i am getting a british feeling from this

ID #13841

Name: Lily
Age: 19
Country: New Zealand

Hi!
My name is Lily, I’m from New Zealand and I’m 19 years old, I’m moving to Canada at the end of the year to work for a little bit and then study politics at the University of British Columbia. My biggest career goal is to find a job within the United Nations so I am able to have an impact and a voice on others around the world I want to help.
I love making friends and finding new people to talk to, I really enjoy writing stories.

My favourite TV Shows are the 100, Black Sails and Into the Badlands. I’m a big fan of sport, especially cricket, rugby, tennis and gymnastics.
I would absolutely love to get to know some new people and find out about different cultures across the world!

I love intellectual conversations and am willing to discuss pretty much anything, I’m open-minded and would love to find some friends who feel the same way <3

Preferences: 18-23 in age, any gender is fine as long as you are open-minded, respectful, kind and in no way homophobic or racist :)

Among The Pines

Summary: Reader mysteriously wakes up in the 18th century and tries to use her skills & knowledge to navigate and survive the Revolution and hopefully beyond.

 Warnings: Light cusing (Reader’s inner voice is sarcastic likes to curse), panic attack type situation, and blood.

 Word count: About 1900

Note: This might become a series, I’m not totally sure yet. This is my first attempt at writing a fan fiction. Any input is appreciated.

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Table of Contents 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

a thing about race in America, it literally makes no fucking sense why people are grouped this way, especially if you look at the history of who could and could not legally be considered white in this country, it's so weird lol. but at the same time race plays a huge part in American culture, particularly in regards toward racial injustice, so it's kinda a big deal because it impacts people's lives in many ways, but at the same time it doesn't make sense

It’s just wild, like you literally do not see it happen anywhere else on earth. Like okay, when we do a census we have to say if we’re British Irish/Caribbean/Chinese/Japanese/Black British etc etc, but in the day to day, we don’t say “I’m African British” or “I’m Asian British” - we’re just British. We still embrace our heritages and whatever culture comes with that, be it Indian, Chinese, Japanese, whatever part of Africa you may have links to, its embraced but people don’t refer to themselves the way you guys say “African American” or “Asian American” etc.

And from what I know of the rest of Europe and places like Australia and New Zealand, it’s not really a thing there either. I don’t know about Canada but I don’t think it’s a big thing there either. It’s a very American thing to do, and it feels like a really bizarre thing to do when you think about it. It makes the population feel divided even when you talk about it. Like white people just get to be American, but you gotta specify that black people are African American etc?

idk, I guess it’s just a difference between America and the rest of the world, I personally would feel like i was being almost symbolically segregated from others if it became the norm to refer to white people as British, and all other ethnicities got put under the umbrella of “British African” or “British Asian”. Especially because my background is Irish, Caribbean and Indian like,,,,where the fuck am i supposed to go under ur weird umbrella terms.

anonymous asked:

I've been really doubting myself and my life lately because I don't really feel female anymore. After discovering all these things about the gender binary, and how it /shouldn't/ exist, I'm questioning why I should even have to be female to the world. I'm questioning what I am, and I feel like the closest thing is just to identify as non binary, but it's terrifying to think about to reactions from people I've known for so long, especially since no one knows about these doubts. Do you have advice

I would try educating them first. Talk about it from a historical stand point. People get so wrapped up in current (Eurocentric) systems that they forget other ways existed. Remind them that 3+ genders, or no genders at all, existed in many places around the world until the British went and colonized everything. It’s a very new and Eurocentric idea to use only 2 genders or any genders at all.

Just sort of slowly explaining these things to them so that when you come out, they have some background understanding!

💅🏽 Get To Know Me MoodBoard 💅🏽

Create a mood board using images that represent the simmer (you) behind the blog. Use images that represent different aspects of you and your personality and images that depict your influences and personal aesthetic.

I was tagged by the radical @blackthornsims​ ((who is keeping me in check. I got chu lol)) @sandy-sims@shysimblr@strawberrymark@themysteriouscowplant​  😘 😘 Thanks bebes!!!!

