#made in Johannesburg

[leliesblou]

.

[ibhokhwe]

there's a neo-soul song hidden inside Lotto

Mafikizolo

[mindblowingscience]

Led by renowned palaeoanthropologist Lee Berger, researchers said they discovered several specimens of Homo naledi – a tree-climbing, Stone Age hominid – buried about 30 meters (100 feet) underground in a cave system within the Cradle of Humankind, a UNESCO world heritage site near Johannesburg.​ "These are the most ancient interments yet recorded in the hominin record, earlier than evidence of Homo sapiens interments by at least 100,000 years," the scientists wrote in a series of yet to be peer-reviewed and preprint papers to be published in eLife.​ The findings challenge the current understanding of human evolution, as it is normally held that the development of bigger brains allowed for the performing of complex, "meaning-making" activities such as burying the dead.​ The oldest burials previously unearthed, found in the Middle East and Africa, contained the remains of Homo sapiens – and were around 100,000 years old.​

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[kidvoodoo]

Jeest Mafia AU, snippet under the cut 💚💙

Joost tried not to make eye contact with anyone at the airport, though the stares he received at his battered face were inevitable. How many tall, blond, bandaged, bruised and bloody men were in a hurried rush to the terminal? Odds say: not many.

‘Not that I should be thinking about odds right now’ chided his conscience, ‘that’s how I got into this mess in the first place…’

His pace didn’t falter despite the looks from the other passengers lining up in their respective lines. All of them with bags and luggage alike underarm or trailing behind them, his own, suspiciously absent.

No time to pack, clothes on his back, phone, wallet and a little vial of two small white pills. Security checkpoint nearly put an end to those, but a desperate, puppy-eyed look and his disheveled state made the officer roll her eyes and wave him through, for all she knew, or anyone knew, it was aspirin.

‘Fix more than a headache’ his inner thoughts sneered, ‘steady on Joost, for emergencies only’.

He kept his eyes on the gate numbers, briefly glancing at the destinations. Cabo, Shanghai, Johannesburg, each a far flung place he could have potentially laid low in for months, relax on some resort beach or in a high class penthouse…

But that’s not where he’s headed.

He spies the glowing gate number, the destination? Helsinki, Finland. He got the ticket the same day he got the phone call telling him to leave as fast as possible, his usually calm and monotone source had an edge of panic to their voice, Joost trashed the burner after that and shredded the last of his books and burned them. He left his apartment as the ashes were still smoldering.

Finland eh? The only clue of what was happening next was the note in the ticket envelope, hurried scrawling in broken Dutch gave him simple instructions:

Taxi to the airport, pay in cash. Get on the plane. Make sure you are in the camera view the whole time, locate the Air Marshal and watch him. Once you are off the plane, head to the pick up zone in the parking lot and look for the black limo. Tap on the driver’s side window and give the password.

“Here for Tommy’s boy” he mutters under his breath. The magic words that’ll guarantee his safety and freedom, or will land him a bullet between the brows…

Better than the alternative.

He’s on time for the early boarding and hands the Steward his ticket, eyeing the Air Marshal at the doors to the plane’s walkway. He’s given a smile and some well wishes for his flight and finally, for the first time in several days, he feels a little sliver of calm wash over him.

‘Can’t cut me up on the plane you fuckers’

He finds his seat, window view and close to the front of the plane and plops down, the ache in his joints and back starting to flare up since the adrenaline begins to wear off.

Finland…he’s uncertain exactly what is waiting for him there, he regrets not grabbing a translation booklet at the terminal kiosk but there was simply no time. His new phone is IP hidden for the time being till he can get a VPN to bounce his signal, so no using Google’s underwhelming translation system…

He thinks back to a conversation he overheard at a conference last year. The big guys were all there, each of them with a meaty bodyguard in tow and a pistol or two brandished in plain sight.

He was there on happenstance, just finishing up the numbers to hand to his boss for the last fiscal year when his curiosity got the best of him.

“Baltic’s are at it again,” his boss sneers, tapping his cigar onto the floor, “think they’ll hide behind the Nordic cunts so they don’t have to play anymore”.

“Hm.” Another well dressed older man hums in response. He’s the police liaison, a former Captain who’s been working with the mob for 40 years. “Not much to be done about it Albert, the Fins have the advantage now, I hear they’ve even brought Estonia into the fold now.”

Albert snorts, getting to his feet and giving a couple other well-dressed people a farewell wave.

“Cuz of that little shit,” he grumbles, motioning his bodyguard to get a move on. “What’s his name? Kät-something? The Union fucker.”

“Käärijä,” the former Police Captain supplies, “his Union is very bold for an upstart, cutting off the trade in the Baltic’s disrupts everything. Heard he’s in talks of making a deal with the Norwegians as well. That’s the case? Say goodbye to the big money”.

Joost tried to linger as long as possible to catch the last bit of conversation, tucking himself against the wall and listening close.

“Damn idiot, Norway doesn’t play with the new players, even if the young lady is supposedly running things over there now. He’s a fucking lunatic to think the Baltic’s will stay loyal, he’ll be done by the end of the year, mark my words-“

A dinging noise jolts him awake from his daze, the Flight Attendants are doing their safety check. The doors to the plane are closed and for the first time in weeks, months even, Joost’s tense shoulders drop with exhaustion.

He is safe. For now.

<><><>

Roughly three hours later, he startles awake.

The voice over the intercom of the plane cabin announces in several languages that they have arrived at Helsinki Airport and will begin the landing process momentarily.

He spares a glance around the cabin out of paranoia, nothing out of the ordinary and no unwanted eyes in his direction.

Twenty minutes later and he’s heading out of the plane and into the airport terminal. The weather outside is gray and snowy, the sky a mass of colorless clouds and the sun choked somewhere behind. He shivers just looking at the weather, his cheap suit jacket will definitely not suffice.

He heads down the walkways and tried not to get too overwhelmed with the directions, mostly in Finnish but thankfully also in English.

He’s only a hundred feet from the parking lot when he feels eyes on his back. He tries subtly to peak behind and catch if he’s being followed.

Two men, both in dark blue suits and expensive leather shoes, each sporting a grim, intense expression. They have their hands in their pockets.

Joost picks up his pace, eyes focused on the automatic doors that swing open and shut.

He can hear them closing behind him, their shoes loud against the tiles. He starts to jog.

He doesn’t stop to apologize to the people he pushes past to get out of the door, ignoring the scowls and curses thrown his way. His heart is hammering in his chest, he has but a minute to locate the car before he’s dragged off and butchered in a dark corner…

A car horn blares loudly as he flinches and freezes, he had walked right out in front of a pair of high beams, his eyes don’t have time to adjust as he hurriedly runs around to look.

Black limousine, tinted windows with triple thick bulletproof glass and chrome trimming. The driver’s side window rolls down, a bald man with sunglasses and a mustache regards him blankly.

“P-please,” he stammers, eyes catching the two suited men finally breaching the threshold. “I-I’m being followed-“

“What is phrase?” The driver interrupts, not at all phased by the situation in the slightest.

“Th-the wha-oh yes yes, it’s uh…” he swallows takes a breath and speaks the words softly enough for the man to hear him.

“I’m here for Tommy’s boy.”

The door at the back of the limo clicks open, beckoning him inside.

He all but dives into the car and slams the door shut just as the two men make a dash towards the vehicle, only to stop dead in their tracks mere feet away.

Joost doesn’t have the time to take in his surroundings as he sees what has halted his stalkers. In the split second before the limo peels out with a loud screeching of tires, the window on the opposite side is down just enough to see the startled and blanched faces of the two men, who find themselves held in place by a man aiming a 45 caliber handgun at them.

Were it to fire at point blank range, one of the two men would have nearly had his torso blown open. More than a lethal shot, truly overkill at that point.

The car peels out of the lot and before he knows it, Joost is tossed back into he seat as the limo put some speedy distance between him and the danger.

A loud curse and sound of a window being rolled up. Joost finally levels his eyes behind his cracked glasses to see his savior.

Sitting across from him now with the gun held loosely in his grip is a dark haired man with pale skin. He sports a blunted bowl cut and his facial hair is trimmed and tidy. He wears a long black coat with a layered polo necked jumper and a couple silver chains around his neck. The jewelry matches his pierced ears and nose rings, the whole of his attire is expensive and modern looking.

Joost is drawn into the man’s piercing eyes, blue like his own but with an edge of silver steel, made more intimidating and entrancing by the heavy makeup that lines them.

The man is staring at him, Joost’s palms immediately start to sweat.

“I uh,”

“You are the Dutchman we take in?” The man interrupts, his voice has an hint of annoyance, Joost nods politely and holds out his hand to shake.

“Yes, I mean to say, thank you,” he tries to muster a charming smile but finds himself pinned under the man’s gaze like a deer being watched through a hunter’s scope.

“I’m sure this is a bit of trouble for you-“

“Trouble? I say it is bigger trouble for you and not me. You need a drink yes? I have gin and brandy here.” The man all but ignores whatever Joost was trying to say and busies himself with pouring a drink from a side bar containing glasses and some bottles. “Brandy since the gin is warm, I not have a lot of time to get it ready.”

Joost wants to say something, anything to this stranger but finds himself at an utter loss for words. The man looks at him expectantly, pushing the glass of amber liquor into his hands.

“There you drink that, feel better afterwards. You say you looking for Tommy’s boy? That is what he tell you to say? He think he is funny man, he gonna have to explain to me…” the man trails off, eyes now scanning and taking in Joost’s disheveled appearance. “You have injury? I have some bandage here and some other things uh,” the man stops and searches for a word. “you know, doctor supplies?”

“First aid kit?” Joost supplies.

“Ah yes yes! That is it,” the man grins and digs around a bit before huffing in annoyance and opening the little sliding window to the driver’s compartment. He asks for something in Finnish and the bald man replies. Information gathered, he opens a compartment and fishes out a nondescript black case.

“Okei here it is. Let me see your hand, you have blood on your palm.” He does? Joost was in such a mad dash to get away from the goons who had jumped him back in the Netherlands he didn’t have time to take stock of his injuries. He holds out his hand timidly and the man yanks it none too gently to inspect.

“No stitches I think,” he hums, grabbing supplies to clean and patch the gash on Joost’s palm.

The man’s grip is firm and steady, there is warm radiating from beneath the leather gloves he wears.

