i am getting a british feeling from this

anonymous asked:

Heey, could you maybe write something about Theo being Liam's anchor?

Hey! Sorry this took so long, i started writing it like, the second you sent it to me and then got stuck so it’s like totally off canon for the rest of the season after the zoo ep which is where it starts)

“You’re joking. Right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Theo said with a hearty sigh. Liam blinked at him, wondering what strange alternate dimension he’d wandered into.

“You..you want to be my anchor?”

“Yes. Nothing would please me more.” Theo said dryly. “Of course I don’t want to be your anchor but until this is over you need to figure out how to control your anger properly. An anchor will help with that-”

“And you’re going to be my-”

“Yes, Liam. For the millionth time. I’ve had easier conversations with brick walls.”

“That’s probably because brick walls can’t call you out on being an ass.” Liam grumbled.

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Wide Eyed

A/N: i hope everyone enjoys this one as much as Dusk Till Dawn and keep your eyes peeled at the end for a surprise ;) aesthetic is made by me as always so if you’re gonna steal it, at least credit ya girl please. thanks to @sensualshawn for always helping me write. i try my best to get rid of all typo’s but there are probably some still hiding in there. please bare in mind that i am british and some spellings may be different to american spelling. enjoy!

- word count: 1,887
- warnings: none, kinda smutty
- blurb: shawn frustrates his new housemate with his annoying habits but end up getting a little too close during a house party



You slammed the toilet seat down for what felt like the millionth time this week. Sighing and adjusting the towel at your chest, feeling somewhat frustrated and even a little angry. You marched your way from the bathroom along the short corridor into the open plan lounge and kitchen where you set your eyes on your new housemate.

“Shawn,” You began, running a hand through your wet hair, sighing as though you wondered why you were bothering telling him off again. “For the umpteenth time, when you use the toilet - would it kill you to put the seat back down?”

He looked at you sheepishly as he scoffed a piece of toast, a mug of coffee in his hand as he brought it to his lips, sipping it quickly. The smirk behind the small ceramic piece of crockery was clearly evident.

“Sorry,” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders with a smile as he dried his damp hair with a towel and he gave you one of those looks you’d become accustomed to over the last week.

Gross, you thought. Boys are gross.

you were also lying to yourself, you wanted to think he was gross but quite frankly - seeing him stood in the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats, his skin still damp from the shower, smirking at your the way he did, he was definitely not gross. Anything but gross.

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3

‘This album is by women for women – and any man who wants to buy it,’ says Amber. ‘We are three very different ladies with very different life experiences. We are different ages, different shapes and from different ethnic backgrounds but we all love music and that has bonded us. The album is full of emotion, full of joy and, we hope, a bit of old-fashioned glamour.’

I have two big sisters at home, and now I have two big sisters in London. Beverley calls us a ‘supergroup’, other people call us ‘divas’ but to me we are a sisterhood. There are no egos, no fights, because I love those girls. My life is crazy – I never believed I would be in a group with two incredible British performers. I came to London on my own. I had never done a stage show before and it can be very lonely. Bev and CJ swooped in and scooped me up. I’ve had problems with the cold because I’m from LA and 24-hour sunshine, and they’ve had me steaming my throat, eating ginger for colds and avoiding dairy. Bev is also a great cook and I have an open invitation for some West Indian dinners. I feel their love.

I thought I would work at Ikea for the rest of my life. I always wanted to sing and act but I spent years getting rejection after rejection. I was rejected for American Idol when I was 17, and by the age of 19 the only gigs I could get were in a tiny open-mic venue in Los Angeles. So I gave up on my dream and worked at Ikea for two years until my parents told me I had to get my passion back. That gave me the strength to battle rejection once again.

My weight goes up and down because I’m a normal woman. I go on diets. I come off diets. I take up exercising. I stop exercising. I go vegetarian and then I want to eat lamb chops. I try to be healthy and then I have a craving for six-cheese macs, which I make from scratch as cooking is my other passion. My weight is more of an obsession for other people than it is for me. When the Glee team went on TV chat shows, the other actors would be asked about so many things, and all I ever got was the ‘fat questions’.

I struggle with body confidence. Self-esteem and self-love is a process I have to begin again on pretty much a daily basis. I have to remind myself all the time that I am proud of what I have achieved. But I am a work in progress and as prone to comfort eating as the next woman. What I love about Bev and CJ is how healthy they are. They don’t focus on size, they focus on health. I am feeling very healthy right now, which is the most important thing.

I refused to be the fat cliché. I didn’t want to take acting roles that were just the fat unhappy girl eating all the time. I wanted to show that your shape does not define you. I think I have shown that I can act, that I can sing – and when I took part in Dancing With The Stars I definitely showed I could dance. That meant a lot to me – and to a lot of other plus-size women out there.

The most meaningful song on the album for me is ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. I have dedicated it to my childhood friend Stacey, who died a few months ago. We grew up together and she was like a sister to me. She was a beautiful dancer but she contracted an autoimmune disease that affected her mobility. My greatest sadness is that I never got to see her to say goodbye, because I was committed to the West End. This is my goodbye to a very special woman.

