#out of Bristol and away from everyone else
Note
Can you do reader is Lando’s little sister and favourite but they barely see each other cause reader is at boarding school and she surprises him at the race. Also cameo of some other drivers too please.
Lando Norris x sister!reader
Summary - Request above xo
Warning - Like one swear one
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During her last year of primary education, Cisca and Adam both sat their youngest child down and discussed the possibility of boarding school.
Both knew it would be hard for the whole family to separate. Yet they both also knew that it would make their lives a lot easier.
With Landos up and coming career in motorsport racing and the rest of their children's careers also slowly building up, neither parent wanted to deprive or abandon Y/n. So with her agreement, they enrolled her into a well reviewed and well known boarding school a few miles out of Bristol.
Laurence Crawford Boarding.
The first few days, of course she was homesick. Missing Lando more than anyone else in the family. Of course. But eventually Y/n made friends and was becoming more and more independent by the day.
-
“Hey Mum!” The young girl giggled down the phone. She was in her shared dorm with a few friends when Cisca called. “Annie! No stop! Ew!”
Cisca took note of her daughter's divided attention, taking an easy guess that she was hanging out with a few friends. “Hi sweetheart, am I calling at a bad time?” Even though neither could see each other, she had a warm and proud smile on her face just thinking about how far Y/n has come.
The innocent giggle down the phone grew quieter and quieter. Y/n was walking away from her friends. “Sorry mum, yeah I can talk. We were just having a games night in my dorm…” Ciscas heart just warmed, happy that her youngest child was growing up and maturing.
“Oh no worries, go and hang out with your friends! Have fun!” And with a couple goodbyes and a ‘I love you’ between the two, Y/n was back hanging out with her friends.
-
Unlike her younger years of boarding, Y/n hadn’t been home from school on the weekend in a long while. She couldn’t; especially with her exams quickly approaching, she was in her dorm studying and revising most weekends.
This meant the youngest Norris hadn’t seen her family in a few weeks. Of course she had spoken to them but hadn’t been home since the end of January, and they all understood why. It was harder for some to swallow that pill - well harder for one person particularly e.g Lando.
The Silverstone grand-prix was just around the corner and all he wanted was for his youngest sister to be there. Yeah it was selfish but he missed her, to be far the last time the two saw each other was early January. He missed her so much.
“Are you sure you can’t just take the exam early and then come and support me?” His rough voice rang through Y/n's phone whilst she was highlighting her revision. Lando wasn’t even trying to hide his annoyance.
A gentle laugh followed by a sigh was heard from Y/ns side of the call. “I’m sorry Lan…I can’t ask them to move the exam, it’s against the rules of the exam board…”
She didn’t have an exam that week actually, she was lying. Y/n was going to be in Silverstone that sunday. It’s just that Lando didn’t know, oh no it was a surprise.
What he thought was happening was that everyone else from his immediate family would be there, except Y/n.
Everyone was in on the surprise. All excited to see the pair reunited. Surprises were always one of the things the Norris family loved to do.
-
Y/n - Good luck today! I’ll be juggling revision and watching the race, I hope to hear our national anthem pleaseee
Lando - Thank you angel, don’t wear yourself out
Y/n - I should tell you the same thing
Lando thought she’d be tucked away in her dorm room whilst they were texting back and forth. A vast contrast to her current location; in the passenger seat of Oliver's car. The sun was shining through the windshield and down over her bare knees.
Y/n was wearing a white summer dress, some comfortable trainers and her signed mclaren 4 cap. Looking ready to spend the day in the British summer sun supporting one of her older brothers.
She was smirking. He really had no clue about this. “Okay so he thinks I’m still at school, oh my god I can’t wait!”
With her gcses, Y/n hadn’t been to a race in a long time and she missed it; watching from her dorm was not the same. In her dorm, she didn’t get that real excitement that would course through her like it would in the McLaren garage.
Looking over to Oliver, he was also smirking. Just remembering how he had to deal with Landos sulking and the clear signs that Y/n was by far his favorite. “Yeah he’s gonna be so happy when he sees you!”
-
Once they arrived, Y/n was quietly escorted through the back way to the McLaren garage. They couldn’t have the press ruining the surprise. Luckily for Y/n, her spot in the garage couldn’t be seen from anywhere Lando would be.
She stood between her parents whilst her other three siblings stood on either side Cisca and Adam. “I’m so excited!” When she was handed her headset, the girl got even more excited because she could hear her brother's voice through the radio.
He had yet to win his first grand prix and she hoped he would get to that top step of the podium, especially at his home race. And hopefully without him knowing she is here, he will focus on that exact outcome.
-
It was a hard race, lots of action and stress. Something Y/n liked, she hated a boring race - this sport was about racing, not riding cars in the same positions in several circles. But the most important thing to note from this race was the number four McLaren parked in front of the number one place in Parc Ferme.
The papaya garage was very much in celebrations, including the Norris family. Turning to face her mother with tears in her eyes, she noticed how Cisca also had tears in her eyes. “He did! He did!”
Adam, who is also over the moon with the win, takes her hand and starts to lead her over to the Parc Ferme to surprise the driver. Reaching the Parc Ferme they stand waiting amongst the McLaren staff and up against the barriers.
Lando pulls himself out of the car and makes his way to celebrate with his team. It’s only when he moves to give Adam a hug that he notices his little sister and he gasps.
“Y/n?” He can’t believe his eyes, he thought she was back in her boarding school revising.
Immediately the driver breaks from his father's embrace and races to collect Y/n in his arms. The two siblings were laughing and crying together. Finally reunited after a long time, in their opinions.
After a few seconds, Lando moves to collect her face in his hand gently - trying to see if his eyes are deceiving him, they weren’t. “I thought you had an exam!” He shouts over the cheers around the two of them.
Y/n just smirks cheekily and shakes her head. “Nope! Surprise!” Soon her smirk turns into a groan when Landos hand moves to mess up her hair, laughing breaking out between them once again.
Everyone saw. The cameras around Parc Ferme all broadcasting the reuniting of two siblings who just missed each other. “You’re such a little shit!”
Shrugging her shoulders, Y/n smiled. “Everyone was in on it! Our family loves a surprise!” So when Lando turned to look at his father, Adam just nodded - Happy to reunite two of his children.
-
#formula one#formula one x reader#f1#f1 x reader#lando norris#lando norris x sister!reader#lando norris x sister#mclaren formula 1#f1 fanfic#formula one fanfic#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#formula one x y/n
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A click. The closing and opening of a camera shutter. The whirr of film as it slides across the inner workings of his camera.
Timothy Drake heaved himself off of the concrete roof as soon as the vigilantes left his eyesight. He swaps the film roll, placing the used one inside of the tin with a barely restrained grin. He’d gotten good shots tonight- a confrontation with Harvey Dent, batarangs swooping to cut the new Robin free- and Tim was excited to race back to his dark room in order to develop those candids.
He climbs down the side of the building, the spelunking gear he’d splurged his parents’ money on working wonderfully on Gotham’s stone and concrete buildings.
“Mom, I want to be just like you guys!” He’d said, and his mom agreed to spare no expense for his new hobby. Well, their secretary did, with his parent’s disinterested permission. After all, spelunking is sometimes needed for artifact digs… probably.
Besides, the moment he had brought up Bruce Wayne’s propensity for “spelunking,” his father had immediately sent him more cave scaling stuff in order to “network with the other successful businessmen, Timmy!”
Tim slides away from the alley with full awareness. Even in Bristol, one had to be careful to avoid the multitudes of goons out and about. The Narrows are definitely worse than Bristol and Tim wasn’t about to let his hard work be taken away just like that. As he trudged home- taking a taxi once he was in a slightly more “trustworthy area”- Tim became slightly lost in his thoughts about the identities of Gotham’s vigilantes. Technically there’s only two.
Tim knows there’s three.
Batman.
Robin.
Nightwing.
Bruce Wayne.
Jason Todd.
Dick Grayson.
His sharp mind, now assuaged from the mystery of their identities, worked hard to match the fights he witnessed to the injuries the prolific Wayne family hid the next day.
Timothy Drake thinks he’ll never get bored following his vigilantes.
——
He’s bored. He’s so irrevocably, irredeemably bored.
Tim had been so excited to go, too! Perhaps for different reasons than everyone else because he was here to observe his heroes out of their masks, not for the Annual Wayne Gala that’s the end-all of high society life. As in, if you weren’t invited, that’s the end of your social life. Bruce Wayne held high society in his palms and Tim is only fifty percent sure he knew and/or cared. Regardless, he was prepared to be a pod-son to his parents’ fake good-parents act, and accordingly suffered thirty minutes of cheek-pinching and fake laughs just for the opportunity to see the three Bats in one place.
They’re not here. They won’t be here for another twenty minutes.
Anyways, he’s bored and irritated. Definitely annoyed enough for some bad ideas.
And Tim might not be aware of this fact about himself until much later when he’s more self-aware, but a bored and irritated Tim Drake is bad news for everyone.
He takes after Janet Drake, after all, and Janet Drake is only after Bruce Wayne in influence and cunning.
And his heroes, his beloved heroes, are the targets of his ire tonight. Tim smiles wider, pod-person smile widening to a baring of ravenous teeth incredibly off putting on a nine year old, and immediately changes course towards the delicate jello squares sitting at the buffet table.
The Waynes will be learning the importance of punctuality at their own galas by the time Tim’s done. He swears it. He even has a get out of jail free card!
Just. A small bit of petty revenge.
Tim nabs a bowl full of the jellos, snacking on one as he makes his way to the Wayne family’s most favorite balcony. Everyone knows it’s the one the family members go to when the Gala gets overwhelming. It’s an unspoken rule that no one else may enter it. Tim slips around the blind spots in the cameras.
High society might call someone a bitch in forty different ways, all hidden behind silk smiles and false eyes, but they’d respect the oddest things.
Tim… doesn’t care. He’s been breaking rules since he was seven.
He sets to his task, setting the jello cubes in the places he’d calculated that Jason or Bruce or Dick might step on. Mild revenge, yes, but Tim doesn’t want to bother Alfred too much. The butler had looked a bit tired earlier. Task done, Tim squeezes back into the party and smiles like his life depended on it.
“Brucie!” His dad boomed, and Tim felt his smile widen once more.
“Jack!” Batman’s Brucie personality bounced into the ballroom as the party kicked back up with the host’s presence. “How’ve you been, old chap?”
“The digs have been very fruitful!”
“I see you’ve brought someone with you today! Well, other than your strikingly beautiful wife, of course!”
“This is my son, Timothy!”
“Hello, Timothy. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Oh. My. God. He’s shaking hands with Batman!
“Hi. I’m Timothy Drake.”
“Oh my gosh, Tim!” His mom laughs, fake nails and laugh digging into his shoulders. Oops. Too informal.
“It’s alright.”
“BRUCE!”
Oh my god, it’s ROBIN. Tim’s smile twitches, barely containing his squeals.
“Jaylad? What’s wrong?”
“Someone left jello cubes all over the balcony!”
“What?” Bruce (Brucie, Tim decides is the name of the mask) turns to his parents and excuses himself.
“Mom? I’m going to go network with Bruce Wayne’s son.”
No, he’s not. He’s gonna go watch them lose their minds.
“That’s my boy!” His dad claps him on the shoulder and shoos him off. His mom narrowing her eyes at him but ultimately dismissing him.
Perfect. By the time he gets there, he hears Nightwing- Dick Grayson, oh my god!- asking “O” to figure out who left all those cubes on the floor.
“Drake?” Ah, shit.
“Weren’t we just talking to him earlier, B?”
“Yes, but I haven’t got the slightest idea why he’d leave jello cubes all over the place.”
“Assassination attempt?” Jason asks.
“Whatever it is, it ruined my running shoes!”
“Dick, please, just wash it off or give it to Alfred.”
“Ugh, we can just go ask him.”
“And make a scene?” Jason sounds eager.
“No. Alfred ordered us specifically not to.”
Silence. Tim grins and slips away, making his way through and voiding the cameras as usual.
—-
“Timmy!”
Tim smiles politely at Brucie Wayne while inwardly cheering. His dad looks at him with stars in his eyes and leaves him to work his magic.
“Yes, Mr. Wayne?” Pod-person smile!
“This is my son, Jason. And this is Dick.”
“Hi. I’m Jason!” He holds out a hand for Tim to shake. Dick smiles at him and Tim thinks he might expire on the Wayne’s ballroom floor.
“Hello,” Tim suppresses his urge to scream excitedly. “I’m Timothy Drake. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Woah, you sound so stiff.”
