#diana de gales
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Today would be Princess Diana’s 62 birthday 🎀👑
#princess diana#diana#diana de gales#lady di#carlos iii#the crown#girlblogger#girlblogging#gaslight gatekeep girlblog#girl interrupted#lana del rey#coquette aesthetic#femcel#sofia coppola#angelina jolie#gillian flynn#birthday#famous birthdays#feminism#feminist
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#día del Pilar#feliz día del Pilar#princesa Diana#Diana de Gales#humor#humor negro#muerte de la princesa Diana de Gales
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En un universo paralelo…
Indeed... And I'm not even English/British
I'm a Latina but always was fan of everything that Lady Di did and confront.
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El rey Carlos III y la reina Camila desvelan los retratos oficiales de la coronación
El rey Carlos III y la reina Camila hicieron públicas cuatro fotografías oficiales de la coronación para dar fin a las celebraciones; incluyendo un nuevo y espectacular retrato con miembros de la familia real.
La familia Real fue fotografiada por Hugo Burnand | El rey Carlos III y la reina Camilla hicieron públicas cuatro fotografías oficiales de la coronación
El rey Carlos III y la reina…
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#CAmila#Carlos III#coronacion#Diana de Gales#familia#Kate Middelton#monarca#oficiales#Princesa de Gales#real#realeza#reina#Reina Isabel II#retratos#rey
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Veinticinco años de la muerte en París, la princesa Diana sigue cautivando - ZoePost
Veinticinco años de la muerte en París, la princesa Diana sigue cautivando – ZoePost
Por Redacción ZoePost/Agencias. LONDRES – Un cuarto de siglo después de su muerte a la edad de solo 36 años, la princesa Diana sigue siendo una fuente de fascinación para personas de todo el mundo y su destino aún ensombrece a la realeza británica. Diana murió el 31 de agosto de 1997, cuando la limusina que la transportaba a ella y a su amante Dodi al-Fayed se estrelló en el […]
Origen:…
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Winter Game 2022
Dia 24: Algo que você nota, mas sobre o qual não costumam falar
— Diana e as noras têm pintinhas acima da boca.
Day 24: Something you notice but no one talks about
— Diana and her daughters-in-law all have beauty marks above their upper lips.
#winter game 2022#princesa diana#princess diana#kate middleton#princesa de gales#princess of wales#meghan markle#game#brf#2018#20181030
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"Spencer": el naufragio interior de Diana
Más que un biopic, “Spencer” es una película de terror psicológico. Enseguida, me identifico con una persona tan perdida y tan sola como Diana a pesar de que mi madre la pone a parir aunque también reconoce que se casó demasiado joven.
El ambiente de la familia Windsor es malsano y helador. La caída mental de Diana Spencer no tiene fin, acompañada por una banda sonora jazzística…
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#de que va spencer#donde ver gratis spencer#donde ver online spencer#donde ver spencer#pablo larrain#pablo larrain el club#pablo larrain kristin stewart#spencer#spencer diana de gales#spencer larrain#spencer pelicula#spencer que historia cuenta
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La princesa Diana no siguio las reglas de la corona
La princesa Diana no quería mostrarse como una persona sin amor, sin carisma ante las personas ya que su personalidad era el ser amable, comprensiva, solidaria, según las personas que la conocieron, decían que ella era real y no como el resto de la familia britanica. La princesa Diana es recordada por su apoyo a causas humanitarias, por ejemplo, la visita a pacientes que padecían de sida y lepra, así como obras benéficas. La princesa Diana se destaco por sus vestidos, sus trajes, que marcaron tendencia pero no cumplian con el codigo de vestimenta de la familia britanica.
