Another year lived! Another year ALIVE. These days I don’t think so much about aging; I think about surviving. It’s been quite a year for me (and maybe eventually I’ll go into detail, because I do think there’s value in sharing), but I’m in a much, much better place than I was on this exact day last year. Here’s to another year of moving forward. To living, to being alive. :)
The first time Thorin had visited the Shire, he had hated it. Too much green, too many low hills, too much sky overhead. Too many wandering eyes and hurried whispers watching him as he made his way through Hobbiton. Too many twists and turns that turned you around no matter how many maps or wizards were at your disposal. Everything in abundance reminding him just how much he’d done without and, for better or worse, how far he’d come.
The one exception to his dislike was the food. Hobbits, at least, knew how to entertain and fill a belly.
His second trip to the Shire was much more pleasant.
He was no longer a pauper king, with more soot under his fingernails than gold on his fingers. No longer did he have the deeply set bags under his eyes that carried the weight of his people. Once again, his beard grew long and he delighted in being able to run his fingers through it for the first time since Smaug almost ruined him. His frame had filled out after judicial applications of filling food by orders of his One, Bilbo. After five years of constant rebuilding efforts, Bilbo declared it was time for a break and that he longed to see his home for the midsummer festivities. Their visit was spent in happy company, even if Bilbo’s relatives were nosier than a dog on a scent.
With Bilbo as his guide, Thorin hadn’t been lost once. Unless, of course, you counted the way Thorin would lose himself staring at Bilbo as firelight danced across his still bright curls as they sat in their chairs at night, sentimental as it sounded.
Thorin had made himself acquainted with Bilbo’s most favorite relatives, cousins Drogo and Primula and their young son Frodo. Where most of Bilbo’s relatives were uneasy around dwarves, unaccustomed to their at-first-sight-brisk nature, Prim and Drogo engaged him in lively conversation and didn’t show a single sign of hesitance. As such, Frodo took a shine to him immediately, peeking out from behind his mum’s skirts and asking him about his swords and “if you’re really a king, where’s your crown?”, much to the embarrassed amusement of his parents.
Thorin loved all of them immediately. Frodo in particular, reminding him so much of his own nephews with his mischievous grin and shining, curious eyes.
After that trip they had made it a point to visit each year for midsummer. For six years, he and Bilbo enjoyed their light and witty banter, sharing the local gossip behind fans and cups of tea. Who was courting who, what pranks the tweens had pulled, what had Lobelia’s knickers in a bunch this week were all topics of conversation best discussed over a good plate of cakes on the table and Frodo bouncing on Thorin’s knee.
When news of Prim and Drogo’s death reached Erebor, Thorin truly mourned for their loss.
The day the news came, Bilbo had rushed to his side in council, eyes wet with distress and trembling with emotion the likes he had not seen since Thorin was laid on a cot on the battlefield. In his hand, a letter was clutched tightly.
“What has happened, ghivashel,” Thorin asked, immediately on high alert.
Bilbo swallowed thickly, his words seemed to be stuck with the need not to fall apart in front of the council. “Th- Thorin,” he croaked.
Thorin rushed to his side to collect Bilbo in his arms. He clutched him tightly and felt Bilbo shudder against him. Without turning away, he told Balin to clear the council room. When all had left, Bilbo finally let out a heartbreaking sob.
“Amrâlimê, you’re scaring me,” Thorin whispered into his hair. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s Drogo,” Bilbo whispered, “and Prim. They’re gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“They’ve died. Drowned in the river, according to Lobelia.” His sobs muffled themselves in Thorin’s tunic and Thorin couldn’t help but join him in tears. While he hadn’t known them as long or as well as Bilbo, he had been proud to call them both friends. To hear of their deaths made him ache and he clutched Bilbo tighter, lending him all the comfort and support he could muster.
“I’m so sorry, ghivashel. Truly.” He kissed Bilbo’s head, nuzzling down into his curls and letting his tears wet them. But then he remembered something desperately important, snapping to attention.
He jerked just far enough away so as to look into Bilbo’s reddened eyes. “What of Frodo?”
“Oh,” Bilbo said, face crumbling. “Oh, he lives.”
Thorin breathed a sigh of relieve. “Thank Mahal.”
“Indeed, Yvanna be with him.”
Thorin recollected Bilbo in his arms and stood, rocking him in silence for a moment. Then he broke it by asking, “what is to come of him, then? Without his parents, who will take care of him?”