“You are Mr. Klein eh?” The man says absentmindedly as he cleans the wound. “I hear you screw your boss out two million euros, not bad.” The man smirks, eyes flickering up to Joost’s face. “I like someone who disrupts the status quo. When Tommy say you in trouble, I had to do something about it. Would be a waste for you ending up in concrete.”

Joost cringes a little at the mention of his dilemma, taking a long gulp of his drink and reveling in the burn.

“I don’t know about disruption, I just did what I thought was right is all. Didn’t think it would go this far…” he wishes he could be more proud, he did take a chunk of money from the hands of the worst men in Europe. Now, he’s a marked man, possibly forever.

The dark haired man seems to sense his discomfort and finishes dressing his hand, grabbing a gauze patch and passing it over.

“What is done is done, you think it is bad thing now, but you make a big move, and now you have a big advantage for the war that is coming.”

Joost finishes placing the gauze over the gash on his cheek, looking at the man puzzlingly.

“What war? And what advantage are you talking about?”

The man leans back against his seat and smiles, his sharp canines peak over his lips and his expression is one of amusement and vicious excitement.

“The war between the Union and the Old Men, tear down their ruined kingdom and make our own. The advantage? That’s easy,”

The man chuckles darkly.

“You have Käärijä in your corner now.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Always Our Daughter | N Hischier

summary; even after you split, his mom will always consider you her daughter.

-

In all of your time with Nico, you’d always been close to his mother. Katja had treated you like a second daughter from the moment Nico had brought you home.

So when you split up she was heartbroken. You felt sorry to be loosing a second family but you knew this was best for you both.

Nina reached out a few times to check on you but they all went radio silent for a few weeks until you got a text from his mom.

hi sweetheart, just checking in! you’ve been busy! it’s been so strange not having you around, we’re so proud of you! Please reach out if you ever need anything — you’ll always be our daughter.

It felt nice that she thought about you.

It was a little sad how you felt. You missed them.

Everything was changing; you’d moved out of your shared apartment in Hoboken and up to Buffalo for cheaper rent. Your mom had taken all of your belongings out of your shared home back in Bern.

She’d sent you a picture of the house almost completely empty, considering you’d bought the house together in the off season you were the only one who was able to stay in Switzerland to decorate and Nico didn’t get much of a say.

you moved! your mother showed us pictures of your new house, it’s gorgeous! please let us know if you’ll be visiting us on your trip back to Bern this Christmas, we miss you so much.

When you finally found a place you got to work making it yours, trying to make it home.

you’d never lived alone, constantly moving from rental to rental in Jersey to accommodate Nico’s lifestyle. Your first apartment was perfect and you’d considered buying it but as the internet does, fans had shared your address online and you then had to move a further seven times for the same reasons.

When you’d finally settled on your home in Bern you had planned to make it your own, you made countless Pinterest boards for each room.

You stayed up late nights in the bedroom, laying on the mattress on the floor holding one another while you spoke about all of the things you’d do to the house and all of the memories it would hold.

You spoke about how you’d get married in the garden, how you’d bring your children home here and how you’d decorate their nursery’s.

you went to South Africa?! how was it, sweetheart? you always said you wanted to go… I saw on facebook you’re dating someone new, is he nice? We’d love to meet him. miss you sweetheart.

When Nico had finally settled payment and given you your half of the money for the house you decided to go on vacation. A vacation you’d spoken about going on with Nico countless times but hadn’t gotten around to it.

On the plane you’d been sat next to a guy who you got chatting with. He told you he was headed to Johannesburg to do work, he worked with a non profit.

The two of you spent the entire flight chatting away, getting to know one another and before you parted ways at the airport you exchanged phone numbers with the promise to call when you got back to the US.

hi sweetheart, your mother told us you got a new job! Congratulations sweetheart you’ll be great.

After you’d gotten home and Alex called you, he showed you all the stuff he’d done in South Africa and you were enamoured with it and began complaining about your job and how you wanted to help more people.

Being the captains girlfriend in New Jersey meant you took lead on fundraisers and community events, you missed it.

So Alex told you about an event organiser position that was open in his company so you went for the interview and got it.

It felt nice to be helping make a difference again.

happy new year love. it was so nice to see you last week, congratulations to you and alex. you’re going to be an amazing mother, nobody deserves this more than you. can’t wait to meet this little one! don’t become a stranger please…. we love you! x

Things with Alex moved quickly. He moved into your apartment, the two of you settled into a routine and only a few months in you found out you were pregnant.

It was a massive shock and you were something bordering excited and disappointed. You liked Alex, truly you did and it was nice to be sharing your life with someone again but this was all a lot happening in such a short period of time.

Whenever you thought about having babies you always imagined them with brunette hair, Nico’s nose crinkle and his beautiful big eyes.

You called your mom and cried for a little bit, she tried her very best to soothe you. At one point you considered calling Nico, just wanting someone who would make you feel better.

it’s been a while! A little girl…. congratulations sweetheart, not long until she’s here. nico sends his well wishes, Nina shared your photos with him I hope you don’t mind. let us know if you got our gift in the mail.

A little girl.

You posted it on instagram, a heart shaped cake with pink icing inside with the caption ‘my sweet slice of heaven ☁️🩷’

Nico saw it, everyone saw it. They all tried avoiding the conversation in the locker room but Nina sent it straight to him ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?!? THAT SHOULD BE YOURS!!!’

Things with Alex hadn’t been so smooth sailing, he’d been making off handed comments about your body and you guys had been arguing about finances, with the additional costs of a baby coming you were trying to be smart. That wasn’t something you’d ever had to worry about with Nico, he’d fight you to keep your credit card in your purse. He always said his money was the least he could give you for everything you’d ever given him.

oh sweetheart. claudia is just perfect. she looks exactly like you and she’s got the chubbiest little cheeks. your mom told us what’s happened the past few months, I’m so sorry sweetheart, someday someone will come into your lives for you both and change it for the best. one day claudia will know just how strong her mommy is. we’re always here to support you; we’re so glad you reconnected with nico. he’s been showing us all the pictures and videos you send him, we’re so excited to meet her someday. take care of yourself schatz, we’ll see you when you come home x

Claudia, the love of your life.

Your babygirl was born and she was perfect. Everyone said she looked like you which you were grateful for, not a reminder of Alex who had taken off just before she was born.

You freaked out when you went into labour, all alone with nobody to call so you called the only person you knew you could rely on.

He was by your side, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement in your ear.

“I can’t do it! I can’t!”

“You can Schatz, you can. You’re so strong you can” you cried out in pain, squeezing his hand tighter.

He named her.

“Does she have a name?” He asks, stroking the little girls cheek.

“Alex wanted to call her Emma but I don’t like it” you scrunched your nose in discontent “My mom gave me a book of Swiss names but Alex wouldn’t even let me look at it he didn’t like-“

“How about Claudia?” He asks and your eyes go wide before you give a soft smile, remembering back to the first night in your house, holding one another while you said

“and our babies! if it’s a girl, Claudia and if it’s a boy I’d like to use Luca”

You nod, eyes full of tears “Claudia… hi babygirl”

Even after you’d gotten home and settled into life with your little girl you kept in contact with Nico. He asked for updates at least four times a day and you would FaceTime when he was on the road.

The devils last game of the season was against the sabres and you took Claudia to her first NHL game.

Nico found you both, standing next to the ice he waved to the baby through the plexi

“Hi, Chäferli!”

happy birthday to Claudia! we can’t wait to give her gift, we may have gone a little overboard but you can’t blame us… she’s our first grandbaby!! love you and we’ll see you three later at her party.

“Happy birthday Chäferli!” Nico shouted, peppering kisses all over the one year olds face as she sat in her high chair eating her cupcake delivered specially from the team.

Your camera shutter caught both of their attention, the two looking over at you with smiles and you shrugged “Capturing the memories”

Nico shakes his head, unclipping Claudia from her high chair and waltzing over to where you stood in the kitchen with your camera pushing the camera down from your face to kiss you softly

“Best day of our lives” he mumbled and you stroked Claudia’s cheek while nodding

“Our precious girl, you made this family”

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

déjà vu

Summary: After Age of Ultron, the team are left with the decision of what to do with Wanda, and they’re not in agreement. Natasha becomes staunchly defensive of the witch, remembering her own fate at SHIELD was decided in a similar manner.

(Summaries are tricky but Nat defends Wanda, R defends Nat, then they comfort each other at the end)

Word Count: 1188

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & Reader; Wanda Maximoff & Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Half the team are being mean to Wanda and Natasha gets sad :(

A/N: Based on this request. Thank you all for the awesome response to my last fic, it gave me the motivation to write despite everything else going on rn, so thank you and reminder to reblog and comment on fics if you can, because that’s what keeps writers posting their fics on here :) Enjoy!

»»————-　★　————-««

"We cannot let her waltz around scot-free without any repentance for her crimes!"

"She just lost her homeland and her twin brother; you don't think that's enough punishment?"

"She's HYDRA. She volunteered. She is everything we've been fighting against and you want us to, what? take her under our wing? make her even stronger than she already is?"

"Yes! That's the kind of power we want on our side-"

To nobody's surprise, Steve and Tony are at odds, driving the argument. Thor had backed Steve with the insight that second chances had done his brother a world of good. But everyone remembers the Battle of New York, and soon even Steve is wishing the God of Thunder would rescind his support. Bruce agrees with Tony, still racked with guilt over the Johannesburg incident. Then Clint voices his support for Steve, upon a conditional level of trust, to return the sides to an imbalance.

Sam and Rhodey use their newcomer status to remove their ballot from the decision; the two of them sneaking off, likely to do better things with their time.

The argument continues, never ceasing for breaths since everyone talks over each other, constantly interrupting the previous point. You grimace from your place in the corner; sitting, observing, and waiting for them to tire themselves out before you say your piece. Natasha meets your eye. She is doing the same.

"She's a child!" Steve continues

"She's going on 26! Steve you were Captain America by that age, I was the most famous CEO in the world! We weren't let off the hook for anything, were we? We weren't told we were 'just kids so it's all okay'. I paid for my mistakes, same as you did, and this glowing ball in my chest is proof of that."

"That's enough," Natasha finally speaks. Her voice is all it takes to bring the group to silence. "She's a victim. She was manipulated into her actions and she came around as soon as she realised that. We've all made mistakes, and joining the Avengers was our chance at redemption; let her have that."

