#cambridge student housing

[universalstudenthomes20]

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[oidheadh-con-culainn]

today in "my weirdly specific knowledge is ruining my enjoyment of a novel", these cambridge undergraduates apparently drive to lectures, and yet there is no mention of any extenuating circumstances that might result in them being granted a motor license, let alone TWO between their household (and, really, they're all living out?), so they would not in fact be permitted to have a car in the city, as undergraduates

moreover the only other alternative is "long bike rides" but a) Cambridge is five miles across and b) their house is on the river so it's not even in one of the furthest-away parts of the city. their lectures are at most gonna be about 2 miles away. come on.

[hjemne]

Oh I know a guy from Bogotá who has spent a lot of time doing research in small, remote south American villages & he knows a lot of people with these types of names! As well as the more traditional names, people are also named after a lot of things & people that their families have heard about. Lots of tractors, batteries, European sports teams, 20th c historical figures... And it's mostly fine because people in these communities usuallyyyy stay in or immediately nearby their homes & don't necessarily interact with people who know about WW2 and might inform them about the global connotations of the name Hitler

As an aside, the stupidest name my friend knows isn't actually Hitler or Lenin or Liverpool or Tractor, but is held by an English guy called Dick Wang.

what was wrong with this guy's parents

[ace-with--a-mace]

school in 48 hours ,,,,,,

[cameronspecial]

I Will Marry You, Rafe

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K (Exactly, that's so satisfying to me).

Summary: Rafe has an important question to ask Y/N.

Masterlist

Rafe rarely gets nervous. The only time that he really does is when it comes to Y/N. She is his entire world and he would do anything to keep her in his life. And as he stares down at the small diamond ring, he can’t help but feel the layer of liquid that dampens his palms. He wipes it off on his pants as he listens to the MC announce the names of each student. He closes the box and puts it in his pockets when they get to Y/N’s section. “Y/N Y/L/N,” leaves the lips of the MC and travels through the room thanks to the speakers. Rafe is the first to stand out of her group of supporters, “That’s my girl! GO Y/N. I love you, Angel!” He hollers and claps as loud as he can, pumping his hand in the air. He is so proud of how hard she has worked to get her degree with honours. She has kept her grades up and now, she gets to start her master’s degree at her first-choice university. He sees her looking at him with a massive grin. He quickly gets his phone out to take a picture of her getting handed her degree, checking that her family videotaped her walk across the stage. They have prime seats, being right behind the students waiting to go on stage. Rafe’s money definitely shifted hands for him and the Y/L/N family to have such amazing seats. He follows her walk off of the stage, worrying that she won’t be happy with the question he has to ask. 

——

His jacket drapes over her shoulders, providing warmth against the cold night. They are walking up the steps of the house they have been renting since the semester ended. The house isn’t something permanent, just a placeholder until they find a place in Cambridge. Ward didn’t love the idea of Rafe moving out to Massachusetts, but he knows how serious Rafe is about Y/N so Ward agreed to let Rafe work remotely for the year that Y/N is doing the Master’s. Rafe would have to fly down every month for a Friday meeting, but they are going to make it work. 

Y/N cuddles closer to Rafe with his arm draped across her shoulder. “I can’t believe we are done with our undergraduate degree,” she thinks out loud, resting her head on his shoulder. His head darts to check the text on his phone and then looks at her. His lips meet her temple before he removes his hold from her, taking the keys out of his pocket. He unlocks the door and hesitates to push it open. His life is going to change after tonight and he is scared it might change for the worse. He also isn’t sure if he should’ve tasked his fraternity brothers with such an important thing. Sure, Sarah, Wheezie, and Daisy are leading them, but the now-graduated fratboys were never great at decorating or following orders. He knows if he doesn’t enter the house soon, Y/N will get suspicious. His thumb pushes down on the thumb latch and he pushes the door open. The usual darkness is cut with the light from the path made out of candles. She turns to him to see if he is just as confused as she is. All she finds is his small smile and things start to fall into place for her. 

“I will marry you, Rafe,” she utters softly, wrapping her arms around his neck to kiss him. He pulls away with a laugh, “I haven’t even asked you anything yet.” “I know, but I can see right through you. I’ve noticed how nervous you are and how you are always checking your phone for a text. That coupled with the house being mysteriously decorated makes it kinda obvious,” she grins, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. He groans, “Damn, my angel is so smart. You read me like a book. Will you at least let me take you inside and do what I had planned?” She nods and he drags her deeper into the house. 

In the living room, they find eight large characters, decorated with white feathers and fairy lights. Eight characters. Two words and a question mark. MARRY ME? Y/N’s hand finds her mouth. The beauty of the dim room amazes her. Candles and rose petals litter the room and the melody of “Say Yes To Heaven” plays without the lyrics, reminding her of that fateful night during spring break. She turns toward Rafe to find him kneeling on the ground on one knee. In his hand, he holds a small velvet box with a simple but elegant diamond ring inside of it. “When I first saw you at that party three years ago, I thought I was so intoxicated that I was seeing things. Because there was no way that a real-life angel could’ve been right in front of me and ever since that day you have been bringing a little slice of Heaven to me,” he recounts and she can see the tears in his eyes. “You have been my everything ever since that day. My supporter. My defender. My rock. And I want that for the rest of my life, so please say that you will be the angel to my devil for the rest of our lives?” She goes to sit on his thigh and he moves his arms to surround her. Her arms go around his neck and she rests her forehead on his. “Yes.”

He grins at her, kissing her as he puts the ring on her left ring finger. He feels so lucky that he gets to spend the rest of his life with the woman in front of him. People may think that they are too young to be getting married, but Rafe has never been so sure of something in his life.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[unhingedangstaddict]

This new wip has me in an absolute chokehold so I decided to share a little bit of it just to see what happens ig

Buck slept for a solid eight hours before he got up and headed to the kitchen in search of something to eat. He made himself a sandwich and read some news on his phone while he ate, standing in Tommy’s- in their kitchen in just a t-shirt and boxers.

Buck was startled by the sound of the doorbell, then frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone or thing seeing as it was the middle of the night essentially. Buck quickly grabbed a pair of gym shorts from his bag that was thankfully near the front door and yanked them on, then opened the door to find an LAPD officer standing at the door. Buck’s heart rate picked up in an instant and he began to worry. Was Tommy okay? Buck was pretty certain they’d send someone from the LAFD if Tommy had been hurt, but maybe for some reason it made more sense to send LAPD. Buck’s mind raced with different distressing theories.

“Hello, I’m looking for Thomas Kinard, is he home?” The officer asked.

Well if they were looking for Tommy then he must be fine. Buck breathed a sigh of relief. “No, he’s at work right now, I’m his boyfriend.” Buck paused. If Tommy was okay, why was there a cop at the door looking for him? “What’s going on?”