THIS WAS SO MUCH FLIPPEN FUN!!!! I ENJOYED MYSELF!! As you can see, I am what you would call a 90′s slxt!! I love the 90s wayyy more than I should! I am obsessed with it, as well as overalls, buns, fashion, Lemony Snicket, old 90s shows and cartoons, anything British, pink, yellow, and don’t forget bananas!!!  🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌

Out of all the Marvel movies coming out in 2017/2018 before Infinity War, Black Panther is the one i am the MOST excited about. Dr Strange (keep forgetting its now available on digital download), GotG2 (havent seen it yet), Spiderman Homecoming (cute new British Tom, snappy fun cast but i get the feeling its aimed at the younger fans), Thor 3 (groan, not excited about it, but Marvel has made me its Bitch so i’m gonna have to). But Black Panther? WOW. Awesome cast, amazing soundtrack. Sets and costumes that look like half Asgard and half actual tribes from the african continent.

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

Expecting

Summary: As excited and happy as you and Bucky are about becoming parents, he can’t help but doubt himself about it.

Originally posted by leafierleaf

Many extravagant things have happened so far in Bucky’s life. Meeting you of course was at the very top of the list.

But let’s just say the day that you told Bucky he was going to be a dad, topped everything. Word’s could not explain how joyous he was about it. And still is.

Keep reading

bloodycrumpets replied to your post: [Text]: Being as I am an Assistant Manager now, I…

Arthur is as chirpy as Arthur gets - still ignorant of Hugh’s feelings, let alone his confrontation with Francis. [Text]: Well I did already have a badge. My uniform is the same actually. [Text]: But I can use my manger voice if you want. It mostly involves tapping my watch and telling you off for being late.

Francis certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him—far be it from him to get into the messy family affairs of the British Isles. Thankfully, over text, it was virtually impossible to discern anything off in his mood.

[text] That sounds a lot like your regular voice

[text] How about you threaten me with punishment instead? That sound sexier

undiscoveredstory  asked:

LAMS ANGST PLS?! (I mean it can totally end fluffy and stuff, but I think it's a known fact that I live for the angst, ahaha)

I LOVE YOU PLEASE MARRY ME YISSSSSSSSSSSSSS ANGST IS MY SHIT


Historical note: the last known letter Hamilton wrote to Laurens was in fact signed “yours forever.”


Entry one: Laurens told me to keep a journal because it may “help me get things off my chest.” I officially want him dead.

Entry two: Why am I still doing this? How does one work a journal?

Entry three: I’ve been informed by Lafayette that you give a summary of the day and your opinion on it. In that case, I haven’t slept in a week, we’re all starving, and thank the Lord we’re in Virginia, or else I’d be freezing to death too.

Entry four: Laurens told me to lighten up a bit. I still hate him.

Entry five: How long do I have to keep this up?

Entry six: John wasn’t entirely wrong about getting things off my chest. Running sarcastic commentary can be very beneficial.

Entry seven: I’ve heard things said about a battle taking place in Yorktown soon. I cannot say I’m not at least somewhat terrified, but I know for now, I have Laurens by my side.

Entry eight: Update: I will not have Laurens by my side

Entry nine: In a matter of days, Laurens is taking his men to South Carolina to fight. If he dies, I swear on my life, I will personally murder him.

Entry ten: I hate to see the back of him, but I’m not saying it’s a bad view.

Entry eleven: John, you fox. I forgot you read these. Laurens, if you’re looking over this right now, kiss my ass.

E 11.5: yes, I am reading this, and no, I’d prefer not to put my mouth there.

Entry twelve: That’s not what you said last night

E 12.5: shut up

Entry thirteen: make me

Entry fourteen: John left for South Carolina today. I’m sure our parting embrace was seen as nothing more than brotherly, but I am most confident that brothers don’t get a little hard upon hugging.

Entry fifteen: I have been recently informed Laurens and his troops reached their destination safely. It feels as if twenty pounds of weight was lifted from my shoulders. I brought this up to Lafayette, and he’s now taken to referring to me as “Maman.”

Entry sixteen: the rumors of a battle at Yorktown are definitely more than whisperings. I haven’t seen Washington pace like this for months. If not a battle, something of importance will take place in Yorktown.

Entry seventeen: news of approaching British ships have reached us. I have never been a man of strict religion, but I pray South Carolina remains untouched as battle breaks out.

Entry eighteen: words cannot describe the bloodshed I have seen today, all of it in the name of what both sides consider a greater good. It is best to forget the redcoats have wives and children.

Entry nineteen: after too long, America walks away victorious. It is as if the world turned upside down. Not only that, but Laurens is alive.

Entry twenty: I am unsure whether or not I have died and ascended to Heaven. Save for a few skirmishes in the Carolinas, the war is over.

Entry twenty-one: …in the Carolinas

Entry twenty-two: I am currently returning to my home in New York, while what must be dozens of letters find their way to Laurens. If that brash, bold, heroic, brave, kind, over-protective idiot is dead, I will fulfill my promise of ending him.