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masterlist 9
Assassin’s Creed - Eivor bf headcanons // shay hurt & comfort // protective Haytham // Ezio, Connor headcanons // Altair + novice // yearning (horny) Haytham // chaotic good + Altair and Haytham // shay and his fierce s/o // dom Evie // brat + Evie // Haytham bday picnic // toy maker type // NSFW Haytham // ASMR fluff // pegging + bondage headcanons // their lover is kidnapped // Basim fluff 💕 // massages // cyberpunk AU // Haytham morning domestic fluff // Ezio + secret child // Basim smut + fluff // cirque de soleil // Basim post-Mirage // star-crossed 💕lovers 💞// cuddling Shay // sick Haytham // sibling figure to Evie //friends with your birds 🦅 // Basim angst // guilty pleasures // punch 🤜 Birch //
AC fics - bath fluff
Codexmonthly - January “climb” //
Writing prompts - Yusuf + kiss // Basim + kiss //
Call of Duty - holiday headcanons //
Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss 🔥 - orange 🍊 peel + others //
Blood of Zeus ⚡️ - fluff headcanons // Altar for them //
Spiderverse - valentines 💝 with Miguel //
Marvel - sibling of Carol Danvers //
Hunger Games/TBoSAS - snow “love” language //
Critical Role
Combined parties asks - beauty and the beast!Reader // music 🎶 ask // music batch ask 2 //
music album ask
Vox Machina - cuddling in your sleep // have something of theirs // time traveler reader // Feywild antics (again) // their crush wears armor // wanna go on a date? 💞 // fighting the spirit of revenge // musical joints // 8ft and full of fluff // ranger + a dragon // Percy + reviving you // party fluff headcanons //
➡️↪️ writing prompt + keyleth //
Mighty Nein - song(s) fic + Caleb // ghostrider!reader // song fic(s) + Mollymauk/Kingsley //
Bell’s Hells/Crown Keepers - song fic + Ashton // song fic(s) + Orym //
➡️↪️ writing prompt + Ashton //
Song 🎵 🎶 fics - batch 1 (Vax) // batch 2 - Dorian // batch 3 -Essek // batch 4 - caleb & Cadeuces //
Castlevania - Dracula nsfw headcanons // Alucard, Isaac, Trevor + witch & familiar // Alucard and demigod child //
Castlevania Nocturne - fending off rude family member //
Exophlia - deer-satyr + “fun times” in the snow //
Baldur’s Gate - astarion w/ mute!Tav // Gale taking care of you // remember what they say // Rolan fluff (feat. human!tav) // Karlach + angst prompt + cuddles // Tav + animal menagerie // Astarion + predator and prey // mistletoe headcanons // late Halloween 🎃 ask // Astarion + owl curse reader // rolan + human tav kiss // tieflings + you remembered what they said // Wyll + tiefling // giving them a shy kiss //
One Piece - Mihawk holiday headcanons //
Genshin Impact - soft Neuv headcanons //
Stardew 💫 Valley - holiday headcanons //
Arcane/League of Legends - you got them a gift //
DC - sibling of Diana Prince (WW) ft trans reader //
Dragon 🐉 Age - Anders & Sebastian + writing prompt //
The Last of Us/Overwatch/Red Dead Resmeption - valentines 💘
Cowboy 🪐 Bebop 💫 - valentines 💘 headcanons //
Star 💫 Wars - coming out to them //
The Arcana ✨ - Lucio + blood kink // giving the boys head 👅 //
#critical role#assassin's creed#castlevania#call of duty#call of duty x reader#hunger games#tbosas#baldurs gate 3#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#castlevania nocturne#exophilia#one piece#genshin impact#stardew valley#arcane league of legends#blood of zeus#dragon age#the last of us#overwatch#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption#dc wonder woman#dc#marvel#mcu#star wars#the arcana#Miguel O’Hara spiderman 2099#hazbin hotel
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seven degrees east - chapter five
Fandom: Masters of the Air
Pairings: multiple
Rating: T (may change)
Chapter: 5 / ?
Word Count: 4257
read on tumblr: one | two | three | four
It was just over half an hour from Thorpe Abbotts to Cringleford, and Rosie drove the first car, following the directions Liss had given him. Because the route was a simple one, he could enjoy the passing scenery. This was comprised of fields of tan and green—agricultural land that stretched towards the mature trees acting as windbreaks between plots. He liked the countryside. He found, actually, that it was hard to think of going home again, back to Brooklyn and tall buildings and bridges and noise, when he was out here, driving for miles on quiet backroads. But then, when Rosie went home (as he had, during the last winter break, catching the tail end of Chanukkah and flying out again on New Year’s Day), he felt he was happiest there, a New Yorker for life.
Everything, Rosie felt, was beginnings and endings. That was just where he was at the moment. Would he go, would he stay? Would tonight be another happy yet indistinct memory later on, when the time came to look back at his PhD years, or would it be a turning point? A moment in time he could pin to the map of his life. I remember where I was when it happened. It was what people said about things like the attack on Pearl Harbor, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the marriage of Charles and Diana. Rosie had never fought in a war, or toppled a symbol of oppression, or sat inside St Paul’s Cathedral, but he was young, and his life felt full of promise and meaning, ripe as whatever green things were growing in the fields he raced by. He would see Liss tonight. He felt like Nash as he stole a glance down at his shirt, tugging to straighten the placket around the pinch of his seatbelt.
For better or worse, Rosie didn’t have Nash sitting in his passenger seat, ready to tell him how he looked. There was a tension within the group that night which only two understood and the rest guessed at. John and Gale, who always rode together, almost always in John’s Wrangler, had emerged from the dorms one after the other but split apart immediately. Gale had made for Rosie’s car, surprising Rosie and prompting him to ask, “You wanna drive?” But Gale had shaken his head and gotten in on the passenger side as if that were what he had always done. Rosie and Nash had exchanged a look. With a shrug, Nash had climbed into the back seat with Curt—another unusual addition to Rosie’s carpool. Rosie had said nothing.
