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gojosmovingcastle · 21 days

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gojo's moving castle - g. satoru

☄. *. ☄⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆☄. *. ☄☄. *. ☄⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆☄. *. ☄

Satoru walked through the family home with bags full of souvenirs dangling at an alarming bag breaking weight.

"Papa's home!" He sang through the entry hall, trading out his curse bloodied shoes for warm cat themed slippers. He lifted the bags of souvenirs back up with deep confusion etched on his face. There was no shushes from Y/n over yelling at one in the morning, nor Megumi's protest at his Papa statement were heard which worried him a bit. Tsumiki wasn't even waiting for him with a mochi she had hidden away since the night he left for his mission.

When Satoru pulled up he could hear the television sound system from the garage so he had known they were home.

"Miki?" He peaked around the corner while following the television sounds. "Gumi?" The bags grew heavier in his hands and his brows drew with worry, he picked up his pace as the television light grew brighter. "Sweetie pie?"

Satoru's feet came to a halt as he came around to the family room.

In front of him, there was an intricate castle built almost as tall as their very high ceiling. A smile graced the young mans face as he set the bags down. A calming tune pulled his attention to the TV to see the ending of Howl's Moving Castle.

His lips pulled even wider, remembering when Suguru had compared Y/n and Satoru to Howl and Sophie.

His eyes had drifted down to see the Ghibli movie set Tsumiki and Megumi had gifted Y/n this most recent mothers day after she had promised to watch them all with the two.

As he grew closer to the front his heart nearly beat out of his chest, and he couldn't help the coo's that left his lips.

There in the deep pillow castle, curled in the thick blanket Satoru had brought back from his last mission in Johannesburg, Tsumiki, Megumi, and Y/n were curled up asleep. Surrounding them were the many stuffed animals Satoru had brought Tsumiki back after every far away mission he had to go on. Which had seem to add up to a lot as it looked like the source of bedding for the three.

Megumi was curled up into Y/n's side, clutching his Gundam action figure against her stomach. While Tsumiki was using Y/n's upper arm as a pillow as she hid her nose deep in her neck.

Satoru could tell Y/n was deeply uncomfortable, so he quickly snapped a picture and dived in to his family's castle.

Firstly, he lifted Tsumiki and pulled her close to his chest as he settled into the couch. He then lifted Y/n's head slightly waking her up and pulled her close, legs intertwined and spread across his own. Causing Megumi to fall fully onto Y/n's stomach.

The four were now a ball of cuddles.

"Toru?" Y/n groggy tilted her head to him making him reach out and brush the hair from her eyes.

"Hello, sleeping beauty." She blushed in her half-asleep state, nudging her head into his hand. He put two fingers over her lips as he saw her open her mouth to ask about his mission. "Go back to sleep, we can talk in the morning." She nodded and placed a soft kiss to his fingers and curled further into his lap, circling her arms around Megumi.

Satoru looked to the three with more love than he thought he could handle. Never in his life did he think he would experience such small but meaningful family things.

Each and every moment he spent with Y/n and the kids he thanked whatever being above that they gifted him with them after being alone for so many years.

"I love you, Miki," he pulled Tsumiki closer to his side and wrapped the pink Hello Kitty blanket tighter around her and him. "I love you, Y/n," He wrapped his free arm around her upper chest. "I love you, Gumi." He smiled at the boy who he now sees as a son.

It was silent for a few seconds before the boys voice shocked him, "Love you too, dad, now shut up and go to sleep." Megumi grumbled, hiding his ear in Y/n's stomach, and holding his Gundam over his other ear.

Satoru didn't think he could smile any wider, but he managed.

He cherished every slip up Megumi had. A tear escaped his eye as he watched his sons face pinch as the movie got louder. He quickly reached for the remote and turned the television off, and the fireplace on with the opposite remote to encompass his loving family with more warmth.

Satoru wouldn't want to come home to anything more or less. He had everything he needed right here in this small castle.

The warm and welcoming Gojo Castle.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #gojo satoru #satorugojo #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #fushiguro tsumiki #megumi fushiguro

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shewhohangsoutincemeteries · 1 year

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wrapping up the last three hundred and sixty-five days with a round up of all the 'x reader' fanfiction I have published in 2022. thank you all for all your requests, feedback, reblogs and support over the last twelve months, especially during the 10k month of fic! sharing this love for these characters with you all is such a mental refresh for me, and hopefully I can publish even more fics in 2023. and I hope that you'll love all the new fics as much as you've loved these ones :)

happy new year!

full content warnings and content can be found on each individual post, and each fic is labelled for length. follow me on bartonstark to find all my fic in one place, or check out my ao3. smut/sexual content: *** personal favourites: ///

BRUCE BANNER:

afterwards (drabble) *** aftercare with bruce.

bend, don't break (oneshot) *** /// the take a reprieve during a party, and take a new step in your relationship.

fear and loving in iowa (oneshot) when you’re injured in johannesburg, bruce blames himself.

fireworks (oneshot) thanks to the frigid air at the top of the tower, you share a tender moment.

first times (drabble) *** having sex with bruce for the first time.

p.s. (ficlet) an unfinished note leaves you confused during your college graduation.

restoration (oneshot) after johannesburg, you have nightmares. bruce provides you with comfort.

BUCKY BARNES:

bedside manner (oneshot) sam calls you to say bucky has been hurt on a mission,and you panic.

early hours (oneshot) *** after a mission, all bucky wants to do is crawl into bed with you.

morning grind (drabble) *** morning sex with bucky.

shards of glass (oneshot) *** /// you share a past, and now bucky's tracked you down to find closure.

CLINT BARTON:

after hours (oneshot) *** clint stops by your office after work to distract you the best way he can.

body heat (oneshot) *** /// the there's-only-one-bed trope in the back of an suv during a blizzard.

bound (drabble) *** clint is really into bondage and you're happy to spoil him.

coffee break (ficlet) there's an avenger bleeding in the bathroom of the cafe where you work.

crossroads (oneshot) clint receives an offer that could change his life & you encourage him to take it.

a delicate hand (oneshot) /// clint attempts to pull you out of a funk by helping you get ready for the event.

green light (oneshot) *** /// you surprise clint with a new toy, and he is very eager to try it out.

hey, you (ficlet) *** /// you receive a note from a certain avenger in the middle of a crowded bar.

in the stacks (ficlet) *** you steal a moment of intimacy in the back of a bookshop together.

respite (oneshot) when you’re hurt on a mission, clint has to convince you to take a breather.

think of me (oneshot) *** /// when you're dragged out for a night, clint has an idea of what to do in the club.

three a.m. (oneshot) /// a knock on your window comes from a certain injury-prone avenger.

we could play pretend (oneshot) you bond over all the little things you miss about being in a relationship.

welcome home (drabble) *** you welcome clint home after he's been away on a mission.

