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theolympusrp · 6 months

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IC: Nome terreno: Blair Wisbech Nome mitológico: - Faceclaim: @_missbo (instagram) Nascimento: 19 de novembro de 2000 Naturalidade: Britânica. Ser: Sereia. Tempo de treino: 0 - 5 anos. Nível: 02. Twitter: @olp_blair Fraternidade: Phi Lambda Delta Ocupação: Aluna + Encantamento.

Qualidades: Amigável, carinhosa e leal. Defeitos: Ansiosa, explosiva, impulsiva. Plots de interesse: Todos.

Biografia:

Blair, nome que havia ganhado de sua mãe, nasceu no litoral de Londres no dia 19/11/2000. Na realidade, Blair foi entregue à humanos quando era um pequenino bebê por uma mulher no mínimo muito estranha. Mas, seus pais se sentiram abençoados, afinal, a mãe de Blair tinha problemas para engravidar. Então eles a receberam como uma benção, aceitaram a menina de bom grado. A infância dela havia sido calma, os pais eram pessoas maravilhosas e Blair era uma menina bem espontânea e amigável, havia herdado isso de sua mãe. Sempre fazendo amizade com pessoas ao seu redor e tendo um poder enorme de encantamento, ela tinha um dom, só não sabia que era de maneira literal. A britânica conseguia fazer amizades até mesmo com as mais complicadas façanhas do planeta Terra, e seus pais achavam incrível como aquilo podia acontecer. Também tinha uma conexão com a natureza que era surreal. Desde muito pequena, ela aprendeu a nadar primeiro do que a andar e seu poder de conexão com a água era tão particular, que ela se sentia em casa. Certa vez, quando foi à um passeio de escola, conseguiu até mesmo atrair todos os peixes para o vidro do aquário enquanto seus olhos mudavam de cor para um azul mais intenso, foi quando as crianças, por mais que amigas dela, começaram a julgar ela como estranha e seus pais por sua vez a afastou do mar, se mudando para Nova Iorque, devido também ao trabalho que seu pai fora solicitado a fazer.

Blair então cresceu uma criança feliz, a cidade nova havia feito bem para ela, mas a garota sentia uma falta do mar sem igual, quase como se faltasse um pedaço de sua alma e ela não entendia ainda, até porque era muito criança para compreender emoções tão complexas. Como ela poderia não estar próximo ao mar e sentir uma raiva misturada com saudade? Sua paixão se mantinha viva dentro dos limites que ela podia e, por isso, se mantinha em piscinas olímpicas mais fundas. Foi assim que começou sua adolescência na cidade onde morava, criando uma paixão genuína por natação. Ainda assim seu poder de atração continuava o mesmo, mas ela já sabia disfarçar melhor aqui e ninguém julgava ela como uma menininha estranha. Por vezes perguntava não compreendia direito o que estava acontecendo com ela. Aos 16 anos de idade, uma viagem da escola levou algumas turmas para uma cidade praiana, e a garota lá ela brincou, se divertiu muito e estava tudo em paz, ela se sentia completa de novo. Blair estava apaixonada por um dos garotos de sua turma e, quando havia sentado na areia clara e fina do lugar com o rapaz o qual gostava, o clima acabou rolando entre os dois. Seu coração palpitava, o mundo a sua volta sumia e só existia aquele homem. Sem se importar com mais nada, ela o beijou e sentiu seu peito se inundar com sentimento de atração. O dia seguinte começou cedo naquela viagem e todos se preparavam para entrar na água, com ela não seria diferente. O erro foi entrar na água no dia do seu décimo sétimo aniversário, que foi quando a transformação aconteceu e ela se sentiu completamente traída e enganada, quando tudo de seu passado voltou à tona, tinha um rabo de peixe no lugar de suas pernas e todos simplesmente se afastaram dela como sempre havia ocorrido.

Quando chegou em casa, movida pela fúria, questionou tudo sobre o que tinha acontecido, estava em choque, mas queria entender bem o que acontecia com si mesma, e sua mãe, sempre um doce de pessoa tentava explicar desde que havia descoberto que sua filha era uma sereia, num passado ao qual ela não sabia. Mas Blair não escutava, apenas mostrava sua fúria profunda contra aqueles humanos, demonstrando assim seu primeiro poder, que era manipular a água quando encharcou a mão do líquido corrente que vinha da torneira. Afinal, aquilo tudo era complicado para a menina que era tão nova nessa nova vida, por isso, seus pais tiveram a brilhante ideia de buscar um lugar melhor para a menina e no meio de uma noite nebulosa, a mesma mulher que apareceu para eles anos atrás pareceu novamente à beira mar e os explicou onde a filha deles teria algum tipo de sossego, foi quando ele enviaram a menina contra sua vontade à Olympus, um lugar onde semi-divindades e criaturas viviam em harmonia e agora ela teria que se acostumar com aquilo. Os anos se passaram em Olympus, e Blair envelheceu, criando maturidade e um pouco menos furiosa, aprendendo a lidar melhor com sua transformação e seus poderes. Agora entendia que daquele tempo em diante seria completamente diferente de qualquer outra que tinha vivido.

Habilidades:

1. Hidrocinese: As sereias, desde sempre, tiveram a capacidade de moldar a água e usá-la a seu favor. Portanto, a criatura também possuirá essa habilidade de controlar e criar os átomos de hidrogênio. Conseguindo moldar a água de forma iniciante, podendo apenas dar formas a ela e atirar pequenas bolhas que prendem seus inimigos e logo se desfazem.

2. Lábia: Essa é uma capacidade que todas as sereias possuem. Se trata de conseguir manipular as ideias de alguém apenas com sua fala, dando sugestões de o que deve ser feito. Essa habilidade se estende a todos que a ouvirem. Sua voz pode ser extremamente poderosa, fazendo até mesmo com que inimigos se voltem contra os próprios aliados, causando um efeito de reversão em seus ideais de luta e de lado. No entanto, ela é limitada e só pode ser usada duas vezes em um intervalo grande de dias, causando também uma diminuição de estamina na sereia.

