and these are just the ones that made it to england! so many at home

anonymous asked:

pls expand on your ridiculous experiences during one semester at a fake college

okay I got a few asks about this so let me see what I can remember right now. These might not all be in chronological order

- At orientation, they were talking about the reservation near campus and all these pretty sites and this kid in the back of the auditorium goes “So uhh…heard this place might be built over a Native American burial ground?”

- The speaker: “…Let’s not think about that, okay?”

- The freshman were on campus alone for like a week and a half (other than the RA’s) before the other students and I just. The parties. Were out of control. An ambulance was called basically every night.

- I walked into the bathroom the first night there to find a girl literally dying because someone slipped something in her drink and she was having a Very Bad Reaction

- Sting- you know, the singer- ‘s son lived in my residence hall. This boy almost accidentally killed me on three separate occasions (while I was just trying to do my laundry)

- I told my family about this at Thanksgiving. Everyone in the room advised me to seduce him

- I ate breakfast in the dining hall exactly once. I got scrambled eggs. I noticed no one had brought out ketchup with the condiments and politely asked about it. I received glares from at least ten different people. Apparently people there don’t believe in ketchup on eggs.

- There were these two boys in my English class known as “The Lumbard Guys”. They didn’t live in my residence hall, but they would come over almost every night, start a party, and destroy part of the basement.

- At orientation this one kid got mad and set his shoe on fire to prove a point

- Also at orientation like??? My roommate disappeared???? And I never saw her again???

- Listen like…this campus just looked like the perfect setting for a horror film, but none of the people from the area got that. They all thought I was crazy until some comic from Comedy Central did a stand up act and said “Why the hell is this campus so creepy? I feel like I’m gonna leave here with someone else wearing my face!”. I felt way too validated.

- ALL OF MY CLASSES WERE SO FAKE

- My “math” class was actually a disguised home ec. course???? All we had were word problems that were incredibly detailed recipes or instructions on how to fix things. The teacher, who I swear to GOD was actually my Mr-Rogers-Wannabe guidance counselor from high school in disguise, spent more time trying to come up with names and backstories for the models in the text book than actually trying to teach

- I had to take a class called “first year seminar” because neither of my parents went to college. It was supposed to be teaching you about how the school works and stuff but SUPRISE BITCH WE’RE JUST GONNA YELL ABOUT RACISM AND PRIVELGE FOR AN HOUR.

- Literally that’s all we did. Just the whole class bonding over all these struggles we had gone through and getting fired up. Like, it was great, but I also ended up knowing very little about campus and school stuff bc that was the class that was supposed to be teaching me lmao

- My Psych teacher was fucking hysterical for the first few classes but then he just. Vanished. I had to drop the class

- My Fine Arts teacher just. Couldn’t stick to a teaching plan. Her entire wardrobe was scarves. She was very passionate about African masks. She had a flapper haircut. She spoke quietly, but with a marvelously forced tone of voice that I’m certain was her trying to sound impressive and hide a Boston accent. She didn’t seem to understand the year was 2014. She took us into the city to go to the Art Museum and we lost her in there, never to be seen again

- I’m not even kidding

- My “writing” teacher was my absolute fav omfg. She was this long grey haired hippie lady who worked as a nurse for the Grateful Dead and was still stuck there. She may or may not have hooked up with my uncle. I was her favorite student because one day I came in wearing a “HAIR” shirt. She wanted to take the class to England for the sole purpose of going on a Beatles tour

- But like…she did not teach a writing class omfg. She taught a social justice class. All we did was have informed debates about The Issues and listen to music and occasionally watch the Breakfast Club. Every time there was a big paper due on the syllabus, she’d just sit on her desk and go “I mean, I don’t have to cover anything, right? You guys know how to write!” Like I genuinely don’t think she knew what class she was teaching

- There was a boy who sat next to me in that class. He was deaf in one ear and used that as an excuse when he got caught blatantly not paying attention. It worked every time. But I was right next to him. I saw him playing Yu-Gi-Oh on some website on his phone under the table. One time we started talking about model cars and he pre-cummed.

- There was a boy who roamed the campus in a long black trench coat and a weird hat. I never saw his body and started to suspect he might not have one, just the theory of one. He took interest in me because I was the only person in class who ever got his Doctor Who jokes. He’d come up to me at dinner and blast quiz me on various nerd culture before running off and disappearing into the shadows. Just as I was starting to grudgingly accept I was probably going to have to eventually hook up with him for the greater good, I apparently offended him by saying I like Picard more than Kirk. He didn’t stick around to listen to my reasoning. Whenever I saw him after that he would loudly start talking about how great his girlfriend was. Everyone knew he was lying. I wonder if Kirk ever sucked his theoretical dick as well as I would have.

- I gave a football player a shout out on Yik Yak. He really appreciated it, and gave me some fries laced with weed as a thanks. That was such A Night ™ , I watched the Lorax and left the dimension.

- Every time we had dances, this creepy guy named Horace would find me and use my obvious discomfort to make me dance with him. He’d hold my wrists and shove his crotch on mine while vaguely swaying to the beat. I had to escape to the bathroom every few minutes. Finally the security just banned him from the events altogether. I can still see his face clearly in my mind.

- One night, I walked into the bathroom to find a perfect, untouched pizza laying on the floor…but not in a box. Someone literally just took it out of the box and laid it down. I’m still fuming.

- One time I was in the mostly empty library when I smelled something. I walked down the rows of shelves before rounding the corner, and found the President of the college hidden there, sitting on the floor, smoking, a bottle of vodka in his hands. We held eye contact for a solid minute. He slowly shook his head at me. I said “Sir, your house is like…literally across the street.” He shook his head more vigorously. I left the library.

- One night, I heard screaming. I looked out the window to find a girl in a giraffe costume scaling my building. People were throwing water bottles at her. I was concerned. I didn’t know who to talk to for answers.

- I was in line trying to pay for dinner. One of the lunch ladies climbed on top of the ice cream machine and refused to come down. Her friend came over and they started recreating the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. Very few people acknowledged it.

- Someone jacked up the soda dispenser so it was only dispensing beer. None of the staff cared enough to fix it.

- I caught my RA in the middle of a drug deal so she gave me a coupon for free ice cream

- Also side note: The soft served ice cream machine on campus was actually a frozen yogurt machine. I had no problem with that, but like, advertise correctly, you know? Nobody else seemed to understand my confusion. Nobody else seemed to understand that froyo and ice cream are two different things. What the hell.

- There were just…so many moths all over the campus. A terrifying amount. When it started getting colder I was like, finally, I won’t be attacked by moths anymore! Only for even more moths to appear. I asked a local about it. “Oh, those are the winter moths!” What the fuck are winter moths? What the fuck, Massachusetts? My friend back home grew convinced that Mothman was in the area. I was inclined to believe her. Sometimes I close my eyes and all I can see are moths everywhere, waiting for the moment to strike.

-  I’ve encountered deer many times in my life. I know how they act around people. But the deer on this campus were just weird. They’d run out at people all the time. One almost shoved me into traffic.

- My roommate gave my phone number out to literally anyone she found who mentioned they liked to read or liked Doctor Who. She was concerned I had no friends. No one ever called.

- I met a small Greek girl in my Fine Arts class. Our first day of talking, she made me climb a mountain with her so she could get to tutoring, even though I had no reason to be in that building. Her roommates kept mysteriously disappearing. She was late to everything. She’d call me randomly to get food at 1 in the morning. She kept somehow breaking phones and tvs and other electronics. When I asked her how they kept breaking, she waved it off with “Oh, I have OCD. You wouldn’t understand”. I have OCD, and I still don’t understand. One time she invited me out with her friends from high school. I waited outside her building for two hours, while the other friends waited in the parking lot for two hours, because we didn’t know how to find each other. She eventually came outside at 10:30 pm. We went to Friendly’s. She made us stop at her house so she could grab something. We pulled up a long, winding driveway and stopped in a parking lot. At the end of the parking lot were stone stairs that lead up to a mansion on a hill. She ran inside and the rest of us stayed in the car, listening to High School Musical and talking about Supernatural. When she came out 40 minutes later we decided to try and prank her. It went wrong. We almost ran over her friend’s sister with the car. They invited me to a pumpkin patch. When I started complaining about my roommate, she asked me to move in with her. I thought about the other three girls who had seemingly gone missing. I politely declined. Six months after I left the school, I received a text from her asking for notes for an exam, and radio silence after that. I can’t find her on facebook. I fear she might have gone missing too.

- One night, as I was standing outside huddled in the cold, a boy came up and offered me a cigarette to help me stay warm. I turned it down, but he stood around talking to me for a few minutes afterwards. I felt absolutely no awkwardness at all. He was a musician from Colorado. He sang a bit of one of his songs. He was dropping out of school to go to California the next week. He told me I had beautiful eyes, but his were the most alive eyes I’ve ever seen so I couldn’t believe the compliment. We talked for about ten minutes and I fell a little bit in love. He had to rush off to a club meeting, but he told me he’d rather keep talking. He gave me the sweetest smile before he left. I didn’t get his last name or number and I never saw him again.

- There was a dance on Halloween. I couldn’t think of a sufficiently slutty yet classy costume, so I just went as Osgood from Doctor Who. When I got there there was a huge crowd, but people quickly grew bored and started leaving. There ended up being six people left (myself included). We stayed because we could see the upset faces of everyone who had planned the event, but actually had one of the most fun nights of my life. We- myself, the girl from across the hall, Trench Coat Boy, his tiny friend who never spoke, and a boy and girl I didn’t know who seemed to be professional dancers- danced nonstop for almost three hours. The strobe lights and poppy music solidified an unspoken bond. I had never and to this day haven’t felt as free as I did that night. The tiny quiet boy’s smile could have lit up a city. It’s etched into my mind. We all left the dance talking about the surreal feeling in the air, as if something had shifted. None of us ever mentioned the dance again. It’s still one of my fondest memories.

- For a solid month, there was someone in a gorilla costume running around campus.

- There was a rash of sexual assaults on campus. A gang of boys kept jumping girls in the woods. The only thing the school board did was give out free rape whistles at lunch one day. I missed that day, making me one of the only students on campus without a whistle. Later that night when I ordered pizza, the delivery guy tried to start up a conversation with me about all the assaults. He blamed the girls. I took back my tip.

- Sometimes the showers just…filled up with black sludge. No one knew why.

- The girls in the room next to me were very bizarre. They always shot me odd looks and whispered to each other constantly. I couldn’t figure out if they were sleeping together or not. They never washed their hands when we were in the bathroom.

- The doors to each dorm were thick and heavy and required effort to push them open. My roommate and I made sure to lock ours every night, and would triple check it. It swung open by itself almost every night. The channels on the tv would change with the remote equidistance away from us. Sometimes I heard humming in the showers when I was the only one in there.

- My roommate…deserves a whole separate post dedicated to her, honestly.

- She would call her mother and have her do her homework for her. She blasted music constantly, and it was either country or hard rap, nothing in between. She sexiled me constantly. I once walked in on anal. She’d meet guys on Tinder, fall in love with them after a couple of days, and then bring them into the school and into our room like it was no big deal. One of them made it clear he was a budding serial killer. She was in a new drama every week. One time someone called her a dilf on Yik Yak. She was firmly convinced her cousin was blonde because her aunt dyed her hair when she was pregnant. She tried her hardest to get me laid by a football player. She was the loudest drunk I’ve ever encountered. Honestly there’s just too much about her for this omfg

- John Zaffis, the famous paranormal researcher, came to the school on my birthday. I went because I’m a loser who’s been watching shows with him since I was a kid, and I was having a bad day so I decided it could be a treat. I sat in the front row. He held an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with me the entire presentation. He was impressed with my questions. He lamented about the fact he’s always cut out of movies or replaced by priests that look like him. He apparently came to the school every year around Halloween to do a ghost tour around the campus for the students. A girl allegedly killed herself in my floor’s bathroom. He apparently always got a lot of activity around the campus. Everyone in the freshman class started wondering if the rumors about the Native American burial ground were true.

- One time in “writing” class the teacher gave us a number and then whatever song came up as that when we put our music on shuffle we had to play for the class. I ended up with “Touch Me” from Spring Awakening. Midway through the song, the teacher from another class came to complain that they could hear everything. My teacher tried to defend that all music has an important message. “Molly, dear, tell her the message in this song!” I looked around the room and at the other teacher. “It’s about sex,” I said quietly. She stormed out of the room while the class started laughing.

- There was this girl that just had the natural ability to make anything boring. I feel bad saying that, because she’s such a sweet girl, and she’s smart, and she’s gorgeous, and she’s talented, but just…every time she says anything, it’s boring. I’m still friends with her on facebook, the talent transcends to writing as well. You could be having a fun, lively conversation and she could say something completely relevant to the point and yet it would still just be boring. It’s a baffling talent, I still don’t understand how she does it.

- There was a boy who’d come into my room. He lusted over my s’mores poptarts. He kept trying to hit the high notes in Broadway songs. He didn’t understand my sense of humor at all, so we both were constantly worried we were offending each other. He cried about Selena Gomez a lot.

- The dining hall only offered horrendous food. I had pasta almost every night because it was the only thing remotely edible. If you wanted good food, you had to go to Late Night, which was between like 10:30 and 1 I think??? They set it up specifically for stoners and people leaving parties. I was frequently the only sober person there. Except for the moths.

- The chief at the pasta place found out I like theater and got like…weirdly passionate about it. He kept telling me about different theater groups in the area and wanted to know if I was in the school musical. He asked me every time I went up for food.

- There was a disproportionate amount of large black birds to trees. It wasn’t hard to figure out why we so rarely saw smaller animals

- When I told my advisor I was thinking about leaving (mostly for financial reasons but also the fake classes were preventing me from getting an education I wanted, you know?), this little old man looked around his office as if checking for people listening in, then put his hand on top of mine, leaned in close, and whispered “Oh, you sweet little girl. Run as fast as you can.”

There’s definitely more but listen. This school was weird and fake and vaguely surreal and off-kilter. I am fully afraid that one day, years from now, I’m going to be driving through the back roads and pass the place where the campus should be, only I won’t find anything there at all, and won’t be able to find any trace of it ever existing. I won’t be able to find any record of it. I won’t be able to find a record of any of the people. Every time I think about this place I just get a weird feeling, like I somehow managed to escape the Twilight Zone but left a part of me behind in the process. Be careful when applying to college, kids.

“Band names are just made up!”

Really?

Then I’m not surprised that Panic! At The Disco came from the lyrics of “Panic” by Name Taken (Panic at the disco/Sat back and took it slow).

Mikey Way used to work at a Barnes & Noble. While stacking books during his shift, he saw a book by Irvine Welsh called Five Tales Of Chemical Romance. He wrote the title down and showed it to his brother Gerard after he came home. Gerard agreed with the name for the band - he just added “My” to make it personal.

While performing for the first time, Fall Out Boy was nameless at that time. The band asked the audience to give them name suggestions. One of the audience yelled out “Fallout Boy”, who is the sidekick of Radioactive Man in The Simpsons. The name stuck.

Green Day is actually a slang for someone who does nothing but smoke marijuana all day. 

AC/DC was an acronym for “Alternating Current/Direct Current” on a electric sewing machine. Kinda fits the rhythm of the band if you think about it.

Black Veil Brides is a Roman Catholic term used to describe a woman who gives up her pleasures after getting married in a church so she could devote her life to God. Since marriage is the happiest moment of one’s life, the opposite of it is be having to attending a beloved’s funeral. 

Imagine Dragons is an anagram of letters from different words. The band kept a secret of revealing the words.

Joy Division is the name of a prostitution wing of a Nazi concentration camp from the novel The House of Dolls.

Avenged Sevenfold was mentioned in Genesis 4:24; “If Cain shall be avenged sevenfold, Truly Lamech seventy and sevenfold.”

Coldplay was originally called “Starfish”. They renamed themselves after another friend’s band, who had named themselves after a book of collected poems, Child’s Reflections: Cold Play.

The Beatles misspelled their name to describe their music “beat”.

Nirvana is a term of Buddhism for a person who succeeds into transcending the human suffering and rebirth through many spiritual practices and meditation.