"Her actions are her own, and I'm sorry, but they're too severe to wave off as a mistake, or ignorance"

"Is that the same with me?"

"What?"

"See, I was a victim too, but no one ever treated me like one."

"Nat-"

"No. Nobody was controlling me when I went through the Red Room; my actions were all my own, same as Wanda. But when your childhood is defined by manipulation and indoctrination, how much does that matter? I did the only thing I knew how to do and followed orders, same as Wanda, and I lost people along the way, same as Wanda. Have you even spoken to her, Tony? She's known since the age of 10 that your missile killed her parents, and HYDRA took advantage of that; you think you'd keep a levelhead if you found someone responsible for your parents' deaths?

So no. I spent too long thinking my transgressions were all my own, and I won't stand here and let Wanda believe the same."

Natasha strides out of the door with purpose and speed, while all eyes in the room track her movements in silence. It is only when the door slams that the team begins to break from their stupor.

You look around unsurely, meeting everyone's eyes as if to confirm its truth. You are the first to break the silence. "I'm going after her." Nobody contests.

You don't rush, you know where Natasha is after all and you know she needs time alone, but you also know to check up on her after an argument like that. You were there when Clint brought her back to SHIELD, when Fury and the archer broke into arguments echoingly similar to the one the team just had. You remember how much she struggled from her own mind, how they left her in a cell, just as the Avengers now have to Wanda, and you remember the thin walls, where Natasha could overhear all their arguments regardless of how you tried to distract her. 

It isn't a surprise to you when you open Natasha's door and she refuses to speak. She watches you enter and makes space for you to sit beside her on the bed, but she doesn't speak. You talk to her for a bit, praising her stance, but it's clear she needs longer alone.

"I'll be here when you need," you say. She nods. You walk back to where you're needed most, passing through the common room still full of arguing Avengers on your way.

"Stop thinking about yourselves for once, and think about your fucking team," you say without even stopping to look at them, then you continue your path out of the room.

»»————-　★　————-««

Guilt sets in on the remaining Avengers as they fall to silence yet again. Clint reminds them what Natasha went through and from that memory, Natasha's hasty exit, and your outburst after seeing the assassin, they can all conclude how much the topic has hurt their teammate.

Clint apologies through her bedroom door; the others say sorry to her face once she lets them in. Natasha sighs, then nods her acceptance of their apologies. "The person you really should be saying this to is Wanda. She deserves support, not solitary isolation."

"Yeah, I don't think it's all that solitary," Tony says. He flicks his wrist to the wall, and soon enough FRIDAY is displaying a feed of Wanda's cell.

"Is that Y/N?" Steve asks, squinting for a better look.

Meanwhile, Natasha smiles, recognising the scene in front of her and knowing, with certainty, that it was you. She watches you and Wanda sit cross-legged on the floor with a plastic yellow board coming up between you. You both analyse it closely until you pull a circular blue chip from your hand and slide it in.

"That's four!" you cheer. Pointing out the four circles you had managed to connect. Wanda frowns, but you can tell it is not akin to the sorrow she had felt so often recently. At this moment, her mind is distracted entirely from that and focused only on the game. 

"We have to play again. I can win this, I know," the Sokovian frowns. "I get first move."

You're still dividing the 'connect 4' pieces into their respective colours when a knock sounds on the cell door. You look up as Natasha opens the door, greeting Wanda with a smile.

"You doing okay?" you ask.

Natasha nods. "Thank you for being here, Y/N. And as for Wanda-" she switches her gaze- "we've got a room prepared for you if you're willing to stay. You can learn to control your powers; the team agreed I can train you."

"I would like that," Wanda mumbles, her nerves around the assassin still clear.

"Come on then, I'll take you to your room.” Natasha smiles and escorts her out, but before falling out of your earshot, she leans into Wanda conspiratorially, “I’ll even give you the secret to beating Y/N at that game.”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Harry and Meghan travel all the time away from those kids. Those kids are not used to seeing their parents. Harry disappearing for weeks on end won’t bother them one bit.

Hey, if you don't mind, can you do a summary of all the times they left the children that we know of and how long?

I Know Harry had an Invictus event very soon after Archie's birth, and I saw someone mention a hunting trip to Germany, Meghan at the US open, polo at Archie's birthday, TQ's funeral, etc

Ask from July 25th

I believe the Germany hunting trip was in 2017. Supposedly that's when Meghan got all pissy about it and made Harry give up the antique guns Philip gave him. Also, the Archie's birthday/polo clash wasn't a travel event; the polo match was just down the highway from Montecito, so I'm not counting that one.

So this is only the travel that we know about. I'm sure there's plenty of other travel that we don't know about. This also does not include the date nights and overnights in L.A. Basically, for me to include it in this list, they had to have left the state of California.

May 2019: Harry travels to The Hague for Invictus Games. It's supposed to be a two-day trip but he shortens it to one day.

May 2019: Harry travels to Italy for Sentebale polo fundraiser. He's gone at least overnight.

July 2019: Harry travels to Italy for Google Camp to give a speech on the climate crisis. A couple of days.

September 2019: Meghan travels to NYC for the US Open. Not sure how long she's gone, probably just a couple of days.

September 2019: Harry travels to Amsterdam to launch Travalyst. It's jsut one or two days.

October 2019: Harry goes to Angola and Botswana, while Meghan stays in Johannesburg wtih Archie. One or two days.

November 2019: Harry travels to Japan for rugby. It's just a couple of days.

January 2020: Harry and Meghan travel to the UK for Sandringham Summit. Archie stays in Canada with friends. They're here for about a week. Meghan flees after the Megxit statement drops.* Harry attends Sandringham Summit alone but Meghan offers to call in.

*There's a rumor that Meghan didn't flee on her own, but that she was deported. According to this rumor, The Queen summoned Meghan to BP, Meghan ignored it and went to a private engagement instead (this one), The Queen was incandescent with rage, the RPOs tracked Meghan down, took her to the airport and physically put her on the plane back to Canada. There's a variation of that rumor (a spin-off, if one will) where instead of The Queen summoning Meghan for an audience, The Queen tasked Meghan with an engagement, Meghan refused to go, then The Queen ordered Meghan to leave and RPOs put her on a plane. Regardless of the variation, supposedly this deportation is what Harry is referring to with "they know what they did" when he's demanded apologies from the BRF.

March 2020: Harry and Meghan travel to the UK for Megxit farewell tour. Archie stays behind in Canada with "friends." They're gone about a week and flee back to Canada after the Commonwealth Service because of COVID concerns.

April 2021: Harry travels to the UK for Prince Philip's funeral. He's gone about a week (he has to quarantine for 5 days before the funeral due to COVID protocols). Meghan stays home in CA with Archie.

September 2021: Harry and Meghan travel to NYC for the Global Vax Live concert and make it a mini-fauxyal tour. This is a few days long.

November 2021: Harry and Meghan travel to NYC for a Veterans Day gala on the USS Intrepid.

March 2022: Harry travels to Texas. He's papped at Stockyards Rodeo. No idea how long his trip his, maybe a couple of days.

April 2022: Harry and Meghan travel to The Hague for Invictus Games. They have a layover in London and try to see The Queen at Windsor Castle. They're away for about 2 weeks , maybe a little less than that.

May 2022: Meghan travels to Texas to support the Uvalde community. It's maybe a two-day trip.

June 2022: Harry and Meghan travel to the UK for the Platinum Jubilee. While there are still photographs that suggest the kids were with them this time, there's plausible gossip from Britain that the kids actually weren't there because no one actually saw them. I'm including this one here to hedge bets.

July 2022: Harry and Meghan are in NYC again for Mandela Day. It's at least a 2-day trip.

August 2022: Harry travels to Africa to host US officials and conservationists for a few days in his role as President of African Parks.

September 2022: Harry and Meghan travel to the UK for a fauxyal tour. It's just supposed to be a few days, but they end up getting stuck in Britain for about 3 weeks when The Queen dies due to royal mourning and her funeral.

December 2022: Harry and Meghan travel to NYC for Meghan to receive the RFK Ripple of Hope award from Kerry Kennedy. It's a couple of days. There's scalding tea that the couple were downright frosty to each other when they weren't on camera.

May 2023: Harry travels to the UK for Charles's coronation. It's not even an overnight trip.

June 2023: Harry travels to the UK for a hearing in one of his lawsuits. It's a few days.

May 2023: Meghan, Harry, and Doria travel to NYC for Meghan to get an award. It's a couple of days. They get "chased" by paparazzi. It's a few days.

August 2023: Harry travels to Japan for a conference and to Singapore for a charity polo match. He's gone a few days.

September 2023: Harry and Meghan travel to Germany for the Dusseldorf 2023 Invictus Games. They're away for at least a week. Meghan comes late because she just had to get the kids milkshakes first. (Yeah, everyone WTFs it.)

October 2023: Harry and Meghan travel to the Caribbean to relax at a Soho House beach resort. I think they were there about a week.

October 2023: Harry goes to Texas to attend F1.

October 2023: Harry and Meghan travel to NYC for some kind of panel summit thing with Carson Daly. It's a couple of days.

January 2024: Harry and Meghan travel to Jamaica for the Bob Marley movie premiere. Meghan supposedly leaves CA while Harry is receiving his award from John Travolta and he flies out to meet her. (There are rumors that Meghan is spotted being very friendly with a man not her husband before Harry arrives.)

February 2024: Harry travels to the UK to see Charles after the public announcement of his cancer diagnosis. It's an overnight trip. He's gone from CA for about 3 days.

February 2024: Harry travels to Las Vegas for a thing, something that's part of the Superbowl celebrations. (I think he went straight from London to Vegas.)

February 2024: Harry and Meghan travel to Canada for a Vancouver Invictus Games kickoff thing. It's a 4 day event.

March 2024: Harry and Meghan travel to Texas. They go to Austin and San Antonio for charity visits. It's related to Meghan's panel appearance at South X Southwest.

April 2024: Harry and Meghan travel to Miami for a series of polo matches. Maybe it's a week?

May 2024: Harry travels to the UK to attend the service of thanksgiving for Invictus Games's 10th anniversary. It's an overnight trip. Meghan meets him at the airport after the service.

May 2024: Harry and Meghan travel to Nigeria for a fauxyal tour. I believe it was a 5-day trip.

