#hair extension shop london

[sparrowssally]

I’m thinking about writing a Sally Sparrow/Tenth Doctor fanfic, so naturally I went and rewatched “Blink” tonight for the millionth time to get some inspo, and you know what kills me?

All the little details we don’t get. All the little stories that played out without us seeing.

Kathy getting zapped back to 1920’s Hull, directly in front of the cow farmer who will become not only her first friend in the strange new town she now has to call home, but also eventually her husband. When Kathy awakes in the night with her heart pounding and tears streaming down her cheeks, and simply chokes out “the angels…I dreamt about the angels again”, his arms are always there to comfort her. The dreams slowly subside over time as she adjusts to her new life, and soon there are other, more important things to worry about. Some good, like the birth of their children, and some bad, like the war. But Kathy survives and lives a full life, as do her husband and children, and with every picture she continually insists upon taking—one every time they have enough money to afford it—she thinks of her friend Sally Sparrow.

There’s also poor, lovely Billy Shipton, transported back to 1969 London—probably by the same Angel that sent the Doctor and Martha there. He’s just as unmoored as Kathy is, but—as strange as this Doctor guy seems to be—Billy finds himself liking him in a weird way. He makes a point to become Billy’s first friend in 1969, and he and his friend Martha help get Billy not only a place to live, but also a job working in publishing (even though Billy can’t figure out how the Doctor possibly managed to forge those papers that spoke to his “extensive expertise” in the field, or why he is so insistent upon splicing several videos of him talking in jargon into a bunch of completely unrelated DVDs once Billy moves into video production). Martha sets Billy up with a pretty girl named Sally who always comes into the shop where she works, and a few months later, the Doctor attends their wedding. Billy tries to find him afterwards at the reception to say thank you, but he’s already gone, leaving behind only a simple envelope inscribed “for the bride and groom”. It contains a pound note hefty enough to get Billy and his new wife off to a good start in their marriage, and simple card inscribed with a wedding blessing, written in a script and language neither of them can read.

The next time Billy does see the Doctor is many years later, when he’s old and grey, lying bedridden in a nursing home. Billy had never truly believed the Doctor’s claims of being an alien, but when he sees the same skinny, dark-haired young man walking across the room towards him—looking exactly as he had in 1969—he can’t help but cry in the midst of his wonder. The man who calls himself the Doctor is still a mystery, but as he pulls up a chair next to Billy’s bed and takes the latter’s outstretched hand, he’s as kind as he always was. He offers his condolences when Billy tells him of the passing of his wife, and smiles at the photos Billy shows him of his children, carefully dodging Billy’s question of whether or not he ended up having children of his own. But then he grows silent and his gaze grows sad as he looks out the window at the storm clouds brewing in the sky. “I’m sorry, Billy, I’m afraid I didn’t just come here to visit,” he says, and his voice is laced with a guilt and sorrow so deep that it sounds centuries old. “It’s time.” For a second Billy thinks he sounds close to crying for some reason, so he puts his wrinkled hand on the Doctor’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay.” he insists, giving him a soft smile. “This means I’ll finally get to see her again.”

[beansidhebumbling]

Snippet from Feysand Exes

This has grown so I won't get it all done tonight. Enjoy the story so far.

The sharp tapping of his Montblanc pen against the stained table was the only sound that echoed through the empty shop.  

A sign of the times.  

Sat opposite the love of his life and not able to find a way to split the stale air between them.  

He was a man who had spent his whole career crafting words yet somehow, she had always defied description.  

Feyre Archeron could not be limited, not by language, not by him.  

** 

‘Why are you here Prime Minister?’ 

Fuck.  

Her voice did not embody the warm freckles that dotted her nose, the wavy hair plaited down her back, the shining gold light he’d associated with her from the beginning, from those hazy days in the back fields of Cornwall. No, this new creation was sharp and clipped, a weak imitation of that of her viper of a sister.  

Nesta had not forgiven him. It might have been the only thing he liked about the lawyer who seemed to take a strange joy in landing cases on his desk. The Daily Mail had nearly wet themselves when she’d accused him of treason on live television, the witch. 

Mor was still cleaning up that particular mess. 

‘Call me Rhys, please Feyre. We’re old friends.’ 

She burst out laughing at that and though he knew it was surely at his expense, he still leaned in to absorb it. Because how many nights had he replayed that lilting melody when confronted with the sterile expanse of his empty bed? Over a decade later she lingered in the watercolour paintings of his dreams, following him from the Night Manor to his London townhouse to Downing Street.  

The echo of her presence had remained even as she had faded from his life, from his social circle, from the furthest peripheries of his extensive reach. 

‘I’d say if this is how you treat your friends Velaris....’ 

Her voice trailed off for a moment, sadness painting hazel eyes and piercing his heart.  

‘But we both know how you treat your enemies.’ 

She gestured lazily to the day-old paper beside the bundle of finely fletched ash arrows on the sideboard.  

Eris Vanserra’s eyes bore into him from the front page, face tipped from chiselled to skeletal, once sleek red hair now a ratty mess.  

He worked hard to hide the smirk that pulled threateningly at the seams of his mouth.  

Unsuccessfully if Feyre’s huff was anything to go by.  

‘The Vanserra boy had to be dealt with.’  

He kept his voice low and sweet, eyes earnest and posture sincere. Like a fool. Pretending with the one of the only people who had ever seen him. The only one who’d ever liked what they saw.  

Once. 

‘Don’t pull that shite with me Velaris.’

[aylen-san]

London for one night

Ichigo Kurosaki and Uryū Ishida meandered through the streets of an old London district. The evening sun, breaking through the clouds, cast a soft light on the cobblestone streets. The gothic facades of buildings, adorned with ornate elements and stone gargoyles, loomed over the narrow alleys like giant guardians of the past. The friends had come to Britain with a group of exchange students, and despite a packed schedule, they decided to take some time to immerse themselves in the authentic atmosphere of the city.

London seemed strangely calm that day. A light breeze carried the scent of damp stone and rain, while the sounds of distant cars and the rare footsteps of passersby mixed with the echo of their own voices. The city was full of mysteries, and every corner hid a story they could only partially guess. Ichigo, with his red hair, stood out against the dark gray walls, while Uryū, with his cool gaze, seemed like a natural extension of the architectural forms.

They occasionally stopped at antique shops, examining old books and maps or peeking into small cafes where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted out. Everything around them reminded them of a history they were only beginning to grasp, and this walk through London became more than just a sightseeing tour; it was a true journey through time.

"This place feels like it's from another century," Ichigo remarked, looking around.

"History is palpable in every stone," Uryū agreed, adjusting his glasses. "But I sense something strange."

They stopped at a street that immediately drew their attention with its unusual appearance. It starkly contrasted with the other streets they had seen before. Instead of picturesque facades and cozy shop windows, their view was of a narrow, almost inconspicuous alley shrouded in an eerie twilight.

People, already few in this area, clearly avoided this street. Passersby quickened their pace without even glancing in its direction, and those who accidentally found themselves nearby hurried to get out of sight, as if feeling an invisible gaze. The street lamps emitted a dim and unnatural light, as though the worn-out fixtures could not provide proper illumination, or the street itself absorbed the light, preventing it from spreading further.

The dark brick walls of the buildings loomed menacingly, and the windows were tightly shuttered, as if the owners preferred not to see what might happen outside their doors. Time here seemed to flow differently: old wooden signs with peeling paint, cracked sidewalks, and rusty grilles spoke of abandonment and oblivion. The atmosphere of the street was permeated with a strange and vaguely familiar sense of foreboding that made Ichigo and Uryū feel a slight unease.

Ichigo frowned, feeling the air around them suddenly become heavier. He turned to Uryū, noticing that he too had sensed the strange tension. Despite all their adventures and battles in other worlds, there was something in this place that elicited a vague anxiety, as if the street itself concealed something forbidden, not belonging to this world.

"Do you feel it too?" Ichigo asked, furrowing his brow.

Uryū nodded. A sense of anxiety had taken root inside him. Despite the foreboding, they decided to investigate what was happening and cautiously stepped into the dark alley.

As they approached, an unusual and ominous sight unfolded before them. In the impenetrable darkness of the alley stood a vaguely familiar Arrancar. His usual confident and arrogant posture was now broken, and he seemed utterly lost. His sword, the source of his power and pride, lay a few meters away, like a useless piece of metal he hadn't even attempted to retrieve. The Arrancar's face was contorted with despair and fear, his eyes wide with terror he clearly could not overcome. It seemed he had been cornered like a hunted beast, realizing there was no escape.

Shadows swirled around the Arrancar, dense and sinister, like mist wrapping around his body and draining his last strength. These shadows were alive, moving and whispering, creating an aura of hopelessness. Among these shadows stood a figure that inspired even greater fear. He felt like a Shinigami but was completely different from those they had encountered before. His appearance was much older and more horrifying, as though he had emerged from dark myths and legends.

The Shinigami was clad in black fabric, from which exposed bones, white and cold like marble, could be seen. His face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, but Ichigo and Uryū could feel his lifeless, piercing gaze. In one hand, he held a real scythe, gleaming in the dim light, its blade razor-sharp as if freshly sharpened for its grim task. In the other hand, he held scales, each bowl covered with dark stains.

This eerie Shinigami seemed to embody European concepts of Death, becoming a living nightmare for all who crossed its path. Shadows thickened around him, creating an unbearably cold ring that sent chills down to the bone. This cold was not merely physical; it seeped into the soul, freezing the will and making everything inside freeze with fear. It seemed that the very air around them had become heavy and icy, as if they had stepped onto the threshold of another, darker reality, where only death and oblivion reigned.

"Is this some kind of ritual?" Ichigo whispered, standing still, paralyzed by the sight.

"Looks more like a trial," Uryū whispered back, trying to suppress a shiver. "But it's not like anything we've seen before."

The scales held by the Shinigami were covered with complex and ancient symbols, engraved into the metal with astonishing precision. These symbols formed a tangled network of patterns, interwoven like a spider's web. The light emanating from the symbols was unnatural and gloomy, flickering.

As the Arrancar, trying to suppress his panic, answered the Shinigami's questions, the scales began to tremble nervously. Their bowls, suspended on thin chains, swayed smoothly, but each movement was accompanied by a barely audible, yet piercing creak. The sound was like rusty chains that hadn't been used for a long time, and now, brought to life, sent shivers down the spine.

It seemed that with each passing moment, the scales became heavier, as if drawing out Arrancar's last remnants of strength and will. This chilling process made Ichigo and Uryū grit their teeth in tension; they felt the air around them thickening and becoming dense, like a viscous fog slowly pulling them into an unknown abyss.

"Your actions in the past were serious violations of order," the Shinigami's deep, cold voice pierced the silence of the street. "Do you understand what you have done?"

Arrancar trembled, realizing his fate was already decided. The symbols on the scales flared brightly, and the scales began to inexorably tilt to one side.

"I... I didn't mean to... I was following orders..." Arrancar said desperately, his voice weak and broken, barely escaping from his dry throat. His words sounded as if he didn't even believe in his own justification, and this realization only heightened the horror on his face. He was cornered, without hope of salvation, and his pleas drowned in the deafening silence, interrupted only by the eerie creak of the scales.

Ichigo clenched his fists, feeling a familiar and unbearable sense of injustice rising within him. This scene embodied everything he fought against. He saw in the Arrancar not just an enemy, but a living being, helpless and desperate, like any other trapped. Among the Arrancars were his enemies, some had become friends and saved his life. Deep inside, he was boiling, feeling that he had to do something. Fate was pushing him again to intervene and be the one to disrupt the course of events.

"Uryū... I don't like this. We have to do something," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the scene. His voice trembled with tension, every muscle in his body ready to spring forward.

Uryū, always cautious and rational, also felt the tension of the situation. His sharp mind tried to assess what was happening, looking for weaknesses and options for intervention. But even he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, that they might be facing forces they knew nothing about. He was reluctant to contradict the local Shinigami.

"Wait, Ichigo. We don't know how their laws work here," Uryū replied cautiously, though he too was ready to intervene. He struggled to restrain his urge to act, knowing that their interference could have unpredictable consequences. But the sight of the Arrancar, increasingly resembling a bewildered and weakened beast, stirred mixed feelings in him.

The scales momentarily ceased their swaying, then creaked again, as if reacting to the emotions of outsiders. The air around them grew even colder, the tension rising to the point where it felt like it might explode. Ichigo and Uryū felt that every action they took could be the final boundary between life and death.

