#get brexit done

[rainingincale]

.

[alianoralacanta]

What happens when doing it iteratively has completely failed? Sometimes databases and political systems alike are built from scratch. Sometimes they have to be built from scratch (for example, a new company or country). Sometimes, in both cases, they even work in their 1.0 version without significant problems. That's not to say there won't be a 1.1 or even a 2.0 - but that happens either way. (It's harder, but iterative construction has different pre-requisites, and if those aren't being met and the status quo is failing hard enough, then non-iterative change is inevitable, chosen or otherwise…)

I think a lot about how, if the glorious violent revolution happens, every kid with significant medical needs in a hospital where power gets cut will die.

You can decide you're willing to sacrifice your own life, but you don't get to tell everybody else on the planet that they're acceptable collateral damage.

[marble-running]

Drew Boris Johnson in the style of Martin Brown (the Horrible Histories illustrator).

More Prime Ministers incoming.

[cheerysmores]

My wife once told me she would never play Baldur's Gate 3 because 'it's that slut game.' One year later she finally caved and did her very first playthrough.

May I present: Mrs. Cheery's chaotic gremlin adventure to Baldur's Gate.

Act 1

Our hero is the drow fighter, Lady Coolio. To this day we do not know whether Lady is her name or her title. She has a big sword, big tits and one goal: get to The Baldur's Gate with no distractions.

Escaped the 'Meat Bus' (Nautaloid). "Right how close am I to Baldur's gate? Like three hours?"

Sold her camp clothes by accident and was very sad that all she had to run around in was a grey hobo sack. (No mods. Sorry wife)

Asked if Withers was Solas's Dad.

Lady Coolio calls Astarion rat boy. In Wifey's words “he told me ‘when I was a little lad Cazador made me eat rats.’”

To be fair she isn't great with names so Halsin = Hoisin Sauce, Lae'zel = onion lady, Volo = Volvo, Cazador = Calzone (sometimes)

In camp: Gale "I'd like to show you something rather magical". Lady Coolio: "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR MAGIC PENIS"

“There are so many dead bodies everywhere this entire place has got to stink” (just act 1 generally)

Act 2

Ran into the shadow cursed lands very under levelled and Last Light inn instantly got sacked. Bad news as she was romancing Karlach and now can’t get her second upgrade. Lady Coolio firmly blames Isobel for "triggering like three opportunity attacks when she could have... not done that."

Died to the shadow curse a LOT. Her: “Why is everyone dying????” Me: “Remember the moon lantern?” Her: “The what?” Me: “… that thing with the swearing pixie in it” Her: “ I still have to use that????” Me: “ yes, because Isobel is dead” Her: "WHY IS SHE STILL CAUSING PROBLEMS."

Hates the Gauntlet of Shar. Asked Shadowheart, “Is Shar the only goddess with an Olympic qualifier to join her religion?”

And now a series of comments on the Dead 3's chosen: “so the bad guys are evil undead Santa, Lady Gaga and the ugliest man I’ve ever seen?”)” “Is Gale… horny for that crown??” “Maybe Myrkul would be more threatening if he wasn’t standing in an giant toilet and not moving”

On discovering the Emperor) “wait my fairy god mother is a SQUID??? oh :( ”

She did however become half illithid but hated that she ended up with varicose veins on her boobs.

Gale and Astarion then graduated to “those weak pudding men” because they kept getting stuck halfway across the map by missing jumps. Act 3

Said “Brexit means Brexit” every time she met someone who was complaining about the refugees.

Went to see Raphael at Sharess's Caress. Didn’t sign his contract “ I trust neither Lord Farquad nor squid man but I’m not selling my soul to someone who has such bad vibes.”

At Gortash's coronation. "I thought he was popular? Like seven people turned up to watch it. Is it because he's really ugly and smells like Lynx (Axe) body spray?"

She wanted to eat Orin's outfit because it looks like delicious bacon.

Walking around the city: "so where do I go??" "Anywhere you like." "I hate this."

She would not stop stealing things. I think she murdered the entire battalion of flaming fist in the lower city because "a lady's gotta eat." She also killed everyone in sorcerer’s sundries including Rolan.

Had the prototypical stress aneurysm while doing the iron throne but somehow managed to get ALL the hostages out.

Lae’zel was kidnapped by Orin for 9 in game days . When I asked about this she said “FINDING CLOWN MEAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

“Why does every door here lead to the sewer????? And why are there so many live mines in the sewer??”

(in the basement of the elfsong) “soo because the Emperor has a shitty basement I’m supposed to be best friend with him now? This soup recipe does not make me trust you squid man”

Halsin “nature used all its powers when crafting you” Wife “well it also crafted bacon lady (Orin) so swings and roundabouts”

Astarion stayed a spawn and she convinced Gale not to use the crown. “No one is becoming ultimate bitch on my watch”

Despite her distrust of the Emperor she still allied with him in the final fight. Because, and I quote, "Lady Coolio's goal is to stop the Absolute. The Emperor has the same goal. I don't know when I became everyone's therapist and in charge of them making better choices but I'm putting my foot down at replacing dehydrated onion queen with baldy prince king over here. The Gith's religion is not my problem."

In her canon Lady Coolio and the Emperor high fived when they won.

85 hours later and Lady Coolio is the hero of Baldur's Gate. Please enjoy this picture of our heroine.

[ayeforscotland]

I want your thoughts on why you think they're happening in England, rather than Scotland; Personally, my thoughts are (of course) the Media and the Government have done a very good job of portraying 'British Culture' as being underthreat - and in England, we have a weird 'cultural-cringe' towards English culture (cos of the far-right incicentally :P) *and* the Far-Right tend to kick up a big fuss about 'English identity' being underthreat, alongside the fact I don't think we've really thought about where we want to go in the future (and also being weirdly misty-eyed about a *certain* past...) Of course, I'm rambling - and you might be better informed <3

It's hard to pin it on one single thing but there's a few reasons that come into play.

The Scottish independence referendum in 2014 probably saw the biggest upset in a large portion of the Scottish population's faith in the Scottish & British press. The indyref is easily Scotland's biggest democratic project in the last 50 years. Lots of people became more politically aware because you could not avoid the conversation.

Throughout indyref there came about a general distrust in the media from independence supporters, not so much from a conspiracy side of things, but more publications openly came out in support of the union and the BBC was part of that.

Through no fault of its own, England hasn't had that seismic event. You could argue it was Brexit, but Brexit was fueled by anti-immigrant sentiment which gave rise to wall-to-wall brexit campaign talking points.

It's also worth saying that demographics in England are a lot different. The latest census showed an increasing number of PoC Scots, but we're not near the level of diversity England has. I'd argue this has allowed far-right groups to focus on people who are susceptible to the type of people who, wrongfully, have "concerns about the demographics of their hometown changing."

Totally get where you're coming from about the far right laying claim to aspects of English culture.I remember having a conversation on here about the English flag and 'English' as an identity vs 'British'. And I can totally see why immigrants to the UK would feel much more comfortable claiming 'British' as opposed to 'English' as their nationality.

[Insert long tangent about how British and English are often synonymous]

None of the above should put Scotland on a pedestal in anyone's eyes. We have our own challenges with racism and sectarianism. But I do think there needs to be some form of recognition that while the UK could be classed as a cultural block in its own right, the nations of the UK have their own culture that *does* influence things one way or another.

