#corgis-with-british-accent

[croutoncat]

guys i date in france are always obsess w/ the fact that im british and its like... i could care less

[anaquariusart]

Fuga Melodies of Steel Headcannons

!Spoilers for the first game!

Boron has the Felineko equivalent of a primordial pouch. (Shout out @small-toast for coming up with this one )

Chick and Hack have British accents. (I know they are supposed to be French, but their corgis and I can practically hear Chick saying “I want to be a proper lady” in a cockney accent).

Hanna is the least squeamish of the Fuga kids, she still gets scared but it's not like she will faint at the sight of blood or anything.

Wappa is the kind of kid to make mud pies, much to the older kid's dismay.

Kyle lets his bangs cover his eye to match Hanna's hair, she didn't notice.

Mei leaves out little snacks for the ghost girl (Jeanne)

When it gets too hot in the Taranis, Jin will wiggle is head to make his ears flap. Think of what an elephant does to cool off.

Some of the kids are still scared of the dark so Sheena uses her Nono/spells as little nightlights.

Malt's harmonica came from his dad.

Whenever the Taranis rolls into a town Hack would trade trinkets and treats with the town kids for issues of "The Adventures of Sucre".

Sheena talks to Bluette when she's by herself. But when the other kids saw her do this, they started talking to Bluette, so Sheena doesn't feel weird for doing it.

Chick really doesn't like it when people think she’s Hack.

Socks wished he could talk to Jeanne again to learn more about human technology, but even if he could he'd still be scared of girls at that point. (and yes, millennia old AI count too)

Britz favorite food is anything with apples.

One time Kyle told Wappa that she has a bit napoleon complex to her face, and she said "...so what?". (She doesn't know what that is)

It doesn't snow a lot in Shetland, so Jin doesn't know what to do when it does. "What?...Oh it's snowing...uh cool."

When Malt was a toddler, he got a really bad case of fleas when he was learning to tend to moosheep. So he takes extra care to make sure Mei doesn't catch them when playing with moosheep.

Yawns are contagious, but when Boron yawns the effect is multiplied by twenty.

Hanna is farsighted and needs glasses to read.

[mademoisellekalopsia]

A Photo Taken of Us

Knackered Yet Living: A Short Dialogue

| Strictly Do Not Repost Without Credit, Steal, or Copy the Artwork |

???: Ah, thank you very much, Monsieur.

???: Finally…mmmgh!

The tall Afghan Hound groaned as they rolled their shoulders back, feeling the slight knots adjust and audibly pop. A group of business dogs were taking photos together in a grand shopping center they often visited for memories of being close colleagues and friends as their excuse. They do this occasionally, but rarely complete as a group. Judging from the background, they were in an open sky garden for all dogs, puppers, or families to take a breather, relax, hang out with friends, anything that is not legal to commit in a mall for dog's sake. It was finally that one weekend for them to have the group together, have some lunch or a drink. One thing is for certain, they are very well-spent from today's agenda.

Panning the moment to the Brittany Spaniel, who spoke in a bit of French earlier, she glanced at the photos taken by a passerby who simply wanted nothing more than to just eat their sandwich in peace. Bless their soul for lending a hand for a moment. Simply placing the phone down on a pole or pot for it to lean on was not enough to ensure the safety of the phone itself.

???: Let me see! Make sure to send the good ones in the group chat.

The voice of an American Cocker Spaniel spoke in curiosity as she walked on over, standing beside to her friend with a hand on her hips. They both looked at the photos in awe, making small comments and chuckles. Some shots were either out of focus or badly timed, but a few came out really well.

???: Ooh, I like this one.

The hound uttered. Their deep, yet mellow tone and British accent made the ladies look at what he was pointing at. It was a clear photo shot of the group, whilst his hair was flowing. He felt like the main character in a way, so he had to point it out.

???: My luscious locks flowing against that sudden gust of air. That, ladies, is a good shot— blugh! Uhh!

He was interrupted at the end there, trying to take out a strand of hair out of his mouth, leaving the girls alone for a moment as he turned his back.

???: Ah, see?! I told you to tie your hair, you Rapunzel look-alike of a hound!

Eventually, one of them checked and helped the hound out. Perhaps he should have tied his hair, style it a bit, but then again, he was a stubborn man at times, wanting his hair to be loose and free. The Brittany Spaniel whispered to herself, admiring the photo, then suddenly spoke the last few words out loud.

???: It is a fine shot…oh. Oh…wha—come on! Sir!

She whipped her head to the left, turning to call out to the Pembroke Welsh Corgi who had his arms crossed. A grumpy expression etched on his face as their gaze shifts to them, emphasized on his untamed beard, seemingly tired after the hours of walking and shop stops he had with them, but they have to deal with being part of this matter in the end. Taking photos in the sky garden of a shopping center with their fellow colleagues.

???: Your eyes were closed! What a bad timing…this is such a good photo too.

The Corgi huffs, lowly grumbling as they come closer to the Brittany Spaniel as he spoke in a deep British tone as well.

???: The wind is to blame, and may I remind you, it is getting late.

He replied. He, too, was not happy when it happened. Oh well, it was nearing 6 o'clock and it was evident that the sky was slowly transitioning to an orange-yellow hue, the clouds painted in a light pink glow. Whatever photos they have, take it or leave it.

???: So it is.

The Brittany Spaniel sighed, a bit disappointed at the "almost-perfectly-good" photo. It had to be sabotaged by the passing wind from earlier, then again, they set themselves on the mall's sky garden, so it is to be expected.

???: Say, are you guys heading home soon? I want to visit that cafe by the ground floor with someone. I need company.

???: You're literally a grown-ass man.

???: But having company is better. I have like, what, half an hour until my bus transit arrives. And I do not want to wait that long without any distractions.

???: You know what, buy me a good drink, that is worth my while, then I'll accompany you. How's that sound?

???: Aight then! I'm buying both of us a drink in that matter. Though, you say that, when really you are giving me a run for my money, aren't you?

The American Cocker Spaniel couldn't help but chuckle at the hound, waggling her brows with an innocent smile. The hound scoffed dramatically, but he didn't mind treating the American Cocker Spaniel in the end anyway, giving a smirk back.

???: You bitch. While…you! Sir. You can go about your day and drive back home, in your fancy Volkswagen or whatever, all by yourself. Safely.

???: As if I have anything less important to do…

With the others conversing in the background before taking their leave, the Brittany Spaniel took a moment to look at the photo. Sure, it may not be a good capture, but some moments are worth capturing when they are less orchestrated or least expected with attention. Unless for valid matters such as consent, then do put attention to it. In other words, just going about your day, wherever you are, whoever you are with, it already says a lot about the subject and the situation.

"Capture the moment," that is what a photo is all about, isn't it? She was too focused to have a perfect photo like always and there is nothing wrong with that, but even so, it didn't matter as much unlike back then.

It brought her to a soft smile, tail wagging ever so slightly as she dismissed the imperfect details and just appreciated the overall photo taken with her close colleagues. She took her leave along with the others, parting their ways as their bodies grew tired and their heads exhausted from the day they had under each other's company. Their time at the mall had to end with a photo together. To be frank, they do look rather fine back at the sky garden.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

I thought you were eternal… thank you for introducing me to the wonderful Corgi.

* * * *

“It has always been easy to hate and destroy. To build and to cherish is much more difficult.” 

— Queen Elizabeth II April 21, 1926 - September 8, 2022.