Linkin Park is the change of name of Lincoln Park, the same park where Chester used to drive past every day for band practice.

Pierce The Veil was a social term that Vic learned in his Sociology class. According to his professor, “piercing the veil” is a fancy term for cutting the root of a problem before it influences you.

Twenty One Pilots got its name when Tyler was in theatre class. The play he was studying was All My Sons which involved the main character allowing the flight of various planes after finding faulty parts. Due to his actions, the protagonist becomes responsible for the deaths of 21 pilots.

There are a couple reasons how The Who got its name. The most popular was that Pete Townshead’s grandmother often called popular bands “The Who?” due to her impaired hearing.

Of Mice & Men named themselves after the novel by John Steinback.

Paramore is a respelling of paramour which means “secret lover”.

Iron Maiden is the name of a torture device.

Foo Fighters were used by the Allies during the WWII to describe UFOs.

Evanescence means a disappearance/dissipation like vapor. The band chose this as they find it as the description of the temporal nature of life. 

Asking Alexandria was named after Alexander the Great.

All Time Low was mentioned in the song “Head On Collision” by New Found Glory.

Led Zeppelin refers to the Hindenburg disaster. Before the band was formed, Keith Moon and John Entwistle made a joke of how a supergroup containing themselves, Jimmy Page, and Jeff Beck would be a “lead balloon”, a British idiom for disastrous results.

Muse originates from the fact that the bandmates heard someone from their hometown suggested that a muse is hovering Teignmouth, England to explain why many of the town’s populace are becoming members of band.

The Misfits is the name of the 1961 film.

Yes, there are some bands whose names are inventive and original but seriously. There are many musical groups that I can count whose names come from something. So if you say any band names are just “made-up”, I dare you to do some research like the members did before you could say it right in my face.

anonymous asked:

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

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"seems accurate” || newt scamander

word count: 2809

summary: soulmate au!(reader x newt scamander) → you have a tattoo of what your soulmate is most passionate about

author’s note: this can go one of two ways → one: really horribly and no one likes it OR two: people like it and i fell happy on the inside. i don’t know which one to expect. but, anyways, enjoy! (sorry for any spelling or grammar errors)

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Mixed Black African Girl (Cameroonian/French)

I’m a mixed black african girl who grew up and lived most of her life in Cameroon, in Central Africa. My dad is half-white (french) and half-black (cameroonian), and my mom is 100% cameroonian. There’s little to no black african characters in popular fiction, which has always bothered me, and it would be so nice to read about someone like me for once.

  • Culture and food

Cameroon is a country created during colonization, with borders defined by europeans. Because of that, Cameroon is actually made of 200 ethnic groups, each of them having their own language and culture. So the culture and daily habits vary a lot depending on which region of Cameroon you are in. In the big cities, though, everyone is mingled no matter where they’re from. However, so many different ethnic groups cohabiting together often causes tension. There are also a lot of stereotypes about every ethnic group.

I grew up in the central and coastal areas of the country, and I’m Bassa. The Bassa are one of the main ethnic groups in Cameroon. If your parents are from two different ethnic groups, it is decided that you officially belong to your father’s ethnic group. My mother is Bakoko but my father is Bassa, so I’m the latter. When I meet another Cameroonian, two of the first questions we usually ask each other are : What are you (meaning, what’s your ethnic group) ? and Where is you village ?

Villages are very important in the Cameroonian culture. Your village is where your father’s ancestors were born. Even if you’re not born there, you usually have grandparents or great-uncles or family friends living there, and if you have enough money to do so you must regularly visit your village. And usually, when people earn enough money, they send money to their village so that people living there can have a better life, build more houses and schools etc.

Cameroonian food is very diverse, and varies depending on the region. The national dish is Ndolé, a dish made with ndolé leaves, stewed nuts, and meat (fish, beef or shrimps). Other common foods are bobolo and miondo (food made out of fermented manioc), soya (spicy grilled meat on skewers), and plantain. My dad is half-french though, so at home we eat almost as much french food as cameroonian food (crème brûlée, shepherd’s pie, beef bourguignon, A LOT of bread and cheese).

  • Language

There are hundreds of different languages, but the official languages are French and English. Cameroon was colonized by France and England so Northern Cameroon mainly speaks english and central/southern Cameroon mainly speaks french. Most people also speak their ethnic group’s language. I don’t know how to speak Bassa, though, because neither do my parents. When me and my siblings were kids, our dad asked our baby-sitter to teach us, but she could only do so much and I only remember a few words.

  • Beauty Standards

Like most countries, there is a lot of colorism in Cameroon based on European beauty standards. When you’re a woman, the lighter you are, the prettier and more desirable you are considered. Dark skinned women are often mocked and considered not as pretty. A lot of people, mainly women but also men, use dangerous products to lighten their skin. Internalized racism and white beauty standards are very insidious, and a lot of people want to look like white people, including me when I was younger. As a kid I remember wishing i was a pretty blonde-haired blue-eyed white girl like the heroines of the books i was reading. Growing up I stopped wishing that, but I relaxed and straightened my hair a lot, wanting to have long straight hair without realizing that it was still an attempt to look like the ideal version of a white girl. I’m sure that if I had more black female characters to relate to when I was growing up, I wouldn’t have spend so many years hating myself without even realizing I was doing it.

Also, Cameroonians usually consider thick, curvy women to be the ideal beauty standard. But being thin is still an ideal broadcast by the media (especially that american and european media are heavily broadcast and consumed in Cameroon) so most women still diet a lot and go to the gym to lose weight.

  • Clothing

Women wear a lot of skirts and dresses, be it casual or for work. Most cameroonian schools have uniforms and mandatory hairstyles (either cornrows or short shaved hair).

Elderly people often wear more traditional clothes and outfits. The most prominent traditional item of clothing is the Kaba. The Kaba is a long dress made of wax fabric and other materials and is owned by pretty much every woman. The dress looks different depending on the situation : the Kaba you wear when you stay at home is usually very long and very loose, the Kaba you wear during official/formal events is more tight-fitting and stylized, etc.

  • Dating and Relationships

I’ve never dated anyone, but when I was in high school none of my friends ever told their parents they were seeing someone. Having your parents know about and meet the person you’re dating after only a few weeks or months is something that just doesn’t happen (unless someone gets pregnant). It’s when things get serious that you introduce them to your family. Also, a lot of parents would prefer their children to marry someone from the same ethnic group.

Homosexuality is still illegal there, and you can go to jail for being gay.

  • Home/Family life

My parents are still happily married, and I have 3 siblings. My parents are both close to their siblings, and I’m close to mine. Me and my siblings grew up with our cousins, we were always at each other’s houses. I pretty much consider most of my cousins as extra siblings. We have a very big extended family and every day I discover new distant cousins, aunts, great-uncles etc. My dad being half-french, when I was growing up we sometimes went to France during summer to visit his relatives living there.

In Cameroon, most people who have enough money to do so send their children to study abroad once they’ve graduated high school. I’m currently living in France for my studies, and most of my high school friends are also going to college in France, England, Canada, Brussels, South Africa etc.

  • Identity issues

Despite being only ¼ white, I’m very light-skinned. My siblings being much darker skinned, when I was a kid I thought I was adopted (i’m not, it’s just genetics). Cameroon being a black country, when someone is visibly mixed and light-skinned as i am, most people just label them “white”. A lot of people would refer to me as “the white” and it always really hurt me. My family wouldn’t understand why i was so angry and hurt, they’d say “they don’t mean anything by it, it’s just that you’re light” but the fact is it made me feel like i don’t belong. I’m cameroonian, i’ve lived in Cameroon almost my entire life, i’m black, and still some people see me as “other”, they see me as white. And so for a long time, I didn’t dare to call myself black, I’d say “I’m biracial” or “I’m mixed” instead because I somehow felt like a fraud. But I’m black and not white-passing at all, and I still experience racism abroad (but I’m aware I have a lot more privilege than dark skinned people).

  • Daily struggles

So I’m currently living in France. On one hand, sometimes white people are racist toward me, or just totally obnoxious and ignorant, trying to touch my natural hair and thinking that people in Cameroon don’t have computers or whatever. On the other hand, when I randomly meet other cameroonians and we start talking, they always assume that because i’m mixed i’ve lived my entire life in France and i don’t know anything about Cameroon. And there’s nothing wrong with being a child of immigrants and not knowing the country your parents or grandparents came from, but i know that if i wasn’t visibly mixed they wouldn’t question the fact that i know Cameroon and lived there my entire life.

  • Misconceptions

Because of how the media depict African countries, a lot of people think that everyone in Africa is extremely poor and starving, that we don’t have electricity and internet and that everyone lives in huts. Which is so false. We have rich people and poor people, we have huge modern cities and regular cities and small villages with huts, almost everyone has access to a tv and internet, etc.

  • Things I’d like to see less of

Cameroon and other african countries being depicted as poor unfortunate countries where everyone is starving and illiterate and waiting for the generous white people to save us. What we need is for people to see us as the humans we are, and to allow us to grow in peace.

  • Things I’d like to see more of

Black african characters being written as the complex human beings we are. Shy black african characters. Nerdy and hella smart black african characters. Mixed black african characters who struggle with their identity. LGBTQ black african characters.

  • Tropes/Stereotypes I’m tired of seeing.

The “savage”, “uncivilized” african. African characters who are aggressive, dumb and shout all the time. The poor africans in need of saving by white people.

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

May I just say that I LOVE Rick Riordan? Not for any other reason than the amazing characters he creates:
-Percy Jackson: a boy with ADHD and dyslexia. If you didn’t know, Uncle Rick originally created Percy like this for his son Haley who also has ADHD and dyslexia. But also, Percy comes from an abusive household. Smelly Gabe, even though he, from what I can gather, never hit Percy, nor did he hit Sally while Percy was around, but he was verbally, economically and emotionally abusive toward both Sally and Percy. And Percy overcame that.
-Annabeth Chase: a girl, also with ADHD and dyslexia, who came from a family who she thought hated her. So she ran away. And found a new family. She ended up losing that new family by the time she was twelve. She believes that she can rebuild the world, and make it better. And in a way, she does.
-Grover: a satyr that, when originally introduced to us, is disabled. Even though we find out he’s not, he still has flaws. He has made mistakes, and he feels inadequate. He overcomes this and becomes a member of the Council of Cloven Elders.
-Thalia Grace: a girl who comes from an alcoholic home. She lost her brother, and ran away. She ended up turning into a tree, but came back from that. She became the lieutenant to Artemis.
-Rachel Elizabeth Dare: a girl who comes from a rich home, but just doesn’t like it. She loves the earth despite her father’s company trying to destroy it. She can see through the Mist, and becomes the Oracle of Delphi.
-Jason Grace: a boy forced to grow up too soon. He was two when he was abandoned, then he made his way to being praetor at 15, maybe younger. He never knew his family, and always wanted to bring about change. He was looked on as a hero, but didn’t feel like it inside.
-Piper McLean: a girl raised by a movie star. She disliked being tied to that name, hated the idea of being beautiful. She made herself blend in, except when she stole. Or convinced them to let her have it. She overcomes her insecurities, and becomes beautiful, not through her mother, but through her own power.
-Leo Valdez: a Hispanic boy who grew up with a loving mother, and then accidentally caused her death. He grew up in the foster system, being funny to try and cover up the pain of his loss. He didn’t like looking back, but Camp made him. He grew into his power, and fell in love. Now, he’s mature, and a leader.
-Hazel Levesque: a girl who grew up when it was a sin to be black. New Orleans, in the forties. Her mother seemed to hate her, and she was an outcast. The one boy she loved she never saw. She died, then came back to life. She grew into her powers and made herself new. She started fresh, and now she has found love, and can shape the world however she sees fit.
-Frank Zhang: a Chinese Canadian who lost his mother to a war. He was clumsy, he didn’t fit in. He hated himself. He went to the old country, where he fought and became what he was originally meant to be: A warrior.
-Nico di Angelo: An OpEnLy GaY cHaRaCtEr like THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN A LOT IN CHILDREN’S BOOKS WITHOUT A LOT OF INFERENCE BUT NICO DI ANGELO IS GAY AND BY TRIALS OF APOLLO IS PROUD OF IT!!!!!!!
-Apollo: An OpEnLy BiSeXuAl ChArAcTeR which doesn’t often happen at all ever, but IT’S BEING RECOGNIZED AS AN ACTUAL SEXUALITY BECAUSE HE LIKES BOTH BOYS AND GIRLS AND IT’S JUST BEAUTIFUL
Also: The majority of these characters come from single parent homes.
But that’s just PJO, HoO, and ToA. Let’s talk about other series for a second:
Kane Chronicles:
-Carter and Sadie are MIXED RACE. It is canon. Their dad is African American and their mom is British white. Again, that’s not something that really happens a lot in literature, period.
-Carter traveled a lot, he had no permanent home. He was really lonely, and very close to his dad.
-But seriously, even in modern society just imagine how hard it is to be mixed race. You’re not one or the other, you’re both, which also means that you’re neither.
-Sadie grew up with her grandparents, being rebellious and just not wanting to be in England. She wanted to travel with dad, and when he died, it was hard on both of them.
And Magnus Chase:
-Magnus Chase: a boy who loved his mother, and grew up on the streets after she died. He was actually similar to Leo in his back story. He had a rich uncle, but he hated money, hated being confined. Then he died, and now he’s grown to accept himself.
-Samirah al Abbas: a Muslim girl shown in a POSITIVE LIGHT AND DO YOU REALIZE HOW IMPORTANT THAT IS RIGHT NOW WITH ALL THE PEOPLE HATING MUSLIMS???? And in Hammer of Thor, she PRAYS!!!!!! Like do you realize how beautiful this is? She doesn’t believe in the gods as gods, but as creations of Allah. Like, she is one of my favorite characters.
-Blitzen: a guy of unknown sexuality who loves fashion. The best part about this is that Blitz is not openly straight, gay or otherwise. He is just a dwarf who loves fashion, and this proves that you don’t have to be gay to love fashion.
-Hearthstone: HE’S DEAF! Do you realize how many deaf kids will read this and realize how cool it is to be what they are??? A lot, is what I hope. It’s just so refreshing to see a disability like this shown in a positive light. Also, he comes from a home where he is made fun of for his disability. It is shown that he has it hard for being the way he is, which I also think is important. It is important to show that people can overcome people who think they’re stupid for not being like everyone else.
-Alex Fierro: a GeNdErFlUiD cHaRaCtEr LIKE THAT IS SO IMPORTANT FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE GENDERFLUID, yes s/he is binary, but it’s still FREAKING AWESOME OKAY LIKE THAT IS A THING THAT I HAVE NEVER SEEN WRITTEN BEFORE OKAY
In conclusion, Uncle Rick has taken the time to write amazing, beautiful, powerful, unconventional characters that we love. And it’s important that these are good characters, protagonists, because then we love them, and see that unconventional is good.

bindingfenrir  asked:

Are there any symbols used specifically for Loki with historical proof?

Velkomin(n), vinur minn,
(Welcome, my friend,)

Archaeological records are not exactly my forte, but it does not seem that there are any symbols that were explicitly used for Loki (at least out of those that have turned up in the archaeological record, that is). By that I mean that there are a few possible depictions of Loki (especially of his binding story), but it does not seem that there was a symbol worn in honor of Loki quite like  there was for Thor with Mjölnir. Furthermore, most of the examples that I have located, and that I am going to share with you momentarily, have room for debate in regards to their intended subject matter. Even so, many of these depictions of Loki come fairly late in the Viking Age, after Loki’s image had begun to intertwine with that of the Christian devil.(1)


THE GOSFORTH CROSS:

THIS EXAMPLE YIELDS the most secure depiction of Loki, at least out of the examples that I was able to locate. Yet, even so, this depiction is on a Christian cross. Although containing a substantial amount mythological scenery, they “appear to have been deliberately chosen because they can be presented in accordance with Christian teaching also.”(2) This may be troublesome for people looking for a symbol to ‘revive’ in Loki’s name. Furthermore, even though depicting an older tale, it is generally considered to be a negative tale from a pro-Loki perspective.

