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melancholic-pigeon · 3 years

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Too Short For Ao3 Fic #3? 4?

SO this is the extended edition of the bonus wip I did with Sally's birthday. The overall fic it belongs to is Extremely Smutty, so I went in and revised out the brief references and I'm posting the family-centric g-rated stuff for anyone who wants that but not the smut! Cough.

Also, I felt bad about missing WIP Wednesday again. Lolsob.

Percy rouses at around eleven PM to a sketch of himself on Jason's pillow. There's a note on the other side.

I wanted to wake you up to say goodbye, but you looked so comfy I didn't have the heart to. your mom's presents are in the bag by my desk. say hi to everyone for me. I'll call tomorrow anyway.

love you to the moon and back.

-J. ❤

Complete with a little red heart. He doesn't even care that the doodle of him next to it, burritoed in a pile of blankets, includes a little spot of drool— he can tell by the rest of his cartoony, ballpoint features that Jason put it in because he thinks it's cute.

(And by the fact that he's said so, several times.)

Percy gathers up his junk. The cornflower blue sweatshirt he steals goes halfway down his fingers. He's come to accept that at six foot three and counting, Jason is the taller of them and always will be— barring some sort of horrible wood-chipper accident or curse from a grumpy deity.

Fortunately, there's something about looking up to meet someone's eyes that Percy finds incredibly attractive. He has since Annabeth outgrew him for the first time in eighth grade.

He heads out in his own jeans and the boxers he packed and the sweatshirt that smells like cinnamon. Once he boards the train, he stands with his arm around a pole and the other holding the bag against his chest, and tries to stay casual and keep the grin off his face.

It's almost midnight when he gets home. His mom, of course, is still awake, so he heads into the living room to greet her.

"My other half says hello."

There's a pile of presents on the coffee table. He puts the bag with the rest of them and sits down, kissing her cheek.

"He didn't have to get me anything." She closes her book and eyes the bag with a fond sigh. "How is he?"

Percy's the same way she is, always happy to do favors and give gifts, but feeling pretty awkward about receiving them. Jason's even worse, the three of them in an ongoing and circular competition to never let any of it go reciprocated.

"Working too hard, as always. Pulling As and winning games and barely sleeping to do it. His stepmother's up his ass and his father's a bully, so, you know, news at eleven." He leans his head onto her shoulder. "That's why he gives you stuff. He's trying to show you how much he appreciates you."

She sighs, and Percy knows it's because she's just as frustrated by the whole thing as he is.

"He knows I appreciate him too, I hope."

"Without a doubt." Percy smiles at her, watching as she goes a little pink and smiles back. "You have a talent for making him feel appreciated."

"He treats my baby like a prince," she says softly. "That's why I appreciate him so much in the first place. How could I do anything else?"

Percy turns his face into her shirt collar, another futile attempt to hide his goofy expression,

"He really does, doesn't he?"

Holding doors, pulling out chairs, offering an arm on unsteady streets. Jason's never laid his coat over a puddle, but Percy's pretty sure he would, if the option presented itself.

His mom starts playing with his hair, her fingers light and familiar.

"I'm just happy you're happy, sweetheart."

He knows that feeling too.

Half asleep from the petting, Percy lets himself be a little babyish. It's after midnight now, which means it's her birthday, and he knows that sometimes she misses when he was Estelle's age and little enough to curl up in her lap. He's way too big for that now, obviously, but he can still slide down the couch and rest his head there.

"You too, Mama."

She looks at him, her eyes misty with emotion and almost green in the light.

She's smiling, too.

She smiles a lot, these days.

—

In the morning, Paul makes coffee while Estelle helps unwrap the avalanche of presents. She's at the age where ripping paper makes her squeal with hysterical laughter, which worms its way into Percy's heart and melts it into pudding.

Several of them are from Percy's friends, including a handbound book of original recipes from Leo, a lovely silver bracelet inset with mother-of-pearl that Beckendorf made himself, and a huge sheathed knife with a matching decorative handle from Clarisse. The last one makes his mom snort as she gets up to put it on the bookshelf, out of reach of curious toddler hands.

"Decorative. Sure."

"I bet she'd teach you how to use it if you asked."

"I know how to use a bowie knife, dear. Your father and I used to catch and cook our own fish when we went camping."

"Which reminds me, he still hasn't taken me out," Paul cuts in, frowning. "I've been saving up dad jokes and embarrassing stories for four years."

"I'll bug him about it the next time we talk," Percy promises. "It's probably the ADHD."

"Do you want me to bug you about bugging him?"

"If you haven't set something up by blueback season, yeah."