JESSICA JONES:

reprieve (oneshot) she has to drag you out of a dingy bar in the middle of the night.

snooze button (drabble) jessica isn't exactly a morning person.

MARC SPECTOR:

fast lane (drabble) *** /// marc gives you a preview in the car of what to expect when you get home.

NATASHA ROMANOFF:

follow my lead (oneshot) natasha offers to teach you how to slow dance.

PETER QUILL:

raincheck (oneshot) /// convincing quill to go to bed isn’t exactly an easy feat.

SAM WILSON:

miss me? (oneshot) you're finally reunited with sam in the middle of the battle of earth.

soul food (oneshot) /// when you’re sick, he ditches his responsibilities just to make you feel better.

STEVE ROGERS:

lost time (oneshot) *** late for your date, steve walks in on you working off your frustrations.

TONY STARK:

afterglow (drabble) *** after care with tony.

as you're told (oneshot) *** /// tony calls you to his office with a new game in mind…

between the sheets (oneshot) *** you've decided to try for a baby, and tony can't wait to get started.

come back to me (oneshot) after tony almost dies, you’re left lost and furious at what just happened.

count (oneshot) *** /// tony is nothing if not a giver. but… he is also a bit of an asshole.

echo (oneshot) /// you’re struggling to forget the past, so you try to bring part of it back to you.

idiot (drabble) *** just an soft, sexy moment between the two of you.

insatiable (drabble) *** the real question is, which one of you is the bigger tease?

mood lighting (ficlet) *** tony spoils you by candlelight.

on your knees (oneshot) *** the idea of having you on your knees is far too tempting for tony to resist.

quick question (oneshot) tony has a question to ask you, battlefield be damned.

red and gold (ficlet) an afternoon in central park lets you appreciate the seasonal color change.

simple pleasures (drabble) *** tony loves nothing more than eating you out.

sober hearts (oneshot) a look at your relationship as it has evolved over the years.

spare key (drabble) *** you give tony a key to your apartment.

subtlety (oneshot) *** impatient, you make use of the ‘emergency stop’ button in the elevator.

warm hands (ficlet) *** the two of you share an intimate interlude out in the snow.

WANDA MAXIMOFF:

hold tight (oneshot) *** /// she loves to spoil you & sometimes that means leaving you a quivering mess.

reflected in you (oneshot) you try on your new uniform, and wanda helps you find your confidence.

spicy sweet (oneshot) *** you plan on surprising wanda, but disaster means a change of plans.

sweetness (oneshot) *** /// wanda loves the way you sound, and doesn’t care who else hears it.

THREESOMES/POLYAMORY:

hands free (oneshot) *** /// you find clint on the phone, and you can’t help but distract him.

player three (drabble) *** /// clint x bucky x you. game night takes a turn when they team up on you to win.

SERIES:

to ashes chapters (full series, this year's chapters in bold) prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - more to come...

tags: @startrekkingaroundasgard @wittyforachange @lovely-dreamer19 @castieltrash1 @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lol-you-thought @sebbystanlover-vk @mikariell95 @csigeoblue @abrunettefangirlnerd @babyblues915 @aar-journey @moistpotatobear @bellamyblakemorley @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @sentimentalalien @agustdowney @akumune @xxboesefrauxx @patheticallysentimental @loki-is-loved @ruderavenclaw @enna-core @hearmyharmony @katsies @youralphawolf72 @whovianayesha @bradfordbantams @alice-the-nerd @ace-fandom-dumbass @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @twsssmlmaa @earth-pig-fish @hallothankmas @meeksmusic83 @fallinginlovewithqueue @justanothermagicalsara @dragon-chica @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @starrynightsforever @baku-writes @sorryurnotbrucebanner

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cazzyf1 · 2 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy :)

#classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #vintage f1 #1982 drivers strike

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sebsbarnes · 3 months

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heyyyy hope it makes sense when i explain for tan x reader. So reader and twins work together sometimes so are kind of friends in the field and she gets on really well with lemon and with tan too but they bicker a lot sometimes. Basically there is this get together thingy for ther organization or smth and lemon is quite sociable and talks with alot of people and tan is kinda quiet so is kinda bored when it comes to these things since lemon is just chatting to anyone so when reader and ladybug (cuz they're kinda work buddies) arrive to the party and reader sees tan just standing by himself she goes over to him and they just end up chatting and having a laugh (maybe a bit drunk) the whole night and lemon and ladybug are just laughing when its time to go and they are both getting along better than anyone thought possible. Its kinda detailed but i hope it makes sense :)))

hey!! ahh this is a good idea! and it made perfect sense to help me outline what to write, thank u!

new friends, new love || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

warnings: mentions of injuries , language, normal ole' bullet train stuff

word count: 1.3k+ ; fluff

masterlist

a/n: this is kinda dialogue heavy which normally isn't my style so eek i hope that's okay

"play nice," you hissed, "you still aren't in their good graces. you're lucky i'm friends with them so they didn't hunt you down after japan."

ladybug groaned at the force of your finger pointed in his chest, "yeah yeah," he dismissed you.

with that, you rolled your eyes and entered the building. it was a private event, a get-together really, thrown by the organizations that hire you out for contract jobs. a chance to network and meet some faces that you may not have seen in a while.

"there they are!" a voice yelled startling you and ladybug. coming at you was lemon with a wide grin on his face. he pivoted around and threw his arms over yours and ladybug's shoulders.

"always a pleasure, my dear," he said to you before turning to ladybug, "and i still want to rip your fuckin' head off, mate."

ladybug smiled sheepishly at lemon who then released you both from his grip. you diverted your attention to looking around the room. it was well-decorated and dimly lit. there was waitstaff walking around and offering refills on drinks. towards the bar was a long table piled with hors d'oeuvres. bosses you have had were chatting amongst themselves cracking jokes with one another.

and then there was tangerine. he had one foot propped up, leaning onto the high-top table. his thumb and middle finger holding onto the whiskey glass. he was far away from anyone else at the event and you could see he was scanning the room watching everyone interact with one another. his white button-down shirt and gold necklace hung low near the table with his hair free of any gel. when he made eye contact with you and found your feet carrying you to him.

"hiding out?" you teased.

tangerine tilted his head to the side at you. his eyes squinting just a bit with a charming smirk on his face, "caught me."

"i really don't remember johannesburg!" lemon belly laughed.

"well i sure do!" ladybug exasperated throwing his arms to the side, the drink in his glass spilt on his hand.

"oh! and then you almost killed my brother! so, seems like we are a bit even," lemon announced.