“Is there a number we could reach Mr Kinard at?” The cop avoided Buck’s question.

“I- I could try his cell but he’s a firefighter-pilot, there’s a good chance he won’t answer.” Buck explained.

“Why don’t we try him anyway?” The cop suggested.

Buck frowned. “Okay. Let me just grab my phone,” Buck went to the kitchen where he’d left it on the counter. He was quite confused and worried about what was so urgent that an officer had to speak with Tommy at four in the morning. He returned to the front door where the officer was waiting and called Tommy, putting the phone on speaker while it rang.

“Hey Evan.” Tommy answered just as an alarm went off in the background. “Sorry babe, gotta go. Call you when I’m back.” Tommy hung up.

Buck looked helplessly at the officer. “He’s busy.”

“Okay.” The officer sighed. “I’m here about Mr Kinard’s sister, Cassandra, and her husband Marcus Anderson.”

“What is it?” Buck frowned. He’d meet Cassandra, Marcus, their nineteen year old son Dylan, and their fifteen year old daughter Avery over the summer. They’d come down to LA from San Francisco to visit and Buck really enjoyed getting to meet them and spending time with Tommy’s family.

“Unfortunately Cassandra and Marcus were involved in a fatal collision earlier tonight. They were both pronounced dead at the scene.” The officer said solemnly.

“Oh my god.” Buck gasped. “What about their daughter, Avery? Is she okay?” Avery still lived at home, while Dylan was a second year student at MIT.

“Yes. She was not in the vehicle with them. San Francisco PD is working to track her down and notify her. We’ve contacted Cambridge PD in Massachusetts to notify their son Dylan. Mr Kinard was Cassandra’s emergency contact should her husband not be available.” The officer explained.

“I- I’ll make sure to get the message to Tommy as soon as possible, and I’ll make sure he gets in touch with Avery right away.” Buck promised.

“Thank you. He can call this number to get more details. And I’m sorry for your loss.” The officer handed Buck a business card and left.

Buck took the card and closed the door as the officer walked away. He took a few breaths to keep himself calm- this wasn’t about him or his emotions right now, it was about Tommy. Buck needed to keep it together- he needed to be strong so Tommy wouldn’t have to be. Buck headed up to their bedroom to change into something more appropriate to leave the house in. He threw on a clean pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and headed to harbor. He knew Tommy was on a call at the moment, but Buck didn’t want to keep this from Tommy a moment longer than he had to. Buck parked outside the familiar station and headed inside, where he quickly ran into Lucy.

“Hey Buckley,” Lucy greeted. “Tommy’s out on a call right now,” She started.

“I know that.” Buck told her. “I need to speak with your captain.”

“What’s wrong?” Lucy frowned as she motioned for Buck to follow her.

Buck began following Lucy through the station. “I just got some news for him that can’t wait til his shift is over.”

Lucy raised a brow in question of this.

“I shouldn’t say anything, it’s not my place.” Buck told her.

“But it’s something bad?” Lucy guessed.

“Yeah, yeah it’s bad.” Buck sighed.

Buck spoke with Tommy's captain, then was shown to the kitchen where he could wait for Tommy. Buck mindlessly scrolled through his phone while he waited, not really absorbing anything he saw on the screen as his mind was elsewhere.

“Hey,” Tommy smiled as he came into the kitchen. “What’s going on that you couldn’t wait,” Tommy checked his watch. “Four hours?”

Buck got up from his chair and stepped closer to Tommy. There was no one else in the kitchen and Buck didn’t want to keep this from Tommy a second longer than he already had.

“Evan what’s wrong?” Tommy knew just from looking at Evan that something was very wrong.

“Tommy, it's your sister,” Buck started. “Cassandra and Marcus they- they were in an accident tonight,”

“No-” Tommy shook his head, his eyes already started stinging with tears. He already knew where this was going and he couldn’t bear it. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Tommy was older than Cassie- he wasn’t supposed to bury her. He couldn’t even recall exactly the last time they spoke on the phone or by text. She couldn’t be-

Buck cupped Tommy’s cheek as his own eyes stung with tears. “They didn’t make it, they died. I’m so sorry.”

Tommy swallowed thickly. “How- how do you know?”

“An officer came to the house looking for you, that's why I called earlier.” Buck explained. “They’ve sent someone to notify Dylan, I got the impression they weren’t sure where Avery is, the officer said they’re trying to track her down.”

“Oh my god.” Tommy mumbled.

“I know, baby.” Buck said gently and pulled Tommy into a hug. He didn’t know, not really. He had a deceased sibling, sure, but he’d never known Daniel. He hadn’t spent forty or so odd years of his life loving Daniel. Hadn’t been there for Daniel’s triumphs and trials. Hadn’t watched Daniel build a family of his own. Tommy had all of that with Cassandra.

Tommy clung to Evan for what could’ve been a minute or an hour as he just cried into Evan’s shoulder.

[kemetic-dreams]

Jamil Abdullah al-Amin (born Hubert Gerold Brown; October 4, 1943), is an American human rights activist, Muslim cleric, African separatist, and convicted murderer who was the fifth chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s. Best known as H. Rap Brown, he served as the Black Panther Party's minister of justice during a short-lived (six months) alliance between SNCC and the Black Panther Party.

He is perhaps known for his proclamations during that period, such as that "violence is as American as cherry pie", and that "If America don't come around, we're gonna burn it down." He is also known for his autobiography, Die Nigger Die! He is currently serving a life sentence for murder following the shooting of two Fulton County, Georgia, sheriff's deputies in 2000.

Brown's activism in the civil rights movement included involvement with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Brown was introduced into SNCC by his older brother Ed. He first visited Cambridge, Maryland with Cleveland Sellers in the summer of 1963, during the period of Gloria Richardson's leadership in the local movement. He witnessed the first riot between whites and blacks in the city over civil rights issues, and was impressed by the local civil rights movement's willingness to use armed self-defense against racial attacks.

Brown later organized for SNCC during the 1964 Mississippi Freedom Summer, while transferring to Howard University for his studies. Representing Howard's SNCC chapter, Brown attended a contentious civil rights meeting at the White House with President Lyndon B. Johnson during the Selma crisis of 1965 as Alabama activists attempted to march for voting rights.

Major federal civil rights legislation was passed in 1964 and 1965, including the Voting Rights Act, to establish federal oversight and enforcement of rights. In 1966, Brown organized in Greene County, Alabama to achieve African voter registration and implementation of the recently passed Voting Rights Act.

Elected SNCC chairman in 1967, Brown continued Stokely Carmichael's fiery support for "Black Power" and urban rebellions in the Northern ghettos.

