#save me blonde men from liverpool save me

[bbbigforehead]

'paddy the baddy pimblett' sure thing buddy

[ltwilliammowett]

Cannibalism at Sea

Introduction

Before you wonder what this is all about, please read this introduction carefully. The topic is a very special and not everyone's business and who knows me and reads my stuff regularly knows that I also work a lot with pictures,although I have largely refrained from doing so here. Well for protection reasons the whole article can be found under the read more line. It should be said that this article is about cannibalism at sea and the question whether it is allowed or not. In addition there are some case examples. Whereby I tried to write this as nice and factual as possible.

When you start looking at cannibalism at sea, you get the feeling that it's all just a horror story and that it simply can't be true. Because on a well-equipped boat on a sea full of fish it seems unimaginable that you could eat your friends and colleagues. But when things go wrong in a bad way, precedents show that the vast ocean can conjure up the spectre of "survival cannibalism" surprisingly quickly. In the 18th century, this practice was so widespread that it was known as the "custom of the sea", with some unwritten rules that seafarers in hopeless situations should follow.

The rules of the game

Drifting along the open ocean in a small open boat and facing imminent death by starvation, the moral, ethical and legal implications seem rather trivial, as confirmed by various court cases. Prior to the 19th century, cannibalism was thought to be inherent in man as a kind of instinct and was therefore excusable in extreme circumstances. However, this argument is only valid if those who consume their fellow sailors have already exhausted all other organic food sources. This includes everything from candles to shoes, other leather goods and even blankets.

But the rules of the game go much further. For example, everyone on board must agree to the act of cannibalism before the first incident occurs. And then the dead must be consumed first. Once all the dead are eaten up, they have to stick in some form, or whatever was available has to be pulled to draw lots. The unhappiest one is killed and consumed first, but the next unhappiest one is appointed as his executioner. This process must be repeated until salvation comes or death overtakes all and releases them from suffering.

Examples

The Méduse, or Medusa, was a French warship captained by Hugues Duroy de Chaumareys, an aristocrat with limited naval experience. In 1816, the warship ran aground on the Arguin Bank off of the African shore. Of the 400 people on the ship, some elected to stay aboard, while the rest escaped onto lifeboats and a large makeshift raft. The lifeboats had promised to pull the raft, but after only a few minutes at sea, they cut the rope and left the raft stranded.

During the second night at sea, all hell broke loose on the raft. Some passengers got drunk on wine (the raft's only provision, in addition to some "soggy biscuits") and 60 people were either killed or committed suicide. Over 13 days of depravity, passengers of the raft drank their own urine, ate human flesh, starved, became ill, and threw weak survivors overboard. Finally, the French ship Argus spotted the raft and saved the remaining 15 survivors, though five of these died shortly after rescue.

Raft of the Méduse

During a winter storm in December 1710, the Nottingham Galley crashed into Boon Island, located near the coast of York, Maine. The 14 surviving crew members took refuge on the desolate island, eating a seagull raw. When the ship's cook died, they pushed his body into the sea. By Christmas, two weeks had passed, and the 13 survivors sheltered from the cold under a piece of canvas sail, subsisting on bits of cheese that had floated ashore from the shipwreck and some fresh water. However, without winter clothing and the means to make fire, the men were near dying from exposure to the frigid conditions.

In the days before their rescue, the desperate men resorted to eating the corpse of the ship’s carpenter in order to survive. The captain, who had trained as a butcher, beheaded and disemboweled him then cut his flesh into strips before giving it to the crew. After 24 days on the island, help finally arrived to rescue the remaining men.

The Francis Mary was on passage from Canada to Liverpool. On February 1, 1826, the ship encountered strong winds that dislodged the two of its masts. Strong waves washed away the ship’s galley and the vessel was rendered immobile. The crew survived on cheese and bread while waiting for help to arrive. American ships got close to the Francis Mary, but could not offer assistance due to the harsh weather. The food did not last long and people started to die from starvation and lack of fresh water.

On February 22, a man by the name of James Wilson perished and was cannibalized by the crew. They cut his body into fourths and hung the flesh on pins to dry it out before eating. Before their rescue by the HMS Blonde in March, eight more men would die and have parts of their bodies eaten - including their hearts.

The Francis Mary, 1826

The Peggy was an american schooner that sailed from New York to Faial Island in the Azores in 1765. After doing some trading, the crew, including one enslaved African, started their return voyage. They didn’t get far into their journey before encountering trouble when the ship was disabled by a severe thunderstorm. The storm outlasted their rations and the men began to subsist on wine and brandy and eat a pigeon, a cat, tobacco, leather, and candles.

After exhausting all of these options, the men were forced to draw lots to decide who to kill and consume. The enslaved man supposedly drew the shortest lot, but it is speculated that the men predetermined his fate. One sailor ate his liver raw and died three days later, in a fit of madness. The others pickled and cooked the rest of his body. When no meat remained, lots were drawn again, but the crew was rescued by the Susanna just before the next sailor was due to be killed.

The Franklin Expedition, who does not know the tragic Arctic expedition of Sir John Franklin who set out in 1845 with HMS's Terror and Erebus to find the Northwest Passage. They left, and then no one heard of the ship - or the 128 men on board.

Over the years, experts have been able to piece together a story of what might have happened, but it is still not possible to do so in its entirety, as parts of the puzzle are still missing. The ships got stuck in the ice and although the crew had supplies on board, they set out to search the frozen land of King William Island for a trading post.  Some men died of hypothermia, scurvy, but probably starved to death. The Inuit claimed to have seen signs of cannibalism, such as heaps of broken human bones.  Anthropologists who studied the bones found on the island supported these stories. The men's bones were broken and covered with knife marks and also showed signs of being heated, probably to extract bone marrow. One should emphasize that, in both the case of Franklin's men, we have no indication that anyone actively sought to kill anyone else for the purpose of eating them.

A 1945 photo of skulls of some men of the Franklin Expedition, bleached white by the sun, discovered around King William Island in what is now Nunavut

The Mignonette was an English yacht purchased by lawyer Jack Want in 1884, to be sailed from Essex to Sydney. A four-man crew was assembled, consisting of Captain Tom Dudley, Edwin Stephens, Ned Brooks, and 17-year-old Richard Parker. Just weeks after the crew set sail, a wave struck the Mignonette, washing away the windward fortification, causing the ship to rapidly sink and forcing the crew to escape onto a 13-foot dinghy. They were unable to bring any fresh water or food with them, beyond two tins of turnips.

The crew survived for days on turnips, urine, and an unlucky turtle, but they were becoming desperate. Tom Dudley introduced the idea of killing and eating Parker, who had become ill and unconscious from drinking seawater. The perpetrators assumed that Parker's blood would be more edible if he did not die a natural death but was killed. Stephens and Brooks agreed to it, though Brooks refused later to participate. The three men devoured Parker’s body; it kept them alive for weeks until the German barque, Montezuma, found the men after 24 days at sea.

The end of Richard Parker

Change in legislation

With the case of the Mignonette everything changed, whether it was because one did not see here the correct following of the rules as assumed or simply the feeling of such an act as a custom to watch simply no longer there. The Vicorian Era had a very different view of morality and considered many things to be outdated and babaric, so it is quite possible that this new moral perception played a big role.

The three survivors were brought to justice and although the whole population stood behind them and their actions, the three survivors were not allowed to go to court. The three were convicted of murder and should be punished by hanging. However, due to the resistance of the population, the punishment was changed to six months in prison. The three survivors never accepted this punishment.  But from then on the custom of the sea was no longer exempt from punishment, instead it is now mostly punished by imprisonment.

[fuckingthefictional]

Cross my heart - part 1

Warnings: the extensive use of the word fuck, war, (probably) historical inaccuracies.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fenton!OFC, platonic!John Shelby x OFC.

Read Part 2 here

The station was practically empty, only a few stray people lingered around the grimy platforms. Ready to escape the hellish streets of Birmingham, although no major city was any better. London was just as much if not more of a shithole, as was Liverpool now that Eliza thought about it.

But Birmingham was the worst. It was dirty and crime-riddled and unless you had the money (which most did not) you were almost entirely fucked.

Eliza Fenton grew up with her brother in Small Heath. Harry, was a good few years older than she was and he was always supportive of the actions and plans in her life.

He was there right by her side when she was accepted into aviation school, he knew about her dream to become a pilot. Harry was always there, always there to support you.

Well - most of the time. Enlisting in the war as a pilot was the only time Harry had been completely against an idea of hers.

The fact that she, a young woman, had even been allowed to enlist was enough of a reason for Eliza to sign up. She knew she was a damn good pilot and she never turned down an opportunity to prove herself.

So on the 7th of August 1914, Eliza Fenton enlisted into the 35th RFC squadron. At first, when she arrived at the base it was strange- it was foreign and new. A lot of the other pilots didn’t understand why there was a woman on site.

Eventually, they understood why- Eliza was the best at routine checks, mechanics and overall fighting skills.

Little Tigress they’d call her- Small but feisty.

When Eliza came back to Small Heath, it was nice to see that not much had changed. The streets were still stained with ash, and the people were still absolutely fucking horrible.

It may look the same, but Eliza knew better than that- she knew that everything had changed.

That the men were all struggling to keep up their jobs because of the trauma from the battlefield. That the wives and widows were struggling to keep their heads above the water as the financial weight kept pressing down onto them.That the children would cry out to their fathers and brothers, not knowing they would never get a response. As much as everyone didn’t want to admit, the war had changed the people and not for the better either.

//

Opening the door to the garrison, Eliza allowed herself to become familiar with the loud chatter and smoky atmosphere. She didn’t know how much she had missed the pub before- how much of a comfort the rowdy crowds were.

She walked up to the bar, watching as a young blonde-haired woman served up drinks.

‘She’s new’ Eliza thought to herself. But to her left, she could see the back of her brother’s head, Harry was making small talk through the hatch to the private room.

That could only mean one thing. At least one of the Shelby’s were here.

As much as Eliza hated to remember, the memories kept flooding back in ongoing waves. But she pushed it into the back of her mind.

Instead, the brown-haired beauty walked behind the bar, she had always been allowed behind it- considering she was the sibling of the owner. But as soon as Eliza stepped foot in the area that was off-limits to the patrons, she felt a strong grip on her arm.

“You can’t be back here, Miss.”

Eliza looked up to see the blonde barmaid, she stared coldly at the woman. There was something about her that made Eliza’s body tingle with mistrust.

Ripping her arm away, she continued her walk to her brother. Eliza found herself picking up a bottle of whiskey from under the counter and unscrewing the cap, she took a large swig. The liquid burned her throat but warmed her insides.

The Irish voice spoke again, “Look if you don’t get out from behind the counter. I’ll be forced to ask you to leave.”

Eliza just chuckled, “Aye, good luck trying love.”

The small argument had obviously caught the attention of a few of the drinkers of the Garrison. It slowly fell hushed and the men at the end of the bar turned to face the two women.

Eliza smirked at her brother, “Afternoon, you ugly bastard.”

“Liza?”, Harry paced over and embraced his younger sister in his arms. They swayed gently and soon broke apart. The barman held the young woman at arm's length checking her over for injuries. “You’re back for good, Aye?”

“Aye- I’m back for good.”

//

“Why’d it take you so long to come back?”

They were sat in the private room, it had been left empty after the oldest Shelby left to conduct “business”. It was now occupied by the two Fenton siblings.

“Bloody war office.” Eliza inhaled deeply, the cigarette smoke-filled her lungs, “They said they couldn’t give me a Victoria Cross- said it’d cause too much controversy, ‘cos I’m a bloody woman.”

A look of anger washed across her brother's face, “Bloody bastards, half of ‘em didn’t even go through what you an’ our boys did. Bloody cowards the lot of ‘em.”

Eliza nodded her head in agreement and silently took out a small stack of letters from her purse, she handed them to Harry and motioned for him to read them.

She watched as his eyes skimmed through the writing, his face contorted in anger as he read the contents.

“Fucking, bloody bastards!”

Eliza just replied with a simple shrug, as she watched her older brother rant.

“What do they think their playing at ‘ay? Bloody bastards know what you did for our fuckin’ country for fuck's sake and they can’t even publically acknowledge it.”

Harry was pacing at this point, his hands flailing wildly in anger, “What horseshit! ‘We regret to inform you that your services on March 7th, 1917 must stay within your person.’ They make you sound like a fucking whore- not a bloody soldier.”

“Who sounds like a whore Harry?” A cold voice came from the doorway. Thomas fucking Shelby.

“Ah sorry Mr Shelby, I was just off on one. It’s a family matter you see, government are being bastards.”

Eliza snorted, “When are they not being bloody bastards Haz?”

Her soft voice caught the attention of the middle Shelby. He smirked slightly, “I like her.”

He walked into the room as Eliza began to put away her things, the opening of the door indicated the appearances of the other Shelby brothers.

“Eliza bloody Fenton!”

Eliza’s head shot up at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Y’alright Johnny boy? Still a pompous prick I see.”

The two other brothers looked at the woman incredulously, ready to come to their youngest brothers defense.

John just barked out a laugh, “and you’re still a frigid bitch.” Eliza laughed softly as John wrapped an arm around his old friend, “I say we need a bottle of whiskey and a catch-up.”

Tommy, knocked on the hatch, only for it to be opened by the blonde-haired girl. She glared at Eliza, jealousy radiated off of her face.

“Aye up Grace, can we get some whiskeys in here?”

‘Grace’ nodded silently a flirty smile working its way to her lips. Eliza just rolled her eyes.

John’s voice pulled her back to the room, “So how’ve you been El?”

Eliza let herself laugh, “Oh brilliant,” she said sarcastically, “The post-trauma just really makes my life amazing.”

“That’s what you get when ya’ sleep with our John.”

The youngest Shelby glared at his brother and a low rumbling of laughter momentarily shook the room, as the two older siblings looked back at the young woman sat next to John

“And how do you know our John ‘ay?”

This time it was Eliza and John who shared a look.

Eliza cleared her throat, “We were stationed together for a bit, in France. I saved good old Johnny’s arse on the field.”

Arthur and Tommy just turned to look at John, seeking the truth from their brother. John just gave them a nod- rendering your story to be true.

“Eliza Fenton, flight Seargent and lieutenant of the 35th squadron of the RFC.” She introduced herself and saluted jokingly.

“Some of her squadron were pulled in for ground support in the Somme, Eliza shot down a most of the German artillery men who were shooting at us.” John expanded on his friend’s wartime legacy, “Saved my arse on several occasions.” He clarified.

The room was silent for a moment before Tommy spoke up, “Well I suppose we owe you one Miss Fenton, We’re forever grateful for you actions and saving our John.”

“It’s no problem really. He’d of done it for me.” The sentiment was cut short when Harry knocked on the door and returned with the remaining letters, he was angrily muttering to himself.

“Harry!”

The older brother was red in the face, “I’ll fucking kill them- I swear it!” He slammed the letters on the table.

“You need to calm down.” Eliza chastised her brother, “There’s nothing we can do- believe me I’ve bloody tried.”

She took another deep inhale from the cigarette between her fingers, “there’s no point getting into a piss when you can’t change their minds- just let it go for now, aye?”

Harry just turned and exited the room mumbling profanities under his breath.

“The fuck was that about?”

The pilot turned to her friend, “Read these. They’ll explain everything.”

