#why Scotland is amazing

[fruitcakebro]

California water tastes bad.

It tastes like stagnent pool water, like chlorine, and too many children racing toward the same dream of victory, long gone sour.

It tastes like a tool, sterilised between uses and only meant for survival.

It doesn't bring joy with it.

Scottish water tastes fucking amazing.

It tastes like rainbows refracted by dewdrops on fresh moss.

It tastes like Unicorn's tears, perfect in every way and sweet as sunshine through heavy clouds.

Scottish water holds the taste of a million years of old magic, brimming with life and joy.

So yeah, I prefer the water in Scotland.

[somedaytakethetime]

*moans in 7 different languages*

[the-busy-ghost]

One of many downsides to recent political news is that Tony Blair seems to think that he's suddenly become Relevant again, why can I not get away from this man

[hemmohoran]

You're on Your Own Kid (a.i)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Fem! Reader

Summary: Based on YOYOK by Taylor Swift. You and Ashton are two best friends who drift apart even if one of you tries to hold on to the relationship.

Warnings: Angst. Language. Mentions of fatphobia, alcohol, drugs, cheating, eating disorders. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language im sorry)

Word count: 5.6 k

Author's note: This is very me coded cause I needed to sort out feelings regarding two different broken hearts melted into one and several other things so, enjoy my pain, literally. Remember that we love REBLOGS over here and COMMENTS and TAGS and all of that so please, leave your love and SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS. Hope you like it and happy reading 🦋✨🌻

My Masterlist // Taglist on bio!!

Summer went away Still, the yearning stays

8 years old.

There was something so beautiful about the first day of summer break. Maybe it was the fact that the alarm clock didn’t go off and that the sun-soaked curtains were the ones that woke you up, softly letting the warm sunlight hit your face as a reminder that the best twelve weeks of the year were going to start.

Or maybe it was the smile that was immediately drawn upon your face as you heard your best friend call from downstairs:

“Oi, Y/N! What are you waiting for, you bugger?!”

Your barefoot feet touched the floor of your room as you ran to your window, watching with bright eyes and an excited smile as your next-door neighbor and best friend, Ashton, was already waiting for you, all dressed up in his bathers.

“C’mon! We don’t have all day!” He yelled again. You rolled your eyes.

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”

You closed your window and headed to the bathroom where you carefully prepared your bathing suit the night before when Anne-Marie came to ask your mother if you and Ash could have a playdate today. More specifically, Ashton was really excited to play with the sprinkler they just got to water the plants, and since neither of them got a swimming pool, he thought it’d be the best idea to combat the Australian heat that way.

Once your teeth were brushed, your hair combed, and your bathing suit on, you were ready to take on summer with your best friend. You ran downstairs to the kitchen, putting on your flip-flops and grabbing your strawberry shortcake backpack before grabbing a cookie from the counter.

“Bye mum!” You called, before heading toward the backyard door.

“Not so fast, young lady!” Your mother’s voice could be heard from the other side of the kitchen.

You sighed as you turned around. Looking defeatedly at the ground as you made your way to her. She stood tall with a crooked brow upon her face, pursing her lips as if she asked you a question even though she never did.

“What’d you got there, sweetie?” She asked, pointing her head toward you but to nothing in particular.

“Uh…”

“Didn’t we talk already about making healthier choices from now on?” She sighed, grabbing the cookie from your hand and giving you an orange instead. “Last year we let it go because of everything that was going on, but you need to start thinking about taking care of yourself, okay?” You nodded.

It wasn’t difficult to understand what she meant. You ate your vegetables and fruits, except bananas and the weird food grandma made that had seeds in it. But it was summer, and she made those cookies yesterday so, who was going to eat them, then?

“Good.” She smiled, cupping your face and placing a small kiss on your forehead “You’ll look so pretty when you grow up, I promise. Now, go play! But be back before sunset!”

“Alright!”

Your smile came back to your face as you walked and peeled the orange, crossing the backyard and opening the fence’s gate that connected your house to Ash’s. There, he was sitting on the ground looking attentively at the gate.

“Finally!” He groaned “I don’t know if you know what 5 minutes are but those were not it”

You chuckled “Sorry! Orange slice?”

“Thanks,” He smiled, getting a whole one in his mouth as he spoke, or tried to, at least “Nough checkth thith outh!”

He walked to the side of the house where he connected the sprinkler to the hose. And suddenly it was like a cascade of rain was falling over you. You squeaked in delight and giggled as you got completely soaked in under a second, watching in awe as the water rose to incredible heights for an eight-year-old and drew shapes in the sky before it fell down over you.

Ashton came running, jumping over the sprinkler and laughing as it moved around, creating new shapes that would soon cover the whole yard in water. You joined him immediately, allowing the water to soak away the heat of the first of many memorable summer days that year.

You played all day and all afternoon. Anne-Marie brought you sandwiches for lunch and stayed with you for a while, even playing with you as she held a small, baby Lauren in her arms, letting her enjoy the water as well. You and Ash would create the most bizarre adventures, imagining you were pirates having a final battle at a waterfall (his idea), pretending you were water fairies (your idea), and trying to see who could outrun the water (both your ideas, neither of you could win).

By the end of the day, you were both exhausted laying on the grass, giggling.

“I don’t want summer to be over!” He said, exaggeratingly throwing his arms to the sky to let them drop to the ground.

“Today’s the first day,”

“But that means one day less!”

“True…” You sighed “Maybe one day we can live on a permanent vacation. Where we don’t have to go to school or work”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Ashton asked, turning toward you.

“Like a real job or my dream job?”

“Aren’t those the same?”

“My mom doesn’t think so. At least she says my dream job is not a real job here so it won’t work”

“Your dream job, then”

“I want to be a singer,” You said, smiling.

Ashton looked confused “But that’s a real job!”

“My mom says it’s not” You shrugged “And I haven’t thought about my real job yet. So what about you?”

“I want to be in a band,” Ashton said with a confident nod “And I’m going to make it my real job”

“Can I be in your band?” You asked.

“Sure! You’re my best friend, of course, you can be in it! Now we only need someone who can play the guitar”

That day you went to bed with a smile on your face.

* I hear it in your voice You're smoking with your boys I touch my phone as if it's your face

17 years old

You halt at the door, take off one of your headphones, and turning back.

“What?”

Your mother, already huffing her way out to meet you halfway, rolled her eyes.

“I said, what are you wearing?”

“Clothes, mom” You answered, tiredly “I’m going to school, you know? The one I’m going to be late to if I don’t catch the bus?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to change?” She tilted her head, “It looks like that’s one of my shirts and-”

“It’s my shirt, mom. We bought it last week” She seemed to have something else to say but you just didn’t have the energy to hear it “I’m gonna be late, bye”

You put back your headphones again, letting Paramore silence the outside world as you walked in the opposite direction to the bus stop. No, you were not going to skip, but the words your mother didn’t say were clinging to the back of your heads like nails, so what if the normal fifteen-minute ride turned into a forty-minute walk? You had time, and plus, the windy morning could really help dry the tears that were already gathering in your eyes.

Crying is not something you did and you were not about to start now. You just got to toughen up, take her words with a grain of salt and keep going. It's not like you’re not making an effort. Is just that for her it is hard to see it since there’s no progress to be shown as fast as she would like.

You’re not in bad shape at all; you’re not a bad kid; your grades are good. It’s just that perfection has a standard in her eyes that you just haven't met yet.

Brick by Brick played for the third time in a loop before you got to school with a few minutes to spare. You smiled at a few of your classmates that you saw in the hallway and went to your locker, opening it to get the things you needed for your first class.

“Hey, you!” A familiar voice said next to you.

You smiled softly as you mindlessly handed Ashton your bag.

“Hey, Ash. Just one moment, please?”

He shrugged as he leaned against the lockers, watching as you put an oversized sweater over your clothes.

“We’re in Australia in April”

“I’m cold”

“Well, it is the year of the end of the world…” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed your bag from him and started to walk together to your first class “Icebergs will melt, the desert will freeze, kangaroos will take over the world-”

“Oh, I would be long dead before a kangaroo tried to fight me” You laughed.

“I’ll defend you!”

“So that our mothers could bury us next to one another? How charming”

The bell rang just in time for the two of you to take your seats. Biology would be the only class you’d share that day and you won’t be seeing each other again until lunchtime rolled around. By that time you were used to losing yourself in thought, especially on days like these where somehow nothing seemed to fit. Or was it because you felt misplaced? You would watch your classmates, smile at them, and make idle talk. You would take notes for your classes and answer the questions the teachers make. But there wasn’t a future here, nothing that seemed to last or that would make you want to stay.

Weekdays were routine that you would soon forget come the weekend. And now the desolated two-day break felt more like the same futile attempt to make something meaningful without succeeding at it. Looking at the window from your room made no sense anymore knowing that Ashton was most likely somewhere else entirely.

At the end of last year, some boy from another school messaged him on facebook asking him to play a gig with them. Since then, Ashton has joined their little band called 5 seconds of summer. A playful name for a band of high schoolers.

You’ve met them a few times and have watched them play whenever they had a gig near town. They were good and were rapidly growing a loyal fanbase with their youtube videos. But their ambition was bigger than just a hobby, and you could see it not just in the way Ashton talked about them, but in the gleam in their eyes every time they hung out or when they played. They were something else and they were ready for more.

However, that didn’t take away the fact that you missed your best friend.

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Huh?” You woke up from your thoughts in the middle of the cafeteria.

Ashton was sitting next to you, a concerned look in his eyes.

“Are you going to finish your lunch?” He said, pointing to your barely touched tray.

“Uh, no. You can have it”

“You’ve barely eaten”

“I’m not hungry” You shook your head, already sliding the tray to him “And you didn’t bring anything again”

He sighed “I forgot… No, I think I put my lunch in Harry’s lunch box again”

“Lucky him, then” You smiled “You’re still driving me home after school and to Mulligan’s later tonight, right?”

Ashton stopped chewing, closing his eyes as he swallowed thickly. Your smile fell.

“Ash-”

“I’m sorry!”

“Ash, you promised-”

“I know! I know, I’m a dickhead!” He said with regret the moment he saw how sad you looked. “But I promised Calum that I would sneak him out of soccer practice to go rehearse at Michael’s for our gig on Saturday and I completely forgot! I’m so, so sorry Y/N”

A sharp pain went through your heart as you took a deep breath before nodding. You looked down to avoid looking him in the eye, knowing that those puppy, hazel eyes would make you weak in an instant. Your thumbs twiddled with each other under the table, trying to take some of the tension away and distract you from the moment. It was no big deal. It was okay.

“It’s okay”

Ashton was not fooled by the whisper in your voice. “Y/N-”

“It’s okay, Ash. Really” You said more firmly this time, looking at him but not directly at his eyes “I can walk myself home, I need the sunlight anyway. And we can do Mulligan’s another day if you’d-”

“No,” Ash shook his head, “I said I’d be there and I will. I can cut the rehearsal short and I’ll meet you guys there! I will not miss it, alright? After all, you can’t wait for the midnight of your birthday another day, silly”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes, letting his arms wrap around your shoulders and bringing you closer to him, wondering if he can feel just how fast is beating.

* (9:25 PM) me: Ash, I’m already at the bar. I was late lol. So it’s okay if you wanted to stay longer with the boys

(9:55 PM) me: are you on ur way? I ordered us some beers ;) I finally got to use my ID

(10:30 PM) me: I drank ur beer

(11:30 PM) me: you’re not coming, are you?

*

There were two rings before he picked up the call.

“Ash, where are you?” You said into the night air and into the phone. Your classmates were inside the bar, waiting for you to sing happy birthday. But there were still five minutes to go and the person that said would be there was nowhere to be found.

“I- I am Ash,” He said before he exploded in giggles, followed by a fading chorus of familiar laughs at the other side of the line.

Then it hit you. He was still at Michael’s. He never left.

“Ashton, are you- are you high?”

Another explosive set of laughter hit you as an answer. You ended the call. The picture you took at the beginning of the year, with Ashton carrying you on his back as you both wink and make peace signs at the camera, mocks you as you try your hardest to be stoic for yourself.

You looked up to the moon and took a deep breath before coming back to the bar, an already perfect fake smile plastered all over your face as your classmates sang happy birthday at the top of their lungs, half of them already drunk. You didn’t know smiling could hurt that much till then.

By the end of the night, you tried your hardest to ignore the random comments that you happened to hear.

“Where’s Ash?” Someone would ask

“I heard he simply didn’t want to come,” Someone else answered. You didn’t know if to believe them.

