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killa-trav · 6 months

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Oliver Bearman: No lunch, hug from Lewis and a bad back - my F1 Debut

Ferrari's 18-year-old might not have realised his dream had his parents decided on a carpet for Christmas over buying their eldest child a go-kart when he was six

The first grand prix video game that Oliver Bearman played on his Xbox in his Chelmsford home was F1 2012, for which the advertisers’ tagline read: “Be the Driver. Live the Life. Go Compete”. When he was choosing which driver to adopt as his in-game persona, Bearman would alternate. “I used to always pick Jenson Button or Lewis Hamilton,” he says. “They were the home heroes.”

Last weekend on the helter-skelter street circuit in Jeddah, he was given a more three-dimensional experience of Hamilton’s racing. As one of Ferrari’s reserve drivers, the 18-year-old was catapulted from the F2 meeting in which he had secured pole position to compete in his first Formula 1 race, with Carlos Sainz struck down by an appendicitis. He became the youngest British driver to race in a grand prix and the third youngest of any nationality.

In the closing stages, he found himself pursued by Hamilton and Lando Norris, both on fresher tyres and expected to gain ground quickly on Bearman’s Ferrari. Remarkably, the teenager held them off, finishing in seventh place, and the first person to greet him as he strode unsteadily out of his car was Hamilton, the seven-times world champion.

“I can’t really remember what he said,” Bearman says. “He shook my hand, gave me a hug, which was a great moment. I’ve grown up watching these guys and to have shared a track with them was just an honour. To have recognition from Lewis, one of the greatest in our sport, was a very proud moment.”

What Bearman had just done would have seemed, to most teenagers, like stepping directly through the screen and into one of those video games. Be the driver? Tick. Go compete? Tick. Live the life? Well, he did for one weekend, even if he was back that night, after the race, in the budget Ibis hotel where all the F2 drivers had been billeted.

This week he returned to a dose of relative normality at his flat in Modena, from where he spoke to The Times. He is based at the Ferrari Driver Academy and walking into the company factory on Tuesday, he glanced at the big screens around the building that are usually showing footage of Sainz and Charles Leclerc in action. Bearman had to pause momentarily when he looked up to see his own image.

Over the past couple of days he has been testing near Venice with his F2 team, Prema, beginning preparations for his next race in Australia, for which he flies out on Saturday. As Sainz is expected to have recovered, Bearman should be back in his F2 car in Melbourne, but last weekend demonstrated the need to be ready for anything and Bearman, with composure beyond his years, showed that he was more than equal to the task.

May the G-force be with you

When he eventually made it back to his hotel room, the first thing he did, naturally, was to watch the entire race back. “The race finished about 10pm, you have about 1½ hours of media and then you’re into a debrief with the team,” he says. “By the time I got back to the hotel, it was 1am, and by the time I got to sleep it was half two, because I had to watch the race. We had a flight at 11am, so I slept for five hours, which didn’t help because I needed some recovery. But I had to watch the race. I’ve watched it maybe five times now.”

How did it feel watching it back? “The first time I was like, ‘Ah, I missed a bit of lap time there, I should have overtaken there,’ ” he says. “But now I’m really happy with what I achieved. I don’t think I could have asked much more of myself, considering the circumstances.”

The next morning he had breakfast with his F2 team and realised how gingerly he was walking, having experienced the G-force — up to about 5G — of an F1 car for the first time, in a race almost twice the length of his usual outings, with over 50 laps and about 1hr 40min of time on the track. His seat had been swiftly installed in Sainz’s car and the indentations in his headrest gave an indication of how he had been jolted around.

“Most of the pain was from my lower back,” he says. “The neck is a given, but Jeddah is one of the most difficult tracks. Even the straights, they twist quite a bit, which doesn’t look much, but when you repeat it 50 times, there’s no rest. With my back, I’m quite tall [6ft 2in], F1 cars are very tight and not built for comfort. Everything was very last minute. When I made the seat, I didn’t think I’d be having to use it.”

Bearman was struck by the physical differences from F2. “We don’t have as much downforce or G-force in F2, so the strain is much less,” he says. “But we don’t have power steering in F2, so the steering work is super-heavy. When I’ve finished an F2 race, my arms are usually tired, but apart from that I’m fine. In F1, the steering is very light, but it’s everything else. You’re just getting thrown around. Muscles you don’t feel like you’re engaging, they’re aching the next day.

“And it’s exhausting; you lose a lot of water, I couldn’t believe how sweaty I was. The race is so long. Every time you cross the finish line, the dash pops up with how many laps [there are] to go. I could have sworn that number stayed frozen for a couple of laps. When I got to 25 laps, I was like, ‘Wow, we’re only halfway!’ It was a big challenge. But I really enjoyed it.”

'I realised this is really happening'

Ever since he sat behind the wheel of his first go-kart, a Christmas present at the age of six, Bearman has displayed a relish for the challenges of racing, with an exceptional ability to learn quickly. It is only 3½ years since he moved from karting to racing cars and his progress has been swift. His prowess in karting led to a Formula 4 opportunity in 2021 with the same Van Amersfoort Racing team with whom Max Verstappen had driven, and his results were spectacular. The next season he drove in Formula 3, the next in Formula 2, finishing sixth last year in the drivers’ standings.

But the step he was being asked to take on Friday, shortly after ordering chicken and rice for lunch in his Jeddah hotel, was something else altogether. After securing pole position for the F2 race, he had enjoyed a relaxing morning and was ready to eat alongside his father, David, his manager, Chris Harfield, Jamie Smith, his former kart mechanic, and other members of his team.

“I was feeling really chilled, I’d been in the gym and we didn’t have to be on the track until 3pm,” he says. “And then I got the call.” That came from Frédéric Vasseur, the Ferrari team principal. “I could guess what was about to be said,” Bearman says. “Something just clicked and I was, like, ‘Right, this is it.’ They said we had to be at the track in half an hour. My food didn’t even come out. I skipped lunch completely and went straight to the track.”

Within three hours he would be in the final practice session, with qualifying to come that evening. “When I got to the track, the news hadn’t been announced, so no one was taking any notice of me,” he says. “By the time I was walking to the car, everyone knew, and I was shocked at the amount of people gathering. That was very nerve-racking; I’m not used to that attention. And I got nervous when I saw some of the big stars. But that all made me realise: this is really happening.”

From kart track to street circuit

On the fastest street circuit in the F1 calendar, despite less than an hour of practising in the car, Bearman drove admirably in qualifying, coming 11th and only missing out on the final ten-car session by finishing 0.036sec behind Hamilton. For the first few laps of the race the next day, he achieved the aim of keeping out of trouble before the chance to exhibit his native racing instincts presented itself.

On the 11th lap, shortly after a safety car interlude, Bearman found himself behind the RB-Honda of Yuki Tsunoda. He dummied to pass on the right, prompting Tsunoda to cover his tracks, only to duck inside and pass on the left.

“It was a nice overtake, I was happy with that one, I’ve watched it back quite a few times,” Bearman says. “A lot of your racecraft comes from karting; I remember from eight, nine years old, racing bumper to bumper for the entire race. Those dummy moves are perfect, especially in karting without wing mirrors. It still works if you time it well.”

From an early age, Bearman had developed a passion for cars, inherited from his father. David had raced at club level and Bearman would go along to the track whenever possible. He developed a knack for identifying the makes and models of cars. “I’d have been able to name every single car on the road,” he says. “I was a bit of a nerd with that. At home, I had a bunch of model cars. A lot of kids have their thing, mine was model cars. I had a Bentley, a Ferrari, a jeep. I had my own little world there. Once I’d got my first kart, I just couldn’t wait to go racing.”