It's up to antifascists across the UK to unite against the far-right. They should be counter-protested wherever they rear their ugly heads.

[spooniechef]

Produce Issues (variable spoons)

Not recipes so much this time, but a short PSA for Americans, because the issues they're about to be facing are pretty much the exact ones we faced with Brexit over here, except worse.

With all the bullshit going on, there's a pretty good chance that produce is going to get mega-expensive over there. A lot of people talk about growing your own vegetable garden, without thinking about how the people who are going to be hit hardest by price increases probably don't have a house with a garden, or in fact a house at all, and many are lucky to have an entire apartment to themselves. That makes having a vegetable garden difficult ... but it doesn't make it impossible.

Storytime: when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a few years ago, I needed something. I didn't specifically know what I needed, but I knew in general. I was so angry and scared and ... well, mostly depressed. I'd been down the depression road before, and I recognised the signs well enough. I needed something to get me through the worst of it - something that I could look at and feel productive, like I wasn't a waste of space. And, most of all, something I'd have to actually continue getting out of bed in the morning for. Turned out that for me, the thing I needed was a garden.

I'm fortunate. I live in a decent-sized apartment with no flatmates, a few decent window ledges and even a balcony. Less fortunate in that all of it's north-facing and I live in the UK so it doesn't get a lot of sun at the best of times. Still, I've managed to get some pretty wonderful things out of my windowsill and balcony garden. Mostly herbs, which gives me cookery herbs, medicinal herbs, and just nice-tasting herbs for tea, but vegetables and fruit too. There are varieties of strawberries and tomatoes that do just fine in shaded areas, and peas and some varieties of lettuce will grow faster than you can eat them all. I haven't done so well that I could completely stop buying produce, but I'll get there one day.

I can't give you all the tips - it'll take too long. But I can give you some basic ones, and the titles of a few books that might be helpful for you overall. (I didn't link to the books because regional booksellers.)

Indoor Kitchen Gardening by Elizabeth Millard. This one lets you know how best to use the space you have available and how to take advantage of any lighting conditions you might have in your home.

No-Waste Kitchen Gardening by Katie Elzer-Peters. This one's particularly good because while some of the suggestions are better for outside, it's a guide to how you can grow more fruit and veg from the remnants of the stuff you bought - onions and stuff.

If you do have a balcony, best thing you can get is the humble grow-bag. It's basically like a pot, but ... fabric, sort of. They go well with "No-Waste Kitchen Gardening" because potatoes, onions, and carrots can be regrown from the leftovers of purchased ones, and if you can manage that, you've got a recursive source of staple vegetables.

Another good investment if you have a decent-sized balcony is a composter bin. Potting soil can be expensive, and turning your food waste into compost as well as a source of recursive vegetables will nourish your produce and help make a bag of potting soil stretch.

If you don't live directly in a city (and maybe even if you do, if you've got green spaces in your area), you could also look into foraging. I actually have a forager's guide, but it's for the UK. For Americans, I did a bit of a search and found the 50-State Foraging Guide, which gives basic information and information about regional foraging guides. If you've got the spoons for it, it's nice to be out in the fresh air foraging for things.

If you're going to try medicinal herbal teas, do your research and find a reputable guide. There are lots of them around, so read carefully and try to avoid ones that sound too ... witchy, I guess. I have a copy of Rosemary Gladstar's Medicinal Herbs, which I check against my copy of Culpeper's Complete Herbal - Culpeper's is old, but it's been an authority on herbal medicine for hundreds of years, so it's still pretty helpful.

Things are really tough for everyone right now, I know. There's so much going on, and so little of it's good, and it's easy to feel depressed and powerless. I honestly did find that growing things helped me feel less powerless on the whole. I'd made life happen! I'd created life out of dirt and water and hope. I've had mornings when my breakfast was alpine strawberries fresh off the plant. I've got coq au vin marinading in the fridge with three sprigs of thyme I got just by walking onto the balcony and snipping them off with the kitchen knife. I found there's no going back to dried oregano when you've had it fresh. I've learned how to dry various herbs and even my cayenne peppers. All of that was because I lavished love and attention on a pot of dirt. Which is how I think about it, because seeing an indoor garden for its mental health benefits is a lot better for ... well, the mental health ... than thinking about things like this being necessary because capitalism is bullshit and designed to crush us all.

I hope this helps. I know that nurturing something green and useful helped me. But seriously - even if you just have a little windowsill - oregano, thyme, rosemary, mint, lemon balm. They will survive anything you throw at them. Then work up to basil because homemade pesto sauce is awesome. (Though you can make lemon balm pesto too, and it's less pernickety about its growing conditions than basil tends to be.)

[llyfrenfys]

Weird thing I keep seeing -

People talking like the UK and/or Britain isn't physically located in Europe any more. Like I just read a BBC article about Starmer's visit to the White House which said "Britain is a pretty small country off Europe" - which is wrong on several levels. Chiefly, Britain isn't a country, it's an island (with 3 countries in it - Wales, Scotland and England) and Britain isn't a synonym with the UK, which *is* a state which includes Northern Ireland, which is located on the island of Ireland.

But continentally, we're still in Europe - like people do get that right? Brexit was leaving an economic union, not sawing the Eurotunnel in half and somehow drifting into the Atlantic.

Iceland, which is much further north than the UK and only partially located on the Eurasian plate, is still very much referred to as a European country in every context - it isn't de-continented in the way the UK seems to be increasingly frequently, on a linguistic level.

Greenland - which isn't located on the Eurasian plate (and has its own independence movement from Denmark) is presently considered part of the Danish realm and is in many (though admittedly not all) contexts considered European (for better or worse). For example, all citizens of the realm of Denmark living in Greenland are considered EU citizens. Despite being much further away physically than the UK or Iceland to mainland Europe.

It's *weird*. I was born in 2000 and grew up when the UK was still part of the EU. I was too young to vote in Brexit (and if I could I would have voted Remain). I was considered an EU citizen between birth and when I was 19, in early 2020 (after Brexit officially happened). Maybe that's why I'm so weirded out by it - the UK is in Europe - like, it's ostensibly a European country - being deeply involved in much of the continent's history since the year dot. So why is this millennia-old relationship with our closest neighbours being completely erased all of a sudden?

It boggles the mind and something I see done both in the UK and outside of it. Like, the attitude that the UK isn't *really* in Europe is a weird one. I can't tell if it started as British exceptionalism or is an outside phenomenon we somehow incorporated into our national identity? But no, the UK *is* in Europe. Switzerland is famously not part of the EU but it's status as a European state is never called into question. But why the UK's?

Saying this, I have no fondness for the UK - I believe in Welsh and Scottish independence and Irish reunification, for a start. But I do wonder why it's increasingly forgotten that it is a European state?

[kinglivv]

One Bed

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x Reader

Summary: Being Kate Stewart’s personal protection was a job full of challenges - aliens, monsters, the supernatural. But none as big as finding yourself in a hotel with her… and only one bed.

Warnings: Implied PTSD

A/N: Realised I’ve never done this trope so rectified that immediately! Also, first time writing for Kate - what do you think?

You couldn’t believe it.

It was classic. You couldn’t write it. One bed, one room, you and Katherine fucking Lethbridge-Stewart.

It was a work trip. Travelling out to Belarus to look at some potential satellite launch sites. UNIT was still regrouping after it’s recent Brexit dissolution, and your commander was desperate to begin scraping back that hard power. Seemingly pointless trips like these had become the norm in the absence of anything existential such as the Flux.

