#UK doesn't expect

[acidloe]

Nothing makes you feel fat more than trying to lose weight...

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[imaginaryf1shots]

Married? | Oscar Piastri

WC: 2.1K

Oscar x Wife!Reader

Summery: He never met to hide it, it's just the way he is.

Warning: none

Masterlist

Oscar Masterlist

It was always a known thing, there was never any doubt in anyone that knew him, Oscar has always been destined to be an F1 driver. It was written. Anyone that knows him knows this. And you've known him almost all your life. Before he went to Europe and before he started travelling around for Karting and racing in the Formula series. It seems like there was never a point in your life where Oscar wasn't in it. What started as playground friendship turned to crushing on each other, turned to liking each other and then turned into a relationship. Not high school sweethearts, more like six grade sweethearts. No one expected your relationship to last due to you being so young, and still growing up and developing. Yet, the distance only made you grow fonder of each other. Your relationship survived him moving to the UK for school and racing, it survived the time difference and all the growing up you had to do. Video calls are your thing, you're the kind of people to have it on for hours doing mundane things not necessarily talking but just having the feeling that the other was there.

Now when you became 18, the next step wasn't surprising to those around you. You and Oscar talked about it for so long, you finished school already, so what was stopping you? Nothing. With the help of your parents you both got married, and so you relocated to the UK with Oscar. 

You went to Uni and he was off racing. Coming home to you was always the highlight of the day for Oscar, he'd leave his bags by the door and search for you in the apartment before he'd just all but throw himself at you just wanting some love and attention.

You'd be sitting on the sofa folding some laundry, the TV playing, the door would open and close and you would be none the wiser. Oscar would follow the sound of the TV finding you engrossed in the show that's playing, your hands moving on their own as you fold his shirt. Oscar would move to the sofa and you'd gasp in surprise, finally noticing him before he threw himself on the sofa, his head in your lap, his face hiding in your stomach.

"God, Osc, you scared me." You'd say but smile nonetheless, Oscar would mumble a 'sorry' and you'd barely understand it. Your hands go to his hair and you run your fingers through his locks, scratching ever so slightly. Oscar would groan and you lean down to kiss his head. "How was the flight?"

"Long." You hum and just let him have his time getting what he needs. Now it's not often that he'd fall asleep like that, but the flight was long and he didn't get any sleep, he doesn't remember when it happened, but he falls asleep. You'd stay like that for an hour or two, the TV still playing but the sound is lower until he'd wake up. Once he starts waking up, he starts moving around, he moves to his back and slowly opens his eyes, blinking up at you.

"Hey sleepyhead."

"Hey, I didn't realise I slept."

"Yeah, didn't even give me a hello kiss or anything." You teased him, Oscar sleepily sits up and places a hand on your cheek before he presses his lips to yours, once, twice, three times before deepens it. You sigh in content. Happy to have him in your arms after almost a week.

Oscar didn't mean to hide it, he just didn't wear his ring, he lost it twice at races and since then he only wore it when he's not on a racing week. He's also not very talkative, he doesn't find himself sharing things about himself willingly, but if you ask he'll answer, you just have to prompt him. Maybe it was because he was a rookie, or because there was many things happening, but no one realised he was seeing someone in 2023, you've been to races, you didn't really like the limelight, not while you're still studying at least, so you'd go into the paddock alone, but you'd still be a guest of McLaren. Some people just assumed you're a family member (which is correct, but not how they thought) or just a close friend.

All of that came to an end when you finally finished Uni, and were free to travel more, and coming into the paddock with Oscar wasn't such a scary thing anymore. It all came with the fact that you got a new ring for Oscar and kind of 'proposed' to him with it in your living room, Oscar decided to try wearing his ring, he wouldn't have to take it off anyways. It's his wedding ring, and according to the rules he could keep it on.

It was a Grand Prix weekend, Oscar's family flew out for the race. You walked in with them, Nicole was by your side, a couple photographers took photos, manly because they're Oscar's family, not that they know about you. Getting into McLaren, someone tells Oscar that you're all here, you were back in Australia for 2 weeks, while he was at the factory working, it's more than you both had gotten used to in recent years. Oscar comes in and he ignores his family heading straight to you, you smile up at him and he leans in, giving you a hug and a quick kiss.

"Glad to know, you missed us." Nicole teased Oscar, and he went to hug her. She's always happy seeing how still in love you both are, it warms her heart. Her son is in a happy marriage while achieving his dream away from her. Oscar stands with you all as much as he could before he had to go back to work. You all made it to the hospitality.

"I heard Oscar's family is here." Lando walks in at one point, with a smile on his face, he greets everyone, stopping at you, seeing no similarities between you and Oscar. "I know I saw you before, but I don't know who you are."

"It's alright, I'm Oscar's w-."

"Girlfriend?" Lando cuts you off with a smile. "I knew he's in a relationship but he hasn't introduced you."

"No, I'm not-"

"Oh, are you not his girlfriend? I'm sorry."

"It's not tha-"

"I just want to meet his girlfriend, he never talks about anything unless you ask him and-"

"Lando, I'm his-"

"He seems like he's in a relationship, at least that's what I understood from him."

"I'm his wife."

"But I could be wrong and this is all a- wait... what?" Lando stops once he realises what you said, his eyes are wide while you just smile at him.

"I'm his wife." You say again, and his sisters all just giggle to themselves, finding it all very amusing. Lando looks at Nicole and Chris, as if he's waiting for them to say something, to say it's a joke, to deny it, anything.

"I told Oscar to just come out and say he's married." Nicole said shaking her head slightly, this is about to come out, and she knows Oscar will once again turn the internet on it's head.

"he's-you're-and." Lando looks to have malfunctioned. "I need a moment to come to terms with this."

Lando walks away in a daze, it leaves you all amused. You text Oscar telling him what happened with Lando.

Oscar didn't read your message, Lando walked in on him and his engineer while they were in a meeting.

"You-you- you have a wife?" Lando asked, and Oscar's gaze turned from confused to amused really quickly.

"Yeah." Oscar answered simply.

"What?" It was Tom's turn to be surprised.

"I'm married." Oscar held out his left hand showing his ring.

"I thought that was a family heirloom or something." Lando was exasperated.

"No, I lost one or two rings, so y/n, bought me a new one recently." Oscar explained.

"y/n? the girl you bring with you to races from time to time?" Tom asked remembering you, he saw you a few times, but there was never a sign that you're dating Oscar, never mind married to him.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It just never came up." Oscar shrugged, leaving both men flabbergasted, astonished by the realisation.

"You're one of a kind, Oscar, seriously." Tom shook his head and sighed. "We have to get back to our meeting, this will have to wait."

It didn't take long for the news to travel, those that were in the hospitality and saw the whole thing go down with Lando went on and spread the news around. And Lando asked a few people if they knew, apparently only Zac knew, he thought Oscar wanted to keep it a secret so he said nothing.

The news took a while before it reached Williams.

"Mate, did you know Oscar is married?" Alex asked Logan, Logan frowned and looked up.

"Yeah." Logan answered as if it was a stupid question.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought it was a known thing, I don't know." Logan shrugged. "He's been married since he was 18."

"18!" This was an even bigger shock to the Williams driver.

"Yeah, the moment y/n turned 18, they got married."

"Wow."

And thus the news once again spread, this time the other way around, all the way back to McLaren.

By the time of the driver's parade almost everyone knew that the youngest member on track was married. Oscar was the last on the back of the truck/car thing. All eyes on the Aussie.

"What's... going on?" He asked as he moved down to an empty spot.

"Are you really married?" Charles asked.

"Yeah." It seemed like this was Oscar's favourite answer.

"So I have a daughter in law?" Charles asked and Oscar laughed before nodding. "Wow, they grow up so fast nowadays."

"And you've been married since you were 18?" Max was the one to ask, he's as curious as everyone.

"Yes, the month she turned 18, we got married, and she moved to the UK." Oscar informed them. "And before you ask, I knew her since we were like 5, and have been together since we were 10-11."

"That's crazy." George said to Alex next to him.

By the time the race was underway, a few cameras made it to the McLaren garage for a sight of you. As Oscar was leading the race, the camera flashed to you, with your name and Oscar Piastri's partner under it. The ones watching from home were left confused, but not for long. Oscar won his second race of his Formula 1 career in his 2nd season.

You made it to Parc Ferme, with his parents, his sisters opting to stay in the garage and not get squished. Oscar was the last of the top to make it back, he went to his team before he went straight to you, as always leaving his parents to be hugged after you.

"Congratulations, my love." You tell him, and he squeezes you tighter, the helmet is in the way, but you still kiss the side of it. Oscar then moves to his parents before he goes to get weighed and interviewed by Nico Rosburg.

"-and before we let you go, and not to take away from your win, I have to ask." Nico said and Oscar smiled, he knew what was about to be asked. "Set the records straight, are you married?"

"Yes, have been since I was 18." Oscar said and looked your way, and the camera panned to you, as you stood between his parents smiling with love and adoration for your husband.

"Well, it might be late, but congratulations." Nico said and patted his back, before Oscar made it to the cool-down room.

Cameras snapped a lot of pictures of you, as they waited for the podiums to start. It was obvious how familiar you are with Oscar's parents, and how they treated you like one of their daughters. The interaction was just filled with love and care. This has been going on for years, there's no denying it.

"I didn't know it would be such big news." You said that night, as you and Oscar cuddled on the Sofa, having a quiet moment in the hotel with his family.

"I knew." Nicole said.

"I did too." Chris said.

"Me too." Hattie said.

"Of course it would."

"Obviously."

"Noted." You said and Oscar smiled, kissing the side of your head. "Now everyone knows you have a wife."

"And everyone from your university knows you have a husband."

"You two are still as awful as ever." Hattie said and rolled her eyes teasingly.

"You should've been used to it by now." Nicole said and smiled at her family.

Main Taglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . 

[livin4woso]

Lingering touches part 1-(alessia russo x reader)

Summary-your best friend alessia has always been touchy with you, but now they seem to be getting more frequent and are pushing along the boundary of whether or not you are just friends.

Growing up gay was a challenge for you as many people dont understand that there is a list of unspoken rules every gay must follow. One of the main rules is the line between are we just friends or are we more than that?. Its a line that ironically can be bent and you spend your time thinking where is it appropriate of where you can put your hands without giving the wrong idea.

This was something that you and alessia weren't very good at. The line is constantly being stepped on being pushed to its limits, but alessia is straight... right? It doesn't matter because she won't ever feel the way you do about her. The way that when her hand grazes your arm, it feels like it's on fire or when she compliments you, you can feel your cheeks heating up, leaving you flustered.

It was an obvious observation that to anyone around you that you were head of heels for the blonde, yet it was if she couldn't tell.

You and alessia had grown up together through the england youth academy teams. Your friendship blossomed over the years with one another. It was when you had reached the U19s when alessia had come back from america to play some international friendlies where you began to question if you just had plationic feelings for the blonde.

Alessia was a naturally cuddly person, or well, she has always been like that towards you her body was clung to yours in one way or another. Many joked that you were alessias personal pillow as even if there was a free seat, she would much rather be cuddled into your side or sat against your lap.

When alessia arrived back to the uk, you had already become a regular starter for the arsenal as a midfielder, and you had really been focusing on your football, so your feelings for alessia had naturally slipped your mind.

She had gone to play for Manchester United, where her other best friend ella was playing. However when yous had game against eachother you would be invited to stay round theres or they could stay at yours for the night to catch up with eachother and get the train back to london or Manchester in the morning.

This was a reoccurring routine, but one time ella couldn't stay in london, she had a media job the next day, so just alessia had decided to stay at your place. "Do you wanna pick the movie, and I'll call us a takeaway" you begin saying while opening your apartment door "also you can grab some clothes from my room rather than sitting in that disgusting gear" you say joking with her. "Yeah yeah whatever you love me, really.. no matter what shade of red im wearing, " she responded and playfully placed a kiss to your cheek, leaving you a melting pile in your kitchen.

