#I say we all need kilts

[no-context-nonsense]

Did we cry less this week? I think we cried less this week.

[briefalpacashark]

~Drunk Boys~

The boys from 141 get drunk and you have to pick them up.

Warning: Drunk, violence.

Parts inspired from New Girl. If you know you know.

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One lovely evening you sat in your little office space. The boys had headed off quite some time ago for a few drinks. Your usual Friday night outing didn't include you that time because of a few reports you had put off. It was pulling onto 1am when your phone started to ring. It was a new number you had never seen before.

“Hello, this is Y/N speaking,” you said.

“Hey uh doc?” It was Gaz voice that came through the call. 

“Gaz?” you asked.

“Who you talking to?” you could hear Jonny ask in the background.

“I'm talking to doc,” Gaz stated.

“Oh, why?” Jonny whispered.

“I don't know,” Gaz murmured back. It didn't take a detective to establish by their slurred tones that they were drunk.

“Gaz, why are you calling me from a random number?” you asked.

“I don't know. Our phones got wet,” he explained.

“Our?” you asked.

“Yeah Me, Soap, Ghost and Price,” he stated with a sassy tone, as if it was your fault for not knowing. 

“So you fucked you phones?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Gaz nodded.

“And you called me, why?” you asked. There was silence for a bit.

“Captain, why am I calling Doc again?” Gaz asked.

“Because we lost the fucking car and we need a lift back to base,” Price snapped in the distance.

“Because we lost the fucking car and we need a lift back to base,” Gaz tone was much calmer and sweeter than Prices. A small smile worked its way onto your face.

“Alright, ill be there soon. Where are you?” you asked, making your way to the door.

“Not at the base,” Gaz said.

“I know that Gaz. Where are you now?” It was like talking to a toddler.

“Oh, We're at McDonalds,” he said before the line went dead. There were three McDonalds in the town. You thought they would be at the one closest to the bar. You were right. You were about to pull into the car park when you paused. Alittle down the street, right under the McDonalds sign sat four blobs. Driving up to it, you slammed on the brakes at what you saw. 

Price was sitting with his arms crossed. His hat looked to have been ripped in half and then shakily put back together with some staples, a tuft of his hair sticking out the top. Next to him Ghost with a traffic cone on his head and one tucked in his lap as he sat cross-legged. He was hugging it, and the one in his lap had been drawn on, and made up to look like a person, with a hat and a bikini loosely tied around it. One of his jacket sleeves was missing as if it had been torn clean off. Jonny sat next to him shirtless, with a patch of hair missing from his chest. Over it a pink glittery 21st birthday sash. His mohawk sprinkled with glitter and a kilt. Gaz had left in a pair of jeans, he was now in a pair of pink booty shorts that you would place money on that had some word like bitch or booty on the back of bedazzled gems. A crown of beer cans ducked taped around his head compelled the fit. All about them, strewn across the floor was a variety of McDonald's food, ranging from ice-creams to nuggets. They were all happily munching away. And they were all missing their left shoe?

You got out of the car phone at the ready.

“Say cheese boys,” you called. Drunkenly, they all looked up in your general direction, taking a photo. You chuckled, pocketing your phone and hands as you looked over them all. Wondering what the hell happened to them. 

“Ah, it's doc. What are you doing here, lovey?” Jonny asked in excitement, throwing his hands to the air.

“I'm here to pick you boys up,” you said.

“Pah, no we're alright. We've still got to go to another bar. Ain't that right LT?” Jonny asked, waving you away.

“Aye. I want another lager,” Ghost stated defiantly.

“I think you boys have had enough. Just look at the state of ya,” you gestured to them. 

“Wow, body shaming. Shame on you Y/N,” Gaz slurred, shaking his head disappointingly.

“Your all wet. Each of you has a piece of clothing damaged and all of you haven't even made eye contact with me yet,” you explained. Instantly, they all turned to stare into your eyes.

“Bull shit,” Jonny hiccuped before taking a bite of his burger. 

“Sargent, Report,” Price spoke up. You paused, considering his words as he stared down at the road in front of him.

“Report sir?” you asked. He nodded, tipping forward ever so slightly. Your eyes widened. He was absolutely plastered. They all were. 

“Your all drunk as fuck,” you said simply, your sentence finishing in a bewilder chuckle. The boys could hold their liquer, hell you have ever seen Gaz and Jonny drunk. 

“Am not,” Jonnys offended tone had you laughing again.

“Of sorry. My mistake, your only eating ice cream burger because you want to,” you jabbed you fingers at the burger in his hands. The ice cream was dripping down his arms and it looked like he had stacked nuggets, chips and a shit ton of cheese into the mix.

“As a matter of fact I did want to,” he said moving his hand about, the contents of the burger slopping onto the ground.

“Awww,” Jonny whined.

“Five second rule bruv,” Gaz said reaching bow to pick up a handful of the mess reconstructing the burger and handing it back to Jonny.

“Thanks Gaz,” Jonny seemed genuinely thankful. You held back a gag as he moved it to his mouth.

“Don't eat that,” you warned. You sure as hell didn't want him getting sick of all the gems that were now thrown into the burger mix. 

“I'll do what I want to do, because I can do whatever I want to do because I can do it,” he slurred.

“Jonny you eat that burger and I'll never speak to you again,” you proposed the ultimatum. He paused, pondering for a moment.

“What if I drink it?” he asked.

“Your gonna drink a burger?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“Aye,” he nodded confidently.

“I bet you a tenner you can't,” Price spoke up. The poor man looked to be dozing in and out of sleep.

“I'll take that bet,” Jonny said.

“Jonny that was on the road,” you pleaded.

“And?” he asked.

“Put it down,” you ordered sternly. With a grumble, he chucked the burger down like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The boys held back their giggles. You heard that right giggle. And it was stared by none other than the man himself. Price. He was giggling. The high-pitched noise sounded off coming from him.

“Ohhhhhhhh mums mad at you,” Gaz joked, nudging his side.

“Sod off,” Jonny grumbled.

“Alright where’s the phone you called me from?” you asked.

“Why?” Gaz questioned.

“Because you called me from a random number, which means you had someone else’s phone. By the state of you lot I wouldn't be surprised if you stole it,” you explained.

“Right, it's over there,” Gaz grabbed his thumb to the phone booth. You first thought they had called you from it, but when you noticed the little pink box, you walked up to it to get a closer look. It was an iPhone. In a pink case, it was cracked to kingdom come and they had somehow lodged it in the credit card reader. You tried tugging it out to no avail. What you did find was Gaz’s phone propped up on the little stand with his contacts open with your name and number on it. Deciding not to question the backwards thinking that led them there you pocketed Gaz’s phone, walking back to the boys.

“Alright, I want the truth ok. What happened?” you asked a little concerned.

“Meet up with some airforce boys. They tried to act all high and mighty,” Price shrugged.

“Said they could drink more than us,” Ghost added.

“We had to prove them wrong,” Jonny explained.

“And we did. But then they brought out, Um what was it called?” Gaz clicked his fingers. 

“Abstanance,” Jonny proclaimed proudly. 

“Absinthe?” you asked in shock.

“Hell yeah, drunk those fuckers under the table.” Ghost nodded.

“Dunk yourselves under the table by the looks of it. Why are you wet? And what the fuck happened to ya shoes?” you asked.

“The ducks were drowning,” Gaz stated simply.

“And there was a bar that takes your shoe when you start a tab. It's to prevent running out without payed your tab,” Jonny added.

“So you all rescued ducks and ran out on a tab?” you asked. The boys pondered for a moment realized how bad it sounded. 

“Yes,” Ghost nodded.

“No,” the rest of them said. 

“And only Ghost rescued the ducks, I fell in, Gaz tried to rescue me but couldn't and Price saved us both,” Jonny explained as if it fixed it all.

“You shouldn't have been hanging around ponds this drunk. It's dangerous,” you murmured.

“For your information, it wasn't a pond,” Gaz stated defensively.

“Oh yeah, what was it?” you cooed back.

“It was the fountain,” he pointed across the way into the park where a fountain was lit up. A knee deep fountain. 

“Right, get in the car. Come on,” the boys groaned.

“We can't,” Gaz said.

“And why not?” you asked.

“Cause,” he trailed off. “Legs an’t working,” he finished. The boys all gave him approving nodds thinking his excuse was to tire brilliance.

“Well, I guess I'll just help you. Come on,” you helped Gaz up first, sliding him into the back of the car. 

“I don't wanna go,” Jonny whined.

“I know big guy,” you cooed. Sliding him in next to Gaz, you shook your head when they started giggling. 

“Your turn,” you gestured Ghost up. 

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

“What? No,” you shook your head.

“Oh really. Seemed like it.” his hint of sass had you pointing to the car. With a grumble he got up and walked to the car, slipping into the middle seat. You frowned, ducking your head to see the other door open, Jonny now sitting at the far side and Gaz nowhere to be seen. Looking back to the makeshift picnic, you saw him back at the phone booth.

“For fuck’s sake, Stay,” you order the two in the car. Walking up to him, you frowned as he held the phone up to his ear.

“What you doing Gaz?” you asked.

“Ringling Doc. She needs to come pick us up,” he said whole heartedly forgetting that you were there already. With a huffed you took him by the arms, pulling him back. You sighed when you saw Ghost and Jonny sitting back on the curb happily munching away. You sat Gaz in the back of the car, deciding to lock the back door this time. You then filed in Jonny than Ghost. Closing the door behind them, you made your way back to Price.

“Come on sir,” you called softly. He looked up to you and with the biggest beaming brightest smile, and he giggled. God you had never seen anything more pure.

“Your sweet Doc,” he said. 

“Thank You sir. Now can you get in the car please,” you begged. 

“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded, suddenly shooting to his feet. And with that, he toppled back like a domino landing in the bush.

“Christ,” You scrambled to get him out, practically carrying him to the car. Putting him in the driver's seat you buckled him in. When your head rose to make sure the boys were all in you were met by empty back seats. 

“Doc, we can't leave the boys,” Price stated pointing out the window. Where the three men were gathered around a tree relieving themselves. Only Gaz seemed to just be standing there and Jonny appeared to be pissing on Ghost's boot.

“Get in the car!” You called out the window. Begrudgingly, they all piled back in. 

“Hang on, I need a piss,” Price spoke up just as they all buckled in. With a tired sigh you patiently waited. Then when he returned you drove off. 

“Wait, a minute, this ain't the way home,” Gaz suddenly pointed out.

“Yes I know. I think I know the bar you're talking about. We're going to go back there and pay your tab and get your shoes back. The higher ups would have a field day if you guys got in trouble,” you explained. Pulling up to the bar, you parked the car.

“Wait this is a police station,” Jonny pointed out. Yes, on the other side of the street, there was a police station. 

“We should go fight that police officer,” Ghost suggested.

“What? What police officer?” you asked.

“The one we stole this from,” Gaz said, pulling a taser gun that had been tucked in the back of his pants.

“You stole from a police officer!” you exclaimed.

“First of all he was an absolute piss head. A real fucker,” Price spoke up in a logical tone.

“Yeah, he tried to arrest Gaz,” Ghost added.

“Prick,” Gaz grumbled.

“Let's do this Lads,” Price grinned at the rest of them. Like a toddler hyped up on sugar.

“Actually, I think that might be a bad idea,” Gaz spoke up.

“Gaz,” Price called and Gaz hummed in response.