“Lobelia says that he’s been collected by the Brandybucks. He’s in Brandy Hall with his cousins. They’re taking care of him, now.”
Thorin hummed and nodded. “That’s good. Being with family is good.”
“Yes,” Bilbo weakly agreed.
They stood there, clutching each other tightly until the immediacy of their grief had subsided. Thorin called to Balin and told him that all further business would be put on hold for the day. Balin paid them his deepest condolences and assured him that business would be taken care of and that they were to retire for the day.
After they retired to their room, Bilbo helped him trim off a large portion of his beard. He let Bilbo cry and talk of his cousins until words had run dry. They made love in the flickering light of their hearth, reaffirming life in each other and taking reassurance from their kisses and gasps of pleasure.
Afterwards, in the dark before sleep, Thorin thought about Frodo’s fate. He looked down, watching Bilbo sleep in the crook of his arm, his fingers curled into Thorin’s chest, body pressed tight to his. Thorin had always had a fondness for Frodo, just as Bilbo had. He thought on what he felt like to be an orphan at his old age, how much he missed his parents and his brother even though he was over two hundred years old. He wanted to find a way to alleviate Frodo of all that pain.
Which gave him an idea.
“Bilbo,” he whispered. “Ghivashel, you awake?”
Bilbo groaned, rubbing his face into Thorin’s chest. “I am now, dratted dwarf.”
“I was thinking-”
“Highly improper at this hour-”
“Hush, kurdel.” He ran a soothing hand up and down Bilbo’s back. “I was thinking, what if we adopted Frodo.”
Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and in a flash he was sat straight up. “Sweet Yvanna, what are you talking about?”
Thorin, unfazed by Bilbo’s reaction, explained himself. “I know what it’s like to be orphaned, amrâlimê.”
“So do I,” Bilbo insisted. “In case you’ve forgotten, my parents are gone as well.”
“Aye, I know. Which is why I think that we’d be able to help him.”
“But…that’s impossible! Where would he live?”
“He would live here.”
“Without any other hobbits? That’s insane, Thorin.”
“You do it,” Thorin reasoned.
“Yes, well,” Bilbo said flippantly, “I’m ‘Mad Baggins’ who runs off and marries dwarven kings and has grand adventures with wizards. After I’ve reached my majority, mind.” Bilbo, softly emphasized, “Frodo’s only a boy. Not even a tween yet.” His eyes watered again. “Gods, he’s only twelve! I couldn’t take him away from his home after losing his parents.”
Thorin nodded. “He’d have you, though. His “Uncle Bilbo”. He could be happy here with you, learning languages, exploring the world. He’d be well provided for, well protected, and I’m sure he would make friends fast here.”
Bilbo still looked skeptical. “I don’t know Thorin. If we lived in the Shire, it would be different. I’d march into Brandy Hall, myself, and take him to Bag End without question. But this,” he sighed deeply. “This may be too big a move.”
“Don’t decide on anything now,” Thorin urged. “Midsummer is two months away. What if we left a little early, visited with Frodo and then decide?”
Bilbo nodded, weariness creeping up on him again. “I’ll write to Lobelia in the morning. To let her know that we’re coming.”
“Good.” He kissed Bilbo softly before settling them back into the sheets.
Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader Word count: 1,549 (Before lyrics) Warnings: Cuss word or two. Drinking. Angst Challenge: Written for @cas-is-my-hero‘s 100 Followers Writing Challenge. My song is “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler
Sequel: This is the third part in my completed “No Falling” series.
I don’t know if the requests are still open , but if they are could you do an imagine where YN and Blaise prank Draco ( YN’S boyfriend). Also your blog is awesome and I love your aesthetics.have an nice day
a/n: thank you, love! I hope you don’t mind, but the relationship is slightly altered. it’s a bit more…dramatic? oh well, comme est la vie.
