i only bought it this afternoon :(

People often say to me “Coop, you’re an old bastard. Do you remember The Black Death? Your multiple-times-Great-Grandfather the Emperor Charlemagne? The time Joseph of Arimathea bought the Holy Grail to Glastonbury? The arrival of the Anunnaki and their enslavement of the human race? The rise and fall of the great antediluvian civilization on Antartica? The time before the Lizard People built the artificial Moon and towed it into Earth orbit? When Metallica were actually good?”

And I say I only vaguely remember the latter of those things, as I can clearly date my earliest memory to 17th August 1977 and the headline of the Daily Mail “THE KING IS DEAD” coupled with going to the dentists that afternoon in Cradley Heath and my Mom and the dentist discussing the news. I was three. It’s possibly the only memory I have of the time before seeing Star Wars (Quinton cinema, the preceeding feature was about Evil Knievel, my Dad had to spend the entire film holding my seat down as I was too light to keep it in the down position).

So tomorrow on the 17th, because in those days the newspapers were always a day behind events, means that the Coop memory, packed full of useless crap about old games and the Sinclair ZX Spectrum, is exactly 40 years old.

the story of the underwear cockles op

y’all wanna hear the story of how @amazinmango and i got this photo op at phxcon this weekend?


so here’s the thing: n o n e of this was planned. it was amazing, hilarious, ridiculous kismet. 

mango’s had his birthday recently, and so i brought his birthday present with me to phxcon. part of the present was a pair of jensen’s underbears (i think the text i sent mango right after jib was, “we’re close enough that it’s not weird if i buy u underwear right????”) bc i thought that was hilarious from jib and mango is a huge jensen fan and dean!boy. so the original joke was just that mango could have the bear underwear. i also got him a second pair in orange, bc orange is his fav colour. this was as far as i thought this would go. 

so i get into phoenix thursday night and give mango his present. we didn’t know there were cockles photo ops until friday afternoon when we saw hard tickets for sale. i distinctly remember being bummed that my hometown con had cockles photo ops for sale online but phxcon, the one i was actually going to, did not. but obviously once i saw they were available, like. THERE WAS ONLY ONE CHOICE. so after deciding it was completely financially irresponsible when we have no money, i bought the op. 

i can’t remember when it occurred to us that we had both the underbears and a pair of lucky orange underwear for misha in our hotel room. we wanted to do something fun and funny for the op, and cracked ourselves up at the idea. but we were also aware that it could be, you know, kind of sort of maybe intensely uncomfortable to be like (a) i know what underwear u were wearing and (b) here i brought pairs of them for you to further laugh over. i have a T E R R I B L E akdslkjkas embarrassment squick, so we didn’t want to do anything that made us uncomfortable, and we definitely didn’t want to do anything that would make misha or jensen uncomfortable. we wanted them to have fun with us and play around with us. 

we ran our idea passed our roomie, who has some good con experience, to see if she thought it would fly or not. we agreed on judging our plan based on their mood on the day and asking them if they felt comfortable enough to do it was the best course of action, with a back-up plan ready to go immediately just in case, so j+m knew we were serious that they could totally pass on it if it was weird. CONSENT AND SAFE SPACE. we were hella concerned about this. 

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  • Victor: Honey, do you remember that afternoon that you and I were walking down fifth avenue and we saw that beautiful ring in the window, and you said to me: if only, one day, I could own a ring like that?
  • Yuuri: Yeah?
  • Victor: *holds up hand* I bought it for myself!
Harry Potter:

- Last picture on Instagram: (8:45pm last night) Draco curled up on the sofa in nothing but one of Harry’s baggy sweaters that falls past his thighs, glass of wine in one hand, middle finger held up for the camera with the other, trademark pout in place. Caption: “My demure boyfriend ❤️️

- Last Snapchat sent to Draco: (9:15am this morning) Empty conditioner bottle in the trashcan. Caption: “I literally only just bought you this three days ago.”

- Last Snapchat received from Draco: (9:23am this morning) Selfie with the Marilyn Monroe filter. Caption: “Did you think my hair looks this good with just shampoo and water?”

- Last link shared on Facebook: (3:10pm this afternoon) Buzzfeed Quiz What’s Your Biggest Kink in Bed? Result: Bondage. Caption: “WTF, how’d they know?!” 
Ron - mate… TMI
Pansy - Question is, Potter, are you the one doing the tying up or the one being tied up?
Ron - please don’t answer that, Harry.
Hermione - I second that; don’t answer her.
Harry - guys, chill… Pansy Parkinson, wouldn’t you like to know???? (P.S. I do the tying up, Draco hasn’t told you?)
Draco - I am literally going to kill you, Harry Potter.

