatting with one another or finishing up straightening their notes from the lecture. With a big exhale, she pinned the envelope back onto the board and made a swift exit.

Lexa felt a tap to her shoulder, which caused her to look up, “What do you want?”

“I think it worked. She put the envelope back!” the excitement in Finn’s face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay,” Lexa lowered her head to finish writing out her notes from the class. “Job’s done.”

“I’m gonna go get it so we can read it and figure out what to do next,” he giddily let out before darting out of Lexa’s peripheral.

She let out a sigh of distaste when he came back half a minute later and pulled a chair close to where she was sitting. “Finn, you said one letter. I did it. This is on you now. And if you don’t mind, I need to finish up here,” she raised her hand, showing she was still trying to get some of her notes done.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he propped his feet onto the table in front of them while he silently read Clarke’s reply. “Hmm, Voltaire?”

The author’s name caught Lexa’s attention. She suddenly looked up to where he was sitting, “What about him?”

“I don’t know. Clarke said something about him. That’s the bad dude from Harry Potter, right?” Finn brought his attention back to the letter. “What did our letter even say? You never even showed me.”

He handed Lexa the notebook page with loopy and wide writing on it. The edges were jagged, as if Clarke did the whole thing in haste.

“What do you want me to do with that?” Lexa eyed the piece of paper.

“Read it and let me know if you think she likes me,” Finn shrugged. “But also, why didn’t you put my number or something on it?”

“Because it’ll probably take more than one letter for her to even be open to the idea of you,” Lexa chided in her reply. She let her eyes quickly scan the girlish handwriting and folded the paper back up. “She’s definitely intrigued.”

Finn finally set his feet on the floor as he leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, “Okay, great! So what do we do now?”

“We,” Lexa pointed her pen between the two of them. “Do nothing. You can write another letter and see if she wants anything to do with you, Finn.”

“C’mon,” he nudged her shoulder. “I’ll pay ya for another one. Another $300. But we need an exit plan for when we move this from letters to texting or something.”

“Her reply literally just said that we’ve opened the idea to her that letters are romantic,” Lexa shook her head. “Your take on that was to immediately turn this to a texting conversation?”

He grabbed the letter from Lexa, “What? Where’d she said that? It doesn’t say that, Lexa.” He scratched his head.

Lexa let out a defeated sigh, “Finn. She literally said something like, ‘maybe the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic’ or something. Did we not just read the same piece of paper?”

“See, Lexa,” he smiled as he patted her shoulder. “This is why I need you. Just one or two more. Same price per letter. I just need a little more help and then I’ll be outta your hair. Promise.”

She took her palm to her forehead and rubbed her thumb into her temple. One more wouldn’t hurt. Mostly because the $300 definitely wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine,” she finally let out. “One more. Give me her letter back. I’ll have our reply ready for this same class next week.”

“Excellent,” he grinned as he handed the piece of paper over to her. “You’re a lifesaver, Lexa.”

She felt anything but that. But at least it meant she’d be able to get by for the next week or two, while Titus still screwed around with her hours at the record store.

[embarrassingsmartphonegame]

Moving In - Nik Ryder x f!MC

Summary: “You know, most people exchange phone numbers before they move in with together.” “Most people also haven’t been brought together by fighting a murderous bag of bones. Also you already have it...” “Wait what?!” Leah moves in with Nik officially after Chapter 5 of Anything. It goes exactly as expected.

All the links for Anything: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 (final chapter) | Scared To Live (interlude from Nik’s POV)

Warnings: two people who bicker almost as much as they love each other, some swear words, kissing, mention of trauma and alcohol, overall pretty light-hearted

“How-” Push. “Much-” Push. “Clothing-” Push. “Do you own?!”

Nik liked to think of himself as physically strong (and he would say he had the abs to prove it). But just how can one box of clothes be so heavy? He was huffing and puffing the entire walk from the moving truck and into the Graveyard Shift, especially when they had to go up a flight of stairs to get to his--no, their apartment.

“I own a normal amount of clothes. Maybe you just need to work out more,” Leah teased as she put down her own box effortlessly on the floor of the living room, stopping to stretch her arms over her head. She had to admit her Fae power of super strength came in handy sometimes and she was thankful that she was now able to summon it even when it wasn’t an emergency.

He snorted. “Chasing monsters keeps me plenty fit, thank you very much. But you sure do own a lot of clothes for someone who loses them like you do.”

Her cheeks burned at the memory of their reunion. “I had to prove it was me!”

“That was really your first instinct?!”

“You complaining about that?”

Nik chuckled and pulled her by the waist, nuzzling her neck. “You know I would never, darlin’.”

Leah rolled her eyes and pecked him on the lips. “I come back and agree to be with you and since then it’s been ‘rook’ or ‘babe’ or ‘sugar’ and now ‘darlin’’. Is that why you’re called Nik...because you’re a...nickname type of guy?”

“Shit, rook; was just tryin’ to be romantic here,” Nik groaned as she laughed a little too hard at her own joke. Any exasperation instantly dissipated once he heard her laugh; he missed it the past three months. She kissed him again, enjoying every moment.

“I know. I just love teasing you.”

“Lil’ shit.”

“Ah, another one, Mr. Nic--hey!” Leah shouted out as Nik suddenly wrapped her up in a bear hug, swinging her around. Her shouts soon turned into laughter, and soon the small apartment was filled with the sound of both of them laughing. 

Nik finally put her down on the counter with his hands still on her hips. She rested her forehead against his, still in slight disbelief that she was moving in with him. It was only one week before that she crash landed back into his life, and after they talked things out and survived yet another attempt on their lives (he owed her his life...again), she decided to move to New Orleans for good. 

The thought of it as their apartment still felt weird to them both; but it was his idea for her to move in with him. Nik remembered giving some half-assed excuse about them being both business and personal partners so it only made sense financially...he ignored that dark voice in his head irrationally sneering at him that if he took his eyes off her for even one second she would disappear again. Leah agreed with his staunch assessment, if only to curb the fear that this was all another weird (but wonderful) dream and she was actually alone in Wyoming. She frowned at the thought of her old life. Nik noticed the pensive look on her face.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The corner of her right lip quirked upwards without amusement as she shrugged. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to move in? After I’ve been probably the biggest pain in the ass since we met a few months ago?”

“First of all, it was my idea for you to move in; no offense but we’re technically unemployed until a client hires us and I’m in a better position from whoever hired me to protect you,” Nik answered, actually hoping that his honesty wasn’t too offensive. “And second, you’re a pain in the ass...but you’re my pain in the ass and you had your reasons for everything. I love you just the same, okay? So no saying you can’t live here unless you really don’t wanna.”

“I do have student loans to pay off...” Leah grinned. “Gotta love your definition of romance, babe. This pain in the ass loves you too!”

Satisfied and sneaking in one last kiss, the woman jumped off the counter. She tied her hair and rolled her sleeves up. “Now let’s get unpacking!”

.

After a few hours of them unpacking Leah’s things, bickering, and randomly making out (“We’re never gonna get anything done like this, rook!”), the two Nighthunters stood in their now shared bedroom, about to finish up. Nik took out the last piece of clothing: a very familiar velvet, royal purple dress with a gold body chain to go with it. He held it up to her, brow quirked mischievously.

“Any chance I could see you in this again?”

Leah collapsed the last box and put it in the pile with all the others. Her eyes moved to the dress that cost more than half her wardrobe. “Still can’t believe you picked that one out. If we sneak into Persephone again, maybe...”

“How about on a date? A real one.”

“You asking me out, Ryder?”

“What’s it look like, Mendoza?”

She couldn’t help the silly grin on her face, as if she was suddenly a teenage girl talking to her crush for the first time. “I accept. Would this be technically our first date? Because I don’t know whether to count us running from the Bloodwraith...”

“Yes, a real date, rook. But no promises that monsters won’t try to attack us or anything, sorry,” Nik responded, hanging the dress up in their shared closet space. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She smiled brightly and took a seat on the bed. “We’re really doing this backwards, huh? You know, most people exchange phone numbers before they move in together.”

“Most people also haven’t been brought together by fighting a murderous bag of bones.” Nik turned to her and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “Also you already have it...”

“Wait what?!”

Nik took a deep breath before speaking again. “First, I wanna say I’m so sorry for this; I shouldn’t have contacted you when it was clear you didn’t wanna talk to me. Katherine offered me your number one night after I asked about you and I wanted to be selfish and take it.”

“So...you called me while I was gone?” Leah asked, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. “But I don’t remember you calling...I mean I had dreams you did a few times, but those weren’t real.”

“Well, one of them wasn’t a dream,” Nik went on. “It was nighttime and you picked up the phone slurrin’ drunk. I remember asking if you were safe, and you said you were home.”

Leah’s cheeks burned and she put her head in her hands. “Oh my God...I really don’t remember anything from that conversation. This is so embarrassing! You must’ve thought I was such an idiot!”

“No, you have nothing to be ashamed of, rook.” Nik cautiously sidled up beside her, resting a hand on the small of her back. “I’m so sorry I didn’t respect your wishes. I’m the wrong one here.”

Leah didn’t pull away, but she also couldn’t look at him. She tried to remember anything from the past three months that didn’t involve alcohol; she could count them all on one hand. “I...I really had a problem. I have a problem. I know that moving and being in a relationship won’t fix everything, but it’s hitting me that I need real help.”

“And I’m with you every step of the way.” He pulled her into a hug, letting her rest her face into his shoulder. “I meant it when I said that I’m with you...”

“To the bitter end,” Leah finished, her voice breaking at the last word. Nik tightened his hold on her, an aching in his chest as he remembered that he once kept that promise; but he never anticipated it to be her bitter end. He closed his eyes and relished in the warmth of her body against his, blocking out the memory of her cold, pale skin and still heart. Eventually he loosened his hold and tilted her chin up to look into her eyes.

“All the ragged parts of me...stitched back together when I’m with you,” he murmured only for her to hear. “I only want the same for you.”

Leah pulled him in for a warm, tender kiss. When they pulled away, a serene smile graced her features; Nik could swear there was something magical about her smile. 

“I love you, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings us,” she said, her voice strong and hopeful. Leah could feel her sunny disposition returning day by day, and it showed.

“I love you too, rook.” Nik pulled her to lie down beside him, their fingers intertwined. “What do you wanna do tonight? No jobs. We can go out or stay in, and I promise no snake tequila for either of us.”

Leah snorted and sprang up. “I say we stay in tonight in our apartment. Takeout?”

“You read my mind.”

“And there’s a reality show I’ve been meaning to catch up on...” Leah was already making her way to the living room while Nik followed. She babbled on about how it was a show where an American and a foreigner have to get married within 90 days for a special visa and that itself is, of course, where the drama begins and this season was especially dramatic and blah, blah, blah. Nik snorted at how invested she was in the show while they looked at food places. 

The two Nighthunters spent the entire night snuggled up on their couch, talking and eating and canoodling. Leah sighed in satisfaction as sleep eventually took over them, her head resting on Nik’s chest. She finally felt like her life was going somewhere, and all that mattered was that they were in it together.

================================================

A/N: I hope you like yet another fic of me refusing to let these two go onto the next installment just yet! Okay in reality I’ve been writing the first chapter of that and am almost done but med school got weird and my mental health took a dive and COVID-19 happened and blah, blah, blah. Bonus points if you know exactly what reality show Leah is talking about! Any and all comments are greatly appreciated, and I hope you’re all staying safe and healthy 💗

Permanent tag list: @furiouscloddonutpeanut​ @inlovewithrebels​ @mistressofspiesxenia​

Nightbound tag list: @saivilo​ 

Anything tag list: @samara-rani​ @god-save-the-keen​ @xxdangerouscapri15xx 

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight 1/8 (Branjie)--athena2

Summary: 

Con artist Vanessa Mateo has just been released from prison, and she’s planning one last heist to erase her debts and start a new life for herself.

