#support working class brits in these coming times

[vettelsdarling]

Omgg I felt in the mood for some 1D and was listening to “Change my mind” and all I can think about is Lando, so like a friends to lover, mutual pining slow burn and was wondering if you can write a fic based off that pls? Your writing is too good 😩❤️

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬..?

Lissie note… I hadn’t heard the song until now, but it’s pretty good! I really enjoyed writing this, thank you for the great idea!!! Tysm for the kind words as well, you’re so sweet!<3

Things to note:

Reader is a college student graduating early (so basically her junior yr)

Lando and Reader are both clueless

Lando and Reader have been best friends since childhood

This doesn’t follow a specific timeline

Charlotte is amazing

Pairing: Lando Norris x Best friend!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight cursing

Word Count: 5.3k+

Playlist recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐋𝐍𝟒

Taglist: @ophcelia, @allwaysallyway

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. The last race of the season, and one that you always attended despite your busy schedule. It was something you simply couldn't skip, even if you wanted to.

Lando Norris, your long-term best friend, had been there for you through thick and thin. You’d just started your junior year in college, and it was nothing but constant pressure. Lando would call you late at night to help you with anything you needed. Therefore, you came to any races that you had time for. Abu Dhabi, however, was non-negotiable. You had to be there. Especially seeing as it meant you’d finally have more time to spend with the Brit. Whenever a season would come to a close, he’d spend his time with you.

Your parents were great friends with his, so it was only natural for the two of you to have grown up together. You came to many of his karting sessions to cheer him on, whilst he attended your spelling bees and other academic competitions. It was a give-and-take relationship that you couldn’t wish differently for the world. He was truly the only friend you could lean on.

He’d driven you to college. He’d helped you unpack. All the whilst you’d frequently check up on him and stream all of his races. Somehow, the two of you made that friendship work. It was something like giving and taking. You were one of the reasons why he chose to pursue his passion. In the beginning, he felt discouraged due to the amount of pressure, but with your words of encouragement, he pulled through.

Sitting on your bed in your shared hotel room, you admired a pair of earrings that Lando had gotten for you. Apparently, he wanted to have you attend a special gathering before Friday would dawn the free practice rounds. You’d done a week’s worth of work in advance to appease your professors by your absence, so taking some days off never proved a hassle.

“Hey, can you tell me how long I have left?!” The Brit yelled from the shower. He wasn’t the type to rush, and was often “fashionably late”. Excuses of various kinds were his forté, and you could only go along with whatever ruse he brewed up every time. You didn’t mind though. He was a nice change of pace from the back-to-back seminars and classes you had to sit through.

“About 20 minutes until we have to leave!” He didn’t reply, but you knew he’d gotten the message.

You continued to eye the jewelry in your palms. It was an intricate design with different gemstones in one piece. It was quite beautiful. Something you wouldn’t see at any regular jeweler. Lando was generous, if anything. You always tried to refuse his gifts, but would eventually wake up to a present by your bedside table. There was really no stopping him. If he wanted to spoil you rotten, he was going to do it without fail. You would surely end up a soaked sponge from everything you were taking in. He didn’t ask anything in return, besides your company and support. Something as simple as that sufficed. You couldn’t understand his train of thought, but that’s what made him unique.

That’s what first made you fall for him. Slowly but surely. There was no way to tell him though. He was far too occupied to be dating, and you were swamped with work. It wasn’t in the stars for the two of you. Lando never even showed an ounce of romantic interest anyway, so all you could do was hope your feelings would die down. Simple and easy… right?

The paparazzi knew that your friendship with the McLaren driver was old news and not worth spreading rumours about, so when you arrived at the gala, there was no big fuss about it. You’d attended several events as his plus one. Additionally, you were well acquainted with the rest of the grid, by now the whole world knew that you were simply a close friend. Not a wag.

The gala was grand. From gorgeous chandeliers and fancy ceiling decor to fine dining, you couldn’t see an end to the luxury. Frat parties were a far cry from this lifestyle. Although you’d been to several gala dinners with your best friend, they only seemed to climb the sophistication ladder every year.

Since Lando had to talk to certain people at the event, you decided to mingle. What better way to move on from Lando, than to get with someone else? The least you could do was try. College boys were nothing compared to the men you saw lingering behind pillars and swirling wine.

“Oh hey, you!” Someone yelled from behind you.

“Lewis! It’s so nice to see you. We haven’t seen each other in a while.” The champion was a nice try, but you couldn’t. He was a close friend and it felt wrong. Almost as if you’d be dating your brother.

“You here with Norris?” You nodded at his question, quickly grabbing a flute of champagne as a waiter passed by.

“How’s college? I hear you’re graduating early?”

“I am! Yeah, I just took on a lot of work. I’d rather get out in the field sooner than later, you know?” You’d finish your junior year as your senior. That had been your plan from the beginning. You worked yourself to the bone, taking up extra assignments to get more credit.

“I get you, I probably would’ve done the same. You’re really admirable.” After you shot him a quick smile, the two of you were interrupted by Charles and Charlotte. It was obvious that the Monegasque had been dragged along by his girlfriend. Your favourite girl.

“Charlotte! Oh, it’s been too long!” The two of you immediately embraced each other, careful to not spill any champagne. She was stunning, wearing a gorgeous Prada maxi gown with a high slit. It was to die for, but so was your Alexander McQueen deconstructed trench dress. Anyone within a 50-kilometer radius would notice how it complimented your curves and the colour of your skin.

“It really has. It’s such a shame that I only ever get to see you at small events and at Abu Dhabi. You should come to more races. I know Lando misses you,” she teased the last part, but it still tugged at your heart. The slightest possibility that it was true… You wanted to believe it. So badly it hurt.

“He’ll have to exercise patience,” you chuckled and downed the last bit of champagne you had left. Charles and Lewis were somehow deep in conversation, so Charlotte decided to sneak you away.

The two of you were sat at a table near the back where the atmosphere was significantly heavier. It wasn’t as light as up front, but the dimmed lights made it cozy enough to sit and chat.

“So, tell me about you and Lando,” she said as if there was something between you and the McLaren driver. She knew very well that there wasn’t anything going on, but she had that feeling. You were hiding something.

“I mean… It's the same as always. We’ve been texting back and forth whilst I was busy with my classes and stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary?” It was the truth, but it definitely wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She proceeded to make that very clear to you,

“You know that’s not what I mean…”

“I don’t know what you mean, Cha.”

“Of course you do. I’ve seen the way you look at Lando. It’s very obvious.” She heavily emphasized ‘very’ and dragged out the ‘e’ in it. Charlotte was the type of person who you just couldn’t hide anything from. The girl was a literal detective.

“Is it really?” She could only nod pitifully at your question.

Sure, you’d started seeing Lando in a different light as of late. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he looked at you as if he was in love with you whenever you spoke. You knew most of your notes were delusional. You were stuck on an island. That island being: Delusion Island.

“I hate myself.” You sighed and let your head fall onto the clothes table. Charlotte stroked the back of your head gently to console you.

“Does he know?” She posed a question she already knew the answer to, and when you didn’t respond— she confirmed it.

“I can’t tell you exactly what to do, but Lando is going to find out eventually.” You didn’t even want to think about that possibility. Burying your feelings and crushing them into oblivion was your only option and it seemed like the most viable one.

“The future version of me will have to deal with that. I can’t handle it right now.” You found little strength to pick yourself up and get another flute of champagne.

The rest of the night was spent drinking and blabbering. Charlotte was able to talk for hours on end, and so were you. It was one of the reasons the two of you were close. She was your favorite of all the drivers’ girlfriends. She and Kika both. Though you weren’t as close to Pierre as you were to most of the grid. Especially Lando.

When Lando found you again, you were absolutely shit-faced. You were slurring nonsensical words that melted together into a concoction of a drunken mess. Charlotte was just as far gone. Charles was able to carry her home though. Lando had to make a split-second decision. Was he really going to carry you?

It wasn’t a case of wanting to. He definitely did. The Brit was practically obsessed with you. For most of his life, he’d been orbiting you. Ever since the two of you were in your teens, he’d been utterly and irrevocably in love with you. You, however, were busy studying and he was busy with his growing career in racing. He was worried you’d never notice, but he also didn’t want you to. There was something holding him back. The looming doom of uncertainty. You were this gorgeous and intelligent woman, with eyes that looked as if they’d been painted by one of the greats during the era of romanticism.

Seeing you there on the table, totally blacked out and out of touch with reality, he wanted to be your knight in shining armor. For one night, he wanted to be the man of your dreams. There was one problem though. The paparazzi. He’d successfully fended them off about dating rumours between the two of you. But if he were to walk out with you slung over his back, he was feeding that bone to the hungry hounds of the media. Not exactly the best idea. It boiled down to you or his reputation. Which did he care about the most? Which would he prioritize?

“Fuck it.” He picked your drunken body up and slung it over his back, securing your arms around his neck. You weren’t heavy, but you were making it difficult for him with all of your kicking and wiggling.

“Leave me alone. I need to find Lando. Put me down,” You kept repeating words in a similar fashion until he finally brought you to his car. As he fastened your seatbelt, he saw the look on your wiped-out face. Even with runny mascara and bloodshot eyes, you were ethereal. Truly something else.

“Lando?” Hearing his name leave your lips nearly made his heart do a double take, much like his eyes.

“Yes, love?”

“I really have to use the bathroom.” How to ruin a perfect moment 101. But he could only laugh. It was cute.

“I’ll get you home in time, don’t worry darling.” He got in next to you and started the engine. The hotel wasn’t far, luckily, so you didn’t have to wait much to get your guts spilled into the toilet bowl. Lando held your hair in a makeshift ponytail, as he gently patted your back. Turning your insides out cleared your mind a little bit, and in turn, utter embarrassment filled every crook and nanny of your body. You felt it all the way to the tips of your fingers clutching the toilet seat.

“Ugh, you shouldn’t see me like this, Lan.” You sighed and fell back into his arms. He didn’t mind this. He let you rest there, whilst you slowly started drifting off. The alcohol levels were still rising and you weren’t coming down anytime soon. You were tired. Your eyes threatened to close.

“I don’t care. I really don’t. You mean the world to me. Something like this doesn’t matter to me.” He clutched you like he did his stuffed animals when he was a little boy. There was a newfound comfort in doing this. Something that he knew was limited. Something he knew he’d never get to experience again.

“I’m only telling you this because I know you won’t remember it,” Lando began, as he didn’t want to miss the opportunity,

“I love it when you give me attention. I love it when you cheer me on. Nobody’s opinion matters, but yours. I really only care about yours. I know you don’t feel the same way, but you’re all I think about, You’ve all I’ve ever thought about since we were teenagers. It’s stupid, I know. That’s why I’m saying it now.” Despite the lack of response, his chest felt lighter. Much lighter.

You woke up in your bed with a pounding head and an unreal nausea. Shit. You were going to miss Lando’s practice sessions. You were still in your expensive designer dress, but your makeup had been washed off. On the bedside table, you saw a piece of paper. “Don’t worry about today. Just relax and I’ll be back later. See you. -Lando”. Was there really no end to his thoughtfulness?

“Fuck me, my head…” You groaned and haphazardly made your way to the bathroom. With no ibuprofen let alone Panadol, a splash of water to the face was the only cure. That or a cold shower.

You decided on the latter. After stripping out of your dress, you stepped into the shower and turned it on. The initial sensation of the icy water made your body feel almost electrical, but it soon subsided.

It was hard to recollect any memories from the night before. All that was left in your brain was flashes of Charlotte and more than just a few flutes of champagne. No matter how desperate you were for more information, you simply couldn’t retrieve it. Just trying to think back made your head pound even harder than it already was.

As you stepped out and dressed in one of Lando’s hoodies with some shorts, you fell back into bed. Your body felt too heavy to sit up straight, and you were still subconsciously trying to remember more details.

“I’m never drinking again…” you sighed and eyed the off-white ceiling. Your train of thought trailed towards the McLaren driver. The way he always looked out for you and took care of you if you needed it. You’d never been in any relationships, but you knew that Lando was the perfect guy. He was exactly what you were looking for. It was nothing but a chimera. You could only wish to feel the warmth of his chest against your head.

Speak of the devil, you heard the door open and saw Lando trying to get in without making much noise. He could’ve sworn his heart tumbled around inside his chest when he saw you in his hoodie. The way your shorts were barely visible due to his size being bigger than yours… it did wonders to his imagination.

“You’re awake,” he groaned as he put his things on the ground beside the door.

“That I am.” You smiled and watched as he let his tired body fall back onto his bed, cracking his neck and sighing in relief.

“Need a massage?”

“That’d be great, actually.” After he dragged his tired body to your bed, the two of you shifted in the bed, so that his head was in your criss-crossed laps. You proceeded to work the kinks in his shoulders, pressing your thumb against his skin in circles. The satisfaction on his face was enough to make the rest of your weekend.

“Why study when you can be a masseuse?”