Perfect Christmas present for a boy racer

That first kart, bought in Christmas 2011, might not have come his way if his parents — David and his mum, Terri — had opted instead to buy the new carpet that was sorely needed at the family home. “We had some old lino that I absolutely hated,” David says. “We were either getting the carpet for Christmas or the go-kart. We scraped together the £1,500 for the go-kart and knew it was worth it the first time he jumped in; he just had a beaming smile all over his face.”

Once Bearman had given some early glimpses of his talent, at the age of eight he was entered into the British Championships, which meant long weekends on the road up and down the country for father and son. Bearman was often the youngest in his race, experiences that would prove formative. “One race, at Buckmore Park, I was up against some 12-year-olds and they just looked huge compared to me,” he says. “I remember the nerves. It was a rolling start and I got spun round before the race even started. They saw I was a novice and said, ‘Let’s get rid of this guy.’ But I loved those weekends and I learnt a lot.”

The problem was that the better Bearman became, the greater the cost involved in financing the hobby. His father knew from his own attempts to compete in motorsport how prohibitive the costs could be and realised he needed to be prepared. He had started an insurance broking firm in east London with his sister and brother and realised that the business needed to bring in more money if he was going to be able to support his son’s hobby, with two other children as well, Thomas, now 14, another budding racer, and Amalie, now 12.

In Ollie’s early teens, the next competitive step would have been to start travelling around Europe to compete in the FIA Karting Championship, but that was not a viable option. “You get the best karters in Europe, but the problem for us was twofold,” David says. “One, it’s very expensive, and we couldn’t afford it. Two, you’re taking the kids out of education, some of them at ten or 11. Yes, we were supporting him in sport but we didn’t know it was potentially a career. There are no guarantees in life and his education was really important.”

The insurance business, Aventum, has grown considerably, is now housed in smart offices in the City and has been one of Ollie’s primary sponsors. “We’ve had to keep upping our game and attracting more sponsors,” David says. “If you look at Ollie’s F2 car, every little bit is covered in sponsorship. I don’t own our business, we’re all shareholders; we can’t blow money just because it’s Ollie, there has to be a genuine return.

“But people look at this sport and think it’s for the elite only. Anyone can do it if you work hard enough and have the right mindset. Ollie is the proof of that.”

Passed GCSEs and a failed driving test

It was when Ollie’s success in F4 attracted the attention of Ferrari that the possibility of a career in the sport became tangible. He had just completed his GCSEs, with glowing results, at King Edward’s, a grammar school in Chelmsford, and a place at the Ferrari Driver Academy was an exciting prospect, but he had only just turned 16 and the idea of moving abroad without his family was daunting. “At the start, I missed my family and I tried to get home as much as possible to see them, it was tough and I was lonely,” Ollie says. “Now I still miss them, but I’ve got lots of friends here and I’ve grown up a bit.”

Learning the language was another challenge into which Bearman threw himself. A little more than two years later, he has picked up Italian to the extent that even his spoken English now comes with something of a lilt. “My friends do make fun of me for sounding a bit international,” he says. “Latin was compulsory at my school and I remember thinking, ‘I’m never going to need this,’ but it’s come in handy.”

On his returns to Essex, he now has the luxury of being able to drive on English roads, having passed his driving test 18 months ago. While he had already been identified by Ferrari as a future world champion, it was not something that impressed his driving examiner. “I failed my test the first time, which was really embarrassing. I asked [the examiner] if he liked F1, he said he hated it, and he failed me because he reckoned I didn’t stop at a stop sign. It was so difficult for me, things like how they want you to feed the [steering] wheel, it’s counterintuitive for me. I had to put a lot of thinking into that. I only took one lesson, I thought it would be easy. I found out the hard way that it wasn’t.”

He spends three or four days per month in England now and every time he returns home he hopes that he is still recognised by his dogs, Freddie, an English bull terrier, and Ruby, a Boston terrier. “I can’t Facetime them like I can my family,” he says. “But they always seem excited to see me.”

He still misses his family, but he knows that he is in the right place to continue his exhilarating progress towards one of those coveted regular seats in F1. “I’ve been making sacrifices all my life,” he says. “When I was younger, it was little things like birthday parties when I was away karting on weekends. My schoolmates would laugh when I said in year three that I wanted to be an F1 driver. Now I miss out on seeing family and friends. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat and I’ll keep doing it to make my dream a reality.”

BY JOHN WESTERBY FOR THE TIMES

#this is really long and really worth the read #will make u cry #hes literally my son n im so proud of him #ollie bearman

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blurredcolour · 8 months

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I Wish You Love | Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

You and Lewis make the most of your time together before he returns to America to do his best to free himself to spend his future at your side.

Warnings: Angst, Class Divide, Discussion of Divorce, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: I am a lying liar who lies - there are now six parts because Lewis and his darling do not know how to leave me alone. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5393

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Returning home shortly before noon the next day, you could not help the fond shake of your head to see Lewis’s borrowed car already parked at the curb outside your flat building. The lovely, impatient man was early, of course. Early enough to see you tired, sweaty, and underdressed once again. You wanted to be annoyed with him, yet you could not find it within yourself to summon any emotion other than amused affection. Stepping into the building, you were in the process of fishing your keys from your handbag when a stunningly familiar voice carrying through the door halted your movements.

“And so that was your plan all along?”

Johnny. Your twin brother, physically absent from your life, existing only in intermittent letters, for years. Much longer than the just war, with your mutual need for employment to support your father had driven you both from home in 1934. A lot was made of some sort of intuition that was supposed to exist between twins, that as they had shared a womb, they surely shared a lot more, but his return home today was a complete shock that had you frozen in place in the hall. The next words out of his mouth did nothing to encourage you to proceed inside.

“You’ve permitted a married man to seduce your daughter, your sweet pea.” He spat, an unfamiliar ugliness in his tone. The comment was certainly directed at your father, but Lewis was undoubtedly in the room, and he confirmed your supposition as he spoke up.

“I would ask you not to insult your sister’s honor, it has been, and remains, utterly unimpeachable.”

“Bloody hell you sure speak like one of them…”

“Johnathon you will mind your tongue. I understand that you have lived differently for quite some time now, but I will not tolerate that sort of language or disrespect in this home.”

Your eyes widened as you heard your father raise his voice, something that happened so infrequently that you could count the sum total of such occasions on the fingers of your own two hands.

“I am quite satisfied,” Your father continued, “with the correspondence between Captain Nixon and his solicitor. I find his intentions for your sister, my daughter, to be completely honourable and I thoroughly encourage them. She has never been happier, Johnny, and if you cannot manage to smile for her when she comes through that door any moment now then you’d better go for a walk until you find a way to.”

Tensing at the thought of your brother angrily storming out of the flat, and right into you, you crept backwards and down the hall toward the stairs leading up to the higher floors, obscuring yourself behind the landing to wait. To see if he was indeed so against the idea of you being happy with Lewis that he would rob you of a reunion with him then. You waited nearly five minutes, which felt like an eternity, until you heard Mrs. Stokes and her herd of children leaving their flat a few stories up, tromping down the staircase towards your hiding place. Johnny had remained inside, there had been no further shouting – at least none that you could hear at this distance.

Taking a fortifying breath, you pulled your keys from your handbag and headed into the apartment, smiling softly as your father and Lewis were chatting in the sitting room. “Good afternoon you two.”

“Well look at you, sis.” Johnny spoke from the doorway to the kitchen, and it was not hard to present a face of shock, for in place of a gangly sixteen-year-old boy, there was a rugged twenty-five-year-old man standing there, grinning at you.

“Johnny!?” You gasped, dropping your handbag as you rushed forward to hug him, squealing as he hauled you off your feet, his time with the 78th Infantry having made him unspeakably strong.

“Blimey you really have gone yellow haven’t you.” He teased and you smacked him affectionately as he set you back on the ground gently. “I’ve heard it goes away after a few months, don’t get your you-know-what’s in a twist.”

“Can we please stop talking about my underclothes and talk about when you got home?” You glanced at Lewis, feeling rather embarrassed to have your knickers discussed in front of him, but he was smiling warmly, unfazed.