But for this to succeed, she needs the help of the very person who ratted her out to the cops: her ex-girlfriend, Brooke Lynn Hytes.

(An Ocean’s Eight AU).

A/N: I’ve been planning this for a while, and I’m excited to start posting! You also don’t need to see the movie to read this. It follows the main points of the movie, but I did make some changes here and there. Thank you so, so much to Writ, for letting me throw this idea and all my plans for it at you, for always supporting this, and for beta-ing! I’ve never done a full-length movie adaptation like this before, so I would really appreciate any feedback you have!

—

The first thing Vanessa does when she gets out of prison is get a slice of pizza.

Standing on the sidewalk in the black shirt she’d been wearing six months ago, too thin now for the late-winter chill, Vanessa gratefully burns her mouth on the cheese and lets grease drip down her wrist. She never thought she’d miss grease so much. She gets another slice and eats it in a few bites, crunching on the crust as loud as she can, breathing in the oregano and oil like it’s oxygen as winter sun warms her shoulders.

She’s home. She’s free.

There’s enough money in the box of her just-returned things for a cab to her mother’s, where she’ll have to live now that going back to her old–their old–apartment isn’t an option. There’s a heart necklace in there too, but Vanessa doesn’t want to think about that. She shoves it in her pocket to sell later, because she might as well get some money out of the betrayal.

She knocks on the apartment door with still-greasy fingers, and the sight of her mother’s face, so much brighter without the Plexiglass barrier in between them, has her instantly sobbing in her mother’s arms. Vanessa hasn’t been able to touch her for six months, and finds her fingers moving down her mother’s skin, the same caramel color of her own, starting to wrinkle from stress more than age. Vanessa is hit with a surge of guilt that most of the stress is probably from her.

“I’ve missed you, Vanjie.” It’s her mother’s old nickname for her, and Vanessa breaks down further. It gives her some glimmer of hope that everything will be okay, despite the medical bills she knows are lying around somewhere. Those thin pieces of paper have been following them for a year now, weighing down on their shoulders like a ton of bricks.

“I’ve missed you too.”

It’s nice to just be Vanessa for a few minutes, to be her mother’s daughter, the girl who had Rihanna posters on her walls and acted out soap-opera storylines with her dolls and ran around the apartment dodging bedtime.

She lets her mother kiss her until her face is more sticky lip gloss than skin. A loud yipping sound rings out, and something furry launches itself at her legs. Vanessa steps back and scoops up her dog, Riley, his tongue slobbering all over her and tail wagging fast enough to take flight.

She’s home again. She’s normal again. Maybe she’s not returning home to anything exciting, but everything smells like the perfume her mom wears, and the couch cushions are broken in just right, and the walls are still a soothing cream color. It always felt like time stood still here when she was a kid, everything always the same, but now she appreciates the stability, the sense that nothing has changed even if she’s been missing from this world for six months.

Her mother heads to the store so they can have Vanessa’s favorite foods for dinner. Vanessa wants to go, wants to do something as normal as grocery shopping, but she walks outside and gasps, heart hammering.

She can’t do this. Everything seems too big after such a small cell. The massive gray-blue sky is large enough to swallow her up, the buildings like giants looming over her, the street as wide as the ocean. She resigns herself to the soft pink walls of her childhood bedroom. She resented this room as a child for being the size of a shoe-box, wanting the massive rooms kids always had on TV. She has never been more grateful for it than now, secure in its narrow walls. It’s like she can breathe again.

The room is incomplete, missing most of her clothes, her makeup stuff, the fluffy bathroom that usually hangs in her closet, the old silver jewelry box that was her mother’s. Those things were all in their apartment, the apartment Silky and A’keria were supposed to go to and get the stuff for her, because Vanessa knew as soon she was hauled into the cop car that she wasn’t going back to that apartment again.

She doesn’t want to do what she’s about to do, but she has to.

She plugs in her long-dead cell phone and calls Silky and A’keria, who barge through her apartment door 10 minutes later and sweep her into a suffocating group hug. Vanessa’s not surprised to see A’keria wiping her eyes after, and her body burns with love for her two best friends.

“You meet any hot lesbians like on Orange is the New Black?” Silky asks eagerly, and it’s just the thing to break the awkwardness of not knowing what to say, of the realization that Vanessa missed months of dinners and movies, that everyone’s lives moved on while hers was trapped in a cell.

“Not one,” Vanessa says around a laugh. “But this one guard was totally into me. I coulda won her over, I bet. Had a little reunion on the beach, Shawshank Redemption-style.”

“You got game even in prison,” A’keria says, smiling, and Vanessa is just grateful no one’s mentioning the person that landed her in prison.

“I miss anything good?” Vanessa asks.

“A’keria broke up with her bum-ass boyfriend,” Silky reports.

“Even threw his clothes out the window,” A’keria says.

“Damn.” Vanessa sighs.

“You didn’t miss much else, though. Oh, and I got your stuff at my place.” A’keria reassures her.

“Thanks.”

“It’s good to have you back, Vanj.” Her warm hand settles over Vanessa’s shoulder, and she’s not going to cry, she’s not–

“How’s it feel to be free again?” Silky asks.

“Good.” It’s all Vanessa can really manage, the fact that she can wake up and eat and even pee whenever she wants now something she’s still struggling to grasp. It only makes what she’s about to say even harder.

“I have something planned,” Vanessa begins, bracing herself for the reaction.

“Are you out your damn mind?” A’keria yells. “You’re on parole!”

“Say it louder, those people down the street missed it,” Vanessa bites out.

“Look, Van–” Silky says.

“No,” Vanessa cuts her off. “I need to do this. I spent six months on this. I know who the mark is gonna be, I know the people I need to scout and get involved, and I know this can work.” This plan is the only thing that got her through the past six months, working out the details and practicing the exact words needed to build her team while she choked down food that tasted like Styrofoam and wrecked her back on a sorry excuse for a bed. She needs to do this, because otherwise the past six months have really been a waste.

Vanessa plows on, laying down the words she knows will get them. “It’s even bigger than the last one. Money I need. Money you need. Enough to set us all for life.”

Silky crosses her arms and stays silent. It’s no secret Silky is constantly in danger of losing her teaching job with all the budget cuts the school faces. She’d taken up street scams and pickpocketing–skills she taught Vanessa–to pay off her student loans and buy supplies and snacks for her classroom, which have to come out of her own (or some unsuspecting person’s) pocket.

A’keria lowers the index finger she was about to wag in Vanessa’s face like some old schoolteacher, no doubt thinking of her home jewelry business that never took off, the dead-end jewelry store job that keeps her home with her overbearing mother and asshole stepfather. With the money Vanessa’s talking, A’keria can buy her own damn island.

“We’re listening,” Silky says finally.

Vanessa fights her grin as she runs through the basics, alive with the familiar buzz of laying down a plan, watching it come to life from her mind. She doesn’t mention the full price tag but tells them both all their financial problems will be solved in one night.

By the time she’s done, they’re both onboard, and the fun begins.

—

Vanessa has to take deep breaths, her nails digging into A’keria’s arm as they walk down the sidewalk to get her next member in.

“You good, V?” A’keria asks gently.

Vanessa just nods, because this breathless fear of being outside when it was all she dreamed of for six months isn’t something she expected, or knows how to deal with. All she can do is keep breathing, keep moving, keep focusing on her plan.

She’s chosen all the players carefully, people she knows herself or knows through others. They’re not all scammers, just people with enough to lose, who can be easily persuaded into her plan and can be trusted to carry out their end of the plan.

The storefront is outlined in red, flowy dresses in reds and pinks and golds filling the window, some brightness on this dreary street. A bell chimes as they open the door, welcoming them to Red Hot by Scarlet Envy.

Scarlet is perched behind the counter, twirling her bright red hair. Vanessa’s only met her once at a party, but she hasn’t changed, still happy with her up-and-coming celebrity design label despite the debt and shady loans she buried herself in to make it happen.

After a hug from Scarlet, Vanessa begins just as she planned. “How would you like to dress Plastique Tiara for the Met Ball?”

Scarlet’s eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to! But she’s Plastique, and I’m, well…” she gestures to her small store with its water-damaged ceiling.

Vanessa smiles. “I can make it happen. I just need one small favor. One small favor for me, and you dress Plastique Tiara, you get a bigger store, and”–Vanessa lowers her voice– “all the money troubles you got yourself in are gone.”

Scarlet blinks, mouth falling open, not even bothering to deny Vanessa’s information.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Yvie takes mere seconds, despite being the only person Vanessa has no dirt on to coerce into it. She’s an old friend of Silky’s who does stuff with computers, so far beyond Vanessa’s basic social media stalking skills that she doesn’t even try to understand it. They meet at some internet cafe and Vanessa is only one sip into the overpriced coffee she missed so much when Yvie agrees, saying she’d love to stick it to the man and asking if there’ll be snacks at the meeting tomorrow. Vanessa makes a mental note to buy chips.

Nina is a little harder to convince. She has a nice house in the suburbs, working over-the-phone scams and hijacking deliveries from transport trucks–blenders, coffeemakers, designer suitcases, bikes, air hockey tables–that she keeps or sells for profit.

Aside from the scamming, she’s goodness personified, the last person you’d suspect of anything, perfect for what Vanessa needs from her.

“Well,” Nina says, “I could use a little excitement.”

Vanessa puts a check mark next to her name.

—

Vanessa scrapes her plate clean at dinner, her mother’s cooking the last thing that truly makes her at home, comforting and cozy like a warm blanket. The joy continues as she slides into bed, on a real mattress, ready to fall asleep with the hope of the freedom she’s getting herself, until she remembers the last name on her list. She doesn’t want to call this person. She can’t call this person, and instead she calls A’keria to see if there’s a way around it.

“Tell me the truth,” Vanessa begins. “Do I need to call her?”

“Who? You mean Br–”

“Don’t say her name to me,” Vanessa snaps.

“I know things didn’t end well with you two–”

“She ratted me out to the cops! I went to prison because of her!” The anger burns through her, fresh on the thought that she went to prison by not just anyone, but by someone she had slept with and kissed and even loved. Six months of itchy clothes and a freezing cell, of having to see her own mother through a screen, of feeling absolutely worthless, of missing family dinners and not seeing her friends, all because that bitch couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Hey,” A’keria says calmly. “I know that. I know. But you have to call her, Vanj. She’s your right-hand woman. We can’t pull this off without her. You know we can’t.”

A’keria is right, which only makes things worse. Vanessa needs to call her. No one can keep things organized like her, stick exactly to the schedule like a human clock. Vanessa can pretend all she wants that this plan will work as it stands, but she knows in her heart she needs to make that one last phone call.

—

Vanessa strides to the counter confidently, trying not to act like the coats in her arms are worth a whole month’s rent. Being calm is the key, like she buys coats with three zeros in the price tag all the time.

“Hello.” She keeps her voice soft and polite as she approaches the counter.

“Hi,” the cashier says. She’s around twenty and Vanessa has been watching for a few days to make sure she gets this specific cashier. One who’s new, but not new enough to need a manager.

“I’d like to return these.” Vanessa plunks the coats on the counter, rehearsing her answer for the next inevitable question.

“Do you have your receipt?”