To befriend Blaise Zabini, one must have a certain edge. They have to embody Salazar’s dream, while remaining interesting, confident, and remarkably intelligent. It was no wonder when he began sitting next to Y/n L/n during meals. They had met in Transfiguration. Neither could remain interested, and both would rather fight the Whomping Willow than hear another lecture on the power behind accenting certain syllables. As his moon-like eyes wandered around the room, they paused on a girl attempting to morph a feather into the past night’s homework. She stared with determination at Hermione Granger’s scrolls, not bothering to watch her own quill morph into a near replica. Zabini was astounded, and exceedingly intrigued. They’ve been best friends ever since. It wasn’t unusual to see the two lounging under a tree, casting pebbles into the Black Lake. When Y/n needed the sun, and Blaise needed fresh air, the two would find their way to a tall oak, casually discussing life, sinister plans, but specifically, the past week. ‘And I swear, if that oaf, Weasley, thinks I’m just going to let him ruin our project, I’ll positively pass out from internal combustion. If we get paired up again, I think I’ll accidentally crucio him.’ A smirk of realization made its way to Blaise’s lips. Of course! How had he never thought of this before…
Y/n and Draco!
It was a perfect match! The way they talked, the way they acted, it was like a pair made in heaven. ‘Oh, Y/n, dear, have you ever thought about dating anyone at this barmy school?’ She narrowed her eyes, flicking his hand with a small smile. ‘Now, Blaise, you know I love you, but-’ ‘Not me, dimwit. I’m just wondering if you ever thought about, perhaps, going on a blind date?’ Her nose scrunched in thoughts, a gentle breeze kissing their cheeks. ‘I suppose, after that horrendous afternoon with Oliver Wood, I wouldn’t mind being courted.’ He jumped up, already marching towards the common room. ‘Then it’s settled. Puddifoot’s, half past five, dress nicely!’ Y/n chuckled to herself while staring off at the branches. Maybe the mystery boy wouldn’t be all that bad. ‘No.’ It was preposterous. Feigning a look of astonishment, Blaise gasped, plopping himself onto one of the common room’s multiple armchairs. ‘And when have I ever steered you wrong?’ Draco looked up from his novel, milky tendrils falling onto his forehead. ‘Last month, I had to sit quietly while Daphne Greengrass complained about magical nail polish for three hours. Two weeks ago, you set me up with Bullstrode at Honeydukes. Have you ever seen a Bullstrode at a sweets shop? It’s like watching a starved warthog chomp on cake.’ Heaving an exhale, Zabini strolled towards the fire, a shallow smirk gracing his lips. ‘I guess I’ll have to find someone else to quench L/n’s loneliness.’ As expected, Draco looked up, his eyes wide with astonishment. ‘Y-You mean…L/n said yes…to a date with me?’ Blaise couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at the childlike wonder in his best mate’s eyes. ‘Course she did. But, since you’ve no interest-’ ‘I-I’ll make time.’ He looked down to the blonde, watching as he picked at a fingernail. It was as easy as taking candy from an elf. As the breeze tickled down his back, his nervous breath floated with the current, eyes everywhere at once. She said yes. Y/n L/n actually wanted to have dinner with him! For years, he’d watched, wondered, craved. Zabini always had a knack for collecting the most marvelous things for his collection. He had a cufflink once belonging to Merlin, a hairbrush used by a young Grindelwald, but most importantly, he had the most exquisite being in Britain swayed with ambitious alliance. No one could ever even touch an item in his possession, and here Draco was, standing outside Puddifoot’s, anxiously waiting the arrival of Zabini’s pride and joy. ‘Don’t tell me you got all dressed up for little, ol’ me?’ He spun, quickly, inches away from deep, e/c eyes. Pronounced speechless, Y/n curtsied, offering her hand. ‘Y/n L/n. I believe you’re my date.’ They entered the quaint shop, diving into interesting discussion. You must understand, Draco didn’t do anything like this. He’d been on dates, sure. He’d conversed with some of London’s finest. Yet, none grabbed his attention. No witch could ever light that spark behind his eyes, and here she was, igniting an inferno. Y/n, on the other hand, never did anything like this. She never dated, never conversed. To say she was a recluse would be like calling Dumbledore ‘aged.’ When she won Zabini’s care, she had been playful, spunky, and snide. What she hadn’t thought of was the side-effects, resulting in a mean-streak, harmfulness, and ultimately, cruelty. She watched as Draco’s expression turned from joy to horror as he looked in his tea. A live cockroach climbed out of the cup, fluttering onto his pant leg. Most people didn’t have the luxury of knowing Malfoy as a child. He was optimistic, but spoiled, yet curious. During a trip to South America, the young boy promised himself to try new and exotic foods. What he hadn’t expected was the lack of cleanliness in the kitchen to affect his meal. He bit into a crunchy, odd tasting soup, finding half a bug left in the substance. He had to be immediately apparated back to his room in England, where his mother cradled him for a week. Y/n did not have the luxury of knowing Malfoy as a child. He stood, quickly, his body shaking violently as the roach clung harder to the fabric of his pants. He began pulling at his hair, while Y/n became actively worried about the state of his mentality. She, hastily, pulled out her wand, zapping the creature out of existence. Looking around in fear, Draco met the eye of every patron, their stare forcing him to run from the shop. Y/n flicked a galleon onto the table, before following him into a darkened alley. She found him in a ball on the floor, his head resting between his knees as his hands scratched his leg where the insect had resided. She kneeled next to him, brushing a strand of his hair. ‘A-Are you-’ ‘Why did you do it?’ Her mouth gaped while his shut quickly. Through clenched teeth, he hissed. ‘Puddifoot’s is clean, and c-clean places don’t have roa-’ He had to stop himself. She fiddled with her dress, looking anywhere but his trembling figure. ‘I didn’t think it’d be that bad. I-I’m sorry. I’m not good with dates, a-and I thought it might be funny. I didn’t think-’ ‘No, you didn’t.’ She sat next to him, looking at his scrunched nose and boiling cheeks. ‘Will you come with me to one more place before our date ends?’ Although he was shaken and certainly unsure, he had never been more curious. Poofing out of thin air, the pair found themselves a few miles outside Hogwarts, feet pooling into a crystal clear pond. A faded waterfall poured misty water into the lagoon, the forest cocooning them into a peaceful frame of mind. ‘It’s called the Cleansing Pool. Legend says if you bathe in the water, you’ll be rid of all sorrow.’ He looked at her, his hard exterior melting light a candle. ‘I really messed this date up, but if you’ll let me, I’d really like to swim with you.’ He grimaced, his gaze following the ripples. ‘I’ve brought no swim trunks.’ She smiled, meeting his eyes which matched the lake. ‘Lucky for you, I’m excellent with transfiguration.’
“I do apologise, Headmaster,” he said, a smirk still
adorning his face. “Professor Quirrell.” He gave a half nod.
Quirrell scowled, and adjusted the neck of his robes. “Thank you. Thank you, my friends. I am looking forward to this next step in my career. Of course, I had
expected some jealousy,” he shot back, “from certain colleagues who have failed to progress themselves, and don’t have
the necessary bravery or courage to…” He
trailed off as Snape’s cold black eyes bored into his own, his smirk now but a
memory. “That is, ahem, to say…to say…”
Dumbledore stepped forward, and clasped Quirrell’s
shoulder. “You shall be missed. I know I speak for both the students and the
staff,” he paused, and inclined his head towards Snape until the Potions Master stopped glaring at Quirrell, “when I say that your work as Muggle Studies
teacher has been exemplary-”
“Exemplary,” Snape echoed, giving a sarcastic round of applause.
“Severus, a word, if I may?”
“As you wish, Headmaster.”
Snape watched as the rest of his colleagues filed out of the
staffroom, all wishing Quirrell well on his impending travels.
“Your reaction to your colleague’s upcoming adventure was…curious.”
“His entire trip is curious,” Snape sneered. “Practical experience! What a ridiculous notion – the man can barely
teach Muggle Studies. It is implausible
that he’s going to pick up enough practical experience in a year overseas to be
able to teach Defence in an adequate manner.”
“Ah. You think you
could offer more?”
“At Defence, or Muggle Studies?” Snape shot back.
“I would imagine that you were suitably qualified for either.”
Snape gave a soft laugh.
“I could just imagine Malfoy’s face if I took on the newly vacated role
of Muggle Studies teacher.”
Dumbledore gave a wry smile.
“Now now, let’s not be hasty. I
could well imagine Lucius Malfoy rubbing his hands together with glee at the
idea of having a hand in our Muggle Studies curriculum.”
“Indeed. On second
thoughts,” Snape smiled back, “perhaps I should put my name forward?”
“I think not,” Dumbledore said quickly. “I already have an application form from you
in my office for the Defence position.”
paused. “Tell me, what did I write this
Dumbledore waved his hand.
“How you feel that your recent OWL results speak for themselves, and
that you feel you can bring such competency to another subject within the
“Better than last year’s effort,” Snape nodded curtly. “Didn’t I apparently witter on about classroom
“I believe you did.