“This morning on the first train from London. I gather we’re going out for dinner later?”

“Absolutely, I am looking forward to taking all three of you out together.” Lewis nodded firmly and you smiled at him fondly, vaguely aware of your brother’s scrutinizing gaze upon your face in your periphery.

“We were going to go out for the afternoon, but you just got back and–”

“Go on sis, I hear he’s only in town a few days and you’ll have to put up with me for a lot longer than that. Go have fun, I’ll see you for dinner.”

Hugging him tightly once more, you then kissed Lewis’s cheek quickly before going to get changed into something suitable for a drive and a picnic before the pair of you made your way out to the car, leaving your brother and father to catch up.

“You two look nothing alike you know, I’d never have guessed that you were twins…” Lewis teased as he opened the car door for you.

“That’s what fraternal means – not identical.” You shook your head fondly, hesitating a moment, an apology for your brother’s behaviour dangling on the tip of your tongue.

“Well either way, he loves you very much and that’s all I could ask for on your behalf.” He nodded, eyes widening as you grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, your heart swelling almost painfully inside your ribcage.

His hands planted on your hips, holding tightly but letting you direct the kiss, lips parting compliantly at the tentative swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip. Losing your nerve, particularly in full view of the front window of the flat, you stopped short of sliding your tongue to his, but still felt a rush of pride tingle through you at the ruddy hue to his cheeks as you pulled back from his mouth.

“I’m not entirely certain what I did to earn that but…you’re welcome.” He grinned cockily and your jaw dropped at his impertinence before you laughed brightly, shaking your head as you slid into the car, happy to leave him wondering.

Glancing at the backseat, you raised an eyebrow curiously at the picnic basket and blankets there, wondering just what Lewis had planned for the afternoon.

“No peeking.” He smirked, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you close across the bench seat once he’d started the car, pulling his hand back to shift the car into gear.

“Might I know where we are going?” You asked curiously, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at him playfully as he headed down the lane.

“I thought I might show you where I lived while I was in England – well not the actual house, we’ve given it back to the Wills family, but the town.”

“I’d like that very much.” You nodded firmly, turning to look out the windshield as he headed out on the road out of town.

“We will have to drive past Lydiard, unless you’d like me to take the long way?” He glanced at you, and you shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s alright, I suppose I will eventually pass it at some point, I’d much rather it be with you.”

His hand squeezed your knee affectionately, fingers lingering on your bare skin when he found no interfering stockings until he was forced to employ it again in changing gears as he sped up as you left Swindon behind. You had somewhat bemoaned the difficulty related to finding stockings lately, but as his fingertips idly caressed the side of your knee, suddenly you really didn’t mind very much at all.

As the pair of you drove past the tree-lined drive leading towards Lydiard House, you swallowed to see a series of guards posted at the road, finding the sight altogether unwelcoming and eliminating any last bit of nostalgia you may have felt for the place you had called home for a decade.

“I would bet it feels an awful lot like a prison for the St Johns and the rest of the staff, too.” Lewis muttered and you nodded quickly.

“I have to say I certainly do not miss working fifteen hours a day. Free time in the evenings, it’s been quite a revelation.”

Lewis grinned at you softly, squeezing his hand that had promptly returned to your knee. “I told you that you were much better suited to this life.”

“You did, yes. Thank you.” You pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, paying closer attention to your surroundings as you neared Aldbourne, a town you’d rarely had occasion to visit previously.

Lewis took you on a small tour, pointing out the Nissen huts, or Quonsets as he called them, where the enlisted men had stayed before swinging by Littlecote House where he had been billeted. He regaled you with funny stories from training and that one time his closest friend Dick had been forced to upend his mattress to get him out of bed after a very intense night of celebration. Circling back to the centre of the village, he parked in front of a small bakery, opposite the village green.

“We just need to pick up our dessert and then we’ll be ready for lunch?”

You nodded warmly, sliding out of the car with him as he led you into the shop. It smelled positively divine inside, all sorts of sweets in the display cases.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Nixon?” Lewis smiled and the girl behind the counter looked up with wide eyes.

“Leftenant! We didn’t think we’d see any of you boys back here again.” She smiled up at him brightly, fairly batting her eyelashes at him.

“Just wanted to be sure my girl had a chance to try the best lardy cake in all of England.” He smiled smoothly, looking to you warmly.

Swallowing tightly, you could not help but notice the way the girl’s face fell as he tugged you closer.

“Anything you’d think your father and brother would like as a souvenir of our travels?”

Normally you would have refused, been stubborn and reticent in the face of his generosity, but there was something about the way the girl was throwing daggers at you as she retrieved a box with his name on it from under the counter that emboldened you.

“Perhaps a few imperial cookies?” You looked up at him hopefully and he rewarded you with a quick peck to the cheek.

“A dozen of the imperial cookies as well please.”

“Of course, leftentant.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the impulse to correct her sharply as you felt rather territorial about that title – more precisely that pronunciation of that title. You waited quietly as she packed a box of the cookies and Lewis paid the total. You were more than a little relieved to say your goodbyes and leave the shop, baked goods in hand, and retrieve the picnic supplies from the car.

“Can I help you carry something?”

Lewis paused a moment before passing you the blankets, taking the boxes from the bakery and the rather heavy looking basket himself.

“You know I packed artillery shells for the past seven months, I am not helpless.” You teased as you followed him across the street onto the village green.

“Just because you can, darling, doesn’t mean you are expected to.” He replied with a smirk, waiting for you to unfurl the blankets on the ground before the pair of you settled in.

“So long as you remember that I am not helpless, Lewis.” You replied firmly, watching him unearth several packets of sandwiches, some fruit, and a bottle of lemonade from the basket along with glasses to drink from.

“I assure you I would never dream of considering you helpless. After all you rescued a drowning dog from a lake while wearing a full-length dress.” He grinned, popping the seal on the bottle to fill you a glass. “Climbed the highlands to procure me heather and grouse feathers, poured TNT and lifted artillery shells, served a certain honorable without murdering her for her deplorable behavior…” His tone had started off teasing but as he set the glass in your outstretched hand his face grew serious. “No darling, if anything I really quite admire you.”

Ducking your head shyly you took a sip of the tart liquid, enjoying the way it sparkled on your tongue. The pair of you picnicked happily in the sunshine, demolishing most of the sandwiches and fruit before Lewis unboxed the cake.

“The best in England, you say?” You grinned, peering at it curiously.

“Well, all of us in the 506th would certainly say that, but I wonder what a real Englishwoman will say.” He smirked, using a knife from the picnic basket to cut a slice, holding it out for you to take a bite.

Looking to his expectant face before glancing back down at the outstretched piece of cake, you leaned in to take a bite, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you sat up to chew thoughtfully. As the flavour of it spread across your tongue, you began to nod happily.

“Oh wow, that’s probably the best I’ve ever eaten as well.” You agreed once you swallowed your mouthful.

Lewis beamed happily before taking the next bite from the piece still in his grasp, leaning back onto his forearm lazily as you prepped another slice for yourself, trying not to spend too long drinking in the length of his body in such an enticing pose. Looking around the village square instead, you smiled.

“It’s so peaceful now, I can only imagine the havoc you all wreaked.” You laughed softly and he chuckled.

“Havoc is an excellent choice of word, darling…”

After you’d both eaten your fill, you carefully packed up the remnants into the basket, setting the bakery boxes aside to take home for your father and Johnny to have a go at them. The shadows began to creep across the grass and a glance at your utilitarian wristwatch told you it was nearly four-thirty. Lewis suddenly sat up, drawing your gaze as he fidgeted slightly before shifting closer to you.

“Darling I…know I can’t make as much of a fuss about this as I’d like to but… We’ve been talking an awful lot about the future and what it might look like, and it would be a mistake if I didn’t make it official. Or as official as I am able, at this point.”

