The fact that like…basically every single one of the lesbians (and a solid amount of the other queer folks, esp girls) that watch skam believe that vilde is a lesbian proves so much about her. The amount of lesbian girls who can relate to her, who see themselves in her and even the other wlw who see the bits of themselves that like girls reflected in vilde is so indicative of how many characteristics and habits she shares with them. The fact that her compulsive heterosexuality and dissatisfaction with boys and overcompensation and much more is so obvious and so relatable to so many lesbians goes to show not only how much the world needs more lesbian characters, but also how much of a lesbian vilde is. And the fact that her obvious admiration of Eva and her fixation on Noora possibly being queer and her thoughts on Isak and Eskild are so commonly talked about by the many other wlw in this community (and even mlm) is another indicator of how gay she is. Just the sheer amounts of queer folks who see themselves in Vilde should be proof enough that she’s a lesbian, and even if she isn’t, it’s proof that she should be.
Stiles groaned and took a very long swig from his travel coffee mug as he hitched his messenger bag up higher on his shoulder. It was barely eight in the morning, and consequently, he could barely keep his eyes open. He was a grad student for fuck’s sake, and it was understood that in order to make up for the shitty stipend and the whole working-around-the-clock thing, he got to sleep in until 10. At least. After all, if he was up until 3 working, it was only fair. But noooo, his advisor—fuck you, Finstock—had insisted on an early meeting today.
He passed the bus stop and realized that at least he was lucky in that he lived close enough to campus that he could walk instead of dealing with public transportation at rush hour. Small condolences, really, though.
He yawned and accidentally bumped into someone walking past him. Stiles tried to apologize, but the word got stuck in his throat when he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the person he’d nearly knocked over. He was about Stiles’ height but bigger, all broad shoulders and muscles capped off by really great hair and an unfairly attractive face. “Uh.”
The guy gave him a curt little nod and neatly sidestepped him, continuing on his way. Stiles snuck a look over his shoulder, and yep, the rear view in those tight slacks was pretty good, too. The guy stopped at the bus stop, leaning against the sign, and Stiles sighed. It was a dreamy sigh, even he could admit that.
He had a feeling he was going to become a morning person.
A- are you single?
D- did u get ur first kiss?
E- easiest person to talk to?
F- favorite song?
G- good at?
H- hair color?
I- in love?
J- jealous of?
K- known as?
L- longest relationship?
M- middle name?
O- one wish?
P- person last texted?
Q- question always asked?
R- reason to smile?
S- song last listened to
T- time you woke up?
U- 3 biggest wishes?
V- violent moment?
W- worst fear?
X- ex you still liked after it was ended?
Y- your last hug?
Z- zodiac sign?
Used in battleships and coast defenses c.1870~1918. 274mm caliber 216kg shells, 434m/s muzzle velocity giving it an estimated 300mm of penetration in wrought iron armor at combat range, breech-loading single shot.
Picture taken c.1885 by Gustave Bourgain onboard a Colbert-class French ironclad, below the center battery.
Note the boarding weapons on racks on the left side of the picture, including cutlasses and Lefaucheux Mle1858 revolvers. The Colbert-class ironclads were also armed with, beside a variety of other naval guns, more than a dozen Hotchkiss 37mm revolving cannons, four 356mm torpedo tubes and a ram.
I didn’t figure out that Elsewhere University was anything other than a place filled with shivery-but-ultimately-harmless traditions until I’d already started my second year.
It wasn’t anything too exciting - I stumbled into the wrong part of the library, came out and realized I hadn’t missed my afternoon classes after all. I went to class, came back to my dorm room, had a panic attack, and went on with my life. Oh, and I changed my safename. I think I ended up going through half a dozen in the next few weeks, trying to find one that didn’t actually mean anything to me. (I remember Toucan was one of them, though I think I got anxious over what if it somehow offended the crows.) Sunny was the one I stuck with that year, mostly because my TA for Intro to Statistics sat me down and told me to just pick one so he’d know who to give the assignments back to.
I already knew most of the lore by then. I’d thought it was just fun bits of knowledge, traditions and legend-building, but I’ve always collected that kind of thing. After that initial panic (having made sure the horseshoe was securely over my doorway, and stuffed salt packets in all my pockets, and turned my underwear inside-out, and written and deleted several emails to my parents) I remembered that according to everything I heard, Bio majors didn’t usually interact much with the Fae. I’d actually been disappointed by that, back when it was just a story not quite close enough to touch, but it was a comfort now. So once I’d settled on my new safename (and stopped side-eying my poor roommate), I caught up with my assignments and moved on, just a little bit more careful than before.
I fell in love with lab work that year, and on the advice of a professor shifted into the tiny Molecular Biology concentration. Elsewhere University doesn’t do much research, but there’s lab space available for fourth years doing a thesis, and you can use it earlier if you have a Prof willing to supervise and sign off for you. The Molecular Genetics professor was full of ideas for what I could do with the reagents left behind in the fridge and one big freezer, and between us we managed to get me an internship the next summer, to stay and start on my own project.
I spent those months sharing a tiny apartment in the next town over with an English major going into her fourth year. (I don’t know why she was staying for the summer. I asked, but she gave me a different answer every time - she needed to hang teardrops on the rainbow, or count crow’s teeth, or find the door out of the laundry room. After a while, I stopped asking). In the mornings she’d drive us both into the university, and in the evenings I’d either wait for her in the library (always near the front) or I’d take the single late-night bus that ran from the university to the middle of town.