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darkhorse-javert · 8 months

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'News to the Desert'

Introducing Simon 'Sim' Stewart, and to some extent his father Benjamin Stewart (who has made a prior apperance in my writing). Respectively they're Sam's Cousion and Uncle. @blind-dates-fest

North African Desert 1942

A towselled head pops out of the canvas back of the lorry, grins at him, offering a thick bundle in oilskin, “Post has come in, Sir.”

“Righto, Sergeant” He takes the offered bundle, turns to the thick group of his men, cramped together behind him in the path of their camp. They're standing steady, but they're concentrated on the letters in his arms. He pulls them out of the packet, turns up the first one

“Tods, J.” One man presses forwards, takes a bunch of letters wrapped together

“Smith, A J,

“Sergeant Todd..”

It carries on

At last, only one packet is left, a thin one, perhaps only two letters.or a thick one. He pulls off the cover. Two it is, numbered as is the family want.

He pulls out the first, father's familiar handwriting rolling across the thin page, and shimmering through from the other side.

Dear Sim,

We hope you are well out there and in good spirits. We two are quite well here at home, and you probably have heard more of Edwin than we have here, his last letter spoke of being ‘well but dusty’. But then, we suppose, sending post from where we guess you are is not the easiest undertaking.

Things have been very peaceful here, the church choir is carrying on very well, in spite of everything. I confess to being selfishly glad when James Robbins failed his call-up medical a few weeks ago - on account of the rheumatic fever he had as a baby - at least for now we may retain one reliable baritone voice, especially as we lost many of the younger Altos last year. But those are minor matters, and highly selfish in motivation to boot. Services are still well attended here.

‘The two scamps’ send you their luck and good wishes (if we’re being literal, they ask that you “get lots of Nazi’s” - bloodthirsty young pair, I and your mother only ask that you stay safe).

The wider family all report they are well, your Uncle Iain and Aunt Margaret have had no close shaves, despite being on the South Coast.

By far the grandest item of news from the family is that Samatha is to be married, on 6th November. Her husband-to-be is an RAF fighter pilot, and also the son of the Detective Inspector she has been driving since she was attached to the Police.

He pauses, quietly re-reads the sentences for a moment, then continues the letter.

You may find this news to come out of the blue, but cannot be as surprised as your Uncle Iain was. If I am reading his letter correctly, the first he heard of the young gentleman was when a letter from the young man arrived asking for consent to the marriage. It has later emerged that Samantha has been walking out with him, his duties permitting, since the autumn of 1940. And for not one of us to any the wiser to it in the intervening time.

He smiles at the letter,

Oh, well played, Sammy, well done indeed. We always think of you as our ‘little cousin’, myself included in that regard. But - he lets his mind drift back to that last pre-war Summer - you were quite grown up back then, the Lady of the Vicarage with Aunt Margaret’s health as it was, joining the forces won’t have hindered that, probably helped. You’re not a girl in plaits anymore, to be trotted out in Sunday Best. Another memory; ginger plaits and a freckled face as he looked down through gaps in tree branches, to see a much younger Sammy determinedly climbing after him

His father’s pen has paused, and then continued with blacker ink; You may perhaps be able to imagine your Uncle Iain’s reaction to all of this, Sim.

Chuckles tickle his throat and wobble his shoulders at that. Dear Uncle Iain, as pastorally and kindly minded as he is, will have been roundly knocked for six by the apparently sudden news, and knocked again when Samantha’s ‘deception’ came to light. He almost feels sorry for his youngest uncle, what little of him isn’t childishly egging Sam on in her little flash of independence, perhaps even defiance

That said his father’s letter continues, Iain has been a little mollified since actually meeting the young man (Andrew by name) in person. He reports he is a very decent and well-mannered young man, who clearly cares deeply for Samantha. I would also add, and your mother reckons similarly, that the depth of feeling is mutual between them, given she has been keeping Andrew so quiet- and away from ‘familial interference’. We await further news as to the location of the wedding and other particulars. We’re planning to get together a hamper here, as a present. If you get this before early November, send a telegram down to Hastings for congratulations would you?

With our prayers for your safety and health, do write when you can

And much love

Your Father and Mother

Simon consults the date on the letter, mid-October. And right now it’s 3rd November.

He pauses, At least I think it is

This poor letter has been wandering across the desert at snails pace -or to be more charitable at Post pace, while they’ve been moving at speed after Rommel’s boys. There might be time to get a telegram in before the wedding, if the telegram operators are nearby, and there isn’t anything of greater priority to go down the line. If not, it will have to go by post as a letter, and then be telegramed,but worth a try at least.

#blind dates 2024 #foyle's war #sam stewart #foyle's war fanfiction

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violetwolfraven · 5 years

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The Misfits Series Major Character Summaries

(Writing this cause this series needs a real fandom so please read it people I need more content. First and only book out so far is Taken by Eva Nguyen which can be found on Amazon. This post contains a few spoilers.)

Ginger Stevenson:

The girl who grew up too fast.

Probably bi tbh.

Red hair, brown eyes, freckles, 16.

Dad is a cop and she should really follow in his footsteps ya know if she survives being abducted by aliens.

A little bit messed up from her home situation. (No spoilers.)

Loves big bro and little sis So Much.

Would cry in a sad movie.

Drinks coffee when she’s not supposed to.

Chosen family AND blood family.

Does not like admitting she has a crush.

Natural leader.

Matthew (Matt) Ching:

The boy who never gives up hope.

This boy is way to chaotic to be straight even if he currently likes a girl.

Black hair, brown eyes, Asian, 16.

Was raised by Mom cause Dad is dead.

Should probably design video games. That sounds like something he’d enjoy.

Did not take anything seriously ever before alien abduction.

Only child but adopts friends as siblings instead.

Would cry more than his gf in a sad movie.

Either likes black coffee or Unicorn Frappuccinos.

Chosen family all the way!!!

Has probably accepted his crush as a fact of life.

Soft boi hacker.

Christina (Cris) Hoang:

The girl who wants to protect.

Tbh I have no idea about her sexuality.

Brown hair, brown eyes, probs like half Asian, 17.

Doesn’t sing but won’t tell you why.

Should probably be a vigilante. She’s angry and protective it would work.

Carries a knife and duct tape everywhere so probs a bit paranoid.

Don’t remember if she has siblings tbh.

Probably wouldn’t cry until she was alone.

Seems like a mocha girl.

Idk but mostly chosen family I think.

Doesn’t have sexual tension with sparring partner what are you talking about.

Angry big sister friend.

Robert (Bobby) O’Connor:

The boy who everyone trusts.

Idk but if anyone’s straight it’s him.

Brown hair, green eyes, no clue about ethnicity, 18.

Likes weapons and knows like everything about them.

Should be a soldier cause weapons and the greater good.

More focused on what other people are feeling than himself.

Adopts all his friends.

Would cry in a sad movie but try to hide it.

Probably drinks Red Bull.

Chosen family.

Doesn’t have sexual tension with sparring partner what are you talking about.

Fun big brother friend.

Ashley Delon:

The girl who is probably hiding her anger.

Almost definitely bi.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, last name is French, 14.

Really quiet but constantly writing songs in her head.

Should be a singer for obvious reasons.

Stronger than she looks so maybe hiding something that made her that strong?

Has a brother but mentions him Once.

Would not cry in a sad movie.

Probably gets hot chocolate the tells people it’s coffee.

Probably chosen family.

Fell for a boy who spent a week trying to save her life but also seemed to have a crush on her (girl) bestie before that.

Quiet powerhouse.

William (Will) López:

The boy who never gives up.

Actually is probably straight.

Black hair, brown eyes, Hispanic, 15.

Played soccer before *gestures* this mess.

Should be a doctor because he is a soft boi who likes helping people.

A little bit shy. Was probably bullied.

Has a sister who was mentioned once.

Might cry but it depends on the movie.

Probably only drinks coffee with a shit ton of sweetener.

Idk seems to have a good relationship with blood family so maybe both?

Fell for a girl after they talked for a while cause they were both a little traumatized.

Loyal and patient one.

Quinn Kalua:

The friend you go to for a hug.

Maybe ace? Idk he doesn’t talk much.

Black hair, brown eyes, Pacific Islander, 16.

Doesn’t talk about his backstory. Doesn’t talk really at all.

Should be an animal researcher. You’ll get why if you read the book.

Doesn’t talk and something obviously happened to cause that.

???

I can’t see him like crying ever tbh.

Probably likes Starbucks drinks.

Seems like chosen family.

Doesn’t have a love interest.

The silent one.

Felicity Asfour:

The girl with trust issues.

No idea but doesn’t like guys much at the moment.

Black hair, green eyes, Middle-Eastern, 16.

Biology nerd who can recognize a heartbeat anywhere.

Should be a doctor because she always does her best to heal others in the book.

Has Issues. Had a bad relationship. Has home problems. Girl is a mess.

Has a twin brother but only family member she has a good relationship with is her little sister.

Would cry but angrily tell people to stop looking at her in a sad movie.

Probably loves the smell of coffee.

CHOSEN FAMILY.

Still recovering from bad relationship so no love interest.

The sassy healer.

Samuel (Sam) Hayes:

The boy who jokes about everything.

Very chaotic. Seems unlikely to be straight.

Black hair, brown eyes, African-American, 16.

Builds robots with varying degrees of success.

Should be an engineer so he can build robots and change the world.

Has been bullied. Not too trusting and clearly hides behind humor.

I don’t remember if he has siblings tbh.

Would cry shamelessly in a sad movie.

Has probably brewed coffee with Red Bull instead of water.

Chosen family I think.

Love interest betrays him so...

The funny one.

Zoe Locklear:

The innocent girl who deserved better.

Maybe straight maybe had a crush on bestie so idk.

Black hair, brown eyes, Native-American, 13.

Biggest heart EVER. Tries to make light of bad situations.

Should be a high school teacher because she is 13 and is successfully wrangling 10 teenagers.

Is probably bullied for her naivety. Innocent but seems sad.

Doesn’t really mention family.

Would definitely cry in a sad movie.

Would drink hot chocolate and admit it’s hot chocolate.

Never got a chance to pick between chosen vs blood.

Again might have a crush on (girl) bestie but idk.

Pure angel, too good for this world.

Macy Albrite:

The girl who lied about everything.

Seems straight but who knows.

Black hair, blue eyes, maybe Caucasian, 16.

Was a manipulative bitch before and still is though she is now hiding it.

Should go die. You’ll see why if you read Taken.

Bullied others and still does.

Who knows and who cares about her family?

Would laugh at other people crying in a sad movie.

Coffee as bitter and black as her soul.

Chosen family but doesn’t deserve them.

Betrays the one she claims to love.

Satan incarnate.

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littlemissmeggie · 6 years

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i was tagged by @narrymybed and @narriewithane several days ago and i’m finally sitting down to do this. thank you for tagging me!

1. What is the smell of your shampoo?

i use herbal essences blue ginger because it’s one of the few shampoos that doesn’t bring me out in a rash for an hour after i shower.

2. What’s your aesthetic?

super high-waisted jeggings from american eagle with band shirts tucked in. oversized crewneck sweatshirts with button up shirts. flats and $16 knock-off keds from target. my champagne silver 2000 volkswagen cabrio. arctic monkeys’ aesthetic from suck it and see, am, and tranquility base hotel & casino. two record players and a growing record collection. record stores. gangster movies and television shows. bookshelves filled with books. my town’s library.

3. What’s your favourite time of the day?

i’ve never really had a particular time of day i prefer over any other but over the last month, i’ve really come to like the time of day after i wake up and am sitting in bed with my boyfriend while i’m reading or writing and drinking tea.

4. What do you like most about the beach?

my family used to go to rehoboth beach, delaware every summer for vacation and we spent a lot of time on the beach and the boardwalk so beaches always bring back really great memories. summer’s my favourite season so i love the warmth on the beach. i love the sounds of the waves crashing and seagulls.

5. What do you worry about constantly?

i don’t really worry about anything constantly. i worry about financial stuff occasionally. i worry about my brother and my boyfriend’s younger brother often. i sometimes worry about my car when it makes some weird sound and i start thinking it’s going to be a $1,000 repair (and it usually ends up being $150).

6. What is a song you’ve cried to before?

oh, there are a lot of songs i’ve cried to and i can’t even begin to think of all of them. i have frequently cried to the whole of the maccabees’ album given to the wild. i’ve cried to twenty one pilots’ songs neon gravestones, the city, my blood, and screen. i’ve cried many times to walking in the wind and parts of sign of the times. arctic monkeys’ the ultracheese makes me tear up. roger miller’s song one dying and a burying gets me every time.

7. What are some relaxing tips for your followers?

meditate. there are a lot of guided meditations on youtube (i especially like the mindful movement’s meditations) and apps in the app store. if you’re religious, pray and/or go to public worship ceremonies; i’m roman catholic and i go to sunday mass and it’s another way for me to meditate as we pray and listen to the readings and liturgy. drink tea, coffee, or any beverage you enjoy while reading a book, fanfiction, or any magazines or blogs about subjects that interest you. nap. listen to music if you find that calming. watch something that interests you.

8. What are some things that make you tear up?

videos and stories of people doing good, kind, selfless things for other people. the 2013 coca-cola superbowl ad with all the footage from security/cctv cameras. thinking about things that made me really happy. other things, i’m sure.

9. What is your favourite thing from each of the five senses?

Sight: sunrises and sunsets. (how cliche.) snow falling as long as i don’t have to go outside. my boyfriend. christmas decorations. beautifully plated food. flowers and green grass and summer days.

Smell: the pavement after it rains on a hot day. lavender. any kind of pastries in the oven. book pages and new notebooks and my town library. the ocean. peonies.

Sound: most music. rain. the church bells in the center of my town ringing every fifteen minutes. the scratchiness at the beginning and end of a record. my cats purring. the voices of my family members and my boyfriend.

Taste: communion wafers. (i’m not kidding. it’s my favourite flavour.) curries. ginger and mint and basil. most thai noodle dishes. the traditional flavours of a lot of middle eastern and north african cuisines. yogurt. dark chocolate. teas, especially black teas, and almost always from harney & sons. peaches and apricots and plums. raspberries. i could keep going but i won’t.

Touch: soft blankets. grass. this squishy silicone stress-reliever thing i got from a shop on etsy. my boyfriend rubbing my head. i’m not a very tactile person.