The next day you woke up with a thousand messages of apologies and a notebook wrapped in wooden paper.

“For all the songs you’re gonna write”

Anyway

* I wait patiently He's gonna notice me It's okay, we're the best of friends

21 years old

To put it simply, L. A was a fucking nightmare.

Nowhere in the world have you seen such hypocrites smiling at each other like they were best friends all their lives. People were getting high in the backyard by the pool; couples cheating on each other in the same house; every up and coming having their realities shatter in front of their eyes as they realize what their dream industry actually is. And all of that is happening inside your own house in Beverly hills. Yes, you left the outbacks of Australia behind to chase the dreams you fought bravely to make come true. And without anyone’s help, you made it.

You went to college to please your mom, but finding your joy after Ashton had left soon after graduating high school was not easy. However, in order to pay some of your debts, you started working at the same bar you and your classmates used to hang out at. Cleaning tables and serving drinks was not as exciting as it sounded, but what really made it worth it was the open mic nights where anyone could come and present a bit of stand-up comedy or original songs to the public. That’s where you found your escape. Quite literally.

Soon, you were discovered, signed, and shipped off to Los Angeles where success has been modest but impressive for someone with such a short career. But dreams are not easy to maintain.

To have a dream in the city of dreamers is to be a fish in an ocean. Not rare and not exceptional either. It was intimidating and scary, all the more doing it all by yourself in a country where no one seemed to be your friend. People here knew of you, but they didn’t know you at all. Not really.

Maybe you don’t know yourself either.

“Y/N!”

Once again, a voice pulled you from your own thoughts and into your party again. From afar you noticed Calum’s wide smile as he headed toward you, pushing through the sea of people.

The only ones you know here in L.A are the ones that got away years before you did and were creating havoc among the younger fans. 5 Seconds of Summer was an absolute hit, and they were barely staying at the same place for more than four weeks straight, but you were thankful anytime they did. They were your friends or at least acquaintances except for Ash. They reminded you of home, and one person, in particular, reminded you that there was more than that to hang on to.

“Cal!” You called, hugging him as soon as he came close “I’m so glad you could make it. I have no idea who any of these people are! Where are the others?”

Calum shrugged “Michael got dragged by someone already. Luke… is complicated”

“And Ash?”

You didn’t want to sound hopeful. You didn’t want to give anything away with the tone of your voice or the way your eyes begged you to look around for him, see if he just got lost among the crowd.

“He said he’d come” Calum said, pretending not to know how you feel “You know how he is. Sometimes he says one thing…”

“To change it at the last minute.” You sighed “I hate that about him”

“It’s Ashton”

“I asked him to come and help me with the recording of some drums at the studio last week, did he tell you?” He shook his head “He said that what I was doing “wasn’t really his thing” so maybe I should just call someone else”

“He said that to you?” Calum said in disbelief.

You nodded “He’s been a real asshole lately. And I did get someone else in the end, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s the principle”

But it was not just that. The Ashton you met at school was not the same Ashton you found as an adult. And yes, people are bound to change and you have changed a lot as well, but looking back it makes you question whether this person made changes to keep themselves in your life or to make themselves a memory of what once was a good old time. And you were scared Ashton could become the latter.

For many years, Ashton was the only one by your side, or at least that’s what you knew of. When he left for London all those years ago, you were happy that he could chase all those dreams he once shared with you in your backyard as little kids. But once you caught on with life and fate decided that it was time to meet again, it was like there were already so many people beside him that you felt out of frame. You were his friend first. But maybe he forgot.

“Ooop, he just texted” Calum chimed in, sipping on his drink “He’s right outside, I told him we’re hiding in the kitchen”

You chuckled as your fingers drummed nervously on top of the counter, trying your hardest not to look at the door. Not yet, don’t let him see you waiting for him. Just one moment more-

“What the fuck?”

Calum’s whisper made your eyebrows turn into a frown as you followed his gaze. Oh, how you wish you didn’t.

Entering your kitchen filled with people was Ashton, a smile so shy and welcoming at the same time, hand in hand with one of the most gorgeous girls you’ve ever seen in your life. Your smile flattered for one second.

“I guess he’s not with Jess anymore…” Muttered Calum. Jess? Who was Jess? And who was this girl if Calum didn’t know?

Your heart grew heavy as the air around you thickened, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. From afar, Ashton noticed you - or he noticed Calum, you didn’t know - and raised his hand to say hi and kept walking into another room with his new girl following him.

That’s it? Not even a proper hello? This is your house, your party… A sunken feeling enveloped you as you excused yourself to the bathroom, ignoring the pointed look Calum gave you as he let you go without asking questions.

The music was muffled inside the tiled walls. You locked the doors and went to the sink, leaning over it with your hands on either side of the counter. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you counted to ten over and over again, repeating to yourself that you were okay. You were okay, or you would be. You had to be.

As you raised your head, the mirror showed the reflection of a girl whose eyes beat red from tears she refused to shed. You could not be that girl tonight.

So you smiled at your reflection, practicing what muscle memory taught you good girls do when things don’t go their way. You smiled and fixed your hair, and smiled again. It didn’t matter that the image that kept playing inside your head was his hands tangled in hers. It didn’t matter that he didn’t even say hello. This was not about him nor your broken heart. You had to keep going so you had to smile. It’s not the first time it happened, you should be used to it by now.

One last deep breath and you opened the door, going back to the party. But as you made your way back into the kitchen, you bumped into someone going in the opposite direction.

“Woah! Hey, Y/N!” He said, smiling as he hugged you like he used to do.

For a moment you let yourself forget where you were and be hugged by him, letting the smell of his cologne be tattooed somewhere in your brain.

“Hi, Ash”

“How- hey, are you crying?”

“What?” You blinked a couple of times “Oh, no! One eyelash fell into my eye and I had to get it out, you know how that makes me-”

“Yeah, you get weirded out by eyes” He cringed.

An awkward silence set between the two of you, not knowing what to say now that is just the two of them. But you… Oh, you could say so much, you just didn’t know where to start. You wanted to ask about the tour, how it went and what was his favorite place to visit. You were dying to mention their new songs and how they made you feel. You wanted to ask about his family, how is Anne-Marie? Is Harry doing well in school? Has Lauren started high school yet and how does she like it? Do they still live in the same house you grew up with? Do they know the memories you shared? Do they even remember you?

Does Ash?

But standing in front of him you felt as if you had no right to ask those questions anymore. Ashton was not looking at you anymore, but at his phone, even when you were right there. Does he not have any curiosity toward you as much as you have about him? Does he not care?

You used to be best friends. You still were, right?

Yet, those questions were never asked as you just turned and kept walking. And when you looked back you noticed that Ashton hadn’t moved, hadn't noticed you were gone.

And if while you were looking you noticed some freshly made hickeys on the back of his neck, then you decided to ignore that as well.

(3:07 PM) me: saw two kids in a backyard playing mermaids with a sprinkler today. we never had that idea before (6:20 PM) ash 😜: i would've never consented to mermaids, mind you (6:30 PM) me: are you sure? (6:32 PM) ash 😜: nah, i would end up with a tail in the end (6:40 PM) me: do you miss it?

* From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes I waited ages to see you there I search the party of better bodies Just to learn that you never cared

25 years old

“Why am I not surprised?” Ashton laughed.

You didn’t notice his presence until he was standing in between you and the firepit in the backyard. He was wearing a shirt and a trenchcoat, lightly mocking your shivering figure as you sat outside on the last night of 2019.

“I don’t like parties” You answered.

“You never did,” Ashton said, sitting next to you “But that doesn’t give you the right to catch hypothermia”

“We live in L.A”

“Still,”

“I’m practicing”

“For what?” Ashton chuckled.

“Scotland,” You said, turning to look at him.

“Scotland? You’re gonna visit someone there, or?” He smiled, nervously.

“I’m moving there”

Ashton laughed loudly, “Bullshit!”

But you didn’t laugh along with him. Instead, you looked at him as the penny dropped and then moved your gaze to the fire again, finding comfort in the chaos. The only constant thing in your life.

Ashton blinked at you, elbowing you “You’re bullshiting me, Y/N”

You didn’t move, instead, you answered him in a monotone voice “Why would I?”

“What the fuck are you going to do in Scotland?!”

“The same, I guess?” You shrugged “I bought a house with a studio, my label has a branch there, I don’t do much touring so-”

“Were you going to tell me?!”

At this, you turn to him, almost as if to ask if he was serious.

“It’s not funny, Ash”

“The fuck is not! Of course not!” He shouted, getting up from his seat. The frown on his face deepened “You’re fucking moving away and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because we’re friends!”

At this, you couldn’t help but laugh. Like, actually, wholeheartedly laugh. Tears were at the corners of your eyes by the end of the laughing fit, even more so when you saw Ashton’s confused face standing in front of you.

Once you composed yourself, you shook your head.

“You can’t be serious right now”

“Y/N-”

“Honestly, Ashton. This- this is not funny, at all” You said, smile still on your face but your eyes getting redder as the tears gathered “You can’t- You can’t just come around every two years or so with a conversation and then yell at me and say that we’re friends as if you know what that means. No. Not with me, I- I won’t let it happen anymore”

You shook your head as a chuckle escaped your lips. “Ashton, tell me, right now. What’s the name of my cat?” He parted his lips but no words came out “What’s the name of my latest single?” Again, no answer “What’s the career I studied in uni before I came to the states?” By now, Ashton was looking down in shame “Ash, when is my birthday?”

That last answer broke your heart completely. You were hoping, wishing that at least that one he would get right. But his silence only confirmed what your heart knew. You closed your eyes as the tears finally slid down your cheeks, tired of being kept hidden all those years.

“Y/N-”

“No,” You raised your hand to stop him from saying anything else, “If it’s an apology I don’t want to hear it because it’s a little too late for that. Ashton, you have no idea what is like to have no one in your corner, and I pray that you never get to experience that. But all my life- all my life I’ve been waiting to be someone’s priority and when I finally put myself first, you come and try to berate me for it. I hate L.A. I had since the moment I came here. You had Calum, Luke and Michael, and countless other people to make you feel welcomed! but me? I had no one!”

All the feelings that were silenced over the years came crashing through. Unfiltered and uncensored. Like the fire in front of you, ready to spread out.

“And I tried to fit in. When I invited you and the guys and all of your friends, I wanted to make you feel that maybe I can still be part of this life as well! But they aren’t my friends, they’re yours. And you made no effort to even include me in your life as if I was someone that you tolerated from the past that’s long dead and gone. You have my memories, Ash. You have the same scars that I do, the same laughs, and the same tears from when we were kids till we were out of high school. We shared the same dreams and even though I knew you would make them more easily I prayed to god to take me where you would go because I knew that my place was with you, it didn’t matter where or how. I just wanted to be with my best friend, even if with time my best friend didn’t want to be my best friend anymore”

“Y/N,” His voice was small, fragile “That’s not true”

“Don’t lie!” You yelled through the tears “You’re being mean, Ash! You left me behind. You left me! And I’m still here, I was always here and you couldn’t see me, or you didn’t want to see me. You didn’t care! Could you look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t know everything that was going on when we were kids?”

Ashton tried to keep his gaze up with yours but couldn’t, quickly looking away with guilt. You pressed your lips in a thin line as you nodded.

“I loved you, so so much. And I hate you for making me feel so unloved, so small and unimportant. I don’t think I can shake this now, and I don’t know if I can forgive you for making me hate myself this much when I did nothing to you”

You knew your words hurt him, but there was nothing you could say to take them back. You didn’t want to take them back.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and started walking back to the party, ready to ask an uber to drive you home.

Ashton didn’t follow, you knew he wouldn’t. And for the first time in years, you were glad he didn’t.

* (05:25 AM) Ashton Irwin: can we talk, please?

This number has been blocked from your contacts

* ‘Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned Everything you lose is a step you take So make the friendship bracelets Take the moment and taste it You've got no reason to be afraid

28 years old

“You’re on your own kid, you always have been” You sang the last part of the acoustic set of your last album as the crowd went wild. You smiled at the small room, just a small acoustic session to start off the new era of songs about growth and finding yourself again after years of learning how to heal.

“There are many things in life that leave scars, things that we automatically assume about ourselves like muscle memory,” You said into the mic “For years we look for who to blame, and most of the time we carry that blame within ourselves and make ourselves believe that we are not worthy of beautiful things in the world. But I learned that even though these wounds and scars are mine, they don't own me as a person, they do not define me nor who I will become later in life. None of us are less deserving of love or the beautiful things in life just because we’ve struggled. And I-”

The words are stuck inside your throat for a moment, just a moment as your eyes make contact with the person standing in the corner of the room.