“I got two of these and you got two of those. And we got whatever da fuck Ghost is, lets go,” he held up two fists before stepping out of the car.

“No NO nonononono,” you reached over trying to grab at Price, but he was already gone.

“I swear to god if any of you move I'll give you tetanus shots in the morning,” you threw the threat back at the remaining men in the car. The tetanus shot was one of the worst shots you could get, and they all had bad memories of it. So at the threat, they quickly did their seat belts back up. 

“Christ,” you hissed, quickly hopping out of the car when you saw Price walk up to an officer hanging around outside.

While you were trying to deescalate the situation and explain to the cop why there was a drunk man trying to pick a fight, the boys were watching from the car. 

“She's scary,” Gaz whispered.

“What a fucking woman,” Ghost grumbled.

“I think I'm gonna ask her out,” Jonny declared. Ghost head snapped around faster than light.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Jonny rumbled back.

“I bagsed her. You can't do shit,” Ghost said.

“Fucking when?” Jonny asked.

“Just then,” Ghost stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You can't bags a woman,” Gaz interjected.

“I know, women are strong beautiful beings to be respected and we are to respect their choices,” Ghost said, all the boys agreeing.

“But I still bags her,” he added at the end. 

“Fuck you Brit. If you like her, do something bout it!” Jonny snapped his blink slightly delayed. 

“Suck a cock scotsman,” Ghost snapped back.

“Do-Do you think you can beat me in a physical altercation of feisty cuffs?” Jonny fumbled with his words, raising his fists slightly. His aim was to star threateningly at his face but he missed the mark slightly staring at his knee. “I will beat you in a way you have NEver Beeenn beaten before,” Ghost stared at Jonny’s unfocused gaze. Before casually reaching over and giving him a gentle backhanded tap on his face. 

“OHHHHHH,” Gaz called from his middle seat.

“DAMMIT!” Jonny explained as if he had just received a full on punch but didn't move in the slightest.

“You just got hit in the face lad,” Gaz giggle.

“Hit me again!” Jonny dared. So Ghost did, repeating the same action. Only it didn't seem to compute in Jonny mind the second time. “I dare you, you put your hands on me one more time, Cause I swear, it will be an, I will-” Ghost reached over his wrist wrapping around the back of Jonny neck.

“Come closer so I can put you in a choke hold,” Ghost asked politely.

“No!” Jonny declared going to hit back only for his hand to completely miss and fall to the side harmlessly. The two fumbled in the back of the car not really accomplishing anything.

“Guys, look he's gettin the cop!” Gaz announced. They all looked out the car window to see the cop walk off.

You had tried and failed to calm them down. Price had demanded to see the cop that tried to arrest Gaz. The boys all piled out of the car, some more graceful than others, before rushing up to you.

“Oh god no, get back in the car please!” you begged.

“Gotta get loose,” Jonny stated, starting to do jumping jacks.

“Guys Doc is right. We should go,” Gaz stated.

“Pussy,” that one word from Ghost was all it took for Gaz to shrug his jacket off and start stretching.

“You guys are really gonna fight a cop!?” you asked, bewildered by it all. 

“Yes we are!” Jonny yelled confidently.

“No you're not!” You yelled. You couldn't believe it. It was like all common sense had been turned off in their heads.

“Ohhh Jonny’s in trouble,” Gaz grinned.

“Fuck you,” Jonny called reaching out to try and give Gaz a slight tap on the nuts.

“Dont touch my balls!” Gaz cried. 

“Yeah Jonny,” Ghost chuckled, amused by it all only for Jonny to try and hit his. Bewildered, you were utterly bewildered as you saw the group of highly trained soldiers all become involved in what you assumed was a game of hit the dick. They were all relatively bent over trying to protect their jewels while simultaneously trying to hit each other. Even price had been pulled into it.

“Guys come on,” you begged. 

“He touched my penis!” Jonny cried in a high-pitched voice.

“Don't touch my penis!” Gaz screamed right back. 

“Can I help you boys?” A cop walked out of the station.

“Officer. Hi. I am so sorry about them there just a little drunk, I'll get them home safely,” you quickly interjected yourself between them.

“It's the cop!” Jonny declared pointing at him. The cop was beyond confused. Because for one, he had never seen the boys before in his life. 

The truth of the story was that it was a comply different cop that had tried to arrest Gaz. They looked similar, and that was about it. And the only reason why he was trying to arrest Gaz was because he had stolen his taser gun.

But the boys could hardly see straight, so when they heard the cop was there, they trusted his words comply. 

“Come on, let's go!” Jonny declared as they all crowded around the poor man. Well, you tried to keep them back trying to speak over their taunts for a fight. The cop spoke into his radio, requesting backup.

“Please, this is all a big misunderstanding. They're actually really nice blokes,” your words fell on deaf ears.

“Pig!” Ghost said.

“Oh look, the little boy needs back up. We can take em,” Gaz said.

“If Laswell finds out about this, she’ll have your heads!” Your yell instantly had the boys silent.

“FUCKEN RUN!” Price ordered the fear filling them. Instantly they took off down the street.

“Serpentine!” Gaz yelled had them all running in a squiggly line. Which had Jonny and Gaz running into each other. Ghost even knocked his head on a low post not even flinching as he kept on running. That left you standing there out the front of the police station with a group of police officers. And you all watched as the boys disappeared down the street. 

“So um that,” you trailed off, pointing to them. “I uh,”

“I have no explanation for that,” you whispered in defeat. 

When you found Gaz he was still running down the street.

“GAZ GET IN THE CAR!” you yelled out the window.

“FUCK THE POLICE! FUCK POLICE WOMEN!” he yelled.

“WHAT!?” you yelled. He instantly stopped running up to the car window.

“I have nothing against women, officers. I understand how my words were terrible. I just heard you were a woman and everyone calls you all policemen so I wanted to be inclusive but I realize I was just singling you out,” he explained drunkenly.

“Gaz I'm not a police woman. Get in the fucken car,” you ordered.

“You can't fool me. FUCK POLICE WOMEN!” he yelled, taking off sprinting again. 

“Fuck this,” you grunted slamming on the breaks and jumping out he car. Gaz wasn't really sure what happened but one moment he was running down the street and the next he was in the back of the car the seat belt cut and tied around his hands and feet.

The others were a bit harder to find. Price was up a fucking willow tree. Getting him out of the tree was a fucking mission. You ended up just throwing random stuff at him until he eventually fell out. You used branches to tie him up and put him in the car as well. Finding Soap was a lucky find. You saw him stumbling down the street and when you called out to him he rushed into a club. As you walked in you realized quickly that you wouldn't have much luck finding him. It was packed to the brim and you couldn't see over anyone's heads. So you make your way up to the DJ booth.

“Hi, I'm trying to find a drunk scotsman. He's a vet. Do you mind?” you asked, gesturing to the microphone.

“Anything for our boys,” he said, handing it over.

“If you're a Scot and wearing a kilt, come up on stage for your prize!” Everyone cheered as you tucked yourself behind the DJ stand. Jonny walked up on stage basking in the cheers, raising his hands high in the air. 

And then you crash tackled him to the floor, tying him up with some power cords.

“Fucks sake Jonny,” you grunted after you had lugged his body out of the club and into the car. 

“Wow, they caught you before me, Captain. I'm surprised,” Jonny grinned smugly. You spent the next hour searching for Simon. You were about to give up when you decided to ring his phone. If Gaz’s still worked there was a chance his did too. Hearing the ringing you frowned. It wasn't just coming from your phone. Looking back to the boys, you could hear the muffled sound.

“Hello?” Ghost asked through the phone. His actual voice sounded once again from the back. Getting out of the car, you rounded it before pulling the boot open. There Ghost lay, his large body comedically tucked into the back, the Traffic cone still in his arms.

“How long have you been in there?” you asked.

“Since you caught Gaz,” he stated simply. With a deep sigh you gestured him out of the back. You knew you didn't need to tie him up and helped him to the front seat. Locking the doors, you started to drive everyone back to base.

“Boys, we've been kidnapped,” Price stated slowly. 

“Like hell we have,” Jonny whispered back.

“What are you boys whispering about back there?” You asked. With your eyes on the busy road, you failed to see them untie themselves and jimmy the lock.

“RONDEVU AT THE PUB BOYS!” Price ordered. Instantly, they all threw themselves out of the car and legged it in opposite directions. You had slammed on the brakes once they had done it. You watched them run, letting your tired head fall to the steering wheel.

“Give me strength,” you pleaded. This time you weren't so lucky in finding them. 

What happened was your phone rang again. From a new number.

“Hello?” you already knew who it was.

“Hey doc. Can you come pick us up? We lost the car,” Gaz's voice wafted through.

“Sure where are you? You asked.

“The police station,” he whispered bashfully.

So there you were back at the police station. You smiled bashfully at the officers the boys had tried to fight. Luckily for them you were a sweet talker. And the fact that they were military helped as well. They would have been charged with theft of a police officer and walking out on a tab. But you returned the taser gun, which hadn't been discharged. And you paid the tab with a generous tip getting their boots back in the process. The boys embarrassingly walked out of the station looking like puppies that had just been kicked. 

“Are you mad at us?” Jonny asked.

“Not mad, Just disappointed,” you shook your head. For the four drunk men the sentence was devastating, making them drop their head in guilt. A tiny smile pulled at your lips.

“Come on, let's get you home,” you ruffled Jonny's hair gently pulling them all out of the police station.

“Can we get McDonalds on the way home?” Gaz asked.

“I want an ice cream,” Price spoke up.

“Sure, why not?”

This time, the drive was much more peaceful. When you got back, you made sure they were all changed, well hydrated and tucked into bed. Which was incredibly hard because they had hit the pass out drunk stage. Ghost was the hardest. You managed to get him on the bed and his shirt and jacket off relatively easily. You paused momentarily as you saw his bare upper body. God damn the greek sculptures could take pointers from him. Your gaze softened as you saw all the scars and bullet holes that lined the ripples of his muscle. He's been through a lot. You felt slightly perverted as you undid his pants. Only they were wet and long, so you stood there yanking at them pulling them off inch by inch. Now you were using your whole body to get those bad boys off, so it didn't surprise you when you flew halfway across the room when you finally got them off. Breathing heavily, you gently lifted his legs back onto the bed. Grabbing the blanket, you tucked it up to his chin, your hand brushing against the wet mask. While the room was heated, it was still cold. Plus, you couldn't tell if it was water or blood from the hit that was on the top. 

“Alright Simon, I'm gonna take off your mask. But I'm gonna close my eyes so don't worry. I just don't want you waterboarding yourself in your sleep,” you whispered. He gave no response. With a deep breath, you reached up and closed your eyes. Your hands gathered the material at the bottom of the fabric and started rolling it up. In your focus you hadn't noticed Simon's eyes snap open at the movement. His hand had almost snapped around your wrist, only stopping when he saw your eyes closed. Slowly, he let his hand fall as you pulled the mask fully off. 

“Alright, now let's see if you did any damage to that head of yours?” you asked. Your hands brushed away his hair from his face, humming at the loose curls. His heart stirred as he stared at you, loving the blissful feeling your hands gave him as they moved across his face. When you were happy that it was only a lump he had sustained a small giggle left on your lips.

“That's gonna be a shiner mate,” you whispered.

He watched as your smile dropped slightly when her thumb brushed over a scar. You got a weird sense of DeJa'Vu as you thumb gently traced the scar. So many scars. Life certainly hadn't been kind to him.

