#sydney international airport | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pixiesfz · 1 year ago

Note

Hi how are you and love your fics and would you write for Charli grant also Katrina gorry

heya!, I'm doing well thankyou I actually have a cute idea of Charli and the reader going to the Australian woman of the year awards together!!

plot: Y/N and Charli are injured and can't go to the Matildas camp in Canada, therefor they are asked to represent the Matildas at the Australian Woman of the Year awards (imagine reader in the red mini dress Margot Robbie wore for a barbie premiere)

Warnings: fluff, mentions of anxiety (ik dates don't add up...live the fantasy)

When you sprained your ankle at the Leicester vs Arsenal game you were upset that you couldn't take part in the last international camp of the year, you considered all of the girls like family.

Then Charli also injured herself, ruling you both out of the camp. It was then you decided that you could both go home to your families in Australia and spend your week there.

You forgot about your injury and instead got excited, you hadn't physically seen your girlfriend in about three weeks and you had missed her so much.

Kyra gave you so much shit for it.

When the plane to Sydney landed you knew she would be at the Airport waiting so you flashed a smile quickly to the person who thankfully didn't snore who sat behind you and made your way out of the plane.

You saw her from a mile away with her bright perfect smile and blonde wavy locks. She was the definition of sunlight in your eyes and every time you saw her you felt like you were falling in love all over again.

When you quickened up your steps to get to her you let go of your suitcase and engulfed her in a bone-crushing hug.

"hello to you to babe" she laughed and you squeezed her tighter "I missed you Chaz"

"I missed you too" she said and relaxed into your touch. You both stayed like that before she let you go and reached into her bag, bringing out two tickets.

"I may have agreed to something" she sheepishly smiled and you laughed "what did you do?" you ask and she held out the tickets to you.

"Woman of the year awards" you read out before she pointed at them again "you missed something"

You looked back down at the ticket and furrowed your brows until you saw it.

"Tonight?!"

"Surprise!" Charli smiled cautiously as she watched your face "I know they're last minute but it would be you and me representing the Matilda's whilst they're at camp and plus we get to dress up" she added on, grabbing your hands.

You gave in and smiled "Okay," you told her "I don't have a dress though, I didn't think 'big event' would've been something I should've packed for" you said and Charli laughed "They've got us dresses babe" she told you before giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

"Can we go home?" you asked with an overexaggerated pout "if I'm going to this thing I'm gonna need a rest to get rid of these eyebags" you pointed at your eyes and Charli grabbed the tickets out of your hand.

"Oh please you will be the most sexy woman there" she encouraged and grabbed your hand "let's go".

You were both at your family home, laying on your childhood bed, napping with your legs entangled together.

You watched Charli sleep with a smile, she was gorgeous, you didn't know that she was doing the same thing ten minutes ago when you were fast asleep.

You got up to the end of the bed and checked your phone for the time, three o'clock. You knew you had to wake Charli up to get ready.

But before you did you looked at the door that had the dress that Vanity Fair had chosen for you both, Charli had an elegant yellow gown and you had a red silk mini dress that you knew you would probably be thinking about the shortness of the whole night.

"We can switch" a voice popped up behind you and you faced Charli "No, you would look perfect with the yellow" You smiled and Charli moved up from the bed to you and snuggled into your side "You will look fabulous" she told you and kissed your shoulder "you always do"

"I'm just a little bit scared is all" you admitted and Charli nodded "like what if I fall-" "you want fall" "but I could" you told her before looking down "I have bruises on my shins from soccer it will be unattractive and the media would be-"

"hey" Charli turned your head delicately with her fingers to face her "We are there to accept an award because of our sport, it would be a little stupid if they think we walk out of the pitch with nicely tanned shaved legs with no damage to our bodies, plus we are only going because we have done damage to our bodies" she joked, hoping it would bring a smile upon your lips, which it did.

"I don't want you thinking about anyone in the media y/n" Charli told you as she stroked her fingers in your hair "think about you, or me, or even you and me, think of anything" she encouraged and pressed a small kiss to your lips.

"You always know how to make me feel better" you smile at her "anything for my girl" she smiled, and for the 1000th time that day you felt your heart melt.

"I love you"

"I love you too, now lets get ready"

It wasn't long until the hair and makeup people came and 'did you up' as Charli called it, her hair was curled and her eyes had a shimmer on them that somehow made her shine even more than her natural self.

You didn't think that was possible.

Your makeup was similar, only with a sharper eyeliner and you hair was in a low bun with strands curled at the front.

You walked out to your girlfriend talking to one of the media girls that you recognized from the world cup who was filming Charli answering a few questions in her dress which she stopped when you walked out.

"y/n freaking y/l/n" she stated before walking up to you and giving you a hug "you look gorgeous she told you before stepping back and looking at you upside down "and bloody sexy!" she added, making you blush.

You weren't gonna lie you did feel glamorous and you did catch yourself looking in the mirror a bit longer than intended.

"You're not too bad yourself" you told the blonde who couldn't stop smiling.

You both answered some questions, even including questions about your relationship that the viewers on tik tok would love.

"Cabs here you ready to go babe?" you called out as you got the text of the arrival of your uber driver, you turned around to your girlfriend taking pictures of you "Charli!" you called out and she laughed.

"You just look so good!"

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katelynnwrites · 1 year ago

Text

All I Know Is This Could Either Break My Heart (Or Bring It Back To Life) | Sydney Lohmann

warnings: angst

word count: 4490

summary: you say sydney isn’t your girlfriend but just your best friend, yet is that all she is to you? part two can be found here

a/n: first time properly writing for syd so let me know how this went :)

‘Hi.’ Sydney meets you at the lobby of base camp with a smile and a tight hug.

You grin, squeezing her tightly.

‘Got your passport?’ She asks and you pout.

‘It was one time Syd. One time.’ You complain.

‘Well I would feel better if I held onto it for you. The last thing we need is for you to get left behind.’

She says the last sentence teasingly and you roll your eyes, handing Sydney your passport. She’s usually scattered brained but you know she’ll take good care of your passport. Better care that you yourself would.

Laura snorts, exchanging a look with Kathy.

Your best friend doesn’t notice but you do and it bothers you.

As you sit next to Syd on the bus, you ask her if she’d notice the look they shared.

Sydney shrugs saying that she hasn’t so you let it go, choosing to instead rest your head on her shoulder and watch a movie with her.

******

You don’t finish the movie on the bus so while sitting beside the Bayern Munich player on the plane, you accept the airpod she offers you and lay your head back on her shoulder to continue watching it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Lea glance at Feli and the Wolfsburg player laughs in return.

If Syd’s shoulder wasn’t so comfortable, you would get up and ask them what the hell is going on.

******

Sydney gets her luggage from the baggage carousel first.

She holds your hand and plays with the rings on your fingers while you wait.

It’s been a long flight, from Germany to Miami but it hasn’t impacted the general mood of your team. They are loud and cheerful, their bright chatter filling the airport’s arrival hall. You pay them no mind, choosing to instead focus on Sydney.

You give her a smile and she returns the gesture.

Your best friend’s smile dazzles you and you think that she has the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

It’s the reason you miss your suitcase coming down the baggage carousel.

Sydney doesn’t though and she easily lifts your bag from the carousel.

She hands it to you and you accept it with another grin.

Laura notices the moment and nudges Sara who shares the same knowing glance all your national teammates have been doing.

It frustrates you enough that you leave a surprised Sydney’s side to go up to the Eintracht Frankfurt players.

‘Okay what is up?’

‘The sky?’ Laura replies and you groan.

‘No. Not that. You guys keep sharing looks and I need to know why.’

Laura laughs, ‘Really? You and Syd are just so oblivious.’

‘What about me and Syd?’

‘There you go again!’

‘What?’ You insist and Laura quietens.

‘You really don’t know? You and Sydney aren’t just friends.’

You frown, ‘What do you mean?’

‘For one, you’re always doting on each other. Syd holds your passport and your hand whenever we travel. Lina tells me that you guys always fall asleep on each other after trainings so I know that’s not only an international break thing.

‘I don’t know what to tell you. We’re best friends.’

Laura pats you on your shoulder, ‘That’s not what friends are. Even best friends.’

******

Laura’s words are at the forefront of your mind as you follow Sydney out of the airport.

Your hand in hers feels familiar and warm but it doesn’t offer you the comfort it usually does.

The knowledge that the rest of the team is watching you and Syd makes you uncomfortable and self conscious.

Every action that you would typically easily do with Sydney now seems impossible with the way your mind is racing.

You’re overthinking every little thing and Sydney notices it immediately.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong but she knows that something is wrong.

Your best friend gives you a small smile but you don’t reciprocate it. It makes her feel uneasy and a little hurt inside.

It gets even worse when you reach the team bus and Sydney starts to help you take your bag only for you to grab it first.

She stares at you in confusion but you don’t have to look behind you to know that your national teammates are exchanging the look. It’s like an endless pressure and your cheeks flush a bright red.

It’s why you half jokingly and half embarrassedly say, ‘Stop it Sydney, you’re not my girlfriend.’

You regret it the moment the words are out of your mouth.

It’s by far the worst thing you could have said and as you watch Sydney’s face crumple, you know that the damage has been done.

Your best friend shuts down right in front of you and she turns away from you with a mumbled, ‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to help you.’

******

Sydney doesn’t sit next to you on the bus. She sits with Laura instead and despite how hard you’re wishing for her to turn around and just look at you, she doesn’t.

You can however feel Feli’s disappointed stare from beside you. She doesn’t need to say that you screwed up because you know it.

******

It’s the longest, most agonising bus ride you’ve ever had.

As soon as the bus stops, you’re out of your seat and trying to get to Sydney.

She seems to know that and beats you to the exit.

Laura stops you from going after her by catching your arm and leveling you with a glare

‘I’m sorry. I need to apologise to her.’

‘Not now. You hurt her badly.’ Laura firmly says.

‘I know.’ You mumble defeatedly and the blonde lets you go.

******

It’s no surprise that you’re rooming with Sydney.

You always room with your best friend.

What’s new is the way Syd feels so distant. She’s not unkind or outwardly angry but just far away.

And it’s killing you knowing that this is all your fault.

If you are being honest, you have seen the way Sydney’s been.

She’s always been more affectionate with you, more caring and protective with you than her other friends.

It’s not a platonic friendship and the feelings are not one sided either.

Lingering touches and longing stares have been becoming more frequent between the both of you and Sydney means far more to you than you let on.

That’s the truth that you have been burying for almost two years now.

‘Sydney…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’ You softly say as soon as your best friend closes the door.

‘Are we okay?’ You add when she doesn’t say anything.

‘Why wouldn’t we be?’ She shrugs before dumping her bag on her bed and going into the bathroom.

You stare blankly after her and the sound of the bathroom door closing makes you flinch. Somehow despite Syd’s words, you’re not reassured and feel even guiltier than before.

******

Two days go by and you’re nearing your breaking point.

Sydney keeps her distance, sticking close to Laura instead of you and it hurts. You have a Sydney shaped hole in your heart and it’s making it hard for you to breathe.

You had been looking forward to this training camp in the United States but now you just want to go home.

Especially when you hear Syd laugh with Laura.

Only your best friend would be laughing at six in the morning, in the pouring rain as she sits outside of a Dunkin Donuts.

The stupid fire alarm had gone off twice in your hotel and had resulted in the entire team seeking refuge at the only place open at this ungodly hour.

You are tired and jetlagged, Sydney’s laugh being the only thing making your day better.

As you watch her eat her donut which of course has icing in the shape of a smiley face on it because that is so Syd, you wish she would just snap at you.

The painful silence is unbearable.

Beside you, Sara echoes your sentiments.

‘If she would snap at you, at least it still counts as talking.’

You shrug because what else can you say?

That as far back as you can remember, this is the longest you’ve ever gone with speaking to your best friend?

You texted every day and sent each other Snaps all the time.

But Sydney hadn’t replied to any of your messages or sent you any Snaps since your mistake.

******

It’s an awkward silence in your hotel room.

Sydney doesn’t acknowledge you no matter how hard you try. She is right next to you and yet it feels like she’s on the other side of the world.

You miss her more than you ever thought possible.

‘Syd?’ You softly whisper but she doesn't answer you.

It’s too much and you roll over in your bed to face away from Sydney. Covering your mouth with your hand, you sob yourself to sleep as quietly as you can.

If only you knew that in her bed, the Bayern Munich player is doing the same.

******

Alex pulls you aside after the final training in Miami.

‘You need to fix this.’ Alex states.

Your national team captain had let it go on as long as she could before intervening but with today being the last day before the team plays against the reigning world champions, she needed the team united.

‘I tried Poppi. I’m trying but she won’t even look at me.’

You’re close to tears again and Alex feels for you, she really does.

She hugs you tightly and you cry.

******

Both you and Sydney start on the bench.

You’re not surprised given how the two of you have been. Martina had definitely picked up on the tension and did what would be best for the team.

It is frustrating to be benched though and you wish you were on the field.

At half time, your coach, in her own indirect way, tells you and Sydney to sort things out if you want a chance to play.

That’s how you end up alone outside Germany’s locker room with your best friend who can’t even look you in the eye.

‘We don’t have time for this.’ Sydney tightly says.

It’s the first time she has properly spoken to you since you had said those awfully insensitive words but what she’s said is true.

‘We don’t have a choice.’ You quietly answer.

‘Well haven’t you heard of pretending?’ Syd bites out, already stepping back towards the entrance to the locker room.

‘Sydney!’ You grab her hand and block her path back in.

‘Please Syd…are you punishing me for what I said? Because I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back but I can’t so please please talk to me. What’s going on here?’ You beg.

You’re all too aware of how your voice is cracking and Sydney’s well aware that you have hit your breaking point.

Her hazel eyes soften. They’re sad and affectionate, her gaze always warm on you.

It encourages you enough to squeeze her hand in yours.

‘Sydney please. Tell me what’s happening. What’s going through that pretty head of yours?’

Your best friend sighs defeatedly, ‘If you really want the truth then we shouldn’t do this now.’

‘No. We are absolutely doing this now.’ You determinedly say.

Sydney gently takes her hand out of yours.

Her hands come up to cradle your face and it’s painfully intimate but you can’t look away. Not when her looking at you is all you’ve been wanting for the past few days.

She is so close, close enough that you can feel her breath on your cheeks.

