When I was nine, possibly ten, an author came to our school to talk about writing. His name was Hugh Scott, and I doubt he’s known outside of Scotland. And even then I haven’t seen him on many shelves in recent years in Scotland either. But he wrote wonderfully creepy children’s stories, where the supernatural was scary, but it was the mundane that was truly terrifying. At least to little ten year old me. It was Scooby Doo meets Paranormal Activity with a bonny braw Scottish-ness to it that I’d never experienced before.

I remember him as a gangling man with a wiry beard that made him look older than he probably was, and he carried a leather bag filled with paper. He had a pen too that was shaped like a carrot, and he used it to scribble down notes between answering our (frankly disinterested) questions. We had no idea who he was you see, no one had made an effort to introduce us to his books. We were simply told one morning, ‘class 1b, there is an author here to talk to you about writing’, and this you see was our introduction to creative writing. We’d surpassed finger painting and macaroni collages. It was time to attempt Words That Were Untrue.

You could tell from the look on Mrs M’s face she thought it was a waste of time. I remember her sitting off to one side marking papers while this tall man sat down on our ridiculously short chairs, and tried to talk to us about what it meant to tell a story. She wasn’t big on telling stories, Mrs M. She was also one of the teachers who used to take my books away from me because they were “too complicated” for me, despite the fact that I was reading them with both interest and ease. When dad found out he hit the roof. It’s the one and only time he ever showed up to the school when it wasn’t parents night or the school play. After that she just left me alone, but she made it clear to my parents that she resented the fact that a ten year old used words like ‘ubiquitous’ in their essays. Presumably because she had to look it up.

Anyway, Mr Scott, was doing his best to talk to us while Mrs M made scoffing noises from her corner every so often, and you could just tell he was deflating faster than a bouncy castle at a knife sharpening party, so when he asked if any of us had any further questions and no one put their hand up I felt awful. I knew this was not only insulting but also humiliating, even if we were only little children. So I did the only thing I could think of, put my hand up and said “Why do you write?”

I’d always read about characters blinking owlishly, but I’d never actually seen it before. But that’s what he did, peering down at me from behind his wire rim spectacles and dragging tired fingers through his curly beard. I don’t think he expected anyone to ask why he wrote stories. What he wrote about, and where he got his ideas from maybe, and certainly why he wrote about ghosts and other creepy things, but probably not why do you write. And I think he thought perhaps he could have got away with “because it’s fun, and learning is fun, right kids?!”, but part of me will always remember the way the world shifted ever so slightly as it does when something important is about to happen, and this tall streak of a man looked down at me, narrowed his eyes in an assessing manner and said, “Because people told me not to, and words are important.”

I nodded, very seriously in the way children do, and knew this to be a truth. In my limited experience at that point, I knew certain people (with a sidelong glance to Mrs M who was in turn looking at me as though she’d just known it’d be me that type of question) didn’t like fiction. At least certain types of fiction. I knew for instance that Mrs M liked to read Pride and Prejudice on her lunch break but only because it was sensible fiction, about people that could conceivably be real. The idea that one could not relate to a character simply because they had pointy ears or a jet pack had never occurred to me, and the fact that it’s now twenty years later and people are still arguing about the validity of genre fiction is beyond me, but right there in that little moment, I knew something important had just transpired, with my teacher glaring at me, and this man who told stories to live beginning to smile. After that the audience turned into a two person conversation, with gradually more and more of my classmates joining in because suddenly it was fun. Mrs M was pissed and this bedraggled looking man who might have been Santa after some serious dieting, was starting to enjoy himself. As it turned out we had all of his books in our tiny corner library, and in the words of my friend Andrew “hey there’s a giant spider fighting a ghost on this cover! neat!” and the presentation devolved into chaos as we all began reading different books at once and asking questions about each one. “Does she live?”— “What about the talking trees” —“is the ghost evil?” —“can I go to the bathroom, Miss?” —“Wow neat, more spiders!”

After that we were supposed to sit down, quietly (glare glare) and write a short story to show what we had learned from listening to Mr Scott. I wont pretend I wrote anything remotely good, I was ten and all I could come up with was a story about a magic carrot that made you see words in the dark, but Mr Scott seemed to like it. In fact he seemed to like all of them, probably because they were done with such vibrant enthusiasm in defiance of the people who didn’t want us to.