3. Amigas dos Seres Marinhos: As sereias são tidas como protetoras dos mares, eliminando tudo aquilo que represente perigo à vida marinha. Por conta disso, esse seres terão respeito dos animais e criaturas marinhas, lutando lado a lado. Essa habilidade também permite que as sereias falem com qualquer ser vivo, mitológico ou não, de vida marinha ou anfíbia, mas não permite que os seres sejam controlados pela sereia.

4. Telecinese: É a capacidade de realizar feitos com o poder do pensamento. Consegue fazer o que desejar com o poder da mente, movendo coisas leves o suficiente, porém terá um gasto de energia grande para fazer isso.

5. Arcanista: As sereias são capazes de criar diversos artefatos mágicos. Isso ocorre pelo fato de terem aprendido a conectar-se com artefatos místicos ou com o poder de encantamento da voz. Em seu nível mais alto, é possível usar o poder do canto para anestesiar temporariamente aliados feridos enquanto a sereia estiver perto desse determinado aliado, porém ela vai cansando a medida em que faz o uso da habilidade.

6. Resistência a Venenos: Por viverem no mar, as sereias desenvolveram resistência contra os venenos/toxinas dos peixes e águas-vivas, porém, podem ser fracas diante outros venenos desconhecidos. Por ser metade humana, pode adquirir doenças como resfriado ou coisas terráqueas.

7. Necromancia: As sereias sempre tiveram a capacidade de se comunicar com o mundo espiritual. Dessa forma, poderão comunicar-se com os mortos, usando um feitiço específico pra tal. Será possível apenas obter informação ou usar os espíritos dos mortos para causar um pequeno susto nos inimigos. No entanto, para isso, a sereia precisa ter algum tipo de vínculo com o morto ou com um bem extremamente pessoal dessa pessoa morta, do contrário, os espíritos podem ficar com raiva e se virarem contra a sereia.

8. Beleza Admirável: Em quase todas as histórias, sereias são retratadas como seres belos que atraem a atenção dos piratas para os levarem à morte no fundo do mar. Sendo assim, as sereias terão uma beleza invejável que será capaz de fazer os inimigos pensarem antes de a atacarem por ser muito bela, em alguns casos a sereia é tão bela que causa até mesmo um desconforto nos homens, como ereções e vontade de beijar a sereia. Por conseguinte, sua aparência permanecerá sempre a mesma, a idade nunca lhe alcançará e ela sempre será jovem. Em consequência, isso se quebrará caso a sereia encontre o amor verdadeiro em um humano, fazendo com que a idade avance e ela envelheça naturalmente.

9. Resistência Aquática: Sereias são seres que habitam as profundezas dos rios e mares, por isso seus pulmões, ossos e órgãos são adaptados para resistir a pressões gigantescas debaixo d'água, de forma a conseguirem descer o quanto quiserem no mar sem sofrer danos. Mas, não são nenhum pouco resistentes ao calor extremo.

10. Ferratana: Essa habilidade consiste em transformar sua cauda em uma lâmina cortante, sua cauda poderá esticar e se movimentar da forma que for preciso e suas extremidades se tornam extremamente afiadas. A lâmina dura por uma hora.

#aceitos.#membros.#_missbo #blair wisbech #sereia.

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maypoleman1 · 9 months

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5th August

Old St James’ Day and the Legend of Tom Hickathrift

Tom Hickathrift by Mike Lea. Source: Look and Learn magazine

Under the Old Calendar, today is St James’ Day and also the day that the legend of Tom Hickathrift was born. Tom was a large and good-hearted man who lived in eleventh century England. A brewer, whose produce was being regularly stolen and his men killed by the fearsome Wisbech Giant, prevailed on Tom to take the job of safeguarding the ale. Tom agreed to drive a cart filled with beer from King’s Lyn to the inns of Wisbech. Sure enough midway through his journey, Tom was assailed by the Giant, wielding a tree as a club and who pointed out his collection of severed heads - the remains of Tom’s unfortunate predecessors. Nothing daunted, Tom pulled off a wheel from the cart to use as a shield and the axle as a club and the two titans joined battle. The men were evenly matched and the fight went on for hours, until Tom eventually prevailed, striking the Giant’s head and administering a death blow. On entering his foe’s cave, Tom discovered a horde of stolen treasure. From that moment Tom, hitherto viewed as a bit of a simpleton, became a wealthy gentleman, ‘Mr Thomas’ Hickathrift and honoured throughout East Anglia.

On this day in 642, St Oswald, the Christian King of Northumbria, was defeated and killed by Penda, the pagan king of Mercia at the Battle of Maserfield. Oswald’s body was dismembered under Germanic pagan rites and what remained of the king was taken to Bardney Abbey in Lincolnshire for burial. The monks refused to accept the corpse because although Oswald was Christian, he was also from Northumbria, which the holy men viewed as an enemy land. God took a hand and a bright light then allegedly shone continually from the field where Oswald was dumped, all the way to heaven. Unsurprisingly the monks changed their minds and Oswald was duly interred in the Abbey with all due ceremony.

#english folklore #Tom hickerthrift #battle of maserfield #st Oswald #old st james’ day #Penda of Mercia #bardney abbey #Wisbech giant

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stumpremovalcambridgeshire · 1 year

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Scott’s Tree Stump Removal

Cambridgeshires leading Stump Removal Specialists.

Tree Stump Removal Wisbech

#Tree Stump Removal Burwell #Tree Stump Removal St Neots #Tree Stump Removal Peterborough #Tree Stump Removal Huntingdon #Tree Stump Removal Kings Lynn #Tree Stump Removal Littleport #Tree Stump Removal Cambridge #Tree Stump Removal Yaxley #Tree Stump Removal Wisbech #Tree Stump Removal Whittlesey

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thenamesofthings · 2 years

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Peter Mills (1598--1670). Wisbech Castle, c. 1657. Cambridgeshire.