//

John had the same reaction as Harry.

“What a fuckin’ pisstake.”

Eliza rubbed her temples- it was like deja vu.

“They won’t award you a Victoria cross because you’re a fuckin’ woman.”

She just sighed again, “I always found it funny though- they didn’t even want to give me my fuckin’ ranks when I was over there. Even though I worked hard for the fucking things.” Eliza found herself reaching for the crystal glass once more, “the fuckin’ polish artillery squadron gave a bloody bear a rank with no issue.” The liquid burnt her throat, “but me? It might’ve caused controversy so they took their bloody time deciding.”

“It’s fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Eliza laughed shortly, “you’re tellin’ me. And after all the shit I went through too.”

The girl took a short breath, “look there's absolutely no point in getting annoyed over something out of our control- we’d just be wasting time on something other than getting piss drunk.”

Arthur sent a smirk over in her direction, “I like the way this one thinks.”

//

The rest of the night consisted of the Shelby boys and Fenton girl, knocking back countless bottles of alcohol. It was a nice feeling, to be carefree and not have to worry about the past or future.

Although Eliza had a high alcohol tolerance- she could safely admit that the Shelby brothers were several levels higher than her on the drinking scale.

And if there was one thing that Eliza Fenton knew- it was never to try and outdrink a Shelby.

She knew her limits, and after the 8th round of drinks, Eliza decided to settle instead for her hand-rolled cigarettes.

She and John caught up over the course of the evening- Christ, even Arthur was engaging in conversation.

But the one thing Eliza couldn’t shake off was the cool and calculating gaze from the middle brother. Thomas had barely spoken two words since they’d started drinking.

Any other girl would have been put off by that fact, but Eliza was different. She wasn't there to impress the men of the garrison, she wasn’t beckoning for the attention either.

And yet here she was with Tommy’s full attention and gaze on her frame. Watching her like a meal, or how a predator would look at their prey. Eliza was aware of their past meetings together, even if Tommy didn’t.

[tardis-sapphics]

so @doctorthasmin sent me a soft!prompt

@doctorthasmin: Okay, here’s the softest prompt I’ve got, proper detailed little head massage for the Doctor after a little whump. I want the description to give me a ASMR contact high it’s so tingly cute!

so, here, here’s a troubled navy ship crew from ~1700s and a well-deserved head massage, in ‘i wish you lived like you’re made of glass’ . the title is taken from 5am by amber run, which you might want to listen to whilst reading this piece. i’d personally suggest listening to hounds by ry x.

tw: mention of period-specific racism, period-specific sexism

Moments of violence are self-absorbed.

The present has no desire to listen to the quieter moments, unless they are already brimming with a horrible anticipation. Attention paid to these reminders of being alive become in some way detrimental to the very existence of them. Those reminders are refused agency, no longer allowed to exist as themselves. Everything must become a correlation, if not a cause, to the terrible tension; failing that, the present must attribute it to pathetic fallacy. Little things are no longer allowed to be themselves, but a whisper of what is to come. A warning, not in its intention, but prescribed to it, forbidden to anything else.

All of the quiet things, the little things: the creak of wood, fine wood from the docks of Liverpool but still pressured by the intensity of the sea. It forgot dryness as soon as it set off from land. The cough of a soldier, hurrying up to the imminent end of the moment; a hurrying up of the soldier’s moment. These are fake menances, ascribed by the desperation hanging in salty air as thick as the fog that stalks them.

Raindrops, in most other moments, arrive tender. Cool grace on cheeks; the splash perfectly round, perfectly crowned, in self-same puddles. The sound of it a sigh, a blessing on Mother Nature’s children. The clouds hum to them: we give you life. They have turned their backs on moderation, now, and their deluge is immovable and frightening. All fires blow out, all burning sensation eliminated – except for the one the moment needs. That terrible anticipation.

But then, all moments of violence are self-absorbed that way.

Cruelty thrives in atmospheres tended to by the cold of heart. Drowned by rain they no longer know the meaning of it, their uniforms ratty and falling apart, they have deserted human kindness for its inability to turn up. Decorum has been long hammered out of these men – but for the fear drilled into them by their officers, they would mutiny. All that exists to them now is the destination, to be reached across miles and miles of heavy emptiness.

Seagulls cry. Rats squeal in corridors and bite on gangrenous toes. Light stays elusive. Trapped in the roar of the storm, the exotic lands of tomorrow seems to never arrive. A dream faded, life narrows down to maintaining the functions of the ship; the groan and creak of every man and his job; the paltry, soggy food; and the persistent smell of dead shipmates. Every man is sick to death of sailing. Every man is sick to death of men. Every man is sick to death, eventually. For some, it cannot come quick enough.

The intrusion is welcome at first. Four people, arriving in the middle of a storm! Two men, one old – and sure to die quick – and one sturdy young black man. A good servant to the Captain, perhaps, and a boost of energy for the soldiers. But the bigger surprise – two women! An exotic delight, the headstrong nature of the woman untamed; and a strange, eccentric lady – a devil to catch. The challenge breathes new life into the boys, tired of themselves and each other; some of the soldiers thank God for the appearance of these beautiful creatures.

The runaways are strange, from distant lands with improper clothes yet recognisably English; out of place and out of time, and decidedly out of manners. Whatever their reason for boarding so impossibly, they are not at all what the Navy soldiers require.

Novelty wears off easily, like drying paint caught out in the rain. Obscure explanations and fiery tempers unbefitting to custom strike matches in the minds of despairing men plagued by tedium. Neither transience nor return are an option, not in such stormy waters – at least, by the strangers’ directive. On a strange ship in stormy seas, there is nowhere to go but down.

The last strike that ignites the bonfire is the devil-woman’s trespass into the Captain’s quarters. Charm and mystery are not enough to save her. Fire spreads in the hearts of angry men. These are traitors to the Crown, with the audacity to steal from the British Navy’s finest ships.

A standard punishment for a runaway thief would be too slow. But the men have not had fun in so long. What are a few kicks to a woman sentenced to die? Power soothes and satisfies more than the sharp lick of alcohol; it dizzies a man more soundly too. The others, to be afterwards put to work, must watch their friend plunge to the freezing below.

The rain soaks their foreign clothes to a limpness, rubbing at the rusty shackles clamped over their wrists. Their captors cough over the strangers’ shoulders – mouths open, rattling in rib cages where hearts once warmed their chests. The weak hacking becomes a drumbeat for the execution. No peace is given to the silence.

Everything devoured by a greedy anticipation. Hearts in throats, they watch on in terror – refusing to acknowledge finality. At the same time, they are scared of it. They are alive, but at what cost? Desperation and fear swirl in the wet fog, the lock of eyes wide, pleading with God not to murder the Doctor like this – not by the hand of heartless soldiers no better than pirates.

She goes under.

Too many moments later, the pulsing manifestation of the TARDIS around them. Soldiers scream witchcraft and desert their captives in order to escape, their footprints landing alternately on metal floor and sodden wooden planks. Safe in their world, they must watch on as the TARDIS retreats to the safety of the Time Vortex.

Horror and rage subside like calm waters at the sight of the Doctor propped up at the console, her sonic screwdriver in one hand and the treasure in another. She is beaten, a patchwork of blood colours, dripping wet – but faithfully alive.

She has preserved the last of her energy only to free them of their shackles. Then consciousness abandons her. She is taken to bed in Yaz’s arms.

Rain returns to itself, on planets far away, and the deep breaths of quiet moments do not tremble with the knowledge of inevitability. In amongst the knick-knacks of the Doctor’s bedroom, her coat hung up to dry on the back of the door, Yaz has situated herself at the foot of the bed. She is the sole overseer, having been the first to shower and warm up. Now she sits alone, watching the Doctor rest.

Her sight makes journeys on the Doctor’s physicality, coming back to the same cuts and bruises scattered along her body to see the tender skin lighter, stronger. The healing process happening in real time, right before Yaz’s eyes. With so much work happening, peaceful sleep must be an illusion. Yet the drama of the day is not marked by restlessness, either. It manifests in the image of her; and in the slight creases between the brows.

Yaz has moved closer to the Doctor’s head. Her palms have rested on the curve of her face for so long she has forgotten time itself. Her fingers have deigned to smooth the frown lines away, without success. But it doesn’t matter. The Doctor is here. Alive and healing and successful.

She wonders what they’re going to do with the alien quad-photon fuse-reactor.

An hour more, and the Doctor wakes. She looks gaunt; still, she has vastly improved. But for the yellow and deep pinks smattered across the canvas of her body, there would be no other evidence of their near-miss. It does not seep through in her countenance, though in Yaz’s it does; the hug she gives the Doctor is rushed into, and deep – but not tight.

‘We thought you’d drowned!’ Yaz gasps.

The Doctor chuckles. ‘Me? Nah, never.’

The moment manifests. A suppressed yawn and a reluctance to let go entirely are the first clues. Then there is the hum of air around them, no longer only itself. Breaths amplify themselves. Soft cotton moves against itself and hints its depths, warmed by the sleeping Doctor.

‘I should get the others,’ Yaz murmurs.

The Doctor keeps a grip on Yaz’s arm. The moment is a sweet comfort. ‘Not yet,’ she pleads. ‘Just for now, Yaz. It’s – it’s nice to have you alone.’

‘Okay,’ Yaz says, because it is nice to be alone with her.

The moment has manifested as a them moment, a time they glimpse only in snatches, and its prolonging brings their gravities to fold onto another, to situate and settle. The conversation starts calmly, and drifts between currents with no landing in mind. The air is warm and the flying slow. They wrap themselves up in it, the soaring known to them after their first conversation, the first tumble out of the nest. How smooth it sails now, on the streams of familiarity.

Mentions of the fuse-reactor are interspersed throughout, but never examined, never prodded. It is contentment enough to breathe the same spaces, occupy few worries. They can come later. They always come later.

Wrapped up in it, Yaz barely notices her arms move, doesn’t register the decision. But they move, despite no expressed permission. All she goes on is the imprint of a feeling, a possibility of existence formed in the same way a footprint is pressed into sand.

Words continue. Yaz’s fingers thread through fine blonde strands falling away from the back of the Doctor’s skull. Reaching further, where she knows blonde will fade into brown at the roots, they push forward until the soft round ends of her fingertips bump into solid scalp. A low sound emanates from somewhere in the Doctor’s throat. An amalgamation of instinctive emotions.

Yaz never once falters in the point she is trying to articulate out loud, even as she continues comforting the Doctor, slowly, slowly, with the head massage. Her fingertips are soft and flat on the Doctor’s head as they stretch out. The spaces between them widen, curling around the ears, then traverse to the dip of her slender neck. A shiver. Heat trapped amongst hair strands dissipates as her fingertips push forward, leaving trails of cool comfort in their wake.

Up close to the top of the Doctor’s skull, Yaz’s fingers bend in on themselves, scratching lightly in lieu of massaging. The Doctor hums again, and her head lolls back. She is melting under it, the remnant tension easing out of lightly bruised shoulders. Yaz smiles.

Her hands move round, reaching the temples and massaging there. If she looks close enough, she can see the minute hairs on the back of the Doctor’s neck stand up to attention. In synchronised circles, she brings her hands to the middle and round, working the same pattern, to the back of her head. They trail down to the slope of her neck once more, and the Doctor breaks out into a shiver again.

Yaz wants to laugh at that, but sound got lost in the descended quiet. She believes it best to leave it there. Her hands slide down from the back of the Doctor’s neck to her shoulders, then down again until they are close enough to her own body to return.

Deprived of touch, the Doctor mewls. But she is half-asleep already, her eyes closed, and still healing. So she settles back down onto her pillows, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Without thought, she grabs onto Yaz’s hand. In slumber, she slackens, and tender pink skin lashed on her cheek lightens into cream.

Yaz watches her, and thinks of sunbeams amongst thick clouds. Neither holy nor a sign, just beautiful in themselves.

And she is absorbed by it.

[brauthaalandfc]

Manchester City Player Ratings 2018/19

I got bored and decided to write a lil review of Manchester City players this season. Hope you enjoy and feel free to discuss.

Warning: may be biased

Ederson: 9/10  Keeping this one short and simple, just like Eddie’s passes from the back. What more do you want from a keeper? He can give you assists, great saves, and is willing to run half way up the pitch to defend his teammates. Took one point off him because he didn’t score. Maybe next season. 

Kyle Walker: 7.5/10 The English idiot definitely got tired around christmas time with a few dodgy games which I guess is understandable given the fact the he hadn’t really stopped playing for over a year with the World Cup and so on and he might have been the England crackhead but overall I think Kyle did well. Especially during the last few games, I thought that he played really well. I think it was Crystal Palace away that he probably had one of his best games. I hope he rests well over summer and can continue that form next season. 

Danilo: 7/10 When Kyle was too busy snorting coke (just kidding, don’t kill me), Danilo played really well in his place. Although he isn’t as quick or as direct as Kyle, he provided a composure and control that sometimes Kyle lacks. He didn’t really make any big mistakes when playing, and I would have given him a higher score if he played a little more. There has been rumours of him leaving and I hope these are not true because he is a pretty solid back up at right back and is Bernardo’s favourite person to annoy.

Oleksandr Zinchenko: 8/10 Am I crazy giving him a higher rating than Kyle? Probably. But I love to spread appreciation for my unproblematic little blonde ukrainian! Last summer he was linked heavily to Wolves- it looked highly probable that that was were he was going to end up this season. However, he decided to stay and fight for his place at Manchester City and I am so bloody glad that he did! When Ben got injured and Delph was...you know... being Delph, Zinnie stepped up and performed at left back (not his natural position!!) and played at a higher standard than any of us would have thought! I really admire his determination and confidence in himself to stay and fight to get into the first team. You can tell he works hard always and really loves and appreciates all his teammates. I have loved watching the little shy KDB lookalike grow and blossom into a more confident young man. Hopefully there is much more to come from this bundle of joy. We could all learn from Oleksandr Zinchenko!

Fabian Delph: 3/10 I might be a bit harsh here but literally, when did he forget the basics of football? Man preached it in All or Nothing but couldn’t practice it irl. Deplhy was a breakthrough last season and played well when Mendy got injured (yes, again). But this season... I don’t know what he was up to. Most games he played, we lost. I honestly have no clue what made him snap like that vs Leicester but bitch... calm down!! Is it harsh to say I don’t think he played well once this season? Well, I am saying it. Don’t get me wrong, I will be sad if he leaves this summer. He most definitely has passion, and whilst sometimes that leads to him perhaps being too emotional on the pitch, I appreciate it and is a popular character in the dressing room that will be missed. He has given a lot for the club in recent years but I’m afraid I see no future for him here. No more Delph every weekend :( 

Benjamin Mendy: 5/10 I have a soft spot for Mendy, can you tell? You’re probably thinking 5 is too high but I will tell you why. He played 10 games this season and got 5 assists during that time. That’s an assist every second game (if I have done my maths right). In the early stages of the season, there was no doubt that he was one of our most effective players. I was at the home game vs Huddersfield in August and I thought he played so well that game, bombing up the wing every time. He got an assist too, if I remember correctly? His crosses are insane and watching him live was a (rare) blessing! This makes it hurt even more knowing he got injured. It is obvious that Ben has so much potential and has bags of talent however, injuries seem to haunt him. Along with his occasion lax judgement and lack of concentration, he finds himself in difficult situations. It breaks my heart of the stories leaking from the training ground of him breaking down in tears. I cannot be easy for a young footballer to go through so many injuries when they are at a club that is constantly winning and breaking records, where you can watch your teammates win things and have fun with each other whilst you are stuck inside with your leg in a cast. My heart breaks for him and I hope that next season, these injuries no longer take over him and he can have a season to finally show why he is one of the best left backs in the world.