10. What is one alternative reality you’d want to be in?

i occasionally think i’d love to be in a reality where j.k. rowling’s magical world is real. i don’t even need to be a witch but i’d just love to know it exists.

11. What are some troubles you face on a day to day basis?

i don’t really face any troubles on a day to day basis. there are little things that bother me—annoying coworkers and other silly things at work being the most common—but i try not to let anything bother me for more than ten minutes because that’s a great way to ruin an otherwise at least decent day. i suppose i should say that my severe epilepsy, chronic headaches, and migraines "trouble” me but i don’t think about them unless they’re happening. my periods of writer’s block when i’m stuck in a rut bother me.

12. What is a scene from a book that makes you really sad?

cedric’s death. sirius’ death. hedwig’s death. lupin’s death. fred’s death. even snape’s death. any scene with nino valenti in the godfather. pippi de lena’s death in the last don.

13. Say something to your followers.

thank you all for following me. thank you to those of you who send me messages about my stories and reblog/like my posts. thank you to everyone who sends me supportive messages about everything, from my writing to my personal problems. thank you for following me. i’m sorry i’m not a better friend but thank you to those of you who try to befriend me and for putting up with my terrible social skills; please know that i consider you friends.

#meggie talks #fun tag thingy

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queen-asante · 6 years

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ejucated immigrant

((AUTHOR’S NOTE: @eene-fangirl For the Fanfiction Weekend Challenge! I should probably wait to post this for Rolf Appreciation Month, but there’s a lot of Jonny backstory/headcanons in here, so I thought it would count. Basically, it’s a poem from Rolf’s POV but it’s technically about Jonny, or rather, Jonny was my muse for this.

I haven’t written a poem in Rolf’s ‘’voice’’ since 2014 but believe it or not, that one little line that Edd says in ‘’A Case of Ed’’ inspired the poem (you know, the one), and as I was reading Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf, it produced said result. A turnip for your thoughts? I don’t normally write Rolf like this, it’s actually more like Rolf emulating Ntozake Shange for those familiar with her style. As an Indian Immigrant girl who’s considered suicide, that book changed my life, she’s my idol. Hence, the poem is written in ebonics and all lower case to pay homage to Shange (and I consciously dropped third person redundancies, it wasn’t a mistake). Three non-EEnE characters are briefly mentioned: the first one is Vanessa, my friend who’s half African-American and half Haitian. The second one is Ice, who belongs to my friend, Dani. Ice, in her world, is a black and white cat who becomes Double D’s pet. Rolf fears him because he’s not only black and white, but he shares the name of Immigration and Customs Enforcement by pure coincidence. Dani didn’t plan this, as she created Ice before she met me but she liked the idea of giving Rolf a reason to fear the cat, and so we came up with that story together. The third one is Dr. Feelgood who was my therapist, it’s not her real name, it was an affectionate nickname I coined for her in my years battling Bipolar Disorder Type 3.

As a closing thought, much apologies for the length, also tumblr’s going to mess up the format.))

‘’ejucated immigrant’’

dear gods,

i be 14 wit skin as rough as treebark & hands dat look old

i waz the dark skined immigrant wanting to bathe in bleach

Brown Black / Blue Black / Amber Beige / Bister Brick Bronze / Chestnut Chocolate Cinnamin

Copper / Drab / Dust / Ginger / Fawn / Ochre / Coffe Colourd Caramel

Tawny / Terra-Cotta / Henna / Sepia / Umbre

lookin in the thesurus eddward wit two ds give me when i come to dis country

everything spell Brown but nothing spell White

White sound nice like pearl like snow like milk like golden skined white skined light skined

honey dipped / lemon kissed / but begging for ivory / fair frosted silvery ashen boy jimmy

your white hands on my brown skin

i waz the dark skined immigrant botherin to drag you round

you stand there like a closed mouth statue & you insult my way of life

think you know everythin / rolf just some ignorant third world peasant or somethin

but we be livin dis way longer than the foundin of your land

your country young my country old

numbers & poppy / it just to give you illegitimately born breeds of donkeys

somethin to hee-haw over / science say there no gods either but who know dat

you cannot contain lightning bugs in a jar

i waz the dark skined immigrant dreamin of shakin the mr presidents hand

the former mr president wit eyes like a tired old man & Brown his Brown like a mud bath

it really too bad you know / rolf like your former president

dat black man who dont check dixtionaries for validation of his blackness

he not so bad / he waz sympathetic to the plight of the immigrant but his hands tied

not blame him / he not god he not have all the power in the world to fix dis weather

dis cloud dat hang over your land & who the hell is perfect?

it really such a shame / i dream to see the Hill / see the pearly house painted white the place where he live meet him shake his large brown hand / one brown hand to another

cept i not black / rolf not have to be / not pass / rolf european he is white not bloodless

he not pass he not be white enough for your country

cept i be white on the inside look coloured on the out but i aint no coloured

under my skin i am more than a colour

whoever herd of white passing for person of colour

but suddenly i get to dis country & i be treated no different than jonny

so alls i got is coloured dreams

poor grate nano lived & died on silly dreams / well they not exist

there be only reality & reality not kind to the dark skined indigenous immigrant

no one know what i supposed to be / take a wild guess

indian pakistani mexican romani rolf herd it all & none suppose right

they only looking at my face / the outside the outside not matter

cuz i waz the dark skined immigrant not italian not irish but the other kinds

& no one will see unless rolf cut open his veins & bleed

a Wood Nymph have my colour & if i check off the box dat say caucasian i get a funny look

from the lady sittin behind the counter wit the yellow nail polish & beaded eyeglass

spose if jonny do the same they wont believe him neither

jonny be good

yous see him dancin / wearin his stomach out / dark skined bare feet / swayin his hips

& grate thin arms but he not care dat he gots splinters in his fingertips

his nails turnin all black & blue & those chapped lips look like eyes starin out atchu

the gods make dis child the way he is

wit skinted knees & all & elbows pointed outwards readin you like a map

always wit the label on the left side

but he bootiful & he know it / beauty sometime come in the empty coffee can

not in the paper lillies or plastic pearls

you cant make a silk purse from a sows ear / even if dat ear be made of wood

of wood widda crayon drawn smile

jonnys mother the madwoman in the attic

rolf be certain jonny the wood boy some kind of elf from the passage of Valhöll

the mother of the Tree Sprite she not like rolf / well she not like any child it seems

weepy jimmy-boy & rolf invited to jonny-boys abode for a meeting of the Urban Rangers

& tho his mother never says so we feel she not like us very well

she never ast us to stay for lunch

even tho rolf personally would not eat a morsel of what these people eat

& we always been so polite to her but still she build walls

rolf believe she jealous of us becuz jonny likes us

she come out to the parlour / barefoot / flowers in her wild tangled mess of black raven hair

like yoko ono & wearing a long paisley skirt / she bootiful in an earthy sort of way

but she has a wild look in her eyes like a tigress

a violently insane expression like a german vampire dat make rolf think of bertha mason

she looms over her son like a dark older sister becuz they look so alike

altho her skin much darker / a deep chocolate brown / her complexion remind rolf of vanessa maybe she is haitian / she like the demon in nanas stories the one we all have widdin us

who comes out when we try too hard to be good children

she look at white as snow jimmy & myself like she disprove

either she not like us the uniforms or both

rolf forget tho these hippies wit their anti-establishment

they think every uniform represents what jonny calls ‘’the Man’’ & dats what it is rolf think

she not want jonny in the organisation

becuz she think it goes against their opposition to social norms

rolf could tell she wanted to ast us to leave / she not like jonny spending so much time wit us

becuz then he not at home meditating wit her or whatever it is they do

jonnys family is strange / they not eat meat & walk around shoeless

rolf has been called a gypsy by the children at school but flower child jonny seem to rolf more of a gypsy if there ever waz such a thing

he is almost ethereal / his family must be from a clan of faeries the kind nana warns rolf about but brown-skinned jonny seem harmless enough

i watch his mama put a daisy in the pocket of his jeans

i not know if his daddy be white or black but what difference does dat make

rolf understand it is important for a child to love their family no matter their faults

i know The Giving Tree still love his mother

even if she would prefer him to leave the Urban Rangers

of us three jimmy be the whitest of white jonny the blackest of black & i somewhere in between

but any one of us can walk into a puerto rican bar & start speakin spanish

& no one would know what we are

race too complicated & people too narrow minded / want everything boxed in

one day we waz layin on dat grassy knoll / jonny & i

where the trees whisper to us & we whisper back

cuz you know the boy talk to trees & i listen to his voice / & i be lookin at our hands you see

cuz we waz layin inches apart a flower between us & i tuck it behind his ear

then i look & see my skin only one shade lighter than his

tho the sun make me browner than i really be

out in the sun for hours & hours plowing & plowing the fields

by sundown i roasted coffee bean brown / as black as the inside of a chimney

& if i stumble into town any passing stranger would think i waz Black i mean African

id have to stay out of the sun for days to get my old colour black lest i wander round wit only the whites of my eyes visible on my sun burnt dyed rust brown brown skin

& hair so course youd suppose it come off a horses ass

lookin more like an American Indian than a White

i holdin the back of my hand up to jonnys now

how bout dat two brown hands one dark & one light but whos to say i not be a dark white & he not a light skined brown

dont you dare tell me what i am & am not

bitch dis aint no south africa where yous all can reassign us based on what you think

i aint no sandra laing but sometime i wouldnt mind bein black if it meant for you to leave me be

in fact ill gladly be whatever you want me to be but i am what i am

not black enough for black not white enough for white so what am i?

dont box me into Black & White / cuz in dis world brother dat not exist

im sorry as hell but i gettin real tired of bein called

an illegal / an alien / a wop / a gypsy / a guinea / a brownie whatever you want to call us

all your bigoted slurs clumping us together like we one & the same

dat fine but papers or no papers not define who i am

so uncle sam can take it & shove it

welcome to america!

i be having a long love affair wit your country & people

i also be having a war wit em

mama told me there are limits for dark skined immigrants stuck in dis light skined first world

we come over the border wit all the rest of them

wit all them people from central & south america

wit all them refugees from africa & asia

guess what we blend right in we look no different

look just like any other brown faced ‘’illegal alien’’

border patrol take one look at us & think we just like the rest

cuz yesterdays europeans are todays mexicans & middle easterners

coloured Sons of Shepherds gots few chances

what it like to be bilingual / to speak in two tounge

ah but to be fluent in one & not the other tryin to find any definishun in the dixtionary

in which i drop third person redunduncies cuz i only one person not three

& i only speak two language

you speak spanish?

no habla inglés

you speak english?

i dont speak spanish

one day the hat & head as one edd boy say oh rolf! youre so unejucated!

i think my ears deseeve me but i know what i herd

i wish to strike his milk honey cheeks full of nonsense

& say to him i am the ejucated immigrant you be warned about

dont talk to me bout ejucashun

i sale cross the oshun

i wash up on your shore

i lern another language

it wasnt easy

what you know bout ejucashun

all you know come from books & theories

at least i know where i stand

you are a child & i am old old old my hands notted thick wit veins like the roots of a tree

you say i sound angry / yea i angry but not as angry as you

cuz there nothing they fear more than a minority who knows what up

i used to be fraid but not no more

i used to fear the plainclothes agents in Black & White uniform

of immigration & customes enforecement / of ICE police

of eddwards Black & White cat name Ice on ICE

he must be making fool out of me to call a domesticated beast after homeland security

a cat in uniform because the gods make him so not by choice

like there be some purpose to it / i waz the dark skined immigrant you made fun of

i see what they do to the undocumented immigrant on the telly

but now i not be fraid / becuz you cant touch me

so the grapefruit widda red ugly mouth & bleached hair sit in office now

damming all them people from ‘’shithole countries’’ / just as well but we here to stay

it not what i ast for but no use fighting it

& i will gladly pull the bookmarks from my english dixtionary

the one double d edd boy give me

no longer will i bathe in bleach / only use to washing dishes & floors

i not some bloody floor

‘’immigrant’’

at least i can spell dat / i look it up in the dixtionary

websters dixtionary / who the hell is webster?

but now it marked up used copy wit yellow post it notes

i use it a lot to lern your tounge

i not smart but i sho as hell not unejucated / papa can tell me dat

i be in your country in first place to reseeve ‘’best ejucashun’’ like grate nano wanted

grate nano waz an adventurer / a dreamer wit big goals

he travell far & wide seeking fame & fortune

when he a very young boy immigrants from every cesspool in western & eastern europe set sale for The North / it waz always grate nanos dream to travel North

everyone say he more insane than a bovine wit mad cows disease

there no room in dis life for dreams they tell him / he prove our village wrong

when rolf eight years of age grate nano briefly left the Old Country to set sale for america

everyone say he be too old / he never too old for dreams

he wanted to find dat American Dream he hear so often about

spoken wit fondness by the tinkers who visit our land

he returned from his valiant voyage wit stories about what he seen

in the North he said everyone has cars & money & television & running water

no one listen / The North the North they say dat is all you ever talk about

he waz a man who dreamed of a new life for his family & so he decided to send for us

& make a better life for ourselves after the plagues of the land had haunted our family for years grate nano promised us america he said youll soon be eating apple pie from off a china plate white picket fence / coca cola / santa clause / marilyn monroe / empire state building

it sound like a fairytale he spun a legend dat the streets waz paved wit gold

& we believed him for shining in grate nanos eye waz a dream & so here we are

rest his soul he wanted so much to buy us light & sun & clean wind of the oshun

‘’immigrant’’ waz a new word for rolf when he first come here

did not know after hearing the stories from grate nano dat he would soon be one himself

rolf not know what dat mean & still really dont

the dixtionary definishun say \ ˈi-mə-grənt \ noun. a person who comes to a country to take up permanent residence

\ ˈi-mə-ˌgrāt \ verb. [to go or remove into; in, into, and migrate, to remove.]

to come into a new country, region, or environment in order to settle there: opposed to emigrate.

oh sorry dat definishun not say we unclean people / flea invested vermin

sickly serpents who not speak english / greaser / sheenie

contagions of american society / incredibly dirty tramps fresh off the boat

so pervasive / such nonwhite filth / staring back at pitch black faces

not blonde haired & blue eyed / nonwhite skin only fit for dirt & waste work

mama papa kiss me goodbye i going to haiti

but it is what rolf is now it part of his identity just as much as the colour of his skin

just as much as bein a pagan / just as much as bein a male

just as much as bein the Son of a Shepherd

now rolf a new man living in the New World

i am an immigrant

sometime i wish i waz shug avery / bootiful fictional dark skin harlem singer

half man half woman / wit my large glittering masculine thighs i make an animal of men

maybe i have the courtesan complex

so i ast dr feelgood what my diag-nonsense

& she say poor soul you suffer from Stressed Shepherd Syndrome

okay so we all crazy in one way or another / it alright for some

of a mannequin in tears / of personal prejudices

im an unejucated farm boy from No Mans Land

im a poet who write in english

neisatnaf i isatnaf ne / ttim tetrejh dem gnyalp re lesgnel og gem tolrof nuh

rettenremmos i sirb ne mos rav ed / gem etlatrof nuh dro retsem nadrovh

etted tal eddejks rofrovh? / enneh lit gem trekided gej og enneh teksnø etrejh ttim

senneh enenyoø ås gej etted tla eddejks rofrovh

& this is for Sons of Shepherds who have considered suicide

fin

#my writing #poetry #poem #eene #ed edd n eddy #jonny #jonny 2x4 #rolf #jonny appreciation month

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tripstations · 5 years

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Bath holidays: Where are the best hotels in Bath? Top accommodation revealed | Short & City breaks | Travel

Bath is the World Heritage Site mainly built from gorgeous local, golden-coloured Bath Stone (Image: Getty Images/The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa/ The Queensbury)

Bath is a city where I have decided I could quite easily live. For starters, it’s beautiful. Not only is the World Heritage Site mainly built from gorgeous local, golden-coloured Bath Stone, it’s also surrounded by rolling green hills which are visible from the town as you look up. It’s also easily walkable yet crammed with culture and, importantly for me, easy to get to from neighbouring Bristol, London, and Birmingham. This makes it an ideal choice for a weekend break. If you’re after an indulgent UK holiday and looking to treat yourself, these are three of the top hotels to stay in – The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa, The Queensbury and No.15 Great Pulteney.