You held your breath, focusing intently as you did your best to hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Would you do me the honor of wearing this ring as a promise of my intention to marry you?” He produced a velvet box from his pocket, opening the lid to reveal a ring very much to your taste, not too many stones, in the metal of your choice, showing just how closely he had been paying attention to your preferences yesterday.

“Lewis…” You exhaled in awe and looked to him, eyes wide with wonder. “Yes…I of course…” You smiled, finding your eyes suddenly blurred by tears as he pulled you into his warm embrace.

“I thought…you’d maybe want to wear it on your right hand and then…when I get the divorce finalized, I’ll write you right away and then you can put it on your left, like a proper engagement ring.” He murmured against your cheek, and you smiled so broadly it made your jaw ache.

“I love you so very much, Lewis Nixon.” You shifted back to kiss him warmly, sighing against his lips as his fingers slid up your neck to cup your jaw.

“I love you too, darling.” He replied once you’d parted for breath, and he plucked the ring from its box to slide it onto the fourth finger of your right hand. “This is only the beginning.”

If only you’d known how seriously Lewis would take that statement. The baked goods immediately followed by a lavish dinner went a long way to easing your brother’s concerns and then all too soon Lewis had to return to France for his boat home. It was exceedingly difficult to see him go, though it was a relief to know you that, at least this time, you were not sending him off to combat.

It was not long after his departure, however, that your father began to receive regular wire transfers to cover rent and other necessities. Your father feigned innocence, though you did not believe him for one moment, as Lewis would not have known the necessary sum otherwise. You took to a letter to chastise Lewis, albeit lovingly.

While his subsequent responses acknowledged your wishes, they also cleverly shifted the focus to seeking your approval of potential homes and venues for your inevitable nuptials. It was late January of 1946 when a large trunk arrived by courier when you finally received the news you had been long awaiting. Johnny was at work, your father at the pub. You were enjoying a rare moment at home alone after finishing work for the day, having kept a small roster of clients to accumulate pocket money to spend on previously frivolous things like skin care and hair cuts.

Signing the receipt slip, you had the delivery man set it in the living room before kneeling to open it, gasping at the neatly folded piles of clothing contained within. Laying atop were two envelopes, one letter-sized and another legal-sized. You quickly retrieved the letter, assuming it would contain the most explanation, and sliced it open with your trusty butter knife.

It was fortunate that you were the only one at home, for the childish squeal you let out as you fell onto the sofa would have been a mortifying thing for anyone else to witness. Fumbling slightly, fingers made clumsy with glee, you took the ring from your right hand and quickly slid it onto your left where it truly belonged, holding it up to admire it proudly. Glancing at the watch on the same wrist, you sat up, realizing you still had time to send your reply and grabbed your handbag and overcoat, dashing out the door and down the lane to the post office.

It took a bit of explanation from the clerk, it being your first telegram after all, but you managed to condense your words to keep the entire process affordable.

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity, with Lewis’s reply arriving by cable the next day that he would be in London mid-February. You employed the services of a local seamstress, as ordered, to have your trousseau properly fitted. Lewis proved yet again that he had paid attention, having sent a few dresses and ensembles in ivory and white to choose from – and mercifully nothing so ostentatious as a full wedding gown. You were able to give ample notice to your clients and you’d already procured a passport – thankfully you’d started that process in September of the previous year. Using your accumulated ration coupons, you purchased a swimming costume and an irresistibly fine nightgown for your wedding night.

It felt like no time at all before the three of you were stepping into the suite at the Ritz that Lewis had reserved for you to get ready for your wedding that evening, and the rest of your family to stay the night before returning to Swindon on the morning train while the pair of you headed out on your honeymoon. You were startled to find a young woman waiting for you there.

“Good afternoon miss, sirs. My name is Sara. Mr. Nixon has sent me to assist you in getting ready. He asked me to give you this before you could protest.” She held out an envelope of telltale Ritz stationery and you took it with a fond sigh, following her into the room where the bellhop deposited your trunk.

Huffing in bemused annoyance, you quickly turned your attention back to Sara, working with her to hang up your outfit for the impending ceremony before looking over the selection of ‘decorations.’ Lewis had sent several sets of jewelry for you to choose from and after some deliberation you eventually settled on one before submitting yourself to Sara’s talents as she saw to your hair. Mercifully, all rumours had proven true, and the yellow hue had vanished from your skin and hair, returning you to your normal appearance. Your diligent use of skin care had also gone a long way to soften the callouses of your work-roughened hands and by the time Sara was through with you, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Stepping out to where Johnny and your father were waiting in their new suits, purchased with a hoarding of ration coupons and Johnny’s excellent wages from his new post at the Great Western Railway, the three of you gawked openly at one another.

“Well, we certainly clean up nice, aye?” Your father grinned.

“You look pretty as a picture, sis.” Johnny grinned and pulled you in for a hug just as Sara hurried out with a small bouquet of white roses.

“Don’t forget these, miss. Your car to the embassy is waiting downstairs.”

You took it carefully and smiled to her. “Thank you so very much for your assistance, Sara, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, my pleasure miss.” She blushed prettily, bowing her head shyly. “I’ll see to it that your trunk is moved to Mr. Nixon’s suite with the rest of your luggage. Congratulations.”

You parted with your thanks before heading downstairs, trying not to roll your eyes when you found the waiting car was a Rolls Royce. You really might have to murder him at the end of that aisle. Climbing in carefully, the three of you drove to number one Grosvenor Square, the address of the American Embassy. It had been Lewis’s idea of course, and only possible given that he personally knew the ambassador Mr. Harriman.

It was his hope that it would ease your immigration to the United States, to be technically married on American soil, while still being able to have Johnny and your father in attendance. The building was rather imposing as you climbed out of the car, thanking the driver as he held the door, not at all what you would have imagined for your wedding. Then again, you’d never imagined marrying an American divorcé set to inherit a great fortune one day, either.

Surrendering your coats to one of the ambassadorial staff, you took a moment to compose yourself as Johnny stepped into the reception room, nodding to your father when you were ready before the doors were opened and you made slow progress down the aisle, allowing for the extra time it took him to manipulate his prosthetic leg with each step. You were pleased Lewis had chosen a smaller room, there were not that many people in attendance, really just the ambassador and his wife, your small family, and Lewis and yourself. But as you walked down the short aisle towards the man waiting for you in black tie with the officiant at his side you were certain nothing had ever been more perfect in your entire life.

Your father shook Lewis’s hand before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, ambling over to his chair as Lewis took your arm in turn. He leaned in to whisper warmly in your ear.

“You look incredible, darling.”

Swallowing tightly, you whispered back. “You are lucky there are too many witnesses to commit manslaughter here.”

He barely contained his laughter.

The ceremony was sweet and simple. The signing of the licence took a little extra time as you also completed your immigration application at the same time, with his excellency Mr. Harriman signing as a sponsor – a breathtaking honour which you were quite certain you would never be able to fully process. Lewis had also clearly bought the wedding bands at the same time as the engagement ring as they all looked quite smart next to one another once placed on your respective fingers.

The intensity of Lewis’s eyes on yours as the officiant pronounced you man and wife had you feeling rather apprehensive of the kiss he was about the lay on you, a kiss you were admittedly no less desperate for after nearly six months, but reticent to share in front of an audience. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it was a soft and utterly appropriate kiss that only left you wanting more as the small group of attendees applauded your finally-accomplished-union.

Bestowing the bouquet upon the ambassador’s wife insistently, in gratitude, you finally allowed Lewis to pull you down to the separate car waiting to take the pair of you back to the hotel where the four of you would celebrate in a private dining room. The driver had barely closed the door before Lewis was pulling you close, at last delivering the thorough conquering of your mouth you had been yearning for as you clung to his coat, not wanting to ruin his styled hair.