I never knew how hard performing on stage would be. I didn’t know what to expect. All I knew was that I was going to put my heart and soul into it and absolutely commit. I have so much respect for stage performers because you have to be 100 per cent on your game every night – and it’s not about you, it’s all about the audience, making their experience count. To win an Olivier was a strange moment for me. I felt so happy that the British theatre world had accepted me with open arms, but I am always incredibly nervous when the spotlight is turned on me as myself.

I love everything British – if only there was sunshine it would be perfect. The people are wonderful, the fashion is fantastic and I love fish and chips. If I get homesick I watch Friends and if my sisters Toiya and Ashley come over from the US to see me – which they do a lot – I get them to bring a special barbecue sauce rub and Mucinex for my sinuses. I’m pretty easy to please.

Sexiness comes from confidence. With Bev and CJ by my side, I feel very confident. In the music industry there are a lot of female singers whose look is overtly sexy. I believe a woman has a right to dress as she wants, but I don’t want my five-year-old niece Teonie signing up for that sexy look. As Leading Ladies we love a bit of good old-fashioned glamour. Glamour is sexy; a beautiful, well-cut dress is sexy, but most of all I think sexiness comes from confidence. It’s lovely to perform together, to share the experiences. I’m so excited about this project. If it means more collaborations with Bev and Cassidy, I’m in. (x)

Guys My Age Don’t Know How To Touch Me - Part I

Shout out to my ladies! @illumendes @bwshines @littlew0nders @shawndreaming @ele-a-na I love you all so much!


The paparazzi start shouting as soon as he steps out of the car. He dips his head down, curls bopping slightly and he checks his phone.

He still can’t believe he gets texts from his idol, John Mayer himself.

“We are sitting in the back, see you, bud!”

He follows his bodyguard through the screaming crowd, adjusting his jean jacket, entering the posh restaurant in Los Angeles.

He fixes his hair, adjusts his silver ring and scans the room.

“Can I help you?” a waitress asks, looking up at him.

“Yeah, I’m looking for Mister John Mayer, he said he’s in the back?”

“Oh, yes, right. Please follow me!”

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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 | 

Table of Contents | Series Masterlist


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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 :)

Still Beating (Part 11)

For previous parts click here. Thanks so much for reading. x

I notice that Harry’s torso is still shirtless because it’s all Jonah is looking at. Actually, he’s staring at one thing in particular.

“Hey, Harry, what’s that on your chest?” Jonah asks innocently.

“Just a beauty mark,” Harry lies.

“A beauty mark? Well, it’s not very beautiful.” Kids and their honesty.

Harry’s head tilts to the side, eyebrows raised in an amused expression. “You don’t think so?”

Jonah shakes his head, not looking at all sorry. I decide to intervene.

“So, Jonah, what do you want to do today?”

He shrugs, looking around the apartment.

Harry walks by me on his way to his bedroom. “The little critter’s all yours. I just want to relax today.”

While Jonah stands awkwardly by the couch, hands intertwined, I gather crayons and the colouring book I bought at the university book store for stress relief. Harry comes out in a white t-shirt and plops on the couch. His body is fully stretched out, taking up the majority of it. The little space available is just enough for Jonah and the boy takes a seat beside Harry’s feet. His posture is near perfect and he looks content, despite the fact that his bum is only halfway on the couch.

Harry notices and carefully straightens his body on the couch. He looks at the little kid like he has two heads.

“Is that better? There’s more room for you now.”

“Oh yes, thanks Buddy,” Jonah says sweetly.

Harry is watching the TV but Jonah is watching him, looking so happy to be sharing the couch with him.

“So,” Harry says awkwardly. “What do you want to watch?”

“Whatever you want is fine,” Jonah says politely.

Harry shrugs. “No, seriously, tell me what you like. What’s your favourite show?”

“I like the Bubba Guppies.”

Harry momentarily freezes. “Mind if we watch football?”

Jonah’s face falls slightly. “Football’s cool.”

I’ve torn a few pages out of my book, some of the ones that I think are easy to colour, and have taken out all the crayons from my pencil case.

“Hey Jonah?” I say in a chipper voice. “Would you like to colour with me?”

He looks at Harry, whose eyes are fixed on the screen.

“No offence, Sienna, but I’d rather watch football with Harry,” Jonah says.

Feeling slightly rejected, I tell him it’s fine and begin to colour a picture myself, just so the set-up wasn’t for nothing.

I’ve coloured half of a flower when the two chairs beside me are pulled out.

“Hey, you decided you wanted to colour after all?” I smile, grabbing Jonah a sheet.

“Actually, Harry told me to come. Said you looked sad.”

Harry blushes.

“Did he now?” I mumble. “I don’t suppose you want to colour, Harry?”

“No friggen way,” he says. Jonah puts down his orange crayon and pushes his paper away from him.

Harry and I look at each other. “It’s just that I’m not really good at colouring. Maybe you can show me how,” he suggests.

Jonah smiles brightly and instructs Harry on Colouring 101. The inside of the flower is yellow, the stem is green. The petals can be any colour, as long as it’s not brown.

“Inside, yellow. Stem, green. Petals, not brown,” Harry recites, way too seriously.

