#I'm so sorry Britain

[ellies-chaos-corner]

I did this and got "Did you know there's more British in war than there is already in love"

What 😭😭😭

I've been doing this thing with predictive text and it's so funny, just fill in the blanks using it!

Did you know there is more ___ in ___ than there is ___ in ___

We got so many of them and I can't stop laughing

Like, did you know there is more firepower in a single cheese than there is inhabitants in Germany

Like what????

[pagingdork]

dog evan you will always be famous.

[pallanophblargh]

Good things: I've been invited to partake in a certain exhibit regarding a certain author since I've had the privilege of illustrating the covers for the UK edition of a certain fantasy series.

Not so good things: I've lost most of the scans for the 8 illustrations (I think I only have 3? 4?) so that means I need to figure out WHERE I stashed the originals. I know I HAVE them, so that's some comfort. But I have so many stashes. And it's been... 10+ years and two moves. On top of that, they may need retouching. Fun times!

A minor "conundrum": I finally need to decide where I would like to offer said illustrations for print. I have a society6, but it is rather dusty these days. That aside, the print quality seems pretty decent (I have not seen with my own actual eyes, but considering I've yet to hear otherwise, I'd say they go over well.) That said, if anyone has opinions/experiences on print on demand storefronts, I'd love to hear them. I'll say in advance I would prefer to not handle printing them myself. If you know, you know.

So yeah: Things! Winged horses abound, and the search for my old art begins. If you are a fan of the old Green Rider series illustrations, watch this space?

[brainrockets]

I wrote a thing you guys.

Evan reads the damn book. In a moment of exhausted despair, he just plops on the ground and starts reading it. He's so tired. He sometimes thinks he's been tired his whole life. The moments of ease and respite stark in their contrast to his every day existing. The moments of respite sometimes hurt more he thinks, a window into a life he can never truly possess-just able to look at in stolen glimpses through smudged glass. 

And he wants to be stronger, stronger for his friends, who he loves fiercely and wildly, but HE DIED the other day. And they got him back, but more than ever he feels like he's haunting his own life and his unforgiving cut glass mind keeps throwing out possible connotations around the method of resurrection. What does it really mean to be here in this goat tatted body? Is it his body? Is it a new body? Some other horrifying thing he will find out right before some hideous consequences arrive? 

He deeply envies his friends. Their ability to get swept up in the fantasy of St. Dotto’s is equal parts terrifying, infuriating and enviable. That island couldn't bend to provide him a fantasy he'd be able to accept and he'd found himself unable and unwilling to bend to accept what it could do. The way K just threw themselves into it was as charming as it was absolutely aggravating. A great strength and a terrible weakness. This was how they approached anything and anyone they loved. Like a space laser. And frankly the absence of the spotlight of that laser focus made him feel like a kicked dog. He had to stop thinking in terms of dogs damnit. The glory of standing at the center of it was intense and glorious, but it wasn't something to count on. At least not for him. And he'd, towards the end, stopped feeling it as warmth and wonder and started feeling it like the ray of light of a bug under a magnifying glass. Focused on but not entirely seen or cared for. And K fell further into their web trying to fix what they broke the best way they knew how, Jammer had fled the entire country, declining to be drafted into something he didn't sign up for, Sam floated gloriously to a future of fame and adoration and he tried to remember how to survive the way he always had, on the edges, mostly alone. With nicer shoes.

On the walk back to the Hoopty, as the charm Sam had cast wore off of him, he felt the slow dark curl of shame start its insidious roiling through him like a wave or a worm. It's funny how you never know where the bottom is. How you can think you fell as far as it is possible to fall and keep on going. Jammer was slowly flying at his side looking fuzzy as he also threw off the charm offensive. Evan couldn't tell if he felt it as deeply as he did or at all. Jammer being infinitely cooler than anyone he'd ever known. He should ask. That'd be the right thing to do, but he worries if in the asking he'd be giving away too much of his own particular baggage and he doesn't want to strain the already fragile bonds they've just really started repairing with his Evan-Ness. 