“I don’t, but I never wore them. They still have the tags and everything.” She even grabs one and shows it to the cashier, who smiles sympathetically, having no idea Vanessa just grabbed it off the rack a few minutes ago.

“We really need a receipt to return them. Do you have an account with us? Or the credit card you bought them with?”

Now is the time. Vanessa has seen enough middle-aged white ladies with expired coupons in her own retail days to get this next part right. She purses her lips and straightens her posture. “I’ve been shopping here for years, this is ridiculous! I just bought these.” Just a touch of anger, not enough to attract attention.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. If you’d like to speak with customer service—“

Vanessa loosens her shoulders, putting a smile back on. “You know what, I’ll just keep them. Could I trouble you for a bag?”

Vanessa walks away from the counter with her coats neatly folded inside the bag, heart racing and giddy with joy. She did it. She can sell two and start working on her father’s medical bills, and maybe give the third to her mother; her worn coat can’t offer much warmth in this November chill. She’s so lost in her excitement that she doesn’t notice where she’s going and walks right into a wall.

“Shit.” She takes a step back. A very tall, very blonde, very green-eyed wall. “Oh, sorry, I…” she forgets every word in the English language, forgets even her own name, at the blonde’s shy smile.

“You were good. Really good,” the blonde says, and something in her reluctant tone suggests she doesn’t give compliments often, that this praise truly means something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vanessa tries to stay cool, even as the blonde’s flashing green eyes set her whole body on fire. She had only prepared for getting caught at the register, not by strange blonde women.

“A cashier who wouldn’t need a manager. Waiting towards the end of a shift, when no one gives a shit anymore,” the blonde continues. “Even the coats. Expensive, but not enough to have security tags on them.”

She’s caught. Caught on her first real con, aside from the street scams she’s done. Vanessa swallows hard, considering her chances of outrunning the blonde’s mile-long legs in their slim red pants. Damn, Vanessa really needs to stop staring at those legs if this lady is about to bust her…

“Hey, I’m not gonna rat you out,” the blonde says, like she’s reading her mind. “I’m just saying you’re good, and if you ever want a partner…” She pulls a piece of paper from her glittery silver blazer and scribbles something down.

Vanessa reads a phone number in tiny, neat handwriting.

“I’ll consider it,” Vanessa says, though she’ll probably have to sit on her hands to keep herself from calling the second she gets home.

The blonde smiles. “I’m Brooke.”

“Vanessa.”

—

Vanessa holds out as long as she can, until it’s nearing 1am, moonlight arcing through her window. It’s almost like she’s purposely sabotaging herself, waiting and waiting to lower the chance that someone will answer.

Her thumb hovers over the phone. The contact name is still in there as it was before prison, with a bright red heart emoji after it. Vanessa remembers deliberating over putting it there, finally deciding it was okay after their second date.

Aside from her mother’s cell and the really good Thai place down the street from her old apartment, it’s the only phone number she has memorized. She could probably dial it in her sleep. She used to double- and triple-text that number, sending pictures of dogs she saw on the street, selfies in bed with the comforter revealing just enough skin, rants about how slow everyone in front of her was walking, goofy pictures of herself trying on enormous sunglasses bigger than her head.

And the replies used to come just as fast, Vanessa’s heart leaping with each one, her fingers flying to the phone to see what texts she’d gotten back.

She presses the call button, breath caught in her throat, half hoping there won’t be an answer and half-hoping there will be.

All she gets is a robotic monotone telling her this number is no longer in service, and Vanessa releases her air, unsure if she’s relieved or not. She really doesn’t want to hear that voice, but she’s going to need to if she wants this to work. Should she try to Google her? Or maybe…

The burner phone.

They had both discussed business through those old Nokias. The odds that she still has hers, and still has the thing on, are slim to none. But Vanessa thinks of how hard it will be to find a job now, how hard it will be to start over after prison. She thinks of her mother working too hard in her hospital shifts, the medical bills still unpaid. She thinks of all the people she had promised this would be a success, all the debts that would be repaid, all the freedoms won. She has to try.

Her fingers move without thought over the phone, like just another day, and she almost drops the phone when it rings. The rings trill in her ear for what feels like hours, her heart racing. She’s about to hang up when the line clicks.

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other line. Vanessa remembers those gasps of air, had pulled them out of soft lips as her hands tangled in that blonde hair…

“Who is this?”

The nerve. Vanessa’s fist clenches in anger. If it wasn’t a Nokia, she probably would’ve bent her phone in half. The nerve for that voice to be so soft and hesitant, when it had caused her half a year behind bars. The nerve of asking who it is when she knows damn well it can’t be anyone else.

“You know who this is, Brooke. We need to talk.”

[loveisbraveandwild]

hi so i’ve gotten a lot of messages and asks/anons about attending the city of lover concert and i just want to tell my experience and explain how it happened, as well as address some things like my “views” on international fans and class. a lot of people are excited for me but i also came back tot some really really really hateful anons so i just wanted to clear everything up. the post is very long but it basically talks about being abroad, going to sessions, and then this weekend in paris.

as you may or may not know i’m currently doing a semester abroad in germany. i’m really fortunate to go to a university in the states that has a strong study abroad program allowing me to study in germany without paying an additional cost from what i already pay my uni. knowing i was going abroad, i saved as much money as possible because i knew i wanted to travel. because of my visa, i am not allowed to work in germany. i haven’t not had a job since middle school. as a full time student in the states i also work three jobs. during the summer i was working around 50-70 hours a week. i’m privileged and fortunate enough to be able to take out a lot of student loans and what i can’t take out, my parents pay. aside from my education, i fully pay for everything. traveling while abroad was a priority for me so i was able to save a good bit a money.

in addition to saving for abroad i was pocketing about $10/week for what at the time i knew to be the ts7 tour. when i got my call to go to rhode island and then nashville i spent every dollar i had for tour on a plane and airbnb in nashville. other people stayed in hotels, i stayed in a $34/night airbnb and while i always imagined my dad would be there when i met taylor, he couldn’t come. i was lucky that many of my friends who i met up with in nashville had parents generous enough to pay for multiple meals of mine. despite all of this, i recognize my privilege of being able to go to sessions. i was saving for things that definitely aren’t necessities because i have the means to between my babysitting, sales associate, and paid internship jobs. while i havent spoken about it much because i honestly don’t know how to talk about it without getting backlash, i want to make it very clear that i do not for a second take for granted the fact that i was able to fly to nashville with 8 days notice as a result of the class and financial situation i am currently in. 

going back to abroad, i knew i was going to paris. i didn’t know when but its been a dream of mine since i started learning french at age 11. i imagined a short weekend with a few abroad friends to site see. when taylor announced the city of lover concert, i reached out to a couple of my international fan mutuals with the hopes of being able to meet up with them. i knew this concert was for international fans and i never for one second considered taking an opportunity away from an international fan. when yas and i discussed going to paris together it was clear that had she won tickets, she was going to go with someone else despite us staying together because we know there are people who have never seen taylor because of where they live. my plan was to go to the venue and meet up with friends and maybe catch a glimpse of scott or tree if we were lucky. i got a round trip flight for 97 euros and stayed in a hostel and explored paris alone for a few days until yas came to paris. my program doesn’t allow friday classes so i left thursday evening and then flew back to germany at 4am this morning because i had class at 9am. i did skip class on monday though, something i am eternally grateful for being able to do. 

the day of the concert we arrived around 3 and met up with the handful of people we knew were going. the day of the concert i learned that doors opened at 6:00pm and the concert started at 8:30pm. i didn’t know this until i was in paris. i also got pickpocketed the day before the concert so wasn’t able to access social media with the exception of a few times because of yas’s generosity and willingness to let me use her phone. had i had full access to my phone, i would have posted when and where the concert was.

when we arrived there was a barricade section of people without tickets but with the hopes of going in. there were about two dozen of them and almost all, if not all of them were european swifties. we found it odd that they were holding these people considering staff said multiple times that there were no more tickets. however, yas and i were still planning to leave at around 6:15/6:30 after everyone was let into the concert. at around 5:45 we were still there, people were getting excited, and i said to yas “i want to get into the barricade. what’s the worst that can happen.” after they let the first group of people into the concert venue they opened the barricade and gave us all bracelets. i was about fifth from last to get my bracelet and they still had what looked to be 20 or so more bracelets to give out. i was shocked. i was crying, shaking, smiling, all the good things. i could not believe what was happened. i never went to the venue with the intentions of getting in even for a second but i knew that if i got into the barricade with literally fifteen minutes until the doors opened i wouldn’t be taking a spot from anyone if they did distribute tickets. there’s no way anyone could have predicted they would let us in because staff made if very clear both day of and days leading up to the event that all the tickets were won or bought. me being there did not take a spot away from anyone. if i hadn’t gone in that would have been one less person at the concert, not one more spot for an international fan. i recognize my privilege of being able to go to paris at all, let alone with someone i had never met before for an event i wasnt even going to. 

i spoke a lot about the concert leading up to it, in addition to the experiences i’ve had since being abroad the last few weeks. i had no idea what its like to be an international fan and im frustrated that it took me walking a mile in international fans shoes to actually speak about it. i should have said something sooner, and i know that. i still stand by every single thing i said or reblogged about the injustices of being an international fan. again, my experience at the concert was not in spite of international fans. i want to continue to be an ally for international fans if welcomed to, but many of the anons i got suggested i should never talk about it again. additionally, i got a lot of asks about my privilege. this is something i know i need to address more directly and its honestly one of the hardest issues for me to talk about. the school i go to and the people i am surrounded by often puts me on the lower class side but in the real world and in this fandom i know i am extremely privileged. im not well educated on how to talk about my class privilege but its something i very much want to learn and so i am actively trying. this fandom has already taught me so much.

i’m sorry this is so long but i needed to get my story out because i’m still very distraught by the dozens of hateful asks i got about the concert. this was easily the second best weekend of my life and i boarded my plane back to germany shaking over the anons i knew i would come back to. i understand all the anger and frustration because i know there are people who have been here for years without even a notice let alone the opportunities i’ve gotten over the past month and a half. i want to talk about it but only in a constructive manner. i still dont have my phone to replies will be delayed but please feel free to comment, send me asks/anons, or messages if you took the time to read this post. 

[revwinchester]

The Full Vegas Experience

Summary: Sam and Gabriel take their first vacation as a couple!  They go to Las Vegas to celebrate Sam’s graduating Law School and end up doing something unexpected.

Written for @spnaubingo; Square filled accidentally married

Pairing: Sabriel

Word Count: 2445

Rating: Teen

Warnings: LOTS of drinking, implied sexy times, maybe a curse word or two

A/N: This is another bingo square!  And it’s also an entry to this month’s @gabriel-monthly-challenge for the dialogue prompt (”Would you believe me if I said it was an accident”)!  Boom!  If you read the bingo square, the “twist” is already ruined, but whatevs.  You should read it anyway!  And if you get to the bit in the limo and think “man, this part would be SO MUCH BETTER if there was some smut...” head on over and follow my smut blog @impalasutra because I had this really great idea for kink bingo while I was writing that scene.

The Full Vegas Experience - 

“Dude, what are you worried about?  It’s their first vacation together, it’s not like they’re getting married or anything,” Dean laughed, clapping a hand down on Castiel’s shoulder.  They had just dropped their brothers off at the airport for their first real vacation as a couple and Dean was cruising down the highway back towards Castiel’s apartment.

Cas sighed, looking over at the man behind the wheel.  “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Dean.  They’re going to Las Vegas.  Do you know how many wedding chapels are in Las Vegas?”