“Jason!” Brucie Wayne chides. “Anyways, Timmy, you looked like you had something to tell me earlier. Something wrong, kiddo?”
No, no he didn’t. But… they don’t know that he knows their secret. And they don’t know he knows that they don’t know.
Tim acts confused, but then clears up with his expression like he just thought of something.
“Oh! I was wondering why you were late, Mr. Wayne. Did Batman stop you on the way back?”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I know you don’t really like Batman, Mr. Wayne,” Tim cackles inwardly. “But he saves you a lot. Were you stopping crime?”
“I… I’m not Batman.”
“Well, I know that,” Tim huffs. “It’s just weird no one’s seen you and Batman in the same room.” Tim cheerfully ignores the alarm making its way onto the trio’s faces and his dad’s frantic, further away, cut it out motion. “But obviously that’s because Batman’s busy putting on his gear, right?”
“And how do you figure that…?” Dick asks, tense.
“Uh, he always knows when you’re in trouble? He always comes in minutes of you guys getting held hostage. Is his base on the manor grounds? Oh, is it a secret that you’re funding him? Don’t worry! I know how to keep a secret! Can you tell the new Robin that I think he’s the best?” Tim grins cutely up at Batman. Ah, he means Brucie Wayne.
“Sure can, kiddo! Don’t tell anyone else, okay?” Jason swoops in, grinning back Tim.
Eeee!
As he nods, Tim can’t help mentioning the cubes. “Oh, sorry about the cubes! I thought I’d be able to track them with their shoe print if Batman and Robin came to save you guys but I guess that wasn’t going to happen. I’m really sorry!” He uses the “cute duckling” face and Dick visibly melts.
“No problem, Timmy! You should come over to play Clue with us sometime! I think you’d be good at it.”
“Oh! Really?” His words becomes a bit more genuine. “I’ve never played it. My mom and dad aren’t around much so. Um. Would it be okay if we do?”
“This weekend.” Brucie Wayne’s voice suddenly became more firm. “I’ll talk to your parents about it.
—-
As Tim waves the Wayne’s goodbye, he hears from Dick, “You only like him because he said you’re the best.”
And Jason’s reply, “Because he’s got good taste,” made the rest of his night. Not week, because tomorrow, he gets to poke around Wayne manor again!
#tim drake is a menace#tim drake#bruce wayne is tired dad with unhinged kids#bruce Wayne’s adoption senses are tingling#bruce wayne#batman#nightwing#Tim literally dngaf and is waiting for the bats to play catch up#dick grayson#jason todd#robin#jello cubes as a weird shoe print identifier#technically he did catch Batman and robin
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(part one here)
Martyn, as it turns out, only has three phone numbers memorised.
One of them is his own. The second is his mother’s, which he tries, and receives the unfortunate information that the number has been disconnected and leads nowhere.
He finally has some luck with the third, the landline phone number of his house - while nobody picks this up, either, it does connect to somewhere at least. Martyn is able to leave a voicemail explaining that he’s out of the situation he was in that meant he couldn’t come home, and that he’ll be there by tonight.
“Where’s there?” Oli asks, kind of hoping Martyn won’t need a lift to Bristol or anything out of the way like that.
“Nottingham,” Martyn replies, guarded.
Oh - that’s not so bad, then. “I can give you a lift down, if you need?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Oh, no.” Oli’s remote working today; as long as he keeps an eye on his emails, nobody should even notice he’s gone, and if he can always call in a family emergency if Martyn does take him up on the offer to drive. It is a family emergency, after all, it seems - just not Oli’s family.
Martyn perks up at the response, though. “Oh, I getcha. Job market, eh?” He makes a cutting motion across his throat, with noise to match.
“No, I’ve got a job! A pretty good one, actually. That’s why I can afford living on my own.”
“Ah.” A silence, and then Martyn flicks the phone back on in his hands. “Oh, god. December 2023?”
“... Yes?” Why did you not know what month it was? Or, from the sounds of it, what year?
“God, my mum’s gonna be out of her wits, that’s awful.” He flicks at the screen - then, sheepish, asks, “What’s your passcode?”
“Here, I’ll -” Oli takes it out of his hands, taps in the shape of a circle “- what d’you want?”
“Oh, I was just gonna google myself.”
Oli pulls up Google. Waits, expectantly.
“Er - Martyn Littlewood.”
And oh, jesus, yeah, that’s a missing persons case. Last seen April 2021, no wonder he was bloody worried about the year, suspect investigated but no proof identified, case well and truly cold.
Martyn must see it in his face the way he’s started, because he grimaces. “That bad?”
“About what you’d expect,” says Oli, turning the phone around to face Martyn. He snatches it, which is unexpected but honestly not out of character for the stuff he remembers from Martyn in-game.
Wait.
“Hold on - how were you getting on SMPs with us lot if you were… whatever you were?”
Martyn grimaces harder. “Long story. Difficult, too. Let’s just say there’s a lotta people who I last saw lunging for my neck, and they’re not gonna stop because I’m here.”
“Are you a wanted man? Do I need to barricade the doors, close the blinds, what?”
“Nah, nah - just keep me away from your computer.” He pauses again to consider that. “Actually. If you’re here, does that mean everyone else is too?”
“What, the other people on the server? Well, they’re not here, but I could message people if you want, say you’ve… I don’t know, turned up at Sainsbury’s?”
“I’m an ASDA man myself,” Martyn cracks, and then frowns at the screen. “So can I go on your Discord? I won’t send anything. I just want to know.”
“Erm - sure.”
He taps through, immediately lights up. “Scott!”
Ah, yeah, he had been DMing Scott this morning. Something about axolotls, if he’s not mistaken. “Yeah! He’s all the way in Brighton, though, I don’t know if I could swing that much of a lift.”
“And Bek. And Eloise, and - oh my god, I need to know what Sausage’s real name is.”
“I’ve never asked.”
“You just call him Sausage, all the time?”
“S’funny, innit?”
Martyn nods solemnly. “It is funny.”
He sits like that for a while, scrolling through Oli’s DM history, muttering names under his breath. “I mean,” says Oli, “we can add you, if you like.”
“God. Yeah, you prob’ly can. Let me try it.”
A few seconds later, and Martyn’s handing back the phone to Oli with a pending friend request to InTheLittleWood in tow. “Don’t know why you didn’t offer that before, if you’re so excited.”
“Couldn’t,” Martyn says nonchalantly.
“Right, and does that have something to do with this missing persons case of yours?”
His face falls. “Yeah, actually. Something like that.”
“Ah.”
They decide to wait until either his mum calls Oli back or Oli is officially clocked out of work to get back in the car. Until then, it seems like it’s time for Oli to get Martyn up to speed on the last… two and a half years, good lord, that’s a while…
(part three here)
#ilexworks#reverse isekai au#itlwlore#martyn itlw#oli theorionsound#pirates smp#scurvyblr#vtuber martyn
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Searching For A Home (1/3) - Alexia Putellas x Reader
Summary: When leaving Barcelona, you say it was to grow as a player and get more playing time, but your real reason is to get over your crush. But the constant moving around and not staying with one club or league for over 2 years has led to speculation you have commitment issues. Turns out that the truth is very different to what has been assumed.
///
“You know why I have to go, right?” you whispered, staring out onto the empty pitch for one final time, glancing towards the twenty-two year old midfielder who let out a soft sigh.
“Si, I do. You want to play more. I will miss you.” Alexia whispered back, turning her head to watch as you walked back down the tunnel and away from Barcelona all together.
“Not the only reason… but I need to get over you, Alexia Putellas.” Whispering to yourself as you set off for your next adventure, your next challenge, your next club, in a completely different country.
///
Portland was nothing like Barcelona, but you threw yourself into the challenge of coming into the NWSL near the end of the season, trying to ignore how much your heart ached as the months went by and your contact with your teammates at Barcelona fluctuated. You had lost contact with Alexia all together, not hearing from her but finding out through social media how she and your teammates were doing, as transfers occurred and people started to spread their wings going into the next season of the Primera División.
You stayed with Portland for another season, developing your skills as your versatility was put to the test, stepping in for any injured players and adapting to the brutality and intensity that the NWSL had, before you were traded for the next season. Portland wasn’t home, but you’d met players that stuck with you as friends, but nobody compared to Alexia.
Portland Thorns trade with Chicago Red Stars announced
Will the versatile player be able to adapt to the cold Chicago winters?
“What the- really? My trade is announced and they focus on whether I can handle the weather?” you grumbled from where you’d been sitting on top of your suitcase, scrolling through your phone.
“Got it!” Tobin announced, revealing that she had managed to zip up your suitcase.
“Muchas gracias, Toblerone!” you grinned as Tobin rolled her eyes at the nickname you’d given her after a chocolate you’d seen at the airport once.
“I am not going to miss you.” Tobin declared but you raised an eyebrow, knowing she was lying.
“Chris! Tobin says she will not miss me!” you called out to your new teammate, who rolled her eyes at you both.
“I’ll miss you teaching everyone Spanish.” Tobin admitted, smirking slightly as you laughed.
“I still tutor online.” you pointed out as Tobin rolled her eyes, gesturing for you to stop sitting on the suitcase and help pack up the rest of your stuff you were moving to Chicago.
///
You withstood one Chicago winter before pulling as many strings as you could to get out of the clutches of the NWSL, begging your agent to send you anywhere else, just away from the league.
Portland Thorns player and Chicago Red Stars mutually agree to terminate contract after one year.
You were supposed to be in Chicago for three years, but one was enough. Chicago would never be home, but you kept in contact with your teammates there, until the media latched their claws into your image.
///
Fourth Club in over Five Years? Does this player have no club loyalty?
Bristol City sign Chicago Red Stars versatile player on free transfer
Who is this versatile player coming into the WSL?
How long will they stay at Bristol before they move on to the next club?
Fans try to predict where the player will go next and when
///
Rolling your eyes at the headlines that came up when looking at social media about you, you’d seen the bingo cards that fans were making with their predictions too, but you didn’t respond, instead reposting the photo of you signing your contract with Bristol City that the club had posted.
You’d asked your agent to send you anywhere, so going to the mid-table club in the WSL, in England, was an interesting twist that you ended up welcoming. The girls were lovely, understanding your need for change when you admitted you were not happy in Chicago and needed something more, so arriving at Bristol became more than just playing football. You continued in tutoring Spanish online like you had since leaving Barcelona, alongside helping the younger players develop as your versatility to fit in anywhere on the pitch became more than just an advantage when arriving at new clubs.
You’d known that you wouldn’t stay at Bristol long, and you knew the girls at the club knew it too, so when Bristol City finished in 6th place in the WSL, going up two spaces from the previous season, you hoped that everything you had done to help the players helped them individually, and not just at a club level. Because your transfer had just been announced, with your next club taking you closer to Spain than the US and England had, to France with Paris Saint-Germain.
No Club Loyalty: Player trades Bristol City and WSL for Paris Saint-Germain and UWCL
For the move from Chicago to Bristol, you ended up selling most of your furniture and anything that wouldn’t fit in the few suitcases you had, not wanting to risk the shipping costs or possibility of damages. This meant that in Bristol, you ended up either buying new furniture, in the case of necessities, but you didn’t bother buying a lot, this parallel happening for the move from Bristol to Paris. This meant that when your captain ended up coming over to see how you were doing, Irene was concerned, and ended up taking you shopping for a bed frame and a wardrobe so you’d stop living out of your suitcases.
Sticking close to your captain, you developed a bond with Irene, speaking in a lot of Spanish since your French was… anyway, you finally told someone the other reason you left Barcelona.
“I didn’t only leave because I wanted more playing time. I left because,” letting out a sigh, you kept your gaze on the ceiling to avoid Irene and Lucía’s confused looks, “I left because I was in love with my teammate and I didn’t think she would ever love me back.”
///
Jack of all Trades, Master of None: When Being a Versatile Player is Not That Useful
“Wow… whoever wrote that does not know Shakespeare well!” you remarked, sat in the dressing room on your phone until Irene asked about whether you had bought a bedside table yet, raising an eyebrow when you admitted to using your empty suitcase as one instead.
“Alexia asked about you.” Irene admitted, having come back from the international break with her Spanish national teammates.
“What? Why, I… I haven’t spoken to her in four years, but she looks great, from what I’ve seen…” you froze up, feeling your face burn as Irene stared at you for a moment, figuring out the same thing you had. Four years of no contact yet you weren’t over Alexia Putellas?
“Maybe message her? She misses you.” Irene suggested, before announcing she was heading home for the day and that you should too.
You hadn’t even realised how empty the dressing room had gotten after training ended, so distracted by the media slandering anything about you, and Alexia no doubt could have seen what the media had been saying about you since you left Barcelona… that almost stopped you from texting her though, but she had seen that you were typing, and then you stopped, so she texted first.