“I have missed you far too much, darling.” He whispered against your lips as the driver pulled the car into traffic. “How will I ever repay your patience with me?”

“Do not remind me of balances and things owing, Lewis, I’m in a good mood.” You teased fondly. “You will meet my rage tomorrow when we’re stuck on a boat together for days on end. Tonight is for celebration only.”

He responded with a lopsided grin as his gaze traversed your face, expression fading slowly to one of seriousness before he kissed you fiercely once more, hands sliding dangerously close to your carefully pinned hair. You pulled back quickly with a pout.

“You can ruin that later.” You panted a little and he pressed his face against the crook of your shoulder.

“I will ruin more than your hair later.” He spoke, breath skating along your skin, making you shudder for many reasons. “Darling, are you certain this is not your murder plot unfurling right before my eyes?” He lifted his eyes to look up at you with a pained expression, your fingers reaching out to cup his cheek sympathetically as the car pulled up outside the hotel.

Summoning the strength to compose yourselves as the driver came around to open the door, you stepped out carefully and took Lewis’s arm to head inside, rather enjoying the way people glanced at the pair of you approvingly.

A small feast of beef wellington, Victoria sponge, and tea with milk and sugar – among other delights – awaited you all back at the Ritz. Lewis was barely able to keep his hands from ensnaring yours, his knee from pressing against your thigh, from feeding you bites of food proudly. He did an amiable job of getting to know Johnny better this time despite his distraction, the previous adversarial tension having evaporated from your brother with the arrival of the divorce decree several weeks ago. Lewis took great interest in Johnny’s employment and the topic of conversation devolved into a rather intense debate about railways…even as Lewis began to pull the hem of your dress higher beneath the tablecloth with tantalizingly bold fingertips. Eventually your father dragged a very stuffed and well-liquored Johnny off to bed, freeing the two of you from the obligation of entertaining them any longer at which point Lewis lifted your left hand to press a kiss to the rings on your finger.

“Well, Mrs. Nixon.”

You smiled shyly, but delightedly, to hear your new title from his lips. “Well, Mr. Nixon.”

“Fait accompli. At last.”

Nodding warmly, you leaned in to kiss him gently, giggling as he tasted of icing sugar and strawberry jam from his last bite of cake. “We should let them in here to clean up.”

“Are you propositioning me, Mrs. Nixon?” He teased as he stood, sliding his arm around your waist as you stood in turn.

“No!” You squeaked in self-defence, though you were more than a little enticed by his earlier promises from the car.

“Then allow me to proposition you, I would very much like to see what you’re wearing underneath this lovely outfit.”

“Mr. Nixon!” You feigned shock even as you pulled him out of the private dining room to head up to your shared suite.

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

Read Part Six

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #hbo war fic #lewis nixon #band of brothers #easy company

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glorianamultistan · 1 year

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I do not own the image.

I will be uploading more soon; this has been in my drafts for over six months. P.S.:- you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.

Lee Know x Male Reader

Part 1

Summary: Prince Lee Know has fallen for Y/n.

It was early morning, around 4 am, when Lee Know was sure that no one was following him; he departed towards the left wing of the manor, the ones where the guest rooms were located.

Y/n felt a light knock on his door and before he could ask who it was, the prince slipped in.

'Your Royal Highness!?' y/n whispered as he got up from his bed and felt a bit embarrassed because he was not in a very presentable state.

'Ah! You are up! Great! Let's go, we need to go to the lake; it will take some time. You wanted to look at the sunrise. So let's go.' Lee Know stated as if all this was a preplanned enterprise.

'Uhm... But sir. I just said it lightly.' Y/n could not understand how his light comment made the prince be present here at such an hour with all this enthusiasm.

He saw the older flinch a bit and feel a bit out of words, so he just complied with the request and 'You took such measures so early in the morning. I apologize; let me just get ready. Oh, don't worry, I can get ready without helpers, sir. If you could please turn around.'

Lee Know stood there, his face towards the door, with a feeling of restriction in his throat as he heard y/n rustle in and out of the clothes.

Lee Know was restless the whole night. He saw y/n for the first time last year at a ball held by his cousin, where the latter was introduced to him with the sole intention of a matrimonial alliance between the l/n and Lee families, both being two of the few most powerful ones in the southern region of the kingdom.

Lee family was also a branch of the royal family, with princes and princesses ornamenting the upcoming generation of family heads. So Lee Know, or Prince Lee Know, was an heir to the titles and extravaganza, and he knew how to use them to get the work he wanted to be done.

Y/n, on the other hand, was an honorable person, not with high titles, as he was not the direct heir and had three elder siblings. But it was truth universally acknowledged that he was the best catch out of all his siblings and hence was courted by a legion of princes and dukes and marquises and all the remaining titles of the realm, even the high-ranking government officials of the other nations and royalties of other empires wanted to have him as their son-in-law.

Why? Just because he was blessed with the supreme combination of mind and grace. He was, at his current age of 23, already an established author and a formal martial artist. He was mannered like no other person, full of the right protocols and courtesies. He was the gem the crowns of all the empires lacked. And, he was utterly clumsy and naive to love approaches to the level of irritation for his suitors.

'We can leave now, sir.' Lee Know turned around to see y/n in casual wear for a walk; he was still affected too much. 'Uh, yeah, let's go, let me, yes, just okay, let's go.' 'But this is my room, sir; I should be the one closing the door.' 'But I insist.'

So, y/n stood in the hallway as the prince closed the door and walked down the few engraved steps that his room had to them, a medieval design.

'Were you comfortable in the room? I got it arranged for you, especially because you like cozier spaces.' 'It is an honour, sir, that you took such measures for me.' Yes, y/n clearly has no idea that they met last year as a probable couple; his parents never notify him of such occurrences as he gets anxious and is not able to present himself. So now, it's the prince's turn to think that y/n is not interested in him and probably thinks of this all as a once-in-a-while opportunity.

'Will you be comfortable on the same horse, or do you want a separate one? Or do you want to drive there? I can ask for the cars too if you don't like horse rides.' Lee Know asked repeated questions to ensure he asserted that he was doing it all for the younger's comfort.

'I have no complaints about sharing the horse, sir.' Y/n liked such escapist endeavours. He was surprisingly cheerful this morning to go and look at the sunrise properly. He had heard of the majestic view of the sunrise which the lake of the Lee manor had. It was sublime, in his older brother's words.

The lake was situated in the little valley formed by ancient hills now eroded to moors. Here the duo reached just a few minutes before the sun was about to emerge through the horizon, and so there was a hazy lavender-maroon sky waiting for them.

'It is indeed sublime.' Y/n whispered. 'Huh?' Lee Know looked at the boy looking over to the climbing sun. Rays shined over them softly, and a light breeze ruffling the long hair of y/n made Lee Know to realise that he might actually have fallen a bit too hard.

What was to be done now? The sun was roping up, and the firmament shone, and so did the face of the younger, watching it all with awe as the mist started to clear up. Lee Know knew he had to take them back before breakfast, but he did not have enough courage to disturb the scene in front of him.

'Uhm, we-we should head back now, we need to be present there for breakfast, or your brother would think I kidnapped you.'

'Yes sir, we must hurry. I don't want to be caught slipping out like this.' There it was again; Lee Know felt a jab at heart; was he really not going to even get a chance?

#kpop x male reader #male reader #kpopidol #kpopgay #fanfiction #gay #gaypop #male idol x male reader #kpop #bottom reader #stray kids x male reader #skz x male reader #lee know x male reader #young royals

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gemsofgreece · 3 months

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If you want to watch content about Greece, do watch the National Geographic documentary Europe from Above. It has six seasons so far and S6E1 is about the Greek islands. (In the second season they had done Greece in general again but I have already made a post about that one - both are recommended). It’s a very interesting documentary, even I learned things I had no idea about.