Aymeric Laporte: 9/10 There has been a lot of hype around Van Dijk this season (and rightly so) however, Aymeric hasn’t received as much attention and I think that is slightly unfair. Laporte, in my opinion, is not that far behind Van Dijk and is nowhere near his peak quite yet. I think that Aymeric has been one of our best and most important players this season. He is always reliable in defence and has probably been our first choice CB this season. Not to mention, he scored that header against Brighton that put us back in front and on the way to the title. I believe that Aymeric is an amazingly talented CB that will only improve over these next few seasons, and who knows, he might one day become the best CB in the league. 

Nicolas Otamendi: 6.5/10 Nico was so so good for us last year and offers us more physicality at CB in comparison to Stones and Laporte, however he hasn’t really stood out this season. Despite this, I don’t think he has done much wrong? He has been largely reliable when called upon to help out the team and I really can’t fault him for that. Like Danilo, he was been linked with a move elsewhere but I hope that he doesn’t move. Like I said, he is more physical than Stones and Laporte and sometimes I feel like we need that, and with Vinnie leaving I don’t think it is wise to let another CB go when I don’t feel academy players like Garcia are ready for that jump up yet. Oh and he has a good beard so I bumped him up from an initial 6. 

John Stones: 7.5/10 It has been a bit of a weird season for Stonsey, hasn’t it? At the beginning of the season, he was playing loads and was dead good. However, after THAT moment vs Liverpool he seemed to fade away a little and it looked like Pep prefered to play Vinnie and Laporte over him nearing the end of the season when it was tense. He still played a little though. sometimes coming on to play as a defensive midfielder kind of position and didn’t really make any mistakes there which I guess shows him maturing as an all round player and reveals just how much Pep trusts him and sees potential in him. I expect him to play a lot more next season and continue to grow as a central... sorry centre back.

Vincent Kompany: 8/10 I was considering giving him a 10/10 just for that goal vs Leicester but I am keeping that score for someone else ;) What can I say about this man that hasn’t already been said? He is a Manchester City and Premier League legend. He captained this team to a domestic treble, an achievement never done in Men’s English football. Pep trusted him at the most important part of the season and it turned out to be the correct decision with that thunderbolt against Leicester (honestly, I cried). His season was kinda the opposite to Stonsey’s, he didn’t play much in the beginning of the season but played a lot in the second half. I’m so glad he got a run of games without injuries and got to play a pivotal role in the season’s outcome. He went out on a high and I wish him all the best in his new role at Anderlecht, as long as he comes back sometime soon. Captain. Leader. Legend.

Fernandinho: 8.5/10 I think it says a lot about the importance of Fernandinho to this Manchester City team that when we lost two games back to back in December, Fernandinho was missing. He is crucial to the way in which we play, and he plays his role so effectively and in a composed and sophisticated manner. He is like the unsung hero of the team. So why didn’t I give him a 9 or a 10? Whilst he has been reliable for large parts of the season, sometimes I feel like the game gets to him a little. The best example of that was vs Newcastle where he gave away the penalty that could have cost us the league. Luckily it didn’t but usually he does not make them mistakes but sometimes when we are under pressure, he can let out his frustrations. Regardless of that, I think he has done an immense job yet again this season. Despite getting a few injuries and frustration clouding his better judgement, he is still one of our best players. 

Ilkay Gundogan: 8.5/10 I was soooo gutted when we signed him in 2016 and he then proceeded to have that season ended prematurely due to injuries because I was so excited to see him play for Manchester City. However, I feel like we got to see the best of Ilkay Gundogan this season. Whilst sometimes I scream at him for continuously passing backwards some games, his reading and intelligence of the game is probably one of the best in the squad. When Dinho picked up a few injuries near the end of the season, I thought that was our title dreams over, however Ilkay decided to prove me wrong and deliver amazing performances when we needed him most. Sometimes City fans on Twitter give him stick but I genuinely believe that he is a massive talent for us and is fully capable of playing that Dinho role if we need him to.

David Silva: 7/10 There is a case to be made that David Silva is best ever player to put on a City shirt however, this season wasn’t his best. He started off well, and that free kick against Huddersfield was amazing! But gradually, he became slower and less like the el mago that we all know and love to watch. He would give the ball away cheaply and occasionally pick the wrong pass or just slow down play altogether. Even I was getting a little bit tired of Pep playing him ahead of a faster and more direct Leroy Sane. But at the Manchester Derby at Old Trafford, he did what David Silva usually does, and made the game his own. He was so so good that night and helped to keep the calm and control that game, even when we were looking a little bit shaky. Despite this, he did look tired most of the season. I really hope that was just Pep overplaying him because of Kev’s injury and that he isn’t losing his legs because I’m not ready to let go of him yet.

Phil Foden: 7/10 Now, me saying that Phil and David were both 7′s this season, does not mean that I think that they were at the same level this season. Of course, David played at a higher level than Phil. It just means that Phil’s standards are understandably lower than David’s. However, Phil did amazingly this season despite his situation. He is in a team, competing for a place with players like David Silva, Ilkay Gundogan, Kevin De Bruyne and Bernardo Silva. So I think we were all surprised when the team news came out for the Spurs game and he was there. No, not on the bench but in the starting eleven. An eighteen year old boyhood fan starting a game for Manchester City! Against a top 4 team! In a tight title race! Not only that but he scored and played maturely for his age. I am incredibly proud of my lil baby Phil (even though he has a baby now). He started and played in more games than I would have anticipated. All of his time spent patiently waiting for his chance and training alongside his hero, has paid off! I hope he will get even more game time next season, showing us all why he has the nickname Stockport Iniesta!

Kevin De Bruyne: 7.5/10 This is a difficult one. Kevin has had a difficult season. It seemed that whenever he would finally hit form, he would get injured again. I cannot imagine how difficult that would have been for him. It was saddening as a fan who loves to watch him play that we never really got to see the best of Kevin De Bruyne, We saw glinces of it in the FA Cup final but it was a little too late. There is no doubt that Kevin is a world class player, but unfortunately we haven’t been able to witness that this season. Despite this, when he did play he definitely had an impact. We are a better team with Kevin De Bruyne in it. No arguments about that. I hope next season he is back to his normal self, assisting and scoring when we need him most.

Bernardo Silva: 10/10 Ah, here we go. Brace yourselves, this could be a long one. I LOVE BERNARDO SILVA. In my opinion, he has been the best player in the Premier League this season AND should be in top 3 for Ballon d’Or. Am I being incredibly biased and over reactionary? Probably, yes. But am I wrong? No. Bernardo Silva has everything. He runs 12-14km a game. He never stops. He can dribble like Messi. Yes, like Messi. He dribbles like Messi. He can cross balls into the box. He can run halfway across the pitch just to tackle someone off the ball. He took on Virgil Van Dijk. 5′6 Bernardo Silva decided to get in a battle with 6′3 Virgil Van Dijk. Can we just take a moment to appreciate him in that game against Liverpool? He ran and ran and ran until he covered every single inch of the pitch that night. He wanted to win more than anyone and it showed. And let’s talk about his passion.  He celebrates every Manchester City goal like a madman, running across to the goalscorer and pulling the craziest of faces. And his goal celebration at Old Trafford? ICONIC. He did a knee-slide at Old Trafford in front of the City fans. Twenty years ago, and he would be considered a City legend for that alone. But he is on his way to becoming one of Manchester City’s all time best. I mean, his chant is already one of the best! I cannot fault any part of his season. Maybe he could have scored and assisted more? Meh I don’t care, his work rate earns him something more than just goals: the fans hearts. He has the potential to become one of the best in the world and I am so glad he is at Manchester City and has committed his future to us. 

Raheem Sterling: 9/10 Raheem has matured so much this season. Not just on the pitch, but off the pitch too. He has become a great influence and inspiration for those who have to suffer through racial discrimination and horrid racist attitudes. Whilst he has always been this person, it has taken the media this long to recognise this and praise him for it. I am happy that finally he is getting the positive recognition that he deserves. And he has deserved it this season. Each season he seems to grow more and more confident in himself, scoring and assisting more often. I can only see him growing from here and becoming even better. Only thing that is missing is his goal at Anfield, winning our first game there since 2003 ;)

Riyad Mahrez: 6.5/10 I think that it was always going to be difficult for Riyad this season. Our wingers: Raz, Leroy and Bernardo are all well suited to Pep’s style and the players around them. He needed time to adapt and learn. Overall, I feel like he dealt with it quite well. Yes, he missed that penalty at Anfield but he won us points at games where we were struggling slightly like Bournemouth. He did end up missing a lot of game time due to just how good Raz and Bernardo have been this season, he couldn’t really get a look into the team. And how many other players would to be honest? Although, I do feel he could have done better for a first season in a team like this, he has coped well and integrated into the team nicely. Hopefully he can have a breakthrough like Bernardo next season!

Leroy Sane: 6.5/10 I feel like Leroy would get a far greater rating if Pep played him a little bit more but I guess Pep had his reasons and that is understandable. Leroy, for me, is one of the best young players in the world. He has so much talent and potential. He offers something different from the other wingers in the team and can cause defences to have nightmares. And on top of that, this season we discovered that he is dangerous from free kicks too. But as I said, Pep didn’t play him as much as he could have. I guess Pep and Sane have their own problems and I hope it can be solved because Leroy is one to keep here at City. He has a huge future ahead of him and I would be massively disappointed if we lost him. 

Gabriel Jesus: 6/10 Gabi is the the same kind of situation as Riyad and Leroy. I think he has so much potential at this club however, his game time is limited due to the fact that he has to compete with Sergio Aguero, possibly one of the best strikers to play in the Premier League. It is a massive ask for Gabriel at his age. However, I think he has shown enough this season and seasons prior that he is a talented player who fits in this team perfectly. His workrate is perfect and I can see him becoming an important player for us in the future.

Sergio Aguero: 9.5/10 If you ever need a goal, Sergio is the player to go to. This man got back to back Premier League hat tricks against Arsenal and Chelsea IN THE SAME WEEK. Unfortunately, he just missed out on the Golden Boot, however he scored incredibly important goals for us this season. The goal vs Burnley, the one vs Liverpool and the one vs Brighton are just three examples. He is always there when we need him. And that is why I put him as the second highest rated. (sorry Raz I still love you xx)

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 36 (Multi Liverpool players)

[billdecker]

2018.

 Here we are with the films list again. Bold = watched first time. 

Films.

The English Patient

The BFG

Anna Karenina [1967]

King Kong [2005]

54

Henry VIII and his Six Wives [1972]

The Disaster Artist

Napoleon Dynamite

The Addams Family

Kong: Skull Island

Justice League

The Addams Family Values

Johnny English

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle

Wayne’s World

Lady Bird

Westworld

Carol

Green Lantern 

England is Mine

Rush Hour

Pride and Prejudice [2005]

Call Me By Your Name

The Greatest Showman

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Dante’s Peak

Only Lovers Left Alive

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Blade Runner

Moonrise Kingdom

Clue

Get Smart

Darkest Hour

Blade Runner 2049

Lost in Translation

The Talented Mr. Ripley

The Lego Movie

Anchorman

The Shape of Water

Get Out

San Andreas

The Beguiled

Lady Chatterley’s Lover [1981]

Interview With a Vampire

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Song to Song

Atonement

La La Land

Drop Dead Fred

Attack the Block

Another Mother’s Son

I, Tonya

The Sense of an Ending

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Cold Mountain

Step Up

The Founder

The Fugitive

The Promise

Papadopoulos and Sons

Rob Roy

The Florida Project

Professor Marston and the Wonder Women

Head in the Clouds

Crooked House

Miami Vice [2006]

Miss Sloane

Molly’s Game

Battle of the Sexes

Half of a Yellow Sun

A Quiet Passion

Lady Jane

Anne of a Thousand Days

Mars Attacks!

Zoolander

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Nina

Pele: Birth of a Legend

2001: A Space Odyssey

A Futile and Stupid Gesture 

The Mask

Phantom Thread

Black Panther

Eyes Wide Shut

The Death of Stalin

Baywatch

Paddington 2

Wonder Woman

Star Trek [2009]

Star Trek Into Darkness

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Star Trek Beyond

Denial

Chariots of Fire

Captain America: The First Avenger

Iron Man

The Incredible Hulk

Borg vs McEnroe

Iron Man 2

Thor

Avengers Assemble

Iron Man 3

Thor: The Dark World

Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Guardians of the Galaxy

Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 2

Ant-Man

Captain America: Civil War 

Doctor Strange

Spider-Man: Homecoming

Thor: Ragnarok

War Horse

God’s Own Country

In Bruges

The Big Sick

The Towering Inferno

Magnolia

Our Souls at Night 

Dog Day Afternoon

Willow

Roman Holiday

Sabrina

Annihilation 

North by Northwest

The Emoji Movie

Coco

Grease

Dirty Dancing

Captain Fantastic

The Wicker Man

This is Spinal Tap

Magic Mike XXL

Come Sunday

The Dark Tower

Bill

Avengers: Infinity War

Loving Vincent

Mansfield Park

Three Men and a Little Lady

Oliver!

Rough Night

Avatar

One Last Dance

Girls Trip

Alex and the List

The Dambusters

The Mummy [2017]

London

The Damned United

The Wedding Video

Deadpool

Enter the Dragon

Atomic Blonde

The Red Shoes

The Great Gatsby [2013]

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

South Park: Bigger, Longer, Uncut

Morris: A Life With Bells On

Boss Baby

Solo: A Star Wars Story

Kenny

All About Eve

Lethal Weapon

Lethal Weapon 2

Final Portrait

The Little Mermaid

The Huntsman: Winter’s War

Men in Black 3

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider

Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life

Tomb Raider [2018]

Crocodile Dundee

Jabberwocky

Legend

Lethal Weapon 3

The Witches

Down With Love

Clash of the Titans [1981]

Clash of the Titans [2010]

I Give it a Year

Terminal

Where the Wild Things Are

The Handmaiden

The Muppet Movie [1979]

Brakes

Ready Player One

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

A Wrinkle in Time

Breathe

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

Eagle vs Shark

Farenheit 451 [2018]

Picnic at Hanging Rock

Mission Impossible

Mission Impossible II

Mission Impossible III

The Saint [2017]

JFK

Ocean’s 8

Deadpool 2

Falling Down

Duck Butter

Peter Rabbit

44 Inch Chest

You Instead

The Deep Blue Sea

Not Another Happy Ending

Punch Drunk Love

The Fast and The Furious

2 Fast 2 Furious

The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift

Fast & Furious

Fast Five

Fast & Furious 6

Furious 7

The Fate of the Furious

Geostorm

Ant-Man and the Wasp

Escape to Victory

Porcupine Lake

The Snowman

The Incredibles

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again

Daphne

Ingrid Goes West

One Day

My Neighbor Totoro

There Will Be Blood

Rampage

Goodbye Christopher Robin

Incredibles 2

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before

Belle de Jour

Mission Impossible - Fallout

The Spy Who Dumped Me 

The Meg

Little Ashes

Meet Joe Black

The King of Comedy

Jason and the Argonauts

Flash Gordon

Odette

Strictly Ballroom

Into the Woods

Cars 3

The Book of Life

Murder on the Orient Express [2017]

Kath & Kimderella

Madame Bovary

X-Men: First Class

X-Men: Days of Future Past

X-Men: Apocalypse

All the Money in the World

Quincy

The Post

Becoming Bond

Early Man

Little Women [1994]

Dangerous Liaisons

The Party

Operation Finale 

Nappily Ever After

What’s New Pussycat?