I bite my tongue to prevent myself from laughing.

“Jonah, are you hungry? Do you want a snack?”

He shakes his head, which is resting on one hand, elbow bent on the table. “No, but I’m thirsty.”

“Okay, what do you want to drink?”

“What do you have?”

I supress a smile. I knew he’d ask that. “Well, we have juice, water, milk…”

“Want a beer?” Harry interrupts.

Jonah laughs hysterically. “Oh yeah, give me beer!”

“You’re getting orange juice,” I say, standing from the table.

Jonah sips happily on his drink, taking a break from colouring. Harry’s given up on his picture, a few random doodles here and there. I look proudly at my work, which has no white spaces. It’s such a stupid thing, but I have to be the best at everything. Suddenly Harry’s arm gently collides with mine and my crayon runs across the page. I give him a dirty look.

“Don’t be so afraid to colour outside the lines, Sienna” he tells me.

“I’m done with my picture,” Jonah announces.

“It’s very nice,” I compliment. He looks at Harry, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Wow, Buddy, you’re quite the artist,” Harry says.

Jonah blushes. “Come on, let’s go watch TV,” he says, grabbing Harry’s hand.

I put away the colouring materials, feeling like my picture is ruined. I zip up the pencil case and place the unused sheets into the book. I look at the three pictures, feeling like I can’t toss them. I place them neatly at the back of the book.

Half hour later, Niall returns home.

“Hey, how was the trip?” I ask, sitting at the kitchen table.

“Man, traffic is a bitch!” He complains.

I cringe, hoping Jonah didn’t hear that. Sure enough, his giggle follows seconds later. He’s sitting on the couch with his knees on the cushion and his arms on the back of the couch.

Niall scratches his head sheepishly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jonah, Harry’s new best friend,” he says proudly.

“Whoa, last time I checked, that was my job. What do you say we both be his best friends? I have gum,” Niall says, pulling a pack of Juicy Fruit out of his back pocket.

Jonah contemplates for a second. “Okay, deal.”

Seeing that I’m not exactly needed on babysitting duty, I decide to be productive. I pull out the PowerPoints from last week’s lectures and make notes on them. Once that is done, I do some preliminary research for a human development essay I have due in three weeks.

I’m jotting some notes on an article when there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey,” I say, welcoming Alesha inside.

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much,” she says. “You really helped me out today. How was he?”

“Oh, our pleasure. He’s good.” I look to where he and the boys are playing some floor hockey. The couch has been pushed back a bit and there’s a crumpled ball of aluminum foil flying around.

“Wow, looks like he’s having fun. That’s so good to see.” She sighs sadly. “In case you’re wondering, today I had a meeting with my lawyer. Jonah’s father and I are getting divorced.”

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. How’s Jonah taking it?”

She grimaces. “I don’t think he knows what’s happening, really. He just knows that he and Mommy moved out of the house.”

“That must be hard,” I say quietly.

“It is, but more for me, you know? Jonah’s a special boy. He’ll bounce back. It’s more myself that now has to learn how to be a single parent. That’s why it’s nice to have such great help.” She smiles at me.

“Mommy! You’re back!” Jonah runs up to her, sweat along his hairline.

“I am! Did you have fun?”

He nods enthusiastically.

“Okay, we gotta get going, Jonah. It’s almost supper time!”

Jonah begins to pout.

“Sorry, JoBo, but we have to go. Sienna and Harry and…” She looks at Niall.

“Niall,” he says.

“and Niall have plans for the evening. Besides, it’s a school night.”

“Fine,” Jonah huffs.

After hugging us goodbye and Alesha offering payment which I declined instantly, they leave reluctantly.

The hug he gives Harry is double what he gave Niall and myself.

“Wow, he really does like you,” Niall comments, pulling up a chair in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Harry says with wonder. He’d never admit it, but not only does Harry like the little boy’s affection, but I think it’s mutual.

When I arrive at Right Round Records Tuesday evening, there’s a note by the register from Dave. He wants me to organize the back room, noting that there’s an overflow of leftover CDs. I roll my eyes. Of course there are. We get new shipments of CDs monthly, and swap out whatever doesn’t sell with the new stock. I find it hard to believe he finds the fact that we don’t sell out shocking.

I say a quick hello to Liam and Maggie who are just doing whatever they can to keep busy. Maggie is sweeping the floors and Liam is hanging by the window, practically begging people to come in. I flick on the light in the storage room and take a deep breath as I realize this may be the first shift where I am actually busy. I pop my headphones in and get to work. I’m not even sure what Dave means by “organize,” but considering that the CDs are scattered randomly on the shelves, with no order to them whatsoever, I decide arranging them alphabetically is a good start.

I’m humming along to a song from an up and coming British girl group when I feel a pair of arms grab me from behind. Before a scream escapes my lips, my ear buds are pulled out.

“Relax, Bambi, it’s only me,” Harry whispers into my ear.

My instinct is to turn around and kick him in the shins but my body betrays me by leaning into his hard chest. I lose all thoughts momentarily as his voice sends tingles across my scalp.

“What the hell was that for?” I ask, struggling out of his grip.