But before Ichigo could take a step forward, the Shinigami's voice cut through the air again.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," he addressed him directly. "You are a witness to this trial. Do you have anything to say in defense of this Arrancar?"

Ichigo froze, not expecting to be drawn into the proceedings. His heart raced. He looked at Uryū, who stood beside him, eyebrows slightly furrowed, but his eyes were full of resolve. A subtle nod, a barely perceptible movement of the head, was a sign to Ichigo that his friend would support him, whatever his decision.

Kurosaki gathered all his willpower and stepped forward, breaking the cold silence of the street. His voice sounded firm, though deep inside he still felt the tension and anxiety:

"He was subordinate to Aizen," Ichigo finally said, his words echoing in the cold air." He didn’t act of his own will. He was just a pawn in a game he didn’t control.

Ichigo’s words rang out like a tolling bell, causing a barely perceptible tremor in the surrounding shadows. His voice was filled with a truth born from a deep understanding of how often circumstances strip people and beings of their freedom. He remembered everyone he had met along the way, those forced to obey the will of more powerful forces and those who, despite this, tried to find their own path.

The Shinigami, whose figure was immersed in eternal darkness, remained still. His shadow appeared motionless, yet unbearably heavy, as if it held the weight of time itself. The scales in his hand continued to waver, their pans slowly tilting first one way and then the other, as if weighing the very essence of Ichigo’s words.

"We all make choices," the Shinigami said after a long silence, his voice low and echoing through the narrow alley. His words delved deeply, provoking thought about the nature of fate and free will." He made his. Arrancars are not devoid of choice. But I heard your word, Ichigo Kurosaki.

The Shinigami’s words sounded like a verdict, but there was neither accusation nor justification in them. His voice was neutral, impassive, as if he were merely an executor of the law, beyond the reach of time and feelings. But the acknowledgment of Ichigo’s name was significant. It was recognition that his intervention had been noticed and that his words carried weight. Perhaps Kurosaki’s struggle was not in vain and his actions had made a difference? It seemed as if time had momentarily stopped, and the decision about the Arrancar’s fate hung in the air.

Ichigo felt a slight easing of the tension in his chest. He could not stand aside and watch someone’s life disappear into darkness without the slightest resistance. Regardless of how the night would end, he knew he had done everything to give the unfortunate being a chance at justice. The light on the scales began to fade, and the scales stilled in balance.

"The Arrancar will be returned to the Soul Society. His soul is subject to correction and redemption," the Shinigami declared, turning to the Arrancar.

Ichigo felt a heavy sense of doubt swelling in his chest. He looked at the Arrancar, who, though freed, still appeared dejected and broken. Ichigo’s emotions were mixed: anger at the world’s injustice and fear of the unknown outcome of their actions. He sought solace in his thoughts but felt only growing anxiety. Kurosaki could not close his eyes to all the evil the Hollow had wrought.

The Arrancar, as if liberated from a hated yoke, slowly began to straighten up, though his face remained pale and frightened. Not hell, which many of the Espada had fallen into. The Shinigami swung his scythe, and Arrancar's figure vanished in a cloud of glowing particles.

"Did we make the right choice?" Ichigo asked, his voice quiet but filled with deep concern. He did not expect a clear answer but sought some clarity in this grim situation.

Ishida, standing beside him, turned to his friend, his gaze filled with soft resolve. He knew that every action has its consequences, and what they had done was the best they could do given the circumstances.

"We gave him a chance," Ishida answered quietly. His words were full of calm understanding, as if he had already come to terms with the fact that sometimes it is necessary to make difficult decisions without full certainty of the outcome." And sometimes that’s all we can do.

Silence enveloped them again, but now it was less tense. The air, though still cold, felt lighter. Before them now stood an ordinary human figure — a Shinigami who looked like a person returned from the world of shadows. But something in his gaze reminded of his true nature. There still lingered a shadow of that majestic and fearsome being who had just performed the role of the embodiment of death. His gaze was deep and inscrutable, like a bottomless abyss, a reminder of the darkness he carried with him.

The Shinigami slightly tilted his head in a sign of respect or farewell and slowly stepped back. His movements were smooth and graceful, but there was an invisible force, inexorably pulling him back into the darkness. Gradually, his figure began to dissolve into the darkness, blending with the shadows of the street, which began to close around them again. With each step, the contours of the Shinigami became less distinct until he vanished completely, leaving behind only silence and a deep sense of the unknown.

Ichigo and Ishida stood in the darkness, their gazes meeting, filled with the realization that this night had left an indelible impression, despite all they had already endured. Only now did they understand that the Shinigami was clearly not from Seireitei. His unfamiliar attire and eerie appearance made him more of an embodiment of darkness than a part of the system they were accustomed to dealing with. This Shinigami was not just a guardian of order but something much more sinister. It was not the usual battle with a Hollow but a genuine trial.

Ichigo took a deep breath, realizing that the encounter with this being, so different from what they were used to seeing, had opened new dimensions of reality before them. Everything that had happened seemed more like a scene from a work filled with mysticism and horror. Kurosaki very much hoped that he would not encounter anything like this during his stay in England. He even tried not to think about what the Arrancar was doing so far from Japan.

Ichigo and Ishida headed toward the nearest subway station, clearly relieved. Time seemed to return to its usual flow, and the familiar sounds of the city filled the air again: the hum of cars, the noise of street cafés, and the endless movement of city dwellers immersed in their daily routines.

The bustle of the city surrounded them, distracting from the heavy impressions left by the encounter with the Arrancar and the grim Shinigami. The temporary but vivid memories of the events gradually smoothed out and dulled, like footprints in the sand washed away by the waves. The sounds of urban life restored their sense of normalcy and familiarity.

[racfoam]

Hello best author in the world I have a doubt harry has a lot of money both form her parents and Sirius so couldn't she buy something for the Weasley like buying ron a broom from one of your spoilers , can I have a scene where it shows that Harriet is rich , by rich means loaded

Hello, hope you’re doing well! Thank you for the ask.

I think Harry — since it is from Harry’s POV — she doesn't really talk about being loaded. She definitely is, but she never goes talking about it like some people *cough* Malfoy *cough*

Huh, I never wrote any sort of scene in nynn of Harry buying her friends sth expensive to show she is rich. She absolutely is. Harry bought three omnioculars on Quidditch World Cup, after all... Hmm, I think Harry gets them expensive stuff for their birthdays and for Christmas bcs it's the only time she can get away with buying the Weasleys expensive things without making them feel bad... Hang on...

---------

Gift shopping for Christmas has become Harry’s favourite time of the year. This time — and birthdays — was the only time she could spent some extra cash on a gift worthwhile. Of course, she set herself a limit. Nothing more than fifty galleons (too bad, she wanted to buy Ron a Firebolt) each.

Hermione was the easiest to shop for. Harry bought two books for Hermione — Arithmancy and Warding — which cost twenty galleons each but when she asked the librsrian in the Hogwarts library for the best material, she swore up and down on those two books.

Ron could be a bit tricky. She would have bought him some robes, but Fred and George already got him those. Harry decided to buy him the best Keeper gloves, ones worn by professional, star player Keepers. They cost fifty galleons. Worth every coin.

For Mrs Weasley — and this gift was brilliant in Harry’s mind — she got her a full-day package at the best spa and massage salon in London.

For Mr Weasley, Harry bought him the Culture of Britain and Its History that would teach him all about Muggle history in Britain and the current culture — something he didn't learn in school. She thought about buying him a ticket for theatre, but she didn't know what genre Mr Weasley liked, so she settled on this book. It cost her fifty pounds, but it was university grade learning material. It was bound to be very educational for Mr Weasley.

For Snuffles, she bought red paw shoes (they were too cute, all right?) for snow, and for Sirius, she bought the best wizarding cologne, with a scent like fresh clouds. It was a comforting, nice scent. It cost sixty galleons, breaking the budget, but it was worth it.

For Ginny, she bought her hair shampoo, conditioner and perfume Ginny always gushed about with Luna.

For Fred and George, she bought them wizarding ties. For Fred, blue — his favourite colour — and for George, an orange one, which was George's favourite colour.

For Lupin, she bought lots of Earl Grey teabags to last him for six months, a wool winter cloak, a light brown wizarding robe (Lupin liked brown) and two pairs of footwear: oxfords and men’s boots. Did it cost more than fifty galleons? Maybe. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

For Tonks, she bought a yellow fluffy sweater Tonks liked in a shop in Diagon Alley but was too expensive to buy — the shop in Hogsmeade luckily had it.

To Luna, Harry bought a hand-crafted, shell necklace of numerous shells and pearls on a simple string, which she would send off with Hedwig.

For Dobby, she bought ten pairs of socks.

With all her purchases placed in lightweight charmed bags with an extension charm, Harry walked down Hogsmeade, very happy with all the purchases.

However, something stopped her in her tracks. A thought she never had before — or maybe she did, when she was young and hopeful, and didn’t remember it.

I wonder what Voldemort would like.

Long moments passed, and Harry stood still among the snow and the snowflakes, face cuddled in the crook of her Gryffindor scarf.

Probably Harry in a big gift box with green ribbon and all. Wasn't it Harry, after all, who was supposed to be Voldemort’s gift for his rebirthing party in the graveyard?

Well, Harry couldn't do that. Maybe some lotions for his skin to appear more smooth? Voldemort was very pale... Maybe sunscreen against sunburn? Or, maybe, she could buy him shoes and socks...

Harry frowned. Why was she thinking so hard about a hypothetical gift to Voldemort? Nothing would be good enough for his standards, anyway...

Harry sighed, looking up to the white sky. A few snowflakes landed on her face; little stars falling from the sky.

Then, the answer dawned on Harry. What she could get Voldemort for Christmas. It was so simple, so obvious, that Harry felt stupid for not realising it before. How could it have taken Harry this long to figure it out?

Invigorated, Harry rushed back to the castle. She needed to find Collin. She needed to ask him to take a photograph of her.

[champagneandliterature]

Beautifully Broken

Summary-Remus owns a coffee shop that isn't quite what it seems. Late one night the most beautiful man he's ever seen stumbles in and becomes the only thing that Remus can think about.

Written as a gift for a Trick or Treat Gift Exchange I do have an extensive nearly four-page outline for the rest of this story. I really wanted to leave it open-ended, but alas, I just don't think I can leave this one alone.

Rated T (as of now, if I keep posting it, it will change to E)

It was a typical Thursday night in the coffee shop for Remus. Lily wasn’t due back for another hour or so, and, knowing her, she’d head straight for the potions lab, only coming out to help make Americanos and Macchiatos if they were flooded with muggle patrons. Remus had owned the coffee shop in London for two years now. He’d worked there for nearly a year before Aberforth told him the truth of what was happening behind the scenes. Remus had almost expected it to be a front for drugs, and in a way, it was. Aberforth had an illegal potions lab in the basement of the centuries-old building, the building that had somehow made it through wars without a scratch.

When he had shown it to Remus, he was appalled, thinking the absolute worst of his employer and dealings. But the older man had simply said, “Why did you think I gave you the job, boy? We’re helping them, your kind.” It took Remus almost too long to put it together. The number of dark creatures that lurked in the nearby streets, sometimes stopping in for a cuppa, should have been an indication of what was happening at the shop, but, in his youthful, earnest ignorance, Remus didn’t see that they were hanging about the shop for something other than a coffee or tea. Aberforth had been making wolfsbane, euphoria potion, draught of dreamless sleep, and other pain-relieving and healing potions in the lab and using the tea or coffee as a vessel for them for years before Remus had come to work for him. He should have realized something was going on there when Albus himself had told Remus to take the job when he came of age. 

Remus hadn’t attended Hogwarts due to his “condition.” Being a werewolf wasn’t exactly something he could hide from the other students, regardless of Albus’ intervention with his parents. Still, he did his coursework from home through correspondence and very understanding professors. Once he completed his N.E.W.T.S., he had attended post-secondary courses at Oxford in the magical departments, focusing on Arithmancy and Magical History. When he had finished, he had always thought he’d take up a position at Hogwarts teaching, but, as it turned out, parents didn’t want a registered werewolf teaching their students, which is where Albus’ suggestion of working for Aberforth at the coffee shop came in. Remus decided it was the best move for him as he was deciding whether or not to start work on a muggle doctorate degree. 