Bath holidays: Where are the best hotels in Bath? Top accommodation revealed

Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa

The problem with staying at The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa is that you may never want to actually leave it. A wall of elegance practically smashes into you as you walk in and there’s an instant feeling you’ll get looked after.

Located in the middle of the famous and iconic Royal Crescent, the hotel actually stretches far beyond the buildings you see on entrance. An acre of stunning gardens lies behind, offering an oasis of tranquillity after a day of sightseeing. Further accommodation and the restaurant as well as the spa are found at the other end of the garden making for a very quiet night’s sleep indeed.

Our room is the Lord Nelson Suite – the famous military figure once stayed in Bath – and busts and paintings of the great man adorn the room as a nod to the theme amid the grey neutral tones. Ornate lamps and colourful cushions add a pop of colour.

In the spacious living room area – separated off from the bedroom with a curtain – is a fireplace and a bookcase filled with a variety of interesting tomes, creating a homely touch amid the luxury. French windows open out onto a spacious balcony which looks over the garden and the odd guest below. One can feel very regal from such a position – although no Romeo (or Knightley, Darcy or Tilney for that matter) came a-calling, alas (remember, there’s always the Jane Austen Centre…)

When we are first shown to our room there’s a brief moment when we think we’re told there’s complimentary cheese which would make it officially the world’s best establishment, but it transpires the lady actually said complimentary teas which, for a Briton, is still pretty exciting. We order one immediately. It’s only a few moments we realise one explanation for our sense of peace – Classic FM is playing from bedside speakers and it’s the addition I never realised I needed – my life finally has a soundtrack.

The little touches don’t stop there, pillow spray is provided with the turndown service, newspapers are offered and there’s an umbrella in the wardrobe complete with a tag letting you know what you can do in Bath in the rain. Furthermore, there’s also a car parking spot for every room should you need it.

Bath holidays: The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa is in in the middle of the iconic Royal Crescent (Image: Getty Images)

Meanwhile, the stylish bathroom provides his n’ her sinks, sumptuous products by British perfumer Floris plus a bath and shower – the controls for which are conveniently placed the opposite side from the water flow which means never getting wet until you’ve got in, which is a surprising bonus.

We dine in the hotel’s Dower House Restaurant and our table benefits from a view of the secluded garden as the spring evening draws in. The friendly and knowledgeable waiters prove invaluable in helping me decide on my order (it all looks so good) and the sommelier suggests a delightful Sauvignon Blanc.

Turmeric and black pepper bread sets a promising tone for the meal before I tuck into my starter of slow cooked duck egg. It’s huge, rich and creamy and pairs well with the salty Morteau sausage, and crunchy leeks and chicken crisp – all in all, superb.

This is followed by roasted seabass, served with two perky scallops prettily presented with beetroot, tasty morsels of smoked eel, hay baked potato, smoked roe cream and horseradish. The portions may seem small at first but I soon have “elegant sufficiency” as my grandmother used to say and decide on a brief hiatus ahead of dessert.

This is wise and dessert is, unsurprisingly, also delicious. I opt for rhubarb and orange tart with ginger ice cream, the tangy favours of which all perfectly complement each other. My friend goes for the cheese board – well there had to be cheese somewhere didn’t there? This is presented by a rather handsome waiter who informs us he is responsible for buying the cheeses in, and his enthusiasm is palpable as he explains each one to us. One nugget we learn is that the ash in the rind of goat’s cheese is supposed to aid digestion – but after the feast we’ve had I’m not sure there’s much hope for us.

We heave ourselves up and take a turn around the garden before retiring for the night, thoroughly pampered and satisfied.

The next morning we make the most of The Spa & Bath House. I do a few lengths in the 12m heated pool (where the glistening blue tiles shimmer like a mermaid’s tail), try out the Vitality Pool and sauna before heading for a massage.

The spa’s primary partner brand is Elemental Herbology whose products are based around the Five Element theory from traditional Chinese medicine. My therapist considers my skin type, lifestyle, environment and season and opts for Earth for balance. I have chosen a Deep Muscle Melt full-body massage which uses the oils as well as hot stones – although the spa menu offers so many other wonderful-looking options it is hard to decide. My therapist’s small hands dig deep into my muscles and work through knots on my back in what makes for a very stress-relieving and relaxing hour before I return to my room, take tea on the balcony and prepare to leave this haven of luxury.

Double Deluxe rooms at The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa start from £330 on a B&B basis. To book, please email [email protected] or call Spa Reception on 01225 823333

Bath holidays: An acre of stunning gardens lies behind the facade of The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa (Image: The Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa)

The Queensbury

The Queensberry Hotel may not have the grand scale decadence of The Royal Crescent but this boutique hotel is every bit as lovely and is right the heart of the city, making it perfect for exploring Bath on your doorstep.

The hotel is both chic and trendy but not in a threatening way; the interior design is particularly exciting. The bathroom in our room boasts a wall decorated entirely with goldfish-covered wallpaper, the orange and blue tones of which inject a quirky edge into the accommodation as does the gold grouting between the white tiles. There’s also a free standing bath in there and fabulous White Company products. It’s all rather like staying at the house of a particularly fashionable friend.

One little touch I particularly like is the little, dim bathroom lights that automatically come on into dark should you need to make your way to the toilet in the night. All hotels please take heed of this! A marvellous concept and a rousing thumbs up to whoever’s idea it was. What’s more, Classic FM is also playing when we enter here, too which is proving a charming theme of my stay so far.

It’s the Michelin-starred restaurant in this delightful townhouse which is the true gem of the establishment, however. If you’re after an excellent meal, the 3 AA Rosette Olive Tree restaurant is the ideal spot – it’s certainly the best one I’ve had in a long time.

I go all out and order the larger of the two tasting menus, otherwise known as the ‘Chris Cleghorn Seven’, with paired wines. Things start exceedingly well with a cheese-filled profiterole appetiser – an ingenious morsel of pleasure – before a raw Orkney scallop is presented in its pretty shell for a starter. It’s succulent and juicy thanks to the tangy pink grapefruit granita along with a kick from the horseradish. This is paired with a Galician Rías Baixas white wine before I’m served a Lebanese rosé with my second course of burrata – not that this is the Italian cheese as I’ve ever known it. This is burrata ice cream, churned and frozen but still creamy with the saltiness of green olives with tomatoes and a basil sauce.

Bath holidays: The Queensberry Hotel is both chic and trendy but not in a threatening way (Image: The Queensberry )

Onto the first of the mains – Turbot on the bone which is like consuming a cloud it’s so soft and tender, pairing perfectly with the crunch of asparagus and buttery sauce, along with shrimp, salted lemon and sherry. To go with this is is the best Chardonnay I’ve ever tasted – an Astrolabe Province Marlborough Chardonnay 2015 which knocked my socks off; both nutty and creamy it went hand in hand with the turbot perfectly.

We move onto the second main of oh-so-succulent Woolley Park Farm duck served with duck liver on a tiny sliver of toast along with barbecued beetroot, sea beet, hazelnut and blackcurrant – all paired with a rich South African merlot.

The first dessert is a soft Tor cheese with soaked golden raisins and chicory with a Jurançon 2016 rosé before moving onto a (highly unusual but incredibly delicious) tobacco-flavoured ice cream which comes with chunks of aero-style chocolate and a chocolate parfait – rounded off with a divine Graham’s 2013 port.

By this point, I’m frankly sozzled and stuffed. I squeeze in a yummy raspberry and ice cream concoction before I throw in the towel. No way can I face the proffered coffee and petit fours although I have no doubt they’re just as delectable as everything else in the feast. We began our meal at 8.15pm and it is now 12.30pm. It’s definitely time to leave. Any plans we have of going out are shattered – as are we.

Our waiter throughout the evening has been the charming Jake who we find out is a mere 22. This appears to be a theme of the restaurant – most of the servers look as though they could be about to sit their A-Levels – but this doesn’t seem to affect the running of the place. Jake himself is incredibly knowledgeable and seems to know all there is to know about the wines he studiously explains to us. I also overhear him taking care to find out the needs and desires of the couple next to us so he can advise them suitably.

The restaurant appears to be doing a roaring trade and is filled with customers, creating a buzzy atmosphere for the Saturday night. This is particularly impressive given how unassuming The Olive Tree is from the outside – but it really is a true gem worth checking out. Not to be missed!

Hotel prices start from £145 for a classic double room. To book go to https://ift.tt/1pEhACZ

Bath holidays: The Michelin-starred Olive Tree is a true gem worth checking out. Not to be missed! (Image: The Queensbury)

No 15 Great Pulteney

Great Pulteney Street is the widest and grandest in the city of Bath so it stands to reason that No 15 Great Pulteney is also rather grand. It is also, however, completely bonkers.

This eccentric hotel – self-proclaimedly “luxury for the curious” – is packed full of character which one might never guess judging from its chic Georgian townhouse exterior in complete uniformity with the entire street. Inside, the decor is so quirky it leaves your scratching your head. There’s a collection of kaleidoscopes in the hallway, a bizarre selection of dog figurines on one stairway and military memorabilia crowding the bottom of a staircase. The latter even features a soldier mannequin which, when first I spot it out of the corner of my eye, nearly makes me jump out of my skin. You have been warned!

In fact, no staircase in the same here: one has models of anthropomorphised pigs, another old cameras and a third huge perfume bottles. The thought that must have gone into the design is mind-boggling.

Our room on the top floor is lovely and while not so ostensibly idiosyncratic as the communal areas, there’s still something undeniably Bohemian. Our lamp shade drips in beads, mirrors with weaved frames sit above the bed’s headboard and a large, black sheep serves as a chair. These quirks don’t stop the hotel form providing all the mod cons, however, judging by the Dyson hairdryer and fan plus enormous TV with Sky.

From our window, we can see the roofs of all the stunning Georgian houses on the streets, the famous rugby grounds and even the abbey if I crane my head – all backed by the glorious Somerset countryside.

Bath holidays: No 15 Great Pulteney is an eccentric hotel – “luxury for the curious” (Image: No 15 Great Pulteney)

Bath holidays: The Dispensary comes complete with extensive wooden drawers labelled for herbs (Image: No 15 Great Pulteney)

An inventive addition to the hotel’s set-up is The Larder which peckish guests can raid whenever they want. While I am there it stocks help-yourself supplies of milk, ice cream, yoghurts, water, cans of fizzy drinks, old fashioned sweets plus flapjacks and brownies. It’s gloriously like a tuck shop and my inner schoolgirl lights up with the glee at the idea of plundering it for free (before my adult self remembers my straining jeans).

Before dinner, we head for a drink at the hotel’s Bar 15 which promises ‘creative liquid libations.’ I opt for a classic No 15 Champagne cocktail and settle back to see what eccentric delights reside in the bar. I am not disappointed. Our table is utterly bedecked with blue beads and jewellery and topped with glass, the huge paintings on the wall come to life with bizarre protrusions and little 3D editions of classic novels such as The Water Babies feature enchanting cut-outs of characters on the front covers.

I’m more taken with the restaurant, however. Aptly named The Dispensary, the room goes the whole hog with the theme, complete with extensive wooden drawers labelled for herbs, antiquated glass bottles of all colours lined again the wall and even old talcum powder containers.

There’s a nod to the actual function of the restaurant as well thanks to such features as a stove, complete with cast iron pots and a wall boasting every type of whisk you could possibly imagine.

The food is tasty too. I enjoy a starter of hake goujons – which are fresh and delicious – before a crispy duck salad washed down with a South African Cabernet Sauvignon. I finish with an utterly indulgent sticky toffee pudding (with top-notch fudge sauce) and a paired dessert wine.