He smirks at me. “You know, Sienna, that’s probably not the best way to work. It leaves you unprotected and you just never know who may be lurking these streets.”

“Oh, trust me,” I say. “I know exactly the kind of crazies you’re talking about.”

Harry laughs and the sound dissolves all my anger. He’s leaning against the countertop with his arms stretched behind him for support.

“So, what are you doing?”

“I’m working,” I tell him, holding up a stack of CDs as evidence.

“What do you say we take a break? Take a little drive around?”

“To where?” I can’t believe I’m actually entertaining this idea.

He shrugs. “Why do we have to be going somewhere specific?”

“Well, if I’m going to cut work for it, it better be damn worth it,” I explain.

“Is that a yes?” Harry’s eyebrows wiggle with excitement.

“It’s a no,” I say flatly. “I can’t ditch work and leave Liam and Maggie here alone.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry laughs. “There are two people outside there, and both of them are wearing the same uniform as you.”

I look away as I bite down on my bottom lip. He has a point.

“But still…what if I just don’t want to go with you?” I tease.

Harry pushes himself off the counter and closes the distance between us with two long strides. He makes the decently sized room feel like my dorm closet.

“Okay, Sienna,” he says tenderly, looking down into my eyes. “What if I say please?” He takes a few steps towards me until my body is backed against the wall of shelves. “Now what do you say?” His lips are inches away from mine as he speaks. Before I can form an answer, our lips are touching. I throw my hands around Harry’s neck as his arms tap the back of my thighs. I jump, wrapping my legs around his waist. He carries me until my bum hits the counter he was leaning on moments before.

Just as my legs move to bring him closer, he pulls away with a lopsided smirk.

“So?” He asks again.

“Okay,” I tell him.

His eyebrow lifts in wonder.

“Okay, I’ll go with you.”

A large smile begins to spread across Harry’s face but is interrupted by the shrill ring of his cell phone. He pulls it out of his back pocket and his eyes widen when he reads the screen.

Without looking at me, he opens the door and walks out. “I’m sorry I got to take this,” he mumbles.

“Okay?” I say weakly.

I jump down from the counter and walk out slowly to join Maggie and Liam. If I don’t distract myself by talking to my friends, I’m sure I’ll spend the rest of my shift in here wondering who Harry is talking to.

When I step outside, both Maggie and Liam are giving me curious glances. Maggie looks excited and keeps raising her eyebrows at me suggestedly. Liam, for his part, looks plain confused.

“So…” Maggie says as she skips towards me.

“So,” I repeat quietly. I’m starting to regret coming out of my cave. Her hopeful face looks like a little kids’ on Christmas. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Maggie is that she has a good heart but really loves gossip.

“Okay,” I say, throwing my hands in the air in surrender. “You can ask two questions, that’s it!”

Maggie’s face falls momentarily before she fires off her first question. Out of the corner of my eye I see Liam take a swig from his water bottle.

“Have you banged?”

My mouth falls open and the water sprays out of Liam’s mouth.

“Good God, Maggie!” Liam says, wiping his mouth. “Leave the girl alone.”

She shrugs. “What? Sienna promised to answer.”

My cheeks redden as I mumble a small no. Maggie nods her head as she digests my answer.

“Okay, next question.”

Me and my ideas.

“Where did he take you for your first date?”

Suddenly the first question doesn’t seem so bad. At least it had a straightforward answer. But I answer her question truthfully, even though I know it will only elicit more questions.

“We…uh…haven’t been on a date,” I say sheepishly.

The way Maggie’s eyebrows furrow and Liam’s mouth pulls into a frown makes me feel off-kilter.

“Okay, I’m confused,” Maggie says slowly.

“So am I,” Liam agrees.

I take a deep breath. “It’s complicated?” I offer weakly.

“Let’s be real here, for a second,” Maggie says, taking a seat on the front counter. “Harry didn’t charge in here asking where you are because he’s looking for a Bob Dylan CD, did he?”

I want to laugh at her word choice but don’t want her to think I’m not taking her seriously.

“He didn’t,” I say.

“Are you guys, like dating?” Liam asks, straight to the point.

I shrug, thinking about it. “I don’t know.” I take in their increasingly worried glances. “Hey, it’s not as bad as it seems. There’s something there,” I say quietly.

Maggie raises her hands to cute me off. “Just be careful,” she says seriously. Liam nods as he studies my face.

I look out the front window to see Harry push his phone back into his pocket. Giving Maggie and Liam a small look, I walk out to join him.

“Hey,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around my front. It’s chillier than I thought.

“Hey,” Harry answers. There’s a weariness in his voice. His smile is small as he walks towards me, backing into the wall. His head dips to my neck as his fingers press into the flesh on my hips. I know I should talk to him, but coherent words are failing me.

I feel the wetness of his tongue brush along my sensitive skin as he drags his mouth along my neck.

“Harry,” I say. My voice isn’t as strong as I want it to be and it comes across more like a moan.

“Shit,” he curses.

“What?”

He’s looking through the front window into the store where Liam and Maggie are looking at us.

“You’re friends are so freaking nosy,” he laughs.

“They just care about me,” I say lightly.

His head straightens, looking mildly hurt. “I care about you too,” he says quietly.