An essay in the Artisan Mannerist style of the Commonwealth, commissioned by John Thurloe (1616--1668), a secretary to the council of state of the Commonwealth of England and an intelligence chief for Oliver Cromwell.

To the General Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland; or, in case of their not sitting, To the Commissioners of the Kirk of Scotland: These.

Musselburgh, 3d August, 1650.

SIRS,

Your Answer to the Declaration of the Army we have seen. Some godly Ministers with us did, at Berwick, compose this Reply; which I thought fit to send you. That you or we, in these great Transactions, answer the will and mind of God, it is only from His grace and mercy to us. And therefore, having said as in our Papers, we commit the issue thereof to Him who disposeth all things, assuring you that we have light and comfort increasing upon us, day by day; and are persuaded that, before it be long, the Lord will manifest His good pleasure so that all shall see Him; and His People shall say, This is the Lord's work, and it is marvellous in our eyes: this is the day that the Lord hath made; we will be glad and rejoice therein.-Only give me leave to say, in a word, 'thus much:'

You take upon you to judge us in the things of our God, though you know us not,-though in the things we have said unto you, in that which is entitled the Army's Declaration, we have spoken our hearts as in the sight of the Lord who hath tried us. And by your hard and subtle words you have begotten prejudice in those who do too much, in matters of conscience,-wherein every soul is to answer for itself to God,-depend upon you. So that some have already followed you, to the breathing-out of their souls: 'and' others continue still in the way wherein they are led by you,-we fear, to their own ruin.

And no marvel if you deal thus with us, when indeed you can find in your hearts to conceal from your own people the Papers we have sent you; who might thereby see and understand the bowels of our affections to them, especially to such among them as fear the Lord. Send as many of your Papers as you please amongst ours; they have a free passage. I fear them not. What is of God in them, would it might be embraced and received!-One of them lately sent, directed To the Under-officers and Soldiers in the English Army, hath begotten from them this enclosed Answer; which they desired me to send to you: not a crafty politic one, but a plain simple spiritual one;-what kind of one it is God knoweth, and God also will in due time make manifest.

And do we multiply these things, as men; or do we them for the Lord Christ and His People's sake? Indeed we are not, through the grace of God, afraid of your numbers, nor confident in ourselves. We could,-I pray God you do not think we boast,-meet your Army, or what you have to bring against us. We have given,-humbly we speak it before our God, in whom all our hope is,- some proof that thoughts of that kind prevail not upon us. The Lord hath not hid His face from us since our approach so near unto you.

Your own guilt is too much for you to bear: bring not therefore upon yourselves the blood of innocent men,-deceived with pretences of King and Covenant; from whose eyes you hid a better knowledge! I am persuaded that divers of you, who lead the People, have laboured to build yourselves in these things; wherein you have censured others, and established yourselves "upon the Word of God." Is it therefore infallibly agreeable to the Word of God, all that you say? I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken. Precept may be upon precept, line may be upon line, and yet the Word of the Lord may be to some a Word of Judgment; that they may fall backward and be broken, and be snared and be taken! There may be a spiritual fulness, which the World may call drunkenness; as in the second Chapter of the Acts. There may be, as well, a carnal confidence upon misunderstood and misapplied precepts, which may be called spiritual drunkenness. There may be a Covenant made with Death and Hell! I will not say yours was so. But judge if such things have a politic aim: To avoid the overflowing scourge; or, To accomplish worldly interests? And if therein we have confederated with wicked and carnal men, and have respect for them, or otherwise 'have drawn them in to associate with us, Whether this be a Covenant of God, and spiritual? Bethink yourselves; we hope we do.

I pray you read the 28th of Isaiah, from the fifth to the fifteenth verse. And do not scorn to know that it is the Spirit that quickens and giveth life.

The Lord give you and us understanding to do that which is well-pleasing in His sight. Committing you to the grace of God, I rest,

Your humble servant, OLIVER CROMWELL.

Isaiah 28:15: Because ye have said, “We have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through, it shall not come unto us: for we have made lies our refuge, and under falsehood have we hid ourselves.”

#Oliver Cromwell #Peter Mills #Wisbech Castle #Commonwealth architecture

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russellius · 1 year

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THE TIMES: The Formula One driver and his father, Steve, on failed driving tests and sleeping in horseboxes

George

My earliest memories are of living in a mobile home while my parents built a house in a field in the middle of nowhere, near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire. I rode a pedal tractor around the site, hurtling through corners and reversing with a trailer.

At 25 I am the youngest of three. Cara is 37 and works as my personal assistant. Benjy is 36 and caught the karting bug when he was just 11. He was a brilliant driver, becoming a national and world karting champion. Unfortunately, even starting at such a young age, it was already too late for him to have a professional career. I took up karting when I was six and he helped me a lot. Benjy was like a mentor. He eventually gave up racing at university, so Dad’s focus was on me.

I didn’t see much of Dad during the week. He got up early and came home late running a business selling seeds and pulses. As a kid you miss having your father around, but it’s only now that I appreciate he was doing it so I could race at the weekend. Dad didn’t come from a lot and did well to create a successful business. We weren’t poor but we weren’t wealthy like the families of some F1 racing drivers now.

After long hours at work Dad drove us in a camper van to racetracks around the country. It was very much a family affair. Dad was the mechanic, Mum did the cooking and collected data on my driving. When I drove well, there were celebrations and the mood was great but because everyone was so emotionally and financially invested, when I suffered a poor weekend the mood was bad.

Dad has always been hard on the ones he loves. As a young kid, that was difficult to deal with. The pressure didn’t just filter down to me, it affected the whole family. I felt the weight of failure and expectation. If I made a silly mistake and spun off the track, I can now understand why Dad might have thought, “What the hell am I doing this for?” He had to work his arse off to support my racing, so if I didn’t put in enough effort, it must have been hard.

