#so i spent a good hour just going like okay whats the cheapest city i can fly to from. my city that also has cheap flights to tokyo

[queenerdloser]

trying to piecemeal individual plane tickets to japan so that i don’t have to shell out 1.5k for a round-trip flight:

[secret-rendezvous1d]

Could you do a blogmas piece around Alfie and Ellie like maybe a year forward from the miscarriage and maybe they have a baby now and are talking to their baby about the one they lost xx

Hello, hi!

Welcome to Blogmas 2020.

Many more blurbs, many more chats and a lot more festivities to come; my inbox willbe open all through December this year for blurb prompts for Blogmas so don’t feel afraid to pop in a prompt to get written for tis year; all I can say is that if you’re asking for a lengthy prompt, I’m not the right person right now, haha.

I’m welcoming absolutely anything for this year; any AU, any characters, any ideas.

Reblog, like, comment and share your thoughts with me. Please let me know what you think because feedback is always appreciated on here; much more appreciated now given that I’ve not written a lot in a long while. Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

* TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE. *

“Peekaboo.”

Ellie looked up from her phone, her eyes adjusting from the bright December afternoon that had quickly turned into a dark and dismal December night, eyelids aching with every blink. She could see the faint silhouette of Alfie as he stood in the doorway to his bedroom, curls messy upon his head and a baggy jumper hanging down his upper body.

“You okay up here? Mum’s worried downstairs.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I got a little tired,” she smiled.

The creaking floorboards signifying his gentle steps as he entered the room and walked towards the bed. His arm reaching out in the dark to flick on the bedside lamp on his bedside table, illuminating the bedroom into a deep orange light, causing shadows on the bedroom walls and revealing a cosy looking Ellie tucked under a blanket on his freshly-made bed.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“I closed my eyes for about five minutes but I couldn’t drift off,” she sighed softly, the bed dipping as her boyfriend climbed upon the mattress and laid beside her, elbow propping his upper body up and his head resting on his open palm, “I got bored so I went online.”

“Anything new?”

“Not really. The latest scandal, Twitter beef, all that kind of thing,” she gigged. A warming silence filled the room, his hand sliding underneath her jumper and cupping her hip, rubbing her skin with the pad of his thumb. Her phone, which had been sitting upon her clothed chest, fell from her body and onto the mattress as she rolled onto her side and nestled herself into his side. “Mum texted and wished us a Merry Christmas from Spain, tried not to make me jealous but, she did.”

Most Christmases, Ellie’s family would spend it abroad; somewhere hot, somewhere exotic and somewhere far from the dull and rainy English countryside they were used to for a good three hundred days a year. And, unlike this year, Ellie would accompany them with a suitcase full of bikinis and shorts and tank-tops that showed off the tan she’d been working on for the week - except the suitcase that she brought into Hampstead with her this year, to spend the Christmas period in Alfie’s childhood home, was full with thick jumpers and winter boots and the thickest socks to keep her toes from frosting on walks to the shops or on a wintery walk on a Sunday morning.  

“We’ll go next year,” Alfie grinned, pressing a kiss to her hairline, “I promise, we’ll jet off before Christmas and spend the day under the Spanish sunshine.”

“Don’t,” she whined, hiding her face into his chest.

“You make it sound like you hate being here,” Alfie laughed, “you live in a dull and rainy city for most of the bleedin’ year anyway so don’t you go complaining to me.”

“I’m not,” she huffed, shoving his chest with her fist and frowning up at him, “I love being here and I’m grateful for being here. Mum said it was best I spent this time with you, anyway, and I agreed because I couldn’t not take up the opportunity to see you for such a long while.”

Alfie cooed cheekily and brought her closer.

The bedroom silence brought all kinds of noises to their ears. Persephone was heard irritating Rose as they finished wrapping the last of the presents they’d hidden in their suitcases; Darcy could be heard playing ‘pat-a-cake’ with Persephone’s giggling baby; Harry could be heard grumbling outside because it was far too cold and far too late into the month to be putting Christmas lights up around the porch and YN could be heard encouraging him to hurry up so he could come inside and warm up with a cup of tea and a homemade mince-pie that she’d been slaving away over, that Ellie had started helping her with before she took time out and disappeared upstairs for a sleep.

Ellie took the time to really think about the year they’d had.

University had been a rocky start but she’d settled down just as well as she expected, met the friends she grew close to over the last few months and she gained a new routine that slowly became one of her favourite routines. She learnt how to cook ‘cheap uni meals’ and found her specialties in the cheapest food found in the corners of the cupboards, she found her alcohol tolerance and she found that when she was away from home,  she was a nightmare waiting to happen - and she rather liked that.

University had also started the journey of a long distance relationship that she hadn’t wanted to experience for a while - not with who she expected but with who she didn’t want to be apart from; her parents. She enjoyed being with Alfie, staying at his dormitory for most of her nights in the week and disappearing before he woke up for his own schedule to get to her morning classes, but she hated the fact that she wouldn’t see her mother making breakfast at the counter in the mornings or see her father at the kitchen table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee in his hand as he munched on toast before he set off for work. She became independent, spending most of her days in front of her computer and surrounded by notes and coloured pens until the early hours, running on cups of coffee and Redbull until she could feel herself waking up.

But, University had also started off as a fresh start for the two of them; having been a part of such a story as teen pregnancy, they had also been a part of a teenage miscarriage and it wasn’t something they took as easy as they wanted to take it, given the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea for them right now. Finding out she was pregnant before she was due to part ways in London and start her four-year course at University, and having it torn away from them, well... it was something they didn’t ever think about in the rush of excitement of a new chapter to their lives. A baby they would have spoilt rotten and taken everywhere with them to prove to everyone they could still parent and keep track of their lives. A baby that would have been the apple of their eyes, of everyone’s eyes, that would have brought joy to such a time in their lives.

“We would have had a baby to spoil this year, you know?”

“I know,” Alfie hummed, his heart aching because it had been a long while since he last thought about the possibility of being a father, “imagine that, Ells.”

“It’s not fair, is it? We would have been such good parents to our little bean,” she whispered, her voice cracking and her eyes burning with the refusal to not let her tears dribble down her cheek, “they’d have been spoiled rotten this year. Your dad would have been all over them, too. Seff’s little one would have a cousin to play with. Christmas would have been so different to what it’s like now.”

Alfie’s own eyes felt like they’d been slit with paper and he discreetly brought his thumb up to wipe his eyes, disguising it as a scratch to the curve of his cheekbone.

“We’ve got so much more time to have a little bean of our own though, baby. So much more time.”

“But I wanted them, Alfie. I wanted them.”

“I know,” Alfie moved his body and Ellie took that as a sign to sit up, leaning against the headboard of his bed and watching him as he twirled on his bum to look at her, “and we won’t ever forget them, okay? Our future babies, they’ll know all about them. And we’ll always celebrate them and think of them at Christmas and we’ll do everything we can do make them proud of us,” he smiled, linking his fingers with her fingers and squeezing her hand tightly, “they’ll be with us, guiding us to do the right thing, every day of our lives.” 

[commorsicoclub]

The First Beat (When Red met Penny)

Prequel to The Good Chase.  

(G/T soft vore. M/F. Human Prey, Giant Pred. Fearplay. Mouthplay. Belly rubs. Magic tricks. Snarky prey. Non-fatal. )

“You’ll be on your own starting tomorrow,” said the portly fellow in the driver seat. Maynard was thirty something years Red’s senior and was mere days away from his retirement. He’d been shoved onto the man last minute with vague orders to show the newbie his beat and aquatint him with the idiosyncrasies of the department. “I’ve got a few things still to wrap up before the end of it. It’s not a hard assignment. Boring really. You’ll be glad of it at first, but believe me. It gets old fast.”  

Eldridge Park was a middle class neighborhood on the west end of the city metro with its white marble apartment buildings and brownstone townhouses and tree lines streets. It was a nice place and crime was shockingly low so Red was more than a little disappointed to learn he’d been assigned to this particular precinct. He had hoped to be placed somewhere closer to the city center where they had actual crimes. Murders, arson, and armed robbery. Not petty larceny and littering. But he supposed it would look good on his record to have a year or two before jumping to another precinct.

“So, all I do is walk around the park in the middle of the night?” he asked flatly, looking out the window and then to Maynard.

“Not just the park, but that’s the better part of it,” Maynard replied. “It’s a big place, but don’t expect much real action. Worst I ever came across was a homeless fucker feeling up a girl on her way home from a late shift. Other then that, it’s just you and the humans.”

That got Red’s attention. “Humans?”

Maynard’s expression for the entirety of their shift thus far had been a placid neutrality leaning into boredom. But with this exchange, he looked at Red and grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah. Eldridge park is a hot spot.”

Red was no less enlightened. “So I’m going to be keeping hobos in check and arresting vermin.”

“You don’t arrest humans, kid,” Maynard said with a laugh. “Well, on the books we do. But there’s a lot of paperwork that goes with it, so none of us on this beat ever bother.”

“So, what do you do then?”

Maynard reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal case. He flicked it open with one fat finger and pulled a cigarette out. Holding it between his teeth, he struck a match and lit it. Only after taking a long draw from it did he looked back at Red to answer him. “You eat them.”

………………………………………….

The night was cool and crisp against his face as Red followed Maynard through the traipsing paths of the park. It was dark, but the moon was full and they had no difficulty seeing their way. He watched Maynard’s movements, noting the way the older officer walked and where his head turned to look at certain areas of the park. Old habits he’d developed over an entire career and he as eager to know them.

“They’re not too dissimilar to dwarf, but not as sweet tastin’ as elves,” he was saying. “And not as fast either.”

“And the Chief's okay with us just...eatin’ up suspects like that?”

“Humans are an invasive species, kid,” he said. “They pop through these…cripes, what the hell are they called again. Black hole kind of things. The just pop out of nowhere from some other dimension or something. Rivers can explain the science to you if you really want, but for my purposes tonight, we just gotta catch one.”

“How many do you normally find?”

“As little as one a week to as much as eight. You probably won’t see more than two a shift at most. And you better be real hungry if you get three in one night or you’ll have to file the paperwork for the one when the other two are in your belly. And they make a racket too.”

Red wasn’t unfamiliar with eating creatures smaller than himself whole and alive. He was quite partial to Elf, but the wild ones were so expensive and the farm raised just didn’t taste as good. Dwarf was all well and good, but they tended to give him indigestion. Goblins were tolerable, but they always needed a good wash before being anywhere near edible and their skin was an odd texture. They were a bit of an acquired taste and one he never really developed, even if they were the cheapest of all live prey available on the market. But he would treat himself to wild Elf on his birthday or special occasions when he could justify the hit to his wallet.  

He normally just stuck to sandwiches.

“If they’re so delicious, I wonder why no one’s tried to farm them,” Red wondered.

“Oh they’ve tried,” Maynard replied. “But they don’t reproduce as quick as other prey so the price of them once they reached eating size would be three times the price of top shelf wild Elf. That and most folks just see them as rats on two legs.”

Rev grinned. “More for us then.”

Maynard laughed and slapped the junior officer on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s see if we’ve got any biters.”

Red obligingly followed his senior officer as he left the main path walked towards a cloister of bushes. Settled inside the thicker portions of the shrubbery, he saw a metal cage. It was empty and had not been tripped. The metal was dark and blended amazingly well within the bushes. He’d only seen it when Maynard pushed aside the leaves and the metal had caught the moonlight.

“I’ve got a good many of these all set up in the park. I’ve got a map in the car of where each of them are. Most human pop through confused and disorientated and try to find small hidey-holes to rest in. Most mistake these cages for a safe little place to stow away.” He looked up and grinned at Red. “Easy lunch.”

Red only nodded, feeling rather curious now. He’d had a good breakfast and he wasn’t particularly hungry, he wouldn’t refuse a little treat. The checked seventeen more traps over the course of the next five hours and none of them had been tripped. Maynard was begging to get a little impatient.

“It’s the perfect night for one to pop through,” he was muttering bitterly. “Cold clear nights are a good sign you’re gonna find one. I still have three more traps to check. Come one, rookie.”

They hit pay-dirt at second to the last trap. Even from a good distance away. Maynard spotted the his trap had caught something and he gave a gleeful hoot and waddled excitedly over. Red jogged to keep pace and could not help but privately ponder to himself that if Maynard hadn’t spent so much of his shifts stuffing himself full of humans, maybe he would be so darn fat.

His attention was abruptly pulled back when there came a shrill cry. There was a small creature inside the metal contraption and he tried to get a good look at it, but Maynard’s fat hand was pawing at it as he tried to open it up. Red was about to offer his assistance when the fat officer let out a “Ha ha!” and he wretched the little metal door open and drew out the prize from inside. The human was a pale pink color and was wearing clothing that looked much the same as an ordinary person would and it looked almost silly to behold it. But he didn’t get much of a chance to study it before Maynard held it up to him.

“Consider it a ‘welcome to the team’ treat,” he said with an oily smile. “She’s a fighter, so probably best to get her down as quick as you can.”

“Let me go, fucking piece of shit, giant ass fuck!” The human was very unhappy and was thrashing against Maynard militant hold on her, but Red was able to smell the distinct scent of fear and her and despite his curiosity to look at her more, to study her, he was all at once rather peckish. Maynard chuckled and pressed the little body into Red’s hands. “Down the hatch, rookie.”

Red laughed, swallowing the excess saliva and tipped his head back as he brought the little human up in the same gesture.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now, dude. No way. No! Holy shit, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...don’t you fucking dare!”

He ignore the panicking mantra from his lunch and slipped her feet onto his tongue. There was a sweet burst of flavor very reminiscent of elf, but it quickly faded into the more deep savory flavor more along the lines of dwarf. Oh, humans were delicious! Complex in their taste and her skin was so smooth. No where near the leathery lumpy affair that was goblin. He hummed in pleasure as he fed her upper thighs into his mouth and gave his first swallow.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, PLEASE DON’T!” Her shrill voice brought him back to reality and his eyes focused in on her face. She trembled in abject terror and struggled as much as she could given her lower half was in his gullet and her top half was firmly being held by his large fingers. He found himself smiling. It was a cruel gesture, but it was instinctual and he relished in the letting the true predator side of himself lose. He wasn’t in a fancy restaurant or a cafe where he needed to mind his manners. This was wild and free and without rules. The true manifestation of what it meant to be the top of the food chain. And Gods did he love the feeling...

He swallowed again and brought the girl’s torso into his mouth. He closed his lips around her neck and let go of her, letting her hang inside him and wiggle as much as she might. She was thicker bodied than an elf, but taller than a dwarf. A perfect middle ground of the two. He felt her little hands pressing against his lips and he almost laughed when one of her hands slipped and ended up slapping his gums. He supposed he’d tortured her enough and gulped hard twice in quick succession, sucking her down into his gullet and sending her on her way down to his belly. 

He breathed deeply now that his airways weren’t blocked and he looked to Maynard with an almost fanatical grin.

“Told you,” he said simply. “Tasty little fuckers, huh?”

“Fuck,” was all Red could manage. The human had spilled out into his belly and was now making all her complaints and protestations known by kicking and punching his insides. Such treatment was usually why he did not often partake in dwarf, but the human was no where near as strong and her strikes tickled more than anything. They were actually rather pleasant and he found himself licking his lips, trying to get one last taste of her.

Maynard laughed loudly, watching his junior partner’s sagging belly bounce and wiggle with his lunch’s frantic movements. He reached out and slapped it playfully. “How’d you like your first human, Red?”

“I think I’m a convert,” he replied, wiping the drool off the corners of his mouth.

………………………..

The human did not stop her squirming for the remainder of his shift. But by the time he slipped through his apartment door, roughly an hour later, she had gone quite and he figured she had finally succumbed to his stomach and would soon digest away like his other live meals. Though, he had to admit she had lasted a good while in there. He was almost impressed.

He pulled off his coat and shirt and sat down on his bed to pull off his boots. The maneuver required him to lean down over his own bulging belly and as he pulled off his first boot he heard it. A soft whimpering. And a voice. “..fucking stupid way to die...so fucking hot in here...can’t breathe for shit...smells like ass...”

Red started to laugh and that seemed to offend his lunch enough to spur her into one last kicking fit accompanied by a cry of, “YOU’RE A FAT FUCKING ASS HAT!”

He sat back up and looked down at his belly. “Well if I’m fat, you’re to blame.”

He wasn’t sure if her abrupt silence meant she had passed out or was too surprised to that he spoke to her to reply back. But then she did answer him.

“COUGH ME UP YOU FUCKER! YOU CAN’T GO AROUND EATING PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKING FEEL LIKE IT!”

Red patted his belly, amused. “Funny you say that. Because I’m pretty sure I just did.”