Saved!

A Star is Born [1976]

Modern Life is Rubbish

Jaws

The Mercy

Swept from the Sea

Permission

Venom

A Star is Born [2018]

Far and Away

Heat

Jane Eyre

Braveheart

Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool

Juliet, Naked

First Man

Christopher Robin

Vincent and Theo

Pollock

Bohemian Rhapsody

One More Time With Feeling

Interlude in Prague

The Mask of Zorro

The Legend of Zorro 

You, Me, and Him

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms 

Crazy Rich Asians

Bobby [2016]

Outlaw King

Space Jam

They Shall Not Grow Old

The Grinch [2018]

The Big Lebowski 

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald

Mulan

The Battle of the River Plate

They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead

My Generation

Batman Begins

Being John Malkovich

Harry Potter and The Philosopher’s Stone

Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets

Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire

Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix

Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince

Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows - Part One

Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows - Part Two

Widows

Immortal Beloved

Basquiat 

Goya’s Ghosts

The Madness of King George

Charade

Star Wars: A New Hope

Stars Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

Stars Wars: Attack of the Clones

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith

Star Wars: The Force Awakens

Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Star Wars: Rogue One

The Polar Express

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

Dr. No

From Russia With Love 

Goldfinger

Thunderball

You Only Live Twice

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service

Diamonds Are Forever

Live and Let Die

The Man With the Golden Gun

The Spy Who Loved Me

Moonraker

For Your Eyes Only

Octopussy

A View to a Kill

The Living Daylights

Licence to Kill

Goldeneye

Tomorrow Never Dies

The World is Not Enough 

Die Another Day 

Casino Royale

Quantum of Solace

Skyfall

Spectre

Superbob

Greenfingers

Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle

A Christmas Prince

Aquaman

Love, Cecil

A Christmas Prince: The Royal Wedding

The Man Who Invented Christmas

Copying Beethoven

The Party’s Just Beginning 

Point Break

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa

The Sound of Music

The Muppet Christmas Carol

The Muppets

Cars 2

The Holiday

A Bad Moms Christmas

The Holiday Calendar

The Christmas Chronicles

Nativity

Nativity 2: Danger in the Manger

Arthur Christmas

Bobby Robson: More Than a Manager

Zootropolis

Mary Poppins

The Good Dinosaur

Trolls

Rise of the Guardians

Bros: After the Screaming Stops

The Beatles: Eight Days a Week - The Touring Years

Get Carter [1971]

Bottle Rocket

Turbo

Closer

Nothing Like a Dame

Bolt

Make Us Dream

Die Hard

How to Train Your Dragon 2

Porridge

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Books.

A Book For Her - Bridget Christie

Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie

Bright Star - John Keats

The Oberon Book of Comic Monologues for Women - Katy Wix

The Oberon Book of Comic Monologues for Women: Volume 2 - Katy Wix

Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut

Division Street - Helen Mort

The Victorian Guide to Sex - Fern Riddell

A Woman’s Work - Harriet Harman

Help - Simon Amstell

The Princess Diarist - Carrie Fisher

Selected Poems - Sylvia Plath

Ariel - Sylvia Plath

The ‘If You Prefer a Milder Comedian Please Ask For One’ EP - Stewart Lee

The Rachel Papers - Martin Amis

Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie

Bone - Yrsa Daley-Ward

Pages For You - Sylvia Brownrigg

The Sun and Her Flowers - Rupi Kaur

Different for Girls: A Girl’s Own True-Life Adventures in Pop - Louise Wener

A Single Man - Christopher Isherwood

A Room of One’s Own - Virginia Woolf

Repeal the 8th - Una Mullally

Why Not Socialism? - G.A. Cohen

The Chaos of Longing - K.Y. Robinson

High-Rise - J.G. Ballard

Animal Farm - George Orwell

Fully Coherent Plan - David Shrigley

The Lesser Bohemians - Eimear McBride

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 3/4 - Sue Townsend

Hera Lindsay Bird - Hera Lindsay Bird

Submarine - Joe Dunthorne

In the Penal Colony - Franz Kafka

Babette’s Feast - Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen) 

The Expelled - Samuel Beckett

Youth - Joseph Conrad

The Life of Rylan - Rylan Clark-Neal

Autumn - Ali Smith

The Cornet-Player Who Betrayed Ireland - Frank O’Connor

Two Gallants - James Joyce

Teaching my Mother How to Give Birth - Warsan Shire

Selected Poems - Edgar Allan Poe

Casino Royale - Ian Fleming

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

The Door in the Wall - H.G Wells

Terra Incognita - Vladimir Nabokov

Dirty Pretty Things - Michael Faudet

Women  & Power: A Manifesto - Mary Beard

Dear Illusion - Kingsley Amis

Bitter Sweet Love - Michael Faudet

Smoke & Mirrors - Michael Faudet

Girl Meets Boy - Ali Smith

Pre-Raphaelites - Heather Birchall

Conspiracy - Charlotte Greig

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

Sex and Rage - Eve Babitz

Scoop - Evelyn Waugh

The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh - edited by Mark Roskill

Role Models - John Waters

The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald

How Not To Be a Boy - Robert Webb

Animal - Sara Pascoe

Absolute Pandemonium - Brian Blessed

Eileen - Ottessa Moshfegh

A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness

A Handful of Dust - Evelyn Waugh

Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters - Jane Austen and Ben H. Winters

Normal People - Sally Rooney

Feminists Don’t Wear Pink - Scarlet Curtis and Others. 

Parsnips, Buttered - Joe Lycett

The Humans - Matt Haig

The Machine Stops - E.M. Forster

Ivanhoe - Sir Walter Scott

Poems for a World Gone to Shit - Various

[artificialqueens]

Rain rain go away (Zeezee) - Bitney.

Summary: Courtney gets stood up on a date. When she decides to leave the embarrassing scene, it seems luck isn’t on her side. Drenched, she hitches a ride with an old friend she hasn’t seen since High School graduation. 2 years later, she’s still blonde, New York lights still kill the stars, and she’s still obsessed with the lips of Del Rio…

A/N: Inspiration came from the song ‘Strangers’ by Halsey/Lauren Jauregui. 20 year old lesbian fic. I hope you enjoy! - Zeezee

t“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.” ― Emery Allen

Courtney sat alone at Square Diner, stirring what was now sludge in the bottom of her sundae glass, staring out the window at the murky view of New York’s deserted street. She rest her cheek against her hand, letting out a pathetic sigh as she gave into the confused, shamefaced tension racking her body. There she was, watching the hours draw in the evening, beautiful but tragically alone. There weren’t many other people at the diner but a few of High Schoolers, a couple with their new born baby and an elderly man reading his paper.

She’d waited over an hour for a date that was supposed to be perfect for her. A 6ft tall, brunette rugby player from Liverpool England, 23 years old and described to be broad and brutish. “A mans man” Alaska had told her, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively. He worked at the veterinary with Alaska and Farrah and both girls had recommended him highly, sending her countless photos of him at the reception desk, usually containing cringy emojjis or crude captions. He was stunning, and Courtney figured she had nothing to lose.

Alaska organised the blind date with high hopes the two would have a happy ever after ending. That’s how Courtney Act found herself alone, with her sad melted treat and her phone buzzing continuously with apologies from Alaska.

‘He’s a wonderful guy, I promise! Sorry about tonight, he got caught up at home with an emergency apparently!’

Courtney had given up answering after a while. She’d pretty much read the same thing at least 5 times: Alaska apologising, trying to reorganise, begging her not to blame herself and repeat. It wasn’t as if Courtney had put all her eggs in one basket and was relying on this stranger to be her soul mate, but she was excited for some intellectual dinner conversation with someone she could see herself getting lucky with. She liked how sharp his jaw was in photos, or how thick his arms were, and she bought herself an adorable baby pink summer dress that feathered her frame elegantly especially for the date, she’d rather it didn’t go to waste.

Courtney had never been stood up before. She was slim, athletic, blonde, and had a light aussie accent, and eyes a person could swim in - pretty much the moment a person set sights on her, she had them putty in her hands. Courtney wasn’t big headed, but she knew what she had to offer and the luck that she had been blessed with. Advantages came with her appearance that she liked to use when appropriate. Dates would drool at her feet, and it had been that way since puberty- she figured this muscle-bound crumpet would have been as easy as cake to land. Maybe Alaska hadn’t shown him a flattering photo of her, or any photo at all! Had she forgotten to reveal Courtney’s strengths, her stunning good looks?! Did she paint a repulsive, unimaginative, cruel picture to her blind date that he had no choice but to give her the cold shoulder?

She pulled her cardigan over her shoulders a little more, frowning as a breeze hit her. It had been a long time since she’d been on a date, which wasn’t because no one was asking, she had just put them off for a while to focus on her work. She thought it was about time she put herself back on the market, but apparently it was meant to be that she’d stay alone.

Rather than pity herself any longer - which was probably an hour too long already - she stood up and threw her cardigan over her shoulder, strutting out the diner.

New York City was as alive and breathing as Courtney was. She took every step like the beginning to a waltz and let the rich excitement of a New York’s  spin her in a tranquil frenzy. The contradiction of New York was what kept Courtney laughing through all the hardships - no matter what the time, she could rely on the city that never slept to lull her with a lullaby. Some people hated the constant noise, but for Courtney it kept her from being driven mad by her own incessant worries. She walked down the streets with the upmost confidence, swinging her arms at her sides and swaying to the tune stuck in her head.

It was a particularly quiet evening, suspiciously for New York, but it didn’t stop Courtney organising an orchestra in her walk. A pristine, proud faith in her beauty, that caught the eye of a few passersby and one puerile car of frat boys that couldn’t resist wolf whistling as they sped past her. She enjoyed the attention, twirling on the spot before they were out of sight and giggling with enjoyment at the ego boost. She may not be on a date with a hunky man, but walking through the city when the sun is almost settled feels just as wonderful right now.

An optimist till the bitter end, that was Courtney.

Her apartment was quite a distance from the diner, but she didn’t feel like calling a cab. The walk would do her good she figured, so she took the time to gather the passing thoughts that had been floating around her head. When should she call her mother next? Should she get to the studio an hour early tomorrow for extra practice? Had she saved up enough money for next months rent as well as this one? The small worries that felt massive when she was rushing around the place.  

About 10 minutes into her walk, her phone starts to ring. She digs into her Ted Baker piggy pink handbag and fishes out her mobile.

“Hello?” She cheerfully answers, her mimi toned lips spread from cheek to cheek.

“Hay baby, it’s me!” The nails on a chalk board voice let her know, it was Alaska. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. I just spoke to dreamboat, and he is dying to meet you. How about we reschedule for tomorrow?”

Courtney wrinkled her nose, concealing the irritated groan that wanted to come out. It wasn’t that she wasn’t still interested in the date - she had a working pair of eyes and knew exactly what she wanted to do with her English muffin, but the tedious job of getting dressed up all over again and forcing a sickeningly sweet smile just to prove there were no hard feelings for standing her up today just seemed to tier her out at the sheer thought of it. Alaska had the best of intentions, but Courtney wasn’t sure going along with the charade was worth a chance at sex.

“I don’t know Alaska…” She was about to go on when her friend interrupted, fumbling over her words in a desperate attempt to keep Courtney interested.

She listened fondly, grinning as Alaska listed the endearing qualities of her mystery man. It seemed like he didn’t have anything wrong with him, and when she was about to give in to rescheduling, Courtney’s attention was suddenly cut off by a loud crackle from the sky. She looked up, and there it was, the clouds disguised amongst the evening shades. Grey and ready to burst. Her eyes widened as she realised she was still 20 minutes from home, with no umbrella, and not a cab in sight.

“What the hell is going on today?!”

“Hmm?” Alaska half heartedly hummed.

She began scuttling toward a velvet shelter, leading into a hotel. “Sorry, it’s about to rain. I’m walking home!”

“Call a cab?”

“Yeah, there are none around. None! How is this New York without a damn cab anywhere on the roads? Is this a sign of the apocalypse of something, where is everyone?!”

“Oh, you know, I did hear there was going to be a massive storm today.”

Courtney wished it were possible to slap someone through the phone.

“Are you far away from your place?”

“Yes! I still have another couple of blocks to go!”

All of a sudden, the heavens opened up and let loose the nerve wracking tonnes of rain, drowning the earth in misery. Courtney’s mouth fell open as she watched the rain pour down and smack the sidewalk, the sound harsh like bricks being thrown at a wall. The water bounced off the ground aggressively and she felt splashes hit her ankles. It was going to be a hellish mission to get back home with the mightiest waterfall releasing on the streets on New York City.

“I don’t know what to say-”

“Look Lasky, I’ll call you later…after I have a brisk shower!” and before her friend could answer back, Courtney hung up. This was unlike anything Courtney had ever experienced with rain. A storm, pulling the city apart with the power of 20 dozen men, focused in on the wind. Courtney felt a sudden gush rush past her legs and blow her dress up. She squealed in panic as she tried to smooth it back down.

Courtney squinted her eyes as she stared out into the distance. Everything was decorated a dirty blue blur, the rain washing out any view there might have been. Why would Alaska organise a date when she knew there was a God damn storm?! Courtney cursed, stomping her heel and sighing. It wasn’t going to let up, leaving her with two choices: to stay stranded underneath the shelter of a hotel’s entrance for however long it may take, or run home and risk pneumonia. Her new highlights would probably get ruined, and she’d have to throw out her Sophia Webster Evangeline strappy heels, but the impatience her father had passed down to her began to take charge of her instincts.

After a few minutes of watching the streets practically flood, she took a deep breath and began running, squealing every few seconds when her foot got drenched in a puddle. The rain beat her bare skin mercifully, cleaning her of any sins staining her skin. The pain was horrific, she could feel the bruises being left already. She ran as fast as she could given she was wearing heels. Courtney was in good shape, but the humid air of heavy rain was enough to wind anybody regardless of their fitness.

It didn’t seem to let up at all in the short time she’d been running. In fact, it felt like it only got harder, hammering down as if it had been sent by God himself to smite the wicked. Maybe this was Courtney’s punishment for when she’d lied to that homeless man about not having change- she didn’t believe in a higher power until this moment, where her new outfit was ruined and her hair was a soggy mess. That’ll teach her to lie on her way to window shopping for Mikimoto earrings.

Adding to the disaster of her drenched appearance and the damning weather, a loud crashing suddenly announced itself, practically splitting Courtney in half as she screamed in panic and fell over herself. She landed on her hands, muttering profanities under her breath realising she’d cut up her palm on the rough stone pathway. The sting shot through her arms all the way upward. She clenched her teeth at the pain, trying to keep herself calm. A ruined outfit, cut up hands, and her worst fear lightening. Could it get any worse? She scooted over to the doorway of a small bakery nearby and sat, nursing her wounds and trying not to panic every time the heavens irrupted with a flash of light and a terrifying roar.