During the summer of 1967, Brown toured the nation, calling for violent resistance to the government, which he called "The Fourth Reich". "Negroes should organize themselves", he told a rally in Washington, D.C., and "carry on guerilla warfare in all the cities." They should, "make the Viet Cong look like Sunday school teachers." He declared, "I say to America, Fuck it! Freedom or death!"

In this period, Cambridge, Maryland had an active civil rights movement, led by Gloria Richardson. In July 1967 Brown spoke in the city, saying "It's time for Cambridge to explode, baby. Black folks built America, and if America don't come around, we're going to burn America down." Gunfire reportedly broke out later, and both Brown and a police officer were wounded. A fire started that night and by the next day, 17 buildings were destroyed by an expanding fire "in a two-block area of Pine Street, the center of African-American commerce, culture and community." Brown was charged with inciting a riot, due to his speech.

Brown was also charged with carrying a gun across state lines. A secret 1967 FBI memo had called for "neutralizing" Brown. He became a target of the agency's COINTELPRO program, which was intended to disrupt and disqualify civil rights leaders. The federal charges against him were never proven.

He was defended in the gun violation case by civil rights advocates Murphy Bell of Baton Rouge, the self-described "radical lawyer" William Kunstler, and Howard Moore Jr., general counsel for SNCC. Feminist attorney Flo Kennedy also assisted Brown and led his defense committee, winning support for him from some chapters of the National Organization for Women.

The Cambridge fire was among incidents investigated by the 1967 Kerner Commission. But their investigative documents were not published with their 1968 report. Historian Dr. Peter Levy studied these papers in researching his book Civil War on Race Street: The Civil Rights Movement in Cambridge, Maryland (2003). He argues there was no riot in Cambridge. Brown was documented as completing his speech in Cambridge at 10 pm July 24, then walking a woman home. He was shot by a deputy sheriff allegedly without provocation. Brown was hastily treated for his injuries and secretly taken by supporters out of Cambridge.

Later that night a small fire broke out, but the police chief and fire company did not respond for two hours. In discussing his book, Levy has said that the fire's spread and ultimate destructive cost appeared to be due not to a riot, but to the deliberate inaction of the Cambridge police and fire departments, which had hostile relations with the African community. In a later book, Levy notes that Brice Kinnamon, head of the Cambridge police department, said that the city had no racial problems, and that Brown was the "sole" cause of the disorder, and it was "a well-planned Communist attempt to overthrow the government."

While being held for trial, Brown continued his high-profile activism. He accepted a request from the Student Afro-American Society of Columbia University to help represent and co-organize the April 1968 Columbia protests against university expansion into Harlem park land in order to build a gymnasium.

He also contributed writing from jail to the radical magazine Black Mask, which was edited and published by the New York activist group Up Against the Wall Motherfucker. In his 1968 article titled "H. Rap Brown From Prison: Lasima Tushinde Mbilashika", Brown writes of going on a hunger strike and his willingness to give up his life in order to achieve change.

Brown's trial was originally to take place in Cambridge, but there was a change of venue and the trial was moved to Bel Air, Maryland, to start in March 1970. On March 9, 1970, two SNCC officials, Ralph Featherstone and William ("Che") Payne, died on U.S. Route 1 south of Bel Air, when a bomb on the front floorboard of their car exploded, killing both occupants. The bomb's origin is disputed: some say the bomb was planted in an assassination attempt, and others say Payne was carrying it to the courthouse where Brown was to be tried. The next night, the Cambridge courthouse was bombed

Brown disappeared for 18 months. He was posted on the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Ten Most Wanted List. He was arrested after a reported shootout with officers in New York City following an alleged attempted robbery of a bar there. He was convicted of robbery and served five years (1971–76) in Attica Prison in western New York state. While in prison, Brown converted to Islam. He formally changed his name from Hubert Gerold Brown to Jamil Abdullah al-Amin.

After his release, he moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where he opened a grocery store. He became an imam, a Muslim spiritual leader, in the National Ummah, one of the nation's largest African Muslim groups. He also was a community activist in Atlanta's West End neighborhood. He preached against drugs and gambling. It has since been suggested that al-Amin changed his life again when he became affiliated with the "Dar ul-Islam Movement"

On May 31, 1999, al-Amin was pulled over while driving in Marietta, Georgia by police officer Johnny Mack for a suspected stolen vehicle. During a search, al-Amin was found to have in his pocket a police badge. He also had a bill of sale in his pocket, explaining his possession of the stolen car, and he claimed that he had been issued an honorary police badge by Mayor John Jackson, a statement which Jackson verified. Despite this, al-Amin was charged with speeding, auto theft and impersonating a police officer.

On March 16, 2000, in Fulton County, Georgia, Sheriff's deputies Ricky Kinchen and Aldranon English went to al-Amin's home to execute an arrest warrant for failing to appear in court over the charges. After determining that the home was unoccupied, the deputies drove away and were shortly passed by a black Mercedes headed for the house. Kinchen (the more senior deputy) noted the suspect vehicle, turned the patrol car around, and drove up to the Mercedes, stopping nose to nose. English approached the Mercedes and told the single occupant to show his hands. The occupant opened fire with a .223 rifle. English ran between the two cars while returning fire from his handgun, and was hit four times. Kinchen was shot with the rifle and a 9 mm handgun.

The next day, Kinchen died of his wounds at Grady Memorial Hospital. English survived his wounds. He identified al-Amin as the shooter from six photos he was shown while recovering in the hospital[citation needed] Another source said English identified him shortly before going into surgery for his wounds.

After the shootout, al-Amin fled Atlanta, going to White Hall, Alabama. He was tracked down by U.S. Marshals who started with a blood trail at the shooting site, and arrested by law enforcement officers after a four-day manhunt. Al-Amin was wearing body armor at the time of his arrest. He showed no wounds. Officers found a 9 mm handgun near his arrest site. Firearms identification testing showed that this was used to shoot Kinchen and English, but al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the weapon. Later, al-Amin's black Mercedes was found with bullet holes in it.

His lawyers argued he was innocent of the shooting. Defense attorneys noted that al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the murder weapon, and he was not wounded in the shooting, as one of the deputies said the shooter was. A trail of blood found at the scene was tested and did not belong to al-Amin or either of the deputies. A test by the state concluded that it was animal blood, but these results have been disputed because there was no clear chain of custody to verify the sample and testing process. Deputy English had said that the killer's eyes were gray, but al-Amin's are brown.

At al-Amin's trial, prosecutors noted that he had never provided an alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the shootout, nor any explanation for fleeing the state afterward. He also did not explain why the weapons used in the shootout were found near him during his arrest.

On March 9, 2002, nearly two years after the shootings, al-Amin was convicted of 13 criminal charges, including Kinchen's murder and aggravated assault in shooting English. Four days later, he was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole (LWOP).He was sent to Georgia State Prison, the state's maximum-security facility near Reidsville, Georgia.