For four pages. Including an
insulting illustration.” Dumbledore
smiled. “I feel that your applications
will only improve in quality as the years go by. Naturally, I already have someone in mind for
“Of course.” Snape
frowned at Dumbledore’s continued silence.
“…you’re not actually suggesting I do apply for Muggle Studies, are you?”
“No,” Dumbledore said.
“The Defence application is one thing, but it wouldn’t do for you to
appear disgruntled within your current role.”
“Then, Headmaster, with all due respect, why did you wish to
speak to me?” He gave a broad smile in sudden realisation. “It was because I laughed
at him, wasn’t it? Because I mocked him?”
Dumbledore shook his head.
“No. Well, I would appreciate it
if you could curb such…excesses towards your fellow staff members in the future…”
“But I wished to ask you to try and welcome our new Muggle Studies teacher with
“A friendly face.”
“A friendly face?”
Snape’s eyebrows were raised so high, they almost reached his hairline. “Me?
Why not McGonagall? Or
Flitwick? Or Sprout, she’s always blathering
on about friendship and-”
“Severus, it is important that you appear sufficiently
ingratiated into Hogwarts when you return to your Dark Lord.”
“And you suggest I do so by befriending the Muggle Studies
teacher?” Snape scoffed. “Yes, that will
go down fantastically well! He’s always
been so supportive of-”
“-you would do well to prove,” Dumbledore said coldly, “that
you have his best interests at heart.”
“And you do that,” Dumbledore continued, “by doing whatever
is required of you, no matter how distasteful the task first appears.” He gave Snape a sharp look. “You explain that whilst you have my
confidence, you were curious at how the Muggle Studies teacher had been taken
under my wing.”
“And that you decided, of your own volition, to see if the information
filtered back through the Muggle Studies teacher matched with your own
experiences.” He peered at the younger
man. “Are we in agreement?”
“What do you mean, you’ve never been?”
“Oh, and you have?”
Snape barked a laugh.
“I cannot believe that you’re teaching Muggle Studies and you’ve never
been to the cinema.”
“And I can’t believe that you’re the Head of Slytherin, and you
indulge in such Muggle pursuits.”
She leant forward, her glass clutched in her hands. “And you don’t even deny it.” She peered at him. “What sort of a pureblood are you?”
He gave a wide grin and lowered his voice conspiratorially, leaning forward to whisper. “The halfblood type.”
Burbage’s peals of laughter were high-pitched and loud. “Halfblood.
Yes! You’re so obviously a
“All right,” Snape said, picking up the rapidly emptying
whisky bottle and refilling their glasses.
“There’s no need to gloat.”
“Snape. Snape, Snape,
Snape. It’s not a pureblood name at
all. It’s just, with you being head of-”
“I have heard this before,” he interrupted smoothly. “My mother was a pureblood, if that helps.”
“And your father a half?”
“With a name like Snape?”
“He was a Muggle?”
“You don’t need to look scandalised. You are the Muggle Studies teacher, are you not? I thought you approved of mixed relations?”
Burbage glanced down apologetically. “Sorry, it’s just, it’s not every day a
halfblood makes head of-”
“-and certainly not one with a filthy Muggle father.”
“I’m not referring to his blood. He himself is the filth,” he quickly
elaborated. “Well, was.”
“Was?” She shifted
uneasily. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”
He stood, and took a long gulp of his whisky, the harsh liquid burning
the back of his throat. “Come on then. We can’t Apparate from the grounds.”
“Apparate? To where?”
He rolled his eyes, and forcibly removed the glass from her
hand, holding out his arm instead. “To
the cinema. Where else?”
Hey, hope you had a fun trip! I'm curious, how would America, England, Russia, China and Romano react to seeing a ghost?
Alfred (America) +
Lovino (Romano)- They would both instantly scream super loud and runs as fast as possible without looking back. Even if they just thought it was a ghost and weren’t sure, neither of these guys would take any chances.
Arthur (England) +Ivan (Russia)- Wouldn’t really be disturbed at all. Both may try to communicate with it. If it’s a scary looking ghost Arthur might give up after a few tries and leave but Ivan would still stick around to watch it.
Yao (China)- He’d assume it was fake and laugh it off. As soon as he realized that it was actually a ghost he’d be in the same situation as Alfred and Lovino, but he’d get really embarrased and pretend he wasn’t scared at all afterwards if someone witnessed it.
So I totally am oblivious to most everything and I only found out that Beyonce was performing in Atlanta after it had already happened but….I got to thinking….what would it have been like if Jack had surprised Bitty with tickets to the show??