Entry twenty-three: I received a number of letters from John in return today. Fate is kind in keeping him alive.

Entry twenty-four: I’ve finally come around to sending John letters in return. The things he has written to me could be easily called sinful. I take that as a challenge. If he must end up using my letters to feed his fire, so be it. Whether it be in the flush to his face or the heat of the flames, I am content in knowing I will be keeping my dearest John warm in the bitter cold of night.

Entry twenty-four: I couldn’t be happier that Eliza has recently decided not to proof read my letters for errors in spelling or grammar.

Entry twenty-five: the skirmishes will most certainly come to an end soon. It would be best for Laurens to find a place in congress. He would make an excellent politician, and should not waste his days running after a glory we have already won. It has been too long since I have received word from him anyway. I am sure he will be fine, but one does worry.

Entry twenty-six: I have still yet to receive an answer.

Entry twenty-seven: It’s been too long.

Entry twenty-eight: Eliza told me it is natural to worry so much over a friend, and she also assured me John is fine. It would be a lie to say I completely believe her.

Entry twenty-nine: I am beyond proud to call myself the father of Phillip Hamilton. He has yet to say a word, but Phillip is my pride and joy. Some day, he will blow us all away. I look forward to seeing him grow up with our newborn country.

Entry thirty: Upon the chaos and excitement surrounding the birth of my son, I failed to see the letter awaiting me, addressed to me from one of John’s comrades.

Entry thirty-one: he’s not dead

Entry thirty-two: he can’t be

Entry thirty-three: John is alive and well. He’ll be seeking a job in congress soon

Entry thirty-four: he’s not dead

Entry thirty-five: he’s not dead

Entry thirty-six: he’s not here yet because he’s still marching home from South Carolina

Entry thirty-seven: I can deny it no longer. John Laurens is gone.

A number of pages and years later…


Laurens,
It is only a matter of time.

Yours forever,
A. Hamilton

I am Iron Woman (Sherlolly Appreciation Week Day 7)

Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper
Characters: Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty, Tony Stark, Mycroft Holmes
Additional Tags: Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017, Sherlolly Week 2017, Tony Feels, Tony and Molly friendship, Marvel Universe, marvel crossover
Summary: Molly Hooper is a CEO, pathologist, and an S.H.E.L.F. agent (the British equivalent of S.H.I.E.L.D.). She is hired to protect Sherlock Holmes from James Moriarty, but ends up getting kidnapped herself in the end. She and Tony Stark start to work on a suit in order to take Moriarty down. Written for Sherlolly Appreciation Week Day 7, “free choice”. Marvel crossover.

Read on FF.net or AO3.

I AM IRON WOMAN

Molly Hooper woke up to nothingness. The house was entirely empty; even the maid was gone. Not to mention that she had fired the maid herself because Molly couldn’t stand her endless chatting about nonsense.

Molly missed Henry on moments like these. He would have made her pancakes, her favorites, for breakfast, and would have distracted her with some story about his life before sending her off to school.

But Henry had passed away eleven years ago, shortly before she went to college.

The house had some kind of eerie ambiance now; it wouldn’t surprise her if any kind of fog would appear in the next couple of hours. She stood up, not bothering changing clothes or even looking at herself in the mirror. Why would she bother getting dressed or making breakfast anyway? It’s not like anyone cared.

The papers she had to sign to become CEO of Hooper Industries were lying untouched on the dining table. She sat down and stared at them. Why would she want to take over from her father? She was nothing more than a disappointment to him; she was absolutely sure he would never have trusted her with his beloved company. Not that he had much to say now, he was buried six feet down together with her mother in a grave at the nearby cemetery.

She picked up a pen and signed the papers. Her father would have revived himself knowing that the company he worked so hard for was being sold to an enemy; her taking over as CEO was the only way to protect his legacy.

Molly Hooper, CEO. She didn’t like the sound of it. She was Dr. Molly Hooper, the pathologist. Well, only since two weeks. She was grateful her father had been at her graduation- the only graduation he’d ever been to; to see her accomplish something. She might not be the daughter he wished for, but whether he liked it or not, she was still his. Her mother, on the other side, had been always warm, trying to compensate for her father’s coldness. She was a charming woman, in charge of a big part of the company. Her mother had been a good person, even she had been absent too. Henry, the family butler, and his wife had practically raised Molly as their own daughter.

The phone rang as she was overthinking everything.