Your best friend brushes a thumb over your cheekbone.

‘You win. I-I’m done. I’m giving up now.’

‘Sydney what are you talking about?’

The Bayern Munich player makes a hurt noise and drops her hands back down to her sides, ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve known for a long time and I don’t know who you’re trying to hide from now that it’s only the two of us here.’

Her tone is angry and bitter, making you panic.

Your heart is pounding when you whisper, ‘It was just a joke. Why are you so affected?’

It’s precisely the wrong thing to say, a hated habit that you are beginning to form when it comes to Syd.

‘Because it’s also a fact! You have no idea what it feels like to love you without being able to have you. It is agony to have what you want so close and yet know that it is impossible to get it. I want you and I can’t have you because you don’t want me!’ She shouts and you flinch back.

‘You don’t want me to be your girlfriend? Fine. Message received. You want to shoot me down in front of all our teammates? Go ahead, you’re getting pretty fucking good at it. But let me keep the little bit of dignity and self respect I have left. Let me go.’

Sydney doesn’t wait for you to respond and disappears back into the locker room, leaving you alone in the hallway with tears silently streaming down your face.

******

Martina makes a double substitution, putting both you and Sydney on at the same time.

You figure that Syd must have told her that everything has been resolved.

It’s not like your entire world is crumbling down around you.

Sydney’s eyes on yours snaps you out of it.

She holds out her fist for your usual handshake and as you let muscle memory take over, you will yourself to remember every last second of it.

You don’t know if this is the last time you’ll ever be able to share a moment like this with her ever again.

After Syd had left you in the hallway, you’d stood still for a moment and pleaded with your heart to stop shattering. It hadn’t but you had somehow managed to pull yourself together and wipe away your tears so that you could pretend everything is okay when you walked back into the locker room.

‘Let’s make this count.’ Your best friend breathes, barely loud enough for you to hear her. You squeeze her hand in answer before you’re both running onto the pitch.

******

Germany wins.

Shortly after you and Syd come on, she passes you a beautiful ball that you manage to slot home.

Your best friend runs to you in celebration and you lift her up easily, spinning her around.

You know that she is holding onto this as much as you are.

Her smile is gentle and affectionate, her hands on your waist, a welcome touch.

There’s always been an invisible string attaching you to her, the reason why your connection shines through on the pitch and off it. It’s like you’re always aware of her presence, just as she is with yours.

You compliment her perfectly and she you, everyone can see that.

As the rest of the team joins you both, you focus solely on Sydney, commiting to memory the way the corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles.

You know that she is doing the same in case everything goes wrong later.

******

After the game, the atmosphere is euphoric. It’s a big win and one to be proud of.

Martina and the staff seem to think so, given that there are coolers of beer waiting in the locker room when the team enters.

It appears that you and Sydney must have assured them that everything is now okay between you two because they pull the pair of you right into the celebrations.

There’s music blasting and Laura’s taking photos of it all. Linda’s had a few drinks and she always gets emotional after.

It’s not hard to predict that she is going to give one of her speeches.

Your older teammate gets up on the table, loudly thanking Paulie for her lovely goals before turning to you and Sydney.

‘And the two of you. What you have is magic. Never lose that. Bayern Munich is lucky to have you both in midfield and we are even luckier.’

Everyone cheers but you feel the guilt weighing on you become too much to bear.

Murmuring that you’re not feeling well to Klara, you brush off her concern and slip out of the too hot locker room.

You hide in the stairwell, nursing your beer alone till it’s time to go.

******

The entire bus ride back to the hotel, you sit next to Felicitas who is thankfully too exhausted to notice your uneven and shaky breaths.

There’s so much fear and pain that you’re feeling and you are barely able to keep it together long enough to make it to your hotel room.

The moment the door clicks shut, you feel a sob escape and once a single tear leaves your eye, you’re unable to stop the rest that follow quickly after.

You rush to the bathroom to splash water on your face, to hopefully wash the salty tears away but it’s in vain. You give up and sink onto the floor, hyperventilating with your head in your hands.

It’s how Sydney finds you, curled on the bathroom floor as you cry your heart out.

She’s kneeling down beside you in an instant, her hands lightly brushing away your tears as she pulls you into her.

‘What’s wrong? Why are you crying?’ Did you get hurt during the game?’ Your best friend rushes out.

She sounds worried and frightened, two emotions that are strange coming from her.

None too gently, you shove her away from you.

‘No. You’re what’s wrong.’

Sydney blinks in shock.

Angrily, you use the back of your hand to scrub away your remaining tears.

‘Me?’ Sydney indignantly asks.

‘Yes you. I’m sorry for what I said and you-’

‘Not this again.’ The Bayern Munich player sighs and you snap at her.

‘No! You did all the talking before. Now it’s my turn!’

‘Calm down-’ Syd tries but you don’t let her say anything else.

‘No! How can you not know? How can you not know what you are to me? Girlfriend? That word doesn’t even begin to cover what you are to me!’

‘Take a breath.’ Sydney pleads.

‘You need to be quiet!’ You yell before doing as she says anyway.

‘You may not be my girlfriend Sydney but you sure as hell are more than that. Soulmate? World? Everything? Those words pale in comparison to what you are to me.’

‘I-I don’t understand. You always refer to me as your best friend.’ Sydney stammers.

‘You are my best friend Syd but that’s not all that you are to me.’ You whisper.

The confession takes all the anger out of you and you’re just left standing there, almost defeatedly staring at Sydney.

The hazel eyed woman takes in a shaky breath, reaching out tentatively to wipe your cheek.

‘You’re crying.’ She softly murmurs.

‘I’m sorry.’ You breathe.

You didn’t know that tears have been sliding down your cheeks without your permission.

‘Don’t apologise.’ She tells you, her voice equally low.

Sydney’s gaze never leaves yours and after a few tense moments you beg, ‘Syd please say something.’

‘What do you want me to say? Because I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense.’

‘What don’t you understand?’

‘You. You’ve always pushed me away when I was too affectionate. You are the first to deny that we are dating when our teammates tease us. Whenever the lines get blurred between whatever we are, you’re constantly the first to pull back.’ Sydney lists, counting on her fingers

‘I know and I am so sorry Syd. I was, I am just really scared.’ You drop your eyes back down and pick at your nails.

You’re too ashamed to look at her directly, choosing to continue wringing your hands.

‘You’re my best friend Syd. We’ve known each other since we were children. We spend pretty much every day together. We have a special connection on and off the pitch. I don’t want to screw that up.’

‘And that scares you?’ Sydney asks.

‘It terrifies me.’ You admit.

‘But you mean it? What you said about us?’ Sydney’s voice wavers, her insecurity bleeding through.

She’s wearing her heart on her sleeve and you know that this is the final chance she is offering you. One last chance to make her believe you.

You’d be damned if you fail.

‘I meant every word.’ You promise.

Gently, you take one of her hands in yours and kiss the back of it.

Sydney shivers.

‘So what do you want to do now? Where do we go from here?’ She whispers.

You pause for a long moment, thinking about what to say.

Eventually you decide that being honest will be best.

Sydney has always made her feelings clear to you. It’s your turn to make the same effort for her.

‘I don’t want us to be together. I don’t want a relationship.’

Sydney’s breath catches but you squeeze her hand in yours.

‘Hear me out please.’

You let out a relieved sigh when the Bayern Munich player doesn’t pull away.

‘We’re only twenty two and our careers are just getting started. We have the Champions League and the World Cup next year. I just don’t think that a relationship is what we need right now.’

Your best friend exhales slowly, thinking over your words.

It’s an agonising wait for you but you know it’s nothing compared to what she has gone through these past two years.

Finally, Sydney squeezes your hand tightly.

‘I wish you would have talked to me sooner. Because I entirely agree with you. I get it, I would have understood.’

‘I’m sorry.’ You apologise again and Sydney gives you a small smile.

‘I don’t want to be in a relationship now but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you. You’re my favourite person, the most important person in my life Syd. You have me and I am fully committed to you, to us. I need you to know that.’

The Bayern Munich player searches your eyes for any sign that you’re lying and the last of the tension in her body leaves when she finds none.

‘You have me too. I’m yours.’ She promises.

Blinking back tears, you nod and then almost pleadingly say, ‘C-Can I have a hug now Syd? Cause I’ve missed you so much this past week and I-’

Sydney doesn’t let you finish, pulling you into a tight hug. She wraps her arms around you and sniffles.

‘I’ve missed you too.’

You bury your face into the side of her neck and hold her against you.

‘I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you that.’

‘I love you too but I guess you already knew that.’ Sydney half teases.

The other half of her is completely focused on holding back her tears but a few slip free regardless.

Carefully, like you’re afraid of her pushing you aside, you start to kiss them away.

Sydney melts into you, letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

You press a lingering kiss onto her forehead and then draw back just enough to lightly poke at her cheek until she smiles, revealing her dimples.

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘So are you.’ Syd whispers back.

You laugh and shake your head, ‘Not when I’ve been crying for days. My cheeks are blotchy and my eyes are swollen.’

Glancing at the bathroom mirror, you giggle when you see your reflection because you’re right.

‘Well you are to me. You’re always so gorgeous.’ Sydney firmly states.

You blush and she laughs. Her laugh is music to your ears.

******

Later that night after you finally get out of your sweaty kit and into a clean change of clothes, you lie down next to Sydney in her bed.

She takes you into her arms immediately, pressing a gentle kiss onto your cheek.

‘Hi sonnenschein.’ You mumble and her hazel eyes light up.

‘Hi.’

You play with the ends of her hair and Sydney’s adoration is obvious.

You hope yours is too because there’s nothing that you want to hide from her anymore.

Sydney seems to be thinking though and she voices her thoughts out loud.

‘Will you do me a favour?’

‘Anything.’

‘Can you please stop shooting me down so badly when we’re with our teammates? It hurts and it’s so humiliating when they give me those pitying looks. I’m not asking you to be all loud about it because I know that’s not who you are. Just please, don’t make it seem like what I feel for you is unrequited.’

Sydney’s eyes still hold traces of pain and your heart clenches as you realise that you are the one responsible for it.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll do my best, I promise. I love you Syd.’

‘Love you too.’ She softly responds and leans in close to plant an affectionate kiss onto your forehead.

The both of you talk a little more after that but eventually, though neither of you played the full ninety minutes, the emotional stress of the past few days catches up and sleep pulls the two of you under.

******

You don’t how long you’ve been staring but Syd starts to stir awake.

‘I’ve dreamt of this for a long time, you know?’ She mumbles.

‘Dreamt of what?’

‘Holding you as we fall asleep and wake up together.’

Sydney’s hazel eyes are warm in the morning light and you reach out to lightly brush her hair away from her eyes.

She softens even more than you ever thought possible when you press yourself closer to her.

The Bayern Munich player’s arm slips around your waist and she holds you in a firm and yet oh so gentle grip. It’s familiar and startlingly new all at once. She’s held you near countless times but not like this, never like this.

This is intimate and definitely crossing the blurred lines. Lines that are not so blurred anymore.

‘Is this okay?’ You check and Sydney nods, her gaze entirely transfixed on your lips because of how close they are to her own.

Feeling a bit braver now that you know she approves, you close the remaining distance and tentatively press your lips onto hers.

Sydney lets out a tiny squeak and then she’s reciprocating. Her lips on yours are patient and gentle and completely overwhelming in the best of ways.

‘I dreamt of this too.’ She breathes, as if afraid that the moment will disappear if she’s any louder.

Your heart aches for how vulnerable she seems.

‘Me too.’ You whisper and Syd smiles.

It’s a beautiful, radiant smile and you fall even more in love with her.

‘Is this better than what you’ve dreamt of?’ You ask teasingly.

Sydney giggles, ‘By far.’

Then she’s kissing you and everything is right in the world.

Sydney’s not your girlfriend or just your best friend. She’s much more. She is so much more than words can ever convey.

German Translation:

sonnenschein - sunshine

#sydney lohmann #sydney lohmann x reader #sydney lohmann imagine #dfb frauen x reader #dfb frauen imagine #fcb frauen x reader #fcb frauen imagine #gerwnt imagine #gerwnt x reader #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso imagine #katelynnwrites #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #woso

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jbaileyfansite · 16 days ago

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GQ Magazine Interview (2024)

It’s about four hours before the Los Angeles premiere of Wicked, and the actor Jonathan Bailey, who’s playing the male lead Fiyero in the feverishly-anticipated movie musical, is busy… playing Lego?

“I’m currently constructing,” he tells me, “the Atlantic Ocean of a globe, which I'm building as I travel around the globe [for Wicked].”

In a sunny Santa Monica hotel, in the middle of a whirlwind international promo tour for Wicked—director Jon M. Chu’s screen adaptation of the megahit Broadway musical, starring Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo—the award-winning star of Bridgerton and Fellow Travelers says that playing with Lego has become one of the things helping him stay centered. “Lego’s 18+ Adult level, that's what gets me going these days,” he says.

It is, after all, a high-stakes moment for Bailey. Fan expectations for Wicked are sky-high, and every detail of the project’s rollout has been the subject of intense scrutiny.

Even Bailey’s seemingly innocuous decision to wear shorts to a photocall for Wicked in Australia made waves, and photos of Bailey in black pleated shorts and a sheer black long-sleeved polo by Giuliva Heritage quickly went viral—the gams seen ‘round the world.

“The idea of a very relaxed, elevated day look is something I've always enjoyed,” Bailey tells me, about the fit. “And of course, in Sydney and down under, we should be showing down under.”

“It's funny,” he continues. “Sometimes, you feel like what you decide to wear chooses you. The waist, the cut of the trouser, the pleat, and the waist—it made me feel very elegant.”

When the photos spread on social media, comments sections buzzed with people wondering about Bailey’s leg workout. Inquiring minds want to know: how does the Winkie prince get those legs?

“Well, they should be dancing from a very young age,” he says, laughing. “It's encouraging your sons to dance and do ballet. I played rugby growing up as well, and I play a lot of tennis now. I did ballet for a good few years, and I think the way that the body responds to that and gymnastics, I think, that's the key… Lots of handstands and deep squats.”

Another moment on the press tour that’s already gone viral is a video where Bailey talks about a small travel mishap during pre-production, in which every part of his Fiyero costume wound up stuck in airport limbo—except the footwear. "There's an amazing photo,” Bailey teases in the clip, “that no one's ever gonna see of me, in nothing but my boots, which sort of felt right for Fiyero somehow.”