(Companion to this)

Slowly but Surely

Request: Hi! I love your writing so much, i wanted to request a newt x reader, in which newt and the reader are best friends, and newt thinks he has a crush on tina so reader helps him impress her bc he’s a shy baby, but in the process they realise that they actually had feelings for each other all along and they fall harder? Happy ending? Xx

Word Count: 2,861

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

“Well, that was disappointing.”

You and Newt stare down at the broken vase. Glass and water mix over the wooden floor and someone shouts from downstairs.

“I’ll get the broom.”

Newt steps back and you can already see the questions pestering him and thinning his confidence.

“I’m sure she’d say yes, Newt. You just have to ask.”

“I know, I know.” There’s the pacing you expected, complete with one finger pressed against his lips whenever he stops speaking. “I just need to find the right time.”

You toss the dust pan onto the ground, where it lands with a crunch on some vagrant piece of glass. “There’s never going to be a ‘right time.’”

Newt rolls his eyes at the quote gestures you make around his words. “I don’t want it to come from nowhere.”

“What if it comes from your heart?” You tease.

He scowls. “Funny. Here I thought I asked for love advice, not bad jokes.”

The glass scratches the ground on its way into the pan. “It’s a dual package. The jokes come free of charge.”

“What if I ask her on a roof? At sunset?”

“A bit cliché, don’t you think?”

“Well I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas.”

You sigh. Snappy Newt is not your favorite Newt to deal with. “Tina likes you, Newt. I promise. You could ask her out in a dumpster as a phoenix bursts into ashes around you both and she’d still say yes.”

“What about with a picnic? Women like those.”

You sweep the final pieces of glass into the dust pan. “If you really want help, you need to calm down. I’ll come up with something.”

Newt runs a hand over his face. “I’m going to check on the occamies.”

“No worries, I’ll just finish mopping up this mess myself.”

He turns back to you and shakes his head. “Let me help.”

The two of you finish drying off the floor as best you can. Sitting across from one another, you look at the final piece of the mess: the dropped lily, pure petals drooping under the water they soaked up during the clean-up. Newt leans over and grabs it before falling back against the wall. He holds it up in front of him, spinning it in his hands, ignoring the water dripping onto his hands.

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theextremedunhun  asked:

Can you do "I'm pregnant" with Josh's baby please? I feel like I could've wrote that better but it's 3am sorry. And it's fine to ignore lol

Originally posted by cottoncandyjoshdun

A/N -  There is smut in this. I never put these but since some people do not like Josh Dun smut I will put a little warning on these now.
Thank you. 

Their tour had come to an end and finally Josh was able to take a few days completely off before starting their rehearsals and brain storming for the new album.
His first night home consisted of a lot of sleep, actually he pretty much slept the whole day. Today we were going to go out with a few friends for lunch and then just relax at home together, which is the part I really couldn’t wait for.
Josh had walked out of the shower with just a towel around his waist, his body still covered in droplets of water.

“Why?” I laugh at him from the bed.

“Why what?” He throws me a confused look.

“Why don’t you ever dry off?” I stand up and grab a small towel from the bathroom and run it over his shoulders and down his back.

He turns to face me and I run the towel over his chest and he hands wrap around my waist, he places a kiss against my forehead and presses his hips to mine. I bite in my lower lip as I feel his member against me, I reach my arms around his neck and kiss him again.
His hands are quickly making their way up my shirt and out lips separate just for my shirt to slip over my head. His teeth bite into my bottom lip and I can’t help but let out a small moan.
His hands grip my waist tighter and my nails dig into his shoulders as his tongue rolls over mine and our breathing picks up.
He takes a few steps and I shuffle my feet backwards until the backs of my legs hit the bed and I fall back on it.

“I misses you so much.” His voice is low as he groans.

He unbuttons my pants and pulls everything off and throws it behind him, I can clearly see his erection through the towel and I feel my core ache.

“I missed you too, daddy.” I give him a smile as I finish the sentence.

He runs his tongue over his lips and drops his towel at the end of the bed, he positions himself on top of me and his hand dips between my legs.
His fingers run gently on my inner thigh, trailing so close and I groan every time he runs them back down my thigh.

