#all the shit about independence from the british and for what.

[iqmmir]

I hate this fucking country

[you-need-not-apply]

you don’t even vote for the liberal party in your own country so stop judging others for not voting for Kamala

I love this ask because clearly anon has no fucking clue how politics in any country work. Lemme break it down:

In Australia, where I come from, liberal party = conservatives. They are not liberal, they’re mildly far right at best.

Also, how Aussie voting works is that you can still vote for third parties, as we don’t actually elect a prime minister. It’s a little confusing but to dumb is down (and yes I know it’s not completely acceptable just go with it)

Australia has multiple parties, notably are The Liberal party (right wing), The Labour Party (likes to be centre some what left mainly right, workers rights but voted against making price gouging illegal), the Greens (I vote for them just because we need green policy but they’re very far left wing), and like 40 other small parties plus all the independents.

How Aussie elections work is the people vote for people to get them seats in parliament, the majority wins and gets to elect a prime minister, they’re kinda like the kid who organised hide in seek and then didn’t play. Basically they have very little real power other than usual shit, they have to go through our Parliament House to get most stuff done.

And as Australia is still under British rule, we have a bunch on governors in each state and then a “head governor” in charge of says “yeah the colony is still there” back to England every now and again.

Also we can’t change our money without British permission. So every time we change something people hear make this big song and dance about it, which is hilarious considering they don’t give a single fuck.

But how does this allow for third party voting?

Let’s pretend there are three parties (only) the blue the red and the yellow parties. Blue and red want to make a ferry, yellow wants a train. People vote.

Now in America, you vote for the party and that’s your only vote. So if more people want the ferry, but because there are two options the vote is split. Boat wins majority vote, but the train would win because it has the most over all. Got it?

In Australia however, we rank our votes. My brain gone I thought it was 7 or 5 but I’m pretty sure that’s wrong, but it varies okay. So if I wanted a boat but I liked red party more than blue, I would vote 1-red 2-blue, 3-yellow.

Now red doesn’t get enough votes let’s say 20 people voted, 7 blue,8 yellow and 5 red: because I voted for 2 blue, and my first party (red) has been eliminated my vote now moves to the blue party, maybe some from the red party also did blue second and maybe some voted yellow second.

Let’s split the red party 4 for blue and 1 for yellow.

Blue has 11 and yellow has 9. Suddenly the ferry has won!

It’s a complicated system but it makes sure not a single vote is wasted, and as voting is compulsory here (thank fuck) it gives people a lot of leeway to fuck around. Hope this helped anon

[norrizzandpia]

Used (LN4)

Summary: A bet can do more harm than good.

Warnings: i dont think ive ever wrote something this angsty, its very sad so be warned, lando is a back stabbing bitch but hes stupidly in love, literally stupidly, insecurities, loss of virginity, major betrayal, sad ending but there will be a part 2 bc as we all know i cant do sad endings

Note: im very sorry for this one

Word count: somewhere in the 4k’s

When Oscar got into F1, Y/n promised herself she wouldn’t follow her brother around the paddock like a lost puppy. With cameras all around and prying eyes, she wanted to come across as independent and strong rather than pathetic and small. For a while, that translated, but it got lonely after a few months. Missing her brother as he was busy doing interviews or creating connections, and losing her parents in the mass of people, she always found herself alone. That was until Lando fully came into the picture. He hadn’t wanted to overstep boundaries with his teammate by befriending his sister, but the boy couldn’t resist when he continued to catch glimpses of her struggle to fit in. She was too young to hang out with any of the racers’ girlfriends, yet too old to hang out with the children of powerful people. She was only 19, still figuring out what life was, why she was here, and what she was meant to do. So, overcoming his own anxieties, Lando approached the girl on a rainy Sunday when the race had been postponed because of the wet weather.

“Can I sit here?” He had said, smiling lightly at her as her head slowly moved up to make eye contact with the popular driver.

She had moved over on the bench, nodding quickly as if she was afraid any time in which he had to wait would set him off.

At first, things were awkward with Lando not knowing anything about her and Y/n being too shy to form any words in front of the boy she thought was cute. Nonetheless, after 20 minutes, words were spoken, and conversing became second nature.

Gradually, Lando felt Y/n warm up to him as she realized the driver was someone she found solace in.

Her first friend in Formula One.

Everyone in the paddock began to take note of the budding friendship quickly evolving between the sister and the driver. While people were happy to see a new connection growing, Oscar was weary. It was no secret Lando had a track record of sleeping around, pretending to be close to women for only one night in order to get what he wanted. The women in question always understood the pattern and never found offense or distaste with it, but Y/n wasn’t that mature, Oscar knew. His sister was still naive and her lack of attention toward media outlets played into her lack of luck as she didn’t realize Lando could be around for all the wrong reasons. Oscar did, though, and he made it incredibly clear to the British boy that any impure advances on his sister were not, and never would be, welcomed.

“You pull any weird shit and I’ll have your head.” He said sternly to Lando in a tone that no one had ever heard come out of the Australian before.

“I’m not going to, Oscar. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but we’ve realized we just have so much in common. There’s nothing else behind it, I promise. I just like your sister’s company. That’s it.” He reassured.

And, for a while, that was true. Lando saw nothing else behind their friendship, however, that soon began to change. He noted the way he became so comfortable being touchy with her or giving her impromptu compliments about how pretty she looked that day. Being experienced in that realm of life, Lando also noted the way her cheeks blushed ever so slightly under his eye, and he couldn’t ignore the way his insides twisted at her subtle happiness over him.

They danced around each other and their feelings for some time until a drunken night changed everything. Lando had invited his friends from DJing over, one of those people being Martin Garrix. The men had laid themselves out on Lando’s luxurious couch with beers in hand, chugging away as they gossiped like 13-year-old girls.

The conversation came easily with these people as Martin interrupted and changed the topic to something a bit more interesting, “Lando, I gotta ask. What’s going on with you and Oscar’s sister?”

At this point in their relationship, Lando was still in the stage of denying any deeper feelings for her, “Nothing? What do you mean?”

Martin shook his head as the boys around him knowingly eyed each other, “Come on, you two are definitely sleeping together.”

“No, we aren’t.” He said immediately, not understanding why he had become so invested in protecting Y/n’s image.

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed, “So, you two aren’t sneaking around behind the brother’s back?”

“No,” Lando said firmly, but his defiance on the subject proved to worsen his situation as Martin set his beer down and looked at him with a mischievous look.

“Then, I have a proposition for you.” His arms rested on his knees as he leaned forward.

“What?” Lando mirrored his stance.

“Obviously, you know I have that really big gig next year at The Cabin in New York.” Lando nodded, “Well, if you can get Y/n to fall in love with you, maybe even sleep with her, I don’t know, then you can play it. Play the set at The Cabin.” Martin’s idea made Lando’s eyes bulge out of his head and his body leap from the couch.

The alcohol in his system proved to do its job by impairing his judgment as he didn’t ask questions or try to understand why Martin would get off on playing with someone in that way. All the boy did was scream his agreeance and then excitement for playing at The Cabin in New York.

“YOU ASKED MY SISTER OUT!?” Oscar had screamed in fury at Lando 2 days later.

Putting his hands up, Lando tried to talk down an aggravated teammate, “Listen, Oscar. Listen,” He pleaded, “I didn’t see it coming, really. But, I…” The words felt sour in his mouth as the guilt for what he was about to embark on set in, “I didn’t expect to fall for her, okay? I just did and I hope you’ll trust me enough that I’m not going to play her like I do the others. I wouldn’t hurt you like that and I especially wouldn’t hurt her like that.”

His words seemed to calm the blonde boy as he looked Lando in the eye, trying to decipher if he was being truthful. And, even though he wasn’t, Oscar found Lando’s spewed sentences to be genuine.

“Fine, but, I’m serious, Lando,” Oscar shoved a finger into Lando’s chest, “if you pull anything, I won’t hesitate to find crazy dirt on you and blackmail McLaren into firing you. Trust me, I’m smart enough to ruin your whole career.”

His threats went in Lando’s right ear and out the other because he found his British accent flooding the room they stood in as he said, “I promise, nothing will happen.”

—

“Is there any specific you want for tonight, my love?” Lando whispered against her skin as they lay in his bed, tangled together after a busy morning of meetings and conversations discussing their announcement of their relationship to the public with McLaren’s PR teams.

She breathed against the crook of his neck as she toyed with his shirt, “No, just excited to go out with you.”

He chuckled as he breathed the scent of her shampoo in, “Me too, baby.”

After nearly 3 months, the couple had fallen easily into the norms of a romantic relationship. Having not yet slept together or fully opened up and shown the other dark parts of themselves, they had a long way to go, but, at that moment, the two were content.