August 2024: Harry and Meghan travel to Colombia for another fauyxal tour. It's another 4-5 day trip.

I'm sure I've forgotten some.

So this is 34 37 trips in 5 years without their children. Assuming:

An average of 4 days away per trip for 30 34 trips (understanding that some were longer, others were shorter so it should balance out)

12 days for The Hague Invictus Games (includes the Windsor drop-in)

10 days for Dusseldorf Invictus Games

21 days for September 2022

They were away about 163 179 days that we know of. Just for comparison's sake, the average American school year is 180 days. And remember, this does not include overnights in L.A./Beverly Hills, of which I suspect there's quite a lot of because it's at least a 90-minute drive (without traffic) to Montecito*. Not to mention that Harry has hotel rooms somewhere in California and he may or may not have a BetterUp corporate apartment up in San Francisco. I'm guessing if we were to guesstimate how often one or both of them is staying the night elsewhere in California, we'd probably see numbers double this.

*I'm also adding my own personal bias here; if I have to drive more than an hour at night, I'm getting a hotel room. Granted, the Sussexes do have drivers so they're not exactly in the same boat, but given all the rumors about Meghan having rooms at The Beverly Hills Hotel and Harry having a whole floor of a hotel permanently reserved, I think it's a pretty safe assumption that they do have a lot of overnights away from the kids in LA.

Now just for giggles, let's count how many times Harry and Meghan traveled with their kids:

Summer 2019 summer of private flights all over Europe despite Archie being too young to fly to Balmoral.

October 2019 - to South Africa

June 2022 - to London for the Platinum Jubilee

July 2022 - to Jackson Hole, Wyoming for July 4th (pap photos of Archie at a parade; no Lili)

December 2023 - to Costa Rica (blurry pap photos, plus a People PR article)

To be clear, I'm not begrudging the fact that the Sussexes travel for work. A lot of parents travel for work, and a lot of parents travel more than this per year for work. A lot of parents travel for 'me time'. Parents gotta do what parents gotta do to feed their kids and take care of themselves to take care of their kids.

What I'm instead commenting on (and snarking about) is how much Harry and Meghan have attacked the Cambridges/Waleses for spending time with their kids, how Harry attacked Charles for being unavailable during Harry's childhood, and how much PR Meghan has put out about how she's the best mom to ever mother and her whole life revolves around her kids; their actions aren't matching up to their words, which makes the stories they do share about the kids seem hollow and unreal.

Edit: Remembered some!

[hexlenx]

TANGERINE — hp, bt [ crossover ]

Part 1.

Tangerine and Lemon were offered a contract. Save the White Death's son and recover a silver briefcase with a ransom money in it and give it to the White Death. Bara-bing bara-boom, they get the ten mil. Sounds easy, innit?

note: I do not own Harry Potter nor Bullet train, this is made purely for entertainment purposes. English is also not my language so apologies for typos as well as wrong grammar.

warnings!!: violence, vulgar language, r-rated content, lethal weapons and gore.

__________________

"What the fu—do you mind?" Tangerine said in annoyance as the man passing by bumped into him while said man also bumped into the woman employee pushing a cart full of food and drinks.

"Fuckin' blind or something?" He continued before his eyes landed on a snack from the cart and subconsciously took it before he knew what he was doing. Making the dark skinned man in front of him roll his eyes at his antics.

"Oh Tangerine—oh man stop it." Lemon said to his brother when he saw him stealing a small snack from the cart. Said brother looked at the snack in his hand frowning as if he was scolding his own hand for doing such a thing before putting it in one of his chest pockets inside his suit.

"Why did I do that? It's like I got fucking compulsion or something, I have to take it if I see it. " Tangerine said as he then fixed his suit. "Goldfish biscuits, I don't—i don't understand." He continues before fixing his composure along with his brother Lemon when the Japanese woman employee passed by them, greeting them.

"You alright, love?" Lemon asked the woman who only nodded with a lovely smile.

"Ye' fuckin' arsehole, am I right?" Tangerine said to the woman as well before exchanging blank looks with his brother when the woman left.

Tangerine's phone rang making him take it out of his chest pocket, smiling when he saw the caller's id. Clearing his throat, he then answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I'm about to board the train. In the second VIP car, so unfortunately it's the only thing available last minute." A woman's melodic voice spoke out of his phone's speaker making Tangerine relax in his seat. Oh, how he loved just hearing his wife's voice. Call him whipped but this is his wife we're talking about.

"That Poppet?" Lemon asked his brother when he noticed him smile making said brother nod.

"'s long as you're here, love. Sorry we had to tell you abruptly, I know you don't like being rushed but we also know you wouldn't want us to leave you behind." Tangerine said to his wife, he knew his wife didn't like the rush since it's going to be a hassle to get things done on such short notice. It's why he also likes to be early but this job was dangerous, more dangerous than the Bolivia job and he didn't want to put his wife in that kind of danger. But he also knew if he didn't tell her and also left her behind. He'll be sleeping outside for two weeks, and a happy wife means a happy life.

"It's fine, Hon'. I have to keep an eye on both of you before you do something stupid like in Johannesburg." The woman chuckled in the call making Tangerine groan at the mention of that place.

"It was one time, love. One fucking time!"

"Still doesn't excuse you for doing something stupid for the second time."

"Ye' but you know what I'll do for the second time today?" Tangerine lowered his voice in a husky manner making Lemon, who was in front of him frown in disgust.

"What?" His wife breathed out from the call making Tangerine sigh from the tone of her voice. Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of him.

"Why don't I come there and let you find out?"

Silence.

Suddenly Tangerine's phone got taken by his brother. Lemon who now has his phone out it on his ear and began to talk to the woman.

"Hey there, Dolly! Everything good on your side?"

"Oh Lemon! Yes, everything's good I just got back from stashing my luggage. Other than that everything's fine!" She said enthusiastically as Tangerine glared at his brother in annoyance who only silently chuckled at him smugly.

"Ye' well we got to go now. We'll watch the kid and the case over here, so don't worry 'bout it for now 'cuz it's safe." Lemon reassured his sister-in-law before bidding her goodbye and ending the call.

"You gotta stop talking with your dick, mate. We're on a mission." Lemon grumbled towards his brother who only rolled his eyes nonchalantly.

"Ye' well technically I'm talking using my mouth so it ain't my dick now, is it?"

"So why am I Lemon?" Lemon asked his brother who immediately responded.

"'cuz you're sour and nobody likes lemons."

"That's bullocks, mate. Everyone likes lemons. Lemonade, lemon drops—"

"—you got a sore throat?"

"Lemon meringue pie."

"When was the last time you ate a meringue pie?"

"Last week when Doll made it for me and lemons don't bleed." This made Tangerine snap his head towards his brother when he heard his wife's codename.

"You made my wife bake you a pie?"

"Then why are you Tangerine?"

"Because it's sophisticated, like me."

Lemon groaned out in annoyance. Tangerine was about to chuckle in amusement before his brows furrowed noticing something red on his brother's shirt.

"Oh, Lemon."

"Tangerine."

"You're bleeding, mate." Tangerine pointed out to Lemon who looked on himself before cursing when he did saw a couple of red spots on the right side of his shirt.

"What—oh fuck. Oh shit, mate! Who the fuck did I kill?"

"Get a wet one on it or something." Tangerine said to his brother, worried that he got injured without him knowing.

"Oh nah, man. It's not mine."

"It's not yours?"

"Nah, man. I don't bleed."

"Ye' well in that case leave your jacket open, so everyone can see."

"Oh ye' I want everyone to see my yellow tie—" Lemon agreed as he slowly went to open his jacket more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Cover that shit up before anyone sees that!" Tangerine cut him off making his brother frown.

A groan stopped their bickering making them look at the twenty years old man on the seat across them.

"Well looks like sleeping beauty has woken up." Tangerine mockingly said as he and his brother looked at the man.

"Wakey wakey." Lemon playfully said with tangerine following his statement.

"Eggs and bakey."

With a deep sigh, a woman with blonde shoulder-length could be seen looking at her phone fondly. This woman was known as Sophia Potter neé Von Clairé, codename Doll. Yes, she was now Mrs. Potter after marrying her husband James Potter at twenty-one. There wasn't really a wedding when they married, they only signed a contract for it since they wanted it to be in secret knowing their identities in both the muggle and wizarding world would be in shambles if it was publicized.

Why the codename though? Well you see both her and her husband are contractors. Assassin contractors. Something they've hidden very securely in their time in Hogwarts. Seeing as there is no news about them in the Daily Prophet, it's safe to say that no one knew about their secret other than their brother, Lemon.

Right now, they were in a mission well it was the brother's mission and she was just a backup as well as a plus one since she knew if she wasn't here with them, they'll fuck up and her intuition is never wrong. Retouching her makeup, she noticed a man in a brown jacket, a white bucket hat, black trousers and a big black reading glasses on his face was walking rather suspiciously as he passed by her car.

It looked like he was hiding something until he took out something big from his jacket. The silver briefcase with a blue train sticker on the handle as well as to it's sides. Shit. The case is safe my ass, Doll internally rolled her eyes before snapping close her makeup powder that had a mirror on its cover.

Puckering up her lips, she stood up and patted down her long blue coat, courtesy of matching with her husband, and left her seat with her bag on it before following the suspicious man discreetly.

The man stopped in front of the Train's door that now opened when it stopped on the station letting in and out some people as they reached their destinations.

Doll stopped in the space in between the cars as she had a feeling something was going to happen to the man so she decided to wait. And boy was she right.

The whole fight baffled her as she watched the blonde man dodged and try to save himself. It also baffles her that no one ever bothered to take a look at the car next to them when the way their fighting was quite loud. Becoming even more baffled when she saw that the blonde man killed the other just by luck itself. That is going to be a problem, she thought.

After watching the man clean the whole car and decided sit himself in front of the dead man she decided it was time to reveal herself. Stepping into the car, the man was startled before straightening himself up.

"Oh, excuse me I was only on my way to grab a few drinks and snacks." Doll casually said, completely fooling the blonde man who only chuckled sheepishly at her.

"Oh yea, sure. Was just here looking out for my friend, he kinda drank too much." The man explained before continuing to eat his wasabi crackers.

"Oh that's fine, had a rough day huh?" She said as she went towards behind the counter grabbing a bottle of whiskey before pouring one in a shot glass. The smell of it reminded her of her husband which made her sigh fondly.