"will you always hold that over my head?"

"yes."

"oh god. if i didn't intervene on the bullet train i think we all would've died before the crash," you grumbled, remembering how much of an idiot ladybug had been to tangerine and lemon.

"yeah your little friend is lucky you had his back or there'd be a bullet between his eyes," tangerine replied, twirling the liquid in his glass.

"would you have done the same to me?" you asked and although you meant to sound joking it came out far more serious than you anticipated.

tangerine sucked the brown liquor between his teeth, "i'd never do anything to hurt you. i'd hurt myself before i'd hurt you."

lemon and ladybug barely took a breath since they started chatting and any poor soul that walked past them was sucked into some nonsensical conversation, trapping them for at least fifteen minutes. these guys could talk and talk and truthfully it was impressive.

"ha! who knew tangerine had a soft spot?" ladybug laughed, nodding his chin over to the wall you and tangerine were occupying.

lemon chuckled through his nose, a small smirk appearing on his face, "only for her."

ladybug harshly grabbed carver, who was now standing next to them, on the shoulder and shook him slightly, "thanks for bailing on kyoto so the lovebirds over there could meet. it's kinda like i'm cupid, right? i brought her with me on the mission and now she found love! i should journal about this."

ladybug continued to talk about how journaling has helped his inner peace and how his therapist thought his progress was improving rapidly so their sessions should be more spread out. though lemon was listening and throwing in the occasional 'yeah' or 'really?', his eyes were trained on tangerine who was fully engaged in the conversation with you. he found it amusing. only hours earlier tangerine had been whining and complaining about having to go and how he hated socializing. lemon drew his attention away as tangerine grabbed your arm.

"jesus, this is a bad cut," tangerine said in disbelief looking at a deep cut with angry scar tissue, "where are the people that did this to you?"

with a devilish grin you leaned towards his face, "six feet under."

tangerine sucked his cheeks in, lips pouted slightly. he was amused. the glint in your eyes as you refused to look away from him almost became unbearable. he just found you so enthralling and if he could he'd stand here all night talking to you, leaning against the wall till he became one with the paint.

you and tangerine had always bumped heads but never anything serious. you both could take the jokes thrown at the other and sometimes it moved into a weird grey area of flirting that neither of you minded. but things really did change on the bullet train when you saved tangerine's life. ladybug was going to shoot tangerine no matter what and even you couldn't change that, but, what helped was your piercing scream caused ladybug to slightly shift his aim when he fired the gun. the bullet still hit tangerine's neck though not as deep as it would've.

"you fucking idiot, ladybug!" you roared. the whole time on the train you wanted the four of you to work as a unit, but ladybug being as hardheaded as he was made it difficult.

"i thoug-,"

"go get the fucking girl. like i told you earlier," you cut him off now bringing your full attention to tangerine who was groaning in pain.

"i'm sorry. i know, i know this hurts but you can't fight me off. it's either i do this or you die and i really don't fucking want that," you told him sternly as you basically straddled his body to keep your hands pressed to his wound.

"l-lemon?" tangerine asked through heavy breaths.

"he's alive. he was passed out or something and i tossed him around to wake up so he's okay, okay? now you need to be also. for him... and for me."

"i don't think i ever properly thanked you for saving me," he pondered, accent thick.

"there's no need to... you would've done the same for me," you winked. you two lulled in the silence, sipping at your now watered-down drinks. you aren't sure why but you wanted to hold his hand, maybe it was the slight buzz from the drink, so you did. tangerine didn't pull away or ask you why. he was grateful for the dim lights in the room hiding the pink hue on his cheeks. he hoped you didn't feel how his hands were clammy with nerves but you did and made no mention of it.

"alright kids!," ladybug yelled, "let's head out!"

ladybug and lemon approached the two of you slightly swaying from the drinks they've consumed. tangerine went to pull his hand away but you didn't budge and squeezed his hand tighter. he looked at you with a shy smile and you flashed him a smile back.

"come on," you said using your other hand to pat his chest.

"we are getting food, you guys coming?" lemon slightly slurred.

tangerine peered at you, "of course."

the four of you exited the building and walked off to get food. lemon and ladybug seemingly put their rocky past behind them as they continued to toss jokes back and forth. maybe it was just the alcohol talking and tomorrow they'd wake up still displeased with the other. but tomorrow you and tangerine would wake up with the same fuzzy feeling in your stomachs that you have right now as your hands swung together, shoulders bumped, and shy smiles on your faces like you two were forbidden to be with the other and were sneaking off into the night.

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year

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Hiii! Can I please request a Tangerine x fem!reader where when the Twins are on the Johannesburg job, maybe Y/n was originally working with Ladybug, but double crosses him for Lemon and Tangerine, hence why Lemon had the upper hand on Ladybug😅 (poor Ladybug, gotta love him🤧😅), now being parters with the Twins. Y/n and Tan had liked each other (romantically) for a while, Lemon absolutely loves her (platonically), so they were finally able to convince her to join them instead😅. Also omg, flash forward to the Bullet Train job, Y/n saving Tan’s life when he confronted the Prince (saving him from accidentally being shot by Ladybug…) Y/n being like, “You almost killed my boyfriend, DAD” Cue Lemon and Tangerine being like, “Ladybug is your DAD???!” 😂

Lol I’m sorry for the last part… I thought that would be a funny twist🤣🤣

hii again! hope you like it💌

change of partners (tan x f reader)

wc || 754

warnings || mentions of weapons (?)

masterlist + rules

taglist

A few years before the events of Bullet Train-

“You do know he’s not behind there?” Tapping on the shoulder of a man with a beanie.

“What?” The guy peers around to look at you. “No way!”

“Lemon? I didn’t recognise you with your disguise.”Making air quotes as you snickered. “That guy you’re after… he’s not there. He’s in the car park.” You whisper behind a pillar.

“The white homeless-looking man?”

“Yeah, he’s waiting on the fourth floor.” You disappear before you he can ask you more questions.

You felt guilty for tipping him off, but then again it was part of the job. He was getting on your nerves, on multiple occasions, you had to stop yourself from telling him to get therapy.

You made a couple of laps around the car park, running up to different levels to have a sweep. Making your way down from the fifth floor you decide to check out how things are going on fourth.

Lemon was running away clutching his empty gun to his chest. Catching up, you began to jog beside him. “I take it went well?” You pant.

“Too well.” Slowing down as he made enough distance from the scene.

“What’d you do?” Stopping the same as he did.

“Shot him twice.” He said flatly.

“Is he dead?” You asked intrigued.

“Nah, I dunno, you’ll have to ask him.” Deeply laughing as he looked around, guessing to find his brother. “Oi Tan.” He shouts in an attempt to find him.