Content with having casual dates, hidden under baseball caps and sunglasses to keep from someone seeing them and outing their newfound connection. Content with the star gazing they had scheduled a few weeks back for that night, fulfilling something Y/n had mentioned she wanted to try.

They found themselves lost in the sky, weeds surrounding them as they lay side by side on a thin blanket to separate them from the rough grass beneath. In a quiet moment with Y/n’s fingers pointing out constellations to him, Lando sunk into himself.

His past few months with her had proven to be a lot more interesting than he had expected. Pretending to be in love with her started to feel less like a forced feeling and more like something he had been destined to feel for her and her only his whole life. The guilt ate away at him, but the love that was slowly consuming him for her trumped it every time.

“Lan? You still here?” Her sweet voice cut through his thoughts, making his head turn to meet her eyes.

He smiled at her, “Yeah, sorry, just lost track of my thoughts, I think.”

Her hand trailed up and down his stomach, “You okay?”

“Mhm, just don’t want to leave.” He nodded, looking at her so she could understand that he didn’t just want to leave this moment, he didn’t want to leave her.

She cracked a small smile, “Oh, me neither.”

A beat of silence went by before she sat up and turned to look down at him, “When did you realize you wanted more than just a friendship between us?”

This question was something he was anticipating and absolutely dreaded because, if he were to tell the truth, he would have to tell her she was a bet with his friends and that was the only reason he had been pushed to confront his underlying feelings for her. Although, wanting his gig, Lando tried to tell a white lie.

“I don’t really know when it happened. I just know that one day I really liked talking with you and the next I just liked you.” Simple and sweet, he thought. That was the trick to getting away with this.

Her blush complicated things and the butterflies in his stomach over her smile laid out the strong counterargument to his mind.

“Hm.” She said as she lowered herself back to the ground.

Lando’s curiosity took over as he asked what she meant by the ominous sound.

“Just that, I didn’t expect you to like me. I mean, you’re past is a lot of picture-perfect models and well-rounded, intellectual, impressive women. Not a 19-year-old kid whose major is undecided as she enters into her second year of college.” Her words struck a deep cord within his chest that he couldn’t not play.

“Is that all you think you are?” He was complicating the situation further, he understood that, but to think Y/n didn’t understand how amazing she was was something he couldn’t ignore.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Well, Lan, what else would I be?”

He was internally shocked at her obliviousness to her own perfection, “‘What else would I be?’ Y/n, what? You’re not just some lost college kid. You’re Oscar’s best friend and the person I would call first no matter what the situation. You’re so much to everyone around you. How can you not see that?”

Her voice came out trembly as she stared at the stars, “It’s hard when your brother’s constantly outshined you your whole life. My parents never realized they had another kid when I was growing up. It was all about Oscar and his races, his success. I never lived up to anything to actually make them notice me.”

His heart broke for the hurt little girl she was clearly entrusting him with, “Y/n, look at me.” His hands wrapped around her jaw to turn her head to the side, their eyes meeting in an intense stare, “Oscar could never outshine you and the fact that you’ve gone your whole life thinking anyone, let alone your brother, has the ability to take other’s attention from you is preposterous. You are the first thing that catches people’s eye when they walk into a room. You’re intoxicating with the way you carry yourself. You’re not just a confused child, you’re you. You are your best friend’s safe space, Oscar’s go-to person to brag about, you’re my favorite person, and, even though you might not think so, your parent’s pride and joy. You’re so many things, darling. Just because you aren’t an F1 driver doesn’t mean you don’t mean something. If it means anything, to me, you mean everything.”

His forehead rested against hers as he whispered the words to her, her eyes closed against his skin as she took in what she had longed to hear since she was 7. Lando’s thumbs rested against her cheeks, collecting the soft tears as they fell from her eyes.

“Sorry,” She whispered as she tried to back away from his hold, apologizing for the wetness that was pooling around his fingers.

However, Lando was quick to pull her back in, “No, don’t apologize. Letting me in isn’t something I’m afraid of, Y/n. It’s something I’m grateful to experience.”

She nodded, at a loss for words as she reveled in his gentleness. His hold on her tightened as he pushed her against his chest, whispering words into her ear.

Words that spoke truths he believed deep within himself and words that complexified the bet he had made.

—

“So, tell us what’s going on with you and the hotshot driver!” Y/n’s best friend, Paige, exclaimed at breakfast weeks after Lando and she had gone public.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, “Nothing! We’re just together. It’s not that serious.”

Paige reeled back in her seat, sending her a questionable look, “Really? ‘Not that serious’? Are you kidding me? He took your virginity!”

“Shh!!! Shh!!” Y/n jabbed a finger in her friend's face in response to the loud volume accompanied by the exposition of her situation.

“Sorry!” Paige squeaked, looking around to make sure no one had heard her, thankfully no one had. She continued, “Does he know?”

“That it was my first time? Yeah.” Y/n informed as Paige smiled triumphantly at the girl across from her.

“So, was he sweet? Did you like it?” Paige fired off the questions.

Y/n blushed, being taken back to the night before where Lando had assured her he would be gentle.

He had.

“Yes, he was very sweet. We got back from the date and decided to watch a movie. During it, we started kissing and then, you know, one thing led to another, and…”

“You told him.” Paige finished her sentence.

Y/n waved her head slowly to the left and right, “Well, it started getting intense, so I just let him know. I tried to be pretty nonchalant about it, come off like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but the moment he heard it, he was telling me how much he cared about it.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“He just wanted to talk about it, wanted to make sure I wasn’t rushing into anything and that I actually wanted to do this with him. He told me how he didn’t want to screw anything up and how he really wanted it to go well for me, so if I needed him to change anything, I could just let him know. He was really big on communication through the whole thing and, honestly, it made things so much easier. And, then, after we were done, I got up to leave, but he acted like I had just said he wouldn’t ever win a world championship, and then insisted on me staying. Paige, he was so perfect.”

The two girls giggled together as they dug into their food, “So, you’ve let him in completely then?”

Y/n giggled, not having a clue of what was to come, “After he saw me completely naked and I told him about my deepest insecurities? Yeah, I have. I just hope this doesn’t backfire in my face.”

—

Lando was Y/n’s first love. There was no doubt about that. So, surprising him at the Silverstone Grand Prix sounded like a good idea. However, as she and Oscar stood outside his Driver’s Room door, accidentally eavesdropping on his conversation with Martin, the world proved to her that being there entirely was a horrible idea.

“Mate, I think it's gone too far. I want to back out of the bet.” Lando’s muffled voice sounded through the wall as Oscar and Y/n glanced at each other, matching confusion on their faces.

“No way, Lando. We made a deal. I don’t want to do this gig, I’ve done it so many times before it’s boring now, but for someone like you who has never done it, it’ll be fun.” Martin pleaded.

Y/n could practically hear Lando shake his head, “No, Martin. We should’ve never made it in the first place. I don’t want to play at The Cabin. Dating her for a bet is so cruel. I should’ve stopped it so long ago. I should’ve told you ‘no’ immediately.”

She didn’t even really comprehend what his words meant for a few minutes. She just stood there, eyes fixed on the door, trying desperately to figure out a way to explain away what he had just revealed.

Oscar’s hand gripped her arm as he watched her realize Lando’s true intent. His lip trembled, trying to keep the tears at bay, as his little sister broke in front of him. Her mouth opened and closed before her eyes watered and her gaze was shooting around the hallway in an attempt to find her brother. The fact that he was right in front of her didn’t translate in her brain, which had been in immediate turmoil once it dawned on her.

“Y/n, I’m right here.” He repeated to her as he slowly coaxed her into his embrace. Blind rage threatened to fill Oscar’s body, wanting nothing more than to storm into Lando’s room and rip him to shreds, but, as his sister quietly sobbed in his arms, he knew she needed him more than his fist needed to collide with Lando’s face.

Fortunately, his room wasn’t too far, so they weren’t seen by anyone as they made their way. The tears never ceased, only intensifying once they found themselves tucked away in the privateness of his own four walls.

“I was a bet?” Her choked sobs fought to silence her, but she continued to repeat the words as if it could cause her confusion to be fixed.

She clutched onto her older brother as she willed herself to go back in time and never step foot in an F1 paddock. Her mind raced as it tried to erase their time together and the love she had for him, the love she still had for him.

—

Hours after crying so much the tears dried up, Y/n found herself numb as she poured steeped the tea bag into the steaming hot water. No longer caring if she ran into him, she stood in the middle of McLaren’s hospitality, still trying to understand when she went wrong.

When she started loving him in the way that she did now. Even after finding out it was fake, his love for her was fake, she can’t stop the way her heart still beats for him.