“I’m not that good, Lan.” You moved onto his neck, which you found out was the place he needed to be kneaded the most. He flinched and seethed through his teeth, obviously feeling the exhaustion from the g force on-track.

“Sorry, it hurts. You’ll have to endure it until the pain subsides. It’ll feel good soon. I promise.” As you continued to work his neck, the Brit couldn’t help but take a peek at your face. Your eyes met his and it felt somewhat domestic. It was then, he realized just how domestic the situation was. You were both in bed, with him in your lap and you giving him a massage. That little hope he had left turned into determination. Even if you most likely weren’t into him, he’d want to fight. He wasn’t patient enough to wait around, and with your college situation almost coming to an end— it was the perfect time to make a move.

You felt your face heat up at the eye contact. Never did you even think that he’d be so bold. Yet, you couldn’t pull away from his gaze. You were completely lost in him. A tinge of lament filled your chest, knowing that you’d be selfish to do something in the moment. He was busy racing and probably saw you as a sister anyway. A kiss was completely off the table.

“There you go. Does it feel better?” You let go of him for his own sake. He got up and stretched, noticing how much lighter he felt.

“You’re amazing, thanks for that.” Just seeing his smile had to be enough for you.

You sat beside Charlotte as the two of you watched the qualifying session in full swing. She wore a vintage summer dress, whilst you’d gone for a sophisticated but simple jumpsuit look.

“I missed the practice rounds yesterday,” you groaned and facepalmed.

“Don’t worry, I did too. There was no way I was getting out of bed with that headache,” she chuckled and fiddled with her phone to take pictures as Charles approached the view. She managed to capture his car speeding by and cheered him on with a wide smile on her face.

“So, what are you going to do about Lando?” She tilted her head to the side and gave you her undivided attention.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t even like me, why should I even try? I mean can you even hear what I’m saying? ‘Like’? It’s as if I’m back in high school. It’s so childish.” You desperately wanted to forget about him, but it would break him if you started distancing yourself. You were the closest friend he ever had and you knew it.

“Childish? It’s normal. You’re into him and if he doesn’t see how great that is, he’s just not worth it.” She was the voice of reason you depended on to save your life.

“Cha, I don’t want to lose him.” You saw a livery with the number ‘4’ on it. Your chest felt tight as it sped past you.

“You won’t, okay? You won’t lose him. I mean, the two of you share a hotel room. Separate beds, but a hotel room nonetheless. Ever wondered why he doesn’t just get you your own room?” She had a pretty clear point, but in your land of delusion— it was useless. It was nonsense.

“I don’t know, Cha… he probably does it ‘cause it’s cheaper, you know?” You wanted to believe her, but a part of you couldn’t take the risk.

“The fact that he let you sleep in until he came back late yesterday… I mean, come on.”

“I guess? When he came back, I offered him a massage and we had this weird moment. I don’t know if that’s just me though.” Charlotte had to do a double take at what just came out of your mouth.

“You did what?!”

“Quiet, please. I don’t want all of the paddock to know!” She proceeded to spill out a slew of quiet apologies.

“You’re telling me he let you massage him after midnight? That’s not just you. That is a moment. Why would you even doubt this?” You shrugged and sighed. Were you just missing all the signs? Were you really that dense?

“Okay, look. How about you go ask Kelly to ask Max about him?” It wasn’t a bad idea per se. There was one problem though. You almost never talked to Kelly, only ever passing by her in the paddock with a smile and a wave.

“I don’t really know her though. How can I ask something like that of her?” You were nearing the end of your rope, wanting to give up and let the last slither of hope you had left get crushed.

“Any woman would help out another desperate one.” Desperate. Was that really what you were being branded as? Perhaps it was accurate. Kelly really was your last ticket out of Delusion Land.

“Fine. I’ll go ask her, but where is she?” Charlotte pointed down, signaling she was in the garage. If that wouldn’t be awkward, you didn’t know what it would be.

“Shit, fine. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.”

Charlotte turned out to be right. Kelly was in the garage with a set of headphones on. Her focus on the screen in front of her showed her dedication to her lover. Something you’d want to do for Lando… if only that’d ever happen. You approached her with a strong heartbeat, and a slight shortness of breath, and tapped her shoulder. Noticing you, she took her headphones off and smiled,

“Hey there?” The higher octave by the end went a long way to show her confusion. In her eyes, you were just an acquaintance. Neither of you had ever made any small talk and whatnot. So when you pulled her aside, she was completely lost.

“What’s going on?” She asked and furrowed her eyebrows.

“I need your help… I’m kind of desperate.” Having those words leave your mouth was beyond embarrassing and you felt so childish.

“Oh? I do think I have some stuff in my purse if you’ll give me a moment—”

“No no! That’s not what I need at all!” Fuck. You were getting cold feet. Standing there in front of her like a fool was somehow worse than just confessing.

“So then… what do you need?”

“Max.” Your mind was too scrambled to even string a coherent sentence together. Kelly’s eyes flew open and her face grimaced.

“No! Um, I need you to ask Max something.” She squinted her eyes in suspicion but was willing to hear you out.

“Could you please ask him if he knows anything about Lando? Just anything at all? As in… if Lando has any feelings for me. Just casually, you know?” Kelly was obviously relieved enough to help you out, so she gave you a thumbs up and the two of you exchanged socials so that she could update you. Weird way to make friends, but whatever.

You decided not to go back up to Charlotte, but take a little trip to the Mercedes garage. The team had made a blunder which left their no. 1 driver out of Q2. You went in to chat him up and possibly console him. He was a great friend, and you needed to take your mind off Lando for a bit.

Lando finished qualifying in the front row behind Max, which left him feeling better than ever. When he saw that you weren’t in your usual spot though, a mix of emotions tumbled over him like that of a flood. You were in the Mercedes garage for some reason, talking to none other than Lewis. He saw the way you almost choked when laughing at his jokes. The way you looked at him. Listening and being attentive was a special talent of yours. Whoever you’d look at, it would always look as if you were deeply infatuated with them. All because you were one hell of a listener. It was one of the many things Lando adored about you.

“Mate, what are you staring at?” Max slung an arm around Lando’s neck and looked in the same direction to spot whatever the Brit was so invested in.

“Oh… I see. You’re jealous.” Lando snapped out of it and felt his head drop.

“Nah man, I just wanted to see how Lewis was doing.”

“That’s bullshit.” It was. Seeing you be so close with another man, let alone another driver— it was too much for him. He’d done subtle things to get you to notice his feelings. Always booking just one hotel room, Driving you to your college campus, calling you whenever you had time— even if it meant he’d have to miss out on a good night’s sleep.

“You should tell her.” Lando nearly lost it when you pulled the Mercedes in for a hug. Luckily though, it was short and you left shortly after. Conveniently enough, you noticed Lando with Max, which sent him into a state of panic.

“What do I do?”

“Just do whatever you think is right.” As you approached the two of them, Max waved and left the two of you to talk. Lando was frazzled and it was obvious.

“Hey, what’s up? Congrats on the position, Lan. I’m proud of you!” Your smile and your excitement regarding his near-win were enough to squeeze his heart dry for juice.

“Thanks, I’m glad you’re here to see it.” The two of you began walking towards the McLaren motorhome when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. It was a text from Kelly. Unfortunately, Lando was right beside you and managed to see the notification.

“You hang out with Kelly?”

“Um well, yeah! We talk all the time. I thought you knew?” You deserved an Oscar for that quick save.

“Nice, we should go on a double date with Max and her soon.” You nearly cracked your neck, turning to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, calm down. It was a joke.” That was half the truth. In reality, he just wanted to see your reaction to the suggestion. Something told him Max didn’t have a point.

“Mhm.” You rolled your eyes at him and rested your hands on your hips.

“Actually, I have something important to tell you when we get back to the hotel.” Something didn’t feel right about him saying that. He rarely talked about serious things, but his tone was almost anxious. It was a side of him you’d never seen before.

When you finally got back to your shared room, you changed into something more comfortable whilst Lando took a shower. You went through your nightly routine; stripping your face of makeup, rubbing serum into your pores, and caring for the roots of your hair. Spoiling yourself was important to you. Almost as important as studying, really.

“Hey, can you pass me the comb?” You’d been too distracted to notice Lando finishing. You found the comb in the drawer of the vanity, turning to hand it to him. That’s when you saw him. Fresh nightwear and still dripping wet hair. It was the most attractive thing you’d ever witnessed in your entire life. Including meeting several heartthrob celebrities at races.

“You’re staring, you know?” Oh, you knew.

“So are you.” He was. His eyes searched for something behind yours. Any sign that you one day could be his.

“Touché.” He combed through his hair with a serum. Hair and skin care was something that you’d forced upon him. Safe to say you changed the rest of his life for the better.

He finished up and tugged himself under the fluffy white duvet. It was sort of contradictory sleeping with air conditioning, but still tugging yourself under heavy covers. He was cute. You weren’t nearly as tired as he was yet, so you decided to scroll through your socials before finally dozing off. The two of you had completely forgotten about what the curly-haired brunette had wanted to talk about. It didn’t matter though, as it was only a matter of time before it was going to be revealed.

You’d done your hair and makeup, spending nearly two hours total perfecting yourself. Lando waited by the door, calling your name several times. With the last puff of your setting powder, you quickly gathered your things and ran for the door. The Brit seemed stoked for the race, but that wasn’t the only thing his insides were churning for.

The two of you arrived at the paddock in style. You wore a Vivienne Westwood tennis skirt, paired with a knitted sweater from the same collection. Your purse was Prada, and your shoes were Yves Saint Laurent. Lando had showed up in Quadrant merchandise, whilst also rocking a pair of shorts, courtesy of McLaren.

The Brit brunette was going to aim for pole position in Abu Dhabi, and he was going to confess before the interviews. That was his plan. Though a sappy one, he knew you’d appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.

You had once again decided to observe the race with Charlotte. Being in the garage was far too hectic with all of the engineers watching the race in anticipation. Sure, you were rooting for Lando, but you were no fanatic like them. Nor were you extremely loud about it. However, you definitely understood their passion. If it was your job, you would’ve been just as hyped and on edge for every race.

“Do you think Lando is going to win?” Charlotte asked, leaning against the railing overlooking the pit lane.

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. I mean, he did well in qualifying?” You were quite literally manifesting a pole position for him. If you had a sigil and a set of candles, you would’ve performed a ritual. It wasn’t so much of an obsession as it was pure dedication to your best friend. What it really was— was love. You were utterly and hopelessly in love with the man. From the way he’d laugh at your sub-par jokes, to the way he’d drive you to and from campus.

“I think he’s going to win.” Charlotte was usually cheering her boyfriend on, but this time was completely different. She was rooting for you.

“What makes you say that?”

“Love.”

Lando managed to squeeze in a photo finish, nearly missing out on pole. All of the McLaren team gave you space to embrace him. The hug felt tighter than usual. Almost as if he was saying “I made it”.

“Lando, this is amazing! I am so so so proud of you.” That brief moment felt like heaven on earth to him.

“Can I tell you something?” He leaned in, but not too close for comfort.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so tired of chasing and I want to stop it. You can deny my feelings, but I have completely fallen for you.” You hesitated as your heart felt like it had been caught in your throat. You felt a strike of heat reach your face, watching Lando wait eagerly for your response. Shame you were at a loss for words, but then again— perhaps a blessing?

You immediately pulled him in for a kiss, hearing all of the fans roar and the teams gasp. Lando melted into it, cupping your cheeks with his hands. You felt the soft material of his gloves against your skin. When you finally pulled away, you decided to give him a proper response,

“You have me, as long as I have you.”

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱...

𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗿𝗲��𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻.

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Canellecitadelle @Canellelabelle

The British public is a hard public to win over. We judge harshly first and are cold and guarded first. But once, you have earned a spot in our heart, you have earned one in our home; and this is exactly what Catherine has done with 2 decades in the spotlight.