When I bring it up, he reiterates firmly: “Never to be seen.” But maybe, I propose, that photo finally makes an appearance in a future museum retrospective on his career, the kind London’s Victoria and Albert Museum does for Britain’s most iconic performers? “Literally, let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he says, laughing. “There'll be maybe some shed in the Cotswolds that will be some sort of weird relic to my former career. Maybe it will be laminated there.”

It’s been exciting to watch Bailey’s red-carpet evolution in the last few years. Early in his career, the actor mainly stuck to more traditionally buttoned-up suit-and-tie looks. But recently, there’s a newfound confidence and playfulness to his red carpet style, a willingness to flip some red carpet traditions—and a frisky inclination to show off that body.

Part of that confidence has to do with just how fit the actor is. “I probably am in the best shape I've ever been,” he says. But it goes deeper than that: “I honestly think it reflects a confidence in identity, in one's self,” he says. “You realize how important it is just to be completely yourself.”

“Jonny is a whimsical, mischievous delight, so we try to show that through his sartorial choices,” says Emma Jade Morrison, his stylist. “He is joyful and cheeky, with an old soul, so I love to modernize classic shapes through colors, materials and saucy bits of skin.”

For the Los Angeles premiere of Wicked last night, Bailey once again turned heads in an exciting ensemble—this time, in custom Versace, in a slinky, body-caressing chainmail shirt paired with immaculately white trousers, ruby-red slippers and a poppy boutonniere. (The cherry on top? A mischievous tuft of chest hair peeking out from that Versace shirt.)

“It was Donatella’s idea to allow me to wear the chain mail, the iconic Versace chain mail,” he says. “It's so part of the Versace DNA, and I wanted that DNA pumping around my veins tonight. It's a beautiful thing to wear.”

Bailey, who calls himself “obsessed” with the ‘90s, remembers the iconic image of Kate Moss in a Versace chainmail dress from 1999. “The thing that I remember is the way that it clings to the form of the body. It feels sculptural and sexy,” he says. “All I can see is the way she moved, [the way it] caressed every nook and curve and cranny… I'm excited to be celebrating nooks and crannies tonight.”

“From my moodboard, Donatella and her team honed in on two images of Errol Flynn and Cary Grant and put their iconic Versace twist on them,” Jade Morrison tells me. “We kept the shapes classic and the shirt a bit slouchy to stay true to Jonny’s style. There is literally no material as sexy as Versace chainmail and using chainmail felt like a princely nod to the Winkie Prince.”

“We loved the red slippers with the poppy—as Dorothy says, there’s no place like home, especially since the LA premiere was the weekend before Remembrance Day in the U.K.,” Morrison continues. “Versace also made us a Winkie Prince bomber—a perfect ode to varsity jackets of the 1930s and something that Fiyero would absolutely wear himself.”

“That's the thing about Wicked, and that's the thing about Oz,” Bailey adds. “It's like visually and thematically so inspiring to so many generations that when you work with creators like Donatella, and you work with fashion houses who have so much to say and [we have] so much respect [for] and so much in archive that we feel so nostalgic about these fashion pieces, it's like everyone just goes off like fireworks. And you come up with something incredible.”

Last time Bailey and I spoke, we were doing a mini pub crawl through Manhattan’s West Village with his Fellow Travelers co-star Matt Bomer last year, to talk about their work on the acclaimed series. During that interview, Bailey talked about the tricky balance he had to strike in order to shoot Wicked, Bridgerton and Fellow Travelers simultaneously. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he sees how the projects inadvertently informed each other—and emboldened him as an actor.

“I just look back on Fellow Travelers with such fond memories,” he tells me now. “The confidence in telling that story, I think, is actually present throughout Fiyero. Wicked is so about identity. The resonance of the themes is even louder I think on film... Playing Tim [on Fellow Travelers] just beforehand allowed me to sort of maybe expand the part in a way that I wouldn't have done otherwise.”

At Wicked’s Sydney premiere last week, Bailey experienced a full circle moment that left him in tears. “I sat with my sister, who’s based in Sydney, and had my two nieces watching it for the first time in front of an audience. And I felt a volcanic sense of emotion,” he says.

“Me and my sister went to the back and had a pint and we both just had a good cry. What Jon Chu has achieved in this film is exactly the sort of cinematic experience, that my whole entire family loved [when I was] growing up, and it's what inspired me in the first place to want to [become an actor].”

At 36, Bailey is a veteran of the stage and the screen—he’s stolen scenes in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s acclaimed pre-Fleabag series Crashing, held his own with Patti LuPone in a revival of Stephen Sondheim’s Company, and broken hearts in his award-winning turn on Fellow Travelers. But he’s hardly jaded and still finds himself overcome with emotion during various career milestones. “The wonder hasn't left me,” he says.

It’s that same wonder he hopes to impart to young viewers watcing Wicked. “The idea that some lads somewhere might turn to their mom and dad and go, ‘I really want to dance’? That's what it's all about.”

“And also,” he says, with a laugh, “they'll get bloody good legs in the process.”

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#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #emma jade morrison #GQ magazine #interviews #interviews:2024 #GQ magazine interview 2024 #wicked #NEW!

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

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still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter four: sunday

summary: after returning home from new york, carmy has a surprise & a very important question for you.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language.

word count: 4.3k

listen to: sympathy - the goo goo dolls | still into you (cover) - julia sheer | let's get married - bleachers | (playlist here)

a/n: this chapter has me screaming internally and externally. i'm not well. now who's ready for some early carmy x reader angst?! thank you to all who reblogged, commented, liked. i will keep writing and annoying everyone w my obsession for this man.

read: chapter three

Sunday

It’s early-Sunday morning by the time you arrive at JFK. You, Sydney, Marcus, and Carmy wait in the hellishly long Starbucks line because it’s the only fuckin’ thing available at the airport this morning.

Fuckin’ monopolies, you think to yourself, begrudgingly.

After ordering all at once, the four of you wait for your coffees. Your order isn’t the most unique – just a cafe au lait with oat milk, no sugar. The hard at work barista quickly makes their way through all four coffee orders, glad that they’re simple. As the order’s up, you watch the barista add the four cups – three hot, one iced – to the pick up station.

“Christ, I need this,” Sydney grumbles, her head throbbing from a few too many drinks the night before.

She’s exhausted from the weekend and knows she stayed out a little too late last night. This morning’s wake up call for the airport was less than pleasant, and she’s just glad that she can sleep on the plane.

“Someone’s hungover,” you chide playfully.

“Shut up,” she shoots back, earning a laugh from you.

You look down at your coffee cup, immediately noticing that the name on the coffee cup is not yours.

“Oh shit. I think I took the wrong coffee by accident,” you say, your face twisting a confused look.

Carmy’s eager to rush to your side, taking the coffee from you, “Huh. Looks like you got switched up with… some guy named Sam?”

He takes your cup of coffee, walking back over to the pick up station. There’s a man picking up a coffee cup with your name written on it in bold letters. Carmy chuckles realizing that you have almost the exact same order as this ‘Sam’ guy.

“Excuse me. I think my fiance accidentally took your coffee. Are you Sam?” Carmy asks, holding out the coffee cup to the stranger.

“Oh! I wondered why my extra double shot of espresso was missing from the-,” he starts, checking the label. “Yeah, this is it. Thanks for lookin’ out!”

Carmy gives the man a half smile, before jumping at the sound of Sydney’s voice, pitched louder and higher than normal.

“Carmen Berzatto, something you want to share with the class? Did you just say FIANCE!?” Sydney practically shrieks, garnering the attention of the long Starbucks line adjacent to where you stand.

“No fucking way!” Marcus exclaims, his voice booming as he grabs your left hand. “You guys are engaged?! Since when!!”

The four of you look around, noticing that your little outburst has earned an assortment of reactions from the various people in line. You’re blushing and Carmy’s face has turned a shade of pink that seems to spread all the way underneath the neckline of his white t-shirt. Suddenly, he feels overwhelmingly shy, as he focuses on not dropping either of your coffee cups.

“I’m so sorry. We did not mean to disturb or alarm-. You know… what you guys got goin’ on this morning,” Sydney apologizes, her eyes scanning the coffee line.

“But our best friends literally just got engaged!”

A few people in line are clapping, a few others turn to each other, whispering excitedly, while a few ‘congratulations’ are uttered in the direction of you and Carmy.

“Fiance, huh?” you ask, under your breath.

“Tryin’ it out,” he answers with a shrug.

You can tell it brings him more satisfaction than he’ll ever admit – getting to call you his fiance – and Carmy can’t wait to be out of the spotlight as he quickly ushers you, Syd, and Marcus away from the airport Starbucks. As you head towards your gate, Syd and Marcus continue the berating for not telling them sooner.

“So you guys were just gonna get engaged all privately and shit and not tell us?” Marcus teases. “Shit, man. That’s fucked up.”

“It just happened last night,” you defend yourself, before shooting Carmy a look. “And I didn’t know we were telling anyone yet.”

The blush that runs across his cheeks turns a shade darker, and you can tell that he’s completely and utterly embarrassed by all of this attention.

“But where’s the ring? I thought you-?!” Sydney exclaims, earning a strong glare from Carmy that says ‘stop talking right now.’

“This is why we didn’t say anything,” he grumbles, cutting her off so that she can’t say anymore. As Sydney realizes she’s almost spoiled the surprise, she’s quick to course correct by laughing it off.

“Ha! Yes, right, that’s uh-. Who needs a ring anyways?” she pivots, earning a laugh from you in response to her rather strange behavior.

“The ring’s… a secondhand thought at this point,” you placate them, making sure your casual tone communicates your lack of expectation.

Even though you feel like both Carmy and Sydney are being weird right now, you move right past it. You’ve never been one to need something physical to understand how much Carmy loves you. With your coffee in one hand, and Carmy’s hand in the other, you give him a reassuring squeeze.

Ring or no ring, you were going to marry the love of your life.

By the time you make it home, you’re exhausted and so grateful that you had the foresight to take tomorrow off. You knew you’d wanted an extra day to prepare for the week ahead and a day to spend with Carmy on his day off.

Carmy, your fiance.

You get butterflies just thinking about it.

After a long weekend of cooking, exploring – not to mention casually getting engaged – you’re ready to do fuckall for a day and a half before your work week starts. You figure out what you can push to tomorrow: grocery shopping, a few chores here and there. You find yourself curled up on the couch with Aioli, who seems like she’s genuinely missed you as she cuddles up to you. She bumps her soft head against your shoulder, before curling up into the sweetest little croissant next to you on the couch.

You flip through your phone, scrolling through some social media app as you hear a chaotic rustling sound coming from your bedroom. Seconds later, Carmy comes bursting back into the living room, phone in hand. He looks worried, prompting you to ask:

“Everything alright?”

“Ffffffffuck!” he exclaims, frustratedly. “Just got a text from Fak. Emergency at the restaurant, babe.”

“Shit,” you swear.

“I gotta take care of this,” he admits with a huff.

“Right now?” you ask, unable to hide your disappointment that after fifteen minutes of being home, he’s already rushing back to work.

He shoots you a remorseful look before saying, “Yeah.”

“Can’t leave for the fuckin’ weekend without something going to shit,” he mutters under his breath.

He knows he’s laying it on thick.

“Okay,” you resign yourself.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“Think so,” he says, almost as a consolation. “I’ll shoot you a text when I work this shit out.”

You nod in understanding.

“I don’t have the energy to go to the store today. Thought I’d pick something up from the Thai place across the street we like,” you suggest.

“Sure,” he nods in agreement, urgently.

You know he’s in a hurry, noticing as his eyes flicker from you to the door, then back to his phone.

“Okay, last thing: I uh-, before you go,” you begin.

You watch as Carmy’s face softens. He knows how much you were looking forward to spending the afternoon with him. He only feels a little bad about the fact that he’s totally pulling one over on you.

“I’m gonna meet up with Natalie for a walk later. Are you… cool if I tell her?” you ask, checking in.

He waits a beat before nodding, “Uh. Yeah. She’ll probably kill me if we don’t.”

“Right, and, our friends kind of told an entire Starbucks line at an airport so…” you reply playfully.

He gives you a half smile and you can see he’s preoccupied with whatever emergency is happening at the restaurant.

“Okay, that’s all I have. Love you, Bear,” you say, letting him know he can go.

“Love you,” he replies, before leaving the softest goodbye kiss on your lips.

And he’s off, hurrying out of your apartment like a bat out of hell.

Only there’s no emergency at the restaurant.

He just needed an excuse to get out of the house and get the ring. Your ring. He’s been blowing Richie’s phone up all day, every chance he had. Every moment he thought you weren’t looking, he’d send a string of texts to Richie: asking him where he’d be, if he could grab it at home, bring it to the restaurant.

Carmy walks briskly towards The Bear. He wonders if his quick pace is a symptom of his nerves. Last night’s conversation had been so casual, and it’s not like you were going to change your mind. But there was something about doing it again – doing this properly – that made him feel antsy.

When he arrives at The Bear, he enters through the back of the restaurant, marching right into the kitchen. He knows that the staff on shift should be prepping for dinner service, ready to reopen for dinner within the hour.

“What’s goin’ on, Carmy? Thought you wouldn’t be in till Tuesday,” Angel says as soon as he sees Carmy.

“No, yeah, we just got back,” Carmy says back, sending Angel a half smile as a greeting. “Just uh, pickin’ up something from Richie.”

“He left for a few earlier, but… think he’s back? Think he’s out there,” Angel nods towards the front of house, before returning to what he was doing previously.

Carmy’s eyes scan the back of house before calling out, “Yo, cousin!”

Moments later, the taller, pure pain-in-the-ass of a man’s bursting through the double doors that lead to the dining area.

“There he is! The man that’s been blowin’ up my phone all day!” Richie shouts back, making his way into the kitchen. “Thought I’d have to get a restraining order, ya fuckin’ lizard.”

“Do you have it or what?” Carmy snaps, getting right to the point.

“Hello to you too, Carmen,” Richie replies.

Carmy rolls his eyes as Richie glares at him.

Richie’s face falls with a sigh. He’s not going to give his cousin a hard time – not today.

“Yeah, ‘course I do,” Richie says, pulling the small box he’s been holding onto all weekend out of his pocket.