The way, even after he had hurt her as badly as he did, she still searched for him in the crowd.

Oscar was off doing an interview, something he begrudgingly went off as he wanted to sit with his sister longer, as she made her walk back to his resting room.

Her attention was on the warm temperature that surrounded her face when she sipped her drink, she didn’t see the man of the hour turn the corner nor did she see the way his gaze landed on her or the way he began running toward her, confused as to why she was here.

“Y/n? Love, what are you doing here? I thought you had a test you couldn’t skip?” His voice forced feelings into her body whether she liked it or not. However, this time instead of feeling suffocating sadness, she felt pure, bewildered rage.

Turning around, she met his eyes, “What set do you think you’ll play at The Cabin?”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed together at her question as well as the look on her face he wasn’t accustomed to.

“What?” He asked simply, not believing she could know.

She took a step closer to him, letting the betrayal take control, “When you play in New York at The Cabin, Lan,” Her smile was sickly and incredibly fake, “What are you going to play? I was thinking that one remix you have that you said makes the crowd go wild. I mean, it has to be big seeing as you went through so much trouble to get the spot. Ya know, dating me for a bet and all.” She took his silence and blank stare as an invitation to keep going, “Inspiring, really, Lando. The amount of dedication you must have when it comes to being a DJ that you would exploit someone else’s vulnerability, allow them to tell you all the internalized bullshit they’ve struggled with their whole lives, and, then!” She exclaimed, her voice translating ferocity rather than joy, “And then!” She dryly laughed, “Take their virginity just to spice things up! Wow, Lando, you have a certain level of determinedness I think society doesn’t address enough.”

His hand reached out for hers, but she quickly pulled her own back to her chest, looking at him in disgust, “Y/n, let me explain.”

Not wanting to look at his face any longer, she turned around, hightailing it to Oscar’s as she heard Lando follow her.

“Y/n, I’m serious. Please, there’s an explanation. Listen to me, baby. Please, I’m begging you.” He pleaded with her as he continued to reach for her, but he was always just a little too late.

“Y/n, I never meant for it to go this far. I though-” He tried, but Y/n was whirling around and jabbing a finger into his chest as she interrupted him with a fiery gaze.

“You never meant for it to go this far? Really? That’s the best you can give me!? I was lonely and you took advantage of that! You didn’t mean for it to go this far? Are you kidding me? You should’ve never even looked in my direction. You’re sick in the head for knowingly taking my virginity! For taking what was supposed to be something special and eventful, something meaningful, and twisting it into some stepping stone all a part of your grand plan to gain a bigger audience for your hobby! That was mine. That moment, when I allowed a guy I trusted and loved to take something so sacred, was supposed to be something I looked fondly back on. That part of my life, my girlhood, you exploited for your own personal gain. Where the hell do you get off? I trusted you. I told you things about my life, about myself, I’ve never told anyone before, and, what? The whole time it was a bet to you? A task you had to complete in order to turn some tables at a club in a dirty city?”

He stared at her, trying to peer into her soul and tell her all the things he didn’t know how to say, but, with all the hurt he had presented her with, she didn’t see him. She didn’t see the anguish he was going through over his actions catching up with him and abusing someone who was completely innocent. She didn’t see how hard he was trying to tell her he loved her and he always had.

“Y/n, it was never that to me. Please, you have to understand. You’ve always been so much more to me. Y/n, I love you-” Once again, she was shutting him up.

“That’s not love, Lando, and it’s pathetic you think it is.”

With that, she stepped into her brother’s room, closed the door, and locked it. Effectively, shutting Lando out.

For good or for the time being, he didn’t know.

[deakyjoe]

Somebody’s Watching Me Part 12

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (“Sarge”, she/her, British, backstory)

Category: coworkers to friends to lovers with grumpy x sunshine dynamic/idiots in love

Summary: Can the two of you fix the damage that has been done? Or is it too late?

Warnings: angst, fluff, talks of injuries, British slang/terminology, strong language, mask is off

Word count: 1.4k (a baby in comparison to other parts)

A/N: Took a break from writing this series, mostly because I was burned out and had lots of uni work to be doing, but also because I needed time to think the ending through to give you all the best of what I’m capable of. It’s not as long as other parts but I feared that if I didn’t write it now then I would never write it. It’s pretty much where I always intended the story to go, just with a lot less conversation than originally planned. There will still be an epilogue after this but for now… enjoy!

When Ghost awoke, blinded by fluorescent hospital lights, and he saw Price standing at the foot of his bed with a deep-set frown... well, he knew things weren't good. It didn't help that you were nowhere to be seen. He didn't expect you to be fawning over him and nursing him back to health or anything. But no trace of you in the hospital room at all was not an encouraging sight.

"Am I dead?" Simon said gruffly, immediately coughing as his lungs clearly had something wrong with them.

Price scoffed. "You wish."

"Damn." He attempted to sit up straight, groaning when pain stabbed through his torso. "Ah, what the fuck?"

"I'd be careful if I were you. You were shot. Several times."

"Nothing new then." He sighed and looked at Price again, a grave look crossing his face. "Where is she?"

The captain hesitated for a moment before replying. "Home."

Shit, that definitely wasn't good.

"Why?" Simon didn't really want to know, too scared of the truth, but he needed to know.

"She was severely injured. Needed better medical attention than we could give her and then some time off once she recovers. She's home now but still in remission." Price checked his watch quickly, clearing his throat when he saw the time.

"Got somewhere to be?" Ghost asked, a sarcastic inflection in his voice.

The captain nodded. "Yes, actually. Already late from waiting for your lazy arse to wake up."

He only grunted in reply and waved his superior out of the room. "Go. I'll be fine.”

"You can go home to her once you've healed a bit more. For now, rest." And with that, Price walked out of the room leaving Simon in silence.

It was okay. He liked silence. Well, more he liked the lack of talking. People talked far too much about insignificant things. Strangely, he missed the sound of your voice chattering about insignificant things. He pushed that thought away and attempted to sleep for a while.

At home, in your flat, you were sick of friends coming over to visit you. Each one seemed to have some form of baked good or casserole and your refrigerator was full to the brim already. You hadn't even been home that long.

The sheer mass of people doting over you was becoming overwhelming in the most annoying way possible. You didn't need them constantly caring for you. Sure, the sentiment was nice enough but you were used to looking after yourself and healing independently. Usually you did it in the (un)comfort of a military hospital or medical tent. Unfortunately for you, you'd been sent home this time and had had no choice in informing your friends of your sudden return back. They just suddenly knew you were there and they were more than willing to help.

"I don't need you to give me a sponge bath." You'd told one with a roll of your eyes, still thinking about earlier in the day when you'd had to tell another that it was perfectly fine for you to drink apple juice and not stick to a strict diet of water.

Honestly, a part of you was enjoying being at home and having time to relax. Even though the cause of it was a little extreme, being able to sit on your sofa all day and watch reruns of old sitcoms as you made your way through every dish stacked in your fridge was nice. Almost... fun.

A part of you longed for something though. Simon. Obviously him. You craved to know how he was doing. When you'd first woken up, a nurse had simply told that he was alive and nothing else. Alive meant nothing. You didn't even know if his condition was stable.

You were worried, to say the least. And even Price wasn't willing to divulge any further information when you'd pressed him for it over the phone. He'd just mumbled something vague and moved on to asking you how you were doing.

It was frustrating. That was for sure.

The days passed and you grew restless, itching to get out of the house again. But you were sensible and followed the suggested instructions from the several doctors that had all agreed that you needed in order to heal properly. It was just a shame that it took so long to happen.

On day, what felt like, one billion of staying at home, there was a knock at the door. And after you'd taken a minute or two shuffling towards it, shouting out a stream of reassurances that you were on your way, you were utterly shocked to find your lieutenant on the doorstep.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before a ridiculous sentiment left your mouth.

"Jesus, is this like those hallucinations you get just before dying?"

Simon said nothing, just the twitch of the corner of his mouth indicated that he had even heard you, and outstretched his fist to you.

In his hand, was an apple.

Specifically, one of the good apples from the farmers' market.

You looked up at him in confusion.

"Peace offering."

That explained it. So, you took it from him and opened the door wider to let him in. You weren't about to turn down a good apple or a peace offering.

Once you'd both settled yourselves into comfortable positions on the sofa, you wincing a few times and growing jealous that he seemed to have healed so quickly, you really took your time to look at him.

You tilted your head to the side and raked your eyes over him. "You're nervous."

"Am I?" His eyebrows raised a fraction.

"Yes." You nodded.

"How can you tell?"

"You scratch at the scars on your face when something is making you anxious."