The trip had been last minute. You knew you were going to share a room with Kate - a product of budget cuts and a HQ concerned that as her protection detail in a hostile country, the room next door wasn’t close enough. The hotel however, had apparently royally screwed up by giving you a double instead of a twin.

“Right,” Kate said in a matter of fact tone. You both stand in the doorway, suitcases in hand, clutching yours like a rubber ring on a sinking ship. It feels like a dangerous threshold between sensibility - your job, your boss, your professional relationship - and something else unwritten.

“There’s obviously been a mix up,” she states.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I’ll go down to reception, get it sorted?”

She looks at you. Her hand clasps and unclasps her suitcase handle.

“You could… But I mean, it’s fine. Right?” She says, “It’s the middle of the night, we’ve just been travelling 12 hours. If you’re not bothered, I’m not.”

You take a breath. She had a point. It wasn’t a big deal - two grown adults just sharing a bed on a business trip.

“Alright ma’am,” you agree, “it’s only one night either way.”

“Great,” she musters, and powers on into the room.

It is alright, you tell yourself. It was just Kate. Your boss. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to being glued to her side. That was what you were paid for - her personal protection. You were one of her “strays” as the office called it. One of her impulsive job offers. You’d been a mere police officer in the right place at the right time, when in the middle of an alien incursion, you’d knocked her out the way of a deadly bullet, almost getting hit in the process. She’d quickly made it her business to know everything of use about you; did you go to the gym a lot? How many languages did you speak? Were you satisfied with your job?

Upon finding you had the reflexes of a cat and couldn’t stand the police, you were hired.

You’d been by her side ever since. Everyday in the office, the occasional night shift, the odd weekend at her house in the country. It was fairly mundane work, lurking in the shadows and watching her every step, but you’d quickly learned that there wasn’t much downside to being paid to stare at Kate Stewart all day.

Back in the present, you find that co-existing with her in such close quarters is fairly uneventful. She takes a couple calls, does her emails. She showers and changes into checkered pyjamas. She asks after your dog and you ask after her kids. You go over the car’s planned route for tomorrow and at 11 o’clock it’s lights out. You curl up as close to the edge of the bed as you can get and try to ignore the smell of her fruity shampoo.

You wake to the sound of a muffled groan.

It’s pitch dark and hot. At first you jump, forgetting that you’re in a shared bed and you feel like duvet shift slightly. Then again - a groan. Followed by mumbles - scared mumbles.

You sit up to look at Kate. She’s a dark silhouette, but you can make out her tossing against the sheets. She’s having a nightmare, you realise.

Roll over, a part of you thinks. Spare her the embarrassment. But it’s difficult to listen to. Your heart twinges for her as her brow furrows in anxiety over imagined monsters.

You were her protection - it was your job to protect her.

“Commander,” you whisper gently, reaching out for her shoulder, and then more firmly, “Commander!”

Brown eyes snap open as she’s wrenched out of her nightmare and back into reality. She all but jumps away from you, narrowly avoiding falling out of the bed.

“You were having a nightmare,” you pull your hand away as she frantically wipes away tears and catches her breath.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“It’s okay,” you respond softly, “I get them too. More often than I’d like to admit.”

“I - um. Sorry,” she repeats, shifting to prop herself up against the pillows, and it’s only then that you realise how close you are and how wildly inappropriate this is, “I woke you didn’t I?”

“It’s alright,” you say firmly, “Can I… ask what it was? I don’t know - sometimes it helps me when I get them. To talk.”

“Oh,” she says dismissively, “just… you know. Sutekh stuff. The usual really.”

Your face falls. You felt a lot of guilt about that day. Seeing your death approaching and being able to do nothing about it. Watching her crumble to dust seconds before you did. You had failed her in that moment.

“Kate-“ you try to say but it chokes in your throat slightly. “I never apologised for that day.”

She frowns at you through the dark. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t do my job properly that day,” you state, as if it’s obvious. “I should have been quicker. Done something. You died - as your assigned protection I literally can’t have cocked it up any moreso.”

“Cocked it up?” She repeats with a sort of sad myrth. “Darling, a god of death appeared in our office. The bloody Doctor couldn’t prevent it and you certainly couldn’t have done anything. You died seconds later, I seem to recall learning.”

You blink back tears and look away, picking the duvet pooled around your waist. She’d called you darling. You’d called her Kate. Uncharted territory.

“Have you been blaming yourself for my death all this time?” She asks quietly. Her hand reaches out, cups the side of your face, forcing you to make eye contact with her. Her touch is electric.

You nod silently against her palm.

“Darling,” she whispers again, and God you could die happy hearing her say that. “It’s not your fault,” she murmers. She’s closer now, leaning in, “it’s not your fault.” She whispers against your lips and then you’re kissing her.

It’s soft and cautious, and your mind goes black for a minute as you try to process the fact that all your fantasies are coming true at once. She breaks the kiss - perhaps to mentally list through all of the protocols and policies she’s currently breaking, perhaps just to catch her breath - and you stare at her dumbly, mouth open like a fish and tears drying quickly.

“Sorry,” she rambles hurriedly, “that was unprofessional. Was that alright? I can’t bear the thought of you carrying that guilt when -“

You lean in again and this time the desire hits you like a wave, taking everything within you to keep it at bay. There’s a sigh and her hand sneaks into your hair, the other fighting off the duvet tangled around her legs to get as close to you as possible. You slip a hand under the hem of her pyjama shirt to find hot, smooth skins and you moan into her mouth.

The noise seems to bring you back to yourself and the tension in the room snaps, reality flooding back in. The kiss breaks and she stares at you for a moment with a sort of wonder in her eyes.

“Wanted to do that for a while,” you confess before she can say anything.

“Me too,” is all she manages. She leans in again, but you muster every resolve within you and pull away after a few seconds. She pouts.

“You have to be up at 6am tomorrow,” you point out.

“I’ll sleep in the car,” she quips back.

“Someone has to drive that car,” you retort.

She laughs and it’s a nice sound, much better than her whines of fear as she shook in the grip of her nightmare, only minutes earlier.

“I never get to tell you how much I appreciate you,” she says, shifting to lie back down and pulling you down with her. Her golden hair splays around her head like a halo, and fingers thread through yours. “You make this job a damn lot easier for me, you know that? Not just the safety stuff, but just… you.”

You know what she means. You pull her into you and she sleeps sounder than she has in months.

[toaarcan]

Rishi Sunak and the D-Day Disaster

Babes wake up, Rishi Sunak did a fuckup again!

Hokay, so, at time of writing, yesterday was the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings during World War II. This is a big deal for a lot of reasons, D-Day is one of the most significant events in the largest and most destructive war humanity ever fought, and this is likely to be the last major anniversary that the surviving veterans will be alive and well enough to attend.

Political leaders from the world over made their way to the Normandy beaches for a commemoration. Biden, Trudeau, Macron, Scholz, and Zelenskyy were present. Keir Starmer was there, as were King Prince Charles and Prince William, but the UK government proper was represented by Rishi Sunak and David Hameron.

Until suddenly it wasn't!

Let's run down everything (that I'm aware of) that went wrong!

As part of the British event, army paratroopers landed on the beach... and then had to reconvene in a tent to get their credentials checked by the French authorities. Because Brexit happened and we don't have free movement any more! Pro-Brexit nimrods have, predictably, complained about getting exactly what they voted for.