I nod, letting the words surround me like a coat. I change the subject.

“So, who were you talking to out here?” I ask.

Harry sighs, turning his head to the side. “My father.”

My mouth drops slightly. “Wow. What did he want?”

“I don’t know.” There’s an edge to Harry’s voice. “I literally don’t know. He just called me to let me know who he was.”

Harry runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps along the sidewalk in front of Right Round Records. Awkwardness settles around us.

“If you still want to go for that drive, I’m up for it,” I offer quietly.

“Actually, Sienna, I think I just want to go home now.”

DAMON ALBARN IMAGINE

ok this is probably my favorite damon imagine, I read it many years ago and I still love it. Thank god I have saved it in my kindle because the blog where this was posted is gone (I don’t know who wrote it, if this is your work let me know :)

Summary: Damon comes back home after an exhausting Gorillaz tour. 

WARNING: SMUT, REALLY FUCKING SMUT

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Chapter 2: if you had a chance to do it all over (would you change anything)

Originally posted by dcvertigodaily

Wondertrev - Diana x Steve

Part 1

AO3

Words: 2043 

Series Summary: Steve Trevor wakes up on the beach Themyscira knowing that he just died on that plane. So how is he alive? And why doesn’t Diana remember him? As he relives his journey with Diana, will he change anything or will he let the course of history stay the same?

Chapter: 2/7

Author’s notes: I upped the number of chapters because I have a general idea where this is going….I have two possible endings in mind and I think I may post both one if you guys want….there’s a happy ending and a not so happy one. Hope you enjoy!!!!


Steve stumbled back feeling as if he had been bludgeoned in the stomach. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what was happening. But he didn’t know where to begin. All he knew was that he was back on Themyscira. He was reliving his past. He was back at the beginning of his and Diana’s journey. But why? Who had brought him back? And why had they dropped him back at the beginning of everything?

A loud noise shook him out of his daze and he shook his head trying to clear his mind; he didn’t have time to figure that out now, the German ships were drawing closer and he would have to fight soon. They would have to fight soon. Steve turned his gaze onto Diana, who had spun around to face him, the fear clear on her face, “Who are they?”

“The Germans. They are the bad guys. I’m one of the good guys. Come on, we have to go.”

“Diana!”

Steve swung around and as he looked up he caught sight of the Amazonian’s standing at the edge of the cliff their weapons aimed out towards the German ships.

Steve turned back to Diana, whose gaze had returned to stare at the approaching ships, “Diana! Come on!”

He froze as he watched her turn around to stare at his hand in confusion. But as a woman above them screamed “Fire”, she took his hand and they ran, quickly sliding behind some rocks, remaining hidden as the battle broke out around them.  

Flaming arrows rained down as bullets flew past. The Amazonian’s began descending from the cliff and Steve stared in awe as he once again took in their unique fighting style.

A bullet shot past his head and he quickly turned back seeing a soldier aiming right at them. Without a second thought, Steve turned and knocked Diana to the ground. He heard the bullet strike behind him and didn’t realize what had happened until he heard Diana gasp.

Turning around, his heart sunk as he realized that an Amazonian had once again been killed with that exact bullet. Even though he had known it was going to happen, he hadn’t stopped it. What had he been brought back for, if not to save lives?

With a deep breath, he focused back on the fight in front of him. He had to put it behind him. He wouldn’t be able to save every single person. He couldn’t possibly save every single person. But then it struck him…those had been the exact same words he had yelled at Diana when they were at No Man’s Land. And he had been wrong then. It hadn’t been about saving every single person. It was about fighting. It was about trying. It was about fighting for what you believed.

He and Diana continued to peer out from behind the rocks as Amazonian’s on horses flew past them. Spears were soaring. Knives were thrown. Arrows were flying. Swords were clashing. And the sound of gunshots rocked the beach.

Without thinking, Steve jumped out from behind the rocks and knocked out a German, stealing his gun. He saw Diana shoot out behind him and grab a bow taking down soldier after soldier. As he shot down soldiers, he kept an eye on Diana. She had dropped the bow in favor of a sword and his mind flashed back to her fight in the town they liberated. The way she had slid across the ground knocking out soldiers left and right.  

As he spun around he caught sight of Antiope, the woman who had trained Diana. He remembered all the stories Diana had told him about her and he remembered how devastated she had been after her death. And in that moment he knew he had to do everything he could to save her.

“Shield!”

Steve once again froze in awe as he watched Antiope fly up into the air taking down three men within a second. As her feet touched the ground Steve shook his head and focused back on the battle around him.

He looked around realizing he had lost sight of Diana. His heart was racing as he looked around trying to catch sight of her.

But then he saw her, her sword clashing into a soldier, which sent him sprawling across the sand. He watched as another soldier took aim at Diana and he saw Antiope begin to run toward her, but Steve was closer. He raced across the sand and flew at the German, the gun shot off and he felt it rip into his skin as he pulled it out of the soldier’s hands and whacked it across his head knocking him to the ground.

Behind him, he saw Diana leaning over Antiope who was laying on the ground the bullet had missed her chest, instead, it had skimmed past her shoulder.