I now live in the world of F1, where tens of millions of pounds are spoken about like peanuts. Even in Formula Two or Three, every driver has to find huge amounts of money to get on the grid — it’s just crazy. When I was 16 and moving up through the ranks, I realised Dad didn’t have that sort of capital. I thought, “Oh shit, if I can’t find that sort of sponsorship or get picked by a team, my F1 dream is gone.”

Winning the F2 championship in 2018 was a big moment but I’ll never forget the day I signed for Williams F1 in September 2018. I was racing in F2 in Sochi, Russia, when Claire Williams, the deputy team principal at the time, called me in and offered a deal. Mum and Dad were the first people I told and they both cried. I told them to save their tears for when I won a race.

I joined Mercedes for the 2022 season, alongside Lewis Hamilton. It was a huge opportunity for me to learn and grow in F1, as well as show what I’m capable of. It was not an easy season for Mercedes but I feel very fortunate to be in this position, plus Lewis is such an incredible bloke on and off the track. He is so experienced, whereas I’m a 25-year-old who is just totally focused on trying to be the best F1 driver I can be. I’m pretty inspired by what he has achieved.

Dad is a strong character but he has become more emotional since his children have left home. He’s also friendlier now and doesn’t mind making a fool of himself from time to time. My only regret is that F1 doesn’t leave much free space to see each other but we do speak on the phone all the time.

Of course he still watches the pennies and will only fly economy — he won’t let me pay for their flights either. I know my parents can afford to fly business but it’s the principle for them. I want to make sure I reach a position with my racing where I can afford to give them the best in their retirement. They totally deserve it.

Steve

The F1 guys are OK on the racetrack but they are never as good as their dads on normal roads. George is always telling me to slow down as we approach a junction, though his mum thinks it’s fantastic when he takes her out and drives quickly.

There was just one occasion when George didn’t put the full effort in and it caused quite a commotion. He failed his first driving test at 17 because he thought that being a great driver on the track was good enough. He came home fuming that the examiner was wrong. We had to go back to the test centre in King’s Lynn so George could confront him. That didn’t go down well.

George was a cheeky little boy, a bit of a comedian. I worked a lot but it’s strange that I can only remember the racing side of his life, not watching him grow up at home. We enjoyed a nice life but had to work hard for it. I came from a family of farm workers with very little money and wanted to get away from agriculture and better myself but I ended up owning a wholesale seed business.

My wife, Alison, and I knew George was going to be a racing driver at the age of two. He was born on the track, coming to races to watch his brother and help out in the garage. He had a toy tractor that he rode around the pit lane and collected stickers from each race to stick on his “George Russell Racing” tractor.

As George progressed through the racing ranks it became more and more expensive. We invested in a motorhome to travel to races — before that I would sometimes sleep in a freezing horsebox. There were sacrifices. Alison and I didn’t go on our first holiday together until two years ago, on a trip to Lanzarote. By then we had been together for 38 years. People think that now George is in F1 we hang out with Lewis Hamilton and Toto Wolff, the Mercedes principal, every weekend in the sunshine, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Now Alison and I rarely go to races because we don’t want to interfere.

It was hard letting George fly the nest because we had been a close family, always doing our racing together. He is methodical and organised but his feet are firmly on the ground. There are plenty of people in the family to put him straight if needed.

There’s no magic wand to become an F1 driver — it takes hard work and dedication. It was only when I stood on the track with George before his first grand prix that I looked up at the enormous crowd and thought, “Oh my God, we’ve actually got here.”

#george russell #f1 #*m #q #23 #(oh brother)#:)#ch

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crowskulls-art-and-fandoms · 10 months

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Oi, lads! I finally made official designs!

And overall redesigns. Hopefully this'll finally be the first step in making an actual ask blog for the lot.

Thomas Sharp, he/him, 22 years old, 5'7

Edward Sharp, he/him, 45 years old, 5'6

Henry Black, he/him, 47 years old, 7'0

Gordon Sharp, he/him, 40 years old, 6'8

James Hughes, he/him, 36 years old, 6'2

Percy Avonside, he/they, 21 years old, 5'5

Toby Wisbech, he/him, 55 years old, 5'6

Emily Stirling, she/her, 30 years old, 5'10

Still not quite official, I'm considering giving them cooler first names and maybe middle names too, but have this for now. Sorry for being dead, hope you enjoy. 👍✨💕

#crows art #human au #crows trains #thomas #edward #henry #gordon #james #percy #toby #emily #the steam team #the really useful crew #the main 8 👍

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fatehbaz · 9 months

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Travel back [...] a few hundred years to before the industrial revolution, and the wildlife of Britain and Ireland looks very different [...]. [B]etween 1529 and 1772 [...] [i]n the early modern period, wolves, beavers and probably some lynxes still survived in regions of Scotland and Ireland. [...] [T]he now globally extinct great auk could still be found on islands in the Outer Hebrides. [...] [A]nd pine martens and “Scottish” wildcats were also found in England and Wales. [...] [B]urbot and sturgeon in both rivers and at sea [...] [and] threatened molluscs like the freshwater pearl mussel and oyster were also far more widespread. [...] [S]everal species of wolf have gone extinct [...]. The capercaillie is [...] [t]oday [...] found only rarely in the north of Scotland, but 250-500 years ago it was recorded in the west of Ireland [...]. [B]y the end of the 18th century, sea eagles were essentially extinct across England and Wales. [...]

The Powte’s Complaint is a protest ballad probably written in 1619 to bewail the drainage of the Fens around Ely and Wisbech in Cambridgeshire.

Attributed in one manuscript to a “Peny” of Wisbech, it is written from the perspective of a burbot, a freshwater species of cod commonly found in the Fens at this time. (This fish is now nationally extinct, but may be soon be reintroduced.)