"Hm." His eyes squinted at that observation, obviously not previously aware that he had that tell.

You moved on, not willing to dwell on that. "Why are you here?"

"Visiting an old friend."

You laughed sarcastically. "Oh, really?"

He shrugged, still as frustrating as ever. "You should've left me behind."

You'd be shocked if he hadn't been so self-sacrificial in previous times.

"Why would I do that?" You asked, lacing your voice with a mock innocent tone.

"Would've been the smart decision." He snapped.

So you shot right back. "Maybe I'm not smart."

"Yes, you are. You're just stubborn."

The words he'd once told you came tumbling out of your mouth. "A stubborn brat you mean?"

"That too."

You laughed again, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're right. I am stubborn. And I couldn't let you die. The idea of you... I can't stand it. So I let you live for selfish reasons. Alright?"

"You should have let me die."

"Shut up, Simon. That was never going to happen." You rolled your eyes at him and grit your teeth when a shooting pain stabbed through your side as you adjusted your position on the sofa.

Simon's hands raised for a second as if about to help you before he lowered them again.

Instead, he asked a question.

"Why not?"

You looked at him to see if he was being serious. He was.

"You know why."

"Maybe I don't."

You sighed. He was so difficult sometimes. Yet, you gave in.

"I..." You trailed off into thought.

But Simon wasn't going to let it go so easily. "You what?"

"I, y'know, I feel..." Your hands waved around as if hoping to grip a coherent answer from the air.

"Feel what?" The slight raise of an eyebrow hinted that he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

You sighed in defeat. "You know what I'm trying to get across here, Simon."

"I want to hear you say it."

"I feel for you. Have feelings. More than platonic. I... care... for you." You cringed at your own clumsiness, wondering when you'd lost your ability to fully communicate with words.

"I know."

You punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Cocky shit."

"I also care for you."

"I know." You scoffed teasingly.

He just repeated your words back to you. "Cocky shit."

The smiles that broke out across both of your faces were indescribable.

Yeah, the two of you were being slightly more awkward about this than usual but it was never going to be easy to just jump right back in to what you used to have. Smaller steps would have to be taken. And you were fine with that. As was he. You’d get there eventually, it was only a matter of time. After all, some things were just meant to happen.

A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with me through my hiatus! I’m sorry this is a quick resolution but the epilogue is still on the way.

[ghostfrog28]

Yuurivoice Characters And Listeners As Incorrect Quotes!

I already did this with Escaped Audios (sort of, it was mostly DennysVerse) but for these, the way the listeners respond will mostly be based off of my OCs for them (which I will make posts about eventually) PS, this is mostly Boo and Alphonse lol

~~

Alphonse: [Grabs Boo's ass while they're gettin groceries out of the car]

Boo: Excuse me thats my ass

Alphonse: That's our ass. We're married, bitch

~~

Finn: If I were a gardener, I'd put our tulips together.

Sunflower: Aww, babe. That's so sweet.

Alphonse: If I were a gardener, you'd be my hoe.

Boo: ... thanks

~~

Lucien: *stroking Angel’s hair* you're so tiny.

Angel: *sleepily* I could beat the shit out of you.

Lucien: *lovingly* | know.

Or

Alphonse: *stroking Boo’s hair* you're so tiny.

Boo: *sleepily* I could beat the shit out of you.

Alphonse: *lovingly* | know.

(It’s funny cuz my OC for Boo is 6’0, meanwhile, my OC for Angel is 5’3)

~~

Charlie: My boyfriend is too tall for me to kiss him on the lips. What should I do?

Boo: Punch him in the stomach. Then, when he doubles over in pain, kiss him.

Angel: Tackle him.

Star: Dump him.

Rook: Kick him in the shin.

Casper: NO TO ALL OF THOSE. JUST ASK ME TO LEAN DOWN.

(my Casper OC is 6’4 lol)

~~

Boo, making chicken and dumpling soup, dropping a dumpling on the floor: This is sadder than the time I almost died in College

Alphonse or Seth, choking on his coffee: Excuse me?

(rewrote this one a little bit)

~~ ⚠️ Slight NSFW ⚠️

Boo: I can’t eat this, its far too hot

Alphonse: You're far too hot yet I still manage

Room: Um-

Auron: WE'RE ON A DOUBLE DATE, I'M RIGHT HERE

~~ ⚠️ NSFW Again ⚠️

Boo: oh fuck me

Seth: yes please

Boo: what?

Seth: what?

Alphonse from the other room: HE SAID YES PLEASE!

~~

Alphonse: BOO! WHERE'S MY-

Sugarboo: By the door

Seth: Sugar! Do you know where the-

Sugarboo: In the kitchen

Charlie: Hey Sal (OC name), have you seen my stack of-

Sugarboo: On Seth's nightstand

Sugarboo: Independent my ass. You guys would fall apart without me

(Sal is my OC for Sugarboo)

~~ ⚠️ Slight NSFW ⚠️

Charlie: bro-

Casper: No, no, hold up, rewind.

Charlie: ...

Casper: My tongue was down your throat just a second ago, and now you're calling me bro??

~~ ⚠️you guessed it, NSFW ⚠️

Seth: What exactly do you think of me?

Sugarboo: Somewhere between "fuck you" and "I'd fuck you."

~~

Alphonse: I don't think | can mansplain, manipulate, or malewife our way out of it this time.

Boo: *cracks knuckles* Manslaughter it is.

Alphonse: What- no!

~~

Star: When Faust was born, the gods said, "He's too perfect for this world."

Auron: Please. When he was born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."

~~

Boo: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine.

Alphonse: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so l can feel whole again.

Boo: O-oh. Well... Wait. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns??

Alphonse: Is it working?

(this one could be vise versa)

~~

Alphonse, at some point: You speak RUSSIAN ?? Say something !!!

Boo: Ты самый красивый мужчина в мире, любовь моя (You're the most beautiful man in the world, my love.)

Alphonse: What does it mean ?

Boo: It means don't give me orders you fucking bastard

(Another little thing, my OC for Sugarboo is half Russian and half British)

~~

Seth, after learning Sugarboo also speaks Russian: Does Sugar think in English or Russian?

Alphonse: Bold of you to assume Boo thinks.

~~

Rook: Ugh, life can be difficult sometimes.

Sal (Sugarboo): But death, on the other hand...

Rook, squirting Sal with a water sprayer: No, Sal

~~

Boo: I don't think Faust is very happy about you dating his brother.

Rook: What makes you say that?

Boo, reading a text aloud: Rachel (Rook). I hope this message finds you before I do.

~~

That’s all for now! Hope you enjoyed!

[phantom-of-the-memes]

And just the parallels these people are drawing, trying to insult me, an Irish person, when I’m talking about freeing Palestine. They’re sooo telling.

All these people demanding Palestinian activists tell them whether or not they “condemn Hamas”, which is just such bullshit and a bad faith question. I highly recommend watching the interview the Palestinian ambassador gave on the bbc, just completely obliterating this question. But yes these people will then turn around to me as soon as I speak on Palestine, and ask “do you condemn the IRA!?!?!”.

Once again asked by people without a shred of knowledge on the history of Ireland or Palestine.

First, on the IRA. The IRA (Irish Republican Army) was formed in 1917 from the members of the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army. Notice the key words “volunteers” and “citizen”. It was never an army, just a volunteer resistance force of Irish citizens. They didn’t even have weapons at the start. They would train in the woods holding hurls to substitute guns. It wasn’t until the risings when they received weapons donated by other nations supporting the Irish gaining freedom.

More Irish people (who didn’t have the army training the British forces had) were killed and imprisoned by the British, than they killed the British. Various risings and civil wars continued until the Republic came to be in 1948. The six counties of the North are still of course under British rule.

My point is, people (*cough cough* Americans) who “love” Ireland and are so happy that Ireland gained freedom, then turn around and ask us to “condemn the IRA/ Hamas”…

I’m not even going to go into the fact that the IRA has since splintered off into a million different factions and some of them are involved in organised crime, blah, blah. Because again, “condemning the IRA” for gaining freedom for the republic because of the later actions of SOME of them, is just bad faith!

People looovvvee Ireland and Irish culture and are glad the republic exists and are “sad” for the North, but don’t want to acknowledge that we’ve only come this far by violent resistance! If we could’ve just asked real nice for England to fuck off, in the 700 years they occupied us, we would’ve! Peace talks don’t do shit when one side is a colonising power that doesn’t want to leave the other alone!

And again, it’s assuming that colonisation and apartheid states aren’t violent themselves. In both Palestine and Ireland, our oppressors subjugated and forced us into unimaginable conditions for so fucking long. Then when people try to oppose them, they’re called terrorists?