Dean let out a sound that could only be described as a guffaw.  “Cas, your brother might try something like that but Sammy’s not like that.  They’ve only been dating for 8 months; he’d never go for it.  I’d bet good money against them even coming back engaged.”

“Sam does seem rather responsible,” Castiel agreed but Dean could tell he wasn’t convinced.  Despite having only met the man at Sam’s graduation ceremony two days prior, Dean felt like he could read him pretty well.

Dean pulled off the highway, figuring he’d be able to find what he was looking for, even if he didn’t really know his way around California.  He drove past one, then two gas stations before his passenger looked at him in alarm.

“Dean, the gas around here doesn’t get any cheaper…” Cas told him, his voice wary.

Dean laughed off his concern.  “Cas, man, we’re stopping for a drink,” Dean told him.  “I barely know you but I can already tell you’re going to be insufferable the entire time our brothers are away.  We’ve got an hour and a half in the car, still, and this is going to help you calm down and worry less.”

----

Sam was excited.  Sure, he was smushed into an airplane seat but he was on his way to Las Vegas with his boyfriend and said boyfriend’s giddy joy was contagious.  They were flying first class - a perk of Gabriel’s family money - so he had a little more room than he would usually have had, at least, and Gabe had immediately flagged down a flight attendant and ordered them a couple of drinks.  Sam had tried to tell Gabriel that it was too much but the man’s excitement would not be waylaid.  

“Sam, we’re celebrating,” Gabriel insisted.  “You just graduated from freaking Stanford Law School at the very top of your class and landed a job with one of the most prestigious law firms in the state of California!  First off, you’re a poor former student with loans to pay off, second, you worked damn hard and you deserve this, and third, you’re freaking worth it!  Let. Me. Spoil. You.”  Gabriel pouted at Sam, looking up into his eyes until he relented and accepted the drink with only a grumble about how it was too early for whiskey which Gabriel dismissed with a wave of his hand.  “We’re on vacation, Samshine.  It’s never too early for whiskey.”

They both settled in for the flight, Sam’s eyes locked on the window, taking in every bit of tiny scenery that they flew over, and Gabriel leaning against him, ordering another three drinks for each of them during their relatively short flight.

By the time they landed, Sam was a little buzzed, though he attributed it more to the altitude than to the booze, and he found himself being a little more handsy with Gabriel than he might usually be in public.  His boyfriend didn’t seem to mind, though, so he kept it up.  It wasn’t like they were ever going to see any of these people again, anyway.

They collected their bags and headed towards where Sam assumed the shuttles would be waiting to take the newly arrived tourists to their hotels but when they stepped into the hot Las Vegas morning air, a man standing in front of a limousine caught Sam’s eye.  The driver was holding a sign that said “Winchester” and Sam stopped in his tracks.  “Tell me you didn’t…” Sam requested, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Of course I did, kiddo,” Gabriel replied as he walked past Sam and had a brief conversation with the driver before leaving his bag at the side of the car and climbing into the back seat.

Sam collected himself and followed after his boyfriend, scrambling into the back of the limo.  He settled into the seat and suddenly found himself with a lap full of Gabriel.  One of Sam’s arms wrapped around his boyfriend, glad to see that he wasn’t the only one affected by the drinking they had done on the plane.  Sam grinned as Gabe handed him a champagne flute filled with bubbly golden liquid and then kissed him soundly.

The limo starting and then pulling away from the curb drew the men from their kiss.  Gabriel clinked his glass of sparkling wine against Sam’s.  “To our first vacation,” he said before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a sip.

“The first of many,” Sam agreed, taking a swig himself.

The ride to the hotel was longer than Sam had expected and by the time that they had arrived, the pair had finished off the bottle of bubbly.  The driver unloaded their bags and they moved through hotel registration quickly.  The lights and sounds from the not too distant casino floor distracted Sam enough that he barely even registered that they were done checking in until a man approached to take their bags.  

The bellhop carried their bags to their room and opened the door for them.  Gabriel indicated that Sam should step inside first and, when he did, the space took his breath away.  He’d never been in a hotel room this nice before.  Sure, he’d taken road trips with his family while he was growing up but it was always roadside motels or even sometimes, when he and Dean had gotten older and driven around the country themselves, sleeping in the car.  This room was more of a suite, with a dedicated sitting room (complete with a bar) and a separate bedroom.  

On the bar was another, already open, bottle of champagne flanked by two glasses of the bubbly drink.  Gabriel tipped the bellhop and then sauntered across the room, grabbing the glasses and offering one to Sam.  “To the full Vegas experience,” he toasted, and Sam agreed before clinking their glasses together and taking a sip.

Apparently, the “full Vegas experience” meant a lot of booze and gambling and the pair worked their way up the strip, stopping in each casino for a drink or two, a couple of spins on the slots, and the occasional hands of blackjack or poker.  They were a couple of hours into their adventure when something caught Sam’s eye and he pulled Gabriel off of the strip and towards an outdoor bar where he used some of his poker winnings to purchase them two giant drinks.

Now armed with souvenir cups - Sam’s in the shape of an almost life sized guitar, complete with a strap to wear it and Gabriel’s a very shapely woman’s leg, both of which held nearly a gallon of mixed drinks - they continued their march down the strip.  Both men got flirtier and flirtier with each stop until Sam literally could not keep his hands off of Gabriel anymore.

Gabriel pulled Sam off of the street and into whichever casino was closest, he’d stopped paying attention to exactly where they were at least three drinks ago.  He tugged on his boyfriend’s arm until they were away from the majority of the crowd.  “God, I love you so much,” Gabriel confessed, his eyes bright despite the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

Sam leaned in and kissed him, weaving his fingers into Gabriel’s hair for a moment before pulling back.  “I just had a crazy idea…”

Gabriel listened while Sam giggled his way through his plan, his eyes and smile growing wider with each passing second.  “I mean, we did say that we wanted to have the full Vegas experience,” Gabriel agreed when Sam was finished, “and I’m pretty sure we can fill out the paperwork online and there’s just enough time to go and pick it up.”  Gabriel double checked the time on his phone before pulling up the forms they’d need to fill out while Sam called them a cab.

----

Sam scrunched his eyes against the light that poured through the cracks of their curtains and into their hotel room before throwing an arm over his face.  “It’s too early,” he mumbled.  His mouth tasted like stale booze and felt like it was full of cotton and he could tell that his morning breath was terrible.  He fumbled around on the bedside table for his phone and blinked a few times trying to understand what the numbers were telling him.  “Shit, it’s dinner time,” he murmured, his words slurring together with sleep.

Sam felt the bed shift as Gabriel stretched out beside him.  “Mornin’, Sammy,” he said, his voice thick and slow.  

“More like evening,” Sam replied with a yawn, “we slept all day.  ‘M gonna go brush my teeth.  We should think about maybe getting some food.”  He stood up, swaying a little on his feet, “And painkillers,” he added, rubbing his forehead and slowly making his way into the bathroom.  As he brushed his teeth, he went to run a hand through his hair and then stopped, standing completely still, his eyes transfixed on the reflection of his left hand which was still tangled in his hair.  “Gahbreel,” he shouted through the mouthful of toothpaste just at the same time that he heard Gabe call out “Sam…”  Sam quickly spit and rinsed his mouth, returning to the bedroom to find Gabriel’s eyes traveling back and forth between the gold ring on his own finger and something on his phone.

“We… got married last night,” Gabriel said, sensing Sam’s presence in the room.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands trying to remember something - anything - from the night before while he fought off the pounding headache that had settled behind his eyes.  “We’ve got rings.  But… There’s paperwork to sign and submit… we couldn’t have done it all that fast…” Sam reasoned.

Gabriel got up and crossed the room before returning to sit beside Sam, offering his boyfr- his husband a glass of water and some Tylenol.  “We applied for the marriage license online, I’ve got the confirmation email.  There’s no waiting period in Nevada.  We must have picked it up right before the county clerk’s office closed.  And, uh…” Gabriel paused, not sure how Sam would take this next bit of news, “we paid extra at the chapel for expedited processing.  They dropped the signed documents off this afternoon.  We’re really and officially married, kiddo.”  

Gabriel braced himself for Sam’s reaction.  He expected anger or worry or even maybe sadness but he never would have thought to prepare himself for what came.

Sam looked up at Gabriel and he laughed.  “We’re married….” There was a look of disbelief on his face but Sam was smiling and laughing and Gabriel chanced a small smile up at him.

“You’re not upset?” Gabe asked, unsure of how to respond to Sam’s reaction.  Maybe he was still drunk after the previous day’s drinking.

Sam just kept laughing.  “Maybe I should be?  I don’t know… but I’m not,” he chuckled before sobering up and locking serious eyes on Gabriel.  “Are- are you? Upset?”

“No,” Gabriel answered quickly, “God no.  I had actually thought about proposing on this trip, all romantic and cheesy at the top of the Eiffel Tower but I thought that you might think it was too soon,” he admitted and then he started laughing, too.  “Cas probably expected something like this from me but my mom is going to kill me… I didn’t even give her the chance to try to talk me into having you sign a prenup.  It’s not an argument she would have won but she could have taken solace in the fact that she had tried, at least…”

“She’s going to have to get in line behind my brother,” Sam snorted as he imagined Dean’s reaction to their news.  “He’s going to read you the riot act when we get back…”

“Me?” Gabriel interrupted, his voice feigning hurt.  “Me?  I may not remember much from last night but I have a distinct recollection of you being the one to come up with ‘a crazy idea.’” Gabriel used air quotes around the final words and Sam laughed again, grateful that the painkillers he had taken were doing their job.

“That’s not gonna matter to Dean,” Sam chuckled but then something that Gabriel had said registered in his mind and he quieted down.  Sam grabbed one of his husband’s hands and held it for a moment before he spoke again.  “You know I would have signed it, right?  The prenup?  I’d have signed anything your mom put in front of me if it meant I got to keep you.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel whispered, lacing his fingers through Sam’s and leaning his head on Sam’s shoulder.  The two men sat quietly, hand in hand, Sam’s thumb tracing over Gabriel’s wedding band for a moment until Gabe broke the silence and the serious mood.  “They sent me a link and a password to view and download our photos.  Shall we take a look and try to remember our big day?  And then we’ve got a marriage to celebrate… and consummate!”

----

A week later, Sam and Dean disembarked from their flight home and slowly made their way to the baggage claim area where they knew their brothers would be waiting for them.  Sam had convinced Gabriel that springing the news on Dean in person wasn’t the best idea so they had emailed both of their brothers one of their wedding pictures before they had left the hotel.  Sam had let Gabriel send it while he was in the shower so, of course, the email had been titled “Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?” and the photo had included the Elvis impersonator that neither of them remembered, still, but who had apparently presided over their ceremony.

As they rounded the corner, Dean and Castiel came into view.  Both men were scowling and Sam slowed down even further.  “You ready to face the wrath of Dean?” he asked Gabriel, his voice light and teasing but worried all at once.

Gabriel grabbed Sam’s hand and gave it a squeeze.  “With you by my side, I’m ready to face anything.”

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ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @sumara62 @ginamsmith @gallifreyansass @samwinjarpad @hexparker @thinkwritexpress-official @atc74 @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @mouselovesmusic @nanika67 @smdzone @doctor-zyre @proserpinadante

Sabriel: (there’s no one here, yet.  Wanna be the first?  Send an ask!)