Aberforth showed him the ropes of running the shop and, eventually, the lab. A wonderful, beautiful witch named Lily ran the potions lab. She was his age, and he would have been in her year at Hogwarts had he attended. She was brilliant and quick-witted, and the two became fast friends. It was her that he was missing tonight. There had been too many muggle patrons with their ridiculous coffee orders, and he was only now, at ten PM, able to start cleaning up from them, as it was now dead in the shop. The next full moon wasn’t for two weeks which meant most other werewolves were healed from the previous moon and weren’t feeling the effects of the coming full moon yet. Just as his mind had begun to wander into the moon’s phases, he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on stumble through the door. 

He was tall, almost Remus' height of 6'2, with long dark hair curling around the tops of his shoulders. Stormy grey eyes glazed over. And Remus noticed, almost immediately, that he was bleeding. Remus could smell it on him as he walked towards the man who had just barely managed to get himself in the door. 

“Still open?” The dark-haired man croaked.

“For a few minutes,” Remus replied, “Why don’t you sit here,” he gestured towards the booth in the back corner of the shop, reaching towards the man, who flinched when Remus moved. “I’ll lock the door and get you something to sober you up, yeah?” The man snorted but followed Remus’ directions watching Remus lock the door. 

The man sat down, and Remus got to work on an espresso spiked with a little healing potion and sober up mixed in. It wasn’t the first time he had served a muggle a drink with a little something in it to help them. Remus watched the other man the entire time he was fixing his drink. Something didn’t quite sit right about him. Yes, he was dressed like any other posh muggle who lived in the area, but something about his smell wasn’t quite the same. He smelled almost canine, which couldn’t be right, could it? The man wasn’t a werewolf. Remus would have noticed immediately. No, this was something else. He finished making the espresso and walked over to the cozy-looking booth. The dark-haired man was staring off into space as Remus placed his espresso in front of him. 

“Sirius,” the man said, trying to focus and look Remus in the eye. 

“Huh?” Remus replied, a little confused. 

“Sirius, my name. It’s Sirus. You know, like the star?” he slurred.

“Oh, yeah,” Remus blinked a few times, “Well, Sirius, I’m Remus. I own the place.” 

“S’nice to meet you,” Sirius slurred again, a little less as he’d sipped the coffee. 

“Why don’t you have another sip? It’ll make you feel better. I promise,” Remus replied. 

“Nothing will make it better,” Sirius murmured but took a sip of the coffee anyway, humming as he tasted it.  

“That’s got to be the best coffee I’ve ever had.” He replied, finishing the drink. 

“Glad to hear I’m doing a good job,” Remus said, taking the cup from Sirius’ hands and setting it on the saucer. Their fingertips barely brushed. Remus swore that just that tiny slight contact felt like electrical currents on his skin. “I’ll be right back,” Remus said, taking the cup and saucer in his hands entirely and going back behind the counter to make another cup for Sirius. Remus again carefully watched him while he set about tamping the espresso and turning on the drip. Sirius’ split lip was slowly stitching itself back together, and Sirius looked like he was coming around a little. Remus watched the look on Sirius’ face change from not quite sure what was happening, to realizing exactly what was happening. Remus finished the second drink and started to make his way over to Sirius, who was now standing with his wand drawn. 

“What did you give me? What the hell is this place? I won’t hesitate.” Sirius said, pointing his wand at Remus, who now had set the espresso down and had his wand drawn as well. “Listen, it’s not… I wasn’t trying to drug you or anything. I’m just here to help. I just thought you’d want to be sober and heal a little” 

“Don’t even try to tell me what I want. I don’t need your help!” Sirius almost shouted, eyes wild. “I didn’t ask for you to help me.” 

“I know, I just, I thought…” 

“You thought wrong,” Sirius said. “You had no right to do that,” Remus swore Sirius sounded offended. 

“I just wanted to…” Remus didn’t even get the rest of his thought out before he heard the pop of apparition, and Sirius and all his gorgeous, brokenness was gone. 

A week passed and every single time Remus tried to get anything done, he could only think about Sirius. Thoughts about Sirius never left his mind, most of them innocent. Was he ok? Was his lip fully healed? Was he safe? Some were less pure. Was he a dark wizard? Was he involved in something nefarious? What did he look like naked? Remus bet that Sirius was all lean muscle and sinew, and Remus bet his lips would become precisely the perfect shade of pink if they were arou….Remus shook his head. That line of thought had kept Remus up more than a few nights this week. 

Remus was leaning on the counter near the register, staring at the door, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Just go look for him.”

Remus was startled, “Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Your mystery man. Just walk out the door and start looking. Maybe he’ll turn up.” Lily said, grabbing the towel off of Remus’ shoulder as she began wiping the counter. Remus raked a hand through his hair, dragging it down his face. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to start looking,” he shook his head. 

“Well,” Lily stilled her movement and turned back towards Remus, “you did say that he looked beat up and wasn’t exactly sober,” Remus cringed a bit when she said that. 

“That could literally be the description of just about anyone in London in this neighborhood any day of the week,” Remus replied, a little exasperated. 

“I know it’s not a lot to go on. Did he give you his name?”

“I thought I told you his name?” Remus answered. 

“You really didn’t tell me anything about it. Other than,” Lily lowered her voice in an attempt to mock Remus, “he was the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. His eyes, his hair, he was perfection. It’s like someone went into my brain and took a picture of a dream of mine…blah blah blah. But you gave me absolutely no actual details.”

“I don’t sound like that. I didn’t say all of that,” Remus scowled. 

“You most certainly did. And it was just as disgusting then as it is now. So, give me some details, and maybe we can suss this out.” 

“Well, he’s tall, not as tall as me, longish black hair, the most…” Lily started to roll her eyes, and Remus started again, trying not to be too descriptive, “gray eyes, very sharply dressed. I’m sure his shoes cost more than this entire shop. He, and I swear I told you this, didn’t smell completely human. He had almost a dog smell, not wolf, though.”

“Sounds like a poodle to me,” Lily said, smiling at her friend. Remus ignored her comment and walked around the counter to sit at the nearby table. Lily slid onto the counter itself, swung her legs over, so they dangled over the front, and continued, watching Remus put both elbows on the table and his hands under his chin. 

“I’m just teasing. So what was Snuffles’ name then?”

“Snuffles?” Remus raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I have to call him something until you tell me his real name.” 

“Sirius,” Remus replied. 

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” 

“His name. His name is Sirius.”

Lily’s mouth opened and closed twice before she replied, “you’ve got to be kidding me? What are the odds?”

“What are the odds of what?” Remus asked. 

“You said he was a wizard, right?”

“Yeah. He had to have been.”

“This is just too fucking much,” Lily said as she hopped off the counter and made her way to sit in the chair opposite Remus. “Remus, you know how I said there were a group of boys I went to school with that I absolutely couldn’t stand?”

“Of course, one was James. The other two, I’m not sure you ever mentioned their names.” 

“Well, James was sort of their ring leader. And James was the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He constantly asked me on dates. He was relentless. Luckily, despite how good-looking and charming he was, I never fell for it. Anyway, his friends. Their names were Peter and…”

“No fucking way, that’s true,” Remus replied, clearly not believing Lily. 

Lily shook her head yes. “Oh yeah, it’s true. It has to be him. You described him exactly as I remember him. He was posh, but not exactly what I would call put together in school. He was always clunking around in Doc Martens, tie-askew. The three of them were always getting into some kind of trouble and fights. And, I mean, how many wizards are named Sirius?”

“There are plenty of wizards with strange names,” Remus said, leaning back off the table a bit. 

“Come on, Remus. We both know it’s him. Sirius would pick fights with anyone who looked at him or James or Peter the wrong way. Particularly the Slytherins. He once got into a brawl so brutal that he was in the hospital wing for a week and then sent home early for Christmas.” 

“Who was the fight with?”

“His brother,” Lily said matter of factly. “No one really knows what they were fighting about. It was our last year, and when they came back from holidays, Sirius wasn’t the same. He still spent his time with James and Peter, but he was more subdued. I don’t think he got a single detention for the rest of the school year. At least none from me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Head girl and all, you little swot.” Remus teased, and Lily threw the towel she was still holding at his face. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being head girl,” she said as he laughed a little. “I could try to figure out how to contact him if you want.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t leave here on the best terms with me. He thinks I tried to drug him. I just sobered him up and gave him a bit of healing potion. He acted like I was trying to poison him or something. It was bizarre. Most people like it when they get help here.” Remus said. 

“Maybe he wasn’t looking for help.” Lily retorted. 

“Why would he come in then?”

“Maybe he honestly just wanted a cup of coffee and to be left alone.” 

“That seems unlikely.” 

“Remus, love, not everyone is looking to be saved all the time.” 

“I know that,” Remus said a little too defensively. “He was beaten, and stoned, and he looked like he really needed help. What if he still does?”

“I’ll make a call and see if I can find anything out, but Remus, don’t get your hopes up too high, ok? I don’t want to see you hurt. His family, they’re not… they are not good people. They are one of the darkest families in Wizarding Britain.” 

“I thought you said he was in your house? Aren’t all of you Gryffindors supposed  to be the good guys here?”

“He was, and yes, we are the good guys,” she chuckled, “but the power of family is strong, and if he didn’t get out of it, he’s probably deep in the thick of it. I’ll see what I can find out ok?” she asked. 

“Ok,” Remus said, standing and walking over to Lily, who was still seated at the table. He kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, Lils. You’re truly the best.” 

“I know,” she said as she watched Remus walk towards the door and start to turn the lock.  

Remus froze, hand on the lock he hadn’t quite turned all the way. “I have to go, Lily.”

“What? Remus, where the hell do you have to go right now? We’ve got to close up.”

“You’re not going to believe who is standing across the street,” Remus motioned towards the door's window. 

“Well, I guess I won’t have to make that call after all,” Lily said, looking out of the window. “It’s him, you know. It’s Sirius Black. Just be careful ok?” Lily said, looking into Remus’ eyes, trying to implore him to understand her concern. 

“I will. I just need to talk to him.” Remus said, looking out the window again. Sirius cocked his head to the side slightly in invitation. Remus grabbed Lily’s hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and opened the door to let himself out, took a quick deep breath, and walked across the street towards the beautiful broken mess that was leaning against the brick wall waiting for him. 

[magnus-archives-timeline]

Mag 4: Pageturner

Mentioned Characters:

Jonathan Sims: Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Bournemouth is his hometown.

Dominic Swaine: Theatre technician in the West End, deals with lighting mostly.

Katherine Mendes: Ex-girlfriend of Mr Swaine. Worked as an actress in a representation of a Trojan woman and now working on the play The Seagull.

Jurgen Leitner: A man with a library that published Ex-Altiora and owned Key of Solomons 1863. According to Jonathan Sims, he is a dangerous individual. He is described as a big name in the literary scene in the 1990s. A rich Scandinavian recluse paying absurd amounts of money for books he fancied. He dropped around public view around 1995.

MacGregor Mathers: Owned a book called Key of Solomons 1863 which he sold on eBay in 2007.

Mary Keay: Owned Pinhole Books in Maldon. A very old and thin woman with a clean-shaven head. Every square inch of her skin is tattooed over in an unintelligible script. She has a Leitner book of her own which has lots of bones in it. She got murdered in 2008.

Gerard Keay: Son of Mary Keay who painted the eye in her office and keeps an eye out for the Leitner books. He has a long dark leather coat, artificially dyed black hair and the unshaven look of someone who hasn't slept in a while. Accused of murdering his mother in 2008.

Michael Crew: Mr Swaine's friend who got hit by lightning when they were playing during a storm at 8 years old. He has Lichtenberg figures on his body.

***

Mentioned objects:

Ex Altiora: A 100-150-year-old book bound in real leather with slightly uneven pages. Its title means "From the hights" or "Out of the hights". Written entirely in Latin and no author is listed but there is a plaque at the front that reads "From the library of Jurgen Leitner". It has several black and white, woodcut illustrations about a dozen. Most are mountains and cliffs, one is of a night sky and another of a tower looming over the countryside at an odd angle with small birds.

Key of Solomons, 1863: Sold on eBay in 2007 for just over £1200 by a deactivated user called grBookworm1818. Owned by Jurgen Leitner and MacGregor Mathers.

Untitled book: Mary Keay's book, written in Sanscript, has a bunch of warped animal bones in it for some reason. They fall out when the book is passed through the shadows.

Papers, fishing wire and a safety razor: The contents of Mary Keay's desk.

Painting of an eye: Very detailed, almost photorealistic on a wall in Mary Keay's study which Gerard painted. The more you look at it the more you see the patterns and symmetries that form the image in it. Written beneath it was a text: "Grant us the sight that we may not know, grant us the scent that we may not catch, Grant us the sound that we may not call."