"What am I gonna do with you huh?" you asked softly. Brushing his hair back once again, you stood.

“Night Simon,” you whispered before blindly making your way out the room. Simon watched the door close before looking up at the ceiling. His hand clasped over his rapidly beating heart as he came to the sudden realization. 

He was absolutely smitten for the Doc.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

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=COD Master List Here=

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Look, This is gonna be one of those things that sounds bad until you read the whole story. Please don't read the title and go to 'yta' without reading.

AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

Look, My brother ISNT trans. He likes to wear kilts and sew, Which is what kind of started all of this. My brother is NOT trans, He loves being a boy (trust me, I can hear him enjoying being a boy in his room all the time. Theres no way he'd wanna chop it off(I mean this as a joke I don't actually know how the surgery works), He's told me multiple times that being told by others what he likes is 'feminine' and 'girly' upsets him because he's proud of being a boy and doesn't like being called a girl. Its not because he hates girls or thinks less of them, He just does not like being called the wrong gender which I'm sure you want to be called the correct gender too.)

Anyways lets begin. I (16F) am my little brothers (15M) best friend, Basically. We grew up together and do everything together, Including sewing. I liked it when I was younger, And eventually convinced him to try it as well. He loved it, And we love just sitting together and making random crap we usually end up selling at our yearly garage sale. (Our mom makes us sell all our unneeded crap every year, But we aren't complaining when we make like $100 for it, Mom and dad even help us figure out what we actually wanna keep (we sometimes see old things and go 'Oh I could never get rid of this' and then throw it away))

Sorry for the rambling, But you'll see why some of this is important to know.

Basically, We were getting our shit together for the garage sale, And invited over a mutual friend of ours, Who I'll call uhhh Ley (16F). Shes kind of obsessed with the LGBTQ and loves to help people 'realize' they're gay or trans or non-binary. By this I mean she'll literally bully people she 'knows' is gay or trans by always telling them they are and spreading rumors about them saying they are. The way she 'knows' these things are from gut feelings. I thought maybe she needed friends who would be honest with her and tell her gently that it needed to stop. She stopped being so bad with it and we even convinced her to admit to the rumors she started being fake. We've known her for around 3 years now, And she's stopped doing it as aggressively for 2 of those years. She still makes jabs and 'jokes' saying things like "Oh thats so girly, Are you sure you're not trans?" and "Oh thats such a boy thing to do, Are you a lesbian?", Both quotes she's said to me and my brother less than a week ago. I am straight and cis, So is my brother. We have nothing against the lgbt, We just aren't apart of it. We support the lgbtq as much as possible (with my part time job I like to donate some of my paycheck towards point of pride so people who need the surgeries or binders can get them), And are very open about supporting them.

While we were cleaning out my brothers room and finding stuff to throw into the 'sell' box (we like to do precleaning before our parents help us, It makes everything faster and less work on the people trying to help), And Ley found my brothers kilt. She did a long exaggerated gasp, Looking at my brother.

"So, How long have you been trans? Why didn't you tell me?? I knew it the whole time!"

My brother tried to explain that it was a kilt for men, And he wasn't trans, But she kept interrupting him saying crap like 'you don't have to lie I know now' and 'Its nothing to be embarrassed about, I knew ever since you started to sew'. The last straw for me was when she continued not listening to him and started to ask about how he was gonna come out as school. I yelled at her to get out, That neither of us were gay, Neither of us are trans, And neither of us are apart of any of the lgbtq. We are allies and nothing more. She tried to argue that he had a 'skirt' which OBVIOUSLY meant he was trans, I basically screamed at her that she was a stupid know it all who made everyone who wasn't apart of the lgbtq's life hell because she made sure everyone knew them as someone they arent (I know, I shouldn't of brought up 2 years in the past) and that I was tired of her trying to force everyone to be in the LGBTQ when its just not realistic. Not everyone is gay or trans, Some people are cis and straight. She started crying and left, We haven't spoken in a few days but I think I'm justified. I'm tired of living my life being told I'm something I'm not, I'm tired of seeing it happen to my brother too.

My brother later thanked me for standing up for him, Telling me it made him really upset when she said those things. To cheer him up we watched his favorite movies and I made him his favorite dinner (mom and dad both work day jobs so we both make lunch and dinner)

And for those who are gonna say that allies are apart of the LGBTQ I strongly believe the A is for aro/ace. Being an ally isn't a gender or sexuality

(unless people identify using ally/allyself of course or whatever it is, I'm not quite sure how neos work or whatever but I love to see how creative people get with it and am happy it gives people who don't identify with any of the normalized(? Idk the correct term but yknow the man woman and nb) genders a chance to be who they actually are)

Extra info on why I think I could be the asshole: I feel like we might've been able to explain it if we got her to shut up for a minute, But she kept talking over us. I feel like I went too far by insulting her, And I feel like I might be TA because she's also autistic (so is my brother though, And I have ADHD).

Why I think I'm NTA: My brother is really quiet and doesn't really defend himself often. He doesn't really know how to stand up for himself and is 'easy' to talk over (soft spoken, Quiet talking voice and nonconfrontational) which is why I believe I had to step in in his place, And I don't believe I did anything wrong defending my brother and making her stop calling him what hes not.

Anyways. AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

To see later: PINK PANTHER

What are these acronyms?

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the bafta livestream out of context: top 60 cursed quotes.

There is nothing more cursed than the livestream I just witnessed, and I made a summary post but now I'm just going to put in quotes by the worthy maggots in the stream with no context, because BELIEVE ME THE CONTEXT DIDN'T MAKE ANYTHING BETTER. The livestream chat was NOT A PLACE OF THE LORD.

I'm going to make the quotes that were by me a different colour. Please know that I am NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR A SINGLE QUOTE OTHER THAN THOSE. SO HERE'S THE TOP 60 IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

Barbenhimer awakened things in me ok

aroace people the most disturbingly sexual talkers on the planet fight me on this

WHO JUST GASPED

MICHAEL SHEENS BABY TALKING BARK BADK IM A DOG BARK WOOF

I feel so sorry for this woman. She's being so heartfelt and we're here thristing over a slinky that possessed a man

IRELAAAND PLEASE ADOPT ME AS YOUR OWN PLEASE TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF UNPRONOUNCABLE WORDS, GREEN FEILD, CATHOLISISM AND HOZIER PLEASE

the urge to go to france and misgender a croissant is real

Devastated the slutty knees have gone away

So many men nowadays are so submissive and breedable like thank you lord for these men thank you

witches and murder slime tutorial

speaking of royals did the bloke who ISN'T lizzy's husband but her son apparently die yet

Turtleneck Crowley is my gender.

WE COULD HAVE LEFT IT AS NOT SAFE FOR WORK WHY THE DRTAOLS ASMI

SAY AN BFUIL CEAD AGAM DUL GO DTÍ AN LEITHREAS AN WE'LL LET YOU THROUGJ

"Oompa loompa doopety dee, I really hated being in this movie" -Hugh grant probably

IF YOU'RE A CHILD AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THAT MESSAGE IM SORRY

i want the kilt back this a betrayal

if someone put me in a room with kilt!david tennant one of us is walking out of that room pregnant and its not gonna be me

a lot of these words are in the bible and none of them should be in that order you need jesus

Can we vote to make david wear that kilt back? Maybe make him do a twirl this time

You mean Bildaddy? 😏

Honey what make you think a dude who roamed around with prostitutes and got himself more holes for mankind won't be calling bildad bildaddy? [this was about jesus btw.]

FREE THE KNEE

Show us the knees!

AND YOU'RE COMING AFTER ME FOR MY BLOWJOB BANANA

He looks like those fancy chocolates. Imma take a bite outta him. Think you'll leak molten goo like them?

My brain isn't working, I read "bratty couch jr"

i'm sorry the what holes

FIND ME ON GOAD AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY APPROPRIATELY

I genuinely thought it was a road typo and I thought you were threatening asmi with physical violence on the road

OHH FLOWER OF SCOTLAAAAAAND

Combine that with the unfortunate oranges and see what happens.

DEVASTATING NEWS I ATE UP ALL OF THEM SO I'VE BROUGHT A BLOWJOB BANANA INSTEAD

That reminded me of the army video where the guy was deepthroating a 7 inch banana without a hitch.

OMG THEY JUST FLASHED BACK & I GOT A GLIMPSE OF THAT KILT 🥵🥵🥵

thats why apollo had to deliver you at an illegal sushi restaurant

How long do you think it would take to get david naked from his chocolate man suit? Can we set a new speedrun category?

SUPERBOWL FOR TENNANTISTS

Big feelings about pants straps in the chat tonight

Last time i check yoire supposed to thank the lord gor his gifts

HEY GUYS ASMI'S FROM A PARALLEL UNIVERSE CONFIRMED

I just have a deep appreciation for ireland

Can you use suspenders as bondage gear? I mean it looks like it would be fine? I mean if you make the length a bit more they might be more comfortable than ropes. Just sayin

All i can think when i see him in the costume is the one specific ken and oppenhimer slash fic. Lord help me i can't be saved

GIVE MY LOVE TO THE LEPRECHAAAAAAAAAAAUNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Like a giant orange slice on her one arm.

Stop hitting the lectern geez / what if its into that?

Men who wear suspenders are such losers like why do you need so much cloth to keep your pants up. Why dont you just wear a belt. Where do you live. What is your timezone. What are you office hours

what is this suspender shaming ari chappal for you

Aziraphales office hours are: fuck off

Put me ina room with a suspender wearing man and he shall have the same fate as kilttennant

MARIYADAM E ILLAI

It was titled "snake in my b***" It meant butt lmfao

CROWLEY AND LOKI MY GENDERFLUID ICONS

THE KNEES ARE BACK

THEKNEES GOD SAVE ME FROM THESE SINFUL THOUGHTS

What if slutshaming is my kink?

NOT THE BLOWJOB FACE NO

AT THIS POINT IF NEIL HASN'T UNFOLLOWED ME YET HE'S ASKING TO BE MENTALLY SCARRED IM SORRY

I am failing

Tagging the main culprits whose tumblr handles I know:

@thearoacemess @vitrilol @queermarzipan @good-usernames-were-taken

Cheers, maggots.

[sassenach77yle]

|| COUNTDOWN || SEASON 1 EPISODE 04 || THE GATHERING ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Rupert surveyed Jamie critically, with an eye to the oatstraws in his hair and the stains on his shirt. I saw his glance flicker to the oatstraws in my own hair, and a cynical grin split his face. “No wonder ye’re late, laddie,” he said, digging Jamie in the ribs. “Dinna blame ye a bit.” “Willie!” he called to one of the men outside. “We need some clothes, here. Something suitable for the laird’s nephew. See to it, man, and hurry!” Jamie looked around, thin-lipped, at the men surrounding him. Six clansmen, all in tearing high spirits at the prospect of the oath-taking and brimming over with a fierce MacKenzie pride. The spirits had plainly been assisted by an ample intake from the tub of ale I had seen in the yard. Jamie’s eye lighted on me, his expression still grim. This was my doing, his face seemed to say. He could, of course, announce that he did not mean to swear his oath to Colum, and head back to his warm bed in the stables. If he wanted a serious beating or his throat cut, that is. He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugged, and submitted with a fair show of grace to Willie, who rushed up with a pile of snowy linen in his arms and a hairbrush in one hand. The pile was topped by a flat blue bonnet of velvet, adorned with a metal badge that held a sprig of holly. I picked up the bonnet to examine it, as Jamie fought his way into the clean shirt and brushed his hair with suppressed savagery.

