#european wine importers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

textmel8r · 26 days

Text

[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eighth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try.

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak.

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass.

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail.

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in.

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance.

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips.

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him.

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.”

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around.

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now.

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other.

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle.

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline.

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume @killerkinnie

1K notes · View notes

nats--sw · 7 days

Text

Gold chain (pt1) | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x tennis player!reader For the past year, Leah had been a big fan of yours, and now her mother wasn't missing any opportunity to tease her during Roland Garros. warnings: none, just fluff and slow burn note: this one is long (maybe?), sorry about that. The next part has more Leah and reader interactions, I promise. This was written with an oc, i changed everything at the last minute so sorry if there are any mistakes there,, pt2 my masterlist

Leah Williamson, England captain, European champion, Miss Arsenal.

That was how she was publicly recognised within the world of football, a sport that had always been her passion, but lately, or rather, since she had been invited to Wimbledon in 2023, she had begun to share some of that passion with tennis.

She explained to everyone that she fell in love with tennis during a deep conversation with the legendary Billie Jean King. While there was truth to that, tennis didn't captivate her so much because of the sport itself, but rather because of a certain player, who since that Wimbledon semifinal, Leah had watched almost all of her matches.

“Believe me, that girl Y/N is great, don't let this match fool you” Billie had muttered to her after witnessing your unfortunate loss in the last set.

And who was Leah to doubt the words of the greatest tennis player in history?

Since then, Leah has managed to watch as many of your matches as possible. And yes, you were undeniably beautiful, but what truly captivated Leah was the elegance with which you played. Each swing of your racket held a mesmerizing grace that left Leah spellbound every time.

And now, with a break after the final game of the European qualifiers, it was the opportunity for a holiday.

"Hey, Leah!" Georgia barged into her room on the last day of camp, now that they were back in England. "Got any plans for this week?"

"Yeah," Leah replied, without giving any details, more focused on packing her suitcase than engaging in conversation with her friend.

"Where? With who?" Georgia asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. She knew Leah tended to keep her romantic interactions with girls in private, not just from the public but even from her own friends.

"With my mom, you idiot," Leah replied, rolling her eyes. "We're headed to France."

"Now? What's so interesting about France?" she asked, with a look of disgust on her face. Sure, there were plenty of interesting things to do in France, but Georgia didn't want to hear anything related to that country for a couple of days.

"Roland Garros? Does that ring a bell for you?" Leah retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"Huh? Since when do you go to another country for a tennis match?"

"My mom likes it" Leah lied smoothly, without any hint of shame. If only Georgia knew that Leah had sweetened the deal for her mother with promises of fine wines and breathtaking views post-match.

"Well, that's too bad... but text me if your plans change,"

Leah nodded, though it was in vain because she wouldn't change going to France to see her favorite tennis player.

"Who are we rooting for?" Amanda said, taking a sip of her drink, not really interested in what was happening on the clay.

"Uh, we're impartial," Leah said, settling back in her seat.

Four games had already been played, each player winning their respective games.

"I have a feeling we're rooting for the girl in the white visor," her mother said.

Leah looked at her, pulling her sunglasses down a little. "What?"

"Well, you make a face every time the other player makes a point."

Leah said nothing to that comment, her attention had returned to you, now one point away from managing to break your opponent's serve. It was an important match, a semifinal, so every point would be valuable to put you in the final of the tournament.

Still not saying anything back to her mother, Leah held her breath for a few seconds. The ball was going back and forth across the court, but you, with impressive precision, hit the ball with a spin that made it graze the top of the net. For a moment, it seemed like it might fall short, but the ball dropped just over, catching your opponent off guard.

"Wonderful" muttered Leah, crossing her arms with a smile, ready to enjoy the rest of the match.

There were times when tennis was mentally overwhelming. You felt this every time you played, and it had cost you a lot of matches in the past. A whole court filled with hundreds of people, all watching you, many anxiously waiting for you to make a mistake that could cost you the match. It was more than overwhelming.

That's why, at times, you had to pause your mind and take a deep breath, despite how difficult that was for you.

You only needed one more game to win the set and secure a place in the Roland Garros final. No pressure, of course.

The advantage was that you were serving in this game, but ironically, this often made you even more nervous. The pressure of delivering a strong serve was immense.

The crowd was overwhelming, so many eyes watching you, so many unfamiliar faces focused on you, watching every move, your family and team sitting behind you. In this position you couldn’t look at them to calm down.

You needed to focus your eyes on something, to steady your nerves. As you walked towards your position, after drying your face with the towel, you looked in a diagonal direction, right towards the area where you were supposed to put the ball.

As you raised your gaze slightly, something caught your eye. In the stands, amid a sea of blonde and brown heads, was a woman with striking red hair. The woman stood out, not only because of her hair, but also because she was the only person not looking at you, instead, her attention was elsewhere.

You stole a glance at the red-haired woman as you inhaled deeply, preparing for your serve. With a fluid motion, you raised her arm, tossed the ball into the air and delivered a powerful strike.

Ace!

The ball zipped across the court with velocity, catching your opponent off guard. Convinced it would fly out, your opponent made no attempt to chase after it.

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips.

Once more, your gaze flickered toward the red-haired woman in the stands. Drawing another deep breath, you focused intensely as you prepared to serve again. With a determined flick of your wrist, you sent the ball hurtling across the court, this time, your aim wasn’t for an ace, but rather to set up a play that would complicate the things for your opponent.

Within minutes the score stood at 40-15. Just one more point.

You didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but you craved to close the match with a decisive point, one point to make it clear why you were here.

So, you adjusted your visor, brushed your fingers over the gold chain hanging from your neck and looked up, for the first time looking directly at the woman, not even getting a good look at her, because the woman was quite far away, but the woman's disinterest helped you to clear your head and focus your mind, ignoring the bunch of other faces watching you.

Just one more point.

You lifted the ball, the familiar weight of your racket in your hand, a quiet groan escaping your lips before you swung. Then, the sound of the impact echoed through the entire court and as the ball bounced on the clay.

Ace!

Leah was up from her seat at the same time as you fell backwards onto the clay.

"That was incredible," Leah exclaimed, joining the chorus of applause.

"Incredible?" Amanda asked without understanding that much. However, what truly caught her off guard was the sight of her daughter like that, grinning from ear to ear. It was common to see her like that when it came to football matches, but not usually during tennis.

"Are you kidding? It was phenomenal! If you hadn't been glued to your phone, you’d have felt the same as the rest of us!" Leah retorted.

"So, did we win?" Amanda inquired.

"Well, you have won a few more days in France," Leah replied, attempting to temper her excitement. "The final is in two days."

"Do we have tickets?”

"Of course, I purchased them in advance. I already knew Y/N would make it to the finals."

Amanda regarded her daughter suspiciously. "You're not into gambling, are you?"

"Of course not," Leah replied with a grin. "But if I were to bet on her I'd do pretty well”

As they made their way toward the exit, following the crowd, Amanda broke the silence. "Do you know that player?"

"No… not personally" Leah replied "But I watched her play at Wimbledon last year."

"Did she win?"

"No" Leah shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her expression. "She lost"

"So, she's not that good?"

"Actually, she's quite impressive," Leah defended you. "She went up against the number two player in the world."

"What rank is she?" Amanda inquired.

"Four," Leah answered.

"Then she's not the best," Amanda said confidently.

"Mom!" Leah nudged her playfully while Amanda held back her laughter. "You couldn't even hit the ball."

"Neither could you, I remember your attempts at tennis when you were little," Amanda chuckled. "But what I don't get is why you're defending her so much"

"Because she's great, she’s talented! Look over there!" Leah pointed behind her, where a large screen displayed the game's results alongside your photo.

Amanda's eyes immediately gravitated toward the image, ignoring the points table. "And she's quite pretty," she remarked, studying your face for the first time.

"And she's talented," Leah emphasized, feeling a blush creeping up her ears. Thankfully, her hair concealed it from her mother's curious gaze.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Amanda replied with a smile.

It was a tough match, quite a tough match, but that's what you would expect in a Roland Garros final.

The first set ended 6-4 in favor of Iga Swiatek.

You had faced her numerous times throughout your professional career, but had never managed to defeat her in an official match. Despite your old friendship with Iga, there was an undeniable intensity when you two met on the court, and you were determined to shine this time.

As the first set concluded, you sank into your chair, you had to use the break to ease the tension in your legs. Uncapping your water bottle, your fingers instinctively found the gold chain around your neck, adorned with your initials. It may have seemed superstitious, but wearing it had always brought you luck on the court.

Suddenly, your coach's voice pierced the distance, signaling for you to relax and loosen up your play. You brushed off the advice, as if you hadn't already realized that. Ignoring your coach's guidance was risky, but you already had your own voice in your mind against you.

Taking a long sip of water, you refocused your gaze forward. Then, something caught your attention.

The same woman from the previous match was in the stands again. You hadn't noticed her before, too engrossed in your opponent. Again, that was the key to your game, you needed to block out distractions and focus on yourself and the ball. Just like you had done during the semifinal match, you needed to tune out everything else.

"How many points before your girl loses?" Amanda said, glancing sideways at Leah, who was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and a faint blush on her cheeks. According to Leah it was from the sun hitting her face, but Amanda knew her daughter well enough.

"Don't pester me, now's not the time," Leah replied, sitting up straight in her seat and adjusting her sunglasses.

"I'm not pestering you, but you claimed that girl was fantastic. Yet, from what I've seen today, the other player seems better to me."

"Well, she's number one after all"

"So, you admit she's the best."

Leah rolled her eyes. "Y/N just needs to take a breath. After this break she'll bounce back, you'll see. She'll shut your mouth"

"If you say so."

And so it happened. You had won the second set 4-6, breaking Iga's serve at the crucial moment. The victory was almost surreal, even Leah found it hard to believe.

"Stop biting your nails," her mother said, giving Leah's leg a slap as she saw her nervous habit.

"She's going to win," Leah said without looking at her mother, her gaze fixed on you, as you refreshed yourself by wetting your hair before the final set.

"Leah, you've been saying that since yesterday," Amanda remarked, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in her tone.

"I’m excited," Leah defended.

Amanda shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "If she wins, will you approach her?"

"Are you being serious?" she said, shaking her head "What would I even say?" Leah replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"You've been crushing over her for days. I've never seen you like this with someone you don't even know," Amanda teased.

"It's not a crush. I just admire her athletic ability and determination, that's all," Leah insisted.

"Well, then you two have something in common. I don’t see why you don’t talk to her"

"Because... I just don't," Leah stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"What a coward," Amanda teased.