The two of you had fell into a regular routine but without ella there alessia was abit more handsy than usual as the movie started she had curled into your side with her head on your chest and your legs entwined with eachother. Each time alessias hand would brush at the skin of where your hoodie had rode up was sending shivers down your spine, and you could hear your heartbeat racing at a million miles an hour.

By the time the movie had finished, alessia was quite content sleeping on top of you, yet you knew a night on the couch wouldn't do either of you any good. So you managed to untangle yourself and carry her to your bedroom, which normally this would be quite a simple task. However, sleeping alessia was like a dead weight. That night, you had realised how no matter how hard you try to push your feelings away for the blonde, they wouldn't go away, not when she was so perfect in your eyes.

But the imposed distance between you made your feelings much more bareable to deal with. Yet when the summer transfer window had opened, seeing the blonde wearing an arsenal kit was not what you had expected. Now you couldn't escape your feelings from the blonde, not when you had to see her every day.

The first day at preseason training was going to be hard for you as you cant ingore alessia but you also cant make it obvious to everyone under the sun that you would walk to the ends of the earth for the blonde if she asked you too.

[breelandwalker]

Why is Wicca not a preferred way of practice? I’ve read a couple of posts, and Wicca isn’t favored.

Moral puritanism and performative outrage, plain and simple. There's nothing inherently wrong with Wicca or Wiccans. Some people in the community just aren't doing the work and seem to think that decolonizing our thinking begins and ends with screaming BOYCOTT at anything they deem even remotely reprehensible.

Let's do some of the work and dig a little deeper, shall we?

The main complaint is that Wicca started with people who had problematic worldviews and has had some growing pains and issues with racism, sexism, cultural appropriation, and bad actors in the community as it has evolved, reaching into the present day.

But here's the thing - SHOW ME A RELIGION THAT DOESN'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS SOMEWHERE IN ITS' HISTORY OR CURRENT CULTURE. GO AHEAD, I'LL WAIT.

It's neither fair nor reasonable to judge a religion based on its' beginnings, or to dismiss the ability of a community to grow and evolve over time, or to pretend that the modern witchcraft movement doesn't owe a large part of its' existence to Wicca. Like it or not, if it weren't for Wiccans, we wouldn't have the kind of organization or recognition that we do, nor would we have had certain landmark legal cases that led to pagans being able to claim the protection of law against religious discrimination in the States.

(And because someone somewhere is going to demand the encyclopedia answer - This is not to discount the contributions of other groups, but the historical fact remains that the people responsible for the foundations of Wicca kickstarted the movement in the UK and subsequent practitioners brought it into public view in a positive light during the counterculture movements of the 1950s and 1960s. And it was Wicca that was first pagan religion in the US to be recognized and therefore included under the constitutional guarantee of religious freedom. This does not change the CULTURAL AND SOCIETAL response to witchcraft or paganism, or the problems that witches and pagans still face in other places, only the presence of civil rights that were not there before. And that has, in fact, contributed to an increase in wider normalization and acceptance. We may not owe EVERYTHING to Wicca and Wiccans, but we would not be where we are as a movement or a community without them.)

Not to mention, Wicca hasn't even been around for a whole century yet and already it's being judged like it has the same kind of cultural and political clout that, oh say, Christianity does in much of the Western world. And it's no coincidence that a good number of the criticisms leveled at Wiccans are the same ones flung at Christians.

Wicca DOES have a strong influence on modern witchcraft, because Wicca and Wiccans were such a big part of the foundation of the movement. Furthermore, many of the published works viewed as standard beginner texts were written by Wiccans or heavily influenced by Wiccan ideas and concepts. Admittedly, there was a tendency for quite some time to think of Wicca and Wiccan tenets as the default for modern witchcraft, and now that we're moving away from that and discovering just how much of our thinking relies on that framework and the ideas present within it, there's backlash happening.

It's important to try and decolonize your thinking as much as possible when it comes to witchcraft. But that involves more work and more effort than just pointing fingers and broadly condemning anything remotely problematic or anything that's ever been touched or influenced by people whose moral and ethical codes don't pass muster under a modern lens. We cannot and should not expect people from 50+ years ago to toe the line when people living today can't even do so reliably.

So to wrap it all up - there's nothing wrong with Wicca and there's nothing wrong with being Wiccan. We are none of us completely unproblematic and until we address the fact that issues with racism, sexism, manipulation, cultural appropriation, and so forth exist in MANY parts of the modern witchcraft and pagan community, we don't get to tar and feather any one group. A bit of critical thinking and self-reflection, and a great deal of Knowing Our Own History, is the key to moving forward here.

Because until the people voicing these complaints most loudly can realize the head-splitting irony of condemning Wicca in one breath and celebrating the Wheel of the Year or venerating a Maiden-Mother-Crone-model goddess in the next, we're not actually getting anywhere.

Anyway, I hope this helps to answer some of your questions. For more information, I highly recommend reading Margot Adler's "Drawing Down The Moon" and Ronald Hutton's "Triumph of the Moon" for a more comprehensive overview of the history of the modern witchcraft movement. Both are written from an outside scholar's perspective and are presented as research rather than rhetoric. Part of knowing where we are and deciding where to go next is knowing where we started and where we've been, after all.

[thebibliosphere]

quick question because i am a long time follower and know that you have a lot of shit happening at all times and want to support you: where's the best place/the place that will get you the most money for getting a physical copy of a silly vampire/werewolf book? It sound amazing for reading because rn all i have motivation for is fanfic and silly fantasy and not reading any of my textbooks.

Unlike digital copies, where you can buy directly from my storefront, there's little to no difference in my royalties when it comes to paperbacks. I get paid the same amount regardless of where you buy from, which the last time I checked was, eh, about $2.80

If a store is selling for above the recommended retail price, I still get paid the same flat rate percentage, the profit on the price raising goes to the store.

So, wherever works best for you!

If you're in the US, I will recommend bookshop.org, not just because they are fighting the good fight against the Zon and give a chunk of their profits to independent bookstores, but because their affiliate program pays authors the best rates whenever you buy a book using their links.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites, Flirting with Fangs Edition. (high heat version)

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites, Fluff and Fangs Edition (medium heat version)

(What's the difference between the two? Glad you asked)

Also, if you use my links to buy anything from BookShop.org, even if you don't buy a copy of Hunger Pangs, BookShop.org still sends me a small commission out of their profit (it's like a dollar per book, roughly). So, if you're so inclined to give me free money, you can click on my affiliate links and throw a little change my way.

I am trying to get my books into BookShop.org UK and their other sites, but it's a slow process.

If you're not in the US, it doesn't really affect me. Again, buy wherever works best for you! It's all roughly the same.

[controld3vil]

chaotic duo

pairing(s): dune cast x actor!reader (platonic), oscar isaac x actor!reader

synopsis: requested by this ask!

��� alt: even your on-screen son can't deny how delightful his on-screen parents were.

notes: absolutely no shade to rebecca ferguson i adore her too much. reader is considered to have fem pronouns. ALSO ive been feeling iffy about trying to write for dune characters?? personally, although i love writing these actor!reader stories, writing for the actual characters i feel would be more challenging. dune's still pretty new to me but i kinda wanna give it a shot if i can make a good storyline T-T

It all started with the Dune Cast Q&A brought together by Nerdist. Timothee Chalamet and Denis Villeneuve had just finished chatting with the host, Stephen Colbert about their perspectives on Paul's character. Much emphasis had gone on the young actor's performance. And Denis's decision to cast such a well-experienced one.

After finishing up their last question together, Stephen decides to introduce two additional members. "Timothee let's bring out the man and the woman who play your parents, Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica." A transition between screens to display your camera view and Oscar's. He introduces both your names.

"Hi!" You grin at the camera, comfortably leaning against one of the arms of your chair. Similar to everyone else's backdrop, yours was pitch gray, covering all but your silhouette and chair.

"Hey Stephen," Oscar greets at ease, as you proceed to wave to each of the people seen onscreen.

It cuts immediately to the host gesturing in continuation for a question. "Tell me and the audience about Duke Leto Atreides. What do we need to know?"

"He's the father and human. I think that's the biggest thing and uh under incredible pressure to save his family. Save his house but to adapt to this new existential threat situation which is moving to this strange planet," Your fellow costar puts into short. Short and concise was what was expected.

Content with his answer, Stephen moves the attention to you. He calls out your name, eagerly. "Rereading the books uh- right now, I am struck by how much of the story- uh the backstory and the action story is driven by the decisions Lady Jessica makes." A smile grows on your face, knowing how much fun was a character to play for you.

Along his last few words, you find yourself nodding in agreement. "I'm impressed with that you, Stephen actually read the books again!" An instant grin comes from the said man. "But it's all applause to Denny- he highlighted this from the book. In the film, her decisions basically create, fractures and disrupts everything."

"Best parents ever," In a low whisper, Timothee murmurs and the five of you burst into short chuckles and snickers.

"The best you could ever have!" You clapped your hands together, shaking them above your head in victory. And when the screen expands to show everyone's reactions, the audience can noticeably pinpoint Oscar's playful eye-rolling.

Another fun interview you had the pleasure of sharing was with Grazia UK. It was in a more comfortable setting. With you and Oscar in a lounge room, with the Zoom camera on. While the female interviewer complimenting a kind smile.

"Can I ask you something," Not within a second of the conversation, you rose up with a peculiar question. "Do you remember his beard?" Your costar beside you, looks away in disappointment. Even raising his hand to emphasize his discouraged state.

"A bit yes..."

"Yeah,"

"Yes!"

"Why? It was an impressive beard," Sort of clueless really, the interviewer says, of why you wanted to the topic up.

"Yeah, it was impressive!" Oscar looks back and forth between you and the camera, directing towards the woman on the other side. While you shriveled in embarrassment, leaning your head behind his shoulder, with a few snorts of laughter. "She doesn't even remember if I had a beard or not in the movie! She just saw it."

"Quite a prominent beard!"

"Yes yes, well I can remember so much," You chaste, leaning closer, locking eyes with your costar. Threatening really in a playful way.

"We shot together for a few months! How could you not remember?!" He exclaims, raising both his hands in the air in exasperation. You puff, adorning a pouty-like look.

"I work with what's in front of me," you turn to address the interviewer, pointing at Oscar accusingly. Because much contrast to what he looked months ago, he no longer had that impressive beard. He was clean-shaven, much to your display.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. "Apparently not!" Bumping shoulders with you as you fought back, poking him many times obnoxiously.

You both later discussed a provoking quote referenced multiple times from Dune posters. Fear is the mind killer. Truly a simple yet intriguing phrase that fitted well with the film. And in generally, you and Oscar compared each others quotes from personal experience.

"I guess you could combine them together," Taking a sip out of your glass, you eyed at Oscar. He hums back and smooths his hands comfortably down his hips.

"It will pass and love prevails!" He cheerfully expresses. Even from afar, the interviewer can notice how much fun you two were having with the question.

"Right and, it plays perfectly with the film," You add onto your little spiel, nodding as you go, "Besides the fact that- you know, fear is the mind killer."

The male actor lets out a long sigh. "Makes you forget how violent the movie is."

On the other side of the screen, the blonde interviewer shrugs her shoulders. "Well- it's only included in small parts in the movie."

It was your turn to hum, dragging out the M sound. "I think maybe the film focusses too much on romance."

A caught off cough comes from Oscar as he tries to his best to dismiss his your sarcastic comment. "I feel like there should've been more of it."

"Really?!" The shot pans to your exaggerated shocked gaze. You then turn to look at the interviewer. "He has no idea how to write a movie." Instantaneously the male actor bursts out laughing, shaking his head back and forth in little denial. Even you couldn't hold it together and giggled a little.

"You play Timothee's parents so spent a lot of time with him. What is the most interesting thing we do not about Timothee Chalamet?" The interviewer prompts, having their arms supported on top the their desk with pure keenness.

Pursing your lips together in concentration, your attention turns towards your partner. "Well coming from me- I mean I don't know if people know this about him or not- but he's very open hearted." Oscar continues, "And me, having to play his father- hence the beard!"

"Ah!" Giving more emphasis, you raised your brow in recollection.

