the-custom-of-the-country

anonymous asked:

Hi there! Could you please spread words on your Tumblr about how people from other countries than the US can call Netflix too? I see people claiming they can only phone them from the USA but that's not true. At least from Germany you can call them as well. Check for a phone number on the bottom on their help page.

Here are all the numbers I was able to gather for everyone around the world to be able to call netflix and express their concern about the cancellation of sense8:

United States: 1 (866) 579-7172

Canada: 866-579-7115

Colombia: 01-800-755-0114

México: 01800-265-0161

España: 900866616

Argentina:  0800-444-2169

Panamá: +1 (408) 600-1721

Brazil: 0-800-086-4041

United Kingdom: 0800-096-6379

Germany: 0800-724-0963

France: +1-800-585-7265

Italy: 800-784-308

The Netherlands: 0800-022-5173

Australia: 1800-071-578

These numbers are really hard to get because netflix doesn’t let you on the website unless you reside in that country. This was all I was able to get. If I can. I’ll keep updating it or if anyone lives elsewhere and can reblog and provide the number for the customer service care in their country that’d also be amazing. I’ll be on a hunt to make a mass post.

“Coronation” Part Two

Summary: She was the Queen of Sokovia, and he was the future king of Romania. Their relationship was full of hate towards one another, but will it change when his heart gets broken by a traitor to both of your powerful countries?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst, Rebecca is a sweetheart

Word Count: 1012

A/N: Here is part two! Both of my taglists are open! Please leave feedback, it is really appreciated, and thanks for 500 followers!

Coronation Masterlist 


“James Buchanan Barnes, what have I told you about bringing your whore to dinner.” Queen Barnes reprimanded.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide at her words. Rebecca’s smile grew wide.

“Mother, I’ve told you, she is my girlfriend. Her name is Natasha.” James spoke for the first time.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she had just heard. He had a girlfriend while he was engaged to a Queen.

“You must be the little queen I have been hearing about. Just so you know, I’m not scared of you. I have James, you don’t. I will always be his queen.” Natasha smirked at Y/N.

With a calm demeanor, Y/N rose from her chair, with her hands folded in front of her, to face Natasha.

Keep reading

Why is Otayuri getting so much hate: a possible explanation

Don’t get fooled by my title, also reminder that explanation =/= justification.

I always try to analyze phenomena and their possible causes, that’s the scientist in me I guess. So I started thinking about ant///is and I was like: but why. I just said in a recent post that Otayuri is obviously not the first relationship portrayed in the history of anime with such a (small) age gap, and I found some posts that talk about how some age gaps in older (and even recent) anime are just outrageous (even when one of the parts is a minor), and yet those don’t seem to be getting any hate or discourse.

But why?

• The sheer number of fans.

The first probably obvious reason is that Yuri on Ice has a lot more fans than other similar fandoms, and it gained them within a very short time span. It’s getting more and more fans every day, so it’s a mathematical rule that in a huge fandom there will be all sorts of people (it’s like a huge sample group), and some of these are an///is. The bigger the fandom, the more the a///is. 

• The particular moment in history in which YOI came out.

It’s no secret that there’s discourse everywhere now, especially on certain types of social media. A lot of discourse is good discourse, but we also need to realize that not all discourse is good discourse. I think this discourse wave has played a huge role in the way an///is have suddenly decided to become active in hating on people over idiotic reasons. It’s like a marketing thing: they saw a discourse niche that was unoccupied and decided to take it over. Regardless of whether your discourse is right or wrong, writing about it is one easy way to increase your follower count, and who ain’t a slut for that

• The fact that many YOI fans aren’t used to anime and manga content.

This goes together with my next point, but I thought I’d still make it two separate ones. A lot of people who became hardcore YOI fans don’t usually watch anime or read manga (myself included). This without my next point wouldn’t give much info on its own, but keep this in mind because I really think that the majority of an///is fall under this (and the next) category of people.

• The fact that many YOI fans are from the US and aren’t used to content not made in the US.

Listen, I know I’m making a huge assumption here, but I think it’s one that is generally accepted within the fandom: most (if not all) an///is are from the US. It seems obvious to me because the US is one of the few places where (though not even in every state, I think) the age of consent is 18, and all their interactions with us non-an///is seem very US-centric, especially in the way they generally aren’t willing to acknowledge the fact that different countries have different laws and/or traditions and generally a different mindset. 

My goal is not to attack the US mentality here, but, again, I feel like what I’m saying is pretty much accepted even by many of my US friends. And what I’m describing is certainly what an///is act like, so I’m just going to keep explaining why I think this is the main issue (and why I think my assumption is generally right).

We’ve seen before how the US (generally speaking) are scared of importing recreational content from other countries and they’d much rather buy the rights to said foreign content and remake it with their own rules to make it more appealing to a US audience (sometimes even inexplicably and with ridiculous and disastrous results). Recent cases of this have been the US buying the rights to the Norwegian teen TV-show Skam and the popular anime Death Note getting remade into a Netflix movie. The US are screaming at the rest of the world: we only want the idea of your content, but we’d rather make it our own than show yours for what it is, never mind that your show reflects what your country is about and how your the customs of your country reflect on your personal (pop) culture. We don’t want your content EXACTLY because it reflects something that might differ from our views, and our viewers won’t like it. 

And I guess they never will if you actually don’t show them what the rest of the world looks like.

I went a little bit on a tangent there, but my point is: US audience isn’t used to consuming content that isn’t made in the US. I’m not even talking about language here: TV shows aren’t dubbed or subbed, the US literally remakes them and remakes the content to fit the US views and mentality.

That means that the average US citizen will very likely find anything that is untouched by americanization weird if not completely out of their moral values. Couple this fact with the previous one: many YOI fans aren’t used to any kind of content that isn’t perfected and polished specifically for their tastes. 

It’s amazing and it speaks for the quality of YOI that many of them could still get used to a different form of art (anime) and enjoy it and even become hardcore fans (and are now probably getting interested in other anime and manga etc), but out of these amazing people, a (thankfully smaller) group of them still couldn’t wrap their minds around the fact that fans from all over the world, with their own set of morals, ship something that in their minds is controversial (just because of a man-made law that not even every US state follows). They don’t care about what the law in Japan, Russia or Kazakhstan is and they’ve made this loud and clear. 

Bottom line: 

The key to this (like for many other issues) is just one:

EDUCATION.

There’s little we as a fandom can do in this case, especially we people not living in the US since we always seem to be dismissed. They send us anon hate and if we reply saying that Otayuri is legal in our own country we never hear back from them. There’s not much we can do if they aren’t willing to listen to us. 

But all I tried to do here is offer possible reasons why this phenomenon even exists, and maybe by reading this someone will have a brilliant idea on how to fix this. I don’t offer solutions, but understanding why and how something happens is always the key for the next step, whatever the next step might be. 

Cultural Appropriation

What it is: Making a mockery of another culture by wearing innacurate or stereotypical garments, or wearing something culturally significant that needs to be ‘earned’ or is awarded.

What it is not: Learning another language, eating food from a different region of the world, taking part in the customs and traditions of another country, wearing clothes typically worn by a different culture, having a hairstyle that originated somewhere else globally, taking part in current pop culture including slang and music/dance trends.

anonymous asked:

Will we get a Hail Mary update soon?? Claire need to get back to Jamie and set things right!! :-)

Hail Mary

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate, and 2) not *had* to get married? 