She kicked him, lower than before and he winced. She’s struck a kidney or something.

“Dude!” she yelled again, but her voice had lost the volume. “Please, just...please let me out...”

“Why?” he asked, rubbing his gut in an almost affectionate manner.

“Because I don’t want to be your fucking food!”

“And yet, you are in my belly. Where food normally goes.”

“That was your mistake, not mine!” He was grinning. He’d never even spoken to his food before. More so because he didn’t speak elvish and the dwarf accents were so hard to understand that he just never bothered. And he wasn’t even sure Goblins had a real language. It was a pleasant change of pace.

“Tell you what, morsel,” he said, his voice low and almost growling. “If you can give me one reason why I should swap you out for the cold sandwich in my fridge, I’ll let you out.”

The human was silent for a moment. “...you promise?”

“Sure. I promise.”

“Like...pinkie swear and shit?”

“Well, I can’t exactly do a pinkie swear with you in there so...”

“Symbolic pinkie swear then!”  

“Okay. Symbolic pinkie swear. You just have to convince me you’re worth more alive then as lunch.”

After several moments, he felt the human suddenly shift. “Magic!” she said. “I can do magic!”

That got Red’s attention and eyed his belly dubiously. “Really now?”

“Yup! I can do magic.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I can’t show you from inside your fucking stomach now can I?!”  

Red stood up and walked to the kitchen. He flicked the light on and went to the sink. “OK. I’ll bring you out and you can do your magic, but I warn you now morsel. If you’re lying, I’m gobbling you back up and this time...” he paused. “I might just bite a little.”

It was surprisingly difficult to push his food back up once he’d swallowed it. Putting his fingers down his throat didn’t really do much other than make him wretch and his stomach clench. Which the human really did not appreciate. After the fourth failed attempt, he was ready to say fuck it and just go sit and watch TV until his belly finished her off. But he was genuinely curious now and he was spurred on more by annoyance and stubbornness than anything.

“Should...should I...like...help?” the human asked tentatively.

Red growled. “Might be nice.”

He tried one more time was shocked when he felt the warm lump push up into his esophagus. Once it had a good hold on the human, the rest went much more smoothly and after only a few moments, he felt her push up from the back of his throat and her little hands were grabbing onto his tongue and trying to pry herself out. He opened his mouth and plucked her from inside, pulling her from his jaws and setting her down onto the counter. She wobbled on her feet before falling hard onto her knees, too weak and disorientated to remain standing. Her skin was flushed and red from where his stomach acids had began to burn her and he felt a soft pang of guilt. It looked like it hurt. But he steeled himself and looked down at her with a frown.

“Alright, human. Let’s see this amazing magic of yours.” He knew some Elves could do magic and most fairies, but he had never seen any of it. Maynard hadn’t said anything about humans being able to perform magic, so maybe only some could?

The human held up both her hands, showing him the back and her palms as though to prove she held nothing. She presented the back of one hand, the thumb bent inward and used her other hand to place the tip of her other thumb so it aligned with the profile of its fellow, index finger and middle finger bent over to hide the gap. She slid the hand with the tip of her thumb visible back and forth as though she meant it as an impressive deed and the clapped her hands together and presented them both. Each hand still in possession of their thumbs.  

It was a parlor trick. A silly hand illusion to trick simple minded children that one could sever the tip of the thumb and magically reattach it with a simple wave of their hands. And almost as though to add insult to injury, the human finished their performance with a tired sounding, “Ta da.”

Red starred, expecting more and when the little human only starred back, he realized that he had been had. There was no magic. Just a magic trick, an illusion and it should have angered him. It should have made him furious and he should have devoured the wretched little liar right then and there…

...but instead he started to laugh. Loudly. He leaned back against the opposite counter and covered his face as the laughter turned into a fit of giggles and when he peeked between his fingers at the human, who was now looking at him with a fearful uneasiness, his laughter was renewed. It an absurd bargain she had made with him, betting her very life on the idea he might be impressed by such a paltry little showing. It was stupid and reckless and oddly...brave.

“S-so...” her shivering voice brought him back. “So...are you going to...let me go?”

He composed himself and regarded the little creature for a long moment and then said, “No.”

She scowled at him. “I knew it! You’re a fucking liar!”

He scoffed. “Me? What about you? That wasn’t magic.”

“It was a magic trick,” she replied firmly. “I just omitted a word. I didn’t lie.”

“Well, in any case I didn’t say I’d let you go,” he replied with a smug grin. “I said I would let you out. Never mentioned anything about releasing you or even that I wouldn’t be putting you back in later.”

The human’s scowl was gone and she bite her lip. As she began to scoot back across the counter, she started shaking in fear again. “Fucking liar...”

Red watched her shake and tremble, easily imagining she thought he meant to eat her then and there and he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to assure her of the contrary. He was having fun.

“I didn’t lie,” he purred as he loomed over her.

“You said all I needed to do was convince you I was worth more alive,” she spat, tears falling down her face now.

“And do you feel like you sufficiently did that?”

“I made you laugh,” she retorted. “Like...a lot. That should count for something, right?”

She was bargaining again, Red mused. “It was amusing, but if that’s all...”

“I didn’t say it was all,” the human snapped back. “I have more.”

Red regarded her with a flat, unimpressed look. “Oh do tell...”

“I can stick my tongue out and touch my forehead.”

Red blinked and his confused silence seemed to give the human the impression he was waiting for her display the odd quirk. But all she did was stick her tongue out at him and...touch her forehead with the index finger of her right hand.

Almost involuntarily, Red smiled and started to laugh again. He paced around the kitchen for a moment and then out into the hall before doubling back into the kitchen, laughing all the while. The human had taken his momentary absence as a chance to hide, but his kitchen countered were sparse and there were only two places to hide. Behind the toaster or inside the bread box. He could see the toaster well enough to know she was not there so he flipped open the box to see the human trying to hide under the remaining half loaf of bread. He chuckled at her and reach inside to pull her out.

She fought, but had grown very weak and could not do much of anything but smack his hand and kick her feet. “Please...please don’t kill me...”

He looked at the human and found that he didn’t want to eat her again. Not because she was not appetizing or that he wasn’t hungry, but she had succeeded in her original task; To convince him she was worth more than being his lunch. She was far too amusing a creature to sacrifice to his belly.

“I’m not going to eat you,” he said and watched her study him as though trying to figure out if she should believe him. “You’ve won your bargain, human. Congratulations.”

She sucked in a breath and shuddered, fat tears rolling down her face. “You’re not lying?”

“Nah,” he replied. “You’re a funny little thing. Might be worth keeping you around for a laugh.”

She held out her hand, little pinkie extended. “Pinkie promise.”

He eyed her. “We already did.”

“Real pinkie promise,” she said. “Promise that you aren’t lying and you won’t eat me ever again.”

He rolled his eyes, but obligingly offered his own pinkie of his free hand to her. “Fine, I promise I am not lying to you and I will not eat you ever again.” Their different sizes made it an awkward exchange, but the little human seemed satisfied enough. He sat back down on the counter and once she was standing under her own power, he grinned at her and licked his lips. “I make no such promises about eating any other humans though.”

She gaped at him, horrified. “Dude!”

He laughed and then asked, “Have a name, human? Or should I keep calling your morsel?”

“My name’s Penny,” she replied.

“Okay, Penny. I’m Red.” 

[sleepyxdarling]

Dates!

Decided to finally write something for my newer ocs...i need a team name for them lol anyways it's not yandere but I hope you all still enjoy it and maybe show these dorks some love.

Click here if you wanna learn bout these dorks

Leo

Leo definitely did not ask you so you decided to ask him and his reaction was an amusing one.

You two have been friends for a while so he didn't faint when you asked him but he tensed up and his face became red before he started to stammer

"d..d..d...date...m..m..me..?..w..what?"

Despite being 6'3 he was like a timid mouse.

After about ten minutes of having a panic attack and you having to calm him down he said yes

You both decided to go to his place and watch movies

You didn't expect him to bake a bunch of snacks for movie night though

"I..I..I want to spoil you!"

His blushing expression was way too cute as he cowered in fear from your reaction

Of course you liked it and you both sat on the couch and watched movies

He was always asking if it was okay to move closer which you thought was a little weird

He got more comfortable the longer you both spent time

"h..hey..[name] c..c..can...can I hold your hand?"

You can tell how scared he looks and you simply grab his hand while finishing the movie..

After that you both had gone on more dates and even got leo used to being out in public...well kinda.

Alex

Alex was the one to ask you out

She had gotten you a red rose despite your gender

"Hey! [Name] go on a date with me Kay? If not.. I'll punish you!"

After agreeing due to the slight fear of what she would do to you she decided to take you out to an arcade

She was kinda competitive but it was pretty fun

Cue you both getting weird looks from kids cause of an intense March at air hockey

She spends an hour trying to win you a prize at a claw machine..which she got

She also got you ANOTHER prize at the prize corner

After spending hours playing games she takes you out to eat

She of course paid for the entire date and will refuse to take your money if you offer

"let me spoil you cutie!"

Hours of talking, laughing, and being dorks she takes you home

She gives you a quick kiss on the cheek

"you better call me or I'll totally kidnap you..I'm not kidding"

You two had more fun dates after that one..most of them were dorky and involved mass amounts of cuddles

Orion

It's a wonder how you two are friends

You are the only one allowed in his room when he is working..so congrats.

During a quiet session of him working on a manga page he boldly asked you out

"[name]...tomorrow I want to go to the bookstore, get boba tea, and maybe go shopping..meet me at the city plaza at 3"

After processing that statement you agree and he sends you home immediately

The next day he is standing there looking uncomfortable and annoyed

When he sees you he immediately grabs your hand

"come on..I don't want to take all day"

You were mostly confused and went with it

It was very interesting.. Everytime you picked something up in interest he took it from your hands before paying for it

He didn't talk much and finally while sitting and drinking the tea you ask why he invited you.

"I don't get that question... don't people who feel an attraction ask each other on a date? You're weird"

After that you two went shopping and while he bought himself the cheapest clothes he bought you expensive jewelry and clothes he thought you would look good in.

After hours of shopping you both go to his place and watch movies

He ends up falling asleep with his head in your lap while you pet his hair

He hasn't slept in days due to work so he deserves it..plus he spoiled you all day so he definitely deserved peace.

Ash

Ash was a sly guy who knew how to flirt so him asking you out was for certain

He invited you to his shop before asking you out

"hey [name]..you will go out on a date with me yeah? Come on don't make me beg"

After giving you a look that dripped with sex appeal you just had to agree

You both went to grab a bite to eat before walking through the park

Ash kept you laughing which was good

You can tell he wanted to smoke the entire time but he didn't out of respect.

When it got late he took you to his shop and taught you how to make a cup of coffee

While you were focused he snuck a few kisses on your neck

When you turned to him to question him about it he kissed your lips

"heh..sorry I couldn't help myself just wanted to see how you tasted"

He gave you a wink before walking you home and asking for a second date

[theladyofdeath]

V O I D { F I V E }

Chapter 5. An ACOTAR fanfiction.

Nessian. Elriel. Feysand.

Previous chapters:  Fanfic Masterlist

“It sounded like a dream; it tasted like damnation.”  from The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic

Nesta woke up early the next morning, but it wasn’t until 8 or so that she got a surprise visitor.

Elain hurried past the guest room towards the bathroom, but slowly backstepped a second later.

She looked into the room, brown eyes wide. “Wh- Nesta?”

She had been at a party the night before when Nesta has gotten there. Everyone had been asleep when she had gotten home.

Nesta sat up in her bed, a small smile for her younger sister. “Surprise.”

Elain’s eyes remained wide. Nesta didn’t know if it was just because she was shocked to see her or if it was because she hadn’t yet seen her hair, or lack thereof, in person yet.

Before Nesta could string together another sentence, Elain was running inside of the little bedroom, throwing herself on top of her sister. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too,” Nesta muttered into her hair. “Feyre still asleep?”

Elain froze. “Okay so, don’t tell dad, but she’s at a boy’s house.”

Nesta blinked. “She spent the night at a boy’s house?”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Not like that. At least...I don’t think so. Not last I heard. Anyway, I’m just telling dad that she’s at a friend’s and I’m going to get her in a little bit.”

“And why are we lying?” Nesta asked, intrigued.

“We’re not lying. He is a friend,” she said, winking as she nudged her sister in the ribs before throwing her arms around her neck, once more. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re here. How long are you staying?”

Nesta hesitated. “A while.”

Elain gave her a curious look, but nodded. “We’ll talk details later. I’m just so happy to see you.”

A soft knock came on the already opened door.

Isaac stood in the doorway, a mug of steaming black coffee in hand. “What’s your plans for this Saturday, ladies?”

“I’m going to get Feyre this morning,” Elain said, nodding. “She stayed at a friend’s house last night. Then I was thinking we’d do some shopping downtown.”

Isaac blinked. “Feyre made a friend?”

“Yeah,” Elain smiled without missing a beat. “They’re getting along really well. One of my cheer squad mates.”

“Alright,” he said. “Nesta? What about you?”

“Going with Elain,” she said, much to Elain’s delight.

Isaac nodded, his eyes holding Nesta’s for a moment longer. “Alright. Well, you three be safe. I’ll see you tonight for dinner?”

“We’ll be here,” Elain smiled, clapping her hands.

Nesta nodded, trying her best to smile. Her heart wasn’t in it, though. She wasn’t sure if her heart would ever be in it.

Nesta smiled, but she felt nothing.

She never felt anything.

Not anymore.

~~~

Feyre woke up with a pounding headache and a hazy memory.

She shot up on the couch, fully taking in her surroundings. She had no idea where she was, had barely any memory of the night before.

She remembered going with Elain to the bonfire. Remembered the punch. But after that?

Rhysand.

Oh gods. Rhysand. She had a vague memory of her shoving her hand down Rhysand’s pants.

Her cheeks burned.

“I know you from somewhere.”

Feyre spun around, fully aware that her breath reeked.

A young, teenage girl stared at her, hazel eyes curious, curly brown hair pulled back into a bun.

“She goes to your school,” a guy answered from the kitchen. “Feyre, my sister, Cecily. Cece, meet Feyre. Oh, and I’m Cassian.”

Feyre’s mouth opened, then closed.

The three of them were alone.

“Rhys is in the shower,” Cassian said, guessing her thoughts, mouthful of scrambled eggs. Feyre felt sick.

“I...should go,” Feyre hesitated.

“Rhys drove you here. Don’t you remember?”

Feyre blinked.

She remembered her hands in his….

Feyre cursed, her face falling into her hands.

“It’s okay, Elain is on her way,” he chuckled.

Feyre’s cheeks burned to the point that she was almost in physical pain. She couldn’t imagine what Elain would say when she arrived, but she knew it would be embarrassing.

Another dark-haired male stepped into the main room from the hallway. He gave Feyre a polite nod as he went into the kitchen and began to dig through the fridge. Feyre recognized him from the bonfire.

“So, you all live together?” Feyre asked.

Cassian nodded.

Feyre, not knowing what else to say, sunk back down onto the couch.

The bathroom door opened a minute later. Rhys came out, a towel around his waist, tanned skin still glistening.

He caught Feyre’s eye and grinned. “Ah, she’s awake. Good morning, Feyre darling.”

Feyre didn’t respond.

“Already in denial about your flirting last night?” He asked, leaning over the back of the couch. “That hurts.”

“I was drunk,” she mumbled.

“You know what they say,” he began, “drunk people always tell the truth.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Feyre announced, rising to her feet.

Rhys stepped in front of her. “Stay. Please? Have some breakfast….if you can stomach it. I’ll even put a shirt on.”

Silence.

The room was met with utter silence.

“Fine,” Feyre snapped, after a moment passed. “But the minute Elain is here, we’re leaving.”

Rhysand’s grin simply widened as he grabbed a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants off the ground and meandered into one of the back bedrooms to dress.

Before he could come out, a precautious knock came to the front door. Feyre watched as Azriel’s eyes shot up and he hurried to open it.

Feyre’s sister stood on the threshold, smiling at Azriel once she met his gaze. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied, quietly.

Feyre quickly ducked around Azriel and past Elain, hurrying toward the car as quickly as she could. She only froze when she saw who sat in the passenger seat.

Feyre hadn’t seen Nesta in a while, but she knew her oldest sister hadn’t been doing well. Looking at her now, Feyre didn’t even recognize her.

She was far too thin, her head buzzed. She was wearing a black jacket that nearly swallowed her whole.

Nesta’s eyes met Feyre’s and her entire body tensed. Feyre took the remaining footsteps cautiously. When she sat in the back seat, neither of them spoke a word.

They simply watched Elain, and although all they could see was her back, Feyre knew she was giggling. Azriel watched her, hazel eyes soft, as Elain said whatever it was that she was saying.

“Who is this guy?” Nesta asked, out of nowhere.

Feyre was so unprepared for the question that she jumped at the sudden noise in the silence.

“Azriel?” Feyre asked, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. “A friend of Rhysand’s.”

“And Rhysand is the boy you slept with last night?” Nesta asked.

Feyre scoffed, not even bothering to tell her that it wasn’t what she thought when she said, “And you’re one to judge? How has Tomas’ bed been treating you lately?”

Nesta didn’t reply.

She didn’t even look back to glare at Feyre, which is what Feyre had expected her to do.

Instead, they fell back into silence as Elain hurried back toward her car.