“What?” Tangerine shouts back in reply, standing in the stairwell. “Over here.”

Turning around to look at Lemon. “What would you say about me joining you both?” Smiling at him with puppy dog eyes, hoping it’ll persuade him.

“I’d say yes, but you know what Tan’s like.” Nodding towards his brother who was looking agitated.

“I’ll make him say ‘yes’”

-Cutting forward to today-

You’d been running around the train nonstop, it felt like it was a literal death trap. You had so many random people that were just absolutely nuts.

You hadn’t seen your partners in a while, being too preoccupied with a reptile issue- you hated snakes as is, but the fact it was a poisonous one made you hide in the toilets, scared shitless.

Finally racking up enough courage to leave the toilets, sprinting down the aisles to make it into the next carriage. Oh thank god, Lemon is in there. Stopping yourself from walking in when you hear a gun go off. Watching from behind as the man fell to the floor. No! Wrong person Lemon!

Turning on your heel to try and find Tangerine, heading towards the back of the train.

Spotting him, eyes bugging out your head. Oh my god. He looks battered. Running up to him, “what happened?” You sadly ask, running your hands on his cut face.

“That prick pushed me off the train” he huffs.

“Jesus! I’ve got some cream in my bag, I just gotta find it first.”

“Where’s Lemon?” He asks, bending down to kiss your forehead.

“I just saw him a minute ago, I’ll go find him. Wait here.” You instruct. “We gotta get off this fucking train.”

Running into the carriages in hopes to find Lemon, they all look the bloody same. Having no luck you return to Tangerine. But he wasn’t there anymore, sighing frustratedly.

Hearing Tan shout you follow the sound. Running in between the cluster of three people. It was the annoying British girl and your old partner Ladybug, how odd.

“What the fucks going on?!” You demand, looking at them all.

“He’s been causing this girl harm, he’s got a gun aimed at her for Christ’s sake, excuse my language.” Ladybug responds.

“Oh have I fuck. She’s a dirty fucking diesel.” Tangerine shouts from behind.

“He’s not dangerous.” You flatly reply.

“Yeah, how do you know?” Ladybug asks.

“Because he’s my boyfriend.” Avoiding Ladybug’s gaze.

Lemon bustles in through the door yawning loudly. “What’s going on?”

“Not going to introduce me to your friends?” Ladybug chirps.

“Shut up, not right now.” You snap back, already feeling stressed, running your hands through your hair.

“Why the fuck would she?” Lemon retaliates.

“Because I’m her father…”

Everyone’s eager eyes penetrate your own like they’re all individually asking you a hundred questions. Backing away, “we don’t want the white death to kill us, right? I’m going to prepare for Kyoto, so I suggest you all do the same.” Walking away hoping to forget about what happened. It worked, right?

#tangerine bullet train #tangerine #bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine and lemon #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x you

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septembriseur · 11 months

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From Stanley Cohen's States of Denial:

My earliest memory that could be called ‘political’ goes back to a winter night in Johannesburg in the mid-nineteen-fifties. I must have been twelve or thirteen. My father was away from home for a few days on business. Like many South African middle-class families (especially Jewish and anxious ones), we employed for these rare occasions a ‘Night Watch Boy’: that is, an adult black man – in this case an old Zulu (I vividly remember the wooden discs in his ear lobes)– working for a private security company. Just before going to bed, I looked out of the window and saw him huddled over a charcoal fire, rubbing his hands to keep warm, the collar of his khaki overcoat turned up. As I slipped into my over-warm bed– flannel sheets, hot water bottle, thick eiderdown brought by my grandmother from Poland– I suddenly started thinking about why he was out there and I was in here.

My mother always used to tell me that I was ‘over-sensitive’. This must have been my over-sensitivity at work, an inchoate feeling not exactly of guilt– this came later– but that something was wrong. Why did this old man have to sit out in the cold all night? Why had our family (and everyone like us) been allocated black men and women (who were called ‘boys’ and ‘girls’ or just ‘natives’) as domestic servants? Why did they live in tiny rooms in the backyard? Where were their wives, husbands and children? Why did they address me as ‘baas’, or ‘master’?

I don’t remember what I did with my bedroom epiphany. Almost certainly, I just dropped off to sleep. But later, even when I began to think sociologically about apartheid, privilege, injustice and racism, I would still return to some version of that early psychological unease. I saw this unease– correctly, I believe– as arising from a sense of knowing that something was deeply wrong, but also knowing that I could not live in a state of permanent awareness of this knowledge. Without my deliberate intention, this awareness would switch itself on or, more often, off. There might be weeks or months of blindness, amnesia and sleepwalking. Political education – later called ‘consciousness raising’ – made these phases less frequent, just as it should do.

Later, I started asking another question, one that I still discuss with people who grew up with me. Why did others, even those raised in similar families, schools and neighbourhoods, who read the same papers, walked the same streets, apparently not ‘ see ’ what we saw? Could they be living in another perceptual universe – where the horrors of apartheid were invisible and the physical presence of black people often slipped from awareness? Or perhaps they saw exactly what we saw, but just didn’t care or didn’t see anything wrong....

...By this time, my obsession appeared from an unexpected direction. In 1980, I left England with my family to live in Israel. My vintage sixties radicalism left me utterly unprepared for this move. Nearly twenty years in Britain had done little to change the naïve views I had absorbed while growing up in the Zionist youth movement in South Africa. It soon became obvious that Israel was not like this at all. By the 1982 invasion of Lebanon, I was already disenchanted with the liberal peace movement in which I thought I belonged. I drifted into what in Israeli terms is the ‘far left ’ – the margins of the margins.

I also became involved in human rights issues, particularly torture. In 1990,I started working with Daphna Golan, the Research Director of the Israeli human rights organization, B’Ttselem, on a research project about allegations of torture against Palestinian detainees. Our evidence of the routine use of violent and illegal methods of interrogation was to be confirmed by numerous other sources. But we were immediately thrown into the politics of denial. The official and mainstream response was venomous. Liberals were uneasy and concerned... Yet there was no outrage. Soon a tone of acceptance began to be heard. Abuses were intrinsic to the situation; there was nothing to be done till a political solution was found; something like torture might even be necessary sometimes; anyway, we don’t want to keep being told about this all the time.

This apparent normalization seemed difficult to explain. The report had an enormous media impact: graphic drawings of standard torture methods were widely reproduced, and a taboo subject was now discussed openly. Yet very soon, the silence returned. Worse than torture not being in the news, it was no longer news. Something whose existence could not be admitted, was now seen as predictable...