For a Commoner marrying the Heir of the most high profile Monarchy in the world, the task of adapting was a matter of survival. Yet, she looks, sounds and acts with more elegance, more dignity and more alacrity than Blood Royals themselves. And yet, this kind and honest young woman, who has never put a foot wrong in 20 years, was still viciously crucified this week by the world press; led by the British press and by haters online, all the while recovering from major surgery

If the worse crime Catherine has ever done, after spotlessly behaving for 2 decades is editing her OWN mother's day picture, with her OWN children and taken by her OWN husband, so she could post it on her OWN social media to surprise the world on Mother's day with her health improvement and say "thank you" to us for our support; a "thank you" the world violently spit back in her face out of rabid jealousy and bitterness; then I would like to hand her her sainthood in the house of Windsor: she is truly perfection in a very imperfect world judging her and in a very imperfect Royal family watching her

As bad as her vicious enemies try to break her, Catherine always comes back on top. Life challenges taught her to make the sweetest lemonade out of the most bitter lemons

Today, after all the targeted hate campaigns, she still comes on top as the Nation favorite and most loved Royal, in both the YouGov poll in the UK and Ipsos poll in the US

Her Influence has only become even more massive, worldwide. Catherine is cultural Icon of our time. The name "Kate Middleton" is now a very marketable brand that stands on its own and even, has the power of affecting Stocks

The Adobe stocks were trending at 552.45 on Monday morning. After rumours trended on X that she used adobe clouds to edit her picture, by monday evening, adobe stocks were trending at 561.42, adding $3 Billion in value to adobe stock in half a day

This morning, they were up to 579.14

Catherine's name alone is now a powerful Royal Warrant on its own

Her first official return picture on X broke the internet for almost a week straight and was viewed 82 million times in 48 hours on X alone. The biggest account on X, elon Musk with 175 mil followers got on a highest viewed tweet this year of 66mill views

Her Haters did not hurt her, they made her stronger. Bullied her whole life, first by female classmates at age 12 in school, then harrassed nationally by the british press and paparazzi in her 20s for being prince William's girlfriend, to now being viciously targeted internationally by the world press and haters in her 40s as prince William's wife, Catherine is very familiar with mental abuse and bullying. Yet, she has never embraced the victim mentality, she is a victor. She is confident enough to publicly take accountability for her own mistakes, and confident enough to calmy get on with it; In that, she is British to her core

The commoner they snobbed and despised has now taken over the House of Windsor, Her soft power unmatched; She has now inserted the generations of Coal miners and working class brits, who worked slave wages to build this country into the veins of the most privileged royal family in the world. Her son, Prince George is the first Heir in history with working class and coal miners ancestry in his veins. And in that Carole middleton, who was born in a condemned council flat in southhall and still became a self made millionaire; the one the world mocked and bullied for decades for being too low class for Royalty; The one who is currently in windsor caring for William, Catherine and their children with unwaverring love and loyalty; she at last won the last laugh

12:51 PM · Mar 13, 2024

[knightinink]

Can you do headcanons for high school Dip?? Maybe I'm just not looking hard enough but I hardly ever see high school Pip or Damien and I think they both deserve that 😊😊

Why yes, I can certainly try!

-Okay so very recently (yesterday) I was listening to teenage dirtbag & got hit with the idea of a "teenage dirtbag Pip" like as an au or something, & it wouldn't leave my head (art for that soon!) But what's funny about it is that Pip isn't really a dirtbag, he's just trying out a new fad/trend that's come about at South Park High, & he surprisingly has a field day with it. Damien has two reactions to it: 1 being he joins him & 2 "It's who I am, Damien!" "It's not who you were yesterday (& are those my wristbands??)"

-If there's a dodgeball team, Pip's joining it. Everyone just lets him, knowing how good he was at it when they were all little (& I like to think Pip stayed on a few teams during his school years).

-Damien's covered in tattoos. Full arm sleeves, some neck tats, & some along his back. It's not all messy or demonic though; they're all beautiful pieces, some with meaning, some just because he thinks they look cool. Some with color, some in black & white. Pip loves to color in the black & white ones with watercolor when Damien lets him.

-Y'know that one creek comic? The one where Craig takes Tweek out to the woods to have a nice evening with just the two of them instead of going to prom? Well I like to think Damien would do something like that too, not wanting to risk something happening to Pip during the crowning of prom king/queen, knowing that he'll win & it'll be sabotaged in one way or another. So Damien would just set up a little moonlight picnic a bit further back in the woods, maybe on a scenic cliff of a mountainside.

-At the same time of going to school, Damien's still ruling over Hell, & with how hectic school can be I think he'd become quite stressed out for those four years. He'd get into the habit of overworking himself, & saying he can't afford to rest because x, y, & z needs to get done tonight, Pip! The Brit would support him & try to help wherever he could, & that sometimes means coaxing Damien away from his work for just a moment (to have dinner Pip made or something), & eventually the demon would relent, letting Pip drag him away from his work. One thing quickly leads to another, & Damien is passed out on the couch, head laying in Pip's lap as he gently threads his fingers through a mane of black hair.

-Pip: "self care"

Damien: "self care? I've never even met her!"

Pip, concerned: "Damien please come lay down-"

-I like to think Damien's horns have also grown in quite nicely by this point. They both have facial hair, but Damien can pull off the rugged, unkempt look while Pip shaves daily. Pip also grows his hair out.

-Damien is the better driver, though he has his bouts of road rage. Pip is so dense when it comes to driving it hurts.

-They both graduate just fine, & while they weren't at the top of their class/didn't receive many award sashes & the like, they're just happy they got through it. Pip's grateful for the education, Damien's just happy to finally be fucking done.

Hope these were okay, I've never given much though to a highschool dip setting, but this was interesting to do! Thank you for the ask!

(& if you'd like to request any hc's, my askbox is open!)

[daisyachain]

What’s interesting is that up until even 2008, the actions of empire (the developed world) could be and were laundered by the press before making their way to the middle- and upper-class core citizens. You could choose to know and be aware that the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq were bloody, unjustified, and useless violations, or that New Orleans was abandoned and left to rot, or that the London riots weren’t just kids getting out of hand, or that quantitative easing was a scam, or any other truth, but the easiest form of learning new things was going to be the press apparatus and the press was going to stick to its only principle: defend and legitimize the authorities. It was possible for core citizens to go through life without coming into contact with life outside this particular curated view.

Flash forward to now. It’s more likely than ever for people in developed countries to be unforgivably, dangerously ignorant of anything that happens anywhere. Americans don’t know the Palestinian death toll they paid for. Brits don’t remember when the conservative government got elected. Canadians deny what a residential school did. What’s different is that the misinformation isn’t controlled by a single source. The liberal press apparatus has its own coherent set of mistruths and creative interpretations of fact. The tabloid press still does its thing. But there’s an infinite variety of types of baseless conspiracy theories, based conspiracy theories, unmotivated lies, motivated lies, deepfakes, actual real on-the-ground reporting, etc available at any moment.

Developed governments can no longer control information through relationships with media. The blimin crisis Russia scandal facebook whatever was a story that missed the point. Developed governments now have to rely on externally-produced propaganda, because their own is having trouble competing. Millions of volunteers doing the hard work of sending jingoistic, bloodthirsty right-wing propaganda on whatsapp/facebook can be and are harnessed, but not controlled. The work by Palestinian journalists during the ongoing genocide has pushed progressive elements further away from the ‘reliable’ news sources that publish propaganda after it’s already been disproven in real-time.

The crisis that appeared to start in 2015 was misdiagnosed as misinformation. The problem was not that good normal real Americans and Brits were manipulated into voting for proudly racist and xenophobic policies—the trump presidency/Johnson premiership weren’t too much worse than many republican/Tories or most of the Democrats/labour before them. The change was that the neoliberal establishment (Cameron, Clinton) and their allies in media had lost the ability to set narratives among the general populace.

The landscape is a bit different between the uk/us/France/Canada/etc with the uk columnist culture or France’s coalitions, but the change has proven itself again with the attempts to justify the Palestinian genocide. Governments have lost control of the consent manufactory. Global north citizens advocating for genocide do so out of vicious hatred, out of jingoism and racism, and out of economic concerns. Only some of them stick to the public government and media line of ‘ontologically good nation of Israel is definitionally doing a good thing and we should support them.’ If people support the various establishment/centrist government policies, it’s not for the reasons laid out by those governments. Global north citizens advocating against genocide do so against the wishes of their government. One way or another, the governments of developed nations no longer can guarantee retroactive universal support for their policies. When that happens, it’s by chance

[britany1997]

Brit!! Oh my God, it's so wonderful to see you again!! I hope you're doing well and that school hasn't been too overwhelming. I know you're absolutely brilliant and will be the best lawyer ever 🥺

I saw a few people reblog our fic Sunkissed recently and it made me think of you!

Sending all the love and warm welcomes your way! 💜💜💜💐💐💐💐

Hi Lave!!!

Omg so happy to be back:) idk if you saw my post about it, but after I turned my draft in I was like mmmm i low key have some time to write now and I’d rather post stuff now for a bit, take a shorter break during finals, and then come back, rather than just wait three months to write🤷🏻‍♀️

School has been good actually! I’m at the point where I’m enjoying the work I do:) it’s definitely been a lot between two weekend intensive classes and my paper seminar, but it’s been fun:) I’m really enjoying having a platform to write an essay again (something I’ve always enjoyed doing) and having professors that inspire me (literally every class the prof is 10/10, that hasn’t happened till now haha)

Thanks for all your constant love and support, you’re the sweetest and I’m excited to be able to read your work again, and share my own stories with y’all too❤️🥰

[biblenewsprophecy]

UK still being rocked by riots and protests–survey finds 1/3 support the protesters

COGwriter

Since a stabbing of children in the UK late last month, there have been protests in various places there.

Here are a couple of reports:

Far-right riots: A third of Britons support UK anti-immigrant protests, poll finds

August 7, 2024

A third of British people support the anti-immigration protests that have spiralled into violent riots in cities across the UK, according to a report by YouGov.

Seven percent of respondents said they supported the Islamophobic and racist violence that has accompanied the protests.

Protests erupted in the UK after the killing of three children in the northern English town of Southport in late July. …

The suspect arrested for the stabbings was later revealed to be a 17-year-old British citizen of Rwandan origin. …

In the past week, rioters have attacked drivers they suspected of being Muslim, chanted racist slurs and looted businesses that often have nothing to do with Muslims or immigrants, including branches of the popular bakery chain Greggs. https://www.middleeasteye.net/news/far-right-riots-two-thirds-people-uk-sympathise-anti-immigrant-protests

Rioting Suspects Are Mostly Locals, Contradicting Starmer’s Claim They Were Bussed In

7 August 2024

A statistical analysis by the Telegraph reveals that the majority of people charged with rioting live locally to the demonstrations they joined, contradicting Keir Starmer’s claim that they came from out of town on “trains and buses”.

The Prime Minister claimed that outsiders hijacked the unrest to cause chaos in a “community that is not their own.”

However, according to the Telegraph, “Seven in 10 of those charged so far live within a five-mile radius of where they are alleged to have taken part in riots, according to court documents and police forces.”

The data was obtained from looking at the fixed addresses of 65 charged suspects.

Given that Starmer has blamed social media “misinformation” for the rioting, maybe he should be more careful in not disseminating his own brand of lies.

Starmer has been branded ‘Two Tier Kier’ for a police crackdown on white working class people while mobs of armed Muslim men who attacked innocent people in Birmingham weren’t even subject to a police presence. https://modernity.news/2024/08/07/rioting-suspects-are-mostly-locals-contradicting-starmers-claim-they-were-bussed-in/

If 1/3 of Brits support the protesters, calling them “far-right” is a bit of a stretch.

There have been various protests and riots in the UK over the decades.

Notice the following from a report about youth riots in the UK from the old Radio Church of God 60 years ago:

Mob violence is increasing in Britain.  …

Dr. George Simpson, Chairman of the Magistrates at the court in Margate, summed up the fracas with this apt description: “These long-haired, mentally unstable, petty little sawdust Caesars, seem to find courage, like rats, by hunting in packs.”

And so the packs went hunting… for trouble.

Other Mods and Rockers converged on Brighton resulting in 76 being arrested. The court had to hear cases of mass hysteria, jostling, stone-throwing and the terrorization of elderly people. Teenagers were arrested for carrying offensive weapons (including pistols, leather belts with brass buckles, cricket bats, golf clubs, and chains), for using threatening behavior and for using obscene language.

The fighting is now over. The debris has been cleared off the beaches. Smashed windows have been replaced. But the Mods and Rockers still roam the cafes and streets of London.

 What an evil and rotten world you live in! But the Bible prophesied it would be this way. The apostle Paul said: “This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, DISOBEDIENT TO PARENTS, unthankful, unholy… lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a FORM of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away!” (II Tim. 3:1-5).

DISOBEDIENCE TO PARENTS is one of the major problems of our day! Read Romans 1:28-32 and Isaiah 3:12. God warned that disobedience to parents would be the curse of our age.

Children are disobedient because parents have failed in their job as parents. They haven’t trained their children to OBEY them and all in authority! If children are disobedient, it is the parents who are primarily at fault. If the home is broken, unhappy or upside down with the woman ruling over the man (see Eph. 5:23; I Cor. 11:3, 8-9; I Pet. 3:1), it is the parents who are mainly to blame.

And why have parents not been successful in creating a happy home life where children grow up happy, secure and well-trained? Because of ignorance of God’s laws that govern marriage, family life and child training. The solution to misbehaved, rebellious, disobedient children and juvenile delinquency is in the Bible. Theologians either are ignorant of that solution or have rejected it. Ministers too often have not been teaching the people the truth! (Boraker RC. Why Teenage Gangs RIOT at England’s Seaside. Plain Truth, August 1964)

As far as the current riots and protests go, a lot of it has to do with the perception that foreigners are negatively impacting the UK. But that was prophesied as one of the curses for disobedience:

15 “But it shall come to pass, if you do not obey the voice of the Lord your God, to observe carefully all His commandments and His statutes which I command you today, that all these curses will come upon you and overtake you:

16 “Cursed shall you be in the city, and cursed shall you be in the country.  (Deuteronomy 28:15-16)

43 The alien who is among you shall rise higher and higher above you, and you shall come down lower and lower (Deuteronomy 28:43).