Evan had taken back his backpack to once again set up his mattress up against the awkward and dubious shelter of their magical ride. Jammer hadn't put up a fuss, had just folded into himself on the mattress and seemingly drifted, not sleeping as such but not fully present. His back pressed against Evan for comfort like the animals they'd been begging to be so recently, like the animals that humans like to pretend not to be. And that's when Evan lost the fight. He felt the fight leave like his shadow, just float away from his grasp between one breath and the next. He looked up, he looked down. The Book was in his hands. He allowed himself a little lie, that he was just going to read it. He opened the cover. He started to read. 

------

Sam and K were arguing, they’d blown straight past banter and bicker and jumped straight to a full on huff fest. They were arguing without arguing, in the way of lifelong friends where so much has already been said that the silences and sighs are far louder and more pointed than words. Once the boys had left, a tidal wave of words had started spilling out of K as they made their way into the center of the caldera. Sam made the appropriate sounds, they'd been doing this dance since they'd first met on the forums so she didn't have to put too much effort into her side of things, trying instead to push down the dread she felt about how her friends had been affected by her Magnetism. She'd been certain it was the right choice, the least risky Magic to lean into on this island of amplification. And then her dear sweet boys had also been hit with the full force of her whammy. Horrifying. Embarrassing. K was insisting that it was fine, that amplification meant that they'd already had that desire in them, but Sam knows in ways that she also knows she’ll absolutely NEVER disclose to her friends probably, (especially Evan, unless she is sure that she wants the perpetrator dead and in the ground), that just because you have some desire inside you deep and buried doesn't mean that having it forced out of you non consensually isn't awfully damaging. Sam’s gift is people and charm so sharp she wields it like a sword. She knows profoundly the ways that people can get it twisted and she’s gotten real good at making them regret their choices. 

She loves K so SO MUCH, but she also wants her to get outside and touch some grass… once there is some grass. Or stay inside and eat regular meals, hang out, maybe shower a bit more frequently. To connect with the people that love them as well as they connect with all of the people out there on the internet. It’s not that what K is doing is not important, but she worries that they’re losing themselves, losing their sense of self in the depths of the network. But she would never force those things on them. Use her power to make them want to take care of themselves, make them be in the moment if they didn’t want to be. Grosser than gross.

She'd been looking forward to seeing her friends again, had dropped everything to follow the fraying threads and reconnect. She'd been in various levels of shock and horror at the reality she'd been confronted with. And a little bit pissed off. Weugan (and her boys, god but she loved those boys) were taking the brunt of that built up fury she hadn't been wanting to acknowledge. Sam is a happy person. She likes to be happy. It's a state that works for her. It's her first and best defense against the ugly sharp bits of reality that she just does not make the time for. Happiness and her teacup pig are all a girl really needs most of the time. It takes a lot for her to lose her happy. And she guesses that they officially passed a lot when she found herself standing in a hot spring with the corpse of her best friend covered in his exploded arm goo.

And then just kept on moving past that line like rockets. She's trying to figure out the secret of this fucking place, trying to execute their plan to try and make this situation at least not completely fruitless. She’s trying to forgive K for killing Evan, because she KNOWS that they were just trying their best to express how much they care. In the most impulsive and ambitious way possible. Sam sees the logic K was following, feels like she SHOULD have seen the danger coming. She knows K, she knows K cannot let things be. And that K needs a goddamned win. She should have asked better questions, noticed more. Intervened before she was wearing pieces of EVAN. Lord let the trauma not be in vain. She thinks, scanning for danger and wanting to just grab her friends and get the hell out of here. Take them to her flat and order a takeaway and do karaoke in her state of the art media room. If they still can look her in the eye after all of this. 

They find something promising in the maw, and ever brilliant K jury rigs something she doesn't fully understand past the basic gist of and is heartened by how K seems pleased with themselves. She wishes she'd been able to help more but she's more than willing to nod and hold wires and lend bits of her magic to K while they weave an impressive web of magic and networking and Sam distracts herself with possible new last names and set lists for her next musical episode. 