“Hello?” She said.

“Agent Hooper, I am stopping by later this morning. We have some things to discuss,” Greg Lestrade said.

“I am not an agent,” She said. Molly knew Lestrade from her father. He worked with him on weapons or something and could be very cogent. “I suppose I can’t refuse, can I?”  

“No. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Lestrade said before he hung up.  She sighed. Now she really had to dress up. After a quick shower, she put on the only clothes she could find that still fitted her in her wardrobe, a university tee and jeans. Her parents’ mansion was located in Northern England, near the Hooper Industries Headquarters. She lived in a penthouse in Central London, near Barts, where she had gotten a job. Molly loathed her parents’ place and had been happy to leave for college.

CONTINUE READING ON AO3 OR FF.NET

Today, I fucked up... by breaking into the Tower of London

Okay, I feel as though this needs a back story. Ahem So, I met this American girl online about 4/5 years before this happened (Am British) and she’s always wanted to visit the UK. She’s a massive Harry Potter fan, and was really determined to visit parts of the UK, what was holding her/us back from doing this was time and money. Fast forward a few years and we things start hotting up with us, you know, flirty texts, late night calls to beat the time difference etc, and I start getting more and more into her. Then the best news ever, she gets the chance to come visit, we pick London, I take a holiday, we meet up. Now onto the Story - We’re go out drinking one night, and as we leave the bar we can see Tower Bridge all lit up beautifully and se decides she would love a photograph to take home. As we get closer to the riverbank I realise that a barrier has been erected so you can’t get down to the water front. Bummer. “No bother” I think, “ I’ll just hop over the small wall next to the Tower of London, walk down the bank and take a great photo, she’ll love it!” Before I take more than a single step, I’m confronted by a camo-clad soldier brandishing his rifle+bayonet not two feet from my chest, screaming “Stand to!”, I freeze, scream, die inside. When he screams to get back over the wall I doubt I’ve ever moved as fast as that in my entire life, and trust me when I say I did not look good drunkenly trying to scramble over a low wall, with tail between my legs.

Tl;Dr - I tried to impress an american girl on a night out by taking a photograph for her, and instead accidentally break into the grounds of the Tower of London and have an armed guard nearly bayonette/ shoot/ arrest me. I was not impressive.

by  Catalan774

Check out more TIFUs: Internet`s best fuck ups are here.

The thing about Ilvermony house sorting that gets me is that there’s no connection to it. No prior knowledge of “I’m in this house because of THIS aspect of my personality/values”

We had seven books and a few years of distance before the hogwarts sorting hat quiz was released on pottermore, and even then a lot of fans knew what house they were in. Remember how everyone was worried theyd have a personality crisis if they were sorted in the wrong house? Remember how people felt such a genuine connection to their hogwarts house that they would make account after account just to get it right?

Hogwarts is our home because we lived through an adventure there, where the houses and their values were integral to life in Hogwarts. Every student has that connection and we, as readers, built that connection as well.

And then here comes the Ilvermony quiz and I feel absolutely no connection to it. You can’t just throw four random names at me and then tell me which one I am, that’s like taking a buzzfeed character quiz for a show you don’t watch, the results mean nothing to you. Theyd mean so much more if we had an adventure in Ilvermony with American witches and wizards, but we never will get that.

Besides, Jo writes best from her own experiences. Hogwarts is so clearly a British school, the dementors so clearly her nightmare, and Harry so clearly hers, that writing an American school with a history and culture she doesn’t know would make Ilvermony seem even less realistic and believable than it does right now, and so I don’t think those houses would ring as closely with people anyway