The set stood at 4-5 in your favor, but now it was Iga's turn to serve, and she was already in position. You shifted your weight from side to side, preparing for the shot, a smile gracing your lips as you caught sight of the red-haired woman just above Iga’s head. The woman had become your anchor, helping you refocus on your game.

It was almost amusing, thinking that no one else existed in the crowd, just you and the woman. You could tell the woman wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in the clay. You often caught the woman glancing at her phone during the set. Yet, you found solace in playing as if you were solely performing for the woman.

However, you didn’t forget the game at hand, swiftly responding to each shot with your racket, rallying back and forth several times before you had a moment of brilliance that allowed you to execute a breathtaking drop shot in the opposite direction of Iga's sprint.

It was the highlight of the tournament, perhaps even of your career, your best point. Yet, when you glanced up and noticed the red-haired woman looking away, you couldn't help but chuckle.

With the score now at 40-AD, you needed just one more point to clinch your first grand slam title. As Iga's shot came straight towards your body, you managed to get your racket in position to return the ball. The exchange of the ball was intense, this time you had to sprint to reach a ball you never thought you could. You struck it with the edge of your racket, hoping for the best as the ball sailed toward the line.

As you watched the ball clear the net, you felt the light weight of your gold chain around your neck and remembered that luck was on your side this time.

Everything happened in slow motion as Iga dropped her racket to the ground, and moments later, you found yourself on your knees on the clay court, the crowd erupting into cheers around you.

You didn't know how, but now you were already in the stands, being hugged by your family and your team, with your coach by your side, trying to shake some of the clay off your clothes.

"I need you to do me a favor" you said to him before the tournament staff took you away for the trophy presentation.

As Leah and her mother descended the stairs toward the exit, Leah couldn't contain her excitement. "I told you Y/N would win," she exclaimed, her hand firmly grasping her mother's arm. The trophy presentation had concluded, and the crowd was beginning to disperse.

"It was luck," Amanda teased her daughter, though she couldn't deny her surprise at your remarkable turnaround.

"We should have placed a bet. We would have won"

"At least I won't have to endure your grumpy face during dinner," Amanda said with a playful smirk.

Leah rolled her eyes as they walked through the crowd.

"Excuse me!" A man's voice behind them interrupted their conversation. Leah's eyes widened as she recognized him. "This might sound strange… but Y/N wants to see you," the man explained to Amanda, who didn't understand the situation at all, her daughter didn’t either.

Leah felt a tug on the arm her mother was holding on.

"Uh-"

"It's Y/N's coach," Leah clarified to her mother.

"And she wants to see me?" Amanda asked.

The man nodded awkwardly. "I wish I could offer more explanation, but Y/N is sometimes unpredictable."

After a moment of contemplation, Amanda flashed a mischievous smile and nodded, gripping her daughter's arm even tighter. "Sure, take us to her."

Leah's heart raced. How was it possible that she was going to meet her crush the athlete she admired thanks to her mother?

Your coach, after a few minutes of walking in silence, led them through a door into a room where you were lying on a couch, eyes closed.

"Hey, Y/N. Your guests are here," your coach announced, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You quickly opened your eyes and stood up, ignoring the fact that you had just played a two-hour match less than half an hour ago.

You were no longer wearing your visor and your shoes, but you were still in your white uniform with lilac accents. Leah couldn't help but notice that your socks were now stained with clay.

"Y/N L/N" you introduced yourself, extending your hand toward Amanda. Your attention seemed focused on Amanda, oblivious to Leah standing behind her. "I'm introducing myself because I have a slight feeling you don't know me," you said with a smile.

"Amanda," she said, shaking your hand. "Don't worry, I know who you are. A little voice hasn't stopped repeating your name since we arrived in France."

Leah blushed and glanced away.

"Oh," you released Amanda's hand and turned to the blonde, whom you hadn't noticed during either match. "Shouldn't I introduce myself then?" you asked, extending your hand toward Leah.

"No need," Leah said, feeling her mother's not-so-subtle nudge as you extended your hand. "My name is Leah, and I'm a big fan of yours."

"Your number one fan," Amanda chimed in with a smile.

"Mom!" Leah protested, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You released Leah's hand and turned to Amanda.

"She brought me all the way from England just to see you," Amanda explained, noticing the way you were looking at her daughter.

"England?" you asked, curious about the mention of England.

"Yes, we're from England," Leah confirmed.

"And my daughter is the captain of—"

"Mom, no!" Leah interjected, her cheeks turning pink as she attempted to silence her mother's impending revelation.

You couldn't help but laugh at Leah's embarrassment, finding the exchange amusing.

"Why are we here?" Leah asked before her mother could continue.

"Oh, right," you replied, regaining your composure. "I wanted to thank you," you said, turning to Amanda and clasping your hands behind your back.

"Me?" "Her?" Amanda and Leah exclaimed simultaneously, surprised by your words.

"Yes," You said softly, your gaze shifting to Leah, a smile returning to your face. "Since the semifinal match, I noticed your mother in the stands. Although, it's hard not to see her," you added, gesturing towards Amanda's red hair. "She was the only person in the whole court who wasn't looking at me. Thanks to her, I was able to concentrate and win. It may sound silly but—"

"Oh, don't worry honey," Amanda interjected. "They usually tell me that I bring good luck in big games," she said, nodding towards Leah with her thumb.

"You're an athlete? Sorry, what was your name again? I don't have a good memory with names," you said, this time blushing slightly.

"Honey, Leah is the captain of the England team," Amanda clarified, speaking on behalf of her daughter.

"Oh... Football? Volleyball?" You inquired.

"Yes, football," Leah replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life, not even as a child.

You glanced Leah up and down once more. You had never imagined a football player could dress so stylishly. You found yourself so engrossed in observing Leah's attire that you only snapped back to reality when your coach cleared his throat.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure to thank you for your help, even if you didn't realize it," you said, pulling an autographed tennis ball out of your pocket. "I'm not sure how valuable this is to you, but perhaps your daughter will appreciate it," you added with a laugh, glancing sideways at Leah. "Well, I must be off now, interviews and all that," you explained, walking away to grab your bag. "Hope to see you two at Wimbledon," you said, winking at Amanda before leaving.

The next day, Leah found herself at the airport, keeping an eye on their suitcases while her mother went to grab something to eat. Suddenly, a notification on her phone caught her off guard.

Y/N_kz started following you

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #leah williamson imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader

779 notes · View notes

imaginesig · 28 days

Text

“Could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived”

pt2: "Ditch the clowns, get the crown / baby I'm the one to beat"

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

The reader is a singer-songwriter who just broke up with long term fiancé Lewis Hamilton. Of course she wrote a gut wrenching album to cope.

This is gonna be a lot of shitting on Lewis— absolutely no hate! I just love a good heartbreak and the Tortured Poets Department

Also dates aren’t accurate bc I don’t have time to worry abt all that and I totally stole all of this from real life- not an ounce of originality

yn_ln

Liked by lewishamilton, mercadesamgf1, user28, and 928,928 others

yn_ln: pinky promise to always by your side 🏎️

Tagged: lewishamilton

lewishamilton pinky promise to always be by YOUR side

yn_ln ♥️

mercadesamgf1 always a pleasure to host our pop princess!

yn_ln always a pleasure to be hosted!!

user1 looks always kill in the paddock

user2 ugh to be in the F1 paddock watching my driver fiancee on weekends I'n not touring

user3 stunning!!

user4 the pinky promise makes me physically ill😭

user5 fr WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN

carmenmmundt gorgeous! Always a good time with you 🫶

yn_ln dinner soon?

carmenmmundt yes please!!

Load more comments

lewishamilton

Liked by yn_ln, user2, mercadesamgf1, and 810,298 others

lewishamilton: could’ve been better but back to work for next week

Tagged: yn_ln

user1 being a Hamilton fan used to be fun, I used to be happy

user2 the second photo is so fanfic coded I can't

user3 omg yes!!

user4 maybe Ferrari will be championship #8

user5 hottest couple in the paddock

mercadesamgf1 watch out Australia 👊💥

yn_ln

Liked by lewishamilton, sabrinacarpender, user92, and 929,290 others

yn_ln: Argentina I’m so glad we were able to dance my best dress with you! Until next time 🫶🎇

tagged: no one

user1 BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE

user2 babe wake up a dancing Taylor post just dropped

sabrinacarpender such an electric crowd!!

yn_ln thank you for your hype work

lewishamilton: wonderful show once again!!

user3 best night ever

user4 AHHH STUNNING

user5 manifesting tickets so hard rn

lewishamilton posted a story

Caption: Help me hold on to you ♥️

ynupdates

Liked by user1, user5, user9, and 819,109 others

ynupdates: Superstar Y/n L/n and boyfriend Lewis Hamilton after her show in Argentina!!

tagged: lewishamilton, yn_ln

user1 LMAO the update account rlly said she's everything and he's just Ken

user2 the wine was iconic!!

user3 omg that's my photo!!

user4 we thank you for your service

user5 you know she was jumping with joy bc of those boots

user6 omg irl! I can't imagine how her feet feel after heels all show

user7 they are so sweet

user8 get yourself a man who takes you out after work

user9 my fav couple fr fr

Twitter—

yn_ln

liked by sabrinacarpender, carmenmmundt, user9, and 928,029 others

ln_yn: Round of applause for Brazil for their incredible rain show!!

tagged no one

user1 the first pic 😳

user2 chills, literal chills

user3 the entire vibes of the whole show was wow

user4 I agree and I was watching through a fuzzy live stream

user5 anybody else need illicit affairs (angry verson) on Spotify now

user6 me me me!!

user7 Y/n make it happen

user8 it kinda felt personal ngl

user9 best night ever!! I went as fearless in a gold dress and to say I danced in a storm in my “best dress” with Y/n was incredible!!

user10 omg that’s so lucky!!

yn_ln

liked by user92, sabrinacarpender, girlsinred, and 928,929 others

yn_ln: Thank you South America for welcoming me with open arms for this leg of the tour!! I will miss you all dearly over break but rest and relaxation is important for an awesome European leg!!

tagged: no one

user1 I’m gonna miss the fuzzy live streams 😭

user2 gets some rest Queen!!

user3 I can’t wait for the second leg!! Let’s go Europe🫶🫶

user4 it’s go time to get my Eras outfit

user8 I need ideas!!

user4 me and my boyfriend are going as Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

user9 I’m dressing in a white dress with a small veil that says “fucked in the head” and messed up makeup bc champagne problems is one of my favs

user10 I love it!!

user5 anybody else sad Lewis wasn’t at these last few shows, nor was she at any races or seen near mercades home base

user6 they’ve been together for 6 years, I’m not worried abt them spending some time focused on their jobs without each other

user7 yea and they’re really private so I’m sure they’ll catch up plenty during her break

lewishamilton

liked by mercadesamgf1, user1, user8, and 928,292 others

lewishamilton: not the results we needed but that’s what growing is all about

tagged: no one

comments have been disabled

lewishamilton

liked by georgerussel, mercadesamgf1, user83, and 718,292 others

lewishamilton: that’s P2💪

tagged: no one

mercadesamgf1 that's our driver!!🏆

georgerussell congrats man! bloody good driving today

lewishamilton double point weekend

comments have been limited

Twitter—

yn_ln

liked by user4, user9, ynhq, and 918,918 others

yn_ln: All’s fair in love and poetry, April 4th

tagged: no one

comments have been limited

Twitter pre-album release—

Twitter post-album release—

yn_ln

liked by: user433, user94, user93, and 282,209 others

yn_ln: surprise!! "The Tortured Poets Department: Eros" out now!! This edition includes two new songs, "So High School" and "The Alchemy"

tagged: no one

comments have been disabled

#f1 #f1 imagines #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 smau #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #smau #the tortured poets department #formula 1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

391 notes · View notes

autolenaphilia · 6 months

Text

The average tumblr queer hates fascism and terfs, and they should, but because they have zero understanding of what those ideologies actually is, they end up repeating such ideology anyway.