...It was natural to make the claustrophobic assumption that this problem was unique because Israel was uniquely horrible. Luckily our visitors from the international human rights community reminded us that the problem was universal. They were interested in information circulating in the international arena. How did audiences in North America or Western Europe react to knowledge of atrocities in East Timor, Uganda or Guatemala? I started imagining a nice thirty- something couple sitting, with their breakfast coffee and croissants, in New York, London, Paris or Toronto. They pick up the morning news- paper: ‘Another Thousand Tutsis Massacred in Rwanda’. In the mail plop two circular letters, one from Oxfam: ‘While you are eating your breakfast, ten more children starve to death in Somalia’, and one from Amnesty: ‘While you are eating your lunch, eight street-children are killed in Brazil’. What does this ‘news ’ do to them, and what do they do to the news? What goes through their minds? What do they say to each other?

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avocado-writing · 1 year

Note

Sleeves, guide, unbutton, pull and steady just scream Tangerine x reader 👀

there are some ones that paired well here so I put @venusthepirate and @stregatadallostregatto together! 🧡

tagging: @wanderedaway

[ UNBUTTON ] : due to heat or stress or other reasons, sender unbuttons the top of their shirt to reveal their neckline; [ SLEEVES ] : sender rolls up their sleeves to reveal their forearms; [ PIN ] : sender pins receiver against a wall.

Johannesburg is hot this time of year.

You’re fine, of course, because you’re the sensible one out of your little party - you’re wearing breezy linens and cottons. So, yeah, the light colours might not be ideal for when you’re having to deal with blood, but the single-use rain macs you always keep on hand help with that problem.

Tangerine tugs at his shirt uncomfortably and you suppress a smile. Well, you’d warned him about the weather. That it would be sweltering and he’d want to dress accordingly. But Tangerine being Tangerine had decided he knew best and ignored your sage advice. And now he’s suffering the consequences, daft twat.

“Sweating my bollocks off,” he grumbles. You wrinkle your nose at that image.

“Well, you chose to wear the full suit, Tan.”

Then again he wouldn’t not wear it; the bloody things are like a second skin to him. Plus you can’t imagine Tan in just a t-shirt or something. He always needs to be dressed to the nines.

So, in order to combat the heat, Tangerine has taken off his blazer, undone the top two buttons of his shirt, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

And you are definitely not looking.

No. You are not looking at the patch of hair that peeks out from that ‘v’ under his gold pendant. And you are not looking at the way forearms strain against his tattoos, looking deliciously biteable. And especially not at how his jewellery lands on his hands, unobstructed, and how it highlights the drool-inducing veins there.

You aren’t looking!

Christ, and his fucking collarbone…

A bead of sweat rolls down it and you have to look away before he catches you licking your lips.

“Shit—”

You don’t get a chance to ask what’s gotten his attention, because before any words can leave your mouth Tangerine has slammed you into an alleyway. His chest is flush against yours, and every time he breathes he pushes further into you - oh, shit, he’s practically pinning you, is this the way he’s going to act on it? This tension that’s been building for months, is he going to have you here behind these bins in the middle of fucking Joburg?

Are you surprised with how fine you are with the idea?

But then you hear some footsteps run past and you realise, oh, he was just hiding the both of you. You do your best to hide your disappointment. That’s fine, you suppose. It’s fine.

Tangerine doesn’t move, even once the sound has disappeared into the distance. You angle yourself to better look into his eyes. His face is pink, blushing from the heat… or is it partially from something else, too?

Hmm. You’re still pressed together.

“At least take me to dinner first,” you say, laughing quietly. But Tangerine doesn’t laugh back. In fact, he seems to take the idea very seriously and as he goes to respond -

Your phones go.

The two of you spring apart, checking your messages at once; though you know who it’ll be from.

🍋: just shot a bloke in the car park. we need to get going.

You sigh. Yep. That sounds about right. You turn to talk to Tangerine - but he’s already started striding off.

“Keep up!” he calls over his shoulder, the precious moment seemingly forgotten. Damn. He does have a nice walk, though.

#Tangerine x reader #Tension prompts

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unchartedthelostlegacy · 9 months

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Nadine would buy an alpaca farm in Iceland with her finder's fee from the ministry of culture + the profits from auctioning off the last of Shoreline's assets, vehicles, and munitions. It would be an impulsive move for her after her father verbally eviscerates her at a party.

And she feels she can't show her face around Johannesburg, or even Cape Town ( where most of Shoreline was based) again.

Chloe would sniff at the beautiful scenery. "Quiet. Unspoilt." She'd mutter, walking down the two tire tracks that were the driveway. Three animals were currently visible in the pasture to her right. They looked like sheep and ponies and giraffes fused together.

Chloe tried to imagine Nadine, with her manicured fingers, shoveling alpaca shit. Or shearing these behemoths. She always had a grace to her under the military veneer, and Chloe knew for a fact she dressed in Burberry when not on the battlefield.

There was a little off road vehicle parked by the front door. Chloe looked around for the other source of the tire tracks, but there was none. She gave the door some knocks. Hope she lets me do some stunts on it, Chloe thought, looking over at the handlebars.

"Who is it?" Came through the heavy light-wooden door.

Chloe chuckled at the nerves in Nadine's voice. "The Easter bunny."

She heard a couple of latches and deadbolts open and the door opened, and she got her delicious eye full of Nadine wearing a rather well-fitting sweater. Chloe stepped over the threshold and embraced her, not waiting for words.

"Chloe you--didn't--oof--call--"

"Yeah, china. Your line was always dead or busy," Chloe said.

"I--the battery--died," A blush was filling Nadine's cheeks as Chloe cupped them in her hands.

"A likely story. You wouldn't be avoiding calls from family, right?"

The ex-Shoreline leader finally shut the door behind Chloe and pushed away from her.

"Why did you come all the way here?"

Because Nadine had sent a wool hat and a postcard with the northern lights and Chloe felt the chill when she pressed it to her heart. And oh yeah. The gig.

"Is that a loom," Chloe said instead.

"Don't play with it," Nadine snapped. "And you didn't answer me."

"Did you expect me to write a letter back? Thought I'd save money posting myself over instead of paying for international package."

Nadine snorted as she sat down by the window. It was, Chloe now saw, a nook. Her tea and book were on a table in front of her armchair.

"Ja. Only polite to write back."

Chloe took stock of her surroundings for the first time. Besides the antique-looking loom, the high ceiling with huge wooden beams, the long windows drawn with patterned curtains Chloe was almost positive Nadine had brought from home, it was sparingly decorated. There were rugs warming the stone floor and an old black stove with chopped wood stacked beside it. Its pipe went out to the wall instead of a chimney.

Chloe put her bag down on the table and plopped down in Nadine's lap.