Here is the image of a bound Loki on this cross (I have rotated the image):

Here is the tale from the Prose Edda that this portion of the cross presents:

“Now Loki was captured without quarter and taken to a certain cave. Then they took three stone slabs and set them on the edge and knocked a hole in each slab. Then Loki’s sons Vali and Nari or Narfi were fetched. The Æsir turned Vali into the form of a wolf and he tore his brother Narfi to pieces. Then the Æsir took his guts and bound Loki with them across the three stones — one under his shoulders, one under his loins, the third under the backs of his knees — and these bounds turned to iron. Then Skadi got a poisonous snake and fixed it up over him so that the poison would drip from the snake into his face. But his wife Sigyn stands next to him holding a basin under the drops of poison. And when the basin is full she goes and pours away the poison, but in the meantime the poison drips into his face. Then he jerks away so hard that the whole earth shakes. That is what you call an earthquake. There he will lie in bonds until Ragnarok.”(3)

In the image above, all of these details can be seen depicted in a carved from. Loki is shown bound in three places, a snake is above his head, and his loving wife stands beside him holding a basin. The Gosforth Cross is considered to be among the “oldest remaining monuments from the Norse colonies in north-western England,” and is roughly dated to approximately 930–950 (although this dating may now be an outdated claim).(4) A.B. Cook has interpreted this scene, in a fairly middle-grounded approach, as being a parallel between Christian and ‘pagan’ tales, whereby Loki being bound is equated to Satan being bound.(5) This is not to say that Loki is a naturally demonic figure, but rather to explain Loki’s presence on a Christian cross. Regardless of purpose, this image does indeed come from a pre-Christian tale about Loki, and thus is a fairly secure representation of Loki in a historical, visual context.


THE KIRKBY STEPHEN STONE:

THIS EXAMPLE holds room for debate. Some scholars align it with the imagery expressed in the Gosforth Stone, that the bounded figure presented here, likely the Devil, simultaneously invokes a sort of ‘pagan’ imagery that associates it with Loki. Yet, more recent studies have suggested otherwise. John Mckinnell, for example, agrees with Bailey that this “iconography has nothing in common with that on the Gosforth cross nor with such pictures of the bound Satan as those in the manuscript of Junius 11.”(6) Given the inherit insecurity of this example, then, it is most definitely not as secure of a depiction of Loki as scholars had previously thought it to be. Furthermore, it is more likely that this is not Loki, then, but rather a more straightforward depiction of Satan. Still, it is worth including, for it serves as a good example for just how troublesome deciphering these images can truly be.


THE SNAPTUN STONE:

PERHAPS MORE SATISFYING is the Snaptun stone, which was found in Denmark, unlike the previous examples which were found in England. This stone, dating to around 1000 CE (still near the end of the Viking Age), features a face that has a pair of lips with four perpendicular lines etched through it. It is this physical trait that has linked the image to Loki, for Loki’s lips were stitched in a tale recounted in the Prose Edda:

“But when Brook tried to catch him (Loki), he was far out of reach. Loki had some shoes with which he could run across the sky and sea. Then the dwarf (Brokk) told Thor to catch him, and he did so. Then the dwarf was going to cut off Loki’s head, but Loki said that the head was his but not the neck. Then the dwarf got a thong and a knife and tried to pierce holes in Loki’s lips and was going to stitch up his mouth, but the knife would not cut. Then he said it would be better if his brother Awl was there, and as soon as he spoke his name the awl was there, and it pierced his lips. He stitched the lips together, and tore the edges off. The throng that Loki’s mouth was stitched up with is called Vartari.”(7)

And here is an image of the stone itself:

This stone has been identified as a hearth stone, and thus would have had a function associated with fire within the household.(8) Interestingly enough, if this stone was indeed used for the purpose of maintaining a hearth’s fire, its very function would reflect the story from which the reference to Loki may derive. Brokk, after all, was a dwarf and smith — a dealer in fire. This is my own conjecture, but it is worth pondering, nonetheless.


LESS SECURE POSSIBILITIES:

THERE ARE A FEW OTHER OBJECTS worth mentioning here, although they are most definitely not concrete examples of symbols used for Loki by any means. Many people will see what they want to see, so we must take delicate care in interpreting them. The following objects are often reproduced as pendants. Some people already associate these images with Loki, although there is no proof of this being the case. Interpret these as you will, but keep in mind the insecurity that is inherently bound to these images.

The first of these is often called the Gripping Beast Pendant, and there are several variations of these. The one shown below is in the Borre-style, and it dates to roughly the tenth century. It was made in Scandinavia, but found in England. Some people have associated this with Loki’s binding story, which we have recounted above. It is possible that this is an abstract representation of that story, but there are no direct indicators (such as Sigyn and her basin) to make this interpretation more secure. The safest interpretation is that this pendant represents a tangled beast, and not necessarily Loki, especially since intertwining animal motifs are quite common in Scandinavian art.

Here is the description of this object from the British Museum:

“Cast silver open-work pendant with a a Borre-style design of a gripping beast inside a frame further decorated with four protruding animal heads. Suspension loop with central ridge and double median groove. The back of the pendant is undecorated. Small areas of gilding and niello are in evidence on the surface of the pendant.”(9)

Other examples are equally insecure and even have multiple interpretations associated with them. There is a ‘mask’ from Gnezdovo that dates to roughly the tenth century, but some say it could be Odin. It bares similar resemblance to the Snaptun Stone, but there are no stitched lips, which was the only solid ‘evidence’ for it to be Loki in the first place. There is also a winged figure that was found at Uppåkra (Sweden) from the same century, but some believe it may be depicting Völund the Smith,(10) although others have suggested that it could be Loki borrowing Freyja’s falcon ‘dress’, which has been told in the Prose Edda (and in the Poetic Edda, of course):

“Being filled with terror, he (Loki) said he would go in search of Idunn in Giantland if Freyja would lend him a falcon shape of hers. And when he got the falcon shape he flew north to Giantland and arrive one day at giant Thjassi’s; he was out at sea in a boat, but Idunn was at home alone. Loki turned her into a nut and held her in his claws and flew as fast as he could. When Thjassi got home and found Idunn was not there he got his eagle shape and flew after Loki and caused a storm-wind by his flying. And when the Æsir saw the falcon flying with the nut and where the eagle was flying, they went out under Asgard and brought there loads of wood-shavings, and when the falcon flew in over the fortification, it let itself drop down by the wall of the fortification. Then the Æsir set fire to the wood-shavings and the eagle was unable to stop when it missed the falcon. Then the eagle’s feathers caught fire and his flight was ended. The the Æsir were close by and killed the giant Thjassi within the As-gates, and this killing is greatly renowned.”(11)

Depending on how well-known this story was, it is possible that this object could have been made to reference it. Yet, no matter the likelihood, there is always room for doubt. Although I personally am not as familiar with his story, it still seems more likely, and more agreed upon, that this is Völund the Smith, and not Loki. Here is an image of this object, nonetheless:


ARCHAEOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION seems to be a bit of a challenge, especially when there are not always definite physical indicators to work from. It does not help, of course, that I am not a socialist in archaeology by any means. I am far more familiar with literature. Besides, Loki’s physical appearance can vary tremendously; he is, after all, a shapeshifter. He could appear in numerous forms without us necessarily being able to recognize the subtle hints right away (even then, who decides that we are correct in our assumptions anyway?).

To answer your original question, then, there are very few historical representations of Loki with absolute proof; there is always some sort of doubt. Many of these images can, however, be used to build upon. History only provides us with what survives, but, in working with those fragments, new efforts can be made within reason. Meaning is distributed by society (and even the individual), and meanings can change over time. Being historically responsible, though, means making sure that we know the original intention behind a work of art. It would be irresponsible, historically speaking, to project a new interpretation upon an image that was never meant to have such meaning. In short, it is quite difficult work to be confident in our effort to find historical representations of Loki.

I hope my answer has been helpful, although it is definitely not my strongest. There is definitely plenty of room for more academic work in learning more about historical representations of Loki, but such an area is just not my personal destination. If you have any follow-up questions, feel free to send them my way. I would be more than happy to continue discussing this topic with you, if you’d like.

Með vinsemd og virðingu,
(With friendliness and respect,)
Fjörn


ENDNOTES:
1. H.R. Ellis Davison, Gods and Myths of Northern Europe (repr., 1964; London: Penguin Books, 1990), 176-77.
2. Ibid., 179.
Fig.1. A part of the Gosforth Cross showing, among other things a figure with a horn above a bound figure, usually interpreted to be Loki and Sigyn from Norse mythology. Reproduction by Julius Magnus Petersen, published in 1913. Wikimedia Commons. (Edited – Image has been rotated).
3. Snorri Sturluson, Edda, translated by Anthony Faulkes (repr., 1987; London: Everyman, 1995), 52. (Free version available via the Viking Society for Northern Research).
4. Knut Berg, “The Gosforth Cross,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 21, No. ½ (Jan. - Jun., 1958), 28.
5. Ibid., 29.
6.  John Mckinnell, “Norse Mythology and Northumbria: A Response,” Scandinavian Studies
Vol. 59, No. 3, Anglo-Scandínavían England (SUMMER 1987), 331.
Fig.2. Captioned as “The Bound Devil. Kirkby Stephen.” Plate before page 217. The stone features a depiction of a bound, horned figure, sometimes theorized as the Norse deity Loki. Wikimedia Commons.
7. Snorri, Edda, Faulkes trans., 97.
Fig.3. The Snaptun stone, possibly depicting Loki. Housed at the Moesgård Museum near Århus, Denmark. Wikimedia Commons. (Edited – Image turned black and white for clarity).
8. Hans Jørgen Madsen, “The god Loki from Snaptun,” in Oldtidens Ansigt: Faces of the Past (Jysk arkæologisk selskab, 1990), 180.
Fig.4. Borre-Style Silver Pendant, British Museum Online Collection.
9. Description provided by the British Museum Online Collection.
10. Michaela Helmbrecht, “A Winged Figure From Uppåkra,” Fornvännen; 2012 (107):3, 171.
11. Snorri, Edda, Faulkes trans., 60.
Fig.5. Pendant from Uppåkra, likely Völund the Smith.


DISCLAIMER | ALL ASKS | TOP ASKS

UPDATED: 29 APR 2017 @ 10:25pm EST. | NOTES: Added new information in regards to the Kirkby Stone (see section title “THE KIRKBY STEPHEN STONE” and endnote 6 to view these changes).

In The Land of Monsters

I was always afraid of the gym. Of the monsters that lurked within. A land of giants I had no place intruding.

Sports, fitness and I were never on very good terms, especially when I was a teenager. I was the academic, the imagineer, the dreamer, the geek, the nerd. Whichever way you cut it, there was very much a difference between myself and my “sporty” peers. I’m not going to say “jocks”, because growing up in England we never had that kind of tribalism. But I was a peaceful soul who preferred to bury himself in books and science fiction; they were the brutes who pushed me against the corridor walls, gave me physical and mental torment for my lack of caring for my appearance, for my indifference to their ways. I didn’t even support a football (soccer) team, which in England is nearly as much a capital offence as non-support of rugby is in New Zealand.

Teenage Beastpup in England

So picture me as a young man going through puberty, being inspired by the muscular physiques of bodybuilders like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jay Culter, Flex Wheeler, Markus Ruhl… monsters, stirring something within me. A desire to be more. A desire to change. To express myself through growth.

But I was scared.

No matter how much I wanted it…I felt I could never, ever join a gym. It would be torture… I’d be like chum in a pool of sharks. Surely from the moment I stepped foot inside my tender, nerd-like nature would be sniffed out by the others, and I would be mocked, tortured anew. Or even then, could I handle seeing how skinny I was compared to the others, when my body dysmorphia took over? Or would my family and friends even understand and join in the mocking that I, the twig, was trying to change himself in the gym? And people would see how sexual it was for me. How much I wanted it… I could never be normal enough… could never get over all these mental hurdles…

 Until the day I did.

Moving to New Zealand in my early 20s brought a lot of changes and positive adjustments to my life. Away from my past, I was free in a new place to start anew. It took many, many months of convincing myself still, but at last I had enough of always wanting and never having. At long last… I was going to join a gym. It was now or never.

 And so my mission began.

Because I couldn’t just walk in there! Oh no. Couldn’t just waltz into the natives encampment… I had to disguise myself first. I had to present myself to the tribe as one of them. Prior to going to the gym, I took myself off to the local sportswear store which was in of itself terrifying as a place I’d never stepped foot in. I despised those overpriced, branded goods put together in sweatshop factories by kids overseas… but for this, I would make the leap. I bought my clothes… a gym bag. Looked up online, I think, what people normally took to the gym… water bottle, towel. It took me a week to psych myself up but finally… I did it. I entered the land of monsters.  I went to the local gym and like a meek doormouse, asked the young lady at the reception if I could join.

 Everything that happened after was so very, very different from all my fears. I was welcomed. I was taken in, I was given my induction by helpful trainers… they equipped me with the confidence to be in that environment, and weren’t intimidating at all! Nor were the other guys there… everyone was just doing their own thing. No torture, no mocking. Just a common pursuit. Fitness. Growth.

The years since have been a blur; a lot has happened in my life. But the gym has always been there… it went from feeling like an alien outpost, to something else. Home. I am at home in the gym. I live for it. I know it. It has become my playground. My stomping ground. And just this week I looked in the mirror, now that I have grown, and I can see staring back at me:

I am now the monster I was afraid of.

 I made my dream come true, and in the process lost my fears. And I’ll say to anyone; you can have this too. You can be it. But if you still have your fear, I understand. But you don’t have to be afraid of the monsters. You’ll be one of them if you want. You just have to work. You just have to leave fear behind.

Happy growing…

 - Beast June 2017

University/College Au Masterlist

#latteart - imagines

Tiger House looks like it can’t decide if it’s an English pub, a used book store, or a bakery. The only sign that it actually sells coffee is the smell of freshly-roasted beans that hits Otabek when he pushes open the door, a little bell jangling above him. There’s nobody here but a bored-looking barista leaning on the counter by the register. “Can I help you?” the barista says, in a tone that heavily implies he would rather do no such thing.

100 Ways to Say ‘I Love You’ - Kelly_J_Jackson

Every day for the first 100 days of the New Year, I will be posting a drabble for each writing prompt that tumblr p0ck3tf0x created on their list “'100 Ways to Say I Love You’.” It will be mostly Victuuri with some Yurio (and possibly Otabek). It’s going to be a challenge, but I’m going to try my best to update daily. OR They’re a bunch of dorks, really.

admiration in falling asleep - calliopinaround

Rooming with Otabek is fine. It really is—they’re best friends, Otabek is the perfect roommate, and there’s nothing about each other that they don’t already know to make it weird. (Except Yuri hadn’t known that Otabek walks around only in his pajama bottoms in the morning, or what he smells like right out of the shower, or that he likes his coffee with two sugars and nothing else, or that he has a knack for losing the television remote regardless of where he puts it, or that he keeps his keys on his nightstand and nowhere else, or that he opens the blinds half-way first thing in the morning to let the sunrise in…) So it’s fine. It really is. Yuri likes this arrangement, and no matter how many looks Mila gives him, that’s the truth. He just wishes it sounded like all of the truth.

A Gays guide to Surviving College. - CoffeeAndDesperation

Yuuri katsuki, a young mathematics major starting his 2nd year of college, finds himself rooming with an illegally hot Russian linguistics major. While across the hall things heat up between Yuri plisetsky, and his interesting roommate who has a deep passion for writing.

a glass heart, and all its parts - AliFyre

Katsuki Yuuri comes to study in America with the hope that a change of environment will give his mental health the break he needs to finally write that book he’s always wanted. Viktor Nikiforov ended up in America a long time ago and stays there because he can’t think of anywhere better to be, sitting on a novel draft with zero inspiration to finish it. This is the story of how they struggle with themselves and their stories, and how they maybe find love in the process.

All the Warmth of the Sun - pythaglorious

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he could call it a date, but Phichit had set them up, and they were alone. In a bar. And, if Yuuri should consider this a date, there was worse company to be had than Viktor Nikiforov, with his shining silver hair and a baby blue stare that somehow held all the warmth of the sun.