Percy and Paul went in on a pound of jasmine tea, which his mom reaches for next. She immediately asks for a cup— it's one of two days out of the entire year where she lets other people wait on her, for a change, and even that took a lot of cajoling.

Paul makes the tea, since Percy usually scalds the leaves and it turns out tasting like grass. She probably wouldn't complain anyway, but it's her birthday, and she deserves to have the best tea that can be made in their kitchen.

"Is the last bag from Jason?" Paul sets the mug on a coaster in the middle of the coffee table, and Percy scoops the baby into his lap so she doesn't try to grab it. She mashes her tiny hand against his cheek.

"And Thalia. I'm not sure if they went in on stuff or he just packed them both in one bag to make it easy."

Either is a possibility. He watches as his mom reaches in and pulls out a large wrapped frame, Thalia's spiky handwriting answering the question.

Whatever's inside, it makes her shut her eyes and exhale deeply through her nose.

"Please pass on that I am absolutely furious."

She turns the frame around. An autographed vinyl EP of Sign O' the Times by Prince— one of the albums Percy grew up on, though she skipped a number of the songs when he was little. Thalia must have spent a fortune on it.

"That woman is incredible," Paul breathes, lightly touching the glass. "How does she get this stuff?"

"See!"

"She has friends in high places." Percy grins as Estelle reaches for the album, and holds her over the glass so she can touch it too. "She's also really good at barter chains."

His mother shakes her head, but he can tell how delighted she is— the two of them have spent hours animatedly talking about music, Thalia hanging on every word and groaning with jealousy over the concerts his mom went to in the eighties.

"I know exactly where I'm going to put it."

Thalia got her a turntable for her fortieth birthday last year, as well as a full set of replacements for every worn-out record in their collection— and had the originals framed too, since they had sentimental value. They're currently occupying the better part of two walls of his mom's study.

There's a blank spot by her bookshelf, right underneath the first copy, that the autographed album will fit into perfectly. Percy grins.

"I'll hang it up for you later."

She doesn't argue. There's only Jason's left, his careful print written out across the same paper Thalia used. The crinkling draws Estelle's attention, and she gleefully reaches over to help tear it off.

Their mom gasps at what's inside and puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes going bright.

It's a watercolor portrait of Percy and Estelle, laughing by the shoreline. She's dressed in a little bucket hat, a ruffled swimsuit patterned to look like a clownfish and the coolest shades in the world— sparkly blue frames shaped like seashells that he kind of wishes he could get in his size. He's in a wetsuit, having spent the morning surfing, and he's holding onto her hands so she can jump at the waves. In the distant background is the Montauk lighthouse.

It's beautifully done, like everything else Jason's ever put to paper, but Percy's never choked up like this over one of them.

"You remember that, Beluga? That was on my birthday, when you came and visited me and Jason at the beach."

"Beach?" she asks, expectant. Paul bursts into laughter, sounding as rough-voiced as Percy feels.

"You're your mother's daughter, sweet pea."

"Beach!" Estelle insists. Percy noses her pudgy cheek.

"It's too cold to swim, baby." His mom's eyes are sparkling, still a little teary. He can see Estelle in the smile on her face. "But we could go for a walk and visit."

"Brunch first." Paul kisses her— Percy averts his eyes, wrinkling his nose at his sister to make her giggle again— and gets up, heading back into the kitchen.

It's a lovely way to spend a late morning. Pale blue araucana eggs courtesy of Grover's new hens, a blueberry coffee cake from Nico by a fantastic hole in the wall in Hell's Kitchen, Paul's signature home fries made with blue potatoes and seasoned to perfection; all of it delicious.

Jason calls while Percy's doing the dishes. After his deep, resonant performance of the happy birthday song, the five of them chat on speakerphone for a little while, though he has to excuse himself pretty quickly to keep banging through his reading.

"Maybe next year," Percy sighs. His mom puts her hand on his hip, then crouches down to help Estelle with her light-up sneakers.

"He's always welcome for a rain check."

"He's always welcome, period," Paul adds. For the second time, Percy gets dangerously close to sniffling.

Montauk is a little far for a day trip, so they head to Brighton Beach instead. Estelle's shrimpy legs get tuckered out more quickly than the grownups' do, so Percy ends up carrying her on his hip, snuggled into his jacket to block the chilly breeze. She points at seagulls, shouting triumphantly every time.

"More bird!"

"That's right. A whole flock of 'em."

They watch for a while as the gulls fight over a discarded pizza crust. Then Percy feels an arm around his back and a head against his shoulder.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," his mother murmurs, barely audible over the rushing of the waves.

Percy's eyes sting.