+

Michael Rudder  

 When I was a child, my grandmother and grandfather, my Mother’s parents, lived just up the street. They were the first generations of their British families that chose Canada as their home.My grandmother, when I met her, was a tiny, white haired woman with a delightful accent who smelled of lavender and who would receive me in her study, where she kept her violets and her embroidery and her British gossip mags and all of her scrap books.Her scrap books were large, two foot tall, simple soft covered sketch books in which she kept every photo of the Royal Family that had ever been published in a Toronto newspaper.

 At that time the Queen’s visits to Canada would result in entire sections of the paper being devoted to them, full of the photos of the processions and the events, and the entire page of the newspaper would fit quite perfectly on them.She would make me a “nice cup of tea” when I visited; it was so easy for me to walk up the street and knock on her door to visit, and when the tea was poured we would go into her study to look at her scrap books together. She would tell me what the newspapers said that HM said in her address, and the joke that the newspaperman overheard Prince Phillip say under his breath, and then she would go back to her embroidery and I would sit beside her and leaf through the gossip mags.It was all a bunch of fancy costumes and pomp to me. I got it, and I didn’t get it.

But the moment I bonded with Her Majesty was when I saw how she had responded during WW2, when she began her training as a mechanic in March of 1945. Still a Princess, she undertook a driving and vehicle maintenance course at Aldershot, and qualified. Her ability to diagnose and repair engines was a source of amusement and in some cases an emergency aid for her family for the rest of her life.Even as a kid I knew how powerful a motivational action that was, for her to be a Royal and yet to involve herself in the activities that every British woman of her generation was undertaking, forced by history to wake up to their capabilities to do their bit for the war effort.I can only imagine what an inspirational effect her action had on the people she was to lead.She continued to impress me throughout her life, regardless of my growing understanding of the evils of the Empire she had inherited. She was The Royal Standard. She never wavered.

So despite what I know and what I don’t know I found myself spontaneously tearing up throughout the day today.Thank you, Your Highness.I’m sure that if there is a Heaven where all of our dead still live, there will be one astonishingly noisy parade today, and my dear Gran will be right there by the side of the road, beautiful and young again, singing your praises hand in hand with her beloved Fred, waving a beautifully embroidered handkerchief, hoping to catch your eye.

The work never ends. Well done.

[12u3ie]

Hermitcraft Incorrect Quotes based off shit me and my friends have said (2/?)

Xisuma: Grian, did you do this?

Grian: Not on purpose.

Doc, in the distance: Yes you did!

-~-

Anybody: Impulse has Team ZIT’s braincell.

Impulse: I just stuck my finger in an outlet.

-~-

Mumbo, when he has a crazy/bad idea: Stop trying to prove me right!

-~-

Doc: Some people are stupid and they don’t remember stuff.

Ren: …I don’t remember stuff. :(

-~-

The server: Lag-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-gy.

-~-

Grian or Scar: I have 3 siblings in all and 6 of them are cats.

-~-

Beef, running into the room: Wels caught Hels straight up drinking sprinkles!

Wels, in the distance: I WAS SAVING THOSE!

-~-

Hels!Hermits: Mwah ha ha ha! Dark sense of humor!

-~-

Bdubs, at Doc: Your goat. Bad. [Raspberry noises]

-~-

The Fandom: You know how pictures are worth 1000 words? 

The Fandom, pointing to the pictures of Doc and Iskall in dresses: These ones are worth 1005.

-~-

Tango, about Zedaph: Every once in a while, out of madness comes complete and total knowledge. He just said the most wise things I have heard in my life, but he says so many stupid things, it cancels out. It's like a monkey with a typewriter.

-~-

Boomers: Now look at this… [Does kaboom noise] [Stuff blows up]

-~-

Grian, doing redstone: I’m so good at this! [Does it wrong] Nevermind! Wrong place!

-~-

Iskall: That made no sense!

Grian: I understood it.

Mumbo: Yeah, because you make no sense.

-~-

Bdubs: I’m great at parties!

-~-

Joe, while using the replay mod: I just third-personed my third-person.

-~-

Tango, mocking British accents: Hi. I have a corgi… that’s bred with a poodle.

-~-

Grian: If I were a superhero, I would base my life off of the ‘Look at all those chickens’ girl.

-~-

Joe: Cleo, learn punctuation, or you will be murdered in the night by a semicolon.

-~-

Biffa: Mumbo, are you the one that caused all the lag?

Mumbo: …No?

Biffa: Iskall?

Iskall: Nope.

Biffa, shouting to another room: Xisuma! They’re useless! They don’t know!

[sunnychuuya]

Skipping any that r personal info

3. Feb 14th

4. Aquarius

5. I like alot but pastel colors >>> and also purple

6. 3, 4 and 7

7. 2 dogs, a corgi named Clifford and a double doodle named ellie

8. MURICA🤠 (why)

9. 5ft 7 last time I checked

10. 9½

11. ..... 23. 23 pairs of shoes. It's not an addiction i swear-

12. Idk I'm pretty sure it was smth about gojo-

13. Absurd amounts of knowledge on my hyperfixations!! But watercolors and writing

14. Lmao what does this mean

15. *glances at my spotify* uh.. good.. question may I submit 3674 answers? N-no?

16. I don't have a fav I like disney movies but I recently watched suzume it was pretty good

17. someone who loves and respects me also a cosplayer cuz couples cosplay >>> (also preferably taller than me? Prolly won't happen)

18. Idk bro

19. Nah

20. Nope raised an atheist

21. Yes I think 2 times for myself then for my brother like four times

22. Nah thankfully

23. YES I used to be obsessed with descendants and I met China Anne McLain

24. Depends- for getting clean definitely showers but I love baths so much

25. No socks in bed rn

26. No

27. Maybe. It would be cool but then there is also everything else.

28. I like the music I like not rlly picky I listen to alot of kpop and jpop tho

29. No. No desire too either

30. 1-4 and a stuffie on top of the pillow

31. I contort myself horribly during my sleep and also wake up incredibly sore! I've woken up half dangling off the bed more times than I can count

32. It's a good size

33. What's breakfast? [When I remember I like breakfast burritos and my moms chocolate Banana muffins]

34. Bb guns, nerf guns, never a real gun

35. YES AND I LOVE IT SM

36. Asking a writer their favorite word? How dare you.

37. MOTHERFUCKER it's so versatile and just rolls off the tongue!

38. At least 3 days !

39. I have a bunch of little scars all around my body due to clumsiness especially on my hands just little spots

40. No sadly not

41. Yes I can be very good at manipulation too!

42. Kinda

43. It seriously depends some days I can perfectly do an accent and then the next day I sound like I'm on crack but one I'm pretty consistently able to do is a subtle British accent and a southern accent

44. Nope

45. I think alot of accents r rlly cute but especially kr accents idk why I'm pretty sure it's bc of hwang hyunjin cuz I am cringe

46. Mbti? Intp

47. I'm not 100% sure but I think one of my dresses was about 45 bucks. I get most of my stuff from yard sales bc it's simply better