Hola extraña
Biting your lip, you stared at the text, ‘hello stranger’, eventually typing out your response.
Lo siento. Ha pasado mucho tiempo, ¿no?
Apologising to the Barcelona player, and your former teammate, you admitted it had been a long time, then watched as she began to type again.
Sí
You froze, what were you supposed to say to that one word answer? Your phone lit up, revealing she had sent a follow-up text.
¿Cómo estás?
///
Your first season at PSG ended at 2nd in the division, and reached the semifinals of the champion’s league, falling to Lyon in both cases, whilst Barcelona lost against Wolfsburg. Bristol City ended up going down to 10th in the WSL, the media taking the opportunity to try to bring up how may have ended up leaving the team to suffer by leaving, but your game time at PSG was successful enough to drown it out, plus Irene and Alexia had warned you against paying attention to the media a while ago.
You ignored how shocked the fans and media were when they found out you were sticking around with PSG for another year, keeping to your 2 year contract that you had signed. The pandemic had left you unsure whether you wanted to stay in Paris, but you didn’t have a reason to leave before your contract was up. It wasn’t like Chicago.
Staying in Paris over the off-season, you would have travelled to Spain if you could, but the pandemic made it impossible.
You’d kept in contact with Irene, your other PSG teammates, and Alexia the most, but every so often, you’d hear from your old Thorns and Red Stars teammates too, as they shuffled between clubs themselves.
Fans and the media loved to drag you for your lack of smiles in the photography before games, the intense energy you gave off something accustomed to marmite. Loved by some, hated by others who wanted you to smile. Some people had figured it out though, your smiles hadn’t met your eyes for five years, since Barcelona.
PSG were doing even better in your second year there, ending up beating Lyon for the top position in the Division 1 Féminine as well as heading through the Champion’s League, captained by Irene, beating Lyon in the quarter finals to face Barcelona in the semifinals.
The first leg of the semifinals, Barcelona came to play in France, at the Stade Municipal Georges Lefèvre. Alexia kept her face blank and intense, ready for the match as she lined up. She didn’t expect to see you and Irene walk out to line-up in the tunnel together, but she could see the intensity in your expression and the stiffness in your posture.
Your play style had changed a lot, and it wasn’t just due to PSG. Your time in the NWSL had brought a brutal energy, a raw power she’d felt before when playing against the USWNT with Spain. PSG’s utilisation of your versatility made you a pain in Barcelona’s ass.
The first leg ended in a draw, 1-1, Barcelona getting two yellow cards, whilst PSG got three, including your captain. Somehow you had managed to go cardless, which had confused some fans, but others admired your technique that had started to develop in the NWSL. Either way, Barcelona were scrambling trying to figure out how PSG would play you for the second leg, and, on a lesser known note, if you had re-signed with PSG.
The second leg was a week later, and you were in the starting XI again, standing with Irene in the tunnel of the Amsterdam ArenA, Alexia spotted you before the match again, your stern expression juxtaposed by the playful wink you sent her before your face steeled up again.
Fighting against how much your face burned at the wink you’d sent Alexia, you rolled your shoulders and pushed it all away to focus on this next match. Whoever won, was through to the finals of the champions league.
Lieke Martens managed to score twice, within 23 minutes of each other, but Katoto managed to turn the tables three minutes later with a goal, taking it to 2-1. Two of your defenders had yellow cards before Barcelona started getting carded too, you could feel the frustration on both sides. On aggregate, Barcelona would win 3-2, unless you could turn the tides. Substitutions happened on both sides, and Barcelona’s goalie was even carded as you began to walk the line, pushing yourself further and sending more shots towards goal, and your teammates when they had better shots. Ducking back when Barcelona got the ball back, you were a pain in their asses to deal with, your versatility meaning you were ducking between attacking and defending at a ridiculous rate.
It took until stoppage time for you to get a final attack going, sprinting down the field as Irene sent the ball to you. Your teammates were scrambling to catch up as Alexia scrambled after you, her tackle barely getting the ball as you ended up sprawled out on the grass, almost eating the pitch. Pushing yourself up from the pitch, you removed the blades of grass from your mouth with a grimace. A hand on your back caught your attention before you looked up, spotting the ref giving Alexia a yellow card. The Barcelona captain was lucky it wasn’t a red, but Leila had managed to catch up with you and her captain just enough before she went in for the tackle.
The whistle blowing signifying the end of the match left you glancing up at the sky with a sigh.
“Damn.”
You approached Irene first, letting out a breath as she pulled you into a hug, the two of you starting to walk around to your other teammates, and the Barcelona players approaching you both. Your eyes widened as you were met by players you hadn’t seen or spoken to much since you’d left Barcelona nearly six years ago, Jenni, Marta and Melanie pulling you into hugs.
“¿Estás bien?” Alexia enquired, feeling guilty for the tackle that sent you to the ground.
“Estoy bien, pero me comí la hierba.” You chuckled, freezing as Alexia’s hand gently cupped your cheek, removing a piece of grass stuck to your face. You did indeed eat the grass on the pitch.
///
Your final game with PSG was on June 4th against Dijon, with both you and Irene scoring a goal each. Both of your contracts were expiring, but Irene’s focus was also on Lucía and the couple’s unborn child, so she had already asked not to be called up to the Spain national squad for the 2023 World Cup Qualification due to the upcoming birth.
You’d known from the first leg match playing against Barcelona that you wanted to head back to Spain after your contract with PSG was up, speaking to your agent about any possible Spanish clubs being interested. You didn’t expect Barcelona to be interested, not telling Alexia or Irene the reasoning behind it, but when Barcelona came calling, you were donating and selling anything and everything that didn’t fit in your suitcases for the move back to Spain after six years.
Official: Barcelona confirm signing of PSG versatile player
Versatile Player Homecoming: 6 Years Later
PSG Player Returns to Barcelona Finally Smiling
“Bet fans didn’t have that on their bingo cards…” you murmured to yourself as you sat on the floor of what had been your place in Paris for the last two years, closing the football news tab without a second thought.
///
Alexia’s stomach twisted as she read over the news report, staring at the serious expression on your face from a photo that the media had used, their dig at your lack of a smile annoying her until she spotted a quote from you.
“There is no home for me like Barcelona.”
She may have let you walk away six years ago, never telling you her feelings before it was too late and you were gone, but the midfielder had kept tabs on you over the years, watching whatever footage she could find of you playing in the NWSL and WSL, before you arrived in Paris and she could ask Irene about you, plus watch your matches with PSG under the excuse that it was research for the UWCL. She’d followed social media closely, seeing the digs the fans made and how the media dragged you through the mud for having no club loyalty. She didn’t understand it at first, then again, Barcelona flowed through her veins, and your excuse at wanting more playing time didn’t make sense as you jumped from Chicago to Bristol to Paris in three years.
You never dated either, or you kept them so private that nobody on social media knew a thing, but it had been six years. The two of you had grown a lot, she was no longer the twenty two year old who let you walk away and leave for Portland, and you weren’t the same player or person you’d been six years ago either. You were a powerhouse and a pain in the ass to play against, but Alexia loved it, and you, even if she kept quiet about her feelings. Waiting for you to arrive in Barcelona for next season instead… for all she knew, you weren’t interested in her.
Oh, she had no idea.
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PENNY, 24, GMT; SHE/HER. | if you’re hearing VIENNA by BILLY JOEL playing, you have to know GABRIEL MOORE (HE/HIM; CIS MAN) is near by! the THIRTY-FOUR year old HISTORY PROFESSOR has been in denver for, like, THREE YEARS. they’re known to be quite OBSTINATE, but being ALLOCENTRIC seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble JACOB ANDERSON. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those WANDERING EMPTY MUSEUMS, THE GLOW FROM A LAPTOP SCREEN and ROLLED-UP SHIRT SLEEVES AND V-NECK JUMPERS vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the DOWNTOWN DISTRICT long enough!
full name: gabriel isaac moore. nicknames: gabe, abe. gender and pronouns: cis man, he/him. age: thirty-four. sexuality: bisexual. date of birth: july 15th. zodiac sign: cancer ( loyal, creative, sensitive, insecure. ) place of birth: bristol, england. occupation: assistant professor of history, university of denver.
born and raised in bristol, the youngest of three with two older sisters. as a diplomatic service officer their father was away more often than not, so gabe was raised by his mother and sisters.
his interest in writing, reading and history was a curveball. aside from his father, the rest of the family's interests were firmly rooted in stem. they were ( perhaps justifiably ) worried that gabriel's interests would not give him much success in life. but he was determined to pursue his passion and after graduating top of his class at bristol uni for undergrad, went on to get his master's and phd in history at st andrew's.
moved to london after graduation wondering what to do with himself and fell into teaching. completed his teaching qual and sought out a role teaching history whilst continuing to research and publish occasionally on the side to keep up with developments in the academic world.
( tw: car accident, injury, depression & ptsd ) was cycling to work as per usual one day when he was hit by a drunk driver at a crossing. he woke up just short of a week later to a shock. gabe had been lucky, really. at least, that's what everyone said -- at the time he couldn't only think that was a cruel thing to say. his right leg had been amputated, originally below the knee but complications did not go his way and so shortly after he became an above knee amputee. otherwise, he was pretty much unscathed - scars here and there the only thing to show of his ordeal now.
slightly reeling and with nothing to really do during his recovery, gabriel turned back to the work he loved. this was something of a relief to friends and family as, not unexpectedly, gabe was diagnosed with ptsd and depression immediately following the accident and suffered during much of his recovery. by no means have either of those things become a non-issue in his life, but they have dissipated and significantly and well, when all else fails… there’s always throwing yourself into work or looking after someone else. he wrote a monograph, a social history of black africans in renaissance england that was eventually published just under five years ago now.
riding on the back of the book's success, a desire to return to academia and for a change of scenery he began applying for jobs. the offer from the university of denver came through and he took it and uprooted to denver. this was where his family’s relief was dampened; they thought it was a rash decision ( they weren’t wrong, but gabe was never one to change his mind once it was set and they knew it )
gabe has been in denver for three years now, comfortable in his position at the university but also keen to engage with as many people as possible. he runs a sort of 'history 101' evening class at the community college for anyone to attend.
wanted connections page ! gimme literally everything pls.
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Right Where You Left Me
Part Two: Invisible String
Warnings: Mentions of Death
My head aches from the lack of sleep I got the night before. Delta had decided at the last minute to start her science project and I had been roped in to glueing little glow in the dark stars to a black bristol board until the morning sun shone bright through the dining room window.
Resting my head on my forearms, closing my eyes to subside the burning sensation. Maybe I can just take a small nap…
“Look alive, Saskia!”
I grimace at his choice of words but sit up anyways, picking my pencil back up and rereading the questions in front of me for the millionth time as if the answer would just magically pop into my head.
“I hate to be that friend, but Paul Lahote has been staring at the back of your head for almost the entire period,” Tessa said, scribbling an answer down on her worksheet. He’s been doing that ever since I’ve gotten back to school. They gave me two weeks to ‘grieve’, before handing me all the work I’d missed, with a small goodluck catching up. If only Paul could grow the balls to say something to me, anything. So I'd finally have an excuse to yell at him, throw a massive fit over the fact that I trusted him with a secret and when that secret blew up in my face unexpectedly, he just watched from the sidelines. Not saying a word.
I roll my eyes, “What’s the answer for question four?”
“Um, hello? You’re the one that gives me the answers, remember?”
“I didn’t read the chapter.” Ignoring the look of concern she shot at me, I wrote down what I think the answer could be before setting my pencil down, completely giving up on the assignment.
“Maybe you should go back to fucking, Lahote. I’m sure he’s still down, even if he is into all that gang stuff. You're still a smokeshow.” Tessa suggests before going back to chewing on the end of her pen,
“I’d rather sit through another one of Mrs. Bear’s grief counselling sessions.” I say in a harsh tone, before mimicking the counsellor's voice, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her attempt to counsel me, so I left and I haven't been back. I felt as though grief counselling would just prolong the process anyways. I don’t need to talk about my problems, I lived with them and that was hard enough as it was.
“I can’t believe she said that to you, as if her stupid hallmark quotes would actually help you grieve.”
I shrug and lean my head in my hands, “As long as Delta is doing well, nothing else matters.”
“Is she still doing that baking class over at the Clearwaters bakery?”
I nod, “yeah, Leahs mom has helped out a lot. Keeping Delta busy and whatever.”