For most of his life, her birthdays had been spent without fanfare. He was rarely actually there for them anyway, and Gabe complained so much it was easier to just ignore the day and focus on survival instead.

She'd been triaging like that since before she even met his dad, keeping herself afloat when nobody seemed to care if she drowned. It would have been easy to lie down and give up. Percy's pretty sure he would have, in her place.

He turns to hug her with the obligatory proclamation of a Stella Sandwich. He catches Paul's eye over her shoulder, and gets a wide, sentimental grin in response.

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Percy tells her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head while his sister wriggles with delight between them.

"Listen to our son," Paul adds. "He's very wise, as you raised him to be. This is all on you, honey."

Within moments, she's surrounded by her whole family on all sides, and Percy has another arm around his back, and he's getting a little choked up over it all.

When she first started dating Paul, back when Percy was still in middle school, she'd spent weeks all aflutter. It was the happiest he'd ever seen her at the time. They'd sit outside and work on her car together, and she'd slip into song like a grease-stained fairytale princess without even thinking about it.

Seeing them interact is like cool water on a burn, Paul's devoted kindness soothing a lifetime of sitting back and watching people treat her like dirt. He worships her, just like she deserves and long overdue.

"I love you," she says, tearful and muffled in someone's shoulder. "All of you, more than anything."

"Love Mama," Estelle replies, and that's it— Percy's blubbering.

It'll never undo the damage, but it's about time she got a chance to heal and thrive.

-here in our bed, chapter 7, ~6200 words

#wip wednesday #yes I know don't look at me like that #i wrote this #sally jackson #paul blofis #estelle blofis #family fic #oh lord the cheese

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ashdownbloodline · 5 years

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We Need You For Something...

Part 2: Midnight Snack And Morning Breakfast

This is my first fanfic, I hope you all like it. I need to thank @dammn-dean for all her help! She has really helped me through all this. If you haven’t, go check her out. Let me know what you guys think of it.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Original Character (Yauna), other OC’s and Avengers pairings later.

Words: 2.6 K about

Warnings: Adult Themes, Language, Eventual Smut, PTSD, motions of Torture, Fluff, Death

Summary: Yauna just wants to be normal and Tony recruits her as his head engineer. Her past catches up and shit goes crazy.

(gif isn’t mine again)

Yauna had spent the rest of the night decorating her new space, with a flick of her wrist, she opened a portal to her home in Brighton. Walking between the two bringing trinkets and items to make her new space more ‘her’. It was about 12:30 when she realized she hadn’t eaten dinner.

She made her way to the main kitchen in the lounge, rummaging around trying to find something to eat. Little did she know Sam had the same idea. He walked into the kitchen, turning the corner to see a girl, he’s never met before, digging through the pantry.

“Hello?” He asked, which gave Yauna a start. She gripped the door of the pantry tight, leaning her face on it to calm down. “Who are you?” Sam said again, starting to get suspicious. Yauna calmed down and turned toward him.

“Hi dearie, I’m Yauna Ashdown. Tony hired me.” Sam remembered reading the note in the weekly email about her, also Tony, Steve, and maybe Bruce talking about her.

He smiled, “I’m Sam Wilson. And don’t you dare take that last cookie.” He said in a warning tone, which earned a laugh out of her. “I wouldn’t think of it.” She said and Sam noticed her accent laughing more. Her laughter turned into a confused look at Sam’s increased laughter. After he calmed down he continued, “Where you from?”

Yauna’s cheeks flushed a light pink, realizing what he was laughing at. “Ireland, just outside Wicklow to be more specific. But, my mother’s family was from Scotland, that’s why my accent is so weird.” Sam nodded and stuck out his hand toward her. She gladly took it, he smiles brightly at her, “I’m glad we finally have some culture around here. You’re the reason there is a mandatory breakfast in the morning, aren’t you?”

She laughed and nodded, “I get to be the new kid again.” She continued to laugh as Sam took the cookies from the pantry. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. If anyone gives you grief, tell them to piss off or send them Steve’s way. I’m not going to get beaten up for you.” He said sarcastically, nudging her side with his elbow.

“I’ll be sure not to count on you then.” She laughed and nudged him back, earning another giggly laugh from him. The two said goodnight to each other, Yauna grabbed a bag of crisps and a bottle of water and they headed their separate ways.

The next morning came and Yauna put on another long tartan skirt and sweater with the sleeves partially rolled up and paired the outfit with brown leather oxfords. Looking in the mirror, she flicked her hair in front of her shoulders and watched it fall. The curls weren’t as unruly as usually, which was a good sign for the day. She looked down her shape, she hated how big her hips were and that her waist wasn’t small like other girls.