48. Yes! Hot dog and w

49. Innie ofc

50. Right handed but I'm getting better with my left hand so I can have bisexual hands

51. THOSE FUCKING DEMONS ARE TERRIBLE

52. Tacos is my go to

53. Most Asian food is fucking amazing sushi especially tho

54. I feel bad for saying it again but it depends-

55. Something involving the word fuck I'm sure. Or maybe "I'm gonna kms" cuz that's healthy

56. Fuck. I'm sure of that. Its not healthy but it's meee

57. If i just woke up- 45 minutes if it's midday 10

58. I don't think so

59. Suck until it's smaller then u crunch it

60. Yes

61. Absolutely

62. Friends say I am I think I'm decent like 7/10

63. Going blind

64. For ppl I hate yeah but my besties secrets are stored in a safe

65. Bro I have a shit memory you can't ask me this fuck

66. I think both r pretty but I have thick hair that tangles easy so I like to have mine short, long hair is nice to play with though

67. Hell no!

68. Science, except for physics that shit sucks

69. Introvert

70. No it seems fun tho

71. Everything cuz I got that mental illness heh

72. A bit, i can deal with it but it makes me anxious

73. If I can do it without being rude or if it's important yes

74. No.. *sweating and backing into the corner* (yes very much so especially on my sides)

75. Nothing big but some small things I'm sure

76. Babysitting my little brother that's it

77. No

78. No

79. The first person I recognized as a crush was my bff in 2nd grade and it spiraled into a shithole that made me lose him as a friend and get made fun of the whole year

80. 2 just a basic piercing on each ear, but I'm planning on getting second piercings on each ear and a belly button piercing within the next year, and a lip ring on the right in the future

81. I CANT IT MAKES ME ANGRY HOW DO YOU DO IT

82. Very fast but not coherently

83. Not

84. Brown but I've dyed the edges purple before, which faded into a silver green and a different time blue, I wanna do red next

85. Green blue

86. The outside basically. I'm allergic to mothefucking grass. No foods tho!

87. No I am too forgetful to do that I have tried many times and failed many times

88. Dad's a therapist

89. I simply don't understand the question

90. Lowkey got anger issues so alot, but being told to respect people even if they give me none pisses me off alot

91. It's nice but basic I like the name I go by online and my real name

92. I have spent 30+ hrs on baby name sites and only half of my ocs are names

93. Girl cuz seeing my brother grow up he's fucking insane

94. My creative works

95. Used to be too trustful, now it's the opposite

96. My grandpa suggested it to my parents

97. No fucking clue

99. Pink fades to blue

100. Blue grey

it's 3 am if this is incoherent don't blame me @sciionide @nugget-child

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[karomate]

High Ground - Olli Matela FF Part 7

Remember how I told y'all yesterday I wouldn't post a chapter today? Guess I tricked myself there a bit. Today is Switzerlands national holiday. Which means firework and my cat will be scared. So I will stay home, write probably some more and take care of my cat. lol.

And now enjoy and lemme know if you liked it.

P.S. once again the chapter is a bit longer.

_______________________________________________

After Olli came back out the shower, Sara thought he looked very handsome. Like he always did. He was wearing a black button down and simple black jeans. “Looking good there handsome”, she said and walked over to him, to give him a short kiss. “I only tried to not look like a himbo next to you”, he admitted and pulled her closer to him to start pepper her face with kisses. She laughed and pushed him softly away from her. He was just so unbelievably cute she almost couldn’t handle him. “So. What do you think. Should we go and buy some liquor so the party will be more up to our taste?”, he asked her smirking. She also started to smirk and nodded her head. So out they went to the next corner store, to buy some harder stuff than beer, which Tommi probably already had at his house.

They decided to get themselves some good old cheap whiskey and because Sara was a big fan of it some Aperol. After they bought their stuff it was already time to go to Tommis place.

After they arrived no one questioned why they came together. Sara actually expected one or two side remarks, why they arrived together and already made sure she had an excuse. Gladly she did not have to use a single excuse. She would have hated to lie to the guys. “Hi guys!”, Sara greeted them with the most genuine smile she had in a long time and even pulled them all into a hug, which surprised not only her but them as well. “I brought Aperol!”, she claimed and held the bottle up high. They cheered for her and Tommi took the bottle to the fridge. “So who allowed you to look this good, madame?”, asked a beer holding Joonas and smirked at her. She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the cute man in front of her. “You’re one to talk. Looking all hot and fluffy here”, she answered him and motioned for him to a little twirl for here. He obliged and turned around in a circle for her and even threw a pose in there, which resulted in all the people laughing. “Dork”, she laughed at him, and asked Tommi where his fridge was. He pointed to the kitchen and she and Olli made their way inside, to grab drinks for themselves. “How am I supposed to resist you?”, he mumbeled low enough for only her ears and smirked when he noticed her blush. “Don’t then”, she winked, after she gained her confidence back, and left a dumbfounded Olli back in the kitchen. Two could play this game, she thought and sat down next to Tommi, who was sitting on a bench. They were right, when they said he looked like a teddy bear. Like there was probably no one softer in this garden than he was.

Olli also came back out and had to his disappointment noticed that there was no free space next to his angel. A little bit pissed he sat down next to Niko, who to his surprise noticed the shift in Ollis face. “Don’t be pissed, just because she gets along with Tommi”, Niko whispered so only Olli could hear. Olli was surprised. Was he this obvious? “I am not pissed”, he tried to defend himself, which resulted in Niko letting out a snorting like laugh. “Sure buddy and I am the queen of England”, he joked and hit Olli on his shoulder. There was no one who could fool Niko. He always noticed everything. “Oh! I am sorry your highness! Can I bring you something to drink? Would you like to have your corgis in the same garden as you!”, Olli mocked in a british accent and even intended to do a bow. The others in the garden were surprised but couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you doing Olli?”, Aleksi asked while Joel was holding his stomach from laughing so hard. “Niko said he was the queen of England. I only wanted to be a good servant”, Olli said and tried to subtly wink at Sara. But of course Niko had to notice. Once again! Olli decided that keeping him and Sara a secret would maybe not be hard in front of the other boys, but Niko could turn into a problem.

They were all laughing and enjoying themselves. Alcohol was there and they all started to feel a bit light headed. Sara made her way to the kitchen, to go grab her and Niko another beer. She only did it because Niko tried to act cute when he asked to also bring him one. She couldn’t say no to the long haired man. She didn’t notice that Olli followed her into the kitchen. He also drank a few beers and was feeling tipsy. “Angel. When are we leaving?”, he asked her and trapped her between the counter and his body. “Why would we leave? And why would we leave together?”, she teased him and tried to get away from him. She didn’t really want to get out from this position, but it was fun playing with him, as he was getting impatient. “We will leave together. You’re going to sleep at my place today”, he decided for her and put his head on her shoulder. It seemed like she didn’t have any other choice but to stay at his place. “Gladly”, she admitted and pulled him into a short kiss, which fast turned into a full make out session in the middle of Tommis kitchen. The thought hit Sara like a brick, and she pulled away from him. Olli didn’t really feel that and started to kiss her neck roughly, which probably will turn into a mark. “Babe”, she whimpered and he stiffened. “If you say that again, I will have to take you home this instant”, he growled into her ear and pulled away from her, to look her in her eyes. Sara noticed that his eyes darkened quite a bit. “Just one more hour and then we’ll leave”, she whispered and gave him a short kiss, grabbed her and Nikos beer and went back outside to the other men.