“Are you wet for me baby?” He whispers in my ear, “Because I want you dripping.” He gently bites my neck.

I moan and arch my back, his fingers glide up and down my slit and he lets out a groan of his own, he brings his fingers to my lips and I part them with a smile as he glides them in and I twirl my tongue around them.

He pulls his fingers out of my mouth, “You always have me dripping.” I laugh out.

He presses his lips to mine with a smile and I bite on his bottom lip, I feel his tip at my entrance and I bite a little harder.
He groans and I let go of his lip, he grabs onto my hands and holds them above my head as he presses himself into me. My back arches against his hold and I let out a moan louder than expected.
He finds his pace and he lets out his own string of grunts and moans with each thrust.
His arm that is holding my hands flexes with every thrust while his tattooed arm is holding himself up. His shoulders are tensed and all I want to do is touch him, every part of him. I pull my hands down but it only causes him to add more pressure and thrust into my harder.
I scream out his name and his head falls forward with a low growl.

“Shit!” he moans, he lets go of my hands and quickly moves his hand to my clit.

I bring his face to mine and kiss him, I moan into his mouth and rake my nails down his back which he responds to with a string of curse words.
My stomach begins tighten and I know he feels it, he keeps his pace going and my legs begin to shake as they wrap around his waist.
My nails dig into his shoulders until we both come down from our high.
He rolls off me and holds his arm out for me to come closer, I scoot into him and rest my head on his chest.
The pounding of his heart matches mine and we lay there in silence for a few moments as we catch out breath.

“I love you.” I whisper and kiss his chest.

He brushes my hair out of my face and runs his fingers up and down my arm, “I love you baby girl.”

It has been over two months since Josh has been home, the boys have been working pretty hard on the new album as well as interviews and side shows here and there.
We both know another tour will be coming up sooner than I want so we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other, which I don’t mind at all.
These past two week have kept up pretty calm though, I have been constantly sick and Josh has tried just about everything to make me feel better but sometimes the smell of something makes me puke for five minutes straight.

It was a Friday afternoon and Josh was out with Tyler, I had gotten up and made myself a piece of toast and went back to bed. I was laying awake curled into a ball when the thought finally crossed my mind.
I got out of bed too fast and had to run to the bathroom, I brushed my teeth again and went downstairs and jumped in my car.
I wanted to drive fast but I knew the motions would only make it worse, as soon as I pulled up to the store I ran in and bought about $60 of the same thing.
I got back in my car and threw my car in park once I was in front of the house. I groaned walking back up the stairs but once I finally made it I locked myself in the bathroom and dumped out four different kinds of pregnancy tests.

“This can’t be happening. This can’t.” I repeat to myself over and over as I open all four boxes.

I follow the directions carefully for each brand and set them on the counter, I sit on the bathroom floor and wait.
I grab all four tests and curl up into a tighter ball, my chest hurts and I can’t even hold back the tears.

“He is going to be so mad. How could we be so stupid! Why am I so stupid!” I cry into the tile floor.

I hear the front door open downstairs and Josh calls out my name, I quickly wipe my face and throw the boxes and tests in a towel under the cabinets. I make sure a towel is out just in case he was going to shower, I make sure I didn’t leave anything behind and quickly get in the bed and cover up my entire face.

Josh comes in the room and places a soft kiss on the top on my head and whispers, “I love you, I’ll be back soon and I’ll text you this because you’re sleeping.”

Once I hear the door close the sobs start again, I wrap my arm around my stomach and I can’t help but think of all the reasons this will end us.

I fall asleep but wake up close to 2 am, I look over and Josh is sound asleep wrapped in the blankets. The heart wrenching feeling comes tumbling back and I try to quiet the cries, it seems impossible so I get up and head into the bathroom.
I pull the towel out from under the cabinet and stare at all four positive tests.

“Babe?” I hear Josh shuffle out of the bed and I wrap the towel back up. He opens the door and quickly comes and wraps his arms around me, “What’s going on? Are you ok? What happened?”

He pulls me in closer and the tears start flowing more than before, I can’t think of the words and I don’t know how else to tell him. I open up the towel and let the tests and boxes fall to the tile. I push him away and bring my knees to my chest and rest my head against them.

“I’m sorry. This is all messed up, this wasn’t supposed to happen!” I cry out, I lift my head and look at his shocked face, “I’m pregnant!” I scream out in tears.