Prices from £115 for a Cosy Double room. 01225 807015; https://ift.tt/32Cc7ce

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airoasis · 5 years

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The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

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The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I’m a storyteller. And i want to let you know a number of private reports about what I like to call "the danger of the only story." I grew up on a institution campus in japanese Nigeria. My mom says that I began studying at the age of two, even though I believe 4 is most of the time practically the reality. So I used to be an early reader, and what I learn had been British and American kid’s books. I was additionally an early writer, and after I started to put in writing, at concerning the age of seven, studies in pencil with crayon illustrations that my bad mother was once obligated to read, I wrote precisely the kinds of studies I used to be studying: All my characters were white and blue-eyed, they played within the snow, they ate apples, (Laughter) and so they talked rather a lot in regards to the weather, how beautiful it used to be that the sun had come out.(Laughter) Now, this youngsters that I lived in Nigeria. I had never been outside Nigeria. We didn’t have snow, we ate mangoes, and we in no way talked in regards to the climate, on the grounds that there was once no have to. My characters additionally drank quite a lot of ginger beer, on account that the characters in the British books I learn drank ginger beer. Not ever intellect that I had no idea what ginger beer was once. (Laughter) And for decades afterwards, i’d have a determined desire to taste ginger beer. However that is an additional story. What this demonstrates, I believe, is how impressionable and inclined we are in the face of a narrative, mainly as youngsters. Because all I had learn have been books where characters were international, I had turn out to be satisfied that books through their very nature had to have foreigners in them and needed to be about matters with which I would no longer in my view establish. Now, matters changed once I discovered African books. There weren’t many of them to be had, they usually weren’t rather as handy to find because the overseas books. However since of writers like Chinua Achebe and Camara Laye, I went via a intellectual shift in my notion of literature.I spotted that persons like me, girls with skin the colour of chocolate, whose kinky hair would not kind ponytails, would also exist in literature. I began to jot down about things I well-known. Now, I cherished these American and British books I read. They stirred my imagination. They spread out new worlds for me. However the unintended end result was that i did not comprehend that people like me would exist in literature. So what the discovery of African writers did for me used to be this: It saved me from having a single story of what books are. I come from a conventional, core-category Nigerian family. My father was a professor. My mother used to be an administrator.And so we had, as was the norm, are living-in home help, who would normally come from regional rural villages. So, the yr I grew to become eight, we got a brand new condominium boy. His title used to be Fide. The one factor my mom told us about him used to be that his loved ones was very negative. My mom despatched yams and rice, and our historical clothes, to his loved ones. And after I did not finish my dinner, my mother would say, "conclude your meals! Don’t you understand? Folks like Fide’s household have nothing." So I felt tremendous pity for Fide’s household. Then one Saturday, we went to his village to talk over with, and his mom showed us a fantastically patterned basket made of dyed raffia that his brother had made.I was once startled. It had no longer came about to me that any one in his loved ones would in reality make something. All I had heard about them was how negative they had been, in order that it had become not possible for me to look them as whatever else however negative. Their poverty was my single story of them. Years later, I thought about this once I left Nigeria to move to university in the us. I was once 19.My American roommate used to be shocked by me. She asked where I had realized to communicate English so well, and was once burdened when I stated that Nigeria happened to have English as its authentic language. She requested if she could take heed to what she called my "tribal track," and used to be as a result very dissatisfied when I produced my tape of Mariah Carey. (Laughter) She assumed that i didn’t know how you can use a range. What struck me was once this: She had felt sorry for me even before she noticed me. Her default position towards me, as an African, used to be a kind of patronizing, good-meaning pity. My roommate had a single story of Africa: a single story of catastrophe. On this single story, there was once no probability of Africans being just like her whatsoever, no possibility of emotions extra complicated than pity, no possibility of a connection as human equals.I must say that earlier than I went to the U.S., I failed to consciously determine as African. However in the U.S., each time Africa got here up, humans became to me. Certainly not intellect that I knew nothing about places like Namibia. But I did come to include this new identity, and in many methods I consider of myself now as African. Despite the fact that I nonetheless get particularly irritable when Africa is known as a country, the most contemporary instance being my or else exclusive flight from Lagos two days in the past, wherein there was an announcement on the Virgin flight about the charity work in "India, Africa and other international locations." (Laughter) So, after I had spent some years in the U.S.As an African, i began to comprehend my roommate’s response to me. If I had no longer grown up in Nigeria, and if all I knew about Africa were from standard pics, I too would suppose that Africa was a situation of attractive landscapes, lovely animals, and incomprehensible folks, combating mindless wars, death of poverty and AIDS, unable to speak for themselves and waiting to be saved with the aid of a sort, white foreigner. I might see Africans in the equal method that I, as a youngster, had seen Fide’s household. This single story of Africa eventually comes, I suppose, from Western literature. Now, here’s a quote from the writing of a London service provider known as John Lok, who sailed to west Africa in 1561 and stored a fascinating account of his voyage.After regarding the black Africans as "beasts who haven’t any houses," he writes, "they’re also folks without heads, having their mouth and eyes in their breasts." Now, I’ve laughed at any time when I’ve learn this. And one have got to admire the imagination of John Lok. However what’s fundamental about his writing is that it represents the establishing of a tradition of telling African reports in the West: A tradition of Sub-Saharan Africa as a situation of negatives, of change, of darkness, of men and women who, within the phrases of the individual poet Rudyard Kipling, are "half satan, half child." And so, i began to realize that my American roommate need to have during her lifestyles visible and heard one of a kind versions of this single story, as had a professor, who once informed me that my novel used to be not "authentically African." Now, I was once relatively willing to contend that there have been a quantity of matters fallacious with the novel, that it had failed in a quantity of areas, however I had no longer particularly imagined that it had failed at attaining anything referred to as African authenticity.In fact, i didn’t recognize what African authenticity was. The professor instructed me that my characters had been too much like him, an knowledgeable and center-classification man. My characters drove cars. They were not starving. For that reason they weren’t authentically African. But I ought to quickly add that I too am simply as responsible within the question of the only story. Just a few years ago, I visited Mexico from the U.S. The political climate within the U.S. On the time was irritating, and there were debates occurring about immigration. And, as more often than not happens in the united states, immigration grew to become synonymous with Mexicans. There were endless stories of Mexicans as folks who have been fleecing the healthcare approach, sneaking throughout the border, being arrested on the border, that sort of factor. I recollect running round on my first day in Guadalajara, observing the persons going to work, rolling up tortillas in the marketplace, smoking, laughing. I take into account first feeling mild surprise. After which, I used to be overwhelmed with disgrace. I spotted that I had been so immersed within the media insurance policy of Mexicans that they’d come to be one thing in my mind, the abject immigrant.I had purchased into the only story of Mexicans and that i might no longer were extra ashamed of myself. So that’s learn how to create a single story, show a people as one factor, as only one factor, again and again, and that’s what they grow to be. It’s inconceivable to talk about the single story without speakme about energy. There’s a word, an Igbo phrase, that I consider about whenever I suppose about the vigor structures of the sector, and it is "nkali." it can be a noun that loosely interprets to "to be bigger than a different." Like our fiscal and political worlds, reports too are outlined via the principle of nkali: How they are advised, who tells them, when they are advised, how many reviews are told, are fairly dependent on vigour.Vigor is the ability now not just to tell the story of yet another character, but to make it the definitive story of that person. The Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti writes that if you want to dispossess a people, the simplest technique to do it’s to inform their story and to begin with, "secondly." the story with the arrows of the Native americans, and now not with the appearance of the British, and you have got an absolutely one of a kind story. Begin the story with the failure of the African state, and now not with the colonial construction of the African state, and you’ve got an totally distinctive story. I recently spoke at a school where a pupil informed me that it used to be this sort of disgrace that Nigerian men have been bodily abusers like the father persona in my novel. I told him that I had just learn a novel known as "American Psycho" — (Laughter) — and that it was once this sort of disgrace that younger american citizens were serial murderers.(Laughter) (Applause) Now, surely I mentioned this in a fit of mild irritation. (Laughter) but it will never have happened to me to feel that just seeing that I had learn a novel in which a personality was once a serial killer that he was come what may consultant of all americans. This is not considering the fact that i am a greater individual than that scholar, but for the reason that of the us’s cultural and economic power, I had many experiences of america. I had learn Tyler and Updike and Steinbeck and Gaitskill. I did not have a single story of the usa. When I realized, some years in the past, that writers were expected to have had quite sad childhoods to be effective, i began to suppose about how I might invent horrible things my dad and mom had finished to me.(Laughter) but the truth is that I had an extraordinarily joyful childhood, full of laughter and love, in an awfully close-knit household. But I additionally had grandfathers who died in refugee camps. My cousin Polle died since he could no longer get enough healthcare. Certainly one of my closest friends, Okoloma, died in a airplane crash on the grounds that our fireplace vehicles didn’t have water. I grew up under repressive army governments that devalued education, so that mostly, my parents weren’t paid their salaries. And so, as a child, I saw jam disappear from the breakfast table, then margarine disappeared, then bread became too steeply-priced, then milk grew to become rationed. And most of all, a sort of normalized political fear invaded our lives.All of these stories make me who i’m. But to insist on handiest these bad studies is to flatten my experience and to miss the many other experiences that shaped me. The single story creates stereotypes, and the predicament with stereotypes will not be that they are unfaithful, but that they’re incomplete. They make one story end up the only story. Of course, Africa is a continent filled with catastrophes: There are mammoth ones, such because the horrific rapes in Congo and miserable ones, akin to the fact that 5,000 individuals practice for one job vacancy in Nigeria. However there are other stories that are not about catastrophe, and it is very principal, it’s only as major, to speak about them.I’ve invariably felt that it’s not possible to have interaction accurately with a situation or a man or woman with out enticing with all the reviews of that place and that person. The outcome of the single story is this: It robs men and women of dignity. It makes our attention of our equal humanity complex. It emphasizes how we’re one of a kind alternatively than how we’re identical. So what if before my Mexican shuttle, I had followed the immigration debate from all sides, the U.S. And the Mexican? What if my mom had informed us that Fide’s family used to be bad and hardworking? What if we had an African television network that broadcast numerous African reviews all over the place the world? What the Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe calls "a stability of studies." What if my roommate knew about my Nigerian publisher, Muhtar Bakare, a notable man who left his job in a financial institution to comply with his dream and a publishing house? Now, the traditional knowledge used to be that Nigerians don’t learn literature.He disagreed. He felt that people who could learn, would read, in case you made literature inexpensive and on hand to them. Quickly after he published my first novel, I went to a tv station in Lagos to do an interview, and a woman who worked there as a messenger came as much as me and mentioned, "I rather liked your novel. I didn’t just like the ending. Now, you have got to write a sequel, and that is what will happen …" (Laughter) and she went on to tell me what to jot down within the sequel. I used to be now not best charmed, I used to be very moved.Here was once a girl, part of the usual masses of Nigerians, who weren’t imagined to be readers. She had not simplest learn the booklet, but she had taken ownership of it and felt justified in telling me what to put in writing within the sequel. Now, what if my roommate knew about my pal Funmi Iyanda, a fearless girl who hosts a tv show in Lagos, and is decided to tell the studies that we prefer to forget? What if my roommate knew concerning the coronary heart system that was carried out within the Lagos medical institution final week? What if my roommate knew about cutting-edge Nigerian tune, proficient persons singing in English and Pidgin, and Igbo and Yoruba and Ijo, mixing influences from Jay-Z to Fela to Bob Marley to their grandfathers. What if my roommate knew concerning the female attorney who just lately went to court docket in Nigeria to project a ridiculous legislation that required women to get their husband’s consent earlier than renewing their passports? What if my roommate knew about Nollywood, full of progressive persons making movies despite great technical odds, movies so general that they relatively are the excellent instance of Nigerians consuming what they produce? What if my roommate knew about my splendidly ambitious hair braider, who has simply started her possess industry promoting hair extensions? Or in regards to the millions of alternative Nigerians who begin organizations and normally fail, however proceed to nurse ambition? Every time i’m dwelling i’m confronted with the normal sources of infection for many Nigerians: our failed infrastructure, our failed govt, but additionally by the extraordinary resilience of men and women who thrive regardless of the federal government, as a substitute than because of it.I instruct writing workshops in Lagos each summer time, and it’s amazing to me what number of folks apply, what number of persons are keen to put in writing, to inform studies. My Nigerian publisher and i have just started a non-profit referred to as Farafina believe, and we’ve got huge goals of building libraries and refurbishing libraries that already exist and offering books for state colleges that do not have some thing of their libraries, and likewise of organizing tons and tons of workshops, in reading and writing, for all of the individuals who’re eager to tell our many stories.Reports subject. Many stories subject. Reports had been used to dispossess and to malign, but reports will also be used to empower and to humanize. Reviews can break the dignity of a persons, but experiences may additionally restore that damaged dignity. The American creator Alice Walker wrote this about her Southern relatives who had moved to the North. She introduced them to a guide about the Southern lifestyles that they’d left behind. "They sat around, studying the publication themselves, taking note of me read the booklet, and a sort of paradise was once regained." I want to end with this thought: That after we reject the only story, when we understand that there is on no account a single story about any place, we regain a form of paradise. Thanks. (Applause) .

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batterymonster2021 · 5 years

Text

The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/the-danger-of-a-single-story-chimamanda-ngozi-adichie-18/

The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

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lilyghostthoughts · 5 years

Text

THE FACTORY

predator (sadodere) is the one that wins

trying to take power is cute so long as the taker still knows who’s in charge... and understandable / potentially respectable otherwise but you’ve got to be twice as good. also is sexy for predators behind closed doors (see next)... girls and kids trying to be tough / men.

giving up power is sexually arousing for predators and unrespectable for the one doing it (so predators do it behind closed doors and get other people to do it in the open)... boys and adults trying to be delicate / girls.

BEIGE (I the first)

“everyone is tan (fashion beauty woman type) — try not to be magenta (neurotic)”

this is why boys have to try not to be girls and girls can’t be boys no matter how hard they try bc society actually thinks everyone is a girl and some people are better at hiding it than others

SUNSET (V the first)

bos over grls: sexuality belongs to men

a man having sex with lesbians is just male fantasy bc women don’t have inherent sexuality and neither of them are into him (ie are being had by him) — also why prostitution isn’t “real sex” for men

a man hasn’t had sex unless he’s put in where she’s had sex if she’s been touched

a man having sex with a man is just playing bc both are sexually potent and thus neither can be “had”

lesbians having sex alone is confusing bc women don’t have sexuality unless a man is present

a man having sex with a woman is real for her but doesn’t stick to him bc he hasn’t been had but she has (also why men are always asking for rougher sex they want it to be real they want to be owned by / belong to someone)

fashionistes (androgynous): all grls secretly are, all bos are supposed to try for

“white = cyan... pale is always icy there is no comfortable friendly way to be fair it’s always about crystalline porcelain perfection”

rebel bad salt (yandere) in theatre

bad snow (himedere / oujidere) in fine arts

(feminine): real grls are, these bos count as grls until clothes are off

dolls are for: sex (if appearance allows), food (if talent allows), ego (required), fun (if personality allows)

women are also assumed to be good at childcare / momagering bc they’re supposed to want children, but men aren’t supposed to care bc they aren’t supposed to want children, so the women are supposed to handle it bc it’s their fault

“yellow and gold are the same color... glamour is warmth is delicacy is softness is all the same thing... you’re not agreeable if you’re ugly and you’re not pretty if you’re cold (unless you work twice as hard)... hostessing is a vital life skill.”

rebel flower sandy (tsundere)

YW in volleyball, S1

YM in colorguard, T2

flower goldilocks (deredere)

YW in cheer, S2

YM in dance, T1

hoodies (agender): all bos secretly are, all grls are supposed to try for (the perfect grl is cute, funny, smart, understands your argument enough to admire it, wears hoodies without shirts, and likes all your fandoms)... (in comedy, debate, chess club, media consumption, &c.)