Otis Jackson, a man incarcerated for unrelated charges, claimed that he committed the Fulton County shootings, and confessed this two years before al-Amin was convicted of the same crime. The court did not consider Jackson's statement as evidence. Jackson's statements corroborated details from 911 calls following the shooting, including a bleeding man seen limping from the scene: Jackson said he knocked on doors to solicit a ride while suffering from wounds sustained in the firefight with deputies Kinchen and English. Jackson recanted his statement two days after making it, but later confessed again in a sworn affidavit, stating that he had only recanted after prison guards threatened him for being a "cop killer". Prosecutors refuted Jackson's testimony, claiming he couldn't have shot the deputies as he was wearing an ankle tag for house confinement that would have showed his location. Al-Amin's lawyers allege that the tag was faulty.

Al-Amin appealed his conviction on the basis of a racial conspiracy against him, despite both Fulton County deputies being black. In May 2004, the Supreme Court of Georgia unanimously ruled to uphold al-Amin's conviction.

In August 2007, al-Amin was transferred to federal custody, as Georgia officials decided he was too high-profile for the Georgia prison system to handle. He was first held in a holdover facility in the USP Atlanta; two weeks later he was moved to a federal transfer facility in Oklahoma, pending assignment to a federal penitentiary.

On October 21, 2007, al-Amin was transferred to ADX Florence, a supermax prison in Florence, Colorado. He has been under an unofficial gag order, prevented from having any interviews with writers, journalists or biographers.

On July 18, 2014, having been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, al-Amin was transferred to Butner Federal Medical Center in North Carolina. As of March 2018, he is incarcerated at the United States Penitentiary, Tucson.

Al-Amin sought retrial through the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. Investigative journalist, Hamzah Raza, has written more about Otis Jackson's confession to the deputy shootings in 2000, and said that this evidence should have been considered by the court. It had the potential of exonerating al-Amin. However, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals rejected his appeal on July 31, 2019.

In April 2020, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to hear an appeal from al-Amin. His family and supporters continue to petition for a new trial.

[dwntwn-strnlo]

HAND MAKING matt sturniolo

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, dwntwn-strnlo.

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. im back :) . . . is this me trauma dumping? idk yeah probably

↳ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. matthew sturniolo x harvard student!reader

↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. to relax ones mind

↳ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃? no!

↳ 𝐂𝐖! slight panic attack but not really, crying, failing school? happy ending, pet names ig idfk, profanity

"what are you doing?"

"im making your hands, darling!"

you felt like a crumbling mess. school has been pushing you to your brim, and you just left the building with the knowledge that you just failed two of your finals. you wanted to fall to the floor in front of your professors, and just cry. hoping that your desperate pleas for a stable future would be enough to let you retake the mind numbing tests over again.

how in the world could one study at the most prestigious university if they can't even ace a final? you worked your whole life for this school, practically threw away your childhood and lived with the gilmore mindset to get here. just to fail. just. to. fail.

stepping off the campus and reaching the city bus, it slowly started to set in. you felt nauseous. like you were being held upside down, feet in the air and your arms on the floor. but no. you were sitting in a bucket seat that matched some torn down 80's arcade floor. so, you held your bookbag close to you, closing your eyes. overcompensated with the feeling of dizziness and fatigue.

as much as you tried to tune it out, you couldn't get rid of the lingering smell of weed and coffee that permanently stained the crisp air that is of cambridge and boston.

---

nearing the inner city, you opened your eyes and picked up your phone. pressing it to your ear after hitting call.

the phone rang once before it was picked up on the other end and a gentle "hey," comes through. you could hear the smile in matt's voice; the one simple, sweet word rang in your brain. bouncing off the tissue walls before settling back to silence.

"im almost home," you mumbled. your voice was lower and raspy then you intended. the last thing you needed was for your boyfriend to grow worried. but that's exactly what you knew would happen.

you could hear him suck in a breath on the other end of the phone, "is something wrong? why are you coming home early, baby?"

"i uh- i finished my final early." your voice was still tiny in comparison to the chatter that danced over the bus.

he hums, not wanting to necessarily drop the conversation, but he knew that you would be more open about it face to face. and not on a public transport bus that has heard and spilled countless secrets.

"i'm almost home," you uttered. hanging up the phone call before matt could ask more questions.

you sat silent the rest of the ride, bouncing your leg until it grew numb.

---

walking in the door, tears brisked at your eyes. you could finally let your walls down now that you were in a safe environment. you called out your boyfriends name as you walked up the stairs. the sound of ruffling and a door opening echoes through the house.

"hey, baby," he gently smiled, his attempt to comfort you immediately works. just his presence makes you giddy, your heart starting to race.

you didn't want to load your troubles onto him, but you could no longer fight the stray tears that glide down your cheeks.

dropping your bag on the floor, you close your eyes. attempting to stop your tears from flowing, but it doesn't work.

it doesnt take long for you to be embraced by matt. his arms snaking around your waist as you held yourself against his chest. sobbing quietly into his grey cotton shirt. "i fucked it all up, matt..." you cried. holding onto him tighter then you thought possible.

matt soothingly rubs his hands up and down your back, pressing a soft kiss atop your head. "c'mon," he whispers softly, "come talk to me." he carefully pulls you over to the couch, and you open your eyes but sit down without glancing at his face.

"i failed my finals," you sobbed, squeezing your eyes tight. tears streamed down your face, you felt like a total mess.

"aww baby..." he cooed. the frown in his voice ultimately made you feel worse. he took your hands in his, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of your palms. "i'm sorry."

you couldn't help but stay silent. even if you tried you didn't think you could speak again.

matt started massaging at your hands, and you perked up. he played at each knuckle and each indent, each scar and each freckle.

"what are you doing..?" you whispered, looking up to meet his swirling eyes.

he smiled softly, "i'm making your hands darling!" he giggled, trying to cheer you up.

you felt like clay under his touch, like he was molding you perfectly to fit with him. he held your hand close to him as he soothingly caressed your skin.

you felt like his sculpture in the back of an art studio, the lights blinding as it's a late night and school ended hours ago. your artistic sculpture was due days previous, but matt wouldn't settle for anything else other than perfection. taking his time to make you a work of art.

you felt like sand at the beach, matt's hands as the water as they came with the tide, and gently washed at the tiny beaded rocks that were your knuckles and scars.

you felt like-

"are you alright?" he asked sweetly, bringing your knuckles up to his lips as he pressed a kiss onto your skin.

until he spoke you didn't even realize that your tears had dried, and you were more focused on his touch than anything. school pushed to the back of your head, becoming the least of your worries in this very moment.

you slowly nodded, a small smile peaking over to meet his.