~~~~

Rhysand wasn’t too surprised when Feyre didn’t say goodbye. He was, however, surprised to find her phone still sitting on the couch.

He’d put it in his pocket as he went for a walk through the city.

Cassian and Cecelia were busy arranging their father’s memorial service while Azriel had to go to work at the garage. Rhys offered to help Cassian, but he just brushed his friend off. Cassian hated his father. Rhys even thought that he was happy to see the old bastard dead after everything he’d put his children through.

Hatred of their fathers. It was one thing they had always had in common, even when they were young.

So, that left Rhys to waste a day out of the apartment.

The sun was shining, the air finally becoming brisk with the approaching Autumn. He thought to spend it messing around with some lyrics he’d been working on, but it had been a while since he’d been to the rivercourt.

It sat just along the Sidra, although it had seen much better days. The court paint had long ago faded, the concrete cracked. The basketball hoops no longer had nets, but it didn’t stop Rhysand.

It was his favorite place to play, it always had been.

He’d loved the game. Once.

Before his father wanted him to become a slave to it. Then it had become torturous.

But every now and then, Rhysand liked to relive those days when he was nothing more than a boy who loved a game.

He had been good, too.

As he pulled up to where the three-point line would have been on the broken concrete, Rhysand squared himself up and took a shot.

It effortlessly fell into the middle of the rim.

Rhysand didn’t move as the ball bounced off the concrete, into the grass. He spun around, slowly, taking in his surroundings and breathing in the fresh, salty air.

But as he closed his eyes, all he saw was her.

~~~~

Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys pushed through the doors of Rita’s. Helion had done an impressively professional job on their fake id’s. At eighteen and nineteen, they barely passed for twenty-one. At least, that’s what the skeptical glare of the bodyguard checking id’s at the door told them.

“Beer,” Cassian told the bartender, “whatever’s cheapest on tap.”

After showing the bartender the black X that was drawn on the back of his hand, the bartender fulfilled his request. Cassian hated the taste of beer, but he could use it.

All he had thought about all day was his father.

His anger had built up until he told Cece he was sorry, but he needed the rest of the night off and they could resume dealing with his death in the morning.

Azriel and Rhys hadn’t hesitated when Cassian had asked if they wanted to join him for a night out on the town.

Cassian was glad, too, because it would have been far more pathetic getting drunk alone. And three hours later, when they were all stumbling around in the parking lot howling at everything and nothing at all, Cassian was grateful for his two best friends, even if this memory would be nothing more than drunken haziness that he would barely remember.

“Shiiiiiiit,” Cassian breathed, getting behind the wheel of his truck. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision.

“You shouldn’t drive,” Azriel said, falling into the passenger seat. “Let’s call a cab.”

“I’m so drunk!” Rhysand screamed, standing in the bed of the truck with his shirt over his face.

Cassian and Azriel howled.

“Sit down, jackass!” Cassian hollered, pounding on the back window. “I’m fine. We live less than fi-five minutes from here.”

Azriel, completely unaware of what he had said before, was singing along to the radio, obnoxiously loud, head hanging out the window.

He could hear Rhys joining in for the chorus, voice worse than Azriel’s.

Cassian shook his head, sputtering a laugh as he put his truck in reverse.

It was only three miles to their apartment, but they barely made it a mile down the road before everything changed.

Even the beauty of the starlit night sky of Velaris could not diminish the tragedy that would unfold a mile down the road from Rita’s.

~~~

Don’t be mad at me, but I’m no longer going to do tags! They don’t work half the time and they add, like, an extra half hour onto every post....so, from this post forward, every chapter will be tagged “tacmc void” and I will be updating weekly. :)

[aahsokaatano]

ITALY????

Y’all I spent one whole week in Italy in 2017 and it was one of the most bizarre fucking weeks of my life

let’s break it down from the beginning

[under a read more for length]

So, fall of 2017 I was studying abroad in London. One of the classes I was taking was specifically for study abroad students, designed to get us engaging in the culture of London or whatever i dont really remember the class itself but my god do i remember the people i met in it

two in particular were these girls, also American. We shall call them Molly and Ally. They had quickly made friends with each other, and after one of the class trips into London, i was friendly with them as well. The “reading week” or fall break was coming up, and they mentioned that they were going to Italy and asked if I wanted to go. I had booked a short tour to Dover, but thought “oh my god Italy???? Fuck yes!” and so I bought my plane tickets then asked them where they had booked hotel rooms so that I could add myself to their itinerary

“Oh,” Molly said, “we haven’t, don’t worry about it”

Me, a seasoned traveler “?????? uh”

I bugged them about this for at LEAST a week and finally, about THREE DAYS from when we were supposed to leave, I just went ahead and booked an assortment of hostels and airbnbs for us in all the cities they wanted to go to and told them to pay me back later

they actually admitted afterwards that that had been a smart move on my part which like????? no SHIT its a smart move to have a plan where you’re gonna sleep every night while in a foreign country. god.

So, lets go through this day by day

Day 1 - London to Milan

we flew from London to Milan in the evening, getting there pretty late at night. and it was only once we were actually IN Italy that I learned that 1) none of us spoke Italian and 2) despite having grown up in two areas with large Hispanic populations, neither Molly or Ally spoke a lick of Spanish, which is close enough to Italian that you can kind of limp through a conversation of one if you know the other.

so, somehow, I ended up being our Italian translator for the week, armed with nothing but a translator website, a handful of Italian music terms, and the ability to roll my r’s fairly well for a white person. Literally, i figured out where the bus stop was outside of the airport because I saw the word “fermata” painted on the pavement and I knew that meant “long pause” in sheet music terms so I hazarded a guess it meant stop or similar in regular Italian

(sidenote I almost got in a fight with some random Italian dude on the bus because Molly was going on about how excited she was to try the pizza and I told her it wasn’t going to be the same because “the pizza you’re used to is an American invention” and he turned around and started going on about the tradition of pizza in Italy and I was like I just mean that American pizza is different from real Italian pizza i did not mean to offend i’m sorry!!!!!! anyways)

the bus dropped us in a square in the middle of Milan and we got out and i’m lookin at my airbnb app trying to figure out where we need to go and i said “okay we need to get a cab” and Molly and Ally are arguing about something and this RANDOM ASS DUDE walks up to us and is like “you need taxi?” and i said yes to he leads us back to his REGULAR ASS CAR, NOT A TAXI and tells us to get in, and for some unknown fucking reason I do and Molly and Ally follow me and shut up real fast because this is sketchy as fuck but the guy did take us to the airbnb without murdering us so thats a win i guess

The airbnb by the way was more like a mini hostel - it was this apartment where pretty much every room except the bathroom had been converted into a bedroom and so probably not entirely legal but whatever. whatever. 

Day 2 - Milan to Venice

i woke up early the next morning and went to take a shower at the bathroom at the end of the hall and found out that the lights didn’t work. Whatever, I’m mostly blind without my glasses anyways so i just showered in the dark, no biggie

we had an early bus to catch from Milan to Venice, so we headed out to the bus station. I’ll be honest, I do not remember how we got there. I think we walked, because I ended up with a coffee at some point so I probably got it from some cafe on the way? But idk. I was so tired.

We get on the bus, I found two empty seats far away from Molly and Ally, and immediately stretched out and fell asleep.

Ally woke me a little later and said “c’mon, we’re here!”

I was confused as all hell because it had not been nearly long enough for us to get all the way to Venice, but I got off the bus and was greeted by Molly stretching her arms out and proclaiming “Welcome to Venice!” underneath a sign that said we were at the Verona bus station.

They did not believe me when I said Verona and Venice were two different places. “Venice has canals, Verona is where Romeo & Juliet is set. There are no canals in R&J, they’re two different places!” I literally had to pull out my phone, go to google maps, and zoom out until they could see that Venice was still several hours away before they believed me.

The bus driver almost didn’t let us back on but I was able to show him on the tickets that our end destination was, in fact, Venice.

Venice itself was pretty neat. We got to go on a gondola ride and I ate an entire pizza by myself at dinner lmao.

Day 3 - Venice to Florence

we took a train from Venice to Florence the next morning, and that’s when I discovered that Italian train stations have lovely little cafes with AMAZING coffee and really good pastries. The other two didn’t drink coffee but like, their loss. it was fantastic. 

Florence was great, we found a little shop that sold really yummy gelato for only 1 Euro a scoop - Geletaria La Carraia. If you ever end up in Florence, definitely check it out!

We wandered around for a while, took a lot of pictures. There was some famous church that was undergoing some renovations, but as we walked up to it Molly gasped and said “I’ve climbed that in Assassin’s Creed!” which was pretty funny. 

We went to a museum that had made a bunch of models of some of Leonardo DaVinci’s inventions. We went to an art museum and stumbled across Michaelangelo’s David on accident, so that was the big “wtf” moment of the day. Also that night Molly decided to buy a bottle of wine to take home to a friend of her’s back in America, but realized after buying it that her backpack wasn’t big enough to cart it around for the rest of the week so I ended up carrying an entire fucking bottle of wine for the rest of the trip because I was the only one smart enough to bring a proper backpacking backpack and not just my school bag.

Also the hostel we were in had actual skeleton keys for their rooms and actual goddamn keyholes that one could clearly see through so i left the key in the lock all night AND hung my sweatshirt from the door handle so that no one could peek in at us

Day 4 - Florence to Pisa

once again, I woke up early, went into the bathroom attached to our room (the hostel had had a cancellation and so we ended up in a private room instead of a dorm style) and discovered that the lights didn’t work so I had a second shower in the dark

we took another train from Florence to Pisa, and there we ran into our only bit of bad weather

What’s the big draw in Pisa? The Leaning Tower, right?

What was the only day it rained, non-fucking-stop, the entire time we were in Italy? THE DAY WE WERE IN PISA

I got so soaked that I actually bought a new sweatshirt because the one I was wearing was DRIPPING

anyways, after we had taken several dumb touristy pictures and grabbed an early dinner at a nearby restaurant, we decided to head over to the room I had booked. The cheapest place I could find was a tiny cabin at a campground nearby. According to the map on my phone, it was a short walk away.

A solid hour later, we finally trudged up to the main office of the campground, shivering and soaked, and got the keys to our cabin. We set our stuff down, and Ally and Molly decided to go back out to the grocery store we had passed coming in. I waved them off and went to take a shower in the bathroom with fully functioning lights! hooray!

Day 5 - Pisa to Rome

another morning, another train station with excellent coffee. We got into Rome and, at this point, we were all so tired from travelling that I was finally able to take charge. up until this point, Molly had been railroading us, even sort of bullying Ally in the process, but now she was exhausted and I, through a combination of practice in functioning while dead on my feet, lots of travel experience, and Mom Friend Instincts, took the reins. We got to Rome and I said “we’re going to the church with the big hole in the roof (its a thing, look it up) and then we’re going to eat.... at this place around the corner and then we’re going to to go our hostel and check in”

they didn’t argue, and that’s a true testament to how fucking tired the two of them were, especially Molly, because she would argue about anything and everything given half a chance. We also went to the military museum that day, mostly because it was free and also air conditioned

(also while looking through my pictures of this trip i just discovered that i still have the picture i took of the Rome hostel FAQ page that had by the front desk, which i now remember i did because it had the wifi password on it and we weren’t in our room for 30 seconds before one of the other two asked what the wifi password was so, once again, i show that i am a very good traveler/travelling buddy)

Day 6 - Rome

so we had the next full day in Rome, and we got up early to get in line for the Vatican. I wanted to be there by 7am, Molly was like “it doesn’t even open until 9!” and we compromised at 8 and it was STILL an enormous line so i was like “see? this is why i wanted to get here early”

Oh, but before we went to the Vatican, i took a shower. IN. THE. DARK. BECAUSE ALL OF ITALY EXCEPT FOR PISA DECIDED THAT I DIDN’T DESERVE TO HAVE A SHOWER WHERE I DIDN’T HAVE TO FUMBLE AROUND BLINDLY LIKE AN ASSHOLE

ALSO on the way to the Vatican, I asked if the two of them had their passports. Ally said yes. Molly said yes, why?

And I had to then explain to Molly, a 20 year old RELIGIOUS STUDIES MAJOR, who was RAISED CATHOLIC and who had FAMILY IN THE CLERGY, that the Vatican, THE CENTER OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, is it’s own country. 

she, again, did not believe me until i pulled it up on google for her

turned out that we didn’t need our passports stamped to enter the Vatican but still! still!!!!!

so it turned out that whatever day we were there on, the Sistine Chapel isn’t open that day, so we just walked through the cathedral and then headed out to the Colosseum and the ruins of the Senate behind it, both of which were very cool

Day 7 - Rome to Milan to London

we got up even EARLIER on our last day, I took another shower in the dark, and we rushed over to the Vatican, speedwalked through most of the museum, and finally got into the Sistine Chapel, which was absolutely breathtaking. Then we hauled ass back to the train station to catch our train back to Milan.

At this point in the trip, I was so fucking done with the two of them, but especially Molly. Ally was sweet and naive, but she was also willing to listen to new information. Molly was just a stubborn ass with a mean streak a mile wide and I was COMPLETELY done associating with her.

Luckily, since I had booked my flights separately, while we had flown into Milan on the same plane, I had a completely different flight back to London - to a different airport, even. They were going back to London City, but I was heading to London Gatwick. Both planes were set to depart around the same time, from two gates that were next to each other though, so i couldn’t really escape them until - uh oh! My flight was delayed. 

Molly and Ally were fretting about it but i was like “it’s fine. it’s fine. I’ve been flying since i was literally 3 months old and I s o m e h o w know more Italian AND Spanish than the two of you combined, even though I would never say that I speak EITHER of those languages. Just go.”

The flight ended up being delayed like 5 hours due to mechanical issues. They finally just got another plane for us, and we finally took off from Milan. When we went over Paris, the captain, obviously feeling bad about the delay, made sure to tilt the plane in both directions so that everyone could see the Eiffel Tower lit up, it was really neat.

We finally got back to London at literally like 230 in the morning. The busses and some of the trains weren’t even running at that point - certainly not all the way out to the fancy little liberal arts college I was going to. I went up to some security guard at the airport and said “just tell me how close I can get to the University of Roehampton on the trains” and he told me to take the train to Black Friars so I got out there and there was a bus, but it was like 40 minutes out. It’s now pass 3am, I am exhausted after a long, weird week in Italy, I texted my dad and he said “just get an Uber i’ll pay for it”

The Uber driver was very nice and as soon as I got in he said “you look really cold! do you want the heat on?” i could have fucking kissed him. he was super nice. actually made sure that I was still texting my dad (i had mentioned it when I got in because I almost dropped my bag while trying to text and maneuver at the same time) every few minutes. offered to let me take and send a picture of him to my dad. otherwise didn’t really speak and just let the music play. I tipped him literally whatever was in my pocket at that time, i don’t remember how much it was, but it was at least 20% and probably more. Really great guy. 

Random London Uber driver from 2017, you remain the best Uber driver and I love you

i finally crawled into my shitty little dorm bed at about 4am, exhausted and utterly bewildered by the past week

honestly??? I’m still bewildered by my week in Italy.

wtf even happened in all that mess.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Reaction Shots, ch.2 (baon)

Summary:   Still in the aftermath of the events of ‘Any Other Tuesday’.

Notes: All right, chapter one was from Edge’s POV. This time let’s see Andy Jeff!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Original Undertale Characters, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Prejudice Against Monsters, Violence, Injury, Prejudice from Police Officers, LV issues

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Andy Jeff

~*~

Since he’d met Stretch, hospital visits had become a thing again in Jeff’s life. A couple years ago he’d had an experience with them as well, when Julia finally told him what was going on. She’d been in hospice at that point and he’d spent a week there with her. Until it was over and he’d gone back to school because he didn’t know what else to do. Julia didn’t have much family, didn’t spend time with them, and seeing the way they went after her estate when she died made Jeff understand why. All he had left were pictures, but he hadn’t wanted more. What he really wanted was the impossible; he wanted her back, her laughter and her kindness. She’d loved cooking too, not like Edge, more haphazard and slapdash, usually tasty and sometimes requiring copious amounts of ketchup and Tabasco. He really missed her. But his fear that hospitals would remind him too much of her were proved wrong, to his relief. For starters, the Monster hospital was a lot nicer than the sterile hospice she’d spent her last days in. The rooms were airy and painted in soothing colors, with artwork on the walls and plants in corners. It was more like a hotel room than a hospital. Not that Stretch ever seemed to appreciate it. Every time Jeff had visited, his relief at seeing him was blatantly obvious and now that he was on the other side of the equation, Jeff could agree with him on one thing; hospitals were fucking boring. Not they were supposed to provide amusement along with healthcare, of course. But as exhausted as he was, Jeff couldn’t sleep and time was dribbling away so slowly he could practically hear the tick-tocks.