They have zero understanding that it is the transmisogynist bioessentialism that makes radfemism so poisonous. So they call trans women mentioning the words "misogyny" and "patriarchy" a terf, while their use of "afab/amab" reveal that they haven't unlearned any bioessentialism and transmisogyny. I've written about this at length before.

And this intellectually lazy acceptance of reactionary thinking goes far beyond that.

Criticize the institutions of religion and the family on this supposed queer communist site, and you'll get massive cries of protest from these queer leftists. And in content if not form they are basically indistinguishable from fascist rhetoric about how "queer leftists who read too many jewish writers (like Marx and Hirschfeld) are trying to eradicate the vital institutions of tradition, religion, family and community with their soulless materialist globohomo." (Note that the link is to a critical glossary of the alt-right on rationalwiki, so there are slurs galore)

And yes, that is what i'm doing, and I'm very proud of it. Abolishing religion and the family, and all of their sanctified traditions is a very important part of the communist project. The main Jewish writer who convinced me of this is Marx, read him.

"The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness." Literally read The Communist Manifesto, which openly calls for the abolition of the family. A lot of suppose leftists repeat what the manifesto calls "The bourgeois clap-trap about the family and education, about the hallowed co-relation of parents and child"

It's especially ironic to hear such things from self-described queers, as if family, religion and tradition aren't the most common tools used to oppress queer people.

A lot of reactionary garbage with a superficial anti-capitalist veneer has gotten into the left, which is not new. The just mentioned manifesto spends a whole chapter criticizing reactionary forms of socialism. I have myself used Marx's still valid analysis as my basis to criticize reactionary anti-capitalism.

There has been so much nationalist garbage absorbed by the left at this point that fascist thinking crop up all the time in the left. This is because planting the roots of 19th century romantic nationalism tends to bear the same fruit. And tumblr leftism is the most intellectually lazy kind of leftism.

Like your average pseudo-leftist position on nations is basically ethnopluralism, a neofascist ideology originating in the European "New right" that is trying to sell the old wine of blood-and-soil nationalism in new bottles for a postcolonial world. It's creator Henning Eichberg spent decades trying to sell his Völkisch ideology to the left. With some success, it seems like. Like the neofascist in ethnopluralist clothing position that "every culture has the right to preserve their own culture and tradition from the onslaught of global capitalist culture" is something that you'll see all the time regurgitated by supposed leftists. The one 19th century european/western concept that is seen as universally applicable is nationalism. It's bleak.

I can't even say the far-left cliché of "read theory", because a lot of theory is garbage. Not all of it though. This list comes from my libertarian marxist/"councilist" biases but Nationalism and Socialism by Paul Mattick is good, as is "Third-worldism and Socialism" an excerpt from an early 70s pamphlet by the British organization Solidarity, and the 1989 essay The Universality of Marx by Loren Goldner.

#my writings #pseudo-leftism

171 notes · View notes

xvxnux · 1 year

Text

` ♡ ~ anything about your future spouse ~ `

` pic one ,

a loving person, very romantic. can be quite emotional, will always be showing feelings. a person who may be away from the family for a while, may be from a different country and with that they will have you as a family, a super important piece. this person will want to please in every way he can imagine, will always offer you everything you want. will definitely have you as a priority.

(+) more: fair skin, air or water sign, light eyes (green, blue), likes to dress simple, neutral colors. quiet, shy, observant, insecure. from the looks of it this person may be of european, russian, british descent.

` pic two ,

will be a very fun and very playful person, you might think he has no intentions of anything serious. but you will have a very strong connection and you can feel that you know this person from other lifetimes (it could be a childhood friend). is a person who will love you a lot, will have a different love language than pile 1, for example. will make you laugh! this person also has a deep hurt, a trauma and it may take a while for you to discover what it really is. this person can also lead life a little crazy, they can go out a lot and part of this person’s way today is because of this trauma. he may have lost someone important in a tragic way, this trauma has something to do with childhood.

(+) more: fair skin, dark skin, long hair, sculpted body but without exaggeration, tall, possessiveness, protection, likes to dress well, streetwear, light eyes. by appearance this person may be of latin descent.

` pic three ,

this person seems to be already in a comfortable situation financially, definitely stabilized in life. You can travel a lot, like wine a lot, and enjoy hot drinks. seems to be a serious person, may have a posture that scares for actually being serious. exudes money, you look at this person and you already know they have a lot of money hahaha has a fun side, this person will want see you stable too, will help make you stable. definitely wants children and may be a few years older.

(+) more: fair skin, black or brown hair, strong features, definitely a very thin person. velvet, black, can wear social clothes often. intelligence, boss, business. not used to affection, cold. by appearance this person may be of native american, indigenous, asian descent.

#pick a pile #tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #intuitive #pick a card #free tarot #future spouse #future spouse reading

430 notes · View notes

pommedepersephone · 6 months

Text

You Say Potato, I Say Excellent! Or blocking, dialogue and legacy of morality tales in ‘The Resurrectionists’ minisode PART I

Alternate title: how Aziraphale’s naivety in this episode was supposed to make you a bit outraged

I have to shout out to @bowtiepastabitch for their AMAZING historical analysis of this minisode - it prompted me to finish this long ramble that has been drifting in my notes. Anyway, I have a major obsession with the ways blocking and dialogue interplay in Good Omens - you can check out my analysis of the blocking in the flashbacks in S1. But The Resurrectionists is really something special. This got so long I am splitting it into two parts. See Part II here!

I should start with three important caveats that brought me to this analysis -

If we accept that S1 is narrated by God, then I propose that S2 is being told from the viewpoint of our Ineffable Man Shaped Beings - and they are NOT reliable narrators.

All three minisodes share a feeling of being… stories. They feel like a slightly exaggerated version they might be told between two old friends sitting in the back room of a bookshop, soused off wine and whisky. Like a journal entry that you don’t actually expect outsiders to see.

All three minisodes have some relation, in style and structure, to film and literature. I'm focusing on the lit aspect here. A Companion to Owls is very illustrated bible. Nazi Zombies from Hell is a pulp fiction master class. So what is The Resurrectionists? A morality tale.

My first thought when we opened on the romantic graveyard date in Edinburgh was “OH it’s like a penny dreadful!” but it didn’t take me long to reassess. Morality tales are a genre of children’s literature that was extremely popular in the early 1800s where the minisode is taking place. But THIS morality tale itself is a more nuanced version of these stories, more along the lines of what an author important in the Good Omens universe would pen. So, first, a little bit of history behind morality tales and a very important author to know, then we get to the blocking and dialogue!

Morality Tales for Children

There had long been differing views in European circles of thought about the nature of children - were they born innately tainted by Original Sin, or were they born as blank slates? In the late 1700s to early 1800s, the view of the blank slate was winning with the help of highly influential educators like Friedrich Froebel (who coined the term kindergarten and emphasized the importance of play in learning.)

At this same time, there was a rise in literature produced specifically for children. One of the most popular children’s genres? The morality tale. These stories showed Good triumphing over Evil and the importance of leading a respectable, Christian life. The stories were extremely binary, black and white in their presentation of morality, something which deeply influenced many authors who were raised reading them. Authors like G.K. Chesterton.

G.K. Chesterton

Over his career, Chesterton wrote several plays, 80 books, 200 short stories, 4,000 essays, and several hundred poems. He’s an interesting guy, but suffice to say for our purposes - he was deeply Christian, and his work contains a lot of religious themes and symbolism which he used to write serious commentary on politics, economics and philosophy. If you haven’t read the book, you should know that it the dedication reads thus:

The authors would like to join the demon Crowley in dedicating this book to the memory of G.K. Chesterton.

In fact, Crowley says in the book that Chesterton was “The only poet in the twentieth century to even come close to the Truth." So it is probably relevant that Chesterton had opinions about children’s morality tales. He once wrote -

Many people have wondered why it is that children's stories are so full of moralizing. The reason is perfectly simple: it is that children like moralizing more than anything else, and eat it up as if it were so much jam. The reason why we, who are grown up, dislike moralizing is equally clear: it is that we have discovered how much perversion and hypocrisy can be mixed with it; we have grown to dislike morality not because morality is moral, but because morality is so often immoral. But the child has never seen the virtues twisted into vices; the child does not know that men are not only bad from good motives, but also often good from bad motives. The child does not know that whereas the Jesuit may do evil that good may come, the man of the world often does good that evil may come.

In summary, we know that children’s morality tales were supposed to teach important lessons about Good and Evil. We also know that later authors like G.K. Chesterton were aware of this genre and it influenced their writing (which in turn informs the Good Omens universe). So why pick this framework for this minisode? Because it is FRUSTRATING to watch, on purpose. We are meant to be annoyed with how Good has so little relation to right, to see how complicated doing real good can be, and it lays out a strong case for the complete inadequacy of black and white world views - and not just religious ones.

So (grabs gloves and a knife) let’s dissect the blocking and dialogue, shall we?