As they get things moving, Magic seems to shudder and hum in a promising fashion, there’s a light weaving through the gross magic fog and Sam feels something like hope just moments before she hears a sound like thunder and feels the earth moving under her feet. She loses her balance and crashes into K landing Awkwardly in a little K and Sam heap. From the heap they both look up to see black wings rush overhead and a loud cry of agony that they unfortunately are far too familiar with. They both push up from the ground and hop on their brooms. Something has gone horribly wrong with Evan. They just got him back. Lord help whoever hurt their boy.

----

K has been in constant motion, trying to outrun their guilt since well since they broke magic. They have also been running literally from hostile anti magic government goons as well, but some days that just feels like a metaphor for the emotions they're running from. If they stand still, who knows what will catch up to them, yanno? 

They know that they aren’t really doing okay. And maybe they haven’t been for a while. They had stopped paying attention to that when it had gotten in their way. Like they’d stopped paying attention to most things that had gotten in their way, like eating or sleeping or bathing or other people. They stick their tongue out at the uselessness of things that are in their way. Magic is real, so why does everyone keep insisting on things like rules and reality. What even does that mean, really in the face of MAGIC!? They’re still talking, covering the eerie silence with nonsense patter about how fucking hot it was for Sam to just make people roll over for her. What could K do with that kind of power, probably a lot. Probably too much. They know they are a lot. They miss being a lot in a group, when they stop too long and the thoughts catch up with them. They try not to ever let that happen. They think everyone is probably pretty pissed at them at the moment, they’re, if they’re honest with themselves, they’re pissed at themselves too. But they still can’t let themselves get caught out, not with so much on the line, not with their biggest mistakes still hurting so many people. They don’t know why their friends don’t see what’s driving them, why they aren’t as invested in things. Once they all went their separate ways, they’d floundered, just a little bit. What happens next!? And then they’d found a way to keep helping, to try and fix what they broke and they patched over the hurt of separations, the uncertainty of transitions and poured them into their missions. 

In the maw of Weugan, they find a place to plant their feet and a glimpse of a real actual fix for this whole ridiculous situation. They turn their considerable skills towards building something, they have a crochet needle in one hand and their tiny rose glasses perched on their nose to help them see where to jam the needle. They're built for this, and they cannot dream even a little small. They feel the rightness of it all surround them in a golden hum, like a melody they’d known their whole life. They set it off. And then they hear Evan scream in agony and they fall. Neither friend says a single thing. They pick themselves up and dash forward on their brooms towards the Hoopty and their boys. 

----

At the Hoopty, Jammer had been trying to get back to anywhere in the neighborhood of good. The dog thing wasn't like the last straw, he knew he had a bit of that dog in him, and he was at peace with it in general. You can only get compared to various friendly dog breeds by drunk folks and drunk teammates so many times without taking something away about the way you are in the world. And he has already had to confront how deeply he carries the weight of responsibility for the people he collects around him. So, yeah, he loves his friends and he’d be their dog, so what? He’s a big enough man that he can be a man and a dog, no problem. 

What was eating away at him was the weight, the weight of magic. The weight of all of these problems. He expects A lot of himself, always has. The world was always gonna ask more of him anyways, he likes to be ahead of that demand when he can, even when the world keeps moving the damn line and expecting even more. He keeps pushing himself so he can avoid pushes from others towards ends he doesn't want to achieve. He's trying to get himself right in his head space, distracting himself with building out training regimens for the season and wondering If his pals from school are having more fun than him. He really hopes so. He definitely doesn’t have it in him to fix magic AND mundane messes in just the one Spring Break. He’s trying some of those breathing exercises he learned at a workshop he volunteered for at LEEP, trying to get centered, so he can get back in the game. Evan’s still far too bony form at his back reminding him that they got him back. That he’s fine. He’s here. He’s fine. It’s going to be fine. 