Her smile fell then, thankful that she decided to wear a skirt to hide her thighs. She hated how big each part of her body was. She shock her head and pushed the negative thoughts from her head. I need to stop this, before I decide not to go out there. She scolded herself and with a final nod at the mirror, she left her room and headed down toward the kitchen.

First she saw Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, Natasha was sitting on the bar counter talking to Wanda while she was cooking. Yauna gently walked over to the pair, “Hello?” She wasn’t scared, just nervous about her impression. Natasha locked eyes with her and jumped off the counter, she got close to Yauna and folded her arms across her chest.

“And you are?” Wanda rolled her eyes, she knew what Nat was doing. Yauna didn’t back down though, “I’m the new engineer.” She replied, straightening her back and keeping her head high.

Tony yelled from behind his newspaper “She’s actually replacing me, in that field!” Natasha rolled her eyes, “Oh, so you think you’re better than Tony?” She was nagging her on and Yauna knew in now.

She simply smiled and said, “Yeah, only because all of my mind and time can be spent on projects. I’m not running myself thin.” Pepper gave a ‘woop’ from beside Tony, then Wanda budded in. “Hey sweetie, I’m Wanda and this brat is Natasha.”

Nat couldn’t hold her tough guy act up anymore. She laughed, “Hello sweetie, I’m just messing around.” She softly punched Yauna’s arm, they both turned attention on her making some small talk. Yauna could feel Wanda scratching ever-so-slightly at her mind warding, so she decided to push back a bit (not enough to be discovered). Wanda grimaced slightly, which made Yauna stop and watch her shake her head trying to reorient herself.

The rest of the Team started to show up, most looking tired or a little hungover. Some came over to say hello, and some just wanted to eat then go back to bed. Yauna helped with the rest of breakfast, then they placed it all on the table. People sat everywhere, on the couches, tables, the bar and at the dining table. Yauna sat with Wanda, Vision and Nat, they were talking about funny stories about Clint, Tony and Thor being drunk.

“Hey, sorry we are late! Our run ran long.” Steve said laughing at his own pun. Sam and Steve walked over to Yauna, followed by a grumpy looking person. “Hey Yauna!” Sam said, giving her a hug quickly and Steve did the same. Bucky looked at her, she was shorter than him but she carried herself with enough confidence to tower over anyone. Steve shoved him forward toward her, “This is James, and Buck this is Yauna.”

Bucky stuck out his hand awkwardly, Yauna took it gently. Her hands are so warm, he thought finally taking in her full figure and firey hair. “Hello dearie!” She responded gently at his silence, giving a small giggle at his a gap mouth. Quickly he pulled his hand away, a light red dusting his cheeks, he turned and walked away to get breakfast. “He’s shy.” Steve said with a chuckle, “It’s a’right, promise.” She reassured him quickly.

The other two walked away to get their share of breakfast, while Yauna sat on the couch enjoying the conversations around her. She loved to listen to everyone talk and reminisce. Just then there was a dip in the couch beside her. Bucky had finally worked up the courage, with the nagging from everyone else, he decided to go talk to Yauna.

“Hey, I’m James Buchanan Barnes.” He said just loud enough for her to hear, quickly she turned to him with a smile that could make anyone melt. “Heya sweetie, I’m Yauna Ashdown. I’m glad you finally came to talk to me.” There was no judgement in her voice, no mocking or annoyance. There was only happy and contentment.

“Yea, I’m sorry about that, Doll. I don’t do well with new people, or new in general.” Her smile continued as she turned her whole body toward him, giving him her full attention. “It’s a’right, I understand you don’t need to explain yourself to me. But, I promise I probably won’t bite.” She joked, this brought a smile to Bucky’s face, finally. There was something he liked about her, she wasn’t afraid of talking to him.

Tony hushed the crowd of people, “Okay, now the real reason I called you all here.” He gestured to Yauna to stand up, she obliged and gave a small wave. “I’m sure you’ve all met Yauna. She will be taking my place in the engineering department. Take all your tech problems to her.” He laughed poking at her and she flipped him off, earning some ‘ooo’s and ‘woop’s from the crowd.

Steve pushed her, while laughing himself and Tony continued “She will be coming out into the field too, as support.” Sam piped up, “So, she’s gonna hafta train?” Tony and Steve nodded at that. “That’s all! Y'all are dismissed!” Tony clapped to end the ‘meeting’ and Steve turned to her, “We’ll need to set up a time to see how much you know. I want you to have a little bit of training before you go into the field. Our next mission isn’t for a while, so when ever you feel ready just let me know.”

With that Steve nodded and got up, he disappeared down the hallway leading to the elevator. Okay, well now we have to decide to be honest or play dumb. Yauna thought as she helped clean up breakfast and continued to her lab.