News article from 2008: About Mary Keay's murder. She'd been laying dead in the study because of an overdose but had extensive post-mortem mutilation of her body so it was judged a murder. Her skin had been cut up and hung around the room on fishing wire. In the photograph, she had hair and no tattoos. Gerard was acquitted from the trial for her death after a piece of evidence made it seem inadmissible.

Incident in 1994: Something happened involving Leitner's library.

Case number: 0132806

Date of Original Statement: June 28th, 2013

Date of event: Saturday the 10th of November 2012

Location:

Nottinghill Gate, charity shop

Pinhole Books, Morden

What happened:

Mr Swaine found an old book that looked expensive in a Charity shop in Nottinghill Gate. Since it looked like it was worth a lot more than what it was being sold for, he decided to buy and resell it.

One of the pictures, of an empty night sky, felt odd to him but he still bought it.

He went to the play, which didn't impress him much, and got distracted by the smell of ozone, which makes him think that one of the stage lights must be about to burn. He shows her the book and she looks impressed but the pictures trigger her vertigo.

He sits to have a look at it later that night. The picture of the sky scared him somehow, making him feel like he was about to fall into it. Even though it was just a picture of black ink and a few stylized stars. He does some research and doesn't find much. He finds a listing on eBay from 2007 titled: Key of Solomon, 1863 owned by MacGregor Mathers and Jurgen Leitner, the book got sold for £1200. He then decides to go to bed and has a nightmare but doesn't remember.

He contacts book dealers and asks around for information about it and gets told more about Leitner. The dealer gives him the address of Pinhole Books in Maldon. He went to do his show but kept smelling ozone plus something he couldn't identify without feeling dizzy and nauseous, and he couldn't stop thinking about the book.

He went for a walk and ended up in front of Pinhole Books at 2 o'clock in the morning without understanding how. Mary Keay opened the door, death metal blasting out behind her. He showed her the book and they go inside. Her house was like a labyrinth, cramped with books. She said she hadn't found a Leitner in a long time even though her Gerard kept an eye out."

In her study, Mr Swaine took in the stuff on her desk and the eye painting before she offered him a cup of tea which he didn't drink. After holding the book in the shadows for a second and handing it to Mr Swaine, small animal bones started falling out of it again and again until a pile of bones stood at his feet.

He looked at the Ex-altiora book again and the night sky woodcut changed, a pattern of a Lichtenberg figure reaching down the middle. A childhood memory of his friend getting hit by lightning because of him resurfaced in his mind and he ran away.

He laid on his sofa until Gerard Keay knocked on his door, and asked to see the book. Gerard offered to buy the book for £5000 pounds which Mr Swaine readily accepts. While going to get the money, Mr Swaine finds out about Mary Keay's murder in 2008. Gerard Keay then set the book on fire in a bin. Saying his mother doesn't always know what's best for their family. He also touched fiery ash and said he'd had worse, before walking out and never being seen again.

After “Statement ends”:

Jurgen Leitner isn't a good name to hear according to Jonathan Sims.

Gertrude should have added this statement to the project file Grumble grumble

We should be alarmed that some unaccounted Leitners are out there

Jurgen Leinter has done the world enough harm

Evidence:

Martin couldn't find any matches to the name Ex-Altiora anywhere and Sasha double-checked.

Donation records are all anonymous

Unable to locate Gerard Keay

The drying sheets of Mary Keay's skin had been written over in Sanskript

Information that seems important:

Mr Leitner seems like an interesting character. Evil book collector isn't a usual title for a villain haha

My favourite quote out of the Episode: “Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora (...), so I assigned Sasha to double-check.”

Personal notes:

I stan a bold granny that listens to metal, even if her books are full of bones for some reason xDD

The Gerard guy seems sooo cool was the thought I had until I heard he might have murdered his mom and gotten away with it haha

Or maybe not, she might still be alive in spirit form or something?

Mr Sims is so mean to Martin ><

<Mag 3

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … October 20

1854 – Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud (d.1891) was a French poet. Born in Charleville, Ardennes, he produced his best known works while still in his late teens—Victor Hugo described him at the time as "an infant Shakespeare"—and he gave up creative writing altogether before the age of 21. As part of the decadent movement, Rimbaud influenced modern literature, music and art. He was known to have been a libertine and a restless soul, travelling extensively on three continents before his death from cancer just after his 37th birthday.

At the age of fifteen, Rimbaud was showing maturity as a poet; the first poem he showed his tutor, Georges Izambard, "Ophélie", would later be included in anthologies as one of Rimbaud's three or four best poems. When the Franco-Prussian War broke out, Izambard left Charleville and Rimbaud became despondent. He ran away to Paris with no money for his ticket and was subsequently arrested and imprisoned for a week. After returning home, Rimbaud ran away again to escape his mother's wrath.

From late October 1870, Rimbaud's behaviour became outwardly provocative; he drank alcohol, spoke rudely, composed scatological poems, stole books from local shops, and abandoned his hitherto characteristically neat appearance by allowing his hair to grow long. At the same time he wrote to Izambard about his method for attaining poetical vision through a "long, intimidating, immense and rational derangement of all the senses. The sufferings are enormous, but one must be strong, be born a poet, and I have recognized myself as a poet." It is rumoured that he briefly joined the Paris Commune of 1871, which he portrayed in his poem L'orgie parisienne (ou : Paris se repeuple), ("The Parisian Orgy; or Paris Repopulates"). Another poem, Le cœur volé ("The Stolen Heart"), is often interpreted as a description of him being raped by drunken Communard soldiers, but this is unlikely since Rimbaud continued to support the Communards and wrote poems sympathetic to their aims.

Rimbaud was encouraged by a friend to write to Paul Verlaine, an eminent poet, after letters to other poets failed to garner replies. Taking his advice, Rimbaud sent Verlaine two letters containing several of his poems. Verlaine, who was intrigued by Rimbaud, sent a reply that stated, "Come, dear great soul. We await you; we desire you," along with a one-way ticket to Paris. Rimbaud arrived in late September 1871 at Verlaine's invitation and resided briefly in Verlaine's home.

Rimbaud and Verlaine began a short and torrid affair. Whereas Verlaine had likely engaged in prior homosexual experiences, it remains uncertain whether the relationship with Verlaine was Rimbaud's first. During their time together they led a wild, vagabond-like life spiced by absinthe and hashish. They scandalized the Parisian literary circle on account of the outrageous behaviour of Rimbaud, the archetypical enfant terrible, who throughout this period continued to write strikingly visionary verse. The stormy relationship between Rimbaud and Verlaine eventually brought them to London in September 1872, a period about which Rimbaud would later express regret. During this time, Verlaine abandoned his wife and infant son (both of whom he had abused in his alcoholic rages). Rimbaud and Verlaine lived in considerable poverty, in Bloomsbury and in Camden Town, scraping a living mostly from teaching, in addition to an allowance from Verlaine's mother. Rimbaud spent his days in the Reading Room of the British Museum where "heating, lighting, pens and ink were free." The relationship between the two poets grew increasingly bitter.

By late June 1873, Verlaine grew frustrated with the relationship and returned to Paris, where he quickly began to mourn Rimbaud's absence. On 8 July, he telegraphed Rimbaud, instructing him to come to the Hotel Liège in Brussels; Rimbaud complied at once. The Brussels reunion went badly: they argued continuously and Verlaine took refuge in heavy drinking. On the morning of 10 July, Verlaine bought a revolver and ammunition.That afternoon, "in a drunken rage," Verlaine fired two shots at Rimbaud, one of them wounding the 18-year-old in the left wrist.

Rimbaud dismissed the wound as superficial, and did not initially seek to file charges against Verlaine. But shortly after the shooting, Verlaine (and his mother) accompanied Rimbaud to a Brussels railway station, where Verlaine "behaved as if he were insane." His bizarre behavior induced Rimbaud to "fear that he might give himself over to new excesses," so he turned and ran away. In his words, "it was then I [Rimbaud] begged a police officer to arrest him [Verlaine]." Verlaine was arrested for attempted murder and subjected to a humiliating medico-legal examination. He was also interrogated with regard to both his intimate correspondence with Rimbaud and his wife's accusations about the nature of his relationship with Rimbaud. Rimbaud eventually withdrew the complaint, but the judge nonetheless sentenced Verlaine to two years in prison.

At 21, Rimbaud quit writing and sought other employments to help him travel widely in Europe, The Dutch East Indies, and North Africa where he developed an infection in his leg in 1891. He shipped back to Marseilles, where the cancerous leg was amputated. He died in November of that year.

1871 – George Seymour, 7th Marquess of Hertford (d.1940) was the son of Hugh Seymour, 6th Marquess of Hertford.

In 1895, he was sent to Australia by his family "for the good of his health and the country", due to his blatant homosexual behaviour. He settled in Mackay, growing sugar cane and bananas, but quickly created great animosity, due to being a dishonest employer: he was sued by a labourer (who won the case) for underpayment, and boasted tricking kanakas (Pacific Islanders) who purchased his chickens into thinking gold sovereigns were less valuable than silver half crowns.

He was noted for all-male house parties at his isolated residence 'The Rocks' near Mackay, and achieved notoriety for "skirt dancing" in a sequinned outfit with butterfly wings, as one newspaper phrased it: "gyrating in the fluffy serpentine dance before a Kanaka audience... His legs being tough and skinny his audience show little inclination to pot him as long pig." When he returned to England in 1897, a Mackay newspaper noted the citizens were "more interested in his departure" than his arrival.

From 1889 to 1894, he served in the Black Watch and was a Lieutenant in the Warwickshire Imperial Yeomanry. He held the office of Deputy Lieutenant for Warwickshire and Justice of the Peace for Warwickshire.

He appeared on stage in the United States in one of Charles Frohman's companies under the name of Eric Hope.

He filed for bankruptcy in 1909 and 1910, shortly before inheriting his father's titles and estate, Ragley Hall.

In 1884, he became the Earl of Yarmouth and in 1901, he became the 7th Marquess of Hertford.

After his father's death on 23 March 1912, he succeeded as the 7th Earl of Hertford, the 7th Earl of Yarmouth, the 8th Baron Conway of Ragley, the 7th Viscount Beauchamp, the 7th Marquess of Hertford, and the 8th Baron Conway and Killultagh.

On 27 April 1903, he married heiress Alice Cornelia Thaw. She was the daughter of William Thaw Sr. At the wedding he extorted her parents to increase the dowry under the threat he would not go through the marriage. The marriage was annulled in 1908 due to non-consummation. As part of the divorce, all financial interests were returned to Thaw, and she resumed using her maiden name.

In May 1913, he became engaged to a Mrs. Moss-Cockle, who was much older than him and received $3,250,000 by her former husband. By July of the same year, the engagement was called off, with The New York Times writing: "It is rumored that lately the course of true love has not been running as smoothly as it ought to in the case of the Marquis of Hartford and Mrs. Moss Cockie, whose engagement was recently announced."

Lord Hertford died at his home in Torquay, Devonshire in 1940, aged 68 and childless. His titles passed to his nephew, Hugh Seymour.

1926 – Edward Douglas-Scott-Montagu, 3rd Baron Montagu of Beaulieu (d.2015) was a British Conservative politician well known in Britain for founding the National Motor Museum, as well as for a pivotal cause célèbre in British gay history, his 1954 conviction and imprisonment for homosexual sex, a charge he denied.

Lord Montagu was born in London, and inherited his barony in 1929 at the age of two, when his father, the 2nd Baron Montagu of Beaulieu, was killed in an accident. He attended St. Peter's Court School and Ridley College in Canada, Eton College and New College, Oxford. He served in the Grenadier Guards, including service in Palestine before the end of the British Mandate. On coming of age, Lord Montagu immediately took his seat in the House of Lords and swiftly made his maiden speech on the subject of Palestine.

Lord Montagu knew from an early stage of life that he was bisexual, and while attending Oxford was relieved to find others with similar feelings. In a 2000 interview he stated,

"My attraction to both sexes neither changed nor diminished at university and it was comforting to find that I was not the only person faced with such a predicament. I agonised less than my contemporaries, for I was reconciled to my bisexuality, but I was still nervous about being exposed."

Despite keeping his homosexual affairs discreet and out of the public eye, in the mid-1950s, Lord Montagu became "one of the most notorious public figures of his generation," after his conviction and imprisonment for "conspiracy to incite certain male persons to commit serious offences with male persons," a charge which was also used in the Oscar Wilde trials in 1895, and remained on the books until 1967.