Olli had to collect his thoughts and calm his racing heart down in the kitchen. He didn’t know he would react so strongly to a single word this woman said. But he clearly did. He could feel his heart in his throat and his hand were shaking a bit. He went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face to calm himself even more down. After he calmed down a bit and his heart wasn’t beating like a metronome at 189 he went back to the boys. Of course, Niko looked at him weirdly and even smirked a bit. “Were you the one who bruised the princess a bit?”, Niko whispered in Ollis ear. He looked closely at Saras neck, and he saw it too. There were really small bruises starting to form. Olli looked down, so Niko wouldn’t see his grin. “A gentleman never tells”, he winked at his friend and took a sip from his beer. Only 50 more minutes until he and Sara would leave.

After the most painful 60 minutes Sara slowly got up from her place. She was a bit wobbly. Maybe she shouldn’t have drank that Aperol. But man was she feeling amazing. “Boys. Tomorrow is a long day. I will head back to the hotel now”, she said. “Don’t be late to rehearsal tomorrow, and do not be hungover. There were never any good songs made hungover”, she lectured them professionally and gathered her belongings. “We probably all should head home”, Joel said and got up as well. Everyone expect Tommi, cause it was his garden, followed his lead and they also gathered their belongings.

After everyone said their goodbyes, they started to head in the right directions home. Olli made sure that no one looked at him an Sara and pulled her to a wall and pressed her softly against it. “That was longer than an hour”, he whispered between kisses and tried to get even closer to her, which was physically impossible, as they were already really close together. “But now you got me”, she whispered back and put her arms around his neck. After two more minutes of them just kissing, Olli pulled away from her, took her hand and started to drag her at a fast pace to the direction of his apartment. He was getting impatient, Sara noticed that.

Olli never arrived at his apartment faster, and he couldn’t even be bothered to wait for the elevator. He pulled her straight to the stairs and dragged her up there as well. He needed three tries to get the key in the hole, but when he managed he pulled Sara straight to his bedroom. “I know a few hours ago I said I wanted to wait a bit longer, but by god. You drove me crazy today”, he admitted an pushed her to lay down on his bed. It was actually Saras first time seeing his bedroom. “Did I?”, she smirked at him and watched as he unbuttoned his shirt. He just nodded at her, unable to say a word.

He finally managed to get out of his button down and crawled on top of her. He started to kiss her passionately. Slowly he put his hand on her ribs. Suddenly too shy to make the next move. She pulled him closer to her, which encouraged him to slip his tongue in her mouth. They were so engaged in each other, that they almost didn’t hear Ollis phone ring, which was still in Ollis back pocket. “Ignore it”, he whispered as he noticed her moving away. “It could be important”, she argued. She was drilled to always answer her phone. At all times. “That’s Nikos ringtone. It will probably be about a song he found online”, he tried to persuade her, but Sara was stubborn and looked at him wit a -pick it up- look. He let out a deep sigh, pulled his phone out and lie down next to Sara who was trying to fix her dress. “I am really sorry man. But could you tell me your Netflix password?”, Niko did sound guilty on the other end of the phone. Olli almost couldn’t believe his ears. Was Niko for real? He had the most beautiful girl in his bed and right now his friend had to call him and ask for his fucking Netflix password? The mood was ruined. “It’s Fuckyou1234 with a capital F”, he said and hung up the phone.

[nomanwalksalone]

BOOK REVIEW: RICHARD JAMES SAVILE ROW

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

As Troy McClure said about playing the human in a musical adaptation of Planet of the Apes, reviewing this book is “the role I was born to play!”

Simply entitled Richard James: Savile Row, this book commemorates the 25th anniversary in Savile Row of the fashion house and tailors of the same name.  A read is somewhat disappointing, full of short essays by what amounts to a rather incestuous school of longtime Richard James fans in British media and entertainment, among them British GQ’s Dylan Jones and Richard’s most notorious client, Elton John.

Elton’s known as a voracious devotee – to not say addict – of his favorite outfitters over the decades, buying out entire shopfloors at times.  His twenty-year devotion to Richard James is a key to understanding Richard James’ enormous if unrecognized positive influence on contemporary men’s clothing and British tailoring. Forty years ago Elton dressed head-to-toe in psychedelic Tommy Nutter, switching in the 1980s to over-the-top Gianni Versace glitz.  Since the end of the 1990s, he’s evangelized Richard James.

Tommy Nutter, the last tailor-designer in Savile Row, dominated British men’s tailoring in the 1970s.  Custom tailoring took a back seat to the cult of the ready-to-wear designer, mostly the Continentals: Pierre Cardin, then Armani and Versace.  Nutter had a few isolated 1980s hits, like dressing the Joker in 1989’s Batman, before dying in 1992.

What had become of the British? 1980s attitudes towards luxury and clothing meant regression, selling an image of Britain as Raj, pith helmets, and gin among palm trees, not progress. Ralph Lauren did a much better job selling that ethos in his more expensive lines than any of the British could.  Some tried; those of us of a certain age (me) remember seeing cashmere sweaters made in China sold in Bloomingdales under the label of Savile Row tailor Gieves & Hawkes, or blocky ready-to-wear suits at Barneys sold with the name of Savile Row tailor Kilgour, French & Stanbury, although made in Canada by Samuelson.  An ersatz Britishness for export markets, an ersatz image and look created by ready-to-wear licensees with little input from the British tailors desperately trying to sell their names abroad.

Into this breach came Richard James. Like Nutter, James is categorically not a trained tailor.  What he is, though, is an inspired designer who, since opening on Savile Row, has offered true custom tailoring as well as ready-to-wear in visionary designs.  I remember the first Richard James items I noticed, beautiful belts and wallets of gorgeous quality hand stitched in England with contrasting linings in deeply saturated color.  I still have one of those belts, in all its magnificence.  What did they have to do with British custom tailoring?  Nothing – and everything. For the first time a Savile Row name appeared to be doing something relevant, interesting and elegant – and doing it to the fullest extent and the last detail. Savile Row survives by its export markets and by the reputation its tailors have forged for beautiful items of a certain Britishness.  No more uninspired licensed items that has as much to do with British elegance as a Sterling car (derided by Consumer Reports for “Industrial Revolution-era” English technology, remember those?). What Richard James has done is modernize British elegance from the creepy colonial-obsessed ethos that today only blinkered Brexiteer bluestockings and Internet edgelords cling to.  Even the past James references uses other, more inspired touchstones of British greatness, including his bespoke offer (initially serviced by the Savile Row tailors Anthony J. Hewitt and James Levett before being brought in-house), but also ready-to-wear shirts in stripes that recalled the best of Swinging London; handmade ties whose lush, delicate patterns rivalled the best of midcentury Sulka or today’s Charvet; magnificently, decadently warm alpaca pile ‘teddy bear” coats originally created for 1920s motorists; astonishingly soft leather or suede jackets in the café racer style 1960s London Mods would have died for; and even the made-to-order cashmere socks with custom monograms Corgi used to make for defunct shops of yesteryear like the custom shirtmaker Beale & Inman.  It was a vision of Britishness far, far from Lauren’s fantasies, a Britishness that admitted the turmoil of Ted Heath’s premiership, that added much-needed glamor after John Major’s greyness.  And James reminded us what was wonderful about the British suit by invoking all that was dashing in its cut.  Ready-to-wear suits were made in beautiful cloths from British mills like the impeccable Taylor & Lodge, in unexpectedly evocative colors and patterns: sharp mohair sharkskin, gorgeously patterned real Scottish or Irish tweeds or a French navy that was lighter than the normal shade; even rainbow chalkstripes on a sober dark ground.  The cut was always tapered at the waist, double-vented, slant pocketed in the “hacking” style, a look espoused by Patrick Macnee’s subversively too-British John Steed in the 1960s.  Richard’s linings were often boldly colorful, to remind us what could be playful about the suit, everything that 1980s pretention (clinging to all the trimmings of colonial oppression) had repressed.