His body would’ve been happy for a rest. It was just a shame his brain wasn’t willing to get with the program. The sun was coming up, he could see it coming in through the curtains, which meant he’d slept a few hours at least. Stretch was curled up again in his armchair, this time with legs drawn up to his chest and his feet tucked into the cushion. It made Jeff wince to look at, that looked like a cramp waiting to happen. Maybe skeletons didn’t get cramps? He didn’t know much, but he knew his friends normally slept in a bed, so it was a good guess that Stretch would be waking with some regrets. The television was on with the volume down, the subtitles narrating along. They even had a smart tv, but Jeff didn’t think he’d ever wanted to catch up on his Netflix less. It was still very early. Jeff texted his roommates and Thomas, anyway, before they caught the whole debacle as it was brewing on the news. That was pretty much the end of his contact list. Every other friend he had was either sitting here or already knew where he was. So that left him with Netflix, his phone, and his unsettled thoughts that kept wandering back to what had happened outside the Golden City, to the sight of his own soul, hovering above Stretch’s hand. To everything. To the ache of absence in his gut reminding him that Antwan wasn’t here, and he shouldn’t feel that way, he shouldn’t. He was the one hurt, yeah, but one look at the news had him cringing. A hate crime against a Monster ally, one that involved Stretch who’d already been in the news a few times himself recently. Jeff only read a couple headlines before he didn’t want to see anymore. Antwan and Edge, hell, the whole Embassy was probably working feverishly to get this under control, and there was a lot at stake. But he couldn’t help that small, selfish part of him that wanted Antwan here with him. Stupid, it was stupid and selfish, and— A light knock at that door interrupted the downward spiral of his thoughts. He looked over, expecting to see a nurse and instead Edge walked in. He was in one of his power executive suits, but for the first time in Jeff’s memory, he honestly looked exhausted. There were shadows under his sockets and the crimson magic that glowed in his eye lights and joints seemed dim.

Jeff gave him a little wave and was both startled and amused when Edge raised a curt hand back. There were a couple plastic bags in his other hand and Edge set it down as he glanced over to where Stretch was sleeping. His expression, his entire posture, softened when he saw him; there was no other word for it. He walked on silent feet over to him and Jeff tried not to stare goopily as Edge straightened the blanket, smoothing it gently over him. At least he could enjoy someone else’s affection vicariously.

Stretch made a sleepy sound, nestling deeper into the folds like a particularly tall and lanky puppy and Jeff expected Edge to pull a chair up next to him, the better to keep hands on. Sure, he was the one who got hurt, but Edge was a smart guy. There was no way he hadn’t connected the dots like Jeff had, no chance at all that he hadn’t realized if Stretch hadn’t fallen back a pace, he would’ve been first in line to meet those fuckers, and that didn’t even include what Jeff had seen online about the police. There was a story he needed more information on and soon. But to his surprise, Edge took a seat on the other side of the bed before he asked in a low voice, “How are you feeling?” “Sore,” Jeff said honestly. “But it’s not that bad.” It was true; he’d really expected to be in a lot more pain. But the stitches itched more than they hurt and it seemed almost absurdly easy to forget why he was here to begin with. Edge nodded, unsurprised. “A residual effect of the healing. I’ll warn you now, it will wear off, so when the nurses offer you pain medication, accept it.” “Yeah, okay, I will.” This felt weird, even a little awkward, knowing what he knew about healing; namely that Stretch really hadn’t been supposed to do it. His memory of it all was blurry and dim, and he wasn’t trying very hard to pull any of it back into focus, but he did recall Edge telling Stretch to hurry. So he knew, too, and he hadn’t told Stretch to stop. “I brought you a gift,” Edge said abruptly. Jeff had to bite back a smile, because that was such an…an…Edge thing. Directly to the point, bypassing the unnecessary smalltalk. Whenever they were all together, he made for a great foil for Stretch, a perfect straight man, but on his own, Edge kept firmly on track. From one of the bags, Edge pulled out a tastefully wrapped package and handed it to him. It was about the size of a hardcover book and Jeff opened it curiously, wondering at what kind of reading material Edge would find suitable for hospital bed reading. Except it wasn’t a book. Jeff stared down at the box with uncertain dismay. The word Ipad stared back, and not even the cheapest model. “Edge,” Jeff started weakly, trying to come up with something, but what could he say? Thanks but no thanks for this astonishingly thoughtful and too damn expensive present? “An iPad is not a gift.” “Of course it is. I gave it to you,” Edge told him. The arrogance in it was probably so ingrained in him that Edge didn’t even hear it. Well, that was a tone that brooked no argument, but Jeff was going to give brooking a shot anyway. “I have a laptop.” Something about his obvious distaste made Jeff think Edge knew a little too damn much about his aging Dell. “Yes…and now you have an iPad.” Well, fuck. His first mistake had been taking it because there was no way in hell Edge would take it back now. Especially not with the smug way he was sitting there, and that was the expression of someone who knew they’d won. “Damn it, Edge—“ “Here, let me help you,” Edge interrupted. He stood, reaching out to take the lid from the box. A quick press of a button and it started up, already connected to his Apple ID and there was another question that Jeff probably wasn’t going to get answered. "Now, I'd like you to open this document right here." How a gloved finger that covered bone was able to use a touchscreen was a mystery past Jeff’s skills, but it did. The document opened to a bunch of legalize, enough to make that aching twinge for Antwan flare. It dimmed back as astonishment overshadowed it, Jeff staring at the page. "This is an employment contract." "Excellent, you can read, we can skip that part of the interview." Edge tucked his hands into his pockets and said crisply, "I've been trying to be subtle, but it's become apparent to me that the direct approach would be best. I’d like you to come work for us at the Embassy.” “What would I even do?” Jeff asked, a little helplessly. The contract listed a lot of benefits but there was no sign of job duties or even a title. Edge sighed with pointed exasperation, and his eye lights were sharp, assessing. “Jeff, you have a degree in sociology and a compassionate soul. Do you see how that might be useful working for people who spent most of their lives trapped underground? We are not a perfect people, but we are loyal, and we want you with us.” “How do you know I have a compassionate soul,” Jeff blurted. The memory of his soul, that soft green, compassion, was still very fresh. “Did Stretch tell you?” “Of course you do, it’s obvious—wait,” Edge narrowed his sockets, eye lights flaring. “Did Stretch look at your soul?” “Uhhh.” Well, fuck, that was a smooth move. Stretch had said it was kind of a big deal, maybe it was like, like cheating or something, but it hadn’t been like that, not at all. Meekly, Jeff offered, “I mean, I asked him to?” Edge waved him off. “Never mind that, but he shouldn’t have done it while you’re so weak. What I’m trying to get at is you would be a useful member of the team and—“ He trailed off as Jeff signed it without another word. He hit send, watched as the icon swirled and popped up with a cheery, ‘sent!’. Prickles were stinging in his eyes but Jeff looked up at Edge anyway and told him firmly, “I don’t want a pity job. I want to help.” “You’ll get plenty of work, I assure you.” Edge seemed off-balance, oddly stiff and abrupt, and Jeff realized he expected to have to argue more with him. But working at the Embassy, with all the Monsters he’d met over the past year? It sounded like a dream that he didn’t want to wake from, a chance to pay back kindness that he’d never been able to with Julia.

He wanted this, so much. “Thank you,” Jeff told him, quietly. Edge relaxed visibly at that. “As an employee of the Embassy, you’re entitled to housing in New New Home. Here-“ he leaned in, reaching for the Ipad and Jeff couldn’t stop himself. He wrapped both arms around Edge’s slim form and hugged him. He regretted it instantly. Edge stiffened immediately, standing stock-still in his arms. Fuck, Edge didn’t like being touched unexpectedly by anyone but Stretch, he knew that, he knew it. Before he could pull back or apologize, an awkward hand patted him gently on the back. “You’re welcome.” “are you two done?” Came sleepily from the other side of the bed. “because if you need more bonding time or a chance to sing kumbaya or something, i can go.” Edge drew back and retorted, “If you’re going somewhere else, you may want to take advantage of the clothes I bought you.” The blanket was cast aside as Stretch scrambled to his feet, already reaching for the bags. “babe, in a world of mediocrity, you are a shining star.” “Only because you are easily pleased.” The bag was quickly tossed aside as Stretch pulled out the clothes and laid them on the foot of the bed, making pleased sounds about the sweatshirt and pants, and Jeff didn’t miss that a few of those things were way too short for Stretch. Edge had obviously brought him clothes, too, and Jeff swallowed hard before managing, “You could’ve gone home to change and get some better sleep.” “uh huh,” Stretch agreed absently, chuckling delightedly as he held up a T-shirt with ‘She-Ra, Princess of Power’ emblazoned on it. “excellent. or i can stay here and use the ensuite shower.” “Are you planning on camping here until they cut me loose?” And Jeff was blinking hard because he already knew the answer. “yep.” “Of course.” One more question, the one he’d resisted asking because he wasn’t needy, he understood, he did, but, “Where is Antwan?” That softening fell over Edge again, but Jeff had never seen it directed his way before. “Finishing his work at the Embassy. He’s going as quickly as he can, but there’s really no one who knows it better than him. He was here when they brought you in and waited until he knew you were safe.” Jeff nodded, swallowing hard. “He asked me to stay with you, but to be honest, that was my plan to begin with,” Edge told him with a gentleness Jeff had heard before, months ago when they’d spoken about his parents. “He’ll be here as soon as he can.” “sure he will!” Stretch gathered up an armload of clothes and headed towards the bathroom. “keep an eye on the injured party here, i can’t even stand my own smell right now and that’s saying something.” “Where would I go?” “I will,” Edge said firmly. The door closed behind Stretch and Edge settled back into his chair, pulling out his phone. He was quickly absorbed, probably working, but his eye lights slid Jeff’s way anytime he moved, trying to get comfortable with the slowly growing ache in his side.

The television wasn’t offering any new enticement and he since he couldn’t rightly turn away his new gift, at least he could play with it. Jeff went to the App Store, scowling when he saw the sum loaded to his account and silently promised that he would be paying them all back very soon, for everything. His excitement over a new job was dampened a little by Antwan’s absence, but it was okay. Everything would be fine. He downloaded a game, losing himself in the mindless shifting of gemstones and triumphant lights.

And waited.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Three

[living-after-death-blog1]

The Day My Daughter Died.. (An introduction to the end and the beginning)

I received a phone call from my daughter's best friend, Alli, at about 2:30pm on that day. She told me that she had just left work and was on her way to my daughter's house, after receiving a frantic phone call from my daughter's roommate, Kenneth, who said that he had come home and found her unconscious, with a needle in her hand. He had called an ambulance, he had attempted CPR, and was now waiting outside of the house while the emergency personnel did their thing inside.

I think it was already pretty well established that my daughter was gone, and I think that this was probably communicated to me, but my brain literally wouldn't grasp it. I wasn't devastated; I was terrified. I spent the entire conversation (which was probably at least 20 minutes long) thinking that we didn't know anything yet, feeling like I was frozen, like everything around me was happening in slow motion, and that I was just holding my breath until the moment when Alli could finally get to the house and someone could tell us what was going on. I thought we were waiting to hear that she'd been trànsported or something. It honestly hadn't occurred to me until just now that simply knowing that Kenneth had attempted CPR should have been enough information to answer to the only question that was looping through my mind, over and over, until Alli arrived. "Is she breathing?"

I was 4 hours away, in another city.

Once Alli arrived, there were people everywhere; policemen, emergency responders, tons of neighborhood spectators, and Kenneth, the roommate. I was still on the phone, waiting, while he and Alli had a brief conversation, which I couldn't really hear and I finally interrupted to ask what I thought we'd been waiting to find out this whole time.. "But.. is she still breathing?"

At that point, I heard Alli take a deep breath and, very slowly, and with such pain, she said the words that made it real.

"No, Stephanie. She's gone."

I remember taking a deep breath and saying, "Okay."

It almost felt like, "Well.. Here we are. This is actually happening. You know, that thing that happens to other people, but not your child, not you? It's happening. Right now."

Another deep breath, and once again, " Okay.. "

I remember thinking that I needed to hold it together somehow, because I was going to have to handle and figure out a lot of things, and I really, really needed to be able to think. I just had to think. Figure this all out somehow, as if it were a problem that could be solved.

I did what I've always done when I need to call upon an extreme coping skill. I stopped feeling, and I started thinking. Intellectualizing, my therapist, Becca, the one from my daughter's first treatment center, used to call it.

I called upon that skill in that moment. Think. Think about what other people are going through, feeling, experiencing. Think about how everyone else feels, so you don't have to look at what this really is. Don't even get close to it.

That is the moment that I apologized to Alli for having to be the one to make such a horrible phone call, telling someone's mother that they are dead, and thanked her for being that person, at the same time. I thanked her for being a good friend. I told her I loved her. Said I'd be available for the police or whoever needs to speak to next of kin, and told her to give them my number.

I called my boyfriend first, in a panic; I had to get home, I had to get to Houston, and I had to get there NOW. I couldn't drive, and all I could think was how I needed to get there, I had to get there, and I needed to get there NOW. No answer.

I called my ex-husband (not the father of my daughter, but of two sons, ages 15 and 18, at the time) and, not realizing that the boys were in the car with him or that he had answered on speaker, I started screaming that my daughter was dead, she was dead, and I didn't know what to do. Of course, after finding out that the boys had overhead, I called both of them to apologize that they had had to hear me like that, to hear the news that way.

I don't remember very much of the next few weeks. The things I do remember are choppy, like random scenes from a movie, but I remember those things vividly.

I realized that I had to tell people. Who? Who is the first person you call to announce your daughter's death?

I called my mom first, I think, and I listened to her sob and repeat, "Noooo..." over and over.

I called my daughter's other grandmother, on her father's side, and I listened as she cried and kept saying, "Oh my god.."

I called my daughter's ex-boyfriend, Javi, the father of my granddaughter, who was 8 at the time, and he couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it, either; jumped in his car to go over there. I guess he needed to see it with his own eyes.

I spoke to another of my daughter's best friends, Jessica (she happened to text me, so I thought she already knew, and when I realized that she didn't, I told her to call me. She asked me, "How bad is it?" I said, "Bad."), and then she, too, immediately drove over to the house to meet up with Alli, Kenneth, and Javi.

I couldn't listen to any more breaking hearts at the moment, so as fucked up as it seems now, I just started texting people.

I texted my friend, Sarah, who, along with her entire family, have been like family to us. I don't even know how I said it. I think I said, "I'm so sorry to tell you like this, but they found her this morning, unconscious, with a needle, and she didn't make it. " Sarah immediately called me, and started screaming, " What? What? " as if she couldn't hear me. Her mind, too, couldn't seem to allow this to be real.

I spoke to my friends, Theresa and Joie, sisters, and they immediately offered all kinds of practical help that hadn't even occurred to me, such as setting up a GoFundMe account to pay for funeral expenses. I had been laid off from my job of over ten years several months prior, and so all of the life insurance policies and everything I'd been so used to just having were no longer available, and I had nothing.

Joie also posted on Facebook on my behalf. It was the only way I could think of to let everyone know, especially my daughter's friends, and it was because of all of these people, and so many more, that I have managed to get through this last year.

I don't know what I did to deserve such wonderful people in my life, but I am surrounded by them. The GoFundMe account reached over $5000 within a couple of days.

My daughter's best friend from middle school is a hair and makeup artist, and she flew in from Colorado to make sure that she was the one who did the makeup for the viewing. That was always their thing, and even though my daughter's addiction had driven them apart over the years, Vikki had to do this one last thing for her friend, and I was happy to have her do it.

Sarah's ex-boyfriend, who knew my daughter as a child, took care of all of the flowers and arrangements.

Sarah's mom has a friend who was able to make a dress for my daughter to wear during the viewing; an Alice in Wonderland dress, because that was always her thing.

Sarah and her mom had already found the cheapest most decent funeral home that they knew of (her mom had used the place for her own mother's service), so I literally spent the next few days just having to answer yes and no questions.