Anatomical Accuracy - Fayina (Dayea)

Yuri has a secret talent in drawing, and he’d be damned if Otabek finds out about his shameful collection of the Kazakh’s portraits. Oh and his skype call with Mila and Sara is getting out of hand.

An eternal bee buzzes in my ear - mozaikmage

AU where the russian characters are international students studying in NYC, and otabek the kazakh guy is the hot waiter at that one russian restaurant they go to every weekend, and anyway don’t look at me 

artistry - lilium_parvum

“The city lights always called to Yuuri. Even as a boy, he dreamed of the neon glow on his face and riding fast, fast, fast down the busy roads. Maybe in a sports car. Or a motorcycle. Perhaps he would just run. He hadn’t worked out the details on that yet. Yuuri dreamed of a whirlwind love, the kind of person with cold eyes and a dark smile, a troubled person with a kind heart. ” In which Phichit’s Instagram leads to Yuuri and Viktor meeting.

A Yellow Highlighter - henriqua

Otayuri Week 2017 Day 7: Soulmates | Too bad Otabek is a people watcher, not a people meeter, and on top of that he’s convinced he would probably live a happier life without meeting a soulmate whose first words to him are rude ones.

Behind Locked Doors - dia_dove

College student Yuuri Katsuki is in love with his professor, Viktor Nikiforov. A love he plans on keeping to himself, until one drunken mistake leads him to a world of pleasure.

centripetal force - braveten

Victor speaks seven languages. (Physics isn’t one of them.) Luckily, though, he ends up rooming with his antithesis: a shy, black-haired boy who just so happens to be a physics major.

Close Quarters - i_like_my_eggs_benedict

Yuri moved thousands of miles away from home in Russia to attend a prestigious performing arts university in the States, gambling that his stupid former rink mate Victor (who also attends) wouldn’t be anywhere near him. Otabek also took a chance by coming to this university so far away from the security of life back home, hoping his future and career will go somewhere. They were both slightly worried about who their roommate would be, but it seems like the guy they were put with just seems to…fit.

Cold Light of Morning - kepitto 

do you believe in soulmates? - foreverhalo

A drabble about Yuri and Otabek in college.

Fragile Hearts - aksnowchild

*Title and Story are subject to change as this is an ongoing story* AU where Yuuri Katsuki is a Japanese college student going to school in America. He studies to become a vet while working at Ice Pets Adoption, which is owned by his friends the Nishigori family. He keeps his life fairly simple, but one day a mysteriously beautiful Russian waltzes into Yuuri’s life and suddenly he experiences something he never has before: attraction.

It Doesn’t Have to be a Lie - Recesskup

Yuuri is not outgoing. That’s why when Phichit supplies Viktor as his fake boyfriend he’s bringing home for Christmas he nearly dies on the spot. And in all Honesty, he’s not quite sure how he managed to convince Viktor Nikiforov to play the role of his pretend boyfriend. And he’s even more at a loss for words when he remembers he has to go along with this for two weeks. Or- The pretend relationship AU where Yuuri is a shy Dance Major and Viktor is the attractive, outgoing Art/Photography Major and Phichit is the worst wingman ever.

Legendary Lovers - rjk122

Leave it to Yuri Plisetsky to humiliate himself and then have the only person on campus that he wanted to avoid also end up being the only person who he sees all the time. And also who never does anything but stare at him. Like, seriously, why is this dude always staring at him? College AU based on a prompt by theappleppielifestyle on tumblr!

Love Like You’ll Never Be Hurt - OurMidnightMuse

(College AU) In high school Yuri Plisetsky was the end of many pranks by his fellow classmates, being a slight in stature ballet dancer. One in particular resulted in Yuri being forably outed as a homosexual in a most humiliating way, causing a rift in who he felt he could trust. Now in college, Yuri is trying to move past all of the things that bothered him in the past, however, they keep on cropping up. At a college party that he was coaxed into attending, Yuri meets the most unlikely of friend; a former ballet classmate whom he had not seen in many years named Otabek Altin. As the two grow closer, Yuri discovers something troubling about his new friend. Could the two possibly help each other through their past and present troubles, or will the blockades in the road cause them to fall apart before they even begin to come together? (TWs will preface each chapter in the beginning notes as they come.)

Match Made By PhichitSociallyAwkwardFox (Maze_Runner_Fae)

Five times Phichit plays matchmaker for his friends and the one time they play matchmaker for him.

Music of Love - mechatitan

“Otabek felt pure panic course through him. What did he do now? He was accidentally intruding on an extremely private moment for this beautiful man he didn’t even know. How did one even address this.
Maybe the best thing would be to just leave as quietly as he could. Otabek watched as the man leaned forward and onto his knees and crumpled in on himself. He knew he couldn’t just leave now.” Or the story in which Otabek accidentally witnesses Yuri dealing with a tragic loss and kinda fucks up.

Never Content - silvershrubbery, Sukiyaki_Rut

“If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content.” Or: Mila and Sara end up as roommates their sophomore year of college, but there’s a problematic division among the international dance students that puts them on opposite sides of a war. Despite that Sara can’t deny her crush on Mila, and Mila has a growing appreciation for the quiet but free-spirited Italian. When a scandal ensues, things become more complicated for everyone involved. Alternates between Mila’s and Sara’s perspectives each written by one of us, but you’ll catch on. Also, the ages have been adjusted so Mila and Sara are the same year in college; everything else is pretty much based on canon.

Oh the world is okay - mozaikmage

now with more characters and everyone being friends, yay

On Love: Voice - Pigfarts23

Au where Otabek and Yuri have to collaborate and they compose Agape together. The unholy music/college AU you didn’t ask for but got anyway

poly-A tail - owlinaminor

poly-A tail: a long string of RNA containing only adenine bases, added to the 3’ end of a pre-mRNA transcript to protect it from degradation as it travels through the cytoplasm. when depicted in textbooks, the structure is written as simply a long string of A’s. (or: in which yulia plisetskaya forms a study group, makes a friend, and learns that finals week is about more than taking tests.)

Shape of YouForestfish

Yuri wants to sleep but his neighbour keeps remixing into the wee hours of the morning. (in this AU they’re studying in England and living in the same halls of residence)

Taste of Paradise - Spicenee

With another successful house party under their belt, Yuri wanted to keep the party going with his roommates/boyfriends which wouldn’t be too hard to do. “We were wondering how much we made tonight.” Otabek said. He wrapped an arm around Yuri’s waist, pulling him closer to his chest. “Oh. Right, the money.” Yuri got up, turning so that both Otabek and JJ had a good look at his ass. Yuri reached back in to his back pocket, making sure to stick his ass out. He smirked when he noticed how JJ’s pupils dilated when he ran his hand down the curve of his ass. He slowly pulled out money from one of his back pockets before running his hand along his ass to the other back pocket.

Three Cheers and you Lose.Goddess_Of_Profanity

Yavok Feltsman, a retired NHL coach, is forced into teaching a team of useless, enthusiastic college students. As the hockey team grows closer together, problems develop, and relationships evolve. Will the group be able to hold everything together, or will it all fall apart?

wannabe rockstars and prima ballerinas - thehearsesong

au in which yuuri and viktor both attend columbia college in chicago. viktor is a music major and in a band and yuuri is a ballerina studying at the joffrey ballet academy as well as majoring in dance at columbia. they get paired up together for a project in class and viktor wants to be yuuri’s friend, dammit but yuuri has crippling anxiety basically yuuri gets bullied into supporting vitya’s band, there’s some ballet, phichit is the ultimate wingman as usual, and there’s fluff and college student hijinks

who you gonna call? - apollothyme

“Who would win in a fight between a giant pigeon and Iron Man?” “Yura, it’s four in the morning.”

You Must Be The Roomie - kaitlynsmth

AU where Yuri Plisetsky is a 19 year old social media star/dancer and is at college, and his roommate is in a band with Otabek Altin, who Yuri can’t help but pine over. 

Evan Peters- Liar

Word Count: 2035

Warning: heart break, cussing, and my weird writing.

A/N: I don’t really watch Evan Peters interviews and such , so I’m sorry if this isn’t the way he’ll act.
——––——–—–—–—–
Flashback
Calm down Y/N. You’ll be okay. You are gonna live your dream! He’ll be happy. You’ll come back. At least you’re at home and no-

I snapped out of thought when Evan tapped my shoulder.

“Are you okay babe?” Evan said to me

I looked at him and gave a light smile.

“Of course I am!” I said

“You looked scared.” He said with a frown, “Are you sure?”

“A little bit. I’m just have to tell you something.” I said putting my head down.

He grabbed my hands, “You can tell me anything and you know that.”

“Okay…” I took a deep breath, “I got the job I wanted.”

I looked up to see him smiling.

“That’s great ne-” I cut Evan off.

“It’s in England.” I said looking down.

He tried to speak words, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry Evan…” I said on the verge of tears.

“Hey…” he said quietly, “Don’t cry. We’ll see each other soon. I can visit.” He said lifting my face up with a finger. He kissed me lightly.

“It’ll be alright…”

END OF THE FUCKING FLASHBACK BITCHES

“It’ll be alright” was the only thing floating through my mind.

“Liar…” I said as I looked at the photo.

It was him and his co-worker, Emma, kissing.

“THAT FUCKING LIAR!” I screamed as I flung a paint brush across the room.

How could he. How could he do that to me. I thought he was the one! The one who wouldn’t hurt me.

I’m wrong.

I grabbed a canvas out of a box and painted my heart out.

All I could do was paint. All I could think of was the hurt and pain running through me.

I was crying as I painted. All the colors I used expressed my emotions. Each brush stroke expressed my pain. How they were shades of blue and maroon with rough and jagged strokes.
(A/N: I think that expresses sadness and anger.)

In the end it was an abstract painting of a girl  on her knees crying, ripping her chest open to reveal her broken heart. Her head was tilted back and her long hair was so jagged, but it flowed down.

I smiled weakly as I signed my name. I felt a bit better, but a hole was still in my chest. I felt nothing there. Where is used to feel a pulse. Now I feel nothing there. It hurt.

I checked the time.
3:00 am.
(A/N: I don’t know how to convert it.)

I just took off my clothes and slept. I was drained emotionally and physically.

-Le Next Day-

I woke up with a knock on my apartment, or flat is what they say here, door.

I got up an-

“I’m leaving today!” I said

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!

I ran to a suitcase and grabbed a shirt and sweats. I got in the restroom and did stuff.

Someone was knocking.

“THE DOOR!” I yelled with my toothbrush in my mouth. I ran to it and opened it.

“Ms. Y/L/N your ride is ready to leave.” The man said in a very thick British accent, that sounded a bit like Matthew Lewis.

“I will be down in three minutes.” I said trying to smile with a toothbrush in my mouth.

“Will you need help?” The man said.

“Yes please, but not my green bag.” I said calmly.

“Yes ma'am.” He said with a smile.

I went back to the restroom and rinsed my mouth. I packed up my toiletries, and started to think.

Where am I going to stay? I’m not going back home. I need a plan.

Maybe Y/F/N will be able to let me stay at their place.

Or you can confront him!

No little voice. I will not confront that asshole.

Fine! Suit yourself.

I’m going crazy aren’t I?

Yes. You are talking to yourself.

Maybe that little voice is right. Maybe I should talk to him. Maybe it wasn’t what I thought of. Also that I need to get checked for any mental disorders.

“Ma'am. The car is ready and so are your luggage.” The man said.

I snapped my head to him.

“Thank you.” I smiled at him politely, “I will be out.”

He nodded and left.

Time to stop thinking and relax for an hours now.

-Time Skip brought by Jimmy Dean-

So that was a lie about not thinking. I thought a lot.

About life decisions and a lot about Evan.

Was he worth my tears?

I shook the thought of my head.

WAIT!

Who’s picking me up?

I got my carry on from the over head compartment, and exited the plane wearily. I went to baggage claim and got my bags. The others are going to be shipped to my house. Well our house.

I sighed I turned my phone on. Should of down that earlier. Whelp!

It took a couple minutes for it to turn on, but soon all the notifications came in.

Twitter.

Instagram.

Facebook.

One from MySpace.

19 missed phone calls and 20 messages from him.

I texted F/N to pick me up. Even if Evan came I won’t go with that asshat.

She said she’ll be there in 46 minutes because she lived close by and no traffic.

I went to sit and relaxed.

I went to my texts and said, “We are over. Don’t look for me. Don’t speak to me. We are over.”

My fingers hovered over the send button. I breathed in and hit send. It’s over. Time down the drain.
(A/N: Even my heart is hurting writing this.)

I stare at my phone noticing all these notifications. Mostly Twitter, so my curious mind decided to check.

So many people were bashing Evans and Emma. Whelp. Serves them right.

Some people say I deserved it and they saw it coming. Those soggy ass waffles.

I decided to respond.

“If I couldn’t see it coming then… How would you?” I tweeted.
(A/N: Cringe)

I turned off all notifications except my essentials. Messaging and phone calls. I just muted Evan. Simple.

Break down again! It’s healthy.

Not this again.

You made me up. This is you. I’m telling you what you tell your friends. You even say it’s good advice, so why not take it.

Because I don’t want to cry anymore!

I said to the little voice with an annoyed expression.

I got my earbuds out and decided to try and relax.

I put my Spotify songs on shuffle and let relaxation take over me.

I got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match

Great.” I mumbled to myself taking a deep breath.

What a catch, what a catch
Whoa
You’ll never catch us
So just let me be
Said I’ll be fine
‘Till the hospital or American Embassy
Miss Flack said I still want you back
Yeah, Miss Flack said I still want you back
I got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
And all I can think of
Is the way I’m the one
Who charmed the one
Who gave up on you
Who gave up on you
They say the captain
Goes down with the ship
So, when the world ends
Will God go down with it?
Miss Flack said I still want you back
Yeah, Miss Flack said I still want you back
I got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
And all I can think of
Is the way I’m the one
Who charmed the one
Who gave up on you
Who gave up on you
What a catch
What a catch
What a catch
What a catch
I will never end up like him
Behind my back, I already am
Keep a calendar
This way you will always know
I got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
And all I can think of
Is the way I’m the one
Who charmed the one
Who gave up on you
Who gave up on you
Where is your boy tonight?
I hope he is a gentleman
Maybe he won’t find out what I know
You were the last good thing
We’re going down, down in an earlier round
And sugar, we’re goin’ down swinging
Dance, dance, we’re falling apart to halftime
Dance, dance, and these are the lives you’d love to lead
Dance, this is the way they’d love
If they knew how misery loved me
This ain’t a scene, it’s a goddamn arms race
This ain’t a scene, it’s a goddamn arms race
One night and one more time
Thanks for the memories
Even though they weren’t so great
He tastes like you, only sweeter
Growing up, growing up
I got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch

I remained at the airport till my friend picked me up. I trusted them with my life, and sometimes I shouldn’t.

They took me in and they gave me everything I needed. They were great, but what lingered on my mind was.

Evan…

-Time Skip: A week-

I opened the door and saw him. Why is he here!? I was about to close it, but he put his foot in the way.

“Y/N. Hear me out.”  I heard her voice say softly.

I nodded slowly unsure of what to say because if I did this would be a shit show.

“The article isn’t true.” He said to me, “We were going out to lunch together after a shoot with the cast. I was whispering something in her ear because I didn’t want others to hear, of course. They photoshopped to make us look like we were kissing. I swear. I would never hurt you. You make me so happy! You make me the happiest man!” He used small hand gestures. I looked in her eyes to see if he was lying, but he wasn’t, “I love everything about you. From how your hair smells to how sweet you are! I would never ever hurt you like this. I promised you.” He said with his voice cracking in the end.

“You really didn’t do any of it?” I said quietly.

He lightly grabbed my face.

I hesitated, but I grabbed one of his hands lightly.

“I would never lie to you for something this huge. Without you I don’t feel whole. I don’t feel me without knowing I can’t protect you. It hurts knowing I hurt you. It even hurts going home because I know you aren’t there.” He said looking me in the eye.

He really wasn’t lying.

You miss him. Go to him.

At this moment I didn’t hate this voice. It was right.

“I love you.” I said hugging him.

He hugged back almost instantly.

I pulled back and dragged him into the house.

Then I started thinking as I locked the door.

I turned back to him.