The second vehicle in their procession, the Wrangler, was driven not by its owner but by Crosby. John had abdicated the driver’s seat right before they’d left, tossing the keys high and forcing Crosby to make a scrambling catch. “Wha— Why?” he’d asked, but John had just winked and said, “I trust ya.” He was currently sprawled in the back. Crosby wasn’t sure John had his seatbelt on, but he was wary of insisting because, first, it was John’s jeep, and second, keeping eyes on Rosie up ahead was consuming all of his attention. He had placed total trust in Bubbles, sitting in the passenger seat. Bubbles said he didn’t need it, that the girls’ house wasn’t that far, that it would be difficult to get lost when traffic was negligible and they were following Rosie. Crosby didn’t have Bubbles’ confidence. He was sweating, so he felt for the handle and cranked his window down to let the air rush in.
Though the air was warm, it was welcome. John sighed into the sudden gust. He’d wanted to remove his jeep’s soft top for this little venture, but he’d forgotten, watching Gale and Curt get into Rosie’s car back in the student parking lot. It was probably for the best that they remained covered; as they drove north, it began to look like rain. John wouldn’t have minded driving sopping wet—it would’ve fueled his sour attitude—but his boys in the front didn’t deserve that. He glanced out the window, then checked his watch. He knew their destination couldn’t be much farther, and then he would have to get out, and he would have to be at least somewhat social, or else it would be very hard to keep pretending that it hadn’t bothered him to come. Water off a duck’s back, John, he told himself, but he heard the words in Gale’s voice, and then he pictured Gale’s mouth saying them, then Gale’s mouth mashed against Curt’s. John’s hand flinched closed into a fist and he smacked it into the seat. He caught Bubbles staring at him in the rearview mirror and allowed his own gaze to slink away.
Little navigation was ultimately required to reach the house. Still, Crosby was grateful to shift into park and turn off the motor. He considered it a bad sign when he tried to pass the keys back to John and John waved him off—he had a pretty good feeling it meant John was going to get shitfaced at this party and expected Crosby to drive them all home. Which, now that Crosby knew the route, shouldn’t have been a problem. He didn’t plan to lose John’s keys. He didn’t need to get wasted; he wasn’t some teenage undergrad salivating for his first taste of independence. He certainly didn’t have any intention of spending the night here at this red-brick house set back from the lane. Below the front windows, flowerbeds overflowed their edging, blooms closing up as clouds obscured the sun. Early evening was coming on now, and Crosby reminded himself that he would not be here to see those same flowers open again in the morning light. He grit his teeth as he, John, and Bubbles strode towards the house.
The other four boys had already arrived and decided that waiting on the front lawn for their friends would make them appear afraid to enter this house of barely-known but much-desired women. They had looked at each other, then Rosie had taken hold of Nash’s shoulders and given him a little push, a little momentum to get him going. Following Nash through the front door, they’d felt a bit like zoo animals, though they were the ones entering this enclosure which contained the faces of many strangers. By the time John, Bubbles, and Crosby piled through the door after them, they hadn’t gotten very far.
Before they had to start convincing the other partygoers that they had been invited—really!—a girl who made Rosie’s face light up like the breaking dawn came galloping down the stairs.
“My guests!” she said, and the boys looked quickly from her to another girl who stepped through from the living room wearing a sarcastic smile.
“You’re claiming all of them?” this one said. Her gaze went unsubtly to Crosby, who reddened but stood up straighter.
Rosie laughed.
“Sandra, right? We met at the video store, but…” But I was ogling your friend at the time, and you were ogling mine. This thought passed unspoken, but he understood from the look in Sandra’s eyes that she’d shared it. She clasped the hand he’d extended towards her.
“Ships in the night,” she said. “Rosie, yes?”
“That’s right.” He glanced around him, urging the other boys forward as he named them. “And this is Gale, Curt, Bubbles—don’t ask—John, Nash, and, well, you know Crosby.”
“Not so well I couldn’t stand to know him a little better,” she quipped.
“Yeah, our Croz is one in a million.”
“Jean certainly thinks so,” Bubbles put in. He felt the weight of the pause that cushioned his words from either side. He didn’t look at Crosby, not wanting to know if he appeared annoyed, just smiled at Sandra (so this was Sandra) and clarified, “Croz’s girlfriend.”
Crosby laughed awkwardly and said, “Yeah, yep,” as he lowered his head and moved forward, away from this conversation. Sandra turned to allow him to pass her, then followed after; he felt her pinch his sleeve as he moved. He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain. He didn’t know where he would start. Mainly, he didn’t want Sandra’s immediate impression of his friends—who he would’ve liked to remind were guests in her home—to be that they believed she was a villain, hellbent on coming disastrously between Crosby and Jean.