The blonde man continued to watch her awkwardly while glancing at the dead body beside him occasionally. Before observing her once more, that's where he noticed a glint on her finger.

"Married?" He asked the woman who hummed in question before chuckling when she noticed him looking at her hand with a ring on it.

"Yea, been for eight years now." Doll chuckled softly realizing it's been a long time in her marriage.

"Must be a very great partner to be able to last that long." The man said before grimacing when he realized it sounded a bit rude. "Sorry, sorry that was kinda rude of me—"

"Oh no that's fine, it's not that common for marriage to last that long these days now and I'm just one of the few that's been lucky, I guess." Which was true, some married couples get a divorce after two or three years or even shorter than that so she doesn't blame him for thinking that. But she and her husband would have to die first to even think of divorcing.

"So are you just going to leave the dead body there?" Doll said making the man silently stare at her in shock with his man agape.

"I'm sorry—what now?"

"I would also like to take the briefcase, if you don't mind. You see, my husband's mission is to recover the briefcase with the client's son and give it to his client. Since you stole it, I would like to take it back." She said in a casual tone as she took a sip on her drink while eating a goldfish biscuit. She hummed as she looked at the food in thought, this is quite good her husband might like it.

"I'm sorry—but how did you.."

"Know that man is dead? You weren't quite silent with the fighting so I came to check and lo' and behold! Accidentally killing the man. Now, the briefcase please." Doll explained giving the man a charming smile.

"Look lady, I don't know who you are but that case is kinda my mission. If I don't get it back, I'll be dead." The blonde man said as he hugged the case closer to himself.

"Well that case is for the White Death so either way, you'll be dead." Doll said while keeping her smile knowing she got him in checkmate. No matter how hard he'd try to deny it, she was right. It's the White Death, the man that basically controlled the whole underworld of the whole planet so either way he chooses he's dead.

"Ugh, fine." He sighed before giving her the case which she happily took before walking out of the car with a wave of her hand.

"Fucking shit fuck." The man cursed.

Getting back in her seat, she then took out her phone to text her husband who was in the train.

My wife: I have the case, you idiots.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hotel Room

PAIRING: Tangerine x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2392

SUMMARY: changing plans midway into a mission in Tokyo- you, Tangerine and Lemon decide to stay in a hotel instead of taking the bullet train.

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+ only. dry humping, pinv, unprotected sex, pull out. no use of y/n MINORS DNI.

A/N: this is my first post and im a little scared to post it, so please plz be kind. I tried to keep it as accurate as possible, however I accidentally made Tangerine kinder than I had originally planned and changed some things about the film plot so it doesn’t create a domino effect in this- aka Tan dying

rewritten 09/12/23 - no change to the plot, just made it less crap

"I don't think we should be getting this train," you mutter like you were talking to yourself, eyes darting across the busy platform of the station. "Guys?" you repeat, turning to see only Lemon behind you. "I don't think we should get this train."

"Yeah?" Lemon hums, sounding distracted.  

"I have a bad feeling. The next one is in thirty minutes. I say we wait," you respond, wary eyes glancing around.

Tangerine joins you both, looking over the tickets he just collected. "What's that now?" he questions, brows furrowed.

"I got intel someone I used to know might be on here," you murmur, avoiding the Twins' focused gaze.

"Like an ex?" Tangerine prods, his tone slightly cautious.

"No— stop it. I'm being serious," you emphasise, eyes squinting to show your annoyance.

Usually, when others act possessive around you, you'd turn the other way - having no interest in games. But when you talk about other guys in front of Tangerine, you'd often notice how his forehead vein would subtly protrude, like he was bubbling with rage from the inside - keeping it hidden. Though you'd always notice. It wasn't hard to tell when he was jealous. His quick, snappy comments are often the main giveaway.

"Alright, alright. Keep'ya knickers on, bellend," he scoffs, crossing his arms and widening his stance as if he was trying to intimidate you - which it doesn't.

"Okay, so, you remember Johannesburg? When we saw that guy— dirty blonde, mid-length hair? Facial hair? Yellow outfit. Looked like a prisoner? That one?" 

"No, not really," Lemon adds, shaking his head - looking clueless.

"Lemon. You shot him— a few times."

"No, not ringing a bell," he continues, just as clueless as before. "Oh, you mean Joburg?"

Tangerine pipes in, sighing. "Yes, you daft fuck."

"Well, I was just checking."

"Yeah, but it ain't important now, is it?" the twins bicker, overlapping each other.

"Oh my god," you mutter, rubbing the bridge of your nose. "Right, anyway, none of that's important. I used to work with him— Ladybug, like way way way back. I got a tip-off he's gonna be getting this train, and he's clearly been assigned to snatch that case," you nod to the silver briefcase tucked under Lemon's arm. 

"We can keep the case safe. We got hired for that reason," Tangerine adds, subtly reassuring you. 

"No, no. That doesn't matter. He's seeing a new therapist, and he's got some weird fate, destiny thing protecting him— like everyone except him gets hurt. I dunno about you, but I don't really feel like getting shot at again today."

You look between the brothers, eyes softening like you are talking without words - telling them things to make them take your side, to make them see that you're trying to protect them. You find it harder to pull away from Tan's fixed blue gaze, feeling strangely hypnotised under his attention.

"Okay," Tangerine agrees simply. "We'll wait," he nods, extending his hands towards you, resting them on your shoulder as if he's comforting you - telling you in his own way that everything will be okay. He rips his hands away when he hears a cough from beside him - Lemon suspicious at the placement.

The kind gesture wasn't long-lived, but it helped. A lot.

You suggest staying in a nearby hotel for the night, offering to try again in the early hours of the morning. The case would be safe, and that's what mattered.

————

You and the twins walk into the quiet hotel lobby, asking for three rooms - preferably all next door to each other. Once collecting the key cards, you make your way up to your floor, letting yourselves into your rooms with a quick nod to one another, silently saying goodnight.

After the nonstop events of today, all you wanted was to shower. To wash away the grime of the day, literally.

You throw your overnight bag on the floor and do a quick sweep of the room to check it's safe, then head into the bathroom, stepping into the shower to begin a lengthy wash.

Afterwards, you pat yourself dry with a fluffy hotel towel, dressing in an oversized tee when you hear a few rhythmic knocks at the door. You look through the peephole to see a wet, curly-haired, ‘stached man - there was only one person that could be.

You tug on the hem of your t-shirt, covering your exposed thighs as you open the door, greeted by Tangerine on the other side wearing a baggy tee and a pair of boxers.

His eyes leisurely travel over you, slowly pulling away from your thighs that you subtly tried to hide. He coughs, clearing his throat like he's refocusing, diverting his attention from your lower half back to your fresh face.

"Just doing bed check. And you are... ahem," he masks the pause in another cough. "You are accounted for. So that's. That's good."

"Right, okay," you murmur, purposely keeping your gaze fixed on his face - stopping your eyes from glancing lower.

He hesitates, lingering like that wasn't all he knocked for. You wanted to invite him in. To hang out for a bit. But you get all finicky and squirrely when it's just the two of you, and you never know what to say or do. It was like you couldn't think straight, his aftershave and biceps acting like a barrier in your brain. Besides, it's not like anything can happen between you anyway - he didn't like you in that way.

He clears his throat once more, scratching the back of his neck. "My tv ain't working. I don't wanna watch Lem's shit, so can I watch some in your room?"

Letting out a small puff of a sigh, you agree and move aside, allowing him to walk past. He settles in almost instantly, shimmying himself under the covers and flicking through the channels, trying to find something good to watch.

You sit down awkwardly beside him, leaving a safe and comfortable gap between you, subtly scootching away when he moves closer to you.

"What's up with you? You're being well weird," he asks, diverting his attention from the Japanese game show to you, looking over you with furrowed brows.

"I'm not being weird. You're being weird," you divert, crossing your arms over yourself, trying to minimise space. "Just trying to get comfy."

"That's cos'ya hanging off the bed, knobhead. Get closer, then."

He swiftly pulls you closer, gently dragging you towards him so that both of you are leaning against the headboard, his arm draped over your shoulder.

It was the complete opposite of what you were trying to accomplish - now smushed up close to his side, forced to smell his masculine shower gel. You had no idea what to do with yourself.

You have only been this close in proximity a few times. And on those occasions, one of you would always be drunk - never to be brought up again. But when you're sitting so close to him, both completely sober, your brain can't help but stir up those feelings you've been trying to suppress.

Lewd and vulgar thoughts spiralled around when you feel the steady sound of his heartbeat against your arm, everything so casual and natural - like everything was a breeze with him. Your mind begins to wander when you feel him shift beside you, legs spreading, groin adjusting like he was making himself comfortable - like he was situating himself in your bed for the night.

In your line of work, you don't often experience genuine human interactions - ones that are soft and gentle, ones filled with tender love and care. Every encounter lately has ended in a blood bath - literally. 

So when you feel Tangerine's hand slip into yours, you can't help but overthink it. It was so unlike him to physically show how he felt, so it was tricky not to question his motives.

His thumb swipes over your hand, softly squeezing yours, so you decide to look up at him, but he is already focused on you - the tv a mere thought away. The way he looked at you was so unexpected, so different to all the other times. 

All you could offer under his concentrated attention was a faint and gentle smile, nose softly scrunching as you held his gaze. He returns with a boyish grin, tache twitching with the movement.

You momentarily break eye contact, quickly glancing down at his lips. You thought you were sneaky, but the way his breathing ever so slightly faltered told you otherwise. 

He slowly leans towards you, his movements articulate and calculated as he pulls you in for a kiss, working over your lips carefully and considerately. His large palms nestling on the side of your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss - everything turning somewhat desperate. Hasty.

His mouth travels away from your slightly bruised lips, now working along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Muttering faint groans into your skin as you tug on the damp curls at the back of his head - holding him close to you.

Tangerine's movements remain dominant. In charge. Guiding you and bringing you down the bed, laying you flat on your back so he can situate himself between your spread legs - hovering atop of you with his chest pressed to yours.

His cock feels firm against you, tucked and slotted perfectly between your thighs, nudging and brushing your clit with every subtle move he makes. 

It wasn't long before you found yourself whimpering into his mouth and toying with your hips, the dry humping working you up more than you had thought.