Once each nation's part of the proceedings were done, they were to reconvene at Omaha Beach for an International commemoration. Speeches, medals being awarded, that sort of thing. Except... Rishi Sunak was not present.

No, see, Rishi "The Least Elected PM Ever" Sunak had stayed until the end of the British event and then promptly fucked off back to England, snubbing the leaders of America, France, Canada, Germany, and Ukraine and leaving everything in the hands of the Hameron, his also-unelected foreign secretary that last rubbed shoulders with any International politicians when he was fucking everything up in 2016. Also, in the hands of his main rival, Starmer (Okay calling Starmer and Sunak rivals is a bit unfair, it implies Sunak has a snowball's chance in hell, which he does not).

Naturally, people were pretty fuckin' steamed about this, and put Rishi on blast for showing enormous disrespect to... literally everyone involved. Especially since this is right on the heels of Sunak proposing that they bring back National Service to "fill young British people with loyalty and honour."

Don't worry it gets worse.

Naturally, there are a lot of journalists with cameras present, and this means that we get to see images like these:

Image Description: Left to right, David Cameron, Emmanuel Macron, Olaf Scholz, and Joe Biden, standing in front of a partially cloud blue sky. Macron, Scholz, and Biden are lit by the sun, while Cameron appears to be in the shade.

Image Description: Keir Starmer sits, centrally-framed, among D-Day veterans in ceremonial dress uniforms. To the right of the frame sits Emmanuel Macron.

Image Description: Volodymyr Zelenskyy and Keir Starmer talking, with a photojournalist in the background aiming his camera at them. Both are smiling.

Quote Pippa Crerar, writing for the Guardian (You may remember her from that time she blew the lid off of Partygate!), Starmer is "already looking like a Prime Minister."

So this is really, really bad for Rishi. Britain has been keen to support Ukraine lately, and we've actually shipped a supply of our Challenger 2 tanks over to them for their use. The impact from this hasn't been as massive as you'd hope, largely because the British military has been absolutely gutted under the Tories, for reasons that I'm sure had absolutely nothing to do with all the financial support David Cameron got from Russians, but Britain has been trying to help.

Boris Johnson in particular liked to really stress the Ukraine point whenever he was losing control of the narrative, essentially making Ukraine's plight and his support for them a shield from criticism. And now, here's the leader of the opposition being photographed in a positive light with Zelenskyy. The optics are incredibly bad for Rishi.

But surely, Rishi had a reason why he had to zip back to British soil post haste? Maybe an emergency that he had to resolve?

No, he needed to record an interview with ITV, for his election campaign. That was it.

Well, interviews in election cycles become outdated pretty quickly. Normally a few days is enough to render them outdated. It must've been pretty urgent.

No, the interview is scheduled for release in six days' time.

That's an eternity in election season. There's a high chance that more than half of its content will be void by the time it airs.

As a reminder, we are four weeks from the big day. In fact, yesterday was exactly four weeks before election night. Time is very short.

Well, maybe this was the only time they could fit him in?

Nope, Paul Brand of ITV has confirmed that this was the date and time Rishi wanted, and they could've moved it to prevent scheduling conflicts!

So, how did a fuckup on such a grand magnitude happen? How did Rishi manage to create a clash between the 80th anniversary commemoration of an event with a specific date (6th June, 1944 is not hard to remember, my guy!) and the election that he called? Well that's very simple! He didn't want to be there at all.

Yes, it seems that Rishi had already told the French government a week ago that he wouldn't be attending at all. Someone seems to have convinced him that skipping the event entirely was a bad idea, but not enough for him to actually commit to it.

Image Description: A block of text reading "The French government was told a week ago that Rishi Sunak would not attend the D-Day 80th commemoration, Tory sources have confirmed. The message to Paris from his team was that he would be too busy campaigning in the general election to make the trip. The decision was reversed, and a short visit was the compromise, but it is extraordinary that an attendance by a Conservative PM, or any PM, was ever in doubt."

Rishi has denied this, however, so the whether it's true or Sunak has elected to not lie for once, well, that remains to be seen.

Quote John Healey, Labour's defence spokesperson, “Given that the prime minister has been campaigning on the idea young people should complete a year’s national service, what does it say that he appears to have been unable to complete a single afternoon of it?”

Conservative commentator Tim Montgomery called it "political malpractice."

And so, after thumbing his nose at half the world in order to pursue an already-foundering election campaign, Rishi Sunak decided that he needed to apologise. Via tweet.

It's been a very bad day for Rishi Sunak.

[starlight-archer]

i’d really appreciate a hurt/comfort payneland fic with cuddling on the couch or possibly a fic where they fuck with election ballots bc they’re ghosts and get kamala elected instead 😭 it’s been something i’ve been thinking of since before the results were out and i just think it’s be silly. thanks in advance for considering!

Here it is! Charles and Edwin enlist some American ghosts to fuck with the ballots and then cuddle! I hope you enjoy and that this lifts your spirits a bit!!

"Phew!" Charles tumbled back through the mirror, panting, Edwin not too far behind him, hands clinging to the sides of his jacket from behind. "That was a bit close for comfort, wasn't it?"

They had almost been caught, but had managed to slip away before things could get hairy. They had also made sure that their actions couldn't be tracked back to them.

"Charles, that might be the most egregious understatement that I have ever heard from you." Edwin didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Honestly, he was still shaken from the whole experience. They didn't often pay heed to foreign politics, let alone the politics of the living, but this had been necessary. There had been no way that either if them could sit still when they had caught wind of what was about to happen.

Sitting through Brexit and the Tory reign in England had been bad enough, goodness knows things were still pretty cocked up even without them in power (big messes to clear up and all that). But, sitting through a second Trump presidency when the only reason for it was some miserable concoction of sexism, racism, queerphobia, and thousands of people just refusing to vote?

Unconscionable.

Sure, what they had done was definitely illegal (oh it was so, so illegal), and probably questionable on some level, but it was clear as day that the pros of such a venture far, far outweighed the cons. If anything, this absolutely counted as a good deed.

Even if it did break some pretty strict rules about the dead tampering with the affairs of the living.

They would simply have to be on their best behaviour from now on.

It would be fine.

And what had they done exactly?

They had mirror hopped over to the US and simply enlisted some willing participants to fill in all of the blank ballots with votes. By the time they were done, it was just enough to tip the scales in a less devastatingly horrifying direction.

It was for the American citizens that would be thrust into suffering because of that awful man and his depraved followers, it was for the minorities from various walks of life who would face the potential of having to fear for their lives, due to the inciting of violence by emboldened right-wing extremists. For the people who were hated unduly, just for daring to exist.

And it was daring. It was an act of bravery and courage that deserved respect.

Both Charles and Edwin had lived through times where being different could get you killed. Existing had been illegal, frowned upon, hidden behind closed doors, punished with torture masquerading as therapy, shunned, and erased from the history books.

Never again.

Never like that.

Why did history always have the nastiest habit of repeating itself? Over and over and over again. Maybe hell was empty.

But they had done it, done what they had impulsively set out to to and they had succeeded. It was almost surreal.

And, perhaps most importantly, they hadn't done it alone.

They had gone to each state one by one and contacted as many ghosts as they could, gathering all those who had been unable to vote, who had their voices stolen from them, and for each ballot that was left blank, the ghost of an American citizen fought for the people they had been forced to leave behind.