Josh comes back to my side and hugs me tightly, “This isn’t the end of the world baby, it’s more like the start of a whole new one. Please, don’t be sorry. This isn’t a one mans job, it takes two and I plan on being there for all of this and everything after this and I plan to do it by your side.” His kisses the side of my head.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, I don’t know what to say since I was expecting a completely different response.

“Do no be sorry for this. I am not upset in the slightest. At the moment I am shocked but by morning I promise it will be all excitement. There is no one else in this world that I would rather start a family with. Know that and believe that.”

I curl into him, he hums a melody to calm me down. My mind starts to feel at ease and I lock my fingers in with his.
We fall asleep there, on the bathroom floor with four positive pregnancy tests spread out on the floor.

CLF: Tendrement, Pasionement (H)

A/N: Yes, I know this is coming up early, but I’m spending time with some friends tonight, and I won’t be able to post. Also, I am aware this is long ish, but the only other place I would have broken it in would have put the final part at like, 500 words and that’s stupid.

A/N: Tendrement, Pasionement is DONE. Now we move onto Part Three, which probably won’t start getting posted until Saturday. There WILL, however, be a PSA regarding Part Three (A La Folie), since it deals with some extremely sensitive, possibly triggering material.

WARNINGS: First fight! Swearing, angst, angst, angst, a tiny bit of fluff, smut at the end, you’re going to get your heart broken, sorry



SONG TRACK: Marry Me–Train & Hallelujah–Jeff Buckley (I listened to this one on repeat while writing the end of this chapter and heard a fucking train whistle right in the middle of it)

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alwaysbeekind  asked:

omg i have a request if that's ok, could it be a connor x reader and they've been dating since like middle school and no one thought it would last but now they're here in senior year and still love each other a lot?i just thought that would be cute aha

this is so cute oh my god i need that kind of happy things in my life

“Don’t tell me Connor Murphy and Y/N are still dating?”, a girl whispered, loud enough for you to hear it, to her friend, as you two were walking down the hallway – hand in hand. You had to smile a bit. People were surprised that you two were still in love. Not that you went through a lot, it’s just been some years now. 5 years, specifically.

Connor and you started dating in 7th grade. Of course, it was one of these awkward first relationships, where you only hold hands and meet each other to play video games. You enjoyed these times with Connor. He’s always been your best friend, but then he was your boyfriend. And that was like a whole different level when you’re 13 years old and on the brink of growing up.

Today was your first day of senior year, but Connor and you decided to skip the last period and went straight away to his house. These were the kind of afternoons you adored. You and your boyfriend, lying in bed, listening to your favourite bands and either making out or talking about both of your lives and dreams. You rested your head on his chest, your hands entwined. You heard his heartbeat. His hand was stroking your back, going up and down.
“We’re almost dating for 5 years now, can you believe that?”
“5 years? That’s an incredibly long time. It almost feels like as if I had only asked you yesterday if you wanted to go on a date with me.”, he snorted.
You laughed quietly. “You would call going to McDonald’s on a Saturday afternoon a date?”
“Well, I bought you a milkshake. So…yeah.”
You rolled your eyes and kissed him, just as the many times you did before. His hands resting on your waist. There was no doubt that you two were in love. That you were still in love.

Looking back, you two went through a lot. Your awkward phase, where you would wear too much lipgloss and bright eyeshadow. Sometimes when you two were watching old photos from this time, you would always ask Connor, why he still found you attractive back then. And he always gave you the same answer: “I was 13 and had a major crush on you, since I was like 10. So, what do you think?” That response always made you smile a lot. Maybe you would even blush. You went through fights, deaths, tears and kisses. No person was as close to you as Connor.

Connor loved you. And this boy loved everything about you. The way you spoke, the way you laughed, the way you kissed him, the way you would comfort him when everything was too much. You always reminded him of the light in someone’s life. And he was sure, that you were his only light. Shining so brightly, that he would never stay in the dark again.
Connor was your first everything. Your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first time sex. The first person you said “I love you” to, and really meant it. Suddenly, there was this tingly feeling in your whole body. You and Connor have been through so much – what if it ended someday? What if he broke up with you one day? You could never love another person more than you love Connor.
Then you thought back. When you two started dating, your parents would always say, that this is only a school relationship and it probably wouldn’t last longer than three months.
All your friends would say, that one day you’d be so annoyed of each other that you couldn’t go on like this anymore. Well, maybe. Maybe, one day you two are going to feel this way. But it was definitely not this day. And it won’t be tomorrow. You were sure about that. And Connor was sure about that.