"Hey!"

Chloe pressed her ear into Nadine's clavicle, closing her eyes as the woman made an indignant noise.

"Chloe what are you doing."

Chloe made the universal "I don't know" mumble. She felt Nadine slip the hat off her. The woman's thighs shifted a little under her own.

"You're not really going to fall asleep on me are you."

"Not...with that attitude...china..."

Chloe ended the sentence with a yawn and felt Nadine's ribs rumble with a small laugh. She curled more into her, feeling Nadine's arm come around her back as she got back to her book.

The smell of Nadine, and the berry-like aroma of the rooibos, and the distant calls of the alpacas already felt like a dream. She slipped away from wakefulness.

#chlodine #alpacafarm!Nadine #this is very fine cringe #cronge even #don't read this #ficlet #fanfic #uncharted tll #chloe frazer #nadine ross #uncharted #the lost legacy #uncharted: the lost legacy

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therese-lokidottir · 2 months

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Okey there's compared between Wanda action in age of ultron with sylvie in Loki season 2. The compared was about when they see the situation becoming bad.

Let's recap ultron in half of planning, then Wanda knowing what ultron want to do, she horrified not for herself but everyone then she trying stop ultron because even she in vengeful state to Avengers she no want everyone dead (about what happened in Johannesburg it's another thing that let's put a side for this discussion)

And then sylvie, Loki literally said there's will be problem because she kill her and sylvie saw the loom too that about explose that elwill ending all multiverse,she still not care about the disaster that on going, she started care when her McDonalds timeline was gone in front of her face when she literally being warned about consequence what she did

You see this compared? Which one actually care about other and which one that really selfish.

Oh btw while I still feel weird that Wanda just immediately join avenger after what she did, Wanda got her consequence her country was gone and her brother was dead. And sylvie? What consequence she got? Her McDonalds was gone but she still have tampad to go wherever she want, and she look Happy, there's no pain on her face or remorse.

I've made this whole point before

~Wanda, both in Age of Ultron and WandaVision, was presented with a choice. Your wants and feelings vs the well-being of others and, both times, Wanda chooses others. Sylvie is given that choice and she chooses herself.~

My defense of Wanda is not to say she is justified, a hero or even not selfish. My point is just that she's not evil and even if she never gets punished, she does face consequences. The Avengers don't trust in at first in AoU, she has to live on the run after CA;CW, everyone in Westview hates her and she doesn't get anything she wanted. Those are consequences. No one reacts to Sylvie like the person who murdered a bunch of their colleagues. No one calls her out on causing the mess that now has to be delt with. In the end she just gets everything she wants, and Loki gets nothing and she smiles and walks off like it's nothing.

As I have to make clear did not watch season 2. So, may not the full context, but it honestly doesn't sound like Sylvie did anything. I'm also unclear if the timelines came back or they just hopped to a new one. But either way, Sylvie only cares about herself and if it is the latter and Sylvie it shows she truly didn't even care about the people there, she just liked playing house and the people around her were disposable. In contrast to Wanda who did love her family it did have that basic human empathy for the people in Westview. Waldron doesn't write his suppose hero, Sylvie much different than he does when he writes Wanda as a villain, just saying.

#asks #anti sylvie #in defense of wanda

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touchlikethesun · 5 months

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last year, i visited the apartheid museum in johannesburg with a group of exclusively white and (almost) exclusively americans. the museum has you walk more or less chronologically through the never ending list of tragedies and injustices that were propagated by white afrikaners against the black and coloured populations. i had to leave the group more than once to go cry in the other room or in the toilets because not only was i being confronted with truly horrifying facts and images that i had been entirely ignorant to before, but i was also having to see all the bored, impassive expressions of the others, as they tsked and murmured "what a shame" before swiftly moving on to the next horrific image.

now over a month into the war (genocide) going on in gaza, and news keeps coming out everyday about the horrible conditions, about the atrocities being committed by the israeli government, and i can already see the indifference forming in so many people, in addition to those that were supportive of israel's actions from the get-go. how can anyone look at what's happening in gaza and think "this is what they deserve, this is a proportionate response," how??? how can you pull the wool over your own eyes and fight and punch and shout at anyone that tries to take it away.

the reason why i put these two experiences together in my mind is because i think it's the same cognitive dissonance that allows for people to be confronted with tragedy and just dismiss it. none of us are passive observers in this. not all of us have the ability to really make a change, but i do think we all have a responsibility to look at what is happening with humanity and with horror. we can't get desensitised to it and we can't let it just fade to the background.

otherwise we're no better than old shriveled zombies, already aimlessly wandering a memorial and not feeling anything.

#i didn't want to post about this because i don't think i have much productive to say #and whatever i do will end up feeling performative and hollow because it literally has no impact on the horrible things that are happening #not to mention my voice counts for literally nothing because i have no stakes in this but being human and not wanting other humans to suffe #but i was thinking about this today and #just yeah idk i've been upset a lot recently #and ik that i've seemingly been posting business as usual here but i am thinking about this a lot and i have been emailing my representativ #for the little that that does #anyways #politics #palestine

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coochiequeens · 6 months

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A category for women, non women and open would help women, people with gender feelz AND people with intersex traits. But TRAs don't actually want to work with women and the intersections community. TRAs just want to use them for woke points.

She’s the Olympic gold-winner whose elevated testosterone levels led people to question her right to compete. With a few choice words for World Athletics, the middle-distance runner talks about labels, leaked medical records and how lowering her hormones took its toll on her body

‘You are here for a gender test’: read an extract from Semenya’s memoir

Caster Semenya photographed in Johannesburg, South Africa, earlier this month. Styling: Thomas Van Dyk. Hair and makeup: Alex Botha. Styling assistant: Jade Ayla. Photograph: Alice Mann/The Guardian

Caster Semenya

Caster Semenya: ‘How would I label myself? I’m an African. I’m a woman. I’m a different woman’

Tshepo Mokoena @tnm___Sat 28 Oct 2023

For much of her early 20s, Caster Semenya felt physically sick. The South African runner had risen to sudden global acclaim in 2009, when she won gold in the 800m at the World Athletics Championships in Berlin at the age of just 18. It was her first major world competition. But her win was marred by questions of her sex and gender. Given her speed, muscular build and husky voice, some quietly asked whether she was a man. The sport’s governing body, the IAAF (known since 2019 as World Athletics), had required Semenya to take gender verification tests the day before the race, with a spokesperson telling the press “the rumours, the gossip was starting to build up”, and needed investigating.