A great deal of them had even moved on afterwards.

"Come on, mate. It's alright, it's over." Charles' warm voice cut through the noise in Edwin's mind. "Come and sit."

Charles put his hands over Edwin's (which were still situated at his waist, balled up in the fabric of his jacket). Gently, he eased his grip and moved to link their fingers together as he faced his best friend.

Immediately, a large amount of the tension drained from Edwin's body. It was as though a weight that had previously been crushing him, had life away from his shoulders in an instant. It had been a lot, but it was done and it was going to be okay.

He allowed Charles to lead him over to their little sofa by the wall. It was a familiar position, sitting side by side, hands joined in an act of mutual comfort and reassurance.

Neither of them said anything for a long while. They didn't really need to.

Charles leaned back against the sofa and wrapped an arm around Edwin, pulling him closer until his head was resting on Charles' shoulder. He didn't hesitate to run his fingers through Edwin's soft, dark hair.

He revelled for a moment, in his ability to express such affection. It was something so simple and yet, until they had left Port Townsend, it had been shut behind this unspoken boundary that neither of them had dared to cross.

They did a lot of things now that they hadn't dared to before, and far more things that they had already done, but that had the context rearranged.

It was kind of magical; being together in this new way. It almost felt like something that had been fated, something foretold, painted in the stars and woven into the fabric of every reality.

And yet, it felt so normal, so simple. It was like they were created to be a matched set, despite being from different eras in time. Like salt and pepper shakers, or a pair of shoes. Sure, maybe you could have one without the other but it was always preferable to have both.

Charles was prompted to recall the time when Crystal had compared them to one of her Internet jokes: "bonded pair, do not separate." or "items frequently bought together".

Despite falling easily into the romantic side of their developing relationship, it still surprised him a little bit when Edwin shifted to wrap his arms around him. If only he could go back and tell his past self that things could truly be this good, this sweet, this wonderful.

Charles used to question his goodness, used to fear becoming like the people who hurt him. But, with Edwin next to him, he couldn't find any shadow of fear or doubt left in his heart.

[octuscle]

hey can your app help me?

Im in my third year of uni and i’m really not sure why I took this degree. I finish in a year and have no clue what i want to do with my life. I go to uni in a very chavy area and they all seem so chilled and laid back. it makes me very envious. I’ve always worked hard in school and at uni too and now I wish I could just relax and do fuck all like them. I’m swamped in deadlines and just need to get rid of all this stress. any solutions your app can offer?

Mate, I wouldn't just throw away all the hard work I've done over the last few years now. Ever thought about taking a vacation? Just switch off for a few days. Mallorca is supposed to be lovely this time of year. The air is pleasant, the sea is still warm…

Okay, the flight from Stansted to Palma was really exhausting. When you have the scallies as close to you as in the plane, they are not relaxed. Then they are loud. Then they are obtrusive. And then they have a dubious body hygiene. You just want to get out of the plane. In such a hurry that you take the wrong bag out of the hand luggage compartment. But you only realize this when you are sitting in the cab and want to tell the cab driver the address of your hotel. The only thing in the side pocket is a Thomas Cook voucher booklet. With vouchers for bus transportation. And for a two-star hotel in the third row in Magaluf. Damn, your wallet is gone, your documents, your money. How are you supposed to go on vacation for a week with 200 pounds in your pocket? Okay, according to the voucher even 10 days. But all inclusive. Fuck, make the best of it.

The cab driver throws you out of the cab. Obviously you have no money. The first bus to your hotel has left in the meantime. But the Thomas Cook representative shows you where the next one is waiting for you. In the bag was a pack of cigarettes. Actually, you don't smoke. But it's a vacation.

At the hotel, the lady at the front desk tells you that you have a voucher for half a double room. Your roommate is already upstairs. She can't give you a second key. If you want a single room, it costs 50 euros. Fuck again! Fucking Euros! You don't have any… You thought there was no euro since Brexit. Dude, get a grip… You can't get a clear thought together. Before you go to the room, you take a sip of the free sangria. Shit, that's sweet! A Guiness would be better now. One of the scallies from the plane bumps into you from behind. Your Sangria flows over your shirt and your pants. "Don't giv two shites, mate," says the chav. "but ya're wearin' way too much for a vacation in mallorca anyway." And laughs. It doesn't help, you have to go to your room and change. You knock on the door. Once more. Once more. One more time. "Hey, what the fuck, i'm fuckin' reel na," you hear from the room. "Mate, let me in, i dinnit hav a fuckin' key!" Did you really say that now. Your mate opens the door. Condom over rock hard boner. Makes high five, turns around and fucks the chick again.

You go into the bathroom with your bag. Fuck, your mate has already done a great job. You count at least five condoms. In the toilet, on the floor, in the sink. You take off your wet and sticky clothes and look what's in your bag. Five minutes later, you're standing in front of the mirror in surf shorts, wifebeaters, long white soccer socks and Adidas flip-flops. Now put on the fake gold chain. Hehehe, perfect for the pool party!

It is 02:00 o'clock, when you are drunk again at the room. From inside you hear your roommate snoring. You yell until angry shouts come from all the other rooms except yours. Hehehe, in the room next to you lives one of the horny guys from Liverpool, whom you have blown a while ago. He lets you into his room and you climb over the balcony into yours. Try it at least. You fall. Fortunately, you are on the first floor. Nevertheless, you have to puke from shock. And then you fall asleep in the flowerbeds.

After a week, you know which waiter you can bum cigarettes from. And which guest will give you ten euros for a blow job. Best vacation ever. Fuck yeah, your underpants are all either pissed or jizzed. You don't have a single clean t-shirt left, but on the beach you bought some fake soccer jerseys for a few euros. And the EA7 sports shorts look like real ones too. Hehehe, Liam lost his shirt in some chick's room again. And Darren is drunk again! Without you they wouldn't even find their hotel….

Tonight Germany plays against England. You want to go by bus to Palma. Watch the game. And no matter how it ends: Afterwards there will be a juicy brawl with a few German fans. As I said: Best vacation ever!

Fittin' pic found at @scallyplanet 

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

Episode 2 of What If Season 2 poked the Peggy hornet’s nest and did exactly what I thought it would. 

So, for context, in this reality Yondu actually handed Peter Quill over to Ego when he was supposed to, and within just 6 months Ego was able to corrupt his son into a conqueror, so they invade Earth together. Peggy is director of SHIELD at the time, and she and Howard work together to assemble a proto-Avengers team to stop them. The team consists of Hank Pym, Bill Foster, T’Chaka, Thor, Wendy Lawson (who I think is from Captain Marvel), and… wait for it… the Winter Motherfucking Soldier. 

Yes, for real.

And because I know you’re thinking it, the excuse given is that he is in the hands of the Russians during this time, so Peggy and Howard couldn’t possibly have known about it UwU. Anyway, when they see him there’s a super drawn-out moment where they both think they recognize him (and it’s while he still has the mask on, so while this probably wasn’t intentional I actually read that as yet another middle finger to Steve, as Peggy could apparently recognize Bucky even under his disguise while Steve couldn’t). And then, Howard says, I shit you not: “I'd heard the rumors, but even if they’re true, the man we knew is long-gone, Peg, and we have bigger fish to fry.” And then later in the episode, with no segway from that to this, there’s a scene where they’re all together and the Winter Soldier has his mask off, and actually speaks. 