“red is red is red... and red is supposed to be sexy (but it’s naturally kind of vanilla and gross — gingers and hebrew ancestry)”

rebel baby ginger (dandere) in choir... headed for stardom

acceptable: (in dinner parties)

babygrl cherry (fushidere) in orchestra

babybo cherry (hinedere) in band

(masculine): real bos are, these grls count as bos until clothes are off

men are for espionage / crime... they’re supposed to be good at all three power plays: combat, seduction*, and intellectual intimidation / psychological manipulation / silver-tonguedness

*bc seduction is about power plays, having sex is about winning for the men — whoever has sex harder is the winner. also why men being bullied by other men is called “being had” — it’s all the same thing.

(grls who do this are cool girls and are allowed a little leeway on their native duties)

(bos who can’t do this need to be better at the dolls’ stuff than the dolls so they can land a wife and settle down to be head of a household and either be uninterested in the kids ((preserve some traditional masculinity)) or be a badā dadager)

“black is green and green is black — there’s no difference between deep and olive it’s all used the same way”

rebel butch pepper (kuudere)

YM in soccer, B1

YW in basketball, A1

butch raven (mayadere)

YM in gridiron, B2

YW in rugby, A2

SUNRISE (X)

big over lil: sexuality belongs to adults

kids’ bodies are vilified.

adults who have sex with kids aren’t being “sexual” (they’re being criminal).

kids who have had sex or have had sex happen to them are assigned full ownership of it.

adults can talk about sex like it’s nothing bc after you hit the magic number you can do whatever you want without having to “take the consequences” as long as it’s not against the law.

“gold and denim are neutral colors, everyone wants to be pretty / pampered / in drag / taken care of and alone / distanced / quiet / disengaged / low energy / lazy” (and everyone hates basic girls bc they manage it)

lil blondie (kid) (submissive) (undere)

brondie (teen) (challenger, during breaking process) (bodere)

big coco (adult) (Dominant) (kamidere)

blue : screw absolutely everything, wild card, totally unpredictable

salt-and-pepper / “gray isn’t real you’re mixed (black and white)”::: bad butch / mediterranean

copper::: baby flower / middle eastern

burgundy::: baby butch / north african

white gold::: bad flower / east european

pink::: bad baby / mestize

bronze::: flower butch / blasian

BLUSH (V the second)

ROSE GOLD (I the second)

“magenta isn’t a color — you’re really tan (high maintenance fashion beauty type / a girl)”

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years

Text

Gravedigger

Some of you may remember me talking about this Original Fic Idea I’ve been working on. @rampant-salamander and @outside-the-government tell me I should share it (they’ve just read it). This is just the first chapter, mind.

Synopsis: O’Reilly is a real estate developer’s assistant. When she is left responsible for a new development, an enigmatic environmentalist shows up to warn her off. Unfortunately she’s not the boss. (This is the story about the girl who gets cursed by a Viking vengeance spirit and winds up a mass-murdering anti-hero). She is not supposed to be easy-to-like at this point in the story - being cursed by a Viking vengeance spirit is apparently a great opportunity for personal growth.

Why I am posting it: Tell me what you think? Do you think it’s worth continuing? I have Jules and Kersten’s votes of confidence, but are they crazy? (I’m struggling a little with personal value in my original writing) Word Count: 2178

The printer was busy dumping multiple copies of the sales agreement into the tray, and the phone was ringing off the hook. The wired, land line. It usually never rang, but Max insisted we keep the damn thing, despite the fact that all our business cards had our cell numbers on them, and none of them had the office number.

“Pinnacle Real Estate, how may I help you?” I nestled to phone in the crook of my neck and reached for the paper on the copier.

“Hi, this is Aron Larsson. I represent the concerns of United Nature Habitat –“

“The environmental group?” I interrupted. They were fairly new on the scene and were filled with a slightly more aggressive version of the usual hippy-dippy treehuggers that we ran into all the time.

“Yes, I was hoping to meet with Mr. Chambers regarding the parcel of land recently acquired by you for the Pinnacle Towers project.” He sounded so articulate. Most of the protesters that called our office had difficulty clearly voicing their concerns. I was never sure if it was social anxiety or excessive weed use.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Chambers is out of country right now,” I began. I heard him sigh, and against my better judgment, threw him a bone. “However, I am managing the finalization of the paperwork for the project, and I’ll be in the office this afternoon until four. I have no appointments. I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer.” I’m not gonna lie, I was kind of hoping it was too short notice to make it work for him. I stretched to reach my laptop and hit the print button again, to start another cycle of documents through the machine.

“I can be there in forty minutes,” he replied. “Oh, wait. What’s your name?”

“Sorry, that’s my fault. My name is O’Reilly,” I apologized. “I’m the only person in the office today, so if you find someone with a pulse, you’ve got the right girl.”

“Since I’m interrupting your day, can I bring you a coffee?” He asked.

“Make it a London Fog and all is forgiven,” I laughed. By afternoon, my caffeine had to be in tea form or I was up all night.

“I’ll see you shortly, O’Reilly.” The line clicked dead, allowing me to finally drop the handset back on the cradle. I angled my chair so I could see the front door when it opened and went back to collating the pile of paperwork on my desk, glancing at the clock. Almost to the minute, forty minutes later, the door swung open. A man stepped in and paused, looking around.

Aron Larsson, if I hadn’t already guessed from his name, was some sort of Scandinavian sex god. I had not met this particular brand of treehugger before. He had a rugged, athletic build that was emphasized by the tailored shirt he was wearing. His shoulders were broad and the sleeves just fit his biceps. And his black slacks clung to his quads. And blond. He was so goddamn blond. His hair was on the longer side of fashionable, and flopped across his forehead a little, one particularly long strand catching on the long lashes framing his ice blue eyes. He had that business savvy three-day beard, which was surprisingly ginger. When he caught sight of me, he smiled and continued into the office. The lone hint that he was with an environmental group came with the two reusable coffee cups he was carrying, both splashed with the name of United Nature Habitat. I stood to greet him, my mouth going dry, and my palms suddenly sweaty. I wiped them across my skirt.

“You must be Aron?” I was pretty smart with the opening lines. He smiled and placed the coffee cups on the desk between us, offering his hand.

“O’Reilly? That’s an unusual name,” he commented as he shook my hand. Nice, firm grip. None of that namby-pamby limp-wristed crap so common when men shook my hand. It was respectful. I found myself liking him. Which was probably what he wanted, with his strong handshake, and perfect body and – “I hope you don’t mind that I brought you a reusable cup. You can keep it.” And his perfect generous environmentalism.

“Thanks.” It almost came out as a question. I gestured to the chair by my desk. “Please, sit. Tell me what brings you in.”

“I have some dire concerns about the development of the parcel of land that your Pinnacle Towers is going on,” he began. He had a hint of an accent that I couldn’t quite place. I hadn’t noticed it on the phone. He was obviously some sort of Viking though, based on name and looks alone. The accent just confirmed it.

“We got all the environmental impact studies required by law done, Aron. We even got a few that weren’t required, just because of the creek in the back corner of the parcel,” I offered. “I can pull them up, if you’d like to see? They’re of public record, so –“

“I’ve already looked at them, actually. They were very thorough, and I’ll be honest, there’s only one area of the parcel that I am concerned about, and I didn’t see much discussion of it,” Aron interrupted. He caught me mid-sip of my beautiful delicious tea. I raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would continue. “There’s a large oak on the back of the property, by the creek. Our arborist estimates its age to be at least 1000 years old. Probably closer to two.

“Here, in Massachusetts?” I blurted. “How is that even possible? Didn’t the pilgrims essentially scorch the earth as they built the colony? A tree that old would have been seen in terms of how many buildings could come from it.”

“Exactly. But the first European settlers gave it a wide berth. Why do you suppose that is?” Aron nodded. I squinted in confusion, and pulled a face, forgetting that I wanted to look as attractive as possible to this stunning example of masculinity. I mean, seriously, if all the environmental studies majors had looked like him in university, I would have probably changed majors. I probably should have anyhow. All my commerce degree had got me was this stupid assistant’s position. Aron Larsson looked like environmentalism was serving him quite nicely. I was wearing last season’s Manolo knock-offs.

“You’re the environmentalist, you tell me,” I laughed. Aron smiled and put his coffee mug back on my desk.

“This is going to sound insane, but I really need you to step out of your comfort zone and embrace any sense of whimsy you might have received with an Irish name like O’Reilly,” Aron started. I sighed and sat back in my chair.

“Okay,” I raised an eyebrow.

“The tree is cursed. The land around it is cursed,” he began. I held up my hand.

“That is racially insensitive, and you know it. The first peoples of the east coast were not in the habit of –“

“No, no, no!” Aron interrupted, waving his hands to stop me. “That’s not what I’m suggesting at all. This is much different than spooky horror movie garbage about angry Indians calling on spirits to attack the white man. There are spirits in every living thing, O’Reilly. Some of them are malevolent. As far back as I have traced, no one has ever tampered with that tree. Every person who ever owned that land reported a sense of foreboding whenever they approached the creek and the tree.”

“I hardly think a tree can be evil,” I scoffed. Aron shook his head, and opened the folder he’d been holding in his lap. He placed a photo of some manuscript written in all squiggles and swirls that I didn’t recognize in front of me.

“This is from the ibn Fadlan chronicle,” he began. I picked it up and looked at it. Nope. Still just squiggles.

“That’s great. I think I have that on my good reads list,” I shot. I was rapidly losing my patience with captain spooky. Just goes to show sometimes outside packaging is there to hide crazy. Aron smirked at my barb, which annoyingly just make me like him more.

“It’s in Persian. Ahmad ibn Fadlān ibn al-Abbās ibn Rāšid ibn Hammād was an ambassador to the Vikings. And he recorded a tale about a demon tree in Vinland, that stole the souls of anyone who dared to harm it. The Vikings who told him the tale thought maybe Loki had shapeshifted into the tree. But the more experiences they had with the tree, the more they became convinced that Hela, Loki’s daughter, controlled the evil around it. Because anyone who tampered with the tree became, in ibn Fadlan’s words, tainted with death,” Aron explained.

“You read Persian?” Yup, that’s what I took out of his tale. He was hot, crazy and could read ancient Persian.

“I read and speak eight languages. It’s been very helpful as I’ve investigated this particular area of the world,” Aron nodded. My eyes narrowed.

“You’re not really an environmentalist, are you?” I demanded.

“I am, but not the kind you expect,” he explained.

“You’re not kidding,” I mumbled under my breath as I took another sip of my tea.

“I specialize in ancient environmental phenomenon. I try to keep supernatural events at bay as much as possible. I primarily work throughout Europe. There’s more going on in my particular area there,” he explained. I pursed my lips in disbelief.

“Dude, Africa is the cradle of civilization. Wouldn’t there be more going on there?” I challenged him. He nodded.

“Absolutely. I have a colleague who specializes in African spirits who is very busy there. Point of order, however. Mesopotamia is the cradle of civilization. Africa is the cradle of humanity,” he corrected. I blinked slowly and tried, unsuccessfully, to stop the quirk of my eyebrow. He noticed. Like I said, I tried. I was unsuccessful.

“Right. Apparently I was asleep during anthropology,” I deadpanned. I’d never taken anthro. He didn’t need to know that.

“It’s a shame. The study of humans and -”

“So why isn’t there more happening in Mesopotamia? Or Africa?” I interrupted.

“There is! Those areas are absolutely busier than I could imagine. But my expertise is the spirits that dwell on the European continent,” he replied. “And before you ask about this tree, and why it wouldn’t be a spirit specific to the Americas, that is why I am here. Because this is anomalous.

“I’m sorry, Aron, this is crazy. You’re telling me that we can’t develop this land because a two thousand year old haunted tree might,” I paused, “how did you say it? Taint us with death?”

“Americans are so quick to buy into horror movies, but are so sceptical about what actually lies in the earth around them,” Aron shook his head. I bristled.

“Only when it sounds ridiculous!” I protested. “Do you even hear how insane you sound?”

“I’d hoped we could have a serious conversation about my concerns, O’Reilly. I can see you are very busy,” Aron stood. I stood as well, intending to walk him to the door and then throw the bolt once he was out, despite feeling guilty that I’d offended him. Empathy and safety, all in one package. I considered trademarking the phrase briefly before sighing in resignation.

“I apologize,” I huffed. “But it’s too far-fetched. Like you said, it’s like the plot of a horror movie.” He nodded and collected his papers from my desk, taking one of my business cards as he closed his folder. He looked it over and then looked up at me, puzzled.

“I owe you an apology, Ms. O’Reilly. When you told me your name, I assumed it was your given name, not your surname. I should have been less familiar,” he was suddenly very formal with me, and I laughed.

“No, you were just fine, Aron. I’ve always gone by my last name. My first name is a bit of a disaster,” I admitted.

“When you put it that way, you are aware you make people curious,” he prompted. I laughed again and shook my head.

“It’s even crazier than your story, Aron, but if you must call me anything, my Da still calls me Sheena,” I offered.

“Good Irish name all together, then,” Aron nodded. I smirked.

“Something like that.”

“Well, Sheena O’Reilly, I hope that if we meet again, it is not under less hospitable circumstance, but I’ve left you my card in case you need to get into direct contact with me,” he offered. “I would urge you to reconsider the removal of the tree from the site. I’m sure there is some way to incorporate the creek and natural area surrounding it and the tree without compromising Mr. Chambers’ vision for this parcel of land.” He sounded so articulate and normal. It would be hard to remind myself, let alone convince anyone else, that I’d had a hot, crazy Viking in my office. But that’s exactly what he was.

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heavyarethecrowns · 7 years

Video

youtube

Lainey Lui on the Royal Romance.

Lainey Lui answers all your questions about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Are they really a thing? Do they hang out in Toronto? Is this one of the most progressive royal romances ever?