The ballad summons the “brethren of the water” – probably meaning local people as well as fish and other animals – to fight against the drainage scheme, which sought to create new pasture land:

Come, Brethren of the water, and let us all assemble,

To treat upon this matter, which makes us quake and tremble;

For we shall rue it if ’t be true that Fenns be undertaken,

And where we feed in Fen and Reed, they’ll feed both Beef and Bacon.

According to research by Todd Borlik and Clare Egan, the subject of complaint here was a plan to cut a canal through an area of common land south of Haddenham. This scheme would remove the ability of local people to catch fish, and also to transport their produce and fuel on the water. Protests against the scheme apparently culminated in a demonstration of some 2,000 people who lit bonfires, banged on drums and fired guns all night during a meeting of the Commission of Sewers in 1619.

Within the poem, the alliance of the “brethren of the water” seems to recognise the interdependence of humans and wildlife on each other, and on the environment of the Fens.

A comparable example [...] is the Welsh poem Coed Marchan (Marchan Wood), written around 1580 by Robin Clidro, a wandering poet from the Vale of Clwyd in Denbighshire, known for his humorous rhymes.

Clidro’s poem tells the story of a group of red squirrels who go to London to present a petition against the felling of Marchan Wood for charcoal. As with The Powte’s Complaint, the use of the squirrel as narrator is a conceit, and the poem is really a protest against deforestation on behalf of human interests. But again, the author re-imagines the world from the perspective of animals:

Odious and hard is the law, and painful to little squirrels. They go the whole way to London, with their cry and their matron before them. Then on her oath she said, “All Rhuthyn’s woods are ravaged; my house and barn were taken one dark night, and my store of nuts.” The squirrels all are calling for the trees; they fear the dog.

---

Image, caption, and text by: Lee Raye. “Wildlife wonders of Britain and Ireland before the industrial revolution – my research reveals all the biodiversity we’ve lost.” The Conversation. 17 July 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

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supertrainstationh · 1 year

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RD15742. GER Wisbech & Upwell Tramway No.7. by Ron Fisher Via Flickr: RD15742. One of the most interesting carriages in the North Norfolk Railway's vintage train is this Great Eastern Railway bogie composite No.7 built for the Wisbech & Upwell Tramway in 1884. Sister carriage No.8 found fame in the 1952 Ealing Comedy 'The Titfield Thunderbolt', but its fame was short lived as it came to a sticky end when it was derailed by the baddies( Pearce and Crump who ran the local bus service) and it crashed down an embankment. It had been fitted with a bar so that Mr. Valentine, the rich old soak that had financed the purchase of the line from BR, could get a drink without waiting for the pubs to open. No.7 has been fitted out with a bar in a similar fashion. Sheringham, North Norfolk, Wednesday, 23rd August, 2017. Copyright © Ron Fisher.

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onemanwaxer · 1 year

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Deluxe Foot scrub, then warm foot spa and dried. Toenails filed. The feet are then prepped for the callus with hard skin removal. Then the skin soft peel (patch callus peel is applied) this gently penetrates into the epidermal layer of the foot softening the callus to enable dead skin to be gently scraped off and then buffed. During the callus taking in warm foot mitts, you will receive a leg massage. The treatment is then followed by the soothing, massage the feet & moisturiser. Your feet, will feel incredible! #kingslynn #norfolk #mensfeet #feet #mensfootspa #calluspeeling👣 #calluspeeling #wisbech #hunstanton #licolnshire #downhammarket (at King's Lynn, Norfolk) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cpr7sELIBq1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#kingslynn #norfolk #mensfeet #feet #mensfootspa #calluspeeling👣#calluspeeling #wisbech #hunstanton #licolnshire #downhammarket

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olivi-arch · 1 year

Text

Photographic Light Emulsion on birch plywood.

35mm negatives of a site visit to Wisbech, my Tectonic Touchstone.

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oh-saints · 2 years

Text

the holiday (p.1)

george was supposed to come home and find her sister, cara, and her family. instead, he was left with a beautiful stranger until the british grand prix. with girlfriend no longer in possession and his parents going on a long overdue vacation, it was guaranteed george would have the most interesting break.

[loosely based on the film “the holiday (2006)”]

“why is something so wrong feels so right?”

george russell x architect!OC

word count: 4.2k

tw: mentions of cheating (but not the MCs); loneliness; suggestive contents; fluff? angst?

song: dreaming of you - cigarettes after sex; distance - christina perri; almost is never enough - arianna grande (feat. nathan sykes); august - taylor swift

note: JUST BECAUSE, you know? my kind of cheering myself up after arsenal lost the day before monday. there’s also tons of inaccuracy about george’s family because i believe that’s the private side of his life so i don’t wanna dive too much to that. BUT another GR63 work because watching him racing did me wonders and this is like a bonus because my first attempt to write hit 50 notes (!!), thank you so much guys xx

wisbech.

the place where he grew up, the place where his dream of becoming f1 world champion blossomed. it had been ages since the last time he came up north—his parents had moved down to south to be closer to him as his racing journey started to pick up, his siblings would always come down to his parents’ current abode whenever george was in town (or country, whichever may be the case). his sister, cara, now inherited their old house and lived there with her husband, chris, and her son, jack.

the last time he bothered to drive a long mile to the small city was when he attended jack’s christmas play two years ago, right before the pandemic brought everyone down with it. the season had already ended that time, giving him plenty of time to travel far, and his only nephew had been begging to have him at school—probably to show off to everyone his uncle was the rookie f1 driver everyone had been talking about. but he remembered vividly the calmness of the suburban as he ran his daily 10k one morning, a striking difference to the busy life he’d been leading since he turned 16.

today, he hoped the same tranquillity would wash all over him. the last thing he wanted to have right now was everyone tailing his every move, flashing camera at his face, running mouths to gossip about him—all the jazz that came with the business. he didn’t ask for forever; at least enough amount to have him focused for the next race weekend.

and surrounding yourself with your closest ones always helped. with his parents going on a long overdue trip (thanks, covid) to malta, his sister was the first person to pop into george’s mind after everything fell apart under his nose. as much as benji’s advice never failed, he really didn’t need his brother to laugh at his face first before going full-on serious brother mode, like a typical older brother would do to his younger brother. george would even try to endure chris’ dry jokes and jack’s chatterbox personality if it means that he’d get his piece of mind.

it was already a wonder how george didn’t manage to have a mental breakdown whilst driving to the countryside. he’d been expecting himself to cry, shout, scream—anything to get this heavy rock off his chest—as soon as he was away from the spotlight but he succeeded in reaching his old place just in time as the navsat’s ETA. maybe the title of “mr. consistency” was rightfully given, after all.

well, george doubted any other driver able to finish a grand prix within the top 5 after finding your girlfriend on the bed with another dick that wasn’t yours inside of her just the night before the race. like nothing happened, like it was any other race weekend.