So, at least in this universe, Howard and Peggy are 100% aware that Bucky Barnes is in fact the Winter Soldier. Later on in the episode Howard attempts to get through to him, but only when it becomes a necessity to save the world (because he is about to kill Peter Quill while Hank is trying to convince him to turn on Ego), but it’s still pretty damning. And then at the end of the episode, rather than trying to rehabilitate him, they just let him go. Like, it’s not the same situation as Steve where he was out cold and unable to do anything, they could have taken Bucky in and tried to break his programming, but they didn’t. It’s left ambiguous what will happen to him after that, so it’s not like they sent him back to Hydra, but Hydra is still out there in this universe, so my hopes aren’t high.

TLDR; this episode attempts to handwave away the very strong possibility that the Howard and Peggy of the Prime Timeline knew what was happening to Bucky, but in doing so unintentionally made them look so much worse.

I don't... I can't even... WTF did I just read? (not you of course, I mean, what is wrong with Marvel?) 🤦‍♀️

So they use Bucky while brainwashed and/or still with Hydra's BS in his mind, and they don't even care to help him out after? They see a victim and they use him and then turn away from him, not caring about his well-being? And, I assume, Howard and Lady Brexit are still framed as good guys? And how are they any better than Hydra in that story?! The absolute nerve...

Once I read the spoilers a few days ago and saw they were going to have her as Director of SHIELD, I just knew they were going to absolve her of everything and never have her answer for any of her actions. And of course the only one who says he had "heard rumours" was Howard, not her. She's an angelic glorious being incapable of doing anything wrong. What in the absolute narrative protection is this...

Howard and Miss Brexit couldn't possibly know about Bucky... yeah, right. Except for the fact that they knew what Zola had done, because Steve told them, and they still willingly worked alongside him, even gave him a nickname. Oh Arnie, my beloved, wasn't it fun when you tortured Steve's best friend? Let's have some beer. I don't see how Miss "I shoot innocents when I'm jealous" Brexit could have recognized Bucky considering she didn't give a damn about him after Steve risked his own life against her wishes to save him, but apparently in this she can tell who he is even with a mask on? Damn girl, did you inject the serum in him yourself?

And I'm sorry but what is this... “I'd heard the rumors, but even if they’re true, the man we knew is long gone.” Excuse me? Oh, good enough to use but not good enough to save? How is the everloving hell is that even a line?! Oh my god, Marvel, just say you hate Bucky and go. I don't get it, what, he's the guy who ruins their beloved Steggy nonsense and they can't help themselves, they have to drag him through the mud for daring to be more important to Steve than Miss Brexit here? (And I say that as a non-shipper but holy crap, this is nuts.)

Not even in another timeline are these two somewhat redeemable. And Bucky is fucked up no matter what. Typical.

So the Infinity Saga had Stark as their golden boy and now it's Agent Brexit's time to shine... Will the Hero Cinematic Universe ever provide any heroes of narrative protection or are they going to choose the bad ones only? Oh, you're a soldier kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed? Go ahead and make amends, you monster. Oh, you willingly worked for the TVA and tortured and killed because you wanted to? Poor you, let us frame you as good and pat you on the back, you sweet thing.

Wow, I got mad in this one. Sorry. I have the Bucky feels right now 😜😂

[the-heaminator]

Dude trust me there is something wrong with that green-eyed bastard

@hetaween-event

day 1: Witches, i had fun writing this an wrote this in about an hour and a half so idk what goes on in it but its fun, ps, search up what a brexit tackle is.

Alfred had always found Arthur strange, he never knew why; he was just wrong.

Wrong as in half a degree off a right angle. Alfred could feel him staring sometimes, eyes too green, too large, too bright boring into his skull like he was drilling holes. No one really understood why he was unnerved, because for all intents and purposes Arthur was a model student, deputy head boy, got some of the highest grades in the year, and never really got into trouble. 

He wasn’t someone anyone would consider dangerous, he wasn’t one of those lads who carried knives or sold vapes, even tucked in his shirt and was unlikely to show up with skid marks on his trousers after brexit-tackling someone in the muddy fucking field.

But to Alfred, there was something wrong, and he had the sinking, deeply sinking feeling that Arthur knew about his fears. Why else would he stare at him like that? Otherwise, he was almost mild-mannered, not the type to stare, and most definitely not the type to stare like that.

Not that Alfred could tell you what that meant, kind of like he was undressing you, but not peeling you of your clothes, noo, that would be too normal, Alfred swore he was being stared at like he was planning on removing his skin. Alfred very much did not enjoy that.

He told Matt, his brother, his confidant, his idiot in arms while walking back from school, of his suspicions, and Matt just laughed him off, come on, no way was he scared of Arthur fucking Kirkland, Matt was in his maths set and genuinely there was no need to be afraid of him. 

“Those eyes dude!”

“They’re just green, it's not that deep bro, chill out.”

“Nah, nah, Antonio’s eyes are green, this fucker is staring into my soul like he wants to peel my skin off.”

“Look at you, being all dramatic, you really should have taken drama.”  Matt had such a shit-eating grin on his face that Alfred really wanted to tackle him right then and there.

“Oh for the love of god Matt stop being an asshole” He knew damn well that asking Matt not be an asshole to him was asking the sun to rise in the west and for fish to climb trees, but god fucking dammit why didn’t Matt believe him!

“Oh come on, I believed you when you said you saw Natalya skinning a crow behind the English block, trust me here, there is something wrong with that man.”

“Natalya was a special case, tell me you don’t think her ass would do that. She barks at dogs dude, you’d be insane not to believe me. But Arthur has done absolutely jackshit to you, or anyone else, so what gives.”

“What gives is that I swear that man is trying to peel my skin off with his eyes and I Do Not Fucking Like That.”

“Alfred.”

“Matt.”

No one said anything for a while, mostly because they were staring at each other, Alfred having to crane his neck up just a little to meet Matt’s eyes, neither willing the other to say anything, and also they were blocking the pavement so they had to get a move on.

“Fine, but I swear if nothing happens I will steal all your lunch for a week.”

“Come on, that's a bit much!”

“Put it this way, if you really think there's something up with that bastard then you’d be happy to take this.”

“You bastard. ” but they shook on it anyway. Matt probably wouldn’t steal his lunch. Probably. Hopefully. Besides, Arthur definitely had something up with him, Matt would see it, just watch. Perceive him. Really perceive him, and he will reveal his true fucked up colours. Just you wait.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That bloody fatass is perceiving me.” Why the fuck had Alfred of all people decided to perceive hi, that man wa sa blabbermouth if he’d ever met one and he’d already probably blabbed to half the school that something was off about him.

Lukas raised his eyebrows, right, what had gotten into Arthur this time. He never really got perceived, it was Vlad’s job to get accidentally perceived, but he was used to it and could always play it off as a joke to the point that him being slightly off-putting was part of his entire vibe.

But Arthur? Arthur hadn't been perceived properly since the Great war??? The fuck??? He was practically a model student too. Damn the whole dying of whatever the fuck (causes of death had grown far more boring in the past decades) and having to grow up again and again and again. The fact that they always had to die on the same day was stupid too. But who were they to question a fucked up spell.

Lukas for one was enjoying this, Arthur had broken his streak of not being perceived, Lukas was last properly seen in the late 90s. Matthias. Wonder what he was doing now. Anyways, spill the fucking tea.