The badge was round and the engraving surprisingly fine. It showed five volcanos in the center, spouting most realistic flames. And on the border was a motto, Luceo non Uro. “I shine, not burn,” I translated aloud. “Aye, lassie; the MacKenzie motto,” said Willie, nodding approvingly at me. He snatched the bonnet from my hands and pushed it into Jamie’s, before dashing off in search of further clothing. “Er … I’m sorry,” I said in a low voice, taking advantage of Willie’s absence to move closer. “I didn’t mean—” Jamie, who had been viewing the badge on the bonnet with disfavor, glanced down at me, and the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “Ah, dinna worrit yourself on my account, Sassenach. It would ha’ come to it sooner or later.” He twisted the badge loose from the bonnet and smiled sourly at it, weighing it speculatively in his hand. “D’ye ken my own motto, lass?” he asked. “My clan’s, I mean?” “No,” I answered, startled. “What is it?” He flipped the badge once in the air, caught it, and dropped it neatly into his sporran. He looked rather bleakly toward the open archway, where the MacKenzie clansmen were massing in untidy lines.

“Je suis prest”

he replied, in surprisingly good French. He glanced back, to see Rupert and another large MacKenzie I didn’t know, faces flushed with high spirits and spirits of another kind, advancing with solid purpose. Rupert held a huge length of MacKenzie tartan cloth. Without preliminaries, the other man reached for the buckle of Jamie’s kilt. “Best leave, Sassenach,” Jamie advised briefly. “It’s no place for women.” “So I see,” I responded dryly, and was rewarded with a wry smile as his hips were swathed in the new kilt, and the old one yanked deftly away beneath it, modesty preserved. Rupert and friend took him firmly by the arms and hustled him toward the archway. I turned without delay and made my way back toward the stair to the minstrels’ gallery, carefully avoiding the eye of any clansman I passed. Once around the corner, I paused, shrinking back against the wall to avoid notice. I waited for a moment, until the corridor was temporarily deserted, then nipped inside the gallery door and pulled it quickly to behind me, before anyone else could come around the corner and see where I had gone. The stairs were dimly lit by the glow from above, and I had no trouble keeping my footing on the worn flags. I climbed toward the noise and light, thinking of that last brief exchange.

“Je suis prest.” I am ready. I hoped he was.

Cap 9 The gathering ~outlander

[whyse7vn]

BREAKING POINT -

[ ot7 x reader ]

this is like super short pls forgive me tan twitter tl for context

tan on twitter!!!

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

tae: yoongi pls unblock me on twitter

yoongi: kill yourself

tae: i tried guys why doesn’t he love me 💔

y/n: that was a pathetic try

tae: guess what

y/n: what?

tae: ligma man..

y/n: ligma??

jimin: no way 😭

jk: baby…

namjoon: really

y/n: WHAT???

jin: i’m with her

wtf you guys on about??

hobi: this is a sad day

tae: LIGMA FUCKING BALLS BITCH

y/n: drown

jimin: ur fault tbh

hobi: real

y/n: leave me alone

jin: look you made her upset idiots

y/n: IM NOT UPSET

hobi: cheer up baby ❤️

namjoon: it’s okay tae upsets me all the time

y/n: im fine

hobi: bts song

jk: i know bts

tae: me 2

y/n: i want to stab you with a pencil

tae: watch out namjoon

namjoon: she is definitely talking to you

tae: proof?

hobi: bts?

jimin: i’m gonna bts outta you shut the fuck up

hobi: aw man :/

jk: bts?

jin: beat the shit

tae: beat MY shit

jk: woah

yoongi: he actually needs to kill himself wow

tae: @y/n u 2

y/n: LEAVE ME ALONE

jimin: she’s mad

y/n: I’M NOT MAD

jin: y/n are you still with that scoups guy?

namjoon: didn’t we just find out they we’re together like a week ago?

jk: WE DID????

jin: she moves on fast tho so idk

y/n: NO I DONT????

jimin: yoongi mingyu jk scoups mark wonho minho san all of us

there’s more hold on i’m thinking

hobi: all of us?

jk: say sike…

y/n: ARE YOU FUCKING SICK???????

jin: woah major slut alertttttt

namjoon: shut up

y/n: ONLY LIKE 4 OF THOSE NAMES ARE RIGHT

jk: what

y/n: AND IVE ONLY FUCKED 2 OF THEM SO KILL YOURSELF LEAVE ME ALONE

yoongi: she’s a grown woman

y/n: RIGHT

sorry i’m hot as fuck and pull bitches it’s not my fault

jin: u mid

y/n: ur 30

jin: ok please leave me alone i’m sorry

tae: my body count is also 2

jimin: -2

tae: ummmm?

jk: i’ve killed no one

i could of but don’t worry

namjoon: ??

hobi: fyi she did not deny being with scoups

jimin: TRUE

jk: NO

y/n: i deny it

jimin: too late we know

jin: SLUT

sorry

pls i’m sorry i didn’t mean it pls don’t be mean to me

please oh my god i’m sorry it slipped out

love u

please

y/n: THIS IS NOT FEMINISM

namjoon: it’s okay if ur with him

jk: NO ITS NOT STOP SAYING THAT WHATS UR FUCKING ISSUE STUPID STUPID STUPID

y/n: IM NOT

tae: who have you fucked

yoongi: are you stupid?

tae: no i’m curious

hobi: OH IM CURIOUS YEAH

wow i love shinee

y/n can you please start talking to minho again and then get married to him so i can be at his wedding and we can be forever connected

jk: SHUT UR MOUTH

y/n: you guys know so much about my relationship life it actually makes me want to throw up

jimin: ur easy to stalk

hobi: she’s fucked jk and yoongi

tae: and me

jin: in dreams doesn’t count

yoongi: lol

tae: LOL AWAY FROM ME YOU NASTY BITCH

U THINK UR WINNING BUT UR FUCKING NOT

WHEN ME AND Y/N GET MARRIED IT WILL BE ME KIM TAEHYUNG WHO LOLS IN UR FUCKING FACE

YOU RAT

yoongi: L

tae: no

yoongi: O

tae: YOU FUCKING STOP RIGJT NOW MIN YOONGI

yoongi: L

tae: 6pm seoul south korea apartment block C floor 7 door number 279 a ak47 a man a mask and a fucking dream

namjoon: wow ok that’s great!!

nice vogue shoot btw jungkook!

jk: I WILL NOT FUCK U GO AWAY

namjoon: oh my fucking god

hobi: scottish pride!!

jimin: ???

hobi: was he not wearing a kilt?

jimin: a what?

hobi: killing myself

jin: why they put you in that dirty ass bathroom omg?

tae: dirty shoot for a dirty man

jin: ?

tae: what?

jin: just a bit crazy coming from u

y/n: tae you need to shower

tae: you in love

ha

fucking bitch

jin: do you fuck her or fight her damn?

jimin: right he’s pissing me off

tae: can you leave me alone i’m going through a lot rn

jk: dick

tae: ??

jk: a lot of dick

yoongi: lmao

namjoon: he likes men?

hobi: ewwwwwwwwwwww

jimin: homophobia?????????

jk: yes so he’s going through them

cuz he does not like y/n

yoongi: you say this like every 2 weeks

jk: because it is true

y/n: thank god

jk: no thank men

hobi: thx men

jin: so it’s not jimin?

jimin: what??

tae: i’ve never touched another man let alone sleep with one

hobi: amen

y/n: now that is just not true

namjoon: who cares

tae: I DO

hobi: no one will ever say those words to you

jin: i will

tae: fr 🥲?

jin: LOL

tae: ok kys

and fuck that bitch y/n

yoongi: have

tae left “tan on twitter”

hobi: cuteness overload ^_^

y/n: what crawled up his ass today tf

jk: hi do you need me do you want me do you love me

namjoon: can we just talk about life or like

jin: let me guess trees?

jimin: weed?

jk: OH MY GOD NAMJOON WANTS TO TALK ABOUT WEED

hobi: life is a downward spiral noting matters we are all slowly dying the government hates us money is worthless drugs are all around our water is running out

jk: where is it running out of

let’s catch it

y/n: tae was being super weird right?

hobi: super shy

namjoom: what’s new

hobi: new hair

namjoon: stop

hobi: forgive me master

namjoon: i’m at my breaking point

jimin: breaking bad

jin: drugs?

jimin: it all links back to namjoon…

jk: omgggggg namjoon is this true……..

namjoon: LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE

—-

pls lmk if you like the twitter concept idk if i’m feeling her yet but if you guys are i will do more idk trying to be different 🙈

[toomuchracket]

dearly beloved (ross x reader fluff)

the final valentine's week fic! remember this shy gf one where they decided to get married in gretna? well. this is that. enjoy <3

taking a tentative sip of your tea, you turn as the door to the cottage opens. your friend hurries in, a burst of cold air following her before she slams it shut.  “what a beautiful morning it is,” she sighs, beaming at you as she takes her coat off. “perfect day for a wedding, i’d say.”

you beam over the edge of your mug, cheeks heating up at the thought of what you’re about to do. “yeah? how are the boys?”

“oh, yours is fine. he’s got a brew, he’s fully ready - he looks gorgeous, by the way, if you don’t mind me saying…”

“not at all,” you shake your head, smiling even wider. you wouldn’t expect anything less of ross, especially in a kilt.

“... and mine just cannot stop crying. keeps looking at ross and going ‘you’re getting married! i’m so happy’ and weeping,” she sighs. “like, tell that to your face, matthew, honestly.”

you giggle. “bless him. he’s a sweetie.”

“he is. my sweet little emo boy,” your friend grins. “i think ross is going to cry too when he sees you, though.”

“really?” you tug at your dress, slightly self-conscious.

she nods. “you’re radiant, babe. he’s going to love you even more than usual. and that’s saying something.”

smiling shyly, you turn to look in the mirror. you do look radiant, although you wonder how much that has to do with your gorgeous dress and pretty makeup than it does with the fact you’re marrying the man of your dreams within the hour.

within the hour. shit, you need to get a move on. you turn to your friend, currently shimmying her own dress on. “babe - oh, that’s pretty - when you get a second, would you help me put a bit of my hair up?”

“of course. that reminds me, actually,” she runs to her coat and digs through the pockets, pulling out a little box and placing it in your hand. “i was going to suggest we put that on the bouquet, but we could do something with it in your hair, if you’d like?”

you open the box, smiling at the pattern on the spool of ribbon inside. “macdonald tartan,” same as your husband-to-be’s kilt. “i love it. thank you so much, babe.”

“it was ross’s idea, actually,” she squeezes your shoulder. “needless to say, that set matty off again.”

“i know how he feels,” you smile, tears threatening to spill over your lashline at the tenderness of your man’s gesture. “only thing stopping me from crying is the fear of ruining my makeup, to be honest.”

she giggles. “sensible woman. alright,” she tugs her shoes on, and grabs a hairbrush. “have a seat, and i’ll do my best not to fuck up your hair on your wedding day.”

“my wedding day,” you laugh in slight disbelief, smoothing the skirt of your dress before sitting on one of the chairs by the window. the sun is bright on the scottish countryside, the cold ground glittering in its light; it’s stunning, and your heart soars at how lucky you are to have a setting and day like this for your most special one. “kind of insane that it’s… here. now. and it’s actually happening.”