Sue Clearwater was like a second mother. She helped a lot during my mom's chemo treatment, being a volunteer nurse at the hospital in Forks, the neighbouring town. Sue and her sister owned a small bakery that taught kids how to bake every wednesdays and Fridays, which Delta was fond of. I made sure she got the chance to go whenever she asked, even if it meant sitting in the parking lot doing my homework while I waited.
“Now you just need to keep busy, preferably in someone's bed. What about Cal?”
I got to tell her that, that is the most ridiculous idea she has ever had, and she's had many but the bell rings. I never told her about what Paul had said to me, and what Shiloh had said to him. My anger simmers at the fact that even Shiloh had the decency to express his condolences.
“Mr. Lahote stay after class please, the rest of you hand in your questions and you're free to go.” Mr Faire announces and everyone begins to pack up and head on with their days.
I slowly gather my things, losing the battle I had been winning with my mind all class long, glancing back at the boy who disappeared from every inch of my life. His window is no longer an escape for me to use as I please. He’s talking to Jared Cameron, another one of Sam’s groupies, and his girlfriend Kim. I look away before he can catch me staring and shove the rest of my things in my bag.
Walking up to the teachers desk, I’m the last to hand in my worksheet besides the three lingerers. It's like they can’t do anything independently, always stuck to each other like magnets.
I handed the teacher my paper, knowing that the grade for it was not ideal. I’ve stopped caring, it’s not like I’m going to college anytime soon. Not while my sister still needs me here.
“A lot of these are still unanswered” He notes disapprovingly.
“I didn’t have time to read the chapter last night.” I tell him honestly, between my other three classes and Delta needing help with her own homework, I couldn’t even find the time to take the book out of my bag.
He sighs, “I get that with your mom passing recently, life might be a bit hectic for you, but it’s no excuse for not fulfilling your responsibilities in school. I expect more from you.”
“Well maybe if you actually taught us something inside of just forcing us to read sixty pages of worthless material every night, I would have been more prepared.” I snapped at him before turning on my heel, and walking straight into what felt like a brick wall. Paul's hands steadied me from tripping over my own two feet, his unusually hot hands scorching my skin causing me to jerk away from him. I can’t look at him, the frustrated tears in my eyes blur my vision as I push past him and head for the door.
--
I am an idiot.
I took Tessa's advice and invited Calian over, as if in the year that we had broken up, he had somehow learned how to please a woman. With Delta at a friend's house for a sleepover, and my dad working the night shift, I didn’t want to be alone in our house. It would be the first time since she was gone, and I couldn’t stomach it.
I sat in his lap, my clothes discarded long ago, in just my bra and panties. His shirt is lost on the floor with mine as he kisses at my neck and I try to build some kind of friction, rocking my hips against his. He doesn’t get the message.
My phone rings and I look at the caller ID from where I’m seated. Paul Lahote.
I let it ring, sending it voicemail. I sigh in content as the thought of him trying to contact me fades from my mind.
It rings again.
I snatch my phone off of my bedside table and harshly hit answer.
“What do you want?” I ask, Calian doesn’t stop his assault on my neck. I have to chew on the inside of my cheek as palms my breast, roughly tweaking the hard nub.
“I’m locked out, can you climb through my window and let me in?” Paul's voice sounded desperate.
“No, I’m busy.”
“It’s raining.” He tried and I rolled my eyes.
“It’s always raining.” I remind him. We live in the wettest state in America, the constant cover of clouds was depressing, but home.
“Please, Saskia.” he says, his tone laced with annoyance. Fuck this, I think before hanging up on him.
I grab Calians discarded tshirt and throw it on, “I'll be right back, my neighbours locked out.”
I opened my window to see that it was partially open, as if he meant to open it and then changed his mind. I raise it further, giving me enough space to get into his room before climbing in.
His room looked the exact same as it did when I last visited him in the middle of the night. I glare at the halfnaked woman in a fancy car, still the only poster left in his room before bounding down the stairs and unlocking the door, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as I open it.
“Thanks, I owe you.” Paul says relieved and I roll my eyes. Looking at him with an annoyed gaze before saying, “Whatever.”
His eyes connected with mine, and it was like time stopped around us. I couldn't breathe. His hard, angry eyes softened and the look of knowing crossed his face. The man in front of me looked completely and utterly captivated, he’s never looked at me like this before, not even when I was sprawled out naked in his sheets. His usual dark, rage infused eyes held the peace that I had been searching looking for in the past few years. The solace I had so desperately tried to find in him through our late night escapades. I felt as though there was suddenly an invisible string connecting myself to him, pulled as tight as could be causing me pain if i were to try and pull away. I’ve never felt this feeling before, like a gold rush.
Gasping softly, I take a step back from him. My hand pressed against my chest as if to stop my heart from beating out of my chest.
His eyes roamed my barely clothed body, like I was a shiny new toy just for him.
Paul's eyes hardened at the realisation of who’s shirt I was wearing, and it wasn’t his, “Where's your clothes?”
“Like I said, I’m busy. So if you’ll excuse me.” I mutter, trying to squeeze past his hulking figure. I avoid his gaze, afraid that I’ll grovel for him. He didn’t deserve it, not after all that he’s done, more so hasn’t done.
But his hair was damp, and dishevelled from the rain. His t-shirt slick to his body, extenuating his muscles.
I bite my lip. Would it be so bad?
Stop it, Saskia. You’re just tired, that's it, I try to convince myself.
He blocks my exit, “With who?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. We just, we have sex so, I would like to know what diseases you’re getting and from where.” he spits out, his tone drowning in jealousy before adding, “To be safe.”
“We haven’t hooked up in months, Paul. So, no, it’s none of your business who I hang out with, especially considering your new friends.” I remind him, before sarcastically saying, “Consider yourself safe.”
He scoffed, “I’ve been dealing with stuff, that doesn’t mean I wanted our deal to end.”
He’s been dealing with stuff. His excuse was laughable. Paul didn’t even have the decency to check in when my mom died and now he wants me to sympathise about how hard his life has been?
No chance.
“Well it did. It's over. Done. Goodbye.” Pushing past him, I only make it down the first two steps of his porch before he's grabbing ahold of my arm.
“Sask, wait.”
Looking back at him, annoyed beyond belief, I ask, “What, Paul?”
“Everything alright man?” The voice sounds from my porch and I look from Paul to see Calian, shirtless in just his soccer shorts, standing on my porch. Great timing, I think to myself.
“Yeah, Cal. Just got locked out.” He says, before looking back at me. I can’t read his emotions, but he doesn’t look happy as he says, “Thanks, again, Saskia.”
I scoff in annoyance, taking my arm back from his grip and crossing the lawn that separates the two properties and back inside my house. Cal's hand on my lower back as he guides me back to my room feels wrong and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to make a huge mistake.
---
I rush to my locker in between periods to switch out my textbooks. It's routine at this point. I feel a warm hand on my arm, pulling me into the nearest classroom before I can even get my combination into the lock. I look at who has a grip on my arm to see Paul. He shuts the door behind us and stands in front of it, his face unreadable. When did he get so good at hiding his emotions? The boy was as short fused as they come, you know when he was in a good mood and when he was not. As he stands in front of me, I have no idea what I’m in for.
“Did you do the reading for Mr.Faires class?” his voice was rigid.
Bad mood.
“No, I didn’t have time.”
“You had time to fuck Calian.” he gritted. His eyes gave me a once over, looking for evidence of the night before. Though he wasn’t going to find anything. Calian and I had settled for a movie after I shot down his advances after my altercation with Paul. Thats it.
“I didn’t fuck him.” he stays in my way and my patience is wearing thin, “Move.”
“Jared said there's going to be a pop quiz on last night's reading,” he offers, his body language completely changing at the knowledge that I didn’t fuck my exboyfriend.
“And you’re telling me this, why exactly?” I am confused, why is this information that I would need?
“So he doesn’t rip on you again.”
“His opinion of me means nothing.” I make a move to go around him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders, stopping me.
“He made you cry.” So he did see me.
“Fuck you, Paul.” I grit.
“Ask nicely.” he grinned, bringing his hand up to play with the end of my braid as his eyebrow furrowed, a look of inner turmoil, “You don’t sleep well, do you? Your lights are always on..”
I cross my arms over my chest, “Why do you care?”
But he was right, I don’t sleep, too many things to do and not enough time in the day. The nightmares I keep to myself don’t help. Though I would never tell anyone, they wouldn’t understand. My mom died of cancer, a slow and nondramatic death. She wasn’t murdered, she didn’t have a freak accident, or swerve from hitting a deer. She knew death was coming, I knew her death was coming.
So why the nightmares?
She haunts me, I’m convinced. Or maybe it's the guilt of knowing my dad was cheating on her and letting her die thinking she was in a monogamous marriage. Was it wrong? Maybe. But I wanted her to be happy, I didn’t want her to question her life and the people in its loyalty as the bright, white light came for her.
When I close my eyes, all I see is her, pulling me through the dark forest. She hands me a piece of paper and tells me to run to them and get help, that she’ll distract it. I don't ever see what it is, because everytime I turn around to look I jolt awake in a panic. I don’t know who I was supposed to look for, or how they could help. It feels so real, her fear seeps into my mind even when I’m awake. Sleep is not worth it.
“I care about you, Sask. I’m not the best at showing it, but I do.”
I scoff, “No, you don’t.”
Paul opens his mouth to refute but I don’t let him. Whatever he has to say is bullshit, it always has been., “My mom died, and you couldn’t have cared less. You didn’t even reach out, nothing!”
“I wanted to, I just…” he starts, but I’m not done.
“What? Sam didn’t let you.” I ask loudly.
“Saskia.” It sounds like a warning and he takes a step back from.
“I didn’t peg you as being the type of guy to be someone's bitch.” The malice in my tone makes him flinch, and I almost feel guilty.
“Stop.” Paul nearly growls, taking another step back. He can’t even look at me.
I shake my head at him, “You’re pathetic. Just stay away from me!”
I roughly yank the door open and on the other side is Jared Cameron. Great, I think to myself, the other bitch.
“Hey Saskia,” he says with a warm smile, “Paul in there?”
“No idea who the fuck that is.” I say as I push past him. Pulling out my phone and calling the one person who would understand what I’m going through.
Leah Clearwater.
#paul lahote#paul lahote x oc#paul lahote imagine#paul lahote fanfic#twilight wolves#twilight wolf pack#twilight
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Books and Looks
Story of:
credit: @gaybridgertonuniverse
"Miss Sheffield."
Edwina knew she was being called by the headmaster and repressed a sigh as she walked into his office. It seemed at St Paul's she had been registered using her grandparents' names, not her actual name.
"My name is Edwina Sharma, sir," Edwina politely corrected when she entered the office and he actually seemed sorry about it.
"Apologies. I knew your grandparents, I completely forgot that your mother married," The headmaster said, then indicated she sit down, which she did, "So, India, Somerset, now London. How are you?"
"I am well. Just excited to start my A-Levels." Edwina said, genuinely ready to start.
Moving around was never an issue for her, but she missed Somerset. The quiet of the countryside. London was busy and loud. It was nice though. She could still see Kate more often than she did when her sister was at Cambridge. Their new old house had a garden for Newton to run around in, but the puppy missed the vast countryside he was able to run in.
Her A Levels were a welcome distraction from any nerves.
"Good," He smiled, "Universities. What are your choices?" He began writing things down in her file.
"Cambridge is my first choice," Edwina said determinedly, "English and Philosophy. After that, Edinburgh, Bristol and Durham." She had decided this
"Okay. We can get you with our Cambridge prep program. More of our lot prefer Oxford. You and another girl." He smiled, "That would be nice."
....
Eloise thought everyone at school was a moron.
Not everyone at school was a moron. Not Penelope - they were good and sociable. She was on the school paper, so she ate lunch whilst writing about the goings ons at school.
Eloise noticed someone was sitting on the bench next to her and was about to tell her to go away.
She had not seen this girl before. She was pretty - really pretty - as one could be in the drab school uniform. Her long dark hair was down and her nose was in a book Eloise couldn't read.
"What are you reading?" Eloise blurted out and instantly regretted it, seeing the startled look on her face, "Sorry, I did not mean to startle you, it's just people don't tend to read at lunch. Aside from me."
"Oh, um, The Gypsy Goddess by Meena Kandasamy. It's written in Sanskrit," She indicated to the cover.
Eloise blinked, "Wow. You read in other languages."
"Yes. I've always been good at Languages. My parents and my sister; we all speak multiple and I grew up with them reading in various languages." Edwina explained, her face warming. She didn't mean to ramble.
"That's impressive," Eloise said, shuffling closer, "I'm Eloise Bridgerton."