“cara?”

weird. nobody answered him as he continued his way inside.

“chris? jack?”

it wasn’t like cara’s place at all to be this quiet and spotless. everywhere his oldest sibling went, she’d leave a trail of sunshine along her way. this house now felt… too large to be lived in, even though george knew this house had enough of space for more than 3 people.

“anybody home?”

just as george finished the sentence, the typical english cold air swept by him. he turned his head to the direction of the wind, his body went rigid at the thought someone had broken in the house and killed everyone in it like those thriller films, his fists ready to punch anyone who dared to have a go at him. but instead of a robber, his surprise came in another, entirely different form.

an alien woman was certainly not on the list of people who could shock him at that moment.

george was so shell-shocked that he didn’t know which one to digest first. the fact that there was a woman that wasn’t cara at all in cara’s pride of a backyard garden or the fact that the woman was still cantily clad in her sleepwear on a rainy english summer afternoon.

what the fuck is going on?

did he arrive on the wrong address? had cara moved from this house and he didn’t know? did something happen to cara, one that he didn’t know? with george being away so long and so often, his mother would’ve shared things with him so he didn’t feel so left out whenever all of them gathered around.

he was so torn between needing to find out the truth and needing to sit this entire thing down first.

fuck. george cursed himself for not calculating things thoroughly. knowing the press would soon get a sniff of the bombastic breaking news, george immediately texted cara his plans on seeking shelter at her house the day after he landed and turned off his phone right away for (a) safety measures as the mercedes private jet about to take off, and (b) he didn’t have the energy to entertain the badgering from his publicist as soon as he made it on the front page of daily mail.

“well, yes, richard,” the woman-in-question’s voice broke george’s reverie. she sounded so exhausted and angry at the same time. she sounded like him. “i’ve resketched the house from scratch, just as you instructed. what more do you want?”

if george wasn’t so perplexed, he’d definitely give her brownie points. there was something about established women earning off from what her brain was capable of that always nailed george in the heart. no offense to all the models he’d been involved with or all of his fellow f1 drivers’ girlfriend, though.

“with the upcoming deadline, that kind of radical change—you know what, have it your way, richard. demolish everything for all i care. i’m not going to let you ruin my holiday. have a good day.”

this time, the woman-in-question seemed like the one surprised as she turned around, only to find george’s presence looming over the glass door to the backyard. cat got her tongue for a full thirty seconds before she took a deep breath and said, “i’m sorry i didn’t see you there. i take it you must be george, cara’s brother?”

thank god she started to speak because george could feel his brain was having a shortcut circuit error. her back profile, as alluring as it was with all the gentle wind blowing her hair, didn’t do any justice to her front profile. she was breathtaking that george even missed the fact she knew who he was, the fact she might be waiting for him, and the fact that she knew cara (of which should relieve him).

“cara said you texted her you’d be coming when she already departed but couldn’t get a hold of you back, so i should be expecting you sometime today,” george was used to being complimented for having clearest eyes amongst the current f1 drivers but hers far surpassed his. if he wasn’t busy digesting the reality thrown at him, he wouldn’t mind swimming in the pool of her eye colour. “i’m raline, by the way. i’m currently on a house exchange with cara.”

everything was happening at the same time simultaneously and confusingly that george wanted to throw up. was this how aomame of IQ84 felt when she lived through two parallel universes?

“what the hell is house exchange?”

“well, for the next two weeks, she gets to live in my house back in LA, i get to live here. she said she’d try to be at the silverstone, though.”

“why?”

“because we all need some break from normalcy, i suppose?” raline shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious answer. “i mean, our respective long-time partner cheated on us—”

“wait, what?” george’s head hit all-time worst migraine. “cara got cheated on?”

“oh, shit. please don’t tell her it came from my mouth.”

george didn’t know what happened to him the next 10 seconds. all the sudden he was already sitting on the barstool, a glass of water perching on the countertop in front of him. “you’re turning pale. are you sick? can i get you anything else?”

“is there any beer in the fridge?”

“or do you fancy a glass of whiskey?”

“now you speak my language.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“i see you’re back on the grid.”

george plopped his body on his old bed that was now too small for him. but he didn’t mind one bit, for the bed was a legendary, silent witness of his childhood dream and the suffering he endured alone behind the 4 walls in order to achieve the life he was currently living.

“i see you didn’t tell anyone of your problem and set off to LA.”

“did ral—”

“she didn’t say anything, i presumed much,” george cut his sister off because even if raline didn’t slip off of her tongue, he’d gathered as much. going on a house exchange trip was beyond cara’s character. “what were you thinking, cara?”

“i know, i wasn’t thinking,” his sister sighed deeply over the phone. “but i know i need to get away from wisbech as soon as possible. you know, to think about everything and what i should do next.”

“like myself, in a sense,” cara agreed to george’s statement right away. her youngest brother had always found a way to conclude things simply for everyone to understand since he was a child and she immediately knew he was meant for big and good things ahead. “you know you can always talk to me, right?”

“i know. i just don’t think i can right now,” cara answered and george sensed she wasn’t saying that to dodge his initial question. “you’ll be the first to know about every single thing when i’m ready.”