He wonders when he’ll have time to fall apart for real, and if he’ll let himself take that time and if they’ll even have the time to take. And he doesn’t linger too long on that train of thought because he’s got shit to handle and that kind of thinking isn’t great for team morale. He tries to think of a sports metaphor to use later, knowing that his friends generally don’t have the framework to appreciate it, but frankly sometimes that’s half the fun. He thinks the breathing exercises are starting to work, he’s feeling more clear headed, regaining more of himself, more of the self he wants to be when he starts to notice the quiet sound of pages turning. As soon as he notices the rustle of the pages, he starts to hear quieter things, a hiss of whispers, a small wind cutting through the fog of this place, a growl from nowhere and everywhere. The heat at his back starts to increase slowly and then quicker. He is up like a shot, his reflexes fast as ever, only for an explosion of magic and force to shove him like 20 feet away, nearly into a rock, which he dodges at the last second. Evan is hovering in the air surrounded by swirling debris. 

Jammer, not really understanding what the FUCK is happening, absently notices the air mattress has shot out past the edge of the island and nearly to the ocean and the storm. He shakes himself off and raises his wand, ready to fucking end whatever is threatening them, but also frustratingly aware of how badly doing Magic has gone on this weird ass upside down wolf island. Dark lights are surrounding Evan, and he looks wrong and wrong for Evan is a real high bar. Jammer huffs his frustration and tries to find some angle to fix this. Sam and K are still not here and it’s all on him and he’s gotta figure it out. Evan’s not dying on his watch, not again. He looks towards where Sam and K are, looks for the familiars, looks for the damn wolf. He sees a golden light in the direction of his other friends and in that moment something changes. Out of nowhere, that weird snake motherfucker comes flying low, its mouth open and full of sharp fangs. It’s on a collision course for Evan, because of fuckin course it is. He shakes off his indecision and throws Magic at it, fiery and way bigger than he expected. The snake screams and flies away towards his other friends. He launches himself towards his friend, thinking to grab him out of the air like a basketball. Something even more wrong twists Evan just out of his grasp and Evan’s whole body goes pretzel-y. A horrific scream of agony pierces the sky, echoing out from the whirling mass of Magic and man. He cannot see Evan anymore. All he sees is a mass of whirling red and darkness deeper than his creepy ass shadow. He’s helpless and he hates it. 

He breaks his fucking wand and throws all he’s got at what he hopes is still his best friend. A wash of gold light covers the screaming ball as an echoing golden hum of magic washes over the world and everything goes quiet and almost still for what feels like forever. Something changes and a sense of gravity reasserts itself and something is falling. Jammer instinctively reaches to catch whatever it is, to save something from this fucked up bullshit situation. He looks down and finds himself at a total loss for words.

----

Sam and K fly like the devil is after them, even though the snake thing went the other way. They’re chased by the hum of magic they set off and their fears for their friends. They ride the wave of amplified magic and anguish. The quality of light changes from red to golden. The world is quiet, like the dawn right before the world wakes. They get to where they left their friends. They don’t see Evan. They just see Jammer. He’s facing away from them, cradling something in his arms. His shoulders curled inward. His body language gives them less than nothing. They must make some sound, because he slowly turns towards them, an unreadable look on his face. They move towards him, trying to make sense of what’s happened. No one says a word. Their brains are trying to catch up with their eyes. The silence is broken, again, by a cry. Only this time it’s smaller and is not a cry of agony. And it originates in Jammer’s arms, a tiny wriggling bundle, all big eyes and black hair. A baby. 

They all look at each other. Look at the baby. Look around for their tall and spooky friend. Look back at the baby. K is the first to break the stalemate. They straighten up and hold out their arms for the baby. Jammer hands the baby to K. They hold the baby and look at it closely, which makes the baby laugh even though no one else is anywhere close to laughing. K addresses the baby directly. 

“Evan, what the hell, man!”

[pirefyrelight]

The british reaction to the easter rising in ireland is actually kind of funny. "So we successfully put down that rising of a small state looking to gain their independence from us, let's get back to the main war. Oh, the leaders? Just execute them. It's not like a country full of Catholics ever made a habit of venerating martyrs. And this country specifically doesn't have a history of making large, sweeping, propaganda pieces spread through musical and oral tradition that is hard to stamp out, why would you worry about such nonsense? And make sure you let that Plunkett fellow get married to his fiancé. There won't be any emotional pieces about how he only got a few minutes with her before being brutally executed."