He wasn’t interested in Sandra like that, he was just… interested. He was interested in the way he assumed nuclear scientists were interested in dangerous substances, tempted to cup that radioactive glow in their bare palms. Tempted—that was all; the detective never really fell for the femme fatale. And who was to say that Sandra was well-represented by either: the radioactive substance or the hard-boiled seductress? Like a solid object in front of a spotlight, Crosby was projecting a dark shadow of who this woman might be and supposing the boys saw the same. They obviously suspected, when they saw Sandra and Crosby together. They guessed at the enticement. Crosby fitted her with these personas, cloaked her like a spy, until it was he who was a stranger to his own blatant and (if he’d realized quite how blatant) pathetically uncomplicated and unsurprising attraction. He was a young man very far from his girlfriend, blindsided by a chance meeting with a beautiful woman. If everything would just slow down a minute, Crosby thought, if everything would just wait, there might be time in which he could figure out how to be Sandra’s friend. He could be. He was, sort of, and if their friendship had continued, of course he would’ve mentioned Jean. She just hadn’t come up yet.
The others bobbed in the wake of this uncomfortable extraction, tossing glances at one another, until Liss threw out the lifeline of a tour of the house. They relaxed as they moved from room to room. Liss introduced them to everyone they passed—boys in t-shirts worn under baggy button-downs and girls whose pastel butterfly clip-adorned hair caught the yellow light of table lamps, all classmates and friends of the girls who lived there. Walking at Liss’s side, Rosie kept catching his breath when his hand bumped hers. It happened again as Liss led them through the kitchen to show them the door to the backyard. When she raised her hand to gesture towards the lawn, he lifted his own fingers to smooth his mustache so his hand wouldn’t dart after hers and press their palms together.
“Smoke anywhere,” she invited, “but if it’s more than cigarettes, try to stay on that side of the yard. Our neighbour on the other side would freak.”
“And you wouldn’t?” Gale checked slyly. “I hear you’re studying law.”
Liss turned towards him, wearing a small smile.
“Laws only stand as they are until someone sets a new precedent.”
“Spoken like a future lawyer.”
“Or as someone determined to never be called by her birthname. ‘Phillis.’ Seriously, what were my parents thinking?”
There was ice in the freezer, beer in the fridge, bottles of harder stuff on the counter. Tour of the main floor complete (“Upstairs is just our bedrooms,” Liss said, a throwaway explanation, though more than one set of eyes lit up at the words.), the boys added what they’d brought to the collection and got themselves drinks. Gale, standing beside Rosie, said, “I like her,” and jerked his chin towards where Liss was talking to Nash. Rosie grinned and nodded his appreciation; Gale’s opinion meant a lot to him.
Nash had barely had a chance to ask Liss where Helen might be hiding when Helen herself walked into the kitchen and gave him a shy wave. Nash’s face split in a ridiculous grin. Helen looked good against every backdrop, he thought: a crowded bar, rows of VHS sleeves, a kitchen filled with all his closest friends. There were so very many words in Nash’s vocabulary, but “subtle” wasn’t one of them. He didn’t have Rosie’s etiquette—or, at least, no patience for it; rather than offering introductions, he just went right to Helen and forgot about everyone else.
“You don’t want me to meet your friends?” she asked wryly.
“Hmm?”
Helen laughed, but she blushed too. Nash was standing close to her, his whole consciousness seemingly fixated on her presence.
“What do you want?” she asked instead, one corner of her lips curling coyly as she tried the question that seemed more likely to get his attention. And it did—something ignited behind Nash’s eyes, something that burned deeper and stronger than his jubilant reaction to merely seeing Helen again.
The thing about Nash was that he would’ve told Helen what he wanted—would’ve told her exactly, and in detail, with his gaze holding hers to see whether he’d gone too far or whether Helen’s thoughts had floated up, like soft clouds, to one of those upstairs bedrooms Liss had mentioned—had Rosie not interrupted.
Mischievously, Rosie felt no compunction about breaking Nash out of his lustful stupor. Liss had suggested she and Rosie talk out on the front step, where it was quieter, and on his way by Nash, beer in one hand, Rosie tapped his shoulder and made a discrete “ok” hand sign with the other that Nash tore his gaze from Helen’s face just long enough to catch, smiling with immense self-satisfaction. Rosie doubted Nash’s total concentration on Helen would be so easily severed again that night. Oh, to be young and in love, he thought with a distance from youthful infatuation he could not claim and did not feel, gathering his courage and slipping his fingers between Liss’s. Rosie felt as if he were being carried down the hall atop his friends’ shoulders rather than walking on feet situated below knees that went a little weak when Liss’s eyelashes fluttered as she turned to look at him. And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes / Of the beautiful Liss Heller, Rosie thought admiringly, adapting Poe into a considerably happier context.
He hoped to bump into Crosby on his way out as well, maybe use his hands to communicate more of a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing message instead of the encouraging sign he’d sent Nash, but though Rosie poked his head into the living room and craned to look up the stairs, Crosby was nowhere to be seen.