His arms are crossed over his chest, his smile is timid and a bit scared. But his eyes, although mature, kept that hazel glow that you’ve recognized anywhere. Even when years have passed.

“I will make my best to remind you how beautiful you all are” * * Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @hoodharlow @littledrummeraussie @wastelandcth @bubblegum183 @irwin-fletcher-ash @wiiildflowerrr @in-a-world-of-fandoms @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @in-superbloom @sadcupofcoffee @personalmuyverypersonal @vtte @as-hs-blog @himbohood @sofiaaraee @irwindoll @weasleytwinscumslut @fairytrice @colourfulcal @nibin0912 @hfkait @savagejane1 @youneedtocalumdown @pvnkcloud @ashtonsunflower @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore@alltimesos @wontlastimokwiththatt @cncoangelsss @whywontyoulovemecami @theimpossiblehologramtree @perriexed @abiancajg @rewmuslupin @icelily13 @bookthingz @lendeluxe

[asidian]

Set breakdown time! Next up: the boys' London office.

As before, I've circled the points of interest and numbered them to make them easier to talk about. Cool? Cool. Let's do this!

1: They have matching top hats. This is so charming I just can't even. Did they need them for a case, or were they just being silly? Either way, this is adorable.

2: They have their name properly in glass on the door. It seems to read "Dead Boy Detective Agency," though I'm not 100% sure on the final word.

3: An early/supernatural style of camera? Perhaps a pair of binoculars? Likely some sort of equipment for cases, at any rate.

4: One of these boys is fond of random eye décor, and it is so odd and funny. Love this for them.

5: Someone has a long coat and straw hat. My money's on Edwin, since that style of hat was popular in the Edwardian era.

6: They have matching… whatever these are? They look almost like wine bottles, but neither of them can drink, so I have no idea. If anyone has any thoughts, feel free to share.

7: The mirror they pop in and out of when they need to visit the office.

8: A volleyball, I think? Random sporting equipment of Charles', in any case. This seems to be distinct from the soccer ball he's playing with in the demon prep montage. It lives by the couch; it's also there in the scene when Crystal is napping in their office.

9: A single foosball stick, without the rest of the table, mounted up on the wall. Incredible.

10: Some sort of a framed certificate. I think it has their names on it, but it's very hard to see. If anyone has managed to get a better shot/decipher, please feel free to share.

11: A random ship in a bottle.

12: A taxidermy wolf's head. Boys. Boys, why.

13: So many board games. I can make out at least six editions of Clue, Aggravation, Yahtzee, a Ouija board, and Scotland Yard. The rest are all too blurry for me to read, but again, please do chime in if you're able to identify any of the others.

14: Last but absolutely not least, Charles has a tiny soccer ball in a posed wooden mannequin hand. Perfect. Amazing. No notes.

[ladykailitha]

Around the World Part 6

Hello! And welcome to another chapter of this very underrated fic. Thank you to everyone who has given it love in the way of comments, reblogs/tags, and likes.

It's London calling! And we meet a Murray Bauman in the wild. Eddie and Steve get a little introspective and Steve does something rash.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

~

Their trip through the haunting and beautiful Ireland was amazing. So many tales and history. This is why Steve wanted to do more than just America like Eddie had originally wanted, because America just didn’t have the history Europe and other places did. Not unless you wanted to disturb actual First Nation people and that was something he wanted to avoid at all cost, thank you.

They were on the ferry from Northern Ireland to Scotland and Steve was looking out over his shoulder at the water as he leaned against the guardrail. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the wind to blow through his hair.

Eddie slid his arm around him and Steve laid his head on his shoulder.

Today Eddie had his beard and faux-dreadlocks in a light blue button up shirt and cream colored wide-legged pants. His chunky sunglasses covered the his face.

“You know,” Eddie murmured, “until we reached this leg of our journey and you started to disguise me, I didn’t realize how much I missed just being Eddie Munson, regular guy. I can really see the appeal of you and friends’ way of doing it.”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Of course it means that we can’t go all out and buy everything we want, stay in fancy hotels, show up at restaurants without a reservation and get in. But I can go into my local grocery store and buy two tubs of mint ice cream because I felt like it.” He lifted his head to look Eddie in the eye. “Like some Karen would judge me, but it’s not going to go up on TMZ that I’m letting myself go.”

God, Eddie had had that happen more times than he cared to count. Like once Chrissy was on her period and he went to go get her chocolate, Ben and Jerry’s, and pads. Before he even got to his car it was all over the internet that he was letting himself go, just because it was 2am and his best friend needed something to help her feel better.

“You think you’ll ever come out?” he asked, pulling Steve in closer.

It was a familiar and well-worn topic of theirs; whether or not Steve would ever come out as bisexual at least.

He ducked his head and looked away. He didn’t know. He didn’t like hiding parts of himself for those he loved. He would like to tell people this is the love of my life.

“Would you leave me if I said no?” he mumbled, not daring to look up.

Eddie placed his finger under Steve’s chin and lifted his head gently. “Of course not, Stevie. There are literal actors who have been married for years and no one knows. It’s just between them. We could do that too. Just a quiet ceremony, Robin and Chrissy as the witnesses, and a justice of the peace.”

Steve let out a weak sort of watery laugh and shook his head. “I want all our friends there, famous and otherwise. I want a full tilt party with music playing into the early hours of the morning. I want fancy tuxes and flowers galore. I know I might not get that, the absolute coward that I am. But if I marry you, it be to scream from the rooftops that I love you.”

Eddie bumped their shoulders together. “Softy.” Steve blushed. “Besides there is nothing in the world that says we can’t have it both ways. Have a quiet little ‘just us’ and then go full tilt when you come out. You don’t even have to tell anyone. Just a little comfort that I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie kissed him deeply and then tucked his head under his chin and they stayed like that until the ferry docked in Scotland.

~

God, Scotland and England were beautiful countries Eddie decided as he watched the rolling green hills from his train window. That was another thing he really liked about Europe in general, just all the different ways to travel that weren’t a car.

He looked over at Steve who had his glasses on and reading a book. He smiled at the title. His boyfriend wasn’t a fantasy fan or science fiction either, really, but put a clever mystery in his hands and you would have to pry to the book from his cold, dead fingers.

He glanced over at Chrissy and Robin who were playing Go Fish! They had asked him if he wanted to join them, but he passed. He rarely got time to just relax and watch the scenery go by when he was on tour. He was always doing something related to the band. Writing music, practicing, talking about the next venue, interview, or TV spot.

Him and his friends had fun, because of course they did. But it was nice to just let his mind wander. Currently he was sad that they were going to have to miss Wales this time. He really wanted to buy some Welsh gold jewelry. It’s super rare and absolutely gorgeous.

Maybe he would have to come back later and get something special for Steve. Just something simple like matching bands even if it wasn’t on the left hand. Or necklaces. Just something simple to prove they were it for each other.

“I made an appointment with a well-known tattoo artist in London,” Steve said nonchalant, but like he was reading Eddie’s thoughts.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to Steve. Robin nearly giving herself whiplash in her speed.

“As your friend, manager, and platonic soulmate,” she said darkly, “I advise against that. You can cover it up but someone, somewhere will see it.”

Steve looked up from his book and leveled her with his best bitchy glare. “Not if it’s on my ass.”

Chrissy and Eddie’s eyebrows shot up and they shared a shocked glance. Eddie always loved tattoos, he had a couple of stick and poke style ones from when he was young and stupid and couldn’t afford to pay for an artist to do the job, but there was one place, well technically two if you included his dick, which he absolutely did, that he refused to get a tattoo on and that was his ass. Not being able to sit down properly for what would probably be weeks was not his idea of a good time.

“Not really, though, right?” Chrissy asked with a grimace.

Steve took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Of course not really. Sheesh, you guys. But I hid fucking hickies from the both of you for a year and you never noticed, so I’m pretty sure I can hide one fucking tattoo.”

Robin and Chrissy shared their little ‘manager’ glance and Chrissy folded first.

“You’re right, Steve,” she said calmly. “Not once did you forget or slip up and you should be applauded for that. But is there a reason you’re deciding to get a tattoo now instead of waiting until we’re back in the States and you can use Eddie’s personal artist?”

He looked over at Robin and their little telepathy thing went off again and this time Robin folded first.

“It’s for Eddie,” she murmured. “They can’t be out as a couple and with Steve being the romantic that he is, wouldn’t want to get married without all his friends there, so this is his way of telling Eddie he isn’t going anywhere either.”

Eddie blinked for a moment. “Do you think they take walk-ins?”

“I booked it for both of us.” Steve smiled at him and took his hand. Eddie beamed back at him.

“They are so disgustingly cute,” Robin huffed, crossing her arms. “I bet Steve has this really sweet idea for a tattoo that even if people do notice it they won’t be able to tell the meaning but he and Eddie will know and be so sickeningly precious about it.”

Eddie gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. “I love my super clever boyfriend and can’t wait to see what this brilliant plan is.”

~

Steve’s brilliant plan was half of a white mask on Eddie’s inner wrist and half of guitar on Steve’s and when they held hands it formed almost heart.

The tattoo artist was really impressed with the idea and was more than happy to implement it. Steve walked out of there, completely smug as Chrissy pointed out. Deservedly so.

They were to stay in London for three days because of all the haunted places in London alone, there were so many worth visiting. They were going to start at Jack the Ripper tour and move onto the tour of London.

The tour they learned with deep dismay had accidentally been scheduled at 2pm and not 2am like Eddie had thought it said. It was so boring and their tour guide so dull, Eddie accidentally tripped of one of those concrete pillars they had in the middle of the sidewalk to prevent cars from driving up on it.

“Oof!” Eddie wheezed as he straightened up. “Why do they even put those things here?”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” a nasally voice said from behind them. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

They all turned slowly to see a weaselly little bald man with thick horn-rimmed glass.

“Holy shit,” Chrissy said slowly. “Murray Bauman, as I live and breath. What the hell are you doing in London?”

He shrugged. “Eking out a living doing tours for bored tourists. When the biggest metal band in the world drops you, so does everyone else.”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a grimace. Corroded Coffin had deliberately did that to Nancy after the shit she pulled with Steve and trying to be The Fallen’s agent. But this one was a complete accident.

“Oh fuck off,” Robin said with a grin. “You love it. I can tell. You have actual notes written down, you have a map marked with all the spots the murders take place. I bet you have all the great stories.”

Murray flushed and cocked his head to the side. “I mean I didn’t want to brag. But yeah, certainly better than Molly over there.” He jutted his thumb at their tour guide. “Most of the good ones are from tour companies and then you get people like Molly who make it look legit online and trick people into taking day tours.”

“God, I was so bored,” Eddie huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I felt jet lagged.”

Murray’s eyes instantly narrowed and cocked his head to the side and instantly everyone else tensed up. He took in their reactions and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “if you’re still in town tomorrow, meet me here at 9pm and I’ll give you a proper tour.”

Chrissy licked her lips slowly. “Or what?”

“Huh?” He was confused for a moment before he smacked his forehead. “Oh! No, no. I’m not going to blackmail you. Holy shit. If people want to enjoy a vacation without all the publicity, good on them.” He looked Eddie up and down. “Looks good on you kid.”

Eddie was suddenly glad for the large sunglasses and beard because it hid the blush on his cheeks.

“No, I’m just saying,” Murray continued, “that if you wanted to experience a proper Jack the Ripper tour, I’m willing to do it. I don’t have a tour currently booked and beside I like her.” He pointed at Robin, who grinned back him.

The four them all shared glances at each other.

“I’m down,” Steve said with a shrug. “If you’re as good as you say you are and aren’t trying to actively ‘get back’ at Chrissy for taking your job, I know I’d be interested in seeing what Whitechapel has to offer after dark.”

“I like him too,” Murray said brightly, rubbing his hands together. “So what do the rest of you say?”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Steve’s three menaces said together.

He just smiled fondly and shook his head.

~

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Tag List: CLOSED

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi, Im not sure if youve written anything about this before (I had a quick look but couldnt see anything), but I find Hermione's relationship with her parents kinda interesting. Obviously they're pretty chill with her being a witch — they go to diagon with her at least once and seem quite interested in that sort of thing, they're obviously very proud of her — but by about gof and ootf theyre completely absent from her life. Hermione doesnt seem to go home during that summer holiday and seems to spend the rest with the Weasleys which I find incredibly odd. Her parents were obviously not abusive, nor were they in any sort of danger until dh when Hermione goes on the run (and of course she oblivates them and moves them to Australia first). Voldemort doesnt even make any attacks until hbp because hes lying low. I just cant think why shes suddenly estranged from her parents to the point where they allow their only teenage daughter, who already spends majority of her time in Scotland, to spend her holidays with a family thats already financially struggling?? Surely no actual parent would do that. Of course it could be lazy writing by JK or the rising popularity of Hermione after directorial choices in the films which called for more page-time, but Id be very interested to hear your opinions on the topic because for the life of me I can't figure this out.