It was late when Yauna finally looked at the time, she was so enveloped in her project she didn’t realize it was just past midnight. She closed up shop and headed for her room, grabbing a bottle of water on the way. Nights were always hard for her, her brain and body hated being in new places overnight.

The first night she stayed in the Compound was alright, just a few bad dreams here and there. As the days went on though, her subconscious realized she wasn’t going back home. Tonight was the worst, she knew it was coming and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.

She finally got to sleep around one-thirty, but it wasn’t long before the nightmares and flashbacks took over. The pain from every scar, his face on her eyelids. Edmund’s face with his sick, sadistic smile as he cut into her with his chosen tool. The searing pain in her back from the lashings. The aching from the injections, that he said were to ‘heal her’, but they continued to kill her slowly.

“You’re a filthy half-breed. I need cure you to save our kind. You deserve to die.” He would repeat those phrases constantly, it all seemed to real. With a jolt she woke herself up, but she could still feel the pain, see his pain, and hear his words like everything was happening again.

Bucky had woken up that night with a weird feeling in his gut, which he decided to ignore for the time being. He walked to the kitchen for some tea and he really just needed the walk.

While returning from the kitchen, he passed Yauna’s room and stopped for a moment. Thinking of her kind face, he wanted to talk to her more he just had to get up the courage to do it. Breaking him out of his thoughts, he heard some murmurs coming from the other side of the door. He smiled, Maybe that’s why I’m up. The Fates wants me to talk to her.

He stepped toward the door, hand up ready to knock. Then he heard another noise, a cry really, making his excitement turn to worry. “Friday, let me in.” He demanded and, with a quick response from Friday, the door slide open without hesitation.

He looked around the small apartment until he came to the bedroom door, the whimpers and whispers became clearer. He slowly opened the door, scanning the room for her. They covers on the bed were disheveled and pulled to one side of the bed, leading to Yauna.

She was sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest and her back to the wall. Her hands were in her hair, pulling fistfuls every so often. “It’s not real, it’s not real. You’re safe.” She repeated between grimaces and twitches.

He kneeled down in front of her, like he was approaching a scared animal. “Yauna?” He almost whispered, she flinched and raised her head to look at him. Her hands falling out of her hair, her eyes were puffy and there was no longer the flame behind them lighting them. She closed her eyes and flinched again, followed by a soft groan of pain. He moved closer to her, and gently laid his flesh hand on her forearm.

She ripped it away, “No! Please, I’m Sorry. Don’t hurt me!” Bucky let go of her arm, looking at her state and trying to put the pieces together. Her eyes were still closed, she jolted again and her groan was louder. “It’s not real. It’s not real.” She said quietly again.

Then it clicked, she’s having a flashback or something. It seems so real to her. She didn’t see me, she saw someone else. He thought and gently wrapped his fingers around each of her wrists. She started to resist, repeatedly saying ‘no’.

“It’s me, Yauna. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s James.” He held her gaze forcing the memories away that clouded her vision. Her muscles relaxed and tears fell from her eyes. He let go of her wrists again, instead he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She said before he could talk. “I’m so sorry.”

He hated seeing her like this, it made him angry, sad, protective, and so many other things. Most of all, he hated the person who did this to her, he wanted to find them and make them feel the same way.

The memories started to cloud the edges of her vision again, she felt the same searing pain in her back and let out a small cry. This pulled Bucky from his thoughts, he watched her hands find her forearms and her nails dug themselves into her arms. Quickly, he pulled her hands away revealing bloody crescents from her nails. She could see the the question on his face, she had to explain.

“I-I need to feel s-something. Something r-real.” She pulled at her wrists, as the memories threatened to take over again. “I’m real.” He said, still unsure how to help. “What can I do?” She looked up at him, his face pinched with worry. She threw her arms over his shoulder, pulling him closer to her and squeezed tight. He returned her gesture, gently pulling her into his lap. Her legs were draped over his left thigh, he body was as close as she could get to him.

“Tighter, I need to feel it.” She whispered into the crook of his neck and he tightened his grip. He didn’t want to hurt her, so he didn’t tighten as much as he wanted to. “Don’t be afraid to hurt me, you could never hurt me.” She reassured him, he tightened his grip until he could feel each of her muscles relax. She gave out a deep sigh of relief, the ache that plagued her body started to leave.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, he just wanted to take all the pain away from her. She moved her hand to the back of his bare shoulders, her hands were warm and soft on his scarred skin. As she thought about talking about it, the memories pushed back and she pushed her fingers into his skin hoping to rid herself of them.