“promise me?”

“i promise you, giant. but don’t tell mum anything until i do, okay?” cara didn’t need george to say anything because she knew he was nodding somewhere behind the line. “now, what happened to you?”

george managed to chug the entire whiskey contained in his glass and poured some more for the next turn. “well, my girlfriend cheated on me so now she’s my ex and that’s that.”

“oh, giant. i’m sorry to hear that,” cara took a shaky breath and if it wasn’t because of her previous plead of not going there, george would’ve insisted her to talk about it. “i wish i can share my favourite whiskey with you now.”

“you could, you know?”

“george…”

“i know, it’s why i open the bottle myself. do you mind?”

“just left some for me, yeah?” jack’s voice was heard screaming to his mum he was home. “and share some with raline. i think she needs companion as much as you do.”

“right, about ral—”

“she’s of no harm, george. i can assure you that,” jack’s voice was getting louder each passing second. “but i’m sure you don’t have that much of energy to face jack now so i’m going to call you back, okay?”

the phone call went dead before george managed to let out a response and he was, once again, back friends with silence.

he looked around, waiting for the familiar sense of pride this room used to bring—his karting trophies, junior championship photos, the likes. he rubbed his face for how suffocating it felt this time, like it burnt his lungs every time he inhaled the air around him, and he felt like screaming for help. but he knew nobody could, not when the only one he felt like he could talk to was thousands of miles away enjoying LA sun, and it frustrated him beyond belief that it strained his chest. his hands went up to the painful part of his body, grabbed a hold of it so tightly in hope it eased the pain, but all was futile.

before george realized, tears had run down his face.

and for the first time since he cried in this very room after his homeroom teacher laughed at his face for thinking his dream of becoming an f1 driver ridiculous 10 years ago, mr. consistency helplessly broke down into the abyss of despair.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

if george was any other person doing any other job than being an f1 driver, he surely would’ve missed the gentle caress raline called knocking.

“george?”

her weak attempt was enough to alert george, who’d been trained to react the fastest at everything thrown at him, awake. he knew he could jump straight up and open the door but he didn’t want to open the door looking like an absolute wrecking titanic. and the definite explanations that followed from raline.

“it’s way past dinner time,” raline continued, voice still as gentle as she was the afternoon but the information relied on was enough to make george shoot up from his bed. he turned to the clock beside his favourite lewis hamilton’s biography and it read 9:30. “your food’s getting cold.”

he held back a groan. aleix would definitely kill him for not reporting any of post-races exercise he should be doing, on top of not being contactable for almost the past 24 hours or so. not to mention his nutritionist, his team, his parents—oh god, his head hurt from the turn of events. he didn’t expect he would be knocked out cold for god knows how long. the exhaustion must’ve taken its toll physically and mentally, for the last time he over rested was the first race of his f1 career back in abu dhabi in 2019.

but fuck it, he still had another day to explain himself.

george rummaged through his closet and picked up the thick-rimmed glasses he wore once a dozen halloweens ago, when he tried to channel theodore from alvin and the chipmunk. he could only hope it did the trick this time against raline so he didn’t have to undergo the ever complex question of “are you alright?”.

“i hope you don’t mind pasta,” raline started speaking before he could reach the last flight of the stairs. “it seems like cara didn’t have a chance to do some groceries.”

“pasta sounds great,” george pulled up the high stool across the marble countertop where she was behind. “thank you so much. remind me to go to the market tomorrow.”

“i’m heating up your plate,” raline only acknowledged his previous sentence with a nod, then moved around the kitchen with cold precision, like she didn’t like to waste another second around the premise, and it scared him to be honest. “do you want some wine?”

if raline had noticed his swollen eyes and worn-out skin tone, she surely was damn good at hiding it. what she was doing now could rival angelina jolie’s the kitchen scene in mr. & mrs. smith.

“eh, sure,” raline shot him another question of white or red? before he could continue anything else. “i’ll have what you have. i don’t think my famished stomach can complain about anything that’s already served and ready to eat anyway.”

just in time, his stomach grumbled. george shot her an apologetic look at the same time she shot him a what is that? look, and the weird interaction made her laugh. george’s body warmed at the sight, not because he managed to emanate a genuine reaction out of her that was 180 completely different to his impression of her by far, but because she looked stunningly radiating. as if he’d just unlocked the laugh she kept away for so long.

as if she’d been liberated.

only then he realized he was going to share his sanctuary with someone as beautiful and confusing as raline for the next two weeks.

life really had a way to fuck you up, didn’t he?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

next day, raline still didn’t confront him about the swell that didn’t seem to disperse from his eyes. instead, she greeted him “good morning, george!” with a sleepy smile and her gentle voice before she poured some coffee to his favourite cup, just as he walked in the kitchen after his daily cycling routine.

with her messy bun left some strands framing her facial features, a deadly combination if george had to say. so deadly he failed to notice how she could know it was him before he pulled himself up.

“i hope you don’t mind coffee in the morning,” raline put his cup in front of him, her fingers dainty and her movement seemed calculated. george found himself becoming more and more intrigued at the hot-and-cold contrast she was displaying. “or are you that stereotypical brit that drinks english breakfast tea in the morning?”

george genuinely was curious as to how raline looked like she was smiling without actually smiling. like her face was expressionless and rather cold but she radiated warm, friendly, welcoming persona he didn’t want to look away from. heck, george thought he couldn’t do so if he’d wanted to. was it her eyes? was it her pursed lips?

in fact, raline exuded an aura that only made george want to spill everything that had been wrenching his mind and heart to the table. unfiltered, uncensored. the f1 driver didn’t think he could hold himself altogether any longer and frankly, he didn’t want to anymore.

the revelation horrified him, however, for he had never encountered such a feeling towards a stranger he’d only met less than two days. towards a stranger he’d only met several days after he found his ex-girlfriend cheated on him. towards a stranger he’d only met when the wound was still fresh open. towards a stranger who shared the same kind of experience with him. towards a stranger who escaped her own pain back home. towards a stranger who also had too much already on a plate.

his heart clenched more at the thought he’d only impose more disturbances to her healing process. the meanest thing one can do to others, for him, is to impose more on other people than they can receive. the meanest thing george can do to raline was to impose her with his selfish desire that he couldn’t control in the first place.