“a bit, yeah,” your friend gently pulls some of your hair back. “you nervous?”

“nah.”

“really?”

“yeah,” you smile, eyes closing in contentment as your hair is manipulated. “always thought i’d be shitting bricks on the day i got married, if it ever happened, but i’m actually okay. dunno if it’s because i haven’t really had the time to stress about it, or if the gravitas of it all hasn’t just sunk in yet, but, to be honest, i don’t think that’ll actually happen,” you smile to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from fully cheesing. “it’s just me and ross, after all. i love him. he loves me. and we have you and matty with us, two of the people we love most and who love us most in the world. and there’s no aisle for me to trip on while i walk - how could i be nervous?”

your friend laughs; once she finishes tying an elastic in your hair, she leans down to hug you, and a tear drips from her eye onto your bare shoulder. “god, you’ve got me crying now, too,” she giggles. “thank you for letting us be a part of your day. means the world - i love you and ross, so much. can’t wait to celebrate your love today.”

“nobody else i’d rather have with me,” you kiss her teary cheek. “ribbon time?”

“ribbon time. well, take a look at your hair first,” she hands you a mirror. “i tried my best.”

“it looks amazing!” you exclaim, turning to see the face-framing strands she left out of the pretty half-up. “seriously. you’re good.”

“thanks,” she looks up at you bashfully, nail scissors poised over the spool of ribbon. “it’s cos i sit and do matty’s hair when i’m bored.”

you blink at her for a second, then the two of you collapse into a fit of giggles. “i don’t know why i’m laughing, i braid ross’s like every night to get him to fall asleep.”

she giggles even harder, awwing as the laughs fade. “that’s so fucking cute,” she waves the ribbon at you. “and now you can put this in it and be all matchy-matchy.”

“oh, i don’t know if we’re one of those couples,” you wince, sitting still so she can tie the ribbon around the elastic. “but marriage might change us. you never know.”

“well, not long now until you find out, babe,” your friend hugs you again. “have we ticked off the checklist?”

you nod. “vintage dress, old. ribbon, new. handbag is yours - thank you, by the way - so, borrowed, and there’s sapphires in my earrings for the blue component.”

“fab,” she smiles at you really tenderly. “you know, you really are the most beautiful bride i’ve ever seen. he’s a lucky man.”

“oh, no,” you shake your head, taking a sneaky glance at yourself in the mirror while you do and blushing when you see your glamorous reflection. “i think i'm the lucky one.”

she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “shall we go and meet the boys and find out which statement is true?”

you squeeze her hand back. “let's do it.”

after a few minutes of teaching her how to work your film camera and another few of having your picture taken (always a weird experience for you, so used to being on the other side), you leave the cottage and step out into the crisp december air. across the road, outside the old blacksmith's shop you chose as your venue, you can see ross and matty waiting with the man conducting the ceremony; at the sight of your husband-to-be, resplendent in his kilt and black shirt and jacket, you speed up your walking, desperate to be with him.

matty clocks you first, walking over to greet you. his eyes - red-rimmed enough as is - well up when he sees you and your bouquet, and his fiancée winces when he wipes them with the sleeve of his suit. “hi, darling,” he pulls you into a hug. “you look amazing,” he pats your shoulder before kissing your friend. “and you look alright.”

she slaps him on the shoulder, which makes you laugh. “charming.”

“i'm kidding! you look lovely, my girl,” he kisses her head. “now,” he extends an arm out to you - you take it, and take your friend's in the other. “let's go and get you married, mate.”

the three of you walk towards ross and the officiant, both of whom smile as you approach. the latter steps forward to shake your hand and compliment you, and then it's ross's turn; he brings your hand to his lips, then keeps a tight grasp on it, eyes teary. “hi, love. you look… perfect.”

“hi,” you breathe, also on the verge of tears. “you're gorgeous.”

loud sniffling behind you indicates matty is, once again, crying. ross turns towards him and smiles, shaking his head, before turning to the officiant. “shall we?”

“indeed,” the man leads you into the old building - surprisingly warm inside, for it being a stone structure from the 1700s and it being december in the scottish borders - and directs you and ross to stand in front of the anvil, flanked by your friends. once he's made sure you're both alright, he begins. “dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

you don't really take in a word the man says, to be honest, bless him - you're too busy looking into ross's eyes, those pools of warmth you've happily drowned in time and time again. but you hear ross when he confirms that you're going with traditional vows for the ceremony, throwing a loving dig at your friends and saying “we'll leave the writing to those muppets behind us” (most likely to get them both to laugh instead of cry), as well as matty's heartfelt “love you, guys” when he presents the rings at the appropriate moment. in all honesty, you're not sure how long you stand there and wait in excited anticipation to officially become ross's wife - time seems to bend in on itself, simultaneously running fast and slow, so it's impossible to be sure of numbers and minutes and seconds. all you're sure of is the feeling of ross's hands in your own and the way he's looking at you adoringly, and that's enough for you. forever.

and then, of course, once you've both said “i do” and slid the complimentary silver rings onto each other's left hands, you're sure of the feeling of his lips on yours; soft, warm, familiar. he pulls back, smiling, and the world opens up to you again - your friends cheering through their tears, matty snapping pictures on your camera, and the officiant clapping and congratulating you both too. but ross is still at the centre of all of it, hugging you, murmuring “my beautiful wife” against your hair.

once the hubbub dies down a little, the officiant gestures to your friend to step forward. “the first act of marriage - the quaich ceremony,” he says, as she places a lovely wooden box on top of the anvil and lifts the lid. you and ross peer in, as the man continues to talk. “husband and wife share a drink, to symbolise the blending of their families, to seal their union, and to represent the sharing of love and happiness throughout their marriage.”

you knew this ceremony was happening, but you didn't know about the ornate silver two-handled cup engraved with your and ross's names and the wedding date, nor the vintage bottle of macallan whisky next to it. wide-eyed, you stare at your friend, who winks. “wedding present from me and matty. surprise!”

ross laughs. “you two are mental. thank you, though.”

“anytime,” she grins. the officiant directs her to pour some whisky into the quaich for you and ross, and she does so enthusiastically. “oh, that’s too much. sorry.”

your husband (!!) scoffs. “no such thing.”

“typical,” she rolls her eyes, while everyone else laughs. “anyway, let me toast.

“strike hands with me, the glasses brim,

the dew is on the heather.

for love is good and life is long,

and two are best together.

bless the union of these two,

eager for marriage, eager for love.

may they begin life together,

live that life together

and come to the end together.”

ross takes a handle of the cup. “ladies first, yeah?”

you grin, taking the other side; together, you carefully lift the quaich to your lips, and let the whisky pass through. the amber liquid is warm as it flows down your throat, and you can’t help exclaiming in satisfaction. “oh, that’s bloody good stuff,” you smile, moving the cup to ross’s lips. “you’ll like this, darling.”

“yeah?” ross takes his requisite drink, and his eyes widen. “oh, absolutely. worth getting married just for that, i reckon.”

the officiant laughs. “and with that… congratulations, mr and mrs macdonald. if you’d like to follow me to this table, we’ll sign the marriage certificate.”

“of course. but first,” ross necks the rest of the whisky and kisses you quickly - matty cackles and cheers in the background, while you blush. “sorry. couldn’t resist.”

you laugh, kissing his hand as you walk. “i love you.”

“i know. you just married me,” ross grins as you roll your eyes, pulling your chair out for you and kissing your head as he sits down beside you. “i love you too. d’you want to sign first, my love?”

“alright,” you sign as directed by the officiant, and pose as directed by matty and the camera, then it’s ross’s turn. “look at that - legally stuck together forever.”

“nowhere else i’d rather be, love.”

[sxnshxnxxnddxxsxxs]

how poor are the weasley’s?

i think this question really just encapsulates jkr’s shitty world building because there are so many interconnected elements.

oh and as always fuck jkr for the antisemitism, transphobia, racism, holocaust denial, barely veiled misogyny and the rest of her sins.

why is there poverty in the first place?

in a world with magic where you can create practically anything but food out of nothing why are people poor. especially when the you can’t create food rule has the caveat if you already have food you can just duplicate it. moreover in a world where theoretically you can get everything you need with the right spell why do you need money? the answer in all likelihood is probably convenience because most people don’t have time to find the spell for this that and the other. but if you don’t have money theoretically there is still a away to provide for yourself. also i’m pretty sure there’s no lore against just conjuring gold so theoretically there’s no reason to be without money.

the weasleys and mismanaging their money

in harry and ron’s first train ride we get the introduction to the weasleys poverty and the frankly ludicrous mismanagement of their funds. first of all we get that percy got brand new robes not because he had grown out of his old ones but because he was made a prefect and that he also got a new owl. then we get ron who has bill’s old robes, charlie’s old wand and percy’s old rat and no money for the trolley just his least favourite sandwiches. now i’ll come back to my thoughts on the robes in a bit. now charlie’s old wand is a known plot hole but still why did he get a new wand especially considering that charlie graduated from hogwarts in the summer of 1991 if you have money to buy a wand at that point in time surely it should go to the child who needs a wand and doesn’t yet have one. but say charlie just really needed a new wand then use the spare cash you spent on percy’s robes and owl. like it just gives irresponsible to not dedicate money to the kid that needs it the most.

what are the indicators of the weasleys poverty?

i ask this because while poverty certainly manifests differently in different situations i find that the way the weasley finances are described and how they are portrayed to live don’t quite match up. now the big one is when they go to gringotts in CoS when all that’s in the weasley vault is a small pile of sickles and one galleon. but i’d also say that that is the only real indicator of the weasleys being poor because the two main other factors are the hand me down clothes and books. now i personally don’t find this to be an indicator of poverty at all i actually find it entirely normal. as some who had a school uniform (i went to state school in the uk) they are not cheap one full set of my uniform (blazer, jumper, shirt, kilt and socks) cost upwards of £200 and in a pair of shoes that will last at least the year and that’s at least another £50 or so. so it was the unquestionable norm in my school that if you had an older sibling who had spare uniform because they were graduated or had grown out of it then you would wear it (provided it was in good nick) and it was the same with textbooks the syllabus barely changed unless the entire national curriculum was updated so if you could inherit a textbook or set text you would, in fact you were at an advantage if it was for something like english lit because the annotations would already be there. and even if you didn’t have an older sibling in my school we were actively encouraged to buy second hand books. like i’m sorry but i just don’t accept hand me downs especially in this context as being a sign of poverty. now there are very big indicators of poverty that the weasleys don’t have (and obviously irl you can still be poor and not have these apply to you i just think it’s worth mentioning) which are food insecurity and housing insecurity.

now i would like to make it clear that i don’t think that the weasleys are particularly well off i just don’t think that they’re destitute in the way jkr wants the audience to believe (possibly because she’s never interacted with poverty on a significant level) which leads me into my next point.

comparative poverty

most of the times that the weasleys poverty is being examined it’s in the context of a comparison to either harry or the malfoys who are all significantly wealthy (the malfoys more so than harry) which provides a very skewed perspective of how poor the weasleys are because i’d wager that hermione (who is implied to be upper middle class considering her parents are dentists) would look poor certainly next to the malfoys. with harry it’s harder to say just because we really have no clue how rich harry actually is.

class vs money

now this is both related and unrelated but partially because of jkr’s very inconsistent writing of the weasleys being poor and her world building or lack there of but the weasleys very much come off to me like an upper class family. and this is a reminder that in the uk money and class are very different and that one does not inform the other. money can help you present your class but that’s about it. it is more than possible to be upper class and not have a pot to piss in (or in the forever iconic words of beverly: not have a pot in which to piss). and i think that the weasleys being an upper class family that lost their fortune at some point really informs some of their decisions like the fact that they are a single income household when after ginny goes to hogwarts i don’t really see why molly wouldn’t get a job. and the fact that when when arthur and lucius fight it’s generally about money and arthur being jealous of lucius’s fortune which would make even more sense if at one point the pair were equals in the social hierarchy. not to mention that the weasleys are part of the sacred twenty eight and class and blood status are very closely linked in the narrative.

all this to say that when you examine the nature of poverty in the wizarding world especially when your case study is the weasleys it makes very little sense. not only the first question of why is there poverty in the first place (and why the hell is there inflation i could write a whole separate think piece on this tapped fucking money system). but since it does exist how does it manifest itself? like bills aren’t really a thing because houses are powered by magic and rent isn’t really mentioned i don’t think, the weasleys own their house (another class indicator). it just really doesn’t make sense to me. also i haven’t really included ron being bullied for being poor by draco because the majority of people are poor compared to draco and draco is a dickhead eleven year old like i doubt he even knows how money works.