[thatonegaybrit]

; I think smth that is very eye-opening is when you realise you yourself fall into a lot of groups that, by the masses, have been decided as The People To Hate™ and it's so like .. Woah, all these people fucking despise me and I'm over here js, being me ?? My crime is being myself lol ??

[badger-with-a-boa]

Never too much of Betsy & Rachel being gay (in love)

[hussyknee]

Queer historical romance among the ton but make the rage of oppression and injustice howling across the centuries.

Sir Gareth tries to convince himself that his father's mysterious profits could not have come from smuggling and attempts to tell his erstwhile lover Joss Doomsday, grandson of a escaped American slave and the Crown Prince of Romney Marsh's Smugglers, why trading with the French during the Napoleonic war is Wrong™.

“Yes, but—Look, it can’t be that. He was in his fifties, a gentleman, a baronet. He can’t have been a smuggler.”

“Course not.”

“He can’t! He wasn’t making trips to France.”

“Not on his own legs, maybe,” Joss said. “Do you know how the trade works?”

“I have no idea.”

“Sometimes it’s barter—we bring over wool to France and exchange it direct-like. Sometimes an innkeeper needs his cellar filled, or a London merchant wants to stock his shop with French gloves, or pepper, or fine soap, so they place the order with us. And sometimes it’s speculation. Which is to say, a rich man invests his money with a free trader, who buys and sells as he thinks fit. A while later our gentleman gets his money back and more, and never gets his hands dirty touching the goods.”

That last was so exactly what Gareth had feared that he couldn’t face it, couldn’t hear it. The sheer, shameless crime of it all. “You are aware we’re at war with France?” he said furiously. “I mean, you do know you’re trading with the enemy?”

“Free trading’s what we do. I’m not one for politics.”

“Politics? This is more than politics. It’s more than crime, even. The Continent is supposed to be blockaded, and you’re helping the enemy by buying their goods! It’s all but treason, and you don’t appear to give a damn!”

“Hold on there,” Joss said. “Yes, there’s a blockade. The government set it up, and everyone who lives by the wool trade found themselves sitting on a lot of fleeces they couldn’t sell while the French spinners and weavers had empty looms. We’ve got a dunnamany sheep here and not a lot else, you’ll have noticed. How are people meant to live if you cut off their living?”

“It’s a war! People have to make sacrifices.”

“That right? What sacrifices have you made? The lordships and gentlemen in London, are they running short of food? You think the King’s husbanding his coals? Why’s all the sacrifice on us?”

“That’s entirely specious.”

“Talk English,” Joss suggested sardonically.

Gareth discovered he couldn’t instantly define specious. “The argument doesn’t hold up. If the nation is at war, trading with the enemy undermines us all. And it’s all very well to talk about livelihoods, but whose livelihoods are supported when you import brandy and tobacco and silk? How are those things necessary?”

“They are for the French who make them,” Joss said. “People over there are trying to feed their families, just like people over here. And as for whether they’re needful here, well, you tell me.”

“Me?”

“You’re gentry, and it’s the gentry who wants those things, need or not. I sell to London clubs and London drapers and who do you think they sell to? The men who make the laws and set the taxes still want their brandy and tobacco, the silks and lace for their ladies, and they buy it knowing where it came from.”

“Well…they shouldn’t,” Gareth said, uncomfortably aware of the lavender soap at home. “And you’re still ignoring the fact that we’re at war!”

“I don’t care.”

He sounded like he meant it. Gareth stared at him. “What? How can you not?”

“Lords and kings and emperors fighting about crowns? They aren’t my people. George means no more to me than Boney. German or Frenchman on the throne, who cares? We had a dunnamany French kings before.”

“When did we—You can’t be talking about the Norman Conquest,” Gareth protested.

“Got invaded by the French and the world didn’t end. What’s it to me which rich man runs the country? What difference does it make to Romney Marsh who wears the crown? Or no, I’ll tell you what difference: there’s no laws against sharing your bed with another fellow in France now. If you gave me a vote, I’d vote for that.”

So would Gareth. He struck out for safer waters. “This is all very well, but we’re talking about being defeated and invaded! Have you not considered what an enemy army entering this country might mean?”