(sorry for the long ask)

Hi, no problem about the long ask.

I think Hermione's parents are probably one of the things JKR didn't think through, but I like looking at things like that froma an in universe prespective. And in universe the relationship between Hermione and her parents, while not abusive, has been estranged from day 0.

What I mean by it, is that I don't think Hermione was ever very close to her parents. We see how a muggleborn who is close to his parents acts with Colin Creevey:

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead” (his eyes raked Harry’s hairline) “and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you” — he looked imploringly at Harry

(CoS)

He tries to keep his muggle parents up to date with his life in the wizarding world. He brought a camera explicitly for that purpose. Hermione, on the other hand, never really included her parents in her life. They try to be supportive, they go with her to Diagon, but I'm convinced they know very little of what's going on at Hogwarts with their daughter.

I mean, she probably tells them about her high grades and about Harry and Ron, but she probably never told them about Voldemort, or at least, not much. Or about the bigotry she has to deal with as a muggleborn. I'm also pretty sure she didn't tell them how dangerous Hogwarts is or that she got petrified in 2nd year. I mean, I don't know about you, but if my daughter told me everything that happened to Hermione, I would start asking about alternative magical education that isn't Hogwarts.

I think Hermione was always a lonely child, her parents were likely at work or conventions more often than with her and she is used to hiding things from them. Hermione 100% used to be bullied in her muggle primary school, you see it in how she acts, and I think she didn't tell her parents about that either. So Hermione and her parents were never close in my opinion.

And then, you take this girl who is used to hiding the less pleasant aspects of her life from her parents and send her to the wizarding world. And she's smart, she quickly realizes no one wants to hear about dentists and that she doesn't belong. So she shuts up, she stops bringing her parents up since everyone thinks surgeons are just maniacs who cut into people. So she reads up, she studies everything she can so she would belong, because she never found herself in the muggle world and she loves magic. She loves the wizarding world and chooses to be part of it, even at the price of cutting her parents out of her life.

In first year, Hermione goes back home for Christmas, but from year 2 and onwards she stays at Hogwarts becouse she doesn't want to miss out in that year's mystery, or time with Ron and Harry. She, like Harry, doesn't want to leave the wizarding world for a world they consider worse.

And the fact she does her best to spend more and more time in the wizarding world is an extension of that. It's not that she hates her parents, she loves them, but she loves them less than she loves the wizarding world.

I think, the moment in book 4 in which she took the chance to fix her teeth magically against what her dentist parents would think is right, is a moment that shows that clear choice. Mr. and Mrs. Granger clearly care about Hermione and want what's best for her, but Hermione thinks she is better than them because she is a witch. She treats her parents like children who don't know what's good for them. She knows because she's a witch, so she can send them away for their safety. They might think using magic on her teeth is dangerous, but they're muggles they don't know better. Even Hermione falls into this prevalent mindset among wizards that they know better than muggles.

The Creevy brothers wanted to keep both the wizarding world and their parents. Hermione chose the wizarding world. She figured that if she truly wanted to belong and be up to date with everything, months in the muggle world would make this assimilation harder, so she stayed in the wizarding world. And when the time comes to make a hard decision to Obliviate her parents and send them away, it is easier to rationalize. She hasn't been part of their life for so long anyway, they would hardly notice the difference, besides, she's the witch, she's the one in the know, not them.

It's quite sad, but it's a result of Hermione's decision to assimilate into the wizarding world as if she was always there which is, I think, influenced by the bigotry that is everywhere. I mean, even the Weasleys look down on muggles:

“Are they doctors?” he [Harry] asked Ron quietly. “Doctors?” said Ron, looking startled. “Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they’re Healers.”

(OotP)

So, yeah, Hermione chose to be a witch, and to her, that means cutting her parents she was never too close to out of her life.

[aoioozora]

THIS IS SO AMAZING OMG (talking about the Simon fanfic btw) YOU JUST EARNED A FOLLOWER ❤️❤️ we'd really appreciate it if you did a part 2? 🥹 Take care

Simon.

Part 2

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost

Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: I was never planning on making this a series but here we go, I guess I'm invested too now >:) thank you for requesting and following! While this series is fluff only, I have a small warning for this part: there's swearing, crude jokes. And possibly incorrect usage of Scottish and English slang. Enjoy :) Photo credit: mus

“It's pishin’ it doon out here.”

Simon looked at his friend and sighed, “English, MacTavish.” 

MacTavish groaned. “It's raining fuckin’ hard.” 

“Then say so.” 

“I did!” 

Simon and his friend, John MacTavish or ‘Johnny’, as he was affectionately called, found themselves standing under the shade of a book café, helmets in hands, watching Simon's bike get drenched in the heavy rain. Neither of them expected a downpour, and were caught without raincoats. And so the two had no choice but to wait it out. 

“It was yer bloody brilliant idea to go on a road trip when I warned ye that it was gonna rain today,” Johnny griped, crossing his arms as he shook the rain water off his helmet. 

Simon didn't say a word. He copied Johnny in getting the water off his helmet, except that he wiped it off with his hand. As he hung his head down to do so, his messy blond hair fell over his eyes, and he shook his head to get it out of the way. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief to dry them, and then pulled his mask down below his nose to inhale a fresh gulp of the cold, wet air. When he had inhaled enough, he pulled the mask back on, and his eyes wandered to his motorcycle, which was surrounded by a foggy haze in the rain. 

His mind wandered to that night he saved a young lady off the dangerous streets. He remembered how he saw her from afar, and without a second thought, sped up to her assailants, half-intent on actually flattening them into crepes. He remembered how his engine pounded as adrenaline charged his blood, as he twisted the accelerator to full throttle, sending the vehicle flying. 

A pretty lady he thought she was. He didn't know why he called her his girlfriend; his brain decided that being a boyfriend was the second most powerful thing a man could be, the first being a husband. No other men would mess with another man's woman, that was for sure, unless he had a death wish. She acted well too, convincingly even. 

He pulled out his phone and turned it around. Nestled beneath the clear casing was a small, clear candy wrapper, the same one that the pretty lady gave him that day. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep it, but did anyway. He definitely wanted something to remind him of her. 

He had been in anguish ever since he dropped her off and rode away; he had completely forgotten to ask for her name. But who does that? They were strangers. What are the odds that two strangers would meet again? 

“I'm heading inside,” Johnny announced, “I want a coffee.”

“Get me some tea.” 

“Fuckin’ Brit.” 

Simon was about to correct Johnny by telling him that Scotland, where he was from, was also part of the British isles, but he bit back, not wanting to risk hearing a rant in exclusively colorful, and totally family friendly Scottish words and phrases. 

“Fine, I'll do it myself.” Simon rolled his eyes and followed Johnny inside the book cafe. 

The two men sat at a table and while Johnny peered into the menu, Simon sank back into the comfortable chair and looked at the yellow bulbs hanging overhead, casting a soft, golden glow on the smooth wooden tables, the floors, and the cutlery. The smell of coffee, cakes, and books filled the air, along with the soft ruffle of pages, clinks of tableware and cups and saucers, and the distinct murmurs of his friend across him as he figured out what coffee he wanted to have. 

A waiter came by to take their orders, and the two were soon left to their own, sitting in unusual silence as they stared out the glass windows at the relentlessly pouring rain. While Johnny hummed a tune to himself, Simon, tired of looking at the downpour, decided to amuse himself with people watching. 

He saw people working at their laptops, some reading and drinking, others chatting in soft murmurs, and staff doing their job. 

His eyes fell on one particular lady who was seated at a table across the cafe, back facing him, busily working on her laptop. He felt his heart stop for a moment. Her silhouette was familiar, particularly her hair; it looked just like her. His heart pounded beneath his ribs. 

He didn't realise how long he looked until Johnny's voice piped, “Wit ye lookin’ at?” which interrupted the momentary buzz of his thoughts. 

Simon turned to his friend, who was looking at him with mingled curiosity and confusion. “Nothing.” he replied, shaking his head and hanging it down slightly to look away, but his eyes immediately darted to the lady, as if she was a strong magnet. 

Johnny wasn't quite convinced, and he followed Simon's line of vision. “A lass,” he observed, smirking. 

Simon glared at his friend, but it only made him chuckle. The two watched as she stood up for a moment and turned around, intent on walking to the shelves to grab a book. That's when Simon saw her face, and again, his heart seized. 

“It's her.”

His breath lodged tight in his lungs and his body visibly stiffened. And the most unfortunate reaction of them all: his partially exposed cheeks had turned pink. His eyes were glued to her, and he was unaware that Johnny was still keenly observing him. 

“Ye ken her?” asked Johnny, his smirk widening. 

“You remember I saved a girl the other day?” He asked back. 

“That's her?” Johnny whipped his head back again to take another gander at the lady. 

She was furiously flipping through the pages of a hardbound book, as if desperately in search of something. Simon rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair and leaned his cheek on his fist; he watched with interest as she hunched over the book like a medieval scholar, and wondered what her occupation was. She went back to her seat, hunched over again, and the two men looked back at each other. 

“Go talk to her,” Johnny challenged.

“No.”

“Keep bein’ a fuckin’ pussy and ye won't get to fuck that pussy, ye ken?” 

Simon snorted at that, but then immediately and quietly hissed “Wheesht!” at Johnny to make him shut up, glancing back at the pretty lady. “Don't be disrespectful,” he added.

Johnny chuckled, ever amused at the fact that his Scottish vernacular was infecting the Englishman. He leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee, continuing to smirk, “Since when did ye care about respect, huh?” 

Simon inhaled sharply, since he was getting increasingly impatient with Johnny and at the fact that he was running out of arguments. It was also a bit hard to argue in a place where you're supposed to be quiet. 

“Just go already. I cannae see ye looking so stupid like this. The worst she can say is ‘fuck off’.” Johnny shrugged. 

Simon shot his friend and unimpressed look, making Johnny snort. “That is the worst thing she can say, you wanker,” he said, now mechanically rising from his chair. 

“Fuck off and get her number, ye gobshite, or else you'll just be wanking to her and not talking.” Johnny shook his head with a smirk and gave his friend a slap on the back as he passed him. Simon returned the gesture with a slap to the back of Johnny's head, particularly in annoyance at the latter part of his sentence. 

While Johnny whined quietly from how hard a slap he had been dealt with, Simon's attention was drawn when he heard her voice again, sounding a little agitated. His head whipped towards her table, and yet again, she was being hit on by some guy, and clearly looked like she was uncomfortably fighting back his unwanted advances. 

Simon glared at the man as he began his march. “If only she had a boyfriend by her side, a guard dog…” he thought to himself as he speedily, yet calmly stepped over to her table. 

He went around some tables and emerged behind the man, towering over him. Before Simon was noticed by her, his hand came down heavily on the man's shoulder, making him flinch. Leaning down, he whispered as the man turned to face him, “What business do you have with my girlfriend?” 

The man was met with Simon's glaring eyes that meant serious business. He froze up immediately. 

“Babe, he was trying to hit on me even though I told him I wasn't interested,” the lady's voice resounded, and a quick glance at her told Simon that her eyes glimmered with recognition. 

The “babe” made his knees weak for a moment, but he shook off the feeling and continued to glare at the man. No more words were needed. He immediately stood up from his seat and strode away, apologising without sincerity. When he was finally earshot, she sighed. 

“You alright, love?” asked Simon with gentleness unusual to him, glancing around again to make sure the man was nowhere in sight. 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she sighed, also looking in the direction the man left. She looked back at him and smiled brightly, “But what a coincidence. We meet again, Simon.” 

“And I'm mighty chuffed about it.” he thought to himself as he nodded in response. “Funny coincidence, really. My friend and I were just about to leave on a small road trip and the rain,” he shook his head and clicked his tongue as he looked at the windows, “it rained on our parade, I guess.”

The unintentional pun made her giggle. Simon normally had a grip on his emotions, but that damned giggle threw off his train of thought. But regaining himself, he continued, “So we took shelter here, and I saw you. Thought I'd come talk and then I heard that guy trying to make a pass at you.”

She motioned to the chair for him to sit down, which he instantly did; he cursed himself for seeming so eager. 