He parts from your lips, looking into your hazy, blissed-out eyes -ones that mirror his own- and begins to lazily push up your tee, stroking up your stomach, exposing just what he wanted to see; plushy tits and cute soft tummy. 

You help him out of his t-shirt, wanting to see more. Eager fingers trailing over the contours of his stomach before pulling him back to you, his happy trail brushing against your abdomen - chests sandwiched together. 

He trails a faint line of kisses down your neck and along your collarbone as he slips himself from your grasp, sitting on his knees between your thighs. He picks up your hand, sliding his gold rings onto your fingers. "Look after these for me, would'ya?" he whispers, kissing the back of your hand.

It's then that he finally slips a hand between your legs, faintly trailing up and down your slit, teasing you as he palms his cock through his tented boxers, circling over the wet patch of fabric - right by his head.

His gaze remains lidded, lazily looking over you as he dips his hand into the waistband, rolling over his aching cock a couple of times. Your eyes respond pleadingly, silently begging him to hurry up.

Your keen fingers make haste movements, brushing over his boxers like you were trying to strip them from him - doing his job for him. 

He answers your prayers and tugs down the fabric, flinging his briefs to the edge of the bed, letting his thick, hard cock spring free. He grips himself at the base, guiding his head towards your slick hole - rimming his tip around before slowly easing in. 

He goes slow, steady. Like he has all the time in the world. Letting you adjust and accustom his size, deeply filling you. Bottoming out.

With his cock stuffed inside, he leans over you once more, hovering over you and caging you to the mattress - your arms and legs clinging onto him, wrapping around him like a monkey on a tree. 

"Fuck me," Tangerine blabbers, voice hoarse and incoherent. Hot grunts against your throat as he winds into you, cock grinding inside you. "Christ."

He brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks, holding you still so he can lap over your lips, swallowing your whimpers - your sweet pretty sounds muffling against his tongue. 

Your touch mirrors his, moving your hands from his back to hold either side of his face, pushing away a stray curl that fell. Holding him close. Keeping him there.

Tangerine quickens the pace, fucking into you a little better. More deliberatly. The curve of his cock rubbing against your gummy walls in the most sinful way.

He chases your release, wanting to feel you shudder and tighten around him - wanting to feel you cum on his cock. So, he parts from your lips and trails messy open kisses over your cheek, halting when he reaches under your ear. 

"You feel so perfect wrapped around me—  you're so perfect," he hazily whispers, talking low. "God— yeah, that's it," he nods slowly, encouraging you. "You're right there, pretty girl. I can feel it."

With his soft praise, you find yourself gripping onto his dick, tightly clamping around him as you cum. Moaning sweet cries senselessly into the crook of his neck.

Your release triggers his own, pumping his thick, warm load onto your stomach, biting back broken groans as he milks the rest of his cum onto your jittering tummy. 

He leans back over you once more, placing a lingering kiss on your lips before pushing himself off the bed, heading for the bathroom.

Returning with a lusty smile and a wet washcloth, he sits on the edge of the bed beside you, gently wiping it over your stomach before doing the same with his cock, rubbing the fabric over his leaking, messy tip.

"We should've done that years ago," you whisper, flattening your tee down your stomach.

"Fuckin' years ago," he coyly grins, raking back his now-dried curls.

Your smile widens, meeting his eyes. "You, uh... you can stay over? If you want... so you— you can watch tv?" you offer, trying to persuade him - finding a reason for him to stay.

"For the tv," he chuckles, nodding. Playing along

He slips into the bed beside you, tugging the covers up and settling himself next to you. His large, warm arms find you under the sheets, holding you to his side.

"We got an early start. Get some sleep, love," he whispers, placing a delicate kiss on your temple. "Goodnight."

[37sommz-archive]

✼. THRU SPACE 'N TIME | THE FAMILY.

NOW PLAYING: michaela's family members. ✼. view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.

✹.⠀The Sommers family is very tight-knit. Throughout her career, Michaela's family has made a lot of sacrifices to provide her with the opportunities that have enabled her to become the driver she is today. Ever grateful, Michaela has never let them forget how precious they all are to her. Between luxurious gifts and simple podium gestures, the Sommers family retains the ultimate spotlight within Michaela's career.

TOBIAS SOMMERS is the father of Formula One racing driver Michaela Sommers. Attributed by his daughter as being the "driving force" behind her love of racing, Sommers gifted her with a go-kart for her fifth birthday as a form of bonding. After Michaela fell in love with driving, he entered her in karting competitions across eastern Australia. After losing his job in 2012 through massive layoffs, Michaela would be forced to put a hold on her racing for nearly a year before leaving for the UK with the financial assistance of Tobias' younger brother, Travis. Currently, Tobias Sommers is a frequent face in the paddock on race weekends. Notoriously, he can be found wearing the cap of his daughter's team while conversing with her manager Guido Marotta.

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE BASICS.

birth name: tobias stephen sommers

alias: toby sommers

date of birth: october 20, 1970

zodiac sign: libra

hometown: whyalla, australia

ethnicity: australian

nationality: australian

languages: english

height: 5'10" (178 cm)

career: accountant

faceclaim: guy pearce

MIRIAM SOMMERS, better known by her professional name Miriam Sandile, is the mother of Formula One racing driver Michaela Sommers. Born in Johannesburg, South Africa, Sandile moved to Australia at the age of 17 to pursue a professional dance career with the Sydney Dance Company. After marrying Tobias Sommers, Miriam moved to Gold Coast to focus on choreography. According to her youngest daughter, Miriam was not as enthusiastic as her husband with Michaela's love for racing. In fact, she would avoid watching full races due to her overwhelming anxiety. Regardless, Miriam did her best to prepare her daughter for the impending negativity that would follow her throughout her career. Ever proud of her daughter's accomplishments, Miriam has a hand in every contract Michaela signs.

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE BASICS.

birth name: miriam yonela sandile

legal name: miriam yonela sommers

date of birth: january 26, 1970

zodiac sign: aquarius

hometown: johannesburg, south africa

ethnicity: xhosa

nationality: south african

languages: english, xhosa

height: 5'7" (170 cm)

career: choreographer

faceclaim: hlubi mboya

COURTNEY SOMMERS is the older sister of Formula One racing driver Michaela Sommers. Five years the driver's senior, Michaela often jokes about her sister's taking after her mother in regards to her distaste for racing. While Tobias Sommers was unable to convince his older daughter to pick up his interest in motorsport, Courtney is a passive fan of formula racing. Although the distance between the two sisters often results in relationship strain due to their equally headstrong natures, the two are still incredibly close. In her free time away from her work with her STEM foundation, Courtney can be seen supporting Michaela (from a stress-free distance).

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE BASICS.

birth name: courtney christine sommers

alias: coco sommers

date of birth: august 06, 1994

zodiac sign: leo

hometown: gold coast, australia

ethnicity: australian & xhosa

nationality: australian

languages: english

height: 5'6" (168 cm)

career: nonprofit advocacy director

faceclaim: carolyn moore

TRAVIS SOMMERS is the uncle and former manager of Formula One racing driver Michaela Sommers. As the younger brother of Sommers' father, Tobias, Travis spent much of his niece's early childhood tagging along to her karting competitions. Sharing his brother's love for all things racing, Travis invested a great deal of time into ensuring his niece's karts were in prime condition for competition while pulling strings in the background to get her into races for older children. Recognizing her potential early on, Travis stepped up to provide the financial support for Michaela's racing career after his brother lost his job in 2012. Moving to the UK, Travis became Michaela's full-time guardian and manager, establishing connections across all levels of formula racing to ensure his niece would be able to achieve her dreams and more. Known to be a lion of negotiation, Sommers stepped back from managing Michaela's career in 2016, only after securing top manager Guido Marotta to replace him. Travis continues to have input in Michaela's career, namely with sponsors and promotional appearances but has since shifted his focus to making a Formula One caliber racer in his young son, Quentin.

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE BASICS.

birth name: travis joseph sommers

date of birth: november 03, 1980

zodiac sign: scorpio

hometown: whyalla, australia

ethnicity: australian

nationality: australian

languages: english

height: 6'1" (185 cm)

career: day trader

faceclaim: alex o’laughlin

BEENA KOTHARE is the wife of Travis Sommers. Frequently referred to as the calming force to calm Travis' madness, Beena is credited for establishing a connection between Prema Racing principal, Rene Rosin and her husband. Michaela attributes much of her demeanor to the elegant editor who continues to work as a fashion editor for Harper's Bazaar. Beena is typically spotted accompanying her husband to Formula races and being more than supportive of her son's racing ambitions.

✹.⠀⠀،،⠀THE BASICS.

birth name: beena kothare

legal name: beena kothare-sommers

date of birth: september 17, 1985

zodiac sign: virgo

hometown: london, england

ethnicity: marathi

nationality: english

languages: english

height: 5'2" (157 cm)

career: harper's bazaar editor

faceclaim: dilshad vadsaria

✼. taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@pacmacs-macs @thearchieves @doodlehunz

@lavisenri @evie-119 @bxdbxtxh

@seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn @99snse

@ginghampearlsnsweettea @alliwantisadonut

[girlactionfigure]

Know Thine enemy

I am not a Jew and I’m not a citizen of Israel. I haven’t even visited Israel. I don’t trace my religion back to a holy site in Jerusalem and I don’t have a problem with Arabs or Muslims or Christians. I’ve read about Abraham, Moses, David and Solomon; the Umayyads, the Abbasids and the Ottomans; I know about the British, the Balfour declaration, Ben Gurion and Golda Meir. I know a bit about the Six-Day War and the Intifada. I might not have any personal stake in the Holy Land, but humanity certainly does - and I’m a human being.

The women, men, children, elderly people and soldiers who were kidnapped, tortured, raped, humiliated and murdered on Saturday by Hamas in sovereign Israel were human beings too.

Those who did it to them are not.

Imagine what kind of rational and ethical gymnastics you have to do to justify the cold-blooded murder of teenagers at a music festival; or watching a child, perhaps 5 years old, being prodded with a stick and made to cry for his mother in Hebrew while children of a similar age laugh and mock him? We don’t know that child’s fate and for all we know what followed may have been much worse. It’s depraved. To even enter a conversation about these disgraceful facts with a rehearsed retort about territory or Gaza being an “open-air prison” reeks of moral bankruptcy.