The following year, when I’d moved into Mrs H’s class—the kind of woman that didn’t take away books from children who loved to read and let them write nonsense in the back of their journals provided they got all their work done—a letter arrived to the school, carefully wedged between several copies of a book which was unheard of at the time, by a new author known as J.K. Rowling. Mrs H remarked that it was strange that an author would send copies of books that weren’t even his to a school, but I knew why he’d done it. I knew before Mrs H even read the letter.

Because words are important. Words are magical. They’re powerful. And that power ought to be shared. There’s no petty rivalry between story tellers, although there’s plenty who try to insinuate it. There’s plenty who try to say some words are more valuable than others, that somehow their meaning is more important because of when it was written and by whom. Those are the same people who laud Shakespeare from the heavens but refuse to acknowledge that the quote “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them“ is a dick joke.

And although Mr Scott seems to have faded from public literary consumption, I still think about him. I think about his stories, I think about how he recommended another author and sent copies of her books because he knew our school was a puritan shithole that fought against the Wrong Type of Wordes and would never buy them into the library otherwise. But mostly I think about how he looked at a ten year old like an equal and told her words and important, and people will try to keep you from writing them—so write them anyway.

I always thought there was no reason why nureyev should have stripped the police officers down when he escaped. it’s that much added time in his (very fast) escape and there’s no implication he used it as a disguise, as though this ridiculous gangle-man would probably fit in their uniforms anyway.

but now, of course, there IS a potential reason: they threatened juno in front of him, and peter is sufficiently petty and dramatic that the humiliation of just escaping and tying them up wasn’t enough retaliation. (and maybe he thought it would please juno just a little bit lmao.)

when ppl say ron can’t be bisexual bc he’s ‘canonically straight’ i’m just like ??????????

where ?? does it ??? say that ???????

like i’m sorry i must’ve completely skipped this part of the book: ‘He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose. He was also the biggest heterosexual to ever heterosexual. “No homo!” he yelled when Harry approached, waving his straight pride flag in Harry’s face.’

anonymous asked:

Do you have the full cast lists for LND LOndon and Australia?

Instead of pulling out programmes I’m going by the internet. London:

  • Mr. Y: Ramin Karimloo (alt. Tam Mutu)
  • Christine: Sierra Boggess (replaced by Celia Graham)
  • Raoul: Joseph Millson (replaced by David Thaxton)
  • Mme Giry: Liz Robertson
  • Meg Giry: Summer Strallen (replaced by Haley Flaherty)
  • Fleck: Niamh Perry (replaced by Tracey Penn)
  • Squelch: Adam Pearce
  • Gangle: Jami Reid-Quarrell (replaced by Charles Brunton)
  • Gustave: 2010: Jack Blass / Harry Child / Tyler Fagan / Alexander Hockaday / Richard Linnell / Charlie Manton / Kaisun Raj
  • Gustave 2011: Edward Bracey / Jack Costello / Daniel Dowling / Connor Fitzgerald / George Littell / Harry Polden

Ensemble 2010: Derek Andrews, Dean Chisnall, Helen Dixon, Lucie Downer, Paul Farrell, Charlene Ford, Chris Gage, Lucy van Gasse, Celia Graham, Simon Ray Harvey, Jack Horner, Erin Anna Jameson, Pip Jordan, Jessica Kirton, Louise Madison, Janet Mooney, Colette Morrow, Ashley Nottingham, Tom Oakley, Mark Skipper, Jonathan Stewart, Tim Walton and Annette Yeo.

Ensemble 2011: Nick Blair, Dale Branston, Abigail Brodie, Kieran Brown, Nick Crossley, Natalie Edmunds, Chris Gage, Lucy Van Gasse, Mirela Golinska, Daniel Gourlay, Simon Ray Harvey, Grace Holdstock, Lucinda Lawrence, Vanessa Leagh-Hicks, Louisa Lydell, Lisa Mathieson, David McMullan, Colette Morrow, Ashley Nottingham, Mira Ormala, Rae Piper, Alexa-Jayne Robinson, Andrew Rothwell, Simon Storey, Tim Walton and Zara Warren.

