so.. they both want children, right? at least that was always my impression. (i know what a private topic this is for many people, but) they've both always publicly said so themselves. and at least Louis has a massive family already and seems to adore kids and Harry has never been subtle with his pregnancy and baby obsession (i exaggerate, but ykwim).. so let's say IF they want children..
i wonder, i wonder..
i wonder when and how...
i wonder if within the next 10 years. they're 30/32 now.
i wonder if i've ever read something about a formerly closeted gay pair with a child or two, who had the kids before coming out. i can't remember anything like it.
so, my very basic main thought was "would/could wanting to have children possibly be a factor in them being allowed/deciding to leave the closet?" hmm.
i just needed to park this thought here, so it has a place to live. i obviously don't have any answers or even a real theory. i just wish them happiness and could imagine that it would look like that. but i obviously don't know them personally, so i might be completely off.
I don't really like categorizing myself as a "tradwife" or "tradfem" (no disrespect for those who do) . It sounds uncivilized. Or I just don't like being categorized at all.
I prefer "traditional femininity" or maybe "traditional womanhood". It sounds more grown up.
Me? Its the fucking cinematic masterpiece thats “Guns for Hire”
The Feral Silco, of course. The flare. The swell of music. The ghosts. The bridge blockade. The just raw unfettered emotion.
The visual parallels; the visual representation of the power dynamics shifting as Silco loses control in every possible way. I want to kiss every storyboard artist and writer.
Kurt didn’t know this man, not really. He knew him through the slightly hazy filter of alcohol. Through the attachment of hands on hips on the dance-floor. He knew this man through a brief stumble into a taxi. Through a pile of clothes on his apartment floor.
And now he knew him through the feel of lips on skin, the gentle drag of teeth against his shoulder as he moved above this beautiful stranger. He knew him through the meeting of hips, through sweat and small whimpers. Through the way his mouth tasted. Through the way his honey brown eyes shut, the little strangled cry that escaped his lips when he came, the way his body squeezed around Kurt.
And when it was over, when Kurt rolled off of him and threw the condom away, he knew him through the way his smile seemed to light up the dimly lit room. The way his eyes seemed to sparkle. Once again, Kurt knew him through the way his mouth tasted.
Kurt learned him through his snores, the rise and fall of his chest. The way a random word would fall from his lips, his dreams interesting enough to keep him talking. Kurt learned him through the way he seemed to wrap his entire small frame around Kurt through the night. Kurt learned that there was something about this stranger, this man he’d met on the dance floor that kept him up.
Some strange sense of déjà vu, like Kurt had known him before. Something so familiar about his body, the way it felt, the way it tasted. The way it was wrapped around him now—Kurt wasn’t sure why, or how, but he’d felt like this before. Felt like this with this man.
And that was when it occurred to Kurt that he hadn’t even learned his name. He thought that perhaps it was murmured through the kisses and the booze and the dancing, but nothing specific came to mind. Not a clue. That fact bothered him, that he’d done all of that, felt all of that, and didn’t know his name.
The blackness of the night faded into dark blue, which faded into the reddish purple of sunrise. The man’s eyes opened when the sun began streaming in through the small window, he yawned and stretched and disentangled himself from Kurt with a flush that spread from his chest to the tips of his ears. “G’morning,” he murmured.
“Morning,” Kurt replied. He sat up, threw his legs over the side of the bed, reaching into one of his drawers for a clean pair of underwear. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” the man said. “Sorry if I was clinging to you all night. Habit.”
Kurt breathed out something that could be called a laugh. “No biggie.”
They were quiet then. And then suddenly, from the stranger, “Last night was…last night was really good. I haven’t felt like that…I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”
“Me neither,” Kurt said. “It was…it was really good.”
They looked at each other for a long minute, and Kurt was considering climbing back on top of him all over again, those eyes and that mouth. But then the man sighed, looking genuinely sad. “I really…I really hate to leave, but—”
“No,” Kurt said quickly. “Don’t feel bad.”
“Okay,” he said, and then hesitated.
“What?” Kurt asked.
“What’s your name?” The man asked, his cheeks reddening once again. “I feel like I should already know your name, but I don’t, and it’s really bothering me.”
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. “Kurt,” he said. “I was up half the night trying to figure out your name, too. Don’t feel bad.”
“My name’s Blaine,” the man—Blaine—said, smiling. He checked his phone. “Shit, I really have to go…this was so nice, thank you.”
“Thank you,” Kurt said. He quickly reached for the little notepad on his nightstand and scribbled down his name and number. “Text me.” He handed Blaine the sheet of paper. “If you want,” he added. Blaine smiled and nodded, and before Kurt could stop himself, he leaned over the bed and kissed him.
And then Blaine was leaving, looking a bit rumpled in yesterday’s clothes, but somehow still handsome. Kurt went about his day, grinning when, that evening, he got a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hi. This is Blaine. We skipped a few steps last night…so could I possibly take you out on Friday?
When Ed and Stede are pretending to be each other in Episode 4, Ed introduces Stede as blackbeard while speaking in a fancyboy southern English accent. The accent I guess you'd expect Stede to have if he was raised by English colonial gentry.
When Stede comes out as Blackbeard, he's speaking in a 'piratey' west country English accent. One of the possibilities of Blackbeard's birthplace is Bristol, and he also has this accent in Black Pete's story about Blackbeard.
I know Taika n Rhys aren't the only NZers in the show, but they are the most delightfully inappropriate, and their accents make the least sense. I wonder if this is a joke stemming from the production discussion they must have had regarding whether they were going to do accents as their characters.
To go a step further it could be a happy little bit of meta design, much like how in this show anachronism is often used for symbolism, shorthand and comedy purposes. Oluwande may not literally be wearing crocs, but his crocs tell you instantly so much about his character. Similarly, Ed n Stede aren't literally talking in NZ accents, but they do in the show, communicating their instant connection and dislocation from the identities conferred on them by their backgrounds. I think David Jenkins said in an interview he thought the NZ accent was the "sound of kindness" (those might not be exactly his words, I cba to go back and find it).
But I'm also delighted with a world where white Colonial Barbadians coincidentally sound like NZers and Ed is a literal Maori pirate. Both can be the case. There's no laws.