Joss laughed, but not in a way that suggested humour. “Couldn’t miss it, with Martello towers up and down the coast. The invasion will come through here just like last time. That’s why they built the Royal Military Canal, to slow down Boney’s men.”

Gareth knew the Canal, an ugly, wide, straight gash that ran all the way from north of Rye and across the top of the Romney Marsh, just before the land began to rise. “Yes, so—”

“So when these terrible Frog monsters come over here breathing fire and seeking blood, they’ll be kept on the Marsh for as long as possible,” Joss said. “That’s what they built the Canal for: so the Marsh takes the brunt of an invasion. Am I supposed to be pleased about that?”

“Well, no, but… You must see they’ve got to defend the country.”

“Oh, they’re going to. You know the other plan? They’re going to breach the Wall.”

“To what?” Gareth felt a spasm of shock. He might be outmarsh, but he knew the Wall was sacred.

“When the French ships land, the soldiers are to set charges, blow up the Wall, and drown the Marsh.” Joss’s voice was harsh now, almost frightening. “Our land, our home, all gone just to slow the French down for a day or two. Oh, but there’s a plan to get the sheep off. Lot of important men own fine sheep here, so they aim to drive them out first. Got to save the sheep.” He spat that out.

Gareth stared at him. “Um. I don’t… Why is it so bad they want to save the sheep?” Joss didn’t say anything. He just waited. Gareth looked at his face, turned over his words. “There’s a plan to get the people out as well, yes?”

“Course not. The old, the crippled, the children, everyone with their worldly goods on their backs, we’ll all have to fend for ourselves when our own soldiers flood the Marsh, but sheep are valuable. Look, nobody gives a damn for the Marsh except Marshmen. The government and the King don’t care if we starve. They put on the blockade but charge their rents and taxes same as ever, and they’ll let the sea or the French take us if that preserves their skins for another day. So we look after ourselves. And that means trading, and selling wool—some of it wool off the sheep that are going to be saved when old women and children will be left behind, acause if you think those landowners have given up their income for the sake of the war, you’re joking. They want their wool sold, just like the Quality in London want to wear silk and drink brandy, and the merchants want their shelves stocked. We run goods for them, and when they catch us doing it, they hang us for the look of the thing.”

Gareth had no idea what to say. He wasn’t a political philosopher. He had a vague sort of idea that country, king, and law were the foundations on which the nation was built, while nevertheless acknowledging that he had no intention of taking up arms for the country, the king was a mad German, and he’d spent much of his adult life happily breaking the law. Still, they were principles, even if they weren’t his principles. He’d thought this would be an easy fight to pick.

He’d met plenty of radicals in London—men who wanted wealth redistributed, laws changed, the government made representative. Joss Doomsday, fervent patriot of a hundred square miles of marshland, was perhaps the most radical man he’d ever met.

[th3d0nutl0rd]

you gave your blog a facelift

It got nuked this is a politics blog now

[brian-visionnn]

if you want to see me ranting about stuff that drives me nuts on Instagram keep reading.

Bro it's unbelievable how much I hate Instagram comments sometimes. Just saw some poor guy trying to show his music to the world and the comments were all "nice music, unfortunately, you're French". And EXCUSING IT ON THINGS THAT HAPPENED ALMOST 500 YEARS AGO LEGIT SOME GUY SAYING "oh b-b-but, Marie Antoinette—" SHUT UP. NO ONE COMPLAINS ABOUT JAPAN, NO ONE COMPLAINS ABOUT KOREA, you're just a xenophobic piece of shit that excuses themselves on stereotypes and historical events that happened before literally anyone in this age was born

[c0rpsedemon]

last post i swearrr but my mom is already in the interview process of getting a new rabbit. the last one has been dead for five days.