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV


Part V

It was eight days later that I rode into the courtyard of Castle Leoch, just as dawn was breaking.  

I could have gotten there sooner, certainly, but I had kept off the main roads to the greatest extent possible, taking no chances of falling into the hands of strangers. I’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much, and while my stint with one highland clan had turned out rather well on the whole, I had no desire to try my luck with another, let alone the English army. 

And, despite the danger and the fatigue of the journey, my heart had been light and ready to burst for all eight of those days.

…’Rather well’…

Understatement to the extreme.

It had brought me Jamie.

As foolish and romantic a notion as it perhaps was, I had found myself many times on that hopeful, frantic journey wondering….was it fate that I had come through the stones? That I hadn’t been able to get back to Frank?  Had some bizarre destiny planted the fascination with wildflowers in my mind that morning so that I could be brought to Jamie, and him to me? Or had it all been mere luck? Could chance alone truly have resulted in this wonder? Could I honestly believe that mere odds should have allowed two people— so exquisitely attuned to one another, and yet separated by centuries and custom and country—to find one another in a dangerous, lonely universe?

But even as I had wondered endlessly in the long hours and days and nights on the Highland tracks, I knew it didn’t matter; made no true difference why or how by what means I had found myself in this place, this time. What mattered was the burning in my chest as I swung down from the horse; the need of him singing out from my heart; that he was the only thing my bleary eyes sought among the dozens of faces that gaped staring—glaring—at me from around the mist-laden courtyard.

“Mary, Michael, and Bride–CLAIRE!”

It was not Jamie but Mrs. Fitz barreling toward me from the kitchen dooryard, eyes wide…and wary.  

So, my suspicions had been right, then— the rent party had come directly back to Leoch. Part of me had hoped against hope that they would have continued further north, upon the secondary loop that Ned had pointed out to me that night upon the map. If they had, I would have arrived well before them—giving me precious, valuable time to convince Colum of the perfectly logical (and fictitious) explanation for how I had been so tragically and unexpectedly abducted from Ned and Murtagh and the rest and then escaped. It would have worked, I thought; as long as Jamie kept his silence. Would he?

I care for you, Claire.

My mind snapped back into awareness, back to the cold, stark realities of the present. I hadn’t arrived first, and thus the entire castle knew of my desertion.

Nonetheless, Mrs. Fitz had genuine affection in her voice as she clasped me hard to her bread-and-herb-scented bosom. “Oh, m’dear,” she said, sniffing, and voice tremulous with emotion, “they said—Och, child, they said such terrible things—!“

I returned the embrace, feeling affection flood my heart, even in the same moment as fear and dead-panic. “What—what have they said about me, Mrs. Fitz?”

Forewarned is forearmed, after all. 

She pulled back to stare searchingly up into my face, whispering each word so as not to be overheard by the many watchful onlookers. “That ye’re an English spy—and that ye made off in the night wi’ no warning—and that ye came among us tae do the Mackenzie harm wi’ the knowledge ye’ve gleaned in our midst…”

Well, all things considered, I suppose I couldn’t expect fairer than that. I’d carefully formulated my story, rehearsed the details forward and back—all I could do was pray that Colum would buy it. And that I could talk to Jamie at the first possible moment.  

“I’m not a spy, Mrs. Fitz,” I said, as confidently and reassuringly as I could, bending to kiss her warmly on the cheek. “I can assure you, it’s all a dreadful misunderstanding.”

Lord knew I was not a grand actress, but Mrs. Fitz gave an enormous exhale of relief, looked both flustered and pleased as she took both my hands in hers. “I didna wish tae believe it of ye, m’dear—Such treacherous behavior, I couldna—No, I DIDNA myself believe it, child, but Dougal said–”

“I understand perfectly, Mrs Fitz, truly I do. I promise that I’ll explain the truth as soon as possible to Colum—I mean the laird. In the meantime,” I was literally swaying where I stood, “might I—trouble you for some food?—and perhaps a basin of water to wash? Before I attract more attention?”

The water would be pleasant, but it was food that I needed desperately. The bannocks I had filched from camp were long gone when I reached Craigh na Dun. Having no skill as a hunter, I had had to make do with what roots and berries and other edibles I could forage along the roadside. I had made it to Leoch on stubbornness and hope alone; but the reality was that I was very close to spent from hunger, and was having trouble keeping my legs and my vision aright.  

“Of course, of course!” Mrs Fitz said, already guiding me toward the kitchens. “Sweet child, starved and half-frozen.” She stopped sharply as we reached the doorway, looking apologetic. “Of course, I will have tae send word tae Himself at once that ye’ve arrived, Claire….given….weel….”

Given that I was still a presumed English spy who had just sauntered back into MacKenzie Clan HQ.

“Of course, Mrs. Fitz,” I said gently, “it’s the right thing to do.”

While she commissioned the boy known as Young Alec to take the message to the laird’s cambers and deliver my few belongings up to a spare chamber, my eyes swung once more around and around the courtyard. No Jamie.

Ten minutes was all I needed—ten minutes to explain how wrong I’d been to run; that everything I’d spat at him that night had been a dreadful, vicious lie; that I missed him; that I wanted him; that I wanted to stay. And failing that, even one minute just to be in his arms; to lay my head against his chest and feel his arms pulling me safe and warm against him. One minute just to hold him, and tell him with the gentle softness of my touch, with my eyes, that he hadn’t misjudged my affections; that he hadn’t been…’mistaken.’

Come find me, Jamie, I prayed upward into the walls of Leoch. Find me. Let me tell you what’s in my heart. What was there all along.

I followed Mrs. Fitz inside and down the familiar corridors to the kitchens. She ushered me—ignoring the stares and whispers from the kitchen staff—into a small room behind the kitchen hearth that I had never noticed before. Less than a minute later, I was gulping a mug of thick beef broth (“Drink slowly, m’dear, ye dinna want griping  in yer wame, aye?”), while she and a teenage girl drew me a warm bath in a small wooden tub before the fire. While I had protested that cold water was perfectly sufficient, the warmth of it and the sweet scent of the chamomile soap were together as comforting and bracing as brandy to my weary body. She helped me wash and rinse my hair, then wrapped me thick towels with a second mug of broth as she conjured a clean gown, shift, and stays for me, and then helped me herself to dress.

She sat with me by the fire as I inhaled porridge with honey and a small loaf with soft cheese. Her manner was still kind and sympathetic, but her eyes remained sharp and leery.

“I willna hide from ye, Claire, that the laird is no’ likely tae speak your name with kindness. Dougal was cursing ye roundly tae anyone that would listen—Old Mr. Gowan has scarcely ceased wi’ shaking his head and bemoaning yer actions— and wee Jamie, weel, he’s barely spoken, hasn’t he?”

That jolted my heart into a frenzy. “Has he?” I said lightly, not meeting her eye.

“Jamie? Och, aye,” she said, nodding gravely. “He must ha’ been sore affected by it. I suppose ‘tis only right, wi’ his loyalty to his uncles, ken? But my Laoghaire— she was sae glad tae see him return (she carries quite the torch for him, ye see)—but he’s been silent and lifeless as a stone these past days—Has scarcely given her as much as a ‘Good day.’”