I mean shit, you Americans even have your 4th of July where you celebrate how you guys violently overthrew the English and gained independence. Do we condemn those soldiers for killing British soldiers? I mean every Independence Day of every country involves form of violent rebellion… that’s how shit gets done.

Hamas is a small resistance group. The IDF is a literal army with actual training and the world’s best weapons provided by the biggest powers of the world. EVEN IF somehow Hamas was a big scary terrorist organisation with military grade weapons, what Israel is doing has nothing to do with Hamas. They are bombing fucking children, hospitals, refugee camps, journalists!! All of which are fucking war crimes.

Israel is flooding social media with propaganda about how the hospitals were “Hamas headquarters”. Taking pictures of a board with the days of the week in Arabic and claiming it’s “Hamas terrorist plans”.

This is what the English depicted us as, and it’s what Israel will depict Palestine as. Of course we’re going to support them.

A great quote from on of my favourite films (Pride, 2014) is: “I don’t believe the papers when they talk about us, why should I believe it when they talk about them?”.

[hp-hcs]

Hello.

I really like the way you wrote gay Mattheo. Could I request another fic from this "series"? Thanks in advance 😘

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 7 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

ENGLISH AIN’T ALWAYS ENGLISH (Chapter Three of Gay Awakening) — british! mattheo riddle x male! american! reader

basically the pair realize their cultural differences

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Here,” you grin, plonking down on the couch next to Mattheo and holding out a cut-out paper turkey shaped like a handprint. “I’m thankful for you this year.”

He took the paper with a baffled expression on his face. “…what?”

“I’m thankful for y- oh. Right. England. Sorry, American holiday, I forgot.”

Mattheo blinked. “You have a holiday where you give each other paper fowl?”

“No. Well, yes, but- y’know, it’s complicated.”

“I see,” he said slowly, in a way that suggested that he did not, in fact, see. “Is it like your… Freedom Day? America Day? Er… what’s it called again?”

“Independence Day. And not really. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Well, then what does this holiday celebrate?” Mattheo asked, somewhat amused as he shook the paper turkey to emphasize his point.

You hesitate. “Well…”

“It’s not good, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Ah. Why the turkey?”

“Americans make abhorrent amounts of food for Thanksgiving. Turkey is the main dish, usually.”

“Thanksgi- oh, is that why you said you’re thankful for me?” He looked quite pleased with himself for deducing that.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It’s a pretty odd cultural event, I guess. We eat a shit ton, watch football, have to see our homophobic relatives; it really is a wonderful holiday.”

“Football? Like the… muggle sport? Where you can’t use your hands at all?”

“Oh, no. I’m talking American football; where they only use their hands. And like, tackle each other and shit.”

“…right. Anyways, back to the turkey day. When is it? Is it today?”

“Nah, it’s in a couple weeks. It’s the fourth Thursday of every November.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

~~~

“Y/N, could you hand me a rubber?”

Mattheo looked up at you after he didn’t hear a response. You were sitting there, dumbfounded, mouth hanging open slightly.

“…Y/N?”

“Jesus Christ, ‘theo, that’s one way to be forward.”

“…what?”

Your face was burning in embarrassment as you fumbled for words. “Please tell me that means something else in snobby Brit.”

“What, rubber?”

“Yes!”

“A… a rubber. You know, to remove errors?” He gave you a baffled look.

You paused. “…I mean you’re not wrong.”

“No, I’m not…?” He trailed off before shaking his head and laughing. “Oh, Salazar. Tell me what it means in American.”

“A rubber is a condom.”

“Oh!”

Mattheo looked startled, a pink flush rising in his cheeks. “A rubber- it erases, Y/N. Pencil lead.”

“Then why wouldn’t you just call it an eraser?!”

You’re both silent for a moment, with matching blushes, before you both crack up.

“Oh, god, you don’t wanna mix those up, huh?” You get out between laughs.

~~~

“Hey, ‘theo, you oughta read this A&E article. It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious feels like an odd term to use, Y/N,” he says, looking puzzled.

“American,” you say reflexively, after months of these vernacular conflicts. “Stands for Arts & Entertainment.”

“Ah,” Mattheo nods, used to your immediate explanation. “Accident & Emergency.”

You both snicker.

~~~

“Oh, man. Looks like Enz and Nott went on a bender,” you snicker.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow wordlessly.

“Got absolutely shitcanned.”

“Gotcha.”

~~~

“What the hell is an aubergine?”

“A vegetable. Purple?”

“An eggplant?”

“Americans really suck at naming things.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Pants-Aren’t-Actually-Pants-In-British.”

“You’re still mad about that? Well, I’m still disappointed from when you made me ‘biscuits’.”

“Oh, shush.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

had a very awkward conversation today with a british friend and we had that eraser/rubber mixup ourselves 💀

thank you for requesting, you a real one homie <3

[nanaminsonyfans]

I saw your ask for requests and i desperately want Billy butcher content so I tried to think of something lol. I’m more sure if you like writing series or one shots or whatever but take from this what you want?

The reader has unknowingly caught Billy butchers eye after being at many of the same functions he’s been at for work. Reader also has a hatred of the unjust world of supes and independently has been gathering useful intel but not entirely sure how to use it. Butcher gets suspicious of reader and begins to keep tabs on her, eventually approaching her and perhaps threatening to know what she’s up to/what she’s using the intel for (however you want to spin that). The boys decide she’s a risk and take her back to their hideout where Billy butcher and reader eventually form a bond, bonding over least favorite supes and reader getting teased

Perhaps fragile, innocent (not extreme in the cringe sense) reader. Include some blushing haha

Not the best request ever I’m still tryna get my imagination back.. but would love romance and eventual smut

a/n; this is sorta just a starter? if theres more interest i'll def try a series.

warnings; swearings that's about it.

—

Great Minds

You despised Supes. They were awful people, you learnt it the hard way when you say your mother be killed by one. It was an "accident" Vought said. It was to save others. Homelander blasted through five people to get to the criminal, people sliced in half by his laser beams. That's when you stopped believing that they were "heroes". Sure they were super, but if the face of the supes was a piece of shit, they all probably were.

Now you weren't physically strong, you mentally you were. You were able to gather intel on an arrangement of supes, mostly for people who wanted to get back at them so it was easy to blackmail or sue. You knew the deep dark underbelly of it all. You went to some functions disguised as a reporter, however you always got the sense you were being watched. Not just by supes, but something else, something that felt darker....

One night, you came home from the store, something felt off though. Being in New York where practically everyone was a target for hate, you were armed. You reached into your bag and pulled out a small revolver as you walked into your apartment. You aimed it at the corner where you saw two figures, then there was a click of the lamp being turned on. There was a man in a trench coat and a younger guy who looked terrified at you pointing the gun. "I-I didnt wanna break in he dragged me-!" He says and held up his hands.

"Who the fuck are you two and what the fuck do you want and WHY the FUCK are you in my house!?" You yell pointing the gun between the two. "Calm down luv. Just here to talk." The older man says standing up slowly and throwing a file on the coffee table. "You and I got some of the same interests." He hums, relaxed snd obviously not threatened by you at all. "Been noticin' ya, which ain't good if you want to be unnoticed by supes." "The fuck you know about me." You say lowering your gun slowly. "I know you blackmail them and gather shit. We could use some of your intelligence." he says. You raise an eyebrow. "Intelligence? For what?" He stepped closer, looking down at you. "Against the supes. see you and me want the same thing, to get that cunt Homelander." You snorted slightly at him saying "cunt".

"Yeah? Like you can do that. Some British guy is gonna kill america's sweetheart superhero. Sure. And whats your little mouse friend gonna do?" You ask taking off your coat, no longer feeling threatened. "Mouse...?" The boy says with a frown. "Listen luv, aint like you got a choice." "Excuse me?" "I have a team. It's better for you to join us. We can take down Homelander, and all supes." "Who even are you?" "Billy Butcher." Billy says with a smirk. It all clicked. You've heard of this psycho, crazy about killing supes. You took a deep breath. "Fine. But only because that kid looks way on over his fucking head." "Good choice luv."

[edwinspaynes]

I've spent most of my writing time working on chapter 3 of Now We're at the Starting Line (I Did My Time) this month. The good news is that the chapter will be out on the 15th as planned! The bad news is that I didn't write anything for Crystal week.

Luckily, this chapter has a Crystal-and-Edwin scene in it that I'm extremely proud of! I'm posting it independently a few days before the chapter for @crystal-week, because I love our little psychic so much and want to post something for her.

Starting Line spoilers under the cut!

CONTEXT: After getting home from an awful meeting with her mother, Crystal finds herself crying on the stairway of the Agency building. Edwin, after a rather emotional moment with Charles, ascends the stairs and sees her there.