The Bible shows that God is against violence and that destruction will come because of it:

23 ‘Make a chain, For the land is filled with crimes of blood, And the city is full of violence. 24 Therefore I will bring the worst of the Gentiles, And they will possess their houses; I will cause the pomp of the strong to cease, And their holy places shall be defiled. (Ezekiel 7:23-24)

46 … And violence in the land, (Jeremiah 51:46)

28 And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a debased mind, to do those things which are not fitting; 29 being filled with all unrighteousness, sexual immorality…30…violent, proud, boasters,…31…unmerciful; 32 who, knowing the righteous judgment of God, that those who practice such things are deserving of death, not only do the same but also approve of those who practice them. (Romans 1:28-32)

8 … And the violence of the land and the city, And of all who dwell in it. (Habakkuk 2:8)

Notice also that terror for the corrupt was prophesied:

5 They have corrupted themselves; They are not His children, Because of their blemish: A perverse and crooked generation. … 25 The sword shall destroy outside; There shall be terror within (Deuteronomy 32:5,25)

We continue to see corruption and other terroristic acts–and these are not just from people the government categorizes as terrorists.

We are in “the last days.” We are in what Jesus referred to in Matthew 24:4-8 as the “beginning of sorrows.”

A worse time of ‘tribulation’ is coming (Matthew 24:21-22) and is getting closer.

But, ultimately, there will be good news. Jesus will return and the millennial Kingdom of God will be established, and violent crime will be stopped.

Pray for that Kingdom to come (Matthew 6:10).

Related Items:

When Will the Great Tribulation Begin? 2023, 2024, or 2025? Can the Great Tribulation begin today? What happens before the Great Tribulation in the “beginning of sorrows”? What happens in the Great Tribulation and the Day of the Lord? Is this the time of the Gentiles? When is the earliest that the Great Tribulation can begin? What is the Day of the Lord? Who are the 144,000? Here is a version of the article in the Spanish language: ¿Puede la Gran Tribulación comenzar en el 2020 o 2021? ¿Es el Tiempo de los Gentiles? A related video is: Great Tribulation: 2026 or 2027? A shorter video is: Can the Great Tribulation start in 2022 or 2023? Notice also: Can Jesus return in 2023 or 2024? Here is a video in the Spanish language: Es El 2021 el año  de La Gran Tribulación o el Grande Reseteo Financiero.

Anglo – America in Prophecy & the Lost Tribes of Israel Are the Americans, Canadians, English, Scottish, Welsh, Australians, Anglo-Saxon (non-Dutch) Southern Africans, and New Zealanders descendants of Joseph? Where are the lost ten-tribes of Israel? Who are the lost tribes of Israel? What will happen to Jerusalem and the Jews in Israel? Will God punish the U.S.A., Canada, United Kingdom, and other Anglo-Saxon nations? Why might God allow them to be punished first? Here is a link to the Spanish version of this article: Anglo-América & las Tribus Perdidas de Israel. Information is also in the YouTube sermons titled Where are the Ten Lost Tribes? Why does it matter? and British are the Covenant People. A short YouTube of prophetic interest may be: Are Chinese threats against Australia for real?

Will the Anglo-Saxon-Celtic Nations be Divided and Have People Taken as Slaves? Will the lands of the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand be divided? What about Jerusalem? What does Bible prophecy teach? Are there non-biblical prophecies that support this idea? Who will divide those lands? Who will end up with the lands and the people? Here is a link to a video titled Will the USA and other Anglo-nations be Divided and Their People Made Slaves? Here is a related item in the Spanish language ¿Serán divididas las naciones anglosajonas?

British are the Covenant People What do ‘British’ and ‘Britain’ mean in Hebrew? Are the descendants of the Anglo-Saxons people of the covenant? Does the British royal family connect to the throne of David? What does the Bible teach? What does history show us? Is there any DNA evidence related to British-Israelism? When did Christianity make it to the British Isles? Could Jeremiah have made it to the British Isles? What type of Christians made it to the British Isles? Did the last King of England believe in British Israelism?

Canada in Prophecy: What Does Bible Prophecy, Catholic Prophecy, and other Predictions Suggest About the Future of Canada? There are prophecies that suggest involvement with Canada. And many are not positive about its future. A sermon of related interest is also available: Canada in Prophecy.

Australia and New Zealand in Prophecy Do biblical prophecies help explain the wealth blessings for Australia and New Zealand? Might cursings from disobedience come in the 21st century? Here is a link to a related sermon: Australia and New Zealand: Origins and Prophecy.

The Times of the Gentiles Has there been more than one time of the Gentiles? Are we in it now or in the time of Anglo-America? What will the final time of the Gentiles be like? A related sermon is available and is titled: The Times of the Gentiles.

Armageddon Who is involved and when will this gathering happen? Here is also a video from Dr. Thiel, from Tel Megiddo in Israel: Armageddon. Other videos include: Armageddon Will it come on Trump’s watch?, Iraq, Armageddon, & Prophecy, Freemasonry, Armageddon, and Rome, Is China paving roads to Armageddon?, and Jordan, Petra, and Armageddon.

What About Romans 11:25 and the Full Number of the Gentiles? Some in the West discount God’s calling of Gentiles, but the Apostle Paul wrote about the need for them to come to the truth before Jesus returns. Two somewhat related videos are available Gentiles and When Will Jesus Return? and Puerto Rico, Trials, and Triumphs.

God’s Grace is For All Is being Jewish a hindrance to salvation? What about not being a descendant of Israel? What does the Bible really teach? Here is a link to a related sermon titled Race and Grace; Do you view race as God does? Watch also Mystery of Race.

Lost Tribes and Prophecies: What will happen to Australia, the British Isles, Canada, Europe, New Zealand and the United States of America? Where did those people come from? Can you totally rely on DNA? Do you really know what will happen to Europe and the English-speaking peoples? What about the peoples of Africa, Asia, South America, and the islands? This free online book provides scriptural, scientific, historical references, and commentary to address those matters. Here are links to related sermons: Lost tribes, the Bible, and DNA; Lost tribes, prophecies, and identifications; 11 Tribes, 144,000, and Multitudes; Israel, Jeremiah, Tea Tephi, and British Royalty; Gentile European Beast; Royal Succession, Samaria, and Prophecies; Asia, Islands, Latin America, Africa, and Armageddon;  When Will the End of the Age Come?;  Rise of the Prophesied King of the North; Christian Persecution from the Beast; WWIII and the Coming New World Order; and Woes, WWIV, and the Good News of the Kingdom of God.

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[musicarenagh]

The Soul Sensation Cherise With Bold Brit Attitude Releases 'Secrets' Cherise is a young jazz performer from the UK who is quickly becoming known for her incredible talent and unique sound. With a classical background and a jazz education from the Trinity Laban School of Music and Dance in Greenwich, London, she is one of the most promising young musicians in the UK today. Cherise's journey in music began with her participation in the free Saturday classes offered by Tomorrow's Warriors, an organization that aims to support the early careers of young musicians, particularly black and female musicians who may face financial or other obstacles in pursuing a career in the music industry. [embed]https://soundcloud.com/kartel/secrets/s-CNRHKaeeszw[/embed] Through her hard work and dedication, Cherise became the only black jazz vocalist enrolled in her class at Trinity Laban, an accomplishment that speaks to her talent and perseverance. Cherise's music is a blend of jazz, R&B, and soul, with a daringly British approach that sets her apart from other performers. Her album "Remedy," released in 2021, showcases her songwriting abilities and her commitment to the narrative process. The album's first single, "Secrets," is a heartfelt and honest song that draws listeners in with its modern yet classic sound. Cherise has already made a name for herself in the London jazz scene, and she is scheduled to perform at festivals such as Love Supreme and Montreux Jazz this summer. Her devoted cult of listeners follows her closely, drawn to her easy and appealing voice and her ability to make her music sound both modern and classic at the same time. Cherise's rise to fame is a testament to the power of hard work, dedication, and perseverance. With her unique sound and incredible talent, she is sure to continue to captivate audiences and win over new fans in the years to come. Fans of jazz, R&B, and soul should definitely keep an eye on this rising star. [embed]https://open.spotify.com/track/5LOeNu6xrB63aba54GSTmc[/embed]  

[gnc-culture-is]

GNC culture is killing the queen of England

Ill will did her in

[wistfulrat]

it’s the katie leung john boyega kelly marie tran [insert other poc here] experience of somehow being at the center of white media and getting none of the supposed satisfaction bc at the end of the day, you’re not meant to be in those spaces. you’re just meant to be props for white escapism. and if you think transformative spaces like fanfic communities are immune to that exact method of silencing poc, you’re not paying attention.

every day i think about hp and other globally popular western media as conduits for cultural colonialism and the prevalence of whiteness in fandom and the america-centric internet and the inaccessibility of escapism when most fantasy is just another word for euro/western/anglo dreamscapes.

this is the context of what you’re responding to. most of the time being a fan is fun and harmless and i think 99% of people here have good intentions so this post isn’t even targeted at anyone specific and more just the culture itself. bc god, fandom is so very white. i love it here but when u come across posts comparing targeted cyber bullying to the witch burnings of actual indigenous people and the impacts of colonialism that killed off thousands upon thousands of us before imperialists ever reached salem. when u come across discourse that says fandom is an inherently inclusive space because women and lgbtq+ communities built it and yet, it only takes being here for a couple months to be reminded that when they mean inclusive, they mean white. when the attempt at solidarity is tainted by minimizing non-white oppression in progressive spaces. it’s exhausting.

im not a book burner, i like ao3, i read the brit lit canon. i like hp for what it is—a british children’s series about magic, war, found fam, etc. but these are colonial texts and holy fuck the compulsory whiteness of it all. and the way we never enjoy things in a vacuum bc the rest of the world outside western nations were explicitly forced to elevate white aesthetics since the dawn of imperialism. you think subcultures aren’t affected by that? ao3 is growing rapidly as fannish works move closer to mainstream. and yes, i know that this is explicitly because marginalized people have worked hard to fight for freedom of thought/speech/creativity. i am not interested in policing that space because the net positive outweighs the shit bits in my perspective.

but it’s the way the slightest hint of criticism against popular media and the fan works created for it is silenced with a swift “let people enjoy things” when the Thing that is being perpetuated and enjoyed is the very center of white media and white fantasy and white imagination and even white queerness. people will rally against a resurgence of harmful purity culture (as they should) but in the same breath, talk about that as if it’s akin to systematic genocide against non-white people groups. i don’t understand the need to conflate those experiences when the danger you face online as a white woman is still inherently protected by your whiteness. and like yes, marginalized people have made a home out of fic spaces. yes, your fear of that space being taken away is completely valid. but this is still a predominantly white community. and white grief is always, always the priority. that is a safety that you can count on because no social class can match that power of being at the center of culture creating.

so it’s just exhausting as poc in fandom, when you see how non-white creators and fans are treated, and always having to be the nicest, sweetest, most docile version of ourselves because we’re constantly being painted as toxic bullies with an inability to relax/unclench around problematic art. like you all wonder why fandom remains a predominately white space. it’s just wildly uncomfortable being here when you want to enjoy women and lgbtq+ art and transgressive works in general but knowing that support is just not reciprocated.

edit: i wrote a better/more thorough follow up post to talk about good faith discussions vs. shipping wars, colonialism, unhelpful anti/pro discourse, and the role of cultural criticism in transformative spaces if any of you are interested

[edie-baby]

baby girls - chapter two | lando norris

Chapter Two: Perhaps

summary: What's the best way to tell the guy you like that you have a kid? Well, lying about it and making him think you're cheating isn't the best tactic, Mila's about to find that out the hard way.

word count: 1650

warnings: swearing, absentee father (the asshole ex has evolved)

last chapter

Dreaming of a perfect man while on a perfect vacation in the perfect scenery was, well, perfect. Until the dream ended, and Mila was forced back into reality by the wails of her daughter coming from the next room, the heartbreaking sound kicked Mila’s motherly instincts into high gear, her sleep-addled brain coming into a laser sharp focus within a split second.

“Hey baby girl, what’s going on?” Mila spoke, scooping Mahri into her arms with practiced ease. Mahri’s sobs quieted almost instantaneously, her tears still tracking down her face with a vengeance. Mila tried wiping the tears away, but they were replaced just as quickly.

“It’s okay, just breathe bubs. Whatever’s making you upset, we can fix. It’s all good.” Mila whispered, bouncing Mahri around the room as it had calmed her down when she was just a baby.

“I want Daddy.” Mahri cried, and Mila could have collapsed at the weight of the words the toddler had said. There was a large hole in both of their lives in the exact shape and size of Mahri’s father. Once high school sweethearts, now sworn enemies.