Perversely, that made my heart leap. He doesn’t want Laoghaire, not even for comfort. He doesn’t want just any woman. He wants…

“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Fitz.” Young Alec’s head appeared around the door. “The Mackenzie requests Mistress Beauchamp’s presence in his study at her earliest convenience.”

I didn’t have the balls to ask Mrs. Fitz for a heaping four-finger glass of whisky, but Jesus H. CHRIST how I needed one.

‘Her earliest convenience.’ Which was to say, immediately. Which was to say my fate was to be decided at once. Which meant that if it were the laird’s pleasure, I would be expelled from the castle before I’d had the chance to even lay eyes on Jamie. Which meant—

Dammit. God bloody fucking dammit.


“Will ye do me the honor of sitting with me a time, Mistress Beauchamp?”

I sat in the proffered armchair across the broad desk from Colum MacKenzie. The laird of Castle Leoch was—outwardly, at least— as serene as ever, his appearance decorous and tidy, despite the earliness of the hour. Despite my earlier need for a stiff drink, I couldn’t bring myself to touch the glass he’d had a servant bring me.

He sat there surveying me, that quiet, wry smile playing at his lips. I lowered my eyes and waited, looking awkwardly around the room by way of distraction from the tension in the room. The laird’s study was just the same: luxuriously crammed with its beautiful furnishings befitting the MacKenzie’s station and wealth. His birds cheeped and chirruped eagerly, apparently not at all sensible of the tension pervading the room.

“Déja vu,” Colum said at last.

“What? I mean—“ I stammered, trying to recover from his startlingly calm non-sequitur. “I beg your pardon, my laird?”

“Déja vu. It’s French,” Colum said evenly, eyes twinkling. “It means, ’already seen.’ But surely—“ he said, gracefully arcing an eyebrow, “you, having family in France, would know that?”

I returned his level gaze with one of my own, though I smiled sweetly. “I do apologize, my laird, I simply was taken off-guard. Yes, I do know what the word means.”

“Aye, verra good…excellent.” He nodded sagely, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop, not breaking eye contact. “Then you’ll perhaps know, too, why I should be experiencing such a phenomenon at this moment….”

I knew precisely what he was getting at, but I feigned polite ignorance, waiting for him to continue, to make the first move. 

He did. “You…in my study…playing the harmless ingénue…after appearing on clan lands under highly suspicious circumstances.” He raised his eyebrows. “It does seem—to ring a certain bell, does it not?”

My heart was racing with adrenaline, but I smiled a smile of simple regret and opened my mouth to speak—I had rehearsed this all the way from Craigh na Dun, after all—but a pounding on the door made me all but jump out of my skin. 

“Enter,” Colum said, not seeming in the least bit surprised by the interruption. I regained my composure and remained facing forward. 

There came the squeal of hinges and the unmistakable snort behind me. “So it’s true then,” Dougal MacKenzie’s voice said said, low and hissing, “the prodigal wench has returned.”

My mind was a constant stream of all the curses I’d ever learned, in every tongue, and I’d played with street urchins in countless countries.It shouldn’t have surprised me, now that I came to think of it—Dougal was Colum’s right-hand, after all, and I had officially been in his charge when I’d made my escape— but it did. I had prepared for Colum, for his savage cunning masked in level-headed civility; I was equipped for that: for the turn of phrase and the traps of language and logic. But Dougal was another matter entirely—I couldn’t trust myself to remain calm and collected in the face of his pugnacious and irreverent manner. But I had to bloody do it, prepared or no. 

I didn’t bother to turn around, just said simply, “I’m not a wench, Mr. MacKenzie. And yes, I have returned.” This exchange was too important to let him raise my ire. 

“Prodigal liar, then,” he said, appearing to my left and coming to stand next to his brother, arms crossed and eyes blazing as he glared down at me. “Conspirator. Agent.”

My gaze was still cool, my voice still polite, but I could feel the shards of glass in it, dangerous to both of us. “I swear to you, Mr. Mackenzie: I’m none of those things.”

He laughed, cruelly and vicious, bending at the waist to put his face mere inches from mine. “Ye expect us to just believe the mere word of a lying, filthy wh–”

Will ye tell us, Mistress Beauchamp,” Colum said, his sharp tone a silent warning which Dougal must have comprehended at once, for he stepped back from me, and came to stand at Colum’s right hand, his own hand resting on his dirk handle.

Colum continued. “Will ye tell us what it was, exactly, that made ye suddenly choose to leave the rent party….and just as suddenly return?”

I took a deep breath, ready. “You will certainly recall, my laird, that since my—“ (Filthy, barbarous abduction). “—Arrival— with the Clan MacKenzie, so shortly after the death of my husband, it has been my desire to reach Inverness.”

The laird nodded. 

“It was my intention to join with friends there in hopes of beginning a new life among those I trusted. It was to them that I went the night I departed from the rent party. My longing for familiar faces had grown so strong, that I could no longer bear to wait. That is why I left. The simple desire to be among friends once more.” 

Dougal made a sound of deep derision, but Colum only nodded. “Would ye be so kind as to share with us their names?”

“Reverend Reginald Wakefield and his wife, Catherine, both old friends of my departed parents. I was a child, the last time I met with them, but there was no doubt in my mind that they would receive me. However–” I heaved a deep breath, pleased to feel a lump in my throat that lent emotion to my voice as I revealed the ‘sad’ news. “Upon arriving in Inverness, I learned that the Wakefields had taken ship for the Indies three years ago, to begin a Presbyterian mission on the island of—”

“How daft do ye think we are, woman?” Dougal growled, with a gesture so violent I shrunk back instinctively into my chair. “Ye dinna have friends in Inverness and ye NEVER did. Else you’d have written to them upon your first arrival here.”

I straightened once more and did my best to appear innocently perplexed. “What makes you think I didn’t write to them, Mr. Mackenzie?”

“Because—“ Colum interjected, his calm—earlier, such an asset to my nerves— now terrifying. Not a hand of clemency: a razor-thin knife,“—I make it my business to be aware of all correspondence in and out of the castle. Oh, not necessarily the contents,” he said, seeing the shock and disapproval on my face, “just who is writing to whom while enjoying my hospitality—as is my right as laird.” He folded his hands. “And there has been no letter to or from a Claire Beauchamp at any point since you arrived on MacKenzie lands.” 

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a soft, “—And if ye did manage to communicate with them… it does make one wonder…” He gave me his most piercing gaze yet, stealing my breath, “—why a woman with nothing to conceal should go to such lengths to do so…undetected?”

No. No no no no no, this was slipping so quickly away from my control.

“I do appreciate how all this must appear on the surface.” I could feel my heart racing with panic as I grasped at straws, desperate to remain calm and failing miserably. There was an audible quaver in my voice—damn it, damn ME!—“All I can do, my laird, is swear that I mean you and your clan no ill will, I have no ties or contact with the English government, whatsoever and I am willing to attest to those truths on anything you wish to name. The simple fact, however it may appear, is I saw a chance to reach Inverness and I took it. That is all.”

“Liar,” Dougal hissed. “Admit it: You’re a paid informant for the English. Ye left our company ten days ago to report our goings-on to your superiors, and now you’re back, despite your sweet face and claim to innocence, wi’ fresh orders and OPEN EARS.”