-

Crystal should go home. She knew that she should – her bed would be a great distraction right now, and the promise of a night sleeping beside Niko’s ghostly form was a comfort. But she didn’t want to go home to Niko a crying mess, so she sat on the stairs between the parking lot and the Agency above with her knees pulled to her chest.

Her mom really didn’t care about her. She didn’t give two shits what happened to her daughter. It had never been clearer to Crystal than it was today, and it had already been pretty fucking clear.

You have twelve minutes, she had said.

This conversation has been a perfect waste of time.

Crystal, I’ve let you have your little delusion for long enough.

She should be beyond sadness. She shouldn’t be such a baby. She was Crystal Palace Surname Von-Hoverkraft, and she’d always been a force to be reckoned with. Not just psychic, not just magical, but strong. Emotionally sturdy. Reliable.

Even if her memories didn’t feel like her own, she recalled feeling that way. Powerful.

And, apparently, she couldn’t catch a break. Not even to have a good long humiliating cry on her own. Because the last voice she wanted to hear sounded behind her, echoing through the rickety stairwell louder than she’d ever wanted it to. “Crystal?” Edwin sounded weirdly worried. “Are you… crying?”

“No,” she said. “Someone’s fucking chopping onions.”

Edwin sat down beside Crystal gingerly, lowering himself with his hands awkwardly. He cocked his head to the side and hummed. “I can in fact recognize when you are being sarcastic,” he said. “You are not particularly subtle.”

Crystal snorted. “Did you think I was trying to be?”

“I do sometimes,” Edwin said lightly. “Perhaps not now, though, as you seem rather… tense.” He paused. When he finally spoke, his voice was oddly stiff. “Would you like to… discuss your particular malady?”

Crystal touched the buns in her hair, one after the next. She was already crying, and Edwin knew it. She might as well talk to him. What was the worst he could do?

And, as much as she hated admitting it, somewhere deep inside her she knew that she and Edwin were birds of a feather. Crystal might as well talk to him, right? Besides, she didn’t really care what he thought about her. He’d see her, and he’d be honest. Maybe that was all she needed right now. So she took a breath and said, with absolutely no prelude, “it was my mother.”

Edwin’s response was short, and his voice was light. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Crystal said, grateful for his brevity. It made her feel like she could go on. “When Charles and I met up with her today, she was… I don’t know. A real asshole, honestly. But I hate saying that. She’s my mom, even if she was super clear that she didn’t want to see me.” She paused. “Did you know that she only gave me a fifteen-minute appointment? I’m her daughter, and she gave me a fifteen-minute scheduling block.”

“That is… less than positive,” Edwin agreed in an oddly sympathetic voice.

“That’s very British of you,” Crystal told him, and he smirked. She did, too, but felt her face fall again after a few seconds. “Just… and, like, I don’t want to bitch and moan about it, even if I’m speaking to the world record holder for bitching and moaning.”

“Now you are just needlessly instigating,” Edwin said, but there was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “A well-known facet of your personality, to be sure, but unnecessary right now.”

Crystal rolled her eyes. “Well, like I was saying, I don’t want to gripe too much, but like… she didn’t care that I was missing. She didn’t even fucking notice, and neither did my dad. What kind of parent doesn’t even notice when their child is missing? What kind of parent doesn’t even give it a second thought when they learned that their kid was a literal missing person?”

She was angry. She was indignant. But Edwin was looking off into the distance, his expression calm and contemplative. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason.

Which sucked, because one of the reasons that she liked Edwin – though, ugh, why would she think that – was that he never bit his tongue. But his face was careful now, even if his eyes shone with some unidentifiable emotion.

“What is it?”

Edwin turned his head toward her, his shoulders rolling. He assessed her with an almost practiced nonchalance before speaking. His voice was kind, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it that Crystal didn’t understand.

Not yet, anyway.

“I do actually know something of that,” Edwin said. “Believe it or not.”

Crystal blinked. “What does that mean?”

Edwin paused. He opened his mouth once, shut it, and shook his head quickly. “When I went to Hell - ”

“God, Edwin,” Crystal said. “I know that what’s happened to me isn’t as bad as literal Hell. You don’t always have to compare.”

“I’m not,” Edwin said. His fists clenched and pressed together on his lap. “I am very sorry that I have given you reason to believe that I am.”

All the fight went out of Crystal then. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Might I go on now?”

“Fine.”

“When I went to Hell,” Edwin continued, “my disappearance was labeled an Act of God. I believe I have told you that, but… well, I have had decades to contemplate the implications of that, and to research precisely what the declaration entailed.” He paused. “One facet of such a statement is that I was not looked for. Not by anyone. Society at large, to be sure, but I do not care much for the opinions of that lot. I do, however, care that my family abandoned my search.”

“Jesus,” Crystal said.

“Yes, I do believe that is a likely reason that no one searched for me.” Edwin’s voice was saucy, but Crystal sensed an undertone of real hurt. “They did not even start, in fact. I was an Act of God from the day I went missing. To this day, my death is what Charles calls a ‘cold case.’ I remain unburied, and my mother and father could not even be bothered to purchase an empty casket for me despite their abundance of money.”

“That sucks,” Crystal said sympathetically.

“Yes,” Edwin agreed. “It is not an ideal outcome. And I know that you think me unemotional, or cold. But remembering that no one around me cared to search for me – it is the only time that I remember that I was once a person.” He cocked his head. “But this is not about me. It is about the truth that you are far from alone in your sentiments, and-” Edwin made a vibrating sound with his lips, his eyes wide. “Well. That is rather enough emotion for one sitting. I daresay that I had far too many feelings after… well. I shall have to find a way to cleanse myself of it.”

Crystal snorted, and in that moment, she felt a bit herself again.

Then, to bring the mood back to something adjacent to normal, she turned toward Edwin. “Did you know that when I was born my mom signed my forehead?”

Edwin gave her an odd look. “With one of those… magical markers? Whyever would she do that?”

Crystal laughed slightly. “No, it was a temporary tattoo of her signature. It was like I was an art piece they were curating. They wanted to make some weird statement online.”

“Your internet is indeed an odd place. A wealth of knowledge, but also a wealth of independent publications waiting to be ridiculed.”

Edwin sidled off the stair next to her wordlessly and walked away, up the stairs and toward the comfort of his books and notes. Crystal watched him go, and he never turned back.

And she knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t give up, not for herself. Not just for her own sake, though that would have been a pretty damn good reason in itself. She had to understand her powers for Charles, for Edwin… and for Niko, who had been lighting her up inside in a weirdass way lately that she didn’t even understand. She had to know who she was, even beyond her memories, and if Maddy Surname wasn’t going to help her…

Well, fuck her.

Aicha, she thought, are you there?

Her eyes went white as Aicha responded.

Always, my sweet child.

[genericpuff]

Hi from Australia!! Honestly I was trying to think of a cultural thing I could properly talk about (Given, I am both white and a dual citizen who moved here from another country as a child which I will admit skewed alot of my perceptions of things) and I settled for just a variety of things!! (I have only NOW noticed you asked for just 1 fact. Uh. Sorry D:) We mock our prime ministers (and other public officials to be fair). I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the fact someone started a rumour about our at the time PM Scott Morrison shitting himself in a McDonald's and he had to actually address it. SEVERAL TIMES. Wish we could have the claim that we threw a dildo at a politician, but that fame goes to Aotearoa, but we have thrown alot of boots and shoes.

(A very tangential note, but I must include it since we're talking about PM's, We had Harold Holt just completely vanish after going swimming in 1967- which came with alot of conspiracy theories with one of the more bizarre being that he apparently was a spy for the PRC and was whisked away in a submarine)

Outside of politics we do use an insane amount of slang terms (which. I think is at least widely known). Things are shortened, you add 'o' to things, words can get slung together- but also incredibly regional!! Bottlo- Bottle Shop, Maccas- McDonalds, 'Skanon- Going on, Thongs- Flip Flops, Togs- Swimsuit but was primarily used in primary school (Contentious!! I'm from Queensland but most states have wild names for swimsuits, I have heard someone call them Cozzies though??)! We also pull the 'Yeah, nah' and 'Nah, Yeah' thing

I grew up around Gumtrees, Eucalyptus and Paperbarks, which growing up my Ma always referred to widow makers. Have no idea if the tale she told me about them were anything outside of her, but its a good point to talk about folktales (if its even the right term for it asdfad).