With a wave of heat, he felt jolts of pain and saw flashes of what felt like memories, but they weren’t his. They went by too fast to see anything. As fast as they were there, they were gone just as fast. She shook her head, “No, I can’t.” The tears returned for a few minutes. His heart hurt, like someone was stabbing it every time she let out an audible sob.

They sat there for almost an hour, they both needed sleep, but neither wanted to move. “Stay with me tonight? Please?” Her voice cracked with embarrassment, he smiled and gave her a small squeeze. “Of course.” She scooted back and stood up, he followed her motions quickly.

She pulled back the duvet and climbed into her bed. Her eyes met his for a moment and the flame was back, small but back. “Thank you.” She said quietly, her voice steadier than moments ago. He climbed next to her, it felt slightly awkward for him. But, when she moved closer to him and nuzzled her head into his shoulder, they seemed to fit perfectly and he loved it.

“I’m sorry.” He heard her say, muffed by his shirt. He pulled her closer, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Doll. I promise.” Moments later, he felt her body relax and her breath even. Shortly after he was asleep as well, enjoying having someone to sleep next to, even if it was only for a night. I could get used to this. He thought, then he was out. He had never felt this good falling asleep, he could tell this was going to be one of the best sleeps he’s ever had.

Okay, I’m just going to apologize. I said I’d have this up earlier but yeah. Sorry... But, thank you for reading all the way through this! I hope you all liked it. Send me a message or ask or something. I love feedback! See ya Next time!

#bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes #original character #shy bucky #soft bucky #marvel fanfiction #fluffy bucky #marvel #bucky xoc

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yesilian · 7 years

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The long read: That One Where I Moved To England

This is going to be long, so let's start with some background.

England has always held a fascination for me, something I know loads of people can sympathise with. An old school mate of mine went to London a few years ago and whenever we talked she told me to come, too. And I wavered, wanting to go on the one hand, wanting that big adventure, but on the other hand, I was afraid. Of course I was. Being all alone in a foreign country, on my own, with no help to get easily. But the dream was alive. Oh, I liked dreaming about it. I imagined the greatest of times, me in England. Old castles and country cottages and people speaking English. What fun I would have.

And then came the day my boss told me that the company would have to be sold soonish and he couldn't promise me that the new owners would keep me. So I quit and I started thinking. England was one option, but the most amazing thing happened: I didn't want to go.

With so much clarity, I knew, now was not the right time for me. I was 27 then, just off from my first real job, so much confidence that I was great at what I was doing, and the world was open to me. England was a dream, but not one I wanted to pursue then. And that made me so happy. Because, up until then, I had always played with that thought of moving there, but always too afraid, too hesitant. In that moment, when I knew that yes, I could now, in fact, the timing could hardly be better, but I didn’t want to, I also knew that, maybe, someday the opposite would be true. That someday I would know that now was the right moment, just as surely as I knew then that that wasn't it.

So I left Hamburg after three and a half rather happy years, illnesses and personal set-backs notwithstanding, and moved back home. I started a job in Berlin, didn't find a flat there and had to move into my father's guest room, where I was to make myself at home but not to change anything. That chapter is a whole different story and I'll tell it another time, but what we have to take from here is that after two months, that Moment, capital M, was there. I knew it was time now.

And so I started preparing. At first people didn't believe me. Well, they're wont to do that. But obviously I was serious. I started thinking about where I wanted to live. Brighton, that was my favourite. Never been there, but why not, eh? I looked at the job sites and there were some offers for people with just my skillset. It looked good. It looked feasible. Up until October I told people that was where I was headed eventually. Because even so, I knew I would have to start out in London. It was just easier. Set up base in London and then find a job in Brighton. Well, spoiler alert, I never made it to Brighton. When the job offer came, my heart bled and I declined. I couldn't face leaving London.

Finding a place to live was daunting from abroad. I couldn't just fly over and look at places. Well, technically I could, but I didn't want to. Too much stress. I found this website that was renting out rooms, for just a smallish fee of 100 pounds in advance, as deposit and security. That sounded reasonable. My room was to cost 125 pounds a week, which sounded high, but as I soon found out was also quite reasonable for London. So I booked it, starting from the first week of January.

I felt a bit queasy about that, but I've only paid £100 in advance, so I thought if worse came to worst, I'd lose 100 quid and would have to stay in a youth hostel. That was my plan B. God, did people laugh at me. But I was confident everything would go all right.

So I had a place to live, but still no job. And here comes my real secret to success, to sit down and listen carefully: I had money. There. I had a job in Germany that was paying all right, and I lived at home where my father refused to take rent. I saved up, I think, around 8,000 Euros, and went abroad with that in my pocket. That was a lot of reassurance right there.