I was panicking. “That—that is simply not—”

He was looming over me again. I could smell his breath and feel it hot on my forehead. “Admit the truth, woman, and we’ll perhaps show ye some mercy. SPEAK!” 

A cacophony of sound filled the room and startled the birds. 

Dougal’s violent snarling: “Liar! LIAR!”

A whimpering sound. Me? 

Colum’s sharp, commanding, “I can think of no just reason—”

“LIAR!”

“—that a woman wi’ nothing to hide, should—” 

“Please—please—you must believe–”

Dougal’s hands on the arms of my chair. 

My eyes closed, the colors roaring in the dark. 

Stop. Just make it stop. Stop.  

“—DUNGEONS–”

“Please—“

“—Loosen your tongue–”

“JUST TELL THEM, Claire!”

I felt his voice jolt through my body like a wave of electricity and I whirled my head to see him standing in the corner, arms crossed. 

JAMIE. 

I nearly sunk to the floor in abject relief. He must have entered with Dougal, remaining silent. But he was here. HERE

Jamie. MY Jamie.

Floor be damned: I wanted to leap out of the chair and fly into his arms—those strong arms that had held me and warmed me and kept me; Wanted to feel his skin against mine. Wanted—wanted so badly it felt like physical pain in my chest—to kiss him and feel his fingers in my hair. To talk. To tell. JAMIE. 

I forced myself to remain still, but inside I was thrumming with relief and joy. Everything would be alright, now—Jamie was here.

Tell them, Mistress,” he said, and the coldness in that voice was so shocking I blinked as though struck. 

He had stepped forward a pace or two, so I could see that his eyes, too, were hard and icy, revealing none of his usual bright eagerness. Even more disturbing than this, they held an alarming intensity, some silent meaning I couldn’t comprehend. “It’s alright, mistress. Tell them the truth of why ye fled.”

Another jolt, and I could do nothing but stare, my mouth gobbling open and shut. The truth? 

For one wild, ludicrous moment, I was screaming: ‘how does he know I was trying to get through the stones?’

But he didn’t know; he couldn’t know; he could never know that truth.

“I….CAN’T.” I finally said, teeth gritted and voice tight. (Because I don’t know what in bloody hell you mean, you damned, wonderful—)

“Ye can,” he said, walking around to my right to stand with his uncles. “Go on, Mistress. There’s less shame in it than being mistaken and hung for a spy.”

“What’s this about, Jamie?” Colum demanded, his eyes flashing.

Dougal, too, was mounting in his own brand of fury. He took a menacing step toward his nephew. “D’ye mean to say that ye had further knowledge of her departure—Information that you chose to withhold??”

“Aye,” Jamie said, his eyes downcast. “Though it wasna mine to disclose, before.”

Dougal gave a guttural roar and made as if to lunge for Jamie behind Colum’s chair, but before he could say another word, Jamie raised a hand and looked directly at me with that same hard eye as before. “With your permission, Mistress?”

I saw it now, what that look meant.  

It said: be silent.

I nodded and dropped my eyes to my lap, seeing the three of them behind the desk only from the upper periphery of my vision.

“Mistress Beauchamp fled that night…because I spurned her advances.”

I couldn’t have spoken a word if I’d tried. If I could have, it might have been a gut-punched, ‘…Jesus.’

He went on, quiet and careful. “I begged her to forgive me—Told her truly what a fine, beautiful lady she is, and how much I admired and respected her—but that—my allegiances lay elsewhere.”

He placed a hard emphasis on that word, and I thought I saw a shifting, enough so that I chanced a glance upward to witness the significant look Jamie was sharing with Colum. To my astonishment and relief, I thought I saw something dawning in the laird’s expression. Jesus Christ…this was going to work!

“And—being, as we all know—a verra strong-willed and reckless sort of woman, Mistress Beauchamp departed in the night—” He turned his gaze to me, “—too hurt …and vexed to remain…That’s how it was….aye, Mistress?”

I felt myself nodding but I was still staring down at my hands . I could see him in my periphery, his image blurring and distorting as the tears gathered. My throat was burning. With shame.

That’s how it was. Despite his phrasing, he wasn’t asking me. He was telling. Hurt and vexed—the mildest words possible for what I had done to him. His eyes told me the truth: Furious. Heartbroken.

God, what a fool I was. I’d come back, free in my own heart, ready to sing out a ‘ten-minute’ apology, then throw myself into his arms with hardly a thought for just how deeply I had savaged him with my words, my rejection.

His eyes were on the floor, now, and I wanted to tear my own guts out. 

Beauchamp, look at yourself.

I was.

And I saw—vividly—how I had ground his heart into the dirt when he’d handed it to me so tenderly and freely.

I had had my reasons at the time, yes. But God, how I had twisted the knife in his flesh. How I had ripped him.  

He’d made me a gift of himself and everything he would ever be, and to his eyes, I hadn’t even glanced at it before flinging it into the fire.

I did, Jamie! God, I DID glance. I looked and looked and it frightened me because I WANTED it. And I ran because I was married—because of Frank. But he’s gone now. He’s gone and I want YOU. 

Can’t you see that in my face? LOOK, Jamie. Find me, here.

“Well… that does seem to explain things.”

I looked up at Colum in surprise, wiping my eyes, which had been streaming. Apparently my regret and shame over what I’d done to Jamie was playing off rather nicely in support of the narrative that I was the lover that had been spurned. Even Dougal’s hostile posture had softened, though his look of distaste had not.

Colum, however, was not done. “Though it doesna altogether account for your return, this morning. If it was our Jamie’s disregard that prompted ye to flee…why come back?”

“I knew almost immediately,” I said quickly, marshaling my tremulous voice and picking up the narrative from Jamie, thanking him silently for handing me a lie with a fighting chance of success, “that it would look dreadful—as it indeed does, I am well aware—to have forsaken my word to the MacKenzies on a mere affaire de coeur.”  

I met eyes with Jamie and lost my breath for a moment. He seemed to sense that my looking at him disrupted my train of thought, and he casually began pacing before the bookshelves, moving to my right and slowly out of my line of sight.

I carried on. “Upon learning that my friends were unreachable, I did consider going south to England—or to Edinburgh or some other place I might have cause to use my skills as a healer, but my honor prompted me to return–”

“Honor,” scoffed Dougal.

“—and to beg the forgiveness of the laird and permission to remain in his service. Which I do now, humbly, under whatever terms you demand.”

Silence reigned, interrupted only by the chirping of the birds.

Colum and Dougal  leaned their heads together, sharing a heated, whispered conference. I wanted desperately to turn in my chair and look at Jamie, touch his hand, thank him, but I forced myself to stay still.

At last, Colum straightened with a look of decision, and surveyed me intently for a long moment before saying, “You may remain at Leoch, Mistress Beauchamp.”

My sigh of relief was far louder than I’d anticipated. “Thank you—THANK YOU, my laird.”

“BUT—” he said, firmly, “you will confine your movements within the walls of the main castle. And an escort will be reinstated until you have earned my forgiveness. And my trust.”

I nodded. “That is—more than fair, sir. I will respect your wishes.”

We made our farewells and I rose, taking the time to give my deepest, most respectful curtsy I could muster, but turned the very first second I was able, tuned so that I could see Jamie, ask where we might go to talk, alone.

But all I saw was the swish of a vanishing plaid.



[[Next week they talk, I promise]]

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Update: zines are here!