He goes on comparing the analogy of having to play Duke Leto as a powerful leader of a House. Without his people and court, he wouldn't resemble much of an prestige leader. However Oscar later mentions that Timothee's performance was the catalyst to their relationship look authentic. He is young yet incredibly sympathetic towards what's to be done for the film. His time with both of you really sold your relationship as a family, you'd think.

"So that's a very generous thing to do for a young actor. And I was impressed and admired that," In the background, you can be heard mumbling in agreement. Your partner shifts his posture, facing and expecting you to go next.

Licking your lips, you took one last glance at him before focusing strictly at the Zoom camera. "I think for me, to have a young actor like him- he's very driven about it all. When he's on and off screen, Timothee's just focused- he's very serious and concentrates heavily on what Denny says- and I can say I respect that." You punctuate your point, tapping lightly on your knee. "And I play his mother you know, and I try to accommodate with that. I play along and we work until we find a good rhythm with each other." The older woman on the screen seemed enamored by your compliments regarding your costar. Yet her eyes quickly makes it's way to Oscar, sitting quietly and listening to you ramble.

His laidback posture showed how greatly he took your words in. You grab your glass and take a quick sip before hearing him say, "We raised him well." Taking your hand in both of his as a sign of pride.

A delightful chuckle comes from both you and the interviewer while your partner gives a satisfied grin. "We really did!"

The media did not need proof to know of your enjoyed time during the production of Dune. In fact, multiple vlogs and documentaries about the film had fans and viewers alike become fond of your positive and laid back attitude about it all. Despite playing a calculating character such as Lady Jessica, you were nothing of serious when on screen with your costars.

"Welcome to Arrakis!" You popped into frame, wearing an exquisite dress, costumed by one of the designers. It was golden yellow with chains running down from the bottom half of your face to your chest. A faint veil covered your head but for right now, you had it placed on your hair. You spread your arms with anticipation for the cameraman to pan around your surroundings. "It's sunny today so I think we'd be out here for some time." You moved extremely close to the camera, before moving out of the frame to the side.

Abu Dhabi was bliss. The production and crew worked diligently day and night working in the deserts. And on this particular day, most of the cast had been present as well for the introduction of House Atriedes on Arrakis.

A few shots slowly pans from the crew's tents and Denny far into the sandy mountains as he speaks with Timothee. Another shot slyly captures you showing Josh Brolin an unknown video, sideways. Which somehow made him cackle very enthusiastically, holding his stomach to air as you quickly pat his back multiple of times. In all, everyone of the cast members were having a blast in the dry outskirts of the unknown.

"Hello," Brolin pops in another clip where he stands, wearing the Atreides armor. Under a massive shade area, a few people can be spotted in the background, moving equipment and conversing with others. From afar, the people filming the documentary can be heard presenting a few questions for him to touch upon. "Ah what do I think about Lady Jessica being played by," He says your name sincerely.

The video cuts to you having a conversation with your on and screen husband. A hand covering above your face to shield yourself from the sun, while Oscar tries to move where the light is hitting you as the best he could.

"I mean a phenomenal actor like her playing in that kind of role is guaranteed to have an amazing performance. She's- We've known each for a long time since Sicario and with Denny," The male actor softly grins, staring at where you were. "But Oscar on the other hand, eh- not so much." His tone becoming monotonous, as if the shift in topic was distasteful to the touch.

"Whatcha say, Gurney?!" A scream echoes and it's Oscar, cupping both his hands into an O.

The older actor couldn't keep it together before breaking into frivolous giggles. "Nothing, my lord!" He takes one last glance back before seeing you give him two big thumbs up with a silly smirk. "No in all seriousness, those two are just the best! You can never have a bad day with them."

Another prominent section in the video fans adored was with the actors that played Duncan Idaho and Dr. Liet Kynes. This time they are situated in what looked like the structure of Arrakeen. Where all ornithopters were supposedly stationed and the introduction of Dr. Kynes.

"They're so mom and dad," Jason Momoa shaking his head playfully with his hands clamped together. Both him and Sharon Duncan-Brewster wore still suits unlike many other extras who wore Atreides armor. "I mean- they're playing Paul's parents- but in real life it's just so different."

"Definitely more chaotic," Brewster jumps in, earning a hum from her costar. "They act nothing like them."

A cool shot from different location displays you in a dark with Timothee. It was the scene after Paul is put to test to by the Reverent Mother. It was a chilling scene yes, but in post production, many realize how unprofessional you sometimes were even in the most serious times.

The cameras were not live however the film crew were about to pan to you gesturing back and forth with your on-screen son. It was a interactive and intriguing conversation you both were having. You looking in purely engaged with what the French actor was saying. After a few sentences being spoken, it looked as though you chided a teasing joke which gave the reaction of Timothee slightly snickering, backing away slowly.

"I mean do they look like my parents? No," The young actor states shortly. It looked as though the clip was shot right after capturing your cute moment togehter. "But I'd say- yeah Oscar Isaac's a great actor and- to be able to play my dad is pretty cool. Even though we look nothing alike." Nervous laughter spouts as he clears his throat.

"I feel like I get the resemblances from my mom though," Affectionately stating your name, "You can tell where I got my powers, good looks from." Momentarily readjusting his collar as he takes a quick look from behind, knowing your footsteps.

"See? I'm the favorite parent!" In hushed squeal, you wrapped your hands around Timothee's shoulders, earning a lovable grin back.

[sgiandubh]

The trouble with Stravaigin'

This pic is currently making the rounds on Tumblr and X, and for all the good reasons (thank you @mariaae, for bringing it here):

After a rather busy week and an even busier week-end, it's certainly nice to check in for this 👆.

Funny how the dunces across the street dub this a 'wrap party combo' of sorts. Oh, come on, are you that stupid, people?

Jamie Roy's OG post is absolutely clear with this regard:

'Thank you @thevinepr for having us at @stravaigin_g12's 30th Birthday.' An event that is directly linked to this very recent Stravaigin's announcement, that has to do exclusively with S's spirits' business:

'In an announcement that will delight the legions of whisky lovers who have been demanding its addition to Stravaigin’s renowned drinks menu, The Sassenach @sassenachspirits by @samheughan is today confirmed as joining the bar’s Scotch whisky offering as a permanent fixture 🥃. (...)

Stravaigin's Olivia Wong - Scotland's Bar Manager of the Year says: “We are thrilled to welcome The Sassenach to Stravaigin. We are all big fans of Sam and his Scotch whisky here at Stravaigin and know excitement levels will be running high with our patrons, as we announce it is becoming a permanent addition to our drinks menu.'

Note to self: this is something Marple 'forgot' to post about, despite her all-consuming obsession for S. Without this information, the rest was presented as just another heavy drinking sesh. Tss, shame on you, madam! Is this where you're at? Lying to your readers, in an attempt to demonstrate: a) S is a highly-functioning alcoholic (by your reasoning, half of the UK might be, ROFLMAO) and b) Ashley Hearn is a lazy, entitled idiot, who spends her time in bars chatting and drinking with her buddies?

Lying by omission is either a mortal sin (when made with the purpose of hurting someone's reputation) or a venial one (when 'in jest', like the Screeching Banshees pretend to do). But I have no idea if that woman is a Catholic, nor do I care. Either way, it's unsavory as fuck. So long for playing it Switzerland, in here.

All of the above to emphatically (LOL for ages) say that this event has nothing to do with Outlander. This has everything to do with Sam Roland Heughan and his own, local business network. This is exactly why Jamie Roy was thanking the organizing PR firm (more on this, a bit later in this post).There were zero reasons for C to be there that night, something that has been confirmed by fans on X:

Interesting: 'took a picture with them'. In the context, people were wondering if there were pics with the Two of Them, not the rest of the cast. But hey, didn't you know? THEY CAN'T STAND EACHOTHER, NEVER COULD!

And there we go, we have the arrival video (why does it always have to be Brazilian fans directly or indirectly involved? that is a mystery on par with who killed JFK, LOL):

And here we have it, courtesy of @maripimpao, the OG X poster (https://x.com/Mari_pimpao/status/1850588095046971487?t=p3_lv013WuINhA085ayr4A&s=19).

... S arriving separately, as predictible, probably on his own (fucking Tumblr doesn't let me upload more than one video, but you'll find everything on the X page above), then C and Skeleton (God, that girl must KNOW stuff!) together - not surprised at all, either:

A normal convo ensues, C stating that she feels 'both happy and sad' because Friday was their last day ever on set. I was very surprised by her genuine warmth, to be honest, as I wasn't expecting it, but it is in line with public lore on her being spotted before by fans.

A word on The Vine PR company. This is one of the biggest PR firms in Scotland and even the UK, with a very nice portfolio of clients, partners and events they manage on the regular:

Oh...

And re-oh...

So, there should come as no surprise to find, among The Vine's clients (for whom it managed flagship events), two of LVMH's portfolio companies/brands: Moët & Chandon and Glenmorangie. I also remember being ridiculed, as writing fanfic, by both Marple and her minions. Well, eat crow now, I have been announcing it for a year, already, for both of them. Not once, but three times in a row.

One...

Two...

Third time's a charm/Jamais deux sans trois:

Business-wise, this is about the amount of time it takes to make things of this amplitude happen. Wait, I forgot that business was bound to flounder, sweet Baby Jesus on a motorbike!

On top of it all, I have some very inconvenient, yet rhetorical questions (for the people across the street, a rhetorical question is supposed to make a point, not wait for an answer):

What about McTavish's spirits business? Still in promo mode, bought medals, and all the tralala? Hmmm.

What about Tony McGill? Why isn't he seen at any event at all, in the music business or otherwise, like ever? Isn't he supposed to manage (Media Manager, my 🦶) a Scottish band? Where was he, on Friday night? How does he even do business? Hmmm.

Oh, FFS.

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 2 That Day

Part 2 is here!!!!!

Short one for this part but I think some context is needed before I bring us back to the present day!

Hope you enjoy! Also in this the third place game doesn't exist.

(Part 1 can be found here x)

2nd July 2019, England vs USA, World Cup Semi-final

25th minute – 1 - 1

“This is a real battle out there isn’t it Sue?” Jonathon Pearce broadcasted to the UK, all eyes on the England team trying to defeat the US. Though they had gone behind very early on, an Ellen White leveller had brought them back onto even terms.

“It certainly is, you can see how much this means to all the players out there. None of this England team have ever experienced an occasion like this before but they seem to be carrying that emotion well.”

Out on the field it felt like an out of body experience. Before this the biggest game you’d played in would have to be a substitute appearance in an FA cup final, now you were starting the semi final at a World Cup. You were 19 and felt like the whole world was watching you.

At the start of the tournament you hadn’t been expecting to start but when Jill Scott picked up an injury in the round of 16 you’d stepped into the starting position next to Keira and never looked back. Receiving praise back at home for the level-headed game you played but still managed to bring out that touch of David Beckham in you.

It was a free-kick in the quarter-final that really brought you to the forefront of the nation. A slick ball which soared into the top corner of the net leaving their goalkeeper stranded and left everyone open-mouthed at home. You were never a nobody but now you were here to stay. Your Instagram following doubled and whenever you left the hotel in the past week the camera had never left you. The pressure was on.

“Fucking hell.” You swore coming up to take a corner for England nestled into the corner of the ground flooded with US fans.

“Nepotism trash!” “Daddy not here to hold your hand!” “Can’t even kick a ball!” “Weak!” “Spineless!”

The insults were flying in from every angle, everything was covered in the thirty seconds you had to wait to take the corner, of course your dad was mentioned but so was your appearance in the media. Newly turned 19 and yet it seemed like you were still the five-year-old girl who had her father carry her everywhere. Everyone just presumed you were an innocent little baby who couldn’t put in a tackle, you hated it.

But now was not the time to let that frustration out. Now was game time when nothing else mattered.

Your in-swinging corner found Millie on the edge of the 6-yard box but she couldn’t quite get the connection on it to trouble Naeher, instead giving her an easy catch but you could feel it coming.

The only problem is now there was now a break on. A quick release from the goalkeeper had set Lavelle free, Keira had stayed back but you couldn’t leave her one on one with Morgan in the centre.

You had one second to make a decision.