“coffee’s wonderful,” george pulled himself away from his reverie, realising raline was waiting for his response. he reciprocated her small smile, however his was bittersweet and his insides churned at the guilt because he knew she didn’t deserve his half-hearted ass attempt to conceal his feelings. “is there milk in the fridge?”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“where have you been?”

“what the fuck!” george jumped in his place at raline’s voice, almost closing the fridge door on his fingers. “can you stop being creepy?!”

“you’d hear me asking you three times already if your airpods wasn’t blocking my voice.”

raline shrugged from where she sat on the floor, her body leaning towards the coffee table in the middle of the living room as she scribbled down something. she looked nonchalant doing so, but george could see a glint of mischief on her eyes as she did so. three days later, and he could figure out she entertained herself by surprising george whenever she could—god knows how she could know when and where he was coming from. george was almost convinced she was actually a psychic devouring a woman’s body as a disguise.

“well the other time we were in the market, i wasn’t wearing anything in my ears and you still snuck up on me,” george opened up the fridge again, remembering what he was planning to grab a bottle of water before raline scared his wits. “care to explain that?”

“you were busy with your fans, were you not?” suddenly raline sounded angry and george couldn’t help but turn around his body, afraid of what he said might be perceived wrong. she didn’t even spare a look at him as she crumpled away the paper she was scribbling on earlier before she threw it away with full force. the poor paper hit the wall before it crippled away lifelessly on the ground, joining a dozen of other papers who’d faced her earlier wrath. “anyway, where were you?”

the return of her normal, gentle voice sent george into a whirlwind. was this woman possessed or something? if he was, he’d nail the coffin on his raline-is-a- psychic theory. “i was out running. need to do my daily 10k, that’s all.”

“10k? impressive,” raline looked up from the blank white sheet to look at george. her eyes went wider and rounder as she realized he was only wearing tight biker suits. george managed to catch her turning slightly pink before she turned away, choosing the boring paper was a better view than his running attire. “how do you that daily without passing out?”

“well, i’m an athlete,” the blush wasn’t fading out anytime soon, george could conclude as much, so he decided it was payback time. he settled down right beside her on the floor, so close their knees were touching and she could silently feel his breath on the back of her ear, overlooking what she was doing. “i’ve been doing that since i was a kid.”

the drop on george’s baritone sent shivers all over raline’s body so she decided to distract herself by drawing some more architecture designs. “what kind of athlete are you?”

“f1 driver,” no, no, no, please don’t get any closer. but as they said, the more you wished for it, the more God wouldn’t have it your way. raline could feel his skin—or what she thought was his skin—brushing featherly against the shell of her ear. “what kind of artist are you?”

“i—um—i’m no artist,” raline had to gulp down her nerves before she choked on it. unluckily, while doing so, the scent of his body odour protruded her sense and she had to close her eyes to gather herself. a mix of sweat, English cold wind and morning sun, his cologne, and his natural body odour. since when he could affect her like this? “i’m an architect, actually.”

“an architect? impressive,” she could feel the tip of george’s nose moving along to the hairs towards the back of her neck and she had to grip the pencil on her hand so she could focus on something. “how does it feel to have a brain as sexy as you?”

shit. george really went to nuzzle back towards her collarbone, tracing the long horizontal bone, ever so painstakingly slowly. “how does it feel to ride a car as sexy as you?”

oh, how much george loved a banter. he chuckled against the soft skin, discreetly inhaling the Chanel hair mist she sprayed on while feeling the hairs standing up all over her body at the sensation his teeth gave as they grazed the skin. “i bet you it’s sexier when you ride me on instead.”

she released a shaky breath as george planted a hand on her exposed thigh at the end of his sentence, thanks to the oversized sweater she always wore to sleep. “george…”

as much as george enjoyed getting his payback, he didn’t expect he enjoyed enticing these kinds of reactions out of raline. she was always beautiful since the first time he laid his eyes on her but nothing beat the prettiest sight of raline aroused and gaping lightly for air under his hands’ demonstration. it didn’t help to his pride that getting this out of her only from his nose and hands, imagine how she’d be when he poured his all in.

fuck. raline was turning more and more like an addictive aphrodisiac on him.

fuck. this was why he tried to stay out of the house whenever he could. he ran 10k, he set milestones on his biking distance, he drove back and forth to the mercedes training centre down south, he trained in the local gym, he ate his lunch—ironically, the one raline always managed to pack the night before he went out to the mercedes building in the morning—at random parks on the way home. hell, he even tended cara’s plants and flowers on the backyard even though he had the shittiest hands out of all his family, just minimize his interaction to raline.

raline, in one way or another, was cara’s guest, hence he should treat a guest with outmost respect. and his father taught him to treat woman as they’re their worth.

but jesus christ, may the lord help him.

it’s because george knew raline was worth golden, it was very difficult for him to hold back. not when he knew now she could be puny under his hands, not when he knew now how her body reacted to him, not when he knew now that while she didn’t exactly say no, she was more than welcoming of his advances.

to top it all off, not when he knew in the first place he was worthy of her.

it’s always the forbidden fruit that’s so tempting, no?

but maybe, he hadn’t been selfish enough all his life for everything he truly wanted.

just as george was about to channel his inner adam, his phone’s ringtone splashed a tsunami to their faces. george pulled away and dashed out of the house as if his life depended on it.

well, maybe not his life, but certainly for his inner peace and sanity.

#george russell #gr63 #george russell imagine #george russell fic #george russell one shot #george russell fanfic #george russell x reader #george russell fluff #george russell smut #george russell angst #george russell drabble #george russell x you #oh-saints writes

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