Sabriel/Domestic AU tags from @mrswhozeewhatsis: @mrswhozeewhatsis @thinkwritexpress-official @SinceriouslyAmellPadalecki @ferferelli @chrisatplay @faith-in-dean @mamaimpala @winchesters-princess @deansleather @dr-dean @saving-things-hunting-family @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @justanothersaltandburn @mysaintsasinner @brothersonahotelbed @bohowitch

[sealgirl96-blog]

wednesday 11th january 2017, 20:02

So, this was meant to be a daily journal, but I haven’t written for over a month... sorry! Long story short, the wifi did cut out, just in perfect timing for finals, which literally drained me (I think I must have pulled at least 4 all-nighters in the space of a week... even the regulars at the 24hr café began to recognise me). Then I spent Christmas with Mum in Quebec, went back to London for New Years’ for a week, and now I’m back this side of the Atlantic again. Although I do wish I’d updated on the past few week as it was happening, I hate for diary entries to just be massive catch-ups, so I’m just going to write about the very recent past. (There aren’t any hugely exciting gaps to fill in, don’t worry.)

I flew back on Saturday. It’s weird coming back to Canada this time around. Remembering how last time I made that journey, and travelled what felt like a huge, huge distance, I had absolutely no idea what the next four months held; what the city looked and felt like, where I would live, what school would be like, and I didn’t even know a single person. Now this time, having done a long-haul flight to London a week prior, the journey didn’t seem that arduous, I just whiled the hours away on the plane snoozing and watching Sex and the City, then hopped off (no painfully long immigration to go through), and took two buses to my cosy little apartment and bed. How can somewhere that once felt so unknown feel just like home?

I can’t lie, I’m quite glad to be back. I’m always less sad about that than I think I will be - leaving Mum, leaving London, and knowing it’s going to be for a while. Since this is the longest and the furthest away I’ve ever been, it’s hard to know whether it’s just because I like this place, or because I underestimated my capacity for not getting homesick. Maybe both.

I don’t miss London right now. I don’t think I was there long enough to really get into the swing of things. When I first got back, I hated it. It felt like I was wearing grey-tinted glasses - I know it was especially foggy that day, but in comparison to here it just seemed so dirty, grey, and polluted. I was walking down Holloway Road, thinking, did I really grow up here? I honestly think you just become accustomed to it when you live there. And then when you consider the fact that I pay 1/4 of the rent I would pay living in London, and for a nice place, in a great area, too. I do love London because it’s London and it’s home, but living there at this (financially unstable) stage in your life is becoming harder and harder to justify.

Seeing my friends soon alleviated my sadness though, and I can’t lie, NYE was good. Just got extremely waved with the girls and went to some punk night in Hackney. We thought it might be a risk, punk, but it wasn’t even bad at all, and they were playing other stuff too. They played David Bowie - Let’s Dance when it turned 2017. Hanging out with good friends is the one thing I do miss, and regret not doing more of last week. I had this shitty flu which incapacitated me for a few days (probably that London pollution) and NYE was the only night I actually went out. It’s bittersweet in a way, because I did want to come back here, but then that had to be in the knowledge that I wouldn’t see certain people for a really long time.

Class started this week. I’ve liberally arranged my timetable so that I have Monday and Friday off, and I know I won’t regret that later on. Since last term was quite challenging, I was going to try and only take easier modules this term, but that turned out to be a logical impossibility, especially if I wanted those two days off. I know it sounds like I’m just trying to cut corners, but it’s more like I’m just trying to not make life unnecessarily hard for myself, because I’m finding studying in a foreign language quite hard as it is. It’s a pass/fail year and all modules are weighted equally, so I would get the same amount of credits for an easier module as I would a harder one. But anyway, I just ended up with 2 harder / 2 easier like last term (sorry, boring, who cares, I’m literally just writing this for my own benefit, ok.) The term ahead does look quite difficult, but it could be manageable. I just wish I had a stronger work ethic. As it stands, I literally have the worst work ethic known to mankind.

Last night I went for drinks with three of the Brits and one Canadian. It was Tom’s birthday incidentally, but I don’t think he would have done anything for it if Rory hadn’t otherwise suggested drinks. I do like Rory, but the others... it’s like I said before... I find it hard to have a connection with people with whom the sole basis of our friendship is nationality. As a result, the banter was a little bit dead. We went to the (really corny) Irish pub because Rory’s friend worked there. Who doesn’t work at the Irish pub, to be honest? It’s actually such a small world, this city. The Canadian guy we were with also works there, my ex-flatmate Nick works there and my also-now-ex-flatmate Mary’s friend Tony who I went on one date with and never spoke to again works there. I was praying the latter wouldn’t be there as it would have made for a very awkward encounter... I guess my prayers were answered, thanks, God!

Rors convinced us all to go on this ski trip... I’ve never skied, I’m so so scared o of making an ass out of myself, but apparently people mainly go for the atmosphere. We would all share a chalet and I think it would actually be super fun. It’s also quite cheap (for a ski trip) but my heart rate does increase slightly when I think about my finances over the coming months. I can’t currently get a job on my visa, but I mean to send it off and hopefully have it amended so that I can - but even still, I don’t know how easy it would be to find one, not being perfectly bilingual. With NYC and now possibly this ski trip, my bank account is really not looking pleased with me at the moment. I transferred some of my savings over, but my student loan mainly served to clear my overdraft. This one time, AB said that he wanted to take a trip to Iceland this summer - and I know it was just said in passing and he’s probably forgotten, but obviously it’s stuck in my mind since. If he was still up for going, and I couldn’t afford it, that would be a serious bummer. And if he offered to help me pay or something, that would just be awkward! He’s not my sugar daddy! Anyway, I’m getting way ahead of myself here. We shall even have to see about the ski trip, as Agata might not even be able to go since it’s in Vermont, and unlike us Brits, she can’t get a visa waiver to travel to the States. I don’t think I would go if she doesn’t.

In other news, we have a new flatmate, Josie, who has replaced Mary. It’s hard to gauge too much this early on, but the more time I spend with her, the more I begin to miss Mary. I mean, for example, she just wandered into my room to ask me to wash up my dishes in the sink, from a few hours ago. A) Has she heard of knocking? B) Is she my mother? C) Not all of those dishes were mine, in fact, some of them were hers from dinner last night, and D) Does it even matter, does it need to be done this instant?! Mary would never do that!!  The thing about the old set-up before Josie is that we were all on the same wavelength. I could sense it from the first time I met those guys. There was kind of a mutual understanding that we were all as ‘messy’ as one another (which isn’t even that messy, by the way.) I knew from the initial skype interview with Josie that she wasn’t quite on our wavelength, and it’s already beginning to show in subtle ways. This is why I much preferred the other flatmate candidate, Emma, but the votes were in Josie’s favour. I just hope it doesn’t culminate in one big argument or something one day.

To be fair, I suppose you could do a lot worse for a flatmate. I should be thankful that she’s clean and tidy and doesn’t like, play the drums or something. She also invited me to her friend’s gig tomorrow, so I guess that’s nice. It’s a brother and sister duo, though. Um, no comment.

P.S. By the way, in case anyone cared (they definitely didn’t), I’m not pregnant. I had two massive spells of bleeding over Christmas (I guess you could call it the festive period lmao - sorry, worst joke ever...) I swear I always think I’m pregnant, maybe subconsciously I love the drama. But what the fuck is the mini pill doing to my hormones, that I can just have random, really long, really heavy periods? It makes me want to go back to the combined, so that I can regulate my periods - but then I couldn’t smoke. Or ideally, stop loading my body up with artificial hormones altogether, but then I would just have to have regular periods, and use a condom on the rare occasion that I get laid. Is there any ideal form of birth control? Someone help!

[wayneooverton]

The first step to understanding money: Smell Your Sh*t

Hi guys! This post is the first in a serious of personal finance articles my crazy-smart-hilarious-beautiful friend Berna from Hey Berna! has graciously agreed to write for me you all. I’m sure many of you are proper adults who know how to manage your monies, but for those of you like me, and who avoid things like thinking about taxes, bank account balances and have an attitude that “credit cards aren’t real money”  and student loans will pay themselves off, well, this is for you. Berna is here to help!

Berna is thoroughly inspirational human and has proven it’s possible, from paying off over $50,000 in debt, to figuring out how to hack free flights and hotels around the world, to saving up enough money while paying off debt to take off a year of work and travel, and she’s gonna share her best tips for me (and for you too, I guess) on how to tackle the big scary topic of money and travel! Enjoy!

Hello. My name is Berna Anat. And guys, I… am a recovering, terrible-at-money garbage fire.

Thank you for this support at this difficult time.

Seriously, though, admitting you have money problems feels a lot like one of those naked public speaking nightmares that we all dread. But that’s why Liz, out of the kindness and maybe delirium of her heart, is letting me guest-blog here. (and who definitely can’t bring herself to write about saving money to travel no matter how often people ask – shivers). 

I have been to the “Holy shit, I kind of understand money now” promised land. Not only is it delicious, y’all, but it’s 100% accessible to you too. I swear!

You just have to learn to smell your shit.

Yup, I just went there. 

I’m Berna, and here’s my face next to a giant flower! Which is ironic, because my money situation was total manure

But first, skrrrt, let me back up.

The reason I have any type of credibility in talking about this is because two years ago, I got tired of being a collector of debts, and I developed a plan to pay off my $50,000 in student loans and credit card debt.

How you ask? Very good question. I will tell all. 

I used sheer will, discipline, and a really annoying Google Doc system. I call it Felicia’s Wallet, and I talk about in the video below.

And here’s what’s really wild: I actually did it. IT WORKED!

Here’s where you hate me: I’m now traveling the world with zero debt. I repeat, ZERO DEBT. 

It’s totally and completely possible! I have enough extra cash to do absolutely nothing but travel for a year. And I have a retirement and emergency savings waiting for me in case I completely screw this up; I’ve even invested in and sold some basic-ass stock. It is possible to pay off debt and travel the world. 

Adult, what?

Most importantly, I’ve learned that the intimidating world of personal finance is simply a game – but if you’re like me and millions of others, no one told us the most basic goddamn rules. In fact, most of us learned to fear it, ignore it, and hope it somehow fixes itself.

I’m here to help captain your SS Struggle Ship. No more of that mess. Let’s sort this out now. 

You heard the Queen – via GIPHY

Some of the stuff I’ll explain in future blogs, written in real normal-human language instead of the foreign crap on :

How to create a budget that actually works

How credit card points even function (and how to use them to get free flights)

What the mother-eff is investing, and do I have to be a rich white dude to play? (Spoiler: Hell no)

All of this starts with one important step: Smelling your shit.

via GIPHY

Smelling your shit is more than admitting your fear of money – it’s putting your actual eyeballs on those nasty numbers you’ve been avoiding for so long. Most folks I talk to cannot name exactly how much debt they’re in, and that’s where their problems begin.

Not knowing your numbers gives your debt all the power as this mysterious, haunting shadow-blob. Smelling your shit is how you get your first grip of power over your money.

Do it now.

Stinky geothermal hot pools in New Zealand – they reek!

Here’s what you need to do. Sit down. Get ready. Are you ready? Great. 

1. Open an excel sheet, or a Google Doc, or a fresh piece of paper

Doesn’t matter how you record it; just that you do it right now, and on something you won’t accidentally (on purpose) throw away.

2. Write down everything you have in each bank account

Yep – this means doing the “Forgot Your Password” dance with your bank as many times as it takes.

Write down the exact amount you have today in every savings and checking account you have control over, in a grid that’s something like this:

3. Write down all of your separate debts

Yep – this might mean calling customer service reps and literally asking, “How the hell much do I owe you guys, like, in total?” You might be like me and have 3 different credit cards and 10 different student loans, all with different balances and interests rates. Write them all down separately, and then add them up.