[sgiandubh]

S on BBC 4's Saturday Live: 'anything but a quiet life'

As you all know, S was today on BBC Four's Saturday Live radio talk show, sharing the scene with people like super male model David Gandy, Catrin Finch - a Welsh harpist of international repute and the ever fascinating Lucy Worsley, a strong contender (along with Mary Beard) for the title of personal favorite (living) historian.

You can listen (as I dutifully did twice) to it here: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m001t96r. I don't know how to embed it on this page, but that shouldn't be a problem.

The show is always interesting and I strongly suggest to let it play along and not rely only on my summing up & comments. I particularly enjoyed Lucy Worsley's Medieval and Baroque musical selection (flawless!) - but enough said, we're here for S, who was live on show from BBC's London studios.

As usually, I am going to transcript it as much as I can, primarily for those reading this post and using Google Translate (@bat-cat-reader, you are served!). So, you will kindly excuse the length, thank you.

At the 07:40 mark, a half jocular mention when prompted by the host: not a cricketer and not a harpist either (you can say many things about S, but not that he's got no humor - always a big plus in my book). But then things quickly get emotional, when he immediately mentions his mother (the question generally asked was 'what did your parents sacrifice for you?'), who 'sacrificed a lot (...) [as] a single parent, (...) she gave us everything, I think'. And then he quickly gets emotional, mentioning Chrissie H. again:

'(...) can I give my mom a shoutout, it's her birthday, on Monday [Nikki Bedi, presenter: 'aww, of course you can!'], so happy birthday, Chrissie, and thank you so much and I wish... I'm glad you never got me a harp, because I would have never dedicated myself. I think that's why I became an actor, because I didn't have to work too hard at one thing.'

It's then David Gandy's turn to talk about his own rural childhood in Billericay (Essex), his close knit family and his parents' endeavor of building a business and the now incomprehensible need to use faxes, something he has now to 'explain to the younger ones'. Then Nikki Bedi turns to S (13:08): 'Sam's laughing at that. Do you remember faxes?' Answer: 'I do.. I mean, I remember faxes getting scripts through or couriers bringing you know, scripts to your door, it..it's just a completely different world, now, and I am sure the fashion world is completely different now, isn't it, David, I mean it's changed so much'.

Onwards to more questions asked by Mrs. Bedi. This one was interesting (19:16): 'Sam, do you fear that each job you do is an act that could be your last? Is that always in the back or front of your mind?' Answer: 'Yeah, I think.. David, I mean...um... earnestly, everything you're saying there kinda rings true for my career as well... I am sure for Catrin being, you know, being a musician, I think it's, you know [Nikki Bedi: is it true, Catrin? CF: yes, absolutely, yeah, many things David said... it's the same (...)'].

Huw Stevens mentions alternatives to 'gigs', the need to plan for the future and the fact 'you always have to remain busy', mentioning S's whisky. Gandy also mentions S ('you've got quite a few businesses [...] a man after my own heart, we'll then gonna have to go out'), immediately cued in by Nikki Bedi ('whisky, tequila, gin').

Just after Lucy Worsley's superb intervention (easily my favorite of the whole program!), cue in to the kilt on a glacier part of S's chit-chat I am sure we all dutifully 🙄, by now. I noted the slight hesitation in his voice, while mentioning 'my...my friend, Graham McTavish', so I will not - yeah, sue me-, I repeat: I will not transcript this verbatim, simply because it doesn't really bring anything new or important to what we all know, already. Sitting on a glacier 'in a kilt, in commando, yes, it's my claim to fame'. Disgruntled Tumblrettes, beware - he poked fun at himself (shall I sign this to you, or are you able to read my lips?) and that is something only very intelligent people are able to do without sounding pathetic. Another interesting thing is the way Nikki Bedi presented S ('the actor, award-winning liquor maker and writer'- 36:00), roughly midway of the whole broadcast.

His dedicated segment begins at the 49:10 mark and lasts until the end, about 10 minutes in all. He was introduced by Huw Stevens: "Sam Heughan, it seems, would like anything but a quiet life", plus some cursory bio elements, mentioning his mother's influence on his own creativity, his breakthrough as JAMMF, but also TCND (Nikki Bedi watches it and 'apparently the third episode is the most steamy' 🤦‍♀️). 'He is also a philanthropist, businessman and thrill seeker, and of course, as mentioned earlier, has his own whisky and is a best-selling author'. Mentions his 'parents, characterful people, hippies, in the Seventies, with a love for Tolkien'. S: 'my mum would probably kill me if I called her a hippie' - also, 'she is not the best singer, but there was always music around'. Stevens mentions the Gandalf's Garden Soho hippie community both his parents were a part of before he was born, but S doesn't develop it. The rest (difficult childhood, loner, using his imagination sparked his creativity, etc) we know from Waypoints. The very Scottish concept of 'stravaigin'' comes along in the conversation, which is not exactly a drifter and a bit more than a wanderer (if I understood correctly) - perhaps a good title for a second personal memoir, S? I'll leave this idea float in here for free, heh. OL comes along then, and by far the most interesting thing he mentioned about it is that "it is my life, it's taken over my life', hoping it would sparkle at least some conversation in the comments' thread. OL 'has also been hugely beneficial for Scotland, increased tourism by 200% in some locations (...), and it's all down to the magic of Scotland'.

Next projects: exciting not to really know what is next, but 'I am also saying no to a lot, because I am in a place now where I think the next decision is really important (...). I enjoy being in control now (....), producing my own shows and you know, my own products. (...) once you take control of that creativity (....) there's a lot of freedom and yeah, we shall see'.

And then Huw Stevens makes a joke - but was it really a joke? it's the BBC, after all - and says that all four of the guests could contribute something to what 'could be the next generation of Bond', (S: 'the finest British production'). Cue in an anecdote about S being invited to present an event to Buckingham Palace and taking a cab to a pub, right afterwards. MPC and tomorrow's book signing at Saint Pancras station wrap off the show.

Quickly, my 50 cents on it: way, way better than expected and S always delivers when they ask no weird questions about his private life (hallelujah, maybe they listen to us, after all?). The question about the fear of each job being the last reminded me of one of his answers in a very early interview: 'your biggest fear? getting the sack'. This time, his answer, whatever he intended to say, got lost in the brouhaha, but I suspect not much has changed, essentially, even if the 'after OL' part of the show strives to tell a more optimistic story.

But the thing that impressed me the most and in a very good way is the attention he got from all the other people invited in that studio. Unlike the social nobodies of Tumblr, they did not find bizarre the fact that he created his own spirits business and is actively promoting it. They were far from judging him: in fact, I even think he made a new friend of David Gandy, who had quite positive and nice and honest things to say about him. S was articulate and graceful and very moving every single time he mentioned Chrissie. And I am also sure he would have loved to share more things, especially when David was lovingly talking about his wife and daughters. But he couldn't. And that is a shame. But this too, shall pass - The Boy is slowly learning to say no to a lot of things, as he just let us know. Probably the best news we've got from him in a good while.

And now, onwards to a particularly venomous Anon I am still pondering the answer to.

[tamlinweek]

Tamlin vs. Tam Lin: A Brief Retelling

Happy Spring Equinox! It is the first day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere. The days are getting longer, the air is growing warmer, and the earth is growing greener. What better time to learn more about the inspiration behind our favorite High Lord of Spring than today?

O, I forbid you, maidens all That wear gold in your hair To come or go by Carterhaugh For young Tam Lin is there... ~Adapted from the translation of Child Ballad 39A

The Ballad of Tam Lin is an old Scottish folk tale about an enchanted young man who will be sacrificed by the Queen of the Faeries if his mortal love Janet does not save him at the crossroads at midnight on All Hallow's Eve. He says he was once mortal, but fell from his horse and was then taken to faerieland (which is why he is now the Queen's 'elfin knight' and thus cannot leave the boundaries of Carterhaugh).

While A Court of Thorns and Roses is primarily a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, it shares some qualities with the original Ballad. For example, Tamlin can change his shape at will. His beastly form is described as part wolf, part bear, and part elk. In the Ballad, Janet must free Tam Lin by pulling him down from his horse and holding tightly onto him while the faeries forcibly change his shape. If she lets go, her claim on him is forfeit. Depending on the telling, these shapes include:

a wolf

a bear

a lion

a serpent (sometimes a newt, a toad, and/or an eel)

a swan

a hot coal

When Janet at last succeeds, the Faerie Queen laments that had she known that Tam Lin would be stolen back, she would have replaced his heart with one of stone. (Or, more gruesomely, depending on the version, that she wished she had taken his eyes and replaced them with wooden ones.) Sound familiar?

What did the Faerie Queen want him for, anyway? According to the Ballad, the faeries sacrifice someone every seven years as a Tithe to Hell. Tam Lin believes that he is that year's Tithe, and it turns out to be true (because he is just that good-looking - and yes, that is canon!). In ACOTAR, the equally handsome Tamlin has seven times seven years to find someone who can free him from Amarantha's lustful claim upon him, or he is hers forever.

So, how exactly did he find someone to free him from such a fate? As we all know, ACOTAR's Feyre took an innocent life, so she had to cross the Wall to spend the rest of her life in Prythian. In the original Ballad, it's a little more complicated.

The story begins with Janet's father giving her the land containing Carterhaugh, the woods within which the legendary Tam Lin resides. He is said to collect a payment of any maiden passing through (usually her maidenhood ie virginity). From the way the Ballad is written, it seems that Janet seeks him out intentionally. For she has "kilted her green kirtle [skirt] above her knee", and green is said to be the faeries' color. Her hair is also described as yellow (ie blonde ie gold), and she has braided it above her brow in a most flattering way. When Janet searches Carterhaugh and doesn't find Tam Lin, she plucks a double rose that she finds nearby. He appears to tell her that she has taken something that belongs to him, and she sternly replies that the woods are hers to do with as she likes.

The Ballad does not go into detail, but upon returning to her father's house, Janet learns that she is pregnant. Because she does not want to marry anyone else, she returns to Carterhaugh to either find an herb to induce an abortion, or otherwise confront Tam Lin (sometimes both, depending on the version). When she asks him if he was ever human, he says he was, and the only way he can be human again (so that he can "be the baby's father") is if she frees him before he is sacrificed on All Hallow's Eve (as mentioned above).