"Edwina Sharma." They shook hands, "What are your A-Levels?"
"English Literature, politics and history." Eloise said, "You?"
"I'm also in English Literature!" Edwina was relieved at meeting someone else on the same course, "And Philosophy and Sociology."
...
Edwina joined Eloise and Penelope's little twosome. They had lunch together, talked. Edwina liked Penelope, even if she didn't engage in their conversations as much. But Eloise and Edwina just clicked.
At the weekend, Edwina and Eloise decided to go to Oxford Street to shop for interview outfits for Cambridge.
"What's wrong with liking pink?" Edwina asked. She clutched her pink purse close to her,
Eloise stopped, "I mean, nothing's wrong. I just think that it's a sign of traditional feminity and oppression."
"You are privileged, even being a woman." Edwina frowned.
Eloise scoffed, "Because I have a rich family? I know, but I'm still limited by expectations."
Edwina nodded, "Have you ever been followed around a store by someone who was not a personal shopper? I have, my sister and her friends have. Have you ever been confused with the only other person who is of the same ethnicity as you? I doubt it, considering every girl resembles you. You're not different, you are the norm."
"So, yes. Eloise. You are privileged. You can scorn parts of femininity because it has always been people who look like you who have defined it." Edwina said, "I like pink and flowers and girly things. I like those frilly dresses because my idea of feminity comes from multiple cultures. My elder sister taught me how to ride a horse in a dress because we liked the idea of it. Don't be one of those people who gatekeep feminism," Edwina finished.
"I'm sorry. I did not realise." Eloise said. She had felt rather stupid, "You are a lot smarter than me, I suppose."
"You should expand your reading list," Edwina recommended, "I can lend you some of the feminists my sister and I read?"
"I would like that." Eloise smiled and then, hesitantly asked, "Are we still friends?"
"Of course, we are." Edwina said, slipping her hand in hers, "Come on, let's find cute blazers."
Eloise hates shopping less after that day. Only with Edwina, however.
...
Eloise becomes unnecessarily angry with Benedict when he meets Edwina.
Benedict is Eloise's favourite brother. Her favourite person. He got her.
She wanted to throttle him.
"Hello, Edwina!" Benedict greeted her happily, "Why the sad face?" The girl was a human ray of sunshine, he had never seen her sad.
"I cannot get my head around poetry." Edwina pouted, "I don't want to fail this essay." They were sitting in the drawing-room of their house, working on homework.
"Let me see?" Benedict asked and she handed him her anthology, "Nice, Keats. But the Romantics can be tricky.
"Don't mansplain poetry," Eloise said, a little more edge in her tone than she usually did with him.
"I need him too!" Edwina joked and Eloise hated how her eyes shined with admiration every time Benedict explained something and how her brother laughed and encouraged her.
Yes, fine. She was jealous.
...
Edwina came over, so she and Eloise could go to the cinema. Penelope decided that they should go alone.
"Mum? We're going out." Eloise yelled, when Edwina came, wanting to leave before-
"Edwina!" Benedict smiled, seeing her.
Eloise held back a groan and she hated how Edwina smiled at him. Sure, Edwina smiled at everyone, even the pigeons.
"Thank you for your help with Keats' poems," Edwina said, smiling brightly at the artist.
"No problem. How did the essay go?" Benedict asked, genuinely interested.
"I got an A," Edwina said and she gave him a hug which he returned happily.
....
"Do you like Benedict?" Eloise blurted out when they were sitting on their bench at lunch.
"Yes. Your brother is very nice. I can see why he's your favourite," Edwina replied honestly.
"Well, he's not very good at relationships. He sleeps with someone new every week," Eloise said dismissively, "And he's old."
"That does not sound very healthy." Edwina frowned slightly, "Maybe he should get tested. My mother is always saying that."
But Eloise didn't laugh about that and Edwina frowned when she realised what Eloise was asking. But she also felt a little hope.
"Oh, El. Were you worried that he was trying to seduce me?" Edwina asked, nudging her playfully.
"I-" Eloise stuttered, "A little. I suppose I just am protective."
"You are like Kate in that respect," Edwina said, "But you do not have to worry. May I tell you a secret?"
"Yes,"
"I don't really like boys." Edwina said, quieter, "Um, not like that. I like Benedict, but that's because I would like to have a brother, that's all."
Eloise's heart fluttered and she gave her a small smile, "We can share him, I suppose. He also has a good book collection I steal from."
...
"Amma, how do you know if someone likes you?" Edwina asked over pizza one night. She curled up on the sofa, feeding the sausage to Newton.
Kate and Mary looked at one another. Edwina didn't talk about people she liked.
"Well, usually they say so. But they like spending time with you, say nice things, you share some interests," Mary explained.
"Is there someone you like, Ed?" Kate asked, teasingly.
"No, just...wondering." Then her phone rang and she saw it was Eloise and smiled, taking her plate and running upstairs.
"Do you think she and Eloise...?" Kate asked their mum who nodded.
Mary sighed, "My baby might get her first girlfriend. I'm not ready." She mockingly wiped a tear, making Kate laugh, "Give her time."
...
Eloise kisses Edwina on accident. Well, it's not an accident.
They decided to go for a picnic in the park, to read because the weather is unseasonably warm. But Eloise stopped reading to look at Edwina.
"Eloise?" Edwina called her, noticing her staring.
Eloise leaned in, kissing her quickly before pulling back.
"I'm sorry!" Eloise said, her cheeks red out of embarrassment. She had just ruined it.
Edwina blinked, "Well, I would have liked a warning. Or at least a really sweet way of asking, like in Pride and Prejudice."
"Everyone is straight in Pride and Prejudice?" Eloise frowned.
"El, you are no romantic," Edwina chuckled and leaned over to kiss her properly this time.
...
"If I have to go over every single law the Tudors made," Eloise groaned, lying back on her bed.
"I will kiss you every time you get one right," Edwina promised, holding up the cards.
"That's bribery!"
"It works," She then leaned down and pecked a kiss on her lips. But Eloise pulled her down further to deepen the kiss, the two giggling in between kisses.
"Eloise! Is-" Violet's cheerful voice interrupted and they both looked up at the door as she stuck her head in.
"Mum." Eloise stared back at Edwina and her mother, who had gone pale.
"Oh, um," Violet was hesitating about what to say.
"Edwina, I think it's time you went home, dear." Violet eventually said. The girl nodded and blinked, looking at Eloise sadly but picked up her bag and left the room.
Eloise scoffed and went downstairs after her, "Edwina, you don't have to go!"
"I should," Edwina said, squeezing her hand, "It will be okay. I'll text you later."
"Eloise, you are too young to be-!" Violet began, but her daughter turned to her, upset.
"No! You do not get to dictate this," Eloise argued, "You do not get to tell me that!"
"What's wrong?" Anthony had come out of the office, looking between the two, hearing the yelling.
"Eloise was kissing someone in her room-" Violet tried to explain, "She was kissing Edwina," Anthony raised his eyebrows at that, looking at his younger sister. He had not expected that.
"But Anthony can sleep around? Benedict?" Eloise scoffed, "But I'm too young to know what and who I like?"
"They don't do that in this house!" Violet argued back.
Eloise stormed out, with Violet on her heels, Anthony close behind, "Eloise, come back!"
"No!" Eloise ran down the street, practically sprinting.
...
Benedict was not expecting anyone that afternoon, so hearing the rapid knocking at his door startled him.
He went and was surprised to see Eloise.
"El?" Benedict saw she was sniffling, trying not to cry. Quickly, he pulled her inside and wrapped her in his arms. She just leaned in, crying.
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I would LOVE to hear about your headcanons for Thad and Cass being friends, also Jerrie, Owen, and Jason Todd :D
Alright friend, buckle up!
Thad and Cass:
Thad, having happened to meet Tim when he was posing as Bart, had a certain fondness for Tim that he never really got over. Upon one day escaping his seemingly eternal trap in the speed force, he goes first to seek out one of the few people that seemed to like him (albeit in a disguise).
But instead, upon arriving at Wayne manor to try and sneak in, he’s interrupted by a girl with wild black hair, ready to take him down if he so much as looks at her claimed family.
And he’s not particularly threatened. He sees the knife in her hand, and eyes her easily, and holds his hands up in a peaceful gesture.
“I’m just here to visit Tim,” he offers.
“Not Bart,” Cass observes, not putting away the knife, but lowering it somewhat.
“No, not Bart.”
And this begins a strong friendship.
**********
Jerrie, Jason Todd, and Owen:
Jerrie didn’t often accompany her parents to galas. They were too loud, and too bright, and people kept pinching her cheek even when she asked them nicely - even when she used her manners.
But one day, it was a Wayne gala. And her parents absolutely insisted that she go and make friends with his newest addition, a young boy whose name they didn’t quite catch. Was it Joseph? Justin? Some kind of J name, anyway. They didn’t particularly care to find out.
And so Jerrie accompanied them, preemptively exhausted by just the idea of the party.
When they were greeted by the butler, Jerrie did her polite little courtesy, and she noticed behind him a boy, just a bit older than her, with messy black hair and blue eyes that reminded her an awful lot of her big brother.
She gave him a wave, he waved back, and in a gesture of “good faith”, Osgood and Rachel waved her off to play with him, while they went to talk business.
Jason, it turned out, had similar feelings regarding galas to Jerrie. In short; he hated them. All the snooty rich people looking down their noses, or pitying him, or making strange comments about why Bruce wanted another boy who looked an awful lot like his previous one.
He and Jerrie decided to escape to his favourite place; the library. He introduced her to his favourite books, and she showed him some of hers, and when it came time to go, they were found sleeping in nests of blankets, surrounded by books.
Osgood and Rachel were mortified. Bruce was happy Jason had found a friend.
***
It was no surprise to anyone whenever Dick brought home a strange ginger. It had happened so often that the household barely even blinked — hell, it felt normal when Damian brought home his first ginger as well.
So when Dick snuck in at 3 in the morning, shortly after everyone else had returned from a quiet patrol, nobody batted an eye.
Jason did bat an eye, however, when said giant ginger managed to clear them out of breakfast within a few minutes the next morning.
“A speedster, really?” The question was aimed at Dick, even though Jason hadn’t broken eye contact with the redhead, who still had a bagel in one hand and was looking rather sheepish.
“Another one,” Tim supplied, coming in with an apple from the kitchen. “Alfred is making more food, calm down,”
Jason kept up his scowl, but sat down in a huff.
He was mildly impatient today. He didn’t need to be in a rush, particularly, but he did have somewhere to be later.
He and Jerrie, after a while of little contact, were meeting up at the Gotham Children’s Library for a talk on Enid Blyton. They’d been planning it for weeks.
So while he was annoyed at breakfast, he was simmering with rage when breakfast passed and he’d been instructed to “keep Owen entertained”. As if he couldn’t entertain himself.
Although Jason did have to rethink that on the drive from Bristol, as Owen kept up his continual energised questioning of where they were going, what they were doing, and who Jason was so impatient to meet up with.
He succeeded in ignoring Owen until they got to the library, where Jerrie was already waiting out front, and surprising Jason, Owen waved at her. “Hey, Piper’s little sister?”
Oh god, they somewhat knew each other.
Jason was surprised by how much he enjoyed hanging out with the two of them together, and became begrudging friends with Owen.
#did this between customers and stock#so it’s awful#but I had fun#jerrie Rathaway#Jason Todd#Owen Mercer#Thad Thawne#Cass Cain#Archie writes#dc comics
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This was inspired by one of Mars’ wonderful F/O imagines! This wouldn’t have existed without them!
(I want to be real for a second. Your imagine made me write selfship stories again. Thank you for the inspiration @daydream-sequence.)
After a long winter, summer finally arrived in Bristol like a saving grace. In order to celebrate the season, the local doctor threw an extravagant gala. The whole town was present. The mansion was so full to the point that half the guests were in the lawn during the festivities.
The Doctor himself was currently engaged in a conversation with a few nobles. The group was enjoying themselves and the air was merry. “The cherry trees are so beautiful this time of year,” Dr. Livesey mentioned. The lord in front of him let out a huff. “Maybe for you, Doctor, but my nose says otherwise,” he said with a sniffle. The taller man couldn’t help laughing. “True, true. But if you took the medicine I prescribed to you, Lord Stanton, your nose would be telling a different story!” The other men chortled alongside him, causing Lord Stanton to turn pink. “Well—I suppose,” the lord responded in an embarrassed grin. Once the laughter died down, the group brought their attention to the rest of the party. “I believe everyone and their mother is here.”