She felt like a drowned rat.

“Christ almighty.” Courtney blew at the cut on her hand, clearing the dirt and wincing when a particularly painful sensation shot through her veins. She looked out at the block she was on - cobblestone pathways, classic red bricked houses, the real sense of timeless nostalgia that still read modern and fresh.

Courtney sighed, watching the rain crash down upon the streets violently. It wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, and she must have had that thought more than enough times by now. The optimist she was kept hoping it would clear up and she’d be able to flee home without anymore inconveniences. Alas, it never came. She sat on the step of the bakery for 5 minutes, with no progress on the weather wearing off.

In the distance, the first car she’d noticed on her run, pulled up on the curb in front of her. An old fashioned 1972 navy chevy nova, glistening against the bolts of rain. She glared at it for a good minute, cautious of who the driver may be, and eventually the car beeped. Long and drawn out, demanding her presence. She sprang up in shock and rushed toward the passenger side, leaning over to peer in the window.

That’s when she saw her, the all too familiar face that use to send her through the motions in High School, making her crazy whenever her name slipped off the lips of another person. Suddenly the rain slamming around her didn’t exist, and all she could fathom was the ghost before her. The same slick eyeliner, the same pointed nose, the same bulbous ruby lips-

“Long time no see, cum biscuit.”

The same crude sense of humour.

Courtney laughed, pushing back the extensive strands of soaked hair from her face and signalled to open the door. Bianca nodded, and Courtney clambered in, shivering when the difference in temperature hit her.

“You’ll freeze in that get up. Get unchanged, I’ve got spare clothes on the back seat-”

“Trying to undress me in under a minute. That’s a new record for you.”

Courtney smiled, completely smitten with her joke, but was met with nothing but a stern stare. She nodded knowingly, and kept quiet while she reached back and grabbed the clothes. Some baggy sweat pants and an oversized tee with a few stains of paint. Courtney timidly wriggled out of her clothes, her eyes on Bianca as she drove on completely focused on the road. When she was in the new clothes, she pulled out the top and raised a brow.

“Do you paint now?”

“Nah, it’s an old top my roomie Shangela borrowed. She took up art to impress some pretentious French guy she met at a bar. Now he’s out of the picture, I get back my ruined top.”

“Why keep it?”

“It’s easy to throw on. You know, if I’m ever entertaining in the car,” Bianca rolls her head on her shoulders and gives Courtney a cocky smirk, snickering, “Like old times.”

Courtney’s eyes widened and she had to look away, in fear the rouge of her blush would open too many old wounds.

Bianca had once been the most important person in Courtney’s life just a few years ago. She was the the fire in her loins, the crack of her whip, the definition of desire for Courtney Act. Back in Highschool, it all began when they were 16 in gym class. Bianca threw a dodgeball directly at Courtney’s head and hit her so hard she fell a few inches backward, straight on her bum. Bianca had apologised profusely, helping her stand and getting her a cold water bottle to put against the blow. All the while Bianca’s friends giggling with one another at the whole scene. Courtney didn’t take it to heart. She shook off the initial shook and accepted Bianca’s apologies, giggling herself. Somehow, they ended up good friends. Inseparable almost, having to be with the other like they supplied the oxygen to their lungs. Bianca would go to every football game just to see Courtney cheer, and Courtney would stay behind after school as Bianca did extra work for her textiles class. Like opposites attracting, the two girls found themselves utterly obsessed with the goings-on of one another’s life.

Then Bianca came out, and Courtney found herself in dire need of Bianca’s affections more than ever. They spent what felt like everyday round each others homes, bitching and flirting. Courtney took the risk on Bianca’s 17th birthday, when Bianca took Courtney into the kitchen to cut her a slice of the cake her mother had baked and was shocked to be kissed. Then they kissed all the time, every chance they got, without any regrets or concerns for what anyone else might think.

It seemed like a forever feeling - stars aligning and air tasting like sugar, the two teens madly in love with each other. There were no hardships, no bitter exes, no rude homophobes…it was all too perfect. Bianca would fall a thousand feet under the earth if it meant she could make Courtney sublimely happy. Hands in a frenzy for the skin to skin contact, and hair caught in mouths, and legs trembling to stay solid. They made fire look like ice compared to them caught in the heat of a moment. There was nothing to complain about; they were in love, truly, madly, deeply so.

Then High School ended. Bianca went to college with two of her friends from class, Shea and Sasha, and Courtney got an internship in a studio as a mixer. Her girlfriend was miles away Courtney couldn’t just drive for a quick visit, and then the rumours started speculating. Alaska heard Bianca had slept with some grungy wanna be singer, then their mutual friend Bob told Courtney she’d been hanging around some girl called Adore a lot, and that’s when the safety pin of Courtney’s sanity was pulled, and she ignited like a grenade. The stupendous love she’d had was suddenly dust in the wind, and her trust for Bianca broke.

Courtney stopped returning Bianca’s calls. She made excuses to stay home rather than visit her girlfriend. Eventually Bianca broke up with her out of frustration and they hadn’t spoken since. Two years since the melt down, and here she was, soaking wet in her passenger seat.

Was it fait? Was that something Courtney even believed in? She hadn’t thought about Bianca in months, and even then, she hadn’t thought anything pleasant about her since the break up.

“I um…” Courtney coughed, trying to loosen the knot in her throat. “I can walk to my place, you know. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“You really want to get back out in that?” Bianca asked, tossing her head toward the window, a sly grin on her face at the idea of Courtney struggling any more to get home. Courtney awkwardly laughed, shaking her head.

“How did you even see me in this weather?” What she really wanted to ask was ‘What the fuck were you doing in my neighbourhood, picking up girls off the streets? Regardless if it ended up being me of all people!’

Bianca looked as sexy as she did when they were a couple, Courtney shamefully thought. She didn’t want to see Bianca as such still, but that girl had an overwhelming power over Courtney, she couldn’t control her thoughts. She alluded such ease and comfortability, tousled and uncaring, like a true college student. Her hair was dyed blonde, unkept and fallen around her chest, and the dark brown of her roots had began to peak. She wore a lazy over sized blue denim shirt, hiding the booty shorts and black tee, and oversized punk dock martian boots. Her makeup was heavy, as it always use to be, and persist, in a way only Bianca could wear it and somehow come off casual. She was the same old Bianca, from the cosy clothes to the sharpe brows, not a colour outside the lines. Courtney wanted to spend all her time looking at her, recalling the familiar awe that always smacked her round the face when Bianca looked her way.

Bianca shrugged. “I have good eye sight I guess. I was heading back to my place, and I saw a blonde in the rain. I’m not one to let a damsel stay distressed!” Bianca joked. Her smile lifted high across her face, and there were the same dimples Courtney had fallen in love with. The dents in her skin, so unimportant, seemed to have meant the whole world to Courtney at one stage of her life.

“So,” Courtney took a hair tie out from the bottom of her handbag and messily threw her hair up in a bun, “What have yo- wait, where are we going? Do you know where I live?”

“Of course I don’t, dim wit. I’m driving to mine.”

“What? No! No, no, no, I just want to go home-”

“I haven’t seen you in how fucking long, and you want to skip out on a catch up?”

“I just want to take a shower and relax.”

“You can shower at mine.”

Courtney took a deep breath, frowning. “I don’t think that’s very appropriate, Bianca. I want to go to my apartment. My address is-”

A sudden boisterous roar of thunder tore through the air, causing Courtney to screech in distress. She dug her fingers into the leather of the car seat, as a shiver sent down her spine. She hated thunder, and even more so lightening. Bianca peered over, and rolled her eyes.

“Save it. My place is like 5 minutes away. You can dry off, I’ll make you a coffee and then I’ll drive you back to your place when the storm dies down.” She took a turn, then faced Courtney. It was hard for Bianca to keep a stern, cold look when she was met with the sunny, bubbly old flame of her affections. “I promise.”

Courtney remembers exactly what it was about Bianca she first fell in love with: her undeniable charm, laced in the gravelly tone and devil’s smile. She’s met with gorgeous, sparkling brown eyes, and she can’t seem to find the will to fight her corner anymore. Despite not having thought about Bianca in months, all she wants, more than anything, is to hear about her life, and be caught in the translucent fairytale of her what-once-was.

-

The sound of rain trickling down glass is the sweetest serenity that could mend a broken soul. Soft pitter patters grazing rooftops, tiny droplets splashing the grass and making it shimmer under the glow of the moonlight. Rain was truly beautiful when angled correctly. New York City, where the buildings shot up high into the heavens, and the lights blinded the angels above, it was hard to have a romanticised version of rain like others experienced. By the Irish sea in the countryside, with the tears of a vengeful God, translating into a peaceful shower for mother earth. Washing the nature, bringing life to the crops, and giving that grumpy old farmer another thing to complain about. New Yorkers could never have that same wonderful simplicity; but Bianca would be damned if she didn’t try and find tranquility in the rain.

Bianca had the delightful task of ringing out Courtney’s summery dress over the kitchen sink and resting it on the radiator. She didn’t mind all that much, but when she thought about it, it seemed more perplexing of a job than it should have. Not physically, but emotionally.

Courtney immediately jumped into the shower upon arrival, so all Bianca knew so far of her ex was she still had a killer body, and she had found herself lucky in riches somehow, noting the shoes and the handbag and the jewellry. She boiled the kettle and leaned against the counter top, pondering on the possibilities that could be Courtney’s lifestyle now.

Bianca lived in a shabby, run down apartment with three other girls. There was Sasha, the two agreeing to live together in New York after collage. Sasha was dealing with her heart being stretched to the point of snapping where Shea decided to stay in Chicago, so to be in the company of a friend was at least a little relaxing on her strained love. Then there was Peppermint, an overly enthusiastic girl who waited tables in the day and performed on stage in the evening. She always came home with treats for everyone and an infectious smile. Finally, there was Naomi. A buggy, twig-like creature who was never around very often since she was usually galavanting all over America modelling, but when she was there she was quiet and well-kept, and bitchy enough for Bianca to get a kick out of her company.

That was her life. A normal, hard working life, with bills, an empty fridge more than often, and a ton of stress weighing down her shoulders. Bianca was often jumping between jobs - being hired to do hair and makeup for special events or making costumes for party shops, and just recently she’d been employed to shadow a costume designer for a Broadway design company. Looking at Courtney, she saw all the success she only hoped to have in 5 years time, accelerated in the form of a beautiful, young fighter. Maybe even a little bit of a careerist, which, was a good thing and a bad thing. Not exactly the nature of the free spirited flower child she use to know, who preached love, peace and reaching for the stars.

What were the chances of running into Courtney after two years of separation? Out of all the zany characters that inhabited New York, she had to pity the pretty blonde that just so happened to be her ex. It couldn’t have been an underwear model, or a cougar, or even a prostitute! It had to be Courtney fucking Act.

Bianca pulls out two mugs from the cupboard and pours out the coffee. She stirs both cups, adds sugar, milk, then takes a refreshing sip from hers. The warmness alights her after the bitter cold of the outside, and she can’t help but smile to herself. She moves toward the couch, resting both cups on the coffee table to throw on the ratty grey cardigan draped over the arm of the chair, and settles in for the night. The idyllic setting of a dimly-lit room and the rain drumming on the glass, Bianca let out a heavy breath that had been stuck in her lungs for far to long, rigged and knotted with tension.

The shower shuts off, the door unlocks, and eventually Courtney walks through in the same oversized tshirt she’d borrowed in the car, her girly boxer briefs with love hearts covered by the material, and a towel wrapped around her hair. Bianca finds it near to impossible to look anywhere that isn’t the svelte legs, glistening with the few beads of water sliding down her skin. Courtney’s face now fresh and pink, with just a trace of mascara caught under her eyes. She’s divine, walking toward Bianca and shyly offers her a coy smile.

“Made you a coffee.” Bianca gestures to the lonesome cup, and Courtney skittishly takes it, mumbling a thank you before sipping the drink. Bianca resists the urge to roll her eyes. How was I ever with someone like this? She thinks.

“Thank you for the lift. I don’t mean to be an imposition.”

“You’re sat on my couch in your panties. You’re already some what of an imposition, but it’s fine.”

Courtney chews on the corner of her lip, avoiding eye contact as she tucks her legs into the excess of the top. In the absence of conversation, she looks around the apartment and admires the cosy decor. Clothes thrown wherever they balance, more than often brightly coloured and fitted, shoes discarded wherever the day ended for the owner, and run down, tacky furniture. Not styled or desired by anyone, but affordable and comfy, and good enough. The decor was exactly that: good enough.

Bianca groans, putting her mug down on the table and leaning forward. The look on her face makes Courtney nervous. “Can we just address the elephant in the room?” She gruffly asks, barely waiting for the other girl to interject. “This is weird. You, being in my apartment. Me, picking you up. This is all a little too fucking coincidental if you ask me, and I’m not into it.”

Courtney blinks a couple of times before clearing her throat. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Bianca raises her brow. “Are you messing with me? You know what I mean, Courtney, don’t play dumb-”

“I’m not! I just,” She gently places her coffee mug down and repositions herself, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say, Bianca. Not many people get this kind of opportunity, to be reunited with their ex. We didn’t exactly end on good terms after all.”

“I know. You stopped talking to me, and then you became a bitch.” The statement punctured Courtney. The many shades of red pouring out like the accusations that left peoples mouths all those years ago when they dirtied Bianca’s reputation; dirtied their relationship status.

This girl in front of her, this stranger she once adored, made her angrier than anyone ever had in her whole life. To even dare insult her, after the intense admiration she once held for her- at least she stayed faithful in their relationship. There was no frolicking with other girls and completely destroying the relationship they had both cared for.

She crossed her arms and glared wickedly at her, hoping flames would burst around the scene. “You have some nerve to call me a bitch after what you did! You didn’t even come down from Chicago to break up with me! You were too busy galavanting with other girls weren’t you?!”

“Woah, what?”

“Yeah!” Courtney shouted unexpectedly, recoiling back into herself and looking around embarrassed. She hoped none of Bianca’s roommates were home. “I know you were cheating on me, Bianca. Some little floozy, I can’t even remember her name, but a bunch of people told me.” She lied - Courtney remembers the girl was called Adore, and she knew Bianca ended up very close to her, according to all the photos on her Facebook.

Bianca stayed quiet, her face completely shocked and her eyes flickering back and forth as she racked her brain for any name she might have meant. After too many silent seconds, she finally snickered, which escalated into proper laughter, and soon she was cackling. Courtney glared at the girl in fits of laughter till she couldn’t take it and shoved her.

“It’s not funny, Bianca! You cheated on me-”

“No I fucking didn’t.” Bianca tittered, sitting up. “I didn’t cheat on you. I would never cheat on you, why would I?”

Courtney opens her mouth to speak but stops herself, taking in the statement. She’s not sure how to take it, as a good thing or a bad thing given how long it took to even process at the time. The heart ache she endured, took as nothing but the truth- at the time it felt like someone had reached into her chest and poured acid over the wounds of her heart, squeezed it till it popped, and left her to survive with the damage done. At the time, love seemed like the most important thing in her life. It overpowered every other aspect of her being, warping her understanding of unity and strength, and she became accustomed to needing Bianca. No matter how many times she talked about wanting to sell albums, wanting to be a successful singer songwriter, her girlfriend would trump everything else on the table. Courtney could have died for Bianca, and it felt like she did when they were over.