With all this in mind, it's easy to see where Sarah J. Maas got the inspiration for her version of the story. While ACOTAR's Tamlin was never human, and never became human, he did need rescuing by someone who loved him enough to hold onto him until the end. At least until Book 2, *cough, cough*.

So well she minded what he said, And young Tam Lin did win; She covered him with her green cloak, As glad as a bird in spring. ~Adapted from the translation of Child Ballad 39A

So, there you have it! What other similarities have you noticed between the original Ballad and A Court of Thorns and Roses? Are you excited for Tamlin Week? Remember, it's happening on April 14 - 20, and you can find the prompts here. Happy Spring!

[stardustto-dust]

Why you should vote Abed Nadir in the 2023 autism swag summit

I've seen people do this for other polls and it is vital that Abed Nadir from the 2009-2015 NBC comedy Community wins this one.

Vote him round one here.

Does he fit the first part of the statement? Yes, Abed is canonically autistic.

When he realised autistic fans related to him, creator Dan Harmon did as much research as he possibly could into autism as to not let those fans down.

While doing said research, Harmon realised himself was likely on the spectrum. Meaning that Abed is a canon autistic character created by an autistic person. How often does that happen?

Due to the above facts, he is a very well researched and developed autistic character, with both traits more commonly shown in the media, such as blunted affect and difficulties reading faces and less commonly shown traits, such as hyperempathy and sensory issues.

From the time Abed first appeared on screen to the present day, there have been many blog posts, magazine articles and even scholarly articles written about how good rep he is. I have seen him on many a neurodiversity advocacy Instagram account. (If you want me to link some I will!)

OK, we have established the autism. What about the swag? Well, first of all, as Donald Glover summarised it "Abed fucks". There is a whole episode dedicated to his friends trying to get him a girlfriend and worrying about his self-esteem and in the end it turns out he gets plenty of girls and, as he says, he has "self-esteem falling out (his) butthole." He also gets guys hitting on him. And how can we mention Abed without his boyfriend soulmate best friend Troy. who canonically wants to have his "gentle and mysterious" "other half"'s children. In short, bisexual king.

Of course, swag is not limited to just sexual and romantic prowess, as the amount of aroace people I know with limitless swag testifies to. Swag can also be measured by commitment to the bit, for example. And, boy, is Abed known for his commitment to the bit.

Abed is Batman, Han Solo and Jesus. He is a mafia boss. He is a cartoon man discovering the meaning of Christmas. He is the narrator and the cameraman. Like, not metaphorically or in archetype. He realises a need for these characters in the story and becomes them.

[GIF- Abed as Batman, applying lip balm, possessing undeniable amounts of swag]

9. "How does he realise the need for the these things in the story?" you may ask. Well, his special interest is film and TV. He is a filmmaker. Thus, he frames his life in terms of genre, often seeming aware of the fact he is in a sitcom. However, this often changes, and, the show branches off into completely different genres, which Abed points out. These shifts in genre explore character dynamics and also are super awesome. Abed is so genre-aware, he changes the entire genre of the show. That is swag.

10. The Community fandom here on Tumblr.com, and throughout the web, is quite small. It will make us very happy. Plus, for the first time in 8 years, there likely will be new Abed content this year, due to the release of the movie. (Due to one of Abed's many catchphrases "Six seasons and a movie!")

11. Please please please please I love him so much and i am very cool you should listen to me please please please.

So yeah, that's it! If you have anything to add, please do!

Click below for some Abed gifs.

[GIF- "Evil Abed" (Abed with a goatee and sunglasses) walking through his college being evil. He hangs up someone's payphone call, pops a girls balloon with his cigarette and then dumps said cigarette into a woman's coffee]

[GIF- Two gifs. One is of Troy, topless, leaning out of an airvent. He looks down and says "I love you". Next is of Abed, looking up at him. He says "I know", before being grabbed by a zombie in a kilt]

[GIF- Abed, wearing sunglasses, saying "movie reference". Jeff is there too and also wearing sunglasses]

[GIF- Abed saying "Cool. Cool cool cool"]

Ok there are so many more GIFs I want to put but I kinda have work soon lol. You get the gist, he is amazing. Vote Abed!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

🕊️ WIP Wednesday (7/24)🕊️

Hey guys. As you may have noticed, I'm losing my mind for weeks. And it's not getting better. So I am only taking five (5) this week. Sorry. Thank you. <3

Ps: if you think something is funny/touching/heartbreaking/anything, please god tell me in a comment. I’m begging. 🙏 And thanks to the sweeties who do comment you make my entire life. 🧡

1. Vampire Andrew AU 2. Guardian Angel Neil AU 3. Mafia Front Restaurant AU 4. Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU 5. Mer Roadtrip AU *click the links for masterposts for each au!

Here’s Mer Roadtrip (44):

“I was hoping to borrow some clothes. But if you’d rather not share, I can always rip the curtains down and fashion myself a kilt.” Andrew says sarcastically. But Abram looks alarmed at the idea.

“No. We need the curtains,” Abram says, not detecting the joke at all. “If they’re gone, people can see right in. They could find me."

“Then just give me something to wear, Abram. A shirt and a pair of shorts is just fine.”

Abram looks from Andrew to the beat up duffle bag on the chair a couple times, finally standing up to rummage through it. But instead of handing Andrew his least favorite outfit, he merely takes out a binder. Holding it to his chest, he hands the bag out to Andrew. 

“Take it with you. You can pick whatever you want.”

[annwrites]

—moch sa mhadainn

mountains of rain and sun. all that was me is gone. — murtagh fitzgibbons fraser x modernday!reader ; ⊱†⊰⊹

Murtagh stands at a distance, watching as you dump in a bucket of feed for the sheep before grabbing a small bucket of feed for the fluffy chickens which roam about the yard—softly clucking—sprinkling seed for them to peck at next.

You have a solemn look upon your lovely face—brows furrowed as if you’re deep in thought.

He comes toward you, leaning against a wooden beam to the sheep’s pen, crossing his arms. “Something the matter, lass?”

You don’t respond, instead remaining silent, stepping further away.

He walks closer, gripping your elbow lightly, and you turn around to him, a look of confusion on your face. “Oh. Hi.”

He crosses his arms again. “Did'ye not hear me?”

You shrug. “I suppose not.”

“Ye seem away with the fairies.”

He leans in toward you. “You’ve told me all else about you, but not whatever seems to be on your mind now?”

You blink back tears that sting your eyes. “I can’t…talk about it.”

He clenches his jaw. “Has someone done something? Put their hands on ye?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t intend to leave ye be until you talk to me, Y/N.”

You hang the now-empty bucket upon a hook, wrapping your shawl round yourself, looking over those who’re milling about. “Not here.”

He gestures toward the opposite side of the castle, and he follows along behind as you head in that direction.

You come to lean back against worn stone, clasping your shaking hands in front of you. “I had a…meeting with Colum this morning.”

He nods. “So that’s why ye were not there to break your fast with me.”

You don’t respond, instead continuing on. “Dougal has…” You sigh. “Geilis is pregnant.”

He shakes his head. “His.”

You nod. “Dougal expressed a want to marry her. Colum obviously won’t have it. Won’t allow such a scandal. Won’t allow his brother to dishonor their family in such a way. He wants me…as a solution.”

Murtagh studies you for a moment, thinking, metaphorical wheels turning. “He wants you to wed the bastard.”

“Colum has given me an ultimatum: I either wed Dougal, so he’ll have no chance of wedding her, or, if I refuse—he’s given me three days, including today, to consider—I’ll no longer have a roof over my head.”

He steps away, shaking his head, letting out a low curse in Gaelic before looking at you again, his callused hands resting on his kilt-clad hips.

“And what did ye say in return?” He asks with a raised brow.

“I certainly showed him another side of myself. He understood my upset—knows it’s unfair what he’s asking of me—but he’s not going to recant what we both know is a demand. I have nowhere else to go. I have no other choice but to accept. I’m putting off giving him my answer until the last minute out of some misguided hope that Dougal will just disappear with her, but Colum is having him watched—followed���so that won’t happen, I’m sure.”

He chews the inside of his cheek—considering—and then he jumps over the bowsprit. “Marry me.”

Your head shoots up, eyes growing wide.

He takes a step closer. “We make up a tale. Tell Colum we were wed some days ago—I’ll take whatever measure I need to to make a priest backdate our marriage license—but ye kept your mouth shut during this little meeting because ye were afraid of what he might do, as we did what we did in secret. Without his approval.”

Your heart hammers away in your chest. “I… You don’t have to—”

He comes closer still, cupping your cheek, his rough skin resting against yours, which is soft and warm. “I’m fond of ya, lass. Maybe…ye coming here—intended or no—was for a reason. Me finding ye was for a reason. You’ve been mine to look after since arriving here. Let this be no different.”

He begins to kneel, groaning quietly as he rests on one knee, taking your delicate hand within his weathered one. “Marry me, Y/N. Let me protect ye from a miserable fate with a man who won’t ever come close to showing ye the devotion I may—who will never be faithful to you, unlike I would…if ye give me the chance.”

Your nose grows warm, a lump forming in your throat, your tear-filled eyes flitting between his own.

You nod slowly. “Yes.”

During what is meant to be a two-week vacation to Scotland, you decide to visit Craigh na Dun. You imagine you'll go, take a few pictures, then climb back into your rental car and return to your inn. Until a deafening sound emanates from the the tallest stone in the circle.

And then you make the mistake of placing your hand upon it.

Soon thereafter, you awake in eighteenth century Scotland. Terrified and alone, and with no idea how to survive in such harsh times, you claw at the stone, desperate to return to whence you came, until a certain Scotsman happens across you, offering you aid, and sooner rather than later, in your panic, the truth of who you are, and where it is you come from spills from your lips.

And though he knows he should think you mad—if not a witch—he knows you tell the truth. So, he gathers you in his arms—as you're near to fainting—and brings you back to Castle Leoch with him to look after until you discover a way to return home.

Until home stops feeling like as much in hindsight, and you begin to find a sense of it somewhere else instead. Somewhere...you'd never had suspected you would ever be.

[zilabee]

Derek Burrell-Davis - memo to BBC (May 67): “I had a satisfactory two-hour meeting with all four members of the Beatles Group this evening…..I don’t think it is over-stating it to say that they are enthusiastic about their participation in the ‘Our World’ programme and fully aware of the responsibilities they carry. Their approach is extremely professional and they are in complete agreement with the basic idea, which is that they are undertaking a recording session in the Number One Studio at E.M.I., Abbey Road. They cannot yet forecast what they will be doing in any great detail, but they propose writing a new number. Since this number will be heard in 30 countries, they are going to write the lyric in basic English. They suggest that they should use such words as “Hello, love, you, me, us, them, together, we”. They are wondering if it might be possible to use some of those words in different languages and are receptive to the idea that words such as “love”, “together”, etc. might be shown on large cards at appropriate moments in several languages”.

The BBC/broadcasters briefing meeting on 4 June 1967 to co-ordinate the international co-operation for the Our World Broadcast

The lyrics sheet given to the cameramen before broadcast. They were not impressed. On being told the Beatles wrote the music, they only asked "did they write the words as well?"