“What did you say to her?” I said to him.

He blushed.

Now it was his turn. He hesitated.

“I told her that I-I wa-wanted to m-marry you.” He said very nervously.

My eyes widened, but I smiled.

“You want to marry me?” I said sheepishly with a blush evident on my face.

“I still do.” He said confidently.

“Is that offer still up?” I said rubbing my arm.

I just got him back and I’m asking him to basically marry me.

He smiled widely and got down on one knee.

“Will you Y/N Y/L/N become my partner-in-crime for life, even in the afterlife?” He said pulling a a black box out with a beautiful ring inside.
(A/N: Imagine the ring because I don’t know your style at all.)

“Yes!” I said jumping on him.

I smashed my lips on him and he smiled into it. This kiss was a kiss that made up all the lost time.

He was my world. He made me so happy. His personality made me smile, and his looks made me smirk.

He was mine and I love him.
———-
A/N:
The next part will involve some naughty things.

Disappearance

She knew it would be strange and lonely to study abroad. She knew she’d feel lost, bewildered. It even had a name - culture shock. Like something benign, almost. Like jumping into a cold stream on a hot day, her mother said, it almost blanks your mind out to start with, but if you tough it out and stay in it, you adjust.

But she didn’t adjust, was the thing. It wasn’t just the distance, staying up late or getting up early to put fuzzy, stuttering skype calls through to her family, writing letters and postcards when that stopped working so well. It wasn’t the differences in language, the big and small adjustments she had to make for culture. (Why did Americans have to smile so wide, talk so loud?)

The place was weird was the thing. There were a thousand better words maybe - unsettling, abnormal, offset - but it all just boiled down to weird.

Home - England - could be weird too, but that was home weird, a right and natural weird. A weird of small tree copses and unloved council estates, of dark shadows traipsing the motorways and black dogs in the fog. She knew that magic. She’d tasted it already, knew the poisoned honey taste of it on her tongue. Merlin and Arthur sleeping until a prophesised time of great need, The Beast of Bodmin roaming wild, the sun behind the stones at Avebury.

Oh, she saw them, the gentry of Elsewhere University, she saw them in shadows and from the corners of her eyes and reflected in smooth surfaces. She knew them for legend and myth, she knew them - but she didn’t know them, either. They were different here, like the people were. She avoided eye contact, and never listened to the music from the lake no matter how beautiful it was, and when that pretty couple at the bar asked her home she didn’t go, because they smelled like chamomile flowers and poppies and blood.

It might have been fun, though.

She got fewer and fewer responses to her letters. Skype didn’t work at all any more. She made no friends, and none of her teachers remembered her name for more than three minutes. (she counted, on a stopwatch.)

She was disappearing, bit by bit from life, and no-one would care, no-one would remember. Nothing left of her.

She thought, in sharp jagged moments, of forcing some kind of remembrance. Of some kind of destructive public display - But she didn’t want to hurt herself, didn’t want to bring herself back into the world through destroying herself.

There was another option, her reflection said to her, when she looked into it too long. You’re vanishing anyway, what does it matter? It’s beautiful, you know, it’s beautiful.

She spent days, weeks, centuries in her room, letting the dust gather over her, hands pressed to her face. Or maybe it was just days, and there was no dust.

Once, as a child, she’d had a friend who wasn’t there. An invisible friend, as so many children do, only - only - she knew. She knew the way magic felt on her skin, tangled up in her heart. She’d never even known she missed it so intently, like some organ in her that had been torn out and only now started aching.

It wasn’t so hard, in the end, to make the choice. To walk out on a cold clear night, when the moon was a thin crescent, and to say Yes.

-

And in the end it got boiled down, reduced to a new legend. The international student who couldn’t handle the change any more, who got stressed and gave herself away.

No-one even remembers her name.

[x]

HRH Prince William: BY ALASTAIR CAMPBELL

For years, Prince William found himself in a state of shock, unable to deal with the tragic death of his mother Princess Diana. As the nation wept that summer in 1997, in private William couldn’t allow himself to grieve. Quite simply, aged 15, he locked his emotions away, burying them beneath routine and a most dutiful, demanding public life. Until now. Recently, William has started talking about his loss, opening up and admitting his struggle and its effects - now he is passionately calling for all men to follow his example through his mental health campaign, Heads Together. In what is undoubtedly the most candid interview he has ever given, the 34-year-old future King talks exclusively to GQ about his mother’s death, his relationship with the media, his work, his family and how he is determined to lead by example. Oh, that my mother was alive to see me now, walking into Kensington Palace on a sunny spring day, to take tea with the future King William. Born in the same year as the Queen, 1926, and given the same Christian name, Elizabeth, my mother “Betty” was a fervent monarchist; indeed one of my earliest political memories is of the row provoked when, about half a century ago, I refused to listen to the Queen’s Christmas Day message. She and I also used to argue about Prince William’s parents as the disintegration of their marriage provoked a bitter propaganda war between them and their supporters. Once I got to know Princess Diana, in a series of extraordinary meetings (see my diaries, volume one) before Labour won power in 1997, despite the nasty columns I used to write about her as a journalist, I became something of a fan. I was smitten indeed, and so took her side in the Charles-Diana rows taking place in homes up and down the country. My mother was more for Charles, seeing as how he was going to be the next king. It is not a conversion from republicanism that has sparked this meeting with the Prince - though “President Trump” would challenge anyone’s faith in an elected head of state - but a common cause, namely the desire to eradicate the stigma and taboo surrounding mental illness. Prince William, his wife Catherine and his brother Harry, have chosen mental health as their main cause, and their Heads Together campaign has been successfully promoting the importance of being as open about our mental health as we are about our physical health. When they started off down this path, the republican in me was annoyed they could get so much traction for anything they did; but the Time To Change mental health campaigner was overjoyed. They have overseen the making of a series of short films showing the importance of talking about mental health problems rather than bottling them up. To my surprise, I was asked to take part in a film, talking with my partner Fiona about how my mental health troubles impact on us. Then, even more surprisingly, given how few extended interviews he gives, he agreed to be interviewed for GQ. I had met him a few times, on the British and Irish Lions rugby tour of New Zealand in 2005, for example, and more recently at a dinner where I asked him whether he would follow the lead of his grandmother when he became king, by never giving an interview as monarch. Here, I was keen to test two things in particular. One was whether his commitment to this cause was real and whether he had a proper understanding of the issues. You can make up your own mind on that, but after an hour and a half at the palace, mine was made up in his favour. Secondly, I wanted to see how close to the public persona the more private man in his own habitat might be. Would he speak with the same stilted style that seems to characterise his public speaking? He didn’t. Would he have a sense of humour? He did. Would he stand on ceremony? He didn’t. Was there any real passion behind the shy exterior? There was. Indeed, were she still here, I would have called my mum and told her, “Good news - I liked him.”

What son doesn’t miss his mother when she’s gone? As you shall see, almost 20 years on from that car crash in Paris, Prince William clearly misses Princess Diana intensely, saying it is only now he feels able properly to talk about her death, the extraordinary week that followed it, and the enormous impact it had on him and his brother. He doesn’t believe she had mental health problems, and nor does he think that he does. But the trauma he suffered losing her so young, and in such awful circumstances, partly explains why he is determined to get the nation talking more about our emotions, not least because, in life and death, his mother changed the way we express them.

AC: So what’s a nice future king like you doing with an old leftie republican like me?

PW: That’s a very good question Alastair [laughs]. To be honest, I really don’t care where people come from, I like meeting and talking to people from all backgrounds. And this is a good opportunity to talk about something that is very close to your heart, and very close to mine.

AC: And why is mental health so close to yours?

PW: Practically everything in my charitable life, in the end, is to do with mental health, whether it be homelessness, veterans’ welfare, my wife and the work she is doing on addiction; so much of what we do comes back to mental health. Also, if I think about my current job as a helicopter pilot with the air ambulance service in East Anglia, my first job there was a suicide and it really affected me. I have been to a number of suicides, self harms, overdoses.

AC: In what way did it affect you?

PW: Not just the person who lost their life, but the people they leave behind. One of the stats I was given was that, just in the area we cover in the east of England - my base is in Cambridge - there are five attempted suicides every day. Yet suicide is still not talked about. So people have the pain of loss, but also the stigma and taboo means they are sometimes ashamed even to talk about how a lover, a partner, a brother, a sister, a best friend, how they died. That stat - five attempted suicides in the East Anglia region alone - it blew my mind, I thought, “Oh my God, this is such a big issue.”

AC: I am a patron of the Maytree suicide sanctuary in north London, and you and your wife made a private visit there. What impact did that have?

PW: The thing that made an impression on me, it wasn’t just the feelings of the people, the pain they were going through and the care for them, it was that this is the only place of its kind in the UK. It may be the only one in the whole of Europe, and I thought, this is terrifying, it really is, there should be more places like this, where people can go when they’re desperate. I have spoken to suicide groups and having been through personal grief myself, I had an inkling of what to expect, but it was all so raw. When someone does end their own life, [there are] so many questions, people feeling guilty, why didn’t we see it, why didn’t we do more, and all surrounded by this massive taboo. I found it eye opening, so revealing as to what goes on in people’s minds.

AC: When you land in your air ambulance and you get out, what on earth do they say when they see you?

PW: We are only likely to be there if people are in deep trauma or unconscious.

AC: But the other people there?

PW: We are often the first on the scene. Also, I do hang back a little. We land, we secure the scene, I will be sorting the comms for the next flight, and then I might be running around helping with equipment and so on.

AC: Nobody ever has to explain, say, “Sorry, don’t worry about him”?

PW: Most people seem to guess, but I do keep as far back as I can and let the team do what they have to do. I maybe carry the stretcher, carry the kit, sort the comms for the next leg. It is all very fast paced.

AC: Why do the three of you work together on Heads Together?

PW: It is a bit of an experiment really. The Royal Family has not normally done this, three members of the family pulling together to focus on one thing. Normally things are quite disjointed, we follow our own interests and see where it goes, but we thought, well, if we tied it together and had a focused approach, how would that work? We wanted to see the impact we could have.

AC: You must get bombarded with approaches and requests? How do you decide what causes and events to support? Do you try to be strategic about it?

PW: Focused rather than strategic, I would say. When I settle on something, I want to dig deep, I want to understand what I am involved in, I want to understand the complexities of all the issues and, above all, I want to make an impact.

AC: Do you not get frustrated, though? Of course, there are advantages to your position but there are limitations too, because you cannot stray into politics. So you can’t do what I do and bang the drum for more resources and more action from government. Is that not really frustrating?

PW: It can be frustrating at times. I watch the political world, I am interested in it, at times I feel there are things going on I could really help with, but you have to understand where you sit and what the limits are; and with regard to what we do in our charity work, I like to think you can do just as much good but in a different direction.

AC: It’s great you guys are getting involved in mental health. Generally, my worry, though, is there is a danger that making improvements on stigma and taboos is seen as a substitute for services, not an accompaniment. Presumably you saying something like that goes beyond acceptable limits?

PW: No, not at all. I can say that. If I attack government policy, no, I can’t, but I can certainly make that kind of point. What we can do is convene, bring people together, organise private meetings, get experts in one room who might otherwise not always meet, they tend not to refuse an invitation, and we can thrash things out.

AC: Is it very much Harry on veterans, Kate on addiction and young women, you on men in general?

PW: A little bit. Harry has the Invictus Games and focuses a lot on veterans. But we are not stuck in our boxes. We are all three of us trying to understand the tentacles of mental health, which go everywhere. I do think if you are focused about general aims you can have a much greater impact. So we do try to stay focused, not splurge around.

AC: Are you in the mental health space for the long haul?

PW: Medium to long term, definitely. What we would love to do is smash the taboo. Getting the London Marathon as the mental health marathon, that was a big thing, and I hope we are reaching a tipping point. But it is a bit like wading through treacle. It is tough. We are now looking at a legacy programme. We are not going to rush, and the mental health sector has to believe in what we might propose, so we are getting expert opinion and then we will pick and choose and decide what we do.

AC: Why don’t you do the London Marathon yourself?

PW: I would love to, but from the policing point of view, they tested it and they were like, “What?” I am keen to do a marathon but it won’t be London.

AC: What about getting a treadmill in here and doing it while everyone else is pounding the streets?

PW: It would be so boring.

AC: Be great television.

PW: I think I would have mental health issues if I was just staring at that wall. I do want to do it though - and the training. In the military we did plenty of similar things to marathons, like yomping over the Brecon Beacons with a ton of kit on your back. I am just pleased we got London as the mental health marathon.

AC: Do you have specific goals and outcomes for the campaign?

PW: Smashing the taboo is our biggest aim. We can’t go anywhere much until that’s done. People can’t access services till they feel less ashamed, so we must tackle the taboo, the stigma, for goodness sake, this is the 21st century. I’ve been really shocked how many people live in fear and in silence because of mental illness. I just don’t understand it. I know I come across as quite reserved and shy, I don’t always have my emotions brewing, but behind closed doors I think about the issues, I get very passionate about things. I rely on people around me for opinions, and I am a great believer in communication on these issues. I cannot understand how families, even behind closed doors, still find it so hard to talk about it. I am shocked we are so worried about saying anything about the true feelings we have. Because mental illness is inside our heads, invisible, it means others tread so carefully, and people don’t know what to say, whereas if you have a broken leg in plaster, everyone knows what to say.

AC: This is my vested interest speaking here, but what with the marathon and the other things, do you think you might stay in this mental health space for good?

PW: We want to see what impact we can have.

AC: You are making an impact now.

PW: I feel we’re going in the right direction, but not making as much impact as we would like. You know what it is like, you want to get there, grapple with all the issues, get there quickly, make the change that is needed.

AC: But in your position, can you do that?

PW: You can, but you have to do it carefully. Maybe we do make change but the way we do it is slower. We get the benefits of more publicity for the things we do.

AC: I do remember when your father’s letters used to come into Number Ten. Will you go down that route, with his very frank letters to ministers?

PW: [Laughs.] Could you read them?

AC: It wasn’t the handwriting that was the problem.

PW: I have written to ministers but purely to point them towards people I think they should see. So a charity might ask me if I can help with someone and I can help get them access to the people in government.

AC: So you don’t lobby but you introduce?

PW: There are issues I am interested in and I am happy to connect people to ministers.

AC: But you’re perhaps not as robust as your father?

PW: My father has always come at this from a depth of knowledge and a desire to help. He only gets involved in anything when he has those two things: knowledge matched to a desire to help. He genuinely cares. We can argue till the cows come home about whether what he says is right or wrong, but he lives this stuff every day, goes into minute detail, wants to help inform opinion and provide knowledge. I would love to know what the public really think, whether they feel shocked or pleased he gets involved. He has done this for a long, long time, and I think he has used his role really well to raise a lot of questions that people need to ask.

AC: So what might this mental health legacy be?

PW: One idea is getting mental health first aiders in schools. Teachers are under such pressure, they face so many challenges every day. They cannot be expected to be mental health counsellors as well, so we thought there must be a way of having mental health first aiders who can be attached to one or two schools.

AC: Is that something you would promote or fund?

PW: That is what we need to work out. It is a bit of a challenge, but we have a whole range of ideas we are looking at.

AC: Now, tell me about the idea of the films - and thank you for asking me to do one.

PW: Thank for you doing it. I watched it this morning.

AC: What was the purpose of them?

PW: This was predominantly about the importance of the conversation. The point we wanted to get over was that, often, talking is the best thing you can do - it can start the whole process of recovery. For a lot of people things brew up, particularly men maybe, they don’t want to talk about problems.

AC: When you were growing up, when you were still at school, did you feel you were surrounded by people who couldn’t talk about feelings?

PW: Yes, I think so, but I do think a generational shift has gone on. If I look at my parents’ generation, there was a lot more stiff upper lip going on. Don’t get me wrong, there is a time and a place for the stiff upper lip, and, for those of us in public life, times when you have to maintain it, but behind closed doors, in normal everyday life, we have to be more open and upfront with our feelings and emotions. Mental health in the workplace is a huge issue, and a sensitive area, and leadership is important here. When you see people in high-powered jobs in the City and big corporations who got there despite their mental health problems, that is a huge success story and it shouldn’t be seen as anything else.