“I love you so much”, he said under his breath.
“I love you so much”, you whispered back, kissing him again on his lips. You were no longer afraid of your future. As long as Connor was part of it - everything seemed right.

Jet Lag

The room was dark and cool. The only sounds were those of a fan and my boyfriend, Niall’s, soft snoring. I stared at the ceiling and resisted the urge to roll over again. I couldn’t sleep. I checked my phone for what felt like the millionth time. Two o'clock am. I pushed myself up and climbed out of the soft, warm bed. There was clothing strewn between the bed and the door to the bedroom from their hasty, passionate removal earlier that night. I grabbed Niall’s hoodie and threw it over my shoulders, zipping it up the front. His scent lingered on the navy blue garment and I didn’t even try to resist the urge to bury my nose in it and inhale deeply. I quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped through it. 

Earlier that day I had flown in from Los Angeles. Having a long distance relationship was hard, especially when it was separated by eight time zones. Fortunately, Niall’s job brought him to LA often so he was able to visit me frequently and I wouldn’t have to sacrifice my job to spend time with him. I actually got him for a full month this August and September, and it had been magical. Now it was my turn for a visit. Any paid time off I got was spent following Niall around the world and I had been looking forward to this trip to London for a while. However, the jet lag was kicking my ass. I had been able to sleep on the plane and even took a nap with Niall this afternoon on the couch. Now I was restless. 

I started going through Niall’s fridge and pantry, suddenly hungry. It was always impressive how full he kept his kitchen. Mine was much less appealing. The only things I kept on hand consistently were beer, Diet Pepsi and condiments. Oh, and cat food, of course. I found a loaf of brioche and marveled at Niall’s fanciness. Who bought brioche? I hoped he didn’t have any plans for it because I was suddenly craving French toast. I managed to wrangle up the rest of the ingredients and set about putting it together. 

I had a couple of slices on the griddle when I heard Niall pad into the kitchen on bare feet. He had slipped on his white boxer briefs and a t-shirt. His eyes were barely open and his dark hair with blonde tips was sticking up in all directions. He had obviously run his fingers through his hair and my legs tightened at that thought. I loved when he did that. In fact, there wasn’t anything he did with his hands that I didn’t love. He approached me from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist. His chin rested on my shoulder and he gave me a squeeze. 

“Can’t sleep, angel?” His voice was low and raspy, his accent thick.

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I just want to have a real deep conversation.

I won’t talk to you about games or apps or anything technology-related. I find those things quite useless. I won’t talk to you about anything that can be bought with money and anything you can see on a store shelf.

What will get me to talk are the serious things nobody ever wants to talk about at 4:00 in the afternoon.

I want to talk about songs with heavy lyrics because music is the only thing that keeps me company during the dark hours. I want to know what kinds of songs you listen to and what lyrics resonate with you the most. I want to talk about the song I heard playing on the radio on the way here and how it gave me hope when my heart was in a million pieces.

I want to know the places you’ve been to and what you remember most about them. I want to know the kind of conversations you have with your mother and father and wife and children. I want to know the best advice you were ever given and your thoughts on gender equality and bullying.

I want to ask you if you ever had that feeling that someone was listening to your silent prayer. I want to talk about the teachings of the Dalai Lama and the process of being like water and the latent power in vulnerability.

I want to talk about how we can be more transparent and compassionate and truthful.

I want to know if you have the same hunger for life as I do. I want to know if you feel just as intensely, if you feel like you’re going to explode at any given moment but you contain it because people expect you to be calm and nonchalant, because feeling so strongly about things like songs and spirituality is too emotional and too dramatic to talk about over grilled prawns and salmon.

I want to know if you’re one of the few I can talk to, really talk to, because conversations must go soul-deep. I want to know if you have the guts to dive and hold your breath. I want to know just how far you’re willing to go before you come up for air.

Bull Gets A Shave

Because of this. I also wanted to try writing in past-tense again. And I wanted some giggly, corny OTP. Even Kimani is goofy sometimes xD

Bull just wanted to look nice for the opera. That’s all he wanted.

Generally he kept his beard low, managed to shape up the sides so they matched every once in a while, but other than that he left his face alone. Not much he could do about it anyway, but at the very least he could keep himself from looking like Blackwall; Blackwall’s beard had a personality. If pressed, Blackwall’s beard could probably speak.