It has a few inaccuracies here and there but it’s overall surely above average. The biggest foul is not showing Crete for the winter segment - dude, Crete has countless mountain ranges and two that are ultra, what the hell are you doing in the fortress in Corfu?! 😭

National Geographic brainstorming how to show winter in the Greek islands:

Another one I remember now is them saying that mastic is used as gum and toothpaste flavour and that in the Middle Ages it was worth as much as gold… dude it’s literally one of the most potent natural remedies for digestion and gastrointestinal issues… 😭😭 how on earth do you know the rest but consider insignificant to mention that

But don’t let me doing my whiny thing sway you if you are interested. The documentary is really good.

Honourable mentions:

That dude who is a descendant of Laskarina Bouboulina?!?!??!?!!?! 👀👀👀👀

The Sims background music during Santorini’s segment caught me so off guard - well played National Geographic I give you that one

Story time: I have a (not so famous) app for reviewing movies and tv series and I went there to check the ratings and it’s the latest episode so it only has a couple ratings so far and one of them was giving one star. And I thought, what the hell, I understand it not being your kind of thing or expecting something else but this is just too harsh, there is literally nothing in this documentary indicating that it could even remotely deserve something close to a freaking one star out of ten! But then I forgot about it and I was about to write in the honourable mentions above about National Geographic casually Greeking it up and showing an anniversary festival for a sea battle of the Greeks against the Ottomans and it was literally like ��so they set the Turkish flagship on fire and see how they revive this moment now and yeah after three tries the Turks never came back Greeks finally got rid of them”. And as I was about to comment on it, I realised, shit, that one star rating could have been Turkish. Imagine that Turk reviewer be like “I came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now” oh my goddd 😭😭😭

But okay, like I said, it has these moments that are a little funny but overall very good documentary!

#greece #europe #Europe from above #national geographic #review #documentary #Greek islands from above #Greek islands #funny #random

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strangelittlestories · 6 months

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Three weeks into the latest depressive episode A magazine calls - they want me on the cover

I tell them they’ve made a mistake I tell them the only reason I picked up Was for the sticky ‘ew’ feeling Of answering a phone call In this day and age

I tell them I haven’t showered And all I’ve eaten today Is a pack of six bake-at-home cinnamon buns And I feel a bit sick

He tells me I work for ‘Not Okay’ Magazine And we don’t make mistakes

Well, okay, we do Often But most of the time they’re sexy mistakes. We both know he’s lying, But I agree out of exhaustion.

They send a photographer to my flat We agree on a series of tasteful nudes With unwashed laundry And mouldy mugs In all the right places. They ooze attitude They also ooze literal ‘ooze’ Because of the, y’know, mould.

I list my nearest and dearest So they can ask for quotes. The one they print reads: “I wouldn’t really call us friends I haven’t heard from them In years I assumed they were mad at me.”

We chat in my living room Over a single measuring jug filled With expired instant coffee The interviewer breathes in a waft Of bovril-smelling caffeine slurry And wipes the awe from his eyes Then says:

“A few years ago No-one knew you You were medium sad The human equivalent of a drive-thru restaurant Bad, sure, but everyone knew what they were getting. You were … a C minus.

But now? You’re a landmark A national trust ruin They may as well tattoo ‘This is not a place of honour’ On the small of your back.

My doctor heard I was interviewing you And referred me for therapy As a precaution. So let me ask the question on everyone’s lips? What’s your secret?”

“What a great question.” I say, wrestling the coffee From his hands Because I deserve it

“It takes a lot of practice. You’ve just got to make time To remap your synapses I try to fit in one life-changingly bad event a year To really forge new wide-ranging roads Through my internal atlas Away from those depots of cloying serotonin I know I don’t deserve. Y’know, something really verve-destroying.

I’ve careened across the map Wheels burning into redundancy town Double-parking at heartbreak hotel (did you know you could fail a break-up?) Getting a ticket on bereavement boulevard A hit-and-run through jury service-ville (leaving my faith in humanity behind)

And of course Pandemic City was a blessing for all us sad-sacks But an extra spicy affair if you worked in healthcare

Finally, I crashed the metaphor into a river On the coldest night on record But it was pretty shallow And I think the cold probably helped Shock me out of it. Plus, I made it home with my trousers only partially frozen.

We are creatures of habit, Michael Can I call you Michael?”

(He quickly corrects me - Michael is not his name - “I didn’t ask you what your fucking name was I asked if I could call you Michael” He says yes)

“Like I said - creatures of habit If you *practice* If you really dig your feet in If you cut a wide furrow through the mud Some part of you will start to think Of the hole you burrowed in the dirt As home.

Your highest landmarks Are distant skyline and To visit would feel like trespassing.”

At the end of the interview I ask Michael If he’s sure I’m qualified To be a coverperson

After all There are so many people More ‘not okay’ than me Or who have more reason to be Yet remain seemingly functional.

“That’s the beauty of Not Okay magazine,” he says, with a smile like marshmallow “We don’t judge or rank. We ask for one thing: That today you are not okay.

In its own way, every sadness is interesting Even when it feels boring as the road you grew up on Tomorrow you might even be happy That’s okay too. Tomorrow is an impossibility of sunrises. Today - you are seen.”

#writing #poetry #verse #depression #cw veiled reference to suicide

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cozyaliensuperstar7 · 2 months

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The boxer, who was recently targeted by transphobic rhetoric, has now secured a medal for Algeria at the Paris 2024 Olympics. olympics2024

Imane Khelif is a UNICEF National Ambassador who wants to inspire children, especially girls, in her country to take part in sport. This is what we should know about her.

khaledbeydoun:

“My daughter is a girl,” Imane’s father stated back at media and the world.

Imane is a little girl that has loved sport since she was six-years-old, she used to play football. These critics and rumours aim to destabilise Imane, they don’t want her to be the champion of the world.

“I tell her prove them wrong in the ring and I hope that she will honour Algeria and Arabic countries and win the gold medal.”

#olympics #paris #france #boxing #imanekhelif

#imane khelif #i hope she wins the gold #boxing #paris olympics 2024

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 year

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Dana Claxton received this year’s Audain Prize, one of Canada’s most coveted arts awards, during a ceremony on Monday (25 September). The C$100,000 ($74,000) cash prize honouring distinguished British Columbia-based artists was announced at a luncheon at the Fairmont Hotel Vancouver.

When Reid Shier, executive director of the Polygon Gallery in North Vancouver, awarded the prize on behalf of the jury, he praised Claxton’s “multilayered” practice. He described the photography in her series and book Paris, June Fourth, Fifth, & Sixth, Two Thousand & Six as being “as much [Jack] Kerouac as [Eugène] Atget”—and spoke of her “landmark” work as a First Nations woman—a group who are “systemically denied a place in the art world.”

Claxton, a Vancouver-based artist whose work spans film, photography, video and multi-channel installation, is a member of the Wood Mountain Lakota First Nations located in Southwest Saskatchewan. Her practice investigates Indigenous beauty, the body, the socio-political and the spiritual and has been widely exhibited across Canada and internationally. She is also a professor at the University of British Columbia (UBC) and head of its department of art history, visual art and theory. [...]

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #Lakota #First Nations #British Columbia #Indigenous art #Saskatchewan

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asma-al-husna · 6 months

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Allah calls Himself Al-Khabeer— The Acquainted, the All-Aware — on six occasions in the Quran. He is the one who knows the true reality of all that is created. Al-Khabeer is aware of, knows about, and has understanding of all inner states, internal qualities, and the meanings of all things!

The Acquainted, All-and Fully Aware, Knower of Reality

Khabeer comes from the root khaa-baa-raa, which points to two main meanings. The first main meaning is to know, to be aware, and to understand the reality or inner nature of something. The second main meaning is to test, prove, and try by experience which results in inner knowledge.

This root appears 52 times in the Quran in four derived forms. Examples of these forms are akhbaarakum (“your affairs”), khubran (“any knowledge, information”), and akhbaarahaa (“its news”).