Part II: Blocking and Dialogue

#good omens #good omens meta #the resurrectionists #just theatre kid things #history is my jam #look the blocking has me feeling things #shades of gray

54 notes · View notes

owfwandotherstuff · 4 months

Text

My take on the ow voice headcanon (Japanese dub edition)

Most of them are taken from sample clips, and it's more like "they could play the role" than "they do play the role", actually none of them make sense

Iggy

Definitely an “every protagonist these days” type voice, but not “a hero in apprentice” kind of one

Which means you can dig down the large mine of actors, and you must dig down the large mine of actors

So I think it’s fine

Genzou

Forget the “crackly” part. The market doesn’t have the section and everyone sounds like a photoshopped skin

It was hard to find someone who can play a chubby man and sounds deep but doesn’t sound like seven-foot tall, not young but doesn’t sound like sixty years old (or actually sixty years old)

The VA is quite versatile, and this clip is the only sample of him acting in a thick-deep range

Orlam

I was looking up a sample of a lowered, naturally high-pitched voice with a squeaky tone, and I found the latter clip. I thought it’s neat and checked the other samples of the VA

He’s telling a dirty joke in the former clip, and in one of the other clips that isn't included in the video, he says, “It’s hard to date only one woman" "I have a European-styled philosophy. There's only two important things in life: wine and women” I burst out laughing

Gidget

An upper-middle-range voice in non-anime is a lower-middle-range voice in anime

The VA plays a lot of boy roles, and in the latter clip she’s acting as a boy or acting very boyish, so the voice could lean toward androgynous

Bucks

The VA did Katie from Mitchells vs. Machines, which is a rare example of a female protagonist who keeps the same tone as the original, and her sample clip has what I needed

Hunar

I think Hunar’s voice sounds a bit deep (for an anime standard) and has some maturity

Cecil

Sounds clear and handsome, an every protagonist type but “acting in deeper range” kind of voice, like, you know

Jerry

I chose a legend because I think it’s okay to make rabbits sound old

The clip is taken from Jujutsu Kaisen because his sample clip doesn’t have his iconic squeaky falsetto

#our wonderland

40 notes · View notes

invinciblerodent · 9 months

Text

Baldur's Gate 3's Potato Chowder - RECIPE

So a few days ago, I found this recipe around the start of act 3, near the kitchen of the Temple of the Open Hand in Rivington:

[Screenshot of recipe as it appears in-game. Exact steps will be transcribed below, within the recipe.]

It looked... honestly very simple and not dissimilar from a Hungarian potato főzelék/stew (which is a very cheap and homely peasant dish I love), so I just made it for lunch today, and guys....

this soup is uh. really fucking good. I tried following it as close to the letter as possible, but since it's quite vague, I did have to improvise a fair bit- but it's very cheap and easy to make, it's warm and comforting while still quite light (there are like. NO spices in there, it's a very European-feeling dish), and I'd say it's surprisingly filling, but it's. It's potatoes, so there's nothing exactly surprising about that.

I tried to write out the recipe in a very beginner-friendly way, so even if you're not super confident in the kitchen, it should be easy to follow! ❤️

Make yourself some video game soup, it's awesome.

INGREDIENTS:

(For about 6 servings)

A roughly egg-sized lump of lard (This can be subtituted with a different cooking fat if you'd like, but I recommend sticking with lard, as it adds a nice flavor, and it's kind of the staple fat for these peasant stews.)

Potatoes (I used just under two pounds)

Half of a medium leek

Small yellow onion (or half of a larger one)

2 cloves garlic

Roughly 1/2 to 1 cup white cooking wine (optional, substitute given in recipe)

Vegetable stock (or chicken- or beef stock, or water)

2-3 tbsp all purpose flour

Salt to taste

1/2 cup of sour cream/créme fraiche (optional)

Shredded cheese and/or croutons to serve (optional)

(Recipe with transcriptions and exact steps under the cut!)

(This is basically all there is in this. Honestly.)

STEPS:

"1. Put your lard in a pot- a chunky one, mind. When it stops being lard and starts being hot lard, add any good-smelling veggies (leeks, garlics, onions) that you've chopped all thin. Please salt this so it doesn't taste of nothing."

This first step is pretty self-explanatory. I sliced the white part of he leek thinly, cubed my onion, and minced my two large cloves of garlic. In the lard melted in as chunky a pot as I've got (make sure it's not non-stick!!!), I sauteed first the leek and the onion with a big pinch of salt, and once the onion was translucent, the leek soft, and they've released some liquid (around 3-5 minutes on medium-low heat), I added the garlic, and cooked it until fragrant.

"2. When it's soft and good-smelling, chuck in any flour you've got and stir the mixture so it don't burn (note for me - it's very important not to burn it, emphasize)"

"2.5. PLEASE DO NOT LET IT BURN THAT'D BE RUBBISH"

Now we make a roux by adding just enough flour to the mixture that it starts sticking together, and looks fairly dry, but no part of the flour remains powdery. (This was about 3 tbsp for me, but since this process goes quick, I did eyeball it).

It's important to keep stirring, as this can and does stick to the bottom of a pot, but it will determine the thickness of the final soup, deepen its flavor, and give it a nice, creamy consistency. I made mine fairly blonde (light tan in color, cooked just past long enough to dissipate any raw flour smell), but it can go to a fairly dark, caramel color before burning if you'd like the flavor to be a bit deeper. (This should only take a couple minutes.)

Please do be careful- it the roux burns, that flavor will be impossible to get rid of, so.... yeah, it would be rubbish.

"3. If you're fancy and have wine (or have a generously stocked temple wine cellar nearby) add a bit of it now and cook it off. When it's done, add some wedged potatoes and a lot more liquid (not wine this time or you'll have a headache in the morning)."

We now deglaze the bottom of the pot with the wine: after pouring it in, with the wooden spoon, we scrape up any stuck pieces of flour or aromatics that there might be on the bottom.

(Note: If you don't have wine, or would prefer not to use alcohol for any reason, a neat trick is to mix about 1 tbsp of white wine vinegar and 1 tsp of granulted sugar into a cup of water, and use this mixture as a substitute for 1 cup of white wine. In most recipes, the wine's main purpose is to add acidity as well as sweetness to the dish- this trick aims to replicate those qualities, and tastes very similar in the end result. I use it often in almost anything that calls for white wine if I happen to not have any at hand. But do make sure to taste beforehand, it's very easy to go too heavy on the vinegar! It should taste sour, but not so much that it's unpalatable.)

Then, I rinsed my cubed potatoes (though the text calls for wedges, those often don't cook quite evenly!) with water to get rid of the excess starch, added them to the pot, and then covered them in vegetable stock. You can use chicken- or beef stock (which would make the soup a bit richer, heavier) or water (if you want it lighter) as well- in this last case you might need to add more salt than you'd think. (Make sure to taste- it should be flavorful, but not salty! Bouillon cubes and premade stocks often have a very high salt content, so if using that, you might find you don't need to add any.)

(It sohuld look something like this.)

"4. Cook for half an hour or so til the potatoes are nice and tender, and mash some of 'em up in the liquid. If you've got any cow products - cheese, milk and the like - add them now for extra delicious results."

From when the mixture starts to boil, it should take about 25-35 minutes of simmering on low heat, covered, for the potatoes to soften- you can test doneness by sticking a fork in one of the pieces, or gently pushing one against the edge of the pot with your wooden spoon. It should give easily at light pressure with both methods.

I then put the sour cream/créme fraiche in a heat-safe container (a mug will do perfectly), and ladled a bit of the hot cooking liquid on top of it, mixing it thoroughly- both to thin it out, and bring the temperatures closer to each other, which should help avoid any curdling. Stirring constantly, I then add the cream mixture to the soup in a thin, slow stream. (Any mildly acidic, creamy dairy product should work here- though I do think yogurt might be a bit too sour, if using that I would probably omit the wine.)

Then, as everything is done cooking and the cream is distributed evenly with no curds, I turn the heat off for safety, and using a very traditional, very fantasy, not at all anachronistic immersion blender, I blitz the entire thing for roughly 30 seconds. You can of course blend it less for more chunks (or remove some cooked potato bits before blending to add them back later), or even longer for a smoother consistency, but I did like that about that much blending left only a few, small chunks of nicely cooked potato in the otherwise smooth and creamy result.

I served with shredded Port Salut cheese and croutons on top- but this is of course optional, and I think just some nice, crusty bread would also work wonderfully!

Go make yourself a video game soup!!!!!!! It's so easy and good!!!!!!!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #recipe #potato chowder #soup recipe #potato soup #is this fanart?#would we say that this is fanart?#I probably would tbh #i don't know if anyone has done this before but I.... I did it #and it tastes really good #my partner and I both had two large bowls of it though one would have been enough as a meal #and we'll have enough to have it for lunch tomorrow too #there was also a tomato “dippin' soup” in that same “book”; I might also make that sometime!#edited only to fix some wonky grammar #squirrel plays bg3

135 notes · View notes

darushi-chan · 1 year

Photo

HOTD Modern AU where everyones dragons are some kind of reptile or amphibian. Sooo, I finally gathered the courage to add my own stuff to the HOTD fandom, lol. I love reptiles, specifically Komodo dragons, I’ve made like 3 different college projects with them and it was impossible for me to not see Vhagar as one, I’ve seen other really good takes with old grandma V being a snapping turtle, an alligator and so on, and then I decided to imagine my own modern AU were all the Targaryan dragons in HOTD are some kind of reptile pet! -Because Targ shenanigans they do have a special bond with their reptile friend (Thats the only way you get a croc and a Komodo to dont eat you, lol). -The dragon keepers are a special reptile breeder company, the Targs are like one of their most important clients . -To add more lore and stuff I like the idea of them living in a made up european country called Valyria, like Genovia from the princess diaries, or at least just a modern westeros and Valyria being their something something big company where they work. -If they live in Valyria they do have the monarchy problems, but without the murder plis, Aegon ll its like fuck you all and runs away to Italy or France and starts a wine company called “The usurper” xD. -Because I like Jacegon, Jace goes along with him so he doesn’t die from bad decisions and because I think he’ll be more reliable with the new company stuff hahahahaha, Aegon just tests the wine ok 😂? -Lucerys its also like, the crown? No thanks, and goes to college to study literature, also in the some college as Aemond, who’s in a History major, they’re roommates 👀. -Joffrey its even less interested in the crown and decides to help his grampa Corlys with Driftmark. -I’m mexican, I dont know how Dukedoms and all that fancy european stuff works, Driftmark can be one of those or something, I’ll do some research after the reptile drawings ok xD? -That way the crown can go to little Aegon the younger without anybody dying yay. -Rhaenyra its not that ok with this, but she loves her kids, and hopes little Egg doesn’t run away too.... Im just starting with my favorite incest deranged couple, Lucemond 😚. I think its obvious this is not completed at all 😅, but I was really exited about it and wanted to talk about it after being working on it all day 😄.