What tea was there to spill! Alfred was looking at him like he knew something was wrong, he'd flinched when Arthur looked at him like it burned him, meant he wasn't being purely perceived but Alfred had an idea. And the boy had an overactive imagination, this was both good and bad.

For one, being known for an overactive imagination meant that no one would believe him, so him being a blabbermouth wouldn't be much of a problem there, but that also meant it was easier for him to perceive the lot of them.

Right. What should they do about it.

“Flirt with him.”

“Lukas no.”

“Why not, have fun with him, fuck him up.”.

“You're a bastard, you know that Lukas.”

“Renowned in 4 countries for it. Yes”

“I am not going to flirt with him.”

“I dunno. Kill him.”

Vlad just burst in, covered in mud. What the fuck had he been doing “Who are we killing!” He sounded far too bright given the subject content.

“We are not killing anyone, Vlad.”

It was rare for Lukas to smile, let alone snigger, “The fuck happened why is the snow prince giggling?”

“I am not the snow prince, if I was I wouldn’t be dealing with you dinguses.” He was laid down on Arthur’s bed, hanging off it upside down, “But anyways, Artie over here is being perceived.”

“Oooh, broke his streak did he?”

“Oh shut up Vlad, you are constantly perceived.” 

“Hey, not like I try to hide it anyway! But you, Mr Kirkland, have been perceived.”

“I still vote to kill him. Or fuck him.”

Vlad stared at him “Why is that your answer to everything Lukas.”

“It works.”

“RIGHT, Lukas, shut up, Vlad, why are you covered in mud, Bess, get your fluffy ass here right now.” Bess, short for Elizabeth, was Arthur’s little familiar, wasn’t a sleek black cat, noooo, it was a dumb idiot ginger who was far too fat for her own good and could probably wake satan with her screams if he even dared to shit without her present.

He tied a note to her foot, and told her, his fucking idiot cat, staring at her in the eye “Give this to Alfred F Jones, make him respond, then come back. Okay.” Bess went out the window and Arthur mildly hoped that she wouldn't do something stupid, a wasted thought, she would anyways, but it was good to dream no?

“I still vote on killing him.”

“ SHUT UP LUKAS!”

[salemontrial]

My (probably unfinished) official list of everything I love about the trailer💫

- "How's it going :))-" SWERVED. ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ GOT FUCKING S W E R V E D-

- Nora looks like she's going to stab Alex with her high heel. Also she's so pretty. Xjakcjd

- "you've done some pretty stupid things in your life, but this-" "Takes the cake? :DD-"

- The way Henry looks at them when they're lying on the floor covered in cake. It's like he's restraining himself from strangling Alex with his own suit jacket for the sole purpose of not worsening the scandal.

- "HENRY. SHOVED. ME.😡🥺" "An urge I currently share."

- Ellen in her pantsuit.. hey Ellen👉👈

- Alex is looking for ways to escape the room when she says the words "damage control" he fucking knows-

- THEY. GOT. LIL NAS X. ON THE FUCKING SOUND TRACK. Oh I p r a y they got the rights to Get Low I p r a y.

- ALEX'S FACE WHILE ZAHRA IS BRIEFING HIM HES SO DRAMATIC

- Im sorry guys henry is so fine alexander isnt going to be the only one thirsting over henry for the entire 2 hours/jjj

- That FUCKING handshake in the park. I can see the veins in their hands they are g r i p p i n g-

- these faces this is a point.

- "My NDA is bigger than yours, I want you to know that." "You're wearing Lifts. I know that too, sweetheart." -H e a d t u r n--- HES SO FLOORED FJSNF-

- HENRY'S LITTLE MOUTH QUIRK AFTER HE SAYS THAT

- I CAN SEE THE KEY NECKLACE. I CAN S E E IT BLESS THE COSTUME DEPARTMENT SHOVING HIM IN A LOWCUT SHIRT-

- "You better act like the sun shines out of his ass and you have a vitamin D deficiency" ZAHRA HAS THE BEST LINES AND ITS WHAT SHE DESERVES.

- Alex faffing about with his hair via his phone camera before the interview thats my b O Y-

- Henry slides over the box of cornettos so hard like thats the only hostile act hes allowed to parttake in

- To the person who theorized in the comments of one of my posts that Alex was going to do a little shoulder punch in the interview scene i am going to draw you a little firstprince fanart-/hj

- Because that was so funny and so fucking cute henrys fucking face through that whole interaction was just. He looks like he's actively trying to dissociate from the situation fjsjfj-

- The cancer ward🥺🥺

- Alex's u g l y ass suit at the new years gala... its such a gross jacket guys Im sorry this is what happens when you dont have jUNE TO MICROMANAGE HIS WARDROBE-

- Alex putting his arm around Henry and Henry smiling to himself because he's probably got the most insane case of butterflies

- I'm marrying the lighting director of this movie.

- GUYS GUYS SHUT UP ITS THE KISS.

- HENRY'S FACE BEFORE HE GIVES THE "Christ, you are as thick as it gets" LINE IS SO FUNNY. QUESTIONING WHY HE EVER WENT AND FELL IN LOVE WITH A DUMBASS

- THEY D O N T KISS LIKE THEYD RATHER GO DOWN A RAZOR WATERSLIDE🎉🎉🎉🎉💫💞💞🏳️‍🌈/GEN

- He does Henry's "Oh shit" face so w e l l-

- ALEX'S STETSON EVERYONE GET AWAY FROM ME

- KARAOKE SCENE KARAOKE SCENE I SEE HENRY AT THE MICROPHONE

- Guys hes g o i n g to do the thing he does with the bottle I just know it oh my god

- "Get O V E R yourself your majesty -p i l l o w-" "It's your royal HIGHNESS -p i l l o w-" "OHoho-"

- The polo match sjsjf. Same alwx-/J

- The little new voters goal thingy poster thats so cute actually-

- The pride flag in the back of the campaign office

- Henry texting while he's getting the royal preening sjcj

- never thought id cry just hearing henry say he misses alex out loud-

- THEYRE NOT SANITIZING IT TO MAKE IT PALATABLE/POS

- HENRY IN THE CLOSET I AM GOING TO SCREAM-

- "If anyone sees you leave this hotel I will brexit your head from your body....... Your royal highness." I LOVE HERRRRRR

- IF YOU FEEL FOREVER ABOUT HIM. AND THE AND THE PANNING TO THEM IN BED WITH THE SOFT LAMP LIGHT. AND THEYRE SO SOFT. AND AND AND AND. UEUE

- "Do you love him?" "What difference would it make if I did?"

- Bea's voice is so pretty sobs..

- It's always the blond autistic boys in the blue hoodies I swear to god/lh

- Theyre just chilling in their robes🥺🥺🥺

- DAVID!!!!!!!😭😭😭💞

- "Prince Henry belongs to Britain" and what if i sobbed.

- THEM HOLDING HANDS SOMEBODY SEDATE ME.