“You heard?” she asked with emphasis. 

“Yeah?” he nodded, slightly confused as to why she zeroed in on that word in particular. “I was looking elsewhere, and then I heard you.”

She then glanced at her laptop for a moment and then pulled the screen down slightly so he wouldn't see what was on. As she did, she said, “I see. I'm lucky you came just then because I was having a hard time driving him away.”

“I could tell,” he answered slowly. He then decided to change the subject. “You come here often?” 

“Yeah, every day. This place is calm and quiet and the atmosphere helps me work.”

“What's your job?” 

“I'm an author.” 

“An author?” he blinked in surprise. He didn't expect that. “What do you write about?” 

“Fantasy and adventure… With a hint of romance.” She grabbed her tote that was on the table and pulled out a book from it, which she showed him. “This is my first published book.” 

“No kidding?” He took the book in my hand. It was titled ‘Firefly Trails’, embossed in gold. The cover was matte, showing a dark forest trail dotted with glossy fireflies and their greenish yellow light. Below the title was her name, and he read it in his mind slowly, his eyes spending more time taking it in more than anything else on the cover. 

“New York Times Bestseller.” he recited, smirking as he eyed the epithet on the top of the cover, “Don't they slap this on every book?” 

“They do, but this actually did pretty well in New York.”

“So you're famous then?” 

“Kind of?” 

“Tell me your Instagram handle, I'll need to see for myself.” Simon pulled out his phone and looked at her, waiting for her to tell him. 

She did. He immediately typed it out on the search bar and while he did, he rested his elbow on the table, holding his arm upright. His neck was craned upward slightly, and the lady couldn't help but stare at the way his Adam's apple moved as he gulped, and the way the sternocleidomastoid muscle tightened and popped from under his fair skin as he moved his neck. 

Her analytical, authorly eyes scanned him keenly, soaking in all she could make of his facial features; at his icy blond hair, short and styled in an undercut; his long eyelashes, his shapely eyebrows, his slightly pink cheeks under the black mask, the way his brown eyes reflected against the blue light of the phone screen; it was all a sight to behold. He was saying something, but her mind was so lost in trying to mentally string words together to describe the view in front of her in the most superfluous manner possible, in hopes that this information would be used in her future works. 

“Hey, you really are famous. You got quite a tonne of followers.” Simon, who was highly aware of her shameless staring, somehow managed to interrupt her flow of thought. 

She was successfully brought back to Earth from her daydream, and she nodded, now embarrassed to have been caught red-handed. He thankfully made no comment on it, not wanting to make things awkward.

She answered, “I suppose so. But they're not as many as bigger authors. I'm not complaining, though. I'm really happy to have a lot of people liking my work.”

“You're too modest,” he said, and she could see his cheeks rise to his eyes just a wee bit behind his mask, indicative of a smile. He now showed her her Instagram page on his phone. “There, I followed you,” he said, pointing at the grey ‘Following’ button.

“Are you sure? You don't look like the type of person who reads or is interested in author updates.” A slightly teasing smirk tugged the corner of her lips. 

Simon chuckled and shook his head slightly, making his short hair swish a little; she took notice of it. “I'm a voracious reader,” he bragged, lying through his teeth, even using a fancy word to make it more convincing. 

She smiled, clearly not quite convinced, but decided to humor him anyway. “If you are, then that book is a gift for you.” She glanced at the copy resting on his lap. 

“No kidding?” he blinked as he took the book in his hand to gaze at it. “Well, since you're so famous, I think I should get your autograph.” he said, and she could see one of his cheeks raised; an unmistakable smirk. 

“Oh, come on, you're making me blush,” she giggled, but took the book anyway.

"My intentions exactly," he thought as he watched her grab a pen and start writing on the first page. 

His phone buzzed a message in the meantime, and he took the device to have a look. It was Johnny. He glanced at the other end of the cafe at his friend, and found him staring, finishing the last sips of his coffee. 

Johnny MacTavvy: oi yer tea's getting cauld 

Johnny MacTavvy: Rain's stopped too. Let's go 

Simon now looked out the glass windows and the rain had indeed stopped, and a bit of sunlight was peeking through the cloudy skies. He sighed, not wanting to go just yet, but knowing Johnny wouldn't let him tarry any longer, he quickly typed a reply, which Johnny saw immediately. 

Fuckin’ Brit: ok 

By the time Simon kept his phone in his pocket, the lady finished her autograph and handed the book to him. “Enjoy.” She smiled. 

Simon murmured a “Thanks” as he received the book, and then rose from his seat. 

“Leaving already?” she asked, looking a little disappointed. 

“Yeah, my friend's annoying me to finish my tea so we can be on our way. The rain's stopped now, so…”

“Okay,” she nodded slightly, glancing out the windows to confirm for herself. Looking back at him, she smiled again, “Take care then.” 

“You too,” he inhaled. “Make sure you don't get hit on again,” he said, attempting to be casual and funny, but he felt like his attempt turned out to be so stupid. 

She shook her head, scoffing and smiling. “I'll be fine.” 

He was relieved that the attempt landed safely despite the turbulence, and he sighed. “Right then, I'll see you inna bit, love.” 

“See you, Simon.” 

He nodded once at her and then strode back to Johnny, feeling his knees get weaker by the second. He managed to reach his table and practically fell down in his seat. 

“Well?” asked Johnny with a smirk as he leaned forward and eyed the book in Simon's hand. “She gave ye a gift, I see.” 

“She's an author. Her first book.” Simon answered, handing him the book so he could see it. 

“For real?” Johnny took the book and flipped through the pages. The autograph on the first page caught his attention and he read it. His eyes widened slightly and he closed the book, returning it to his friend, who was drowning the lukewarm tea. “He completely forgot, didnae he, this bastard.” Johnny muttered under his breath, smirking. 

“What was that?” asked Simon, setting down the teacup. 

“Nothing. Let's go.” 

The two paid for their drinks and as they stepped out the door, Simon glanced back at her, and saw that she was also looking at him over her shoulder. This time, he felt a bit fluttery in his stomach. She waved at him with another of those pretty smiles and he waved back, already feeling his knees go weak again. 

The two turned away and exited the book cafe. While Johnny wiped the rainwater off the motorcycle, Simon took a moment to see what she had written as an autograph. 

“Dear Simon, thank you for saving me twice. I hope you enjoy the book,” was written, and along with that was her name and signature.

Below that was written in unmistakably bold and clear letters, “Call me,” along with her number. 

Simon felt like he had been struck by lightning. His face turned alarmingly red and hot to the point that he scrambled to pull his hood over to hide himself. “Fuck me…” he mumbled his exclamation as he processed this very clear green light from her. It was unbelievable. 

In the meantime, the lady herself  couldn't believe this whole thing just happened. He happened to be there, came up to her, saved her, and swooped her off her feet the second time. It was an amazing coincidence, a once in a lifetime incident, something straight out of a novel. And being an author, she couldn't let this go. She just had to shoot her shot by slapping her phone number in the autograph and now hope that he would call her.

But if there was one thing that sold her completely, it was the fact that he heard that she was in trouble, and came to her rescue. 

Feeling a flutter in her chest, she looked back at her laptop screen. A Google search result was displayed in bold:

“The name Simon means ‘to hear’.”

End of Part 2.

Part 3

[ayeforscotland]

Ah wait, I've got something for you in relation to white American fetishisation of Scotland and other European countries (because unfortunately it's not just Scottland, it's everyone.)

(And this is just an opinion, I have no science to back this up. That must be stated first and foremost.)

To achieve American Whiteness ment that many Europeans immigrating to the states had to shed their cultures in order to be accepted by Anglo European decendents. If you weren't the 'right' type of white then you weren't good enough and were often pushed out.

As such, these people, too, were forced to shed their cultural identity in order to make a living here.

Now, these diverse cultures are celebrated (to a point.) There's celebrations that come from these iterations of faith, foods and dress that come from these homelands, but they're strange derivatives of themselves. Xerox of a xerox of a xerox, made only by a cultural machine that doesn't really understand or want you, but loves the aesthetic of some small component of you, so it takes that, all while simultaneously craving it could be more.

And so NOW that it is no longer 'bad' to be decended from these places, NOW people try to claw their way back, like they're attempting to undo the damage the previous generations did to themselves in order to fit into White American Society, but they have no idea how and so it becomes a crass and ugly thing, often monetized by the same origional Anglo European sphere of influence that put them in this predicament anyway, and then further pits them against NEW people trying to make it here in the states.

(And to that last point, I have to recommend reading an amazing comic in the Nib by Dawson, Why Did They Come, in order to touch on how fucked up that whole thing is (not that we don't already know.) https://thenib.com/why-did-they-come/

But yeah... to summarize- immigrants now seen as acceptably white in the states originally WASN'T and so these people bleached themselves culturally to achieve the Anglo vibe, and now generations later, their decendents cling to fabrications of a culture they were denied in the most grotesque ways imaginable because they know nothing else.

It's like white bread trying to reintroduce culture to itself to become whole wheat again, only to end up giving itself mold.

Some great points there, particularly around the bastardisation of forgotten traditions etc.

I'd be keen to see some evidence of Scottish immigrants to the US being perceived the same way as, for example, Irish or Italian immigrants who eventually became accepted into 'American Whiteness'. Also while many Scottish immigrants who moved to America were poorer, I've never heard of them facing the same challenges as other European immigrants who were perceived as non-white. I expect a large part of that was being part of the British Empire. There was also a disproportionate number of Scots were plantation owners who owned slaves in the south. And while some historians dispute it's origins, I think it's mostly accepted the KKK was founded by descendants of Scottish immigrants , or at the very least, founded by people who drew heavily on that aesthetic. So even if modern Americans who fetishise Scotland are saying they can finally start celebrating their "native homeland's" traditions again - I think there's an element of 'wanting to be seen as victims with a rich history' about it.

[brian-in-finance]

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•••••

•••••

WHAT THE STARS ARE SAYING

Check out why so many famed actors use Backstage

Trusted since 1960

Founded in 1960, Backstage has a storied history of serving the entertainment industry. For over 60 years Backstage has served as a casting resource and news source for actors, performers, directors, producers, agents, and casting directors.

Over that time, Backstage Magazine has also appeared on numerous TV shows, such as “Mad Men,” “Entourage,” “Glee,” “Oprah,” NBC's “Today” show, Comedy Central's “@Midnight”, NY1's “On Stage,” and “Saturday Night Live,” as well as multiple mentions on shows like “Inside the Actor’s Studio,” “Girls,” and appearances in films such as “13 Going on 30,” the Farrelly brothers' “Stuck on You” and Spike Lee's “Girl 6,” and even a mention in Woody Allen's short-story collection “Mere Anarchy” and Augusten Burroughs' novel “Sellevision” – and Backstage has received accolades from multiple Academy Award-, Emmy-, and Tony-winning actors and directors. (Plus, the hit musical “The Last Five Years” even includes Backstage in its lyrics: “Here's a headshot guy and a new Backstage / Where you're right for something on every page.”)

CAITRÍONA BALFE

ACTRESS

"I still get Backstage emails 'cause I still subscribe to Backstage. [Backstage is) kind of the Bible in the beginning, which is amazing. Samuel French and Backstage go hand in hand, you know? You go there for your plays when you're in classes, and then you get your Backstage."

Backstage 1

•••••

Brian’s Note: The following story originally appeared in April 2015. Most recent update is December 2020.

The Gorgeous Determination of Caitríona Balfe

Caitríona Balfe is on the move. That's been true most of her adult life— especially the 10 years she was modeling for Victoria's Secret, Dolce & Gabbana, and others—but as she sits on the rooftop patio of a West Hollywood hotel in mid-March, she mentions that she's pulling up stakes from Los Angeles.

"It just feels silly to have an empty place for 10 months until I figure out what I'm doing with my life," the Irish-born actor says. "I've rented the same place for the last four years and now I have to give it up." Her apartment is being razed to put in condos, but her departure from L.A. is extra poignant considering this is the city where Balfe journeyed when she decided to put aside that successful modeling career and focus on the vocation she'd always wanted: acting.

Photo: Luc-Richard Elie

"I've moved so much since I was 18," she says. "I mean, l've lived so many places. New York, I lived in for almost eight years [while modeling], and that's been the longest of anywhere since I left Ireland. But L.A. is where I came and said, 'OK, this is what I wanna do with my life.' "

She refuses to think of her move as a permanent one, though. "I'll be back," she declares, "but it feels really sad. My little apartment, it's got so many memories."