Good news everyone - the zines and extras have arrived!!!!

All the zines and extras have arrived at last! Thank you everyone so much for your patience, we really appreciate it!!! :) 

SHIPPING ORDERS:

The shipping of orders will be done in batches with domestic orders first followed by international orders. All orders should be shipped within 2 weeks from now. We’ll post another update once they’ve all been shipped. A reminder to international customers (i.e. all countries excluding Australia - domestic) that it may take up to 4 weeks from that time for your order to arrive so we humbly ask that you once again be patient with us! 

DIGITAL PDF PURCHASE RELEASE:

To our customers who placed an order for a digital pdf - these will be emailed to you shortly after all orders have been shipped. We’ll be using the email you made your purchase with on tictail so if this isn’t your main email or you would prefer it to be sent to a different email: please send us an email with your order details and new mail info. 

ONLINE ‘PAY-WHAT-YOU-WANT’ PDF RELEASE:

As previously stated, we’ll be releasing a pdf copy of the zine, hosted on itch.io. You can enter the price you want to pay for the zine and the profits from the online pdf release will of course also go towards ‘beyondblue’. The pdf will be available for a select time period only; details to come. 

Once again, thank you all for your incredible patience with this project, we can’t wait to hand it all over to you very soon!!! 

On The Customs of the Country, And How Edith Wharton Foretold Kim Kardashian and the Real Housewives

(All of the images in this post are paintings by John Singer Sargent, who apparently makes an appearance in “The Custom of the Country” in the character Popple, an artist who was a virtuoso at capturing dress, and left faces vague likenesses.)

I’m trying to think of an intelligent way to begin this post, but really all I can think of saying is that I read Edith Wharton’s “Custom of the Country” in four days, which I think says a lot about the novel. And what that says is that I fucking LOVED IT. I could not put it down. In fact, yesterday, during the snow storm, I walked back from the subway reading the final ten pages because I couldn’t wait to get home to see what happened to Undine Spragg, the society girl social climber who is the main protagonist of the story.

I think most creative people think a lot about what grants a work of art longevity. No one who’s really serious about their craft is like, “I want to write a book that sells well for a year, and then everyone throws in the garbage.” In order to do so, it’s a common misconception that you have to write about some obscure but intellectually challenging topic. The story has to be difficult enough that it can’t be too easy to read by a large segment of the population – if it’s not, then it’s “middle” or “low” brow, and thus disposable. 

The good news is that if Edith Wharton is any indication, the subject matter doesn’t have to be heady at all. In my opinion, the Custom of the Country is basically the story of Kim Kardashian imagined by an intelligent woman with an extraordinary writing talent. Undine Spragg is a beautiful girl from a small city in America with no discernible talent besides social climbing. She doesn’t want anything except to wear beautiful clothing and have more money than anyone else. It takes her until the end of the book to get exactly what she wants, and even though she’s a completely despicable, selfish person, you root for her the entire way up. Which is also how I would describe my feelings toward the union between Kim Kardashian and Kanye West (colloquially described as Kimye).

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In Love With The Idea Of You - Royalty AU (Lin X Reader) Part One

Okay, This was for @hamwriters Write-a-thon challenge: Day One, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I was down and out most of the week. I wasn’t even going to bother but @gratitudejoyandsorrow was being her awesome self and convinced me to write it anyways… (Just a side note, guys, she is totally amazing…just saying)… Oh and please let me know what you think…I can leave it just as a one-shot or if you think it should continue…. So, without further ado, here is “In Love With The Idea Of You”.

Word Count: 2628

Warnings: Umm…Major fluffiness and I warn you now….tissues are advised.

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BTS Reacts - Being Introduced to Their S/O’s Culture

Jung Hoseok: Hobi would probably be really intrigued by all aspects of a new culture surrounding his foreign S/O, and he’ll probably do the most digging into what means the most to him: music and dance. Bangtan are sitting in the dance room taking a break, when Hoseok curtly asks you to show them some of what your local traditional music might sound like. As soon as the melody streams from your speakerphones, he gets a stunned look on his features that quickly turns to one of mirth. He’s never heard anything like it before - he bops his head to the rhythm, amused:

“Ah, jagi, your country really has a unique sound when it comes to traditional music!”

Kim Seokjin: Seokjin wouldn’t keep himself from asking all sorts of questions about you and your home. He’s not timid when it comes to approaching foreigners, so he won’t hold himself back from the inquiries, especially since you’re much closer than that. You don’t really have much to say anymore, so you blabber to him in your native tongue just to keep him quiet, to which he responds by speaking in yet another language (albeit poorly). He knows you have the tendency to tease him in your own language, so he’s decided to pick up learning a new one just to get back at you.

“Yah, I can say things you don’t understand either, you know!”

Park Jimin: It’s not that Jimin hasn’t traveled before and seen all kinds of people and cities - it’ll just take him a while for him to get used to customs and regularities of a foreign country, since they differ quite a bit from the norm in Korea. Having a foreign significant other helps him understand more, and in spite of how shy he appears, he would want to get to know all about your upbringing better. When you do something that seems unusual, he can’t help but wonder how differently you’ve lived your life growing up, not out of offense, but curiosity. You ask him what’s wrong.

“Um… jagiya, is that normal in your culture? I’ve never seen anyone do that in Korea.”

Jeon Jungkook: Kook would be excited to know all about the culture that shaped you into who you are today. He’d want to learn all he can so that he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of your friends or family when the time comes, maybe pick up a greeting phrase or two to impress them. You’re in the midst of teaching him all about the various customs, when he gets a whiff of delicious food coming from the kitchen of the restaurant you’re in - you’ve picked this out so he could get a authentic taste of your home country. He grins widely - he didn’t expect the food before him to look so yummy and wholesome.

“Ah, what is all of this? I don’t think I’ve seen this type of food before - are you sure I can eat all of it?”
( The maknae is truly asking out of politeness - he’ll gobble down anything he can get his hands on seconds later! ) 

Kim Taehyung: Honestly, Kim Taehyung would be nervous at first, when you introduce him to something so vastly unlike the norm upheld in Korea. When he flies over to your country for the first time, he’d be very homesick, but having you around to ease him into lifestyle and civilization of your home would get him excited in time. Eventually, you’ll find him getting more involved, speaking casually and freely to locals, eager to immerse himself in the environment. He glances around while listening to what your local music sounds like before speaking to you.

“This place is really different from home, jagi - I’m really glad I decided to come visit you.

Min Yoongi: Motionless Min doesn’t look the type, but he loves to travel. He has a very broad view on the distinct cultures every country has to offer, and he always experiences them with arms wide open. Being the traveler that he is, especially from Bangtan tours, he always makes sure he’s ready for any foreign encounter - having you by his side is like having a survival kit in your country. He won’t ask too many questions in case you ever get annoyed with him, but he does take mental notes whenever you explain something to him, that’s habitual in your society.

“So do I have to do that when I visit your home, too? I just wanna be prepared.”

Kim Namjoon: Intellectual Kim Namjoon wouldn’t really be phased by the fact that he has a foreign significant other whose traditions may differ from his own. He’s lived abroad himself, so he would take to you just the same as anyone else. He’s open minded and accepting of your culture, so there won’t be much confusion between the both of you when comparing societies. If there’s one thing he’s fascinated by, it’s probably the entertainment industry from your country - you come home greeted by the sight of him eating Oreos on the couch, glaring intensely at the television set.