And as for Melbourne and Sydney, I don’t have as exact cast lists, but roughly:

  • Mr. Y: Ben Lewis
  • Christine: Anna O’Byrne
  • Raoul: Simon Gleeson
  • Mme. Giry: Maria Mercedes
  • Meg Giry: Sharon Millerchip
  • Fleck: Emma J. Hawkins
  • Squelch: Paul Tabone
  • Gangle: Dean Vince
  • Gustave: Jack Lyall / Kurtis Papadinis / George Cartwright Bush / Trent Heath / Lachlan Kelly

Ensemble: Andrew Broadbent, Renee Burleigh, Colin Dean, Andrew Dunne, Giordano Gangl, Stephanie Grigg, Erin Hasan, Matt Holly, Ben Hudson, Erin James, Adele Johnston, Claire Lyon, Kristy Mackenzie, Matthew McFarlane, Jessica Mechielsen, Meredith O'Reilly, Adam Rennie, Lisa Reynolds, Pharic Scott, Kathryn Sgroi, Ellen Simpson, Tod Strike and Brendan Yeates. 


When Germans, Americans, French, and Slavs fought together during World War II

The Battle for Castle Itter,

On May 5th, 1945, only 5 days after Adolf Hitler’s suicide, a reconnaissance force under Capt. John “Jack” Lee was sent on a special mission to a town called Itter in Austria.  Itter was home to Itter Castle, built in the 13th century, it was a luxurious alpine prison for famous French POW’s including former French Prime Ministers, military generals, trade union leaders, resistance leaders, even a tennis star named Jean Borotra and Charles de Gaulle’s sister.  Also present at the castle were a number of Russian, Czech, Polish, and Yugoslavian prisoners who were used as maintenance workers.  The commander of the town was Major Josef Gangl, who took command when his superior shot himself after learning of the death of Hilter.  Gangl ordered most of his men to return home, sending a message to American forces that he was going to surrender the castle.  Him and 10 German soldiers stayed behind to defend the town from SS reprisals.  In the last months of the war, fanatical German SS units would often murder and execute those who surrendered, regardless if they were soldiers or civilians.

Capt. Lee arrived at Castle Itter shortly after being met by an SS recon force.  It was quite clear that the SS had learned of the surrender of Itter, sending a force of 150 SS soldiers to kill or execute everyone in the castle.  Immediately Capt. Lee set up defensive positions and radioed for reinforcements, however he was not able to raise anyone with his malfunctioning radio.  The ten German garrison troops agreed to stand and fight.  The French and Eastern European prisoners were ordered to hide, but most refused, taking up rifles from the castle’s armory and manning the defenses.  Even the wives and girlfriends of the French prisoners took up arms to fight and hold the line.  Major Gangl contacted the Austrian resistance, who sent two German soldiers who had surrendered a few days before, and a teenage Austrian resistance fighter to join the fight. Altogether, the castle was defended by a motley hodge podge group consisting of 14 American GI’s, 12 German Wehrmacht soldiers, a teenage Austrian resistance fighter, a number of French and Eastern European former prisoners, and a Sherman tank named “Begotten Jenny”.

On 11 o'clock in the morning, SS troops surrounded the castle, opening fire with machine guns, rifles, and an 88mm artillery piece.  The defenders held their ground, repulsing each and every assault.  In the midst of the battle tennis star Jean Borotra pole vaulted the castle walls, and ran as fast as he could, braving the gauntlet of enemy fire to deliver a message to Allied forces.  The battle continued.  By 4:00pm, after 5 hours of hard fighting, the defenders ran out of ammo.  Capt. Lee ordered the defenders to retreat to the castle keep, preparing to fight the SS in hallways and stairways with rifle butts and bayonets.  When the SS prepared their final assault, American reinforcements arrived and ended the battle.  Jean Borotra had survived and successfully made his way to the 142nd Infantry Division.  Around 100 German SS troops were captured.

The battle cost the lives of 7 American soldiers, 6 German soldiers, and a number of former prisoners. The tank “Begotten Jenny” was destroyed as well. Among the dead were Major Gangl, who was killed by a sniper while helping one of the former prisoners to safety. Today, he is considered an Austrian national hero.  Capt. John “Jack” Lee was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for bravery and gallantry in defending Castle Itter.  Three days later, the war officially ended, and Europe was at peace.