More stuff about the not dragons! -They can’t live the hundreds of years of the dragons, so lets make them live as long as their owner lives, an average 80-90 years, for this HC sake hahahaha, specially because turtles, komodos and crocs are able to live long lives too! So lets make all the other special Targ reptiles/amphibians live longer too 😝. -This makes Grandma V, Vhagar ll, because Vhagar l was Visenya’s, when Laena dies in some kind of accident Aemond claims Vhagar ll so she doesn’t die, specially because she wasn’t that old then, wiki says Laena dies at 27, I havent thought that much about what happens in the Driftmart incident, but something happens 👀! -Then the Viserys l Balerion it’s Balerion ll too! Vissy T gets to keep his croc and makes him an awesome enclosure, lol. Alicent never goes there 😂, but Viserys likes to see when the servants feed him or to just chat with his friend, he has this really nice enclosure like in the zoos where you can go like underground and see them swim.

-Helaena’s kids can have little geckos or something cute like that, I need to think about it 🤔.

-Im not very sure about Caraxes being a red Tegu, they’re awesome, but I don’t know if I should make him be something else, any thoughs anyone 🤔? If you have any other ideas that are different from the ones I have so far let me know 😉!! The only ones that Im very sure about are Vhagar and Arrax, I’m really in love with the idea, and I also like them all being something different, except for Silverwing and Vermithor uwu.

#lucemond #jacegon #hotd modern au #headcanon #targaryan dragons being pets #lucerys x aemond #its like 2:30 am here #i need to sleep #hahahahahhaa

242 notes · View notes

nerdieforpedro · 2 months

Text

Finally Away

Chapter 2 of “This is the Neighborhood Din” Series

Din Djarin (Modern AU) x Sierra Harris (plus size OFC)

This fic is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 3k

Warnings: Divorce, domestic violence (both referenced and actual), burns, scratches, blood, stalking, description of injuries, self-esteem issues, matchmaking?, domestic fluff, soft moments and hugs

Summary: Sierra has arrived to her aunt's home and meets their new neighbors Din and little Grogu. She didn't plan on her ex-husband showing up before her long drive - that man decided to ensure she had his disgusting marks on her arms.

Notes: In this chapter there is domestic violence and descriptions of Sierra's injuries as well as past incidents with her ex-husband. Likely will be mentioned again but not with injuries. There's also a burn mentioned as well that Sierra caused.

Special thanks to @pedroshotwifey for beta reading and @julesonrecord for having these resources in their Cherry Wine fic. It’s an excellent read, just make sure to review the warnings as it is marked DDNE.

I would have posted this earlier but I didn’t get a notification about the poll results. 😭 My bad.

Domestic Violence resources (In case you or someone you know need them):

United States

Canada

United Kingdom

European Union

Main Masterlist/ Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist/ This is the Neighborhood Din Series

The drive from Maryland to New York State hasn’t been that bad, just so long. Nearly seven hours. Sierra had planned to leave earlier than she did. It was her last day in her apartment, she was going to leave the keys since all her belongings she planned to take were already in her car. It had been six months since the divorce was final but a year and a half that she had lived apart from Darius.

Sierra knew he hadn’t cared about her, at least the last few years of their marriage, not after those beatings started. She didn’t stay because she loved him, falling out of love with him was at the first punch. She’d been confused at first, he’d never been violent before, always kind. But when Sierra thought on it after the second bloody nose, she wondered if this was happening because something was wrong with her. When he hit her and this time, kept hitting her in her stomach after that last time he came home, she let him sleep and then poured boiled hot grits on him. She’d already looked into getting an apartment by herself and was going to stay with a friend for a week until it was ready. Darius never did press charges against her or told anyone how he got those burns on his abdomen and chest, Sierra assumed that he was embarrassed that his wife who he had been beating got one over on him. After she left, she needed to try and figure out what was next and who to turn to for help.

Thankfully, her aunt Johnnie Mae was more than willing to take her in after she’d been able to save some money by living in that cheap apartment. It almost made the hour long commute to the middle school she taught at worth it. Saving money was her priority so she would have some money to give her Aunt for letting her stay with her outside of New York City. The plan was working, she was able to get rid of clothes and stuff she didn’t absolutely need. That way, everything would fit in her small blue Nissan. Her aunt had said that she didn’t need to offer her any money, let alone rent while she stayed with her but that’s not how she was raised. Before they passed, Sierra’s parents stressed being responsible, paying your debts and taking care of yourself. She’s failed at that last one.

That morning, all she had to do was get up use the bathroom before leaving and leave. That was all the science teacher had planned. She even had a new job set up at a middle school substitute teaching next week. She was open to picking up a part time job until she could get a full time one as keeping a work history going and money coming is was more important than ever.

The barrier to her leaving on time was Darius himself. He sat outside of her small blue car waiting for her. Darius was a few inches taller than Sierra but slender and full of mean streaks. One would think a so called ‘short king’ as he often called himself would be a bit nicer to anyone, let alone his wife but no. The bastard beat Sierra, leaving bruises, cuts and made sure never to break or sprain anything enough to need an urgent care or hospital visit. He left to be with his mistress a month after Sierra burnt him with hot grits as he lay sleep in bed.

The divorce as far as property went was split down the middle, even though the end of their relationship was anything but amicable. Sierra hadn’t see him since the divorce decree was handed down in court, but now he sits here blocking her path away from him finally, no longer tied to him.

“What do you want?” The venom in her voice is clear as he moves toward her.

“Just wanted to see you off. I mean, we had something special for a while there you know.” He attempted to touch her face and she smacked his hand away. Darius grabbed it and her other hand as she struggled against him. “You always fought me on everything after becoming a full time teacher. Being full of yourself. Now you’re going to be fat, broke and alone. You thought it was hard to get married before? No man’s going to be looking for you!”

“This is what you came here for Darius?! Just to try and intimidate me?” Sierra pushed forward, making his legs hit the bumper of a sedan parked next to her, he fell back, but grabbed her forearms hard, digging his fingers into them. She yelled and tried to shake him off but he dug deeper. “You’re a sad bastard who left me for a woman who’s now left you for an old rich man. She’s riding his dick somewhere in Italy!” Her knee connected with his crotch and his grip loosened. Sierra was able to wiggle free and run toward the driver’s side of her car, quickly getting in. She started driving only checking her arms when she finally stopped at a McDonald’s.

Her caramel skin was a deep red, nearly purple with blood as he broke the skin on both arms. She made a stop at a CVS and got some bandages to clean and wrap her arms before continuing on her drive. After a few more hours she stopped crying and determined that he wasn’t worth it, he hadn’t been for quite some time. Just be glad you’re no longer tied to him. If he shows up again, I can use a brick on him or whatever I have nearby. Maybe I need to carry one of those switchblades. As she crossed over from Pennsylvania to New York, she wondered how she’d hide the bandages from her Aunt. She hadn’t shared the full story with her, only that he’d become distant, they would get in shouting matches and the cheating. Sierra hadn’t told her about the physical abuse. She didn’t know how to explain why it went on for so long. She barely wanted to tell the one friend she felt safe enough to move in with for that week. Thankfully she didn’t judge her, just supported Sierra. She was eternally grateful for that.

Pulling up to her aunt’s home she was completely unprepared for the man she saw. The opposite of her ex-husband was sitting on her aunt’s porch. Putting his shirt back on. No one said he had to. Sierra thought, her aunt let go of her and pinched her shoulder.

“You’ll burn a hole into the man if you keep staring at him like that.” Ms. Harris teased.

“How could I not look at him? Who is he?” Sierra inquired. She grabbed her purse from the car and walked over with her aunt to the porch.

Din started to get a bit cold after finishing his glass of water and stood to slip his shirt back on. He still felt her eyes on him and turned to see Ms. Harris walking to the house with a caramel beauty who’s calling his new neighbor ‘auntie.’ Maybe she was just here visiting, his eyes cut to her car before focusing back on her as they drew closer to the porch. She’s staying for a little while at least, I’m not in the market for just a short time though.

As she made her way up the stairs, her black shorts bunched between her thighs. In an effort not to stare, his eyes scanned her legs which were thick and jiggled along with the rolls of her belly that it appeared like she was trig to hide under her large purple t-shirt. She was wearing a black sweatshirt which he suspected her would find equally soft arms covered by the fabric. Her face appeared tired, he assumed from the long drive, but there seemed to be a remnant of sadness in her honey eyes with some redness in her cheeks. Her hair was in tight pun with a matching purple scarf tied at the top of her head. It wasn’t a handshake she offered but a small wave and Din couldn’t help but flash a toothy grin and chuckle.

“H-Hi. I’m Sierra, nice to meet you. Seems you’ve met my Aunt Mae already.” Though clearly nervous, her voice had a dulcet tone to it that had Din exhale to keep from clearing his throat to make it too obvious. He raised his hand and returned her small wave, stepping forward to close the distance. He looked down at her, keeping his grin.

“I’m Din. Your aunt, Ms. Harris has been so welcoming to me and my son Grogu. It’s our first day here. Pleasure to meet you Sierra.”

He is taller and broader up close and his hands are….this man appears to be massive in every sense. Even his voice feels like it’s wrapping around me. Am I okay? My shorts are halfway in my crotch and I know my eyes are puffy and red along with my entire face. This is one of the days, I wish I had more melanin so everything from earlier in the day wouldn’t be on my damn face.

“Well dear, you mind helping me make some dinner while Din keeps an eye on the kids? You missed lunch.” Ms. Harris elbows Sierra in the side and she winces as her aunt’s arm grazes her forearm.

“Sure, lead the way. Um, are you staying for dinner Din?” Sierra asked and Din nodded with Johnnie Mae adding that of course he was, he bought her groceries as a thank you for watching little Grogu for a few hours.

“I really do appreciate it Ms. Harris. I was able to get a lot done in the house so we’ll be set for our first night in the house. The kids we be fine until dinner’s ready.” Rolling his shoulders back, he puts his hands in his pockets and his grin becomes a smile. Sierra’s lips part slightly but no sound comes out, she really hopes nothing came out. It didn’t but her aunt is ever watchful of their interaction and leads her niece into the kitchen. Din turns to the side to watch Sierra walk away, paying special attention to her wide hips and plump backside. I think I should find out how long she’ll be here. If she needs to leave, maybe I can convince her to come back through and visit. Such thoughts were distracting Din from the children and he heard a cry. Delia was sitting in the grass giving a dirty look to both Grogu and Quinton. “Well, I am a man of my word. Let me see what’s going on.” As he made his way down the stairs, Johnnie Mae peeped at the door to Mae sure Din was out of earshot.

“Tell me what you think, I mean I was going to set you up with that boy Leon because he seemed nice, but Din is a grown man. Good and grown man dear. I don’t see a ring and-“

“It’s too soon I can’t even think about that right now. Especially today, I look an entire mess.” And that rat bastard fucked up my arms. Even if my arms were fine, I’m not even wearing my cute leggings. Damn.