This was because Crosby was in the middle of a more thorough tour of the house. It felt as though it had happened naturally, blamelessly, inevitably. Sandra had talked and Crosby had listened, knowing half of what she said was teasing lies simply because the look on his face promised he’d believe whatever she told him. They were renting the house from her uncle, she’d said. They were occupying the house for free, she’d said, because a family had been brutally murdered here. She herself owned the house, she’d said; she was rather wealthy, her family part of the British peerage. Sandra grinned every time Crosby gathered himself enough to vocally doubt her, but even as each illusion of who she might be shattered like a cascading hall of mirrors, he found himself more transfixed. He felt that, if he could count on anything, it would be that Sandra would not save him from himself if he decided to cross a line.
She wasn’t exactly inviting him to cross it, but at some point, she’d brought him up to the second floor, and the ease with which he might—they leaned against the wall opposite Sandra’s open bedroom door—oppressed him. Crosby both badly wished that Bubbles was there and felt franticly, guiltily relieved that he wasn’t.
Bubbles wasn’t there in person, anyway, but he was part of every story Crosby told—and he found he was telling Sandra much more than he usually told people he’d only met twice. There was a patience to her large blue eyes the Hammett hound in him wanted to call serpentinely hypnotic, but common sense said was just Sandra being a good listener. Like Bubbles. Maybe that was why Crosby kept bringing him up. Sandra and Bubbles really hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, and Crosby knew that was his fault, even if he had no clue how to rectify the situation. (Convince Bubbles that Sandra was no threat to Crosby’s relationship with Jean? Convince Sandra that he wasn’t usually the kind of person Bubbles had to worry about like that, interjecting so Sandra’s knowledge of Crosby’s girlfriend would do what Bubbles suspected Crosby’s willpower could not: prevent him from cheating.)
It felt a little strange to Crosby to exclude Bubbles by sneaking upstairs with Sandra and then speak of nothing but their shared stories. It made a buffer of Bubbles, a ruler between the bodies of a couple at a high school dance. Bubbles was safety. Bubbles was irreproachability. Bubbles was not flirtation or blurred lines or the cheating he had worried about with embarrassing conspicuousness downstairs. Crosby recognized that he was more upset that Bubbles saw him that way—potentially disloyal—than at the thought of actually committing any indiscretion up here with Sandra. The idea of losing Bubbles’ respect was painful, and the self-conscious acknowledgement of how badly he needed it made Crosby briefly, hotly angry in a way that he very rarely was. He didn’t understand it, so he grit his teeth and focused on Sandra with an intensity that appeared to startle her in the midst of the funny story she had started to tell.
Her hand seemed to dart impulsively forward, closing around his wrist. Crosby looked from her hold to her eyes. They stared at each other, outwardly silent. On the inside, Crosby tried to compel Sandra to just grab a little harder, just tug, show him which of these bedrooms was hers and let him react behind a closed door.
“Your friend Bubbles thinks highly of you,” Sandra said, uncurling her fingers and giving his wrist a disconcerting pat.
“Maybe he shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
But Crosby didn’t have a good answer; he was only being dramatic. He started to feel like a totally undesirable idiot until Sandra, surprising him again, reached up to restyle the front of his carefully gelled hair. She looked him in the eyes and gave a reason for the touch, gave it in such a way that Crosby knew she was, once again, lying. He ducked his head and looked up at her. His smile was trying for devastating.
—
Though the sky was darkening with the deepening evening and the gathering promise of rain, party guests were playing beer pong out behind the house. This was where Bubbles had chosen to keep himself occupied. Light-fingered and good with calculations, he was a natural at this game, and concentrating hard enough made it difficult to wonder where Crosby had gone off to, why he hadn’t seen Sandra since they’d arrived.
Sinking another ball, he beamed as the guy at the other end of the patio table drank and Gale—his partner—gave his shoulder a congratulatory squeeze.
Curt wandered over and watched for a while. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, his shrill whistle at his friends’ continued success cutting through the cranked-up pop hits streaming from the boombox tucked against the exterior wall. Somewhere up the street, a dog started barking, and Gale pinged the next ball at Curt, striking him in the chest.
“Quit it,” he instructed. “Gonna get the whole neighbourhood barking.”
“How ’bout losin’ a little then. Beatin’ strangers ain’t a good way to make friends,” Curt counselled. He slung an arm around the neck of one such stranger-turned-friend; they’d come from the side of the house, where they’d been bonding over the impressive longevity of Van Halen (“Man, if they could get fuckin’ Roth back…”) and a shared joint.
“That’s unfortunate,” Gale said with a grin. “’Cause Bubbles and I don’t know how to lose.”
“Damn right, buddy,” Bubbles agreed.
They weren’t bad winners about it though, graciously conceding the table to the next teams instead of staying on as the defending champions anyone else could only dream to beat. Curt drifted here and there, but Gale and Bubbles were content to stay and watch, drinking and observing the game as well as Nash and Helen, who stood by the back door, poised to canoodle.