Richard James the book shines in cataloguing those designs in beautiful detail.  James really has been the best colorist in the business, as Jones termed him.  Even more importantly, this book also shows how James has aced the tricky game of tennis without a net of innovating within the classic: in addition to recreating ruffle-fronted tuxedo shirts like those of George Lazenby’s louche Bond in 1969’s On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, James also invented tuxedo shirts whose fronts (instead of pleats or stiff waffle-weave Marcella) were hand-beaded by Hand & Lock, beaders and embroiderers to Her Majesty the Queen; Corgi (knitters and hosiers to the Prince of Wales) knitted thick, thick cashmere sweaters with hand-inlaid abstract intarsia designs; elegant cufflinks (always double-sided) recalled childhood marbles in the forms of hand-blown translucent glass or semiprecious banded agate (a real “Aggie”) or amber set in sterling silver; and even a travel bag that recalled the bags given away by Pan Am or Concorde in the early days of jet travel was rendered in ballistic nylon with reflective silver piping and brilliantly contrasting linings.

I’ve never owned a Richard James bespoke suit.  I know that his ready-to-wear suits were disappointingly half-canvassed or fused, despite their wonderful materials.  But they helped remind me that Savile Row could still be relevant, and that those tailors, despite past reputation, could be approachable and contemporary – and that has been my experience with the other tailors of Savile Row, including the impeccable, evocatively named Steed, whom I loved for their name before ever using them.

Every item with the Richard James name carried and carries the same visionary, whimsical design philosophy, a Britishness less fanciful and more romantic than Paul Smith’s, and far less caricatural and cynical than those of Ralph Lauren or Hackett.  Socks, always made to a high-standard by Pantherella, are accented in amusing contrast colors or mad patterns. I have a number that are doing fine almost 20 years later.  My Richard James Concorde bag has been a beloved, perfect gym bag for years, while his larger, tougher Japanese denim bag (trimmed in the best British bridle hide) is my go-to travel holdall no matter where on Earth I go. My beaded Richard James tux shirt is a prized piece of design genius, as is a magnificently waterproof raincoat made for him by Mackintosh in a beige twill that cunningly iridesces turquoise or orange from certain angles. For years I’ve searched for the same shade of gorgeous Thomas Mason turquoise twill cotton that an old Richard James shirt is in, but most of his materials are specially made for his designs; even the fine-gauge cotton knits that John Smedley or Peter Geeson created for him seemed to be in special colors and to his own patterns.

That wealth, that treasury of a vision and genius, tumbles out of Richard James’ new book, pictures that really are worth thousands of words and that speak for themselves about the importance of this designer’s contribution, reminding us that Savile Row, indeed British menswear itself, still had things of wonder to offer us.

[dragonanon]

Terrible OC idea #482024727191:

A snarky Cheetah Cataur girl who talks a big game and is super athletic with an athletic body type and a few small scars, but she suffers from terrible anxiety both generalized and social. And she uses snark and sass to hide this.

So she's usually seen hanging around with her best friend, and possible crush a cheery and happy-go-lucky pembroke welsh corgi dogtaur who's mere presence gives her more confidence. He has a gentle British accent and acts as her hypeman, and is able to calm her down and break through that prickly shell to get to her inner soft kitty.

[aliothizan]

As usual after landing, Ali tried his best to take Ellie on daily long walks to help her stretch her legs properly. She was plenty active on the ship, chasing her ball down the halls, but it wasn't the same as getting fresh air and some real grass. His corgi trotted happily down the streets of Rungung, pausing to smell anything she could get her little nose on. As they rounded the corner, he spotted a very familiar person, but with a surprise addition.

Grinning widely, he approached Beck and her niece, wiggling his fingers as a wave. "G'day to you too, Cleo," he said, but it didn't have the same pizazz with his lack of an Australian accent. His was more of a mishmash from the different countries he lived in, like a British American hybrid. "You sound just like your Auntie Beck. What else has she taught you?"

Jude and Molly were on what Beck dubbed a "not date", since they weren't together but were willingly going out together today without their baby. Beck practically begged to babysit Cleo instead of her mom, since she had a lot of catching up to do with a fourteen-month-old who could only speak a handful of words. Beck was excited to "go out on the town" with the toddler hanging off her back. Jude and Molly had technically left her with a stroller, but a baby carrier was a lot more fun so she decided to use that instead. She felt like Luke Skywalker walking around with a tiny Yoda on her back.

Cleo had grown out the signature dark curly hair Beck and Jude had, which now looked like an adorable little puffy cloud on top of her head. Beck bounced up and down, making Cleo giggle in excitement. Spotting one of her crew mates, she stopped bouncing and waved. "G'day! Cleo, say g'day!" She turned so Cleo could see them. A tiny hand went up in the air, followed by an enthusiastic "gadaaaa!"

[psychosistr]

The Stars of the Stage- Chapter 1

Summary:  Jonathan Joestar is an accomplished playwright currently working on his next big production: Phantom Blood. During the auditions for the lead actors, though, a certain blond Englishman catches his eye.

Notes:  So, this story was inspired by this piece of art by @corgi-shorts that I saw back when I did one of the Jonawagon weeks where Jonathan was a playwright and Speedwagon was an actor. I felt a HUGE need to write this as it was such a cute idea x3

In the midst of the already bustling heart of New York, a large theater within the appropriately named Theater District is packed with several hopeful actors currently reading over and practicing lines from sample scripts. Some are seasoned veterans of the theater while others are hopeful new-comers. Despite their level of skill and experience, each one seems eager to land a part in the production.

Through the chattering crowds and lines of people waiting to enter the main theater for their audition, an extraordinarily tall and muscular man with dark hair carefully weaves his way through the crowd, throwing out a “pardon me” or “oh, excuse me” every now and then to be polite as bumping into people in such a crowd is unavoidable given his size.

He reaches the theater doors and turns to the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard properly. “If I may have your attention, please!” The chatter of the crowd slowly dies down as the actors turn to look at him curiously. Once he knows he has their attention, he smiles and gives a quick bow of his head. “Thank you all so much for coming out. My name is Jonathan Joestar- I am the writer and co-director of this production. In a moment we will begin the auditions, so please give it your best. I will be looking forward to seeing what all of you can do!” He finishes with an encouraging smile. He opens the doors long enough to walk in and close them behind himself, nodding to the two men standing behind the door to take the actors’ resumes and headshots. “Dire, Straights, afternoon. Ready to start?”

“Just waiting on William at this point.” Dire says with a nod of greeting. “I think he’s taking care of the lighting or something.”

“More like finishing off his pre-audition glass of wine.” Straights comments indifferently while glancing away. “Though I can’t say I blame him. This is always such a hassle..”

“Necessary evil of the industry, my friend.” A voice greets the group and the trio of men turn to see a man in a white suit and checkerboard top-hat. He offers them a smile and a tip of his hat in greeting. “Ready to summon the horde, gentlemen?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be, William.” Jonathan says with a grin as he walks with the older man down towards the table waiting in front of the stage with two seats for the pair.