One second to work out how to stop her. You could try and get further back but you knew you had to stop it at source.

You were known for your pace so you had no trouble getting back to her but Lavelle was known for her trickery and skill.

In your head you made the best decision you could. You followed the rules you played football by and trusted your instinct.

That was where the world as you knew it slowly began to fade away.

“Oh that’s a nasty one from Beckham there and Lavelle seems seriously hurt.”

You thought it was clean, in fact you were sure of it. The contact with the ball was clear sending it flying out of play, you didn’t touch her other than her leg coming into yours as she came over the top of you and yet as she rolled around on the floor it was like the opposite had happened.

Suddenly you were surrounded by players in red, all screaming at you. “What the fuck did you do that for?” “Learn that one from your daddy did you?”

Millie came to stand in front of you, trying to block you from the players as Steph and Lucy surrounded the others at the referee.

“She didn’t touch her.” Millie defended you. “Tell your own player to stop cheating.”

You thought that would be the end of it. Tempers flared, emotions were high and you would get on with the match again. When the referee reached into her pocket you were convinced it was to calm everyone down, a booking usually helped to send a message out but when you saw it was red and it was flashed in your direction it was like time stopped.

“It’s a red card for Beckham, just like her father that name has once again come back to haunt England.” Jonathon commentated. “It’s a long way back for them here.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. “Go and have a look yourself.” Millie shouted at the ref to overcome the noise in the stadium. “It was a clean tackle, she didn’t touch her.”

“The contact was enough to endanger the opponent. It’s reckless, dangerous and that it is a red card.”

“VAR has got to overturn this.” Sue Smith pointed out. “She’s nowhere near her opponent, it’s not even a yellow card.”

“When you make a challenge like that you bring about a decision from the ref.”

“But that’s what VAR is here for, to show the referee what actually happened. Beckham has arguably been one of the players of the tournament and yet she could be remembered for just this moment.”

It could have been minutes, it must only have been thirty seconds that you stood there. Waiting for some to tell you it had all been a big mistake. Apologies would come and you’d be able to restart the game.

Instead VAR confirmed the red card. You’d been sent off in the most important game you’d ever played in, maybe would ever play in.

This time though it felt like the impact hit you immediately, looking back it was probably the reason you hated showing any emotion now. Your teammates tried to comfort you as the tears started to come but the guilt was already too much, you couldn’t bare to be around anyone right now so pulling your shirt over your face you walked back inside. Every step towards that sideline felt like you were wading through quick sand, the boos from the US side ringing in your ear as you tried to head to the tunnel.

Before the match had begun your brother had FaceTime’d you, at the time you imagined looking up at them at the final whistle, perhaps celebrating with them. Now you couldn’t face looking where you knew they would be sat. The disappointment from yourself was too much to handle right now never mind disappointing your idol, your father.

You can vaguely remember Karen Carney coming out to meet you on the touchline, a kiss being pressed to your head and a little muttering of “keep it together” in your ear. Maybe it was for the best that everyone else was busy trying to reshuffle the pack a few sympathetic faces were thrown your way but you knew football didn’t have time for sentiment. Maybe it was also for the best that Phil didn’t even look your way, your favourite kitman met you to head back into the changing rooms with you but the rest didn’t even bat an eyelid at you.

It was only when you got inside, when you were all alone that the emotion fully came out.

The anger, the pure sadness, the hatred you felt towards yourself. It started that day and it felt then like you’d received a life sentence. A life sentence hating yourself.

……

“Phil, a lot happened out there today. Can you tell us your overriding emotions right now?”

“Oh I’m just proud of every dingle girl out there who competed to the very end. They gave it their all tonight and this result shouldn’t tarnish their pride in themselves or in each other. They stuck in the game when it seemed like other people threw it away.”

“We can’t shy away from Y/N Beckham, what were your thoughts?”

“As football players we know that every tackle we put in can lead to a card and she made that decision. It’s hard because I know the talent is in there but talent can’t be everything.”

“Do you think it should have been a red?”

“Like I said the referee was put in a position where she had to make the decision. We can all wish for different outcomes on the pitch but sometimes we just have to accept them.”

“How is she doing now?”

“As a team we are all very disappointed right and I think it’s the team we should be focusing on right now.”

“Fucking bullshit.” If this was your own bedroom perhaps you would have thrown the remote at the TV, instead you calmly had to just turn it off.

Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to turn on the TV when you got back to the hotel room. England had lost in the end, going 2-1 down to an Alex Morgan winner, they’d given it there everything but it just wasn’t enough.

In the two hours since the game finished you couldn’t count the number of times you’d cried. Firstly on your own, then with some of the girls, then on your own again on the bus and yet not a single word had been said. You knew you’d never be able to say sorry enough times and they knew it was no use telling you anything right now. Though you were crying it was almost as if you were blank inside, you couldn’t take in anything else right now. Your usual spot on the bus next to Keira was left vacant, instead you found a little corner and tried to kid yourself and other that you were asleep when how could you be with all the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Your phone lay switched off on the other side of the room, that interview being the first real insight you’d got into any opinions on the matter. He was right, he might not have said it outright but it was obvious he blamed you. When Phil brought you in for your first senior camp fans were concerned about favouritism but if anything it was the opposite. He had this almost saintly view of your dad and you would never be anything compared to him.

You knew he would be worried, he tried to protect you from everything growing up but now he was powerless. Yet even knowing that you couldn’t bring yourself to switch the phone on, answer any of the messages or calls you’d received before you turned it off on the couch.

It was all too much.

…..

The plan was always for you to spend the 2 weeks you had off after the weekend in the south of France, a quaint villa in the middle of nowhere which you’d had since you were a child. This place was one of the only true places you could just be yourself. You could vividly remember the holidays there once a year being the only time you felt truly free. Your father would spend every second of the day just being a father and your mother could show you her true self, the fun and carefree woman she was away from the pressures of the public eye. This was the place where yourself, Brooklyn and Romeo would spend hours on the beach with a ball and jumpers for goalposts, where you all taught Cruz to ride a bike and Harper to swim. This place meant so much to you.

It felt wrong to tarnish this place with the thoughts you had right now.

That’s why when you touched down in London the following day instead of rushing back to your apartment to pack and meet your family at the airport, you sat, staring at the clock. Time passed, they would have waited for you to arrive and slowly realised you weren’t coming. They would probably be worried and it was for that reason only that you finally turned your phone on. The messages flooded onto your lock screens, dozens of missed calls came through but you ignored them all simply sending a message to your mum claiming you were fine and didn’t want any company right now, only one of those statements being true.

Maybe you should have expected the phone call that immediately came up from your father but they also should have expected your immediate response, decline.

You always thought you were quite strong about the media. You’d grown up with famous parents, you sadly were used to comments about every aspect of yourself from your appearance to the way you spoke. In your time at Chelsea you’d had your fair share of stick from the fans about your place in football but before this you’d proved everyone wrong.

People called you dumb, you passed all your exams and were studying part time for a degree.

People commented on your appearance, your friends and family’s comments opposed that.

United fans taunted you in an FA cup match, you stuck the ball in the top corner and celebrated right in front of them.

All those times you’d known they were wrong and could do something about it. All that media training and yet in that moment you broke the number one rule and opened Twitter.

The results were more horrendous than you ever could have imagined. Not only were there comments about your performance, but they also came for your family, your friends, yourself. The death threats were constant, every other comment on an article link were suggesting this was punishable in unimaginable ways.

Instagram though more concentrated felt worse when you checked a post from your best friend outside of football, comments were left under her post for even just being associated with your name. Taunting her, taunting you and threatening the both of you. Not only had you disappointed everyone but now you were putting those you loved in danger.

Leaving Instagram, blurry eyed and shaking like a leaf, twitter was opened once again. You couldn’t stop and the more articled you read, the more the panic started to set in. People knew where you lived from media pictures, it wouldn’t be long before they came here again. You lived in a gated community but they’d find a way in. You’d never be alone.

Your throat was closing in, it was becoming harder to breath as you panicked more. The only thing you could do was phone the only person who would understand.

“Dad…. dad I need you.”

……

Everyone probably thinks they have the best family but in this moment you knew yours were the best. Thirty minutes on from that phone call you were in your old family living room, curled up in blankets next to your mum and dad, eating homemade chocolate cake and listening to your sister talk you through her week. The biggest drama in which being a girl who took the last apple juice carton and left her with orange juice, which to an eight-year-old felt like the end of the world.

You hadn’t even said another word on that phone call before your dad was ordering you to pack a bag and promised he would be with you in less than ten minutes.

“Why didn’t you go to France?” Your thoughts came out. “We were meant to go.”

“Like we were ever going to leave you here alone,” Your dad chastised you. “I know you well enough to know you might not have needed us in that moment but we were always going to be there when you did.”

“I didn’t mean to do anything, I thought I made the right decision and now people are threatening me. They’re going to find me.”

“They’re not.” Your mother immediately comforted you. “I’ve watched enough football over the years to know tackles like that are made every week and they never get punished. Football is a game, you live for it but it’s a game and people sometimes forget that. You were a big reason England even got to the semi-final and people need to remember that.”

“What did your teammates say?” Brooklyn asked from the next sofa with my other brothers.

“I haven’t spoken to them.”

“What? You flew home with them this morning.”

“I can’t look at them. They’re all sad because of me, everyone knows it, they were always on the back foot because of me and now they’re going home.”

“Millie messaged me this morning.” Brooklyn said. You were of course very close to the Chelsea girls and they’d met your family more times than you could count. You remember they exchanged numbers before you went away on a summer camp one year just in case they needed to contact your family. “She asked me to look after you, they’re not upset.”

“They’ll never admit it, at least not to my face but how can I play with them again after all this.”

“They’re your friends.” Your mum implored and she was right. You were the youngest in the world cup but yourself Leah, Keira and Georgia had formed a little England squad bond. Your sensible and often shy nature balancing out their craziness.

“They’re better off without me. I need to get out of here.”

“Out of where?”

“Out of England, I can’t stay.”

[snootlestheangel]

What if Soap had a cousin that's really close to his age: maybe the difference in age is as much as months apart, rather than years.

They were two peas in a pod, partners in crime growing up. They're cousins through Soap's mother's side of the family, so he doesn't have the MacTavish name, which sometimes Soap thinks is a good thing.

His cousin didn't join the military when Soap did, (partly due to the fact Soap cheated the system but that's neither here nor there) and a couple years went by before he decided to follow in Soap's footsteps and join. He's plenty smart and plenty capable, maybe not nearly as like Soap, but he's good enough that he progresses through pretty quick.

He's made Sergeant before either of them know it, and Soap is fucking proud. They're still close, and the shared experience of military life has definitely helped keep them that way in their adult lives. His cousin was the only one Soap confessed to about his feelings for Ghost. Granted it was more along the lines of a warning: "don't fall in love with your lieutenant, it'll only hurt."

Of course, that conversation happened a while ago, long enough ago that Soap and Ghost have indeed done something about their feelings for each other, but Soap and his cousin aren't ones to gossip about that sort of thing.

All his cousin knows is that Soap may or may not have something going on with his lieutenant, and quite frankly that's all he wants to know.

But here's the thing: his cousin doesn't know Soap is called Soap, and he doesn't know what taskforce he's a part of. He knows that Soap does some top shit, and he's not one to pry. Certainly not when he's got his own problems to worry about.

But he has heard of The Ghost. Everyone in the UK military has, for fucks sake. You can't be a soldier in that military without hearing about The Ghost and his almost supernatural abilities. You can't avoid hearing the higher ups mutter under their breaths "thank God he's on our side". It's considered one of the greatest honors a soldier can receive to work alongside The Ghost.

And that's how he ended up here. Standing in front of his new team, the two sergeants, his captain and lieutenant, suddenly feeling very murderous.

There are 2 options as to why he wants to commit murder:

1. Prior to coming to the Taskforce, he had a bit of leave and spent a few days with his cousin, John MacTavish. He asks him how things with "that lieutenant" are going, to which John says with a cheeky grin "Aye they're going". He then laughs a bit before adding "guess you could say he's my boo".

Of course his cousin is very confused: "boo?"