As much as Mila tried to block out all thoughts and feelings related to Mahri’s dad, she couldn’t blame the kid for missing a man Mila herself found missing sometimes. Matyas was Mila’s first love, her boyfriend since 8th grade, and her best friend since kindergarten. They had grown up side by side, acknowledging they had crushes on each other in their second year of high school, and having a baby together by the second last.

Matyas and Mila, contrary to most’s predictions, had stayed together through her pregnancy, and even for a while after Mahri was born. Matyas would bring all of Mila’s schoolwork home and help her work through assessments while she was pregnant, and once Mahri was born, they alternated taking days off school to babysit when members of their family couldn’t.

But something Mila had never admitted to others was that Matyas was an asshole, only kicking into higher gear once they had both finished school. Mila had an acceptance letter for university and a part time job lined up, whilst Matyas hadn’t even bothered looking, preferring to use the excuse of ‘I have a child’ to stop him from venturing into the adult world. Despite this, cooking, cleaning, and looking after the baby was Mila’s job, obviously because she was the woman, the mother.

When Mila finally decided to end her toxic relationship with her lifelong best friend, she was villainized for it. Her parents and friends blamed her for tearing her own family apart, whilst her older siblings were more than supportive, having accidentally witnessed Matyas’ less than desirable traits. Up until about six months ago, Matyas would visit regularly, taking Mahri for her swimming classes, and playing with her at the park, occasionally taking her for the day to save Mila some money on daycare.

However, much like any tale of a teenager, Matyas was single and lonely, and a barrier to being in a relationship was the fact that he had become a father at seventeen. It wasn’t exactly a big check mark next to his name, so when he had told Mila he needed to move on, find someone special, she didn’t anticipate that meant moving on from his daughter. Six months with no contact was the longest Mahri had ever gone without seeing her father, and it was the longest Mila had ever gone without seeing him. Mila didn’t have the heart to tell Mahri, who looked at Matyas as though he hung the stars, that her father wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Yet as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, Mahri’s cries for her dad became all the more heartbreaking.

“I know, baby girl. But he’s on holiday, remember? He’s having lots of fun in Limbo.” Mila lied, continuing to rock her daughter in her arms, heart feeling heavy as stone at the blatant lies she was forced to tell her daughter just because her ex-boyfriend was a coward.

“I want a new daddy.” Mahri whispered, giving up on keeping her head up, preferring to let it fall heavily onto her mum’s shoulder. Mila couldn’t help but chuckle silently, the unfiltered, mumbled by age, words that her daughter came out with sometimes were what kept Mila going. With a few more bounces, Mila was sure her daughter had fallen back into a deep slumber and moved to lay her back in the small bed, covered with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

Mahri’s words echoed in Mila’s head, and as she reached for her phone to send yet another unanswered text to Matyas, Lando’s face appeared on her screen, an incoming FaceTime call that was as daunting as it was exciting. Mila looked over her shoulder, listening for any movement from Mahri before she answered the call, setting her phone against the toaster on the kitchen counter as she began brewing some coffee. It was nearing five in the morning, and knowing she would be usually waking up in an hour and a half meant it was going to be a caffeine fueled day.

“Hey baby boy.” Mila spoke a moment after the call had connected, looking down at the phone to see Lando’s tired face, snuggled up in bed with a small smile on his face. His smile only growing when he heard the fond nickname fall from Mila’s lips.

“Hi love. Why are you making coffee? It’s so late.” Lando mumbled, squinting to get a better look at what Mila was doing in front of him. His eyes devoured her figure, a large tshirt covering the tops of her thighs, and from what he could see, or lack thereof, she wasn’t wearing pants.

“Actually, it’s early. It’s a bit past five at the moment.” Mila replied, giggling at the way Lando seemed entranced by the view of her bare skin, smiling fondly when he snapped out of the trance at the sound of her joy.

“What the fuck are you doing up so early?” Lando almost shrieked, the volume of it causing Mila to startle forward, pressing incessantly at the buttons on her phone to lower the sound, checking over her shoulder paranoid that the gorgeous Brit had woken her barely sleeping baby.

“Oh, sorry. Do you have someone over?” Lando mumbled, looking crestfallen as he recognised the anxious look on Mila’s face. He couldn’t have been so naive to think that a woman as gorgeous as her wouldn’t have company on a Friday night - Saturday morning for her - and it had been about four days since they had spoken, he should have known.

“Uh, kind of. But no, but yes. Fuck.” Mila cursed, trying to find the right way to tell Lando that, yes, indeed she was worried he had woken someone up, but no, it wasn’t the kind of someone he was thinking of. She watched as Lando gulped, his mind spiralling with images of Mila with someone else, and although he had seen it in Austria, it hurt to know that their week together hadn’t meant as much to her as it did him.

“That’s alright. I’ll, um, let you get back to that, I guess. I’m sorry I called.” Lando muttered, moving to end the call when Mila panicked, the thought of hurting the man she was falling in love with had overridden her fears of him freaking out over the fact that she came with a lot more baggage than initially thought.

“I’ll call you later, baby boy, I promise. I want to talk to you, now just isn’t really a good time. I’m sorry.” Mila’s voice was trembling, she could see Lando’s want to get out of the conversation and never speak to her again, and it was the very last thing she wanted.

“It’s fine, you have your own life. We’ll talk soon. Bye.” Lando finished, his voice curt and clipped, but Mila could very clearly see the hurt hidden beneath the thin veil. She felt a piece of her heart break at the sight, knowing she was not only lying to him, but also causing him pain whilst she did so made her question whether it was really worth it hiding the little ball of energy in the next room.

Before Mila could reply, the call cut out, and she was left staring at the photo of herself, Victoria, and the twitch quartet on her lockscreen, something she had changed to remind herself of the amazing week she spent with some new lifelong friends.

Mila unlocked her phone, desperate to get away from the look she and Lando gave each other, preferring to admire her home screen, a photo from hers and Mahri’s most recent adventure to the park, Mahri laughing her ass off at Mila, who was very scaredly looking at the flock of geese running toward them while she took the photo.

Of course she had to give birth to a sadist, and if she was honest, she’d take that over the obvious masochistic trait she had been born with. The conversation with Lando replayed in her mind a million times, part of her wondering why she couldn’t just own the fuck up and tell him she had a kid. It wasn’t like she was telling him she wanted kids with him, or that he already had a kid, fuck if he didn’t want to, she probably wouldn’t introduce him to Mahri for years.

Yes, Mahri was her number one priority, but she couldn’t live her entire life for her child. She was nineteen, a gorgeous woman, and she deserved to be loved. Perhaps she could live her life with her child, and perhaps with someone else too.

But after today? She wasn’t sure she’d get the chance to even try.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Have you read Anne Applebaum’s new book The Twilight of Democracy? I’d be curious to hear your thoughts as a Brit living and working in Europe about how she writes about the schism in conservatism around democracy in the post 1989 era.

I must thank you for dropping this question because I would not have got around to finishing this book if I hadn’t been prompted by your question. I was sent The Twilight of Democracy: The Failure of Politics and the Parting of Friends some time ago by a good friend of mine who works as a newspaper foreign correspondent and knows Anne Applebaum well. I don’t know her but I have read a few of her journalistic pieces over the years when she was with the Economist and the Spectator.

I also read her harrowing book The Gulag: A history (2003). Applebaum's account of the Gulag was majestic and full of pathos. Almost 40 years after Robert Conquest's classic, The Great Terror (1968), she brought the terrible history of the Soviet camps to life again. She made brilliant use of Gulag and secret police archives to write a compelling history of how cruel and evil the Soviet system really was. Her book is one of the most vivid histories we have of a system - "the meat grinder", Russians called it - that marked or destroyed the lives of millions.

So it was with trepidation I approached this latest book because it’s dealing with weighty stuff. It’s partly a brilliant political reportage, partly a Central European-style psychodrama, partly a political analysis, and partly a personal diary. It is also a postscript to a distinct epoch when the Berlin Wall comes down and we enter the post-Cold War. The story Applebaum tells is that of the death of anti-communism as the public philosophy of the West. During the Cold War, the Soviet Union wasn’t only America’s principal military adversary but also its ideological and moral “other.” Both left and right in America and Western Europe defended their competing visions of a liberal society in reaction to the Stalinist nightmare. But in the absence of the Red Menace both the left and the right turned on liberalism and that continues today with Trump in America, Brexit and the EU, and Victor Orban in Hungary.

I cowardly put it near the back of my reading queue because I already reading more than a few weighty tomes (mostly history and literature books) and I didn’t want my senses to be overloaded. I typically have fifteen books on the go and I travel with four whenever I’m stuck in a business class lounge or in a hotel room and so I can switch according to my mood. With Applebaum’s book I also wanted to take notes and so I took my time with it. I’ve finished it but I’m still processing my thoughts on it. I hope to write up a book review as part of my on going Treat Your S(h)elf post in my blog. So don’t hold your breath.

I’m glad that I’ve read it, but it’s a haunting book, that’s for sure. It’s a potent, and somewhat apocalyptic, reminder that democracies are only as strong as the people who live in them, that there is nothing about them that is ontologically strong and secure. In order to continue to function as they should, they require buy-in and maintenance and support and, above all, faith. Without those things they are subject to corrosion and destruction from within.

I love how she mixes the personal with the political because Applebaum as a Yale and Oxford educated historian and journalist, and as someone who is married to then Polish deputy foreign minister, Radek Sikorski, was as connected as anyone in the 1990s and 2000s to both liberal and conservative wings in Western democracies.

It’s a great opening to start at a soirée of the great and the good to see the dramatic scene.

On New Year’s Eve in 1999, Applebaum and her husband Radek Sikorski, who was then Poland’s deputy foreign minister, hosted what sounded like a really great party. Their home was filled with American and British journalists, Polish dignitaries, and some of their neighbours. Applebaum characterises them as representatives of “the right,” which at the time meant something vastly different from what it means today. They were staunch anti-communists in the Thatcherite tradition, who were optimistic about Poland’s embrace of democracy and free markets. The gathering was held at an old manor house that had been abandoned in 1945 by its previous owners, who had fled from the advancing Red Army. It turns out Sikorski’s family had purchased and renovated the dilapidated house, making it the perfect metaphor for a nation rising from decades of oppression at the hands of the Soviet Union.

Unfortunately, the friendships and the optimism that animated that celebration have largely evaporated in the past 20 years or so. According to Applebaum, “Nearly two decades later, I would now cross the street to avoid some of the people who were at my New Year’s Eve party. They, in turn, would not only refuse to enter my house, they would be embarrassed to admit they had ever been there.”  

Many of her Polish friends, colleagues, and acquaintances have abandoned their belief in classical liberalism and embraced an illiberal right-wing authoritarianism that sees democracy as flawed and free markets as rigged by elites. She maintains that the bitter political divisions that developed among those who attended this party in Poland are similar to those now found in many countries today, including Hungary, Spain, Italy, Great Britain and the United States.

“Were some of our friends always closet authoritarians?” Applebaum wonders. “Or have the people with whom we clinked glasses in the first minutes of the new millennium somehow changed over the subsequent two decades?” The book is an admirable quest for answers and goes a long way toward providing them. 

Applebaum identifies several factors that have contributed to the rise of twenty-first-century illiberal movements, often using personal anecdotes to illustrate her points. She is not then particularly concerned with theories, nor is she attempting to offer a grand thesis about the phenomenon. She makes a few passing references to the ideas of Hannah Arendt and Theodor Adorno among others, and relies on the work of a behavioural economist, Karen Stenner, to point out that about a third of the world’s population simply has an authoritarian disposition that makes them deeply suspicious of views different from their own.

Indeed throughout the book, Applebaum is as concerned with people as she is with processes, in that she often focuses on the individuals whose choices and political actions have led to the current state of affairs. There’s a potent truth here, for it’s a fact that no authoritarian is able to rise to power without having the support of at least some of those in positions of cultural authority to buy in, what Applebaum, following in the footsteps of Julien Benda’s classic 1927 book, The Treason of the Intellectuals, refers to these sycophants as clercs. These are the people who make authoritarianism palatable to the masses, whether through their positions in powerful media or by distorting museum exhibits to support a dominant agenda (which has happened in Hungary).

Applebaum helps us better understand the disturbing increase in division, the roiling anger, the willingness to discard democracy by not just the elites but also the masses and especially the populists. It used to be we understood revolution by charting the inequality and desperate poverty that led to them, but in Hungary, Poland, Spain, the UK, and in the United States, while many may be hungry few are starving. And those in the streets of London and Washington are hardly destitute.

Applebaum writes, “They have food and shelter. They are literate. If we describe them as ‘poor’ or ‘deprived,’ it is sometimes because they lack things that human beings couldn’t dream of a century ago, like air-conditioning or Wi-Fi. In this new world, it may be that big, ideological changes are not caused by bread shortages but by new kinds of disruptions. These new revolutions may not even look like the old revolutions at all. In a world where most political debate takes place online or on television, you don’t need to go out on the street and wave a banner to assert your allegiance. In order to manifest a sharp change in political affiliation, all you have to do is switch channels, turn to a different website every morning, or start following a different group of people on social media.”