Balfe's sadness is no doubt mitigated by the fact that part of her need to move is due to the precipitous rise in her fortunes. She'll soon be flying to Scotland to shoot the second season of "Outlander," which returns to Starz April 4 to conclude Season 1.

When last we saw Balfe's Claire, the resourceful British nurse who comes home after World War |I only to be inexplicably teleported into the 18th-century Highlands, she was half-naked with a knife to her breast. Don't worry: Claire will get out of that scrape, but more perils await-to say nothing of the emerging multi-era romantic triangle developing between her, the Scottish warrior Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan), and her 20th-century husband, Frank Randall (Tobias Menzies), who wonders where she's gone.

Based on the much-beloved Diana Gabaldon novels and developed for television by "Battlestar Galactica" rebooter Ronald D. Moore, "Outlander" is an ostensibly lush period-piece-within-a-period-piece drama that's consistently richer and thornier than its romance-novel trappings suggest. And much of the credit goes to Balfe, who had managed small parts in films such as “Super 8” and “Now You See Me” before landing the central role in this adaptation.

In person, Balfe is far less imposing than the steely Claire, who has to weather the dangers of being a woman in sexist, violent Scotland in the 1740s. Cast late in the preproduction of “Outlander”—Moore has mentioned in interviews how hard it was to find the right Claire—she didn’t have time to consider what the role would do to her life. “I’m so bad on social media," she confesses on this warm afternoon, nestled underneath a cabana. "I had set up an account on Twitter maybe a year or so before I got this job and had, I thought, a lot of followers — 250 or something, and most of them are my friends. Within about a month or two, it was thousands of people — and my phone, I didn't know how to turn off the alerts, so it was just going all the time. That was the beginning of the awareness."

Growing up in the small Irish community of Monaghan, Balfe had considered acting from an early age. ("I was devastated that I wasn't a child actor," she says, smiling. But after traveling to Dublin to study theater, she changed course once she received an offer to model. It wasn't a secret passion of hers, but who turns down a trip to Paris? "My parents felt that I should finish college," Balfe recalls, "but l'm slightly headstrong, so l took their advice and I completely ignored it."

Over the next decade, she lived in France, Italy, Germany, and Japan, her modeling inexperience hardly a detriment. "You'd be amazed how little information or training goes into it," she says. "When I first arrived in Paris, I was told to take a bus to the office. I left my suitcase — I barely spoke any French — and someone took me across the street, helped me buy a Carte Orange. They printed out five addresses that I had to go to that day, and then they sent me off." She still remembers at 18 riding the subway alongside 16-year-old aspiring Russian models, who knew no French or English, homesick and sobbing their eyes out. "That was just the way it was," says Balfe. "You become pretty tough. When I went to Japan, it was similar: They would drive you to their castings, but the minute you got a job, it would be like, 'Here's an address, here's a map. Good luck.' They don't have signposts in English in Japan, so the map and the address are not always very helpful."

Hear Balfe recount her early misadventures in modeling and you can't help but think of Claire, who's equally thrown to the wolves once she arrives in the 18th century amid people wary of the English in general and assertive women in particular. "Honestly, l've been in so many situations in my life where you just are completely displaced," Balfe says. “You have to adapt very quickly and figure it out. I definitely think that informs Claire a lot. It helped me understand her."

Did moving to Paris at such a young age teach Balfe that she can cope in any circumstance? "I think I didn't really realize that until many years later," she replies. "I have a great knack of not thinking about things and just going for it. You learn the hard way sometimes that you're able to get through, but sometimes it's quite tough when you're in a situation where you don't know anyone and you're trying to find your way around cities. But if an opportunity presents itself and it seems like a good idea, l'm just like, 'OK, let's do it, then I'll figure it out.'”

The decision to reconnect with her acting ambitions was conducted just as boldly. Ready to quit modeling, she moved to Los Angeles because a writer she was dating lived there. He was the only person she knew, but she had read a Vanity Fair interview with Amy Adams in which she said she trained with Warner Loughlin. "I could walk to that place from my ex-boyfriend's house," she says, "so l was like, 'Well, I'm gonna go there because I can't really drive. I started from scratch. I didn't have any managers, I didn't know any agents, I hadn't acted in almost a decade." But she just kept taking classes, moving from Loughlin to the studios of Sanford Meisner and Judith Weston. "I think when I first got here, I had a nice little air of delusion: 'It's gonna work out,'" she says with a laugh. “You just don't know how."

And then came "Outlander." By email, Moore admits that he didn't know Balfe's work until her audition tape came unsolicited to his office from her agent. Once she was chosen for Claire, he made it clear how demanding the job would be. “I told her in our first meeting that this was going to be an even bigger responsibility and workload than the normal TV lead," he writes. "Because the story was being told from Claire's point of view, Cait was going to be in every scene, every day for months, which is an extraordinary amount of work, far beyond what most actors are ever asked to do."

Moore's warning didn't faze Balfe. Writes Moore, "After she met with the president of Starz... and it was clear that she was going to land the role, I walked her to the elevator and just before the doors closed on her, I said 'Your life is about to change forever,' and she gave me a grin that was both thrilled and slightly nervous. I never saw her hesitate after that."

She's never hesitated before. As Balfe prepares to say goodbye to L.A. (for now, she thinks back to her early days in the city, trying to convince casting directors that she was more than just a model. "I went on many, many, many, many auditions that were Hot Girl No. 2 — you wanna shoot yourself," she says, laughing. "But, you know, I'm very lucky that l was even getting those auditions in the beginning. And it toughens you up. At least for me, to have that fuel to prove people wrong—it definitely spurs me on and makes me wanna work harder." Then she smiles conspiratorially. "And shove it to them."

Backstage 2

Remember… I told her in our first meeting that this was going to be an even bigger responsibility and workload than the normal TV lead. — Ronald D Moore

[sgiandubh]

Onlies at large

Sometimes (often, even), I can't sleep. And when I can't sleep, I get easily bored, if not focused on something. And there was nothing of particular import on Netflix or Amazon Prime, yesterday night. Aaand, as I don't have access to my bookshelves back home, I went looking for a light something to read myself to the Land of Nod.

I am, since forever, a solid reader of non-fiction. Memoirs, diaries are a special interest, too. So I just wanted to see if there were any nice memoirs of people who went to Scotland in search of a new life/love/whatever, Under The Tuscan Sun -style. Everand/Scribd is a decent starting point for the such, at 2 AM.

There weren't and I wonder why. But as I was browsing around, lo and behold, I found a tiny, self-published memoir by a certain Ninya (not her real name, of course): Scotland with a Stranger (2020).

Great literature it is not. It is naive and the narrative line sounded really, really meh to me: a 43 year old Alabama depressed divorcee finds healing and a renewed purpose for life, while traveling to Scotland with an improbable companion.

So, I skimmed and skimmed and skimmed (FFS, when is she going to PACK, this one?). Then, I found this and no, I am not sorry AT ALL for the length (passages are bolded by me).

Thank you Baby Jesus, she finally made it to her EDI flight:

'(...) I noticed a little emblem on the shirts of many of the women on this flight. It looked like mountains and said Peaker. All the women were laughing and chatting and carrying on like they had known each other forever.

“Is this your first trip to Scotland?” I tried to make small talk with the lady next to me.

“Heavens, no! It’s my sixth.”

“Wow,” I said. “It’s such a big world, but you keep coming back here?”

“Yes, it’s just incredibly beautiful. I never get tired of it. There is no other place as magical on earth.” She smiled wistfully. “I’m actually coming for a gala.”

“A gala?” I parroted back to her. I thought galas were reserved for Barbie movies. In my social circle, no one I knew ever attended a gala.

“Yes! It’s called My Peak Challenge.” She leaned in closer, excited to share. “Have you read the Outlander series?”

“Funny you ask that because I just downloaded the first book.” It seemed like required reading when you went to Scotland. I loved to read and had nothing but time due to my social media fast, so it was sitting unopened on my iPad.

“Well, the character of Jamie is played by Sam Heughan, and he is the founder of My Peak Challenge. It’s not just a club; it’s a movement, and every year they have a gala in Edinburgh. People come from all over the world for this event.”

The germaphobe next to me chimed in. “This is my first year, but he has truly changed my life. I’ve lost twenty-two pounds.” I was impressed, having weighed nearly two hundred myself at one point. Losing sixty of it was one of the biggest accomplishments of my life.

“Losing weight is so hard,” I commiserated with her. “How did you do it?”

“The boring way, eating right and exercising.” She laughed, and I laughed with her because I knew too well it was the only way that worked long-term.

She continued on. “My Peak Challenge is a training and nutrition program where we support and challenge each other, but it’s not just that because Sam has raised nearly two million dollars for charities all over the world. He’s just incredible.” She was practically swooning and literally fanning herself. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was hot, or because she was.

That nutrition program must include the Sam Heughan is a God Kool-aid.

“This conference includes a meet and greet and a gala and a special workout that Sam leads. He’s just an amazing human being,” she gushed. She clearly was in love with Sam Heughan.

“I have been chosen to introduce him,” the sweet older lady to my left said. “So, I’ve got the next eight hours to figure out the words to say to introduce the man who has completely changed my life.”

“Yes!” She went on. “It’s an incredible organization. He’s really affecting change on a global level.” (sic!)

Great. I am stuck between two evangelists at a Sam Heughan-is-the-greatest-human-in-the-world presentation.

“We have a Facebook group, and everyone is just so awesome and supportive. It really is a family.”

“And how much does it cost to be in this family?” I asked skeptically.

“It wasn’t much,” she defended, quickly changing the topic. “Nearly every penny is donated to charity. He is changing lives,” she stressed so incredibly seriously I had to cover my mouth to stifle a giggle.

Is this a cult? It sounds like a cult. I am trapped on an airplane for the next eight hours with the Sam Heughan cult.

Luckily for me, headphones exist. It was an overnight flight, which meant I could close my eyes and pretend to sleep, and there were movies to be seen.' (Ninya - Scotland with a Stranger: A Memoir, Chapter Thirteen).

For some reason, I doubt Ninya ever opened that OL first tome, on her IPad or elsewhere. But the point of my post is not to poke fun at SRH, MPC and all the gracious Peakers who read and often comment on this humble blog (@ladyjane-lj, @rosfrank immediately come to mind and I am sure they are not the only ones).

The reason I quoted this passage at almost full length, despite the paltry writing skills and abysmal grammar/spelling on display (Sweet Baby Jesus, please make people see the real difference between affect and effect, thank you and amen) is that we are dealing here with a unique perspective on a sizeable chunk of this fandom. You see, Ninya has no damn agenda to promote, in OL terms. She is not a shipper, but she is not an Anti, either. She couldn't care less if S+C=❤️, or if Tait rhymes with Fate (it rhymes with Bait, if you ask me). She doesn't know anything about OL, its cast, its Best Fans Ever, you and me and her.

And this is precisely why her perspective is so damn interesting. She is a mere passer-by, who failed to be grabbed in by the OTT Only Mommie gushing and who saw possessiveness and objectification disguised as love. She saw the most problematic, hypocrite and unimportant side of this whole experience and this whole fandom. And it's terrible and I am really sorry she did.

Maybe someone else than us reads this. For once, I wish they did, for it is an unadulterated, faraway echo of Real Life and the Real World. Selling that Toy Boi image is WRONG, *** and PR and TPTB. It's counterproductive and a total turnoff to real people who can't be arsed to even look for the Balmaclellan Adonis on Google, just because this fan substack is really, really embarrassing.

Of course, they blindly buy the booze, religiously sign in year after year to just about everything he sells around. Of course they show up every single time and pitch their tents on the rude city pavement in front of God Knows Which liquor store in Whoville, America. But they also show up with baked lasagna, pinch his ass (Madame Tussaud's, anyone?) and geriatrically swoon front row, cackling and giggling and catcalling like they were 12. It's also because of these women that OL lost its fabulous innocence and authenticity and it's because of these women we do have the Global Merry-Go-Round Seasonal Shitshow that keeps all of us (sickly, I am the first to admit it) engaged here.

Finally, this is also why I am closely following all the business side of this ahem, universe. It's the road less traveled by and of course, probably the most rewarding.

Shoot me, the very moment I turn into Neilie. Let it be clearly known beforehand. And no, please do not resuscitate. I'd be too ashamed.