“They’re gettin’ along,” Bubbles observed loudly as somebody turned up Take That to mixed cheers and boos. Bubbles smiled as he brought a bottle of beer to his lips.
Gale chuckled and said, “Good for Nash.”
“Seriously. Poor guy’s always been so shy around women.”
Gale laughed louder this time. Bubbles was good company, and always made it easy to feel relaxed. He didn’t talk too much, but he didn’t leave silences that felt demanding either, nothing Gale ever felt pressured to fill. He appreciated that. It struck him as they stood there together that he almost never hung out with Bubbles one-on-one. Their group, all seven of them, had formed a fast and strong bond at the beginning of their time at Thorpe Abbotts (though some had known each other before), but Gale recognized that he and Bubbles both existed as halves of a pair. It had never been him and Bubbles because Crosby was always present if Bubbles was there, and John was eternally at Gale’s side. Unless he was doing something stupid like attempting to climb that damn tower on campus, or something shameless like commanding a karaoke bar with his terrible singing voice and boundless confidence. Sometimes, Gale permitted himself to notice that these were acts designed to impress him. It was certainly always difficult to remember what a good time he could have with a different friend, like Bubbles, when John was up to his antics.
Thinking of John soured the moment for Gale. The easy smile fell from his face. He scanned the faces of the group gathered around the beer pong match even though he already knew John wasn’t there, then glanced toward the side yard and over to the back door. Who was with John now? Crosby, the other half of the pair standing next to Gale? After the way Crosby had slunk off with the British girl, Gale doubted it. Nash was accounted for, Gale hadn’t spotted Rosie walking back through the house after disappearing out the front with Liss, and Curt… well. Gale didn’t think for a moment John was hanging out with him.
“Lookin’ for Bucky?” Bubbles asked.
“Pretty obvious, huh?” Gale said in a tone of gentle self-deprecation. His expression grew serious. “You drove up with him. How’d he seem?”
Bubbles didn’t bother exclaiming, You mean you don’t know? though the boys lived together in the same dorm. Practically inside each other’s skin, Bubbles thought, with how they would often demonstrate a wordless understanding of one another in speech and actions. Even he, at a little distance from them—as everyone was; Gale and John were each other’s complete inner circle—knew something wasn’t right, and that it had begun the other night at the Barracks. It had to be serious, since they still didn’t appear to be speaking. They’d come to the party that night in two different vehicles, after all.
“Quiet,” Bubbles answered honestly. “He sat in the back while Croz drove.”
“Croz drove John’s baby? He must’ve been shitting himself.”
“About that level of confidence, yeah. There’s nothin’ wrong with Croz’s driving. He just doubts himself.”
Gale made a thoughtful noise. Bubbles thought he probably wasn’t thinking about how Crosby had fared behind the wheel of John’s Wrangler so much as trying to shift his own mind into a gear that would align with John’s so that they might understand each other. Bubbles watched his friend sympathetically.
“Maybe that’s what John’s problem is,” Gale observed. It was said softly, but harsh. His gaze was unfocused, no longer following the bounce of the ball across the patio table.
“What’s Bucky doubting himself about, do you think?” Bubbles asked.
“No idea.”
“You think he’s got a reason to? A Bucky who doubts himself doesn’t sound like any version of Bucky I’ve seen. If he is,” Bubbles said cautiously, eyeing Gale’s stern profile, “it must be over something that matters a lot to him.”
Gale didn’t have an immediate response to this, but, as usual, Bubbles didn’t push for one. He was grateful. It gave him time to think. What mattered a lot to John? Well, school did. John took his studies at Thorpe Abbotts seriously; if he played hard, it was because he worked hard too. Another thing that mattered to John was his friends. He was gregarious, trusty, and encouraging. He had helped Rosie replace all the furniture in Nash’s bedroom with inflatable facsimiles while Nash was away for three days at a grad student conference in London the preceding October. Hemingway’s old man would’ve loved to have John aboard when he went all that way out into the sea, Gale imagined. Anyone would’ve. In his estimation, John was pretty well always just the right person to have around.
Up until last week, John had felt the same about Gale—Gale, who he had presumably seen kissing Curt. Gale, who also mattered a lot to him.
Just as Gale decided on a response to Bubbles’ speculation and went to speak, two unmistakeable voices rose above the music, and it wasn’t because they were singing along.
#seven degrees east#my writing#MotA#MotA fic#Masters of the Air#Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal#Herbert Nash#Gale 'Buck' Cleven#Curtis Biddick#Harry Crosby#Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne#John 'Bucky' Egan#Bucky x Buck#Sandra Westgate#Helen (MotA)#Nash x Helen
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Yo creo que la mayor enfermedad que sufre el mundo hoy, es la falta de amor. Por: Diana, Princesa de Gales ❤️🕊️
Más que una gran Princesa, fue una gran Persona porque dónde quiera que iba, dejaba amor y cariño a todos los enfermos que lo necesitaban. Por eso la quitaron de en medio... para no contagiar amor y cercanía a las personas que más la necesitaban en este mundo oscuro. Y por favor, sepamos ahora que no gobiernan otros, sino los de alma negra, que sólo se mueven por la maldad y el poder adquisitivo. Para estos, el tiempo se acaba.