AC: Or maybe people get there because of their mental health problems too.

PW: Absolutely.

AC: I feel I owe mine quite a lot.

PW: Absolutely, but what is really important here is that we are normalising mental health, so if a CEO comes out and says, “I went through this, I got through these dark times,” that is amazing, it normalises, it has an impact then in that organisation and beyond. But without that kind of thing, people tend to make excuses, avoid talking about issues that may be affecting them, pretend everything is fine.

AC: So as an employer, if one of your staff came and saw you and said, “I am really struggling,” do you think you would deal with that properly?

PW: Definitely. I am not pretending I am an amazing counsellor, or a specialist, I’m not, but I would take it seriously and if they needed help I would find it for them.

AC: Now, on the stiff upper lip, I can see why there may be a place for that. But listen… my mother died when I was 56, she had a full life, died quickly, relatively painlessly, but it was very upsetting. I am not sure I could have walked behind her coffin with millions of people around the world looking at me, without crying.

PW: No.

AC: So how hard was that?

PW: It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But if I had been in floods of tears the entire way round how would that have looked?

AC: How can you not be in floods of tears if you feel like being in floods of tears?

PW: In the situation I was in, it was self-preservation. I didn’t feel comfortable anyway, having that massive outpouring of emotion around me. I am a very private person, and it was not easy. There was a lot of noise, a lot of crying, a lot of wailing, people were throwing stuff, people were fainting.

AC: As you were walking?

PW: Yes. It was a very unusual experience. It was something I don’t think anyone could have predicted. Looking back, the outpouring of grief and emotion was very touching but it was very odd to be in that situation.

AC: When you were up at Balmoral through the week, were you conscious of how big it all was down here in London?

PW: No, not at all. All I cared about was that I had lost my mum.

AC: So you were protected from everything happening on the Mall?

PW: Yes. I was 15, Harry almost 13, and the overwhelming thing was we had lost our mother.

AC: So when you came back, and you saw how big the reaction was?

PW: I didn’t take it in. I still didn’t realise what was going on, really.

AC: Did you grieve?

PW: That is a very good question. [Pause.] Probably not properly. I was in a state of shock for many years.

AC: Years?

PW: Yes, absolutely. People might find that weird, or think of shock as something that is there, it hits you, then in an hour or two, maybe a day or two, you are over it. Not when it is this big a deal; when you lose something so significant in your life, so central, I think the shock lasts for many years.

AC: My favourite soundbite of the Blair era was not from him, but your grandmother after 9/11, when she said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

PW: Yes, absolutely.

AC: But for you to say you felt you were in shock for years - how much harder is it when you are having to grieve or try to grieve with this extraordinary level of global scrutiny, and the endless ridiculous fascination in every detail of your and your mother’s lives.

PW: It does make it more difficult. It doesn’t make you less human. You’re the same person, it is a part of the job to have the interest. The thing is, you can’t bring all your baggage everywhere you go. You have to project the strength of the United Kingdom - that sounds ridiculous, but we have to do that. You can’t just be carrying baggage and throwing it out there and putting it on display everywhere you go. My mother did put herself right out there and that is why people were so touched by her. But I am determined to protect myself and the children, and that means preserving something for ourselves. I think I have a more developed sense of self-preservation.

AC: Yet the Heads Together campaign is all about saying we should talk, be more open about our emotions, out with the stiff upper lip, in with more talking.

PW: Absolutely.

AC: So is it different for you?

PW: Well, I am in the role I am in. But if I had mental health issues I would happily talk about them. I think the closest I got was the trauma I suffered when I lost my mother, the scale of the grief, and I still haven’t necessarily dealt with that grief as well as I could have done over the years.

AC: Who do you talk to?

PW: Family, friends, I talk to those around me who I trust.

AC: But it can’t be easy in your position to find people you can trust totally.

PW: It is hard. But I have always believed in being very open and honest. One of the few strengths I might have is I am good at reading people, and I can usually tell if someone is just being nice because of who I am, and saying stuff for the wrong reasons.

AC: Have you ever talked to people other than friends and family about your feelings?

PW: No I have not talked to a specialist or anyone clinical, but I have friends who are good listeners, and, on grief, I find talking about my mother and keeping her memory alive very important. I find it therapeutic to talk about her, and to talk about how I feel.

AC: So we are coming up to the 20th anniversary of her death. Are you looking forward to that? Or are you dreading it?

PW: I am not looking forward to it, no, but I am in a better place about it than I have been for a long time, where I can talk about her more openly, talk about her more honestly, and I can remember her better, and publicly talk about her better. It has taken me almost 20 years to get to that stage. I still find it difficult now because at the time it was so raw. And also it is not like most people’s grief, because everyone else knows about it, everyone knows the story, everyone knows her. It is a different situation for most people who lose someone they love, it can be hidden away or they can choose if they want to share their story. I don’t have that choice really. Everyone has seen it all.

AC: The first time I met your mother, in 1994, she said, “Why did you write those horrible things about me when you were a journalist?” I said, “My God, I can’t believe you read that stuff.” But she did. I was shocked that she had read it and also remembered it, it was years earlier. It made me think at the time that some people reach a certain level of fame at which media and public cease to see them as human beings. Do you think that is what happened to her, and do you think it has ever happened to you?

PW: Not with me, no. I think with her it was a unique case. The media issue with my mother was probably the worst any public figure has had to deal with.

AC: What? The intrusion, the harassment?

PW: Yes, but more the complete salacious appetite for anything, anything at all about her, even if there was no truth in it, none whatsoever.

AC: So you don’t have any sympathy with the argument that she cultivated her own friends in the media and fed the whole thing?

PW: I have been exploring this. Remember, I was young at the time. I didn’t know what was going on. I know some games and shenanigans were played, but she was isolated, she was lonely, things within her own life got very difficult and she found it very hard to get her side of the story across. I think she was possibly a bit naive and ended up playing into the hands of some very bad people.

AC: Media people?

PW: Yes. This was a young woman with a high profile position, very vulnerable, desperate to protect herself and her children and I feel strongly there was no responsibility taken by media executives who should have stepped in, and said, “Morally, what we are doing, is this right, is this fair, is this moral?” Harry and I were so young and I think if she had lived, when we were older we would have played that role, and I feel very sad and I still feel very angry that we were not old enough to be able to do more to protect her, not wise enough to step in and do something that could have made things better for her. I hold a lot of people to account that they did not do what they should have done, out of human decency.

AC: Were you not tempted to give evidence to the Leveson Inquiry?

PW: We discussed it, but decided in the end not to. Remember, we were the first to expose the phone hacking.

AC: You seem to get a hard time from one or two papers these days. Do you think there is a bit of score-settling going on?

PW: I don’t know.

AC: Do you get followed and chased by paps on bikes?

PW: Not often. But there is a lot of quite sophisticated surveillance that goes on.

AC: So even if not phone hacking, which is far from guaranteed, the press have moved on to other things?

PW: I suppose the one glimmer of light is that because of what happened to my mother, we do not get it as bad as she did. We still have problems, for sure, but do have a little more protection because of the ridiculous levels it got to for my mother - the fact she was killed being followed, being chased, I think there are more boundaries to their actions.

AC: Really?

PW: It is a little better than it used to be.

AC: During the week of her death, Tony Blair spoke to your father and he said to me afterwards, “This is going to be a problem, those boys are going to need help, they are going to despise the media, blame them for her death, yet the media will be a part of their lives.”

PW: Yes, they are.

AC: When you were in Paris recently, posing for hundreds of photographers with President Hollande, did you look at them and wonder if any of them were among the ones who chased her that night?

PW: I’m afraid those are the kind of things I have just had to come to terms with. It is so hard to explain, using only words, what it was like for my mother. If I could only bring out what I saw and what happened in my mother’s life and death, and the role the media played in that, that is the only way people would ever understand it. I can try to explain it in words, but to live it, see it, breathe it, you can’t explain how horrendous it was for her.

AC: Do you think the reaction to her death was a big factor in diminishing the stiff upper lip approach, and changed the way we mourn? Do you think the kind of reaction we saw when, say, David Bowie died last year, would have been the same without that reaction for your mother?

PW: No it wouldn’t. The massive outpouring around her death has really changed the British psyche, for the better.

AC: You do think it is for the better?

PW: Yes, I do think it is for the better.

AC: How much did that week after your mother’s death bring you and Harry together?

PW: We are very close.

AC: And that feeling of shock, sadness, you never felt it strayed over to what I would know as an illness, depression?

PW: I have never felt depressed in the way I understand it, but I have felt incredibly sad. And I feel the trauma of that day has lived with me for 20 years, like a weight, but I would not say that has led me to depression. I still want to get up in the morning, I want to do stuff, I still feel I can function. Believe me, at times it has felt like it would break me, but I have felt I have learned to manage it and I’ve talked about it. On the days when it has got bad I have never shied away from talking about it and addressing how I feel. I have gone straight to people around me and said, “Listen I need to talk about this today.”

AC: Like when?

PW: Last week with the air ambulance, I flew to a really bad case, a small boy and a car accident. I have seen quite a lot of car injuries, and you have to deal with what you see, but every now and then one gets through the armour. This one penetrated the armour, not just me but the crew who have seen so much. It was the feelings of loss from a parent’s point of view, the parents of the boy. Anything to do with parent and child, and loss, it is very difficult, it has a big effect on me, it takes me straight back to my emotions back when my mother died, and I did go and talk to people at work about it. I felt so sad. I felt that one family’s pain and it took me right back to the experience I had. The more relatable pain is to your own life the harder it is to shake it off.

AC: How has the passing of time helped?

PW: They do say time is a healer, but I don’t think it heals fully. It helps you deal with it better. I don’t think it ever fully heals.

AC: Is there a part of you that doesn’t want it to heal fully because for that to happen might make her feel more distant? So you feel the need to stay strongly attached? If grief is the price we pay for love, maybe you want to keep the grief out of fear that loss of grief means you love her less?

PW: One thing I can always say about my mother is she smothered Harry and me in love. Twenty years on I still feel the love she gave us and that is testament to her massive heart and her amazing ability to be a great mother.

AC: How different do you think the country would be if she was still here?

PW: I have thought about that, but mainly from my own perspective. I would like to have had her advice. I would love her to have met Catherine and to have seen the children grow up. It makes me sad that she won’t, that they will never know her.

AC: What about the public Diana?

PW: I think she would have carried on, really getting stuck into various causes and making change. If you look at some of the issues she focused on, leprosy, Aids, landmines, she went for some tough areas. She would have carried on with that.

AC: She was an extraordinary woman.

PW: She was.

AC: How hard do you find the scrutiny? I mean you can’t even do a bit of bad dad dancing without someone taking a video?

PW: [Laughs.] Honestly, I can dance better than that. It’s true though, camera phones, Twitter, there’s not much privacy. I don’t think it was too bad. It wasn’t as if I was falling out of a nightclub, totally wasted. I think people realise everyone has to blow off a bit of energy and tension every now and then.

AC: So how did you feel when some of the papers said you don’t work hard enough?

PW: Criticism is part of the turf, I’m afraid. I think the public are much more nuanced. I have my air ambulance job, I carry out the duties the Queen asks me to, I have my charities and causes and I am raising a young family, so I can’t let that criticism get to me.

AC: A couple of the papers do seem to have turned against you, though?

PW: There is a certain element of Fleet Street getting fed up with nice stories about us. They want the past back again, soap, drama.

AC: Do you see it as part of your job to avoid giving them that? A bit of normality, stability.

PW: I couldn’t do my job without the stability of the family. Stability at home is so important to me. I want to bring up my children in a happy, stable, secure world, and that is so important to both of us as parents. I want George to grow up in a real, living environment, I don’t want him growing up behind palace walls, he has to be out there. The media make it harder but I will fight for them to have a normal life.

AC: But surely you must accept it is an abnormal life?

PW: Totally, but I can still try to protect them as children.

AC: The Queen, your father, you, now George. Four people on the planet who might one day be the head of state in the UK. It is fair to say republicanism has lost, not least thanks to your grandmother. The monarchy seems to have bucked the trend even though we live in a non-deferential, anti-establishment age. Do you feel that?

PW: I do feel the monarchy is in a good place and, like you say, my grandmother has done a remarkable job leading the country - her vision, her sense of duty, her loyalty, her steadfastness, it has been unwavering. We now have three generations of working royals, four altogether, and having that movement through the generations allows for the monarchy to stay relevant and keep up with modern times. You are only as good as your last gig and it is really important you look forward, plan, have a vision.

AC: Do you not look at the Queen, yet another garden party, yet another investiture, yet another state visit, and think how on earth can she keep going?

PW: Yes I do.

AC: Do you, your father and the Queen ever sit down, just the three of you, and just natter?

PW: [Laughs.] What, about Lady Gaga or something? [Prince William had recently recorded a Facetime chat with Lady Gaga for the campaign.]

AC: I was thinking more about being head of state. I mean, how do you learn?

PW: You learn on the job. There is no rulebook. I sometimes wonder if there should be, but in the end I think probably not. Having that difference in how we do things makes the Royal Family more interesting and more flexible. If we all followed the same line, it would all be quite stifled. Our characters are different and the different opinions are important to have.

AC: Your grandmother has always believed in there being a bit of mystique attached to it all as well.

PW: Absolutely.

AC: Never ever given an interview.

PW: No. Never. I seem to have sold the pass on that one.

anonymous asked:

For FMM- Jamie meets this guy named Murray, that comes from a Scottish family and for the story he tells Jamie he could be a descendant of Jenny and Ian.

Flood my Mornings: Hogmanay 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

December 31, 1950

“Is it ridiculous that I’m feeling nervous as a girl on the first day of school?” I asked, smoothing my coat with one hand and squeezing Bree’s hand with the other as we waited in the tidy hallway outside the MacAlister’s door. 

“You’ve no reason, lass,” Jamie assured me. I knew he wanted to put his arm around my back, but his hands were full of whisky bottles and Bree’s diaper bag. He did manage to lean in and kiss my cheek. “They’ll take to ye just fine.” 

This particular get-together was long overdue. I’d been delighted to learn about Jamie’s serendipitous meeting with the Irish hurling group, and the subsequent connection with the lone Scot, Charlie MacAlister. Though Jamie had gone several times since to join the game or else get a drink one-on-one with Charlie (apparently a chap after Jamie’s own heart in many ways), the several times we had tried to schedule a family dinner since Halloween, the fates had always seen fit to intervene, with holidays, birthdays, morning sickness, et cetera, et cetera. 

Fitting, though, that at long last, we should be spending this thoroughly Scottish holiday with a thoroughly Scottish (well, Gaelic, collectively) family. 

The door opened with a bang and a roar of “A GOOD NEW YEAR TO YE!!”

Even in the first five seconds of our acquaintance, Charlie MacAlister gave me so strong a recollection of a MacKenzie clansman, I felt like I’d been jolted back into Castle Leoch itself. Jocular, irreverent, fiercely protective and loyal to a fault, those men had alternately vexed and delighted and protected and astounded me with their vigor and kindness and overall enthusiasm for living, in all its forms. 

Perhaps that’s why it didn’t perturb me in the slightest that Jamie’s friend’s choice greeting was to lift me clear off my feet in a massive rib-crushing hug; and even though it was the first time I was laying eyes on the man, I couldn’t help but laugh and hug him back , brimming with warmth and affection at once. “Well, hello to you too!”  I felt Jamie relax behind me: I’d given my permission, so he would not come to my rescue. I thought I could actually sense him grinning.  

“I’m so glad to finally meet ye, Claire!” Charlie boomed as he set me back on the ground, taking me in. “From the way Jamie speaks of ye—” His eyes suddenly lit up and he whipped them up to Jamie with a grin. “Why, ye wicked wee dog, Fraser: ye didna say!!” He threw his head back and roared with, “Meal a naidheachd to ye both!” He straightened to give me a wink. “When are ye due, then, lass?” 

“CHARLIE!!!” barked a red-haired woman behind him, his wife, Saoirse. 