If you wail and scream about your land, dignity, rights, oppression and poverty but are willing to murder, rape, kidnap, torture or humiliate children; then I don’t have to listen to your reasons. When the video footage, photographs and stories of Saturday’s carnage come not from "Israeli propaganda” but from the Hamas terrorists themselves, then how am I to read anything else into it but that you want credit for these atrocities? You want me to know you did it. You want me to know you are proud of it. You want me to see you for who you are. Well, I do.

So, if you swarmed the Israeli Embassy in London, waving Palestinian flags and calling for genocide; if you went down to Times Square to celebrate a victory for decolonisation against “apartheid Israel”; if you sang along to “gas the Jews” chants at the Sydney Opera House or hung a “one settler, one bullet” Palestinian flag over Grayston bridge in Johannesburg then you’re telling me who you are. Well, I see you - and you’re my enemy.

I’m one of those people who believe civilisation is a real thing, and I’ve resisted the poison of moral relativists in the humanities departments of universities across the west who think that being nuanced about the idea of civilisation versus barbarism is a signal of intellectual prowess or critical self-reflection. Upon even a cursory investigation of these people or their positions, you will find every sign of pedestrian intelligence and self-absorbed navel-gazing, combined with a fetishisation of victimhood and always concomitant humourlessness. They too, are my enemies.

It is always interesting to note that only western liberal democracies tolerate and give succour to the most heinous arguments and positions in public protests. You couldn’t picket on the side of quite laudable things like education for girls in Taliban Afghanistan, gay rights in Syria, or against the death penalty in Saudi Arabia. The Ayatollahs of Iran wouldn’t allow women to protest the hijab there under threats of violence. But London, New York, Sydney and even Johannesburg will embrace marches where people actively call for genocide. This is not how allies behave.

Perhaps when the dust has settled we can examine the insidious links between Anglo-American leftism and antisemitism, between Europe never reckoning with what happened in the holocaust and their growing Muslim populations, and between ignorant regimes like mine in South Africa and their determination to stand alongside the worst human-rights abusers in the Middle East.

For now, it’s no big mystery that this has nothing to do with the existence of the State of Israel and everything to do with Jew-hatred - that great, festering wound in the side of humanity from which all prejudice flows. It has been there for thousands of years and every time we think it has healed, some monstrous collective claws it open again.

Hamas aren’t hiding the ball. Their leader, Ismail Haniyeh, safely skulking in Qatar, made this clear. He celebrated dead Jews, not territory won, nor Gazan lives saved.

I’m afraid there are only two sides in a war - your allies and your enemies. On September 11th, 2001, I knew whose side I was on. I feel the same today.

Gareth

Gareth Cliff

[operafantomet]

The original Australian / World Tour dressing gowns

These versions differs a bit from others, first and foremost the broader shoulders and the draped-up sleeve adorned with a bow, as well as the rose-trim-decorated square belt. The sturdiness of the bodice is balanced with an extra broad ruffle at the skirt hem.

Often the bodice is made of a sheer fabric, and the skirt of a thicker floral silk, but the skirt ruffle is made of the same fabric as the bodice. The bodice ruffles are usually lace, as are the engageants.

The belt back has distinct curves, which was also seen in the early European versions as well as most US ones. The dressing gown is usually tied at the side with satin ribbons matching the bow of the cuffs, as well as snap buttons.

Marina Prior and Sharon Millerchip, Melbourne

Danielle Everett, Australian Tour

Danielle Everett, Australian Tour

Marina Prior and Rob Guest, Sydney

Marina Prior and Anthony Warlow, Melbourne

Marni Raab and Jee Hyun Noh, Taipei / World Tour

Robin Botha and Cat Lane, Johannesburg

Lana English, Cape Town

Emilie Lynn and Jonathan Roxmouth, Manila / World Tour

Kim So Hyun, Seoul

Ana Marina, Australia / World Tour

Emilie Lynn and Ian Jon Bourg, Istanbul / World Tour

Marni Raab and Brad Little, Shanghai (?) / World Tour

Robin Botha, Johannesburg

Claire Lyon, Manila / World Tour

Hyun Ju Choi and unidentified, Seoul

Robin Botha and Jonathan Roxmouth, Johannesburg

Claire Lyon, Taipei / World Tour

Magdalene Minnaar, Johannesburg

Kim So Hyun, Seoul

Dressing gown on display in Shanghai

Dressing gown on display in Istanbul (different trim and skirt)

Dressing gown on display in Istanbul

Dressing gown on display in Hong Kong

Dressing gown on display in Istanbul

(original design by Maria Bjørnson)

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Ben Cohen

South African Jews reacted with outrage on Friday after the country’s governing body for the sport of cricket stripped the Jewish captain of the U-19 national team of his role, citing the “risk of conflict or even violence” as the reason.

Cricket South Africa (CSA) announced that David Teeger, who is Jewish, would no longer captain the side just one week before the opening of the U-19 Cricket World Cup, when teams from 16 nations will compete in South Africa for the sport’s top prize.

In a statement released on Friday, CSA said that its security team had advised “that protests related to the war in Gaza can be anticipated at the venues for the tournament.”

It added that such protests would likely focus on Teeger — an observant Jew and resident of Johannesburg who made his professional cricket debut in 2023, scoring an impressive 51 runs for the South Africa Emerging Players side against North Cape. Teeger was only appointed to the captaincy of the U-19 team last month.

The targeting of Teeger could result “in conflict or even violence between rival groups of protestors,” CSA said. Invoking its “duty to safeguard the interests and safety of all those involved in the World Cup,” it said that Teeger had been “relieved of the captaincy … in the best interests of the players, the U-19 team, and David himself.” Teeger would “remain an important and active member of the team and we wish him and the team every success in the tournament,” CSA concluded.

CSA’s decision — against the background of rising antisemitism in South Africa, widespread support for Hamas in the wake of its Oct. 7 pogrom in Israel, and the charge of “genocide” brought by South Africa against Israel at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) — provoked fury in South Africa’s Jewish community.

Prof. Karen Milner, chair of the South African Jewish Board of Deputies (SAJBD), told The Algemeiner that CSA’s decision was “an outrageous act of antisemitism.”

“There is no basis for this decision, other than the fact that Teeger is Jewish,” Milner said. “It is shameful that CSA is embarking on a path that is dangerously reminiscent of Nazi Germany, when Jews were actively discriminated against, including among sporting clubs.” She stressed that the SAJBD “would do everything in its power to fight against this vicious prejudice.”

In a separate statement, the South African Zionist Federation (SAZF) said it would be calling on the International Cricket Council (ICC), the sport’s global governing body, “to investigate the CSA’s blatant act of discrimination.”

“The ANC [ruling African National Congress] government’s political hostility to Israel and its friendship with Hamas has created a climate in which it is entirely acceptable to target a sportsman because he is proudly Jewish,” the SAZF stated.

Among those expressing sympathy for Teeger on social media was three-time MLB All-Star Kevin Youkilis. “Heart goes out to this young Jewish man,” Youkilis posted on X/Twitter. “The ‘security risk’ excuse is bullshit.”

Former Boston Red Sox star Youkilis also referred to a speech that Teeger made just weeks after the Hamas pogrom, delivered after he received the “Rising Star” Award at a Jewish community ceremony. Teeger paid tribute to the Israeli military, saying, “Yes, I’ve been [given] this award, and yes, I’m now the Rising Star, but the true rising stars are the young soldiers in Israel.” He went on to dedicate the award to “the State of Israel and every single soldier fighting so that we can live and thrive in the diaspora.”

Teeger was being ��punished for showing gratitude to the State of Israel,” Youkilis commented.

[cazzyf1]

Quotes about the 1982 Drivers Strike that I found funny/interesting (from a pdf of a book I accidentally downloaded)

So, if you haven't seen from my Twitter stream this morning when trying to research something about Niki Lauda for a friend, I came across a pdf link. Thinking it would just be a small article potentially with the answer I was looking for, I downloaded it. I did not notice the fact that it was 154 pages... to my surprise; it turned out to be a whole book about the 1982 season, specifically focusing on Keke Rosberg.

I've read through the chapter about the driver's strike and taken down some quotes that I found interesting. There isn't a lot of detail into what they all got up to that isn't already known, but there is a lot of useful information. Hope you enjoy :)

'You might imagine all this was just like every season, but 1982 was already very different. The Rat, you see, had smelt a rat.'

'Herr Andres Nikolaus Lauda of Vienna had furtive eyes which didn't miss much and a suspicious mind. On 24th December 1981, he sniffed the form from Paris the postman had just delivered and didn't like it at all.'

'The form was the product of events in 1981 when Prost, making his debut in Grand Prix racing with Mclaren, became convinced the car was not safe and refused to drive for the team again regardless of the fact he had a contract to do so. Prost told Teddy Mayer that, if necessary, he would simply walk away from motor sport altogether. Renault approached Prost, he joined them, and Mayer (by training a lawyer) discovered how problematic the law was if you tried to prevent someone from gaining their livelihood. The super licence form represented an attempt to prevent such situation recurring.'

'Lauda claims Pironi made phone calls and was able to prevent 'most of the other drivers' from signing, but in fact 24 did, leaving six refuseniks: Pironi himself, Lauda of course, Villeneuve - who had seen something similar in Canadian ice hockey and didn't like it - Arnoux, Giacomelli, and de Cesaris'

'I was just listening because Didier Pironi did all the talking,' Lauda would say. 'Didier completely unemotional. The important thing was to keep on talking.'

'At 7:00 on the Thursday morning a bus, arranged by GPDA secretary Trevor Rowe, drew up not far from the paddock entrance with Pironi and Lauda in it. Most of the drivers stayed at the nearby Kyalami Ranch Hotel and they'd be arriving early for a GPDA meeting before the hour-long practice session at 10:20. As each arrived they were invited to park their cars and get onto the bus. Mass didn't show up (He's always late' someone said) and Ickx refused. In fact, Mass had been staying with friends of his South African-born wife and so had been out of touch. He knew nothing about the bus but it wouldn't have made any difference.'

'The drivers were, as Lauda recounts is, going for a drive. With Lauda hanging out of the back waving, the bus set off, but as it left the bottom gate of the circuit John McDonald of the March team tried to block it. Laffite and some other drivers got out and pushed McDonald's car clear. Then the bus proceeded to the scenic route to Johannesburg some 15 miles away pursued by 'a whole convoy' of TV cameras, journalists and photographers. The bus went to the Sunnyside Park Hotel in the suburbs. It offered full amenities including a swimming pool.'