He hadn’t done much to himself since coming to Val Royeaux; before whisking Kimani away to the spa Vivienne had mentioned he might visit a barber she knew, passing along his information and suggesting he ask Philippe for a “woody” aftershave, whatever that meant. So he went, and Philippe was nice, even nicer when Bull dropped Ma’am’s name. He set Bull up with a ton of pillows on the floor since Bull couldn’t fit anywhere else. The man got to shaving and Bull wasn’t thinking, just liked the feel of the shaving cream and the blade on his cheeks. He wasn’t thinking about the last time he’d been clean-shaven; shit, it’d been years. Ten, maybe fifteen; he had to have been in his early twenties the last time he had a butt-naked face, and Bull was closer to forty than anything else

When Philippe handed him the mirror, Bull snorted. He definitely didn’t look like Blackwall.

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You touch your bruises to my bruises,
your broken bones to my bloody knees.
I pretend you are the same person you were a year ago
and you pretend I am the girl who was with you
only because she felt she had to be.

We don’t do it on purpose.
Our scars add up like stars that
make up our bodies like constellations.
You try to hold me but you are the sunlight
that blankets me when it is 2:30
in the afternoon and I am still in bed;
keeping you is not as easy as containing
lightning bugs in glass jars and I know
you try so goddamn hard to love me,
but I bought skin like asphalt
when it kept scraping.

Sometimes I sit across from you trembling
and you refuse to come near me because
I kiss with a mouthful of razor blades;
I step closer to you and you bleed Bacardi
and self-destruction. You run away
from me with tears running like
your legs down forbidden streets.

But I don’t want to smear kerosene on
the roughest parts of your existence.
I don’t want to change us.
I don’t want to change you.
I want to expose you like meaningless sex;
I want you to climb a latter inside of yourself
and then burn it so you always
think about who you are.

This is why we fight: because
you had never met someone who sees
through you like your skin is transparent
and I had never found someone with
the will to withstand such warzones,
so selfless that you can look at me
with your lungs chiseling out of your chest
and still try to make me happy.

I know first-hand that adrenaline kicks in
when you even imagine your bones breaking.
You become illogical, defensive and defenseless
as you run barefoot across the pavement,
putting slash wounds in your heart so love
can thrive in the crevices of barely beating.
A life without you always felt
like having lungs that cannot breathe.

And this is exactly why we fight: because
our minds were molded by prior experience,
but our love is like learning to speak.

—  This is why we fight
How I got a Coach bag last night

I was setting up a first meeting with a POT on my last night of vacation.  I told him I could meet in the afternoon, and here’s how the convo went:

POT: You only have two hours?
Me: Oh no, I have all afternoon!  We can stay a while, I just have one more errand to run before I go.  But that isn’t super time-sensitve, just something I have to do.
(Note how I’m basically asking him to ask)
POT: What do you need to do?
Me: I wanted to go shopping, I need a new purse and figured it’d be a good souvenir if I bought one here.  I was planning on going after our date.
POT: I will think of a good place to go shopping.  If you want me to go with you or not.  It is up to you.
Me: Haha I was just planning on going by myself, but I’d love that!  You are absolutely welcome to come.

There ya go.  Feel free to use that for anything!  I think this helps if you say you need one or two specific items.  He’ll be more likely to agree to that instead of just a shopping spree.  I told him that I needed a purse to match my shoes, so we walked around until we found one.  Then I asked for a bigger suitcase to take home.  Because I had specific things in mind, he didn’t mind buying just the two things.

Getting restricted view/AA tickets from the box office

I originally added this to an ask someone received about how to get tickets from the box office, but I was asked to remove it from there so I’m putting it here instead. Please feel free to share this information around. I think it’s important that people know how to access these very cheap, very good tickets. 

To get the AA and restricted tickets, you have to be quick and get lucky. People who have regular access to the box office (people who work near it, can visit it often, or who see the play a lot) are more likely to get these seats.

Restricted view seats: There are 12 of these for each show (that I know of), all at £40. 8 of them are good, 3 of them you should never ever buy under any circumstances because you won’t see a thing. The good ones are: E3, E2, F1, F2, D3, A5, D28, A26. The bad ones are: D2, D29, A27, E30. All of the good ones have at least one scene where you can’t really see, or where you can only see half the scene, but those scenes aren’t really important ones. You’re also tucked away under the overhang of the boxes, so you can feel a tiny bit removed from the atmosphere of the play, especially down the right hand side of the theatre as you face the stage (I’d rather sit on the left, although there are less seats there).