On two occasions Lord Montagu was charged and committed for trial at Winchester Assizes, firstly in 1953 for allegedly taking sexual advantage of a 14-year-old Boy Scout at his beach hut on the Solent, a charge he has always denied. When prosecutors failed to achieve a conviction, in what Lord Montagu has characterised as a "witch hunt" to secure a high-profile conviction, he was arrested again in 1954 and charged with performing "gross offences" with an RAF serviceman during a weekend party at the beach hut, located on Lord Montagu's country estate. Lord Montagu has always maintained he was innocent of this charge as well ("We had some drinks, we danced, we kissed, that's all.") Nevertheless, he was imprisoned for twelve months for "consensual homosexual offences" along with Michael Pitt-Rivers and Peter Wildeblood.

Unlike the other defendants in the trial, Lord Montagu continued to protest his innocence. The trial caused a backlash of opinion among some politicians and church leaders that led to the setting up of the Wolfenden Committee, which in its 1957 report recommended the decriminalisation of homosexual activity in private between two adults. Ten years later, Parliament finally carried out the recommendation, a huge turning point in gay history in Britain, where male homosexuality had been completely outlawed in statute law since 1533.

In a 2007 interview, when asked if he felt that he and his co-defendants had been instrumental in the decriminalisation of homosexuality in Britain, Lord Montagu said,

"I am slightly proud that the law has been changed to the benefit of so many people. I would like to think that I would get some credit for that. Maybe I'm being very boastful about it but I think because of the way we behaved and conducted our lives afterwards, because we didn't sell our stories, we just returned quietly to our lives, I think that had a big effect on public opinion."

The story of Lord Montagu's trial is told in a 2007 Channel 4 documentary, A Very British Sex Scandal.

1941 – South African police are called in to quiet a disturbance at a gold mine caused by the dismissal of 122 miners for refusing to stop dances in which boys are squeezed and kissed.

1969 – The National Institutes of Mental Health released a report based on a study led by psychologist Dr. Evelyn Hooker. The report urged states to repeal sodomy laws.

1994 – Brennan Clost is a Canadian actor and dancer, known for portraying the role of Daniel on the Family series The Next Step. In 2020, he starred in the Netflix dance drama series Tiny Pretty Things.

Clost was born in Burlington, Ontario. Whilst growing up, he was bullied by classmates, stating that they made "very crass comments", threw snowballs at him and he would "get looks" in the hallway. Clost studied dance at various dance studios across southern Ontario, including National Ballet School of Canada and Springboard Danse Montreal. Initially wanting to study medicine at university, he was advised by his dance teacher to audition for the Juilliard School.

In March 2012, he auditioned and was accepted into the Juilliard School on a scholarship, making it as one of two male Canadian dancers to be accepted onto the course. Clost's choreography was showcased annually at Juilliard's Choreographic Honours Program and in elementary schools throughout New York City, and he graduated in 2016. Through dance, Clost has damaged his ankle, had Achilles tendinitis and had "serious wrist and shoulder problems". Clost has stated that he does not label himself with a sexuality, but added that he is "not straight".

In 2017, Clost starred in the in web series Spiral, alongside The Next Step co-star Alexandra Beaton. In 2019, he was cast in the Netflix dance drama series Tiny Pretty Things as Shane, which premiered in December 2020.

1995 – Dalton Maldonado is an American high school basketball player and LGBT rights activist, who came to National prominence whe he shared his harrowing tale of intimidation when he came out at a high school basketball game in Kentucky.

In 2015, he was featured as one of the most influential people in the LGBT community by the magazine Out and he was named "Person of the Year" by Outsports. He grew up in Kentucky and became known after coming out after a basketball game. His coming out gained national attention after being featured in Outsports magazine. Maldonado wants to make sure no other teen endures the harassment he received after coming out in December 2014.

Following reports that he had been harassed because of his sexuality by the rival team from Bryan Station High School, both schools were challenged in the press. Both schools said that they had conducted internal investigations and denied any wrongdoing. The Fayette County Public Schools administration's investigation concluded that the event "was inaccurately reported and mischaracterized" by media.

After coming out, Maldonado's picture was left out of the two-page spread that commemorated his basketball team in his senior yearbook. In addition to the team photo, there were individual call-outs for every member of the team except Maldonado. His school, Betsy Layne High School, claimed that the omission was accidental and that the school district "holistically supports Dalton Maldonado just as we do all our students". They point out that the book includes 15 photos of Maldonado, including many that show him playing basketball.

Maldonado has a fragrance released by Xyrena called Formula 3, sales of which will support the LGBT sports organization "You Can Play". Fragrance industry analysts Basenotes claim that this is "the first signature fragrance from an openly gay athlete".

Maldonado was invited to speak at The Atlantic's inaugural LGBT summit in Washington D.C. in December 2015, aiming to "convene wide-ranging conversations on queer identity in America, at the end of a game-changing year in arenas from politics to pop culture".

1997 – Portugal's first Gay and Lesbian Community Centre opened in Lisbon.

[robertbaily]

 By Best Skin Care Products

Discovering the Best Beauty Products Shop Near You

In the bustling world of  By Best Skin Care Products ,finding the perfect shop to meet all your needs can be a challenge. Whether you’re in search of skincare essentials, the latest makeup trends, or luxurious hair care products, the right shop can make all the difference. This article will guide you through the journey of discovering the best beauty products shop near you, ensuring that you find a place that not only stocks top-notch products but also provides exceptional service.

The Allure of Local Beauty Shops

Local beauty shops hold a unique charm that larger chains often lack. They offer a personalised shopping experience, where staff are more likely to remember your preferences and recommend products tailored to your needs. Additionally, these shops often carry niche brands and exclusive products that aren’t readily available in larger stores.

Key Features of an Exceptional Beauty Products Shop

When searching for the best beauty shop, consider the following features that distinguish an exceptional store from the rest:

1. Wide Range of Products

A top-tier beauty shop should offer a diverse range of products. From skincare and makeup to hair care and fragrances, the shop should be a one-stop destination for all your beauty needs. Look for stores that stock both popular mainstream brands and lesser-known boutique labels.

2. Knowledgeable Staff

The staff’s expertise can greatly enhance your shopping experience. Well-trained and knowledgeable staff can provide valuable advice, helping you choose products that suit your skin type and preferences. They should be able to explain the benefits of different products and offer tips on how to use them effectively.

3. Customer Service

Excellent customer service is a hallmark of a great beauty shop. Friendly and approachable staff who are willing to go the extra mile can make a huge difference. Look for shops that offer personalised consultations, free samples, and hassle-free returns.

4. Ambiance and Layout

The ambiance and layout of the shop also play a crucial role. A clean, well-organised, and aesthetically pleasing shop creates a relaxing shopping environment. Good lighting and well-labelled sections make it easier to find what you’re looking for.

5. Online Presence

In today’s digital age, a strong online presence is essential. The best beauty shops offer a seamless online shopping experience with detailed product descriptions, reviews, and the option to purchase online and pick up in-store. An informative website and active social media presence can also keep you updated on new arrivals and special promotions.

Top Beauty Shops to Consider

Here are some top beauty shops that are renowned for their exceptional product range and customer service:

1. Space NK

Space NK is a well-known luxury beauty retailer that offers an extensive selection of high-end skincare, makeup, and hair care products. With multiple locations across the UK, Space NK is celebrated for its curated collection of premium brands and expert staff who are always ready to assist.

2. Liberty London

Liberty London is a historic department store that houses an impressive beauty hall. Known for its eclectic mix of products, Liberty offers a blend of established and emerging beauty brands. The store���s unique and opulent setting adds to the overall shopping experience.

3. Cult Beauty

Cult Beauty is an online retailer that has gained a cult following for its carefully curated selection of beauty products. Although it primarily operates online, its strong presence and excellent customer service make it a go-to for beauty enthusiasts looking for the latest and greatest in beauty.

4. Selfridges Beauty Hall

Selfridges is another iconic department store with an outstanding beauty hall. Offering a wide array of luxury brands and exclusive products, Selfridges is a must-visit for anyone serious about beauty. The knowledgeable staff and exceptional service further enhance the shopping experience.

5. Lookfantastic

Lookfantastic is a comprehensive online beauty retailer that offers an extensive range of products. Known for its competitive prices and frequent promotions, Lookfantastic is a favourite among beauty lovers. The site also features a wealth of reviews and beauty advice, making it a valuable resource for shoppers.

Tips for Finding the Best Beauty Shop Near You

To find the best beauty shop near you, consider the following tips:

Ask for Recommendations: Word of mouth is powerful. Ask friends, family, and colleagues for their favourite beauty shops.

Read Reviews: Online reviews can provide insight into other customers’ experiences. Look for shops with consistently high ratings and positive feedback.

Visit Multiple Shops: Don’t be afraid to explore. Visit a few different shops to see which one meets your needs the best.

Check Social Media: Many beauty shops actively post on social media, showcasing new products, promotions, and customer testimonials.

Finding the best Beauty Products shop near you involves a bit of research and exploration, but the rewards are well worth the effort. Whether you prefer the personalised touch of a local shop or the convenience of a larger retailer, the perfect beauty shop is out there waiting for you. With knowledgeable staff, a diverse product range, and excellent customer service, your ideal beauty destination will help you look and feel your best. Happy shopping!

Read More Website : https://flipsale.in/

[touchandglow]

What Is The Best Beauty Salon To Help Shine?

Beauty fans are invited to go inside this elegant and luxurious establishment in the heart of Edgware, London, to indulge in a life-changing experience. The voyage of renewal starts as soon as you enter through the doors, with the attraction of perfectly manicured nails and the compelling attractiveness of luscious lashes. Welcome to Touch & Glow, where each service is designed to bring out your inner beauty and boost your self-assurance. Here, in the calm atmosphere, classic methods combine with contemporary design to create a beauty ritual that is specially customised to your preferences. We stand out from the competition because of our commitment to quality and customization, which makes every appointment to our salon an unforgettable one.

Elevate Your Elegance: Premier Nail Services at Touch & Glow

Stepping into our premier nails edgware shop, you are instantly enveloped by an ambience that whispers sophistication. Whether it's a rejuvenating manicure that leaves your hands looking pristine or a relaxing pedicure that promises to transport you into a state of sheer relaxation, our nail services are made with the highest level of luxury in mind.

Pedicure Edgware Experience: Dive into the opulence of our pedicure services, where we use only top-tier, brand-name products to revitalise and beautify your feet. Not just about appearances, our pedicure treatments also focus on the health of your feet, ensuring they feel as good as they look.

But we don't stop there with our dedication to your nails. Our staff of highly skilled nail technicians guarantees that every manicure treatment reaches our gold standard, from gel paints that promise durability and gloss to nail enhancements that add that extra touch of beauty.

Crafted with Quality: Our Commitment to Exceptional Nail Treatments

Our services at this prestigious Edgware salon are based on quality and accuracy. Since every person has different demands, we approach nail care in a customised way. Our nail experts give close attention to every little detail. Whether it's the colour that perfectly matches your personality, the shape of your nails, or the condition of your cuticles. Furthermore, we place a high priority on our technicians' ongoing education and training so they are always up to date on the newest methods and fashions. Our commitment to quality is enhance by our cutting-edge machinery and a setting that values safety and hygienic practices. The outcome? Beautiful nails also convey a lot about your personal style.

Luscious Lashes: The Art of Eye-Enhancement at Touch & Glow

The eyes are regarded as the soul's windows. If that's true, then lashes are the exquisite drapes that enhance their beauty. At Touch & Glow, our lashes treatment Edgware takes this art to new heights.

Using a variety of high-quality materials, including mink, synthetic, and horse hair. We craft eyelash extensions that perfectly complement your own lashes. But it's not just about adding length or volume. Our lash specialists understand the intricacies of the eye. They artistically design lash extensions that accentuate the unique shape and colour of your eyes. From a naturally fluttery look to a bold, dramatic statement. Our lashes treatment ensures you get a customised look that turns heads.

From Subtle to Striking: Tailored Lash Experiences for Every Desire

Recognising that beauty is deeply personal, we at Touch & Glow take pride in tailoring our lash treatments to your desires. After an intimate consultation, our lash specialists recommend treatments that resonate with your aesthetic goals. With our expert technique of using adhesive glue, every lash extension is apply with precision. Ensuring longevity and a natural appearance.

Conclusion

Touch & Glow Beauty Clinic Ltd. is a symbol of quality in beauty treatments right in the middle of Edgware. Our dedication to excellence, along with our thorough knowledge of current trends. Guarantees that each and every customer leaves our facility with a renewed sense of confidence and vitality. Touch and Glow is your haven of elegance and luxury, whether you're looking for the refinement of our lash treatment or the luxury of an Edgware pedicure. Take over and allow us to change your journey to beauty.