By: Courtney Shea, Chate Laine (November 3, 2016)

Over the weekend the British newspaper The Express delivered the biggest royal drama since Prince George dissed Justin Trudeau, reporting that Prince Harry is dating the American-born, Toronto-dwelling actress Meghan Markle. Best known for her starring role on Suits, which is shot in Toronto, Markle apparently met her Prince Charming when Harry was in the city last May to launch the 2017 Invictus Games, and they’ve been courting under the radar until now.

Needless to say, the latest royal romance has become an overnight fairy tale and a cross-continental sensation. Chatelaine spoke to professional gossip Lainey Lui to get the inside scoop on all things Harry and Meghan (Hagan? Merry?).

The gossip world seems to be going particularly gaga over this rumoured romance. Why?

Well, he’s a royal and he’s tall and handsome, so I think automatically it’s the fantasy of a prince who is looking for his princess. He really is the most eligible bachelor in the world. He’s passed the age when both his dad and brother had found somebody—he’s 32. Not to say that there’s any age that someone should get married but, given his family history and his position, I think people have been waiting for this. Given his age, anybody he dates now has the possibility of being “the one.” It’s the same thing in real life, and when it’s a prince, you just increase that [anticipation] exponentially.

What about her part in the narrative? Harry has previously dated a bunch of British blue bloods.

This is Kate Middleton to the next level. Kate’s parents were pretty rich, but still [the media] made her sound like a commoner. And this is an American actress who resides in Canada and who has no blue-blood roots. Meghan Markle seems to come from a pretty middle-class background. Legit middle class, not Middleton middle class, where her parents run their own company and are millionaires. All of that makes the fairy tale more attractive. And then there’s the fact that the royals are the whitest family in the world and the most elitist family in the world at a time when privilege and classicism are being called out more and more. We’re living in the shadow of Brexit, which exposed a lot of social shortcomings in the UK. Racism is alive and well and thriving in England, and now the royal family’s most beloved and popular member may have fallen in love with a bi-racial American [Markle’s mother is African American]. It’s a very powerful and progressive idea.

For a while now, you’ve been praying to the gossip gods for a romance between Prince Harry and Taylor Swift. So you’re not disappointed?

God no. The social and cultural and political factors that are in play here are so exciting. I think this hookup does more for the greater good, not just the greater gossip good.

Multiple news outlets are saying their romance has been going on for a few months. With the notoriously invasive British gossip rags, are you surprised they were able to keep it a secret?

I’m not totally surprised. Typically the royals keep their sh-t pretty tight and, as I said before, Harry is quite beloved both in public and in his own family. People are loyal to him. On her end, she doesn’t have the profile of, say, a Taylor Swift.

This morning you revealed on Lainey Gossip that Harry was actually in Toronto just a few days ago. How did Canadians miss that?

The story came from Us Weekly. The British press didn’t know that Harry managed to get out of England earlier than anyone realized. He was in Toronto with Meghan this past weekend. He came with only one security person as opposed to the two he usually travels with. He went straight from the airport to her apartment in Toronto. Nobody knew.

So while the story of their romance is breaking internationally, he’s holed up in Toronto?

Right. The British press reported that he was supposed to be coming to Toronto on Sunday, and then cancelled the flight after the story [about the relationship] broke. I found out from my sources that that was a diversion from the palace or from people close to Harry. After the story broke over the weekend, they knew everybody would be looking for him, and they didn’t want him to be found in Toronto, so they let it “slip” that he was still in England.

If you watch Suits, Meghan Markle is a big deal. If you don’t, she’s a “who?” What can you tell us about her?

We’ve talked to her at eTalk a number of times, and she’s very sweet. She’s not one of those people who walks into a room and is like, ‘Look at me; I’m a celebrity.’ She’s not Mariah Carey. She’s really passionate about her two dogs. She seems pretty low key. And she is stunning.

A bunch of publications are reporting that Markle has been divorced, and that she does sex scenes in Suits that would make the Queen’s hat pop off. Could that really get in the way of long-term potential?

If you ask the old school, sure they might have some objections, but there are so many other factors. For instance, Harry is now number five in line to the throne [following the births of Prince George and Princess Charlotte], so he’s lower and lower. I don’t know that there are those same expectations that she has to be a ‘certified virgin’ and all of that. We all know Charles and Camilla had a thing. He ended up marrying someone who fit the role, and of course we all loved Diana, but the love of Charles’s life is Camilla, who is divorced and who may end up being the wife of the King. Things are changing.

You’ve mentioned Harry’s overall popularity a number of times and on your blog you make no secret of your love for him. What is it about him?

Harry is one of those rare figures who checks off all the boxes. He’s enough of a hard core —he’s been to the army — he’s a prince, he’s obviously attractive. He’s great with animals and senior citizens, and then he has this bad boy side — there was the time he got caught with his pants down in Vegas. You know that he’s not boring. I love him because I think he’s fun. He’s a guy who knows how to have a good time. Especially in contrast to his brother and sister-in-law. They’re so boring, they’re so stodgy.

Bookies have been laying odds on when Harry and Meghan will make their first public appearance. Apparently the odds are 5:2 that she’ll attended holiday services with the Queen. Any predictions from you?

I have no real research on this, but I think it will probably be casual. A pre-approved series of photos. No, she’s not going to Christmas with the Queen yet! Kate had to wait five years for that. These things have a certain schedule.

You are a master at coming up with celebrity couple nicknames. Got any ideas for these two?

Ginger Sparkle.

…………………………………….

I know this is old, but Lainey Lui is one of my favorites to turn to for gossip. She is on point a lot of the times and she also brings a sociological aspect to her site. She talks about gender roles, sexism, etc… when she discusses gossip.

SUBMITTED

#prince harry #meghan markle #video #submission

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narcisbolgor-blog · 7 years

Text

These Prince Harry And Meghan Markle Dolls Are Literal Nightmares

We all know that capitalism is the root of evil in the world, which is the only possible explanation for these dolls that are allegedly supposed to look like Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Meghan’s doll looks like a cross between an uglier version of Samantha Parkington (the American Girl, duh) and the world’s blurriest photo of Meghan, while Harry’s is…much worse.

He has brown hair and eyes instead of red/blue, and he looks like a reject villain from the Toy Story movies. Like what is with the actual shape of this doll’s eyes here? Why is he wearing the exact out fit the Prince in Cinderella wears? Why does he have a bowl cut? And most importantly WHY ISN’T HIS HAIR RED? Red hair is like, Prince Harry’s defining feature. Isn’t the whole *point* of Prince Harry that he’s a ginger? Why else is he here?

Let me list the things that are wrong with these new 'Harry & Meghan' dolls. 1. Everything. pic.twitter.com/HJTRrQzTqS

— Michael Moran (@TheMichaelMoran) January 18, 2018

As for Meghan…it’s a no from us. First of all, the face is a lot more “Bride Of Chucky” than it is “former suitcase holder turned star turned Princess.” (Yes I do know Meghan will not actually be a Princess don't @ me.) And I mean, sure they got the hair color right here, but why the f does this doll have jowls? Plus I’ll shit a brick if Meghan wears a dress this fugly down the aisle. And like, just to keep it absolutely 100, but this doll reads a lot more as “Becky after a day in the Sun” than “first African-American royal.”

The worst part? The dolls are being sold for a cool $180 on Etsy, but the nightmares are completely free with or without purchase. God save the Queen.

More From this publisher : HERE ; This post was curated using : TrendingTraffic

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These Prince Harry And Meghan Markle Dolls Are Literal Nightmares was originally posted by 11 VA Viral News

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empoweredbythehumanerror · 8 years

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A Night at the End of the World

We climbed a mountain in some rocky part of the United States and stood at the summit and dropped all the equipment, but lightly, because we were scared we were afraid of the very possible avalanche, which we figured we were all too powerful to cause but all too meek to stop. We planted a tent at the end of the world after our fear subsided and looked over the cliff. Everything was very petite, too minuscule; the air blew my hair over my face and I struggled to make sure my glasses didn’t fall over the edge. I read once somewhere that if a penny were to drop from the eiffel tower and land on someones head, it could very well kill them. I also read somewhere that one in every five kids are watched as they throw objects from high lengths. The sunset was startling; the earth birthed a panoramic view of lights.

I got so nauseatingly high I thought about actually killing myself. No one understands me, this isn’t real was going on. I wanted to climb down, but Agnes dragged me into the tent and started throwing this all vegan, no gluten shit at me and mentioned something about calming down. Clam down? I said. Calm down? We’re povertized teenagers, and you want me calm down? Agnes said povertized wasn’t a word, which she would know….and never finished the sentence, and then I got an attitude and lifted my eyebrows saying something like it’s coming of age, okay? She grabbed the one hitter in her red backpack and left me in the tent; deep sadness swept over me. I looked around; the tent seemed to be ablaze in blue light. My shadow looked funny, and I started laughing and singing ‘All The Young Dudes’.

“The world is too large for me,” Agnes said, walking back into the tent.

“The world is too large, but only for the little people,” I said. “You know what I want? Fucking boudin balls…fried boudin balls and crawfish enchiladas…”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.. ”

“What?”

There was a pause, a sigh. “Good food is hard to find in places like this, Ging. We’re in Michigan…matter of fact, I searched seafood restaurants near me on google and the results were not satisfying…food probably sucks… ” I looked at my shadow, then at Ginger. Long, frizzy hair, the Janice Joplin eyewear. Her world was a spiral of confusion; I could just tell….way too high for this. “Wait…we’re in Michigan?” I said. “I need to lay off the valium…”

Agnes made a face. “I didn’t even know we had valium left.”

It smelled like sweat and there was a slight odor of stinky shoe…“Maybe it wasn’t valium…” I thought about it. “Right, halcion…lots of halcion.”

She sucked her old-fashioned pipe, dug in the inside of her jacket, and pulled a out a folded envelope. Her chipped red nails looked black in the blue light as she began unfolding and my heart skipped a beat when she pulled out the the golden access card.

Did it just get hot in here? “Get that thing away from me.”

“Why are you fanning yourself? You’re making me paranoid…anyway…we’re about to travel half way across the United States to find out what the fuck this card is for. ”

“It’s fucking hot.”

“Okay, enough of the fuck word…” she said, “God forgive me, but this could change our lives, guy.” I rolled my eyes. “Considering that actually leads to something valuable…”

“Why the fuck would someone send you a gold-plated access card if I didn’t lead to anything?”

“I don’t know…maybe it was an accident, supposed to be sent to another Ginger McBride…” I shook my head. “Never mind…there’s no possible way someone else could be me… Are you fucking with me? If so I haven’t been fucked with this bad since Anne Carney tried to give me a sponge bath in chess club…”

“You played chess?”

“Sure,” I said. “I was President of the Pony Up Organization…a, uh, branch of the chess club…”

Agnes looked shocked. “You gambled? You wanted money?”

“Now, Agnes…how else was I supposed to pay for weed?”

She nodded. “You’re so right.”

I sat criss-cross, and placed Agnes’ pipe in my mouth. “How else are we supposed to obtain illegal substances without illegal exploits to back it up with? A nine-to-five?” I raised an eyebrow. “Now Agnes, does it even make sense to smoke or pop a pill or do anything if there isn’t a legendary tale or logistics behind it? Imagine me and you are smoking for the first time, right? And I’m like…how’d you pay for this? You know, just out of curiosity and you’re telling me…well..I work at McDonalds. You mean to tell me you’re paying for gas working with or around minimum wage? You’re spending the money that you sweat fucking hamburgers and nuggets and fucking barbecue sauce into to buy African Black? And more than that…money that your parents think you’re spending on food and supplies, so that they don’t only have to pay for your college tuition is going to your adolescent, puny weed addiction? Ah, but it’s all for the experience, right?” I paused, shook my head and looked the pipe. “Are you really worth it?”

“That was a lot,” Agnes said, squinting her eyes. “I’ll definitely live off my parents all my life; they fucking named me Agnes.”

I considered this. “Your name is fucking Agnes… Your name is Agnes.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “I fucking own that shit, though.”

“You do,” I said matter-of-factly. “More than that, I can’t even picture you with another name.”

There was silence for a minute. I hardly noticed, because I was still analyzing the pipe. What in God’s name pursued Agnes to buy this thing? My stomach was aching from hunger “What’s up with the vegan snacks?” I asked.

“I stole them out Prudence’s purse…” she held up the access card.

#writing

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hxncaleb19812-blog · 6 years

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In sharp contrast to my previous take ins at Glam in BA, The Peel in Melbourne and DJ Station in Bangkok, I felt undetectable and dismissed there certainly, as I still usually do in each one of the gay-friendly establishments in the De Waterkant area, with the exception of at Zer021 and also amongst the black-African personnel at Piano Pub. Influenced due to the Uniko motivation (Fantastic Planet along with optionally available spin of Many thanks) and also colours at CAS Watercolour (2nd birthday party). Our experts now carry on to colors which are actually somewhat paler than typical purples, as well as certainly all the remaining colours might be considered as mauves. Current research by the team has discovered a little result of coloured light on heart cost and also high blood pressure: traffic signal performs appear to raise heart fee, while blue light decreases it. The effect is actually small but has been proven in a 2015 report through a team in Australia. Samples of little ones's tv programmes in the cartoon category were actually video recording captured from industrial systems, regional private New England terminals, and also Nickelodeon in the autumn (fall) of 1996 and also 1997 and http://beauty-body2019.info once more in the loss of 1999.

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sintheyokai · 6 years

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(LB: Devil’s Child) Chapter 4: Lucille Barde

A/N: Alfendi is reading the stories aloud (this note was put here to avoid plotholes)

Word Count: 3968

Time- 10:07 a.m.

Wuns upawn a tim, dere wer a demun girl. She wisht to be fre, so she went to de devuls ofis. She got de woodin kee, but it belongd to an old musik boks. She got de brons kee, but it fel down a rat hol. She got de copa kee, but de tall man tok it awey. She wanted to get de silva kee....

But she wer much too horifik

Alfendi read the words in front of him with fear. From what he had read, one of the Baker girls had tried to free themselves and the other children. And according to the story, they had failed.

Putting down the first book, he picked up the next:

Mis Destinee

Alfendi turned the cover, a crudely drawn African girl with blue hair and red eyes, over to the first page. He read:

Mis Destinee, Mis Destinee...

Went owt wif her frends.

Mis Destinee, Mis Destinee...

Put in a caj, had to hold bak teers.

Mis Destinee, Mis Destinee...

Has to kum forwerd now, has to pay for her sins.

Mis Destinee, Mis Destinee...