“What? It’s—” Charlie spluttered and made vague gestures between himself and my notably curved belly. “I’m only—” 

“You’re only about making a fool of yourself, Charlie Mac. Keep your mouth shut, if you please?” She gave me an apologetic look that was nonetheless warm and kind. “Please be accepting BOTH our apologies for that great gowl over there.” After greeting Jamie, she turned and swatted her husband hard on the shoulder, her eyes blazing as she said between clenched teeth. “Have you no control over that tongue??”

“I do—and ye tend to like my control of it, lass…” and he bent her head back to kiss her thoroughly. She tried to push him away but she couldn’t resist laughing as his hands roamed and she relented and kissed him back. 

God, this. THIS I’d missed—to see another couple who loved our same kind of irreverence and warmth and informality. Husbands and wives in these times—at least in post-war America—tended to err on the side of reserve in public, bordering on primness. Even Tom and Marian, as dear as they both were to to us, weren’t free with public displays of affection toward each other. Jamie and I tended to act precisely the way we wished and damn whoever should judge us for it, but it was unbelievably refreshing to not be the only ones in the room who would not be scandalized by lewd jokes.

On top of that, “Pregnancy” was considered a rather rude word, in American culture at present. Considering the massive increase in childbearing after the war, this seemed an enormously ridiculous cultural hangup (“be fruitful and multiply, but pretend the penises and vaginas don’t exist”). Those in the family way —as I now found myself—were treated with a delicate, pointed kind of embarrassment, as if to say, ‘look what she’s been doing…Heavens, what if she actually enjoyed it??’ 

I was used to the taboo, of course, having experienced it with Bree, and seen it around me, since; but it was an unexpected kind of relief to have it be so singled out with such joy and goodwill by these new friends. In fact, I was grinning like a prize idiot as I assured them both, “It’s quite alright, really.” I felt a rush of joy and pride at finally being able to share our news. I felt Jamie’s hand resting on my back. “You’ve spotted it right: we are expecting!”

Charlie gave a crow of triumph “I thought you’d been a little shifty these last few months about ‘family’ and things happening next year! When will the wean be arriving, then??”

“Late July,” I said, “or it might be the first of August.”

 Charlie stepped forward to clap both of us on the back, at which Saoirse looked absolutely mortified. I made a point of reassuring her when she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and offer her own comhghairdeas. 

Jamie accepted the hearty congratulations, grinning like a fool himself, “Let’s keep it between us, aye? We havena told Brianna yet.” He nodded at the children, who were already playing on the living room floor. “Perhaps talk in a wee code if it should come up?”

Saoirse nodded agreement. “Wee Nolan has ears like a hare and a mouth like a magpie.” She gave a pointed roll of the eyes. “Wonder who he could possibly be getting it from…?”


It had all the same modern conveniences as our own house, the MacAlister’s little flat, but something about it—the spices, maybe?—or—no, that wasn’t it….Something about it just felt like Scotland. Like home. 

If nothing else, I could see it in Jamie’s posture and manner. As for my own country of birth, I had rarely felt any great attachment to England that went beyond good tea and rolling hills. Home had been wherever I laid my head that night, and between Uncle Lamb, the war, and my experiences in the eighteenth century, I’d certainly spent more of my life amongst strangers than my own proper countrymen. But Jamie was Scotland, through and through, and even this small taste of it—Americanized and quasi-Irish as it might be—was enough to make him glow with an ease that filled my own heart in the seeing. He was happy with our life in Boston, I knew; blissful, even! To have our family together and safe was all he desired; but something about experiencing that deeper home-ness again was a restorative to his soul, and I thanked God for putting Charlie Mac in Jamie’s path. It was pure delight to see the two of them going on in rapid Gaelic, like brothers.

“They’re like two pups together, aren’t they?” Saoirse said fondly, echoing my silent thoughts as she took a seat beside me on the sofa. 

“Indeed they are,” I laughed, looking at them through the dining room doorway. 

Saoirse was as red-haired as Jamie, freckled and cheery-eyed. “Will you be speakin’ the Gaelidgh yourself, Claire?”

Very little,” I attempted in that language, my accent horrendous but the words correct, I was fairly certain.

Very well done,” she replied, laughing before switching back to English, her Irish accent broad and unashamed. “That’s about as much as I know of it, myself. My parents weren’t too keen on my marrying a Scot, but I’ve no regrets. Except maybe Charlie’s tendency to put his fool foot in his fool mouth.” 

“It’s rather endearing, actually,” I assured her. 

Despite herself, Saoirse grinned. “Damn me if it wasn’t one of the things that had me head-over-heels for the idiot.” 

We laughed and settled deeper into the comfy couch, covered over with homey afghans. “So, Charlie tells me you and Jamie met in Scotland, originally? Did ye like it, there?”

“I did!” I paused just for a moment. “Well, to tell it true, a lot of sad things happened there…but we had some of our happiest days, as well,” I added, thinking of those days at Lallybroch before the war.  

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” 

I thought about that for a long while. “To visit, certainly. When Brianna and—” I gestured to the baby, “are old enough to see and hear the stories, I think.”

“You’d never think of moving back permanently? Seems to be a dream of Charlie’s—It’d surprise me if Jamie had no similar desire.” 

We had indeed talked about it, and I knew Jamie’s very conflicted thoughts on the matter. “Part of him wishes for Scotland, yes—but it’s a Scotland that’s long-gone.”

That surprised her. “How so?”

“Jamie had…a lot of hard things happen to him there. He lost his family, and so doesn’t have anyone left.” 

“Not a soul?” 

“No one,“ I said, feeling the ache of it. I rubbed the baby absently. “So, he misses it, the land and its people and ways, but there isn’t anyone left in Scotland to make it home for him.”

“That’s very sad,” Saoirse murmured, sparing a glance toward the men in the dining room.

“It is. But you see, it’s easier to have our life in America: to keep Scotland in his mind the way it was, rather than feel the ache of it, seeing always what’s missing.”

“Aye, I understand….At least he has his lady—and his little ones.”

We shared a smile, and I wanted to ask her more about her own family, but just then the children descended, Bree, four-year-old Nolan, and little Will, just barely walking. No impromptu migration, this: the pack of them squealed in, chased by their fathers at their heels. 

“You lot are no better than the children!” I laughed. 

“Aye, maybe no’,” Jamie agreed, grinning, “But at least we’re old enough to drink, and they’re not.” 

“I AM!” Nolan insisted. “I’m plenty grow’d up!” 

“Oh, aye, to be sure,” Charlie said with a wink.  “I forgot we had a grown wee mannie in our midst.” He went to the kitchen and returned with an armful of ginger ale bottles. “A man needs a stiff drink.” He cracked open a lid and handed the glass bottle to his son, who looked terribly important at acknowledgment of his maturity. 

Bree was NOT intending to be overlooked. She put on her hips and insisted, “I’M mannie, TOO!” daring Charlie to say otherwise.

Nor did he, bless him. He already had a bottle ready for her. “Here ye go, wee mannie.” 

Bree had never had soda pop before, and she recoiled in surprise at first taste of the bubbly treat, looking as thought she’d rather skip this novelty; but, a true Fraser, she would never admit defeat with Nolan so proudly enjoying his, and so she gamely drank, getting violent hiccups almost instantly. 

“A Hogmanay toast?” Saoirse suggested, rising to her feet to pour some whisky. She offered one to me, but I accepted only a ginger ale.  Many people drank alcohol regularly during pregnancy, I knew (as had I, in the past) but somehow now it made me feel ill to think of accidentally intoxicating the poor thing. 

The toasts flew thick and fast. To our families! To the new year! To a better season on the pitch! To the whisky! And even—

“To our Bonnie Prince!” Charlie said, with an eye to Jamie, making a rude gesture toward the ceiling. “May he sleep wi’ spiders in his grave for the feckless wanker he was.”

“AAA-bloody-MEN!” I intoned with feeling.

“Aye,” Jamie said with a rueful nod as he drank, though he crossed himself.

He promptly choked as Bree squeaked out, “Whatssa WANE-gr?”

Before the rest of us could react, Nolan grinned fiendishly and started in with, “It means a–”

“That’s QUITE enough from you, a blalaich,” Saoirse said sharply. “And what would Great-Gran Murray say if she heard ye were knowing such a word??”

I shook with silent laughter along with Charlie, such that I almost didn’t hear Jamie’s quiet question: 

“…Murray?” 

My belly tightened and I whipped my eyes up to look at him. He’d schooled his face into a mask of control—a sure bellwether of the deep emotional turmoil within him. 

Good Lord…. 

“My mother’s mam. They live together in Cambridge,” Charlie said blithely as he poured more whiskey all around. “The MacAlisters were none too pleased about my Da’s choice, but even they had to admit in the end what a fine woman she was. Strong and certain and wi’ a mouth on her that could wither fruit. Not one to charm royalty, she, but a damn formidable sort, Murrays.”

Formidable.  Like Jenny. 

“From, erm, which part of Scotland, is your mother’s family?” I asked casually.

“Roundabout Inverness, mostly.”

My heart quickened with excitement. Not far at all from Broch Morda. I was opening my mouth to ask more questions, to narrow and ascertain, but then I caught Jamie’s eye, his ever-so-slight shake of the head. I closed my mouth.

Later, after supper, while Charlie and Saoirse cleared the table (refusing our many offers of help), Jamie and I took the children into the sitting room again.  

I took Jamie’s hand. “Why not, my love?” I asked gently. 

He knew what I meant, but he didn’t answer right away, nor did he look me in the eye. He pulled me close and pressed a kiss to my cheek. 

“Does it—” I began tentatively, but he was already speaking. 

“Tis enough to me,” he said, simply, “that they might be.” 

And though it at first struck me as utterly ridiculous, not to wish to know for certain, I did come to understand what he meant, as the evening went on. To KNOW was so final.  Jenny and Ian certainly had THOUSANDS of descendants, and even so, the chances that we’d encountered someone from their direct line was highly unlikely, or at the very least, very difficult to prove. To allow himself to believe–that was the gift, here.

And I could see it in his eyes, the soft contemplation of it, the sense of true brotherhood between he and Charlie now even deeper. The tenderness that radiated out from his face as he knelt to speak to little Will about a toy. I could almost see the thoughts rolling through him.

Might some scrap of this lad owe itself to Ian? 

To Jenny? 

To Ellen of Leoch or Black Brian Fraser?

Aye…it might.


“Bree, a leannan, do ye want to come sit wi’ Da?” 

“No,” she said, shrugging back and rubbing her face, “I wan’ Mama.” 

“Fair enough,” he laughed. “I would want your Mama, too.” 

“Come here, baby,” I beckoned, groaning a bit as I gathered her up against my chest. “Oof, there’s my sweet girl.” I savored the feeling, as I always did, of holding Bree in my arms and the baby in my body. The sounds around us were muffled and distant as we settled into a warm heap of love.

The radio was switched on at 10:00, detailing the new year’s celebrations happening around the country. We’d arrived late in the evening, with the little ones having taken naps late in the day to stave off sleepiness, but the late hour was still wearing on them. Hot chocolate and slices of Black Bun cake at 11:00 were enough to rouse them temporarily, but it still took a great deal to get them all conscious for the big moment as we all got to our feet for the final seconds of 1950. 

5…4…3…2…1!!!!

And as it always did, Auld lang syne began to play. It meant absolutely nothing to Jamie, of course. He had predated Robert Burns and his lyrics, and couldn’t have discerned the tune in any case, but he listened to the words with eager interest. Charlie was drowning out the radio with the traditional scots rendition, though I only knew the same anglicized version that was playing. 

Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?

And for the first time in my life, with my children held close and Jamie’s arm around my back, the song gave me chills:

We two have run about the slopes,

and picked the daisies fine;

But we’ve wandered many a weary foot

since auld lang syne.


We two have paddled in the stream,

from morning sun till dine

But seas between us broad have roared

since auld lang syne.

And both of us had tears running down our faces as we locked eyes. No, we wouldn’t ever forget the things of our past: neither the daisies of our life, nor the weary feet from the trampings of war, nor the roaring seas of tragedy that had indeed once swept us apart.  

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!

And give me a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.


And as we moved toward the front door for the first-footing, I kissed my trusty friend, and didn’t need to see any dark stranger outside to know that 1951 would be the best year of our lives. 


anonymous asked:

heya, i know this'll be a load of hassle for you and i completely understand if you don't want to but could you explain the whole mclennon thing a bit more for me? i know they were obviously very close but i'm kinda new to it all so i'm still a bit clueless about things.

Once upon a time, in a land called Liverpool, lived 2 young boys named John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

John was a witty, funny guy, who didn’t like school and preferred to wander the streets with his school mates and play banjo. Paul was a smart guy who had really good grades at school and occasionally played piano with his father at home. Since his mother’s death, Paul became obsessed with music, exchanging the trumphet his father gave him for his birthday for a guitar. He really knew how to play it, and sometimes he showed his music skills to his friends at school. One of them, Ivan, saw his talent and thought it was a good idea to make him know another friend who was into music as well: John. They met on a hot, humid day in 1957 in a church hall, and it was love at first sight.

Paul thought John how to play the guitar, how to tune it, John thought Paul how to skip school and write songs together in his house when Jim was at work. For his birthday John got some money and he decided to spend it in Paris with Paul. They stayed one week, visiting the city, frequenting art cafés pretending to be artists, planning their future, and sleeping in one bed in an old motel. They loved to be alone just the two of them, and sometimes they felt reality and the pressure of their family too suffocating. ‘Playing the guitar is all very well, John, but you’ll never make a living at it.’ said Mimi. “You have to find a steady job.” said Jim. When they wrote ‘Oh Johnny Johnny!’ , one of the very first songs of them, they expressed their hopes and dreams to go away, cause Paul’s father and Mimi were too oppressive and they wanted to leave Liverpool and live happily just the two of them.

When fame arrived, they became closer than before. They wrote songs eyeball to eyeball in Jane Asher’s house, and while they pretended to adress those songs to their supposed girlfriends, they were nothing but love letters they sent each other. If I fell, a song they recorded while holding hands or Here there and everywhere, a song Paul wrote at John’s house while waiting for him to wake up. And Nowhere man, You’ve got to hide your love away...the list is too long to mention them all. They were the most important person in each other’s lives, and the songs they wrote were the proof. “John’s princess”: that’s how the people who worked at Abbey Road called Paul. Maybe they were joking, or maybe they listened to some weird kisses noises while they were busy recording ’Think for Yourself’. When the Beatles made a Shakespeare sketch on tv, Paul played Pyramus while John played Thisbe. After that, they both bought 2 cats naming them Pyramus and Thisbe: John gave Thisbe to Paul, and Paul gave Pyramus to John.

While the Beatlesmania hit the world and the Beatles too, John’s main problem was try to find someone who could keep his feet on the ground (Help!): a crying need for help only Paul could solve. They even had a secret code they used in public to talk to each other, the spider hand thing’. In Florida they ended up crying together one night confessing how much they loved each other. Cause they knew it, but they never had the courage to say it, and in that moment, in which the whole world seemed to love and want the Beatles more than anything else, what they really needed were just each other. When the ‘bigger than jesus’ issue emerged, John was on the verge of quitting. Before the interviews he cried, he couldn’t stand one more question about it without feeing guilty. And it was always Paul who helped him, talking for him, reassuring him, telling him it would pass.

The fame was too much and they decided to quit touring and spend some time alone. The Sgt. Pepper era arrived: John and Paul lived a couple of miles away from each other, they all bought new houses, had an indepent life, but they always spent time together and not just to write songs. In that period they were more closer than ever. One night they were in the studio and John took too much LSD and he went to the roof, scaring the rest of the band. Paul took him home, and for the first time he took LSD too, cause he wanted to be with John, always. In misery and in fear. And they had this incredible, fantastic trip together, looking in each other eyes for hours, and Paul helping John to not get hurt. Their relationship was at its peak. When Brian died, everyone was shocked. The first thing John did after he heard the news was looking for Paul, when they met they hugged tightly. They felt lost, but they still had each other. They went to India, thanks to George who introduced them to the Maharishi, a ‘guru’  John saw as someone who could give him the right answers. But it didn’t happen, it turned out that the Maharishi took advantage of the girls in India, and John and Paul, who went there to try find the meaning of life, ended up discussing about each other and their relationship. Friends? No, we’re more. Boyfriends? Absolutely not. How dare you, we are the Beatles! We are in the 60s, a homophobic society who would bury us alive if we’d admit we feel something for each other. Suddenly, the person who mattered the most for John took a step back, cause John exposed him. Because they never really talked about what they were for each other, and for a long time it was convenient for Paul, who could play and joke with it as much as he wanted. But John never took it as a joke, as something futile. It was important for him, and he suddenly felt betrayed.