“Hey, could you download the next episode of this show for me? With Korean subs?”
( Namjoon-ah, why are you watching a soap? From my country? )
“You were the one that left the foreign channel running!”


I’m not too familiar with Turkish culture, but this react can still be applied to your situation, and hopefully others, since I’ve generalized it. I did do some research, but I felt like I wouldn’t be able to do the react much justice if I’m nearing uncharted waters, so I decided to play it safe; I honestly wouldn’t want to butcher your culture lolol. I hope you enjoy this react despite the changes, anon! <3

Contractual Obligations: 01

You’re a journalistic correspondent for your home country’s consulate building. You were to spend the next few months with the princes of seven different countries. However, when Prince Taehyung approaches you with an offer of marriage you don’t know if you can refuse. He wants out of an arranged marriage and you want the inside scoop. You aren’t sure as the marriage goes on, that Taehyung is truly the man you thought he was.  

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader x Yoongi. 

Word Count 3.1k 


You smoothed out the emerald silk of your dress. You took several deep breaths, one hand resting on your abdomen, and the other hand gently adjusting your hair. Was this appropriate? Was it too much? Too little? You weren’t entirely sure how you were supposed to look at the lavish parties.  You looked over yourself in the mirror completely second guessing yourself. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t go to this party and face them. The Crown Princes.

You weighed the pros and cons of not going. Pro: You wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself. Con: You would almost certainly lose your job as a journalistic correspondent for said crown. Which most certainly could not happen. Taking in a sharp breath, you shook your head and departed from the mirror, opening the door to your apartment and heading out to the town car sent for you. You lifted your dress over your ankles as to not let it touch the wet pavement, while the chauffeur held an umbrella over your head. You said thank you to hi, and he sent you a kind smile. He did not often get thanked for all he did. You put your seatbelt on and thought about what tonight would entail. You wondered if the Crown Princes would be wearing their traditional royal garments. The almost military style clothes adorned with the badges of their home countries. You more than ogled at them. There were seven of them how could you not?

           Prince Yoongi—who hailed from Trael; he was a bit aloof. Tended to almost look bored at these events. He liked to watch from the sidelines and when he was forced to engage in conversation typically only gave one word answers. His voice was gruff and the only time you had seen him crack a smile was when Prince Namjoon leaned in to lowly comment on something they had in common. Though, you never knew just what they were talking about.  His hair was a soft black color, his hands were large and he looked dashing in red which was his country’s color.

Speaking of Prince Namjoon, who was from Asmon, was a walking wrecking ball. He was clumsy but kind. He always stood by you during these events, sat by you at dinner. He was the one who was most familiar with the customs of your home country. He made you feel at ease. Namjoon was the closest thing to a brother you had. His hair was brown in color, he sported his country’s home colors of purple and gold very well. Namjoon spent a lot of time with Prince Jin.

Prince Jin, born in Pacila typically was the object of affections from the ladies of the court. Jin was the oldest prince and one of the most handsome. Though, he never seemed that interested in the court ladies’ advances or their sighs and swoons. He preferred to make others laugh, to sit with Namjoon and make jokes. His hair was a light brown color. Jin often sported tuxes and suits with splashes of pink. Subtly showcasing his country’s colors of white and pink. He tended to dote on the youngest prince.

The youngest Prince was Prince Jungkook. Jungkook was ruggedly handsome and was from Chaot, the smallest of the seven countries. He was a little immature, he liked to prank members of the court and he and Prince Jimin were the flirtiest of the seven princes. They always had a lady on their arm and a drink in their hands. Jungkook typically wore black when he had to represent his country, It made the chocolate brown of his hair look wonderful and it made the bright silver of his country’s color stand out.

Prince Jimin, looking at the crown prince of Fila you would have thought he was the youngest, with his dyed pink locks and soft cheeks. He loved to dance, he and Prince Hoseok were always out on the dance floor. Prince Jimin liked to tease you about staying off to the side when it came to dancing. You had always been nervous and he always allowed Prince Hoseok to step in to coerce you to dance. He looked strapping in baby blue bowties. Up until recently he had light blonde hair, but what made him color his hair pastel pink eluded you.

Prince Hoseok who hailed from the country of Glea—a fitting name for a country with his shining personality as crown prince never failed to make you laugh. Whether it be with silly dance moves; gesturing to you during a faster paced song or the coy jokes he made when he finally succeeded in dancing with you. He kept his hair a dark maroon color. He was generous and caring. He apparently was the next in line to be betrothed, though you weren’t sure if he cared or not. He typically sported gold accents on his suits.

Finally, we get to Prince Taehyung. Prince Taehyung was the sun itself. Tan skin, a warm smile, and honey brown hair. He was from Iasnye, and was second youngest and the most caring gentleman you had ever met. Taehyung didn’t care for the bureaucratic life of becoming a king. He much rather cared for the people, especially children. The number of times the young prince was caught playing with children versus making connections outside of the other Princes and yourself was astronomical. Taehyung sported the color of the seas of Iasnye, that clear azure blue when he did decide to dress for his country. To say that you had a slight crush on him was an understatement.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the town car pulled to a stop, the driver once again opening the door for you. Your view immediately landed on the people entering the large consulate mansion. Where the Princes currently resided. Taking a deep breath, you exited the car and you were pleased that the rain had stopped for now. You lifted your dress and walked up to consulate mansions stairs, your heart pounded in your chest. Once you entered you were enamored by the sheer amount of people here tonight. You looked around the room, hoping to spot a bar and when you did; the breath you had been holding whooshed out of you. Some liquid courage is what you needed right now.

You walked towards the bar, weaving past waiters and guests as the laughed boisterously. At one point, you heard the guffawing laugh of the Prime Minister of Glea, who had already clearly had too much to drink tonight. You made a mental note not to approach him. He tended to get handsy when he drank. You approached the bar and smiled at the bartender.

“I’ll have a glass of white wine please?” You asked and he nodded pulling a glass and pouring your drink for you. You turned to look at the rest of the party. To your left was the stage where a swing band was playing softly. God, everyone looked beautiful tonight. In the middle of the dance floor was Prince Jimin, who had on a lovely grey suit, his pink locks falling over his eyes as he dipped the woman he was dancing with. You took a sip from your drink and pulled your cell phone out of your clutch, checking to see if you had any messages from your boss Jeonghan.

“Miss Y/N, you really shouldn’t have your phone out here it’s not proper,” A low voice pointed out. “Is the party really that boring?” Your eyes flicked up to see Prince Namjoon, flustered you put your phone away and curtsied. He made a tutting noise.

“Sorry, Prince Namjoon.” He tutted again and you were confused.

“Y/N, what have I told you about being so formal with us? None of the other Princes like it when you do that.” Namjoon whined and you fought a giggle. However, he smiled at you and ordered a glass of red wine for himself.

“How are you Namjoon?” You asked, testing his name without formality. Namjoon shrugged his shoulders and watched the crowd with you.

“I’m fine, business as usual here at the consulate building.” Namjoon had passions outside of governing and he often felt the stress of doing both writing and governing too much sometimes.

“I see, why not go dancing and relieve some of the stress?” You suggested; he laughed loudly.