“I didn’t ask you all that girl.” Johnnie Mae got out a pot and threw in some chicken broth followed two bags of vegetable medleys complete with carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. “I asked you what you thought. I understand you might not feel like you’re ready. Doesn’t mean you can look.”

Sighing, Sierra washed her hands, got the chicken out of the fridge and started seasoning it before plopping it in a frying pan to cook in some butter. “He’s the complete opposite of my ex-husband. Which is entirely welcome. I just don’t know if I can….” Johnnie Mae hip bumped her niece as an indication of getting a non-answer. Sierra sighed again, “I’d climb him like a tree auntie. I’m not ready, but if I was at all. He would be the first choice.”

“Just need to know your tastes have changed. No more assholes Sierra.” Johnnie Mae laughed and so did Sierra, shaking her head. On that she agreed. The pair finished up dinner making homemade chicken noddle soup. Something that everyone ate two bowels of. Din and Grogu ate three. Delia and Quinton were picked up by their parents when the sun started setting around five in the evening. They thanked Ms. Harris and hugged her before introducing themselves to Din. They suggested that Ms. Harris could watch little Grogu before and after school. That way Grogu could play with Delia and Quinton as they likely were going to go to the same elementary school. The family departed leaving Din, Grogu, Johnnie Mae and Sierra.

Din suggested he could wash the dishes and Sierra rejected his help because he was a guest. Technically she was too, but she’d be living here. It was decided that he would wash and she would dry.

Grogu found a comfy spot on the couch as Ms. Harris sat next to him. “Little G, we’re going to watch a classic me and you. Look at this.” She turned on ‘Winnie the Pooh.’ Ms. Harris started singing along and Grogu joined in, bobbing their heads side to side.

Din’s hands were covered in soapy water, scrubbing the dishes before rising them and handing them to Sierra to dry. They chatted about the merits of Pooh and Piglet’s adventures. They laughed that before the episode was over, both Ms. Harris and Grogu were asleep on the couch and arm wrapped around each other. Din snapped a few pictures with his phone. Sierra hesitated, but asked if he could send her the pictures he took. Din was going to suggest that she take her own, but understood that she was asking for his number without saying it. Trying to be subtle. That’s cute of her. He agreed and send her the pictures, the small smile on her face felt like a part of a curtain had been pulled back.

Back at the sink, dishes slowly made their way into the cabinets. Sierra’s sleeves were getting wet and it made her arms itchy so she pulled them up, and reached for the plate Din was handing and she took the plate. She started drying and looked down at her forearms, some blood had soaked through. Panic set in for the second time today, though not from fear of her safety. Instead it was that the easy laughter would stop, there was nothing funny about her arms or what had made them that way. Din stopped washing and wiped his wet hands on his pants.

“You don’t have to tell me how it happened. Just…are you safe Sierra? Is the person who did that after you?” Keeping his voice flat was the only way not to yell, he shouldn’t yell at her. It would be misdirected. It looked like they were fresh maybe even today. She looked up at him and the brightness was gone from them, only panic. Is that why she came here? How fall far had she driven? She did seem to have a lot of stuff in her car.

“No. Thankfully I’ll never see him again. He has no reason to find me. That ended six months ago. I’m…” Closing her eyes, she swallowed the saliva building in her throat. “Divorced. Six months ago. He was…just the worst. Could you just…”

“I’m not going to act like I didn’t see them. If don’t want me to say anything it’s not mine to tell. But does she know?” His eyes shift over to the couch before refocusing on her. He’d rather know this bastard’s name, just in case but she didn’t say it and now isn’t the time to press. He hesitated, but placed a hand between her shoulder blades. Sierra flinched but when Din began to pull his arm back she turned and reached for his hand.

“Please don’t do that. I’m not fragile. I know you’re not going to do anything I’m sor-“

“Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have touched-“

“Then you don’t say sorry either.” Sighing, she looked down at his hand and held it as to shake it. “Let’s start over. Please Din and I’ll tell her. I kinda have to with these.” A weak smile matched a soft chuckle. He missed the smile he’d seen when he sent her pictures a few minutes ago. Shaking her hand, he nodded.

“I won’t apologize then, but I disagree, you are fragile. It’s a fact for now. You won’t always be, but it’s okay.” He didn’t release her hand. “Is it alright if I hug you and then take a look at your arms? You have more bandages?” Sierra nods and doesn’t speak, she folds her arms around Din’s torso. His hands returned to her back, rubbing it slowly and started stepping side to side, rocking her. Short whimpers came from her, quieting as the pair swayed.

“I have more in the car, but I can take care of that. Just a little more. A little while longer.” Sierra was conflicted in asking him to continue to hold her, but she didn’t want to let go. She felt it was selfish to ask this of him upon just meeting him today. He just moved in with his son no less. That’s plenty on his plate.

Din didn’t answer her. He didn’t release her either. They continued to remain in each other’s arms as Johnnie Mae peered over her shoulder from the couch. Now truly aware of why her niece has said she’s not ready, she wouldn’t push Sierra.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed in the kitchen embracing but Sierra let go first citing that Din should get little Grogu home, thanking him. He told her it wasn’t an issue and told her he was going to bring in her bags before leaving. She blinked and Ms. Harris told him the keys were near the door. The older woman shot a look at Sierra warning her to stay put. After bringing them in, Din said goodnight and scooped up Grogu taking him home.

A pivotal first impression had been made.

Chapter One. Chapter Three

Space Buddies: @readingiskeepingmegoing @604to647 @syd-djarin @yorksgirl

@harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @drawingdroid @katw474 @trulybetty

@bitchwitch1981 @soft-girl-musings @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse @littlemisspascal

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #starwars #din djarin fanfiction #din Djarin modern AU #din djarin x ofc #din djarin and grogu #Nerdie fic #this is the neighborhood din

24 notes · View notes

coinandcandle · 2 years

Text

The Morrigan Deity Guide

This is a re-do in the "deity deep dive" format of my original Morrigan post!

Who is The Morrigan?

The Morrigan is the ancient Irish Triple, or tripartite, of war and death, but she is also goddess of sovereignty, the land, and prophecy.

The name Morrigan, or Morrigu, is the anglicized version of the Gaelic name Mór-Ríoghain, which means "Great Queen" in modern Irish.

The old name has been linked to the proto-indo-european word Mór (terror) and Ríoghain could relate to the Latin word Regina (queen). (Wiktionary)

It’s debated whether she is one deity with three aspects or if these three aspects are sisters that create a triple goddess.

If they are sisters, their names are likely Macha, Nemain, and The Morrigan, their collective title being The Morrigu or The Morrigna. (The spelling of these will differ throughout your research if you choose to do your own after this post)

Their names could also be Macha, Nemain, and Badb, though the name “Badb” may have been a title for spirits/gods who wrought havoc on the battlefields and incited terror in the opposing side. (See “The Ancient Irish Goddess of War” in references for more info).

Other names involved with these sisters are Anand and Fea.

It’s not unlikely that The Morrigan’s identity would change between the many different groups in Ireland throughout time.

Parents and Siblings

Her mother is Ernmas, father is unknown.

Siblings have included Ériu, Banba, and Fódla, who make up the triple goddess of spirit and sovereignty of Ireland.

As well as Gnim, Coscar, Fiacha, and Ollom, as her brothers.

Lovers or Partners

The Dagda, with whom her relationship is of great importance for the Irish holiday Samhain.

In some iterations of her lore the Morrigan falls for Irish Hero Cú Chulainn but her feelings are not returned.

Children

Mechi, who has three hearts that each contain a serpent.

Epithets

The Goddess of Death

Morrígu

The Morrighan

The Great Queen

Phantom Queen

Badb-Catha

Nightmare Queen

The Washer at the Ford

Notes

Due to the many myths and legends surrounding The Morrigan and she is also associated with the Fae and the Banshee—a creature that generally takes on the form of an old woman who wails in mourning to announce the coming death of someone in the family.

The Morrigan is most notoriously a shape shifter and deity of magic.

In modern day paganism and witchcraft, some choose to worship The Morrigan as one deity with the sisters as aspects, others choose to worship her as a triple goddess consisting of three sisters. Neither of these can be said to be entirely right or wrong and vary from person to person, even from an academic point of view.

Though there are similar beings throughout Celtic mythology, The Morrigan is unique to Irish mythology.

Stories that prominently feature the Morrígan include Táin Bó Cúailgne (The Cattle Raid of Cooley), Cath Maige Tuired (The First and Second Battles of Moytura), and Lebor Gabála Érenn (The Book of the Taking of Ireland). (Mythopedia)

Fulacht na Mór Ríoghna (Cooking Pit of the Morrígan) in County Tipperary, and two hills in County Meath known as Da Cích na Morrígna (Two Breasts of the Morrígan) are both locations in Ireland linked to The Morrigan.

Modern Deity Work

Correspondences

Disclaimer - Many of these are not traditional or historic correspondences nor do they need to be. However, any correspondence that can be considered traditional will be marked with a (T).

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Obsidian

Onyx

Silver

Carnelian

Deep green, black and red stones/crystals

Herbs/Plants

Dragon’s Blood

Apples

Nightshade

Roses

Cedar

Cloves

Mugwort

Belladonna

Juniper

Animals

Crow (T)

Eel (T)

Cow (T)

Horse (T)

Wolf (T)

Raven

Symbols

Triple spiral

Crow

Offerings

Blood (be careful with this please!!)

Wine or Mead

The stones and herbs listed above

Imagery of the animals or symbols listed above

Food that you’ve made or a portion of your meal

Jewelry

Art made of her or inspired by her

Coins

Honey

Dark chocolate

Candles and/or wax melts; incense

Meat

Milk

Note: If you’d like your offering to be a bit more traditional, try burying it or sending it down a stream, but only if it is safe for the environment if you do so!

Acts of Devotion

Exercise/Work out (especially if it's challenging!)

Activism

Read/write poetry for her

Research her

Celebrate Samhain

Take up a competitive sport or activity

Standing up for yourself

Keep in mind that these are only some ideas for offerings and correspondences! Items and activities that connect you to her in a more personal way are just as good, and often better, than those you find on the internet. As with any relationship, feel it out, ask questions, and be attentive and receptive!

References and Further Reading

The Morrigan - World History Encyclopedia

The Ancient Irish Goddess of War by WM Hennessey (via Sacred-Texts)

The Morrigan - Druidry.org

The Book of the Great Queen by Morpheus Ravenna

The Morrigan - Mythopedia (Mythopedia also has a bunch of references and further reading of their own that I suggest you look at if you’d like to do your own research!)