TAGLIST

@thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @oneirophobic @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @fenoy7 @mlimmm @prettysturniolo @ssturniolo @gabbylovesreading @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @matthewmurdockswife @jellybeanbby @slaysturniolo @iheartshifting @mxqdii @luvsturniolo @lvrsparadise @partoftoofuckinmanyfandoms @sstvrnioloo

[lyrashifts]

. . . INTRODUCING MY MARAUDERS DR !

ABOUT : this dr is set in the 70s, and begins during my first year at hogwarts. it strays quite far from the actual events of the marauders era, and instead merges with the plot of the lighting era. in this dr, me and my friends work against prejudices and an upcoming war, as well as a very dangerous voldemort on the rise.

౨ৎ﹕[ ABOUT ME ! ]

+ name : lyra a. lavigne

+ nationality : english-french

+ birthplace : cambridge, england

+ languages : english, french

+ blood status : pureblood

+ house : gryffindor

+ moodboard

౨ৎ﹕[ PERSONALITY ! ]

+ likes : writing, playing the guitar, drawing, reading, theater, cookies, poetry, magical creatures and animals, going on long walks, baking, being better dressed than everyone else, jumpers, rainy days, shopping (especially for music and clothes), hozier, queen, david bowie, the smiths, little women, lemon iced tea, stealing james's invisibility cloak, pranking (and actually getting away with it)

+ known for : converse, cherry red, loving 90s muggle movies, being best friends with remus, reading at social events when bored, drinking too much coffee, having cool hair, my style, quoting dead poets society daily, leather jackets, liking hozier and the smiths way too much, being an amazing gift giver, having a new hairstyle every day, being nice to everyone unless they cross me, smelling like cinnamon, coffee, and books, being amazing at school and magic, somehow getting every lead role in plays, wearing jumpers and leather jackets in the dead of summer and not somehow overheating to the point of death

౨ৎ﹕[ BACKSTORY ! ]

+ backstory : i grew up in england where a lot of my family was but by the time i turned 13 we moved to scotland, partially to attend hogwarts and partially because my parents wanted to get away from some of our pureblood family members. my parents, though from a notable pureblood family, don't agree with the views of pureblood culture. because my parents' reputation for their last name still upheld, when we moved we were invited to an event that ended up just being a pureblood society ball. we only stayed out of politeness, but it was there that i met sirius and promised to be best friends with him when we got to hogwarts since we both hated the party.

౨ৎ﹕[ WARDROBE ! ]

+ description : my style in this dr can change a lot, especially taking into consideration the weather or location i'm in. in terms of colors, i wear a lot of neutrals but tend to have a specific color pop (which oftentimes a cherry red). during winter and autumn months, i am often wearing oversized jumpers (whether mine or stolen from remus). i also almost always wear flared or baggy pants. some of my iconic pieces include leather jackets, doc martens, band tees, baker boy hats, plaid skirts, and more. during the summer i tend to wear baby tees and babydoll tops, along with skirts. with my uniform, i pair many accessories to make it look as appealing as possible, and use magic to have different nails every day.

౨ৎ﹕[ LIFE AT HOGWARTS ! ]

+ general : students start first year at 14, so it is a sort of hybrid between highschool and university, where students have much more freedom once 18. school uniforms are only required during classes from monday - thursday, and on friday you may wear your desired outfit underneath your robes.

+ dorms : students are allocated private dorms that have within them a bed, a desk, a private bathroom, and more. once a student is assigned to a dorm, the dorm changes to accommodate that student's taste. once you are given your dorm number, you must choose a password and it is your responsibility to ensure students you do not want to come in cannot. in the case that a student knows your password and you do not want them to, you can ask a professor to change it and they will do so. alohomora will not unlock dorm rooms. dorms are organized by house, but boy's and girl's dorms are not separated - everything is instead organized by house and name.

+ extra-curriculars : the clubs i am part of include music club (which later inspires me and my friends to make a band), theater club, art club, care of magical creatures club, and in later years, the quidditch team

+ houses : the animosity between houses (especially slytherin and gryffindor) is not nearly as prevalent as depicted in the books. it is known that not all students in one house are the same, and so, while some friendly competition is encouraged, it is not uncommon to have friends from every house. students of every house are allowed into the common rooms and dorms (with permission of at least one person from that house).

+ events : all the events featured in this post are included in this dr

౨ৎ﹕[ ABOUT THIS DR ! ]

+ worldbuilding : not a lot changes about the war except for the fact that it's toned down and ends during my seventh year (which we redo since it would be similar to the last year in the harry potter books - looking for horcruxes without actually being at hogwarts). of course, none of my friends die. i haven't accounted for how the war will end exactly, so i suppose i'll let that work itself out organically.

+ main friends : remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, lily evans, regulus black, marlene mckinnon, mary macdonald.

+ relationships : i am a formal part of both the marauders and the valkyries. i became friends with the marauders at the start of the school year, and we were consequently established as a friend group before me and the girls. i tend to spend more time with the marauders but our groups often mingle since everyone gets along (except maybe lily and james at the beginning). i also have some friends in slytherin, such as andromeda and regulus, but i tend to stay away from the anti-muggleborn students.

[helaelaemond]

TIPS FOR WRITING IN AN ENGLISH UNIVERSITY SETTING from someone who’s been through it!

This post is written with fanfic in mind, specifically about Michael Gavey as a Maths student at the University of Oxford.

University structure

At Oxford, you are there typically for three years. You’re not usually referred to as “first year”, “second year” or “third year/final year” as nouns, and are more likely to describe yourself as being “in my first year” etc. The only exception is your first few weeks at uni when you’re known as a fresher. Your first week in your first year is known as “freshers week”, and its lots of social activities around the uni and beyond.

OXFORD IS NOT A CAMPUS UNI. University housing and buildings are scattered around the city of Oxford, and so using terms like “on campus” are not applicable.

Term starts in early October, and most exams are wrapped up by June.

Housing

Oxford is one of four English universities that use the college system (the others being Cambridge - also called ‘The Other Place’ - Durham, and York) and for the sake of simplicity, you can think of this as a replacement term for ‘dorm’ (a term not typically used). You can find a list of all the colleges on the university’s website.

Within the college building, there are usually single rooms with en-suites, but some rooms have to share a communal bathroom.

University students do NOT have roommates - no one shares a bedroom. There are also some room types in a flat-like set up, with a cluster of a few rooms (2-8 typically) and a shared kitchen. This is less common at Oxford.

Students sometimes stay in university-provided accommodation for the duration of their studies, whilst some choose to live in private accommodation from their second year onwards. If they do this, they are still associated with their college, and by default their college does not change. Private accommodation usually means a regular house shared with a few other people - this is standard across all universities in the UK, not just Oxford.