- NO SHUT UP NO GO AWAY HENRY CRYING... I TRUST HIM WITH HENRY'S HEAVIER SCENES NOW

- THEYRE AT THE LAKEHOUSE😭😭😭

- "It's like there's a rope attached to my chest and it keeps pulling me towards you"

- THE ASS GRAB. ALEXANDER GABRIEL CLAREMONT-DIAZ

- "The night is young, ma✨" <- said as if he isn't currently groping the prince of England's ass

- She sees right fucking through him sjcjsj

CONCLUSION: I will eat my hat. The movie looks really really really fucking good, it looks spectacular and I am so excited for it. I trust them. I'm only SLIGHTLY mad they barely had Nora in it and I'm only SLIGHTLY bitter at cutting June and Luna. But I am an optimist and I will focus on the good which is that they're doing the characters incredible justice, and if I see one person try to deny their chemistry I will A Clockwork Orange their ass to this trailer for days. Because That Is Alex and Henry. That's them in front of my eyes and I think they're in very good hands and this is the most coherent thing I can write I'm still crying-/srs

[mariacallous]

The Russian intelligence used sexually compromising materials to recruit a member of the Irish parliament to undermine the relationship between Ireland, the U.K. and the European Union during the Brexit negotiations, The Sunday Times reported.

Irish security services have identified the politician, but his identity cannot be revealed due to legal reasons. The lawmaker, who continues to sit in the parliament, is referred to in the Times article as ‘Cobalt’ due to legal reasons. While he was tailed by Irish security services and police, ‘Cobalt’ met several times with Sergey Prokopiev, a colonel of the Russian military intelligence (GRU). The spy masqueraded as a diplomat working at the Russian embassy in Dublin between 2019 and 2022. Prokopiev was one of four Russian ‘diplomats’ expelled from Ireland in 2022 after they were identified as unreported intelligence officers. They were among some 600 Russian spies expelled by Western countries following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. ‘Cobalt’ reportedly offered to liaise Prokopiev with paramilitaries operating in Northern Ireland. According to the Irish security source, the Kremlin hoped to use the existing tensions and the period of contentious negotiations over Brexit to drive a wedge between Dublin, London and Brussels. One of the issues during the negotiations was whether to re-establish a hard border between U.K. Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, which would violate the Good Friday Agreement, which ended the protracted period of violence between Northern Ireland’s ethnic and religious communities.

On the other hand, loyalist paramilitaries were threatening violence should the alternative, a customs border between Northern Ireland and the rest of the U.K., be established, which was the solution eventually adopted.

According to the Irish intelligence, ‘Cobalt’ received no monetary gain from the Russians. Instead, he was ‘honey-trapped,’ that is recruited by a Russian agent through seduction, which enabled the Russian intelligence to gather compromising materials of a sexual nature against him.

‘Cobalt’ was recorded as having met with the agent in Ireland several times, but the services could not take any action, as he was not doing anything that would break the law. He also traveled to countries outside of the EU in which Russian intelligence can operate freely several times.

According to Times, the services warned ‘Cobalt’ that he is being targetted by Russian spies, but ignored the warnings.

“They used him but he allowed himself to be used,” a security source said.

Lacking access to classified information that he could reveal to the Russians, ‘Cobalt’ could not be arrested or charged with espionage. The services believe that the sway the Russians had over him was instead used to get him to disrupt the public debate and served the Russian agenda by repeating Kremlin propaganda’s talking points.

‘Cobalt’s’ case is the first modern known case of Russian intelligence attempting to infiltrate the Irish parliament, although several such attempts to recruit British politicians, aimed at destabilizing Western countries, have been recorded.

No surprise, says Taoiseach

Simon Harris, Ireland’s Taoiseach (prime minister) said that Russian attempts to infiltrate Western countries with agents of influence should not be surprising.

“It shouldn’t come as any surprise to any of us that Russia seeks to influence public opinion, seeks to distort public opinion and is active in relation to that across the world and that Ireland is not immune from that,” he said.

“We’ve also seen a very significant increase in that level of activity since the brutal invasion by Russia of Ukraine.

Harris refused to comment extensively on the matter due to security reasons, but he commended the services on a job well done and for effectively cooperating with other international security services in the case.

“Gardai [Irish police] and our security services take all of these issues extremely seriously and monitor these issues seriously, and work with international counterparts on all these matters, and I have great confidence in the ability of Gardai, working with international counterparts.”

[sharpened--edges]

A stroll through any bookshop at the moment reveals an array of bright, celebratory volumes, reminding us of women’s extraordinary resilience in the face of injustice. Hillary and Chelsea Clinton’s The Book of Gutsy Women: Favorite Stories of Courage and Resilience, gathers stories of women ‘with the courage to stand up to the status quo, ask hard questions, and get the job done’. (Note the uncanny echoes here of the bullish, phallic insistence, by Boris Johnson and Donald Trump, on getting Brexit done, on building the wall.) British MP Yvette Cooper’s She Speaks: The Power of Women’s Voices celebrates speeches by women through the ages (including by Theresa May). Outspoken: 50 Speeches by Incredible Women from Boudicca to Michelle Obama, by Deborah Coughlin, features some of the same speeches. And MP Jess Phillips is the author of Truth to Power: 7 Ways to Call Time on BS. Her feminist credentials are tightly linked to a posture of defiant truth-telling; she is also the author of Everywoman: One Woman’s Truth About Speaking the Truth. Being outspoken, it would seem, is a requirement of any self-respecting feminist subjectivity; if you’re not talking loudly about gutsiness, are you even a feminist? Discernible in this pattern of feminist publishing is what Rosalind Gill and Shani Orgad have termed ‘confidence culture’, which holds that it is not primarily patriarchy, capitalism or entrenched institutional sexism that hold women back, but rather their own, individual lack of confidence—a lack framed as an entirely personal matter. The valourisation of confidence as a psychological stance is also at work in initiatives such as Gmail’s Just Not Sorry plug-in, for instance, which encourages women to replace phrases such as ‘I’m sorry to disturb you’, or ‘I just wondered if’ with direct, assertive formulations. Confidence culture is evident too in Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg’s 2013 Lean In, or Amy Cuddy’s TED Talks (Your Body Language May Shape Who You Are) advising women to assume ‘power poses’. These poses supposedly lower cortisol and increase testosterone in advance of intimidating meetings, job interviews or promotion requests, realms in which women are routinely told they are not assertive enough. Here, encouraging women’s individual power and assertiveness becomes synonymous with feminism. It is on herself that a woman must act, and in so doing she simultaneously flies the flag for all women. Confidence is key to achievement while also advancing equality and diversity. It is a form of self-work that each woman must undertake in order to succeed, and in order to respect herself for not having succumbed to the odds stacked against her. Confidence culture’s way of talking to women, in the tones of a cheerleading friend, exhorting positivity and self-realisation (you go, girl!) may be no bad thing; and, sometimes, that galvanizing self-talk in the bathroom mirror can help. And yet this way of speaking to women skirts evasively around a glaring problem: that women are often punished and criticized (they are bitchy, bossy, angry) for precisely the confident, assertive poses and behaviours they are being asked to cultivate. What’s more, these exhortations of positivity keep vulnerability anxiously at bay; they render insecurity or lack of confidence as ugly, abject and shameful—something any self-respecting woman would not feel or at least not express. There is in these modes of address an almost manic insistence on strength; they are at great pains to present women as almost heroically invulnerable. Sara Ahmed describes this ‘zooming in’ on confidence as implying that girls are ‘their own obstacles, in the way of themselves’. As Gill and Orgad put it, ‘if confidence is the new sexy’, then ‘insecurity is the new ugly.’ Is this hierarchy of feeling helpful?

Katherine Angel, Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again: Women and Desire in the Age of Consent (Verso, 2022), pp. 15–17.