It turned out that since my daughter never divorced the father of her second child (my grandson, Isaac, who was almost 7 at the time), even though they'd been separated and out of contact for a few years (she was engaged to someone else for at least a year), he was her next of kin, not me, and this brought forth a whole host of issues. He doesn't raise their son, his mother does, because he is either 1) insane, 2) brain damaged from drug use, 3) currently using drugs, or 4) a combination of all of the above. These things made the entire process very difficult for me.

They tried to dictate who could be invited to the funeral, which I wasn't on board with. They threatened me by saying that they would have her body transferred to the funeral home of their choosing and they would let me know when and where to show up. They said I could not have any locks of her hair. They said they would not split up her ashes. They even dictated to me that she be cremated, because they somehow knew (having only known her for a few years, and not knowing her at all, really, for the few years prior to her death) that she wanted to be cremated and that she wanted her ashes spread over the ocean.

I won't ever be able to understand why someone would treat the mother of a dead child the way that they treated me, but I've just added them to the list of people I'll have to figure out how to forgive somehow, eventually.

Everyone showed up for us, and I was so grateful for the presence of every single one of them. People I hadn't seen or spoken to in years, such as my ex-husband's ex-boss's ex-wife, lol.

I placed a son for adoption when I was 19, and though I had met him in person once, he and my other kids had not met. He and my daughter had been talking a lot on social media, and he had planned to come visit and meet everyone in May, after he graduated college, but ended up coming in April for her funeral, instead. He never even got to hear her voice.

There is so much I want to use this blog for. I want to document my own journey through this grief. I want to talk about addiction and help destigmatize the way people view addicts. I want to offer resources and maybe even hope. And I want to remember my daughter.

Her name was Jade. She was 26 years old when she died. She was one of the funniest, coolest, most creative, beautiful people you could have ever known. Yes, the addiction was a part of her journey, her struggle, but she was more than that. And I intend to honor ALL of who she was, by speaking the truth.

The truth is that she died from the toxic effects of an accidental overdose of heroin and methamphetamine. But that's just one part of her story, and mine, and I need to tell them both, even if no one ever reads a single word I type. I need to tell these stories.

Since I started with her death, here is a photo recap of what there is to know so far:

#grief #overdose #addiction #loss #bereavement #grieving

[sarasmallmanwrites]

You, Me & Us.

Jim and Amy are best friends, from the day they first meet in the university students union, through births, weddings and funerals, until a badly-timed affair leads to the breakdown of Jim’s marriage and an unexpected baby on the way.

But Jim is left reeling when Amy’s premature death leaves him raising their two children alone and revealing secrets in Amy’s past that she tried to keep hidden. Everyone thinks he’s going mad, but Jim is convinced she is speaking to him from beyond the grave, turns out that she is…

Halfway between this world and the next, Amy comes to terms with, well, being dead, and helping her husband realise that the end of life doesn’t mean the end of love.

1997 - Common People

“So where are you from?”

The boy had a southern accent, probably not London, but the Home Counties masquerading as something much more common, as was the current trend. He was dressed in a slouchy t-shirt decorated with a Mancunian band, faded jeans and a pair of trainers that looked like they would smell really bad. He was taller than her, so he had that going for him, and he had already bought her a drink - lager and lime - the cheapest drink at the cramped and smoky student bar at Elephant and Castle, populated by grungey band boys, and lithe glittery girls waiting for the Ministry of Sound to open.

“York,” she said, taking a deep mouthful of the cheap beer whilst unwrapping the cellophane off her packet of cigarettes.

He was studying her fingers moving deftly around the box of Marlboro Lights. Glittery nail polish, a mood ring.

“It’s up north,” she clarified.

“I know where York is.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of this girl with the Doc Martens and the flippy sundress, who had freckles speckled across her nose and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She was, he thought, the kind of girl he would like to take on a date, even though he imagined she would think going out for dough balls and a La Reine at Pizza Express was decidedly middle class.

“That makes a change,” she sniffed, painted fingers fumbling with  “I’ve only been in London for twenty-four hours and I’m already sick of explaining where it is.”

“I’m sure most people know where York is.”

She smoothly pulled a cigarette from the packet with her teeth; he noticed that he focused a little bit too long on the shape of her lips around the white-tipped filter.

“Do you want one?”

He shook his head, “I don’t smoke.”

“I shouldn’t really, it’s so bad for you,” she inhaled deeply and then blew a perfectly formed smoke ring into the air, “but it makes you look so fucking cool,” she gazed over at him and he found himself temporarily unable to feel his tongue in his mouth.  “Don’t you think?”

Jim took a deep mouthful of his lager, trying not to think about Amy Bailey and her mouth and her fucking cool, and the curve of her as she leaned back again the bar. Christ, this was hard, he was… oh. He moved subtly, relieved that her gaze was elsewhere as if she was searching for topics of conversation.

“I mean, I could try one?” he gestured to the packet, awkwardly fumbling holding it, lighting it, taking a deep and ill-advised drag. She looked on in amusement.

“So, what are you doing then, Mr James Henry? Sean said you were at St Martins.”

“Yeah,” he shifted, “sculpture.”

“I’m guessing you have a thirst for knowledge,” she said, looking at him for confirmation that he knew exactly what she was on about.

He realised it was the song, “oh, yeah. My dad is loaded,” he said with a roll of the eyes and knowing nod. This hadn’t been the first time.

“I guess in that case I’ll have rum and coca-cola!”

A grin, she was teasing him.

“Fine.”

They looked at each other, a glance of understanding and shared respect for their mutual coolness. There was a laugh from her, a shrug from him.

“It’s actually Fine Art, if you’re being picky, but I am a sculptor.”

“You’re good with your hands, then?”

“No, I’m rubbish at doing people. I tend to stick to abstract stuff.”

Amy realised that he had misunderstood the question, but he amused her. She could sense that they were going to be great friends, she couldn’t even explain it.”

“You’re funny, Jim, and you have a first name for a last name, which makes you pretty special in my eyes.  You know, my boyfriend was jealous as fuck about me coming out tonight, I spent about forty minutes on the phone to him before, cost me five pounds!”

“Five pounds? Crikey.” He gulped down a mouthful of lager before looking up at her, “so, you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, back at home,” she said, glancing around at the rest of the clientele. There was a way about her that he quite liked, couldn’t explain.

“In York?”

“Yes, in York.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the floor, “what about you? You got a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” it was a lie.

“What’s her name?”

He looked around, “Stella.”

“Stella what?”

His eyes landed on whatever, “Guinness.”

“Stella Guinness?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” he gulped down a mouthful of lager.

“So, where did you and Stella Guinness meet?”

“College.”

“Has she gone to uni?”

“Yes.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yes, I mean, no.”

She raised an eyebrow and turned back to the bar, ordering two more pints and two small shot glasses filled with a dark brown liquid. Reaching into her bra she pulled out a twenty-pound note and handed it over to the barmaid with a smile, receiving the clinking pound coins and crisp tenner back, he noticed her wrist was adorned with beaded bracelets and braided friendships bands.

“You don’t have to lie about it,” she said after they had downed the shots of sambuca with grimaces. “Plenty of boys haven’t had a girlfriend yet.”

He was still wincing as the medicinal tang slipped down his throat, “I did have a girlfriend.”

“Was she called Stella?”

“No,” he said as they moved over to the edge of the dancefloor, placing their pints on the shelf next to the speaker, jostled and nudged by people squeezing past to reach the loos. “Wendy.”

She couldn’t hear him over the thud-thud-boom of the speakers, her face scrunched into a frown, “What?”

“Wendy!” He said loudly, as there was a temporary lull in the noise. “She was called Wendy.”

“What happened to her?”

“She slept with my best mate. A-Level results day.”

Amy pulled a face, “ouch!”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she lit another cigarette, “that’s sad.”

“It was.”

“No, I mean, it’s sad.”

He shifted indignantly, “thanks!”

“I’m not saying that you’re sad, I’m saying that it’s sad that she felt the need to cheat on you.”

“It happens.”

“It shouldn’t,” she pulled a hard drag. “I don’t believe in cheating, if you don’t want to be with someone, just leave. She did a shitty thing.” A mouthful of lager, “you’re okay, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I miss Dave more than I miss her if I’m being honest.”

She looked him up and down again. He wasn’t bad looking, his hair was sticking up in the wrong places, but he had quite a pleasant face if she hadn’t been with Rhys then… But she was with Rhys. Jim was alright, they would get on, even if there was something about the way he stood as if he was apologising for taking up space which irritated her.

At midnight they all caught the night bus back to Tooting, fumbling with travelcards and salty chips wrapped in newspaper as Emma and Sean resumed their make-out session. Jim and Amy sat next to each on the top deck as the lights of London passed by, occasionally nudging Tom, the lad from Birmingham who was nearly asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the window.  

“This is university then,” Jim said, as Amy shifted uncomfortably on the seat of the bus.

“Yep,” she grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. “That’s better, comfier see? You don’t mind, do you?”

She snuggled against his chest, and he felt immediately vulnerable and invincible. And turned on. Again. Fuckssake, Jim. He looked out into the night as the city faded into Zone 3.

“My boyfriend isn’t as comfy as you,” she said.

“Is he nice?”

“He’s training to be a mechanic.”

“Nice.”

“He’s a good bloke, I love him a lot but -” she paused, her face in a frown.

Jim knew that there was always possibility in a ‘but’.

“But what?”

“…it’s just going to be difficult when he comes to stay.”

“He’s coming to stay with us? In halls?”

“Yeah, after Christmas. I can’t wait for you all to meet him. You’ll like him,” the words disappeared into a yawn. “I know you will.”

Her voice took on a sleepy tone and he pulled her in closer, waiting for her body to relax a little bit, then he rested his head on hers and closed his eyes until the bus jolted them awake in the centre of town and they began the walk back home.

[adventurecatalog2015]

In Retrospect

In May of 2015, I set out on a backpacking trip through Europe. It was supposed to last two months, but I came home after only five weeks. 

While I still have a lot of mixed emotions about the trip, it did teach me a lot about myself. Namely, that it's not a great idea to go to backpacking when you're in denial about your eating disorder.

CW for descriptions of disordered eating behaviours, including bingeing and restricting.

The bus ride to Munich took five hours, and I cried the whole time.

For what it’s worth, it was a nice bus. I mean, it had wifi, and a USB plug in so I could charge my phone, which I took advantage of to watch the latest season of Orange is the New Black while I sobbed softly, occasionally looking up to wonder why no one was asking me what was wrong.

The tears had been building up in my chest for a while, and I’m not sure what specifically broke the dam—maybe watching the buildings of Prague whiz past the window in a daze and thinking gee, I’d like to go to Prague someday, even when I’d spent the past 48 hours exploring the city. Maybe it was the comfortable seat, or how when I finally sat down I could actually feel how twisted and bloated my stomach was. Maybe it was the knowledge that as tired and as sick as I felt, I still had four more weeks of what was supposed to be the best experience of my life stretching out endlessly before me. I tried to imagine Greece and Rome—the white sandy beaches I had been so looking forward to visiting, the ruins, the beauty of Cinque Terre that everyone had told me I absolutely had to see—but when I did I only felt lonely, and tired, and numb.

I don’t think I’ve ever truly experienced depression, but when checked into my hostel room in Munich later that day and sank to the floor sobbing before I could even take off my backpack, I was closer than I’ve ever been.

I had set out on my quintessential backpacking journey five weeks earlier, after months of planning. I had carefully budgeted $6000 for my two-month trip from Ireland to the UK, mainland Europe, and the Mediterranean. I was “winging it” as much as I could—I hadn’t booked any hostels or flights, and had only a loose idea of the things I wanted to do and see. This would leave me open to experiences, I reasoned.

For the record, I still like this approach to backpacking, and my chosen method of travel was not the problem.

The problem was that for the previous two years I had been fostering disordered eating habits that had lead me to lose almost fifty pounds in ten months while simultaneously descending into a hellish binge/restrict cycle that occupied most of my waking thoughts.

I’m still not comfortable saying I had (have?) an eating disorder; “disordered eating” feels better for some reason. I’ve always dealt with anxiety, and maybe OCD, so the way I see it, an obsession over food and exercise was just a fun new way for my mental illness to manifest. At the time, though, I didn’t see it as mental illness.

When I boarded my flight from Vancouver to Dublin, I still thought that my obsessions and anxiety were a flaw. Just like the way I sometimes opened the cupboards and ate everything in sight, my fears were something to be conquered. If I could just grit my teeth and get over my stupid neurosis about food, I could have a good time in Europe, god dammit. I mean, it’s Europe! Once I got there, I told myself, I would be so distracted by the cool things around me that I wouldn’t have time to have a panic attack because I ate a fucking French fry.

As soon as I boarded my flight, my thoughts turned to food. What would they be serving? Would it have protein? Would it be fried? If there was a dinner roll, could I resist eating it? If I couldn’t sleep, I would be hungrier—I would probably end up eating a whole extra meal just because of the time change. What if I ended up eating two breakfasts? I could always just not eat the protein bar I had stashed in my purse; that could make up for it… Shit, the mere thought of my protein bar made me want it. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate it, and then felt simultaneously terrible that I had caved and relieved that it couldn’t taunt me anymore.

I watched movies on the in-flight TV. The first meal came, and I ate the dinner roll, with butter. In the bathroom, I lifted up my shirt and studied my stomach. I’m still okay, I thought. If I don’t eat all of the breakfast meal, I’ll be okay.

I ate all of the breakfast meal.

By the time I had landed in Dublin and found my hostel, almost all of the shops were closed. I ended up getting Subway, because I still remembered how many calories were in my favourite sandwich. I ate it in the restaurant and thought about how many meals I had eaten that day—too many.

It’s okay, I told myself. If I just have a light breakfast tomorrow, I’ll be okay.

I did not have a light breakfast.

So here’s a thing about hostels—they’re cheap. And guess which food macro is the cheapest? That’s right: carbs! My hostel in Dublin offered several breakfast food choices: corn flakes, Muesli, and toast.

I avoided it for as long as I could. I thought of buying eggs from the shop next door and cooking them, but a quick tour of the hostel kitchen ruled that out—it smelled like garbage and there were flies crawling on all of the dishes.

I walked into the dining hall and surveyed my fellow travellers, eyeing their sugar-topped cornflakes and white bread with Nutella disdainfully. I resolved myself to have one bowl of Muesli with milk and a cup of tea. That would be okay. But after that I was still hungry, so I poured myself another bowl.

Fuck, I thought as soon as I sat back down. I really fucked that up, didn’t I? God dammit. Well, if I just eat this last bowl, I’ll be okay—I can still save this.

And then that thing happened. My heart started racing, and my brain was filled with two opposite sentiments: hey, when in Rome! You’re in Europe! Enjoy the food! and Fuck fuck FUCK you fucking failure, what the hell are you doing?

So what the fuck do you do then?

Well, you get another bowl. And another. And the whole time though your brain is screaming at you to stop, for the love of all that’s holy, STOP but you keep getting up, you keep pouring yourself bowl after bowl, and when you realize how spectacularly you’ve fucked up you just and pour yourself some cornflakes, too, with sugar, and make yourself some toast with Nutella, because if you’ve already failed so badly what’s 500, 1000, 2000 more calories anyways?  The whole time you try to be casual about it, you hope no one notices, but you’re sure they do.

By the time I met up with my travel buddies I was so full I could barely move. And it only got worse from there.

Now, I’m not going to relive every time I binged in Europe—that wouldn’t be very interesting, because every time kind of looks like that. Every binge starts with me hating myself for eating, and every one ends with me in pain, short of breath, and promising myself that that this will be the last time.  

I won’t relive every binge, but I will tell you about a few of the worst ones.

In London, I stayed with an acquaintance who I had met through a mutual friend, and who had graciously invited me to stay with her. While I was there she went to work as normal, and I filled my days with sightseeing in the big city. She also very kindly gave me permission to eat whatever was in her cupboards—a nice, normal thing to do. But for me, it was terrifying.  

One day I got home before she did. I decided to have a snack—peanut butter on toast. The peanut butter was good, and slightly different from the stuff we have in Canada. Peanut butter has always been one of the things I am most afraid of—delicious and high calorie, it was one of my favourite binge foods. I had banned it from my house, and even got mad when my partner bought it solely for himself. Consequently, I hadn’t eaten peanut butter in a very long time.

So, I had another piece of toast. And another. And then I didn’t even bother toasting the bread. And then I started eating it by the spoon.

I paced the kitchen, spoon in hand, horrified at myself. Why was I doing this? This wasn’t even my fucking food. Surely my friend would notice how much of her peanut butter I had eaten. It was a smallish jar, and it had been almost full when I started.