Classes

Generally speaking, subjects that don’t require lab work have a pretty simple weekly structure of one lecture and one seminar per module. Lectures are observed silently, and seminars are for discussions. Even the boldest or more socially unaware individuals do not interrupt lectures (in my four years, I never ever experienced anyone interrupting or asking a question, and so if you’re going to write Michael doing that, be aware it is a huge taboo unless the lecturer has asked for participation). Students usually take 2-3 different modules per semester, and during the academic year, there are two semesters across three terms.

Reading week is a week of usually in late October/early November where there are no classes for a week and it is a time for self-study.

Most modules have at least one assignment (what Americans would call a term paper) due before the Christmas break in December, and then at least one exam after the break ends in January. Some modules on some courses have other assignments or contributors to grades (like group presentations) but this isn’t all that common. It is very rare for things like “extra credit” to be earned, if at all.

Unless reading a combined degree (like Politics and Economics), you only take one subject. There is nothing like a “major” and “minor”. When doing a combined degree, you take half your modules on one degree, and half your modules on the other, so it’s an even 50/50. You cannot choose any subject to do a combined degree for, and they are pre-set courses determined by the university. For example, you couldn’t do a combined degree of Maths and Geography just because you wanted to.

You don’t talk about what course you’re studying, you say what course you’re reading (which is why Michael says he’s “reading Maths” not studying it).

University culture

Nightclubbing isn’t much of a thing in Oxford. If you want a uni with great nightlife you go to Birmingham, Nottingham, Sheffield, Newcastle, London - not Oxford or Cambridge. Instead, students are much more likely to spend time in one of the dozens of pubs in Oxford. College parties (I.e university accommodation parties) don’t tend to be much of a thing either unless they’re organised by the social events committees in those colleges.

Elitism is an enormous problem at Oxford. For example, in 2015, 45% of all freshers were from private schools, while only less than 7% of children in the UK are privately educated. Classism is an issue that is so unbelievably rampant in places like Oxford that I can’t even begin to explain. But like many forms of prejudice in the UK, it’s rarely overt. It comes in the forms of exclusion from social activities (think a working class student not being able to go on a ski trip with course mates), social rules only familiar to the rich being the order of the day (having the right type of suit for a formal dinner).

Oxford is a place where lifelong connections are made that spill into entertainment, business, and (most worryingly) politics, but best believe that if you’re not from the right background, those connections are not yours to make. In fact, the likelihood of you even know they’re going on in the shadows is high.

Obviously, classism and elitism are themes of Saltburn, but please don’t take them too seriously, as it’s crucial to remember that the writer/director grew up in these very private inner circles of elites. As such, her spin is wildly… wild. She’s an incredibly unreliable source for basing any kind of opinion about these issues on.

That’s all I can think of right now! I highly encourage other people who have been through English universities to add on with advice you think you would helpful to writers 😁🫶

And if you’ve got any specific questions, let me know and I’ll help if I can!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Meghan’s Lies

by request of @britishroyalfamilyvideos​

Not comprehensive - this is just what I’ve tracked and they are not in any order. If I’ve missed any, add to the comments.

Meghan grew up an only child, never had any kind of relationship with Sam or Tom while growing up.

Meghan grew up in near-poverty where the $5 Sizzler buffet was a splurge.

Meghan didn’t know who Diana or the Royal Family was.

Meghan didn’t know that Diana did the Panorama interview.

Meghan told a television production she was union when she actually wasn’t.

Meghan’s character was being written off Suits because she was marrying Harry. (She was actually written off because Patrick Adams wanted out and her character was tied to his storylines.)

Meghan doesn’t have any family except Doria.

Meghan paid for college herself with her own student loans. (Thomas did; has receipts.)

Meghan has degrees in international relations and theatre from Northwestern University. (It’s actually a degree in communications, according to the commencement booklet.)

Meghan hated Britain because they were racists.

The Sussexes were more popular in Australasia than the Cambridges were.

Meghan didn’t want to serve newborn Archie on a silver platter to the British media.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to do a photocall at the hospital after Archie was born.

Meghan never talked to Oprah before Megxit.

Meghan wasn’t working with UK Vogue on a special edition.

Meghan couldn’t wear the same color of clothing as anyone else.

Meghan could only wear neutral-colored clothing.

Meghan was never going to dress her children like Kate’s Victorian ghost dolls.

Meghan was going to get her UK citizenship.

Meghan gave up her Hollywood team.

Meghan didn’t want a big public wedding and was forced into the big public spectacle by the royal family.

Meghan and Harry eloped three days before the Windsor spectacle with the Archbishop of Canterbury in their garden at Kensington Palace.

Meghan loves her engagement ring.

Meghan and Harry received permission from The Queen to name their daughter Lilibet.

Meghan loves Africa.

Meghan is committed and passionate about charity work and philanthropy.

There are no tabloids in the U.S.

All Americans have a rude, demanding, and 5am work ethic.

Paparazzi car chases

(All the times Meghan plagiarized quotes from others in her speeches)

Meghan frequented Korean spas in L.A. as a child.

Meghan didn’t collaborate with Scobie on Finding Freedom.

Meghan didn’t expect Thomas to publish her private letter.

The royals were the family Meghan never had.

The royals never welcomed Meghan into the fold.

The royals never gave Meghan any kind of help or training.

Meghan gave up everything for Harry.

Meghan didn’t announce her pregnancy at Eugenie’s wedding.

Meghan loves kids and couldn’t wait to be a mom.

Meghan’s dog was too old to fly overseas.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to decorate their home with items from the Royal Collection.

Kate made Meghan cry.

Meghan had a warm, friendly relationship with The Queen.

Meghan is the best boss ever.

Meghan made her own banana bread in Australia. (It was the Governor’s House chef.)

Meghan had suicidal thoughts the night of the Cirque du Soleil event and couldn’t stop crying at the event.

The royal family never helped Meghan with her mental health.

Meghan is being advised by the Obamas post-Megxit.

The children were refused titles by the BRF because they were racist.

Meghan refused titles for the children.

Meghan had a fish tacos lunch with Michelle Obama.

Meghan was pen pals with Hillary Clinton. (We know now that Thomas intervened on this.)

Meghan witnessed the LA riots.

Meghan supports independent grassroots journalism.

Meghan was going to hit the ground running in Britain after the wedding.

Her height. (She claims to be 5′6...maybe in heels.)

Meghan worked at the US embassy in Argentina. (She did a summer study program and ended up dropping out.)

Meghan didn’t know she had to curtsy to The Queen.

The BRF took her passport and car keys after the wedding and never let her travel.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to leave Nottingham Cottage or Frogmore Cottage unless it was for a work engagement.

They were evicted from Frogmore Cottage. (Netflix docuseries shows they were moving out June 2022.)

Meghan was concerned for her privacy in London and wanted to move back to L.A. because there were no paparazzi.

Archie was denied 24/7 protection by the royal family because he didn’t have a HRH and wasn’t a prince.

The family gossiped about Archie’s skin color and made racist comments to her about him.