Bitty’s freaking out because this tour has been sold out since forever and how did Jack get the tickets?!!! (Those NHL connections, y'all)
Bitty trying to find the perfect outfit and showing them all to Jack via Skype (Jack: “I love everything you wear, Bits”)
Bitty and Jack working to clear their schedules and keep everything on the DL (but this is Bitty and he’s totally gonna spill it all on his vlog because he HAS to tell someone!)
It’s all coming together and they catch a flight to Atlanta. Bitty is forcing Jack to listen to every Beyonce song and watch the videos. They’re sharing ear buds and Bitty is being a total fanboy the entire time: quietly singing along, getting teary-eyed, and elbowing Jack to pay attention (Jack really just wants to stare at Bitty the entire time)
They get to Atlanta super early and Bitty is having the best time taking Jack around to some of his favorite places (i.e. bakeries). (They both wish they had time to visit Madison…)
They get to the Georgia Dome early. Bitty is rocking his favorite Beyonce shirt and a pair of shorts that Jack had said made his butt look super cute *this boy*
It’s madness. So much energy and love. Jack has never been to a concert like this. He would feel overwhelmed surrounded by thousands of people all screaming and singing but Bitty keeps him grounded.
Bitty looks like he’s died and gone to heaven. He’s crying and laughing and singing. It makes Jack feel a little wistful but then Bitty turns to him, reaching up, up, up for a kiss.
And then they’re kissing, wrapped up tight. Jack can taste Bitty’s happy tears in his mouth, feel the hard, fast tempo of Bitty’s heart.
The music and crowd is deafening but Jack still hears Bitty as he practically yells into his ear “I’M SO GLAD I CAN EXPERIENCE THIS WITH YOU!!!” Jack just grins and gives his boyfriend (his boyfriend) another deep and heartfelt kiss.
The show is everything Bitty hoped it would be and the rest of the night (spent expressing his happiness and gratitude to Jack at their hotel room) was beyond perfect. Bitty’s exhausted but still riding his afterglow as he and Jack catch their flight back. They sleep the whole flight, leaning together, Bitty’s head resting on Jack’s shoulder, Jack’s cheek pillowed on Bitty’s soft hair.
When Bitty finally stumbles back to the Haus his teammates are all curious about his trip (vaguely described as a musical education seminar). Bitty just grins and says “It was…passionate.” The guys are a little confused but roll with it.
Meanwhile, Jack’s teammates can’t figure out when Jack became such a huge Beyonce fan because he keeps freaking humming her songs ALL THE TIME. Tater does a special episode about it and it becomes a huge talking point with the fans and, of course, the guys at the Haus. “Bittle, did you know Jack likes Beyonce??” Bitty just smiles awkwardly and quietly mutters “Oh lord” under his breath. But later he sends Jack his favorite Beyonce playlist.
( i’m back home on the west coast! i like completely forgot i exist as a real person here lmao but if anyone was curious about my trip at all, i did yell/post pics quite a bit over at my twitter…
toro.nto’s skyline is so, so pretty. their skyscrapers have better order and design than here, imo ahaha. montr.eal was also quite pretty with its old historic buildings and stained-glass cathedrals every two steps, though the roads and traffic was like uhhh not for me. we visited parlia.ment hill first, and stayed for the light show, which was very cool but very… confined. idk if that’s the word i’m looking for. nia.gara falls was breathtaking, but very very touristy, lmao. i still wish i kept the rain ponchos, they’d come in handy here.
it was interesting because technically i was still in the same country, but i couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider all the same. which is natural! i’ve never been to the east coast!! it’s not my home!!! and maybe i’m still a bit… not okay after that One Encounter with a racist lady years ago but gosh. i wish i still loved travelling, i wish i still found beauty in crowds, i wish i didn’t have to feel so conscious of my skin. but that’s just something to carry and adjust, i suppose.
this trip was fun for the most part. i got to see architecture and sights i haven’t seen before, i got to be lost in french, i got to do a bunch of touristy things i haven’t done. we rented a car and did it road-trip style, so we kept thinking we were in the states but we weren’t, which is good, because then i could spend money on food and not feel guilty about spending my parents’ money, aha. i even got to go into museums and aquariums!
but it’s definitely a breath of relief to be back home. i hope everyone has been drinking water and keeping safe this week. happy july :D )