With widow makers apparently a man fell asleep beneath one, the wind was blowing and a branch came down on him- leaving him with a widow. There's a focus on the bush, bush rangers, swagmen- the ones i were exposed to the most was Waltzing Matilda (a folk song telling the life and death of a swagman, ending the song with his ghost) and Ned Kelly (A real man whose become a legend, he was an outlaw and bank robber)

I say this all this genuine love for my country, but also that everything is incredibly white. The area I grew up in was not diverse, so the stories I've heard and what I've learned and seen IS coloured by that.

(For an added tidbit, I present a few cute birds for you to check out native to Australia, Crimson Rosella, Blue-Eyed/Faced Honeyeaters and Willie Wagtails my personal favourite)

more than one fact is absolutely allowed!! y'all understood the assignment and then some 😘

i stg y'all down there in Australia have some of the craziest shit going on, you got me wheezing at nearly 2 am in the morning reading about Scott Morrison, jfc LOL

also yesss I've heard SOME of these slang terms but not all, 'thongs' always makes people laugh in NA because as I'm sure you know that's a word that's typically used to describe sexy underwear LOL also not shocked at all that you also do the 'no yeah' 'yeah no' thing, iirc there are a lot of similarities to be found between Canada and Australia simply by virtue of "we both became independent from British rule and are now part of the commonwealth". But there are also a lot of massive differences because we're living in entirely different continents LOL

ALSO HELL YEAH MORE BIRDS AJAJFDKSLAFJASDKL <3

[junewongapologia]

The fact is tho that no matter how you look at it, no matter how insufferable she is, no matter how Out Of Touch, regardless of whether she’s doing herself no favours: Eloise is right about society and just about everyone else in the show is wrong.

Like, she’s not got the full picture, she’s blinkered and her political philosophy is not very in depth or well thought out. But she’s right, and I think that’s why a lot of people watching really don’t like her because she’s breaking the illusion. All in all, the 1810s were a shit time to be alive for most people, and you can “well actually” it all you like, but the Luddite movement existed for a reason, the Chartists existed for a reason, Porto-feminist writers like Wollstonecraft and de Gouges wrote what they did for a reason.

So when you keep being reminded that it was a terrible social order for women - in a show targeted mainly towards women for escapist purposes then that character is going to come across as irritating, because she’s ruining the immersion.

Really, her attitude isn’t more anachronistic than the dresses, or the hairdos, or the diamond necklaces (men and women had been advocating women’s right to vote since before Eloise was born, lads), but it’s a problem because people are watching the show for the sweeping romances and the general regency vibe, they don’t want to think about how the regency was for most people. Which inevitably leads to some incredible projection, when watchers of a show with the central conceit of only being interested in the love lives of the top one percent of the one percent of the British aristocracy acting as though Eloise is the only privileged person on the show.

And yeah, she is better off than most of the people who exist in all of Regency Britain (though if you were to take the show as read, Britain is made up of about 70% aristocracy, 1% gentry, 5% urban bourgeoisie and 24% urban workers), but she’s the only one whose privilege is harped on out of her whole family and social circle. 99% of the speaking characters in the show come from a posher background than Beau fucking Brummell.

And! Eloise is literally just about the only main character who ever has to question her privilege! And when she is in season 2 she doesn’t throw a shitfit, she’s willing to learn! She goes out of her way to hear perspectives that she wouldn’t have heard in her social circle! But the narrative punishes her for that, and that’s because for all the criticism she gets about needing her privilege checked, they don’t actually want her to learn, they just want her to shut up and enjoy the trappings of regency decadence as much as they do.

Also - I know it’s really fashionable to rag on “pick-mes” and “Not Like Other Girls” - but actually, no, “traditional femininity” has never been socially unacceptable for women the way being GNC is, and it is in fact ruthlessly socially enforced against GNC women, even more so in the 1810s. Eloise is a teenaged girl in a society that stigmatises her for her wish for more legal autonomy, the idea that she’s somehow the villain for not being able to enjoy “feminine” hobbies without seeing them as just another element of the way women’s education is trivialised as ornamental, is farcical. “Sewing is a valuable and useful skill” so is cooking, but there’s a reason my mam, and not my dad, had home economics lessons, and that reason is still misogyny, despite the fact that it set her up better for being able to operate independently as an adult.

Idk I’m just kind of uncomfortable that in a world of rising reactionary political sentiment towards women, and this seemingly increasingly re-normalised view that women need to be wives and homemakers, people feel that the person on the show who needs to do the most introspection regarding their politics is an eighteen-year-old who is vocal about the fact that she has limited legal rights, and not any of the adult men in the show (a lot of whom probably have seats in the Upper House!!!) who never mention politics at all.

And frankly, given the shower who were Having Political Opinions in the long eighteenth century, Eloise’s brand of semi-anachronistic protofeminism is infinitely preferable to Hannah “I refuse to teach the poor how to write in my schools” More, or Edmund “don’t read my big thesis on revolutions too closely it’s definitely not all lies and junk history” Burke, or even a load of prominent members of the Bluestocking Society.

[skippiefritz]

reqs from @idanit and @beetle-goth (sorry for tags I'll untag if asked ^^;)

long rambly post ahead! Unlike what I normally post but its my account so I can do what I want lol

(This probably isn't the most historical thing I’ve ever written but! I will fix as I work on it more lol)

the implications of Bertie's bachelorhood if he were a bachelorette fascinate me endlessly

I read this post and it gave me brain worms and I've been designing an au around it ever since

In this au it's a complete genderswap with all characters, uncle Alistair (aunt Agatha) becomes more old fashioned sexist to Bertie, not thinking she can take care of herself. (sorry Agatha stans)

Which like. She can't. But it's nothing to do with her being a woman.

Bertie keeps her core character traits, but by merely being a woman living alone in 1920s London, she inherently becomes more independent and rebellious.

She's sneakier about her escapades, still stealing hats off bobby's and the like, but tries to be subtle about it. Emphasis on tries, she's still a Wooster at her core, and thus a very

big klutz.

Bertie is just completely and unapologetically her/himself regardless of gender, for better or for worse.

If humble pie is being served, she will surely go back for seconds every time.

I can picture her leaning very hard into the roaring twenties flapper persona, but still being a homebody at heart. Big of heart, dumb of ass.

The biggest issue of course is the engagements, it’s a lot harder for a woman (particularly one whose family wants her to get married) to get out of engagements. THIS is where the fun new plots come in

Obviously there’s the classic setting up her fiances with other women, so they call it off and marry their true loves. And the occasional making herself seem unsuitable to be married. (though, this would usually backfire, that would make it seem like she needed to be married more, so she had a man to take care of her and make her settle down)

Instead of focusing on making it seem she herself is un-weddable, she (and by she I mean Jeeves) concocts byzantine schemes to paint her potential suitors in the worst light possible, or to make them seem negligible so one family or the other would call it off.

I’ve been working on one such story, I haven't ironed out all the details but it ends with Gussie pushing Bertie into a lake. Of course. (I may make  a comic abt it when done)

Jeeves’ character is fascinating too, I see her being the classic “quiet competent woman who gets shit done”. She would be less respected than m!jeeves, but still far more respected than the average maidservant of her time.

I can see her need for fashion clashing with the maidservant outfits of the time, part of me is tempted to keep her design the exact same and make her a big beautiful butch, but…I know that's probably not how it would go.

Jeeves would wear the classic Maidservant outfit of the time, though I can see her styling it subtly to suit her more.

Her control over Bertie’s wardrobe, while still being “God this bitch has no fashion”, also has an undercurrent of internalized sexism. She’s discomforted by the more risque (by those times) outfits Bertie enjoys wearing, like her flashy flapper dresses and the like.

Of course, she’s also uncomfortable by how attractive she finds her in said risque clothes. (drama!!)

And they end up compromising !!! and Jeeves has a lil arc in learning to accept the new fashion wave and embracing bodies and whatnot.

Their dynamic would essentially be the same, homoeroticism, Jeeves being morosexual, Bertie being endlessly impressed by her.

also because of the ridiculous british nicknames most the characters are referred to the same, they just have diff first names, here's a quick cheat sheet

(I tried to keep them similar and also extremely english)

Reginald Jeeves = Regina Jeeves

Bertam "Bertie" Wooster = Bertha "Bertie" Wooster

Reginald Jeeves = Regina Jeeves

Aunt Agatha/Dahlia = uncle Alistor/Dahl

Augustus "Gussie" Fink-Nottle = August "Gussie" Fink-Nottle

Charles "Biffy" Biffen = Charlotte "Biffy" Biffen

Marmaduke "Chuffy" Chuffnell = Marigold "Chuffy" Chuffnell

Stephanie "Stiffy" Byng = Stewart "Stiffy" Byng (the implications of a man being named Stiffy are. different but Wodehouse had to know what he was doing with that name)

Richard "Bingo" little = Richenda "Bingo" Little

and so on and so forth!