Needuls in her nek, wer wiskd awey, befor she fownd a boks on a steem boht...

Farewell, Destinee.

Farewell...

The name Destiny sounded familiar to Alfendi. Combined with the cover, he finally asked Lucy:

"Lucy, did you, by any chance, know Destiny Knox?"

Lucy stared at him before giving a pitiful smile.

"Aye, I did..." she said, "A real good friend o' ours int' cells. But she go' adopted by people overseas, so she were packed up in a box, an shipped off t' God knows where. I were good at 'iding it durin' th' case though, weren't I?"

Alfendi, although shocked, simply nodded before moving on to the next in the series:

The Chiljren of Fredum

The cover this time was simply a box, a hand reaching out. Alfendi read:

Wuns, a todluh fownd a big boks. The Chiljren of Fredum wer insid. The chiljren wood fre her and her siblings, relesing them in to The Promist Land... or so she hopt. Ech boks wer smawler than the preveus wun. In a crampt, dawk plas, she fownd 2 chiljren... But they wer far to broken... and it wer far too layt. The chiljren wer long ded.

They had met a bludy, dismemberd fayt

The End...

The moril? Fredum is a jok we al fal for. ---

Alfendi closed the book, immediately picking up the next. He was horrified that a child could've written these types of things.

Mother

A long time ago, a Mother gave birth to triplets with the tall man. But for years, his hatred for them went... unnoticed...

When he kidnapped her children, she were unaware of his involvement. Mourning for her children, even on the days long past their disappearance.

Poor, poor mother... Don't cry. Daddy says we'll be with our demon mother soon.

Till then, we are his... until we die. ---

The Wolf Children

Little Sister made a card, woof woof.

Daddy Wolf bit her hands and ate the card, woof woof.

Older Brother went to learn and get us food, woof woof

Daddy Wolf found out and tore his back raw, woof woof.

The Middle Children wanted Daddy Wolf to return the card, so they tried to fetch it out of his stomach.

But they failed, their barely breathing bodies in a pool of crimson blood.

I wonder what the card said? Woof woof.

There is no such thing as "true love", only false sympathy and trickery. ---

The Bloody Rag Prince

Once upon a time, there were a boy who sewed rags, all day, all night.

The blood from his fingers seeped into the rags, but he cared not. He were responsible for his siblings well being.

His father wore clean clothes and went to the town. The boy stayed home, while his despair grew.

One day, a voice in his head began speaking, telling him, "Sew yourself a multicolored suit, then you can go to town like your father!"

So the boy put together the bloody, stained rags, and thus became the Bloody Rag Prince. A rather frightening prince indeed. He scared almost all the children, in fact! A boy dressed like him would terrorize the town.

And so, the boy went back to his dirty cell, his starving siblings as his only playpals. ---

Alfendi noted that the spelling jumped from first grade quality to near perfection. He was about to ask when Lucy answered his question.

"Lucifer snuck off t' Dad's office an' learned to spell. Sometimes 'e go' up to th' 'ouse. In th' end, 'e'd come back down t' teach us." she said. Alfendi noticed her squirming and grim expression.

"Lucy, do you want me to stop reading?" he asked, "I don't have to contin-"

"Keep readin'." Lucy demanded, "Ya need t' know what 'e did to us... Besides, th' next story is about Loopy an' me."

Surprised by this new information, Alfendi picked up the next book. The cover was a girl with red eyes and ginger hair. Lucy, Alfendi thought. Behind the girl were two shadows that looked almost exactly like her. Alfendi read once more:

The Other Girls

Once upon a time, a girl found a hole in her head, the damaged thing. Two other girls who looked just like her came out and told her the news.

"Today is the day you leave every little thing to us! If you don't like it, then you must sacrifice yourself! What would that do to Mummy and our poor siblings?"

So the girl did what she had to, and watched one girl stab the tall man, while the other handled his torture.

Well, I wouldn't want to be like her! Would you? ---

Alfendi was confused, as was Blaine. According to the book, Lucy had two personalities.

However, as he was about to ask, he heard a grunt before seeing Blaine collapse beside him. He spun around to see Lucy, fearful and trembling, holding the heaviest book in the room.

"Lucy!" he exclaimed, "What're you-"

He could not finish his sentence as she knocked him out.

***

Time- 1:39 p.m.

Alfendi felt his eyes flutter open, despite them feeling heavy. Not only did his head throb, but he realized he was poorly strapped to a chair, and he noticed Blaine was too. Suddenly, he heard a voice.

"Blue Luna... Right... This story..." it said. It was shy and soft, but Alfendi knew in an instant that it Lucy. He began to listen as she started to read:

There once were a demoness named Luna.

And she were beautiful!

So much so, that the Prince of the Black Lily claimed that he'd make her his Princess someday.

The tall man hated Luna, but admittedly, found interest in her. No, not because of her pale, luminescent skin, or the black pools that were her eyes.

No, he were interested in her gold. Luna had lots of shiny, beautiful gold. And it disgusted him. He didn't think such a hideous creature deserved such a thing.

So, that night, when all the children were asleep, he grabbed a rope and strangled poor Luna till her face turned blue, and a bluish purple ring wrapped around her neck. Then, he took all her gold, and sent her to hell.

The Demon Club weeped and mourned that morning for Luna, until the Prince snuck out to retrieve his love a few days later.

The children expected him to bring her body back. But he did not.

"My Princess has begun to decay," he said, "But if I could have just a small bit of her gold, I'd be happy again."

So he went to the devil's office, and came back with a small bit of gold.

Poor Luna, for now, you no longer smile on Earth, but painfully wide in hell.

Poor, poor Luna. On top of that, you've lost all your shiny...

Sparkly...

Beautiful...

Silky...

Gold...

H a i r. . . ---

Alfendi's eyes no longer felt weak. He looked at Lucy, noticing how fearful and meek she looked. On top of that, her eyes seemed to be a brighter shade of red than usual.

"I assume that's about a different Luna than your sister?" Potty spoke before Placid could stop him. Lucy looked up violently. Realizing one of her captives was awake, she grabbed the nearest possible weapon, a pair of scissors off of Al's desk, in sheer panic.

"Y-Y-You weren't supposed to-to wake up yet!" She stuttered, "I-I-I-I were s'posed t' finish l-lookin'!" A sudden look of horror came across her face, her skin paling. "Y-You're workin' wiv 'im aren't you? Th-Th'-Th'-!" she gave a loud gulp before whispering:

"Th' son o' th' devil 'imself?"

When Alfendi did not answer, Lucy freaked. "Y-You are, aren't you!?" she panicked, "Wh-Why else would I b-be in a room wiv two strange men!?" she waved the scissors at Alfendi, attempting to appear threatening.

Alfendi gave his assistant a puzzled look. "Now Lucy," he said, "Let's be rea-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Lucy shrieked, "NEVER CALL ME THAT!! IT'S WOT TH' SON O' TH' DEVIL CALLED ME!!!"

She broke down into a sobbing mess, dropping the scissors and falling to her knees. Alfendi broke the crude restraints that held him back, and approached at who he thought to be Lucy. He knelt on one knee, looking at his bawling assistant.

"Then what would you prefer to be called?" he asked softly, unaware that Blaine had been roused from his sleep from the Detective Constable's shouting and crying.

She looked up at him before squeaking.

"L-Lucille, sir..." he heard, "L-Lucille B-B-B-B-B-Barde..."

Alfendi nodded. Lucille he thought. He remembered Fauna had mentioning the name, and trying to pass it for Lucy's full and complete first name. He looked at the trembling officer and smiled, causing her to shrink back. He then spoke to her softly.

"Well, Lucille, I'm Fauna's brother, Alfendi," he said, "Don't fret. You're in Scotland Yard as of now."

Lucille gave Al a frightened look, lower lip trembling. "D-Did Loopy do summat?" she asked worriedly.

Alfendi shook his head, "No, not at all," he assured before quickly adding, "Not yet anyway."

Lucille nodded in acknowledgement before looking down at herself. Upon noticing her badge, she snapped her head back up to look at Alfendi and squeaked.

"Oh my GOD!" she panicked, "Y-You're my b-b-b-boss!". She got into a kneeling position, bowing deeply before her mentor.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorryI'mREEEALLYsorryy!!" she apologized, her words strung together in a near incoherent mess, "P-Please don't f-fire us!" she wailed.

Blaine, unbeknownst to Alfendi, had finally woken up due to Lucille's cries. He groaned, finally catching the duo's attention.

"Fucking hell, Luce..." he moaned, "What the bloody hell was that for?"

Lucille squeaked again, "S-Sorry!!" she rushed to the inspector and untied his restraints, "I-I didn't know you were one o' my superiooorrrrrrrs!"

After Blaine was freed, and Lucille calmed down (a tiresome and infuriating task for the both of them), Alfendi explained the situation to her. Lucille bit her lip anxiously.

"S-So..." she stuttered, "D-D-Daddy got a-another v-v-v-v-v-victim?"

Alfendi nodded, "From what Loopy and Lucy have told us, that conclusion is highly possible," he said, "Based on that evidence, I myself am..." he paused to think before snapping his fingers, "99.2 percent sure."

Lucille gave him a look of shock, "Y-You do a d-d-d-decimal?" she asked.

Blaine scoffed, "He's always done that, Lucille. I wouldn't be surprised if he began adding more, being as extra as he is."

Alfendi glared at the blonde inspector. "Look who's talking!" he exclaimed, "Mr. I Spend Five Hours Getting Ready and Think Everyone's Inferior to Me!"

Blaine sneered, "My apologies for at least trying to look professional in one of the top constabularies in England!"

They stopped abruptly as they heard Lucille whimper. They turned to see the poor girl covering her ears and trembling.

"S-Stop..." she whispered, "Y-Y-You two sound like D-Daddy an' Lucifer..." she glanced at Alfendi, "A-An' those arguments never ended well..."

Both Potty and Placid felt ashamed of themselves, along with Blaine. For a moment, they had forgotten that Lucille was, from what they inferred, a trauma victim and most likely terrified of fights.

Potty was the first to speak. "We're sorry, Lucille," he said. God, the apology felt strange on his tongue.

"S-S'a'ight." Lucille said, "I jus' wanted t' let you two know..." she inhaled deeply before releasing her breath.

"You were, um..." she started, "R-Readin' th' stories, right? Which one w-were you-um- on?" she managed to ask. Placid answered.

"I heard you read Blue Luna, so the next would beeeee..." he grabbed the next in the pile and showed it to Lucille, "This one!"

Lucille grabbed the book and read the title:

The Devil's Son and The Honest Princess

She began to read.

Once upon a time, there were a demoness who always told the truth.

She warned the other children by whispering, "Devil's Son is coming, Devil's Son is coming!"

The children adored the girl. They loved how she always told the truth, and they soon named her the Honest Princess.

One day, the girl came down, shouting, "Devil's Son is coming, hurry!"

The children scrambled to hide. But this time, they were too late, and so their blood splattered the walls.

The End. ---

She finished, and Alfendi noticed the tears in her eyes that begged for release.

Blaine, too, noticed. "Miss Barde, please, if you feel uncomfortable, don't feel entitled to continue." he said. Lucille shook her head.

"No, it's a'ight... There's nowt t' worry about, an' there's only one story left anyway..." she said, picking up the last book and reading:

The Demonic Royals

Once upon a time, there were five precious children. There were the eldest, who remained calm and collected; the triplets, two full of energy and one who were shy; and finally, the youngest, a bright beam of light who spoke to everyone.

They had one true friend: the Prince of the Black Lily, who remained at their side.

Then one day, their daddy imprisoned them. The prince disappeared, leaving the children all alone. At their new home, the Demon Club lived by the law of lily. However, the children found themselves lost, until they met a caring new friend.

The children and their friend obeyed the law of lily, for in the Demon Club, the law of lily was absolute, as were the word of the Prince of the Black Lily.

The children obeyed the law of lily, but the Count refused to like them.

The children obeyed the law of lily, but the twin Barons continued to hurt them

The children obeyed the law of lily, but the little Dutchess taunted them still.

But no matter what, the children and their friend remained faithful to the law of lily, until their friend were whisked away on a boat, leaving the children alone once more.

The Prince of the Black Lily, despite the loss of a subject, found all this excruciatingly boring. So he issued a law of lily one last time. The children were to bury their very special friend, and when they did, they became royals.

Sad, demonic royals, burdened by the law of lily, even when the tall man slaughtered everyone but them.

The lonely royals trapped their memories in a box. Forever and ever... ---

Placid could barely breathe as Lucille finished the story, head bowed in sorrow. Potty, however, was just too curious and asked, "Lucille, would it bother you to tell us what event each story pertains to?"

Blaine's head snapped in the inspector's direction. "Layton!" he scolded, "What, in your right mind, thinks-"

"It's fine!" Lucille exclaimed hurriedly, before anyone could argue. She looked up, "I'll do it if it means Daddy will-" she saw Alfendi and her eyes widened. She gestured to her hair, "Y-Your..." she tried to say something, but the words didn't seem willing to come out. She finally put her fingertips to her mouth before putting her hands down and whispering:

"Do you 'ave our problem too?" she asked.

Alfendi tilted his head in confusion until his brain registered what she meant.

He nodded, "Yes. And I'm the original." Potty said, Placid coming out in response. "Sadly so," he said, "And I was created by brainwashing after being in a coma." Lucille gave him an odd look.

"Brain...washin'???" she sounded out, as if the word had never came into her vocabulary before, "But... weren't you shot?" she asked, much to Alfendi's surprise. She continued, "Fauna told me a bit about you. I'd think bein' shot would be trauma'ic enough t' cause a personality switch. Mr. Lawson jus' 'appened t' think brainwashin' would work, an' th' conditions at th' time jus' made it seem so, if not alter th' traditional conditions a bit. Ya know, since you two remember things that 'appen in between..." at hearing herself say that, she flinched slightly.

Placid and Potty switched rapidly in reply, staying silent for several minutes before Placid finally said, "That's rather perceptive of you... and a rather big conclusion. But, oddly enough, it makes sense, and even he is willing to believe it."

Lucille's eyes widened and she quickly hid her face in her hands, blushing madly. "I-I thought you were gonna shut me up for sure, Mr. Alfendi, sir!" she said, "Daddy always did when I m-made li'le theories an' corrected 'im an' such..."

Alfendi, albeit a little concerned, pushed the feelings aside as he walked towards Lucille, who was chattering about nervously, with both Potty and Placid feeling in control.