"Ya know, like a ghost"

"Like a ghost? GHOST?! YOU'RE FUCKING THE GHOST?!?!"

Its quickly revealed the taskforce his cousin has been assigned to is actually Soap's, to which the cousin refuses to believe Soap isn't just trying to mess with him. So he says "I'm kicking your ass if you're right"

2. There's never a chance for the two of them to talk about those sorts of things prior to his cousin joining the team. But he still knows that there's something going on between Soap and the lieutenant, so he's quickly putting together the pieces and getting very angry

Either way, the introductions end with his cousin politely asking if they would excuse him for just a minute. Price, albeit very confused, agrees. He doesn't expect the new sergeant to toss his duffle bag at Soap's face only for them to start wrestling, Soap cackling like a madman the entire time as the other shouts "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" And Gaz is the only one to say out loud what they're all thinking

"Holy shit, there's two of them."

[spooky-pomegranate]

Through The Door:

Captain Price x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Ghost doesn't trust you and when he hears you and Captain Price fighting in his office he stops to listen. But he hears and sees more than he ever expected.

It’s been ten days of this. Ten days of watching, following, and listening. And somehow it still hadn’t been enough time. Ghost still hadn’t caught you. But he knew he would. He just had to remain patient. He’d keep watching. You’d slip up eventually. He was sure of it.

Even if you did have everyone else fooled.

In just ten days, you had already made fast friends with Johnny. The two of you were always laughing and telling one another stupid jokes and stories.

The last thing you’d carried on about was music. You preferred old-school rock and roll. The Stones, The Who, The Beatles. But you liked classical too. You made fun of Soap for his favorite genre, cheery electropop. You called it music for “love-sick teenage girls” and teased him endlessly. He called you “a walking iPod shuffle” and said you were confused about your own taste. You playfully punched Johnny in the arm before you both laughed like hyenas.

It was like you were siblings, the way you constantly bantered and bickered. It set Ghost on edge. You both were so comfortable around each other. It was so familiar, so natural… It wasn’t right.

And Gaz, he wasn’t any better. You had asked him for additional training and on most days, Ghost found you two at the shooting range long after the recruits had left for dinner. At first, your conversations were shallow. In between firing rounds of high-caliber ammunition, you asked him about his life on base and how long he’d known Soap and Price. But the conversations eventually grew longer. And they grew deeper. Gaz told you about his family, his hometown, and his childhood. You told him about how difficult it was to leave the States and move to the UK on your own.

Ghost could tell that as the days were passing and as your conversations were growing more meaningful, the two of you were starting to trust one another more. And that frustrated him. Why couldn’t Gaz see what he saw in you?

He wondered if your skills were what threw the others off.

Ghost couldn’t deny that you were better than most of the other recruits. You were a natural at the shooting range. You picked up on techniques quickly and put them into practice almost flawlessly. And even though you pretended to be intimidated by it in the beginning you were especially good with a sniper rifle. You always asked the right questions about the winds, the terrain, and any potential bullet drop. And while Ghost found that suspicious, Gaz seemed to be amazed by it. Proud even. He joked with you about how quickly you could do math in your head and how that would come in handy if you were ever posted up in a sniper’s nest someday.

“Over my dead body,” Ghost had mumbled to himself as he watched you both from the shadows.

But you weren’t perfect. When Ghost did pull himself out of the base’s dark corners and did talk with you, you were always nervous. You spoke at breakneck speeds. Your sentences mushed together, like a quickly moving mudslide, totally out of control and unpredictable. You struggled to look him in the eyes. You fidgeted, stared at your shoes, and gave him any excuse you could to get away.

 “Sorry can’t chat, Johnny wants to train in the gym.”

 “I think I just heard Gaz call my name.”

 “Gotta go. Price needs me.”

And Price… you definitely had that man wrapped around your little finger. Or at least Ghost thought you did until one night when he heard you two fighting inside the Captain’s office.

“Price, why won’t you tell me what you and Laswell are planning for the raid?”

Your words had stopped Ghost in his tracks. He glanced down the empty hall to make sure no one was around before sinking to his knees and pressing his ear to the door of Price’s office.

“Come on, love we’ve been over this,” he heard the Captain answer.

“But I can help!”

Your voice was pleading. You were practically begging Price. But why did you care so much Ghost wondered?

“I want you to focus on training. You asked me to teach you to fight remember?”

“I know… but you also promised to let me take some of the weight off your shoulders too.”

“You’re too smart, you know that.”

“Price…” you whined the Captain’s name and Ghost rolled his eyes. He imagined that on the other side of the door, you were probably looking up at Price with doe eyes. Needy and wanton. God… you probably were pouting your lips too.

He could only hope that Price would see through you.

“I want you to be as prepared as you can be before then. I can handle this, I promise ya I’m fine. We’ve got more resources and men now. It’s not like before. We aren’t alone anymore. Ya trust me don’t you?”

Good man, Ghost thought to himself. Don’t give in to her so easily. As long as Price continued to keep his cards close to his chest maybe they’d all get through this in one piece.

“But what if he’s there? What if he has my briefcase there and he’s figured out how to use it? He’ll see you coming. Price what if this is a setup?” You were doing that thing where you spoke 100 miles an hour again, your words sloshing and sliding into one another.

“Laswell’s been surveilling the area. He hasn’t been there. Your briefcase isn’t there.”

“Price but what if-”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Come here, love.”

Ghost heard the sound of a chair scrape and footsteps shuffle away from the door. He knew you were walking over to Price. He could practically see you standing in front of him in his mind.

Then you sighed.

“I’m tired, Price.” Your voice was softer. Ghost could barely hear you now. He tried to press even closer to the door. The metal was cold against his ear. “I know I asked for this… learning how to fight. But it’s harder than I thought it would be and…”

You stopped.

“Go on. Say it.”

“Your Lieutenant…”

Shit. Your voice was muffled.

Shit. He needed to hear this.

Ghost slowly reached for the door handle and carefully, he turned the knob. The door opened the smallest crack. He peered inside.

You were sitting across the room, straddled on Price’s lap. Your head was buried against his chest. The Captain’s hands rubbed against the back of your t-shirt in lazy circles.

“Ghost? What about him, sweetheart?”

At the sound of Price’s voice, you pulled your head from his chest.

“He hates me.”

Price stilled and his jaw clenched. Neither of you spoke. Ghost held his breath before looking to his left and right. Thankfully, the coast was still clear.

“He doesn’t trust you,” Price eventually said, breaking through the silence.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You sighed loudly and moved to stand, but Price reached up and quickly pulled you back toward him by your hips.

“Don’t leave,” Price said, his voice low and firm. “I trust you.”

“Then why doesn’t he?”

Because I know there’s something else going on with you, Ghost thought to himself. Because I know there’s a secret you’re hiding.

“Because he doesn’t know you like I do.” Price replied, his hand moving up your spine to hold the back of your head. “He doesn’t know how smart you are. That you can build something from nothing. He doesn’t know that you’re a fighter, that you’ve been dealt a shite hand in life but you’ve always soldiered on.”

Price leaned forward and kissed you.

Ghost looked down at the floor. He should leave, he thought. He should go back to the barracks and sit behind his computer and look for dirt on you that way. It would be less awkward. He’d feel less strange.

But Ghost didn’t move. He couldn’t.

What if this was the moment you finally slipped? What if you said something? He needed to be more patient. He’d stay a little longer. If only for Gaz, for Johnny. If they got hurt because he missed something he’d never forgive himself.

He watched as Price leaned back, pulling away from your lips. A smile sprawled across his face.

“He doesn’t know how sweet you taste either, sweetheart.”

You laughed, running your own hands through Price’s short hair as the Captain dove into your neck.

“I mean it, love. If any of those boys got to taste you like I do, if they got to feel you like I do…” Price pulled back from your neck and looked you in the eye. “If they got to fuck you like I do… none of them would ever distrust you.”

“Price, that isn’t really reassuring. You’re just saying you trust me because we’ve fucked.”

Ghost’s grip tightened against the door knob. Was that what Price was saying? Was that really all you were to him? A plaything?

He opened the door another inch. He needed to see your face better. He had to know what this was between you and his Captain.

“Remember the first day I brought you here? And I took you to my room. And I showed you all my scars. Do you remember?”

Ghost watched as Price tugged on your hair. Your head tilted back toward the ceiling and the captain dove into your neck again, kissing you just below your ear.

“Yes,” you answered with heavily weighted breath.

“And do you remember how you kissed me? How you teased me before you slid your sweet little tongue into my mouth? Do you remember?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed in affirmation.

“And do you remember how good it felt when my tongue was in between your legs? How it felt when my beard brushed against your thighs.”

Ghost felt his face grow hot. The scene in front of him made him feel like an intruder, a dirty and unwelcome voyeur. He knew he should leave.

But he couldn't make himself move.

He needed the truth.

He watched as one of Price’s hands left your hair and trailed slowly down your body. His fingers moved from your collarbone. Lower. Grazing your breast. Lower. Lingering over your stomach… Lower.

“Yesssss,” you whined as Price’s hand slid underneath the waistband of your pants and disappeared from Ghost’s view.

“And do you remember how hard you made me? Just by tasting you? Tell me you remember.”

You whimpered. It was a sound Ghost had never heard from you. Sweet. High-pitched. Soft.

Price’s shoulder moved up and down. His hand still plunged between your legs.

Ghost swallowed against a lump in his throat.

“I- fuckkkk,” you bucked your hips toward Price, “I remember.”

“And tell me you remember how I fucked you. When I first pushed inside you… how was it? Do you remember was I fast, like this?”

Ghost watched as Price moved his hand quicker. In and out. His right shoulder rose. Up and down. Faster, faster, and faster.

You yelped. The noise was loud and short. Your hands left Price’s hair and dug into his shoulders. You were clawing into him desperately. Falling apart with every second, every movement.

“No… no you weren’t fast,” your voice wavered as you answered.

“Good. Good girl. You remembered. Yeah, I was slow, just like this. Wasn’t I?” Price eased his pace, slowing down the movement of his hand buried in your pants.

“Yes… just like that,” you moaned as your eyes rolled back. You were lifting your hips up and down on Price’s lap now. Matching his pace.

Ghost shifted on his knees. His hand tightened against the doorknob as he continued to watch you both from the dimly lit hall.

“Has anyone else ever made you feel like that before, sweetheart? Has anyone ever made you feel that good?” Price asked as his voice dropped lower. He was practically growling at you.

And you…your face turned pink. Your lips parted. Your eyes closed. And your breathing… it became sporadic. Each inhale became a gasp. Each exhale became more desperate than the last.

This was wrong. Ghost shouldn’t be watching this. This wasn’t his intention. He never meant to see this. His eyes fell to the ground. But still, he stayed. He listened.

“No,” you moaned.

“That’s right. And no one has ever made me feel as good as you did either. You felt so good, love. So fucking good. And you want to know why I trust you?”

Ghost eyes snapped back to the two of you. This was the answer he needed.

“Mmmm tell me...” you gasped. The Captain picked up his pace, his hand delving between your legs with greater force. God the sounds your body was making. They were so loud. “Please tell me, Price.”

“It’s because I love you, beautiful. I’m so in love with you. You’re so perfect. I trust you with my life because I love you. I want to fuck you like that all the time… because I love you. If anyone got to love you like I love you they would trust you. Forever. Always.”

Ghost heard enough. He quietly backed away and gently closed the door.

He had found a truth today. Even if it wasn’t his place to hear it.