NT Moments - Elephant Shoe
  • INTP and ENTJ cuddling in the dark.
  • ENTJ: Say "elephant shoe."
  • INTP: Elephant shoe?
  • ENTJ: Do you know this one?
  • INTP: No. What is it?
  • ENTJ: What about colourful?
  • INTP: Colorful? What's this supposed to be?
  • ENTJ: Say it and see what your lips look like.
  • INTP: Colorful colorful color-
  • ENTJ: Without sound. Just move your lips.
  • INTP: *mouths colorful about 10 times* I don't get it...
  • ENTJ: What does it seem like you're saying?
  • INTP: Collar? Food?
  • ENTJ: Nooo.
  • INTP: *mouths elephant shoe multiple times* Eleven...are you supposed to do the "sh"?
  • ENTJ: What other words does it seem like you're saying?
  • INTP: I don't get itttt!! You do it!!! Maybe it looks different from what I'm feeling inside my mouth. I can't see my own lips.
  • ENTJ: Maybe later. Let's sleep.
  • INTP: Nooooo!!! I can't sleep now!!! Do you have to do British English? Am I thinking too much about this?
  • ENTJ: Sleep.
  • INTP kept doing it for a while.
  • INTP: I might know what elephant shoe is, but no idea about colorful.
  • ENTJ: They're the same thing.
  • INTP: What!? How? They're so different. Now I'm confused.
  • ENTJ: So, what's elephant shoe?
  • INTP: ...... Don't trick me into saying things!
  • ENTJ: *laughs*
  • ---- a few minutes later ----
  • INTP: *squeezes The ENTJ tightly*
  • ENTJ: *hugs back* What's wrong?
  • INTP: I'm having a too much feel moment.
  • ENTJ: The feel is strong?
  • INTP: *nods*
  • ENTJ: *rubs INTP's head*
  • INTP: How do people live with feelings!?
  • ENTJ: You'll get used to it :)
Michael Fassbender Talks Coping With Fame, His New Year Resolutions And Marriage

Born in Heidelberg to a German father and Irish mother, Michael Fassbender, 36, was brought up in Ireland, where his parents ran a restaurant in County Kerry.

It was his intense portrayal of IRA prisoner Bobby Sands in Hunger (2008) which won him several international awards, followed by a role in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds.

He’s recently been nominated for a Golden Globe for his latest role as Epps, a brutal plantation owner, in 12 Years A Slave, his third collaboration with British director Steve McQueen.

Have you ever met anybody as vicious as Epps and did his character stay with you when you finished filming?

I’ve come across unpredictable characters before but nobody as terrifying as Epps. There’s always a residue and an effect caused by the character I am playing, but over the years I’ve developed a way to slip in and out of it. Also, because we were putting so much into the day’s work and moving so quickly, it allowed me to go home feeling I’d left everything behind.

Did you know much about slavery in America when you were offered the role?

I grew up in the Irish education system which is one of the best in the world and history was always a very important subject, so I had a pretty broad understanding of it.

Who was your biggest influence when you became an actor?

My mum was a very big influence in terms of the films that I watched and the actors that really inspired me. She was particularly a fan of 1970s American film.

Do you manage to get back to Ireland very often?

As much as I can, but my parents are retired now so they come and visit with me wherever I am filming.

Where do you call home?

London. I have a little apartment there where I lay my head, but I haven’t been back much in the past year.

You’re one of the film world’s most eligible bachelors. Where do you stand on the subject of marriage?

I don’t know where I stand on it. Doing this job, it’s very difficult for me to even maintain a relationship, let alone a marriage. I have a very selfish approach to the way I work meaning that I could be shooting until 4 a.m. and obviously that’s not fair to somebody if you’re in a relationship.

How do you cope with fame?

It is fun, but it can be dangerous, seductive and distracting. I like to keep myself fairly private so that audiences can disappear into the role I’m playing as opposed to them knowing too much about Michael Fassbender and what he does.

Have you made any New Year resolutions?

To not talk as much and to listen more. Also, to read more books because most of my reading tends to be scripts. I’ll start a book, then scripts will arrive and I’ll put the book down and have to revisit it.

What do you do for relaxation?

I like speed. Not the drug, but the sensation. So I go karting whenever I can and I find it helps me meditate and zone out a little. I also like going on motorcycle trips because it’s easy to jump on a plane and pop up somewhere else in the world, but when you’re on a motorcycle you see everything as you’re passing through. I love music, as well. I like to sort of tinker around on the guitar and I’m trying to learn how to surf as well. It’s more floundering than surfing, but I find it quite cleansing to be in the water!

How do you enjoy acting?

Every day I wake up and I’m thankful because when I started out, my ultimate goal was to work with great filmmakers, great actors and tell great stories. And that’s what I feel I’m doing. I am so spoiled. I get to travel the world and I got to choose my profession.

Source

 Photo is a screen cap I edited from his British GQ video.

Another way, A better way

Ah yes, remember the Shaving People, Punting Things video entitled Which Way? that came out nearly a year ago (and has since been removed from YouTube because apparently WB had it taken down), which featured Sam and Dean riding in the Impala having a silly chat about finding another way before pulling a u-turn and literally just driving off the other way?

And we all laughed because haha yeah literally going the other way… and then that turned out to be the major theme of the entire season? Yeah, good times…

which brings us to s12, Toni Bevell, the British Men of Letters, and the “better way” they apparently have of doing things in their more educated, more proper, and apparently more “moral” society.