He sighed in relief, dropping the gun to the ground as he watched Diana smile down at a smirking Antiope. But his happiness was short-lived when he felt a sword being pressed against his throat.

“No!” Diana yelled, scrambling to her feet. She pushed herself in front of Steve, shoving him back away from the other Amazonians.

“He saved Antiope’s life. He saved my life.”

“Man!”

Steve jerked his head up to see all the Amazonian’s glaring at him. As he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak a woman yelled that they should just kill him. He took a minute step back with wide eyes before another woman stated that they couldn’t kill him because they needed information from him.

As they argued, he glanced over seeing another Amazonian help Antiope to her feet and led her over to the Queen. Antiope whispered something in her ear and the Queen’s eyes narrowed.

Questions continued shooting at Steve and he refused over and over and over, “Why would you believe me anyway?”

With a nod, from Queen Hippolyta, they carried him away. As his body was dragged along the sand he looked back catching sight of a confused Diana frozen on the beach. His eyes met hers as he was taken further away and he could feel his heart drop as her eyes showed no recognition of him.


For the second time in his life, he found himself wrapped up in the golden lasso. The rope was burning into his skin and he hissed glaring up as the Amazonian holding it, pulled it tighter.

“Who are you? And why are you here?”

Steve took a deep breath. Instead of resisting this time he gave them all the information they needed. “My name is Steve Trevor. I work for British Intelligence. I am a spy. I was trying to get information from the Germans to stop the war.” He told them of Ludendorff and Doctor Poison and their plan to eradicate innocents with poison gas. He pleaded with them to let him leave so he could get the notebook he had acquired to his superiors.

“This is war. The war to end all wars. Four years. 27 countries. 25 million dead. Soldiers, women, children, innocent’s slaughtered. Their homes and villages looted and burned. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s like the world’s gonna end. We need help.”

His eyes flashed as he remembered all the lives lost in the days he fought alongside Diana. Innocents that had been murdered before his eyes. He looked at Diana as her eyes widened in horror. She turned to face her mother, but the Queen’s face remained impassive.

“If I can get this notebook back to my superiors, it can stop millions more from dying.”

Steve told them everything not withholding one detail. Maybe just maybe he could convince them this time. Maybe they would believe him and come with him and Diana. Maybe this time it would be different.

But that didn’t seem to be the case. Steve fell silent, having told them everything. Without another word, the Queen left the room. Diana threw one last look at him before taking off after her mother.


An Amazonian’s, a woman named Tysa, tended to his wounds. Steve cleared his throat and she turned to him with raised eyebrows.

“Is it…um- possible for someone to come back to life?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, “In what way?”

“If someone dies, but instead of dying they get sent back to relive a certain part of their life. Has that ever happened?”

Tysa looked at his suspiciously and remained silent as she finished up wrapping his wounds.

“Only the Gods would have the power to do that.”

Steve nodded.

Tysa handed him a glass of water and just as he took a sip she said, “I heard that Diana saved you.”

Steve coughed abruptly choking on the water. He banged on his chest as he sputtered, “Diana?”

Tysa smiled knowingly, “Yes, Diana.”

“She did. She saved my life. Even though she doesn’t know me.”

“That is who Diana is.”


Steve was more than happy to get back in the bubbling water. He washed quickly this time, knowing he wouldn’t have time to enjoy it this time if he wanted to get out before Diana showed up.

But it was just his luck that she came in anyways.

As he stumbled over his words, he cringed. He once again mentioned “above average” men and mentally slapped himself on the head. Instead of remembering an embarrassing moment in his mind, he was literally reliving it.

The worst part, however, was when Diana pointed down at his watch. Steve’s his heart sunk and he picked it up running his finger over its face.

He remembered the last time he saw it. How explosions had rocked his ears. How he had raced over to Diana, who had just been knocked back by Ares. How he had pressed it into her hand before telling her that he loved her. How he had left her standing there. How her scream had ripped a hole in his heart.

And now she didn’t even know him.

They talked for the next few minutes. And Steve’s heart ached the longer they talked because all he wanted to do was pull her close. Soon she left and Steve was left alone in the cave.

As he waited for Diana to come back, he explored. However, when he rounded a corner he came face to face with a visitor.

He backed up slowly, “Queen Hippolyta.”

He didn’t remember this happening.

“Steve Trevor.”

“Are you doing this?”

“To what are you referring?”

“You know. I know that you do. Who brought me back?”

“You are not asking the right questions.”

Steve growled, “Well then, what questions should I be asking?”

“I cannot tell you that. You must find out for yourself.”

“Then why are you even talking to me?”

The Queen stepped in closer and Steve took another hesitant step back, “Because I wanted to meet the man that loves my daughter.”


Diana returned fuming a few days later and he knew today was the day. After she left, Steve packed up his stuff and sat back playing with his compass as he waited for her to show up.

He heard her step up beside him and he smirked, “Nice outfit.”

“You did not even look.”

“Above average men have eyes in the back of their heads.” He said, looking up with a smile. Her eyes went wide.

“No, they do not.”

Steve laughed, “So are we going?”

“Yes, I will show you the way off the island.”

Once they reached the boat, Steve turned waiting for her mother to show up. Diana skidded to a halt as she took in his motionless form.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Your mother.”