Anyway uh, this went on for a while lol

I’m working on designs for them and will gladly share if asked! But they’re nowhere near done dhjdsh thanks for coming to my ted talk.

I don't know if any of this made sense, sorry if it doesn’t.

also for a bonus here's a quick messy collage I made of f!Bertie

[borbersk]

I want to try something here, so if you're an american, especially one who values irish culture, read this.

So, for those of you who aren't aware, there's a rap group here in Ireland called kneecap. They're pretty fucking good on their own, but they're probably best known for being easily the most authentic, skilled, and cheeky rappers usung the irish language. You may know them from the time they put stickers up in the British museum

They've done great things for the language and we should thank them as a nation, but that's not what we're here to talk about

Recently, kneecap got their own movie

This is extremely important. Ireland has a cinema industry, but none of our stuff ever competes in American markets, even when it's done undisputably well, and gets critical acclaim

This film is incredibly important to irish culture today, and I'm not just saying that. With all the American media we're force-fed and the erosion of our native language it means so much to have a movie about the irish language without it being a novelty, even one which is mostly in English. If you're an American reading this, I beg you to do whatever you can to spread this movie. Support it for the academy award it's been nominated for, tell your friends about it, watch it legally if you can find it to drive up engagement, watch it illegally if you can't, and perhaps the biggest one of all:

If you're up to it I want you to call your local cinema and ask them to play it. Franchises might not agree, but I know America still has independent cinemas, or even ones with a lot of freedom in local management, so please, if you can get them to show this film it could work wonders for the preservation and representation of irish culture, something that is desperately needed in a time when samboism is one of our biggest industries

Shit, even if you want to rewrite this post, I know I'm not the best communicator, go ahead, just make sure the word gets out. Send to all

Besides, it is genuinely a great film. I saw it the other day with my boyfriend and I already want to rewatch it

[yippeeometer]

Got any angsty thoughts on New York or Louisiana?

*completely fine if not, have a good day/night!*

i do my best to weave angst into this however my heart fulleth of silliness like golden rays of sun doth peek through clouds of my mind

LOUISI:

im willing to throw it out there that this man has RAGE built up inside him. the history of louisiana is very much just it being dogged on and completely devalued over centuries the FRUSTRATION must be immense

bc is theres one thing that has united the usa and russia over the centuries its been the agreement that the swamps r pretty much worthless. there is rage building in that man to protect his home and culture against the opinions of others. there is rage building to protect himself

pweaseee girlies i love the version of loui thats still openly selfish in order to defend himself. like its clear he will only do what he wants to do. and what he wants depends on how important he feels in ur eyes.

so ur either being ignored in everything you ask from him or hes constantly there trying to feel special to you. no inbetween

codependence as his motto lets be real. the history of religion in louisiana being sooooo deep and prevalent bc hes a person that needs to believe someone is taking care of him. so hes drawn to people who seem to have control over others (like florida) so he will be defended.

however also because of the inevitability of being passed on to someone else and sold for nothing, the willingness to try anything because theres always a chance what he knows could be taken away. therefore he is attracted to people who act wildly (like florida) to make him feel like hes doing something with himself.

NY:

ok so its a history of isolation and losing urself huh

theres always been some power pushing him down. despite being one of the og13 states, his version of the revolution was tainted by british martial control of nyc. before that controlled by the dutch, after that completely swept away by the power of the city. therefore not developing an identity independent of this glorious idea of a major city

and the culture changes r so frequent and so insane that mans the 3rd gen kid to end all 3rd gen kids. i read in an essay that if america is the melting pot of the world then nyc is the melting pot of america. which has got to make ur imposter syndrome so insane if you have so much of everything that u can't relate to anything, which makes u nothing i guess

because. hes in the ne but the city is too loud to relate to the new england country life. hes in the og13 but goddamn i hate these bitches.

oh hes soooo in denial ab being neurodivergent i fear. hey man where did u get that self loathing and desire to be normal from its super hot. oh your family thats so hot.

like im sure he could think of things to relate to illi about, ot ways to use his upstate side to relate to others. but thats so hard when you dont know jack shit about social interaction. and its so hard to know shit when being mean is sooooo much easier

[historia-vitae-magistras]

How do you feel about nation jobs or finances in your universe? Like are modern Matt or Alfred on government payroll even if they don’t do anything? I know you’re mentioned that Alfred is better at managing his money than Matt, is he rich??

Sorry I’m not phrasing this very well 😅

This is somewhat esoteric even for me, but I tied their abilities with money to their economic histories.

Alfred was born looking pretty pathetic next to the Spanish possessions in Mexico and South America or even British holdings in the Caribbean but, in short order, made up a significant percentage of the ships, people, and wealth of the British Empire. He became that on what was primarily the efforts of private enterprise. Alfred grows up understanding he is valuable; he represents value, and his choices create value. He's easy to love because he's a goddamn cash cow for Arthur until the Seven Years War when Britain spent a shit ton and wanted the Yanks to pay their share, and we threw a bitch fit and declared independence.

Matt, however, has the French bitching about what a money hole he is from about 20 minutes after he comes into being. The Basque, by far, made the most money initially with their fishing and whaling in the east, following what was reasonably similar to the Viking routes into Newfoundland. The fur trade that drove French settlement faced collapse about a half dozen times in his childhood, and besides a short binge economy for Ginseng and its brief boom in China, his entire existence was just fur. Dead beavers and the black market. That's it.

While the US was building ships, growing cash crops, running a fur trade economy, engaging in fishing, rope making, pitch collection, barrel making and everything and anything else, in the Caribbean, they had 90+ control over sugar production and trade routes. Canada had 10% of the population and thus 10% of the market power. We didn't do shit except freeze, fire at the British, commit war crimes against the New Englanders, ditch the farms and run off to the west to make families with indigenous women and run furs up the rivers to the point that France tried to make it illegal for people to leave the settlements of Quebec City and Montreal without permission.

So from a relatively early point, Alfred is very smart with his investments, and he's been making his investments since the early 19th century, so there's a significant but often catastrophically destroyed habit of investing. When he was younger and incredibly newly independent, he got fleeced a few times, but he's called smart and secure, especially since the 1929 crash. It's not remarkably large amounts of money because he'll never completely trust the government, and he doesn't want to attract attention or pay massive amounts of taxes, so he's very well diversified. But he's certainly not poor. All his more expensive hobbies come from a particular office in the state department that Alfred sometimes cooperates with and sometimes doesn't, depending on how anti-establishment he and the public feel.

As for Matt, having spent a lot longer as a colonial subject, it's not that he's entirely shit with money but what he knew how to do. The heart of the empire was the financial hub and was outside his control long after even the Confederation in the 1860s. The money situation has been a nightmare since the earliest days of the French Regime using playing cards to pay people. Colonial America had some similar issues. The whole concept of the US dollar originated in the 1690 invasion of Quebec when the Massachusetts Bay Colony printed its own money to fund the expedition, but Alexander Hamilton did some flash economic magic for the US in this department in the 1790s, so it got its shit together long before Canada. Matt knows what he needs to know. He was stationed in various Canadian ports, keeping an eye on his father's investments, not his own.

So, in the modern day, Alfred reads his bank statements every month, keeps track of his subscriptions and bills, and probably has an accountant. Matt is more aware of Alfred's money habits than his own. Because he's over here just kind of vaguely wondering if his debit card will work because my man cannot make heads or tails of his economy (no, seriously, Canadian economists have no idea how Canada's own shit works. Sometimes it's pretty fascinating, there's often no real consensus like the US academic economist have.) And international investors in Canada are always freaking out because the Canadian economy is always getting its shit rocked by the US economy. It's hilarious to think of people in Matt's life frustratedly trying to figure out where and what his money's doing. If their health is tied to their economies, Matt's in pretty good shape, thanks to close ties to the US, but he's randomly dying reasonably often because the US economy's tiny little ripples will randomly tear him apart. It's pretty funny (laughs so I don't sob in the Canadian job market.)

And that's pretty fitting, considering that most Canadian economic policy is boiled down to 'hope the Americans are feeling cooperative next time NAFTA comes up for debate.'

[klavierpanda]

I know I've already said something to this effect but it reall is disturbing how many people think it would be funny if Charles dies. Like you can't be aware of what shits like here and think it'd be funny. It's already pretty clear the government don't care about the average person and they'd like any excuse to blow millions of tax payer money again. Him dying doesn't affect anything about the existence of the royal family or the possible independence of anyone from Westminster. All it does is waste money that could be spent helping the millions of people in poverty. The solution isn't his death, just like the Liz dying didn't solve any of this. The solution is an end to the institution that is the British monarchy