I’m only concerned because I have seen some posts that implied that Sam might be interested in applying the British model of Monster hunting in any way, shape, or form. I’m concerned that non-Americans might not get the 100% disgust and horror we’re supposed to feel about Toni’s “superior” hunting methods.

I read concerns from British people when the whole Brits of Letters storyline began back in 11.23 that American writers wouldn’t get the British things right, and that it might come off as misguided or even hilariously laughable to actual British people. But now I really am worried that the opposite is true, and that non-Americans aren’t picking up the American-ness of this situation, and I just feel compelled to explain, because the reaction we’re supposed to have to Toni’s description isn’t curiosity, but outrage.

Yes, there are tones of Brexit-like “foreigners get out” going on with the Brits of Letters, but again, this is an American show, primarily written from an American POV by (rather liberal) American writers. Toni’s “Make America… safe” framed her as the Donald Trump of this scenario, and we know what the show thinks about him, having already implied he was buddy-buddy with the Leviathans back in s7.

The way the show has always framed “monsters” as outsiders, as the fringe of society, as outcasts and immigrants… not to mention the way they’ve framed hunters in very similar ways, should make us shake in our boots when we consider the British Model for Hunting Success.

Sam and Dean have NO DESIRE to eliminate every last monster from the world without cause. That was a lesson they started learning very early on. The hunter I keep thinking back to who would’ve LOVED Toni’s methods was Gordon Walker, and good god damn I think show demonstrated how reprehensible his actions were.

The WHICH WAY video came out right around the time we watched Sam nearly sacrifice HIMSELF trying to find a cure for the black vein zompires in 11.02, and then as the season ran its course we witnessed NUMEROUS situations from the past (both from the Winchesters’ own past as well as the past in general, i.e. in 11.14 and 11.16) play out AGAIN, but now with a distinctly different outcome because of their better choices and more well-reasoned approach. Experience dictated that they could choose better.

Like the culmination of the season, of Dean going to face Amara armed with the Soul Bomb, but in the end FINDING A BETTER WAY, a more RATIONAL and LEVEL-HEADED way, simply by TALKING TO HER.

So back to Toni’s (entirely WRONG) “better way”… to an American, it SCREAMS of racism. SCREAMS of Trump’s “build a wall to keep Them out” propaganda. And I don’t think the show is endorsing this as anything the Winchesters would even CONSIDER implementing in this country, regardless of how practical it is or isn’t. It’s just MORALLY WRONG on so many levels. To an American (who’s not a Trump supporter) it makes our skin crawl. It’s horrifying. We’re NOT SUPPOSED TO THINK IT’S A GOOD IDEA IN ANY WAY.

I know we’re not supposed to think the Winchesters and their methods have ever been beyond reproach, but really. We are supposed to believe that they’re at least trying to do the right thing. That they’re at least trying to save everyone. We’re supposed to understand they have a conscience, that they do regret some of their actions, but also that they’re absolutely doing the best with the shitshow they’ve been presented with.

So yeah, I think Sam’s reaction to Toni’s totalitarian and brutally efficient “hunting” methods is more HORROR than curiosity about how that might work in America, you know? Because Sam actually knows better.

And this might’ve been entirely pointless for me to address here, but I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any doubt about this on the part of non-Americans. 

ugh

I am sitting in a coffeeshop on New Year’s Eve, listening to Drake, joking with one friend about how she will inevitably end the night tonight crying in a cab. “At least you can afford a cab to cry in,” I told her, and we reminisced about being very broke 10 New Year’s Eves ago. How now we anxiety-shop at increasingly nicer places, no longer Forever 21. This is how Drake came into the picture, Started from the bottom now we’re here.

Now I’m listening to it on repeat, hoping the girl next to me who told me she liked my bag can’t hear it through my headphones. I’ve danced to this song but it’s been mostly at the office parties of successful startups. It felt very literal the first time I heard it, I saw the jubilation in the faces of men who really did feel like they started from the bottom, and I’m hoping they were thinking more about being a young kid living in the  middle of nowhere dreaming of New York, of a late night at the office with the lights off, drinking beer and dancing between Ikea couches, celebrating some or other milestone, and not thinking about say, venture capital or the next board meeting or the next google-eyed article about them in the Times. (Is milestone a kid word or a work word? I don’t know anymore.) I think maybe we were dancing about starting something from nothing, from an idea, and then being affirmed in it. It was stupid but so satisfying. Risk and reward! What a thrill. I am happy that I recognized the novelty of that experience, the bizarreness of it when I was in it. That I laughed at it but danced, too. I danced about making a million dollars or a million users or launching some new feature.