Applebaum is a very good writer; her style is lucid, and her arguments are bracing. This has made her one of the most powerful voices of the anti-populist resistance. But the strength of her new book is not so much in exposing the authoritarian nature of populists in power but in revealing the intellectual hollowness of the anti-communist consensus. I didn’t find myself agreeing to everything in the book because it’s not always easy to compare apples to oranges when one looks at the USA, Britain, Europe, and Eastern Europe. Culture and history gets in the way of easy generalisations.

Overall, this book is, at least my first impressions, something of an intellectual call to arms. It reaches out to each of us, asking us to do our part to ensure that democracy doesn’t go the way of so many other failed political systems. As she reminds us near the end of the book: “no political victory is ever permanent, no definition of ‘the nation’ is guaranteed to last, and no elite of any kind […] rules forever.” There’s something more than a little terrifying about the idea that history is one long cycle, that every political victory must be re-fought again and again and again. But such, alas, is the nature of modernity.

Thanks for your question.

[losille2000]

The Swan, Chapter 6

TITLE: The Swan CHAPTER NUMBER: 6/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Tom/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Sequel to The Ugly Duckling. Astrid embarks on a two-week trip to London to serve as her sister’s maid of honor, hoping against all hope she might miraculously run into her Hawaiian mystery man. When her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law drag her to a production of Hamlet to meet the groom’s best man, Astrid gets the shock of her life. The situation, though, is anything but perfect. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: None in this chapter. AUTHORS NOTES: So... what can I say? It's been a while. If you want the whole story, you can look through my blog or message me. I'm happy to answer. That said, it's been a good three years since I did any serious writing. My writing muscles need to build back up to what they were before. Please be kind... and let me know what you think. :D

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ALSO ON AO3!

Chapter 6 - Flying the Coop

Regret.

Astrid regretted ever stomping up those stairs to Tom’s bedroom. She regretted challenging him to make a move. She regretted letting him have his way with her. In the moment, it seemed right. Maybe if they slept together again, they’d find an incompatibility, especially now that the air of tropical mystery had dissipated and left in its place two broken flesh-and-blood people.

How wrong could she have been?

Now it was amplified, deeper, hotter, engulfing.

Only two weeks for whatever this fire was to fizzle?

It wasn’t, as the Brits say, bloody likely.

And here she was, smack dab in the position she didn’t want to be in; no matter how tangentially her current association with her mother, the family business, and Hollywood was, being connected to Tom in this way presented too many problems to even consider at this point. And fucking him—

“Astrid, are you even listening to me?”

Astrid jumped from the intrusion, letting out a slight squeak. She blinked hard and turned in her spot to look at her sister, who stood in the middle of the furnished but unoccupied flat. “Sorry?”

“Are you okay?” Tilde asked. “You’ve been spacey after the dress shop— and I’m just worried.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Let me worry,” she begged. “Let me be the big sister I never got to be.”

Astrid laughed ruefully. If only she could actually talk with Tilde about Tom. She wouldn’t understand, or at the very least, it could pose some very difficult situations in the coming days with the wedding right around the corner. But, Astrid guessed, Tilde meant the other elephant in the room... Astrid being the elephant, and their mother being a Class A narcissist. Because there was absolutely no way Tilde would know about what had happened at Tom’s home...

“It’s too late for that, Tilde,” Astrid said. “You know I love you. I just— there’s no changing her.”

Tilde grumbled and glided over to the couch in the living room. She dropped down on top of the cushions, barely displacing the pillow stuffing with her slight ballet-formed frame. “I should have never allowed her to do all this. I should have done it on my own, it’s not like Jim and I are so hard up. But I thought...”

Astrid held up a hand to stop her sister and sat on the couch more gingerly than Tilde, measuredly, so as not to displace any stuffing in the overstuffed couch, either. Something her mother had taught her, after all: If you’re not going to put in effort to look like a lady, you can at least act like one.

God, even that memory still hurt, down to the marrow in her bones.

“But you did.” Astrid shrugged and laid her head on the back of the couch. There, she sighed.

The sisters sat in silence for some time, listening to Duchess rooting around the flat for something to chew on. When the pug found nothing, she eventually jumped up onto the couch and snuggled into Tilde’s lap.

Astrid cleared her throat. “It’s not all Mom, either. I’m just tired from jet lag and getting everything together for the house party.”

And sleeping with the Best Man. She was pretty sure she’d read a romance novel or a hundred about this situation once. Did that make her a cliché?

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Tilde interjected. “How did that go? Tom was a total tool last night and I was worried about today.”

Astrid licked her lips subconsciously; she could still taste the sugar left by a bite of tiramisu Tom had given to her on a fork. If she concentrated hard enough, she was sure she could still taste the salt of his skin mixed in with it. She could certainly feel the tight muscle in her thigh that pulled every time she shifted, from the way he’d bent it and held it firmly in place as he’d had his way with her.

Frankly, it was a miracle they’d accomplished anything after they ended up in bed. But, she supposed, that was the weirdest part about the whole afternoon. They got out of bed, dressed without speaking and just... worked on what they needed to for the party. There was no discussion. No arguing. Tom stayed a respectable distance from her; she wasn’t sure if she had really wanted him to do it again, over and over, until they were both exhausted. They ate lunch quietly, they got everything organized and packed into his Land Rover, then Tilde showed up and they bade farewell, like it was something they did every day.

Nothing more was said about Hawaii, or a relationship, or lies, or having this end in two weeks. He seemed to be ignoring the topics all together, likely in the misguided belief that if he didn’t bring it up, then everything was fine. She ignored them because discussing WHY she refused to become a true part of his life was too painful.

Astrid pursed her lips and closed her eyes again. Isn’t that what she told him she wanted, though? To feel worshipped and then go about their lives, like nothing happened? Ignore all the elephants and enjoy the sex. No emotion, only sex. He was just following her demands, his need too great to put the brakes on their interlude in his bed.

The problem was that she did want more with him. She wanted emotion and relationships and rainbows and butterflies. When she had thought of him as some wealthy businessman she might once again bump into while visiting London, this had been possible. She had, after all, imagined a reality over the last eighteen months that included falling in love with him and living a life together.

But he wasn’t a businessman. He was an actor. He ran in circles she just couldn’t stomach anymore.

“It was fine. We finished everything and packed it all into his Land Rover for the drive up to Cliveden,” Astrid finally said. “The costume deliveries will be there when we arrive.”

“This really has gotten out of control,” Tilde said. “Part of me just wants to run to the register office and get it over with.”

Astrid shook her head violently. “You do that, and I’ll flip the fuck out. I put too much work into this.”

Tilde laughed. “Scared you, huh?”

“I’m serious, Tilde,” Astrid said, lightly smacking her sister’s thigh. Duchess popped her head up, and thinking it was an invitation for her, came over to her aunt. Astrid cuddled the dog close to her chest, breathing in her freshly bathed fur.

“She likes you,” Tilde said.

Astrid kissed Duchess’ head. “Small children and dogs, apparently.”

Tilde chuckled softly before letting out a long sigh. “I bet she would really like it if her Aunt Astrid were around more.”

“Aunt Astrid is a teacher and never has any time,” she replied directly to Duchess. Duchess reached for the hand that had stopped petting her and touched it with her paw. Her imploring buggy pug eyes asked Aunt Astrid for more.

Tilde huffed, but said nothing more for a long time. Then she cleared her throat. “How do you like the flat, anyway?”

“It’s nice,” Astrid confirmed. In fact, it was nicer than “nice.” This flat looked like one of those staged ads in a real estate magazine with lots of recessed lighting, soft gray colors, top-of-the-line furnishings and a ton of space.

“We’re trying to decide if we’ll sell it or keep it as an investment property,” Tilde replied. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass as a rental property, though.”

Astrid nodded. “You could just give it to Dad’s company to manage.”

Not that doing so was a great option, either.

If Astrid saw her mother irregularly, she saw her father even less. After their separation, he spent time in Las Vegas developing a new casino concept and then, when Astrid graduated from UNLV, moved his business operations permanently back to Sweden. Still, though, the relationship with her father was better than it was with her mother, simply by virtue that he was never around and didn’t have an opportunity to find the weaknesses in her armor like her mother. Tilde rarely spoke about either parent, but Astrid was certain their relationship was similar.

Tilde sat up and turned to look at Astrid seriously. “Or you could move into it.”

“Excuse me?” Astrid said, her heart skipping a few beats, from a sudden surge of anxiety and... something else.

“I’m serious, Astrid,” she said. “We don’t see each other enough and I want to spend time with you and make up for all those years we were apart.”

This wasn’t just some passing fancy. Astrid could see that as plain as day on Tilde’s face. Her sister was determined to convince her to move to London. But for what? She had no support system other than Tilde and James... and her career... well, that was back in Las Vegas.

Not that Las Vegas itself was the most amazing place to live and work.

“I’d never see you anyway,” Astrid argued. “You’re always rehearsing, or preparing to rehearse, or performing. And god knows James is going to be busy doing whatever.”

“Yeah, about that...” Tilde said, trailing off quietly. She picked at the dog hair on her sweater for a few seconds, then slowly looked back at Astrid. “I’m retiring at the end of this season.”

“What?!”

Tilde shrugged. “James and I want a family, and if I wait until it’s a ‘good time,’ it’ll never happen because of our schedules. And really, it’s getting harder and harder to come back from injuries and such. I just... I need a long break from being a performing ballerina. I don’t have the fire I once had, the same will to fight for every goddamn role.”

Astrid simply nodded. This was huge news. Ballet was Tilde’s life. She’d been doing it since she was a little girl, had impeccable skill and training and talent for it. The joke was that Tilde had come out of the womb in pointe shoes.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth, really. As soon as their mother could, she’d gotten Tilde into dance with the best instructors money could buy. Their mother, the failed ballerina, always lived through them. Which explained why she did not like anything about Astrid— Astrid did not have anything that would benefit her.

“Have you told Mom yet?” Astrid asked.

Tilde shook her head. “Of course not! And listen to her prattle on about how I’m a failure and she gave me so much and I’m just a terrible person? No, thank you. I’ll wait until she is permanently back in LA before I tell her.”

Even though Tilde had not yet told anyone else, it somehow eased the tension in Astrid’s shoulders knowing that Tilde would be in their mother’s crosshairs for a change. Typically, that wasn’t the case; their parents always treated Tilde like the perfect golden child. Of course, Tilde had always been one of Astrid’s fiercest allies… when she could. However, since Tilde spent most of her life in London studying at the Royal Ballet from a very early age, support and camaraderie had been scarce. Now, though? Now it felt like she and Tilde could weather the storm together.

Tilde continued, “Yeah. I’m thinking about opening up a dance studio and then after the baby thing happens, if I still have the performing bug in me, then I’ll start guesting. But I’m just so excited to start having babies.”

Stopping the smile from forming on Astrid’s lips was impossible as she registered the excitement on Tilde’s face. Astrid felt the enthusiasm coming from Tilde’s corner of the couch. “I’m excited for you, Tilde.”

And she was. She truly was.

Tilde reached out and grabbed Astrid’s hand. “I’m serious, though, Astrid. We never had a great family growing up, and I see this as an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past and create the family we should have had growing up.”

“I don’t know, Til.”

“James and I have both talked about it a lot and we both agree.”

“Tilde, even if I did move here,” Astrid began, “I don’t know the first thing about teaching in England.”

Tilde nodded. “I know. But James’ parents are retired teachers. I’m sure they’d be willing to help you make heads or tails of it.”

Astrid pursed her lips and turned to stare at the dormant fireplace sitting in front of them. Duchess, who had not moved, made happy dog purr noises as Astrid massaged the tiny velvet triangles of her ears. To be fair to Tilde, Astrid had often thought of moving to London to be nearer to her, but she never thought it would happen or that Tilde would actually need or want her here. The fact that she was wanted made emotion spring to her eyes and prick at them until they watered.

But then, there was the other issue.

The really, super, ginormous issue that came in the shape of a devastatingly handsome British man she met on vacation. If she moved to London, she’d certainly be seeing him more. No clean break at the end of two weeks like she hoped.

“And, you know,” Tilde said, “London’s arts scene is stupendous. We have the hook-up. I thought you could get back into it. You can hardly do that in Las Vegas.”

Astrid snorted. “Tilde, that part of my life is over.”

“Why? You’re amazing. I remember the video you sent of your college production of Othello. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

While Tilde’s appreciation for her talent warmed Astrid’s heart, it didn’t take away the sting of her mother’s actions. Astrid couldn’t even bring herself to discuss it with Tilde when it first happened, much less in the intervening eight years since the incidents that led to her total disavowal of all things acting related. Her silence on the matter, though, had finally come home to roost. First with Tilde telling Tom she was still an actor, and Tom calling her a liar because she told him she wanted nothing to do with it. And now, with Tilde staring her down imploringly. Tilde wanted answers just as much as Tom did, except for very different reasons.