Now she was older, sat in her ex’s living room, half naked, learning that what they threw away was for nothing. Childish insecurities and fiendish whispers, all acted as the fuel behind the out of control flames, setting their tender affections alight. Courtney’s mouth dried up, her chest collapsed, and the weight began to reopen the stitches on her poor, beaten heart.

“You…you’re lying?” She hoped, as peculiar as it seemed. To imagine she’d thrown away the best part of her teenage years all because of pathetic hearsay. Sitting beside Bianca, looking into her hypnotising eyes, she felt the familiar weakness that was once so pampered by her impulse to please her love. Bianca’s lips curled, and the dimples punctured more holes in her, deeper and more painful.

“I’m not lying, Court. Who even told you that?” Bianca asked, the undertone of chuckling still sewn in her voice. Courtney felt like heaving, but remained calm. She had no choice- how could she freak out after two years of no contact (especially in a situation where she wasn’t even wearing any trousers)?!

“Alaska, and Bob…even Chi Chi said she suspected something-”

“Why the flying fuck would you believe Bob and Chi Chi?! Those two have the biggest mouths around! Alaska I don’t fucking know what her damage was, but I can assure you…Never listen to Bob and Chi Chi.”

Bianca’s smile use to bring such comfort to Courtney. Now she just wanted to throw up.

“Well, what about Detox? She came to the studio when I first started working there. She told me you had your eyes on someone else?”

Bianca sighed, rubbing her forehead in annoyance. This was the conversation they should have had so long ago. 2015, pigtail, crop top obsessed Courtney. Flared jeans, brown hair Bianca, trying to contain the fireworks off entering adulthood, both separately and together.. This was a conversation that was well overdue.

“Detox is an asshole.”

“Because she told me the truth?”

“No. Because we had a huge fight when we were drunk. She visited me in Chicago and I wouldn’t let her sleep with my friend…” Bianca pinched the top of her nose before letting out a drawn out groan. “My friend Adore had just gotten out of a pretty serious relationship and she was going a little off the rails. Detox wanted to sleep with her and I called her an inflatable fuck buddy-”

“Bianca!” Courtney playfully slapped her, giggling nevertheless. Bianca faked being shocked, holding her arm as if she was in agonising pain, and then they laughed in sync.

What a sound, the harmonies of their happiness.

“If she’s gonna pump silicone in her ass and tits, I’m going to mock her for it! Anyway, she was so drunk and accused me of keeping Adore all for myself. And so, I’m guessing, as soon as she got home she decided to tell you some bullshit as pay back for me preventing her from getting laid.”

“Hmm. Sounds a little contrived if you ask me.”

“Well that’s the God’s honest truth. You know Detox has a sneaky side. She’s all bark no bite.”

Courtney pursed her lips, eyes falling to her drink. It had stopped steaming at this point. She thought about their conversation, the implications it had, and the stupidity she felt.

“So you…you never slept with Adore? Or, anyone?” Courtney timidly asked, feeling the size of a mouse the second the question left her lips.

Bianca scoffs. “Of course not! For fuck sake, Courtney, I thought the sun shined out your ass I was so in love with you! How in the name of Bob Mackie could you even believe I would dare ruin what we had?”

“I mean…you did break up with me.”

“You were ignoring me!”

“Because I thought you were cheating on me-”

“Which I wasn’t!”

They stayed stuck on one anothers gaze, before bursting into laughter. Lovely, light laughter like soft violins or flutes, floating through the air, singing along to the tunes of morning birds. Bianca rubbed her temples, being the first to stop laughing. Courtney still did the cute snort when she laughed- the one she despised, that Bianca always adored.

Honestly, Bianca did have fleeting feelings from time to time of great saudade. There was no English word to do it justice, the empty space left when they broke up, with the attempt to fill it with passing flirty gestures and sheets stained with faked moans. There was the occasional nights, when the moon was full or a star finally burnt out, that she remembered how she use to be a beatific vision when in the company of her love.

When she stopped laughing, their eyes met under a whole new context. It was strong and overwhelming, like a tornado. They felt sucked into the power of this feeling. Bianca now knew that Courtney worked at a studio, that she at least had a reasonable excuse to have been a bitch all those years ago, and she still possessed the easy-to-read hunger in the corner of her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Bianca whispered, afraid to scare the moment.

“I’m sorry too.” Courtney whispered back, even quieter.

Bianca caught Courtney’s gaze flicker between her eyes and her lips. Usually she wore red lipstick- she cursed herself for not wearing red lipstick, it was always a winner, but it seemed the shade still had an effect on Courtney. Still staring, lustfully, her thin, pink lips slightly parted so Bianca could see the pearly sparkle of her front teeth.

God I missed those teeth.

What a strange thought? Bianca didn’t pounder on it for too long though, because soon she was reminiscing on all the things she missed; the freckle between Courtney’s collarbone; the light scar that defined when her frown lines rose; the bruise on her right knee that seemed to always return unbeknown to how it got there. Looking into Courtney’s eyes, Bianca was reminded of all the wonderful memories they shared together before the great storm-

“Shit.” She pounced from her seat, making Courtney jump, and she ran to the window. The weather had let up, and now it was only mizzling, a pathetic excuse for dampening the streets. “The storm’s stopped. Well, that’s…” she turned back to face Courtney, scratching the back of her neck. “Good.”

Courtney forced a smile. She unwrapped the towel from her hair and got up to rest it on a radiator. “Yeah, that’s great.” She combed through the wet strands of her hair, wincing as she caught a knot, before throwing it all back and looking at the other girl. “I’ll go put on my dress and uh, get out of your way-”

“Wait, Court.” Bianca interrupted, overly eager, rushing toward Courtney. They stood a few centimeters apart, not enough to lean forward and kiss, but enough to feel the wires connecting them tense. “There’s no rush. I mean,” She shrugged, “it’s been so long, you and I. We have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t you…” Bianca’s breath fell from her, the nerves rattling her bones. “Don’t you think?”

Only fools rush in, wise men recite, like a grand law. Yet, Courtney couldn’t help it. She was undeniably drawn to the magnetic force that ran through Bianca’s blood. Only fools rush in, wise men warn, but what other tragedies could fall upon Courtney when she’d already lost Bianca once? She looks into the other girls eyes, and all the anger she’d stored up from two years ago melts away beneath her feet, and she’s filled with a fizzling warmth instead, intimate and dear like how it once was.

Maybe it was stupid, but when her gut was telling her the same thing it was when she was barely 17 at Bianca’s birthday, she knew to listen. In a sudden spur of the moment, Courtney grabs Bianca by the scuff of her cardigan and kisses her, deep and passionately.

Her lips are still the same. Pillowy, smooth, and the best damn sensation a person could feel on their own. Courtney doesn’t let go of her cardigan in fear of falling through the floorboards, losing this feeling to the adrenaline. She wants this to be the kiss that repairs the scars on her heart- the kiss that transforms the apartment into the darkest corners of the galaxy, soaring through the stars trying to capture the beauty of light. She opens her mouth just enough, to seem sensual, and keeps kissing her like there was never a two year silence between them.

Bianca relaxes, and smiles against her lips. She links her arms around Courtney’s waist, and the dent of her back is so cold where her hands have been gone so long. Courtney’s lips still taste like cherries. What working girl in her fucking 20s wears flavoured lip gloss? She thinks, though never complains. It was like sleeping in a bed you haven’t been in for weeks - all too familiar, and cozy, but strangely surreal. Her tongue slips past Courtney’s lips, and she lets loose a low moan, pulling the girl into her more as if there was any space left between them. Courtney’s body melted against Bianca’s, and she was lost for power in the situation, completely surrendering to the will of Bianca’s lust.

She pulled away, for just a minute. Courtney whimpers, resting her forehead against Bianca’s, panting. The world around them has been put on mute, and the picture is but dark static. They are the only colour in the room. They exudes the importance of second chances, as their hearts beat in sync, racing to make up for lost time.

“You agree then? We have a lot of catching up to do.” Bianca said, kissing Courtney on the tip of her nose. Courtney blushed, biting her lip and letting a content sigh escape.

“Is this weird? It feels so normal but, it’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little, but who fucking cares. I’m fine with weird if you are.”

“Oh definitely, without a doubt! I’ve always been fine with weird, from the very second you threw that dodgeball at my face…to the time you coincidentally drove through my neighbourhood and picked me up in the pouring rain.”

Bianca snickered. “I certainly know how to charm ‘em, don’t I?” She pulled one of her hands around from Courtney’s back and tickled under her chin, guiding her back to her lips. Hungry with the desire to never end, a kiss that left them breathless with such simplicity. They both smiled against the others lips.

“I don’t even know why you’re back in New York, and here we are kissing in your living room.” Courtney purred, resting her full weight on Bianca so she was forced to sit on the edge of the sofa.

“I finished college. It was a compressed course, remember. I could have stayed on but me and Sasha were done, too much to deal with.” Bianca flicked the earring dangling from Courtney’s ear, making her flinch and jerk her shoulder to hide her ear. “How about you, big spender? Where are all the expensive brands coming from?”

Courtney clicked her tongue. She was thrilled to be in Bianca’s arms- even if an hour ago this was the furthest thing from her list of known desires, but she knew not to reveal everything to fast. Once a secret is out there, it’s no longer a secret. She had to keep some parts of her life a mystery.

For now.

“Maybe I’m just so good at my job, they over pay me!”

“At an internship?”

“I’m not interning anymore, I’m the real deal! I mix records, I sit in on the production for radio stations…I, Bianca Del Rio, am a real working woman. I’m even working on an EP.”

“You are?”

“Sure am. I already have a single, so an EP is the next step. I don’t know, I just got lucky with money I suppose.” Courtney put her arms around Bianca’s neck, playing with the strands of hair that fell at her back. “That’s not important right now.” She bit her lip, eyes fallen dark and the black blown wide with lust. “We should really talk about whatever this is we’re starting.”

Bianca takes a deep breath through her nose, and lightly pushes Courtney off her. It all feels surreal, even kind of overwhelming now that she’s not swimming in Courtney’s perfume, distracted. “We did sort of jump the gun there, didn’t we?”

Courtney’s smile fades. She feels her nerves stiffen, watching the strangely despondent expression on her face, and she tries to recoil the sudden thrill of a moments ambitions, rather than let her imagination run wild like when she was a teenager. She puts her arms down by her side, and scrunches her hand in a ball, pinching her palms.  “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No. No I guess not. We never exactly did things conventionally anyway, did we? I mean, remember our senior leavers do, and you wore the pin stripe suit, when all our friends thought I’d wear one-”

“Oh my God yes! And you wore the bubble gum pink dress! You were so cute.”

“And very out of my comfort zone, but I would have done anything to make you happy.” Bianca smirks, taking Courtney’s hand. “So…you and me against the world, part two?”

Courtney could count on one hand all the moments in her life she felt this ecstatic. The release party for her single, when her parents renewed their vows, and the first time her and Bianca said I love you to each other. Truly happy moments, where she was left a little breathless and dizzy, but drugged up on the thrill of that moment. She couldn’t let this slip away, no matter how unexpected.

She squeezes Bianca’s hand, cheeks practically burning at the pain of her stretched smile. “And to think I had a date tonight.”

Bianca raises her brow. “Well, that’s an interesting way to say yes, but I’ll take it.”

-

[citywatcher]

boardwalkers.

     The drawer, nestled between a couple of paintings of the Sierra Nevada, looked so similar to the rest of the wall that Caitlyn nearly missed it. She turns around, checking to see for anyone else in the room observing her. Two men with bowler hats holding wooden sticks take turns as they stand around a billiards table, and three women closer to her are too engrossed in their own conversation to glance over at her.

     Just business as usual, Caitlyn tells herself, but even the dim lamplight that shines upon the back of her neck feels like the all-consuming radiance that the Christians preach about the Last Judgment.

     Tilting the little indent jutting from the wall, she pulls out the wooden drawer, finding a small notepad and pen. Caitlyn digs into the pockets of her jacket and unearths a leather wallet, withdrawing a five-dollar bill that she places into the drawer. With the pen she scribbles an order in neat cursive slant.

     A straight rum and coke, with lime.

     The instructions that her superior had given her indicated that she should slide the drawer back and approach the bar counter; within a minute her beverage would appear. The bartenders usually had some hand in maintaining and distributing the alcohol locked in secret cellars somewhere in the labyrinth of the New York underground, and Caitlyn’s best bet to investigating the source would come from what she could glean from the bartender.

     She tightens the cap around her head and walks over to the counter, turning her head away from the fumes coming from an older gentleman’s cigar. Keep a low profile, she is reminded. Act relaxed and speak softly. Don’t attract attention to yourself. Caitlyn frowns when she notices the navy curtain drawn along the exit that leads into the backroom of the bar. It parts for only a second, as a long-sleeved arm and gloved hand bring out the mixture in a wine glass. Even with quick eyes that could catch a criminal in crowded Charlotte streets, Caitlyn can’t make out anything about the bartender’s features besides dark hair and the gilded lining of a mask she might see at Mardi Gras down in a New Orleans town square. The shadowy profile and uniformed arm disappear as quickly as they came out, and Caitlyn is left with nothing more than a full glass of rum and no inkling of how the speakeasy operates. Besides the fact that they’ve prepared for any source of police interference.

     Caitlyn crinkles her nose. She’ll have to look elsewhere for a lead on who watches over the establishment on G Street. But for now, why should she waste a perfectly good drink?

     Taking the glass to a secluded corner of the room, at a table populated only by an ashtray and a napkin holder, she takes a sip of the rum. There’s a slight sugary taste to the liquid, and the tinge of lime gives enough flavor to distract her from the bitterness that meets her tongue after she swallows. The benefactors of this place put enough effort to satisfy its customers past the base desire for forbidden fruit squeezed into a wine glass.

     She scans the sparse crowd, having placed herself in a location close enough to distinguish potentially interesting conversations, but far enough not to stand out like a white cat in a dark alley. This wasn’t a place, like that abandoned warehouse over on Birmingham Avenue, that she and her partner could break up on their own. And her superior must have seen something doubly suspicious about this particular venue, that she should enter the building in civilian clothes and pretend to sink into the deviant culture, complete with the secret password at the door.

     “You don’t look like you’re from around here, sweetheart,” a voice from behind her whispers in her ear, and it takes all of Caitlyn’s composure not to whirl around and glare at people with, as Pearson described it, the venomous look of a cobra. There’s nothing on me that indicates I’m with the bureau, Caitlyn reassures herself. She turns around, coming face to face with a vivacious blonde, an intense blue in her eyes that matches the energy of the sea before a coming storm.

     She didn’t graduate suma cum laude from her class at Chapel Hill for a peculiar stranger to unnerve her. “That’s because I’m not.” Caitlyn reclines an arm against her table, appraisal hiding under her assumed nonchalance. “I’ve come from quite a ways away.”

     The woman perks an eyebrow. “Oh? And where would that be?”

     “Brooklyn,” Caitlyn says with her best smirk. She’s not lying, but she knows better than to take herself seriously undercover.