[cod-dump]

johnny strikes me as someone who would absolutely LOVE a good stew, lamb in particular, PLEASE GOD i need him going feral if anyone just touches his stew, unless he’s EXPLICITLY told them he’s making enough to share w someone or that they can have some

Gran’s Lamb Stew

SoapGhost

___

Soap learned how to make a mean stew from his grandmother. Soap’s grandmother made the most delicious stew in the whole of Scotland and he would fight anyone who disagreed. He inherited his grandmother’s recipe book and he treasures that old spiral notebook like it’s made out of gold. Gaz tries to look at it and Soap hissed at him before running off, the notebook disappearing for several months until it finally reappears.

Soap is cooking a stew. It wasn’t a big pot, just a couple servings. Everyone couldn’t deny how good it smelt and Gaz grew brave and went over to smell it. Soap materialized out of thin air and Gaz’s heart almost stopped. He was immediately chased out of the kitchen and was forbidden from returning. Gaz was so flabbergasted by this that he went to Price.

Price was then later chased out of the kitchen, forbidden from returning. Gaz and him just stood in the doorway, wondering what the hell had gotten into Soap and why he wasn’t willing to share his stew. Several more people were chased out of the kitchen when they came looking for the source of that delicious smell. The crowd was growing and Soap was managing to keep everyone at bay with a evil look. It got to the point that anyone who even looked like they were going into the kitchen for any reason was warned.

Then Ghost walked in.

Gaz tried to warn him but he didn’t listen. He just walked up to Soap who was obsessively observing the stew pot with no fear.

“What is that? Smells amazing.”

“Gran’s lamb stew. Want some?”

Price and Gaz’s jaws dropped as Soap made Ghost a generous bowl of the stew before making himself one. They both left the kitchen and when Gaz went over to the stew pot, he discovered that it was empty. Soap had made just enough for two bowls, and Ghost got one of them.

[tavolgisvist]

Allen Klein is a businessman. He has had dealings with a guy called Tony Calder who worked as a partner for Andrew Oldham. The three of them managed the affairs of the Rolling Stones. Oldham & Calder left the Stones scene, but Klein stayed. … Tony has something on his mind that is why he is taking me to work in his Morgan. He says: ‘Allen Klein says you are in his way. Allen says you are blocking him from meeting the Beatles and doing business with them.’ I am amazed. I say, ‘I never give Allen Klein a thought from one year to the next. What is the guy talking about, me being in his way?’ … So I tell Tony if Klein thinks I am in his way, and as I’m not in his way, I’d better show the guy I’m not, by moving out of the way anyone else who might be in his way. I tell Tony to tell Klein I am (a) not in his way, and (b) if anyon I tell Tony to tell Klein to call. I go into work at Apple and I see Peter Brown, Brian’s old pal, mine, the Beatles, Apple’s and so on. Peter knows many things. I say, ‘Allen Klein wants to meet the Beatles.’ ‘Does he ever,’ says Peter. I ask: ‘Is there anyone in his way?’ Peter says, ‘Only the Beatles.’ He explains Brian didn’t like Klein and the Beatles had never heard anything about him that attracted them either. … I say there is this guy Klein who badly wants to see them. John says yeah, Klein’s been trying to reach him but he won’t take the call. I do some hype for Klein and say he is a strange cat, hated by some of the people who met him and also by some of the people who have only heard of him. George says, ‘he sounds really nice’, and I say that if they want someone to run their money scene then Klein may be the man. But I also say they had better look at him very hard and ask around Jagger and Donovan and the others he handles. I mean really check Klein out. But see him too. See him face to face. John says OK, I’ll see him and the others rhubarb a bit and that’s the lunch over. I call Les Perrin and tell him tell Klein to call and Klein does and then he flies over really fast, like yesterday. He meets John, they talk all night and boy do they dig each other. John comes into the office and says, ‘Don’t care about the others, don’t give a shit … but I’m having Klein, he can have all of my stuff and get it sorted out.’ John says there is too much fear around, everyone must stop being frightened, everything is going to be fantastic, like Klein is going to be the genie of the lamp. Paul, George and Ringo get to meet Klein and he begins to act as if he is half-hired but maybe not. He says he will save Northern Songs from the wicked Lew Grade. He says he will buy NEMS Enterprises. He says he will take EMI to the cleaners. In the end he doesn’t save Northern Songs and he doesn’t buy NEMS Enterprises, but takes EMI and Capitol to the cleaners and to hell and back… …

It is 1970. Paul still doesn’t like Klein but John digs him more than ever and George digs him more than that and Ringo doesn’t mind him. Paul? He is so uptight about Klein he only leaves the Beatles, that’s all. Klein and me meet the press and TV and all that; together we sit on a sofa and talk about Paul. Mr Klein, why doesn’t Paul like you? Mr Taylor, why doesn’t Paul like Mr Klein? I don’t know, don’t ask me, man, don’t ask me. Paul releases his album and Klein releases the Beatles’ album and they both make a million and Klein has had Phil Spector remix Paul’s song ‘The Long and Winding Road’, adding a women’s choir and some violins etc. Paul thinks this is the shittiest thing anyone has ever done to him and that is saying something, but Klein laughs up his silk sleeve and releases ‘Long and Winding Road’ as a single anyway and still with Phil’s new arrangement. Up there in Scotland, Paul McCartney, one of the four owners of Apple, the company formed to give total freedom, artistic control, to struggling performers and writers, wonders what went wrong, when even he can’t control his own work. I am wondering too. Everyone is wondering. But Klein isn’t wondering. He knows, he knows. …

Money is pouring into Apple so I guess you could say that Allen Klein straightened Apple out as the Beatles wanted it. The only thing is … where is Apple and where are the Beatles? If you find out, please let me know, I haven’t seen them in a long time. The way I see it, Klein is really bringing a whole lot of people down, including me sometimes and I have a deal which keeps me at home writing stuff like this so what am I whining about? Well, being as how I brought Klein to Apple, by making sure the way was clear, I owe someone, somewhere something, that’s for sure. What is it and what have I done? Our Apple is all chewed up. It is the most ungroovy place I ever knew and I have to say it, we have all let it happen, all of us, but me, I told Tony Calder to tell Klein to call and if I am going to make any more mistakes about Allen Klein, then let it be writing this, let it be.

(Derek Taylor, As Time Goes By, 1973)

(Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 31 - Dusk

Tidmouth Train to Hell:

Pip and Emma stared at the timetable, not quite sure what to make of it. “Why is there a massive gap?” Pip finally said, still trying to wrap her head around the odd space from dusk until the next day. “Oh, that’s a Halloween tradition,” replied Bear, looking over from his own train. “Every Halloween they put us all away early for some reason. Never quite understood why, but each to their own and all that!” Pip scoffed, while Emma looked more bemused than anything.

The High-Speed diesels were still new to Sodor, and had only been once before, on trial during the summer period. This was their first October on the Island of Sodor, and all month they’d been amazed to find that the engines were far more interested in the holiday and its various traditions than the mainland was. Particularly, it was extremely popular amongst the native Sudrian people, who had been performing several rituals and festivals since the start of the month.

Emma had been far more curious about the whole thing than her sister, and decided to ask one of the older engines, in hope of getting some information. “Well,” hummed Percy, “it’s a Gaelic thing. Sauin, I believe the Sudrians call it. It’s like Samhain up in Scotland, and is all about the end of the harvest season. I remember how much Sir Topham the First put emphasis on listening to the local Sudrians about how important the rituals and festivals were. For example, at the start of the month is the cleansing ritual; it’s a bit like a spring clean, but in autumn. It used to be when the men would go out and start chopping wood for winter according to Edward.” At that moment, the signal clunked up to show green, and Percy puffed away.

Pip snorted from her end of the train. “Asking about all these silly holidays again?” she asked. “They’re not silly!” protested Emma. “They’re—” “An excuse to get more days off work,” finished Pip crossly. “Now come on, we’ve got a train to pull.”

Pip and Emma ran the WildNorWester express to London, stopping only at Crovan’s Gate, Barrow and Preston. It meant the two were often the most out of the loop on all the important gossip of the railway, as they were over on the mainland and missed it. One such titbit of gossip the pair missed was the track repairs being done at Crovan’s Gate. On their return run a week later, Pip and Emma were stopped at the platform to wait while several old signals and a set of points were replaced.

Their repair shed had recently been completed and stood on one side of the line while the narrow gauge railway sat on the other, the mainline trapped between the two and the Works. Pip and Emma had been switched onto the wrong side of the line to avoid a massive section of missing track. This put Emma right next to the Skarloey Railway sheds, where Duke was resting. “Excuse me,” Emma called. “You’ve been on Sodor for a long time, Duke – do you know much about Sau---een?” “Sauin,” corrected Duke kindly. “And I certainly do. My old line used to run through the heart of old Sodor, so I learnt all about it.” “Not this again!” groaned Pip from the other end of the train. Duke and Emma ignored her.

“Sauin is a festival to celebrate the end of the harvest, the start of the winter season… and the point in time when the barrier between our world and the Otherworld is at its weakest. The month begins by preparing for winter and giving thanks to the sun, before pivoting to asking for protection from the winter gods and giving sacrifices to the ancestors as thanks for their guidance. Then, it ends with Sauin itself, which is better known as Halloween. People celebrate the wicked and supernatural, then stay indoors overnight with scriptures for protection painted on the doorway to ward off evil spirits. It’s said they begin to break out of the Otherworld at Dusk, and party in our world until midnight…” Duke broke off, looking contemplative. Emma wasn’t sure why, but she felt uneasy all of a sudden.

A group of people walked along the platform, offering blessings to the stranded passengers and burning incense. Pip refused to be blessed, and then the group made their way over to Emma and Duke.

“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind,” Duke said. A man stepped forward, painting a sigil on Duke’s forehead in red paint before waving the incense around him. Duke smiled warmly, his old eyes closing as he relaxed while the ritual was performed.

“Oooh, can you do me next please!” asked Emma. The group nodded. “Of course we can,” one said. “Explain it to Emma while you do,” Duke added. “She’s new, and this is her first Sauin.” The man stepped forwards, dipping his thumb in some more paint.

“Alright then Emma, I’m going to paint a sigil for protection on your forehead in Ancient Sudric, and then we’ll bless you with the incense.” A few of the more curious tourists wandered over to watch, intrigued by the ritual. The man painted the sigil in careful strokes on Emma’s forehead, and then several of the others walked around her as much as they could, waving the incense over her radiator grills and wheels.

“Thank you!” said Emma happily when they finished. “I… I actually feel better already.” “You should,” hummed Duke. “It’s a popular Ancient Sudrian tradition to get blessed prior to Sauin night – just in case you’re caught out after dusk.”

Pip just rolled her eyes down at her end of the train.

Emma asked a few more questions while they waited, before finally deciding to broach a topic she’d been unsure of since she’d begun asking around about Sauin. “Why is the timetable completely empty on Sauin night?” she asked. Duke frowned. “I said everyone stays inside, so why would anyone want to take the train?” “What about tourists, or goods?” quizzed Emma. “This is Sodor – there’s always another reason.” “You’re… not wrong,” sighed Duke. “Every Halloween, a train runs from the Rolling Bridge to Tidmouth. It’s on no timetable, and has no schedule. Some engines assert it leaves at dusk, while others suggest it crosses the island in the blink of an eye. What is known about this train is that it arrives at Tidmouth at exactly midnight… and continues on through the buffers.” “Through the buffers?!” squeaked Emma. “What, do they crash the train on purpose?” “Oh no,” sighed Duke. “It’s a train to the Otherworld – though some of the workers call it the ‘Tidmouth Train to Hell’. It’s pure black from one end to the other, and absolutely no one is allowed to set eyes on it.”

“What happens if someone does?” asked Emma, spooked. Duke sighed. “Well – a man was walking along the line in ’37 when he saw it. He was found a gibbering wreck on the trackside, white as a ghost and shivering like mad. He spent the rest of his life in a mental asylum, poor chap.”

Emma winced; at that moment, the signal turned green, and the two High-Speed twins were cleared to go. The passengers hurried back aboard, and the twins set off.

“It’s poppycock,” sniffed Pip as they rocketed along. “Ooooo, be afraid of ‘The Tidmouth Train to Hell’. Duke’s trying to have you on. I bet if you ask a sensible engine like Henry or Gordon they’ll tell you it never happened!”

Pip was proven very wrong. Emma decided to ask the pair that very night, and to Pip’s surprise they immediately confirmed Duke’s story.

“Oh, old Jefferies,” hummed Gordon. “Duke told you about him? I’m surprised he didn’t use one of the earlier cases – when I arrived, people still didn’t believe in it, and we’d find three or four every Halloween stumbling about the line screaming and gibbering and acting like lunatics. I remember very vividly Glynn going down the line and picking them all up in a compartment coach so they could be kept separate and brought to the hospital safely. By the end of the 20s, every had learnt better than to be out on Halloween. Sir Topham always ensured that we were in our sheds on that night too, and his son and grandson have both followed his example.”