Astrid could not force her suddenly leaden tongue to move in her mouth. Tilde would just have to live with not knowing the whole story, for now. Finally, she said, “If I move to London, I’m not going to be acting.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take that,” Tilde replied. “As long as you’ll still consider moving here to be with me.”

A knock at the front door startled them all, sending Duchess barking and wheezing to the door. The door opened and James popped his head inside. “Knock knock.”

“Come in!” Tilde sang back to him, jumped from her seat, and nearly leaped over the back of the couch to get to him like he was a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely. For a brief, possibly irrational, moment, Astrid was jealous of her sister and the relationship she had built with James.

Which wasn’t a great feeling to have if the plan was to spend more time with them. How could she uproot her entire life— leave her students and friends— and move halfway across the globe just to be consumed by the green-eyed monster?

“Babe,” Tilde said, “tell Astrid she needs to move to London.”

James laughed and turned to look at Astrid. “Astrid… you need to move to London.”

“Thank you!” Tilde pecked his cheek and pirouetted in place until she was facing away from him. She started walking back toward the bedroom. “Let me go get my purse and we can get going.”

When Tilde was gone, and the flat was mostly silent except for more of Duchess’ puggy wheezing as she calmed, James’ smile dropped into a stony seriousness. He stepped over to her and quietly murmured, “We would love to have you here, Astrid. But I understand if you don’t want to come. The decision has to be yours, and if you decide not to move, I will handle Tilde.”

Astrid was grateful for James’ level-headedness in the situation. In the short time she’d known the man, she found that he was a gifted reader of rooms. That was why he was so good with Tilde— a steady anchor in a turbulent sea. Clearly, he understood the anxiety twisting her stomach into knots.

She set a grateful hand on his arm and squeezed appreciatively. “Thanks, James.”

“And don’t let my association with Tom cloud your judgement,” James said.

Astrid withdrew her hand like he’d burned it. Her eyes snapped up to his, then focused outward on the rest of his features and body language. She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Tom must have told James, despite that she asked him not to.

Unless Tom had told James last night…

“How do you...” She trailed off, turning her gaze and trying to hide her blush.

“He’s my best man for a reason. We tell each other everything,” James replied. “I had hoped that your work today would allow you some time to figure things out before more of this wedding commenced and caused a problem.”

Astrid gulped. “Does Tilde know?”

James shook his head silently.

“Good,” Astrid replied. Good for two reasons, really. The first, because it confirmed for her that the invitation to come to London wasn’t Tilde playing matchmaker. The second, because she still didn’t want anybody to know about it. “Wait… how much did he tell you?”

James stared back at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. “That would be breaking the Code.”

Her face now completely aflame, Astrid bent down and grabbed Duchess into her arms. She couldn’t even look at the man anymore without feeling embarrassed. Hopefully, it would pass quickly.

“Bad news!” Tilde called from the hallway as she came back into the room. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen of her iPhone. “Mother decided we needed an all hands on deck dinner tonight.”

Astrid groaned. “In addition to or replacing the one tomorrow night at Cliveden?”

“In addition to,” Tilde said. “Tom can’t make it tonight because he has the cast party, and Dad isn’t even in England yet, so that’ll be the official one. Tonight is probably just more nitpicking.”

“Do we have to?” Astrid whined.

Tilde sighed heavily and dropped her phone into her purse with agitation. “Strength in numbers, dear sister.”

Her sister's proclamation made the summons to dinner no better, but Astrid and James dutifully followed Tilde out of the flat and out to the car. The only saving grace was that Tom wouldn't be there. Astrid could focus on one problem, not two.

[footballxwrites]

Could I get a Ben Chilwell imagine, with the prompt being ‘18’ by One Direction please? x

Since we were 18

Background info: They’ve been together since their school/ college and Uni days until it all gets too much for him and he ends it. They then see each other a few years later and turns out he never got over her, I don’t know if I like this or it makes sense..but I hope you enjoy reading it anyways! ♡

12 June 2015

Age 18

It was a summer romance where everything was perfect, just young, naive love and the world was your oyster so it seemed. No responsibilities, no worries, no rules, just two young souls who were free to follow their dreams, you taking A-Levels whilst he signed pro for his boyhood club, yous were in a fortunate position and couldn’t have wish for anything more.

But then adulthood hit, the big 18 came around and college ended which meant it was off to Uni for you, in hopes of fulfilling your dream career. Ben was flying with his job, raking in the popularity and fame and enjoying what he was doing for a living.

It definitely put a strain in your relationship to say the least with the four hour round journey yous had to make to see each other every other week of whenever you could in between your busy schedules, but it was worth it, all of it was. The love never faded and the feelings weren’t ever lost even after being told it would never last by everyone, including those closest to you. Yous took a chance, a big one that’s for sure, but you were willing to take the risk and prove just how wrong they were and show them you and Ben were in it for the long run, he always told you he knew you’d be fine...

5 August 2017

Age 20

...Two years later and there yous were, still living love in slow motion and completely obsessed by one another, living it up in your three bedroom apartment settled just outside the city of Leicester, not to mention you graduating with a degree and finding the perfect little job and him still growing in the football world, even winning the league last season.

The two of you had now gotten used to the joys of being an adult, I mean of course it came with the boring downsides of paying the bills and taxes but overall it was a great time to be alive. The excitement and surprise was still there for you both, the weekly date nights, the last min getaways, the holidays abroad in that humid Spanish sun every Brit loves to see, the anniversary celebrations, even just the cosy nights on snuggled up on the sofa with a takeaway...the list was never ending.

2 Feb 2018

Age 21

Where all the pointless arguments began and the staying out late, sometimes not even coming home till morning, and it all seemed to go downhill. The days of waking up entangled in his arms to the sound of his soft snores were well and truly over, in fact you’d be lucky to open your eyes and see him actually in bed next to you because by god that was a rare sight. It would start with the simple question of “where’ve you been” or “can we talk” before the two of you would be at each other’s throat’s, throwing around the insults and little digs, eventually ending in someone walking out.

The day came when it was time to call it quits, well when he called it quits, and the words you never thought would fall from his lips did, those two words that tore your heart apart, “it’s over”. Of course you were putting up a fight, I mean it felt like three years of your life just went down the drain and for what, because he randomly decided he no longer loved you?

That night you packed your bags were gone, from both his life and your home city, needing a fresh start to focus on you and you alone. At the end of your day, apart from your job nothing else was keeping you in Leicester and you fancied a change, soon moving down London into a high class apartment and place of work and finally feeling yourself and fulfilling that dream you had back when you were 18.

As for Ben, you could pray you’d never come across him again, for both your sakes...

5 March 2021

“Wait, please!” you heard from behind you as you tried to make a run for it, but with crowds of people all shoving their way out of the stadium it was almost impossible to get away in time. You soon gave in and turned around to be met with him in all his sweaty glory and ruffled up hair, looking the same the he did all those years ago, except with less of a baby face and a beard. Did you regret coming here today? Yes, one hundred percent yes and if you could go back in time 2 hours earlier, you defo wouldn’t be in the stands at Stamford Bridge right now.

“What are you doing here” he, rather breathlessly, spoke with a small smile creeping upon his mouth, “oh you know just to watch the match, Y/F/N happens to support the blues and I was dragged along here” you casually replied, no expression on your face mainly because you had no idea how you were feeling, before he grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side out of view of the crowds. “Well it’s nice to see you...it’s been a while” he gleamed as you gently nodded, fiddling with your fingers trying to figure a way out of the awkward situation, “yeah...erm, I see the football’s being nice to you” you sighed, looking over to the pitch as he laughed.

“Yeah I guess it’s been alright, I got lucky with how everything went...job wise” he quickly added, seeing a discreet frown slip along your lips, “it’s definitely been more than alright, but I’m happy for you” you half smiled, avoiding eye contact as he cleared his throat. “Anyways, what’ve you been up to then since...you know” he mumbled as you shrugged, “Moved down here, went into management and worked abroad for a bit”.

“That’s amazing, and you did that all alone” he hinted, intrigued to know if anyone had filled his spot in your life, “Yes, but I ca-can’t do this Ben” you stuttered, about to walk away so you didn’t break down in tears, but soon being stopped when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and hold you close.

“I miss you...” he whispered, trailing off as you softly sobbed into his heart, “I know...but we’ve been there and it didn’t work, we’re not 18 anymore Ben” you mumbled, “we’re a long way from the playground” he gently laughed as you pulled away from his touch. “Why did we end up like this, going our separate way? Everything was so perfect back then” you reminisced, letting a small gasp, “Then give me another chance, like you say we’re older, we have our lives in order, what’s there to risk?” he asked as you remained quite speechless, not sure of your answer. “I wanna love like you made me feel when were 18”....

———————

@kingkepa @champagne-coys @jamesmaddiscnx @masonmounts @footballcloud @hoely-pavard @alexajanecollins @footballerimaginess @kierantierncy

[whitehotharlots]

It’s all religion, and it’s all profane

Over the past few days I have delved, rather pointlessly, into the messy scenery of the UK’s ongoing gender wars. My interest was equal parts morbid and academic. I hoped to answer two questions. First, why is the back-and-forth between trans rights advocates and gender critical feminists so vicious in the UK, culminating not just in the threats and recriminations found in the war’s American iteration, but in women being blackmailed and even arrested. 

The second question is why is it even happening? That is, why is the UK in particular a hotbed for an ideological war of this type among liberal-identifying people, while in the US the feminist movement has accepted trans ideology more or less uniformly and with minimal pushback. My first inclination was that it was a matter of professional survival. Perhaps academic jobs aren’t as precarious in the UK, meaning that it’s somewhat safer for people to issue heterodox opinions. But, again, the viciousness of the first question seems to rebut my assumption in regards to the second. Losing your job is bad, but going to prison is worse.

Of course, I found no clear answer to either question. UK academe is utterly unknowable to an American who’s never experienced it. I found out what “O Levels” means but after that I got kind of lost. As much as a shitty lie our myth of academic meritocracy might be, the UK makes us look like a Dutch Montessori school run by doctrinaire Quakers. If your first name isn’t proceeded by Lord, Lady, or Sir, or if you don’t have a number after your name that’s at least as high as The Fourth, there’s not much of a chance you’re going to get yourself a gig within Oxbridge.

So I delved into the viciousness, and oh boy did I get what I was looking for. The English are renowned for their dry, cutting humor, but that’s because only the best of the best come into the American purview. The majority of pedestrian UK humor is a sort of sarcasm without jokes. Like, let’s say you brought home a sausage pizza. I asked you what the topping was and you said “It’s pepperoni, mate.” And then you opened it up and it was sausage and that made me confused and slightly pissed. That’s the extent of the comedic ability of your average Brit.

The fights, meanwhile, are more direct and blunt, really a sight to behold. Again, there’s no attempts at humor, which tend to accompany the verbal conflicts of Americans. When Americans fight, we’re usually doing it to try and get the people around us to think we’re cool. When UK people fight, they just want to hurt the other person.

Of course, there’s much in common between the US and UK iterations of gender discourse. Minor disagreements are regarded as violence, hyperbolic overstatements of harm are routine, and person who uses terminology that was considered progressive up until very recently can find themself labeled a Nazi for not making linguistic adjustments quickly enough. But it’s still somehow even more rancorous in the UK. You get a sense that they’re not in it just for online clout but out of a desire to cause real, physical harm to members of the other side. 

One of the more salient aspects of UK arguments is how their insults will often consist of a simple description of a person. Sometimes you’ll get “fat” or “snaggle toothed” or something most of us would consider mean. But other times it’s like “you blonde cunt” or “you working class shite” or something else that us Americans would never regard as an insult. Mentions of religion are surprisingly common. They say “you Catholic bigot” as opposed to “you bigot,” or “you deranged Protestant” instead of “you freak.” 

This really struck me. You’d never, ever see that in America. Firstly because it’s taboo (unless it’s a Republican talking about Muslims). Secondly, because we simply do not care. Your average religious American cannot articulate any meaningful difference between Catholics and Protestants. We have no need to, because as much as we love Jesus we don’t bother with any of the messy parts of religion, such as having a faint understanding of the faiths we claim to adhere to.

This, I have always felt, is the greatest folly of New Atheism. What are you gonna do, present a scientific case demonstrating the absurdity of the creation myth? You gonna stick solely to the bible and highlight its multiple hypocrisies and contradictions? What is that gonna achieve? These people had Donald Trump autograph their bibles. They think salvation can be purchased by giving 20% of their paychecks to millionaires who preach in stadiums. There’s nothing an outsider can do to profane their religion that’s more obscene than the manner in which they practice it.

(I recall a time in my mid-teens when I attempted to “A-ha!” a youth pastor with my knowledge of the story of Jephthah from the Book of Judges, who committed yahweh-approved ritualistic sacrifice of his eldest daughter. In response, the pastor informed me that he hadn’t read that part of the bible, and that his relationship with Jesus was more about the feelings it gave him than some words written down in an old book. Needless to say, he won the argument.) 