“Jeff! How was New York, baby?” Tina asks, as she approaches the both of them. Her eyes widen as soon as she sees what Richie’s holding.

“Oh shit.”

“Right?” Richie exclaims, with a rousing laugh. “Carmen’s finally lockin’ it down, T! Just like ya told him.”

“Watcha guys lookin’ at? Hey! Welcome back, Bear!” Fak greets, interrupting the conversation by joining in.

“This son of a bitch is about to be the luckiest man alive. Can’t believe the broad hasn’t left your ass yet,” Richie says, encouraging Carmen in the only way he knows how to.

“Ooh let me see,” Fak says, reaching out to grab the ring box.

Fak opens the box, seeing the shiny engagement ring, his eyes widening as soon as he realizes what’s going on.

“Wow, Bear. You think she’ll say yes?” Fak asks, excitedly, as he hands the box back to Carmy.

Tina glares at him while Richie shouts something along the lines of, “You really wanna put that in his fuckin’ head, you fuckin’ stroke?”

“First of all, I’m not a fuckin’ stroke. And second of all-!” Fak shrugs.

“Uh, first of all. You are. And second of all, of course she’s gonna say yes you fuckin’ waste of space,” Richie interjects, protectively shutting any notion that you’d say ‘no’ down.

“Very nice, Jeff,” Tina compliments, admiring the ring. She exchanges glances with Carmy. “Very nice. I think she’s really gonna like that.”

Carmy smiles at the sound of Tina’s approval. As much as he’d like to take credit for picking out a beautiful engagement ring all by himself, he’d asked Sugar to go with him a few weeks ago. She’d been surprised he asked in the first place, but he’d wanted to get it right, and knew he’d want a second opinion. It wasn’t till Sydney caught wind of his plans that she insisted she join in, adding a third opinion to the mix.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t been a ‘too many cooks in the kitchen’ scenario – both his sister and his work-wife acting as his biggest cheerleaders.

“Alright you fuckin’ replicants. Let’s get back to work,” Richie orders, shooing Tina and, especially Fak, away.

He makes sure no one else is listening before he leans in, patting Carmy on the back a few times while he says:

“You got yourself a good thing. Proud of you..”

“Thank you, cuz,” Carmy replies, with a shake of his head. “And thanks. For holding onto this for me.

Richie starts to back away, pointing a finger at Carmy, “Don’t fuck it up.”

Carmy shakes his head.

He’s really going to try not to.

While Carmy makes a quick trip to the grocery store before heading home to set up his surprise for you, you’re across town with Natalie. Not a bad alternative, you think to yourself. You’ve picked up a coffee for you, and a matcha latte for her, as the two of you wander alongside the River Walk.

“I’m dying for a cup of coffee,” she whines, dissatisfied with the grassy green liquid in her cup. “This whole tea thing really isn't doing it for me and I can’t decide if I like or hate matcha so I just keep drinking them to see.”

“Yeah I-, I do not envy you. While I do really enjoy matcha, no amount of matcha lattes will ever hit like coffee,” you commiserate with your soon-to-be sister in law. “How’ve you been feeling?”

“Like garbage,” she exhales an exasperated sigh, woefully. “Don’t get me wrong. Pete and I have been trying to get pregnant for a while now, and I’m so happy…!”

“But I’m also exhausted and my boobs feel huge,” Sugar continues, and you can hear how tired she is in her voice. “The whole first trimester, I don’t think I slept through the night and I spent every single morning just emptying any contents of my stomach into the toilet. My clothes are starting to fit differently which is… well, it is what it is… and on top of it all, I’m seriously craving the strangest things.”

You chuckle, “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Yeah it’s… it’s super weird. But enough about me and my swollen boobs…” she agrees. “How was New York? I saw some of the pictures on your instagram… it looks like you guys had a great time!”

It’s the perfect segway for you to tell her the news, so you take a sip of your coffee, suddenly feeling a little nervous and also excited to tell her.

“Yeah, so uh, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” you start, some of the nerves trickling into the way your voice sounds.

“Oh god. What’d he do?” Sugar asks back, instantly.

You laugh, quick to reassure her, “No, it’s not like that! New York was… really great.”

You take a beat before continuing.

“It was kinda weird too. I think… just because we have so many memories there, yknow?” you begin, a small hesitancy in your voice that Natalie instantly detects. She listens as you both continue your walk, coffee cups in hand. “And I think it made us both think… about what we want… from our relationship…”

“Okay…” she trails off, her ears practically perking up as soon as she knows where this conversation could be going.

You stop your walk, turning to face her.

“And we talked… and… decided that….”

“Carmy and I… are getting married,” you say, unsure of how you’re so cool and level-headed as you say it.

“Shut up!” she exclaims, grabbing for your left hand almost instantly.

“We’re not-, we don’t have a ring yet,” you’re quick to explain, as she shoots you a look. Her eyes flicker from your ring finger, then back to your face. She knows he has the ring, and the fact that you’re not wearing it right now means he didn’t bring it to New York with him.

She’ll let him off the hook. Just this once.

“That soft shitty bitch,” she sighs, with an eye roll. “I could kill him for not doing it for real but… I know it’s your style.”

“Right.”

“Oh my god! You and Carmy are getting married!!” she squeals. This may be the best news she’s gotten since she and Pete found out they were pregnant. “I mean. Took him long enough.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Sounds like we’re finally gonna be sisters-in-law.”

“Finally!” she repeats with a laugh.

You spend a little more time with Nat at the River Walk, before the both of you stop to get a snack. Sugar’s totally honest with how strange her cravings have been as you stop at a convenience store for pickle chips, a pop, and a pack of twizzlers. You decide to try her very strange combination of snacks, just to hold you over before dinner.

As you make your way home, you notice that the days are getting longer. The sun is still high in the sky and it reminds you that summer is almost here. It’s wild to think about. Your trip to New York hadn’t just gotten into Carmy’s head. It’s had you in yours too. It’s strange to think that, this time three years ago, Carmy was but a painful memory: your best friend who’d just left town, your best friend who couldn’t bother to call you back, your best friend who had broken your heart because maybe, just maybe, you were in love with him.

And now, thanks to a one week trip to Chicago that set it all in motion, you’re marrying him.

You thank your lucky stars that he managed to work up the nerve to call you that Fall – that he managed to swallow his pride and ask you to come help out with this new restaurant he was working on.

You take the long way home, enjoying your own company too much. You figure you’ll take a shower when you get home, change into your comfiest clothes, then head across the street to order dinner before Carmy gets home. You hadn’t heard from yet, which only told you that the emergency at the restaurant was most likely a big one. You expect for him to be gone most of the night, crawling into bed while you’re half asleep after scarfing down reheated leftovers. You weigh your options – how you’d like to spend the night by yourself:

Trash TV. Snuggling up with Aioli. Maybe even doing a load of laundry.

As you turn your key in the door, you hear a clamoring of pots and pans.

But Carmy hadn’t texted you.

He wasn’t home already, was he?

You push the door open, pulling your keys out of the door, before placing them into the dish that sits on the end table right by the front door.

“Carm?” you question, as you hear movement in the apartment.

You can smell the scent of boiling water, cured pork, and soon enough, you spot one of your clear, glass bowls filled with a tomato passata. The sight stops you in your tracks. He’s got his french-laundry-blue apron on, because, of course, he’d wanted some for the house too. You watch as he moves around the kitchen, his attention focused on chopping up half of a red onion. Carmy must’ve lit every single candle that he could find in the apartment and scattered them around your living space before you’d gotten here.

Aioli seems transfixed by the revolutions of the vinyl Carmy’s put on as the record, perched on the windowsill next to your record player. The turntable slows to a halt, signaling that it’s time to flip it over.

You’re speechless.

“Carmy, what’s going on?” you ask, looking around the room.

“Babe, can you flip the record over?” he asks, motioning towards the windowsill.

“Uh…” you manage to get out, setting your bag down by the entryway. You make your way over to alcove, moving the needle back to its place, before flipping over the record. As you glide the needle back onto Side B, the sounds of Louis Armstrong boom throughout your living room.

“I thought-, what happened at the restaurant?” you stammer through, watching him in your open kitchen. “I hadn’t heard from you I just thought-.”

But you don’t have the words, feeling caught off guard, because whatever’s happening in your apartment right now feels big.

Carmy reaches a stopping point, setting his knife down, and making his way to the sink to wash his hands. He’s not going to propose to you (again) while his hands smell like onions. Your eyes are glued to him as he removes his apron, before setting it down on the counter.

“Surprise?” he says, almost apologetically.

“Oh,” you say back, as if you’ve forgotten the entire English language.

You’re not sure why tonight feels big, but it does. Maybe it’s because you got engaged last night.

Yeah, maybe it’s that.

But Carmy’s not one to make a big romantic gesture, so you’re not sure what’s going on.

“Good ‘oh?’” he asks, his eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Uh. Yeah,” you say, your words finally coming back to you. “I thought you weren’t going to be home till late. I-, I hadn’t heard from you so I guess I wasn’t expecting you to be home.”

He smiles sheepishly.

“There wasn’t actually an emergency at the restaurant,” he states, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

He’s not sure why he’s nervous. He’d asked you last night and you’d said yes.

But nonetheless, this feels different.

“Oh,” you repeat.

At this point, you’re not sure you’re supposed to be saying anything, so you wait. You examine the face of your very nervous boyfriend – fiance – as he looks down at the floor, his hands fumbling for something in his pocket.

“You’re my best friend and the love of my life,” he starts, and he hopes you can’t hear that his voice is shaking. “And I-, well, I wanna do this for real.”

Carmy pulls a small box out of his pocket.

“Woah,” you say, your eyes widening as soon as you see it. .

“I know you already said yes, but… I didn’t have this with me. So,” he continues, his face red as he drops to one knee.

“Holy shit, Carmy.”

You swallow because the way that he looks at you takes your breath away.

“Marry me?”

You can’t help it as tears spring to your eyes. He opens the ring box, and you gasp, seeing the most ‘you’ ring possible. This feels so different than his ask last night, and both proposals feel equally true to both your relationship. You reach for him, pulling him back up to you as you say:

“Yes, Carmen. And yes, again. Let’s fucking get married.”

And Carmy’s leaping to his feet, pulling you into the warmest, passionate embrace. You pull away, just far enough to grab his head and kiss him, pressing your lips to his even through your smiles and giggles.

“Thank God,” he sighs, causing you to laugh as you pull away from him.

“Did you think I’d say no after I said ‘yes’ last night?” you ask with a laugh.

He shakes his head, looking at the floor, “It just feels more real with the ring, you know? Speaking of.”

And finally, he pulls the ring out of the box he holds in his hands. With your hand in his, he slides the delicate engagement ring on your ring finger, and you shake your head in total disbelief.

“Carmy this is beautiful. Did you pick this out yourself?” you ask, holding out your hand to admire the ring.

“I… had some help. Syd and Sugar actually…,”

You nod in response. Of course Sydney and Natalie had helped. And it explains the weird comments all day long about him not having a ring.

“You did good, babe. So good,” you compliment, admiring the ring that sits so perfectly on your ring finger.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” you reassure him, grinning ear to ear.

And finally, he leans in and kisses you, crashing his lips against yours. It’s then that you realize how nervous he is, his face hot with excitement. His lips move against yours, leaving a few long, passionate kisses before he pulls away slowly. His forehead is pressed against yours as he whispers:

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Taking a more playful approach you giggle:

“And I can’t wait to be Mrs. Carmen Berzatto.”

“Shut up,” he smirks.

“You love it,” you say back.

“I do,” he declares. “I love you.”

Carmy sits you down, and you watch as he makes you an amatriciana. You know that food is the way he shows you love – the way he knows how to communicate. You’re practically blushing as you watch him create the sauce for the pasta, your eyes admiring your very hot fiance, and the stunning ring he’s just put on your finger. He smiles to himself, hearing you type away on your phone as he moves around the kitchen. You’ve, of course, gotta spread the word and let Sydney and Sugar know that you’re grateful for their help.

As Carmy continues to make dinner, you find a good place to pause your ‘we just got engaged’ PR campaign. You turn your phone ‘do not disturb’ so that you can focus on just being here with him. It’s then that it dawns on you: you get to watch him do this for the rest of your life. Carmy, your best friend, with all of his little neuroses, all of his quirky tattoos, those brilliant blue eyes of his, and his tender heart that you’d protect at all costs… he’s yours forever.

And you, his.

And you think to yourself, that maybe, this was always how it was supposed to be.

fin.

a/n: while the story is done, there is a lovely bonus smut scene called 'it's perfect, chef' that picks up right where this chapter left off.

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #make my heart surrender #still into you

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fashionlouist · 10 months ago

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We believe Louis wore Dior Dior90 S1U Rectangular-Frame Silver-Tone Sunglasses arriving at the Sydney International Airport recently.

This innovative design folds in half down the middle, fitted with striking mirrored lenses and a tonal rubberised logo.

#louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fashion #louis fashion #fashionlouist #dior #era: faith in the future #ltf24 #accessories #sunglasses #january 2024 #2024.01.25

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luckybyler · 1 year ago

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Reply to @girlfictions:

1. I didn’t skirt it, that why the definition of Zionism was the very first thing in my post. Now, if you choose to reject that definition and want the word to mean whatever you want it to mean that’s on you. If you think the mere existence of Israel as a country is evil and a bad thing to support, then there’s no productive conversation to be had with you anyway.

Hamas leader's son who became a spy explains what Hamas really wants

What is Gaza’s Ministry of Health and how does it calculate the war’s death toll?

Amnesty International Report, 2015

Tunnel shaft inside Shifa

Article from 2014

Hamas’ rules for social media activists, from 2014

Wounded man at Gaza hospital criticizes Hamas for hiding among civilians

Bodies of two hostages found near Al Shifa Hospital

Body of a third hostage, a Tanzanian agricultural intern, found, although not mentioned where

The second Israel declared independence, 5 Arab countries declared war against them and they won.

List of expulsions and exoduses of Jews

Iraq expelled Jews to Israel

Why there are so many Palestinian refugees

The point here is not "Israel is a saint country that never does wrong". The point is that Israel is not better or worse than any other country or territory. If a Palestinian or someone with connections to Palestine is allowed to love it in spite of what Hamas and other terrorist groups have done and are currently doing without being demonized, cancelled or called evil; then it's only natural to concede that someone from Israel or with connections to Israel is allowed to love it in spite of what its government has done or does currently without being demonized, cancelled or called evil. Especially after Israel suffered a terrorist attack and is receiving antisemitism all over the world.