“It’s not just their mothers who are here either~” The man to Livesey’s right retorted with a smirk. The nobles nodded in agreement; eyes gleaming mischievously. There was many a young woman at the gala, dressed in the frilliest and fitting of attire. “There are so many fillies here. It’s hard for me to choose!” One of the lords turned to Dr. Livesey, imp like grin plastered across his face.
“Speaking of fillies, where is yours? I’ve been dying to meet the lady everyone has been talking about!”
The comment felt a little bitter in his mouth, but the man kept his composure. “Miss Blaski is here, somewhere.” The two of them became separated when the guests started to arrive. “Where is she?” Curiosity was nagging at the man now. He started to scan the crowd for a sign of short, brown hair or a pair of grey-blue eyes.
A flash of red caught his attention. There, in the far back, near the bookshelf!
Dr. Livesey felt his chest overflow when he spotted her. Alicen was adorned with a flowing red sack-back, complete with a small train. She practically glowed, like an angel. The man’s already large smile grew wider, if that were at all possible. Livesey was about to call her over but stopped when he took notice of the young man before her. They seem to be deep in conversation. The lad himself looked to be in his mid-twenties. “A son of duke or baron perhaps?” He was rather close to Alicen—maybe a little too close.
As she talked, the man kept inching closer to her. While they were talking, the boy dipped his head close her ear, saying something the Doctor couldn’t hear. Livesey felt a sharp twinge when he saw how she was becoming uncomfortable. The woman chuckled nervously, taking a step back. The other man laughed, playfully slapping the brunette’s arm. She slightly flinched, smile faltering a bit. Livesey felt an intense heat rising within, scolding him from the inside out when the lad’s fingers lingered a little too long on her skin.
The small woman was able to regain her composure, continuing the conversation. Livesey was intently watching the duo, everything else being drowned out. The young man was gazing softly at her, cheeks pink. His eyes were glued to her lips. Livesey knew that look all too well.
The Doctor finally became aware of the pain in his hands. He was clenching his fists so hard that his nails were digging through his white gloves. He chastised himself softly, turning away from the two. He took a deep, slow breath, taking this moment to calm his flurry of emotions. With smile never wavering, he addressed the group.
“Pardon me.”
Without an explanation, he turned around and proceeded to the duo. He had to will his feet so slow down. He didn’t want to make a scene. He especially didn’t want to embarrass his love. The doctor politely weaved through the sea of people, eyes focused on Alicen and the young man.
Livesey was finally within arm’s length of the brunette. Without warning, he casually put his arm around her shoulders, hand cupped on one of them. Livesey gingerly brought Alicen closer to his side, her cheek practically touching his green petticoat. Her eyes blinked rapidly, too bewildered to utter a word. “You two seem to be getting along well, hm,” Livesey commented cheerfully. He then brought his attention to the young man, eyes ice cold. The Doctor noticed how the lad’s cocky attitude shriveled up like leaf in the dry sun. He couldn’t help but take satisfaction in that. “Y-Yes, sir. L-Lady Blaski is rather pl-pleasant to talk to. I couldn’t help but be drawn in by her words.”
The older man’s grin grew more curled, eyes turning electric. “Lady Blaski just has that affect on people! I can’t believe I got so lucky~” Livesey bent down to Alicen’s level, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. She looked up at him, face flushed red. The Doctor felt pure delight by her reaction. He looked from the corner of his eyes to see the lad, whose face was a deep shade of crimson. Livesey was also delighted by his reaction. He was trying to find his words as he awkwardly fidgeted with his neck tie. “--I-It was nice meeting y-you, but I um—need to use the facilities. E-Enjoy the rest of your night!” He hastily bowed to the couple and quickly scuttled away, disappearing into the crowd. Livesey narrowed his eyes as he watched him leave. “B-Bye,” Alicen stammered.
When the Doctor turned to face her, his grin became kinder. “Are you alright?” The woman just gave him a perplexed expression. “I noticed how close that young man was to you. You seemed uneased.” He eyes softened as he continued. “I know you don’t like people being in your personal space.”
“O-Oh…you saw that, huh?” He nodded. “Yes. His father should have taught him to respect a lady’s boundaries,” he retorted with a sharp tone. “Um…yeah. He was making me feel a little uncomfortable.” She let out a small sigh. Alicen then gave the Doctor a grateful smile, turning his cheeks pink. “Thank you.” He simply kissed her forehead, taking a moment to enjoy her presence.
Time soon passed and the couple were now talking with Livesey’s group from before. Miss Blaski was still glued to the Doctor’s side, arm protectively around her shoulders. She was enthralling everyone with one of her stories. Seeing her animatedly tell her tale flooded his very being with warmth. He was however aware of a certain someone watching them from the side lines. The lad was eyeing them over a drink, gaze hot. Livesey simply grinned, sliding his hand to rest on Alicen’s hip.
Doctor Livesey (c) Yuri Alikov/David Cherkassky
Me © Me
#Selfship#selfinsert x canon#selfinsert#otps#treasure island#treasure island dr livesey#doctor livesey#sunshine medicine#the love nest#My writing#treasure island 1988
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all I know is this was before and right after downing a bottle of vodka in a Starbucks toilet across the road from G-A-Y and just danced on a podium in these precarious hot pants and one fishnet, then ended up nearly knocking out someone dressed as the joker by chance, who was coming onto me with my cap by looking up too fast and smacking them in the face whisky they were flirting so yeah they left, plus is I only needed to buy 1 £10 drink (city prices yay) and I was successfully drunk sitting my bare ass on the pavement eventually outside some rich bar as everyone was coming out, my intention was waiting for a bus, ass cold as fuck but it doesn’t matter because alcohol makes the cold go away, I just look like a twink once again, I think I nearly got murdered by a woman who was screaming at some girl something like “why won’t I love/date me I bought u a JD and coke” because I said they both looked pretty, I meant it stopped her for a minute but I think I was in trouble but the other girl was really happy, I don’t know what else more podium dancing, I used to hang by my legs off of levelled podium bars in Bristol back when I was well, I miss flexible toning, and gay bars, but yeah I still stretch my legs to keep them flexible just in case I get better some time soon! You never know
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Finally finished watching Cromwell (1970) yesterday. Out of all Michael Jayston films (current obsession still going strong!) I have been wanting to watch this the most because the English Civil War is a subject in which I am quite interested. Even then, going in, I prepared myself for historical inaccuracies and departures from my understanding of certain events and personalities because that's just what you do when you watch a historical film.
First thing to note is that the film has many good points. For its time, the film looked marvellous. I love the battle scenes and those scenes set in the House of Commons and the royal court – simply beautiful sets. Charles I's entrance into the Commons is my favourite; his flamboyantly colourful clothes set against a sea of MPs in black, providing a powerful contrast between royal decadence and somber Parliamentary sensibilities.
There's also a lot to admire in the acting. Alec Guinness is exquisite as Charles I and the character was played largely in line with my impressions of the doomed king: a sympathetic personal side (his reunion with his family after the war reportedly even moved Cromwell to tears) but a truly awful and weak ruler who didn't hesitate to drop even his most loyal supporters, as convincingly conveyed in the scene where Charles unfairly dismissed Prince Rupert after the Bristol surrender ("You promised mountains and yet performed molehills!"). Masterful performance.
Other supporting performances were strong too. I thought Dalton's Prince Rupert worked, despite the character being so different (read: less flamboyant) in my mind. Jayston's Ireton and Thomas Fairfax (not familiar with the actor, sorry) are even more different than what I imagined. I wasn't sure how I feel about the characterisation of Ireton and Fairfax. Seeing as I know Ireton primarily for the Heads of Proposals (probably the most famous document of that period, certainly influential in the Putney Debates, so there's really no escaping it) the differences stand out a bit. And no mention at all that he's Cromwell's son-in-law. Weird choice since that could have supported the storyline of Ireton being a strong influence on Cromwell, but on the whole I think that didn't take away from the story.
All this would have made the film an acceptable one save for one very key thing. I really couldn't stand Richard Harris's take on Cromwell. I know many biogs (even the ones that are sympathetic, like Antonia Fraser's Our Chief of Men) make allusion to Cromwell's 'changeable moods' but I don't think what Harris did captured what it means. Cromwell was most likely having nervous breakdowns (melancholia was the term used at the time by his physician) at certain periods of time, usually when he was faced with big decisions to make. What Harris did however was something else.
As I said, I don't mind occasional departures from history especially if they serve the film but here they did not. History aside, Harris made Cromwell changeable in a matter of seconds which backfired spectacularly considering that Cromwell is still one of the most divisive figures in English history. A careful balance must be struck between his nervous personality and his well-documented charisma and charm that helped him win supporters. There was no suggestion of the latter in the film. Even and calm tone of voice one second and suddenly booming rage in the next, shouting at everyone around him, even politicians who were on his side. Hard to see why anyone would see a leader in this unpredictable man sorely lacking in charisma. The personal side was more successfully portrayed –in scenes with his wife and when he received news of his son's death – although not enough to make up for the dismal attempt at capturing Cromwell the politician.
Aside from the lack of charisma, film Cromwell wasn't even portrayed as a visionary. It's like all ideas and plans he had for a better England seemingly originated from or were suggested to him by others around him chiefly Ireton. So, no charisma, no vision. Bad combo especially when stood next to Guinness' Charles I.
As the film is titled 'Cromwell', its success would largely depend on whether the character is convincingly played. I don't think it was. The film would have me believe that Cromwell's authority comes solely from his booming voice, as if sound volume was the only thing that matters in leadership. That's mainly why, despite all the good things that recommend this film and despite my willingness to forgive historical inaccuracy, I couldn't really enjoy it.
#cromwell 1970#oliver cromwell#charles i#richard harris#alec guinness#michael jayston#henry ireton#sir thomas fairfax#historical film
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XPoNential Festival – Wiggins Park – Camden, NJ – September 22-24, 2023
They say that the 10th anniversary is the tin anniversary, and the 50th anniversary is the gold anniversary. Unfortunately, for the 30th anniversary of the annual XPoNential Music Festival, it seems that it was the rain anniversary.
Mother Nature did not cooperate with the weekend of diverse musical acts jamming out at Wiggins Park in Camden, NJ. Tropical storm Ophelia was battering the East Coast that weekend, and while no major damage was inflicted on the Philadelphia tri-state area, the area was slammed with rain. This caused regular reshuffling of schedules for the Fest on Saturday and Sunday, and the cancellation of some of the acts – including Saturday night headliners Tegan and Sara.
This was particularly a shame because this was the first time in years (if not ever) that there were not at least the last few bands on a couple of the nights playing down the street at the Freedom Mortgage Pavilion, which is an amphitheater and at least partially enclosed and would have provided shelter from the storms.
However, the bands and the die-hard crowds for the most part were hearty sorts – sadly far heartier than this writer – and they often played on throughout the storms. I have to acknowledge up front that while I was looking forward to an entire weekend of good music, I ended up missing the entirety of Saturday’s sets and only was able to see one of the Sunday acts.
I actually sat in my car in the parking lot for about an hour Sunday afternoon in the hope that the rain would clear up enough to catch the Bruce Hornsby and the Noisemakers and Low Cut Connie sets, but the rain just never went away. Which is a shame, I have heard that Hornsby did a fascinating complete reinvention of his 1986 number one single “The Way It Is.”
Friday, on the other hand, was pretty exceptional. I walked into the park at the very tail end of the performance by Nik Greeley and the Operators. I heard the last couple of songs from their set from across the park, where I went to the Marina Stage to await the start of the next act. They sounded good, I’m sorry I didn’t catch the whole thing.
Next up was Philly-based Don McCloskey. (McCloskey was born in nearby Bristol.) He played to the hometown, rocking a Phillies cap (the old-school one with the fat P!) to share that he was a homeboy. In the lazily milling crowd before he came up onstage, a guy next to me promised he was pretty terrific and put on a great show. The guy wasn’t wrong.
He certainly had a big, rather tight eight-piece band, featuring himself on lead vocals and guitar, another guitarist, a bassist, a keyboardist, two percussionists and two female background singers. They were celebrating their latest album The Chaos and the Beauty, and his music was a mix of Americana, folk, rock and soul. He started out with a romp through the track “I IV V,” which opened with the evocative lyrics “There's gunshots outside my apartment / There's protests inside my head / Bullet holes in these worn-out clothes / Thank God you're in my bed.”
The drama was dialed down a bit with the more relaxed “Dre” and the somber confessional “Unbecoming.” Other standout tunes included “Kill the Lights,” “Son of it All” and “Welcome to the Fitness.”