❌Juego terminado❌ya de una vez por todas!!!🖤👎
🕊️Que reine la Luz sobre todo el mal🙏✨🪷 📿🪬☄️
~~~
I believe that the greatest disease that the world suffers today is the lack of love. By: Diana, Princess of Wales ❤️🕊️
More than a great Princess, she was a great Person because wherever she went, she left love and affection to all the sick who needed it. That's why they took her out of the way... so as not to spread love and closeness to the people who needed her the most in this dark world. And please, let us now know that others do not govern, but those with a black soul, who are only moved by evil and purchasing power. For these, time is running out.
❌Game over❌already once and for all!!!🖤👎
🕊️May the Light reign over all evil🙏✨🪷 📿🪬☄️
~~~
Texto: Raquel López @dulces-mimos
Vídeo: memory_of_lady_diana
🤍🕊️
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Chegando com pedido inusitado, mas acho que vcs conseguem me ajudar. Quero fazer um perso da nobreza, mas queria me basear em gente que já existiu, figuras históricas, mas não sei quais são legais, de verdade, podem me ajudar? Dando apenas o nome posso buscar no google, mas é que sou péssima em história e nunca sei quem é legal
O quanto eu amei essa ask não está escrito!! Pompurin, você veio ao lugar certo, porque eu sou o maior dump de história de realeza (ao menos, que eu conheço). Ser legal já tira todo mundo da lista, porque ninguém foi legal, eles podiam ter ações nobres e sociais, mas era por algum interesse mascarado... Nobreza nunca foi simpática, mas as histórias são magnificas. Vou separar alguns nomes para ti. [ meio edit, acho que vai ficar muito extenso, então depois da Rainha Elizabeth II, não coloquei descrições, apenas em alguns específicos. ]
Lady Di, nossa amada Princesa Diana da Inglaterra (1961-1997). Minha amada mais injustiçada, sou a maior apaixonada por tudo que a envolve (já assisti todos os documentários) e ela é um exemplo perfeito de monarca que foi contra as regras da Coroa Britânica.
Kate Middleton (1982). Atual princesa de Gales e esposa do Príncipe William da Inglaterra, além de se mostrar uma mãe exemplar (com semelhanças com sua sogra), também é um exemplo de monarca, porque ela é muito simpática com as pessoas.
Maria Leopoldina da Áustria (1797-1826). Esposa de Dom Pedro I de Portugal-Brasil. Muito importante em muitos momentos do Brasil Império.
Teresa Cristina de Bourbon-Duas Sicília (1822-1889). Imperatriz do Brasil e esposa de Dom Pedro II. Teve uma novela da Globo que mostrou muito dela, uma mãe amorosa e que cuidava de seu império, mas que teve momentos conturbados com o marido lixo.
Pedro II do Brasil (1825-1891). Último imperador do Brasil. Tenho muitos sentimentos controversos sobre o Pedro, todos envolvendo sua gestão e a mulher dele, mas a história dele vai muito além do que aprendemos na escola.
Cleópatra VII Filopator (69 a.C - 30 a.C). Falar da Cleópatra é muito !!!, ela foi uma das poucas mulheres que governaram o Egito (se não a única) e tem muita história, claro que existem as problemáticas, mas ela sempre foi estrategista e sedutora. Até hoje, seu sarcófago não foi localizado, o que indica que tem muito que não sabemos sobre.
Rainha Elizabeth II (1926-2022). Famosa "Betinha" para os brasileiros, tem muito sobre ela que dá raiva, mas ela teve muitos momentos bons na vida e claro, viveu bastante.
Rainha Vitória (1819-1901). Subiu ao trono com apenas 18 anos e tem a chamada Era Vitoriana.
Ana Bolena (1501-1533). Bela e decapitada por mando do marido, responsável pelo corte da relação Igreja X Inglaterra. Aconselho procurar o musical The Six, porque mostra todas as seis esposas do Henrique e como elas são interessantes.
Ricardo I (1157-1199). Ricardo Coração de Leão, tem uma história legal.
Henrique VIII (1491-1547). Um homem que não presta, teve várias esposas e muitas coisas rolaram no mandato dele. Aconselho ver The Tudors.
Catarina de Médici (1519-1589)
Maria Antonieta (1755-1793). Essa mulher... Vivia de luxúria e a frase dos brioches vem dela.
Luís XIV (1638-1715). Rei Sol.