-----------------------------------------------------

(More from this story on AO3)

[baeddel]

on the racist riots in Belfast

i made a post in 2021 titled "dispatch on the unrest in Belfast" (click) trying to provide some local-knowledge context for the sectarian riots in town. i have no such special knowledge to offer this time. it has been, to be honest, shocking to me how many people came to them and how well organized they were. we have seen an increasing prevalence of anti-immigrant racism in the north in recent years; graffiti saying "locals only" (simple meaning: "whites only") on council houses going to market has been reported on since 2014 (click, 2018 click, 2023 click), for example. and in 2022 the PSNI released a report stating that hate crimes of every kind, including racist hate crimes, had reached the highest of any year since they began counting in 2004/5 (click). according to the BBC as of 2014 "on average a racially motivated offence takes place at least once a day" in Belfast (click) and it has only risen since that. but it was obviously not organized at this scale before. my girlfriend remarked that this was the first time Northern Ireland has had a race riot and i think, assuming we treat sectarian riots as something else, that may be true? (the UK-wide 1919 race riots did not seem to affect Ireland from what i could find and anyway were a bit before partition; otherwise they are quite similar to what is happening today).

perhaps no further context is really possible to give; they are race riots and they are happening because of racism. nevertheless i will try and write down some things i've thought about it.

in the 2021 post i talked about the nature of the disorder, where if you looked at the footage mostly people stood on the pavement and watched while the professionals—loyalist paramilitaries—handled the direct action (hijacking and burning busses and such). that is because these demonstrations were organized by the paramilitaries and everyone must obey them. that is not the case here; the crowds attack people of colour and immigrants, their homes or businesses owned by them, wherever they can find them. if they were kicked out of one area they went somewhere else and did it there; or else they did it where they lived as on Sandy Row. so it seems to be genuinely spontaneous and not directed from above.

the paramilitaries claim they did not organize it (the Belfast Telegraph quote what they call a 'senior loyalist' saying "[w]e didn’t start this, we aren’t behind it" click—what a demonstrative article, by the way, the police asking the paramilitaries for help with population control!). they say that about everything, but i think i believe them this time for that reason. it doesn't look paramilitary. i suppose whoever organized it must be taking orders from England. however, we are aware of at least some involvement by paramilitaries. the rightists who travelled up from Ireland were identified by PSNI and Gardaí to be fraternizing with UDA men (click). blueshirts associating with loyalists is not really surprising but i am not sure it has happened before. PSNI also claim there is a "paramilitary element" within the racist riots but are reluctant to say they're behind them (click).

i have talked before about how loyalism has felt a bit of a transition from an armed struggle into something that looks like a popular movement, with demonstrations and direct action becoming the main source of spectacle. it's possible there is a gradual transition towards this point, where paramilitary hierarchy becomes secondary to a spontaneously organized reactionary movement.

it also fits into a pattern that i have talked about before (click, also here), which is that democracy in the north has undergone dramatic changes recently. whereas in the past the national conversation dominated politics, today ordinary issues of civil society are decisive. the DUP lost their monopoly on unionist voters because of how they handled COVID, the border, the cost of living and so forth—problems a normal political party is expected to solve, not a party holding down a sovereignty under siege as they were supposed to be—and that's why SF got the majority. immigration is one such 'normal' political issue, and racist violence breaks out in Belfast in a way that doesn't differ substantially to how it breaks out at the same time in a normal country like England.

speaking of the fracturing of the DUP, i felt that it was significant that we could name, as a precipitating event, the fracturing of the right wing parties in general. in the north of Ireland the DUP lost much of its support, but no single party could replace it; several unionist parties now leech its vote, while moderate unionists vote for Alliance. and in the recent election the Tories lost to Labour, but they also lost many seats to Reform. between SF and Labour we are in an era where for the first time in a long time the UK is governed by center left parties, meanwhile it is unclear what opposition has the mandate of the right-wing voter. this means that for a right wing person electoral party politics looks like an ambiguous, distant and unrewarding terrain of struggle. perhaps that is a background condition as to why racist propagandists have been able to mobilize so many people into joining these events.

something else that struck me as possibly a precipitating event is that for the better part of a year we've had extremely active and persistent organizing around Palestine in the UK, in terms of demonstrations, direct action and even in electoral politics (with several independent candidates who care about Gaza taking seats from Labour in the last election). thus, right-wing racists have seen news about pro-Palestine organizing almost every day for a long time. we know that here in the north when Palestinian flags are flown it isn't long before Israel flags are flown in response. i think it's possible to see the specifically anti-Islamic character of the riots as a kind of counter-revolution or reaction to Palestine.

those were the thoughts i had to share. on Friday 9th (today as i write this) there is a racist demonstration planned, as well as a counter-protest. the counter-protest is backed by NIPSA (a big NI union) as well as the Belfast City Council (! click), so perhaps it will be big. it starts at 4:30pm. stay safe.

[bonefall]

This is a genuine question! Would Moonpaw in your world be Intersex? And how would the clans view it? I worry due to how in canon, the clans can seem...sexist towards female cats, and I don’t know how they'd react to a intersex cat.

BB!Moonpaw is going to be intersex yes

It's actually seen as very special! Clan culture's concept of gender is Trinary. There are THREE genders, and none of them match completely to the US/UK's concept of gender roles.

1. "Woman"/Molly/Yaow.

Given to AFAB cats by default. This gender is expected to have an active, argumentative role in the Clan. They are socialized to have a domineering and active role in their personal relationships, while also doing the emotional and physical labor of taking care of their camp and kits.

The "Bailey" to a tomcat's "Motte." They are supposed to be the secondary, smarter, more deadly line of defense against threats.

2. "Man"/Tom/Ssuf.

Given to AMAB cats by default. This gender is expected to be passive but protective, giving ground to a molly or a gib who "understands the nuances of camp better." They're socialized to spend more time out of the camp and do more hunting and patrolling than their counterparts.

The gender is named for the sound of spraying, as marking territory is what Ssuf cats are most associated with.

In these genders, being trans is more normalized than not living according to the roles. They have a different idea of being queer compared to us!

"Third Gender"/Gib/Meewa.

This doesn't translate into English very well. We would call it nonbinary by our standards, but this is a full gender role to Clan cats.

Gibs can be assigned at birth when they display sacred signs, such as closely resembling a dead nyams, having extra claws, being perfectly identical twins, or having intersex traits. It is a role associated with wisdom, conflict resolution, and long-term planning.

They are often socialized to be more intuitive and spiritual, but from a young age they might get given more responsibility than they're ready for. Especially if they're silver or gray, a color associated with wisdom.

I usually keep using the pronouns from canon because of 1. Simplicity since the whole fandom is used to them, 2. The fact that Clanmew doesn't use gendered pronouns anyway, and 3. It helps keep my xey/xem drops more special. But a LOT of cats are actually meewa in-universe.

Gray Wing the Wise

Yellowfang

Deadfoot

Ashfoot

Whitestorm

Spottedleaf

Blackstar

Waspwhisker/star

Duckfur

Kestrelflight

Cinderheart

Poppyfrost

Jayfeather

Dovewing

Shadowsight

There are also cats who have transitioned away from being Meewa. This is how both Hazeltail and Mousewhisker, identical twins, are transfem and transmasc respectively. I am planning for Frostpaw to ALSO transition out of the meewa gender, she will be transfem.

So Moonpaw, with xeir half-moon face, intersex traits, and connection to the moonpool? That is a DEAD RINGER for a meewa-gendered gib. The only thing she's missing is any amount of gray. I am going to use She/Xey for her going foward.

(I can see her receiving something silvery as a gift someday. Probably from one of her parents-- I'm currently leaning towards FlipBay or ShellFern PRETTY hard, and Flipclaw or Fernstripe would do something like that I think.)

(Fern would be more of a trader though I think. I feel like she's not very dexterous, but WICKED smart. Flip is discovering a talent for toymaking.)

This is actually a part of BB's Clan Culture reworks I play a lot more loosely than other bits, but it's still a lot of fun!

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - November 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! (sorry it's slightly late, the links didn't wanna work and I couldn't figure it out all day)

1. Wyoming's abortion ban has been overturned, including its ban on abortion medication

“Wyoming is the second state to have its near-total abortion ban overturned this month[…. Seven other states] also approved amendments protecting the right to an abortion. A lawsuit seeking to challenge the [FDA]’s approval of abortion medication recently failed when the Supreme Court refused to hear it[….]”

2. Patches of wildflowers in cities can be just as good for insects as natural meadows – study

“This study confirmed that small areas of urban wildflowers have a high concentration of pollinating insects, and are as valuable to many pollinators as larger areas of natural meadow that you would typically find rurally.”

3. Paris could offer new parents anti-pollution baby 'gift bags' to combat 'forever chemicals'

“The bag includes a stainless steel baby cup, a wooden toy, reusable cotton wipes, and non-toxic cleaning supplies as part of a "green prescription". […] The city will also have 44 centres for protecting mothers and infants that will be without any pollutants[….]”

4. Indigenous guardians embark on a sacred pact to protect the lowland tapir in Colombia

“The tapir is now the focus of an Indigenous-led conservation project[… A proposed “biocultural corridor”] will protect not only the populations and movements of wildlife such as tapirs, but also the cultural traditions and spirituality of the Inga and other neighboring Indigenous peoples[….]”

5. Denmark will plant 1 billion trees and convert 10% of farmland into forest

“[…] 43 billion kroner ($6.1 billion) have been earmarked to acquire land from farmers over the next two decades[.… In addition,] livestock farmers will be taxed for the greenhouse gases emitted by their cows, sheep and pigs from 2030, the first country to do so[….]”

6. The biggest grid storage project using old batteries is online in Texas

“[Element operates “used EV battery packs” with software that can] fine-tune commands at the cell level, instead of treating all the batteries as a monolithic whole. This enables the system to get more use out of each cell without stressing any so much that they break down[….]””

7. Durable supramolecular plastic is fully ocean-degradable and doesn't generate microplastics

“The new material is as strong as conventional plastics and biodegradable, [… and] is therefore expected to help reduce harmful microplastic pollution that accumulates in oceans and soil and eventually enters the food chain.”

8. Big Oil Tax Could Boost Global Loss and Damage Fund by 2000%

“[… A] tax on fossil fuel extraction, which would increase each year, combined with additional taxes on excess profits would […] generate hundreds of billions of dollars by the end of the decade to assist poor and vulnerable communities with the impact of the climate crisis[….]”

9. Rooftop solar meets 107.5 pct of South Australia’s demand, no emergency measures needed

“[T]he state was able to export around 658 MW of capacity to Victoria at the time[….] The export capacity is expected to increase significantly as the new transmission link to NSW[…] should be able to allow an extra 150 MW to be transferred in either direction by Christmas.”

10. Light-altering paint for greenhouses could help lengthen the fruit growing season in less sunny countries

“[Scientists] have developed a spray coating for greenhouses that could help UK farmers to produce more crops in the future using the same or less energy[… by optimising] the wavelength of light shining onto the plants, improving their growth and yield.”

November 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[wordingg]

Proud Parents

Dead Boy Ween Day 5, prompt: family

Summary: Crystal is insistent that she doesn't need the dead boys to attend her graduation ceremony. But, Charles and Edwin would never let Crystal go alone.

AN: I got like halfway through this one and realized that schools in the UK probably don't have graduation ceremonies the same way American schools. They might not even have graduation ceremonies at all. BUT I HAVEN'T MISSED A DAY YET AND IM NOT GONNA START NOW SO YOU'RE JUST GONNA HAVE TO SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF. okay thanks.

“You guys can’t come to my graduation, okay?” Crystal said firmly.

It was a little hard to take her seriously when she was standing in a veritable ocean of clothes and shaking what looked like a very fancy sunhat at them, but her expression was very serious.

“My parents are going to be there and I don’t want any weird ghost shit going on, okay?” Crystal added. She threw them an exasperated look when both boys just stared at her with folded arms.

“They said they’re going to be there?” Charles asked with a raised eyebrow.

“They gave a very firm maybe, which is practically a yes for them,” Crystal snapped back.

Charles frowned at that, but Edwin spoke over whatever he was planning to say.

“Of course, if you don’t want us to attend your graduation ceremony, we will respect your wishes,” Edwin said benevolently.

“Thank you, Edwin,” Crystal said, with a pointed look at Charles.

“You’re quite welcome, Crystal,” Edwin said with a polite nod.

Crystal disappeared back into her walk in closet to continue to dig for something good enough to wear under her graduation gown. Charles turned to Edwin with a confused frown.

“There’s no way her parents are going to show up for graduation, is there?” he asked sincerely.

“Not a chance,” Edwin said, still watching the closet door. “I checked their calendar and they’ve already booked two interviews and something called an ‘experimental banjo sesh’ for the same time as the ceremony.”