We next headed over to the River Stage, where Margo Price was about to come on. Price came onstage looking smart rocking a lacy white and gold jumpsuit and scarf. (I only mention her outfit because in the middle of her set she changed into a different one, a frilly red-and-silver cocktail dress.) Like McCloskey – and pretty much everyone else who plays on WXPN – Price offered a gumbo of spicy tunes and musical moods, crossing genres and styles with panache.
Price brought the heat from the jump with her most recent album Strays’ atmospheric opening track “Been to the Mountain.” (She did announce that a Strays II was coming soon.) Then there was the frisky and poppy “Letting Me Down,” the bluesy “Change of Heart” (one of two songs Price played a scorching drum solo) and the sweetly devastated breakup song “That’s How Rumors Get Started.”
The guitar-based psychedelia of “Twinkle Twinkle” was another song in which Price’s playful connection with her crack band was noticeable. Then she rocked out to “Paper Cowboy” (the other song where Price shared drumming duties) and finally closed out on the alcohol-based medley of “Hurtin’ (On the Bottle)” matched with “I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink” and “Whiskey River.”
Next up on the Marina Stage was Say She She – made up of singers Nya Gazelle Brown, Piya Malik, and Sabrina Mileo and a large backing band. They refer to their sound as “discodelic,” a musical tribute to ‘70s girl groups like The Pointer Sisters, High Inergy, The Three Degrees, LaBelle, Sister Sledge and Chic. (The band name is a fun nod to that last group, “C’est chi-chi!: It’s Chic!”)
They do rock the soul and dance vibes, adding their own subtle swing vibe to the mix. Their mostly matching outfits add to the disco vibes, shiny silver minidresses and boots which look tres ‘70s, and at the same time oddly timeless. That description not only refers to their fashion sense, but their music and their whole vibe, a fun, dance-based palette of throbbing beats and sweet harmonies.
They did a terrific take on their recent single “C’est Si Bon” – a fun and frisky swinging dance track, which is NOT a cover of the Eartha Kitt jazz standard of the same name. The “delic” version of the “discodelic” descriptor shows up in “Astral Plane,” a sweet song riding on wah-wah guitars and cosmic vibes. Then there were the gorgeous Love Unlimited vibes of “Prism.”
The show also had a bit of extra, unexpected spectacle in the middle of Say She She’s set, when a random fireworks display suddenly appeared over the river, seeming to be coming from across the water in Philadelphia somewhere. I don’t believe it was specifically done for the music festival, although I’m not sure what it actually was for. (Was there a holiday that day which I forgot?) Still, it added a fun bit of pizazz to the show, although since the fireworks were behind Say She She’s audience at the Marina Stage, lots of people turned away from the performance to watch the fire in the sky. Then again, it added to the enjoyment to hear the stomping music backgrounding the fireworks.
After they ended, back at the River Stage, Old Crow Medicine Show did a fun mix of originals and classic covers. These tributes included takes on The Band’s “The Weight” (for which they brought Margo Price back onstage to harmonize with them), a fun romp through Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Proud Mary,” a combustible version of Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire,” and an inspirational take on Hank Williams “I Saw the Light.” They also did a sweet version of “Margaritaville” in honor of Jimmy Buffett, who had just died a few weeks earlier. The performance of “The Weight” earlier was also a tribute to The Band’s recently deceased guitarist/songwriter Robbie Robertson, and “Proud Mary” was a nod to Tina Turner, who famously covered the song.
Old Crow has always been an intriguing mix of influences, an Americana string band that loves bluegrass, country, folk, and even a bit of rock. Or, as Wikipedia describes them: “With an old-time string sound fueled by punk rock energy, it has influenced acts like Mumford & Sons and contributed to a revival of banjo-picking string bands playing Americana music – leading to variations on it.”
With decades of songs in their own catalogue, not to mention the aforementioned covers, the group did a deep dive into its songbook. They did a couple of songs from their current album Jubilee (the gospel tinged “One Drop” and the zydeco “Wolfman of the Ozarks). Older favorites include the frontier music of “Wagon Wheel,” the alt-country throwdown “Alabama High Test,” and the crazily entitled jug-band prison song “Brushy Mountain Conjugal Trailer.”
Sunday’s gigs (and undoubtedly Saturday’s, too) were all at the River Stage, because the Marina Stage was undoubtedly a soggy, muddy mess from all of the storms. This worked in some ways – no running around the park from stage to stage. Of course, it also had the disadvantage that it removed the constant flow of performances, because the stages couldn’t be reset for the new acts while someone else was playing. Still, this was necessary and a small price to pay. Well, it would have been a small price if not for the rain.
The sun actually poked through in the early afternoon and the rain stopped long enough for Josh Ritter to get in his set. Of course, due to the weather uncertainty, his show was completely revamped, going from a full band set into a one-man acoustic gig. According to one of the festival workers near the stage, Ritter also threw away his old setlist and decided to make up a new setlist on the fly while performing. This gave the performance a sense of spontaneity that you don’t often see, so that was a really cool bonus.
Probably not coincidentally, Ritter started out his performance with a galloping strut through “Feels Like Lightning,” which seemed a bit fitting for the weather. Other standouts were an atmospheric run through “Henrietta, Indiana” and a fun cover of The Sweetback Sisters’ “Deputy Blues No. 2.” He also impressed with the sweet, devotional love song “Kathleen,” with its hopeful couplet, “I’ll be the one to drive you home, Kathleen.” He then closed his set out with the gorgeous “Someday” and the tongue-twisting “Getting Ready to Get Down.”
After Ritter finished, while the roadies were setting up the stage for Allison Russell to start, the rain started again. At first it was just a little sprinkle, a bit annoying but definitely bearable. But soon enough it picked up speed and intensity, until everyone and everything was getting soaked. Sadly, this was pretty much the end of the festival for me, although as noted above I did shelter in place for a while in hopes that the rain would clear up again.
It never did, but while the weather shortened my weekend, it could not ruin the great vibe of music and fun that ruled the XPoNential Festival. And perhaps if I weren’t a bit of a diva (or if I were a little younger) I’d have braved the rains – like many other hardcore fans did – rather than going all Wicked Witch of the West (picturing myself shrieking “I’m melting! I’m melting!”) I would have gotten to experience more great music.
Still, even as a truncated experience, the 30th XPoNential Music Festival was a whole lot of great music and fun, I’m looking forward to year 31, hopefully with clearer skies.
Jay S. Jacobs
Copyright ©2023 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: September 27, 2023.
Photos by Jay S. Jacobs © 2023. All rights reserved.
#xponential festival#2023#Concert Review#Old Crow Medicine Show#Say She She#Margo Price#Don McCloskey#Josh Ritter#Wiggins Park#Camden#Jay S. Jacobs
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Helen Dunmore: A View from the Conservatory
I’ve kept quiet about it for a long time, partly because I thought Manjit might get into trouble over the keys, and partly for another reason. But I don’t see how this story could bring her down. Her opening season as director at the Scaffold Theatre blew all the critics away. Everyone sees the glow around Manjit’s name now, but it was always there, even when she was a skinny little girl. Things that I thought were solid, like school and home and growing up, were just shells to Manjit. She was the swan who’d got to hatch out of them. That’s why Manjit got the job at the Observatory. It was all part of her hatching. There was a theatre-directing course that she knew she had to get on.
‘It’s the best. It’s the only one, Zahz.’
Manjit always called me Zahz, right back from the first year at primary, and soon everybody else was calling me that, too. My name is ZsaZsa. My father just liked the sound of it, he said. I’ve sometimes thought that if my name had been Emily, Manjit might never have become my best friend.
So Manjit had to do this theatre-directing course. It was expensive, and you couldn’t get funding for it. Manjit was back home in Bristol, and she had two jobs, one waitressing in Browns, and the other working at the Observatory, selling tickets for the Camera Obscura and the Caves. I was working in a deli in Clifton, so I saw a lot of Manjit at lunchtimes, up at the Observatory. I’d been to uni, but I didn’t know what to do next and I was back at home getting some money together, like Manjit. When people asked, I said I might go travelling. But I knew, and so did everybody else probably, that I wasn’t the kind of person who goes off travelling on her own.
It was a hot September day. Really hot, really beautiful. Manjit and I sat on a bench overlooking the bridge, and ate the olives and smoked cheese and flatbread I’d brought from work. There were butterflies on the ripe blackberries that were just out of reach on the other side of the fence. We didn’t climb over to pick them, because the drop is over two hundred feet, sheer to the Portway below. The sun glittered on the cars crossing the bridge.
‘It’s a great day for the Camera,’ I said.
The Camera Obscura always worked best on a clear, bright day. Manjit let me in free. I liked it when there was nobody else there; I liked the echo of my feet as I climbed the staircase that wound its way up the tower. If the door to the Camera chamber was open, that meant nobody was in there and I could take possession. Sometimes Manjit came up with me, and that was all right in a different way, because of the stories she told.
You go inside, you close the door and wait until your eyes get used to the dark. There in front of you is the wide bowl where the images fall. It’s a circular screen, so big you have to edge your way around it sideways, pulling the wooden handle that alters the Camera’s focus and changes the scene.
Everyone looks for the bridge first.
There it is, the bridge!
Look, you can see the cars going over the Suspension Bridge!
The Camera makes the bridge look even more fabulous than it does when you’re walking across it. There it is in the bowl, slung over hundreds of feet of emptiness. The cars don’t look important at all, but it’s wonderful when a gull swoops under the bridge. Or even a falcon, sometimes. There’s the mud, shining at low tide, and the river is as narrow as a worm.
If there are other people in the Camera chamber, you can’t control the view. Somebody gets hold of the wooden handle and the bridge disappears. The view skims over the Cumberland basin, over the city houses and all the way around to the hills of Wales in the far distance. But when I’m on my own, I hardly move the handle at all. I watch the bridge.
I haven’t looked into the bowl of the Camera for years. Even if I still lived in Bristol I’m not sure I’d ever go there again.
When Manjit and I went into the Camera together, and she had hold of the wooden handle, she would watch the people and tell stories about them. If a dad was fumbling over his child’s inline skates, Manjit would say, ‘Look, Zahz, he doesn’t know how to fix the skates. It’s an access visit. His wife won’t even let him in the house, she hates him so much. He’s always here with his boy, skating up and down.’
There was a woman in a blue suit who stared out over the Gorge for a long time and then suddenly, secretively, brought something from a bag and flung it into the deep.
‘Her husband’s ashes,’ said Manjit. ‘He hated heights.’
‘Maybe it was their favourite place,’ I said, but already the woman looked furtive to me.
We both liked to watch the trees. There’s virgin forest on the other side of the Gorge. Right bang next to the city, land that’s never been cleared, full of owls and murders and rare orchids. You look at the trees on the Camera and at first they’re like a painted backdrop, then you realise that they’re moving, swaying to the wind that’s shut out from the Camera chamber. In real life I never notice how beautiful it is when trees move.
On that September day there wasn’t enough time to visit the Camera. I had to get back to work. Manjit ate the last olive, and flicked the stone into the Gorge. We watched it tumble into nothing.
‘I’m looking after the keys,’ she said.
‘What keys?’
‘The keys to the Observatory. Just for this week, while Charlie’s away. The keys to the only Camera Obscura in the whole country are in my bag,’ said Manjit.
‘It’s not the only one, is it?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘You’d better look after them then. You’re always losing stuff.’
‘Don’t you see what it means?’
‘You get to lock up the Observatory at night, and unlock it in the morning.’
‘Zahz. Keep up. Why just at night and in the morning? Why not at other times?’
‘You’re joking. You want to have a party there?’
‘Not a party,’ said Manjit with a flick of her hand. ‘But listen, Zahz, it’s full moon on Thursday. And the forecast’s good. There’ll be a big bright moon. Can you imagine the Camera by moonlight?’
‘It won’t look like anything,’ I said quickly, even though I knew already that Manjit had planned it all and it was going to happen. ‘There won’t be enough light for the contrast.’ Perhaps I was nervous about being on the Downs at night. When you grow up in Bristol you get it drummed into you that the Downs at night is not the place to be.
‘How will we know unless we try?’
‘What if we get caught?’
‘We won’t get caught. Anyway, I’m in charge of the keys. I’ll say I was working overtime.’
Her face flared into laughter. I knew I wasn’t being offered a choice.
Manjit borrowed her mum’s car that night, the night she had chosen for us to go. We parked near the Lord Mayor’s House, which meant we had to walk up to the Observatory through the woods. Manjit was right, there was so much moon that we didn’t need our torches. There were one or two people about, even though it was so late, but they weren’t interested in us. I didn’t like it, though. There were always strange sounds in the woods at night; I knew that. It didn’t mean anything, it was just birds and animals and—
‘What was that, Manjit?’
‘Nothing. Ssh.’