Nefertiti (1370 a. C.-1330 a. C. - estimada). Descrita como a mais bela do mundo.
Mary Stuart (1542-1587)
Catarina II da Rússia (1729-1726). Nunca deixarei a Catarina, a Grande de fora. Outra rainha que admiro demais, apesar dos erros cometidos, ela foi muito sagaz e inteligente em dar um golpe no próprio marido e assumir o trono de Todas as Rússias, mesmo enfrentando grandes problemas. Existem muitos conteúdos sobre ela, mas se quiser rir, aconselho ver a série The Great.
Pedro III da Rússia (1728-1762). Teve um mandato curto porque foi deposto (sofreu O golpe da Catarina), vivia embriagado... Como ele é mostrado em The Great é um pouco demais, talvez, mas tá ali.
Rei George III do Reino Unido (1738-1820). Aquele rei lá de Queen Charlotte, ele tinha uma doença chamada porfiria, mas na época... Bem, só o chamaram de louco mesmo (aquela época era terrível).
Sophie Charlotte de Mecklemburgo-Strelitz (1744-1818). Assim como muitas figuras históricas, ela foi embranquecida, mas Charlotte era filha de portugueses e africanos, mas nasceu na Alemanha e talvez esse seja o motivo... Mas ela foi uma ótima rainha.
São alguns nomes, aqueles que lembrei para pesquisar, mas se pesquisar sobre os monarcas da Europa, com toda a certeza, vai encontrar uma infinidade! Podia falar outros, mas a Joy disse que ia ficar muita informação e ela está certa, acho que se pesquisar por esses já vai encontrar novos nomes que podem ajudar.
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Lady Diana de Gales
The Princess of Hearts
#art#my art#my art <3#original art#england#crown#the crown#lady di#lady diana#princess diana#princesa diana#gales
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Isabel II: La reina de Inglaterra
Isabel II: La reina de Inglaterra
La reina Isabel II de Inglaterra falleció a los 96 años de edad, tras ocupar el trono durante siete décadas, siendo el reinado más largo en la historia británica.
Durante su reinado, la monarca ha sido constante en un mundo que cambiaba rápidamente en el que vió pasar guerras y la administración de 14 primeros ministros.
La infancia y juventud de la princesa Lilibet
Elizabeth Alexandra Mary…
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#britanica#Carlos III#coronacion#Diana de Gales#duque de Edimburgo#fallecimiento#Felipe#Inglaterra#Jorge V#jubileo#monarca#monarquia#reina#Reino Unido#trono
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IMAGENES Y DATOS INTERESANTES DEL DIA 31 DE AGOSTO DE 2023
Día Internacional de la Solidaridad, Día Internacional de los Afrodescendientes, Día Internacional de Conciencia acerca de la Sobredosis, Día Internacional de la Obstetricia, Año Internacional del Mijo y Año Internacional del Diálogo como Garantía de Paz.
San Ramón Nonato, Santa Ammia y Santa Consuelo.
Tal día como hoy en el año 1888: Jack el Destripador asesina en Londres a su primera víctima, Mary Ann Nichols.
En 1897: Thomas Alba Edison patenta el kinetoscopio, el primer proyector de cine.
En 1939: Los medios de comunicación nazis afirman que soldados polacos atacan la estación de radio en Gleiwitz, lo que da la excusa a Adolf Hitler para invadir Polonia el siguiente día, dando inicio a la Segunda Guerra Mundial.
En 1951: La empresa alemana Deutsche Grammophon presenta el primer LP (del inglés long play), disco de vinilo de larga duración.
En 1963: Entra en funcionamiento la llamada "línea caliente" entre Washington y Moscú.
En 1987: Michael Jackson lanza Bad, su tercer disco, y se convierte en el primer y único artista en haber tenido 5 singles en el número uno de la lista Billboard.
En 1990: La República Federal de Alemania (de tendencia neoliberal) y la República Democrática Alemana (de tendencia socialista) firman el Tratado de la Unión.
En 1997: Representantes de más de cien países se reúnen en Oslo, en una conferencia internacional sobre la prohibición de las minas antipersona.
En 1997: Diana Spencer, princesa de Gales, muere en un accidente de coche en extrañas circunstancias en París.
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Catálogo de Looks da Princesa de Gales
Vestido: Alexander McQueen
Brincos: Collingwood Jewellers - Brincos de Pérola e Diamantes da Princesa Diana
Pulseira: Nigel Milne - Pulseira com Três Fileiras de Pérolas da Princesa Diana
Retrato em comemoração ao aniversário de 40 anos da Kate. Tirado em novembro de 2021 nos Reais Jardins Botânicos de Kew, Londres, por Paolo Roversi | 08.01.2022
Fonte: Kate's Closet
#kate middleton#princesa de gales#princess of wales#2022#20220108#catálogolooks#cl22#alexander mcqueen#collingwood jewellers#nigel milne#moda#moda22#royal fashion
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