“Oh no, if you don’t have to dance then I most certainly don’t have to.”

“You’re a Prince, you have to dance.” You countered with a coy smile. Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“Y/N, I am walking destruction. Do you really want to see that on the dance floor?” He gestured over himself to prove his point and you laughed lightly.

“Hell yes.” You replied and put a hand over your mouth. Oh no! You were supposed to be professional. Namjoon tilted his head to the side at your expletive before laughing again.

“You know, that might have been the first time I have heard you curse.” Namjoon pointed out and he pondered it for a moment. “You should do that more often.” You gaped at the older male and sputtered. He took a sip from his wine glass and watched as Jimin detached himself from the woman he was dancing with, not before he whispered something in her ear to make her blush furiously. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room until he spotted you and Namjoon; a wide grin breaking over his face. Jimin immediately walked over and pulled you into a hug.

“Ah Y/N is here tonight!” Jimin exclaimed as he twirled your body around. You struggled to keep a grip on your wine glass as Jimin spun you about, worried about the contents of the glass getting all over his nicely tailored suit. You flushed and asked him to release you, only to hear a whine from the boy.

“Jimin, you’re going to suffocate her.” Namjoon warned, but you heard the laugh in his voice. Jimin let you go with a huff and smiled at you. He took your hands in his and looked up and down your body.

“You look amazing, green is your color.” Jimin praised and you felt another blush creep up your cheeks. It made the skin feel hot. Jimin pressed a kiss to your cheek, something he did every time you saw him. You tensed up and he let out another giggle. “You’re so uptight Y/N”

           “I am not!” You protested and set your wine glass down on the bar. You crossed your arms over your chest and pouted petulantly. Jimin shook his head.

           “Oh, prove to me you aren’t uptight.” He challenged and you waited for the same question he was bound to ask you. “Dance with me.” It was pretty standard of Jimin to tease you and then offer you to dance with him. With tried and true patience your replied with,

           “No, I’ll look silly dancing next to you.”

           “You’re going to refuse a Prince?” Jimin gasped and you rolled your eyes. He pouted cutely at you and you shook your head.

           “Yes, go find the girl you were dancing with earlier or better yet, find Jungkook.” Namjoon let out a long snicker at your response and Jimin looked at you agape. He feigned hurt and scurried away, seeing Prince Jungkook enter the room. You shook your head and let out a laugh. Namjoon looked at you and back at the crowd before he told you he had to depart. Namjoon would have preferred to keep your company all night. But, you understood that he was obligated to mingle with the rest of the people. You figured you should attempt to do your job, finding sources for articles and keeping up the guise that you actually had something of substance to write about.

           The night went on and you were seated by Prince Jin at dinner. You both shared some polite small talk between courses. But, mostly you observed. Watched each interaction the Princes had with officials and took small notes about what the officials were saying. You talked with Namjoon a lot and a bit with Prince Yoongi, though he seemed more interested in blending into the beige walls than making conversation. While speaking to Namjoon about your job you were interrupted by Prince Taehyung.

           Taehyung looked radiant tonight. His suit was a deep blue color and his hair was pulled back away from his forehead. He gave you his signature box smile. “Prince Namjoon, do you mind if I steal Miss Y/N for a dance?” He requested politely and Namjoon raised a brow puzzled. Never was Taehyung so formal to him. Also, it was a surprise to see him actually engaging with another adult. Namjoon looked to you and you looked to Taehyung before nodding meekly. Taehyung smiled at you again and took your hand, leading you onto the dancefloor.

           “You look very beautiful tonight.” Taehyung complimented and you flushed. His hand rested lightly on your waist and you held his shoulder swaying gently with him. Taehyung knew better than to try and pull you into a full waltz. You didn’t know how to dance.

           “Thank you, your highness.” You answered, your mouth was slightly dry and you felt as if your heart was going to explode from your chest. He nodded and didn’t protest your statement like he normally would. Taehyung was eerily quiet and that was unsettling for you. “Is everything alright?” You inquired after a minute.

           “Oh? You didn’t hear?” Taehyung sounded surprised as he looked down at you. You quirked an eyebrow. Hear what?

           “Obviously not.” You replied and a wave of worry went through you. Was he going back to Iasnye? You felt his grip on your waist tighten.

           “I am engaged to be married.” Taehyung answered solemnly. You couldn’t help the gasp of surprise exit your lips and you struggled to find a way to respond. Before you could answer the song abruptly ended and he detached himself from you. You wanted to stop him and ask what had happened. To inquire who he was getting married to and you thought this confession could be your big break as a writer. If you had the opportunity to cover a royal wedding! You could finally earn that promotion and get your name out there. You both clapped for the band and he walked you towards one of the balconies. You wondered if he was going to be talking to you about it. But, before you could inquire further the Prime Minister of Glea sauntered over, his rotund body separating you and Taehyung. If matters couldn’t get any worse your phone began to ring. You excused yourself outside and took the call, grateful the rain was gone.

           “Hello?” You asked as you picked up the phone.

           “Y/N!” The voice of Jeonghan, your boss spoke from the other line. “You need to come to the office.” You tilted your head to the side as he spoke, confused as to why the office needed you right this minute.
           “Sir, I’m currently at the consulate building working.” You replied.

           “I know, but we’re pulling the article.”

           “But sir,”

           “Y/N, your story has no traction, it’s a glorified fluff piece. You’re being reassigned.” You couldn’t believe this. You had been working on this story for two months. Did he understand how hard it was to get anything out of the princes? Did Jeonghan understand that it was damn near impossible to try and talk to them when the crown forbade the press for sitting in on governmental meetings? “I want you in the office tomorrow.” Then you heard the click and dial tone. You let out a frustrated groan and shoved your phone back into your clutch. You ran a hand through your hair, pulling the bobby pins out and you let it cascade over your shoulders.

           “Work trouble?” The deep baritone voice of Taehyung made you jump. You turned towards him and sighed.

           “Yeah, they’re pulling me from the article. I can no longer come to the consulate building.”

           “Why?” Taehyung asked eyes wide. He stepped towards you and put his hand comfortingly on your shoulder.

           “My story is not going anywhere, so they don’t want me writing it anymore. It needed a kick, something to gain readers.” You couldn’t believe this was happening. It was completely unfair. Taehyung looked at you and you could see the wheels in his head turning. You were at a loss as to what to do. You couldn’t believe this. Honestly, you couldn’t even think of a story that would get you the types of connections this one offered for you. Taehyung placed his hand on your chin and looked at you as if he had come up with the greatest idea in the world.

           “Marry Me.” He stated and you flinched back. Shocked. Marry him? Why?

           “What?” you croaked, throat dry and constricted. You needed a drink. A large stiff drink that would make you forget your name.

           “Marry me, you need a big story and I don’t want to marry the woman I am betrothed to.”

           “Prince Taehyung,” You began and he stopped you.

           “It would only be for a short amount of time, just until my father gets off my back. Think about it, if you marry me you can write the big story you want. If you’re crown princess of Isanye you get into all those government meetings.” He was determined to get you to say yes. You thought about it for a moment. It would be amazing for your career to do this. But, you had always thought you would marry for love.

           “I don’t know the first thing about being a princess!” You exclaimed. Taehyung looked at you beseechingly.

           “I can teach you, please think about it.” Taehyung held you close. You couldn’t breathe he was so close. “Please.”