Diana’s brows furrowed as she looked up the path. A minute passed and the sound of horse hooves echoed through the night. Diana’s head snapped to Steve.

Steve couldn’t hear much of their conversation, only catching bits and pieces.

 I am willing to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

 I cannot stand by while innocent lives are being taken.

 You may never return.

Be careful of the world of men, they do not deserve you.

“No, we definitely do not.” he whispered.

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.

💅🏽 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!!!  🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌

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

Cold

A historic Lams fanfic


Set in 1777 during the winter at Valley Forge


A.B.O Verse (alpha, beta, omega)


Headcannon:  Alex hates seeing other people get sick and often has severe panic attacks afraid they will die like his mother did.


Alexander’s POV:


I sat at the writing desk in the commander’s tent scribbling away  desperate to find a way to get more supplies from the local merchants. Congress writes demanding the general attack the British yet offer no assistance to the starving and freezing men. We have begun to slaughter and cook our horses for Christ’s sake! I rub my temples tiredly feeling stressed.


I shivered as cold air seeped through the gap at the bottom of the tent my nose stinging slightly. The Pennsylvania winter is not something I am accustomed to having come from a topical island. The cramp in my hand made itself known but I continued writing anyhow. The rich bastards in Congress are likely sitting comfortably by a roaring fire making demands of the army like we are miracle workers.


Washington tells me the intel he received from Mulligan indicates that the British are suffering shortages as well so, in the least we are not the only ones to suffer.  I pull my coat tighter around my shoulders wishing for that roaring fire to sit by. I finish the letter folding it with shaking hands. “Not used to the cold are you Hamilton?” I turn my head seeing General Charles Lee a small smirk on his face. I sighed standing up, “I am just fine General.” I walked past the beta toward the office of the house where Washington resides to deliver the  letter.


“Permission to enter your excellency?” I ask pausing outside the door to the office.“Hamilton? Come in.” I walked inside seeing Burr with Washington. I handed him the letter allowing him to read it through watching the general relax slightly as he did so. “Well said Hamilton, perhaps this time Congress will receive the message.” Washington said giving me a gentle pat on the shoulder. I smile tiredly at the older alpha.


“Here’s to hoping.” I agreed shivering slightly. “Go back to your quarters and warm up son.” Washinton said dismissing me with a short wave of his hand. I bow my head respectfully before heading back to the house myself and John share. I exit the command building drawing my collar up against the biting wind. I hurry over to the house wondering why John was absent from command today; my alphean mate is rarely absent from work. Shrugging I push the door of our quarters open quickly shutting it once I am inside. I remove my boots and coat by the door.


I walked further into the house, “John?” I called seeing his boots by the door and smelling his scent throughout the house. I see his reports filed neatly on the desk and a fire crackles in the fireplace. I add another log to the fire before going to check the bedrooms. I call for him getting no response until I reached the bedroom we share. I push the door open, “John are you asleep?” I said quietly seeing the lump beneath the quilt. “A-Alexander? Is that..” He pauses and sneezed. “You?” I nod going over to the bed. My alphean mate lay nestled under the quilt his cheeks flushed a rosy red. “John are you all r-right?” I asked stuttering slightly. John sat up, “F-fine I just caught…” Achoo! “…a cold."  He looks up at me sniffling a little. I press a kiss to his forehead feeling a burning fever under my lips.  My dearest John is sick. He has a fever… I thought. "Alex?” John calls to me. He could die…I cannot lose him….please Lord…I cannot lose another person I love…


John’s POV:


I heard Alex calling for me and shifted a bit waiting for him to come to our bedroom. I have my own room of course but, I prefer to sleep curled around my darling Alexander.  The  poor omega is not accustomed to the cold Pennsylvania winters at all. He comes into our bedroom calling to me softly in case I was asleep and I smile because he is so considerate. I sit up when he comes over to check on me telling him that I merely caught a cold.


He kisses my forehead feeling my fever. I watch emotions flash through his eyes feeling worried, “Alex?” I say to him wondering what he is thinking. He begins to tremble a little not responding to me any further. Tears form in his eyes as he continues to shake sinking to the floor beside the bed. “Alex!” I pushed the quilt aside going to kneel beside him. “Alexander, dearest what ails you?” I asked gently cupping his face in my hands. “ P-please lord n-not again…” He mumbles his azure eyes unfocused and glassy tears falling down his cheeks.


“Shh.” I wrap my arms around Alexander rubbing circles on his back feeling him trembling in my arms. I press kisses to his tear stained cheeks nuzzling him trying to comfort my distressed mate. I feel him nose at my scent gland inhaling a bit of my scent. He relaxed slightly pulling away to look at me. “My precious lion.” I hummed softly kissing his forehead.  He blushes holding me tighter. “Let’s get warmed up hm?” I say to him receiving a nod. I scoop him up getting an adorable squeak from the omega.


We settle beneath the blanket my arms wrapped around him; I scent Washington on him probably from a friendly pat on the shoulder. The general values Alexander’s input above the other 30 aides including myself. I nuzzle his neck feeling him smile. He turns to face me resting his forehead against mine. “I love you John.” My heart flutters every time he says that.