The sun provides vitamins. And there were dippers stitching the air above the river. And three herons awkwardly gangling. And two buzzards soaring. And the sounds of skylarks all the time. Blue sky. Sun. Warmth. Well, this makes life seem like a fresh thought. Why thought? Because of me, but still …

anonymous asked:

☼ - appearance headcanon

Remus Lupin isn’t chronically self-deprecating in order to fish for compliments - he genuinely thinks he’s ugly.  In truth, he is composed of awkward parts thrown together.  He’s extremely tall and extremely thin (transforming into a monster and back once a month takes its toll on calorie intake, not to mention his appetite typically taking a nosedive in the days leading up to and directly after the full moon), gangling to the point that he could be considered gawky in the most literal definition of the word.  Of his most prominent scars, the most visible is the one that runs across his (slightly large) nose, not the mention the smaller, far more faded ones on the rest of his face and along his forearms - the places he can’t really cover up, and thank Merlin that his gruesome bite scar is safely hidden at all times under his clothes on his left side, just above his hip.

These are all things he’s painfully, harshly aware of.  He doesn’t care that his golden-brown hair, with its subtle flecks of premature salt-and-pepper grays, is thick and looks effortlessly messy-styled at all times, provided it doesn’t get too long and unkempt.  His eyes, that he thinks are too bright yellow-brown, are bright and clever and light up when he smiles or when he’s facing down some exciting challenge or problem to solve, educational or prank related.  He’s a handsome boy, that Remus Lupin, just with the quirks and sharp angles that come together to make him far less classically handsome than some, perhaps, but he’s far too full of werewolf-fueled self-loathing to ever accept that fact.

Since that CG confirms Siegbert is tall (and only going to be taller)… Just… Corrin as the smol one. Height differences everywhere. Kana growing like a weed and ending up as tall as Xander. These three giant men just towering behind Corrin with protective suspicion on their faces whenever anyone so much as looks at her funny.

Also awkward tall Siegbert just… not having a good concept of how tall he is? Flustering himself by walking into low-hanging lights/decorations or smacking his head on door frames or accidentally tripping people (or himself) with those gangling legs. Or swooping Kana up on his shoulders only to smack Kana’s head on a doorframe and agonizing about it for days (Kana’s happy bc haha that was fun and now Siegbert keeps treating him to fruit but Siegbert is dyyying).

And being super careful with bby Kana and Corrin bc they’re just? so smol? What do you do with such a tiny individual? What if he breaks someone? Bonus points if Siegbert swoops in and fetches anything Corrin’s reaching for if it’s located anywhere above her shoulder bc he’s obligated as a tall person, and Corrin has to lecture him on not!! mothering her like that!! She’s the mom, and she’ll reach for whatever high things she wants!


le procès - the trial
la loi - the law
la condamnation - the conviction
les mineurs - the minors
plaider - to plead
plaider coupable - to plead guilty
la peine de mort - the death penalty
le verdict - the verdict 
la culpabilité - the guilt
la trahison - treason
le témoignage - the testimony
les menottes - the handcuffs
la codétenue (f), le codétenu (m) - the fellow prisoner/the inmate
la cellule - the cell
le gardien- the guard
la trahison - treason
enlever - to abduct
le meurtre - the murder
abus de drogue - drug abuse
le serment - the oath
bande organisée - gang
l'avocat (m), l’avocate (f) - the lawyer

I’m so mad at what Griffon McElroy has done to me, I was thinking the thought “I bet Percy is lanky, gangly, and awkward most of the time when he’s not on revenge rampage,” and what came out of my mouth as I made coffee alone in my empty kitchen was, “my beautiful gun gangle boy”


“No blades!” he screamed. “Wick, put that knife …” 

 …away, he meant to say. When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. “Why?” 

“For the Watch.” Wick slashed at him again. This time Jon caught his wrist and bent his arm back until he dropped the dagger. The gangling steward backed away, his hands upraised as if to say, Not me, it was not me. Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard. 

Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. “For the Watch.” He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it.


“No blades!” he screamed. “Wick, put that knife …”
… away, he meant to say. When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. “Why?”
“For the Watch.” Wick slashed at him again. This time Jon caught his wrist and bent his arm back until he dropped the dagger. The gangling steward backed away, his hands upraised as if to say, Not me, it was not me. Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard.
Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. “For the Watch.” He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it.

concept: Tracer art that is extremely faithful to how she looks in the game, but with realistic proportions like… dude, there are supposed to be intestines in there, and like, and entire liver

Give Tracer a Realistic Torso 2017

I kind of like how they made her proportions a bit awkward, like her knees are a bit knocky, her feet are a bit flippery, her ears poke out a bit, she’s a bit long and gangling, and that’s adorable but like

internal organs???????????????