Linguistically, khabeer is derived from khibrah, which is the concept of comprehending and encompassing the inner and outward realities of things. It is said, khabartu ash-shay (I attained proper knowledge of something) when I came to know it upon its reality (i.e. as it truly is). Hence, He, the Sublime, is al-Khabeer, meaning the one who has encompassed the innermost, and the hidden realities of things, and the outward realities of things. [Sharh Aqidatul-Wasitiyyah of al-Fawzan]

Al-Khabeer Himself says: . . . [He is] Knower of the unseen and the witnessed; and He is the Wise, the Acquainted. [Quran, 6:73] . . . Vision perceives Him not, but He perceives [all] vision; and He is the Subtle, the Acquainted [Quran, 6:103] [All] praise is [due] to Allah , to whom belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is in the earth, and to Him belongs [all] praise in the Hereafter. And He is the Wise, the Acquainted. [Quran, 34:1]

The ultimate awareness and knowledge of Allah

Allah is the one whose knowledge encompasses all that is outward and hidden, all things that occur, have occurred, and will occur of the affairs of the whole creation. There is nothing that is hidden from Him. Allah ‘azza wa jall paired His attribute of being khabeer with His attribute of all-encompassing knowledge.

Allah says: Verily Allah! With Him (Alone) is the knowledge of the Hour, He sends down the rain and knows what is in the wombs. No person knows what he will earn tomorrow and no person knows in what land he will die. Indeed Allah is All-Knowing, All-Aware. [Quran, 31:34]

It is Allah who has knowledge of both the seen and unseen and it is He who can perceive our inner nature and intentions. O Mankind! We have created you from a male and a female and made you into nations and tribes that you may know each other. Verily, the most honourable of you in the Sight of Allah is the most God-Fearing of you. Indeed Allah is the All-Knower, the All-Aware. [Quran,49:13]

In the Quran, Allah’s being khabeer is most often combined with His attribute of wisdom (Al-Hakeem), of seeing (Al-Baseer), and subtleness (Al-Lateef).

How Can You Live by This Name?

1. Be comforted by Al-Khabeer. Allah Al-Khabeer is the only one who is aware of all you do, say, hide, and want. Let this amazing fact comfort you in times of hardship, and in times of ease remind yourself to not get too attached to this world and its material benefits. Allah beautifully says: Does He who created not know, while He is the Subtle, the Acquainted?[Quran, 67:14]

2. Know that Al-Khabeer will inform you. Not only is Allah acquainted with all your deeds, on the Day of Judgement He will inform you about all you used to do. Remember this each day and let it motivate you to do good deeds. When you slip, ask Him for forgiveness in this life so you will be saved from His punishment in the next.

That is Allah, your Lord; to Him belongs sovereignty. And those whom you invoke other than Him do not possess [as much as] the membrane of a date seed. If you invoke them, they do not hear your supplication; and if they heard, they would not respond to you. And on the Day of Resurrection they will deny your association. And none can inform you like [one] Acquainted [with all matters]. [Quran, 35:13-14]

3. Understand the reality of this world. The Prophet salallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam happened to walk through the bazaar coming from the side of ‘Aliya and people were on both sides of him. There he found a dead lamb with very short ears. He took hold of its ear and said: ‘Who amongst you would like to have this for a dirham?’ They said: ‘We would not like to have it even for less than that as it is of no use to us.’ He said: ‘Do you wish to have it (free of any cost)?’ They said: ‘By Allah, even if it were alive (we would not have liked to possess it), for there is defect in it, as its ear is very short; on top of that it is dead now.’ Thereupon, Rasul Allah (sal Allahu alaihi wasallam) said: ‘By Allah, this world is more insignificant in the eyes of Allah than (this dead lamb) is in your eyes.’ [Muslim]

Understand the insignificance of this world, but know that at the same time this life is your only chance to strive for your eternal place in Paradise. So make your life worth something by paying heed to the reminders of Allah and His Prophet and fill it with actions that will benefit your next life!

4. Make sure to do hidden good deeds. Al-Khabeer says: If you disclose your charitable expenditures, they are good; but if you conceal them and give them to the poor, it is better for you, and He will remove from you some of your misdeeds [thereby]. And Allah , with what you do, is [fully] Acquainted. [Quran, 2:271]

Be motivated to do good deeds not for the eye of the people but for Allah Al-Khabeer! This means you will thoroughly enjoy those good deeds you can hide as you know you do them for Al-Khabeer and the fact only He knows about them will make you feel close to Him.

5. Adhere to the laws of Al-Khabeer. In the Quran Allah ‘azza wa jall mentions His attribute of being acquainted with all you do often after He has mentioned one of His laws. Follow the rules and laws Al-Khabeer laid out for you in the Quran and through the sunnah to your best ability.

6. Don’t judge people too quickly. We are often quick to judge others. Don’t forget that you don’t have knowledge of the inner reality of others; only Al-Khabeer does. Therefore be careful in judging others not only by criticising them but also by over-praising them. Always say: I leave your judgement to Allah!

O Allah, Al-Khabeer, we know that You are aware of all things. Guide us to the best inner and outer characteristics and aid us in our manners with others. Assist us in abiding by Your rules and make us aware of the reality of this world and how to strive best for Your Paradise, ameen!

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oneatlatime · 11 months

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The Chase part 2

Apologies for the technical problems. Battery power must be conserved for necessities, which unfortunately does not include Avatar. But the power's back on now, so!

Picking up from Toph treating a senior citizen like a snooker ball...

I do like how Mai's not shy about participating in Ty Lee's nonsense.

The way Zuko Jr. says "I'll follow this trail" is very menacing.

We're continuing last week's cowboy theme.

This village has the same menacing single windchime as the village in the Spirit World Part One did.

This was may more satisfying than I was expecting! It was completely unfair how easily the Fire Nation ladies defeated Sokka & Katara so getting Appa'd was a nice payoff.

No disability unmocked this episode. Also nice stance from the lizard.

This whole scene with Toph and Iroh has the most beautiful backgrounds. I sense phone wallpapers in my future.

Forget about the visuals, every line of this exchange was golden. Two towering pillars of wisdom and emotional maturity meet for tea and not a soul goes untouched. Also a nice moment of calm in an otherwise frantic episode.

Can this PLEASE be the rock bottom for Zuko. I can only take so much more second hand embarrassment.

Fully-provisioned princess of the fire nation v. sleep-deprived half trained avatar v. starving outlaw who seems to have forgotten to bring his swords, the only weapon he's good at. Place your bets, folks!

Zuko in a nutshell.

Ok so we're getting the whole gang back together.

The whole whole gang.

The whole whole whole gang.

How the hell did they mess up six on one?!?!

A princess can't surrender with honour when she doesn't have any!

That was kind of Katara to offer to help. I didn't expect that.

Final Thoughts

This episode doesn't let up once. Even the break with Toph and Iroh having tea doesn't do much to dispell the rising tension from the chase. The musical stinger that plays over the title card was a surprise bit of foreshadowing in that way.

That tank thing was neat. Shame about what it contained, but that's a really cool design.

Poor Appa was once again the MVP this episode. It was uncomfortable watching him get so exhausted.

It seems like the thin veneer of level-headedness cultivated by Katara over the last season or so is indeed quite thin. It was interesting to see how the different characters reacted to being tired. Sokka was alternatively amped up and completely chilled out, Aang got quiet (until he felt Appa was being insulted), Katara reverted to her early season one characterisation. It's hard to say with Toph, because we've only known her one episode (it feels like more) but I think she just got more Toph-like.

Please let this be the end in Zuko's experiment with independence. He's not good at it. He needs uncle. Points for trying, but he failed, so please bring uncle back.

Sokka low key wins this episode. He's the one with sense, the only one who stays clear-headed when it counts, and it turns out that clear head of his can defeat the pokey thing Ty Lee does.