You can get a restricted view seat at any time. I’m not sure how far in advance they sell them, but I think people have some of these up until October at least. When you go into the box office, ask specifically for restricted view, specify a date or they’ll say there are none available (this even happens if you ask for multiple dates at once. Always start with your most preferred date, then ask for others), and reject any of the bad seats immediately. If you’re in a pair, E3/E2, and F2/F1 are your best options. Also, if they tell you you have to buy the tickets in a pair (e.g. D28 and 29 together) they’re lying. If they force you to buy a pair that includes a bad seats, buy both and then return the bad one immediately.

AA and BB seats: Disclaimer – I’m actually not sure if this works for BB seats. I’m assuming it does, but I only really know of AAs being bought this way.

Again, none of these seats are reserved for anyone, but this is where proximity to the box office and timing really make all the difference. On Friday afternoon, after Friday Forty, any spare or returned AA (or BB?) tickets will go on sale at the box office for the following week (Wednesday to Sunday), priced at £135. This doesn’t happen immediately after Friday Forty, but it could happen at any time across the afternoon. There isn’t really an exact time. I would probably recommend going in around 3:30-4:30pm as the best time, but don’t quote me on that. Sometimes the tickets hang around for longer, even up to Saturday. It depends who’s around and who’s after those seats. To get these, go into the box office and ask if they have any AAs (or BBs). Also, just a note in case anyone wants to take kids, I believe anyone sitting in AA15 and 16 (the aisle seats) has to be over 16. Some of my friends have sat there before and been old this restriction.

All these seats can only be bought in person from the box office (although very occasionally a AA or BB will make it onto Nimax or ATG). The restricted view seats have to be bought in person so the box office staff can explain the restrictions to you, and presumably the AA and BB returns are limited and often bought before they’re logged on the Nimax system. Also, it’s important to note that these seats can be bought by anyone, but it’s easier if you know how to get them. Then you have to get lucky and hope that no one has already bought them for the show you’re after. Happy ticket buying!


Sans Rickman, Sans Everything: the Pitch-Black Jaques Who Lit My Love for Shakespeare…                                            

He may be Snape or Gruber to most of the world, but to me he’ll always be ‘As You Like It’s’ perfectly melancholy fool.

… in memoriam…by Scott Proudfit… January 15, 2016

To some extent, Alan Rickman is the reason I teach Shakespeare…

When I was 13 years old, my parents took my brother and me on a summer vacation to England and Scotland. They had been saving up for the trip for years, so the pressure was on to pack everything we could into two weeks, as we wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Part of our crowded itinerary was a trip to Stratford-on-Avon to see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform.

It was the first live Shakespeare I had seen. And there couldn’t have been a better way to start: “As You Like It,” directed by Adrian Noble. This was 1985. I would later learn that this was Noble during one of his most ambitious periods: Having served for five years as assistant director of the RSC and still three years from being promoted to director of the company, Noble had his feet under him but also had something to prove. The design was gorgeous and minimal, and to a 13-year-old’s eyes: magical. The various settings were created by an enormous white sheet which covered the ground of the stage like a blanket of snow in some scenes, and in others twisted upwards to make an impossibly tall tree suggestive of the Forest of Arden.

But it was not the awe-inspiring design that hooked me, nor was it the brilliant performances of Juliet Stevenson and Fiona Shaw as the cousin/lovers Rosalind and Celia. It was Rickman as Jaques. If you know the play, you’ll recall that in the scene before Jaques enters, the banished king and his men—“merry men,” as in tales of Robin Hood, living off the forest in boisterous jocularity—make a big deal about how funny Jaques is. And he’s funny because while everyone else in the forest has shown up for a party, this melancholy courtier always acts like he’s attending a funeral.

I’ve only ever seen this extended set-up pay off with Rickman in the role; usually the actor cannot live up to the hype. But the moment Rickman entered the stage—dressed all in black in this production, in contrast to everyone else’s “happy” white attire—he was so hilariously sad. Rickman’s Jaques was a proto-Hamlet—or perhaps Jaques is the comedy flip-side of Hamlet, since the plays were most likely composed at the same time. With his frown drawn down to his chest, Rickman spoke each word with slow, pained, perfect diction—as if his bellows-deep half-whisper were drizzling a mixture of molasses and poison over each syllable as it left his mouth. With a glance and a sigh, Rickman seemed to wither the flowers in this garden of Eden. And I loved him more than anyone else onstage, instantly.