________________________________________________________________

The theater is packed, the auditioning actors having taken up the seats in the order in which they’d come into the room. Quite a few of the seats are already empty, as some of the actors had to leave after their auditions while others have opted to stay and scope out the competition.

The process has been long and grueling, but it is necessary for casting the right people for the parts. Jonathan was glad, though, that he was working with William as the director- the older man often listened to his input regarding casting more than other directors did. As he often said, “Who knows a character better than the man who wrote them?”

Jonathan looks down at the piles of resumes and headshots in front of them. He has kept them organized into a few basic groups: People who had not gone yet were on the far left, closest to himself. The “wouldn’t call them back in a hundred years” pile, as William secretly called it, was beside the first one in the middle. The maybe/later consideration pile was next to that one and closer to William. The last pile on the far right was the smallest of all, reserved for the ones the two had agreed would definitely get the part they’d auditioned for.

Jonathan takes the next resume off of the pile on the far left and calls out the number pinned to it. “Number 157!” He looks at the headshots that accompany the resume, noting that every picture seemed to be taken from the right side of the actor’s face.

As the man in question approaches the stage, he can see why: There was a scar across the left side of his face. Not to say that that was a problem in anyway- the man was still quite handsome (from a purely aesthetical perspective, Jonathan tried to remind his wandering thoughts) and besides, that’s what cosmetics were for. Still, he knew how tough some directors could be and how they tended to avoid actors with visible marks as they couldn’t always visualize a way around it.

“ ‘ello.” The man says with a quick bow of his head once he is in place on the stage and looking down at Jonathan and William. “The name’s Robert Speedwagon, an’ I’ll be readin’ for the part o’ Sir Haste Dray.”

Jonathan is a bit surprised by the man’s accent. He’s clearly British like Jonathan himself, though with a cockney dialect rather than Jonathan’s own aristocratic manner of speaking.

While Jonathan is more surprised by the accent, he can hear others making quiet, hushed, snide remarks about it.

“He does know that’s one of the main characters, right?”

“Talking like that, he’d be a better pick for one of the extras..”

“This outta be good for a laugh.”

Jonathan ignored the comments, curious to see how the actor would do with his own eyes. “Very well then, Mr.Speedwagon. Which section will you be using for your audition?”

The blonde haired man lifted his own copy of the script that had already been opened and turned to the part he wanted to use. “Page 57, line 8. Can I get a read-in?”

“Of course.” Jonathan turned the copy of the script in front of himself to the aforementioned page and cleared his throat before reading the line. “This battle shall be a dangerous one, my friend. I fear we may not escape with our lives. If you wish to turn back, now is the time. I would bear you no ill-will for such a decision.”

Speedwagon closed his eyes for a moment. “I know..yet this decision is beyond me alone.” The earlier chatter and snide laughter was dead in an instant. “It is a decision that must be made by every man, woman, and child of this plane of existence. Unless I were to have every single being upon this world in attendance to answer, then the decision is not truly mine to make.” The man opened his eyes again, looking out in front of him as if speaking to the target of the monologue and only taking brief glances down to see his lines. “Since they cannot be here to tell me not to do so, then I shall take it upon myself to fight on their behalf. After all, if we were to stand by and not do a thing, then who would be left to protect the innocent, unknowing lives of this realm?” Without the earlier accent, his voice held a calm seriousness that perfectly captured the tension of the scene. “I am afraid this daunting task is for us alone to face, lest the evil that hides itself within the darkness of both the world and the hearts of mankind be free to unleash its reign of death upon us all.” The serious expression on his face softened ever so slightly, almost turning into a sad smile that tugged on Jonathan’s heart strings. “Still, even without the threat to all we hold dear in this world, do you truly think that I, of all people, would turn from you at the eve your greatest struggle? Whom do you take me for, old friend? A coward? A fool?” He gave a short laugh, more of a broken chuckle born of melancholy and sadness rather than joy. “Well…perhaps I am both these things. I do admit to fearing the fate that lies before us, yet it is not myself I fear for- rather, it is you. I fear what would become of you if I allowed you to so gallantly face these forces on your own. As for the fool..” His expression softened again, the smile on his face beautiful and sad and full of love and adoration conveyed in a simple quirk of his lips and the gaze in his eyes. “I suppose I have been a fool since we met that one cold, dark winters’ night. With but a touch of your hand, you shattered the reality which I built so flawlessly for myself. I thought myself strong, yet in your presence I am weak. I thought myself a king, yet to you I would gladly play the role of vassal. I thought myself wise, yet the very sight of you fills me with confusion that renders me as foolish as a drunkard lying on the streets. Still, I do not wish for these beliefs to be returned to me. For, in their place, I have gained far more than I ever dared to dream before: Inner-peace. Conviction. Loyalty. And love.” He closed his eyes again, the tragically beautiful smile still on his face. “So, yes, I may be a coward and a fool..but..I am the cowardly fool who will follow you to the ends of the earth and down into the depths of hell itself without fear..for, without you, there would be no point in fighting for this world at all. Above all else, you shall survive. I shall see to it, even if it costs me my very soul- the devil may have it, so long as your radiance remains to shine the light of hope upon this undeserving world.”

Everyone in the room was stunned by the performance, not saying a word as the man opened his eyes once more and gave an elegant bow.

Jonathan, who had been staring at him with stars in his eyes, was the first to react. He quickly stood from his seat, placed his hands upon the table in front of himself, and excitedly declared. “The part is yours!”

William yanked his sleeve hard and pulled him back down into his seat, whispering harshly to him. “You do not say that aloud in front of everyone else here, Jojo. I thought I taught you better than that.”

Jonathan’s face flushed at the realization of his blunder, his voice hushed to the same level as his mentor’s. “Oh..my apologies, William..it’s just..that was perfect! The delivery, the execution, the emotion- I felt as if I was looking at Sir Dray in the flesh!”

“I agree, but there is still a certain etiquette one must follow in these matters.” He chastised the taller man before turning his attention back to the man on the stage. “My apologies for my associate, he became a touch too excited. That being said, that was an exceptional performance. We have a few more auditions to go through and discussions to be had before final casting, but we will certainly be in touch.”

Speedwagon offered them a polite smile. “I’s quite alright, sir. I’m glad ‘e liked it. Be seein’ y’, then.” He tipped his hat politely before walking off stage and back out through the doors leaving the theater.

Jonathan watched the man leave, his heart still thrumming from the effect the blonde actor’s performance had on him. He’d never been so taken by a mere reading before.

Without even looking back to the table, he grabbed Speedwagon’s resume and moved it to the “definite” pile, ignoring the look he was sure to be receiving from William for reaching over him so rudely to do so.

Next Chapter->

End Notes: Speedwagon: *shows up, introduces himself, reveals his accent*

Everyone else: *laughs and mocks him*

Speedwagon: *delivers a flawless read that lands him the part instantly*

Everyone else: *jaws on the floor*

Jonathan: *instantly in love*

[freewithyourtempo]

Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

 "Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“ 

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way. 

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming. 

Lehnsherr takes his time answering. 

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup. 

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down. 

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick. 

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room. 

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?” 

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs. 

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”  

The journalist sits back down with no further comment. 

Emma raises her hand to ask a question. 

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.   

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.     

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.  

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame. 

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.” 

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise. 

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo. 

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up. 

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi. 

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again. 

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe. 

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it. 

He is such a good guy. 

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer. 

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already. 

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away. 

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.  

Except that he doesn’t. 