[julisebeautytherapy]

Beauty Therapist in Berwick

A beauty therapist performs a variety of treatments on clients. This includes facials, manicures and pedicures, waxing, and massage. They also provide advice on skincare and makeup. This career offers a flexible schedule and good pay.

Olier Spa is a beauty salon in London with a team of experienced beauticians. They offer a range of classic treatments, including eyelash extensions and brow lamination.

Brazilian Butterfly Berwick

Brazilian Butterfly Berwick offers the ultimate in beauty therapist in Berwick treatments right here in the heart of Berwick. Their experienced professionals provide super smooth, soft skin and you can book your appointment online any time you like. Whether you're looking for waxing, IPL hair removal and skin treatments or spray tanning, they've got you covered. Visit them today at 5/4-6 Wheeler St, Berwick.

Looking bronzed, hairless and fabulous for the beach? Look no further than Brazilian Butterfly Epping, offering a wide range of services including waxing and spray tans. Visit them today to get the bronzed body you've always wanted! Prices are subject to change.

Studio Soleil Beauty Salon

Whether you’re looking for a quick touch-up or a full makeup transformation, Studio Soleil Beauty Salon is the place to go. Their professional makeup artists have an unmatched eye for beauty and aesthetics and can help you achieve any look you want. They also know how to bring out your best features and enhance your natural beauty therapist.

Studio Soleil is a gender-inclusive salon for all peoples and does not tolerate homophobia, transphobia, racism or xenophobia in any form. The salon is located on the one-way street Forth Street in North Berwick, just opposite the Auld Hoose. It’s only a short walk from the beach, harbour and Seabird Centre.

The salon’s prices are slightly higher than other local salons, but the quality of work and service make it worth the extra cost.

Wellness Oasis

The self-described one-stop shop for a decidedly vast array of offerings, Wellness Oasis offers everything from CBD facials and body massages to venik platza (an ancient Russian bathing ritual that involves getting whacked with leafy bundles of aromatic tree branches). In addition to the typical services, it also houses an ancient Egyptian-themed spa with pillars etched with hieroglyphics and a hammam that envelopes patrons in rejuvenating eucalyptus inhalation steam.

This enchanting oasis is where New York City goes to spa. Located on Governors Island, the spa features over 20 wellness spa experiences that are sure to leave you refreshed and renewed. To make the most of your visit, arrive 60 minutes prior to your treatment. This gives you time to enjoy the exclusive spa pools and relax before your appointment begins. The spa also has a tea lounge and private relaxation rooms that you can use while enjoying your treatment. Guests are encouraged to bring their own swimsuits and towels.

Helen Mulloy Reid

Helen Mulloy Reid is a beauty & holistic body therapist, aromatherapist, make up artist & yoga teacher who offers a personalised well-being service for women, men & teens at her beautiful beauty studio in the seaside town of North Berwick. Her tempting range of beautifully devised beauty treatments include facials, brow & lash services, manicures, pedicures, waxing, massage & pregnancy treatments using carefully chosen organic, natural & vegan product ranges specially designed to enhance your natural beauty therapist Melbourne.

You can book your treatment online at her website and choose from a menu of services that includes manicures, pedicures, nail extensions, waxing, massages, and facials. Prices start at £50 and vary according to the type of service you need. All treatments are performed by Helen in her own beautiful and inviting spa. Her natural calming aura and grounding energy will help you to relax and feel soothed in mind, body and soul. She wants you to be your own kind of beautiful and will help you look and feel fabulous from the inside out.

[eighthwondcr]

𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗢𝗗𝗬 𝗦𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗘𝗗, 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗗, 𝗔𝗦 𝗔 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗦𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥. 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗧 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗟𝗬. 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗢𝗢𝗟 𝗜𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗬.

basic information.

name: names are a tricky thing. born zhang feifei, her first billings see her printed as faye wong before she would become known as a solo act under fei or faye mandrake, depending on the publication. similarly, she signs her communications largely with a simple, flourished F, but can be found using fei or faye interchangeably. married name tba when connection is taken up.

title(s): lady, by marriage.

referred to as: lady manderley. "the eighth wonder of the world" has been her stage by-line for years.

nickname(s): lady mandrake, if you're cheeky. wonder or marvel, if you're affectionate.

age: thirty-one

gender: cis woman.

sexual orientation: fairly amorphous and without label. public-facing she performs heteronormative, though there have been occasional salacious rumours of sapphic affairs with other performers.

occupation: actress, former dancer, & general celebrity.

nationality: american.

religion: chinese folk religion, almost entirely lapsed save a few lingering impulses.

class: old money (by marriage), formerly new money (by ambition).

place of birth: lower manhattan, new york. chinatown district.

hometown: prior to her marriage and current residence in london, england, she was touring extensively, making her something of a nomad. in her few rests, she was based out of new york city.

faceclaim: ni ni ( the flowers of war ).

physical description.

height: 5'6"

weight: 110lbs.

build: very fine-boned and slightly pear-shaped, with a particularly long, elegant torso & rounded hips. fairly well-endowed for one so slim, a mark of grace for a former showgirl who was already on the shorter side. devoted to calisthenics, and is taut for it. tends to appear taller than she is due to the willowy frame. notorious for her alleged 23-inch waist (whether this is exaggerated or not is up to your discerning eye).

distinguishing marks: an inch-long scar on her right hip, thin as a razor blade. after the lead in a performance at the follies fell ill, faye took her place with moments to spare. in the refitting of the costume, a pin slipped through the flesh of her hip. without time to readjust, she performed with it lodged inside her, never missing a beat. various misgivings on her feet, the hallmark of a lifelong dancer.

hair colour: jet black, never dyed. meticulously combed with rosemary oil for shine.

hair style: has previously been seen in the shingle/bob as well as the eton crop, but these days it's a shoulder-length finger wave per ni ni in the flowers of war. can be seen with a scarf or turban weaved through her hair, particularly in more casual looks.

eye colour: brown.

clothing: fashion forward & forever furthering. a highly studied trendsetter, faye's closet is varied and at times envelope-pushing - even tearing. aside from western clothing she also favours silk cheongsams, which previously she had handmade with imported materials at a shop in nyc's chinatown by an expat master. she's not found anyone up to her standard in the uk, and subsequently treasures the pieces she currently has, only able to accumulate more in travel. though she loves a good hat or silk scarf, you won't see faye in a headpiece unless she's deliberately chasing an eccentric look - she knows the impact of her face is startling in its simplicity: jet black hair, ivory skin, and red lips.

scent(s): varied, much like her closet; fei is well aware of the impact of fragrance. she adjusts perfume according to her look & goals of the day, but prefers the smouldering, headier scents. during the day she favours lighter without growing too sweet: think white flowers, tuberose or ylang-ylang, or mediterranean fig. night scents are deeper & more enticing; musk, mandarin, sandalwood, somalian incense. has been known to layer her husband's cologne with some of her own scents, giving her that touch of why does she smell like my man?

accent: american, but without any detectable influences of dialect/accent. slow and deliberate speech pattern, even toned & without a single trace of filler words. she gives you more than enough rope to hang on her every word.

personality.

summary: the perception and actuality of faye have been very disparate things for a long time, only recently narrowing into something more closely aligned. she is above all things persevering, having come from a harrowing childhood poverty (and the abuses that often come with it) and building herself into a woman of means alone. that she's in possession of such an iron spine is hidden behind languid, lacquered glamour; aside from her trusted friend and maid, no one would see the careful machinations beneath. now thoroughly situated on her pedestal of celebrity - a woman to become a face of the decade alongside louise brookes and josephine baker - fei relents to at least some honesty of self: her opinions laid bare, her desires pursued. while neither harsh nor sharp, she is in her thoughts resolute - challenging, when she wishes to be. atop this, her dissatisfaction of late has eaten through some of her coating, leaving a certain spot of softness - an unwilling ripeness of self - to appear. to be added to or edited because i can't do a succinct summary to save my life.

virtues: ambitious, sensual, loyal, observant, witty, liberal, epicurean.

vices: ambitious, shrewd, dishonest, delusive, mercurial, indulgent, enigmatic.

moral alignment: chaotic neutral at best, neutral evil at worst.

natal chart: scorpio sun, moon/rising tbd.

habits: smiling closed-lipped. flower arranging. never forgetting a parasol. nightly administration of cream. unwavering eye contact. only speaking when there's something interesting to say. the slow revolution of one ankle when she's bored, not unlike the tail of a cat. tapping out the beats of a song with her fingers. abandoning a drink when the ice begins to melt. fan collecting. quiet participation in various superstitions, both western & chinese. humming/singing when alone. a cigarette for nerves. touching/trailing her collarbone in thought.

character tropes: i'm terrible with tv tropes, but there's a slew of real life inspirations that helped influence fei, aesthetically or in history: marchesa luisa casati, josephine baker, louise brooks, louie fuller, isadora duncan & anna may wong to name a few.

family ties

parent(s): zhang zongtan (father, deceased). zhang liu "dorothy" yī nuò (mother, deceased).

sibling(s): tbd.

spouse: earl manderley, m. 1921.

child/ren: none.

miscellaneous headcanons

tba.

wanted plots

HUSBAND. connection to be sent to the main ! two incredibly singular individuals, their coming together crafted an it-couple that crossed nations. the connection between them singed from the first, and it's this intensity of passion that keeps them bound together - but only two years into the marriage, they pace one another relentlessly, falling into arguments as often as one another's arm. after a particularly terrible row in which fei used that unutterable word (divorce), the earl suggested they retire from london's heat and noise to the countryside in order to calm down. they have, unfortunately, seemingly brought fever and loudness to montmere instead.

MAID & BEST FRIEND. connection to be sent to the main ! the pair have been knit together since youth - the true youth, the one faye never talks about. with faye as the thicker-skinned of the pair, she took the brunt of the blunt objects thrown their way in her clawing to the top, and in return they have remained ceaselessly by her side. also potential for this to be a cousin or sister.

AIMLESS, SWEET. the difficulties of the earl and lady manderley were known to you before they arrived; how anyone could find fault with such a creature is what escapes you at meeting. a crush. lingering in the garden. blushing in the parlour. her hand on your wrist & a note slipped under her door, perhaps.

those she's met while on tour; anyone who finds the presence of a dancer/actress rather unsavoury; anyone desperate to gain association to such a celebrity; former brief and dazzling love affair(s) that now they no longer speak of.

[pallmallbarbers2023]

Discover the Top Barbers in London: Where to Get the Perfect Grooming Experience

When it comes to grooming, finding the perfect barbershop can be a daunting task. With the multitude of options available in London, it can be difficult to know where to start. But fear not, because we are here to help! In this blog post, we will guide you through the top barbers in London, where you can get the perfect grooming experience. Whether you’re looking for a traditional shave, a trendy haircut, or a luxurious grooming package, we have got you covered. So sit back, relax, and get ready to discover the best barbers London has to offer! Choosing the right barber is crucial when it comes to getting the perfect grooming experience. A skilled and experienced barber can make a significant difference in the outcome of your haircut, shave, or grooming service. When searching for the top barbers in London, there are several criteria to consider. These factors will help you identify the barbershops that offer the best grooming experience and meet your personal preferences and needs.

A talented barber not only possesses the necessary skills and techniques but also has a deep understanding of different hair types, face shapes, and styles. They can provide personalized recommendations and expert advice to help you achieve the best results that suit your individual needs and preferences.The right barber pays attention to every detail, ensuring that your haircut or shave is precise and meticulous. They take the time to carefully analyze your hair and facial features, making adjustments as needed to create a polished and well-groomed look. Barbers who stay up-to-date with the latest trends and techniques can offer you cutting-edge styles and grooming services. They are knowledgeable about the current fashion trends and can guide you in choosing a modern and fashionable look that suits your personal style. Going to a barbershop is not just about getting a haircut; it is also an opportunity to relax and unwind. The right barber understands the importance of creating a comfortable and enjoyable atmosphere for their clients. They provide a warm and welcoming environment, ensuring that you have a pleasant and relaxing experience during your grooming session.