           “Fine, I’ll marry you.” You had to put your career first. You had to. You didn’t want your whole world to implode and this was your golden ticket. You felt guilty, though, using him. Though Taehyung was planning on using you too. You couldn’t believe you were going to do this. Taehyung looked down at you and beamed. He kissed your forehead and pulled back.

           “You won’t regret this!”

           You hoped you didn’t.

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Karneval in Erfurt, Thüringen, Eastern Germany. There are 3 different words in German for ‘carnival’: Karneval, Fasching, and Fastnacht. Although all 3 refer to the same pre-Lenten observance, each has a slightly different tradition and reflects the customs in different regions. Generally speaking, Karneval is the word used in the Rheinland in North/West Germany, while Fasching and Fastnacht are used further South. The big day for Karneval is Rose Monday; Fasching parades usually take place the day before. One of Germany’s largest parades happens in Braunschweig in Niedersachsen - it’s called “Schoduvel” (“scaring away the devil”) and dates back to 1293. The term Fasching is also seen in Berlin and other parts of Northern Germany. Fastnacht, mostly used in Swabia, is also used in Mainz. Karneval is a newer, more recent (17th century), Latin-based word. It probably comes from carne levare (“away with meat”), relating to Catholic LentCarnevale in Venice, Italy is one of the earliest documented carnival celebrations in the world. It featured still-popular traditions, incl. parades and masks. Gradually the Italian Carnevale customs spread North to other Catholic countries. including France. From there, it came to the Rheinland and elsewhere. The 3rd common term for carnival, Fastnacht, refers to the Swabian-Alemannic version, which differs somewhat from Fasching and Karneval, and is found in Baden-Württemberg, Franken (Northern Bavaria), and Hessen. Fasching is used in Bavaria, Berlin, Brandenburg, Sachsen. We sometimes call it the “5th season”. 

Starting Date
Although many carnival organizations traditionally begin their official activities on November 11 (11/11) at 11:11 a.m., the real starting date for Karneval or Fasching activities is usually January 6 (Epiphany). It is only following the Christmas and New Year’s season that carnival preparation really gets underway. Organizations begin planning balls and building floats. If there are any events on Nov 11, they are brief and only serve as a mini pre-carnival. Very little happens between Nov 12 and Jan 5. No matter the name, almost all carnival observances end at midnight on Shrove Tuesday. The next day, Ash Wednesday, is the official start of Lent, even if very few people today actually fast until Easter. Historically, the purpose of carnival was to live it up before the start of Lent and its 40 days of gustatory sacrifice.

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Saint/s of the Day – 3 June – Uganda Martyrs or St Charles Lwanga & Companions – Martyrs – Their names are:

• Ambrosio Kibuuka • Anatoli Kiriggwajjo
• Anderea Kaggwa • Antanansio Bazzekuketta
• Bruno Sserunkuuma • Charles Lwanga
• Denis Ssebuggwawo • Gonzaga Gonza
• Gyavire • James Buzabaliao
• John Maria Muzeyi • Joseph Mukasa
• Kizito • Lukka Baanabakintu
• Matiya Mulumba • Mbaga Tuzinde
• Mugagga • Mukasa Kiriwawanvu
• Nowa Mawaggali • Ponsiano Ngondwe
They were canonised on 18 October 1964 by Pope Paul VI at Rome, Italy.   Patrons of Uganda and the Archdiocese of Accra, Ghana

All martyrs’ stories are inspiring, but the martyrdom of young people really makes us think.

By 1879 the first Catholic missions were started in Uganda and other parts of Central Africa.   Under King Mtesa missionaries preached, people studied the faith and many believed in Jesus.   Unfortunately King Mtesa was succeeded by King Mwanga, who began persecuting the Christians in Uganda.

Charles Lwanga was a young man, probably in his late teens, who was a page in the court of King Mwanga.   After Mkasa, the Christian master of the court pages, criticised the king for his immoral acts and for murdering a group of missionaries, the king had him beheaded.   On the same night Mkasa was martyred, Charles, a catechumen, was baptised.   Charles replaced Mkasa as head of the pages and continued to encourage the young men to refuse to take part in the pagan customs of the country.   Later a young page refused to become involved in the king’s immoral acts and confessed that a page named Denis was instructing him to be a Christian.   This angered the king so much that he sent for Denis and thrust a spear through his throat.   Then Mwanga summoned all the pages and separated the Christian pages from the rest.   He commanded his soldiers to kill Charles Lwanga and his friends.   Most of the pages were under the age of twenty-five.   The youngest was thirteen years old.

In prison Charles inspired the others to be courageous and faithful.   The boys were executed thirty-seven miles away.   Three were killed on the road.   Charles was burned alive.   The others met the same fate or were beheaded. They prayed and sang enthusiastically at their deaths.

After their deaths, many other Christians were persecuted and killed. The example of these teenagers and men inspired other people, and in Africa the faith grew and spread. It has refused to die.

Uganda Martyrs pray for us all, especially for Africa!

What your utapri boyfriend will give you on Valentines Day based on your zodiac:

Find your Zodiac boyfriend HERE

Aries - A Polaroid, which you two will use to take pictures on your romantic date he planned for later so you can capture every moment 

Taurus - A customized necklace, most likely with his initials on it that he will personally put it on you while placing chaste kisses on your neck

Gemini - New lingerie he picked out specifically for you to wear that night, most likely made with silk and lace

Cancer - Custom made earrings made from his country in the highest quality material available, nothing is too good for his Princess

Leo - Traditional red roses and expensive chocolates, most likely accompanied with imported wine for you both to share

Virgo - A music sheet he poured his heart into for you, he will play this song for you on the piano 

Libra - A thoughtful letter filled with his emotions for you since he is not confident telling them to you in person

Scorpio - His lucky guitar pick, he wants you to feel close to him as possible and wanted to give you something important to him

Sagittarius - A new dress, possibly one you have been eyeing in the store for awhile. He would want you to wear it on your date that night.

Capricorn - A dozen roses and a stuffed plush of your favorite animal, something for you to hold while he is on tour with STARISH

Aquarius - A trip to an amusement park, where he will try to win you every plush in all the games and take you on the Ferris Wheel

Pisces - A customized ring with both your birthstones on it as well as a special engraving on the inside, just to remind you he loves you.

ID #97656

Name: Dasha
Age: 15
Country: Russia

Hi, guys. I’m just an ordinary girl from Russia. I live in a city called Saint Petersburg is the second largest city after the capital of my country. I nravitsaaa books, watching TV shows such as Supernatural ( I now look 10 season), Game of thrones and Sherlock. I like Harry Potter, Lord of the rings, I love photography, aerobics. I like all kinds of music. Here’s some bands that I listen to: Rammstein, Skillet, Twenty One Pilots, Muse, Ariana Grande, Imagine Dragons. I really love the movie the Lovely bones (the book I also like), I love the movie 17 girls, Doctor strange, Star wars and many others.. Also I like Korean doramas and listen to some kpop group. I would like to find a penpal to improve my language skills and learn about customs of another country. And, of course, just want to make new friends:D Interesting facts: I love cocoa, I love my cat, I love sunrises and sunsets, dream to travel, want to go to America. I have a lot of dreams.

Preferences: I am interested in pen pals that are 15-20, location does not matter, gender does not matter