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails. 

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.    

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended. 

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps. 

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result. 

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question. 

“Does he prefer blondes?”

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.  

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever. 

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices. 

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens. 

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair. 

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view. 

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?” 

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead. 

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then. 

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet. 

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard. 

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips. 

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have? 

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”   

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming. 

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.” 

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject. 

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles. 

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

 “He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat.  Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.” 

[queercbc]

All of my friends are too busy to answer my calls so I’ve decided to throw a party on the Astral Plane. Since it is both boundless and eternal, literally everyone is invited and there is no set time frame, but also don’t be late.

I’m probably going to be hanging out near the Ethereal Pines. They’re not hard to find, they shine like a perpetually-dying star and fill you with the warmth and familiarity of a close friend. You’ll know you’ve gone too far if you hit the Shallow Ocean of Dehumanizing Analogies for Women Made by Pretentious Male Poets.

If you’re wondering what I will look like, I will either be an amorphous being made up entirely of the lost potential of talented artists who were talked into giving up on their dreams in order to do something practical (its kind of a mauve color) or maybe a Corgi with a British accent, I’m still deciding.

[wilddwcrds]

"yeah, it was." rosie laughs as robert downey jr moves through the casino, but then her nose scrunches. "or wolverine. i'll be honest, my mum made me confused about them. i don't really watch marvel...or, wait...d.c?" her clueless shrug follows but rosie's hand then gently taps tyler's arm for his attention, noticing he's distracted. "that's a bold assumption. i might be a raging bitch? have to wait and see." she teases, grinning at him before she snickers. but her laughter grows when it's evident tyler is in his head, using his deflective humor that she easily reads. she doesn't think about how it's not exactly normal to be this comfortable with one another so soon. if anything, that thought makes her smile wider. "i'm sure i'd be able to talk them out of it." rosie ruffles his hair, chuckling at him fondly. "but just in case they're dead set, i guess...it's been fun? nice knowing ya?" she teases, laughing again as she nudges into him lightly before they reach the bar.

after ordering their drinks, rosie glances to tyler's distracted question and elbows for his attention again so she can pass over the glass. "marie is the serious one, kinda. more serious than winnie. and winnie seems serious because she's english, but she's like a british hippie, to be honest." rosie rattles off about her mothers, glancing to them in the crowd with a smile. "she'll probably say like 'oh i like his energy, rosie. he's like a corgi.'" she laughs, mimicking the accent rather accurately after a lifetime of hearing it.

;

Tyler decides within moments of arriving that he'd much rather be at home and in bed. Or, in Rosie's bed. His suit doesn't feel right, he doesn't feel right. He doesn't even know what to do with his arms. It's not just the prospect of being accosted by Rosie's family that sets him on edge, it's the entire evening. He grew up watching these names and faces on T.V and in movies, and now he's here, having his hand shook and mutters of congratulations. "Holy shit was that Ironman?" he whispers in disbelief, glancing to Rosie when he realizes her conversation is much more important.

Clearing his throat, Tyler stands straighter, avoiding glancing in the direction of Wynona and Marie. "Well, obviously they're nice people otherwise you'd be a raging bitch." he grins, waving a hand to Rosie. "I'm not worried about that." Tyler says easily, because his worry is more...how the fuck can he convince a famous screenwriter and playwright that he's good enough for their daughter? "Okay here's the thing. Picture this: Your parents are awesome and really great people. Never bit anyone, never killed anyone. And then they meet me and they're like, Jesus Christ. We need to bite and kill him." but he tucks way the information Rosie willingly gives him. Winnie is more serious...no, wait. "Who's serious?" Tyler tugs at Rosie's arm as they wander away to the bar but a laugh escapes him. "When you word it like that, I sound like an asshole."

[drawbauchery]

Crisis to Crisis

(fic by cartoons-tothemoon)

Skipper was beginning to think that his reputation was being tarnished.

Well, maybe not completely disregarded, but his men have been giving him more back-talk lately. He’d have to fix that.

Somehow.

He was beginning to wonder how he even kept such a tight lid on his squadron in the first place.

Rico was a loose cannon, but vaguely amiable as long as he got his daily dosage of kaboom, Julien, and sushi, one of the three anyhow…

…Kowalski was incredibly smart, but he was also incredibly dumb and emotional which practically necessitated a sturdy rock in his eternal stormy sea of…whatever emotional labor he was going through this week. Someone to guide him, and earn approval from.

Private probably only listened to him to be nice, now that he thinks about it. Or because Skipper has this natural confidence that gives him his natural leadership qualities, but Private seemed to be incredibly cheeky as of late, and Skipper could only imagine why.

He had become more confident as of late, ever since Julien gave him his old clothes that seemed to frame his body better than his old, more conservative wardrobe.

Not that Skipper ever thought of what clothing frames anybody’s body for that matter. Except maybe Miss Kitka’s because, uh, wow…

He was just being objective, is all.

That’s an important trait in a field agent, after all, the ability to take an objective perspective on anything that may pertain to the scenario at hand, be that Geneva Convention-violating torture, or Private’s soft stomach, that peeked out of most of the clothing he wore nowadays.

Look, with “King” Julien around, business had slowed down a bit. Sure, they tangled with Blowhole and Savio every once in a while, but at the moment, that was more on a weekly basis than every other day like it used to be. This gave Skipper a lot of time to think, when he wasn’t washing dishes or entertaining the day’s newest crisis.

Today he was doing both.

“Guys look, Rico’s on the telly!” Private cried, in his “it just has to be fake” British accent.

Speaking of his aforementioned majesty, apparently he had run out of ibuprofen. Skipper didn’t know why it was such a big deal, but he didn’t get half the things Ringtail did anyhow. He was an enigma, but like, annoying about it.

On Rico’s side of things, Kowalski, Private, and him watched entranced as Rico went from simply robbing the three drug stores closest to their base to stealing a delivery truck. A highly specific delivery truck, at that. Then puppies got thrown into the picture.

“Puppies?” Private exclaimed, his voice filled with pure joy at such a thought. Just think of it! 90 puppies! Retrievers, labs, beagles, corgis, huskies…He’d be practically drowning in the fluff! It would be sublime!

However, Kowalski and Skipper’s thoughts were elsewhere. Very clearly elsewhere.

For one, Kowalski was wondering what to do with that many dogs. There’s no way their base would have enough space for 90 dogs. He wouldn’t even say they have enough room for two, though.

Skipper, however…He was there, but his mind was elsewhere. He’d finally noticed what Private was wearing.

It was a sleek black outfit, comprised of leggings and a thick black sweater that allowed for his pudgy tummy to peek out.

Surely, Skipper could be honest with himself within the space of his own mind, right? He doesn’t have to mask, or pretend, or fear what he thinks here, really, right? No one would judge him here.

Private….Looks cute.

Yeah, that’s an understatement. That’s literally a combat strategy of his, being cute. But he wasn’t cute to Skipper the same way that a puppy was, or at least, not only as cute, he was…he is…

He likes Private. Of course he does, who doesn’t? Even Savio has a soft spot for the guy, though that may be more sus than anything else. He likes Private, but he’s come to the understanding that he may…Like him more than most may.

“Like him more than most may?” Jesus christ, is he repressed. Normally you’d assume that being a secret agent just does that to you, but, they run a very non-standard operation as is. He runs a very non-standard operation, where one of his worst enemies would leave him alone if they ate lunch together every blue moon and their landlady can enter their heavily booby-trapped lair with the raw energy of pure spite.