That’s your shit! Look at her. Read her backwards. Name her and understand her. She’s yours, for better or for worse.

It’s time to own it.

4. Put this somewhere you can see it

Not on a iPhone or desktop note that you can sneakily minimize, you sneaky b. I know how it goes. Don’t even try.

Print it, write it out and stick it somewhere you’ll always see it. Tack it above your coffee machine. Stick it on your mirror and read it as you brush your teeth. Tape it on your door and whack it as you walk out, like you’re a hormonal linebacker in Friday Night Lights.

The idea here is to look at it every day and feel the sting over and over, until it stings less and less.

Angela Basset = Me when I first looked at all my numbers together – via GIPHY

You might feel shame. You might feel gassy. GOOD. That means you’re doing it right.

You wouldn’t be having problems if your money garden was all sunshine and roses, right? I’ll give you 30 seconds to throw yourself a shitty pity party.

…. Nice. I felt that.

Looking my debt in the eye for the first time – and, in comparison, seeing it next to my teeny paycheck – was incredibly shitty. But it was my shit, and I knew its exact smell.

That’s right, Gwen. OWN IT via GIPHY

It was no longer this unknown monster shit blob, hiding in a cave where my imagination can make up how scary it was depending on how anxious I felt in that moment. My money monster had a name and a shape, and a smell, and it became way less scary.

Need more weird metaphors? It’s like playing Street Fighter and seeing exactly how much green your enemy has in their life bar, so you know exactly how long and hard you need to beat their ass.

Once I defined my money situation at its most basic level, I began to feel the teeniest bit of understanding. For the first time, I felt control. And for me, that tiny sense of control changed my life. It kicked off my entire journey of learning that money problems can honestly, fo real, be overcome – no matter how much of a messy betch you think you are.

You did it. I’m proud as shit via GIPHY

Regardless of where your numbers go from here, you’ve done the scariest part; you’ve gone from total ignorance to understanding. Smelling your shit – defining your numbers – is not only the best way to fully understand your situation, but it’s the most gratifying way to feel that deep appreciation and joy when it starts to get better.

And, spoiler alert? It WILL get better. I’d bet on it.

Join me at http://www.heyberna.com and on Instagram in the land of I Kind Of Understand Money Now! We have wine!

The post The first step to understanding money: Smell Your Sh*t appeared first on Young Adventuress.

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[medproish]

Peering into a webcam, her face intermittently frozen over an iffy Skype connection in Medellin, Colombia, Lizz Quain was explaining not long ago why she uprooted her 9-year-old twins almost a year and a half ago to travel the world.

Ms. Quain, who is in her 40s, owned a children’s play cafe and preschool near Seattle before she renounced her American middle-class existence in August 2016, fed up with what she described as a stifling, consumerist culture.

Once Donald J. Trump was elected president, she made a common liberal refrain — “If Trump wins, I’m leaving the country” — reality, deciding not to return home with her daughters, Aubrey and Gabriella. After traveling through Asia and Europe, she is now figuring out how to start a business selling products through Amazon to finance the life of an itinerant-by-choice single mother.

“If the G.O.P. gets out of office, if our education system improves, if we get universal health care, I’ll move back to the States because we’ll get tired of traveling,” Ms. Quain said. But until that utopian day arrives, “We’re unplugging from the Matrix.”

Lizz Quain and her daughters in Medellin, Colombia. Luis Barreto

The Quains are not the only family that has of late dispensed with the trappings of the American dream (house, school, career) and gone nomad. Hopping from one vacation rental to the next or piling into R.V.s, they have sold or rented out their homes and unloaded most of their possessions, financing their travels with savings or work done remotely.

They chronicle their adventures on YouTube channels, Instagram and blogs including NomadTogether, Unsettle Down and Terra Trekkers. They gather at annual conventions like the Project World School Family Summit in Guanajuato, Mexico, with sessions like “No, I’m not on vacation” and “Worldschoolers, your child can go to university!”

Unplugging and Yet Not

Just like late-1960s hippies, right? But living an untethered life has gotten easier now that many people need only a laptop and a fast internet connection to earn a living. Websites like Nomadlist help people decide where on Earth to go. The rise of Airbnb makes it easy to rent space in most corners of the globe with a swipe of your iPhone. Roving parents can find global play dates and moral support on Facebook groups like Worldschoolers, which has about 40,000 members.

Lainie Liberti, an administrator of the group, said it’s not just the tense political climate in the United States motivating people to leave. “People are not seeing a future,” she said. “People are starting to focus on living now and focusing on their children. They are re-evaluating what is important to them.”

Chelsea Gillespie with her daughter, Kailen, in Old Town Split, Croatia.

Ms. Quain, who worked as much as 100 hours a week running her own company, worried about the values she was imparting to her daughters. “I don’t want them to grow up to be worker bees,” she said. “I want them to grow up to be freethinking entrepreneurs.”

Like many of the new expats, she is home-schooling (“worldschooling” is the more popular term.) Her daughters are learning Spanish at a Medellin day camp and spend their spare time playing Minecraft and Roblox, video games they sometimes play online with other traveling children. She hopes eventually they’ll start their own YouTube channel, if someone will teach them. “Once I get my business up and running,” she said. “I’ll hire people to teach them how to do things.”

What It Costs

Ms. Quain expects to spend about $1,700 a month on housing, day camp, activities and a nanny in Medellin. Paul Kortman, who, with his wife, Becky Kortman, wrote “Family Freedom: A Guide to Becoming a Location Independent Family,” estimates that a family could travel indefinitely on $60,000 a year, a salary he says could be earned with a little ingenuity.

“All you need to do is have a laptop and be an intelligent person,” Mr. Kortman said. “You don’t need a specific skill set.”

It does help, though. Matthew Gillespie, 31, works remotely full-time as a web designer, allowing him; his wife, Chelsea Gillespie, 30; and their 2-year-old daughter, Kailen, to travel indefinitely through Europe, blogging about it at Unsettledown. They left San Diego last May, finding it too expensive.

Burdened by high rent, along with car and student loan payments, they did not see a future where they could buy a home in the area and still pay down their debts. “Our family was telling us to settle down,” Mr. Gillespie said from Prague last winter. “We just didn’t see the value in that.”

Last spring, he and his wife sold their car, their furniture and most of their possessions for about $10,000. So far, traveling has been cheaper. In Croatia, for example, their expenses fell by 60 percent, allowing them to pay down their student loans faster. “If we can make it work, then we’re going to keep going as long as we can,” Mr. Gillespie said.

Mr. and Ms. Gillespie travel with High Sierra backpacks. Kailen has her own pack, too: a tiny one shaped like a bumblebee. They pared down their belongings to the bare essentials, although Ms. Gillespie did carry an orange Bebe skirt and Zara top around Italy all summer because she thought it would make for a great photograph in Florence (she got her shot and unloaded the outfit). “It was totally impractical,” she said.

Jessica and William Swenson traveled with their family to Bali, Indonesia. J Swenson Photography

A nest egg makes such trips far less nerve-racking (just be wary of traveling somewhere like Monte Carlo and re-enacting that famous scene from 1985’s “Lost in America” when Julie Hagerty’s character loses it all at a Las Vegas casino).

Jessica and William Swenson are financing an 11-month around-the-world trip with their three small children through a mix of savings, inheritance, a severance package and the income from renting out their four-bedroom house with a pool in Livermore, Calif.

Last October, the Swensons set off for China, alerting local media outlets about their adventure. Mrs. Swenson, 34, a photographer, has an Instagram account and a YouTube channel called LetsAdventureSomeMore to document the whirlwind journey, and, perhaps, monetize it.

The family is traveling light, carrying only backpacks — even the children, Ezra, 8, Theo, 6, and Vesper, 5, have them — with a few changes of clothes. Mr. Swenson, 36, an accountant, bald with a full beard, wears a kilt. “He’s Scottish and loves the un-bifurcated life,” Mrs. Swenson said, speaking over FaceTime from an Airbnb in Bali, Indonesia. The family was waiting out a volcanic eruption, hoping their flight to Australia would not be canceled because of ash.

Sonja Jernstrom and her husband, Chris Jernstrom, with their two children in Bolivia.

Surprising Emotions

The Swensons embarked on the trip as a sort of lemonade-from-lemons move after Mr. Swenson’s job relocated, his mother died and the family’s live-in child care moved out.

“We were like, ‘That removed all our obstacles,’” Mrs. Swenson said. But even though social media is accessible from around the world, they were also relieved to escape what Mrs. Swenson describes as “a general feeling of anger and bitterness,” that had descended on the progressive Bay Area in the months since Mr. Trump became president. “I’m not really political,” she said. “I try not to engage.”

Of course, sometimes people they meet abroad want to talk United States politics. This the Swensons deflect. “We kind of put the kibosh on it,” Mrs. Swenson said. “We’re here to be students, and not talk about horrible things.”

But not everyone who takes their life on the road does so to escape an unsatisfying one. Sonja Jernstrom, 37, and Chris Jernstrom, 36, left their home in Seattle in June to take a 14-month trip around the world with their two children, Ben, 7, and Emma, 4.

They’re driving through the Americas in a truck with a 70-foot camper before they head off to Asia, the Middle East and Europe. “It was an opportunity to take a midcareer break,” said Mr. Jernstrom, who quit his job in investment management; Ms. Jernstrom is a former environmental scientist. The family is financing their travels with savings and income earned renting out their four-bedroom house out on Airbnb.

Seeing Latin America has been eye-opening. When Mr. Trump was elected, “we both felt like, ‘Gosh, maybe we want to move to Europe,’” Mr. Jernstrom said from Chile. But “this trip has made me appreciate so much about how much we have in the U.S. It’s made me feel like I want to go back to the U.S. and make things better at home.”

Correction: April 14, 2018

An earlier version of a caption in this article misidentified a country the Swenson family visited in December. It was Indonesia, not Australia.

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[daizybethea-blog]

Some Said They’d Flee Trump’s America. These People Actually Did.