PBS article from 2007 summarizing Hamas and/vs Fatah, including Hamas’ objectives

Hamas and PIJ use of suicide bombings

Hamas spokesperson says tunnels are to protect the fighters and civilians are the responsibility of the UN and Israel

youtube

UNRWA Education: Textbooks and Terror

Review of 2022 UNRWA-Produced Study Materials in the Palestinian Territories

Hamas Original Charter. Excerpt:

Student speaker at a UPenn rally, the university Noah attends

Pro-Palestine Rally in Sydney, Australia ("Death to Israel", "Intifada", "Gas the Jews")

Rash of international antisemitism carries chilling historical hallmarks

Antisemitic mob storms through Russian airport as flight from Tel Aviv lands

Suspect arrested in death of Jewish protester in Southern California

Pro-Palestine group gives out NYC map calling for 'direct action' on landmarks as city blasts 'hateful rhetoric' and alerts the NYPD

Are you implying that I'm a nonce? Because shipping two fictional characters is not being a nonce. You know what is noncey?

Threatening someone to release CP of them.

Reply right before yours:

made by someone whose first post was said reply, and only has posts reblogging other people's takes re: Noah, Israel, Palestine

They blasted me for saying we live in different realities, then proceeds to praise radicalism and call me a white supremacist.

Exploring hate: How antisemitism fuels white nationalism

The response that worried me (I don't know or care about the ethnicity or religion of this person).

Glorification of terrorism, dehumanization of the other, refusal to listen to other points of view, inappropriate anger. All of these are signs of radicalization.

Said person reblogged this:

A letter from Osama Bin Laden went viral on TikTok, with many users of every ethnicity and religion praising it. The letter contains several antisemitic tropes, condems homosexuality and of course, idealizes Sharia Law.

youtube

Rolling Stone article on it

#noah schnapp #antisemitism #jumblr #radicalization #extremism #i couldn't care less about noah schnapp knowing i exist #but one day someone will get ideas from this wretched hellsite and try to decolonize a bus full of people or something #and at least i will be able to sleep at night #because with my insignificant voice from my tiny dustspeck of a corner of the internet #i tried to warn y'all #Youtube

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beardedmrbean · 6 hours ago

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A California man was arrested at Los Angeles International Airport after he allegedly tried to check two suitcases filled with clothing soaked in methamphetamine, including a cow pajama onesie, federal prosecutors announced Tuesday.

Prosecutors have indicted Raj Matharu, 31, with one count of possession with intent to distribute methamphetamine, according to a Department of Justice news release. Matharu is scheduled to be arraigned Monday in U.S. District Court in downtown Los Angeles.

He is free on a $10,000 bond.

“Drug dealers are continually inventing creative ways of smuggling dangerous narcotics in pursuit of illicit profit — as alleged in the facts of this case,” U.S. Attorney Martin Estrada said in a statement. “In the process, they are poisoning communities throughout the world. Law enforcement is committed to fighting drug trafficking, knowing that every seizure saves lives.”

Matharu was preparing to board a late-night United Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Sydney, Australia, on Nov. 6 when he attempted to check two pieces of luggage, a pink suitcase and a gray suitcase, according to court documents. Screening officers X-rayed the suitcases and pulled them for “secondary inspection” after discovering “an anomaly.”

When law enforcement officers unzipped the suitcases, they found various “white or light-colored clothing items that were dried stiff and covered in a white residue,” according to a criminal complaint filed in the Central District of California. Officers field-tested a sample of the residue, which yielded positive results for meth.

The total weight of the meth-soaked clothing items was roughly 71.5 pounds.

In the pink suitcase, Customs and Border Protection officers found white residue on five white T-shirts, eight pairs of women’s underwear, 19 pairs of socks, two sports bras, three tank tops, two towels, one cardigan sweater, one hoodie, one fleece sweater, the onesie pajama and two sweaters.

In the gray suitcase, officers found white residue on two towels, six pairs of socks, five boxers, seven tank tops, one pair of sweatpants, two pairs of jeans, four hoodies, one polo shirt, two button-up shirts and one long sleeve top.

In a sworn affidavit, Homeland Security Investigations agent Megan Palmer wrote in part: “I believe in this instance the white methamphetamine was ‘washed’ into the white clothing and left to dry.”

“Based on my training and experience,” Palmer added, “I know that over time in a room temperature or cold environment, the solution would evaporate and then the powdered methamphetamine would separate from the shirt, forming a white residue.”

Matharu was intercepted at an LAX boarding gate and taken into custody on the morning of Nov. 7, according to the criminal complaint. If he is convicted, he would face a mandatory minimum sentence of 10 years in federal prison and a statutory maximum sentence of life behind bars.

#nunyas news

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cyberrose2001 · 1 year ago

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Get To Know Me Better Tag Game

I got tagged by @tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol ! Thank you <3

(making a seperate post bc the original creator of the post I got tagged in wished to not get bombarded by reposts :) )

Rules: Tag ten (10) people you want to get to know better

Relationship status: Single and never been in a relationship! (and ready to mingle)

Favorite color(s): Turquoise (but I’m really liking emerald green atm)

Three favorite foods: Dumplings, any kind of seafood, and ice cream 🍦

Song stuck in my head: What Was I Made For? - Billie Eilish (still not over the barbie movie 😭)

Last Song I Listened To: Plans - Birds of Tokyo (a nostalgic song for me)

Last thing I Googled: The map for Sydney international airport, specifically the international terminal 😭 im gonna get so lost in there I just know it

Dream trip: Currently Canada. In fact, I’m going there in 10 days and I’m so excited! Heading to both the east and west side! My next dream trip would be to Norway to see the northern lights, it’s on my bucket list 🌌

Anything I really want right now: Uhhhhh to be warmer bc it’s fuckin’ freezing in my room rn, and for my headache to go away pls thank u

Tagging (let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in these! I’m just gonna throw down some names from the top of my head aksjbsb): @uselessmicrowave @robot-horde @transformersartist @mariacrow @image-thot @vivifruit

#tag games #miscellaneous

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crinkled-emotions · 11 months ago

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Day 28: Daggers in Australia

Back in the groove! I think this fic ended up being somewhere around the 5k mark whilst the others have been mostly 1-2k max. I honestly thought about writing more but rather than making it seem overfull I hit a point and I was like yep, we're done, that's fine there.

“Someone hold my hand when we cross the road, I’m not awake enough for this.”

“Payback, hold your wizzo’s hand.”

“Fuck you, Rooster.”

Rooster dodged when Payback went to swat at the back of his head, pulling his suitcase along with him as the pair fucked around. Fanboy groaned, turning to rest his head on Bob’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna keep me safe, right Bob?”

“A little busy right now, Mick.”

Bob, wrestling both his luggage and Phoenix’s while she went to the bathroom, did indeed look busy. Maverick was already on the phone organising pick up from the airport, talking quietly as people rushed around him. Coyote had decided to sit on a bench nearby and was texting his mom, letting her know they’d landed in Perth. Everyone was sluggish, feeling the jetlag from their thirty hours of flying including their layovers in LAX and Sydney. The only one with enough energy to keep them going had to be Hangman, of course, bouncing on his feet in a way that told Coyote he’d maybe had a taste of Aussie coffee on the plane. When his incessant talking made even Coyote doubt his friendship he reached out, grabbing Hangman by the wrist.

“Sit down and shut up a sec, you’re asking Rooster to punch you again.”

“He missed last time,” Hangman rebutted but he did indeed sit down and shut up aside from his foot tapping on the lino floors of the Perth airport’s international arrival terminal.

It was barely 3am and everyone was on their last legs, yawning and using each other to stay up. Even Maverick himself was struggling with the time changes which told everyone to be on their (mostly) best behaviour.

The conference with the Australian Navy was being held on the Perth base for some reason instead of Sydney; apparently it was their turn to host something and no one had really had a problem with it except for the fact that it meant an additional layover and six hours of flying for the Daggers who’d been flown in especially for a panel at the conference. Initially it had only been those who flew the mission who were invited but in the end it had been agreed that Coyote would also be attending to provide additional perspective on the training.

“Mav, I’m starving. Can we get food on the way to the hotel?” Rooster complained. Maverick, still on the phone, held up a finger to tell him to wait.

“No, that’s not what I said... okay, well, that would be- yes sir, that would be great. Thank you very much. I apologise for the early start.”

With his phone call over Maverick turned to the Daggers, including Phoenix who had returned from the bathroom and taken her luggage from Bob.

“Okay, everyone go and see if you can get an uber or a taxi. Your hotel rooms are all under your own names; check in and get a couple hours sleep. We’re going to meet tomorrow morning-“

Maverick paused, checked his watch, and grimaced.

“-later today around 0800 hours, and a representative from the Australian Navy has offered to take us on a tour of Perth. I expect that you’ll all be on time and ready for anything they set up for us on this tour. The conference starts in two days; today and the following day is all about building our relationships with our Australian colleagues so best behaviour, guys.”

“Yes sir,” the team all echoed. They all headed for the exit, immediately grimacing.

“How is it warm at three am?” Phoenix complained, already reaching to take off her jacket.

“Australia is notorious for their hot summers,” Bob supplied, “well; that’s what it said on the brochure in Sydney.”

A couple hours later the Daggers gathered out the front of their hotel, all of them battling jetlag like pros. The Navy representative greeted them easily, gesturing to the minibus behind him.

“Good morning everyone! My name is Jim Dempsey, everyone calls me JD and I’m going to be your Navy representative whilst you’re here in Perth. Today we’re going to be visiting some of the more common tourist attractions; I thought you might like to see the beaches, and then we’re going to-“

“-JD, I’m so sorry to ask, would it be possible to have our first stop be a coffee shop?” Rooster asked. JD laughed.

“I think that sounds reasonable. Alright everyone, let’s get a move on!” The Daggers started toward the minibus, climbing in and finding a seat. As Phoenix sat down she nudged Bob, leaning in to whisper to him.

“He’s way too happy for this time of day,” she muttered. Bob snorted.

“It’s the coffee here; apparently it’s supercharged.”

“This is going to end badly,” Phoenix sighed. Bob nudged her side.

“It’ll be so much better when you’ve had caffeine. C’mon, brighten up; when was the last time you went to Australia?”

“Never, actually,” Phoenix confessed, “you?”

“No. Fanboy said he and Payback got sent here a few years ago but it was in a remote location. They had to stand on a hill to get cell reception and Fanboy got heat exhaustion.”

“Sounds rough; explains why he’s clinging to his water.”

Their eyes fell to the large water bottle in a side pocket of Fanboy’s backpack, both wondering if they should have brought their own. They watched when Rooster hit his head on the roof of the minibus and stifled their laughter, instead choosing to take a couple photos of the scrub around the hotel. With everyone buckled in, the minibus started up and JD headed toward what he called bragged was of the best coffee shops around.

“Now, prepare yourselves, and go easy on the caffeine; speaking from experience, our coffee is the best in the world but it’s also strong so you will be shitting through the eye of a needle at twenty paces if you’re not careful.”

JD was quick to warn the Daggers as they stepped into the cute coffee shop, pausing to take a look at the menu. They all slowly looked to him in confusion but he waved them off.

“Our coffee is high in caffeine, so it gives you the shits. You’ve been warned.”

“I just want a coffee,” Hangman said after a moment of staring blankly, “damn coffee shops make this so difficult.”

“Try a flat white,” JD suggested. Hangman glanced at him, then shrugged and went up to order. Phoenix mused at the menu for a moment. It was too hot to be drinking hot coffee like Hangman had just ordered... iced latte it was.

Once everyone had placed their orders and paid they stood back to wait, glancing around.

“Where are you from?” Rooster asked JD, who hummed.

“I was born in Queensland, but I’ve been in Perth almost twenty years. It’s a great place to be; no one really thinks to come here so we mostly get our beaches to ourselves.”

“What ones would you recommend- holy shit that’s good.”

Hangman had joined the pair, takeaway coffee cup in hand as he took his first sip. He offered his cup to Rooster who shook his head.

“I’m not getting cooties, mine’s coming.”

“To answer your question, a lot of the guys go surfing at Scarborough but most people flock to Cottesloe on our hot days.”

“Hey, man, while I’ve got you-“

Rooster’s name was called and he split from JD and Hangman to grab his coffee. JD patted Hangman’s shoulder then went to see where they were at in regards to coffee collection. Maverick stood by Hangman, smiling at the way his eyes lit up the more he sipped at his coffee.

“Just remember what JD said; we’re moving around a lot today so don’t do something dumb.”

“Me? Dumb? I’m good, Mav, in fact I’m too good to-“

“-be true,” the rest of the Daggers filled in nearby, earning laughter. A woman approached Hangman suddenly, holding out a piece of paper and a pen.

“I’m so sorry to ask, but are you that guy from that movie?”

“Uh...? No?”

“Oh, damn, that’s... embarrassing. Sorry!”

She disappeared out the door and Hangman frowned as he looked to the others.

“What was she sniffing?”

With everyone happily caffeinated, JD loaded them back into the van and they drove through the picturesque scenery of the Perth suburbs sipping on their coffee and taking photos through the windows. For a group of seasoned aviators they were definitely feeling the coffee hit, talking a million miles an hour. JD glanced over at Maverick who cleared his throat.

“They’ll settle; where are we headed?”

“I thought we could do Fremantle Prison first, and then depending on energy levels and the coffee crash we could either relax and see a movie or head to the beach for the arvo.”

“I’m sorry; arvo?”

Fanboy interrupted the conversation, apparently listening to all the conversations in the bus. JD smiled at him in the rearview mirror.

“Afternoon.”

“Gotcha.”

“After the prison we might do smoko-“

“-smoko?”

Rooster, this time. Apparently all the Daggers had become eavesdroppers.

“Take a break; shearers use to have smoke breaks so they’d call it morning and afternoon smoko.”

JD filled in the blanks, already questioning his own lingo.

“I totally forgot to ask this earlier when I heard it in the airport; what the fuck is a gobby-“

“-and look at that, we’re here!”

JD pulled the van into a parking space at the prison, glancing over his shoulder.