     “Oh, aren’t you a piece of work,” the woman says, scanning her over. Caitlyn’s fingers tighten by the slightest margin. “Miss...?”

     “Caldwell. Kate Caldwell.”

     “Name’s Sarah.” She extends a hand, which Caitlyn takes lightly, letting Sarah dictate the firmness of their handshake. The omitted last name doesn’t go unnoticed.

     “So, are you a friend of Fenton’s?”

     Caitlyn races through her mind for the details of the story she had prepared herself to tell, should any patrons become dubious of her appearance. “No, not him. I was referred by Thomas, the columnist who works up at Sixth Street.”

     Sarah nods, moreso to herself than her company, Caitlyn decides. “Quiet guy.”

     “I should think people like him have to save up a certain amount of words each day, else they’d run out of ideas.”

     A quiet giggle, the kind someone gives having been told a clever joke they hadn’t heard for years. “I’m always surprised how many sentences the men and women that write articles can pump out in a day. Where I come from, talk and oratory are cheap; actions are how a woman makes her daily bread.”

     Perhaps we’re getting somewhere. “And where are you from, Sarah?”

     A glint shines in her eye. “Oh, you know, here and there. Haven’t stayed in one place for more than a couple of months, though I do like to come back to Staten Island from time to time.”

     “So you’re a wanderer.”

     Sarah looks almost horrified. “Hardly!” She leans in, and Caitlyn can make out the perfume wafting from her cheeks. “I ride with the seas, wherever fortune takes me.”

    As far as Caitlyn knew, there didn’t exist any female ship captains, but there were a lot of female crew members. She nods. “I took a steamer up from Richmond a few months ago, myself.”

     “Virginia, huh?” Sarah asks. “I do like the South in spring - beautiful cherry blossoms, warm summer breeze.”

     It was a nice change of pace, Caitlyn reflects. Definitely beats dreary Liverpool. Caitlyn clears her throat. “So, Sarah, do you... come here often?”

     She realizes she’s talked herself into a trap by the way Sarah stares her down, like a fisherman who realizes they’ve secured in the biggest catch of the day.

     “Are you asking for yourself, or a friend?” She dangles the last word in front of Caitlyn, but she’s clever enough to ignore the bait the second time around.

     For the Bureau of Investigation, Caitlyn wants to deadpan again, but she plays it cool. If this woman shows interest in her, perhaps she’ll find a way into the community with her. “If my friend was interested, he’d come in person. But he’s not here - I am.”

     Sarah sidles closer. “Y’know, I don’t always frequent the Clementine House, but for you, I might make a slight exception.”

     “You’d do that for me?”

     When she leans forward, Caitlyn doesn’t know what to think, but Sarah leans past her to reach for her rum. “Lime,” she comments, smacking her lips. “You’ve got good taste.”

     Caitlyn blinks. “You just — ”

     Sarah gets to her feet, walking past Caitlyn for the door. “Thanks for the drink, sweetheart. Now I’d love to stay and chat, but a girl’s got business to do.” 

     This got Caitlyn’s interest, but she didn’t dare pry so soon. “What? You’re just going to leave like that?”

     “I’ll make sure to repay the favor, soon.” With a wink and a little wave of her fingers, she walks into the shadow where the light of the lamp doesn’t reach and disappears.

     Caitlyn immediately reaches for her purse, anticipating some kind of attempt at swindling, but is surprised to see a little note deposited into the pocket, with small, precise handwriting on it.

     Tuesday, 6 pm.

[socialattractionuk]

I’m a Black woman who’s only dated white men, but Black Lives Matter has changed everything

I’m a 27-year-old Black woman and I have never been in a relationship, or even dated, a man who is the same race as I am.

Most people are surprised, and when you think about it, it sounds kind of strange to not want to be with someone who possesses the same cultural values as yourself, but it hasn’t been on purpose.

Growing up in a predominantly white area, my options were limited. As I was navigating my teens, love was shoved down my throat on TV; I watched my friends pair off at house parties, and I started to become even more aware of the need to find my perfect match. 

I carefully curated him in my mind. He was tall, authoritative, kind, and loving, but I never thought about what colour he would be. I suppose it didn’t matter to me, as long as he existed.

Aged 16, I entered my first interracial relationship. The topic of race never came up. When you’re a shallow teenager, the conversation rarely stretches past your favourite contestant on Big Brother – or perhaps he saved those conversations for his ‘main’ girlfriend. I was number two, possibly even three, but definitely a secret.

It became glaringly obvious that there might be a reason he had the picture-perfect blonde girl on the outside, and me tucked away behind the scenes.

I know now that if someone loves you they are proud of you, and I deserve to be loved loudly. But I went into my 20s without many Black friends and more interracial relationships followed.

With each relationship, I accepted the fetishisation of the curly-haired, mixed-race babies I could provide (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

I watched a few of my white friends date Black men. Others shuddered at the thought of it, insisting their parents would ‘kill them’ if they brought someone of another race home – despite the fact I had been in their homes several times.

I often wondered if that was what my boyfriend’s parents thought when they saw me too but batted the thought away. 

With each relationship, I accepted the fetishisation of the curly-haired, mixed-race babies I could provide. One boyfriend’s mother squealed with excitement upon meeting me and said I would give her adorable ‘caramel’ grandchildren.

I didn’t mention the denial of white privilege during a very heated debate about the treatment of Meghan Markle or call out jokes about offensive racial stereotypes. I remember brushing off an ex’s dad when he was surprised that I didn’t ‘look or sound like Kim Fox from EastEnders’. 

It wasn’t because I was OK with any of it – I remember feeling grossed out by it all. But I didn’t want to be seen as angry or confrontational so I tried to let it go and put it down to a few isolated incidents and ignorance. 

I thought that’s how relationships were, because who doesn’t tease their other half about something, even if it does make you feel deflated?

Surely something like race wouldn’t matter when you’re truly in love? (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

It’s easy to call someone out on Twitter for their questionable behaviour, but when it’s someone you love, kicking up a fuss could end the relationship, it doesn’t always feel worth it.

In a way, just being with someone was more important to me than challenging the microaggressions. 

Often race never got discussed at all. Paul* would actively go out of his way to avoid it, or anything that pointed at us being different. Asking him to describe the Black person nearby would bring him out in a cold sweat, tripping over his words to find every other word but ‘Black’.  

At the time, I took it as a compliment, thinking it must mean that he didn’t see colour. Surely something like race wouldn’t matter when you’re truly in love? To be honest, it’s not something that I had thought about that deeply. 

But then George Floyd and Breonna Taylor’s tragic deaths, and the Black Lives Matter protests that followed, put the spotlight on racial issues worldwide – and I couldn’t help but reflect on my dating life, too.

The race discourse is currently more open now than it’s ever been in my lifetime. On social media and beyond, conversations about colonialism, institutional racism and the systemic barriers that keep Black people one step behind have become our new normal.

If I was in love with someone, someone I thought I knew inside and out, why couldn’t I speak up about racism? (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

It’s taken me back to all the racist incidents I have experienced, even in my relationships. Frankly, it’s been traumatic.

And it’s not just me; it seems like white people are examining themselves like never before.

Reddit co-founder Alexis Ohanian – married to tennis legend Serena Williams and the father of a Black daughter – stepped down from the company’s board of directors and asked to be replaced by a Black candidate.

Meanwhile, rapper Eve and Strictly star Oti Mabuse admitted to having ‘difficult’ conversations with their white partners.

These admissions sparked an online debate about the discussions you should have if you’re in an interracial relationship, which I joined with enthusiasm. But had I even practiced what I preached?

Seeing Black people protest just to have equality, and to not die at the hands of the police, triggered something inside of me. If I was in love with someone, someone I thought I knew inside and out, why couldn’t I speak up about racism?

Whether it was comments they had made or the topic as a whole, I could never bring myself to broach it out of fear of causing unnecessary friction. 

True love is being vocal and making sure your voice is heard (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

So here I am, a Black woman that has only dated white men. I have been guilty of letting things slide for the sake of ignorant bliss but racism will not just vanish by ignoring it, or being silent, because that can be seen as complicity. Acceptance, even. 

I believed that being in an interracial relationship was no different to being with someone of the same race. Like any other couple, you go on dates, meet each other’s friends and family and argue about what box set to watch.

But what I thought was a shared experience is simply a delusion. Even if you and your partner grew up in the same town, on the same street, being a different race comes with a completely different set of challenges and experiences. 

I wouldn’t say no to entering an interracial relationship again – but there will be some rules. 

Race will have to be discussed at the very start. Would a man be prepared, for instance, to raise a Black child who will come with a set of problems they’ve never had to face? What steps will they take to be proactively be anti-racist?

More: UK

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I will not accept someone who refuses to acknowledge their privilege, thinks racist jokes are just ‘banter’ and who doesn’t read up on systemic racism. I won’t give them a copy of Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race and hope for the best.

True love isn’t colour blind, in fact, it’s the opposite. True love is about the ability to be open and honest with someone without fear of repercussions. 

True love is being vocal and making sure your voice is heard. True love is recognising your differences, not ignoring them.

*Names have been changed

Last week in Love, Or Something Like It: My ex is my best friend

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Love, Or Something Like It is a regular series for Metro.co.uk, covering everything from mating and dating to lust and loss, to find out what love is and how to find it in the present day. If you have a love story to share, email rosy.edwards@metro.co.uk

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[acaricatureoflife]

The day Celtic won the league (aka The Weekend I wore double denim; aka Josh Rouse @ The Mash House, Edinburgh

Recently I have been finding myself sighing loudly at increasingly frequent intervals and often with a sprawling dramatic effect, to the point where people nearby who are witnessing this theatre have been asking if I am alright.  I have been considering whether this involuntary act is just another thing that happens as we become older – for I am aging every day, after all – or if it is a symptom of something else. There have been days of late where I have felt a lot like a petal in a rainstorm:  lost and alone and helpless and drenched in thought. It was with this wistful and weary feeling that I took my seat on the sparsely populated 18.11 Scotrail service to Glasgow on Saturday evening.

The sun was hanging low in the sky over the bay by this time, longing to be returned to the ocean, and I had eaten a truly terrible pizza before I left the flat.  I was becoming tired, and when I carefully placed my Tesco bag for life packed with four cans of Budweiser on the table it felt a tad ambitious. I glanced around the nearly empty carriage as the train departed and became aware that the only other person who was drinking alcohol was the man sitting at the table adjacent to mine.  He had the appearance of someone who was low on his luck and who had probably not long since gotten out of bed. I hesitated in pulling the ring on my first can of beer, feeling reluctant to be grouped with this down and out. Then I wondered: what does he think when he looks across the aisle at me?  He probably doesn’t care.  By the looks of his fingernails he probably doesn’t care about much at all.  I sighed and opened the can of Budweiser, and in that moment we became one.

I was only able to drink three cans of beer, but somehow that didn’t matter when I reached the reception desk at the Travelodge and was greeted by the girl who last week had remembered me from a previous stay.  This time I didn’t have the same quiet satisfaction of being remembered by an attractive female whom I don’t remember, as not only did I remember her but I had been hoping to encounter her again. She noted that I was dressed in double denim and I acknowledged that it was a bold decision which I might not have made had I been sober.  Over the course of the weekend I would see at least five other men who were wearing a combination of jeans and a denim jacket and on none of those occasions did I feel convinced that it is a style which is back in fashion. My case, in particular, was probably not helped by the fact that my jeans are now at least a size too big for me and so much of my belt is being used to hold them around my waist that there is a length of leather left flapping like a carrier bag caught on a rail.

The Travelodge girl processed my booking for two nights and as she was doing so asked me what seemed to be an unusual and unexpected question.

“Would you mind not having a bath?”

For a moment I was caught off guard and hesitated.  The possibility ran through my mind that the Travelodge girl was sexually interested in me and that the forfeit of decency and hygiene was some kind of kink of hers.  But she looks much too manicured for that and my ability to wash myself is one of my best qualities, so I immediately dismissed that notion.

“Can I at least shower?”  I queried.

She laughed in the same way women tend to when I say something which is both vaguely amusing and laden with ineptitude.  She clarified that my room would have a shower but not a bath, and I declared that would be fine with me as I had forgotten to pack my lavender bath bombs.

Having checked in to my room and applied a fresh squirt of Joop Homme and disrobed myself of my denim jacket I returned downstairs, where disappointment furrowed my brow when the diminutive and curved blonde Travelodge girl was not behind the bar.  Instead I was served Guinness and Glenfiddich – as they were out of Jameson – by a taller, balder and more masculine character. Whilst he was not at all unpleasant he very quickly indulged me in the intricate details of his latest hobby, which happens to be to collect coins, and I have no currency for small talk.  He read to me from his small notebook a list of countries and denominations, page after page of them, and would later allow me to hold a Portuguese escudo. I had never prepared myself for such a thing and didn’t know quite what a person should be saying when holding a small piece of Iberian silver.

“It’s an interesting design,” proved to be the best coin chat I could muster.

Fortunately the coin collector’s shift finished at eleven o’clock and the Travelodge girl glided across the floor to serve a couple of older women who had ordered a vodka and coke each.  She informed the ladies that the bar had run out of ice and asked them if they would welcome a wedge of lemon as a substitute. They declined, and at the first opportunity I challenged the Travelodge girl on the logic of offering lemon as an alternative to ice.  She claimed that as it dilutes the drink it serves the same purpose and I wasn’t convinced.

“Speaking of lemons,” I exclaimed with the kind of excitement I get when something funny occurs to me.  “I’ll tell you something I’m feeling bitter about – you’ve run out of Jameson.”

Without hesitation she responded.

“That joke is something to be bitter about,” she welped, emphasising the first two words as though she was questioning whether it could even be classed a joke.

Although she was clearly incorrect I continued talking to her anyway, and I relayed the tale of how I had gotten so drunk at the bar the previous Saturday that I fell asleep on top of the bed and gave the housekeepers the easiest Sunday morning they could have experienced.  Her face demonstrated a lack of surprise at this revelation, and she confirmed that I left the bar “in quite a state” that night. With those words I imagined that I had walked away from my bar stool in the manner of a bag of wet, unfolded laundry.

By this stage I had been joined by and found myself in conversation with a gentleman from the west coast of Ireland.  We discussed the upcoming Old Firm fixture; his love of Liverpool FC and how if Steven Gerrard becomes the next Rangers manager he will disown him the same way he did Michael Owen when he signed for Manchester United; the difference between football fans and GAA fans and how he can attend a Mayo vs Dublin game and sit next to someone from Dublin and hate them for no longer than the period of the game; how living in Switzerland for four months has taught him that “the Swiss are cunts.”  At points I found myself acting as a translator between the deep Irish brogue and the Glaswegian accent, and I was melting inside at the sound of both. I felt a deep awkwardness drinking Guinness poured from a can in front of an actual Irishman – it is inferior to the real thing in every conceivable way – and I suspect that he eventually became so offended by the sight that it was the cause of him getting up and leaving without ceremony.

On Sunday morning the sky was a sapphire blue and it looked as though it was dressed for a party.  I was conscious earlier than anticipated and decided to walk from the city centre to Celtic Park rather than take the train to Bellgrove, as I would ordinarily do on these type of match days.  During the week I had created a playlist of predominantly sad songs for a blue-haired friend who seems to be going through a troubled time and I listened to it as I made my way along the Gallowgate, as I had been doing all weekend, though I didn’t imagine that the groups of people singing behind me were serenading the journey with The Speed of Pain by Marilyn Manson.