Unplugging and But Not Identical to late-1960s hippies, proper? However dwelling an untethered life has gotten simpler now that many individuals want solely a laptop computer and a quick web connection to earn a dwelling. Web sites like Nomadlist assist individuals determine the place on Earth to go. The rise of Airbnb makes it simple to lease house in most corners of the globe with a swipe of your iPhone. Roving dad and mom can discover world play dates and ethical assist on Fb teams like Worldschoolers, which has about 40,000 members. Lainie Liberti, an administrator of the group, mentioned it’s not simply the tense political local weather in the USA motivating individuals to depart. “People are usually not seeing a future,” she mentioned. “People are beginning to concentrate on dwelling now and specializing in their youngsters. They’re re-evaluating what’s vital to them.” Picture Chelsea Gillespie together with her daughter, Kailen, in Previous City Break up, Croatia. Ms. Quain, who labored as a lot as 100 hours every week operating her personal firm, apprehensive in regards to the values she was imparting to her daughters. “I don’t need them to develop as much as be employee bees,” she mentioned. “I would like them to develop as much as be freethinking entrepreneurs.” Like lots of the new expats, she is home-schooling (“worldschooling” is the extra standard time period.) Her daughters are studying Spanish at a Medellin day camp and spend their spare time taking part in Minecraft and Roblox, video video games they generally play on-line with different touring youngsters. She hopes ultimately they’ll begin their very own YouTube channel, if somebody will train them. “As soon as I get my enterprise up and operating,” she mentioned. “I’ll rent individuals to show them find out how to do issues.” What It Prices Ms. Quain expects to spend about $1,700 a month on housing, day camp, actions and a nanny in Medellin. Paul Kortman, who, along with his spouse, Becky Kortman, wrote “Household Freedom: A Information to Turning into a Location Unbiased Household,” estimates {that a} household may journey indefinitely on $60,000 a yr, a wage he says might be earned with slightly ingenuity. “All it is advisable do is have a laptop computer and be an clever individual,” Mr. Kortman mentioned. “You don’t want a selected ability set.” It does assist, although. Matthew Gillespie, 31, works remotely full-time as an internet designer, permitting him; his spouse, Chelsea Gillespie, 30; and their 2-year-old daughter, Kailen, to journey indefinitely via Europe, running a blog about it at Unsettledown. They left San Diego final Could, discovering it too costly. Proceed studying the primary story Burdened by excessive lease, together with automotive and pupil mortgage funds, they didn’t see a future the place they might purchase a house within the space and nonetheless pay down their money owed. “Our household was telling us to cool down,” Mr. Gillespie mentioned from Prague final winter. “We simply didn’t see the worth in that.” Final spring, and his spouse offered their automotive, their furnishings and most of their possessions for about $10,000. To this point, touring has been cheaper. In Croatia, for instance, their bills fell by 60 %, permitting them to pay down their pupil loans quicker. “If we will make it work, then we’re going to maintain going so long as we will,” Mr. Gillespie mentioned. Mr. and Ms. Gillespie journey with Excessive Sierra backpacks. Kailen has her personal pack, too: a tiny one formed like a bumblebee. They paired down their belongings to the naked necessities, though Ms. Gillespie did carry an orange Bebe skirt and Zara prime round Italy all summer time as a result of she thought it will make for an incredible {photograph} in Florence (she bought her shot and unloaded the outfit). “It was completely impractical,” she mentioned. Picture Jessica and William Swenson traveled with their household to Bali, Indonesia. Credit score J Swenson Images A nest egg makes such journeys far much less nerve-racking (simply be cautious of touring someplace like Monte Carlo and re-enacting that well-known scene from 1985’s “Misplaced in America” when Julie Hagerty’s character loses all of it at a Las Vegas on line casino). Jessica and William Swenson are financing an 11-month around-the-world journey with their three young children via a mixture of financial savings, inheritance, a severance package deal and the revenue from renting out their four-bedroom home with a pool in Livermore, Calif. Final October, the Swensons set off for China, alerting native media retailers about their journey. Mrs. Swenson, 34, a photographer, has an Instagram account and a YouTube channel known as LetsAdventureSomeMore to doc the whirlwind journey, and, maybe, monetize it. The household is touring gentle, carrying solely backpacks — even the youngsters, Ezra, 8, Theo, 6, and Vesper, 5, have them — with just a few adjustments of garments. Mr. Swenson, 36, an accountant, bald with a full beard, wears a kilt. “He’s Scottish and loves the un-bifurcated life,” Mrs. Swenson mentioned, talking over FaceTime from an Airbnb in Bali, Indonesia. The household was ready out a volcanic eruption, hoping their flight to Australia wouldn’t be canceled due to ash. Picture Sonja Jernstrom and her husband, Chris Jernstrom, with their two youngsters in Bolivia. Stunning Feelings The Swensons launched into the journey as a form of lemonade-from-lemons transfer after Mr. Swenson’s job relocated, his mom died and the household’s live-in little one care moved out. Proceed studying the primary story “We have been like, ‘That eliminated all our obstacles,’” Mrs. Swenson mentioned. However regardless that social media is accessible from all over the world, they have been additionally relieved to flee what Mrs. Swenson describes as “a normal feeling of anger and bitterness,” that had descended on the progressive Bay Space within the months since Mr. Trump turned president. “I’m not likely political,” she mentioned. “I attempt to not have interaction.” In fact, typically individuals they meet overseas wish to speak United States politics. This the Swensons deflect. “We sort of put the kibosh on it,” Mrs. Swenson mentioned. “We’re right here to be college students, and never discuss horrible issues.” However not everybody who takes their life on the street does so to flee an unsatisfying one. Sonja Jernstrom, 37, and Chris Jernstrom, 36, left their house in Seattle in June to take a 14-month journey all over the world with their two youngsters, Ben, 7, and Emma, 4. They’re driving via the Americas in a truck with a 70-foot camper earlier than they head off to Asia, the Center East and Europe. “It was a chance to take a midcareer break,” mentioned Mr. Jernstrom, who stop his job in funding administration; Ms. Jernstrom is a former environmental scientist. The household is financing their travels with financial savings and revenue earned renting out their four-bedroom home out on Airbnb. Seeing Latin America has been eye-opening. When Mr. Trump was elected, “we each felt like, ‘Gosh, possibly we wish to transfer to Europe,’” Mr. Jernstrom mentioned from Chile. However “this journey has made me admire a lot about how a lot we’ve within the U.S. It’s made me really feel like I wish to return to the U.S. and make issues higher at house.” Proceed studying the primary story https://www.nytimes.com/2018/04/14/style/moving-to-canada-jk-traveling-until-2020.html?partner=rss&emc=rss https://www.news9ontime.com/some-said-theyd-flee-trumps-america-these-people-actually-did/

[candid-candy-and-compassion-blog]

It’s nice to not see you again!

Those of you who know me probably know by now that I went blind in my right eye over Christmas break. What a gift, eh? I said I’d blog about the experience because I figured I’ll either A: be able to look at this later in life and remember the rough patch I went through or B: help someone else who is going through a scary time in their life, too. I decided to open back up my old Tumblr blog that I never ended up doing anything with because I’m kind of proud of the other posts and I’m not so secretly hoping people will read those, too. For those of you who don’t know me, hopefully I won’t scare you away. haha Anyway, If you’re here to read about my current predicament then buckle up buttercup, because this post is going to be long and informative. 

Backstory on my eyeballs:

WELL, I’ve had trouble with my eyes my entire life. Born with cataracts (basically a milky monster that latches onto the lens in your eye and you can see about as far as anyone who walks outside in Steven King’s “The Mist”.) You generally see old people and old dogs with the milky film over their eye... it’s unusual to see this condition in younger people. (THANKS GENETICS) Luckily I had a great Ophthalmologist as a child and had surgery in Elementary School that helped me see like a “normal person”.

I was also born nearsighted/severely myopic, meaning I can’t see anything real well unless it’s a foot away from my face and my eyes are basically egg or football shaped instead of round. (Once again, YAY genetics!) 

Since my eyes are elongated, I’ve always been at risk for retinal detachment. I’ve been limited my whole life in fear of losing my eyesight... No contact sports because a hit to my head could make me go blind. No contacts after my surgeries as a child because I might get an infection and go blind, etc. I have a lot of scar tissue from the surgeries and stretching of my eyes over the years.

How did I lose the sight in my right eye?

Mid-November I was working at a call center and realized one day that my vision was WAY worst than normal. I was seeing what appeared to be black ash constantly falling across my vision and weird tentacle-like floaters constantly stretching in and out of my vision. I left work early to and took a cab to a local Ophthalmologist because I couldn’t see good enough to feel safe driving. I found out at the appointment that I had (as I understood, this is what I was told) a vitreous hemorrhage due to a burst blood vessel behind my eye, which means that the blood had leaked into my eyes. Also, because of (or in addition to, they couldn’t say for sure) I had other fluid leaking into my eye. I was told to take it easy for a few days. Below is an example of a vitreous hemorrhage (sorry I couldn’t find a bigger picture):

Thanksgiving was a few days later so I ended up taking an entire week off of work and 90% of the problem had gone away. During that time, I ended up with the worst migraine of my life and ended up in the hospital sick as a dog. We aren’t sure if the two were related but it was scary. Luckily, It only took a few days to recover from that. Relieved, I went back to work for a while. I ended up quitting my job because the stress of everything was too much. I started the job search and went cleaning crazy on the apartment.

December came around and I still didn’t have a job but was receiving my last few paychecks from my previous jobs. On the 19th, I had an appointment with the Ophthalmologist that I had to cancel because I didn’t have the fund since I was going to be visiting family in Mississippi. On the 18th I’d noticed what I thought was some more fluid in the top right of my peripheral vision in my right eye and didn’t worry much because I figured it would go away on its own... and I thought it did. 

Around the 22nd or 23rd I noticed the whole outside peripheral vision had started disappearing (it looked like a dark fluid was slowly creeping into my vision and every now and then I’d see what looked like bright glow worms scoot across the affected area) so I called the Ophthalmologist back home in Idaho and an appointment was made for January second.

By the 24th over a third of my vision was taken over by the dark liquid.

By the 26th I had half my vision. The fluid was forming into a backwards “C” so I could at least still see looking straight forward.

By the 28th, my flight back home to Idaho, I had less than a third of my vision.

On the 29th, the day that I was supposed to ride with my boyfriend’s brother and his fiancé to meet my boyfriend and his parents, I watched my vision completely disappear into the dark liquid in a series of a few hours. Everything had a weird, almost dark green-brown tint, I could no longer read, and the only things I could make out for sure was distorted lights. The fluid looked like bubbles constantly crashing around and little firecrackers constantly flickering about my vision. 

By the 2nd, the day of my appointment, it was mostly darkness with a few lights here and there. Now I was experiencing tenderness to the touch and my eye felt real irritated. Needless to say, I was scared. But, still very hopeful.

THE APPOINTMENT *dun dun duuuuuunnnn!*

My boyfriend drove me to my appointment at 10:30 in the morning and I was feeling real hopeful. I’d done a lot of research online - which, by the way, is usually a terrible idea.... seriously... - and it seemed like everything I could possibly be faced with was curable to a certain extent. When the nurse first started checking my vision, she was surprised by my lack of sight. She literally stood in front of me with my left eye covered and waved her hand back and forth madly - which I couldn’t see - and quickly made some notes and went to get the doctor. 

When the doctor arrived, I cheerily welcomed him with a “How nice to not see you again, Doctor!” (Boyfriend’s words. He’s the funny one.) No reaction. I was a bit disappointed. He did all sorts of tests, they took pictures of my eyes, and I was given a diagnosis:

1: Possible full retinal detachment. 

2: The lens in my eye has come loose and there is possible cataract residue leftover from surgery. That may be why my eye is so tender and inflamed. 

3: The pressure in my right eye reads at a startling 5 while my lift eye is an alarming 23. Normal eye pressure ranges from 12-22. They were a little more than concerned.

I was sent to a retina specialist two hours away in Boise the same day to discuss surgery. After they received my records and did tests of their own, they came up with the same diagnosis, plus option for surgeries. 

Surgery options:

I require surgery to reattach my retina where they will inject an oil into my eye to push the retinal walls back to where they belong in hopes that it will reattach. While working on my retina, they will either stitch my loose lens into place or remove it completely, depending on what happens during surgery. Around the same time, possibly the same day, they want to use a laser in the retina of my left eye in hopes the same thing that happened in my right eye won’t happen to my left eye. That’s all I can remember for sure that the retinal specialist told me. 

As for paying for the surgeries... well... My boyfriend and I were told I couldn’t have the surgeries until I had at least half of the money. The receptionist told us we would probably be responsible for around $1500 up front but we weren’t told for sure yet. The retinal specialist office reached out to an affiliate to see if they can help get me financial assistance and we are supposed to hear back anywhere between next months to two months from now. They also sent my records to another organization in Salt Lake that can hopefully offer me financial assistance as well as do the surgeries. 

What now?