“Before we go in, I do just ask that you’re respectful to both the staff and the culture. I can tell you more later but if you’re not sure about something please make sure you ask me.”

“Of course,” Phoenix reassured. A glance to Bob beside her found him dozing, hat over his eyes.

“Hey, Mav, we’ve got a man down.”

“I’ll wake him, you guys go.”

The Fremantle Prison had a long (complicated) history in Australian culture, and the Daggers were quiet as they took it in. It originally opened in the 19th century, and when it closed in 1991 it was a welcomed announcement by the general public due to concerns for prisoner welfare and the state of the facilities. At one point Rooster separated from the group to read a plaque about the last execution on site and Maverick appeared by his side, a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling about the panel?” He murmured. Rooster shrugged.

“The more I talk about it the less I feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

“I know. If you need a break just ask, okay?”

“Mav. I’m fine.”

Rooster sent him a reassuring smile, turning back to the information he’d been reading. Phoenix joined him when Maverick left his side, nudging his side.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Tash.”

“This place... wow.”

“Haunting,” Rooster mused. Phoenix glanced around.

“Apparently they do night tours as well; think we can make Bagman scream?”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, then smirked; Phoenix rolled her eyes.

“Ew, Brooster. Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“I really think that one’s on you!” Rooster called as she left him to go and stand with Bob.

“Do you think that’s him?”

Rooster glanced over his shoulder, trying to figure out where the younger female voice came from considering it wasn’t Phoenix and she was the only female in their group. He frowned, then put it down to the eerie nature of the prison. It was probably playing with his head.

“How are we feeling? We could have a counter-y or we could head to Cottesloe-“

“-a counter-y...?”

JD winced.

“Sorry. Uh, we could go have a sit down meal at the pub or we could head out to Cottesloe beach.”

Maverick checked his watch, then shrugged.

“Everyone okay if we go have something to eat?”

The group agreed easily, Hangman jogging up to catch up with Bob.

“Hey, did you have the coffee? That was seriously strong, like crack but also a little like maybe I should have slept more, and did you smell the air- and the vegemite toast this morning was disgusting-“

“-what is wrong with you?”

The pub JD picked had a strong scent of stale beer the second you walked in and the TAB room to the left was loud enough that even if there was music playing over the speakers you wouldn’t have been able to hear it. The Daggers and JD found a table toward the back of the dining room, picking up their menus.

“What would you recommend, JD?” Payback asked.

“No more coffee for Jake,” JD deadpanned earning laughter from the others, “but anything here is great. The parmy has just the right amount of ham and sauce to cheese ratio and the fish is always fresh.”

“I’m so lost,” Bob muttered as he stared at the menu. A waitress appeared to get their drinks orders then they poured water to get themselves started, the Daggers taking in the room.

“Is that a pool table?” Phoenix asked. She immediately realised her mistake when Coyote and Hangman stood.

“We’ll be back.”

There were already a couple locals playing, but it appeared the two Daggers were welcomed into the group easily to everyone’s surprise. The waitress came by again to take food orders then while they waited the group fell into easy conversation about the Australian culture and the upcoming panel the Daggers would be attending. It was highly classified so they kept it general, talking around it rather than about it. Maverick leaned back in his chair and he was the first to spot the food coming out, his eyebrows raising.

“That is huge,” he said in regards to the steak placed in front of Bob, then turning to the seafood Rooster had ordered.

“And that- there’s so much.”

“I feel a nap in my near future,” Rooster grinned. Maverick smiled at him, taking a prawn when it was offered.

“Is this where that saying about a shrimp on the barbie comes from?” Payback asked JD, who shook his head.

“Not really, we might do that your last night here. Most Aussies actually prefer yabbies; a type of... I dunno, it’s kinda like a prawn or a lobster but oversized. You find ‘em a lot in freshwater dams on the farms but there’s plenty of yabby farmers around here that keep up the supply.”

“What the fuck is a yabby-“

“-hey, food!”

Coyote and Hangman returned from the pool table when Bob waved them over, eagerly eyeing their meals.

“I feel like this is going to ruin everything I’ve ever worked for,” Hangman said as he reached for his silverware. The others laughed.

“We’re going to swim it off, remember? It’s about half an hour to Cottesloe so you’ll be good to get straight in the water when we get there.”

“That’s alright then.”

The Daggers stripped off to their swimwear on the sand, tossing various articles of clothing at Maverick and slathering on sunblock. Right before they took off JD waved to get their attention.

“Swim where everyone else is and keep an eye out for sharks.”

“He’s joking, right?” Coyote whispered to Payback, who snorted.

“Yeah; it’s a public beach, there’s no way sharks would-“

“-unfortunately I’m not joking mate, we get a few shark attacks every summer. We’re in their territory and if they feel threatened they’ll defend.”

The Daggers were suddenly a little slower to head for the water. Maverick laughed, turning to JD.

“That should settle them... oh. You weren’t joking.”

“Nope.”

Out in the water, Phoenix was lying on her back and enjoying the cool water whilst the others horsed around a little further out. She felt something brush her foot and gave it a gentle kick, taking a deep breath to refocus when there was another touch against her ankle. Next thing she knew there was a sharp tug and she screamed, thinking about the seven most deadly animals in Australia and how most of them were in the ocean. When she came up for air Payback and Fanboy were coming up too and laughing, high fiving. Phoenix scowled.

“Sleep with one eye open, assholes,” she warned. The pair exchanged a look then swam off to join where Bob and Coyote were wading and talking. Rooster was talking to a local and Phoenix didn’t have the heart to tell him he resembled a drowned rat with his damp curls rather than his usual attractive (dry) face. When she realised she couldn’t see Hangman she glanced around, finding him on the shore. There was a group of women surrounding him and he was loving it, as per usual, but she could tell he was utterly confused. She decided to join him on the shore (cockblock him within an inch of his life and then a little more for good measure), nudging his side.

“Hey, Bagman, what’s going on?”

“He’s the guy from that movie!” One of the onlookers exclaimed, Phoenix snorting.

“No, he’s US Navy and as much as he’s loving this he’s not who you’re looking for.”

The women all blushed and scattered across the beach back to wherever they were supposed to be, Phoenix wheeling around to face Hangman.

“What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea.”

That evening the team had an early dinner and thanked JD for his tour. The team knew they shouldn’t go to bed considering it was only 7pm so they decided to go see a movie nearby. A local cinema was playing a new one so they headed into the city, bought tickets and went into the theatre. They’d picked a movie at random and hadn’t even looked at trailers; the only rule was Rooster was banned from picking movies because he’d chosen Oppenheimer last time and it had sparked a Barbenheimer debate on base. Settling into their seats, Phoenix opened a bag of M&M’s then poured half of it into Rooster’s popcorn, the other half going into the box she and Bob were sharing. They sat through the twenty minutes of previews and when Phoenix glanced over she wasn’t entirely surprised to find most of the Daggers dozing already. It was dark and cool in the room, a nice break from the heat of the Australian summer sun. Even Maverick was struggling to keep her eyes open, something Phoenix wouldn’t have ever predicted. The only other Dagger mostly awake was Bob after his impromptu nap on the way to the prison that morning, sending her a smile when the movie finally started. A young woman ran across a train station, politely apologising to everyone she nearly bumped into on her way to a coffee shop. Bob glanced down at Phoenix when she yawned, offering his shoulder.

“I won’t tell ‘em.”

She accepted the offer, leaning on his shoulder.

“Wake me if something happens.”

“Tash. Phoenix, wake up.”

Phoenix felt like she’d only just closed her eyes when Bob jolted her out of her doze, sitting upright.

“Wha? What’s wrong?”

“Look!”

Phoenix scrubbed at her eyes, glancing up at the screen. Her eyes widened and she reached over to wake Rooster.

“Look,” she hissed, “doesn’t that kind of look like-“

Rooster’s brows furrowed as his brain tried to wake up, probably in his REM stage considering what time it was back at home, then he connected the dots and snorted.

“It kinda looks like Bagman- huh... I wonder if that’s what those women were talking about earlier?”

“At the beach? You saw that?”

“No, at the coffee shop this morning. A woman came outta nowhere, asked Hangman for his autograph.”

The male lead in the movie started yelling and stripping, pulling his shirt off shortly followed by his shorts which were tossed into the trees. Rooster snorted.

“He looks so much like Bagman, I wonder if he has-“

Phoenix and Rooster’s heads tilted to the side, frowning.

“The ass dimple.”

Rooster turned to his other side, frantically shaking Hangman awake.

“Bagman, look! Your ass is in a movie!”

“Was that a dream? Did I dream that?”

Standing outside the theatre, waiting for their ubers to take them back to their hotel, the Daggers all turned to Hangman who looked like he was having an existential crisis.

“Nope, sorry man. Wasn’t a dream,” Rooster grinned. Phoenix jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, stifling her own snort. Bob glanced between them.

“How did you two figure it out again? The ass dimple?”

“That’s classified,” Phoenix commented at the same time Rooster said, “it was a long time ago.”

Hangman rolled his eyes, focusing on the parking area.

“Thanks for exposing me.”

“Anytime,” Rooster grinned. The uber drivers began to arrive and the Daggers paired off, splitting into the three cars. Maverick took the front seat of one of the cars, glancing over his shoulder at Rooster and Phoenix.

“Am I missing something?”

“No, Mav,” Rooster said easily, exchanging a look with his best friend who turned toward the window to stifle her giggles.

The next morning the Daggers eased into their day plans, having breakfast together in Rooster’s hotel room and then discussing what they wanted to do. JD, who met them a little after they finished eating, suggested a ferry ride out to Rottnest Island.

“Wait- isn’t that where you can see a quokka?” Fanboy asked. JD nodded.

“They roam all over the island out there, it’s almost certain you’ll see at least one.”

“JD I’m guessing you already got tickets?”

Maverick glanced over at JD.

“We should get going though if we’re going to get there in time. The ferry is a decent drive out of the city. Everyone should take plenty of water and sunscreen but there is a general store on the island.”

“That’s great- Hangman, are you alright?”

Hangman glanced up, shaking his head.

“Rough night. I’m good.”

Phoenix and Rooster snickered whilst Payback covered his laugh with a cough. Maverick’s eyes passed over the Daggers then he smiled at JD.

“Let’s go.”

The ferry ride was surprisingly smooth on the way over, the water steady enough that Bob took to reading the brochures nearby without motion sickness and Rooster had a short nap on the seat against the window. By the time they got to the island Bob was full of knowledge- mainly about the local wildlife.

“Guys, I wonder how many snakes we’re gonna see? Apparently they release them on to this island all the time.”

Phoenix’s eyes darted to Bob, glaring at him.

“What?”

“Yeah, the Western Australia government relocates snakes out here instead of letting them- y’know.”

“Die?” Payback filled in, but his eyes were firmly on the ground as though he was looking for any signs of said reptilian attacker. Hangman’s lips quirked upwards.

“They’ve never seen a rattlesnake-“

“-did you not see that video they played on the plane ride over? Tiger snakes are aggressive and dangerous,” Phoenix interrupted as she threw her hands in the air. JD laughed at the Daggers.

“Tiger snakes aren’t social creatures; the only reason they’d come into populated locations like this is if their habitat was invaded or there was insufficient food. The conservation teams out here are great with snake monitoring and they’re all qualified to relocate them. It’s not the tiger snakes you need to worry about, though; we have a dugite snake population out here and they’re highly poisonous.”

“A what?” Rooster asked. Bob dug out his phone and after a quick search showed Rooster said snake. The others watched the colour drain from his face.

“That’s terrifying.”

“Stick to the paths, and most importantly if you see one don’t move, just let it go on its way. It’s very rare that a snake comes anywhere near here but we like to be aware of our surroundings.”

JD gestured to the first café he saw.

“C’mon; I believe you guys could use a coffee.”

“Do you guys have a break every ten minutes for coffee? Goddamn,” Rooster muttered. Despite his comment he still jogged to catch up with the others, ready for a caffeine hit.

“Bagman what’s your coffee count at?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mickey, you’re walking so close to me I’m getting claustrophobic. What are you doing?”

Reuben glanced over at his wizzo who was indeed standing quite close, frowning at him. Fanboy cleared his throat, scooting over a little.

“Sorry man; the snake talk freaked me out.”

“Me too but I’m not being snake bait so you’re gonna have to walk like a normal person. C’mon Mickey, we literally fly death traps for work!”

“And fun!” Hangman called, a couple metres behind them. Fanboy glanced over his shoulder to glare at the caffeinated aviator, turning back to face toward the rest of the track.

“I fuckin’ hate snakes, I never made peace with ‘em-“

“-make peace?”

Payback burst out laughing, doubling over as he gasped between laughter. Fanboy rolled his eyes.

“What a great partner you are. Thanks for the support.”

“Make peace!”

“What’s got him so wound up?” Coyote asked as he passed the couple on the walking track, Rooster and Phoenix ahead with JD whilst Bob had stayed back with Maverick and they were talking between themselves.

“Mickey has just told me he wants to make peace with a snake,” Payback said, stifling his laughter. Coyote’s eyebrow twitched as he tried not to smile.

“That sounds like something that could get us in trouble with the locals.”

“Fuck you- both of you!”

Coyote and Payback broke into laughter, standing around long enough that Maverick, Bob and Hangman caught up to them. Hangman opened his mouth to start talking but Bob easily slid a palm over it.

“That’s enough from you. What’s so funny?”

“We were thinking of going to the zoo later to see if Fanboy can face his little snake phobia,” Payback said. Bob snorted.

“I’m in.”

“You’re all mean as hell,” Fanboy groaned, “I’m hanging out with Hangman now. C’mon Hangman.”

“No one tells me what to do-“

“-Seresin, get a move on!”

“Coming Mav!”

Maverick had kept going around the teasing; Hangman took off to catch up to Maverick and Bob sent the others a look.

“He’s gonna crash hard any second now. Be prepared.”

“Oh, we’re ready.”

The search for a quokka took a little longer than expected; it was only that they stopped the lap around the island for a bathroom break that Phoenix saw one whilst she was waiting for the guys.

“Ohhhhhh holy shit!”

JD, standing on the other side of the track, smiled at her.

“They’re cute aren’t they?”

The closer Phoenix got the more confused she was.

“It looks like a rat!”

“That one’s probably got a bit of somethin’, you know how it is.”

“But- but all the celebrity photos- they’re cute!”