I miss that today. Though the thing is I dance probably every day with my son, over nothing. Over just being alive, over the fact that Yellow Submarine is on. “Yellow yellow!” he yells and pulls us both by the hands into the living room and says Up Up until I pick him up and bounce him around. If I try to sit one out, he runs back to find me and says, “Mama too, mama too!” until I get up. fine. I will put down my coffee and experience joy. Ugh. And then we just all die laughing and sing and dance and I feel like we are a scene in a Family Comedy.

It is not the same kind of dancing, though. For one, we’re not drunk, not sweating, not a little embarrassed, but in a sexy way, sort of. It’s very disembodied, kid dancing. You just feel like a being, a blob of joy, not tits and ass and rhythm or whatever. In many ways being a disembodied ball of joy is a huge relief but also, I do miss being a body.  A SEX BODY. Not a life sustaining terror body.

I have spent the year commuting ten feet into a backyard studio, somewhat morosely. I feel genuinely ashamed just saying the word, “my studio,” haha I’m screaming in my head and laughing as I type it. Many times over the course of this year I have sat back there and said to myself, “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” To have that space, and be justified to have my son in daycare while I spend hours back here trying to come up with fucking ideas from my own brain. I have been building something from nothing over and over this year, and I did not dance about it, not once. I cringed and shrugged and beat myself up about it. It is a joke and unimportant but it is so hard, too. To feel like shit and so full of self-loathing or so depressed and then walk back into this beautiful little room and try to write about something I don’t know the answers to, to know the tenor of my day will be totally changed by whether it goes well or not. To hit up against a wall for days, to face all sorts of anxieties by literally writing about them, to write about shame and the darkest days and the shittier parts of myself. I would like to do less of that next year, to be honest. I would like a reprieve, not from work but from sticking my head, over and over, into the hornet’s nest, when I am already to tired to begin with.

We moved across the country, we bought a car, our son started daycare three days a week. I stopped breastfeeding him. I started therapy. I sold a book. It has been a growth year, I know that. The kind of year you want to turn your back on and keep running from. I don’t want to go back there. I fear going back there — of another baby, of a new place, of the solitude that will be with me my whole life, of my fragile brain, of moving between anxiety and depression, but just enough that it’s okay, that I can just keep going. It feels like everything hinges on what day of the week it is, on what time I get back to the studio, on how quickly I open a Word document, on whether I sign onto Gchat, on whether I read someone’s tweet and it derails me. Of whether we get paid this week or not. On how the baby sleeps. On whether I get to bed at a decent hour. Whether a draft is going well, what kind of edits I get back, if anyone cares, if I slip and read the comments.

I would like to be more in the world next year. 

I have to finish writing a book next year.

I don’t want to have another baby.

 I need, want to write world-clarifying or at least very entertaining things, to keep repairing my relationship, to be kind of myself without being a lazy fuck, to you know, fucking get a copy of my son’s immunization records and pay all of our bills. Stuff like that. Decide what we are being too deluded about and what we are being too self-defeating about. Where are we selling ourselves short?

I need new ways to think about my work, need to clarify what it is I want to do. “I want to write books!” is, it turns out, not enough, or not even a thing. I mean, shit. 

Our kid, though, is good. He is undeniable, he is concrete, he is just getting better every day. He says his own name, his nickname and his real name, except without the H. “-ank.” He says verbs now. “See ank?” “Enry eat!” He says, Mama, please, mama, when he wants something. “peez, mama!” He says “cookie” like it’s an huge amount of work. Coooo-kieeeeee. It is hard, now, to leave the concrete joy of him and go walk ten feet of the backyard and sit in front of a SAD lamp and light incense and make things up, write about things I haven’t figured out yet. I would of course rather sit on the floor of the kitchen and show him a Vine of spiders over and over and over and not write 5,000 words about not wanting to have sex after having a baby. I mean, come on. MORE PI-DERS! MAMA PEEZ. SEE? I SEE. I SEE.