Semenya’s subsequent victory would mark the start of a decade-long story, full of twists and turns that would take her from the top of the world championships podium to the European court of human rights – and would lead to a career-defining battle between the runner and World Athletics about her right to compete, as well as a monitored medical treatment plan that would leave her feeling, as she tells me today, “like the walking dead”.

Two sets of test results were leaked in the months that followed the Berlin championships: blood tests reportedly showed Semenya had three times more testosterone in her system than the average woman. Then the results of her medical examinations were published by Australian papers, suggesting Semenya was a “hermaphrodite” with internal testes and no womb. After 11 months of uncertainty, the IAAF announced in July 2010 that they had agreed on a “process” with Semenya, to allow her to compete at elite level (she hadn’t been able to run a race since August 2009 but had kept her first gold medal).

The process was a course of hormonal contraceptives, which neither she nor the IAAF made public. Instead, Semenya says that she had to secretly start taking the hormones at the end of 2009 to bring her naturally high testosterone levels down to a concentration accepted by the IAAF. And it didn’t go well. “I’d describe [the medication’s effects] like this: you’re living every day with a sore body. Your stomach is burning, you’re having panic attacks, you’re sweating. It … it was crazy.” Semenya first used a gel, before switching to a contraceptive pill.

She tells me this over Zoom, where she can be seen sitting outside on a shaded patio in Johannesburg. In a simple gold chain hanging over a white T-shirt and with her hair braided in her signature cornrows, she looks and sounds relaxed. But she also speaks passionately about what she had to endure early on in her career, shifting quickly from niceties about the photoshoot for this interview to torrents of profanity.

At times, she says, while on the hormones from 2009 to 2015, she felt so low she struggled to get up. As a child in the village of Ga-Masehlong, in the remote stretches of South Africa’s northernmost province, Limpopo, she had been a natural sprinter, with early dreams of playing professional football. Running at speed was intuitive. On the medication, though, she felt unstuck in her own body. But lowering her testosterone became the only acceptable way to appease the IAAF and keep competing.

“I had to sacrifice myself to be the best that I am. There were days when I lived in the dark. Days where I didn’t want to wake up,” she remembers. “Those are the things that people don’t understand when World Athletics says: ‘Take this medication.’ Fuck them. Those motherfuckers must go take the medication themselves, then tell us how they feel.” She names both IAAF/World Athletics president Sebastian Coe, whom she calls “this idiot”, and the organisation’s health and science department director Dr Stéphane Bermon. “They’ll say: ‘Oh, these medications were well supervised.’ Fuck it – they don’t know shit about that.”

See rest of article

#Caster Semenya #I feel bad that because of TRAs people with intersex conditions are being dragged into politics #Medications and side effects #She was raised as a girl

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randomphotojournal · 10 months

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#randomphotojournal

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g0dcountry · 29 days

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WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TELL A STORY / THAT HAS REAL PEOPLE IN IT?

named: nasrin attal. meaning: nasrin, meaning wild rose⸺a name befit for such a spindly & prickled woman / attal, deriving from the arab word "attâl" meaning porter. nicknamed: nas, reenie⸺responds well to neither. age: forty. date of birth: september 16th. place of origin: johannesburg, south africa. orientation: unlabelled. occupation: narrative & design department head. may appear in westworld as: that whisper of the wind, a travelling oracle. paralells: lilico ( helter skelter ), laura palmer ( twin peaks: fire walk with me ), catherine tramell ( basic instinct. )

tw for the following content: childhood trauma, religious trauma, abandonment. you had always been a spindly little rose, luscious from first glance but when people were close enough to touch you they could feel that dry, hollowness you exude even now. even with a pink teddy perpetually tucked beneath an arm you were still all teeth. you wear black looking like death incarnate and yet you’ve always got a hymnal tucked into the side of your cheek. through all your wretchedness, you are still holy, from where you’re standing at least. after all no monster would ever deem itself as such, you are turned inside out, sure, but it is merely your nature.

your guardians were the ones to turn you, aren't they? they worshipped the man you would learn to hate and that made you unworthy. your father counted you as a one-off only to be made a god among men, had only his followers known they had played their hand in making him unjust. your father becomes a holy man and all the while you are the standing relic of the man he was before he was elected into the mechanical pulpit. the dark eyed maim, the bastard. you were raised in a cage, not because you deserved it but because your mother had no other choice than to protect you from what resided beyond that gilded enclosure. in time, you would undo the lock, and further, you would learn to seize what lie just beyond reach of your confines.

you were fifteen the last you saw your father, and you were twenty when he became a myth. you don't know it just yet but that man would go on to be a monster, or something worse, a god. terrible and ordinary just like any other deity. still, you follow him⸺just close enough to keep the fraying string that bound you to him in tact. part zealot, part denouncer, you happen upon the new world as the other of those who know of him. there is no god to command you, no mechanical gospel to sway you⸺no⸺but you still believe in stories. that's what you think when your father dies, he'd outlived his own myth and you were to inherit his godhood. as it happened, the path of divinity held the same inertia as the narrative he spun: the end started once it all began, and you too are drunk off the piety of the story. tell me, how will this end?

#westworldintro #﹠⠀ ⠀ 𝐍. 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐋 ⠀ ⠀ 〳 ⠀ ⠀intro #she only knows everything because she is the lore keeper

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cazzyf1 · 18 days

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Some of my favourite quotes from David Benson's 'Hunt v Lauda'

'He was nursing a toy yellow-eyed gorilla which made alarming noises and clapped a pair of cymbals attached to its hand.

"Whats with the gorilla?"

James looked tired. "It's called smiler. Alistair and Teddy gave it to me to celebrate my championship."

Teddy smiled benignly: "The gorilla was not very popular in first-class lounge I'm afraid."

"No," said James, "and they wouldn't let me blow my whistle either." He produced a police whistle and blew it.' - p7

"When we boarded the plane, he (James Hunt) insisted on joining mechanics in touring class until the lights were turned down for passengers to sleep." - p8

"Niki had always wanted to marry Mariella but she had refused to do so until he had become world champion." - p21

"The unsuspecting young actress Marlene Knaus was going to endure a trial that few women, even with a tremendously experienced and well-founded background, could have endured." - p21

"I telephoned James Hunt in Johannesburg where he is preparing for the South African Grand Prix. He told me, "I have been in daily contact with Susy and am fully informed about what is going on. I wouldn't stop her getting a divorce. I am trying to help her as much as I can so that she makes the right decisions. Obviously if she wanted to come back to me, I would help her do that." - p40