I go to reply the same to him when I feel mucus clog my throat. I turn mu head and begin to cough into my sleeve. Alex sits up beside me looking worried. He rubs my back as I try to hack up the mucus clogging my throat. I feel like I am trying to force a lung out of my mouth hitting my chest  gently. Alex suddenly stopped rubbing my back and I heard him leave the room likely to fetch me a glass of water.


After a full minute of coughing I spit the glob of mucus into a piece of tissue tossing it into rubbish bin. I hear a crash from downstairs and glass breaking. I instinctively feel protective of my mate pushing the quilt aside once again. I get out of bed  quickly heading downstairs. I smell blood and run to the kitchen ready to defend my mate from the invading alpha. Instead I find my mate on the floor a broken glass beside him.


Alex’s hand is bleeding and he’s shaking horribly. I rush to his side carefully avoiding the broken glass. I pull him onto my lap pulling the med kit off the counter. I find no glass in his hand sighing with relief. I clean and wrap his hand. He is still shaking like I knotted him. Tears pour down his face and his scent is severely distressed.


He whimpers his eyes completely clouded over and unfocused. “Alexander, darlin….” I nose his scent gland trying to calm him down; he looks at me. “What brought this on?” I ask him gently. He clings to me sobbing, “ D-d-don’t leave me alone! I c-cannot live without y-you.” Startled I wrap my arms around him, “Alexander I have no intention of leaving you. I love you too much to leave you.” He continues to sob his breathing shallow,  “You’re s-sick…and c-could d-die…” Now I’m really worried, “I have a head cold dearest not a deadly disease. I will not die from a minor head cold.” Alex is hyperventilating at this point his thin frame shaking harder than before. “P-people have d-died from c-colds!” While that’s true it usually results from the cold going untreated and developing into something worse.


“I don’t w-want y-you t-to d-die J-John…” I hold him tightly rubbing his back trying desperately to calm him down. Alex has had anxiety  attacks before but, never this intense. He seems beyond listening to reason. I hate using my endotype against my mate but, I know his body cannot handle an anxiety attack this intense at the momemt. I press my scent gland causing Alex to look up at me and whimper his eyes glassy.


I kept my fingers on my scent gland until he shrunk back in submission crying for forgiveness. I immediately stop cradling him in my arms. “Shh shh. Breathe Alexander, deep breaths.” I run my fingers through his hair whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Just as he began to calm down I am struck with another coughing fit. I am left gasping for air until I spit out more mucus into a dirty towel over a minute later. I felt wet spots on my nightshirt and see that Alexander is crying again. “Alexander…” I murmur rocking my distressed mate going to sit by the fire. He continues to give soft heartbreaking sobs clinging to me like I will disappear should he release me. I rub circles on the omega’s back rocking him gently wishing I had enough of my voice to sing to him. It hurts my heart to see him so upset and even more so when I realize he cried himself out.  I kiss his head standing to go back upstairs. “I love you Alexander, my precious lion.” I return to our bedroom tucking us both under the quilt. I stroke his cheek worried about my mate. 


I sat reading my book when the bedroom door opened causing me to tense  instinctively protecting my vulnerable mate. I look up and see Lafayette relaxing at the sight of the married alpha. “Mon ami you were absent again… I had to make sure you are all right.” Lafayette sits beside the bed in a chair seeing Alex sleeping. “Finally asleep?” He asked me quietly. “He had a panic attack a half hour before you came in to check on my condition.” I replied sadly running my fingers through Alex’s hair. “He panicked when I started coughing…beg pardon it actually   started when I told him I have a cold.” Lafayette sighs, “John his mother died of illness.” I feel my heart drop when Lafayette said that. “Ever since then seeing anyone he is close to sick in any way sets off his anxiety. He has lost everyone except for ourselves.” My friend stands, “I shall inform the general that you are unwell.” He turns and walks out leaving me alone with Alexander and the new information he gave me. 

I think on it until Alexander stirs beside me; he opens his eyes his ginger hair frizzy from the pillow. “I a- apologize f-for earlier…” He murmurs looking away ashamed. I pull him into my arms nuzzling his messy hair feeling his shoulder slump. I  pepper his face with kisses making him chitter softly and nuzzle my neck. “Alex did your mother die from illness?” I asked as we lay cuddling feeling him tense up in my arms. I receive a nod and hear him sniffle. “Is that why you panicked seeing me coughing earlier?” He nods again a soft whimper escaping his lips.I turn him to face me seeing tears running down his cheeks.

I rub them away with my thumbs kissing his forehead, “Shhh dearest I’m all right.” I cup his cheeks in my palms forcing him to meet my eyes. “It’s just a cold Alexander, nothing more all right?” “All r-right.” He says and I give him a quick kiss enjoying the dark blush that blossoms across his cheeks. I return to cuddling my mate feeling him become more relaxed. “I love you John.” H mumbles as he fall back to sleep. My heart fluttered and I kissed his cheek saying, “I love you too Alexander."  As I fall back to sleep myself. 


For @giotanner @of-danvid-and-stars and @alannahablar

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

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

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.

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 :)
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.

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.