And still, it taunted me from the cupboard. My mouth watered. She wouldn’t notice one more spoonful missing, would she?

It took me just over an hour to consume the entire jar, and it was one of the worst hours of my life. I felt sad, sick, out of control, and guilty. At a certain point I decided the only way to fix what I had done was to finish the peanut butter altogether and buy another, identical jar to replace the one I had stuffed myself on.

I still remember lying on Kaitlin’s bed after it was over in the fetal position, in pain, clutching my stomach, yet feeling almost victorious. I had eaten it all. I had replaced the jar. She wouldn’t know what I had done and now I felt so sick and awful that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I would never, ever, binge again: this was the low point. The fever dream was over now; I could see clearly at last, and I would be better now.

In case you haven’t guessed it already, that’s not what happened.

Another version of this story: I’m staying with relatives in Holland. They’re distant cousins, all removed and various degrees of separated from me, but they’re some of the most welcoming and hospitable people I’ve ever met. One day they leave me alone in the house. In a daze I rummage through their drawers for food, stuffing myself on cheese, meat, cookies, chocolate, sprinkles—anything I can get my hands on. I pace the house, berating myself but unable to stop. I’m out of breath so I lie down and think this is it; it’s over; I’m done, but that lasts five minutes before I get up and eat another cookie. When they get home I wait for them to say something—to make some surprised comment at how half their food is missing—but it never comes.

Another version: I’m staying on a farm in rural Ireland. They eat mostly bread and potatoes, and I should be grateful that they’re feeding me but all I can think about is how much I hate that the nice old Irish grandma making my dinner insists on making up my plate herself. She sets it in front of me and I feel bile rise in my throat. After dinner they take me to a gathering with a few of their friends and I eat the meat and cheese and bread they’ve laid out until I feel like I might puke. In the bathroom I lift my shirt and stare at my stomach—to my eyes it looks distended, bloated, horrific.

Another: I’m walking through downtown Brussels with an American girl I met at my hostel, eating from a mixed bag of chocolates. I laugh about how I don’t even care that it’s my breakfast, lunch, and dinner but I feel panic rising in my throat, and because I don’t know what else to do or how to stop myself I eat the whole bag.

I’m sitting on the back steps of a hostel in Amsterdam. An Australian boy is sitting beside me, waxing poetic about British Columbia and its wonderful natural beauty, and I’m eating my fifth peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The calories are all I can think about.

I’m in the train station in Berlin, trying to find something to eat for breakfast. I get candy and cookies and eat them while I wait for my train. By the time I get on board I feel like I’m bursting out of my clothes; I give the remainder to the girls sitting beside me and silently congratulate myself for not finishing the bag.

I’m in a cat café in Prague. The cats aren’t very social but there are free snacks; I keep making passes by the table to grab fistfuls of peanuts and cookies before returning to the cats. I play with them as best as I can and try not to cry.

I hold out until an hour later, when I board the bus to Munich.

When I check into my hostel later that day, the boy at the counter looks at me with concern. I don’t quite know what I looked like then, but it couldn’t have been great after five solid hours of crying on a bus.

“Do you need anything?” he asks uncertainly as he hands me my room key. A few sad tears leak out of the corners of my eyes and I shake my head. As I walk away to the elevator, I wonder if he thinks something terrible has happened to me.

I make it to my room, but just barely: as soon as I shut the door everything I’ve been holding inside my chest spills out and I’m sobbing with all my heart, gasping, clutching my face with my hands. Somehow, I manage to call my mom, and she answers.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I can’t do it,” I say between sobs. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. This is so much worse than I thought—I’m so much worse—and I don’t know what to do now.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “You don’t have to—you can come home.”

“I can’t,” I say, thinking of the hotel I booked on a small Greek island and my return flight from Rome that doesn’t leave for another four weeks. Oh god. Four more weeks of this? It seems like an eternity, and the thought fills me with a deep, aching exhaustion I can feel in my bones.

“Don’t think about money,” my mom says. “If you need to come home, you need to come home.”

When I finally make the decision to cut my trip short, it’s the best I’ve felt in weeks. I find the cheapest—and soonest—flight back to Canada that I can, and book it before I can second-guess the decision. My hostel is noisy and uncomfortable so I check into a hotel for the last two days of my time in Munich.

Those two days are filled with more anxiety, more binges, and more pacing around my hotel room. Eventually I find my way to the airport and board my flight home.

I wish I could say that when I got back I was instantly better—that being back in a familiar environment with people I loved somehow fixed me. I wish I could say that, after some reflection, I realized that the good memories of my trip outweighed the bad, and I didn’t regret going.

The truth is, I shouldn’t have gone to Europe. Two years later, the memories are still painful, and even though there were some good times and cool experiences, what I remember more than anything else is my obsession with food. Thinking about it, fearing it, and bingeing till I couldn’t move or breath and I hated myself more than anything.

At the same time, that trip was a wake-up call. Would I have realized the extent of my eating disorder if I hadn’t gone? Or would I have just kept going—kept counting every calorie, measuring every spoonful, spending hours every day working out on an empty stomach until I couldn’t take it anymore and binged again, only to redouble my efforts to restrict in the morning.

I don’t know. But I think I’m glad things happened the way they did. The most valuable thing to come out of my experience was the realization that I wasn’t okay. The things I thought were simply character flaws ran much, much deeper, and it just wasn’t possible to grit my teeth and will myself better.

My journey back from that hostel room in Munich didn’t end when I got off the plane in Canada. Two years later, I’m still working to repair my relationship with food and my body and to figure out how to deal with my anxiety.

I haven’t shared this story too freely, because I think a big part of me is still ashamed. Not just because I bought into the toxic attitudes towards food and our bodies that society pushes on us every day, but because part of me still buys into them. Part of me still thinks my life would be better if I was thinner, even though I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that that’s not the case. This belief is the product of decades of messages telling me that the only way to be valuable is to be thin; decades of people all around me repeating this simple truth ad nauseum. Not always with their words, but with their actions, spurred on by their own self-hatred; their own attempts to strive for nonexistent ideals.

This is what I am trying to unlearn.

I haven’t weighed myself in years, but I’m pretty sure I’m back to where I started. It’s hard to make peace with that, especially now that I know what it feels like to be thinner, like I’ve wanted to be since I was eight. Every time I have to buy clothes in a bigger size I panic, and all the old feelings come up again—if I just eat less, if I just exercise more, if I just…

But if I did those things, I know I wouldn’t be happy in the long run. Whatever satisfaction I got from being thinner was hollow. Sure, it made me feel better about myself in the short term, but it was more like a fleeting ego boost than any genuine increase in self-esteem. Because no matter how smug I felt about losing weight, my sense of satisfaction was always, always coupled with fear. More more than anything, I was absolutely terrified that I would slip and lose control and gain everything back. That terror drove me to restrict, and it drove me to binge. I don’t want to be in that place again.

I don’t count calories anymore, nor do I restrict or over exercise, and I haven’t binged in a long time. I finally enjoy eating out at restaurants again, and panic doesn’t grip me when my coworkers bring treats to work. That didn’t happen overnight, and some days are still hard. But you know what? I think that’s okay.

Truthfully, I’m afraid to share this. I’m afraid that you will judge me, or think less of me, or maybe that you won’t even believe me. But maybe someone will see themselves in my story. To you I say: please know that you are not a failure. Please know that it is okay to ask for help. And if you want, I’d love to talk.

[rhianonsuee]

9.28.17-9.29.17

✈️ Sgf–>Atl–>NYC–>ICELAND!!!!!

After a full day of travel we finally arrived in Iceland at 6:45am. Going on 1 hour of plane-sleep and sustaining off of protein bars, we made our way to pick up our car. It’s a 4x4, 6-speed Kia, so I was told there is no way that I’ll be driving 🙌🏼 (totally okay with that). We loaded up and hit the road to Reykjavik.

Our first stop- breakfast at the Laundromat Café. This place got rave reviews on @lifwithaview15’s blog and I can happily say I now share those opinions. My first Icelandic meal consisted of scrambled eggs, a bread basket w/marmalade, fruit, Brie, a fire roasted tomato, and Greek (why they didn’t have skyr I have no idea) yogurt w/muesli. I don’t know if it was really as spectacular as I thought it was or if it was so good because I had only been eating protein bars for the last 15 hours, but yum it was good!

Our first activity was a 2 hour walking tour of the city. In the freezing cold and drizzly rain. But hey, we got all our steps in and got to hear about the city from a local! Did you know that there is only one statue of a woman in all of Iceland and she was only just put there in 2015? Did you also know that in 2010 the tourism in Iceland was only at about 400,000 people a year? This year, 2017, they are on track for 2.4 million people to come to the country. Also- 360,000 people live in Iceland and 75-80% of them live in Reykjavik. Some random facts I know you were dying to know.

Next stop- dad and mom had to try one of Iceland’s famous hotdogs. I did not partake, but they claimed it was the best hot dog they ever had. The line for this hotdog stand was ridiculous and we were told it is like that all day long. Probably because it’s the cheapest thing to eat in Iceland at around 5 bucks.

We then spent the next few hours walking around the city, looking into the local stores, and visiting Bonus (the grocery store that everyone goes to because it’s the cheapest in Iceland). We stocked up on groceries for the next couple days, because eating out is 25-50 dollars a person. Insane!

For dinner we had dinner at an Italian restaurant. We each got a 9" pizza (and we were so starving we ate it all) and I have to say, while it wasn’t the best pizza I’ve ever had but it was pretty dang good!

After dinner we set off for Hellnar, 2.5 hours away and the site of our first accommodation. On our drive there, WE FREAKING SAW THE NORTHERN LIGHTS!!! They were very faint, white, and barely there, but you guys!!!! We saw them!!!!! I can’t tell you how cool it was. Even just that little bit was spectacular. Dancing in the sky. Ugh. So amazing.

We got to our little Icelandic cottage at around 10, unpacked the car, went out to watch the lights a little bit longer, and then I passed out so hard. After 30 something hours of no sleep I was absolutely dead.

Oh! Before I end this, I guess I should comment on the weather. For our first day in Iceland we wore what we wore on the plane, so totally not prepared. The weather here is even more bipolar than in Springfield if you can believe that. Throughout the day it was freezing with harsh winds and icy rain, then all of a sudden it would be sunny with little rain and a light breeze. Five seconds later it would be extremely cloudy and cold. I was freezing all day, but thank goodness for my Patagonia rain jacket otherwise I would have been soaked and cold, which is way worse than just cold.

[mujournalismabroad]

Tips for traveling in Europe

Story and photos by Madeleine Sutherland from Edinburgh, Scotland

[Budapest, Hungary]

When I began my trip abroad, I told everyone how much I was going to travel. It seemed like dreaming big at first but now, twelve countries later, I've got a big warehouse of knowledge in my mind I want to share because hey, I did it! I traveled! The problem with traveling a lot is that it puts a thirst in you that's unquenchable. Where to next? I think Australia, probably.

Below is my list of general tips for traveling Europe on a budget.

Hostels

Hostelworld.com: This website gives the best ratings and honest reviews. Any accredited, legit hostel will be on this website.

I usually go for ones with about an 8.4 rating or above. This may sound like a random number, but I've found it's kind of the sweet spot.

Check if your hostel has towels, linens, lockers and locks available before you stay there. Usually, hostels will charge for locks and towels but linens and lockers will be provided.

 Airbnb

Airbnb can be a great option when you are traveling with one to three other people! The hosts are usually super kind and will give you tips on how to see sites and get around. Many of my trips were made great by the amazing hospitality I received from Airbnb hosts. The site is also super easy to book on and reviews can be trusted.

The best Airbnb I ever stayed at was in Zürich with Allan and Yvonne. If you plan to go there, look them up! Their home was so welcoming and comfortable and they are the cutest, kindest people. (Allan was a Cards fan, so I knew right away we were in good hands)

Transportation

Public transit is no joke in Europe! Most of the time it is cheap and easy to find and understand. Why the U.S. has not caught up with this does not make sense to me.

Ryanair and easyJet will become your best friends because they are usually the cheapest airlines that do the most flights throughout Europe. Ryanair flights are almost always delayed and easyJet only allows one carry-on bag. They kind of suck, but they get you where you need to go.

Take metros and buses from airports whenever possible, especially in Paris, Prague, Munich, Amsterdam, and Barcelona.

Take trains from cities that are close together. It will cost SO MUCH LESS than flying, and train rides through the country are often very beautiful.

Most city public transit systems are based on trust, especially if it's a metro train without a ticket gate or a tram. I would advise to always validate your tickets or else risk an embarrassing public transit citation, which can get expensive.

[Montepulciano, Tuscany, Italy]

Food and drink

Do not tip in Europe. You are on a budget, and most places expect nothing as a tip. So don't feel bad if you don't! Unless you receive extra-great service, leave it. Most places add a service charge into the bill anyway.

There is no such thing as splitting bills beforehand in Europe. If eating with a group, you will each have to count up how much you spent after the bill comes. Sometimes you can pay certain amounts on card machines, but in many cases, they will only accept either one card or all cash.

That's another thing, always have cash with you. You will end up spending it one way or another.

Don't be surprised if you don't get served right away or if they don't bring you the bill right after you finish your meal. You have to ask for the bill when you want it. Waiters in Europe like to take their sweet time and consider it rude to try to rush you out after eating. Flag down the waiter when you need the bill or tell them in advance if you're in a rush.

If a waiter puts water or bread on your table in a non-U.K. country without you asking them to do so, they are trying to get you to eat/drink it so they can charge you for it. And most times, that innocent-looking bread basket on the table will cost about 8 Euro.

Running off of that, there is no such thing as free water in mainland Europe. Drill that into your head and buy yourself a reusable water bottle. Tap water is all fine to drink in Europe but they won't serve it to you because they want to charge you every chance they get. Take your own water into restaurants in a bag or pocket. (Scotland and Ireland, however, do have free tap water on request. Go Scoty!!)

The drinking age pretty much everywhere is 18. Try new beers and wines and forget about that disgusting Natty Light you've been drinking.

Safety

People who do the following things are trying to get money from you: 

Accepting a flower or trinket at a touristy site. 

Getting unwanted help using metro ticket machines.

Getting handed free metro tickets.

Getting un-asked-for directions.

Language

Try to learn a little of the language everywhere you go! It will go a long way, especially in Italy, Spain, France and Germany. And it's fun!

Most countries will have things in English. I found that Germany, Austria and Italy really didn't, however. Be ready to Google translate some things.

Being American

For some reason, every U.S. citizen abroad has one thing in common: We kick ourselves for being American when we meet people from other countries. I'm not sure why, perhaps it's the fear of being seen as stupid or ignorant because of our citizenship. My biggest piece of advice is this: If you act like a dumb American, you will be called a dumb American. If you act like a normal, kind human being, then no one will bring up where you're from. There's no need to feel bad about being American. Just try not to be that person who is extra loud or a know-it-all. Every European and Australian I've met has a good view of Americans as people. 

Planning

This is especially true in Rome. Book literally everything in Rome beforehand. The lines are so long you will feel sick just looking at them. Don't be the bum that stands in line for three hours to see the Sistine Chapel.

[Lake Lucerne, Switzerland]

Other important things

Be a positive, problem-solving traveler. Keeping a good attitude sounds so basic, yet it's the absolute key to enjoying each trip you take and making sure you don't annoy the crap out of the people you travel with. Complaining gets old SO FAST. Focus on positive things. When you mess up, realize it is normal to do so and that things will work out. Be patient. Be the one to say something good instead of the one to point out every bad thing. You will get tired, hungry, thirsty and your feet will hurt. Complaining won't change those things, it'll just piss off your group.

Wear good shoes and be prepared to trash them. I have three pairs of shoes I've completely torn to shreds on this trip because of all the walking. Do not skimp on good shoes!!! To give you an idea, the main shoes I've worn are my tennies, a pair of black, waterproof Timberlands and a cognac pair of leather Kork-Ease booties. Everyone wears boots in Europe in the spring, fall and winter. You will not regret splurging on a couple nice pairs before your trip. I've heard American Shoe in Columbia sells some really great stuff. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Coats go along with this! Since I lived in Scotland, I needed three different weights of coat. I had a large winter one, a thicker rain jacket and a light rain jacket. I have used all three.

Please drink water. Drink so much water you want to throw up. Okay, not really. But stay hydrated. Get that water bottle.

If you see a bathroom, use it. This is one of the most key things I could ever say. In huge cities like Rome and Paris, there is no such thing as a public restroom.

Get yourself a portable battery. You will use it, I promise!