I don't know how much time is supposed to have passed between picking up Toph and the start of this episode, but I can't help but feel that Toph really got the short end of the stick here. She did give up everything, even if much of what she gave up was not that great for her personally. And in return she got to travel in a way that completely blinds her and get yelled at. Meeting Iroh was a nice consolation prize.

Now I kind of want a story where Toph doesn't come back to the Gaang and instead goes around unleashing bending hell on the earth kingdom.

Was there no b plot or c plot this episode? Everything kind of collided in the final couple of scenes, which I did not see coming.

Frantic is the word I keep coming back to for this episode. Everything fit together nicely. I'll definitely rewatch it when I have the chance to do so in one sitting, without unforseen technical problems.

#the risk I took was calculated #but man am I bad at math #atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #the chase #laptop was at 31% so I wasn't taking any chances #Note to self: stop putting of looking at a backup power supply #stupid utilities company is currently doing “intermittent network repairs” which apparently translates to killing the grid #every saturday and wednesday #but never the same time on those days #I'm going to clean up part 1 now

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mariacallous · 5 months

Text

Liz Truss is the most disastrous and unpopular leader in modern British history. Mortgage holders and small businesses still loathe her for sending interest rates through the roof. Her short, catastrophic premiership is routinely compared unfavourably to the shelf life of a lettuce. (A comparison first made by the bright leader writers at the Economist to give credit where it is due.)

When Labour wins the next election, its triumph will be in part the result of the public’s reaction against her vast and dogmatic economic folly.

If you were Liz Truss, you might retire from public life. At the very least you would apologize and hang your head in shame.

If readers expect contrition, however, they have yet to learn that being on the radical right means never having to say you are sorry.

Truss’s demotion from national leader to national joke has not embarrassed her in the slightest but pushed deep into paranoid conspiracism.

Her autobiography, bizarrely titled Ten Years to Save the West, as if the fate of liberal democracy depended on the advice of an epic failure, shows that, despite all she did to this country, her eyes still shine with a bright, self-righteous fanaticism, as if the sockets are backlit by an idiot’s lantern,

Chutzpah used to be defined as murdering both your parents and asking the court for clemency because you are an orphan. In Truss’s case it is using the power of the prime minister to crash the economy and then claiming she was a powerless victim of the liberal elite.

Her writing is as lacking in self-awareness as it is powered by self-righteousness.

At one point she says in all innocence that, when Boris Johnson resigned in the summer of 2022, her agent encouraged her to join the race to be prime minister, as the campaign might be good for her profile.

But she reports that he then wisely added “it would be for the best if I came second”.

Later she informs us that during the leadership campaign she “frankly lost trust in many of my erstwhile ministerial colleagues who were supporting my opponent [Rishi Sunak].

“They had spent the last six weeks not just attacking me but seeking to undermine my plans, saying my agenda was unworkable."

Truss never stops to think that the few people who will finish this book will believe that her agent was right, and it would clearly have been for the best if she had never been prime minister.

Nor does she contemplate the possibility that her agenda was indeed “unworkable”, and was proved to be unworkable when her unfunded tax cuts and fuel subsidies sent the price of gilts shooting up, the value of the pound crashing down, and caused a crisis in the pension industry for good measure.

And yet, and yet…Mock her as much as you like. Please don’t hold back on my account. But you cannot dismiss her.

There are two reasons why Truss is still dangerous. The first lies in the strength of the right-wing clique that brought her to power.

It is true that Liz Truss did not become prime minister by winning over Conservative MPs. As with Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership of the Labour party, Truss’s career illustrates the danger of expecting leaders who do not have the support of a plurality of their colleagues to function in a Parliamentary democracy.

But she still beat Rishi Sunak with the votes of 57 percent of Tory members.

And with the honourable exception of the Times, the Tory press was all for her. “In Liz We Trust”, said the Express “Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Woman”, cried the Mail. “Liz Puts Her Foot on the Gas”, cheered the Sun.

Kwasi Kwarteng set off a market panic as he put Truss’s ideas into practice in the mini budget of September 2022. The reaction of right-wing papers was not one of alarm, however, but of adoration.

“At last”, gushed the Daily Mail, “a True Tory Budget”. A Daily Telegraph commentator said it was “the best Budget I have ever heard a British Chancellor deliver”.

Meanwhile the Truss premiership allowed the voodoo economics of the US-influenced (and in all probability US-financed) think tanks to finally impose itself on this luckless country. The Centre for Policy Studies welcomed the mini-budget saying it was “exactly what we would have hoped for”. The Taxpayers’ Alliance called it “the most taxpayer-friendly budget in recent memory”.

Robert Saunders of Queen Mary University made the unarguable point that Truss was not an aberration or some alien figure that had appeared from nowhere to take over the Conservative party.

Follow the money that cascaded in from party donors, he said, and “the Truss premiership begins to look less like the personal failure of a flawed individual, and more like a systemic disaster for which the party bears collective responsibility”.

Those forces will dominate the Conservative party after its defeat and drive it to the radical right. Indeed, in opposition the members, the think tanks, the press and the ideologue donors will become more important, for they will be all the party has.

In a sign of things to come, Truss is already allying with Nigel Farage, and even Rishi Sunak says he will not ban Farage from joining Conservative party.

Despite her failure, Truss remains a potent figure on the radical right because of her championing of revanchism, which is now its dominant emotion.

This isn't a book. It’s a 300-page wail of resentment at a world that will not do as it is told.

I have no problem with conservatives complaining about woke policies taking over institutions. Only a fool or liar maintains that progressive biases among supposedly impartial organisations are an invention of the right,

But the woke conspiracy Truss invokes is of a wholly different order. It is utterly fantastical.

To recap, Truss's unfunded subsidies and tax cuts panicked the bond markets. They would not lend to a country whose leaders lacked plausible means of meeting its debts. Or if they did lend they would demand an additional yield on government bonds, which became known in plain-speaking financial markets as the “moron premium”: the extra cost that comes with lending to a nation run by idiots.

In her apologia Truss, who still poses as a Thatcherite, no longer sees markets as an expression of the wisdom of crowds, but as a conspiracy to do her down.

“I came to realise there is no such thing as ‘the market’ in this sense. Rather, there are groups of influential individuals in the financial establishment, all of whom know and speak to one another in a closed feedback loop. The Treasury, the Bank of England, and the OBR are deeply embedded in these social networks and share the same beliefs in the established economic orthodoxy."

The markets were at fault for not seeing her financial genius. Financial traders were the world’s unlikeliest lefties. Even though she and Kwarteng fired the permanent secretary at the Treasury and cut out the Bank of England and Office for Budget Responsibility from policy making, they were still, somehow, responsible for Tory failure.

“The powerful vested interests there pushed back, made my life very difficult and ultimately got me fired,” Truss concludes.

Older readers may remember a time when Conservatives insisted on personal responsibility. You were not allowed to blame crime on poverty or your failings on a bad childhood. You were accountable.

But the case of Liz Truss proves that these morality tales were only ever for the poor. In her mind, the economy collapsed not because of decisions she made but because of “a sustained whispering campaign by the economic establishment, encouraged and fueled by my political opponents in the Conservative Party who refused to accept my mandate to lead”.

Trumpism is the end point of such conspiracism and revanchism, and Truss goes all the way down the line to the terminus.

She mutters about the “deep state” a Trumpian phrase she uses without irony or self-knowledge.

And even though her support for Ukraine was her redeeming feature during her time as foreign secretary and prime minister, she is now supporting the pro-Putin Trump and his allies in Congress who are denying aid to Kyiv.

Truss is finished. But the resentment born of failure and the fury at modernity ensures Trump is still very much with us.

If he delights Putin and wins in November, the UK and Europe will learn the hard way that the real threat to Western civilisation comes from Liz Truss and her friends.

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