Building a relationship with a trusted barber is invaluable. They get to know your hair and grooming preferences over time, allowing them to consistently deliver exceptional results. With the right barber, you can establish a long-term relationship based on trust, ensuring that you always leave the shop feeling satisfied and confident with your grooming. In conclusion, choosing the right barber is essential for achieving the perfect grooming experience. Whether you're looking for a classic style or a trendy haircut, a skilled and experienced barber can provide the expertise, attention to detail, and personalized service that you deserve. So take the time to research and find the top barbers in London who can meet your grooming needs and help you maintain a stylish and well-groomed appearance. The top barbers in London have a high level of expertise and skill in hair cutting, styling, and grooming techniques. They possess a deep understanding of various hair types, textures, and styles, allowing them to provide personalized and tailored services. Look for barbers who have extensive experience in the industry and have a reputation for delivering excellent results.

[xtruss]

The Ultimate Eco Building – Made of Salt, Sunflowers and Recycled Urine

Its door handles are made of salt. Its walls are made of sunflowers. Its furniture is made of Japanese knotweed. And it was stained with dyes made from filtered urine. Is this recycling marvel in southern France the future of architecture?

— Oliver Wainwright | Monday 5 June 2023

Heiress-funded … the former train sheds of the Atelier Luma. Photograph: Adrian Deweerdt/LUMA

In a former railway repair shop in the southern French city of Arles, flasks of lurid green algae are bubbling away on a shelf, in a room that looks like a cross between a modern-day laboratory and a witch’s potion-brewing den. Nearby, a 3D printer spews out curious objects made from algae-based bioplastic, while samples of algae-dyed textiles hang on a rack. Some of the walls appear to be made of rice cakes, others look like Weetabix, while some are daubed with a coat of porridgy gloop. All are natural byproducts of the local sunflower industry, the mashed-up pith and fibres redeployed as acoustic insulation. Elsewhere, there are antibacterial door handles made of salt, harvested from the region’s salt marshes; thermal insulation made from bales of local rice straw; and bathroom tiles made of waste clay from a nearby quarry.

You’ve heard of farm-to-table food? Well, this is farm-to-building architecture: the latest low-carbon weapon in the battle against the climate crisis. “We call it bioregional design,” says Jan Boelen, artistic director of Atelier Luma. Given that the built environment accounts for around 40% of global CO2 emissions, he argues it is time we embraced locally sourced, organic methods of construction. “We need to move from globalised, extractive supply chains towards regional ecosystems of materials that help regenerate the environment. Where others might see waste, we see opportunities.”

They’re working with women in Egypt to make glue-free shoes using date palm leaves and camel-hair wool

The atelier is the latest addition to Luma Arles, a vast contemporary art campus created by the Swiss billionaire collector and patron Maja Hoffmann, heiress to the Roche pharmaceutical fortune. She opened the 10-hectare park in 2021, trumpeting its arrival with a twisting metal tower by Frank Gehry. Below that, a once arid concrete expanse has been transformed into a lush oasis, and a group of 19th-century train sheds elegantly converted into exhibition halls by Annabelle Selldorf. The atelier is the final piece of the jigsaw and the most quietly radical of the lot: a living showcase of what a brave new bio-architectural future might look like.

Season to taste … a range of salt door handles, using materials sourced from nearby marshes. Photograph: Oliver Wainwright

Hoffmann grew up in Arles, where her father, Luc, was a pioneering naturalist who fought to conserve the region’s Camargue wetlands and co-founded the World Wildlife Fund. She sees Atelier Luma as a means of continuing his work, but with a productive bent. “I wanted to move forward with conservation,” she says, “without being a green conservative agent. We need to act.”

The process began with mapping the region’s resources, industries and waste products, identifying streams of both materials and local knowhow. Armed with Hoffmann’s ample funds and an open-ended brief, a team of 30 researchers – with backgrounds in product design, chemistry, sociology, biology, economics and engineering – have been probing everything from algae dyes to sunflower leather. Following extensive testing and certification, many of these experimental materials were used in the actual building. “It will never be finished,” says Boelen. “We see it as an ongoing testing ground.”

Bright idea … walls with acoustic panels made of sunflowers. Photograph: Oliver Wainwright

The conversion of the handsome stone industrial shed into the atelier’s home, christened Le Magasin Électrique, is the joint work of London-based collective Assemble and Belgian practice BC Architects. They were originally approached to compete for the job but, unusually, decided they’d do it better together. It was a wise move. Each has a long-running interest in repurposing construction waste – Assemble using “rubble-dash” render on a music venue in London, and BC making compressed blocks from earth excavated from building sites in Brussels. Through collaboration, they have upped each other’s games, creating a magical place that oozes invention.

“We saw the building itself as a quarry,” says BC’s Laurens Bekemans, explaining how broken roof tiles were reused in the floor, embedded in a slick surface of polished terrazzo to form a kind of history of the building inscribed across the ground. Internal walls are made from rammed earth using a recipe that incorporates demolition debris and limestone dust from local quarries, mixed with white clay to create a concrete-like finish – with all the strength of that material but little of the embodied carbon.

Every surface reveals how it was made. The walls stand as monolithic, rammed masses up to first floor level, their crumbly compressed layers looking like sedimentary rock; then they continue as earth bricks above, where laying smaller blocks by hand was easier. There is a model-like clarity to how the pieces go together – another function of how the project was designed.

“We tended to communicate using big models, to get around language barriers,” says Assemble’s Joe Halligan. “So the result sort of looks like a blown-up model.” He’s right: details such as the oversized wooden lintels and chunky bannisters, with their joints expressed like chubby dowels, give the place the playful air of a giant doll’s house. Assemble’s Maria Lisogorskaya explains how the long, double-height timber gallery was inspired by Lina Bo Bardi’s Teatro Oficina in São Paulo, bringing a theatrical touch to a row of workshops whose wooden structure was stained with a natural deep indigo dye.

‘We saw the building itself as a quarry’ … the roof tile terrazzo. Photograph: Oliver Wainwright

Indigo is one of the plants being grown in the tinctorial garden outside, along with cacti for cultivating cochineal bugs, which are used for red dye, all fed by recycled grey water, as well as “yellow water” from the urine-separating loos, safely filtered through cleansing algae basins.

For the opening, the atelier’s experiments in material alchemy are displayed on tables in the workshop, and the breadth is mind-boggling. Rice fibres have been woven into rope to create geo-textiles that help mitigate coastal erosion. Invasive species, like Japanese knotweed, have been turned into honeycomb panels and veneered with other invasive timbers to make furniture.

Along with the germ-fighting door handles, salt has been grown into lampshades and cladding panels by immersing wiry armatures in the marshes for a few weeks at a time. Some of the 5,000 tonnes of waste clay that a sand quarry produces each month is being turned into ceramics. If scaled up, the implications for these material streams are huge: just 5% of all the rice straw produced in France, say the researchers, would be enough to insulate every building in the country.

Going with the grain … making the rice straw bales used for thermal insulation. Photograph: © Joana Luz

Although rooted in the Camargue, the atelier has international ambitions, applying its bioregional principles to other contexts. Boelen’s philosophy is: “Materials are heavy, so they should stay local. People and ideas are light, so they should travel.” Projects include working with women in Egypt to make glue-free shoes using woven date palm leaves and camel hair wool. In the emirate of Sharjah, the team are working on natural air conditioning, using water-soaked ceramic blocks which the designers say can lower indoor air temperatures by 8C through evaporation.

Many of these partnerships come with financial incentives. Although most funding comes from Hoffmann, the atelier also operates as a consultancy to generate income. Boelen says they are working with a champagne brand – exploring how grape waste could be used for packaging – as well as “a huge European automotive group”, though he won’t go into details about that one. Might the future of transport be compostable?

The real test will be if the atelier can influence mainstream manufacturing, beyond the realm of gallery experiments and bespoke luxury products. Perhaps some of Hoffmann’s patronage could be directed towards a model social housing project? Or a college to train a new generation of bio-builders? It feels jarring to see the atelier’s eco-materials used as decorative appliqué in Gehry’s bloated tower. There is sunflower pith wallpaper in the restaurant, algae bioplastic tiles in the loos, and crusty salt cladding in the lift lobby – all seductive touches, but they do little to mitigate the untold tonnes of carbon emitted by the steel, concrete and glass leviathan that towers above.

‘I needed to capture people’s attention’ … the Frank Gehry tower, which now feels like it’s from another era. Photograph: © Adrian Deweerdt 2021

The 10-storey, €175m beacon of crumpled metal panels – a tossed-off signature from the world’s most famous dial-an-icon salesman – feels sharply at odds with Hoffmann’s professed ethos. The dissonance makes more sense when you realise she commissioned Gehry more than 15 years ago. After lengthy negotiations with Unesco, which polices Arles’ world heritage site status, Luma was eventually granted its tower – by which time it looked like an anachronism. Would she do it again?

“I needed a sculpture to capture people’s attention,” she says. “The town was gently asleep. People only came here for the old Roman city.” For all its attention-grabbing extravagance, with its jaunty windows bursting from a twisting tornado of steel, the tower is underwhelming inside, mostly housing offices and back-of-house spaces. Bewildered visitors roam its gaping spaces, climb its helical staircases and wander its swooping landings in search of the galleries – which are buried in the basement.

Still, the combined effect of Gehry on one side and Assemble and BC on the other makes Luma Arles a fascinating case study. There are few other places in the world where it is possible to witness so clearly the end of one outmoded architectural era and the optimistic dawn of another.

[news-ld]

Ben Gorham, creator of pure luxury

Ben Gorham, creator of Byredo fragrances, in Los Angeles in 2020. ARI DASH We now not actually know wherein field to place it. When he created the Byredo label in 2006, we think about Ben Gorham as an editor of area of interest perfumes with a minimalist design. Instantly, the style press fell in love with this charismatic Swede, born to a Canadian father and an Indian mom. Its timeless fragrances, impressed by private moments in life (Byredo comes from By Redolence, which might be translated as "by evocation")are a success. In France, at Colette, the primary tackle the place they're marketed, but in addition on the American market and in Asia. It is nice to scent, with out being revolutionary, and delightful to have a look at. A sort of new nonchalant luxury with delicate shapes bearing sibylline names – Eyes Closed, Rodeo, Mumbai Nostril, Bal d'Afrique – and aimed toward an viewers that doesn't put on fragrance. Learn additionally: The UFO of perfumery Along with his lengthy raven black hair, his tattoos and his athletic physique (which earned him a pose within the H&M Homme spring 2012 marketing campaign), Ben Gorham, who nonetheless lives along with his spouse and kids in Stockholm, continues to face out within the fragrance world. . Through the years, he invented a life-style label with a number of ramifications: leather-based items, house, perfumery, make-up... “Our objective is to create objects that folks connect with emotionally and that find yourself integrating simply into their lives. We aren't promoting a pre-made way of life,” says Ben Gorham. Fragrances are quickly accessible in hand lotions, hair mists and candles. However, not like different manufacturers that do not brag about their line extensions, Byredo (just lately acquired by the Puig group) needs to supply stunning and refined hygiene merchandise and makes it identified. Every season, Ben Gorham surprises by providing probably the most sudden collaborations and redefining the codes of luxury.

Epidermal refusal

The "Elevator Music" venture, a capsule assortment of baggage, perfumes, T-shirts, with a couple of denim items, developed hand in hand with Virgil Abloh (deceased in 2021), founder of Off-White and former inventive director of Louis Vuitton Homme, is an ideal instance. Extra just lately, there was the Osynlig line of candles developed with Ikea… In an virtually epidermal refusal to specialise, to lock himself in, Ben Gorham continues to discover completely different universes. As if this nice sportsman, who was on the verge of changing into knowledgeable basketball participant, always put his title on the road. All that is executed in a type of fluidity and proof. If an thought can not take life in a bottle, it materializes in any other case, in a bag or a pair of glasses. The creator of Byredo generally appears merely to have enjoyable, as when he launched the Olfactive Stereophonic speaker, a musical perfume diffuser developed by Devon Turnbull (Ojas). Her newest journey, launched a couple of weeks in the past: First Feelings, a make-up assortment underneath the course of Lucia Pica, ex-director of make-up creation at Chanel. From New York to Seoul, from Shanghai to London, Ben Gorham's little world is consistently increasing: “We have already got about 30 shops world wide and we're about to open some in Atlanta, Tokyo and London. » Retailers that at all times settle within the coolest streets of massive cities, of course. Lionel Pailles Source link Read the full article

[rakshasingh]

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[planetkiimchi]

london

no 2. of my song collection

summary — felicks always wanted to visit london. so he promised his precious sister, aurelia, that he would take her there one day. unfortunately, felicks passed away before he could take relie to london, so she went there herself to fulfill his wish.

warnings — getting drunk, cancer, death, a lot of cursing.

“Licks?” The question was soft-spoken and hung in the clean, sterile air. It was tentative, almost like no answer was expected, and accompanied by a girl with straight black hair pulled back into a high ponytail.