[recreationaldivorce]

is it an american thing to think that europe and the european union are the same thing cause i have seen 2 americans in the past week say that the uk left europe or isn't european anymore and sorry but i have legit never seen anyone who wasn't american think this. like i have plenty of non-european friends who don't think this. it just seems to be specifically americans. or maybe it's just bc most of the english-speaking internet is american idk

in any case, if it needs clarifying: the uk did not leave europe, it left the eu. the only way the uk can leave europe is if we physically cut the island out from the ground and translocated it to a different continent. preferrably we'd cut britain out of europe and just project it into space and leave earth a better place (leave northern ireland behind though, they didn't ask for any of this)

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

and if you try hard enough, you can find academia in bbc merlin and bbc merlin in academia!

Being an academic writer and a fandom girlie at the same time is so weird. one day you're writing a comparative analysis about 19th c indigenous writers. and then the next day you're like welp, let's explore the traumas of 2008 bbc merlin

[tacticoal]

「V.I.P. for me ?!」: ̗̀➛ part 2 to biker!racer!simon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ sfw, gn reader, unedited, suggestive content if you squint, mdni !!

wanted to throw in a big big thank you for all the recent support loves, you have no idea how welcomed you've all made me feel. please enjoy.

you. are. beaming.

ecstatic, delighted, overjoyed, hysterical, your mind lists all the words that could only ever possibly describe how you're feeling as you grasp your phone with nearly enough force to crack the screen.

simon riley, the #1 motorcycle racer in britain, upholding a 5-year champion streak, the man you've known and adored for years, is doing a meet-and-greet in your town.

and you're staring down at the VIP ticket on your phone.

your friends messaged you in the group chat, explaining that they all chipped in for your special invitation, buying the standard, cheaper tickets for themselves to come with you. the VIP admission gives you access to a shorter line that simon gets to first, as well as a photo with him and his bike. oh, that work of beauty, you think, already smelling the gasoline it burns off.

you spammed them with several thank you's and holy shit's, before calling a nearby restaurant to reserve a table (the poor lady on the other end could barely make out your warbled and giddy speech). just imagining next week makes you squeal and giggle into your pillow all night.

next week. the event is next week. exactly 6 days, 10 hours, 54 minutes and 4 seconds from now. 6 days to go out, get a fresh set of clothes, hair trimmed, and figure out any other essentials. surely that's more than enough time, right?

well, with no more than an hour left until you have to be out the door, you're pacing around your bed, 5 different outfits splayed over it. your friends -- who knew you'd be in this situation and arrived about an hour earlier already dressed up -- sit around your room, either watching you or on their phones listening as you ramble about how this outfit would catch his eye, but this one looks more comfy--

they knew not to interrupt you, providing the most company they can while you grumble, beginning to get impatient with yourself. eventually, you settle on something loose and airy, but revealing enough to gather the right kind of attention.

"what if he thinks i'm ugly.." you mutter, brushing down a stray hair in front of the mirror with a shaky hand.

"then y'know he's knocked his head into the concrete one too many times," your closest friend giggles.

huffing out a laugh, you nod and go to arrange a tote bag, throwing everything you want simon to sign. an official t-shirt promoting his name, two framed photographs of him, and a notepad. obviously the bag is getting signed too -- you'd throw in your arm and forehead in there if they weren't attached to your body. sigh, modern day problems.

finally, finally the time comes where you're waiting in line. holy shit, this is really happening. you can see a glimpse of his tracksuit from here, your body trembling with nerves. you've separated from your friends a bit ago, jaw dropped as you passed by the crowds of people lined up for this event. music blasts through your earbuds, in an attempt to tune out the bass blasting throughout the streets and boisterous screams 'n chatter. keeping your friends updated on where you are, you stay hunched over your phone as you slowly inch up the line.

"'nd what's your name?-"

simon's gaze tilts up from the checkerboard table to you, his breath immediately caught in his throat. you were still looking down, thumbs tapping on the screen in your hands. your glance flickered up for a split second, before your head completely snapped up to him, eyes widening as they get caught in the riptide of his deep, darker ones. with your mouth agape, you both stare at each other in silence. a beat or two passes before you rip your earbuds away, shoving them into your bag, alongside your phone.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry, i wasn't paying attention to the line, i was texting my friends and got distracted with them-"

it's you, he thinks. the one from the pub those few weeks back. he clears his throat and nods, watching you hastily pull out the things for him to sign, his heart clenching the same way it did when he first laid eyes on you. you giddily point at where you want his signature, and he's quick to oblige, the permanent marker squeaking against glass.