“I appreciate that, Phoenix,” Rooster said when he appeared. Phoenix whipped around, phone in hand.

“Roos! Look, a quokka!”

“What the fuck is that?!”

Rooster backed away from the quokka, an eyebrow raised.

“Why does it look like that?”

“Bradley, respect!” Maverick scolded as he came out, giving Rooster a quick swat up the back of his head. Rooster pointed toward his feet where the quokka had decided to hang out and Maverick grinned.

“Look at that! Hey little guy, what are you doing down there, huh?”

“Mav, I think it’s got mange,” Rooster winced. Then he smirked.

“Wait here, maybe it’ll bite Hangman. Hey, Seresin-“

Phoenix laughed when Rooster went to turn back into the bathrooms, only stopped by Maverick who caught him by the arm.

“Not now, there’s witnesses- hey, JD.”

JD laughed as he watched Rooster and Maverick, Phoenix rolling her eyes as she took a couple photos of the quokka.

“Bloody hell mate, you lot are cooked,” JD laughed. The others emerged from the bathrooms, Payback pausing when he realised Phoenix was taking photos.

“Hey, Fanboy look, snake!”

A kid in the background, having overheard Payback, screamed for his mother and Hangman burst out laughing.

“Aw, man, Payback, you made a kid cry. No more quokkas for you.”

That night, Maverick and JD organised a pit fire at JD’s (despite fire regulations, they were very aware there was some law bending going on there) as well as beer and fire-grilled steak (Hangman’s mouth started watering when JD mentioned it). A couple kilometres out of the city JD’s parents had a small farm and when the Daggers got there they had a fire going in the fire pit, steak almost ready to go on the fire and cold beer in the esky nearby. They all gathered around the fire and Bob reached for a bottle of water.

“Hey, JD, I forgot to ask; are dropbears real?”

JD hummed. Winked at Bob who smirked.

“Mate, we try not to talk about it, but we’ve seen a lot of ‘em around here lately. Just don’t go out the back when it gets darker, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Coyote leaned back in his chair, beer in hand.

“What the fuck is a dropbear?”

“Wait; you guys don’t know what a dropbear is?” Bob started. Phoenix put down her raspberry Cruiser, something she’d been handed by JD’s girlfriend.

“How do you not know what a dropbear is?”

Rooster scoffed.

“Oh c’mon, everyone knows what a dropbear is-“

“-shhh!”

Phoenix elbowed him in the ribs, putting a finger to her lips to shush him. Hangman was leaning forward, interested.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s a dropbear?”

“A killer koala; mate, they have these gnarly teeth, and these claws that can claw through- well, anything!”

Coyote gaped.

“Killer koalas?”

Maverick snorted, watching Phoenix and Bob exchange a look. JD piped up then.

“Mate, dropbears... they’re terrifying. One night, my dad, he went into the bush looking for some firewood when we were camping... came out covered in scratches. The only thing that could do that, well...”

JD took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. Everyone glanced around, eyebrows furrowed.

“He’s not serious... right?”

Hangman was the first to speak up, but he shut his mouth when JD turned to him.

“Deadly serious, mate. You don’t stand under a tree after dark out here.”

“Right,” Hangman scoffed, “y’know we can read. There’s no way dropbears are real.”

Bob raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

The beer and steak around the fire was a great idea, and everyone was in high spirits as they got ready to go back to the city. By the time they were climbing into the van they were giggling to themselves about how loud Rooster had yelled when he’d gone to pee behind a tree, heard rustling and thought it was a dropbear coming to eat him alive. The good news was Bob definitely wasn’t going to eat him but he wasn’t going to let him forget it either. The nerves about the panel the following morning had mostly dissipated, Rooster himself even saying he was ready to tell the story to an audience rather than explaining his every move to Cyclone because he had to. Maverick had taken one look at him as he climbed into the van then passed him a huge bottle of water and reminded him that even if he was hungover he still had to show up. Hangman finally had his caffeine crash and was snoring in the back of the van- Phoenix had wanted to draw on him in retaliation for every dumb stunt he’d pulled but Coyote had frantically shaken his head at her; he’d been rooming with Hangman and he was like an energiser bunny on a good day. Payback and Fanboy were quiet as they took their seats, still googling dropbears to see if there was anything to those rumours even though JD swore on his mum’s life that he really was just shit stirring. Bob was still thinking about the huntsman spider he’d seen in a brochure and was reaching to shake out his boots just in case putting them back on earlier hadn’t been enough to kill whatever may have snuck in there.

“Hey, Mav?”

Maverick glanced over his shoulder at Phoenix as they walked into the hotel lobby, ready to sleep for a million years. As much as he’d tired the Daggers out he’d exhausted himself too.

“Yes, Tash?”

“Tonight was a really good idea. Thanks.”

“Thank JD; it was mostly his idea, I just bought the steak.”

“But still. We’ve been so busy ever since the... y’know. We’re here for the conference but this... this feels like a vacation too and I think we needed it.”

Maverick smiled.

“We all need breaks sometimes.”

“Even you?”

“I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation day unless it was forced- wait, yes I can. Bradley decked a kid at school. God, I’ll never forget that phone call. He was 12...”

As they headed into the elevator Maverick began to tell the tale, Phoenix hanging on his every word.

“And now we turn to the United States’ top aviators, the Dagger Squad.”

Maverick sat up in his seat, nudging Rooster under the table.

“Shoulders back,” he whispered, but apparently the microphones were sensitive enough to catch it and the group of Australian Navy personnel stared blankly. Maverick cleared his throat.

“We knew what we were facing going in. We had a steep mountain, g’s that tested our skills and the risk of fifth-generation fighters taking us out at any given moment.”

“Sir, who was the enemy?” Someone piped up from the crowd. Maverick cleared his throat.

“That’s classified. Now, in order to start our training, we spent a lot of time running simulations...”

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 11 months ago

Text

By: Michele Seminara

Published: Jan 4, 2024

My first exposure to what I now call “griftivism,” a hybrid of grifting and Critical Social Justice activism, occurred in the arts. It was 2020 when—in my role as managing editor of literary journal Verity La—I became embroiled in a social media cancellation precipitated by backlash to the publication of a story some deemed racist and sexist. The ensuing moral outrage razed our “little magazine that could” into internet infamy, where it remains strung up, replete with apologies, hanging its masthead in shame.

Verity means “truth,” and the journal’s motto was “Be Brave”—rendering its demise that little bit sorrier and sadder. The story that sank our publication depicted a disaffected Australian academic engaged in a sexual affair with a local woman while in the Philippines. The protagonist was uncomfortable with what the author described as the “patriarchal and colonial” power imbalance between his two characters, but not guilty enough to resist. He was an un-admirable and unreliable narrator, and in publishing the story, we sought to unveil an unsavory truth about how some men use women for casual sex. This truth was not well received.

What confounded me most about the backlash to the piece was not the mechanism of cancellation (if you’ve seen one online takedown, you’ve seen them all) but the beliefs and motivations of the cancellers, their supporters, and the silent mob of onlookers.

Upon examining this dynamic, I became aware of a new type of grifter who hitches their self-interest to activism and thrives in a culture hell-bent on “being kind”—or, at least, in appearing to be so. “Griftivists,” I call them.

The instigator of my cancellation was a colleague on the advisory board of our journal. Her bio on Ko-fi, an online “tip jar” to make “income directly from fans” proclaimed that she liked to “spread joy on social media, & care for others a lot.” Her Twitter feed was both a consummate work of self-curation and self-contradiction; earnest retweets from fellow social justice activists and scathing criticisms of “white people” (“Do not get me started on white men. Do not, ‘not all white’ me. I’m spicy today”) bookended daily selfies showcasing designer shoes, handbags, and dresses. Fine dining, trips to the theatre, and a steady stream of purchases sat incongruously beside tweets thanking followers for ostensibly essential UberEATS vouchers and requests to “buy her a Ko-fi” so that she could replace her cracked Miele cooktop or purchase a dehumidifier for her “damp” Sydney harbor-side apartment. Unbelievably, there was even a request for donations to enable the purchase of an alcoholic drink at the airport before boarding an international flight to go on vacation. Yet few seemed to notice the grift.

Someone that did was Sangeetha Thanapal, a Singaporean-Thamil writer and academic residing in Australia, who, in response to the plethora of praise showered on my colleague (“You are such a treasure. Such an advocate. Such a wonderful writer. We are lucky to have you in the world”), boldly tweeted, “It’s enraging to me that Singaporean Chinese people… who have access to every privilege and opportunity, can come here and play ‘person of colour.’ And y’all will fall for it cos you have zero understanding of the dynamics of race in Asia… This is why POC spaces in Australia will continue to shield privileged people like her while shutting out actually disadvantaged people like me.”

This surprised me. While I had no doubt that since moving to Australia my colleague had experienced racism, I hadn’t thought to question whether she was disingenuous to present herself as marginalized. She had, after all, grown up in a wealthy country as part of the dominant race and spoke English as her main language. Could she be appropriating disadvantage to her advantage, engaging in a kind of cultural double-dip to reap social and financial gain? For a lifelong small-l liberal, even entertaining the idea felt verboten.

* * *

Leading the charge in cancelling someone can be a profitable affair; in the cash-strapped arts, it can pay handsomely in the type of cultural capital that translates into invitations to publish work, speak at writers’ festivals, judge and win literary prizes, and secure competitive grants. In the year following the demise of my journal, my colleague succeeded in repurposing her tweets into a paid full-length article in a literary magazine, saw her Twitter followers burgeon from several hundred to nearly ten thousand, was featured in the news multiple times for her writing and social justice activism, and went on to receive two lucrative arts grants totaling seventy-five thousand dollars.

Of course, racism, disadvantage, and marginalization are real and must be challenged. Those dedicated to doing so have historically favored the left-wing of politics, a space heavily populated by my demographic: middle-class, educated white women (sometimes known as “bleeding hearts”). Having always been progressive, I was stunned by how swiftly and irrevocably I was recast during my cancellation as a “white supremacist.” A dreaded open letter signed by hundreds of my peers even demanded our funders withdraw their support for our “systemically racist” journal, despite the fact that we worked as volunteers and prioritized publishing and paying writers from marginalized demographics. Logically it made no sense; nonetheless, I was racked by guilt and shame.

However, after schooling myself in the recent trends in Western culture (a.k.a. scouring Twitter), my naiveté quickly resolved. I was both relieved and alarmed to discover that my case paled in comparison to more extreme pile-ons occurring around the world. Particularly in the arts, a space in which you might assume dissenting views could be aired and debated, there was a spate of ad hominem attacks being waged that seemed motivated by a mixture of moral certainty, self-advancement, and thinly veiled glee. As another Australian publisher confided to me when weathering their own public take-down, “One becomes a piñata.”

* * *

The moniker “Verity” in Verity La not only means “truth” but was inspired by the name of a once famous bookshop in Australia’s capital city, Canberra—which, in turn, was named after the inspirational woman who founded it. Verity Fitzhardinge brought literary culture to Canberra at a time when sheep still grazed on the paddocks of Old Parliament House and D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover was banned. From 1938-69, her bookshop was an oasis, a meeting place for thinkers, students and dissidents marooned in a cultural backwater. When Verity La was conceived in 2010, its founding editor happened to live on Verity Lane (rendered “Verity La.” on the street sign), and thus, the literary journal destined to live and die on the sword of its truth was born. Having no experience as an editor and no prescience, I enthusiastically took the helm in 2014 and would infamously go down with the ship just six years later.

After my cancellation, like the heterodox patrons gathered in Verity’s bookshop eighty years earlier, I sought comfort in knowing I was not alone. I discovered Counterweight, an organization established by author and academic Helen Pluckrose to help promote “reason and freedom by encouraging critical thinking” and support people like me who found themselves at odds with the new cultural climate. I devoured books, articles, and podcasts and realized that the verbal jabs thrown at me (“It’s not enough to be not racist, you have to be anti-racist!”) were not original but parroted from the rhetoric of far-left activism. As the 2020 global shitshow gathered steam, cultural commentators were warning that Critical Social Justice (CSJ)—a progeny of postmodernism and Critical Theory with roots in Marxism—had breached the walls of academia and was spreading its own divisive worldview.

CSJ was originally touted as a way to address “prejudice and discrimination on the grounds of characteristics like race, sex, sexuality, gender identity, disability and body size.” This certainly sounded rather positive to me. It appealed to my social conscience and to that of many others, as evidenced by the viral popularity of social media hashtags like #BlackLivesMatter and corporate advertising campaigns like Nike’s "For Once, Don’t Do It," urging Americans not to turn their backs on the issue of racism.

Yet, as I discovered, the stated goal of ending bigotry was soon subverted—hijacked, if you will—by those wishing to bend the truth to their own advantage.

Perhaps this should come as no surprise since CSJ was born of the postmodern view that knowledge is not objective, but socially constructed to maintain power. Critical theorists scrutinize structures, language, and social interactions to identify and dismantle oppressive power systems and dominant “truths.” This makes for an enlightening thought experiment, but in the wilds beyond academia, it’s easy to see how things might go awry. For if there is no objective yardstick for ranking truths, how will we know what to believe, and what values will we allow to guide us?

Enter the de-and-postcolonial theorists who argued for not only dismantling power systems such as white supremacy but inverting them. Drawing on their revolutionary vision, CSJ activists declared that those best placed to call out the oppressors’ false truths and design fairer alternatives are the ones who suffer oppression most: the marginalized. Perhaps because, in the absence of any method for judging the worth of one socially constructed thing against another, our safest bet is to run in the opposite direction of the powerful towards the powerless. But while it’s undeniably fair and wise to acknowledge, listen to, and learn from the experience of marginalized people, when groups who are viewed as oppressed are elevated to an unquestionable ethical status, problems predictably arise.

This has been evidenced in numerous social justice movements over the last decade (think #MeToo’s “Believe All Women” slogan), with activists claiming that lived experience trumps all other forms of knowledge and that the most marginalized person’s lived experience is the most valid. It follows that your right to engage in cultural and political dialogue is now dependent on your identity and positionality: the lower your position, the higher your status and the more weight your “truth” holds. Any skepticism is dismissed as racist, sexist, and so on. Even if you are a “marginalized” person whose dissenting views are inconvenient to the majority of activists within your group, you risk being diagnosed with “internalized” prejudice or dismissed as an “Uncle Tom.” Sadly, progressives have adopted this worldview with empathic gusto. I know I did. Many well-meaning people do. And so have corporations, universities, whole industries, and governments, effectively transforming the left—a formerly meager hunting ground for opportunists seeking power and reward—into a space fertile with possibilities for those on the grift.