“God, what arseholes,” Charles muttered. “Crystal deserves better.”

“Of course she does,” Edwin said with an arched brow. “That is why we will be better for her.”

Charles’ mouth stretched into a manic grin and Edwin’s own mouth twitched at the edges with infectious glee.

---

The day of her graduation, Crystal was sweating with nerves. She had opted to finish her degree online when her attempts to make up with many of the people in her class that she had wronged had gone badly, to say the least. It was the first time in months that she was in the same room with them. It was a big gymnasium, but it was hard not to notice all the venomous looks pointed her way from almost every corner.

Crystal wiped her palms on the fabric of her gown, but the artificial fabric did nothing to wick the moisture away from her skin. She wanted to touch her cap to make sure it was sitting straight, but was worried about knocking her elaborate hairstyle down. She had gotten up early to arrange her curls into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. It had been a bigger challenge than she expected and as a result her hair was mostly held together by two dozen bobby pins and sheer determination.

Crystal’s parents had already been gone by the time she was ready to leave for the ceremony, but she tried not to let that get her down. She had just talked to them the night before and they had confirmed their definite maybe for her graduation. She just had to have faith. They probably were picking up flowers or a cake or something. They knew Crystal was very self sufficient and could call her own cab to take her to the school.

Finally it was time to line up and walk out onto the field. Luckily, Crystal ended up in line between two boys that she didn’t recognize and who didn’t seem all that interested in her. They walked out of the gymnasium and into the bright spring day outside. Crystal was briefly blinded, but as soon as her eyes cleared she looked out into the crowd for her parents.

The field outside the gym was absolutely packed with people. There were rows and rows of folding chairs set up for the students graduating. The line steadily filled the rows in, directed by teachers in suits and skirts. Around the folding chairs were metal bleachers packed with adults and other kids alike, everyone snapping photos and waving and shouting things as the students filing into the chairs occasionally picked someone out of the crowd and waved back.

She didn’t see her parents as she walked out, but it was a madhouse. Probably they were there and she just didn’t see them. That was fine. Crystal turned around during a speech started to try and look again and got hissed at by one of the teachers, so she turned back around and pretended to pay attention.

The speeches washed over her like so much noise. She couldn’t have recalled anything that was said even if her life depended on it. Her mind was on the crowd at her back and her parents, the anxiety of not knowing crawling up her throat and threatening to choke her.

Then, finally, they started calling names and it was time to walk across the stage and claim her diploma. The school had considered ‘Von Hoverkraft’ to be her last name, so she had to wait until almost every other kid had gone before she could stand up and walk across the small pop up stage to shake the hand of a sweaty middle aged man she didn’t recognize and take her diploma.

As she did so, a camera flashed from the crowd, loud and bright and briefly blinding her. Crystal felt tears pricking her eyes and it wasn’t just from the bright flash. Someone was taking her picture and she couldn’t help but hope it was her dad, memorializing her finally finishing high school, finally becoming an adult.

Her smile turning sincere for the first time that day, Crystal walked to the other side of the stage and back to her seat feeling breathless. They were here somewhere in the crowd. They had come. They had shown up for her.

A few more kids went up to get their diploma and there was one last short speech. Everyone was itching for the ceremony to be over, so the speech didn’t last for very long. Soon, the ceremony was over and the two crowds (students and families) rushed toward each other, students merging into the bleachers while parents and siblings ran into the lines of folding chairs.

Crystal stood up, but then she froze. She was short in her sensible flats and couldn’t see over the heads of the crowd to find her parents. She started to move toward the bleachers, but it was a wild press of people and she felt a surge of panic that she wouldn’t be able to find them in time, that the crowds would deter them and her parents would leave without her seeing them.

Halfway to the bleachers, Crystal felt a man’s hand on her upper arm, pulling her to a stop. Crystal whipped around, not sure if she should be ecstatic or vicious, and looked into a familiar face. Familiar, but not the one she was hoping for.

An older man, maybe in his fifties, with red hair almost completely turned white and distinguished rimless glasses was smiling down at her. It was Charles in his living person disguise.

“Crystal, this way!” he said over the low roar of the crowd, guiding her away from the bleachers and through them toward the parking lot.

Briefly, Crystal felt irritated. She had told them not to come. But, she couldn’t hold onto her frustration for very long. She was scared and upset and hopeful by equal measures and Charles’ presence was a comforting. She eventually shook his hand off her arm so that she could instead grab his hand in hers and he smiled down at her again.

Charles led her out of the crowd and around to the back of the metal bleachers, where Crystal saw a woman in big acrylic frames wearing a little maroon beret over blonde hair peppered with white. Edwin.

“I told you guys I didn’t want you here,” Crystal muttered. “I have to get back. My parents might leave if they can’t find me.”

Charles and Edwin exchanged a speaking look and Crystal’s stomach dropped.

“We weren’t going to come,” Charles started to say. Crystal realized suddenly that he was wearing a big old fashioned camera around his neck by a strap. She swallowed around a lump in her throat.

“But, we also weren’t about to leave you here alone if they didn’t come,” Edwin said quickly.

Crystal felt her eyes filling with tears and firmly told herself not to blink. If she blinked, they would fall and if they started to fall, they might never stop.

She looked at Edwin. Edwin would tell her the truth, even if it hurt. She could trust him to do that for her.

“I’m sorry, Crystal,” he said quietly. “I followed them all morning. We only came once we were sure they were not going to make it to your graduation ceremony.”

It didn’t matter that Crystal hadn’t blinked, the tears began to fall anyway. She dashed them away viciously but they just kept falling.

“God, you must think I’m so naive,” she laughed. “You must have wanted so bad to tell me how stupid I was being. So, go ahead. Say it,” she glared at Edwin, but he only stared evenly back. “Say I was stupid for believing in them! You would be right!” she cried.

“Crystal Palace, you are the farthest thing from stupid,” Edwin said, like it was the most factual thing in the world.

“You’re a good daughter,” Charles said gently, “and you love your parents. That’s not a fault, Crystal. It’s admirable that you keep trying.”

The tears were coming faster now and Crystal gave up on trying to preserve her mascara and eyeliner and instead rubbed at her eyes, probably smearing black makeup everywhere.

“Eds! The flowers!” Charles whispered while Crystal tried desperately to get her tears under control.

She heard rustling and then when she opened her eyes it was to a huge bouquet of lilies, big pink ones with little brown spots exploding out from yellow centers, filled in all around with delicate baby’s breath.

“You got me flowers?” Crystal wobbled, fresh tears threatening to fall.

“And a balloon, but I sort of forgot those things float and it got away from me,” Charles said with a hangdog expression.

Edwin sighed at the mention of the balloon, but shook it off quickly. He stepped in to run his thumbs delicately under Crystal’s eyes, clearing away the smudged makeup along with a few stray tears.

“And, we will be taking you to that awful raw fish buffet that you like,” Edwin said as he cleaned up her makeup here and there.

“It’s called sushi, I know you know that. And, I don’t think they’ll let you come in if you aren’t going to eat anything,” Crystal sniffed.

“I dare say you will eat enough raw fish for the rest of us,” Edwin said, dry as the Sahara desert.

“And, we’ll tell everyone within hearing distance how proud we are of our amazing daughter who just graduated from high school!” Charles added with a grin.

“Yes, she’s quite amazing,” Edwin said, stepping back and judging Crystal’s makeup good enough so long as she didn’t start crying again. “Neither of us ever finished high school. She’s the first in our family to do so.”

“We’re proud parents, we are,” Charles said, elbowing Edwin with a grin that earned him an eye roll and a reluctant smile.

“You guys…” Crystal trailed off, sniffing. She clutched the flowers closer to her chest, the paper crinkling against her graduation gown. Golden pollen smeared against the cheap polyester and stuck to it, but she couldn’t possibly bring herself to care at the moment.

“Please, Crystal, no more tears. I just fixed your mascara,” Edwin complained, stepping in again to fan at her face with his hands like maybe he could dry the tears before they fell.

Crystal hiccuped around a sound that might have been a sob or a laugh, even she wasn’t sure. She threw her arms around both of their necks, drawing Charles and Edwin into a group hug. The bracketed her sides and the flowers crinkled against their backs. She felt their arms settle around her waist, their heads tilted against her own.

“Thanks, you guys,” she said thickly.

“Of course, Crystal,” Edwin whispered back.

“Anytime,” Charles agreed.

[disneyprincemuke]

our spot * ls2

a text from you is the last thing logan expects when he's back home for the holidays especially when it's your first text in almost two years

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of infidelity

notes: YOOO how is it that i've been screaming about oscar and sebastian for weeks yet i write about logan first anyway? hope u enjoy this bc i OFC enjoyed breaking my own heart while writing this <;/3

super long read btw, it's like 3.7k words

(f1 masterlist)

(part two)

logan isn't back home very often. he doesn't exactly have the chance to, given his circumstances. so when he is, it's typically a nice breath of fresh air. because that's where you are.

or at least, used to be.

he doesn’t hear from you often anymore. since he’d gotten busier with his promotion to f1, it’s been a lot harder to keep in touch with you.

admittedly, he does miss you. but what right does he have to tell you that outwardly?

the only way he knows what’s going on with you are whatever you let the public know of yourself. your instagram posts and stories don’t come often, so logan might as well consider you a stranger.

he only knows one thing, that his mother let slip over the phone during their call, that you’ve started seeing somebody recently. he doesn’t know if you’re still together — the man his mother speaks of doesn’t exist on any of your platforms.

perhaps it’s because it’s only hearsay? but you’ve always been sort of a private person yourself, so he’s not exactly surprised.

logan sighs to himself, rolling his chair over to the window that faces what used to be your bedroom. the window is shut with its curtains drawn.

you moved out the moment you turned 18. he once had your address when you gave it to him, and he kicks himself over the fact that he never got around to visiting you and seeing how you’ve come into your own.

he never got to see the apartment you would talk about growing up and all the decorations you planned on putting up.

he wonders, did you ever keep the framed picture with him when you went to disneyworld as kids? did you bring it with you?

logan huffs and pulls down his blinds. he turns to face his room, leaning back into his seat. it’s the holidays, but there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do with absolutely nobody.

his friends have all gone back to visit and spend time with family. he spent his first couple of days with his family, but even they’ve got better things to eventually.

all he can do is train for his next season.

he decides to finally get up to his feet, grabbing the gym bag that sits on the edge of his bed. he’s just about to drive to the gym when his phone lights up his dim bedroom.

a notification from you that makes his heart race and hands shake. a text from you is the last thing he expected out of his visit.

he hasn’t talked to you in nearly 2 years.

heard ur back home

he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. he doesn’t write a reply immediately, so much hesitation and confusion mixing in his mind.

it’s taken him so off guard that he comes to a realisation that he doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore.

just for the holidays, im headed back to the uk after new year’s

your response is quick.

our spot

logan’s got no idea what you mean by that. until another text from you comes in.