#the morrigan #deity deep dive #irish goddess #paganism #deity work #deity guide #witchcraft #grimoire #witchblr

1K notes · View notes

oldshrewsburyian · 1 year

Text

In which a medievalist is finally pressured into trying GOT

...I held out until 2023. I resisted. I was vindicated as ASOIAF faded from the zeitgeist before I landed a long-term teaching job. And then my students, um... bullied? peer-pressured? persuaded? me into making a solemn vow that I would at least try it over the winter break. So far I have experienced about a third of Game of Thrones on audiobook (despite moaning to @qqueenofhades that I might be done after an hour.) Here are (some of) my thoughts.

Ned Stark is clearly too good to survive in this vicious world :(

I miss him preemptively (even if he hadn’t been played by Sean Bean, I would feel narrative doom hanging over him)

I seriously doubt that GRRM knows any women. Socially. In real life.

Ah yes, racist medievalism

And Orientalism! So much Orientalism. So much

I see that this world has 1066 but with dragons

Also some calling out of 1485 shenanigans by the Stanleys

Mostly a history-in-a-blender approach, though

Direwolves are, unexpectedly, Very Good Dogs

If a pseudo-European world is going to have poppy syrup as the anesthetic/soporific of choice, I want to know where the poppies are imported from

Also how do they have pumpkins, pumpkins are native to the Americas, I’m so cranky about this

Sansa is going to make dumb decisions; I can tell

This faux-medieval world is misogynistic and dysfunctional in stupidly predictable ways

Also the Ariès thesis of childhood lives on, sigh

Somehow this thing was everywhere in pop culture without me realizing that Jaime Lannister is, uh, a psychopath

I see now why all my scholar friends were so invested in Tyrion Lannister; a smart, snarky, wine-drinking scholar and bibliophile is a character that more fantasy series could use

Arya is gendered sword! I support Arya

#game of thrones #fun with medievalism #?#bad medievalism bingo #asoiaf #currently reading

250 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 25 days

Text

If you want to understand how China abuses its power on the world stage, consider the lobsters. After the Australian prime minister called in April 2020 for an international investigation into the origins of the COVID-19 pandemic, the Chinese ambassador to Australia, Chen Jingye, ominously hinted at the economic backlash. “Maybe the ordinary [Chinese] people will say, ‘Why should we drink Australian wine? Eat Australian beef?’” he told the Australian Financial Review. It and other outraged statements from the Chinese government had all the subtlety of a mafia capo wandering into the neighborhood deli and saying, “Nice little business you got here—shame if anything happened to it.”

In the weeks and months that followed, China instituted onerous import inspections on Australian rock lobsters and instituted new bans on timber and barley shipments from Australia. Given that in 2018 and 2019, China had accounted for about 94 percent of the Australian rock lobster market, the new trade restrictions were clearly meant to devastate the country’s lobster industry.

China also invoked punishing tariffs on Australian wine—tariffs that in some cases reached 212 percent—and exports stopped almost overnight. One winemaker, Jaressa Estates in the South Australian wine growing region of McLaren Vale, had been selling about 7 million bottles a year to China, some 96 percent of its total business, and saw that number drop to zero. “The country’s biggest overseas market vanished almost immediately. Sales to China plummeted 97 percent that first year. Storage tanks overflowed with unsold vintages of shiraz and cabernet sauvignon, pressuring red grape prices,” the New York Times reported. “Now that its economy is entrenched as the world’s second largest, the threat of losing access to China’s 1.4 billion consumers is a stick that few countries or industries can afford to provoke.”

It was a brutal lesson for Australia. As one winemaker told CNN, perhaps Australia shouldn’t be so quick to cross China in the future—and it should have approached questions about COVID-19’s origins with more delicacy. “Australia’s only a little nation. We should have absolutely supported it, but we didn’t need to lead the charge,” the vintner said. All told, Australia saw some $13 billion worth of exports targeted.

Outside the egregious Australian case, China has begun to wield the economic stick more regularly. For example, it halted salmon imports from Norway after the Nobel Peace Prize went to Chinese dissident Lio Xiaobo, punished Taiwan in 2022 with new restrictions on exporting pineapples, apples, and fish, and went after Lithuania when the Baltic country tried to strengthen ties with Taiwan. The wide-ranging Chinese move against Lithuania was unprecedented—extending not to just to obvious products like milk or peat but also against products manufactured with semiconductor chips made in Lithuania. As the New York Times wrote at the time, “China’s drive to punish Lithuania is a new level of vindictiveness.” The consequences for Lithuania were so dire that the German-Baltic Chamber of Commerce reported that the country’s high-tech industry faced an “existential” threat.

The most powerful voices in the global trade discussion largely stayed silent during these attacks. The European Union filed a perfunctory World Trade Organization complaint on Lithuania’s behalf but, as the New York Times reported, “otherwise largely left one of its smallest and weakest members to fend for itself,” and behind the scenes its officials urged Vilnius officials to appease China. “To use a Chinese phrase, they are killing the chicken to scare the monkey, particularly the big German monkey,” one European think tank leader said publicly. “Many European leaders look at Lithuania and say, ‘My God, we are not going to do anything to upset China.’”

And while some U.S. officials held performative tastings of Australian wine, the United States failed to step in to stabilize or support Australia, Norway, Taiwan, or Lithuania. There were no high-profile “Berlin Airlifts” of pineapples to U.S. grocery stores, tanker convoys of Australian Shiraz rolling up the Capital Beltway, or “Buy Baltic” public service announcements to encourage consumers and corporate leaders to look to Lithuanian suppliers. There was no coordinated effort to build a coalition to implement an emergency adjustment of tariffs on Australian wine or lobster, let alone to help the affected industries find new commercial buyers.

Perhaps it’s easy to write off such American reluctance as our own strain of protectionism—maybe the government didn’t want to be accused of undercutting Hawaiian pineapples or promoting foreign competitors to California Zinfadels—but the truth is that even at home the United States has failed to stand up for our industries when China targeted them. We didn’t support American airlines and hospitality companies when China pressured them to remove Taiwan’s name from their maps; nor did the United States government stand up meaningfully for the free speech of NBA players who criticized China.

China is learning, again and again, that bullying works, mastering the 21st-century toolkit of economic statecraft and warfare. As Bethany Allen, a journalist who has covered China for a decade, writes in her book, Beijing Rules: How China Weaponized Its Economy to Confront the World, “If we speak the language of markets … then China hasn’t just learned that language. It has learned to speak it louder than anyone else.” The Chinese Communist Party’s “authoritarian style of state capitalism,” Allen argues, means it “is willing to draw on its full arsenal of leverage, influence, charm, deception, and coercion.” And China has begun to deploy those tools all too frequently—leading to very real questions about whether anyone, companies or nation-states, can afford to be economically reliant on China.

The United States needs to do better—for ourselves and our allies. Strong allies are not going to help only out of self-interest, they’re going to do it because they want to follow their values and principles—and we have to make it easier for countries who want to help us counter China. We need to create an umbrella that shields countries, companies, and individuals when they take on China’s attempts at hegemonic thought and action.

Critical to any global strategy to counter China is building and securing the series of bilateral relationships and multilateral institutions and alliances that helped the West win Cold War I. We have to make it easy for our allies—and desired potential allies—to say yes to such alliances. China is surrounded by many relatively small and weak countries that need real reassurances, both security and economic, that if they side with the United States in a regional coalition they won’t be out in the cold.

Even countries like South Korea, Japan, and Australia that are G-20 countries with advanced economies and trillion-dollar-plus GDPs are small compared to the behemoths like China and the United States, especially if they’re left geopolitically isolated.

Beyond ad hoc responses to pressure on our friends when they stand up to China—especially but not only when they’re acting at our request—the United States needs to figure out a new alliance framework to deter such actions from China in the future. China needs to know that bullying won’t work.

On the security front, there’s little value in the Indo-Pacific in a replacement for SEATO, the 20-year attempt to build a Southeast Asia alliance like NATO that ended in 1977 after never achieving a working military structure. (One British diplomat called the alliance a “zoo of paper tigers.”) Today, too many of the countries across the Indo-Pacific are already protected by bilateral security pacts with the United States to bother joining a larger formal security alliance. For example, given that both Japan and the Philippines have their own security pacts with the United States, it’s not entirely clear what domestic political appetite there would be for, say, the Philippines to be treaty-bound to defend Japan if it’s attacked.

Instead of a military security alliance in the Indo-Pacific, we should be looking to build a new—and global—economic security alliance. America should lead the way in creating a new organization—call it something like the Treaty of Allied Market Economies (TAME), an “economic NATO” alliance of European and Indo-Pacific nations with open-market economies. Together, the partners in this alliance would respond as a unified block to political and economic pressure from China—or any other economic aggressor, for that matter—through a combination of trade barriers, sanctions, and export controls.

In some ways, this alliance would look similar to the coordinated but independent action that the West took in levying unprecedented sanctions against Russia after its Ukraine invasion. As an additional carrot to joining such an alliance, like-minded members could all share increased trade benefits in the form of tariff cuts, regulatory cooperation, and enhanced investment terms.

Beyond formal joint economic punishment of an aggressor, such an alliance could also plan for and commit to repairing and replacing real economic harms that member countries face when hit with retaliatory tariffs or trade wars. Such “trade diversion” often occurs in the market anyway. As one market closes, another opens—and we know that, in part, because of China’s actions against Australia. Markets are adaptable and most goods can flow elsewhere, especially if protectionist tariffs don’t stand in the way. It’s why Australia, for instance, weathered some of China’s aggressive moves better than anticipated. In particular, the Australian coal industry—which was also hit with punishing bans—turned out just fine because coal is such a fungible and high-demand product. “Once China banned imports of Australian coal in mid-2020, Chinese utilities had to turn to Russian and Indonesian suppliers instead. This, in turn, took Russian and Indonesian coal off the market, creating demand gaps in India, Japan, and South Korea—which Australia’s stranded coal was able to fill,” Foreign Policy noted. “The result of decoupling for one of Australia’s core industries was therefore just a game of musical chairs—a rearrangement of who traded with whom, not a material injury.”

One of the reasons that NATO has never had to invoke Article 5 against another nation-state attack—the only time it’s ever been used was after Sept. 11 against al Qaeda—is precisely because of how strong all other countries know the response from the combined NATO force would be.

The same should be true on the economic front. As Daleep Singh, a National Security Council official who helped coordinate the U.S. response to Ukraine, said, “The best sanctions are the ones that never have to get used.” China might very well think twice before weaponizing its trading strength if it understood the combined—and severe—penalties it might face in taking such action and that even if it did launch a trade war, it wouldn’t necessarily inflict much economic harm to begin with.