Although it was early in the day – pre-afternoon, in fact – it was notable how many of the men walking ahead of me were cradling bottles of Buckfast in the back pockets of their jeans like it was the most prized possession in their life at that moment, in the way some carry a wallet holding pictures of loved ones or an iPod with their favourite songs.  Later, into the afternoon, those same bottles are standing triumphantly against lampposts, lined in regiment along the tops of walls and propped proudly against pavement kerbs, statuesque, like the way we memorialise heroes.

Celtic Park was shimmering in sunlight and the next time I saw my face my forehead was pink like a medium-rare fillet steak, owed to the lack of protection a cap might have offered – or a full head of hair.  This was not my first health and safety concern of the afternoon. I almost lost my glasses in the wild exuberance of the first goal, and by the time the third goal was scored and the entire stadium – save for some of the 7,000 in blue who were already shuffling towards the exits – locked arms around one another to do the Huddle I had visions of tumbling over the seat behind me.

At times I found myself glancing at the steward presiding over my block and wondered if she was The Most Beautiful Steward in the World from a game some time last season.  I had my doubts, because she looked a little fuller than before, but then that was an evening kick-off and much like bar lights everything looks better under floodlights.  I was convinced that it might have been her, however, by the fact that she shared many of the mannerisms The Most Beautiful Steward in the World had, such as frequently looking up at the screens and refusing to make eye contact with me.

During the half-time interval I embarked on my usual effort to source a sachet of brown sauce, which at times seemed almost as unlikely as finding a Rangers goal.  The base of the steak pie was sticking to the foil case with much more resolution than the Rangers midfield had been showing and the whole thing became a messy farce.

In the ground I was continuing to struggle to understand a single word spoken by the Northern Irishman next to me, though I am certain that he was excited.  The names of Andy Halliday and Alfredo Morelos reverberated around the stands with an adoration which is unlikely to be heard in even their own homes. By the time the fifth goal was scored and Celtic had won the league on an occasion where they had beaten Rangers for the first time since 1979 the place was heaving with joy the likes of which I have rarely seen.

After the final whistle I found it difficult to celebrate the way I felt like doing when I ended up in Shilling Brewing Co. drinking a hoppy session pale ale by the name of Goonies Never Die.  Often it seems to me that an IPA is a drink which is not supposed to be enjoyed, so complex and harsh it can be on the palette. The girl with the pink hair made a late withdrawal from the Josh Rouse gig and I travelled to Edinburgh alone.  I decided that I would eat dinner on the train and bought a brie, bacon and chilli chutney sandwich that had been reduced from £2.25 to £1.49, though with hindsight it wasn’t as substantial a reduction as it had seemed at the time.

With the journey between Scotland’s two largest cities being less than an hour I reckoned that I would not need a great amount of beer and so bought three 330ml cans of Brooklyn Lager rather than a typical four-pack of 440ml.  These cans were individually priced at £2.05 and the vigilant Sainsbury’s checkout woman queried whether I was aware of this. Whilst the price was indeed ridiculous I accepted it and confirmed that I would pay for the beer. She commented that she often pays inflated prices for wines she enjoys and I wasn’t sure if she was trying to make me feel better or worse about it.

On the train I continued the title-winning celebrations by listening to my sad playlist of songs by The Smiths, The Cure, Ryan Adams and The Ramones and attempted to drink Brooklyn Lager discreetly from an orange Sainsbury’s bag which was nestled between my thighs because I couldn’t be sure whether there was a ban on alcohol following the football.  A toddler of about three years of age, dressed in fluffy pink fairy wings, kept looking at me from across the carriage and it was the most judged I have ever felt. I got off the train at Waverley Station and hoped that the experience of watching a pink-faced man quaffing lager from an orange carrier bag wasn’t one which would traumatise this young girl in later life.

Edinburgh’s grey and gothic features were basking in the haze of an early evening glow and it is something I have rarely witnessed in the city.  The sun conspired with the architecture to cast haunting shadows across the streets and it was almost as charming as when the rain slickens the cobbles in the Old Town.  I made quick visits to some of my favourite bars in the city and drank Tennent’s Lager in Banshee Labyrinth, drawing attention to the fact that I am from the west coast. The Banshee Labyrinth is one of my favourite bars anywhere and its sign holds the claim that it is Scotland’s most haunted pub, though in my times there the only spirits I have encountered sit behind the bar in bottles.

Josh Rouse was playing at The Mash House, which turned out to be but a short stumble from the pubs I had travelled to.  The venue itself was very small and intimate, surely not much bigger than my flat, wall to wall. His set was very tight and had the kind of chilled out vibe I enjoy from his music and just about everything I could have hoped he would play he did.  I was particularly pleased and probably let out a shriek every bit as triumphant as when Callum McGregor scored earlier in the day when he played Hollywood Bass Player, the video for which features an animated Madonna taking a giraffe to a drive-thru cinema on a date.  I have long since seeing the video questioned what the etiquette would be when dating a giraffe: who buys the popcorn, who initiates the first kiss, who picks the movie?

By the time the gig finished and I was on the train back to Glasgow the ten o’clock curfew for selling alcohol in Scotland had passed and I was forced to endure a dry journey.  Similarly the bar in the Travelodge had closed for the night when I arrived there, being a Sunday night, and I returned to my room. It was barely midnight when I got under the covers and turned off the lights.  I sighed loudly and another rainstorm started.

[londontheatre]

Bananaman The Musical – Matthew McKenna (Bananaman) Photo by Pamela Raith

Bananaman is flying to London to save the world! The most brainless superhero ever to grace the skies is going to make his live action debut in an all-singing, all-flying must-see new British musical.

Bananaman, the Man-of-Peel, is a unique member of the superhero ranks. Our handsome hero may have a jaw line you can see from space and sport the snazziest of tight lycra outfits, but this superhero has ‘the muscles of 20 men and the brain of 20 mussels.’ Which isn’t much.

With supervillains Doctor Gloom and General Blight attempting world domination who can we call? Superman’s on holiday, Spiderman’s not picking up – our only option, our very very last option is – Bananaman.

For the first time ever, Bananaman will be live on stage in Bananaman the Musical.

Bananaman the Musical, written and composed by Leon Parris, directed by Mark Perry, will run at Southwark Playhouse from December 15th 2017 to January 20th 2018. Press night is Thursday January 4, 2018 at 7.30pm

Bananaman began life in the Nutty comic in 1980, and was a flyaway success, transferring to The Dandy before joining the world’s longest-running comic, The Beano in 2012 and he is now one of The Beano’s flagship characters. A send-up of the likes of Superman and Batman, he was the subject of the hugely popular TV cartoon that ran between 1983 and 1986 for three series and 40 episodes on the BBC and featured the voices of Tim Brooke-Taylor, Graeme Garden and Bill Oddie from The Goodies.

Fans of the the TV series will remember the iconic opening sequence, “This is 29 Acacia Road. And this is Eric Wimp. He’s a schoolboy who leads an amazing double life. For when Eric eats a banana an amazing transformation occurs. Eric is Bananaman. Ever alert for the call to action.”

[See image gallery at http://ift.tt/1FpwFUw]

  With a useless hero and some equally clueless villains, Bananaman’s winkingly clever, delightfully silly humour has been sealed into the memories of those who saw him first, and will now spark the imagination of a new bunch of Bananafans.

It won’t be long before we all ‘Peel the Power’ of Bananaman. Matthew McKenna is unmasked today as the star and “handsome hero” of Bananaman the Musical. Matthew has appeared in many major West End musicals, including The Phantom of the Opera, Sunset Boulevard, Legally Blonde the Musical, We Will Rock You, Starlight Express (as Elektra), and The Rocky Horror Show (Riff Raff) and both Singing in the Rain and 42nd Street at the Theatre Du Chatelet, Paris.

Also starring, as Bananaman’s arch nemesis Doctor Gloom, the super villain seeking world domination, will be Marc Pickering. Marc Pickering returns to Southwark Playhouse where he appeared in the European premiere of Toxic Avenger The Musical. He recently starred as Finch in the musical How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (Wiltons Music Hall), Joseph Merrick in The Elephant Man (Trafalgar Studios), Merchant of Venice (Arcola) and The Glee Club (Hull Truck). His film work includes Sleepy Hollow, Calendar Girls, Kill Keith, I Want Candy, The Darkest Day and Montparnasse in Tom Hooper’s 2012 film of the celebrated musical Les Misérables. On TV he has appeared in the new series of Josh and Homeboys & Dalziel & Pascoe (BBC), played R Wayne in Peter Kay’s talent show parody Britain’s Got the Pop Factor, Ippolito D’este in Borgia III (for Netflix), and the young Enoch “Nucky” Thompson in the fifth and final season of the HBO series Boardwalk Empire.

Bringing the rest of the residents of Acacia Road to life are a stellar West End cast.

Jodie Jacobs (Broadway World Award Best Supporting Actress for Rock Of Ages) is Eric’s loyal sidekick, Crow. Jodie Jacobs has played Fantine in Les Misérables, Grizabella in Cats, Florence in Chess, Serena Katz in Fame and she understudied the lead roles of Scaramouche & Meatloaf in We Will Rock You (Dominion), Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors (Duke of York’s) and Eva Peron in Evita (Adelphi Theatre). Jodie has most recently been seen in The Lionel Bart Story as Judy Garland and Georgia Brown. She received an Off West End Award and a West End Wilma nomination for Lizzie (Greenwich Theatre and Denmark transfer), she won a Broadway World award for Best Supporting Actress for Rock Of Ages (West End). She was recently nominated Best Actress in a Musical as Atropos in the brand new musical 27 (Cockpit).

Mark Newnham (Eric Wimp) recently played Dave Davies in the Kinks musical Sunny Afternoon and the young Steve Marriott in the new musical All Or Nothing. His other roles include Cookie in Return to the Forbidden Planet, John Lennon in Lennon at Liverpool Royal Court Theatre, Jamie in The Last 5 Years, and Hot Stuff.

Carl Mullaney (General Blight) has appeared in Les Misérables, (West End), Chicago (West End & international tour as Mary Sunshine), Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens (Booby Shevalle), West Side Story, Jest End and Fashion Victim The Musical.

CHIEF O’REILLY – TJ Lloyd T J Lloyd’s previous musicals include playing Nicely Nicely Johnson in Guys & Dolls, The Baker in Into The Woods, Charley Kringas in Merrily We Roll Along and Ray in Elegies for Angels, Punks & Raging Queens.

MRS WIMP – Lizzii Hills Lizzii Hills is returning to Southwark Playhouse after starring there as Mayor Babs Belgoody & Ma Ferd in the European premiere of The Toxic Avenger The Musical. Her other musicals include Hedy LaRue in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (Wilton’s) Sarah Brown in Guys & Dolls, The Rat Pack Live from Las Vegas, Chicago, High Society, Me and My Girl,and Crazy for You.

MAD MAGICIAN – Brian Gilligan Brian Gilligan starred as Guy in Once (Dublin), Deco in The Commitments (UK and Irish Tour), Cornelius/1st Cover Faustus, Doctor Faustus (West End), Bruno in Piaf (Charing Cross Theatre), and Michael Collins in Michael Collins: A Musical Drama, (Tivoli Theatre, Dublin).

FIONA – Emma Ralston Emma Ralston was Pluto in the UK premiere of Sondheim’s The Frogs (Jermyn Street Theatre), Little Red Riding Hood, Into the Woods (Ye Olde Rose & Crown), and Eve Meet Me In St. Louis (Landor Theatre).

Chris McGuigan (Ensemble) Chris McGuigan was in Candide (Cadogan Hall), Norman Jewison in JUDY! (Arts Theatre), Herakles, Sondheim’s The Frogs (UK premiere, Jermyn Street), All My Sons (Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre), Marcel Dusoleil (the lead), Amour (European premiere, Royal Academy of Music).

Amy Perry (Ensemble) Amy Perry was Millie Dillmount in Thoroughly Modern Millie (Adelphi Theatre), Myra Yerkes, Road Show (Union Theatre), Ursula March, Sweet Charity (Cadogan Hall).

Bananaman the Musical is produced by Sightline Entertainment in association with Cahoots Theatre Company and Beano Studios.

Leon Parris (Writer and Composer) Leon Parris is an award winning writer and composer for musicals including Wolfboy, Enid Blyton’s The Famous Five, Stig of the Dump and Monte Cristo. He was winner of the Vivian Ellis Best Musical Award and The Really Useful Group Award for Most Promising Writer.

Mark Perry (Director) Founder of Sightline Entertainment, Mark’s production credits include The Famous Five, Honk, The Country, The Picture of Dorian Gray, You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown, Just So, Bent and Stiffed. Directing credits include A Comedy of Arias, The Caretaker, Little Shop of Horrors, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Sleuth, Cinderella Boom or Bust, A Slice of Saturday Night. As an actor, Mark has worked extensively in TV and theatre both in the West End and on national tour.

Alan Berry (Musical Supervisor) Alan is currently the Musical Director for The Girl From The North Country at The Old Vic. Previous shows include Groundhog Day, Matilda The Musical, The Commitments, Ghost The Musical, Avenue Q, Shrek, Hairspray and Spamalot. Future projects include Big Fish at The Other Palace.

Mike Leopold (Set and Costume Designer) Michael’s recent credits include, Thoroughly Modern Millie 48 Hour (Adelphi Theatre), King Lear (The Cockpit), and The Wasp (Jermyn Street Theatre), Journey’s End (Charles Cryer Theatre). He designed Proof (Tabard Theatre) and Chummy (The White Bear Theatre) which both received Off West End nominations for Best Design in 2015 and 2017. Associate credits include Love Me Tender, The Last Tango, Death Trap, Tango Moderne, Son of a Preacher Man (All UK Tours), Top Hat (Kilworth House).

Grant Murphy (Assistant Director/Choreographer) Creative credits include: Joseph (Jersey Opera House); Yas Jungle Cirque (Yas Island Abu Dhabi); Legally Blonde (Stanwix Theatre); Forever Plaid (St James Theatre London); Guys and Dolls (Cadogan Hall); Aladdin (Salisbury Playhouse); Pinocchio (Greenwich Theatre); Rags (Lyric Theatre); Avenue Q (Ovation Productions); 18 Stone of Idiot – The Johnny Vegas Show (UMTV); He assisted Baayork Lee on A Chorus Line (London Palladium); and was tap coach to the Billy Elliot boys.

Sightline Entertainment – Producer Sightline Entertainment is an independently owned production company based in London Sightline produces commercial new work and revivals of both plays and musical theatre productions.

Beano Studios – Original Producer Beano Studios is a new global multimedia company established to create, curate and deliver mischievous entertainment for kids aged 6-106, all over the world. They produce diverse entertainment across multiple platforms including TV, digital, theatrical projects, consumer and the much-loved comic and annual.

LISTINGS INFORMATION BANANAMAN THE MUSICAL Southwark Playhouse THE LARGE 77-85 Newington Causeway London SE1 6BD

Friday December 15th 2017 to Saturday 20th January 2018

http://ift.tt/2C3Ofo9 London Theatre 1

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 3 (Multi Liverpool players)