So I wasn't worried about a job. Here’s my second secret to success: Study for a job that is needed everywhere and is not reliant on a certain language. In my case, that's being a programmer, and the only language anyone was ever concerned I "spoke" was Java. Problem solved.

With enough money in my pocket to survive the first five or six months and a sought-after occupation on my resume, I packed my bags.

That's another fun story. I'm a bit cheap, I have to admit. So I only booked one piece of luggage for that first flight. Everything I wanted to take with me had to fit in one medium-sized suitcase and weigh less than 23kg. That was a bit of a challenge.

In the end I took mostly clothes, and winter clothes to boot, it being January and all. I've rolled the pieces so tightly in order to fit as much as humanly possible into that suitcase. My laptop, phone and kindle where in my carry-on luggage, and I wore my boots and heavy winter coat. And that was all.

I'm always laughing about it. I left my whole life behind with just a suitcase full of clothes and a laptop. That was all. I've seen so many people arrive in this country, and they always bring so much luggage. When I compare that to the stuff I brought, I can't help but think that something is wrong with me. There were people on the airport with more suitcases going on a winter holiday than I had when I planned to move my life abroad.

Nobody, I believe, took my seriously. How could they? Everything I did seemed so spontaneous. I had no real place to live, no job, no belongings. How long did they think I would make it, seriously? I think they all thought it was a lark, they must have. It's kind of a joke, if you think about it.

I took a very early flight that 3rd January 2014, and because it was a connecting flight, I've only made it to Heathrow by lunch time, by which time I was knackered already. It was warmish that day, but foggy, and I was in my big winter coat and already sweating. First order of business was I needed money for my room. I had paid the deposit online, but when I was to pick up the key for the flat, I was to pay for the first two weeks in cash. Plus, I needed an Oyster card and possibly something to eat later on, so money was the first thing I did on the airport.

My heart just about stopped when I typed in the amount I needed at the cash machine and, without a message, no money came out. I wanted £500 pounds, but nothing happened. I feared that it would take the money from my account without giving me a single quid and already saw my savings melting away. £500, gone like that.

I tried another machine and another card with a smaller amount, and that, at last, spit out some money. I've tried the other card for the rest, and that, too, worked. I still had an uneasy feeling about the first machine. I wasn't sure if I had just depleted my savings or not. Thankfully, that had not been the case. The reason is that these machines don't give you more than £300 at a time, but I didn’t know that back then, and because there was no error message, I had no way of knowing.

With a big wad of cash in my pocket, the British having a dislike for any note that is bigger than £20, I went to get an Oyster card, the pay-as-you-go transportation ticket in London, and promptly lost that. I've put £50 on it, and it was gone after a minute. I was about to cry. I frantically searched all my pockets, my backpack, my suitcase for wherever I might have put it, but it was gone. Well, not all pockets, not the back pocket of my jeans, because I've never ever ever had put anything in there, so there was no need to search that, right? Until, of course, I did, and of course it was there that I had put the Oyster card. I've no idea why. I still don't use that pocket, ever.

Knackered, with the thought of having lost £500 to a faulty cash machine, and after just having spent more than 20 minutes looking for an Oyster card that was never lost, I jumped into the tube and put my ear plugs in. Time to forget everything.

I had a goodish idea about how to get to the place where I was supposed to pick up the key for my room, but once outside of Walthamstow Central, I realised I was lost. And it had started hailing, because, why not. I tried to make my phone connect to the network and find my way on Google maps, but even that took ages. But then, I finally made it to the office where I was supposed to sign my first English contract. How exciting.

Except, no, of course not. The good news is, it actually was not an internet scam and they were expecting me. I sat in a little room that was more storage area than office, crammed in between boxes and suitcases, and put my name on a one-page contract. Then they wished me good luck and locked the door after me.

It was still hailing while I waited for the bus to take me to my new place, but alas, I was stupid and waited on the wrong side of the road. It would take me weeks to completely get that out of my system. Once on the right side and then on the right bus, it dropped me off a few hundred metres from my new home. The street looked nice enough. A row of terraced houses, a view that you can see everywhere around London and in fact the UK. It's as anonymous as it is benign. I walked down the road, counting the house numbers, and there, almost at the end, it finally was: 30, Balmoral Road. A blue door in a dirty, little shrubbery. I took a deep breath and entered through the unlocked door.