There’s enough evidence of China’s willingness to inflict economic pain for political gain across Asia and Europe that a well-crafted TAME organization would likely attract a long line of participants—many countries across the globe are becoming increasingly concerned about Chinese belligerent behavior, and there is safety in numbers. While it is unlikely that some large countries with significant economic dependence on China, such as France and Germany, would rush to join this new alliance, states that have already found themselves on the receiving end of Chinese coercion in the past—such as Australia, Norway, Sweden, Japan, the Czech Republic, Lithuania, the Philippines, and Taiwan itself, among others—are prime candidates for initial membership. Over time, as TAME membership grows in numbers, combined economic power, and market size, it will become a magnet too attractive for other market economies to avoid, especially if China continues to engage in brutish bullying tactics around the world.

12 notes · View notes

paralleljulieverse · 2 months

Text

Come taste the wine... : 70th anniversary of Julie Andrews's 'cabaret debut' at the Café Dansant, Cleethorpes, 3 performances Easter, 14-17 April, 1954

This week, seventy years ago, Julie Andrews made her official 'cabaret debut' at the Café Dansant in Cleethorpes. While not a major milestone in the traditional sense -- and one that seldom features in standard Andrews biographies -- the Cleethorpes appearance was nevertheless a significant event in the star's early career.

For a start, it was Julie's first appearance in cabaret -- the theatrical genre that is, not the Broadway musical which is a whole other Julieverse story. Characterised by sophisticated nightclub settings with adult audiences watching intimate performances, cabaret emerged in fin-de-siècle Paris before expanding to other European cities such as Berlin and Amsterdam (Appignanesi, 2004). Imported to Britain in the interwar years, cabaret offered a more urbane, adult alternative to the domestic traditions of English music hall and variety with their family audiences and jolly communal spirit (Nott, 2002, p. 120ff).

Julie's debut in cabaret was, thus, a significant step in her professional evolution towards a more mature image and repertoire. By 1954, Julie was 18, and well beyond the child star tag of her earlier years. Under the guidance of manager, Charles Tucker, there was a calculated strategy to reshape her stardom towards adulthood.

The maturation of Julie's image had begun in earnest the previous summer with Cap and Belles (1953), a touring revue that Tucker produced as a showcase for Julie, comedian Max Wall, and several other acts under his management. Cap and Belles afforded Julie the opportunity to shine with two big solos and a number of dance sequences. Much was made in show publicity of Julie's new "grown up" look, including the fact that she was wearing "her first off-the-shoulder evening dress" ('Her First Grown-Up Dress', 1953, p. 4). The Cleethorpes cabaret was a further step in this process of transformative 'adulting'. Indeed, it was something of a Cap and Belles redux. Not only was Max Wall back as headline co-star, Julie even wore the same 'grown up' strapless evening gown. In keeping with a cabaret format, though, Julie was provided a longer solo set where she sang a mix of classical and contemporary pop songs including "My Heart is Singing", "Belle of the Ball", "Always", and "Long Ago and Far Away" ('Cabaret opens', 1954, p. 4). That Julie should have chosen Cleethorpes for her cabaret debut might seem odd to contemporary readers. Today, this small town on the north Lincolnshire coast is largely regarded as a somewhat faded, out-of-the-way seaside resort. In its heyday of the mid-twentieth century, however, Cleethorpes was a vibrant tourist hub that attracted tens of thousands of holidaymakers each year (Dowling, 2005). With several large theatres and entertainment venues, Cleethorpes was also an important stop in the summertime variety circuit, drawing many of the era’s big stars and entertainment acts (Morton, 1986).

The Café Dansant was one of Cleethorpes' most iconic nighttime venues, celebrated for its elegant suppertime cabarets and salon orchestras. Opening in the 1930s, the Café was a particularly popular haunt during the war and post-war era when servicemen from nearby bases danced the night away with locals and visiting holidaymakers to the sound of touring jazz bands and crooners (Dowling, 2005, p. 129; Ruston, 2019).

By 1954, the Café was starting to show its age, and incoming new management decided to shutter the venue for several months to undertake a luxury refurbishment (‘Café Dansant closed', 1954, p. 3). A gala re-opening was set for the Easter weekend of April 1954, just in time for the start of the high season (‘Café Dansant opens', 1954, p. 8). Opening festivities for the Café kicked off with a lavish five hour dinner cabaret on the evening of Wednesday, 14 April. Julie was “one of the world famous cabaret stars" booked for the gala event, and she received considerable promotional build-up in both local and national press (‘Café Dansant opens', 1954, p. 8). There was even a widely circulating PR photo of Julie boarding the train to Cleethorpes at London's Kings Cross station. In the end, Max Wall was unable to appear due to illness, and Alfred Marks -- another Tucker artist and former variety co-star of Julie's (Look In, 1952) -- stepped in at short notice. Rounding out the bill were several other minor acts, including American dance duo, Bobby Dwyer and Trixie; novelty entertainers, Ruby and Charles Wlaat; and magician Ericson who doubled as cabaret emcee.

Commentators judged the evening a resounding success. The "Cafe Dansant has got away to a flying start, after probably the biggest opening night ever seen in Cleethorpes," effused one newspaper report (Sandbox, 1954, p.4). Special mention was made of Julie who “received a great reception when she sang a selection of old and new songs, accompanied at the piano by her mother” (‘'Café Dansant reopening’, 1954, p. 6).

Following her performance, Julie joined the Mayor of Cleethorpes, Mr Albert Winters, in a cake-cutting ceremony and mayoral dance. Decades later, Winters recalled how he still “savour[ed] the memory of snatching a dance with the young girl destined to be a star… [S]he seemed very slim and frail,” he reminisced, “but she was a great dancer and I thoroughly enjoyed myself” (Morton, 1986, p. 15).

Julie stayed on in Cleethorpes for two more performances on Thursday 15 and Saturday 17 April respectively, before returning to London with her mother on Easter Sunday, 18 April. The very next day she commenced formal rehearsals for Mountain Fire, Julie's first dramatic 'straight' play and another step in her professional pivot to more adult content (--also, time permitting, the subject of a possible future blogpost).

A final noteworthy aspect about the Cleethorpes appearance is that it was during this weekend that Julie made the momentous decision to go to America to star in The Boy Friend. In what has become part of theatrical lore, Julie had been offered the plum role of Polly Browne in the show's Broadway production sometime in February or March of 1954 while she was appearing in Cinderella at the London Palladium. To the American producers’ astonishment --- and manager Tucker’s horror -- Julie was initially reluctant to accept, fearful of leaving her home and family. She prevaricated for weeks. Finally, while she was in Cleethorpes, Julie was given an ultimatum and told she had to make her decision.

In her 1958 serialised memoir for Woman magazine, Julie recounts:

“Mummie and I went to Cleethorpes to do a concert. It was a miserable wet day. From our hotel I watched the dark sea pounding the shore with great grey waves. I was called to the downstairs telephone. “Julie,” said Uncle Charles [Tucker]‘s voice from London, “they can’t wait any longer. You’ll have to make your mind up NOW.” I burst into tears. “I’ll go Uncle,” I sobbed, “if you’ll make it only one year’s contract instead of two. Only one year, please.” … Against everyone’s judgment and wishes I got my way…None of us knew that if I’d signed for two [years], then I should never have been free to do Eliza in My Fair Lady. And never known all the happiness and success it has brought me” (Andrews, 1958, p. 46).

The Cleethorpes ultimatum even found its way into an advertising campaign that Julie did for Basildon Bond stationery in 1958/59, albeit with the telephone call converted into a letter for enhanced marketing purposes. Framed as a choice between going to America and the “trip [that] changed my life” or staying at home in England “and go[ing] on in pantomime, concerts, and radio shows—the mixture as before,” the advert highlighted the “sliding door” gravity of that fateful Cleethorpes weekend (Basildon Bond, 1958). What would the course of Julie's life been like had she said no to Broadway and opted to remain in the UK?

It is a speculative refrain that Julie and others have made frequently over the years. “If I’d stayed in England I would probably have got no further than pantomime leads,” she mused in a 1970 interview (Franks, 1970, p. 32). Or, more dramatically: “Had I remained in London and not appeared in the Broadway production of The Boy Friend…who knows, I might be starving in some chorus line today” (Hirschorn, 1968).

In all seriousness, it's doubtful that a British-based Julie would have faded into professional oblivion. As biographer John Cottrell quips: "that golden voice would always have kept her out of the chorus” (Cottrell, 1968, p. 71). Nevertheless, Julie's professional options in Britain during that era would have been greatly diminished. And she certainly wouldn't have achieved the level of international superstardom enabled by Broadway and Hollywood. Who knows, in a parallel 'sliding door' universe, our Julie might have gone on playing cabarets and end-of-pier shows in Cleethorpes...

Sources

Andrews, J. (1958). 'So much to sing about, part 3.' Woman. 17 May, 15-18, 45-48.

Appignanesi, L. (2004). The cabaret. Revised edn. Yale University Press.

Basildon Bond. (1958). 'I had 24 hours to decide, says Julie Andrews'. [Advertisement]. Daily Mirror. 6 October, p. 4.

'Cabaret opens Café Dansant." (1954). Grimsby Daily Telegraph. 15 April, p. 4.

‘Café Dansant closed.' (1954). Grimsby Evening Telegraph. 28 January, p. 3.

‘Café Dansant opens tonight – with world-famous cabaret’. (1954). Grimsby Evening Telegraph. 14 April, p. 8.

‘Café Dansant reopening a gay affair.’ (1954). Grimsby Evening Telegraph. 15 April, p. 6.

Cottrell, J. (1968). Julie Andrews: The story of a star. Arthur Barker Ltd.

Dowling, A. (2005). Cleethorpes: The creation of a seaside resort. Phillimore.

'Echoes of the past, the old Café Dansant'. (2009). Cleethorpes Chronicle. December 3, p. 13.

Frank, E. (1954). Daily News. 15 April, p.6.

Franks, G. (1970). ‘Whatever’s happened to Mary Poppins?’ Leicester Mercury. 4 December, p. 32.

'Her first grown-up dress.' (1953). Sussex Daily News. 28 July, p. 4.

Hirschorn, C. (1968). 'America made me, says Julie Andrews.' Sunday Express. 8 September, p. 23.

Morton, J. (1986). ‘Where the stars began to shine’. Grimsby Evening Telegraph. 22 September, p. 15.

Nott, J.J. (2002). Music for the people: Popular music and dance in interwar Britain. Oxford University Press.

Ruston, A. (2019). 'Taking a step back in time to the Cleethorpes gem Cafe Dansant where The Kinks once played'. Grimsby Live. 12 October.

Sandboy. (1954). 'Cleethorpes notebook: Flying start.' Grimsby Evening Telegraph. 19 April, p. 4.

#julie andrews #cleethorpes #cabaret #1954 #british theatre #cafe dansant

12 notes · View notes