'At 10:19 the track opened for practice. The race organisers threatened to impound the cars if the race didn't happen and Ecclestone threatened the drivers that they would be sued for recompense if the cars were impounded. Throughout, Ecclestone adopted a hard line and at one point, in a remarkable interview questioned the value of drivers, "Nobody came up to me at Kyalami and asked where Jones or Andretti were. Already they're not missed. Why should any of the rest of them be missed? If it had suited Carlos not to come back, he wouldn't have given a stuff about F1 now, or whether the crowds came now or didn't. He couldn't give a dam if it suited him not to turn up. In the same way it suited Niki to walk out in the middle of a race. I think he said at the time 'I'm leaving because of policies, I just want to be a racing driver.' If you analyse it, the drivers just don't make any sense."'

'Pironi arrived from the circuit and explained that if they didn't return and drive immediately, they faced life bans. There seems to have been a distinctive mood at the hotel with very real concerns about what they were doing 'camouflaged by high jinks and laughter.' Lauda knew that the older drivers understood what the consequences might be. Ecclestone had already fired Piquet and Patrese. Lauda realised how difficult it was for the young drivers, facing the reaction of their sponsors. Lauda concluded that maintaining solidarity was crucial. Each driver had a great deal to lose.'

'At the Kyalami Ranch, during dinner, drivers' wives and girlfriends threw bread rolls and plates at Balestre.'

'The drivers in Hannesburg inhabited the conference room. "We ended up barricaded in it" Warwick says, "You know what was fantastic? I got to know my colleagues for the first time because, being a non-qualifier at the back of the grid, you don't get a chance to speak to the guys at the front. That was good. The other things that were massive when we were in that compound - we were there for 24 hours - was Bruno Giacomelli standing with a chart and dissecting an AK47 machine gun. He drew these magnificent drawings of how to take the gun to bits and so on. It was very, very funny because in the normal Bruno Giacomelli way he was very, very funny anyway. I think it was a big shock for everybody in authority because they thought they could control the drivers but, to be quite honest, I don't know that half of them in the room knew what we were striking for." Lauda kept their spirits up by telling jokes and, a piano brought, Villeneuve played light music and de Angelis classical pieces. "What really blew me away," Warwick says, "was that we had a piano in the room and Elio de Angelis started playing it. Apparently, he could have been a concert pianist and it astonished me - the other talents that some of these guys had. Then Gilles played Scott Joplin.'

'Many remember the performance by de Angelis. "Believe it or not," Derek Daly says, "the most vivid memory I have of being stuck in the hotel was Elio de Angelis playing the piano like a concert pianist. Remarkable. Definitely, definitely that was a gift, a talent of his.' Jarier points out that "it was a big room and Elio de Angelis played classical music and Gilles played. Very sympa. In that era virtually all the drivers stayed in the same hotels - Kyalami Ranch in South America, the Glen Motorhome in Watkins Glen and so on. A formula one team was 15, 20 people. There were far few journalists, far fewer television people and everybody knew each other." In other words, many of the drivers in the big room were not strangers to each other, however much those at the back of the grid had to be. Alex Hawkridge arrived to try and reach Fabi and Warwick. Fabi was easy to reach because, as it seems, he was already staying in the hotel and had his own room. "Teo we didn't threaten as such, we told him he was contracted to drive. He came out and I was able to speak to him. We reminded him he had signed a contract to drive, and the idea of solidarity wouldn't help him if he was without a drive and think where his best interest lay. Elio was playing the piano - astonishing - and I could hear him. He was a proper concert pianist.'

'The room was barricaded. An associate of mine pushed the door open and shouted their names, "Come and talk to us and we'll resolve this" Of course, as happens when you do that, someone pushed the other way and there was a bit of a pushing and shoving session - by a friend of mine called Douglas Norden, who is known to be a little aggressive when challenged. He was nothing to do with the team, just a friend along trying to help and it turned into a bit of a scuffle, the the door shut." Niki and the others saw it as a further restriction on the drivers' power and they wanted to stop it, and that is always the difficulty with change, isn't it? We were to have another example at Imola when the FOCA went on strike against the FIA. Through the history of human struggle there have been instances involving union. Lauda made sure the piano blocked the door so there would be no further scuffles, giving the police reason to enter. Mo Nunn at the Ensign tried to get Guerrero to come out by taking his girlfriend. When they saw each other they dissolved into tears and Lauda allowed him out to see her providing he - Lauda - came too. Jean Sage of Renault tried to get Prost and Arnoux but was beaten off.'

'The drivers ordered a room big enough to put 30 mattresses onto the carpet - that provoked prolonged ribaldry. At 11:00 pm they moved from the conference room to this dormitory and settled down for the night, having worked out an elaborate way of getting to the toilet across the hallway. It was conducted on the honour system with a key on a plate in the middle of the room. Lauda would remember, "I was sharing a bed with Patrese, someone next to Rosberg was snoring until Villeneuve put a blanket over him in the middle of the night, but all the time we stood together." Warwick would remember, "The drivers spent time with me and we spent a lot of time together - I was sleeping with them, exactly, yes! I haven't slept on the same mattress as Carlos Reutemann ever since, mind you..." To which Derek Daly says, "The funny thing is think I was on the other side because I have a picture of me beside Reutemann. I don't know if he snored. I do think he was still dressed in his driver's suit." Pironi said at the time, "We will see it through, FISA had too much to lose to let the Grand Prix be called off. I'm confident they will relent." "We'd had a lot of pressure because you had people like Jackie Oliver and Alex Hawkridge coming to the hotel," Warwick says, "We were threatened with our jobs if you don't get back there and that, of course, if why Fabi crawled out of the toilet window. He was the only one who broke ranks. He did the dirty on me. Everybody said they understood if I had to go back, I was explaining to people like Lauda, 'It's okay for you guys, you're going to have a job , you're some of the best drivers around but I'm the new kid on the block, my team mate's just jumped ship and I am very vulnerable' and every one of them said, 'We guarantee you will not be fired' In other words, if one is fired everyone goes. That gave me a little bit more confidence to stay there."'

'"It wasn't the strike which made me say, I don't want Formula One," Tambay says, "I enjoyed the strike! It was the best time I ever had with all my friends, although it was a very costly reunion with them. WHat I didn't like was Teo Fabi sneaking out behind our backs to try and get back into the car, and what I didn't like was that I knew we had been screwed - they (Balestre & co) had said "Come back out to the circuit and everything's going to be all right" and I knew we were all screwed"'

'And there, grinning broadly (he usually did), stood the strong, square figure of Brian Henton - available for selection as of this second, Jackie Oliver gave Henton the Tambay drive, but that morning, Henton became embroiled in a tug-of-war between the arrows management and Herr Lauda. Arrows 'were bollocking me saying "Get in the car" and all the rest of it' Henton remembers, 'And I am just about to go out for practice and they needed my signature on their petition. I'd got the team shouting in one ear "Get in that car and get out there" and, just as I am sitting Niki Lauda - who been massaging me all the time and I'd been saying "No, no, no" - rushes up with this petition, he 'hit' me at the right time, "Just sign this, sign it, sign it" I thought I only want to get out onto the track.'

'Lauda records how, throughout the weekend, there had been rumours that once the drivers reached the airport to fly home they would be arrested, although on what grounds it is difficult to say, what happened was quite different. During the race the stewards issued a statement given to each team, saying the drivers Super Licences were being suspended. Three drivers, Fabi, Mass and Henton - were spared: Fabi because he'd gone to the track prepared to drive, Mass because he had driven, and Henton because he got the Arrows drive after Tambay withdrew following the strike. Francis Tucker, steward of the South African Grand Prix, said, "For the purpose of running a race, a temporary truce, was called in the disagreement between the drivers and the officials. The truce lasted until the end of the race. At the end of the race, the truce agreement position was terminated. This means that the position which existed prior to the agreement is effectively reinstated.' The drivers were suspended immediately and each paid 300 Rand to appeal the decision. Fisa said they supported the suspensions and Executive Committee would meet in Paris on the following Thursday, January 27.'

-

And that is all that I took down about the Driver's Strike of 1982. I hope that it was an enjoyable read for everyone!

I feel a bit bad that I accidentally got a free copy of this book, given that the author I've read other books from and it one that I like a lot, and that when looking the book up, it is rather expensive. But these things accidentally happen, and anyone could accidentally look up this exact search on google: Niki Lauda "snored" - and then see the first link that is a pdf of 154 pages titled 1982, which then they could click and get the full copy of the book. These accidents happen. And it is always good to have a virus scanner to check any file you download just in case, my phone seems safe but it's better safe than sorry.

Enjoy :)

[thatssosussex]

The Duke of Sussex, attended a private panel discussion and dinner in Johannesburg hosted by Sentebale. The event brought together influential figures, including Chair Dr. Sophie Chandauka MBE, political advisor George Sibotshiwe, and key figures from leading corporate foundations. (10/3/24)⁣

⁣“I’ve made it one of my life’s missions to create a platform for young voices, and we have seen time and time again that young voices, when they are listened to, have the solutions” underscoring the critical importance of youth involvement to deliver tangible results. - Prince Harry⁣

[fashionsfromhistory]

Ensemble

Laduma Ngxokolo for MAXHOSA AFRICA

Fall/Winter 2015

Laduma Ngxokolo founded South African knitwear brand MAXHOSA AFRICA in 2012. Ngxokolo became interested in fashion design as a teenager when his mother, also a designer, bought a knitting machine for the home. Ngxokolo remarks this move ‘changed my direction in life forever’.

The two pieces here offer fine examples of the distinctive patterns that run through MAXHOSA, with the confidence of design and craftsmanship dominating the look, emphasizing the Xhosa aesthetic. The black and white shawl, which can be worn in a multitude of styles and shapes, is the first garment that Ngxokolo made to be worn by both men and women. The black and white colourway of the garment brings out the boldness of MAXHOSA design through its inherent focus on the Xhosa patterns, which are reminiscent of Xhosa beadwork. Here, the shawl is paired with red shorts, which was modeled at the 2015 Johannesburg Fashion Week.

Victoria & Albert (Accession number: T.2432:1,2-2021)