Pip and Emma were both stunned!

“So… it’s real?” asked Emma slowly. “It’s very real,” Henry said grimly. “I’ve seen a peek of it through the shed windows. It’s a frightening thing, let me tell you! All black, with great red headlamps and it’s puffs sound like screams. We all stay in here and tell ghost stories and try not to think about it. And I’d suggest you do the same – I know you’ve got the last train of the day. Do not be late getting here.”

Emma agreed that she definitely was going to be on time, and even Pip seemed nervous.

The week went by, and the two new engines watched as more and more Sauin festivals were held. These were less and less about the harvest, and more and more about the oncoming winter and the spirits. A number of the native Sudrians and older engines began to have protection sigils painted on their foreheads when they went out; Duke was joined by Skarloey, Rheneas, Thomas, Edward, Henry and Gordon within a few days. Donald and Douglas, who’d learnt about Samhain back in Scotland, had their own sigils written in Scottish Gaelic. Duck and Oliver got their own Scottish sigils written in support of their friends.

All around them, Pip and Emma watched as Sodor prepared for Sauin night. Hotels filled to capacity, with large parades held celebrating the spirits in several of the bigger towns and cities.

And then finally, Halloween came. The day was incredibly slow, with barely any passengers at all riding with the railway. Pip and Emma wondered if it was worth pulling their train at all – at least, until they set out on their last express of the day. It was packed.

“Why are there so many?!” exclaimed Emma. “We’re going to be barely able to hold them all!” “It’s everyone heading to the mainland to avoid Sauin night,” James said, puffing in. “You’ll be hard pressed with this many – I think it’s cause there was a fog warning put out earlier; no one wants to be caught out past dusk with that in place. Spirits and fog? No thank you!”

James steamed away to shunt his coaches into their siding, while Pip and Emma prepared to head off. It was a struggle setting off. Every single seat was filled, and a number of others stood in the corridors, making the trip extremely difficult. Even more piled on at Crovan’s Gate, where almost all the Skarloey engines had already been hidden away in their shed. Emma watched the slowly descending sun with worry.

“If we get held up on the mainland even once, we’re not going to be back for dusk,” she fretted. “We’ll be fine,” replied Pip. “Worst comes to worst, we’re a little late. ‘The Tidmouth Train to Hell’ isn’t a threat to us.”

Oh how wrong Pip was.

The big sheds at Tidmouth were filling to capacity rapidly. The usual crowd had filed in, as had Edward, BoCo, Thomas, Percy, Toby and Daisy. The sheds were so full that the tank engines had to share a road between two of them; Duck and Oliver on one line and Percy and Toby on another. The scripts had been painted on the doors, and the storm shutters rolled down on the windows. Daisy huffed grumpily, glaring out at the yards as thick fog and mist wafted in. “I hate having to spend the night here, it’s so bad for my swerves!” “Oh belt up!” groaned Thomas. “It’s better than being out there – no one wants to be out there.” “Speaking of out there, where are Pip and Emma?” asked Gordon. “Dusk is in half an hour, and they aren’t back.”

Edward, sat on the turntable, winced. “I heard they had a full train leaving Tidmouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been waylaid. Let’s just hope the stationmaster at Barrow parks them there for the night.”

Pip and Emma would have no such luck. The pair were late leaving London and Preston, filled up once again with people wanting to get home for the holiday – but the platform at Barrow was deserted. The fog had truly begun to set in, leaving long shadows where none should be.

“You can’t stay here,” the stationmaster said grumpily. The sun was beginning to sink over the horizon. “There’s no space, and you’re not a Northern engine anyway. Go back to Sodor.”

Pip and Emma both tried to argue – but it was no use. At least the lack of passengers meant they didn’t need to wait around. The pair roared out of Barrow, trying their best to claw back time from the setting sun. Dusk was coming fast: too fast. The fog was willing it on faster, thick cloud cover blocking out part of the sun and making it increasingly harder to see.

Vicarstown flew by, followed by Henry’s tunnel and then Crovan’s Gate. Clear signals guided them through each station, the two honking their horns loudly. It was almost as if they were heralding the dusk, trying their best to make it back home before night came. Dark figures watched their progress from deep in the shadows, hiding where neither twin could really see them. “Faster Pip, faster!” called Emma. “I’m giving it all I can!” called back Pip.

Finally, Tidmouth came into view, one door still rolled up for them. Pip and Emma were quick to back through it, the door slamming down behind them just as the last rays of the sun vanished over the horizon, leaving behind only the fog.

“Cutting it close there,” said Gordon darkly. Both Pip and Emma winced. “We were held up on the mainland… a lot. And then the stationmaster at Barrow wouldn’t let us stay there.”

Gordon huffed. “Stupid man – he’s got no sense. Why, the other day!—”

He was cut off by James shushing him. The two shot glares at each other, before allowing Edward to pick up his story again.

The old engine wove stories throughout the next few hours, telling tales of twisted grins and haunting ghouls heralded by owls, of spirits sent to help and those sent to destroy. The engines relaxed, enjoying the night even as the hours ticked on. Pip and Emma could have fooled themselves into thinking it was just another horrible storm trapping all the engines in the shed.

That is, until a most horrific sound pierced through the air, shattering Edward’s story and leaving all the engines deathly silent. The clock showed a minute to midnight. The sound came again, a ghastly howling and screeching and moaning that seemed to work its way into the engines’ frames and bury itself there, leaving them all shaking. The doors and windows began to rattle and shake, as if hundreds of people were banging on them, trying to pry them open.

“Out after dusk!” they howled. “They were out after dusk!” Pip and Emma began to shake, terrified.

Another ear-piercing whistle filled the air, made of even more tortured howling and screeching. Then came the screams. As the engine thundered towards Tidmouth, each beat of its cylinders sounded like the screams of the damned. The entire shed seemed to shake, as the horrific banging and rattling continued.

“Out after dusk! Out after dusk! They belong to us! They belong to us!” Pip and Emma quivered, petrified. The other engines looked equally terrified – all except Edward. As the cacophony reached a peak, he took a deep breath.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  

“ONE HAS NOT!” boomed the creatures outside. Pip gasped – she had refused the blessing!

The engine grew nearer; time seemed to slow. Edward took a level breath, and spoke again.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  

“ONE HAS NOT!” came the furious reply. Before Edward could speak again, there was a horrendous roar and scream of whistles, brakes and steam – the Tidmouth Train to Hell had arrived. It roared past, it’s red lamps illuminating against the doors. The shed walls groaned, as if nearly at braking point. The windows rattled harder, dents being made it the metal. Daisy shrieked and fainted.

Thomas began praying under his breath in one language; the twins did the same in a different one. The train sped into the station, thundering towards the buffers. One dent slammed against the glass of the window next to Pip, cracking the glass. A gnarled nail pierced through the shutter.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  Edward thundered again, his eyes darting over to the shutter.

The train hit the buffers.

The creatures outside let out a chorus of tortured screams. They were in agony, ripping away from the sheds and howling in pain. The nail was torn from the shutter, giving Pip just enough space to see dark figures writhing on the ground.

The clock ticked over; a new day began. The creatures let out one last screech. The floor seemed to open up around them, hellflames licking up at the night fog and illuminating the entire night in a sea of blood red. The creatures screaming and screeched, dragged downwards and suffocated in the earth before they could be scorched alive by the flames.

And then there was silence.

“Oh…” managed Pip softly.

Everyone looked shaken. Edward sighed softly, and looked over at the twins. “The last time an engine was out after dusk and wasn’t blessed was in 1916, during the war,” he said quietly. “Thomas mightn’t remember it – but I do. It was a loaned engine who told us all that Sauin was stupid… that is, until the creatures of hell surrounded the sheds and began demanding we give him over. Glynn kept trying to keep them out, but he slipped up. The engine’s shed door was ripped open suddenly, and he was… dragged out. We never say what pulled him out – but whatever it was bent that door open like it was a tin can and shoved it back down afterwards. We all heard the loaned engine’s screams as it was given to the creatures and torn piece from piece…”

Edward paused, and gazed at the shed doors, looking wary.

“It’s said that engine became the Tidmouth Train to Hell, crossing the island and giving the spirits and creatures time to roam free before arriving in Tidmouth and condemning them all back to hell, to make sure none can inflict that fate on another.”

He finished his story and looked around the silent room. Daisy was still unconscious, and it was a miracle none of the others had followed. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the dent shutter and cracked window, a stark warning of how close the creatures got.

No one slept that night.

And suffice to say, Pip and Emma were never late again on Sauin.

Back to the Master Post

[rottentiger-art]

I was wondering why people were calling Fran a lesbian, but I rewatched her wedding and realized I had missed the face she made after the kiss. Kinda sad bc I shipped them but not complaining, we thankfully have Ben for bi rep, a lesbian bridgerton would be amazing.

Tho I am surprised they chose Fran instead of Eloise or Hyacinth for it, I wonder how they're going to handle the deal with her seeking another marriage to be a mother and Michael taking on John's title from the books (did women inherited on Scotland back then?), I thought of all stories this one (aside from daphne's) was the one where the gender of the love interest trully mattered. Maybe Fran does not miscarriage when John dies, has a male heir and Michaela moves in to offer support/take over the heir's duties until the baby grows up? It's such a major change, they'll have to essentially rewrite the story, there's so many possibilities.

I'm, personally, sold on the idea of two women falling in love on a castle with enough power to not have anyone telling them what they can and can't do, so I don't really mind.

My only worry is that the fans are not sexist and racist towards the new actress, and they easily were when they thought she'd be Sophie

[recoord]

Neil Gaiman allegedly sexually assaulted someone while writing The Graveyard Book

The discussion on Reddit, here.

Podcast transcript, here. Credits for the transcript to Tara O'Shea.

"K" is the pseudonym used by the victim sharing her experience:

Rachel: On the 4th of April, 2007, Neil Gaiman flew K from Los Angeles to Heathrow for a fortnight's holiday together in the UK alone, the two of them. K tells us she was excited to be on this amazing trip with her famous boyfriend and not have to sneak around.

From his messages to her, it seemed like he was too. Neil Gaiman met her on arrival and they then took a taxi to Gatwick Airport to fly to Inverness in Scotland. They visited Loch Ness and stayed at his house on the Isle of Skye for three days. They then flew to Cornwall and drove to Red Ruth in the far south west of England. They stayed in an old tinners cottage with a wood burning stove hidden up a bridal path.

It was advertised as affording complete privacy. He spent the days in Cornwall mostly writing the graveyard book and then they'd occasionally go for walks or drives. She sent us photos from that trip.

Beaches, pubs, cliffs, glens, scarves, the heavy grey skies of the Scottish and Cornish summer. She looks happy. When you see their faces together in the photos, he's unshaven, craggy, she's around 22. She looks so, so young. But she said there were fights. Lots of them.

K: There are a lot of arguments. There is a lot of roughness that I felt compelled to take.

CONTENT WARNING for graphic descriptions of SA

Rachel: What the photos also don't show is K's intimate agony. She told us that on that trip, she had her period and then a bad urinary tract infection.

K: I couldn't sit down. He would say, you know, I want to fool around, like, you know, and I would say, okay, we can fool around, but you can't put anything in my vagina. You just can't because I will die. And it didn't matter. He did it anyway.

Paul: He did it anyway. Although you told him you were in pain.

K: Very specifically said you cannot put anything in me. Please don't. It will hurt very badly and it will make things worse than they already are. Because I know for sure I remember forsure in Cornwall saying those words out loud. It wasn't just a discussion about like that hurts.

Like because I can't remember if I said that hurts. Don't do it or like please stop. I can't remember those other instances. I know we discussed it. I know it was a big part of why he would get upset at me and I knew that it was like something that I had to do to keep him around. Like it was expected of me, but in Cornwall, I remember because of that UTI and it was so painful that like I couldn't do anything. Like I couldn't enjoy the fact that I was in or like I was just in like screaming agony and I know I said it out loud then.

Rachel: On the 16th of April 2007, Neil Gaiman drove K to Heathrow for her flight back to Los Angeles. She says they stopped several times along the way so she could pee because of her UTI. She says it felt more painful because of the penetrative sex he allegedly performed on her without her consent. As to this specific allegation, Neil Gaiman's clear position is that it is false and again he denies any unlawful behaviour with her. He didn't respond to any other specific points or questions about this trip.

From episode 4 of the Tortoise podcast series.