Honestly, we are overwhelmed. It’s a mad dash to find funding through local organizations, find work if possible, and reconsider going back to school this semester like I originally planned. If I don’t return to school, I’ve got to file an extension for my student loans, if I can’t work then I can’t pay for medical costs, every healthcare application is like a million pages long, and its difficult to read... BUT I will make it! I have an amazing support system and know that God is going to take care of me. I know He doesn’t put us through anything we can’t handle and i keep that in mind. There have been times in my past that I didn’t see how I would get through the hardships mentally and emotionally yet somehow I’m here! My faith, my friends and family, and my loyal pooch and ESA (Emotional Support Animal) have helped me through everything. 

Final Notes:

I started a GoFundMe page after several friends suggested doing so. I set the goal for $1500 until we know for sure how much will need to be raised. Maybe that is how you found this blog, maybe you came here from Facebook. Either way, just reading this is helpful for me because writing is therapeutic. Know that  if you are friend or family, I love you and you keep me strong. If you don’t know me, then let’s become acquainted! Don’t hesitate to reach out to me!

I need to say a huge thank you to so many people already!

To all my donors on my GoFundMe page:

R B

Ethan Richards

Courtland Pearson

Victoria Greenwood

Aimee Walters

Natalie Moseley

Kacey Croney

Anonymous A

Darian Merritt

Vu Nguyen

Karen Horsley

Cameron Moesta

Claire Hautot

You’re all an incredible blessing!

[justnotcricket]

Match Report 18/2/17

WASTCA One-Day Div 2

Subiaco Marist [4/236] def Fremantle Mosman Park [9/234]

Life has a funny way of teaching you the hard lessons, failing you, and then compounding the interest on your student loans so that you never even get close to the principle.

Funny as in peculiar.

This game would be pivotal to our standings in the top four.  Subiaco Marist are sitting 3rd, us in 4th.  We must beat them in order to switch seats at the long table, and can only do that by besting them in the field, or meet the fearsome Applecross in the first semi.

Our hopes, and our dreams. Our future finals prospects. It all came down to this one game. They thumped us the first time we met them. Sure, we only had 7 men at that stage, and most of those were lame or invalids; a distant memory now. 

You could expect Applecross to trounce Doubleview Carine, and a win could put us in 2nd place, and potentially on the way to a home final.

Everything was on the line.

Not quite everything. Not existence. Not Health nor happiness [maybe happiness]. But those things pale in significance when compared to cricket. Otherwise it would just be a game, rather than our very reason for being…

In the meantime, in what should have been our previous encounter, the Western Suburbs forfeit robbing us an opportunity for redemption, and the chance to qualify players.

With Ray away in Darwin on cultural business it should also have been my debut of captaincy for the club, my Bradbury moment, when everything else falls over and greatness is achieved by virtue of others absence. I’m talking ice-skating, rather than pod shaving here…  because Sally has just restored my bat, and it would be rude to joke about Paul while he is disabled.

I’m stilling claiming the strategic and psychological disintergration as a win. So demoralised must they have been in the knowledge I would utterly destroy them, they feigned to even show up.

One from one.  100% success. Hell, one from none. Only god makes more from less…

Ray’s win to loss ratio is currently traveling at around 40%... less if you scorn to count forcing the forfeit as a win. Just a little something for the committee to keep in mind next year…

It was a beautiful day for cricket. Hot and still, with a gentle easterly. From pregame preparations at the Tradewinds Hotel, the outlook was beautiful. An impossibly blue sky, the warm river awash with tannins from the recent rains, and cut only by pleasure craft and the elegant mid 20th century lines of the Stirling Highway Bridge; itself sheltering the image of Bon Scott, etched in relief, facing his family home, and our Mecca; North Fremantle.

I spoke with a couple of the elder statesmen of the team, Shrugger and Corms

Aren’t we a rebel breakaway team of Subi Marist? What is the story?

Furtive glances were passed between Corms and Shrugger.

‘They took it too seriously…’ Corms muttered into his beer. Shrugger looked away, his jaw tightening imperceptibly…

‘Oh, ok…’  I said, failing to read the subtext. ‘But what even is a Marist?’, I joked trying to salvage the conversation.

Shrugger looked to his feet. Corms stepped in "to bring up children properly, we must love them, and love them all equally. It is the Way of Mary…”

Oh, so…Catholics then?

‘Did you know that statistically around 20% of Catholic Priests are sex offenders with an average of 8 victims and 12 incidences?’, I offered by way of light conversation…’

‘No one sexually assaulted us at all’, blurted Shrugger, emphatically before wondering off to smoke and to weep gently in private.

Corms just shook his head and walked away, glaring at me disapprovingly to comfort Shrugger…

‘What did I say!?!’

Ray won the toss and we were batting.

Seany gave Quinny a talk on the way over. It must have been along the lines of ‘If you see it, hit it in the air!’ because that is exactly what he did, picking the gaps until he didn't, caught on 11.

I worked hard on playing straight and leaving the shit. From the river end Narbey bowled reasonably well. Both Dave and I played and missed a couple of absolute seeds that hit the deck and moved away, luckily failing to find the edge or the top of off.

Lawrence bowled a steaming pile poo from the Pavilion end, erratic and wide, and I got myself out chasing one that was barely on the pitch and cutting it to point.

Looking for positives, I did well to get to it, and yet dismayed at my own idiocy. I always slump at this time of year. Over thinking it, and practising self hypnosis with mantras of ‘Don’t do this. Don’t do that.’ which ultimately lead me to do exactly things I swore I wouldn’t. It is a revealing game, and I hate it.

My life partner enjoys reminding me I have poor impulse control, and there is nothing I hate more than her being right, all of the time…  except for being as uptight, boring and successful as she is.

Reedy came down to play with us, dropping two grades from 5’s, and typical of handsome young men looking for easy action went in at number 4.

The bowling changed and took a turn for the worse, and they brought on their meager spinners and slow medium pacers. Dave Barrett was caught behind playing forward and edging one, also on 11.

We were now three for not many, and things were starting to look a bit pear shaped. We fancy ourselves as a batting side and yet more often than not we open the set with a top order collapse.

Shrugger came out and from his first ball pulled one to the square leg boundary, his preference being to give himself room, hit boundaries, and lean back on the shovel watching the ball do the work; good in theory. Except at the other end, Reedy ran Shrugger ragged taking quick singles; much like some of Donald Trump’s rhetoric; ‘I’m going to build a picket fence, and you’re going to pay for it.’

‘Steady on old chap!’ said Shrugger’s more languid Mexican mouse to the young Speedy Gonzales.

And they did putting on a 50 run partnership while wickets fell on the adjacent wicket. Daff operated the scoreboard, radio in hand and at drinks, we were 3 for 94.

The outfield was slow after the torrential rain; another visible effect of climate change, the old people will speak of the summer when the runs dried up and men died of exertion for the running of twos.

Shrugger was eventually bowled on 34 with the team on 100. Ray went in at and made a measly 4 runs before being caught.

Reedy soldiered on and constructed a beautiful innings. He patiently pushed it around and then once he had batted himself in, played some exquisite cricket shots that raced along the ground.

After Narbey they didn’t have much in the way of bowling stocks, and Shorty, being a lefty, completely messed up their lines.

The sundries piled up the runs and raced to 50 before Reedy did, and by the end of the day would top score on 65.

Shorty was dropped early from a blinding cut shot, but his wagon wheel grew into a thing of beauty, playing all around the wicket until he skied one to be caught by the keeper at backward square leg on 22.

Last time we played these guys we could only manage 145, and we passed that in the 28th over.

Daff entered the fray only to be viscously sledged by comparison to the inimitable Arthur Dunger. The cheek. Who would dare? Daff looms larger than three Dunger’s put together. At least pound for pound.

To add insult to injury, Elliot the skinny little spin bowler, pinged one back at him; like a gnat thinking it would intimidate a rhinoceros.

He then bowled Daff off a no ball with so much flight that came down vertically over his waist to hit the top off the stops. Man! Were they dirty about that!

Elliot then got his revenge as he smoked the next ball and was caught in the deep. Daff was dismissed with a more eventful 3 runs than the scorebook would indicate.

Reedy saluted the stands up as the team passed 200; and was lucky to not get out before he actually made 50, eventually going in the 37th over after batting for nearly 2 hours. He had made 62.

Phoenix was caught for duck, and similarly Sean went out on a keg and came back without scoring any runs. Technically, he didn’t get out, but morally he has still not scored in 4 innings.

After consulting the by laws and discussion with our in house lawyers, we could either acquit Seany of this hoodoo, or insist that he is in fact, still on a keg,

We chose the latter.

We batted the overs and finished on 9 for 234.  Not quite our highest score, but well up there. Darryl hit a couple of fours and finished not out on 14.   Surely this was ungettable. Surely we had the runs on the board. Surely we were looking alike a place in the grand final.

Surely…

Their openers were solid. Darrell became so frustrated he sometimes hurled expletives before the ball had even left his hand. And this was before the hat trick of dropped catches in one of Darrell’s overs.

The only thing that removed Haughton was a redicu-catch taken by Shorty at cow corner. With one arm outstretched and sniveled in one hand. It took Corm’s effort from a few months back and made it look pedestrian in its unlikelihood.

They still needed to make nearly 7 an over for the full innings, Surely a few wickets would create pressure and they would tumble. Surely…

We were all expensive.

Phoenix bowled 5 overs for 36 before leaving early for a teenage pool party, and who could blame him. We wistfully watched him go, even the torment of trying to actively not watch virgins frolic in water would be infinitely less painful than this.

Shorty, so exhausted by the heat struggled to find the pitch and went for 10 runs before begging to be dragged after one over.

Seamy was dragged for going for only going for 6 an over after 4. An oversight he was very diligent in pointing out to me after the match.

It wouldn’t have happened, if I was captain, Sean…

Ray turned to me knowing I would tighten it up. My first over went for only 4, the next 12, and 8 off the last. I just tried too hard; bowled too full and just wasn’t able to just relax into my action

Sorry, Ray. He even tried to hide his disappointment in me. Just like my father does… [and I wasn’t the worst].

Their lesser opener hung around to be caught for 78 by Reedy off the bowling of Daff. Eventually the required run rate dropped to 4 an over

Dave Barrett dropped the wicket that should have started the collapse and it went for a six. I‘d hate to say he dropped the game, and so I won’t.  But feel free to think it. We all were… and in case there was any doubt, they hit a six off his bowling to put us out of our misery.

They had chased down our seemingly mammoth total like a pack of hungry saber tooth tigers while we looked on stunned, Neanderthal like with the dim sense that our days were numbered.

We shook hands in the golden sunlight of dusk, the beauty of our surroundings, the cold beers and amiable company unable to shake the melancholy of our disappointment. The atmosphere after the game was more reflective than usual. This was worse than a loss; we had this cat in the bag. And we let it out.

It was almost a loss of faith. If we couldn’t win this one. Were we even capable of winning? Were our Grand Final hopes slipping away…

Worse, Doubleview Carine defeated the unbeatable Applecross. Western Suburbs were beaten by Bassendean Gold!

It almost seems like we are coming to the end of the second act and as heroes, we find ourselves in the worst possible scenario, but if this were narrative fiction, it would mark the turning point where we drag ourselves back from the brink and snatch victory after victory in an unlikely march to glory.

Except this is the hollow and empty universe Camus warned us about, that Sartre would embrace, that Simone De Beauvoir would take underage female lovers in order to fill the… umm… void.

Could Bassendean beat Subi Marist? Surely we can beat Western Suburbs Surely…

If we lose next week, it will be all over and we will be back to our short and meaningless lives.

Only next week would tell.