10 minutes. see u

oh. you’re actually asking to see him.

suddenly he’s got no idea what to do. does he actually go?

he’s pacing around his room, frantically searching for the things he’d need to go and see you. which, wouldn’t actually be much. just his phone, his wallet, and

his gaze lands on the sad pile in the corner of his room, trinkets he’s collected from traveling the world in his first season. collected just for you, like you’d always talked about growing up.

now begs the question: does he bring it with him or does he just forget it ever existed?

doesn’t matter. he grabs his phone and wallet, heading out the door. his history with you is never spoken about.

maybe once, on a drunken night in australia with oscar. when he asked logan why he’s still visibly single, logan explained his situation.

how you kissed him the day he was leaving to stay in europe to fully commit to his junior career. how you’d called him every single night when you were teenagers, waiting around months at a time for him to come by for a short visit.

how you told him you loved him one evening when you were 19, in london when you were over for a visit. and how he had to put it on hold for his junior career, and never had the chance to get around to it because of his commitments to formula 1 now.

he had put it on hold, thinking you’d be around forever for him to come back to. he knows now that he’s never been more wrong in his life.

oscar never brought it up again after seeing the american choke on his words and laugh nervously as he retold the story.

when he found out you were seeing somebody, his heart broke. but he couldn't get himself to ask you about it. he knows it's his fault that you're in somebody else's arms now.

he quietly pads through his home, trying to pass his family members who have all resided in their individual bedrooms. even they've got no idea what's gone down between you two.

as far as they're concerned, you just simply drifted apart with time.

he parks his pickup truck right between the methodist building and what used to be the school you attended together growing up. he sits behind the wheel, eyes scanning the dark for any signs of you being here.

it's not a very far drive, only 5 minutes from his house and yours. just a playground that you used to hang at when you were growing up. when the world got too loud, this is where you'd come to regain composure.

he'd caught you one evening sitting here all alone when you were 8, and it's become your spot for late-night talks ever since. right on that green slide is where logan told you that he wanted to be an f1 driver when he was older.

it was on that blue swing that you admitted the crush you've had on him your entire life, and he reciprocated.

his heart races in his chest, unsure if you'd meant what you texted him. what if you bailed and this was all some sick twisted joke you're pulling on him?

and a random car pulls up in front of the methodist. he anticipates the moment you'd crawl out of the driver's seat, looking different from the last time he saw you - which was about 2 years ago when he last talked to you.

but after about a second, the backseat door opens, your leg poking out with your hair dishevelled in a ponytail. you close the door as you step onto the sidewalk, tugging down your dress that's hiked up your thighs as the car drives off.

logan finally turns off his engine, stepping out shortly after you. your eye roams the quiet street, locking into his as he watches you take a deep breath.

he nods, pointing towards the playground. you nod. he locks his truck and slowly makes his way to the brightly lit playground between the two establishments.

you make a beeline for the swing, dropping yourself down and bending forward to unstrap the heels that suffocate your feet. logan's not even going to ask where you'd come from all dolled up.

he occupies the empty swing next to you, clasping his hands together and placing them between his knees. it's a lot colder than he initially anticipated and his sweatpants are barely keeping him comfortable.

you sit in silence for the next couple of minutes. there's chatter from the methodist building next to you. you pick at your nails, trying to soften your breathing.

it's only then logan notices that your cheeks are flushed and the smell of alcohol in the air. which is obviously not coming from either place that surrounds both of you.

"are you drunk?" logan starts in a whisper, craning his neck down trying to get a look at you.

you look at him from the side of your eyes, lips pouted out in a frown. "tipsy," you correct him, "not drunk."

he nods to himself, rocking back and forth on the swing. he leans his head on the chain that holds his body up. he doesn't really know what to say.

in fact, he doesn't think there's much to say. you were the one who started ghosting him all those years ago. he's not upset or bitter about it, but he completely understands why you'd done it.

if he were in your position, he can almost guarantee that he would have taken the same measures.

"how long have you been back?" you ask, eyes tracing the design on the rubber playground floor. "why didn't you tell me?"

logan raises his eyebrows. "uh," he stutters, "i didn't know i had to. i'm sorry."

you shrug. "you didn't have to," you trail off, dropping your head low to avoid his gaze. "i just thought you would've told me when you'd come for a visit. we haven't seen each other in a while."

yeah, 2 years, he wanted to say.

"it's cause we haven't seen each other in a while that i didn't think to tell you i'm back home," logan admits solemnly, pressing his lips together. "i'm sorry, though. if i knew, you would've been the first person i told."

"i'm sorry i stopped picking up your calls," you suddenly say softly. "and answering your text messages. and telling my parents to tell you i'm away on vacation every time you came to visit."

he just nods. it hurt when you first started distancing yourself from him. but, what can he do?

he sort of caught on in the second week after you let him facetime call ring twice without an answer. that would’ve marked the fifth call you ignored, and the twentieth text you left him on delivered.

so he dropped it. he thought that maybe you would come around when he comes back to miami. apparently not, because you were ‘away’ on a trip with friends. which, now he knows, could possibly be just a lie.

logan smiles, mostly to himself as you’re looking straight ahead at the playground’s structure. “i get it. it’s alright.”

“no, really,” you adjust yourself to look at him with a sigh. “i feel horrible every single day about what i did. but i just didn’t know how to cope with the fact that you put me in the backseat when i was right there.”

“hey.” logan slumps his shoulders. suddenly he feels a tinge of guilt in his chest, and no amount of quick convincing makes it go away. “i understand why you did what you did. you deserve to be with someone who puts you first. i didn’t do that.”

you shake your head. a small smile creeps up on your face, looking up as your eyes start to glisten under the lights. “you don’t get it.”

“what do you mean?”

“i miss you,” you say in a sigh. “i thought you said you loved me too?”

“i did,” logan nods. then he corrects himself: “i do.”

“i still think of you,” you admit with a small smile. you laugh dryly to yourself before looking ahead at the playground. “sometimes i wonder how different our lives would be if i’d just never… stopped waiting.”

logan rests his head on the chain that holds the swing up. “sometimes i wonder how nice it’d be if i’d just,” he sighs, “chosen you.”

“same.”

he can see himself on the playground with you all those years ago. sitting in the structure, giggling with one another as you talk about your separate lives.

your lives seem to come together when you’re on that playground, though you walk separate paths that would prove to be more detrimental to your friendship.

you’d indulge one another in gossip the other had no idea about, but tried their hardest to relate and mirror frustrations. more often than not, a notebook is laid down on the ground between you while you try to draw out the situation of said gossips.

it always makes logan cringe thinking of how invested he’d gotten in your drama with your friends.

“i’m seeing somebody,” you whisper.

“i heard from mum.”

“yeah.”

logan takes a few breaths. “is he good to you?”

you nod. he just smiles then plants his feet into the ground. “that’s good. i’m so happy for you.”

“he’s not you, though, logan.”

he turns his head, looking at you in shock. “what?”

“i want you to tell me i’ve made a mistake,” you say flatly, turning your head to look at him with a frown. “tell me i shouldn’t be with him.”

“i can’t say that to you,” logan frowns, eyebrows furrowing at your sudden request. “i can’t decide that for you.”

you take a deep breath, shakily letting it out. “tell me you still want me, logan. and i’m all yours.” you sigh. “but i need you to say it to my face. cause i won’t wait for you if you don’t ask me to stay.”

logan searches your eyes for any sort of hesitation, or signs of backing off. but he doesn’t. you’ve got that same glimmer in your eye that he’s seen over and over again.

“i do,” he sighs, shaking his head. “i really do. but i can’t promise you anything. i’ll only break your heart. you know this. we lead two very different lives.”

you shrug, dropping your head again. “we could make it work. you’ll never really know.”

“please don’t do this. you’re with somebody else who gives you the world, i’m sure,” he tried to explain to you. “better than i can. you know at least that for a fact.”

you finally stand up, fists clenched by your side. “i can see it in your eyes, logan. you don’t want things to be this way — i’m giving you a chance to change the course of things.”

he looks up at you, lips parted and mind running with thoughts that all contradicted one another.

not talking to you took a while to get used to. especially when he moved up to formula 1, it was hard to find someone to talk to who would listen to him talk without judgement.

he needed your presence the most when he felt so out of place in his environment; like he was an imposter who didn’t deserve to be where he did.

your sudden departure from his life took a harder hit than he cares to admit. he thought about you every single day: the one person who can tell which smiles he fakes on the daily.

the ultimatum you’re giving him is too tough to make a decision on the spot. in hindsight, he’s not only breaking your heart, but also his.

logan sighs, standing up to tower over you. he hovers a hand over your shoulder. “let me drive you home.”

“no, come on, logan!” you shove his hand away from you and stumble a step back. “do something for once! risk something!”

“it’s not that easy.”

“but it is,” you say, matter-of-factly, giving him a stare of indifference. you hold your arms up by your side and raise your eyebrows. “i know my pain is such an imposition. but i’m tired of feeling like this when i know how you feel for me!

“when i know how to make this pain go away. work with me here, logan.”

“i can’t do that because there are more important things on the line for me right now!” logan spits at you, throwing his hands into the air. “i do, okay! i do love you! i think about you every single day, but i can’t throw away everything i’ve ever worked for just to be with you!”

“who says you’ve got to do that?” you shout back, shoving him slightly. “i’m asking you to choose me alongside everything you’ve got, not drop your entire career for me!”

“i’m a fucking laughing stock, do you not see what’s circulating the internet?” he asks exasperatedly with an eyeroll. “you don’t want that going for you. i’ve got bigger things to work on.”

he turns on his heel and walks towards his truck. when he doesn’t hear your footsteps following him, he stops halfway and turns to you. “get in the car, i’m driving you back.”

“so this is how it’s going to be?” you laugh dryly, gesturing at your surroundings with a finger point. “you’re just going to push me aside because you think you can’t give me what i need?”

“i don’t think it — i know so.”

“and what exactly is it that you think i need?”

“somebody to show up for you when it matters,” logan huffs, slowly making his way back over to you. “somebody who can love you even on his worst days; who can take you out on dates, love you on your bad days, and just be there for you.

“i can’t even do that for myself. what the hell makes you think i can do all of that for you?”

he stops right in front of you, chest heaving from frustration and eyebrows furrowed as he towers over you. “i won’t be the person who can give you what you need. not now, i’m still working to be better.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i’m done with this conversation, (y/n),” he sighs, taking a step back. the smell of your perfume increases his urge to just pull you into his arms, but he can’t do that to you, himself, or the guy you’re with. “get in the car, i’m driving you home.”

"fine, whatever," you snap, folding your arms over your chest and stomping towards him to reach the white pickup truck by the corner.

when he planned on coming home for the winter break, you reaching out was never one of his things to expect. he thought that you were absolutely done with him, given that you hadn't talked to him in nearly two years.

his brothers giving him flack for his formula 1 season, maybe, but you confessing your feelings for him all over again? he hadn't ever thought about it in a million years.

when he climbs into the driver's seat, you've already fastened your seatbelt. your legs are crossed, like your arms over your chest, and your body is tilted towards the window.

logan sighs. "(y/n). please understand it from my side. i don't want to hurt you any more than i already have. you don't deserve this."

you still don't meet his eyes. your eyes are trained on the dark scenery outside with a prominent frown on your face. "just take me back to my parents' house."

"what about your apartment?"

"i put it out on the market a month ago," you admit softly as logan turns on the engine. "i'm moving out of miami."

now, logan is typically a well-tempered person. growing up with brothers, it's definitely one way to train that aspect of yourself.

but the last time he had asked you to reconsider moving to the united kingdom with him after graduation, you had refused. because your life is here in miami: your family, your friends, and everything you've ever known.

all of a sudden, you're moving out of here?

he hadn't faulted you initially, but he might just start seeing a change of heart if it comes down to this.

logan shifts in his seat uncomfortably, lifting his foot from the gas pedal. suddenly he's curious to know more about what's going on in your life: moving out of the house is one thing for you, but moving to a completely different place is something else.

"where are you going?"

"new york for a couple months," you say, staring at the street ahead. "just for some training. after that, i'm off to germany. i got a job offer."

"what about your boyfriend?"

"i haven't told him about it yet," you shrug, "i've been thinking of you too much to consider what is to come of the relationship eventually."

"you shouldn't do that. i'm not your boyfriend."

a dry scoff passes your lips. "thanks, i actually know that."

he pulls up to the front yard of his home. pulling up the handbrake, he turns to you with a hand on the backrest of your seat. "i'm serious. don't sabotage whatever you've got going on for you. embrace it."

"really?" you scrunch your nose as you turn to face him. "life advice from someone who keeps sabotaging all of the lifelines i keep throwing out for him to save what we had going on for years?"

logan sighs. he raises his hands to surrender. "fine. do what you want. i only want the best for you and i know it's not me."

"whatever, logan," you scoff, taking off your seatbelt. you throw it back into place and unlock the car door, pushing it open. "i won't be around forever: remember that."

you crawl out and slam the door behind you. all logan can do is sink in his seat and watch you cross the road, walk up to your front door and shut that behind you as well. you don't spare him another look, which is when it all washes over him like tsunami waves.

but as much as he wants you, he will have to stand true to his words. because he knows his truth: he isn't the person you deserve to be with.