The palace forced Meghan to take her name off Archie’s birth certificate. (Archie’s first birth certificate had his mother as Rachel Meghan, HRH The Duchess of Sussex. This birth certificate was later amended to have his mother as HRH The Duchess of Sussex.)

There was egg in the wedding food.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to have scents in St. George’s Church. (She wasn’t allowed to spray perfumes, but could have candles.)

The palace has Archie’s birth certificate locked under file and won’t give it to Meghan, so she can’t register him for school.

Meghan wasn’t allowed to do hair trials with her wedding tiara by Angela Kelly.

Meghan was the new Bond Girl.

Fire in Archie’s nursery in South Africa.

Meghan said titles are not important - people should be linked, not ranked.

Archie was too young to fly to Balmoral after he was born. (And yet they took him on 4 international private flights with Elton John...)

Meghan lied about her age. (This was while she was a working actress in Hollywood. Her age has been corrected so it’s not really a lie anymore.)

Belly padding during the pregnancy with Archie.

Sussex Royal had organic innate popularity on social media. Absolutely no bots were involved at all!

Circumstances of the miscarriage. (There are four different stories out there.)

Zoom calls with the Cambridge children during COVID lockdowns.

Zoom calls with The Queen during COVID lockdowns.

Flowers on Philip’s casket were from the Sussexes.

The Sussexes were invited to the Beckham wedding.

Lili would have a royal christening with The Queen.

Lili was christened.

The Sussexes were invited to the diplomatic reception held before The Queen’s funeral.

Meghan is best friends with Jennifer Aniston and they walk their dogs together all the time.

The children’s appearances are often edited/Photoshopped in published photographs.

Edit: More from the comments - credit to the blogs

Meghan didn’t have friends in school. (@rosesandmoonstones)

Meghan was prom queen. (@rosesandmoonstones)

Circumstances of the “racist royal” remarks (@scorpiotwentythree)

Meghan received a standing ovation at the UN, led by Ban Ki Moon (@scorpiotwentythree!)

The type of ambassador role Meghan had for the UN pre-Harry.

Meghan met The Queen in Balmoral over tea just after starting to date Harry in mid-2016. (@scorpiotwentythree)

“No one asked me if I’m okay.” (@rosesandmoonstones)

Meghan didn’t know racism till she arrived in the UK. (@jillydillypickles)

South Africans danced in the streets for the Sussex wedding. (@jillydillypickles)

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello lovely people! Sorry if im a bit vague but do you have any fics of the 14th century?

("I really didnt like the 14th century")

Preferably with some 'not very nice on the mental health' for Crowley?

With some comfort or not

Cheers!

Hi! Here are some fics about why Crowley hates the 14th century...

Fish-Mesh Trap by Alina_writes (T)

It's the 14th Century, Pestilence walks the earth, and Crowley finds himself in an extremely unfavourable situation. Inspired by the tear-jerking art by fireflysummers and 10yrsart on tumblr.

trapped within an abstract from a moment of my life by midnightdragons (T)

"How long have you been sick, Crowley?" Aziraphale pressed, keeping the tremor from his voice as he steadied his hands, brushing back sweaty hair from the demon's clammy, too-hot forehead. This was not the first time Hell had punished Crowley like this; they were cruel, far too often, and not in the passive-aggressive ways Heaven was, but in the ways that left Crowley shaking and crying out in pain, just as he was now. 

Aziraphale is helping people in the 1300s during the Black Plague epidemic in Europe, and finds a familiar face hiding in the shadows of a sick house ... in need of help of his own.

all hope abandon by morningstar921 (T)

It's the 14th century and the Plague runs rampant through London. It's innocuous enough until the demons start catching it too. Until Crowley catches it. "I'm not helping them. This is medical malpractice, angel. Do you really think a few leeches will cure them?"

so don't go (where i can't follow) by liber_solis (M)

"Angel. What have you done? Answer me!" Crowley shouts. "I'm dying, Crowley." Or There's a reason why Crowley hates the 14th century

A Short History of the 14th Century by agent_p_94 (G)

"You win," said Aziraphale miserably. "I'll go to Scotland." Crowley snapped, and the manacles around Aziraphale's feet broke open. "Shake on it?" "Oh, I suppose." Aziraphale shuffled across the cell and took Crowley's hand through the bars. "This is a one time thing, alright?" he said, looking Crowley straight in the eye. "Due to, ah, unique circumstances." Crowley grinned. A snake's tongue flickered in and out of his mouth. "Course," he said. "Wouldn't dream of asking again." (Spoilers: He asks again) To understand why Crowley hates the 14th century, you have to go back to the beginning of the Arrangement...

The light that is coming in the morning by WoodsWitch (T)

Europe in the 14th century was bloody awful: plagues, famine, century-long wars...no wonder many humans mistakenly thought the apocalypse was already upon them. The only positive, as far as Crowley was concerned, was that Aziraphale was starting to seem comfortable with their Arrangement, even if that was rather torturous in its own way. Unfortunately, their first true, if initially accidental, collaboration goes down like a lead balloon. Guest appearances by Petrarch, John Ball, Watt Tyler, Richard II, and some Cambridge students attempting to do the Faust thing. Can be treated as a prequel to "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition" *TW: References to most of the expected medieval unpleasantness, including antisemitism, messy execution techniques, the black death, etc.

- Mod D

[hazyange1s]

MC: Ronan Sharp

Basics

Full name: Ronan Finley Sharp

Nickname(s): Ron (pronounced with a hard o), Sharpie, Prince Charming (by Sebastian)

Gender: male

Species: wizard/Selkie

Date of birth: September 21, 1874

Nationality: English and Irish

Blood status: pureblood

Wand: laurel, unicorn hair, 13 in, reasonably pliant

Appearance

Hair color: dark auburn

Hair style: loose, short waves with some curtain fringe

Eye color: hazel

Skin tone: fair; often with a light tan

Height: 6’1”

Body type: lean and toned

Clothing style: wears all colors (but especially loves light neutrals, warm tones, and black), prefers comfortable and unique fabrics (flannel, cashmere, fur)

Accessories:

Wears the Sharp family signet ring

Enjoys the occasional hat

Keeps his mother’s picture in his pocket watch

Other distinguishing features:

Freckles (of course)

Scar over his right eye (tried to Apparate at thirteen and splinched himself — still has poor vision in that eye)

Personality

Traits: friendly, enthusiastic, fun-loving, clever, sarcastic, perfectionistic, bossy

Likes: shakespeare, comfort food, medicine/biology, fall, making people laugh, generosity, genuineness

Dislikes: superiority complexes, dishonesty (from himself and others), large birds, flakes