We crept on, stepping as lightly as we could, along the path that skirts the Gorge and then rises to the Observatory.
‘Manjit—’
‘Ssh!’
Her fingers dug into my arm. We stood frozen, listening. A woman’s cry echoed, cut off as if it had been pulled out of her throat.
‘It’s OK,’ whispered Manjit, but her voice was thin. ‘You know what this place is like after dark.’
The daytime face of the Downs was peeled away like a mask. The sunbathers and kite-flyers and joggers and ice-cream vans were gone, and something else was here.
‘The keys, Manjit. Have you got the keys?’
I wanted to get out of the moonlight, out of plain sight. Manjit fumbled the keys and I kept watch. There were shadows all around us. As soon as I turned, they jumped closer.
‘Manjit!’
The key clicked. We were in. Manjit pointed her torch beam down, so no one would see our light. There was her chair, where she sat all day selling tickets. Manjit slipped past it, like the ghost of herself, and I followed.
I kept my hand on the wall as we climbed the stairs. It felt rough and safe. Manjit was up ahead, and darkness was behind us.
‘You did lock the door again, didn’t you?’
‘Zahz, relax.’
The door to the Camera creaked open. Manjit’s torch beam found the wooden handle. We closed the door and bent over the Camera’s bowl.
I hadn’t believed it could happen. You need bright sun for the Camera. But as we watched, the bridge swung into view.
‘The lights are off,’ I said.
‘Maybe they switch them off after midnight.’
Even so, the bridge was darkly brilliant in the moonlight. The trees behind it swayed like seaweed.
‘There aren’t any cars,’ said Manjit.
But there were people. A man and a woman. We could see them clearly now, coming over from the Leigh Woods side of the bridge.
‘The fence has gone,’ whispered Manjit.
‘Which fence?’
‘You know, the one that stops people from jumping.’
She was right. The high, incurving fence was gone, and there was only the wooden handrail, chest high. The woman was hurrying, almost running, but the man was gaining on her.
‘They’ve had a quarrel,’ said Manjit. ‘She told him it was over. He’s desperate, he wants to make it up with her.’
The woman was really running now. She was more than two-thirds across the bridge.
‘There’s always someone in the toll-booth,’ said Manjit. ‘She can go in there if she’s upset.’
But the booth was dark. There was only the woman, running, and the man close behind her.
‘There,’ said Manjit, ‘he’s caught up with her. I told you, it’s a quarrel. They know each other. Look at them.’
He’d taken her in his arms, lifting her off her feet. They were one body now, vanishing into each other. They swayed awkwardly, dancing but not dancing, him holding her off the ground. The spread of overhanging trees hid them as they came to the piers, and we couldn’t see them any more.
I let out my breath.
‘I want to go home,’ I said.
‘No, we’ll see them again in a minute. I can’t believe how clear everything is in the moonlight. It’s like a stage-set.’
A few seconds later a figure came out from the shadows. A man, walking slowly, almost strolling, you could say. Alone. Manjit and I stared into the bowl.
‘Move the handle, Manjit. He’s walking out of range. Follow him.’
But Manjit didn’t touch the handle.
‘It’s not the same man,’ she said.
‘Of course it is.’
‘Maybe she ran across the road, away from him. We wouldn’t have seen her.’
I didn’t answer. Moonlight lay in the bowl, washing the bridge into glory as it hung suspended over more than two hundred feet of nothing. Manjit’s fingers dug into my wrist as we watched until the man had disappeared.
‘Manjit—’
I heard Manjit’s breath sigh out of her. She turned to me and her eyes shone.
I laid my hand on the screen and trees rippled over it. I could touch the trees, but they couldn’t touch me. If I went out of the Camera chamber and opened the windows of the tower, I might hear something. Maybe footsteps, hurrying. Maybe a cry, suddenly cut off as if it had been pulled out of a woman’s throat. But I didn’t move.
We never talked about it, did we, Manjit? We never said another word about what we saw that night when the safety fence melted away, and the moonlit bridge printed itself on to the Camera’s bowl.
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My ‘best friend’ has decided we shouldn’t contact each other anymore.
I feel used.
#she’s used me as a vent for all of her issues for years#and I’ve gone along with it#she’s been flaky and difficult and I’ve done my best and tried to support her#apparently these things don’t go both ways#I’m tired of being lonely#I want to go away#out of Bristol and away from everyone else
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ok ok so
first of all. "eh" is real and i use it a lot, specifically when asking questions
sentence structure.... idk how to explain it but canadians seem to put some sentences, like, backwards from how americans do it?? kind of like how the french will when it's translated. (NOT like yoda. i promise). this one is more regional though, i think, and not all canadians do it, but my friends and family and i tend to.
(note that. "this is more regional though, i think". is doing it. bc americans would say "i think this is more regional, though".)
we have the pronunciation nonsense that makes "tt" inside a word sound like "d". to this day i have trouble spelling words with tt inside them (like attitude) because everyone i know pronounces it "additude". alternatively, people just throw the TT away when they pronounce the word. like, wri'en for written.
also Tuesday is pronounced "tooz-day" but i'm convinced everyone else does that too
there's also just.... words and slang that aren't common in other countries?? apparently?? toque, loonie, toonie, chesterfield, washroom, bloody ceasar, the bush, freezie, double double, gong show, gotch/gitch, homo milk, pencil crayons, bristol board, KD, kerfuffle, mounties, parkade, going out for a rip, poutine, runners, snowbirds, champange birthday, elastics.... some of these are used in the UK and Australia too i think.
i have to actively go "wait, is this going to be understood by the many non-canadians following me" every time i post, and this nonsense is what i sound like IRL
ahaha yoda friemd
TOOZDAY IM CRYING
i say it as chooseday
what the hell are toques, loonies, toonies, chesterfields, the bush (sounds eerie OoOoOOooOooOo), freezie.. is that a popsicle, double double what. so its like. quadruple???, gong show??? gotch gitch /what/ PENCIL CRAYONS????? going out for a rip? rest in pieces? what.
well this has been fun ive learned things like haha yoda friend
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Hiya when u gave the time can you please a continuation of the luke from skins one where they were in Morocco and they are both back from Bristol now and they see eachother again and it’s a smut where they r high and kinda intense if that makes sense 😂 ❤️
What Happens in Morocco, Stays in Morocco
This is part two to this imagine, find it here
Pairing | Luke x reader
Summary | perhaps, you were wrong. Not everything stays in Morocco. It is a tradition for things to come back to bite you in the ass, more so when you have been forced to be clean, and kept away from any kind of drugs.
Warnings | use of drugs, addiction, smut, it’s bit dark so read at your own risk, this is a warning so please keep that in mind,
Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬
An insatiable stirred within your gut, pelting you with reminders of what you had lost after Morocco. The love of your life had been departed from your shaking grip, the people that claimed to care about you forcing you to be sober off the high that it gave you. Drugs. It was your only desire, but you stayed strong as you walked back from college, even as you saw a dealer out of the corner of your eye, trading his special product with someone in your English class, that sat two seats to the right of you.
Licking your lips, you held onto the straps of your rucksack tighter, hoping that the weight of all the items within it would succumb you under the lenient pressure that it composed against your spine, pushing you into a lower station of dwelling, so that you would feel nothing, and the emptiness sure as hell would not be burdening you with satisfactory mockery.
At such a young age, you had found a friend, even if it be absorbed into a conversation through digestion or clouded fumes. And without its presence you were someone else, a stranger trudging hopelessly through the ambient streets of Bristol, lost and in need for a high. That holiday had been the end of you, your friends didn’t say it, but you were more than certain that they were thinking such a spectacle.
Whilst you were amped up on various chemicals that engorged your veins with images of new possibilities, you were far from a sullen composure; you were happy. You had no problem speaking to Nick’s brother, though everyone seemed to be wary of him, and listening to Grace talk about her various recitals, and the strictness that her father intended upon her. To everyone you had been a breath of fresh air, until that place that they called rehab.
In there they had starved you from the one thing that you had truly craved. Even the security guy wouldn’t trade a blowjob for a little picking of white powder, and it showed you how messed up their priorities were. Morocco, it had been an escape, something you were sure it never feel again, but you wanted to, so desperately.
“If it isn’t the wisp of the waters, in the flesh, and looking like she could use a pick me up.” A blonde male asked, he couldn’t have been much older than yourself. There were scrapes adorning his pale complexion, brandishing his cheek with what could only be seen as battle scars from a testosterone endorsed fight.
“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you?” You roughly spoke, having no recollection of ever meeting this man in your life, though, half of your memory was boggled. Going cold turkey appeared to have had that affect on you, but a deep internal part of you was warning you to leave now, and conserve your own safety from whatever offer he was about to propose.
Sure, you’d have once done anything, but the possibility of danger preached louder when there was nothing numbing your blood stream, and dirtying the contents that ran through it. A small snicker fled from the boy’s mouth, revealing that he was much amused by your naivety. He tilted his head, observing you with a lick of his lips, plodding closer as you froze.
“We’ve met before.” He toyed inside his pockets, extracting a clear bag that contained a couple of vibrant yellow pills that had your heart beating promiscuously against the captivity of your ribcage. “In fact, we got to know each other very well darling, your manners weren’t so spectacular then either, though they sure were better. It appeared as though you rather enjoyed the attention and now you’re here, looking like an innocent doe under the flare of headlights.”
“I don’t do that kinda stuff any more.” But you wanted to. It didn’t matter what prospects spewed out of your mouth in the form of conjunctive excuses, it was more than clear that you were aggressively attracted to the small spheres that had caught your attention fast. “I’d find the next girl to corrupt, because I’m clean and intend to stay that way.” Did you?
“You’re already corrupted, there’s no point in dismissing this, because it is what you want. But you’re denying urself from the simple luxuries of life, all because ripple; family, friends, think its better for you. They want you to be healthy, though that entails you perceiving though life as someone that you aren’t.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly as his eyes bore around your sullen demeanour, recognising every trace that your body showed of restraining itself. “I’m Luke. And you, you are y/n, aren’t you? I’m sure I heard your friends call you that on holiday.”
Gulping, you realised that this must have been the boy that fucked with Frankie’s head, and made one of your group disappear, all whilst Grace was away, and in intensive care. As soon as it all clicked, you felt overwhelmed. There was nothing that you could do against him, he had already broken everything around you, whether that was his intent or not. Without thinking at all, you snatched the self made packet out of the clasp of his fingers, emptying the contents into your palm, throwing them into your mouth.
“Good girl.” It felt like a taunt, he was messing with you, you knew that. But it wasn’t his fault that you were messed up; all that was on you. “Don’t you want some water with that, it might make it wash down easier?” To answer him, you swallowed the pills dry cocking a brow at him as he pulled out another clear sachet of impulsive medications, taking it himself before you could whisk it away and endure further affects yourself.
Luke, feeling the tingle himself, pulled you down the alley that he was occupying, pressing your numbed back against the wall, his mouth running along your cheek as you felt swarmed with various desires. A part of you wanted to push him away, and beat him until he could no longer walk, but the other wanted nothing more than to feel his toxic skin dragging along yours, increasing the high that was spurring around your lungs until you felt like you could no longer breathe.
Your hands were uncertain of where they were supposed to be, and thus they roamed around his thin arms, grasping at his shoulders as his face sunk into the crook of your neck, his hands daring below your skirt, and feeling you up over your panties. Every touch he presented upon your burning flesh induced sparks to collapse in your mind, displaying through each of your appendages. “Fuck me, or I’ll find someone else to a better job.” You snarled at him, growling as he chuckled at your desperation.
“Now I recognise you, instead of that good girl facade.” He nipped at your neck, dropping his preppy slacks as he grasped his cock, thrusting your panties to the side so that he could penetrate your cunt, a cry abandoned your throat, echoing around the nearby streets. Your walls convulsed around him as you felt full and completely satisfied with the sensation. The memories of him flooded back into your mind as you pictured Morocco. He had stalked over towards you as though you were his prey, and it seemed that he had continued to hunt you down.
The thought was kinda hot, and thus you clenched your teeth, succumbing to an orgasm around him, whimpering as he slipped himself out, jerking his length so that he spilled his seed over your legs. “I have more of the good stuff back home, you fancy coming over?” Hazily you nodded, as his wobbling hand grasped your face, smashing his poisonous lips upon yours, suffocating all the good that you had been laboured into, making you swim in the darkness of his pupils as the two of you wobbled away from the scene, his cum still painted upon your legs as the two of you slowly headed towards his flat.
#luke skins x reader#luke skins#skins x reader#skins imagine#skins fic#skins fanfiction#imagines#imagine#xreader#luke imagine#luke smut
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