If you are going to be based in one country in Europe for any long amount of time, consider getting a SIM card from your home country. I found a carrier in Scotland that, by getting a SIM card from them, provided me with 13G of international data for only 20 pounds a month. That data saved me on a lot of my trips. (Sorry mom and dad. I'm only so good at reading real maps)

Download the Google Photos application. It automatically puts any photo you take on your phone onto the application so you won't have to worry about storage for photos as you travel.

Download the XE application to get current exchange rates for any country.

Put your phone/computer in military time. Most if not all travel times and ticket times are listed in military time in Europe.

Try to learn European measurements, including temperature. It will take time, but is a valuable life skill to have.

Lastly, just try to take everything in as best you can. Each travel experience is different, and mine is probably much different from what yours will turn out to be. It's Europe! So have a blast and make as many friends as you can. I promise you, your heart can hold so much more love for human kind than you ever thought possible.

[lonedailydoodle]

Daily Doodle 225/365 - August 13, 2017

This pun takeover is going out of hand! ABORT ABORT!

I can’t counter them! They are too many!!

Today was a busy day! I woke up sorta early, had a bunch of crazy dreams and woke up to quickly ink up a commission. I did around half of it before I had to start getting ready to go down to Pixie’s

I grabbed a bunch of guavas my dad had cut off our tree for me to bring to Pixie and left. I then stopped at Pixie’s place and let him drive all the way to Wendy’s, he did well and the road was very empty today, at least during the morning hours

Once at the Wendy’s, we carefully calculated the cheapest way we could both get a breakfast, I got some $2 pancakes and Pixie got a single burger. We both didn’t have any cash, so the little money I had in my bank account had to do

We stayed there for around 2 hours just talking, browsing in our phones and waiting for the rain to go away, after which we headed to Pixie’s house to get a food stamps card so we could afford getting at least some sort of snack and drink from the supermarket.. like shark gummies! I love those!

After getting the snacks, we headed back to Pixie’s house to drop some off and I was then asked to help change his grandma’s car’s tire. I was happy to do so! A situation happened before I changed it though.. Pixie tried reversing the car in the garage so I could have space to change it, but I quickly realized the lug wrench was still stuck to the tire. I tried to tell Pixie to stop by waving and calling him but the windows were closed and he wasn’t looking back. So the lug wrench hit the garage door and ripped off.. with the lug and screw where it was in.. it was bad

That needs a replacement sometime but Pixie’s dad will help do that.. though Pixie feels pretty bad about this whole thing but it’s stuff that happens. I changed the tire but I wanted Pixie to learn a bit and try some of the changing himself too since he would be driving sometime soon and might get use in learning the basics of car maintenance

ALSO, IMPORTANT NOTE TODAY. On all these trips around the city, I let Pixie drive for practice, I trust him with my car and he knows the area, so it’s fine! I drove absolutely nothing today except to and from my house, that’s it!

Okay, after changing the tire, we hung out at the parking lot of the mall near Pixie’s place (Inside my car cuz it was hot out obviously) and later went inside the mall. We didn’t do much inside except survive the food cravings as we wanted to have dinner somewhere special, which was the usual Fuddruckers where we can get something of good value

While in the mall, we went to a JCPenny out of curiosity to browse (We like to browse a lot). There Pixie suddenly started this.. pun game.. where he would say a sentence and complete it with a word he saw on a product or shirt.. and wow.. he could come up with puns incredibly quickly.. TOO quickly!! AAAA

This kept going through the whole mall and every time I tried to come back he came back with 5+ more puns against me

Anyways, we were finally too hungry and finally went to what was supposed to be our dinner place. Google Maps, Paypal and Android Pay all notify me that I can use Android Pay in my phone to pay at Fuddruckers, but I was cautious since my country is sadly far behind. I didn’t order, I just asked and they said no.. so that quickly stripped our hopes of getting food there, I didn’t have enough in my bank to buy what we wanted so we had to leave. Pixie was visibly upset but we went to the nearby Taco Bell to make up for it

We got the cheapest of the cheap there and were fine.. but now we know for next time to have money ready, and not trust mobile payments since that mostly won’t work here

 After this we quickly stopped by Walmart as our final stop to check these “Maskimals” things and they looked pretty rad. Pixie is a fursuit maker so he had his critiques, but they weren’t as cheaply made as he thought, so that’s a plus. We browsed fridges and talked about what fridge we would have if we eventually get a place and live together, I voted for small and cute fridge since it’s good for 2, but Pixie wants a tall and big fridge with divisions to keep our food separate

It was a super long day, but I made it home after this and played some Minecraft for about an hour with Pixie. He wanted to play since it’s his last day of summer, so he wanted to enjoy his stress-free days until the end

Another small thing happened tonight where I got in my old car that’s now my bro’s. He wanted me to help him with how to work the radio and I sat at the driver seat and turned the car on and wow.. it’s been a year, I remember the long years I spent with that car, they all come back to me

Wow today’s story is a long one.. write “go to sleep” if you read everything!

[hundredbillionbottles]

The Man Who Nods

Bogotá is truly in a league of its own when it comes to food and drink. The bar and restaurant scene in this city rivals, perhaps surpasses that of any European city which I have been to, particularly in Zona Rosa. Being the commercial centre of the capital, the pavements of this district are lined with a massive variety of establishment, ideal for pretty much any social situation; a sit down meal; some pre-drinks; a post-night out, greasy El Corral. However, despite the buzz and glamour of the area, you need to take a walk down a side-alley - away from the arsenal of cars marching down the main road, illuminating the rain in their headlights’ bewildered gaze – to find my favourite culinary joint: a hole in the wall.

I don’t actually know the name of this place, but I can tell you that it is a rectangular hole in a brick wall in which resides a man, the same man at all times, who does not speak; he only communicates in nods, headshakes and the manufacturing of sandwiches and hotdogs. He has a modest mullet and a patchy beard and eyes which stare blankly onto the grill in a way which implies either total despairing disinterest with the world or total calm and contentment, but it is hard to determine which. You place your order for the club sandwich combo (or something else, but really it’s all about the combo) and he nods, before proceeding to fastening his apron which reads ‘Bimbo’ and nothing else, and he whips up a triple layer sandwich with some fries and a small cup of whatever soft drink he has lying around. Then you eat your meal either at the counter (by which I mean the point where the brick wall ends and the hole in it begins) or perched on the bright Molineux-orange railings parallel to it. Then you give the man five thousand pesos (£1.25) and he nods you on your way.

I dined at this hole in the wall for the second time on Saturday night, before a night out which proved heavier, and more fun, than originally anticipated. We arrived at Jhonny Cay Caribbean cocktail bar at twenty past seven, in the knowledge that happy hour ended at eight and we had forty minutes to take full advantage of the two for one drinks offer. I eased myself in with what was essentially a vanilla milkshake with some vodka knocking around in there somewhere, then moved onto the Zombie, an appropriately named concoction consisting of vodka, triple sec and aguardiente (I can’t remember what the mixer was, or if there was one). We then realised we had been drinking far too casually and that we only had ten minutes left of happy hour, so the only course of action was to hastily order two more cocktails each while the last few sips of my Zombie still swilled in the bottom of my martini glass. This would have been the end of the triumphant story of how I drank four cocktails for the equivalent of £10, did I not then order a fifth cocktail after happy hour had finished, solely to appear social when Melanie, Melissa and Juana turned up in a very fashionable, very Colombian, late manner.

After they’d had time to catch up, we essentially waded through the treacherous rivers and fen-sucked fogs in the vintage Bogotá downpour towards the next venue. In the torrential rain, I howled at the navigating Juana to find the club quickly like King Lear on the sesh. Only when I was substantially soaked did we come to ‘El Pepino’, or in English: ‘The Cucumber’. When I heard this small dance bar was called The Cucumber, I figured the night would go one of two ways: it would either be as cool as cucumbers are often claimed to be, or it would be bland and watery. I was already pretty watery thanks to the rain, so I was worried the latter would prevail, but thankfully it swung to the former once I’d danced enough and done enough shots of aguardiente to warm up. The Cucumber was great. It was more like a house party than a club. The DJ was pretty much any person willing to have a go, and there were several gaps of silence between random members of the public choosing songs filled with a bombardment of abuse from those occupying the dancefloor. The main room was that perfect balance between spacious and full which meant one could have room to throw ludicrous shapes, but the overall vibe was far from dead, in fact it was somewhat kicking off. At around midnight there was a performance from what can only be described as a rap posse. For about 45 minutes, six or seven guys absolutely rocked the tiny stage with their freestyled verses over their mates’ beat-boxing. The only sound through the speakers not coming from a person onstage was from a tiny Moog synth providing the faintest of wubs. They put so much energy and confidence into their show and all of us congregated at the front were completely captured by it; I couldn’t make out any of the rappers’ Spanish at the pace that it was being spat, but yet their inflection and delivery had me instinctively knowing at exactly which points in their verses to join the crowd in yelling “OHHHHHHHH!!!!!”.

We stayed there until it closed at three and then spent a good while trying to flag down a taxi that hadn’t already been flagged down by the amazing power of the internet, so by the time we got home and received our order of grease from whoever in their right mind was still delivering at five am, I figured there was no real point in going to bed before leaving the house at seven for mine, Stephen and Ela’s day of hiking in Guatavita. I’ve done the one-day Inca trail on no sleep, so this would no doubt be a doddle.

I didn’t fall asleep on the bus there, I just had a series of massively extended blinks, in between which I admired the clouded sun glazing over the Andean hills that greet you as soon as you bundle out of Bogotá. All morning I happily trudged the dirt road through the Cundinamarca countryside, squinting in the light and smiling wryly at the butterflies of white and lemon yellow that fluttered along with me, and the calves serenading our trail with their melodic groans. When we came to the entrance of the national park, after about two and a half hours walking, it turned out that we didn’t have enough money for both the bus back home and the ‘gringo price’ entrance fee, so we had to turn around back onto the road from whence we came. However, any disappointment at this was erased by a Colombian family who pulled their car up next to us ten minutes into our return hike. In their rusty red sedan, they offered to drive us to the bus stop in exchange for nothing but an opportunity for their son, riding in the front seat, to practice his English. His name was Andres, and he sent question after question towards us, crammed on the backseat next to his mother, me uncomfortably squished onto Stephen’s lap. They were an unbelievably sweet group of people; the mother kept adorably gasping every time we mentioned that we had walked to the park entrance, the father kept pushing his son to ask us more questions, and Andres obliged with a truly genuine smile on his face, before assisting us in getting on a minibus back to Bogotá. This was the kind of helpfulness and honest compassion for other people that you can only find by leaving the UK. Colombians specialise in it. They may turn up late to pretty much every commitment they ever make, but they’re sure to make you feel welcome when they arrive. I’ll miss that.

I believe my rough patch has passed. I thought this earlier today walking back from La Frutaveria, headphones in ears and all my fruit and veg for the week in hand. I had four layers on to accommodate for the recent coldness and the typical drizzle. When I got in I made myself a simple dinner or rice and jalapeño stuffed peppers with the red peppers I bought at a 75% discount because they were deformed. I felt like a citizen. I know what’s going on around here. I use the bus, I have my favourite spots to eat, I’ve got my next three weekends planned out, I’ve got all my meals planned out for the week and I know where to get the cheapest ingredients. If I was the man working in the hole in the wall and you’d asked me a few weeks ago if I was okay, I most certainly would have shaken my head in a way which meant ‘I’m out of good vibes but I can do you some upsetti spaghetti with a side order of total confusion’ but today I would more likely respond with a nod that indicated: ‘yeah man, do you want me to fill this tiny ass cup with Coke or Apple Fanta?’

[thewanderingmacy]

Brno (day 1 and 2)

Okay I’m gonna try to write as the days go on now. (I’m currently listening to the Ghostbusters (1984) soundtrack as I write).

So April 30th was a Transit day, as I traveling from 1:30pm-7pm. I had to check out at 11am but i had access to the kitchen, no chairs, though. I was a bus ride away from the city centre and had all my luggage with me, as these small hotels are so small, they make you call them to check in and just drop off the key in a mailbox to check out so they don’t have to pay someone at the desk to serve 2 people. So I’d dropped my key but still had 2 hours to kill. I’d previously bought flour for some mac n cheese I made, and had butter and sugar for food and tea, so I looked up a 3 ingredient cookie recipe and went for it. The first problem was that there was no oven, only a stove top. I read online that if you treat them like pancakes, it’s fine. Another problem was that there were no measuring cups so I just had to guess the whole way through. Needless to say, it did not end well. The cookies had burnt bottoms and mushy tops. The cleaning lady was in close proximity to me the whole time, cleaning the rooms, and I felt very judged as she saw me baking in a hotel, putting the mixture in a pot and, later, throwing them out. I tried to save some because the dough actually was tasty but the burnt taste permeated through the bag I left them in. So that was that. I took a bus to the bus station and began my journey to Brno.

I arrived at 7pm, after a stopover/bus switch in Prague where I was served a horrifically damaged burger at Burger King (smeared in mayo, then after I told them, lazily wiped off). I had some difficulties getting to the airbnb I’m currently at though because I took the streetcar #9, eastbound, as I should, but the #9 track went in a V shape where my board was the middle point. I was super annoyed and had to turn back. My phone wouldn’t let me text the airbnb host’s phone number adding more pain to the situation (I could text Mother though so I don’t know what happened there). I could call though and the host met me back at the main station, where I’d begun, and figured out how to get me to the place. I’d originally thought that this airbnb was a private room in a shared apartment but the guy left and I have the whole place to myself (I verified online that that is the actual case!).

Yesterday, I explored a bit of Brno. It was Labour Day (in May?) so some shops were closed but most of the sites were open, save for a museum. I visited a crypt which was absolutely horrifying. I’ve seen many a crypt here in Europe, quite a few bones (when I was at the Kutna Hora ossuary, there was an archaeological dig going on in the graveyard with the coffins of two, very dead people (i.e. just skeletons remaining) open for view) but this specific crypt’s bodies weren’t just bones. They had like very old and blackened flesh on them, and clothes. You could see facial expressions- like one person actually looked like they were screaming, like the dead bodies do in the movies, like the Scream mask. And sometimes, they had a plaque about the person, describing their life. I didn’t take any photos because it felt very wrong. I was also scared to breath in some dead body particles in one space because there was just some bars between me and the bodies of a family of brothers. It was really strange and horrifying. I still don’t get how the other tourists were taking photos. It felt very invasive. After that number, I wandered to the old town hall, and further, inside a mall close by to look for shoes (as mine have holes in them), a backpack (as mine broke) and sunglasses as my eyes are killing me in this sun (I literally can’t stop squinting). After that, I ventured up to a park, which was next to/part of the main town’s cathedral. It had a decent vantage point over the south part of the city but it offered a very modern landscape. Then, I tried to find the entrance to the cathedral. I walked up a staircase only to encounter a group of Asian people celebrating something, so I awkwardly walked down. I found the entrance to the tower and treasury and walked up it (oh how I hate staircases) and got some views of the North side of the city, where the historical buildings can be seen. I walked back down, and then found the actual cathedral part. It was alright. Nothing special, actually- just a minimalist space (for an old cathedral) with a few objects of interest. Then, I headed to a mall where I picked up some headphones I’d been eyeballing ever since NYC in November. I’d cycled through like 10 different pairs, always buying the cheapest ones I could find, but they’d always last maximum a month. So I invested a whole $13 in these (fingers crossed). Then I spent a solid hour in the grocery store, buying my goods for my 4 night stay in Brno. I figured the reason I love grocery shopping is because it combines my love of planning and my love of food. Planning meals is the pinnacle of pleasure for me. And that was it for the day.

Today, I slept in a bit and had to do a bit of soul searching to convince myself to get out but I did. I ventured out about 1.5 hours from my airbnb (airbob if you will) to Lednice castle. It’s a very pretty castle that dates to the 13th century, but is more of a converted palace in the 17th/18th century, with renos from the 19th century. It had some sick gardens and a huge outdoor landscape beyond those gardens with ponds and fields and forests. The castle itself was very large and confusing because I couldn’t find the main entrance, only a side entrance that tourists go through. I went on a tour of the princely apartments for 45 minutes, as they offered a few tours (it was the only way of seeing the interior of the castle). I chose this one because the other ones were less about the personal details of the castle, which I enjoy. There was like one of the state rooms, and that sort of thing. The tour was unfortunately in Czech but they gave me an English translation to read as I went along. It was done pretty nicely, I was satisfied, though I do wish I could’ve heard what was being said as the guide was offering a lot more information on specific things in the rooms. It was a good visit though, and I always love doing what I’d planned on doing so I was happy with myself. 

And now, it’s almost midnight and I’m lounging, watching some TV, desperately trying to catch up on my Europe history book. 