Hobbies: chess, healing, charm creation, archery

Fears: the BIRDS man, abandonment, not being good enough

MBTI: ENFJ-A

Enneagram: 2w3 (268) so/sp

Zodiac: virgo sun, cancer moon, sagittarius rising

Temperament: sanguine

Archetype: the Caregiver

Similar characters: Apollo, Cedric Diggory, Richard Gansey, Lily Potter, Padme Amidala, Derek Shepherd

Family/Friends

Father: Aesop Sharp

Potions master and Slytherin alumnus

Stern with high expectations but well-meaning

Married his step mother when Ronan was five

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

Pureblood

Dragonologist, Gryffindor alumnus

Killed when Ronan was 15 — he never got to meet her

Sibling: Raegan DesRosiers

Half-blood (same mother, different father)

Technically twins — Ronan was conceived and born first, but they shared a womb for 7 months

Gryffindor

Don’t meet properly until their sixth year

Pet: Apollo (tawny owl)

Received after his Hogwarts letter

Sort of the “communal owl” that all of his friends “borrow”

Gets into fights with the other owls oops

Friends: Poppy Sweeting, Diana Blackwine, Arthur Plumley, Adelaide Oaks, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Leander Prewett, Natsai Onai

Magic

Boggart: ostrich (lame)

Patronus: seal

Polyjuice: turns light green and tastes like fennel

Amortentia: lemon, butter, sage, frankincense

Special abilities:

Selkie blood — passed down from his father’s side and dilute enough to present rarely in a bloodline. Allows him to hold his breath underwater for extended periods of time; great swimmer, affinity for sea-dwelling creatures

Does not possess ancient magic

Exceptional and instinctual Healer

Backstory

Ronan was born in Cambridge, England in secret. His mother Kassady had hidden him from her abusive husband — as well as the fact that he was the product of a love affair with her former suitor; Aesop. Ronan grew up not knowing his birth mother (or the fact that he had a half/twin sister); raised by his father until Sharp married when his son was five.

He had a relatively happy childhood, though Ronan always felt slightly out of place. He was not the overly studious, serious type, which caused misunderstandings between him and his strict father… especially when Ronan is sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin (the Sharp family’s ancestral House).

But as he grows and learns more about his past and his family, he begins to come into his own as he becomes a Charms prodigy and a guiding light for the next generation of Keepers 😉.

Academics 

Best Subject: Charms, Magical Theory

Worst subject: Ancient Runes

Favorite teacher: Ronen and Kogawa

Least favorite teacher: Sharp (he’s harder on him than the rest oop)

As a student:

Very popular and personable; gets along with pretty much everyone (but isn’t a pushover)

His dyslexia causes him some trouble. Overall his intelligence and hard work helps him find ways around it

Mischievous — sort of a “thief in the night” that nobody suspects

Future

Career: Mediwizard

Ronan desires to make something of himself; to make a difference and be somebody useful in society. After seeing the impact that the goblin rebellion had on people and watching his sister/friends struggle with all manner of ailments (both mental and physical), he changes his career path from an Auror to Mediwizard.

He’d always had an interest in biology and medicine. The job allows him to dive deeper into those fascinations while giving him the adventure and variety Ronan secretly craves — he winds up traveling around Europe after Hogwarts under the employment of St. Mungo’s. Specializes in curses and mental illness.

Future spouse: undecided for now (side note: I’m always open to MCxMC ships! Ronan is pansexual so we’re not picky 😂)

[coochiequeens]

Ladies today do something just for you or your education.

A Room Of One’s Own Day is a momentous occasion that falls on January 25 each year, and we’re going to help you celebrate. Do you know that the book by Virginia Woolf which was the inspiration behind this holiday is more than 93 years old? A Room Of One’s Own Day celebrates the privacy of having one’s own room and is also symbolic of independence. It also reminds us that it is the privileged who have their own rooms and that we can appreciate and look after what we have. It also reminds us of the ongoing struggle for females to receive an education.

HISTORY OF A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN DAY

Adeline Virginia Woolf, one of the most influential writers of the twentieth century, was born on March 25, 1882. She was the seventh of eight children born to Julia Prinsep Jackson and Leslie Stephen. Her father is said to have been the one who inspired Woolf to take up writing as a profession.

Woolf began writing in 1900. In 1912, she married Leonard Woolf, and the couple set up the Hogarth Press, which would in the future be the publishing house that released most of Woolf’s works. Her written works are said to be the inspiration behind modern-day feminist movements, and it continues to inspire young women to be independent. Though Woolf has written several masterpieces, her most famous essay is “A Room Of One’s Own” which came out in 1929. It dealt mainly with the lack of freedom of expression of women in those times. It advocated access to education for women. This novel played a key role in inspiring the feminist movements of the 1970s.

Though the exact origins of A Room Of One’s Own Day are not known, this day has been celebrated annually by millions as a day to celebrate independence and self-sustainability. Some might take the day in a literal way and celebrate it by decorating one’s own room or simply enjoying the comfort and privacy of one’s own room. Others might take it figuratively and observe this day by shutting the metaphorical door to things they are no longer interested in and celebrating independence.

HOW TO OBSERVE A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN DAY

Do something creative in your room. Your room is your kingdom. Let out your creative skills and give your new room a new look. Add new furniture. Paint the walls. Make posters. Clean your room. The idea is to renovate your room and take it to the next level.

Share it on social media. Let everyone know that you're celebrating this day. Take pictures of your room after you have refurbished it and post them on social media. This will inspire many others to celebrate this day.

Read a good book about women. Many of the rights and freedoms today’s women enjoy are new. Read a good book about the struggle and the amazing women who led the fight.

5 FACTS ABOUT THE NOVEL “A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN” THAT WILL BLOW YOUR MIND

It was made for Cambridge student societies. Woolf wrote this essay based on two papers she read for two student societies in Cambridge.

Judith was a fictional character. Woolf invented the fictional character of Judith as the sister of William Shakespeare.

It had lesbianism. One section of the book deals with a fictional female writer's relationship with another woman.

It faced criticism. The book was criticized for the sensitive content and also because many women felt that women of color faced greater prejudice and discrimination, which was not covered in the novel.

It was adapted into plays“Balancing the Moon” (2011) was one of the many plays adapted from this novel.

WHY A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN DAY IS IMPORTANT

It allows us to appreciate the freedom of having our own room. Having a room of our own is a luxury that we often take for granted. Many people in this world either don’t have a roof over their heads or are sharing a house with others. This day allows us to appreciate the luxury of having our own rooms.

It is symbolic of independence. A Room of One's Own Day is symbolic of standing on our own and being independent. This day figuratively reminds us to have our rooms, that is, to be self-sufficient and not be dependent on others.

It reminds us to close the doors to things that are detrimental to our well-being. A Room of One's Own Day is a reminder that we need to close the door to people, and also things, that are toxic and hinder our growth and success. It is a day to be introspective and clear out the junk from your metaphorical “room”.