The socially-enforced expectation that we not question the efficacy of progressive activist movements (or risk backlash and potential cancellation) has proved a godsend for the griftivist and has engendered what cultural commentators call a form of “new puritanism.” Whereas society used to judge morality according to religious and conservative values, now there is a shift to make the same judgments based on absolute acceptance of the tenets of CSJ. This has fostered a rigid leftist ideology equal to the far-right in both its pronouncements of acceptable truth and willingness to extinguish dissent. That may seem counterintuitive for a theory embedded in postmodern skepticism, but it’s perhaps not so surprising given human nature; as Lord Acton said, “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” There is now power in being oppressed (or at least in appearing to be) and by establishing themselves as the marginalized or their allies and espousing the requisite leftist beliefs whilst denouncing those who fail to do so, the unscrupulous griftivist—like the Wolf dressed in Grandma’s clothing—succeeds in veiling their selfish intent under a cloak of harmlessness and virtue. And soft-hearted progressives, not hip to the ruse, are being eaten up.

* * *

A 2023 study published in the journal Current Psychology by Ann Krispenz and Alex Bertrams of the University of Bern entitled “Understanding left-wing authoritarianism: Relations to the dark personality traits, altruism, and social justice commitment” provides insight into the psyche of the griftivist. First, researchers characterized left-wing authoritarianism (LWA) as comprising three interconnected factors: anti-conventionalism, top-down censorship, and anti-hierarchical aggression. “Anti-conventionalism” is a dogmatic endorsement of radical moral values coupled with a desire to impose them on others. “Top-down censorship” is the use of authority to quash opposition and suppress “offensive and intolerant” speech. And “anti-hierarchical aggression” is the drive to overthrow and punish those with power. Together these paint a recognizable, if somewhat disturbing, portrait of left-wing CSJ activism, where the most virulent proponents possess traits mirroring those we’re accustomed to seeing on the authoritarian far-right.

To better understand left-wing authoritarianism, researchers designed two studies exploring its relationship with narcissism and psychopathy, as well as its correlation with traits they defined as prosocial, like altruism and social justice commitment. They found that left-wing activists who endorse aggressive actions to overthrow those in power are more likely to demonstrate “manipulative and exploitative behaviors… self-perceived entitlement, arrogance, reactive anger, distrust, lack of empathy, and thrill-seeking.” They also found that “neither dispositional altruism nor social justice commitment was related to left-wing anti-hierarchical aggression.” In fact, they concluded that “some political activists on the left side of the political spectrum do not actually strive for social justice and the support of underprivileged groups or persons, but rather endorse or express violence for the satisfaction of their own ego-focused needs.” Meaning that the most strident and morally outraged CSJ activists might not be driven by the desire for social justice at all. Quite the opposite.

As Krispenz and Bertrams explained to the science news website PsyPost, left-wing activism provides bad-faith players with “opportunities for positive self-presentation and displays of moral superiority to gain social status and dominate others.” Worse, those who “strive for influential positions that involve social visibility and outreach as well as access to financial and other resources” will likely misuse progressive movements for private purposes and cause “irreparable financial and reputational harm.” Indeed, it would seem a significant number of those marching under the banner of “doing good” while extolling others to “do better” and “be kind” are impelled by selfish, devious, or even harmful motives. And some are just on the grift.

So concerned were the authors that they advised minority groups should be made aware of these “narcissistic ‘enemies’ from within” who might hijack their causes and whose behavior could lead to dwindling public support.

Furthermore, they identified a phenomenon they dubbed “the dark-ego-vehicle principle” in which “individuals with dark personalities—such as high narcissistic and psychopathic traits—are attracted to certain ideologies and forms of political activism.” For example, someone might “participate in a pro-BLM protest pretending to fight against racism while actually using such protesting activities to meet their own aggressive motives and thrills” or because “this form of activism can provide them with opportunities for positive self-presentation (e.g., virtue signaling).”

The trajectory of the discredited Black Lives Matter Global Network certainly bears this out. In the wake of George Floyd’s death in 2020, corporations and individuals desperate to demonstrate their CSJ credentials poured hundreds of millions of dollars into the organization globally. Happy to profit off the empathy (or, more cynically, the virtue-signaling) of those willing to donate to BLM, one of its founders, Patrisse Cullors, controversially bought a house worth $1.4 million. Another BLM organizer, Xahra Saleem, was recently jailed for stealing donations intended for a British “anti-racist” group. And there are still several lawsuits involving alleged misuse of BLM funds by members ongoing; as UnHeard journalist Niall Gooch noted: “When a cause is hedged around with taboos... to the extent that obvious questions about governance, spending and oversight are simply not asked, that cause will attract grifters like moths to a flame.”

Of course, activism per se is not psychopathic; Krispenz and Bertrams’ study merely confirms that for a confluence of reasons, leftist CSJ movements are currently attracting dark personality types. There are still many political activists who get involved for positive reasons. That’s a relief on the one hand, but a concern on the other; it suggests that the volatile world of left-wing activism is currently a murky meeting point of malignant griftivists and socially conscious bleeding hearts being manipulated into rewarding them. It’s a worrying trend that—once recognized—you begin to see everywhere.

Take, for example, my field: writing and publishing. The dirty secret behind the submissions wall is that many editors now read bios before even considering a writer’s work, and all know that the way to secure lucrative government funding is to tick as many diversity boxes on grant applications as possible. Of course, many (perhaps even the majority) of those working in publishing are motivated by good intentions and aim to nurture and platform underrepresented writers. However, it’s not a stretch to imagine that as publishers jostle to showcase the work of the marginalized, they might attract the attention of a canny griftivist.

One who twigged to these opportunities earlier than most was Norma Bagain Toliopoulos (otherwise known as Norma Khouri), who made a literary killing in the early 2000s with her “memoir” Forbidden Love. The book hinged on the false narrative of its author growing up in Jordan before fleeing on witnessing her best friend’s “honor killing.” Norma referred to herself as a “humanitarian” and claimed she wrote the memoir to give voice to the plight of oppressed Arab women, yet was not only found to have duped her worldwide readership, but was investigated by the FBI for having swindled lovers, friends, family, and even elderly and infirm strangers out of at least one million US dollars. Her ruse was uncovered after her publisher, Random House, received a twelve-page dossier from the Jordanian Women’s Commission outlining seventy-three factual errors and discrepancies they had noticed in the book. An eighteen-month investigation revealed that, far from being a Jordanian who fled her home, Khouri was an American passport holder who had lived in Chicago from the age of three. Rana Husseini, a Jordanian writer and human-rights activist who spent years actually exposing and working to eradicate her country’s honor killings, told journalists that by profiting off false narratives about Middle-Eastern women’s deaths and appropriating the work of activists, Khouri—like the opportunistic Dark Triad individuals Krispenz and Bertrams warn of—had effectively “ruined our cause.”

A no less scandalous case is that of Egyptian-Australian activist Eman Sharobeem, who grifted on a fake narrative of being forced to marry her first cousin as a child bride before escaping to Australia. She was a finalist in the 2015 Australian of the Year Awards and founded two publicly funded not-for-profit community organizations to assist immigrant women before being found guilty of fraud in 2017 for misappropriating upwards of $800,000 in public funds for personal use. Like Khouri, Sharobeem styled herself as a women’s rights activist while stealing from the marginalized communities she claimed to support. She wasn’t investigated until a group of determined migrant women working for one of her organizations repeatedly filed complaints about her financial misappropriation and bullying of staff. Only then was it discovered the prominent activist’s entire backstory was fabricated, including her claim to have two PhDs. When asked how such fragrant lies could pass unchecked, the Immigrant Women's Health Service board chairman Audrey Lai testified, “We trusted Eman. We thought she had such a good reputation and high profile in the community, we didn't check. It's not very wise in hindsight but unfortunately we were very gullible because we believed in her.”

* * *

Establishing belief in an oppressed identity, a common enemy, or a worthy cause, is central to the griftivists’ game. And it’s disturbingly easy because few of the precariously privileged who have the power to call out their lies are prepared to risk questioning the veracity of a social justice activist’s claims; their reputations and often livelihoods depend upon asserting the emperor is indeed clothed.

Instead, the dirty business of calling out the truth is often left to the people who can afford it least but who it affects the most: people from the marginalized communities that the griftivists leech off.

Take, for example, the case of Rachel Dolezal, a white woman whose career, memoir, and Netflix documentary were based on her identification as a black American. While some white commentators were quick to reach for explanations such as mental instability and childhood trauma to explain Dolezal’s bizarre behavior, many black critics accused her of exploiting the history of black suffering in order to opt into victimhood and co-opt lucrative leadership positions in the black community. One of the most intriguing aspects of Dolezal’s case is that she continues to uphold her black identity despite admitting to being biologically Caucasian, claiming that race is just a “social construct”—another example of how the postmodern elasticization of “truth” is artfully manipulated by griftivists.

Another sphere where griftivists opting into an oppressed identity to secure advantage has succeeded is in the gender versus sex debate, with some biological men exploiting society’s support for transgender people to enter previously sex-segregated spaces, often with disastrous results. After violent criminal Stephen Wood (who adopted the name Karen White) expediently claimed to be trans while awaiting trial for multiple sexual crimes and then reoffended while housed in a women’s prison, there was outrage from both the gender critical and trans communities. Many feminists claimed such outcomes were the inevitable result of the recent legal and social sanctioning of gender self-identification and used the case to demonstrate the incompatibility of all trans women in all women’s spaces. However, trans activists, such as Steph Richards, denied that Wood was transgender at all and argued that by claiming to be so with nefarious intent, he had created a public and media backlash that harmed the trans rights movement. Indeed, in 2023, the British Ministry of Justice tightened its rules in an effort to curtail people of bad faith exploiting policies designed to keep inmates of all genders safe. As Richards pointed out, “Wood was very aware that the Prison Service procedures at that time (they have subsequently changed) meant that he could self-identify as a trans woman and easily get transferred to the female estate. This offered Wood two significant advantages... Firstly he himself would be in a safer environment... Secondly, he would be close to vulnerable cisgendered females and trans women—potentially more victims.” Yet another case where a malevolent griftivist exploited the empathy and damaged the reputation of the social justice movement that harboured him.

Griftivists and their cons come in many shapes and sizes—from hate crime hoaxes, to identity appropriation, to outrageously priced diversity dinners—but what they share is a canny eye for the opportunities created by Critical Social Justice ideology and a willingness to trade on progressive guilt in order to advance their own ends, often while destroying their competitors with allegations of bigotry. It’s beyond dispiriting.

In his essay ‘The Curse of the Man Who Could See the Little Fish at the Bottom of the Ocean,” sinologist Pierre Ryckmans pondered belief, truth and lies after the ruthlessness of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) was confirmed in the wake of the Tiananmen Square massacre. For twenty years prior to the massacre, Ryckmans (who wrote for security reasons under the pen name Simon Leys) was a rare dissenting voice in the West. His warnings about the Chinese regime were drowned out by leftist media, academics, and film stars who were convinced that the Maoist Revolution was a net good. When asked how the world could have failed to recognize the reality of the CCP for so long, Ryckmans chose to ponder a much more profound question: “How and why do we usually endeavor to protect ourselves against the truth?” For, as he noted, the truth can be disturbing, inconvenient, and dangerous to acknowledge. Perhaps this explains why, in a culture captured by Critical Social Justice, we’re committed to not seeing certain obvious but unpopular “truths,” or to bending the truth so far out of shape with clever theories that it essentially becomes meaningless.

With a nuance atypical by today’s standards, Ryckmans’ article outlines the varied reasons people might choose to believe lies, even in the face of evidence to the contrary: “What people believe is essentially what they wish to believe. They cultivate illusions out of idealism—and also out of cynicism. They follow their own visions because doing so satisfies their religious cravings, and also because it is expedient. They seek beliefs that can exalt their souls, and that can fill their bellies. They believe out of generosity, and also because it serves their interests. They believe because they are stupid, and also because they are clever. Simply, they believe in order to survive. And because they need to survive, sometimes they could gladly kill whoever has the insensitivity, cruelty, and inhumanity to deny them their life-supporting lies.”

The lies peddled by CSJ activism and exploited by griftivists are not ones we are supposed to question, and yet, everyone does—in their minds, in their hearts, and in private rooms and messages, away from the censorious and punitive eyes and ears of ideologues.

We question privately because to do so publicly risks joining the ranks of the cancelled, becoming one of the shunned. Calling out griftivists can extract a heavy personal and professional price.

One of the more tragic examples in recent years is that of Canadian school principal Richard Bilkszto who took his own life after being publicly shamed for questioning Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion trainer Kike Ojo-Thompson during a Zoom presentation in which she claimed that Canada was a bastion of “white supremacy and colonialism.” The Toronto District School Board has finally announced an investigation into Bilkszto’s tragic case, but not before two years of bullying, disbelief, and social media pile-ons fatally took their toll. While his family must continue without him, Bilkszto’s peers who smeared him as racist for merely questioning Ojo-Thompson’s “truth” have prevailed.

Human rights activist Ginetta Sagan wrote that “silence in the face of injustice is complicity with the oppressor.” The questions we might ask in cases like Bilkszto’s are: where was the injustice and who was the oppressor? Or perhaps it’s time to drop the often-weaponized framework of oppressor and oppressed entirely for something that has the potential to unite us.

I imagine only a handful who took part in my cancellation did so out of self-interest or spite. Most believed the “truth” my detractors spun, and those who didn’t played along or stayed silent for fear of joining the ranks of the cancelled. Their fears were well-founded; the power of the scarlet letter is frighteningly real. To disarm the griftivists and limit the harm they cause their victims and the justice movements they claim to champion, more of us must fight for what Verity La tried to: truth and the bravery to face it. By doing so, and by speaking up, we can strip the Wolf of Grandma’s clothing and unveil bad-faith players.

#Michele Seminara #griftivism #grifting #social justice activism #critical social justice #machiavellianism #Richard Bilkszto #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity training #equity #inclusion #diversity #hate crime hoax #religion is a mental illness

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