Angelina Terrace End Whore ❤️

About Wellington

So, whore—where do I start? It’s this old-ass word, right? Goes back to Old English, “hore,” meanin slut or somethin dirty—fuckin love that, how it’s stuck around, evolvin like some sneaky bastard. Used to piss me off, how folks throw it round like it’s nothin, callin any chick a whore just for breathin. But then—THEN—I dug deeper, found this wild story. Medieval times, yeah? Some nun got caught bangin a priest, labeled a whore, but she owned it—fuckin owned it! Wrote these steamy poems bout her “sin,” hid em in a convent wall. Found em centuries later—talk bout badass! Made me laugh, picturin her smirkin at the prudes.

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He ends up with Ouka. How do I know? By watching the daughter scene at the end of the season 1 finale.

Finally, the day winds down. I’m exhausted but happy. I love helping people, even if it’s a bit chaotic. As I’m packing up, I can’t help but think about how wild Terrace-End is. It’s got its quirks, for sure. The streets are a mix of old and new, and the people? They’re a whole vibe.

Double-fronted end-of-terrace Victorian in Blackrock