The UK is, even now, broadly to the left of the US in regards to their social safety net and most cultural matters (this is a low bar, for sure, but they do clear it). Perhaps people who us Americans would identify as liberal (in that they don’t openly want to murder poor people; they’ll often still do it, but they won’t giggle while doing it) aren’t as ideologically siloed over there. The Democratic party is, after all, an unworkable mishmash of a few dozen different concerns, and their basic strategy since the Clinton era has been to blame the incompatibility of those concerns for the fact that their governance is indistinguishable from that of the GOP. 

An American liberal therefore doesn’t focus on piddling things like principles or ideals or even whether or not a policy they support does the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to achieve. Paying too close attention to the workings of our coalition will reveal its manifest contradictions, which will in turn weaken it, and if gets too weak then we’ll once again have an evil fascist doing the exact same stuff that a good and honorable man like Joe Biden is presently doing. Instead, we must understand politics as a means of achieving self-actualization through the process of deferring our concerns to others. Those concerns are not addressed within the present system, no, and neither are our own, but worrying about cause and effect and results is not the point. It’s much more important to exist, to validate, and to listen. 

In the UK, politics is still understood as politics. It is a means of gaining and exercising power. In the US, politics falls eerily in line with our profane understanding of what religious devotion entails: an acontextual, borderline illiterate expression of ourselves, which we have been trained to believe connects us to some kind of higher power that unifies us as humans by calcifying our utter disconnectedness from one another. 

And so maybe that’s the difference? In the UK, people are delusional enough to think that politics is entered into by people who have something to gain or lose. In the US, it’s all about vibes.

[askintothevoids]

The Epilogue:

Roman and Virgil:

They never did get married, because they didn’t want to. Virgil believes it to be a british social construct to control women and the lower class, and Roman believes marriage to be bad luck.

They did get into that huge funky war that we were talking about, and had to put Babe with Protection. After weeks of convincing, Valentine, Mac-Kenzie, and Junius fought by Virgil and Roman’s side, and they won after 5 years of fighting.

Virgil fulfilled his lifelong dream of making Bonner regret his words, and plunged his mother’s dagger into his chest. Something about Bonner that Virgil never mentioned was the fact that the man often shared the same words as his former husband, so perhaps that fueled his anger. After a lot of crying, Virgil came to the conclusion that maybe he’d leave the fighting to Angie, and hire a royal therapist.

There was more to Virgil’s story than that though, he did raise Babe with his beloved partner, Roman, after the war. He made an excellent father. Anne even came back and apologized, earning her role back into Virgil’s and his son’s life. He even got to see his nephews more often.

Seeing that his son is now only 12 years away from being a full fledged adult (to him that isn’t very long), Virgil now has to see that Babe is very different from other children. Honestly, he never thought his own very very dead mother would be assisting in the parenting of his child, but hey, Virgil has to remember that he isn’t always right, even if he can see the future.

Meanwhile Roman pursued his love for music and theatre, he even opened a music program for Oteriphanne, showing the lovely folks the beauty of music that isn’t just only about killing the French and Brits in order to stop deculturalization of their land (though that’s not a bad topic, Roman literally just wanted 14th century vampires to enjoy Spice Girls and it worked).

He obviously, but admittedly very awkwardly, learned how to parent a child. Roman wasn’t as picture perfect as he would’ve liked to be, he did after all accidentally make his son cry many times. Like Virgil, he now sees that their kid is different. His son’s ears are full of words that he can’t understand, but hopes to try his best to ease Babe’s worries and hardships in life.

Through five years of virgous studying, Roman became a quarter fluent in Pterannan. With even more studying and training, he finally became a fully trained Knight and earned his spot next to Virgil with his forementioned music program (turns out teaching a population several new skills, means he bettered the population which is a requirement to become a king when you're not blood related to royalty).

Still there’s somethings that Roman still regrets, he never did come to an understanding with his stepfather, who was his namesake. Nor does he see Remus and his husband as often as he wishes he did. And he kinda wants to buy a cow.

Even after being together for almost 10 years, they still love each other, and yes, Virgil still calls a phone, a magic box because some things never change.

Patton:

After he and Logan adopted the children from the Dragonwitch au that they accidently orphaned, Patton certainly was trying his best to keep going, and he did a pretty alright job.

Patton single handedly traveled across the country from Florida to Indiana with four small children whose identities he had to hide along his.

Once he had made it to the David-Dase residence, he explained what had happened and asked for help, and here’s what happened.

Nicholas and James owned property in rural Saskatchewan, which they had inherited from Jane Phoebe David (James’ deceased mother) and never really knew what to do with it. So in order to keep their son’s husband and their new grandchildren safe, James and Nicholas let Patton and their grandchildren live there. It was a good spot for them, it kept the reporters away from Patton and kept people away from Daniel, Jane, Harper and Buddy.

After receiving help from James and Nicholas, Patton had to figure out how to explain his disappearance to the police so that he could gain some form of normality, and a good enough job to support his growing family.

Stuff didn’t exactly go well at first. Still grieving over his separation from Logan, he did often find it hard to smile for his children, nor did he find it easy to explain to them that they couldn’t out in public without being hidden from the world’s view. It didn’t help when his O’Pa (Janus Van Den Bosch-Brzozowski) passed away from a deteriorating body, it was for the best, but it hurt to lose another parent.

He kept going though. His brother, Patton Reyes-Baker, moved in with him and got a job helping a local beekeeper. It wasn’t so bad, grief can strengthen some bonds. His step father, Remus, visited every so often, it was clear that he probably wouldn’t be around much longer either.

He’s doing a pretty good job raising those kids. Still it doesn’t help that Patton wishes he did it with his beloved. There have been many long nights of waiting and crying. There’s a good chance that Patton won’t move on until old age, which could be a good thing for a certain someone. Overall, if he were to describe it, it’s like the worst nightmare and the best dream ever at the same time.

Patton did get to open that diner, he did get to take his puppies home with him, and he did teach his kids how to ride bikes (except Buddy), but it still wasn’t the same. For all he cares, he’s still a married man.

Hymnthian:

Being one of the oldest motherfuckers ever, Hymnthian is still kicking it. Under Virgil and Roman’s rule, he’s pretty happy. He does find some common ground with his great (times a couple hundreds) grandchild though. Babe’s remarkable ability to hear the dead often comes in handy for a grieving widower. In return for hearing what his dead wife has to say, he teaches Babe how to play To-Ouch, an Oterian instrument.

Janus and Remus:

As you might've heard earlier, Janus passed away. It’s important to remember that death is an important part of life. In Janus’ case, they were fine with it. After an aspiring career as a ballerina and potter, not being able to use your hands or foot can often be depressing. When their body finally gave out, Janus figured it best if their sister took their place. Janus died comfortably and happily. What else can I say that will convince you? Death isn’t always a bad thing.

Remus O’Malley-Gator was a different story. After the death of Janus, he found himself once again lost. He visited Patton, Patton, and his step-grandkids every so often. Remus spent most of time adventuring, looking for some kind of fulfillment. I suppose that sounds bad, but I always write a bittersweet ending.

Camila and Lotte:

After spending most of her adult life in the void, Camila was beginning to feel hopeless. Her sons were already grown and had found their soulmates, while she had still had nothing. Camila wandered for a while, universe after universe, she turned up with nothing once again.

With Janus having passed, their replacement would soon have to come in. And well, she was certainly surprised. Camila had no idea Janus had a younger sister! Lotte had been frozen for over 200 years, and arrived fresh from the fridge at the ripe old age of 48.

Camila had her fair share of trying to tell this beautiful, intelligent, strong woman that she was from a soulmate universe and that Lotte was her long awaited soulmate. Let’s just say, it took her a couple years.

Lotte had her share of pining as well. I mean, Camila is an equally beautiful, intelligent, strong woman who was tall (every short lesbian’s weakness).

She found her footing as her sibling’s replacement eventually, while she didn’t wield a shepherd's crook but having arms of pure steel sure did come handy when dealing with the dangers of the void.

Eventually, you know that their had to be an equally cute lesbian void wedding, where Patton and Roman became cousins, so that’s cool.

Logan:

As the only void dweller that actually only lives in the void, his life, honestly, sucks.

As the years go by, Logan’s hair only gets grayer and his yearning only grows stronger. He builds his tough exterior up once more, with some dull hope still intact. Logan knows the probability of never seeing his husband and kids again, and lets the gnawing feeling eat away at him.

But you know what? He did get to be cool Uncle Logan (his Ultra Secret Oterian Code Name was Protection) for about five years. He loved the shit out of Babe, even taught that boy some french and how to clear his mind even when people’s thoughts are louder than all shit.

Then he had to give Babe back to Virgil and Roman, knowing he should take the offer to live in Oteriphanne, he did.

Nothing became of it, he’s just a guy in a country full of vampires. There’s nothing there for him after all. Logan knows Babe isn’t his to parent, and chooses to keep his distance so he doesn’t crowd Roman and Virgil. Maybe in a few years, he’ll risk his life. For now, he’ll just become a grizzled middle aged man.

[madamspeaker]

Hi :) I'm a brit but I've always been interested in American politics. I really like Nancy Pelosi but could you explain why lots of people don't like her pls?

There's no one answer here, and to be honest in some cases there is no actual answer either. I would say much of the hate directed at Nancy lands in that latter category - people say they dislike her but ask them why and they would be hard pressed to give a specific reason, or one based on something factual.

In many ways Republican dislike of her is probably the most honest, at least there is a fundamental difference on how each views the world, and Nancy represents both the leadership of that other world and policy view, as well as someone who lives by it. Add to that the innate misogyny that is a fundamental basis of much conservsative discourse, and that Nancy is a woman who very much flies in the face of that view of how women should be in the world. They dislike her because of who she is, how she is, and what she stands for.

The far-left dislike of her is much more dishonest. Far-leftists will argue they dislike her for a, b, and c reason, but a, b, and c are nearly always a twisting of the truth, or show lack a critical understanding of how actual government is run. The question then becomes are these things unintentional, a by product of a lack of knowledge in civics, or something more sinister? I suspect the truth lies in a mix of the two - blatant lie telling by some coupled by gullible followers believing every word. As to why they dislike her though... the only conclusion I can reach is the far-left discourse is much like that of conservatives, rooted in misogyny, and coupled with a great deal of ignorance. It has to be. Their dislike for her doesn't hold up if you look at Nancy in terms of policy and the ideas she has espoused. For instance many on the far-left accuse Nancy of being a war criminal or supporter, but the facts show that Nancy voted against war - in fact she voted against both Iraq wars, and whipped Democrats, against leadership views at the time, to vote no against the second Iraq war. Her opponent at the last election put out that she had done nothing for civil liberties, which is a pretty remarkable lie to try and push in San Francisco, a city were Nancy has been fighting the good fight on behalf of the LGBTQ community since the 80s. So why the lies? And that is indeed the question. Their dislike of her doesn't hold up on the basis of policy - Nancy is pretty much in favour of 95% of what the so called far-left want - she might take a more pragmatic and measured viewed as to how to achieve these things, but that hardly seems a justified reason to dislike someone when you have Sanders, someone with just as long a congressional career, who unlike Pelosi, has zero substantial left wing policy achievements to his name. It was Nancy who brought America closer to universal health care, not Bernard. All this is a rather long way of saying that my own conclusion on the far-left dislike of her is that it is fundamentally based rooted in misogyny - they twist the truth or just outright lie to try and have another means to justify that dislike.

Nancy is a victim of that same thing as Hillary Clinton - derranged hate. Most of it has no basis in anything real that either woman has done in terms of policy (although at least there is a difference of policy opinion between Republicans and both women), but rather it comes from decades of demonisation, endless attacks, endless lying and truth twisting, and endless caricaturing (first by Republicans and now just as much by the far-left) in which Nancy is painted as some rich, elistist, out of touch, doesn't care about the working class  <insert your own derrogatory word of choice here>, who doesn't represent anyone but herself - an image that has become so powerful that it has managed to wipe from history all those policy achievements that show that Nancy, whilst rich, is also the Speaker who passed the minimum wage (and will again), who passed the ACA to get people affordable healthcare, is one of the very few politicians who always talks about food insecurity and how that needs to be addressed, and who spent all of the second half of last year battling to get some money in a covid bill for state and local authorities so that sanitation workers, first responders, and teachers could be paid and keep their jobs. Consider her stance here, then consider that some on the far-left such as Ro Khanna argued that she should just make a deal on the relief bill and ditch the state and local funding part, essentially saying to hell with those workers.

The dislike of Nancy is that weird thing of being both complicated and at the same time not. She's an unapologetically powerful woman - that alone is enough to give many conniptions. It's a hate that has been grown and fermented over years, and always taken too far by all sides, because unlike attacks on men, there rarely seems to be a red line when it comes to how much you can demonise a woman you don't like. It's rooted in sexism, ignorance, and a good deal of the same attitudes that gave the world the trials at Salem - women who are unapologetic and unbowed to men have to be punished.