Macy

[chrismdthings]

barcelona (part I)

pairing: chris dixon x reader warning(s): none note: listen to barcelona - ed sheeran while reading / part one of three / 3,635 words

Chris Dixon Barcelona, Catalonia

Day one of seven. Hour one of the one-hundred-sixty-eight possible. 

“Dixon, how long does it take you to get ready?”

“Long enough for you to start complaining, apparently.” Chris shot back as he checked his hair one last time in the mirror, washing his hands, and then smoothing out the wrinkles in his blue button-up.

The trick of rolling your clothes was good to save space, but not good when it came to keeping things neat and tidy. There was no time to turn on a hot shower and let the steam take out the wrinkles, nor was there time to search the condo for an iron. Chris was just forced to deal with it.

Hearing the footsteps, trail away and back down the hallway, Chris stepped out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom. He double-checked his pockets; wallet, check.. key, check... phone, check. After nearly an hour of “getting ready”, Chris was able to leave.

If you count “getting ready” as laying in bed and ignoring the fact that he was supposed to already be getting ready an hour ago while scrolling through his phone. That was his “getting ready”, and he was also the reason his friends were starving.

Less than two hours ago, the group of three arrived in Barcelona for the first day of their week. Their flight from London wasn’t too long, but they were exhausted after a night of no sleep. If it wasn’t for their stomachs nagging them to get dinner, Chris was sure all three of them would be passed out asleep in their respective beds, or maybe even on the sofas as they were the first comfortable surface they stumbled across.

Chris and his two friends, Vincent and Dean, we’re staying at an Airbnb just five minutes away from the booming city. It was a large villa with three bedrooms and a large living space, and had the nicest Belgian-Colombian host that made sure they felt at home for the week. It was the cheapest place, but the loveliest, and they hit the jackpot. 

The host also didn’t care about coming in at the ungodly hours of the morning, which was a definite plus as the group had intentions of staying out every night they were in the city.

Shutting off the light, Chris walked down the hallway and into the living room where both Vincent and Dean were waiting on him, sitting on the sofa and lounge chair. Chris looked at them and they glared at him in return, causing the Jersey native to immediately bow his head but slightly chuckle.

“Sorry about taking a bit longer to get ready.” He said sincerely.

“Chris you were getting ready for...” Vincent pulled back his sleeve to look at the watch on his wrist. “An hour.” 

Chris shrugged and Dean spoke up next; “It honestly took you longer to get ready than it usually does to post a photo to Instagram.. and that’s saying something.”

“Okay, let’s have a Chris-roasting-session, why not.” Chris groaned before walking towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

Flora Vivas Barcelona, Catalonia

Day sixteen our of numerous. Hour three-hundred-eighty-seven out of many, many more.

Running her fingers though her dark hair, Flora sighed and watched as the curls once again cascaded down her shoulders. She wished that she had the time, or dedication, to sit and fix her hair. However, after an early morning and no dedication to fix her hair what-so-ever, Flora let her hair be for the night. She wore it like that every day, so one night out couldn’t hurt anything.

“Flor, do you have any black heels I could wear?” Looking through the mirror, Flora’s eyes landed on her friend Anaïs. She leaned against the door frame and stared at the Catalan in front of her, and then Flora turned around to look at the outfit her best friend was wearing.

Flora pursed her lips and then spoke up. “Wear my silver Tom Ford heels.” She said. “They go better with your skin-tone than black-on-black.”

Anaïs didn’t argue against her word, instead walking over to the closet and grabbing the silver heels and trying them on. Flora continued her simple makeup routine in the bathroom whenever she heard her best friend speak up, “Flor you’re a lifesaver.” She said before rushing back out of the bedroom.

Every night the girls went out, for dinner or for drinks, that was the routine. One was desperate to find out something that matched their heels or dress or clutch, while the others tried everything to make it work. Flora had an eye for fashion, and knew exactly what pieced together perfectly. She could thank her mother and her mother’s old tendency to do the same things.

Plucking out a tube of faint pink lipstick from her bag, Flora ran the applicator along her bottom lip, and then her top before smacking her lips together and sealing the lipstick tube shut. Flora wanted to wear red lipstick, but the light denim jacket she suited for the night would clash with it, so she settled for a more subtle color.

Flora double-checked her outfit in the long mirror on the wall before shutting off the light and leaving the bathroom. She placed the lipstick in her purse and made sure she had her phone and wallet in here as well. 

Flora’s green eyes flickered up, looking at the digital clock on the wall, and reading off eight thirty. It was almost nine o’clock, which was her typical dinner hour. 

Most people didn’t understand Spain, or Catalonia’s, dinner times. Everyone ate dinner late and their nights ended later than most countries. Flora never questioned it as it was always her normal lifestyle, she didn’t know any different. 

“Are you two almost ready?!” Flora called out down the hallway, directing towards the other bathroom down the hall where Nela and Anaïs could be heard arguing over use of a mirror. 

“No!” 

“NO!”

Flora sighed dramatically and walked over to the balcony, sliding open the door and walking out into the warm Barcelona air. She took in a deep breath, smelling the faint Mediterranean sea water as the coast of Barceloneta Beach was a single street away from her. 

Even though Flora had spent eighteen years in the city, leaving this year to attend university, she still adored the city as if was the first time she seen it. It was her home, her paradise, and it always would be.

Flora loved the modernista feel, the art, the history, the people, the sights, and the food. It’s always where she felt calm and loved. All of her family, her friends, and her past was, and the city kept bringing her back no matter how far she traveled. 

Her hands gripping the cool metal railing, Flora felt the warm wind blow against her abdomen and then heard the heavy footsteps of her friends against the hardwood floors. The click of heels made her turn around, and she spotted Anaïs walking into the living room as she placed hooked her earrings in her ears. Nela was on her heels as they walked into the living room and kitchen to grab their things.

“FLORA LET’S GO.” 

“Don’t act like I am the one who took the longest to get ready here. I’m the starving one.”  

Chris Dixon Barcelona, Catalonia

Chuckling and shaking his head at an awful joke that Vincent made about the tapas he was consuming in a failed Spanish accent, Chris turned away. He shook his head and looked around.

The group of three chose a tapas bar just inside the city, it had a rustic style interior with dim lights hanging above the tables, deep red seats and ebony tables, and the long line of tapas across a bar that was enough to make your mouth water at first sight. That was the reason they ended up there, because it was close, and it looked too good to pass up.

Looking around the room, from family to couple, Chris heard the sound of the door opening in the mostly silent room and turned his eyes to the entrance. He saw a group of three girls walk in, all laughing and talking as they stepped inside and were escorted to a table adjacent to Chris and his friends.

He listened in to the group, it was actually hard not too as they were being so loud, and heard them speaking quickly. Their words did not sound Spanish, nor Portuguese, or any language he had heard of before. It was Catalan, and Chris had no idea what they were saying.

He had picked up here-and-there on Spanish in school but he was primarily taught French growing up in Jersey, so he had no idea of the entire Catalan language.

“Dixon, what are you looking at- oh.” Dean trailed off as he followed Chris’ gaze and to the group of girls feet away from them. Chris turned back immediately, looking away from the table, and to his friend. “They’re quite fit, huh?”

Chris nodded and cleared his throat, hoping to avoid the conversation. He knew how his friends were around girls, especially foreign ones. And with a drink or two in their systems, it was even worse than normal. 

And that’s the situation Chris was stuck in that night.

Vincent had one-too-many, actually two, beers in his system, and considered himself a total lad when it came to girls. However girls at bars or in clubs considered him to be a slimy bloke, even though he was rather quite good looking. His looks did not meet his actions.

And, of course, Vincent turned to the group of girls and looked at them. Chris watched him narrow his eyes and then turn back. “They’re Spanish.” He said. “Maybe they know a bit about Barcelona.” 

“What if they’re Portuguese, and they have no idea where they are.” Dean suggested the absolute worst.

Vincent shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.” He said before turning back to the girls, and Chris watched in horror as he called out for them across the room. After a semi-loud shout, and even a fucking whistle, Chris was watching between his fingers as the entire restaurant turned and stared at their table as he called out for the girls.

The girls that had walked in had just stood up, walking towards the tapas bar, but were halted when Vincent called out for them and then waved them over. 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God...” Chris trailed off as he tried to speak to them, but they walked over anyways, sharing grins and giggles between them.

But then the best came out of the situation... they didn’t think Vincent, or any of them, was creepy, and they spoke English. The best outcome Chris could have thought of.

“Are you three from around here?” Vincent asked slyly, resting his arm on the empty chair next to him. 

Chris turned and looked up at the girls, watching them nod. He looked at the girl whom stood closest to him, just a foot away from their table, as she spoke up first. “Yeah, all three of us were raised here.” 

“In Barcelona?” He asked and Chris rolled his eyes. Obviously, you idiot. The girls were much nicer than Chris though, and just simply nodded. Vincent shot them a grin, one that said he was one beer in too deep already. “Well my boys and I are here for the next week on a holiday. I was wondering if there were any good places to go, that you could tell us about?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The blonde in the middle spoke up. Chris looked at her, and then down to her silver heels and back up. “Do you mind if we go get our food and come back here and sit with you three?” She had a different accent than the first girl- it wasn’t too distinct, but obviously different.

Dean nodded hastily for Vincent and said; “of course! We’ll grab you three some chairs and you can join us.” He said with the best, smooth accent.

Chris mentally rolled his eyes again. His friends were being absolute lads tonight and he couldn’t stand it. They were always different around attractive girls.

A moment later the girls rushed off to the tapas bar and Vincent and Dean shot up from their seats, almost knocking over their chairs and the table completely, before rushing to an empty table and grabbing two other chairs for the table. Chris just sat in complete disbelief that his friends were already trying to pull girls on the first night. Another part of him wasn’t surprised.

The girls fetched their plates and drinks before walking over and settling down at the table. Chris watched one settle down across the table from him, next to Vincent, and then the other two took the chairs that had been grabbed just moments ago.

“So, tell us...” Vincent trailed off, turning to the girl seated next to him and shot her an award winning grin. “What are your names?” He asked.

The blonde across the table spoke up first and for her other two friends. “I am Anaïs, this is Nela..” she pointed to the girl next to her with light brown hair and a white top, “and this is Flora.” 

Chris watched her motion to the girl sitting next to him, she was sitting close their knees were grazing slightly under the table. She sat closer so Chris was able to see more of her than the others.

Anaïs had distinct blonde hair and fair skin that was completely different than the other natives in the room. Nela had light brown hair that swayed at her shoulders, and she wore a white top with foreign words spread across the top in colorful letters. And Flora had black hair in tight curls that trailed down her back, and she had striking green eyes that shocked Chris when she turned to him with a warm smile.

Anaïs was in a conversation with Vincent, and Dean had spoken up to Nela, so Flora turned to him to spark up a word to keep the awkwardness at bay.

“So, what are you guys doing in Barcelona?” She asked, twirling the straw in her drink between her fingers.

“Just a holiday.” Chris said. “We had been everywhere else, and we were looking for somewhere warm and that we hadn’t been too.” 

Flora nodded. “It’s a great place to holiday, you know. There is loads to do here in the city itself.”

“Really? What do you guys like to do?”

She shrugged and they met eyes again. Chris looked into her striking icy green eyes and he felt cold, like he couldn’t turn away, but her smile was enough to warm him up. “It’s different for natives than for you tourist..” she said like an insult and they chuckled lightly. “No, but there is a lot of shopping, sight-seeing, food variety, there is everything for people who like to do different stuff.” She continued. “I mean, for you guys, you could visit La Ramblas not too far from here and see the shopping, or go to the beach and relax, tour Camp Nou or catch a match. That’s typically what most do.” 

Chris pursed his lips and nodded. “I would love to see a match in Camp Nou.” 

“You’re a fútbol boy.. I sensed it.” She laughed. Chris listened to her laugh for the moment- it was a hearty laugh, like she was genuinely happy and found delight in knowing that her assumption was true. It was a cute laugh, her lips were spread to reveal pearly whites, and he could listen to it forever.

“Really? How?”

“I don’t know. You just looked like a fan.” Flora shrugged and he grinned. “Do you like Barcelona, though? I mean..” 

“Not in particular, no. I like the squad, the club itself is so historic and phenomenal, but they aren’t my favorite.” 

“Who are your favorites then?”

“Arsenal,” Chris said proudly as if boasting the red and white colors at the moment. He always wore the Arsenal pride wherever he was, but this was an exception. 

“Shame,” Flora clicked her tongue. “It’s a shame that London is blue.” Chris snorted and threw his head back.

“Is Spain white then?” He tried to shoot back.

“Spain, sí, I assume so. Catalonia? Catalonia is forever blaugrana.” She said and Chris felt a pep in his heart at her football knowledge. They grinned at each other before laughing lightly. “It’s a shame you are a Gooner though, I could definitely direct you to the nearest stand that sells all the Barça merchandise possible. I’m talking kits, cups, flags, scarves, pins, forms to sign your soul away to the club... that shit.” 

Chris chuckled. He liked her sense of humor, and her thick accent was definitely a plus.

“So tell me...” Flora trailed off, raising a brow at him, and he knew she was searching for his name.

“Christopher, but you can call me Chris.” He said, leaning his chin on his knuckles and she nodded.

“Christopher..” she repeated, her accent straining the very beginning of his name, but Chris didn’t care. His name rolled off her tongue and it sounded beautiful. 

Damn her and the accent.

“Christopher, where are you from?” Flora asked, picking up an empanadilla from her plate and taking a bite. 

Chris watched her lick her lips before clearing his throat and shaking his head. Everything she did or said got into his head and he was being an absolute idiot around her.

“I’m from Jersey.” He nodded and watched Flora raise a brow. He quickly continued, “it’s a channel island, just off the coast of France.” He corrected and Flora nodded.

“Okay! I know now!” She laughed. “Is it beautiful there?”

Chris shrugged and teetered his head back and forth. “It’s okay, sometimes.” He said and they laughed. “It’s really small, but there are some beautiful sights, you just have to be in the right places.” 

Flora smiled at him. “That’s how Barcelona is.” She said. “Sometimes it’s not so pretty, but it’s what within the streets that matters.”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “There are cliffs, beaches, lighthouses, a few small castles.. it’s a beautiful place.” 

“It sounds gorgeous.” Flora said and took a quick sip of her drink. Chris took her pause to take a drink of his own order. “If I ever wind up there one random day, would you ever do me the favor of showing me around?”

“Absolutely,” he said and they smiled again before turning away from each other and to their respective plates.

Chris took a bite of his croqueta, which was a random food that resembled an egg roll so he picked it up, and nodded. After swallowing he took a sip of his drink and watched Flora pick up something off her plate, and something that looked completely odd to him. But she took a large bite out of it, nodding as if pleased, and placed the remain of the battered food back on her plate.

The Jersey native raised a brow; “what is that?”

Flora turned to him, watching him signal down to her plate, and then she realized what he was talking about. “It’s called chopito.” She said, the name rolling off her tongue, and Chris watched her pick up another piece of it off her plate. “Or sometimes called puntillitas.” She placed it on his nearly empty plate. “Try it,” 

“What is it?” Chris asked, picking it up a moment later and inspecting it. 

Flora just laughed, “just try it.” 

He shouldn’t have trusted a complete stranger who told him to eat a random piece of food, but Chris was feeling adventurous, and popped the entire thing into his mouth. Whatever it was, it had a rich flavor that reminded him of fish, but it was light, a bit crunchy, but overall delicious.

Flora watched Chris’ expression switch from tense to pleased, and he nodded. “Did you like it?” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Chris admitted before sipping his drink. “What was it?”

“Squid.” She said casually before popping another into her mouth, and Chris choked at the first thought of him eating squid, and sent Flora into a fit of laughter. 

Hours had passed, and it was near eleven when both of the groups had decided their night had to end there.

Dinner had been full of laughs, random conversations that got everyone involved, and even more conversations between Chris and Flora. They sat at the edge of the table and delved into their own world, talking about life and even more teasing each other about football and accents, and Chris even trying to give her Catalan accent a shot that ended horribly with the both of them roaring in laughter.

Neither Chris nor Flora wanted the dinner to end. They were having so much fun together, just talking among themselves and laughing as their friends downed a round of beers.

So outside of the restaurant, in the middle of the street as the others tried to hail taxis, Flora and Chris made a pact to see each other again that week. They shared phone numbers even though they had no idea what that would leave to.

“Shoot me a text one morning and I’ll be up to show you guys around Barcelona, or bail you out of a Catalan jail.” Flora said as her friends jumped into a taxi and called out her name.

Chris laughed. “Hopefully the nights out won’t have to come out of that.” He said, watching her walk towards the taxi on the side of the street. “I’ll see you soon, Flora.” 

She nodded at him and smiled. “See you soon, Christopher.”