"i'm a really big fan," you admit bashfully, unable to hide the excited grin that stretches across your face, "since freshman year of college, 'm pretty sure."

now, simon's heard that from basically every fan he's encountered, but he's never truly believed them until now. he looks up to you, sliding the framed pictures to the side to make room for your notepad. your eyes glitter with a childlike glee as you stare back at him, and he wonders what your pretty head's thinking.

"that so, love?" he muses, tilting his head.

"yeah," you beam at the nickname, "i don't know how you do it -- everything you do is so cool."

he breathes out a laugh, ignoring how he's holding up the line behind you.

"i'd be glad to show y'round it sometime."

"really?"

you watch him with gleaming eyes, jaw dropped, as he writes a string of numbers below his name.

"text me anytime, love," he teases, handing it back to you before flicking his hand, "now shoo off, before security gets on ya."

"what about the photo?" you pout at him in disappointment, and he can't help but grin wolfishly in return.

"i promise you much more than a photo if you keep in touch."

@ tacticoal do not repost !!

[konigsblog]

Heya! Sorry if it's stupid ask, but I have read your post a while ago that you're Scottish (If I'm wrong then I'm sorry and I would feel embarrassed.🙃) And I want to write Sergeant Johnny Mactavish and Captain John Mactavish x reader. And since they are also Scottish I want to write/them say some Scottish lines, or just words. So I was hoping what usually Scottish people will say, I don't want to mess up. I only know aye, shite and lass but that's much about it.

Sorry if my English is bad.

And I wish you an great day/night/evening!😊

SCOTTISH PHRASES AND WORDS TO USE WHILE WRITING FOR SOAP MACTAVISH.

— yes! i am scottish, so here's some phrases and words i hear, and say, in scotland and what other scottish people usually say. :)

bonnie = that means calling someone pretty, like bonnie lass means pretty girl, since lass means girl. i'd say this is usually aimed towards girls, like a man would call a woman a bonnie.

lad means boy, like a friend usually. lads is plural ofc, and you could use it to say soap and the lads, or his pals. — “me and the lads.” (lads isn't scottish, it's british - which obviously being scottish means your british, but anywhere in great britain you'd hear this. as well as the one below.)

pals means friends, friend is a pal. — “thought he was yer pal.” = “thought he was your friend.”

dinnae = don't, it's how we say it in our accent. “dinnae do that.”

dae = means do, again, how we say it in our accent. “dae that for me.”

“haud yer wheesht” means shut up, like be quiet.

blether means talk, you might call someone a blether if they gossip or they're a chatterbox. — “stop blethering.”

crabbit means to be annoyed or grumpy. — “why ye crabbit?”

aye means yes. — “aye, dae that.”

ken means know. “a ken that.” not the barbie doll, it means know :) — “a ken that.” means “i know that.”

eejit means idiot. — “yer' an eejit.”

“ah umnae” means im not. ‘ah’ means im, or i, ‘umnae’ means not. it's hard to explain, just our accents though.

‘peely wally’ means pale. (heard this too many times towards myself, im pale as paper..) — “yer' lookin' a bit peely wally.” honestly, i don't think you'd need to say this that often in fanfics with soap, but maybe if someone is ill, you'd say that.

“gonnae no do that” means don't do that. “gonnae” means gonna, so like “gonna not do that” you'd say to someone if they did something you didn't want them to do.

“yer bum's oot the windae!” you're lying, being dramatic, or over exaggerating something.

“dafty” means stupid. — “yer' a dafty.”

VIDEOS TO WATCH FOR HELP AND UNDERSTANDING OF THE ACCENT:

it shows the accent differences between a scottish person, an english person, and an irish person.

https://youtu.be/Z-WliS0HHF8?feature=shared

[sandysapphire]

#“westerners shut the fuck up” has never been more relevant#I'm looking at you UK and Switzerland#esc 2023

Ok, UK stop crying, this is not about you.