When they went to New York for the Apple press conference, in the car that took them to the airport Paul brought a woman he had met: Linda Eastman. John felt annoyed and bothered enough to step in Abbey Road a week later with a new fiancé: Yoko Ono, the woman who soon started to replace John, talking for him, taking decisions for him, and keeping her eveywhere, even when Paul asked to write songs together. Paul couldn’t talk to John anymore. John always needed to be reassured, he constantly needed someone by his side who could stay with him 100%, and this time the partner wasn’t Paul anymore. And he literally started using her against Paul. “I don’t want to hold your hand anymore” he told Paul right after a session at Abbey Road. Paul was devasted, he left Abbey road crying while Mal brought him home. He wrote Oh!Darling, Let it be, The long and winding road, the whole album was filled with tragic love songs. But why? He was engaged with Linda! He loved her. Who he really was talking about? During a Let it be session, they confessed each other that all those tragic love songs made them look like they were lovers.

They married their partners both in May, first Paul, then a week later John. They split up, you would say, this is the end. Well it’s not, they never really quitted. Because they spent 5 years, from 1970 to 1975 writing songs to each other: ‘How do you sleep’ ‘Dear Friend’ ‘Too many people’,Jealous guy’, in which John admitted that he got mad at Paul in the late 60s cause he was jealous.

John separated from Yoko in 1975. He met May Pang, and from that moment he started calling Paul again, dreaming to meet him again. He asked everyone if it was a good move to do. He asked May Pang, who said “Yes! of course! do it!” he asked to Paul Simon who replied Come back to Paul!”. They met in Los Angeles on a weekend. John was playing when Paul unexpectedly stopped by. When they met the room hushed. They looked at each other and started off tentatively, with a handshake and an inside joke: “Valiant Paul McCartney, I presume?” Lennon said, referencing the Shakespeare sketch they did. McCartney immediately responded: “Sir Jasper Lennon, I presume?”.

They played together and it was like coming back to the old times. John felt an excitement he hadn’t felt for years. He was ready, he wanted to come back to him, to England, to Julian. But Yoko came back, and all the hopes and dreams suddenly fell away. In 1976 Paul was in New York and they saw each other again, he didn’t know that was the last time he ever saw John. In 1980 John felt depressed, cause Yoko was leaving him for another man, and he didn’t feel creative enough to write songs anymore. He wrote a desperateJust like starting over’ on the tune of the old 50s song he played with Paul, asking him to come back together. Paul was ready, John too. Destiny maybe not. John died, and left Paul full of regrets and words never said to him that he transformed into songs: ‘Here today’, ‘The lovers that never were’ ‘My brave face‘, just to mention some of them.

John is dead, Mclennon is over? Nope. Cause Paul will not just keep writing songs about John and their beautifully tragic love story, but he even got a song from John, from the afterlife. I’m not kidding. In 1981, Paul worked on his tribute album to John Lennon called Tug of War. One song in this album is Get It, to which he invited Carl Perkins. Carl loved the experience and the following morning he wrote My Old Friend for Paul in appreciation. In fact, he recounted to Paul that usually when he writes he needs a pen and a sheet of paper to record his thoughts on, but this time the words just stuck with him. He then played the song to Paul. And Paul, upon hearing the song, went out of the room crying. Linda who was left with Carl explained that Carl’s words hit Paul hard because John’s last words to Paul when they last met before he was shot down were, “”Think about me every now and then, old friend”, words, which Carl unknowingly put into this song. In an interview Carl Perkins said: “Paul was crying, tears were rolling down his pretty cheeks, and Linda said, ‘Carl, thank you so much.’ I said, ‘Linda, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.’ She said, ‘But he’s crying, and he needed to. He hasn’t been able to really break down since that happened to John.’ And she put her arm around me and said, ‘But how did you know?’ I said, ‘Know what?’ She said, ‘There’s two people in the world that know what John Lennon said to Paul, the last thing he said to him. But now there’s three, and one of them’s you, you know it.’ I said, ‘Girl, you’re freaking me out! I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ She said that the last words that John Lennon said to Paul in the hallway of the Dakota building were, he patted him on the shoulder and said, ‘Think about me every now and then, old friend.’‘McCartney really feels that Lennon sent me that song, he really does.’”

Close friends to Paul revealed that he talks about John in the present tense, and sometimes he admits that when he is writing a song but can’t finish it, he asks John for help, feeling him by his side and always being able to correct it and finish it.

This is the story of two men who loved each other so deeply that they wrote the greatest songs of music history about it.

We Go Together: Chapter 3

It’s been a long while since I got the bug to update this little fic. I hope you enjoy!

Catch up on Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

See my Master List here


Due to her tardiness, Claire’s home room introduction had been quick and painless. Claire Beauchamp. Senior. 18. Goal is to become a nurse. She sighed in relief as her teacher gave her this semester’s schedule. The only desk left in the classroom was in the front row by the window. She sat down, avoiding eye contact with her curious peers, and pulled out the map Jamie had told her about.

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Whatever It Takes - Part One

so, after many jokes about Lin being pregnant and death wishes, @buckybarneshairpullingkink and i finally present part one :)

Summary: SingleDad!Lin x Reader

Length: 1,904 words

Warnings: None

Tagged: @masophistic @huffleheyguys @angerybisexual @consumed-by-musicals @aham-threw-his-shot-away @meyers-princess @fangirlwithasweettooth @alexis-the-zombie @linmanuclmiranda @hamilsnavi @nesthemonster @always-blame-jefferson @manuelmiranduh @hamilsquad-writings @yayhamletnonstop @theseedshamiltonplanted @the-and-peggy @sunriseovertheroomwhereithappens @god-damn-it-miranda @auliicavralho @daintyhibiscus

apologies and please shoot me a message if i forgot to tag you!

prologue || reviews fuel us <3

The apartment looked strangely daunting with nothing in it. Where everything once had its place, there is now nothing: the coffee table - a moving-in gift from your mother - had been sold, alongside the couch and the bed, the fridge sold, and all your groceries that had once sat inside lined up on the kitchen counter. Even your dying house plant had been thrown away that very morning, despite your long-time love for the greenery. The entire place felt as though it had been gutted, hollowed out. This was your home for nine years. Now, you stood in a place you no longer recognised.

You sighed. On the counter, partially hidden beneath the insuperable mountain of groceries, your phone lit up with a series of new text messages. Since you’d called three months earlier to announce to your family that you’d be returning home, your mother hadn’t left you alone on the subject. You knew she only wanted to help, but endless phone calls and text messages offering you ideas of what to do with your leftover furniture and belongings were erring on the edge of annoying.

Still, no matter how lonesome the apartment felt, you couldn’t get over the idea of returning home. In a few weeks, someone new would find themselves settled between these walls, and you would be at home, telling tales of your adventures to all those you hadn’t seen in however-many-years.

Excitement bubbled and rose. You could almost forget about the dismissal of your house plant and the loss of your small, albeit comfortable, English home.

With one final scan over the place, you placed your suitcases by the door. Most of your heftier possessions had already been shipped back to America, where they would sit in the spare room of your parents’ house until you found a decent place to live. Tomorrow, when you flew out, you’d take with you only your clothes and bare necessities. Tonight would be a night slept on a borrowed air mattress.

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Operation Pirate Law

So, I answered the call to write a fic for the CSSV for someone who didn’t receive one. Imagine my delight when I discovered that it was for none other than @lenfaz! So, here you are Lena, I hope you enjoy. It may not take place during Valentine, but it does include two meddlesome boys trying to act like cupid! 

Thanks to @emmandhook for letting me be involved and a BIG thank you to @captndevil for being my amazing last minute beta!

Summary:

All of Liam’s efforts to get his older brother together with the town Deputy are not having the desired effect. Maybe he needs to change tactics and find himself an accomplice? Fortunately, the Deputy’s son has the same idea, and together they put into action – Operation Pirate Law.

Word count: ~7000

Rating: general audiences

Also on Ao3 and ff.net


Killian Jones let out a deep sigh as he approached the Storybrooke Sheriff Station. He and his younger brother, Liam, had only been in town a few weeks, and although they’d had a rough few months leading up to this point, Killian thought Liam was past this sort of behavior. He supposes nothing should surprise him anymore.

It wasn’t until five months ago that Killian was even aware that he had a younger brother. His father, Brennan Jones, had passed back in England and the executor had been sent to America to both notify Killian of his father’s passing and to inquire whether or not he would accept guardianship over his half brother, per his father’s wishes. Killian hadn’t seen or heard from his father in nearly twenty-five years, and he wasn’t sure which had been the biggest shock, the news of Brennan’s death, the news that he had a half brother, or the fact that his younger brother shared the same name as his deceased older brother.

At first, Killian’s anger towards the man who had abandoned him, his older brother, and his mother had caused him to refuse taking responsibility of the younger Liam. For a brief few days Killian justified his refusal to uphold his father’s last wish as a way to somehow get back at the man who’d walked out on them and then, apparently, replaced them with another family, but then that voice of reason (which always sounded like his brother, Liam - his older brother, Liam) had prevailed. Within a week, the younger Liam had arrived and Killian found himself in the role of part brother, part parent to a thirteen-year-old boy whose entire world had been turned upside down.

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Since people keep asking so here is a list of my favorite fics (all Larry) I have bolded the MUST READS!

Gods & Monsters - (on ao3) The instructions were simple: seduce and destroy Harry Styles. Not once did they discuss the option of Louis actually falling in love. So, naturally, that’s exactly what he did. 

Marking Up the Atmosphere - (on ao3)  That, and the job of raising his six year old daughter and avoiding the charm of a young, successful, and very off-limits Louis Tomlinson.

So grab your passport and my hand - (on ao3)  The one in which Louis plays football and Harry sings a lot, and somehow that means they’re meant to be. They’ll figure it out soon enough.

The Finish Line (Is a Good Place for us to Start - (on ao3)  Louis Tomlinson, one-time Formula 1 World Champion, is looking forward to the 2013 season. He’s got Zayn in his garage and Liam in his ear, he’s got Cowell Racing backing him despite former indiscretions, he’s got experience and the best race car out there. Not to mention he’s the only racer they have, after Oliver dropped out late last year.

Love is a Rebellious Bird - (on ao3)  AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who “has made Mozart cool again” according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

As You Are - (on ao3)  AU. Five years after The X Factor launched his career as a radio host and songwriter, Louis Tomlinson returns as a judge. Falling for a contestant is the last thing he needs. It’s also against his contract.

Into the Blue - (on ao3)  AU. In which Louis is Harry’s scuba instructor and quite happy to provide the requested special treatment, pun fully intended. It can’t be all that difficult to convince Harry that they’re on the same page, right? Also, Niall and Liam may or may not be dating, and Zayn is surrounded by emotionally stunted idiots. He bears it with dignity.

Another Hazy May - (on ao3) louis is a terrible poet and harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance au ft. marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

We are Honey and the Bee - (on ao3) au where harry plays rugby at uni, louis needs to hire a nanny, and life is one big cliche.

Don’t Look Down - (on ao3)  AU. In which Louis is a solicitor at one of London’s most prestigious law firms and Harry happens to apply for the position as his trainee. And everyone else is around, too.

Baby Heaven’s in your Eyes - (on ao3)  Or a sixth form!AU where Harry is the fucked up bad boy with too many problems, Louis is the perfect rich boy with too much money and their schools are right across from each other. They meet at a party and that’s the last (and maybe the only) thing they need.

You You You - (on ao3)  Or, the one where Harry and Louis meet at a club and Louis takes Harry home, only for him to realize that the boy who just made him breakfast half naked is Harry Styles from One Direction.

And Then a Bit - (on ao3)  Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

Young & Beautiful - (on ao3) Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn’t stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

Pull me Under - (on ao3)   AU. As the first British footballer to come out at the prime of his career, it helps that Louis Tomlinson is in a long-term, committed relationship. Even if that relationship is fake. (Featuring Niall as Louis’ favourite teammate, Liam as Louis’ agent, and Zayn as Liam’s boyfriend, who just happens to be good friends with one Harry Styles.)

Truth be Told (I Never Was Yours) - (on ao3)  (or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.)

We’re Okay - (on ao3) It’s funny, really, that their lives hadn’t intercepted before that point. That all it took was one little thing that set off a chain reaction of circumstances which led them all to each other. But it was for the best, really, because in the end, with each other, they were all okay.And if you asked them, the whole thing could be blamed on Liam sleeping in, for once in his life.

Sing When You’re Winning - (on ao3)  Harry is fifteen minutes late to the office on the day Louis Tomlinson comes out as gay.

May You Enjoy Your New Life - (on ao3) It begins for them all at the bungalow –'Alright, time to lay out the cards. We’re in this together and hopefully, for the long haul, yeah? So I think – you know, we should just be honest. It’s deal-breakers time. That thing that like, if we’re gonna hate you or something, just tell us all now.’

No One Does it Better - (on ao3) Harry’s an alcoholic and Louis is a bartender. The first time they meet isn’t the first time they’ve met.

Without the Bitter, the Sweet isn’t as Sweet - (on ao3) A year after One Direction’s fiery break-up, Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are thrown together as they face the unwanted task of a reunion concert. As their lives become intertwined once again, past wounds and secrets will resurface as they struggle to deal with the unexpected turn of events.

Learning to Breathe - (on ao3)  He’s playing football at one of the top universities in England and he should love everything about his life right now, but instead he’s moving backwards. How does your past fit into your present? Louis is still figuring it out.

Empty Skies - (on ao3) For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

Smoke & Mirrors - (on ao3)  Every time anyone joked about Louis and Harry’s close bond, calling them ‘boyfriends’ or whatnot, it caused a fluttering feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach. He wasn’t sure what it meant. He hadn’t really thought of Louis too much in a romantic sense. They were friends – really good friends. But there was something about it. Harry loved Louis almost more than he loved any other human being on the planet. He loved him so much. They were the best of friends. Harry supposed the feeling derived from that. He wasn’t sure. He just knew he probably wouldn’t make it in life without Lou in it.

Women Like You- Thomas Shelby

*Some of you may have noticed that Peaky Week was interrupted and I really am sorry. Family drama and schoolwork pushed me away from writing for a bit, but I’m back now. I originally planned a surprise for you guys, but now I’ll post it tomorrow as an ‘I’m sorry’ gift. My geat friend @kill-thy-zombie-babies gave me this idea and I feel kinda bad for not putting as much time into it as I would have liked. Also, special thanks to @bonniebirdsgifcentre for the Tommy Gif. xoxox*

Masterlist


Your plan had not gone completely according to schedule. The strategy was to seduce your target- a despicable local politician who had gotten on the wrong side of a rich customer-, get him to take you home, and take him out quietly with the help of a gun suppressor. Everything went suitably up to getting to his home. You had caught his eyes at his third cousin’s wedding earlier that evening, and it didn’t take more than a flashy smile and letting him get you a drink to have him lusting after you. It was supposed to be a piece of cake, killing an unexpected target, but you could tell this wasn’t the first assassination attempt on him. Before you could even pull out your gun, he was reaching up your dress to search for your holster. Luckily, a good kick to the face got him down long enough for a hectic but fulfilled job. You tried to straighten out your appearance and prepare yourself for a casual exit, but before you were ready, you could hear a loud pounding on the front door, the police. That’s all it took for you to bolt out his apartment window and down the fire escape.

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A Wild Dog Chase

Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1200ish

Warnings: None I think

Prompt: Person A’s pet runs away and Person B finds it.

A/N: I love dogs. This took too long

Originally posted by mxcali-94


“Sophie!” The chances of the puppy listening to your calls was slim to none, but with no other idea of how to find her in this park, desperate times call for desperate measures. All around you, you saw families, couples, kids, and more dogs but none of them yours. The baby pit bull was nowhere to be seen.

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