The hallway, the teeny tiny hallway, was half-filled with letters, what must have been years of undelivered letters. There were three doors leading off of it, and on one was a crude note saying EURooms, which was my letting "agency". Excitedly, I put the key in and was so surprised when it didn't work. I couldn't get the door to open. Minutes and minutes passed, but the door wouldn't budge until someone heard me indoors and let me in. That was a very common problem for all new-comers. No-one was able to open that door, because you had to do so many things at the same time, put the key in only to a certain amount, and then chant the magic words three times while turning on the spot counter clockwise. They forgot to tell me that at the agency.

The door opened to another teeny tiny hallway. Let's put that into perspective, my medium-sized suitcase didn't fit through it. Off that hallway was the kitchen, where the oven had never worked and the washing machine was constantly running. The kitchen led to the bathroom and to one of the bedrooms, then a staircase downstairs to the basement and the other bedrooms. Going downstairs, you passed a hole in the wall big enough for a grown man to climb through, that was never explained, or covered, or even bothered about. The bedrooms downstairs were a big double that was let to a couple, a box room just barely big enough to fit a single bed (the wardrobe was in the hallway), and then my room, which was the most spacious of them all. I had a single bed that fit in lengthwise, and quite some space for a desk and chair even, and of course a wardrobe. Everybody was so envious of that room. I was just in shock.

This place was run-down. I'm not very peculiar about those things and I knew that with a bit of cleaning and tender loving care, this could be liveable. But by then, I had been on my feet for 10 hours, I was wet and cold, and frankly exhausted, and all I could see was the narrowness of everything. It was dirty, there were holes in the wall, and you needed to take a day-course to be able to unlock the front door. I had never doubted any decision as much as the one to move to London right then.

I closed the door to my new and curious flatmates and sat down on the bed to have a little cry. I was overwhelmed.

But, life must go on, right? And I was hungry and disgusting. I hadn't brought food or even soap, figuring I'd buy that somewhere on my first day and use the space in my suitcase for a few more clothes. I ventured out of my room again and found a flatmate to ask where the nearest supermarket was. Helpfully, he directed me to the next Asda, which he confessed wasn't the closest supermarket, but I'd be stupid to go anywhere else, where I'd pay so much more. So, instead of going to the Tesco fucking 200m away, which he refused to tell me about, he directed me to a superstore almost 1 mile away on a rainy day because I'd be able to save some money. Boy, did I not care about that. I wanted soap and bread and water, and I was angry.

The superstore overwhelmed me even more. It was so big with so many choices none of which I knew. I was hungry, but how was I supposed to know which of the 40 choices of bread was good? What yogurt should I buy? What spread? I was tired and I stood in front of the shelves and tears sprang to my eyes because it was loud and I'm practically deaf in loud spaces and therefore, lost, and I didn't know what to buy. People were constantly shoving me around and I just wanted to know which of these cheeses to get. So I grabbed a packet of pasta, a random loaf of bread, a two litre bottle of water, soap, and ran for my life. I felt so stupid.

Back in the flat, I showered and felt so much better for that already. I've changed into fresh clothes and lay down on the bed. I didn't like the covers, which were made of very cheap polyester, but I put that on my mental list of things to buy. New bed sheets. Salt for my pasta. Shampoo. After some time, I felt restored enough to brave my flatmates, who were still so curious to get to know me.

The people were nice enough. Once I got to know them a bit better, I didn't hate them and they were a friendly group. We'd all go out from time to time and often had dinner together. There was one girl, part of the couple, who had lived in the flat for a year, the others were always coming and going. Some people stayed for a few weeks, some a few months. Myself, I actually stayed 8 months in that house.

Because here’s the thing: Yes, I was shocked at how small everything was that first day. It was, and it takes some getting used to. In Germany, everything is much more spacious and it's a definite downgrade. What they call a small double bedroom in England is a storage room in a German flat.

It was dirty and it was run-down, but I didn't spend all that much time in that flat. After a good night's sleep, I got up that first Saturday and ventured out. I explored Leyton and then Stratford, and I came to like it so very much. My first month in London, I was a tourist, just going from place to place and taking it all in. I started looking for a job in February, started interviewing in March and working in April. The weather got nicer and nicer and I watched the parks becoming green. I fell in love with Regent's Park. We got a new flatmate who made us go to the Leyton Technical, a lovely pub down the road, almost every night for 8 straight weeks. I made friends. I spent the best birthday I ever had in a café atop a hill in Stratford. When I had saved up a bit of money, I moved into a lovely flat in Haringey with an old friend. England, and London especially, is very different from everything I ever knew and it was a gigantic change and it was a challenge, and it's something everybody wanting to move here should be aware of. But what I'm trying to say is, my life changed so much in these past 3 and half years, and I couldn't be happier about it. Was it worth it giving everything up to come here? Apart from that very first day, I never stopped to even question it, to be honest. A big, resounding yes.

#personal #my memories

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