No doubt, for a 13-year-old boy who listened to the Smiths, Jaques—the only character who bows out of the comedy’s happy-ending festivities—was relatable in that simplistic, teen-angsty way. Jaques is the one who essentially says in the end, Eeyore-style: “That’s all right. You enjoy your dance. I’ll just sit over here.” On another level, though, it was Rickman’s delivery of Jaques’ famous “All the world’s a stage” speech that blew my mind that afternoon in such a way that I have spent the rest of my life to trying to put the pieces back together again.

After the production, I bought the play and devoured it. It was not the first Shakespeare play I read, but it was the first that I read passionately—and today one that I teach every year to my undergraduates trying to ignite that spark in others.

I know that to most people Rickman will always be Severus Snape, and if an actor has to live on in celluloid memory associated with one particular role, that’s not a bad way to go. But I will always think of Rickman as Jaques. In my office, beside my diplomas the only framed image I have is a poster of the 1985 production of “As You Like It.”        In it, Rosalind and Orlando stare into a deep blue pool of water, another beautiful stage element of Noble’s production. Rickman is not in the photo. I’ve always thought his absence was unfortunate. Now I find his absence tragic. 

Scott Proudfit is an assistant professor of English at Elon University. He performed and devised with the Actors’ Gang, the Factory Theater, and Irondale Ensemble Project, and covered New York and Los Angeles theatre as an editor for Back Stage and Back Stage West.

Alan Rickman in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s “As You Like It” in 1985…www.americantheatre.org… January 15, 2016

Walker Evans
I just saw the Walker Evans exhibition in Paris, at Centre Georges Pompidou. Although the show featured too many images of static landscapes, storefronts and objects, there were enough of his portraits of depression era sharecroppers and their homes to provide some inspiration and insight into how to make a lasting impression with a camera. So I made this picture in post (digitally) with Evans in mind, but when I actually made the picture, out on the street late one afternoon on Istiklal Street, I thought of only how best to incorporate enough elements into each picture of this boy to make a stark statement that would somehow, at least partially, demonstrate his singularity and solitude. I knew that he would be gone in an instant, and whenever the impulse struck him to move I would be unprepared for it no matter how well I tried to anticipate it.
I bought him a dondurma and was disappointed to observe the dondurma spectacle that I had hoped would entertain this small boy didn’t materialize. Despite my status as a visitor from America (status in the sense that I’m a paying customer, a tourist to most and therefore possibly flush with cash), the ice cream/dondurma spectacle that is performed for every person who buys the stuff was omitted for this boy. The seller, dressed in a costume shop parody of an old fashioned Ottoman Turk, knew me in passing, and I’d seen him many times entertaining people with his antics, his long metal probe, his bells, his smile. I was surprised when I bought the treat, as I saw that his perception of this boy–clearly destitute and likely part of the refugee population in Istanbul–was unreasonably negative, and distinguished by the marks of derision and apathy that I saw commonly displayed on the street towards these children.
The boy was happy to gain possession of his dondurma, and it hit me how profoundly unfair it was, in just a few seconds, this assertion of a complete lack of worth made by the vendor during our innocuous transaction. His attitude toward me was pleasant enough, but he ultimately viewed the boy’s social status as being too far beneath any effort made to please him, even though it’s in his job description to do so, and despite my presence. It was a big disappointment for me, and left me feeling a strange sense of futility, assuring me that the likely outlook for this boy was more grim than my American naïveté was permitting me to comprehend.


Today in runs:
-set out this morning planning to run 5 but the humidity was 100% and I felt like garbage so I cut it short at 3 and decided I’d go back out this afternoon for a few more miles if I felt like it
-in the meantime I bought new shorts (shoutout to old navy sales) and a new sports bra (I only have this one in 6 other colors)
-determined that I did in fact want to get in a few more miles so I drove to the beach to run since I assumed it would be breezy and nicer there
-I assumed correctly and although v short that run felt muuuuch better
-also stumbled across this bridge thing leading to the bay which I always knew existed but never knew the location of
-there’s really something special about running with the ocean breeze and smell of salt water and I’m going to get that on every single run this fall ahhhhh