She looked perfectly healthy, and was dressed like she was going somewhere important. She held herself proudly, body upright and sharp features giving the impression of someone who was not to be interrupted.

However, her voice was gentle and soothing, and would have caused heads to turn if she were in a different setting. Perhaps in an office, it would have raised eyebrows.

In the hospital unit, it was a different story. Everyone had their own worries and business to mind, and a well-dressed woman with a kind voice was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, to those who were unable to get up from their beds to see her, she may have simply sounded like one of the nurses they were used to.

The man named Felicks sat up in his bed and smiled weakly. “Relie?”

Aurelia’s face lit up and she hugged her brother tightly while he looked down at her and laughed. She was still childlike whenever she saw him, and no matter how professional she was at work, whenever Felicks was around, Relie was her brother’s younger sister, first and foremost.

“Licks! You can’t fall ill, okay? You’ve got to hang on for me.”

“I don’t think that’s how cancer works, Rel,” Felicks said wryly, gazing wistfully at her as she walked over to the chair and wheeled it to Felicks’ bedside.

“Yes, it is.” Relie’s stubbornness made Felicks chuckle. Her emphasis on her words showed exactly how she felt about her brother being sick—she might have been scared for him, but she didn’t want to let it show.

“Look, just to prove you wrong, we should make a list of places you want to go, and then we’ll visit them when you’re better. And then you’ll remember, ‘Oh, Relie was right all along!’” Relie pulled out her phone and opened up the ‘Notes’ app so Felicks could see it.

“Places to visit in London,” she said aloud for his benefit as she typed in the title.

Felicks cocked his head in confusion. “Why London, specifically?”

Relie gave him an odd look. “Are you seriously asking me that question? You’ve always wanted to go to London. It’s been our dream city for years!”

She looked as if she were seeing someone else, as if Felicks had been replaced with an imposter, some stranger who didn’t know anything about their childhoods.

“Kidding, kidding. ‘Course I know why you picked London.”

Leaning over to see, Felicks jabbed at the screen and narrated, “Tourist shops around Camden town, taking a trip on the Tube, see the royal gardens, and get hella drunk. That’s my bucket list for London. I also plan to bring back flowers that we stole from a royal garden and give it to you. Y’know, as a gift.”

This was all said in one breath, and Felicks was breathing hard afterwards from the exertion. Relie was furiously typing in order to catch up to Felicks’ extensive list, and kept judging Felicks’ specific requests.

“It’s probably, like, a crime or something to steal from the royal gardens. We might get arrested,” Relie said matter-of-factly.

“Well, add that to the list then! Get arrested—or run away from the cops. Your choice.”

Relie shook her head and sighed. Usually, this was the point that she would look at her parents and shrug, as if to say, “You see the bullshit I have to put up with?” But neither of her parents had been free that afternoon, so they had visited Felicks in the morning while Relie was at work.

Nevertheless, she put it down on the list, and read out the five items for Felicks to hear. He nodded in satisfaction and laid back on the bed, settling in and shutting his eyes.

“I’ve got to sleep now, so…”

“Are you kicking me out?” Relie sounded both offended and defensive at the same time, which was, strangely enough, a combination of tones Felicks was used to hearing from his younger sister.

“Yup. See you tomorrow.” With a harrumph and a dramatic turn of her head that involved hitting her own face with her ponytail, Relie left the hospital ward in a huff, and Felicks watched her back as she walked out.

She did not, in fact, see Felicks the next day. Felicks Carter passed away that night at 1.27am on September the 3rd, from succumbing to stage four cancer. At least that was what Relie was told.

She knew deep in her heart that the truth was, Felicks was happy that day. He’d said his goodbyes. Even if he was strong enough physically to pull through, mentally he was too tired and too satisfied to want to continue fighting.

So on the fifth of September, Relie and her parents found themselves burying Felicks Carter, beloved son and older brother, as written on his headstone.

That early morning, the sky burned bright like ochre, burnt umber streaks like autumn. It was in stark contrast to the dull grey of the still-smooth headstone which bore the tragic date of Felicks’ death. His life looked so short compared to Relie’s grandparents, who had all lived to eighty or more. Felicks had died when he was only twenty three, a mere third of the life he might have lived.

Relie’s heart broke at the colour of the sky, for she did not deserve the beauty that brightened her day. She deserved to mourn and not to be merry, to cry and to weep, to let her tears streak her face as she bows her head, haunted by memories.

The cloth on her back was soft, like cotton, and she hated it. It should be stiff, like a suit that has had too much starch added to it, or scratchy, like a cheap shirt bought at a dollar sale. Yet it gives her comfort she is not worthy of. She was at a funeral where all happiness was drained; she should not be comfortable at all.

The word "wake" was such an unsuitable name for it. Felicks fell asleep, not awake, lost in a land where all ideals of paradise come true. He did not wake, he passed, spirits lifted to the heavens as his sins were hopefully forgiven.

How dare the world mock her while she mourned, silent tears slipping down her face despite how hard she tried to keep it in. The entire funeral was a blur to her, and she moved through the motions mindlessly like a robot. The wake became something she only held on to in documents and morbid thoughts.

Immediately after the Felicks’ death, Relie began preparing for a trip to London. Relie’s parents played it off as an impulse she felt the need to act on out of grief, and assisted in her planning. Her father offered to pay for it, and her mother asked if she wanted them to come.

Relie was torn between the need for space and the need for comfort, but eventually she decided that she wanted to be alone, and thanked both her parents.

The planning took several weeks, and by the time the flight and the hotel had been booked, it was three months past the date since Relie last saw Felicks alive.

The morning before her flight, she visited the graveyard and laid her head on the headstone, closing her eyes.

Smiling softly, she spoke. “Licks? It’s Relie. I hope you're happy up there, you traitor. Left us just cause you didn’t want to be bored on the hospital bed, I bet.”

Relie shook her head in exasperation. “Anyhow, because you couldn’t hold on long enough to visit London, I, your favourite sister, am going on behalf of you, to get hella drunk and hopefully not arrested.”

With that, she nodded her head to assure herself that Felicks was happy, and pressed a kiss to the headstone. She set the flower bouquet down and stood up.

“Sorry I couldn’t give you flowers from the royal gardens. If I succeed, I'll bring them back for you.”

Relie had to keep reminding herself not too look back as she left, tears already flowing down again.

The flight was quiet, lacking the familiar banter with Felicks, who always felt the need to disagree with Relie’s movie choices on the plane. For old times’ sake, Relie put on the movie “Little Women”, which Felicks had grown tired of from watching it too often.

She reclined the seat and shut her eyes, imagining Felicks’ voice complaining about the droning monotony of rewatching movies, especially how Jo shouldn’t have wanted to go back to Laurie and how that was bad character writing, since Jo March was an independent woman who a. needed no man and b. would never dare to outwardly admit that she made a rash decision.

He was right, of course, but Relie felt an instinctive pull to defend the movie, which was one of her favourites, and she always felt like an old philosopher explaining her thoughts to Felicks. (Not that it changed any of their opinions, but it just became a habit.)

She fell asleep after the movie ended, which would never have happened if Felicks was there to be a constant nuisance for her to tease, and keep them both awake from the adrenaline rush.

It felt like a fever dream when she stepped off the plane and walked through the airport in a daze, unable to believe that she was really, truly in London, England. It was a city she’d always longed to go to, heavily influenced by Felicks’ outspoken love for England.

Even the rain couldn’t dampen her spirits as Relie courageously chose to take the Underground to get to her hotel. It was late evening and it was pouring outside, but she was eager to tick at least one item off of Felicks’ list.

Everyone on the train was wearing long coats that reached to their ankles, and Relie was suddenly glad she had decided to wear a trench coat, because it was pretty cold, and she wasn’t in the mood to get splashed by water drops.

The black umbrella she had chosen gave her little problems, but it did set a somber mood for Relie’s arrival in London. She supposed it was apt, but all the same, she should have probably chosen something more colourful, so she didn’t look so drab and unhappy.

She slept fitfully, eagerly waiting for the morning to come.

Those tourists shops around Camden town. The first thing on Relie’s bucket list, excluding the late night ride she had taken on the underground, was to visit a tourist shop around Camden town.

This proved to be quite a feat, for she had to first locate Camden town and then find a way to get there from her hotel. Luckily for her, Camden was nearby, and it wasn’t difficult to flag a cab and take a ride to Camden.

Tourist shops lined the streets, many visitors to London walking along as they chatted happily with their companions. Not for the first time, Relie felt a twang in her heart at how lonely it was to be going on a vacation all on her own.

Speeding up, she strode towards one specific shop that caught her eye and browsed the various trinkets hung up along the hooks in the store. There was quite a vast collection, but Relie had one thing in mind.

“Aha!” With a satisfied flourish, Relie picked the London eye keychain off of the hook and glanced at the price. It was outrageously expensive for a simple keychain, but Relie had been expecting that. She headed to the counter to pay for it, immediately attaching it to her keyring, which already had two other keychains on it; one with a dog, for Fe‘licks’, and one with the letter ‘R’ for ‘Relie’.

She brought the keychains to her eye, noting how the silver on the ‘R’ was tarnished, and how the dog seemed slightly rusty. That was probably due to the tradition she and Felicks had, of rubbing their keychains for good luck before any major life event.

Pocketing her keyring again, Relie moved on to her second item, checking off the first.

See the royal gardens (and steal some flowers). Relie shook her head exasperatedly. It was so in-character of Felicks to come up with some daring idea, then pass away before he could accompany Relie to get it done.

Relie had one hell of a time trying to get to the royal gardens, navigating the Tube with a load of difficulty. After she finally managed to arrive, she began plotting ways to obtain flowers without being arrested. (Hopefully.)

She decided to casually stroll around the royal garden, “inspecting” the flowers. When she found some very pretty ones that she liked, she knelt on the floor and pretended to tie her shoelaces, stealthily plucking a few and placing them in her purse.

“Sorry for killing you guys, please don't wither,” she whispered guiltily to her purse before looking back up, hoping that no one had seen her.

Relie exited the gardens, and she could feel her heart pounding as she walked past the guards, knowing damn well that it was not a crime, but she definitely should not have done what she just did.

As soon as she was past the gates, she glanced down at her phone to check off the item, and smiled to herself. You are on a roll, Aurelia Carter.

Before the next item, she had to go get lunch. It was already way past midday, and would have been sweltering hot if it were not for the dense cloud cover looming ominously over the sky. 

It was most definitely going to rain soon, and Relie began making mental preparations for how she was going to get home if it was raining.

Relie opted to get a sandwich for lunch, munching on it (not very noisily, she hoped) as she looked about near the place she had gotten lunch, looking for a place she could buy some champagne.

The last item on the list was relatively easy. Get hella drunk. Relie loved this one most of all, and she knew that if Felicks were there, the two of them would definitely have caused quite a ruckus, feeding on the chaos like they absorbed explosive energy.

Dropping by a store to get a bottle of champagne, Relie saw a police car parked outside. Curious, she loitered about the store until she saw a police officer going into the car and starting the engine.

Cursing herself for not renting a car, Relie chased after the police car as it took off, earning some weird looks from passers-by. by this time, it had started drizzling, which may have been a reason that people were looking at her oddly.

She ran until she was out of breath, afraid that she might drop the glass bottle. She gathered her composure and caught her breath, sending apologetic grins to people looking at her judgmentally, before making her way back to the subway station in order to go back to the hotel.

By the time Relie had gotten dinner (a very, very filling burrito) and headed back to the hotel to retire, it was already late evening. 

She treated herself to a long, relaxing bubble bath, reclining in the bathtub as she propped her feet up. Afterwards, she brushed her teeth and went onto the bed, leaning back as she inspected the bottle of champagne.

“Huh. Fancy.” She turned it this way and that, nodding approvingly before popping the cork and pouring herself a glass. Or rather, a mug, since the hotel only provided mugs (presumably meant for hot coffee).

“Hey Felicks! Here’s to your bitch-ass and my long life. I’m so delusional,” she muttered to herself. “Talking to my dead brother. I sound like an idiot, I bet.”

She fell into silence for a short period, swirling the glass and watching the red liquid swish and slosh around.

“Well, I hope you’re happy. And here’s to me finally moving the fuck on and getting on with my life. Hope I won’t be consumed by grief and shit like that.”

With that monologue, she proceeded to down the glass, wincing at the sting before she poured herself another glass, until she had finished the entire bottle.

Mission: get hella drunk, achieved.