"I walked out of the dinning-room to an annexe alongside it, and sitting in the corner with a lady I didn't know was Niki Lauda; he smiled and asked a Carol and me to join him for a cup of coffee. He introduced the girl alongside him very simply, "This is my lady," She was, of course, Marlene Knaus, a very beautiful girl, with her hair in a rather severe style, brushed back, and a bun on the top of her head. We had a long chat about seat belts - both were empathetically in favour (that evening the house of commons in the UK were debating on making seatbelts in cars compulsory) - but the important thing was that I established a friendly relationship with Marlene when other people on the racing circuit cold-shouldered her, thinking she was merely some local pick-up. In fact, she and Niki were planning to get married as soon as they flew back from South Africa." - p44

"The main topic of conversation was the break-up of the long relationship between Niki Lauda and Mariella. Helen (Stewart) offered, with the best possible intentions, to get in touch with both Mariella and Niki is necessary to heal the breach. Having seen how close Niki and Marlene were in South Africa, I doubted if this were possible. As it turned out, a day after we had our discussion in Nina's home, Niki went quietly to a register office near Vienna and married Marlene." - p47

"He tried awfully hard not to hurt me." - (Susy about James) - p58

"James was standing right alongside me. Tears welling in his eyes. "It's stupid," he said, "It does not affect the performance of the car or make it any faster. Not even the Ferrari team protested and they were the ones who have the most to win..." - p62

"It was in triumph, therefore, that Hunt, six weeks before his 29th birthday, left for Britain in preparation for the John Player Grand Prix at Brands Hatch. With good humour and in high spirits, he took part in an event before the race and revealed another facet in his talents. It was at the Albert Hall at the Grand Prix Night of the Stars, a concert in aid of the Graham Hill Memorial Fund. The hall was packed with evening-suited celebrities who had paid up to £500 for a private box. Hunt was introduced by astronomer Patrick Moore who had just done a soft-shoe shuffle. Suddenly, Moore reached for a trumpet left behind on the bandstand by Chris Barber, who had done an earlier turn. "You're supposed to be good at blowing your own trumpet," he said, "so try this one." The audience dutifully laughed expecting a knockabout comedy turn. But Hunt took the trumpet, the studio band started to play and Hunt's clear, clean notes echoed through the vast auditorium. It was a memorable moment. When the audience realised that Hunt was playing for real, they roared their approval and then sat in silence as James plaved like a professional. Hunt's brother, Peter told me later: "I had a hell of a job convincing the BBC, who were recording the show, that James really was a good enough trumpet player to perform on TV. He learned to play at about 12 or 13 when he was at Wellington. He was in the school orchestra and the school band and played solo at concerts. Stuart Turner, Public Affairs Director of Ford of Britain, had a box at the Albert Hall. He turned to me after Hunt had finished his solo and said: "Now I have seen everything: James Hunt playing the trumpet at the Albert Hall we'll have Niki Lauda doing a comedy act next." - p73-4

"Niki himself, having almost killed himself in a first-lap accident there in 1974, has always campaigned against the Nurenburgring. He argued that the 1976 German Grand Prix should be switched to the Hockenheim Ring, a purpose-built circuit with outstanding safety facilities installed after the death there of Jim Clark in 1968. But Lauda was reviled by the Germans for his attempt. In practise at Nürburgring spectators displayed a huge poster of Lauda and his car. Across it was written, 'Lauda 20 kilometres per hour. Aus.' Ring bystanders are hard on anyone threatening the thrill of the race." - p80

"Sunday's race day was altogether depressing from the start. The young American driver Brett Lunger had heard the night before that his father had died unexpectedly in the United States and Brett decided to stay and go on with the race before returning home. It was to be a vital decision in the saving of Niki Lauda's life." - p81

"Jackie had a remarkable story to tell that Niki's agents had telephoned him soon after the crash and asked him to appear at a promotion for a new line of jeans which were being marketed in Niki's name. Jackie refused, saying he would only appear with Niki's permission. Niki was telephoned and they were told that he was determined to be there himself." - p86-7

"What would the situation be if Niki was fit to drive and Ferrari still wouldn't come to the track?" I asked Alastair, without hesitation he replied: "We will lend him a car so he and James can fight it out." - p89

"Then Niki arrived in his Jaguar with Marlene and Willi Dungl, his masseur/confidant, the man responsible for building Niki up physically in preparation for the race. There was a last-minute panic when it was discovered that Dungl had left his passport back at the house but he had an identity card and Niki knew that with Ferrari influence we would have no trouble getting Willi into Italy. Niki insisted on carrying out all the check-out procedures himself and we made a beautiful take off from Salzburg Airport." - p95

"At one point I was asked if I wanted to see a priest. So I said: "OK." He came in, and gave me my last rites - crossed my shoulder - and said "Goodbye My friend". I nearly had a heart attack! I wanted someone to help me live in this world, and not pass into the next." - p98

"I was watching his wife Marlene's eyes as she protectively, solicitously, studied her husband. She seemed almost proud of his scarred features." - p101

"A beautiful elegant grey/green-eyed young woman by the name of Marlene Knaus enjoyed life of a promising screen actress and model. A member of one of the most respected families in Austria she fitted easily into the jet set world of show business. She moved easily too in the rarefield world of medicine in which her grandfather was a renowned gynaecologist and in the artistic circles into which she was born as the daughter of a famous painter." - p101

"I used to smoke maybe one or two cigarettes a day, but from the time of the accident I have become a chain smoker. I know that this is not good for my health but it helps me through the crisis." Niki does not smoke and he says that this fact helped him recover from his lung injuries, but he does not reprove Marlene for smoking." - p102

"Marlene is a delightfully warm person. Her handshake is firm. Her eyes are steady and constant. They are the eyes of a woman who could inspire a man to great things, and she likes to touch the person that she is talking to. She looks at her husbands scarred face and gently strokes it." - p103

"Hunt, who had trotted through the driving rain along the length of the pits to salute the supreme courage of his world title rival Niki Lauda." - p104

"I just wish there bad been no accident, no disqualifications, no aggrevation, and Niki and I were fighting it out fair and square on the track. After what Niki has achieved, he deserves that at least. What Ferrari have done is to devalue the world championship and to cloud Niki's brave recovery. His recovery is absolutely amazing and he really is fit again." - p125

"His wife Marlene was happy with his decision. She had said earlier; "When he got into the car and drove away, I wanted to throw myself in front of it and stop him." - p140

"All Hunt knew was that he had to pass everything in sight. It took him two laps to catch and pass Alan Jones in the Surtees. Now he was fourth. Almost on the same bend he came upon Regazzoni in the Ferrari. Would the Swiss Italian let him through or hold him back? Ostentatiously Rega moved over and waved Hunt through ar a point where the Ferrari pit could clearly see his manoeuvre. As Rega passed his pit he gave them the two finger sign to show his disapproval that he had been dropped from the team for 1977." - p142

#niki lauda #classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #james hunt

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