“...the day before, the doors were thrown open for a free-for-all picture session, at which I managed to have a quick word with — PAUL: Someone’s just asked if I’m leaving the group. And there seems to be another rumour I’m moving. Both are very wrong. I’ve just finished my house and like it a lot. No, I haven’t bought a kilt yet. GEORGE: We will do a TV show before we do a film. Nothing new to tell you about the film project. No script yet. RINGO: My garden is looking great now. Got some of my building men to help the gardening contractor and everything’s okay. JOHN: This song will be our next single. This TV show will give it a nice send-off.

Indeed, with some 6,500 TV workers and 1,000,000 miles of telephone wire working for the disc, it couldn’t be bad!” - - Andy Gray, NME

“When the musicians and TV crew took a meal break the Beatles tried out the musical instruments left lying around [...] Ringo and George try the trumpets, whilst Paul has a go at the trombone and John plays Jack Emblow’s accordion. In the background, in the left side far corner, the large weight box on the back of the Mole Crane is visible, with one of the white painted Murphy TV monitors on its trolley over on the right of the picture.” - - David Taylor, Postfade

“The BBC want a live trail”, Derek told me suddenly over my intercom. No one knew this had been planned, in fact to this day few people seem to know that such a promotion ever took place. [...]

“I had a few words with each of them in turn. What was the song called? Whose idea had it been? (“His”, they said, pointing to each other). And then I put the question to John that was intriguing me. Ninety-five percent of all popular music is in 4-time, but there was more than a hint of unfamiliar 7-time in “All You Need ls Love“.

“Did you know your song was in 7-time?” I asked. I still remember the cool, serious look he gave me as he replied, “Yes, I know”. Then he indicated Paul, adding “- but blame him”.

“Paul himself, alert as ever, noticed how, against my own instincts, I was trying to inject some breezy gaiety into the proceedings. He spoke encouragingly in my ear. “Yock it up, Steve ! ” he said. He knew that it was my preference to be in the narrator’s box doing a technical job, rather than “yocking it up”. I duly yocked.”

“This was the biggest group in the world, but when they went to the canteen, it was just four guys having a cup of tea. Underneath it all, these were ordinary guys who were in a band.” - - David Magnus (photographer)

“There was a real party atmosphere, similar to what we had witnessed during previous real ‘happenings’, but Richard and I were struck by how visibly nervous John was, which was quite unusual for him: we’d never seen him wound up so tightly.” - - Geoff Emerick

“I did sense that John in particular felt rather apprehensive the nearer to transmission we got. However George seemed to be enjoying the moment, while Ringo and Paul showed no apprehension whatsoever.” - - David Magnus

______________________________

Almost this entire post is stolen from postfade.co.uk, written by David Taylor. It's a wonderful write up because it's only actually interested in the cameras used and the technical setup, but it's so interested in those that it covers every moment in glorious detail and pulls together lots of quotes. If you're interested in the ins and outs of outside broadcasting, oh my. There's a cut out diagram of the OB scanner van, and they've taken the video of the entire broadcast and marked up up to show the different camera shots and cuts and equipment used. There's a bit where they read in a book that some of the broadcast wasn't live, and so the author tracks down who wrote that and he says he copied it from Mark Lewisohn, so they track down ML and ask him why he wrote that and ML can't remember but says 'I wouldn't have written it down if there wasn't evidence for it', which they think is a bit weak, so they decide not to believe it. It's nice to see them belittling ML's lifework because they want to believe in the magic of live outside broadcasting, the same way we do when we want to believe in love.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the baftas: my eyes need bleach after the livestream chat.

I SAID I WOULD COME TO TUMBLR AND SLUT-SHAME ALL OF YOU, AND YOU BET YOUR GODDAMN BILDADDY I'M HERE TO DO IT. First, a huge thank you to @good-usernames-were-taken, Valerie, for enabling this entire chaos and streaming it. And of course to Disappointment the Main Maggot.

Second, as per requests from you maggots, I have to give an honourary mention to the tragic lack of an emotional support gaseous orange, the late half-eaten packet of Lays on my desk, and my nearly empty can of Monster energy. Idk either, you asked for the mentions you got them.

Without further ado, presenting the BAFTA Awards 2024:

I am busy drawing out the neckline stitches of Crowley's wedding dress, when I am reminded of the stream and I crash into it midway. Little do I know what I am getting into.

Everyone is here for David Tennant. No one is here for the actual awards. This is made very clear very quickly.

KNEES. JUST KNEES. ALL EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT, THROUGHOUT THE STREAM, IS DAVID TENNANT'S KNEES. ARE YOU ALL OKAY WHAT THE FRESH HELL.

For context, David is in a kilt for the first half. I finally see why my relatives disapprove of skirts above knee-length. I never knew humanity's unholy worship of knees till I came here.

SOMEONE ASKS IF DAVID HAS TANNED HIS KNEES. MAGGOTS. PLEASE.

We interrupt our regular scheduled program of David knees to have an intense discussion about British versus French humour, and the misgendering of croissants.

RDJ wins an award and calls his wife his Alpha and Omega.

We're back to the knees. I can't handle how slutty David's knees are, says a worthy maggot.

This goes into a discussion about tickets for David's Macbeth, because, you guessed it, the kilt and the knees.

A lot of gorgeous and talented women in the BAFTAs tonight. I am floored.

I am not allowed to dwell in my awe because the chat is not a place of the lord. Curtain calls of Macbeth are discussed with unnecessary lasciviousness.

Thankfully, in the midst of this, I get a great Zodiac pattern reference for Crowley's wedding dress cummerbund. I was going to have to research the night sky for star charts but this is better.

People show their beautiful brainrot-induced Doc Marten purchases.

The knee thirst has moved into X-rated territory. I am terrified.

A song is sung in memory of film industry people who passed away this year, and people are sad about Dumbledore but at the same time are imagining Aziraphale and Crowley dancing to the song. The brainrot is real.

I accidentally spoil Saltburn's freakshow for someone. When I ask how I can make up for it, they say something about GOAD. I'm alarmed. Is that an OnlyFans, I ask. It's Good Omens After Dark, the chat answers. Is THAT an OnlyFans, I ask. Close enough, the chat says.

David has now changed outfits to a suit, which finally makes people pay attention to the BAFTAs, if only to alternatively thirst over the suit and bemoan the loss of knees.

Things, uh, happen, which I will have to include as quotes in another post. Cheers, @thearoacemess and @vitrilol.

Barty Crouch Jr is debated about as the Wolfstar child. Bratty Crouch Jr is said to be Crowley.

I obtain a banana, which I associate with blowjobs.

@thearoacemess talks about someone deepthroating a seven-inch banana without a hitch.

The stream does a flashback to the kilt time. It is a mistake. @queermarzipan barrels in and is being too slutty about the knees.

I tell them they need jesus, and they yell about how they've gone to mass twice today and they're an atheist.

Thankfully, @vitrilol starts chanting about the glory of Ireland. The only thing that will distract Marzipan from David Tennant is Ireland.

He proceeds to start screech-singing in all caps.

🎵IRELAND IIIRELAND TOGETHER STANDING TALLLL.🎵

The BAFTAs end. People are still thirsting over David Tennant.

🎵I KNOW YOU'RE MISSING HOME IT'S SO LONG SINCE YOU'VE BEEN🎵

Uh, more dubious things about David, suits and the absence of said suits are discussed. I'm trying my damndest not to notice.

🎵AND THE LIFE YOU HAD IN DUBLIN NOW AIN'T NOTHIN BUT A DREAM🎵

There is accidental Mascot lore: I am apparently from a different timeline (I mixed up timeline and timezone) and that's how Apollo deposited me in an illegal sushi restaurant where I became Neil Gaiman and Michael Sheen's intellectual child.

I am compared to a cat.

TOM HIDDLESTON AND DAVID TENNANT WERE IN THE STAGED-LIKE THING IN THE BEGINNING AHAHAHAHAH LOKI AND CROWLEY MY TWO CELESTIAL GENDERFLUID ICONS.

OKAY so I will end the summary here and make a list of out of context quotes in a new post. Because. Boy oh boy. That deserves its own post.

[sassenach77yle]

Rupert surveyed Jamie critically, with an eye to the oatstraws in his hair and the stains on his shirt. I saw his glance flicker to the oatstraws in my own hair, and a cynical grin split his face. “No wonder ye’re late, laddie,” he said, digging Jamie in the ribs. “Dinna blame ye a bit.” “Willie!” he called to one of the men outside. “We need some clothes, here. Something suitable for the laird’s nephew. See to it, man, and hurry!” Jamie looked around, thin-lipped, at the men surrounding him. Six clansmen, all in tearing high spirits at the prospect of the oath-taking and brimming over with a fierce MacKenzie pride. The spirits had plainly been assisted by an ample intake from the tub of ale I had seen in the yard. Jamie’s eye lighted on me, his expression still grim. This was my doing, his face seemed to say. He could, of course, announce that he did not mean to swear his oath to Colum, and head back to his warm bed in the stables. If he wanted a serious beating or his throat cut, that is. He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugged, and submitted with a fair show of grace to Willie, who rushed up with a pile of snowy linen in his arms and a hairbrush in one hand. The pile was topped by a flat blue bonnet of velvet, adorned with a metal badge that held a sprig of holly. I picked up the bonnet to examine it, as Jamie fought his way into the clean shirt and brushed his hair with suppressed savagery.

The badge was round and the engraving surprisingly fine. It showed five volcanos in the center, spouting most realistic flames. And on the border was a motto, Luceo non Uro. “I shine, not burn,” I translated aloud. “Aye, lassie; the MacKenzie motto,” said Willie, nodding approvingly at me. He snatched the bonnet from my hands and pushed it into Jamie’s, before dashing off in search of further clothing. “Er … I’m sorry,” I said in a low voice, taking advantage of Willie’s absence to move closer. “I didn’t mean—” Jamie, who had been viewing the badge on the bonnet with disfavor, glanced down at me, and the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “Ah, dinna worrit yourself on my account, Sassenach. It would ha’ come to it sooner or later.” He twisted the badge loose from the bonnet and smiled sourly at it, weighing it speculatively in his hand. “D’ye ken my own motto, lass?” he asked. “My clan’s, I mean?” “No,” I answered, startled. “What is it?” He flipped the badge once in the air, caught it, and dropped it neatly into his sporran. He looked rather bleakly toward the open archway, where the MacKenzie clansmen were massing in untidy lines.

“Je suis prest”

he replied, in surprisingly good French. He glanced back, to see Rupert and another large MacKenzie I didn’t know, faces flushed with high spirits and spirits of another kind, advancing with solid purpose. Rupert held a huge length of MacKenzie tartan cloth. Without preliminaries, the other man reached for the buckle of Jamie’s kilt. “Best leave, Sassenach,” Jamie advised briefly. “It’s no place for women.” “So I see,” I responded dryly, and was rewarded with a wry smile as his hips were swathed in the new kilt, and the old one yanked deftly away beneath it, modesty preserved. Rupert and friend took him firmly by the arms and hustled him toward the archway. I turned without delay and made my way back toward the stair to the minstrels’ gallery, carefully avoiding the eye of any clansman I passed. Once around the corner, I paused, shrinking back against the wall to avoid notice. I waited for a moment, until the corridor was temporarily deserted, then nipped inside the gallery door and pulled it quickly to behind me, before anyone else could come around the corner and see where I had gone. The stairs were dimly lit by the glow from above, and I had no trouble keeping my footing on the worn flags. I climbed toward the noise and light, thinking of that last brief exchange.

“Je suis prest.” I am ready. I hoped he was.

Cap 9 The gathering ~outlander