We are trying to decide whether to move to the Caribbean this week. LOL. Dustin got offered a job that pays really well running a bookstore on what is possibly the least cool island in the world. Granted in a tropical paradise, but also every other part of it aside from “paradise” seems to…suck. My unpredictable, unknown psyche is a big part of the discussion. How much would I hate it? I thought I knew, but actually I have no idea. How much do I care about money? Place? Knowing people? What are aesthetics anyway, how much does charm really go? There is no charm there, unless you count, you know, the most beautiful beaches in the world. It’s not walkable. It’s all strip malls and condos and offshore bankers and then chickens and mosquitoes and bad furniture and everything closed on Sunday. I actively miss Seamless in Portland, for whatever that is worth. But it is very tempting to put it all off, to take the diversion (and the money). To hate something new! To hate things in new ways. We could buy a house later. There are good schools and there is good healthcare.

I would love, on some level, to not be surrounded by people who I can immediately place in the most particular way imaginable. A vast majority of the people in this stupid, beautiful town (Portland, OR) share a cultural context, a nostalgia; we share values, aesthetics. It’s nice but it’s EXHAUSTING AND MEANINGLESS. Get me out of here, on some level. Everyone in this coffee shop could be my friend. And after awhile it’s like, who cares? The woman next to me is reading a book, writing in a notebook, we dress similarly, she seems really NICE, she is really nice. Should I be her friend?

I’m starting to miss New York. At least I have friends there!

I told Dustin yesterday that this city has been the most comfortable place to be depressed.

Maybe discomfort again would be nice? Something to rail against?

I’ve spent the past week crying ( “I have no friends! Okay one friend!” SOB ) and feeling vaguely ill (then of course, am really afraid I am pregnant). Really I have been watching the Great British Bake-off, and thinking how that is a sad way to end a year. My son calls his pinky his baby pinky. His longest finger is the Daddy Pinky. Then there are two Mommy Pinkies. And then a thumb? Ha. What. All that is enough to build a life around, just the pinky stuff. I spent the first like, 15 months of his life trying to get any minute or any value out of life that was separate from him, and now he is this huge resting place. He is incredibly exhausting but also incredibly engrossing, and indisputable. He matters. I can see why people are happy to turn their backs on the rest of their lives, however small or whatever it is, at least it feels, a good half of the time, unassailable.

when i'm with you

summary: cs college au; officially meeting because we have the same flight, but i see you everywhere at school. 

word count: ~3200

rating: f for fluff fest 2k15 (literally) and i for i have no idea what this is

a/n: I blame wenchswan​ and my own personal experience for this one. (hope you like it bae!!)


By the end of her first week of classes, she realizes that it takes her too long to get to Biology, so she beats the rush of passing classes and gets there an hour early. She doesn’t have anything better to do, because this semester, she planned. So, she slides down against the wall and pulls out her textbook and her highlighter, and she starts the reading they’re supposed to do for today.

He does the same thing. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Melly I totalled my car and I'm waiting for my friend to pick me up, could you post some pictures of the boys that look giggly?

OHMYGIDDYGOD’S TROUSERS, are you ok? I hope you are! 

I GOT THIS

Here’s a photo of ot5 looking unenthusiastic in prosthetic mustaches

In this photo, Harry had been working tirelessly to get his aviation license, and he had read that he could better test thermodynamic wind thrusts by sticking his finger up Zayn’s nose dimple

The time One Direction dressed as 4/5 of O-Town:

The only time I thought to myself “if only I had been born as British Prime Minister David Cameron, what a LIFE, what  a DREAM”

Time 1,935,493 when 1D got into a human puppy pile in the back of a van and the driver somehow didn’t die from cuteness

I was never very good at math*, but I know this equation inside and out:

Stratocaster + Fiesta + Red = Love

*Or as they say in the UK “maths”.  If you think about it, to say “maths” rather than “math”, as we say here in North America, makes a lot of sense.  After all, we don’t say “mathmatic”, do we?  We say “mathmatics” with an “s”.  So shouldn’t it be shortened to “maths” with an “s” rather than just “math”?  The British are really good with these kinds of things.

And while I do agree with putting a letter “u” after the “o” in words such as colour, favour, humour, etc., I don’t agree with their renegade and iconoclastic nomenclature regarding trucks (“lorries”), trunks (boots), hoods (bonnets), elevators (lifts), TVs (Teles), sweaters (jumpers), underwear/underpants (pants), attractive women (birds), chips (crisps), plush carpeting (shag) and don’t even get me started on the word “fanny”!   I’ll let Keith explain:

PS: after watching that classic clip from The Office, I am craving a Scotch egg.  But they are near impossible to find in Canada…maybe I’ll just pop open a bag of Walkers Crisps instead…“cheese and onion”, maybe! OK, I feel better now!  :D