Everyone likes Private, but nobody likes Private in the same way Skipper does. Probably. Again, Savio seems sus.

But he probably already knew all this. He’s probably went through this whole tirade three times this week, as he bounced from crisis to crisis.

He did this on Tuesday when Private discovered knee-high socks. He’s sure he’ll do it again soon.

As this crisis went on, apparently after ending up on national television, Rico thought it was the perfect time to call. Kowalski briefly admonished him for being on his phone while driving, but, after Private pointed out that he’d already robbed a drug store and stole a truck AND stole 3 litters worth of puppies, he might as well roll up to the liquor store and really test his luck.

Well, he didn’t say liquor store, but Skipper sure read into that. Skipper was the one who’s usually say something as deadpan and snarky as that, and the fact that he hadn’t so much as laughed probably said something to the men around him, which only served to heighten his anxieties.

“Yeah, Rico, we saw you. Sick flip off that ramp, by the way.”

Skipper swore that he could feel heat rising to his cheeks as Private giggled after that sentiment, and he felt Kowalski’s eyes burning into his head. Not glaring or critical or anything, but they were there, and they were hard to ignore.

“Oh…no, you have to return the puppies. I checked, we can’t keep any.” His tone soon turned mournful. Private was so expressive. He should be an open book. Surely Skipper would know if Private…

Private laughed again. “Haha! No, Rico. That’s illegal, and you know it.”

Kowalski had finally caught onto the game, and the glare had returned. It wasn’t a scornful or judgmental one, but, a tired one. A tired glare that was less “I hope you burn to ash due to the pure heat of my gaze” and more, “we can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m shaming you.”

Skipper, the fearless leader, seemed to buckle under his gaze, as he turned his head to the side, and avoided his eyes.

“I know.” He murmured.

(I literally CANNOT find any Skipper X Private fics on the web…So I wrote one myself. Please give me some recs, and I will write more! This is your devil’s bargain, Shads. Live or not read penguin fanfiction, make your choice.)

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Occasionally, when I travel to England I have a hard time understanding a person's accent.  Granted, I speak Californian, but I was wondering do you ever have a difficult time understanding a person with an American accent ? Thanks

Actually I don’t for the simple reason of how deeply embedded American popular culture is through the film and television shows that one can’t avoid. But speaking for myself I am well traveled and I have been in quite a few parts of the United States for work or vacation reasons - genuinely admire the genius of the American Founders (they were educated as English gentlemen and some were even educated as Classicists) and the landscapes are breath taking.

I love the cosmopolitan flavours of New York and the down to earth humour of New Yorkers themselves; I am charmed by the preservation of civility and manners of the South; I respect the indivudual and community frontier spirit of those in the Mid West. But I have to confess California remains a mystery to me. I know not everyone speaks like a stoned Keanu Reeves but I find it far too laid back for my tastes. That is not to say I don’t understand the way they speak because I do by virtue of having friends from there. The only time I had difficulty understanding anyone was in Boston when I went to give an academic paper there at Harvard. I just found the Boston accent terribly hard to follow.

This is ironic when you really think about the issue of English and the origin of American English began in New England.

The first English people to colonise the land that would become the United States came over in 1607, and they brought the English language (and accent) with them to New England. So most of us can picture the idea of the original Pilgrims talking like Benedict Cumberbatch only to have their future descendants talk like Keanu Reeves.

Except it’s not true.

Afew years ago I had a friend who was a Shakespearian scholar at Cambridge where we both studied and he surprised me once over dinner. He told me that the modern American accent is a lot closer to how English used to be spoken than the British accent is.

The main difference between the British accent and the American one is rhoticity, or how a language pronounces its "Rs." What you might think of as standard American (or "newscaster voice") is a rhotic accent, which basically means "R" is enunciated, while the non-rhotic, stereotypical English accent drops the "R" pronunciation in words like "butter" and "corgi".

Of course, there are a few American accents that drop the "R," too — Bostonians "pahking the cah in Hahvahd Yahd," for example, or a waitress in the South who calls you "Suga.'" And some accents in Northern England, Ireland, and Scotland retain their "Rs" as well.

But Americans didn't find a treasure trove of Rs in their new country.

Instead, British speakers willingly lost theirs. This is where it gets interesting.

Around the time of the Industrial Revolution, many formerly lower-class British people began to find themselves with a great deal of money, but a voice that instantly marked them as a commoner. In order to distinguish themselves from their lowlier roots, this new class of English gentlemen developed their own posh way of speaking. And eventually, it caught on throughout the country.

It's called "received pronunciation," and it even influenced the speech patterns of many other English dialects — the Cockney accent, for example, is just as non-rhotic but a lot less hoity-toity.

Meanwhile, English-speakers in the United States, for the most part, did not change with the times and kept the Rs in their speech.

Although pronunciation has changed on both sides of the Atlantic, some Americans began claiming that their particular regional dialect is actually the original English pronunciation, preserved for all time in a remote pocket of the country. Unfortunately, most of these claims don't really pan out. Indeed sholars now believe many have tis idiosyncratic speech as a result of isolation instead. One popular candidate is the Appalachian accent, which is distinguished by some archaic words such as "afeared," but otherwise doesn't seem to have much connection to the language of Shakespeare.

But on the topic of English speakers making a conscious choice to drop their Rs, there was an interesting blip in linguistic history around the time that radio became popular.

Like received pronunciation, the ‘Mid-Atlantic or Transatlantic Accent’ was deliberately invented to serve a purpose. You almost certainly don't know anybody who speaks it, but you've definitely heard it before. It's the voice of Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, and Pierce Brosnan (Bahnd, James Bahnd).

In the Transatlantic accent the Rs are dropped, the Ts are articulated, the vowels all softened to an erudite drawl. It's also an ambiguous combination of the British and American accents.

Taken together, all of the factors made it the perfect voice for broadcasting at the time. The unique pronunciation was easy to understand even on early audio equipment with poor bass frequencies and could appeal to listeners in multiple English-speaking countries. But it fell out of favor after World War II, and one of the first accents to be immortalised on audio recording was consigned to another piece of wartime nostalgia. Today it’s confined to British film stars who make their living in the US.

As an aside when I was a small child growing up in India my parents insisted we enunciated properly and spoke clearly that was the Queen’s English. And that is indeed how I speak to this day but I was helped by the surrounding Indian culture because they also spoke the Queen’s English. This was simply because they retained the English language textbooks from the days of the British Empire (even to this day). 

The rich irony wasn’t lost on me when I had a hard time going back to England because - outside of my boarding school environment and social circles - I just couldn’t always understand the many commoner regional accents in England that were now coming back in vogue. It’s everywhere now especially on the BBC. So in effect it is Indians (and Pakistanis) who are preserving what we have been burying for some decades now. I remember how shocked my well educated friends from India or Pakistan who came to study at Cambridge or Oxford to find the way they spoke naturally with the Queen’s English was now considered a quaint anachronism in this Age of championing regional diversity.

I think the erosion of the Queen’s English is a travesty as well as a tragedy. To speak ‘proper’ English is considered elitist and privileged. To me it’s just a sign of civilised discourse. Of course there is a place for regional accents and they should be preserved because it is part of the tapestry of our culture but I fear it has been at the expense of clarity of speech and the coherence of thought.

Thanks for your question.