With only a slight bit of hesitation from Placid, they hugged her, burying her face into his chest.

She went dead silent.

He rubbed her head (or what he could of it with her blasted cap), "Lucille, you have nothing to worry about," he said, "I do not wish in any way to harm you." He parted from her, and looked down to smile at her. He quickly saw that the poor girl's face was a burning scarlet, nearly glowing in Alfendi's shadow. Her mouth was agape in a cute fashion, eyes wide as the teacup saucers he kept. Her hands crept up to her hat, pulling the thing down to cover her face before letting a noise that was neither squeal nor scream, but rather both.

Whilst she did that, Alfendi turned to see Blaine glaring at him, the shadows around his face dark and unpleasant. Potty smirked before flipping Blaine off with a proud and wild grin that simply said, "Fuck you." Blaine blushed deep crimson and would've punched the inspector square in the face had it not been for Lucille finally removing her cap and placing it back on her head.

"A-A-A-Anyway..." she stuttered, "You w-wanted me t-t' s-sum up t-t-t-t-t-th' stories, r-right?" she managed to squeak out.

Placid held back a chuckle, "In a sense, yes. Just tell what event the story is based off of." he explained. He then lined each book up in order of what had been read from first to last. Lucille pointed at The Devuls Ofis, "This one's about me," she muttered somberly, "I were so sick o' bein' down there, so sick o' th' torture, tha' I risked goin' t' my dad's office int' dungeons t' get th' Master Key, which unlocked all th' cells... But I got caught, an' Daddy broke my legs wiv a 'ammer. I couldn't move for a week or two..." she wiped her eyes, pointing at the next one.

"Miss Destiny were about our friend, Destiny Knox," she stated, "She were a real good friend, never bitin' or pullin' our 'air or cuttin' us wiv knives like th' other kids. She were really sweet an' played wiv us all th' time!" she paused, "Then... she were adopted... Overseas, mind you. Daddy put one o' them needles they use to knock people out into 'er neck, an' then 'e stuffed 'er in a box before shippin' 'er off. We were right sad, we were..." She breathed deeply before continuing down the line:

- The Chiljren of Fredum: "Loosha found a li'le box tha' said 'Open if you want freedom!' She got pre'y traumatized from seein' a bunch of dismembered bits an' pieces."

- Mother: "This one were more of a cry for Mummy... Even we knew she were never gonna find us..."

- The Wolf Children: "Loosha 'ad wri'en a poem for Daddy that were a plea for us t' be let out. Aside from bein' angry, 'e found out about Lucifer, an' punished the both o' them. We tried t' kill 'im as revenge, but... we failed."

- The Bloody Rag Prince: "Lucifer were so nice. 'e'd make sure we were taught an' fed an' clothed... 'e'd even sew rags together for blankets! Even if 'e weren't very good at it..."

Then she paused, slowly beginning to point at The Other Girls. "This one..." she began, hesitating once more.

Suddenly, the door burst open to reveal Fauna, distraught and panting.

"Al!" she shouted, "Code Blood!"

Lucille and Blaine turned their attention to Alfendi. He looked as if he had been asked to kiss a black mamba, his face pale and entire body trembling. Nervously, he asked, both as Potty and Placid:

"Fauna... What the hell happened?"

Fauna grasped the sides of her head. "I-I don't know!" she panicked, "I just- I just-!"

Alfendi put his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down, albeit panicking himself. He had never seen his elder sister be so scared before, he couldn't help but be fearful himself.

However, he pulled himself together. He lifted Fauna's head and looked at her square in the eyes. "Fauna, I need you to calm down and explain what happened." he demanded.

Fauna, although still in shock, nodded and sat down.

"I-I sent Arianna t-to walk the kids, and so-!" she tried to control her breathing before continuing, "And... 10, 15 minutes later, someone knocked on the door. So I opened it, and I was knocked out. When I got woken by the kids licking my face and Arianna shaking me, everyone was gone."

Alfendi felt his heart stop. "Every...one?" he said. Fauna nodded.

"There were signs of struggle too, so I think they were kidnapped..." she said, turning to Lucille, "I'm sorry I couldn't do jack shit for your siblings, Lou..."

Lucille did not respond. She only gave a blank stare that could set a soul aflame. She slowly took a shallow, quivering breath.

"Did-Did you see 'im?" she stammered. Fauna shut her eyes as if trying to remember.

"Y-Yeah..." she said, though sounding unsure, "I-I think it was the same guy from last night. You remember, right? The major creepo who claimed to be-"

"Our dad..." Lucille finished Fauna's sentence, face a blank and ghostly white.

She quickly turned to Alfendi and Blaine. "I know where 'e's takin' 'em." she said, the urgency in her voice clear as day, "We 'ave t' 'urry if we wanna see 'em alive."

Alfendi brain felt as if had been scrambled, questions dashed throughout his mind so fast that he almost couldn't comprehend the situation.

"Lucille, wait." He finally managed to say, "Where is your father keeping them?" he asked.

"Only place 'e would dare t' keep us." Lucille whispered.

"A li'le place we called 'ell."

#layton brothers mystery room #fanfic

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fanfiction-sins · 6 years

Text

Pregnant Guitarist Sporking, Chapter One

WOO, this is the first fanfiction I’m sporking. I hope it’s not too bad...

Noodle yawned deeply as she flicked her remote whilst surfing the channels in her bedroom. Nothing amuses her from the screen that she was watching. She wasn't in a mood to watch anything she likes: news; cartoon; dramas; video game reviews;

First, “;” is not correct. You should be using commas. There’s also supposed to be a period at the end of the sentence. Also, they have video game reviews on tv?

Today wasn't her day when she feel lightened up

What does that mean? I’m genuinely confused...

to watch her favourite channels and relax from a hard guitar and vocal practice with her bandmates to perform for the biggest show in New York that was a couple of months away,

Why was the practice so hard if the show was a couple months away?

due to her overthinking about her last week night 'activities' with 2D (his real name is Stuart Pot), one of her bandmates who is the blue haired main vocalist in the band, Gorillaz.

“Last week night” Also, I’m pretty sure we don’t need most of this information, considering you’re probably a fan of Gorillaz if you’re reading this.

She decided to switch off the telly and threw away the remote out of her way, which landed on the soft carpet.

“Threw away the remote out of her way”

She couldn't take the mind out of it, it made her smile, falling down on bed, and tossed around herself for comfort. She found a comfortable position, her whole body facing down and her head tilting on the other side, she imagined the way she had fun with him.

You know what? I think I’m not even gonna comment on the grammar anymore. Also, the comfortable position was laying face down, but with her head sideways? I don’t think the author is female (i could be wrong), because that position is the opposite of comfortable. Maybe if there were cavities for her breasts on the bed...

The next part’s a bunch of filler, I’m not going to comment on it. Basically 2D calls her name, she gets annoyed, and then goes to the elevator. She’s going to his room.

"Noodle." 2D called her the last time once she entered the vocalists' bedroom. "Nandesu ka, 2D-San? I'm trying to nap!" (What is it, 2D-San) Noodle huffed in her hot boiling tone. 2D left the question rhetorical. He merely motioned her to his bed, where he took a seat and offered Noodle to join in.

I hate when people type Japanese out of translate. It’s annoying, and she probably would speak English to her British friend. Also, since they are very close friends, she wouldn’t say “san.” She also wouldn't have said “Nan desu ka” she would’ve said ”Nani” “Hot boiling tone”I believe it’s ‘boiling hot.’ “2D left the question rhetorical” I believe you meant he didn’t answer the question. “Offered Noodle to join in?” On what? His bed? If so, you said that wrong.

The next part is a bunch of chatter, then 2D tells Noodle, OH NO, the condom didn’t stay on the whole time? Noodle decides she’s going to take a pregnancy test. “Feelings, feelings, what if they find out I’m dating 2D.... blah blah blah”

She reached to the freedom door in Kong,

WHat is a freedom door? I’m confused about “Kong” this was written in 2012, when they were at plastic beach. Also, Kong burned down.

where she stumbled and meet her father-figure, a bald African American possessed drummer,

He’s not possessed anymore

Russel Hobbs. "Where are you going, baby girl?" He asked, concerned of his little axe princess.

“Baby girl?” He’s not her boyfriend/lover. Also, I know the Celebrity Takedown booklet described her as an axe princess, but you don’t have to.

"Alright, be careful." Said Russel in his stern voice, he patted his little girl and watched her left awkwardly, knowing he's watching her just in case something happened.

“watched her left” He watched the left side of her? THIs grAmMAr...

Noodle finally reached the gate, opened in in a hurry and shuts it close as it made a 'click' sound.

You just used like two different verb tenses in a single sentence. I should not be reading this. Also, “shuts it close”

She walked away to the drug store in a quickened pace, trying to not make it obvious.

Trying not to make what obvious?

When she felt her figure lost sight, she turned back to make sure Russel wasn't following her. She could hear his drums from the distance, knowing he wasn't watching her. It was a relief.

Why would it matter if Russel was following her? She’s just going to a drug store. Sure, for a pregnancy test, but she’s a 20-ish year old woman in this.

The drugstore wasn't far, she hoped she didn't bumped to any member she knew.

Seriously, the only one you could bump into is Murdoc. He wouldn’t care what you were getting.

Entering inside the drugstore has never made Noodle nervous.

Seriously, why is she so nervous about buying something at a drugstore?

A sales assistant walked towards Noodle with her name tag that says 'Hi, I'm Lucy!'. "Hello there, luv. Anything I could help you with?" Lucy gave a soft smile, not knowing her ginger strands were stuck to her passionate red lipstick.

Why is this an important detail?

"I-I wanted to get a pregnancy test for my sister." Noodle stammered, her face flushed in red.

For your sister? This lady wouldn’t give a fuck if you were buying a pregnancy test for yourself. She wants the day to be over...

The lady guided Noodle to the aisle, where there are different kinds of pregnancy test awaiting. The lady left to help a random customer, leaving Noodle alone to decide on her own. After all, she's a big girl.

Multiple verb tenses

Noodle didn't think about which product is the best. She only picked the one that's cheaper and rushed to pay her test and a bottle of soda.

You’re supposed to buy two tests.

Her heart races rapidly as she returned back to Kong finishing the last sip of soda and throwing it to the trash can poorly, bumping into her uncle-like, green skinned, snake-like tongue bass player, Murdoc Niccals, who was going to a different direction.

First, this is a run on sentence. Second, VERB TENSES

"What you got there, Iuv?" Murdoc sneered

Why would he care what’s in the bag? Isn’t he supposed to be the non-strict uncle?

pulling the side off the plastic bag with his finger

HE PULLED OFF THE WHOLE SIDE?!

to take a peek.

This sounds like what my doctor says when she’s gonna look at my vagina...

Noodle shrieked and pulled away.

Noodle would absolutely not shriek. It’s more likely that she would punch/elbow him in the face.

Murdoc gave a face, feeling suspicious.

Gave a face?

"A secret, eh? Fine, be a bitch all you want." Murdoc scoffed off, whilst Noodle stood holding the plastic bag to her chest and walked away quietly to the bathroom.

Why is Noodle so OOC in all of these fanfictions? It really makes me mad.

Noodle went in the bathroom and stayed in the stall for 5 minutes, looking over the box with instructions and waited for her urine to come out.

Was it necessary for those details? I really don’t care how long she was waiting or what she was waiting for.

She knew the soda trick would work, after overhearing the conversation of 2D and Russel, with Russel explaining why 2D shouldn't drink his cola before bed or he'll let Russel clean his urine off the bed sheets and blankets

Wait, can you say that again but slower? I don’t understand. Also, run-on sentence

she probably gotten that idea when she was younger and remembered teasing 2D for wetting his bed.

That was a long sentence. Also, grammar.

She felt she was coming out, without thinking, she quickly got her absorbent test and urinated under it. She could've gotten a plastic cup but she was so unprepared.

Grammar. But wait, don’t pregnancy tests tell you to use cups?

Very descriptive details, blah blah blah. She looks at the test.

It has two lines

Oh no, she’s pregnant.

"Oh no." She mouthed and tears prickled out her tear ducts. It rolled down and hit on her hand.

I’m pretty sure they’re not called tear ducts

Her tears gushed, her bawling echoes formed.

There’s something off about this sentence... I’m not sure what...

She heard somebody entering the bathroom, making her quickly pulling her pants up and cleaning the mess around her stall.

What mess? She was literally just urinating on a stick.

She suddenly flushed the toilet and zipped her pants.

Why suddenly? Is it not okay for her to use the bathroom when someone else is there?

"Noodle, is that you?" Noodle heard 2D went in the bathroom and watched his shadow footsteps walked. "Yeah." Her voice cracked, she didn't want him to know she was crying. "I heard you crying, come out luv."

Noodle went out and sniffed.

Went out of what? Business?

2D lifted the shaky hand of Noodle

It would be easier to say “2D lifted her shaky hand”

staring at the test she was holding for a few seconds before Noodle pulled away.

You don’t need to say “Noodle” so much

"I'm pregnant."

Who said that? Also, you don’t know for sure. Buy another test just to be safe.

Noodle looked up with red watery eyes.

*Watery, red

2D pulled her close and rubbed her back. Then he kneeled down, which was about the same height as Noodle.

Excuse me, what? Is this Phase 1? They’re almost the same height

"We'll keep the baby." 2D smiled goofily with his two no-front-teeth showing, which made his girlfriend a lot better, but a thought in her mind made her frown once more.

*sigh* GRAMMAR

"The band-" "Whatever they say, just keep the baby. If we have no choice then we can give it away for adoption."

Why not get an abortion? I know, it’ll probably scar her, but it would be best for everyone.

2D stood with knees bent and kissed the forehead of Noodle.

Once again, it would be easier to just say “her” instead of “of Noodle”

"Thanks, 2D-San." Noodle dropped the pregnancy test on the ground to hold her lover's head and passionately kissed him.

“SAN” STOP. IT’S NOT CORRECT!!!!!!11!!!!!1!1!1!!!!!11!!!!!

Also, don’t let things heat up anymore, or else you’ll end up pregnant again.

As 2D responded back with the kisses, he took the pregnancy test and placed it in his pocket.

Why? Is this gonna be important later?

Sins: 78, not too bad for the first chapter. However, the first chapter was very bad. The next chapter should be coming out around next week Thursday. I don’t own anything

#gorillaz fanfiction #sporking #pregnant guitarist #bad gorillaz fic

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